Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3

by Mark E. Cooper

  Wotan had been as good as his word and the sorcerers were now an integral part of the legion. Each mage knew his job and his place within his battalion. So far, no one seemed discontented with the situation, which was a marvel. He had even heard some of the sorcerers boasting about the prowess of their captain or their sergeant in the training.

  Legionnaires were tough, but they did not like surprises. The ruinous battle against Dragon Clan had proven a blessing in disguise. It had shown how badly the men needed to train with the sorcerers in the new ways. It had become his policy to train the men as if they were in a real battle. No fire or other lethal magic was used of course, but the men had now become thoroughly accustomed to wards appearing and disappearing around them as they attacked. An important part of the training was having the men learn to move with the wards. It was no good having them outrun or lag behind them as Wotan ordered them forward. It was a strange experience for everyone, but also a challenge. Navarien felt the allure of that challenge strongly. He knew he was a good General, but no one had ever commanded the force he had at his disposal here. Devising a way to use all his advantages at the same time as minimising his disadvantages had taken all his attention to date, but now they were ready to put it all together and try it out.

  “Everything’s proceeding without a hitch.”

  “I confess to some surprise,” Wotan said. “When things go this well it makes me think I should look harder for trouble. Do you know what I mean?”

  He laughed. “There’s an old saying in the legions. Don’t look for trouble, it will find you!”

  Wotan laughed as they reached the centre of camp. The only thing that distinguished it was the single folding table set under an awning. His map of Camorin was prominently displayed with the battalion standards in position. The clans were depicted in a single group at a place called Denpasser far to the south. Denpasser was perhaps five leagues from the border with Deva, and roughly twelve leagues to fortress Malcor. Wotan had shown him Denpasser and the clans in detail using his mirror, so he understood the reason for the gathering. He could see the attraction of joining forces and understood why the clans felt it necessary, but it was still a stupid move on their part. What they should have done was deployed along the legion’s line of march and harassed him as Horse Clan had done last year. He was grateful they hadn’t, but even if they had done so, they would have failed this time. Deterring such harassing attacks was another reason he was using the cavalry screen. He was sure Corbin and the others could dissuade the clan warriors from any foolishness.

  “When do we start?” Wotan said eagerly.

  Navarien smiled. “The others will reach us late tomorrow. The slaughter will be complete by then. Most of the curing is done. I would guess another few days will see us on our way.”

  “Good. The march will be a long one.”

  “Not so long as all that,” Navarien with a grin for the sour expression on Wotan’s face. Wotan’s fondness for boats did not extend to horses. “The march along the coast was longer I believe.”

  “What worries me is Julia,” Wotan said. “She didn’t leave with Lord Malcor and seems determined to help the clans oppose us even when most of them hate her.”

  “They don’t hate her. The clans consider all outclanners beneath them and not worth heeding. Lucky for us Julia was not born into a clan.”

  “Lucky for us now, but two years ago Athione would have fallen and we would not be going through this.”

  The legion had suffered two third losses at Athione and Julia had been instrumental in that. She could be a serious difficulty in this campaign, which was why Wotan had given specific orders where she was concerned. Her removal was paramount, even when doing so might cost men. As their commanding officer, Navarien hated the idea of sacrificing men, but even he agreed with those orders wholeheartedly. Wotan had confided something to him that would see Julia taken out of the picture for good and all just a short time ago. He hadn’t known something like that was even possible, but he wasn’t a sorcerer. Wotan had assured him that not only was it possible, it would be done.

  Days later, everything was ready and they began the march south.

  Navarien deployed fifth, seventh, and tenth battalions as the cavalry screen well forward of the main body. Nine thousand men, almost a standard legion, used as a screening force would have seemed incomprehensible to him a few years ago, but here it was essential. He had chosen those particular battalions with care.

  Duer was a deep thinker, a hero in every sense of the word as he proved last year. The man had saved his siege tower outside of Durena at the cost of serious injury. He still limped on that leg and would for the rest of his life. Giving command of the left screen to fifth battalion was a kindness Duer thoroughly deserved. Marching was painful for him now, though Navarien was sure the captain thought no one had noticed. Duer would be promoted to over captain after this campaign, of that Navarien had no doubt.

  Corbin was in the centre commanding seventh battalion, which was the strongest of the three cavalry units. Corbin had managed to keep most of his original battalion intact last year even when fighting many times his own numbers. He was the perfect cavalry captain, dashing and daring were what came to mind when thinking of him, but unfortunately so did his lack of strategic planning skills. Corbin would always be a captain best suited to front line actions planned in advance. He was good at turning a preconceived plan into reality, but he was unable to design a decent plan himself.

  Finally, there was Bannan and tenth battalion covering the right. Bannan was an old hand. Older than most of the other captains, he was a reliable man and quick witted.

  It was a novel way to run a campaign, he mused as he rode along. Without the need for couriers, he could order his captains to move further out or pull in. He could even tell the left and right screens to ride in support of the centre. All this was possible using Wotan’s mages, which linked every battalion under his command. Instant communication was a tool that could well win this war for him; it would certainly make things easier and save lives.

