Patonius nodded. 'Innocents, are you? I don't know who you are or what it is you are supposed to be able to do, but let me tell you this. It is over twenty days to Byscar, if the wind is still. If it blows from the south up the Tirronean at a steady six knots we could make it in twelve. Then it's another twenty-five days by horse, boat and on
foot to Sirrane. At the very least. That's travelling without a break because your enemies might be behind you. Enemies that want you dead or you wouldn't be on board my ship.
'You are in for a hard time and no amount of crying over what you have lost or where you want to go will change that. You are under my care, as ordered by Marshal Vasselis. And I will deliver you safely to Byscar. That means you stay out of the way of me and my crew or you'll find yourselves swimming to Atreska. Do I make myself, clear? This is the open sea and I am in charge. Innocence is over.' She turned and inclined her head to Kovan. 'Complain to your father about me when you next see him if you want to. Right now I have greater concerns.'
She walked away to the stern and the tiller, glancing up at the sail as she went.
'Why did you let her talk to us like that?' demanded Gorian.
'Because she runs this ship. My father considers her among his best skippers, and that's good enough for me. She isn't really that bad. I just think she doesn't like anyone who isn't a sailor.'
Mirron was noisily sick again over the side of the ship. Her hair trailed in her mouth and vomit mixed with saliva hung in strands from her lips. Kovan went to her but she shrugged him away.
'Ossacer will stop it when he's able to,' said Arducius.
'If, you mean,' said Gorian.
'And you'll leave him be.' Arducius glared at Gorian, already tiring of his sharp comments. They were the only words he spoke. 'You know how hard it hit him.'
'And it didn't hit me hard?' Gorian had tears in his eyes again.
‘I
watched him die, too. We all did. And now he's gone, and we are alone and lost and going to some foreign land, and we don't know when we're ever going to be able to go home. Probably never. What can we do, Ardu? What can we ever do?'
Beneath his anger, Gorian was as scared as all of them. There was a pleading in his eyes mixed with the brooding Arducius recognised only too well. He'd never be able to read him properly. There was always something else there within him.
'We can continue to study and learn and improve,' said Arducius. 'You saw what we did at the forum and that was almost without thinking. There must be so much more we are capable of.' He shrugged. 'Perhaps we can speed this boat on a little, eh?'
'What's the point?' said Gorian.
'The point is that we can't stop now. Or the Father will have died for nothing. You don't want that, do you?' Gorian shook his head. 'Never.'
'Good. Neither do I. So let's try and make the best of this. Make sure that everything we do, he would have wanted and do it all in his memory. What do you say?'
Gorian nodded. 'I say that I will never forget him. As I will never forget who has killed him. One day I'll get her. I'll make her sorry and her God won't be able to save her from my fire.'
Arducius sagged where he sat. 'Don't waste your time hating her,' he said. 'You'll never get close to her.'
'Yes I will,' said Gorian.
'And what will it prove? That you are a killer, just as she is?'
'No,' said Gorian. 'That she should have listened to us rather than try to kill us. That her time is over and the time of the Ascendants is here. That we are the new power in this world and her God is no longer the master of our earth. We are.'
Arducius was gaping but he could do nothing about it. Next to him, Kovan had stopped sharpening his sword and was staring. Even Mirron had turned from her misery at the rail.
'It is God who has granted you your abilities,' said Arducius eventually. 'We do the work of God.'
'Think what you like,' said Gorian. 'You can be hunted all your life if you want but I won't be. And the only way to stop them is to make them see that it is we who are in control.'
Chapter 43
848th cycle of God, 30th day of
Solasrise 15th year of the true Ascendancy
The woman thrashed and spat her fury. It took three men to hold her down while Dahnishev examined her. Her face was filthy and cracked, burned so deeply by the sun the scars would never heal. Her hands were ragged beneath her torn gauntlets and when they had removed her roughly repaired breastplate to ease her breathing, they'd found a livid bruising where at least one rib was pressing on her lung.
The scouts who had come across her had thought her dead. Her horse, hardly in better condition, had been nuzzling her body. But she had flown at them with the strength of the insane. They would have killed her but had seen the Estorean crest on her armour. Instead, they had tied her across her horse to bring her back to the camp for treatment.
'Is there nothing you can give her to calm her?' asked Roberto.
The noises she made were disquieting. Her eyes would snap open and would always fix on him. Then the stream of babble would come. Completely incoherent but with a repetitive urgency that worried him deeply.
Dahnishev indicated a mug next to him. 'I've got a decoction of white mandrake here and it would knock her out if only I could get enough between her lips.' He straightened. 'She's in a poor state.'
'That much I can see,' said Roberto.
