Cry of the Newborn

by James Barclay

  Kovan and Menas had moved with Jhered and were after him now. Menas grabbed at the back of his cloak and struck her heels into the ice, sending up shards in a spray. Kovan ran for the gorthock's head. He'd abandoned his shield and was holding his sword in both hands. Jhered and the beast cleared the cleft and slipped on to the path. The gorthock bit again, its jaws splintering the shield, its claws still gripping tight. Its tail was whipping above its head, searching for purchase.

  They were slowing, but not enough. Menas grunted with the exertion, Jhered tried to shake the gorthock free and the animal, sensing its peril, howled for help: In the moment it cleared the lip, Kovan's sword crashed down on its neck, all but severing its head. Its grip slackened and it fell over the precipice. The sudden change in weight took Menas by surprise and she fell hard on her backside. Jhered's sword bit again and he slowed to a panting, grateful halt, his legs dangling into nowhere.

  The other three gorthock barked fury.

  'Stop!' commanded Gorian and their throats were silent.

  Jhered climbed to his feet, helped Menas to hers and nodded his thanks to Kovan. He scabbarded his sword and clapped the young Vasselis on the shoulder. Looking beyond the fire, his expression chilled and his hand was at his hilt again. Arducius spun round to see six figures emerge from the back of the cleft and walk into the firelight.

  'Karku,' he said.

  They studied the Ascendants closely, moving past them to Gorian and the gorthock. Jhered, they ignored completely and he motioned to Kovan and Menas to lower their weapons.

  The Karku were dressed in fur and leather. Like the surgeon on the Cirandon's Pride they were short in the body but with long arms and legs. Their feet were bare but covered in a thick hair and their toes, like their fingers, were unusually long, with thick nails springing from their tips. Their faces were dark with hair too and their heads heavy with tight curls or hidden beneath fur skull caps.

  They grouped around Gorian and one knelt by him, reaching out a hand to touch him. Others looked to the animals which Arducius could now see wore thick leather collars.

  'They're pets,' he said.

  'Hunting animals,' said Mirron, the fear gone from her voice. 'I don't think you could call them pets.' 'Can we go to Gorian?' asked Ossacer.

  'No,' said Jhered. He walked back to the fire. 'Let's see what happens. The Karku won't hurt him.' 'Where did they come from?'

  'Down the walls, I expect,' said Jhered. 'They are remarkable climbers.'

  Arducius looked at the blank, sheer faces, shrouded in shadow. So he had seen them. He still didn't believe it. 'What are they doing?' asked Mirron. 'I have absolutely no idea,' said Jhered. 'They sense something about us,' said Ossacer.

  'I'm not surprised,' said Kovan. 'How did Gorian do that?'

  Ossacer didn't have time to answer. The Karku next to Gorian was talking. His Estorean was halting but coherent. The language of trade made it even here to the far reaches of the world.

  'You are of the Haran-gor. A Parack-al.'

  'What is that?' asked Gorian. 'What does that mean?'

  The Karku shook his head. 'I cannot. . .' he said.

  'Exchequer Jhered?' asked Gorian.

  'Roughly translated, Haran-gor means Watcher of the Mountains . . . like a warden, a keeper, something like that. Like your name in a way. Gorian means "Man-of-the-mountain" in Karku.'

  'Gorian,' said the Karku. 'You?'

  'Yes,' said Gorian.

  'You are blessed. Another Gorian lived here when the mountains were younger.'

  'The first Gorian hid here when we was chased from Caraduk,' said Gorian. 'I'm named after him.'

  The Karku nodded and rose to his feet, holding out a hand which Gorian took.

  'What does Parack-al mean?' asked Mirron.

  Jhered raised his eyebrows. 'Herd Master.'

  'How can they know that?' asked Arducius.

  'There's plenty we don't know about the Karku,' said Jhered. 'Perhaps the first Gorian stumbled on something he didn't ever record.'

  Three of the Karku had leashed their gorthock and were walking them away. The beasts strained to remain with Gorian but their masters' strong words turned them. The other three walked back to the fire.

  'Haran-gor.' They nodded to the Ascendants. 'Welcome to Kark. Exchequer Jhered, your name is known. Your passage with your friends is assured.'

