Cry of the Newborn (100 page)

Wave after wave fed into the towering barrier. He could see it grow. Twenty feet, forty, sixty. He wanted a mountain. A living, vibrant mountain shimmering in the morning sun. Its outline wavered. Wind picked off the cap, turning it into a fine spray. He could hear a gentle bass roar too, as the water rolled around itself in the wall, churning gently.

He felt himself shiver and had to stop building. He admired what he had done. It stood a hundred feet high, maybe more, and sixty across its base. It rose from the ocean like a giant's palm; the flickering cap was its fingers, tattering and reforming in the wind. It reached from fort to fort. It was magnificent.

'Get through that,' he muttered.

But he wondered how long he and Mirron could keep it that way. He wondered if he really could buy enough time for the Ocetanas to get here.

In a corner of the palace of Estorr, Hesther clung to Arvan Vasselis while the rest of the Echelon stared down at the barrier in front of the harbour forts. Crowds were gathering on the dockside. The Order were out in force very quickly, to denounce the force as a punishment of the Omniscient.

One moment, they had been watching the large Tsardon fleet approach. The next, the water had massed and climbed into the air faster than a man could walk. The crowd had begun to panic. People were running away from the dock or kneeling to pray. Others stood and gaped at the wall that could sweep the dockside clean away. The sound of the citizens was ugly, angry and terribly frightened.

Hesther was crying but she didn't know if it was in happiness, relief or fear.

'They're out there,' she managed. 'Dear God, Arvan, our children are out there.'

The battle was going against them. Dawn was beginning to banish the shadows and as inevitably as the sun's rise, the Tsardon were winning. The levium had taken out as much of the enemy artillery as they could. Elise Kastenas had destroyed the steppe cavalry. But the former was lost somewhere behind the enemy and the latter in charge of horses too exhausted to take another step.

The Tsardon had taken the gatehouse and the artillery up there was destroyed, sabotaged by its own crews. There was fighting deep into the compound. The rear wall was torn away along a fifty-yard length. Gesteris was trapped. Davarov and Cartoganev hadn't managed to force their way to the stockade's wall. Even the artillery was stuttering. Ammunition was in short supply and they'd suffered breakdown after breakdown as the temperature plummeted through the night and ropes snapped or wood cracked under the strain.

The Conquord was losing heart. Roberto could feel it. His legionaries were utterly spent, the effects of the march claiming them at last. The Tsardon had known that to hold them would be to beat them and it was going to happen unless he could think of a way to break them. What he needed most was the white and gold banner to fly from the beacon in the Gaws.

Down to the left, that was where the key to the battle lay. He couldn't commit any more infantry from his stretched and fatigued main line. Davarov would fight all day but even he needed some encouragement. Roberto chewed his lip and gauged the distance to the walls he was desperate to free. It would be a risk but he felt he had to try it. He kicked his heels to his horse and rode for Neristus and the artillery. All the way, he had his eyes on the beacon fire, willing the banner to be raised.

'Come on, Paul, don't let me down.'

The skipper of the
Hark's Arrow
dragged his tiller round hard and drove the ship back across the front of the wave. Jhered saw the disbelief in his eyes and knew his own were mirrors of it. He hardly dare look at it, teetering above them, its great crest gnawing at it, desperate to fall and swamp them all.

And it had worked so well for a time. Every ship in sight had turned to flee and the taunts of the crew had hidden their own fear. He could imagine the confusion and consternation. Thousands of superstitious sailors would have seen a gate of water rise up from the ocean and slam shut the way into Estorr harbour right in their faces. Dear-God-embrace-him but he had wanted to run, too.

Further south, the Ocetanas had come on and were engaging the vessels that had turned more or less straight into their path. But plenty remained free of attack and the braver amongst them had decided to come for a closer look. It had been five at first, realising that the
Hark's Arrow
was the key to it all. To sink her would remove the problem.

The skipper had enough manoeuvres in him to outwit them but now another twenty were coming and more were turning to do the same. The Ocetanas did not have enough ships to come to their rescue.

'We have to go further out,' said the skipper. 'I'm going to get stuck against this damned wall.'

'No.' Jhered looked to the aft hatch. Ossacer had put his head out. 'You can't move away. Look at him. He's already struggling. Mirron is shaking, I can see it in her life map. Try to imagine him holding two ropes together while teams try and pull them apart. If you move away, you are pulling harder. Eventually he will lose his grip. And if he does that, the wave will just subside.' 'Down!' yelled the skipper.

