The Olvion Reality (The Chronicles of Olvion Book 1)

by Larry Robbins

  “Anyway,” I continued. “Our original plan was to build two hundred weapons and take them into the field with our infantry,” I continued. “Yes, they have proven to be devastating from the walls but the simple truth is they can be evaded by merely pulling back far enough to escape their range.” I stood and walked to the observation window. “As you can see, they have already pulled back their camps to five hundred yards. We could still reach them, by the way.” Ruguer and the king both raised their eyebrows. “Oh yes,” I said. “With the smaller and lighter iron arrows we could get out as far as six hundred yards from the height of the city walls. But let’s keep that a secret from our little grey friends for right now.

  “By making the cannon mobile we can deny the Greys the ability to avoid their effectiveness by using distance. If they try to back away we can just advance. Now, I have noticed that the enemy has a default position of putting their ground troops into “blocks” of five hundred. I think they are convinced that this gives their officers the ability to control their troops better than having them form into larger individual groups. They then like to gather these blocks together and attack with the effect of a larger single force. Today they were careless enough to make the mistake of charging a prepared formation with superior numbers. They compounded that stupidity by making their fighters sprint some three hundred yards, expending most of their energy before they even reached our comparatively fresh forces. It cost them dearly. Even their commander will probably not make that mistake again.”

  An exaggerated sigh from the Ruguer told me that I was covering ground they were already aware of so I got on with my explanation. “So if we find ourselves again outside the city walls we will enjoy one advantage that the enemy cannot change: They must come to us. They need to take Olvion before moving to the coast. They have no way to force us to attack them now that their trebuchets are destroyed.”

  Dwan finished treating Ruguer’s leg and went to wash up at a basin located against the wall. She had already heard my ideas on this subject but was still listening intently, enjoying the fact that her man was strategizing with the people responsible for our survival.

  I stood and paced as I continued my explanation. “Now, let’s say they are smart enough to advance on us at a walk in order to avoid today’s fiasco.” All three members of my audience knotted their eyebrows until Tinker supplied them with an Olvioni word for “fiasco”. When their expressions softened I continued. “Imagine them advancing on our positions slowly. Immediately we initiate two hundred cannon launching a total of six hundred heavy, sharp iron missiles into their midst on every volley. The cannon can be reloaded in thirty seconds sending another set of iron shafts quickly down range. If only one in three of the bolts finds flesh that equates to two hundred casualties for each volley. But seeing the way they routinely group their fighters so tightly together I expect better results than that. Their ranks will be rapidly losing fighters from the beginning of their advance.”

  Ruguer caught the thread of my explanation and also stood up. “So,” he said. “They will have to then decide whether to continue a slow march forward while hemorrhaging troops or again attack at a run toward us, tiring their fighters and risking the same result as we saw today. Whatever they decide, they will eventually reach a distance from which we can also hit them with our regular archers and javelins.”

  I nodded.

  Zander looked to Ruguer, waiting for his military commander to comment further. Tinker had finished her tart and was now helping herself to the crumbs that were left on the king’s plate. “It definitely gives us an advantage we didn’t have before,” Ruguer said. “My concern would be how long we would need to complete the construction of the additional…cannon…and the huge number of missiles we would need.”

  I consulted my notes again. “Geord has had his people scrounging scrap iron from every place in the city that it may be found” I said. “We don’t need it to be high quality, even pig iron will do. We have been pulling it off of gates, fences, store fronts and such. The people have been very gracious about it. And in a pinch we can always use the ordinary wooden shafted arrows. The armories have been stockpiling them in enormous quantities for decades. They won’t have the punch of the heavier iron arrows but they’ll get the job done, especially at shorter distances.”

  Zander rose. “Well, at least it is something new,” he said. “If nothing else this conflict has shown us that novelty is an effective weapon.” He pointed to me. “I will issue an appeal to the city asking that all iron that is not otherwise necessary to the war effort be delivered to your metal workers. Feel free to assign as many people as needed to the task of manufacturing your cannon machines and missiles. In the meantime we will continue in our efforts to convince the other kingdoms to fight the war here.” He shot a quick look at Ruguer. “I’m told there has been some movement in our direction lately. Let us hope they don’t continue to dither.” The king then turned and left after returning our salutes.

  ***

  The following weeks were filled with work. After putting in a half-day of military training our warriors were sent out to various manufacturing sites to assist in the preparations for the final battle that we all knew would eventually come. At the end of each day I would meet with Ruguer, Vynn and Gallan, an older warrior that Ruguer had promoted to replace Mag-Gan. He was tall with grey hair and beard and very intelligent. I was told he had seen much combat in the southern part of the valley when the Greys first started their probing raids. At first he was not a fan of using projectiles to kill from afar because he was of a generation that considered it unmanly. But the lopsided victories that we had scored lately had made him a convert and he enthusiastically supported our new tactics.

