Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3

by Mark E. Cooper

  “Gylaren you say?” he said to Demophon’s reflection. “I wonder why Keverin didn’t take the throne. He is the better man.” He shrugged the matter aside. “Robsort is an idiot. I’ll mention torches and oil and he’ll come back to my way of thinking quicker than you can blink. It worked for Athlone after all.”

  “Robsort is not the problem. Julia is.”

  “Stop running scared man! She’s only a child. There’s nothing she can do.”

  “You wouldn’t say such things if you had witnessed the massacres last year. She is—evil is too strong a word—perhaps ruthless would suffice. Multiply the most ruthless man in history by ten. That is Julia.”

  “Really…” he drawled in amusement.

  Demophon tried again. “Julia will do whatever she thinks is necessary no matter the cost to herself or others—especially herself. Her only weakness is her friends. Attack them and we may unsettle her, but attack her directly and you will reap only destruction.”

  Rowton shook his head. Demophon was a weak fool. Why hadn’t Mortain sent him someone with some backbone? By all accounts, Lady Julia was powerful, but ruthless? He hardly thought so. In any event, he could be just as ruthless as any mere woman—more than Julia could if he put his mind to it.

  “Can’t have her outdoing me, certainly not.”

  * * *

  Julia sighed and tried to remember what she had just read. She had been on this same page for candlemarks. Poetry wasn’t really her scene, but without Athione’s library on hand, her choices were limited. It was early yet for bed, but she was seriously considering an early night when a tap on the door put the thought of sleep from her mind. Keverin had come! She stood to go to him, but instead of Keverin entering, it was Moriz holding the door open.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Lady, but Lord Meilan wishes to see you.”

  So, Keverin still hadn’t come to her. This aspect of his honour was becoming annoying. How she wished she had married him before they left home!

  “Ask Lord Gylaren to come in, Moriz.”

  Moriz inclined his head. “Yes, Lady.” He backed out the door and Gylaren came in.

  “Come in, Gy. Would you like some wine?”

  “Thank you, no,” he said with eyes sweeping the room.

  “Have a seat, and I’ll be with you. This heat always makes me so thirsty.” She poured a glass of water for herself and sat opposite her friend. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

  Gylaren smiled. “Direct as always. Can’t I come just to talk?”

  “Of course you can. Visit me any time you wish—we can chat about my wedding plans. Have you decided which of you will be Sword Brother?”

  “Purcell thinks he should do it, but no decision has yet been made. I suspect we’ll have to fight over it.”

  Julia laughed uncertainly.

  “I’m not jesting,” Gylaren said with a smile. “It might come to that. A friendly contest for the first touch, of course.”

  She sighed with relief. She could never be quite certain that she understood things correctly here. Something always seemed to trip her up at unexpected moments.

  “I’m glad to hear that it’s play only.”

  “Who said play? I’ll fight to win, and I assure you Purcell never fights any other way.”

  Julia waved that away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I’m always saying to Kev that he’s playing with his friends when he’s practising with his sword. If there’s no blood involved, it’s always play to me.”

  “I see. I came here to talk about the succession, not play. Keverin came to see me today. He told me that he was going to vote for me. I don’t want the throne, Julia, and I would appreciate it if you would stop meddling in things that do not concern you.”

  Whoa! That was a change. She didn’t quite know what to say. He wasn’t angry, he had simply stated his wishes completely without emotion.

  “Would you have Meagan or Ascol as king?”

  “Of course not!”

  No one liked Ascol, even his own allies loathed him by all accounts, but they saw advantage in being allied to him and could stand his arrogance because of that. Gylaren was still ranting, and Julia turned her attention to his words.

  “—are other lords here. One of them can be king.”

  “Shirking responsibility, Gy? That doesn’t sound like you,” she teased. Now there was anger, and she was satisfied. He should be angry.

  “By what right do you say I shirk my responsibilities?”

