Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3

by Mark E. Cooper

  “So you’re saying the only reason they contact each other at set times of the day is tradition?”

  “Not the only reason. I do think it’s the main one. A sorcerer’s training follows a set pattern, a pattern set down centuries ago. That kind of schooling doesn’t lead to original thinking.”

  Lucius looked grim. The training of boys under Castle Black was torture, pure and simple. Many died as they were pushed beyond endurance. The fittest survived; the others died or were killed as object lessons or even as targets for the novices in training.

  “You’re right,” Lucius said and shook himself free of grim thoughts. “Obedience is the mainstay of the Protectorate. Obey or die is a way of life for a sorcerer.”

  She nodded. Lucius had lived that life for many years, but he was free of it now. He was intelligent, and that intelligence had been stifled in the Protectorate. He delighted in investigating things to see what he could unearth about them. Julia found it hard to imagine her friend as he must have been living below Castle Black, and she thanked God for it. She didn’t need more nightmares.

  She left her friends discussing how they might test the new spell and made her way toward the Wolf Clan’s camp. Her luck seemed to be in today, so she decided to use it on Tobiah while it lasted. As she walked through first one camp then another, she noticed a change in atmosphere. If she remembered Kerrion’s lessons correctly, the first camp she had entered belonged to a tribe of Cricket Clan. The people took note of her, but no more than they would for any other shaman. That was surprising and gratifying. Surprising, in that although Julia was wearing a shaman’s beaded tunic and leggings she was obviously a woman and therefore unusual. And gratifying, in that everyone knew the only female shaman was an outclanner. The lack of outward interest, or more importantly hostility, in an outclanner passing through the camp was very welcome.

  When she entered Horse Clan’s main encampment she felt the difference. The people walking by felt extremely hostile to her. No one said or did anything, but she felt them watching her, staring at her. Shelim had told her all about his adventures with Mazel and Horse Clan, so she knew that many of these people had seen Navarien’s handiwork first hand. Navarien was a monster to them, but he was also an outclanner. They obviously weren’t happy having more outclanners nearby.

  At least they didn’t do anything. They contented themselves with hostile staring.

  Julia made her way through other camps and received varying responses. Most were open and friendly, some were like Cricket Clan in their acceptance of her, but then there were the Wolves.

  She knew as soon as she entered the camp that she had made a mistake. Women and children stared for a moment then quietly withdrew into their tents. In moments, the only people in sight were warriors. Rather than slow her pace and therefore broadcast victim to all and sundry, she continued as if unaware that a problem existed. It did exist though and she grasped her magic in case of trouble.

  This was all Tobiah’s fault. The younger warrior’s patterned their attitudes after his likes and dislikes. One thing the chief disliked above all things was outclanners. He was a holy terror on the subject. She didn’t know why he should be the worst when no clansmen thought well of outclanners, but he was.

  “You don’t belong here, outclanner. Go back where you came from,” a young woman with a sword on her hip said.

  “I’m visiting a friend. Tobiah and I have things to discuss,” she said and pushed on by.

  The woman gave way in surprise at hearing who she planned to visit. Julia was congratulating herself when she came upon a group of young warriors intent on blocking her path.

  “No Wolf is a friend of an outclanner, least of all Tobiah,” a man said from within the group.

  “You speak for the chief of chiefs do you?” she asked.

  “I speak for myself.”

  “From within a group like an honourless…” she couldn’t say outclanner. “Dog!”

  There was a rumble of anger from the warriors and a man stepped forward. He had mousy coloured hair worn long and braided with feathers and beads. His face and body was bronzed from the sun and he had intense blue eyes. He was very pretty, she thought—if you liked muscle-bound children—and she didn’t. It seemed likely that if he’d already had his manhood ceremony, it had been recent—very recent.

  “You would turn me away?”

  “We will.”

  “As I said. I have things to discuss with Tobiah, but if you think you can send me back go right ahead.”

