Cry of the Newborn (47 page)

He stuttered to a stop, the shock overwhelming him momentarily. But his father's men did not. They raced into the attack and Kovan watched them go, wanting death for the enemy. Retribution. Vengeance. He felt sick.

One of his men hurdled the bow of the boat with a roar and crashed his sword two-handed into a poorly prepared enemy soldier. The blade bit deep into the enemy's hip and drove him sideways off his feet to splash hard into the water. Another Order guard deflected a blow with his buckler but was off-balance, slipping on the sand beneath his feet. The next blow came in underneath his guard, chopping into his side and up into his ribs. The third man turned and ran.

Back at the stern of the boat, the defenders were holding off their men comfortably. Kovan had seen enough and he found himself suddenly fighting back the tears. There were dark stains spreading across the clear blue water and bodies floating face down. He ran straight into the side of one of the Order warriors, bowling him from his feet.

'Enough!' He stood in between the opponents. 'No more, no
more.' *

He found the words hard to speak and he was gasping for breath. One of the Order warriors picked up the tip of his sword. Immediately, Kovan's men flanked him.

'Put up your blades,' said Kovan. 'They've gone and you will not stop me taking this boat.'

'You will burn, heretic,' said a warrior. 'And your father will not help you because he will be at the next stake to you.'

'You will show Lord Vasselis respect,' snapped a soldier.

Kovan shook his head. Away towards the town, the stampede was losing its focus. Knots of his father's men were running to face larger groups of Order warriors. The citizens' anger was beginning to dissipate and town leaders were shouting others to stop or ushering them away. And back towards the forum, horns were sounding. Two distinct tones.

'Keep them back while I launch,' said Kovan.

The boat had drifted and was side on to the beach, rocking under the gentle waves. He splashed into the shallows, and dragged the bow out to sea, wincing as the hand of a dead man brushed his leg. He tried not to look at the blood slicking the water while he moved down the side of the boat and climbed in astern. He grabbed the main sheet in one hand, drew it across his body and tautened the sail. His other hand was on the tiller. The boat moved away from the shore. He glanced back at Westfallen and wondered whether he would ever see the town or his parents ever again. Trying to remain strong he sailed into the bay, searching for the Ascendants.

Vasselis and three men kept the Chancellor and Vennegoor under guard until the horns blared to call off both his and their forces. He listened while the sounds of panic faded gradually to be replaced with impotent anger and grief. The floor of the forum was more akin to a battle ground that that of a solastro trading day in Westfallen. Vasselis found it terribly hard to believe his own eyes.

He counted twenty bodies on the ground, most with people tending to them. A couple were Order warriors caught in the brief frenzy that had overtaken the place when the Ascendants broke to run. But the rest were ordinary citizens, standing in the wrong place at the wrong time when the swords and arrows began to fall.

'I should see if I can help them.'

The voice almost tore him in two. It was empty, lost and terribly alone. Genna Kessian. Vasselis dragged his gaze to her. She was standing up, supported by one of his soldiers. She was rubbing her hands down her tunic dress and staring at him, imploring him to give her the help no one had the capacity to offer.

'The surgeons will see to them, Genna. Please, let us help you now. And Ardol.'

She nodded and he saw the strength flood from her. She wavered and the soldier pulled her to him, holding her up.

'Take her and Father Kessian to the House of Masks. Find the Lay Reader to organise the service.'

'Yes, Marshal.'

The Chancellor made a dismissive sound. He turned on her. 'Something to say, Chancellor?'

'He will desecrate the House by his presence. As will you all.'

Just for a heartbeat, Vasselis thought to strike her down. She saw the twitch in his sword arm.

'No,' he said as much for himself as for her. 'Or all I would be is a common killer like you.' He nodded his head at Kessian. 'All in the name of God? You have murdered him as surely as if you'd plunged a knife into his heart. I loved that man. He and Genna are my oldest friends. I can name every one of the people who lie on the floor of the forum. These were peaceful, faithful people.' His voice rose to a shout. 'What have you done?'

Koroyan stared at him as if he was an imbecile. 'I have exposed a heresy and was delivering justice,' she said.

