Cry of the Newborn

by James Barclay

  He could hear Jhered's low voice above the sound of the river. People rudely awakened from deep sleep and frightened at what he had to say. Menas was at Gorian's shoulder very quickly, her bow strung and nocked, her sword on the ground by her side.

  'Anything?' she asked.

  'No,' he said.

  Though it was full night, there was a lightness in the air. The sky was full of stars and the eyes of god were in the sky as they were every change from solastro to dusas. When he suppressed the energies surrounding him and within, he could see clearly about ten yards. Beyond that, the shadows got too thick.

  He didn't really believe Jhered. If whoever they were had just come down to collect water on their way somewhere, why would they be even looking at the ground? It didn't make sense at all. In a while, they'd all go back to sleep and Jhered would be embarrassed at the scare he'd given Mirron. And poor feeble Ossacer. He shouldn't do that. They weren't as strong as Gorian. He shook his head.

  'There's something . . .' said Menas quietly.

  She stretched her bow. Gorian froze. He let the energies cascade through him, searching through them like he should have been the whole time, checking for anything that moved. For a moment he couldn't see anything but the dull resting energies of tree and grass before the sun warms them. No men approaching.

  'You'll be looking too high,' whispered Menas. She clucked her tongue softly.

  Gorian stared at the ground. For a moment, his fear caused the energy trails to flare and jump in his mind. Probably only twenty yards away the figures were coming. Two were crouched low and moving straight along the line of the river. The others were crawling like lizards, almost invisible, their brighter energies hidden by long grass.

  'Talk to me,' said Menas. 'Quietly.' Gorian felt another presence behind him. Jhered. 'They are spread out,' he said. 'They are all coming this way. Crawling.'

  'Good, then they don't have bows ready,' said Jhered. 'Menas, target their right flank. I don't want anyone behind us.'

  They would be able to see each other soon. Gorian wanted to get up and run but it was as if Jhered sensed it. He put a hand on Gorian's shoulder.

  'Go back to your friends,' he said. 'On my order, I want a barrier from the river five yards in front of you. They know it. Be ready.'

  Gorian crept backwards, shuddering as he turned his back, wondering if a blade would carve through his unprotected flesh. He saw Kovan crouched behind a tree nearby. His sword was drawn and ready, his buckler on his shield arm. Their eyes met. Kovan nodded at him.

  Back in the camp, the Ascendants were grouped by their kit. Mirron looked as scared as Gorian felt. Ossacer had his eyes closed and Arducius knelt between them. He beckoned Gorian over.

  'Join our minds. See our focus.'

  Jhered moved right of Menas and checked Kovan was ready. They needed to be quick and accurate. Seven on three and a few unarmed children. Gorian's brief description had given them an edge. He could see indistinct shapes low to the ground moving very slowly and all but silently. They were good and he'd warned Kovan and Menas so. In a few yards, they would be seen. He turned and nodded at Kovan. He in turn, nodded at Arducius just a few yards behind.

  Something changed in the air. Jhered could feel it. Like warmth flowing underfoot. He shuddered. It felt alien. Wrong. The vegetation shivered ahead and towards the river bank. Bamboo groaned.

  'Don't let me down,' he whispered.

  He surged to his feet and charged out of the camp. He heard Menas's bow thud. Men shouted in front of him. He saw shapes come to their feet and he heard weapons drawn. To his right, roots boiled from the ground. Grass grew dense and twined around the trunks of trees. Branches speared down, new leaves sprouting. The low brush thickened and grasped. Over an area at least ten yards from the river bank, the barricade sprang up. He heard cries of fear, pain and surprise.

  In front of him, the Tsardon resolved from the shadows. They were lightly armoured for speed and dark paint was on their faces. Jhered came upon two. He punched one in the face with his left fist, knocking him back. The second reacted, bringing up his blade. Jhered caught the weapon on his own and turned it aside. He brought the gladius back, raking it across the man's face and reversing it through his leather and into his gut.

  He saw Kovan run by him, heard the clash of weapons and swung round to his second enemy. The man had not raised a defence. He was staring past Jhered at the growing, impassable wall of vegetation. Jhered advanced on him. He backed away.

