'Fantastic,' said Roberto, finding himself irritated beyond belief. 'Someone else I don't want to see turns up unannounced and tells me how to run my army. Go away, Goran. Go back to your deserters.'
Shakarov bristled. 'Deserters run and hide. We have been fighting Tsardon in my country. Doing the Conquord's work.'
'You should have stayed here. Done your work where it was best directed. I have nothing to say to you.'
'Roberto, you must listen to me. The battle for the Conquord is not going to take place on the Gesternan border. It is taking place now, throughout Atreska and all the way to the Neratharn border. I've travelled my lands for twenty days. I've seen what is going on.'
'But not what is going on in Gestern and the Tirronean Sea,' said Roberto. 'Make your point. This camp comes to order in a couple of hours and it would be best if you were gone.'
'Gestern has a defence numbering four legions, dug in all along their borders. They have Jorganesh coming to their aid. Atreska needs you. It needs us fighting side by side.'
Roberto propelled himself off his bed and loomed over Shakarov.
'Let me tell you how it really is. Gestern's four legions, should they all have mustered, face a force in excess of thirty thousand strong descending on the westernmost point of their border with Atreska. Jorganesh is not coming to their aid because he and his whole army are gone. And the Tsardon fleet is heading up the Tirronean Sea to transport their army direct to Estorr. Unless I stop them, they will take our capital almost before the first drop of blood is spilled on Neratharn's soil.'
'They have already taken my capital,' shouted Shakarov, pushing out of his chair. 'And I have seen your new weapon. You could break your army in two and win on both fronts.'
'It is not my weapon,' grated Roberto. 'What you saw was evil given expression. And calm your voice or the guards you have not diverted will hear you.'
'And so they should hear me. The Tsardon have washed over my country with the blessing of the traitor Yuran.' Always short-tempered, Shakarov was abandoned to rage now. 'And they will wash through Neratharn too. Gestern has the Ocetanas to sink the enemy. We have nothing!'
'I will not be shouted at by a man not brave enough to stand with me.'
'You must help us, General. You must turn around. Atreska is—' 'Atreska is already lost,' snapped Roberto. 'Go back to your fight. Leave me to make sure Gestern does not join her.'
'No, Roberto, no.'
Shakarov gripped Roberto's shoulder with his left hand. Roberto reacted, slapping it away and pushing the Atreskan from him. Shakarov's riposte was pure instinct. He lashed out with his right hand. The dagger thudded into Roberto's chest up to its hilt.
Roberto gasped and staggered back, tasting blood in his mouth. He stared at Shakarov who had stumbled back against the desk, his mouth open, his eyes wide with shock.
'Roberto, I did not mean . . .'
But Roberto didn't really hear him. He frowned and stared down at the dagger which had caught between his lower two ribs. Blood was pouring down his tunic and filling his mouth. He started to phrase the question but his vision wasn't right. The strength left his legs and he thumped to his knees, one hand gripping at the side of his cot.
'Oh dear God, have mercy,' muttered Goran.
Roberto heard feet and he heard shouting. A steepling pain seared through his body followed by a cool numbness. He closed his eyes and welcomed it in.
Dahnishev stepped away from the cot and wiped bloody hands down his apron. They had moved Shakarov's body from the tent and tried to minimise the leaking of the news but the whole camp was already awake and the rumours had begun.
He had lain Roberto on his side so he wouldn't choke on his own blood. And he had stitched the wound in his chest as best he could and bound him up. His breathing was shallow and pained. Shakarov's eight-inch blade still lay on the map table. Dahnishev had removed it with growing despair. He wiped the back of one hand across his forehead and turned to face Davarov, Kastenas and Neristus.
'Well?' asked Kastenas. The tears on her cheeks mirrored his own. 'He's alive, isn't he? You have saved him?'
Dahnishev nodded and felt like a fraud. 'But he is dying.'
Davarov gasped. Kastenas had a hand to her mouth. Neristus dropped his head to his chest.
'It can't be,' said Davarov. 'You're the miracle-worker. He's Roberto. He survived the plague. He can't die.'
'He's bleeding to death. The dagger has torn into his lung and sliced more veins than I can guess at. So much internal bleeding. I can't stop it.'
'How long?' asked Kastenas.
'What does it matter?' Davarov's tone was angry. 'Even if it's ten days, we don't move until he goes. I will not disrespect him.'
'I don't mean that. This is nothing about marching,' said Kastenas. 'How can you think that of me? Dahnishev?'
'Well it certainly won't be ten days,' he said. 'Less than ten hours I would say. As-God-looks-down, I don't know. He could be dead by dawn.'
'You know what we must do,' said Neristus. 'We cannot delay the appointment.'
'We will not replace him while he still breathes,' hissed Davarov. 'Perhaps it won't be necessary,' said Kastenas. 'Don't be ridiculous,' said Davarov.
But Kastenas was already pulling on gloves. She pointed at Dahnishev.
'Don't let him die before I get back.' 'Where are you going?' asked Dahnishev. 'Just don't let him die.'
Kastenas ran from the tent. Dahnishev looked back to Roberto and knelt by his head.
'You heard her,' he said. 'Don't you dare slip away from me yet, old friend.'
Chapter 64
848th cycle of God, 41st day of
Solasfall 15th year of the true Ascendancy
The Ascendants were sleeping. It was the deep, still sleep of the exhausted body. Jhered had seen it countless times before. Already, there were signs that they were regenerating. Arducius looked much more himself facially though his hands were still dry and wrinkled. He was the best of them. Ossacer was unchanged from the time he had closed his eyes. His had been a disturbed rest.
