Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (141 page)

“It should have been me,” Odelyn said guzzling his wine.

“I know it should my friend. Why is that upstart Wotan our lead mage? He’s weaker than half the others here, yet none are willing to challenge him,” Demophon said, but he already knew who Wotan’s father was.

Odelyn burped wine fumes at him, and he clenched a fist to prevent his fires from escaping. By the God, he despised drunkenness. His father had been a sot as well.

It had been a great shock to him when he found upon his return that all his hard work of ingratiating himself with Navarien was wasted. Wotan had outdone him in every department, but then again he did have two hundred mages to help him. Still, the work on the fortress was still impressive despite the numbers involved; it had taken real thought and planning to accomplish. There was no doubt Navarien would see it that way also. Demophon had thought all was lost, but then he saw the look of hatred on Odelyn’s face when Wotan wasn’t looking, and a way forward opened.

“Mortain wants him—” Odelyn mumbled.

“Mortain?”

“God… hic! Godwinson was furious they shay…
say.
”

He smiled pleasantly. “Do. Tell.”

“Yes… they shay… hic!
Say
Mortain is punishing Godwinshun fur summat he done.”

“Well, well. That is interesting. I think we should help our Lord Mortain don’t you?”

Odelyn smiled blearily. “My bestest friend…” he said before collapsing over the table.

“Friend,” Demophon said smirking, but then smoothed his face. “Odelyn my friend, my very
dear
friend, you are going to remove Wotan from my path.”

Yes indeed. Once done, he would remove Odelyn for the murder of their beloved lead mage, and both Mortain
and
Godwinson would be pleased!

Demophon laughed gleefully.

* * *

Interlude II

Godwinson turned from the view of the empty harbour to see his two closest friends sitting at their ease. “Does he know?”

Felda laughed, it was a far from pleasant sound. “He suspects everyone, of course he knows.”

Eban voiced his disagreement with a snort. “Everyone is his enemy therefore he knows? Where’s the logic in that?”

“Don’t start that—” Felda spluttered.

Godwinson turned back to his scrutiny of the harbour. Thank the God Wotan had reached Calvados safely and none of the fleet was lost. Molan was jubilant; he had braved the worst winter storms the North Sea could throw at him and he was jubilant! He truly was the best with weather, but to be able to control a storm with waves towering over the tallest masts was incredible. Frightening came more readily to mind. It was a good thing he was an ally and dedicated to the circle’s cause. If he hadn’t been he would’ve had to die of course. Molan’s storms used by Mortain as a weapon would have seen all their plans undone.

They were currently residing in Banswara as a waypoint on the continuous journey maintaining the Protectorate. The life could be exhausting, but seeing new places and faces had always appealed, unfortunately riding league upon league between town and city palled very quickly. When he was Mortain, he would be
imprisoned
upon Black Isle and his successor would have the job of journeyeing from city to city. If he wasn’t careful, he would be imprisoned for true—more probably dead. Mortain had contacted him just a few days ago and recalled him without giving a reason. The man was always ill tempered, but the abruptness of the contact and his manner had them all on edge. Mortain knew something, he was sure of it. They were leaving on a direct route to the Black Isle in the morning. The last time he had set foot inside Castle Black was over two years ago when he persuaded Mortain that General Navarien was an invaluable resource and should not be executed. This time he might well be begging for his own life.

“How many guardians have we weaselled out?”

Felda’s eyebrows rose. “As far as we could determine, the Fifth is free of them. The two we did find were detained until the fleet sailed. I personally berated them on their slackness. Drunk on duty, disgraceful!” Felda grinned but it wilted at Godwinson’s look. “You mean altogether?”

Godwinson nodded. “I have a bad feeling about this meeting. Mortain made no recriminations about my sending almost two legions worth of recruits to Camorin… or two hundred of our brothers. It’s not like him.”

Felda glanced at Eban and received a slight shrug. “Beltran seems to have a positive knack for finding them. He seems certain we have them all.”

“All?” Godwinson said in surprise.

“He seems very confident,” Felda said. “We have reliable people close to them awaiting your orders.”

