Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (163 page)

“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, then 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.

“Ravelyn and I are old friends. Aren’t we?” Godwinson said with a smile.

Ravelyn blinked. “Not that I recall. If I’m not mistaken you threatened to rip my head off the last time we met.”

“Ah yes! I remember that very well,” he said with a forced chuckle. “It was after you instructed one of the novices to kill me. Very good training. I’m sure you had my best interests at heart.”

“Of course. If you will all come with me?”

“Yes certainly, but my young companion here is in need of your good offices, Ravelyn. Felda found him running loose in Al’Hasa. I think you’ll find him an apt student. The name is Cenon.”

Godwinson pushed the reluctant boy forward, and watched Ravelyn scrutinise him. Watching the scene made him want to snatch the boy back to safety, but he didn’t dare give the impression that Cenon was in any way different from other novices. No telling what Ravelyn would do if he thought the boy was important to him.

“A fine lad,” Ravelyn said finally. “What can you do… and don’t lie to me.”

“I can light candles and make things float, my lord sorcerer,” he said exactly as he had been told on the journey.

“I said do not lie to me, boy. I class leaving things out as lying. I’ll not ask you again.”

“I can fly as well, but only a little,” Cenon said nervously.

“That’s better. Never think to fool me. I have lived for two hundred and sixteen years. In that time, I’ve seen and heard everything a boy could dream up. I always know when you lie. Do you believe me?”

Cenon was shaking. “Yes my lord sorcerer.”

“Stand where you are without moving until a sorcerer fetches you.”

Ravelyn walked into the castle with Godwinson and his friends following behind. Godwinson ignored the boy as he entered the castle but his thoughts were racing. Not only did Cenon believe Ravelyn, he did too! If Ravelyn truly could sense the truth, then he must know that Cenon had not been found in Al’Hasa. He had certainly known he was holding back, and yet he had done nothing. That was not like the evil bastard he remembered from his days in the halls. What was the man up to?

Ravelyn showed them to their rooms and left all in silence.

Godwinson didn’t bother with familiarising himself with the room. They were all the same and he had been here many times. He wished the others were in here with him, but that would seem a little odd. They would stay in their own rooms until he summoned them. He freshened up and changed into his best robe. It was the only one he owned that gave a hint to his position within the Protectorate. His everyday robes looked the same as the others wore, but this one sported intricate gold embroidery around the hood, cuffs and hem. Felda said it was a bad idea to wear something that made him stand out in a crowd and he agreed. He usually travelled with at least two members of the circle wearing the same as they. It made it harder for an assassin to target him.

With a ward up, he retrieved his daggers from his baggage and secreted them about his person. Beltran had taught him how to use them. Everyone expected a sorcerer to kill using magic; having a back up method might surprise an enemy. Beltran said the first rule of battle was to do the unexpected. Hence the daggers. Godwinson had enjoyed the lessons, but they were a last ditch defence. He would have to be truly desperate to rely upon them.

He dropped the ward and sat in a chair to wait. By his estimate Mortain would call for him in a half candlemark and then… and then he would live or he would die.

Either way would be a relief in some ways.

* * *

Mortain smiled as Beltran entered his rooms. Considerable time had gone by since he had sent his hound out into the world. Nearly two years ago his suspicions had been aroused when it came to his attention that Godwinson was recruiting powerful men to be his bodyguard and advisers. At the time the suspicion had been unformed and without true substance. All he knew then was that men who had been almost arrogantly independent had suddenly become subservient to his heir when approached by him. Since then, Mortain had received regular reports on Godwinson’s activities through Beltran. His fears had eased somewhat with the news that Godwinson was working tirelessly toward the goal of conquering Deva, but that had changed last winter when Beltran suddenly informed him of the betrayal.

“Have a seat, Beltran,” Mortain said and waved Marcail forward with wine.

Mortain studied the guardian as he sipped his wine. He frowned when the man barely pressed his goblet to his lips before placing it upon the desk. That showed distrust, but then he dismissed the thought. Beltran was Beltran after all. He was little more than an assassin really, though his task this time had not been to kill.

“So he came as I ordered,” Mortain began. “You said he would refuse.”

“I was wrong.”

“Wrong? Is that all you can say?”

Beltran shrugged. “What would you have me say? I was surprised that he followed your order.”

Mortain frowned, “Was?”

“I’m no longer surprised. He has decided it’s time to take your place,” Beltran said in a disinterested voice.

So, it had finally happened. Godwinson’s betrayal was hardly a surprise but it was still a shock to hear the day was here. What had triggered this? He could think of nothing—except perhaps sending Wotan to Camorin. The boy was doing well overall. So why now? He shrugged. It hardly mattered why he had chosen this particular time. All that mattered was that he fail.

“You will stay by me,” Mortain said and Beltran nodded. “I will summon him here in a moment. You will kill him the instant he tries anything against me.”

“I understand,” Beltran said coldly.

* * *

Godwinson composed himself and then knocked once. Marcail opened the door moments later and indicated he should enter. The first thing he saw was Beltran standing against the wall behind Mortain’s chair. The shock was complete.

“I see you know my good friend, Beltran,” Mortain said with a smile.

Godwinson was still standing in the doorway. He took control of himself and stepped fully inside so that Marcail could close the door. He reached for the web and felt a little better when he tasted Beltran’s emotions. He found complete calm. If Beltran was still calm after being summoned to meet with Mortain, the situation must be other than they had thought. Beltran would surely have warned him by now if anything was wrong.

“Yes of course. Beltran and I are good friends.”

Mortain smiled. “Take a seat.”

“I prefer to stand my lord sorcerer.”

“As you wish. I summoned you to answer a few questions. Why did you send all of my new recruits to Camorin?”

He sighed in relief. It was as he had thought. “Navarien’s campaign in Camorin is critical to our success, my lord. It became obvious he would fail without reinforcements and resupply. On my authority as Godwinson I sent the fleet with every man I could find so that Navarien’s success would be assured.”

“I see. And it never occurred to you that I had plans for those men?”

Godwinson frowned. “I have no knowledge of any such plans.”

“I am not answerable to you!” Mortain roared. “You should have asked me about those men. Athione is all but unprotected and I have nothing to send because you did not ask!”