'That is a word you are not fit to use.' Vasselis shook his head, trying to hold in the emotions boiling through him. Kessian one side, Elsa the other. Both dead. 'Want me to walk you through the forum? Show you the Tundarran cloth merchant lying dead there?'

'Sometimes the innocent die in the cause of the greater good.'

'Your God damn you, Chancellor Koroyan, whoever he is. Everyone here is innocent.'

'No, Marshal, they are not. And I was discovering the truth through confession and prayer until you interfered. All this blood is on your hands. You were supposed to be in Cirandon, overseeing the last days of your command.'

'Yes, didn't expect me to be here, did you? You should know by now that I make it a rule never to let your spies know all of my plans. You know what sickens me most? It's that you think you can get away with this. You have no authority from the Advocate. Your actions are illegal and all your protestations about the sanctity of the Order will not save you this time.

'I would take you into custody myself but it might interest you to know that Captain Harkov is coming here with two hundred levium and palace guard so I can hand you and your thugs over to him, can't I? He should be here later today.'

Koroyan chuckled. 'How little you really know about the workings of the Advocacy, Marshal Vasselis. He hasn't come here to protect you from me. He has come here to arrest you. All I did was get here before him. I will prevail.'

And Vasselis could see in her eyes that for the first time in their conversation, she was telling the simple truth.

Chapter 39

848th cycle of God, 25th day of
Solasrise 15th year of the true Ascendancy

Neither Ossacer nor Mirron would stop crying. The heat of the sun on their backs had dried them out quickly after they'd hauled themselves into Kovan's boat but they were all shivering. Arducius held Ossacer, Gorian held Mirron and they stared at each other or at Westfallen shrinking behind them. There had been no talk besides first words of encouragement and thanks when they were out of the water. Now all that broke the silence was the sobbing, the lapping of water against the hull of the boat and the thrumming of the breeze in the taut sail.

Kovan had left them to it. He felt as pale and scared as all of them. The weight of his sudden, unexpected responsibility was making itself apparent and he gazed at them in some perplexity. His hand was still confident on the tiller, though, guiding them on a long tack out into the bay and leading to the sweeping channel that opened eventually into the ocean. There was a galley waiting for them out there somewhere. Permanently on station for this eventuality as well as for the defence of Genastro Bay. They would have no notice of the Ascendants' arrival.

The Ascendants had hidden by Genastro Falls until they'd sensed the movement of Kovan's boat across the surface. Gorian had called the dolphin to them as well and it still swam alongside, one eye on them, its chittering anxious.

Ahead of them, the cliffs that bordered the channel rose dark and imposing hundreds of feet into the air. Sea birds circled high and the wind was picking up, funnelling along the channel and speeding their progress. Behind them and making for the harbour as quickly as they could, went the fishing fleet and Jen Shalke. Unaware of what had

befallen their town until they encountered the solitary boat. They had left food, water and extra clothes with the Ascendants and had hurried on their way with violence in their minds. Jen Shalke had left them only reluctantly, her innocence like theirs, crumbled away. In one of the skiffs was a fabulously coloured coral fragment she had collected for Father Kessian. All it would do now was adorn his grave.

Ossacer shifted under his arm and Arducius looked down at him. His tear-stained face was racked with incomprehension and anguish. Arducius's heart went out to him. There was a dread hole that had been torn in his body when the Father died but for Ossacer it must have been worse. His hands had been on the Father when he slipped away.

'Why couldn't I save him? I tried to feed my own life energy into him but it wouldn't go in.'

'There was nothing anyone could have done,' said Arducius.

'He was grey all around his heart,' sobbed Ossacer. 'And I felt him go. I tried to keep him but I couldn't. I couldn't.'

Arducius hugged Ossacer tightly to him. He felt helpless. The thing he wanted to do more than anything was to cry himself out but he had to be strong.

'It isn't your fault, Ossacer,' said Gorian.

Arducius shuddered. It was the first thing Gorian had said and his voice was cold and emotionless. Mirron sensed it too and looked at him.

'Now we know who our enemies really are,' continued Gorian. 'Everyone who worships the Omniscient.'

'Oh, come on, Gorian, that's not true,' said Arducius.

