Dragon Dawn

by Mark E. Cooper

  Jihan could have doubled the men shooting, but he had kept all his and Marcus’ professional guardsmen on foot in formation ready to counterattack, while Mazel led his warriors in a flying cavalry formation. In the end, it had not been necessary to use either group. Navarien had sounded the retreat, and approximately two-thirds of his cavalry withdrew in good order, leaving the other third dead and dying behind them. He hadn’t mounted another serious attack since, and had turned to more probes in the dead of night while his engineers built rafts. Jihan still questioned whether the first attack could be called a serious effort. He said it felt like no more than another probe to him, though a big one.

  “We’re winning, aren’t we?” Julia asked

  Jihan kept his silence.

  “Aren’t we?”

  “We are not losing at least.”

  Julia scowled.

  * * *

  General Navarien raised the peculiar contraption to his right eye and grunted at what he saw. The Devan commander, this Lord Jihan, had laid out textbook defences against cavalry. It was a shame the book he had used was such a good one. Navarien recognized the layout; he had used one similar in the Bandar War. The boy’s tutors had known their subject… unfortunately. Still, book learning could never replace experience.

  “Handy little device this,” Navarien said, offering the tube to Wotan.

  Wotan raised the farscope and peered at the enemy. “Turner and Anius based it on the farscopes our ship captains use.”

  Navarien nodded; he knew that. He had used one before, but never on land and they were usually made of brass. This one, though made of plain wood, saw further and clearer. The wooden tube was tapered and about half the length of his arm, and when twisted, the narrow part changed the magnification. How was a mystery to him; the tube contained no lenses.

  “Magic works just as well as glass, don’t you think?” Wotan said, lowering the scope.

  “Better. You can see everything clearly, as if standing right there and it doesn’t matter how far you want to look.”

  Wotan nodded. “Hmmm, a clever illusion that. I think our two miracle workers have a lucrative future ahead.”

  Navarien chuckled. Wotan was right. Any ship captain worth the name would want one. Come to that, the Bureau of Legions would pay handsomely for enough farscopes to equip all its officers. That was for the future. This one was the only one in existence, and it belonged to him. Navarien chuckled again at the envy he imagined he would see when he met General Menelaus of the First Legion.

  “A not too distant future at that.”

  “No matter what happens to us,” Wotan agreed with a nod. He peered through the farscope again. “With Athione and the pass under our control, Deva will fall. We have won.”

  Navarien agreed. Athione had always been Deva’s gateway to the west. It was the key to the Protectorate’s victory. He never planned for defeat, but should the unthinkable occur and he be defeated here, the Protectorate would still win as long as they held Athione.

  Lord Mortain—may he live forever—had already assembled Athione’s new garrison in Athinia; not difficult considering Athinia’s importance. It had a strong militia already. One of Mortain’s closest friends would lead the garrison, a sorcerer named Beltran, by chance staying in Athinia at his time of need. Wotan knew the man very well. He had assured Navarien of his competence. Beltran would lead a thousand of Athinia’s militiamen together with a dozen sorcerers to hold the fortress until General Menelaus finished putting down the latest rebellion in Bandar and relieved him.

  As soon as Beltran took over for him at Athione, the plan called for Corbin to re-provision his men from the fortress’s stores, and then march upon all those inviting riverside camps someone had so thoughtfully set up. They were just the thing to supply the legion on the march to Devarr.

  Navarien laughed quietly.

  Wotan lowered the farscope. “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing. Just thinking how handy those supply camps will be.”

  Wotan grinned. “Very accommodating of them, leaving them undefended like that.”

  “Not undefended,” Navarien cautioned.

  “As good as!”

  “There will be fighting yet, Wotan. The Devans won’t just surrender to us. Their King is on his way, for one thing. He won’t give up a throne he only just gained because we ask it.”

  “True, and then there is Julia to deal with.”

  Navarien nodded at his men forming up. “Killing Julia is what this little charade is all about.”

