Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (6 page)

During the war with Bandar, Navarien had proven himself worthier than several others when he was raised to temporary command of the Second Legion—he had been Senior Captain when his General was relieved for a serious failure. He had taken up his new duties without a fuss and immediately planned an attack. By splitting his forces, he by-passed a defensive position, and while the Bandarians fell over themselves trying to change front, both halves of his legion wheeled and struck. The Bandarians were annihilated.

Now he had a new command and a new campaign to fight.

Navarien’s legion, the Fifth, was ten thousand strong. All infantry. He had made it clear at the outset that cavalry would be a liability at this stage. Athione sat on an escarpment completely blocking the pass. The only way into Deva was to negotiate a narrow road out of the town, and follow it up to the gates of the fortress. Lucius had told him that the escarpment was created by the up thrusting of rock with magic. Looking at it, Navarien could see for him self that it wasn’t natural.

Navarien had chosen a campsite approximately half a league from the remains of the town just at the point where the pass widened out into an irregular circle. It mattered not at all to him that he was following in the footsteps of armies and generals now long dead. They had attempted to breach Athione and failed, but they hadn’t brought sorcerers with them.

He had.

Moving through the camp, Navarien glanced at the burned remains of the town. It was an annoyance that he had been unable to capture it intact, but only that. He had hoped, but not counted on, taking the town to resupply his troops. It would have been considerably more than an annoyance if he’d brought cavalry with him. The pass was completely devoid of vegetation. No forage meant no horses. It was as simple as that.

Navarien stopped a moment to watch some of the men unloading the latest pack train to arrive through the pass. The stores of food and other essentials looked pitifully small, and ordinarily he would be worried. He wasn’t though. Everything was going according to plan. Two battalions had been detailed to start the unenviable job of supplying the legion with food and other necessities. Those two thousand men were important, any less and the task would become unworkable. It took his men two days to travel the pass to reach this point, so to make the round trip the draft animals had to work on low rations for four days. It would be pointless to ferry in food for the animals, he would need even more of them to carry it. No, it wasn’t critical to his plan to capture the town, but it would have saved a great deal of effort.

Stopping outside of his tent, Navarien stared up at the arrogant and forbidding walls of Athione.

Soon.

* * *

He should never have let Darius study that God cursed book!

Keverin sat slumped in his chair atop the dais in the great hall. He had ordered the room cleared a few candlemarks ago. The mages had removed Darius to prepare him for the final journey. Darius had always said the term was silly. He said the body was like a cup, and the wine was life. When death came, the soul left the body behind after savouring the wine of life.

A soothing balm leached the pain from Keverin’s burnt hands, but he wished they had one for his soul instead. He unconsciously clenched then released his fists and took no notice of the blood soaked bandages. The blood welled then dripped onto the dais.

He did not notice.

It was a habit he learned from his father who wanted to strengthen him. His sword work had been atrocious when he was a child. His father had decided his forearms needed more strength. Kevlarin had given him a ball made out of rags tightly bound together and told him to squeeze it when he had an idle moment. Keverin had idolised his father, and took the orders to an extreme. For years, he used the ball. Other children thought him a baby for carrying it, but he ignored the comments and continued to exercise with it until the string wore out. His sword work became excellent as even the largest of blades became light as a feather in his hands. Now whenever he became upset the familiar motion of clench and release eased his soul.

Suddenly his emotions came to a head and he jumped to his feet to storm out of the hall. He made his way through the labyrinthine corridors and eventually came to the north tower steps. Climbing quickly upward, he came to the last door. Hesitating briefly, he unlocked it and went inside.

There wasn’t much to see. A bed, a wardrobe, and a chest he knew held spare red robes. On a wall, a shelf supported a mirror and two books. He picked up the books and read the titles. The larger of the two was a book of poetry he recognised as being borrowed from the library. He replaced it on the shelf. The smaller of the two was a history entitled:
The Black Isle.

Taking it with him, he sat on the bed and began to read.

The day progressed unnoticed while he read, then turning another page he realised there was no more. Surprised, he looked toward the window, and saw the sun was going down. He replaced the book on the shelf and was about to leave when a scroll caught his eye on the table. How he had missed it before he didn’t know, but he snatched it up as if it held all the secrets in the world. On the outside of the parchment was his name in Darius’ hand. Breaking the seal, he began to read.

My dear friend.

If you are reading this, events have proceeded as I foresaw. Do not blame yourself for my death, mages such as I never expect to live to a ripe old age as the founders were said to have done. Only another mage could truly understand the ecstasy of using the power to create something never seen before.

“I never did understand my friend. How could I know?” Keverin said into the gloom.

To me the gate spell is like a fine horse or blade is to you, it begs to be used and used wisely. I hope I am wise, but if I am not, I will not know it after today. Already the knowledge of the spell works upon me. It calls me, and I burn to use it. The founders had iron discipline to thwart temptation. Alas, I’m not one such as they.

“You were the strongest man I ever knew,” Keverin whispered. Who else would walk into his hall, knowing he would come out an old man, or not at all?

You must use your best judgement about whether to show the book to anyone else, but I urge you to destroy it before allowing the Hasians access to such a treasure. Uncountable harm would result should they build gates to anywhere they wished. Imagine for a moment, a gate opened into this very room, and an army of Hasians pouring through.

Keverin was nodding. He had already decided to destroy it. Not for fear of the Hasians, but to prevent anyone else going through what Darius had. He bent his head to continue reading. The light was failing now and he could barely see the words.

If the spell worked, you have a new guest in your fortress. Be kind to him, as you have been to me. He will be confused and will not understand our world. Teach him what he needs to know, and above all, if he wishes to try the return journey you must let him. I snatched him against his will, a crime for which I shall surely be called to account when I kneel before the God.

