Cry of the Newborn (92 page)

Jhered growled in his throat. 'God-surround-us but you are your father's son. We are not talking about blame. The invasion has happened. What we must do is use every weapon available to us. I'm sorry, Ossacer, but that includes you.'

Ossacer shook his head.
‘I
will not,' he said quietly, biting back his fear. 'Father Kessian always told us only to use our abilities for peace. We all forgot that for a time. Well I've remembered now. I've woken up again. And there's no one in Westfallen who would curse me if they died because I did what the Father always wanted.'

Jhered stood sharply and turned away. Ossacer could see the bloom in his lifelines and the pulsing in his chest when he gripped the rail.

'We are already in desperate trouble,' he hissed, not to Ossacer.

'We have to work together. Arducius, you must tell him. Make him understand.'

'He will do what he must,' said Arducius, and Ossacer's heart warmed. 'And I will stand by his decision. If it comes to it, I will work alone and it'll have to be enough.'

'Very principled,' snapped Jhered. 'Very strong and very impressive. I'm sure Father Kessian is proud where he rots. But unless you want to join him, I suggest you change your minds. You've got about three days to wise up.'

Chapter 73

848th
cycle
of
God,
17th
day
of
Dusasrise 15th
year
of
the
true
Ascendancy

Gesteris ran along the rampart. Tsardon onager stones tumbled towards the battered defensive wall. They had barely touched them the day before. It had been mere sighting for their catapult and exercise for their archers. But as dawn had broken, a cold, grey and snow-blown morning, the singing had stopped for the last time and they had begun in earnest.

'Hold your positions. Don't you dare back off one pace. You have nowhere to go.'

Gesteris watched the stones fall. Along a four-hundred-yard section of wall and gate tower, the Tsardon concentrated their artillery fire. Stones of one and two talents slammed into the walls his legions had built while over their heads came the flaming rounds. Their direction and range was erratic but behind him on the ground, they were causing significant damage.

'I want faces on the walls. I want them to know that one pace forward means an arrow in the eye. Stand. Stand with me.'

His legionaries steadied themselves under the shuddering impacts. On the platforms, his crews wound the windlasses, dragging the onager arms backwards. He was still only firing the catapults his enemy could see. Those on the ground behind were out of range and he wanted something in reserve to break up the charge when it came.

The Tsardon were massed behind their catapults, waiting for the first breach. And for an hour, the fortifications had withstood everything the enemy had thrown at them. But now the sheer density and weight of impacts was beginning to tell. While the southern end of the defensive line was relatively untroubled, the northern point was under increasingly fierce bombardment. More weapons had been
brought to bear on perceived weak points and Gesteris had his reserve primed and ready for the inevitable.

From his left and right, his remaining catapults and heavy scorpions fired. He'd lost a third of them but he could still trace the paths of twenty. Stones ploughed the ground in front of the enemy or dug furrows between the standing artillery. Bolts bounced from the ground. Just one stone found its mark. It struck an onager square on, dashing it to fragments and scattering its crew. Men cheered.

'Get your angles right,' he roared. 'Crank harder. All you're doing is giving them rounds to fire back at us. Work Conquord, work!'

He looked back to the enemy. Across the churned mud and burned ground his citizens had cleared, the Tsardon were shifting. Every second catapult was being pushed forwards. Meanwhile, those standing were cranking back to fire again. Gesteris snapped his fingers and an aide passed him his magnifier. He put it to his eye. Behind the catapults, infantry were checking weapons. On the ground at their feet, ladders, grapples and ropes. The standing catapults were being angled for a higher trajectory, those on the move were being turned in to focus their target area.

'Seems they're in a hurry,' he said. 'Get a message out along the line. They're going for the weak spots. Others will fire at the ramparts. The infantry will be on us the moment there is a breach. I want every archer on standby. Flag the reserve artillery to be ready.'

'Yes, General.'

He looked around at those standing near him. 'They are going to attack the gate fort hard. That is where I will be standing. Don't you flinch. Don't let those left and right of you flinch. Stand. We are the Conquord.'

