Cry of the Newborn (4 page)

She let him go and stood, sighing.

'Little boy temper,' said Lucius. 'He's just cold.'

Hesther shook her head. 'I'm sure you're right.'

Herine had to keep her expression deliberately neutral and her body outwardly relaxed. From either side of the Prima Chamber, shouts were exchanged and papers waved. Men and women stood to point and accuse. Their ire was directed at Marshal Defender Thomal Yuran of Atreska. The Conquord's latest member was already a controversial figure with his country simmering on the edge of civil strife. And Herine's announcement of planning for future campaigns had brought him angrily to his feet.

She waited and watched while he shouted back at his abusers or looked to her for an order for silence. Something he should already have learned she would not give. It was his words that had provoked this brief outrage and it was he who was riding the tiger. Eventually, the din subsided enough for Herine to raise a languid hand. All bar Yuran took their seats. He stood proud, his large brown eyes blazing from beneath his greying hair. He looked uncomfortable in a formal toga, clothing not indigenous to Atreska.

'Marshal Yuran, it was lax of me not to welcome you officially to the Prima Chamber of the Estorean Conquord. My apologies. Welcome.'

Ironic cheers and applause. The atmosphere relaxed and a brief smile crossed the Marshal's face. Next to him, his Estorean consul spoke some encouraging words.

'Thank you, my Advocate,' he said.

'It was also perhaps lax of me not to brief you earlier of our intentions although I must say that the same information has not brought my esteemed Marshals of Gestern and Gosland to their feet in protest.'

'With all due respect, my Advocate, the positions of Gestern and Gosland are not as ours. We have j
ust gained accession to the Con
quord, following a bitter campaign against it. A campaign in which legions from all our former neighbours were sent against us. There are those in my country whose memories will be long and whose loyalty will be hard to gain.'

He paused as another ripple of chatter ran around the chamber.

'My honoured members of the Prima Chamber,' he continued. 'I apologise for the nature of my earlier outburst but not for its subject. Atreska and its citizens are only just beginning to accept the sight of the Conquord crest and its legions in every corner of their once independent kingdom. They are only just accepting me as a Marshal Defender of the Conquord in place of their king. Many are still loyal to him and would have gladly followed him into death.

'Our internal problems are unique in Conquord history. And putting aside my personal view on the sense of an invasion of Tsard, you must understand Atreska's close links to that kingdom.'

'Actually,' said Herine. 'I would be very much interested in your views on the invasion. From Exchequer Jhered's and Marshal Vasselis's words, it would seem you are not alone in your objections. Please, since you are on your feet, speak.'

Yuran bowed. 'Thank you, my Advocate.' He drew himself up a little taller and embraced the chamber with an open-armed gesture. 'Honoured delegates, there are none here with more knowledge of the Tsardon mind than myself. Tsardon warriors and the steppe cavalry fought with us against the Conquord. We share beliefs, faiths, familial histories and trade. We are friends. And they are naturally desperately concerned at the expansion of the Conquord to encompass Atreska.

'You are all aware of the constant strife along the Gosland border and it will inevitably filter south to ours. Currently, our assurances of peace and continued trade are accepted but when word reaches them of the recruiting and movement of Conquord forces then we will become the enemy. The border forts being erected are creating suspicion and limiting trade in their wake. It feeds tension in my country and affects our profits though not, I notice, our levy demands.

'The Kingdom of Tsard is huge and sprawling and shares borders with Kark and Sirrane, just as the Conquord does. But every empire has a finite size. They know they have reached theirs. I believe we have reached ours. Invading Tsard, or even threatening invasion would prove disastrous. The country is too big, the people too numerous and the terrain too difficult. They are proud and they are fierce and we in Atreska will be the first to fall victim. Because there is nothing more they hate than a friend who they feel has turned against them.

'Please, listen to me. Be satisfied. If you must expand, do so north where the primitive countries would benefit from the rule of the Conquord. Tsard will not, and neither will we prosper by attacking the kingdom. Indeed, developing trade with them is an infinitely more profitable way forward. I need help from you to stabilise my country. I do not need an invasion force marching across my land to a campaign that will inevitably end in defeat.'

