Cry of the Newborn

by James Barclay

  He let the fury settle on him and launched himself into the Tsardon infantry. He beat aside a shield with his own and chopped down with his sword into an enemy neck. He kicked the dying man aside and blocked a strike at his open flank. He ducked a flailing blade and jabbed his shield upwards into the sword arm. He followed it with a sweep his gladius wasn't designed for and he felt the satisfying vibration of edge carving into scale armour, grinding and tearing.

  It was so long since he had been in the thick of battle. Roberto would have his balls for it but he didn't care. He called over his left shoulder to the hastati a pace behind him in the stunning morass of sound, men, steel and blood.

  'For Atreska. For the Conquord.'

  His shout was taken up and he saw the surge ripple along the line of the army as far as he could see. He stared into the eyes of a Tsardon warrior. The man was scared. He butted the boss of his shield into his gut and punched over the top of it. Fist and gladius pommel crushed his nose. Davarov's shield thudded up under his jaw and knocked him flat.

  Beside him, young hastati were crowding to force their way deep into the heart of the Tsardon ranks.

  'Keep it solid,' he shouted. 'Never more than a pace. Discipline.'

  The shout came too late for one. He moved into a gap that wasn't really there. Tsardon blades came around from both sides. He took one on his shield but the other evaded his blade and chopped into his cheek. His skull split and he collapsed. Davarov cursed.

  'Discipline, order, victory!' he bellowed. 'With me, hastati.'

  He set his shield square in front of him and stepped back a pace, seeing the line order reform to his right. The Tsardon were only too glad of the moment's respite and mirrored the move.

  'Again.'

  Davarov led them back across the yard's space, cracking his sword into an enemy shield. A volley of arrows flashed overhead, falling among the gathering Tsardon defence behind their wavering line. The air stank suddenly of tar smoke. From the fort, flaming stones blazed across the sky and thumped down in the middle of the press created by the dual Conquord assault. He felt the ground shake under him and heard metal twist and tear. Spears of flame grabbed at the sky and steam rose in clouds from the snow-covered earth.

  He looked over the top of his shield at his next enemy. The man was confused, scared and running out of support. Behind him, the line was thinning and the reserve was being scattered by the onager stones. Neristus sent over another volley. Whistling death biting into the ground.

  'Run,' said Davarov. 'Get out of my country.' 'No.'

  The big Atreskan smiled. 'So be it.'

  He launched himself into the attack, slashing round the edge of his shield, forcing his enemy into a desperate block. The Tsardon sword came at him but too low. He batted it aside easily. His enemy was unbalanced and brought his shield in front of his body. But Davarov wasn't striking there. He stabbed straight forwards over it and buried his gladius in the Tsardon's mouth.

  'Sing to me now, bastard.'

  The Conquord line was moving inexorably forward. Davarov heard running feet. Javelins flew overhead, hundreds of them. Again the Tsardon wavered but again they held firm. Davarov moved up again, bringing his maniple with him. He felt the pulse around him.

  In the stress at the heart of battle, young hastati fought in the heat and noise like veterans. There was a rhythm to the assault that sang of inevitable victory. Rectangular shields pushed forwards, opened to allow strike, closed in defence. Gladiuses stabbed forwards or slashed overhead. In the tight spaces, Tsardon blades still fell, searching for any gap in the Conquord defence. The price for a slip in concentration was the very highest.

  'Keep it tight,' said Davarov, his shield vibrating under two strikes, his gladius diverted from its path. 'They'll come back at us.'

  Davarov squared his shield again and picked his next victim.

  Elise had them on the run. She'd brought a thousand riders across the river and burst on the steppe cavalry and their archer support with almost complete surprise. There was hand-to-hand fighting along a stretch of a hundred yards at the edge of the woodland as she had approached and she'd signalled the break at a distance of less than twenty yards.

  The cavalry split into units of six to give them some form amongst the sparse trees. The sixes had driven in, cutting down riders and infantry like corn in the first wave, turning and galloping back to open ground to allow the next wave in. The Gesternan defenders had responded magnificently, dropping bows and turning to their blades to close the pincer.

