Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (133 page)

“Where are you taking us?” the girl said, clutching her long knife in a white-knuckled grip.

“South to the clan.”

“Which one?”

Shelim smiled pleased again. Most outclanners didn’t know the difference. “I am Shelim, shaman of the Night Wind, but this troop belongs to Horse Clan.”

The girl’s eyes were dry now. She kept glancing across at her sister riding in front of Larn. “I am Amara of—I
was
Amara of Calvados, but what am I now?”

Good question that. “What is your sister’s name?”

“She was Emma of Calvados.”

He smiled, eternal and universal. Good names for this pair. “What name would you like?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if you stay with Horse Clan you could ask to be adopted into a family and you would become Amara and Emma of Horse Clan. Or you could stay with us until we reach Denpasser and ask one of the other clans.”

“Will there be lots there?”

“Yes,” he said with a smile. “Lots and lots.”

Amara and Emma nodded at each other. “We will wait. More choice that way.”

Shelim burst out laughing. That was one way to look at it all right. The warriors looked puzzled until he told one of them what the girls had decided. Soon everyone was chuckling and the mood lightened considerably.

“We will be warriors like great-great-grandpa was,” Amara said.

“Do you know how to use these?” he said tapping a knuckle on the sheathed weapon.

Amara nodded. “Mother showed us.”

“How old are you?” They looked around nine or ten. With luck, the war would be long over before this pair had to fight.

“Twelve. Is that bad?”

He almost groaned. Is that bad? Yes it was—unless they were lying. No, he believed Amara was telling the truth. Some children were naturally small, but that meant it was almost certain this pair would fight and die in the war. No! That must not happen.

“If you are twelve, then you will have to wait awhile before you can have your womanhood ceremony and be called adult. Until then, you will have to choose a new family and do what your new parents say.”

Amara didn’t like that, and neither did Emma. Emma was the quieter of the two, but Shelim noticed Amara always checked with her before saying anything of consequence. He looked Emma in the eyes and she grinned at him.

“We choose you,” Emma said.

“I thought you were going to wait.”

“We changed our mind,” Emma said and Amara nodded. “We choose you.”

“Choose again,” he said uncomfortably. “A shaman never marries or has children.”

“We choose you.”

“You heard what I said! Choose again,” he said angrily.

He had always wanted to marry and have children, but he had adjusted to being a shaman now. Fantasies of teaching a son how to hunt were just that—fantasies. No woman would take a shaman for her husband.

“Why are you angry?”

“I’m
not
angry,” he said angrily.

“Yes you are. You don’t need a wife to be our adopted father. We choose you,” Emma said with finality.

“We choose you,” Amara said with a nod as if it were settled.

He just shook his head. They would change their minds when they realised they would miss having a mother.

* * *

5 ~ Lord Sorcerer

Demophon was weary, but if he stopped for even a moment, he would sleep forever. “Yes, the sleep of the dead you fool. Think about Julia and what you have to do.”

He stumbled on. His pack was long gone and his hunger was acute. To keep warm he had stripped some bodies he found in the snow. Two layers of clan tunics covered his robe and kept him from freezing. His magic could sustain him for only so long before he became too weak to hold on. He could feel his grip loosening as the candlemarks rolled by. He had no food, but there was plenty of water. A hand full of melted snow quenched his thirst, but a belly full of water could not replace meat pies, or meat stew, or soup, or—

“Don’t think about it you fool! Are you going to let that bitch have the last laugh?”

No, he wasn’t going to let that happen. Demophon doubted Julia would laugh at him even if she could. She was more likely screaming in agony in any case, but even if she wasn’t, she wasn’t the vindictive type. Murderous, ruthless, utterly dedicated yes, but not vindictive. She was many things—cursed frightening came instantly to mind!

“Yes frightening, that’s what she is Demophon my boy. Still, pissing yourself in front of her was a little embarrassing was it not?”

