Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3

by Mark E. Cooper

  “I’m waiting for an answer, Sergeant. I order you to tell me.”

  Manaba looked worse if anything. “Captain Hedda says he was ordered to drop all of us.”

  “Oh?” he said turning to the now glaring Hedda.

  “General Menelaus ordered me to disband the honour guard, my lord sorcerer. I am to report for new duties with the Legion in a matter of tendays.”

  Hedda wanted to go back into the field. It was hardly surprising really. He was a young man with many years ahead of him. He wanted to fight and gain rank at his chosen profession. Godwinson could understand that, but the honour guard was a tradition that went back centuries. Disbanding a unit with such history behind it would set a bad precedent.

  “Captain Hedda, you are dismissed as commanding officer of the honour guard. At the earliest opportunity you will board ship and rejoin your legion.”

  Captain Hedda bowed stiffly and stomped away.

  He shook his head. The fool didn’t realise he had just been given what he most wanted. Godwinson turned back to the uneasy looking legionnaires. They were unsure of themselves now that their captain was gone. He decided to fix that while he was here.

  “Manaba stand forth.”

  The sergeant did not hesitate and stopped a pace before him.

  “You are hereby promoted to the rank of Under Captain. Further, you will take command of the honour guard and ensure its current high standards are maintained. The honour guard will not be disbanded.”

  Manaba saluted and stepped into his place at Godwinson’s elbow to finish the inspection. All the men were turned out to perfection, as he would expect. No other formation had so many years of service embodied within it. All these men were capable of leading, but unfortunately they needed only one captain. Manaba was it.

  “Well, Captain. You and your men have reinforced my opinion that the honour guard is the best unit we have. Keep up the tradition my friend.”

  “We will my lord sorcerer. I thank you on behalf of my men.”

  Godwinson smiled at Manaba’s exquisite courtesy, he had probably used up his store for an entire year on that little speech.

  Now that the inspection was over, Manaba dismissed the greater portion of his men. Together with two others, he escorted Godwinson and his friends to the Black Ship. There was no need for an escort. Mahaan was a peaceful little town really; the only trouble that Manaba would ever have to deal with was an occasional drunken sailor.

  Manaba saluted and left them at the door of the inn. Godwinson preferred the fuss be kept to a minimum and he had known that.

  Felda led the way inside and the others followed him. The inn was exactly as he remembered it. The Black Ship was unlike most inns. Stepping inside was more like entering a friend’s home than a common room of an inn. The owner was a personal friend of most sorcerers passing through Mahaan.

  The common room was like a comfortable lounging room at the castle. The light was low and lent an air of privacy. There were strange plants and flowers from far off places, and quiet music supplied by musicians in their own little nook out of sight. There was no bar or counter, instead servants trained to remember everything the inn had to offer walked silently to and fro taking orders and delivering food and drink just like the servants at the castle. One could be fooled into thinking it was an expensive eatery and not an inn at all, but that was not so. Stairs in one corner led to comfortable rooms on the second and third floors all with access to bathing rooms. The Black Ship was a big place, built a short time after the Founding; it represented the oldest building barring the castle on the Black Isle.

  Godwinson noted with pleasure the lack of interest he was shown by the other black robed men. Notoriety could be wearying, but then he noticed Beltran’s frown.

  “What is it?”

  Beltran was scanning faces faster and faster. The expression upon his face turned from a frown to worry. “I don’t like this,” he rumbled with his eyes still roving the crowd.

  “What’s not to like?” Eban said trying to see what had agitated their friend.

  “These men,” Beltran gestured at the sorcerers nearby. “Every one of them is stronger than I am. If Mortain ordered them all here, he is planning something.”

  Godwinson frowned and scanned the room for familiar faces. He found them. Although he did not know every name here, he did know them by sight. Beltran was right. Something was going on. He turned to Kontar and beckoned him forward.

