Cry of the Newborn (83 page)

'What are you talking about?'

'What Gorian did will make no difference,' said Ossacer. 'Not in the end.' 'I don't—'

'She loves him. She always has.'

Chapter 66

848th cycle of God, 1st day of
Dusasrise 15th year of the true Ascendancy

The days cooled, die march was unremitting, hard and south-west all the way. The scale of the victory the Ascendants had wrought became more and more apparent with every step. Scouts and cavalry worked up to two days ahead, destroying enemy intelligence-gathering, interrupting supply and harassing Tsardon raiding parties.

But there was no serious force turned to oppose them. Roberto sent armoured foragers into every settlement to flush out enemies and take supplies where he could find them, though there was precious little the Tsardon had not already taken. The army marched close to the Gesternan border, looking for the right place to cross and chase the enemy.

He crossed the Haroq City highway, his scouts reporting no action along the frontier. Gesternan flags flew at the forts. Defences were intact and undamaged. Every pace, every piece of information, brought Jhered's initial guess closer to the truth. And if the Tsardon had chosen to mass their attack on the coastal side, they had done it with everything at their disposal.

It was with grim satisfaction that it became obvious that the task of the seven thousand had been to delay them a significant time. Their arrival now was unexpected and unheralded. Roberto found himself hoping that some of them had escaped the devastation and had taken the news to their masters in the southern armies. An invading army looking fearfully over its shoulder would be absolutely ideal.

Two days from the road linking Kirriev Harbour to Byscar, the most likely focus of attack, Roberto saw the first signs of battle. He was marching the army down the Herolodus Vale. The Karku
mountains were at his back, the slopes of the Atreskan southern plains were on his right-hand side and the deep, wide, slow-moving force that was the River Herol was on his left.

A cold rain had been falling for three days, exactly as Arducius had predicted, and his spirits were high. The rainfall had deadened the dusty earth, masking his army's passage along the border. Half of his cavalry was broken up into raiding parties of thirty on the southern plains, keeping him safe from ambush. And his scouts had reported back from the highway.

That evening, he spread maps out over the dining table set up in his tent and along with his command team welcomed Jhered and Arducius to drink, dine and plan. Ossacer was helping Dahnishev in the surgery. Mirron was with the blacksmiths. The inclusion policy had been recommended by Jhered and seemed to be working. Despite considerable anxiety among citizens, attitudes were softening. And they were charming children, though smiles were rare.

'These aren't the absolute best but key terrain is indicated,' said Roberto.

He looked across to Arducius, just an excited child, completely awed by his surroundings and barely able to keep himself in check. It was so hard to believe he was possessed of such power.

'The Tsardon have moved into Gestern, immediately south of our position. They don't have significant supply from Atreska and we've already taken out some of what they do have. Best reports suggest they are heading south beyond Kirriev Harbour. Presumably they are marching directly for Portbrial. They'll be harassed all the way but if the estimates of their strength, around twelve thousand, are right, they won't be stopped.'

'So they didn't mass as expected,' said Davarov.

'No, it's worse. They have a greater force than previously indicated. Now, the good news is that the border around the highway to Kirriev Harbour is still holding. It's fortified and Marshal Mardov has clearly made her play there. They have the mountains west and a secure line all the way to the port.'

'Have we had contact with the defence?' asked Jhered.

'No,' said Roberto. 'I haven't risked a scout. We have upwards of thirty thousand Tsardon battering away down there and if they don't know we're coming, I don't want to give them any hint by handing them a scout.'

'Can that be possible?' asked Neristus. 'Our marching column is almost three miles of chattering infantry, snorting horses and rattling wagons. I find it hard to believe.'

'There is no one so blind as the man who does not expect to see.'

'A pearl of Atreskan wisdom, Davarov?' asked Roberto.

Davarov smiled. 'We have many. But actually, I agree with Rovan. I find it impossible to believe that one Tsardon scout has not escaped the net.'

'I don't know,' said Elise Kastenas. 'Don't discount it. We've seen little activity. The supply trains we've attacked have been poorly defended and hastily put together. It shows little tactical awareness, little planning.'

'Well—' Arducius put a hand to his mouth. 'Sorry.'

Roberto gestured at the map. 'Not at all, young man. You are here to talk with the rest of us. What do you have to say?'

Arducius blushed scarlet and looked over at Jhered, who encouraged him to speak.

'It's just that they didn't expect to be here, did they? Not when the fighting started in Tsard.'

Roberto leaned back in his chair with a hand over his mouth, hiding his smile.

'How long have we all been in the legions?' he asked.

There was a brief silence.

'A combination of something like ninety years,' said Neristus. 'Most of them yours, Rovan,' said Davarov. Laughter bounced around the tent.

Roberto hushed them. 'Thank you, young man, for opening our eyes. A hundred days ago, the Kingdom of Tsard was fighting for its life. They were losing ground in the north and the south and on the verge of having their whole underbelly opened up. They were fighting guerrilla actions in Atreska with no real belief in success.

'And now they are threatening the heart of the Conquord. Of course they aren't ready, of course they aren't organised. Most of their commanders have never prosecuted an invasion. Dear God-who-looks-over-us, it took us four years to gather ourselves for the Tsardon campaign and there are some around this table who felt, correctly as it turns out, that this was not long enough.

'The Tsardon have taken their chance, following the rout at Scintarit, and everything has gone their way so far. Atreska folded,

Yuran defected, Jorganesh was taken out of the game. They have a fleet on the move. Now it's our turn. We can chase those that have already invaded Gestern or we can fall on those attacking the Kirriev Highway border.' He opened his palms. 'Which is it to be?'

