Cry of the Newborn (35 page)

the fords themselves. Onager rounds soared high to crash down into the river. Spouts of water were flung high into the air. Scorpions thudded. And down on the front, on the banks of the river and out of his eye line, his soldiers held a solid line with sarissa, gladius and shield wall deployed in defence.

He let the scene, the energy and the deafening row roll over him. He felt that curious moment of peace he always experienced when battle was joined. Neither side had broken, neither could be said to be winning the conflict. The battle had settled. It was now that the master general could make the moves to win the day. Dimly, he thought he could hear the bark of dogs.

Gazing out, Gesteris saw the cavalry forces begin to separate with the initial clashes done. Here was where it would happen. The steppe cavalry held the morale of the Tsardon in their hands, he was sure of it. And to expose just one flank would be a devastating blow. He kicked the flanks of his horse and, with his extraordinarii behind him, rode in search of Master Kell.

The splendour of the games impressed even Herine Del Aglios. And as Advocate, and Advocate's daughter, she had seen them often enough. The official opening of ten days of games was blessed with beautiful warm sunshine across Estorr. It bathed the principal arena, sending the shadows of columns, arches and flags over the concrete oval track and the sanded inner field.

Herine had ridden in her chariot at the head of the palace cavalcade through the Victory Gates. She had paraded along the processional drive and past the Gardens of the Advocates, where her predecessors' statues were decked with flowers. Crowds lined the route. Above them, painted banners related the story of the rise of the Conquord in images, the names of heroes blazing out from their borders of classic root motif. She had taken their applause and their cheers, seen the lines of ist legion guard keeping order and waved graciously and gratefully back.

In the gardens as she passed, qualifying for the arena finals was in its fourth day. Stands had been built around temporary courts and crowds had flocked to see the best the Conquord had left to offer display their skill with sword, spear, arrow and javelin. But so many were absent on campaign or, in Jhered's case, on more solitary service.

Elsewhere, runners competed in sprints and endurance qualifying races; horses and riders were going through their paces over jumps and in displays of close control; chariot racers tore around the oval at the north end of the gardens; and teams from all corners of the Conquord tackled the obstacle courses which would be replicated in the arena later in the games.

Everything was in its place. The Advocacy scientists had promised displays unsurpassed, the traditional and the modern. On the last day, the arena floor would be cleared and the scale model of the Tirronean Sea surrounding Kester Isle would be built and flooded. Nothing in Herine's experience came close to the spectacle of the reconstruction of the Siege of Kester Isle, back in the
63 3rd
cycle, just before the fall of Gestern.

The sheer feat of engineering required to produce model miniatures of ships, the castle and artillery never ceased to amaze her, though she had seen it unfold half a dozen times since her childhood.

She climbed the stairs to the grand balcony at the first level of the arena and stepped out on to the deep green carpet that ran around the plush throne at its centre. Chancellor Felice Koroyan was already in her seat, along with the Speakers of Winds, Seas and Earth. And to the right, sat her inner sanctum of sponsors and two of her children; Adranis, her son of seventeen and Tuline, her daughter of fourteen. The latter looked grumpy and no doubt would rather have been anywhere else. Adranis, on the other hand, gazed out at the spectacle in unabashed wonder.

Herine walked forward and sixty thousand citizens roared and chanted her name. She breathed it in, certain now that her decision to hold the games was absolutely the right one. How could anyone doubt that the desire to relive past glories still burned bright in her people. How could it be a waste of time and funds when it brought everyone to such passion and energy.

The chanting continued. Fists punched the air, scarves waved, their multiple colours a dazzling display and a fitting opening. The fervour washed over her and she closed her eyes while the power swept through her. It was worth all the organisational pain just for this. She opened her eyes and raised her hands. The audience quietened and she spoke loud, her voice carrying clear across the bowl, echoing from the precisely carved architecture.

'Citizens of the Conquord of Estorea, welcome to the glory of your world. The glory we shall celebrate in these, the greatest games ever seen!'

Cheers erupted around the arena, the noise staggering and marvellous.

