Cry of the Newborn

by James Barclay

  'Beware, Jhered, lest your star should wane. Your friends may be powerful but they are few.'

  Jhered stopped and turned. He was a step above them and used his height to glower down at them, pleased by the paling of their stuffed cheeks.

  'Go ahead and threaten,' he said, voice cool and soft. 'It is a long while since I exercised my right to examine the finances of named individuals. Perhaps I should take time to enjoy that pleasure once more.' He leaned over them. 'Go.'

  He shook his head as they hurried down the stairs, no doubt to scribe letters to the Advocate about his brutish ways. At the top of the stairway, a galleried landing made up three sides of a square. Passages and rooms led off each. Guards stood at every corner, armour bright in the multiple lanternlights, spears held at ease, eyes front.

  'At least some here are still capable,' he muttered to himself. 'Where is the Advocate?' he asked of the nearest guard. He hardly need have bothered. From an open door halfway up the first mosaic-laid corridor, laughter spilled through an open door on a gentle tide of stringed music. He recognised Herine's voice.

  The guard nodded in that direction. 'She is entertaining the sponsors, Lord Jhered,' he said.

  'Then my face will bring welcome relief,' he said.

  'I have no orders to keep people away, sir,' agreed the guard.

  'Lucky for you.'

  Jhered smoothed his hair and rubbed at his face while he walked the short distance to the reception room. Guards moved to attention, spears snapping in front of their faces. He stood in the doorway for a moment. Herine was lounging on a banked pile of cushions in the centre of the room. Men and women, eight at a quick count, were spread around her. Some were standing and others were too close to her feet for his liking. Sycophants.

  One, a young man barely out of his teens, was draped in front of her. Her fingers traced a course over his finely muscled torso while in her other hand, a goblet of wine hovered near her mouth. Servants stood around the walls, stepping in to offer fruit and more wine. Musicians were seated to the right of him playing delicate melodies on kitharas and lutes.

  Jhered shook his head, something he seemed to do a lot in the palace these days. He felt like spitting on the stone between his feet. Instead, he walked in slowly, letting his presence fill the room and silence the twittering conversation as gradually as it might. He came to rest a few paces from the scatter of stools and cushions. Those standing moved reflexively away. He didn't fit. His trail clothes clashed with their finery, the dirt and dust of the real world an affront to their fantasy.

  The Advocate swivelled her head to him and smiled. She raised her goblet, spilling a little wine down the chest of her consort. Her fingers trailed in it and she sucked the end of each one in turn.

  'My Lord Jhered, arrived from the wilds. What news of our far flung territories?'

  She was drunk, her words a better fit for the heroic stage than to address her most senior soldier. He ignored the question.

  'Games?' he said, the word like a mouthful of rotten meat. 'Which of these cretins persuaded you of that? Or was it one of those bloated mannikins I met on the stairs?'

  Herine's face fell in mock distress. 'You mean you don't like the idea?'

  'Don't like it? My Advocate, this is a folly more grand in the making and damaging in the execution than the building of the new arena during the rule of your grandfather. And we have all read of the lingering effects of that decision.'

  A ripple of dissention ran around the sponsors. He spared them a contemptuous glance. All middle-aged, all sodden in the mind and puffed up by their closeness to the Advocate. Herine caught their mood and her expression sobered. She made to speak but Jhered got there first.

  'Party's over,' he said. 'Time to go and lay heavy on someone else's hospitality.'

  It upset them, as he knew it would. The self-appointed great and good of Estorr, and thereby the Conquord, spluttered and made protest to the Advocate. The wash of wine through her head had apparently cleared and she was glaring at Jhered, embarrassment mixed with annoyance. He met her gaze squarely.

  'Unless you want this conversation to be more public than it should, clear the room, my Advocate,' he said into the mounting furore.

  ‘I don't remember granting you an audience, Exchequer Jhered.'

  'And I don't remember my Advocate being prey to such blind recklessness. Please,' he said. 'Now.'

