Cry of the Newborn

by James Barclay

  On the crest of the rise, they were a quarter mile from the first infantry. A few riders were with them but insignificant compared to the number of levium. But away east, the steppe was coming. Harin upped the pace and angled them towards the gate fort. Stones clattered into the shaking defences. He could see the gates were hanging crooked but still stood. As far south as he could see there were Tsardon approaching the border. Tens of thousands acting with a single purpose.

  The Conquord artillery fired. Stones flamed into the sky from behind the walls, crashing down on helpless infantry, smearing scorching paths. There was the briefest faltering. In front of him, the enemy was becoming aware of the new threat. Catapults were turning in their direction. Sword and pikemen were being drawn off the rear of the advance to face them. Harin raised his spear high. Ahead, less than a hundred yards of open ground.

  'Levium! Charge.'

  He swept his spear down to his side and kicked his heels into his horse's flanks. The animal sprang forwards. He gave the mare rein, let her run free. The enemy came up so quickly. He hefted his spear and threw it, seeing the shaft bury itself in a Tsardon chest. He dragged his sword from his scabbard, nudged his horse a little left and brought the levium beating into their foe.

  Now the Exchequer's citizens gave voice to their anger. The levium hit the Tsardon infantry, half turned and unprepared, like a wall. He blazed deep into their ranks, dozens more cloaks around him, hacking down and sweeping up with his blade. He felt it cutting into flesh, rebounding from helmet and breastplate and clashing with steel.

  The Tsardon scattered in front of them but even as they cleared, he could see the defence forming. Along a line a hundred yards long, pikes and spears were levelled to protect the onagers that were his target.

  Next to Harin, a rider took an arrow through the throat and plunged left from his horse. The air clouded with shafts, crossing in the air and falling on infantry and rider alike. Harin blocked a sword thrust and kicked out, knocking the man from his feet. His horse half-reared, striking a Tsardon with her hoofs, splitting his skull.

  The first artillery fired. Stones and bolts flashed over his head. He glanced back to see man and horse obliterated, ploughed into the ground over which they had run. Others reared. Riders were thrown to be trampled under the hoofs of their friends. Some slowed, their mounts unwilling to move on towards the threat.

  They were through the first ranks. The toll on the levium was high but they galloped on. He pushed hard towards the spear line. A levium volley whipped into the enemy, taking down three in front of him. The spears held firm. He closed. Thirty yards, twenty. They weren't going to break. Like a Conquord pike block, they knelt in front and stood behind with metal tips bristling forwards. At ten yards he dragged his horse left before she took the decision to slow herself and throw him on to the enemy weapons. He rode down the front of them, looking for the end of the line and a way through to the catapults.

  On the horizon ahead, he saw horsemen gathering. Steppe cavalry. The nearer detachments of levium had already seen them and were breaking off to regroup. Down by the gates, two detachments were deep in the fighting and had a little more time. Harin cursed and swung his sword at a spear tip, seeing it spin away. He wasn't going to break them. Not this time.

  'Regroup!' he yelled, raising his sword above his head. 'To the muster point. Ride levium.'

  He swung his mount away from the jeering enemy. His archers fired volley after volley to cover their retreat. His horse picked her way over so many dead and dying bodies of friend and enemy. Too many cloaks covered the ground. Too many horses cantered riderless or lay screaming in the frozen mud. Praying to the Omniscient to spare him from an arrow in the back, he galloped back for the rise and brief safety.

  Gesteris saw the levium turn from their attack on the onagers without a single piece being damaged. He muttered grudging respect for the order of their spear line. No horse would cross it and the levium would have been fools not to shear away. As if in contempt, the enemy catapults thumped their barrage at his walls. Men were plucked like ears of corn and dashed to the ground. More of his timbers cracked, more of his wall gave way and tumbled. Three breaches now.

  His own catapults swung their arms. Seventy flaming stones arced out above his head and plunged into the advancing Tsardon. The carnage was terrible. The flames splashed in a wide radius, the stones bounced and rolled, gathering flesh and crushing bone. It barely halted the charge. They were within fifty yards of the walls now.

