It was so easy when he had his toys. They always did what he said. Father said it was the same and so this time he was going to make them do just what he wanted and nothing else. Inside his mind, the Work was a bright, beautiful ball of light. It fizzed and jumped and was warm. Thousands of lines trailed away from it, went through the ground and then up into the body of each man. Four thousand, his father had said. Or thereabouts.
'March,' he said.
And they did. It made it easier if he tapped out the time with his hands. They put their feet down to his rhythm. He looked through the eyes of them all. It gave him such a view. Lines and lines of enemy soldiers. Standing and waiting with their shields ahead of them. Their onagers and their ballistae. More toys to knock down.
Kessian would send his men in amongst them. Bring them to his father. Make them see what everyone should see. He smiled. His mother would be so proud of him when she knew.
Kessian's soldiers marched with purpose. His artillery was moving into range. Above, the sky was getting very dark and he could hear the wind building up too. He was close to the enemy now. The Dead Lord in the middle of his men was keeping them in close order but it was Kessian who made them fight. His father said they could do it without the Dead Lords but that they made it easier. Kessian thought they weren't worthy. They should become Gorian's people too.
Ahead, he heard sounds and saw movement. The arms of the artillery rose up. Black marks studded the sky. Others were like balls of fire. They came closer and closer.
'Don't be scared,' he said. 'You'll be all right.'
Stones thundered into the front of his people. Red smeared his vision. Nearby, he thought he could hear his father shouting angrily. But next, all he could feel was pain. Pain through the energy lines. He cried out but there was no one near to help him.
His men juddered where they were but he would not let them stop.
'March on. Enemy ahead. Make the stones stop falling.'
Jhered had wrapped his cloak around Ossacer but the Ascendant was failing quickly. His extremities were blue. He was shaking. There was frost in his hair and eyelashes. But still he clung on, doing whatever it was Arducius asked of him.
For his part, Arducius was lost in a sheen of water. It sluiced around him and Mirron; swirling, jumping and thickening. Above them, the cloud was angry, a dark grey, almost black. Illuminated by the flickering of lightning. Deep within, the bass rumble of thunder was a portent of the violence contained in the Work.
Jhered shuddered. The air felt heavy and still. The wind that had arisen had died away, focused up into the mass of the mighty thunderhead that stretched for miles and miles, reaching out to join with its brother, heading in from the Gaws. The power they were calling upon was something beyond his comprehension. What he did understand was that they had to use it soon. The dead were only a hundred yards away and the artillery had stopped within range.
'Mirron, below the ground,' said Arducius.
'What?'
'Magnetic ores. Deep down, below the dead energies.' Mirron drew in breath. Jhered frowned. 'Yes,' she said. 'We can make a circuit.'
'What?' asked Ossacer, his voice coming from a place deep within himself, dredging from his fading energies. 'Be quick, Ardu, please, he's going to break me.'
'Just a moment,' said Mirron. She glanced up at Jhered, smiling her thanks at his attempts to help Ossacer. 'Magnetic storm.'
'Ready,' said Arducius.
'Ready,' said Mirron. 'We're aligned.'
Arducius held out his arms and brought them together. The two thunderheads collided. Light flashed within. A massive crack ricocheted across the barrier, the camps and the open ground. A single spear of lightning rattled down from the cloud. It struck a spear tip. The dead carrying the spear was ripped apart, body shredding, spattering blood and filth.
Jhered leapt back a pace. He stared at Arducius. The Ascendant's hands came together briefly.
'Here we go,' he said. 'Brace yourselves.'
Arducius separated his hands. The cloud tore asunder. Rain disgorged, ripping into the earth. And the lightning. Dear God-surround-him, the lightning struck. Like a thousand, ten thousand, spears thrown from the sky it came. Crossing the gap between sky and ground in a heartbeat. Dead were shorn in two. They were detonated, obliterated. Smoke and ash funnelled into the sky. A hissing of rain turned instantly to steam. A thumping sound as of a million feet running on dry ground.
Jhered backed off. He couldn't help it. The violence was like nothing he had ever witnessed. The destruction, the noise. Bodies cast high, high in the sky. Flaming corpses sent skidding away in every direction. Body parts, innards, scorched to nothing in instants. Catapult frames exploded. Burning wood splinters sent high into the sky. And the lightning did not stop. Pounding down, ripping up the ground, driving holes deep into the earth. It sparked from armour, shivered swords and incinerated clothing and flesh.
Away to the second front, the artillery had stopped firing. But it wasn't because they had stopped to stare. It was because there was nothing left to shoot at. Nothing at all.
'It's over,' shouted Jhered. 'Ardu, it's over. Stop for God's sake. Stop!'
Mirron had heard him and laid a hand on Arducius's shoulder. The brittle-boned Ascendant drew his hands back to himself and laid them on his chest. The lightning ceased and the clouds tattered, cleared and dissolved to nothing. The last of the rain fell. The water surrounding him and Mirron dropped to the ground to leak away into the earth.
Jhered looked forwards. Smoke was a barrier across the battlefield. And when it cleared, Jhered swallowed and felt the chill of all he had just witnessed. Not a thing moved. Nothing. The dead had been destroyed. Conquord men and women reduced to ash or scorched beyond any recognition. Gone in heartbeats. All that was left was smoke clinging to the ground and flame where a scrap of clothing or plank of wood still burned.
Ossacer slid to one side and lay on the ground, gasping and shivering, pulling Jhered's cloak to him. Arducius and Mirron were hugging each other. Mirron was crying and Arducius was trying to comfort her. But Jhered could see the shock on his face and the mark of regret in his eyes.
