Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3

by Mark E. Cooper

  Julia watched the door rebound against the wall and slowly swing shut in stricken silence. What could she say that she hadn’t already said, what could she do that would not see her bathe in even more blood?

  “It’s not you Julia,” Purcell said quietly.

  Gylaren nodded grimly. “Keverin sees much—too much. Deva rides on his shoulders while his people die and his home is destroyed. It’s enough to send a lesser man over the edge into madness.

  Kev was stronger than that. Julia knew he was—she felt he was. “I’ll protect myself and others if I’m near, but I’ll not murder more people, Purcell. How many deaths will you have me carry before you will let me be?”

  Gylaren stood nearby shaking his head. Purcell took her hand and squeezed it gently. “I don’t know, but I fear we will find out.”

  * * *

  10 ~ Burnout

  Navarien looked sadly at what remained of his men. His fine strong legion was a shadow of what it had been. He had lost half his forces due to the girl’s intervention in the assault, but since then he had lost almost another five hundred to Athione’s bowmen. He used to think of Belgard as an intelligent man—weaker than other sorcerers perhaps, but approachable. Now he didn’t know what to think. It was insane trying to bridge the crevasse under the conditions they were faced with. The men were becoming rebellious, and if the truth be known, he didn’t blame them. Navarien watched Lucius pace the perimeter of the camp and raged at Belgard. The fool would finish what the bitch sorceress had started! Did he want the legion destroyed?

  Lucius had started taking long walks a few days after he was relieved of his position—to ease the tedium one supposed. Belgard had allowed it. No chains were needed, not with so many sorcerers on hand ready to blast Lucius the instant he made a wrong move. Belgard seemed hopeful that Lucius would try to run, but that was unlikely. Lucius seemed resigned to his fate.

  Navarien glanced back at Belgard’s tent, but there was no activity. The sorcerer spent his days watching the girl in the mirror while more and more legionnaires died, and for what? To string a bridge that would avail them nothing even if the Devans allowed its completion!

  Does the bastard even want us to succeed?

  Navarien watched Lucius as he wandered by the sorcerer’s tents. None of his brethren would talk to him. It was as if they thought him contagious. Lucius was technically under arrest, and would be escorted back to the Black Isle after the fortress was taken. The way things were going they wouldn’t have any men left alive to send as escort. Navarien had been afraid of Lucius more than once, but he had never feared for his legion. Now he did, but it was Belgard that caused the fear and not Lucius. Deciding to take a chance, he went to head off the mage and talk.

  “General,” Lucius said in greeting. “I was wondering how long it would take you.”

  Navarien hated to be obvious, but he had to ask. “My Lord sorcerer—”

  “No longer that I’m afraid.”

  “Lucius then,” Navarien said joining the sorcerer in his sudden and intense scrutiny of the camp. He wondered what they were looking for.

  “Aren’t you afraid of catching my affliction?” Lucius said. “You should be you know. Belgard will not like you fraternising with the enemy.”

  “You are hardly the enemy.”

  “Humph! Well, why not walk with me awhile?”

  They wandered slowly around the perimeter. As Navarien neared the sentries they snapped to attention and saluted fist to heart. He acknowledged the salutes only absently. He was busy studying Lucius. The sorcerer seemed different than he had. He was remarkably at ease for a man with a death sentence hanging over him.

  “If you don’t mind my saying so, you seem amazingly calm under the circumstances.”

  “A burden has been lifted from my shoulders, General. Ten thousand lives was heavy indeed. It’s quite liberating really. No one fails Mortain and lives. We both know I’m a dead man.”

  That was obviously true.

  “Talking of dead men, why are mine dying? I have protested the lunacy of this so-called attack for tendays. Belgard just nods and smiles then dismisses me! This is not what a general is supposed to do curse it! I am supposed to command the legion, while he leads the mages. Instead he orders me to send men to their deaths while he uses that mirror of his and does nothing!”