  Herine weighed him up. He saw the most delicate of nods.

  ‘I will recall you all in the morning,' she said. 'My apologies for the ill-tutored interruption of my Exchequer.'

  A relieved titter ran around the sponsors. Jhered bit down hard on his temper, holding Herine's gaze instead. The consort moved reluctantly from the playful embrace of the Advocate and stood up, petulant expression fixed on Jhered as he passed.

  'The Advocate makes no decisions but for the benefit of the Conquord. It is right we celebrate our triumphs,' he said, voice wavering and lighter than his frame suggested. 'You should think abou—'

  Jhered grabbed him under the lower jaw, pushing his mouth shut. He drove the consort backwards towards the door, speaking as he went.

  'There will never come a time when I take advice from a half-man destined only to lose his balls should he surprise us all and prove fertile. I wonder if she has not made a mistake choosing you. It sounds as if yours have already been taken. Out!' He thrust the consort through the door to sprawl against the wall opposite. 'Out!'

  He swung away and slammed the door, catching a poorly disguised smile on the face of a guard. The look of the consort was murderous. Let him try. He marched back towards the Advocate, expecting vitriol but seeing instead an amused expression. He knew this tactic of old and steeled himself to retain his mood.

  'Oh Paul, you really shouldn't treat my new love like that. So delicate of mind.'

  'He demonstrates no mind at all,' growled Jhered. 'And I will treat those morons with whom you surround yourself exactly as they deserve.'

  'You'll make more enemies,' she said, a smile across her face, the wine glass by her mouth again. Jhered shrugged. ‘I know, I know. Add them to the list, eh? Now, have you calmed down at all, or must I call in the guards?'

  ‘I am not as much a danger to you as you are to yourself with this ridiculous decision. Celebratory games? What possessed you? Has that coven of empty-headed flab put something in your wine?'

  'Paul, I would—'

  'And as God-embraces-us-all, celebrating what?' Herine took a deep breath. 'Sit down, Paul.' 'No, I think I'll stand.'

  'You will do as ordered by your Advocate, Exchequer Jhered.'

  Jhered cleared his throat. 'Aren't we past such displays, you and I?'

  'You can seriously pose that question after your grand entrance?'

  Jhered paused, taking a deliberate deep breath. This was why he would never settle down with a woman. Something in them burned his fuse painfully short painfully quickly. He held up his hands and sat down.

  'Wine?'

  'No, thank you,' he said. 'Herine, I have not come here to argue with you or to have you pull rank on me. I just want to know what on God's great earth makes you think that celebratory games will do anything for your position or the position of the Conquord in the wider world.'

  'During the deeps of dusas, while you were gone, we—' 'We?'

  Herine gestured at the empty cushions. 'We. It was not just the chill of the weather but the chill of the people. Spirits are low. We have been fighting Tsard for five years and have not yet struck the decisive blow. It was decided that ten days of games as solastro dawns would lift sagging hearts and remind our citizens of the glory of the Estorean Conquord.' Jhered frowned. It was clear she believed it, or thought she did.

  'Paul, the battle for the Conquord must be fought in our own streets first. What use is there if our own closest citizens do not love and respect us? They need something to cheer and they shall have it. These games will be a triumph.'

  Jhered nodded, fighting in vain
for the words to describe how he felt. He scratched the bridge of his nose and wiped at the corner of one eye with a dusty finger.

  'I disagree. In time of major campaign, austerity must hit everyone to make them feel they are sharing in the effort. And how will the treasury pay for all this? Games are a dreadful expense. Your sponsors cannot hope to raise all the funds for the scale of events I assume you are suggesting.'

  Herine laughed, a light sound as if he had asked the simplest of questions.

  'Oh, Paul, the treasury is deep. We have the funds.'

  'No, dammit, we do not!' he thundered, temper snapping at last. He crashed a fist down on to a salver, catapulting its remnants of fruit into the air, and surged to his feet. 'I and my Gatherers have just spent dusas dragging ourselves from one frozen province to the next to wring any small levy we could to fund the raising of more legions. And small was our return. Nothing could be taken from Atreska or Gosland, nothing from Tundarra, Easthale or Gestern. And you will not ask Vasselis for more though he would probably find it. The money is not there. You and I both know it.'

