Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3

by Mark E. Cooper

  Keverin was both right and wrong about how to save Deva she decided after viewing similar scenes in other towns. He was right in trying to educate new mages, but he was dead wrong about leaving the lords to their own devices. This future was the direct result of an over privileged nobility. In the future, how far she didn’t know, the common people would welcome the Hasians. They would welcome anyone who put food in their mouths, and who could blame them? The fortresses had resisted fiercely. She knew that from the remains left behind, but they were overwhelmed. The sorcerers had made harsh examples of them and the towns nearby. No one could doubt how resistance to Hasian rule would be answered.

  The lords had to be brought to heel and the kingdom united under a strong leader. More than this, the common people needed to feel they would be treated justly, and that defending Deva was in their best interests. If Keverin failed to stir some patriotism in the people, he might as well invite the Hasians to take over rather than lose lives in a futile war.

  * * *

  “You gave her Tancred,” Lucius accused. “I saw you in the glass.”

  “Aye of course.” the healer said in exasperation. “Her breathing was so bad that she would have died if I hadn’t.”

  “Don’t you know it’s addictive?”

  “Aye, but the craving is better than being dead.”

  Lucius couldn’t say much to that. Of course, he hadn’t said anything about the dreams. What would be the point? She would only use the same argument, and she was right.

  Lucius glanced at Keverin. The lord was sitting at Julia’s bedside staring hard at her as she wheezed her shallow breaths. “Does he know how bad she is?”

  “He’s no fool, but I think not.”

  “That’s what I thought. Thank you for keeping her alive. Would you ask Mathius to come in? This will take both of us... if it works.”

  The healer didn’t answer with words. She moved to the door.

  Lucius crossed the room to stand next to the bed opposite Keverin. Julia looked no worse than when he had viewed her in the mirror. She couldn’t have and still be breathing. She looked truly awful. Someone had cut away the burnt hair. Only stubble remained of the beautiful black mane she’d had when he first met her. Her face was white and slack totally devoid of the fiery person he knew Julia to be. The telltale blue tinge on her lips and cheeks was what worried him most. She was suffocating.

  Upon his arrival at Malcor, Lucius had run into the citadel and crashed through Julia’s door like a storm. Grasping his magic, he had tried to heal her as she had tried to teach him, but as usual it failed. He just couldn’t see what she saw. He had one other thing to try, but he needed Mathius for that.

  “Is there nothing you can do?” Keverin said without looking up.

  “Not alone my lord, but with Mathius’ help there is a chance. I sent the healer to find him.”

  “He’s in his room practising his magic. He’s trying to understand what Julia learned now he wears the yellow robe.”

  Just then, the door opened to reveal the healer followed by Mathius.

  “Any luck?” Keverin asked then turned back to Julia.

  “No my lord. I understand what I’m supposed to do, but when I try to see what Julia described I slip into the realm of power.”

  Lucius nodded. The same thing happened to him. He just didn’t have a fine enough control. As a woman, Julia might be inherently different concerning the magic... He crushed that traitorous thought ruthlessly. Mathius and he together would see it... they would... he was sure.

  “Do you know how to link, Mathius?”

  “I saw Renard accidentally link with Julia once,” Mathius answered. Then he spoke to Keverin. “It was that time in the library my lord. Do you remember?”

  Keverin nodded, but he didn’t take his eyes off Julia.

  Lucius shook his head. How someone could accidentally link was beyond him, but the answer would wait for another time. “So you know how then?”

  “Not really. I saw the flows, but they were beyond me then. Now... I don’t know. I’ve had a great deal of practise since then.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’ll initiate the link. Be ready to grasp your magic but don’t actually take hold.”

  Mathius stood next to him and made ready. Lucius laid his hand on Julia’s chest then linked with Mathius. He felt the increase in strength immediately. The youngster’s magic had a solid feel to it, which weaker mages could never provide. Mathius had a long way to go before matching him in raw strength, but he definitely had the potential.