  'Thank you,' said Jhered, bowing. He spoke slowly and deliberately. 'I am sorry for the death of your beast. It attacked and I had to defend.'

  'It is forgiven. He was old and his mind dull and slow. Gorian could not penetrate it.' The Karku paused. It was impossible to tell his age but Arducius got the impression he was quite old. 'What takes you through Kark? This is poor season for travelling the high passes.'

  ‘I must reach a man fighting for the Conquord in Tsard but our way is blocked by the enemy through Atreska. Time is short. I had no choice but to come this way.'

  The Karku nodded. 'Rest. Wait for us. There is help we can give and things you must know.'

  Arducius watched the Karku. They walked to the walls and began to climb almost without pause. They were quick, their fingers and toes finding every tiny crack and giving them the purchase to move. In no time, they were lost to sight in the darkness and snow which, unnoticed, had begun to fall heavily once more.

  Menas spooned soup into bowls and handed it round along with some bread. The soup had caught on the bottom of the pan and tasted a little burned but to Arducius, it was nectar.

  'Tell me something, Gorian,' said Jhered. 'How many animals could you control that way?'

  ‘I don't know. If it was cattle or sheep, maybe a whole herd. Those gorthock were more intelligent, more difficult to will. Why?'

  'Just a thought. Now eat up and let's get some sleep. There's been quite enough excitement for one night.'

  'Exchequer?'

  'Yes, Gorian.'

  'Thank you.'

  Chapter 55

  848th cycle of God, 19th day of Solasfall 15th year of the true Ascendancy

  Nunan and Kell had roused the Revenge five hours before dawn and moved them the couple of miles to Gull's Ford in half-maniples of infantry, sections of archers and small companies of riders. The cavalry had all stopped well out of earshot while the infantry advanced to encircle the town at a half-mile distance.

  Gull's Ford's occupiers were lazy and overconfident and the Conquord legionaries disciplined and skilled. With Han Jesson's detailed and accurate advice on the lie of the land surrounding his town, they had completed their manoeuvres in good time for the attack. First light was imminent and Nunan was stood ready to signal the horns.

  The time for silence was done. There was a fire in his belly. Raiding and skirmishing were fundamentally unsatisfying. Brief though this might be, it was a blow for the Conquord. A retaking of land. A statement of intent.

  'We'll take this town like in the old days,' he shouted to his infantry in earshot. 'House by house, street by street to the forum. Leave no Tsardon free. Let's round them up or cut them down.'

  A cow lowed in a field down slope. He heard the bleating of sheep. Peace for a heartbeat. He swept his arm down. Horns sounded, the blaring taken up in relay and shuddering away across the plains.

  'Reckon they'll be awake now,' he said. 'Revenge! Let's do some damage.'

  They double-timed the short distance, Conquord songs in every throat. Nunan was at the head of the forces coming in from the east. Kell was around the other side of the town. The rumbling of feet and hooves blew away the quiet of dawn. Nunan saw his first sight of Gull's Ford, lying sleepily in its shallow river valley and saw figures

  running in amongst the tenements and villas. He hoped they were scared.

  Conquord infantry poured into the streets of Gull's Ford. Half-maniples broke into units of five to make the house-to-house searches while others ran the streets. Archers headed for the rooftops around the forum while cavalry patrolled the borders for runners on foot or horseback.

>   Nunan's two hundred surged across the ford and up into the town's main street. They were running in close form, shields up in a wall and over their heads against the few arrows fired at them. Exactly as ordered, his legionaries peeled off from the back of the wall to take each house. He heard timbers splintering as doors went down.

  Ahead, the forum was alive. Stalls had been set up for the day's trading but the basilica was busy with Tsardon, not traders. People were running directionless while the Revenge closed the net. Nunan scented battle and ordered his infantry to the charge. Many of the Tsardon were billeted in the basilica and they were boiling out onto the floor of the forum. Most appeared only half-dressed, perhaps groggy after a night's drinking. So much the better.

  Nunan led his troops in. A hundred at his back now, the rhythmic sound of their feet sending confidence soaring through their bodies. They slowed and moved to a wider front. Twenty across, five deep and with a handful of archers covering them from behind and from the buildings ringing the forum. The Tsardon knotted into a loose formation. Someone was barking orders and more were hurrying from the basilica. Nunan guessed he faced fifty.