  She stiffened. “By what right?” She whispered seeing again the rows of dead guardsmen in Athione’s great hall, the flames raging out of control across the plains, Mathius burning all unawares. “I’ll tell you by what right, Lord Gylaren! Should I be the only one willing to fight for your bloody kingdom!”

  The door banged open to admit Moriz and Halbert with swords bared looking for an enemy.

  “Out!” Julia snarled.

  Moriz and Halbert jumped to attention and saluted before withdrawing. At another time, she would have been amused at their instinctive reaction, but not today.

  “Calm down, Lady,” Gylaren soothed. He was worriedly looking around for an exit.

  She knew better than to use her magic while so upset, but the gold medal was in her mind’s eye ready to be used. It was almost begging her to grasp it and use her magic to… to do what? Gylaren was her friend, she couldn’t hurt him… she mustn’t.

  She took a deep calming breath, and tried to explain herself. “Do you realise the difference between Lord Protectors and the other lords of Deva? I’ll tell you. Lord Protectors stand up and are willing to fight. Fighting means sacrifice, but that is what being Lord Protector means! How much more then, must a king be than a Lord Protector? With the privilege come responsibilities, responsibilities that most of the lords shirk now! I didn’t see the lords sending guardsmen to help Athione, Gy. How can you even think to make one of those… those cretins into a king!”

  Gylaren’s face was stiff, but she didn’t care. Why was she the one who had to set the kingdom to rights? She snorted. That was easy. No one else cared! She knew she was being unfair. Keverin cared and others she had met, but no one seemed able to make the crucial difference.

  “I’m not the only Lord Protector,” Gylaren said in a subdued voice.

  “Jihan is too young. He’s still learning to be the Lord of Malcor. Purcell is… Purcell, so he’s out. You know what Keverin will say if you try to push it on him.”

  “So I have to let it be pushed on me? Is that fair? Keverin would make a good king. He cares deeply for the people, and he anticipated the Hasians splendidly.”

  “I agree. I would have made him king if I could, but he will never allow it. He blames himself for too many things to let me do that. You’re the best man for the job, Gy. You know what’s at stake, and you’re intelligent. The lords need someone to push them in the right direction without resorting to outright force, as Purcell would do. Lastly, you have three boys. Niklaus would be good for Meilan, and Dylan will be here with you to help run things as prince and heir to the throne.”

  “I see. You’ve planned not only my life but my son’s lives as well,” Gylaren said coldly.

  “Someone had to take control. No one else has done anything to stop Meagan and his ilk from snapping up the lord’s votes by the fistful. If we aren’t careful, he’ll be the next King of Deva.”

  “That must not happen!” Gylaren snapped.

  “It will happen unless someone steps forward to rally the lords behind him in opposition.”

  Gylaren fell silent.

  Julia was sure he knew where his duty lay, but it would take some time for him to become accustomed to the idea. It had been the same for her last year when people’s expectations drove her to a hard decision. She chose protecting them over going home, and didn’t regret her choice now. Home had become Athione and Keverin. Gylaren would have to see his own way through to the throne. She couldn’t force him to make
the right choice. Even if she could, it would be a waste of time. An unhappy King wouldn’t be good for Deva or her people. She had to persuade him, not force him. The problem was, she wasn’t very good at persuasion.

  “I don’t want to be King!”

  “Your wants have nothing to do with it!” she snapped. “Do you think I wanted to come here when Darius called? I didn’t even know there was a here to come to! And what, you think I like it when I ride through a town and everyone hides their children?”

  “You exaggerate—”

  “Not by much,” she said remembering those times. “Everyone’s afraid of me. You would have to be a blind fool not to see it.”

  “You think me a fool?”

  “The point,” she said with gritted teeth. “Let’s stick to the point shall we?”

  “The point is I don’t want to be the King!”

  “The point is that it doesn’t matter what you want! Haven’t you been listening? It’s your duty!”

