Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (47 page)

The second attack could have been the end for Lucius. An assassin had tried to take him at night while asleep—except he hadn’t been. He had been using the mirror to find Julia. Lucius had seen the assassin entering his tent and had struck him down with lightning as if he did it every day. The camp had been roused to see a smoking corpse lying outside Lucius’ tent. When they examined the assassin’s knife they found it had been poisoned. One scratch would have been lethal. Lucius laughed it off, but Purcell could tell the mage was puzzled. Lucius said that next time he would try to capture the assassin alive. He had been sure there would
be
a next time.

“Do you want to view the fortress again, Purcell?” Lucius said readying his mirror.

“Not straight away my friend. I’m thinking of travelling cross-country at first light tomorrow. I was hoping you could tell me the way is clear. The last thing we need is a run in with a patrol.”

Lucius knelt down with his mirror and began scrying tomorrow’s route, Gylaren watched over the wizard’s shoulder.

“You’re pushing it if you think you can attack straight away,” Gylaren said. “The horses are close to exhaustion. I know you are worried, but I think we should rest tomorrow night and attack early the next day.”

“Perhaps,” Purcell said with a shrug. “It depends on what we see when we reach Elvissa. If those Tanjuner bastards are inside, I’m going in after them! If Donalt has held them out, we can rest and attack as soon as it’s light.”

“Sounds good.”

Purcell watched as Lucius scried tomorrow’s route. The terrain consisted of gently sloping hills and valleys with a farm dotted here and there. One or two looked prosperous, but the others were your average peasant farms. A burned and abandoned farm came and went as Lucius carefully followed a straight line toward Elvissa. Another abandoned farm with burned and blackened fields all about it, a burned village, another farm—it would take years to rebuild what the bastards had destroyed in days. Purcell saw no signs of cavalry on the dirt lanes or in the fields, and he would have if patrols were out. That was peculiar to say the least. Surely they weren’t that confident? Tanjung wasn’t new to war. Their War Leaders were a lot better than some lords Purcell could name. Any sensible War Leader would have patrols out to make sure there were no counterattacks in the offing, but he saw none at all.

“I can’t see any indications of patrols at all—can you Lucius?” Purcell said frowning in disbelief.

“None. They are overconfident.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Have a look at the pass would you? They might have friends coming.”

Lucius changed the image, and the pass appeared.

“There’s nothing there. A fool must lead them,” Gylaren said in satisfaction.

“I doubt that very much. They killed my boy expertly enough.”

“Sorry. You know I didn’t mean it like that. Their War Leader might be good at small actions like the ambush, but the larger actions elude him. We’ve both seen captains with promise that fail in strategy.”

Purcell nodded. It was worth thinking about, but he preferred to assume their War Leader was not a fool. It would be far safer to plan for a competent enemy rather than an incompetent one.

Lucius cleared the image. “When we attack I will use my magic against their mage. I would advise you, if I may Purcell, to wait until I eliminate the threat before attacking.”

Eliminate. That was a good word. He was going to
eliminate
every one of those Tanjuner bastards, and when he was done, their so-called emperor would never dare to send his men against Deva again!

The next day dawned with Purcell and his men already in the saddle. They had broken their fast in the dark, and although the men had not slept long, they were eager to be moving. The Elvissans knew how close they were to home. They tried to push ahead faster than was wise. Purcell had to slow the pace more than once or else tire the horses.

At midday they stopped and watered the horses from their water bags. What seemed like moments later they were back in the saddle and riding hard.

When the day moved into evening, Purcell slowed the pace to a walk, and sent scouts far ahead. He gave specific orders—they were not to be seen under any circumstances, but they should check the situation at the fortress before reporting. Purcell had decided, lacking any sign to the contrary, that the Tanjuners had indeed concentrated on the fortress. They were over confidant just as Lucius had surmised. The day had darkened to night before the scouts returned with bleak news. The Tanjuners were inside the walls.

“You’re sure?” Purcell said with his stomach sinking. “Was there still fighting?”

“No m’lord, it was right peaceful. Them bastids were inside and making themselves at home in the courtyard.”