He frowned in indecision. “Put them all on notice. I want them ready to strike the instant I give the word.”

Eban opened his mouth to question the advisability of preemptive action, but then he rethought and left his concern unvoiced. Godwinson smiled. Eban had always said this time would come, but he seemed unsure now it had arrived. It was a big step to take, but if successful, the Protectorate would enter a new stage in its journey toward dominion of Waipara.

* * *

Beltran grasped his magic and called the image. He forced a smile onto his face as Mortain stared at him.

“It is as I said.”

“You are certain?” Mortain said.

Beltran nodded. “Godwinson is ready to move against you.”

“Why now? Is it his son?”

Beltran shook his head. “We have news that Wotan has reached Calvados safely. No, it is simply time for the next step in his plan.”

Mortain’s eyes burned with rage. “I have recalled him as you advised, and now you say he will kill me!” he screamed in rage.

“He will not kill you, my lord. I will be with him on his journey.”

“Kill him now!” Mortain roared.

“I will try if you order it, my lord, but I will fail.”

Mortain’s rage fled instantly. “You are my deadliest guardian, Beltran. Why would you fail?”

“Because he is never alone. Felda is strong, almost as strong as Godwinson himself—”

“Yes, yes,” Mortain said impatiently. “I know all my mages’ strengths and weaknesses. Felda could have been Godwinson had he removed a certain man—but no matter. Make sure you accompany him here. I have something in mind that will see the end of all his plans, and this precious
circle
of his. All will accompany him?”

“They always do, my lord.”

Mortain nodded. “You have done well.”

The mirror cleared and Beltran dropped his ward. “I have done well? You have no idea how well,
my
lord
. None at all.”

* * *

9 ~ War

The night was quiet, broken only by Nisim’s footfalls on crisp snow as he made his way back to camp. It was cold, and his breath smoked as he slogged through knee deep drifts toward the welcome of his tent.

“Stop right there!” a voice called. “There’s nothing for you here!”

He smiled and continued forward. “I wouldn’t say that, Garym. I live here.”

“Nisim?” the shadowy figure said stepping into the light of the moon. “I didn’t know you were out.”

“Kim was here then.”

“He should have told me. I might have shot you!”

He frowned at the bow in Garym’s hand. “Have you done that?”

“Twice. They won’t leave us alone. Can’t you talk to Methrym about it?”

“I don’t lead here, Garym. Joz does.”

Garym blew a rude noise. “Whatever you say, Nisim, but can’t you make them leave us alone?”

Nisim sighed. Why did they insist on making him responsible? Couldn’t they see he wasn’t the right person to lead them? Joz was the fighter, not him. He didn’t want to lead. He didn’t want to be responsible for anyone but himself. If they knew how bad at the job he was they wouldn’t push at him so, but he didn’t tell them about Tanni. It hurt too much.

“What does Terriss say?”

“He says we’re borderers now, and borderers fight to protect what is theirs. He says we should patrol the camp as Methrym’s men do and shoot anyone who won’t go away after they’ve been warned.”

Nisim agreed with that. “As long as you do warn them first.”

“I did, but I don’t like killing, Nisim,” Garym said and hung his head. “It made me sick.”

“If you ever begin to like it, you should stop carrying weapons.” Nisim looked back the way he came. “How many have…
we
killed so far?”

“About a dozen. The mistress says we should go home.”

His eyes narrowed. “The
mistress
has no power over you anymore. Kim should never have brought Lakshmi out of Talayan.”

“It wasn’t him. Magda insisted we bring her.”

“She should have more sense!”

“The mist… Lakshmi hasn’t caused any problems, Nisim. It’s the cursed soldiers I’m guarding against!”

He took a breath and tried to calm himself, but the thought of that woman living so close made him furious. They were no longer slaves, but Lakshmi still treated them as if they would do her bidding. The worst part was she was right. Trista, Magda, and the others were so used to doing what they were told that they obeyed Lakshmi instinctively. It was something he was determined to break them of.

“Why doesn’t Terriss guard us?”

“He has other things to worry about. The war?” Garym said as if Nisim might not be aware of it.