  'Space!' he yelled. The fighting line spread to give room to strike.

  The Tsardon backed away, unwilling to commit. A few began to break off from the back, heading for the northern and eastern exits of the forum. Conquord archers began to fire over Nunan's head. There was a concerted move away by the enemy; then they broke and ran. Straight into the path of more Revenge citizens. The net closed.

  'Fight!'

  Nunan charged at the remaining Tsardon who had moulded into a small and determined ring. He kept his head down behind his shield, only his eyes showing above it, and bulled into them. He felt them give. He stabbed out with his gladius, feeling the blade slip deep into flesh. There was a warm rush of blood over his arm. He dragged it back and stabbed again. Further right this time but he was blocked down. The counter came in. He pulled his shield round and took the blow full on. He took a short pace back.

  A body fell at his feet. One of his own men, skull smashed. He jabbed his shield forward and up, butting the enemy under the chin. Nunan moved in, butted again and stabbed right to keep others away. His men closed in around him, the noise increased as more joined the press from the far side. Blood fountained into the air on his left. A Tsardon throat ripped out by a slashing gladius.

  Nunan felt a blade rake down the front of his shield. He responded, opening his defence and powering his gladius forwards. The Tsardon hadn't laced up his armour and the blade pierced his heart. Enemy numbers were diminishing rapidly but they wouldn't stop fighting. Once more he stepped up, his elbows tucked in and his head low. His gladius licked out again, to be deflected off a mail shirt. He followed it up with another shield drive.

  Such inevitability. There was no gap for the Tsardon to exploit. Just a wall of shields, embossed with the Conquord crest to remind them who it was they faced. Who it was defeated them. The last of them died in a welter of thrusts and the cheer rang out around the forum.

  'Let's clean up!' barked Nunan. 'Sweep this place. Ten with me to the basilica and two archers.'

  He was in no mood to pause and bask just yet. Elsewhere in the forum, citizens were herded into groups and guarded. A ring of his archers stood around the open space. It was nearly done.

  'Let's not be casual,' he said. 'Never trust a Tsardon.'

  His ten brought their shields in front of them and walked in a single row towards the basilica. Beyond its columns, darkness was punctuated by the light of lanterns and torches in its depths. They walked up the wide marble stair. Nunan heard movement within.

  'Keep moving,' he said. 'Archers, keep it close. Flanks, do not ignore the shadows. Be sure.'

  Their boots rang out in the vaulted space. Inside, the ranks of benches were empty. Behind them, the noise of the town dulled to echoes. There were doors left and right at the head of the basilica, leading to the administrative offices. A large Atreskan flag hung at the back wall. Tsardon flags and banners stood in stands around the magistrates' chairs and table.

  'Tsardon warriors. It is over.' Nunan's voice was loud in the colonnaded chamber. 'The Conquord has reclaimed this territory. Show yourselves. You cannot win.'

  The basilica was empty. Nunan motioned six men to the left hand door and took the others right. The door opened inwards. He nodded to a legionary. She unlatched it and pushed, stepping back smartly behind her shield. Three arrows whipped out. None found flesh.

  'There's no way out,' said Nunan. 'Put your weapons down and come out.'

  'There is always an escape,' came a voice, thickly accented, unafraid.

  'Take a look through the windows or the side doors. The Conquord is everywhere. Gull's Ford is ours.'

  'Pitiful,' said the voice. 'Your resistance is beaten. We march on Neratharn. What is one small town? It is we who are everywhere.'

  Footsteps. Nunan peered from behind his shield. Figures were approaching from the deep shadows along a passageway. He held up a hand to stay his archer. There were five Tsardon. Three carried bows, arrows nocked and ready. They walked behind two who held blades to the throats of women in front of them. Behind Nunan, his other six came running, presumably having found nothing.

  'This is the true face of the brave Tsardon warrior,' said Nunan. 'Let them go.'

  'You would slaughter us the same way you did those who faced you in the forum.'

  'I will cut down no man who surrenders. We are the Conquord.'

