Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (171 page)

He pulled a dagger from his boot sheath. He had blackened his hands and face with soot from the campfire and had stolen a set of clothes from Darlinia. She was roughly his size. Rattling beads was something he did not need on a raid like this. He was sure she wouldn’t mind him taking them. They were her leathers, not that he had asked or anything, but she was nice. She would understand.

With blackened dagger in hand, he crawled silently toward the camp until he reached the ditch. A good idea this, he thought as he lowered himself carefully down. There was no way a horse would charge a ditch and wall studded with sharpened stakes like this, but they proved no obstacle to a single man alone. He reached the bottom careful not to knock against the wood. Any sound on a night like this would carry a long way and see the end of him and his self assigned mission.

Climbing the earthwork was both harder and easier than the ditch had been. Easier in that the wall was sloping even if only a little, harder in that he had to stop and flatten to the ground periodically when the sentries approached. Each time he held his breath and released it when they turned away again. He continued up the slope wondering how he was going to cross the open space inside the camp.

He would worry about that when the time came.

Lorcan halted again when he reached the top. Now was the time for someone to see him. As soon as he left the slope he would be vulnerable. There was just a sliver of moon, but someone might still see his silhouette. He counted the paces of the sentries and at fifty rolled across the top and partway down the other side. At sixty, he stopped and flattened this time on the shallower inside slope. He prayed to the God, to his dead parents, he even prayed to the Lady that he hadn’t been seen. He listened intently for an alarm or outcry, but none came. He raised his head in time to see the sentries turning away to continue their useless patrol. He grinned then shut his mouth in case someone saw the flash of his teeth in the starlight. His paranoia had never been so great. Not even stalking a target in the streets of Devarr had heightened his awareness of danger like this. Even
thoughts
of magic were probably dangerous with this many sorcerers around!

He slid the rest of the way down the slope trying not to breath. He took shallow lungfuls of the disgusting stink and wanted to vomit, but a noise froze the bile in his throat. By the God, someone was in the tent right now! He hesitated but this might prove a boon not a bane. He edged closer trying not to imagine what the man was doing just the other side of the canvas. He glanced quickly around but saw no one nearby. Gently he slit the tent and looked inside. Gah! The man was right in front of him with his trousers down! He slit the tent further, and then with a prayer he lunged forward to stab the man in the kidney.

“Ahh!”

Lorcan winced at the noise. He withdrew the dagger and plunged it into the legionnaire’s windpipe. The whistling and gurgling noises were quiet compared with the earlier outcry. He stepped over the dying man and peeked through the gap in the tent flap. There was another legionnaire standing a short distance away and looking in the direction of the tent.

“You all right, Sergeant?”

Lorcan thought fast and grunted a reply.

“Nevin?” the legionnaire looked both ways and approached the tent.

Lorcan stepped to the side and waited.

The instant the man’s head appeared, Lorcan struck. This time no outcry sounded as his dagger found its way into the man’s throat. He staggered as the full weight of the armoured man fell into the tent. He struggled to guide the corpse fully inside the tent listening frantically for others nearby. He succeeded in dropping the man next to his sergeant and again checked outside. He breathed easier when he saw a quiet nighttime camp.

No one stirred.

Now was the moment he had tried not to think about. Yes it was dark, and yes no one was near, but if he walked out there the sentries would have him before he could do anything. He scanned his surroundings but saw nothing to help. Directly ahead were thousands of tents housing sleeping legionnaires and in the centre of that area, again surrounded by open space, were the sorcerers. All the tents were a long way from his location. Not a surprise when considering the stench emanating from the pits. To the right he could see what must be the baggage. There were a great many carts sitting in ranks hub to hub, but again they were too far away across open ground. Sorcerers and legionnaires were the only people able to walk freely out there, and he wasn’t one!

Lorcan looked back at his guests. What if he
were
a legionnaire? He grinned and stripped the smaller man. Both legionnaires were bigger men than he, but in the dark he hoped he might go unremarked. He shoved the bodies into the stinking pits and vomited over the side as the most horrendous stench erupted with the impact. He watched the bodies float for a moment before they turned over and sank beneath the filth.