'Isn't it? I'm not talking about Elsa, the Echelon or the Marshal. But we aren't living in Westfallen any more. And the world outside doesn't like us.' He looked around them and didn't get the reaction he wanted. He raised his voice. 'Are you stupid? The Chancellor came personally to see us burn. She brought a hundred warriors. How much more proof do you need? We are lucky to be alive and the only way we'll stay that way is if we assume everyone we meet is our enemy. We'll probably find more friends among the godless in Tsard.'

Arducius stared at the floor of the boat.

'You saw them,' said Gorian more quietly. 'The warriors and the

Chancellor on the oratory. They were terrified by what we did. The wind, the heat-wash. Word travels fast. The Marshal says it every time he comes to talk to us. Soon everyone will know about us. They'll know about our eyes. And they'll be frightened of us too because the Order will tell them we are evil and they will believe the Order. And you know what people do with things they fear, don't you?'

There was a pause before Mirron spoke. 'They destroy them,' she whispered.

'I'll be here,' said Kovan. 'No one will hurt you if I can help it.'

'You can't stop them,' said Gorian, not unkindly. 'No one can.'

'I'll get you to safety,' said Kovan. 'I promise.'

'And then what?' Gorian spread his arms. 'What happens when the Order finds us in Gestern or Sirrane or wherever you think we should be? What's your father's plan then? That we spend all our time on the run, never having a home and always scared in case we get caught and burned?'

'You have to be safe first and then we can work to persuade people that you are not evil,' said Kovan.

'How?' Mirron's question was a cry. 'Their minds will be poisoned and they will all want us dead.'

'Everything we have is gone,' said Ossacer. His voice was like ice over the heat of the day. 'We can never go home and we will never see our friends and families again.'

Arducius felt a shiver throughout his body. He was connected to everything around him. The sea, the wind, the energy in the air and every living thing. But he felt isolated and hopelessly alone.

'It won't be like that,' said Kovan. 'The Echelon will survive. There is already another generation of Ascendant potential. And my father is powerful and influential. He will speak to people. Make them understand.'

Gorian snorted. 'You know nothing of this.' He waved a hand angrily towards Westfallen. 'It could all be burning right now. Your father might be dead. We might be the only Ascendants that there will ever be.'

'We have to have hope,' said Kovan. 'We have to trust those we left behind.'

'No,' said Gorian, and that chill was back in his voice. 'We have to assume we are all there is. It is the only safe way. So, Kovan, son of

Arvan Vasselis, that makes you the protector of the four most important people in the world. We are unique. Better not let us get hurt, had you?'

Arducius looked over at Kovan. His hand had tightened on the tiller and his eyes were fixed ahead towards the channel. He was shaking his head and moving his mouth soundlessly; trying to sort out the confusion in his mind.

'It'll seem better when we are on the ship,' he said and he became the seventeen-year-old son of Vasselis once more, rather than the swordsman who had saved them. 'They'll know what to do. My father will have told them and everything will be all right.' He turned his gaze to Mirron. 'You'll see. It'll be all right.'

Mirron buried her head in Gorian's chest and began to cry anew. Arducius focused on the horizon and wished that he had never been born an Ascendant.

Marshal Thomal Yuran stood on the walls of Haroq City. The gates were still open and the depressing tide of refugees showed no signs of abating. Inside the walls they were being channelled to parks and warehouses where makeshift camps and kitchens had been set up. Others were being herded on to every available ship for dispersal down the River Teel that led south-west to Byscar, Atreska's principal port on the Tirronean Sea.

In the five days granted him, he'd done all he possibly could. Megan had left with messages for the Advocate. The beacon fires had been lit across Atreska, alerting the populace to invasion. Birds had been sent north to Gosland, south to Gestern and Estorr. Horse and ship-borne messengers took the same news.

His military commanders had confirmed with him that much of his country's defence was scattered along the Tsardon border with reserves camped on the central plains. From the dust cloud in the hot solastro sky, it was clear that the enemy had not been stopped by his outer defences. And his latest scouts reported that five hundred steppe cavalry were approaching, presumably to demand his surrender.

