Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3

by Mark E. Cooper

  Staggering back to his feet, Donalt tripped and stabbed a man with his dagger before he knew what had happened. Managing to keep his feet this time, he turned to engage another soldier in good quality armour, but Donalt was struck to his knees from behind by the flat of a blade. Ears ringing, he waited for his head to be cleaved from his body, but one of his men barrelled into his attacker and the fight swirled them both away.

  When his head cleared enough to rejoin the fight, Donalt stabbed another Tanjuner in the back as he rushed by intent on killing sergeant Dugal. The sergeant didn’t see how close he came to death, and continued his own fight unawares. Donalt’s men were stabbing and grappling with the enemy wherever he looked. They were fighting so close together now that swords were of little use. They had resorted to daggers and fists. Looking around hurriedly Donalt had time to realise his mistake. The men on the walls could not fire down into the courtyard for fear of hitting their own men. He quickly signalled them to come down and relieve the pressure. As soon as fresh guardsmen attacked, the fight eased.

  It’s working, by the God it’s working!

  Attacking with more confidence of victory, Donalt didn’t see the man to his right fall and only realised that he had when he felt a blade slide into his side. He turned with the cut trying to limit the damage, but the scream worked its way up his throat and out of clenched teeth as the sizzling agony erupted.

  “AEiii!” Donalt screamed as the Tanjuner twisted his sword expertly to free the blade, and crumpled to his knees as his strength fled.

  Donalt lay upon the cobbles staring at the sky, and thought it was the most marvellous thing. The God truly did work miracles and they were there for everyone to see.

  Why am I lying down?

  He slid into the dark.

  * * *

  Emperor Vexin sat upon his throne listening to a report from his spy master. He occasionally chose a grape or a plum from a dish balanced on the arm of his throne, and ate it neatly spitting the stones onto a small plate in his lap. He nodded when Keppel finished the report.

  “So, the Devans defeated fifty mages. Fifty?”

  “It would seem so my emperor,” Keppel said. “Athione has opened its east gate again, and riders have been seen to arrive and depart. My sources report that couriers have been dispatched to all the lords with letters proclaiming victory over the Protectorate.”

  “Darius must be formidable indeed,” Vexin mused. “Perhaps the legends of flying sorcerers are not too far from the truth after all. Surely he must be stronger than any wizard I have ever heard tell of. What else have you?”

  “On the same topic, a woman called Julia is being spoken of a great deal. It appears she was a significant presence in the fortress during the siege. She seems to be a healer of some repute. Many speak of her as healing death itself. Obviously that can be discounted, but if a half of what has been reported is true, she must have great knowledge.”

  Vexin frowned. The name had a foreign flavour. Tindebrai? “Have we heard of her before? Of what lineage does she descend?”

  “None have ever heard of her before. Even her name sounds foreign. It could be that she came from Tindebrai, but how she escaped from there and ended within Athione I cannot imagine.”

  “I don’t want you to imagine, Keppel. I want you to find out! What else?”

  Vexin chose a fat juicy plum and bit into it.

  “According to the Archmage, our forces have met a slight setback. He reports that Methrym defeated a significant number of Devan guardsmen including a man we believe to be Lord Purcell’s first born son, but Methrym was later ambushed and lost more than three hundred men. He says not to be concerned. The attack is proceeding on schedule.”

  Vexin dropped the half eaten plum onto the plate. “Datan says not to worry. Datan says! How many has Methrym lost altogether?”

  “Seven hundred my emperor,” Keppel said quietly.

  “Seven!” Vexin gasped. That was a third of Methrym’s entire force! “Did you say seven hundred?”

  Keppel nodded, and began to speak, but was he silenced by Vexin’s raised hand. “Inform Bothmar of this conversation. I want Methrym’s relief force formed earlier than planned. We can’t afford to fail in taking Elvissa, not after losing so many to gain it.”

  Keppel seemed surprised at the feeling in his emperor’s voice. He was obviously trying not to show it, but Vexin could see it in his spy master’s eyes.