  “Once we’re settled, I want you to find out what’s happening here. Make it seem as if you’re tired of my company and try to weasel out Mortain’s reasoning for having this much power in one place at one time.”

  “With pleasure. I haven’t had a chance to chat with our brothers since Banswara.”

  He nodded and moved further into the room. As soon as he did so, Santo came forward to greet him.

  “Ah it is good to see you again my lord sorcerer,” Santo said with a smile of welcome and arms out to hug him. “It’s been far too long.”

  Godwinson was surprised at the treatment. Felda was alarmed and twitched as if about to blast the man, but Godwinson hurriedly signalled his people to calm down.

  “I need to speak with you, but not here,” Santo whispered in Godwinson’s ear before breaking the embrace. “What can I get you?” Santo went on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

  He scrambled to catch up. “Ah… seven rooms for the night, my friend, and a meal. How about your…” he rattled off something but for the life of him he could not remember what it was a moment later.

  What was going on? Did Mortain know? That was a question he had asked himself many times, and every time the answer appeared to be that he didn’t, but did he? Everything was in place now; he could set everything in motion with a word, but was it necessary even yet? Things weren’t proceeding perfectly to plan, but then what did? Navarien had lost too many men last year, but the objective had been attained even if the plan had to be subsequently altered. Was Mortain planning to remove him? That was the question.

  Santo seated them at a table and waved his people over to take orders for food and wine. Godwinson wasn’t hungry. In truth, he felt uneasy surrounded by so many powerful and unfamiliar sorcerers. Any or all of these men could have been ordered by Mortain to kill him and he would not know until too late, but surely he would be more circumspect than that. He would most likely do the deed himself. With that realisation, he began to relax and eat his dinner.

  Santo appeared after the meal and led them personally to their rooms. Felda of course refused to leave his side and Godwinson had no problem with that tonight. Santo looked meaningfully at him then left. If he was correct, he was to expect a late night visit from Santo.

  “What was that about?” Felda said faintly annoyed.

  He grasped his magic and raised a ward against scrying. “Santo wants to talk to me, but he’s worried about being seen or overheard.”

  Felda’s eyebrows shot up. “You got that from one glance?”

  Godwinson laughed. “No, he whispered it when he hugged me downstairs.”

  “Good thinking with Kontar. He’ll find out what’s happening.”

  “True, but I’m Godwinson—I should know already! If Mortain isn’t working against me I should know it, but I don’t. Therefore he is working against me. Does that make sense?”

  “Normally I’d say no, but now? Who can say?”

  “Kontar and Santo I hope.”

  “I’ll stay here tonight.”

  Godwinson glanced at the candle on the side table. It was eighth mark. He had a while to wait for his answers. He sat in a comfortable looking chair and promptly fell asleep.

  “Godwinson? Wake, I have news,” a voice said intruding upon his dream.

  He shook off the dream of his beloved wife on the day they met. He missed her deeply, but the wandering life was not for her. He visited as much as he could but it was not enough by a long way. How he wished she was here. He sat up with difficulty
holding in a groan as his back twinged. Sleeping in a chair had not been a good idea. He squinted at the candle and found it was much lower. It was after eleventh mark, well on the way to midnight. Santo stood looking down at him in concern until he wiped his face and yawned.

  “I’m awake,” Godwinson said blinking.

  Felda he saw was sitting on a hard stool with his back against the door. The stool ensured he did not sleep. Santo was less jovial now. Felda rose and lit more candles to brighten the room.

  “What did you want to discuss?”

  “I am loyal to Mortain and the Protectorate my lord, you must believe that,” Santo said wringing his hands in worry.

  That was a bad start. Felda grasped his magic in readiness. Godwinson had him wait with a gesture.

  “We are all loyal to the Protectorate,” Godwinson said. “We want what is best for our people do we not?”

  “Yes, yes that’s right! I have lived here all my life. All know Santo is loyal. I know many sorcerers and like most of them. I like to think of you as a friend, my lord sorcerer.”

