Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3

by Mark E. Cooper

  “I’ll have to apologise to Rahil,” he murmured. He automatically calmed his horse when a stone was pounded to dust nearby with no one but him near it.

  Navarien watched as legionnaires—Turner’s crafter maniple, raced in to scoop up the dust. “Mortar, they’re making mortar with the dust,” he said to himself and was pleased he was able to understand this one thing.

  The fortress walls were climbing as he watched. Small figures were running along the top of the walls, unmindful of the huge stones hovering over their heads. Buckets of mortar were poured before they signalled the sorcerers to lower the stones one after another. The wall climbed by another tier as quick as that.

  The men rushed to abandon their places on the wall as a shrilling whistle blared. Cragson was blowing a tiny flute over and over.

  “What by the God for—” he began as the noise irritated his tired brain, but the explanation soon became apparent.

  The sorcerers played their fire over the walls as soon as the men were clear.

  He had never seen magic so gently and creatively used. It was exciting to watch. This must be what the God intended magic to be used for, not killing and destruction, but building—making the world better.

  Think what could be done with this, he thought as the fire winked out and an icy wind blew against the shimmering stones to cool them.

  Cragson blew his flute after conferring with a young man in black robe, and the men scrambled up their ladders to pour fresh mortar. Stones again rose into the air and the entire procedure played itself out again before Navarien’s eyes. He was entranced, but he snapped awake when someone called to him.

  “You want to climb down, Sir?” Captain Meran shouted over the explosion of noise as more stones were pounded to dust.

  Navarien winced as the cursed whistle blew again, and climbed down. Meran bellowed to a man and the horse was taken away from the square for a rub down and some food.

  “Amazing ain’t it?”

  “By the God yes!”

  Meran laughed. “You should have seen it the first day—chaos, Sir! Cragson said this, Turner said that, and the Lord Sorcerer insisted on the other thing. Sorted it out in the end, but it was touch and go for a while. There’s one sorcerer, Odelyn is his name—never seen a bigger pain in the arse, begging your pardon, Sir. He’s worse than a hundred Lewins!”

  “A hundred! That bad eh? I hope I don’t meet him then.”

  “No chance you could be that lucky, Sir. He’ll seek you out, you can count on that!”

  No doubt, he thought tiredly. The flames were again playing over the walls drying the mortar gently. The heat radiating from the stone had melted the snow all round, and even the roofs nearby were clear. Someone had anticipated even that. Buckets and barrels of water ringed the square, and had men dipping some out for a drink now and then. They were there to supply the mortar crews, who were dumping buckets full into large vats with stone dust and other things following. Even here, a sorcerer was using magic to stir the mixture.

  “It’s incredible. Whoever the Lord Sorcerer is, he must be a terror to make them work like this.”

  “He’s a gentle sort if you ask me. Wotan is his name. That’s him there, see?” Meran pointed to the sorcerer next to Cragson.

  “I’ll have a chat with him shortly, but I need a report from you so I don’t make an arse of myself. Rahil told me some, but I must admit I didn’t believe it. Hundreds of ships, and thousands of men…” he shook his head in disbelief. “Report Meran, but be gentle with me, I don’t think I can stand another shock,” he said with a tired grin.

  Meran chortled. “The fleet arrived with almost two hundred ships of all shapes and sizes. Some had the sorcerers on them—we have nigh on two hundred of them. Then there are the new lads—twenty five thousand of them, about half fully trained, the others are green as grass. Not to worry though, we have Captains Tikva, Bannan, and Duer training the worst half. They’re over to the north, just outside the walls.

  “Turner is running things here with my boys chipping in, and Cragson’s overseeing the lot. Captain Calva was delighted to have a battalion to run again Sir; he’s getting to know his sergeants and men on the wharf. They’re finishing the unloading. The Lord Sorcerer says the ships will be returning to Banswara straight away, but they’ll be back in late spring with people who want to live here. It won’t be long before this place is alive again.

