Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3

by Mark E. Cooper

  “Oh?”

  “Stelinor was a great scholar. He wrote many of the books that are still used in the halls below Castle Black. I doubt he would have allowed his knowledge to die. I’m sure he would have recorded any of the Great Spells he knew, but we’ll never know.”

  “Why?” Julia said desperately holding to hope.

  “The Time of Chaos not only saw Mortain arise. It saw much of Stelinor’s work destroyed. The council was disbanded and a large section of the Castle was damaged by fire in the fighting. The Great Spells were lost with so much else.”

  Julia’s heart sank. “So no one knows how it’s done. How did Darius do it?”

  “I don’t know, Lady. I would give much to ask him.”

  “He’s dead.”

  Lucius nodded. “Even so.”

  There was no asking the dead anything. If Darius had learned how a gate was constructed, she could as well, but where had he learned it? She had to find out everything she could about Darius and where his journeys had led him. Somewhere along his journey to Athione and his death he had found the answer. She would too.

  Julia escorted Lucius into Keverin’s study.

  Keverin was sitting at his desk. Purcell sat opposite him with Gylaren on his right side. A chair was empty next to Keverin for Julia, and another had been placed between the two lords on the other side of the desk for Lucius. The positioning was so obvious that Julia felt her face flame in embarrassment. Lucius took in the scene with a small smile.

  “Thank you for inviting me, Lord Keverin,” Lucius said.

  “You are most welcome. Please take a seat—there.” Keverin pointed.

  With a quick smile, Lucius nodded to each of the lords and sat.

  Julia sat next to Keverin. She had promised to keep a watch on Lucius and she had kept her word, but he had never tried anything and she doubted he ever would. Still a promise was a promise.

  “I expect you are wondering why I asked you here.”

  Lucius seemed completely at ease. “Not really. I imagine you want to know if you should expect another attempt on your fortress.”

  Keverin smiled thinly. “We already know about the legion coming through Camorin. What I would know is whether it’s safe to leave here and attack them before they cross the border.”

  “Why ask me? If I said it was safe surely you would believe otherwise?”

  “You’re cursed right we would,” Gylaren growled.

  Lucius smiled and inclined his head to Gylaren. “Precisely my point. And what if I say it’s not safe to leave?”

  Gylaren grumbled under his breath and Lucius winked at Julia. She couldn’t help the grin that flashed onto her face, but she managed to smooth it away before Gy noticed it.

  “Why not scry and see for yourselves?”

  “We don’t know how,” Julia said ignoring Keverin’s warning look. Lucius already knew of her lack where mirrors were concerned. She had told him while trying to weasel the method out of him.

  “That explains it then. I could use the glass for you if you wish.”

  “Why would you help us?” Keverin said. “I’ll be blunt—no one likes a traitor. If you help us that is precisely what you will be.”

  Lucius’ face was stone. “A boy is stolen from his parents and sent to Castle Black. He is forced to perform. If he fails he dies, if he argues back he is beaten, if he tries to escape he is beaten to death. Then late in life he manages to escape and offers to work against his old masters. Is that person a traitor?”

  “No of course not! Now you’re going to say you are that boy?” Gylaren said scornfully.

  Julia snatched at her magic in panic as Lucius raised his hand against Gylaren. She gasped in relief as she realised he wasn’t attacking. She watched as Lucius rolled up the sleeve of his borrowed shirt and showed Gylaren his arm. It was ribbed with thick and heavy scars. He stood and pulled off his shirt. His back was covered in old scars. How Lucius had survived Julia would never know. For a mage to refrain from defending himself with his magic would take unbelievably strong discipline.

  “How did you keep from striking back?” Julia whispered in horror.

  “That’s why they did it. Discipline Julia. It is, at bottom, what all magic is founded on. They taught me discipline. A man can stand any pain if the alternative is death.”

