Invasion (Tales of the Empire Book 5)

by S. J. A. Turney

  Even as he readied himself, he could see a welcome sight moving his way against the tide of retreating soldiers. Convocus, looking weary but clean and unharmed, was waving at him.

  ‘You’re clear to pull back. But you need to do it now. Come on.’

  Bellacon turned to the men still fighting to hold the bridge head.

  ‘Here’s what you do, men. You take ten steps back, slowly and in time. One step. Count to three. Next step. Count to three, and so on. That should get you close to the bridge but maintain formation and cohesion. Then, when you hit ten, there’s nothing else for it. You’ll just have to run for the bridge. Rear rank first, then count three, then second rank. Then count three, and then front rank.’

  That was, of course, a death sentence for the front rank, and they had to know that, but there was little option. As soon as they broke, the enemy would overrun them, but at least this way perhaps two thirds of the remaining men could get to the bridge in safety.

  ‘Begin now. One step back, aaaaaand go!’

  He began to move slowly backwards, watching to make sure they were holding to the plan. Sure enough, the men counted to three as their swords sang the refrain of death, then took a second step before pausing and killing again. Here and there imperial men fell, but still they managed to hold the formation.

  ‘Come on,’ yelled Convocus.

  Bellacon turned. The bridge was crowded but moving at a steady pace. He was a little surprised when his friend leapt up onto the bridge parapet, some twenty feet above the water, and hurried along it, past the slower-moving crowd of men. Bellacon clambered up onto the stone wall behind him, wearily and with considerably less dexterity, then tottered along, using outstretched arms, one of them still holding a crimson blade, for extra balance.

  Half way across, he turned and with his extra height could just about see what was happening back at the bridge head. He felt instantly sick, knowing that those bodies even now being hauled away were lost because he had ordered the retreat in such a manner. Those men who had been overrun at the front were suffering and would continue to do so, but their suffering was buying survival for their fellows.

  Here and there, pockets of men were still fighting amid a sea of natives. Most had died, but a few had been taken alive, and Bellacon shuddered again at the memory of Lissa’s descriptions. Now, the rear of the retreating force was at the bridge and filtering onto it, the narrower front making it easier for them to defend as they slowly pulled further and further back.

  ‘Don’t dawdle,’ Convocus shouted from further in front. ‘We haven’t got time.’

  Turning his attention back to the bridge ahead, Bellacon’s eye caught something new down below, on the bridge’s side, and he blinked in surprise. Surely not?

  The men on the bridge were blissfully unaware of this extra peril, for their attention was fixed on the safety of the rising ground to the south, their view restricted by the men around them and the walls of the bridge to either side. Bellacon had no such restriction. He could see the engineers down below on the bridge’s pier.

  This was no imperial construction, made of shaped blocks mortared together or with concrete for added security. This was a native bridge of dried stones fitted together with great ingenuity and skill, but with no mortar or concrete. The floor of the bridge itself beneath the dust and gravel was of horizontal timbers, as anyone listening to the booted footsteps could tell. It was a clever construction, certainly, but only secure as long as the stones remained tightly wedged.

  Seeing the men of the Hawk Legion below removing stone after stone from the support and casting them down into the water was shocking. He felt the bridge shift very slightly under him, and there was a tortured groan. He had to wobble to maintain his balance on the parapet.

  ‘Run!’ Convocus yelled.

  ‘No bloody kidding,’ he replied, and ran, trying not to think about how easy it would be to slip and fall into that torrent.

  Bellacon reached the southern end of the bridge as Convocus leapt off to the turf, and he turned and looked back. The imperial troops were still on the near half of the bridge, pulling back as fast as they could, pursued by shouting natives.

  ‘Run!’ he yelled across the bridge as the stonework under him creaked and shuddered again. ‘Break and run!’

