Cry of the Newborn

by James Barclay

  the half mile from his front lines to where Jhered, Appros Menas, the misguided Kovan Vasselis and the Ascendants remained. The boy had found two of their horses and held the reins of the skittish animals in one hand.

  Two of the Ascendants appeared distressed as he approached. He could find no sympathy for them. Indeed, this was the closest he had been to any of them and he found the proximity distasteful. He dismounted a few yards from them and let his horse wander away to find some grass on which to graze. He nodded curtly at young Vasselis.

  'You should know better. Why did you let him get you into this?'

  Jhered stood from where he and Menas had been tending to the youngsters and walked towards him, stopping Kovan's response with a hand.

  One of the Ascendants, a strong-looking lad, well-muscled though with an age-lined face, caught his eye. Roberto flinched. The orbs he met were unnatural. Colours chased across their surface; orange clearing to a slate grey.

  'Look at what we did,' he said, his voice dry and cracked. 'We helped you. Won a victory for you.'

  'Is that right?' said Roberto. He fixed his gaze on Jhered. 'What have you done here?'

  'Exactly what Gorian said,' replied Jhered. There was the lightness of satisfaction in his tone and his expression. 'We have used the trees to break the hillside. We've saved you days. And you haven't sustained a single casualty.'

  'No?' Roberto kept his hands firmly by his sides. 'Every man and woman in my army is damaged, Exchequer. Every one of them will relive what they have seen in their nightmares. Some of them may never be able to keep the quiver from their sword arms. I lined up almost eleven thousand citizens and you gave them a freak show.'

  'You wouldn't listen, Roberto,' said Jhered. 'I told you we could do this. I had to prove it to you. You had the option to keep every citizen in your legions out of sight.'

  'You gave me no option,' snapped Roberto. 'We needed this battle. We needed to feel enemy flesh beneath our swords to give us belief. We have had nothing but plague, desertion and betrayal since genas-fall. And you denied us even that. This . . .' Roberto waved his hand around him. 'This demonstration does not help my cause. It is self-serving, it is against my orders and it leaves me with an army uncertain whether the next mountain they walk beneath will fall on their heads.'

  'We are on your side.' Jhered's voice rose in volume. 'The Ascendants will never harm a Conquord soldier.'

  'And you think I can ride up and tell them that so they believe me? I know what I saw and it scares me to my very heart. You are a maverick, Jhered. You're dangerous.'

  'Damn you, do not disrespect me, General Del Aglios.' Jhered's eyes flashed. 'Everything I do is for the Conquord and for your mother. And I will not stand by while you call that into question.'

  'Then go, Exchequer Jhered. I will not stand in your way. But neither will I have you with my army or even with the camp-followers. You really have no idea what you have done, do you?'

  'I have destroyed or scattered an army of seven thousand today, General. What have you done?'

  Roberto raised a gauntleted finger and pressed it to Jhered's chest. 'Be very careful, Exchequer. You might hold great sway in Estorr and in the provinces you terrify into paying your taxes. But out here, it is me who rules.'

  'One day, Roberto, you will see your error. And on that day, I will be proud to embrace you as my friend. I only hope that when that day comes, we still have a Conquord to serve.'

  Roberto dropped his hand. 'I do not see that day,' he said quietly.

  'Do not hate us.'

  One of the Ascendants had spoken. Roberto glared down at him, sprawled on the ground, exhausted. 'What?' he asked. 'Speak up, Arducius,' said Jhered.

  'Do not hate us, General Del Aglios. All we want is to be back with our families and those we love. Just like you and your army. We are not evil. No one should fear us.'

  Roberto shook his head. 'You are unnatural. No one should have the power to break mountains. No one.'

  He turned and rode away without a backward glance.

  'Even the lion-hearted are prey to fear.'

  'Hmm?' Jhered turned from staring at Roberto's receding back. Kovan was walking across to him.

  'It's something Father Kessian used to say. He knew in his heart that the acceptance of the Ascendancy would be fraught. He always tried to put a smiling face on it but he knew.'

  Jhered pushed a hand through his hair. It was covered in dust and damp. 'He knew a lot of things we could use right now.'

  'What do we do now?' asked Kovan.