Jhered ducked reflexively. A scorpion bolt slammed through the port rail, crossed the deck and tore out through the starboard. He jerked back to his feet. A Tsardon trireme was heading directly at their aft section. It had appeared from behind a decoy travelling across their path.

'Stroke thirty,' called the skipper.

He leaned hard on the tiller. The trireme missed them to stern. Arrows whistled across the deck. Jhered threw himself across Ossacer.

'What do you suggest we do?' he said, rolling away.

Ossacer looked up at him. Jhered felt uncomfortable every time he did that. Those were eyes that saw nothing and everything.

'How many ships are chasing us and how many are heading in from the east and how near are they?'

Jhered peered above the gunwale. Tsardon ships were everywhere, converging on their position. He counted twenty in an inner circle, another ten outside and away east, another thirty or forty making their way back in. He relayed the information.

Ossacer nodded and helped himself to his feet. His gaze never left Jhered's and an expression of abiding sadness and regret crossed it that stole Jhered's heart for a moment.

'We have to use the energy in the wall,' he said. 'Reverse it.'

Jhered frowned, i beg your pardon?'

'We have make it fall straight down. Cause a whirlpool and suck them all down.'

The wall of water loomed massive and lethal right above them. It had a sound of its own, a sucking, roiling noise that spoke of dreadful power.

it'll kill us, too. Drag us to the bottom.'

'We're dead already. And this way, more of the enemy come with us and more of the Ocetanas escape it because they are far enough away. Arducius has to use the energy he's stored up before the Tsardon get him.'

i thought you only sought to help, not harm,' said Jhered.

i don't want my brother to die thinking he failed.'

'And what about you, Ossie?'

Ossacer smiled. 'I will die knowing he didn't fail too.'

Jhered had to look away. He caught the skipper's eye and the big man nodded that he'd heard and accepted. The Tsardon were closing the net. Any hope they had of escaping was being blocked off. Jhered shook his head. He hadn't expected to die on the ocean.

'Go talk to your brother. Just do it quickly. I'll be right behind you.' Ossacer moved away. 'Ossacer.'

'Yes?'

'Proud of you, young man. Really proud.'

Iliev landed on the deck and ducked a wild sword thrust. He came up quickly and stabbed the sailor up through his chin and into the roof of his mouth. He dragged the blade clear, swung left and knocked a blow aside with his dagger. He kicked out straight, taking the man in the stomach. He staggered back. Iliev jumped and planted a foot in his chest, sending him slithering across the deck. He made to rise but another of the Ocenii put a blade through his throat. The deck was clear.

'Ocenii, let's get this ship turned. It is going in the wrong direction.'

The battle was going with them. The Tsardon ships fleeing the wall had met a dense and concerted ramming charge from every Conquord vessel. The Ocenii squads were amongst them, taking on the ships at the back of the enemy fleet, hitting them as they tried to turn back east. He was proud of the Ocetanas. They felt the same fear as their opponents but they had overcome it. And now the tide of the fight was with them.

His men were below already, subduing oarsmen. Two ran to the tiller and began to move it to port. Slowly, the trireme turned away from the water cliff and again, Iliev caught himself staring at it. He murmured thanks to Ocetarus for it was surely his work. Yet it terrified him. Nothing could create that in nature. Some force was at work. He had to believe it was the hand of God. It was the only thing that kept him and his squad from running.

The ship wasn't turning fast enough. Hardly an oar was dipping. The sluggish turn was exacerbated by the drag of the corsair. The spike was buried in its side, high up because the Ocetanas needed to capture triremes, not sink them. He ran to the hatch amidships.

'I told you to arrest them, not stop them. Get those bastard oars moving.'

He sniffed the air and straightened, eyes back to the north-west. Something was changing. He could feel it in the air and smell it on the wind. It was a faint odour but fetid somehow. It was the wall across the harbour. It hadn't smelled wrong before but it did now. And he hadn't spent his life at sea to ignore his instincts this time.

It wobbled at its upper edge, spilling water in great swathes. Below them, the sea was being dragged towards it faster than any incoming tide. That was enough.

'Ocenii. Get out of there. Get off this ship now! Move.'

