Cry of the Newborn (43 page)

It was almost impossible to keep Meera or Gwythen away from their children. Upsetting too for the mothers of Arducius and Ossacer. Ordinary folk touched by lasting ability who trusted their children to the Ascendancy Echelon as all who participated did. The identity of their fathers was, and always would be, kept secret from the children. It was knowledge unsafe for them to know.

Hesther looked back down at Gorian. His head was laid to one side, his mouth was moving and there was a line of drool running on to his pillow. She wondered where he was. Whether he was really in pain or whether his loss was in confusion of the mind and body. An inability to understand and control the sensations that poured through him.

The door to the scented room opened and Kessian walked in. His movement was terribly slow and pained. His face was drawn and white. His eyes were sunken and dark and his frown perpetually deep. The Ascendants were killing him as surely as his long, long years. Willem was with him, another old man looking so much more aged than his years but finding in himself the strength on which Kessian relied to get around when Genna was sleeping.

Hesther's heart went out to him and she rushed across the wooden floor to him.

'Oh, Ardol, you should be resting. Here, lean on me. Willem, get to a chair. You look exhausted.'

'Resting?' Ardol's eyes were damp and his expression desperate. 'How can I do that? How can any of us?'

He moved his hand from Willem to Hesther and let her help him into the room. Its brightly decorated walls depicting animals, flowers and fish still smelled of fresh paint. His sticks rattled on the floor. Hesther tried to direct him to a chair but he resisted.

'Let me look on them all. Let me see if there is any sign.'

Hesther shepherded him along the line of beds. She felt the sag in his body and heard the sigh on his breath. And like every day when he visited, the tears rolled unchecked down his cheeks. It was the worst part of each day for any who walked with him.

Kessian stood on the precipice. Not knowing if he was about to lose all for which he had worked all his life. These four represented his final chance to see a true Ascendant. Those born since were showing no signs of breakthrough. Finally, he let her guide him to a richly upholstered armchair into which he folded with a desperately tired breath.

'You have to believe this is part of their growing. You have to believe this will conclude with true emergence and that everything we have seen before was a mere prelude,' she said, kneeling in front of him and placing her hands on his knees.

Kessian looked at her, imploring. 'When will it end?' he said, all power gone from his voice. 'How can we believe this is right, good and proper? How can God be putting them through this? How can we stand by?'

'We stand by because we can do nothing else. We have entered the unknown and we must have faith. God will not desert us and we, the Echelon, will not desert you. We are all prey to despair but we must not let it consume us.'

Kessian covered her hands. 'Hesther, you are so strong. At least I know I leave the Echelon in the best of hands.' His eyes moved to the beds. 'I so want to see them smile just once more.'

Hesther forced a smile on to her own face. 'You will see so much more than that. Your return to the earth is not quite so imminent and well you know it.'

A knock on the door, quiet and respectful. Shela rose and opened it. There stood Kovan and Netta Vasselis. Son and mother. He was tall and handsome in the image of his father, she graceful and still so beautiful. Both had been of such unwavering support in these awful days. Days in which the Marshal himself had been detained in Cirandon on urgent Conquord bus
iness before travelling to Glen
hale. They waited on the threshold, carrying fresh flowers from their walled garden.

'Is it convenient to visit?' asked Netta.

'I hardly think the wife and son of our beloved Marshal need permission,' said Hesther, getting to her feet and smoothing her dress.

'You overstate our importance, Hesther,' said Netta, smiling. 'And you know what I mean.'

'Come in,' said Hesther. 'You know you're always welcome.'

Netta walked to the nearest bed to stand by Shela, who was once again with Arducius. Kovan ignored all the boys, walking the length of the room to where Mirron lay, currently very still. He grabbed yesterday's flowers from the vase and thrust the new ones in rather crudely. He sat on the wooden chair at the head of her bed and laid the discarded blooms on the floor.

'No change?' he asked, picking up one of her hands and stroking

it.

Hesther shook her head. 'No, Kovan, I'm afraid not. But I'm sure somewhere inside, she's the better for you being with her.'