  Jhered felt all their eyes on him. He'd been so sure that Roberto would see beyond the confines of their faith for the purposes of winning the war. The demonstration should have been all the proof he needed. The last thing in his mind was to be stranded here beneath the Atreskan plateaus. Far from safety, far from the next conflict. And without enough horses to take them all.

  He forced his disappointment aside and shrugged off the crushing feeling that he had failed. He crouched by the Ascendants, between Arducius and Gorian. Mirron was lying in Menas's arms and her tear-stained face pained his heart. Ossacer could not take his sightless eyes from the jumbled plain, his mouth moving soundlessly. They were problems to be tackled just a little later.

  Jhered placed what he hoped would be a fatherly, encouraging hand each on Gorian and Arducius's shoulders.

  'What we don't do is give up,' he said. 'General Del Aglios might be frightened of your power. He and his army might hate you. But we know what we are doing is right and the only choice if we are to save our homes, our families and our Conquord. I am proud of you. All of you. I asked a huge task of you and you did not let me down. More, you won a great victory and there will come a day when it is written into the legends of the Conquord.

  'It is easy to despair at the reactions of those we are endeavouring to help but we must not. I believe in you. The Karku believe in you and that cannot be underestimated. And soon enough, the Conquord will accept and believe in you too. You are the future of this world.'

  He felt both Arducius and Gorian respond under his hands. They straightened where they sat and, despite the exhaustion they must have felt, managed to look at him with the belief he wanted from them. But Mirron had not responded at all and Ossacer's aged face was crumpled with grief.

  'You made us kill,' he whispered, his voice broken. Arducius dragged him into an embrace and he began to sob again. 'We aren't here to kill. And thousands are dead. I can sense nothing out there but grey and dark. You've made us into murderers.'

  'Shhh, Ossie,' said Arducius. 'It wasn't anyone's fault. We couldn't know that the roots would find so many weak points in the rock. We couldn't know it would travel so far. You can't blame yourself.'

  'Thousands are still dead. And we made it happen.'

  'Yes,' said Jhered. 'You did. But you were doing my bidding. And as your commander, the blood is on my hands and not yours. It is my responsibility.'

  He knew his words must sound hollow to Ossacer. He was so young. Too young to be faced with what he had done.

  'Look,' he said. 'We need to get away from here. The sun will go down and it will get cold. We need a fire and hot food. So let's get up to the plateau you broke, because one thing we do know is that there won't be any Tsardon on it. All right?'

  'But where are we going to go?' asked Ossacer, wiping the tears from his eyes.

  'Right now, south to Gestern. Because whatever Roberto Del Aglios thinks, we can help stop the Tsardon fleet reaching Estorea and Caraduk. And if he still does not want you, then we will go to the one corner of the Conquord that does. The one place where you are accepted for what you are and can protect those you love. We will go to Westfallen.'

  'You cannot let them go free, General,' said Ellas Lennart, the army's Prime Speaker. 'They are heretic. They are against the scriptures and they act above God. For the sake of your army, you must arrest them.'

  'And do what, Ellas?' Roberto rounded on him.

  It was late,
he was tired and still shaken from what he had seen. He had endured a procession of senior soldiers through his tent demanding anything from their immediate burning to their use as the greatest weapon the Conquord possessed. He was only surprised the Speaker had left it so long to visit.

  'Your duty as an officer of the Conquord legions and a believer in the Omniscient.'

  'Don't speak to me of duty, Ellas. There is not one here who understands his duty more keenly than I do.' He turned from the door of his tent and the single fire on the shattered southern plateau.

  'And if I bring them here, what then? I stir fear among my legions because at our centre are the very children responsible for the annihilation of an entire Tsardon army. If I want mutiny, then I can think of no quicker way to provoke it.'

  'Then you must see them tried and executed.'

  'You are so sure of their guilt?' asked Roberto. 'Why bother with a trial, eh?'

  'Why indeed.'

  Roberto raised his eyebrows. Ellas, normally so mild-mannered, had a face that burned with zealous fury.