One last glance and he sprinted to the aft quarter and the ladders. Ocetarus was about to wreak his vengeance on the Tsardon.

Chapter 80

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

Jhered and Kovan stood over them. Ossacer was talking to them and Mirron was crying. He made an embracing movement with his hands and the others nodded. Above them, the barrier was beginning to falter. The skipper had made another audacious move and, once again, had found a little open water. But it was all he could do. Ships closed in from every quarter. Two were heading straight at them and he couldn't dodge them both.

'We aren't going to survive this, are we?' said Kovan.

Jhered shook his head. 'But we die knowing we helped save the Conquord for those we loved.'

'Or died with them,' said Kovan. His face was white and scared.

Jhered nodded. 'And that's a comforting thought.'

'I should have killed him. Gorian.'

'Don't regret your decision. It was what they wanted. He's dead somewhere anyway.'

'I don't share your confidence.' Kovan nodded at the Ascendants. 'They'd know if he was. They'd feel something. And now he'll be the only one left.'

Jhered looked forward. Men lined the rails carrying bows or spears and shields. How small a number they looked.

'Your Ascendants had better be quick,' said the skipper. 'We have to give them the time they need,' said Jhered. 'Understood. Guard your port flank.'

Jhered nodded. He hefted his gladius and set his shield on his arm. Below, the beat of the drum sounded over the splash of oars and the rumble of the unstable wall of water to his right. Ahead, the Tsardon triremes closed. They would both strike the port bow. Jhered set

himself against the imminent impacts and took one last glance at the Ascendants. Ossacer was still talking. He stroked Mirron's head and had his other hand on Arducius's shoulder.

'Goodbye,' he whispered. 'May the Omniscient welcome you to his embrace.'

The noise gained in intensity. Every sound was amplified. The shouts of the Tsardon. The answering taunts of the crew. The straining of oarsmen and the beating of time. And something else, a shuddering that he could feel beneath his feet as well as in his head. The ship shifted sideways slightly.

'Kovan.'

'Yes, Exchequer.'

'Your father will be proud of you. You are a hero of the Conquord.' 'And you.'

'No, boy. They pay me to be here. You do it for love.' 'Brace!' roared the skipper.

Conquord and Tsardon ship collided in a splintering and groaning of timber. The sick sound of destruction. Men stumbled and steadied. Arrows and spears flew. Bodies slumped to the deck. Grapples crossed the divide. Moments later, the second vessel struck. Tsardon soldiers poured on to the ship. Weapons clashed.

'Stand firm,' said Jhered. 'Keep your shield up. Here they come.'

Arducius felt the energy flowing into him from Ossacer. His words had been like sunlight through cloud. What he asked should have scared him but the thought of his death was tempered by the knowledge that he would achieve his destiny.

The lumbering power of the ocean flowed through him and around him. He strained every muscle to maintain the cohesion of the wall. With every heartbeat, his control slipped a little more. It was as if the water had a will of its own that was set against him. He had not realised how quickly it would drain him. When Ossacer had touched him, he was on the point of losing the circuit he had formed with the ocean.

Now, he had fresh direction and a fresh reservoir of energy. The map of the water wall was serene, almost unmoving. Deep blues flowed across its surface. Using Ossacer and Mirron to amplify his actions, Arducius reached out to it. As the energies rolled through him, he focused them, dragged them close together and twined them around each other again and again.

In his mind, the new energy map formed and he imposed it on the mass of the ocean that towered above him. The image was that of a tornado, narrow at its base, wide at its head and turning faster and faster. Applied to water it created a vortex, a sucking power that would drag everything within its compass down to its deep, dark heart.

The energy lines flared with the power he fed them from Ossacer and Mirron, no longer blue but a resonant, pulsing orange shot with white, raw and violent. He fought to contain what he created.

'Place it,' said Ossacer. 'Place it before you lose it.'

'I can't,' gasped Arducius.
‘I
have to anchor it or it'll disperse too quickly.'

'Make it as tight as you can. Then we'll go.'

Jhered blocked a thrust to his midriff and cracked his gladius into a Tsardon helmet. He staggered back, dazed. The deck was covered in skirmishes. Oarsmen had rushed up fore and aft to join the fighting. The three ships drifted ever nearer the water wall which had begun to ripple alarmingly along its length.