  He raised an eyebrow at that. Not many people liked sorcerers. He was a sorcerer himself and he didn’t like most of them! What had liking them have to do with anything?

  “Go on.”

  “The Black Ship serves sorcerers and few others. Some people, even some living in Mahaan don’t understand, but I’m not one of those. With sorcerers arriving and leaving all the time, I… well, I hear things you see?”

  “Things? What things?”

  “Bad things—”

  Felda had heard enough. “Spit it out man!”

  Santo cringed.

  Godwinson glared Felda back to his self-assigned post. “Have a seat Santo and calm yourself. I am your friend—Felda is too, but he gets testy when people don’t come to the point.”

  Santo fumbled for a chair all the while watching Felda over his shoulder.

  “Santo?” Godwinson said.

  Santo turned back to him.

  “The point?”

  “The point… the point is I hear things and I think you need to know, but… I’m sorry my lord. I truly am your friend—truly. I need help my lord. If it was just me I would tell you, but my sister… will you help?”

  Godwinson didn’t want to be upset with the man more than he was already, but this was going nowhere fast. “I will help you.”

  “Do you swear?” Santo said with his voice full of hope.

  Felda’s eyes were bugging at the temerity of asking a sorcerer for an oath.

  Godwinson felt his face beginning to heat as his own anger built, but he fought it and spoke calmly. “I Godwinson, heir to Mortain voice of the God on earth, do swear to help you,” he said slowly. Then the dam burst and he roared, “Now tell me!”

  Santo flinched at the roar and nearly fainted in shock. “My sister’s boy can do things—”

  “Things? Magic things?”

  Santo nodded weakly.

  Finally, all was becoming clear. He had thought the fool had heard Mortain was going to kill him or something! Phew, what a relief! It was almost overpowering. He slumped back into his seat and thanked the God it wasn’t what he had thought.

  “So he can do magic things. Such as?”

  “He can float a little my lord, and candles light by themselves! There are a few other things, but he’s a sensitive lad. He won’t survive the halls!”

  That made Godwinson sit up straight and not just the fact Santo knew things he shouldn’t know. A boy who could float… as in flying type float? He glanced at Felda and saw a similar expression of surprise. The circle had to have this boy, and before Mortain found him!

  “…disappear!” Santo wailed. “I am loyal, truly my lord! I don’t want to die; my sister doesn’t want to die. Please my lord, you swore to help. Save my sister if you cannot save me.”

  It had been Mortain’s policy to remove the gifted from their families since… since forever! A sorcerer had to be loyal, obedient, and disciplined, but loyal above all. The policy was justified it was said because a sorcerer would be biased toward family ties. A sorcerer must be free of corruption, a sorcerer must rule impartially. In Godwinson’s opinion, killing their families made them worse not better sorcerers. What went on in the halls was wasteful, and as for the families, it was nothing short of murder, but he was not Mortain yet. He could not change anything until it was his turn. Worse, he was unsure what to change it to! The system had worked for centuries, who was he to change it? What if he cleaned up the halls only to have a rebellion a few years down the road? Rebellions among sorcerers never happened, but what if his tinkering changed that?

  “The boy’s father?” Godwinson asked already guessing.

  “He ran off my lord. He said he couldn’t stand things floating around the kitchens.”

  He snorted. More likely he was afraid of disappearing. It was amazing the secret had lasted this long. He supposed it was inevitable that a place like The Black Ship would be the first to discover it.

  “This is a thorny problem indeed,” he said in a musing tone. “You have the boy in hiding?”

  Santo nodded.

  That at least was good. “How old is he?”

  “Fourteen my lord. He’ll be fifteen in the fall.”

  Hmmm. Thirteen was the average, but boys with the gift had been discovered both older and younger. He was lucky the boy was old enough to understand what was at stake.

  “Bring him to me tonight,” Godwinson said.

  “But!” Santo yelped.

  “Bring him to me tonight!”