Kovan blushed and smiled. Netta walked over to Hesther.

'You should let me take my turn here,' she said quietly. 'You all look so tired.'

'We couldn't possibly,' said Kessian, not rising from his chair. 'The Echelon must deal with this, though where we'd be without your support, I don't know.'

'I do understand,' said Netta. 'But if you change your mind . . .'

'You'll be the first to hear,' said Hesther. 'But we pray every day that this nightmare will end.'

'We are at the House of Masks each dawn and dusk doing the same.'

'And that is where your presence is most valuable,' said Kessian. 'The fact you are here and public in your support keeps our people with us.'

'I'm sorry I brought this on you.' It was Kovan's voice carrying across the room in the hush.

'Don't blame yourself,' said Kessian. 'We've been through this, Kovan. This isn't your fault.'

'I've been thinking,' said Kovan. 'If I hadn't done what I did in the orchard, perhaps she could have learned a little more and dealt with it better. I feel like I triggered the change.'

'Change?' asked Kessian. 'You think it so, do you?'

'What else can it be?' He shrugged. 'If it were not, then we should all be scared for their lives, shouldn't we? Rather than waiting for them to awaken.'

Kessian chuckled. It was a sound that filled Hesther with warmth and hope.

'Your uncluttered vision is a blessing, young man,' said Kessian. 'And be assured you didn't trigger this. It was surely a coincidence, something to do with their age and the stage of their development we had reached. After all, if you did trigger it as you imagine, then why are the other three not still standing, eh?'

'We know so little,' said Hesther. 'For all Gorian wrote, he didn't see this in any of his subjects, nor in himself. This is uncharted in all our existence.'

Kovan looked over at them dubiously.
‘I
don't know. Coincidence, accident or destiny. The distinction is slight.'

Hesther turned to Netta and whispered. 'He's a deep thinker, isn't he?'

'He has a sharp mind, if a little frivolous yet,' said Netta, pride shining from her.

'He will make a fine Marshal, when he is called,' said Kessian.

They fell silent for a while, all watching Kovan speaking quieter words to Mirron and cooling her forehead with a dampened scented cloth.

'You know he paces the gardens just waiting until he can come here again,' said Netta eventually.

'Does he know he can never be a father to her children?' Kessian's voice was barely audible.

Netta shook her head. 'We've spoken to him but he's seventeen, Ardol. What does he care for the demands of the Ascendancy? He thinks he can change anything and everything that he wants. But he'll understand as he grows up.'

'Poor lad,' said Hesther. 'Forbidden love.'

'Don't worry about him,' said Netta. 'He doesn't see it that way. And when his infatuation wanes, she'll be left with the closest of friends and he with an understanding of the Ascendancy better than any outside of Westfallen. It may prove invaluable in future years.'

Hesther watched him. His face was full of his adolescent passion for Mirron. She couldn't agree with Netta, not with her assumptions of the future anyway. This didn't look like a love that would fade easily. It was a while before she realised what she was seeing. Kovan was speaking quietly to Mirron, his face close to hers and both his hands covering one of hers. Mirron's free arm rose sleepily from her side and her hand stroked his face. He gasped a laugh.

'What are you doing here?' she asked, voice clear and even.

'Hello, beautiful,' he said.

Hesther and Shela were both running to Mirron's bedside. Netta had stayed to help Kessian up and he was shouting hoarsely for someone to get Gwythen. Mirron looked completely bemused. She had stayed staring at Kovan, whose smile would have lit up the darkest night, but she focused on Hesther now. A frown creased her face.

Hesther looked down at her. 'Your eyes,' she said, unable to help herself. 'They're beautiful.'

And they were. They seemed to shine and they modulated through every colour of the rainbow. It was quite extraordinary.

'What's going on?' asked Mirron.

She looked about her now, tensing when she realised she was not in her own room and seeing the three boys to her right.

'Do you remember what happened when you were awake last?' asked Kessian, coming to the foot of the bed.

'I— What are we all doing here? What's wrong with them?'

'In a moment,' said Hesther. 'Answer the Father.'

