Devan Chronicles Series #1-3
Author: Mark E. Cooper
Date: 2013-10-02 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy
Description: Ripped from our world to theirs, will she be their savior or their destroyer?3 books. 1,000+ pages of action-packed fantasy. Nearly 40% off the cover price.In war-torn Deva a desperate lord struggles against the tide of invasion. His friend casts a spell to summon aid, and Julia Morton disappears from her gym in England. Will she be their savior or their destroyer? Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 includes the first three books in Mark Cooper's five book fantasy series. Cooper's epic tale features devastating war, enthralling battles, vivid descriptions, strong female heroines, and gripping
Publisher: Impulse Books UK

Contents

Full chapter by chapter Index

Join Mark's email list for new releases

A word on language and pronunciation

The God Decrees

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

The Power That Binds

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

The Warrior Within

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Extras ~ Dragon Dawn Teaser

1 ~ Dream World

Other titles by this author

About The Author

Copyright

Acknowledgements

Index

Devan Chronicles: Books 1-3

By

Mark E. Cooper
v2.001

A word on language and pronunciation

This book was written and produced in the United Kingdom and uses British English language conventions. For example the use of ‘ou’ in the words colour and honour instead of the American spellings: color, honor. Another example would be the interchangeable use of ize and ise in words such as realise or realize.

The God Decrees

(Devan Chronicles 1)

1 ~ Scorched Earth

Shadowy figures dashed from house to house and from shop to shop. Where they passed, fire sprang up throughout the town. In silence and haste, the men burned all they owned. Although many eyes watched the destruction, no one protested. No one drew sword to stop them. It was night and the new moon had yet to appear, but they could see well enough—too well. The burning houses and shops provided more than enough light to show them what their lord’s orders had wrought.

From the saddle Lord Keverin watched the destruction and brooded upon the waste of it all. Was there another way? If there was, he couldn’t see it. The firing was necessary, crucial even, but by the God how it rankled. Years of work gone in a single night all because he could not see another way to save his people. While he watched in impotent silence, hundreds of woman and children streamed up the road away from their burning homes carrying a few meagre possessions. It was all they owned now. They were good people. None accused him, none blamed him for what he knew was his failure. When he came down to tell them what he wished them to do, they had nodded and asked when. No outcry, no protest of any kind, just: When Lord? He didn’t deserve such loyalty. That he was justified in destroying all they owned mattered not—not to him. He should have found a way to avoid this, curse it!

Keverin turned his horse and stared up at the brooding shadow of mighty Athione where the huge walls of the fortress loomed waiting to defend her people once again. Although too dark to see, he knew the cross-fisted banner of Athione flew proudly beside the crescent moon of Deva above her towers. Athione had never been taken, never even been in serious danger in her entire history. His family and people had been secure here, never fearing defeat. He feared now. How much longer would those proud banners fly over his home before the lightning bolt of the Protectorate took their place?

Cavell stamped a hoof as if to tell him it was time to leave. “Easy girl, easy,” Keverin said patting her muscled neck. “I’ll have you in a nice warm stable soon enough. I promise.”

Keverin waited stony faced for his order to be carried out, but at the last, the menfolk from the town stood before him with torches held aloft in silence. Shadows cavorted upon their upturned faces causing each man to appear a stranger. One figure stepped forward to reveal his features.

“It is done Lord.”

Keverin nodded. “It’s done Dergan.” He raised his voice so all could hear. “Go now, go swiftly all of you. Join your families and see to their welfare.”

“But what of you Lord?”

“I’ll stay awhile Dergan.”

Dergan bowed and moved to lead the others up the steep slope of the road to find their families.

Keverin waited for them to enter the gates of Athione before turning back to watch the town burn. It was the least he could do. The fires roared as the roofs collapsed. The flames leapt skyward as the cool night air fed them. Windows exploded succumbing to the intense heat. Nothing would remain of the town but ashes come the morrow. That was as it should be—as he’d ordered it to be. Not one loaf of bread to feed the enemy, not one wall to hide him, and not one roof to shelter him. A mere gesture of defiance. What more was there at this late date?

He watched the flames consuming his town waiting for inspiration to strike, but the voice of the God was silent within him. The roar of the fire was his only answer. So be it. There had been no answer because there wasn’t one. He had done all he could do here. It was time to be inside the walls.

Lord Athione, Lord Protector of the West, turned his horse and rode for home.

The dawn found Keverin standing upon the battlement with Darius watching the invaders moving along the pass below. The distance was too great to make an accurate estimate of their strength, but he guessed there would not be less than a legion. Numbers meant little. Darius, and mages like him, would be the deciding factor in determining who was to rule Deva.

Keverin couldn’t help thinking that he was to blame for what was about to happen. Though for the life of him he couldn’t see how he could have done otherwise. Surely there must have been something—a point where he could have avoided all this, but looking back, he just couldn’t see it. Everything he had done in his time as Lord Athione had been done with the good of his people in mind, yet still his path had led them all to war. The Protectorate’s invasion of Bandar five years ago had led him to believe that Deva was next on Mortain’s list, and so it had proved. But was it his reaction to the fall of Bandar that spurred Mortain to this attack? It might be egotistical of him to believe so, but he did. His wish to protect his home and people had led directly to their current peril. He was a fool to have ever believed he could give Mortain pause by strengthening his defences with magic. Athione was now a threat that Mortain could no longer ignore. Why hadn’t he seen the inevitability of that? Keverin shook his head. Inevitable or not, standing by and doing nothing had been, and still was, out of the question. Mortain would have turned his attention to Deva eventually. Of that Keverin had no doubt. He only had to look to Hasa to know that.

Al’Hasa, once the proud capital of the nation called Hasa, fell to the sorcerers centuries ago. The mages from the Black Isle had long since intermarried with the Hasian population, making Hasa an intrinsic part of the Protectorate. Ruled from Castle Black by a long succession of lords styling themselves after the first Mortain, the Protectorate and its legions had become aggressively expansionist in recent years. When Bandar fell, Keverin had thought the sorcerers would wait to digest their latest meal as they had waited after taking Hasa, but he was only partly right. Five years had gone by since the closure of the pass into the Protectorate, but already the Hasians were on the move. This time they were trying to cross the Athinian Mountains into Deva, and Athione protected the only route.

From his position above the west gate, Keverin watched the Hasians approach. His face was calm, but the clenching and unclenching of his fists could not help but betray his tension to those who knew him. The Hasian legions were the envy of Waipara. The men were the best fighters, the best disciplined, and the best equipped soldiers any country had ever fielded. They had fought in many battles, though not in the last five years, and were always victorious. The men were hardened professionals and worse—they were veterans. Keverin knew his guardsmen would fight well, but they had no experience of being under siege. Nor did he have any. He was out numbered and outclassed. If he led his men in an attack, they would die. It was a simple as that. Sally and die. If he did anything more than he was doing they would all die. He kept trying to see something he’d missed, but there was nothing. They must defend, not attack. Darius agreed with him, but it was cold comfort. Keverin had fought brigands and raiders successfully in the past, but this fight was way beyond a small raid. The Hasians were invading. He hoped his inexperience wouldn’t doom them all.

Keverin glanced at his friend. “How many do you think?”

“Too many for us by far, my lord. We have five mages of varying strengths, but they have ten times that number.” Darius clenched a fist and banged it down on the crenel in front of him in frustration. “Mortain would not send weaklings. You must know that.”

Keverin nodded. Indeed he did know.

Keverin pushed his hair out of his eyes from where the wind insisted on blowing it. He reminded himself to tie it back for the battle ahead. “Do you still intend to cast the spell?”

“I see no other option. We could hold them off for a few days... with luck more than just a few. Renard has some ideas, and you know how good he is at warding. So then, we hold them off for a few days, but what then? Even together with my brothers in the craft I am not strong enough to defeat them. We will tire long before the enemy does. When that time comes, the sorcerers will smash the gate and we all die.”

Keverin shivered at Darius’ matter of fact way of discussing his own death. He was only thirty yet he looked fifty at least. Why anyone believed magic was worth such a price, he couldn’t fathom. Keverin had puzzled through some of the texts in his library, but by no means all. Even with all he had read about magic and the Founders, he still didn’t understand why they risked so much. To throw away years of life, to burn ones youth in the pursuit of magic was incomprehensible to anyone but the gifted. Keverin reminded himself that he didn’t have to understand their motives to thank the God for them. And he did, every day. Of all those in his service, his mages alone might yet have a chance to save Athione from going down into defeat.

“If only Pergann would send help!” Keverin hissed in frustration. “The Chancellor writes that the King is too ill to make such a decision. No help is coming. We have to defeat the sorcerers alone.”

“Ummm.” Darius said frowning in thought. “I should tell you that I scried the palace at Devarr last night.”

Keverin gasped. “You fool! You know that’s a death sentence!”

Darius laughed but his heart wasn’t really in it, “I hardly need worry about being executed for scrying, do I?” He said with a weary smile.

“I won’t argue with you my friend. Not this day of all days. What did you find out?”

“I’m not quite certain to be honest,” Darius said in puzzlement. “The palace seemed almost deserted. There weren’t many servants walking the halls. The stables were empty and the walls didn’t even have sentries. I know the King is old, but the realm is surely in someone’s hands.”

That didn’t sound good at all. Pergann was a weak fool, but he was still the King. The Chancellor however wasn’t even a noble, yet he effectively ruled the kingdom by Pergann’s order. Morfran even commanded Athione’s loyalty. It was enough to turn Keverin’s stomach, but he was loyal to the king and there was an end to it.

“Chancellor Morfran is handling things in Devarr, but my messengers have had no luck convincing him of the danger we face. What about the King’s mage?”

Darius was shaking his head. “I did try to find someone I could talk to at the palace, but I couldn’t find anyone with the gift there—no one at all. I fear the kingdom is leaderless my lord. What of the nobles?”

Keverin grimaced. He wouldn’t trust most of the lords to polish his boots, let alone aid him in battle. The four great fortresses protected Deva from outside aggression. They and they alone might help. Athione in the west, Malcor in the north, Elvissa in the East, and Meilan in the Southeast. The south was open to the sea, but still had protection in the form of reefs. Many a fleet had tested them to their destruction. The lords that Keverin considered trustworthy, and more to the point, had enough guardsmen to make a difference, were leagues away. Gylaren Lord of Meilan was one, and Purcell Lord of Elvissa was another, but both had their own approaches to guard. Malcor was the closest fortress with guardsmen enough to help, but it was problematical in that Lord Malcor hated him with a passion, and with good reason. Keverin killed his father.

“I’ve sent messages to all of them,” Keverin explained. “Athlone didn’t answer. Most of the others don’t have enough men to patrol their estates let alone aid me. Those that do made excuses not to send them. Gylaren is on his way with two thousand men, but only half are cavalry. Anything else would leave us open to the south. Purcell is bringing five hundred, but all of his are infantry. We’re lucky to get that many.”

“Tanjung and Japura are quiet, have been years now. Purcell and Gylaren don’t fear an attack... do they?”

Keverin snorted. “Our beloved neighbours to the east would just love for us to reduce our defences. While we’re worrying about the Protectorate, they could take us in the rear.” He shrugged then smiled. “You are right about them being quiet my friend, but we can’t take the chance.”

Darius nodded. He took one last lingering look at the sorcerers in the pass below before visibly making an effort to look confident and cheerful. “So then, we are agreed. With your permission my lord, I must prepare for the summoning. Luck to you, and... farewell.”

Finding no words to express his fears, Keverin embraced his friend. After a moment they parted and Darius walked away toward the gate tower.

“May the God watch over you my friend,” Keverin called.

Darius stopped, and looked back over his shoulder. “I expect he will,” he said then entered the tower.

Keverin watched Darius disappear from view. “May the God watch over, and comfort you at journey’s end.”

It was the prayer for the dead.

* * *

2 ~ Summoning

Darius refused all help from his fellows in the fortress. Keverin would need everyone to stand a chance at repelling the Hasian invasion. If indeed it could be repelled.

He knew Keverin didn’t understand why he and mages like him willingly paid the price of the craft. Only someone with the gift could understand the ecstasy he felt when using his magic. It was one reason why mages regardless of their rank tended to overuse it. He had felt the point when the sweet ecstasy of the magic turned to agony many times. Without discipline a mage could age himself a hundred years in moments.

Darius wore the red robe that declared his rank as wizard. Only the black robe of a sorcerer was higher. He was the strongest mage in the fortress, yet even his discipline had failed him on a number of occasions. He was only thirty years old, but outwardly he looked fifty or more. That didn’t deter him from using his power—nothing could. When he released his magic after a major conjuration, he would often swear never to let it seduce him into that last grasp for more, but as always the next time would come and he would abruptly forget the oath, ageing perhaps another month. Then again, and he would age a year, then another month, on and on. Now he was a young man with an old man’s body about to perform his last and greatest work. To be ready for this day he had studied for years piecing bits and pieces of the stories together from the histories. He had not known that then of course. He had studied not for any high minded ideal such as saving the kingdom from the Hasians, but rather for the shear love of it. Coming to Athione was the culmination of his life’s pursuit of knowledge. Fitting then, that it was here he discovered the answers to so many of his questions about the Founders and the loss of the Great Spells they brought with them.

In the beginning, the world had been devoid of magic wielders. Sorcerers had arrived on Fisher Isle, through a gate where some stayed to build a home that would later be called Castle Black. A smaller group wished to explore the mainland and flew to shore there to separate and mingle with the inhabitants they found. To Darius’ mind, Athione’s construction with sorcery attested to the validity of the story. No one could construct anything on such a grand scale today, but he was determined to attempt something just as ambitious—a gate spell-.

The key to the spell had come into his hands quite by accident when he swore his oath to Keverin. At Keverin’s request, he had warded all the books against removal from the library soon after his arrival, but the lord hadn’t entrusted one particular volume to the library. No indeed. That book was in the vault, guarded night and day. Keverin had asked him to place wards on the vault to ensure that a lord of Athione must always accompany anyone who wished to enter. It was his strongest ward, and he had aged himself an entire year on purpose to make it. The ward would outlive anyone currently living and would endure forever if it remained untouched by a greater mage. To break it, a mage would need to be not only extremely powerful, but also ready to sacrifice more than a year of life to do it. He wasn’t sure the ward was enough, but he could do nothing more to ensure the vault’s security. The spell would hold long after his death—it must.

Darius surveyed his room one last time. He was as ready as he was ever going to be he decided. He straightened his robe and stepped out into the dimly lit corridor. Before closing the door, he glanced back at the table where a sealed scroll lay.

Perhaps it will ease your mind in some small manner my friend.

Darius locked the door and made his way through the fortress. He didn’t want to be late for his own demise. The thought started an absurd chuckle building in his chest.

“Darius!” Gideon called. “Please wait a moment would you?”

Darius’ heart sank when he heard the priest call out to him. He had hoped to avoid this. “I wanted to say good bye Gideon, but I’m late and Keverin is waiting for me.”

“So it’s true,” Gideon said shaking his head in disbelief. “You are throwing your life away for nothing Darius. The God won’t let Athione fall to the sorcerers.”

“I know you truly believe that my friend, but you and I both know that the God helps those who help themselves. I have never been one for praying or begging for help. Certainly not when I can do something to aid the situation my self. I am not going to start now.”

“You can’t unmake the barrier! No one can do that!” Gideon said with frustration heavy in his voice.

“True.” Darius’ ready agreement seemed to put Gideon off his stride, and he quickly followed up the advantage. “But I can make a tiny hole and slip through.”

“You are deluding yourself. The stories are just that—stories.”

“You’re wrong, my friend. I’ve read the histories as you have, but where you see charming stories, I see logical and well written accounts of the sorcerer’s journey and first years here.”

Gideon sighed. “I cannot sway you. I will pray for your success. Perhaps the Holy Father would chastise me for saying this, but I am proud to be called your friend.”

Darius could say nothing around the lump in his throat. He embraced the priest fiercely, and Gideon responded in kind. He stepped back to receive Gideon’s blessing then bowed formerly and left his friend standing alone.

Darius walked quickly to the great hall where Keverin waited for him to begin. When he entered, he found his brothers in a group talking amongst themselves to one side of the great hall. Keverin was sitting tensely in his high backed chair as if in judgement. Darius knew his friend was worried for him. He could not tell Keverin that his concern was justified—he dare not for fear that Keverin would forbid him from casting the spell. In an effort to forestall any such order from Keverin, Darius moved to speak with his brothers. Three wore the blue robes of master mages; two wore the yellow denoting journeymen, and on the outskirts of the group was Mathius, who was the youngest at twenty, wearing the green robes of an initiate. The Hasian mages all wore the black robes of true sorcerers, but they did so only to hide their ranks from outsiders. There was a very real advantage in such a practise, but not when living together as Darius did with his brothers of the craft. One mage could easily gauge the strength of another. Darius knew that if, when, he was successful, the hierarchy within Athione would shift and a new leader would arise to take his place within candlemarks of his death. His brothers wouldn’t fight the newcomer. The strongest always led by tradition. The thought of bringing someone to save his brothers and his other friends pleased Darius. It was worth dying for.

“Renard,” Darius said as his brothers moved to encircle him. “When it’s done, you will lead until the newcomer, whoever he is, has learned all he needs to know. I want you to tell him about the Hasians and Castle Black straight away.”

Renard looked unhappy about the situation, but he nodded. “I understand.”

“Good.” Darius turned to the other master mages. “Eamonn, Helton, as soon as the gate closes I want you to keep a watch on the sorcerers. I don’t know what they’ll do when they realise what I have done, but best you are prepared.”

Both mages bowed in assent without speaking.

“Haliden, Wregan,” Darius said acknowledging the yellow robed journeymen. “I want you two to keep your eyes on the lord. He... he will be troubled by what I have done.”

Wregan nodded but Haliden spoke up. “Are you sure this is necessary?”

“You have seen the enemy. What do you think?”

“I think anyone can be killed—even so many sorcerers. We could strike the centre of their camp in the night. Or at least ward the wall.”

Darius nodded. Warding the wall would work for a time as he had explained to Keverin, but it wasn’t a complete solution. “I expect you’ll have to raise wards at some point. Defence is important but we can’t win without a good offence as well.”

Haliden looked sceptical, but he would learn in time. He was only a young man yet. Give him another ten years and he would be as paranoid as Keverin and he felt. Darius turned to Mathius. He had no task for an initiate, but the young man needed something to feel needed.

“I need my complete concentration for the task at hand, Mathius. Father Gideon will arrive shortly and he has already tried to talk me out of casting the spell. I want you to keep a watch on him and prevent him from interfering.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Mathius said with a small smile.

Darius chuckled. The boy wasn’t so easily fooled. Ah well, time was wasting. He was about to address Keverin when he saw Gideon slip quietly into the room. The priest smiled sadly at him then made his way to a quiet corner to watch and pray.

“My Lord, I am ready to open the gate,” Darius said in a loud and clear voice. There was no sign of the excitement he felt—or the fear.

Keverin opened his mouth as if to forbid him, but he hesitated on the words. Finally, the lord nodded his permission. “You have my leave Wizard.”

“I thank you my lord,” Darius said with a deep and very respectful bow.

Turning to his fellows, he inclined his head to each of his brothers again. The mages bowed deeply in return and then retired to the sides of the hall so as not to interfere with the summoning.

Taking a deep breath, Darius centred and raised a ward to contain the forces about to be unleashed. A faintly glowing cylindrical wall came into existence, which slowly increased in size with Darius at its centre. He constructed the ward as strong as he could, but did not make it self sustaining. It needed to be strong but also temporary. He fashioned it ten yards tall to seal against the floor and ceiling. Where it touched there were little bursts of blue light accompanied by crackling noises as particles of dust flamed and were gone. A faint thrumming noise accompanied the growth of the ward. Darius fed more magic into its matrix and the thrumming grew louder. The magical wall brightened and dimmed in time with the odd sound throwing shadows across the floor and over the tapestry covered walls.

Thrum—thruuum, Thrum—thruuum, the shield pulsed like a heartbeat.

This indeed was his strongest ward. Darius revelled in the sweetness of the magic flowing through him. Forcing himself to remember his task, he reached for more power, and yet more until he felt he would burst apart. He called upon his mage-sight and lost sight of the ward as he concentrated all his thoughts on what he had to do. Using the magic in a way not used for over a thousand years, Darius reached and revealed the barrier. His mage-sight showed the wall the God had made to separate the worlds. What impudence he had even contemplating what the God had ordained to exist, what incredible arrogance to think he might breach it. The audacity of what he planned to do came crashing in upon him and despair threatened to take him. Forcing his thoughts onto what he was here to do, Darius shaped his will into a sharp point backed by all the magic he could draw and thrust it at the wall.

Shock!

Darius’ probe was smashed contemptuously aside and his head rang. He waited for the pain to diminish, and then forced himself to the very edge of agony. He thrust again and was smashed away again. He wanted to scream in frustration and no little pain. It was as if the barrier was made of fire. It hurt to touch as fire did, insubstantial yet still a solid barrier to his will. He had known it would come to this, yet he hesitated. A roaring filled him as if the largest waterfall in the world was trapped within his head. It was the magic raging at its confinement within him.

Darius flung open his link to the magic before his fear overcame him. No longer was there any restraint on its flow. He was swept along completely at its mercy. He struggled against the current as it threatened to drown him in a river of magic. He had but one thought remaining. Hasians... Keverin, Keverin... Hasians. He grasped the thought and slowly, agonisingly, he dragged himself from the river until his world returned to the barrier and pain so excruciating it felt like a river of fire running through his veins. He thrust his probe at the barrier again, but this time he felt a tiny breach. Forcing himself to push until all that was left of him was his driving will...

The wall surrendered and Darius was through.

The pain lessened as his body lost its ability to feel. He was dying but Darius did not care about that. He found himself floating in nothingness and silence. All around him there were millions of pearl-like spheres—worlds rich in colour and life. They stretched forever into the vast unknowable distance. They were so beautiful. Darius spun about, giddy with childish delight and awe. Worlds uncountable. If only he could go back and tell Keverin not to grieve. It was so wonderful here. Thoughts of Keverin caused him to rush headlong through the nothingness until he was hovering over one of the pearls. He reached out to touch it and was suddenly looking upon Athione’s great hall. Keverin was beating his fists bloody on the ward. Renard and the others were trying to restrain him, but Keverin was a big man. He was a handful.

He mustn’t do that.

Darius quickly used the magic to search nearby worlds for the one he came for.

There!

It was unmistakably the spark of a great one, a true sorcerer. What had been Darius quickly threw out his will to snag the spark and then hurl it at Keverin in one motion. The vision faded, and Darius began to fade with it.

It’s so beautiful here…

Welcome home Darius. Come, come meet thy God.

I’m coming…

* * *

Julia Morton danced across the mat in precise moves designed to train her body to remember. She was wearing her ballet shoes and leotard, but the dance she was performing wasn’t for a ballet. It was a routine based on ballet for the women’s floor exercise in gymnastics.

“You’re too tense!” Jill called over the music. “The movements should flow one to another, not lurch like some kind of zombie!”

The sweating dancer held her position with one leg extended behind her. Hearing the criticism she faltered, then wavering, she tried to regain her poise but it was no good. She had lost her concentration. Julia lowered her leg to the mat and tried to force the pain from her cramping muscles. Six months left to prepare before joining the rest of her team. She wasn’t ready and knew it. The games, no longer a far off and eagerly anticipated event, loomed ahead of her like a rain cloud on the horizon—an ominous and inevitable climax to her life thus far.

What will I do after? Is there an after?

Julia was pushing herself to exhaustion each day, but something seemed missing from her work. She was just going through the motions and not improving. Worry and anxiety over the floor exercise had long since replaced the excitement and anticipation she used to feel when thinking about the games. The ballet was Jill’s attempt to instill some grace into her movements, but the task seemed impossible. She was at home on the asymmetric bars or balance beam, even her vault was good, but the floor exercise was a nightmare of cramping muscles and shaky legs as she strained for, but never attained, the perfection she so desperately needed. Improvement in her other events came easily by comparison, but the floor routine left her gasping with nothing to show for the effort she expended. She was spending all her time making her body perform unnatural, painful, and intricate movements all in the hopes of forcing an improvement.

I spent too much time on weights!

It was a familiar thought. She had wasted six years of training before she learned that strength, though necessary, wasn’t the only thing a gymnast needed. When first starting out she had spent, and wasted she now felt, too much time strengthening her body. Jill disagreed saying no training was entirely wasted, but Julia blamed her strength for her inability to attain her goal. She was far too heavily muscled to perform intricate movements accurately.

“Give me a minute and I’ll go again,” Julia gasped.

“No,” her coach said.

“But I need more practise! You said yourself I look like a zombie lurching around the mat.”

“I said no, Julia,” Jill said testily. “You’re pushing too hard as it is. The way you’re kneading that thigh tells me it’s time to quit for the day.” Jill knelt and started vigorously massaging the cramping thigh muscles.

“But Jill, I need this. You know why I need this!” Julia said looking down at her coach working on her legs. “You’re always telling me about the Three D Method: Determination, Discipline, and Dynamics. Well, I’m determined to get this right.”

Jill replied without looking up. “You have more than enough determination and discipline. What you lack is common sense. If you continue to push it, you’ll lose everything through one type of injury or another.” She stopped the massage. “There. How’s it feel now?”

Julia flexed her legs ignoring the twinges as the muscles bunched. “It’s great. Better than great—it’s perfect. I can go another hour—honest!”

If I can just smooth out the transitions, I’ll be halfway there.

“—listening to me?” Jill was saying.

“What? I’m sorry I didn’t catch what you said.”

“Exactly! You’re not listening to me. Keep on as you are and you’ll be out with an injury.” Jill moved toward the door. “I’m going home for the night.”

“Oh come on! Just watch me for another twenty minutes,” Julia said as Jill opened the door to leave. “All right ten minutes!”

“I’ve said all I’m going to say on this. Go home. I’ll see you tomorrow, and don’t forget to lock up,” Jill said over her shoulder and then left.

Damn!

Julia pulled a towel out of her bag lying against the wall. Jill was right about her common sense, but it didn’t change how she felt. Gymnastics was her entire life now. Without it she had nothing. Robby had someone else and wouldn’t even talk to her. Mum and Dad...

Don’t think about it!