  “Captain Turner did take one liberty, Sir. He redoubled the size of the fort when he saw how many will be living in it. Lucky the east and north foundations weren’t set.”

  Navarien smiled in relief. That was one less problem to worry about. “Turner has my complete confidence. If he thinks double is what is needed, then it’s double—besides, it’s hard work arguing with him!”

  Meran grinned. “That’s about it, Sir.”

  “Not quite,” he said. “You haven’t mentioned the generals of the other two legions. We have, what, twenty seven thousand men?”

  Meran nodded. “Ermmm, it’s about twenty eight with the sorcerers and the odds and sods, Sir.”

  Navarien nodded. “Twenty eight battalions. That’s three legions near enough.”

  Meran blinked and grinned as he realised something. “That would be you, Sir. Everyone here is Fifth Legion—every soul.”

  Navarien snapped his mouth shut. By the God! What couldn’t he do with twenty eight battalions and two hundred sorcerers? He could take Camorin and Deva with that many. He frowned. That had to be the plan he realised. What other reason could there be for trebling his strength?

  “Right then. I have a lot of planning to do, Meran. You go back to whatever you were doing. Mortar was it?”

  “Yes Sir,” Meran saluted and off he went.

  Navarien’s thoughts were whirling. He could give half to Cragson, but they would be out of contact that way. Twenty eight battalions—would it be better to keep them like that? No, he would have so many captains to deal with he would be talking forever. Halve them? Hmmm, two thousand per battalion… he would still need four new captains.

  He pursed his lips in thought. How about twenty eight maniples per battalion? That would work very well. Corbin would be ecstatic commanding almost a third of a standard legion. It would be good for him to learn how much harder it was to keep control of so many men. It would also be easier to plan his campaign using his accustomed ten battalions, he admitted to himself.

  He walked slowly into the chaos thinking hard. He didn’t try to dodge the rushing men, he was more likely to cause an accident rather than avoid one that way. Instead, he kept a straight cause toward Cragson and allowed the men to dodge him. Was he being lazy? Would twenty eight battalions work better against the clans? He shook his head, no that didn’t feel right. Ten strong battalions were better than twenty eight weaker ones any day.

  Navarien stood behind Cragson unnoticed, but not by the sorcerer standing next to Wotan. Bodyguard, Navarien thought with a frown. The man was older than Wotan but not by very much—ten years perhaps. Wotan was young for this much responsibility, but he must be powerful or he wouldn’t be lead mage.

  What need for a bodyguard then?

  It was strange seeing a sorcerer acting as a bodyguard, especially when his patron was a sorcerer as well. Navarien mentally shrugged the thought aside; whatever the reason, he would no doubt find out in due time. He waited until Cragson had blown his cursed flute again, and the men were climbing the scaffolding to reach the ever taller walls before speaking.

  “Won’t you introduce me, Cragson?”

  Cragson stiffened and turned. When he saw his general had returned, he braced to attention and saluted.

  Navarien grinned as he returned the salute, but he finished the gesture with a comradely slap to Cragson’s shoulder. Wotan was watching with a small smile on his face, but his bodyguard was staring intently as if about to attack. Navarien shivered at the intense look of mayhem in those eyes. Why he should be the target for it he didn’t know—unless the
y had heard of his dislike for sorcerers. That might be it. He had better disabuse this man of his hostility, he decided.

  “—is General Navarien. General, this is your new lead mage the Lord Sorcerer Wotan, and his… companion Magar,” Cragson said indicating each man.

  Navarien bowed and shook each man’s hand. Wotan was genuinely pleased to meet him, he decided, and he found that he reciprocated. Anyone who could motivate this kind of effort was worth knowing. Magar on the other hand had not changed his opinion; at least Navarien thought he had not. Magar was watching him as if he saw the words enemy stamped on his forehead. Maybe he saw everyone that way.

  “I’m impressed, my lord sorcerer. I mean that sincerely. I’ve never seen such industry from so many men at once.”

