the head and biting into his skull. He withdrew behind his shield and punched it out again, flattening an enemy. He stamped on the man's chest on the way over his body, feeling his ribs give way.
Arrows flew in from both sides from Tsardon crouched in the lee of the wall. He felt searing pain low in his leg and two more of his line fell.
'Shields to flanks. Hold. We're nearly there.'
Nunan put his foot down and his leg buckled under the arrow wound. Immediately, a hand grabbed his sword arm and hauled him up. Other hands dragged him forward through the breach. He batted them away and turned.
'Entrance,' he roared. 'Entrance.'
The shout was relayed down the column. He could see his citizens stretching out. He made to move back out but was stopped by his own hastati. The Revenge began to pour through the breach and into relative safety. Cavalry ran up the flanks one last time, forcing enemy infantry back. Arrows and spears poured down from the broken ramparts.
In and in they came, and on and on fought the Tsardon. He watched the left flank collapse inwards and a rush of Tsardon spill into the midst of the column. The fighting became instantly desperate. No one could get back out for fear of blocking the entrance for those racing to safety. And in the end it was a headlong charge by his legionaries. At the very rear, one centurion rallied enough to provide a brief defence.
'Come on,' he urged. 'Don't fall now.'
The casualties were mounting. Blood smeared the ground at the breach. Citizens in sight of sanctuary stared at their goal with dead eyes. Tsardon fell, pierced by arrow after arrow. Legionaries were cut down as they ran, or lost their lives trying to defend their friends. Still they boiled through the breach until the last was dead or inside and the Tsardon threatened to forge in after them.
Horns sounded. It was a retreat.
Nunan sagged to the ground, ignoring the ache in his calf. They might have killed hundreds but it had cost him hundreds too. The Revenge roared their song of victory nonetheless while the jeers of the defence chased the Tsardon back to their camps. He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Kell.
'Was it worth it, do you think?' he asked.
She helped him up and away from the breach. 'Come on. They've only retreated so they can start another bombardment. You don't want to be here and you need that leg seen to.'
She had a long deep cut down the side of her face and on to her neck.
'You don't look so great yourself.'
'Well, thank you, Pavel. That's the last time you share my tent.'
Kell directed them towards one of the surgeon's tents. It was packed with the wounded and dying. Blood covered the floor, and everywhere bodies lay with left hand to chest and eyes closed. Honoured before commendment by the Order.
'What a mess,' said Nunan.
In front of them, a broad-backed man straightened from leaning over a surgeon's table on hearing his voice. Nunan's heart missed a beat. It had to be. The man turned and a smile split his features, creasing the patch that covered his eye and moving the long ugly scar on his face. He had brand new stitches in a wound on his hand.
'General,' breathed Kell. Nunan could only nod.
'Come here,' said Gesteris.
All pretence at protocol disappeared and the three of them came together in a gasping hug. Around them, people were laughing and cheering.
'We thought you dead,' said Nunan. 'Only rumour and our hearts kept you alive.'
'Do I look like a rumour?' growled Gesteris. He let them go. 'It appears we have won the day. Thank you. I like the name of your new legion, too.' He shook his head.
‘I
never thought to see you two again. The Omniscient smiles on us today but it's only a pause. The barrage will begin again soon and we must work on how to keep them beyond us. Roberto is coming and we must try and hold.'
'How far is he away?' asked Nunan, his mood lightened further by the news. 'Last we saw him, he was headed south to Gestern.'
'And he won there but so much more is happening. Estorr is under threat from sea and land now. Out there, the Tsardon still have an overwhelming advantage. Still, get a little rest and repair, you two. We'll talk later. Tomorrow will be much harder than today.'
'You're feeling helpless so you come to talk to your prisoner, the one person more helpless than you, is that it?'
Herine was surprised at the bitterness. Megan's chambers were luxuriously appointed. She had private baths, three servants and a personal cook assigned to her. She had books, magnificent views and even a consort if she would only look at him.
'You are not a prisoner,' she said, moving into the main chamber and settling herself on a recliner.
