Cry of the Newborn (39 page)

By the time Father Kessian walked in, slowly and painfully, her mind was so crowded she could barely focus on him. His voice calmed her a little and she found she could fix on his face, its lines and wrinkles, its care and love. She burst into tears.

'Oh, my child, don't cry,' he said.

'Please make it stop,' she said.

He was helped to sit by her and he, like her mother had, put a hand to her brow. His reaction told her he could feel the heat surging from her.

'Try and tell me how you feel,' said Kessian. 'Is it like you felt yesterday with the tree and the bark?'

Mirron nodded, feeling a little relief. Like always, the Father could make them stop, think and see.

'When I touched the tree it spoke to me so strongly,' she said. 'And now everything speaks to me.'

'And what did you do with the tree? Try and think about that.'

'I don't know
...
I understood why it was sick and I tried to fix it. But it was more than that. I felt like I was part of it.' She stopped. 'I joined with it, became one with it just for a time. Until Kovan broke the contact.'

'And could you still feel it speaking to you after that?'

'So loud it hurt.'

'And could you shut it out?'

'I don't remember. It went when I was taken from the orchard.' 'Well that makes sense,' said Kessian. 'You were too far away to feel it.'

'But why can I feel people in the marketplace now?' Kessian's eyes widened. 'Are you sure?'

Mirron nodded and the noise got louder again. Much louder. 'I don't need to see the energy paths to know they are there. And I don't need to see the paths to know the beech in the garden is dying. Cut into the trunk if you don't believe me.'

'Oh, we believe you, Mirron. Nothing you can sense should be too farfetched for us to believe. And can you concentrate on me? What do you see?'

'I don't want to,' she said, but she found her mind reaching out anyway, unbidden, seeking him.

'Because you don't want to feel a body that is dying?'

She nodded and the state of the Father was revealed to her. She could see the grey and dark in his lifelines and the paucity of the energy available to him. She tried to shut it out. Before long, she would be able to guess how long he had left and she didn't want to know that. But she couldn't keep out the feelings that flooded her. They were the feelings of life ebbing fast and the sounds that represented them were tortured and wrenching, the sounds of a struggle that could not be won.

'I don't want to have to feel it,' she said, beginning to cry again. 'Help me make it stop.'

'My child you are connecting to the world around you at a new level,' said Kessian gently. 'You can sense everything from the elements that make up all of us to those that make up this earth, be they man, animal or flower.'

'Why?' she wailed. 'I don't want this. It's too loud.'

'You will learn to control it like you did the visions of the energy paths. It is part of your development, though one that is not written about. Try and welcome it, try and understand it.'

'I can't!' she shouted.

The sensations poured over her like a wave on the beach. Louder than ever before, every individual thing clamouring for her attention. The rumble in the earth set her teeth on edge and the screaming of the wind in the bay rattled in her head. The energy of the marketplace was a roar now and she couldn't pick out any of the individual elements that had spoken to her when she awoke. She gasped at the power of it all and squeezed her eyes shut. It hurt. It hurt her so badly she thought it would shake her apart.

'Help me,' she whimpered, staring past Kessian at her mother. 'Help me.'

'Try and keep calm,' said Kessian.

Mirron's body convulsed.

'Help me!' she screamed.

The tide washed her away from them.

Chapter 31

848th cycle of God, 3rd day of
Solasrise 15th year of the true Ascendancy

The Tsardon army came to order and marched from the fords at Scintarit two days after their victory. It was a huge movement of men, horses, farm animals and wagons broken into three columns to ease congestion on the roads as well as their supply chain.

Master Kell had watched them whenever she could. They had scoured the battlefield, taking weapons, armour and mementos from the dead. Their own fallen they had laid in lines and performed religious rites before burning them on pyres. The Conquord dead had been left to the heat, the rodents and the carrion crows. Already the stench was growing and the air hummed with clouds of insects.

She had watched columns of prisoners marched towards the fords and away. Thousands of them heading to slavery, execution or for ransom. Even from a distance, she had been able to see the bowed-head shambling of the vanquished. But she could not be concerned with them. Not yet anyway.

