“How long?”
“I can have the remaining tower ready for you in a few days. If you want a second tow—”
“No,” he said abruptly. “One tower will have to do. We are far behind schedule. We still have to build the fort before the militia arrives. Calvados is waiting for us, and we have to be tucked away inside before winter descends. I can’t waste the tendays it would take to build another tower.”
“Right you are.”
Navarien made his way back to camp in better spirits. He was determined to lead the assault himself this time. The men would be understandably reluctant to use the tower after yesterday’s catastrophe, but he felt sure they would follow orders if he led them personally. Ordinarily, he would lead First Battalion on an assault such as this, but baring in mind recent events at Cantibria, he decided the Eighth would have the honour of leading the assault. Captain Tikva and his sergeants had done wonders in training the Bandarians to their fine standard, and Eighth Battalion was a veteran unit. It was infinitely better suited to the task than say… Third Battalion.
Come the day, Cragson was still arguing his decision. It was gratifying that Cragson was worried for him, but in the end he would still have to follow orders and lead First Battalion through the gates once Eighth Battalion had taken them.
“You all know the plan,” Navarien said to his Captains. He waited for their nods of assent then continued, “Tikva, you are my second for the actual assault on the walls, but as soon as we take the gates, the usual chain of command is back in force. Cragson, you will be in command of First Battalion, but I want you to leave the fight to the sergeants. You will have to oversee the thrust through the gate until I arrive. Any questions?”
“Sir, let me take the Eighth over the wall and you oversee the gates. I’m not happy with this—”
“Captain Cragson, thank you for your concern, but I’m ordering you to accept the plan as stated. Clear?”
“Yes, Sir!” Cragson said and saluted.
He slapped Cragson upon the shoulder then made his way to the tower with Tikva. The tower looked very military with its shell of legion shields. It had taken thousands of them to cover it. He wasn’t completely happy about some of his men not having their shields, but he couldn’t have everything. He felt that it wouldn’t matter too much on the wall, so he had redistributed the remaining shields to the men storming the streets through the gates. If all went well, the city would fall by evening. The men of Eighth Battalion cheered when they saw him coming to lead them. He hoped they would be cheering when they came within range of the walls.
Navarien noticed sergeant Meran standing with his maniple and beckoned him over. “I want your maniple with me at the top Meran.”
“Yes, Sir. I thought you might.”
Navarien laughed. “It’s not like that, Sergeant. I watched those big men of yours knocking sense into the Bandarians for tendays. I want your maniple to do the same to these bastards on the wall.” He turned grim, “They are really going to regret burning my men.”
“Oh my yes,” Tikva said equally grim-faced.
“Fine, Sir!” Meran grinned then turned toward his men. “You heard the General. Get your lazy arses up that tower! Yes… I do mean you as well, Lewin—and take your cursed sword with you this time!”
Navarien grinned. Meran’s men laughed and joked as they approached the tower. Lewin was pushed and shoved jokingly as he went by, but they quieted as they started climbing. As soon as the maniple was all in, Navarien swung onto the ladder and climbed up into the gloom. It was a long way up, and for a time all he knew was the man in front, and the friendly curses as men bumped each other.
He reached the lower gallery quickly, and then climbed the ladder to the next. Once at the top, he made his way to the door. It was closed now of course. The bridge acted as a door to safeguard anyone from falling out. The upper gallery was just big enough for four maniples packed shoulder to shoulder. Navarien positioned himself next to Meran, so he would be the first onto the bridge. Then they waited.
Candlemarks seemed to pass before the tower started moving. Everyone cursed, Navarien included, at the abruptness of the movement, but there wasn’t room to fall. He remembered watching the towers approaching the city just a few short days ago, and thinking how stable they looked. Well, it just went to show how very far appearances were from the truth. The tower, slow as it was, was lurching from side to side enough to make the men beside him a necessity. Without them, he doubted he could have kept his feet.
He watched the wall approaching through the peephole in the bridge. “Nearly there now, Meran. Get ready to drop the bridge.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The first jugs of oil sailed toward him, and he offered a prayer to the God. Flames and smoke billowed up. The men cursed and shouted, but they didn’t panic. Turner had shown them his model tower, and they had seen for themselves that shields wouldn’t burn. It was hot though and becoming hotter. Battle or no battle, he would be glad to get into fresh air. Smoke had managed to get inside, but it wasn’t too bad yet. Besides, they were nearly there.
The tower lurched and crashed to a stop against the wall. Navarien didn’t need to give the order, Meran released the bridge the instant the tower stopped. Sunlight flooded in and the smoke with it. Navarien ignored everything but his footing as he ran across to the wall trying not to fall off the bridge. The ground looked a cursed long way down, but he was on the wall and cutting his first man down before he had time to be scared. Meran was beside him and another man—Lewin—was on his other side. More and more of his men boiled out of the tower to increase the foothold he had gained.
The city’s defenders attacked all out. They were almost berserk with rage. Navarien was struck a hard blow on his right side, but the armour stopped it from penetrating and Meran killed the culprit. Slowly he advanced to where he could see a stone stairway. Captain Tikva was advancing similarly in the opposite direction, and looked to have succeeded in holding his end of the wall.
