Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (28 page)

“Yes, my emperor. My sources all agree.”

“This changes matters. Yes indeed.” Vexin crossed the room to his window. “Do we know who the mage is?”

“Considering the events described, it can only be Darius.”

“A Wizard. Hmmm... they are powerful, but this powerful? It doesn’t seem likely that Darius could defeat the bastard sorcerers on his own. It must have something to do with that cursed library. Still, no man is so powerful that he be un-killable. It seems a shame to reward him for helping us with an assassin’s blade, but we cannot allow him to use what he has learned against us.”

“You think far ahead, my emperor. The sorcerers might yet succeed.”

Vexin spun around. “I look ahead because no one else does!”

Keppel looked down acknowledging the rebuke.

Vexin gazed out of his window at his private garden below—private except for the half dozen guards. He studied them for a moment. Each stood against the enclosing wall so that an assassin would need to approach from their front. All of them wore the best and lightest armour money could buy. All this to give them time to save one man—him. Vexin often wondered what life as a guard would be like. Less complicated certainly, but what did they find to think about standing down there? He knew he was not suited for that kind of life, but it would be restful not having to rule the empire.

He turned back to his duty and Keppel. “What have our own mages learned?”

Keppel shrugged. He had little good to say regarding sources of information other than his own. “Nothing of consequence, my emperor. The sorcerers have a new lead mage. Lucius was replaced for his failure.”

“Who replaced him?”

“That
was
a surprise,” Keppel admitted. “His name is Belgard—a mage of only average ability. The Archmage informs me that Belgard would rank as a weak master compared to ours.”

Vexin pursed his lips. “Datan said that did he? Strange. Why would Mortain choose a weaker mage when a more powerful one had already failed?”

“We don’t have anyone in a position to gain that information. As always they are executed soon after penetrating close to anything sensitive. Either we have a Hasian spy here in the palace, which I strongly doubt, or some kind of magic is being used to ferret them out.”

It had to be magic, Vexin mused. His palace was warded against scrying of course, and the ward was regularly checked by a mage he trusted, but if anyone could overcome his ward, the sorcerers could. As for spies, he knew everyone in the palace by sight. He would spot a new face instantly.

“Talk to Datan, and tell... no, you had better
ask
him to assign a mage to scry both the fortress and the sorcerer’s camp. Have him make sure someone documents everything and keeps a constant watch.”

“Yes my emperor. And the other matter?”

Vexin tilted his head in thought. It was the first step toward war he was contemplating. “Contact the Brotherhood and set it up, but make sure they don’t remove him until I give the word. I think we should let Darius rid us of some more sorcerers first. While he’s chewing on them we can finish preparations to take Elvissa.”

“As you command, my emperor.”

Vexin watched his most deadly servant back from his presence. Keppel was invaluable as a spy master, but Vexin never let himself forget that Keppel could be deadly to anyone who crossed him. Being emperor did not mean he was safe from assassination. That was why he treated Keppel like a brother. If anyone could keep him alive, Keppel was that man.

* * *

9 ~ News from the Capital

Keverin checked his appearance in the mirror. It had been his father’s just as these rooms had been. He frowned at the knot of his sash. It didn’t look quite right and was causing the trailing end to hang twisted from his left hip. The cursed thing always gave him trouble. He would normally ignore the unevenness, but this evening had to be a little more formal. Jessica had insisted upon a celebration to welcome Gylaren properly. After all, she reasoned, Purcell was given a welcome feast when he arrived—it was only right that Gy was treated similarly.

Keverin loosened his sash and tried again to make it hang right.