  The boyish warrior was uncertain. He did not draw his sword, which was lucky for him, but he did move forward and that was enough. Julia touched him with one finger and infused him with exhaustion. He collapsed instantly asleep. She looked up from the sleeping warrior and saw dozens of stunned and fearful faces. She should have known her luck would desert her.

  “Well?” she said when no one moved.

  A gap opened in their midst and she walked between them listening to their fearful voices. Why did she always have to frighten people just to do what was necessary?

  “…shaman…”

  “I knew we shouldn’t have…”

  “An outclanner and a shaman, what could be worse?”

  Julia snorted. What could be worse? In Tobiah’s eyes, being a woman, an outclanner, and a shaman was quite enough!

  She eventually found Tobiah speaking with the chiefs. She recognised a few of them and knew them to be friendly toward her. Kadar was among them and Allard also. Petya was sitting to one side and he stood to give her his place in the group. Others glared at her as she sat in their midst. She knew the worst ones were Wolf Clan tribal chiefs. Kornel winked and she smiled. Kornel was the only Wolf Clan chief she knew who was in anyway friendly.

  “I need to speak with you,” she said, addressing herself to Tobiah where he sat glaring at her.

  Tobiah was not happy, but he was civil. “What have you to say?”

  “I want you to allow my friends to accompany you when you move against Navarien.”

  The expected explosion did not come from Tobiah. Instead, there was a hiss of outrage from the Wolf Clan contingent among the chiefs. Shouts of no and send her away were quickly silenced by Tobiah’s glare. Mazel looked far from happy with her request as well. He leaned in and whispered something that Tobiah obviously did not like and he gestured Mazel away.

  “Why do you want this? You are an outclanner’s women. An outclanner yourself.”

  She frowned. Why did she care what happened to this fool? The answer was that she didn’t care about him. She tried not to care if he lived or died, but if she was brutally honest with herself, she would prefer him dead. That thought would have horrified the Julia of two years ago, but she was a different person now from that naïve young girl.

  “Unlike you, I take no insult from the truth, Tobiah. I am an outclanner, but I have friends here and I would not see them hurt. For you however, I feel nothing but contempt.”

  Tobiah’s eyes narrowed as her words went home. “If you were a warrior I would—”

  “Don’t bother,” she said. “I’ve heard challenges before. Why did you want to become chief of chiefs?”

  Tobiah blinked at the subject change. He was still angry and having trouble thinking of anything else. That was exactly what she was talking about! The man had no self control. He was a disaster as chief of chiefs.

  “I am chief of chiefs because I am strongest.”

  “That’s not what I asked. Why did you want to lead?”

  “The question is meaningless! Any warrior with honour would want to be a chief, and any chief would want to be chief of chiefs.”

  There was a rumble of agreement throughout the tent.

  “I’m sure you’re right. You wanted to be chief for the great honour to be gained.”

  “Yes. I lead the clans north tomorrow and—”

  “There is no honour in defeat! Besides, you’re not leading the clans north. You’re leading the warriors north!
”

  “It’s the same thing! Why are you baiting me?”

  Julia ignored that. “It’s not the same thing, Tobiah. Without the shamen you and your warriors will die. I don’t care about you, but without the warriors, the women and children will be helpless.”

  “Outclanners are weak,” Tobiah hissed. “Not my people. None among us is weak!”

  “She is right, Tobiah,” Mazel said grimly. “I’ve tried to tell you but you would not listen. I have seen fire raining from the sky. Without shamen at our sides we will be helpless! How can we fight fire from the sky without fire of our own?”

  The chiefs were worried. Julia could see it clearly. Mazel had only said what many of them were thinking. They were right to worry in her opinion.

  Tobiah glared hotly at Mazel. “Outclanners are weak!”

  “If you think General Navarien is weak then you are sorely mistaken,” she said bringing Tobiah’s attention back to her. “That goes for the sorcerers as well. Believe me Tobiah, I beg you. Without magic you will all die.”

