Cry of the Newborn

by James Barclay

Jhered nodded. 'And what about Ellas and the rest of the Order ministry?'

  Roberto blew out his cheeks. 'That is a longer road. But even he cannot deny the number of his flock saved by the intervention of the Ascendants today. But he still fears them.'

  'And what about your mind, General?'

  'I have to be honest with you, Paul, I still struggle with it. And when they pause to think, the army will struggle with it too.' Roberto fought for the right words. 'I can see the force for good in them. For now. But their power is only going to grow. And when they reach full adulthood, who is going to control them then? Look at Gorian. I fear what he might do. Perhaps they will all go his way and believe that no one should guide them. They are only fourteen and they can crack hillsides and bring gales at their command. Sorry, I'm babbling but you know what I'm trying to say.'

  'I understand more than anyone. We don't have a frame of reference for them, for what they are and where they might go. And the conflict with the scriptures and the beliefs of the Omniscient are there for all to see. All we can do is guide them and pray they only ever use their abilities for the good of us all. And remember, however powerful they are, they are just flesh and blood. Don't mistake their power for immortality.'

  'It's a comforting thought, I suppose,' said Roberto. 'But I still don't understand your decision to let Gorian go. You said yourself he should burn. Instead he's not even been punished. It's like he's been forgiven.'

  'You're wrong there,' said Jhered. 'The four of them have a bond closer than mere love. They have barely spent an hour apart from each other since they were born. Go and talk to Arducius. He'll tell you what it is they've really done.'

  Roberto wasn't sure it would make any difference. The boy might still be alive and so remained a danger. They rode the rest of the way to the Gesternan border headquarters in silence. The road was littered with the injured and displaced. Exhausted and frightened soldiers and citizens watched them pass. Dirt and despair were everywhere despite the victory and songs that echoed into the night sky. Roberto's intervention had been a stroke of true fortune and the shock of their escape from defeat was settling on them.

  The headquarters was set in a small village that was submerged in a city of tents, paddocks and temporary wooden structures. They were met by guards and shown to the tiny basilica that headed the likewise small forum. Inside, the wind-blown structure was warmed by open fires and lit by lantern and brazier. And there stood a welcome surprise.

  'Marshal Mardov,' said Roberto. He embraced her and kissed her forehead but his smile died on his lips. 'Your presence is not to join the victory celebrations, is it?'

  Mardov shook her head and looked across at Jhered. 'Well, well, Paul. Seems you were right after all.'

  'I have my moments,' said Jhered. 'What's wrong?'

  Mardov looked as tired as any of them. She ushered them to a table on which was pinned a map of Gestern, its borders and the Tirronean Sea. On it were marked arrows and figures. Roberto didn't like the concentrations along the west coast and near Kester Isle.

  'We've had a stunning victory here,' said Mardov. 'But it only delays the inevitable.'

  Roberto felt like he had been slapped around the face. 'Not true, Katrin. This victory has given us real hope for the first time since early solasfall. We've taken thirty thousand out of the game. And you can feel the morale in my army.'

  'And we have the Ascendants,' said Jhered. 'Don't discount their influence. Not now they're proven.'

  'If they are, it hardly matters. Neither they nor you, Roberto, can be in two places at once.' Katrin pointed to the map. 'The Tsardon over-ran border defences to the east eight days ago. We couldn't reinforce from here and we couldn't release anyone from the defence to chase them. We've been able to track them and they are moving fast, using the highways. There's no one to stop them, Roberto. Ten thousand of them and more, the same that destroyed Jorganesh, I think.'

  'They're heading for the coast?' asked Jhered.

  'Portbrial,' said Mardov. 'They'll be there in ten days, no more.'

  Roberto looked at Jhered, who shrugged.

  'Then you have to chase them now. Hope the Portbrial and Skiona defences can hold them up,' said Roberto. He stopped and felt a chill pass through him. He looked again at the marks on the Tirronean Sea. 'Where's the Tsardon fleet?'

  'We had a flagged message from the on-station ships all the way from Kester Isle. The Tsardon are already there,' she whispered, glancing about her to make sure none overheard who shouldn't. 'Five hundred sails.'