  Julia remembered Mathius’ father and nodded in understanding. Mathius had told her how his father had often beaten him when defied. Mathius later learned that his father was trying to impress him with the risks he took every time he grasped his magic. Without discipline, a mage risked ageing and premature death whenever he used his magic.

  “When I was first taken,” Lucius explained. “I rebelled against the training. I wanted to be an artist like my father, not a sorcerer. In the Protectorate all boys with a glimmer of the gift are sent to Castle Black for training. There are no exceptions—ever. Escape is impossible—unless you think dying is a form of escape, and some children do, I assure you.”

  Lucius stared into the distance remembering what it was to be a sorcerer in the Protectorate. He was worrying the shirt between his fists as he spoke, and Julia wondered if there would be anything left of it when he was finished.

  “Powerful sorcerers loyal beyond question keep the rest of us in line. The training often turns a boy into the image of his trainers. The strongest of these are chosen to watch the rest. We work together, but we never trust each other. We never know who the guardians are. You might find your best friend whom you had confided in for years is one of them.

  “The training and all that goes on in Castle Black is kept secret, only another mage knows what we go through. When I finished my training, I had the authority to obtain what I needed. I went back home. My family was gone. I never found them.”

  Julia sat silently in horrified fascination through the account of his childhood. When his tale was finished, she watched in silence as he put his shirt back on, and sat quietly as before.

  “A sad tale, but irrelevant,” Keverin said unmoved.

  Julia flinched at the cold tone. Did nothing move the man?

  “Irrelevant?” Lucius said. “I suppose so. What then is relevant?”

  “Your knowledge of the Protectorate’s plans. Your trustworthiness—things of this nature.”

  “As I said earlier, if I say a thing you won’t believe me, so why should I waste my breath?”

  “This is pointless,” Julia said in annoyance. “Lucius says he will tell you. Then you say you won’t believe him. I say we let Lucius tell us what he will, and then verify it by scrying,” she said exasperated with the dance the men were performing. It seemed obvious to her that Lucius was a friend, yet the lords didn’t seem to see it. They looked at one another then nodded when there was no dissenting voice.

  Lucius inclined his head to Julia in thanks. “All right then, where to begin... The Protectorate, led by lord Mortain, has the immediate goal of the complete domination and rulership of Waipara. This is to be followed by that of Tindebrai. That is the God’s plan for the world, as spoken by his voice on Earth—Lord Mortain.”

  “He sounds like a megalomaniac to me,” Julia said.

  Lucius tilted his head in puzzlement. “I do not know that word, Lady. A power mad mage is what he is, but it’s not just him. Mortain took his place from the last voice of the God, who took his from the one before that, and so on. The voice of the God on Earth has led the Protectorate for centuries.”

  “None of this is news, Lucius,” Keverin pointed out. “What about this army coming through Camorin?”

  “The plan was for General Navarien and myself to spearhead the attack on Athione. Once taken, we were to garrison it and link up with Third Legion coming through Camorin. We would then systematically take each castle in turn until Deva was ours.

  “With the failure of the spearhead, I would expect one of two things to happen. One, another legion is sent against Athione to take the fortress as originally planned. Two, Third Legion proceed
s on its own and tries to complete what Navarien failed to do.”

  “Which do you personally favour as the likely course?” Keverin said.

  “The second,” Lucius said instantly. “It took five years to assemble enough men and supplies for this campaign. I doubt another could be ready soon. It wouldn’t take five years, but I would guess at a year—maybe more.”

  “I agree. What do you think, Gy?” Keverin said.

  “Sounds reasonable, but if we’re wrong we could lose Athione and the western approach to Hasa.”

  “Everything in life is a risk, Gy,” Purcell said. “Let us see Lucius scry Third Legion and then decide.”

  Julia nodded in agreement and so to did the others.

  “A mirror?” Lucius said.

  Keverin rose to fetch one from another room and a moment later Lucius placed it on the desk before him.

