Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3

by Mark E. Cooper

  “No he is not!” Kadar and Petya said as one. Petya stepped back ceding the floor. “I say we all sit down before Julia collapses, and talk about this calmly.”

  There was a rumble of agreement from the majority of the chiefs, but a few did side with Tobiah. Keverin thought they were probably Wolf Clan tribal chiefs. He seated Julia at his side on plenty of rugs and she leaned her back against him. He leaned forward and kissed her hair. She raised her free hand to stroke his cheek. Kerrion sat next to her on her other side, holding her other hand so his magic could do its work. Keverin didn’t like it, but he understood the necessity; healing didn’t work without touch.

  “You don’t believe Keverin’s story?” Julia asked Tobiah.

  “I’m not in the habit of accepting fairy tales from outclanners!” Tobiah snarled.

  Keverin shifted a little but Julia was in control of the situation.

  “Fairy tales? Does this look like a fairytale to you?” she said holding up a hand with blue crackles of lightning snapping from finger to finger.

  Keverin smiled grimly as the chiefs reared back in shock from the first real magic they had ever seen. It was still amazing to him how quickly he had become used to the idea of Julia as a powerful mage.

  “Keverin never lies,” she said and let her display go.

  Tobiah’s eyes narrowed in anger, but there wasn’t much he could say to dispute her now obvious ability.

  “I think I speak for all of us when I say you are undoubtedly a shaman, Julia,” Kadar said and there was a murmur of agreement from the chiefs. “What is your council?”

  “She is an outclanner!” Tobiah protested but was glared into silence by the other chiefs who were interested in what such an unusual shaman had to say.

  Julia smiled at her newest enemy. “Mortain’s people will begin to repopulate the northern cities very soon, and you will have an enemy to your north forever more. You must destroy those cities before that happens. If you don’t do that, two years from now you will have another legion to contend with, and then another the following year and on and on. Deva has had that problem for years, but our land has mountains that act as walls, and fortresses that act as gates keeping our enemies on their own side. You have nothing to stop the sorcerers from taking your land. If you fail, ten years from now you will have towns on the banks of your rivers and the plain as you know it will be gone.”

  Keverin nodded. “I would like to add something to that. Defeating Navarien will not be easy, but even should you be victorious that will not be enough. We won against Navarien two years ago, but Mortain sent another legion through your lands to attack us from the north as a result. Julia destroyed that legion utterly. Ten thousand warriors dead, but still Mortain did not give up. This last summer, he sent sorcerers to kidnap her and place a man of his choosing on the throne of Deva, which means a man sympathetic to him as chief of chiefs over all Deva. We stopped him, barely, and Kadar saved Julia when the sorcerers tried to escape back to Navarien. This should show you that Mortain will never, never give up his ambitions to rule your land. Think about what that means. Whatever you decide to do will affect the future of every clan forever more. Your old rivalry must be abandoned if you are to oppose Mortain and the Protectorate. If not, the clans are finished.”

  Jihan looked around at the thoughtful expressions then added his two coppers worth. “I am a Lord, a chief if you will. I say that if you do not choose a chief of chiefs from among you and unite against Navarien the clans are finished.”

  Lucius nodded. “I am a wizard now, but I have been a sorcerer in my time—”

  That was a shock. The chiefs yelled in outrage at what appeared to be a spy in their camp. Daggers and long knives were snatched into fists. Julia’s ward sprang into existence moments before Lucius raised his. The wards clashed as they tried to coexist in the same place at the same time. The light was blinding, but the screeching was worse. The chiefs howled as the noise pierced eardrums threatening to burst them. The effect on Julia was worse. The magic in her grasp surged and she lost her grip.

  “AEiii!” she screamed as the magic whiplashed and hammered her flat.

  Lucius reeled as his magic surged and receded unpredictably.

  Kerrion was instantly pouring his healing into Julia. The chiefs backed away and didn’t seem interested in coming any closer. They were staring at Julia and Lucius in shock at what had happened. Lucius dropped his ward to go to Julia’s aid, but he was not needed. She was awake again and looking dazedly around.