Gesteris made the flat roof of the fort just as the enemy fired their first rounds. The air whistled and the silence spread along his ranks of citizens. Dozens of incoming rocks rolling through the sky. The roof of the fort was without turrets but had a high rampart for archers. Eight onagers were primed to fire on the approaching artillery. Gesteris could see south, along the impressively straight line of his defences until they dipped away out of sight.

Like every member of the Neratharn legions, he prayed to be spared. On a low trajectory, the first stones drove into the gates over the highway. The multiple impacts shuddered the stone under his feet. He heard the reinforced timbers rattle in their hinges and chains. The crack of wood echoed loud.

Moments later, the higher arc stones fell. He heard the whine of dozens passing directly over the walls. A stone of over a talent struck the rampart where he had so recently been standing. The rough fixings shattered and wood disintegrated. The missile swept through man and catapult, dragging broken bones and machinery after it to fall on the open ground behind the walls. The sound of the impact, like an explosion, cracked over them. Men and women were screaming. There was a five-foot break in the rampart pathway.

Other stones had fallen into the midst of the catapults gathered below. Two more were smashed and his stretcher and surgeon teams shouted orders and tried to calm citizens whose limbs were torn away and whose lives flowed into the frozen mud. Heartbeats later a net of smaller stones split against the side of the fort. Razor-sharp shards burst outwards.

Yelling a warning, Gesteris dropped to the ground. He heard some of them fizzing above his head and the dull contacts of stone on stone and the thud into wood. He pushed himself to his feet, turning to the onager crews. Right in front of him, a man stood. He was staring down at his chest, his hands smeared in blood. A knife of rock jutted from his breastplate. He mouthed words to Gesteris and fell backwards.

'Stretchers to the roof.'

The air was full of emerging alarm. He rounded on those still standing. 'Return fire! Full spread. Get that pathway boarded up. I need engineers ready on the gates.'

Again, the Coriquord onagers and scorpions cast their missiles out towards the enemy. He heard the satisfying crump of stone crushing wood. His crews worked feverishly to crank the windlasses. The arms and bows bent back again. The Tsardon fired first. Gesteris watched them come in. Rounds thumped against the blank strong wall above the gate. More thundered into the wood. The gates bowed in. He heard wood fracturing as one stone battered straight through. Missiles plunged into the walls south. The noise was painful, the vibrations through his feet all but constant.

'Stand!' His order was flagged again and again. 'Stand!'

He ran to the front of the fort. Onager rounds whipped away either side of him but he paid them no heed. He leaned over as far as he dared. Rubble covered the ground on the road and was scattered either side. He could see the gates leaning crooked on their great hinges. Timbers were broken and split. Iron bindings hung out, bent and twisted. He could hear the gate captain screaming for more wood.

A third concentrated volley of Tsardon rounds flew in. Gesteris stepped away from the edge. Behind him, crews dragged their catapult arms back. He watched the cluster of missiles approach, hypnotic and lethal.

'Brace!'

Every stone struck the doors. The blows knocked Gesteris from his feet and juddered onagers out of aim. He heard stones bouncing away down the highway behind the gate and the sound of iron work striking paving. From the Tsardon lines came a mighty roar.

He dragged himself to his feet. In that same moment, more Tsardon missiles cruised into the defenders three hundred yards from him. Legionaries were thrown in to the air. He saw a section of the wall bow inwards, sag and collapse in a cloud of dust and debris. In front of the gates, a similar cloud was clearing. Through it, he saw the Tsardon running.

On the entire length of their line, they moved, surging into the open space and around their catapults even as they were being primed for another volley. The wave of sound rolled across the walls and a thundering, getting louder by the moment, could be felt through their feet.

'Ready the reserve. Archers to the walls. Let's have you, Conquord. Discipline. Order. Victory.'

Gesteris moved back to the open rampart to the right of the fort. Behind him, stones were loaded into baskets and set afire. Archers thronged the defences. His forward artillery fired again. He turned to face the enemy and prayed for the strength to last out the day.