The volume of comment had been growing steadily through his speech and as he sat the hoots of derision and the claims of his dishonour of Conquord strength grew to a clamorous level.

'Enough!' Herine stood. Silence fell quickly.
‘I
will not sit while you bandy insults. Take it outside into the snow. There is not complete accord about the Advocacy plans to invade Tsard as there is for our campaign into Omari. You have heard the arguments. I am the Advocate of this Conquord. I speak for you but I do not dictate to you. We will vote as the law allows when a clear split is evident.' She waved one of her propraetors forward to conduct the vote and sat down.

There was a curious, almost childish excitement that accompanied a free vote. That hint of risk that the will of the Advocacy would not be carried. It was rare but not unheard of to experience defeat, though rarely over matters of expansion. Herine felt the vote would be close yet carry in her favour.

But the shows of hands and the quiet in the chamber turned her confidence to ash. She shifted in her seat and regarded the propraetor closely as the hands were shown again and recounted. She was presented with the results and her heart began to beat hard in her chest. Gosland, Atreska, Dornos, Gestern. All had come out against her. But so had Tundarra and Phaskar. She had to be grateful that Marshal Vasselis had eventually sided with her and brought his Caraduk delegation with him. It had saved her from embarrassment but had given her no certainty. And now she would have to rely on that most capricious of minds.

'We are split,' she said to a flurry of voices. 'Under God the Omniscient we are split. The majority in favour of Tsardon expansion is too small on which to proceed. And so as the law allows, there will be a decision made under God by those appointed by me to divine the word and rule of God. Felice, the floor is yours.'

She gestured at Chancellor Felice Koroyan, who rose gracefully to her feet. The Order did not vote on matters of state, holding an advisory brief until a split occurred. It was a position the Senate had always respected.

'My Advocate, I am surprised at the equality of this vote and really have no decision to make. The Order spreads through education of its wisdom throughout the Conquord and beyond. But it spreads more quickly through conquest. We do not demand others follow our faith—' Vasselis coughed loudly '—we do not demand that others follow our faith blindly but merely seek the opportunity to open the eyes of all peoples to the glory and mercy of the Omniscient god. The quickest way to ensure stability in Atreska is to accelerate the spread of the Omniscient through a people clinging on to allegiances with Tsardon faiths that are little more than false idol worship.

'And the quickest way to break them from their Tsardon past is to make Tsard a member of the Conquord and bring them all under the embrace of God. Expansion is not just a desire of the Conquord. Surely it is our duty. We move in favour of the Advocacy.'

As the cheers and boos rose to a crescendo, Herine saw Yuran place his head in his hands. He would see the path soon enough. She turned to nod her thanks to Chancellor Koroyan, expecting to see her waiting for this acknowledgement. She was not. Instead she was glaring with undisguised disgust at Marshal Defender Vasselis.

Herine shook her head. One day. One day, when she could pause for breath, she resolved to find out what on God's earth was going on. Until then, she had new armies to build and a war to plan.

And Tsard would be a most challenging enemy.

Chapter 4

842nd cycle of God, 10th day of
Solasrise

9th year of the true Ascendancy

Master Dina Kell's cavalry company were riding hard through sparse woodland to the eastern end of the valley while Pavel Nunan led three hundred of the 2nd legion light infantry at a dead run to the nearer west end. Triarii were moving to scale the steep southern slope to block off any agile escapees.

Atreskan rebels were attacking a small fort just ten miles from the Tsardon border. The fort was a messenger post, security barracks and dormitory for the road gangs building the Conquord highway to the border. It was also isolated, tucked into the head of a densely wooded valley. The 2nd legion, the Bear Claws of Estorr, had been marching to join the muster, prior to the launch of the Tsardon campaign the following genasrise. There they were to secure the borders, train for the campaign and oversee the building of the army's artillery through the cold dusas season. Around them, the army would build to its initial fighting strength of almost thirty thousand.