Too right it was! When Julia called to her power that day at the ferry, it had been like the sun coming out in front of his face. One moment, a beautiful noble lady stood on the landing stage of Devarr’s ferry, the next a true sorcerer—
sorceress
he supposed was the term even though there had never been one before. She had burned brighter than the sun, and the noise! No one but a mage would have seen or heard it, but she had been close, so very close to turning Devarr into a smoking pit in the ground. The noise was the most frightening thing about that day. When you heard that sound from a mage, they were on the edge. Even now he didn’t believe she had known what she was doing. To raise the ferry and fly it to shore would have taken a fraction of the magic she had drawn, but that made it more frightening not less. To his shame, he had pissed himself, but at least he survived.

It was blasphemy to think that Julia was stronger than the God’s chosen voice, but he knew she was. Worse, she was a woman. The God knew all things, and of course he had made Mortain the strongest to be his voice on this world. What did that mean for Mortain, and the Protectorate? A woman as Mortain? Unthinkable!

“Blasphemy is punishable by death with sorcerous fire. Better not think what you’re thinking near a guardian Demophon old chap. Yes, but who are the guardians my dear?”

By the God, he was talking like that imbecile Ascol! Had the fool taken the throne yet, or had he messed it up? It seemed unlikely that even Ascol could mess up the plan so close to its completion, but still, if anyone could ruin it, Ascol was the one.

He stopped for a drink and looked around. He was still heading the right way according to the position of the sun. He had left his makeshift raft days and days ago. Surely, he must be close to Calvados by now? The last news he’d received put Fifth Legion marching to take the city. They would have it well in hand by now he was sure. If he could reach it and eat something, he would be fine, but before then he would have to release his magic or die when he released it uncontrolled. Without magic, his remaining strength would wane as the cold leeched it away.

“That’s days away yet—” he said to himself and tested his grip. “All right, a day then. Surely I can reach the walls before night time tomorrow.”

“I wouldn’t count on it if I was you, clansman,” a voice behind him said.

He gasped and spun to find a group of legionnaires watching him from horseback. How had he missed the bastards sneaking up?

“Sloppy of me, very sloppy,” he mumbled drunk with fatigue and relief.

The sergeant grinned. “I’ve never seen a worse clansman than you, fellow, but I don’t suppose you lot can all be perfect.”

Clansman… what was he talking about? Oh yes the clothes. “My name is Demophon, Sergeant. I’m no clansman. Let me demonstrate.”

He called a ball of fire into the palm of his hand and let it roll around on a cushion of air. The warmth was pleasant, but he let the spell go as quickly as he could. He was so tired; the magic was tearing loose from his grasp. He had to release now, or loose control. Gently he pried his grip loose and slumped to the ground.

“He might be one of them shamen we were told to watch for, Sergeant.”

“Nah, I’ve seen hundreds of them sorcerous bastards in my time. He’s one of them I’m thinking.”

He felt a little indignant at the sergeant’s tone, but he let his anger go. The sergeant believed him, and that was all that mattered.

“Go gets ‘I'm, Lewin,” the sergeant said.

“Why me?”

“Because I fucking said so you whore’s son!”

There were grumbles from the one named Lewin and laughter from the others. Demophon shook his head in bemusement. This seemed an ill disciplined group. The legions prided themselves on the discipline of their men, but this lot seemed more like a troop of brigands. Oh well, as long as he got some food they could be pirates from Socotra for all he cared!

Lewin pulled him onto his feet grumbling all the while and supported him to his horse. “I wish Meran were back on his feet,” Lewin grumbled. “He wasn’t bad for a sergeant.”

Demophon refrained from asking anything until he was on the horse behind Lewin and the patrol had moved on. “Did Calvados fall to the legion?”

Lewin grunted. “You might say so—sort of.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the general led us, and we took all three cities one after another. The bad news is that no one ’cept us lives in ’em anymore. We lost more than six thousand men, and that’s why this bad excuse for a maniple is so shit. We’re the odds and sods.”

His brain whirled with all the new information. “Odds and sods?”

“Not enough of any battalion or maniple left, so the general says stick the bits together until we’re relieved.”

That at least made sense. General Navarien was highly thought of in many circles, strangely not among his own peers—the other generals. Godwinson liked him, and that was very fortunate. Not many that Godwinson disliked lived long.