  Wotan nodded his thanks. “Call me Wotan, won’t you?”

  He tried not to frown. The last time a sorcerer had said that was when Belgard had thrown his legion to the wolves.

  “If you wish it, Wotan,” he said with a nod. “I’ve already received some reports from my men, but have you new orders for me?”

  “I have them, General, but I think your study would be the better place for such discussions. I can meet you there in a few moments. I have to hand over the work to Odelyn first.”

  Navarien bowed acceptance. “I would have you there with me, Cragson. Give your flaming flute to one of the others and follow me up would you?”

  “Yes Sir,” Cragson said grinning at the distaste he showed toward his noisemaker.

  “In a short while then my lo… Wotan,” he said stumbling over Wotan’s title.

  “Yes, General, soon.”

  Navarien turned away and made for the hostel. Even here, changes had been made. The lower room with his map table had been reorganised and the tables replaced in their original places. The maps were now pinned to a large easel. More of Turner’s work by the look of it. Navarien didn’t know what he felt about all the changes made without him, but this one was useful. The captains and sergeants had room to sit at the tables while viewing the maps directly ahead, instead of leaning over each other as before.

  He took a long look at the standards pinned to the map, and nodded. They were up to date, but many of the pins had just a piece of parchment on them indicating numbers, rather than the miniature standards that were usually used. He would have the men carve some more to represent their maniples.

  He studied the map. It was as Meran said; Tikva, Duer, and Bannan were to the north with their men and nearly ten thousand of the new arrivals. That meant he had almost thirteen thousand outside the walls and training hard. It was still hard to believe. Thirteen thousand was more men than he had ever commanded, yet it was less than half under his present command! Someone had thoughtfully pinned a sheet of parchment to the upper right hand corner of the map stating the composition of the legion, and all the supplies on hand.

  He amended the number of horses with a piece of charcoal. Instead of a thousand horses, it now read: nine thousand approx. He nodded at the figure and wondered how many horses the clans had nearby. Enough for twenty-eight thousand? He doubted that very much. It looked as if the ideas he had bounced off Tikva on their way to Calvados would be put into practice.

  Combined infantry/cavalry campaign? No, that didn’t sound right somehow. Combined arms campaign? That sounded better, but how about dropping the word campaign and just calling it combined arms? That would do he decided. He would call it that when he explained his plans to his men.

  He made his way to his room to change. It didn’t look as if he would have time for sleep. Wotan was coming with his orders, and then he had to catch up on what was happening and where. After that, he had plans to make with Cragson. He would invite Tikva along as well, he decided. That boy had a good head for strategy.

  * * *

  Wotan watched the general enter the hostel that everyone called the General’s Place. “He seemed tired, but excited by what he saw here, wouldn’t you say?”

  Cragson nodded. “Using a single battalion to take on the clans would be exhausting—especially when we can’t afford losses. As it is, that hundred he lost hurt him and not just in manpower, my lord sorcerer. He’s a good man as well as the best general ever born. He hates losing as you would expect, but he hates losing his men more.”

  “What do you think he thought of our fortress?”

  Cragson snorted. “It was plain to see, my lord sorcerer. He was excited by the cooperation he saw, but he feels there must be a catch. Forgive me for saying so, but the legion has been ill used in the past by sorcerers.”

  Wotan frowned. “Athione you mean.”

  “That was the worst time, but we had some close scrapes in Bandar a few years ago as well. Still, I think you will find us ready to work with you my lord sorcerer. It’s amazing how bad times are forgotten when good times come around again. Looking around here, I think the Fifth has entered very good times indeed!”

  Wotan chuckled and excused Cragson as he went looking for someone to take charge of his flute.

  “Where’s that bastard Odelyn?” Wotan muttered scanning the square.

  “I haven’t seen him this morning, but if you want to hand things over to someone responsible, Anius is just over there,” Magar nodded to a middle-aged sorcerer who was busy pounding a stone into dust.

