Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (162 page)

The Japurans used the word
government
for what he had in mind. Using magic, he had created the web, which gave the concept of government a useful twist. Through the web, he and the circle would govern thereby removing the tiresome and time wasting need to roam the land rectifying problems. There was little doubt that the governors would be unhappy with him at first. Subordinating themselves to sorcerers was always hard from their point of view, but that was how the Protectorate would be ruled when he was Mortain. The web would ensure instant communication between him and a sorcerer anywhere within the Protectorate. At the same time, it would guard against the misuse of power. Corruption had ever been a problem among Mortain’s governors and officials. Sorcerers connected to one another via the web would lance the problem once and for all.

The sails were reefed as they entered the harbour mouth and he retired briefly to his cabin to change into a clean robe and shave the stubble from his chin. Not for the first time, he wondered if perhaps there was a spell to prevent his beard growing—nasty itchy things beards.

“Make fast the bowline!” Master Indrani roared.

Godwinson climbed the ladder and stepped back on deck as Indrani snugged his ship into her berth.

“The Black Ship, or do we ride on?” Felda asked as he came on deck.

“There’s no way you are getting me in the saddle this late in the day. The Black Ship it is.”

The Black Ship was a popular inn at the centre of town. Sorcerers used it more or less exclusively as they travelled from the castle to the mainland and back. It was a place to be oneself in a private setting, but first he needed to be Godwinson for a little longer.

“Master Indrani, a speedy passage as usual,” he said with a smile for the man.

“I thank you my lord sorcerer,” Indrani said grinning with plenty of teeth. “If I find any more speed from this old lady she’ll grow wings and fly!”

He laughed and slapped the man on the shoulder. “That would be something to see my friend.”

Godwinson made his way down the plank. At the bottom, a ceremony awaited him. Firstly, an honour guard chosen from the best the first legion could provide awaited his inspection. Most of the men were old hands that had excelled over their years in the legion. They had been given this position of honour as a final post before retiring to their farms or whatever else they had chosen to do with their twilight years. He walked along the lines smiling at familiar faces. He stopped to have a word with a friend he had known from way back before he became Godwinson.

“Still here, Sergeant?”

Sergeant Manaba smiled through the gaps in his teeth; they were supposedly knocked out of his mouth in the war, but Godwinson knew different. Manaba had been brawling in a tavern somewhere when he met a chair leg with some considerable force wielded by the owner.

“They’re throwing me out next season,” Manaba said downcast. “I wanted to stay, but they say no.”

“Who says no?”

Manaba shrugged uncomfortably glancing quickly at his stiff-faced captain. He was unwilling to say—a common thing among legionnaires.

“I’m waiting for an answer, Sergeant. I order you to tell me.”

Manaba looked worse if anything. “Captain Hedda says he was ordered to drop all of us.”

“Oh?” he said turning to the now glaring Hedda.

“General Menelaus ordered me to disband the honour guard, my lord sorcerer. I am to report for new duties with the Legion in a matter of tendays.”

Hedda wanted to go back into the field. It was hardly surprising really. He was a young man with many years ahead of him. He wanted to fight and gain rank at his chosen profession. Godwinson could understand that, but the honour guard was a tradition that went back centuries. Disbanding a unit with such history behind it would set a bad precedent.

“Captain Hedda, you are dismissed as commanding officer of the honour guard. At the earliest opportunity you will board ship and rejoin your legion.”

Captain Hedda bowed stiffly and stomped away.

He shook his head. The fool didn’t realise he had just been given what he most wanted. Godwinson turned back to the uneasy looking legionnaires. They were unsure of themselves now that their captain was gone. He decided to fix that while he was here.

“Manaba stand forth.”

The sergeant did not hesitate and stopped a pace before him.

“You are hereby promoted to the rank of Under Captain. Further, you will take command of the honour guard and ensure its current high standards are maintained. The honour guard will
not
be disbanded.”

Manaba saluted and stepped into his place at Godwinson’s elbow to finish the inspection. All the men were turned out to perfection, as he would expect. No other formation had so many years of service embodied within it. All these men were capable of leading, but unfortunately they needed only one captain. Manaba was it.

