Chapter 77

Day 264/265:

By nightfall, the Odmaaran scouts reported back to their officers on the enemy situation south of the Contested Oasis. Two 100-person heavy cavalry units (called a Troop) were quartered in canyons branching off of where the supply camp was staged. Given the large, heavy body that the ‘thunder’ khimeran mounts carried, the breed was prone to a host of health and environmental issues. They both tired easily, and came down with both diseases and injuries more frequently. So, even though their practice was to ride with two soldiers on a mount, each Troop normally took to the field with double the number of khimeran that they needed. After pushing halfway across the Plains from their barracks near the Wall, these Troops were down to less than seventy mounts per unit. A third Troop, with even fewer khimeran than the first two was making its way up the road, trickling in over the nighttime hours. Those soldiers were leading their mounts on foot, lanterns in hand. Bonfires, fed by the local scrub were lit along the road and guiding the path into a third canyon. Finally, the supply unit itself had only a total of one hundred soldiers, evenly split between guards, clerks and cargo handlers.

Tempest, the Odmaaran Captain who actually commanded the Squadron of soldiers joined them for a planning session. A crew of war-slaves, which John discovered were called Peons, had carved out an existing indentation in the rocky cliff-side, then covered it with several overlapping tents to create a blackout meeting spot. The space was limited, so they kept it to the three friends: Ariel, John and Spooky, plus Ramla, Dire and Tempest. Rhys and Hal gave their own report to John, before making camp with the other friends. The Fey was visibly upset at being excluded, but John promised to fully brief all of them afterward. Right before ducking into the blackout tent, John took one last look up at the fortress ruins where the portal stone rested.

Where are you, Veronyka? He wondered.

Over the course of their operational planning, John learned quite a bit about how the Odmaaran military operated. Common practice was for each Cohort of 95 to 100 children to be formed when they began training at the age of 7 or 8. When they completed the decade-long induction at age 18, that number had usually dropped to between 70 and 85. This now-combat-ready group was initially leavened with a cadre of 10 to 15 older veterans, who had elected to remain past their required two decades of service. Over the course of the young people’s military careers, the Cohort would continue to lose personnel until the total dropped below 50. At that point, they were merged with another depleted Cohort, bringing the combined number back to 100 or so.

In addition, un-ransomed enemy men captured by Odmaaran mercenaries during campaigning who were healthy enough could be offered a spot as one of the unit’s Peons. If they refused the opportunity, or were judged unfit for service, their lifetime enslavement resulted in placement on the farms and in the households of the Odmaaran citizens. Being a Peon was a hard life, with corporal punishments doled out for the slightest infractions. But it had one substantial upside for military-age prisoners: its term was for only ten years. If, during that time a Peon saved one of the unit soldier’s lives, they would be given the mount, armor, weapons and equipment they carried, along with a small sum of money and freedom. If they lasted the whole decade, or were maimed too greatly for healing, at the end of their final campaign season the unit would conduct a judgement of each one’s performance. Those who the soldiers agreed had performed satisfactorily were freed and given some money too. The few troublemakers, perennial discipline problems, and cowardly were auctioned off at the city to whoever wanted them.

The Cohort was restricted, at the beginning of the campaign season to an equal or lesser number of Peons than the number of soldiers in ranks. The Peons rode with, fought beside, ate identical food and camped in the same area as their assigned master unit. Each one carried a bow, short sword, shield and spear; and wore textile and leather armor. The officers used them as auxiliaries, rear-guards, and mount-tenders. They were decidedly not valets, or field servants to the soldiers.

Organizationally, three to five Cohorts made up one Squadron, which is why Tempest was their commanding officer. She’d been chosen because her unit had a full complement of soldiers (500), and the maximum number of Peons (another 500). Dire was her superior, two levels up. His purpose in riding with the Squadron had been to coordinate the efforts between the Odmaaran forces working for Ramla’s husband, the Emir of Kokebi Bedaran and those commanded by the Marshal of Gluboskal. To that end, he carried a small, thin, bound journal which was paired with one carried by the Odmaaran Warmaster. Whatever one of them wrote would appear in the other book. Its pages were few, so ultra-brief shorthand notes were the only messages passed.