  The Tsardon came to the doorway. Nunan could see that both women were middle-aged. Their robes suggested high office in this town. Neither struggled. The one on the left, the town's praetor, had a proud bearing.

  'What is your name?' he asked.

  'Gorsal,' she said.

  'And you preside over a town given without a fight to the Tsardon.' He looked to the man holding her. 'Let them go. I will not ask again.'

  'They will die before you strike me down.'

  Nunan shrugged. 'So be it. I bear them no respect for what they have done.'

  Uncertainty flickered in the Tsardon's eyes. Nunan turned to his archers.

  'Best shot,' he said.

  They fired. Gorsal's captor had no time to carry out his threat. The shaft took him through the eye and he dragged her to the ground as he fell. The other woman was not so lucky. The arrow pierced her neck and she dropped clutching and gasping, leaving the enemy open.

  'Take them,' said Nunan. 'Kill them.'

  The Tsardon loosed their arrows even as they begged for mercy. But Nunan just watched as the weight of his infantry forced them back inside the passageway. The clash of swords was brief and the sound of sword driving through armour into flesh satisfying.

  He gave his shield to an archer and knelt by Gorsal. 'You are unhurt?'

  'Yes,' she said and looked to her right where her companion was being tended by one of Nunan's people. 'Will she live?' The legionary shook his head.

  'I'm sorry,' said Nunan. i had no choice.'

  Gorsal's face hardened. 'No, indeed. Those with no respect deserve little else.'

  Nunan stood and held out a hand for Gorsal. 'That was for Tsardon ears. We know what happened here.'

  Gorsal took the hand a little reluctantly and hauled herself to her feet. 'How?'

  'A citizen of yours passed through our camp last night. Han Jesson.'

  'Han? They were looking for him. He killed the sentor.'

  'So he said. He's beyond them now but he won't succeed in his search for his family. Tsard will claim him.'

  'Poor man. It would be a blessing,' said Gorsal.

  Nunan nodded and strode back out towards the forum. The legion was gathering. Cavalry were at its borders and Tsardon prisoners were herded and penned in its centre. He raised his gladius.

  'Victory!'

  The answering roar rolled on long, more relief than triumph. Nunan held up his hands for quiet and felt a flash of nerves. Was this how a general felt? He had never add
ressed this many people before. Legionaries, cavalry, enemies, ordinary citizens.

  'People of Gull's Ford. You have tasted the reality of allegiance with Tsard. You have experienced their diplomacy. Burning, kidnap, murder and execution. Any who feel their lives are better under Tsardon control, the border is that way.'

  He jerked his thumb behind him. In front of him, his legionaries laughed and cheered.

  'This land belongs to the Conquord. Go back to your homes, take down the flags they made you unfurl and take up arms against the common enemy.' He pointed at the Tsardon, perhaps forty of them, standing dishevelled and beaten. 'There they stand. Your so-called liberators. Men who use women as shields to save their own pathetic lives. Men who would rather be hiding behind their mother's skirts than face their foe with courage.

  'The people of this town were subjected to decimation. So shall you be treated. And the rest shall be released to these people's mercy. I will be praying as we march to destroy your armies that they find they have none for you. Revenge, prepare to march.'

  Roberto rode out of the principal gate shadowed by thirty of his extraordinarii. Behind him, the abuse rained down on those gathered in front of the gates and surrounded by Elise's cavalry. Taunts and threats which Roberto had no desire to quell. Every man and woman who had chosen to leave his army was another scratch across his heart. But among the almost seven hundred, seven hundred, who had chosen to return to fight in Atreska, none had wounded him more than Goran Shakarov.

  The former Master of Sword of the 15 th Ala, the God's Arrows, stood with all the others. Stripped of sword and armour, stripped of all rights as a Conquord soldier. Roberto still couldn't believe it. The Atreskans stood and formed into ranks as he approached, Shakarov at their head. Behind Roberto, the taunts began to die down on the packed ramparts; everyone strained to hear what their General said.

  'There is no honour in what you do,' he said. 'There is no sense in such foolish action. None of you have considered the future and now none of you have a future. When the Conquord retakes Atreska, your part will not be acknowledged. You think you go to protect your homes and families? You do not. You go to fuel the fires of rebellion, whether you wish it or no.