Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (164 page)

Godwinson blinked in dismay. Mortain was forcing a confrontation and he didn’t understand why. He looked to Beltran again, but received nothing in exchange. The web still indicated he was deadly calm; he wasn’t in the least upset about this meeting.

“I did not—”

“Don’t bother,” Mortain snarled and grasped his magic. “It seems I made a mistake in choosing my heir. Lucky for me it’s not too late to fix it!”

Godwinson threw himself to the floor as fire roared through where he had been standing. As he landed he erected his strongest ward. He rose to his feet readying an attack of his own just in time to feel Beltran’s calm shatter. The man howled like one insane and blasted Mortain in the back. Godwinson gaped as Mortain was literally ripped limb from limb.

“Bastard,” Beltran howled. “
You bastard!
” he screamed and then laughed like one demented.

Godwinson stared at the remains of Mortain in shock. A noise to one side had him spinning to the attack, but he held off when he found Marcail grinning. The poor man tried to say something but all that came out were meaningless grunts. He let his magic go when he realised that Marcail was not a threat to him, on the contrary, he seemed pleased to see Mortain dead.

“Beltran?” Godwinson said.

“—bastard, bastard,” Beltran was still ranting.

“Beltran!” he roared. “Snap out of it man, we have things to see to before it all blows up in our faces.”

Beltran blinked at him, but then he seemed to come back to himself. “Yes,” Beltran whispered. “Yes, you’re right my lord sorcerer.”

Godwinson straightened at that. “I’m Mortain,” he whispered, but then he frowned. “But for how long?”

“The circle will make it a very long time my lor… my friend.”

“Yes the circle. Contact them for me and ask them to come straight here would you?”

“And the other thing?” Beltran said as he used magic to reach the others.

Mortain bent to examine his predecessor but he was unable to find what he was looking for. Where by the God did he keep it? Marcail came forward, looked upon his dead master, and grunted something. Mortain didn’t understand what he wanted, but Marcail was insistent. He moved aside and allowed Marcail to search the body. Almost straight away, he stood with the key outstretched upon his palm.

“I thank you Marcail.”

“The others are on their way. Have you decided?” Beltran said.

“I think we have no choice but to go ahead with it, I need to check something first.”

He unlocked the top drawer in Mortain’s… in his desk. He felt the magical traps disengage as the key turned. Two full turns of the key unlocked the drawer, but he didn’t open it. What he needed was not in the empty drawer. It was in the lower one. He withdrew the key and dropped it casually on the desk before reaching into the lower drawer which had been unlocked by the deactivation of the traps. Inside was a thick journal in which was written the name, description, known talents, and current orders of every sorcerer living. The first thing he did was look for guardians. Beltran pulled the corpse to one side so that he could sit to read. Marcail poured wine for each of them and when the others arrived, he did the same for them.

“He attacked you?” Felda said looking at the remains.

“He tried. Beltran was ready for him though. Thanks again my friend. You saved my life.”

Beltran nodded but his eyes kept darting to the journal. “I… have a confession to make to you all.”

Eban sat next to Pendaran with a look of polite interest upon his face. Kontar took a guard position by the door, and of course. Molan would be annoyed to have missed the excitement, but they hadn’t been able to wait for him to return from Camorin.

“A confession?” Mortain said pushing the book aside. “What kind of confession?”

“You will find me in that book.”

“Well of course! We are all in—”

“No,” Beltran said impatiently. “I mean you’ll find me listed near the top of the guardians.”

Felda snatched at his magic while the others were still gaping in surprise, but before he could strike, Mortain’s voice cracked out.

“Stop! He saved me, Felda. If he wanted to kill me, he could have done it then. Come to that he could have done it many times.”

Felda hesitated, but he did not strike. He did not release his magic either. “I’m listening.”

“Yes, we’re all listening, Beltran.”

“There’s not much to say,” Beltran said as he paced. He stepped over the corpse of his former master without seeming to notice. “You know what goes on in the halls; you’ve all been through it. Mortain made me a guardian and sent me out into the world to do his bidding. I was loyal and didn’t question my orders—ever.”