Jhered had propped himself up by a tree to watch over them the whole night. Kovan had tried to do the same but the day had proved too much and he was sprawled asleep across his scabbard. The fire was still going, welcome warmth on what had become a clear and cold night. Dusas was in what. . . five days. It felt like it had arrived early.
He reached out a hand and stroked Ossacer's hair. 'Getting soft in your old age?' 'Appros Menas, you are supposed to be on lookout.' 'And I am, my Lord Exchequer. And I see my commander's mask begin to slip.'
Menas walked into the firelight and warmed her hands. Her breastplate shone, her fur cloak hung straight at her back. Jhered chuckled.
'They really did it today,' he said. 'And I am proud of them. I won't see harm come to them.'
'And not just because they are a valuable weapon?'
'What do you want me to say? That I care about them? Then yes, I care about them. They've made it bloody difficult but they're all right. Under all the moaning.'
Menas laughed. 'Such graceful acquiescence.'
'Menas . . . Erith.' He cleared his throat. 'Thank you.' 'For what?'
'For everything you sacrificed to come with me. And for being a friend to Mirron. I'm not sure she'd have made it without you.'
Menas was blushing beneath her plumed helmet. 'You are the Exchequer. And I am a Gatherer. I'd go anywhere you ordered, my Lord Jhered.'
'Paul. Out here, I think Paul is fine,' he said gruffly.
'Are you sure? What about them?' She indicated the sleeping Ascendants. 'We agreed to keep a discipline.'
‘I
know,' said Jhered. 'And it was the right thing to do. But we've moved to a different plane now. They've done something that will live with them forever. They will feel guilt and regret. They need more than a barking sergeant. They can call me Paul, too.'
'Are you sure you're cut out for the fatherly role?' asked Menas, another smile brightening her face.
'I'm absolutely certain I'm not,' said Jhered. 'So you'll have to help me. Perhaps I'll start at distant Uncle and work my way up. Anyway, what was it you came to report?'
'That horse you can no doubt hear. There's no risk.'
'Sure?'
'Sure.'
They waited. The lone rider cantered into the camp and dismounted in a rush. The helmet was dragged off and the rider thumped her hand into her chest.
'Master Kastenas,' said Jhered, standing up. 'You're bringing your general's sincerest apologies for abandoning us out here, I trust.'
Kastenas's eyes filled with tears that spilled down her face before she could stop them.
'Please,' she said. 'You must help. It's Roberto. He's been stabbed. He's dying.'
Jhered made up his mind in a heartbeat. He roused the camp and looked into every tired eye and irritable face, settling on the only one who could help.
'Ossacer, come on lad. This is what you were born to do so you keep on telling me.'
'You lied to us,' he said, his nightmares still fresh. 'You made us kill.'
'And I take all the responsibility and all the guilt on my shoulders.
But now here's the chance to do what you love. Save my friend. Save the Advocate's son.'
'I'm so tired,' he said. 'I can't do it. Not yet. Not for another day.'
'He won't last another day,' said Kastenas. 'You have to help him.'
Ossacer shook his head but Arducius gripped his arm.
'You can, Ossie. I'll come too. You can use me to make the circuit and channel the energies. All you have to do is direct them. I'll be the feed for you.'
Ossacer put his hands on Arducius's chest. He frowned and bit at his bottom lip.
'You have so little in you,' he said. 'I can't take more. I could really hurt you.'
Jhered made to speak. Arducius got there first. 'We must take the risk. I'm the only one you can use. Please, Ossie. You're the best Pain Teller there ever was. Show them what else we can do.'
Ossacer nodded and dragged himself wearily to his feet. Jhered smiled.
'Thank you, Ossacer,' he said. 'I won't forget this. Nor will the Conquord.'
'All right, all right,' said Ossacer. 'I'm going, aren't I?'
'Right. Good. Ossacer, you'll ride behind me. Arducius, behind Kovan. Menas, keep the camp secure. If you need to move, head south-west. I'll find you.'
'Yes, sir.'
'What about me?' said Gorian. 'We should all come.'
'Gorian, count the spare horses. Shouldn't take you long. I don't have time to argue.'
'You need the rest,' said Mirron. 'We both do.'
'We all do,' said Gorian. 'What about Ossacer?'
'Please,' said Jhered sharply, desperately. 'Not now. A man is dying.'
Silence about the camp. The Ascendants were staring at him. Gorian nodded and sat back down, dragging Mirron with him. 'Save him, Ossacer,' he said. 'Don't risk yourself, either of you.' Jhered raised his eyebrows. 'Thank you.'
Menas rode next to him on the way out of the camp before they opened up to the gallop.
'Well done, Uncle Paul,' she said.
Mirron woke early. The sun was rising above the mountains of Kark, sending a beautiful golden light across Atreska. It lit the camp through the scattering of trees and played shadows across Gorian's sleeping form. He was looking much better. Most of the lines were gone from his face. The last wrinkles around his eyes still clung on but that didn't stop her stomach turning over at his beauty.
He looked so peaceful lying there by the smouldering embers of the fire. She let his energy map flood her senses, seeing the calm green and gentle red lines intertwining around his form. A gentle pulsing from the ground around him and a slight shimmering in the air above him indicated his drawing on the elemental energies to replenish his body. She imagined it filling out his smooth muscles and bringing new sheen to his gorgeous hair.
She looked away from him, feeling a warmth through her body that was both delightful and a little scary. Away at the army camp, Ossacer and Arducius might still be working to save the general. A man whom the Exchequer was desperate to save despite his obvious hatred of them. She didn't really understand it. She didn't think that saving him would make any difference. After all, that rigger had despised them even more when his sight was returned.