Cry of the Newborn

by James Barclay

  The reinforced stockade was well advanced already. It was being built all the way from the northern shore of the inlet, round to where the cliff path wound up to the orchard. It was twenty feet high. Thick and heavy wooden planks, treated to be resistant to fire, built between stone towers on which would sit ballistae or bolt-firers. It was a prison of their own making and every day she saw it, Hesther shook her head, denying the necessity. Could there really be enough hate to threaten them this much?

  They had had no right to bring all this to Westfallen. No right to subject these fine people to a daily ration of fear and uncertainty. She fought back the anger and strode up the slope to the House of Masks where, as on so many days, she found Genna Kessian.

  Hesther knelt by her on the lawn. Genna turned and buried her head in Hesther's chest, clinging onto her while she wept. She had become so old and frail, Ardol's death killing her as surely as any cancer. It would not be long. Eventually, Genna composed herself and withdrew. Hesther barely felt the weight of her go, so thin had she become.

  i had him for so long. Longer than I could ever have dreamed, so blessed he was with his ability and the life it gave him,' Genna said, her voice tiny and faint. 'Yet I still feel he has been stolen from me too soon.' She looked at Hesther, her eyes searching and desperate. 'I so want to be able to celebrate his return to the earth and sleep happy because he is in the embrace of God. She denied me that. She has taken my joy from me.'

  'Oh, Genna,' said Hesther, finding nothing else to say.

  'I don't want to hate,' she said. 'But it's all I have left in my heart.'

  Hesther was crushed. What was the sense in denying for Genna what she felt in herself every day she awoke. New anger blossomed inside her. That these were to be the last overwhelming feelings of this wonderful woman.

  'Don't be hateful when you go to lie with Ardol,' whispered Hesther.

  Genna almost smiled then. 'I'm counting on him to be able to lift it from me.'

  'He will,' said Hesther. 'He gives us all the strength to go on. That's why I'm here.'

  'He'll be glad to know the Echelon is in your hands now,' said Genna. 'He was always so proud of your strength.'

  Hesther sighed. She didn't feel strong at all. 'Where are they, Genna? Are they safe out there? Are they even still alive?'

  Genna patted her knee. 'On their way to Sirrane and out of the Order's clutches. It is the only blessing we have.'

  But Hesther couldn't share Genna's confidence. High in the Dukan Mountains, the smudge of smoke and flame that was the invasion beacon blotted the perfect day. Word had reached Vasselis that they had been lit because of a disastrous reverse in Tsard and an invasion of Atreska. Genna's grief had blinded her. The Ascendants would be journeying through a war zone. She prayed that whoever was with them was as capable as the Marshal Defender said.

  She listened to Genna's quiet words for a time, added her own prayers and messages and stood to touch Kessian's mask. There hadn't been enough space for everything that people wanted to say and the lay Reader had allowed both the inside of the mask and a specially noted page in the book to be used. It was against the scriptures for such a volume of outpouring but as the Reader had said, she wasn't the only official in the Order making up the rules to suit them. She had not attempted to keep the bitter edge from her voice.

  Hesther squeezed Genna's shoulders and walked back down into the town. The forum was quiet these days. No traders had visited since the Chancellor's cataclysmic appearance. Vasselis had assured them that no one would be out of pocket as a result and many businesses that relied on passing trade had closed up and lent their muscle to the security efforts. The town might have been empty of joy but it was brimmed with the determination to survive.

  Hesther wandered up to the hub of the building. A quarry barge of stone had arrived from Glenhale the previous day and the masons were hard at work erecting another of the towers that seated the stockade. She was looking for Vasselis and found him with Harkov under a canvas shelter nearby. Both were studying plans but there was a map on the table too and that worried Hesther for reasons she didn't understand at first.

  Vasselis came around the table to kiss her forehead and cheeks and usher her inside. Still as authoritative as always, he cast around orders and advice with great heart. But Hesther could see further into him than those at his command. He was haunted by his last sight of Kovan, running away to a fate as yet unknown. And though he had hidden it under a welter of effort and work, much as Netta had, it ate at him, undermined his confidence. Kovan, he had said in the first days after, was a work so nearly complete but one still in progress.