Kell kept herself concentrated on her own survival. She had plenty of water but her hunger was growing acute. Her chest was a problem. It would be painful to ride or fight. It was a mass of purple and black bruises, swollen round the damaged and probably broken ribs over her heart. Her right arm, though, was not broken. Torn and bruised certainly but it would recover unaided and that was a blessing.

It was not long after dawn on that second day that the last of the regular army left Scintarit, marching away while the air was still relatively cool. Kell waited until the middle of the morning just to be sure. People still moved in the thickening heat haze. These were not soldiers but the first scavengers on the search for scraps. Nothing to be concerned about.

Her time was now. The battlefield would fill with people from settlements located at every point of the compass. Despite the sweep of the army, there were always pieces to be found if you had the stomach to scatter the rats and search the pockets of putrefying corpses. Sightless eyes would stare at you, daring you to go on. And broken limbs would slip suddenly, mimicking brief life. Kell needed to be clear of it before the frenzy began.

She stood up and stretched in the sunlight for the first time in what seemed like an age. Her body was stiff and her gut achingly empty. She used river water to wash away the mud she had plastered on her armour to dull its shine, scrubbing hard at the Conquord crest until it gleamed afresh. Under cover of the moving army, she'd battered the breastplate a little flatter, relieving the pressure on her ribs.

Kell clambered up the bank and began to walk across the plain. The stripping of bodies had been comprehensive but she kept her eye open for anything she could use. She bent to rotting corpses often and kept her cloak about her despite the heat in an attempt to look to the casual observer like just another scavenger.

She found nothing to augment her meagre kit. Her helmet and sword were lost on the field, leaving her with only her twin daggers. They had been a gift from Gesteris in recognition of acts of bravery early in the campaign. With heavily carved hilts and script on the blades they were ornamental pieces, though she kept their edges sharp.

Her journey across the stained mud showed her the tragic tableau of the rout. So many men and women with wounds in their backs, cut down as they ran. Bodies were densest close to the battle lines and spread in a wide arc away from it. She could see where people had run towards the fords looking for the safety of another army, only to trigger it to rout as well. And she followed the thinning line of bodies that led towards the ashes of the camps. Most had run there seeking sanctuary or a rallying point. The Tsardon had simply overrun them.

She wanted to hurry but knew it would draw attention to her. So she made her walk a deliberate one, muttering prayers over all those she passed. She was stunned at the violence at her feet. She had experienced defeat in her time in the legion cavalry, most notably in her first year in the wars of Gosland before she joined the Bear Claws. But nothing like this. Then, retreat had been the granted option. This had been a slaughter of all those not fast enough to outrun the Tsardon blades and arrows.

It was midday by the time she reached the ruins of the Conquord encampments. She had been barely able to take her eyes from them ever since they had resolved themselves from the haze. Smoke still spiralled into the air from fires that would smoulder for days. Parts of the central camp palisade still stood defiant, jutting blackened from the ground. But inside, the destruction was complete. She crunched across the ashes of the principal gate and stopped. Not an inch of tent canvas remained. All that had not been taken had been burned. Scattered across the open space, she saw the bones and skulls of those who would never feel the embrace of God and she wondered who they were.

From her right she heard the whinny of a horse. It was behind a line of standing timbers. She walked carefully towards it, putting her back to the wood and edging her head around to see. It was her first piece of fortune since she had awoken on the battlefield. A Tsardon rider, a messenger by his lightweight clothes, was relieving himself against the palisade. He was partially concealed by his horse which stood as a disinterested sentinel, turning its head to look at her.

Kell slid a dagger into her left hand. It felt uncomfortable and clumsy there but it would have to do until her right was healed. She paced across the mud, praying to tread on quiet ground and hiding her weapon and armour beneath her cloak. She almost made it too but the man's bladder was empty and he turned and saw her when she was still six paces from him.

He said something and waved his hand impatiently back towards the scavengers. He showed no fear of her, seeing on her face the filth of the plain and in her stance the hunch of the poor. Kell smiled at him and continued to walk carefully towards him, her cloak edges held together by her sore right hand. He frowned and spoke again, more harshly this time, pointing back over her head and reaching one hand to the hilt of his sword.