  Wotan’s mages were riding alongside their respective battalions while Wotan and his bodyguard rode next to him so that he could give his orders and receive reports quickly. Navarien had chosen to ride at the head of first battalion next to Cragson who was officially in command of it these days. Wotan was unused to riding such long distances, but had confessed he preferred it to marching at the pace the legions took for granted. Navarien, Cragson, and the mages were the only ones riding among the main body. The wagon drivers in the baggage column were rotated to prevent hard feelings among the men.

  At the end of a day’s marching, he insisted upon a proper camp with earthen ramparts on all four sides. The men grumbled at first, but the story of last year’s battle outside Calvados quieted them and they were soon digging with a will. Nineteen thousand men quickly had adequate walls built and tents erected; it wasn’t long before the men could dig a standard legion camp in their sleep, and he had no doubt many even had dreams of digging at night. They did so much of it.

  The days fled and the legion marched onward leaving a string of dirt forts behind them. He had thought to fill the ditches back in at first, but had decided against it. The camp took two candlemarks to make, and would take a similar time to unmake. Besides, he might need them to fall back upon in the unlikely event that the clans finally reacted to his presence.

  A tenday into the march Wotan informed him that Bannan had engaged and defeated a small group of clan warriors.

  “How many and where?” Navarien asked with interest. This was the first response they had encountered.

  “Five leagues to the southwest. It was a small group only. Bannan reports them to be remnants of Dragon Clan fleeing south.”

  “Any casualties?”

  “A few wounded, but none seriously. He isn’t happy though.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

  “Nothing serious, General. Apparently Anius destroyed the
group with fire, but Bannan wanted a prisoner.”

  “I see,” he said in a neutral voice.

  Wotan smiled not fooled by the his tone. “I have reprimanded Anius, and told him to be more careful in future.”

  “A prisoner might have helped in understanding the clans.”

  “I think we understand them well enough. The books I showed you should give you that surely?

  “In a way. They certainly help, but don’t forget sorcerers wrote them. Their words are filtered through their own perceptions.”

  “The authors lived among the clans for years. They blended in, literally became clan themselves.”

  Navarien shook his head. “Only someone born clan would understand them completely, but as I said the books are useful. I’m about halfway through those you lent me.”

  The books were more than useful. They had told him how to destroy the clans forever.

  * * *

  17 ~ The Malim

  Lord Vivika of House Malim was far from a happy man. Fear was the most evident emotion upon his face. Methrym could understand that, Keppel affected him the same way.

  “…understand me?” Keppel said in his deadliest voice.

  “Yes but—” the Malim said.

  “Do you understand?” Keppel said hammering each word home.

  “Yes,” Vivika said meekly.

  Methrym was uncomfortable witnessing Vivika’s humiliation. No lord of Tanjung, no matter how foolish, should be treated with so little respect.

  “Everything will be fine my lord,” he said trying to put respect he didn’t really feel into his voice.

  Vivika looked at him with gratitude. “Truly?”

  He nodded. “Truly my lord. I won’t lie to you, there is danger, but it is small compared with letting Ranen’s army continue unopposed. Your city is in peril whether we use it or not. At least this way we control the situation.”

  “Yes,” Vivika said and nodded. “Yes I can see that. Very well Methrym, what can I do to help?”

  He glanced at Keppel and received a slight nod. He took that as a sign to continue. “Well my lord, there are a few things we need to address. I know Keppel has business to attend to. Perhaps you would excuse him so that we might retire to your study?”

  Vivika’s eyes flickered at the mention of Keppel’s business. He nodded toward the assassin. “Certainly you may be excused, Keppel. You should have said you had business to attend.”

  Vivika spoilt his show of bravado just a little by swallowing nervously at the end, but Keppel took no notice. He bowed and left the hall.

  Vivika sighed in relief and climbed down from the dais. “I thank you from the heart, Methrym. I thought he would kill me on the spot when I questioned him. I swear I did.”

  Methrym followed the lord to his private rooms. “I know how you feel my lord. Not long ago I had a similar thing happen to me.”

  “Ghastly man, but effective I should think.”

  “Very,” he said dryly.

  The silence between them drew out until they entered a comfortable room furnished like Bothmar’s office. Methrym had spoken to Bothmar many times, but only once in his office. As with this room, the centre of attention was the large desk in front of a set of balcony windows. To one side two armchairs and a comfortable looking couch sat near to a cold fireplace. The room was bright enough without a fire in any case.

  “Here we are. Sit there while I pour the wine,” Vivika said indicating the couch. “My beloved wife would have done a better job of welcome I’m afraid, but we do the best we can.”

  He seated himself. “Your wife is indisposed?”

  “Dead.”

  “Ah, I hadn’t heard. An illness?”

  Vivika handed him a glass and sat in the armchair. “No, she was murdered by her lover. It will sound strange to you I know, but we had a wonderful life together. My father arranged the marriage, and things worked out splendidly. It’s embarrassing to admit, but she would have made a far better lord than I.”