'There's no choice,' said Jhered. 'We have to secure one of the major western ports in Gestern. It's unpalatable, the thought of Tsardon running unchecked through Gestern but it's temporary. Defeating the Kirriev Harbour invaders releases Mardov's defence to tackle them. And it lets you turn around to chase the remnants of the defeated Tsardon north and move to the relief of the Neratharn border.'

'My legions are already looking forward to the forced march,' said Roberto.

'But he's right, isn't he?' said Davarov. 'Unless there are enough ships in Kirriev to transport us, which there will never be.'

'Time remains short,' said Roberto. 'How long can Neratharn hold?'

'They have to hold long enough to see you there,' said Jhered. 'So you have to give them hope. There won't be enough ships at Kirriev to take eleven thousand to Neratharn but you can commandeer one and send a messenger.'

Roberto looked around the table. There were no dissenters.

'Done,' he said. 'So now the question is, can we reach them unseen?'

'A little early snow wouldn't go amiss the day after tomorrow,' said Kastenas.

‘I’l
l start praying,' said Davarov. 'No need,' said Jhered.

‘I
'd forgotten you'd abandoned God, my Lord Exchequer,' said Roberto, unable to stop himself. Jhered didn't react.

'Arducius, think you can bring on a little snowstorm?'

All eyes fixed on the young Ascendant. He shrugged.

'Of course. I can bring the clouds from Kark.'

There was a disbelieving silence around the table. The statement, so matter of fact, so extraordinary, hung in the air.

'Can it really be done?' Davarov's expression was troubled.

'Reality bites, doesn't it?' said Jhered. if Arducius says he can do it, he can do it.'

'What will happen, Arducius?' asked Roberto.

'There are two weather fronts affecting our route at the moment,' he said, Roberto watching him grow in confidence. 'The winds over Kark are very strong and driving cloud over us. It will continue as rain because the temperature is still too high down on the plains.

'But the air is much cooler offshore. With Ossie and Mirron, I can maintain cloud cohesion and bring cold air to land. When I tear the cloud it will snow.'

They were all staring at him. Roberto knew how they felt.

'Can we really rely on this?' asked Elise. 'I just can't conceive it.'

'Absolutely you can,' said Jhered. 'You saw what they did on the plains. This, so Arducius says, is easier.'

'And you can localise this storm, can you?' asked Roberto. He suppressed the urge to laugh at the ludicrous nature of his own question.

'I don't have the ability to do anything else. I will need to be able to see the target area, which might be a problem. How wide do you think it will need to be?'

'We can get you to a viewpoint easily,' said Kastenas. 'The enemy army is spread over a front around four hundred yards wide and about a mile deep if you include the reserve. You don't have to cover it all, just the eastern edge if that's all you can do.'

Another shrug from the boy. 'No problem. For you, it'll be like looking at the storm from behind a window.'

'Tell me something, Arducius. How hard will the wind be blowing that you bring from the coast?' asked Roberto.

'As hard as you like. We can make it a blizzard or a gale for a while if you want.'

'I want very much,' said Roberto, the thrill already growing inside him and the amazement at the potential undimmed. 'Do this right and not only will they not see us, they won't hear us coming either.'

Prosentor Kreysun had moved his onagers up overnight and left his Tsardon army in the field to make camp and sing. The fires had been bright and the celebrations loud and long. Eight days of battle on the border. Attack after attack repelled by defenders he had grown to respect but who were ready to fall. He outnumbered them three to one now and if he could knock over the walls, he would have Gestern and the road to Kirriev at his mercy.

It had been a fierce battle. He'd spent days trying to break their flanks but his steppe cavalry had met withering arrow fire from deep positions across the river, or been hampered by woodland in which the Conquord legions could break up their charges. Every feint he made was matched by a reserve force he guessed numbered four thousand. Now it was time to push straight through the centre.

The border itself was marked by a wide bridge over which sat a menacing concrete-and-stone structure. A flat roof housed thirty heavy onagers in three ranks. Turrets held bolt-firers. So far, he'd kept out of their way. Not any more.

The day had dawned cold and the rain had continued to fall as it had for three days. Today, though, it had been made colder by a high wind that had blown up overnight from the Tirronean Sea. He had wanted the enemy to see what was ranged against them as dawn broke. Let them fear him before he launched the assault. And when the first Conquord onager had fired at his front line, he had charged with everything he had. Four thousand cavalry backed by light infantry had swept across the shallows and engaged the archers and infantry in the woodland.

His warriors flooded towards the fortifications, the pike blocks and shield walls. The enemy could see what he planned and their onagers were directed at the ground between his infantry lines and artillery, trying to keep them back. He ordered them forward anyway. Seventy catapults, most of them taken from the Conquord and refitted for travel to the south, dragged by pairs of oxen and pushed by crews of twelve.

Conflict at the front was savage. The Conquord legions were skilled and desperate to fight for every inch he took. Tsardon blood was thick on the ground, bodies dragged away by the hundred. Enemy sarissas were a forest in front of his warriors. The damned legion discipline was embedded and unbreakable. Triarii were mixed with the hastati in front of his warriors, he was certain.

Kreysun ran along the back of his lines and in front of the reserve that roared and chanted them on. He was an old-fashioned commander, not given to the ways of the legions he faced whose commanders hid on their horses, far from blade and arrow.