Next to Jhered, Kovan fought well. His fear had gone and his training had taken over. He blocked and parried like a veteran, with Jhered offering him encouragement and a rock-solid flank on which the enemy broke.

The dazed man came back at Jhered. He raised his sword. Jhered blocked it aside and finished him, jamming his gladius up under the rib cage. The man collapsed to the deck. Two more were coming at him. Kovan was engaged with a third. At their backs, the Ascendants still worked on, unmoving.

Jhered brought his shield in front of him. The first enemy ran at him, the second hanging back. Light leather armour covered their torsos, small round shields were worn on their forearms. Leather skull caps kept the hair and sweat from their eyes and their faces were covered in lurid colours, like living masks.

Jhered let him strike, fielding the blow on his shield. He jabbed straight out. The strike glanced off a buckle. He drew back inside his defence. The Tsardon stepped up. A mistake. Jhered rammed his shield full into the man's body and as he began to fall backwards, came around with his sword and felt it bite deep into flesh.

Straightening, Jhered saw the second man take a pace. He was hefting a spear. He cocked his arm but didn't make the throw. An arrow pierced his neck. Jhered glanced behind him and nodded his thanks at the skipper who had left the tiller and was reloading his bow.

'I'm doing no good th—'

He gasped and dropped to his knees, a Tsardon arrow shaft jutting from his neck. Jhered turned round. Another trireme was bearing down on them fast, ramming spike glinting in the sun.

'Kovan, your left. Defend your left!'

The Ascendants were standing. It was poor timing. They hadn't seen the threat aimed directly at them. Jhered started to move but knew he wasn't going to make it in time. They were between him and the port rail. Twenty yards away, Tsardon primed bows. Others held javelins.

Kovan split the skull of his enemy and swung left. Jhered saw him tense. Ossacer and Arducius were moving towards the stern rail. Water was coiling around them, covering them in a liquid sheath, obscuring them from view. A wind was building fast. The ship dragged more quickly towards the wall which had begun to split as if some great blade was slashing at it. Mirron was moving towards Jhered.

'No!' yelled Jhered into the rising tumult. 'Mirron, get down.'

A javelin flew straight and fast. Jhered leapt at Mirron, knowing it was futile. A shape crossed his vision. He heard a dreadful thud. Jhered caught Mirron and hauled her down to the deck. Kovan crashed down right next to them. All three of them stared at the javelin buried in his chest.

Mirron screamed. Kovan reached out a hand and pressed it against her. Blood was pouring from his wound and trickling from his mouth.

'Don't cry, Mirron. It doesn't hurt.' He smiled and his eyes fluttered and closed.

Jhered blinked away a tear and saw Arducius and Ossacer jump from the ship.

Freezing cold water closed over their heads. Arducius swam with Ossacer holding on to his waist. The weight of the water bore them down so quickly he hardly needed to kick his feet. In his tiring mind, he clung on to the base of the energy map he had created. It hammered at him, trying to shake him off. It was an unnatural shape, even more so than the wall he had made.

But he would not let go. Back on the surface, Jhered and Kovan had fought and would die to give him the time to succeed. And on the shore the Echelon and Marshal Vasselis were waiting for an invasion. He would not let that invasion happen. He would not let them down.

So down he went, Ossacer with him, keeping the energy flowing through him and the circuit complete. Already, the surface of the ocean would be chaos. And the deeper he went, the further that chaos would spread. The only thing Arducius regretted was that he would never see what he had created.

The wall of water had fallen with such suddenness it took the breath away. Air rushed into the void it had left and for a heartbeat there was no sign, no ripple, to signify it had ever been there. The fighting stopped in the same instant, every eye taken by the appearance of Estorr from behind its shroud.

A beat of silence was punctuated only by the distant sound of drums on Tsardon triremes. And then the ocean began to pour in on itself.

'Omniscient bless him,' said Jhered, scrabbling to his feet. 'He's done it.'

Astern of the
Mark's Arrow,
an eddy had become a spiral and the spiral had accelerated, becoming a drain, sucking down the sea and everything that sat upon it. It expanded at an extraordinary rate. Its outer edge plucked at the ship and dragged it backwards and around. Behind him, men had started to scream but he ignored them, staring down into the maw of this monster, hypnotised by the swirling that gathered in pace moment by moment.

