Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3

by Mark E. Cooper

  “You wanted to see me, sir?” Sergeant Turner said.

  “Yes sergeant. How are you settling in? Any problems?”

  “Fine. No problems worth mentioning… sir.”

  Navarien’s lips twitched. Turner sounded like a veteran legionnaire already. None of them would complain to a superior about someone he was having trouble with, but suddenly he would be walking around grinning while someone else limped around groaning. Fighting among the ranks was strictly against the legion code, but any General worth the name allowed it, as long as it was refereed by an under-captain or higher. Cragson had been Turner’s referee. Lewin would be all right in a few days.

  “Good, I’m glad to hear that.” Navarien turned and waved a hand at the walls. “They look set to cause problems don’t you think?”

  “That would depend on whether you wanted to go under, over, or through I’d say.”

  Navarien chuckled. That described the situation all right. “The fastest way would be to blast the gates with magic, but that’s out of the…” Turner was shaking his head. “You don’t agree?”

  “You see Nav… Ah, umm. You see sir, going through is out of the question, but it has nothing to do with our lack of magic. It’s because we have no stone.”

  “Stone?” he said in puzzlement. What did stone have to do with anything?

  Turner was nodding enthusiastically. “Yes sir. I’ve been thinking about this ever since we left Cantibria. What we need is a big winch that would power a lever to throw stones against the gates.”

  He frowned trying and failing to picture what the sergeant had in mind. How could a winch power a stone through the air? They were only for lifting things weren’t they? He shook his head at his preoccupation. Turner had obviously thought of a way.

  “It would take a really big stone to smash something like that,” he said nodding at the huge gate. “A boulder even. Would your winch be able to loft a stone that size?”

  “That’s the problem. We don’t have any stone around here, but if we did, I think my winch could work. If we kept up a constant hammering on the gate, it should fall.”

  Navarien frowned in thought. A winch? Hmmm, a siege winch? No, that didn’t sound right at all. A stone thrower… that was a little better but it didn’t really conjure the right image. Turner’s machine was an engine of war—a siege engine to be precise.

  “Your—let us call it a siege engine—is an interesting idea. Who ever thought of blasting down gates without magic? I like it!”

  “Yes sir, but there’s no stone here.”

  “True.” The city itself was the only source of stone available, but there was still Calvados to think about. Perhaps arrangements could be made to move stone from Durena to Calvados, but that time was not yet. “My remaining options are over or under. I prefer over.”

  “Yes sir, so do I. Those walls are big,” Turner said in awe. “They must go down deep to bedrock, or they would have collapsed under their own weight long ago. It will have to be over. If I had enough wood, I could make ladders.”

  Navarien grimaced. It was the traditional method for scaling walls, but he didn’t like the idea. The legions were trained to do it, right enough, but sorcerers generally found it easier to knock the walls down rather than climb over. In this one thing, he agreed with them. Ladders would slow his men so badly, they would be easy meat for bowmen. He would still win of course, he had no doubt of it, but he would lose too many men doing so. What he needed was a way to protect the men as they climbed, while maximising their numbers upon reaching the top. He spoke his thoughts aloud, and Turner frowned in thought.

  “…protect them while climbing up… then over. No, that’s no good. What about… and then… yes, but how… That’s it!” Turner shouted in his excitement.

  “What’s it?”

  “Towers sir! Put the ladders inside wooden towers and roll them up to the walls.”

  Wooden towers on wheels?

  Navarien looked up at the massive walls and tried to imagine a tower rolling forward and disgorging a battalion onto the battlement. It was certainly an elegant solution, but would it work? The walls were twenty yards high at least. A tower that high would take a great many trees to make. How heavy would that be? The ground seemed firm, but something like Turner had in mind would be incredibly hard to move, even on good ground such as this. On wet or soft footing, it would be impossible. Still, it was better to try an idea then discard it if it didn’t work, than to lose his men’s lives through laziness.

