Ardol Kessian sat on a grassy slope with Arducius, the vista of Westfallen laid out below them. It was impossible to feel old on a day like today. Golden corn swaying in a light sea-breeze. The orchards packed with ripe citrus and rich colour. The herds of sheep and cattle grazing contentedly or pigs slumbering in the shade. And the vibrant sounds of children's laughter mingled with the distant wash of waves on the shore, the clank of hammer on steel and nail, the sawing of blade on wood.
The young Ascendant was sitting with Kessian under a parasol which shielded them from the worst of the sun's blanket heat. A pitcher of water was at their feet and a half-eaten plate of fruit lay between them. School was over for the day, but for the Ascendants learning was not.
'What do you feel when you test the sky, Arducius?' asked Kessian.
Arducius was a supreme Wind Harker already and not yet nine. Almost as accurate as Kessian himself, he had shown the aptitude from a very early age. Kessian would always remember the first moments fondly. Arducius had not known how to communicate what he felt in the weather and the climate as it modulated around him. It caused him to react in absurdly practical ways. Walking out in his rain leathers on a hot solas day. That was before he worked out the difference in time between his sensing of a weather front and its arrival. Kessian chuckled.
'What's funny?' asked Arducius.
‘I
was just thinking about you strolling the streets, sweating in your leather cape and staring at the sky, wondering why it was blue.'
Arducius laughed too, a peal that made heads rise to see. 'They used to say to me, "rain tomorrow, is it?"'
'And you'd get angry and claim it would be today. At five you could look so furious.'
'And you all laughed at me,' said Arducius.
Kessian ruffled his hair. 'Still, they don't laugh now, do they?'
'No,' agreed Arducius. 'Most of them look at me, at all of us, like they are expecting something.'
'Well, they are. We all are.'
And there it was. Eight years old and brilliant in their individual talents. But of the rest . . . the multiple abilities, the elemental manipulation. Not a sign. The Echelon had studied and dissected every one of the elder Gorian's writings, looking for cracks in his theories. They could find none. But the weight was growing in his mind that they were just theories. No concrete evidence existed anywhere.
The questions were beginning to be asked. Whether these four of the ninth strand of the Ascendancy were really the first. Whether the waiting was set to go on. Every day, Kessian prayed to be allowed to live to see it happen and every day he could feel God tugging him harder towards a return to the earth. He had no belief that the recent births into the potential tenth strand would amount to anything. Others were carrying children now. He would not live to see any of them grow to maturity. He was one hundred and forty now and he felt it with every creak of his bones and every missed beat of his heart.
'Are you all right, Father Kessian?' asked Arducius.
Kessian forced a smile. 'Yes, of course. Now, back to your lesson. What do you feel? Tell me.'
'I feel the wind as if it is passing through my head and body,' said Arducius. 'I can smell a drop of rain that has fallen three hundred miles away, carried here on the breeze. I can feel high into the air to see when the temperature will fall or rise. I can feel the thickness of cloud and tell you how much rain will fall from it. I can look at the surface of the sea and know a storm is coming.' Arducius shrugged. 'Like always. Just like you.'
There was a note of despondency in Arducius's voice and Kessian couldn't blame him. The weight of expectation was growing on their young shoulders. And it would be nothing when compared to the wave of disappointment that would sweep over them if they did not meet those expectations.
'I'm sorry, Arducius,' said Kessian.
'What for?'
'That this has proved to be your fate.'
Arducius frowned. 'Yes but loads of us in Westfallen have had abilities.'
'But none so well attuned from such an early age. And none on whom have been pinned such hopes.' Kessian sighed. 'It was unfair of us to expect and assume. Though of course, there is still time. Much time.'
Arducius stared at him, his expression revealing his uncertainty before he spoke. 'But we are better than all the others at our age. Even you, right?'
Kessian nodded. 'Oh yes, yes, you are.'
A child will always give you hope and Kessian clung gratefully to this tendril. Down below them, Gorian was sitting with Gwythen Terol, two Herd Masters together. Gorian was learning the biology of a cow in minute detail. As ever, the animal calmed when he approached. And like always with him, and only him, the rest of the herd were gathered like an audience, chewing and staring. The animals knew.