  “You look surprised. I’m not an unfeeling monster like those bastard sorcerers. My people are important to me, and so is my empire. I will see every Devan dead if it will save Tanjung.”

  “Yes my emperor. I will see that your orders carried out.”

  Vexin watched his spy master back from his presence. Unlike other members of his court, Keppel seemed to radiate danger even when backing.

  “One more thing,” Vexin called. “Have the assassins take care of Darius.”

  “Yes my lord. I will have the Archmage inform them at once.”

  After Keppel left, Vexin sat alone eating his fruit. Alone, except for his guards of course. He would liked to have met Darius, but it was not meant to be. It was a shame. Darius might have had some intelligent conversation.

  * * *

  12 ~ Bad News

  The candle was showing a candlemark yet before dinner. Julia had finished her dressing and had nothing to do until Mathius came by to escort her to the dining hall. Julia didn’t feel like visiting with Jessica, they would see each other at dinner. She decided to play with her magic for a while. As usual, she managed to bring up a wall made of light, but when she poked a finger at it, her hand went straight through.

  Bother it!

  Julia gave up the attempt and tried the mirror. She didn’t know many places she might visualise, but she knew people. Without half trying, she called up an image of Keverin.

  “Ha! Lucius said it was hard—” Julia broke off as the image changed to Lucius, and then again to Jessica, and finally to Mathius.

  Julia scowled and tried to make it come back to Keverin, but as soon as the picture steadied on him, it was replaced by one of Moriz. The picture wouldn’t stay fixed on her subject for some reason. It was annoying, but she persevered. Mathius was with a girl in the kitchens. He was helping her with something and chatting away as if they were old friends. The girl was looking at him like a cat staring at a bowl of cream.

  “You’re only jealous. She’s probably a very nice person,” Julia said doubtfully. “Yeah, but he’s too good for her,” she said and laughed at her foolishness.

  It had nothing to do with her what Mathius did, but she had thought he had more sense. She snorted, she was jealous! The picture changed and she smiled to see Moriz bouncing his granddaughter on his knee. Lucius was reading in his room. Keverin had relaxed some of the restrictions placed on him in exchange for monitoring the situation with Malcor and the legion coming through Camorin with his mirror. Julia was confidant of his friendship, but Keverin was more sceptical. Still, Keverin had given him the run of the place, which showed he was willing to try to trust him.

  Jessica was reading—a book of poetry by the look of it, and then the mirror changed to Keverin again. He was in his study brooding out the window. He had a glass of untouched wine in his hand and he was absently swirling the contents as he gazed at the mountains or whatever had taken his fancy. Keverin could have been a friend, but something stood between them. For her part, it was his domineering attitude. A lord expected to be obeyed she supposed, but he never tried to order the other women about, only her. She didn’t know what the problem was from his side—except that Darius had died bringing her here. Every time he saw her, he must be reminded of his dead friend. Was there something else?

  Julia let the image go and left her room. The dining hall was hardly the place to discuss personal matters, so she walked to Keverin’s study. She shushed the guardsmen with a finger to her lips. Both men were staring as if hit between the eyes. It was the dress Jessica had given h
er. Without knocking, Julia entered the room. Keverin was to her left still staring out the window. She was sure he hadn’t heard her, but suddenly he stiffened and turned to watch her. She smiled at his expression. He looked just like the guardsmen outside.

  Keverin placed his glass on the desk. “Lady Julia, you look—amazing,” he breathed.

  “Thank you kind sir,” Julia said with a curtsy. She tried to pretend she really was a lady, and it seemed to work. Keverin inclined his head then took her hand to guide her to a seat near the fire.

  Julia sat, and after a moment so did Keverin. The day was ending outside, and the room needed more light. The fire was made up but unlit. She had a feeling Keverin wished to sit in the shadows so she refrained from remedying the situation with magic. A flash of lightning through the windows made Julia tense. She counted under her breath but still jumped a little at the rumble of thunder.

