Cry of the Newborn (50 page)

At the entrance to the deep-water berths, the twenty had seen their pursuers and had stopped to form a defensive line. Simultaneously, the flags began to move down the masts. And just before he lost sight of them behind the buildings ahead, Jhered saw his crews running down the gangplanks.

Curiosity overcame fear and people were crowding down to the docks ahead of them, drawn by the atmosphere of imminent conflict and violence. Jhered found himself jostled as he tried to force his way through the deepening crowd. He was only forty yards from Stalos and the twenty but the steppe were going to reach them first. He could hear the rattle of hooves on the stone of the dockside but he couldn't see them clearly.

'Out of the way,' he shouted, keeping his sword high above his head.

The levium shouldered through the crowd, which had turned like the tide and was beginning to bunch back towards them, thickening like a city fog at dawn. Jhered felt his frustration growing. He rattled his sword pommel against the head of a man ahead of him who had turned to shout for help.

'I'm right behind you,' said Jhered. 'You want help, get out of my way.'

'The Tsardon,' he shouted into Jhered's face. 'The Tsardon.'

'I know,' grated Jhered and shoved him roughly aside.

The fact of the levium behind them and the Tsardon in front of them flickered through the press of people in the street. Unbelievably, more were running in behind them and the confusion of movement caused falls and panic. The levium tried to keep their blades away from the people but it was becoming increasingly difficult to move with any concerted direction when they did so.

And then, above the shouts and the clamour, Jhered heard the unmistakable sound of swords clashing. All he could do was turn his left shoulder to the crowd as it packed and ran about him, screaming as it tried to distance itself from what it had come to see.

'Hold, levium,' he called into the tumult.

He gritted his teeth and took blow after blow to his body from jostling elbows, feet and knees. He was forced back pace by pace but still held his sword away from them, knowing that to let it fall would be to hurt an innocent.

The crowd dispersed and Jhered had sight of the twenty once again. He began to move forwards, calling the levium on and pushing himself through the few hardier souls that hadn't fled at the first sight of metal and blood. The steppe cavalry, and there had to be thirty of them at least, had driven into his people and were turning to ride out and regroup. At least five were down but behind them, the crews were lining up with bows strung and ready. 'Get the injured away; let's reform that line.'

He ran onto the dockside. The steppe were wheeling their mounts. They paused, assessing the renewed force against them. Jhered knew what they would do.

. 'Archers! Keep them back. Let's make them pay for every shaft they fire.'

Bows were dragged from backs, arrows nocked and the steppe began to gallop across them at no more then twenty yards separation. A volley of arrows came from the crew, ripping into the Tsardon. Two were turned, one was struck from his horse but the others did not pause. With legs controlling their horses, the cavalry tore past, turned in their saddles and fired. Jhered felt shafts whistle past him and heard the cries of the wounded behind him.

Already, the steppe were slowing to turn again. Another volley came from the crew but they were not as accomplished as their enemy. Not enough arrows fell in the target area to even give them pause for thought. This was not a skirmish the Conquord would win. Jhered turned.

'Run for the ships. Do it now. Crew fall back. One more volley.'

Levium helped their wounded up and began to hurry them towards the triremes still sixty yards distant along the docks from which every seaman was scattering. Jhered grabbed a shield from an Atreskan legionary standing with his mouth open.

'Fight!' he yelled into his face. 'You've got a bow, idiot. Use it.'

He swung back to the Tsardon, ramming his arm through the shield's loops. They were riding in hard, heading directly down the dockside five abreast. Behind them and rushing down the hill were Menas, Harin and their levium. Arrows ripped into the back of the Tsardon charge, deflecting a little of its intensity. But those at its head came on oblivious to the new trouble. Bows were bent and arrows flew. The levium had not been prepared for this. How could they be?

Jhered ducked behind his shield and stepped smartly to the edge of the dock, scant inches from a tumble into the water. An arrow thudded into the shield. He heard hoofs close to him and lashed out with his blade, feeling it bite into flesh. A horse screamed and a rider was catapulted from his saddle. He let the weapon go lest he be dragged off his feet with it. The horse plunged right off the dockside and into the sea. He crouched low, his shield above his head. Horses thudded past him and he felt the swipe of a blade nick into the shield. Beside him, the legionary was less fortunate. He'd stretched his bow and taken a sword in the neck for his efforts. He sprawled on the stone, blood flowing from his body.

Jhered peered right. Levium ahead of the charge were fighting amongst the steppe. Left, Harin and Menas had reached the dockside and came on at a charge. And behind them, more riders, more soldiers. Tsardon and Atreskan. They were running out of time.

