Cry of the Newborn

by James Barclay

  Jhered stared at the young man. At the rank of Addos, he was fresh to the Advocate's prestigious force.

  'You will discover, Addos Harin, that I mean everything I say.'

  Jhered trotted down the steps of the basilica, handing his shield to an attendant and sheathing his sword. A man destined for greatness was walking in his direction, that destiny not merely a function of the family crest he carried.

  'Roberto!' he called. He took off his helmet and tucked it under one arm.

  The young Del Aglios waved a hand and came over. 'A satisfactory outcome, Paul?'

  'Barely,' said Jhered. He gestured at the rubble covering the forum. 'I worry about these events. Too many of them to ignore.'

  'It's an inevitable consequence of expansion.'

  Jhered raised his eyebrows. 'It's an inevitable consequence of excessive taxation. You listen to your mother too closely, Roberto and she is starting to embarrass me. My Gatherers suffer resistance and refusal everywhere they travel. We are draining the lifeblood from the Conquord. One day we must pause for breath.'

  'She's the Advocate.' Roberto shrugged. 'You know how she views the Advocacy and the future of the Conquord.'

  'It is a mantra I repeat in my sleep,' grumbled Jhered. 'Security and wealth through conquest and expansion. The latest revenue chests are not for improvements in the sewers and water courses, I take it?'

  Roberto chuckled. 'No, my Lord Exchequer.' The smile was brief. 'Much is happening back in Estorr. The revenue is only part of it. We are recruiting more legions from across the Conquord. My mother is planning on opening a front into Omari.'

  Jhered gaped and felt a flash of irritation. 'Dornos is not secure enough to seat a campaign. And she will not risk opening the front from Gosland, will she? Not with the Tsardon border so difficult.' Jhered paused and frowned. 'Are you being groomed for command of this venture?'

  Roberto shook his head. 'No, indeed not, though you are closer than you realise. This was my last action for the Bear Claws. And the last action for the 2nd legion in the north.'

  A thrill warmed Jhered's heart. 'You are being given your own command.'

  'Two legions, two alae. From raw recruit to trained legion. I won't see action for two years at least, but still.'

  Jhered could see the delight and he gripped Roberto's shoulder hard. 'Congratulations. If I may say, it's about time.'

  'Thank you. I'm sure my mother will be happy not to have to hear you go on about it any more. I am indebted to your support.'

  'I wouldn't have spoken up if I didn't believe you capable. General.' Both men laughed. 'Sounds good, doesn't it? We'll drink to it tonight. She has plans for you, I am sure.'

  'Oh, yes,' said Roberto. 'She certainly does. It's the big one. She plans to open a triple front in Tsard in four years.'

  Jhered stopped, stunned. He grabbed Roberto's arm and moved him to a quieter spot, away from prying eyes and cocked ears. Jhered felt his heart thumping and knew he had to speak.

  'She must not do this,' he hissed. 'This is foolhardy. Gosland might be a jewel of Conquord stability but Atreska is too new. There will be civil war there, I stake my life upon it. Four years is too short a time. We do not have the strength to take on the kingdom for a decade at least. She will rip the heart from the citizenry. Roberto . . . you know I am right.'

  'Then you must speak to her yourself, Paul,' said Del Aglios sharply. 'I have only so much influence over my mother and you are too often in the field. She will listen to you like no one else.'

  Jhered blew out his cheeks and shook his head. 'Tsard. She thinks us greater than we are. She might as well attack Sirrane . . .' He paused, feeling suddenly hot. 'God-embrace-us-all. Sirrane will not stand silent if we go to war in Omari and Tsard simultaneously. She has diplomats speaking to them already, I trust?'

  'Marshal Defender Vasselis is leading the team,' confirmed Roberto.

  'Good,' said Jhered. 'At least we have the best chance of success. We cannot afford to lose the little we have gained from them.'

  'I know,' said Roberto. 'Talk to my mother. There are other territories more vulnerable, smaller, that we should tackle first.'

  'I will, young Del Aglios, I will. As soon as I can.'

  Jhered turned to check on his levium at the basilica, feeling the sands already running short.