“Warmaster Strategos estimates that a full Legion besieges Kokebi Bedaran.” Lord Dire informed them all. “There is little foraging in the desert around the city, so this camp must be supplying the Legion’s needs. Also, the heavy cavalry our scouts report is their response to the units we have harrying them from outside the walls. Anything we do to disrupt one or both of those would be a great aid in the city’s defense.”

“Can I ask, if there isn’t any foraging anyway, why keep some of your troops outside the walls? Aren’t they more vulnerable there?” John posed.

Dire shook his head. “Those in the area when the Legion first arrived are now within the city. Those outside are reinforcements sent by Odmaara after they received word of the invasion. More arrive from home every day, as they are recalled from campaigns elsewhere, but not enough to seriously threaten the Legion yet.”

“Our efforts here may buy enough time for that to happen.” Ramla added. “Our walls are not so great that they will hold the Legion at bay for long.”

“The supply troops are disciplined, but overworked and tired.” Tempest said, repeating her scouts’ reports. “The cavalry men are likewise exhausted. From the number of mounts, we can assume they have lost a good many on the march. Meanwhile, we are fresh, with only a handful of skirmishes on the ride. I suggest we get into position during the night, and attack before dawn. There are only four hundred soldiers total in the camp.”

“Won’t they send reinforcements back from the city?” John wondered.

“They will.” Dire agreed. “And we do not know how many are still coming up from the west. Are they still occupied with investing Gluboskal, or is that battle over? We do not have enough troops to send scouts that far, and from your word, those Dwarves in the tower do not know either.”

With a finger-snap, John pulled out the mirror Dulgan gave him.

“I can try this, if you want.” He offered. “But I won’t be able to use it again for several days.”

The Odmaaran Lord leaned over. “What is this? And how can it help?”

“One of the guys back in Gluboskal is a friend of mine.” John explained. “He’s the one who got us out of the city, but decided to stay and help in the defense. I know he’s tied in with the Clan leader for at least one that didn’t betray the city. Before we parted, he gave this to me. He said we could use it to talk, but only every ... uh, five to eight days. I haven’t even gotten a chance to soul-bond it yet.”

Dire was impressed. “That is a very useful item. Much more so than my Journal. I suggest you bind it now, and we see if your friend has news. Who is he, that he gives something so valuable to you?”

“His name’s Dulgan, though the nickname everyone knows him by is Ironhand.” John replied. “Have you heard of him?”

Ramla and the two officers all laughed.

“Yes, Lord John.” Dire answered, smiling broadly. “Your friend is very well known among those who prize Dwarven enchantments.” He slapped the sword dangling from his belt. “I myself carry an item made by him. It was the ransom for an entire company of captured warriors.”

John went through the soul-binding process, then held it up to his face. “Dulgan? Dulgan?” He called.

The reflection-less surface flashed several times before the Dwimar’s face appeared a minute later.

“John!” He exclaimed. “Tis only been a coupla days! I dinnae think we’re suited ta such unseemly courtin’!”

Chuckles rang around the room.

“How could I not fall for such a big, tall, large warrior like you?” John joked.

Dulgan burst out laughing. “Aye! Ya got me there! Wha’ tis th’ reason fer ya speakin’?”

“We’re at Contested Oasis,” John summarized, “and there’s a Legion supply camp here. We linked up with a bunch of Odmaarans and we’re thinking about raiding the camp. We were wondering if you had any news about forces farther west that might make things difficult for us.”

“Th’ fightin’s still goin’.” Dulgan said. “Though I think no’ as well as th’ Legion ‘spected. Clan Alpine’s been wiped out, an’ Twilight’s gone inta hiding. Still, th’ Legion’s gotta lotta troops an’ most o’ ‘em ‘r’ inside the city. Only word I heard was tha’ they had a reserve ta th’ south. Coupla squares, I think.”

“Is the resistance organized?” John asked. “I have a high-ranking Odmaaran officer who was supposed to link up with the Marshal.”

Dulgan frowned. “Sibul threw in with ‘is Clan. He’s dead now, too. There’s no’ been time ta elect a new Marshal. An, with two o’ th’ Clans gone, I’m no’ e’en sure if’n they can do so without a new charter. Tell th’ Odmaaran tha’ he shouldn’a ‘spect any aid from th’ city fer a while. If’n tha’ changes, I kin let ya know though.”