  'Fight,' said Jhered.

  The Tsardon shook his head. Jhered rushed him. He backed away, stumbled on a root and fell backwards. Jhered pounced and drove his gladius through the man's chest. Blood fountained from his mouth, splashing into Jhered's face. He straightened to wipe it and was barged off the body, tumbling backwards. His right hand struck a branch, the blade springing from his hand.

  The enemy was above him. Jhered rolled fast. A sword thudded into the ground behind him. He kicked out, forcing the Tsardon back and drove to his feet. Dimly, he heard the sound of a bow string followed by a scream of agony. The Tsardon circled him. Blades were still clashing down towards the river. He towered over the smaller man, watching his movements.

  He feinted forward and Jhered dodged back, thumping into a tree trunk. The enemy's eyes widened and he stabbed forwards. Jhered ducked. The blade struck the tree above his head. Jhered butted the

  Tsardon, knocking the wind from him. His arms encircled the man's midriff and they tumbled across the ground. Jhered ended up underneath but was quicker with his fists. He pushed the Tsardon up with one hand and crashed a right hook into his chin. The Tsardon's jaws cracked together. Teeth broke and splintered. He fell away. Jhered followed him, drew a dagger and thrust it into his throat, holding his head to one side while his life bled away into the ground.

  Jhered listened. There was no more fighting but someone was speaking down towards the river bank.

  'Menas!'

  'Here, Exchequer,' she replied, trotting over to him. Her bow was still in her hand. 'Two down here.'

  'Good. I've taken three.' Jhered cleaned his dagger on the dead man's clothes and stood. 'Kovan.'

  'Sir. Over here.'

  Menas followed him. Kovan was standing near one body and with his gladius to the neck of the last Tsardon scout. Kovan was cut on his upper arm but smiling. Jhered could see why. The Tsardon's arms and chest were entwined in the Ascendants' natural barrier. His eyes were wide and scared.

  'Put that up, young Vasselis,' said Jhered. 'Get back to the Ascendants, see they are all right. Have Ossacer look at that cut.'

  'My Lord,' said Kovan.

  'Well, well, well,' said Jhered. 'A rat in a trap. Do you speak Estorean?' It was plain the Tsardon did not. 'Karku?' 'Yes. Please. Cut the plants away.'

  Jhered dropped to his haunches. 'I will. And I will let you run, too. Take this message to your masters. The Conquord has a new weapon. We can see you when it is dark. We have all of God's creatures and every tree at our command. We can call storms on you. We can bring lightning from the sky. We can split the earth and the mountains. Fear us.'

  Jhered and Menas cut the thick, tight roots from the Tsardon and dragged him to his feet. Menas took his weapons.

  'Do not look back. We will know,' said Jhered. 'Run.'

  And the Tsardon did. Jhered smiled.

  'Exaggeration?' said Menas.

  'I'm not so sure it is. Anyway they'll almost certainly ignore him. But the seeds will be sown.' He shrugged. 'You never know.' He pointed back to where they had been fighting. 'Look for my gladius, would you? It'll be near the last man I killed.' 'Of course.'

  Jhered walked back into the camp. The Ascendants and Kovan were all very still. 'What's—?'

  He heard the unmistakable sound of bows being tensed and raised his hands above his head.

  Chapter 59

  848th cycle of God, 35th day of Solasfall 15th year of the true Ascendancy

  'I'm amazed she hung on for as long as s
he did,' said Willem Geste.

  Hesther's tears were spoiling her message on Genna's mask. The meaning she wanted to convey was of warm light and endless love. She just couldn't form the words to make sense of it.

  'Don't wipe them away,' said Willem. 'Let them soak in. More eloquent a memory than any words.'

  Hesther squeezed Willem's arm and straightened from the table. 'I'll have to come back. I can't do this now.'

  She walked out into the late afternoon sunshine. Poor Genna. Her heart broken by Ardol Kessian's death but her will to see the Echelon survive denying her rest. She barely ate or slept in the last days. The haunting look had never left her eyes and it crushed Hesther daily to hear her weeping in her bedroom. She refused to wallow publicly in her grief, her dignity so typical of her strength. She kept working and she kept believing.

