Cry of the Newborn (2 page)

She entered the forum at the rear of the oratory and climbed the few steps onto the stage. Surrounding the paved space, shops and stalls were empty. The sun reflected from polished columns, white painted walls and warm red-tiled roofs. Every voice quietened the moment Hesther was seen. The young tumblers and jugglers scattered away from her and back into the crowd.

She breathed deep to calm herself, smoothing the front of her simple sleeveless blue dress and adjusting the cinch at her waist. She arranged the long auburn curls on her head and surveyed the townsfolk, all of whom had waited all day just to hear her words. She felt the weight of her sixty-five years then, the expectations that she carried on everyone's behalf and what success would bring.

All anyone here wanted was a life free of change and the pressure for change. Yet what she was about to announce would signal change of a most fundamental nature. In all their faces she saw expectation. In those not touched by the strands, she saw excitement and naivety too. A craving for the news she brought and no notion that it would affect their lives so deeply should the newborn grow into their potential.

She felt no guilt, only exhilaration. Because every face told of a spirit that would stand with them forever. The hush was unbearable. She was compelled to speak.

'My friends. They are born and they are well.'

The roar all but knocked her from her feet.

Ardol Kessian rested his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands. He shifted his backside against the hard bench, grunting at the discomfort. Someone really should have fetched him a cushion by now. Night was full. The stars spread to the horizon in every direction. The air was clear and still warm. There would be no rain for seven days though the scattered cloud in a couple of days would keep them a little cooler.

In front of him, the floor of the forum was awash with people, faces bright in the fire and lantern light. On the oratory, the band roused weary dancers again with another old favourite. Hand drum and tympani beat the rhythm, kithara and pipes provided the melody and a strong voice guided the moves.

It was a long time since he had dared take to the centre of the forum to dance. He missed it. The energy and the joy, the close touch of a woman, and the scent of her in the spin. Her eyes on him as they stepped and turned. Now he contented himself with watching the younger generations make all the same mistakes he had made in his youth. A long time ago now. He glanced to his right and laid his hand on Genna's.

'Remember how we met on the floor?'

'Yes, Ardol,' said Genna, resignation in her tone. 'You ask me every time we watch a dance.'

'Do I?' Kessian's mouth turned up at the corners. 'I forget.' 'When it suits you.'

He squeezed Genna's hand. He would go first. Genna was thirty years his junior. They'd been tilling the earth together this last eighty years. He wondered how she would bear up without him. She'd probably be glad of the peace and quiet.

'Jen did well today,' he said, refusing to slip into melancholy on a night of celebration like this.

'That she did,' agreed Genna.

The fresh smells of grilling fish mixed with woodsmoke, roasting meats and the yeasty odour of spilt ale. Jen had found seabass and sardines. The nets had bulged and there would be plenty on the market when the hangovers had cleared the next morning.

'Do you mind if I interrupt you?'

Kessian looked up and across the table. There stood Arvan Vasselis, Marshal Defender of Caraduk. He had ridden in with his wife and young son late in the afternoon, having received the message five days previously that the births were imminent. His flag, deep blue, trimmed with gold and displaying rearing twin bears, flew above his residence which commanded peerless views of bay and harbour.

'Impeccable timing as always,' said Kessian, making to rise. Vasselis gestured him not to.

'Never known to miss a Westfallen party. I even brought some wine with me.' Vasselis placed two ornately carved ceramic jugs of something no doubt old and expensive on the table. 'Mind if I sit down?'

'You hardly have to ask,' said Kessian.

'Rank is no excuse for rudeness,' Vasselis said, dragging the opposite bench back a little. He leaned over and kissed Genna's cheeks before he sat. 'Pour away.'

Genna poured the dregs out of their two goblets and snared another that someone had abandoned on their table. She wiped them all out with a cloth from her waist before filling them with Vasselis's wine.

'And where is our country's first lady?' she asked.

'Netta? Oh, settling Kovan, I expect. This would all be a little much for him. Best he sleeps through it.'

'Don't you have a retinue for that sort of thing?'

'I think you'll find we can cope as parents,' said Vasselis. 'Besides, we hardly need to worry, do we? Not here.'

'You're never quite going to get used to the trappings of your position, are you?'

Vasselis chuckled. 'Step out of line, Kessian and you'll find I understand certain of my trappings very well indeed.'

He raised his goblet and the three of them chinked and drank.

'Very good,' said Kessian, feeling the full red wine soothe its way down his throat, leaving the aftertaste of rich, ripe plums.