John sighed. “All right, my friend. You watch your back; you hear?”

“Aye.” Dulgan winked. “Don’ ya worry, th’ Shademaster tis already keepin’ me from fightin’ on th’ front lines.”

There was a pop, and the Dwarf’s face disappeared.

John looked up at the others. “Sorry, I guess that’s a bust.”

Dire’s eyebrows shot up. “Not at all. A Legion Square is nine hundred to a thousand men. Or Dwarves, in this case. That gives us an upper limit to the number of troops we can expect from the west. While they are deadly underground, and in fortifications, out in the open field, they are less so.”

“How do you know there aren’t any other forces in that direction?” John pressed.

Dire held up his Journal. “Our own spies say that this invasion included two infantry Legions, the Dwarven, and the Motley Horde; supported by two cavalry Regiments, the Eye and Pandemonium. Plus a small cadre from the Mage Corps. No siege engines, and the King himself isn’t with the army.”

John’s jaw dropped. “What? Where is he?”

“He went north with his most loyal Legion and cavalry Regiment.” Dire told them. “Lord General Spiros is in command. He’s given speeches to the troops; announcing that the Mage King will view their success as proof that they’re every bit as good as the Steadfast Legion and Claw Regiment that accompanied the him. If the full Dwarven Legion is investing Gluboskal, and the Eye is spread out all around the city, there’s nothing else left. The heavy cavalry squadron over there is the only part of Pandemonium not already besieging Kokebi Bedaran with the Horde. It’s not surprising; thunder khimeran are slower than even Dwarves, over long distances. Even at their fastest sprint, an unencumbered human could easily outpace them. This is the very tail of the army.”

“Tiger by the tail.” Spooky muttered.

John pointed at him. “We have a saying in my world, ‘be careful the tiger doesn’t bite you, when you grab its tail.’ What’s your plan, and how can we help?”

Day 265:

The sky had just shifted to deep purple when the 300 Peons staged in the fortress ruins on the escarpment loosed their first flight of arrows. This first volley’s tips were wrapped with a piece of burning, oil-soaked cloth. A second, identical wave followed seconds later while three Odmaaran Cohorts flooded into the canyons behind. John and his friends stayed to the rear, jogging behind Tempest as she directed her troops. Their mission was to be a ready reserve, and to deal with Kertug and Xenos when they showed themselves.

The other two Cohorts, each with their one hundred Peons had been sent along the road. One staged at the road fork to the east, and the other a few miles west. Both were intended as trip-wires. Each Sergeant in charge carried specific instructions not to become decisively engaged; but to harass, and slow down anything approaching the area.

It was a simple plan, but relied heavily on the ability of each Cohort Sergeant (not Centurion, that’s for the Legion! he was warned) and their Section Corporals to maintain decentralized discipline. It wasn’t something a conscript or punishment-oriented military could do. But the Odmaarans were famous for the quality of their professional soldiers. Captain Tempest’s primary function, now that the battle was underway involved coordinating as separate sub-units stormed a path through each khimeran squadron encampment.

Fires sprang up all over, giving the pre-dawn battle a hellish feel. The cries of wounded men, shouts of alarm and ring of weapons added to the chaotic maelstrom. But throughout, Tempest had a near-perfect handle on her soldiers. She wasn’t a yeller, but whenever she grabbed one of her troops, they would pause, listen and immediately dart off to carry out her terse orders. Most of her effort was focused on the cavalry camps, where pockets of resistance were already springing up. Section Corporals shouted coordination as they systematically surrounded, and eliminated each. Meanwhile, Dire dispatched fifty Peons out of the three hundred to wreak havoc in the supply camp itself.

That group crashed into the mixed clerk and cargo handler bucket brigade that was trying to form at the edge of the oasis. The Peons cut them down quickly, then spread out in teams of three to five. They slaughtered and stampeded the livestock, a weird hippopotamus/cow hybrid that seemed almost indifferent to the terror of combat, and spread the fires even further until the entire valley flickered with rampaging flames.