Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (104 page)

The last to fall was a young lad barely old enough to shave. He was the banner man for the lancers and proud. When offered his life, he sneered at Methrym and cast the banner staff like a spear. Methrym knocked it aside with his sword and would have ordered the boy disarmed and bound, but one of Terriss’ men had already loosed an arrow. The boy swayed in his saddle and fell with a clatter of armour upon cobbles.

Methrym turned to survey the field. He had won, but at a cost. The Japurans had killed easily twice their numbers, many of them slaves, but thank the God the children had stayed back and were consequently
physically
unharmed. Uninjured, but they had seen the slaughter, and many had seen a sibling killed. They were crying fit to break his heart.

“Terriss!” he yelled. “For the God’s sake man, lead the children out of here!”

Terriss saw the need and did as he was bid.

Wiping the blood off his hands and face, Methrym turned to Lorenz. “Bring your wagons through and then station your men here. We need to get these people out quickly.”

Lorenz rushed away and soon the lines of people were moving through the gate again.

Methrym ordered two men to keep a sharp lookout from the towers and hoped there would be no more surprises out there. With most of his forces scattered throughout the city, he had no way to concentrate sufficient men to oppose a large force.

Soren arrived as night gave way to dawn with nearly half the army in surprisingly good order. Methrym was so pleased to see them, that he found he could easily ignore the half naked women many of the men held bound before them. He didn’t flinch at the horror and madness he saw in some of those Japuran eyes, and he made no mention of the rich loot hanging around his men’s necks, nor did he berate Soren for his tardiness. All he felt was relief. If a patrol arrived now it would be doomed.

Soren glanced around curiously. “Are you all right cousin? I can see you had some fun here.”

“No fun,” he corrected. “A patrol nearly had me, but the slaves swung the fight our way.”

“So I see. I have two score wagons back there, they should be…” he turned in his saddle to look back the way he came. “Here they come.”

Methrym turned to see the wagons approaching. The two lead wagons held a number of large barrels. “What’s in those two?”

“Oil mostly.”

“Have some of your men use it on the buildings then set fires. I want Talitha to howl when she sees her so-called invincible city destroyed.”

“Oooh, you really do have a mean streak don’t you?” Soren said and ordered his men to arrange it.

Methrym stood back to watch. The fires would do two things for him. First, it would hurry his remaining men about their business, and second he really did want Talitha to regret her raids. Vexin would have a big stick to threaten Talitha with after this night was done. What could be done once, could easily be done again.

That day saw Methrym riding at the head of a column of more than two hundred wagons all filled to the brim with precious silks, tapestries, gold, jewels, steel swords by the thousands, armour, incense, herbs and medicines… the list went on and on. He was not usually a sentimental man, but of all the riches he had brought out of
not
Invincible Talayan, the children were the most precious.

He looked back to Terriss. The man was riding a magnificent horse stolen from a prince of Talayan. Next to him, his wife and children rode with joy on their faces, while leagues behind them, the smoke from the firestorm rose higher than the clouds. The flames from the oil had raced through the houses, and quickly added more destruction to that already heaped upon the burning city. The fires had raged out of control until the city became hotter than a blacksmith’s forge. There would be nothing left but heat cracked walls when the fire had run its course.

The men were on a high of good humour. Many of them were singing along with the slaves—
ex-slaves
he should say—why couldn’t he remember that? He had lost perhaps five hundred men altogether, and he regretted every one of those deaths. If he counted the children, and he did, he had around seven and a half thousand men left to guard twenty maybe even
thirty
thousand slaves. Not that they needed guarding. There wasn’t a force anywhere in Waipara capable of threatening a column that size.

“Nisim!”

Methrym turned in the saddle to watch a group of people rush to gather up a man walking alone.

“Trista!” he shouted back. “Are the others here? Is Nona all right?”

“She’s fine, Nisim. Come back and see for yourself.”