General Gesteris had warned them all about the rise in rebel activity in this region as civil war spread through Atreska. The legions themselves were hardly vulnerable but their supply lines were. And when they had seen the smoke rise from two miles away, the General had given vent to his fury. His decisions had been made without hesitation.

'These are not citizens loyal to the Conquord.' Nunan reminded them as they ran. 'These are traitors to Estorea and to God. Their smiles are false, their words are traps. They will cower when they see us, and it is right they should be afraid. We are the Bear Claws. And we will crush them.'

Nunan breasted the wide valley mouth. Woodland hemmed them in on both sides as they descended the sharp gradient. His leading hundred had bows, his remaining two hundred, javelins. Each had a gladius and a light round shield in addition to their scale armour. Ahead, the valley floor was wide and rock-strewn. At the bottom, the river rose from its underground course and it was along this river that the road was being built. The fort lay a mile away towards the valley's eastern end, on a natural plateau. It was burning, the black smoke spiralling high into a cloudy sky.

Down by the fort, he could see a mass of people moving. Hundreds. On the apron that ran down to the road, bodies littered the ground. Here and there, pockets of Conquord troops fought in the burning buildings, but they wouldn't last long. Wagons and materials lay scattered across the valley. The river was stained red and carried the bodies of men, oxen and horses. This had been a devastating attack by a large rebel force.

'Advance!' yelled Nunan.

He ran down the road, hoping he had timed it right for Kell and her cavalry to pen them in from the other end of the valley. Before too long, the thunder of his infantry at his heels was heard, the flash of their armour in the sunlight seen. Shouts echoed up into the sky. Soldiers, archers and riders gathered back on the road, streaming away from their attacks on the fort.

A rugged fighting line emerged from the smoke and dust. Riders formed up against Nunan's left flank. At a rough estimate, he faced around four hundred. Not ideal odds but around him were battle-hardened citizens. Ahead of him were disorganised irregulars, tired at the end of a long, hard action they had thought won. But the Conquord would prevail.

'Fighting spread,' called Nunan as they closed to a quarter of a mile. 'Archers, target the riders.'

His orders were relayed across the infantry. Soon, the archers had overtaken him and were working up to slightly higher ground. Around him, his infantry formed a running line over thirty yards wide, spanning the road and the rough ground either side. At two hundred yards he saw enemy archers preparing to stretch their bows. At a hundred and fifty, a little too early, they began to fire. At a hundred, the enemy riders moved to their attack.

'Keep pace.'

Nunan held his shield in front of his face and hefted a javelin in his hand. Arrows whipped by overhead. He heard them thump into wood and flesh. To his left, the enemy cavalry were riding hard. His archers stopped. They fired. The volley crossed the gap and fell among the enemy horsemen. Man and beast fell in their midst but they did not break. Another volley fell. And another. The charge faltered and reformed. On they came again, closing.

Nunan was forty yards from the standing line of rebels. He saw stolen Conquord armour, Atreskan crests and a mess of weapons and helmets. He saw fear in their eyes.

'Javelins.'

Nunan opened his stance and threw. Short spears thronged the air. In front of him, shields moved above heads. The missiles fell, bouncing, piercing, the sound like hail on an iron roof. Men and women screamed. Arrows flew in reply. Nunan closed his shield, a shaft thumping hard into the Conquord crest in front of him. The tip came through, grazing his forearm. He took his second javelin from behind his shield.

'Javelins.'

Again the short powerful weapons crashed into the enemy ranks. And this time, the
2nd
legion crashed in right after them. The noise was extraordinary, the pressure suddenly immense. Nunan leaned all his weight into his shield and ran straight through his first man, trampling his body. The protruding shaft snapped away. Left and right, his infantry were with him, roaring the Conquord on.