  They did. Instantly, two of the rearmost were brought down and hacked to pieces against the bridge walls, but now the imperial soldiers were recognising what was happening as the bridge began to issue frightening cracking noises and to shudder and shift sickeningly. Bellacon could see the engineers fleeing the pier to clamber onto the grassy bank and run for their lives. A few hardy, brave and terminally foolish engineers had stayed and were loosening the last few critical stones.

  Bellacon leapt from the parapet to the grass, his wounded leg giving way and sending him sprawling. Hissing in pain he pulled himself upright and watched in horrified fascination as the bridge gave way.

  The pier simply crumbled.

  Three engineers still hauling away stones were immediately crushed as the whole thing bucked a foot into the air and then dropped into the river below, enshrouding them as it sent stones and timbers into the water. Half a dozen soldiers fleeing the enemy at the rear of the retreat fell, screaming amid the plunging wood and rock, battered and crushed long before they could drown.

  And a hundred of the enemy. Those natives who had been oblivious, pursuing their beaten enemy across to the south bank, plunged down into the mess, others teetering on the edge and following them in as the mass of enemy warriors continued to push forward, unaware that the bridge had gone.

  ‘That should hold them back,’ Convocus said quietly, proffering a hand to help his friend up.

  Bellacon shook as he slowly and painfully rose to his feet. ‘Good idea. You might have warned me earlier, though.’

  ‘Wasn’t much time for warning. We just did what we could to save the men and hold the enemy back. Look at you.’ Convocus gestured at Bellacon from head to toe. ‘You look like the embodiment of war. How much of that blood is yours?’

  ‘A rather worrying amount, I suspect. I’ve taken no major wound as far as I can tell, but I’m scratched, nicked, cut and bruised everywhere. Think I might need to see a medic.’

  ‘He won’t know what to do until you’ve sluiced down and he can tell what’s skin and what’s linen!’

  Bellacon snorted. ‘Let me know if you find a comfy bath house, won’t you?’

  Ahead, up the slope, he could see that Cantex had been at work already. Where before there had been a gathered army moving towards the bridge and shocked by the sudden attack beyond it, now there was a budding fortress being created as the men of all three legions worked together under one tribune to dig a ditch, raise a bank and prepare for any further attack.

  ‘Mind you,’ Bellacon smiled through the gore, ‘if I give you half an hour, you’ll probably have built a bath house. Maybe out of the remains of your bridge?’

  Chapter 18

  A small party of scouts came riding back into camp from the west, sweaty and exhausted. The three tribunes stood atop the earth bank, looking down at the river with its collapsed crossing as the call for the riders’ return went up, and continued to watch the latest probe of the enemy, allowing the scouts to come to them. Behind them, busy camp life went on as though they were not in a curious stage of ‘open siege’.

  There had been a reorganisation of the legions during the last few hours.

  Each man who had been a member of any of the three legions for more than half a year had been required to vouch for all those men he knew to be of a similar service record. By the end of the exercise, the army had separated out almost three hundred men who had been seconded to the legions from other units since the campaign had been initiated. While there was no guarantee those men were traitors or served a political goal back home, they were the ones who could not be trusted beyond doubt, and so they had been assigned to a special unit, with officers of long standing and ve
terans watching them carefully.

  The native and northern imperial scouts had been paid their dues and dismissed, and new scout units had been raised from among the standard soldiery. Anyone skilled with a horse, former hunters, woodsmen and even poachers had been sought out, offered double wages and assigned to scouting duties. The army had lost its ability to communicate effectively with the natives, but at least they could now rely upon the men not to betray them.

  The unit of potential troublemakers had been assigned menial duties such as digging, tree-felling, water gathering and the like, under the watchful eye of their superiors, and the newly-assigned scouts were sent both east and west along the river’s length to check out the land and make sure there were no nasty surprises awaiting the legions.

  During the two hours they were gone, the enemy had tried three crossings of the water. On the first occasion they had sent men ploughing through the cold torrent to clamber up on the south bank where the auxiliary archers took mere moments to pin them to the turf.

