Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (176 page)

“What does my father say?”

“Don’t be like this, Julia,” Lucius said stepping forward and laying a hand on her boot where it rested in the stirrup. “You’ve been under a lot of strain. I think you really do need to rest.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“Kerrion knows nothing of this,” Canis said. “But I feel sure he would urge you to rest. At least for a little while.”

Julia nodded slowly. “You haven’t asked him.” She leaned forward to look Canis directly in the eyes. “Don’t ever tell me what I need.”

Julia sat up and glared at Lucius coldly before turning Cavell and trotting away to the east. Behind her Mathius said something and galloped to catch up.

“Don’t bother,” she said when Mathius reached her side.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking too loud,” she summoned a weak smile for him. “I don’t need people telling me what I need. I know
exactly
what I need!”

But he is dead.

“Lucius is scared for you. I am too. You’re using too much magic, much too often.”

“I know you both care Mathius, but it’s my life.”
What’s left of it
. “Besides, if I hadn’t lifted the ward we would still be fighting when Navarien arrived.”

There wasn’t much Mathius could say to that, which was why she had said it.

* * *

Epilogue

“What’s happening?”

“Shush!” Lorcan said urgently as he studied the hills.

He bit his lip unsure what to do. The cursed Hasians had beaten him to the border long since. His friends were not far away, but they were on the other side of an army of sorcerers. Did he dare try to sneak through? On his own he might have a chance, but with Keverin the way he was he doubted he could do it.

That the Hasians had not run him down on their way to Deva was a miracle. He had sent many prayers to the God in thanks, but he could not help but think the Hasian’s eagerness for battle had more to do with his escape. The scouts had ridden by his hiding place with barely a glance for their surroundings. A huge army of cavalry had ridden by on the heels of the scouts. Whoever was leading them seemed confident, too confident to bother with scouting properly. A day after that, General Navarien’s infantry had marched by while Lorcan hid and debated with himself. Thirty thousand soldiers between him and home—what was he going to do?

Gangs—he had to pretend they were like a gang. What would he have done in Devarr? That was easy. They were too many to fight, and too many to sneak by. He would have left Devarr. That wasn’t an option here. The lord seemed worse not better. It was a struggle to make him drink a little water each day; food was out of the question. Just the smell of it made the lord heave and gag. He needed a healer badly, but Malcor was far away. In his desperation, Lorcan had even tried to use his magic, but nothing had come of it. He was too weak yet to be trained to heal. He had listened to Julia many times and knew what it was meant to be like. Nothing like her descriptions had come to him when he tried. He could only hope he hadn’t made things worse.

“What’s happening?” Keverin said blinking and squinting at his surroundings.

“Shush!”

“Julia? What’s happening?”

He ignored Keverin’s ravings and went back to his debate. If the Hasians were a gang he would have left Devarr, but to where? In this case his options were limited. South to Malcor was out; that left east or west. There was nothing west but mountains, but if he went that way he would eventually have to turn south and follow them to Athione. That was possible, but with the lord the way he was, it would take two or even three tendays—maybe more. East then, but that meant the cursed river!

Elvissa was that way, and it was closer, but the river—Lorcan scowled eastward as he thought about the danger. He could swim of course. Living all his life on the shores of a lake it would have been strange if he couldn’t, but Keverin was big and heavy. What if he dropped him? He would have to take the chance and use his magic to help. If the sorcerers did detect it, he should be long gone by the time they arrived.

“What’s happening?”

“We are going for a swim m’lord,” he said pulling the man swaying to his feet.

Keverin raised his stump to his head as if to rub his eyes. He blinked dazedly at where his hand should be. “Still hurts,” he whispered. “But I can wiggle my fingers—see?” He offered the stump to Lorcan.

“Yes lord, I see it.”

Lorcan led the horse by the reins and his lord by the hand toward the river. The horse was happy enough to stand on the bank and have a drink while he unsaddled her. He could not take both the lord and the horse across. It would be a long walk to Elvissa, but it could be done. It would be he vowed.