  She willed the idiot to see the truth, but she could see him dismissing her words even as she watched. It didn’t help that she was an outclanner of course, but she was also the next best thing to a shaman. Tobiah didn’t like shamen—he believed them to be weak and manipulative, and they did sometimes manipulate events, but they always did so for the good of their people. Tobiah would not see it that way though. Before he could leave, Julia had an idea.

  “Wait, before you go, Tobiah, I have a question. Do you think of yourself as a good chief?”

  “I am a good chief.”

  “And you believe that being a good chief means having good judgement as well as good warrior skills?”

  Julia waited with baited breath for him to fall for it.

  “I agree,” Tobiah said warily.

  “Then I ask for a judgement!” she crowed.

  Ha, she had him! She had him right where she wanted him. All she had to do now was prove that his warriors needed the shaman to win this war. How she would do that she had no idea, but she would think of something—Tobiah was grinning and shaking his head. Mazel looked away.

  “What? You have to call the people together now. Right?”

  Tobiah laughed. “Wrong!”

  “But you have to!” she said in outrage. “I’ve asked you—you’re a chief, so you have to do it.”

  “No I don’t. You’re not clan. You have no rights in my eyes. If it weren’t for Kadar, you would be gone. When I lead my warriors north, you and your people are going south.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. She looked to the other chiefs, but none would look her in the eye. She had two days. What could she do in two days?

  She couldn’t think of a thing.

  * * *

  16 ~ Legion

  Demophon couldn’t believe it! The others, his so-called brothers, were happy with the situation as it stood. Happy with it! Wotan had turned the world on its head and they were content to let him. Never had sorcerers taken orders from non-mages, but here they not only did take orders, they took them happily from mere sergeants and captains! The legions served sorcerers; they did not order them!

  Demophon found Odelyn in his tent doggedly eating some bread and cheese. He glanced around at the mess then cleared a space to sit on the ground opposite his friend.

  “So, what are you doing hiding in here?”

  “My captain,” Odelyn said with a sneer. “My captain has given me a candlemark to rest. He said I must be tired because I wasn’t pulling my weight.”

  He covered his grin by coughing into his fist.

  “That sounds nasty my friend, have a cup of wine,” Odelyn said in concern. “Not surprising you’re health is suffering in these conditions.”

  What an idiot.

  He was careful not to let his contempt show. He erected a ward against scrying. What he had to speak of could be called treason by certain unenlightened people.

  “Have you talked to the others?”

  Odelyn nodded. “They’re all behind us—far behind if you take my meaning. Those serving Captains Meran, Bannan, and Nissus will back us, but they won’t help in the actual removal.”

  That was something at least. Odelyn had fared better than he. Demophon had tried those serving in Turner’s, Corbin’s, and Tikva’s battalions, but every one of them was happy with the situation as is. That just left those assigned to Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth battalions. He hadn’t spoken with them as yet, but he had little hope that they would help.

  “Cowards the lot of them,” Demophon growled.

  Odelyn nodded in agreement. “Yes cowards all, but that means we two will have to do it.”

  Not me… you.

  “That can be arranged and it will,” he said. “You say the others will back us once the deed is done?”

  “Absolutely,” Odelyn said eagerly. “No one is completely happy with Wotan running things even though he seems to be doing a reasonable job. The strongest must lead. It has always been that way. I will lead with you as my second as tradition dictates.”

  Second? I don’t think so you incompetent lush!

  “I will arrange to meet Wotan privately,” Demophon said. “You’ll have to arrange something to distract Magar for a while.”

  “That should not be difficult. Once he’s out of the way, I’ll come to your meeting and we can take care of Wotan together.”

  “I can take him alone, there’s no need—”

  “I said… we will take him together!” Odelyn said coldly. “You must remember your place my friend. I am stronger; you will do as I say.”