  “To what do I owe this visit my lady?”

  “I thought it was time we agreed upon a truce between us Lor... Kev.”

  Keverin smiled at her use of the short name Jessica used—unless he was laughing at her. He better not be!

  “We are not at war. Sometimes it seems we’re the only ones in the world who are not.”

  “It feels to me like we are, but I know what you mean. Do you ever wish to just ride away from everything?”

  “I would be a poor Lord Protector if I did that, but yes, it has crossed my mind. Do you know, I was relieved when I thought Athione doomed?”

  “Relieved? I don’t think I—” Julia broke off in confusion.

  “Relieved from the responsibility of saving the kingdom. I am very vain. Though I’m sure you haven’t noticed.”

  Julia laughed gaily. Hadn’t noticed indeed. That was the only thing that came to mind when she thought of him—no, that wasn’t true. His size, his long hair, his intense grey eyes, his voice, but especially his brooding manner. These things made Keverin in her mind. She frowned. And his overbearing manner of course.

  Keverin smiled ruefully. “Ah, you have noticed. I was relieved of the responsibility for saving Deva single-handed. As I said, vain in the extreme. Without Gylaren, Purcell, and especially you, Deva would already be lost. Who knows how many others in the kingdom, and outside of it for that matter, are vital to the God’s plan for Deva? Still, that was how I felt.”

  “Was?” Julia said seeing a side of Keverin that Jessica had hinted was there, but had until now remained hidden from her.

  “Was,” Keverin nodded. “When I thought Darius had died for nothing I was angry at you. I apologise for that, but worse was when I found you half dead in the library. I knew then that you were all we had against the Hasians, but I denied it. It would mean my dishonour if you stood to defend Athione when I could not, but events overtook us and I lay injured while you fought to save us. After that it was inevitable that I would be disgraced.”

  Julia wanted to deny that, but she couldn’t think of the words. If she said he wasn’t disgraced, he would ignore her unless she could sway him with proof, but where was proof in something like this?

  “I said to Gylaren and Purcell that if my dishonour was the price needed to save Athione then so be it. I have found it easy to talk of dishonour, but living with it is much harder.”

  They sat in silence together thinking their thoughts without awkwardness. Julia thought over Kev’s words. The thought of his dishonour was painful to him, but as far as she could see it was a purely self inflicted malaise. Honour, dishonour, what was the real difference? Did honour make killing people all right? Of course not. Murder was murder was it not?

  Julia frowned in thought. “If I could make a spell to force you to kill someone, would you be dishonoured by the slaying, or would I be the one dishonoured for forcing you?”

  “If that were to happen, I would not be dishonoured.”

  “Why?” Julia said simply.

  “Because I had been forced to—” Keverin broke off with a frown.

  “Because you were forced to do it. Wasn’t that what you were about to say? You were forced to use what came to hand when I arrived and Darius died.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “Only in your head, Kev. To everyone you are the best of lords, not the worst. No one sees disgrace or dishonour in your actions. Only you see what is not there.”

  Keverin just shook his head dismissing her words.

  Julia sighed quietly. At least she had tried. Keverin would have to come to his own conclusions, but she made a bet with herself that her words would be considered from all angles before he made up his mind.

  It was enough.

  Another flash of lightning lit up the room before plunging it back into darkness. Thunder rumbled much closer than last time. A few splatters of rain fell, but then the shower quickly turned to a heavy rainstorm—the first Julia had seen since arriving at Athione.

  “Let’s go down to dinner,” Keverin said rising and holding out his hand.

  Julia took it and allowed him to escort her.

  * * *

  Rogan called to the gatekeeper just as true night fell over Athione. The first rain they had encountered on their journey was falling in sheets. He had to yell to be heard over the drumming it made on the dust dry ground. They had ridden into East Town in the dark, but they were too close to stop for the night. They had pushed on to Athione through the torrential rain. He was soaked through, worried, and he was becoming increasingly upset.