  Chapter 3

  838th cycle of God, 40th day of Dusasrise

  5th year of the true Ascendancy

  A thick layer of frost carpeted the garden path of the Solastro Palace. An inappropriate name since the season of harvest and sun had given way to the freezing depths of a particularly bitter dusas. Built on the tripartite border between the countries of Estorea, Phaskar and Neratharn, the palace was the seat of the Conquord outside Estorr and a symbol of its scale and strength.

  Herine Del Aglios, Advocate of the Estorean Conquord, walked as easily as she dared across the treacherous ground. Beside her, Paul Jhered and Arvan Vasselis were welcome support. And where her fur trimmed knee-highs slithered, their heavy metal-shod boots rendered the frost to crumbs. All three were wrapped in heavy woollen cloaks of Conquord green, edged with the white and gold fur of Tundarran mountain lions.

  Above, the sky was slate grey and coming on to snow. It would be a heavy and prolonged fall. Herine shivered. The short walk back to the palace cloisters from the Prima Chamber in the dark of evening would be singularly unpleasant. Jhered seemed to be entertained by her discomfort. She looked up into his looming features. His ice-blue eyes sparkled with ill-suppressed humour. There was frost in the hairs of his prominent nose and thick eyebrows.

  'You are about to tell me that back in Tundarra you would still be wearing sleeveless shirts beneath your togas,' she said, gripping his arm tight with her mittened hand.

  Jhered laughed. 'Not quite,' he said. 'Just comment on the fragility of the average Estorean constitution. Or Caraducian, for that matter.'

  On her other side, Vasselis snorted. 'I'd survive bare-chested in the

  ice longer than you, Jhered. The south of my country is as bleak as any mountain top in yours when dusas calls.'

  'Listen to you two,' said Herine, shaking her head. 'Posturing like schoolboys. Don't do that inside the Prima. I don't need your appointments questioned along with everything else.'

  'You will listen to them, won't you, Herine?' said Jhered. 'Their pleas for caution and time are not mere bleatings.'

  Herine blew twin clouds from her nostrils. 'Yes, and like the sheep in the fields we hear them every day and the sound never changes.' She relented. 'But yes, I will listen and of course I will do what I can. But I will not change my plans. The Conquord's future must be secured.'

  'It is what we all desire,' said Vasselis. 'Well, almost all of us.'

  Another chuckle from Jhered. 'Do I detect a barb aimed at our esteemed Order Chancellor?'

  'You really shouldn't keep on upsetting her, you know, Arvan,' said Herine, feeling the warmth of mischief within her.

  Vasselis sighed. 'With all due respect to your position as figurehead of the Order of Omniscience, my Advocate, Chancellor Koroyan is a sharp pain where I sit. And for you too, I have no doubt. Her desire for powers separate from the laws of state worries me. And we all know what her beloved Armour of God are capable of when our backs are turned.'

  'Oh dear,' said Jhered. ‘I had heard she'd been worrying about certain parts of Caraduk again. What heresy is it she thinks you are hiding from her?'

  ‘I only wish I knew,' said Vasselis, missing the humour in Jhered's question. 'She has her Readers and Speakers over me like a bad nettle rash. They ask questions about ancient history while they should be tending to those many citizens who need the guidance of their ministry. I do not like her constant suspicion.'

  'Oh, Arvan, stop being so stuffy. You are so exemplary in heading her off,' said Herine smiling up at him and seeing his face relax a little. 'And since you have nothing to hide, and my unswerving backing, please don't deny us our entertainment by mak
ing me stop her. She goes such a wonderful colour when she is embarrassed by her own actions in public'

  Advocacy guards on the steps of the Prima Chamber snapped to attention. The three of them climbed the swept marble steps to the colonnaded entrance and walked through the entrance hall in which stood busts of every Advocate since the First Cycle of God and the establishment of the Estorean Conquord.

  It was a bright hall, lit by enormous vaulted windows along both sides and warmed by huge fires in six grates. Nonetheless, Herine found it depressing rather than glorious.

  'Don't let me end up here too soon,' she muttered.

  Aides swarmed around them, taking cloaks, furs, gloves and hats and straightening their togas. They paused and sat to change into more formal sandals and each of them attended to their hair while mirrors were held in front of them.

  'Would you like me to enter ahead of you?' asked Vasselis.