Farewell,

Your friend and servant,

Darius.

Keverin rolled the parchment up. He stepped outside and re-locked the door. Walking through the silent fortress, he tried not to dwell on Darius and the screaming. After walking for a time, he thought he could by thinking about the coming battle. Then he had an idea about using the mages.

“I’ll ask Darius what he thinks.”

The screaming came back louder than ever.

On reaching his rooms, Keverin put the scroll in a velvet bag with some other papers and put them in a hidden drawer in his desk. He crossed the study to open a cabinet. Inside were crystal decanters of wine and some glasses. He hesitated on choosing which one to take, but then he remembered Darius saying the wine from Talayan was the best.

Keverin took out the decanter, and with a glass in hand proceeded to drink himself insensible. Strangely, it seemed to take a long time. After finishing the wine, he started on a Camorin spirit those northern people called White Lightning. He managed two glasses before losing consciousness.

Darius...

* * *

4 ~ Attacked

Keverin, lord of Athione and Lord Protector of the West, awoke with a splitting headache and a disgusting taste in his mouth. It tasted like a rat had crawled in during the night and died. He sat up—tried to sit up, but his head felt like it had fallen off and rolled down the rat hole earlier vacated.

“By the God, I’ll never drink again. Never again,” he croaked.

Keverin staggered to his feet and made it to the privy before the inevitable happened. Afterwards he felt a little better and performed his ablutions. He couldn’t let the men see him in such a condition. The Hasians could attack at any time. Darius said... No! He couldn’t think about him now. Renard was senior. He would talk to Renard first thing.

Quickly donning a clean shirt, he chose a pair of well-worn leather trousers that he sometimes used on the hunt. They were a good choice for what was coming. They were comfortable but more to the point the leather was reinforced with lozenges of bone. Just the thing to help turn a boar’s tusks from his flesh... or an arrow. Keverin buckled on his armour and thrust his sword’s sheath into the sash around his waist next to his father’s poniard. Lastly, he fitted bracers and tried to pull on a pair of reinforced leather gloves, but the bandages interfered. He threw the gauntlets onto a chair and collected his helmet. Looking around to make sure he wouldn’t embarrass himself by forgetting something, he hefted his helm in the crook of his arm and strode out the door.

Keverin made his way toward the library quarter to find Renard. They had a lot to discuss and not much time to do it in. His long strides ate up the distance with ease. Occasionally passing a sentry, he absently returned their salutes, but he didn’t pay any more attention to them. Sentries at important intersections within the citadel were commonplace. The Founders had built the citadel like a maze on purpose to confuse the enemy, and to allow the defenders to outflank him. Keverin thought it a cunning idea that would have worked perfectly but for one thing—magic. Although magic did have limits, finding the way through a maze was unfortunately not one of them.

Keverin strode into what had once been the north quarter of the citadel. Everyone called it the Library Quarter now and was where the mages had chosen to reside. They had followed Darius’ lead in choosing accommodations and had settled close by the library for convenience. Unlike Darius though, they preferred guest suites to a room at the top of a tower. Keverin found the Library Quarter deserted. Keverin frowned and quickly ducked into the library proper hoping to find them there. The mundane section echoed with emptiness, so too did the hall housing magic section. No one was in either hall, and all the books were as they should be.

Where are they?

Keverin was just about to check the mundane area again, when he heard Mathius out in the corridor. He quickly retraced his steps, and found the young mage talking to Marcus.

“Where are your brothers Mathius?”

Mathius’s face brightened on seeing him. “I was just explaining to the Captain, my lord. Renard called a meeting this morning to witness a scrying of the enemy. We found out that the first assault is due at sunrise.”

“That’s only moments away. Why wasn’t I informed?” Keverin said through gritted teeth. He was both surprised and angry that he hadn’t been informed about such an important matter.

“I felt that you needed your rest, my lord,” Marcus said. “I have all in readiness. The mages are in the west courtyard and have begun to build their wards over the gate and along the towers and walls.”

Keverin came close to an explosion—very close. He kept his face pleasant when he realised that he wouldn’t have been of any use until now. He had been lying in a stupor when he should have been on the wall. Self-recrimination wouldn’t change yesterday’s events however.

Keverin let his anger go. “Very good. Outstanding in fact. Let us go out and see what we can see.”

Striding away and forcing Marcus to hurry to catch him was a petty kind of revenge, but it made Keverin feel better. He slowed when he heard Mathius panting. He felt guilty about including him in his annoyance with Marcus.

“Where have you put the people from the town who were sheltering here?” Keverin said glancing along empty hallways.

“Some in the lower part of the citadel my lord, but most preferred to find places in East Town,” Marcus said.

Keverin nodded. They would be safer in East Town in any case. “Whatever makes them happy is fine. After this is over, I’m going to insist that West Town not be rebuilt. If they don’t like East, I’ll build them a new one if that’s what they want. Where’s the sense in having a town in the pass?”

Mathius answered the rhetorical question. “According to the Histories my lord, the towns on both sides were settled at different times. East was first, but the traders moved to West Town to take advantage of better prices.”

Keverin sighed. “I know that, but we’ve had precious little trade through the pass over the last twenty years. Now with the Black Isle ruling Bandar, I’m thinking the days of making money from western trade are over. I suppose we should rename East Town now that it’s the only one.”

Upon entering the courtyard, Renard approached and escorted Keverin to the other mages to explain his strategy. “We have five mages my lord, and the Hasians have fifty ready to oppose us. That sounds bad and it is, but not as much as it sounds. A mage cannot continuously use his magic without tiring and making errors. We all know where errors lead. I believe the reason for bringing so many sorcerers into the pass is that they will take turns at assaulting the gates—literally shifting from one group to the next. That way the Hasians can keep up a constant attack without exhausting each shift.”