A Shout for the Dead (77 page)

The rain was so hard it hurt the face and hands. The crowd was packing towards the exits to the apron. Wind buffeted them, hurled them into one another. Fighting was breaking out at the edges, people trying to hide themselves in the mass. The cloud darkened and deepened a second time. Lightning flared again and again across the sky and up into the heavens.

'We have to stop them,' yelled Vasselis at Gesteris.

Gesteris scowled. 'What did I warn you about, Vasselis? Think this will fix anything?

His words were snatched from his mouth and Vasselis only just caught them.

'Later. We have to get down there.'

Gesteris nodded and the two men came together, using each other as shields. They inched towards the watch tower, moving hand over slow hand along the rail. Every step brought the risk of a fall to the courtyard. Rain sluiced along the rampart and poured over the edge. The wind screamed to a new height and the cloud spiralled. It seemed to have slowed but the colour was a malevolent deep grey.

Without warning, it spat down. All the way this time. A tongue, a coil of cloud spinning hard. It touched the ground and spun directly into the back of the crowd.

'Oh dear God-surround-me,' said Vasselis. 'Come on!'

People were hurled aside. The column of wind scoured straight through them. They were like dolls, scattering from a tantrum, impelled by a massive hand. Impacting buildings, smearing across the cobbles or sucked high into the cloud before being ejected, slapped away by the vengeful hand of God.

'Hesther!' shouted Vasselis, though there was no possibility of her hearing him. 'Hesther, stop them!'

He waved wildly with one hand but had to grab hold quickly as the wind threatened to pluck him from the rampart. The twisting coil of cloud changed direction, heading for the open spaces of the processional road to the arena. Citizens scattered before it, those who saw it and chose the right direction.

But hundreds were caught within its spitting, grabbing compass. Roof slates were plucked from buildings and hurled as deadly missiles in every direction. Gesteris dragged Vasselis below the parapet. They felt impacts and heard shattering against the wall.

Down here there was relative calm. Vasselis crawled towards the watch tower. Above the howling of the wind, he thought he could hear the screams of men and women. There was the rumble of falling stone. He crawled up the few stairs and made the shelter of the tower. It was shaking. Slates were ripping from its roof and shattering on the cobbles of the courtyard.

Vasselis looked down at the fountain. The Ascendants were shuddering. The water covered them. From the sky, rain was attracted to them, spewing onto them like it came from pipes in the sky. Hesther was near them, clutching onto the fountain side. Vasselis could see she was talking to them, shouting at them.

Back outside, the apron was empty of people. The column of cloud had turned left and was heading down towards the forum and the dock. The strength of the wind lessened. Vasselis ran for the stairs and braced himself against the outside of the spiral as he raced down.

He burst out into the courtyard. The Ascendants all fell sideways into the fountain. The rain ceased. Up in the sky, the cloud rumbled. One fork of lightning struck down at them. It impacted the fountain statue. The top of the rearing horses triumphant exploded. Shards of stone flashed out. Something whistled past Vasselis's ear, he turned and saw it shatter on the inside wall. Slowly, slowly, the crack in the statue widened. Two of the horses fell gently sideways, tumbling into the fountain, opposite the Ascendants.

Their Work had spared them. It would not be the same outside the gates.

The cloud cleared as quickly as it had come. The evening light returned to the city. The wind died to nothing, leaving just a roaring in the ears as a reminder. Vasselis turned and ran back towards the gate. Gesteris was already ordering them open. Vasselis came to his shoulder and waited.

The gates rumbled open, straining on damaged hinges. They looked out on to a soaking arena of carnage and destruction. Soldiers still in possession of their wits ran out to try and help who they could. The majority looked to their officers for direction or pushed past Vasselis and Gesteris on their way back inside the palace.

Vasselis walked out. He gave up trying to count the bodies strewn across the apron. The sound of crying had overtaken that of the wind. Buildings along the processional road had been torn open. Stunned citizens walked and staggered amongst the fallen. People were screaming for help, sobbing in their pain.

He felt sick. Ordinary citizens bent and twisted in unnatural positions. He counted eight hanging from the upper floors of ruined buildings, hurled there by the force of the wind. Bits of clothing covered the ground. Shattered tiles crunched underfoot. The setting red sun made the whole rain-soaked apron appear covered in blood.

Right outside the palace of the Advocate. He put his hand across his mouth and knelt by the first victim he came across. A man. Middle-aged. Lifeless. Blood had dribbled from his mouth and his body was canted at an angle from his legs; his back snapped clean.

'May the Omniscient take you to His embrace. I am sorry.'

'Sorry.' Gesteris scoffed. 'Too late, Vasselis. Way too late. I might as well have hurled my stock of powder over the walls. At least it would have been quick.'

Vasselis stood. He could see the Advocate coming towards them. He touched Gesteris on the arm and the senator turned, hissing in a breath. She was white with shock. Both her hands clutched at her mouth and she walked unsteadily, as if she might fall.

‘I
only wanted to send them home,' she said, lost. Tears were on her cheeks, her hair matted with the rain, her clothes soaked,
‘I
only wanted to scare them away.'

Gesteris stalked up to her. 'There is no justification for this. None. This is slaughter. And all they were doing was throwing fruit. I can no longer stand by you, my Advocate. I will not.'

Gesteris swept his helmet from his head, dropped it on the ground at her feet and walked back into the palace grounds. Herine sagged to her knees and began to cry.

And Vasselis stood and watched, unable to offer her any comfort.

No trumpets or horns heralded the first day of genasfall. No celebration, no prayers and no feast. Bear Claw and Tsardon helped each other to move as fast as they could but still the dead were catching them.