  Lucius turned his attention to Julia, and tried to see what she called the realm of healing, but again he failed. He was so frustrated that he didn’t hear Mathius speak at first.

  “Lucius... listen!” Mathius yelled.

  “I’m listening,” he replied.

  “I thought I saw something when you used your mage-sight. Can you change the link so that I can draw from you?”

  Lucius hesitated a moment before replying. To let someone link in that way was to give him power over you. Mathius had done it in ignorance, but he knew what it meant.

  “I can do it. Be prepared for the rush,” he said quickly before he changed his mind.

  Lucius gave control of the link to Mathius and became just a spectator. When Mathius invoked his mage-sight, he was compelled to do the same. He didn’t fight it because he knew what to expect. He watched Julia avidly hoping to see the change, but he was confused at first when nothing seemed to happen. Then confusion gave way to excitement as Mathius shifted his sight oh so slowly until Julia became something else.

  “That’s it!” Lucius yelled in glee.

  “Yes, but what do I do now?” Mathius said.

  “Julia told me about this. White is good, anything else is bad. Yellow means tiredness or exhaustion. She also said mages have a blue light in the centre of their aura’s. We mustn’t do anything with that.”

  “I remember. She tried to give Renard his magic back after he burned out, but he... died.”

  Lucius absently wondered what Mathius had been going to say, but he dismissed the thought as unimportant. Julia’s aura was hardly moving, but he wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. The blue light at her centre shone strongly. It was so strong he could hardly bear to look. The good news ended there. Her aura was a dark yellow orange. There was a large purple area—almost black.

  “Send some of the magic at the dark area, but remember to make it white,” Lucius said.

  Mathius didn’t answer, but a white stream appeared and attacked.

  * * *

  Julia opened her eyes to find three worried men staring down at her. She smiled, but she could hardly keep her eyes open.

  “How do you feel my love?” Keverin whispered.

  “Hmmm, tired,” Julia smiled sleepily at hearing Keverin call her his love, but the smile faltered when she remembered the old man of her dreams.

  That won’t happen! I won’t let it!

  “We could try for more,” Mathius said uncertainly.

  “No. Let us not push our luck too far. Neither of us really knows what we’re doing. Besides, she’s breathing normally again.”

  Julia hated it when people spoke over her head, but she couldn’t summon the energy to protest. The last thing she heard before dropping off to sleep was Keverin whispering.

  “Sleep my love, I’ll stay beside you.”

  She slept.

  * * *

  The Power That Binds

  (Devan Chronicles 2)

  Prologue

  Pergann stared into the flames oblivious to his surroundings. He was the last in a proud line of kings that could trace their heritage through twelve hundred years of history to the beginning of Deva and to the Founders themselves. The room in which he sat was dusty and cluttered with the remnants of meals taken alone in the dark. Food lay mouldering untended on silver plates, but not a rat could be heard. There was no longer enough food in all of Devarr to tempt a rat from hiding, for if it did,
it would become dinner itself. Devarr starved, while the spring sunshine beat down, but Pergann neither knew nor cared. The drapes remained closed shutting out the day and life’s cares, all except a thin sliver of sunlight spearing the darkness through a tear in the rich fabric. The door opened behind him, and a shadow clad figure slipped inside.

  Pergann cared not. He did not turn. “Leave me. Take your prattle to Morfran.”

  The figure continued into the room and stopped behind the king’s chair. “Chancellor Morfran has… departed shall we say. It’s time for you to follow him.”

  “Ascol!” Pergann gasped. “What do you think you are… Gahhh!”

  The man named Ascol pulled on the toggles of his garrote just enough to immobilise the struggling and dying monarch.

  “It is time Deva had a strong king again. Not a self pitying old man like you,” Ascol said sawing on the toggles with great enjoyment. “My sorcerer wanted to kill you himself, but it’s more fitting for the new king to remove the old one don’t you think?” He frowned and stopped his play. “Oh, you can’t answer can you? Never mind. I’ll take it as said you don’t agree.”