  “Can any battle be called that?”

  “Not if you’re one of the men fighting for his life,” Navarien said grimly.

  Some of his men were going to die soon. They knew it for a diversion, and yet they formed up without protest. He had never been more proud of them. He had chosen Tikva’s Eighth Battalion for the job. Tikva had a good head on his shoulders and would keep his men in formation no matter how bad things became.

  “You’re sure about pulling my people out of the battalion?”

  Navarien nodded.

  “They weren’t happy about it, Navarien, not happy at all. Neither were Tikva’s men. Their morale had to suffer seeing their sorcerers staying behind.”

  “It can’t be helped. I can’t justify losing ten percent of our sorcerers in one go, Wotan, no matter how tempting it is to use them. The men know your people are watching over them. They trust you.”

  “We can’t react as fast from this distance,” Wotan said worriedly, turning to look behind him. He found his people silently staring at their mirrors, waiting tensely for any sign of attack on men they had come to call their friends. “The delay makes me uneasy.”

  Navarien nodded. Although Eighth Battalion had been stripped of its sorcerers, Wotan had still assigned them and the rest of his people to provide a counter to any magical attack. Their mission was the same, but they had to do it from here. The protection wouldn’t be as good as warding the men from within, but a ward would have defeated the purpose of the attack. If things went as planned, Wotan’s people would neutralise any magic a shaman tried to use, leaving the battle to real soldiers to decide. He was confidant his men would win any contest of that nature. The legions had no equal.

  “And those assigned to Julia?”

  Wotan smiled. “They’re in the town waiting for the attack to begin.”

  “Good.”

  Navarien watched Captain Tikva dressing his men’s lines, and prayed. He prayed for his men’s lives, for Julia’s death, and for his friend to return to him whole.

  * * *

  Junin kept his eyes on the street outside while the others hurriedly pulled on their tunics and leggings. Garan was the first to finish dressing, and came to take Junin’s place at the window. Junin nodded to him, and went to find his own bundle of clan clothing.

  Unlike Garan and some of the others, his tunic boasted colourful beads that rattled, clinking together as he pulled it on. The leather was soft and surprisingly comfortable. He kicked off his boots and changed his trousers, replacing them with clan leggings that matched the tunic. The boots completed the illusion of a Night Wind shaman. The faint bloodstains were hardly noticeable.

  Each of his companions had found an easy mark to kill for the clothes they needed. Most had chosen warriors—they were the easiest to subdue. Junin though, had to choose an apprentice shaman as his target. He was shorter than anyone he knew, and had long become accustomed to the jokes at his expense, but he had never felt his lack more keenly than the day he had to kill a mere boy for his clothes. A quick club on the head from a distance, using his magic, had rendered the shaman unconscious. A dagger in the armpit had finished the job. Like the others, he had hidden the body in the cellar. Unlike the others, he still regretted the necessity of the boy’s death.

  Junin joined Garan at the window. “Anything?”

  Garan shook his head. “It’s deserted. No one will see us.”

  “Good. Let’s get into positi
on.”

  Garan nodded firmly.

  Junin smiled. There were eight accomplished men in the group, all sorcerers. His physical stature might make him appear a boy amongst men, but his magic made it plain he was strongest and in charge.

  They left the house for the last time and headed for the stables. Scouting the town for a good location had been the first thing Junin had done after commandeering the house as their base. They had needed something that commanded a good view of the battlefield, and one not too distant from the Devan front lines. It soon became clear that the only worthy structure was Wardenvale Castle itself. None of them had seriously considered it for more than a moment or two. The mill had been Junin’s second choice, and it was better in some ways.

  Junin led his people into the stable, and nodded at Garan to pay the stable master. They wanted no trouble at this juncture. A short time later, they rode slowly out of town toward the mill.

  “Nervous?” Junin asked his friend.

  Garan nodded. “Look at them. If they knew what we are about to do…”

  “But they don’t,” Junin said, shifting uncomfortably.