“In the
courtyard?
” Purcell pounced on the words. “Not in the citadel?”

“I can’t say for sure, m’lord,” Arren said. “They were in the courtyard—I could tell that much, and they ain’t fighting, but that’s all we could see without being caught.”

“You have done well. No need for you to go out again when we’re so close.”

Arren saluted and rode back to his mates.

“We have done it!” Purcell crowed. “By the God we have
done it!
” He pounded a fist on his thigh in delight.

“Calm down, you can’t sure,” Gy warned.

“Why else would they be out in the courtyard at night if not camped?”

“I don’t know, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a reason.”

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do Gy, but it’s not necessary. I know things may not be as they seem, but I choose to believe that my family are still alive in there.”

Gylaren was quiet, which Purcell appreciated. He would soon see his son and daughter again, and his beloved Isolde. Corlath was gone, but he still had family to care for.

A candlemark or so later, Purcell crouched in darkness studying the fortress. The Tanjuners had made no effort to barricade the gate and were settling down to sleep. There were men on the walls keeping watch, but he knew from personal experience that they wouldn’t see anyone approach until the last hundred yards or so. With the gates closed that didn’t matter too much—the alarm would be wrung in time for any attack, but for his purposes the gate being down was sent by the God.

Purcell settled more comfortably to wait. He itched to give the order to attack, but Lucius had yet to take care of the mages. Lucius was sure there were only two of them. How he knew, Purcell wasn’t sure, but he seemed very confident. After admonishing Purcell and Gylaren not to start until they heard back from him, Lucius had walked into the darkness toward the fortress. That was maybe a half candlemark ago and there had been no word. Purcell took comfort in the knowledge that no alarm had been raised. If Lucius had been discovered, they would have heard the explosion easily from here. Purcell wasn’t likely to forget that it was men like Lucius that had sundered Athione’s west wall. He had seen the destruction Lucius could unleash and was sure no one would take him without a fight. Purcell had great confidence in Lucius’ abilities.

Thinking of Lucius seemed to conjure him forth. Purcell was staring intently at the shattered gate and saw a figure detach itself from the hulking shadow of the gate tower. With no outward sign of concern, Lucius strolled out the gate and into the night. Purcell hissed angrily at the sight. If Lucius was seen… but he wasn’t seen. Lucius must have used some kind of spell to hide himself. Purcell hoped it was that and not Lucius simply relying upon luck, because as bold as you please Lucius wandered up to Purcell and then dropped to his belly beside him. He handed the garrote he had borrowed back to Arren.

“All done,” Lucius said cheerfully. “Ready?”

Purcell nodded eagerly and began crawling forward. The ground seemed to writhe in the darkness as he and his men crawled toward home. The Tanjuners would pay.

Oh yes, they would pay.

* * *

“M’lord?”

Donalt heard the voice from far away. How long had he lain here? He had to get up and fight, but someone was holding him. He thrashed trying to throw the enemy off. He was confused when he heard Lysy’s voice. She should be hiding in the citadel, not out here!

“He can’t help you—he nearly died! Please leave him alone!”

“I’m sorry but there’s fighting outside. We can hear it.”

Donalt remembered the blade entering his side. Pain erupted as he clapped a hand to the wound to stop the bleeding. Groaning as the agony faded he realised he hadn’t felt armour under his hand—bandages... he felt bandages and bare skin.

“Now see what you have done! He’s bleeding again!”

“There’s fighting in the courtyard m’lord!”

Fighting? Of course there’s fighting! Why does he think I’m lying down and groaning?

“Report,” Donalt tried to say, but it came out as a whisper. He tried again, “Report!” That was a little better.

“Thank the God!” Captain Trine said. “M’lord, you were wounded a tenday ago. I carried on as best I could without you, but I lost the courtyard and the main doors to the citadel this morning. I have men barricaded in the great hall, the woman’s quarter, and the armoury. There is fighting in the courtyard, but we can’t see who.”

A tenday? That couldn’t be right... could it?
Never
mind
that!
The fighting, think about the fighting. It might be another noble house fighting over the spoils. It would be just like the idiot Tanjuners to fight each other at a time like this.

“Hold the barricades...”