“Well, Captain. You and your men have reinforced my opinion that the honour guard is the best unit we have. Keep up the tradition my friend.”

“We will my lord sorcerer. I thank you on behalf of my men.”

Godwinson smiled at Manaba’s exquisite courtesy, he had probably used up his store for an entire year on that little speech.

Now that the inspection was over, Manaba dismissed the greater portion of his men. Together with two others, he escorted Godwinson and his friends to the Black Ship. There was no need for an escort. Mahaan was a peaceful little town really; the only trouble that Manaba would ever have to deal with was an occasional drunken sailor.

Manaba saluted and left them at the door of the inn. Godwinson preferred the fuss be kept to a minimum and he had known that.

Felda led the way inside and the others followed him. The inn was exactly as he remembered it. The Black Ship was unlike most inns. Stepping inside was more like entering a friend’s home than a common room of an inn. The owner was a personal friend of most sorcerers passing through Mahaan.

The common room was like a comfortable lounging room at the castle. The light was low and lent an air of privacy. There were strange plants and flowers from far off places, and quiet music supplied by musicians in their own little nook out of sight. There was no bar or counter, instead servants trained to remember everything the inn had to offer walked silently to and fro taking orders and delivering food and drink just like the servants at the castle. One could be fooled into thinking it was an expensive eatery and not an inn at all, but that was not so. Stairs in one corner led to comfortable rooms on the second and third floors all with access to bathing rooms. The Black Ship was a big place, built a short time after the Founding; it represented the oldest building barring the castle on the Black Isle.

Godwinson noted with pleasure the lack of interest he was shown by the other black robed men. Notoriety could be wearying, but then he noticed Beltran’s frown.

“What is it?”

Beltran was scanning faces faster and faster. The expression upon his face turned from a frown to worry. “I don’t like this,” he rumbled with his eyes still roving the crowd.

“What’s not to like?” Eban said trying to see what had agitated their friend.

“These men,” Beltran gestured at the sorcerers nearby. “Every one of them is stronger than I am. If Mortain ordered them all here, he is planning something.”

Godwinson frowned and scanned the room for familiar faces. He found them. Although he did not know every name here, he did know them by sight. Beltran was right. Something was going on. He turned to Kontar and beckoned him forward.

“Once we’re settled, I want you to find out what’s happening here. Make it seem as if you’re tired of my company and try to weasel out Mortain’s reasoning for having this much power in one place at one time.”

“With pleasure. I haven’t had a chance to chat with our brothers since Banswara.”

He nodded and moved further into the room. As soon as he did so, Santo came forward to greet him.

“Ah it is good to see you again my lord sorcerer,” Santo said with a smile of welcome and arms out to hug him. “It’s been far too long.”

Godwinson was surprised at the treatment. Felda was alarmed and twitched as if about to blast the man, but Godwinson hurriedly signalled his people to calm down.

“I need to speak with you, but not here,” Santo whispered in Godwinson’s ear before breaking the embrace. “What can I get you?” Santo went on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

He scrambled to catch up. “Ah… seven rooms for the night, my friend, and a meal. How about your…” he rattled off something but for the life of him he could not remember what it was a moment later.

What was going on?
Did
Mortain know? That was a question he had asked himself many times, and every time the answer appeared to be that he didn’t, but
did
he? Everything was in place now; he could set everything in motion with a word, but was it necessary even yet? Things weren’t proceeding perfectly to plan, but then what did? Navarien had lost too many men last year, but the objective had been attained even if the plan had to be subsequently altered. Was Mortain planning to remove him? That was the question.

Santo seated them at a table and waved his people over to take orders for food and wine. Godwinson wasn’t hungry. In truth, he felt uneasy surrounded by so many powerful and unfamiliar sorcerers. Any or all of these men could have been ordered by Mortain to kill him and he would not know until too late, but surely he would be more circumspect than that. He would most likely do the deed himself. With that realisation, he began to relax and eat his dinner.

