Cry of the Newborn

by James Barclay

  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. J
hered 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.

  'Oh, Paul,' she said. 'What am I going to do if you don't come home?'

  'My Advocate?'

  She turned sharply. Her consort stood there wearing just a cloth around his waist. His fine muscled body was oiled and shone in the lantern light and his cheeks were reddened with a little fine clay. He smelled fresh from his bathing. His smile was easy on his handsome face and it irritated her more than she could say.

  'What do you want?'

  'I thought I heard you speak, my lady.'

  'So?'

  He shifted, slightly nervous. 'Were you speaking to me?'

  'Is your name Paul?' she asked sharply. He shook his head. 'Then I did not call you, did I?'

  He paused, trying to size up her mood. For all his physical prowess, he was dull of mind and she required intellect and insight this evening.

  'You're troubled,' he said. 'Perhaps I can help you.'

  She pushed herself from the balcony rail and strutted towards him, happy to let her anger wash over her and see him back away, pace after pace.

  'Help me? Are you of hidden military expertise? Can you tell me the positions of every legion under Conquord control and advise me where they must be repositioned to best counter the threat we face? Are you capable of identifying the best patrolling zones for my navies such that they might intercept invasion forces? Are you by some happy chance of a tactical mind so keen that your every order will be followed without question and so secure our borders? Have you seen so much war that you can weight our counter attacks to leave the enemy no option but to return to the defensive and leave the lands they threaten even today?'

  He held out his hands in a pathetic calming gesture and tripped on a low table, falling over its marble surface. 'No, my Advocate.'

  'No.' She shook her head. He got to his feet. There was a little blood on his heel. ‘I need men around me who can save my Conquord.'

  ‘I can calm your mind,' he said, voice so high it almost whined like a scolded dog's.

  'Dammit but Paul Jhered was right. I wonder whether your balls have already been removed such has been your inability to impregnate me. Why do you think you are allowed in here, if not to provide me with the next child for my family?'

  'One day—'

  'One day is not and never was, soon enough. Your time is over now. I am tired of your body as I am tired of the wheedling tones of your voice. You have given me nothing but insignificant satisfaction in bed and my womb lies empty of all but the impotent seed you provide. Although your mind is so dim, perhaps it is a blessing. Any child you fathered would be of no use to me.'

  All the colour had drained from his face. Behind him, the doors had opened and guards were in her chamber in response to her shouting. She saw him trembling as he reached out to her.

  'Please, my Advocate, do not dismiss me.'

  'You have nothing to offer me,' she snarled.

  He winced. 'But I love you.'

  'Love? Ha. What use do I have for such an emotion when I look at you? Get out and be happy you are not dragged in chains to my prison. Out!' She pointed from the room.

  'The palace at Phaskar, my Advocate?'

  'Is for the fathers of my children. Not for seedless imbeciles. OUT!' He scurried from the room and the guards followed him. She wiped her hand across her mouth. Her bed looked large and empty. 'No. That didn't help.'

  There was wine on the table and sweet indulgences on a plate next to the flagon. She sat down on her recliner and poured herself a brimming cup. She felt unable to concern herself with events beyond her door any more this night. She'd call the advisers she had to hand tomorrow, when God's sun warmed the earth and sky once more. Now she would toast those she wished were here to help her. She hoped she had enough wine to do them all justice.

  Chapter 44

  848th cycle of God, 31st day of Solasrise 15th year of the true Ascendancy

  Roberto looked out over his camp when dawn lit the eastern sky and wondered how many of those sleeping within its stockade could be trusted when they knew all there was to know. And what he might do to pre-empt the problems he was liable to face. Inside his tent were all those he had chosen to draw into what amounted to an inner sanctum for his conscience. He had delivered Master Kell's reports to them and had left them to read and digest his full account after giving them the summary. He could hear them beginning to speak, so walked back in to face them.

  General Atarkis and Elise Kastenas. Surgeon Dahnishev, whose own country of Gosland was under clear threat. Rovan Neristus, his brilliant engineer. Goran Shakarov and Master Davarov. Atreskans whose loyalty was beyond question. All sat on stools in a loose circle around a low table thick with mugs of steaming herbal infusions.

  'Do you believe her?' asked Shakarov, his heavy features dark and brooding.

  'There is no reason not to,' said Dahnishev. 'She is lucid if exhausted. Her sickness is not in her mind. And her account, in my opinion, is too detailed to be fabrication.'

  ‘I agree,' said Roberto.

  'Then the Conquord is all but lost. Gesteris's army represented two-thirds of our fighting force,' said Davarov. 'There is no effective defence. Certainly not in Atreska. Not against such an army ranged against them.'

  'You are seeing doom where there is none,'
said Roberto. 'And even if what you said was true, we must still make the right decisions for the Conquord we defend.'

  'But Kell believes there will be no fight in Atreska because the legions and Yuran will turn,' said Dahnishev. 'The implications for Gosland, Neratharn and Gestern are immediate and terrible.'

  'What do you make of that?' Roberto directed his question at the two Atreskans. 'If what Kell says is right, the Tsardon have separated Atreskan prisoners from all those of other nationalities and marched them towards their own borders. What other conclusions can we draw?'

  'I think you assume Atreska and its people weak of will and loyalty if you believe this act will lead to our turning,' said Davarov, his thick accent edged with anger.

  'Please,' said Dahnishev. 'No one is questioning the loyalty, strength or courage of the Atreskan peoples. One look at this army is evidence enough. But what of its Marshal? A man famed for his allegiance to the luxuries of the Conquord but his mistrust of paying the Exchequer for them.'

  Roberto was fast enough. Just about. Shakarov launched himself at Dahnishev, fists bunched. He collided with Roberto who was surging from his stool while Davarov clung to his waist and Atarkis his shoulders.

  'Bastard Goslander weasel,' he spat. 'He has guts and loyalty. Something your own arse-licking coward Marshal would never understand.'

  'Sit down, Goran,' said Roberto, staring him in the eye. Shakarov jabbed a finger over Roberto's shoulder. 'He insults my Marshal.'

  'Sit.' Roberto pushed him back hard. 'Down.'

  Roberto remained standing until he saw the tension ease from Shakarov's shoulders. Davarov, angry himself but under far more control, kept a steadying hand on his arm. Shakarov tried to shake it off but Davarov merely tightened his grip.

  'I am sorry if I caused offence,' said Dahnishev, unruffled by the attempted attack. 'But I feel this is a time for honesty.'

  'Indeed,' said Roberto. 'But your honesty sometimes lacks tact.'

  There was a chuckle around the group, not shared by Shakarov.