Cry of the Newborn (6 page)

None of that would necessarily identify him but embroidered on the back of his cloak, on the sash he wore across his torso, and embossed on the round shields of his people was the sign of the Gatherers; arms encircling the crest of the Estorean Conquord and the family Del Aglios. The crest on its own was enough to engender mistrust in Atreska. For it to be encircled turned that mistrust to hostility in places like this.

Clear-up work was ceasing as the sight and sound of the column deflected attention from grim tasks. People started to gather. Yuran led them into the town's forum, dismounting and ordering his men do the same. Jhered and his charges followed suit. The Gatherers were cautious, grouping around their commander to protect him should that prove necessary. Jhered watched the citizens gather. There was no aggressive intent behind the move. They wanted to hear news. They wanted help and Marshal Defender Yuran was there to offer it. But there were no smiles of greeting and no gratitude on any of the grimy, exhausted faces. All they displayed with any clarity were loss, confusion and shock.

A middle-aged woman came forward. She rubbed ash-stained hands on a dress that had once been a deep green but which was now streaked and stained black. Her grey hair was tied back with a red and white headscarf. The lines on her face were mired with soot and her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. She took Yuran's outstretched hand and linked fingers in the traditional Atreskan greeting.

'Marshal Defender Yuran, your presence is welcome.' She spared a disgusted glance for Jhered.

'Yet two days late. I salute your dead, Praetor Gorsal and will pray with your Reader at the House of Masks later. For now, tell me what you need of me.'

Gorsal's shoulders slumped. 'Where do I begin? We have had our houses, crops and businesses burned. We have had our people taken and our livestock driven off. We had no capacity to defend ourselves against the Tsardon. We were overwhelmed. Grown men and women were forced to turn and run from their homes. Our bravest have been slaughtered. Marshal, some of them have been burned to ashes and their cycles are finished. No more will they walk God's earth. There is such anger here. These were not murderers. They were innocents under the supposed protection of the Conquord.'

A murmur ran around the crowd. Jhered estimated over a hundred people had gathered. He made a small hand gesture, encouraging his people to relax. The mood was bitter and angry. It was a display Yuran seemed happy to encourage.

'I understand your frustrations, Lena,' said Yuran. 'I too was assured our borders were secure. All the forces I can spare are in our border forts. I am doing absolutely everything in my power to ensure the safety of all Atreskan people. But you understand the pressures I am under financially. Most of our standing legions are gone. You know how many Atreskans are even now on campaign deep inside Tsard. We debated it at council just ten days ago.'

'So what am I supposed to tell my people? That we must rise every day and hope the raiders don't return because if they do we are helpless to stop them? That the Conquord will not protect us? That our own rulers in Haroq City sit by, unable to provide us with the means to defend ourselves?'

The praetor's voice was rising and cracking, her desperation showing through. Behind her, the crowd shifted, muttering unhappily. Jhered caught the odd shouted insult. He cleared his throat. Yuran turned briefly.

'Are you certain you are achieving what you wish?' asked Jhered quietly. He clasped his hands across his chest.

‘I
am hearing my people,' said Yuran. 'Have respect.'

Jhered moved closer to Yuran pitching his voice to ensure the crowd could not hear him
‘I
mean no disrespect but to stir up anger is counterproductive. Better to inspect the damage with the praetor. Assess what must be done and then hear the town governors in the basilica. In accordance with protocol. Night will soon fall and I will not answer questions in front of a mob.'

'It is your ruinous taxation that has left us open to this attack,' hissed Gorsal. 'You are directly responsible for the deaths here.'

Jhered raised his chin, aware he loomed over both Yuran and the praetor. He raised one black-gloved finger and ticked it once at Gorsal.

'Such allegations will require substantiation. Fortunately, I have here experts to examine your books and point out errors and inefficiencies in your local economy. You may have had more opportunity for profit than you thought. But first things first, I am on a tour of your town and would see the damage first
-
hand and the effects it will have on the level of taxation we expect from you next half year.

'Should you wish to accuse me and the wider Conquord of any impropriety, do so within the confines of the basilica. We are at war. All must provide for its success. Now, I suggest we set our respective workforces to tasks more constructive than listening to our tiresome voices.'

He knew they would not defy him. You could only push the Gatherers so far, particularly their leader. Somewhere within their anger, they were impressed by his presence. Few enough people got to see Paul Jhered in the flesh, much less speak to him one to one. He had been the leader of the Gatherers for seventeen years now and at forty-seven was still a young man in the job. He had heard all the rumours about him and the one he played to most, his towering height, was also the one most given to outrageous exaggeration. One thing he wasn't was taller than a house. Sometimes, he wished he were.

He turned to his people, four men and two women. Five at the junior rank of addos, one recently promoted to appros. All relatively new to journeying to outlying settlements and suitably nervous.

'I will walk the town alone,' he said. 'All of you, begin examining the accounts and books. Undoubtedly you will hear tales of woe and hardship. Keep yourselves to the facts. Maintain vigilance and look for embellishment in the ledgers. Note down anything you suspect. What I want from you is an honest assessment of the level of taxation levied here and whether it really left them without the means to purchase defence.

'I will bring back my thoughts on the cost of rebuilding Gull's Ford, replanting and restocking. We can at least leave them with some supportive news about their levy for this half year, can we not?

'Any questions?' Heads shook. 'Good. Appros Harin, you know where my seal and orders are. Make sure you present them before asking for information. Do not bear arms. Go.'

'Sir.'