The windows were open on the cold late evening and through them, she could see Estorr's northern beacon burning fiercely into the light fall of snow. Inside, the room was warm. Fires burned in three grates around which decorative columns stood, bedecked with winter blooms. The yellows of the room were calming. Herine was almost jealous. A servant poured her some wine and withdrew at her gesture.
'You understand, though, that you are the emissary of a traitor and to give you full run of the city would be politically difficult.'
‘I
pose no risk,' said Megan. 'Compare me to a hundred Tsardon sails and ten thousand Tsardon cavalry.'
She turned from a fireplace and walked over to the opposite recliner. She perched on its edge. She wore a toga not dissimilar to Herine's, cream wool and slashed Conquord green. Her hair was sculpted in a bun and held by a golden circlet. She looked stunning and Herine questioned why she always chose male escorts for herself. Perhaps, when she was beyond child-bearing age, she should reconsider.
‘I
know,' said Herine. 'But I must occasionally assuage the fears of my council, mustn't I? Besides, all of my prisoners would die to be held in such conditions as you.'
'So why have you come here if not to gloat on my poor choices?'
Herine shook her head. 'You have a lot to learn, Megan. You had no knowledge of Yuran's betrayal and are hence blameless. More, you are a capable stateswoman, though you bury it in impetuous outbursts. I have come to leave you with a thought. When we are victorious and the Tsardon are turned away, we will bend our efforts to reclaiming Atreska. Your proud country will need a strong and effective ruler. You should consider your own qualities.'
She saw Megan tense and the colour drain from behind the blusher she wore. 'I couldn't . . .'
'Why not? Who was Yuran before his promotion but a senior soldier and adjutant to the king?'
'But I love him. I cannot succeed him.'
'It is difficult, I know. And I loved my father too. But continuity is critical and surely you would provide that.'
‘I
was just an aide.'
'You are currently an ambassador,' said Herine. 'What will become of him, when he is brought before the Conquord?'
Herine smiled sadly. The girl knew the answer. Traitors never prospered.
'It will be the earliest test of your strength. I want you on my side, Megan but for that you must prove yourself. They say the earliest decisions a ruler makes are the most difficult and anxious. I would agree, and for you it will be no different. When he is brought to trial, his successor will sign his execution order as is demanded by protocol and law.'
Herine rose. 'Perhaps you are wondering why I come to you with this when the Conquord is so threatened. It is because I understand only victory and when that victory inevitably comes, I must be ready to advance. I will know your reply come the morning. Sweet dreams, Megan.'
Prosentor Rensaark, now commander of the eastern Atreskan forces, frowned up at the throne on which Yuran sat. Gorian was at his right hand.
‘I
do not understand,' he said. 'The battle is far from won. We accepted we could not stop Del Aglios and so we agreed to send legions to reinforce the Neratharn border. You cannot change your mind at this stage. We are so close.'
'Prosentor, your promotion is long overdue and my respect for your thoughts is not in question. But I must look to the future. I am, after all, still the ruler of Atreska. I cannot sanction the removal of the remainder of Haroq's standing legions. What if Del Aglios chooses to come here rather than go to Neratharn? It would be an intelligent tactic to take the seat of power. So I am recalling them. They didn't ever reach the lines so they will not be missed.'
Rensaark shook his head. 'This is a poor military decision. We have all studied the numbers and we all know where Del Aglios is leading his army.'
Yuran waved a hand. 'Call it what you will. It remains my
decision. Relax. Our victory is assured, as is your place in the history of the Kingdom of Tsard.'
'What has happened to you? You barely even sound like yourself any more. This boy has poisoned your mind. His appearance and your dimming wit are no coincidence.'
'Don't be ridiculous. Has he not supplied you with information? Has he not been useful to both of us?'
Rensaark pointed a finger at Gorian. i have my eye on you. Remember that.'
Gorian merely smiled and his eyes flooded with deep orange clearing to grey. 'Whatever makes you feel comfortable.'
Rensaark stalked out of the room. Yuran turned to Gorian, all pretence at bravado gone. He began shaking again.
‘I
t's all right,' said the boy. 'You've done the right thing. You do trust me, don't you?'
Yuran's voice clogged in his throat. It wasn't trust he felt, it was terror. Gorian moved the hand from the back of his neck and the cold began to ebb away.