  Julia watched as Lucius grasped his magic. Using her mage-sight, she studied his actions in detail. He manipulated the glass as if opening a window, except the window was the mirror, and the frame was the desk. Julia gulped at the queasy feeling that came over her. Lucius was twisting nature—literally bending reality in the confines of the mirror. The picture that formed didn’t look like much. The reflection was gone and in its place was mist.

  Not very impressive is it?

  “So that’s how it’s done. It doesn’t look too hard.”

  “Humph! Looks can be deceiving, Lady. The hard part isn’t in operating the mirror, but in finding the correct image. It takes good control of your magic and proper visualisation, which means concentration.”

  Lucius had sounded a bit miffed that she thought it was easy. She grinned at Keverin and rolled her eyes. That gained her a brief smile. Kev had a nice smile. It was a shame he didn’t use it more often. She wondered why he had never married. Julia watched as the reflection in the mirror changed to a picture. It showed the view of a castle or fortress from above sitting upon a large open plain. It was a huge place—much larger than Athione. She could see the tiny figures of guardsmen at their posts.

  “That’s Malcor all right. Has the legion reached there yet?”

  In response to Keverin’s question, Lucius widened the view to include a large stretch of land, the picture wavered slightly, and Julia felt Lucius draw slightly more magic to steady it.

  “Can you close in on the road?” Julia said.

  As the picture zoomed toward the road, Julia was reminded of a television picture. Everything blurred at the speed of the movement then quickly stabilised with the road centred in the mirror. It wasn’t a road like she was used to. It was more like an overgrown trail. It seemed about ten feet away, but it was actually forty leagues or more to the north.

  “Does that look as if an army has used it lately?”

  Keverin studied the image for a few moments. “No. It should be churned up more. Besides, an army of ten thousand would have to take to the verges or be strung out for leagues.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Julia said. “It seems the legion hasn’t reached us yet. Can we search their likely route?”

  “I can check the ports of Durena and Cantibria,” Lucius offered. “If they are still at sea though, I’ll not be able to find them unless I can visualise the ships exactly. With time I could follow the likeliest route from Malcor all the way to Cantibria to see if they are somewhere in Camorin.”

  “What about visualising people?”

  “That is easier, but I don’t know who would be with Third Legion.”

  “What about General Navarien?” Gylaren interjected.

  Lucius nodded and the picture quickly changed to the view of a man standing at attention in a building somewhere.

  Julia listened with interest to a quiet voice emanating from the glass. The General was giving his report of the battles leading up to his retreat. She was impressed with his honesty. He left nothing out, and was unfailing in his denunciation of Belgard and his praise of Lucius. The other man, an official of some sort, listened attentively then nodded.

  “You are a lucky man indeed, General. You are to be given a second chance. It has been decided to rebuild Fifth Legion rather than disband its remnants. You have until the spring of next year to ready your command for an offensive in Camorin. Details will be sent to you. For now you may concentrate on rebuilding.”

  “As you command!” Navarien said saluting fist to heart before leaving the room.

  A moment later another man appeared. This man, unlike the official, was a sorcerer. Lucius hissed with surprise when he recognised him.

  “Was that satisfactory, my lord sorcerer?”

  “Yes. You know, I watched Navarien through the glass during his aborted campaign. He cares deeply for his men and for the mission. He even confronted that imbecile Belgard on more than one occasion. I’m surprised that Belgard didn’t turn him into a charred corpse the last time, but even he saw Navarien’s worth.”

  “But his praise of the traitor Lucius… surely that makes him suspect?”

  “In a small way only. Lucius will be dealt with. I like it that Navarien stays true to his friends. It’s all too rare among my lord’s officers. Most would stab you in the back if they thought they might gain by it.”

  The picture faded, and Lucius slumped back. He was tired from his scrying. He wore a worried frown that made Julia uneasy.

  “Who was the sorcerer?” Julia asked.

  “Godwinson—Mortain’s chosen heir. When the current Mortain dies, Godwinson becomes lord Mortain and chooses another to become the new Godwinson.”

