Invasion (Tales of the Empire Book 5)

by S. J. A. Turney

  The general chewed his lip for a moment as though he’d not thought this far through the issue and was suddenly caught out. He glanced for the briefest of moments at the witch, and Bellacon thought he saw her give a tiny nod.

  ‘The Silvanes will not be an issue,’ he said, recovering well. ‘I believe that when the time comes to deal with them we can come to an advantageous arrangement. For the time being, they cannot directly intervene in our campaign.’

  ‘Unless they have boats,’ said Bellacon before he’d really decided to reply. He winced internally.

  The general gave a low rumble of a growl. ‘The Silvanes will not be an issue, Bellacon. Be told.’

  ‘Yes, General.’

  ‘Very well,’ Volentius went on, starting to use his stick once more to tap the map. ‘Here is how I see our approach…’

  Bellacon sat silent through the rest of the briefing as the general went over the bones of his plan, but the tribune’s eyes repeatedly strayed to the witch woman in the corner, where he repeatedly found her either stitching with her eyes closed and her mouth moving silently, or looking directly and rather piercingly right at him.

  Finally, after almost an hour, a soldier arrived at the tent, begged pardon for the intrusion, and announced to the general and his staff that all the officers’ tents were up and their gear unpacked, and the evening meal would be ready for them shortly.

  Apparently content with the results of his meeting, the general dismissed the officers and they drifted off, bowing and saluting as they went. Something of an outsider despite his high rank, no one spoke to Bellacon as they left, and he found himself alone at the rear as the general snatched up the rest of the wine, lifted the flap to his office and disappeared from sight.

  The tribune paused for a moment, watching that rippling leather wall. It was clearly understood and accepted among the general’s officers that Volentius habitually climbed into a bottle and stayed there for the night, ostensibly under the guise of working in his office. He made a note of his concern over the matter. He’d not yet seen the general incapable, but a man with a legion’s wellbeing in his hands and a habit of overindulging could be dangerous.

  As he turned to leave, the witch rose from her seat, dropping her fabric on the cushion and adjusting her dress.

  ‘You seem troubled, Tribune?’

  Bellacon frowned. He was fairly sure this was the first time he had heard the woman speak since they landed. In fact, it was almost certainly the first time he’d heard her speak at all.

  ‘I am.’ He peered into the woman’s eyes, unable to see anything except his own uncertain reflection in their dark glassy surface, and found himself wondering what she saw in his.

  ‘The general trusts you,’ he said. ‘I see that, even if I do not understand why. But me? I look at a woman who was torn from her people and taken as a prize by an imperial officer and has lived the life of a slave, albeit a luxuriant one, for a decade. And I wonder what could possibly motivate her to sell out her own people to the man who enslaved her?’ He glanced briefly, nervously, at the flap that was all that divided them from the general.

  ‘Fear not,’ she smiled, ‘he will be oblivious to all else by now. You know nothing of Alba or her peoples, clearly.’

  ‘I know nothing of the north,’ admitted Bellacon, ‘but I know people and their hearts.’

  ‘But because you know nothing of us, or of me, it is the height of presumption to judge me, Tribune. Yet to ease your mind, I will tell you this. The tribes of Alba have warred with one another since the day the moon was born from the icy northern mountains. You speak of me betraying my people as though Alba was my people. I believe that one day, with the power of the empire to bind her, she will be. But now? Now, the Silvanes are my people, and they have spent centuries struggling to control the trade of the great channel. With the empire suppressing the Dunarii and taming the south-west, my sisters and brothers of the Silvanes will be stronger than we have been for many generations.’

  Bellacon frowned. ‘Still, you must see a future where your tribe must also be suppressed by sword or treaty.’

  ‘I see many things, Tribune Bellacon,’ the woman said with an enigmatic smile. ‘I have seen the flags of the empire planted in our island. In the bones and the flames I have seen the forging of a land of one island, undivided.’