  He nodded, decision made. “I want you and your men to bring in enough wood for two of your towers, Sergeant. Cragson can lead you to the closest supply. I’ll send him in command of First Battalion to help with the felling.”

  “Two! If you don’t mind my asking, why build two? It will take me twice as long.”

  “I want two of them to attack on different fronts at the same time. Four would be better if you think you can do it… no I see not,” he said grinning at Turner’s horrified look. “It’s always a good idea to split an enemy’s forces if you can. Fight in formation when that’s possible, and concentrate your strength on the enemy’s weakest point.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Turner murmured dryly.

  “With two towers, I can halve the opposition either tower will need to face.”

  Turner nodded and continued his study of the walls. The amount of work necessary was just dawning on him. Navarien smiled. Turner would find ways to induce the best effort from his men. He always seemed to have that effect on people. It had been the same when he bargained with the farriers to reinforce his carts, or when he filched men for his new maniple from the other sergeants by promising them a bit of wood craft. In Navarien’s opinion, Turner would have made an excellent trader. Instead, he was turning into a very resourceful legionnaire.

  Navarien walked through the camp noting yet another wagon without its wheels. Turner had stolen them from everything that rolled to ferry in the wood he needed. The carts themselves were too small, so he had simply stolen the wheels fixing them to the already downed trees on new axles. It had been something to see when the first twenty yard long wagon rolled in, but now it was a common sight. Rolling entire trees into camp had seemed a bit excessive, but after construction of the towers began, he could see why Turner had chosen that method. Durena’s walls were twenty yards high, maybe even a little more. What sense did it make to cut up a tree then join it back together? None.

  Turner’s towers would be four-sided and wheeled. Cragson had marched out with the sergeant and his men to cut enough wood for the corners posts. Eight mighty trees had crashed down, only to be raised up again in camp. The wheeled axles were immediately sent back, and more trees were downed, but this time cut to a quarter of the corner posts’ length. These shorter logs were used to form a square base sitting on the strongest wheels and axles Turner could devise. No spoked wheel could handle the huge weight of a fully built tower, so the wheels were wide and solid. The towers would be hard enough to move without contending with bogging wheels.

  One of the towers was nearly complete, and the other was not far behind. Perhaps three more days would see them ready. They were remarkable feats of engineering. It had taken a battalion of men just to hoist the corner posts upright and hold them in position while Turner’s maniple fixed them to the base. The contraption had threatened to tip over, but Turner had foreseen even that possibility and braced everything with ropes.

  As the towers grew, the defenders in the city had become anxious. An occasional arrow would fly from the walls, but the range was far too great to worry the men. They just waved cheerfully and continued working. They were behind schedule for taking Durena, but Navarien found himself unconcerned. Once he took the city, building a fort would go much faster than usual due to the crafter maniple’s new skills. Turner said they could even take the towers apart again for building materials!

  Everything was going splendidly.

  Three days later the day dawned wi
th both towers standing in position ready to attack. Navarien chose widely spaced sections of wall for the assault, and the towers were ready. Third and Fourth Battalions were inside the towers ready to boil out and take their section of wall. They would hold until relieved by Fifth and Sixth Battalions. Turner had objected when informed that his men were not to go. He argued that his men had the right to go first, but Navarien silenced him with the simple expedient of ordering him to watch the show.

  “Cragson!”

  “Sir!”

  Navarien studied the silent ranks of his men, and then nodded to Cragson. “Order the towers forward. They all know the plan?”

  Cragson nodded. “Yes, Sir. I went over it again this morning.”

  “Good. Get them moving.”

  “Yes, Sir!” Cragson said with a salute. He turned and ordered Fifth and Sixth Battalions to begin pushing the towers forward.

