Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3

by Mark E. Cooper

  Nisim sighed in exasperation. “Not you, them! We are slaves no longer. We will not allow outsiders within our camp.”

  “It’s partly your own fault you know. I told you about calling yourselves whores. Is it any wonder the men believe you are what you say? Names are important.”

  “We’ve been whores all our lives, we’re not ashamed of it.”

  “I didn’t say you were, or that you should be. Look, you say you are free now—”

  “We are!”

  “Why then do you insist in naming yourselves something you are not? We both know your people do not sell their services. You are no longer what you name yourselves. What point in pretending?”

  He frowned and tried to explain. “The slaves you brought out of Talayan have been scattered far and wide over Tanjung, yet we are still here. We are still together. Naming ourselves whores is part of that. We are family, Methrym. That is how we think of ourselves at least. All the others are wandering alone now, but we are together. Do you see?”

  “Not really. You’re saying that naming yourselves whores keeps you together?”

  “Partly. By keeping the name, we remind ourselves of where we came from. None of us have left since escaping from Talayan.”

  Methrym did not look convinced. “No matter. What would you have me do about your situation?”

  “Order your captains to stop their men from intruding.”

  “I can do that, but you know it will make no difference. Men are men, and you have the only women outside the walls of Nelek that are in any way accessible. You know what would happen if they tried for those with Terriss.”

  Terriss would hang them head down over his camp fire for the women’s entertainment. He had done it before. “We can stop them for you, but I want your word that you won’t retaliate.”

  Methrym pursed his lips. “You have my word that if they disobey my orders, you may deal with them as you see fit without fear of retaliation, but I want something in return.”

  Nisim’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “Your input in my planning, and you as your people’s captain.”

  Nisim shook his head. “Joz is—”

  “Joz did not live in Talitha’s palace. You did.”

  “Joz is my friend and already our captain. I will not betray him by taking his place.”

  “Very well. Just the planning sessions then.”

  Nisim nodded reluctantly.

  “Good. I’ll walk you back and we can discuss it on the way.”

  Nisim slowly retraced his steps through Methrym’s camp reminiscing about days past. He spoke of his father and mother, and how it was he didn’t know if she lived.

  “And your father?”

  “Dead,” Nisim said. “He worked on the docks… well, in the warehouses really. I did as well.”

  “I heard you lived in the palace.”

  “I did, but that was much later. As a boy I worked in the warehouses and loaded the ships bound for Tindebrai. My father died in that same warehouse.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “Don’t be. He lived long for a slave. It’s my mother I wonder about. She was sold when I was a child. I doubt she still lives.”

  “How did you end in the palace?”

  “Jarek liked me.”

  “Talitha’s chamberlain?”

  “Him yes. He was looking for a certain type of slave for Talitha and thought I would please her. I was only fourteen then, but Jarek used the time until my seventeenth year to train me for my duties.”

  Methrym was silent but Nisim knew he wanted to ask. He grinned into the darkness remembering that time. It was probably the best of his life.

  “You can ask.”

  “What?” Methrym said.

  “About my training? You were wondering.”

  “I don’t want to pry.”

  “It’s all right; I don’t mind talking about it. I was taken to the palace and given new clothes and a set of rooms to live in. You cannot imagine what it was like for a slave like me to be suddenly elevated to living in the palace. It was like a dream. I was branded with this,” Nisim pulled his shirt aside to display the brand.

  Methrym hissed. “It’s deep. That must have hurt.”

  “It did,” he said and pulled his cloak back to cover himself. “It means no one may touch me but Talitha, or rather it did. I used weights to keep and increase my strength, and Jarek supplied girls to teach me what I needed to know to please Talitha… it was a wonderful time for me. I lived there for almost five years.”

  “You sound like you want to go back.”

  Nisim shrugged uncomfortably. “I cannot go back. If I did I would be executed.”

