Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (78 page)

The ship hit bottom and water sheeted over the bow.

Sacherval shook his head gasping and trying to breath air that was two thirds sea water. Lightning forked down briefly illuminating the deck and the few struggling sailors trying to save the ship—his ship. His beautiful ship heaved herself gamely up and out of the trough, but as she did, she staggered and rolled as another mountain of water thundered down and buried her. Sacherval lost his feet and skated over the deck kicking and scrabbling for any hold he could find. The deck canted further and further… she was going to roll! His fist clamped upon a stray line, and he found himself dangling with feet kicking over the side with nothing but a watery death below him and a near vertical wall of decking above.

Not me—you’re not having me, you bitch!

Sacherval pulled himself up the line and back aboard ship as she reluctantly rolled upright. She was losing her trim. There was just too much water below and no way to pump it out fast enough. Another mountain of water hammered over her bow, and sheeted across the deck. The broken and buckled railings were no hindrance. He could only wonder how much longer she could take such a pounding as she began yet another climb.

Sacherval staggered back to his place next to Fenton.

CraAAAAacK!

Sacherval flinched as lightning stabbed down and struck the foremast. The howl of the wind might have hidden it. The whip-crack sound of sundered canvas might have, but nothing could hide the results. Old Warrin was haloed briefly in an eerie blue light. Sacherval blinked water out of his eyes—he would swear later that it had been no longer than that, but it was long enough. One moment Warrin was frantically chopping at lines, the next he was gone. Sacherval couldn’t grieve. Even if Warrin hadn’t been a royal pain, which he had been, even if he’d been a friend, which he was not, he didn’t have time. Warrin was part of his crew. That was the whole of the matter and a tie Sacherval considered closer than blood, but he was gone. There were others that still lived.

“
We’re going to lose the foremast!
” he shouted to Fenton.

“
Aye sir! We are that!
”

“
Best lose her now as later!
” Sacherval screamed over the howling wind. He staggered forward and took up an axe. “
You there!
” he shouted to Garrett. “
With me!
”

Sacherval swung the axe and severed the stays one after another. Garrett did the same on the portside. The foremast screamed with the suddenly increased load and snapped. Sacherval gasped in pain as the severed end of a rope flailed at him and stung his cheek like a whip. Mast, canvas, and ropes disappeared over the side and were whirled away. He staggered back to Fenton with his cheek bleeding and stinging from the salt water. The ship buried herself into another mountainous wave and icy water cascaded over the bows.

Sacherval swept a hand over his face and cleared his eyes. “
She can’t take much more of this!
Where are the cursed sorcerers?!
”

“
The Victory’s gone, Cap’n!
” Fenton yelled back. “
We’re on our own!
”

The Pride was almost standing on her stern as she climbed toward the sky.

“
Hold on!
” Sacherval cried as his ship heaved herself over the top and plunged down the other side. “
May the God save us!
”

The sky was replaced with roiling heaving water.

* * *

Thump!

With a startled oath, Navarien sat up and struck his head on the deck above his bunk. “The God curse you, come in!”

“Sorry to wake you, Sir, but the storm is over and we’re within sight of land.”

Why was the man always so jolly? Cragson hadn’t been sick even one day during the passage. It was cursed un-natural! Navarien swung his legs over the side of his bunk and dropped down. He swayed uncertainly in place and waited trying to decide if his belly was under control or not. He decided it was—barely.

“Excuse the bad temper, Cragson. I feel like I died and haven’t been buried yet.”

Cragson’s lips twitched, but he managed to stop himself from laughing at his General’s discomfort. He was a good man, but more to the point, he was an excellent Captain. Cragson had been with Navarien during the war with Bandar, and the debacle at Athione where he was badly wounded. Luckily he had survived what passed for healing in the legions and was now the Fifth Legion’s most senior Captain. Navarien busied himself with washing and putting on a clean uniform tunic. He didn’t bother with his armour, and wouldn’t until he debarked at Cantibria.

“So we didn’t sink after all. If that’s the good news what’s the bad?” Navarien said trimming his beard in a tiny mirror that went everywhere with him.