  Gesteris watched his archers peppering them. It was harder to miss than to hit, though the Tsardon made a passable attempt at a shield wall in places. The force coming at them could simply overwhelm them. He saw fear in the eyes of every citizen. He knew where he had to be.

  Two large detachments of Harin's levium crashed into the right flank and rear of the Tsardon approaching the gates. Gesteris snatched up his shield, drew his gladius and ran down the steps to ground level.

  'Keep firing,' he told his rampart centurion. 'Keep the onagers going. I'm going to secure the breach south.'

  In the time afforded them by the levium, his engineers were trying to salvage the gates. Rock was being piled at their base and new planks secured at every level they could reach. Anything to hamper the advance.

  'Are you strong?' he asked his chief engineer.

  The man indicated the maniples of hastati drawn up behind the gate and the ranks of archers waiting at the flanks.

  'We have support, General. We'll hold.'

  'Good. Three hours of light left. Even they won't fight on after dark.'

  Gesteris called his standard bearer and extraordinarii to him and ran south beneath the rampart. Enemy artillery rounds soared overhead or struck the walls as he passed. There was a constant running of pebble and small rock from the backs of the walls. Behind them, the tracks of two-talent missiles through mud and bloodied snow told stories of lives snuffed out. But despite the barrage, the legions' were standing and determined. He was running beside maniples of principes heading to bolster the wall breaches. Riders communicated the latest position to the ground commanders.

  Thousands of legionaries waited to be fed into battle. They couldn't see what was beyond the walls. All they had were their imaginations, fired by the deafening noise and the scenes of death around them. Soon enough, they'd see it all. He could see Order Readers and Speakers moving among the citizens, offering prayer and comfort, giving strength. Never would they be more important.

  Gesteris assessed the breach as he approached it. The hole was twenty feet of clear ground with ragged edges surrounding it. The space had been cleared for a pike block. Dozens of archers stood ready, supported by infantry hastati and the arriving principes.

  'Wait!' the centurion in charge ordered. 'Wait.'

  Gesteris could see the Tsardon through the gap. At ten yards distance, a tide of hate and rage was coming to smash the will of the Conquord.

  'Now.'

  Archers fired at will. Tsardon boiled through the gap to attack the pikes. They were impaled, stabbed and forced back. More arrows. Conquord men fell. Others moved to take their place. The principes shouted encouragement. The Tsardon came in again. More of them this time, flooding left and right too. Right behind Gesteris, an enemy volley battered a hole in the wall. It collapsed along a length of ten yards. He spun around, seeing the Tsardon almost on the new gap-

  'Conquord!' he roared. 'For Estorea and for me!'

  He ran at the enemy. Reserve maniples surged with him. Spears and arrows fogged his sight momentarily. Tsardon breached the walls. He was first at them, cracking his shield into the body of one, thrusting his sword through the gut of another.

  The Conquord surrounded him. Two centurions barked for a spear and pike line. It formed to the front and moved forwards. On the flanks, the Tsardon began to make headway. Gesteris was with them to the right. He caught an arrow in his shield, blocked a sword-thrust with his gladius and moved forwards.

  Again and again, he
hacked down and stabbed forwards, like in his old days with the hastati. The fear left him. His citizens fought with him under his standard. Gesteris felt his blade shear ribs. He grunted his satisfaction and heard the song of the Conquord in his head.

  He gave it voice and the legions sang with him.

  'The fighting is more intense north near the gate house. They've breached up there, they must have.'

  He took the magnifier from his eye. It was hard to see in the chaos and dirt exactly what was going on but it was clear that near them, the defences were holding relatively comfortably.

  'Then let's bring ourselves there,' she said, shrugging. 'It's our best chance of getting through to the other side anyway. They've blocked the gates in the other forts with stone and cement.'

  They had reached the Gaws, the mountains south of the battlefield, moving quickly behind the enemy advance. Whether they had been seen or tracked was open to debate but they were currently being ignored by the mass of the attacking army.

