Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3

by Mark E. Cooper

  “I can’t see any dead outclanners, can you?” Mazel said looking close.

  Shelim moved the image in closer. “A few are wounded but that’s all.”

  He couldn’t believe how sloppy the Dragon warriors had been to allow this to happen. It was as if they believed numbers made up for their lack of skill. They were as children to these outclanners; the attack had been easy! He watched the Hasians rounding up the horses and strike north with them.

  “Horses? They did this to steal the horses!”

  “Calm down! You’re losing the image,” Larn said.

  Shelim breathed deep and pressed his lips tightly together. As he did, the image steadied and sharpened. The outclanners were herding every horse away to the north leaving the tents burning and the women keening over their dead. The tribe was shattered. Only one in three warriors had survived, and that included the young ones who had foolishly taken up their weapons and died with the adults. Those left alive with families intact were rushing to put out the fires with snow, but he could see they would save little. If they saved enough, they might survive long enough to reach another tribe—if the weather held good.

  Shelim let the image go. “Well that’s it. What do we do?”

  “Do? What can we do? The fight is over,” Larn said.

  Mazel shook his head pityingly. “The Hasians want our horses, Larn. That’s important to know. Do you really think a thousand will satisfy them? They stole a thousand from the Panawyr before the snows, and now they’ve raided this tribe for another thousand or so. It’s obvious why they need them; Navarien wants all his warriors on the best mounts he can find. What chief doesn’t want that before battle?”

  “He had ten thousand men to begin, but he only has about half that now,” Shelim pointed out.

  “Yes, that at least is good,” Mazel conceded. “But that means he needs another three thousand at the least, but what if he decides two or even three horses for each of his men is better than one?”

  Shelim and Mazel stared silently at each other and then at Larn who was shaking his head trying to deny what was happening.

  “We might be witnessing the end of Dragon Clan as a force on the plain—or even altogether!” Larn said in horror.

  Shelim nodded, but privately he thought there was no doubt. The reason for burning the tents was obvious now they knew the Hasian’s plan. They wanted the tribes slowed down. Without horses and supplies, the tribes would be unable to link up to defend themselves. Navarien’s raiding parties would snap them up one by one. What they would do then was anyone’s guess, but he was sure Navarien had thought the problem through and had some ideas. Shelim would have in his position. Would Ingharr listen to Mazel if they turned around and went looking for him? Ingharr was Clan Chief for the Dragons. Shelim was unsure where the clan was wintering. Worse than his lack of knowledge was the long and bitter feud between Horse and Dragon Clans. He didn’t know what to do for the best, and there was Emma and Amara to consider.

  He looked back to see the girls sitting quietly talking together. Emma saw him and smiled. He smiled back.

  “—have to try!” Larn said.

  “It would be a waste of time, I tell you!” Mazel said angrily. “Ingharr is Dragon Clan as I am Horse Clan. He will never see beyond that.”

  “I think we should try,” Shelim said not really wanting to.

  It was his duty as a shaman to protect all the people, whoever they were, but he believed Mazel had the right of it. By the time they found Ingharr, in all likelihood it would be too late. If not, they still had the feud to contend with.

  Mazel threw his hands up. “One I can deal with but not two! You win Shelim, but tell me this: which way do we go?”

  “Toward Calvados of course,” he said surprised that Mazel had not seen that. “As soon as we find the remnants of a tribe we can get Ingharr’s location and head there moire directly.”

  Mazel winced at the reminder of the attack they had just witnessed, but he nodded and went to inform his warriors.

  “Well done, Shelim,” Larn said nodding his approval.

  Shelim was still upset. “This is a waste of time, Larn, and you know it! Ingharr will never listen to us and especially not to Mazel—” he broke off and grudgingly nodded. “But it is our duty to try.”

  “Perhaps he will listen. When Ingharr hears about the attacks he’ll have to listen,” Larn said, but even he sounded doubtful.

