Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (143 page)

Navarien turned back to the array of mirrors before him. This was a novel way to fight a war. He was standing beside a table under a brightly coloured awning surrounded by sorcerers talking to other sorcerers via their mirrors. He watched the clansmen mounting up and moving toward his forces; everything was going according to plan.

“You may start your bombardment when they reach there,” Navarien said pointing to a place about a third of the way between the clan camp and his earthworks. “Not before then, if you please my lord sorcerer. We want this to be a valid test of the tactic.”

“I understand,” Wotan said and turned to give his orders to his mages. A moment later, he turned back. “All have acknowledged your instructions, General.”

“Thank you,” Navarien said and watched the clansmen come. “About now wouldn’t you say?”

“Just about.”

The first fireballs rose into the air and began falling among the clansmen. Dirt and burning bodies erupted into the air. Horses went down en masse and with them their riders. It was a complete slaughter. Those hit by the fire were dead before they hit the ground, they had no chance of survival. Those lucky enough to avoid the sorcerous flames—a surprisingly large number actually, charged the sorcerers only to be met with a hail of javelins thrown from the infantry.

“I have a request from Odelyn, Wotan,” Magar said. “He wants to fire the camps.”

“No!” Navarien snapped.

Wotan eyed him coldly for just a moment before turning to Magar. “Inform Odelyn that he has his orders. Tell him to carry them out to the letter or I will send his head to Mortain in a pickle jar.”

Magar bowed and turned to give the order.

“I’m—” he began to apologise.

“Do not presume on our friendship too far, General,” Wotan said in a surprisingly conversational tone. “I am lead mage of the Fifth. You tell me what you require, and I will deliver it if I can. If I cannot, I will tell you why not. You will never embarrass me in front of my people again.
Is that clear?
”

Navarien glanced at Demophon across the table. He was watching the confrontation with interest. He would wager his horse that every sorcerer around the table was listening intently and perhaps planning a way to use this to his advantage.

He bowed deeply. “I apologise, my lord sorcerer. It was not my intention to usurp your authority.”

Wotan glanced aside at Magar and nodded. Magar relaxed and returned to his mirror. “Let us speak no more of it.”

He nodded and turned his attention back to the battle. Corbin was manoeuvring to bring his battalion to bear on the warriors as they regained some order, but he was unused to the added time it took for so many men to assemble. Navarien frowned in annoyance. That he had predicted this didn’t matter. Corbin was used to commanding a thousand men not three thousand. The resulting confusion was reminiscent of a battalion of raw recruits.

“Contact Corbin, if you would my lord sorcerer. Tell him to get his men out of the flaming way before I do it for him.”

Wotan smiled and did that and a moment later said, “He protests your order, General, but he will endeavour to obey—his words I hasten to add.”

Navarien snorted. “Endeavour to obey indeed. He’s been talking to Tikva again.”

“They seem good friends.”

“Hmmm,” he mumbled as he turned to a different mirror this time showing him Captain Meran’s infantry. “Thank the God for a cool head.”

Meran had aborted his planned attack in favour of a wait and see posture. With Corbin messing around in the centre and Tikva out of position, it was all he could realistically do. Another mirror showed Bannan also in difficulty. Three thousand mounted men that had been green recruits less than two seasons earlier could mess up any manoeuvre—even the charge.

“This is a flaming disaster!” Navarien said staring at total chaos in the mirror. “For the love of God, where is Cragson?”

* * *

“
Where is Cragson?
” Bannan screamed with spittle spraying. “He should be here!”

“Ain’t seen him Sir!” Sergeant Ferrol said.

It was all falling apart here. If he didn’t pull his men back, he would lose half of them. Meran was holding the centre, but what else could he do surrounded as he was? Tikva was dismounted trying to make some kind of sense of the chaos, while Nissus was leading his men on a flank attack that had some chance of success but which had no relation at all with the plan. Cragson was nowhere around and could be dead for all he knew. Corbin’s battalion had turned into an utter joke, a fact not lost on the captain. Corbin was screaming in rage as two thirds of his battalion milled around uselessly while the third composed of veterans futilely tried to attack a force many times their size.

