Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (39 page)

“Was that satisfactory, my lord sorcerer?”

“Yes. You know, I watched Navarien through the glass during his aborted campaign. He cares deeply for his men and for the mission. He even confronted that imbecile Belgard on more than one occasion. I’m surprised that Belgard didn’t turn him into a charred corpse the last time, but even he saw Navarien’s worth.”

“But his praise of the traitor Lucius… surely that makes him suspect?”

“In a small way only. Lucius will be dealt with. I like it that Navarien stays true to his friends. It’s all too rare among my lord’s officers. Most would stab you in the back if they thought they might gain by it.”

The picture faded, and Lucius slumped back. He was tired from his scrying. He wore a worried frown that made Julia uneasy.

“Who was the sorcerer?” Julia asked.

“Godwinson—Mortain’s chosen heir. When the current Mortain dies, Godwinson becomes lord Mortain and chooses another to become the new Godwinson.”

“Strange custom. How did that come about?”

“Mortain was the victor during the Time of Chaos—if anyone could be called the victor after such a calamity. Since then a Mortain always rules and his second is always Godwinson. Godwinson is not Mortain’s son, though he can be if he’s strong enough, but where Mortain never leaves Black Isle, Godwinson travels around the Protectorate observing and making certain Mortain’s orders are obeyed.”

“They didn’t sound too concerned about the destruction of Fifth Legion,” Keverin mused.

“They wouldn’t be,” Lucius said sourly. “The Protectorate has five other legions like the one you destroyed. As you heard, Navarien will have rebuilt his by next year.”

Julia was just starting to see Deva’s long term dilemma. The Protectorate was too strong to ever be defeated completely. The only way for Deva to stay free was to prevent them from taking the fortresses. If they did somehow manage to stop the Hasians coming through the northern border, what would stop Mortain from sending an army every year until they succeeded?

Kev was right. Deva had to be united behind a strong king to stand a chance of holding out. The immediate threat though was a traitor in Deva’s northern fortress. A man who was waiting to welcome the Protectorate with open arms.

* * *

Interlude III

Two men stand together above the east gate of Fortress Elvissa. Looking eastward toward the mountains the older of the two points at something in the distance.

“There, do you see? More smoke. It has to be a raid,” Corlath said.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t a raid, Cor,” Donalt said trying for patience.

Purcell should have left better orders. Donalt knew that his brother was going to ride out no matter what he said to dissuade him. Corlath was an excellent fighter, but he was too eager for this battle. It seemed suspicious that the raids had started just when their father was away at Athione.

“You know what father always says, information is the key to victory.”

“I know what father says, Don,” Corlath said testily. “Those fires represent villages and towns under our—under
my
protection. I can’t stand here and debate my every decision!”

“I’m not asking for a debate! I want you to think about sending out scouts. We don’t even know how many you will be facing for the God’s sake!” Donalt was angry and frightened for his brother. “You can’t go out with the entire guard against unknown strength—you
can’t!
”

Corlath ignored the worried looks from the men standing watch nearby, just as he ignored his brother’s words. “I’ll take eight hundred. That’s plenty against the usual scum that raid the border, and it leaves you with two thousand to man the walls. I’ll finish them and be back before you know I’m gone.”

“No, Cor!” Donalt cried and grabbed his brother’s arm. “If you have to go, take fifteen hundred. You’ll have enough to get clear if you run into more than you bargained for.”

“I
said
,” Corlath said angrily shrugging off the grip upon his arm. “I’ve decided. I appreciate your concern, Don. Truly I do, but I’m in command while father is away. I
order
you to accept my decision.”

“As you command,” Donalt said bracing to attention and saluting his captain.

Corlath clapped him on the shoulder. “When I ride out tomorrow you’ll be in charge here, but not until then. Now brother mine, let us go down to dinner.”