Julia tried not to, but it was no good. Even as a child she had enjoyed sports. She had wanted to be bigger and stronger than everyone else, and her mother encouraged her. She joined the local gym and worked out every evening. On weekends she worked non-stop. Julia never did grow very tall, but she made up for her five foot frame with muscle and attitude. She had lost friends because of her preoccupation with gymnastics, but that didn’t seem to matter. The only people that did were her parents and Robby. It wasn’t bloody mindedness on her part when she dropped out of college to work in the gym full time. Gymnastics was important—it was! It was more important to her now than it had ever been in her life. Robby just hadn’t understood her. He was studious, Robby was. Some would say boring, but never to his face. Julia really did love him, or she thought she did... or had, but she loved her gymnastics more. He couldn’t accept second place in her heart, and he knew he would never be first, so they had split up. Robby had someone else already, and she had what she wanted—her gymnastics. So what if the house was empty? So what if she was lonely? She could handle it. She didn’t have time for relationships any longer. She didn’t need anybody but Jill.

She didn’t need anything—really.

Julia knew that some people found her strange or too out spoken, but if they couldn’t handle that, it was their loss. Even her father hadn’t understood why she wanted to be a gymnast. He used to say that she was becoming too mannish, and didn’t look like a girl her age should look. Her mother had understood what drove her though... Julia sniffed and buried her face in the towel. The tears came as they always did when she remembered her parents. They had both wanted the best for her. Her mother had pushed her in the direction she already wanted to go, but her father was more down to Earth. His vision of her success was a high paid job and marriage. Now that her parents were gone, she had only Jill to help her. The death of her parents was a strong reason to push her self. If she didn’t do it, who would?

Drying her eyes, Julia looked around the gym at the familiar sights of beam and bars. She needed the distraction. Her eyes swept back to the beam. No. She didn’t feel like working on the beam. The asymmetric bars were her favourite of all her disciplines. She always felt as if she were flying when she was up there. Time seemed to slow giving her plenty of time for the next catch or twist. She was at her best while flying.

Just ten minutes won’t hurt.

Julia rummaged in her bag for her palm protectors. It was awkward to put them on without help, but she managed to do it finally, before walking over to the chalk. With an irritated sigh, she realised she was still wearing her ballet shoes. She untied and removed them, and then thoroughly chalked her hands before walking over to her start position.

Taking a deep breath, she sprinted and launched herself perfectly from the springboard. Time slowed as she flew easily over the lower bar to catch the higher. She moved into a handstand, held it for three seconds, and then allowed herself to fall into a full giant. Swinging around for the second time, she performed a back-straddle release to catch the lower bar.

Julia lost herself in the movement.

Time sped by as pirouettes and hand changes blurred into giants and saltos. She held her position in a handstand on the higher bar, and then allowed herself to fall into two giants. At the perfect moment, she released to perform a double-back salto dismount. She sailed through the air twisting and turning, but then something went wrong. She lurched sideways and lost the correct posture.

Oh shit, this is going to hurt!

Julia’s dismount turned into a crashing sprawling fall.

* * *

3 ~ New World

Keverin watched the faintly glowing wall as it grew. It was tall enough to reach the ceiling, and a strange noise hummed in time with a faint increase in glow. This was truly magic, the kind ordinary people could see. The ward hesitated as it encountered a slight step in the ceiling. The brightness increased as if the ward were snagged, pressure built until it cleared the obstruction. The magical wall dimmed and stopped growing after forming a circular wall about twenty yards across with Darius at its centre.

Thruuum—thrum, Thruuum—thrum, the shield pulsed.

To one side of the hall Keverin’s mages stood in attentive silence. Not a murmur came from them, but Gideon’s prayers were clearly audible even though he spoke quietly. Darius stood unmoving within the ward staring at something only he could see. He looked peaceful enough.

“Forgive us I pray,” Gideon was saying. “We, your children, beg your understanding. Do not take this man. He strives for our salvation. Lend him your strength in his task and do not smite him for his temerity…”

Keverin added his own prayers to those of the priest. “Please don’t take my friend.”

“...as we believe in you and life everlasting. He is a good man, a just man...” Gideon stumbled to halt.

Slowly the wizard began to glow.

“Please!” Gideon cried. “I beg you to strengthen your chosen! With his power, which is your power, he strives to protect us as you protect this Earth. Lend him your might…”

Keverin glanced at the other mages and found them concerned enough for it to show on their faces. He dismounted the dais and went to talk to them, but before he reached halfway, the most terrible screaming began.

“AEiiiiiiiiii!” Darius screamed without a breath.

Keverin ran to the ward and looked in. Darius was writhing in torment as if a demon were eating him alive. The glow was becoming intolerably bright as if a fire burned inside him.

Keverin wheeled upon the nearest blue robe. “Stop this right now Renard. Do you hear me? Stop it now curse you!”

Renard gaped at him. “I cannot lord. It... the ward... it’s stronger than... I’ve never seen such power unleashed!”

Keverin spun back in torment at what his friend was going through. He shielded his watering eyes. “Darius! Give it up man! Do you hear me?”

“Lord, he has gone too far. He cannot hear you,” Renard said sadly.

The screaming went on, and on, and on. Keverin tried to shut it out, but it felt like it was inside his head. He blocked his ears shaking his head violently from side to side.

No, NO, NOOOO!

Keverin smashed a fist into the ward in frustration. The wall of light flashed in reaction and left his hand red and stinging. The pain was nothing to what Darius was going through. Before anyone could stop him, Keverin punched at the wall again. Right fist, left fist, right fist, until his hands bled freely. Someone grabbed him from behind, then another. Suddenly robed men were mobbing him from every side. Roaring he threw them off. Using both fists together as a club, he smashed them into the wall.

The ward flashed blue fire.

“AEiii!” Screaming in agony Keverin fell to his knees.

Sobbing in pain, he held his hands up before his disbelieving eyes. They were burned black from the discharge. The mages rushed him a second time and he fought to free himself from their weight.

“Guards!” Keverin bellowed still struggling beneath the combined weight of the mages. Glaring around he snarled, “I’ll have you all executed for this!”

Six armed and armoured men rushed into the great hall. Seeing their lord in peril they drew swords and charged. Mathius saw the danger and gestured toward the guardsmen. A flickering blue ward sprang up before them and the guardsmen ran headlong into it. The ward crackled ominously and the men jumped back more wary than hurt. Mathius gestured again and the guardsmen froze as if turned to stone. Seeing no help from his men, Keverin struggled even harder.

Darius’ screaming abruptly ceased.

The grunting of straining men was the only sound in the hall. Gideon had quit his prayers and was staring at Darius in sick horror. Keverin stopped struggling and peered between robed bodies at the ward. There was a groan of dismay from all present when they saw what it contained. There was an old man standing where Darius should be. His jaw was locked open on a terrible but silent scream and his eyes stared blindly at a horror only Darius knew. The glow was fading now as it finished its terrible work. The last of Darius’ hair fell out as Keverin watched and his straight posture crumpled. Darius fell to his knees and then onto his side. The terrible light seemed to drain out of him. It flickered fitfully then winked out. The ward continued to pulse and hum but at a much slower rate now.

Keverin shoved at Renard and Wregan. “Let me up.”

This time they obeyed.

Keverin moved to the ward and leaned into it hoping to push it out of the way. It was no good. “Arghh...” He pushed harder crying out at the pain in his burned and bloody hands. The ward brightened as it opposed his strength with its own, but it replied with less energy than before. It was not enough to injure him.

Keverin looked back at Renard with hope that he might take down the ward, but he shook his head. It was hopeless. He turned back and found the wreck of a man was smiling. Smiling? What could he possibly... Keverin gaped as a hole opened in the air. Lightning crackled as it crawled over the floor then began climbing the walls of the ward. It quested for an opening like a vine reaching for the sun. Without warning the ward collapsed and Keverin stumbled toward the gate. He barely had time to stop himself from pitching head first into it when he was flattened to the floor by the newcomer. He threw the man off, scrambled to his feet, and ran to Darius.

* * *

Julia landed. “Ow?”

She sat up only to find she was kneeling astride a darkly tanned man with long black hair frosted with grey at the temples. What the hell was he doing here... Julia gaped at her surroundings. She was about to ask what the hell was going on when her landing cushion shoved her unceremoniously onto the floor and ran off.

“Hey! Who do you...” She called after the retreating figure.

The man didn’t look back, but Julia was beyond caring about him. She was sitting on a patterned marble floor in a medieval throne room complete with guardsmen and a real throne. The pattern on the floor was like a coat of arms. There was a solid green circle with two gauntleted fists crossed in the centre. Above her head was a chandelier hanging from chains. There were four of them altogether. There must have been a couple of thousand candles up there. The vaulted ceiling was very high and supported by stone columns. There was something odd about them, but she couldn’t quite think of what it was. The walls were covered in tapestries and banners—more banners hung at intervals from the ceiling. It was almost as if she was in a castle or something. Ha! A castle, yeah right! She frowned at those huge columns again. They were very tall, but that wasn’t what had caught her attention. There was something bugging her about them, but what? They were all of one piece instead of in sections, and they looked too delicate to support the weight of the stone ceiling.

The tapestries depicted battles mostly, but some showed fanciful creatures like griffins and dragons. She looked back at the guardsmen who were busy ogling her out of the corners of their eyes as if she couldn’t see them. The swords looked okay, but the armour seemed to be made of leather. Shouldn’t they have been wearing metal breastplates? Julia shook her head at her preoccupation. She should be in the gym! Had she hit her head when she fell? Yes, that was it! She was in a hospital and dreaming all this. She felt much better about her situation knowing that. She hoped it wasn’t serious. She needed to be fit for the games no matter what.

Julia stood and walked around rather than freeze her behind off on the cold floor. The men standing together with her landing cushion took no notice of her as they tended to someone lying on the floor. All of them were wearing colourful robes. The blue ones were nice, more like an aquamarine than plain blue. She didn’t think much of the yellow ones, but one man had decided to make a fashion statement by wearing green. On her right the guardsmen continued to watch her without moving more than their eyes. They were as motionless as statues and looked uncomfortable.

“Hello, are you standing like that for a particular reason?” Julia said on her best behaviour. What she really wanted to say was that if they didn’t stop ogling her as if she were the only woman ever born she was going to slap them silly.

The man in the front was a sergeant if Julia understood the purpose of the chevrons on his armour. He glowered at her when his friends laughed, but when he didn’t answer, a man on his left answered for him.

“We be magicked, young missy.”

“Shut yer face Brian,” the sergeant said.

“Magicked? Are you serious? Magic is all tricks and nonsense...” Julia began but then swallowed nervously remembering they wore swords and this place definitely wasn’t her gym. “Isn’t it?”

The sergeant growled a no, but another of his friends answered more informatively. “Don’t say that where they can hear you,” he said nodding at all the robed figures. “The little one in green stuck our feet to the floor.”

“Really? Why don’t you take your boots off then?”

The guardsmen gaped at her, then looked sheepishly at their mates. As one, they started to pull their feet out of the magicked boots. Julia tried to lift one of the vacated boots but she couldn’t move it. They really were magicked! Thoughts of ogling went out of Julia’s head as a solvable problem presented itself to her. She gratefully latched onto it.

“I’ll just go over and ask the one in green to get them unstuck for you.”

“Wait! Don’t—” the sergeant began, and tried to make a grab for her, but his feet were still trapped within his boots. Julia side-stepped and easily evaded him.

This place was truly amazing. She hadn’t thought her imagination was this detailed. Everything was so vivid and colourful. She studied a tapestry on one of the walls and loved it on sight. Dragons flew overhead while on the ground below more were roaring and blasting fire at soldiers in armour. The soldiers were winning of course, but that didn’t detract from the artistry. It was gorgeous. The colours were so vivid and lifelike—all the reds and the gold’s, it was wonderful work. Maybe Jill was right about her working too hard. She might have had a nervous breakdown.

Julia reached out to tug the sleeve of the man in green. “Excuse me. My friends would like their boots back if that’s not too much trouble,” she said politely.

The man in the green robe turned toward her with a distracted air about him. Julia thought his eyes were going to fall out of their sockets when he focused upon her. Anyone would think he’d never seen a woman before. He stared down at her as if mesmerised by something. She squirmed starting to feel a little exposed.

“I said, will you let my friends have their boots back please?” She growled becoming annoyed. Behind her back the guardsmen groaned in unison.

The pimply faced man shook off his distraction. “I’m sorry, but your raiment... it’s a little... and I can see your...” He blushed so red he looked as if he had chronic sunburn. “Never mind. What did you want again?”

Julia sighed. Give me strength! Suddenly she did feel stronger and clearer headed. “I said,” she began slowly as if she were talking to a simpleton. “My friends would appreciate it if they could have their boots back. This floor is cold you know.”

He glanced over Julia’s shoulder at the guardsmen and blushed again with embarrassment. He quickly went over to apologise with Julia following closely behind. “I am so sorry about this—truly. I didn’t want you to start fighting. You can see our lord is in no danger. Now let me sort this out.”

Julia watched the magician intently and blinked in amazement at what happened. It was weird, but she thought she saw... she didn’t know what it was but it was something. The man in green glowed with an inner radiance before something flew away from him to touch each of the boots in turn. After it touched the last one the glow faded away.

“There you are. You can put them on again now,” the magician said before inclining his head politely to Julia all the while keeping his eyes focused over her shoulder.

Julia frowned and watched him leave. What was it she saw? She turned back to her new friends. “There, that wasn’t too difficult. Do any of you know what his name is?”

The sergeant seemed in better humour now that he could move without showing the holes in his stockings. She had noticed they were in a terrible state.

“I’m Sergeant Burke, lady. His name is Mathius.”

“He wears the green robe,” another soldier added helpfully. “That means he’s an initiate.”

“An initiate into what? Into magic I suppose. How high is green?”

“Third rank, lady. The colours go: white, brown, green, yellow, blue, red, and black.”

One of the guardsmen leaned around Burke’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t we get her some clothes? What she’s wearing might be all right for bedroom games, but we’re standing with the high and mighty here.”

Julia was about to snap that he could ask her what she wanted, but the sergeant spoke first.

“Good thinking. If you follow Brian, lady, he will get you some proper clothes.”

Julia was feeling a bit chilly in her leotard, so she ignored Burke’s emphasis and nodded her agreement. She followed Brian out of the throne room and into an entry hall. There was a large door ahead that opened into what she assumed must be a courtyard. She could only see a glimpse from here, but the ground did seem to have cobbles. The foyer was less ostentatious than the throne room. The walls did have some ornamentation in the shape of large portraits and a few small tapestries, but the floor was made of stone not marble. The stone was granite. To the right and left a corridor stretched into the distance.

This place is BIG!

Brian was frowning down each corridor.

“What’s the matter Brian?”

“Oh nothing much miss,” he said frowning both ways. “I’m trying to think of ways to get you into the women’s quarter without anyone seeing you. T’aint decent for a lady such as yourself to be seen in her night clothes.”

Julia grinned, nightclothes indeed. “My name is Julia, Brian, not miss. This is a leotard. I don’t sleep in it. It’s for gymnastics—do you know that word?”

Although he obviously wanted to, Brian was trying not to look at her. “No miss, I mean, Lady Julia. Do it be some kind of magic?” He said and finally succumbed. He peeked at her before going bright red and looking away.

Julia sighed. Men could be such children sometimes. “Not as you mean it, but I must admit it does feel like magic if you perform well. Does your country have sporting events where everyone comes to compete?”

“We have a tournament in Devarr every few years. I think not this year though ‘coz of the invasion.”

“This tournament, what events do you have?”

“Sword play, archery, lance work, wrestling, boxing, and... oh, all sorts of things. The prize is a gold medallion with a picture on it. A sword for sword play, and a glove for boxing, and such like.”

Julia frowned in disappointment. “All your events are about fighting. Don’t you have any for woman, like swimming, or running, or jumping?”

Brian’s eyebrows shot up. “Course! We have all those, but women don’t compete. They’re too weak and fragile like.”

What! “Oh really? Too fragile, I see.”

Brian didn’t recognise the signs of an imminent explosion, so continued regardless. “Everyone knows women need protecting. Why, any man would die before seeing a woman come to harm, or he be no true man.”

Julia listened to Brian and realised he meant every word. She didn’t bite his head off. After all, how could she argue with him when he was determined not to let harm befall her? As she listened to the intricacies of honourable behaviour, she noticed someone coming down the corridor toward them.

“How about if you take down that smaller tapestry, Brian. I could wrap it around myself before that man sees me.”

Brian glanced the way she had nodded and yelped in dismay. He quickly jumped onto a chair and tugged down the tapestry. It was a nice one. It had pictures of horses running along a river. The spray was clearly defined and the colours were vivid. It must have taken years to make. Brian quickly wrapped her in it, and snapped to attention as the man reached them.

The newcomer was about a head taller than Julia was, making him about five feet ten inches. He was heavily muscled in the shoulders and beardless. The tight leather trousers he wore displayed his muscled legs to perfection, and incidentally made Julia feel a little hot in the face. His sheathed sword was thrust through a blue sash tied tightly around his waist. His armour was the same kind Brian wore and seemed to be made of boiled leather. The same emblem she had seen on the floor of the throne room adorned his chest on the right side.

Julia didn’t think the armour offered much protection against the swords all the men carried... not unless it had some kind of hidden strength. Magic perhaps? He was wearing his dark hair long with a leather band around it to create a ponytail, and diagonally across his chest from left shoulder to right hip he wore a blue sash. It probably denoted rank. From Brian’s reaction she guessed he was a captain of the guard.

“Report!”

“Darius died, Sir. He made a wall out of light and brought Lady Julia here through a hole in the air!” Brian said in awe. “I’m taking her to the women’s quarter now, Sir.”

“Darius is dead you say?”

Brian nodded. “He was glowing like the sun and then he fell. He was an old man, Sir.”

“Hmmm. The lord?”

“He was very upset. The mages stopped him from hurting himself.”

The captain’s lips thinned. “But he is well?”

“Yes sir.”

Julia listened as Brian concisely reported the facts. She was extremely interested to hear about Darius who it seemed had died trying to summon her to this place. Served him right too. She had been minding her own business and then wham! Here she was.

The captain turned toward her with a supercilious smile on his face.

You... I... do... not... like.

The captain inclined his head in a small bow. “Lady Julia, I am Marcus. As you can see,” he indicated the blue sash, “Senior Captain. I will escort you to the women’s quarter if you wish.”

Actually, Romeo had a very nice voice, but Julia had no intention of going anywhere with him. “That’s very kind of you, Captain, but I thought I heard your lord roaring about someone called Marcus just a few moments ago. Are there perhaps two people of the name here?”

The captain’s smile wilted and he hastily excused himself to enter the hall. Julia listened and grinned as she heard someone call to him.

“Ah, Marcus. I have something—”

Brian looked at her strangely. “How did you know, Lady?”

Julia shrugged. “I just made it up. I have a feeling I wouldn’t like to be alone with your so Senior Captain Marcus.”

Brian nodded, and indicated with a polite wave of his hand that she should follow him. “He knows his job, no question of that, but I’ve heard from the serving girls that he takes... you know... liberties! One girl said he slapped her on the... on her rear.”

Julia gaped in disbelief. Brian sounded positively scandalised. Perhaps she’d been a little hard on Marcus if all he’d done was pat some girl’s rump. The more she heard, the more she realised this place took protecting women entirely too far. In most women’s minds that would be good news, but she was starting to realise how wearying something like that would be. She wouldn’t be able to leave the castle without armed escort, wouldn’t be able to compete in the tournaments, she would go mad with boredom living like that.

“What does a woman do for amusement around here?”

Brian shrugged. “Lots of things. They make the tapestries and clothes. They read poetry and write some as well, but music is the best.”

Julia thought that she might like to know how to make a tapestry like the one she was wearing, and the music sounded all right, but the poetry was definitely out!

Brian kept walking for what seemed ages. Julia didn’t know how she would remember her way around, because so far she hadn’t seen a window anywhere. The place was enormous. It must cost a fortune to run something this size. The lord of this place lived like a king—unless he really was one. She hadn’t thought of that. The entire place was probably built on other people’s suffering. The thought turned her stomach.

“Brian? This castle must cost a fortune. How does whoever owns it pay for it all?”

“This is Athione, Lady,” Brian said with a wave of his hand at his surroundings. “It’s one of the four great fortresses of Deva. Lord Keverin pays for it all—he’s rich!”

Julia sighed. “I can see he must be rich Brian, but did he tax the poor people to get rich?”

Brian goggled at the idea.

Perhaps not then.

“Athione was built by the Founders with sorcery.” Brian said reverently. “The lord pays us well for being here. The only taxes he gets are from his tenants and farmers—only one copper in twenty. Traders give him one copper in ten. That’s one reason, the least important one, why everyone is so loyal to Athione.” They turned another corner and Brian continued. “The King taxes everyone four coppers in ten.”

The way Brian explained the situation spoke volumes about his opinion of the King. It fairly shouted his outrage at the idea of taxing so heavily. It sounded as if this Lord Keverin was ahead of the times. By taxing low he attracted more people and trading. He would gain more by that than taxing high.

Julia tried to memorise the route they were taking. Lamps were spaced about thirty feet apart on the walls to provide light, but the darkness in between made her very uneasy. Her fear of the dark, she would never call it a phobia, might be more of a problem here than it ever had been at home she realised. The lamps did provide light, but they weren’t very bright. There were shadows and ominous looking alcoves almost everywhere she looked. Some of the alcoves contained pieces of furniture or paintings that looked antique to her untrained eyes. Others contained busts on pedestals or statues. She gave up trying to memorise the turns when it started to feel like mapping the maze on a school trip.

“Are you deliberately trying to confuse me, or are you lost?” Julia said grumpily.

Brian laughed. “I’m using the older corridors to avoid anyone seeing you in your small clothes.”

“Oh. Where I come from no one would take any notice. I can wear whatever I want... well, mostly any way. In England a woman can take a job or not as she pleases. If she wanted to wear men’s clothes and do the same job as a man she can—mostly.”

“That sounds like a recipe for disaster to me,” Brian said in disapproval. “Don’t you have criminals in England? What is to stop a brigand from having his way with a woman? As for work, a man is more restricted than a woman. Usually he grows to be a farmer, a guardsman, or a crafter. There are some others, like artisans, but you see what I’m saying.”

Disgruntled Julia said that she did. What was annoying her she realised was that here she would be unable to compete in the tournament.

Whoa! What’s the matter with me?

Julia had forgotten this was all a dream there for a minute. Competing in a medieval tournament did not compare with the Olympics—and any way, she would wake up soon. Jill would tell her how stupid she was to work in the gym alone and this would all be over.

After walking through miles of dimly lit stone corridors and climbing hundreds of steps, Brian stopped outside a door. It was no different from countless other doors she had seen, except in one respect. There was no handle on this side.

Brian took a deep breath, and quickly straightened his hair.

“You look fine,” Julia said.

Brian grinned at her then knocked. After a moment, the door opened to reveal a very wide woman with a leather belt encircling her ample waist. Iron keys swung to and fro on a ring hanging from the belt. Julia assumed the woman to be some kind of guard for the women’s quarter. She was certainly big enough to break any number of male interlopers over her knee. She stood like a mobile roadblock in the centre of the doorway and looked from Brian to her, and back again.

“Well young Brian. What brings you to my domain?” Roadblock said.

Brian inclined his head. “Lady Elise, this is Lady Julia. Lady Julia, this is Lady Elise—she’s the seneschal.” Brian must have noticed Julia’s puzzled look because he went on to explain. “A seneschal is a housekeeper when the house is a castle or fortress.”

Elise snorted. “Housekeeper indeed. Where did you find your stray, Brian?”

Before he could answer, Julia jumped in. “He found me in your lord’s throne room after I was summoned from my world by a wizard named Darius.”

The housekeeper’s jaw dropped.

Satisfactory!

Elise looked her up and down. “Leave her with me Brian. I’ll take care of her.”

Brian on his best behaviour inclined his head to both of them. “Ladies, if you will excuse me.”

Julia watched Brian leave then stepped through the door into the women’s quarter. Elise closed and bolted the door behind her. After another interminable walk—in silence this time—Elise showed her to an empty apartment. After indicating the facilities, she left Julia to explore her rooms. There was the main sitting room with a large fireplace—the fireplace was cold but she was warm enough. She had a bedchamber lavishly furnished with tapestries on the walls, thick rugs on the flagstones, a wardrobe bigger than her bedroom at home, and a comfy looking bed with ornately decorated quilt depicting a stag in flight. The bath chamber was a wonder for these times. A stone bath with taps providing hot and cold water. More magic?

Julia sat on the padded stool in front of the dressing table and looked at herself in the mirror. A tired and bedraggled gymnast in a leotard and tapestry looked back at her. She stood and looked out of the windows to see a bright sunny day outside.

She was in the mountains!

Julia gazed at them in stunned delight. England could be beautiful, but it had nothing this... this grand. She craned her neck and found a tall curtain wall topped with a castellated parapet, and guardsmen armed with swords walking the battlement. Set in the wall was a pair of heavily barred gates. They were huge and covered in bronze. They were more like vault doors than gates. There was a great deal of activity on the walls, more than she thought necessary, but who was she to say. Perhaps they had outlaws like Robin Hood here. It was her dream after all, and she liked Errol Flynn. Athione was huge, just as she had thought earlier. She was very high up she saw. The women’s quarter wasn’t truly a quarter of the fortress at all. It was more like an entire floor—the third floor to be exact—of a huge hotel. Her suite of rooms had its own bath and privy, which was unexpected, but with magic nothing was impossible.

Julia turned away from the window and entered the bath chamber to fill the bath. A short time later she was reclining in the stone tub and luxuriating in the feel of her muscles un-knotting. She drowsed for a time before reluctantly deciding to wash and get ready for bed.

Julia found a nightgown in the wardrobe. It fit her very well, though it was old fashioned from her point of view. It was made of white cotton and covered her from neck to toes. It was only mid-afternoon, but she felt jet lagged or something—gate lagged. She snorted at the stray thought as she slid between the cool sheets. The last thing that went through her mind before falling asleep was what a weird dream she would share with Jill tomorrow.

