Cry of the Newborn

by James Barclay

  'I'm sorry. I've gone too far.'

  But she shook her head and looked back at him, the tears rolling down her face. 'No, you haven't,' she said. 'But it isn't often that the words you hear in your dreams are spoken to you when you are awake.'

  Yuran felt a surge of relief and a pure happiness. He leaned back into his chair, unsure what to do next. He gazed at her, aware that they were both grinning like imbeciles. The hammering on the door to the dining hall was most unwelcome.

  'Dear-God-of-the-sky, can I not have a moment's peace!' he yelled, thumping his fist on the table. 'Sorry, Megan.'

  He pushed back from the table and rose. He indicated brusquely his servant open the door. A senior aide almost fell over the sill on his way into the room, such was his urgency.

  'This had better be extremely important,' growled Yuran.

  'It is, Marshal.' He paused, looking across at Megan.

  'Speak. Megan needs to hear it too, whatever it is.'

  The aide nodded. Yuran frowned. The man was sweating and there was a quiver to his hands as if he'd undergone heavy and prolonged exercise.

  'There's a rumour sweeping the city,' he said. 'You'll hear it through the windows soon. Legionaries from the war have arrived. They're a mess.'

  'We've seen them before. Deserters, refugees from a setback.' Yuran shrugged. 'What's the rumour?'

  'Actually, it's not a rumour. I've spoken to one.' The aide took a deep breath. 'The entire eastern front has collapsed. Conquord forces have been routed. The Tsardon are marching on Atreska.'

  'What?' Yuran refused to believe what he had just heard.

  'If they are to be believed, as many as fifty thousand.'

  Yuran sat back into his chair and threw up his hands. 'I don't . . . What did I say? What have I been saying since this campaign began? Too much reliance on the fronts, nothing in reserve.' He shook his head, the enormity cascading through him. 'Oh dear God-of-the-sea, we are defenceless.' He looked back at his aide. 'How long before they get here?'

  'The survivors that have reached here so far have all been on horseback. Part of the Rogue Spears, the 9th Atreskan ala. They have outpaced the marching force comfortably but it is likely that the first Tsardon cavalry is no more than five days behind them, possibly as few as three. The main body of the army can be expected in ten days, no more.'

  'Using our highways,' whispered Yuran.

  'They will speed the enemy's progress.' The aide inclined his head. 'Marshal Defender, your orders?' 'Orders . . . orders.'

  Yuran felt a crushing weight on his chest. His vision fogged. He felt the damp heat of sweat all over his body. His mind raced to no end and all he could see was doom. His head felt like a furnace had been laid inside it.

  'Marshal?'

  Yuran shook his head violently to clear it and held up a hand, aware it was shaking but not caring. He looked down the table at Megan.

  'My destiny is not to enjoy a life of peace, is it?' he said.

  'We will follow you whatever comes,' said Megan. 'Just tell us what you wish us to do.'

  Her face, full of love and belief, rescued his will. Yuran sat taller in his chair.

  'Bring me my commanders. I would know what strength I have that I can bring to bear in our defence. Perhaps we can hold them near the border. I will write a proclamation to be posted throughout the city, telling the people what is about to befall us. And light the beacon fires. Atreska is at war again and we must protect as many as we can inside the walls of our cities.' He turned his head to his aide, feeling a sudden fury replace his earlier despair. 'And I want the Estorean consul standing in front of me right now. Go.'

  The aide ran from the room. Yuran listened to his footsteps echoing away along the stone corridor. From beyond the windows, he could hear the city coming to fearful wakefulness. And when the beacon fires were lit it would be the same across Atreska. The families of those on campaign in Tsard would wait to fall on any survivor who came through the gates, demanding information about their loved ones. Looking for any scrap of hope that they had escaped the disaster; the stories of which would race through the country like a fire, fanned by the winds of invasion.

  Megan rose and came around the table to him. He stood and they embraced, both clinging hard, faces buried in each other's shoulders. Eventually Yuran pulled back.

  'It's a sad fate that our first embrace is one of goodbye,' he said.

  'My Lord?' Megan frowned.

