At least their small vessel was travelling quickly. Mirron, despite bouts of sickness, had managed to place a stiff wind behind them. It gave the oarsmen in the two ranks of thirty a breather and moved them on past the myriad vessels threatening to clog the River Tokarok.
Any warnings he could have sent south to Skiona and Marshal Defender Katrin Mardov would have been woefully late. The Tsardon invasion, backed by Gorian's hideous power, had overtaken this great country and all that was left now was to flee and try to find somewhere else to hold out and fight. Jhered bit his lip when he thought of Mardov. Perhaps she was one of the refugees running for their lives but he doubted it. Too much courage to turn and flee. The sad fact was that she was more likely to be marching behind the wave of Gesternans as one of the dead.
Part of him almost respected the perverse genius behind the invasion. In the early part of their voyage from Ceskas they had seen walking dead that were not soldiers. They didn't have to be. Fear had been the key weapon and anyone able to hold a weapon and walk with the dead was enough to turn the living on their heels.
So strange to see this beautiful country pushed to such extremes. The mountains still stood proud, the growth of genasrise was unhindered where the dead had not journeyed but the beauty was blemished by smoke and flame. In every direction, the evidence of fire was obvious. Smoke rose to blot the sky, buildings were gutted and the stink of ash was in the air. Panic had taken Gestern, fuelled by rumour and later by the sick knowledge that reality had not been exaggerated.
The wind in the sail began to drop. Behind Jhered, the captain of the trading vessel they'd hired for the river trip to Ceskas and back called the oarsmen to order. Blades dipped and the boat picked up its lost speed. Jhered was standing on the port rail and Mirron joined him there. She was pale, tired and looked sick. It wasn't just the sea sickness that had always plagued her. She could feel the disease in the ground and through the air. What Gorian was doing, from wherever he was, took strength from her.
The two of them stood together and looked forward. Kirriev Harbour was close. An hour away. Boats of all shapes and sizes thronged the river and Harkov had already brought the Ascendancy guard and Gatherer cloaks to readiness. Bows were strung, just in case.
'You mustn't hurt anyone,' said Mirron.
'Not if there is any other choice. But what we know and what you have within you are things we cannot sacrifice for the weakness of mercy. Not today. You have to get back to Estorr. I will order the fight if I must but pray it doesn't come to that, all right?'
Jhered reached out and ran a finger along her chin. She tried to smile.
'What will we find in Kirriev Harbour?' she asked. 'Panic and chaos at best,' said Jhered. 'Be ready because it isn't going to be pretty.' 'What do you mean?'
'No one is your friend when they feel you might live at their expense.'
Mirron drew into him. 'Will we make it?' Jhered shrugged. 'We have to.'
Every oar-stroke deepened Jhered's concern. The numbers of refugees grew. Thousands of people, some carrying a few possessions, some with carts laden down, all heading for the coast and a boat out of the country. They must know that there could never be enough for them all. Some had clearly made the judgement early. He saw men and women wading out into the shallows, babies and small children held high above their heads, imploring those on the river to help them.
Still more were swimming out, trying to grab on to the sides of any craft that came too close. He saw a low, overcrowded rowing boat rock violently and capsize. The river was full of noise. He even heard the clash of weapons.
'This is madness,' said the skipper, coming to his shoulder.
'We just have to get past it. Keep to the centre of the channel.'
'Yes, Exchequer.'
Every craft was beginning to do the same. A clamour was growing. Where one desperate man went, hundreds would follow. There was a thrashing in the shallows. His men and the Ascendancy guard were shouting for reason and order and were not going to inspire either. Arrows had started to fly from both shore and some of the larger craft. There were collisions, the crunch of timbers breaking. There were screams and there was anger.
Jhered shook his head.
'See what I mean?'
Mirron only nodded. 'What can we do?'
'Nothing. Nothing at all. We're already a target, look.'
He pointed to where a few small craft were turning ahead and heading for them. All had either one small sail or a couple of pairs of oars. Just river fishing boats but crammed with people wanting a way out.
'Exchequer?'
Jhered looked round. The captain, back on the tiller, had seen them too. His hand was unsteady on the tiller. He was not a naval man. 'Hold your course,' said Jhered. 'Don't deviate, whatever happens.' 'But we'll run them down.'
'If they get in our way we cannot help it. Up your speed if you can. We cannot afford to falter.'
'Yes, sir,' said the captain, but his unhappiness was plain.
'Mirron, stay in the centre of the boat and keep down. Better still, go below.'
'What are you going to do?'
'See if I can get some of these idiots out of our path.'
Jhered ran forward along the crowded deck. He moved his people aside and stood at the prow. The merchant vessel was low and wide, designed for heavy transport on calm water. It would be easy enough to board were it not for the two hundred soldiers lining the rails. Not that that would stop some trying.
'Let's shout this together,' he said to those next to him. 'I'll keep it simple. Listen and join in. Not that I think it'll make any difference.' 'Yes, Lord Jhered.'
'Clear the channel,' he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth to try and get some projection. 'We will not stop and we will run you down. You have been warned.'
Other voices joined his as he repeated the message over and over. Smaller craft still came at them, individual swimmers too, in the fast-flowing river. Jhered had no idea what they thought they'd achieve. Their boat wasn't even going to sea. That wasn't the point of course. They saw soldiers, they saw security.
