Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (97 page)

The captains saluted and ran back to their units, which shifted into new formations and pressed home the attack.

“What of Seventh, sir?” Corbin said looking worried.

“With me in the centre. Always keep a reserve, Corbin, never forget that.”

Corbin was relieved not to have been forgotten. “Yes, Sir. I’ll remember.”

Navarien nodded. “Away you go.”

Corbin braced and saluted. “Sir!”

Corbin was a young and dashing captain—too dashing for Navarien’s peace of mind. He was the perfect cavalry commander, but his enthusiasm often needed reining in. Corbin sometimes took the legions’ reputation for fearlessness entirely too seriously, and to the detriment of his command. He would learn in time, or he would die.

“Sir, Captain Tikva said I should come fetch you,” Lewin panted from his dash across the square. “It’s urgent like.”

He nodded. “Corbin!”

“Sir?”

“Hold your men here. If you see the need to reinforce one of the others, do so on your own authority.”

The young captain gulped but answered confidently. “I understand, Sir.”

“Take me to Tikva,” Navarien said to Lewin.

They made their way up the same steps they had earlier fought their way down. The bodies had been kicked over the side, and the way was clear. He slipped on a puddle of blood, and nearly dove off the side, but Lewin grabbed him in time. He nodded his thanks, but saved his breath for the climb. He didn’t remember so many steps on the way down, but he had been busy. Finally, they reached the battlement and Tikva.

“Report!”

“We have observed enemy movements toward the south.”

Navarien looked to where Tikva was pointing, but the distance was long. “They might be families fleeing,” he said doubtfully.

“They might be, Sir, but I was thinking they might also be massing for an attack at the centre. See that road, sir?” Tikva said pointing.

“I see what you’re saying, good work! If you see anything else, send Lewin with the word.”

Tikva saluted him, and Navarien hurried back to the square. The road Tikva was talking about connected to the one in which First Battalion was fighting. If Tikva hadn’t noticed something strange, the enemy might have moved down that road and hit First Battalion from behind. There wasn’t much time to stop another disaster.

“Corbin!”

“Sir?”

“I need you to lead your men after me at the double,” he said already heading toward the ambush site.

“Yes, Sir!” Corbin said to Navarien’s back as he trotted off.

If he handled this right, he thought, he might be able to break the back of the enemy defence. He stationed Corbin with half his men at the junction between the side and main roads, then led the other half further along the narrow street. He concealed his men down various alleyways with orders to attack when he did and not before. Then he waited, and waited, and waited, and waited. What if they didn’t come this way? No, they would come. What if they chose another route? No, it was a perfect way to cut his legion into chunks. They would come, because he would in their position.

The time dragged slowly by.

He was reconsidering his plan when the enemy ran by on their way to attack Corbin. He waited for the last of them to pass, but there were hundreds streaming by his hiding place. He estimated that he and Corbin would be outnumbered by a significant number, but it was too late to change the plan now.

This might be a little tight.

If he waited too long, Corbin would be overwhelmed, if he didn’t wait long enough, he would be attacked in the rear as more of the enemy arrived at his back. He was about to rise, when another group charged by. He shrank back into hiding and waited. Group after group ran by in a never ending supply of fools wanting to die. If many more ran past, it would be Corbin and he that would die, not the Camorin fighters. He decided to take a chance. He leapt up and gave chase with his men following silently behind him. He could hear the shouts and the clash of steel coming from somewhere ahead, and was about to increase his pace, when he ran straight into the mob.

Navarien cut men down left and right, before they could organise themselves. His maniples formed line and attacked as a unit. It was reminiscent of Cantibria. There were perhaps eighteen hundred young men and woman with swords trying to kill Corbin’s five maniples, but Corbin had sensibly stationed his men at a choke point. The street was narrow. The Camorins couldn’t bring their full weight against their enemy. As soon as they realised what had happened, half the rabble’s numbers turned to engage Navarien and his men, while the others continued pressing Corbin. The young captain was doing well. He was yelling orders even over the noise of battle and those orders were having the desired effect.