“Let me get you out of this armour m’lord,” Lorcan said fumbling at the buckles.

Keverin kept trying to help and was making things harder, but Lorcan did not chastise him. This man was his lord, the greatest lord in Deva! When Keverin was well he would be great again, and at his right hand would stand a peasant mage named Lorcan. He snorted at the image he conjured. It was far more likely they would both drown in a moment.

Finally the armour was discarded and the useless scabbard with it. He had dropped his legion armour days ago when the cursed thing began rubbing in places he did not like thinking about. The only weapons he had were his daggers, the legion sword hanging from his saddle, and his magic, but if it came to a point where fighting was the only option he didn’t think much of their chances. He left the sword where it was and tied his pack around his waist. Wet food was better than no food. A truth he knew well from living in Devarr during The Hungry.

“I want you to sit in the water m’lord,” Lorcan said tugging Keverin’s hand.

Keverin did as he was bid. “Cold…” he mumbled.

“I know, but it’s only for a little while.”

“Cold…”

Lorcan stepped gasping into the frigid water and pulled the lord into the current. Keverin thrashed around trying to swim but lay back when a half drowned Lorcan snarled a curse at him. The first part of the swim was easy. That is, it was until he realised they were moving down stream faster than they were going across. The current was fierce and he had little energy left to fight it. In desperation, he grasped his magic and threw a loop out toward the west bank.

“Thank the God!” he spluttered as they halted in midstream.

Lorcan thanked the sorcerer who had bound his lord for his new magic trick, and pulled himself to shore with the aid of his invisible rope. He staggered erect shivering and coughing with Keverin stumbling next to him.

He released his magic and began the long walk to Elvissa shivering and dripping.

“What’s happening?” Keverin said.

* * *

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Dragon Dawn: Devan Chronicles 4

(Out now in print and digital editions)

1 ~ Dream World

Renard watched Julia attack the embattled Hasian battalion, he watched as she drew on her magic so hard it killed her. In frustration, he angrily gestured at the air and another future presented itself to him for inspection. He watched as she attacked the Tamorshin host, he watched as she drew on her magic so hard it killed her. He swore a vile oath and gestured again. Yet another future presented itself for his inspection.

“Why do you push so?” Rhadamanthus rumbled at his back.

Renard reluctantly turned his attention away from Julia’s battle. The huge black dragon regarded him solemnly with his head propped comfortably on the stump of an oak tree. Standing next to him and caressing his muzzle absently, was his mate, Sihrell. She was watching Julia with interest. Renard frowned as the question of Sihrell’s humanity once again intruded upon his thoughts. She was the Lady of Dragons—a human. How could she be mated to a dragon? Even dead, as they all surely were, it still seemed strange to him, but anything was possible here in the realms. He turned his thoughts back to Rhadamanthus’ question.

“It’s necessary,” he concluded finally.

“Perhaps, perhaps not.”

“She
is
the one, ’Manthus. I know it!”

The great dragon blinked, his inner eyelids sliding over the jewel-like orbs of his eyes and then back. “That has yet to be proven. If she fulfils the prophecy then she is. If she fails, then she is not.”

Renard rejected that. “She has already fulfilled many of the provisions.”

“But not all,” Sihrell warned. “It doesn’t matter, Ren. The one prophesied will come in her own time. Julia had the potential, but now...” she waved a hand and Julia’s battle was replaced with another scene. “This is the present as she experiences time.”

Renard turned and regarded the crying woman with pity. All the fire that had been Julia just a few short years ago was absent. The tears she shed over Keverin had extinguished it. She sat alone with her grief beside a river a short distance from a clan encampment. Poor Julia, it was her destiny to suffer. She was maddened by Keverin’s loss, but it was a focused madness.

“She doesn’t yet know,” Rhadamanthus said.

“I could tell her,” Renard said.

“No!”