  I kept sending our Rangers out every night to keep track of what the enemy was doing. These forays were strictly for intelligence gathering with engaging the enemy approved only if necessary. I didn’t want the Greys to know we had the ability to get out of the city and observe them up close. I had Meena supervising one such group of rangers. She had turned out to be a natural warrior and had a keen mind.

  Dwan and I both put everything we had into the war effort. We would frequently find ourselves on different shifts, sneaking quietly into bed late at night as the other slept. But still, I found myself loving my new life. Don’t misunderstand, I abhorred the loss of life that resulted from our current state of war. The movies and television shows about medieval warfare do a good job of romanticizing it. I had been unprepared for the true horror of it. The act of using sharp blades to lop off limbs and disembowel living beings is an abomination that only those who have been forced to do can appreciate.

  Leaving that aside, I seemed to be born for this less advanced type of living. The lack of modern luxuries such as electricity, air conditioning or central heating bothered me very little. Indeed, the Olvionis were very advanced in the really necessary things such as plumbing, hygiene and medicine. I believe that some of the salves and ointments they used would have been widely considered miracle drugs in my old world. True, they lacked things such as x-ray machines and such but they got by, just as we had for centuries before such things became common.

  To me, the rugged life the Olvionis led was exhilarating. There is a certain pride that one develops when he or she overcomes obstacles in their lives. One of the better results of civilization is that it removes so many of those obstacles from us so we could live more comfortably. But it also removes many opportunities to challenge oneself. I would guess the American people of World War Two would probably well know what I’m talking about. Their lives were not exactly easy leading up to the war. When the conflict arose it was a case of the people adding a war to the list of other difficult things to be accomplished. No one doubts that they would rather not have had that burden. But they rose to the occasion and saved the world from fascism. And that was sort of the way I was reacting to my new reality.

  Believe it or not my greatest challenge was not adapting to an e
ntirely new world, it was finding myself in the role of a military commander. During my four years in the army I had completely left all of the planning and tactical maneuvering up to the officers. I thought I could do it if I had to but I was never going to have to. So I never read the manuals or picked the brains of the non-commissioned officers with whom I had worked. And now, here I was, Jack Taggart, A.K.A. Tag-Gar, medieval military commander extraordinaire. Go figure.

  CHAPTER FORTY TWO

  Submission

  The Grey King spent another day in his cot, sweat rolling off of his hirsute body and dripping into a pool on the floor. The furs were wet with it. They smelled of it. Sweat and the pungent and strong spirit that the Greys loved. They called it p’lunn. It was made from a fruit that grew only in the Grey Mountains. The supply of it had already been exhausted among the fighters in the field. Only Karr still had a large reserve of it among his provisions. He had strangled one slave already for getting into his personal stores and swilling it. He lay back and pulled the cork from another skin and sighed heavily. Another day drunk, damp and smelling of dried p’lunn.

  Karr took a long pull on the spirit skin and brought up a loud and rattling belch. Then he laughed because belches are funny. Lately they’d gotten funnier. He looked around the inside of his large command tent, moving only his eyes. Two torches were burning and, along with three looted and failing light-leaf globes, provided dim light within the tent. The flaps were closed and had remained so for four days. He couldn’t take the looks any more.

  After the last humiliating defeat he had been losing raiders. They were sneaking away every night. Each morning there were fewer and fewer. There was a way to defeat those damned walls. He knew it. There had to be. But, all stars be damned, he could not think of a way to do it. His position as king of the horde was threatened. His life was threatened. Even now lesser officers were making comments about him, comments which they would have been terrified to make only a month ago. He had lost their fear. And that was dangerous.

  The old stories and myths now held their fear. There were now whispers of the elders. They traveled with this army and worked against Karr. They snuck into the camps at night and slit throats. Karr slung the spirit skin splashing against the slack side of his tent and immediately regretted it. Where was his slave? Oh yes, he had strangled the human during his last tantrum. It wasn’t worth getting out of the cot to uncork another skin.

  So the Grey King slid into a light, fitful slumber. The torches dimmed and the glow bulbs died. He slipped deeper and deeper still. Then…he was not alone. The Other was there.

  “Where have you been?” he roared in his dream.

  “I’ve let you fail.” It was a quiet admission.

  “Why?” he demanded. “Why did you let me fail?”

  “Because you had to fail before I could help you win. You were proud. And you were smug. And you refused to follow my directions.”

  Even knowing that he was in a dream, the King was enraged. “I am King! I am not to be instructed. I am to be obeyed.”

  There was a long pause. Karr began to fear that he had driven the Other away again. He was angry. No, not angry. He was livid. He was Karr, the King of the Greys. He was the wisest of all the horde. He knew more than his wisest generals. But in a small crevice that had been worn into a part of his mind he knew that he was not as wise as he first thought. When he listened to the Other , he won. He overthrew the elders. He gathered followers, cultivated supporters and made alliances. But then he began to believe that his successes were his and his alone. He stepped away from the instructions he’d been given. And he failed.