  Herine shrugged. 'It really doesn't matter. The assembly believes I favour Caraduk, whatever you and I do. Come on. But let's not make a song and dance. Just keep on talking to me.'

  Ahead of them, the doors to the Prima Chamber stood closed. They towered forty feet to the vaulted ceiling, their white-painted wooden panels carved with the crest of the Estorean Conquord. The doors were pulled open on their approach, giving them their first view of the chamber. Modelled on the senate building in Estorr, four stepped marble benches ran down its length, left and right of a carpeted path that led to the Advocate's seat. Behind her seat were six of her senior advisers, waiting with every scrap of information she might need and to record every word spoken. The chamber itself was beautifully warm from the hypocaust running beneath it. The bright painted walls and ranks of delegates in white and green togas made it feel as comfortable as a solastro afternoon.

  There were upwards of three hundred delegates in the chamber awaiting the Advocate's arrival. Marshal Defenders of each territory were present, along with their delegations of aediles and propraetors. Further up the chamber, the Chancellor of the Order of Omniscience, Felice Koroyan, sat on the left with her inner circle of four High Speakers. On the right, the praetors and consuls of the Conquord were arranged in order of seniority. Jhered's twelve-strong Gatherer council was on the bottom bench below them.

  Ranks of faces turned towards her. Herine Del Aglios strode along the deep green carpet with her head high, nodding left and right at the assembly. Once a year, they met like this, the leaders of the territories all in one place to set the agenda for the next cycle to be administered centrally from Estorr. And every year, the agenda was much the same. Herine suppressed a smile at the thought of sheep bleating.

  Every voice had stilled by the time she reached her seat and sat down to look back at the assembly. Jhered and Vasselis took their places and she noted the envious looks cast by more than a few in their direction. Honour and service meant favour. So it had always been.

  'My friends, welcome,' she said, her voice carrying clear across the chamber. 'It is a cold day outside but the glory of the Conquord warms us in here. And I would take such warmth beyond the Conquord's present borders.' She waited while the rumble of conversation died. 'First, I will hear reports from you all concerning the state of your armies and navies, both standing and marching. I will then outline any increases necessary in those forces and finally will take questions before we get on to mundane matters of administration.

  'Marshal Defender Katrin Mardov, please, the state of the Gesternan armed forces. The floor is yours.'

  Herine leaned back and watched Katrin rise. A great woman. She settled in her cushions and prepared to listen.

  Hesther Naravny blew on her hands and rested them on the tree trunk. The orchard's owner, Lucius Endrade, stood nearby, wrapped in furs against the wind that howled across the open plateau from the sea.

  ‘I wish you'd told me sooner,' said Hesther.

  ‘I didn't think it serious,' he said. 'Just frost burn.'

  Hesther turned and looked around the orange and lemon grove. Every single tree was encased in a lumber box tied with burlap against the onset of the short chill season Westfallen always experienced around this time of the year. Three of them had been partially unboxed for Hesther to examine. Lucius said that thirty more were afflicted. All in the same area of the orchard.

  'It was never likely to be that, was it?' she said rather tartly.

  Snow began to fall and her mood cooled with every flake. She glanced at the young Ascendants grouped near her. She had brought them up here at the insistence of Ardol Kessian, who had thought it a good opportunity to see if any of them evidenced Land Warden abilities. All she wanted right now was to load them back on the cart and get them back to the villa. They'd begun by running around screeching and throwing snowballs but the cold had got into them quickly. Now, the four of them stood in a huddle, with hands in gloves and bodies covered in scarves, fur-lined leather coats and woollen hats. Blue noses protruded.

  'So what is it?' asked Lucius. He had been a Land Warden himself in his early years, much to the delight of his father. The ability had gone before he was eight.

  'In a moment.' She smiled at the Ascendants. They were getting on for five years old now and their core abilities were developing well. No sign of a crossover yet, though. 'Gorian, you're the most likely. Want to try?'

  Gorian beamed at her, dropped a sneering look to his companions that Hesther didn't much like and walked over.

  'It doesn't make you better than them,' said Hesther. 'But this is more like when you put your hands on a sick animal. Do you understand?'

  Gorian nodded.