  She snorted with laughter. ‘Listen to me speaking like one of you. Alba is a concept of your empire, Bellacon. What you have come to invade is an island without a name, home to many warring tribes who have struggled through the centuries as the gods meant it to be. Why? Because if our tribes had even once joined their power and become one force, the world would have trembled at their coming. No. For the good of the world, they were kept apart by the gods. But as that island falls under the weight of the imperial army, so will a true island of Alba rise. She will be an imperial land, but what the imperial army forges here will live beyond even the death cries of the empire itself. So why do I aid the man who took me captive? Because whether imperial officer or Silvan seer, we all work towards the future of my land.’

  Something about her words sent a shiver up Bellacon’s spine.

  ‘You believe that this campaign will succeed when greater attempts have failed?’ He had no idea why, but for some reason, he was almost hanging on the answer she might give him. Why trust her? Why even listen to her?

  ‘Alba has a heart, Bellacon. Three men who landed on these shores know of it, and three alone. But in my dreams I see a flag of the Vulture Legion planted in that heart, fluttering over her lands and peoples. It is destiny. Fate. Unbreakable, unavoidable. And in the sacred flames, no matter how often I look, when I see that legion’s flag I see its general standing victorious beneath it. While I remain with the Vulture Legion I can help guide this war so that the minimal damage is done to achieve what must be achieved.’

  She sighed. ‘Would that there were three of me, and I could be with each legion, but it is fate that I am here, with this one. General Volentius is content with his campaign and to listen to my advice above even his own scouts and officers, because he has been listening to me for a decade. He knows I speak the truth, and that I speak only the truth, and so my vision has guided him here and will guide him to the end.’

  Bellacon frowned still. ‘I do not know why I trust you, Lissa of the Silvanes, but somehow… I do. My trust is not a thing to be betrayed, though, so be aware that if you play us false, I will see that justice is done.’

  ‘I very much hope so,’ said the eerie woman with a smile. Bellacon felt an unexpected bead of sweat form on his brow and run down his temple. Until she stood so close and he studied her as he did now, he’d not given any thought to her physicality. She was extremely attractive in a very indefinable way, and her scent was like the dusky incense that burned in a temple. He shivered and stepped away, somehow reassured in a way he’d not anticipated.

  ‘You may be stuck here with us,’ he said, unsure why he was trying to soothe her, ‘but my friends Cantex and Convocus accompany the other two legions, and they are the best of men, one with the goddess of luck permanently riding on his shoulders and the other intuitive and clever beyond his years. They will steer those legions and their generals in the right way as best they can. Be assured that the armies are in the best hands available.’

  Lissa looked down at her feet for a moment and when she looked up she wore the same enigmatic smile, but perhaps she had underestimated Bellacon’s senses for he caught her look, just for a fraction of a moment before that smile slid into place, and there was something heartbreakingly sad in it. Something that chilled him to the bone.

  With her warm smile in place, covering that deep well of sadness he’d seen for only a moment, Lissa placed a delicate hand on his shoulder and then slipped away to the other internal divider, lifting the leather and disappearing into the shrine. Bellacon looked around the tent, the hair standing proud on his arms and neck, and then exited into the cool evening air seeking warm food and
company that didn’t chill his spine.

  Chapter 3

  ‘I suppose it might be possible to build wooden shelters and move them up the hill to give the legion cover?’

  Bellacon shifted his grip on the slippery, wet reins and shook his head without looking through the constant drizzle at the captain beside him.

  ‘The gradient will make moving any wheeled structure too cumbersome, and some of those ditches between the ramparts might well be narrower than anything we build. I think it would be wasted effort.’

  As the officers fell into a pensive silence once more, Tribune Bellacon took in the sight before him.

  They had travelled a further five days into the lands of the Dunarii, directed by scouts and by the witch woman Lissa’s uncanny knowledge, and had finally come across this unnamed fortress that was quite clearly the one of which the general had spoken.