  Shelim wasn’t doubtful; he knew the Dragon’s arrogance would hinder their efforts. If it didn’t end it altogether, he would be vastly surprised.

  They rode north for three days before they found evidence of the Hasian’s passage across the plain with their own eyes. The smoke on the horizon had Mazel turning his people in that direction without stopping. The smoke made Shelim nervous, he hadn’t seen anything to worry about in the mirror this morning, but then, he hadn’t seen this smoke either. He fumbled in his medicine pouch and retrieved his mirror. Emma was riding with him this morning and held the mirror carefully while he attempted to call an image while riding. It was unbelievably hard to do, but he managed it finally.

  “The picture isn’t very good, father!” Emma called out over the wind of their passage.

  He sighed. Neither Emma nor Amara had given up their foolishness. He had stopped scolding them days ago. All he could do was hope they found someone else at Denpasser.

  “It’s the best I can do while riding. Can you see anything of the outclanners?”

  “Oh yes look! They’re burning the tents, and everyone is dead like… like mama and papa,” she said sadly.

  He stroked her hair as he tried to see the image over the top of her head. It was dark and shaky, but it was there. The camp was larger than the last one. He could see the horses being driven north already. A small group of outclanners were burning the tents, but where before there had been survivors; this time there was nothing but a heap of burned corpses.

  “Can you see any of our people?” he asked as he moved the image around the camp.

  “No, they’re all gone to the God, father.”

  Gone to the God. Emma had picked up the saying from him when he said that about her parents.

  “Give me the mirror and hold tight,” he said and stuffed the mirror back into his pouch.

  He kicked Nyx into a gallop and raced ahead. He ignored Larn’s cry of surprise as he attempted to reach Mazel before they ran headlong into a battle. The outclanners had twice their number, but Mazel might end this thing right here if he chose wisely. The chief was talking to some of his warriors, but he broke off when he saw Shelim’s urgency.

  “What’s amiss?”

  “Everything these days, but Navarien’s men are just ahead. The entire camp is dead this time. Some of his men are still setting the fires.”

  “How many in the camp?” Mazel demanded.

  “About a hundred I would say,” he said with a hard grin.

  “Right!” Mazel turned and started telling off warriors and they peeled away, galloping in a dozen different directions at once.

  Shelim nodded his approval. Mazel intended to destroy the outclanners at the camp first. After that, they would see what could be done about the larger group. Mazel had chosen the obvious move of putting his warriors between the two outclanner forces, and then hitting what was left of the camp from two directions at once. It would cause the Hasians some confusion, but the main reason for doing it this way was to ensure the main body didn’t interfere. Any move by Navarien’s men to rescue those left at the camp would be seen, and that would give Mazel plenty of time to flee. Hit and run was a favourite clan raiding tactic, and Mazel had instinctively planned to use it here.

  “You and Larn stay back with your girls, Shelim. Keep an eye on the main body of outclanners and watch for any trying to escape.”

  Shelim wanted to protest, but he did have the children to think of. He nodded reluctantly. Larn was using his mirror to watch the fight, and Shelim divided his time between the imag
es called forth and his real world view of the camp.

  Mazel rode forth with half his warriors, the other half were already in position and began moving in toward the ruined camp when he did. The outclanners hadn’t noticed anything yet—correction one had. He watched as an older man began shouting to his comrades. Shelim was impressed at the speed of the outclan warriors. One moment they were afoot lighting fires, the next they were mounted and attempting to flee. Even fleeing they were disciplined. There was no scattering, instead they formed a long line and charged.

  Mazel was taken by surprise at the courageous move, but very few outclanners managed to break out even so. A hundred outclanners against two hundred and fifty clan warriors had little chance, but no chance at all with a second troop charging them from behind. The two troops slammed together and pinned the outclanners between them. Shelim threw two small fireballs and incinerated both escaping outclanners, but no more made it through on his side.