He was very aware of it. Tanjung was at war with Japura, and no matter what else he was, he was Japuran. He couldn’t fight his own people—rather he would not. Methrym might have his plans where the whores were concerned—Nisim was sure he did, but whatever they were, Methrym could leave him and his friends out of them. He would not fight his own people, but what about Tanjuners? It was they who were continually trying to sneak into the camp. He could fight
them
, couldn’t he? Terriss had been teaching all of them how to fight. He said no borderer was ever helpless and that they were all borderers now.

“I’ll go back,” he said and turned toward the city, toward Nelek.

“Nisim!” Garym shouted. “I didn’t mean now you idiot!”

He didn’t turn back. “Best get it done!”

Joz had chosen a clearing on the edge of the forest for their camp. It was a good site, chosen mainly for the trees that acted as a windbreak. As soon as Nisim cleared the last trees, he faced into the wind and slogged toward the city. Nelek was more like a walled town than a city, but then, nothing compared to Talayan. Tanjung’s cities were small compared with those in Japura, but then the empire did not have anything like the same history behind it. He supposed Nelek was a nice enough place, but he couldn’t summon much enthusiasm for it. The ruling lord didn’t like him or so many Japurans camped on his doorstep. He hated Methrym for some reason to do with his House. Politics was a serious matter in Tanjung and dangerous. He didn’t like Terriss or Joz either. In fact, the lord of Nelek liked very few people all things considered. Three separate camps on his land, two consisting of armies and one consisting of freed slaves had made him close the city to any not living there. Even Methrym was not allowed inside without an escort.

Nisim did not aim for the gates; instead, he walked toward a sentry he saw on the perimeter of Methrym’s camp. The man watched him come and escorted him to the big tent in the centre of camp. It was where Methrym made his plans and kept his maps. He ducked inside and found the War Leader working alone by lamplight. He watched from just inside the tent flap as he measured distances and jotted figures on a scrap of paper. Nisim moved quietly forward to speak with him.

“Well?” Methrym said without looking up.

“I need to speak with you.”

Methrym looked up in surprise. “Nisim! I thought you were Soren. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He studied the map. “Orrisa is a long way from here.”

“I know,” Methrym said dryly.

“You will not attack it easily. You will have every domain lord and petty prince coming down on you like wolves on a dear.”

“What makes you think I intend to attack it?”

“You were measuring distances to it,” he said.

“Not to it,
from
it. Talitha has an army at Orrisa that I would rather not face, but I suspect I’ll have to. I need to know how long it will take to get here.”

“It’s winter—”

“That’s no guarantee of safety, Nisim. Besides, I was talking of spring. If I can attack and push back any Japuran presence in the border regions before that army arrives on the scene, I will deprive it of supplies.”

“More burning?”

“It’s war,” Methrym said and shrugged. “I don’t want to destroy the farms and towns, but I will if necessary.” He frowned at one of the lists lying atop the map. “Do you know any of these people?”

Nisim glanced at it. “Talitha’s Strike Leaders.”

“Correct. Who will she send?”

“All of them I should think, but Wakiza is her greatest Strike Leader. It’s him you should be worrying about.”

“
Exactly!
Strike Leader Wakiza commands the army of Orrisa… not so?”

“It is so, but I doubt Talitha would wish to uncover Orrisa. She might well put Wakiza in charge of the war, but keep that army where it is.”

“I wouldn’t if I were her, but it’s a possibility I admit. I’ll plan for the worst, which is Wakiza and that army coming after my arse.”

“Sensible.”

“It is, is it not?” Methrym grinned. “Now then, you didn’t come here to talk about Wakiza.”

“No,” Nisim agreed. “We’ve had some trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Your soldiers sneaking into our camp looking for a good time with one of the girls.”

“You can hardly blame—”

“I can and I do,” he snapped angrily. “You will stop them, or I will.”

Methrym drew himself up. “Are you threatening me, Nisim?” he said in a deadly voice.

Nisim sighed in exasperation. “Not you,
them!
We are slaves no longer. We will not allow outsiders within our camp.”

“It’s partly your own fault you know. I told you about calling yourselves whores. Is it any wonder the men believe you are what you say? Names are important.”