  Methrym nodded to the sentries as they left the confines of his camp. “You cannot go back you said. That’s not the same as saying you do not wish to.”

  Nisim stopped and stared toward the bridge and the woods beyond. There was movement that way; he was sure he had seen something. He strained his eyes looking for what had caught his attention.

  “Nisim? Do you want to go back?”

  “Have you any patrols out over the river?” he asked ignoring the question.

  “No.”

  “There’s someone coming… a lot of some ones!”

  Methrym cursed and turned to run back to camp. Nisim followed closely on his heels as hundreds of men on horseback poured over the bridge. Methrym was shouting at the top of his lungs as he ran into camp. A few confused and tired men pushed their heads out of their tents as he ran by wondering what was happening.

  “…matter with him?”

  “Don’t know—”

  “It’s Methrym, he looks upset—”

  Methrym finally reached his tent and kicked his signaller awake. “Sound stand to, boy!”

  “What… what is it… who… what?”

  “Sound stand to!” Methrym roared and came back out of his tent with his sword bared.

  “Yes Sir!”

  Nisim winced as the boy blew his cornet as hard as he could in the pattern called stand to. The camp erupted with men half dressed but carrying swords and shields. Methrym rushed away and took charge.

  “To the south!” Methrym roared. “Enemy to the south!”

  Nisim watched Methrym lead his men to war and felt useless. He didn’t want to fight and perhaps kill his own people, but he didn’t want to be killed by them either. He ducked into an empty tent and came out with a sword and dagger. He didn’t know how to use either one very well, Terriss’ lessons hadn’t progressed very far, but he felt better with them in hand.

  He moved around the camp and away from the fighting. He stopped to watch and cringed at the screams of the dying. Men were screaming and shouting in rage, horses were whinnying and rearing in pain. Men fell and were trampled or were simply cut down where they stood. Everything was chaos. He looked east to where his own camp lay hidden in the trees then back to the fighting and made a decision. There was no way he was joining Methrym in that mess.

  He ran for home.

  “What’s going on?” Garym shouted well before he reached the safety of the trees. “What’s happening?”

  “Wake everyone up. The war is here.”

  Garym didn’t question. He dashed off shouting for all he was worth. “Wake! Wake! The war is here! Wake!”

  Nisim watched the battle stony faced. If they brought it up here, Japurans or not, he would kill them all.

  * * *

  Julia felt thoroughly miserable and it was all her own fault. She should have known telling Keverin she was staying with the Night Wind was a mistake. Mathius had tried to warn her, but she hadn’t listened.

  She loved Keverin so much it hurt, but she had allowed herself to forget what he was. Not only was he the man she loved, he was also Lord Athione and Lord Protector of the west. It was the Lord Protector and not Keverin the man she found herself in conflict with. Lord Athione had responsibilities awaiting him at home, responsibilities he could not put aside, yet
Keverin loved her as much as she loved him and needed to be where she was. The two could not be reconciled.

  She should have asked him. That is all it would have taken she was sure. If she had asked him to stay for her honour’s sake, he would have. She knew he would, but somehow she found herself telling not asking and that led to his demand that she leave for Athione with him. No one demanded things of her—she never heeded demands. She had reacted angrily without thought and now things were ruined between them. She missed him terribly, though he was just a short walk away. They were not speaking, and had not for more than a few days. Keverin watched her from across the camp, a distance that felt like leagues, and she watched him with her mirror, but they never spoke.

  Julia sighed and climbed to her feet. Jihan and Adrik were leaving for Deva today. She wanted to say goodbye. Jihan was in his tent packing when she ducked inside. He travelled light, but he had a few presents to take home to his wife. Her present to her friend was in those bundles somewhere. She hoped Ahnao liked it.

  “There, all done,” Jihan said with a smile for her. “I will miss our talks, Julia, but I must confess I yearn for home.”

  She grinned. “Love does that.”