Cragson kept his expression neutral, but he couldn’t hide the glee in his voice. “No ships in sight sir.
Victory
went down at the height of the storm.”

“Oh dear, that’s terrible!” Navarien said trying to cover his own glee at the thought of all those sorcerers sinking to the bottom of the North Sea.

Victory
had been assigned to transport the mages. Navarien had tried to tell them that putting all their apples in one basket was a bad idea, but the lead mage had used his hard won orders against him. Navarien had campaigned hard to get written orders stating that he alone was in command of Fifth Legion and that he wasn’t to be hindered by—or even made accountable to—the lead mage. It all stemmed from the mess at Athione last year. He would never again put his men through what that bastard Belgard had put them through last year. The mages had their own separate orders giving them autonomy in their own area. They had refused to heed him and had paid the price when their ship went to the bottom.

“What is the world coming to?”

Navarien chuckled. “Now, now—they’re on our side after all.”

Cragson snorted.

After a moment’s thought, Navarien decided that the loss of the sorcerers wouldn’t hamper his campaign over much. Well, not at all really. He
would
be out of contact with Mortain—may he live forever—but that was no bad thing as far as he was concerned. One thing he didn’t need was interference from his superiors. He was confidant that he could fulfil the mission if he was left alone long enough.

With those thoughts in mind Navarien made his way on deck with Cragson following. The sun was shining and a pleasant breeze was blowing. The day smelled fresh and clean. Even the ever-present briny smell of damp wood and sailcloth didn’t spoil his enjoyment. Looking up he saw bare masts and yardarms as expected, and at the dizzying height of the main mast, he could see a lookout scanning the horizon. Some of the crew were preparing the stub of the foremast for splicing. Navarien had no idea how long it would take to raise a new mast, but it didn’t concern him. They were within sight of land and could get there with two if they had to. Master Sacherval was standing near the port rail staring out to sea. Apparently, left was port and starboard was right. Why sailors insisted on changing perfectly good words for incomprehensible ones was beyond him, but that was sailors for you. He couldn’t even walk on the floor. He had to do it on the
deck
instead. Stepping beside Sacherval, he scanned the empty horizon.

“Any sign of the others?”

Sacherval spat over the side. “None. Your man told you about the
Victory
?”

Navarien nodded.

“A sad loss. I knew her master for many years. A grand ship and a fine crew.”

Navarien didn’t quite snort. The
Victory
couldn’t have been that grand or it wouldn’t have sunk, but he held his tongue. There was no point in upsetting a potential friend.

“How long to Cantibria?”

“Well, as to that, we could be there tomorrow morning—even with the foremast gone, but I propose to stay here and wait for the fleet to rally to us.”

Navarien was pleased. “I concur. No point going in with First Battalion alone. Any idea how long it will take?”

“If they’re seaworthy, all that are coming will be here in a few days.”

“Hmmm… I propose we wait until we can assemble half the legion, and then move on to Cantibria. The rest can follow later and dock after we’ve pacified the city.”

Sacherval shrugged. “Fine by me, General.”

In the end Navarien didn’t have to proceed with only half of his legion. Three ships were sighted later that day, and then another as night fell—this time alone. The next day saw the rest of the fleet arrive in one’s and two’s. All except the ill-fated
Victory
.

They set sail and sighted the city at noon the following day.

Navarien was unsurprised by the disinterest shown him by the city-folk. Third Legion had docked here just last year on the way to destruction at the Devan’s hands. The inhabitants were familiar with the legions. They weren’t surprised to see another one. Their acceptance would change when they realised what was happening, but he would have the city firmly within his grasp before then.

He quickly deployed two battalions fully weaponed and armoured on shore. At his orders, they took control of the waterfront district. The other battalions swelled their ranks and helped to evict the current tenants. There were scuffles and outraged faces aplenty, but no coordinated resistance. Everything was going according to plan.

Navarien looked on as a delegation from the city council arrived and demanded converse with him. “Escort them through our lines, Tikva,” he said watching the red-faced councillors arguing with Captain Corbin.

“Yes sir!” Tikva said snapping off a salute. “Might I suggest the tavern?”

Navarien glanced aside. It was a ramshackle dump but adequate for a simple meeting. “You may.”