'She's terribly dehydrated. I doubt she's eaten enough for many days but it's her exposure to the sun that is her main problem.' He looked up at his General, if she hasn't cooked her brain, I'd be surprised. Listen to her.'
'We need to know what happened to her. She's a refugee from somewhere.'
'Or a deserter,' said Dahnishev.
Roberto shook his head. 'She's a senior Estorean cavalrywoman.' He paused. 'Someone here must know her, mustn't they?' He snapped his fingers at a guard. 'Get me Master Kastenas.'
Roberto looked down at the woman and her eyes opened again. Dahnishev tried to force more liquid between her lips but she coughed and spat, trying to speak. Her hands clenched and she frowned, pleading with him to understand her.
'Shh,' he said, placing a hand on her brow. 'Shh. Let our surgeon help you. You are among friends. Rest. Talk tomorrow. There's plenty of time.'
She shook her head violently, almost knocking the mug from Dahnishev's hands.
'Whatever she wants to say, she doesn't want to wait,' he said. 'I think you should leave. She clearly recognises you, probably from some coin or other.'
Roberto smiled. 'All right. Just don't let her die.'
He ducked under the surgeon's tent flap and out into the late evening. He couldn't shake the doom-laden thoughts from his mind. He hoped he was wrong and she was a survivor of a Tsardon raid on a transport column but that explanation just didn't ring right. There were quite a few soldiers hanging around the tent.
'Nothing better to do?' he said, recognising the livery of the
15th
ala. 'Master Shakarov doesn't require your presence for camp duties?'
They looked at the floor. All but one.
'We were wondering if there was any news, General,' he said.
'I am well aware what you were wondering.'
'It's just that we heard she was from Scintarit and there's been a defeat there and that the Tsardon are heading north to us now.'
'Really?' Roberto tried hard not to laugh. 'Remarkable that you've heard so much. Perhaps she fell into her delirium just for me, eh? There is no news. We do not know who she is or where she is from. And let me assure you that when I know something you will be the very last to know. Now go away and find your centurion. Tell him from me that you are desperate to muck out your cavalry's horses. Go.'
He shook his head and turned away. Kastenas was approaching. 'You wanted me, General?'
'Yes, Elise. Go in there and tell me if you recognise our guest.' 'Yes, sir.'
Roberto looked around the camp. It was all but complete and the evening meal was being prepared. He didn't like the buzz of rumours that floated across to him. He couldn't stop it and he needed accurate information so he could deflect the worst of the speculation.
Since he had linked with Atarkis's legions there had been a change in structure. He had assumed overall command of the army with Atarkis as his second. It had led to some dissent among Atarkis's people but he had assured them of their relative independence in battle. But, in the end, an army could only have one leader.
They had continued to march into the heart of Tsard, moving south away from the border with Sirrane. The countryside was lush and productive and they had eaten well and travelled quickly. They had not made contact with any other Tsardon army and hope was rising that they would reach their mark for the campaign season without further battle. But raids by steppe cavalry had increased and his supply line was under constant pressure, as were his pickets. He had lost too many scouts for his liking and the guerrilla nature of the Tsardon tactics was unsettling. Every day, he lost men. The Tsardon were not suffering likewise.
The raiding had forced him into unpleasant choices. He had sent armoured foraging parties ahead of their route with instructions to leave nothing for others to use. They had carried messages of intent to local populations ahead and behind the march about the consequences of supporting cavalry raids and had made examples of three settlements already. The necessity disturbed him but the effects on morale of his inaction would be more severe.
At current pace, they would reach their mark by the middle of solasfall and he would be in the happy position of being able to relieve some of his longest serving legionaries to return to their homes for the winter. That assumed, of course, that the highways being built and the defences being put in place were of sufficient strength. Further, it rested very much on his mother agreeing to his request for reinforcements following the effects of the typhus plague.
He shuddered as he always did when thinking back on that awful time. And to think how much worse it could have been. Both
Shakarov and Davarov had survived. God had spared his most capable Atreskan field commanders for greater deeds. His friends. 'General?'
It was Elise Kastenas interrupting his reverie. He turned to face her. 'Well?'
'I know her all right and so should you. Delirious, burned and bedraggled, that is still Dina Kell, Master of Horse of the znd Estorean, the Bear Claws.'
'The
Bear Claws?'
Kastenas nodded. 'I trained with her. Served with you both in Dornos.'
Roberto looked around to make sure they had not been overheard and ushered her back inside the tent.
'The Claws were at Scintarit. It's Gesteris's legion.' Roberto pushed a hand through his hair. 'If she's here . . .'
'It isn't going to be by accident.'
'God-embrace-us.' He looked down at her. She was sleeping now under the white mandrake and Dahnishev was tending to her wounds.
