Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3

by Mark E. Cooper

  They ambled around the courtyard scrutinising the training of the other maniples. “I wanted to thank you for saving my hide during that little get together in the square, sergeant.”

  “Weren’t nothing, Sir. I’d do the same for anyone.”

  That made Navarien smile. “Well, thank you any way. How are your new lads coming along?”

  The sergeant looked ready to spit. “They’re useless, Sir! They do learn, but it’s slow going. Lewin is the worst, and even he’s slashing only half the time now. The others still fight like brigands, if you know what I mean?”

  That sounded ominous.

  “How so?”

  “Well, they fight good alone, but put them in a line and they get in each others way! They’re all shoulders and elbows!”

  “Are the others having the same difficulties?”

  “I couldn’t say, Sir,” Meran said all innocence.

  “Don’t give me that! The sergeants run the legions and we both know it. You know everything that goes on in the Fifth, and you will tell me what that is!” Navarien said putting a little heat into his words.

  Meran stopped and saluted. “Yes, Sir! All the Bandarians are having the same problem. They’re good fighters alone, but in formation they ain’t worth shit… Sir.”

  Navarien nodded, it was just as he’d feared. “How do you plan to solve the problem?”

  “Well as to that, you saw me show them how it should be done. What else can I do?”

  “Firstly, we have to put them in an actual formation I think. Not the entire maniple, just a half dozen men say. Have you some big men you can put on each side of the Bandarians?”

  Meran nodded. “Yes, Sir. Most of them are big, but I have some really big one’s in mind.”

  Navarien knew that, but it was best to let Meran run his maniple as he thought best. “Fine. What I want you to do is arrange big men on each side of the Bandarians with orders to keep their spacing. Then I want another group in formation, all Hasian veterans, to attack their front. With luck, the Bandarians will learn the only way to attack in formation effectively, is to thrust and parry.”

  “That might work,” Meran said seeming surprised. “I have half a mind to tell my boys to make the spacing even tighter than normal… just to force the idea through like.”

  “Good idea. Try it for a tenday and then report to me. If it works you can pass on how you did it to the other sergeants, but not until you report success to me. There’s no point in disrupting the training of the other maniples until we know it works. Understood?”

  “Yes, Sir, I understand.”

  “Good, dismissed.”

  Navarien returned Meran’s salute and watched him go back to his maniple to try out the new idea. He watched for a while then made his way into the barracks. A small section had been set-aside for him to use as a study. It had a curtain to enclose it for privacy. No one was in the barracks at this time of day so he left the curtain open. The accommodations were admittedly primitive, but he wouldn’t go back to the inn no matter what. His whole life was the legion. He ate, slept, fought, and would eventually die in the legion. This life suited him, and he wanted nothing else.

  A few days later, Turner was again escorted into his presence, this time they met in the barracks. The crafter looked around the place and shook his head in disapproval.

  “What?” Navarien said already starting to fume.

  Turner shrugged. “Nothing, General.”

  Why did this man always make him think fondly of a hangman’s noose? “Don’t give me nothing, General! What’s the matter with my barracks?”

  “Well if you really want to know, it looks like it was built by a bunch of soldiers.”

  Navarien clenched his fists. “It was!”

  “Well there you are then.”

  “What… exactly do you mean by that?”

  “Let me put it this way, General. You wouldn’t trust me by your side in battle would you?”

  “No I flaming wouldn’t!” Navarien roared.

  “Exactly! I’m not a soldier. Why then do you expect soldiers to do my job? They’re not crafters are they?”

  There wasn’t a lot he could say to that. His orders were to take three Camorin cities and hold them by building forts. That’s what he had done here. He couldn’t expect his men to do as good a job at building as they did at fighting. As Turner said, they weren’t crafters.

  “The legions go where they’re ordered, and do what they’re ordered to do. Whether that happens to be the capture of a city, or the building of a road, it makes no difference.”

  Turner snorted contemptuously. “It may make no difference to you, General, but I assure you it does to the people who have to use what you build. Why else pay me for fixing your gates, which are done by the way.”

  “Already?” he said in surprise.

  Turner nodded. “Would you care to have a look at true craftsmanship?”

  Talk about singing his own praises! How Turner had survived so long was a mystery. Navarien stood and followed the crafter outside.

  “You think a lot of yourself don’t you?”

  Turner glanced his way, and then forward again. “I have respect for good craft—my own included. I know I’m good. Why should I pretend otherwise? Besides all I have is my skill with wood.”

  “Have you no family then?” Navarien had a feeling the man wouldn’t.

  “No,” Turner said abruptly.

  “You said you came from Tindebrai. How did you escape?”

  Turner stumbled to a halt. “How did you know?”

  “I didn’t, but I thought it a good possibility. Your family are slaves as well?”

  “Were. They were slaves. They’re dead now. I escaped, but they were caught and hung. My little sister… she didn’t die quick.”

  Navarien winced at the pain in Turner’s voice. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why? Tindebraisha is a long way from here. That’s why I came here. Japura has strong ties to Tindebraisha, and Deva is too close.”