  Lucius gestured to keep his voice down. “Calmly General, calmly. You don’t want to end up like me do you?” Lucius fell silent as they approached the tents, but then he resumed. “Did you know that I never wanted to be a sorcerer? Surprising is it not? My father was an excellent artist and I thought that I might follow his example one day. Instead, two men wearing the black robe came to our house and stole me away. After my... training, I went back but my family was gone. I never found them. No, I never sought a sorcerer’s life, but once a mage always a mage.”

  Navarien frowned in annoyance. What was the man rambling about? He didn’t understand what this had to do with Belgard’s actions or rather his inaction. Everyone knew the sorcerers kept watch for potential recruits. Most people would be glad to know they had the gift. He hadn’t realised that the recruits weren’t given the chance to say no, but surely the magic made up for a lot.

  “What has this to do with anything?” Navarien said impatiently.

  Lucius shrugged in disappointment. “Oh, nothing really—except perhaps that you can’t expect a cat to bark... Sorry. What I mean to say is that a sorcerer will tend to do sorcerous things. Just as a soldier fights, a sorcerer tries to increase his knowledge.” Lucius glanced at him as they negotiated the rocky ground. “You look sceptical General.”

  “In my experience all they do is kill people with spells rather than with swords.”

  “A recent development. Oh… I don’t mean a couple of decades recent. No, I mean a couple of centuries. The gifted, or sorcerers if you prefer, were primarily scholars. They were often called upon for building things such as that fortress up there,” Lucius said nodding at Athione. “Magnificent isn’t it? Building and healing were just sidelines though. Mages love to poke into things and see what crawls out—or they did. Now this lord or that uses us to further his own causes. Just like this little war.”

  They were silent for a while, each thinking his thoughts. As they came abreast the road, Navarien saw another corpse being brought down from the crevasse and sighed. It wouldn’t be long before the men refused to go up there and then his problems would truly begin. Could he bring himself to execute a man for refusing an order to go up the road to almost certain death? He didn’t think so.

  “Belgard is a great scholar,” Lucius went on. “Always poking into things, he is. I would wager he’s watching the girl at his mirror right now.”

  Navarien nodded. There was no doubt that Belgard watched the bitch sorceress. He did so every day. Lucius had a right to sound bitter. The legion had failed him... no, not the legion. He alone had failed Lucius and now the man’s life was forfeit as a result.

  “I wanted to apologise for pressing you to attack that day, but it had seemed... unwise to approach you so soon. I apologise for that as well Lucius. It was my fault that you were removed from your position.”

  “You are mistaken. Mortain contacted me through the glass and gave me five days to take the fortress. That is why I ordered the attack, no other reason. I wanted to proceed with minimum losses, but Mortain and Belgard do not care about lives, they just want results. Do you remember the first day we arrived?”

  “Of course,” Navarien said wondering where this was going.

  “Belgard spent a remarkably long time scrying as I recall. He was watching the girl, and I must confess I didn’t blame him. She is very nice to look at. Belgard said that she represented no danger, and of course we believed him. No woman has ever had the gift. Since that day I keep coming back to Belgard taking such an interest in her. He didn’t take part in our spell to break the ward you know. He was using the mirror—again.”

  “Are you say
ing he knew? Why not warn us?”

  “I think he knew. Why is easy—he wanted to be lead mage.”

  “Five thousand dead because he wanted to be lead mage. I don’t believe it,” Navarien said, but he felt a sinking sensation even as he rebutted Lucius’ statement.

  Lucius shrugged. “Maybe it’s just paranoia on my part, but Belgard has always puzzled me. At Castle Black he was always first with the correct answer. Always the best at scrying, which is a hard discipline to master. Always first in sensing the magic. These things should indicate a very powerful sorcerer indeed, but Belgard is apparently only average.”

  They fell silent again as they neared the tents. Lucius’ paranoia was infectious. Navarien couldn’t help noticing the many black robed figures that just happened to be lounging around watching him stroll by. He had often been angry with the sorcerers attached to his command—not just during this campaign either. Black robes were always a pain, but he had never had occasion to judge them as enemies before this.

  Now he not only thought of them as his personal enemies, he thought of them as enemies of his men. No... not enemies. Enemy. Belgard was entirely to blame for all that was wrong with this campaign. That made him someone to remove for the good of all, but only another mage could stand against Belgard with any hope of success.