  'Come to check on your workforce, Mother Naravny?' he asked, using the title that still sat so uncomfortably on her shoulders.

  'Just trying to fill up the hours, same as every day,' she replied. 'Think you'll have it done before dusas bites?'

  Vasselis shrugged. 'I'd like to say yes. But the weather is getting a little unpredictable.' Her head dropped and tears threatened afresh. 'I know, Hesther. Nowhere else in the Conquord has there been the capacity to predict the weather with such accuracy. We have taken it for granted for so long that now it has gone we feel helpless, staring at the sky and wondering when it will darken to snow.'

  'Ardol would have known,' she said, trying to be bright. 'He loved this time of year. The storms sweeping up the inlet from the south. The cold fronts coming across the Tirronean Sea from Gestern. He used to say it was guesswork when it all clashed together around the turn of the season but he never got it wrong, did he?'

  Vasselis's eyes sparkled. 'No, he didn't. And until Arducius returns, we'll have to muddle through.'

  'I don't much like opening my shutters these mornings,' she said. 'I'll never get used to being surprised by cloud or cool on a solas day. Will he ever come back, do you think?'

  'You know, I really believe he will. That they all will.'

  Hesther studied him. He refused to face any other eventuality. The belief burned bright in him. She wished she had the same capacity.

  'I'm glad your son is with them,' she said. 'They trust him. They love him.'

  'All except Gorian.' Vasselis chuckled.

  'They're just young boys. They'll work it out. Out there, they'll have no choice.' Hesther glanced at the map. It took in much of Caraduk, Estorea and parts of the Tirronean Sea. 'Thinking about expanding your empire, are you?'

  'Some matters of state can't wait,' said Vasselis. 'Harkov was helping me decide where to move my defensive legions.'

  Hesther frowned. 'I thought the orders from Estorr had done that.'

  'They only told me to send three legions to Neratharn. With what little I have left, I have to worry about a Tsardon threat from the east, directly onto my lands, should Gestern fall.'

  'But surely Kester Isle . . .' Her frown deepened.

  Vasselis glanced about him. The shelter was empty barring the three of them.

  'Hesther, it isn't getting any better out there. My roll-call of loyal troops is getting short. I am starting to make enemies among my own people.'

  'What are you talking about?'

  'This isn't just going up to thwart the Chancellor,' said Harkov, waving at the fortifications. 'She has sown dissension among the Omniscient faithful on her meandering way back to Estorr. The reports I'm getting suggest that volunteering for the Order legions is at an all-time high. The war seems a very long way away from most in Caraduk but they are scared instead by the threat they think is blooming here in Westfallen.'

  Vasselis scratched at his head. 'I've divided my own people.'

  'No you haven't,' said Hesther. 'The Chancellor has done that.'

  'The result is the same. And now it is the flip of a coin whether the

  Armour of God are the first to test themselves on these walls or whether it will be the bakers and farmers of Cirandon.' 'You're certain we will be attacked.'

  'It is the only thing on which I would stake my life right now. But at least this time I wi
ll be able to guarantee your escape.'

  And when Hesther walked back to the villa, her eyes fell on the three triremes anchored in deep water and wondered how long it would be before she would be calling one of them her home.

  'Cosseted cretins,' muttered Jhered, stamping up the short stairway to the open deck and closing the hatch on the whingeing and bickering below. 'If they want ceiling height they can sleep up here.' 'My Exchequer?'

  Jhered turned to the captain of the small pleasure boat put at his disposal by Marshal Mardov. He was a pleasant enough young man but had limited skill beyond river navigation. He was also in awe of the tall Gatherer. The cruiser was a twenty-four oar affair with a single mast and brightly decorated sail. Its bow and stern were swept up in the Gesternan style. Forward stood a canvas-canopied private deck for entertaining that was bordered by an intricately carved wooden rail. All the luxurious furnishing had been removed.

