Cry of the Newborn (53 page)

Shakarov and Davarov both had their heads in their hands.

'Goran, you indicated that you would fight for me and the Conquord,' said Roberto. 'And that is not going to be in your home country. Not yet, though I promise you we will have a part in Atreska's liberation, should she fall. This is hard for you, I know, but that is my decision. We'll damage what we can of the Tsardon effort on our way south but we will not risk getting trapped between the enemy advance and its reinforcements. Neither will I risk marching this army blindly into a country that is surely descended into open war.

'Do I have your support?'

Davarov and Shakarov looked at each other.

'Unconditionally, as always,' said Davarov.

'Good,' said Roberto. 'We march tomorrow, three hours before dawn. Brief your citizens. Make them understand. This is a change. We are no longer marching to victory. We are marching to save our Conquord. Nothing will feel the same. And one other thing. Shakarov, Dahnishev. I do not tolerate dissent in my command team. One more transgression and, friends or not, you will be removed from your positions.

'Dismissed. Neristus, stay behind, would you? I need to talk to you about transport for heavier artillery pieces. No one is doing to me what the Tsardon did to Gesteris.'

The breeze was upstream and the Gatherer vessels had sails furled against masts on the approach to the fortifications at Byscar. Below, the stroke beat out a punishing pace; the oarsmen would earn their money this day. The
Hark's Arrow
and
Hark's Spear
were in line astern, moving at upwards of seven knots against the sluggish tide.

Ahead, the Teel delta and the Byscar sea defences lay less than three miles distant around a spur of land. Jhered had not been alone in seeing the birds flying high overhead, way beyond arrow range. He could guess the content of the messages they carried and the Gatherers had to be ready for anything from blockade to fast pursuit, to stone and bolt fire.

The closer they approached, the more the risk of a blockade diminished. Indeed Jhered, standing in the prow with his shield leant against the rail, expected to have seen one already at the head of the Teel. It was a good sign. The Atreskan navy, much of which was stationed in Byscar, was either at sea or did not have the crews on stand-by to respond. Even so, the Gatherers lined the decks, bows ready. In the half-deck below, the small-bore bolt-firers were winched and loaded.

Jhered scanned the land to either side of the Teel, which widened dramatically on the approach to the delta. Flood plains ran away north and south, with the land rising to the spectacular cliffs on which Byscar's castle sat, dominating the skyline ahead. The port nestled in an inlet at the bottom of a steep incline and Byscar's businesses and homes were built all the way up the cliff side, accessed by snaking roads.

In hollowed-out points on the cliffs facing into the river, across the delta and out to sea, stood the port's defences. Reached by tunnels dug through the rock, they were heavy-bore artillery, capable of delivering two-talent stones that would shatter keels and sink vessels in a single strike. The natural defence of the rock made them almost impossible to hit from sea level. Jhered feared them because shallow water and a turn in the river drove every ship into their range.

At less than a mile distant, the Gatherer ships began their forced swing to port. Jhered watched men appear on the ramparts and stand by the Atreskan republican standard which flew from the castle towers. Signalmen. Dual flags in hand, they sent out their messages. Bells sounded, their chimes bouncing off the rock faces and echoing dully across the river. Without a choice, the Gatherer ships came on.

Jhered trotted back down the length of the ship, feeling its smooth movement across the calm water.

'Keep low until you fire,' he said as he passed his archers. 'Look to the cliffs. Shout the attacks. Brace, levium. Stand firm.'

He reached the stern where the skipper stood next to the tiller man. On the port rail, a young lad was working a plumb line, calling out the depths.

'Hug the port shore as close as you can, Captain. Let's not give them more angle than we have to.'

'I'm already there, Exchequer,' said the Captain. 'Any closer and we'll be brushing the sand. And worse.'

'Can you get anything more out of them down below?'

The captain bared his teeth in what passed for a smile on his thin face, if I do, we'll have little left for running when we pass the harbour. Exchequer, with respect, I know what must be done.'

'Just get us past here in one piece.'

The Captain's reply was lost in a ripple of sound from the cliffs above. 'Ward!'

Jhered saw the stones arc out. Huge dark shapes crossing the cloudless sky, moving quickly. Falling, falling. Great plumes of water and spray spouted from the river. Jhered couldn't count them all. Over a dozen certainly. Mostly ahead in an arc thirty yards off the starboard bow. Others fell to port. Jhered was sprayed with water and the wash rocked the ship.

Immediately, the captain ordered an increase in pace and a slight change of course, heading for the impact areas of the first starboard stones. Jhered frowned.

'Sighters. They'll be bringing their angles back a little,' he said in response. 'They won't see our movement. Trust me.'

Jhered nodded. He moved ahead along the ship to stand by the mast. On a promontory of bedrock above a rocky shore at the apex of the turn, he saw soldiers running. Behind them, a horse and cart on top of which stood a scorpion bolt-firer.

'Ahead left!' he indicated the new threat. 'Targets approaching.'

It would be at the extreme edge of their range. The ship ploughed on, her sister in her wake and fifty yards behind. Jhered watched the scorpion being prepared. He saw the angle, saw the bolt being loaded. They fired. He couldn't track the trajectory, it came too fast. The bolt struck, thudding into the gunwale in the ship's front quarter. Wood splintered and the head rammed through. The levium behind it was struck in the midriff and pinioned to the deck, jerking spasmodically. Jhered closed his eyes.

'Fire!'

The levium answered him. A volley of arrows soared high. He lost them as they crossed the cliff line. By the scorpion, he saw two men fall. His own lightweight bolt-firers sounded too, but their shafts fell short, splashing into the shore. 'At will,' he called.