  Larn stood abruptly and threw fireballs high into the air without seeming to aim. He was gazing at the mirror the entire time. Shelim watched the fireballs rise in an arc then fall on the far side of the camp. The image in the mirror told him why. The enemy had been slammed so hard between Mazel’s forces that some few outclanners had squirted out the ends like honey from between two slices of bread. Larn was using the mirror to aim his fire, and to Shelim’s surprise, it was working very well. The fireball appeared in the mirror an instant before it grounded. He felt sorry for the horses, but the pain was over very quick. One moment a man and horse was galloping like the wind, the next a cloud of ash replaced them. Larn was very powerful indeed. He had always known that about Larn, he was the strongest shaman they had, but knowing and seeing were two different things.

  “And that is how we deal with murdering outclanners!” Larn growled nodding as the ash blew away.

  Shelim shivered at the excitement in Larn’s eyes. Kerrion had told him once that he liked using his magic too much, but he hadn’t really understood what he meant. The magic was so wonderful, it was completely understandable for a shaman to enjoy using it, but it should not be pleasurable to kill no matter how the killing was done.

  “Better see what Navarien is doing Larn—Larn!”

  Larn blinked at him. “Hmmm?”

  “Better see what Navarien is doing don’t you think?”

  “Yes. Yes you’re right, forgive my lack of attention.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive Larn, but I really think you should consider using your magic less my friend. You seemed… I don’t know, you seemed mesmerised as if you were divining and not just holding it just then.”

  Larn’s face froze. “Thank you for the concern, but I’m not an apprentice to be told how to live. I’ve told Kerrion and now I’m telling you: I decide when and how to use my magic, not you.”

  He backed off. You just couldn’t help some people. “What is Navarien doing?”

  Larn blinked at the subject change, but turned back to the mirror.

  Shelim sighed in relief and turned to watch Mazel finishing his fight. Sadly, there were empty saddles among Mazel’s troop now. He tried to estimate the number and reluctantly came to a figure of over thirty. It was hard to be sure as riderless horses were running all over the place, but thirty looked about right. Mazel regrouped and began to lead his men out of the camp.

  Larn suddenly cursed and threw a fireball very high into the air heading north. Shelim found the reason in the mirror. Perhaps five hundred outclanners were riding back toward the camp at a full gallop. How they had known they were needed was irrelevant now, but Shelim thought the culprit might have been a loose horse. He grasped his magic and chose to strike one of two men in the lead. He seemed different from the others. He was wearing black robes instead of armour. Armour wouldn’t stop fire in any case, but he threw two of his strongest fireballs at the man just because he was different from the others. He might even be Navarien himself, the man who had caused so much grief for the clans.

  One could hope.

  Mazel reined in and watched in awe as fireballs rose into the air one after another and disappeared northward. Larn was having no difficulty, but Shelim was straining to reach so far.

  “I think we should ride away Mazel,” he said between fireballs.

  The target was so far away that his first fireball had yet to land when his fourth left his hand. He stopped throwing when Larn did to watch the mirror. The fireballs dropped into the picture and struck the ground behind the outclanners.

  “We missed!” Shelim shouted angrily.

  “Not yet, the first ones were almost certain to miss. The outclanners are riding closer don’t forget.”

  He frowned and shook his head at his stupidity. He was ashamed of himself. All of his would miss because he hadn’t taken into account that the outclanners were closing the distance while the balls were in flight. He grasped his magic and threw four more fireballs, but staggered their targets to make up for his error.

  Larn raised an eyebrow but nodded when he saw his earlier attack missing.

  Larn’s fire struck the outclanners all along the length of their column, but he yelled in shock when the telltale blue light of a ward flared to life. The only other time Shelim had seen something like this, was when he fought Duren. The ward was like a warrior’s shield but made of magic. Unlike the one Duren had used, this one was huge! It was protecting all of the outclanners and their attacks were wasted against it.

  “We have to leave right now!” he yelled when the last fireball failed to penetrate the shield.