* * *

A black robed man sat on an uncomfortable stool staring into the mirror on the table. With him in the tent were two others. Both men were dark haired and wore beards, but there the similarity ended. Lucius wore the black robe of a sorcerer, but the other man was in armour. He was General Navarien, commander of the Fifth Legion and the invasion of Deva. He wore a dagger sheathed at his belt on the right, and a sword with an ornate hilt hanging at his left hip.

Navarien turned to the sorcerer standing with him. “What precisely is he scrying for my lord sorcerer?”

“Please General, call me Lucius.”

Navarien never knew quite where he stood with Lucius. One moment the man was telling him to mind his own affairs, the next he was being friendly and telling him to call him by his given name.

“You honour me lord sorcerer,” he said inclining his head in assent. “Is there a problem I need to be aware of?”

“Belgard is the most sensitive among us. He’s the best at scrying as well—”

Navarien frowned at the dislike he heard in Lucius’ voice. If Lucius and Belgard were rivals, nothing good would come of them working so close.

“—earlier today,” Lucius was saying. “Belgard felt something he thought might be the disturbance caused by the invocation of a Great Spell. It’s extremely unlikely of course, but we must check so that no errors occur. The God decrees we not fail in our mission.”

On hearing those words, Navarien bowed with his right hand over his heart in devotion to the God. “There will be no failure Lucius, not while I live,” he said knowing that he wouldn’t survive long if one were discovered.

“I’m sure there will not be. Tell me, have your men settled in satisfactorily?”

“Yes my lord sorcerer. They are ready to do their duty to the God. If it’s not too presumptuous of me, can you say when we attack?”

Lucius glanced at Belgard. “As soon as Belgard has satisfied me that there are no nasty surprises, we will assault the gate.”

“That is good news. If I can be of any assistance, please make it known to me.”

Lucius didn’t reply but nodded his understanding. They both turned to watch Belgard. Navarien could only catch a glimpse of the mirror, but it seemed to be showing a young woman in her bed chamber.

If he’s using the mirror to spy on the women, I’ll... what?

Navarien frowned. Belgard could swat him just by glancing his way. He glanced at Lucius in time to see him scowl at the mirror. Slowly the glass cleared, and was just a mirror again.

“Well?” Lucius said shortly.

The only reaction from Belgard was the raising of an eyebrow as if surprised at the rudeness of a boy child. Navarien nearly burst out laughing, but he managed to stifle it with a cough. Belgard could swat him without trying, true, but Lucius had no restraint these days. He could obliterate most of the camp in his anger.

“A gate has been opened.”

Navarien gasped in shock, and Lucius wasn’t far behind.

“Are you certain?” Lucius said intently.

“Of course I’m certain!” Belgard snapped in annoyance. “I never say a thing unless I know it to be true. It’s something you should keep in mind Lucius, and perhaps emulate.”

Navarien winced at the acid dripping from Belgard’s words and waited for Lucius to erupt, but to his surprise Lucius stayed calm and waited for the rest of the report. Perhaps he had misjudged the man.

“It seems one of the Devan mages was quite skilled for an amateur. He succeeded in opening the gate, but then he failed to bring anyone of importance through. He died in the fires of his own magic. I watched part of the preparation for his funereal—he looked about a hundred and fifty years old.” Belgard frowned. “I wonder how old he was before the spell?”

Navarien was intrigued. “What does his age matter?”

“Well General, I’m not giving away secrets by telling you that if a mage over reaches himself he will age. If I knew his age before the spell, I could estimate by how far he over reached. Do you see?”

“I can see that,” Navarien said.

“Well... if I knew how much he was short by, I would know how strong their best mage was. We know a so called wizard named Darius lives at Athione. He is supposed to be strong, but we don’t know if he’s the strongest. They would obviously have used their best. The other mages in the fortress are bound to be weaker.”

Navarien nodded. Belgard’s reasoning impressed him. The information would definitely be worth having. Sadly, it was dependent on knowing who the mage was, and how old he was before the spell. He mentioned this to Belgard who nodded agreement.

“What is the point of debating something that cannot be known?” Lucius said in annoyance. “I want to know who or what was brought through, and I want to know now!”

Belgard seemed amused by Lucius’ anger, but Navarien was not. He stayed quiet pretending not to be there. It was safer.

“The pursuit of knowledge is never a waste of time Lucius, but to answer your question: the fates have been unkind to Deva. Instead of bringing through someone who could help them, the mage died bringing through a girl.” Belgard chuckled. “It appears he died just as he entered the higher realm. He must have realised his time was up and snatched her at random hoping to get lucky. He wasn’t.”

Navarien sighed and relaxed tight shoulders. No woman had ever been born with the gift for magic. It was a man’s power exclusively.

“That he managed to open a gate at all is worrying,” Belgard continued. “He must have realised that he would die and willingly sacrificed himself. There’s power in that.”

“We will begin the assault at sunrise, General,” Lucius said. “The Devans should be at their least effective then. Have your men ready to enter the breach as soon as we provide it.”

Hearing an order for the first time since entering the tent, Navarien came to attention. “Yes, my lord sorcerer. All will be ready. With your permission?”

At Lucius’ nod he bowed to both mages and left. Outside the tent, Navarien paused to breathe a sigh of relief. He had survived by the God! Looking around at his orderly camp, a feeling of justifiable pride came over him.

During the war with Bandar, Navarien had proven himself worthier than several others when he was raised to temporary command of the Second Legion—he had been Senior Captain when his General was relieved for a serious failure. He had taken up his new duties without a fuss and immediately planned an attack. By splitting his forces, he by-passed a defensive position, and while the Bandarians fell over themselves trying to change front, both halves of his legion wheeled and struck. The Bandarians were annihilated.

Now he had a new command and a new campaign to fight.

Navarien’s legion, the Fifth, was ten thousand strong. All infantry. He had made it clear at the outset that cavalry would be a liability at this stage. Athione sat on an escarpment completely blocking the pass. The only way into Deva was to negotiate a narrow road out of the town, and follow it up to the gates of the fortress. Lucius had told him that the escarpment was created by the up thrusting of rock with magic. Looking at it, Navarien could see for him self that it wasn’t natural.

Navarien had chosen a campsite approximately half a league from the remains of the town just at the point where the pass widened out into an irregular circle. It mattered not at all to him that he was following in the footsteps of armies and generals now long dead. They had attempted to breach Athione and failed, but they hadn’t brought sorcerers with them.

He had.

Moving through the camp, Navarien glanced at the burned remains of the town. It was an annoyance that he had been unable to capture it intact, but only that. He had hoped, but not counted on, taking the town to resupply his troops. It would have been considerably more than an annoyance if he’d brought cavalry with him. The pass was completely devoid of vegetation. No forage meant no horses. It was as simple as that.

Navarien stopped a moment to watch some of the men unloading the latest pack train to arrive through the pass. The stores of food and other essentials looked pitifully small, and ordinarily he would be worried. He wasn’t though. Everything was going according to plan. Two battalions had been detailed to start the unenviable job of supplying the legion with food and other necessities. Those two thousand men were important, any less and the task would become unworkable. It took his men two days to travel the pass to reach this point, so to make the round trip the draft animals had to work on low rations for four days. It would be pointless to ferry in food for the animals, he would need even more of them to carry it. No, it wasn’t critical to his plan to capture the town, but it would have saved a great deal of effort.

Stopping outside of his tent, Navarien stared up at the arrogant and forbidding walls of Athione.

Soon.

* * *

He should never have let Darius study that God cursed book!

Keverin sat slumped in his chair atop the dais in the great hall. He had ordered the room cleared a few candlemarks ago. The mages had removed Darius to prepare him for the final journey. Darius had always said the term was silly. He said the body was like a cup, and the wine was life. When death came, the soul left the body behind after savouring the wine of life.

A soothing balm leached the pain from Keverin’s burnt hands, but he wished they had one for his soul instead. He unconsciously clenched then released his fists and took no notice of the blood soaked bandages. The blood welled then dripped onto the dais.

He did not notice.

It was a habit he learned from his father who wanted to strengthen him. His sword work had been atrocious when he was a child. His father had decided his forearms needed more strength. Kevlarin had given him a ball made out of rags tightly bound together and told him to squeeze it when he had an idle moment. Keverin had idolised his father, and took the orders to an extreme. For years, he used the ball. Other children thought him a baby for carrying it, but he ignored the comments and continued to exercise with it until the string wore out. His sword work became excellent as even the largest of blades became light as a feather in his hands. Now whenever he became upset the familiar motion of clench and release eased his soul.

Suddenly his emotions came to a head and he jumped to his feet to storm out of the hall. He made his way through the labyrinthine corridors and eventually came to the north tower steps. Climbing quickly upward, he came to the last door. Hesitating briefly, he unlocked it and went inside.

There wasn’t much to see. A bed, a wardrobe, and a chest he knew held spare red robes. On a wall, a shelf supported a mirror and two books. He picked up the books and read the titles. The larger of the two was a book of poetry he recognised as being borrowed from the library. He replaced it on the shelf. The smaller of the two was a history entitled: The Black Isle.

Taking it with him, he sat on the bed and began to read.

The day progressed unnoticed while he read, then turning another page he realised there was no more. Surprised, he looked toward the window, and saw the sun was going down. He replaced the book on the shelf and was about to leave when a scroll caught his eye on the table. How he had missed it before he didn’t know, but he snatched it up as if it held all the secrets in the world. On the outside of the parchment was his name in Darius’ hand. Breaking the seal, he began to read.

My dear friend.

If you are reading this, events have proceeded as I foresaw. Do not blame yourself for my death, mages such as I never expect to live to a ripe old age as the founders were said to have done. Only another mage could truly understand the ecstasy of using the power to create something never seen before.

“I never did understand my friend. How could I know?” Keverin said into the gloom.

To me the gate spell is like a fine horse or blade is to you, it begs to be used and used wisely. I hope I am wise, but if I am not, I will not know it after today. Already the knowledge of the spell works upon me. It calls me, and I burn to use it. The founders had iron discipline to thwart temptation. Alas, I’m not one such as they.

“You were the strongest man I ever knew,” Keverin whispered. Who else would walk into his hall, knowing he would come out an old man, or not at all?

You must use your best judgement about whether to show the book to anyone else, but I urge you to destroy it before allowing the Hasians access to such a treasure. Uncountable harm would result should they build gates to anywhere they wished. Imagine for a moment, a gate opened into this very room, and an army of Hasians pouring through.

Keverin was nodding. He had already decided to destroy it. Not for fear of the Hasians, but to prevent anyone else going through what Darius had. He bent his head to continue reading. The light was failing now and he could barely see the words.

If the spell worked, you have a new guest in your fortress. Be kind to him, as you have been to me. He will be confused and will not understand our world. Teach him what he needs to know, and above all, if he wishes to try the return journey you must let him. I snatched him against his will, a crime for which I shall surely be called to account when I kneel before the God.

Farewell,

Your friend and servant,

Darius.

Keverin rolled the parchment up. He stepped outside and re-locked the door. Walking through the silent fortress, he tried not to dwell on Darius and the screaming. After walking for a time, he thought he could by thinking about the coming battle. Then he had an idea about using the mages.

“I’ll ask Darius what he thinks.”

The screaming came back louder than ever.

On reaching his rooms, Keverin put the scroll in a velvet bag with some other papers and put them in a hidden drawer in his desk. He crossed the study to open a cabinet. Inside were crystal decanters of wine and some glasses. He hesitated on choosing which one to take, but then he remembered Darius saying the wine from Talayan was the best.

Keverin took out the decanter, and with a glass in hand proceeded to drink himself insensible. Strangely, it seemed to take a long time. After finishing the wine, he started on a Camorin spirit those northern people called White Lightning. He managed two glasses before losing consciousness.

Darius...

* * *

4 ~ Attacked

Keverin, lord of Athione and Lord Protector of the West, awoke with a splitting headache and a disgusting taste in his mouth. It tasted like a rat had crawled in during the night and died. He sat up—tried to sit up, but his head felt like it had fallen off and rolled down the rat hole earlier vacated.

“By the God, I’ll never drink again. Never again,” he croaked.

Keverin staggered to his feet and made it to the privy before the inevitable happened. Afterwards he felt a little better and performed his ablutions. He couldn’t let the men see him in such a condition. The Hasians could attack at any time. Darius said... No! He couldn’t think about him now. Renard was senior. He would talk to Renard first thing.

Quickly donning a clean shirt, he chose a pair of well-worn leather trousers that he sometimes used on the hunt. They were a good choice for what was coming. They were comfortable but more to the point the leather was reinforced with lozenges of bone. Just the thing to help turn a boar’s tusks from his flesh... or an arrow. Keverin buckled on his armour and thrust his sword’s sheath into the sash around his waist next to his father’s poniard. Lastly, he fitted bracers and tried to pull on a pair of reinforced leather gloves, but the bandages interfered. He threw the gauntlets onto a chair and collected his helmet. Looking around to make sure he wouldn’t embarrass himself by forgetting something, he hefted his helm in the crook of his arm and strode out the door.

Keverin made his way toward the library quarter to find Renard. They had a lot to discuss and not much time to do it in. His long strides ate up the distance with ease. Occasionally passing a sentry, he absently returned their salutes, but he didn’t pay any more attention to them. Sentries at important intersections within the citadel were commonplace. The Founders had built the citadel like a maze on purpose to confuse the enemy, and to allow the defenders to outflank him. Keverin thought it a cunning idea that would have worked perfectly but for one thing—magic. Although magic did have limits, finding the way through a maze was unfortunately not one of them.

Keverin strode into what had once been the north quarter of the citadel. Everyone called it the Library Quarter now and was where the mages had chosen to reside. They had followed Darius’ lead in choosing accommodations and had settled close by the library for convenience. Unlike Darius though, they preferred guest suites to a room at the top of a tower. Keverin found the Library Quarter deserted. Keverin frowned and quickly ducked into the library proper hoping to find them there. The mundane section echoed with emptiness, so too did the hall housing magic section. No one was in either hall, and all the books were as they should be.

Where are they?

Keverin was just about to check the mundane area again, when he heard Mathius out in the corridor. He quickly retraced his steps, and found the young mage talking to Marcus.

“Where are your brothers Mathius?”

Mathius’s face brightened on seeing him. “I was just explaining to the Captain, my lord. Renard called a meeting this morning to witness a scrying of the enemy. We found out that the first assault is due at sunrise.”

“That’s only moments away. Why wasn’t I informed?” Keverin said through gritted teeth. He was both surprised and angry that he hadn’t been informed about such an important matter.

“I felt that you needed your rest, my lord,” Marcus said. “I have all in readiness. The mages are in the west courtyard and have begun to build their wards over the gate and along the towers and walls.”

Keverin came close to an explosion—very close. He kept his face pleasant when he realised that he wouldn’t have been of any use until now. He had been lying in a stupor when he should have been on the wall. Self-recrimination wouldn’t change yesterday’s events however.

Keverin let his anger go. “Very good. Outstanding in fact. Let us go out and see what we can see.”

Striding away and forcing Marcus to hurry to catch him was a petty kind of revenge, but it made Keverin feel better. He slowed when he heard Mathius panting. He felt guilty about including him in his annoyance with Marcus.

“Where have you put the people from the town who were sheltering here?” Keverin said glancing along empty hallways.

“Some in the lower part of the citadel my lord, but most preferred to find places in East Town,” Marcus said.

Keverin nodded. They would be safer in East Town in any case. “Whatever makes them happy is fine. After this is over, I’m going to insist that West Town not be rebuilt. If they don’t like East, I’ll build them a new one if that’s what they want. Where’s the sense in having a town in the pass?”

Mathius answered the rhetorical question. “According to the Histories my lord, the towns on both sides were settled at different times. East was first, but the traders moved to West Town to take advantage of better prices.”

Keverin sighed. “I know that, but we’ve had precious little trade through the pass over the last twenty years. Now with the Black Isle ruling Bandar, I’m thinking the days of making money from western trade are over. I suppose we should rename East Town now that it’s the only one.”

Upon entering the courtyard, Renard approached and escorted Keverin to the other mages to explain his strategy. “We have five mages my lord, and the Hasians have fifty ready to oppose us. That sounds bad and it is, but not as much as it sounds. A mage cannot continuously use his magic without tiring and making errors. We all know where errors lead. I believe the reason for bringing so many sorcerers into the pass is that they will take turns at assaulting the gates—literally shifting from one group to the next. That way the Hasians can keep up a constant attack without exhausting each shift.”

Keverin nodded. Darius had theorised the possibility. “Well reasoned Renard, but what is your solution?”

“We must try to duplicate the effects of their shifts with only five mages. I believe that I may have a way to do that. You may not know my lord, but maintaining an existing ward is much easier than creating one. Each of us has built a ward large enough to cover both towers and the gates in the shape of a straight wall—”

Keverin nodded in understanding. That was an obvious choice as Athione was under siege from only one side. He imagined each ward covering the one behind it completely. Each layer would then strengthen the others at the same time protecting the curtain wall behind.

“—then one of us will maintain all of the wards together,” Renard was saying. “The mage on duty should be able to last three candlemarks before becoming even slightly tired. Another will take his place without dropping the wards, and so on.”

That’s the God be blessed brilliant!

Keverin beamed. “Outstanding Renard! Truly outstanding. If the wards hold long enough, Gylaren and Purcell might reach us in time.”

“Yes my lord,” Renard said beaming his pleasure at the praise. “The one problem I can foresee is that we can only defend, not attack. The wards work both ways. Even if we could find a location to attack from, my brothers will not be able to sustain it and our defence at the same time.”

“Hmmm, I see. What of the newcomer?” Keverin said looking around the courtyard, but he couldn’t see an unfamiliar face anywhere.

“Lord?” Renard said puzzled.

“Surely he could handle a credible offence while you handle defence?” He said frowning around the courtyard looking for the man. The mages glanced sidelong at each other. Something was wrong, but none of them wanted to be the one to tell him. “What is it man?” Keverin said addressing himself to Renard. “I know he arrived safely, I heard him in the great hall.”

“Her,” Renard said sadly. “You heard her.”

No! Please don’t let me have killed Darius for nothing!

Keverin looked from one man to the other, and saw the truth. He paled when he realised what it meant. It was all over. Athione would fall without a strong mage to face the sorcerers. He was already outnumbered. A sally was impossible, but doubly so now.

It was all over.

Struggling to keep his thoughts from showing, Keverin nodded. “Ah, I hadn’t heard.” He scanned the courtyard again hoping for inspiration to strike, but the God’s voice was silent. Nothing came to him. “Well. You’re doing a fine job out here Renard, I think we can—”

BOOOM!

Keverin’s world flashed blue as the sound exploded into the courtyard. The wards were shivering and groaning under the impact. The air vibrated and the ground leapt with the shock as the wards rebounded against each other. Even the ground was shaking in sympathy.

Keverin was on the ground. Rolling over he saw Marcus and one or two of the mages getting back up. He did likewise. Marcus was saying something, but he couldn’t hear over the ringing in his ears.

“WHAT?” Keverin yelled. “I CAN’T HEAR YOU, SHOUT IT MAN!”

“IT’S STARTED MY LORD!”

Keverin nodded. I noticed.

Gradually his hearing returned and he was able to question Renard. “How are the wards holding?”

“No damage at all. It’s working—it really is!” Renard said shaking his fists in the air.

Keverin couldn’t help grinning at the mage. The man was almost dancing with joy. “Don’t sound so surprised my friend. You’re a master mage, and a damn good one at that! I need to leave for a while and arrange some matters. Can you contact me if something happens?”

“Not directly my lord, but if you take young Mathius with you I can bespeak him. He can pass things along.”

“Good enough. Come along Mathius.”

Keverin started back to the citadel then stopped when he thought of something. “I won’t be long Marcus, but keep an eye on things. If it seems advisable, have the men out of harms way and under cover. We better get the duty mage put somewhere safe to work as well. If he’s injured the wards will come down, and that’ll be the end of us.”

“You can rely on me my lord,” Marcus said snapping off a salute.

“I know I can, Marcus,” Keverin said and entered the citadel with Mathius in tow.

Booom!

The sound came again, but it was muted by the walls of the citadel. Keverin had ducked in reflex, but he straightened immediately when he saw that Mathius was unconcerned.

“The wards are holding my lord.”

Keverin nodded and moved on. In a strange way he felt somewhat relieved now that he knew the newcomer wasn’t going to save Athione. For the last five years he had known his time was running out. Now that it was over he found the worry and tension had suddenly disappeared. He felt a wonderful sense of release. He was more carefree than he’d been in a long time. He would fight hard to take the enemy with him of course, but the fate of the kingdom was no longer his concern.

Keverin kept to an easy pace and found curiosity eating at him in spite of himself. For Darius’ sake he would try hard not to dislike this newcomer—this woman Darius had died to bring.

“What’s the newcomer like, Mathius? Did she say anything?”

Mathius blushed scarlet. “Yes she did my lord. She ordered me to reverse the spell I placed on the boots of your guardsmen.”

Keverin chuckled ruefully. “Sorry, I was busy being mobbed at the time. What did you do?”

Mathius grinned. “I stuck them to the floor my lord! She must have spoken with the guardsmen because as bold as you please she ordered me to give them their boots back.”

Keverin bellowed laughter. It was a sound he’d not heard in ages. It felt good to let it out. “So! A bold one at least. What else can you tell me?”

“She’s only a child my lord, but even so she’s very beautiful. She has green eyes and jet black hair, and she looked amazing in that strange garment she wore.”

A child! How could Darius mistake a child for a sorcerer? Keverin remembered the terrible screaming and knew what had happened. His poor friend. Darius must have snatched her in desperation hoping to get lucky. Keverin prayed the God would understand and not judge Darius too harshly.

“What was strange about her clothes?”

Mathius blushed again. “There wasn’t much of it. I mean it was so... and she was so... I didn’t know where to look my lord! It was never meant to be seen outside of a bedchamber.”

Keverin wasn’t as impressed as Mathius evidently was. This girl with her amazing looks was probably as empty headed as those in the town. Oh, they were nice enough in their way, but he wanted more from a woman than bedroom games. He had always wanted someone with wit as well as good looks, but so far he had not found the one. In a few days, the point would be mute. His father’s choice of bride had influenced him too much, but there it was. Jessica was the most intelligent person he knew, including Darius. His father had confided to him once, that he treasured Jessica for her mind even more than for her great beauty. Kevlarin had told him that no one believed him when he boasted that Jessica’s council was always good.

Keverin was realistic enough to know that he would never find for himself that which his father had enjoyed for so long. It was too late for regrets now anyway. If he survived this war, he could always adopt a child to be his heir. Yes, he would do that. It was time to give up foolish dreams.

I have my duty; I need nothing else.

* * *

Booom!

Julia awoke with a start. Looking around in the dim light, she realised she was still in the castle. “Oh my God, this is not happening. Please let it be a dream.”

Booom!

The noise came again. It was louder than any thunder she had ever heard. It was coming from nearby. She looked toward the door. The noise hadn’t come from there, but she could hear people running by in the corridor outside. She got out of bed and padded across her bed chamber and into her sitting room. All was well there, so she crossed the room to open the door. Julia looked out into the corridor just in time to snag the arm of a young woman who was running past. She appeared to be a servant of some sort. She was wearing a long dark skirt with a white linen blouse fastened with oval buttons made of wood. What worried Julia though, was the look of terror on her face.

Booom!

Dust pattered down as the fortress shook around them. The woman tried to pull away, but Julia held on. “What’s happening?”

Something toppled with a crash nearby and a woman screamed in fright. The girl continued her struggles, but she couldn’t break Julia’s grip.

“They’re trying to destroy the gate,” the girl said. “Please let me go, I have to hide!”

“Who’s trying to break down our gate—where?”

The woman looked at Julia in disbelief as if wondering where she’d been all her life. Julia felt like yelling she didn’t belong here and didn’t know what in hell was going on. Before Julia could say anything else, the woman answered the question.

“The Hasians of course! The sorcerers are hurling fireballs at the west gate!”

The women finally managed to pull her arm free. She fled before Julia could ask anything else. Hasians... sorcerers... she must be hallucinating. It couldn’t be real—it just couldn’t be!

Julia closed her door and leaned against it feeling tears threaten. She should have been in the gym by now. The games... she had to... and then there was... Jill would think she’d been kidnapped or something.

“Well I have!”

Julia tried to think of what to do. Looking about in complete bewilderment, she realised it was all true. She could never have imagined all the details of this place. How did she get here? How would she get out of here?

Julia wandered into her bedchamber in a daze. Looking about the room her eyes locked upon the huge wardrobe. First things first. She would get dressed then look for answers. With something to occupy her mind, she felt calm returning.

I can handle this... I think. No, I CAN handle this.

Looking through the selection of gowns, Julia chose a beautiful green dress of silk. It was embroidered all over and fit her perfectly, though it was more suitable for Napoleon’s Josephine than for a five foot nothing gymnast like her. Another time Julia would have enjoyed playing dress up—there were a couple more gowns that had caught her eye, but there was no time for games. Looking in the mirror, Julia gasped in delight. The dress shimmered in emerald splendour as she moved. She had never worn anything so beautiful. The dress hugged her shape tightly before flaring over her hips. The low neckline showed the rounded swell of her breasts, and she frowned at how much was revealed.

Julia shrugged her worry away. When in Rome...

Looking in the bottom of the wardrobe she found the slippers that went with the dress. Thank goodness high heel shoes weren’t in fashion here. The shoes were a bit tight, but she managed. She really needed a half size larger, but they would do for now. Checking herself in the mirror one more time, Julia decided that her short hair didn’t suit the dress, but other than that she looked dressed to kill. It was time to find her victim and get herself some answers.

Leaving her room, Julia tried to retrace the route Elise used yesterday and was soon lost. Julia was sure that she had followed the same turns, but the door with only one handle still hadn’t materialised after what seemed like hours. Was she walking in circles, or was the castle really that big? Stopping for a minute to take stock, Julia looked both ways along the corridor hoping to see someone, but it was deserted. She would need a map just to find her room again! Further along the corridor, Julia could see by the light of the wall lamps a set of large double doors. Having given up on asking someone, Julia decided to see if any of the rooms had windows from which she could get her bearings. Walking up to the carved doors, she automatically knocked and entered.

“Good morning my dear. May I help you?”

Julia stopped on the threshold in embarrassment. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I’m lost and didn’t realise anyone was in here. I don’t want to be a nuisance—I’ll go.”