A second ripple from above. Onager stones breached the sky. He tracked them, hearing another volley of arrows flick away. And another. The stones fell. His heart missed a beat. They loomed large. Too large. The captain had misjudged. He took an unconscious pace backwards and saw some of his levium do the same. But in the last moments, the balls dropped short, splashing down no more than ten yards from the tips of the oars. Water washed across the deck. He turned his back to the spray, seeing other stones fall the other side and behind. At the stern, the skipper was smiling.

The
Mark's Arrow
drove hard into its port turn, rounding the promontory and giving the archers clear sight of the scorpion crew. They loosed another bolt which flashed across the deck and fell harmlessly into the brackish waters of the delta. The answering arrows silenced its taunting crew. Straightening the tiller, the skipper aimed them beyond the harbour and out into the Tirronean Sea.

Jhered saw the masts of three vessels moving beyond the harbour wall, heading out to intercept. Their sails were full and the old Atreskan flag flew at their mastheads. Whatever Yuran had said in his messages, his navy had been only too happy to turn from the Conquord. He wondered if Atreska had ever been truly loyal.

Ahead and behind now, the artillery spoke. Stones rolling apparently lazily across the sun and falling around the helpless vessels. For the second time, the slight change in course and pace fooled the enemy and the stones missed. But the density of artillery surely meant that it was only a matter of time before their luck ran out.

The only way to stop them was to get close to the harbour and the enemy ships. The captain clearly thought the same. Jhered could see him studying the pennant atop the mast and gauging if the sail could be deployed. But the wind still held against them. Instead, the oars dipped a little more quickly and the rhythmic songs of the crew sounded a little louder.

'A bonus to the crew if they keep this up for an hour!' called Jhered.

'I'll set the glass,' answered the skipper; and Jhered had no doubt that he would.

Edging around the harbour wall came the enemy ships. Triremes all, smaller and quicker than the Gatherer vessels, and set with ramming spikes on the bow. The skipper sailed directly at them. Byscar's defences fired again. Jhered turned his head to watch the hypnotic approach. The stones made a beguiling sight on the upswing of their arcs. They were on a wide spread and falling now. He could hear the whistle of their passage. It was the sound of the wind devils, calling men to their dooms.

Impact. Water sprayed across the deck again. One stone landed perilously close to the portside oars. Two were clipped and shattered. Below decks men were thrown from their seats. Jhered heard them scream. The ship faltered, its rhythm disrupted. It rocked from the wash.

From behind a crack ricocheted across the water. Jhered spun round, hand on the mast to steady himself. The
Hark's Spear
had been hit. A stone had struck her mast halfway up, breaking it in two. He watched the great beam topple to port, showering down wood shards. The whole ship rocked violently. Men were pitched over the side or sent sprawling across the deck, some helpless under the falling mast, rigging and furled sail.

The mast thudded down, destroying the rail and splitting timbers. Crushing levium. He could hear the cheering echo from Byscar's cliffs mixed with the shouts, orders and agony of his people. He looked to the skipper who shook his head and instead of going to their aid, asked for more speed from his crew.

Tearing his eyes from the
Spear
Jhered focused ahead.

'Archers,' he snapped. 'Targets ahead. Let's do some damage.'

The enemy were under sail and oar. Spaced apart from each other by seventy yards or so, they came on in a single line. The
Arrow
steered at them, unflinching, giving them no clue. They closed quickly. Jhered could hear the drums of the Atreskans beating out time. He saw archers gathered on deck.

At less than a hundred yards, his skipper changed course. The tiller swept to port and drove the rudder starboard, angling the ship into the gap between two of the enemy. Simultaneously, the starboard oarsmen lifted, accelerating the turn. Even so it was a slow adjustment of a large ship. Jhered saw the enemy respond. Both triremes ahead began to turn in. The distance between them decreased.

'Down and drive!' roared the skipper.

The starboard oars dropped and stroked. The tiller straightened. Pace increased.

'Archers ready!' called Menas. 'Let's take first volley.'

Jhered was suddenly horribly aware of his vulnerability. His shield was still resting against the bow rail. He ran down the ship against all natural instincts, seeing the enemy close the gap ahead. Arrows flew. His levium loosed dense volleys both sides and ducked down as they were answered. Jhered dived flat to the deck. Arrows whipped and skipped above him, striking wood and metal. He didn't hear a single cry. Good.

Rising, his heart missed a beat for the second time. There was barely enough space for the ships to pass now. They were within thirty yards. The ramming spikes angled in more and more with every stroke but now at least he could see the captain's gamble. He grabbed his shield and crouched at the bow, peering over the rail, directing his nearest archers and wishing he had learned the art himself to any reasonable level of skill. Too busy with the sword the whole of his youth.

The air was thick with arrows and the shouts of his levium. Metal tips rattled like hail on timbers. He could almost smell the oil and paint on the Atreskan vessels but even as his levium were wounded and died on the deck, he could still raise a smile.

'Ship oars!' the skipper's thundering voice rolled across the deck.

'Down! Down!' ordered Jhered.

Through the smallest of gaps they came. The crew dragged their oars in, leaving their momentum to carry them through. On the Atreskan vessels the order had been the same but they were neither as disciplined nor as swift. Jhered heard the splintering of wood and felt it beneath his feet. The enemy archers fell silent, struggling to keep their feet.

The
Arrow
moved past them, forging into open waters. Jhered looked back down the ship. The skipper was standing tall, his tiller man crouched behind him, hand steady. They had no more than three yards either side at the stern. He saw the skipper turn to his opposite number and make an obscene gesture. He said something too but whatever it was got lost in the panicked shouts of the enemy.