Cry of the Newborn

by James Barclay

  He turned his horse full circle. The low cloud was hampering his vision and in the dusk, snow began to fall again. But away northeast, a shadow was moving. It was broad and pinpoints flashed in the last light of the sun. Harin trotted his horse a few strides towards it, straining to see. The shadow resolved itself.

  'Oh no,' he breathed.

  Riders. Hundreds of them heading back onto the battlefield. Those pinpoints of light were reflections from the tips of blade lances. Only one force used them in such numbers and he had thought in his naivety that they had been defeated and scattered. He wondered if they had been seen. If not yet, then soon.

  'Levium! We have to go. Steppe cavalry north-east.' He rode past them while they disengaged from the destruction of the artillery. One small blow for the Conquord. 'Whatever it is, leave it.'

  He pushed his horse as fast as she would go. The levium tore through the outer reaches of the enemy encampment, ignoring the handful of guards. Once on the highway again they galloped away east, aiming to be lost in the foothills of the Gaws.

  He heard shouts from up ahead and knew the Omniscient was not done with them. More riders were heading towards them along the highway. They must have numbered over a thousand. Harin felt like weeping. At every turn, they were thwarted. Luck never rolled in their favour. It had been so at the walls and it was so now.

  Harin made the front of his levium to lead the charge to their doom. There was no point in turning back into the teeth of the others. He ordered them to drop to a trot. They would wait until the opposition was within a hundred yards and then charge afresh.

  'Ready levium. Make this our glorious charge. Every rider you unseat is one less for Gesteris to face. Make your lives count.'

  He raised his sword into the air. One more drop. One more charge. Harin glanced over his shoulder. Every face that stared back at him was steady. There was no fear, just determination and pride. The cloak sat well on all of them. He turned back.

  'Levium!' But his sword did not drop for the charge. Instead he lowered it in front of him. Relief flooded through him and his head felt so light he thought he would faint. 'Stand down, stand down.'

  He pointed at the standard flying at their head. It was the crest of the family Del Aglios.

  The levium stood in their saddles and cheered. Unseen by them, pain had swamped Harin and his sword dropped from his hand. He clasped himself over the arrow wound. His armour, saddle and the flank of his horse were soaked in his blood. His faintness had nothing to do with relief. He swayed in his seat.

  Ahead, the riders picked up their spear tips. At their centre, the Master of Horse raised a hand and the thundering of hooves died to a rumble as the cavalry came to a trot and finally a stop a few yards away.

  'I am Appros Harin and these are my Gatherers,' he managed. There was a roaring in his head.

  'Elise Kastenas, Master of Sword, the Del Aglios legions.' She trotted over. 'Are we too late?'

  'Not yet,' said Harin, fighting to keep upright. 'To the north and on the battlefield, you've got a thousand steppe cavalry. Ride west along the highway. The Neratharn defences are gone. General Gesteris is under siege in the camp stockade. He's got ten thousand at best. Outside, thirty thousand Tsardon.'

  'It's a siege that isn't going to take long to resolve.'

  Harin nodded. Nausea swept him. 'He's good, Gesteris. He has Kell and Nunan with him but he won't last the night. I know how he feels.'

  Harin knew he was falling but he didn't feel the impact. He heard noise and there were faces all around him. Someone was pressing hard at the wound in which the arrow head was still lodged. No sense in trying to take it out now. It had sliced into something more than mere flesh. He was losing sensation from all over his body.

  'Get him on a pallet.' He heard Kastenas shouting. 'Get him to Dahnishev.'

  'No,' he said. He grabbed her arm, made her turn towards him. 'Listen to me.'

  'Rest, Appros. You've done all you can.'

  'No,' he said. He shook his head to keep back the blackness sweeping over him. 'Do what I couldn't. Take the levium too. Draw off their cavalry. Destroy catapults. Buy time.'

  'I won't fail.'

  Harin nodded. 'How many are you?'

  'About nine thousand, including what you see here. Let's hope it's enough.'