  Junin led Garan and the others along the lane beside the millpond, and dismounted behind the mill itself. No one stopped or took an interest in them, but then why should they? They looked like clansmen in their stolen clothes. At the back of the mill, they found a small stable. It contained a couple of wide-bodied wagons, but no horses. The miller had probably taken them and his family to safety in the town.

  Junin watched his men lead their horses into the stalls. “Leave them saddled. We’ll need to move fast when it’s done.”

  While the others settled the horses, Garan used his magic to break the lock and forced his way inside the mill. Junin followed him inside to look around. It was dark inside, the millstones unmoving. With the pond drained, the wheel had no power. To one side they found wooden stairs leading up to the next floor. Junin sneezed as their footfalls produced puffs of dust—flour dust. The air was hazy with it.

  He sneezed again. “Flaming dust!”

  Garan laughed, and then swore as he fell to sneezing.

  “Serves you right!” Junin said.

  The others laughed.

  Junin waved at the windows. “Open the shutters. Let’s get some air in here.”

  While they did that, Junin scouted the rest of the building. As expected, he found no one. The silent machinery filled much of the building, with other areas given over to store rooms stacked high with sacks of wheat and barrels of flour. Dust hazed the air everywhere he went. By the time he returned, his eyes were red. His sneezing had caused a headache and his nose felt stuffed.

  “Here,” Garan said, passing him a water bag. “It will cut the dust. It worked for me.”

  Junin took the bag. He took a long swallow before pouring some into his hands to wash his face. He felt a little better, especially when he crossed to the window and was able to breathe fresh air, untainted by dust. He soon forgot about his discomfort. The mill overlooked the battlefield and the Devan’s preparations. Everything was laid out for him.

  “It’s perfect.”

  Garan nodded. “Captain Tikva is already advancing. It won’t be long now.”

  Junin could see that, and urgently searched for Julia. “Where is she?”

  Garan pointed. “That’s her.”

  Junin’s eyes narrowed at the figure, and nodded. She was wearing clan leathers similar to the ones he currently wore, and standing among a small group of Devans and clansman. He recognised Lord Jihan—the general had pointed him out before they left as a secondary target.

  “Two birds with one fireball,” he said, and laughed. “Let’s wait until Tikva is engaged before we link. She is surely too far to sense us, but I’m not taking any chances with her.”

  The others murmured agreement, and watched the battle commence.

  * * *

  Julia threw a ball of fire, but there was something wrong. It looked weak—dim and trailing smoke. Her strength meant any fireball she cast should be strong, but this one was half the size it should be. It fell apart well before hitting its target. Julia gaped.

  “What’s wrong?” Jihan asked as Mathius’ spell also failed.

  “I don’t know!” Julia cried, and tried again. She had more success than Mathius, but her fireball was still weak and did not reach its target. “I can’t hit them!”

  The roar of battle grew louder, and the Hasians fought harder when they realised they were safe. Jihan gestured, and the archers loosed their arrows. Thousands of shafts rose into the air, but as they reached the apex of their flight, waves of fire filled the air burning them to ash.

  Julia groaned. The sorcerers had figured out how to counter the archers too! She drew hard upon her magic, hard enough to hurt and threw a bolt of lightning strong enough to blast a hole in solid stone. It flashed toward the Hasian infantry and smashed into a ward that suddenly appeared to intercept it.

  Julia stared in shock. Even the legionnaires seemed surprised by their escape. She saw a lot of them hitting the ward with their swords not realising it belonged to them not their enemy. It didn’t take them long to realise their mistake, not when Jihan’s men also hammered on the ward to no effect. The Hasians suddenly stepped back. It seemed to be a well-practiced manoeuvre to Julia. They were reordering their lines, taking no notice of Jihan’s men, and were making good use of the breathing space the ward gave them.