'
Don't be frightened,' he said, ‘I
have no desire to kill you. We need each other. You'll see.'
Yuran looked into the future but all he could envision was darkness.
Chapter 75
848th
cycle
of
God,
18th
day
of
Dusasrise 15th
year
of
the
true
Ascendancy
Even with the extraordinary arrival of Nunan and Kell the afternoon before, Gesteris was still operating with over two thousand fewer in his defence than had started the battle. Casualties on the walls had been high and though only three breaches had been forced, the Tsardon assault all along the walls had shorn him of so many archers and swordsmen.
He had no doubt that the Tsardon had suffered even more greatly but this was a war of attrition he could not hope to win, not at the current ratio. He had walked up to the gate fort before dawn, after a long and largely sleepless night. There had been so much work to do.
Out in the field, the Tsardon were shifting their artillery. They knew a good number of pieces were effectively out of the fight for the day but others were being repositioned. It was maddening not to know exactly where. He had sent out some scouts but they had not returned. People he could not afford to lose.
His engineers and craftsmen had worked without a break. They'd patched up breaches and gates as best they could. Brave citizens had been lowered outside to cement stonework back together and replace smashed timbers. They had suffered attacks from cavalry throughout the night, leaving the atmosphere tense and dangerous. And though their efforts were magnificent, they all knew it would not delay the Tsardon for too long. At their roots, the walls were weak. Gesteris did not expect them to last.
And now the light was growing and, with Nunan and Kell patched up and standing with him, the enemy's plan was laid out before them.
'Yesterday was just to soften us up,' he said. 'And the legions are
already drained and scared. It makes you wonder if they were really trying before.'
'Oh, they were,' said Kell. 'But you've forced their hand. Take it as a compliment. They must know Roberto is coming or they wouldn't resort to this.'
'Something has certainly happened to alter their tactics,' said Nunan.
'You call this a compliment, do you?'
Gesteris gestured at the field as it was slowly revealed to them. His matching order had already been communicated and the din of activity was loud below them. They might be ready in time if they were lucky. The Tsardon song was echoing across the empty space once more. Long might it continue.
Every piece of artillery was drawn up in one of four places, all of them at the northern end of the defences. Gesteris estimated that thirty catapults were grouped in each area. The bolt-firers had gone, no doubt cannibalised for parts to repair damaged onagers. Wagons flanked each group, piled with stones.
And behind these four groups stood the bulk of the army. There were forces ranged further south, just enough to stop him clearing his walls. He hoped Harin was watching. But even he and the levium could surely do no more than deflect one of the attacks. Eight to ten thousand men at each stress point at best guess. He could muster half that at best unless he denuded every other piece of wall and dragged every injured citizen to stand. Even so, he had no reserve.
'What are they singing about?' asked Kell. 'It sounds so sad.'
'It's a war dirge. I had an Atreskan loyal translate some of it for me yesterday. It speaks of the dream of returning home and of death in battle. There's no glory in it.
Ever dawn does rise on me and you do seek my breath
I reach out with my steel in hand to seek
of
your caress
One step from me your warmth remains, my strength runs into sand
I cannot grasp, I cannot feel through the blood upon my hand Through my long fall your arms do seek to soften where I lie
Your tears they set upon your cheeks not knowing here I die.
'And then they take up swords and try to batter our skulls to fragments.' Gesteris raised his eyebrows and turned to the mustering below. The song mourned over him while he spoke.
'Listen to me. Hear me. Listen to them too. They know they are far from those they love and they expect to die. And in that knowledge they are secure in their destinies. It takes the fear from them, channels it to hate. They hate being out here on the battlefield and they hate us because of it.
'I want you to remember that, too. None of us should be out here. Every enemy you face has betrayed you. None of them deserve your mercy. They deserve your sword through their hearts. When this day is done, they can sing their dirge as they clear away their dead. But we are the Conquord. We will sing victory, we will sing honour and we will sing strength.
'Just one more day. Just one more time to make the sacrifice you swore you would. And we will be relieved.' He held up one finger. 'Just one day. Stand with me Conquord. Live with me. Do I have you?'
The roar and thundering of weapons on shields shook the fort under his feet. The Tsardon song ceased. Silence swept the battlefield, broken by the squeak and rattle of wheel and axle. Gesteris turned to Kell and Nunan.