Jhered drove to his feet in the shadow of a trailing steppe horse slowed by the weight of comrades ahead. He reached up and dragged the rider from his saddle. The man struck the ground on his back and the last he saw was Jhered's shield crushing down on his face.

The remainder of the steppe were disengaging. He heard foreign orders shouted and saw the concerted wheel away. Heels dug into flanks. The riders surged back along the dockside. Menas and her team fired into their midst, dropping another three, before dodging left and right. He saw Harin duck a flashing blade and leap onto the deck of a merchant vessel. He rolled once and regained his feet. Jhered beckoned them on.

'Let's get aboard. They're regrouping.'

It was a blind run now. The crew had fallen back to the gangplanks and had bows trained over their heads. Thirty yards to run. Jhered dropped his shield and stooped to drag a wounded woman to her feet. She'd taken an arrow through her shoulder and had a deep cut in her side.

'Come on, up and run,' he said.

She gasped in pain. Another levium came to her other side and the three of them half-ran along the dockside. They skirted the bodies of their people on the way, each one registering in Jhered's mind for the revenge he would extract from Yuran and the Tsardon. His mind was blank with fury and he glared at the Atreskan soldiers stationed on the docks. None had moved to their aid bar one and now they could see their own men riding with the Tsardon. He had no words for their cowardice and indecision.

Through the stone, he felt the rumble of hoofs. Arrows flew over his head from his crew.

'Get on board!' he yelled. 'Get that damn sail deployed.'

It was already happening. The skippers of both vessels were as ready as they could be. Jhered could see oars positioned ready to push off the quay and men stood ready at the fore and aft ropes. Archers stood on the deck, shield men in front of them. Arrows fell. One ripped through the flesh of Jhered's left arm where it supported the wounded woman. The pain was extraordinary. His grip threatened to loosen but he forced himself to clutch harder.

He dared a glance behind. The Tsardon had pulled up still in arrow range. Atreskan swordsmen were running past them. He upped his pace a little more, dragging the woman with him, realising that the arrow had punctured her back, pinning them together.

He ran through the thin line of his own archers and thumped onto the gangplank. Crew tried to take the woman from him.

'No, no. Leave her.'

He moved to the stern and knelt down below the gunwale. Levium were racing up both gangplanks. Most were on board now. He saw Menas fire one last arrow before shouting for the lines to be loosed. Oars pushed at the dock wall. The
Hark's Arrow
moved away. The sail was deployed, wind taking it immediately and beginning to move the vessel towards the centre of the lake. Menas dropped her bow and leapt for the side as the gangplank fell into the water. Harin was there, gripping her hands where they clung to the rail. Others grabbed her back, pulling her into the ship. Arrows whipped across the deck, thudded into plank and mast. Harin was thrown back, a shaft embedded in the top of his shoulder.

Jhered waited until the Appros moved again before he ducked his head down and looked at the woman in his arms. She too was still alive but her breathing was ragged and her face sweating and pale.

'Hold on,' he said. 'Help is coming.'

He turned them both and sat with his back to the gunwale. He breathed in the sea air and looked back along the ship. Atreskan and Tsardon arrows still flew and he gestured for the levium to keep down until they were out of range.

'Keep to the centre of the channel,' he ordered the steersman who crouched over the tiller. 'We don't want to face their artillery as well.'

'Yes, my Lord Exchequer.'

'Get us home,' he said. 'We have a Conquord to save.'

But it wasn't just Estorea that he had to contact. What he'd seen was a disaster that could sweep the Conquord aside. They needed a weapon the enemy did not know existed and could never possess. And he knew where to get it.

He stroked the woman's head and prayed Harkov had reached Westfallen in time.

Chapter 42

848th cycle of God, 26th day of
Solasrise 15th year of the true Ascendancy

The new day dawned beautiful and clear. The sun quickly warmed the air and the earth. A light breeze rustled ripe crops ready for harvest. It brushed across the surface of the water. Moored ships bobbed gently and wavelets caressed the shore. Westfallen was as much a picture as it ever was during solastro.

A visitor would have thought the population had disappeared, such was the emptiness that echoed around every corner and the blank front of every closed business. The forum was deserted. The fishing fleet drawn up on the beach. The fields empty. A single voice rang out across the town. It came from the House of Masks and every citizen of Westfallen was grouped on the grass in front of it to hear the lay Reader speak.

Arvan Vasselis stood with Netta among the citizens, joined with them in their grief and loss. This was the first of too many com-mendments to be made this day and it was the one which dragged at the heart as no other truly would. A commendment of a return to the earth was a time to celebrate the life just passed and the rebirth that would follow. It was a time when the loss suffered by those the dead loved was tempered by the knowledge of a union between the dead and God. Or so it should be. But this day there could be no true celebration and there could be no mitigation for the cold that swept the hearts of Westfallen's citizens.