With Meran by his side, Navarien gained the first step, and the next. He was wounded on the left leg, but it didn’t seem serious and he kept going. There simply wasn’t room on the steps for more than two people side by side, and after a few narrow escapes, they succeeded in reaching the ground. Then things became dicey. With more room, the defenders attacked harder than ever. Screams of fear and pain mixed with the roar of hate from the legionnaires. They were determined to visit their vengeance upon the city for burning their comrades, but determination wasn’t enough. They were in desperate danger of being overwhelmed.
The defenders threw themselves bodily upon legion swords dragging those blades down and spitting their dying breaths at their enemies. Meran’s maniple formed a square to hold them. Without shields, the square was less effective than otherwise would be the case and he was rapidly losing his ability to protect his General. Meran ordered his men to back slowly toward the gate, and they did so grimly holding to discipline. More men fell, and yet more, but finally they reached the gate to lift the locking bar clear.
Cragson was ready.
With a roar, seven battalions charged through and slaughtered the defenders in the immediate area to a man.
“Cragson!” Navarien roared above the screams of the dying.
“Sir!”
“I want a battalion on each of the three main roads and one to hold this gate. Get another up on the wall to relieve Tikva.”
“Yes, Sir!”
Navarien stood back to watch as his men moved to cover the entrances to the square. Meran and his men were checking the fallen for wounded. Perhaps half his maniple lay unmoving in pools of blood. Bodies lay in heaps at the base of the steps and all along their desperate route to the gate. Meran ordered his able-bodied men to carry the wounded back to camp, and the dead to be dragged from beneath the stinking heaps of Camorin corpses. They would be prepared for burial as soon as the city fell and it was safe to think of something other than survival.
; The enemy attacked desperately down two of the main roads, but so far they had failed to breakthrough. An occasional man did fall of line, but another would run to take his place from the reserve without needing orders. This was the kind of fight legionaries were used to, and they were evidently relieved to get back to what they knew how to do. As far as they were concerned, building was a sideline and not proper work for the legions.
The shouts and screams of battle, the clang of sword upon sword seemed somehow unreal to Navarien from where he stood watching the scene. He grimaced at the pain in his leg and shifted his weight. The battle was real, and so were the deaths, as far too many bodies of his men could testify. He had sworn vengeance upon those who had burned his men, yet suddenly he was sick of death. The stench of it filled his nostrils and the screams filled his ears until he felt he must surely go mad from both.
“Sir?”
He turned to find Meran standing beside him. “Yes?”
“Orders sir?”
“None. Take care of your men, sergeant. That’s all I ask.”
“Aye sir, but… aye,” Meran sighed and left to join the remnants of his maniple.
Navarien turned back to watch the battle.
“Tikva owns the wall, Sir,” Cragson said dismissing a messenger. “The enemy has abandoned their positions.”
“Very good,” he said in satisfaction. No one liked arrows coming from above, but it seemed the enemy had decided to fight on the ground from now on. He called his captains together and gave his orders. “I want Sixth Battalion to hold here and First Battalion to continue up the main road to take the other gate.” He glanced to his right where Third Battalion was meeting heavy resistance. “Tenth Battalion under Bannan will reinforce Third on my right. Push them back for me.”
“Yes, Sir,” Bannan said.
“I’m leaving Tikva on the wall for now, he’s done enough for us today,” Navarien said and turned to Cragson. “You stay with what’s left of Fourth and Fifth Battalion on my left. They can’t take much pressure, but that side has been quiet.”
“We’ll hold, General.”
“I know you will.”
Fourth and Fifth Battalions had sustained heavy losses in the retreat and would need rebuilding. Captain Duer wouldn’t be fit for some time to come.
“You have your orders,” Navarien said. “Let’s be about it.”
The captains saluted and ran back to their units, which shifted into new formations and pressed home the attack.
“What of Seventh, sir?” Corbin said looking worried.
“With me in the centre. Always keep a reserve, Corbin, never forget that.”
Corbin was relieved not to have been forgotten. “Yes, Sir. I’ll remember.”
Navarien nodded. “Away you go.”
Corbin braced and saluted. “Sir!”
Corbin was a young and dashing captain—too dashing for Navarien’s peace of mind. He was the perfect cavalry commander, but his enthusiasm often needed reining in. Corbin sometimes took the legions’ reputation for fearlessness entirely too seriously, and to the detriment of his command. He would learn in time, or he would die.
“Sir, Captain Tikva said I should come fetch you,” Lewin panted from his dash across the square. “It’s urgent like.”
He nodded. “Corbin!”
“Sir?”
“Hold your men here. If you see the need to reinforce one of the others, do so on your own authority.”
The young captain gulped but answered confidently. “I understand, Sir.”
“Take me to Tikva,” Navarien said to Lewin.
They made their way up the same steps they had earlier fought their way down. The bodies had been kicked over the side, and the way was clear. He slipped on a puddle of blood, and nearly dove off the side, but Lewin grabbed him in time. He nodded his thanks, but saved his breath for the climb. He didn’t remember so many steps on the way down, but he had been busy. Finally, they reached the battlement and Tikva.