  The sides of the boat were painted with mountainscapes which the Ascendants had loved but the vessel itself was a day ship and had precious little space below deck, barring crew bunks. There were only two cabins. Mirron and Appros Menas were in one, leaving all the boys crammed into the other. Jhered slept under the canvas on deck. Something he was entirely happy to do. The cooler air sweeping off the mountains of Kark was wonderful on his face when the sun set, and the ripple in the sail he found much to his liking.

  It was only a three-day trip upriver to the border town of Ceskas but on this the second morning, Jhered was already wondering what he and Menas had let themselves in for. The captain had clearly been told to ask no questions about his young charges and for that if nothing else, Jhered was grateful.

  'Nothing. Just the trials of travelling with brats,' he said. 'Is there any chance you can raise the height of each cabin and put feathers in the pillows, do you suppose?'

  The captain laughed. 'You don't have children yourself, my Lord?'

  'And below are four perfect reasons why not. They have short tempers, even shorter memories and an endless capacity for saying absolutely the wrong thing at will.' He shook his head. 'We were all young once.'

  'Not like that, I bloody wasn't,' growled Jhered, feeling his mood lightening. 'My father would have beaten me raw for talking back the way they do.' He walked to stand by the young skipper. 'You do have children, I take it?'

  'Three,' he replied.

  'Brave man. Think I'd rather face a Tsardon horde in a loincloth than that bedlam every day.'

  'I'm not a sailor for nothing. Peaceful out here, isn't it?'

  'Brave and wise,' said Jhered. He shook his head again. 'They hate it down there but they spend most of their time there. I don't understand it. Look at what they are missing. Actually, that gives me an idea.'

  He stalked to the hatch and pulled it open. The bickering was continuing unabated.

  'Right. All of you. Not another word. Get up here now. Time I talked and you listened. A little geography lesson is in order.' He paused. 'Do not mutter about me under your breath, Gorian. You may not be able to drown but it's still a long swim to the nearest hot meal. Get up here.'

  The captain saw his face and decided not to smile. Jhered walked under the canopy and waited for the five of them to drag themselves to where he stood.

  'If you want this to be torture in addition to it being as hard as it will inevitably be, I will oblige,' he said without looking at them. ‘I understand you are feeling lost, hurt and are suffering grief. I know Mirron gets sick on water but I also know Ossacer can cure that. I know Gorian and Kovan don't get on too well but that's life. I know you are growing into power that no one can help you understand but yourselves and for that alone, I have real sympathy for you.

  'That is what I have learned. Now it is your turn. But unlike you, I will be brief and state each fact just the once.'

  He turned to them and pointed forward to the stunning snowcapped peaks of Kark that ran the horizon from left to right and loomed larger with every hour that passed.

  'In two days we will be landing in Ceskas. It is a frontier town where people have only ever known tough lives. It perches on the top of what you might well call a mountain but that these people and their Karku neighbours would call a hillock. The atmosphere is rarefied and you will tire quickly. However, we will be there only long enough to buy mules and supplies for our trek through the borders.

  'We will take high passes because the flat lands are too dangerous to travel. Not because the Karku will kill you but because where they haven't forged a pass, there isn't one. Death lurks under every careless step. Up there in the heights, dusas will have jaws of wind so cold they can take the fingers from your hands and freeze the breath in your lungs. The snow and ice are so deep and so white they can blind you. And we will be so high you will fight for every breath.

  'The Karku themselves are a secretive, powerful people. Just like the Sirraneans. They do not suffer incursion by large forces and will shoot first and ask your business later. They have rituals and religions to which they are bound more tightly than any Order Speaker. They have sacred grounds that none from the outside are allowed to see, let alone set foot upon. It is a country where a word or a gesture out of place can bring you pain and death. Nevertheless, they are honourable and they are allies. Respect is everything.'

  He paused and glared at Gorian before continuing.