'You doubted it?' asked Vasselis.

The friends fell silent. Kessian studied Vasselis as he watched the dancing and celebration all around him. He felt proud, observing this man sitting among his citizens. So much at ease, feeling neither superior nor under any threat to his authority.

Kessian had seen him grow from a young lad fascinated with the sea to become the ruler of Caraduk. He was the Ascendancy's most powerful ally and fiercest protector of its secrets. Even with him on their side, maintaining the secrecy beyond Westfallen's borders was a constant battle and a dreadful anxiety. If what they hoped turned out to be true, they would need him more than ever in the years to come.

Abruptly, Vasselis stopped tapping his fingers on the table in time to the drums and turned his large brown eyes on Kessian. Vasselis had short dark hair and a soft, friendly face which an unfortunate few would always mistake for a sign of weakness. 'So,' he said. 'Is it them?'

Kessian shrugged. 'It depends how much you believe in omen and how much in science. Even for me, the coincidence is exciting. Mathematically though, we set no store by it.' His face cracked into a smile and he shook his head, trying in vain to dislodge the thrill that strained at every nerve the moment he thought about them. 'They were all born in the same hour to mothers from within and without the Echelon and after almost identical difficult labours. An hour where the rain passed, the clouds broke and the sun burst through. And if you believe people like Andreas Koll and Hesther Naravny, an hour where the birds fell silent and every cow, sheep and pig, every dog and cat, turned its head to the villa.'

'And do you believe it?' asked Vasselis.

Kessian's smile broadened and he drained his goblet. 'I believe there is something in the atmosphere that affected this whole community around the time of the births. I also believe in the theory of mass empathetic outpouring of an emotion like hope or love. I don't believe in omens and portents. At least, I try not to.'

'Ardol, my old friend, you are avoiding my question. Is it them?'

Kessian chewed his lip. He looked out across the forum and the dancing, the crowds of animated talkers and drinkers. The noise of the music and laughter, the strong cooking smells and the harsh light of flame and lantern clamoured around his head. It was a clamour the wine amplified uncomfortably. He wondered when he had started feeling like this.

'I'm old, Marshal Vasselis. I cannot afford for it not to be them.'

Chapter 2

838th cycle of God, 25th day of
Solasfall 5th year of the true Ascendancy

'Advance in line.'

Captain Elise Kastenas,
2nd
legion cavalry, the Bear Claws of Estorr, urged her company to the walk. On the opposite side of the forum, Captain Dina Kell mirrored her and between them, the hastati legionaries marched with shields up in well-spaced ranks, five deep. Rioters fell back ahead of them, all the way across the rubble-strewn space.

Hoofbeats rang out on stone cobbles. Elise looked over her small round shield. Beneath her, her horse was steady. Its armour blinkered it, keeping its focus ahead. The mob was densely packed and determined. Their shouts, threats and taunts echoed from the surrounding buildings. At their backs was the basilica which they had occupied two days before, stoked by the anger of Dornosian rebels. They had refused to give the Gatherers access to the accounts and the revenue chests, triggering the appearance of the legion. And she had been informed by Roberto Del Aglios, son of the Advocate and Master of Sword for the Bear Claws, that there were Gatherers captive inside.

She shook her head. Tax riots. That they should occur here in Cabrius, the usually peaceful capital city of the northern state of Dornos, was symptomatic of problems occurring all too frequently throughout the Estorean Conquord. The Bear Claws were here fresh from the flood harvest massacre in Tundarra. She prayed that this situation would not descend into slaughter.

The front edge of the crowd backed away, compressing the whole. Ripples of anger spread out.

'Step up,' said Kastenas. She held out her sword arm

The company increased pace on its far right, curving out into
a
crescent formation designed to corral the rioters. On the left, Kell kept her line straight, giving the crowd a single exit in to the central gardens of the city where it could be better contained. In the centre, Del Aglios shouted for the crowd to drop any weapons and kneel with hands behind heads. No one did. There were several hundred rioters and they hooted and spat derision at the Conquord force.

The detachment from the
2nd
legion moved on. Discipline was impeccable. Every piece of armour shone with fresh polish. Every glad-ius and spear tip had been honed in the hours before dawn. Elise had known armies break merely on seeing a Conquord advance. This mob of ordinary citizens backed off but refused to disintegrate. They didn't believe the Conquord would attack and they were right. Up to a point.

The stones started to fly when they were within twenty yards. The mood turned uglier. The plaintive shouts of citizens who believed their protest to be just, mingled with the anti-Conquord taunts of those hoping to incite more than just rhetoric.