'I know what you're going to say,' said the surgeon. 'I'll do what I can. We'll get water into her, cool her down as much as we can and drag this rib out of her lung. After that, it's up to her.'
'I need her, Dahnishev.'
'I know,' he looked round, scowling. 'What did I just say, Roberto?'
'So earn your reputation.'
Dahnishev chuckled. 'It's one bound to tarnish.'
'Not today, eh? Wake me if she wakes. We aren't moving until she's told us what happened to her. Time we all prayed that we still have an eastern front.'
Roberto sat alone in his tent after he'd eaten with his command team. They knew as much as he did now and had been tasked to come up with disaster strategies. Shakarov and Davarov looked haunted as they left and Roberto had assured them of first information. Until then, there were to be no rumours spread, despite the fact that talk would be rife following the announcement that there would be no march the following day.
Dahnishev sent word in the cool hours before dawn. Roberto found him at the door of his tent, having scattered the legionaries that had gathered there.
'She's coherent but whether she's sensible is another matter for you to judge. She will only speak to you.'
Roberto nodded and walked to the cot on which Kell lay. She tried to push herself up onto her elbows but had barely the strength. Dressings obscured much of her head and neck and balms covered what little was exposed. Her chest was heavily strapped and blood was soaking through where Dahnishev had cut her to reset her damaged rib.
‘I
am General Roberto Del Aglios. You wanted to speak to me. Take your time. We have plenty of it.'
'No. No, we don't,' she rasped, her voice sounding like it was being dragged over gravel. 'We were smashed. The Tsardon are marching on Atreska, Gosland and Gestern. The Conquord is in desperate trouble.'
Roberto sat down heavily, his mind buzzing with her words. 'Gesteris? What happened?'
Kell shook her head. 'Gone. They are all gone.' She stopped and wheezed. 'We're scattered, running. Leaderless. But it's worse.' A single cough sent a violent spasm through her body.
'That's enough,' said Roberto. 'Rest.'
'No. I'll be all right. General, you have to know. The Tsardon aim to release all the Atreskans. They want to turn the country from the Conquord.'
'You're sure?'
'All the evidence says so. All I've seen, all I've heard on my way here. You've got two Atreskan legions out there. They are the enemy, I'm sure of it.'
Roberto sat back in the chair, struggling to take it all in. What he had heard was impossible, surely.
'You'd better have the strength because I want to hear everything right now.'
Herine Del Aglios stood on the private balcony of her chambers and felt lost for the first time in her reign as Advocate. No one she needed right now was with her. Jhered was on his way into mortal danger. The Chancellor was probably still engaged in her duties in Caraduk.
And Gesteris. Well, her most senior general could quite easily already be dead.
She watched Yuran's emissary walk across the inner courtyard garden and away to the Atreskan state rooms in the palace. She was a bright girl and Herine had warmed to her immediately, even if the message she carried was one of unmitigated disaster. Yuran might well have unwittingly presented her with his successor. Once she had disappeared from sight, Herine returned to the papers in her hand. They were written by her son and for that she had to be grateful. At least he was still alive. But for how long?
The path to conquest had been so smooth but now it was all unravelling before her eyes. She didn't think she was overreacting. The Conquord was suddenly big and unwieldy. Tsard was going to invade. Her own son's army had been decimated by plague and her largest army was gone. Just gone.
She had to arrange a defence across many thousands of square miles of land and sea. She had no idea how. That was the work of her military but the war in Tsard had taken so many of them away and she had no faith that those behind the desks in Estorr's armed forces headquarters had the experience or the wit to work it for her. She had no option but to trust them. But in doing so, she could be placing her Conquord in the hands of incompetents.
She leant on the rail and breathed hard, determined not to let the tears begin. She should have listened to them. Years ago, Gesteris and Jhered had both told her that the men in charge of her armed forces were unworthy because they were not career militarists. Jhered had wanted Roberto in charge. Gesteris had wanted the job himself. And for the Conquord navies, it should have been Vasselis. A man who might also be dead.
'What have I done?' she whispered.
It had been so easy. Victory had followed victory and the treasury swelled, as did her legions and navies. She was happy for her best people to remain on campaign to ensure the continued glory of victory in battle. It had been the perfect time to reward her closest allies in the political and business spheres with figurehead positions. Giving them offices that would cement their reputations forever. They were capable administrators and sound accountants.
But they knew nothing about how to organise a defence of the
Conquord. And she could not remove them from duty without seriously damaging her own credibility. Besides which, there was no one better in Estorr to take their places. The worst thing was that she had been warned and she had chosen to ignore the warning, preferring to surround herself with people who agreed with her every decision. It was a crime of the ego no less damaging than that which had seen her invade Tsard in the first place. Jhered had tried to tell her. She had refused to listen.