Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3

by Mark E. Cooper

  There were still a good many people moving about collecting weapons from the fallen and removing the bodies. Outside the wall, the Elvissans were taking care of their own dead. The Tanjuners had indiscriminately piled bodies a few hundred yards away, and it was their unenviable task to find their comrades and remove them for burial. The Tanjuners would be burned.

  “I wasn’t bluffing about destroying Vexin’s army,” Lucius said with a shrug. “You have seen what Julia can do when she fears for her friends. They don’t know her as we do. They would certainly be surprised and defeated, but the assassins are another matter. I’m certainly not going to kill Vexin, but it can’t hurt to warn him. You never know he might take heed.”

  They paused looking around at the scene of battle. The gates were lying against the wall and the remains of the barricades had been shoved to either side. Bodies lay where they had fallen, but there was no longer any Devan dead among them.

  “If they send another army Elvissa will fall before Julia could possibly get here,” Purcell said. “Donalt barely held them off, and more than half of his men are dead. Gy will have to return to Meilan eventually, and Marcus to Athione. I don’t think my boys will be able to hold off the might of Tanjung for long—not if Vexin is serious.”

  Lucius made his way into the citadel thinking of ways to bring Deva into parity with Tanjung. “You have to find some way to motivate the other lords into levying troops. In the Protectorate each lord pays to equip two thousand men for the legions. You need something similar here in Deva.”

  Purcell chuckled, but there was no humour in the sound—more like frustration. “I agree my friend, but unlike the Protectorate we don’t have a strong leader to force the lords to do that. If we did, we could have a hundred thousand men under arms.”

  Deva had always been a rich land, and although hard times had now come, the lords could easily afford to contribute to the kingdom’s defence. The lords ruled their lands, which included the towns and cities nearest them. The king in Devarr ruled the lords in turn. Most lords had a castle or stronghold, but even those who did not could help with funds.

  There were only two ways to make someone do what you wanted, Lucius mused as he negotiated the tower steps. The first way was to offer something in return, and the second was to threaten dire consequences if they didn’t cooperate. The problem with the first was that the lords were already rich. What could possibly be offered that would make them do their duty? If the second way were to be tried, Purcell would need a very big stick indeed to make the lords sit up and take notice. Civil war could result if it wasn’t handled right, and they would be even worse off.

  Looking around at the aftermath of the battle, Lucius didn’t at first recognise where he was. A separate section for the women where their word was law was still strange to him.

  “Where are we going?” Lucius said. “If I’m not completely lost, we’re in the women’s quarter. I don’t think you should have brought me up here.”

  “Don’t panic man! Big strong wizard like you should have no trouble standing up to the women,” Purcell said laughing.

  It was all right for him to laugh. He was already married! Men ruled the Protectorate, but it was surprising how many times Lucius had heard a fellow sorcerer say he was adamantly opposed to this thing or that, only to see him energetically pursuing the opposite position the very next day. Women in the Protectorate might not rule the country, but they most definitely ruled their consorts!

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Lucius said. “No woman is going to tell me what’s what. I’m not married, and I’m not going to be married. I like my life now I have some freedom and I’m not giving it up. I don’t like marriage!”

  Purcell laughed. He was completely at his ease, but Lucius was becoming extremely uncomfortable. As they progressed, they were passing more and more women. The lord would incline his head respectfully to high born and low alike, and receive one in return. A serving girl, who would curtsy to her lord while elsewhere in the fortress, became a completely different person here. Her manner would change from subservience to haughtiness as soon as she crossed into this quarter.

  Lucius followed Purcell’s lead, but he didn’t receive the same response as the lord. The woman in question would incline her head in like manner, but before and after that, he was subjected to intense scrutiny as if she were trying to decide what shelf he should go on. The last one was the worst. He would swear that she catalogued his every fault!

  Subject: male two yards tall, dark hair and beard. Occupation: wizard. Dirty boots, thread hanging from right sleeve. Status: unmarried!

  Lucius snorted at the thoughts running through his head, and received a grin from Purcell. Together they walked into a room. It was nicely appointed without being over done. The walls had good quality tapestries depicting the Elvissa Mountains if Lucius was any judge. A large fireplace provided the only illumination. The logs crackled and popped quietly.