He watched them for a moment. Decent students, all of them. Harin was a man with the potential for high office should he last the exhausting pace of the Gatherer's life. Swinging away, Jhered took in the town from the viewpoint of the forum. He would need to tour the two central streets, both of which led into the forum. A visit to a villa on the valley side and the House of Masks would also be necessary. The work of two hours, no more. Then a long night listening to the wailings of people with no idea how the Conquord operated.

Jhered set off across the forum, gesturing people from his path and assuming Yuran and Gorsal would fall into step with him. Never a bad thing to have the local leaders trot to catch up. The good people of Gull's Ford might respect them but it was right they understood who was the real voice of authority. Atreska was a proud and powerful nation but it was foremost a servant of the Estorean Conquord.

He walked down the centre of a once neat cobbled street. Pavements and gutter were choked with debris, drains were clogged and the stains where blood had dried were cloaked by flies. Left and right, dark holes where windows had been were framed by smoke-blackened walls. Roofing tiles had cracked and tumbled in the heat of the fires that had ravaged building upon building along the terrace of shops and businesses.

The smells were as acrid and bitter as the mood of the citizenry. Pacing deliberately along the street, his metal-shod boots ringing on the cobbles, Jhered could call to mind the terror that had blown through Gull's Ford. These people were not soldiers. A most unfortunate event. By no means the first that had afflicted Atreska during the Tsardon campaign and certainly not the last.

'We are almost a hundred miles from the Tsardon border,' said Gorsal, reading his thoughts. 'We are only a day from Haroq. Yet they attacked us in broad daylight. The Tsardon were our friends. Your war has made them unnecessary enemies. I had people killed by those with whom they used to trade and drink. You know why they do it, don't you? And you know why they have said they will return.'

'Because they are desperate. It is a common enough tactic among those losing a war. Atreska employed it too. You are relatively new members of the Conquord. The scars of the wars that led to your annexation by Estorea are fresh in the minds of many. And they feel that they can undermine your faith in the Conquord by such actions.'

'With some success,' said Gorsal shortly, glancing up at Jhered and meeting his firm gaze. 'You felt the mood. What are we supposed to think? What are we supposed to do? Your hawks will find that the tax levied on us left us with no proper funds to maintain our militia. We relied on volunteers and rusting weapons. The results are all around you.'

Jhered was silent for a short time.
‘I
expect you to agree that you have never been more prosperous. That the Conquord has given you economic stability and a better potential to improve yourselves should that be your desire. And I expect you to believe that the Conquord will bring you peace and security.'

'When? I see no prosperity. And what good is it anyway to those burned to ashes?' Gorsal gestured at the ruins of the street. 'How many more times will we be chased from our homes, helpless to defend ourselves?'

Jhered stopped walking and faced her.

'I was brought up in a border state. I lived in a village that suffered raids. And like you, nobody asked me or my people whether we wanted to be a member of the Conquord. We were defeated in war, just as you and all the provinces of Atreska have been. Like me, you have to live with the reality and know that your futures are assured under the Conquord in a way they would never be with your haphazard trade and treaties with Tsard.

'The Conquord will provide. Until then, I regret your losses and those you may still suffer. Staffing border forts is not the only way to ensure safety. Mind that your ruler is genuinely giving you all the protection he can. That is his responsibility.'

Yuran choked, or sounded like it. Jhered gazed down at him, unwavering.

'You have something to say, Marshal?'

'Exchequer Jhered, I find your implication offensive.' Yuran's face was red in sunlight that was beginning to fade towards evening. 'My people know I do everything I can. I grieve for every one of them that dies on behalf of the Conquord while those that would defend them are pressed into campaign service in Tsard. Your attempts to sow suspicion are beneath contempt.'

Jhered smiled, a bleak expression. 'I merely want to ensure everyone receives that to which they are entitled. The Exchequer is an easy target for blame. I have simply asked that all angles be considered.'

They walked on, Jhered's experienced eye assessing damage and cost, his mind calculating, storing information. Perhaps this visit wasn't such a waste after all. This town had been hit hard, very hard for one so far from the border. It would suffer in the short term.

Yuran stalked just behind him, the waves of outrage washing from him. Praetor Gorsal walked to his left, a distance between them. She was tight-lipped, clearly not trusting herself to speak further.

A few yards ahead of them, a man shambled out into the street from a broken doorway. He was unshaven, filthy. His hair was lank and his face held a despair that touched Jhered's heart. He saw them, took them all in. His eyes settled on Jhered. His expression changed, darkened. He grabbed a piece of broken pottery and rushed at the Gatherer.

Gorsal froze, a cry stifled on her lips. Jhered swayed inside the intended blow and blocked hard with his left arm. The pottery shard flew away to shatter against the far wall. Jhered grabbed the man by his upper arms, holding him away. Phlegm sprayed into Jhered's face with every wailing word.

'She's gone because of you, you bastard. They're both gone. We only wanted to live in peace and because of you they've taken everything. All I loved is gone.' He relaxed just a little, the cords in his neck fading. 'Back. I just want them back. Where are they? They've taken my wife and son. You have to help me. You have to.'

The man sagged. Jhered hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him close. He was sobbing uncontrollably now, his body heavy with his pain. Jhered felt each shudder and clutched him tighter.

'Tsard will fall,' he said, his breath ruffling the man's hair. 'The Conquord will bring it to order and everything that has been taken will be returned. God will protect your loved ones. Believe in what I say. Trust the Advocate. Trust the Conquord.

'What is your name?'

'Jesson.' His voice was muffled in Jhered's chest. 'Han Jesson.'