Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3

by Mark E. Cooper

  “Renard I—” she broke off as the world shivered then settled back as it was.

  Renard was looking around in amazement. Then his face blanked as he listened to his invisible friends.

  “Renard…” she felt light-headed and strange. “I feel…” The world began to fade and her friend made no attempt to stop it. “Renard?”

  “Good bye Julia, good luck.”

  Julia’s world spun about and went dark.

  * * *

  “Give her to me; she’s not dying after all this!”

  Tomik turned the unresisting girl over and lifted her around the waist so that she hung head down. He jumped up and down allowing the dead weight to flop about, all the while praying for her to cough up the river she had inhaled. He shook her hard and wished Kerrion would come to help, but the shaman was fighting the Hasians. He did all he could—he prayed that his friends had not died for nothing.

  A flood of water gushed out of the girl and she took a ragged breath before puking all over his boots.

  “She’ll be all right,” he said grinning in relief.

  The night was lit by shaman fire as it flew toward the boat and set it to burning. Men screamed and jumped into the water to extinguish the flames eating them alive, but others stood their ground and threw fire back toward the shamen. The boat began drifting sideways to the current, but it was still moving as men raced along the sides trying to put out the flames. Arrows rained down killing every one of them stone dead, and the bodies fell into the river to be carried downstream.

  More fire came from the boat, aiming for the bowmen this time, but the sorcerers were unlikely to hit anything. Kerrion had told him—and he had spread it among his warriors—that the bowmen should strike and then move before striking again. It was the only way to avoid magic.

  The light from the fires was bright enough to reveal them now, so Tomik pulled the girl further back from the river into the darkness. His men were having little luck with killing the outclanner shamen. Tomik watched in amazement as arrows struck them and bounced away to fall limply into the river. Truly, this was a battle for shamen. His men realised they were having no effect and stopped wasting their arrows.

  “I wish Shelim was here,” Torin whispered.

  “So do I, but Kerrion is stronger. Shelim said so. He’ll stop them.”

  Tomik felt sure the boat would have sunk, but the fires suddenly winked out. More magic. He watched in glee as Kerrion and the others set it ablaze again. Every time the Hasians put the fire out, Kerrion lit it again. The boat finally lodged against the closer bank and Kerrion’s brothers began killing the Hasians one by one.

  The outclanners were too strong to be killed one on one, so the shamen all threw fire at the same time—all at one man. Human torches began jumping into the river to die or were instantly turned to ash as the sorcerers were overwhelmed. Ten dead, then twenty, there were no longer enough to stop the boat from burning. It gradually settled at the bow as the hull burned completely through allowing the river to flood in. The fires hissed and steam rose as the boat settled sharply below the water. The river was too shallow for it to go all the way under the surface, but it settled enough that the sorcerers were up to their ankles in the river. As the water touched their shields, little sparks shot away from them accompanied by a shrieking crackling noise that agitated the outclanners beyond all measure. They started edging toward the dry embankment of the river.

  Tomik blinked as the last of the fires were extinguished by the river. “There were eight left weren’t there?”

  “Not sure, why?”

  “No matter. There are only seven now. I think we should pull the girl back to safety just in case they decide to come this way.”

  The outclanners were intent on reaching dry ground. They really didn’t like getting their feet wet, but Kerrion was just as determined they would not step ashore. Hundreds of fireballs and for the first time something else hit the sorcerers. Three of the men screamed in agony and collapsed to float out of sight. Another folded then another, both men struggled weakly as they slipped under the surface of the river to drown.

  The last two men did reach the riverbank. Their shields strengthened and brightened, but their victory was short lived. Both men rose into the air screaming as the shamen reached out to grasp them with their magic.

  Tomik looked on in disgust as both men were wrung—literally twisted along their lengths, just as washing was wrung dry. In this case, blood rained down and not water. Both men were dropped into the river to sink like rocks.