Santo appeared after the meal and led them personally to their rooms. Felda of course refused to leave his side and Godwinson had no problem with that tonight. Santo looked meaningfully at him then left. If he was correct, he was to expect a late night visit from Santo.

“What was that about?” Felda said faintly annoyed.

He grasped his magic and raised a ward against scrying. “Santo wants to talk to me, but he’s worried about being seen or overheard.”

Felda’s eyebrows shot up. “You got that from one glance?”

Godwinson laughed. “No, he whispered it when he hugged me downstairs.”

“Good thinking with Kontar. He’ll find out what’s happening.”

“True, but I’m Godwinson—I should know already! If Mortain isn’t working against me I should know it, but I don’t. Therefore he is working against me. Does that make sense?”

“Normally I’d say no, but now? Who can say?”

“Kontar and Santo I hope.”

“I’ll stay here tonight.”

Godwinson glanced at the candle on the side table. It was eighth mark. He had a while to wait for his answers. He sat in a comfortable looking chair and promptly fell asleep.

“Godwinson? Wake, I have news,” a voice said intruding upon his dream.

He shook off the dream of his beloved wife on the day they met. He missed her deeply, but the wandering life was not for her. He visited as much as he could but it was not enough by a long way. How he wished she was here. He sat up with difficulty holding in a groan as his back twinged. Sleeping in a chair had not been a good idea. He squinted at the candle and found it was much lower. It was after eleventh mark, well on the way to midnight. Santo stood looking down at him in concern until he wiped his face and yawned.

“I’m awake,” Godwinson said blinking.

Felda he saw was sitting on a hard stool with his back against the door. The stool ensured he did not sleep. Santo was less jovial now. Felda rose and lit more candles to brighten the room.

“What did you want to discuss?”

“I am loyal to Mortain and the Protectorate my lord, you
must
believe that,” Santo said wringing his hands in worry.

That was a bad start. Felda grasped his magic in readiness. Godwinson had him wait with a gesture.

“We are all loyal to the Protectorate,” Godwinson said. “We want what is best for our people do we not?”

“Yes, yes that’s right! I have lived here all my life. All know Santo is loyal. I know many sorcerers and like most of them. I like to think of you as a friend, my lord sorcerer.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. Not many people liked sorcerers. He was a sorcerer himself and he didn’t like most of them! What had liking them have to do with anything?

“Go on.”

“The Black Ship serves sorcerers and few others. Some people, even some living in Mahaan don’t understand, but I’m not one of those. With sorcerers arriving and leaving all the time, I… well, I hear things you see?”

“Things? What things?”

“Bad things—”

Felda had heard enough. “Spit it out man!”

Santo cringed.

Godwinson glared Felda back to his self-assigned post. “Have a seat Santo and calm yourself. I
am
your friend—Felda is too, but he gets testy when people don’t come to the point.”

Santo fumbled for a chair all the while watching Felda over his shoulder.

“Santo?” Godwinson said.

Santo turned back to him.

“The point?”

“The point… the point is I hear things and I think you need to know, but… I’m sorry my lord. I truly am your friend—truly. I need help my lord. If it was just me I would tell you, but my sister… will you help?”

Godwinson didn’t want to be upset with the man more than he was already, but this was going nowhere fast. “I will help you.”

“Do you swear?” Santo said with his voice full of hope.

Felda’s eyes were bugging at the temerity of asking a sorcerer for an oath.

Godwinson felt his face beginning to heat as his own anger built, but he fought it and spoke calmly. “I Godwinson, heir to Mortain voice of the God on earth, do swear to help you,” he said slowly. Then the dam burst and he roared, “
Now tell me!
”

Santo flinched at the roar and nearly fainted in shock. “My sister’s boy can do things—”

“Things? Magic things?”

Santo nodded weakly.

Finally, all was becoming clear. He had thought the fool had heard Mortain was going to kill him or something! Phew, what a relief! It was almost overpowering. He slumped back into his seat and thanked the God it wasn’t what he had thought.