Ardol Kessian had been returned to the earth, wrapped in a deep green woollen cloth and placed in a grave in the woodland behind the House. A private ceremony that only Genna, the Echelon and Vasselis had witnessed had taken place as dusk fell the night before.

Now his mask, along with those of Elsa Gueran and the seventeen

others who had died during the horror in the forum, was displayed outside the House with attendant flags. Vasselis could not take his eyes from it. A thin clay mould taken from his face on the day of his death and decorated by his loved ones with messages and symbols. The mask would hang in the House for a single year from this day before being returned to them for the family shrine.

Vasselis fancied he could see the laughter lines beneath the bright colours and words covering the mask and it brought him the briefest moment of levity. Around him, he could hear crying and muttering as the lay Reader intoned the words of commendment. Each phrase merely heightened the sense of injustice they all felt, and the intolerable harm done to their community and all of their lives. He hugged Netta close and listened to the Reader, a fisherman's wife thrust into the role following Elsa's murder.

' . . . we are all of us called by God to return to His embrace and be at one with His love before our cycles continue on His earth. And we that remain are left to celebrate all Ardol Kessian gave to us and to God during his wonderful life among us. God will call in His way and in His time.' She looked up from the scriptures, closing them and shaking her head. 'Though it is impossible to conceive that He would have called dear Ardol in this way, nor any of those whose commendments I am desolate to be making.'

A tear fell from the corner of her left eye and rolled down her cheek as she reopened the scriptures.

'Let Ardol Kessian's Mask hang in the House to watch over us for a single cycle. Let him look out over us all and give us guidance and support. And let all those who would seek his counsel come here free of prejudice and ask it of him. Let his life just passed warm all of our hearts in the seasons to come. Let it be so.'

'As it always is,' intoned the crowd.

'And now I invite all those who wish it to place gifts in Ardol's travelling chest, that he may have fresh food and clothing for his journey into God's embrace.'

She knelt and opened a small wooden chest, carved with roots and the sun. It would be filled with gifts from the citizens and buried at his feet. Vasselis walked first to the chest and squeezed the Reader's arm as he knelt by the chest.

'Thank you, Elena. Your words are those of the true God.' He placed a hunting knife in the chest. 'For you, Ardol, my dear old friend, to help you hunt that which you need on your journey. God will smile on you.' He felt a constriction in his chest. 'And I, left here in your wake, will dedicate my life to bringing justice for the crimes committed here in the name of God by a fake priestess.'

He rose and held out his hand for Netta. The two of them led the procession away from the House of Masks. A place where they would all be returning, time after terrible time, in the next days, to commend those that should not have been taken.

'I have to go to Harkov, now,' he said, feeling the weight crush him again. 'Talk to him. Make him understand.'

'Don't let him take you,' said Netta, her expression desperate. 'You have to be here. You have to keep the fires lit for the return of our son.'

Vasselis all but broke then. Kovan. Catapulted into the wilderness. Unprepared and so young to take on the responsibility that had been placed upon him. He was a strong young man but this . . . Vasselis could only pray that those in place for this eventuality and those they met at random would help him. Help all of them. There was nothing he could do now other than keep their home safe for the day they came back. Should that day ever come.

He walked with Netta to their villa and released her into the care of his men before mounting up. He rode up the slope out of West-fallen towards Caraduk, where Harkov had made his camp at a respectful distance. One hundred and sixty levium were with him. The forty palace guard had escorted Koroyan, Vennegoor and the survivors of the Armour of God away from Westfallen.

The Chancellor had gone only reluctantly, all but accusing Harkov of collusion with Vasselis and the heresy of Westfallen. He had held his calm admirably and in his capacity as a captain of the Advocate's palace guard had written assurances to her concerning the independence of the enquiries he was making. In the same capacity, he officially recorded her accusations against named individuals but also noted Vasselis's counter-accusations. There would be trials, he had said. And they would take place in Estorr, not Westfallen.

He had given leave, finally, for Vasselis to remain at liberty during the commendment of Ardol Kessian and for his part, Vasselis wasn't going to abuse that trust. Harkov was an honourable man from the same exemplary mould as Paul Jhered. He was a man on his way up in the Advocacy.

Harkov rode out to meet him and the two men walked their horses down a slope in the vague direction of Lake Phristos.

'She'll be back, you know,' said Vasselis, once the pleasantries had been dispensed.

'She will be returned to Estorr and my deputy will read the charges you have laid to the Advocate. I don't think she'll be going anywhere.'

'You're being naive, captain. We both know the Advocate won't detain her, leaving her free to act again. And she only has eyes for one place.'

'I cannot imprison the Chancellor of the Order,' said Harkov. 'And I have to respect her word. All I can do is release her into the authority of the Advocate. Anything else is beyond my powers.'