'It had to be done,' he was saying. 'It had to be done.' And behind them in the refugee camp and away to the legions gathered as witnesses, the cheers of the saved began to swell.
Chapter Sixty-One
859th cycle of God, 12th day of Genasfall
'Get these people away from the docks. Into the west quarter and beyond.'
Tsardon sails crowded the horizon. In amongst them, Ocetanas triremes and Ocenii corsairs were causing mayhem. Fire and smoke billowed into the clear sky. Yet their best would not stop the enemy reaching Estorr's harbour. There were simply too many of them.
Vasselis dragged his horse to a stop in a sea of citizens and soldiers clogging the approaches to the harbour. The movement of artillery was tortuously slow. The provision of ammunition, most of which had been removed by the Armour of God for their siege on the palace, was lacking. The muster of the legions and the Armour was being hampered by a populace desperate to ensure their property was safeguarded and to escape the menace of the dead. Estorr had descended once more into chaos.
'Where is Vennegoor?' demanded Vasselis.
'He left an hour ago, Marshal,' said a centurion within earshot.
He was an old soldier, triarii from the wars ten years ago, now in the militia and hoping for a quiet retirement. No such luck.
'Why?'
'He didn't say, sir.'
'I bet he didn't.' Vasselis cast about him. 'Can we not at least get people moving back into the city, to the forums?'
'We've got people wanting to get to their boats and ships. Traders and merchants looking for the quick way out. Plenty of paying passengers not willing to leave the dockside in case their ride goes without them. And the other thousands you see here? God-surround-me, but I don't know. Chancers, thieves and the curious I expect.'
Vasselis turned his horse to look at the throng. The militia and some of the Armour of God had established a perimeter barring entrance to the harbour side itself but the marshalling yards without were crammed with people. The principal routes to and from the dock were crowded with too many. The noise was unbearable. Shouting jostling and fighting broke out every heartbeat. Orders to evacuate west were being largely ignored.
'The price you pay for following the Order,' he muttered. 'Idiots. Do they still really not believe what is coming at them?'
'Master Stertius was looking for you, Marshal,' said the centurion.
'Him and the rest of Estorr. All right. Who's in charge of the city-side soldiers?'
'Marshal Defender Kastenas is riding between us and the harbour-side defence, Marshal. I'm the voice here, though.'
'Then I'm glad I found you. What's your name, Centurion?' 'Milius, Marshal.'
'Keep your standard close, we'll need you when the enemy land. I can see you're lacking in numbers but we need to get a path through this mob up to the central forum. I've got six onagers coming down from the Hill and I can't get them through. Where is the second legion, Armour of God? Vennegoor promised they would be here.'
Milius sucked his lip. 'Want the opinion of the common soldier?'
Vasselis sighed. 'I'm not going to like it but go on.'
'Heading west, Marshal. Running into the hills because they know they cannot defeat this enemy by faith alone and they are fearful of how the citizens will view them.'
Vasselis nodded. 'You're probably right. Running away into the open spaces they denied their own faithful. Well, let's keep the ones we have here. Let me through. Stertius is at the south fort?'
'Yes, Marshal.'
Milius motioned for the legionaries behind him to make a space. Someone grabbed at Vasselis's ankle. He looked down into the face of a merchant, rich by his clothes and jewellery, who had broken from the press and run across the short space between citizen and legionary.
'I am Olivius Nulius and I demand access to my property which is currently moored just beyond your line of thugs, Marshal Vasselis. You are the de facto ruler of this city. Do something about it.'
'When the Armour of God laid siege to the palace, I begged them to evacuate the city. They would not listen. And where were you, I wonder? Demanding the rightful ruler be allowed to rule or standing in a cheering mob looking to make money out of misfortune? Well, now it's too late. You should have run when you had the chance.
'My line of thugs is here to stop morons like you getting in the way of the defence of this city. There is no escape through the harbour. The Tsardon and their army are right outside. I warn you now, get yourself and your friends away from the dock, the approaches and clear the streets.'
'You are obstructing a citizen going about his lawful business,' said Nulius, gaining the ear of many standing nearby.
Vasselis leaned out of his saddle. 'Nulius, I will say this quietly because I do not wish to humiliate you. I see the fear in your eyes. You know what is coming and you would seek to escape, run like the coward you undoubtedly are, no doubt making a huge profit in the process. I am prepared to sacrifice my life here on this dock today. All you have to do is sacrifice your ship. And that is what you will do. I am protecting the citizens and I am shamed that you are one of them. Now take your hand off my ankle or I will cut it off for you.'
Vasselis spurred his horse and galloped onto the harbour side. Here at least there was organisation and there was control. Scorpions and ballistae lined the wall. Every berth had been filled with ships, two and three deep where possible. And each one of them had been coated in lantern oil, dry straw and anything else easily combustible. Pitch barrels stood by the artillery pieces. Archers and slingers were on station. When the dead landed, there was going to be a fire that would surely reach to the skies and the bed of the ocean. It was the best defence they had.
Vasselis made quick progress to the south fort from which the invasion flags flew alongside the Kester Isle quarantine sheet. A depressing message for any who looked on it. He left his horse with a handler looking after twenty others in the entrance yard of the fort and ran up the wide shallow concrete slope that led to the roof.
Here, the quiet was at odds with the rumble of noise from the marshalling yards and beyond. Vasselis looked back over the city, up the wide streets angling up to the hill and saw his onagers still a long way back. Skittish cavalry horses tried to make a path for the ox-drawn wagons but the press of people moving in every direction was a barricade as solid as rock. One thing the Advocacy loyals couldn't afford was more innocent citizens dying.