Donalt cursed silently as he followed his brother down the tower steps. Corlath was not thinking damn it! In a way this was their father’s fault. Purcell had gleefully destroyed many raiding bands over the years. It had become almost a routine matter. Now Corlath was going to ride out thinking it was business as usual without checking to make certain. Donalt had no evidence to suggest that this raid was different, but his instincts were absolutely
screaming
that it was. What could he do… what could he say to convince his brother? He couldn’t think of a thing and he had been ordered to accept the decision. That wouldn’t stop him from arguing if he could think of something convincing, but he only had his gut reaction to go on. As they entered the hall, Donalt tried to comfort himself with the thought that no raiding band had ever numbered more than three hundred, but somehow it didn’t work.

The next morning, Donalt watched his brother ride out of sight from his place upon the east wall. As soon as Cor was gone, he trotted to the gate tower and descended to the courtyard. Two men came out of the stables fully armoured and trailing their horses behind them.

“I have a special job for you two,” Don said. “My brother expects to defeat the raiders as soon as he engages. I want both of you to follow in stealth and report to me anything of note. Don’t let yourselves be seen or he’ll nail my hide to the gate when he gets back. Any questions?”

“Yes m’lord,” Sergeant Ferris said. “If we sight the enemy before your brother’s scouts, do we have permission to inform him?”

“Good thinking. Yes, but only one of you go. The other is to watch and report to me. All clear?”

Both guardsmen braced and saluted, then mounted up and rode out the gate.

I pray to the God you report good news my friends, but if not, I swear that if anyone even looks at my brother crosswise, he’ll have me to answer to!

* * *

Corlath was uneasy. Standing again in his stirrups, he looked around at the silent hills. Not a thing stirred. He tried not to dwell on Donalt’s dire warnings, but he was having trouble. Back at home, this course had not only seemed reasonable, but vital. Now his unease was growing. Don was right; there was something strange about all this. On the way to the pass he had stopped at the only village close to his route to investigate. There hadn’t been much left of it. There were dead bodies lying in scattered heaps, but that was to be expected. What wasn’t expected, were the bodies of woman and children mixed with those of the men. Raiders never killed girls or young women. They were too valuable as slaves in Japura or even across the sea in dark Tindebrai.

I should turn back… this feels all wrong.

Corlath was just turning to give the order when he heard a commotion at the rear of his column. He looked back in alarm but saw only one man galloping toward him. He drew his sword, but lowered it when he recognised Ferris. The sergeant was shouting as he raced by the column, and as he did, it seemed to ripple as the men drew their weapons.

“M’lord, ambush!”

“Report!”

“Two thousand or more—all sides of your position, Tanjung Regulars. Not raiders,
Regulars
!”

Before Corlath could shout orders to break away, they were attacked and his force disintegrated into swirling chaos.

“Rally! Rally to the banner!” Corlath shouted.

He managed to rally about half his men and attacked the enemy where they blocked the route back. He cut down Tanjuners left and right and lost count of how many he killed. The roar of battle faded as he killed and killed some more. He seemed to be in a place where all thought was beyond him except the next man. His thigh was cut then his left arm, he grunted as he took a blow on his ribs but it didn’t seem to hurt. His armour must have stopped it. Groups of his men were fighting their way toward freedom only to disappear as if drowning in a sea of the enemy. To his right he saw his father’s banner fall, then rise, only to fall again. He roared in anger at the sight and a red haze seemed to fill his vision. It was the berserker madness that Corlath’s line was famous for… or rather infamous. It had never taken him before, but he gave himself over to the madness willingly hoping desperately that it might save him when nothing else could. How long he fought like that he didn’t know, but finally the enemy pulled away from him in dismay stumbling in their haste to get away from him. None were willing to come close.

Corlath was alone.

He was the last. Every man he had led here was dead. He was gasping for breath and so weary he was in danger of toppling from the saddle. His armour was split and blood was pouring out of his side. Corlath managed to stay upright with some effort, but pain flared again in his side. Looking down numbly he found an arrow standing out of his ribs. He angrily pulled it out and tossed it away. Looking back up he found a man on a beautiful horse with a bow in hand.

Bastard! He must lead them. I’ll take you with me.

Corlath, first born son of Purcell Lord of Elvissa, spurred his horse into a full charge.