  “What happened?” she said.

  Keverin sighed in relief. “I don’t know, you made a ward and then collapsed.”

  “Never do that again!” Lucius said angrily. “Two wards existing in the same place can cause burn out, you foolish girl! I know you were trying to help, but I can take care of myself. You are too weak to be using your magic.”

  Julia paled at the mention of burnout and Keverin felt sick. Renard had suffered burnout and had been mindless for many days before dying when Julia attempted to give him his magic back. The thought of her staring and drooling at nothing made his heart hurt.

  He leaned forward. “Please be careful. I can’t live without you my heart,” he whispered for her ears alone.

  Julia struggled to sit up and he helped her. “I will.”

  He wasn’t much comforted. She always seemed to be in the thick of the action, whether it involved street toughs or sorcerers, it didn’t matter. He could no longer count the number of times he had feared for her life.

  Tobiah was causing more trouble Keverin saw. He was arguing fiercely with Kadar and Allard about allowing Lucius to live. Allard was of the opinion that they should hear what Lucius had to say before doing anything hasty. Kadar was more direct. He was saying the outclanners were his guests and he would not allow them to be harmed. If Tobiah still wanted to try, he could challenge and die on his sword.

  “Fools!” Kerrion shouted.

  The chiefs quieted and looked at Kerrion in amazement. How had the old fool dared to insult them? He was sure to be challenged. Keverin grinned. Kerrion was a shaman; as such, he need not fear a sword or any man who wielded one.

  “Fools I say!” Kerrion repeated. “Do you think the Hasians have this problem? Of course not. Navarien tells his warriors what to do and they do it or die! Don’t any of you understand? This constant bickering must end. If the clans do not unite, the people will vanish from the land. I have seen it!”

  Tobiah snorted. “You’re the fool, old man. Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing. Who is to be this chief of chiefs? Kadar I suppose!”

  Kadar angrily stepped forward, but Kerrion waved the chief off. Surprisingly Kadar subsided.

  “Do you all see?” Tobiah glared around at the chiefs. “The old fool leads Kadar by the nose! I will die before I accept Kadar over me as chief of chiefs!”

  Tobiah stormed out and took his underlings with him. The other Clan Chiefs reluctantly ended the council and followed until the only chiefs still present were Allard, Petya, and Kadar.

  “That was ill done, Kerrion,” Kadar said. “You should have let the challenge to go ahead. Tobiah would be dead and we could have continued the council.”

  Kerrion shook his head. “Will you listen to yourself? Tobiah is clan! Navarien is the enemy not him, or any other among the clans for that matter. That even goes for Ingharr!”

  Petya smiled at mention of Ingharr of Dragon Clan. The man was universally despised for his arrogance and most said his stupidity as well. They were very careful when they said this. There were a great many Dragon warriors, and Ingharr was good with the long knife and spear.

  “I take it you three agree that uniting is the only way forward?” Keverin said.

  Kadar nodded along with the others. “It would seem so, but whether it will happen that way I don’t know. We are a proud people. I do not believe we could live the way your people do. If we do go ahead with this, I will push for it to be only used in time of—” he frown
ed. “I haven’t the word for it.”

  “Invasion or emergency?” Julia offered.

  “Yes,” Kadar said nodding. “Emergency would be the only time I would countenance this chief of chiefs you are proposing, Kerrion.”

  Kerrion clapped his chief on the shoulder. “That is all we need. We cannot keep arguing about every decision during a battle. We must find someone to lead who all chiefs can accept.”

  “Who did you have in mind?” Allard said glancing at Kadar and quickly away again.

  “Not you Kadar, I’m sorry,” Kerrion said. “The others would not accept it. Even Ingharr has more chance than you do now—he is the most powerful. I was thinking Mazel would do well. Horse Clan is second in strength to Dragon Clan.”

  “I don’t know,” Allard said uncertainly. “Horse Clan isn’t here. How can you expect us to follow someone who doesn’t even see the need to talk of uniting, let alone actually doing it?”