  Purcell left him to enter another door.

  Lucius caught a glimpse of someone in a bed as Purcell entered a brightly lit room, but he couldn’t be certain who it was as the door closed to cut off his observation.

  Walking idly around the room, Lucius came across a painting. It was a simple family scene painted in this very room. He studied the portrait of a younger Purcell and his family. Lady Isolde—he assumed—was sitting on the arm of Purcell’s chair. A young boy and girl were sitting at their parent’s feet while the older son stood behind the chair with one hand on the back of it staring at him. The eyes of the staring figure seemed to follow his movements as if judging his fitness to be in the room. This had to be Corlath. He knew Purcell’s son had died only recently, but the portrait seemed to dispute that. It was so life like. He almost expected the boy to walk out from behind the chair and demand to know what he was doing here.

  “Janni painted that almost ten years ago.”

  Lucius spun to see who had spoken. It was a girl—no a woman. She was the child in the painting. She had grown into a stunningly gorgeous woman. She was about his height and wearing a simple dress of pale yellow cotton. Her hair was golden fire and her eyes sapphire pools that glowed in the firelight. She shone. She trapped his gaze with hers, and he couldn’t look away.

  When Lucius had first met Julia, he had thought he would never meet a more beautiful woman than her. He was wrong. Julia was lovely, but in a different way than Lysara. If Julia was the strength and fire of the sun, then Lysara was the quiet serenity of the moon at midnight.

  “I told you to bring him in, not stare at him with your eyes falling out!” Purcell boomed from his place in the doorway.

  Lysara blushed charmingly and turned to her father. “Sorry father. We were just looking at Janni’s painting.”

  “Never mind that my girl. Donalt is awake.”

  Lysara quickly went to her brother’s bedside. At Purcell’s invitation, Lucius followed. The man in the bed was very pale but he managed a smile at his father’s reappearance.

  “I am Lucius. With your permission I will examine you and try to help.”

  “My thanks, Lucius,” Donalt said weakly.

  Lysara moved out of the way to let Lucius close to the bed. He pulled the covers down to reveal the bandaging wrapped around Donalt’s middle. Using his dagger, he gently cut the bandages away to reveal a long livid wound in Donalt’s right side. The cut was deeper in the front then quickly became shallower toward the boy’s back. It was at least two hand spans in length.

  “You are a very lucky man. Any deeper and your stomach would likely be punctured,” Lucius said as he pressed the wound firmly.

  Donalt grunted as puss was squeezed out of the wound.

  “I’ll take your word for it Lucius of course. I must say I don’t feel very lucky,” Donalt said with a weak laugh, but then he grimaced as his movement caused him more pain.

  “Ha! That will teach you—” Lysara scolded her brother.

  Lucius listened only absently as he invoked his
mage-sight. Again, he failed to see what Julia said she saw. Resigning himself to failure, he didn’t bother trying further. Instead, he used his magic to ease the boy’s pain. Donalt gasped in relief as the spell touched the wound and soothed it. Using a method of his own devising, Lucius ensured his spell would continue to keep the pain at bay. It was a part of what a mage did when building a self sustaining ward. In this case, the magic would be continually entering the wound in the shape of his spell.

  Lucius prodded the wound again. “Can you feel that?”

  “Feel what?”

  “Good. If Julia was here you would be completely healed in moments, but she’s at Malcor. You will have to heal the slow and natural way, but I can keep the pain at bay and give you strength. I’ll sew the wound closed. It will help to keep infection away.”

  “Sew! Will that not hurt him?” Lysara said worriedly.

  “Not in this case lady. My spell stops the pain. Do not your healers know of the invisible animals that cause infections?”

  “Surely you jest! Animals small enough to get in there?” Lysara pointed to the wound.

  “I am not jesting. In Hasa all healers know of them, but knowing about them doesn’t help to stop infection. Keeping wounds clean, using clean bandages each day, and boiling the old ones does. Julia could probably destroy them directly, but none of her injured guardsmen were wounded long enough to need that.”

  “I mentioned her to you earlier Lysy,” Purcell said.

