Spirit of Magik (The Dothranan Chronicles Book 1)

by Richard Cluff

  * * *

  Gwin Lother rested himself on one knee, resting his shield on the other. He hated having the wooden shield on his arm, but in the forward ranks of the formation, a shield was necessary he knew. He looked out over the field of grass and the road wrapping around West Vallad and waited as patiently as he could for the enemy to arrive.

  He'd heard that House Dothranan was now at war with House Quarrel before he'd gone off duty this morning at the sixth hour. He'd seen the second army gathering with what looked like every warhorse in the Hold from his place on the Manor's walls.

  Since he hadn't been given any new orders though, he did what he always did. He went to the common room of the Manor after his shift and had two ales with some of his comrades. Then he went to his column's barracks to sleep.

  His sleep was cut short though. Their Master Sergeant had come into the barracks before the twelfth hour and awakened them all, shouting “Get out of bed, you worthless laggards! We're at war! Nap time is over, maggots!”

  He awakened groggily. Lother had long ago become immune to the insults that would be hurled at soldiers by Sergeants like Fekral though. When he'd put his feet on the floor, they were all ordered to line up near the barracks door and update their wills.

  He waited in the line for at least fifteen minutes in his small clothes as the men and women of the column verified their final wishes were correct with the Corporals at the doorway. When the soldiers walked away from the door, the Master Sergeant shouted: “Get your arms and armor! No need to shower! You'll be smelling like sweat, blood or a corpse by day’s end anyway! Move it, soldiers!”

  “What about breakfast, sir?” Shara, one of the women in the company asked. The Master Sergeant said, “You'll get a Queenly meal served up just for you, sweetie, after you get into formation. Now get moving before I have your ass tanned!”

  Lother smirked at the Sergeant's humor. Meals in formation consisted of dried meat and hard rolls with water to wash them down. He hastily donned his armor. He checked his bunkmates straps, his bunkmate checked his and tightened his backplate. The automatic routine of doing this nearly silenced his internal questions. What is going to happen today? What is the plan? Am I going to see tomorrow?

  Once the column got into formation with their platoon in the Manor's courtyard, they were given their “queenly” repast of dried meat and hard rolls. After that, they were lined up and issued round shields and long spears. It wasn't often their entire platoon of twelve-hundred was assembled at once.

  And they still had no idea of what was going on. Shields and spears were not in normal use: in fact, Lother himself and never actually been issued these things. He had trained and drilled with them during his two years in the legion, and during his time in the Dothranan guard, but that was all.

  This did tell him one thing: they were going into a real battle. The other soldiers in formation knew it, too. There were quiet discussions about what this meant.

  His bunkmate asked him; “Hey Gwin, you think we're gonna be killin' Quarrels today?”

  “It doesn't matter who we're killing, Spen. We just need to kill them first,” he said grimly.

  “Right,” Spence Treeil said with a dark nod.

  Large wagons were lined up, and their platoon, as well as other platoons from the first army, were loaded into them. It was past the fourteenth hour when they rendezvoused with the armies outside the city.

  Even though he knew well the number of soldiers he served with in House Dothranan, seeing so many assembled in one place, in battle formation on the road and field beside the walls of Vallad was breathtaking. The grass that grew here was churned into tilled earth by the thousands of boots that had trodden over it.

  The first thing he saw was the two dozen trebuchets arrayed with their crews in a line behind the armies. He had been in an army's formation before and guessed that three of the Mistress's armies were here today. Near the trebuchets, were steel wagons with big speaking stones on them. Seeing this many men and women in formation, resting on one knee while awaiting orders with the discipline of their Legion training was inspiring to him. It made him stand tall in the wagon so he could see more.

  The first thing he thought when seeing this was: With this kind of force, we can't lose.

  Then the cold reality washed over him. What kind of force could be coming that we would need so many here today?

  That was when he spotted a Wizard deep within the left flank's ranks. The Magikal writing on the robes made them stand out. He thought it was a woman, but he couldn't be sure at this distance. The Wizard stood tall with staff in hand, speaking to one of the Officers it seemed.