  'It will be,' said Harin, seeing her fade to the distance. 'It will be.'

  'Legions, are you angry!' The answering roar spread through the army. 'Are you ready to fight!'

  Roberto, finally on his horse, trotted alongside Davarov, amazed at the volume and carry of the Atreskan's voice. Harin had died but his report to Kastenas had signalled another change. The fast march was now a trot, the single column was now in battle order.

  'Remember every corpse we saw on the road. And look at every loyal we pass in our last mile. That is what you are fighting for. Your people, your Conquord, your General.'

  The roar was louder this time and Roberto heard his name chanted through the maniples. It carried across the army, bellowed from the mouths of eight thousand, five hundred exhausted soldiers. Roberto stood in his saddle, the horse keeping pace with the infantry. He held up his hands for quiet.

  'Let them hear us. Let them know we are coming. We have fellow legions to save, great Generals to hail. And we have traitors and Tsardon to kill. Shout. Shout until your sword runs red. We are the Conquord.'

  The noise was deafening and Roberto punched the air in salute of them all. He sat back down in his saddle and made for the head of the army, Davarov alongside him.

  'Roberto, if I may?'

  'Yes, Davarov.' He felt full of fatigue but there was something left. Enough for one last blow.

  'Let me lead the chanting. Something to make the rebel bastards with the Tsardon weep for their mothers and lose their courage to fight us.'

  Roberto looked down on him and saw the pride shining from him. 'You have something appropriate?' 'Oh yes, General, very much so.'

  The onagers were out there, and when they arrived the battle would be almost done. Light had all but gone and still no sign of Roberto Del Aglios. When he arrived, they would be so much ash. Steppe cavalry were on the field now, standing and waiting. The stockade was completely surrounded. There was fighting on all four walls. The ramparts were soaked in the blood of his legionaries.

  His archers worked tirelessly, shooting down those that sought to set light to the stockade. Fire parties stood ready. Down on the parade ground, the shield shell was complete while volley after volley rattled on it.

  Gesteris felt no fear. With every moment that passed, the chance of relief came closer. And at this final juncture, the Tsardon seemed almost at a loss as to what to do. He didn't understand why they weren't either standing off and pummelling them with artillery once it was assembled or attacking them with more ladders, hooks and grapples than they could repulse. Perhaps they were not quite as ready as they should be. They hadn't even tried to hook the stockade walls and drag them down.

  The general was in the gatehouse with Nunan and Kell. His catapults and scorpions still fired, forcing the Tsardon to vacate their firing arcs. Right now, they had no riposte. But as he watched the pitch fires were lit and the archers, finally, were dipping their arrows. And through the gloom, the first onager rolled into view.

  It didn't fire. It had no opportunity. Cavalry stormed out of the shadows surrounding the Tsardon fires and engulfed it and the back of the lines. Gesteris's mouth hung open. Sudden anxiety fed through the enemy below. The press of attack on the stockade faltered for a moment as thousand upon thousand of heads turned.

  Flying the crest of Del Aglios, they carried out the perfect hit and run. Riding in at a shallow angle, they released arrows by the hundred, chopped down on head, body and catapult spring before turning back out. Tsardon horns sounded and the steppe cavalry took off in pursuit. Gesteris hardly believed it had happened but for the cheering of his citizens. The sound of hoof beats faded but the nervousness of the Tsardon remained.
The reason soon became evident.

  The sound of singing growing quickly louder echoed from the Gaws and across the expanse of Lake lyre. Not like the war dirge of the Tsardon but a song of pride that swelled the heart and pounded through the veins. It was a song all here had heard before, and many of those facing them as enemies. Gesteris knew every word.

  The first time he had heard it, at Marshal Defender Yuran's investiture, it had brought tears to his eyes after long years of bitter struggle on Atreskan soil. It threatened to do so again. He lifted his voice to join those approaching, while below the Tsardon command tried to turn their army to face a new threat.

  'The dawn does rise on Atreska's might The heart of Conquord pride!

