Cry of the Newborn

by James Barclay

  'We're a credible size. Seven Ocenii corsairs, ninety triremes, forty assault galleys. I'd love to see more sailing up behind us. I'd love to hear the songs rolling across the ocean but we can't rely on it.'

  'We aren't enough, are we? Not with the numbers coming from the east,' said Patonius. 'And we can't stop them getting into Estorr harbour before us. They're looking to you for a solution, you know that.'

  'I'm no Admiral,' said Iliev quietly. 'I'm a glorified marine.'

  'None of the fleet flagships made it,' said Patonius. 'You're the highest ranking officer of the Ocetanas able to walk a deck.'

  ‘I know,' said Iliev. 'And you wonder why I feel uncomfortable.'

  'I've heard crews and other skippers. You're the man they're looking to. You masterminded the breakout.'

  'And we lost almost half of our ships.'

  'We gave ourselves a chance,' said Patonius. 'It's all any us want.'

  'And that's what you call this, is it? We're a day behind at best. Estorr is only five away if the weather holds. You've done the sums like I have. You know me, Patonius, I live for bad odds. But this . . .' He shrugged. 'We aren't going to catch them.'

  'But if the weather really broke . . . We're far better sailors than them in bad weather. Far better.'

  'We'll pray to Ocetarus but . . .' He smiled and spread his hands. 'We can't rely on a miracle. And we all know the typical weather patterns in the mid-Tirronean. What is it?'

  'Nothing.' Patonius had a rueful look on her face. 'Just been struck by an unfortunate irony, that's all.'

  'Care to elaborate?'

  'Maybe another day.'

  'Any time in the next five days is good,' said Iliev. 'After that, I might be busy.'

  He listened to the drums. The heartbeat of the ship. He felt the draw of the oars. The prow dipped into a wave . Water showered the deck. He stared at the horizon, wondering if the smudges he could see there were really enemy sails or just dust shadows on his eyes. So distant.

  'Ocetarus's heart, Patonius, can't this ship go any faster?'

  Ossacer sat in his darkness and waited for an end to his confusion. It was the first time for ages he'd had the space and peace to contemplate, the way he liked to. He hadn't said much to anyone in the days since they'd set sail from Kirriev Harbour. Kovan and Arducius were so excited at the prospect of reaching Estorr they'd forgotten what it was really all about. All they saw were palaces, aqueducts and grand colonnades. Ossacer thought they might be too late to see all that.

  He sat and wondered why he felt apart from them like Mirron did. He heard her crying in the quiet of her cabin every night when she was alone. When the bravado of sunlight was gone and the memories of Gorian ran unhindered through her mind. And he still couldn't work out whether she hated him or missed him.

  When he reached out with his mind to see her body map it was jumbled and confused. Not like Jhered's, full of purpose and clear like a lantern in the night. He supposed he was seeing the emotions in Mirron but whatever they were, they undermined her strength of being.

  It was then that his mind cleared. Strength came from understanding and belief in oneself. It had nothing to do with the needs of others. Only when you had inner calm could you truly be of service the way the Omniscient demanded.

  Ossacer levered himself off his bed and let his mind guide him. The faint, loose energies in the air showed him his path to the blank slab set in even darker shadow that was the cabin door. Beyond it, the open hatch up the aft stairs was a blaze of clashing life and power. The rolling dense cloud he could sense held huge potential and Ardu would be loving how it felt. He was the one who could really mould it into something destructive. But he shouldn't want to. That was the problem.

  He climbed the ladder and felt the cold on his face. It was invigorating, laced with life. His senses read it and passed the information to the map in his mind. In the lazily shifting trails that everything from a bird to a ship through the water left for him when it moved, he traced the maps of his friends. Kovan, Arducius and Jhered were standing together halfway down to his left. Port, so the skipper kept on telling them.

  Arducius flowed towards him as soon as he sensed him coming. His aura was bright and confident. Ossacer was so jealous of him sometimes. Despite his brittle bones, he was so certain and assured.

  'Ossie, why didn't you say? I'd have come and helped you.'