“No, it’s all right,” the woman said with a gentle smile. “This old pile of stone can be confusing at times. Please, come in and sit down.”

Julia closed the doors and sat in a comfortable armchair opposite the imposing woman. Julia tried to study the noble lady without letting it show. She seemed to be in her sixties, with her grey hair piled high on her head. She was a handsome woman, and Julia decided that she would be kindly. She was wearing a grey velvet—called fustian—dress in similar style to the one Julia had chosen to wear, but it was far less revealing. A lace panel in the front reached up to her chin. A rope of gold was displayed to perfection around her neck where it lay upon the lace, and another golden chain encircled her waist fastened with a brooch. She wore matching pendant earrings that hung from her lobes and sparkled in the light coming through the open windows. She looked like a rich and beloved aunt come for a visit.

“Do I meet with your approval my dear?”

Julia blushed at being so obvious. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me. My name’s Julia Morton. I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Two names? That is strange. I’ve never heard the like before. My name is Jessica. Where do you come from Julia Morton?”

Julia smiled weakly. “I don’t know. I mean I know, but I don’t know where it is at the moment... Oh! I don’t know what I mean.”

Suddenly, Julia felt the tears threatening. She tried to hold them back, but as soon as she felt herself under control, they spilled over and she cried. All she could think of was Jill and the games.

Stop it! You’ll get to the games. If you could get here, then the reverse is possible too.

Jessica came over and sat on the arm of her chair. Julia couldn’t help it. She hugged Jessica and cried harder. It was just too much take in. Her parent’s deaths in a car crash, dropping out of college, Robby dumping her... and now this! Her life surely couldn’t get any more messed up.

“Hush Julia. It will be all right. Hush, hush, hush...” Jessica said rubbing Julia’s back and smoothing her hair out of her eyes.

Julia pushed away a little and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what is the matter with me. I’m not like this usually...” she took the piece of lace Jessica held out to her and dabbed at her eyes. “I must be tired or—”

“Tears can be healing. I remember when Kevlarin died...” Jessica said faintly.

“Kevlarin?”

“My lord husband. Here, I’ll show you.”

Julia followed Jessica across the room.

Jessica gestured up at a large portrait on the wall. “This is... was Kevlarin. He entered the Other World almost ten years ago.”

The portrait was of a much younger and happy seeming Jessica sitting with an older man. Jessica glowed with happiness. Ordinarily Julia would have called Kevlarin brooding, ominous even, but the artist had captured a different feeling. It was love pure and simple. Kevlarin was wearing rich velvets in dark colours as if trying to fade into the background, but the way he was looking at Jessica gave him a different aspect altogether. It was as if Jessica’s presence shone a light upon him, one which he could not escape. The adoration in his eyes was obvious. Jessica could only have been twenty or so when the portrait was commissioned, but it wasn’t Jessica’s beauty or the age difference that made her lord husband seem plain. There was something familiar about Kevlarin that Julia couldn’t quite put her finger on, something about the eyes? She shrugged. Whatever it was she couldn’t dredge it up out of the jumble she laughingly called a memory.

“He is... strong looking,” Julia said lamely.

Jessica laughed. “You mean plain don’t you? It’s all right, everyone remarked on it at the time. Oh Jessica, you can do sooo much better. Oh Jessica, you should marry Athlone, he’s sooo handsome.”

“And were they right do you think?” Julia said stifling her laughter.

“Bah! Kevlarin is beautiful in my eyes and that’s all that matters. Athlone was, and still is by all accounts, a brigand. I wanted nothing to do with him. He married a beauty a while later and I never heard from him again... well not directly. He has caused some trouble for Keverin since then.” Jessica’s eyes shone with her memories and glistened with tears, but they didn’t fall. Jessica was a strong woman.

Julia remembered those nightmare months after her parents died, and envied Jessica that strength.

“I loved Kevlarin very much,” Jessica went on quietly. “He was older than I as you can see. He was lonely. This pile of stone takes a lot of work to manage. He kept himself busy by building up the fortune. His mother wanted him to marry a girl from Chulym to tie Athione to the masters there, but he resisted.

“Anyway,” Jessica went on in a more upbeat tone of voice. “His mother had arranged a banquet and invited all the lords. In those days this place was bustling. This lady or that lord would come to visit, and children would be running in the corridors playing. Every day felt like a holiday. This old place feels dead now, but you should have seen it forty years ago before the troubles began.”

“Then what happened?” Julia asked breaking Jessica’s reverie.

“Oh well, my parents brought me with them when they came to visit. Kevlarin was there all dressed in black and brooding in the corner. He did it on purpose of course. His mother was livid, but what could she do? He was Lord of Athione in his own right. Most of the ladies were afraid of him for being so big and ugly in their eyes, but I saw something different behind the scowl he wore.”

Julia listened as Jessica transported her to an Athione of long ago...

“Excuse me a moment would you?” Jessica said in a distracted voice. “I want to have a word with Lord Kevlarin,”

Athlone bowed stiffly. “As you wish.”

Jessica walked away, hardly aware of Athlone’s disgruntlement, and headed directly for Kevlarin. She didn't see her mother's knowing smile or hear the comment she made to her dance partner. Lord Padrig faltered at his consort’s words and looked worriedly toward his daughter. Another whispered comment made him relax suddenly tight shoulders and he concentrated upon his dancing.

The music was beautiful and the ladies danced gaily with the lords. The hall was decked in bunting and the chandeliers seemed to blaze brighter than the sun. Kevlarin made an ominous figure dressed as he was all in black. It accentuated his strength, though Jessica was sure he didn’t realise just how much.

“My lord Kevlarin,” Jessica said with a deep curtsy.

“You have the advantage of me lady,” Kevlarin said with a bow.

“Yes I have, haven’t I?” She said with a laugh. Kevlarin grumbled something under his breath. It sounded like he wanted to hide in the stables. “Oh don’t do that my lord! We won’t be able to hear the music.”

“I’m not dancing...” Kevlarin broke off looking sharply at her.

Jessica grinned and closed her trap. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?”

“You can’t ask me, I’m supposed to ask you!”

“Thank you my lord, I accept.”

Kevlarin looked around for a distraction or some other way to escape, but then he saw his mother heading toward him with a young woman in tow. He inclined his head to Jessica, “You honour me, lady,” he said and quickly led her away from his mother’s determined advance.

“You haven’t told me your name, my lady,” Kevlarin said as he whirled her around the dance floor.

Jessica was feeling a little breathless and wished now she had chosen a dress a little less tight. “Jessica—my name I mean,” she said breathing hard but enjoying the giddy feeling that was coming over her.

“You are a vision come to life Jessica. Where did you come from?”

“Don’t do that. Every man I’ve ever met says something like that and I’m sick of it! All my friends say I should let Athlone court me—he’s always saying stupid things like that.”

“I meant no disrespect. I assure you that I meant what I said.”

Jessica looked up at him in confusion. Did he really mean... ? She was feeling more than a little giddy now. She was having trouble concentrating upon his words.

“Can we walk outside for a little while Kev? I’m feeling a little giddy.”

“Of course,” Kevlarin said in sudden concern. “Here, take my arm and I’ll see you safely outside.”

Jessica walked unsteadily on his arm, but she quickly regained control of herself as the night air refreshed her. They walked slowly around the courtyard. It was a beautiful night. The sky was clear and the stars shone down. She could still hear the music even this far away, and wished Kevlarin would dance with her under the starlight.

“I’m sorry to be such a bother. I’m feeling much better now.”

“It was my honour to escort you,” Kevlarin said guiding her steps through the darkness. “You still haven’t told me where you live.”

“We have met before, my lord. My father is Padrig,” she said wondering if he would remember her.

Kevlarin frowned. “Lord Padrig? I don’t recall ever meeting Padrig’s daughter.”

“I was only eight at the time Kev,” Jessica said with a chuckle.

Daylight dawned and he gaped. “You... you can’t be! What ever happened to that mutt?”

Jessica laughed. She called her dog Lord Growley because he would always growl and bark at any stranger who came too close to her. “Lord Growley is not a mutt I’ll have you know. He is a noble beast!”

Kevlarin boomed a laugh across the courtyard. “My apologies to the honourable Lord Growley, but he did bite me first.”

“Only because he was protecting his lady,” she said grinning.

Kevlarin stopped laughing abruptly and raised Jessica’s hand for a kiss. “I can understand his need to protect you.”

The kiss made Jessica all tingly, and she wanted him to do it again on her lips, but he very properly escorted her back to the dance. Kevlarin danced beautifully. The night progressed with him glaring at anyone even attempting to come between them.

Jessica was well pleased.

“And what happened then Jessica?” Julia said breaking the mood that had come over her new friend.

“What?” Jessica said blinking in confusion. “Oh, Julia I’m sorry. I was lost in the past there for a moment,” she sounded sad to be back. “Well... the next day we went riding together; the next hawking, and the day after that my father informed Kevlarin that we were leaving for home. Kevlarin said he would escort us, and he did all the way to the castle, but afterwards, instead of leaving he camped outside the gate. When my father came outside the next day, Kevlarin asked him for my hand in marriage.”

“And your father said yes of course?” Julia said eagerly.

“He said no!” Jessica said with a laugh. “I was outraged I can tell you. Father, I said, I love Kevlarin and if you don’t go out there and tell him that you’ve changed your mind, I’ll go. He wouldn’t have that of course. He was the master of his own castle. He asked Kevlarin to come up and stay a while. The next day we were married by the priest in one of our villages.”

Julia chuckled. “A master of his castle but not of his daughter!”

They both laughed. Jessica brought her a glass of wine, and Julia sipped it occasionally while telling her about Earth.

“No, we don’t use magic at all,” Julia said. “Everyone knows magic is all tricks and illusion...” she frowned, “At least it is on my world. We use technology to do the things you described. Any one can fly where I come from. We use jet planes—big metal birds that hundreds of people can sit inside of to travel anywhere in the world.”

Jessica shook her head gently in wonder. “That is truly amazing. To think that something so marvellous can be done... but is it possible your world does have magic? You see, we believe that magic comes from the God. It is His power to bestow. Surely He made your world as he did ours.”

“In the Bible, that’s my faith’s holy book, it says God made the world in six days. I can see just by looking around me that your people and mine are the same. I believe God did make both our worlds. As for magic, we have stories of mages, but that’s all they are. Why is this so important to you?”

“I will tell you why.”

Julia turned to find the man she had landed on just entering the room. Mathius was hiding behind him.

“Though I cannot imagine how anyone could sleep through the noise, you should know that we are under attack. Athione will likely fall in the next day or so—”

Mathius gasped in protest, but the man ignored him and continued.

“—and most here will die. If you had been who you were supposed to be we might have prevented it!”

Before Julia could think of a reply, Jessica bounced to her feet in outrage. “How dare you! Lord you may be, but you don’t rule here! You burst in unannounced and think to insult my guest—I’ll not have it! If you don’t apologise I will have you barred from the women’s quarter!”

Julia nodded to herself. So this was Jessica’s son lord Keverin. Trust her to use the only lord for miles around for her landing mat. Julia watched the confrontation with interest. The lord was easily a foot and more taller than Jessica was, and he was heavily muscled, but the way Jessica stood toe to toe with him made her appear the larger. Julia could see his resemblance to Kevlarin now that he stood before her. He was struggling to hold his temper and was clenching his bandaged hands. They were bleeding. The injury must be recent.

Keverin bowed stiffly. “My lady mother, I... apologise to you and your guest.”

Julia nearly laughed to hear him strangling on the apology. She tried to hide it behind her hand, but he noticed the movement. “I’m Julia Morton. I would like to say that I’m pleased to meet you, Lord Keverin, but I’m not.”

Keverin growled something, but Julia was distracted from his words when Mathius glowed just like before in the great hall.

“What did you just do?”

The glow winked out and Mathius looked at her in bewilderment. “I? Nothing, Lady.”

“What are you talking about wom...” Keverin was cut off by a glare from Jessica. “Excuse me, Lady Julia, but what are you talking about?”

“He just did something.”

“I didn’t see anything,” Keverin said turning to look.

Julia glanced at Jessica for confirmation, but she shook her head. “But I saw—THERE!” She cried pointing at Mathius. “He’s doing it again!”

Keverin and Jessica both turned to the distracted Mathius. When he looked up, he jumped in surprise to see them all staring at him so intently.

“What? I mean... can I help in some way my lord?”

“Lady Julia says you just did something. I would appreciate you putting her mind at rest.”

Julia frowned at his emphasis. So, he thought she was empty headed did he? She would give him empty headed!

Mathius bowed to Julia. “Lady, I swear I did not use magic on you or anyone. Is that satisfactory my lord?”

Keverin nodded.

Julia knew that she had seen something. There was no way she was letting his lordship shrug it off. “But I saw you glow. I did, I swear I did!”

Mathius gasped. “You couldn’t have! No woman has ever had the gift. Never, it’s not possible!”

Everyone started talking at once until Keverin restored order by the simple expedient of shouting louder than anyone else. “Shut up! Let me get this straight. Julia says that she saw you glow. You said that you didn’t use magic. So what was the glow?”

Mathius shifted uneasily. “My lord, that is not... entirely accurate. I said that I hadn’t used magic on her or anyone. No more did I, but I did use my magic to bespeak Renard in the courtyard. The first time, Renard informed me of a meeting later tonight. The second time was to tell me I wouldn’t be needed to monitor or maintain the wards today.”

Keverin nodded. “So, what is this about the glow she supposedly saw?”

Supposedly! Julia glared at Keverin’s choice of words. What was it with the man that irritated her so much? She’d only just met him and already she wanted to kill him!

“When a mage uses his magic, another mage will be able to feel it, and in extreme cases he will hear it as well. More to the point, he will see the mage glow. The more he draws the brighter the glow will be. Darius... sorry my lord, but Darius drew a colossal amount. So much that even you saw the glow. The noise was...” Mathius shook his head and didn’t continue.

“Does this mean I can work magic?” Julia said.

“I’m the weakest of mages, Lady. You should speak to Renard or Wregan or... but not me!”

“Why are you so upset?”

Mathius looked at Julia warily. He was wondering what he had done to deserve her. His face was one that gave away his thoughts so clearly that Julia wondered if he had any friends at all. The thought sobered her. She didn’t have any friends either.

“I know what you’re thinking but it’s false. Lady Jessica knows the stories about mages, and Lord Keverin saw first hand what could happen only yesterday. Women have no place in that.”

Julia turned to Keverin. “What does he mean?”

Keverin shook his head and spoke instead to Jessica. “I didn’t come up here to talk about mages. Renard thinks he can hold the wards, but to be safe I want you to evacuate. I’ll send a strong detachment with you to Devarr. You can return in just a few tendays.”

Julia frowned. She could tell he was lying. Keverin knew the wards would not save the fortress. With a shiver Julia realised that these people were the only ones in the whole world who knew her. She couldn’t leave. How would she get home? She needed to stay close to the mages. Maybe one of them could send her back.

“I said no, and I meant it!” Jessica said fuming. She stalked away from her son toward the fireplace and abruptly turned back. “No Hasian is making me leave my home. If you think you can, you can think again! I’ve lived here with your father over forty years—good years. I will never live anywhere else. When my time comes, I’ll take my place beside your father, and still will I be here,” Jessica said stabbing a finger downward.

You tell him Jessica!

“The same goes for me I’m afraid,” Julia said before Keverin could turn his attention to her. “I know that you could force me to leave, but I’ll not go voluntarily. You kidnapped me—I know you think you have a great need, but that’s not an excuse in my book. The very least you can do is allow me to stay in the fortress where I know a few people.”

Keverin was angry but Julia thought for the first time that she saw respect in his eyes. She couldn’t be sure because she was distracted by what he said next.

“Very well. I hope you do not regret this decision. If we live through the coming days there may be a chance. I can promise you food and shelter, not safety.”

“I understand,” Julia said with a shiver at his bluntness. “I need to talk to the mages about getting home. Will you escort me?”

Keverin could hardly refuse a guest’s simple request. He offered his arm and agreed to show her the way.

Julia took his arm. “Thank you.”

Keverin said nothing.

* * *

Interlude I

Set in a lush valley on an island called Black, a pristine white castle stood. Built with magic of the hardest stone, and clad in limestone spelled to remain white through the centuries, the castle dominated the valley in which it stood. No, more even than that. Castle Black controlled the entire island and a goodly portion of the mainland as well. The island was dotted with prosperous villages filled with happy people. The farms benefited from weather that was never harsh, the crops never failed, everything was perfect. Nowhere else will you find such happy contentment. The island was as close to a paradise as the sorcerers could make it, but the scene was at odds with the castle’s avowed purpose. Castle Black was the home and seat of Lord Mortain, Voice of the God, First Lord Sorcerer, and undisputed ruler of the Protectorate.

Mortain watched the image in his mirror closely. The view was of a middle aged man in black robe talking with another sorcerer. The fact he could scry Godwinson at all meant he was unlikely to hear anything of real use. A ward to prevent scrying was easy to erect, which meant Godwinson was saying nothing of consequence. He still hoped for a slip that might lead him to something he could use.

Suddenly the mirror clouded.

Mortain cursed and blanked the image. “He’s up to something, I can feel it.”

His body servant, Marcail, moved forward and proffered a silver tray with a glass of ice water upon it. Mortain drank away his thirst. Whenever he scried for extended periods of time he dehydrated. Marcail always kept cool water on hand. Mortain nodded his thanks and replaced the glass on the tray. Marcail moved back to his place without uttering a sound.

Mortain frowned again. He was sure Godwinson was planning something, something against him. Godwinson was his heir by virtue of his strength in the magic. It had to be that way, but he didn’t have to like it. It was little known by the ordinary citizens of the Protectorate, but many Godwinsons had assassinated their way into power. He had killed his predecessor after all. It was almost a tradition, but one he was determined not to fall foul of.

“Hmmm, Godwinson’s boy. What is his name?” He said to Marcail wracking his brain. He was useless with names. One boy sorcerer was the same as another to him. Every one of them was a tool made to fit his hand.

Wotan, that was it.

“Perhaps I can use Wotan against his father,” Mortain mused but shook his head. “Too risky. Beltran will have to do it.”

He grasped his magic and summoned Beltran.

While Mortain was waiting for the man to make his way up from the lower levels, he used the time to scry Fifth Legion where it lay siege to Athione. The huge mirror on his study wall cleared to reveal Navarien watching the bombardment of Athione’s ward. General Navarien was one of the best, if not the best general under his command. He seemed too good to be true sometimes and strictly speaking he was. The man could be too pushy when trying to get what he wanted and he had no care for the political niceties of his position. His requests were all too often demands. Navarien didn’t like sorcerers.

Mortain snorted in amusement. “I don’t even like sorcerers. Who does?”

Marcail remained silent his eyes glittering.

Navarien’s peers had urged his execution for treason on any number of occasions, but Mortain was unwilling to lose such a resource to mere backbiting. Navarien had stepped heavily on more than a few toes in his rapid rise to generalship, but that was normal to his way of thinking. It would take more than a few disgruntled underlings to make him order Navarien’s execution. Much more.

Clunk!

The knock on the door heralded Beltran’s arrival. Mortain quickly cleared the mirror and nodded to Marcail to open the door. A moment later Beltran stood before him.

“You wished my presence, my lord sorcerer?” Beltran enquired quietly.

Mortain didn’t answer the obvious. He had used his magic to call for Beltran. Of course he wanted him here. Beltran was one of his most powerful guardians. He wasn’t even close to Godwinson’s strength of course, if he had been he would have to be eliminated. One rival was more than enough. No, Beltran was no threat to his position as Mortain but he did have his uses. Beltran was a pure killer, which was the first, the last, and the only thing that came to mind when his name was mentioned. Beltran was his favourite assassin.

“I have a task for you,” Mortain said as he took his place behind his desk. “Godwinson is recruiting a cadre of mages for his bodyguard. There’s nothing wrong with that—I did the same, but I want you to join them. You will obey Godwinson as you would me with one exception.”

“Exception my lord?”

“Exception,” Mortain leaned back and regarded his minion. “You will report to me anything you think I should know, whether Godwinson has already reported it or not. You will follow his orders, but you will do nothing to risk my position or me without first reporting for instructions. Is all clear?”

“Yes my lord sorcerer. I am to obey him in all things except your death or removal.”

“Very good.”

“Will there be anything else, my lord sorcerer?”

“You will find Godwinson in Athinia. I want you to journey there immediately. Make sure he does not suspect you of being mine.”

“I understand,” Beltran said and bowed deeply before leaving.

Marcail closed the door behind Beltran and moved to the side table where a selection of wines sat in crystal decanters. He poured a deep burgundy coloured wine and placed it on Mortain’s desk within easy reach of his hand. Mortain drank, and nodded his thanks. He was always polite to Marcail. It was compensation for having the man’s tongue removed fifteen years earlier. He had thought to use magic to silence him, but had decided against it. With so many sorcerers coming and going there was a remote chance of someone reversing the spell. No one could make a tongue re-grow.

* * *

Three men took their ease in a sumptuously appointed room in the fortress called Malcor. Ambassador Abarsis wears a black robe proclaiming him a dangerous man—a sorcerer. He sits at a remove from the others. There is a striking resemblance between the other two men, not owing to their clothing. The older man is Lord Athlone, and the younger, his only son Jihan.

Both are handsome men. Not tall as Japurans invariably are, nor are they wiry like a Camorin, but both have a swordsman’s physique and unconsciously bear themselves with the inherited arrogance of their forbears. Jihan wears his hair long, but platted like a Camorin warrior. An affectation he learned from one of his tutors who came from the north. Athlone wears his hair cut short for comfort while wearing a helm. Both men are blond. Jihan’s eyes are chips of diamond, ice blue and cold—Athlone’s the same. Both father and son wear rich silk shirts and tight leather trousers.

Jihan watched his father carefully as he always did. He had learned long ago not to attract the man’s attention. He feared and hated him more than any other thing, and with good reason. Athlone could be unbelievably vicious if crossed, as his mother had found to her cost.

His mother had made just one error in her plan to escape Athlone, but one was all it took. She had assumed her maid was trustworthy, she hadn’t been, and Athlone was waiting for her. He had beaten her within an inch of her life. Jihan tried to shut out the image of his lovely mother battered and bruised. It was a terrible shock to him back then—learning that his father was evil. He never let himself forget it for a moment. His mother’s beauty was lost forever now, but thank the God Athlone had no plans to take a new consort. He used all his time scheming against the other lords. Keverin was one he particularly hated. Although Keverin didn’t deserve hatred, Jihan was just as happy that this was so. Anything that distracted Athlone had his vote.

Jihan’s mother had escaped Malcor in the end. Desperate, and finding no other option, she had chosen the only means left available to her. She had thrown herself from the battlement one night. The guards found her the next day where she lay all broken and dead at the base of the wall. Jihan didn’t blame her for leaving him with the monster. He could wish she had killed the bastard instead of herself. He flicked a glance at his father and away again. If only... what? If only he had the courage to challenge the bastard himself!

Lord Athlone smiled at Abarsis and took another sip of his wine. “And what precisely does Lord Mortain want from me this time?”

“Nothing too onerous, my lord. He merely wishes for you and your forces to remain neutral during the coming conflict. He is most pleased with your decision not to aid Keverin. He wishes for this to continue.”

“I did not refuse Keverin aid for your lord’s sake,” Athlone said in a cold tone. “My father and his were enemies, which makes him my enemy. I do not aid enemies of Malcor.”

Jihan shifted in his seat. No, Athlone didn’t aid his enemies, but he did aid the enemies of Deva. The feud had started between Lord Kevlarin and Athlone’s father, Lord Aethra. Lord Aethra tried to seize lands belonging to Kevlarin’s father in law, who of course was unable to defend them against the might of Malcor. Kevlarin went to the aid of Lord Padrig together with his son and two thousand Athione guardsmen. The resulting raid and counter raids left both Aethra and his eldest son Arik dead. Athlone inherited Malcor and paid a huge sum of gold in compensation to Padrig for the raid. He swore eternal enmity on Kevlarin and his family. Since then, Athlone had continued the feud in petty ways, or so Jihan thought. Refusing aid during an invasion wasn’t a petty matter however. If it were up to him, he would end it today and aid Keverin against the sorcerers.

“I understand my lord.” Abarsis offered a small smile. “We know you have... how should I put it? We know you have been encouraging the Chancellor in some of his less wise policies. Lord Mortain, may he live forever, wishes to congratulate you. He offers you rulership of Deva as a province of the Protectorate.”

Jihan was finding it difficult not to speak up against this madness, but thoughts of what Athlone was capable of stopped him. He just wasn’t ready to challenge his father.

Coward! When will you be ready?

Jihan hunched his shoulders raging at himself, but he was unable to make himself speak up.

Athlone laughed at the sorcerer’s offer. “It’s a little premature for dividing the spoils don’t you think? You have yet to take the fortress.”

“A mere formality as I’m sure you’re well aware,” Abarsis said with eyes boring into Athlone. “Keverin’s amateurs cannot possibly stand against an entire legion of our best men. Especially not with fifty sorcerers in attendance. Even if they could, fifty is only a fraction of what we could devote to the task.”

Athlone was amused. “Very true. Well then, let us talk about the details of your proposal.”

Jihan watched as Athlone sold the kingdom and Malcor’s honour to the black-hearted sorcerers, and cursed his own cowardice.

The next morning Jihan and Jezy flew from the gates of Malcor. So fast was she, Jihan didn’t hear the gates boom shut behind them. He was free—for a morning at least. He wished it were longer but it was Tenday again. He wished he dared defy his father and not return for the judgement.

“Coward,” he growled to himself. Jezy’s ears swivelled to listen. “Not you my heart.”

Jihan slowed to a canter and then to a walk. He slapped Jezy on her neck once then twice as the steam of her breath rose around him in the cold morning air. Dew was heavy this morning and the air had a crispness to it that delighted him. Mist filled the hollows and spilled out onto the plain making tiny eddies around Jezy’s legs as she walked through it. Jihan was snugly warm within his padded coat and armour. His cloak added to his feeling of well being. He wore no helm, much preferring to go bare headed whether riding or fighting. Obscuring one’s vision seemed a foolhardy way to go through life he had always thought.