  Camorin was a good choice for a runaway. The clans wouldn’t let slavers, or anyone else for that matter, cross their lands. “What about Tanjung? They’re enemies of Tindebrai and Japura.” Actually, Tanjung seemed to be enemies of everyone.

  Turner laughed bitterly. “Don’t you think my red hair and white skin might have stood out a bit?”

  Turner was exceptionally pale skinned. Most had brown skin, but pale people weren’t unheard of. They didn’t tan well, and in hot years had a lot of trouble from sunburn. Tanjuners were all dark haired and swarthy. Deva and the Protectorate seemed to have the most variation in colouration. Red and blond haired people were rare compared to brown or black, but there were still plenty of them.

  “Would they still look for you after what… five years wasn’t it?”

  Turner laughed bitterly. “Runaways are never safe, General. Japura’s slave traders are paid double the rate for bringing us back, so that others will know there is no escape.”

  Navarien inspected the gates; they were so much better that they hardly seemed like the same ones. They were beautiful work—totally smooth, and even the drop bar was free of splinters. He hadn’t asked for carving, but the bar was carved in swirling patterns. The patterns didn’t seem to mean anything, but they did provide better grip.

  He was more than satisfied with the work. “They are excellent,” he said running a hand over his gates once more. “Come back with me to talk for a while.”

  Back in his study Navarien poured wine for them both and sat down to talk. Turner had been quiet since their discussion about his family. “You remember our earlier discussion about how the legions do whatever is ordered?”

  “Yes,” Turner said not really interested.

  “I was wondering if you had any ideas.”

  Turner frowned into his wine but then he shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s ever been done, but I should think what you need is a… battalion is it called?”

  “A battali
on is a unit of ten maniples each having one hundred men. Sergeants head each maniple, and an Under Captain heads each battalion.”

  “That’s a thousand men. That’s too many by far. Perhaps a special small maniple would do. One that doesn’t fight.”

  Navarien coughed and nearly spilled his wine over his armour. “A maniple that doesn’t fight would die! Let’s assume we can train them to at least defend themselves. What would they do for the legion?”

  “I thought you understood,” Turner said in surprise. “I’m talking about a crafter maniple. Look, you have all those legionnaires out there for labour, and they can build anything in a very short time. What you lack are master crafters to design what you need and oversee the work. Of course, they would have to do any tricky bits themselves, but most of the time they would be telling your men where to place this wall or that joist. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

  Navarien liked that. “The men look after their own armour and swords, but we always bring farriers for the horses and mules. They are legionnaires, and fight like everyone else, but their first duty is to the horses. There are never less than a hundred in a battalion.”

  “That’s it exactly, but you need to expand it. You need master crafters in wood, metal, and stone. If you have a few of each, the work would go much faster. More importantly the quality would be excellent as you would expect from any master of his craft.”

  Ha! I have him.

  “You’ve convinced me. When can you start?”

  “Me?” Turner said with a snort of amusement. “I’m not Hasian. I’m not anything really. I thought I would be Camorin, but…” he shrugged.

  “Why not try it?” Navarien pressed. “You would be safe from slavers in the legion. We look after our own. I can get you a uniform and armour no problem at all. You would have to learn how to fight, there are no slackers in the legion, but when we need to build something properly you would be doing it.”

  “I don’t know… I’m a wood crafter not a soldier. What you want is a soldier who knows wood not the other way round.”

  He nearly had him there, Navarien was sure of it. Turner would be a good addition to his legion. They often had to bridge rivers or build fortified camps. A maniple of crafters would be just the thing. That would show the militia he knew how to build a flaming good fort! It would also be the Fifth Legion showing the way forward, which he admitted to himself, was attractive. First Legion was always lording it over the Fifth because they had a much longer history of service. Fifth Legion was commissioned in the last year of the Bandar War, where the First, Second, and Third legions had been around since the Protectorate was first formed.

  Navarien tried again. “How about this. If you join up and learn how to be a legionnaire, I will promote you to sergeant of the crafter maniple. We could build it with men you choose, and make it part of First Battalion. If it works out, we could make your crafters First Battalion’s first maniple. You never know, the other legions might follow your lead.”

  “It’s tempting, General, but… would I have authority to buy tools? I would need to steal some likely looking men from the other maniples as well. I must insist on at least that.”

  I have him!

  “I’ll inform Cragson. He’ll work with you to build your maniple, but don’t forget, the men under you will know how to fight better than you and that may cause difficulties later. You will have to learn everything fast.”

  Turner took a deep breath and nodded. “All right.”

  “Good man! Now, stand up, this is your first lesson—”

  Navarien showed Turner a salute and made sure he knew to say sir when addressing a superior. He didn’t like that part because of his days as a slave, but he subsided when reminded that his men would say sir to him in turn. After a candlemark, Turner left with a bemused Cragson to get a set of weapons and armour.

  Over the next few days, Navarien watched Turner working hard at learning the drills. The crafter was quite good with the javelin, but his sword work needed help. Overall, he seemed to be doing well, and Meran agreed.

  “He ain’t got no bad habits to unlearn, Sir. He’s better than that pain in the arse Lewin right now.”