  'I am quite capable of helping myself,' said Ossacer, immediately irritated by the assumption of helplessness. 'Anyway, what am I supposed to do, send you a message?'

  'I know but it's tiring for you to tune into the trails all the time.'

  'One day, Ardu, as you are so fond of saying, you won't be there. I've always been able to help myself anyway.'

  'All right,' he said, his head flushing with the calm browns that meant he was backing off an argument. 'I just . . . you know.'

  'Yes, I know,' said Ossacer. 'I'm sorry too.'

  'I didn't say I was . . .'

  Ossacer raised his eyebrows. 'I need to talk to the Exchequer.'

  'I'm all ears for you, Ossacer,' said Jhered, helping him to a firm grip on the rail. 'What do you need?'

  Ossacer looked down and saw the dark lines of the oars in the livid coloured life of the ocean. He felt anxious. His heart began to thud and the words he had been forming deserted him.

  'I can't.' He gripped the rail harder. 'It isn't right. I don't. I can't do it any more. I won't.'

  Jhered knelt in front of him and Ossacer saw the concern in the lines that made up his face. 'Calm down, young man. Take your time. Tell me what's wrong.'

  Ossacer nodded. 'We have to be true to ourselves. We can only do the Work we were put here to do. What you expect us to do next, I can't. I won't. The Omniscient gave life to me to help and heal people. Not to kill them.'

  Jhered leant back a little. 'We've been through this. What happened on the plateau was a mistake, an accident. No one wanted it to go that far. And now, what I ask you to do doesn't kill.'

  'Mirron killed with her fire. And the gale and the snow . . . the Work with the sea and the sky you want us to do next, it helps one lot of people to kill another. I won't do it any more. I can't.'

  He could see Jhered battling with anger. His whole outline tautened, its colours at once a dense purple that cleared to a calmer blue-hued brown a moment later.

  'Ossacer, I hope you aren't saying what I think you're saying. Everything you love is under threat. You three Ascendants have the unique opportunity of saving the Conquord and at the same time proving your right to exist to the doubters and those who would brand you heretic. What more justification can there be for the actions I ask you to take?'

  Ossacer felt his face flush red and the tears threaten. 'People will always hate us if all we do is demonstrate how easily we can kill or call storms and violence in the elements. Who will ever truly trust us? I can't live knowing there are so many people unsure if we should live or die.'

  'And can you live knowing that because you refused to act, that the Echelon, your parents, everyone in Westfallen was killed?'

  'That's unfair,' said Kovan. His support was unexpected but welcome. 'You cannot make him responsible for that. The Tsardon invasion was caused by an overstretch of our armies and the defeat at Scintarit. Blame the Advocate if you must blame anyone.'

  Jhered growled in his throat. 'God-surround-us but you are your father's son. We are not talking about blame. The invasion has happened. What we must do is use every weapon available to us. I'm sorry, Ossacer, but that includes you.'

  Ossacer shook his head. ‘I will not,' he said quietly, biting back his fear. 'Father Kessian always told us only to use our abilities for peace. We all forgot that for a time. Well I've remembered now. I've woken up again. And there's no one in Westfallen who would curse me if they died because I did what the Father always wanted.'

  Jhered stood sharply and turned away. Ossacer could see the bloom in his lifelines and the pulsing in his chest when he gripped the rai
l.

  'We are already in desperate trouble,' he hissed, not to Ossacer.

  'We have to work together. Arducius, you must tell him. Make him understand.'

  'He will do what he must,' said Arducius, and Ossacer's heart warmed. 'And I will stand by his decision. If it comes to it, I will work alone and it'll have to be enough.'

  'Very principled,' snapped Jhered. 'Very strong and very impressive. I'm sure Father Kessian is proud where he rots. But unless you want to join him, I suggest you change your minds. You've got about three days to wise up.'

  Chapter 73

  848th cycle of God, 17th day of Dusasrise 15th year of the true Ascendancy

  Gesteris ran along the rampart. Tsardon onager stones tumbled towards the battered defensive wall. They had barely touched them the day before. It had been mere sighting for their catapult and exercise for their archers. But as dawn had broken, a cold, grey and snow-blown morning, the singing had stopped for the last time and they had begun in earnest.