'I couldn't make it stop,' said Mirron. 'It wouldn't go away and it washed over me. You were there, you must have seen.'

'We did,' said Kessian. 'And do you recall anything of what you have been through since then?'

Mirron giggled. 'I've only been asleep. And I feel fine now.'

'It's been much more than that.' Kessian's tone stifled her laughter. 'You lost consciousness on the third. It's now the twentieth.'

Her jaw dropped and after a moment she mouthed the phrase, 'Seventeen days?' Kessian nodded.

'And your brothers are still suffering. Did you suffer, Mirron? What do you remember?'

Mirron looked again at the other Ascendants. She shook her head. 'All I did was learn how to make it stop. No. I don't mean that. It never stops. I mean, learn how to bring it under control, like the fire and the rain I already can. But it seemed like a short time. Seventeen days? And what about my eyes?'

'We'll show you a mirror in a moment,' said Kessian. 'Tell me how you feel now?'

Mirron paused and thought. A warm yellow chased across her irises before settling to a gentle, pulsing blue. 'I can feel it all, like warmth here.' She touched her stomach. 'And here.' She touched her head. And then she moved her hand from Kovan's and held them both up, wiggling her fingers. She stared squarely at Kessian. 'And I can hold it all here. All of it.'

Chapter 35

848th cycle of God, 20th day of
Solasrise 15th year of the true Ascendancy

The first of Yuran's hastily assembled citizen militia had already left Haroq City with the brief to defend their own lands. They had armour and weaponry supplied free by the Haroq City armoury. The money in their purses had been taken from the levy chests. The Marshal was delighted with the immediacy of the results. It was a risk, he knew but the easing of the tension in the city had been reason enough.

He had given back the defence of his country to its people despite the weight of manpower under the Conquord banner in Tsard. And while his militia didn't have the newest armour or the keenest blades, what they did have was a renewed belief in their Marshal. And because Yuran had sent each unit out with well-trained guardsmen, they felt they had the means to make a difference.

The riots and demonstrations had quickly subsided and Haroq had returned to a calmer state. Now would be the testing time. He awaited militia reports on how deeply the Tsardon raiders had penetrated and in what numbers. He needed them to encourage the people back to their homes to harvest the crops before dusas froze the ground once more. He needed them to see wider civil disobedience subside.

Yuran was enjoying a late supper with Megan. He had broken the seal on some fine wines and ordered his cooks to make classic Atreskan and Tsardon delicacies. The windows of the grand vaulted dining hall were all thrown open on the night and Yuran was enjoying the air free of the sounds of dissension and violence.

Try as he might when the Estoreans came to visit, he could not get on with eating in the reclined position, so he faced Megan across a

proper table with high-backed straight chairs. Candelabra burned aside the night and servants stood at the tapestry-hung walls awaiting his signal. It was the Atreskan way. Throat-of-the-goat, it was practically everyone's way, barring the Estoreans and the puppet Caraducians, wasn't it? 'Marshal?'

'Sorry, Megan, I was miles away.' 'You were shaking your head. Is something wrong?' 'No. No, of course not,' said Yuran. 'How could there be anything wrong?'

Megan wasn't just bright, inventive and intelligent. She hadn't merely saved his city and maybe his whole country from the price of continued civil war. She was also quite, quite lovely. Perhaps it was the wine clouding his vision but this adviser seemed genuinely happy in his presence. Not nervous or awed. And she hadn't reacted with anxiety when he had requested she join him. More like she expected and looked forward to it. Perhaps it had been part of her plan all along.

Yuran would be happy if that proved to be the case. He raised his goblet and sipped again.

'How are you finding the goat's heart flambe?'

'Interesting,' she replied. 'Not what I'm used to, my Lord.'

'Please,' he said. 'This is an informal supper. My name is Thomal.'

Megan blushed and nodded. 'Thank you,' she said.

'It is the least I can do for the saviour of my nation.'

'Oh, I think you're going a little far,' she said. 'Perhaps just the city for now.'

Yuran roared with laughter and Megan joined him. He wagged a finger at her. 'That is what I always saw in you. You are honest and you are unafraid.'