  'Then find it for me, Paul,' Herine shouted back. 'You're my Exchequer. It's your job.'

  Jhered paused. 'You don't really expect me to respond to that, do you? You know what I'm getting at.'

  'You've become blinkered by the war, Paul. The treasury has budgets for every part of Conquord business. Others can spare funds for this.'

  'With respect, my Advocate, you are missing the point.' He saw Herine bristle but ploughed on. 'If you can afford to divert money for the games, you can afford to divert it for the war in Tsard or the security of Atreska. It is that simple in the minds of every general, including your own son, and I am amazed that you cannot see it.

  'Admit it. You are pandering to the whims of a dozen bored rich citizens who need something new to play with. And all the while, your legions fight and die in your name. Every coin you waste on these games could have gone to helping them win. This money could secure Atreska's and Gosland's borders.'

  'I'm sure Marshal Yuran will see the value of the games once he is here.'

  Jhered gaped. 'You are inviting him?' 'Every Marshal Defender is summoned.'

  'Dear God, that is like showing the condemned the forging of the sword that beheads them. Are you trying to start a rebellion?' 'He will not rebel.'

  'No? You have not seen the look in his eyes recently. The Atreskan civil war haunts him daily. He knows how thinly we are stretched on the Tsardon frontier. One reverse and their armies will march unopposed to Haroq City.'

  'Paul I—'

  'And when they get there, who will stop them marching all the way to Estorr?'

  'Lord Jhered, you will be silent!' roared Herine. 'I do not care who you are, I will not be spoken to like this in the heart of my own palace.'

  Jhered made to respond but the look in her eyes stalled him. He settled for folding his arms across his chest and giving a curt nod.

  'Oh, thank you so much for your agreement,' said Herine. 'Now you listen to me. I will not have such wild talk in my palace or in my streets. You speak as if the Conquord is under threat. It is not. You speak as if we are on the verge of bankruptcy. We are not. I have sixteen legions and fourteen alae in Tsard and I am reinforcing them with more, as you well know. This is an army larger than any the Conquord has sent on campaign and one that every right-minded citizen knows will be victorious.

  'And even should the impossible happen, and Tsard threaten our borders, the weight of citizenry and standing legions we have throughout the Conquord are simply overwhelming. The Tsardon know this. They will defend as they must until forced to surrender, but they will never break us.

  'You speak of joint austerity. Paul, please. It has always been that the border states face the new enemy while those at the expanding heart of the Conquord enjoy the life for which their mothers and fathers fought through history. It is the way. We are a meritocracy. We earn the right to our luxuries. When Tsard joins the Conquord, Atreska will reap those benefits too. The games we are staging are a celebration of the glory of all we have built and all we have still to build. They will go ahead and you will not undermine them.'

  'And neither will I have any part in them. Nor will I or any member of the Gatherers attend. I have listened to you and I hope you are right, I really do. But it is my people who have to travel to provinces under threat and I will not have them accused of being party to wasting revenue that could have been better spent. Their job is dangerous enough as it is.'

  They knew each other well, Herine and Jhered. And he knew he had pushed her as far as she would go. They glared at each other for a time. He was aware she needed his support to give the games final credibility. She was aware she had to find a compelling reason for him to be absent. Fortunately, there were plenty.

  'Paul, I respect you and everything you say but you still have the capacity to surprise and disappoint me.'

  'It's why you keep me around,' he growled.

  She nodded. 'Perhaps you're right. But sometimes your particular brand of reality is as tainted as you believe mine to be.' She took a sip of wine and Jhered saw her reach a conclusion. 'I'm busy here as you can see and, frankly, I don't want you around here muddying the fountains and spreading your ill-humour. But neither do I want you too far away.