“Where… what…”

Methrym watched them lead the stunned but happy man away. Who wouldn’t be happy to be greeted like that by so many good looking women? By their clothes, he guessed they were pleasure slaves—
had been
—pleasure slaves. He could see women in the clothing of whores walking next to kitchen slaves. Old men stumbled along grinning and chattering in excitement about returning home. It was obvious what the well-muscled men had been used for. It seemed that Talitha wasn’t the only one to use male slaves in her bed. The older men were probably street cleaners or something of the sort, and the children would be sold to brothels or, the God have mercy, to dark Tindebrai!

He shuddered at the thought.

The column crossed the border into Tanjung a little after noon two days later. A journey that, had his men been unencumbered, would have taken less than a tenth of the time, but he couldn’t increase the pace without leaving people behind. He would not do that—not after everything that had happened. By late afternoon the children began to falter and he ordered a short stop. He used the excuse to water the horses and to check for stragglers.

Methrym took the opportunity to stretch his legs and plan the next step. The closest city large enough to provide for so many people was Tanjung Nelek. It would take eight days to reach at the pace they were moving. Nelek was the home of House Nelek, one of the major noble houses of Tanjung. Tanjung Calida, Lorenz’s home, was about the same distance away on a different heading, but it was too small to help so many refugees. As he contemplated his options, he began to see the enormity of what he had done at Talayan. He wouldn’t change it even if he could, but he had to come up with a solution to feeding this many people fast. There was really no other choice, he mused, he would have to cut through the Tanj forest. If he did so, he could cut days from their travel time. The refugees would still be hungry, but he hoped not enough to cause them to collapse. With resolve hardening into action, he called his best couriers over and gave them their orders. They were to make their way to Nelek with news of the refugees and a request for supplies. He sent a more detailed written message to Tanjor for the Emperor’s eyes only. In it, he explained his actions and the reasons behind them including a rough accounting of the loot taken and its worth. Lastly, he tasked half the men under Lorenz with protecting the wagons, and ordered him to continue via the roads to Nelek. He would lead the slaves through the forest himself with Soren and the other half of the men.

Soren looked rebellious.

“I feel safer with you and your men with me, Soren,” Methrym said glancing sidelong at Lorenz.

Lorenz smiled knowingly.

Soren sat straighter in his saddle and looked pleased. “I’ll die before I’ll let another assassin near you, cousin!”

“Thank you,” he said solemnly and grasped Soren’s arm forearm to forearm. “Is all understood?”

Nods all around indicated it was.

“Good. We need to get these people to some food and shelter as quickly as possible.”

Lorenz moved off with his men and the wagons, leaving Methrym with three thousand men to protect forty thousand men, women, and children from bandits. The bandits didn’t have a chance, his men were veterans now, and so were the slaves!

* * *

13 ~ Calvados

Navarien stumbled tiredly into his tent and collapsed upon his cot. By the God, he had never missed his horse as much as he did at this moment. His feet were throbbing; it felt as if he was still marching!

From dawn to dusk, he led his legion marching toward yet another battle. He was tired, and his men were tired. It would be good to finish this campaign so they could rest. Winter was still far enough ahead, but the fall was here, not that you would know it. To his eyes the country hereabouts was unchanging. The grass was scraggly as it always was, and the wind blew at his back seemingly urging him on as it had everyday of the march. The winds represented an uncompromising goad to his efforts. Any day now he expected to feel the ice cold blasts heralding the coming of the winter storms.

He turned on his side trying to get comfortable. The sounds of his men labouring to dig latrines and earthwork defences lulled him toward sleep. As he slipped under, he wondered if the mages had left port yet, if they hadn’t they would be in for a very rough trip. He smiled contentedly at the thought and dropped off to sleep.

He snapped awake blinking in confusion. Something had awoken him. Quiet breathing—not his! He leapt out of bed and grabbed his sword. He ducked and gutted his attacker.

“Guards!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs, but none answered him. He didn’t have time for his armour. Still bootless, he rushed outside. “
Awake! Awake! Intruders in the camp!
” he yelled as he parried a stroke from a shadowy figure.