“Elvissa!”

* * *

Rogan rode grim-faced and fast for Elvissa. Lord Donalt needed to know of his brother’s death immediately. More, he needed to know that Tanjung was invading Deva.

Ferris had been Rogan’s sergeant for as long as he had been in the guard. He had seemed eternal, but nothing was that. It was strange to think that he would never hear Ferris’ roar of anger when he made a mistake with the pike, never hear him bellow orders to stand to attention. No more orders would Ferris give, but Rogan had one last order to follow. Ferris had ordered him to watch the outcome of the battle. He had said that as Rogan was the younger, he could take the news faster. Rogan wasn’t fooled. Ferris had known he would die.

“May the God watch over and comfort you at journey’s end my friend,” he said into the wind as he raced for home.

* * *

Donalt closed the door shutting out the sound of his mother and sister weeping and leaned against it with sagging shoulders. He was weary, and the worry made it worse. Telling his mother of Cor’s death had been the hardest thing he had ever had to do.

Rogan had galloped in the gate with his disastrous report less than a candlemark ago. All dead. All eight hundred dead. Donalt had been in shock since then, and in a way he was grateful for it. Telling his mother would have been infinitely worse if he had broken down as well. Corlath was gone, and Donalt had to plan the defence. Everyone was relying upon him. Striding down the corridors, Donalt didn’t see the worry on the faces of the guardsmen as they snapped to attention when he passed. He saw nothing except Cor riding out the gate at the head of his men and waving goodbye.

Entering his father’s study, Donalt took the key from its hiding place and unlocked the cabinet. Among important papers such as deeds to lands and other property, was a long case with all of Elvissa’s precious maps. His father had paid an incredible amount in gold for them years ago, and had proudly shown them to him many times. He hadn’t understood the significance of them at first, but as his training broadened his mind, he realised what a treasure they were. The map he was looking for was of Deva. It showed the kingdom in its entirety as if seen by a bird flying overhead. It was complete in every detail—only a mage could have crafted something like this. It was accurate down to the very last stream and pond. There were seven large maps in the set. Six of them when laid together showed the continent of Waipara, the seventh was larger than the others but much less detailed. It was a map of Tindebrai and detailed the land only. There was nothing of borders and cities. Donalt returned six of the maps to the case and locked it away. After replacing the key, he strode out of the study and made his way down the tower steps.

Donalt found his captains and sergeants waiting for him in the guardroom talking amongst themselves. When he entered, they fell silent awaiting his orders—orders he did not have. He spread the map out on the table, and weighted it down with daggers offered by his men.

“Show me,” he ordered.

Rogan pointed at two hills close together in the foothills of the Elvissan Mountain range. As Rogan reiterated his report to the captains, Donalt studied the map. He could easily imagine the brutal fight, as Corlath, surrounded and outnumbered, fought to the death.

“How many would you say there were?” Donalt said when Rogan finished.

“They had two thousand or more, m’lord. They ain’t any raiders neither. They were Tanjung Regulars.”

“How can you be sure?”

“They didn’t stop for booty. They killed women and children and didn’t take any for slaves.”

Donalt shook his head, what a waste. “How many did my brother and his men kill?”

“There must have been eighteen hundred left by the end m’lord,” Rogan said almost ashamed to report that Corlath and his men had killed so few. “I’m guessing on that, but it ain’t far out.”

Donalt’s men murmured among themselves as he tried to think what to do. Cor had left him in command. He was younger than his captains were and less experienced than they, but he was his father’s son and ruled in his stead now that Corlath was gone. Breaking from his reverie, Donalt looked up to see his captains silently studying him. Blanking his face, he started issuing firm orders. Whether they were right or wrong, they at least sounded as if he knew what he was doing. To his surprise, a glimmer of an idea began to form.

Donalt turned to his father’s seneschal. “Send word to evacuate the town. I want everyone inside the walls by sunset.”

“At once my lord!” Kennard said and rushed off.

“Rogan, I want you to pick a likely man and head for Athione with some dispatches for my father. Take three mounts each—make haste.”