  'We've delayed too long investigating Arvan Vasselis and West-fallen. It's plagued me throughout dusas. Where does it leave the Order? Where does it leave me as Prime Speaker? I need answers, Paul and to be honest there's no one I trust to get them except you, though I'm scared at the prospect of what you'll find down there.' She let her voice drop to a whisper. 'I've had nightmares about signing his execution order.'

  'I've suffered similar anxieties,' said Jhered.

  'No doubt. So go to Caraduk. Find out what's going on. And see you don't get back until the games are over. And tell Arvan he need not attend. I expect he will have other things on his mind when you arrive.'

  Jhered smiled, satisfied. 'And on a more or less linked matter, how has the Chancellor taken the news of the games.'

  'She's delighted, as you might expect,' said Herine. 'Games have always been stages for the Order to educate, have they not? And with so many Marshals in attendance from provinces whose native religions still flourish, she is practically drooling at the opportunity.'

  'A less than pleasant image,' said Jhered. 'I'd best get moving.'

  Jhered saluted, right arm to left shoulder, and turned for the door.

  'Paul.' He stopped and swung back. Herine was standing. 'You are my most trusted friend. But even you are not above the law. Go carefully and mind your words. These games have already been approved by the Senate. Defamation of them is an offence.'

  He sighed. 'Everything I do, everything I say, I do for my love of you and the Conquord. You should ask yourself what really drives your decisions.' He reached the door. 'Your inner circle is your only flaw. Don't let them blind you. The Conquord needs you too much.'

  He left her frowning, not knowing whether she would take his words as insult or compliment.

  Chapter 20

  848th cycle of God, 8th day of Genasfall 15th year of the true Ascendancy

  The scouts attached to the Haroq's Blades had sighted Tsardon forces seven days before and immediately, Roberto had upped the marching pace, meaning to close to within a day's march. They had moved easily deep into the Tsardon hinterland, travelling along made paths and roads where they could, and in a straight line where they couldn't. The landscape had become cluttered with valleys and clefts and more scouts had been sent out to guard against ambush. There had been three skirmishes away from the columns, all of which Estorea had won, but the chance of larger encounters was growing.

  Local settlements had already been scouted and armoured foraging parties were sent out to secure supplies, under orders not to use force unless they encountered reluctance. Roberto had no doubt that some of his foragers would concoct such problems in order to swing their blades. It wa
s the way of things and perhaps the odd demonstration of Conquord determination was not so bad.

  Three day's fast march and the dust cloud that signified the Tsardon army was clearly visible at the top of every rise. Scouts reported the enemy army slowing, apparently seeking advantageous ground on which to take a stand. Meanwhile, messengers from the south and east reported both Estorean armies closing with large Tsardon forces. So soon into the fall of the season.

  Roberto had returned messages indicating concern at the apparent high level of organisation and intelligence of the enemy; and more importantly, at the scale of the forces that had been raised against them. He faced numbers estimated at two-thirds his own and that was reflected across the three fronts. He urged care in picking

  battlefields, patience in the face of provocation and resistance of the urge to fall into the small divisive skirmishes preferred by the enemy.

  Two days later and the army was moving through difficult rocky terrain, seriously impairing the movement of the wagons. Scouts had reported the Tsardon stopped and camped. Roberto decided to take his time, ordering half pace and moving four maniples back to help the wagons across the treacherous ground.

  It was a tense time. The Tsardon had been here before them and the way was littered with totems and shrines. Roberto's scholars interpreted most as curses on enemy feet to bring broken bones, blisters and disease down from their Gods. But some were exhortations to withdraw, allied with threats of death should the army breast the next rise, ford the next river or traverse the next valley.

  The Atreskan alae were superstitious, steeped in religious history linked to Tsard. Their concern fed back through the legions and Roberto did not hesitate to act. Leaving his extraordinarii in position, he rode through to the head of the column and halfway up a valley with sheer rock faces either side of him and a shallow tributary at his feet. There he turned and addressed the Blade's light-horse archers and any others who could hear him.