  “Ughh! That was a nasty way to go,” Torin said then jumped to his feet in shock when a voice right behind him spoke.

  “If you know a good way to die,” the outclanner said. “I wouldn’t mind hearing it. Those bastards deserved a lot worse than they got.”

  Tomik glared at his son in reproach for letting an outclanner sneak up on him. An outclanner! Torin’s blush of embarrassment was well deserved, but a moment later it was Tomik’s turn to jump guiltily when another voice spoke from directly behind him!

  “Be charitable, Lorcan. The God will judge them for their actions. He will send them back to learn anew.”

  “They don’t deserve it,” Lorcan pouted.

  Tomik scowled; he was as bad as Torin this night! How could he let an outclanner so close, an old outclanner at that? He must be going senile to be so easily distracted. Torin grinned aware of his thoughts.

  “All right, you can have your ceremony.”

  Torin barely held in his glee. “Thank you father, thank you very much!”

  The outclanners were staring at him and Torin in puzzlement. Neither one could understand their amusement or what Torin’s ceremony meant to him. Just then, Kerrion and the other shamen arrived. Kerrion knelt and laid a hand upon the half-drowned woman’s forehead. He shook his head and turned with a hand outstretched. Darnath handed a small bottle to him. Kerrion made to pour the contents into the girl’s mouth but suddenly a dagger appeared at his throat. Everyone hissed in surprise at the outclanner’s speed.

  “What’s in that bottle?” he growled in his not quite man and not quite boy voice.

  “Nothing that will harm her, my boy,” Kerrion said carefully. “I cannot heal her—there is nothing wrong with her. The Hasians have given her Tancred, is that not so?”

  “Pints of it each day for most of the journey,” Gideon said.

  The shamen hissed in shock at the news and worried whispers erupted. Tomik didn’t know what all the fuss was about. Shamen used Tancred all the time, and it never did them any harm.

  “Why so much?” Kerrion said ignoring the knife at his throat.

  “Because they’re scared of her. She kept trying to wake sooner every day, so they made that stuff stronger and gave her more each time. They gave it to her in the mornings and in the evenings.”

  “I have more Tancred here—stop!” Kerrion said as the knife nearly slit his throat. “She needs it boy, just as we need air to breath, she needs Tancred to live. I made this myself—a small amount of Tancred mixed with water. She will die without it.”

  “You’re lying!”

  “He’s not Lorcan!” Gideon cried putting out a hand to stop another death. “She nearly died last time. None of us knew what to do when she started shaking and screaming, we thought she would die then, but she pulled through. If this man is a healer, he knows better than we what to do.”

  Tomik nodded. “I swear that Kerrion is the best healer we have, and he was the one who sent us to save her.”

  “And you have my word, that if she dies you and he will also,” Lorcan said. He released Kerrion and made his dagger disappear.

  Tomik gaped. Was that more magic?

  Kerrion carefully poured some of the drug into Julia’s mouth, and massaged her throat to force her to swallow it. The effect was almost immediate. The shaking diminished, but it didn’t stop altogether. By Kerrion’s frown, Tomik thought it should have. There came an audible sigh of relief from the s
hamen when she opened her eyes.

  “Hello Kerrion,” Julia croaked. “I didn’t expect to see you this side of life.”

  Mumbles of surprise swept through the warriors, but not the shamen, Tomik noted with a frown. Did Kerrion know this girl—how, and from where?

  Kerrion chuckled. “Hello, Julia. Welcome to the plains—welcome to the Night Wind.”

  * * *

  The fire had long since burned out, and the clansmen left by the time he dared move from his hiding place. While he waited, he tried to formulate a plan, but nothing came to him. He clambered tiredly out of the freezing river and onto the remains of the boat hoping to find something useful. In the cabin—up to his neck in water again—he found some waterlogged supplies. They would be disgusting to eat, but they should keep him alive.