  Jihan nodded with a sober face. “Just go to him and apologise. We two have spoken. I know he regrets his harsh words. Just go to him.”

  She shook her head instinctively. “If he wants to speak with me all he has to do is come to my tent.”

  “An argument takes two people. They always have two sides. A wise man, or woman, should realise this and try to see the other side.”

  “I do see his side. I swear I do, but I can’t let these people face Navarien without me. They saved my life, Jihan. I owe them.”

  “I know you do, and Keverin has admitted his debt to them also. This argument is pure foolishness.”

  “I know,” Julia said sadly, but it did not change things. Her father always said her temper would get her into trouble one day.

  Jihan hefted his bundles and ducked outside with Julia following a step behind.

  Adrik was chatting with Lorcan who looked downcast at their imminent separation. Their friendship was something of a surprise to Julia. Adrik was Lord Ascol now. He had met Lorcan in Devarr last year before taking his father’s seat on the council. Lorcan had nearly killed him, had in fact been debating with himself for many a day after that chance meeting. Now they were the best of friends. If anyone looked crosswise at Adrik, that person had better have eyes in the back of his head because Lorcan would be there. The boy was good at sneaking and was deadly with the dagger. He always carried one hidden about his person and, Julia suspected, he carried more than one.

  Jihan tied his bundles to the back of his saddle and mounted Jezy. Adrik clasped Lorcan’s hand then climbed into his own saddle. A brief time later, Jihan and Adrik led the Malcorans out of camp and away south to Deva. Julia stood by Keverin’s side. So close, yet there was a gulf of distance between them. They watched Jihan ride out of sight before turning silently away. Julia almost said she was sorry—almost, but Keverin continued walking and did not see.

  She wandered through the crowds of clansmen not really seeing them or where she was going. What was she going to do? She knew Jihan was right, but the thought of crawling to Keverin and asking for forgiveness made her so angry! She wasn’t in the wrong… but then neither was Keverin really. Athione did need him and he did have responsibilities back there. Kev had told her about Gy’s changed behaviour—about his threat to remove him from lordship of Athione, and that worried her. He needed to be in the fortress where he belonged not in Camorin.

  Julia stopped and watched a weaver at her work wondering what was to be done. What she needed, she decided, was an excuse to talk to him—a peace offering. Yes! A present especially made for him. She had the perfect thing in mind, and it would thumb her nose at that pig Tobiah at the same time. That idea was damn attractive. She grinned in mischief. Keverin’s nameday was nearly here and he was touchy about his age. No, that was wrong. It was the difference in his age compared to hers that worried him. She would make him a present and they would all celebrate his nameday. So what if he was almost forty three years old, so what if he was touchy about it. She grinned again, and so what if everyone would find out!

  She laughed quietly under her breath hurried away to find what she needed. Lucius would help her with the difficult part.

  * * *

  10 ~ Practise

  Navarien pursed his lips and nodded. “This appears to be all of them,” he mused.

  In one of the mirrors he could see an assemblage of camps scattered around a central and larger camp. Some of the tribes totalled little more than a dozen families, where others had many thousands of people. There were dozens and dozens of tribes, but he was unconcerned.

  “All?” Wotan said glancing from the mirrors to the enemy and back. “You are sure?”

  “Well no, but I think it a good possibility. Corbin’s scouts have scoured the plain and found nothing but herds of bison where the clans used to be. It seems all but Dragon Clan have left.”

  “To where?”

  “Denpasser of course,” he said with brows raised. “It is the only sensible destination, and a good move from their point of view. I’m sure they intend to come back and contest me en masse.”

  “And you are pleased by this?”

  “Certainly. The legions excel at what the clans do poorly—fight in disciplined ranks to a disciplined plan. By retiring to Denpasser and attempting to join forces, they are playing directly into my hands. Their warriors are unused to fighting as we do. Any attempt to do so will end in failure. Furthermore, we have news of ongoing feuds among the tribes.”