  “Strange custom. How did that come about?”

  “Mortain was the victor during the Time of Chaos—if anyone could be called the victor after such a calamity. Since then a Mortain always rules and his second is always Godwinson. Godwinson is not Mortain’s son, though he can be if he’s strong enough, but where Mortain never leaves Black Isle, Godwinson travels around the Protectorate observing and making certain Mortain’s orders are obeyed.”

  “They didn’t sound too concerned about the destruction of Fifth Legion,” Keverin mused.

  “They wouldn’t be,” Lucius said sourly. “The Protectorate has five other legions like the one you destroyed. As you heard, Navarien will have rebuilt his by next year.”

  Julia was just starting to see Deva’s long term dilemma. The Protectorate was too strong to ever be defeated completely. The only way for Deva to stay free was to prevent them from taking the fortresses. If they did somehow manage to stop the Hasians coming through the northern border, what would stop Mortain from sending an army every year until they succeeded?

  Kev was right. Deva had to be united behind a strong king to stand a chance of holding out. The immediate threat though was a traitor in Deva’s northern fortress. A man who was waiting to welcome the Protectorate with open arms.

  * * *

  Interlude III

  Two men stand together above the east gate of Fortress Elvissa. Looking eastward toward the mountains the older of the two points at something in the distance.

  “There, do you see? More smoke. It has to be a raid,” Corlath said.

  “I didn’t say it wasn’t a raid, Cor,” Donalt said trying for patience.

  Purcell should have left better orders. Donalt knew that his brother was going to ride out no matter what he said to dissuade him. Corlath was an excellent fighter, but he was too eager for this battle. It seemed suspicious that the raids had started just when their father was away at Athione.

  “You know what father always says, information is the key to victory.”

  “I know what father says, Don,” Corlath said testily. “Those fires represent villages and towns under our—under my protection. I can’t stand here and debate my every decision!”

  “I’m not asking for a debate! I want you to think about sending out scouts. We don’t even know how many you will be facing for the God’s sake!” Donalt was angry and frightened for his brother. “You can’t go out with the enti
re guard against unknown strength—you can’t!”

  Corlath ignored the worried looks from the men standing watch nearby, just as he ignored his brother’s words. “I’ll take eight hundred. That’s plenty against the usual scum that raid the border, and it leaves you with two thousand to man the walls. I’ll finish them and be back before you know I’m gone.”

  “No, Cor!” Donalt cried and grabbed his brother’s arm. “If you have to go, take fifteen hundred. You’ll have enough to get clear if you run into more than you bargained for.”

  “I said,” Corlath said angrily shrugging off the grip upon his arm. “I’ve decided. I appreciate your concern, Don. Truly I do, but I’m in command while father is away. I order you to accept my decision.”

  “As you command,” Donalt said bracing to attention and saluting his captain.

  Corlath clapped him on the shoulder. “When I ride out tomorrow you’ll be in charge here, but not until then. Now brother mine, let us go down to dinner.”

  Donalt cursed silently as he followed his brother down the tower steps. Corlath was not thinking damn it! In a way this was their father’s fault. Purcell had gleefully destroyed many raiding bands over the years. It had become almost a routine matter. Now Corlath was going to ride out thinking it was business as usual without checking to make certain. Donalt had no evidence to suggest that this raid was different, but his instincts were absolutely screaming that it was. What could he do… what could he say to convince his brother? He couldn’t think of a thing and he had been ordered to accept the decision. That wouldn’t stop him from arguing if he could think of something convincing, but he only had his gut reaction to go on. As they entered the hall, Donalt tried to comfort himself with the thought that no raiding band had ever numbered more than three hundred, but somehow it didn’t work.

  The next morning, Donalt watched his brother ride out of sight from his place upon the east wall. As soon as Cor was gone, he trotted to the gate tower and descended to the courtyard. Two men came out of the stables fully armoured and trailing their horses behind them.