  He knew that journeyeing overland would be impossible. He dare not risk a confrontation with the clans, so he used his magic to carefully break the sides of the boat. Eventually, after much cursing, he had a serviceable raft made from planks, doors, and a hatch cover. It looked terrible, but it would hold together forever—well, as long as his spell did any way—and that would be long enough for his purposes.

  Demophon clambered aboard and shoved off letting the current take him north. He looked back once at the sight of his former glory, then turned resolutely forward. There would be a reckoning. If he couldn’t bring the bitch to Mortain alive, no one would.

  He would see her dead first.

  * * *

  The Warrior Within

  (Devan Chronicles 3)

  Prologue

  Julia opened her eyes to look around, but nothing had changed. She was lying on something that swayed and bounced as she moved. The sky above was still grey and contemplating whether to drop its contents on her or not. Why not, she thought sluggishly, she’d had worse than a little rain—much worse. Another surge of pain crackled through her and she took a ragged breath to scream, but Kerrion’s magic quickly damped the agony. She couldn’t grasp her own magic, but even if there had been something to heal, which there wasn’t, she couldn’t heal herself. Her addiction wasn’t a physical ailment, but it hurt worse than any other thing she could name.

  “Oh God, not again,” Julia whispered as the pain hit her with greater force. “Hnnnoooooo!” she screamed. The pain suddenly eased as Kerrion’s spell wrapped itself around her. “Oh God thank you… thank you… thank you,” she whispered as tears leaked from her tightly closed eyes. She raised a shaking hand to wipe them away.

  “How do you feel?” Kerrion asked kindly.

  “Terrible,” she croaked.

  “You still have pain?”

  Another cramp hit her. “Hnnn! Yes,” she gasped.

  “I can do nothing further. I’m holding the pain down with magic. If I do more you could lose feeling permanently.”

  “It’s… it’s all right… I’ve had… Hnnn! I’ve had worse,” she gasped but Kerrion was sceptical. She didn’t have the energy to explain. “I want Keverin. Is he near?”

  “Your man?” Kerrion asked and at her jerky nod, he shook his head. “I don’t know where he is. He can’t come onto the plain—not now at least. Do you know of a Hasian named Navarien?”

  “Yes… he… hnnn!” she gritted her teeth to prevent the scream escaping. “He was the general—the leader that tried to take my home. I killed his legionnaires—his warriors. He went back to the Protectorate.”

  “Ah, well done! This man, this monster, is killing everyone in the north. He is a vile creature that kills his own men and laughs while he does it. He allows his men to use children for sport and—”

  “No…” she whispered tiredly. “He is my enemy, but he’s an honourable man and a very great general for his people.”

  “How can you say that?” another voice said, one out of Julia’s sight.

  “I say it because it’s true. I watch him in the mirror sometimes, I know he…” she grunted as another cramp hit her. “…he’s an honourable man.”

  “Let her rest my friend. Here, drink this,” Kerrion said.

  The waterbag contained dilute Tancred. The thought of the vile stuff made her want to throw up, but she needed to be weaned off the drug like a babe from her milk. She took a single mouthful this time and swallowed hard trying to stop herself from spitting it out. Kerrion offered more, but she refused it.

  “You must!”

  “No, it’s faster this way… Hnnn!” the scream forced its way loose from her control. “Hnnnoooooo!”

  “Faster is not better. Now drink!”

  Kerrion forced more into her while she glared daggers at him. Wait until she was up and around, she’d singe his ears for that! The pain receded, or was it her receding? She was still awake, sort of, but everything was hazy and disjointed. Kerrion was walking by her side and talking to another shaman, but his voice was fading in and out. She stared up at him and blinked at what she was seeing. The world slowed to a crawl and she watched a snowflake hover before her eyes seemingly suspended in time. She wasn’t dreaming; she was almost sure she wasn’t. Another snowflake replaced the first and slowly made its way to land upon her face. She blinked it free of her eyelashes, but another joined it. Kerrion’s hand appeared and brushed them away.