“My lord sorcerer,” Bannan said helplessly. “Contact the General and ask him to order Corbin out of here. If he fucks up any worse they’ll be a panic.”

“It is my understanding that he has already done so,” Anius said in amusement.

Bannan gritted his teeth. “Tell him again—please.”

Anius nodded and used his mirror. “The general says to stop worrying about Corbin and start worrying about the clansmen. He says Cragson is heavily engaged and is in need of help. He says Cragson was ambushed.”

“Where?” Bannan snapped.

“The right flank.”

“Signaller!” Bannan roared.

“Sir?”

“Sound rally and—”

Booom!

Out of nowhere, a fireball came in and grounded splashing fire in all directions. Horses and men screamed as the entire front line of Corbin’s battalion went down. Bannan fought his horse’s panic and tried to find the shamen. More fire came in and yet more. Men were plucked out of the saddle by unseen forces and crushed in full view of the men. Fear and panic began to spread through the battalion.

Bannan was at a loss. He could not attack what wasn’t there; he had to concentrate on the known enemy. “Signaller, signal dismount!”

Rahhh-ta-ta-ta! Rahhh-ta-ta-ta!

* * *

“No, no,
no!
” Navarien roared in frustration. “It’s no good. I’ll have to take personal command and—”

“We have found the shamen.”

“Where?”

“Just here behind Corbin,” Wotan said. “He has not detected them.”

“Why not?” Navarien snarled.

“I would guess he has other things on his mind. Odelyn should have found them, but he is busy warding Corbin’s battalion. With the men all over the place, he is having trouble.”

“Who isn’t these days?” he said wiping sweat from his brow. “All right, this is what we will do. Pass the location to every sorcerer we have please, Wotan, and order them to saturate the area with fire. Tell them to burn the ground to bedrock if that is what it takes.”

“Crude, but effective,” Wotan said and turned to give the order.

“Let us hope so.”

Navarien found Cragson again and breathed a little easier when he saw Fifth Battalion under Duer marching to relieve him. Duer was a good man, he wouldn’t mess up. Navarien watched in satisfaction as Duer linked up with Cragson and turned their combined might upon the clan. The warriors were wiped out in short order as wave upon wave of javelins descended upon them in the age old response of a beleaguered legion to an attacker.

“Good, that is good. Order Cragson and Duer to stay together and march on the camps. Tell them to threaten, but not attack them. That should relieve the pressure on Meran.”

“Good idea,” Wotan said and gave the order to Demophon. “The shamen are destroyed,” he said a moment later.

“So I see,” Navarien said staring at the red hot crater. “Ask your people to put out those fires would you?”

“They should have seen the necessity,” Wotan scowled.

“After what happened last year they should have,” he agreed. Fire on the plains was not a laughing matter. “We seem to be getting it together. I was beginning to think the idea flawed.”

“We need more practise.”

Navarien nodded. “I’ll see to it.”

Corbin finally rescued his piss poor battalion from the mess it was in and even managed to contribute a little help. Meran’s battalion was battered but not severely hurt; with Corbin’s help he marched to aid Nissus. Navarien could see things were improving, but the battle was far from won.

“Order Captains Turner and Calva to here. Tell them to wait until Cragson is in position then attack.”

Wotan estimated the distance and direction and then gave the order. “You believe the clan will retreat?”

“It will,” he said with no doubt. “The warriors have families to think of. They will not hesitate.”

They watched the battle progress together, but he had no further orders to give even when he saw areas that could be improved upon. His captains needed to learn this new way of fighting a war. What better way than in battle?

“It’s starting,” Wotan said a short time later. “You were right.”

Navarien nodded. His face was a mask. “The camps are to remain unmolested, my lord sorcerer. I will have no sacking or rapine done.”

“That was understood,” Wotan said in surprise.

Navarien nodded again. He just wanted to make his position perfectly clear. The words
remember Cantibria
were etched upon his soul.

“Order no quarter.”

Wotan did that.

* * *

11 ~ Oaths

“They are still fighting over it,” Shelim explained to the others sitting nearby.