  Lucius began closing the wound with his needle and thread, while listening to Purcell describe Julia’s battles at Athione. He was interested to hear that Mathius had handled the wards for both of them—it confirmed his earlier thought. Mathius would be strong one day... if he survived. Lucius finished sewing the wound closed. He left a small part of it open at the lowest point to allow any blood to drain. With Purcell’s help, he bandaged the wound and used his magic to strengthen Donalt’s flagging energy.

  “Are you married Lucius?”

  Lucius looked up at Lysara in sudden alarm. Purcell watched with a slowly widening grin.

  * * *

  15 ~ Lord of Malcor

  Jihan stood fully armoured in the south courtyard waiting for the guardsmen to bring his father. The entire population of the fortress was crammed onto the walls and around the sides of the courtyard waiting to see him best Athlone. Ahnao stood with Julia and Keverin directly opposite him. Ahnao looked worried, and strangely that made him feel better. It was wonderful to have people who cared. During his time at Athione he had made a number of friends, not least Keverin and Julia, but it was Ahnao he instinctively looked for upon entering the courtyard.

  It was a good day for the challenge. He had chosen to fight during the morning hours so that the sun would not be a hindrance. The season was hot. It had not rained in ages, and he was glad of it. Athlone would be enough of a handful without fighting on wet and slippery cobbles.

  The wind suddenly dropped. Only the hushed whispering of his people broke the silence. That was a new thought for him as well. His people! Before his escape they had always been his father’s people, but now the cronies were gone the fortress already felt much friendlier. It would be a while before he was as comfortable here as he had been in Athione, but he no longer doubted that he would find his ease here. The whispering died away as the guardsmen escorted Athlone into the courtyard. He was wearing his armour, but he was without his sword. He looked around in contempt, but saved most of his scorn for his son.

  Jihan nodded to the sergeant to give Athlone his sword.

  “So, you finally have what you wanted Jihan. Malcor is yours, and you—”

  “No!” Jihan interrupted. “What I wanted was the love of my parents, but you killed mother, and love is not in you. I once thought to gain your respect by learning what you wanted, but all I ever received from you was contempt. It’s time I showed you what I learned. On your guard!”

  Jihan didn’t start slow. There was no point. He knew Athlone’s style as he knew his own. He attacked with a furious combination of two handed blows. Athlone was driven back, but then he regained his poise and attempted an attack of his own. Back and forth, they attacked and defended neither gaining the upper hand over the other. Jihan switched to a single hand and drew his dagger with his left. Athlone did the same and the fight took on a newer deadlier dimension.

  Jihan allowed Athlone to gain an opening, and then tried to turn it to his advantage by using his dagger in close. Athlone failed to take the bait though, and the fight continued unchanged. Jihan changed hands and Athlone was taken by surprise for a moment. He managed to wound his father in the arm, but it was a trifle. Athlone backed away. Jihan followed keeping the pressure on.

  Athlone started to tire but Jihan felt as if he could go on all day. His overconfidence nearly ended the fight prematurely when he over extended in his attempt to lunge. Athlone reacted instantly and slammed his blade to one side. Jihan saw the dagger at the last instant. Throwing pride to the winds, Jihan dove aside and rolled out of Athlone’s reach. He scrambled back to his feet cursing. He above all should know how dangerous his father was, yet what did he do? He took stupid chances, and Athlone had nearly made him pay dearly for it.

  Blanking his mind of all distractions, Jihan concentrated on the task at hand and settled into a smooth rhythm by pretending he was practising against one of his tutors. They had been exacting taskmasters and wouldn’t tolerate even the slightest mistake. Athlone became even more wary when he noticed the change.

  Finally, it happened.

  Athlone, so weary now he was stumbling, tried to end the fight by using the same lunge his son had tried. It might have worked, but his weariness betrayed him. He slipped. This time Jihan didn’t lose the chance. His sword thrust went home—all the way to the hilt. Jihan stared into Athlone’s eyes and shrugged off the man’s fumbling and weak grip on his shoulders. Athlone’s sword dropped to the cobbles with a clang.

  Looking into his father’s eyes, he said one last thing before Athlone’s soul fled to kneel before the God. “This is for mother,” he whispered and twisted his blade savagely.

  Athlone’s eyes popped wide, but he was dead before the scream of agony left his throat. Jihan tilted his head and smiled as he looked into lifeless eyes to savour the moment. His entire life had been leading to this.