  Navarien glanced at Lucius in speculation. “If Belgard is so very powerful, why hide it? Come to that, can it even be hidden?”

  “Why is easy. Mortain would kill anyone more powerful than he is. He does so more than once each year. As to how Belgard has done it, I’m at a loss to explain how. I’ve stood closer to him than I’m standing to you and felt his power. He feels only average, yet I still believe he’s hidden his strength somehow. Obviously with magic, but as to how—who knows?”

  “You can’t prove any of this can you? And what does it have to do with sending my men to their deaths?”

  Lucius shrugged. “I can’t prove anything concerning Belgard, but I do know why this half hearted attack is going on.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes indeed. Your men are dying so that the Devan’s attention is kept focused this way while Third Legion attacks from the north. It seems that Mortain, may he live forever, does not want to wait for us to take Athione before starting the next stage of the invasion. Third Legion will attack Deva through Camorin. The so-called lord who holds Malcor has sold it to us. He will be disposed of when the Protectorate is victorious. We can’t trust someone who would sell his own country to its enemies.”

  Navarien felt sick. It was a good strategy. Keep the opponent focused in one direction while striking elsewhere was a fine plan, but the diversionary force belonged to him, and the losses were already colossal.

  “It might work in the long term Lucius, but meanwhile my men are dying.”

  “The only solution I can see to your dilemma is an immediate and full force magical attack on the fortress. Kill the girl, and blast the fortress until they evacuate. Only then should you build your bridge. Belgard won’t order that, it would go against Mortain’s wishes.”

  Now was the time. “There must be something we can do.”

  Lucius stopped and studied him for a long moment. “I feel for you and your men General, but I am no longer in any position to help you.”

  “If you were me, what would you do?”

  “Pray. Pray that something changes to cause Belgard to abandon this course.”

  “Pray!” Navarien cried. “I need something a lot stronger than prayer!”

  “I’ve been praying a lot lately.”

  “For what?”

  “For Belgard to get the pocks and die.”

  * * *

  Belgard laughed. “Oh Lucius, how can you be so right, and yet be so wrong at the same time?”

  He cleared the image in the mirror and leaned back in his chair. How had Lucius found out about his strength? He would have to be more careful in future. Was it just wishful thinking on his part, or had Lucius truly only guessed?

  No matter, Mortain would execute Lucius in the not too distant future.

  The General’s weakness was a disappointment. He had hoped to use Navarien later. The death of so many legionnaires was regrettable of course, but it was hardly a matter over which to get so upset. They were serving a purpose by dying in sight of the walls after all. As for the girl, Lucius was right again regarding his knowledge of her magic. He had come to know her quite well. Julia was powerful but emotionally weak as all women were. She was squeamish when using her magic. With the talent she possessed, he would have destroyed the legion to the last man, but what does she do? Precisely nothing.

  That wasn’t quite true he amended, she had learned to heal, but while she was doing that precious time was going by in which she could have learned other more useful things. Things such as warding. He was pleased that she was so stupid. A ward created by her might take more sorcerers than he had on hand to break. The deaths had hit Julia hard. He knew that from watching her sleep. She awoke screaming most nights. That’s what had decided him on this course. Navarien’s men might be the enemy as far as Julia was concerned, but she felt just as guilty about enemy deaths as she did about her friends.

  With a little luck, he would lure her out and then strike her down. Athione would fall in short order and the book would be his. That book would make him Godwinson. A gate into the current heir’s chambers to assassinate him, and then another into Mortain’s chambers to whisper a few words in his ear…

  Belgard chuckled. Who knew, he might be Mortain in a year!

  * * *

  “Is there nothing you can do?”

  Julia sighed. She was hearing those words a lot lately. Can you not remove the sorcerers? Can you not bridge the Gap? Can you not save us!

  “When I tried before I couldn’t find anything physically wrong with him. When I healed you, I found a blue light like a jewel in your aura. Only a mage has it. I think the jewel is your mage gift, or maybe it’s where you link to the magic.”