  His heart beat faster seeing this. This was going to be a real battle, the kind he'd been told about during Legion training. One with Wizards involved. The kind where hundreds of soldiers died in seconds.

  His stomach tried to push his breakfast back up, but he forced it back and drew a deep breath. Making sure everyone’s will was up to date made dark sense to him now.

  He saw the lines of longbowmen after that point, then the short bowmen, with the spearmen in front of this vast formation.

  “Fuck me,” he said out loud as he realized what that meant.

  “What?” Shara asked.

  “Anytime, you just let me know when,” Draem replied with a wink. He ignored Draem's comment. Lother had made it clear to him many times that he wasn't interested in men.

  “We're going to be right out in front of this mess!” He said with feeling.

  Draem chuckled. “What did you think they gave us spears for, man?” A chorus of nervous laughter went up through the wagon as it rolled to a halt.

  Lother was properly embarrassed for missing the obvious, but it was still not something he relished. He took solace in the fact that his mother would get his death toll if he fell today, but he had no wish to die either.

  For one brief instant as the others began stepping off the wagon he considered running for his life. He knew that he wouldn't get far if he tried though. He'd be taken by an arrow, or worse, taken prisoner and executed as a deserter in front of his family.

  Then he would still be dead, and his mother would get nothing for his life.

  “Are you alright, Gwin? You look like you've seen a spirit or something,” Shara asked.

  “I'm fine,” he said, forcing himself to step off the wagon. The others were getting ahead of them.

  “Ok,” she said walking with him, eyeing him closely. “When this is over, do you want a roll in the hay?”

  “What? Where did that come from? I thought you liked women!?!” He asked taken completely off guard. He would have expected such a thing from Lea or Thora, those two had made rounds of half the barracks, but never Shara.

  She smiled and giggled. In a low conspiratorial voice she said; “I just tell the others that so they don't bother me. Don't tell anyone.”

  “I won't,” he said looking at her in a new light. She really was pretty, he could see looking at her as a woman instead of a comrade for the very first time.

  “So?” She asked looking at him.

  He couldn't help but crack a smile. “Sure, sounds good to me.”

  “It's a date then,” she said mischievously.

  All the dark thoughts that had been clouding his mind were washed away by her smile. Then his reverie was shattered by shouting.

  “All of you! Get your sorry asses up here right now! Move! Move! Move!” Master Sergeant Fekral bellowed.

  They jogged the remaining distance to where the platoon assembled in formation in front of their Junior Lieutenant, hastily joining it and standing at attention as the others already were. It was never good to be the last one in formation; the Officers looked dimly upon that and they had good memories.

  He saw other platoons also forming up from the first army. When he saw Commander Ginri riding up on a light brown stallion he knew: the entire fourth company of the first army had been deployed here.

  “Women and Medics, get i
n the third or sixth ranks! Taller men, to the second or fourth! Everyone else, fill out the gaps! If you can't find a spot, one will be found for you! Make sure your short swords can be drawn with your unshielded arm! Your long blades won't be worth a damn in close!” The Lieutenant shouted to them.

  The formation shuffled about to comply with his orders. When they settled, he sorted them a bit to his liking; Lother found himself in the first rank near the middle.

  “Show me your short blades!” He yelled.

  Lother dropped his spear into the crook of his left arm and pulled the short blade from his right side. He swung it into a proper grip and pointed it straight at the sky. He wasn't the first one in the air, but he was far from last, which suited him well enough.

  The Junior Lieutenant nodded with satisfaction. “Sheath your weapons, and remain at attention, soldiers!”

  As a unit the platoon did so while the other platoons in the company went through similar organization and exercises under their officers. All of them under the watchful eye of their Commander, who sat on a riding horse. He seemed to be conversing with someone with his speaking rod. He had another company Officer with him who was also mounted, Lother didn't know the man though.