Slowed now, he found himself deep in the heart of the enemy ranks. He battered his shield ahead and left, feeling it slap against his enemy's. In front, an open flank. He buried his gladius in it to the hilt and kicked out at the falling body even as he dragged his shield back to the guard. He stood for a heartbeat. Right, he lost a man to a downward strike that drove hard into the citizen's neck. It was the rebel's last blow. Nunan's blade struck over his shield and took the defenceless man through the throat.

'Claws, drive on!'

His cry was taken up along the short line. He heard the neigh of horses and the stamp of hooves. There was another surge of noise and the multiple thud of sword on shield. Nunan glanced left. The remnants of the rebel cavalry had hit the side of the Conquord line.

Infantry was streaming in from the back to attack. Archers were charging down the slope, bows discarded, blades ready.

A sword came at him, high and carving down. He took the blow on his shield. The impact sent pins and needles along his arm. He stepped back a pace. Nunan wasn't a small man but the rebel was huge. His blade was an ancient longsword held in two hands. He was crisscrossed with scars, heavily bearded and wore a rusting hauberk, broken in a dozen places. Others clustered around him.

'To me,' ordered Nunan.

The man struck again. He was quick. It was a battering blow on to the top of his shield, trying to drive his guard down. Nunan had to trust he'd been heard. That second blow had badly jolted his shoulder. The rebel raised his sword over his head a third time. Nunan thrust his shield forward hard and fast, catching the man in his chest. He hardly moved but had no room to strike down, sweeping his sword around instead to block Nunan's blade, stabbing through waist-high.

He was a careless fighter and his blade gouged a rent in another rebel's side but his power kept it moving fast enough to stop his enemy. Nunan angled his gladius to deflect and jabbed his shield in again. Higher this time, bloodying the rebel's nose. The man stepped back, winding his sword up behind him, missing another rebel by a breath. Nunan brought gladius and shield together, catching the blade and forcing it down and left.

Nunan stepped up, cracking his shield into the rebel's ribs, keeping him off balance. The man leant briefly on his sword to avoid stumbling. Nunan saw the gap and punched his gladius up under the man's ribcage and into his heart. The rebel gasped and swayed backward, a tree falling on saplings.

'Come on!' roared Nunan. A horn blared across the valley. Kell. Right on time. 'Push, Bear Claws, push.'

Nunan drove on, heedless of the pain in his shoulder and the numbness spreading down his arm. In a few blows he could barely lift his shield but the infantry around him kept him safe. The rebels were wavering. Already he could hear the shouts of alarm, and through the tangle of limb and steel he could see a few breaking away from the back.

The chaos slowly resolved. Captains dragged their citizens into line and the shield wall formed. Men stepped in front of him and pushed him g
ently back. The 2
nd legion closed ranks and moved relentlessly forward in close formation, opening their shields to stab out, closing again to punch ahead. The survivors among the rebel horsemen had already put heel to flank and were racing away behind him. His archers returned to their bows and the thunder of Kell's cavalry was loud in his ears. He looked over the heads of his people. 'Hold!' he bellowed.

They stopped. The rebels paused, uncertain and trapped, hoping for the chance to surrender. But for them there would be no mercy. His infantry paced backwards in perfect order. He heard Dina Kell's voice loud and a hundred lances were levelled. Realisation ran through the remaining rebels like disease. They panicked. Ahead an implacable shield formation. Behind, galloping cavalry.

Nunan spat on the ground and turned away, finding he had no desire to look.

Praetor Lena Gorsal wiped her hands down her tunic and walked to the open west face of the basilica. It was a glorious day in Gull's Ford, a small Atreskan town a hundred miles west of the Tsardon border. The air was filled with endeavour. Tucked away from the new highway being built to the south, it was sometimes difficult to believe that her country of Atreska had descended into civil conflict or that the Conquord was mustering for war. They had healthy trade from east and west and found the whole idea of a new campaign simply bad for business.

Neither she nor any citizen in Gull's Ford wanted any part in it. Whoever held sway in Haroq City was of complete indifference to most of them, people who had not even seen the realities of battle during Atreska's fall to the Conquord five years back. They had welcomed the Reader of the Order of Omniscience easily enough and for his part he had proved a sound counsellor and a fine teacher. Many had converted. Those that didn't found their differences respected.