  Navarien held his breath dreading what it would mean if they failed to move the monstrous weight, but a tense moment later, he released it with a sigh of relief as both towers edged forward. There had been some concern among his officers regarding the weight of the towers. True, wide wheels would help to prevent them digging in, but they had felt it would be more prudent to use two battalions per tower. He had vetoed that idea. There simply wasn’t room for two thousand men to push effectively. More than that, they would be easy meat for enemy bowmen. The towers had long beams projecting outward from each side, and they were shielded against arrows with a wooden fence, but never was there enough room on those beams for a battalion of men, let alone two. The towers moved ponderously, but they did move, and he was pleased at how stable they were. He couldn’t see any swaying at all. That had been one of his nightmares. If one of those monstrosities fell, it would kill everyone inside.

  “They look good, Turner,” he said glancing at the worried man.

  “Yes, Sir. I’ll be happier when they drop their bridges upon the wall.”

  “Relax man, everything is going splendidly! We won’t have to rebuild the wall, and it will save lives. Mortain—may he live forever—will be delighted. Magic is all very well, but sorcerers don’t have to fix the mess they make.”

  Navarien watched the attack full of anticipation, but then he noticed that the nearest tower was falling behind. The point of the exercise was to attack at the same time. Fifth Battalion seemed to have encountered a patch of rough ground, and it was slowing them. The other tower hadn’t slowed to keep pace as he’d ordered it should in this eventuality. He was about to order Cragson to slow Sixth Battalion’s pace when disaster struck. Their tower was nearly at the wall when the city’s defenders threw oil and set it ablaze.

  The tower went up like a bonfire.

  “Sound retreat!” he screamed and watched in horror as his men burned.

  Rah-Rah-taaa, Rah-Rah-taaa, Rah-Rah-taaa!

  The boy blew his cornet and the notes soared out over the camp. It was a sound rarely heard by the legions, but the men of Sixth Battalion were only too willing to obey.

  Rah-Rah-taaa, Rah-Rah-taaa, Rah-Rah-taaa!

  Captain Duer of Fifth Battalion held his men back from the retreat and tried to save his tower. Many of his men were killed as an arrow storm descended upon them. Duer himself took one in the leg, but he managed to move his tower out of range of the throwers. Fires blazed up where jars of oil missed their target and set the grass burning. All was a confusion of screaming and running men. The burning oil clung to their armour and skin, and resisted all their attempts to extinguish it. Navarien was frozen. He watched hundreds of his men rolling upon the ground trying to put out the flames that were eating them alive. He watched as men jumped or fell from the tower burning as they fell. He watched as his legion came apart unable to think beyond the screams.

  “Blankets! Get the blankets!” Turner bellowed, and snatched up an empty sack. He threw a screaming man to the ground and rolled him in the sacking in an effort to smother the flames. He cried out at the pain of burned hands, but the oil was extinguished. “Tear down the tents and use them for the God’s sake!”

  Navarien nodded numbly. “Do it.”

  Cragson ran off roaring about using their tents and bedding to smother the flames. Navarien listened to his men scream. This was his fault. He should have thought of fire. How many times had he seen sorcerers attack using it? With none here, he hadn’t even thought of the possibility, but he should have. Anyone could set a fire. It didn’t take a cursed sorcerer to do it! Fool, fool, and three times a fool! Why didn’t he think?! Perhaps half of Fourth Battalion managed to escape their tower, before the flames took too great a hold. Most were injured in varying degrees, some seriously. The rest perished packed in ranks where they stood, unable to move.

  “I’m sorry, Sir. I should have thought of fire—” Turner broke off at Navarien’s raised hand.

  When the screaming stopped replaced by the roaring of the flames, he turned silently and entered his tent. A short while later, Cragson reported the second tower safe, but a third of Captain Duer’s men had been wounded, and no few of them would die. Captain Duer was to be commended for his fast thinking, but what good was a scaling tower when fire could so easily destroy it?

  “How many of Fourth survived?”

  Cragson sighed. “Four hundred or so. They were the ones on the lower ladders and gallery. The upper gallery was burning before they could reach the lower and escape.”