Snubbing Gy was the last thing Keverin wanted to do. His friend deserved a proper welcome. With luck it might help to calm him about Chancellor Morfran and Gy’s ill treatment at his hands. A Lord Protector treated so shabbily was unbelievable. That Morfran was a fool was no surprise, nor that the King no longer truly ruled. Pergann had been declining steadily since his queen died in child-bed. He felt sorry for Pergann in that regard, but he could not forgive Pergann’s abandonment of his duty to Deva. If the King could not find it within him to rule, he should designate an heir and abdicate. Pergann had made no move to do that. Instead he had wasted his life and Deva fell into neglect. It was an intolerable situation, but Gy was right. Removing the King by force of arms would be a disaster. It would lead to civil war as each lord vied with the others to take the throne. It was sad, but the best thing for Deva would be for Pergann to die in his sleep tonight. Unfortunately, he seemed eternal.

When Gylaren arrived he had immediately asked to meet Keverin and Purcell privately. It was at that meeting he described the scene at Devarr and his audience with Morfran. Gylaren had been refused an audience with the King and when Gylaren tried to insist, Morfran had set his bodyguard on him and ejected him from the palace. Even now Keverin found it hard to believe, but Gylaren swore it was true. Gylaren’s intention was to ask the King for horses and supplies to speed his journey to Athione, but because of Morfran’s mis-rule of the capital, there were no horses to be spared. According to the Chancellor, the King had disbanded most of Devarr’s guardsmen. Keverin found that unlikely. It was more probable that Morfran had dismissed the men and pocketed the gold set aside to pay them. It would be like the man. While in Devarr, Gy had taken time to visit with an old friend and had learned that Lord Athlone had been conspiring with Morfran to ruin certain prominent people. The ones targeted for this vendetta had been outspoken against Athlone’s involvement in Morfran’s rise to power in recent years. Now it seemed that Athlone had taken steps to silence those voices and acquire their property at the same time. There was one thing to be said for Athlone—he was efficient in his manoeuvring for power. Why be satisfied with simply silencing an opponent when he could ruin them as well?

Keverin turned to the side and grunted in approval. His sash was as it should be. He thrust his father’s dagger into its accustomed place at his waist and adjusted the sheath for comfort. Satisfied with his appearance at last, Keverin left the bedchamber and entered his study. The desk was free of clutter—something that had not always been so. Kevlarin had never been known for his scholarly ways. Keverin smiled fondly, almost seeing his father sitting at the desk frowning at one of his lists. He would look up and smile whenever he entered and beckon him to look at something.

My son...

Keverin blinked at hearing his father’s voice echo to him down the years and the vision faded. The desk was empty. There were no reports or lists—no clutter. It was just an empty desk. His smile wilted. The light was playing tricks on him. Kevlarin was dead these many years—dead of a riding accident of all things. Keverin still didn’t believe it, but he pretended for Jessica’s sake. He had been, and still was, sure that a brigand had attacked his father. He had no evidence—no wounds to tell him, but Kevlarin had been an excellent rider.

Keverin sighed. He just didn’t want to accept the idea that such a great man had died in so obscure a thing as a riding accident.

Kevlarin hadn’t needed a study—not really. He had never been one for reading anything other than maps and lists of supplies, but the desk was good for other things. Keverin poured himself a glass of wine and sat in his chair. He leaned his elbows upon his desk and sipped his wine thinking about all that had happened to him since his father’s accident. It made a depressingly short list. The high point was his library and the coming of Darius and the mages. An accomplishment he might actually be remembered for—if he was remembered at all. Would he be the last in his line to hold Athione? If things continued as they were he would be. He hoped that his father was proud of him. He thought he had been, but at times like these doubts and regrets arose. Jessica had always wanted him to marry so that she might see her grandchildren, something that Kevlarin would never see. Marriage was something Keverin had hoped for, but to give up his search for the one woman meant for him was hard. To marry for heirs seemed a sad reason to choose a consort. It was important, vitally important to Athione and his people, but he was set in his ways now. He was a bachelor lord through and through. He was comfortable—too comfortable perhaps, but nothing this side of death seemed able to change him. His decision to adopt an heir had been shaken since Julia’s arrival. Making the decision had come easily when faced with death, but now that the future was uncertain again, he found himself hoping he might yet find someone to love.