  The Tsardon had committed more than half of their number to the attack, leaving the rest well behind the catapults. Through his magnifier he had seen levium moving to attack and being forced off.

  There was a space of a few hundred yards between the Tsardon ranks. The onagers looked invitingly vulnerable.

  'Can we take some artillery down too?' he asked.

  'We can,' she replied. 'And we can run the flanks for you too. For a time.'

  'Don't get yourself killed over this,' he said. 'We're so close.' 'Let's just get on with it.'

  They returned to their people and issued the orders. There was risk and there was death out there. But whatever the outcome, one thing was certain. The Revenge was coming.

  Chapter 74

  848th cycle of God, 17th day of Dusasrise 15th year of the true Ascendancy

  'Push. Keep Pushing.'

  The centurion marshalled his pikes with classic discipline. Slowly, they were driving the Tsardon back. Gesteris launched himself at the Tsardon still coming through the gap. He was bleeding freely from a cut on his sword arm but he couldn't feel the pain. He stabbed his blade forward, feeling it connect with armour. His shield was before him, defending his body. It held three arrows now and he took pleasure in pushing the flights into the faces of his enemies. He punched the boss into a Tsardon stomach. The man staggered. Gesteris dropped him with a hack through his shoulder. No one came to take his place.

  Behind the pike men, his archers were gathering in greater numbers. They fired with withering density into the Tsardon. The push-back gathered momentum. The pike men closed the gap.

  'Wall!' bellowed the centurion.

  Shields formed the barrier. Tsardon arrows still came in thick and fast but now they found less flesh. Sarissas came to join the pikes at the forward line. A small phalanx grew. Gesteris nodded his pleasure. It was the same behind him at the first breach. The Tsardon catapults were silent for now, with their own army as much at risk as their intended targets. Up on the rampart, his archers exacted a heavy toll on those clustering at the breach. It was the enemy's move. Gesteris expected retreat.

  'General!' He turned. A messenger ran down a flight of wooden steps from the rampart. 'Up here. You need to see this, sir.'

  Gesteris nodded and followed him up between the two sections of ruined rampart. A surgeon followed him, brandishing a bandage.

  Halfway up, Tsardon horns sounded across the field. He frowned. It wasn't retreat, the flat fast tones were warning of an attack. He looked out over the field.

  'Who under the Omniscient's sky is that?'

  They'd covered half the distance before the Tsardon and rebel army had so much as challenged them. Nunan marched them calmly onto the battlefield, knowing their stitched-together appearance and lack of standard would mark them as no different to any rebel force fighting with Tsard. To any eye they appeared to be moving to support the attacks on the gate fort and dual breaches just south of it.

  But their luck couldn't hold forever and a single challenge from a Tsardon prosentor had blown their cover. His body hitting the ground had triggered the sounding of attack horns and Nunan had ordered the dead run. He couldn't swear to prime legion discipline but he made sure his legion did not fragment.

  Kell took her two hundred cavalry away towards the reserve and the artillery. Her archers shot helpless crews and her swordsmen slashed rope and hacked into hinge and windlass. Even if they did not destroy many outright, repairs would be long and difficult.

  Nunan sprinted at the head of the Revenge, angling towards the nearest breach in the walls. The Tsardon were pushing hard, trying to establish a critical foothold. They were encountering stiff resistance and paid no heed to those approaching from behind.

  The same could not be said of the rest of the Tsardon. They broke from the attack and the standing reserve and closed in, their discipline lost in their chase to head off the new Conquord force. With the gap being closed both sides, Kell turned from the enemy artillery and rode her horses round to cover the flanks of the infantry.

  She swept up and down the column, which ran in maniple order, her cavalry split into two to provide some security to both flanks. When they were two hundred yards from the rear of the enemy attacking the breach, the arrows began to fall. Nunan was also becoming aware of cheers and encouragement reaching him from the walls.

  'With me, Revenge. Let's give them more to shout for!'