“I didn’t hear m’lord. Lady did you catch what he said?”

“Leave him alone!” Lysy wailed. “We’ll all be dead soon any way,” she said sobbing.

Summoning what energy he could, Donalt tried to make himself heard. “Hold the barricades. Don’t sally, hold... the... bar... cades.”

“He said sally! I understand m’lord. We’ll take as many of the bastards with us as we can!”

“No... hold the barricades...” Donalt said desperately.

“Shush Don, he’s gone. He’ll follow your orders don’t worry.

* * *

It was a complete slaughter, Purcell thought gleefully. Emperor Vexin had paid for Corlath’s death with the lives of nine hundred of his soldiers this night. He wished it had been thousands, but the outcome might then have been in doubt. Corlath was worth more to him than any number of Tanjuners, but nine hundred was a good start. Now that it was over, Purcell spotted people he knew wandering around checking the wounded. Many of them were not guardsmen at all, but townsfolk wearing bits of armour. For them to be fighting, Donalt must have been desperate. He couldn’t see Don anywhere, but it was dark.

Many on both sides were wounded, but most of the dead belonged to Tanjung this time. Over by the stables Lucius was checking to see if a man was alive. He was, and Lucius took him inside. Here and there Tanjuners were being given the grace. It was too good for them, but he dare not let them wander off to the God alone knew where. It was better that they be safely dead.

“Why don’t you go in and see Isolde? I’ll take over here.”

“Thanks Gy, I’ll do that,” Purcell said with gratitude.

Purcell entered the citadel and quickly made his way to the great hall. The place was a mess in many ways. Wounded men lay in rows on the floor with woman from the town tending them. It was almost as if he had been magically transported back in time to Athione. The scene was that similar to what he had found in the great hall there. Some of the injured were well enough to greet him with a small cheer. Others just stared at him, mutely demanding to know why he hadn’t been here to protect them. There was furniture piled close to the doors—used to hold them shut no doubt, and blood and scraps of cloth used for bandaging littered the floor.

An older woman hurried toward him and made to go by, but he stopped her with a raised hand. “Where is Lady Isolde?”

“And who are you to be asking?”

Purcell sighed. There was nothing like a woman to bring a man down to earth with a bump. “I am her consort.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “Sorry m’lord! Lady Isolde and Lady Lysara are in the woman’s quarter with our lord Donalt.”

Our
lord?
“Thank you.”

Purcell left the hall and quickly made his way to the women’s quarter. Evidence of the struggle was strewn all along the corridors—blood on the stone where someone was dragged to safety, various pieces of furniture piled at intersections to provide cover for archers. The whole place stank of death and would continue to do so for some time to come.

There was no one to direct him when he reached the women’s quarter. The door was open and unguarded. He started ducking into rooms searching. Eventually he found Lysara in her own room, but Isolde was not with her. Fear for his wife clutched his heart.

“Oh, father! It was so awful. Corlath is gone and Donalt—”

Purcell stiffened. “Not Donalt too,” he pleaded.

“No, but badly wounded. We thought he would die, but he held on. He was still giving orders until just a little while ago. You would have been so proud of him, father. He rode out with half the men and ambushed the Tanjuners in the forest, and then he did it again at the bridge. He saved us all. The men fought like dragons to get him to safety when he was wounded in the courtyard.”

Purcell’s pride in his son was beyond words. He couldn’t have spoken in any case. The relief at hearing Donalt was safe brought tears to his eyes. Lysara showed him into her bedchamber. There was a pale ghost in the bed—his son asleep. He looked dead. Purcell sighed in relief when Don shifted a little in his sleep.

“I’ll fetch Lucius up here. He’s a wizard—not as powerful as Julia maybe, but he should be able to help.”

“Who is Julia?” Lysara frowned at the strange sounding name. “Never mind—you can tell me later.”

“How is your mother?” Purcell dreading what he would discover.

“It was bad at first. She cried and cried. I didn’t think she would ever stop—”

Purcell could easily imagine the terrible grief she felt. Isolde was a strong woman, she’d had to be to put up with him and two strapping boys all these years, but the loss of a first born child was enough to break anyone’s spirit.