  'Good. So I don't want to see that look again, do you understand?' 'Yes,' said Gorian, almost inaudibly.

  It would have to do. 'All right. Now, put your hands on the tree trunk. You'll have to take your gloves off. Here, I'll hold them for you. Don't drop them in the snow. Tell me what you feel.'

  'It's cold and rough, Hesther,' said Gorian.

  There was a snorted giggle from behind. Gorian looked round.

  'Shush, Ossacer or you'll be next.'

  'He can't do it if I can't,' said Gorian.

  Hesther raised her eyebrows. 'He might, you know. He is a Pain Teller and if he can sense where people hurt he might be able to find where the trees are hurt.'

  'He can't.' Gorian was dismissive.

  Hesther frowned. 'Concentrate. Try and feel below the bark. Like you would if a dog was hurt and you wanted to find out where so the surgeon could help it.'

  Gorian was silent for a moment. His little hands, white with the cold, searched the bark. She saw him squeeze his eyes shut as they had been taught, to help their concentration. She smiled, love for her sister's child warming her. He, like all of them, was exhibiting a great deal of early promise. And even at such tender years, they understood so much. There was something special about them, everyone could feel it. How special was yet to be determined.

  Eventually, Gorian turned back to her and took his hands from the bark. 'It must be dead. I can't feel it inside.'

  Hesther kissed him on top of the head and handed him his gloves. 'Never mind, darling. But it's not dead, just sick.'

  'It's dead,' Gorian was quite adamant.

  Hesther stroked his cheek to turn his face to hers and knelt in front of him. 'You tried your hardest and that's all anyone can ask of you. Next time, I'm sure you'll feel what I feel.' He stared at her, furious. 'Don't be angry. It's all right. You did nothing wrong.'

  She stood and looked at the other Ascendants. She could feel Gorian's anger and it made her decision for her. 'All right. It's too cold up here. Get yourselves back to the cart and we'll join you in a moment. Go on, Gorian. Find the mule an apple in the sack, why don't you?'

  He brightened and trotted off towards the cart. The others went quickly in his wake, no doubt to argue about who would feed the animal and be first to burrow beneath the blankets for some warmth.

  'Right,' she said and put her own frozen hands on the tree to make s
ure of her diagnosis.

  It was never good to feel a sick plant or tree. She felt nausea through her own body but she had learned to accept it over the years. A healthy trunk would imbue her with a vibrancy. This one, though, was dull and the bleakness of its energy was shocking. Up in the branches there was still health but it was being poisoned from deep inside. She'd seen it before once or twice. She took her hands away and slid on her gloves gratefully. Lucius looked at her.

  'Hopefully we aren't too late though the problem is embedded deep in this one. The soil must be too acidic in this area. You have to balance it out. Today.'

  'You're sure? It's not a fungal infection?' He gestured at the bole of the tree where a cluster of tenacious mushrooms had managed to grow inside the box.

  'That's why you brought me up here. It's acid, not fungus. Trust me.'

  'You know I do,' said Lucius.

  'You'll save them,' she said. 'And even if you don't, you need to balance the soil to stop it leaching elsewhere.'

  Lucius made to reply but a loud and angry child's voice cut across the orchard. Hesther raised her eyebrows.

  'Come on,' she said. 'Time to go before the children freeze to death.'

  Hesther hurried back towards the cart. All the Ascendants were gathered near the mule's head. The animal looked on mournfully while they argued. But it wasn't about the apple. She heard snatches of accusation and taunt. Quite without warning, Gorian's hand, ungloved, whipped out. She heard the slap like a whip crack in the crisp air. Ossacer screamed and fell to the ground.

  'Gorian!' she bellowed. 'Come here.'

  'But—'

  'Right now!'

  He dragged himself over reluctantly, she speeding her pace to meet him. She grabbed the errant hand.

  'He said I couldn't ever do it,' said Gorian, almost beside himself with infantile rage.

  'Do what, exactly?'

  'Feel the tree.'

  'And what had you said to him already?' 'Nothing.'

  'I don't believe you,' she said, exasperated and irritable with cold. 'He never starts it, does he? Now you listen to me, Gorian. You never, never hit your brothers or sister. You never, never hit anyone. And if I ever see or hear of you hitting someone again, I will stop you learning.'