  The light does warm our righteous fight At Estorr's right hand side!

  The enemy may descend on us

  But we are one and I

  Will swear my oath to Atreska's land

  Til my turn comes to die.

  Atreska! Atreska!

  O land that God has blessed

  Atreska! Atreska!

  O land that God has blessed.

  For the first time, there was fear among the invaders. Fighting had all but ceased. Every voice in the stockade had lent itself to Gesteris's and he felt a thrill course up his body. It was magnificent, and whether they won or lost when all was done, none who survived would forget the moment.

  The first sight of Del Aglios's army was the lanterns carried behind the front line and through the triplex acies that came through the ruins of the walls and gates. They emerged, singing, into the firelit night, three hundred yards across and bristling with belief. Pike block central, hastati in perfect form, left and right. Principes and triarii way back in the shadows. And behind them all, the unmistakeable rattle of cart pulled by oxen. Artillery.

  At a signal he didn't see, the singing ceased. His stockade sang the final verse one more time and he too ordered quiet. Silence rebounded across the open space with only the distant sound of horse and weapon to break it. Del Aglios stood his army a hundred and fifty yards away from the enemy, daring them to continue their attack.

  Gesteris said nothing, letting the order and power of the new army do its work on the Tsardon, now caught between two forces. They were coming from all sides of the stockade to bolster their defence front and back. No arrow flew now. No sword thrust came and no ladder was climbed. He smiled and spat on the ground between his feet.

  'Not so sure about it now, are you, Tsardon bastards?' he growled.

  He looked over at Kell and Nunan. 'Looks like we're going to last the night after all.'

  Behind them, high up in the Gaws, the beacon fire still burned. It was a backdrop to Roberto Del Aglios whose exhausted legions marched into the attack.

  Chapter 79

  848th cycle of God, 19th day of Dusasrise 15th year of the true Ascendancy

  'Neristus, I need our onagers angled across the enemy. Faster. They are at the stockade gates with the ram. I need a path and I need it now.' Roberto bellowed orders on the gallop. His extraordinarii peeled off to see them done. 'Cartoganev, take your cavalry to our left. I want a wall exposed. Gesteris's legionaries cannot help us from underneath their shield shell. Davarov will bring Atreskan triarii to help you. When you have secured it, bring the walls down. Levium, I want every spare Tsardon catapult destroyed before it reaches us. Guard against cavalry attack, we do not know where Elise has led the steppe.'

  Roberto rode back between his hastati and principes, braving the arrows that fell from behind the Tsardon front lines. They needed to know he was nearby. The battle scene was cast in garish light from the three forces but there in the midst of the front, it was dark and hot and hideous. His legions were tired. Too tired to fight though they had to. Exertion and fatigue was on every face that turned to him and in the shake of every limb. He needed a quick victory or the Tsardon could break them.

  The first advance had seen good ground made. The infantry had driven the Tsardon back hard. But they had steadied and recovered to fight effectively on both fronts. The stockade was still surrounded on all sides but Roberto's intervention had drawn off reserve from everywhere, leaving the Tsardon a little thin to his left. If Davarov and Cartoganev could usher them away, the battle would turn.

  Before that he wanted to hear his onagers and scorpions sing. Neristus was taking too much time organising fire angles to miss the stockade. It was the dark that did it. God-surround-him but he hated

  fighting at night. His legionaries were already exhausted and the Tsardon were beginning to stretch them. A few well-placed stones could change all that. Gesteris and his defenders still had catapults at their disposal, though the loss of the gates would see them down. The Tsardon had few pieces left and what they had they'd turned on Roberto. Back in the reserve he was suffering too much damage.

  He galloped back around the edge of his infantry and away to the engineers.

  'Rovan, I need you now. Can you get to any of their heavy pieces? I've reserve hastati being taken apart here. Dahnishev cannot cope.'

  The little engineer hunched reflexively as a dozen Tsardon stones fell from the night sky and well in front of their position. Roberto winced at the impacts and screams that followed. Fire flared briefly into the night.