Jihan scowled. His vision was perfect where Athlone was concerned. It was a dark day when uncle Arik, then lord Malcor, had challenged Kevlarin. If not for that foolishness, Athlone would never have become lord Malcor and perhaps things would have been different. Different, but would they have been better? Sometimes he thought so. The lordship didn’t appeal to Jihan, not if it meant turning into the image of his father. If Arik had survived to sire children, a brother’s only son would have been free to roam. Jihan would give anything to go back and make things right. Who knows, perhaps Athlone wouldn’t have become the way he is. Mother might still live and they would be happy without the responsibility of ruling the lands beholden to Malcor.

The stars were fading toward dawn. Jihan quickened his pace a little to arrive in time. Since the arrival of the sorcerer at Malcor, Jihan’s sporadic trips out of the fortress had become a daily event. Every morning before dawn he was up and riding out the north gate. So predictable had he become in this one thing that the guards would unbar the gate in anticipation of his arrival. Jihan didn’t want to be predictable, nor did he like the thought that an enemy could simply push the gate open to walk in, but he didn’t chastise the men. He wanted to get out as fast as possible. Besides, he never spoke to his father’s cronies unless he absolutely had to. Jezy was short on conversation, but he kept in practise with her.

“Don’t I my heart?”

Jezy snorted and nodded her head as if in agreement and he chuckled. If he’d been born with the gift for magic, he would have devised a way to make her talk back in truth. That would really be something to see. The stories said that Dragons could talk, but that was just a story. Dragons weren’t real except in tapestries and stories—the product of some artisan’s imagination perhaps, but wouldn’t it be amazing to talk such a one?

Jihan reached his favourite place and dismounted. He removed his cloak and laid it over the saddle. It wouldn’t be long now. He stood at Jezy’s head in the clearing and watched the last stars that composed the constellation called The Hunter fade away.

Then it happened.

Light lanced Jihan’s eyes as the sun cleared the horizon. He shaded them to watch the splendour that the God made happen each day. The few clouds turned fiery red then slowly faded to gold as light burst through the trees like spears. Already the mist was fleeing, burning away as the temperature rose steeply. It was only spring, yet already the temperatures were closer to those associated with the height of summer. This year the farms would be hit by drought. Warnings would go out to the people to be extra careful with untended fires—thatch needed little help in burning. Most of the houses in Malcor Town had tiled roofs, but the poorer villages and towns used traditional thatch roofs. Warnings would go out to the farms also, but they would not need them. Farmers were intimately aware of the seasons and would already know this year was going to be uncommonly hot. They would take precautions as their fathers had before them and their fathers before them, all the way back to that distant time before which such precautions were unnecessary. The weather had been held in the hands of mighty mages.

That time was long passed. The year was 1181 AF. More than eleven hundred years after the Founding, sorcerers did little more than kill with their magic. In Deva, great mages had built The Four with their power, but now those men were no more—except for a handful huddling in Athione waiting to die.

How Deva has fallen, Jihan thought with a sad sigh.

Jihan unsaddled Jezy and turned her loose to graze. She wouldn’t wander far from him. With bow in hand and quiver hanging from his shoulder, he walked to a huge oak tree with white circles drawn on it. The outer ring was clear, but the inner one was badly worn away from his earlier practise. He redrew the target with a piece of chalk he had left in the nook of the tree for this purpose. Once he was satisfied, he carefully paced fifty yards from the trees and pushed an arrow into the soil to mark the place. He did the same for one and two hundred yards.

Jihan breathed deeply and smiled at the birdsong. The mist was all but gone and the day truly begun. He knocked an arrow to his string and aimed at the centre spot of his target. From fifty yards out it looked roughly the size of his hand outstretched. He sighted carefully and held his breath. The day was utterly still. Not a breath of wind to mar his shot. The birdsong faded from his awareness as he concentrated upon target. He held his bow at full extension waiting for the right moment—the moment his instructors had taught him would always come.

“How will I know?” he had asked when first learning the bow.

“It is different for every man m’lord. You just know,” Arvid said.

Jihan waited and felt the certainty come. He loosed.

Thock!

The arrow drove home dead centre of the target, but Jihan took no notice. Already he was retrieving another arrow. He sighted and waited as before. A tiny breath of wind tugged at his hair playfully flicking it into one eye. He ignored it and loosed.

Thock!

The arrow drove home beside its brother so close that the arrowheads were touching. Twice more he repeated the feat before reclaiming the arrows. He carefully examined each shaft and discarded one of the four as damaged. Dropping the arrowhead next to his saddle, he walked to his second position. At one hundred yards, the centre of the target was hard to see. The light was not favourable to this shot, but that was one of the reasons Jihan preferred this time of day. One could not be certain of favourable conditions in battle. Making do with what one had was a good way to learn and improve.

Jihan sighted on the centre of the outer ring first, and then he adjusted minutely for the range. The centre was no bigger than his clenched fist now, but again Jihan released with confidence. He was always confident. If he hadn’t been, he would not have released the shaft.

Thock!

The arrow drove home into a previous split in the bark. Jihan frowned in annoyance as the shaft vibrated with the shock. He raised his bow again and waited for the annoying vibration to cease. The moment it did, he released another arrow to strike the target. Unbelievably it missed.

Jihan gaped at the tree as if it had moved. He couldn’t believe he had missed. Rather than repeat the error he went to investigate. He pulled both arrows from the tree and examined them side by side. He cursed when he found the reason for the miss. One arrowhead was badly fixed to its shaft. Maybe he should make his own arrows from now on? No, he would examine each one before filling his quiver. There were thousands in the armoury. It would be quicker to choose the best from among them than to make his own. With that in mind, Jihan went through the arrows remaining in his quiver. He snapped three in his annoyance at finding them flawed also. He dropped the arrowheads next to the first one and went back to his practise.

Thock!

Jihan smiled. He fired and fired maintaining an even rhythm between shots. The fourth arrow drove home and obscured the target. He retrieved his arrows and made his way to his final position. At two hundred yards, the centre of the target was smaller than a Gold. Jihan knew that it was, but he couldn’t see it no matter how hard he strained. The white outer circle was his only guide this time. One shot only would obscure the target. He held his breath for a long time. The moment was fleeting. More than once he felt it approach then recede. He waited but it didn’t come. He relaxed his quivering arm and panted.

Jezy was cropping grass and hadn’t seen his failure.

Jihan wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and breathed deeply. The sun was well up now flooding the clearing with its light. Birds were singing in the trees and he knew the fortress would be awake making ready for the judgement. He scowled at the thought of Athlone’s justice.

“The man wouldn’t know justice if it rose up and bit him!”

Jihan raised his bow. The target beckoned almost demanding that he release the shaft. He delayed waiting for the right moment. In his mind’s eye he saw Athlone appear before him. The moment arrived at the same instant and he released his shaft.

Thock!

Jihan walked to the tree and smiled grimly. At least Athlone was good for something. The arrow was embedded dead centre of the target.

Jihan rode back to Malcor thinking about the judgement and wondered how he could avoid it. Maybe he should pretend illness. No, that wouldn’t work. He was never sick. Perhaps he could just be unavailable. Malcor was large—easily big enough to hide from the guardsmen. Jihan scowled at the thought. He would not be a coward. He would stand with Athlone in judgement of his people and hope for the best. With that settled, he urged Jezy to a canter.

Once inside the fortress, he saw Jezy stabled and rubbed down before going to his room to change. He did not often wear his padded coat and armour inside. Not since Yannis and Cowan had left had Jihan felt the need to go fully armoured through the halls. He took a quick wash and changed into lighter clothing. He felt much cooler in his silk shirt. He took a moment to settle his weapons back into the sash around his waste. His sword and dagger went everywhere with him of course.

Jihan left his room and prowled the halls waiting for the appointed time. Any other day he would have stayed away from the fortress until well after midday, but not on Tenday. This day of all days he could not afford to anger Athlone. If he did, Athlone might well set a punishment to rival all others he had ever set.

Jihan prowled the corridors in silence. He ignored everyone, and pretended not to hear them. The whispers followed him everywhere, but he gave away nothing of his thoughts. He had long since learned to apply his father’s coldest mask to his own features. It had the benefit of halting flapping lips—at least to his face, but it distressed him to resemble his father in anything, even in so small a thing as his expression.

“He makes me shiver to look at him—”

“…not cross him, no way—”

“Just like his father—”

The last one hurt, and Jihan nearly snarled something back. He managed to abort the instinctive urge to whirl on the girl. He kept walking at his normal pace as if he hadn’t heard her. He was nothing like his father! By the God, couldn’t they see? Obviously they could not, or they would not say such things. Perhaps the differences between them were so minor that they were essentially the same. No! He wouldn’t accept that. His father was a sadist. If Athlone ever had honour, he had it no longer.

I will not be him! I won’t allow myself to become him!

Jihan stopped at a door without a handle. By what trick of fate had he been led here? The women’s quarter lay beyond with all its mysteries. He made to turn away but he hesitated. How long was it since he had been through that door? The last time was the day he saw his mother’s badly beaten face. Almost eleven years ago that was.

Jihan thumped a fist upon the door before he could change his mind. The door opened to reveal Opina. She was one of the serving girls. Her face froze in shock when she saw who had come calling. She instinctively backed away to allow him entrance perhaps not even realising in her shock that she could have refused him. Jihan stepped through into another world, a quieter more peaceful world. It all came back to him. The dim lighting, the smell of perfumed ladies, and the scent of flowers, it all harked back to the better days of his childhood.

Without speaking, Jihan walked through the labyrinth of corridors, his only concession to courtesy an inclined head as he encountered the women who lived here. It was a strange reversal, he now thought. Outside of this place everyone—man or women—bowed and curtsied to him, but here he was an interloper and bowed instead of they. Jihan found the room without difficulty. He knocked and entered. Dust cloths covered everything and he breathed a sigh of relief. He had hoped for this. He closed and locked the door then prowled his mother’s suite of rooms. Under the covers, everything was as it had been. He pulled a cover off the wardrobe and opened it.

Jihan’s eyes burned with the need to cry, but he would not allow that. He was a child no longer. His mother was dead, but her things were here to remind him. Her dresses hung awaiting their owner’s return, as they had since that day. He carefully lifted one from the rail and buried his face within the folds of lace. He breathed in and thought he detected her scent, but when he did it again there was nothing but a slight aroma of dust and old lace. Jihan replaced the dress and closed the door. He looked around but there was nothing for him here. He threw the cover back over the wardrobe and left the bedchamber. The windows in the sitting room were dusty, but a swipe with his hand allowed him to see the view. There lay Malcor Town a league distant and well beyond that a vague purplish colour on the horizon that was the Athinian Mountain range. How many times had his mother looked out of this window and yearned to be on the other side of those mountains?

Jihan turned away and studied the portrait above the fireplace. It harked back to the day of her wedding. Mother sat in a chair in her wedding gown and Athlone stood behind and slightly to one side of her with his right hand resting lightly upon her left shoulder. They were both smiling and obviously happy. What had gone wrong? All Jihan could think was that Athlone’s love for her was a sham—maybe to lure her. Athlone was well known for attracting the ladies in his youth. Thank the God that was no longer true. Jihan didn’t know what he would do if Athlone did to another woman what he had done to his mother. One thing was certain. When he was finished with Athlone, he would never do it again.

Jihan unlocked the door and left the room to find curious women in the hall. Again he was surrounded by whispers, but this time they were punctuated by titters and quiet laughter. He inclined his head to them but didn’t speak. He locked the door and pushed the key into his sash for safekeeping. His mother’s room would remain undisturbed.

It was time for the judgement, but Jihan did not concern himself with his lateness. He strode through the corridors and down the tower steps until he reached the ground floor. He could hear the murmur of conversation coming from the great hall as he approached. The doors were opened by two of his father’s cronies just as he reached them. He did not acknowledge the courtesy as he strode through. He stopped just inside the doors to survey the hall. He saw nothing to make this judgement in any way unusual. Behind him the doors clicked shut.

The noise quieted as Jihan moved to take his place upon the dais. Heads turned in his direction and elbows nudged causing more heads to turn. Athlone sat in his chair glaring. He was in a bad humour, but when wasn’t he? Standing upon the second step of the dais was Vadin. He was holding a sheaf of parchment with the names of the petitioners and their requests if known. Jihan ignored Vadin and climbed the dais. He turned and stood at his father’s right hand. He would have preferred to be somewhere else.

Anywhere else!

“You’re late, boy,” Athlone grated.

Jihan didn’t answer.

“Where were you?”

“Practising with the bow,” Jihan said keeping his words to a minimum.

If he hadn’t answered, Athlone would likely have set some kind of petty punishment—cleaning the stalls was an old favourite for insolence. Not that Jihan was bothered one way or the other about that, but it did waste what little time he was allowed for himself.

“You don’t need it,” Athlone grunted.

They both knew he was a master of the weapon, but practise was the only way to keep his skill. Besides, he enjoyed it. Jihan was skilled in many weapons. His teachers had been masters in their chosen fields. After teaching him the basics of each, they had demanded that he choose just one. He had said sword, dagger, bow, lance, fists, feet… and on until he finished their list. His instructors hadn’t been amused with his rebellion, but Jihan would not be forced. They worked him hard trying to make him choose one weapon—they even tried to bribe him with promises of reducing the level of work and pain they put him through. Yannis and Cowan were the only ones among his instructors who understood this side of him, but even they failed to realise where his determination came from. Although Jihan did enjoy weapon practise, he had wanted to be the best with every weapon so that he might one day kill them all. Jihan suspected that they had learned his motivations just before leaving Malcor. He was the reason for their sudden departure. Nowadays, if asked his preference he said sword, bow, and dagger in that order, but secretly he always chose the weapon best suited for the task. That, in his opinion, was just common sense.

Vadin called for quiet and the judgement commenced. Jihan absently listened to the proceedings. The usual things came before Athlone. Things such as so and so the farmer was said to have allowed his cattle to stray into another’s fields causing this or that amount of silvers in damage. Athlone ordered the cattle butchered and the resulting money given to the aggrieved party. It was a harsh judgement. Without cattle, the man would lose the farm, but it was Athlone’s standard penalty for such cases. The owner should have ensured proper fencing, but Jihan thought that half the money should go to the owner. He would have ordered it so if he were lord.

Petty cases came and went, but near the end, Jihan snapped to attention as a man was brought forward in chains.

“This man, one Celek by name and a farm labourer by trade, is accused of the murder of a girl named Nerina late of Bluefield village,” Vadin announced.

Bluefield was roughly two days easy riding to the south. It was named Bluefield because its main industry was linen. The flax plant had blue flowers, and fields of the stuff were needed to produce sufficient fibre to make the linen. The fields looked as if a blue tapestry had been laid upon the ground.

“Who speaks for this man?” Athlone said in a bored voice.

A man in clothing that had seen hard use stepped forward and made his bow. “I do m’lord. I am Kelda m’lord. Celek has worked for me for many a year with no trouble out of him m’lord. I say he is innocent. He lives on me farm and don’t ever leave.”

“Never?” Athlone said. “I find that hard to believe man.”

Jihan nodded; so did he.

Athlone leaned forward. “Does he not go into the village to buy ale?”

“Never m’lord. He is a good boy. Besides, we make our own.”

“Hmmm,” Athlone said and turned to Vadin. “What do we know of the girl? Was she a tease… a wanton?”

Vadin glanced at his notes. “Nerina was quiet by all accounts my lord. She was young—barely fifteen. She helped her father serving tables in the inn. She was found naked in a ditch…” Vadin looked sick.

“Go on man, what else?” Athlone said with sudden interest.

“The girl was raped and tortured, my lord.”

Jihan gasped in shock and even Athlone paled. Murmurs sprang up all round the hall. How could anyone be so vile as to hurt a woman… Jihan glanced at Athlone remembering his mother.

“Quiet I say!” Vadin shouted. “Listen to the lord’s judgement!”

“Hang him!”

“Foul murderer—”

“Disgusting animal!”

Jihan couldn’t help but agree. Women were protected in Deva. They weren’t living in Tanjung with their disgusting brothels or in Japura with their slaves. How could he do it? Why did he do it?

“Quiet I say! Shall I call the guard?”

“No—”

“…see him hang—”

“…send him to the God—”

The sound died away to whispers then to nothing as the guardsmen stepped forward in readiness. Athlone was glaring hard, but not at the accused, Jihan was surprised to see. Jihan looked along the wall to where Athlone was staring and found a guardsman. Haiger was the name, he thought. They had never had occasion to speak—Haiger was one of the cronies. Why was Athlone glaring at him?

Athlone switched the glare to Celek who had tears running down his face. “Step forward.”

Celek shuffled forward clanking all the while.

“Did you murder Nerina?”

“No m’lord,” Celek hiccoughed. “I would never be doing such a thing I swear!”

Jihan saw the attempt to make the sign of the God, but the chains limited the movement. What resulted was more like a semicircle rather than the full one of the God, but the attempt had been made.

“Why are you in chains?” Jihan asked.

Celek looked frightened. “I found her m’lord. I was walking the fence and I found her.”

“That’s no reason for your council to chain you.”

“No m’lord. I was drunk… when I found her, yer see? They thought I did it, but I never! I picked her up and took her to the village, but the folk saw me and hit me on the head. When I woke I was like this.”

There were more murmurs, but they were confused ones this time. If Celek had killed her, why take her home? Surely only an innocent man would do so.

“I think he’s telling the truth,” Jihan whispered to Athlone. “No one would be stupid enough to do that to a girl then take her home.”

“He was drunk boy,” Athlone said dismissing Jihan’s words. He turned his attention to Celek. “How did you know to take her to Bluefield inn? If you have never been there you should not have known her or where she lived.”

“Kelda didn’t know m’lord, but I sneak out to the village sometimes to see my sweetheart.”

Jihan groaned. The fool should have told Kelda before he testified! Now it looked bad for him. “A sweetheart? Not Nerina?”

Please make him say no!

“No m’lord. Her name is Adaira. I’m going to marry her… I was.” He hung his head. “Nerina is her friend. That’s how I knew her.”

He’s innocent. Jihan felt he was, but he was also a fool. Athlone was leaning toward guilty and he could well be right but for this feeling that said no.

Athlone decided. “Guilty. Death by hanging and body to be burned the next day.”

“No!” Celek screamed. “I’m innocent m’lord! I swear by the God I am innocent. Don’t hang me… not the noose.” He sobbed.

“Take him—” Athlone began.

“No!” Jihan burst out.

“What now boy?”

“I—”

Celek was begging and pleading and Jihan didn’t think he was guilty, but there was no proof that he wasn’t, and more that he was. Jihan stepped down from the dais and approached Celek who was sobbing his heart out.

Jihan gritted his teeth. “Look at me.”

Celek looked up. “M’lord, don’t let them. Please don’t let them—”

“I can’t save you, Celek, we have no proof. If only you had told Kelda about Adaira it wouldn’t look so bad but—”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but I’m innocent m’lord!”

“I know you are,” Jihan said sadly. “I can stop the hanging,” he would whether Athlone agreed or not. “But you will still die. Do you want the grace Celek?”

Celek braced up and stopped his tears. He nodded jerkily. “I… anything but the rope.”

Jihan drew his sword and—

“I forbid you Jihan!” Athlone roared from his throne. “No mercy for this man!”

—struck Celek’s head from his shoulders.

Blood fountained high into the air and the women screamed. Jihan stepped back a pace to avoid the blood as Celek’s body fell twitching to the ground. He tried to avoid looking at Celek’s rolling eyes.

“May the God watch over and comfort you at journey’s end,” Jihan said and closed his eyes.

I’m a murderer.

* * *

5 ~ The Candle

Julia glanced around the entrance hall hoping to find Brian. He was on guard here sometimes, but not today it seemed. She popped her head through doors of the citadel and found him on the battlement. He was on watch. Keverin and Renard were in the courtyard with a mage in yellow robes. Haliden she thought his name was. He was one of Mathius’ friends. Renard was the senior man among the mages in Athione. It was to him Julia had posed her question about returning home, but Renard had been unable to help her. He explained that although he was the strongest, he wasn’t near as strong as Darius had been and Darius had died of the spell he used to bring her here. Even if he knew how to send her home, which he didn’t, Renard was not strong enough to do it. Frightening as the prospect of leaving Athione was, it might be the only way she would find her way home.

Booom!

Julia flinched at the explosion and stepped back, but she reversed the move almost immediately. She wouldn’t let a little noise scare her. The sky was an exquisite blue with not a single cloud to mar it. It felt so good to get out. There was a tang in the air like hot metal. From the fireballs? No, she decided it was the smithy. The steady clang of a hammer on metal continued unaffected by the rhythmic explosions.

“You should not be here, Lady,” Keverin said marching toward her. “Get back inside!”

Julia’s face froze. “I was looking for a friend.”

“You won’t find her out here,” he said sharply and motioned her to step back. “She would have more sense.”

“I didn’t say my friend was a woman. I came looking for Brian if you must know.”

Keverin’s lips thinned. “He has his duty to perform.”

“I can see he’s busy. I’ll come back later.”

“You’ll not! You will stay inside where it’s safe.”

“I thought you Devans valued honesty. You told your mother that nowhere in the fortress was safe. Did you lie then?”

It was a petty accusation, one Julia wished unsaid the instant the words left her lips, but it was too late for that. Keverin’s eyes blazed and Julia fell back a step from the fury she saw in his face.

“If you were a man...” he took a breath and his face blanked. “You will learn. You will learn what I am if you live long enough. I am lord here and you will obey me like your father. Get inside and stay!”

“You are not my father, Lord Keverin,” Julia hissed. “I’m not your dog to stay when you say the word! I’ll go back inside because I want to, not because you order it.”

“Go then.” Keverin said.

“I will.”

“Now.”

“I’m going!”

Julia glared at the hint of a smirk she saw on Keverin’s face and spun on her heel to stalk back inside the citadel. Impossible man! Why did he go out of his way to rile her so? She made her way up to the second floor of the citadel and stopped to look out of a window. Keverin was on the wall talking with Brian. Whatever he was saying couldn’t be pleasant. Brian stood at attention silently listening to his lord’s words. A moment later he saluted and trotted off toward the gate tower. Julia hoped she hadn’t dropped Brian in hot water.

Julia leaned against the casement and watched as a fireball arced into the air on its way to strike the wards. Why did they bother? It seemed obvious to her that Renard’s wards were too strong for fireballs. What the sorcerers needed was a nuke! Thinking of the sorcerers made her wonder if they knew of a way to send her home. It didn’t really matter she supposed. Keverin would never let her go down and ask. Not that she would. From all she had managed to learn about the invaders, they were evil incarnate, but then the other side in a war was always evil. Apart from a few strange looks, Julia had learned almost nothing about the reasons for the war. All she could gather was that the Hasian’s ruler wanted to govern the entire continent. Like some kind of empire she supposed. There were six countries in Waipara, but the sorcerers ruled two of them from their island. Those two, Hasa and Bandar, composed fully half of Waipara. She knew that part by heart. Julia’s problem, one of many she now had, was Mortain’s ambition. He had turned his attention eastward making Deva the next kingdom on his list of future conquests. She was about to be in the middle of a war spanning most of the continent. She needed to get home, or out of Deva at least. Maybe there were mages in Tanjung. She would ask Mathius, he would know being one himself.

As Julia made her way through the corridors of the citadel, she suddenly became aware of a feeling of being watched. She stopped and looked back the way she came. There was a guardsman on duty at the last intersection she had past, but he wasn’t looking at her and there was no one else. Julia shivered and hugged her elbows tight to her chest. This wasn’t the first time she had felt like she was being watched. People were always curious about what was strange. She didn’t look like the Devans. Her pale skin marked her as different, let alone her green eyes and short hair. Her pallor was due to spending every waking minute in the gym. Devans had sun darkened skin. Only men wore their hair short and not many of them. The first few times she had put it down to simple curiosity but now she wasn’t so sure.

Julia chose a corridor at random and turned down it. Whenever she could, she used a different route through the citadel in order to learn her way around. The citadel was hard to navigate. Most of the corridors looked the same, but this one was different. Halfway along she found a pair of beautifully carved doors. On the left-hand panel there were people shown kneeling with one arm raised towards the sky. There was a beggar kneeling next to a King, a lord and lady kneeling next to a farmer. Children played in the field oblivious to the adults. God was depicted as a wise old man in threadbare robe on the right-hand panel. He was carrying a crooked staff and was smiling down at the people kneeling before him.

A chapel? Julia felt justified in taking a peek inside. Stepping silently through the doors, she didn’t realise that the shadow near the altar stone wasn’t a statue until it spoke.

“I am Father Gideon, a humble servant of the God. What are you doing here?”

Gideon didn’t sound very humble to Julia. The way he asked his question made him sound as if he wanted to spit. His cassock glowed pristine white in the darkness. Despite the perfection of his robe, Julia couldn’t help comparing him unfavourably to the carving on the door. A beggar’s robes would better suit the humble priest he had named himself. Gideon appeared to be in his late fifties. He was clean-shaven and his smile was kindly but it did not reach his eyes. They had never met, but already it was obvious he didn’t like her. Julia’s face froze as the familiar walls slid into place protecting her from people’s dislike. She cursed herself for letting her guard down. She had thought the people here would be different—they had been friendly toward her mostly. Not Keverin, but most had welcomed her. Julia had always made it the other person’s problem when she came up against this dislike, but she was living in a new world now! How could she deny there must be something wrong with her and not them?

“My name’s Ju—”

“I know who and what you are child.”

How dare he call her child! He knew nothing about her. How could he know what she was?

“Oh, is that so? And what am I?” Julia said sarcastically. She was always at her worst when she felt herself under attack.

“Abomination!” The priest cried fervently. “I asked Mathius about you. You are a mage—I saw you come through the gate. The God willed his power channelled through men, not women! You are against nature, and Him!”

Julia wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing the hurt his words caused. What right did this priest have to tell her she was an abomination before God? She was what God had made her to be.

Julia turned and walked silently away.

That night found Julia slipping stealthily through the fortress. Father Gideon’s attack on her was responsible for setting her on this path, and she grudgingly thanked him now. His words had hurt, but they did remind her of the mage gift that she supposedly had—whatever it was. She’d done nothing since arriving at Athione and then complained when the mages couldn’t send her back. Well, no more of that! She would take control of her life if it killed her.

