Cry of the Newborn

by James Barclay

  Temporarily, at least, that order was lost. Tsardon fought deep into the phalanx, cutting their way through the legionaries hampered by their unwieldy weapons. He had to get them out of there.

  'Levium, for the Exchequer!'

  Gesteris grunted his satisfaction. Harin. From the left of the breach, they came in. A line of thirty facing and at least eight deep. Infantry shields taken from the dead formed the wall and Gesteris could see the glint of sharpened blades. The Gatherers ran into the side of the Tsardon incursion.

  Gesteris saw Harin's intention. The rear ranks held shields above their heads against the bows turned on them while the left-hand end of the line pivoted around the right, closing the gap pace by pace. He called his extraordinarii to him and moved back into the attack, using his shield to force a way through the determined Tsardon infantry. He stepped in front of a frightened hastati sarissa-bearer and shoved an attacker back.

  'Get out of here,' he shouted over his shoulder. 'Back to the reserve and regroup. Go.'

  The Tsardon came on again. Gesteris caught a blade on the top of his shield. The edge bit deep. Gesteris pulled back sharply, dragging the enemy forward. His gladius was waiting and drove clear through the man's stomach. He gurgled and collapsed, pulling his sword down with him. Gesteris moved further in, his guard around him, taking up his lead.

  They fought their way into the centre of the phalanx. Gesteris punched out again and again with his shield, beating the enemy back. To his right, the levium swung inexorably towards them. Harin was at their centre, directing the move. The Tsardon backed away in front of them, unable to break through the line of cloaks. Gesteris herded more and more of the phalanx out of the way.

  He caught Harin's eye. The Appros motioned him back. Levium arrows shot through their lines, felling more enemy. They began to retreat. The thud of an arrow reminded Gesteris to keep his shield in front of his body. This time, they would close the gap but the Tsardon would come on again. He feared their casual attitude towards their own and waited for the catapults to fire.

  He didn't have to wait long. But this time, they destroyed the gate and the bulk of the levium were too far away to help.

  The day was moving towards dark and Roberto had halted the army for a brief break. The cold inched into their bodies, sweat drying and chilling on their skin. Some had fires going quickly and a few would get a hot drink. For the rest, it was no more than a break to ease the agony in thigh, calf and heel. He had received word of Jhered's progress towards Estorr and it had cheered him. Their two conflicts would break at almost the same time.

  Roberto moved through them as his command team would be doing, speaking words of encouragement and bolstering flagging energy and morale. There was little talk in the army and that worried him more than anything else. It spoke of a drain so complete, there was nothing left but to sit and stare. He saw the hollow look in their eyes and feared for those who dare not sit lest they could not rise to march. He knew how they felt.

  The sound of a rider approaching from the west turned every head. Roberto thought he heard quiet before but not like this. It spread down the two-mile-long column like a blaze across oil. And over it, they could hear the distant roar of battle at the border.

  Roberto stepped away from the column and beckoned the rider over. The woman half fell from the saddle and he could see the sweat on the animal's flanks, the froth under the tack and the tremble in its legs. He supported her and she clung on to him, forgetting herself for a moment.

  'Sorry. I'm sorry, General.'

  'No need,' said Roberto. 'Speak. What's going on?'

  'They couldn't keep them away from the walls,' she said, gasping after every few words. 'I've ridden as fast as I could. We're maybe fifteen miles away still. No more. The defences are full of holes. The enemy won't stop at nightfall. They know we are coming.'

  'Is anyone turned to face us?'

  'Nothing significant.'

  Roberto nodded. 'Report to the surgeons. Get on a cart and have a rest. You've done well.' 'Thank you, General.'

  He released her into the care of some legionaries.

  'This means we'll have to fight before we rest, doesn't it, General?'

  Roberto pursed his lips and nodded. 'I'm afraid so, centurion. Where's Davarov, where is my Master of Sword?'

  'Right here, General,' said Davarov who had been trotting up the column.

  Roberto couldn't help but smile. 'Is there no end to your energy?'