  'Five hu—' Roberto's mind reeled.

  'The Ocetanas can't stop them all. The crossed flag has been flying, they are blockaded. By the time the Tsardon army reaches the coast, their fleet will be waiting to take them to Estorr. We're already too late.'

  'We can't think like that,' said Jhered. 'Roberto, I warned you this might happen. We can counter them.'

  Roberto looked round at him, thoughts clamouring through his head, images of Estorr in flames livid before his eyes.

  'Even if they weren't blockaded, Kortonius has three hundred sails at best under the Isle.' Jhered stared down at the map. 'We have to get men across the sea, beat them to Estorr if we can't stop them in Gestern.'

  'What with?' asked Katrin. 'We don't have the ships to make a difference.'

  'And you must turn north, Roberto,' said Jhered. 'Neratharn must have relief.'

  'Why, so we can retake the ruins of Estorr from the Tsardon?' spat Roberto, the hated despair gripping him. 'So we can pick up my mother's body and return it to the earth?'

  'Yes, if that's all we can do,' said Jhered. The Exchequer's eyes were wide. 'We can only do what the Omniscient grants us. The Conquord can survive without Estorr. It can survive—'

  '—without its current Advocate,' finished Roberto.

  Jhered let his head drop slightly. 'Yes,' he said quietly. 'Should it come to that.'

  The silence around the table was painful. Roberto searched the map for answers. He felt sick.

  'Does she know what's happening?' he asked.

  'The signal will have reached Estorr as it has reached us. And we will send word on the Tsardon army heading for the coast.'

  'It hardly matters,' said Roberto. 'She won't leave anyway.' He smiled while the tears built up behind his eyes. 'Stubborn, my mother. I used to believe it was one of her great strengths.'

  'And so it remains,' said Jhered.

  Roberto held up his hand, stopping Jhered's next words. 'I never thought I'd hear myself say this, Paul. Never thought I'd be putting my faith in three fourteen-year-olds and a taxman, even a senior taxman. One sail against hundreds.' He gripped Jhered's shoulders. 'Save Estorr, save my mother.'

  The Quietening had been shattered by the desperate, savage sounds of war. Multiple impacts rumbled and echoed through the caverns of Kester Isle. Oarsmen, sailors and marines thronged the passageways from the underground crew barracks, heading for the docks.

  Karl Iliev, Trierarch of Ocenii squad VII and overall Squadron Commander thumped the gunwale of his spiked corsair in frustration and stepped back on to the wall. The sea gates were closed against the assault. To row out into the harbour now would be suicide, even for the Ocetanas elite.

  Through the grilles he saw the end of the few Conquord vessels that had managed to put to sea before the Tsardon fleet forced the closure of the sea gates. Curse the mist. Curse Ocetarus for his capricious will. And curse them all for their complacency.

  Iliev gripped the bars on the gate and prayed for the cycles of those about to be lost. Eight sails against ten times that number crowded around the outer harbour walls. He shuddered to guess how many more were hidden by the mist.

  One bireme had not even made it to open water. Struck amidships by a stone aimed at the harbour defences and fallen short. Splintered timbers and corpses floating on the surface were all that remained.

  Iliev's frustration was shot through with enormous pride. How hard the few fought. No thought of attempting esc
ape. He could see hand-to-hand fighting on three enemy galleys. A Conquord bireme thundered its ramming spike into the rear quarter of a Tsardon trireme to the roars of the helpless watchers. Enemy oars splintered, marines swarmed over the bow and on to the stricken ship. But more, many more enemies were coming to the fight. And elsewhere, the navy was being overwhelmed.

  In an area of open water, three corsairs of the Ocenii squadron powered across the ocean. Iliev prayed. It was not enough. The arc of target ships fired. Massive twin-hulled siege galleys standing well offshore launched three-talent stones. Triremes and biremes, fired bolts and smaller stones.

  Stripped for maximum speed, the low, open corsairs had no defence. The leading squad took a stone at the bow. The impact catapulted the stern into the sky, flinging men into the water. The wrecked hull slapped down, keel up, after them, sinking fast. The others took hits from multiple projectiles, battering oar, man and craft.