'Shell!' roared Del Aglios.

Behind the front rank, his hastati raised their long, gold and green rectangular shields over their heads. Stone rattled on metal. There was the clash of ceramics shattering as brightly coloured pottery joined the rain of missiles.

'Steady,' came the powerful voice of the Master of Sword. 'Push in right.'

Horses stamped and snorted. Legionaries rattled swords and spears on the backs of their shields. The pace increased on the left flank. Kastenas ordered her company to the trot. In front of her, the crowd began to bunch towards the exit but it was a reluctant move. Unwilling to give up their blockade of the basilica, the ringleaders shouted for courage and strength. Still the missiles came, primarily from the head of the stairs where Kastenas could see piles of stones. She saw too, the flash of metal and the curve of a bow. She hoped for their sakes that no one in the crowd chose to use those weapons.

The noise in the forum was deafening now. She could see faces in the crowd. Uncertain and fearful. Beginning to waver. Most of these were just innocent citizens whipped into a frenzy by ringleaders who stood at the back and out of immediate danger. She glanced across at Del Aglios. He turned his head, feeling her gaze. He nodded. Time to end this. She drew her sword and raised her arm. Tension flashed through the forum.

'Claws! Move in.' Her arm swept down and the cavalry drove forwards. The infantry took the lead. 'Keep secure. Keep close.'

The front of the crowd began to break and move left. People fled along the line, looking for the way out that Kell and her company were only too pleased to show them. But still the hardcore centre was unmoved. They stood defiant in front of the Conquord flags hanging high from the grand marble columns at the entrance to the basilica. The stones kept coming, more pottery shattered on shields and sprayed shards across the forum.

Contact was made on the bottom step. Kastenas held her cavalry while the infantry shields thumped into those brave enough to continue resistance. The taste of violence was in the air. A knot of men and women stood in front of the barred wooden doors of the basilica. It was a close-sided building, unusual for a Conquord basilica but necessary because of the hurricanes that periodically struck the region.

The crowd surged down the stairs, pushed from behind. Kastenas watched citizens flattened against the implacable shield wall. The legionaries reacted, punching forwards hard, bloodying noses and breaking bones. A spear flew out from the back of the crowd. Kastenas cursed. It fell into the midst of the infantry.

'Break them!' ordered Del Aglios.

Kastenas led her company up the steps. Citizens fell back ahead of her.

'Push, Claws, push.'

Using the butts of spears and the pommels of swords, they moved into the midst of the mob, striking down on those not fast enough to clear the way. The infantry stepped up hard with their shields, still keeping their weapons tucked away. Angry shouts turned to screams of pain and panic. The crowd's cohesion fragmented. People turned tail and ran left. Out in the gardens, the rest of the Bear Claws were waiting for them. Legionaries lashed out, keeping the momentum in their favour. Chanting, driving.

Kastenas rode behind them, seeing them away. Among the stones that still fell, an arrow thudded into her shield. It came from the columns surrounding the doors. She moved her shield to defend her and called her company to do the same. She turned to the tall man striding in the wake of the cavalry. He wore a green-plumed helmet above a heavy-featured face, his cloak streaming out behind him as he walked.

'Exchequer Jhered, arrows at the entrance.' Paul Jhered nodded his understanding. 'Levium,' he barked. 'Shields high. Move.'

He drew his gladius, held his shield in front of his body and led his thirty levium, elite Gatherer warriors, up the steps in the wake of the horses. Here and there, citizens lay on the ground, clutching their faces and bodies where they had been struck. He had no time or sympathy for them and stepped around or over them, not breaking his stride.

He trotted up the dozen marble steps and past the first line of columns decorating the entrance to the basilica. A group of over fifty people stood in front of the doors. The legion had cleared the mass of the crowd exactly as planned, leaving him the ringleaders too stubborn or stupid to run with those they had goaded to action.

Jhered saw spears, blades and bows. But none were armoured. Jhered and his levium had moulded breastplates, greaves and shields over their deep green tunics. Any contest would be uneven. Arrows flew. Three of them. One missed high and wide, two struck the shields of the men either side of him. Jhered moved faster, pausing no more than two yards from the tip of the nearest blade.

'I'll give you those because you're scared. Any further action and I will attack you,' he said.

'We will not yield, Gatherer. Not even to you,' said a man to the fore. He was tall, bearded and powerful.

'Be assured that you will,' said Jhered quietly.