  'Because, Ellas, the Advocate has forbidden us to harm them. For whatever reason, Paul Jhered has persuaded her of their worth for now at least. And I will not defy her word. But not to harm them does not necessarily include bringing them to my bosom and it certainly does not include bringing their evil to the heart of my army.'

  'But if you believe them evil then surely—'

  'Enough, enough,' said Roberto. 'The decision is made, Ellas. And now I am tired and we are marching in just a few hours. Give a man the chance to rest, please.'

  Ellas stiffened. 'It is not a chance you are giving me. I will find no rest while those things are out there mocking my God. Our God.'

  'That is something I will just have to live with, isn't it?'

  Roberto waved the Speaker out. He walked over to his cot and sat down heavily. The Conquord might have won the day but he felt robbed of victory. His army was as unsettled and frightened as if the day had been taken by the Tsardon.

  'Damn you, Paul, what have you done?'

  He lay down and stretched out tired legs. He forced himself to find a clear path through the confusion that had encased his mind since the unbelievable events of the day. There were positives. They had been spared days of chase and skirmish and they had suffered no physical casualties. Their marching path was clear; seven thousand Tsardon were out of the game and they could join the battle for Gestern at the earliest opportunity.

  In the morning, he would send messengers to try and break through to the Neratharnese border. Right now, they would have no hope. And without hope, they would not hold the line against the Tsardon and rebel Atreskan armies. He had to give them that hope. That if they could hold until mid-dusasrise, then they would be relieved. That he, Roberto Del Aglios, would come and bring his legions with him. In the morning.

  He awoke fully dressed on top of his cot, feeling disoriented. The camp was quiet and a chill wind was ruffling the canvas of his tent. He rubbed at his bare arms and sat up, meaning to remove his boots and pull up his blanket but not sure that it was the cold that had awoken him. He blinked into the darkness.

  'It's customary to announce yourself before entering the tent of the General,' he said. 'And I always wanted to know who it was that had come to kill me.'

  ‘I have not come to kill you.'

  The shadow Roberto had made out came closer, resolving itself into a filthy Atreskan swordsman. He was holding a dagger. 'Goran?'

  'I'm sorry to have to disturb you, Roberto,' said Shakarov.

  Roberto's eyes had adjusted to the dark a little more. Shakarov was dressed in the clothes that he had walked away in, though he was furnished again with weapons and Conquord armour.

  'There are a lot of dead legionaries in Atreska,' he said, noticing Roberto's gaze. 'That's why I'm here.'

  'How did you get in here?' Roberto's shock was subsiding to anger.

  'Not everyone who remained with you agrees with you. You're not naive enough to believe otherwise. I had need to get access.' 'Davarov?'

  'No,' said Shakarov. 'He would kill me if he knew I was in here.'

  'He's not the only one. Where's Herides? Where are my guards?'

  'Temporarily diverted,' said Shakarov. 'None are to blame. You are under no threat from me.'

  'No?' Roberto stared at Shakarov. He sighed. 'Well you're here now. God's sake, put that dagger away and sit, sit.' He indicated the chair at his map desk. 'Come to beg for a return?'

  'No, General,' said Shakarov. He sat down and laid the dagger in his lap. 'But to divert you from your disastrous course.'

  'Fantastic,' said Roberto, finding himself irritated beyond belief. 'Someone else I don't want to see turns up unannounced and tells me how to run my army. Go away, Goran. Go back to your deserters.'

  Shakarov bristled. 'Deserters run and hide. We have been fighting Tsardon in my country. Doing the Conquord's work.'

  'You should have stayed here. Done your work where it was best directed. I have nothing to say to you.'

  'Roberto, you must listen to me. The battle for the Conquord is not going to take place on the Gesternan border. It is taking place now, throughout Atreska and all the way to the Neratharn border. I've travelled my lands for twenty days. I've seen what is going on.'

  'But not what is going on in Gestern and the Tirronean Sea,' said Roberto. 'Make your point. This camp comes to order in a couple of hours and it would be best if you were gone.'

  'Gestern has a defence numbering four legions, dug in all along their borders. They have Jorganesh coming to their aid. Atreska needs you. It needs us fighting side by side.'

  Roberto propelled himself off his bed and loomed over Shakarov.