After her retreat from the chapel, Julia had visited with Jessica for a while and found herself telling Jessica about her home and her hopes of winning Olympic gold for the memory of her parents. That had led to her need for a way home and her mage gift. She told Jessica that she would lose herself if she didn’t find a way back soon. Deva was coming to feel more real than home. She couldn’t let that go on or all trace of a gymnast named Julia Morton would cease to exist. Jessica said that she understood, but she hadn’t really. How could she? A noble lady was expected to support her husband and help rule his lands. It was a life so far removed from Julia’s as to be incomprehensible. Jessica did help in one way, she supplied a hand drawn map of the citadel. With her friend’s blessing, Julia dressed herself in a man’s stolen clothes and set off to save herself.

Booom... Booom... Booom...

The noise of the attack was muffled this deep within the walls. Julia was so used to it now that the dull thuds hardly registered on her senses as she puzzled out where she was. The map showed the main highlights of the fortress. The great hall, courtyards, gardens, stables, kitchens, smithy—all were clearly marked, but the most important item now was the quickest way from the woman’s quarter to the library quarter. Julia double checked the map one last time and turned right. If she was right the library should be behind a large double door on the left.

It was.

A feeling of quiet calm descended as she entered. It was the familiar hush that all libraries seemed to have no matter where they happened to be. The atmosphere of the room was... expectant might best describe it. Like all libraries, it seemed to whisper of knowledge and secrets to be learned.

“Use me, and know the world,” it seemed to say.

The rows of shelves ahead of her held the knowledge Julia needed to get home, at least she hoped they did. No one else seemed willing or able to help. So she would do it herself as she always had. She didn’t need anyone. There were ten long rows of shelves each with five levels. Each shelf had a ladder mounted to it than ran on little wooden wheels fitted into grooves in the floor. Choosing an aisle at random, Julia browsed the shelves running her fingers lightly over the leather bindings of the books. The air smelled pleasantly of leather and paper, and vaguely of dust. She stopped and pulled a thick volume from the middle shelf. Turning the tome toward the meagre light of the lamps, she read the title...

Houses of Tanjung.

Julia replaced the book then pulled out another.

Kings of Deva.

Julia scowled and replaced the book in its slot. The way the shelves were organised it would take forever to find what she needed. Julia scanned the row for magical sounding titles, but she failed to find even one. Changing aisles, Julia did the same, but again she failed. Stopping for a moment, Julia peered around the library hoping to find an index. She didn’t find one, but she did find something else. Along the back wall almost hidden from view, was an archway leading into another hall. Not expecting to find the index in there but curious nonetheless, Julia stepped through.

The hall was smaller than the first. The only entrance was the archway through which Julia had just entered. There were tables with comfortable looking chairs tucked neatly under them, and toward the back of the hall were three more rows of shelves. Even from across the room Julia could tell that they were special. They seemed to glow in the dark as if lighted from within. The luminescence reminded her very strongly of the glow that had surrounded Mathius that day in Jessica’s rooms.

Quickly crossing to the shelves, Julia began reading the titles. Scanning the books, Julia realised that she had chosen the wrong row. With names like: Higher Principles of Power Transmission, and Animation for Sorcerers, Julia guessed that the huge tomes were for advanced study. She doubted that she could even lift some of them, let alone understand what was within their ancient pages! Hoping for a logical layout, Julia skipped the central row and checked the left-hand one. The moment she read the first title, Julia knew that she had found what she needed. Again, the shelves were not of a standard type. Each book was fitted into its own custom made slot. Without an index, it should be easier to find a title this way. No doubt that was the reason for the design.

I wonder if they even know what an index is?

Julia shrugged the irrelevant thought aside. She quickly scanned the spines and collected a number of interesting titles. She hoped the authors had used descriptive titles for their work and hadn’t chosen them on a whim. She had nothing but their titles to judge the book’s contents on. She didn’t have time to read each one only to find they were of no interest.

Before coming to the library, Julia had decided that the first thing she needed to do was verify that Mathius was correct about her mage gift. If she did have it, whatever it really was, she would look for the spell Darius used to bring her here in hopes of reversing it. If she didn’t have it, she would think about leaving Athione for Tanjung. It was the only place outside the Protectorate that had mages. Maybe they could help.

Carrying her treasure to one of the tables, Julia sat and began reading a book entitled: Centring: Groundwork for Apprentice Level Mages.

The term centring was first used to describe the process whereby a mage made himself receptive to the magic in the year 158 After Founding...

Already impatient, Julia skipped the chapter about the historical significance of founding the Black Isle. Chapter three seemed to be more serious so she began reading that.

Centring is a state of mind achieved by turning all thought inward. That is to say, concentrating on an image to the exclusion of all else. There are three main schools of thought, and I shall briefly outline each separately...

... a fire and thrusting all external thought into the flames thereby consuming it as the best way. Others find imagining an empty room and concentrating until it appears real...

My personal choice is to imagine a rose bud. When the rose is so real that I can touch it, I reach out and grasp the magic in its place.

Julia scowled. That wasn’t magic! It was simply a form of meditation! She shoved the book away in disgust. Jill had taught her the Three D Method: Determination, Discipline, and Dynamics. State of mind played a huge role in winning competitions, and Jill knew that. That’s why she had insisted upon teaching Julia a few ‘tricks’ of the mind—ways to induce calmness and even sleep when she was too wired to sleep naturally.

Meditation... Julia frowned. Did mages meditate to put themselves in the right state of mind? If they did, it would explain why the book insisted centring was necessary. Centring was another term that Jill used. She used it quite often during training, but not always. Julia remembered Jill using the term when she first began teaching her how to focus before an event.

“Go down deep into yourself... way down to the very centre of your being. There is where you must live, Julia. At your centre, all things are possible...”

Julia remembered all of Jill’s lessons, but those times sitting quietly with her coach were special. Jill had taught her how to channel her emotions into her work, and how not to let them interfere at a critical time. Using the image of a trophy, she had learned how to psyche herself to a point where the crowds watching her had retreated into insignificance. She remembered all of Jill’s lessons. Now they would be more important than ever. She pulled the book toward her. The next section was called Grounding.

After centring is achieved, grounding is the next step along the path of power. Essentially, it is the return to the external world without losing the centre. This is easy to describe but hard to do. Once achieved the magic in your grasp may be turned to the purpose you have selected.

Julia was puzzled. Where were the magic spells that magicians used? Obviously after centring she had to come back without losing the calm just gained. She did it all the time while competing. She always made her routine the whole of her world for the minutes it took to complete. The method was exhausting mentally, but it was worth it when the judges responded favourably.

The next section in the book was an exercise for an apprentice to try. It was an attempt to light a candle with magic. Julia looked around but there weren’t any candles in the library. Fire hazard she supposed. She crossed the room and reached up to one of the wall lamps. She opened the little door in the side. There was a wick fitted into a reservoir of oil. Lifting the lamp off its bracket she brought it back to the table, and extinguished the flame.

Julia made herself comfortable and concentrated on her familiar image of an Olympic gold medal. Instantly she fell into her private place where her fantasy of taking gold would come true. Never had it been so easy! The medal spun in her mind’s eye. It sparkled and glittered sending flashes of light deep into the innermost recesses of he mind. She marvelled at its beauty and yearned for it. She wanted it with all of her being. Julia reached out, and gasped as the power hammered down.

Time stopped.

Magic was like the sun, life itself roaring down onto and into her—thrusting its way into her very soul. She revelled in the warmth. It burned, but did no harm, it roared, but was utterly silent. She was complete, utterly content. No room for doubting, no room for failure, no room for... her.

* * *

Mathius jolted upright from his bed gasping in shock. He had been dreaming about a kitchen maid who had given him the eye the other day when suddenly the entire fortress felt as though it was falling on his head. He grasped his magic and was rocked back as the disturbance slammed through him. Someone was drawing deeply nearby—very deep. It felt as if a floodgate on a damn had been opened, and the magic was roaring through the gate—a gate that in the real world was a mage.

No one is this powerful!

Mathius climbed out of bed and dressed quickly. If it was an enemy mage that he was sensing, Athione was finished. It couldn’t be what he feared. The sorcerers were in the pass. He had never been able to sense a mage at such a distance. He prayed he was wrong, but what else could it be? He slipped out of his room intent on tracking the source of the disturbance at least as far as the walls. He tried not to let his fear blind him, but it was hard. What could be done? Could anything face such a power?

Mathius made his way to the west courtyard to find the duty mage. “Did you feel that disturbance, Hal?”

“What was it? I can’t tell the direction. Can you? It has to be the enemy, but why now?”

Haliden was a greater mage than Mathius—he wore the yellow robe of a Journeyman and was confident in his power, but Hal’s area was warding not sensing. Conversely, Mathius was the weakest of Lord Keverin’s mages and the best at the more subtle magic of sensing. No one knew why that should be so, least of all Mathius himself.

“Hold on, I’ll try to track it,” Mathius said.

Using the magic with a flick and a twist he had invented himself, Mathius wove his best sensing spell. With his eyes still closed in concentration, he felt the spell settle over him like a second skin. Without willing it he found himself turning in place toward the disturbance. He opened his eyes.

To Mathius’s surprise he found himself looking back the way he came. “He’s in the library! He can’t be one of us Hal... you had better tell Renard. I’ll go and have a look.”

Before Haliden could protest his idiocy, Mathius ran back inside the citadel toward the library. It would be an utter disaster if the enemy stole, or the God forbid, destroyed the books. The lord had spent a fortune collecting them. They cost enough to fund a small country, but they represented far more than mere gold. They were the future of Deva made manifest. Without hesitation Mathius stormed the doors as if assaulting an enemy keep. Once inside, he stepped sideways into the shadows. He kept a tight hold on his magic while he searched the hall for anything amiss. Everything seemed normal. Making a quick dash across the open space, he stopped next to the archway. Peeking around the corner, he saw someone sitting in the dark blazing with power. Only a mage would have seen it, but it made it no easier to look at. It reminded him strongly of Darius just before the end.

Taking one last look around the library, Mathius decided the intruder was alone. He crept ever so carefully toward the man until he was close enough to touch.

“Don’t try to use it,” Mathius hissed. He was drawing upon his magic so hard that it hurt. Even so, it wasn’t enough to counter this man. “Turn toward me slowly. If you try anything you are dead.”

Mathius couldn’t believe he was bluffing someone so powerful. Where did he get the stones to say that? There was no response from the mage. Mathius licked his lips, and wiped his sweating palms on his robe. Slowly, carefully, he stepped around the man.

“No...”

Oh... NO!

Mathius quickly used his magic to bespeak Haliden. *It’s lady Julia! She’s drawing, but she hasn’t grounded. She’s not even aware of me.*

*Renard is on the way. Stay with her.*

Julia was in terrible danger. She didn’t know anything about magic or its pitfalls and this was the result. She was trapped within her centre. What had possessed her to use her magic without instruction? The others would be horrified when they learned. Mathius pulled up a chair and sat next to her. He couldn’t believe the power she had drawn all unknowing. She was unaware of him as he spun a quick spell to test her strength. His magic pushed against hers and was rebuffed strongly. He frowned and tried again with all his might. The response this time was overwhelming.

Mathius gasped as his spell was shattered. She had forced him to let go of his magic! He blinked his watering eyes. Her magic was pulsing and flaring at odd intervals. A response to him? Maybe, but it was more likely Julia’s lack of knowledge and control. She was unable to control the flow, and there was nothing he could do to help. It would take a master mage to extricate her from this.

With nothing else to be done but wait for Renard, Mathius turned his attention to the books that Julia had chosen to read. He pulled them toward him already recognising the open text.

Centring... Ground Work for Apprentice Level Mages.

Mathius remembered the book well. It was the first one about magic he ever read. It was a good choice for a starting point. It had certainly done the trick for Julia. How else had she found her centre so quickly?

Julia was shaking. Her eyes were rolled up with just the white showing and there was sweat on her brow. She had centred and grasped her magic but had been unprepared for the enormity of its flow. Now she couldn’t let it go, nor could she ground herself and use it. It had been perhaps a half candlemark since Mathius first awoke. If Julia had begun her foolish experiment just then, she should be reeling with exhaustion by now. Mathius wasn’t strong enough to break her out of her centre so that she might rest, but perhaps he could bespeak her.

Grasping his own magic, Mathius struggled to contact her through the turbulence surrounding her. *Think about the library.* He said struggling against the instability that threatened to throw him into the void. *Think about grounding yourself!*

It was no good. All he could hear was the roar of her magic, as it raged within her. He was about to try again when Renard and Lord Keverin entered the library. He was profoundly relieved to see them both. He released his magic and rose to greet them. The Lord was wearing his shirt outside his trousers as if he’d thrown his clothes on in a hurry. Renard was puffing to keep up with Keverin’s long strides. Mathius surrendered his place to Renard, and watched his friend quickly assess Julia’s situation. Renard drew on his magic and sent a probe toward the entranced woman. Mathius grasped his magic and tried to see how Renard’s spell was constructed, but the fine filaments that made up its matrix were too complicated for him.

Mathius waited. Renard was taking a long time with his spell, and it became obvious why as Mathius watched. Renard’s spell was being rebuffed. Every time the spell tried to touch it was diverted away. He hadn’t known that was possible.

What else don’t I know?

Renard frowned in consternation. “My lord, she is too powerful for me. She is a wizard or perhaps... perhaps even higher!” He said blinking in surprise at his own words. “I cannot break her out of it.”

“Have you any suggestions?” Keverin said with a worried frown.

“I have tried what I know to do my lord.”

Mathius bit his lip. “I don’t like this, my lord, but I think a big enough distraction at the same time as Renard tries his spell might work.”

“We’ll try it,” Keverin said snatching at any chance.

Renard nodded to the lord before repeating his earlier spell. Keverin hesitated briefly, but then he slapped Julia gently on the left cheek. Renard shook his head. Keverin grimaced in distaste and slapped her harder. Another head-shake and another harder slap, then again, and again, and again, and again...

Mathius wished he hadn’t spoken as the slaps continued and became harder. Suddenly the glow around Julia faltered and Renard gasped as contact was achieved. Renard’s glow increased in direct opposition to Julia’s until both suddenly winked out.

Julia slumped over the table gasping and panting for breath.

Renard swayed in his chair as if drunk. “By the God...” he gasped and giggled.

The giggle was most un-Renard like.

“Are you all right?”

“Never...” Renard gasped. “Never have I experienced the magic so intensely. I swear that I felt her power through our connection. It was as if all the joy in the world had been distilled into that one moment.”

“Your strength increased when you made contact. I think she was feeding you from her link,” Mathius said.

“That is not possible... I mean, it never used to be possible—I don’t think it was,” Renard said in wonder.

Mathius grimaced. That was exactly the problem. No one knew what was possible and what wasn’t anymore. Even a master mage like Renard didn’t know. How was he ever going to gain rank when there was no one to teach him?

Julia mumbled something. “—light it?”

Mathius shook his head. “You do have the gift Julia. I told you that before. You didn’t light the lamp, but you do have it.”

Julia nodded weakly and fell asleep where she sat. Keverin looked at her in consternation, but then he shrugged and hoisted her into his arms. He strode out of the library with Julia cradled asleep in his arms like a child.

Mathius watched his lord leave and then helped his drunk and grinning companion to his bed.

What a night.

* * *

6 ~ When the Towers Fall

Julia concentrated and lit the lamp with her magic before entering the dusty hall for her meeting with Master-crafter Deneen. Mathius had not been pleased when she told him she couldn’t come to practise this morning. He wanted her to work on using her fire, but she was tired of repeating the same spells over and over. He wouldn’t let her try warding even though Renard desperately needed the help. The poor man was fit to drop. The constant attacks were tiring all the mages faster than predicted and Renard was pushing himself too hard.

I can make more than fire—I know I can!

Although two weeks wasn’t a long time, Julia was worried about Jill and her training. When she returned she needed to be in top condition. Jessica had suggested asking Keverin for somewhere to train, but Keverin didn’t like her. Julia had begged her friend to intercede for her, and Jessica had come through in spades. The old banquet hall was perfect for her needs. The floor was made of wood and covered in dust except where her dress brushed it clean to reveal a smooth and polished surface. It would make a perfect gym. Her friend’s intervention had netted her Master-crafter Deneen’s services as well. The old boy was a wonder. He boasted that he could make anything she could think up and so it had proven. When she described the spring board it had delighted him. It was something different, something he had never heard of before or envisaged. When it worked like her old one, Julia had been delighted too. The balance beam wasn’t such a big hit with Deneen. He had an apprentice do it while he worked on the vaulting horse. The beam was done now, finished in saddle leather and although a proper beam was covered in suede, Julia was more than satisfied with the amount of grip the leather provided. It was the bars that were giving Deneen trouble. His first design hadn’t been strong enough. With no steel guide wires available the entire thing had shifted around something awful. The next design had been too strong with no flexibility in the bars themselves. Using them like that would have ruined her. Hopefully Deneen would show her the improved design today.

The hall was dark when she entered. She held up her lamp and found the hall deserted. The beginnings of the vaulting horse stood to one side with the beam pushed out of the way for now. Julia knew that Deneen must still be at his breakfast because his tools were nowhere to be seen. He and his apprentice were very protective of their tools. They always packed them up and took them away with them at night. Julia crossed the dusty floor to the half disassembled asymmetric bars. She grabbed the upright and shook it roughly. It barely moved. The ropes with their odd looking tensioning device seemed to work. Deneen had sworn they would, but twisting ropes to provide tension instead of using wire had seemed iffy at best to her. Chalk another one up to Deneen’s experience.

The darkened hall was making her a little uncomfortable even with the lamp illuminating a circle around her. There was no need to wait for Deneen in the dark she decided. Above her head there were two large chandeliers hanging from chains. They were even bigger than those in the great hall and would take a gang of men to lower for lighting. Julia glanced at the closed door and then back. No one would know, she thought guiltily. She grasped her magic and lit the candles with a flick of the fingers that Mathius said was unnecessary but she always felt better doing.

The candles lit with a blast of heat and light.

Julia shielded her eyes and blinked away the after-image of thousands of candles bursting into life. She had used too much magic again. The crystals beneath the chandeliers were winking and sparkling with every flicker of the candle flames. She opened the door in her lamp and snuffed the flame. Putting it down next to the bars she wandered over to the table that Deneen used for his drawings. He wouldn’t mind if she looked at his designs without him.

BOOOM!

The noise was the loudest thing ever heard in Athione. People were startled awake throughout the citadel. Those already awake jumped and spilled their drinks. They gaped at their companions over the breakfast tables as they tried to stop plates and bowls falling from their places. Julia lost her footing and sprawled upon the floor as the fortress jumped and shook around her. There were screams and crashing sounds from outside. Dust was pattering down around her, and she could hear thuds and groans as things fell somewhere. The entire fortress was groaning as if in pain. Julia watched the ceiling warily and hoped it was going to stay put. The chandeliers were swinging on their chains but they didn’t appear in danger of falling. She scrambled to her feet and ran outside without thinking.

Julia gaped at what she found. The west gate was gone—simply gone. Where it had stood the truncated remains of the gate towers leaned drunkenly away from each other as if a giant had walked through a space too small for him. Dust was still rising on the breeze, and stones continued to fall from what remained of the walls and towers. Julia held her breath as the gate towers swayed, but they settled into their new positions without falling. Across the courtyard she could see motionless forms—people obviously dead. Worse were the shrieks of the wounded. Julia looked down and realised what she had thought was a piece of the gate, was actually the broken remains of a person. Her world narrowed, and she viewed the scene through a misty tunnel.

I can’t pass out, I can’t pass out...

Julia viewed her actions as if watching someone else. She crouched and turned the man over. With relief that quickly turned to guilt, she realised she didn’t know him. He had been a young guardsman she thought, no older than she was. Would someone mourn for him, a sweetheart perhaps? Looking away and across the debris filled courtyard, she found a green robed form face down next to one in yellow.

Oh no, please... This is not happening!

Julia ran to her friend and knelt by his side. She hesitated to touch him, but she had to know the worst. She grabbed a fistful of his robe and struggled to turn him over.

“AEiii!” Mathius screamed as he flopped onto his back.

A piece of wood was sticking out of his side just above the waist. She had driven it further in as she turned him. Her gorge rose at the realisation, and she spewed over the rubble behind her.

“How... how is Hal?” Mathius croaked trying to see.

Coughing and trying to hold down the rest of her breakfast, Julia checked Mathius’ friend, but Haliden was staring into the next world—dead. Julia shook her head trying to find the words to tell Mathius, but they wouldn’t come. Mathius closed his eyes in grief she thought, but no, he had fallen unconscious. Julia looked around desperately for help. A lake of blood was forming under Mathius as she watched. Her hands fluttered uselessly around the wooden stake in his belly of their own accord.

She didn’t know what to do!

Guardsmen boiled out of the citadel and a few shouted orders started them checking for wounded. Captain Marcus was shouting and running toward her as if in a dream but she couldn’t tell what he was saying. There was a roaring noise in her ears and cold sweat ran down her spine. She was in shock. One moment he was across the courtyard from her, a blink of her eyes later and he was on his knees beside her without seeming to cross the space between. He listened to Mathius’ chest trying to find a heartbeat, nodded once in satisfaction, and barked orders at the top of his lungs. Help quickly arrived to carry Mathius into the citadel. Julia climbed to her feet bewildered in the midst of total disaster. Wherever she looked, bodies and pieces of bodies lay like dolls strewn across a room by an unruly child. Guardsmen were picking up injured men and carrying them inside; sometimes they would start to move a guardsman then drop the body to help someone who still needed them. Julia stared at the courtyard in shock and didn’t know where to turn. She didn’t know what she was looking for until she found him.

Keverin!

Throwing herself down by his side she found that he still lived. He was sitting propped against what was left of the stable wall in a pool of blood. His right leg was bleeding badly where a piece of wood had gashed his thigh. Julia knew some first aid, but she didn’t know anything about real medicine. Was there an artery there? She didn’t know the answer, but bleeding like this was serious. Pressing both hands against the wound to stifle the rhythmically spurting blood, she looked desperately around for Marcus.

“Leave me,” Keverin mumbled, “The Hasians... coming.”

Oh God please help me now!

“You’ll be all right Kev. I’ll get help,” she panted in panic.

“No! Listen to me... no time... coming,” Keverin said and slipped into unconsciousness.

Snatching his dagger from its sheath, Julia quickly cut loose his sash. She pulled it free and tied it tightly around his leg above the wound. The bleeding slowed to a trickle as she ruthlessly twisted the dagger’s sheath in the knot of the sash. Julia spotted a man near the remains of the gate and called to him for help with his lord. The guardsman ran toward her—in a panic to help her she thought, but unaccountably he drew his sword.

Time slowed as the man charged, he was in different armour than Kev’s people. Without knowing what she could do, Julia pulled at her magic and threw something at him.

Craaaack! Lightning flew from Julia’s outstretched hand, and struck the man full in the chest. The Hasian was hurled away with a hole burned through him where his heart should be. Julia could see the man’s grimace of pain as he was blasted back. He seemed to fall forever.

Time returned to normal—the man stopped rolling.

God forgive me!

Julia stared in horror at what she had done. She had killed him!

“Rally! Rally to the gate!” Marcus cried into the stunned silence.

Hasian soldiers had made their way inside during the confusion. Pandemonium erupted as the Devan guardsmen quickly rallied to Marcus who led them in a counter-attack. Battle cries and screams of the dying mixed into a roar, as the Devan’s desperately tried to force the enemy back out of the shattered gate. Julia looked from Keverin to the battle and back. Then scrambling to her feet, she ran.

Climbing over the shattered stones, Julia found the door to the left-hand gate tower. Stones had fallen and blocked it. She tried to use a broken timber as a lever, but they were too heavy. She gritted her teeth and heaved with all her might. The blocks shifted, but the wood snapped and she fell back barking her shins painfully against the sharp stones.

Damn it!

Grasping her magic Julia fumbled with it trying to move enough stone to open the door. She didn’t know what to do! All she could think to do was force it under the stones. Nothing happened. The stones didn’t move, not even an inch. She tried again.

Please! Moooove!

They did a little, she was sure. Concentrating as hard as she could, Julia made a pushing gesture at the same time as she visualised the stones getting out of her way. Suddenly the resistance vanished, and the stones shot away from the door ploughing through the enemy. Bodies were hurled in all directions. Julia tried to shut out the screams. With tears welling in her eyes Julia scrambled over the last obstruction. Putting her shoulder to the door she heaved it open with a groan of protesting wood. Half falling, half running, she staggered into the tower.

Sunlight speared the darkness through great cracks in the walls giving her enough light to see. A guardsman lay groaning pinned under the debris that must have rained down upon him. Stones and timber lay smashed everywhere.

“Help... help... help...” the man was saying weakly.

Julia tried to move the stones off him as she had done outside, but her magic failed her. Gritting her teeth she tried to lift a beam that lay crushing his leg but she wasn’t strong enough.

“...help... hel...” the man gasped and died staring up at the sky.

“I’m so sorry,” Julia whispered with tears spilling over her cheeks. She dashed them away and looked for a way up.

The tower was broken, the top half utterly smashed. The roof was missing and the walls ended in jagged saw like teeth. The balcony was hanging precariously from its brackets half of which no longer had a wall to bolt to. Julia bit her lip and began climbing. The stairs lurched downward and she screamed in fright hugging the stones as if her life depended on it—it did. More timbers and stones fell, but the stairs did not fall altogether and after a moment, she continued up until she ran out of stairs. A wide section had fallen and now lay smashed to splinters down below. All that remained was the right hand joist still faithfully connecting her stairs to the next balcony. She edged onto the beam, but stepped back to kick off her shoes. She took a steadying breath and stepped onto the beam. She tried to pretend this was just another performance, but the sight of the dead guardsman staring at her made it impossible.

The halfway point came and went. The wood was split and covered in splinters. Julia had to fight her reluctance to put her feet down every step of the way. Finally she stepped onto the balcony and breathed easier. Looking up through the ragged remains of the tower’s circular walls, she could see that the top was much closer now. Climbing as quickly as she could she emerged into the light. Standing upon the broken steps, Julia watched Marcus fighting to hold the enemy out of the citadel. He had pushed the legionnaires back toward the shattered gate, but he hadn’t succeeded in pushing them out of it. Marcus would have to retreat very soon. A second group of soldiers was marching up the road to join the fight against him.