  Here, they were at its eastern end, but scouts had confirmed that at the more impressive western end, the flat ground marked the site of a massive crossing of trade routes, and the turf there was worn and discoloured by the regular penning of cattle and pitching of tents. This was a trade hub.

  The fortress was shaped like a giant kidney, rising as a separate mound in its own right atop a much larger hill. The place was defended by three great concentric ditch-and-rampart systems, each as tall as three men, the uppermost, innermost one sporting an additional stone revetment with a walkway regularly patrolled by enemy warriors whose numbers had increased dramatically since they’d spotted the imperial army approaching.

  The unnamed fortress was a match for the greatest strongholds Bellacon had seen in the borderlands. Rough and constructed with minimal engineering, yet thoroughly effective – a natural strength that would put the civilised armies of the empire severely to the test, it might as well represent this whole island. It reminded him a little of the outer defences of Vengen, through which he had passed on his way north, though without the cultured collection of grand buildings at its heart. The place filled him with uncertainty.

  One thing of which he was certain, though, was the inordinately high number of casualties any assault would lead to.

  As his gloomy thoughts pondered the coming difficulties, Alba chose that moment to increase the drizzle to a steady rain that battered against his face, making the flesh feel raw and frozen. Damn this island.

  The western approach at the other end displayed an almost labyrinthine system of extra ditches and mounds protecting twin gates that overlooked the site of the seemingly regular market. The nearer eastern, lesser, end, was only a little less defensive, protecting a single gate. It was at this eastern end that the army was encamped.

  ‘How many men do they have, d’you think?’ mused another of the captains, flapping his cloak to shift the surface water.

  ‘Who knows? But it’s supposedly their main military concentration, so we can assume, I think, that they at least match our numbers. And while I would put money on any contest between disciplined imperial steel and some hairy barbarian, we need to consider the disadvantage those ramparts put us at. I don’t like our odds, frankly.’

  The first captain huffed into cold hands and Bellacon wiped the rain from his forehead. ‘I simply cannot see a sensible way to take the place.’

  ‘Can we bombard it?’ posed the captain.

  Bellacon smiled at him. The man was thinking along sensible lines, at least. ‘That was my initial thought, too. But the only high positions where we can site the artillery would put them at such extreme range that we’d be lucky to hit them, from what I understand of artillery ranges. We could put them closer, of course, but the ground would be too low and they’d be unable to angle steeply enough to pass the ramparts effectively.’

  ‘What if we could get the artillery onto the outermost rampart?’

  The tribune laughed. ‘How do you fancy pushing two tons of onager up a forty-five degree slope? And very likely, given what I’ve heard of native bows, the top of that rampart is within their arrow range. No, I think that’s unfeasible. Once again, I can see no reasonable tactic. The artillery would be at maximum range, and our archers will be more or less useless until they get to the top of one of those ramparts, at which point they will be open and exposed to enemy shot. The cavalry are utterly pointless in this situation, and that leaves just the infantry. And while I know just how strong our infantry are, I reckon you can count on losses of anywhere between a quarter and a half assaulting that place. Given what might yet lie ahead on this campaign, it makes me shudder to think of wasting half a legion on one single assault. Anyone else any bright ideas?’

  ‘Undermining?’

  Bellacon turned an expression of disbelief on the speaker. ‘You want to undermine a hill? Useful against towers and walls, but precious little good here. No. I think it’s time to go report to the general.’

  ‘What will you tell him, sir?’

  The tribune shrugged and shook the rain from his hair again. ‘That he’ll lose a third of his army storming that place. The only feasible solution is to draw them out somehow.’

  Waiting a few more moments to see if any of the captains came up with a last minute stroke of genius, Bellacon finally wheeled his horse and began to ride back to the camp and the command tent at its centre. Now that he was out and active and not lounging in the sick carriages, the legion’s captains seemed to have warmed to him a little, though there was still a long way to go, clearly, before he gained real acceptance. The others hung back, waiting for him to approach first.

