The Great Bear: The Adarna chronicles - Book 3 (18 page)

“Form up!” Conlan shouted into the night as his joy departed and reality reasserted itself, suddenly acutely aware that another attack might come at any moment. “Form up!”

He turned to see Jonas behind him. His friend wore a broad, calm smile, which quickly dissolved as he too realised the danger. “Form up!” he echoed. “Form up, you dogs!”

It seemed to take an age for the troops to obey. Conlan’s heart beat off every precious moment, but eventually the square reformed, reinforced by his own group.

It was several minutes before Conlan felt relatively secure. “Jonas,” he said when he was sure it was safe once more. “Fetch Proctor Villius, we have much to discuss.” He looked around the centre of the square, then back to the command tents. “Where in the hells is he?”

“Sir?”

Conlan turned to see Lucus approaching; the young legionary looked scared but unharmed. Conlan was relieved to see his luck had held. “Sir, you should come with me.” Lucus said, then turned and headed back towards the command tent.

Conlan followed without thought. He nodded to Jonas, trusting that he would call if another attack began.
The general is dead
. The thought pummelled his mind, repeated with every footstep.
The general is dead.

He followed Lucus into the tent, his mind numb, his legs leaden. The image of Martius lying on the ground flashed through his mind. He wondered what the general would look like in death: would he have a smile on his face? Would he have gone to greet the dark god with a laugh, dismissing any fear, any worry?

The interior of the command tent was brightly illuminated, with candles and lamps spread evenly throughout as if someone wished to mark a festival or, perhaps, keep dark spirits at bay. Martius sat on a cot bed in one corner, his face a mask of pain but still very much alive. Optuss stood nearby; he might have been mistaken for a statue but for the slow rise and fall of his chest. Andiss and Dexus, both grim and alert, flanked him.

“Sir!” Conlan fought to remain professional, but he could not keep the relief from his voice. “You’re alive.”

Martius smiled wanly and raised a trembling hand to his forehead. “That I am, Father Conlan,” he answered softly. “I do not feel at all well though. That much is certain. What news?”

“We hold the line, sir.” Conlan decided against telling the full story, there would be plenty of time if they survived the night. “The enemy have attacked sporadically for some time, but not in great force... They are very strong.” He struggled to find the words to describe the carnage outside the tent, in the camp beyond. “Sir... they've killed many.”

“I can give testament to their strength.” Martius shifted his weight on the cot bed and winced. He tried to rise but did not have the strength and fell back into the pillows again with a grimace.

At that moment Jonas entered the tent, he had recovered a helmet from somewhere and held it under his arm in true officer fashion, every bit the cohort commander. Seeing the general, he snapped to attention. “Sirs.” He paused for a long moment, his face grave. “Proctor Villius is dead.”

The night that followed was the longest of Conlan’s life, but the attack he feared never materialised. As the sun began to rise in the east – revealing for the first time the true devastation of the camp – the news of Villius’s death truly sank in and a heavy burden of guilt weighed down upon him.
 

By all accounts, Villius had died seconds before Conlan and his force fell upon the enemy from the rear. The young proctor, seeing the attack and sensing the line might break, had led a charge to bolster the defences. The men with him had been pitifully few, the poorly armed and armoured stragglers for the most part – many already injured – who had found their way to the command area in the chaos of the attack.

“I should not have left the legion,” Conlan confided to Martius as the general slowly ate a bowl of stew. The colour was gradually returning to Martius’s face, but he still could not stand and lay propped up in his cot. “If I’d stayed Villius might be alive now.”

Martius, who had himself taken the news of his proctor’s death with stoic poise, looked deep into Conlan’s eyes. “You cannot be sure of that, Conlan. If you had not taken a cohort out into the camp then you would not have been able to flank them and the battle would be lost. Villius would be dead in any case, along with the rest of us.”

Conlan felt his face flush. It was too easy to reason the loss away. No, he would not allow himself to continue free of guilt. “There was no reason for me to leave, sir.”
I was trying to think as you would think.
“If I hadn’t returned to help defeat the enemy, you might be court-martialling me for dereliction of duty rather than praising me for saving the day.” He searched Martius for any sign of emotion, but found none. The general simply met his gaze without flinching.

“The truth is, I didn’t know what I was doing. I acted on instinct, that’s all, and it was an instinct that could just as easily have ended in disaster.”

Martius pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. “Conlan, I have often found that instinct is simply the memory of what is right. I have always trusted my instincts… they have rarely let me down.”

Conlan took a deep breath and looked down at his boots, still caked in dirt and blood from the battle.
Such a shame to dirty the rugs
. It was an obscure and inappropriate thought, and he cursed himself for thinking of anything other than Villius. “Four hundred dead or seriously wounded... mostly dead.” A brush with this enemy, with these demons, did not leave many alive.

“And there might have been more but for your actions last night.” Martius reached out a hand and patted Conlan’s shoulder. “We got off lightly by all accounts. In many respects every man in this camp owes you their life.”