'Everything we have built has been by our own hands and through the blood and toil of our legions, who even now work to make our Conquord ever greater. In these next ten days, you will see wonders from a dozen countries. You will see the finest athletes, riders and warriors compete for the coveted Gilded Leaves of the Conquord. You will see the strongest teams ever assembled vie for the champion's trophy, the Golden Lances of Ocetarus. And you will see acted out for you the greatest victories the Conquord has ever won.

'Watch, my citizens, and know that your work, your sacrifice and your wills are what make our Conquord great. And that through you, we will become greater and greater.

'Let the Games begin!'

Fanfares rang out, all but drowned by the renewed cheering and chanting. Herine stepped back to her chair, waved to all corners and sat down. The noise bounced around the arena, uplifting and energising. With the first athletes taking the arena, the tumult began to subside and Herine felt a touch on her arm. She turned to her left and smiled at Chancellor Koroyan.

'A stirring speech, Herine,' she said. 'And a crowd desperate for entertainment. The drudgery of war has sapped the will of the citizenry and even the Order cannot hold them all up. These games are a master stroke and we will preach the glory of the Omniscient to a revitalised people. I thank you on behalf of us all.'

Herine was taken aback by the admission as well as the gushing enthusiasm. Quite uncharacteristic. There was surely an agenda behind it.

'Well, thank you, Felice,' said Herine. 'I am heartened by your approval.'

'What other response could I give? I can feel the people as if they have found new life. And the glory of the Conquord is the glory of God.'

'Let's hope the games live up to their billing.' 'It makes it all the more surprising then that Exchequer Jhered is not by your side, lending his support as I do.' Herine kept her expression carefully neutral.

'The affairs of the Gatherers cannot stop even for games such as this. The Games celebrate glory but we are still at war. Taxes have to be collected.'

'And the word of God has to be spread through the Conquord and into our new territory as a matter of urgency. But still we have made the effort to bring a senior delegation to the Games. The citizens need to see us. They need to see the Gatherers too.'

'Are you sure?' asked Herine, piqued. 'Most people would welcome the absence of the levium. They are hardly a force loved throughout the Conquord.'

'And the Order has its opponents—'

'—diminishing daily—'

'—but if we are to be accepted as the force for good we undoubtedly are, then we must be seen to be beneficent. Able to enjoy the pursuits of the ordinary citizen. After all, if we do not understand the people, how can we lead them?'

'The Gatherers do not seek to be spiritual guides,' said Herine shortly. 'Perhaps we should enjoy the fact that we are here and not be concerned with those who are not.'

Koroyan smiled indulgently. She was wearing her robes of state, a deep ochre toga over which was placed a sash of gilt-edged Conquord green. Twined in her hair was a circlet of gold, of woven roots, closed at her forehead with a spray of leaves. It gave her a proud look and powerful appearance in which she revelled.

'It's just that I had heard that when he left Estorr it was in poor humour.'

Herine eyed her. 'Perhaps because he was annoyed his duties would stop him challenging for the Gilded Leaves in swordsmanship.'

'Perhaps so. Though I had heard it was as a result of a discussion with you when he voiced his opposition to the Games. That it was an exclusion rather than a necessity driven by his duties.' Herine said nothing. Koroyan pressed further. 'And such odd travelling companions too, I understand. Harkov of the palace guard and D'Allinnius your chief scientist. The latter would surely be of more use to you here, don't you think?'

'Lord Jhered requested those companions for his trip and I agreed,' said Herine.

'But still
...
an odd delegation to collect a levy. Is there trouble in Caraduk? I understand that was where he was headed.'

'You understand a great deal, Felice. And not all of it should you be concerned with. Have your Speakers in Caraduk reported any problems?'

'They have not.'

'Then there is your answer,' said Herine.

'But Caraduk always concerns me. Information from some of its more remote corners is difficult to come by. Almost as if it is desired that I should not hear what goes on.'

Herine laughed but knew it was unconvincing. 'And what might go on that would worry you in such a loyal state as Caraduk?'

'What indeed.'

The two women's eyes met and held. Below, the quarter finals of the chariot racing had begun to the roars of the crowd. Herine turned to watch, aware that Koroyan had not shifted her gaze.