'You didn't see her,' said Vasselis. 'I did. I saw the zeal in her eyes blinding her to her actions. She cut the Reader of Westfallen's throat in front of the entire town. There are hundreds of people here who would bear witness. If you were in her position of power, what do you suppose you would do?'

Harkov regarded him for some time while they walked across sunbaked grass.

'Marshal, you know the feelings of the three of us who came here. And you now know what happened to D'Allinnius and why the Chancellor came here in the first place. But ultimately we all answer to the Advocate and she has ordered your arrest.'

'You cannot remove me. We may as well burn Westfallen ourselves.'

Harkov raised a hand and Vasselis calmed. He relaxed the grip on his horse's reins.

'Please,' he said. 'With the Chancellor gone, I can speak freely. I am not here at merely the behest of the Advocate but of Exchequer Jhered. He blames the Advocate's fear on the Chancellor feeding her untruths about the risk to her rule the Ascendants represent. He fears that in killing them and you, she would be killing something that could potentially save the Conquord.'

'Is that not a little over-dramatic?' said Vasselis. 'Our Ascendants' Works are all based in peace, not war.'

'I know what he said to you about their capacity for destruction. And he believes further that the Advocate and through her, the Chancellor, cannot be allowed to destroy this weapon. He will be very unhappy that I was unable to take the Ascendants into my custody.'

Vasselis stopped. 'He is acting against her?'

'He fears for the Conquord. You've heard his concerns about the war. His only concern is for the Conquord and though he loves the Advocate, it's the Conquord he serves, and all the peoples it contains.'

'And what about you, Captain Harkov? Where do your loyalties lie?'

'They lie in truth and justice and the desire for Conquord unity.' Harkov cleared his throat. 'They lie, in this case, with the Exchequer.'

Relief cascaded through Vasselis. 'You will not regret this, my friend.'

‘I
have agonised about this, Marshal. I am with the palace guard. I have a young family and I am betraying the orders of my Advocate and making myself an enemy of the Chancellor, just like you. It is no accident that the levium, not my own riders, are still with me. I will not implicate them.'

'And what happens now?'

'What happens is that you are in my custody. That much has not changed. But I have been given no set date by which to deliver you to Estorr.' He nodded his head at Westfallen. 'Tragically, I suspect this place is to become a battleground of Conquord faith and we must be ready. I cannot let you leave Westfallen but your deputies and I will make free use of the messenger service.

'Bring your people here, Marshal Vasselis. Bring your soldiers and your engineers and your scientists. Because when the Chancellor realises I have no intention of bringing you to trial, she will be back, with or without the Advocate's blessing. And we must be ready or we will all burn.'

'Why are we going there? I don't want to go there. I don't. I want to go home.'

Mirron's misery was complete. She was seasick on top of everything else. She stood apart from the rest of them at the port rail, looking away back towards Westfallen. Below her, the oars of the trireme were silent while the wind pushed the ship forward at a healthy pace. They had found the ship,
Cirandon's Pride,
as light had faded the evening before. Their initial relief at being on board was short-lived and the fact of their situation intruded on them harder now, a day later.

Arducius had done his best to be strong for them all but he felt as Mirron did, though he was not as vocal in opposition. Ossacer was sick too, shock having taken his strength from him again. He was below the deck being tended by the ship's surgeon, while the skipper, a woman called Patonius, tried to explain her orders. She was a powerful woman. Not tall but with muscled shoulders, close-cropped hair and a face red and rough from years at sea.

'Sirrane is a secretive, closed country,' she said patiently. 'And the Marshal has been keenly involved in the negotiations to secure trade and proper diplomatic links with them. They know him and they trust him as far as they trust anyone. You'll be safe there in a way you'll not be safe anywhere else right now.'

'It's so
far,'
said Gorian.

'Another reason it's so safe,' said Patonius. 'You'll leave ship at Byscar and take the Conquord highway all the way through Atreska and Gosland. Some of the Marshal's best people are on board and will be with you.'

'But I don't want to go there,' wailed Mirron.

'Well, you must,' snapped Patonius. 'God-embrace-you, child, you should be grateful you have such powerful friends. You do not know how lucky you are.'

Gorian opened his mouth but Kovan was quicker.

'Gorian, don't,' he said. 'Captain, to these Ascendants this doesn't seem like luck. They've been hounded from their homes, seen their beloved Father die in front of them and seen more blood than anyone ever should. These are true innocents. Give them time to adjust, please.'

Arducius found himself staring at Kovan with renewed respect. Mirron was doing much the same, though Gorian merely frowned.

'So don't tell us we're lucky,' he said, tone sullen, eyes sunken from lack of sleep.