Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (84 page)

The honourless dog was trying to scare him with his own tactic.

Shelim grasped his magic and dove aside. A fireball arced in and blasted a black circle into the grass where he had been standing. He damped the blazing grass and sent a fireball on its way in return. He watched it land, but he could still feel Duren’s magic. His first attack had failed. He cast fire twice more, and stood up in time to see his enemy engulfed.

Yes!

He could hardly believe it. He had won… but no, Duren was standing amid the flames completely unharmed. How was it possible? He strained his eyes trying to make out what he was seeing, but Duren was too far away to see clearly. The flames abruptly died leaving his enemy standing as before. Shelim fumbled his mirror out of his pouch and summoned an image. What he saw confused him at first. He could see the ground surrounding Duren was burned black from his fireball, but the man was standing smugly unharmed upon a circle of unburned grass as if taking his ease. There was a shimmering blue wall surrounding him and it had stopped the flames! Kerrion had never shown him anything like that. Duren cast fire again, and Shelim quickly damped it before it could hit him. A hot wind rushed over him but nothing more. He thanked Kerrion for all the practise on their campfire for that little trick.

He cast fire trying to understand how the… the
shield
worked. He could think of no other name for it. He tried to see the thing with his other sight, but all he saw was a shining circle surrounded by the turbulence caused by Duren drawing his magic. Duren attacked, and again Shelim damped the flames, but he was taken by surprise when two fireballs arrived, not one. Duren had hid the second behind the first. The flames reached him and the pain.

“
AEiii!
” he screamed.

He extinguished the flames and his burning tunic almost instantly… almost. His right arm was a mass of blisters. Moving it was agony.

The shield, think about the shield.

Did it absorb his fire, or did it hold the fire out? He cast another fireball and watched it strike the shield in the mirror. The flames were held away from Duren—it wasn’t absorbed. Thinking to heat up the shield, he cast fire in a constant stream. It seemed to work at first, but suddenly he couldn’t breath!

Duren was crushing him in a fist of magic.

He drew hard on his power and pushed back. His flames continued to roar around Duren, but it wasn’t having any effect. He let them go, and felt the pressure around his ribs ease as the extra strength came to his aid. Duren’s shield had begun to flicker. He took a chance and cast more fire even while struggling to hold out against the pressure trying to crush him. Duren shrieked in agony as the flame finally breached his shield, but he didn’t fall. Instead, he redoubled his efforts and power hammered down upon Shelim.

Sacrificing his fire altogether, he desperately tried to use Duren’s method to squeeze the life out of his enemy. In agony, he felt a rib snap, but he wouldn’t quit. Harder, and harder, and harder he clamped his magic around the vile man. The pressure eased around his own ribs at last, and he began to hope that his new tactic might yet bear fruit, but suddenly the weight of Duren’s magic crashed down like a hammer upon a smith’s anvil. Duren was trying to push him into the ground! His knees were buckling. He had to use some of his precious magic to keep his feet or he would surely be buried alive.

He struggled and writhed trying to fight and defend himself at the same time, but he was at the limit of what he could safely draw already. In desperation he flung open his link to the magic as wide as it would go and drank in the power uncaring of the danger. With a shout of anguish, he tried to throw off Duren’s grip upon him and
pushed!

Duren’s spell shattered, and Shelim’s feet left the ground. He stopped pushing at the earth, and landed lightly just in time to damp more fire as it roared around him. He was stronger, he knew he was, but Duren’s shield reduced the effect of his fire. Thinking to somehow equalise the odds, he tried to make a shield the same as Duren’s, but the instant it was ready, his magic roared out of control and slammed through his head. He felt sick and dizzy—the pain lancing through his head made his eyes water. In desperation, he tried a different way. He wrapped his magic around him like a warm blanket, and a shimmering wall appeared fully formed in time to intercept Duren’s fire.

He flinched expecting agony, but gasped in relief when the crackling shield held. He’d felt sure it would fail, but it was holding. More even than that, it had increased in strength! His shield was different than Duren’s. It was blazing white instead of blue and it was absorbing the fire! More of Duren’s fire struck, and he laughed as the shield strengthened yet more. He was safe.