Tikva nodded and trotted off. Navarien entered the common room of the tavern. The interior was shadowed and stank of stale vomit and cheap ale. He took off his helmet and kicked a chair out of his way. Sweeping the mugs and plates off a nearby table, he placed his helmet in the centre and sat to await the council’s delegation. Four men and one woman were escorted into the common room by Tikva and a squad of his men. Navarien remained sitting as Tikva introduced his visitors.

“General Navarien, this is First Councillor Keiji. Councillor, this is—”

“I heard you!” Keiji said before Tikva could complete the introductions. “I demand that you and your men leave our city! You’re not welcome here!”

Navarien’s lips quirked in amusement. “You wound me deeply,” he said theatrically slapping a hand to his armoured chest and Tikva’s men chuckled.

“We didn’t come here to be mocked!”

Navarien’s face hardened. “You’re here because I want you here, no other reason. The waterfront district will house my men. You will speak with your people and tell them to cooperate. Tell them to stay off the streets after dark. My men will be patrolling the city. Anyone found wandering around at night will be arrested.”

“You have no right!” another of his guests gasped.

“And you are?”

“Third Councillor Jamila.”

Navarien looked the woman up and down and liked what he found. He stood abruptly but she held her ground when he advanced upon her. She stared at him defiantly and was unafraid.

“I have every right, Councillor Jamila. Cantibria is under the protection of my Lord Mortain—may he live forever. As his representative, it falls to me to enforce his laws and protect this city. In a few tendays, I will hand over control to civilian authority, but until then the curfew will remain in effect.”

“I won’t help you!” Keiji spat and lunged forward, but Tikva’s quick intervention brought the councillor’s attack to an abrupt halt.

Navarien shook his head at the struggling men at his feet. Tikva twisted the councillor’s arms up behind him and raised him back onto his feet. Tikva gave Keiji into the custody of his men.

“Have him locked up somewhere,” Navarien said.

Navarien ignored Keiji’s impotent threats as he was escorted out. Jamila was whispering urgently to a rotund and balding man but he was having none of it. He abruptly raised his hand to silence Jamila.

“General, I am second Councillor Devril. You have heard our demands. I will now add another. You must release Keiji at once.”

“I will not.”

Devril inclined his head. “Then I have nothing further to say to you.” He turned to leave gathering up the others of his party. “Jamila, are you coming?”

Jamila opened her mouth to say something to Navarien, but she shook her head leaving it unsaid. “I’m coming.”

Navarien watched her leave.

“That didn’t go too well,” Tikva said.

Navarien snorted. “Did you expect it would?”

“Well, no, but I had hoped.”

Navarien smiled and slapped the Captain on the shoulder. He swept his helmet up and replaced it on his head before stepping back outside. He shielded his dazzled eyes and watched the supplies being unloaded from the ships for a moment before turning away and marching up the quay with Tikva in step by his side.

The first real fighting erupted when five legionnaires tried to evict a merchant family from their home. The merchant wouldn’t leave, and Corbin’s men had no choice but to lay hands on the fellow to throw him out. Two women—one assumed were mother and daughter—attacked and killed four of his men in as many minutes, and seriously wounded the other before escaping with the merchant into the countryside. Navarien had been informed that some of the women were supposedly warriors, but he had dismissed the information as hearsay. Upon hearing the report he had re-thought his position and ordered that any resistance was to be met with deadly force.

The legion succeeded in taking the district on the first day, but not without losses. Twenty-three dead and ten wounded made Navarien grit his teeth in anger. Those numbers were totally unacceptable for any legion, let alone for the Fifth. His men needed more training, so much was obvious. First, Sixth, and Eighth Battalions were all veteran units of the Bandar War as well as the Athione debacle, but the rest were comprised of green recruits. Cragson and he had trained the recruits hard with the veterans breezing through with practised ease, but there hadn’t been time to do a proper job. A year was barely long enough to make them look like legionnaires. To make them as good with their weapons as the legions considered essential took much longer. Navarien tried to console himself with the thought that no campaign was accomplished without loss, and that the recruits would soon learn or they wouldn’t survive, but it still made his jaw ache.