But what did they know and why on God's earth was it that he couldn't make his charges take the next step? It had to be soon. It had to be.
Chapter 5
843rd cycle of God, 35th day of
Solasrise
10th year of the true Ascendancy
The pall of smoke was thickening over Gull's Ford. Flames from two dozen fires intensified the heat of the day. A heat haze shimmered across the south of the town and through it more raiders were riding in hard, their figures silhouetted against burning crops.
In the centre of the main street, the garrison commander was trying to organise terrified volunteer militia into some semblance of order. They were hopelessly outnumbered, poorly equipped and barely trained. But still they formed into a four-deep defensive rank with their few pikes bristling to the front. Behind them, a handful of archers stood with hunting bows ready.
Han Jesson shook his head. Pitiful. Almost pointless. He had half a mind to urge them to run and hide, save themselves if they could. But they represented just a little more time for others to spare themselves and his urge for self-preservation overcame his pity.
The north side of the town was lost. Houses were burning all the way down to the river. He could still hear the sounds of fighting but the raiders were cleaning up there, driving farm animals back to the north-east. Now they were turning their attentions to the centre of the settlement. He had two choices. He could either stay hidden in his house and risk it being burned around him or run south with his family, hoping to be ignored until he reached the stables where they kept their cart and horses.
He stepped from the window and looked into the gloom of his house and shop. His heart was thrashing in his chest. He couldn't focus his mind beyond his fears. He didn't know what to do for the best.
In the corner of the shop, his wife comforted their young son. The
attack had come without warning, the raiders bursting from the woods a half mile distant as the sun reached its zenith. The noise of the screaming and panic had chilled his heart and sent his boy into a shivering fit. Poor Hanson was only five. He shouldn't have to face this terror.
He stared into his wife's eyes. Kari was imploring him to do something. Stacked all around him were the trappings of his business. Amphorae, pots, plates, vases, goblets, artworks. All designed, fired and hand-painted on the premises. To abandon it was the ruin of a life's work. To stay was to risk being burned alive.
There was more noise out in the street. He could hear the sound of approaching horses. People were running blindly away towards the south. How could this be? They were over three days from the border with Tsard. He assumed that was where the raiders were coming from. He rubbed his fingers in his eyes and pressed himself against the cracked open shutter to get a view of the end of the street. He'd waited too long. It was too late to run now.
'We'll be all right here,' he said. 'We'll be fine. Just stay back there and keep your heads down.'
'Han, what is happening?' Kari's voice was pleading.
'The militia can't stop them. People are running. We'll be safe here, I promise.'
His words sounded hollow in his head. He felt a dry, bitter feeling in the pit of his stomach and his eyes kept on misting over with tears.
The raiders attacked the fragile line of pikes. He saw them wheel broadside on. There had to be over fifty of them. Arrows thudded into the defending line. Men fell. Some writhed and screamed. A few arrows answered. Maybe two horsemen were hit on the move. The enemy horse archers turned again and fired another volley. This time, the pike line broke at its left-hand edge. Other riders drove into the fracture, swords carving downwards. Blood misted into the air. The defending archers turned and ran.
The sound of hoofs on the cobbles rang out loud against the buildings either side of the street. Jesson ducked away as the first of the riders clattered past. Right in front of his house, a man he knew was cut down, body thudding into the wall. Blood sprayed onto the cobbles and sightless eyes bored into his.
He staggered back, a hand across his mouth. Nausea swept through him. He gagged, breathing in huge gasps.
'Oh dear God the Omniscient, preserve us your servants,' he muttered. 'We throw ourselves on your mercy.'
'He has turned away from us,' hissed Kari. 'Don't waste your time talking to God. Bend your mind to saving your family.'
Jesson felt the shame cascade through him. He moved towards them, mind starting to clear. Outside, the sound of horses was diminished for the moment though he could still hear running feet, shouts of fear and alarm and the shattering of thin timber further up the street to the north.
'We're in the right place,' he said, crouching in front of them and stroking his son's hair. 'If they pass by, we are safe from prying eyes. If they set a fire, we can escape back or front from here, out through the stock room and studio if we have to. We have our valuables with us. God will watch over us.' This last said staring into Kari's eyes, needing her to believe him.
'So all we can do is wait, is that it?'