  'You of all of us will be safe, at least for now. You are ready for higher office and you will go to Estorr to take my messages and sue for massed reinforcement. If we cannot keep them at our borders, even if we cannot save our capital city, we will not lose our country without a fight. It is time for the Conquord to stand up for its peoples.'

  He traced a finger down Megan's cheek. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight.

  'You can take a boat down the Teel to Byscar at first light. With fair weather, you can be in Estorr in thirteen days. I will give you a note and seal for use of a ship and crew.'

  ‘I should be at your side, Marshal,' said Megan.

  'You will serve me and Atreska better in Estorr, Megan.' He leant in and kissed her lips. 'The fastest way for us to be together again is to work apart for now.'

  Megan nodded. ‘I will do my best.'

  ‘I have grown to know nothing less.'

  They embraced again and Yuran watched her go, unable to dispel the feeling that the Conquord had robbed him of something else he loved.

  This time, Sentor Rensaark crossed the Tsardon border into Atreska with an army all but marching in his hoofprints. His work of years had not been in vain. He gazed into the breaking dawn to watch Korl's eye rise above the mountains, knowing that the ultimate victory for his King was at hand. He rode at the head of five hundred steppe cavalry, more than half of whom were fresh from the glorious victory at Scintarit. Down the rise on which he had paused, one of the two hundred border forts that studded the Atreskan border was plainly in view, its Conquord flag lazing in the heat.

  He held his spear horizontally above his head and the cavalry began to trot the last mile to the fort, a deep rumbling of hoofs and a cloud of dust indicating their approach. That they had been seen was apparent when the Conquord flag was lowered and that of the old kingdom of Atreska raised in its place. Rensaark smiled. As it had ever been.

  They reined in practically under the shadow of the fort. He dismounted and walked towards its iron bound doors. One of them swung open. A grey-haired man in a dented, tarnished breastplate over a cream woollen tunic strolled out. A pipe was in his mouth, smoking gently.

  'I see you have not spent any of your earnings on fresh equipment, Centurion Danler,' said Rensaark.

  The man, scarred and cynical even for an Atreskan, shrugged. 'It doesn't do to let any inspector think our pay is anything more than the pittance it officially is. And I see you have brought rather more than your normal raiding party. I presume this increases my purse.'

  Rensaark laughed. 'Ever you try, Centurion. No, it does not mean that.' He snapped his fingers and one of his men dismounted and brought across a small wooden chest. 'But here is the gold we do owe you. It'll be the last.'

  Danler raised his eyebrows. 'Oh?'

  'You have been a loyal servant of both our countries,' said Rensaark. 'But surely you've seen survivors of the Conquord armies running for safety here.'

  'Deserters pass here regularly,' he said. 'Who am I to stop them, eh? There may have been more than of late but the reality of battle falls harsh on the coward, doesn't it?'

  'Then let me tell you that the Conquord was routed at Scintarit. That its forces are beaten and scattered from here to Sirrane in the north and Kark in the south. That we have scored the greatest victory in the history of our kingdom and that Tsard is marching to Estorr to break its walls. And that you have secured your future by seeing that we would be victorious. You and the supply chain we have already built deep into Atreska will speed us to the sundering of th
e Conquord. It will be so in Gestern and Gosland too.'

  There was fear in Danler's eyes as he accepted the chest. 'Are you laughing at me?'

  Rensaark shook his head. 'We were once friends and we will be again. You know what we want from Atreska and I have come to ask you for one more favour. Speak to the forts that flank you. Get the message passing along your borders. The Tsardon army will cross into your lands and they must be as friends to us. Make sure we are not delayed.'

  Danler sucked his lip but he nodded.

  'You have nothing to fear, my friend. And everything to be thankful for. The army will be here in two days. Make sure you have the proper flags flying.'

  Rensaark's eye was caught by movement on the horizon. He saw smudges of smoke climbing into the sky, their intervals too regular to be a coincidence.

  'What are those?' he said.

  'Beacon fires,' said Danler. 'Atreska believes she is invaded. Should I light the fire on my roof, then the border will believe it too.'