  Gylaren erupted out of his seat, “Don’t tell me my duty woman!” he roared, looming over her and supporting his weight on the arms of her chair. Caging her there. “My entire life is duty,” he hissed in her face.

  “Back… off,” she said calmly. She was drawing so deeply upon her magic that Gylaren would find himself landing somewhere north of Malcor if he said one more word.

  He blinked, only then seeming to realise what he was doing. He pushed himself erect and stepped back. “I apologise.”

  Julia nodded. “So do I. Look, we have to agree on a battle plan.” Gylaren’s lips twitched. “Are you laughing at me?”

  “Not at all—”

  “Because if you are, we are going to have a real problem working together against Meagan—”

  “Ascol.”

  “—and… what?”

  Gylaren took his seat. “It will be Ascol.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just came from the meeting. Ascol has declared himself as the first candidate.”

  She frowned. She had been so sure that Meagan or Horton would… she shook her head. “Who else?”

  “Halden has put himself forward in opposition, but no one seriously expects him to win. There will be other candidates before this is done, but Halden wanted to make his position plain from the start. He’s not a friend of Ascol, nor is he friendly with Meagan.”

  “Kev likes him.”

  “He’s an honourable man, Julia, and that’s good, but he’s old. Worse than that, Halden has stepped on more than a few toes in his time. He was a very good friend of Pergann when they were younger.” He shook his head. “I would vote for him in an instant, and so would Kev and Jihan, but it would do no good. Besides, we need a young man on the throne.”

  “Young, right,” she said in exasperation. “You’re not getting out of this, Gy! Who—apart from Kev, Purcell, and Jihan—do you trust enough to put on the throne?”

  “Um…” Gylaren looked faintly surprised that he couldn’t think of anyone off the top of his head.

  “See, I told you. It’s got to be you.”

  “I have a lot of friends, good friends,” he protested. “There’s Chogan for one, and Govannon is another. And what about Garth of Chaidren Ridge—everyone likes him. I have lots of friends.”

  “I know you do, Gy,” Julia said kindly. “But all of them are your age or older than you. Besides, age isn’t the only issue. I’ll ask you again, which of your friends would you trust with Deva’s future?”

  Gylaren stared at nothing for the longest time. Finally, his shoulders slumped and he nodded. He seemed so weary at that moment that she wanted to hug him, but he straightened before she could act upon the impulse.

  “We have to plan on losing the lowland votes,” Gylaren began. “Most of them are in Ascol’s pocket. The southrons should stand by me, and at least some from the Western Marches will vote for whomever Kev votes for. We should talk to Halden about his supporters—I’ll need them all. Purcell can badger his friends into voting for me too. If I win, I’ll have to build an army—”

  Julia smiled, he would win. She would see him on the throne, and God help anyone who stood in her way.

  Julia paused in her work and took a moment to look around the warehouse. There was more room now than there had been. Both the very old and the very young had been the first to die, which had given more space to the middle-aged. Teenagers were rare for some reason. Keverin said it was because they were strong enough to survive through banditry. Gangs had ruled Devarr for the better part of a year, but their time was ending now. Keverin was slowly sweeping the young toughs into his net and restoring order. Whatever the reason for their absence, she was grateful for it; she had more than enough people waiting for her healing. She didn’t need any more.

  She looked back along the row she had been following. She invoked her mage sight and braced herself for what she was about to see. Everywhere she looked, she saw the weakly flickering auras of sick people crying silently out to her for relief. The darker colours were absent, thank the God, but the yellows and oranges of exhaustion and starvation were everywhere.

  She took a deep breath trying not to vomit at the stench of unwashed bodies. The priests were trying to keep pace, but the warehouse was so large, the task so huge, they were falling behind. It almost seemed to take an army to clean and feed so many. Father Dugan had all but emptied the Holy Palace of priests in order to help her manage the disaster that had befallen Devarr. It had been barely enough.