He had pulled back every legionary he could to defend the city and the lakelands to the south-east that let into the River Teel. It was his only escape, his only defensible supply line and he would exact a heavy price before conceding it. Haroq was a difficult city to take, as the Conquord had discovered a decade ago. So it would be again. He had seven thousand in two reduced legions at his disposal. With courage, luck and skill, they could hold out until reinforcements arrived from the outlying regions of Atreska, and from Neratharn and Estorea, Phaskar and Avarn.

But he questioned whether there truly was the will to stand against what was reportedly a force in excess of thirty thousand. Gosland could be facing a similar-sized army, which would bypass Del Aglios's last known position. Gestern, assuming Jorganesh still stood, might have some sort of chance of bringing enough defence to bear.

There was panic in the city. Food was rationed, space to lay your head was at a premium. And while some refugees had managed to bring a good deal of their possessions with them, those he saw walking in now had little more then the clothes they wore. How would he care for them all? Everywhere, the old shrines had been rebuilt or reopened as native Atreskans sought solace in their old gods and spirits. Everywhere he looked, it appeared that the ways of the Conquord were being deserted.

'See what your policies have brought us,' he said to the Estorean consul, Safinn, who was standing by him.

He was wearing his formal toga, slashed with the green of the Conquord, and had adopted a proud bearing for the good of the citizens of Haroq. But beneath the veneer, Yuran could feel his fear, just as he could feel that of all the Conquord dignitaries and the handful of Gatherers trapped in the city. None would be allowed to leave until the conflict was resolved, one way or another.

'You have no words for me, do you?' Yuran chuckled and shook his head. He was hot under his polished armour and plumed helmet but he would not now be seen out of it until battle was done. 'And you cannot deny what every citizen in my city can see and what every refugee running through the gates below our feet fears. Never mind the handful of riders approaching. Under that great cloud of dust on our horizon march tens of thousands of Tsardon infantry and cavalry. Just think, Safinn, that your rulers in Estorr don't yet know they are invaded. Not until my carrier birds reach them.

'They will sit and drink their wine and delight at their fortune while you and I die on these walls. Uncomfortable, isn't it? Where is your confidence in your might now, eh?'

'Gesteris's legions will reform and regroup. They were scattered, not slaughtered, and the Tsardon are naive if they believe they have broken the Conquord with a single victory. Hold your walls, Marshal, and help will come from every direction.'

Yuran stared at the consul whose own gaze was fixed steadfastly on the approaching dust cloud.

'As that dust cloud covers the sun so you close your eyes to reality,' he said. 'Have you not listened to the legionaries who have staggered through the gates, bloodied and beaten? Scattered, they most certainly were. And taken prisoner in huge numbers. How many are there out there with the will or the wit to reform for another fight against an enemy who beat them so comprehensively?

'You have never stood under the weight of battle and you have surely never tasted the crushing bitterness of total defeat. I have. And it has taken me years to build the courage to stand as I do now. You are a fool, Safinn. You were born one and you will die one. Watch and learn.'

When the sun reached its zenith and the heat became all but unbearable, Yuran moved into the shade of the gatehouse. Men, women, children and broken soldiers still streamed through the gates. His city militia and the ist Haroq ala, the Stone Warriors, marshalled them on their approach.

Close now, no more than an hour away, the Tsardon cavalry rode on. They were flanked by his own cavalry and riding under a flag of parley, just as he had expected. He gave the order for the refugees to be sent around to the eastern portal and felt the satisfying, deep clang as the huge iron gates closed under his feet and the portcullis rattled into position.

He signalled his flag of parley to be flown from the gatehouse and he walked out on to the balcony over which an awning was stretched to keep the heat at bay. How incongruous it was. The balcony was beautifully carved, depicting victory celebrations from the accession to the Conquord. It had been designed as a stage from which to welcome dignitaries and allies from across the empire. Now he stood to await the vanguard of an invading army who would see it cast to the ground forty feet below.

Archers stood along the length of the gatehouse and stretched away around the walls. From turrets studding the walls at intervals of three hundred feet, ballistae, onagers and double-springed scorpion bolt-throwers were in position and ready to fire. None would do so without his express order. He knew the Tsardon. Some demonstration of superiority was likely. He would not be goaded and his artillerymen and archers were under no illusion as to the costs of independent retaliation.