  But Ardol's call was stronger than anything here under God's blessed sky. And today, Hesther hadn't heard her footsteps whispering along the marble outside her room as dawn broke and had known she was dead. Another one of the Echelon taken prematurely. Another celebration overshadowed by uncomfortable feelings of anger and injustice.

  A new gloom had settled over Westfallen. The town wore it like a cloak heavy with rain. The air stank of furnaces and rang to the sounds of hammer and anvil. They were more a forge than a port. To her left, the stockades and gates were all in place from shore, curving away over the slight rolls in the ground at the borders of the town to shore. The artillery was being put in place too. Onagers and

  bolt-firers had been set on platforms or drawn up on open ground behind the stockade, ready to defend the town from the Order. Or the Tsardon, whichever came first. The beacon fires still worried at the night sky and their smoke smudged every day.

  Hesther sighed and rubbed her hands across her cheeks, drying them on her dress. Westfallen was a fortress. She hated what they had become in no time at all. Imprisoned by their desire to set the Conquord free. Arvan Vasselis did what he believed to be right but his determination that this defence would only be temporary didn't carry total conviction. She prayed he was right. She couldn't live like this and she wouldn't demand it of any of the citizens here. It was unnatural.

  The tide was coming in. Waves reached further and further up the bay and lapped against the harbour walls on which onagers were standing. Their ugly silhouettes were monstrous reminders of where Westfallen found itself today. Everything was wrong.

  Hesther drew in a breath and rejected the desire to run back into the House of Masks. There would be no answers there. She headed the Echelon now. She was its figurehead, not Ardol. But how fragile a thing that had become. Its members were riven with uncertainty about their calling. Questioning whether it should continue. Genna had been outspoken in her criticism of the introspection. But she was gone now and Hesther wasn't sure she had the strength to hold them to their purpose.

  A movement by the bluff at the western turn of the inlet caught her eye. A sail, deep blue, moving gently into sight. The trireme eased into the channel, her oars dipping and rising. The beat of the drum echoed faintly across the bay. It shouldn't be sailing in here. Vasselis had told them they would never see his warships unless there was threat of invasion by sea. Or unless . . . Hesther's breath caught in her throat. She began to run down to the dockside. By the time she got there, the harbour wall was five deep with Westfallen citizens, levium and palace guard. All of them straining to see the name on the prow and the identity of those walking the deck.

  Hesther was standing by Meera and Jen Shalke. They had stopped Jen from diving into the sea to swim out to meet the ship. The buzz of chatter grew in volume with every stroke of the oars. The sail was furled and the ship began to turn to nudge up against the deep water berths. The prow swung away, revealing the name agonisingly slowly. Hesther wasn't the first to see it but word was passed around the crowd.

  It was the Cirandon's Pride. The ship that had been on station the day the Ascendants had left Westfallen. Hesther hugged Meera and Jen to her, praying for good news.

  The clamour was loud in the main reception hall of the Ascendancy villa. The news that the Ascendants were alive and well had brought an outpouring of joy and relief. But now the tears were dried, that joy was being swamped under a tide of disquiet.

  'Please,' said Hesther, standing and holding up her hands. 'The captain is trying to answer a question. Please don't ask another ten. One at a time. God-embrace-me but you are worse than the children.'

  The Echelon quietened, embarrassed. Marshal Vasselis, sitting next to Hesther, suppressed a laugh. 'Captain Patonius, please continue.'

  The powerful woman nodded. She was devoid of humour and clearly uncomfortable in this company. She had not sat down as offered and stood by a marble table, fingering the small statue of Herine Del Aglios, formally posed, that adorned it.

  ‘I am reporting facts, not justifying decisions,' said Patonius stiffly. 'Exchequer Jhered outranks me. I could not refuse him. It is easy for you to sit here and remind me of my orders. And I resent the implication that I have somehow betrayed my Marshal. You were not in the centre of the Tirronean Sea with a Gatherer ship either side of you. And you are ignoring the fact that they are now under the protection of one of our finest swordsmen and an elite guard. If you do not believe me, you can always direct your question to my Marshal.'

  'Arvan?' Meera spoke into the brief quiet.