  Pergann struggled for just one more gulp of air. The twine was buried deep within his flesh. My dagger, where? Sparkles of light flashed before his eyes as his oxygen starved brain struggled to find a way to survive. He finally remembered, and fumbled at the side of his chair.

  “Now, now, none of that,” Ascol said in a conversational voice as he reached for the dagger. Pulling with one muscled arm on the garrote, Ascol turned the blade with his other hand.

  “Well, this is a surprise! You do have taste in some things it seems.” He turned the blade in the meagre firelight watching entranced as the light glinted on the perfectly formed steel. “Chulym steel, or might it be Japurans I wonder…no it’s too old for Japura. I think I’ll take this for a keepsake…” He thrust the dagger into the sash around his waist. “…just to remember you by as it were.”

  As Ascol leaned back, Pergann’s struggles ceased and the stench of death filled the room.

  Crunch!

  “Ah, curse it! Now look what you made me do… by the God you stink!” Ascol unwound the bloody garrotte from where it had sliced through Pergann’s neck to the bone. “Demophon isn’t going to like this. No indeed not.”

  “And what precisely won’t I like my dear Ascol?” Came a voice out of the darkness behind him.

  Ascol spun in a crouch drawing his sword as he turned. He straightened when he found a familiar man in a guardsman’s armour standing in the doorway. The man was no guardsman. Demophon was a Hasian sorcerer only recently come into his service. Using the sheathing of his sword for an excuse, Ascol looked away from Demophon’s eyes.

  “Just a little accident,” Ascol said airily.

  Demophon crouched to examine the corpse. His head snapped up and he glared angrily. “A little accident! You fool, this was supposed to look like a natural death, not murder!”

  Ascol twirled the bloody garrote through the air unconcerned with the spatters of blood flying away from it. “Well… you see… and then…” he stammered, but then more firmly, “Well curse it man, fix it with your magic!”

  “Don’t ever give me orders,” Demophon said in a deadly voice. “I’ll fix your little accident this time, but make another and it will be the last you ever make!”

  Ascol goggled at this… this peasant addressing him in such a fashion. “How dare you, I’m to be king! I’ll have you executed!”

  Demophon cocked his head. “Oh? And just how will you do that from the grave?”

  Ascol didn’t answer. He edged away from the now scowling sorcerer, until his back touched the door.

  Demophon waited for a moment listening to the silence. “No glib answer? In that case you may leave. I have to arrange something to cover your incompetence.” He turned his back on Ascol declaring his contempt for the would-be king of Deva.

  Ascol clamped his jaw shut and spun on his heel to storm out the door followed by the sorcerer’s quiet laughter. Making his way through the deserted corridors of the palace, he cheered himself with thoughts of Demophon and his garrotte, Demophon and hot coals, Demophon screaming in agony as Ascol put his eyes out with his new dagger. By the time he reached the alley where his men held the horses, he was positively cheerful.

  The guardsmen heard their lord whistling and glanced at each other in relief. Ascol angry they did not want to see.

  * * *

  Godwinson bolted up out of his bed with a gasp, and the vision dissolved. He covered his face with shaking hands and rubbed sweat out of his eyes. Pergann of Deva was dead. He had seen it as if right there with Ascol as he did the deed.

  The cataclysm was looming closer.

  He swung his legs out of bed and reached for his robe. He dressed quickly and left his room in search of the others. They needed to accelerate the plan.

  * * *

  1 ~ Morton

  The column of soldiers climbed the rise in the highroad with banners held proudly overhead. Lord Keverin of Fortress Athione reined in and pointed ahead.

  “There, see it?”

  Julia nodded. She could see their destination now, made small with distance. From the vantage of the high road, she could see most of the tree filled valley laid out before her. A man made clearing had been cut in the forest and the beginnings of a town had sprung up athwart the road.

  “It’s lovely here. How come it was never settled before?”