  The second time they came, they brought wicker shields, which was something of a surprise to all concerned, since such a thing was not known to be a native tactic of Alba. Still, while the arrows were less effective against the shields and the enemy clambered sodden onto the grass roaring their victory, the small bolt throwers demonstrated with great effectiveness that they could punch through a wicker screen as easily as linen, and so the second attack failed.

  This third time, they had come in force, and Convocus – careful, thoughtful, inventive Convocus – had given the signal to his Raven Legion men, who had released the newly-hewn tree trunks, all their branches cut at the bole. The huge timbers had rolled from the camp down the gentle slope towards the water thirty feet below, picking up speed as they went until they obliterated the attack, sweeping men from their feet and carrying them, broken, into the cold bosom of the river.

  The tribunes watched the men screaming and plunging into the water, and Cantex patted Convocus on the back in appreciation.

  ‘Oh, what’s this now?’ Bellacon asked, pointing across the river.

  Gaps had opened up in the enemy host, and timbers were being brought forward, though not quite to the front of the enemy lines. The tribunes watched as the rough-hewn logs were lashed together in pyramid shapes. Their gorges rose and their spirits fell as the contraptions were completed and five imperial prisoners, men captured at the bridge retreat, were dragged forward. Each man was draped on one timber pyramid and then lashed to the uprights with strong rope.

  The tribunes’ worst fears were confirmed as natives scurried forward, packing the space between the timbers with combustible material.

  ‘Animals,’ Convocus snarled. ‘I am becoming less kindly disposed towards these Albantes with every passing hour.’

  ‘These are not Albantes, per se,’ said a quiet voice, and the three men turned to see Lissa, bleak faced, strolling across the grass to join them.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I told you that the Albantes are just one northern tribe. They also maintain hegemony over a wide federation of smaller tribes. These are warriors of the far north. Perhaps the Caeri, or the Oscui, barely touched by civilisation. They owe fealty to the Albantes, but they are never seen this far south unless there is a war. Why they are here is an intriguing question.’

  ‘It’s an immaterial question,’ Cantex muttered, watching the horrors across the river unfold.

  ‘Hardly,’ Convocus replied. ‘Something new is going on here. This campaign is full of surprises and unusual discoveries. Our own generals’ war among themselves, our senators interfere with a view to ruining our chances, and now tribes that shouldn’t be here are, gathered in force and prepared for us. This is not an accident and it is far from immaterial.’

  ‘The fact remains that if we want to reach and take this Steinvic place, we will need to remove them from our path, and that could prove more than a little difficult.’

  Further conversation was halted as the scouts reined in and saluted. The leader dropped from the saddle and passed his reins to another.

  ‘Sir. We have covered twelve miles upstream and the river is not crossable throughout that entire reach, or at least not without danger and not by such a host. Twelve miles away the river becomes much more crossable with wide gravel areas and sand bars. During the entire ride we found no evidence of crossing and saw no sign of the native force on the far bank. We have positioned watchers every three miles to keep us apprised of any flanking attempt, and those pickets will be changed on a three hour rotation.’

  ‘Good man,’ Bellacon said with a smile. ‘At least we have them effectively cut off and unable to touch us. The river downstream becomes ever wider, so we need not fear any unfortunate flanking attack without warning. We’re safe at least until dark. What we need to decide now is how to deal with them, and without losing so many men that we can no longer viably campaign in the north. Oddly, our situation is starting to sound remarkably similar to that the generals suffered twenty years ago, when they were brutalised by a local force and had to run back south.’

  ‘Everything about this campaign is influenced and informed by the past,’ Convocus grumbled.

  Cantex grinned. ‘Except for us. Don’t get so gloomy, old friend. That time they may have had more men and less intrigue, but they were missing something important. They were missing us. And I know we can do anything if we put our hearts into it. Bellacon’s sword arm, your brain and my natural charm can beat anything. Now stop grimacing like that. You look like you’re trying to squeeze out a troublesome turd.’

  The other two tribunes couldn’t help but smile, and even Lissa’s face lightened for a moment.