They were just a few days away from Denpasser now, but the journey had been excruciatingly slow compared with what he was used to. Horse Clan was large, not as big as Dragon Clan had been, but it had still taken a long time to collect all the tribes and strike south. The cull had been the biggest obstacle with many of the lesser chiefs balking at what they saw as an irresponsible waste. It had been frustrating for Shelim, but it was far worse for Mazel. The man looked haggard even yet, but at least the wounds no longer pained him. Larn had healed the chief, but those wounds hidden in his mind would take longer. Mazel had been challenged many times over those hectic days, but he had won through each time—barely in two cases. Mazel had no wish to kill his chiefs, but twice he’d had no choice. Those two fights had almost ended in mutual death. Mazel had barely survived with Larn throwing himself forward to save him even as both men fell. They would never know now whether they might have saved the other men. Mazel lived, and the others died.

Horse Clan in its entirety was heading south. Not one person had been left behind. The sight of an entire clan moving was always awe inspiring, but the Night Wind was one of the smallest clans. Not so Horse Clan. They had almost twelve thousand warriors in all. Mazel had shocked everyone including Shelim when he said that children of fourteen would have their ceremony at Denpasser a full year early. Those warriors concerned were delighted of course, but Shelim hadn’t been. His girls were twelve, so they were still considered children thank the God, but by bringing forward the ceremonies Mazel had almost certainly guaranteed they would participate in the war. No matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t bring himself to believe the war would be a quick affair. Many had protested that such young warriors would be little use, but Mazel had only to point at the pathetic remnants of Dragon Clan to make them agree.

The outclanners had decimated Dragon Clan just days ago. Shelim had used his mirror to show the chiefs the battle as it occurred. Navarien and many thousands of warriors had snapped up the outlying tribes one by one then turned on the clan itself. This time the warriors had fought well. Ingharr had led his warriors out of the camp and attacked with his full force. The outclanners had been surprised and had lost many men before counter-attacking. Rajnish, Dragon Clan’s shaman, had killed hundreds with his magic before he was killed, but in the end it was all for nothing. The outclanners had overrun the camp even as Ingharr fell.

Of those warriors who had been Dragon Clan, only those who were still children were spared. Navarien had been thorough. He had stolen every bow and long knife from the warriors leaving them with spears only. Shelim was surprised at Navarien’s generosity in leaving the spears, but Mazel disagreed. Dragon Clan was no longer a threat. He was right. Spears were enough to allow hunting to feed the clan, but they were helpless against the real threat from Navarien’s men. They couldn’t fight back anymore.

“Who is winning?” Mazel said breaking into Shelim’s reverie.

“Hmmm?”

Mazel sighed. “Who is winning at Denpasser?”

“Sorry, I was thinking about the Dragon warriors.”

“Nothing can change the past. You have to look to the future.”

He nodded at the truth of those words. He would journey tonight in dreams to see what he might discover.

“Tobiah will be chief of chiefs,” Shelim said. “I have
seen
it. Cadell might have been, had it not been for Kadar’s lucky hit.”

Mazel nodded.

Cadell was the best man with a sword among the clan chiefs. Luck had turned against him though when Kadar had taken advantage of a slip on uncertain footing. Skill and courage were important, but luck did play its part.

“Kadar will never beat Tobiah,” Mazel said. “So it’s decided. Wolf Clan leads.” There were grumbles, but this kind of selection was fair. The best warrior must lead this fight. “I might be able to take him,” Mazel mused. “But should I even try?”

“You must try, Mazel!”

“Horse Clan should lead—”

“…cursed wolves!”

Shelim took the time to think about the question. Was Mazel the better man? That was the question. The best fighter was not always the best man to be chief, but they didn’t need another chief. What they needed was a… a
war leader
. The clans had never needed such a thing before, but they desperately needed one now. Being chief was more than fighting and raiding. A chief had to be able to soothe arguments and persuade people to his way of doing things, but a war leader would need to be obeyed instantly just like Navarien. A chief could not just order his people; he had to make them do the right thing by convincing them it was right. Mazel was a thinker as well as a good warrior, but was he the better man to fight this war?