  “I will comply with your orders of course,” Demophon said trying to keep his laughter from breaking free and ruining everything.

  “Good. Once Wotan and Magar are taken care of, I will arrange something for Navarien and that bastard captain. Death by fire is too good for them.”

  Imbecile!

  “Navarien is too well liked by his men. We need him to win this little war for us. Afterwards you can remove him, but I strongly suggest not before.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. Just Meran then.”

  “Under captains are nothing,” he agreed. “Navarien is an able soldier by all accounts. He will win this war for you, and Mortain will reward you greatly.”

  “I won’t forget your help, Demophon. I promise you that. I will see to it that Mortain learns of your efforts on his behalf.”

  “I thank you my lord sorcerer.”

  Odelyn laughed. “Lord Sorcerer. It sounds good doesn’t it? Better be careful though, you know what will happen if Wotan hears.”

  He nodded. As Lewin would say: what a dick-head!

  * * *

  The stench of death hung heavy upon the early morning air. Navarien viewed the scene with some disgust, but was careful to project only mild interest on his face. It was something he was well used to doing, this covering of thoughts and emotions. At home, not that anywhere was home really, but at home, he had to cover his true thoughts as a matter of course. It was survival.

  “It seems a shame,” Wotan murmured.

  “Hmmm,” he replied noncommittally.

  It was a shame, but necessary. Thirty thousand soldiers needed a great deal of food. Fortunately, or unfortunately if you were a bison, there was a great deal of food wandering loose on the hoof.

  “How many now?”

  He shrugged and tried to estimate the number by the heaps of bones that lay scattered across the plain. There were so many that his men had to continually move to fresh ground hoping to avoid tripping over the offal of slaughtered bison. He watched another wave of javelins as they felled hundreds of the huge animals. It was good practise for the men as well.

  “Sixty thousand?” Navarien said uncertainly.

  “That should be enough don’t you think?”

  “Probably. I want every one of them though.”

  The ever present Magar grunted. “It had better be enough.”

  Na
varien remembered the journey to Calvados very well. So did his men. He wouldn’t be caught short again if he could help it. The meat of sixty thousand bison was more than enough for his men’s needs, but why not have seventy thousand while he had the animals on hand? No reason except sentiment not to, and good reasons to go ahead and finish this herd. Besides, sentiment would not fill his men’s bellies. The campaign would go a lot easier if they didn’t have to worry about where their next meal was coming from. Usually food and other supplies were transported with the baggage, but this time things would be just a little different. Curing the meat would ensure they had food enough to last through the war. The baggage train was so big it could almost be called a legion in itself, but by curing the meat into strips, he could supply each man with enough to last him two tendays without weighing them down too much. With supply no longer a concern, they could roam the plain at will just as the clans did.

  He had roughly twenty eight thousand men, of which three oversize battalions—nine thousand men—were mounted. The cavalry would be deployed forward of the main body sweeping an arc encompassing the forward half of a circle, which would use the baggage and infantry as its centre. He would arrange his deployments so that each battalion could return for resupply at staggered intervals. In this way his infantry would be screened at all times, thereby keeping any clan warriors at a distance until he deemed the time advantageous for battle.

  “Any problems I should be aware of?” Wotan said as they turned away from the slaughter.

  Navarien walked slowly by Wotan’s side with his hands clasped behind him and thought about the changes his legion had undergone. Magar of course followed a step behind both of them. Captains Duer, Tikva, and Bannan were still at Calvados overseeing the last days of their battalion’s training. He had given each captain a core of veteran legionnaires to stiffen their commands, which would provide a strong example to the new men. The march south would toughen them he had no doubt. He had sent Cragson along with Turner to procure something that might well prove decisive in this war. Under cover of darkness and warded against scrying, Cragson would equip the men with long pikes. Hidden in the long grass they could prove devastating to the clan warriors when they charged his seemingly vulnerable infantry. He could hardly wait to see how it worked!