Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (153 page)

“Cowards the lot of them,” Demophon growled.

Odelyn nodded in agreement. “Yes cowards all, but that means we two will have to do it.”

Not me… you.

“That can be arranged and it will,” he said. “You say the others will back us once the deed is done?”

“Absolutely,” Odelyn said eagerly. “No one is completely happy with Wotan running things even though he seems to be doing a reasonable job. The strongest must lead. It has always been that way. I will lead with you as my second as tradition dictates.”

Second? I don’t think so you incompetent lush!

“I will arrange to meet Wotan privately,” Demophon said. “You’ll have to arrange something to distract Magar for a while.”

“That should not be difficult. Once he’s out of the way, I’ll come to your meeting and we can take care of Wotan together.”

“I can take him alone, there’s no need—”

“
I said
… we will take him together!” Odelyn said coldly. “You must remember your place my friend. I am stronger; you will do as I say.”

“I will comply with your orders of course,” Demophon said trying to keep his laughter from breaking free and ruining everything.

“Good. Once Wotan and Magar are taken care of, I will arrange something for Navarien and that bastard captain. Death by fire is too good for them.”

Imbecile!

“Navarien is too well liked by his men. We need him to win this little war for us. Afterwards you can remove him, but I strongly suggest not before.”

“Perhaps you’re right. Just Meran then.”

“Under captains are nothing,” he agreed. “Navarien is an able soldier by all accounts. He will win this war for you, and Mortain will reward you greatly.”

“I won’t forget your help, Demophon. I promise you that. I will see to it that Mortain learns of your efforts on his behalf.”

“I thank you my lord sorcerer.”

Odelyn laughed. “Lord Sorcerer. It sounds good doesn’t it? Better be careful though, you know what will happen if Wotan hears.”

He nodded. As Lewin would say: what a dick-head!

* * *

The stench of death hung heavy upon the early morning air. Navarien viewed the scene with some disgust, but was careful to project only mild interest on his face. It was something he was well used to doing, this covering of thoughts and emotions. At home, not that anywhere was home really, but at home, he had to cover his true thoughts as a matter of course. It was survival.

“It seems a shame,” Wotan murmured.

“Hmmm,” he replied noncommittally.

It was a shame, but necessary. Thirty thousand soldiers needed a great deal of food. Fortunately, or unfortunately if you were a bison, there was a great deal of food wandering loose on the hoof.

“How many now?”

He shrugged and tried to estimate the number by the heaps of bones that lay scattered across the plain. There were so many that his men had to continually move to fresh ground hoping to avoid tripping over the offal of slaughtered bison. He watched another wave of javelins as they felled hundreds of the huge animals. It was good practise for the men as well.

“Sixty thousand?” Navarien said uncertainly.

“That should be enough don’t you think?”

“Probably. I want every one of them though.”

The ever present Magar grunted. “It had better be enough.”

Navarien remembered the journey to Calvados very well. So did his men. He wouldn’t be caught short again if he could help it. The meat of sixty thousand bison was more than enough for his men’s needs, but why not have seventy thousand while he had the animals on hand? No reason except sentiment not to, and good reasons to go ahead and finish this herd. Besides, sentiment would not fill his men’s bellies. The campaign would go a lot easier if they didn’t have to worry about where their next meal was coming from. Usually food and other supplies were transported with the baggage, but this time things would be just a little different. Curing the meat would ensure they had food enough to last through the war. The baggage train was so big it could almost be called a legion in itself, but by curing the meat into strips, he could supply each man with enough to last him two tendays without weighing them down too much. With supply no longer a concern, they could roam the plain at will just as the clans did.

He had roughly twenty eight thousand men, of which three oversize battalions—nine thousand men—were mounted. The cavalry would be deployed forward of the main body sweeping an arc encompassing the forward half of a circle, which would use the baggage and infantry as its centre. He would arrange his deployments so that each battalion could return for resupply at staggered intervals. In this way his infantry would be screened at all times, thereby keeping any clan warriors at a distance until he deemed the time advantageous for battle.

“Any problems I should be aware of?” Wotan said as they turned away from the slaughter.

Navarien walked slowly by Wotan’s side with his hands clasped behind him and thought about the changes his legion had undergone. Magar of course followed a step behind both of them. Captains Duer, Tikva, and Bannan were still at Calvados overseeing the last days of their battalion’s training. He had given each captain a core of veteran legionnaires to stiffen their commands, which would provide a strong example to the new men. The march south would toughen them he had no doubt. He had sent Cragson along with Turner to procure something that might well prove decisive in this war. Under cover of darkness and warded against scrying, Cragson would equip the men with long pikes. Hidden in the long grass they could prove devastating to the clan warriors when they charged his seemingly vulnerable infantry. He could hardly wait to see how it worked!

Wotan had been as good as his word and the sorcerers were now an integral part of the legion. Each mage knew his job and his place within his battalion. So far, no one seemed discontented with the situation, which was a marvel. He had even heard some of the sorcerers boasting about the prowess of
their
captain or
their
sergeant in the training.

Legionnaires were tough, but they did not like surprises. The ruinous battle against Dragon Clan had proven a blessing in disguise. It had shown how badly the men needed to train with the sorcerers in the new ways. It had become his policy to train the men as if they were in a real battle. No fire or other lethal magic was used of course, but the men had now become thoroughly accustomed to wards appearing and disappearing around them as they attacked. An important part of the training was having the men learn to move with the wards. It was no good having them outrun or lag behind them as Wotan ordered them forward. It was a strange experience for everyone, but also a challenge. Navarien felt the allure of that challenge strongly. He knew he was a good General, but no one had ever commanded the force he had at his disposal here. Devising a way to use all his advantages at the same time as minimising his disadvantages had taken all his attention to date, but now they were ready to put it all together and try it out.