The enemy could not break through, but they wouldn’t surrender.

Navarien slammed his gauntleted fist into the face of a young boy and kicked him in the head for good measure. When the fool tried to rise, he took a moment to finish him off. That moment was almost more than he could spare. He looked up in time to see a blade seeking his life, he threw himself backward, but the crowding behind him prevented his desperate move. The sword slammed into his armoured belly and skittered aside unable to penetrate.

By the god!

That was flaming close! He slammed his sword down shattering his enemy’s blade, and then thrust. He didn’t have time to wonder if the wound he inflicted was mortal. He parried another blade and killed the one responsible for the attack, and another, and another… Why wouldn’t they surrender? To die like this was senseless. They surely knew the city was lost, but they didn’t give up.

In the end, the skirmish cost him three out of his five maniples. The enemy’s losses were total. Corbin had lost almost as many—in total, another six hundred dead.

This campaign was proving costly indeed.

During the Bandar war, most of the battles had been fought on open ground where the legions excelled. Losses were light, especially when the sorcerers deigned to use their magic to soften the enemy up first. Street fighting however, could be unbelievably costly. He might clear one section of the city, only to find it infested again within candlemarks. The defenders could use a street like this one to manoeuvre, and they knew the territory. Navarien’s men didn’t. If it hadn’t been for Tikva’s observations, he wouldn’t have known the enemy’s plan until too late.

Corbin’s men collected the wounded and they made their way back to the square. When he reached the gate, Navarien stepped aside and ordered Corbin to continue on to camp. He was to use what men he could scrape up to protect the wounded as they arrived in camp. Corbin saluted wearily and led his men out of the city.

Cragson was waiting for Navarien to finish. “General—”

Navarien winced. Cragson only ever called him that when he disapproved of something he’d done. He wondered what it was.

“—Jhamil reports that First Battalion has won the southern gate. He’s holding as ordered. He reports observing a great many people leaving that way. They’re heading toward the plains. He asks,
respectfully
, to be allowed to let them go. He says there are too many to fight, and that without support he would be quickly overwhelmed. I concur, Sir.”

Navarien nodded thoughtfully. Another group of refugees. Would the clans take them in? Did it matter? He decided it didn’t. News travelled fast whether by refugee or by messenger. The clans would be subdued in time, there was no point in borrowing trouble. Next year’s campaign was next year’s campaign. He had enough to do with this one.

“Send a runner to Captain Jhamil with my compliments. Tell him that I have full confidence in his judgement and that I concur with his decision.”

Cragson nodded.

“What news of Third and Tenth?” he said looking that way.

The road was empty now, nothing visible but corpses. Thankfully, most were Camorin, but he could see a few forlorn looking legionnaires lying where they had fallen. There wasn’t time to look after them properly. After the city was won, they would be buried with honour.

“Still fighting hard, Sir. These people don’t know when they’re beaten. They won’t surrender, and they won’t run.”

That mirrored Navarien’s observations. When this campaign ended, would there be any of the clans still in existence? Cantibria was a city of old folk now, and Jhamil had reported refugees leaving by the southern gate of this one. It looked as if they were heading for the plain to join the clans as the ones from Cantibria had probably done, but where would they go when the legions pursued them even there? He shook himself. His job was to take three coastal cities, not think about policy. The cities would soon be bustling again as good Hasian families saw an opportunity to better themselves at the Protectorate’s newest frontier.

“Any trouble on your side?”

“None, Sir. Fourth and Fifth Battalions are guarding that approach, but it’s the artisan quarter and has been entirely peaceful. It’s the same as Cantibria. Only the young are willing to fight,” Cragson said frowning toward the two battalions in question.

“That’s good. Later we’ll have to reorganise the legion. Corbin and I just managed to lose more than half of Seventh Battalion.”

How he hated to lose his men, but it was the price of doing business in the legions. Cragson didn’t seem surprised or dismayed, but he’d seen what was left of Seventh when they returned.