  The general’s tent was warm and dry, two braziers supplying heat, their light augmented by three oil lamps strategically placed. The general himself sat in a campaign chair with a hastily sketched plan of the fortress in front of him.

  For a moment as he entered, Bellacon assumed the general was studying the terrain, leaning close over the map, then the old man’s bulk shook, accompanied by a snore. The tribune scanned the table for wine and though he could see none, an empty bottle and glass stood on a table near the rear flap. He cleared his throat noisily, and the general woke with a start, looking confused for a moment, before straightening and covering his failing as best he could.

  ‘It is a beastly place, for sure,’ he announced as though he’d been examining the gates.

  ‘It is, General,’ Bellacon agreed, falling in opposite his commander, the captains and other tribunes lining up behind him. He was steaming gently as the room’s heat went to work on the damp of his uniform, adding an unpleasant aroma of wet wool to the cloying burnt charcoal.

  ‘You’ve had a good look at the place?’

  ‘We have, sir.’

  ‘And your opinion?’

  ‘The cost in lives of taking the place, at best nullifies the advantage of taking it in the first place. We would weaken the army in the process to such an extent that we would seriously reduce our chances of securing the rest of the region.’

  The general rubbed the bridge of his nose, an irritated expression sliding across his face.

  ‘You’re telling me not to besiege the one place that would make a true difference?’

  ‘I’m stating the facts, sir. There is no way to take that place other than by direct infantry assault, and that would be extremely costly.’

  ‘Lissa!’ shouted the general as he rapped his fingers irritably on the table. A moment later, the flap separating this room from the office was pushed aside and the witch woman entered with a tiny bow of the head.

  ‘What will happen if we attack this place?’

  Lissa sighed. ‘I have seen nothing of this, General.’

  ‘Look again, then, woman.’

  The witch paced across the room, removing two pouches from her belt. As she approached one of the braziers, she tipped a small amount of something that looked like white chalky powder from one into the palm of her hand.

  Fumbling with the pouches, though with a dexterity that spoke of vast experience, she added to this a pinch of something that looked a little li
ke crushed herbs from the other. Replacing the pouches, she mixed the two substances in her palm, her lips moving in silent intonation. She then cast the combination into the sizzling charcoal and crouched, putting her eye line close to the level of the flames.

  There was a momentary hiss, then a flare of sickly green which left blinding blotches on Bellacon’s retinas.

  ‘I still see little at best of the result, General,’ she said in a resigned voice. ‘This is a sacred place of the Dunarii. Perhaps the spirits that guard it will not allow my sight to penetrate the umbra. I cannot say how it will be taken, or how many men will die. I can tell you only that it will be taken, and that Tribune Bellacon will be the man responsible.’

  Bellacon blinked, and not just to recover from the blinding flash.

  As his sight began to clear, he stared at the woman, who was looking back at him, inscrutable and strange. Something about her set his nerves twitching and jangling. She was simply too… otherworldly for him. She was remarkably striking – even handsome, he had to admit – for a woman of some forty summers. Yet her manner and her… something about her made him shiver. He turned back to his commander, trying not to think about the woman and her predictions.

  ‘Any attack is going to cost too many men, General,’ he said to Volentius, though his eyes were still on the witch.

  ‘Then how do you propose we succeed, Tribune,’ the general muttered, with only a slight slur.

  ‘Our infantry is at a disadvantage because of the defensive systems. Our archers are unable to reach a position where they can be of much use. The artillery are out of range and the cavalry cannot besiege a place. If, however, we could force them to meet us in open ground, then all the traditional advantages of the imperial military can be brought to bear. That way we can beat them with minimal casualties.’

  The general’s face showed a healthy dose of scepticism as he pondered this. ‘And how will you bring them out?’