Hope had flared when their scouts first reported the splitting of the dead force and the change of direction. But it was brief. Those same scouts reported the sacking of Hasfort, the theft of artillery and the strengthening of the dead. All the while, Kell had rested her exhausted legion and the erstwhile prisoners. She had to shadow the enemy. She should have attacked them but there was no realistic chance of success. Civilian losses were inevitable until they could mount a defence of a scale and solidity that might stop the dead advance.

After leaving Hasfort, the dead had turned south and east. They moved back onto the trail that would eventually take them south down the western side of the Kalde Mountains and bring them onto the approaches to the Gaws. And they upped their pace. Not by much but then it didn't have to be. The dead barely paused, let alone stopped, and the living were flagging in front of them.

What had been twelve miles became ten, eight and five. Now it was barely two. And with another ten days of walking before they reached the questionable haven of the Neratharn border fortifications, the famous Jewelled Barrier, Kell knew they would be overtaken. She walked beside her horse with a limping Ruthrar who had, like her, put a crippled warrior aboard. No one was to be left behind.

Every foot was shredded and covered in blisters. Every leg roared protest. Every shoulder sagged under the weight of supporting those who by rights should be lying flat on their backs for five days to regain some strength at least. But they could not. The relentless advance of the dead kept even the most damaged legionary walking if there was no horse to ride. Fear was a prime motivator. Yet the horses too were beginning to fail.

is there something else we could have done?' said Kell. 'Turn from their path, let them continue to Neratharn. Should we have attacked them at Hasfort? Look at the artillery they've taken.'

'No,' said Ruthrar. 'You cannot afford to think that way. Attacking at Hasfort would have been suicide. They are chasing us, Dina. We all believe that. Better we lead them to an army rather than to some helpless city further south.'

Kell nodded. 'I k
now you're
right.' 'But even so, we cannot outrun them.'

'It seems ridiculous, doesn't it?' said Kell. 'The dead are making no more than two miles an hour and yet they are closer and closer to our footprints.'

Ruthrar winced with every step he took. 'Perhaps not even that pace. But it adds up to forty miles in every day. No man, no horse can match that for long. We have achieved more than I imagined.'

'But it isn't going to be enough, is it? We aren't going to make it to Neratharn. Not like this. They'll be on us in two days. Three at the outside.'

'How far short are we?'

'Does it matter?'

'Of course it matters,' said Ruthrar. 'Because some of us have to make it to the border to speak to my king and to your people. Your cavalry should ride away. Make distance enough before their horses drop. Take another path.'

'Leaving the rest of us to stand in their way and die?'

'That is unworthy of you, General,' said Ruthrar.

Kell felt the sting of guilt. 'I'm sorry. But I look around at what we have become and I am proud to be a part of it. Twenty days ago we would have cheerfully killed each other. Now Tsardon supports Estorean in common purpose and we are stronger as a result. To divide our force is to throw that away.'

'I don't think so,' said Ruthrar. 'It will test it but you will see that all walking and riding here know what is at stake should we fail to reach Neratharn and warn off my king. He marches with twelve thousand Tsardon warriors. They need to be fighting with the Conquord, not against you. Only then do we have a chance of success.'

Kell nodded. 'Then we will come to a parting of the ways. Because I will not ride away from my people and you must.'

'Another will travel in my stead.'

'You are the senior voice,' said Kell. 'None here doubt your courage and your desire but I will not risk our message not being heard by King Khuran and by whoever it is that leads the Neratharn defence. Pray Davarov has survived. At least then the Conquord will not turn and run.'

'I would be honoured to fight beside him.'

'So would we all.' Kell and Ruthrar stared at each other. And she

felt sad that their friendship was to be so brief. 'Well ? What will you do?'

'Speak to my warriors. As you must speak to your people.'

‘I
have a better idea. Double time for another hour and let's stop and speak to all of them together.'

'You know that standing in front of the dead will barely give them pause. We are four hundred and fifty, they are six thousand and more.'

Kell smiled. 'That is not my intention.'

There was no protest when she ordered them to increase their pace. And she kept them there for as long as she dared. There was something keenly satisfying about knowing distance was being put between them and their enemy. Even though all knew it was temporary.

When she brought them to a halt it was on the top of a rise, a foothill of the Kalde Mountains. They could all look back and see the dead. Thousands marching across the open ground leaving a trail of blackness behind them. It looked like death and the stench of them carried on the breeze even up here.

She made sure everyone saw them. The carts pulled by dead men. The artillery pushed by the dead and heaved by the dead. Tsardon and Conquord dead. She shuddered, thinking of who might be marching as part of this dread foe. With the horses being tended by cavalrymen already appraised of what would transpire, Ruthrar and Kell gathered their forces together and spoke as one. Two voices delivering the same message in languages that none who heard them would ever have thought to be spoken in unity, even friendship.

‘I
look on you and I am more proud to be a Bear Claw today than at the scene of any victory of our glorious past,' said Kell.

Only the wind and Ruthrar's words competed with her. Claw stood with Tsardon warrior. It seemed churlish to separate them. Her people stood a little taller, some at the expense of their own pain. She waved them down.

'Sit. Please, this is not the time for formality. It is the time we have feared and now must face. Any chance to rest must be taken and this is our last.' She took a deep breath. 'None of you is stupid and none of you is blind. The dead are catching us. As we are, we cannot outrun them all the way to Neratharn. And we must see our messages and our desires communicated there. If we do not, all of this we have achieved will be in vain.