  He was done with being Santo’s friendly customer for the evening. Santo had pushed him as far as he was willing to be pushed! Friend Santo might be, but he was Godwinson not some servant!

  “Yes my lord sorcerer, but he will die in the halls.”

  “Only Mortain can change what goes on there, but I can at least prepare the boy. He must pretend to be an orphan child that was found in Al’Hasa by… let us say Felda found him running loose. If they find out he is your nephew you know what will happen.”

  “But you will be Mortain!” Santo wailed.

  “Not for years.”

  Santo mumbled something.

  “What? Speak up man!”

  “I said you will be Mortain sooner than that or you’ll be dead!” Santo said with heat.

  Godwinson blinked at Santo in surprise. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I told you I hear things. Things such as why there are suddenly so many powerful men here.”

  Godwinson went cold. “And just why are there so many?”

  “Rumour has it that Mortain ordered them here so that he could replace you…” Santo broke off at the looks directed at him.

  “What else do you know?”

  “It’s said you surpassed your authority while in Bandar and that’s why you’re being replaced,” Santo said.

  “I see. Anything else?”

  Santo shook his head and looked down.

  “Probably just a rumour,” Felda said breaking the silence that had fallen over the room.

  A rumour? Possibly it was, but did he dare take the chance? He sighed. He had no choice but to visit Mortain and hope for the best. If he survived, he would see what could be done for Santo and others, if he did not, he need not worry about it.

  “Remember, do exactly what you’re told,” Godwinson said as they approached Castle Black’s gates. “It doesn’t matter if it’s a trivial thing, or something that might maim you—you do it! If you don’t, you’ll receive far worse than maiming.”

  “Yes, my lord sorcerer,” Cenon said goggle-eyed.

  He nodded, but he knew the boy did not truly understand. He had gone through similar pains with his son. Wotan had not believed him either, not until he actually entered the halls and saw for himself. Luckily, Wotan had quickly realised that absolute obedience was necessary to survive and had made it through the halls relatively unscathed. Cenon seemed an intelligent lad. If he was, the
n he should survive.

  Santo’s rumour regarding his replacement was based upon the supposed overstepping of his authority in Bandar. At least he knew what he needed to refute. It had been within his authority as Godwinson to increase the numbers sent to Camorin, but as with anything he did, it was subject to Mortain’s approval. He had known at the time that the maniac wouldn’t appreciate him sending every available man to Camorin, but it had been necessary to see Navarien victorious. That had to be the position to take, he realised. Mortain knew, as he did, how important Navarien’s campaign was to the goal of ruling Waipara. If he could be brought to see that the task was impossible without the manpower currently dedicated to the task, all should be well. If he insisted on not seeing the obvious, then he knew they were in trouble. Of course, Beltran insisted they were already in trouble. He had recommended giving the word to their people across the length and breadth of the land to strike.

  Beltran had become an invaluable member of the circle, but he was prone to acting before thinking. That quality was useful for the usual tasks he was given to perform. Killing inconvenient people or just easing the way for one of the other circle members was what he did best, but in this instance, caution should be his watch word. Once put into motion, the plan could not be stopped.

  Godwinson rode through the gates to be met by a familiar and thoroughly disliked sorcerer. Ravelyn was officially first sorcerer of Castle Black, which meant he ran the castle day to day reporting only to Mortain. He was directly responsible for the halls below the castle and was universally hated. It would be a pleasure to blast Ravelyn off the face of the island, but it would be inappropriate for him to do so. He shook hands with the man and made introductions, though of course that was redundant. Ravelyn was old and had trained every one of the mages in the circle as well as most others currently alive. If Beltran was correct, many of those Ravelyn had trained worked directly for him as guardians.

  “Welcome to Castle Black,” Ravelyn said omitting the honorific.

  “You forget yourself,” Beltran growled ominously.

  Felda shifted his stance ready for a confrontation but Godwinson waved a hand in dismissal.