  Kerrion grudgingly agreed. “Maybe the warriors should vote.”

  “That might work,” Petya put in. “But what’s to stop them from voting for their own Clan Chief? They will you know.”

  “You should have a tournament,” Jihan said thoughtfully. “Arrange it in such a way that the winner of each round fights the winner of the others until there is just one. That way the best warrior among the chiefs will lead no matter what clan or tribe he comes from.”

  Kadar frowned. “I assume you mean practice bouts, but that could mean we are led by a tribal chief.”

  “Does that really matter?” Jihan asked. “The winner will be the best among you and you will need the best to win against Navarien.”

  “It does matter,” Kerrion admitted. “Clan Chiefs lead. It has always been that way,” he said regretfully.

  Jihan threw his hands up. “If you want it that way, have the tournament restricted to Clan Chiefs.”

  “Who is the most likely to win such a tournament as this?” Keverin said.

  The chiefs conferred for a moment. “Ingharr would win but he’s not here,” Kadar said thoughtfully. “Tobiah might, but I think it more likely Cadell would win.”

  “Cadell!” Kerrion said in shock.

  The chiefs nodded grinning.

  “What’s the problem?” Jihan said.

  Kerrion sighed. “Cadell is Clan Chief of Cricket Clan. They’re the smallest of all.”

  “So? Will the chiefs follow if he wins?”

  “They might, it’s traditional for warriors to challenge for leadership if they feel a grievance. The chief is always the best man for the position partly because of that.”

  “Well, if you three can persuade the others to accept the idea of a tournament, your problems should be over,” Julia said.

  Keverin shook his head slightly. “They still have Navarien to deal with, my love, but at least this one area will be dealt with.”

  Julia smiled at his casual admittance of his love for her. It said more to her than a deliberate declaration.

  “It’s a shame Jolon is not a Clan Chief,” Petya said. “I’ve never seen him fight better than when he took you on, Jihan.”

  “He is good,” Jihan grinned. “But is he the best you have?”

  Petya nodded. “I’m biased as he’s my son, but I truly think he is.”

  Jihan nodded in satisfaction and Keverin laughed.

  “What?” Jihan said indignantly.

  “You’re licking your whiskers as a cat does after a good meal. Your vanity is showing Jihan!”

  “Well, I did beat him, and he is their best—so what if I’m vain about it?”

  Keverin laughed again, and lightly punched his friend’s shoulder. “Nothing Jihan. We like you just as you are—right Julia?”

  “That’s right!”

  “Are we agreed to try this?” Kadar asked.

  “Can’t say that I’m looking forward to being beaten to a pulp by Cadell, but I can see no other way,” Allard said.

  Petya clapped the young Clan Chief on the shoulder. “I know what you mean. I feel like that every time Jolon does it to me!”

  Keverin laughed along with the others, but he was wondering how he and Julia could be alone in his tent with Kerrion holding her hand all the cursed time!

  * * *

  3 ~ Exodus

  “How bad is it?” Navarien said watching the snow falling outside through the window of his headquarters. The weather was transforming Calvados into an artist’s dream right before his eyes.

  The towers and slate tiled roofs of the city were heavy with the snow that had fallen, and was continuing to fall, without cease since they had taken possession. Many of the streets were becoming impassable, and all of them were treacherous underfoot. He had too few men to do anything about it. Those few legionnaires not tasked with patrols or guard duty had their hands full with the wounded.

  “More die by the candlemark, Sir. We can’t stop it,” Cragson said from where he stood by the fire drying his cloak. “Exhaustion and bad food has sapped their will to go on. There’s nothing to be done.”

  “And Meran?”

  “Barely holding on, Sir. Maybe he will rally,” Cragson said with doubt heavy in his voice.

  “I want Lewin to take Meran’s place.”

  “Lewin?”

  He nodded and watched the snow cover his city. “You will inform him of the promotion when he comes back in. It’s time he put up or shut up. I’m tired of his bitching.”

  Cragson coughed. “Yes Sir, but… Lewin?”