  Immediately, the siege galley began to move in. The next volley of stones from those already on station rattled into the gate and the emplacements surrounding it. The impacts reverberated through the cavernous dock. Iliev heard the answering fire and the screams of the injured and dying. There was a rending of metal. A heavy onager crashed into the water before the gates in a hail of rock. Freezing water washed through the grilles, soaking him from head to foot.

  He spun on his heel and roared his impotence at the waiting crews. There were more than forty vessels trapped inside. Triremes, assault galleys, corsairs. It would be the same in all four docks.

  'We're like rats!' He searched the faces staring back at him for a spark of inspiration. 'The tenth, twelfth and twentieth squads are gone. The Brial's Dawn is sinking. Her sister ships are swamped. Our marines are dying. Will we let these land slaves show us our business? Will we?'

  'No!' The answering call echoed across rock and still water.

  'Will we let our fallen Ocetanas go unavenged?'

  'No!'

  'Captains of the fleet, Trierarchs of the Ocenii to me. And someone get me Admiral Kortonius. We're getting out of here.'

  Kortonius had returned to the palace and ordered his aides to bring messages to him at the western hall. Designed to view the glory of the Ocetanas during solastro festivals, the western hall was an opulent reminder of times now under mortal threat.

  Paintings of great victories adorned the walls. Statues and sculptures on plinths depicted famous generals, the ships that had helped forge the reputation of the Ocetanas, and the god of all sailors. Kortonius bowed to Ocetarus. The powerful body, carved with fish scales and carrying the classically stylised head of flowing hair, large eyes and crown of starfish loomed over him. How they needed his blessing right now.

  Out on the viewing stage, Kortonius gazed down at the unthinkable. He rested heavily on the ornate balustrade. His hands gripped hard to the carved motifs of interwoven seaweed and eels. Through the mist, part burned away by the endless flaming rounds from his defensive artillery, he saw the immensity of the western flank of the Tsardon fleet. Onager arms thudded. Rocks hurtled into the blank walls of Kester Isle. He felt the distant rumble of the impacts. Splinters and shards of stone whipped away to fall on the shore.

  Directly below him, some five hundred feet down, a catapult position took a direct hit. Wood and metal was smashed and bent. Braces snapped. The entire turret swung outwards, hanging for a moment before shearing from its last stays and plummeting down towards one of his blockaded harbours.

  The Ocetanas artillery answered, without risk now the last of his vessels was burning and sinking in the midst of the enemy. Burning stones were loaded onto every cup. The missiles arced out from sixty platforms set high and low in the western cliff face. He watched them streaking the sky with their smoke and falling away down almost out of sight in the remaining mist to the ocean below. Trails crisscrossed and flame blazed or guttered. He strained to see.

  Plumes of water leaped up to snatch at the air before falling back. Too many missed their targets. It was so difficult. The Tsardon were moving in a long circle taking them fast across the face of the Isle and then away out of range. They were well spaced and understood the angles and spread of fire they faced.

  Even so, they suffered. Three stones ploughed into the deck of one of the massive siege galleys. He saw fire drag from bow to stern and the forward mast shudder and fracture. It fell across the deck, destroying rail and weapon. A fourth stone thundered into the vessel amidships, smashing a hole the size of his body and plunging through the massed ranks of oarsmen. The ship began to list and he heard the shouts of triumph waft up to him on air that was thick with the scent of pitch.

  It still wasn't enough. The Tsardon knew they could maintain the barrage for as long as their rounds held out. They didn't want to take the Isle but to render it helpless for long enough that those ships continuing north were well out of the Ocetanas' ability to catch them. In a day or so, they would have achieved their goal.

  More Tsardon stone rattled against the Isle. Kortonius turned away, a pain in his side that reached up to his chest. A pity his surgeon couldn't prescribe him something as simple as a walk to take the cause away. A messenger was running along the colonnaded central mosaic to where he stood. He was out of breath, no doubt sent from the docks.

  'Admiral,' he said, bowing.

  'What is it?'

  'Commander Iliev requests audience at the north-west dock at your earliest convenience. He says to tell you that he has had an idea for you to approve. He wants you to speak to the navy.'