  Scattered in skirmishes, the steppe cavalry was in no position to reform and become the fighting force it was in the open. They had dispersed left and right, riding hard back towards the river, only to find Elise's archers one side and Conquord infantry on the other.

  Elise ran down another Tsardon, leaning from her saddle to sweep her blade through his back and send him tumbling to the earth. She broke clear of the trees and could see the pressure Davarov's soldiers were exerting on the main force of Tsardon. In front of the ruined fort, Gesternan defence had become determined attack. It wouldn't take much to push the enemy into a rout.

  She signalled her hornsmen to sound the regroup and trotted up to the edge of the river. Behind her, the cavalry emerged from the trees or swung round to join her while the Gesternans surged into the remaining Tsardon, chasing them away or cutting them apart.

  She waited, watching. There was a crisis point at the angle of the two fighting lines. The Gesternans were spread across the highway and in front of the fort while her own people had come in perhaps twenty yards north. And though cavalry kept the Tsardon from a flanking movement, it was becoming a focal point for them. They had not given up and a breach in either Conquord line would prove disastrous with the weight of numbers heavily on the Tsardon side.

  'Close column,' she called. 'Ride for the axis. Sound the charge and keep sounding. I need those riders out of our way.'

  She raised her sword and swept it down, put her heels to her horse's flanks and charged. The cavalry thundered through the ankle-deep water near the bridge, thumped onto solid ground and careered towards the enemy. In front, her cavalry flank defence heard the horns, turned from the Tsardon and rode away behind friendly lines. Sensing a breakthrough, the enemy began to pour towards the gap, only to see a thousand horses bearing down on them. The fledgling Tsardon advance stuttered and faltered. Gaps began to appear.

  Elise smiled and plunged into them, carving her sword out and down, taking the arm from an enemy swordsman. Her horse reared, looked for open ground, stamped down and set off again. Her pace had slowed dramatically but there was barely a Tsardon looking her way. She urged the horse on, sweeping back down with her blade, leaving her left side defended by her cavalry while she hacked again and again. Other riders came past her on the right, driving hard and deep. She heard a roar from the infantry. It was close now. A Tsardon blade came at her. It was blocked by her hornsman. She nodded thanks and thrust her blade through the enemy's chest.

  Arrows came thick from the right, taking down horse and rider together. In response, her own archers let go a volley and the charge turned as a whole, trying to drive a wedge up behind the Tsardon lines. But the enemy had regrouped and were ready to come back. She signalled the wheel and darted back to safety, the arrows of her citizens covering her withdrawal.

  'One more,' she shouted. 'Let's have them.'

  She executed a tight right-hand turn, let her cavalry form around her and they hammered in again.

  'What's happening there?'

  Mirron had stopped her horse to look out over the battle to the far edge of the Tsardon artillery. She could see fires around the catapults. The army hadn't managed to get that far yet and to her eyes, there was little movement except that more and more enemy seemed to be appearing from further down the river. Jhered came to her side. They were halfway down the slope and standing right above Neristus and his artillery.

  'They're turning their catapults round,' he said. '
They're going to use flaming stones to try and break up our lines.'

  Mirron looked up at him and saw the worry in his face. 'Well, can't our soldiers stop them?'

  'Not yet.' He pointed down to the right. 'We've got them on the retreat there but they are holding firm enough. We didn't get the quick breakthrough so they still have plenty of onagers to use on us.'

  Mirron turned back to the fighting. The noise was indescribable, the violence hideous. As she watched, burning stones flew out from the fort over the bridge. She watched the flight and saw men running in all directions trying to escape them. Down they came. She winced. And when the smoke and spray had cleared, she saw the dark stains of blood and so many bodies where the stones had fallen. There was a man running away. He was on fire. And others just moving, crawling and hobbling. It was disgusting.

  'I can stop that,' she said.

  Jhered shook his head. 'You've done enough. You need rest.' 'But a shield can't stop a stone. It's not fair.'

  The others were continuing down the slope. Jhered waved them on.

  it's why people fear the onager. We'll take them soon enough.' Mirron shook her head and dismounted. 'Not soon enough for some people.' 'Mirron.'