  “He’s capable, never doubt it. I remember Durena…”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  Navarien smiled sadly and refocused his eyes upon his own reflection in the window glass. He looked ghastly. His haunted eyes, sunk into dark pits, peered out at the world above cheeks gone gaunt from bad food and little sleep. Under the stubble he had yet to clean away, muscles bunched as he clenched his teeth. By the God, he was tired. It had been a long year, and the next one promised to be longer yet. His hand wandered to his shoulder and he rubbed gently wincing at the pain. He had taken an arrow there late in the battle for Calvados, but it was nothing compared to others who even now lay dying. Meran was such a one.

  “He was beside me all the way in Durena,” he said meaning Lewin. “He’s capable of being more, much more.”

  “He shirks responsibility—”

  “That will stop. That will stop or he’s out of my legion… what’s left of it.”

  Cragson stood in disapproving silence.

  The fire popped and Navarien jumped as a spark leapt into the room. Cragson took one step forward and crushed it beneath a boot heel before it could do more than char his ratty carpet.

  “I’ll inform him.”

  He nodded and watched a weary group of men stumble into Market Square. If he was not mistaken, they belonged to Corbin’s second maniple. He counted the men as Sergeant Milos led them to barracks.

  …forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty. Half a maniple to patrol an entire city quarter.

  Navarien stared at his empty city and shook his head. “Where are all the people?”

  “Sir?” Cragson said stepping up beside him. “Did you say something?”

  “How is the grain situation?”

  “Fine, Sir. The granaries are full and the city’s reserves of meat and other provisions will see us through more than one winter if need be. The men, those uninjured at least, are greatly cheered.”

  “Good, good. The horses?”

  “Corbin has seen to them, Sir.”

  “He does love them so,” he said with a twisted smile for some of the jokes he had heard the men tell. “The best man on four legs I’ve ever seen.”

  “That he is, Sir. He inspires his men—all of them are excellent horsemen.”

  “I hear a but coming, Cragson. Spit it out man.”

  “Cavalry are good to have, but when a man forgets how to be an infantryman, then we had better watch out. You can’t guarantee he will stay mounted in the heat of battle, Sir.”


  “And you think Seventh Battalion needs reminding?”

  “I do, Sir.”

  “See to it.”

  “Yes, Sir!” Cragson saluted hearing the order in Navarien’s voice. He turned to leave.

  “And Cragson,” he said without turning.

  “Sir?”

  “Find me a woman.” He turned to see Cragson standing with the door open and his mouth agape. “A mature woman—one with children preferably.”

  Cragson snapped his mouth shut. “Yes, Sir, but…” he braced up. “Yes Sir!” he saluted and left.

  Navarien turned back to the view.

  Milos was gone, but another patrol was just now leaving, this time toward the south. He had ordered patrols maintained outside the walls. It was a gesture only. He simply didn’t have the men to do it properly, but at least they would provide a warning of impending attack. Horses stamped hooves nervously and shook snow from their coats where already a thin layer was settling. Clan horses these, every one of them pure blood. Never had a legion been equipped with such fine beasts, but he would trade them all for another battalion of men. It was not to be. The closest reinforcements lay south and west over the Athinian Mountains. There lay the Protectorate in all her glory oblivious to his need.

  He shook his head and turned away from the window. On his desk lay a well read sheaf of paper. He knew what it said, knew every word, but still he picked it up and thumbed through it.

  To: General Navarien, commanding officer Fifth Legion.

  From: Godwinson.

  General, know that both Mortain and I are grateful for your sacrifice for the greater glory of the Protectorate. Your actions on our behalf in the North bring your name great renown and glory…

  He snorted. Glory was something he used to want, something any officer in the Protectorate wanted, but he had seen things since taking command of the Fifth that had soured him on glory. These days he found himself wishing for his men’s survival more than anything else. He was a general, a legionnaire… a soldier at bottom. His duty was what he lived for, but glory? No. It had no real worth, no real meaning to him any longer. Seeing his legion decimated, not once but twice in as many years, had cured him of any belief in such things.