“Everything’s proceeding without a hitch.”

“I confess to some surprise,” Wotan said. “When things go this well it makes me think I should look harder for trouble. Do you know what I mean?”

He laughed. “There’s an old saying in the legions. Don’t look for trouble, it will find you!”

Wotan laughed as they reached the centre of camp. The only thing that distinguished it was the single folding table set under an awning. His map of Camorin was prominently displayed with the battalion standards in position. The clans were depicted in a single group at a place called Denpasser far to the south. Denpasser was perhaps five leagues from the border with Deva, and roughly twelve leagues to fortress Malcor. Wotan had shown him Denpasser and the clans in detail using his mirror, so he understood the reason for the gathering. He could see the attraction of joining forces and understood why the clans felt it necessary, but it was still a stupid move on their part. What they should have done was deployed along the legion’s line of march and harassed him as Horse Clan had done last year. He was grateful they hadn’t, but even if they had done so, they would have failed this time. Deterring such harassing attacks was another reason he was using the cavalry screen. He was sure Corbin and the others could dissuade the clan warriors from any foolishness.

“When do we start?” Wotan said eagerly.

Navarien smiled. “The others will reach us late tomorrow. The slaughter will be complete by then. Most of the curing is done. I would guess another few days will see us on our way.”

“Good. The march will be a long one.”

“Not so long as all that,” Navarien with a grin for the sour expression on Wotan’s face. Wotan’s fondness for boats did not extend to horses. “The march along the coast was longer I believe.”

“What worries me is Julia,” Wotan said. “She didn’t leave with Lord Malcor and seems determined to help the clans oppose us even when most of them hate her.”

“They don’t hate her. The clans consider all outclanners beneath them and not worth heeding. Lucky for us Julia was not born into a clan.”

“Lucky for us
now
, but two years ago Athione would have fallen and we would not be going through this.”

The legion had suffered two third losses at Athione and Julia had been instrumental in that. She could be a serious difficulty in this campaign, which was why Wotan had given specific orders where she was concerned. Her removal was paramount, even when doing so might cost men. As their commanding officer, Navarien hated the idea of sacrificing men, but even he agreed with those orders wholeheartedly. Wotan had confided something to him that would see Julia taken out of the picture for good and all just a short time ago. He hadn’t known something like that was even possible, but he wasn’t a sorcerer. Wotan had assured him that not only was it possible, it would be done.

Days later, everything was ready and they began the march south.

Navarien deployed fifth, seventh, and tenth battalions as the cavalry screen well forward of the main body. Nine thousand men, almost a standard legion, used as a screening force would have seemed incomprehensible to him a few years ago, but here it was essential. He had chosen those particular battalions with care.

Duer was a deep thinker, a hero in every sense of the word as he proved last year. The man had saved his siege tower outside of Durena at the cost of serious injury. He still limped on that leg and would for the rest of his life. Giving command of the left screen to fifth battalion was a kindness Duer thoroughly deserved. Marching was painful for him now, though Navarien was sure the captain thought no one had noticed. Duer would be promoted to over captain after this campaign, of that Navarien had no doubt.

Corbin was in the centre commanding seventh battalion, which was the strongest of the three cavalry units. Corbin had managed to keep most of his original battalion intact last year even when fighting many times his own numbers. He was the perfect cavalry captain, dashing and daring were what came to mind when thinking of him, but unfortunately so did his lack of strategic planning skills. Corbin would always be a captain best suited to front line actions planned in advance. He was good at turning a preconceived plan into reality, but he was unable to design a decent plan himself.

Finally, there was Bannan and tenth battalion covering the right. Bannan was an old hand. Older than most of the other captains, he was a reliable man and quick witted.

It was a novel way to run a campaign, he mused as he rode along. Without the need for couriers, he could order his captains to move further out or pull in. He could even tell the left and right screens to ride in support of the centre. All this was possible using Wotan’s mages, which linked every battalion under his command. Instant communication was a tool that could well win this war for him; it would certainly make things easier and save lives.

Wotan’s mages were riding alongside their respective battalions while Wotan and his bodyguard rode next to him so that he could give his orders and receive reports quickly. Navarien had chosen to ride at the head of first battalion next to Cragson who was officially in command of it these days. Wotan was unused to riding such long distances, but had confessed he preferred it to marching at the pace the legions took for granted. Navarien, Cragson, and the mages were the only ones riding among the main body. The wagon drivers in the baggage column were rotated to prevent hard feelings among the men.

At the end of a day’s marching, he insisted upon a proper camp with earthen ramparts on all four sides. The men grumbled at first, but the story of last year’s battle outside Calvados quieted them and they were soon digging with a will. Nineteen thousand men quickly had adequate walls built and tents erected; it wasn’t long before the men could dig a standard legion camp in their sleep, and he had no doubt many even had dreams of digging at night. They did so much of it.

The days fled and the legion marched onward leaving a string of dirt forts behind them. He had thought to fill the ditches back in at first, but had decided against it. The camp took two candlemarks to make, and would take a similar time to unmake. Besides, he might need them to fall back upon in the unlikely event that the clans finally reacted to his presence.

A tenday into the march Wotan informed him that Bannan had engaged and defeated a small group of clan warriors.

“How many and where?” Navarien asked with interest. This was the first response they had encountered.

“Five leagues to the southwest. It was a small group only. Bannan reports them to be remnants of Dragon Clan fleeing south.”

“Any casualties?”

“A few wounded, but none seriously. He isn’t happy though.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Nothing serious, General. Apparently Anius destroyed the group with fire, but Bannan wanted a prisoner.”

“I see,” he said in a neutral voice.

Wotan smiled not fooled by the his tone. “I have reprimanded Anius, and told him to be more careful in future.”