'I am no fighter,' said Han. 'This is where we belong.'
There was a heavy thud from the adjoining shop. Through the wall, they could hear foreign voices and a dragging as of wood on stone. And unmistakeably, there was the crackle of flame.
'We will burn in here,' said Kari, desperate. 'Why didn't we run when the first attack came?'
He couldn't face her gaze. He straightened and backed away. 'We have to defend what is ours.'
'What with? You didn't take us out because you were too scared to move. And now we are trapped. Will your God save us from flame and blade?'
The shutters burst inwards, showering wood into the shop. The face of a raider was framed in the light, ringed by smoke and flame from across the street. He nodded in satisfaction, called behind him and hauled himself up and through the opening. Another two raiders beat down the wide front doors. Kari screamed and hugged Hanson to her. Han stepped in front of her. It was all he had left to do.
He raised his hands to fend them off.
'Leave them alone,' he said, voice trembling.
They didn't even pause. Dressed in light armour and riding cloaks they tramped across the short distance. One backhanded him across the side of the head and he fell into another's grip. He felt faint, the stench of sweat and oiled leather in his nostrils. He struggled but he was caught solid. The point of a blade in his side stilled him.
A raider leant down and barked an order into Kari's face. She was still screaming. He shouted the same words again and when she made no move, dragged the boy from her grasp and into the waiting arms of another.
'It'll be all right,' managed Han. 'Keep calm.' He felt tears on his cheeks. 'Please don't hurt my family,' he said. 'Please.'
The raider only dug the swordpoint in a little harder. His comrade slapped Kari once across the cheek to stop her screaming for her son. He took her face in one gauntleted hand and turned it left and right, grunting appreciatively.
'Let her go,' said Han, struggling anew. 'Take your hands off her, Tsardon bastard.'
The swordpoint broke his skin and edged in just a little way. The pain was extraordinary. Hot blood coursed down his side.
The raider grabbed Kari's dress at the neck, surely meaning to tear it away but instead he stood up, dragging her with him. He pushed her in front of him.
'Han help me!' she began to scream again. 'Help us!'
But Han couldn't move against the sword point. He watched helpless as his son and wife were herded from the shop and out into the street. Abruptly, the sword point was gone from his side. He spun in the raider's grasp, the Tsardon pushing him back. He glared into the trail-hardened face, bunched his fists and charged, yelling for his family.
The raider laughed and the pommel of his sword collided with Han's temple.
It was a full day's ride to Gull's Ford from Haroq City, the capital of Atreska. He had left his team poring over Atreska's books in fine detail before confirming the tax levy for the half-year. He should be with them. Atreska had been a member of the Estorean Conquord for less than six years and remained a difficult province.
The tax reporting system was inefficient and in the remote north and along the Gosland and Tsardon borders, significant resistance remained. The Atreskan collectors were happy to hinder where they could and as a result, Jhered had over five hundred Gatherers setting up and enforcing the admittedly complex system amidst the simmering civil war.
Incursions and raids from Tsard made his job all the more difficult and so he understood why he was being taken to Gull's Ford. But he'd seen it all before and he expected to neither hear nor see anything new this time around.
Jhered was riding with six of his people and fifty of Atreska's soldiers. The cavalry detachment was heavily armed and armoured and surely uncomfortable in the heat of the day. Lances were held upright with pennants fluttering from their tips. Bows were across backs and swords in scabbards. Polished greaves, vambraces, helms and cuirasses shone in the sun. Wagons were with them, bringing emergency supplies, a mobile forge and tent canvas for those rendered homeless. It was a show of support, strength and intent for any that cared to see. Thomal Yuran, Marshal Defender of Atreska, was a proud national and Jhered would have expected nothing less from him.
The two men rode at the head of the column, along the main highway from Haroq City to Tsard. Built for the armies of the Conquord, it ran close to Gull's Ford. Parched dense shrub land rolled away on both sides and the land rose gently ahead of them towards a shimmering horizon that was smudged with smoke to the left of the road. They were close to the small settlement now.
'It's a very peaceful place,' said Yuran abruptly, following a long period of silence. His voice, gruff and deep, was a little muffled by his helmet, which was tied too tightly under his chin, restricting his jaw movement.