  Mazel required no urging, but it was too late. Fireballs appeared and dropped into the burning camp and then advanced toward them. Mazel yelled and everyone scattered except the two shamen. Shelim erected his shield and extended it over his friend and both the girls who were clutching them both in fear. Larn snuffed out the fireballs as the warriors made good their escape, while Shelim concentrated on holding the shield. Fireballs pelted the shield and he groaned as the magic was absorbed; the strain of holding the shield grew. If the fight kept on, it would become unmanageable just like last time.

  “We have to retreat!”

  Larn let the badly aimed fireballs through and clouds of steam erupted as they vaporised the snow, and then quickly mounted to follow Mazel. They were far behind and losing ground fast as the chief led his men away at the gallop. The horses didn’t like the shield or the fire that burst around it, but so far they hadn’t tried to bolt. The girls were frightened but they were coping. Shelim was proud of them. He looked back and found the outclanners with his unaided eyes; they were closing. Instead of using fireballs, he chose to use his fire lance. It had worked against Duren. He wanted to heat the outclanner’s shield until it failed. A moment later Larn’s much stronger magic added its fury to his… dwarfed his really. He was putting as much effort into his shield as he was into the fire, but Larn had no such constraint, he was using every scrap he could draw to break through to the outclanners. It wasn’t enough to kill them, but it was enough to make them break off pursuit.

  Shelim kept his fire raging toward the outclanners until he lost the range. Once he was certain he could no longer hit the enemy, he let his fire go, but he kept the shield up. Larn’s range was greater than his, but soon he too could no longer reach the outclanners and reined his fire in.

  “I must practice your shield, Shelim. We would all be dead without it,” Larn said panting. His face was pinched from the effort expended on his magic.

  “I have told you before. Every time someone tries to copy my shield they spend the rest of the day lying down groaning in pain.”

  “I don’t care about that, I have to have one. I have to!”

  He shrugged. If the truth were told, all shamen needed one. He wondered if Kerrion had succeeded in making his yet. At least this time the shield hadn’t reached the point where it threatened to escape his grasp, but it was still uncomfortable. He hesitated, but…

  “Why not?” he mused.r />
  “What?” Larn said but his mouth snapped shut as Shelim allowed the shield to discharge.

  Instead of wasting the magic by aiming it into the sky like last time, he aimed it back at the outclanners. He had no thoughts of actually hitting them, he had left his range far behind, but he thought the gesture a good one. A solid bar of magic roared back toward the outclanners and almost instantly smashed into the shield covering them. It felt as if he was trying to push Nyx forward as the magic howled and rushed back. The thunderous roar drowned out Larn’s gasp of shock. Shelim could hear the teeth grinding in his head as he struggled to prevent the bar from swinging sideways and killing his friends. The shield was trying to spin like a wheel on its axle. He envisioned himself as the axle and tried to clamp the cursed thing solid.

  That he’d hit the outclanners at such a distance testified to the amount of magic the shield had absorbed, but although the outclanner’s shield was flaring and crackling in distress, the cursed thing was still holding! Whoever the outclan shaman was, he was cursed powerful! Finally, after what seemed an eternity but was actually moments only, the bar of magic stuttered then strengthened for a moment before winking out altogether. Shelim’s jaw was aching and he was sweating in the cold air as he let his now quietly humming shield go. It disappeared with a sizzle and snap like a log on the campfire.

  Larn blinked and snapped his mouth shut with an audible click.

  Mazel was waiting for them a few leagues ahead. His outriders gave up their positions as they saw their shamen riding in, and fell back covering their flanks until they were all again concentrated waiting for their chief to speak.

  “How can a warrior fight such a horror as fire falling from the sky?” Mazel said.

  The warriors nodded and wondered aloud where the honour was to be found in such a fight. Shelim opened his mouth to speak angrily, but Mazel silenced him and the warriors with an upraised hand.