  He continued to stand at attention for what seemed like forever. He watched a dozen women ride past them on fast unarmored horses. Their pauldrons bore the red lacquered claw marks of General Tarsis's personal unit. They rode until he lost sight of them around the bend of Vallad's great wall.

  Just as he wondered what they could possibly be doing he realized, they had to be scouts. The women would be lighter so they could make better speed on horseback.

  The Commander began shouting orders, and the Sergeants of each platoon relayed them. Lother and the other twelve thousand men and women of the first army's fourth company were arrayed about the formation, primarily in the forward and left flanks. Two platoons were sent further back as reserve units.

  Lother's platoon was near the forward left corner of the overall formation. “Take a knee, soldiers! Save your strength! You're going to need it to kill as many of those Quarrel dogs as you can!” Master Sergeant Fekral yelled.

  Then they all heard the big speaking stones in the steel wagons crackle with sound, and with it came a deep, hard voice made thin by the stone's effect.

  “My fellow soldiers, this is your Commander, General Tarsis. Today we will engage in the largest battle to have ever occurred in this Great City's history. Today, we will see the end of our feud with House Quarrel. You are the finest soldiers in Vallad, the heart and blade of Great House Dothranan. House Quarrel's armies are on the move, and will be visible within the hour. They will be tired from their long march, only to find us here blocking their way. We must hold this position, and keep them from advancing.”

  “There will be a bounty of one barrel of the Mistress's wine given to any column that can bring an enemy Officer's rank insignia to their direct commander. There will be two barrels given to any who bring a Wizard's staff,” the General's voice paused for a moment.

  Lother heard some excited whispers at this, which were ended by their newest Corporal. Lother couldn't for the life of him dredge up her name. “Shut your holes unless you want extra duty!” She yelled at them.

  “Maintain discipline, and obey your chain of command at all times. Remember your training, and you will double your chances of seeing nightfall. Fight well for the Mistress, and hold nothing back. That is all,” the stone went silent.

  Lother felt ashamed of the fear he'd felt earlier. Hearing the General call them the finest soldiers in Vallad made him feel unworthy of the faith that was being placed in him now. He'd just panicked for a moment, but that was a stain within him that could never be washed away. He doubted anyone else had such an unworthy idea as desertion run through their minds.

  “A barrel of wine!” Spence whispered excitedly beside him. “I'll make sure to get one of those then!”

  “Spen, don't be doing something stupid to get one. You can't drink if you're dead,” Lother said grimly.

  “Yeah, but..,” Spence began, and Draem interrupted from behind them; “Gwin is right, Spen,” the older man said. “Just follow orders, and stay together. I don't know how many are coming, but the General said armies. There are going to be a shitload of them, man. Staying alive is the first thing to worry about: everything else you'll have time to worry about if you manage that.”

  Master Sergeant Fekral spoke up from beside Draem. “He's right man,” then bellowed, “All of you lot! You'd better keep yourselves and your comrades breathin'! I'll be buyin' a barrel of ale for us tonight, and if you're dead you can't have any!”

  The whole platoon laughed quietly at that, even the dour Corporal that had barked at them. They all waited on one knee for the enemy to come. There were some whispers, but no shuffling or jangling of arms and armor.

  Then movement from up ahead caught Lother's eye. He saw the scouts from the General's personal unit pounding towards them quickly: they were being pursued by enemy riders. He saw one of the women fall off her horse, but he couldn't see why from here.

  Then he saw the remaining women break to the sides as one and maneuver their faster mounts to the flanks of the enemy riders. One woman literally jumped onto the enemies mount and unhorsed him, while others fired their bows into them. He saw another of these deadly women go down though. The woman with her commandeered mount unhorsed another man with a whip around his throat. Only one of their pursuers survived to flee: just to be taken with an arrow from behind.

  The women stopped for a moment to collect their own and galloped towards them.

  “Those are some hard bitches,” Draem said in admiration. Lother nodded his agreement. He had just seen them wipe out an equal number of soldiers and only lose two of their own doing it. Impressive didn't begin to describe it.