“No wonder you could sniff out guardians. You already knew who they were!” Pendaran said in outrage.

“Partly. I knew many guardians but not all. Only Mortain knew them all and Ravelyn of course. Ravelyn is directly responsible for all that goes on in the halls including the training of guardians. Ravelyn did what he did to me because of this—”

Mortain flinched as Beltran kicked the corpse so hard that it rolled over and stared at him. For a moment he feared it was still alive, but no, nothing could live in so many pieces.

“So you never questioned orders,” Felda said. “That’s as it should be. What changed?”

“You,” Beltran nodded at Mortain. “You started recruiting powerful men. This piece of offal,” he kicked the corpse again, “Was afraid. He knew you all as independent men and didn’t like it that you became servants of his heir. He sent me to join you and report back to him anything of note, which I did. You were nothing to me then, just a task my lord had given me. You understand?”

“You were to kill me when he decided it was time,” Mortain said.

Beltran nodded. “But he didn’t know about the spell or the web it created. I only knew your group was exceptional. You seemed to be the best of friends and worked together without needing to be told what was needed. When you made me a part of the circle I was a mess.”

“I remember. You were confused and having trouble separating yourself from the web.”

“Not really,” Beltran disagreed. “At that time there was no
me
, just Mortain’s will walking around in my body. I had no life but what he gave me, no purpose but the task he gave me. Then there was the circle and the spell filling a place I never knew existed. I was confused—preoccupied you see? I watched and listened to what you all did and said, but at the same time I used the web to find the lies.”

“Only there were no lies,” Mortain said in sympathy.

“Yes! I was sent to find the truth and report. I was to serve you but not in anything that endangered
him
. But I couldn’t do that anymore! You understand?”

“You came to see the vision as the rest of us do, but it conflicted with your orders from Mortain—the old one I mean.”

“Exactly! If I had reported to him with everything I now knew, he would have ordered me to kill you all. You were too dangerous to live, but I could not allow that. I believe in what the circle represents, but I knew Mortain would neither believe nor allow it to continue. The only solution was to accelerate the plan, but you were reluctant and wouldn’t listen to me.”

“I was not sure it was necessary,” Mortain said.

“
It was always necessary!
” Beltran snarled. He glared around at his friends. “The only thing in doubt was timing. Too early and the plan would fail, too late and Mortain would become suspicious of me and send one of the others. I had to act. I reported to him that you were ready to move against him. That is why he ordered us here.”

“I see. You took it upon yourself to set the plan in motion without consulting us,” Mortain said coldly.

“I had to! If Mortain sent one of the others I would have died protecting you, but he could have sent hundreds! Waipara depends on you and the circle. I couldn’t take the chance that you would refuse to act.”

Mortain was angry, but it was a little late for recriminations. The old Mortain was dead, and now he had to take the Protectorate into the future of his vision. He knew what
could
happen, but not what would. He had to avoid the mistakes of his vision and save Waipara. To do that, he had to rule it absolutely. It was the only way to make every able-bodied man fight the ancient enemy.

Mortain nodded to Felda to release his magic. “That’s all in the past. We have a future to create and a world to protect. Felda, you are my second as always, but I want to change your traditional role. With the web there is less need for a Godwinson to ride all over the place.”

“My backside thanks you,” Felda said dryly and everyone laughed. “You plan to abolish the title?”

Mortain nodded. “You know I have never liked assassination. It’s barbaric how Mortains of the past murdered their way into power. It stops here.”

Felda nodded. They had spoken of this many times.

“Beltran,” Mortain went on. “You’re the best man to deal with the guardians. Order the strike.” He turned to Eban and Pendaran. “Eban, I want you to take over the halls with Pendaran. Clean that cesspit up. Make sure Cenon is all right. That boy is something special.”

The circle acknowledged their orders with grunts of agreement or just a nod.

“What of Ravelyn?” Eban said.

“Do you think you can work with him?” he said doubting it even as he asked.