  “It was,” Keverin said and pointed into the distance. “Those hills were mined for coal for many years.”

  That startled her. Coal mining seemed a thing of her old world, but before Julia could voice her surprise she realised that she should have known there would be such things here. She had seen Athione’s treasure, and everyone carried swords and knives. Where else did metal come from but out of the ground? Of course, there were mines, but coal mines?

  “We burn wood,” Julia said trying not to betray her ignorance, but it didn’t work. Keverin eyed her and his lips twitched. “You’re not going to tell me are you?”

  “Tell you what, my lady?”

  Julia sighed but her lips shaped themselves into a grin of their own accord. “It’s something to do with Chulym isn’t it?”

  “Close. The coal was sold to the masters there. They were insatiable in Chulym’s heyday and bought it wherever they could. Smithies throughout the kingdom used Athione coal, but now they have to go elsewhere for it.”

  “Oh?”

  Keverin nodded. “There’s still coal down there I’m sure, but it’s too deep. We started losing men.”

  “Gas?”

  “Bad air.”

  Julia took that to mean the same thing. “You said there was a town.”

  “Gone now. My grandfather shut down the mine and there was nothing to keep the men there so they moved on.”

  The river gleamed with the early morning sun, Julia could see that, but the trees were too dense to see much else. She couldn’t see anything resembling an abandoned town. Maybe it was near the old mine. Keverin urged Cavell to walk on and Julia nudged Ayita forward to keep pace with him. Behind her, the guardsmen escorting the wagons were chatting quietly among themselves. They descended into the valley and the trees closed in. They lost sight of the river and their destination, but the road was easy to follow even if it did need work. The verges were overgrown and many of the stones had shifted making the road uneven and in some places downright dangerous. Julia was careful and guided Ayita around the worst places.

  “This needs work,” Keverin said looking around. “There was a time when this road was the most important one on my lands. Wagons full of coal would head south on it, and others north to the fortress carrying goods paid for with the profits. Now look at it.”

  “I’m surprised you let it get this bad,” Julia said and he looked at her sharply. She grinned. “It’s your road, Kev.”

  Keverin scowled. “My road it is, but there are others wi
th destinations still worth visiting.”

  “West Town will be eventually.”

  “That’s why the road needs work—like I said.”

  Julia laughed. “My… you are testy this morning.”

  Keverin flicked a glance toward his men, but they were far enough back not to hear him easily. He leaned close and whispered, “I should have married you before we left.”

  Julia smiled. That was one way of saying he missed her in his bed. She wouldn’t mind sharing her tent with him, but of course it wouldn’t be proper. Keverin was uncomfortable with his people knowing he had slept with her, not that they did much sleeping that night. No one could keep something so scandalous a secret for long. Fancy, a Lord Protector bedding a lady without marrying her. Horror of horrors! She snorted and he looked at her again with an eyebrow raised in enquiry.

  “I don’t care what people say about me, Kev.”

  “I do,” Keverin said firmly. “That night was wonderful Julia, but we can’t do it again until we’re wed.”

  Julia nodded reluctantly. She had found people quite tolerant of her differences, but this was pushing it a little. They would never say anything of course, but they would think less of her if she allowed such goings on. She didn’t want that. Despite what she had just said to Keverin, she liked her new life and the people in it. She didn’t want to do anything to ruin it.

  Julia brightened. “We could ask Father Tulley to marry us.” Tulley was the only priest within leagues. West Town was his parish.

  “Gideon would be hurt, but we could do that,” Keverin said.

  They looked at each other for a long moment then sighed in unison. “No,” they said together and laughed.

  “I would marry you on the instant, Julia. I should have done it when I had the chance.”

  “Something always seems to interfere. The war, Tancred poisoning, and now this. We can’t have a wedding without inviting Gy and Purcell in any case. Then there’s Jihan and Ahnao, Blaise and his father, Lucius and Lysara. I’ve never met Isolde, but I would like to. Do you think they would come all this way to see us married?”