  Rensaark smiled. 'Believe me, not your fires. You are not invaded. Not by Tsard. Your invasion took place a decade ago. Our mission is liberation.'

  'Don't make me look a fool, Rensaark.'

  'Time will banish your worries,' said Rensaark. 'Now, I must go. I have business with your Marshal. It's time he understood too.'

  Yuran had the simpering, patronising consul pinned to a wall in the throne room. His men kept the Conquord bodyguards back. Yuran had been kept waiting while the fear in his city grew by the moment and the beacon fires spread the word across the country. By the time the consul had deigned to appear, Yuran's eyes saw but one colour.

  'The legions will reform in advance of the enemy. The Tsardon will never reach Haroq City.'

  Yuran pushed a little harder, seeing the consul cough. He was a small man with close-cropped black hair and a belly that had seen too much luxury.

  'Your precious army is gone,' he shouted, his spittle peppering the consul's face. He shook him with every phrase. 'They are leaderless, they are terrified and they are beaten. You have left me and my people defenceless through your arrogance and your deafness to my words. Where do we have to go now?'

  The consul raised his hands in a pathetic, placatory gesture.

  'I understand your concerns.'

  'You have no idea of my concerns. You never leave your villa but to gorge yourself at my expense. You see nothing, you know nothing. There are fifty thousand Tsardon approaching my borders. And I have three legions. Three! And none of them are battle hardened, nor within a hundred miles of use.'

  'And of course, you shall have more defence,' said the consul. 'I will return to Estorr immediately with my advisers and appraise the Advocate of—'

  Yuran laughed loud and right into his face. 'Oh no, my weasel you will do no such thing. If I am to die at the hands of the King of Tsard then you will be standing at my shoulder.'

  The consul displayed real fear for the first time. ‘I—'

  'You thought to escape. Even by the standards of Conquord consuls you are supremely gutless. I have already sent a delegation to Estorr. Most of the Gatherer unit has gone with my people to add credence. If nothing else, at least they have courage and the respect of the Advocacy. You, I am sure, have neither. You will not leave the city. Indeed, you will not leave your villa unless I so request it.'

  The consul blustered incoherently. Yuran pushed him into the wall one more time.

  'War is at my borders. And you, my spineless mentor, will face it with me.'

  Chapter 36

  848th cycle of God, 25th day of Solasrise 15th year of the true Ascendancy

  It was dawn and Chancellor Koroyan was angry. Her wagon trailed behind Prime Sword Vennegoor and the Armour of God riders while they swooped on a guard post set out of sight of travellers heading away from Westfallen. Leaning from her window, she could see men running. One jumped onto the back of a horse and galloped away in the direction of the town in a clearly pre-arranged move.

  Vennegoor pointed three fingers and a trio of riders upped their pace further in pursuit. The rest rode around in an arc to cut off any other attempt to run. Before them were eight men dressed in the livery of Marshal Vasselis, his personal army not a Conquord legion. Sensibly, none had drawn their weapons or nocked arrows into bow strings.

  Vennegoor dismounted when her carriage rattled to a stop. He opened her door and the pair approached the guards. All looked experienced soldiers. None displayed any particular fear. It was testament to their loyalty to Vasselis and their belief in the Order, whose crest they could not have helped but see. It made no difference.

  'You stand accused of heresy and protecting evil in the town of Westfallen,' she said, watching the anxiety cross their faces. 'Furthermore, you stand accused of obstructing the Order in its ordained duties, and of complicity in harbouring and protecting a heretic Reader. I, Felice Koroyan, Chancellor of the Order of Omniscience, lay these charges. How do you plead?'

  Felice kept her tone deliberately neutral and matter-of-fact despite the fury inside. For the third time, she had been forced to lay charges against those merely acting on orders from Vasselis. And for the third time, the fear before her was palpable.

  Seven of the eight dropped to one knee, hands placed palms down on the ground. Their captain swept off his plumed helmet and held it across his chest. He was a man still in his early years. His bearing was professional but he, like his guards, stared back at her in mute shock.

  'Speak,' said Vennegoor. 'The Chancellor has asked you a question.'