  'We will be in Kark for a minimum of ten days unless any contacts I make give me new information. From there, we will strike north through eastern Atreska and into Tsard. In a straight line it is a journey of well over a thousand miles to Sirrane but we cannot travel straight. We will be travelling lands torn apart by war so our journey might be slow. We could find ourselves travelling near the Toursan Lakelands where the cannibals still live and the marshes suck you down in moments. Through the steppe lands where the horsemen are quick, skilled and deadly. We will not stop. We will not turn back.

  'If we are lucky, hugely lucky, Roberto Del Aglios and his army will be marching south and you will have escaped the worst of the journey. Only then, of course, you will be required to do your bit to save the Conquord. If you do not, you stand to lose everything you love and the grief you feel now will be as a genastro day to that you will experience.

  'You and I cannot afford to fail. You can halt armies with your power. You can bring fear so deep that enemies will turn and run from you. That is what I expect of you, and all your bleating about peace will fall on my ears so deafened. The Tsardon are coming and our allies turn against us.'

  He looked at them all one by one, at the pallor in their faces and the fear in their eyes.

  'I know you are all scared. You should be. You have lived lives of comfort and care in Westfallen but those are over. Now you are in my world and it is at war. And war takes everything from you. Even those vestiges of hope and love to which you cling. It takes them and grinds them underfoot. There will be nothing left if we should fail. Nothing.'

  Chapter 53

  848th cycle of God, 12th day of Solasfall 15th year of the true Ascendancy

  Roberto Del Aglios grabbed his scabbarded cavalry sword and flew out of his tent and into the muggy, still night. He was in the lightweight tunic and sandals he'd fallen asleep in. Praise God for tiny mercies.

  Down by the principal gate, hastati tents were ablaze. He could hear the clash of weapons. Garish shadows danced in the harsh half-light. Soldiers were pouring down to the flashpoint from all across the camp. He shouted for them to get back to their tents. He shouted for his extraordinarii. He had no idea if anyone heard or heeded him.

  Barking legionaries aside, he ran across hard packed ground, hurdled the embers of cook fires and stands of shields and swords. Closer to the fighting, the mass of people slowed him and he elbowed and shoved his way through infantry, cavalry and engineers. His temper shortened with each stride.

  The conflict was extensive. On a road between the 8th Estorean and the 15th Atreskan, citizens fought with sword, spear, dagger and fist against
a backdrop of flaming canvas. It was a confused mess of a melee. Hundreds of them sparring or sprawling and more were edging to join all the time.

  Roberto stood and watched for a few moments while his extraordinarii gathered about him and the more intelligent members of his army began to back away having seen him approach. A few of the combatants disengaged under his glare but too many more were lost in the passion of their dispute. There were injured lying on the ground and he could see at least one corpse. Enough.

  'Get between them,' he ordered. 'Get them back across the road. Follow me.'

  Roberto ran into the fight, forcing his way between two men with fists bunched. He pushed them aside, yelling at them to stand back. Further in, swords clashed and sparks flew.

  'Get back,' he shouted. 'Stand aside. Weapons down now.'

  His extraordinarii, thirty of them and more, moved past him, placing themselves and their blades between groups of trouble. Roberto put his shoulder into a legionary, sending him sprawling. The man came up again, sword raised. Roberto flicked off his scabbard and placed his blade to the man's chest.

  'Don't even think about it,' he said. 'Back off, soldier.'

  He turned at the sound of more swords and the thud of metal on cloth. Blood sluiced from a wound. Friends came to the aid of the stricken man, angry voices raised. The blow had been struck by a huge Atreskan. He swung round, looking for another target. He saw Roberto in his way. His gladius came up and down. Roberto parried easily, stepped forward and crashed the pommel of his own blade into the man's face, putting him down. He made to rise again, blinded by his fury, but a sword point nicked his neck. He let his own weapon fall from his hand.

  'That would have been a very big mistake,' growled Davarov.

  'I want this stopped now!' roared Roberto into the lessening din. 'I will have order in my camp.'

  And slowly, he got it. Senior soldiers joined with the extraordinarii, pushing the two sides apart. Silence spread out from the centre of the conflict. Abuse still carried from both sides and the tent fires still crackled, despite the efforts being made to extinguish them.