  “That’s good, very good in fact. How are the Bandarians doing with the thrust and parry drill?”

  “It’s working. Ain’t no doubt about it, but it’s taking time.”

  Navarien considered that for a moment. “Is it worth telling the others do you think?”

  “Yes, Sir. The longer I keep the secret, the longer the others will need to catch up.”

  “Good point. Fine then, tell the other sergeants how you managed to turn the Bandarians into legionnaires. That story is worth a couple of free beers any day!”

  “Right you are, Sir!” Meran said grinning, but then he scowled and trotted off. “Lewin! If I see you drop a blade like that again I’ll ram it up your bum!”

  Navarien walked away laughing quietly to himself. The legion was just like a family, and like a family, it had some strange characters. Cragson, the perfect legionnaire, was like a mother hen when he thought his men were going into danger. Meran was like a grumpy uncle always yelling insults, but if one of his men found himself up against something he couldn’t handle he was suddenly there explaining and teaching.

  Navarien surveyed the grounds and took a deep refreshing breath. By the God he loved this life. The good far outweighed the bad. He never wanted it to end.

  * * *

  8 ~ Lost Ones

  To Shelim’s chagrin, Darnath wasn’t learning as fast as he thought he should have. He had no complaints about Darnath’s eagerness to learn, but he was still having trouble with some of what Shelim had found the easiest to master. Kerrion had taught him all he knew about magic and he was passing those lessons on to Darnath almost word for word. It couldn’t be his teaching that was at fault. It must simply be a case of talent. Some shamen were better than others at some things. Just as he divined the future most nights without trying, others drugged themselves insensible with Tancred just to see what tomorrow would bring. It wasn’t surprising that Darnath’s talents were different to his own, just frustrating.

  Darnath’s work with the mirror was going slowly, and Shelim had a good idea why that was. While living at Denpasser with Kerrion, there had been few distractions—he had learned quickly because of that, but life in the clan was full of them. He, unlike Darnath, had no trouble learning to use his mirror because he had learned the way of it while living separated with Kerrion at Denpasser. But when Darnath used the mirror, one image after another would flash by without steadying down to what he wanted to see. Today was going to be different. He had divined something last night that he was going to use to help Darnath. That was the reason he had chosen not to ride too far ahead of the clan today. The lesson would be cut short partly because of that, but he was determined the day wouldn’t be wasted.

  “Let’s stop here Darnath,” Shelim said as he slowed Nyx to a walk.

  Darnath looked around. “Why here, Mentor? We haven’t come nearly far enough.”

  Shelim dismounted, and after a moment, so did Darnath. He walked a short distance away from the horses and sat cross-legged. When Darnath was sitting opposite, Shelim told him to retrieve his mirror.

  Darnath groaned but did as he was bid. “Do we have to practise the mirror again Mentor? You know how much trouble I’m having with it.”

  “That is why you will practise.”

  “All right,” Darnath said with a put upon sigh. “What do you want me to find?”

  “We haven’t tried this yet, but I’m sure you will succeed Darnath. I won’t tell you why, but I know you will succeed.”

  “How?”

  Shelim smiled and shook his head not willing to say more.

  Darnath looked puzzled for a moment, but then his eyes widened. “Divining?” he squeaked.

  He laughed at Darnath’s shock. His friend had obviously forgotten that he didn’t need Tancred to dream. “I said
I wouldn’t tell you, Darnath. I want you to find us in the mirror and hold the image steady. Then when I say now, I want you to widen the view to look at the plain in a big circle with us at the centre.”

  Darnath wilted at the complexity of the task. “I won’t be able to find us, let alone the rest you wanted.”

  “You will. Remember when I made you imagine your friend with the dog?” He waited for Darnath’s nod then went on. “I want you to do something similar. It should be easy out here away from distractions.”

  “Teach me, Mentor.”

  “I will,” he said seriously. “What you are to do is look around until you’re sure you can remember this place—including us sitting here… I meant now, Darnath.”

  “Oh sorry,” Darnath said then began looking carefully around.

  While Darnath was doing that, Shelim checked the sun again and judged that they still had time. That was one thing about these lessons, they seemed to make the day fly by.

  “I’m ready, Mentor.”

  “Grasp your magic and concentrate on making us appear in the mirror.”

  Darnath didn’t answer.

  He watched his apprentice frown at the mirror and held his breath. A picture appeared of two men sitting cross-legged in the grass together. He couldn’t help looking up to see if anything was visible, but as usual, nothing was. The picture in the mirror was how a tall man would see them, if he stood a few paces away looking down.

  “You see, that wasn’t hard was it?”

  Darnath grinned. He was about to say something, but he lost concentration and the picture dissolved. “It worked, but not for very long. I’ll try for the whole thing this time.”

  “Very well, concentrate as you did before…” Shelim watched the mirror. “Good, now widen it—pretend you are high up and looking down at me sitting here.” He watched as the mirror changed again, but he frowned. The image was wavering like a heat haze in summer. That never happened to him when he did this. “Try drawing a little more magic to steady it, Darnath.”