'I am a proud Atreskan, my L— Thomal. Anything that keeps our country safe, I will do.'

'Then perhaps I should send you to speak for me at the Advocacy. Perhaps the Del Aglios woman would listen to you more seriously than she does me.' He realised halfway through that he was serious.

'If you wish it,' said Megan.

'Though I would not wish you to be far from me for too long,' he said, almost whispering.

Megan's head dropped and he was speared with regret.

'I'm sorry. I've gone too far.'

But she shook her head and looked back at him, the tears rolling down her face. 'No, you haven't,' she said. 'But it isn't often that the words you hear in your dreams are spoken to you when you are awake.'

Yuran felt a surge of relief and a pure happiness. He leaned back into his chair, unsure what to do next. He gazed at her, aware that they were both grinning like imbeciles. The hammering on the door to the dining hall was most unwelcome.

'Dear-God-of-the-sky, can I not have a moment's peace!' he yelled, thumping his fist on the table. 'Sorry, Megan.'

He pushed back from the table and rose. He indicated brusquely his servant open the door. A senior aide almost fell over the sill on his way into the room, such was his urgency.

'This had better be extremely important,' growled Yuran.

'It is, Marshal.' He paused, looking across at Megan.

'Speak. Megan needs to hear it too, whatever it is.'

The aide nodded. Yuran frowned. The man was sweating and there was a quiver to his hands as if he'd undergone heavy and prolonged exercise.

'There's a rumour sweeping the city,' he said. 'You'll hear it through the windows soon. Legionaries from the war have arrived. They're a mess.'

'We've seen them before. Deserters, refugees from a setback.' Yuran shrugged. 'What's the rumour?'

'Actually, it's not a rumour. I've spoken to one.' The aide took a deep breath. 'The entire eastern front has collapsed. Conquord forces have been routed. The Tsardon are marching on Atreska.'

'What?' Yuran refused to believe what he had just heard.

'If they are to be believed, as many as fifty thousand.'

Yuran sat back into his chair and threw up his hands. 'I don't . . . What did I say? What have I been saying since this campaign began? Too much reliance on the fronts, nothing in reserve.' He shook his head, the enormity cascading through him. 'Oh dear God-of-the-sea, we are defenceless.' He looked back at his aide. 'How long before they get here?'

'The survivors that have reached here so far have all been on horseback. Part of the Rogue Spears, the
9th
Atreskan ala. They have outpaced the marching force comfortably but it is likely that the first Tsardon cavalry is no more than five days behind them, possibly as few as three. The main body of the army can be expected in ten days, no more.'

'Using our highways,' whispered Yuran.

'They will speed the enemy's progress.' The aide inclined his head. 'Marshal Defender, your orders?' 'Orders . . . orders.'

Yuran felt a crushing weight on his chest. His vision fogged. He felt the damp heat of sweat all over his body. His mind raced to no end and all he could see was doom. His head felt like a furnace had been laid inside it.

'Marshal?'

Yuran shook his head violently to clear it and held up a hand, aware it was shaking but not caring. He looked down the table at Megan.

'My destiny is not to enjoy a life of peace, is it?' he said.

'We will follow you whatever comes,' said Megan. 'Just tell us what you wish us to do.'

Her face, full of love and belief, rescued his will. Yuran sat taller in his chair.

'Bring me my commanders. I would know what strength I have that I can bring to bear in our defence. Perhaps we can hold them near the border. I will write a proclamation to be posted throughout the city, telling the people what is about to befall us. And light the beacon fires. Atreska is at war again and we must protect as many as we can inside the walls of our cities.' He turned his head to his aide, feeling a sudden fury replace his earlier despair. 'And I want the Estorean consul standing in front of me right now. Go.'

The aide ran from the room. Yuran listened to his footsteps echoing away along the stone corridor. From beyond the windows, he could hear the city coming to fearful wakefulness. And when the beacon fires were lit it would be the same across Atreska. The families of those on campaign in Tsard would wait to fall on any survivor who came through the gates, demanding information about their loved ones. Looking for any scrap of hope that they had escaped the disaster; the stories of which would race through the country like a fire, fanned by the winds of invasion.