  She blinked fuzzily up at him. “Your face… the burns… sorry about your face Kerrion…”

  Kerrion shook his head in puzzlement.

  She was floating now, floating gently upward. If she reached over there—a place in her head—she could fly. She could see exactly how to do it, though she had never tried anything like that before. She fumbled for the thing at her centre, but it kept getting away.

  Bother it!

  The gold thing kept slipping away. She nearly had it a couple of times, but it squirted from her grasp like a piece of slippery soap. She gave up, and watched the snow fall.

  * * *

  1 ~ Blademaster

  Lord Keverin reached the Camorin border in a foul temper. Although a troop of brigands had intended it otherwise, his journey from the capital had been quick. The reason for his mood had nothing to do with brigands, nor yet the length of time taken to reach the border. No, what had him seething was the sight of nearly a thousand of his guardsmen sitting encamped on the Devan side of the border.

  “Calm down. Listen to Brian’s explanation first.”

  He frowned in irritation. Jihan was a good friend, and an honourable lord, but he didn’t know how irritating it was to have someone half his age telling him what to do. He was calm; he was always calm! When hadn’t he been calm? Brian should be on the trail, not loafing around on the border. He had better have a flaming good reason for his loafing, if he didn’t… he just better had, that’s all.

  Keverin dismounted and made his way with Jihan toward the centre of attention. The men were listening to a pair of mages conferring with Brian. At their feet were two mirrors glowing with magical images. He couldn’t see what the views were, but he would wager they showed Julia’s location. In fact, he was wrong as he saw when he finally broke in among his men.

  “The Lord—”

  “Brian’s a goner for sure—”

  “He looks madder than a sorcerer with his beard on fire!”

  Keverin tried to ignore his men’s comments, but the last one had even him grinning. That would be something to see all right, something worth savouring. His temper cooled as if quenched in oil, and it was with a cool head that he questioned his captain.

  “Report Brian,” he ordered, and the men quieted down. Jihan was at his left elbow studying the images in the mirrors.

  “My lord, we tracked The Lady toward Anselm, but were unable to close the distance more than half a day. With Lucius and Mathius scrying ahead, we discovered the Hasians had boarded ship—”

  “One of my father’s barges,” Lord Adrik added.

  Keverin didn’t show his annoyance at the interruption. He nodded politely to Adrik and indicated to Brian he should continue.

  “A barge t
hen,” Brian said annoyed at being corrected. “It was obvious we would lose ground, so I ordered my men to head straight north to cut them off here where the river crosses the border. I failed.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Brian,” Lucius said. “Julia would understand.”

  Mathius lent his support. “That’s right. Besides, she’s safe enough for the moment. The clans won’t hurt her.”

  “What’s this?”

  “I was just coming to that part, my lord,” Brian said glaring at Mathius. “We had fallen more than two days behind when the barge was attacked during the night by clan warriors—”

  “Not just warriors, my lord,” Mathius said. “Shamen attacked in the night with magic. It was beautiful. The warriors swam to the boat and killed the sentries and the steersman without a sound. One moment everything was quiet, the next, a warrior was diving over the side with Julia over his shoulder! None could have done it better.”

  A rumble of agreement and admiration swept through the men. Julia was safe! It was wonderful news but he pushed aside his exultation to hear the rest.

  “—burning,” Brian was saying. “Every time the sorcerers put out the fires, the shamen threw fire and lit them again!” Chuckles swept through the crowd, but no one would be fooled into thinking they were amused. It was a positively evil sound; the Hasians deserved what they got and more. “The barge sank near the west bank. The last sorcerers were crushed.”

  “Not exactly,” Lucius said in glee. “The shamen were very annoyed at this point, my lord. Whoever led them made a point I feel won’t be lost on Mortain. They wrung the last one like a dirty wash cloth!”

  “Ooh, I bet that hurt!”

  “—bastard deserved it!”