  Mathius nodded. “You mentioned it before.”

  Julia had only a fuzzy recollection of that night. She shrugged. “Anyway, the point is only mages have a jewel, and Renard’s is dull. I’m guessing that when the ward fell, he received a... call it a backlash, which burned out his gift.”

  Mathius gasped in horror. “If that’s the case he won’t want to live.”

  “I know,” she whispered.

  If only she knew more! She had seen so much death since arriving here that she should be used to it by now, but she wasn’t. Every new death stabbed her with guilt and it was worse each time. She had to learn how to save them!

  “I think he’s gone into his centre. Maybe to find his magic, or maybe he’s just hiding in there.”

  Julia examined Renard again. Mathius had been caring for him, but he was finding it difficult to make Renard eat and drink. It was heart breaking seeing him like this. Renard had been so pleased when the ward he designed worked, he was almost dancing for joy when she first met him. Now all he did was sit in a chair and stare at nothing. She had tried to talk to him, but he was completely unresponsive.

  “What about letting him share your magic like you did in the library?” Mathius said hopefully.

  “I don’t know how to do that. Renard linked to me remember, not the other way… I could try it like healing, only...”

  “I hate to say this, but he really would be better off dead than the way he is.”

  Julia nodded acknowledging his words, but she wasn’t convinced that anyone was better off dead. She stepped behind Renard and readied herself, but she was still unsure that she wanted to do this. Would Renard want to come back without his magic? She could not stand by and watch him wither away. Standing behind him, she clasped Renard’s head in both hands and quickly entered the realm of healing. Renard’s familiar aura appeared before her. It was vigorously moving about as it should, but looking closer she could see the dull and lifeless jewel at his centre. Instead of a be
autiful sapphire, it was a muddy and cloudy blue crystal devoid of life—just as Renard himself was.

  I hope this works.

  Julia willed her healing magic to turn blue—she tried to turn it blue. It resisted her as if not wanting to change. She forced it—she insisted that it change for her. Slowly the pure white light of her healing power dulled and became a sickly looking pale blue, but it fought her all the way. She drew harder as her magic changed back to white. Gritting her teeth she pulled more, and more again. It flickered between the two colours, neither one nor the other. Groaning at the strain, she opened her link wider still and flinched.

  God... it hurts!

  Her power flickered but at the last it changed reluctantly to a deep sapphire blue. This time it stayed that way. Healing had never hurt her before—made her tired yes, but it had never given her pain. She felt... not sick exactly, but subtly wrong in her head—disorientated.

  This is not right. I know it’s not. I’ve never felt like this before.

  Not knowing what else to do, Julia touched the jewel with her magic and it blazed up with sapphire coloured light. It had worked! She could hardly believe it. She let her magic turn white again and sighed in relief as pain was replaced by bliss. She gazed at the beautiful light of Renard’s jewel. It was much brighter than Mathius’s jewel. It was becoming brighter—intolerably bright.

  Something’s wrong! God, what do I do?

  Julia quickly tried to damp the jewel’s light, but it hurt to touch like grabbing a live wire. She clamped a fist of magic round the jewel trying to ignore the pain, but it was no good, it continued to blaze unaffected. She let it go and watched helplessly as Renard’s aura became unsettled. It was being drawn toward the centre! In horror, she watched as Renard’s aura changed into a ball of blue light.

  He was shrinking!

  His aura swirled and shrank. Smaller and smaller, no bigger than a golf ball... a marble... a blazing star in the sky... gone.

  I’ve killed him!

  * * *

  Mathius watched Julia attempt to save Renard. There were no external signs of her work as she tried to heal the mage. No spell that he could detect, no weaving of the patterns that Julia insisted were so important—nothing but the roar of her magic and the light. She blazed with power, so much that even Darius—the strongest wizard he had ever seen—would have been burnt to a cinder. Julia wasn’t even close to what she could draw. He had seen her healing the guardsmen one after another long after other mages would have quit for fear of making a mistake and ageing. She had kept going, perhaps even unaware of how extraordinary she was. He had no doubt that she was a true sorcerer, or more properly a sorceress.