  She looked up at him. 'Let me do something. Let me try.'

  He held up his hands and dismounted too. 'All right. I'll watch over you. Just be careful with yourself.'

  Mirron felt safe and secure. She knelt on the grass at the edge of the slopes and looked across the battle lines to the Tsardon catapults and fires. The distance was quite extreme and she had to push out with all the energy at her disposal, opening her body to the earth beneath her feet and feeling the grass begin to nudge up around her ankles and knees.

  The Tsardon fires stood out against the mass of energies Mirron could see. They spoke to her and even at this distance, she could feel the chaos into which she would enforce her order. Blank shades near the fires represented onagers. Their crews were flares of life, stressed and packed with adrenaline. Mirron pushed out through the earth and the sky, seeking the path that would take her to them.

  She drew on the energy in the grass beneath her feet, and the underground stream Arducius had found and used for the storm Work. A loneliness and vulnerability descended on her quite without warning. Out here so close to battle with the noise surrounding her. The fear rolled over her. She couldn't shut it out, not without Arducius and Ossacer with her. Not without G—

  Mirron shook her head and dragged in a breath.

  'Mirron?' It was the Exchequer.

  i'm all right,' she said, fighting her shudders down, i can do it, I can do it.' 'Mirron?' 'Nothing.'

  I can do it. She forced images of Gorian from her mind and calmed her heart. Instead, she brought Father Kessian to her mind and remembered that time long ago in the villa gardens when she had first broken through. All she had to do was take the flames and bring them where she wanted them. And surrounding her was the energy to amplify all that she wrought.

  Ossacer squeezed Kovan's waist. Kovan half-turned in his saddle. They were approaching the reserve and camp lines, the cavalry detachment still surrounding them. Kovan had seen suspicion and disbelief in their expressions during the Work; and on the ride back, the distance between them and their protectors was no coincidence.

  'What is it, Ossie?'

  'Mirron's not with us.'

  Kovan tensed and felt his heart miss a beat. He turned and ducked both left and right to get a view past Ossacer. 'Neither is the Exchequer,' he said. 'We have to go back,' said Ossacer.

  Next to them, Arducius turned his head from where he'd been resting it against the back of the stiff cavalryman who escorted him. He looked dreadfully tired and old. It was all he could do to keep in the saddle.

  'No,' he said, voice cracked and dry. ‘I have to rest and you have to help Dahnishev if you can.'

  'But Ardu, you said that we shouldn't leave each other ever. We should always be near each other. Especially out here.'

  Arducius's grey brows pinched in a frown. 'Gorian has changed all that, hasn't he? Perhaps it's time we all learned to live without each other.'

  'What are you talking about?' Ossacer's voice held a slight tremble. 'When the war is done we'll be going home. All three of us.' 'Do you think so?' asked Arducius. 'Do you really think so?' 'What's the matter with you?'

  'Everyone knows about us now. We can never go back to how it was before.'

  Kovan heard Ossacer's sharply indrawn breath.

  'He's just tired, Ossie,' he whispered. 'Listen, you go back with him. I'll trot back up and make sure Mirron's all right.'

  Ossacer slipped from behind him. 'Thanks, Kovan.'

  'It's why I'm here,' he said and turned in the path.

  Jhered stood near Mirron and felt the familiar but unsettling change in the air. The young Ascendant was deep in her Work now. Out on the field, Roberto's infantry were still on the drive but behind the front line of the Tsardon, more were racing up to steady them. Jhered saw Kastenas's cavalry charge in again behind volleys of arrows and javelins.

  The Gesternan defence was holding against a renewed push. He could sense the Tsardon just beginning to stem the tide. Soon, confidence would flow in the wake of the flaming onager stones unless Mirron stopped them flying. He remained confident Roberto would win the day, the question would be at what cost.

  He spun half about at a sound to his right. There was movement ahead of him. He dragged his gladius from his scabbard and placed his shield in front of him. He'd have pulled Mirron away but there was no time and his horse had moved off when she had begun. Perhaps she'd have time to do what she had to do before they were both killed. Not even he thought he could hold off six by himself.