Chapter 28

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

Master Kell watched the horse archers of the
9th
ala, the Rogue Spears of Atreska, drive in behind a break forged by the second cataphract, attached to the
2nd
legion. Her legion, the Bear Claws of Estorr. They poured arrows over the steppe cavalry who were in temporary disarray, trying to gather themselves for retreat and reform.

'Signal the first heavy!' she yelled at her flagman. 'Let's force that breach.'

Flags whirled and dipped, three in unison. The cavalry watchers relayed the information to her first cataphract, drawn from the
34th
ala, Tundarran Thunder. They gathered and charged, riding hard for the centre of their infantry flank defence. Simultaneously, the Rogue Spear archers wheeled and galloped away, the Claws hard on their heels, escaping being dragged too far into the belly of the steppe cavalry.

The enemy had no respite. The first cataphract slammed into the part-broken line, driving it further back. And in their wake, the archers came in again to down disoriented riders and cripple horses. It was a textbook assault and the Tsardon were weakening.

Back behind the infantry, Gesteris was feeding maniples of principes into the left-hand infantry lines, forcing the Tsardon to retreat. And while the right was tasked to hold and skirmish, the left made inexorable progress. She felt so alive. The sun was past its zenith but still baked down hard, sapping the strength of any whose morale was weakening.

Beneath their heavier armour, she knew the Conquord legions would be suffering but the evidence of their superiority would see

them stand all day. Gesteris had been careful to cycle his hastati as best he could and the tactic was beginning to pay off. The phalanxes held easily. Very few casualties on either side. But anxiety was eating slowly into the Tsardon ranks. News of the slow push filtered across their lines. If the flank broke under pressure, the Conquord would be in behind.

'Time to make it happen,' said Kell. She turned her horse and spurred the mare towards the commander of the left flank maniples. 'Keep them backing off,' she ordered her second. 'I'll be back.'

She rode through units of resting cavalry, congratulating and demanding more effort to ensure the day was won. Across the back of the lines she went, with the noise of battle rolling over her and around her. Behind her, the fords were being held comfortably enough though casualties were high on both sides with the narrow battlefronts concentrating the fighting.

'Nunan!' she shouted, voice loud in the din.

She could see the Bear Claws' Master of Sword in the thick of his command. He was standing forward of the triarii, sending in maniples of the principes in response to Gesteris's flagged orders. His green-plumed helmet marked him out though his armour, polished and shining that morning, was covered in mud and blood.

'Nunan!'

He didn't hear her until she was practically on top of him. His sharp-featured face was spattered with filth. 'You're a long way from home.'

This close to the battle they were yelling at each other. A hundred yards away, the two lines had engaged again. The clashing of weapons and shields thudded around her head, a noise she was able to blank out when she rode into battle herself.

'We can win this here and now.' She leant out of her saddle as he approached and lowered her voice a little. 'We can break the steppe left and be in behind them. But I need your help and I need you to back me up with Gesteris.'

'You don't think he'll see it himself?'

'You heard him, he only wanted gentle pressure and wearing down. He's too cautious and it's too hot for your infantry on the front. It could turn the other way. I can make sure it doesn't. You in?'

Nunan scratched some mud from his face. 'Well, I don't want to cook in my armour any longer than I have to.'

Kell smiled. 'Get up behind me, then.'

Nunan hauled himself up on to her horse. 'Keep the pace up,' he ordered his second. 'Don't take a backward step. New orders coming.'

Kell pushed her horse hard across the churned ground, shouting soldiers from her path. Behind the lines, the scene was no less chaotic. Messengers and stretcher parties rode and ran in every direction. Light infantry redeploying from the fords were marching to the right flank. Some of Kell's cavalry was heading in the opposite direction, tired horses being walked, blood streaking coats. There was mud everywhere.

Gesteris saw her coming and cleared a path. He raised his eyebrows when he saw Nunan.

'I trust the battle is going exceptionally well for you both to leave it to speak to me,' he said.

Nunan dismounted, uncomfortable on horseback. Kell stayed aboard.

'We've done as you ordered, General,' said Kell. 'We've got them stepping back and wavering. But we can do more. We can break them. Draw off the right flank reserve and give it to me. Let Nunan commit more principes and even triarii on the far left in the space I make. They can't hold us, they won't have the discipline.'