Keverin sipped his wine slowly and considered his life. His duty was clear. Athione must pass to his first born son in due time, just as it always had. He must adopt, or fail in his duty—a thing he would not do. His father had been the same in his reluctance to marry for heirs. It took Jessica’s intervention in his life to remedy his loneliness. Perhaps Julia could do something similar for him? Maybe she could shock him out of the rut he was living in so that he might go out and find the one that the God meant for him. She certainly gave him grey hairs enough!

Why did she rile him so?

Their argument before the east gate had been the most memorable of all their confrontations. He had thought she would blast him with her magic that time, but it turned out that she had more control than he did in that situation. He had regretted shouting at her almost immediately, but as soon as he went to apologise, he found himself doing it again. What was it about the girl that brought out the worst in him? Whenever they met in the corridors he found himself tensing as if readying himself to do battle. The only way to prevent an argument was to take his leave as soon as possible.

Keverin shook his head and sipped his wine.

Julia was pushing herself too hard. He knew he was right to worry. Mathius was frantic. Julia had been using her magic every day since the battle and had saved nearly a thousand of his men. He was eternally grateful to her for that, but he might lose everything if she went too far. What would he do if the Hasians attacked and Julia was too exhausted? Keverin slammed a fist down on the desktop.

Images of Darius screaming and shining brighter than the sun, images of the decrepit shell of a man with that terrible smile on his withered face, images of Julia in Darius’s place—

“By the God, that must not happen!” Keverin snarled.

He forced the images away and bolted his wine. As he was pouring a second glass, he heard a knock on the door and looked up in time to see Marcus entering.

“What have you there?” He said noticing the letters.

“Kinnon came in the gate a short while ago my lord.”

“Already? That was fast.”

“He made good time,” Marcus agreed in massive understatement and handed Keverin the letters.

Kinnon had reduced the journey time to Devarr and back by close to a quarter. Kinnon and his brother had always been the best trackers in the guard, but still! How had he done it? With Gedric gone to the God, Kinnon was the only one who knew how it was done.

“Suggest to Kinnon that he take on a likely looking lad to train. He’s too good to let his knowledge die.”

“An apprentice?”

Only artisans and crafters had apprentices, but what Kinnon did was close to artistry in Keverin’s opinion. Kinnon had a forester’s knowledge of the trails combined with a guardsman’s skill with a sword. It would be good to have more like him.

“Put it to him like that. If you think he can manage, it might be a good idea to promote him to sergeant and have him train a squad. Never know when we might need them.”

“He’s well able, that’s certain. I’ll promote him on those conditions with your permission my lord. It might help to persuade him. I don’t want to lose him.”

“Has he said anything about that?”

Marcus rocked a hand. “Ged’s death hit him hard. I’m not sure he’s willing to stay on.”

“I don’t want you pressuring him, Marcus,” Keverin warned. “He deserves my loyalty as I know I have his. Offer him the promotion, but tell him I will release him from his oath if he can’t find it within himself to stay.”

Marcus didn’t look happy about that, but he nodded acceptance of the orders.

“Now then,” Keverin said as he sat behind his desk. His wine was forgotten as he broke the seal on the letter from Morfran. “What has our good Chancellor to say for himself?”

“Nothing good I’ll wager.”

No doubt. Keverin scanned the letter picking out pertinent information as he went. Unfortunately, but not unexpectedly, worthwhile information was sparse within its pages.

...view with concern your news. The arrival of this woman is astounding, but I must doubt your wisdom in bringing her into the world...

Keverin shook his head, what an idiot!

...Hasian threat. That the Church authority within your lands sees otherwise indicates to me your lack of vision in this regard...

“Gy should have killed him.”

“Who my lord?” Marcus asked.

“Morfran.”

...into the hands of the Holy Father. The King has no authority where heretics are concerned except with regard to their detention for trial, or where such a one has committed treason.

That was the absolute truth. No doubt Morfran had looked up the relevant law to be sure he could get shut of the responsibility.

I hereby order you to detain her until the Holy Father’s deliberations give him the answer he seeks. This heretic is dangerous and must not be freed. On pain of death we charge you...