  'Hold your positions. Don't you dare back off one pace. You have nowhere to go.'

  Gesteris watched the stones fall. Along a four-hundred-yard section of wall and gate tower, the Tsardon concentrated their artillery fire. Stones of one and two talents slammed into the walls his legions had built while over their heads came the flaming rounds. Their direction and range was erratic but behind him on the ground, they were causing significant damage.

  'I want faces on the walls. I want them to know that one pace forward means an arrow in the eye. Stand. Stand with me.'

  His legionaries steadied themselves under the shuddering impacts. On the platforms, his crews wound the windlasses, dragging the onager arms backwards. He was still only firing the catapults his enemy could see. Those on the ground behind were out of range and he wanted something in reserve to break up the charge when it came.

  The Tsardon were massed behind their catapults, waiting for the first breach. And for an hour, the fortifications had withstood everything the enemy had thrown at them. But now the sheer density and weight of impacts was beginning to tell. While the southern end of the defensive line was relatively untroubled, the northern point was under increasingly fierce bombardment. More weapons had been brought to bear on perceived weak points and Gesteris had his reserve primed and ready for the inevitable.

  From his left and right, his remaining catapults and heavy scorpions fired. He'd lost a third of them but he could still trace the paths of twenty. Stones ploughed the ground in front of the enemy or dug furrows between the standing artillery. Bolts bounced from the ground. Just one stone found its mark. It struck an onager square on, dashing it to fragments and scattering its crew. Men cheered.

  'Get your angles right,' he roared. 'Crank harder. All you're doing is giving them rounds to fire back at us. Work Conquord, work!'

  He looked back to the enemy. Across the churned mud and burned ground his citizens had cleared, the Tsardon were shifting. Every second catapult was being pushed forwards. Meanwhile, those standing were cranking back to fire again. Gesteris snapped his fingers and an aide passed him his magnifier. He put it to his eye. Behind the catapults, infantry were checking weapons. On the ground at their feet, ladders, grapples and ropes. The standing catapults were being angled for a higher trajectory, those on the move were being turned in to focus their target area.

  'Seems they're in a hurry,' he said. 'Get a message out along the line. They're going for the weak spots. Others will fire at the ramparts. The infantry will be on us the moment there is a breach. I want every archer on standby. Flag the reserve artillery to be ready.'

  'Yes, General.'

  He looked around at those standing near him. 'They are going to attack the gate fort hard. That is where I will be standing. Don't you flinch. Don't let those left and right of you flinch. Stand. We are the Conquord.'

  Gesteris made the flat roof of the fort just as the enemy fired their first rounds. The air whistled and the silence spread along his ranks of citizens. Dozens of incoming rocks rolling through the sky. The roof of the fort was without turrets but had a high rampart for archers. Eight onagers were primed to fire on the approaching artillery. Gesteris could see south, along the impressively straight line of his defences until they dipped away out of sight.

  Like every member of the Neratharn legions, he prayed to be spared. On a low trajectory, the first stones drove into the gates over the highway. The multiple impacts shuddered the stone under his feet. He heard the reinforced timbers rattle in their hinges and chains. The crack of wood echoed loud.

  Moments later, the higher arc stones fell. He heard the whine of dozens passing directly over the walls. A stone of over a talent struck the rampart where he had so recently been standing. The rough fixings shattered and wood disintegrated. The missile swept through man and catapult, dragging broken bones and machinery after it to fall on the open ground behind the walls. The sound of the impact, like an explosion, cracked over them. Men and women were screaming. There was a five-foot break in the rampart pathway.

  Other stones had fallen into the midst of the catapults gathered below. Two more were smashed and his stretcher and surgeon teams shouted orders and tried to calm citizens whose limbs were torn away and whose lives flowed into the frozen mud. Heartbeats later a net of smaller stones split against the side of the fort. Razor-sharp shards burst outwards.