Julia bit her lip in fear. What would the sorcerers do to her when they won—would they help her to get home? And what about Mathius, and Jessica, and... and Keverin? Julia shook away her confusion over Keverin. She needed to block the hole in the wall somehow. A ward... she needed a ward like the one Renard had made. She had watched Renard maintaining the defence dozens of times, but Mathius would not let her try to make a ward. Instead, he had taught her about fire and the theory behind wards. Mathius had insisted that more than that was beyond a novice. Theories weren’t enough to make a ward and she needed one desperately.

Julia calmed herself as best she could and tried to remember Renard’s ward matrix. She invoked her mage-sight as Mathius had taught her, and tried to summon up the pattern she remembered seeing covering the west wall and gate towers. The wall was gone now, and the towers were no longer straight and tall. In her memory, she saw Renard working upon his creation. He turned toward her and smiled. Tears fell as she realised that he was probably dead now. She dashed her tears angrily away and focused her thoughts upon the thrumming power flowing through her. It was eager to be used. Renard’s pattern was bright in her memory as she spun out threads of magic in the form of a ward matrix, but it felt wrong. The moment she was finished Julia knew it would fail.

It did.

A blue light flashed into being and spread across the gap in the wall like a curtain, but it quickly faded and was gone. Julia tried again, but this time even the light failed to appear and she didn’t know why! The patterns looked exactly right both times, but they didn’t work! It didn’t make sense! She thought to try again, but something caught her eye in the courtyard below.

She was too late.

A second group of soldiers had joined the battle. Marcus was badly outnumbered now, but if he allowed his men to step back the Hasians would push more men into the space. Julia cursed and raged at her inability to help. She could see yet more soldiers on the road, a continuous stream of them coming to join the fight. There must have been close to two thousand legionnaires inside the courtyard, and three times that many on the road.

“Oh please, what should I do?” Julia panted in panic. “Someone help me!”

Julia knew what she had to do. It was the only thing that she could do, but it was wrong! It was evil! Shutting out the voice of her conscience, she threw lightning down into the packed mass of legionnaires.

Craaaack!

The smell of ozone was strong on the breeze, as people and chunks of stone flew through the air. Opening her eyes, Julia looked down into the courtyard and lost the rest of her breakfast over the side of her tower. She must have killed hundreds. She wasn’t just a killer, she was a mass murderer! Marcus took advantage of the blast and pushed the Hasians back, but he didn’t have the numbers to force them completely out of the courtyard. He was fighting hard and screaming orders at the top of his voice, but although his men tried valiantly to comply, they were over-matched. Praying for forgiveness that she knew she would never receive, Julia drew upon her magic and killed again.

Craaaack!

Sobbing as if her heart were broken, Julia rained lightning down on the poor men. She saw some of them trying to run. They couldn’t escape her. She killed, and killed again. Julia spun to hurl another bolt when she heard a noise behind her. At the last moment she stopped herself—it was Brian leading some others with bows. Her hand was glowing and tingling with the need to let the blast go, she turned and let it fly over the pass. Lightning stabbed down and grounded with roar.

Brian gestured to right and left. The bowman quickly arranged themselves behind broken pieces of stone and methodically started shooting down into the courtyard.

Julia pulled her attention away from her guardsmen. She needed to stop any more Hasian soldiers reaching the breached defences. The Hasians were fighting in disciplined ranks. She wished she could stop that, but they were too close to Athione’s defenders. If she struck at them she would kill her own side. Clenching her fists together, she threw them outward at a different target.

Craaaack! Craaaack!

Streaks of lightning arced across the early morning sky and slammed repeatedly into the road in front of the advancing men. A crater three yards across was blasted into it, but the road remained passable. This time Julia concentrated on hitting the road closer to the slope. With luck she would cause a landslide to bury the road and slow the enemy. She drew hard upon her magic wincing at the noise it caused in her head. She had never drawn this much before. Brian and the others continued their butchery unaware of it—it was all in her head.

CraAAAAacK!

The solid bar of lightning grounded leaving Julia blinking the after-image away. A massive crater had erased the old one in the road. It extended across the roadbed and up the cliff face as well. The Hasians were bunching up to cross the obstruction, but they were still crossing albeit slowly. The rock was too strong to break away easily. Julia could hit it again, but she doubted the result would be any different than the last time. Peering into the courtyard, she found that Marcus and his men were being attacked by perhaps fifteen hundred men. He couldn’t hold out much longer.

I can’t, not again. Please don’t make me!

Concentrating on her ward, Julia tried to close the gap in their shattered wall. At first it seemed to work, but as soon as she released it, the ward shimmered and collapsed. Julia raged at herself. She didn’t know enough magic to save her friends. She should have practised more, she should have insisted upon helping Renard, she should have forced him to teach her warding!

Thock! Thock! Thock!

Arrows cascaded onto the tower. Julia ducked behind the wall, and one of her men dove atop her in an attempt to shield her with his armoured body.

Thunk!

“Arghhh!” The guardsman slumped falling back down the stairs and out of sight. Julia didn’t even know his name, but he had died to protect her.

None of the arrows hit Julia or Brian, but another of the guardsmen was hit in the arm. He scooted down the steps out of the fight. Brian tried to reply with his bow, but more arrows cascaded down. It was obvious the Hasians had figured out where the lightning was coming from. They were determined to keep her head down.

“Stay down you fool, they have us pinned!” Julia hissed angrily when Brian tried to rise and caused another rain of arrows.

Brian ducked down and snarled a reply. “I can see that you stupid... my lady. They’re up to something. If they keep our heads down, I can’t stop ’em.”

Julia shut her eyes and covered her ears to stop the screams. Without looking she sent lightning down in front of the gate.

Craaaack!

“AEiii!” Screamed the dying Hasians as some were burned and others crushed by flying stone.

Peeking over the top of the tower through a curtain of tears Julia tried to see what was happening, but she had to duck back as more arrows flew. Shaking her head in disbelief, she turned to ask Brian if he had any ideas.

“Brian—”

Thunk!

“Ow!” Julia cried in surprise. “Oh dear...” Julia said staring at the arrowhead protruding from her chest. Numbness spread down her right arm, as she half sat half fell behind the broken wall for protection.

Brian stared at the arrow in horror. He quickly crossed the distance between them and cut away Julia’s beautiful dress to expose the arrow. It had hit her in the back and pushed right through. The arrowhead was clearly visible standing out of her body just below the point where her breast and right shoulder joined. Strangely, and to Julia’s relief, it didn’t seem to hurt at all.

Brian bit his lip in concern. “I’m sorry, but if I pull this out it will bleed something awful. I think it’s best if I leave it for the mages—or any way, until later.”

Julia nodded weakly. Most of the mages were dead. She had seen someone carrying an unconscious Renard into the fortress and Mathius was badly hurt.

Later... later would be better.

The pain was starting to catch up with Julia’s shocked brain now. Her nerves had started jangling in alarm. If she was really lucky she would pass out and not feel the sword that killed her.

“Brian, I think... think I’m going to pass out...”

“No you don’t! Keep talking to me,” her worried friend said desperately.

“What about?” Julia said fuzzily.

“Anything.”

Julia’s world dimmed as she slipped sideways—and shrieked! The arrow had grated on the stones of the wall. Brian quickly supported her until she could sit up. Oh Christ it hurts, she thought panting in time with the throbbing agony, but at least the pain had woken her up a little.

“Brian help me up, I need to see the road again,” Julia gasped at the stabbing agony in her chest.

“But... all right,” Brian said reluctantly.

Brian helped Julia to stand and held her so that her eyes were just above the edge of the broken tower. She scanned the road for any weaknesses, but as before she could see none. She despaired, but then she realised her error. She had attacked the road twice in the same spot achieving nothing, but much closer to the fortress the road ran over a shelf of rock. Below the shelf she could see the burned remains of a town. Quickly, before her doubts could interfere with her magic, Julia hit that section with everything she had in her.

CraAAAAacK! CraAAAAacK! CraAAAAacK! CraAAAAacK!

As Julia slumped into Brian’s arms, the screams rose around her, pummelling her down into the dark without mercy. She would never stop hearing them. The tower was groaning and shaking. It was falling, or was it her?

She was falling, falling forever—

Darkness.

* * *

Purcell of Elvissa, Lord Protector of the East stared up into the sky and frowned. He thought he’d heard thunder just then, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. He and his men were just a candlemark out from Athione and they could see the fortress, but it was too far yet to make out the banner. The fortress was like a huge stopper in a bottle keeping the Protectorate on its own side of the mountains. He was sure it had not fallen, and would not now that he was here. At least, that’s what Purcell told himself.

The men were tired, but he decided to push on. Keverin had a notoriously good wine cellar, and he was looking forward to relieving him of some of it. Days of marching had done wonders for his appetite. Why, he must have lost ten pounds or more! So, it was with the expectation of a warm welcome that Purcell arrived before the east gates of the fortress. They were shut tight of course. He would have done the same in Keverin’s position, but he was puzzled when he found no activity to indicate the defenders were going to open them.

“Ho the gate! Open,” Purcell shouted.

“Who are ye?”

Purcell was speechless. What kind of idiot did Keverin use for a gatekeeper?

“Open the God be blessed gate man! Can’t you see the banner?” He quickly checked to make sure, but his mountain on blue field was fluttering overhead where it should be.

“I can see fine. Any fool can fly a pretty banner.”

“You damned imbecile! I’m Purcell of Elvissa! Get your cursed captain!” When the guard didn’t reply, Purcell assumed the idiot had gone to fetch the watch captain. “Stand easy lads,” he said turning to his road weary men.

With a groan they collapsed into tired heaps. Some took a drink from water bags, while others just lay and went to sleep. Purcell looked on unhappily. If they needed to fight he was in trouble. The men needed at least a day and night to recover, more probably two or three. He had set a brutal pace in his determination to get here, but now he wondered if he’d made a mistake. Just as Purcell was about to lay himself down for a nap, lightning crackled across the clear blue sky. He jumped with its abruptness, but it was more than that. It had struck nearby.

Craaaack! Craaaack!

Booom!

The ground seemed to leap up and slap Purcell’s feet. By the God that had sounded close! His men scrambled to their feet pointing toward the west. He backed away from the gate trying to see what they were looking at. He saw clouds of dust rising into the air near the pass, if not actually in it. The cursed sorcerers are attacking right now! Cursing the gatekeeper, Purcell looked impotently on as the fate of the kingdom was decided while he cooled his heels outside.

CraAAAAacK! CraAAAAacK! CraAAAAacK! CraAAAAacK!

KABOOOM!

The roar this time sounded like an avalanche in winter. The sound went on and on as clouds of debris were flung high into the air. Dust and small stones rained down on Purcell and his men. They yelled in fright and quickly ran to the walls. They pressed themselves flat in an effort to shield themselves. Purcell could feel the walls vibrating and shaking in the aftermath.

“It’s a slide!” Someone shouted. Another thought it might be a natural landslide.

Not with lightning like that, it’s not!

Silence reigned. Purcell cautiously left the safety of the wall, and looked about. The ground was completely white as if covered in fresh snow. It wasn’t snow. It was dust and gravel. He could still hear a rumbling, or thought he could. The noise had been so intense, that the silence sounded loud. In the distance he could see people in the town running too and fro in panic. He didn’t blame them.

Eeeeeek!

Purcell snatched for his sword with heart thumping, but there was no enemy to fight, only a contrite looking guardsman peering out of the open gate.

“Sorry m’lord, the God cursed—pardon m’lord. The Hasians breached us early this morning. I didn’t dare let you in without orders m’lord.”

Purcell bit back what he wanted to say about incompetent guards and what they could do with their gates. “How bad? Are they inside?”

“Aye m’lord, there’s fighting in the west courtya—”

Purcell cut him off. “Move, move, MOVE!” He bellowed to his men. He slapped them on the back as they neared, trying to hurry them inside the gates. “Lock her up tight man, and show us the way!”

The gatekeeper knew an order when he heard one. He quickly complied and ran into the citadel. Through corridors and halls he charged leading Purcell and his men via the quickest route toward the fighting.

Purcell reached the west courtyard and a scene of utter madness. Dead men lay on all sides. Blood and other things were splashed over the cobbles. The gate was gone, and both towers were down with a goodly portion of the west wall. A captain, clearly desperate and out numbered, was leading the defence. There was no sign of Keverin. Purcell charged toward the fighting.

“Elvissa!” He roared in rage and his men followed him.

“Elvissa, Elvissa!”

“Athione!” The defenders answered desperately.

Purcell drove into the enemy. His men hacked their way forward forcing the Hasians back. Laughing and roaring Purcell cut down any in his path. He was unstoppable in his anger. He forced the enemy away from the gate with his ferocity. His men followed where he led and soon the courtyard was empty. Not satisfied with this, the defenders kept going. The Hasians fought back hard, desperately trying to hold position, but step by step they were forced back. There were so many men down that Purcell could hardly move without stumbling upon the corpses. Many of them were legionnaires, but thousands of Devans were dead as well. Blood was running in rivers down the road and he had to be careful not to slip in the stuff. The Hasians reformed into a square as their numbers dwindled, but slowly Purcell and his men whittled them down until only a handful remained. Undeterred, the last Hasian sergeant still living ordered a charge and his men complied.

Roaring his hate, Purcell hacked another man down and suddenly it was over. He blinked in bemusement still shaking with battle lust. His line had ever that problem. Berserk with rage was how his father had died—his brother also. The groans of the dying faded to silence as his men methodically gave them the grace. Gasping and sweating, Purcell bent to catch his breath and realised that he was standing on the brink of a sheer cliff, which went down hundreds of yards. The road had been severed roughly twenty yards from the fortress.

What happened here?

The crevasse was at least two hundred yards wide with the road continuing on the other side down to the pass. Hasian legionnaires stood on the other side watching him. Purcell stood tall trying to make a good impression. Raising his sword high, he gave them a salute. To his surprise, the group moved apart and a man in good armour stepped forward to salute him in return. The Hasians formed up and marched back down the road in good order.

Purcell watched the man until he was out of sight.

* * *

Navarien lowered his sword and led his remaining men back down the road. Lucius had been right. They had needed to weaken the Devan mages before attacking. He should have listened! He had been so pleased when Lucius changed his tactics that he did not question the plan. He had welcomed the chance to act! Now he wished he could take back his suggestions. This mess was his fault. If he had not pressed Lucius to attack... he sighed. Although the sorcerers had collapsed in exhaustion after hitting the ward as Belgard said would happen, Navarien had been pleased with the results of the strike. The gate was destroyed as intended, but more than this, the wall was breached allowing his men to attack on a wider front. He had quickly pushed third battalion up the road to secure the breach. Then second and fourth battalions marched to reinforce. Navarien had followed in direct command of first battalion.

Then disaster had struck. Somehow the enemy had saved one of their mages to use in a counter attack. Navarien had seen sorcerers in action many times, but this was beyond anything he had ever witnessed. Lightning flew through the sky and where it grounded, his men died. They had fought well. He had hoped to take the fortress despite the setback the Devan mage represented, but he needed to get his men inside the citadel. He had hoped the lightning would be unable to seek them in the halls and corridors, but he never had the chance to test his theory.

Lightning crashed down again, but this time it grounded in the middle of second and fourth battalions. Fifteen hundred men dead—a calamity on a scale never before witnessed among the legions. Worse, the mountain itself was shattered leaving a crevasse hundreds of yards across.

Navarien remembered staring at it in stunned disbelief, then looking impotently on as the Devan’s destroyed his third battalion to the last man. Never had the Protectorate met such a defeat. Half his legion gone—it had taken two candlemarks at most.

Navarien led his men wearily back into camp and dismissed them. The injured would be tended by the sorcerers when they recovered, but there were very few. Lightning rarely left survivors, and those injured in other ways were trapped on the other side of the crevasse. The Devans were even now putting them to death. They had no sorcerers to heal such hideous wounds. Giving them the grace was all they could reasonably do. Navarien closed his eyes trying not to see the scene. There were so many familiar faces he would never see again. He forced himself to open his eyes and take a deep steadying breath.

It was time he went to make his last report to Lucius. Navarien had no doubt his life was forfeit. Lucius would have no choice. The only thing in doubt was whether his execution would come now or later. He strode through the camp ignoring the stunned looks of his men. They were his no longer. His captains tried to get his attention, but he raised a hand and shook his head.

He did not stop.

Navarien walked straight into Lucius’ tent without trying to tidy himself. He found Lucius standing silently to one side with Belgard seated upon the only chair staring into a mirror. Rather than wait Navarien immediately came to attention and gave his report to Lucius. The sorcerer listened in silence. He didn’t reprimand Navarien—he didn’t say anything. Instead, he shook his head slightly in warning.

“A very concise report, General. I have been watching our nemesis in the glass.” Belgard smiled pleasantly as if talking about the weather and not the near destruction of the legion. “It seems I was mistaken about the usefulness of the girl they brought through the gate.”

Navarien clenched a fist and turned to Lucius. “Am I relieved of command?”

Belgard answered. “No. You still command the legion General. You see, Lucius was the one relieved. I’m lead mage of the Fifth Legion now.”

* * *

Purcell stumbled back to the fortress intent on finding Keverin, but he was nowhere to be found. Everywhere he looked wounded men were being rushed through the gates, or rather, through where the gates used to be. It must have been a terrifying sight watching those ancient walls and towers coming down—like the end of the world. Thousands lay dead, many more legionnaires than Devans thank the God, but there must have been close to two thousand dead guardsmen, maybe even twenty five hundred. It was hard to tell when they lay in such tangled heaps.

Purcell noticed one strange thing. Many of the legionnaires had died without a mark on them. No sword had killed those men. Magic, it had to be. Although they were his enemies, death by magic was a bad way to die. It felt somehow dishonourable. Purcell snorted at the thought. There were no good ways to die. If he had to choose, he would say dying in bed with his family surrounding him was the way to go.

Purcell collected two of his captains on the way to the citadel. “Assemble our boys, and settle them in barracks. See to it they get food and rest. Detail some of the stronger men to care for our dead. I might need some of the men to help stand watches and such later, but not yet. Report to me in a candlemark with the butcher’s bill.”

Both men nodded, and excused themselves.

Purcell continued into the fortress. The captain he had seen leading the defence stood near a pile of rubble directing his guardsmen. The men were digging frantically in what must be a gate tower by its location. The courtyard was a complete shambles. The towers were down, there didn’t seem to be one stone left atop another. The wall on each side was little better. It needed major rebuilding. If it hadn’t been for the new crevasse, Athione would have been lost. The captain seemed to be the only man of authority in the courtyard. Purcell approached him and asked where Keverin was.

The captain was intent on the digging. He made his salute while keeping one eye on his men. “My thanks for your timely assistance, my lord. I’m Senior Captain Marcus at your service. My lord Keverin was injured when the wards collapsed. He’s inside being tended by Lady Jessica.”

“How bad?”

“It was close my lord,” Marcus admitted. “He lost a lot of blood, but I think he’ll live. He managed to get a tourniquet on in time.”

“Good. I’ll visit him in a moment. I—” he broke off as an excited shout took Marcus’ attention.

Both men watched as a group of four guardsmen lifted a timber clear of the rubble. One man lay on his stomach and wiggled around until he had his head and shoulders in the hole. Purcell heard him say something, but was unsure what it had been.

“They’re alive, Captain!” The guardsman shouted when he reappeared.

“Right! You men grab those timbers.” Marcus turned to another group. “You lot go help them. I want those stones braced before we dig any deeper—well move!” Marcus roared.

Purcell was impressed with the volume of Marcus’ orders. He certainly knew how to get the job done. The guardsmen quickly braced the loose stones before clearing the lower ones. In short order they had a cave like opening cleared, and the short guardsman went in again. It wasn’t long before he came back out dragging someone in green.

By the God—a woman!

“What idiot let a woman get mixed up in this?” Purcell shouted angrily.

Everyone looked at him in a cold and angry silence.

“Back to work!” Marcus roared, though he too was looking askance at Purcell.

Purcell looked around with a frown. Any one would think he was in the wrong!

“Careful!” a short guardsman said. “She’s been hit in the shoulder—arrow.”

Purcell could see it as the men pulled the unconscious woman clear. Her dress was soaked in blood and torn where the arrow thrust through. Her beautiful face was pale from loss of blood and smudged with dust. Her hands were thick with dried blood. The guardsman went back into the hole and emerged with a fellow guardsman this time. As soon as he was clear, the young man shook off the offered hands and limped over to the woman.

“Brian, stay by me,” Marcus ordered. “Udall, take her inside to Jessica.”

An older man, a sergeant, hoisted the woman in his arms and walked away. The guardsmen followed her with their eyes until she disappeared from view. They turned back to their tasks murmuring to each other.

“Report!” Marcus said.

Brian braced to attention, and began his report. Purcell listened in stunned disbelief. Everyone stopped to listen, allowing Purcell to scan their faces. He had expected to see outright shock at the young man’s words, but instead they were nodding to each other. He could even hear a few comments that verified some points of the report. Purcell shook his head. No woman could do what Brian insisted she had done. Calling lightning and killing men—it was impossible. Only men wielded the God’s gift of magic. It had always been so.

“All right, Brian,” Marcus said kindly and clasped Brian’s shoulder for a moment. “Get some rest.”

“Yes sir.”

Purcell watched the young man limp away. Then after Marcus had detailed some men to watch the Hasians, and some others to continue tidying up, he followed him into the citadel.

“You are injured, Marcus,” Purcell said noticing the blood and the limp.

“It’s nothing my lord, a mere scratch only. My lord is with the rest of the wounded in the great hall. Lady Jessica is tending them with some help from the town folk.”

Purcell dodged a group of boys running toward the courtyard carrying buckets of bloodied water. Purcell stared after them for a moment before continuing with Marcus.

“All our mages are dead except two. Mathius is dying, the other... well.” Marcus shrugged. “Renard is unconscious, but his eyes are open—like in a trance my lord.”

Purcell hissed in dismay. After all the work to assemble the library and attract mages to study in it, they were all dead. Mortain had set them back years. Worse still, although the road was closed, the sorcerers could still use their magic to attack Athione from a distance. There was no doubt the crevasse protected the fortress as well as the gate did, better maybe, but it also meant a counter-attack was impossible.

Purcell entered Athione’s great hall and stopped still in shock. Wounded men lay in dozens of rows on the floor. Men were groaning or screaming in pain. Many lay silent—unconscious. There were hundreds of men here, and more being brought in all the time. If too many more arrived, they would spill out the door into the entry hall. Marcus had stopped when Purcell did. He was too polite to show his irritation, but Purcell was aware of it in any case. He knew how busy the captain had to be, especially now. Marcus had the entire fortress in his charge.

Purcell moved on through the door and along the rows of misery. Jessica was tending to the injured girl. The torn dress had been replaced with a clean white nightgown. The dirt and blood was gone, and she looked much better, but the arrow had yet to be removed.

“Lord Purcell would speak with you, my lady.” Marcus bowed and excused himself to attend important matters in the courtyard.

Purcell looked for Keverin while Jessica stepped over the girl’s legs to approach him. He couldn’t see him anywhere. “How’s Kev?”

Jessica’s face crumpled, and tears welled up. Purcell stepped forward and clasped her in his arms to comfort her. She cried almost silently and beat her fists on his armour. He held tight so that she could let it out.

“He’s dying,” Jessica mumbled with her cheek pressed against his armoured body.

Oh by the God, not Keverin too.

“I’m so sorry. I thought he stopped the bleeding.”

Jessica pushed Purcell away a little, he didn’t resist. “He did, but he has a fever. I think he lost too much blood. There’s nothing I can do.”

“What about your healers, surely there’s something...” Purcell trailed off as she shook her head.

“We always relied on Darius for healing. He’s dead, and Renard is... I don’t know, but he is not himself.”

Purcell looked around at the wounded. He could see dozens from Elvissa within just a few yards of him, and he knew there must be others. He should have brought healers with him! Why hadn’t he thought to bring some?

“Is Keverin awake, can I see him?”

Jessica wiped her eyes on a piece of bandage and nodded. “You can see him, but he’s been unconscious since they brought him in.”

There was no point. He needed to know who was to command, with Kev dying childless, the question was ultimately the king’s to answer, but they were at war. Something had to be done now, not in a season or more.

“I’m sorry to ask, but I have to. Did he name an heir?”

She shook her head. “Marcus commands all our forces while Keverin is—recovering.”

That at least was something. “That’s fine. I need to talk to him about the defence. I don’t know what we can do about the sorcerers, but we have to try.”

“They can’t get in now—surely?”

Purcell shook his head. “Not easily. Maybe not at all, but they can still attack using magic. I’d better go see Marcus. I’m sorry about Keverin, truly sorry.”

Purcell left Jessica staring at nothing. He hoped she would be all right. When Kevlarin died in a stupid riding accident she had been devastated, but she’d had Keverin to comfort her. Now with Keverin dying, she didn’t even have grandchildren to ease the blow. He thanked the God for Isolde and their children. He never wanted to be alone like Jessica would soon be.

* * *

Julia awoke to find herself covered by blankets on the floor of the great hall. She stared up at the huge chandelier in puzzlement. What was going on? There was a man asleep next to her on the right. She stared at him silently. He was dead.

To her left a man was whimpering in pain. “They not be taking me hand, they not be taking me hand,” he mumbled over and over.

Julia tried to sit up and help him. “Hnnn!” She slumped back as the pain pounded her down. She barely stayed conscious as she fought against the black tide. It receded reluctantly. “Somebody...” she called weakly. “What’s happening? It hurts.”

Jessica knelt by her side. “Shushhhh Julia. We’ll get it out of you don’t worry.”

Julia groaned as she remembered the courtyard. “I’m a killer. Oh God I’ve killed people—lots of people.”

Jessica wiped the sweat from her brow, and stroked her hair soothingly.

“Shushhhh Julia. You did what you had to do. You saved us all.”

“Keverin... is he... I had to leave him. I’m sorry... sorry Jessica. The enemy were in the gate, I had to try.”

Jessica started crying. Julia looked over the distraught woman’s shoulder at a man in armour. She knew his face, but she couldn’t remember his name.

“Lord Keverin is dying, lady. He lost too much blood. Our mages are dead or dying. They can’t heal him.”