Kell knew it would hurt her but it was her one chance. She sprang at him, letting her cloak fall open. His eyes widened at sight of her armour. Her dagger swept up and he wasn't fast enough to dodge it. It struck him below the ribs and she drove it in hard and vertical, dragging him on with her right arm around his neck. They both gasped. She at the pain flooding her chest and he at the shock of the blade slicing through his body.

He tried to fend her off but did not have the strength. The dagger

point pierced his heart. He jerked and fell limp. She let him slump to the ground. Blood had poured down her hand and covered her right leg. She knelt to clean what she could on his clothes before unbuckling his sword belt and sorting through his pockets. She found flint and steel and a few coins.

She stood and spat on his body, steadying herself against the wave of faintness that swept through her head.

'You are just the first.'

She strapped on his sword, discarding her own scabbard. His was a slightly curved blade, typical of the Tsardon. She drew it with her left hand and made a couple of gentle sweeps, feeling its balance and weight. It wasn't bad but was no match for her cavalry sword. Some Tsardon bastard would be carrying hers now. She hoped he died on it.

Kell glanced around her. She hadn't been seen. There was no one near. The horse had backed away to the extent of its tether at the scent of blood. She walked slowly towards the gelding, a hand outstretched to smooth its bold black cheek.

'Shh. It's all right. All right. You have a better master now.'

The animal responded to her gentle tones, nuzzling at her shoulder. She unhitched the tether and threw the reins back over his head, moving down his flanks still speaking softly. The horse nickered and tossed his head. She opened the saddle bags and all but cried in relief. Trail rations. Bread and dried meat. And animal skins brimful with water. She knew she shouldn't stay here but for the moment didn't care. And when she rode away from Scintarit, it was with the sweet taste of food still on her tongue.

The horse was fresh and strong, bred on the steppes. It was a responsive animal, sure of foot and comfortable with the terrain. A joy to ride. Kell rode west at speed, pausing to walk only when the pain in her chest became too much to bear. She had begun her ride a good half day behind the last of the Tsardon infantry but expected to come across them camped before nightfall.

The sun had lost its power and was setting in a blaze of red behind Kell when she crested a rise a couple of miles from the Conquord-built road along which the Tsardon now marched. The futility of her situation was made plain. Not for nothing had the Conquord legions built the highways where they had and opened battlefronts in the three places they had chosen.

A vast cloud of dust covered the sky ahead of her and beneath it, the Tsardon army was at rest. Hundreds of fires dotted the ground which was carpeted dark with men. She guessed the rear of the camp was something approaching five miles from her but she could see the spread of it disappearing outside of her vision left, right and ahead.

There was no getting round them in time to reach Atreska before them. They would sweep through the Conquord supply lines and along its roads to the border knowing that only those who had got away in front of them could carry warning of their coming. To the south, any escapee risked the swamps that bordered the Toursan Lakelands and the cannibals rumoured to live there. And to the north, the Khur's Teeth ranged north and then east, to merge with the Halorians. It was no place to march an army with only the treacherous ice-covered Ruin's Pass as a crossing.

For Kell, the pass would have to do. She had no choice but to try and make it to Gosland and travel south from there. She kicked at her horse and set off north, stopping only when dark covered the land and tiredness overtook them both.

Kell walked and rode for five days, eking out her rations as best she could. She was unwilling to enter any of the settlements she saw and instead kept off trails and the few roads she encountered, preferring the solitude of the wilds. Travel was relatively easy and every day, more strength returned to her arm and the bruising on her ribs yellowed and faded. There was still a sharp pain every time she drew breath. No doubt a cracked rib rested on her lung. This long after the injury the pain to reset it might not be worth enduring.

On the sixth day she was riding at an easy trot through the gentle sloping hills that led up to the Tarit Plain. Another day of unbroken sunshine beat down and she had stopped often to water her horse and take shade where she could find it. Riding up a shallow valley along a drying stream, she caught movement only a moment before the arrow thudded into the ground just in front of her. Her horse backed away and she reined in to stop him.