  ‘How many do you reckon there are over there?’ Convocus mused.

  ‘Somewhere between five and ten thousand,’ Bellacon replied. ‘It’s hard to tell with such a disorganised rabble.’

  ‘They’re just half our numbers, then. It we could meet them in open ground and deploy with full tactics we would wipe them out with minimal losses.’

  ‘But we can’t meet them on open ground,’ Bellacon replied. ‘I mean, we could withdraw south, but there is no guarantee they will follow us. In fact, I doubt they will. They are in a strong position and they know it. And if we attempt to cross the river, they can cut us in two again and cause severe damage.’

  ‘If we could trap them between two forces, we might change things,’ Cantex said, thoughtfully. ‘Like we did when Convocus arrived and saved us back at the previous camp. These natives, I’ve noticed, don’t react well to fighting on two fronts. Their method of warfare is just too straightforward for that. But I can’t see a way to pull such a move off effectively.’

  ‘We could send a force upriver and cross twelve miles away, then come back down behind them?’

  ‘I don’t think it would work,’ Cantex replied. ‘If we wanted it to be swift and surprising it would have to be cavalry, and we simply don’t have enough horsemen to make much of a dent in them. They would be little more than a distraction, and we’d probably lose the cavalry in the process. If we send enough infantry across to do real damage, they will move too slowly to pounce unexpectedly. You can guarantee the enemy are also watching their flanks, and they’d have plenty of time to prepare.’

  ‘Then we’re stuck for now.’

  ‘But at least we’re stuck safe.’

  ‘Are they likely to be reinforced?’ Convocus asked, turning to Lissa.

  ‘They are but a small part of the Albantes’ full force,’ the witch woman said quietly. ‘If the Albantes were really concerned with you they could field ten times that number of warriors with ease.’

  ‘So why haven’t they?’ Bellacon asked. ‘Why this lot of savages from the north at half our strength. If they could field twice our number and be sure of stopping us, why haven’t they? Unless the Albantes themselves perhaps don’t even know about this lot. Is that possible?’

  ‘With the open terrain in the north, this army could
likely pass through Albante lands half a dozen times before they were noticed,’ Lissa replied. ‘Or perhaps the Albante King wishes only to slow you, or stop you, or deter you, rather than destroying you.’

  ‘There is definitely something going on here beyond mere defence of native territory.’

  Screams cut their conversation short and all eyes were drawn across the river to the wooden frames which were now fully alight, the flames beginning to lick at the imperial soldiers bound to them.

  ‘Bastards.’

  Cantex turned and waved to an artillerist in position on the green bank below, where he’d been picking off men with wicker shields as they came ashore an hour ago. ‘Can you put them out of their misery?’

  ‘No, sir. They’ve set them up clear of bolt range by a short margin. I could have a go, but in my professional opinion it would just be wasting ammunition.’

  ‘Can you move close enough to kill them?’

  ‘Not without putting myself in range of their archers, sir.’

  Cantex nodded miserably. The enemy archers had come close to the river bank with the first attack to support their men, though they’d not been able to engage as the imperial troops held back a safe distance. There was nothing they could do, then, for the poor souls on those frames. The men’s screams ripped the warm afternoon air apart and sent shudders through every man in the army.

  ‘This will be worrying the men,’ Cantex said, ‘threatening morale.’

  ‘Quite the opposite,’ corrected Convocus. ‘They might not like listening to it, but every scream is hardening our men’s resolve. By the time it ends, they will be itching to gut every man on that shoreline.’

  ‘How can they estimate our bolt thrower range?’ asked Bellacon suddenly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well we’ve never met this lot before and the first time they should have seen the bolt throwers to learn their capabilities is an hour ago when we took them coming out of the water. That wasn’t at maximum range, though, was it? So how did they know how far back to build their pyres to be out of bolt thrower range. And they positioned them deliberately, because they’re not at the front of their army. I mean it could be coincidence, but there doesn’t seem to be an awful lot of coincidence happening on this campaign, does there?’