  Davarov drew to a halt and threw his arms around the shoulders of the two nearest legionaries. 'No. And I will carry these men to the battle if I have to.'

  A ragged cheer went up and Roberto beckoned Davarov away from the line to speak to him privately.

  'I need a declaration taken the length of the column.' He wiped a hand across his brow. 'This is difficult. We have to go faster. And we have to fight the moment we arrive. Neratharn's defence is on the verge of falling.'

  Davarov stared at him. 'Faster? These citizens have nothing left.'

  'They have to find it. Five miles an hour for three hours and then a battle. I'll be leading them in. The cavalry will form the vanguard when we get close. It has to be this way, old friend, or all our sores and blisters will have been borne for nothing. Every man and woman that has died on the march will have been a life wasted. I can't have that.'

  'All right,' said Davarov. 'I'll put the word through the triarii. One last march.'

  Roberto put a hand on Davarov's shoulder and nodded. 'One last march. And Davarov, earlier on in the march, I was wrong about you. I'm sorry.'

  'No, General, you were right. Sometimes even old soldiers need new eyes to see the true path.' 'Very profound.'

  'Let's hope I can be as profound with the legion.'

  The Tsardon came through the gate on a wave of triumphant song. Underfoot were rubble, broken gates and the bodies, split and mangled, of too many Conquord soldiers. Kell calmed her horse, dragged her own eyes from the tumbling burning stones that had dashed their defence aside, and sounded the charge. Horns behind her brought the levium on behind her. A few standing archers sent arrows in ahead of her.

  For a moment, it worked. The Tsardon had not formed a coherent line and the cavalry burst through them. Every strike seemed to find a target. Kell whipped her sword down, ripping through the back of an enemy helmet. She dragged the blade up and into the chest of a second. She pulled it clear and beat the pommel down on the head of a third. Her cavalry surrounded her and they scattered the Tsardon backwards.

  But beyond the gate the density of enemy was so great. The brief charge slowed and even with the levium flowing easily around the flanks to drive them further backwards or be caught in a net of horse flesh and steel, it faltered. Kell wheeled to withdraw, her cavalry reading her action and trying to follow. The Tsardon poured back behind her and there were not enough Conquord infantry to stop them.

  She found herself hounded by the enemy on both sides. She hacked left and then right, keeping them at weapon's length while she forced her way back through the gates to regroup for another charge. Behind her, the numbers overwhelmed the riders. Tsardon hacked at leg of man and beast alike, bringing them to ground. Kell yelled in frustration and sought a centurion.

  'Get your maniple out there. I've got to have foot soldiers or we'll be swept aside. Go, I'll support you.'

  The centurion nodded and ordered his nervous hastati maniple forward. Escaping horsemen flowed around them, turning to form up for another charge or switch to their bows. Kell swung her horse around. She saw a lone Revenge rider in a sea of enemies. The woman slashed wildly around her, keeping her horse turning around and around. So brave but the end was inevitable. A spear skewered into her side and cast her from her horse. The Tsardon bunched and came on through the gates once more.

  Harin withdrew his levium and called for his horses. The phalanx reformed but it was just a matter of time before more catapult stones found their target. The Gatherer mounts were in a paddock just behind t
he reserve. Their saddles had not been taken from their backs and they waited in nervous expectancy while the tumult rolled around them.

  'Quickly and up,' he ordered the two hundred with him. 'We're going to play a holding role. Where we see a breach, we ride in, give the infantry time to form up. Levium, for the Conquord and for me!'

  Tsardon onager rounds were still falling and still the Conquord answered them. The damage behind the walls was terrible and the rampart was shattered in a dozen places. He rode around to the south, away from the gates which were under serious threat but where a solid concentration of soldiers was gathered and holding firm. He saw Kell among them. While she still rode, they would not break.

  Gesteris was down at the major breach, his life on the line every heartbeat. Nunan was next to him, directing forces. Above, they were slowly losing control of the rampart. The available number of archers was thinning along with their supply of ammunition. And every swordsman that went up there knew they would not be coming down.