'Not another pace or the next one will stop you for good.'

Kell laughed aloud. It was an Estorean accent.

'It's me,' she shouted. 'Master Kell.'

She realised her cloak hood was still over her head, protection against the fierce sun on the back of her neck. She swept it back.

'God-embrace-me, we thought you dead on the battlefield or taken for a slave,' came the answering call. 'Ride up. We'll meet you.'

Kell had not expected the joy she felt at hearing a friendly voice, though she did not recognise to whom it belonged. Riders were heading down a slope to her left. She saw the insignia of their legion and her smile broadened still further.

'Claws!' she cried, unable to contain herself. 'It sends my heart high to see you. God has shown mercy at last. How many are we?'

The pair of riders, horse archers, came alongside her. They were grim-faced and her joy faded.

'Very few,' said one. 'Follow us, Master Kell, Master Nunan will tell you all that has happened.'

'Pavel Nunan alive, too?'

'Barely,' said the other. 'Come.'

Ten days following the defeat and these survivors had their wills so firmly battered down that they could find no reason to chat or even to properly acknowledge her authority and presence. It was as if she were a stranger and they did not trust her.

On any other occasion she would have said that the campsite was beautiful. A glade of trees spread across a small grassed plateau, sheltered on three sides by hills. The stream she had ridden along rose bubbling from the bedrock in the centre of the camp.

Here, though, she was confronted by misery, desperation and suffering. It was impossible to estimate accurately the numbers of Conquord soldiers and cavalry here. Two hundred, perhaps a few more. Most were lying down. Many were still. Some moved among them and she saw one field surgeon for which she was very grateful. She counted twenty who stood or rode guard including the pair who had intercepted her. Though a breeze blew around the plateau, the air reeked of vomit and excrement.

She dismounted and handed her reins to a young woman barely able to raise a smile at her appearance. She certainly made no attempt to salute.

'Where is Nunan?' she asked.

'At the head of the stream, underneath the beech tree,' said one of the Claw horse archers. 'If you'll excuse us, we need to be back on patrol. The Tsardon are still searching these hills and we must be vigilant.'

'Of course,' she said. 'Dismissed. And thank you.'

She took their salutes and walked quickly through the makeshift camp. Most of those she passed didn't seem hurt, just resting. She frowned. There was no structure here, nothing that spoke of true organisation. She hoped Nunan could explain. He was sitting with his back to the tree, heavy padding strapped to one shoulder. His breastplate rested next to him and he sweated in the heat, drips running down a pained, pale face.

'Pavel Nunan, I might have guessed you would evade capture and find yourself a beauty spot in which to rest,' she said, smiling and squatting down in front of him. 'It's a little messy, though.'

He looked up and grinned back. 'The cleaning detail had no news of your arrival, Dina,' he said. 'I'll have them flogged the moment I am able to raise my arm above my head to give the order.'

'How bad is it?'

'Me or them?'

'Let's start with you.'

Nunan scratched his nose. 'Took an arrow as the army collapsed and was carried off the field. I think I was one of the lucky ones. The dogs were everywhere. So many bite wounds, so much infection. The arrowhead is out of my shoulder and the wound is clean enough but it's sliced me up plenty. Not sure I'll score too well with the sword next games.'

'As long as you live,' said Kell.

'As long as any of us do,' said Nunan.

'Let's hear it then.' She gestured at the camp.

'It's a little hazy for me but as I understand it, most of those who made it here ran on past the camp when it was clear it was going to be surrounded before we could get there. There was mass confusion at the fords and some were holding long enough for us to get past them and run dead north.

'Don't ask me why we weren't chased down, I can't tell you but when we got clear and hidden the next day we were able to organise a little. All you see here are those too sick to be moved and those who refuse to leave them. And then there's me, somewhere in between and in charge of the lot.'

'So how many escaped?' Kell understood the state of the camp now at least.

'We'd swept up almost two thousand by the time the Tsardon started moving out. No doubt many thousands more have made