“I abandoned my post, I left when I was needed the most...” Conlan protested.

“You thought differently. There is something special in that Conlan. It is useful for a commander to be unpredictable. Where most would have stayed and probably died,
you
thought differently. The troops out in the camp would not have survived... they certainly would not have rallied if you had not gone out to find them.” Martius paused for a moment and rearranged himself on the cot. “Villius is dead. And I mourn his loss deeply… do not forget that I knew him much longer than you, Conlan.”

Shame wrapped itself around Conlan. He had only thought of himself. He could only guess at the emotion that roiled beneath Martius’s professional demeanour. A proctor served as a general’s right hand, Martius must feel Villius’s loss as keenly as the pain of his wounds. “Sorry, sir, I did not think... Villius was a good man.”

“As are we all; Villius died a hero’s death, fighting for the Empire that he loved – is that not why we all entered the service?” Martius’s eyes took on a distant cast. “It may be that he has taken the easier road, for surely the dark god will grant him eternity in paradise.” What could have been a wry smile crossed Martius’s face and then he pursed his lips. “Is there any sign of the enemy? What is it that Wulf calls them?”

Conlan shook his head. A wave of nausea reminded him that he had not slept for a day. “They've evaporated with the morning mist, sir. Wulf calls them ‘Covashi’. It was what the Wicklanders were shouting when Optuss and the others, the bear the bull and the hawk, appeared on the field at Sothlind.”

“Ah yes, Covashi. Metrotis tells me that the literal translation is ‘demon’.” Martius winced again. “I have certainly felt their power.”

Conlan recalled the night before, the vicious savagery and might of the Covashi. “They are strong, sir, and there is a strange and terrible magic in them, but they die the same as other men.” He patted the hilt of the sword of Optuss that he still bore at his side. “This,” he felt again the savage joy of the charge into the Covashi ranks, the thrill as he exacted his bloody revenge, “it kills them well.”

Martius nodded, his eyes hovering briefly on the sword. “Anyone would think that it was designed for it, don’t you think?”

They were silent for a long moment, each man lost in his own thoughts.

Then Conlan remembered his duty and made to stand. “I should probably go, sir, we need to prepare for the next attack, strengthen the fortifications.” He doubted they would survive another night. “Are we to dig in?”

Martius shook his head. “No. Bury the dead. The Covashi will not attack again soon, I am almost certain. Make ready to march.”

Relief washed through Conlan.
We’re going home
. “Of course, sir, but how do you know they won’t attack again? If we march back to Sissia they may threaten our rear as we retreat.”

Martius smiled. It was the smile that Conlan had seen before on the field of battle, the smile of the legend, fearless protector of the Empire. “I do not know that they will not attack, but my,” he inclined his head towards Conlan, “instincts… tell me they will not. We ran into a scouting party, nothing more. They attacked out of opportunity and, perhaps, curiosity.”

Conlan stood to attention, his fatigue forgotten, subsumed by the call to action. At least now they would remove Optuss from danger, protect him as Syke would want. “Sir, I will ready the legion to move north immediately.” They would be able to get reinforcements. They could return with a force large enough, perhaps, to defeat even this foe.

Martius raised a hand. “Not so fast, Father Conlan. You mistake my intentions. We are not moving north. We go south.”

“South?”

“The Empire lies undefended, only ourselves and Maran Kultis’s Fourteenth stand between these demons and Adarna. It is our duty.”

“You mean to take us into enemy territory?” Conlan could not believe what he was hearing. “Sir, a few dozen of them almost destroyed us. We should move north, send for reinforcements, prepare.”

“And abandon the rest of the Empire to ruin?” Martius raised an eyebrow. “I trust my instincts, Conlan. We move south.”

“To find the Covashi?”

“To kill them.”

<<<<>>>>

Afterword

Dear reader,
 

I really hope that you enjoyed this episode. I welcome constructive feedback so please do feel free to reach out through the internet and let me know what you thought.

‘The Great Bear’ concludes the first part of the Adarna chronicles and so it doesn’t end on quite as big a cliff hanger as its predecessors (I think!).
 
It is fair to say though that it does still have an ending that leaves questions unanswered and even raises a few new ones too. The books get longer from here and it is likely that book four will dwarf ‘The Great Bear’ (don’t worry, I won’t be calling it ‘The Massive Bear’ or anything). Because of the time and effort required to get the book (and the series) right, all I can say is that it will be early spring before book four arrives (sorry!).

Finally, writing is hard work, and selling books is even harder. If you did enjoy this book and you want to support a struggling writer, then please do take the time to pop over to where you bought it and leave a review. It doesn’t have to be long. Reviews will help other people to find and buy the book and help me, as a writer, enormously.
 

Thank you

Jason K. Lewis

October 2014

If you would like to keep up to date with progress and hear about new releases, why not sign up for my newsletter by clicking on the link below?

*NEWSLETTER SIGN UP*