  'We are not guilty,' said the captain, plainly struggling to believe who was facing him. 'We guard as ordered. Westfallen has suffered an outbreak of bovine flu and is quarantined. Respectfully, my Chancellor, I must ask you to turn back.'

  Felice knew her expression was bleak. 'And we were asked the same by the first two guard posts we encountered. So do you know why we are still here? It is because God's work cannot be obstructed by lies. Bovine flu . . .' She shook her head. 'Do I look an imbecile to you?'

  'No, my Chancellor.'

  'No,' said Felice. 'Then why do you peddle this untruth before me. This flu outbreak you claim has gripped the unfortunates in West-fallen has been going on longer than science and knowledge can persuade. It would by now have taken the life of every animal in the town or long been cured. If you can come up with no other response, I can only conclude your guilt.'

  'Please, my Chancellor, we are ordinary soldiers and citizens. We follow orders and display the loyalty demanded by our Marshal Defender.'

  'Even if that means turning your back on your God?' Felice let her anger take her. 'Even if that means evil is born and blossoms before your eyes? Does not your God, do not I, also demand and deserve respect?'

  'Of course, my Chancellor.'

  'Then show it,' she spat. 'Tell me the truth.'

  'I do not question the orders of my Marshal. Please, Chancellor, we are innocent.'

  'Liar,' said Vennegoor smoothly. 'We know the questions you ask of those journeying to Westfallen. And we know what you ask of those who leave. Quarantine for the propagation of evil. You are as guilty of heresy as surely as your Marshal and your Ascendants.'

  The word dripped like rot from his mouth. Felice saw the captain react and his head drop fractionally.

  'Oh dear,' she said. 'Guilty.'

  Behind her, a hundred bows were drawn back. Panic took the guards. Shouts for mercy, pleas for clemency, exhortations of faith. She shook her head.

  'Your God asks of you only that you do His bidding and keep His earth free from those who would corrupt it. You did not do this. You provide no credible defence, you are aware of the presence of evil and so I find you guilty of the charges laid before you. You are sentenced to death and you will never feel the embrace of God.'

  'You have no authority to carry out such sentence.' The captain at last found his courage.

  'In that, as in many things, you will find you are wrong,' said Vennegoor.

&nb
sp; One of the guards broke and ran. Vennegoor's arm rose and fell. From the flanks of the arc of riders, bow strings thrummed. Arrows clouded her vision for a moment, thudding into the guardsmen. Multiple shafts pierced each body. All the men died instantly. Felice shook her head.

  'Burn them. Let the devils have them. Sentence has been carried out.' She knelt on one knee. 'Let us pray.'

  Arducius walked through Westfallen towards the sea. His friends were with him. Ossacer had a hand on his right arm though he could have chosen not to; seeing through the trails was easy enough now but still an effort of mind. Mirron walked slightly ahead of them, chatting with Kovan, who strode proudly with his hand rested casually on his sword pommel. Gorian was on his left, sauntering in that way of his. He was chewing a stalk of grass and every time he looked at Mirron and Kovan, a small smile touched his lips.

  It was afternoon on a God-blessed day and the life of the earth surged gloriously through the Ascendants. Arducius felt it as a rumble through his entire body. He remembered the pain of his connection with all around him and the relief in the faces of the Echelon when he came round. And to think they had thought that the playing with the elements they had done was emergence. It was not. It was just the preamble. Everything they had learned had been moving them towards the ability to accept the real energy, the real lifelines.

  And what they felt now was an order of magnitude so much larger than before. No wonder their bodies and minds had fought to be able to accept it and control it. No wonder they could still barely contain what they felt and were so careful in preparing their Works. Even now, they did not dare try and examine their full potential. It scared them all and Father Kessian wanted them to tread carefully. And so they did.

  Today they had a break from their studies and had decided to go swimming and sailing. Kovan was going to officiate in some races above the water and use the hourglass to time them on dives to collect a set of coloured stones he would drop himself. Arducius loved games like these. They brought the Ascendants closer together and, he hoped, helped repair the divide that existed between Kovan and Gorian. Perhaps that was too much to expect. Particularly when the object of their disagreement was right there with them. He wished Mirron would take it more seriously but she seemed to revel in it.