  Kortonius smiled. A fine sailor, Iliev. And a man whose ideas were always worth hearing. To the haunting echoes of onagers cranking and firing, he made his way to the lift platforms that would take him down to the dock.

  Chapter 70

  848th cycle of God, 3rd day of Dusasrise 15th year of the true Ascendancy

  ‘I wonder what's happened to Gorian?' asked Mirron. Arducius squeezed Ossacer's hand to stop him saying something stupid. She looked round at them where they waited in the general's tent. 'Well, don't you?'

  Arducius nodded. Try as he might, he couldn't keep Gorian out of his mind and his heart. The guilt was growing. It was worst when they were left alone to think.

  'What are we doing here anyway?' asked Ossacer.

  'Waiting for orders,' said Kovan from the map table.

  'Can't he just give them to the Exchequer?'

  'Perhaps he wants us to hear it first hand, Ossie,' said Kovan. 'He's in charge. He can do what he wants.'

  Ossacer shrugged. 'We're wasting time. We should be going back to Kirriev Harbour if it's all so urgent and desperate.'

  'Doing it wrong is worse than not doing it at all,' said Kovan.

  Arducius smiled, i think you've spent too much time with Paul Jhered. You're beginning to sound like him.'

  Kovan just returned to his study of the map, after a glance at Mirron. Arducius thought he understood. He felt the same way, sort of.

  'Are any of you going to answer me?' asked Mirron. 'He's our brother. He—'

  'Yes, I'll answer you,' said Kovan, he turned and walked towards her. i wonder what's happened. And whenever I do, I hope that he's dying slowly. That the cuts I gave him are infected and are killing him. That the stench of his slowly rotting body is his last memory. That the Tsardon have found him and are using him like he used you. He's a rapist and he's a murderer. He's no one's brother.'

  The slap reported around the tent. Arducius winced and Kovan put his hand to his stinging cheek.

  'And you still can't get him from your mind. After all he did to you. What's wrong with you?' Kovan's eyes were full of tears. 'He's gone. I'm here.'

  The tent flap moved and Jhered came in with General Del Aglios. 'We all right in here?' asked Jhered. 'Ask her,' said Kovan.

  Jhered sighed. 'Later. When we're underway.'

  He looked to the general who strode into the middle of the tent.

  'Right, gather where I can see you.' Del Aglios clicked his fin
gers. 'Quickly, quickly.'

  Arducius stood in front of him and the others either side of him. The general looked them over. He was a daunting figure this close. Uniform perfect and armour shining even after so many days in the field. His green plumed helmet was proud on his head and his cloak was trimmed with the colours of his family. Arducius saw him as if for the first time, feeling his authority. They were in the presence of greatness and fame. Two of the most powerful men in the Conquord talking to them almost as equals.

  'You'd be dead already if it was not for the belief of this man,' said Del Aglios, indicating Jhered. 'Remember that and remember to do exactly as he says. Sounds like an old story, does it? Well, that's because it works. Discipline, order, victory. I don't know who you really are or what it is that you possess. You may be a gift, you may not. All I know is that it worries me, my army and every right-minded person walking God's earth. But right now, I also understand that we have our Conquord to save and that we must use every weapon we possess. We do not have the luxury of consideration or moral debate. Not just yet.

  'We are pressed on two fronts and do not have the forces in place on land or sea to defend either of them successfully. We, my army and you, have to make the difference. It's best you know this now because for all the work you think you have done, it is for nothing if we falter now.

  'I go to relieve the Neratharn border, marching my army through the dusas snows to keep the northern approaches safe. And to you, I entrust the survival of our capital city and our Advocate. There is no job of greater importance. You cannot, you will not, fail. Signal your victory with the golden sun banners from the beacon masts. Give us reason to fight on. And when I am victorious, I will respond.'

  He nodded and a grudging smile spread across his face.

  'Any questions?'

  Kovan came to attention and slapped his right fist into his chest. Arducius dug an elbow into Ossacer's ribs as the blind boy read the salute in the trails and threatened to laugh. Kovan managed to ignore him.