Jhered looked down. Mirron was lying across Kovan's stomach, crying and stroking his hair. He bent down and picked her up.

'Leave him now, Mirron. He's at peace. Come and see what your brother has done. Let's watch together how he beat the Tsardon.'

He set her on her feet and she hugged him. With panic exploding on the deck around them and in every ship near them, they alone stood still to greet their deaths. Already, the whirlpool had caught other ships. Men were diving from decks trying to escape only to be sucked into the deeps. Jhered breathed in, enjoying his final lungfuls of air. The
Hark's Arrow
was spinning around the edge of destruction, moving towards the point where the spiral steepened.

The noise of the water grew. A rushing and roaring combined with wind whistling in his ears. The sight and sound battered at Jhered's senses and set every nerve tingling. The ship was being tugged faster now. They were below the horizon, surrounded by the sides of the whirlpool. Through his fear, Jhered experienced a moment of clarity in which he admired the awesome power Arducius had created.

'Don't let me go,' said Mirron. 'Whatever happens.'

And then the
Hark's Arrow
pitched suddenly and drove straight into heart of the swirling, battering mouth of the ocean.

Iliev took his hand from the tiller and just stared open-mouthed. His crew all stood too. They'd rowed far enough and fast enough to escape but the bireme had been sucked into the clutches of the vortex and snatched from view.

Ocetarus had reached out his hand and dragged ship after ship into his embrace. Over the wind, he thought he had heard the screams of men and the frenzied beating of drums. But so many had not escaped, clawed backwards out of sight. Tens, dozens. Gone in moments. And any that had survived were scattering away. Rowing so hard as if expecting Ocetarus to reach out and slap them to the ocean floor.

The whirlpool had quickly lost intensity and the wind had slackened. Iliev knew it was done when waves reached them, washed gently under them. Iliev steadied the tiller. He gazed out at an empty ocean. At silence. The jaws of Ocetarus had snapped shut.

'Ocenii.' Iliev's voice was a croak. 'Ocenii. We give thanks to Ocetarus for sparing us this day. We give thanks that He took our enemies from us but we mourn those of our own lost on this day of victory.'

And it was victory, no doubt about it. But it didn't feel right. Like he had been robbed of the chance to prove himself and be the first ship into the harbour, bearing the scars of war but flying the victory flag. Around them, the battle had ceased. Tsardon and Conquord crews stood and stared. Below decks, oarsmen had stopped rowing, sensing the passing of a force too powerful to oppose.

Iliev's crew sat back down and took up their oars. Iliev pulled the tiller in and the corsair came about, heading towards the harbour.

Signals were being flagged throughout the Conquord fleet. Trireme and assault galley began to row for the harbour to seal it from the Tsardon. But those Tsardon who had seen the vortex had no appetite to fight on, and those who followed up would either be turned by their fleeing comrades or be met by an overwhelming Ocetanas force.

A few hundred yards away, a barrel broke surface and bobbed on the calm surface of the sea. Iliev nodded.

'Remember we are sailors and marines and we still have honour. Let's look for survivors. Ocenii, twenty stroke, easy.'

Jhered felt a serenity over his mind. He could still see the light dancing on the water but it was distant and dull. The whirlpool had dissipated and no longer was he being dragged down. He'd managed to unclasp his cloak and lose his breastplate when that last breath had gone but it was too far back up. He had accepted that he would drown and had ceased to kick, letting the embrace of the sea take him. His eyes had closed and his mouth had fallen open.

Death played with him. There was a warm sensation in his lungs and his face felt as if it were being stroked. His lips bubbled and the brush against them sensuous, like love.

He snapped open his eyes.

Mirron was before him. Her mouth was over his and she breathed life into him in a kiss that lingered and held. He put his hands up to the side of her face. This close, she was blurred and the water moving past them was still thick with bubbles from the debris being taken to the deeps. But he was free, and unless this was his dream of death, he was alive.

They were rising. Slow and steady. He felt light, able to swim. He made a move but she stilled him with a shake of the head. So they kicked their feet in unison and rose gently together, her lips back on his and their bodies locked in embrace.

For Jhered, it could have gone on forever. There was a magic to the world below the sea and he felt a freedom he had never felt before. She was breathing for him and she was kissing him. He banished the thoughts that crowded his mind unbidden. This was a wonder to be enjoyed, not sullied.