  He’d been warned about sending in the advance force. “Do not divide your horde,” the Other had told him. Now the advance force fed the beasts of the field and the sky. “Keep your war machines far from the city walls.” But he wanted the machines to be close enough to shatter the walls quickly so that all could see what a great and powerful leader was Karr. And the machines were lost. “Do not send such a small group of your raiders against a superior force. Wait until you have sufficient numbers assembled. Then advance them slowly and with discipline.” But he wanted to see human blood on the ground. He wanted his horde to feast on human flesh, to see what would soon be theirs in plenty. And he failed. For many nights now the Other had been gone. As each day passed without his return Karr had fallen deeper into despair. Now his voice had returned. Or had it? He was still in a dream. He knew this to be so. And yet somehow, he knew that he would have one more opportunity to…obey. The word choked him. But he knew he must. Or all was gone. And it would soon be his flesh that was swallowed by his army. So, in his dream, he climbed down from his sodden cot. He dragged his bloated and overfed body upward and into a kneeling pose. And he lowered his head.

  “What would you have me do?”

  CHAPTER FORTY THREE

  Infiltrated

  I had the night duty for wall security. It was a chilly night and Dwan had wrapped a light uniform jacket around my shoulders before I’d left her all warm and fetching in our little room. We had been offered larger quarters when I was promoted to Division Commander but we had grown to like our little space. I asked Tinker if she wanted to come with me instead of languishing in warm comfort next to Dwan. She gave me an expression that meant she wasn’t going anywhere. I Kissed Dwan and chucked Tinker under the chin.

  Out here on the wall I almost ached at the incredible beauty of an Olvioni night. The only pollution this land knew came from fires, torches and forges. The air was crisp and could almost be tasted, like a refreshing drink of water. The moons were bright tonight and cast a soft light on the valley floor and the mountains that surrounded us on two sides. Night birds called and sang. Exotic creatures stalked and hid in the darkness. It was a night so pretty that it almost made up for leaving Dwan below in our bed. Almost.

  I relieved Vynn and sent him off to a warm bed while I prepared for ten hours of sentry watch. My Sub-Commanders reported to me from all stations. The defensive walls and battlements were on three levels, each level under the control of one of our more experienced officers. My job, as Division Commander of the Watch was to walk around and look intimidating so that no one would risk my wrath by neglecting his duties. I had made it a point to have no close friends among my subordinates. Friends sometimes thought they could avoid unpleasant tasks. Subordinates knew they could not.

  I had been on duty for some three hours. The sounds of the city and the castle proper had died away and the quiet of night took over. I roamed the different levels, letting the sentries know that they could never quite tell where the Watch Commander might appear. As I ascended the stone steps to the highest level I saw a junior officer talking with a sentry and called him aside.

  “It is a quiet evening, Commander,” he said.

  “It is. It would be quieter still if you were not conversing with the watch.”

  The young officer swallowed and the smile fled his face. I put a hand on his shoulder to take the sting out of the rebuke. He was young, maybe twenty five years or so, Earth time. He would not already be an officer had he not impressed someone by his abilities. “Have all of your stations reported in?”

  “They have, Commander. Well…Station Six has not but they are the farthest away. I expect the runner soon.”

  I saw the worry on his face. Time was kept by many different methods on Olvion but the watch was measured by sand glasses. The glasses were much like the old hour glasses on Earth and timed to run out after about fifty minutes. The end of each measure of time was announced by bells in the daylight. After the hour grew late time was indicated by a change of color filter on a huge glow bulb affixed to the roof of the war room. A sentry there had the enormously boring responsibility of turning the glass when it emptied, then changing the color filters. The color change could be observed from any place on the city walls. When the color changed one of the two sentries at each station would run to report all clear to the level commander. Because the statio
ns were at different locations, the runners would arrive at different times yet fairly close to each other.

  But the color filter had been changed from red to amber approximately ten minutes ago by my estimate. Station Six was late. Not late enough to cause concern but late enough to have sent this young officer to check on what was holding him up. I raised my eyebrow and he caught my concern. His chin quivered a little.

  “Come with me, Sub-Commander,” I ordered, “Let us see what is causing this delay.”

  I purposely walked ahead of the officer, letting him know, without actually telling him, that this was not a time for conversation. We passed several sentry parapets, all of which were dimly illuminated by weak glow bulbs, both of us returning salutes from the guards. I was not actually worried. This particular watch station was a half mile from where I’d first encountered the young officer. When one has an area of responsibility as large as the walls that surrounded our city it was to be expected that some guards would mess up. It happened all the time. I was a little disappointed that the delay had not been investigated but I didn’t really think much of it.

  As we drew closer to Station Six my hand reflexively gripped my sword. Even from her location at our apartment far inside the castle, Tinker was sending me warnings.