  “You’re right my friend. I wouldn’t be surprised if Odelyn incinerated the legionnaires for a jest. Call Anius over would you?”

  Magar hesitated, but dashed away and was back at Wotan’s side moments later.

  “I’m perfectly safe, Magar, no need to dash about!” Wotan said shaking his head at his panting friend.

  “I always liked running.”

  “You could have called him with your magic you know.”

  Magar smiled sheepishly. “I forgot.”

  Wotan laughed good-naturedly at his friend’s embarrassment.

  Anius handed his place to one of the others and made his way through the chaos toward Wotan. The man walked with his hands clasped and thrust out of sight within the voluminous sleeves of his robe. He was completely oblivious to the rushing men that nearly collided with him.

  “What can I do for you, Wotan?” Anius said with a bow.

  Wotan returned it quickly and explained.

  “That’s not a problem. Where is… ah here they come now.”

  Wotan turned and saw Cragson accompanying an under captain that he hadn’t yet met.

  “May I present Under Captain Nissus, my lord sorcerer?”

  Wotan nodded. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Nissus. This is Anius; you two will be working together for a while. I don’t want to hear of any accidents while I’m gone. Clear?”

  “Yes, my lord sorcerer,” Nissus said with a nod.

  “Certainly it is Wotan,” Anius said with a smile.

  “Good, I won’t be long. Come with me my friends,” Wotan said to Magar and Cragson as he walked toward the General’s Place.

  Wotan found Navarien sitting at his desk going through a stack of parchment. Ship manifests if he was not mistaken.

  “Take a seat. Ah… I don’t appear to have enough. Would you mind standing, Cragson?”

  “No Sir, I prefer—” Cragson broke off as Magar spoke.

  “I will stand,” Magar said stepping beside the closed door as if guarding it, which he was of course.

  “Don’t mind Magar, General. He takes the guarding of my life a little too seriously sometimes.”

  “That is not possible,” grumbled Magar.

  Wotan laughed. “See what I mean?”

  “Ah yes I suppose…” he frowned. “Please take a seat, Wotan.”

  Wotan sat opposite the general. Cragson slid a chair closer to the wall so that he had his back well clear of the window. A soldier’s reflex, or was he playing bodyguard as Magar was? The latter Wotan decided with a smile.

  Wotan crossed his legs and leaned back with his hands clasped. “Well, General, here we are. I have been looking forward to
meeting you ever since my father discussed your last campaign with me. Brilliant work with the siege towers by the way, and the stone thrower… amazing what can be done when there’s a pressing need. All without magic too!”

  “Thank you for the endorsement, but it was Captain Turner—then Sergeant Turner—who designed and built those devices. I simply encouraged him and supplied him with what he needed.”

  “Ah yes! The redoubtable Captain Turner. I met him the first day. He asked for some help lifting a walloping big stone he had his eye on. Apparently the winch kept breaking when his men tried to lift it with his crane.”

  Navarien shook his head. “That sounds like Turner all right.”

  “I hope you don’t mind my people mucking in down below?”

  “Mind!” Navarien said in surprise. “Ah… no, not at all. To tell the truth I was surprised but very pleased to see it. Magic being used in such a manner is awesome to behold. It has always seemed a shame to me that magic is only used for destruction, but now I see the other side of the coin.”

  Wotan was pleased they saw things in a similar way. “I know exactly how you feel. It is very satisfying building something that will endure long after you and I are gone.”

  Navarien nodded seriously. “Well, let us discuss the next step. You have orders for me?”

  “I certainly do, though I doubt you will be surprised. I noticed you have already made a start with your round up of local horses.”

  Navarien nodded and reached for the sealed packet of orders that Wotan held out to him. He sat back to read, and after a few moments refolded them and handed them to Cragson to read.

  That the general trusted Cragson was already evident, but Wotan was still surprised by the courtesy. They all waited until Cragson had read the parchment and handed them back before continuing the conversation.

  “Would you care to read them, Wotan?” Navarien offered.