  “Old news, General,” Wotan cautioned. “I fear we will receive nothing further from our people hidden among the clans. Somehow they were found out and dealt with.”

  “No harm done. Bringing feuding warriors into close proximity is bound to cause problems for them. They would have done much better to stay separate and attack me from all sides. Their attempt to match me in my own area of expertise will be their downfall. They are simply unused to thinking the way I do.”

  “You are confident, but are you overconfident?”

  “I don’t think so, but that is what this test is for.”

  “Combined arms,” Wotan mused, “I find it strange that no one else has fought in this way. Perhaps there is a reason for that.”

  “Not so. Oh, you’re right about this exact thing never having been tried, but each component has been used successfully for centuries. Bringing them all together is a logical step. There’s nothing in the plan that will interfere with each unit’s effectiveness. Each has its task independent of the others. We are just making them perform them at the same time.”

  Navarien turned back to the array of mirrors before him. This was a novel way to fight a war. He was standing beside a table under a brightly coloured awning surrounded by sorcerers talking to other sorcerers via their mirrors. He watched the clansmen mounting up and moving toward his forces; everything was going according to plan.

  “You may start your bombardment when they reach there,” Navarien said pointing to a place about a third of the way between the clan camp and his earthworks. “Not before then, if you please my lord sorcerer. We want this to be a valid test of the tactic.”

  “I understand,” Wotan said and turned to give his orders to his mages. A moment later, he turned back. “All have acknowledged your instructions, General.”

  “Thank you,” Navarien said and watched the clansmen come. “About now wouldn’t you say?”

  “Just about.”

  The first fireballs rose into the air and began falling among the clansmen. Dirt and burning bodies erupted into the air. Horses went down en masse and with them their riders. It was a complete slaughter. Those hit by the fire were dead before they hit the ground, they had no chance of survival. Those lucky enough to avoid the sorcerous flames—a surprisingly large number act
ually, charged the sorcerers only to be met with a hail of javelins thrown from the infantry.

  “I have a request from Odelyn, Wotan,” Magar said. “He wants to fire the camps.”

  “No!” Navarien snapped.

  Wotan eyed him coldly for just a moment before turning to Magar. “Inform Odelyn that he has his orders. Tell him to carry them out to the letter or I will send his head to Mortain in a pickle jar.”

  Magar bowed and turned to give the order.

  “I’m—” he began to apologise.

  “Do not presume on our friendship too far, General,” Wotan said in a surprisingly conversational tone. “I am lead mage of the Fifth. You tell me what you require, and I will deliver it if I can. If I cannot, I will tell you why not. You will never embarrass me in front of my people again. Is that clear?”

  Navarien glanced at Demophon across the table. He was watching the confrontation with interest. He would wager his horse that every sorcerer around the table was listening intently and perhaps planning a way to use this to his advantage.

  He bowed deeply. “I apologise, my lord sorcerer. It was not my intention to usurp your authority.”

  Wotan glanced aside at Magar and nodded. Magar relaxed and returned to his mirror. “Let us speak no more of it.”

  He nodded and turned his attention back to the battle. Corbin was manoeuvring to bring his battalion to bear on the warriors as they regained some order, but he was unused to the added time it took for so many men to assemble. Navarien frowned in annoyance. That he had predicted this didn’t matter. Corbin was used to commanding a thousand men not three thousand. The resulting confusion was reminiscent of a battalion of raw recruits.

  “Contact Corbin, if you would my lord sorcerer. Tell him to get his men out of the flaming way before I do it for him.”

  Wotan smiled and did that and a moment later said, “He protests your order, General, but he will endeavour to obey—his words I hasten to add.”

  Navarien snorted. “Endeavour to obey indeed. He’s been talking to Tikva again.”

  “They seem good friends.”

  “Hmmm,” he mumbled as he turned to a different mirror this time showing him Captain Meran’s infantry. “Thank the God for a cool head.”