  “Don't you be callin' them dogs, you man's man!” Lea's voice said from the third rank.

  “Don't be telling me what to say, whore!” Draem barked back.

  “I ain't no whore, I never take money! If you get yourself gutted, I'm gonna sew your mouth shut, cocksucker!” She said viciously.

  “Shut up!” The Master Sergeant yelled as he slapped the back of Draem's helmet. Then he said more quietly: “Don't piss off the medic man, that's just stupid.”

  Lother and Spence shared a look and began chuckling quietly as the one of the riders pulled to a halt in front of them. The other riders continued past them on their left. One of her comrades sat in front of her on the saddle: she was slumped over the horn with an arrow sticking out of her back. “Medic!” She called loudly enough to make Fekral sound quiet.

  Noting the Commander's rank on her blood grooved pauldron, Lother and Spence stepped up quickly to pull the wounded woman from the front of her saddle. The Sergeant and Draem came up as well. The Men formed a human litter for the wounded woman just as they had learned in Legion training. The woman breathed shallowly, and when she was gently passed back to the third rank, out of Lother and Spence's hands they resumed their place in formation.

  Lother looked over his shoulder and saw Lea dump a pain numbing powder in the Woman's mouth and clip the arrow's shaft with cutters. Then the woman was carefully passed further back to the next medics in the sixth rank. Lea said, “Watch that arrow!” as she was moved.

  “Ma'am, you're wounded,” the Lieutenant said has she gathered her reins in one hand. That drew Lother's attention to her other hand pressed to her left side. The fingers of her gauntlet were covered in blood that ran down her leg.

  The pale, hard-faced Commander nodded her acknowledgment. “I have a report to make,” she said, then rode off without another word, still holding her wound.

  “Damn..,” was all Spence said as they watched her ride away. Lother felt that sentiment wholeheartedly. That was the kind of person that could become a hero in his mind.

  A few minutes later, he had settled into waiting again and saw the formation of soldiers marching. At
first it seemed to be just a few, but it soon became apparent that wasn't true. The vast formation came around the wall, with the Quarrel banners held high. Lother's heart skipped a beat.

  He swallowed down his fear and waited as calmly as he could for orders.

  * * *

  Jacon Quarrel sat in the comfortable chair behind the desk in his office, waiting patiently as his barber skillfully slid the razor over his scalp. Ricard sat on his left, studying diligently, wearing a sword on his belt. He had his own sword laid on the side of his desk beside his staff, alongside the neatly arranged papers containing their own battle plan.

  When his barber pulled the blade away to rinse and dry it, he leaned forward to pick up one choice piece: the one that contained much of the Dothranan battle plan.

  He had to hand it to his adversary, she was not stupid. Placing four of her armies outside the walls with her three Wizards and her betrothed Apprentice to stop them from reaching the south gate was very smart. General Garna had been in favor of holding their own armies back for twelve hours so that they could be fresh when they met.

  But Jacon Quarrel did not wish to tip his hand. Let his force engage them, to spur young Dothranan into action. This was not the complete plan, but it also included something else: the fact that little bastard Dothranan cunt intended to attack his own Manor from the cistern using her General's personal unit to enter and kill Ricard herself to demoralize them.

  He looked at his only son and was still amazed at how much it was like looking in a mirror when he'd been a young man. Yes, he would one day be a great Wizard, one that would make him proud. But he knew the truth: Ricard could not defeat her as he was now. Jacon had wished to go with his armies to assist and do battle with his nemesis there.

  He had been concerned at first with this intelligence. He could not be in both places, so he thought to take Ricard with him into battle. He was old enough, and he would not be useless.

  But no, he could not afford to pass up the opportunity her cavalier decision had given him. He had increased his cistern's guard, but only by half. He would wait, and see which soldiers fell. Then they would know where she would enter. General Garna's personal unit would be there to meet them after they had been blunted fighting the others. Then he would apport to them and engage her.