'Here they come again.'
Jhered walked along the port rail to the bow where Mirron was standing alone, her fur cloak wrapped tight about her. It was a cold and windy day. Both sails were up and the oars were shipped, giving the crew a welcome rest from the punishing pace he'd demanded. The cloud above was broken and rushing across the sky.
With every day that passed, he worried more about what lay in wait at their destination. Not the Tsardon. Beyond them and beyond the harbour. Up on the hill. Even should they beat the Conquord's enemies, the Ascendants would be walking right into the heart of the Chancellor's power. Who knew what she had been whispering to the Advocate in his absence.
Arducius and Ossacer were both below decks while Kovan stood with the skipper at the stern. He was pretending to learn a little about seamanship but in reality he was staring at Mirron, trying to think of a way to get through to her. Jhered knew what she needed, but Menas was dead and Gorian's memory was crushing her.
'Not thinking of jumping, I hope,' he said, standing by her and putting an arm around her shoulders.
She almost laughed but the face she turned to him had tears running through the cold salt spray. 'Even if I did, I wouldn't drown.'
'Life must be truly awful when it's so difficult to kill yourself.'
This time she did laugh but the sobs came too and she buried her face in his cloak. He held her while she cried.
'We've always been together and now we barely even talk,' she said eventually, freeing her head from his chest but not breaking the embrace.
'It's part of growing up,' said Jhered, knowing his words were little comfort. 'You will eventually all lead separate lives.'
'Not if we hadn't left Westfallen,' she said.
'Well, at least we're on our way home now.'
'Hardly. We don't even know what we'll find do we? You said so yourself.'
'I know. But you have to have hope.' 'You said war would crush our hope.'
Jhered smiled. 'That little speech went in, did it? Well, it's true, but from the ashes, you build new hope. Just think. When you left Westfallen, you didn't ever think you would return. On the plains of Atreska, the armies either side of you both hated you. But look now. Roberto hopes you can save Estorr. You can hope you are going to see Westfallen again.'
Mirron nodded. 'It sounds so simple when you say it like that but I can't help thinking of what is coming and it scares me so much.'
Jhered dropped to his haunches and clutched Mirron's shoulders. She looked so vulnerable in her distress. All he wanted to do was hold her until the pain went away, promise her everything would be all right. But he'd never been a good liar.
'Look, I know I can't take away what has happened to you and I can't even help you with the loneliness you're feeling. But I can promise you that I won't let anyone hurt you again. You have my undying admiration, all of you on this ship, and I will protect you from now until the day I die. Have faith in me. Have faith in yourself.'
'It's so hard to carry on believing.'
'Tell me why you think that.'
'Ossacer is so troubled by what he has done and he is so worried about how angry he has made you. And I wonder if I can do what must be done, knowing what it did to Gorian.'
Jhered blew out his cheeks. 'You know what Erith would have told you about Gorian? That he was always this way. It wasn't the Work you did on the plains that turned him into something else. It was always inside him. He always believed himself stronger and above us all. I saw it when I first met you. He's different from you. There was nothing you could have done to make him act another way. Only Father Kessian had him under control and when he died, the shackles dropped away.'
Mirron nodded. 'I suppose so.'
'Think about it, Mirron. I need you. Arducius needs you for what is to come. God-embrace-us-all, the Conquord needs you. Let us help you find your faith.'
'But quickly, eh?' she said in mimicry of him. 'We might see the enemy tomorrow.'
'I expect we'll see them today. And as for Ossacer, I'm not angry with him. I respect what he has said and how he feels, just as I do with you all. He must follow his own path, as all strong men do. And women.'
'It's strange, isn't it? Gorian always thought him the weak one. But it was never like that. He just feels more deeply. I think he's the strongest of us all.'
'I think you might be right. Tell him I'm not hurt or angry. Tell him how proud I am of him. No, better still, I'll tell him myself.' Jhered stood. 'Promise me you won't jump in while I'm gone?'
Mirron smiled and wiped a gloved hand under her eyes. 'I promise.'