Megan rose and came around the table to him. He stood and they embraced, both clinging hard, faces buried in each other's shoulders. Eventually Yuran pulled back.

'It's a sad fate that our first embrace is one of goodbye,' he said.

'My Lord?' Megan frowned.

'You of all of us will be safe, at least for now. You are ready for higher office and you will go to Estorr to take my messages and sue for massed reinforcement. If we cannot keep them at our borders, even if we cannot save our capital city, we will not lose our country without a fight. It is time for the Conquord to stand up for its peoples.'

He traced a finger down Megan's cheek. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight.

'You can take a boat down the Teel to Byscar at first light. With fair weather, you can be in Estorr in thirteen days. I will give you a note and seal for use of a ship and crew.'

‘I
should be at your side, Marshal,' said Megan.

'You will serve me and Atreska better in Estorr, Megan.' He leant in and kissed her lips. 'The fastest way for us to be together again is to work apart for now.'

Megan nodded.
‘I
will do my best.'

‘I
have grown to know nothing less.'

They embraced again and Yuran watched her go, unable to dispel the feeling that the Conquord had robbed him of something else he loved.

This time, Sentor Rensaark crossed the Tsardon border into Atreska with an army all but marching in his hoofprints. His work of years had not been in vain. He gazed into the breaking dawn to watch Korl's eye rise above the mountains, knowing that the ultimate victory for his King was at hand. He rode at the head of five hundred steppe cavalry, more than half of whom were fresh from the glorious victory at Scintarit. Down the rise on which he had paused, one of the two hundred border forts that studded the Atreskan border was plainly in view, its Conquord flag lazing in the heat.

He held his spear horizontally above his head and the cavalry began to trot the last mile to the fort, a deep rumbling of hoofs and a cloud of dust indicating their approach. That they had been seen was apparent when the Conquord flag was lowered and that of the old kingdom of Atreska raised in its place. Rensaark smiled. As it had ever been.

They reined in practically under the shadow of the fort. He dismounted and walked towards its iron bound doors. One of them swung open. A grey-haired man in a dented, tarnished breastplate over a cream woollen tunic strolled out. A pipe was in his mouth, smoking gently.

'I see you have not spent any of your earnings on fresh equipment, Centurion Danler,' said Rensaark.

The man, scarred and cynical even for an Atreskan, shrugged. 'It doesn't do to let any inspector think our pay is anything more than the pittance it officially is. And I see you have brought rather more than your normal raiding party. I presume this increases my purse.'

Rensaark laughed. 'Ever you try, Centurion. No, it does not mean that.' He snapped his fingers and one of his men dismounted and brought across a small wooden chest. 'But here is the gold we do owe you. It'll be the last.'

Danler raised his eyebrows. 'Oh?'

'You have been a loyal servant of both our countries,' said Rensaark. 'But surely you've seen survivors of the Conquord armies running for safety here.'

'Deserters pass here regularly,' he said. 'Who am I to stop them, eh? There may have been more than of late but the reality of battle falls harsh on the coward, doesn't it?'

'Then let me tell you that the Conquord was routed at Scintarit. That its forces are beaten and scattered from here to Sirrane in the north and Kark in the south. That we have scored the greatest victory in the history of our kingdom and that Tsard is marching to Estorr to break its walls. And that you have secured your future by seeing that we would be victorious. You and the supply chain we have already built deep into Atreska will speed us to the sundering of the Conquord. It will be so in Gestern and Gosland too.'

There was fear in Danler's eyes as he accepted the chest. 'Are you laughing at me?'

Rensaark shook his head. 'We were once friends and we will be again. You know what we want from Atreska and I have come to ask you for one more favour. Speak to the forts that flank you. Get the message passing along your borders. The Tsardon army will cross into your lands and they must be as friends to us. Make sure we are not delayed.'

Danler sucked his lip but he nodded.

'You have nothing to fear, my friend. And everything to be thankful for. The army will be here in two days. Make sure you have the proper flags flying.'