Jhered looked across at him, riding bolt upright, brown eyes fixed ahead, and with sweat running down from underneath his plumed helmet. He respected Yuran for his loyalty to his people but was endlessly frustrated by his refusal to understand the effects Atreska's civil disturbance had on the wider Conquord. He had questioned Yuran's appointment exactly because of this introspection, this desire to remain apart from the empire. His fears had been overruled by the senate in Estorea, though he was certain the Advocate herself had her doubts. Shame.
'I am sure it is,' responded Jhered evenly. 'I still doubt the wisdom of bringing me here, Marshal Yuran. My visit is for three days only, during which time you have my ear for all your concerns. We will be spending two days on the road and throughout this one, you have barely spoken with me. Am I to understand this unfortunate township is your sole concern?'
Yuran turned to him, eyes narrowed.
'As always, I fear your puffed-up image of your own importance will stop you listening to the problems Atreska faces.'
Jhered kept his face impassive, letting Yuran give vent to his anxiety.
'I am bringing you to Gull's Ford because I believe that seeing how the Conquord is failing us will open your mind. Words you can ignore. Images you cannot.'
'I have seen the effects of raids and bandits more times than I care to, Thomal. I have fought more battles than you have seen years on God's earth. Like me, you must learn to accept such events as unfortunate steps on the difficult road to peace and stability.'
Yuran barked a short, bitter laugh. 'I would respect you if you were in any way an individual. Let your heart feel what we feel. Let your mouth respond with honesty, not with trite statements scratched by the quills of Advocacy clerks and politicians. Those people have never seen destruction. They have never seen war. They cannot understand our troubles. You have the capacity to help. It pains me that in the years I have known you, you have never exercised it.'
'Everything I say, I believe,' replied Jhered. 'And I work for what I believe. I am an agent of the Estorean Conquord and its Advocate. My work is unpopular with everyone but I have to live with that.' He shrugged. 'I'm a tax collector and so no one likes me. But it is nevertheless to the benefit of everyone that I do my work. Even those citizens of Gull's Ford. Even at a time like this.'
'You ask why I chose not to speak to you today? Perhaps you have your answer.'
'In that case, Marshal, I shall respect your desire for silence.'
Gull's Ford straddled the flat bottom and gentle slopes of a valley through which the River Gull ran north to south. It rose in the lakes region in the south of Gosland and emptied into the Tirronean Sea. The ford around which the township grew up was at the southern end of the settlement and had taken the principal trading route across the Gull east and west. With the arrival of the Estorean Conquord and the campaigns in Tsard, the river had been bridged with stone further downstream, providing surer and more direct access to the base of operations in enemy territory.
Gull's Ford had still managed to prosper in recent years, as Conquord armies bought supplies wholesale and traded booty from Tsard on a regular basis. Gull's Ford traders were linked to the markets in Haroq and were able to provide competitive pricing or trade goods that sold at a premium in the capital. But its good name had surely led to its targeting by the Tsardon.
Two days after the raid, responding to a messenger who had ridden an exhausted horse into Yuran's castle courtyard, the Atreskans and Jhered's people looked down on a ruined township. The destruction in Gull's Ford was widespread. Across the valley sides and beyond, cropland was blackened and destroyed. Villas stood in smouldering ruins, smoke rising into the clear blue sky. In the town itself, the path of the raiders was picked out by burned buildings, dark stains on the cobbles and a scattering of broken possessions: clothing, pottery, furniture. Some houses and streets had been completely ignored, the raiders concentrating on the main thoroughfares and the farmland. Barely an animal grazed. The air stank of ash and damp.
The town was quiet. Jhered could see people moving about the settlement, engaged in clearing up where they could. Any bodies had already been removed and presumably buried. There were a host of new flags outside the House of Masks, testament to the death that had visited so recently and so violently. He made a mental note to pray and turn earth at the House before he left.
Jhered rode into the township, acutely aware of his appearance. In contrast to the sparkling armour of the Atreskan cavalry, he and his people rode in clothes fitting for long periods on the road. His light chainmail shirt was worn over a leather undershirt, his trousers were in-sewn with leather and his cloak designed only to keep out the chill of clear nights. In his saddle bags he carried his seal and orders of office. At his waist was strapped a scabbarded Estorean gladius.