  They had made good time. It took them barely nine days to make a journey that normally took fourteen. The extra mounts made a difference, but his insistence of riding from dawn to dusk without stopping had more to do with it. Even stopping for food was out of the question as far as he was concerned. They had eaten in the saddle. He had even chaffed at the necessity of stopping for water, but that was unavoidable. Rogan was keenly aware that the enemy must have reached Elvissa days ago, and he knew from experience it would take the full fourteen days to get a large enough relief force back to his home to help. He prayed to the God daily that Lord Donalt could hold out that long. Elvissa was strong, but the Protectorate was not the only country that had mages, though it was the only one ruled by them.

  “The God damn you, open the God cursed gate!” Rogan shouted.

  “It’s after sunset! Come back tomorrow!” the anonymous gatekeeper’s voice came back.

  “Open this gate before I climb over and kill you!”

  “Ha! Just you try it boy! You ain’t the only one with a sword!”

  Before Rogan could shout again, Arren did it for him. “If you don’t open it right now, I swear I’ll see you dead for obstructing a courier in time of war!”

  “What war? We won, ain’t you heard?”

  “By the God! We’re from Elvissa curse you! The fortress is under siege by Tanjuners!” Arren shouted almost frothing in rage.

  Eeeeeek!

  The gates swung wide to allow them entry. Rogan urged his tired horse through the gate and dismounted to see a group of guardsmen watching him huddling under their cloaks.

  The man in front stepped forward. “Be welcome to Athione—” the voice Rogan recognised as the idiot gatekeeper began.

  Arren threw himself forward with a roar and tackled the man to the ground punching and kicking. He was trying to strangle him!

  Rogan gaped. Of all the fool things to—

  He rushed forward to battle as the other guardsmen piled onto Arren. He grunted as a foot booted him in the belly and aimed a fist at a shadowy grin. He connected and the grin went away. He was gouging and kicking. He even bit one man as the man tried to throttle him.

  “Hold!” a voice roared out of the darkness. “What by the God is going on here?”

  Arren and Rogan climbed to their feet and stepped aside as the guardsmen scrambled to attention.

  “That one started it, Captain,” a guardsman with a black eye pointed at Arren.

  The captain looked disgusted with the squealer, and Rogan agreed
with the sentiment. They could have settled it later without fuss, but now that an officer was involved things could get messy.

  “You’re all on report. If any of you have broken bones, you had better hope The Lady is awake. If she doesn’t like your explanation, she’ll fry the lot of you.”

  The guardsmen, young and old alike, shuffled their feet in the puddles like boys. “No Captain, I mean yes Captain, I mean I ain’t broke nothing Captain,” they mumbled together.

  “Get the horses stabled and shut the cursed gate. Anyone could wander in with you lot guarding it!”

  Rogan disagreed. These idiots wouldn’t let a relief force in even if the fortress was falling! Arren and he braced to attention as the captain turned to regard them.

  “My name is Senior Captain Marcus. You pair had better be who you’re supposed to be,” he said ominously. “If I find out you got in here because you don’t like a little rain, the God had better be looking out for you, because no one else will!”

  “I’m Rogan, Captain. M’lord Donalt sent me with letters for lord Keverin and m’lord Purcell. Tanjung regulars killed m’lord Corlath in a raid. With respect Captain, if you need more you must ask m’lord.”

  “God’s teeth! Follow me. Talk to no one.”

  They followed Marcus as he strode rapidly away. The corridors of the citadel were deserted. People should be moving about even this late, but the place seemed abandoned. He glanced at Arren who was also looking round in puzzlement. Where was everyone?

  “Wait here,” Marcus ordered, and knocked to enter a room. A moment later the door opened again, and Marcus beckoned them inside.

  Rogan entered first and Arren followed. The room was part of a lord’s private apartments. He was acutely uncomfortable intruding, especially as he was dripping water on the lord’s rugs. He stopped before the desk where a man he assumed was Lord Athione was sitting. He came to attention after giving a letter to Marcus. Marcus handed it on to his lord.