Three thousand cloaks were at Harin's back, riding south along the shores of Lake lyre. The expected bombardment had come and he had scouts on a rise ahead, looking down over the battlefield. He knew Gesteris would send him messengers but he could not afford to wait for them. If a decisive blow was struck by the enemy, he would have to be ready.

They had already encountered and slaughtered two detachments of

Tsardon steppe cavalry but survivors would still relay his position. More enemy riders were approaching from the east. For Harin, it was all in the timing. He needed to get in and out of the Tsardon infantry before he was caught.

Every one of the levium heard the pulsating cry of the Tsardon that preceded an all-out attack. Up on the rise, he saw three levium approaching at a gallop, spears raised to display flying pennants. He called the halt and turned his horse around.

'Levium. We ride for the Conquord and for the Exchequer. We ride to break the Tsardon advance. Fight hard, fight quickly. Fight for the cloak you bear and the citizens that flank you. Levium! To battle.'

They would advance as trained. Not a word from their lips. No cries to raise the blood, no warning for the mass of the enemy. They trotted on up the rise and towards the clouds of war that hung across the fields ahead. They were arranged in detachments of five hundred. They knew their orders, their signals and muster points.

The tumult grew stride by stride. Away to their right the Tsardon were charging. Harin brought the levium up the last few yards of the slope and began to travel down, trying not to let the shock of what he saw affect him. This was his first mass battlefield, and surely the first time any of the levium had seen such a number of enemies ranged against the Conquord.

On the crest of the rise, they were a quarter mile from the first infantry. A few riders were with them but insignificant compared to the number of levium. But away east, the steppe was coming. Harin upped the pace and angled them towards the gate fort. Stones clattered into the shaking defences. He could see the gates were hanging crooked but still stood. As far south as he could see there were Tsardon approaching the border. Tens of thousands acting with a single purpose.

The Conquord artillery fired. Stones flamed into the sky from behind the walls, crashing down on helpless infantry, smearing scorching paths. There was the briefest faltering. In front of him, the enemy was becoming aware of the new threat. Catapults were turning in their direction. Sword and pikemen were being drawn off the rear of the advance to face them. Harin raised his spear high. Ahead, less than a hundred yards of open ground.

'Levium! Charge.'

He swept his spear down to his side and kicked his heels into his horse's flanks. The animal sprang forwards. He gave the mare rein, let her run free. The enemy came up so quickly. He hefted his spear and threw it, seeing the shaft bury itself in a Tsardon chest. He dragged his sword from his scabbard, nudged his horse a little left and brought the levium beating into their foe.

Now the Exchequer's citizens gave voice to their anger. The levium hit the Tsardon infantry, half turned and unprepared, like a wall. He blazed deep into their ranks, dozens more cloaks around him, hacking down and sweeping up with his blade. He felt it cutting into flesh, rebounding from helmet and breastplate and clashing with steel.

The Tsardon scattered in front of them but even as they cleared, he could see the defence forming. Along a line a hundred yards long, pikes and spears were levelled to protect the onagers that were his target.

Next to Harin, a rider took an arrow through the throat and plunged left from his horse. The air clouded with shafts, crossing in the air and falling on infantry and rider alike. Harin blocked a sword thrust and kicked out, knocking the man from his feet. His horse half-reared, striking a Tsardon with her hoofs, splitting his skull.

The first artillery fired. Stones and bolts flashed over his head. He glanced back to see man and horse obliterated, ploughed into the ground over which they had run. Others reared. Riders were thrown to be trampled under the hoofs of their friends. Some slowed, their mounts unwilling to move on towards the threat.

They were through the first ranks. The toll on the levium was high but they galloped on. He pushed hard towards the spear line. A levium volley whipped into the enemy, taking down three in front of him. The spears held firm. He closed. Thirty yards, twenty. They weren't going to break. Like a Conquord pike block, they knelt in front and stood behind with metal tips bristling forwards. At ten yards he dragged his horse left before she took the decision to slow herself and throw him on to the enemy weapons. He rode down the front of them, looking for the end of the line and a way through to the catapults.