He motioned the levium to the left to hem them in. He saw anxious faces tracking the movement and hoped this could be resolved peacefully. Further left, the cavalry and infantry had moved out of the forum. Soldiers guarded its perimeter.

'The levy is too steep,' said the man. 'I cannot afford to buy seed, I have too little livestock to trade for breeding stock. You take the food from our children's mouths and the citizens from our fields to fight for you. What tax will you collect next time? I already have nothing and no means to make more.'

Jhered stood his shield down. 'My citizens. The levy is set and agreed by your legislature and posted at the beginning of every collection period. Your avenue of complaint about your personal contribution is via your quaestors or your magistrates. But consider first if you are paying too much for feed, for your workers or whether perhaps you indulge too often in your luxuries. We are the Gatherers. We collect.'

'Tax man.' The man spat on the floor. 'You know nothing of our struggle.'

'I understand your concerns. But I will not react to threats. You must talk to your legislators.' He paused to take in the whole crowd. 'You are all law-abiding, hard-working citizens. Any man can see that. Don't let that change. Stand aside.'

The farmer shook his head. 'You leave us no choice.' The group tensed for action.

Jhered nodded his head sharply. Levium to his left and right ran at them, shields battering protesters back. Jhered stepped forward very quickly. His shield struck the farmer's sword arm, stalling his fledgling strike. His own gladius point touched the farmer's neck. The man stared at him, undone by the speed of movement and aware of his sudden isolation.

'One day,' said Jhered quietly, 'you will be glad I did not push my blade home. Who would feed your family then? The Conquord provides all that you see around you. And it takes what it must. Yield now and you will walk home from here.'

The farmer frowned and stared him in the eye. 'You will let us go without further action?'

Jhered removed his sword. 'I could add to your ill-feeling by seeing you in a cell for a year but what will that serve? Criminals sit in cells, honest men have no place there. I need you working for, and loyal to, the Conquord. Put up your sword, go back to your family and your farm. What is your name?'

'Jorge Kyinta, sir.'

'And I am Exchequer Paul Jhered. The Conquord will provide. I will come back and speak with you again. And should I find the struggle to meet your levy is genuine, I will pay it for you.'

Jhered watched the fight drain out of the big farmer. He motioned his levium aside and Kyinta led his people from the forum. Jhered smiled before turning his attention to the basilica. The doors were daubed in slogans demanding tax cuts, the end of the Conquord and the death of the Gatherers. It was not the first time.

'Inside,' he ordered the levium. 'Let's clear whoever's in there, get my people and the chests and get out of here. I expect when we're gone the Bear Claws will have an easier ride.'

'Did you mean what you said, sir? About paying the farmer's levy?'

Jhered stared at the young man. At the rank of Addos, he was fresh to the Advocate's prestigious force.

'You will discover, Addos Harin, that I mean everything I say.'

Jhered trotted down the steps of the basilica, handing his shield to an attendant and sheathing his sword. A man destined for greatness was walking in his direction, that destiny not merely a function of the family crest he carried.

'Roberto!' he called. He took off his helmet and tucked it under one arm.

The young Del Aglios waved a hand and came over. 'A satisfactory outcome, Paul?'

'Barely,' said Jhered. He gestured at the rubble covering the forum. 'I worry about these events. Too many of them to ignore.'

'It's an inevitable consequence of expansion.'

Jhered raised his eyebrows. 'It's an inevitable consequence of excessive taxation. You listen to your mother too closely, Roberto and she is starting to embarrass me. My Gatherers suffer resistance and refusal everywhere they travel. We are draining the lifeblood from the Conquord. One day we must pause for breath.'

'She's the Advocate.' Roberto shrugged. 'You know how she views the Advocacy and the future of the Conquord.'

'It is a mantra I repeat in my sleep,' grumbled Jhered. 'Security and wealth through conquest and expansion. The latest revenue chests are not for improvements in the sewers and water courses, I take it?'

Roberto chuckled. 'No, my Lord Exchequer.' The smile was brief. 'Much is happening back in Estorr. The revenue is only part of it. We are recruiting more legions from across the Conquord. My mother is planning on opening a front into Omari.'

Jhered gaped and felt a flash of irritation. 'Dornos is not secure enough to seat a campaign. And she will not risk opening the front from Gosland, will she? Not with the Tsardon border so difficult.' Jhered paused and frowned. 'Are you being groomed for command of this venture?'

Roberto shook his head. 'No, indeed not, though you are closer than you realise. This was my last action for the Bear Claws. And the last action for the
2nd
legion in the north.'

A thrill warmed Jhered's heart. 'You
are
being given your own command.'