  ‘I can't understand your concern, I really can't,' said Vasselis. 'Paul Jhered is not just as Patonius describes, he is also one of the few outside this room who genuinely understands the Ascendants. And he is a man of unimpeachable integrity and honour. The journey is dangerous. I cannot think of a man more capable of seeing them safe.'

  'Yes,' said Willem. 'But he has no intention of taking them to Sirrane, does he, Captain?'

  Hesther frowned at him. 'What are you talking about?'

  'Does he, Captain?' repeated Willem.

  Patonius shook her head. 'He's taking them to join Roberto Del Aglios. He wants them to help him win the war.'

  'He has no right to do that. They are just children.' Andreas's voice was the loudest of them, rising above the outrage that swept across the Echelon. And this time, it was not Patonius that was the target, it was Vasselis. 'He's your friend. How can he do this?'

  'Enough,' said Vasselis. He stood up, imposing himself and demanding attention. There was anger on his face. This wasn't Arvan, this was Marshal Defender Vasselis, their ruler.

  'You cast your accusations about but you don't have all the facts. Exchequer Jhered has considerable powers in time of threat to the Conquord. That gives him the right to second anyone he chooses to aid a defensive effort in anyway he sees fit. It does not matter if they are fresh from the womb or breathing their last. He has not exceeded his rights.'

  'But his moral and ethical—'

  'Andreas, I do not want to order you out of here,' said Vasselis. 'Calm yourself. Look, I know this is difficult for you to hear. And remember my son is with them. Whatever dangers they are facing, he is facing too.' He nodded ruefully. 'Yes, forgot that, didn't you?'

  ‘I am sorry, Arvan,' said Andreas.

  'No need,' said Vasselis. 'Now, Captain. Something isn't right here. The beacons tell us there is a threat to the Conquord. My messengers have relayed that our eastern front has collapsed. But there is considerable defence in the area. Why has he decided he must take them to Del Aglios?'

  'Your next messenger will confirm the threat is mortal,' said Patonius. 'Atreska has rebelled. Marshal Yuran has sided with the Tsardon. Nowhere is safe.'

  She paused and all Hesther could hear was the sound of nervous breathing and the buzz of the citizens gathered outside the villa, waiting for news. Vasselis motioned her to continue. His face had paled.

  'Lord Jhered feels the Conquord could fall unless decisive blows are struck. And he believes the Ascendants are the key. I know you think they are a force for peace but I have seen their potential as a weapon, as has he.'
/>   'But they are just four young children,' said Hesther. 'How can they stop whole armies?'

  'It remains to be seen if they can,' said Vasselis. His voice was flat. 'With respect, I don't think any of you can really grasp the seriousness of our position. When Atreska rebelled it gave the enemy a seaboard in the north of the Tirronean. If the Tsardon armies invade Gestern too, then Caraduk is under direct threat.

  'Captain, I presume you have been signalled by Kester Isle?'

  'Yes, Marshal. We will rest and resupply here tonight, with your leave, and will sail on the outgoing tide tomorrow. The colours of the Ocetanas will be flying from the mast.'

  Hesther shook her head. 'Our children. Our poor, poor children. How has all this happened to them? What have we done?'

  She felt Vasselis's hand on her shoulder. 'Unpalatable as it is, what you have done is give the Conquord the means to defeat the Tsardon and save Caraduk from invasion. They are in the best hands possible.' He spoke to the room. 'We all fear times like these. So what we must do is ensure we neither flinch nor falter and that our enemies do not succeed.'

  He sat down and Hesther could see the strain on his face. He wiped a hand across his mouth.

  'My son is out there,' he whispered. 'Please God let him be safe.' There was an urgent rap on the door. Captain Harkov strode in. 'Marshal,' he said. 'We need you at the gates. Trouble's coming.'

  Appros Harin felt sick. His shoulder wound ached terribly and the wind that blew through the basilica was icy. Marshal General Niranes stood with him but they did not stand united. They watched the Advocate walking up the steps in response to their summons. On the tactical map table in front of them, the muster and marching reports were laid out, held down by carved stone paperweights. Birds and riders had been arriving in Estorr from all over the Conquord in the previous days and what had begun as serious had become desperate.