'Unless they move and shadow us,' said Gesteris. 'And I think you are making a mistake underestimating the steppe cavalry. They won't break and rout.'

'I don't underestimate them, sir, there just won't be enough of them if they are forced to defend their infantry. And it's the infantry that will break.' She bit her lip. Gesteris didn't respond. She continued. 'Who will they commit from their reserve? Look along the line. It's mainly archers and light infantry. They aren't heavy enough to get through the principes' gladius line. And the steppe cannot afford to come left or we will have them on the right instead.'

Kell watched Gesteris scan the battle with minute care. Every muscle in her body tensed in frustration. He stood on his saddle and turned a slow circle, taking in the fords where fighting had all but ceased for the moment it seemed, such was the drop in noise.

'Nunan, what say you?'

'They are uncomfortable with the close form of our line and the skill of our soldiers, General,' said Nunan.
‘I
agree with Master Kell. We can break them here and now.'

'And if they have placed reserves below the lip of the river bank and behind the rise ahead that we cannot see?'

'Then we are in the correct order to counter them,' said Kell. She blew out her cheeks. 'General, the moment is now. The day is already long and if we do nothing more we risk not forcing the breach and having to fight on tomorrow with no surety of securing the same advantage.'

Gesteris eyed her from beneath his helmet. He appraised her carefully, his grey eyebrows arrowing in.

‘I
will not risk the army,' said Kell, urging his decision. 'No indeed you will not,' said Gesteris.

He fell silent. Kell stared at him while the din of battle washed over them. Volleys of arrows whistled through the air. Centurions bellowed orders. Soldiers responded, pushing, defending, withdrawing, engaging. Cavalry charged, wheeled, regrouped and charged again. She didn't understand this caution. The battle was tipped in their favour. One small shove . . .

But Gesteris was no doubt adding up every citizen he had and their current positions. If nothing else, he was meticulous. No life was ever wasted. Not even one in eighty thousand. His citizens, conscripts and allied legions loved him for it; his commanders less so.

'They are already strengthening the left,' he said at length. 'And you have them uncertain. Surely a push at the weakened right would bring better result.'

'They are more competent there,' said Kell. 'They are into the rhythm of the battle. All I need is one more cataphract, two units of sword cavalry and one of archers. Trust me.'

Gesteris's eyebrows disappeared beneath the brow of his helmet. 'Trust you? Of course I do, Master Kell. That is not at issue.' He fell silent again, a thought having struck him. A maniple of hastati marched past, withdrawn to rest and tend wounds. 'Keep up your pressure. Perhaps we don't need to adjust our lines here at all. There is stalemate at the near ford, after
all, plenty of horses standing
around idle. We'll try it your way. Await the reserve and engage at will.'

Kell smiled and nodded but her words were lost in shouts of alarm that swept across the Conquord lines. She snapped her head round. Whining and whistling filled the air.

'What the—'

The sky was studded with stones.

In blank disbelief, Kell watched the artillery rounds fall into the midst of the Conquord legions. Heavy onager rounds smashed down on the rear ranks of the hastati. Thirty or forty of them up to three talents in weight obliterating the soldiers they struck, sending up massive plumes of mud and scattering citizens in all directions. She could see the movement of infantry like waves through the close-ranked maniples and heard sudden uncertainty in the tenor of the noise around her.

She had sympathy for them. Those stones should be too large to launch, their projectors too heavy to be dragged across the sodden ground. The heavy Conquord onagers were defending the camp for exactly that reason, their wagons not up to the task. Somehow, the Tsardons had solved the problem and the effect was enormous. All they had to counter this were scorpions whose ammunition was all but spent.

'Back to the lines!' shouted Gesteris. 'I'll get you your reserve. I want those catapults in pieces.'

He was in a state of some shock. Down at the front, centurions urged a greater push. The legions regrouped and roared their comrades on. Arrows fell more thickly.

'How under God have they done this?' asked Gesteris.

'It doesn't matter,' said Kell, though she was equally desperate to know. She helped Nunan back on to her horse. 'Send that reserve, General, I'll do the rest.'