  Cavalry rode back past him. He heard weapons clash and the whinny of horses. He felt the stamping of their hoofs and the rumble of the approaching Tsardon under the swell of their voices. They were almost going to make it, but not quite. He hoped that their hastily practised defence would not fail them.

  Nunan dropped back into the front rank of the first hastati maniple. He held his shield in front of him and made up the ground as fast as he could. Tsardon were turning from the breach. Conquord arrows were still falling among them. More enemy appeared on his right.

  'Contact!' he shouted.

  He swung his blade at the first Tsardon, seeing it batter a huge dent in his helmet and knock him senseless. His shield he swung out to the left, connecting with another enemy, pushing him back. The hastati in the front line waded in beside him, while all down the column, the defence was developing. He daren't glance back. He had to keep his focus ahead. It was critical he and these hastati kept on moving. They'd driven a wedge into the Tsardon who, deflected from the battle in front of them, were starting to fall more rapidly under the Conquord's arrows.

  Behind him, his spearmen would be facing outwards in two ranks left, two right, and walking crablike when headway was made. They held shields ahead and above their heads. Inside the maniples, reserve swords stood ready while his archers fired between the gaps, trying to keep the Tsardon back. It was Kell who took the greatest risk, dropping to guard the rear.

  Nunan let his desire to see her safe drive his tired body to greater effort. He ignored the pain in his legs and the heaving in his chest from the sprint. He forced himself to take another pace, slipping in Tsardon blood. He crouched to regain his balance. A blade nicked the top of his shield and he thrust up again, its edge catching the enemy's chin. The Tsardon's head flicked back and Nunan stabbed his gladius up and into the open throat.

  'Keep moving. We are the Revenge!'

  Men were dying around him. The Tsardon were gathering in great numbers, pressurising the flanks. He was only a few yards from the opening. The Conquord infantry behind the walls dropped their phalanx stance and came at the remaining Tsardon with gladius and dagger.

  Nunan felt hot blood on his arm. He looked left. His hastati was sliced across the face and falling. Nunan waited for him to drop, then lashed his sword across the space, catching the Tsardon on the top of

  the head and biting into his skull. He withdrew behind his shield and punched it out again, flattening an enemy. He stamped on the man's chest on the way over his body, feeling his ribs give way.

  Arrows flew in from both sides from
Tsardon crouched in the lee of the wall. He felt searing pain low in his leg and two more of his line fell.

  'Shields to flanks. Hold. We're nearly there.'

  Nunan put his foot down and his leg buckled under the arrow wound. Immediately, a hand grabbed his sword arm and hauled him up. Other hands dragged him forward through the breach. He batted them away and turned.

  'Entrance,' he roared. 'Entrance.'

  The shout was relayed down the column. He could see his citizens stretching out. He made to move back out but was stopped by his own hastati. The Revenge began to pour through the breach and into relative safety. Cavalry ran up the flanks one last time, forcing enemy infantry back. Arrows and spears poured down from the broken ramparts.

  In and in they came, and on and on fought the Tsardon. He watched the left flank collapse inwards and a rush of Tsardon spill into the midst of the column. The fighting became instantly desperate. No one could get back out for fear of blocking the entrance for those racing to safety. And in the end it was a headlong charge by his legionaries. At the very rear, one centurion rallied enough to provide a brief defence.

  'Come on,' he urged. 'Don't fall now.'

  The casualties were mounting. Blood smeared the ground at the breach. Citizens in sight of sanctuary stared at their goal with dead eyes. Tsardon fell, pierced by arrow after arrow. Legionaries were cut down as they ran, or lost their lives trying to defend their friends. Still they boiled through the breach until the last was dead or inside and the Tsardon threatened to forge in after them.

  Horns sounded. It was a retreat.

  Nunan sagged to the ground, ignoring the ache in his calf. They might have killed hundreds but it had cost him hundreds too. The Revenge roared their song of victory nonetheless while the jeers of the defence chased the Tsardon back to their camps. He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Kell.