Renard winced at the dragon’s roar. “But I could—”

“It is forbidden,” Sihrell warned. “You know that.”

He did know it, but he had only recently come here. He still felt the old loyalties keenly. Lord Keverin was
his
lord. The lord would order him to tell Julia if he could. Renard knew the reasoning behind the prohibition, but this was a special case—surely? Julia
was
the one. He was sure of it.

“What do the others think of her?” Renard said.

Sihrell shrugged. “They say one thing but believe another. They say she is the one, but then they say she might not fulfil the prophecy. If she
is
the one long awaited, she will survive this and meet her fate.”

“You mean her destiny of saving her people from the ancient enemy?”

“I mean her
fate
.”

To Renard they were one and the same. He believed in Julia. He believed she would win through and be ready when the time came—he hoped she would be ready.

“You will meet with the others?” Rhadamanthus asked.

“I’ll be there of course. Am I not always there?”

“You have always come,” the dragon agreed.

The way ’Manthus said that left doubt hanging in the air. Why would he not attend? He always attended.

“We shall leave you to your vigil,” Rhadamanthus said and Sihrell climbed onto his back. “Until then,” he said and abruptly disappeared.

Renard frowned at the empty space that moments before had been occupied by his friends. Julia was going to die, that was certain, but first she had much to do. He needed to tell her certain things, not least that Keverin was alive, but he had been warned before about revealing too much. He did not dare speak with her now that Rhadamanthus had warned him not to, but perhaps another would suffice? As quick as thought, Renard imposed his will upon the realms and a bemused looking man in the armour of Athione appeared before him.

“Brian?”

“Renard!” Brian gasped. “I’m dead then. I thought it must be so, but where are the others? I would love to see my grandfather again.”

“You’re not dead, Brian,” Renard said kindly. “Not yet.”

“I’m not?”

“No. This place is not the Other World. It is one of many realms that exist outside time. You have heard Julia speak of her realm of healing?”

Brian nodded.

“This place is similar. You were injured, rather seriously I’m afraid. Julia healed your body but you are… stuck. Yes that’s it, you’re stuck between worlds.”

“Stuck? How do I get back?”

He smiled. “Don’t worry about that. I will send you, but first we need to talk. I have things to show you, things that will distress you to see, but you must see them.”

Brian braced up. “Lead on then.”

Renard smiled and laid a hand on Brian’s shoulder. “Do not be alarmed,” he said and forced the realm to change.

* * *

Julia sat on the riverbank alone with her thoughts while clansmen slept dreaming of past victories. One supposed they had the right, one supposed a warrior lived for war... at least for victory. What warrior truly thought he could be defeated? Certainly not those with her. Even though they had seen friends die by the hundreds, they were certain of their ultimate victory. Shamen and chiefs knew better of course, but the average warrior did not concern himself with anything other than his next battle. She supposed it wasn’t a bad way to live.

The warriors had made camp in high good humour—a surfeit of which had driven her here away from the bustle and noise. Laughter and converse were things she could not contend with any longer, and the constant irritation of the ward was a distraction that made her short tempered with all who dared approach her. Its magic was beating at her senses even at this distance. She was so tired; if only she could rest...

War. Everything came down to the war. Until this war was won she could do nothing but what she was doing. If she survived she would take Cavell and ride away; just ride forever without people who looked at her with pitying eyes, or worse, looked to her for another miracle. When the war is won...

She stared unblinking at the distorted reflection of the moon in the river; it was nearly full with the sky clear and ablaze with stars. All was quiet and peaceful, mocking the events of the day. The stars looked down at her in their myriad patterns long since become familiar after almost three years upon this world. To the east, the Great Dragon flew high above the horizon at this time of year. The constellation always made her shiver with... what? She would have said excitement once, no more than three seasons ago that was. As little as two seasons back that had changed to dread, having awoken amongst the clans knowing what dragons portended. Death. Death for an entire continent if the dragons had their way.