He tried to duck out of the tent as if he belonged in the camp. He nearly ruined the effect he was trying to create when he tripped over his scabbard. His hand clasped the hilt of his sword instinctively, and straight away he felt easier. The weapon was reassuring in his grasp, but guiding the scabbard clear of his scissoring legs was the main reason for his sense of ease.

He made directly toward the tents, keeping his eyes darting all over looking for danger. He could feel magic ahead but he kept his stride even and unhurried. Sorcerers were what he had come for. Well, one sorcerer really. Demophon was the cause of all this. The cause of the Lady’s grief and his. If Demophon hadn’t kidnapped her they would all be living happily at Athione now. Instead, the Lord was dead and the Lady wished she was. The wonderful future Lorcan had thought would be his when Julia found him was lost to him now. All he had left was revenge. Julia had been full of life and love for the Lord, but now she was full of hate and grief. It was time the God received Demophon back, and Lorcan had decided he was the man to send him.

Two men stepped out of a tent directly ahead. Without hesitation Lorcan ducked into the nearest tent. There were snores all around. He tried not to breathe as his eyes flicked to the men lying at his feet. There were at least ten legionnaires crammed in the tent. He listened to the men outside discuss something as they walked.

“—for trying Anius, but he seemed worse. Wotan is too busy—I wouldn’t feel comfortable asking him to heal prisoners.”

Prisoners? What prisoners? Shelim hadn’t said anything about that. Were there clansmen here? If there were, he realised he might be able to use them for a diversion by freeing them.

“Not at all, General. You may have noticed my attitude is somewhat different to other sorcerers I could name.”

“Now that you mention it, I have noticed,” Navarien said dryly.

“Lucius was a good friend of mine, General. You knew him did you not?”

By the God! If he could kill the General, the war would be over! He peeked out through the tent flap but hastily dropped it again when the black robed sorcerer frowned and looked around suspiciously.

“What is it?” Navarien said.

“I’m not sure. I thought I felt—no, it’s gone. As I was saying, Lucius and I were friends during our training. We were both assigned to Second Legion while you fought in Bandar. I never met you, but I understand you and Lucius had dealings.”

“I was a captain then,” Navarien said. “Lucius spoke up for me when I argued against an order. He used his mirror to scry the Bandarians and found that I was correct. That led directly to my first command as General.”

“I know…”

Lorcan did not dare take the chance. He was here for Demophon, not this man, but the temptation was almost overwhelming. He breathed a sigh of relief as the two men started on their way again. When the voices were no longer audible, he stepped outside and continued on toward his target. He was shaking with fear and excitement as he made his way toward the sorcerer’s tents. Demophon’s was the fourth from the right he remembered, but what if he wasn’t in there? He grinned as fear almost overwhelmed him. He would wait for eternity if he had to. There was no way Demophon was getting away with killing his lord! Should he see to these prisoners first or wait until it was time to flee? There were good reasons not to free them yet, if he did they might be caught and cause an alarm before he could deal with Demophon.

He stopped and cursed the General for telling him about the prisoners. He had to free them first in case he was caught before he had the chance. It was not fair to leave them when there was a chance for escape. He turned aside from the sorcerer’s tents and instead ducked into the one the General had come from. He looked up to see dozens of snarling faces, but the one in the centre had him gasping in shock.

* * *

Wotan shook his head at the image in the mirror. “Everything is fine here, but what of you?”

His father smiled. “The loss of Ravelyn has angered Beltran something fierce, but he won’t get far. Other than that, I’m well enough my son. Felda will see to it no harm befalls
Mortain
while the purge continues.”

“That will take some getting used to. I think I will call you father as usual if that’s all right?”

Mortain grinned and nodded that it was. “Have you discovered any guardians in your command?”

“No, none. The only man even remotely like a guardian is Odelyn.”

“Odelyn?” Mortain said and looked down for a moment. “This is what it says about him: A man who will sacrifice anything and anyone to gain his goal; a fine sorcerer, but not to be trusted.”

“That’s him,” Wotan agreed.