“Now you die Duren, I’m going to kill you—”

The shield was increasing in strength, but his hold upon his magic was slipping! It wasn’t fair! The stronger the shield became, the harder it was to control. He had to kill Duren now before his own shield did the same to him! He cast fire in a constant stream, and tried to crush his enemy at the same time, but his shield weakened the power of his attacks. He couldn’t think of any way to increase it without weakening his defence. All he had left was his long knife. He sprinted forward hoping to get at Duren before he lost his hold on the shield. As he closed the range, his fire strengthened. He should have thought of that! Distance always weakened the effects of magic. Duren intensified his attacks and backed hurriedly away, but in his attempt to maintain his distance he stumbled and fell. Before Duren could regain his feet, his shield collapsed under Shelim’s continued onslaught.

“
AEiii!
” Duren started to scream before he was turned to ash floating on the wind.

Gasping from the strain of holding his traitorous and runaway shield, Shelim reined in his fires. He didn’t even have enough energy to celebrate his victory. He gritted his teeth as his hold upon the magic slipped a little more. It felt like he was holding on by his fingernails. How was he going to let it go? He could simply release it, but that didn’t feel safe somehow. If he survived this, he would never invoke this spell again—it was just too dangerous. Praying he was doing the right thing, he tried to drain the shield of the extra magic it had absorbed. There was nothing nearby to release it into, so he tried to make it go up.

A column of light three yards across connected him to the sky. It blazed and crackled upward announcing his victory to everyone in the clan. If they hadn’t known of his victory before, they did now. It dissipated after a short time leaving his original humming wall of magic. Shelim tentatively tried to release it, and it collapsed with nothing more than a snapping noise like a log on the campfire.

He released his magic and collapsed panting to the ground. The pain in his ribs was sickening, but his arm was worse. The blisters had ruptured during the fight and blood was running freely down his arm. It was a screaming agony; it felt as if Duren’s fire was still burning it. He grasped his magic again, and the pain receded a little as the glorious feeling took his concentration. He stumbled back toward the clan. Kerrion would help.

He could fix anything.

Darnath rode out to meet him with Nyx on a lead rein. Shelim was pleased to see him, but was more pleased to see Nyx. He mounted awkwardly and headed for the camp.

“Thank you, Mentor,” Darnath said simply. “I told the eldest what you did for me. He seemed happier when I left.”

“That’s good,” he grunted between gritted teeth.

“Will you be my mentor openly now?” Darnath said full of hope.

He nodded. “As long as Kerrion doesn’t mind. I’m still an apprentice and one apprentice may not teach another. He might take you as a second apprentice, but I’ve never heard of a shaman having two at once. We will see.”

Crowds of silent people watched them ride in. Their stares made him uncomfortable. When he dismounted, they edged back from him. They were afraid. His heart sank at the sight. Kerrion was right again. Shamen hid their true power for just this reason. Would anyone trust him now? That was soon answered when his father pushed through the crowd and hugged him. Shelim grunted in pain as his broken ribs shifted. He tried not to worry his mother by letting her see. She was not far behind his father, and so was his brother Torin. The ominous silence was broken when questions were suddenly shouted from the crowd. Everyone was very excited. Some shouted questions, others wanted to congratulate him on his victory. He tried to answer as many questions as he could. They seemed satisfied with his answers, though he could barely remember what they were.

“I need to see Kerrion about this arm, father. I’ll come by for a long visit later.”

Tomik agreed and went back to his fletching. His mother and brother gave him a brief hug and left him to find Kerrion. Darnath accompanied him to Kerrion’s tent, but he wasn’t there. Shelim concentrated and found the familiar feeling that was Kerrion’s magic.

“He’s over that way somewhere,” he said thickly.

“You’re looking pale, Mentor. You should rest. I’ll go and find him,” Darnath said worriedly.

The pain in his arm and ribs was bad enough that it was no longer blocked by his magic. “I can’t wait, Darnath.”

It became obvious as they made their way through the camp, that all was not well. Some, it seemed, were more accepting of change than others. The fear he saw made him sad. The respect offered by the majority he met did go some way to dispel the feeling, but he couldn’t help dwelling on the sight of a grandfather hustling his young charges from his path. What did the fool think he was going to do, hurt them? He supposed the reaction was only to be expected. Older folk were set in their ways and they didn’t like change. At least the younger ones were eager to speak with him. He listened to their excited retelling of his battle as he made his way through the camp, but his concentration was wavering. Was Kerrion hiding from him on purpose? He couldn’t believe that.