She saluted him, dragged her horse around and sped off along the back of the lines, hearing the triarii yelling encouragement to those in front of them. Approaching the left flank, she saw the stones arc in again. Their trajectory was high and there was plenty of warning the missiles were coming. But the legions had nowhere to go. Shields were raised; futile defence against the stones that plunged into helpless bodies, driving some into the ground, battering others aside like skittles. This close, the sound of impact was sickening, a bass thud followed by the splintering of shield, armour and bone.

Nunan slid off her horse and ran into the midst of the growing chaos, calling for order, for a steadying of the standards. Trying to make himself seen and heard. Kell did the same, galloping down to the front of the defensive cavalry lines where riders struggled to calm nervous horses. So far, the artillery was trained on the foot soldiers but the screaming noise was enough.

'Hold!' she shouted. 'Keep order, keep going forward. Remember we're still winning the day.'

The scorpions responded, bolts tearing into the Tsardon reserve behind their front line. The Conquord renewed their fight. Out at the battlefront, the cavalry captains were pushing hard, responding with typical courage. She could see the first cataphract deep in combat, flanked on the left by a sword unit and from the rear by archers.

The Tsardon had steadied and were defending their infantry effectively if not comfortably. Far left towards the river, Tsardon reserves were occupying Conquord forces headed by the second cataphract. They were not engaged, the opposing sides vying for tactical position.

She sucked in her cheeks. She needed a point to break through and get at the artillery. Her flagmen were waiting by her.

'Signal the reserve archer and sword units to attack far left. I will lead.'

'Yes, Master Kell.'

Kell put her heels to her horse again and the mare sprang forwards. She rode the animal hard across the muddy ground. She could see the reserve answering her orders and moving from their positions outside of missile range and heading in her direction. She raised an arm and waved it forwards along the course of the river.

Exhilaration flooded through her. Eighty cavalry swept up to her, the sounds of hoofs rattling in her head. Mud flew up around them, spattering her face and armour. She wiped it away from her eyes and urged her mount on, leading the two units into the fight. The captain of the second cataphract saw her coming. She watched him wheel his forty heavily armoured horses and riders, set lances and charge, knowing she would back him.

Kell drew her sword and held it up. The slim blade glinted in the sun. Sweat was running down her face and her heart thudded in her chest. To her left, the Tsardon onagers thudded again. This time she could see them and she cursed and spat. They sat atop what looked like wheel
-
less wagons, their great arms thumping into their stops and sending their deadly missiles high and long, three hundred yards and more.

These were not field weapons, more like siege artillery. Dragged across the marshy plain on heavy sleds then anchored to rock. Another smart move and one that provided a growing problem for the Conquord. The stones fell on the legions. More died, crushed, broken and hurled aside. The legions would not stand forever without seeing a counterattack. Kell was going to provide just that. 'Claws for the Conquord!'

She pointed her sword forwards, spurred her horse to full gallop and crashed into the steppe cavalry, feeling the shock of the impact rattle through her. The cataphract had driven a wedge into the enemy and was looking to wheel and reform. There was a confusion of horse flesh and steel. Kell swung right, her sword biting into the arm of a Tsardon rider. He raised a defence and blocked her next thrust but a lance pierced his shoulder and took him from his horse. Kell spurred on deeper into the melee, her cavalry behind her. The cataphract was withdrawing, leaving her clearer vision. Arrows carved through the sky, falling ahead. Tsardon volleys answered, steppe cavalry came at her.

Kell turned her horse left and struck out right, her sword catching her enemy a glancing blow across his metal-stripped leather helmet. He wobbled in his saddle. She stabbed straight, taking him under the arm, her sword ripping out and carving deep into his horse's shoulder. It reared and threw him. Conquord riders came to her left and right, pushing hard into the enemy. Blood sprayed into the air. One of her riders was driven from his saddle, a spear in his chest. Ahead, the wall of steppe cavalry was deep and dense. Both sides slowed.

'Wheel!' she yelled, not wanting to lose momentum. 'Archers, keep them back.'

She turned her horse sharply, hurrying it away and shouting her order again. The archers had spread in front of her, firing quickly and accurately from the saddle, guiding mounts at the canter with thigh and heel. She nodded her approval, rode through their line with Tsardon shafts falling about her, came about, gathered her citizens to her and charged again.