  Jihan pulled his sword free.

  There was complete silence as Athlone fell to the cobbles. Holding his dripping sword Jihan looked around at the silent crowd. First one, then another, then everyone at once cried out in one voice.

  “Long live Jihan! Long live Lord Malcor!”

  * * *

  A few days after Jihan’s victory over his father, Julia and Keverin were in her room discussing what they might do about the legion approaching through Camorin. One of the first things Jihan did as Lord Malcor was to inform his men of the legion’s approach. He dispatched heavy patrols to watch the border so that they might have warning. Everyone was grim and Julia often caught people looking worriedly northward as if they might see the legion through the walls.

  “You know you don’t want to be under siege for weeks.”

  Keverin frowned at her use of an unfamiliar word. She kept forgetting that Deva didn’t use weeks. It was tendays, why couldn’t she remember that?

  “Sorry. A week is seven days.”

  Keverin raised an eyebrow at the idea. “Of course I don’t want that, but we have no real choice. Jihan is right about our lack of men. He has just about five thousand men under arms. He must leave half here to protect Malcor. We will be facing an entire legion—that’s ten thousand highly trained men. My five hundred won’t make that much difference to the outcome.”

  Julia acknowledged his point, but she still thought waiting was a bad idea. “I’m sorry I failed to find them for you Kev. I just can’t seem to get the right image.”

  “It doesn’t matter my lady.”

  Julia frowned at the obvious lie, but also at his use of the
possessive. She did love him, or thought she did, or could... hell! She wasn’t sure of anything anymore! Keverin had thrown himself into a fireball to protect her, all the while knowing he would die! She had to love him—right? So what if it was her fault he was injured—he hadn’t known that she had cracked the secret of warding. It had been her stupidity that nearly cost Kev his life, but that didn’t change his actions or her feelings.

  Julia frowned. How could she love him? She hadn’t even liked him at Athione! He had returned that dislike in spades, but then the awful day in Malcor’s armoury, and she was smitten. She wasn’t usually so fickle, but Keverin lying dead at her feet had felt like the end of the world. It had been like the death of her parents all over again.

  Julia shifted uncomfortably at the thought. Keverin might be twice her age, but she wasn’t looking for a father figure. She felt... she did not know what she felt! Back home, her work had been everything to her. She had no time, or inclination to make time, for relationships. Her failure with Robby had been one too many to her way of thinking, and she hadn’t been eager to repeat the experience. Now there was Keverin. She had never had a boyfriend like Keverin before. Keverin and Robby were complete opposites. Keverin was strong and had a sense of duty. His duty and honour defined him as a man. Robby on the other hand was just… Robby. Robby was a boy next to Keverin. He was a whiner not a doer, weak not strong. The last thing Robby could ever be called was dutiful. If he had been in Keverin’s place in the armoury, he would have run a mile, or a league—whatever it was.

  Keverin had said nothing to her about that day in the armoury. Julia had tried to bring it up any number of times but he was always busy or someone needed him elsewhere. The thought that maybe he didn’t feel for her what she felt for him surfaced. She was a fool. He was one of the greatest lords in Deva! There were only four Lord Protectors in the whole world! She wasn’t even a native of his world let alone a Devan noble!

  Julia stared moodily into the flames. When she had finally realised that she was stuck here, she had been angry with Darius, but that was before she had come to know the people. Her goals had changed since then, but her determination hadn’t. She cared what happened to Deva and its people—she would protect them if she could. She had lived a lonely life before arriving at Athione. It hadn’t seemed like that at the time, but she knew it now. Her parents had loved and supported her, and Jill had worked with her everyday, but friendship had been sacrificed to her work. She had never made friends easily, but the few she did have had wanted different things. While she worked herself to exhaustion each day, they were out with their boyfriends. She had gradually lost touch with them. The sad thing was, she hadn’t even noticed. Her life had been full of her work, but the car accident had changed all that. The shock of losing her parents had thrown her world into turmoil. The thought of her training still sent a pang of guilt through her, which was hard to shake off. Her mother had been so proud of her when she won, but that was past. She was some kind of saviour to the Devans now. Her old life was over, but she had found a new one here. Her new life was different from the old one, but better in some ways—she glanced at Keverin—much better in some.