  Julia shook her head as her lightning bolt crackled over the ward and bled away, following the ward to the ground. It dissipated harmlessly a moment later, and the ward dropped. The moment it did, the rear rank of Hasian legionnaires threw their javelins. Before Julia could think to duplicate the Hasian ward, the javelins hammered into Jihan’s new legionnaires, killing hundreds.

  Mazel wasn’t supposed to attack yet, but he must have realised there was trouble. He sent thousands of his men charging behind the lines and around Jihan’s right. The clans were the best cavalry in the world. They galloped around the mill and wheeled their mounts. As one, they shouted and charged the Hasians, but another ward sprang into being in front of them. Their horses ran at full speed straight into the invisible wall, killing many of them and their riders. Others reared in panic, and went down rolling over the screaming men on their backs. The ward dropped, and another rain of javelins fell upon the now retreating clansman. Jihan was shouting and gesturing at his men to pull back, but only those closest to him heard and obeyed. They were being slaughtered before his eyes, and there was nothing he could do.

  “My God,” Mathius hissed. “We’re going to loose.”

  “No,” Julia growled. “No! I won’t let that happen!”

  She threw another devastating bolt of lightning, but the ward snapped up even quicker this time, almost in her face. She flinched away from the back blast, her hair lifting and floating around her face as the lightning charged the air. She staggered, blinking and half-blind, away from the shimmering ward no more than a few paces in front of her face. The purple afterimage faded slowly, and Julia turned back to the fight.

  “They know where you are!” Lucius shouted over the noise of the ward and the still discharging lightning bolt. “Don’t—”

  Julia ignored him, and tried another lightning bolt. This time aimed straight down at the Hasians, but as before a ward intercepted it. They didn’t even flinch or look up. They continued their advance unconcerned.

  “Tell the shamen to strike at the main camp. We have to distract the sorcerers!” Mathius yelled over the screams of the dying.

  Kerrion ignored the order and launched himself at Julia, throwing her to the ground. A moment later, the air turned to fire and screams. Heat upon heat upon heat bore down on them. Julia yelled, covering her face and anticipating pain, but the fire did not touch her. She didn’t know why, but it did not burn! She should have been dead in that moment, she knew it as sure as she knew her name, but she wasn’t. She rolled over and realised there was a faint w
ard covering her, but it was failing under the pressure.

  Julia snarled and threw up her strongest ward just as the other failed. The heat intensified, pounding against the ward like a giant’s hammer, but it held. Smoke began to fill the air, and sweat drenched her in seconds. Breathing became difficult. She panted, the strain of holding such an immense ward beginning to tell.

  Kerrion had saved her life. He must have done it. The others had been concentrating upon the battle. Where was he? Julia swung around in a panic, thinking he might be outside her ward. She found Mathius and Lucius just starting to stir, but not her father. Where was Kerrion? She found the old man lying face down not far away, and ran to help. His clothes still smoked where the flames had singed him. Shelim fell to his knees beside the old man and turned him over.

  “Oh no, Kerrion, no,” Julia whispered, and gasped at what she saw. His right eye was gone, simply gone, and so was the rest of that side of his face. “I can heal him,” she gasped, tears falling unheeded. “I can do it. I will heal this, Shelim. I can save him, please let me…”

  Shelim pushed her roughly away. “Save them!” he snarled, waving a hand that encompassed the entire battle.

  Julia backed away, angrily scrubbing away her tears. She turned to find Lucius helping Mathius up. They appeared unharmed, but she couldn’t link with them. She would have to drop the ward first. They would all die if she did that. Julia groaned as the pressure built over the ward, trying to drive it and her into the ground. She had to find where the attack was coming from. She concentrated and followed the spell’s pattern back to its source, but it didn’t lead back to the Hasian camp. It led to the mill! Someone was using magic in there. How had they got by Jihan’s men? It didn’t matter. She had to get them out of there.

  She couldn’t throw lightning or fire while the ward was in the way, neither could the others. There was nothing she could do… or was there? She had been experimenting with breaking patterns. Could she break the spell and give herself time to hit the mill?