  Chapter 68

  848th cycle of God, 2nd day of Dusasrise 15th year of the true Ascendancy

  'Davarov, I need a breakthrough at their artillery,' shouted Roberto.

  The Atreskan Master of Sword had just emerged bloodied and grinning from the front line to find his general waiting for him. He did his best to appear embarrassed but the joy coursing through him could not be hidden.

  'We have them, Roberto, I can feel it,' said Davarov.

  'Very probably. We'll speak about why you felt you had to assess from quite such close range later.' Roberto paused. Onager stones roared overhead, trailing smoke and flame. He watched them detonate behind his front lines and too close to his own artillery for comfort. 'But they are getting their range and I don't want more damage than I have to bear.'

  Davarov nodded. 'What do you need me to do.'

  'Take triarii from the northern reserve. Four maniples from the Haroq's Blades. Back it up with principes of the Hawks. You need to break through around their flank. Cavalry will protect you. Get into the artillery then get out.'

  Davarov smiled and began to move off.

  'And Davarov,' said Roberto. 'If you must go with them, try not to die, all right?'

  'Today isn't my day to die,' said Davarov.

  He ran along the back of the line. It was solid and confident. Neristus's stolen onagers fired in response, their own burning stones making smoke trails in the air. He prayed each one crushed a dozen Tsardon. Approaching the northern end, he could hear the ferocity of the fighting. Cavalry were running the flanks, keeping each other from engaging the infantry. Both sides desired the breakthrough. Only one had real belief.

  Davarov barked his favoured Atreskan centurions to him. 'Maniples to me. Bring your support principes maniples for reserve and flank defence. Move, move.'

  He moved on up the line, searching out the flank cavalry commander. Another Atreskan, nominally of the Haroq's Blades. He was studying the ragged edge of the battle where the two horseborne forces fenced with each other, looking for a gap, any small advantage they could exploit. Onager rounds dragged scratches in the cloudy sky, plunging down ten yards ahead of the Conquord artillery. Too close.

  'Captain Cartoganev.'

  'Master Davarov.' Cartoganev looked down the n
ose flute of his helmet. 'What is it? I'm a busy man.'

  'And about to get busier,' growled Davarov. 'We're going after the artillery. I need you to keep the steppe away from my infantry.'

  'It's what I was created to do,' said Cartoganev.

  'Funny.'

  'Not at all. I am stretched here, Master Davarov.'

  'Then let's see them broken. If we can move up our weapons, we can do that.' Davarov shrugged and smiled. He could hear the maniples moving to order behind him. 'It's Roberto's order. What can you do, eh?'

  Cartoganev stared over his head and grumbled in his throat. 'Leave it with me. Do what you have to but make it quick or we'll lose this flank.'

  Davarov bowed. 'Just a little opening is all I need.' Cartoganev turned and bellowed orders.

  Mirron could feel it coming together inside her body. She could taste the warmth of the pitch fires and the energies of the earth filled her. She created the energy map of fire in her mind, huge and amplified. Now she must project that map onto the wood and rope of the Tsardon artillery. Onto the new fuel. It was so much easier when it was right ahead of her but this time, she must channel it along the natural lines of the air. It was going to be tiring. She took a deep breath and pushed out. Heat washed over her face.

  She concentrated harder, aware that she was smouldering. She moved her left hand out towards the pitch fires. Their chaotic lines danced for her. So beautiful. She teased open a break in the first firelines and with her body holding it open, she pushed out harder. The created fire map fled away across the sky, smoke trailing from clear air. All she needed was one link and for the rest, it would be like knocking over a line of dominoes.

  Somewhere near her, Jhered was speaking but it wasn't to her.

  'This way,' said Jhered to the Tsardon running at him. 'Your chance to make every tax-evader happy.'

  He moved left slightly, covering Mirron from their sight for as long as he could. How they had seen him he had no idea, but they must have been circling for hours to dodge the cavalry. Chances are, they were the relief for the guard post come to see if their comrades had escaped. It was an error not to have seen the possibility.