  Yelling a warning, Gesteris dropped to the ground. He heard some of them fizzing above his head and the dull contacts of stone on stone and the thud into wood. He pushed himself to his feet, turning to the onager crews. Right in front of him, a man stood. He was staring down at his chest, his hands smeared in blood. A knife of rock jutted from his breastplate. He mouthed words to Gesteris and fell backwards.

  'Stretchers to the roof.'

  The air was full of emerging alarm. He rounded on those still standing. 'Return fire! Full spread. Get that pathway boarded up. I need engineers ready on the gates.'

  Again, the Coriquord onagers and scorpions cast their missiles out towards the enemy. He heard the satisfying crump of stone crushing wood. His crews worked feverishly to crank the windlasses. The arms and bows bent back again. The Tsardon fired first. Gesteris watched them come in. Rounds thumped against the blank strong wall above the gate. More thundered into the wood. The gates bowed in. He heard wood fracturing as one stone battered straight through. Missiles plunged into the walls south. The noise was painful, the vibrations through his feet all but constant.

  'Stand!' His order was flagged again and again. 'Stand!'

  He ran to the front of the fort. Onager rounds whipped away either side of him but he paid them no heed. He leaned over as far as he dared. Rubble covered the ground on the road and was scattered either side. He could see the gates leaning crooked on their great hinges. Timbers were broken and split. Iron bindings hung out, bent and twisted. He could hear the gate captain screaming for more wood.

  A third concentrated volley of Tsardon rounds flew in. Gesteris stepped away from the edge. Behind him, crews dragged their catapult arms back. He watched the cluster of missiles approach, hypnotic and lethal.

  'Brace!'

  Every stone struck the doors. The blows knocked Gesteris from his feet and juddered onagers out of aim. He heard stones bouncing away down the highway behind the gate and the sound of iron work striking paving. From the Tsardon lines came a mighty roar.

  He dragged himself to his feet. In that same moment, more Tsardon missiles cruised into the defenders three hundred yards from him. Legionaries were thrown in to the air. He saw a section of the wall bow inwards, sag and collapse in a cloud of dust and debris. In front of the gates, a similar cloud was clearing. Through it, he saw the Tsardon running.

  On the entire length of their line, they moved, surging into the open space and around their catapults even as they were being primed for another volley. The wave of sound rolled across the walls and a thundering, getting louder by the moment, could be felt through their feet.

&n
bsp; 'Ready the reserve. Archers to the walls. Let's have you, Conquord. Discipline. Order. Victory.'

  Gesteris moved back to the open rampart to the right of the fort. Behind him, stones were loaded into baskets and set afire. Archers thronged the defences. His forward artillery fired again. He turned to face the enemy and prayed for the strength to last out the day.

  Three thousand cloaks were at Harin's back, riding south along the shores of Lake lyre. The expected bombardment had come and he had scouts on a rise ahead, looking down over the battlefield. He knew Gesteris would send him messengers but he could not afford to wait for them. If a decisive blow was struck by the enemy, he would have to be ready.

  They had already encountered and slaughtered two detachments of

  Tsardon steppe cavalry but survivors would still relay his position. More enemy riders were approaching from the east. For Harin, it was all in the timing. He needed to get in and out of the Tsardon infantry before he was caught.

  Every one of the levium heard the pulsating cry of the Tsardon that preceded an all-out attack. Up on the rise, he saw three levium approaching at a gallop, spears raised to display flying pennants. He called the halt and turned his horse around.

  'Levium. We ride for the Conquord and for the Exchequer. We ride to break the Tsardon advance. Fight hard, fight quickly. Fight for the cloak you bear and the citizens that flank you. Levium! To battle.'

  They would advance as trained. Not a word from their lips. No cries to raise the blood, no warning for the mass of the enemy. They trotted on up the rise and towards the clouds of war that hung across the fields ahead. They were arranged in detachments of five hundred. They knew their orders, their signals and muster points.

  The tumult grew stride by stride. Away to their right the Tsardon were charging. Harin brought the levium up the last few yards of the slope and began to travel down, trying not to let the shock of what he saw affect him. This was his first mass battlefield, and surely the first time any of the levium had seen such a number of enemies ranged against the Conquord.