  'Hold here,' he said. He rode to Gesteris. 'General.' 'Appros, how are we doing?'

  'Badly,' said Harin. 'You must cede the rampart. Let them climb. Place archers and swordsmen below. We're wasting good citizens up there.'

  Gesteris looked up. Fighting was continuous along the top. Soldiers fell out into the enemy and back onto their friends. The ground was covered in bodies too numerous to clear.

  'Not yet. While they're up there, they don't know we are losing ground. I have to buy more time.'

  'Don't leave it too long. We'll—'

  A multiple shuddering impact south of them shook the ground under their feet. From without, the Tsardon roared again. Two more sections of the wall collapsed inwards. Tsardon surged in behind, running free behind the walls. Maniples set waiting engaged them hard under the direction of triarii within their ranks. Gesteris did not have enough fit centurions left.

  Harin nodded at Gesteris and dragged his horse around, pushing it hard back to his levium who were waiting his call.

  'Into the gap,' he shouted. 'Break their charge, isolate those inside.' He pointed at one rider. 'You, get to the rest of the cloaks. I need them mounted and mustered right here. We're going to lose the walls. Quickly now.'

  It was surely hopeless. Harin galloped into the running Tsardon flank. Enemies bounced from his horse. He leant out and forwards, slicing into their faces. He kept low against the threat of arrows. Behind him, the levium carved their way through. Horses picked their way over bodies and debris. He swung round again and began to come back, angling towards the wall where they kept on coming. Hundreds of them. And thousands still waited outside.

  More impacts. On the ground behind the walls a flare of fire in the fading afternoon light. Conquord artillery was shattered, crews dead in an instant. A third section of wall exploded inwards, sending rock high into the air to crash down on the few reserve not committed. Five breaches including the gate. Tsardon had broken through unopposed in two places and were heading for the few remaining artillery pieces.

  Harin kicked out at a Tsardon head. Pain flooded him. He gasped. An arrow had pierced his armour at the base of his breastplate. Blood flowed. He breathed in, trembling. His sword came down on the shoulder of an Atreskan legionary running with the enemy. He kicked at the flanks of his horse, kept her moving forwards. Levium crowded him, seeing his injury.

  The horns he had been fearing blared across the Conquord lines and the shout was taken up by every man and woman in the legions.

  'Retreat! Retreat! Make for the stockade. Defend the camp.' The levium moved to take him that way but he stopped them as soon as they'd cleared the immediate threat.

  'No, no. To the muster point. We have to get out of here, get behind them. It's our only chance to help. Horses are no good inside a stockade.'

  'You're hurt sir, we must get you to safety.'

  'Safety? Show me where that is and I'll lead us all there. Levium, for the Exchequer, for the Conquord and for me. Let's get out of here but first, let's give the legion as much time as we can. Let's ride.'

  Gesteris saw the levium moving and all he could do was mouth his thanks as he ran back towards the stockade. Again and again, the levium rode down and through the Tsardon advance. It bought them precious yards in their flight to the final plank of Conquord defence in the north.

  Behind them, triarii held a solid triple line across the front of the enemy charge. They fell back as fast as they could, taking advantage of Harin's bravery and the sacrifice of the levium, who were cut down in number every time they broke into the enemy lines. Kell was with the triarii. What few remained of her cavalry, less than thirty, rode the flanks of the fall back.

  There were dozens, hundreds of Tsardon and Atreskan rebels amongst the legions. Gesteris didn't have time to care. He needed to focus the final defence and hope Roberto was closer than he had any right to be. But the Omniscient had apparently turned away from them this day. Gesteris had wanted to hold the walls until dusk and retreat under cover of dark if he had to. But this smacked too much of Scintarit. The one difference was that he was in a position to help the stockade.

  It was a four-hundred-yard sprint back to the stockade past the abandoned and sabotaged onagers. The Conquord flag snapped proudly at its gates which stood open. There were already four hundred infantry and engineers inside. They lined the ground in front of the camp and the platforms and rampart inside. Bolt-firers sat in towers. Catapults on the parade grounds inside. This stockade hadn't been built to house an army, only to provide a last refuge.