  'Let me tell you how it really is. Gestern's four legions, should they all have mustered, face a force in excess of thirty thousand strong descending on the westernmost point of their border with Atreska. Jorganesh is not coming to their aid because he and his whole army are gone. And the Tsardon fleet is heading up the Tirronean Sea to transport their army direct to Estorr. Unless I stop them, they will take our capital almost before the first drop of blood is spilled on Neratharn's soil.'

  'They have already taken my capital,' shouted Shakarov, pushing out of his chair. 'And I have seen your new weapon. You could break your army in two and win on both fronts.'

  'It is not my weapon,' grated Roberto. 'What you saw was evil given expression. And calm your voice or the guards you have not diverted will hear you.'

  'And so they should hear me. The Tsardon have washed over my country with the blessing of the traitor Yuran.' Always short-tempered, Shakarov was abandoned to rage now. 'And they will wash through Neratharn too. Gestern has the Ocetanas to sink the enemy. We have nothing!'

  'I will not be shouted at by a man not brave enough to stand with me.'

  'You must help us, General. You must turn around. Atreska is—' 'Atreska is already lost,' snapped Roberto. 'Go back to your fight. Leave me to make sure Gestern does not join her.'

  'No, Roberto, no.'

  Shakarov gripped Roberto's shoulder with his left hand. Roberto reacted, slapping it away and pushing the Atreskan from him. Shakarov's riposte was pure instinct. He lashed out with his right hand. The dagger thudded into Roberto's chest up to its hilt.

  Roberto gasped and staggered back, tasting blood in his mouth. He stared at Shakarov who had stumbled back against the desk, his mouth open, his eyes wide with shock.

  'Roberto, I did not mean . . .'

  But Roberto didn't really hear him. He frowned and stared down at the dagger which had caught between his lower two ribs. Blood was pouring down his tunic and filling his mouth. He started to phrase the question but his vision wasn't right. The strength left his legs and he thumped to his knees, one hand gripping at the side of his cot.

  'Oh dear God, have mercy,' muttered Goran.

  Roberto heard feet and he heard shouting. A steepling pain seared through his body followed by a cool numbness. He cl
osed his eyes and welcomed it in.

  Dahnishev stepped away from the cot and wiped bloody hands down his apron. They had moved Shakarov's body from the tent and tried to minimise the leaking of the news but the whole camp was already awake and the rumours had begun.

  He had lain Roberto on his side so he wouldn't choke on his own blood. And he had stitched the wound in his chest as best he could and bound him up. His breathing was shallow and pained. Shakarov's eight-inch blade still lay on the map table. Dahnishev had removed it with growing despair. He wiped the back of one hand across his forehead and turned to face Davarov, Kastenas and Neristus.

  'Well?' asked Kastenas. The tears on her cheeks mirrored his own. 'He's alive, isn't he? You have saved him?'

  Dahnishev nodded and felt like a fraud. 'But he is dying.'

  Davarov gasped. Kastenas had a hand to her mouth. Neristus dropped his head to his chest.

  'It can't be,' said Davarov. 'You're the miracle-worker. He's Roberto. He survived the plague. He can't die.'

  'He's bleeding to death. The dagger has torn into his lung and sliced more veins than I can guess at. So much internal bleeding. I can't stop it.'

  'How long?' asked Kastenas.

  'What does it matter?' Davarov's tone was angry. 'Even if it's ten days, we don't move until he goes. I will not disrespect him.'

  'I don't mean that. This is nothing about marching,' said Kastenas. 'How can you think that of me? Dahnishev?'

  'Well it certainly won't be ten days,' he said. 'Less than ten hours I would say. As-God-looks-down, I don't know. He could be dead by dawn.'

  'You know what we must do,' said Neristus. 'We cannot delay the appointment.'

  'We will not replace him while he still breathes,' hissed Davarov. 'Perhaps it won't be necessary,' said Kastenas. 'Don't be ridiculous,' said Davarov.

  But Kastenas was already pulling on gloves. She pointed at Dahnishev.

  'Don't let him die before I get back.' 'Where are you going?' asked Dahnishev. 'Just don't let him die.'

  Kastenas ran from the tent. Dahnishev looked back to Roberto and knelt by his head.