  Methrym coughed and covered his mouth trying not to spray wine everywhere. Vivika handed him a piece of lace to mop himself.

  “You don’t mind listening to this do you?” Vivika said.

  “Ah… no. Not if you wish to speak of it.”

  “I have wanted to talk about it for some time now. I was an only child you see. My father realised early on that I needed help to keep Malim strong for the next lord.”

  “Your son?” Methrym said.

  “He is too young yet. I could never speak of this to my servants, of course. She and I were partners, you see. She was clever and would plan things; I had the title and authority to carry her ideas out. I didn’t mind if she took the occasional lover, but she chose the wrong man at the last. He was a criminal—though I’m sure she didn’t know that.”

  Methrym wasn’t so sure. He seemed to recall a rumour regarding Vivika’s consort. Something about bedding anything that moved.

  “…stealing. She must have tried to stop him and he killed her. My guards killed him trying to escape the grounds, or so I’m told.”

  “I see. And you’re telling me because…?”

  “Because I need your advice,” Vivika said.

  “I’m not sure I understand my lord. I am of House Malai and a soldier not a lord. I hate politics.”

  Vivika snorted. “Everyone hates politics. I don’t need you for that. The Japurans will be here any day now; I need advice on how to fight them.”

  He nodded but his thoughts were racing. Malim was a great house, its forces would make a valuable addition to his own, but then he looked at Vivika’s worried face and could not do it.

  “You have captains surely?”

  “Yes but… they won’t help,” the abashed lord said quietly.

  “Won’t help,” he said in disbelief. “You are their lord! Command them. If they don’t obey, execute them!”

  “I couldn’t do that!” Vivika said wringing his hands in worry. “They followed my father and—” he broke off in misery.

  Methrym didn’t need this! By the God, didn’t he have enough to do with half the empire lost to Japura? Looking at the very young and very pathetic lord he felt… he felt… sorry for him! Vivika was one of the most powerful men in Tanjung and he felt sorry for him.

  “All right,” he said and sighed. “I’ll help, but you’ll have to at least try to rule. Pretend to be your father and do things the way you think he would have.”

  Vivika looked hopeful at last. “I think I can do that.”

  “No. Don’t think you can, know you can,” he said in a hard voice. “When you give an order, whether it is right or wrong, give it firmly as if you have no doubts. Be strong in public, even if a quivering wreck inside. Develop a public face. Vexin uses stern and unforgiving. Perhaps you could try hard but fair.”

  “My father was a hard man, but he was always fair,” Vivika said looking hopeful.

  “There you see. Practice looking as if nothing upsets you and soon nothing will. What goes on in private is your own affair, but in public act strong.”

  “You make it sound so easy.”

  “It is easy my lord,” Methrym said. “No man can read what is in your heart. He must judge by what you do and say. Hide your doubts, and people will believe you have none. It’s that simple.”

  “I’ll do it!”

  Methrym watched Vivika pace in excitement. He knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as he made it seem, but the lord had no self-confidence. At least this way Vivika believed he could fake it. Who knows, one day he might find it was no longer a sham.

  “My lord?”

  Vivika stopped pacing. “Yes?”

  “We have to discuss the plans.”

  “Oh yes the war!”

  Methrym nearly laughed. Vivika must be the only lord truly not worried about the Japuran threat.

  “What do you need?” Vivika said sitting down again.

  “Have you a map of your city?”

  Vivika jumped up aga
in and started searching through a large cabinet. “I know there is one. Where is it? Ah!” He turned with a large scroll in hand. “Will this do?”

  Methrym joined the lord as he unrolled a highly detailed map of Tanjung Malim. It was perfect. “This is exquisite work my lord,” he said and it was.

  Every street was not only drawn to scale with all the buildings and curtain wall, but they were named in tiny but legible script as well. Everything he needed was clearly defined.

  “Father commissioned it. He said it was good to know where everyone was so he could lay hands on them when he needed to reach them quickly.”

  It seemed to Methrym that the previous Lord Malim was not someone to be treated lightly. He felt sure Vivika’s father had laid hands on more than one person over the years of his rule.

  “What I need is this…” he began and detailed the plan.

  Vivika listened intently and his eyes widened as the full scope of the plan was realised—and the dangers.

  “Then I hit them from here,” Methrym indicated the river. “The bridge will be dropped to prevent them turning, and the Borderers will chop up their lead elements.”

  “What of my men?” Vivika said thoughtfully.

  “I’m glad you asked that my lord. We need to give the impression that your forces miscalculated the threat.”

  Vivika laughed and clapped his hands. “That will show them!”

  By the God, Methrym hoped so, but he didn’t let his unease show. Vivika needed to believe in the plan badly; it would undermine everything if he lost confidence in his new adviser so soon.

  The next day, Vivika put his new confidence to the test. Methrym had discussed what was to happen with him, but was still unsure if the young lord could pull it off. He was sitting upon his high seat as if in judgment which was pretty close to the truth, looking stern and confident. Methrym stood a few paces from the dais occasionally looking around at the portraits and tapestries as if bored. Soren and Lorenz were nearby ready to lend their support. All was ready.