  Gesteris paused to look back. In the failing light, the levium rode past one more time, turned and charged directly at the Tsardon line. Gesteris nodded and wished them luck under his breath. He signalled the horns and the fallback line turned and ran.

  His people were flooding inside the stockade. Onager rounds thumped out overhead. Scorpion bolts whined by. And as Gesteris and the last of the legions came under the long shadow of the gatehouse, the archers set up a withering fire. The Tsardon slowed, forced to defend with shields high and above their heads.

  How many people Gesteris had, he had no idea. He ran in, slapped the rump of Kell's horse as it thundered past him and ordered the gates shut as the final archer ran inside. Out there, the Tsardon would mass. They would bring their catapults and scorpions up with only a few hundred levium at best able to upset their progress.

  Here was where it would end. Here, like in the harbour at Estorr, the Conquord's fate would truly be decided. The first of Gesteris's few fell from the rampart, an arrow in his face. The Tsardon were not even pausing for breath.

  Chapter 78

  848th cycle of God, 18th day of Dusasrise 15th year of the true Ascendancy

  Harin ignored the scything pain in his side and hacked down with his sword. Countless times he'd made the move and his arm ached like his thighs, his arse, dammit the whole of his body. The levium chopped and slashed their way through the heart of the Tsardon. Harin brought his blade back to the ready. He moved it smartly aside to block a spear thrust and reversed it back to thud onto a helmeted head.

  Levium rode seven abreast either side of him. He knew they were trying to shield him but everyone had to fight. The mass of the Tsardon flowed around them, content to let them go knowing their true goal, their true victory, lay ahead. Directly ahead, though, the defence was stout and they knew their own catapults were at risk.

  The rubble and broken walls towards which they rode were a hideous backdrop. The Tsardon who ran through the gaping holes were like rats invading new carrion feeding grounds. They poured around the bodies that lay abandoned in their thousands, helpless before the Omniscient. Friend and enemy together, as would always be the way at the end of life in battle.

  The sun was setting quickly behind the levium, sending stark, cold shadows across the battle ground. Birds were already flocking in the sky, waiting their chance to feast on dead flesh. Harin's anger dulled the pain away. He kicked his horse again and she sprang forwards
, her front hoofs kicking out and catching a Tsardon in the chest. She found firm purchase and moved ahead. Harin beat about him with his sword, seeing Tsardon fall or scatter before him.

  At his back were perhaps ten per cent of the levium who had ridden to battle just a few days before. Three hundred but with any number of others scattered to all points of the compass during the fighting. Too many, though, lay dead.

  The power of the gallop saw them through the sundered gates and out into open ground. He could see the light of fires around catapults being secured for onward movement. Clustered about them were groups of archers and swordsmen. The enemy jeered, thinking they were fleeing the battle. Harin couldn't resist demonstrating their mistake.

  He raised his sword and pointed at the nearest group of weapons. Levium came into a wide line, two deep, and rode in a crescent formation. The wings galloped at greater pace, closing in on the artillery crews and their defence. Harin barked his satisfaction. The encirclement was long in the training. It was gratifying to see its execution.

  In front of him, the archers and swordsmen bunched together, trying to cover all the angles. Arrows came at the levium who hunched low. The target area was small, the depth of the line slight. And his archers were far better from the saddle than these Tsardon from firm ground.

  Harin circled his blade and the levium cruised in. He sheared his horse left and swung his blade out and back, striking the arm from an archer. Three hundred riders choked every hint of space. Archers picked off their counterparts, swordsmen used their height advantage to drive the enemy into the ground. It was a slaughter. Unedifying but intensely satisfying.

  Harin smashed his blade through the neck of a frightened boy soldier and kicked the corpse off its tip. He left the destruction of the weapons to his Gatherers and swung out to seek the next target. No one was coming back to them from the direction of the walls and the Tsardon catapults were open. Further south, artillery was already moving away into the gloom. Nearby, panic was evident and two or three archers had broken off to sprint away to call for help.