“What’s this about the cities being empty?”

“Cantibria and Durena still have people—old folks and artisans mostly. Calvados though is different. It’s spooky. The folk hereabouts don’t like the general much. They started leaving the day after we marched in.”

He left the rest of his questions until later; he had more than enough to think about. Calvados empty meant the bodies he had found were probably from there. Foolish to leave in the winter like that, but it was really of little consequence. In the summer, Calvados would soon fill with people looking to improve their lives on the Protectorate’s newest frontier.

They rode for candlemarks but eventually stopped for a meal. It was a poor affair, barely warm meat broth made from dry strips of meat from the legionnaire’s packs mixed with chopped vegetables and cooked in melted snow. It was marvellous! Demophon ate it all and scraped the pot out with a piece of crusty bread.

“Good ain’t it?” Sergeant Davin said.

Demophon nodded and sighed contentedly as his first proper meal in ages made its way into his belly. He felt better already.

“You should have seen the crap we ate on the way to Calvados!”

“Rancid?”

Everyone laughed.

“You might say so. We ate it because that’s all there was! We ran completely out a day before the battle.”

“Lord Sorcerer?” one of the men said.

Demophon sat up straight in his rags and tried to live up to his rightful title. No one had called him that until now. “Yes?”

“Will you heal my friend when we get back?”

Silence descended as the men leaned in to hear what he would say. He wasn’t very good with healing, but he could do it after a fashion. His talent lay more in the direction of warding.

“I will assist my brothers to care for your friends of course.”

“Ah, you see my lord sorcerer it be kinda like this… well you see—” Davin paused then said in a rush, “We ain’t got none.”

“Ain’t got none?” he said in confusion. “What do you mean you haven’t got any?”

“We ain’t got no sorcerers, excepting you. They were all drowned in the North Sea last spring.”

“None at all?”

“Nope,” Davin said. “Not a one!”

This was excellent news! When he reached Calvados he would instantly be elevated to lead mage of Fifth Legion. The fact he would be lead mage to himself made no difference. He would decide what was to be done, and the general would see the mission carried out in whatever way he deemed appropriate. That was how the legions always worked. He already knew what the mission was: kill Julia before she found out he wasn’t dead!

“What are your current orders, sergeant?” Demophon said.

“I was ordered to patrol three days out of Calvados to the south. We’re returning there now, my lord sorcerer.”

“Good. I want you to make all speed to Calvados. How long will that take?”

“If we don’t stop for the night I could have you inside by first light.”

“Excellent. That’s what we will do in just a moment. When I reach Calvados, I will attend to your friends as best I can as soon as I have spoken to General Navarien.” He decided honesty would be best at this point, “I can’t promise to save them all. I’ll be alone, but I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all anyone can ask, my lord sorcerer. The bitch sorceress is the only one who can heal everything.”

“You have heard of Julia?”

Rumbles from the men indicated they had. “Did you not know my lord sorcerer? The Fifth was decimated at Athione just two years back.”

He hadn’t known it was the Fifth Legion. He wasn’t a legion mage, so he could be excused for not taking notice of which it was. Talk about dumb luck, or was it the God looking out for him? Whichever it was, having the Fifth here was perfect. They hated Julia, and although he knew she didn’t deserve hate, he was more than ready to channel it in the right direction. First, he needed to reach Calvados, second he had to give Navarien his new mission, and third he would make the legionnaires into friends so they would protect him against Julia—that most of all. The sorceress didn’t like him at all. Indeed, she did not.

The ride to Calvados was an uncomfortable one, but he wouldn’t take a man’s horse away from him and cause resentment. Instead he rode behind Lewin. It was undignified, but he was playing his roll as legionnaire’s friend now. This little display of comradeship was probably wasted, but every little helped. You could never tell what would tip the scales in your favour. The gates were locked tight when they finally arrived at the city, but a quickly shouted hail to the sentries and they were riding through. Demophon heard the gates boom shut behind him, but he took no notice, he was looking at the empty streets and silent houses. Nothing. No people to be seen anywhere, and it was indeed spooky as Lewin said earlier.