“For now,” Navarien went on, “have Corbin station his able bodied men at this gate. I want you to take Sixth and reinforce Third and Tenth. That area seems to be the last one still fighting. Push your men down a side road and try to flank them. Tikva should be able to suggest a likely prospect.”

That received a reaction. Cragson’s eyes lit up at the thought of flanking the enemy. He obviously felt a little left out of the fighting, and besides that, he always did like sneaky tactics. Cragson ran off, and a short time later, Sixth Battalion marched toward the fighting.

Navarien studied the remainder of his forces. Corbin had stationed his half battalion just outside the gate to keep an eye on things. There were wounded men streaming back from all over the city and heading back to camp. Most were walking wounded, others needed help from their comrades. They tried to salute him as they past, and he returned their effort, but he thought it better to remove himself. They had enough to do caring for their friends. They shouldn’t have to worry about him too.

He made his way up to the wall and along to where Tikva was standing. The captain had stationed his men along the parapet on the inside of the wall. Clever fellow. Tikva was using his men as a kind of scout. They were watching the city from the walls, and then bringing him the information, which he was writing down. The captains all carried a small diary to note down certain important points of a plan, but this was the first time he had seen one used
during
a battle.

“Report!” Tikva said but didn’t look up as Navarien approached. He was writing in his diary.

Navarien grinned and complied. “I think everything is under control don’t you?”

Tikva gasped and shot to his feet. Blushing red, he stammered an apology.

“Don’t worry about it. What are you doing by the way?” he said leaning against a merlon.

“I’m trying to understand the way the clans fight, Sir,” Tikva said.

That was unexpected. He glanced at the pages of notes and saw that, not only was Tikva noting down the information gained from his men’s observations, he was also trying to relate it to a pattern. That was the sort of thing Cragson or he would do. Tikva had a good future in the legions. If he survived, he might be a General himself one day.

“I can’t understand why they won’t surrender,” Navarien said with a frown. “They’re obviously beaten. As for the way the clans fight, you won’t find out by observing the ones in the cities. The real clans are on the plain.”

“Agreed, but these people have the clans in their ancestry. It’s obvious they still train with weapons, but it seems to me they don’t have generals or captains. They’re like a legion without officers. Everyone knows what to do, and does it without orders. The problem is, there’s no co-ordination that way.”

Hmmm, that was interesting. On the plain, they would have chiefs to give them co-ordination, but would they fight together like a legion, or would each tribe fight separately? If they were to fight as a unit like the legions, they would need someone to hold them together. The clans were rivals and regularly fought with each other. Who was strong enough to subjugate all the chiefs?

“I think the reason they don’t surrender is part of that, Sir,” Tikva went on. “I wouldn’t surrender unless you ordered me to, and my men wouldn’t, unless I ordered
them
to, but these people don’t have anyone to order them to surrender. Each one carries on fighting because his comrades are still fighting!”

No, that didn’t ring true somehow, Navarien thought. Tikva was right about them having no one to lead them in a coordinated attack, but surely some of them would have surrendered. It might simply be a tradition among the clans. If that were so, they would have to be completely broken instead of subjugated. He liked that not at all. He was a soldier, and soldiers fought others like themselves not women, children, and old folk. If they would not surrender, he would have no choice but to break them.

He turned to stare out over his city, and in its place he saw a slaughter never before seen in the history of the world. It appalled him and excited him at the same time. A civilised man should feel sickened, surely? Such a man would never be a part of it. Certainly a man with honour should not.

He stared silently. What was he really? A bloodthirsty maniac who happened to be a General, or a civilised man who happened to be one? The thing of it was, he wasn’t sure himself.

* * *

11 ~ The Book

Shelim frowned at the book Kerrion held. “What is it, Mentor?”

He knew how to read, but the only books he’d ever seen had come from the Devan traders. He had read his father’s two books many times, but this one looked nothing like those.