Closing in on the first flimsy-looking fishing boat, every guardsman was shouting and waving them aside. Someone stood up in the little craft, crossing his arms backwards and forwards, calling them to stop and bring his family on board. Jhered went cold. They were all in there with him. A woman, four or five children. An elderly man. Two dogs.
'Clear the channel!' he bellowed. 'Move, move.'
But he wasn't going anywhere. The sail was down, the oars shipped, just drifting slowly and gently to port.
'Damn you, you idiot,' muttered Jhered. He turned back and shouted. 'Captain. Hard to starboard. Hard to starboard. Now. Ship oars.'
The order was relayed. The captain leant on the tiller. Below, a multiple rattle as the oars drew in. Jhered hung over the port rail, watching the small boat pass. He wanted to shout at the man, vent his fury but he could not. He and his whole family were staring up at the shadow of the merchantman looming over them so close, turning slowly away.
'Get into the mountains,' called Jhered. 'Find the Karku. There's no escape from Kirriev.'
The fishing boat, rocking in the wake of its larger cousin, was swept away aft. Oars tucked into the water once more. The captain brought the ship back to the centre of the channel. Jhered took up his place in the prow, ready to shout more from their path.
'A close call, my Exchequer,' said one of his Gatherers.
'Too close,' said Jhered. 'But next time, no mercy. We cannot afford it. I just wish I'd take my own advice sometimes.'
'I'm sorry, my Lord?'
'Nothing.' Jhered took a deep breath. 'Nothing.'
The approach to the riverside dock was worse than Jhered feared. There was no landing space anywhere. Craft were moored in such density that it probably wasn't necessary. People crammed the dockside and he could see them streaming in on the approaching roads. It was anyone's guess what was happening on the sea port side but given the mass going nowhere here, things were bleak at best.
'Where did they all come from?' asked Mirron, coming to stand with him.
The
Hark's Arrow
had slowed and was marking gentle time towards the riverside dock.
'It's hard to believe there are this many in Gestern, isn't it?' said Jhered. 'But never mind them. We've got a bigger problem.'
He pointed towards the massive sea gates that led into the seaport. Vast concrete aprons had been built out into the river to support them and the buildings surrounding them. They were monstrous pieces of work. Over a hundred feet each in width and sixty feet high where they swept up to meet each other in the centre, forged of rods of iron thicker than a man, and set with the shapes of mountains and creatures of the deeps.
They were designed to keep invaders out but not the tide. A monument to Gesternan expertise in metal working and engineering. The gate posts on which they hung were more akin to small castles. And each supported an artillery platform. Heavy ballistae and onagers sat upon them and no one would fail to notice the barrels of pitch that burned alongside them.
The gates were closed.
In front of them was the only open space. A calm patch of water in shadow and on which the odd piece of debris floated. Mirron pointed it out.
'More like an exclusion zone,' said Jhered. 'I fear the ballistae have been in action today and they will be again, no doubt. Where's my apprentice appros? Paulites, where are you?'
'Here, my Lord Exchequer.'
Jhered looked down on the young woman. He liked her in the same way he had liked Appros Menas, the strong woman Gorian had murdered and for whom he still had to pay. Paulites was bright-eyed and clever, quick rather than strong, and a particularly fine archer, though longbows were a problem for her. Great mathematician too.
One who should have gone far, except Jhered had no confidence in any of them surviving too much longer.
'Do you have the flag?' he asked. 'You did bring it with you, didn't you?'
'And your seal, my Lord. Respectfully, you told me that if I ever replied in the negative to that question, you would strip skin from my back and paint the Gatherer symbol on it as a replacement.'
Jhered nodded,
‘I
do have some recollection ...'
'Paul, how could you?'
Mirron's face had gone a shade whiter, if that were possible. He spread his arms.
'The message got through, didn't it? And now it might just help us out of this mess.'
Paulites hauled the flag out of her backpack. It was the spare from the
Hark's Arrow.
She held it out reverently.
'Well, I don't want it, Appros. Take it to the mast and get it raised.'
'Yes, Exchequer.'
'What are you going to do?' asked Mirron.
'I'm going to knock on the doot and presenr my credentials,' said Jhered. 'In a manner of speaking.'
The Gatherer flag, the Del Aglios white horse crest enclosed in a circle headed by clasping hands, certainly brought them new attention. Their approach had been seen by many and Jhered had been keen that his soldiers were visible. Confirmation as to their identity brought them space as well as more pleas for help. Jhered could do nothing but ignore them.
The captain brought them gently to a stop in the centre of the gates and perhaps ten yards from them. The tide was coming in and the oarsmen kept up a slow stroke to keep them on station. Jhered cleared people from around him so that he could be seen. He waited. Eventually, a uniformed man walked out along the walkway atop of the gates, stopping at their high point and leaning over, arms resting on the iron frame.
‘I
am not used to being kept waiting,' said Jhered. 'Open the gates; my ship awaits me at its berth.'
'Naturally it does,' said the man, his voice echoing over the water. 'As do the ships of everyone here. Our dock must be a thing of wonder that stretches from here to Portbrial.'
'What's your name and rank and that of your commanding officer?' demanded Jhered.
‘I
don't really need to tell you that. But you sure need to tell me who you are if you think I'm going to let you through rather than sink you where you lie.'
Jhered took a good long look at the Gatherer flag before turning back to face the gateman.