He was relieved to hear Bannan and Tikva taking up the cry and soon the clash of swords became general throughout the camp. The intruders realised their chances of winning had been badly reduced, and immediately faded back onto the plain. Navarien tried to take one of the attackers alive, but as usual the clansman would not allow it. The warrior died when he threw himself forward in an attempt to use a dagger in close.

“Sir, are you well?” Tikva said running toward him. He wasn’t wearing armour and his white legion shirt glistened redly in the meagre light of the campfires. The fires were roaring back to life as someone began adding more fuel. “It’s not mine, Sir. A warrior took a liking to me for some reason. He was so close, I thought he was trying to kiss me!”

Navarien nodded but he didn’t laugh at Tikva’s weak attempt at a jest. There was nothing funny about a dead man. He studied the corpse at his feet. It was as he had suspected. The man was a clansman and not one of the degenerate ones living in the cities. On the man’s back he discovered embroidery in the shape of a horse or some other animal. It was a basic design, perhaps signifying his clan or the position he held within it.

“What do you make of that, gentlemen,” he said as the other captains arrived to report.

Bannan knelt down to turn the corpse this way and that. “Clansman, Sir—not one from the cities either. The device on his back, the calluses on his hands… I’d say he is…
was
a Horse Clan warrior, Sir.”

“Check the others for clan affiliation, and detail some men to bury them. We haven’t enough fuel for pyres.”

“Yes, Sir,” Tikva said and trotted off to see to it.

“I wish we had a few horses for the scouts, Sir. I fear this,” Bannan nudged the corpse with his boot. “This doesn’t bode well.”

“Hmmm,” Navarien said thinking.

The attack was something of a surprise to him. He hadn’t considered clan opinion while planning his campaign against the cities. He had assumed, wrongly it now seemed, that the separation between the people living in the cities and those he termed clansmen, was a permanent situation. Neither had his superiors at Castle Black considered such a turn, or its consequences. Mortain—may he live forever—could not be in error of course, but he did have to rely upon fallible minions to carry out his orders. It seemed one such had failed to consider what this could mean, and that one was a certain General Navarien.

Curse it!

“Double… no,
triple
the sentries and make sure they keep each other in sight. This may just be an isolated incident—the clans are said to raid for fun, but I’ll not take chances.”

“Yes, Sir,” Bannan said before he too trotted off as Tikva had done.

“And if this is the beginning of an organised resistance, Sir?” Captain Corbin said.

“Umm…” Navarien said absently.

That was a hard one. Without horses his options were more limited than he’d like. If he arranged a vanguard, it would almost have to be two battalions strong—any less and he risked its destruction, too many and the main body could suffer the same fate. With the losses the Fifth had suffered, and with the injured left behind in both Cantibria and Durena, he barely had seven thousand men with him now.

“A vanguard from now on, I think,” he said feeling his way through the problem. “Not too far ahead, just enough to upset any ambushes while still being in range to reinforce the main body or vice versa. Two battalions should do nicely, yours Corbin, and yours Duer. How’s the leg holding up now?”

Captain Duer slapped his left thigh. “Fine Sir, thank you. It aches a bit in the mornings, but other than that it’s fine.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear it. How many did we lose just now?”

“I’m not sure yet, Sir. Not too many… perhaps a dozen or so,” Corbin said.

“One is too many. The vanguard should prevent ambushes though, and the extra sentries should do the trick at night.”

Both captains nodded agreement; it really was the only thing to do. Navarien was thinking far ahead now as he played the odds of this happening against that happening in his head. He watched battles in his imagination and came to a decision.

“Have the men carry their javelins… no, have them carry one each for now. Keep the others in the baggage, which will stay with the main body by the way.”

He grinned at the twin groans from his captains. By holding back the baggage, he had ensured that all the men would have to pitch in to raise the tents and dig the latrines regardless of the order of march.

He dismissed his captains and entered his tent only to find the dead clansman still on his floor. Rather than call someone, he grabbed the feet and dragged the corpse outside.