  'I doubt it. I need to be further forward but then I don't get the angle with the scorpions over our own heads. The levium need to get to work.'

  'How long before you're ready?'

  'We're about done.'

  'Too slow.'

  'Well, at least we won't be killing our own men.'

  Roberto leaned down a little closer. 'No, Rovan, we are letting the Tsardon do that. Get firing.'

  He rode away towards the left flank. Davarov had drawn his four favoured maniples aside as he had done at Gestern.

  'Earning your wage tonight, General?' he shouted over the frenzy behind him. Davarov's eyes were bright, as if he'd just woken from a refreshing sleep.

  'You could say. Right now I make up the entirety of our right flank cavalry defence. If Elise falters, we are in big trouble.'

  'Take Cartoganev, then. We can handle this on our own.'

  'Big words, blind eyes,' said Roberto, smiling. 'Just get that side taken. I need Gesteris's legions out here. Then we might just win this.'

  'Has that engineer of ours—?'

  Catapult arms and scorpion bows thumped. Flame launched into the sky. Roberto watched the trails disappear into the belly of the Tsardon army. His hastati there pushed forwards again. Every pace was pained. Every blow was tired.

  'Yes, he has. And time you went in too.' 'Keep a drink in the victory cup for me,' said Davarov. 'Just remember the mantra. We win when the banner flies from the beacon. Keep your people believing.' 'Think Jhered'll make it in time?'

  'How can you doubt it? He's a taxman. They always show up when they aren't wanted.'

  Davarov's booming laugh turned heads. Cartoganev's horns sounded and his cavalry drove out towards the stockade. Roberto rode back to his principal front. Neristus's catapult and scorpion rounds had caused significant damage in the Tsardon ranks and confusion in the centre of the army. His hastati had gained more ground in the immediate aftermath but, once again, their enemy had stabilised. Phalanxes were secure and sword infantry ebbed and flowed around them.

  Away at the stockade gates, the Tsardon ram was working hard. It wouldn't be long before they were through. Gesteris was directing arrow-fire down at it but there was an inevitability in the booming crunches that echoed over the battlefield. He needed Davarov to be successful and quickly. And he needed the Gatherers, enraged by the death of their leader, to take out the damned artillery falling on the heads of his reserve. It was going to be a long night.

  'Let's give them some support!' yelled Gesteris, racing from the gatehouse and onto the left-hand rampart, his shield held high and to his right.

  He had seen the light of a hundred and more torches racing down the army's right flank and had known immediately what
was being attempted. The remaining Tsardon artillery had been dragged away to his left and out of the firing arcs of his few pieces when Roberto had appeared. They had been firing diagonally across the battlefield ever since. But they were exposed to a charge, defended neither by the bulk of the army, nor by those assaulting the stockade. Roberto had seen it too.

  Smoke billowed up the stockade walls from the fires set by the Tsardon below. His people threw everything at them. Knives, spears, rocks, arrows. Almost anything the came to hand. Behind the fire-starters, Tsardon archers kept up a dense barrage. He was losing too many people.

  On the opposite side of the stockade, Kell and Nunan supported a move by Roberto's infantry and cavalry to drive the Tsardon from the walls. He had his engineers ready to drag the stockade in should they succeed.

  'Divert your fire towards the catapults and the Tsardon flank defence. Forget the fires. Do it.'

  Archers crouched to reload, stood to fire. Every time, an answering volley would come and every time, someone was struck and killed. This could not go on.

  'Come on, Roberto, I need you to break them in front,' he muttered.

  Out of the night sky, Conquord stones battered into the Tsardon centre. Gesteris could see anxiety there. They had no defence and the answering artillery was only a third that of the Conquord's. If that was silenced too . . .

  Gesteris watched the riders approach at full gallop. They crossed the fighting lines travelling four abreast and out of the reach of enemy pikes. Arrows and spears dropped on them from the dark. He saw people pitch from saddles or slump aside and be trodden under the hoofs of their own. Thirty were down before they had travelled a hundred yards.