“Report!”
“We have observed enemy movements toward the south.”
Navarien looked to where Tikva was pointing, but the distance was long. “They might be families fleeing,” he said doubtfully.
“They might be, Sir, but I was thinking they might also be massing for an attack at the centre. See that road, sir?” Tikva said pointing.
“I see what you’re saying, good work! If you see anything else, send Lewin with the word.”
Tikva saluted him, and Navarien hurried back to the square. The road Tikva was talking about connected to the one in which First Battalion was fighting. If Tikva hadn’t noticed something strange, the enemy might have moved down that road and hit First Battalion from behind. There wasn’t much time to stop another disaster.
“Corbin!”
“Sir?”
“I need you to lead your men after me at the double,” he said already heading toward the ambush site.
“Yes, Sir!” Corbin said to Navarien’s back as he trotted off.
If he handled this right, he thought, he might be able to break the back of the enemy defence. He stationed Corbin with half his men at the junction between the side and main roads, then led the other half further along the narrow street. He concealed his men down various alleyways with orders to attack when he did and not before. Then he waited, and waited, and waited, and waited. What if they didn’t come this way? No, they would come. What if they chose another route? No, it was a perfect way to cut his legion into chunks. They would come, because he would in their position.
The time dragged slowly by.
He was reconsidering his plan when the enemy ran by on their way to attack Corbin. He waited for the last of them to pass, but there were hundreds streaming by his hiding place. He estimated that he and Corbin would be outnumbered by a significant number, but it was too late to change the plan now.
This might be a little tight.
If he waited too long, Corbin would be overwhelmed, if he didn’t wait long enough, he would be attacked in the rear as more of the enemy arrived at his back. He was about to rise, when another group charged by. He shrank back into hiding and waited. Group after group ran by in a never ending supply of fools wanting to die. If many more ran past, it would be Corbin and he that would die, not the Camorin fighters. He decided to take a chance. He leapt up and gave chase with his men following silently behind him. He could hear the shouts and the clash of steel coming from somewhere ahead, and was about to increase his pace, when he ran straight into the mob.
Navarien cut men down left and right, before they could organise themselves. His maniples formed line and attacked as a unit. It was reminiscent of Cantibria. There were perhaps eighteen hundred young men and woman with swords trying to kill Corbin’s five maniples, but Corbin had sensibly stationed his men at a choke point. The street was narrow. The Camorins couldn’t bring their full weight against their enemy. As soon as they realised what had happened, half the rabble’s numbers turned to engage Navarien and his men, while the others continued pressing Corbin. The young captain was doing well. He was yelling orders even over the noise of battle and those orders were having the desired effect.
The enemy could not break through, but they wouldn’t surrender.
Navarien slammed his gauntleted fist into the face of a young boy and kicked him in the head for good measure. When the fool tried to rise, he took a moment to finish him off. That moment was almost more than he could spare. He looked up in time to see a blade seeking his life, he threw himself backward, but the crowding behind him prevented his desperate move. The sword slammed into his armoured belly and skittered aside unable to penetrate.
By the god!
That was flaming close! He slammed his sword down shattering his enemy’s blade, and then thrust. He didn’t have time to wonder if the wound he inflicted was mortal. He parried another blade and killed the one responsible for the attack, and another, and another… Why wouldn’t they surrender? To die like this was sense
less. They surely knew the city was lost, but they didn’t give up.
In the end, the skirmish cost him three out of his five maniples. The enemy’s losses were total. Corbin had lost almost as many—in total, another six hundred dead.
This campaign was proving costly indeed.
During the Bandar war, most of the battles had been fought on open ground where the legions excelled. Losses were light, especially when the sorcerers deigned to use their magic to soften the enemy up first. Street fighting however, could be unbelievably costly. He might clear one section of the city, only to find it infested again within candlemarks. The defenders could use a street like this one to manoeuvre, and they knew the territory. Navarien’s men didn’t. If it hadn’t been for Tikva’s observations, he wouldn’t have known the enemy’s plan until too late.
Corbin’s men collected the wounded and they made their way back to the square. When he reached the gate, Navarien stepped aside and ordered Corbin to continue on to camp. He was to use what men he could scrape up to protect the wounded as they arrived in camp. Corbin saluted wearily and led his men out of the city.
Cragson was waiting for Navarien to finish. “General—”
Navarien winced. Cragson only ever called him that when he disapproved of something he’d done. He wondered what it was.
“—Jhamil reports that First Battalion has won the southern gate. He’s holding as ordered. He reports observing a great many people leaving that way. They’re heading toward the plains. He asks, respectfully, to be allowed to let them go. He says there are too many to fight, and that without support he would be quickly overwhelmed. I concur, Sir.”
Navarien nodded thoughtfully. Another group of refugees. Would the clans take them in? Did it matter? He decided it didn’t. News travelled fast whether by refugee or by messenger. The clans would be subdued in time, there was no point in borrowing trouble. Next year’s campaign was next year’s campaign. He had enough to do with this one.
Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 Page 76