The calls that had brought her to the forum had an edge of urgency. There were riders, about twenty of them at first count. Tsardon from the Tarit Plain, where the steppe cavalry kept up a strong presence in the face of the Conquord's fortifications along the Atreskan and Goslander borders. They all dismounted at her approach and she smiled as she recognised their leader.

'Sentor Rensaark,' she said in an Atreskan dialect they both spoke fluently. 'It's a long way for a ride on a hot solas day.'

'We are camping not far from here,' said the sentor, a gruff man with cold eyes.

He and all his men were garbed in light wools. Scale armour was bound to their saddles. Swords were strapped to their sides. 'Trading?' she asked.

Rensaark shook his head. 'Speaking,' he said.

'I understood the border to be closed to those not trading,' she said. 'How did you get past?'

'A little money can make men blind,' he said.

'So speak,' she said. 'May I offer you a drink? Or at least shelter from the heat for your men and horses while we talk.'

'Thank you. Very gracious.'

'It is the only way to treat friends,' she said.

'Yes,' said the sentor stiffly.

They moved back into the relative cool of the basilica. Gorsal showed him to her office and had watered wine brought in, along with oranges and rare beef. Rensaark was uncomfortable. He licked his lips often and a frown was stamped on his face as if he was remembering something unpleasant. Gorsal didn't know what to expect but found herself a little nervous as she invited him to say what he had come to say.

'These are difficult times,' said Rensaark. 'We have seen old allies turn against us and the Conquord reach out its fist to swat others. But even in the midst of conquest, Atreska has remained our friend. Marshal Yuran is a great man, keen to maintain his allegiance with our king but his eye is drawn by the promise of Conquord riches.'

'There are many in Atreska who share his view but take more direct action than mere verbal protest,' said Gorsal.

'I know. And we are grateful. For five years we have hoped for rebellion. We have helped where we can but have had to look to our own security and armies. Gosland is like a stranger to us now. Their rulers may as well have been born in togas, sitting on columns, so lost are they to the Conquord. But Atreska, we thought, was not. Now we are not so sure.'

'The civil war still thrives,' said Gorsal. 'We do not want war with Tsard. We've had peace for too long.'

Rensaark nodded. 'But you do not wish to dismiss the Conquord either.'

'Trade is good,' admitted Gorsal.

'The time has come to make a choice.' Rensaark's tone was as cold as his eyes. 'Estorea is building armies along the Gosland and Atreskan borders, the like of which they have never assembled before. Their best generals are in command. Their finest legions lead the muster. Not thirty miles from here, the Bear Claws have slaughtered true Atreskans who got in their way. You cannot have failed to see the smoke on your horizon. In the face of their own faith they are burning the bodies of those who oppose them.

'They are coming to war with Tsard, and Atreska must chose its allegiance and its loyalty. There can be no split. Not any more.'

Gorsal swallowed, feeling prickly with anxiety. 'What do you mean? We deny you nothing. We are your friends and always will be. But Haroq City is where our rulers make their laws. I am a loyal Atreskan. I will abide by them.'

'It is a respectful position and one I understand,' said Rensaark. He rose. 'It is in friendship that I give you this warning, praetor. The moment any Conquord soldier places his foot on our soil, we are at war. And that war will include Atreska. None of you will be safe, despite their promises. All will suffer in this pointless conflict. And I will do what I am ordered.'

'I don't understand,' said Gorsal.

Rensaark was at the door. 'It is not too late. Atreska must rise up against the folly marching across its lands. You must turn from the Conquord. They have not the strength to beat us. Stop them from trying. We cannot talk to Yuran; we cannot gain access to him. You can. You are his subjects and he must hear you. Please, Lena, make him see. Before war makes evil out of us all.'

Gorsal stared at the door for an age after he was gone, trying to calm her heart and the shaking in her hands.