  Julia walked slowly along the next row of suffering people. She paused to lay her hands briefly on each person before moving on to the next. Her healing magic flowed in a continuous stream. The constant roar of her magic filled her entire being until she seemed to thrum in time with it. It was like a second heartbeat, the magic like life itself coursing and singing in her veins. Somewhere to her left, Julia could feel Lucius and Mathius. They had linked their power and were moving in the opposite direction healing as they went. She could feel them like a caress on her skin, their magic thrumming in silent counterpoint to hers. She tried not to be concerned when she felt them falter. She had felt it before and would again. They had paused to rest and regain a little strength. She continued regardless of tiredness. What if someone died just because she stopped to ease the ache in her back?

  “Thank you, lady…”

  “The God bless you…”

  “My da first,” a child’s voice said. “Please… my da first…”

  “The God bless you lady…”

  In the healing realm, Julia couldn’t tell who spoke. She mumbled her usual nonsense in reply. “You’ll be all right… He is with you… you’ll be all right…”

  Hands grasped hers, or touched her as she moved through the ocean of misery. Her healing magic instantly split and jumped into all those grabbing at her. The strain… was… increasing… she gritted her teeth and drew harder upon her magic. The roaring within changed into a keening howl.

  “He be sending you…”

  “…my boy first! Oh please my boy!”

  “My wife…”

  “My baby, where’s my baby…”

  “Husband…”

  “Wife…”

  “You’ll be all right… He is with you… you’ll be all right…” Julia mumbled and walked unknowingly into the warehouse wall. To her mage site, there was nothing there but a faint glowing mist. She released her magic and stumbled to lean against the wall for support.

  Silly me, I should have remembered to let it go gently.

  She turned to see where she was. She had made a complete circuit of the warehouse and was back where she had started. She peered out the loading doors. It was not yet mid-day.

  “Once more for luck,” she whispered and grasped her magic. The gold medallion at her centre leapt into her grasp and the magic thundered down. “Oh yesssss,” she breathed as her heart raced.

  Pleasure built beyond anything she had ever felt. This was how life should feel, not tired all the
time. This was how God must have felt when he looked down upon the world he had just created. Everything had a clarity to it not present without the magic. She invoked mage sight and began a new circuit. The grasping hands had no effect this time. She was humming to herself as she worked, unaware that the people she left behind her were grinning and swaying as if drunk, which indeed they were. They were drunk on the power she had flooded each of them with. To her eyes, they blazed in the healing realm brighter than the sun in the real world.

  “Lady you must stop!” Mathius said sternly.

  “Hmmm? Why would I do that?” Julia said frowning at Mathius and the yellow light streaking his aura. She touched him and the yellow tinge disappeared instantly to be replaced with purest white.

  Mathius gasped as his tiredness was wiped away. He swayed where he stood. Lucius pushed him aside and tried to get Julia to listen to him. She touched him as she had Mathius, but Lucius was stronger than Mathius and better able to cope.

  “You’re drunk, Julia!”

  “I haven’t touched a drop!” she protested. Why did they always have to spoil everything? The pleasure was fading now, to be replaced with depression. She thought to draw a little harder upon her magic to make it all right again, but at that moment she remembered something. It was naughty to draw this much.

  Keverin wouldn’t like it… Keverin… Keverin wouldn’t like it.

  She released her magic all at once and collapsed as if someone had cut her legs out from under her. One moment she was fully aware, the next darkness.

  Oh God, was this burn out?

  “Shush, Julia. Here, take my hand,” a gentle voice said.

  The voice sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She felt herself reach and suddenly she was staring up at Lucius’ worried face. “That was silly of me,” she said contritely glancing around at all the worried faces. “I know better than that. I should have released more carefully.”

  She rose to her feet with Lucius helping.

  He was almost shaking in rage. “That was foolish! What ever possessed you to try healing more than one person at a time?” he said gripping her shoulders hard enough to bruise.