“No,” Eban said.

Mortain looked to the others and received head shakes all around.

“Kill him.”

* * *

21 ~ Eve of Battle

“Captain Bannan has taken casualties I’m afraid,” Wotan said.

Navarien turned to Cragson. “Halt the column here and set the camp as fast as you can. It seems we’re not going any further without a fight.”

Cragson nodded once and things started happening.

Navarien had discussed what was to happen with his captains at this point. The camp would provide a secure fortification to protect the supplies, which was obviously essential. Cragson would ensure the thing was dug properly, and with fresh water in the form of a river nearby, sanitation and drinking water was not a concern. Navarien had no intention of sitting on his hands in the fort of course, but it did give him a base for his operations. As long as he kept his men within reasonable distance of it, he could fight and retreat for resupply at will.

The cavalry screen had performed its task admirably. All three battalions had been engaged numerous times by small groups of clan warriors fleeing before it, but the legion had won handily each time. Bannan was now holding the right wing and fighting a larger concentration of warriors than he had so far encountered. According to Wotan’s sorcerers, this skirmish was the beginning of the clan’s resistance to their progress south.

He looked around and found his map table already set up with its awning providing protection from the sun. He touched Wotan on the elbow and gestured that they should reconvene under the awning’s protection. It was cursed hot to be standing around in black robes, but Wotan seemed unconcerned. No sweat dotted his brow, or that of any sorcerer for that matter.

“May I see the fighting?”

Wotan nodded. He placed his mirror on the map and called an image from above.

It was a wonderful way to fight a war, he mused not for the first time. It did make him feel just a little divorced from the battle, but he was commanding what amounted to three legions now and was unable to fight with the men any longer. He hoped they didn’t think he was holding back through fear, because that wasn’t it at all. Three legions weighed heavy on his mind. He needed all his attention to keep every facet of his plan running smoothly. He would do himself and his men a disservice if he tried to fight at the same time as keeping track of so many men.

The first thing he noted upon seeing the image was that indeed the clans had finally arrived. The second was worry. Bannan was badly out numbered. Three thousand legionnaires were fighting perhaps three times their number of clansmen. Bannan had obviously decided a fighting retreat was in order and Navarien agreed. The mages were doing an excellent job of warding the retreat. None of Bannan’s men were falling any longer. Not so the clans. Fireballs flew and grounded amongst the clansmen. Bodies were turned to torches and ash, but the warriors were undaunted and came on. Navarien shook his head at their foolishness. They should pull back and wait for night when they had more chance. Not that it would work of course, but they should still try. This attack was just wasting lives.

Navarien absently noticed more mages arriving and bending to speak with Wotan as he watched the retreat, but he took no notice of their whispers. Wotan would tell him what it was about if he deemed it necessary.

The wards were doing a fine job of protecting Bannan’s men, he noted. Bannan could stand where he was and fight all day if the plan required it, but even sorcerers tired after flinging magic about for so long. It was wiser to lead the clansmen closer to the main body for support. Bannan was doing precisely what he should.

“Corbin reports heavy resistance in the centre, General,” Wotan said turning away from one of his sorcerers.

Navarien nodded. This was it then.

Wotan’s system was working to perfection. Using the mirrors, he had ten sorcerers in permanent contact with the lead mage of each battalion. Orders and reports flowed from the battalions in question through the sorcerer’s mirrors to Wotan and thence to him.

“Anything on the left?”

Wotan asked a sorcerer who bent over his mirror. All around the table mirrors lay showing wildly differing views. Some showed this camp as men hurried to dig the ditches and pile the sod high for a rampart. Already the walls were climbing. Wotan had made it his policy to have his sorcerers keep in contact with the lead mages of each battalion even when it was not strictly necessary. He said that once the habit formed he would be happier; Navarien liked forward thinking. You never knew when a quick response might save lives.

“Duer reports all quiet.”

He nodded and thought over his options. “Send Duer here,” he said pointing to a place on the map roughly halfway between the camp and Corbin.