“His failure to deal with Lady Julia deserves death. Why have you not dealt with him?”

“You know my feelings regarding that—”

“Feelings have no place in leadership,” Mortain said. “Remember what I said before you embarked ship last year?”

“Force has its place, and I agree with that, but not here. I only have so many sorcerers. I can little afford to kill those I have.”

“A campaign has never had as many as you command, Wotan. You have more than enough to complete the task.—Julia or no Julia. I
order
you to kill Odelyn for his failure. Further, you will inform your brothers that any who repeat his failure will suffer the same fate.” Mortain took a breath and proceeded more calmly. “I know it’s harsh my son, but there is nothing more important to the Protectorate at this moment than Julia’s death.”

“As you command my lord sorcerer,” Wotan said coldly. The mirror turned black then cleared to show its normal reflection once more. “Well, what do you think of that?”

“He’s under pressure,” Magar said from where he was sitting upon the bed. “It’s not you, Wotan. It’s the responsibility. He’s Mortain now and—”

“Who is?” Demophon said as he entered.

Magar shot to his feet and blocked Demophon’s path. “I did not hear you ask entrance.”

“I apologise,” Demophon said to Wotan ignoring Magar.

“It’s all right, let him in.”

Magar gave Demophon one last glare before stepping aside. Demophon came fully inside and sat in the chair indicated by Wotan. Magar stood at the entrance of the tent within a pace of Demophon’s back glaring all the while.

“To what do I owe this visit?” Wotan said with a polite smile, but then he frowned. It was obvious Demophon was ill at ease about something, but what it was he could not imagine.

“I crave your indulgence, Wotan. Did I overhear that your father is now Mortain?”

“As a matter of fact you did,” Wotan said even more puzzled as Demophon paled. “Mortain died rather suddenly—an accident, or so I was told. My father was summoned to the Black Isle. He is our new Mortain.”

Demophon was quiet.

Wotan looked at Magar in puzzlement, but Magar shook his head. He didn’t understand what was going on either.

“I will inform Navarien of the news first of course. Tomorrow I will tell our brothers. Our orders are unchanged in any case.”

“I see,” Demophon said wiping sweat from his brow. “I see. I came to tell you Wotan… to warn you that…”

“Go on my friend. You came to warn me?”

Demophon glanced behind him but not at Magar. He was trying to see outside. “Ah… yes, forgive me. This is hard for me. Odelyn is somewhat of a friend of mine you see, and it’s hard betraying that. I have talked to him—I have tried to dissuade him but he is very angry about… things.”

“I know what he is angry about” Wotan said grimly. “Are you saying he has threatened me?”

“I’m sure he did not mean—” Demophon broke off then nodded. “Yes I’m afraid so,” he said glancing worriedly over his shoulder.

“Who are you looking for? Is he coming now?” Wotan said and nodded to Magar to take a look.

“I’m not sure,” Demophon said. “I left him talking with Anius.”

Magar stepped back inside and shook his head.

Wotan thought for a moment. “Find him. You know what to do.”

Magar nodded and left.

“He’s going to kill him?”

Wotan nodded. “Mortain ordered it for his failure to kill Julia. I should have killed him aboard ship before we arrived.”

Demophon was quiet.

“I’m sorry for your friend, Demophon, but I cannot allow him to attack me or impede what I’m trying to do here.”

“I understand my lord sorcerer. I wish he had listened to me.”

“As do I.”

“I think I’ll go for a walk, my lord sorcerer. Clear my head as it were.”

Wotan nodded and took Demophon’s hand. “I thank you for the warning. We should talk more often my friend.”

Demophon smiled weakly and left in a hurry.

* * *

“You don’t… make a very… convincing legionnaire,” said a weak voice.

Lorcan gaped then spun to check outside. Everything was quiet but the plan had changed—drastically! He turned back and moved to untie his lord’s bonds but there weren’t any!

“Magic lad,” Burke growled. “They tied all of us hand and foot with their cursed magic.”

“How many… how many… of you are there?” a white faced Keverin whispered.

“Are you injured my—” Lorcan began then saw the stump. “I’m sorry m’lord.”