Jhered kissed her forehead and walked back to find Ossacer, unsure if he had done any good at all. He looked away to the horizon. All too soon, they would see the mass of sails converging on Estorr's harbour. That was when he would know.
'Oh-dear-God-protect-us,' breathed Gesteris. 'Clear!'
The archers at the front of the wall were already scattering. Thirty stones whistled towards them. After an hour of poor targeting, this time they'd got it right. Gesteris ran towards the gate fort, where the damage was already severe, but his catapults were still firing. The impact behind him threw him from his feet. He clutched to the sides of the wooden rampart to stop himself falling over the edge. The booming of collapsing stone hurt his ears. Beneath him, the rampart swayed out and began to fall, catching itself at a thirty-degree angle to the ground.
He let himself slide to the edge and drop to the ground, grunting as he hit. He turned and stared into the clearing dust cloud. Twenty yards of the wall were gone. Just gone. Onager platforms had been obliterated. Cemented timbers and slabs were shattered and cast over fifty yards into the ground behind.
The trailing enemy stones had fallen straight through the new gap and smashed into the reserve and catapults immediately behind. He saw infantry and archers lying broken in the rubble. Chaos was taking hold and the Tsardon army were coming. He could hear them chanting as they charged.
'Sarissas to the gap,' he yelled into the mess. 'Phalanx centurions, I need you now. Archers back to the walls. Stand with me.'
Behind him, panicked shouts filled the air. He spun around in time to see dozens of missiles crashing on to the roof of the fort. Bodies, splintered planks and pieces of carved stone were hurled into the sky in all directions. The entire back of the fort bulged under the pressure. More stones struck and it buckled out and collapsed. The noise was of an avalanche. Shorn of its support, more of the fort went with the first slide, taking a bite of the wall and rampart next to it.
Citizens were running away from the tumbling of stone. Dust, dirt and smoke billowed into the air. Debris struck reserve onager, pitch fire and forward tenting, sweeping it aside. The whole of the roof was gone, taking its catapults with it, and every brave man and woman who had stood to the end. But the gates still held. The fort was nothing more than a cracked and weakened wall now, but to the Tsardon it represented a barrier. And every moment was precious to Gesteris.
Already, order was being restored. Stretcher parties ran among the wounded and dying while the phalanx formed up just short of the great rent in the wall, only two hundred yards from the broken fort. Archers clustered at the gap and the stones in his remaining onagers were set with pitch fire.
'At will,' shouted Gesteris, running to the gap. 'Let's burn those bastards before they reach us.'
The artillery engineer nodded. Thirty arms thudded into their stays and the stones flashed away. Through the gap, Gesteris saw them fall. Tsardon shields were raised instinctively but the stones destroyed them and the men who held them. Burning rocks scattered men and drove deep into their ranks, bouncing just enough from the packed and frozen ground to keep rolling and killing. He heard the engineer bark for the winding of windlasses.
On came the enemy. Archers began to fire through the gap. More came from the right of the breach. Answering shafts whipped through. Men fell. Arrows slammed into shields. The phalanx was ordered forwards, swordsmen came to the flanks. Archers backed away to take up new firing positions. The first Tsardon came through the gap and died on the ends of the sarissas standing three deep.
More screams. Gesteris saw his people dashed from the ramparts a further hundred or so yards south. The rough crenellations disintegrated. Two men were struck square on by a stone. It picked them up and drove them down, smearing them on to a catapult. The weapon collapsed in a spray of blood and gore, its structure crumpling and splitting.
Back at the gate, the Revenge were gathering. Rubble was being cleared as far as possible. He saw Kell astride her horse and Nunan talking to her. The breach by him would hold for now but the Tsardon would be moving their weapons to strike at another area of wall. Nunan and Kell knew it too.
'You're sure about this?' asked Gesteris when he reached them.
More burning missiles crossed the wall to land among the Tsardon infantry. More enemy rounds answered. They were aiming for the gate now. It took three or four impacts, shuddering and shaking. The walls of the fort wobbled.
'Now or never, General,' said Kell. 'It's the best time. They've committed men forward of their artillery. If we don't get out there, we'll lose the gates.'
'Don't let our catapults stop. We'll be out of range,' said Nunan
'This is suicide,' said Gesteris.