All became clear when they found him searching Duren’s tent. “Mentor, I… seem to be injured… would you… heal it please. It hurts…” he panted in time with the pain.

“Shelim! Sit down my boy. I watched your battle in the glass… what was that thing you made? No, tell me later. I have to heal this first, it looks painful.”

“Yes Mentor, but could you do my ribs first? I’m finding… it a little hard to… breathe.”

He grunted in pain as his ribs shifted during the healing, but the small extra pain was over very quickly. There was nothing from them any longer, and with relief, he found that he could take a deep breath without pain. His arm took longer. Shelim found that if he used his other sight, he could see Kerrion blazing with health and vigour, but where his arm should be there was nothing!

“There, that’s as good as new,” Kerrion said.

“Thank you Mentor,” he said. It wasn’t as good as new really, but some silvery scars were a small price to pay when he had expected to pay with his life.

“I am not your mentor any longer, Shelim.”

“But Mentor! I thought Darnath explained!” he cried, would Kerrion banish him now?

“He did, but you can’t be my apprentice any longer. You have taken the last step very early, but by becoming mentor to an apprentice you have declared yourself a shaman for true. One apprentice may not teach another—the penalty for disobedience is banishment. Therefore, you cannot be an apprentice…” Kerrion gripped Shelim’s shoulder. “Do you understand?”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes ment… yes eldest. Can I still ask for advice and talk over tea sometimes?”

“Of course!” Kerrion said in surprise. “We are brothers. Besides, we are friends are we not?”

He laughed at Kerrion’s raised eyebrow. “Yes, we are the best of friends.”

He had two good friends sitting here in a dead man’s tent. Kerrion was still his mentor—in his own eyes at least, even if to outward appearances he was a full shaman. Darnath was safe as his apprentice, and he could teach him openly. Everything had worked out for the best, but still he wondered why Duren had treated Darnath so badly. He supposed he would never know the answer now.

* * *

Interlude II

Vexin entered his study to find Keppel already waiting. He sat behind his desk and motioned Keppel to sit also. Everyone called his spy master the Snake, but never to his face. Keppel was one of the few people close to him, and the only one he allowed in his sanctuary. He trusted Keppel with his life. More than that, he trusted him with his family’s lives and had never regretted it.

“Tell me,” Vexin said settling himself more comfortably.

“Matriarch Talitha,” Keppel said simply.

“The God curse it!” Vexin thumped his desk in anger. “Why now when I’m so close?”

Keppel narrowed his eyes. “It seems that House Malim raided her coast last fall. She sank one of Lord Malim’s ships, but rather than leave the matter there, she counter-raided.” He glanced down at the message scroll in his hand. “
Massively
,”

Lord Vivika,” Vexin snarled. Vivika was a name that supposedly meant wise councillor. The man wouldn’t know which end a horse shat from if his wife didn’t tell him! Vivika was The Malim—Lord of House Malim—for now. “I’ll have him executed… I’ll have him dragged through the city in chains, I’ll… but I can’t can I?” he finished mournfully.

Keppel shook his head emphatically. “You cannot kill him… not openly. If you execute Vivika, the others will howl. Not only that, they might recall their men from your new army.”

Vexin groaned. He knew Keppel was going to say that, but he had hoped… Ah well, what point in speculating on might have beens? He had to arrange things with Japura. More correctly, he had to arrange matters with the bitch Matriarch Talitha.

It wasn’t fair, he thought as he shifted his attention from shattered plans towards the barest glimmer of a new one. His lords seemed to have a blind spot when it came to consequences. They didn’t seem to know, or care for that matter, that every feud and every raid cost the empire thousands of men, and tens of thousands in gold. Vexin rubbed his temples. A headache was beginning to throb in time with his heartbeat. He needed a way out, but he couldn’t see one short of war. He didn’t want another war with Japura—especially not now. Grovelling, no matter how distasteful, wouldn’t work. He had sent letters to Talitha before when something similar had occurred. He hadn’t exactly prostrated himself before her, but he had been polite… exceptionally polite in fact. She had replied by doubling the cost of the armour and weapons he had needed. His only recourse back then was to compound the original cause of strife by authorising a raid. Although he had lost more than a thousand men, the raid had been wonderfully successful. It had paid for itself in steel swords and gold coin many times over. Talitha had counter-raided in her turn, but his men’s blood had been well and truly up from their victory. They had annihilated her forces with negligible losses.