  Four hundred was good news, miraculous good news in fact. How so many had escaped the inferno was something he would never understand. It had roared like a furnace once the fire took a firm grip. The screams had been—

  He shook his head. “See that the wounded are cared for, and stand the rest of the men down. Use First Battalion for sentries, and see to it that everyone receives double rations tonight. They need something to take their minds off that bonfire.”

  Cragson nodded silently and left.

  Navarien lay on his cot trying to conjure up a plan, but nothing came to mind. As Turner had said before, the walls were big and heavy, their foundations must run deep. Mining the wall could take all year. A tunnel would cause similar problems, but even if he could get through that way, the defenders would see what he was doing. They would have time to locate the exit point. The towers had been the perfect solution, but they weren’t fireproof curse it! Even now, he hadn’t lost as many men as he would have done using scaling ladders, but Durena had yet to fall. If he ordered ladders used now, he would lose at least another battalion, and probably more.

  He lay sleepless and unseeing upon his cot through that night, and when dawn came, he was no closer to a solution than he had been. Mortain—may he live forever—would never accept his failure. He had to find a way over the walls that left the legion intact and strong enough to take Calvados before year’s end.

  “Sir? I’m sorry… I should have thought about what they would do when they saw us coming, but I didn’t. I was too caught up with the work.”

  Navarien spoke without looking. “I command this legion not you. It was my decision to make, and I made it. Sergeants follow orders, Generals give them. Let that be an end to it.”

  Silence.

  He sat up expecting to find the sergeant gone, but he was still there. Turner was standing just inside the tent flap holding a shield in one hand, and what looked to be a jug of oil in the other.

  “What have you there?”

  “Oil. We use it for cooking.”

  Trying for calm that was in short supply, Navarien rubbed his temples and took a calming breath. “I know what we use it for, man! Why is it in here?”

  “I think I may have a way to stop them burning my… your other tower, Sir.”

  That made him sit up straight. “Show me,” he said and followed Turner out of the tent and away from the camp. “Where are we going?”

  “It’s not far, Sir.”

  Their destination was a small hollow out of sight of the camp and its perimeter guards. Some of Turner’s manip
le were loitering within the hollow and came to attention as he arrived. Navarien ordered them to stand easy, while he surveyed the scene. To one side, a campfire was burning. It had four wooden posts driven into the ground around it. Near the centre of the hollow, was a crude model of a tower. It didn’t have wheels or anything similar, but it was roughly the right shape. There were four legion shields attached to its sides, and when he looked through the opening in the top, he could see ropes tying them onto the wooden frame.

  “Show me.”

  Turner placed the shield he was carrying upon the posts over the fire. Navarien wandered over and crouched down to see underneath. The flames from the campfire were touching the shield. He expected to see it catch fire, but it didn’t.

  Turner began counting time.

  The inner surface of the shield was uppermost and it was starting to smoke. Turner reached six hundred before the flames burned completely through, but even then, the shield wasn’t actually burning. The men carefully removed it from the fire and cooled it with water.

  “Do you see, sir?” Turner said tapping the burnt edges of the shield with a knuckle.

  “Hmmm,” he murmured.

  The leather seemed to have hardened and cracked before turning into something resembling charcoal. A slow count of six hundred was almost a quarter candlemark. If Turner covered the tower with legion shields, there should be enough time to get in position and onto the wall before the tower was destroyed.

  “What about your little model?”

  “If you’re ready, I made that to show you how long a shield will last when affixed to the tower. Laying flat as you saw, it lasts for a count of six hundred, but upright it will last all night for some reason—even when we use oil!”

  He frowned. “Strange. Might as well show me, Turner, your men seem eager to burn it.”

  Turner laughed and gave the order. Navarien watched as the oil was poured over the model then set alight. He counted along with Turner this time, but the sergeant was right. The oil burned completely away leaving hot undamaged shields. The heat had penetrated right through, but not enough to even burn his hand let alone set the wood alight. Somehow, the shields spread the heat out over their entire surface, they hadn’t allowed the flames to penetrate.