Julia felt sick. The pain was a throbbing fire in her chest. All she wanted to do was go to sleep. Trying to think was difficult. What was that about mages? How could they heal? Magic was only for killing wasn’t it?

“Magic is only for killing people,” she whispered wearily.

The guardsman looked shocked. “Darius healed many people. All healers used to be mages. Now, only strong ones can do it.”

“How did they?”

“Who can say? Maybe the books tell the way of it, but if they do, I don’t know it. I can’t read them.”

“Jessica? Jessica!” The grief stricken woman looked up at Julia in a daze. “Please Jessica, I might be able to help Keverin if I can learn what I need quickly. I can’t do it with this damned thing sticking in me,” she said laying a hand next to the arrow.

“Do you think so?” Jessica asked with sudden hope.

There was no chance if she didn’t try, and damn little if she did. All in all, Julia preferred trying to help over listening to the screams. There were some she couldn’t escape—they were in her head, but the ones here in the hall might be silenced if she could learn enough.

“All I can do is try. Now the arrow please, it hurts.”

Jessica brightened. “Yes. The arrow has to come out first. Of course—yes!”

Jessica ran out of Julia’s sight and came back with another helper. He was an older guardsman, perhaps one too old to fight or stand watches on the walls. He quickly helped Julia to sit up. That was agony in itself, but she felt better after. Leaning forward didn’t seem to hurt so much. One of the men pulled her gown down to get at the arrowhead, and mumbled an apology at the liberty of exposing her breasts. Julia would have laughed if it hadn’t hurt so much.

“This will hurt, Lady. Please try not to move.”

He gently grasped the arrowhead and pain crackled through Julia’s chest. A red hot poker of agony lanced through her. “AEiii!”

Julia tried not to move as he asked, but it was no good. She arched her back at the pain. Someone grabbed her flailing arms to prevent her pushing him away.

“AEiii!” Julia screamed at the top of her voice. “AEiii!” She screamed over and over without pause for a breath. Finally the pain ebbed away. Panting and sweating, Julia looked down at her chest to see the arrow still there. Oh Christ what was he playing at! “What are you doing? Get... it... out!” She said through clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry!” The old man seemed close to tears with the pain he had put her through. “Truly m’lady, I am very sorry, but I had to cut the head off first.”

“Oh God. All right.”

“Brace yourself,” the man said before nodding to his companion.

A guardsman behind her yanked the arrow out in one hard pull. This time Julia screamed fit to bring the roof down. Crackles of lightning danced at her fingertips as she involuntarily grabbed for something, anything, to stop the pain.

Darkness sucked her down.

Julia came back from the dark place to feel the man bandaging her chest. Tears streamed over her cheeks, and she sniffled. She wasn’t crying exactly, but her eyes seemed not know that.

“Thank you... feels... better,” Julia said hiccoughing the words as her tears slowed. The guardsman simply looked at her worriedly.

What? Oh!

Julia raised her hands before her eyes and stared in fascination. Tiny lightning bolts were crackling from finger to finger like a miniature storm. She released her link to the magic and watched them wink out.

“Sorry. It hurt you know?”

The man behind her laughed, and the guardsman in front smiled briefly, but he was obviously relieved to see the manifestation of her magic vanish. She watched him finish bandaging her chest and shoulder. She thanked him again when he helped with her gown.

“I’ll need the books on healing if there are any,” Julia said trying to breathe shallow.

“I can’t bring them to you. They’re warded to prevent theft,” Jessica said worriedly.

“I’ll have to go to the library then,” she said struggling to stand.

The world spun about and Julia was abruptly back where she started. Before she could try again and hurt herself, a guardsman stepped forward and lifted her into his arms. It hurt, but she kept quiet.

Jessica was by her side pointing out the quickest route, but the guardsman already knew the way and carried her to the library without fuss. Julia drowsed in his arms, but awoke as the familiar feeling of the library came over her. Julia was beginning to suspect that the entire library was magical in some way because of her reaction upon entering. It always seemed to talk to her.

“Use me, and know power,” it whispered for her ears alone.

Julia shivered as she remembered all the deaths she had caused. She already knew what power was like—she didn’t like it.

The guardsman was looking at her for instructions.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t remember your name.”

“I’m Udall, Lady.”

Oh yes. Now she remembered. Mathius had stuck his boots to the floor on her first day at Athione. He was one of Sergeant Burke’s men.

“Take me down the first row please. I hope you’re not too tired.”

“You’re only a little thing.”

Julia chose the low ranked shelves in the hope that anything she found would be within her capabilities to use. She scanned all the titles, but there didn’t seem to be any that would help. It worried her more than a little. If there were any books on healing within the library, they must be for higher ranked mages. Although she felt strong, she actually ranked lower than Mathius in practical knowledge and experience. Her inability to make wards and shields proved that.

Udall carried her along the next aisle. This time the titles were for mages interested in making material things such as roads and bridges. There were some interesting books here, but nothing that she found sounded even remotely like what she needed to heal Mathius. The ones she needed must be for higher ranked mages. What would she do if she wasn’t strong enough? There was no point in worrying about it. Worrying never helped anything. It wasn’t her fault if they—

She worried.

“Stop here!” Julia said in excitement, and winced when she moved her arm without thought for the consequences.

Udall stopped and Julia read a promising title, but she reluctantly decided it wasn’t what she needed. Forestry and animal care, though dealing with living things, were not the same as healing a man’s wounds.

“Sorry Udall, next aisle please.”

Udall nodded and carried Julia along the last row.

Julia was afraid that this might happen. She had briefly looked at the third shelf during her first visit to the library. It had titles such as: Higher Principles of Power Transmission, or Animation for Sorcerers. The shelf wasn’t for beginners. Still, she had no alternative but to keep looking. Two thirds of the way down the row Julia found one.

“Take that one down for me would you Jessica?” She said pointing to a large tome bound in black leather. As Jessica did that, Udall continued down the aisle. “Stop. That looks interesting, we better have that.”

Jessica pulled the slim volume down and followed behind as Julia found another. Jessica took that one down as well. In the end, they found only four books in the whole library that might help—all of them on the high ranking shelf. Jessica found places for them to read in comfort. Julia’s arm was throbbing in time with her heartbeat. She thrust the discomfort to one side and tried to concentrate on her reading. When Jessica found an important passage, she read it aloud. Julia listened, but continued her own reading. They didn’t have much time.

Julia discarded the first book almost straight away. It was more to do with diseases than injuries or wounds. The next one was the size of a handbook or diary. As Julia read, she realised that she had found a treasure. The book was hand written in tiny script. Written by a wizard, it detailed his journey through the east—Tanjung and Japura—learning all he could about medical applications of herbs and magic.

Julia read as quickly as she could, but candlemarks went by before she understood enough to start. She bit her lip in worry. If she did this wrong, she might kill even more people.

“I think I’ve got it,” Julia said hesitantly.

“Will it help him—them?” Jessica said.

“I think so. I need to read it all the way through to be sure. Is there enough time?”

Jessica shook her head. “You need to try it right away.”

“It’s dangerous Jessica. I don’t know if I’m strong enough—even before the arrow. If I try and do something wrong it might kill them.”

“It’s all right. It’s better to try to save someone and fail than not to try at all.”

“Even if it’s Keverin who dies?”

Jessica’s face hardened.

“I’m sorry,” Julia said quickly. “I didn’t mean that how it sounded, honest! I don’t want any more deaths on my conscience.”

“I told you before,” Jessica said in a hard voice now. “You did what you had to do. We would all be dead without you.”

Udall nodded gloomily. “She’s right.”

It was a side of Jessica that Julia had never seen. She had always seemed kindly and fun to talk to, but now the mother of a great lord came forth—and she was as hard as steel. Julia looked miserably at her little book. It was easy for other people to justify her actions, they hadn’t been the one to kill so many. Julia bit her lip. She was anxious not to hurt anyone else, but by not acting she would be condemning all the wounded to more pain and perhaps even death.

Julia sighed. “I’ll try.”

Udall replaced the other books in their slots, then came back and sat beside her. “When you are ready, I’ll take you back to the hall.”

Julia raced through the pages snatching desperately at this or that passage. She tried to memorise everything she could. She was near to tears when she realised that she had forgotten the first part already. She flicked back and read through it again. There was a lot to learn in the little book. How could they expect her to operate on someone after reading a book for so short a time?

The biggest trick seemed to be the way of looking at the wound. From what Julia could puzzle out she would need to use her mage-sight to look below the surface of reality. According to the author it was possible to repair even serious injuries in that way, but had Darius worked like that? Julia realised that she could be completely on the wrong track. What if Darius knew this method didn’t work? What if she killed them... what if... No! Darius would have removed the book from the shelves if that had been the case. Surely he would have.

“Has anyone tried to take a book out of here before?” Julia asked her companions.

“No, why do you ask?” Jessica said and Udall shrugged. He didn’t know.

“I need to take this with me. I can’t learn enough in half an hour,” at Jessica’s confused look she tried again. “Half a candlemark I mean. If I take it, at least I can refer to it if I need something.”

“I don’t think you can,” Jessica said worried now. “Darius warded all the books in here.”

“Let’s try.”

Udall lifted Julia into his arms, but as he carried her toward the arch, Julia started to feel a reluctance to take the book. It was wrong to take it. She should put it back in its slot. When they reached the arch, it felt as if she were heading the wrong way. The shelves were the other way and she really should put the book back now. It was wrong to take the book. She should put it back in its slot—she really should. Julia wanted to turn around on the instant. If Udall had not been there, she would have.

It’s all in the mind. You’re not turning back.

The book started to glow blue as they neared the exit. Udall opened the door and the book objected strongly. It began flashing so brightly that the light made shadows leap up against the walls.

Udall looked at her. “Now what?”

With nothing better to try, Julia shook the book vigorously. “Stop that!” She said. Of course it didn’t make any difference. She grasped her magic, and in frustration directed it at the book. “I told you to stop it!”

To Julia’s surprise the book paused as if startled. It flashed its light twice more in apology and then stopped its antics.

Julia looked at her companions in amazement and then back to the book. “Thanks.”

Udall was looking at her strangely. Julia wasn’t surprised. How many people can talk to things and have them answer, even if just by a flash of light? She had become somewhat accustomed to this world and its strangeness, but then something like this happened and she suddenly wondered if it was real after all.

That bloody arrow was real enough. It hurt like blazes.

On the way back to the great hall, Julia read some more of the little book. Some of the things in it were familiar to her but described a little oddly. The animals infesting wounds were obviously germs and microbes. According to her book they could be seen and destroyed if you used the magic like this, and then did that.

Other things didn’t seem to apply to her world at all. It mentioned aura a great deal. Julia had always scoffed at the idea of people seeing such things as auras around people, but as she read further, she realised that the author meant something entirely different. According to him, it was possible to spot a person with an injury or illness by the colour of their aura when viewing them in a certain way. It talked about the nature of reality, stating that everything was made of energy and that manipulating energy was what a mage did best. If she was right the author was talking about atoms. How could a person in a medieval culture know such things?

Udall carried Julia through one last door, and then toward Keverin where he lay with his men. To her eyes, he was pale, almost translucent.

“No. Mathius first.”

“Lady Julia, I don’t think—”

“I do!” Julia tried to soften that. “Sorry Udall. If I can heal Mathius, which is not certain, he might be able to help me with the others.”

That wasn’t Julia’s real reason though. She felt more responsible for Mathius than she did for Keverin. Keverin hated her and she didn’t much like him either, but Mathius was one of her few friends. When she found him in the courtyard, she had turned him over without thought and driven the wood impaling him further in. She couldn’t get the thought out of her head that if she’d been more careful he wouldn’t be dying.

“If you think it best,” Udall said doubtfully, and looked to Jessica to show him the way.

When Julia finally arrived at his side, Mathius was barely conscious. He was very pale and his eyes looked out from purple coloured caves. He was in great pain. Jessica pulled the blanket down to reveal the wound, and Julia gulped trying not to pass out at the sight of the hole in Mathius’ belly.

“We removed the wood as soon as we could, but he’s bleeding inside,” Jessica said with no emotion in her voice. The noble lady was back—hard as steel. “I think his stomach is punctured.”

Julia winced at the thought of such an injury. A punctured stomach must be excruciating. “Mathius, can you hear me? It’s Julia. I’m going to help you. You’ll be all right, I promise”

Now you’ve done it.

Before Julia scared herself too much, she quickly reached out and covered the gaping wound with her good hand. It barely covered it. Concentrating on her mage-sight, she tried to see Mathius the way the little book described.

She kept slipping into what she thought of as the realm of power at first. A strange place, it was a realm of drifting clouds of energy. Nothing solid here, but strange swirling eddies and currents filled it. There were no boundaries, no walls, no sky, or ground. Nothing but energy existed. It was where she believed her magic came from. It didn’t help her with Mathius. The real world wasn’t present at all. Having an idea, Julia started again. This time she tried to summon the vision slowly. She watched eagerly as the hall faded and was replaced by swirling energy on its way to the realm of power.

That’s it!

Julia held the vision steady. She looked down and recoiled. Mathius, she assumed it was him, had turned into a sickly yellow mass of energy. There was no shape to resemble a person at all. Remembering the book, she looked closer and found streams of red streaking the yellow of his aura. Not knowing what to do next, Julia turned away and studied what she thought must be Udall. There was a tower of white energy radiating strength where he stood in the real world. Looking closer, she saw just a trace of yellow that she assumed was tiredness, but there was none of the red light that so infested Mathius.

Turning back to Mathius, Julia tried to change the red light in his aura into a clean white. It seemed to work at first, but as she completed one area, the red light infested another. Knowing that it had to go, Julia tried to drive it out by main force, but it was no good. Every time she destroyed one stream, another took its place. She needed to find the source. Looking more deeply, Julia tried to trace the red streams to their source. She delved deep into Mathius, as if submerging herself in an ocean of energy. She was tugged this way and that by unseen currents. Some were gentle, but others surged rhythmically, and she had to fight to stay on course. Eventually she found a disgusting pulsating mass deep inside Mathius. It was purplish green in colour with red streams coming out of it. It made her sick just to look at it. She attacked the ghastly thing without mercy using streams of white magic that she willed into existence. Slowly the ugly mass shrank, but it fought her all the way. Angry at the nasty thing’s rebellion, she forced herself to draw harder on her magic and crushed it with one sudden push. The red streams began to wither and fade once separated from their source. Julia helped them along with more white magic.

Julia had begun to return to Udall and Jessica when she noticed something odd. In the distance a beautiful blue light shone. It was a sapphire blazing amongst the white. Udall didn’t have anything like that, but Julia hesitated. Surely something so beautiful wasn’t bad. Mathius was a mage. Could the light be connected to his ability in some manner? Might it be the mage gift itself? Rather than take any more chances, Julia withdrew back into the real world, and promptly collapsed with exhaustion.

Udall caught Julia before she hurt herself, and she smiled her thanks. She was more concerned with Mathius. He looked tired, but not in pain any longer. She still had her hand on his belly. She cautiously raised it to reveal a disgusting mass of puss and old blood. It was stuck all over the palm of her hand!

Yucckk!

Jessica quickly found a damp cloth and cleaned it off Julia’s hand. She applied the cloth to Mathius’ stomach and revealed a scar that looked years old.

“Thank the God,” Jessica whispered.

“Mathius, can you hear me?” Julia said.

Mathius opened his eyes and looked around in apparent surprise. “I’m not dead.”

“No you’re not,” Julia said with a smile. “I need your help, Mathius. Keverin is in a bad way. I need you to help with the healing.”

Mathius sat up exploring the scar with his fingers. “You healed me?”

“I healed you. Can you help me?”

“I was never strong enough to heal. It takes a master or higher.”

Julia was disappointed but not surprised. She looked up at Udall. “Take me to Keverin.”

* * *

7 ~ Heretic!

Athlone looked up from the report he was reading as someone entered the room. “So Sorcerer, have you good news for me?”

Abarsis moved further into the room and surveyed his surroundings. Athlone’s lips tightened. The pox-ridden sorcerer was acting like he owned the place!

“I have news,” Abarsis agreed after a moment.

“Out with it then.”

The sorcerer’s eyes glittered at the order. “Bad news I’m afraid. Keverin managed to hold against the first attack.”

“How?” Athlone snarled. “You said fifty sorcerers would overwhelm him. You said it was a mere formality. You said Keverin’s mages were amateurs!”

“A mere setback I assure you.”

“I ought to throw you and your friends out. Keverin, fool that he is, would welcome me with open arms. Malcor will be on the winning side.”

“Be careful, Athlone, lest your words be taken for more than a jest. You’re allied with us now. No one crosses Mortain and lives. Best you remember it.”

Athlone clenched a fist. He should never have listened to the sorcerer. He should have ridden to Keverin’s aid as Jihan wanted. Who knew, he might have contrived a means of ridding the world of Keverin in the heat of battle. It was too late now. He didn’t dare cross Abarsis and his two friends. They could kill him with a gesture.

“I assume you have a plan,” Athlone said and poured a single glass of wine.

Abarsis was cognisant of the implied insult but for his own reasons ignored it. “You will write a letter for us. I’ll see it delivered in timely fashion.”

Athlone stared at the smug face. Sorcerers could do a great many things, but delivering letters seemed beneath them. Why use magic on something so petty... unless it wasn’t?

“What letter? To whom?”

“To your friend Bishop Jymis. I have heard it said that you have similar tastes. More importantly, you have the same enemy.”

“What good in a letter? What has the Church to do with this?”

“Ah well, as to that there’s something I forgot to mention,” Abarsis said making himself comfortable in the chair nearest the fire. He warmed his hands. “I am informed that Keverin has a new mage—a rather powerful one I was told.”

“And? Get to the point man!”

“I will then, since you ask so nicely. The mage is a woman.”

Athlone gaped. It wasn’t possible! Keverin had secured himself a real live witch? Where did he get her? A witch... but that meant...

Athlone smiled. “I see. I see indeed.”

“I thought you would,” Abarsis said smugly.

* * *

Julia grimly forced her magic into the man, but there was something wrong. She had healed his wounds and he blazed with white light in the realm of healing, but she had been through this before with Ged and others. As soon as she stopped forcing magic into him, he would quickly dim to a fraction of this intensity. It was no good. Nothing she tried made a difference. He looked bright and strong as she had come to expect of a healthy man in the realm of healing, but if she ignored the brightness and even the colour, she could see his aura didn’t roil and move about. It should be constantly moving as if trying to escape.

Julia stopped pushing, and watched his aura dim, but this time it started to unravel before her eyes. She tried to gather him back into shape, but it was like trying to grasp mist. She watched as a tiny spark shot away into the distance. The tatters left behind slowly dispersed and winked out. Nothing remained where he had been.

Julia came back to the great hall and looked at the empty shell of a man she had never known. She silently grieved for him. He was the one hundred and twenty fourth man to die while she attempted healing. The first few times had been devastating. She thought she had killed them by doing something wrong, but a pattern had soon become apparent. A man with injuries severe enough to be in a coma had more chances of dying than a man who was merely unconscious. That was no surprise. The same was true on her old world. She had proved to herself that she could heal a comatose man by doing it. None of the injured had died who were awake and talking during the healing, but if their auras were static, they always died. No exceptions—ever. It didn’t stop Julia from trying. Maybe it took more magic. She had used more than ever before this time, but it had made no difference. Next time she would draw all of it, if that’s what it took to save her patient.

Moriz and Halbert carefully lifted the body and took it away.

Julia sighed in weariness. She felt drained without her magic coursing through her. Maybe she should hold it all the time? Mathius wouldn’t like it, but she was coming to realise that Mathius didn’t know as much as he thought he did where magic was concerned. He was a dear friend, but he might be wrong about her. Her magic might be different.

“Julia? You should rest. Your shoulder is bleeding again,” Mathius said in concern.

Julia looked and found blood had ruined another dress. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t heal herself. When she had looked for her own aura in the realm of healing, she couldn’t even see it. Another mage would have to heal her, but there wasn’t one.

“I can’t. They need me.”

“You can’t save everyone! No one could!” Mathius said looking as if he wanted to tear his hair out in frustration. “I know you feel responsible for them, but that’s stupid. You hadn’t even heard of magic a while ago. How can you expect to build wards after so short a time?”

Julia smiled tiredly and patted his knee where he crouched beside her. “You’re kind, Mathius. I know I can’t save them all. Take me to the next one please.”

She might not be able to save them all, but she was still going to try. If she saved enough, the screaming in her head might stop. Mathius helped her up, and Julia surveyed the remaining injured men. On that terrible day, there had been hundreds in here—perhaps as many as eight or nine hundred. Now there were about a fifty or so left. Dozens had died before she found her little book and learned enough to save them, but she had saved hundreds since. The thought didn’t comfort her very much. Some injuries looked minor but were in fact serious—especially head wounds. Others were obviously impossible to put right. Swords left hideous wounds. Arrows were by far the easiest to fix. They just left a little hole. She had lost count of the men that had lost fingers, hands, and even entire arms. She could heal the stumps, but how could she heal something no longer attached? She had even tried to see a severed hand in the healing realm. She had hoped to find a way to re-attach it, but there was nothing to see.

The poor man was devastated by the news. He was only young and could no longer follow the dream of being an Athione guardsman. Mathius said he would work in the citadel helping Janna in the kitchens. There were suddenly a great many extra servants in the halls of Athione. The sight made Julia want to cry.

“What time is it?” Julia said noticing the gloom.

“It’s late, almost sundown. You need sleep!” Mathius cried in frustration.

No wonder it was so dark. Julia grasped her magic and gestured, lighting all the lamps and chandeliers in one go.

Mathius gasped.

“What? You don’t think your lord will mind do you? I don’t know how much things cost here,” Julia said looking worriedly at the thousands of candles in the chandeliers above her.

Mathius shook his head in silence. No, Keverin wouldn’t mind at all.

Julia knelt down beside the next man. All of her patients were serious cases now. The men with arrow wounds had been patched up and sent to barracks to recuperate. She had protested at first, saying that it was cruel to send her people off still hurting, but Jessica had insisted. Jessica made sense Julia later decided. Any way, she could always find them when no one was looking.

Julia grasped her magic and began to heal. The man awakened a short time later and looked around the hall in surprise. Julia smiled and he smiled back. It was worth the tiredness to see them awake. But why did he, when others did not? She had done nothing differently. This wasn’t the first time she had tried to wake him either, yet here he was.

God’s will?

“What should I do now?” Julia’s former patient said.

“Report to your captain tomorrow for re-assignment, and be more careful... please.”

“I will.”

Julia watched him leave, and then looked up at Mathius tiredly. “Who’s next?”

* * *

Keverin watched silently from the doorway, as Julia moved to the next man. After watching for a moment, he turned and walked out of the entry hall and into the west courtyard. It was still a mess.

Marcus had ordered the men to pile heaps of rubble along the missing section of wall to act as a barricade for archers. It was a good plan, although completely redundant. Some of the men had christened the crevasse Julia’s Gap, but thankfully it had been shortened to The Gap. The Hasians hadn’t managed a serious attack since its creation. They hadn’t tried to resume the magical barrage, but it was only a matter of time. They seemed content to throw men’s lives away attempting to string a bridge. It made no sense to him. Even if they could string a bridge across and by some miracle prevent him from burning it, they still wouldn’t be able to get men across in sufficient numbers to threaten Athione. His men would easily be able to hold this end of a narrow bridge.

Keverin marched back into the citadel and made his way down to the vault. He nodded to the guardsmen stationed along the route, but he didn’t stop to talk. There was something on his mind—had in fact been something on his mind since he awoke in the great hall with Julia staring worriedly down at him.

Keverin inserted his key into a steel lock. He had replaced the old iron one when the book was placed in the vault. Opening the steel barred gate, he stepped inside and re-locked it. A short distance further on was another barrier, this one of wood. It seemed strange to expect a wooden door to be stronger than a steel one, but he did. Darius had used the strongest ward he knew how to make on it and the walls of the vault. He unlocked the thick vault door and stepped inside. A tingle went through him as the spell checked to see who was entering. Once recognised, he stepped up to one of the tables. He wasn’t interested in the chests standing on other tables ringing the walls. They merely contained the wealth his ancestors had accumulated over the last eleven hundred years of ruling Athione. The fortress was constructed in the year 81 AF, and his family had held it in an unbroken line ever since. He was the last in his line. After him the King would give Athione to a deserving lord to hold... unless the Hasians won.

The chest bolted to the centre table held a thing far rarer than gold. It was a thick book bound in black leather. Darius said it was ancient, but it could have fooled him. He could still smell the newness of it. Darius said it was due to a preservative spell lost with so much else in the years following the founding of the Black isle. Keverin read the gold lettering of the title again.

Bridging Worlds: Translocation for Sorcerers.

Everything in it was beyond Keverin’s ability to understand, but he had known it was important the moment he laid eyes upon it. His father had owned the book for many years not knowing its worth. Keverin smiled remembering the child he had been. When Kevlarin showed the book to him, he had tried to learn magic from it, not knowing in his ignorance that he didn’t have the gift. Later it was the first book to be placed in his library.

Then the day dawned when Darius ran into his study clutching it in his arms...

“My lord, you must hide this before another mage sees it!”

Keverin looked up from the account books and saw the agitation on Darius’ face. “Calm yourself Darius. Now tell me what is wrong?”

“This!” Darius said brandishing the book.

Frowning, Keverin read the title as Darius waved it under his nose. “What’s wrong with it?

“Nothing. It’s priceless! It’s probably the only one of its kind in the world, unless, the God forbid, there’s a copy in Castle Black! It has the theory of gate building completely detailed from first principles. It even has several examples!”

“But that’s good is it not?”

“For the sake of knowledge yes!” Darius cried as he paced around the room. “But in the real world it’s a disaster waiting to happen! A strong enough mage could open a gate to anywhere with this. Even from Castle Black into your bed chamber!”

Keverin smiled remembering his friend. Darius had constructed the ward on the vault to stop intruders. If anyone came inside without the ruling Lord of Athione present, he would die and worse than die—he would cease to exist even as a corpse. Darius was so concerned with the danger that he had even excluded himself from the spell. Even sons or daughters of the ruling lord would be unable to enter without him, unless of course he was dead and the heir came to be recognised with his father’s body. Gruesome as that sounded, Keverin had been unsure even that was enough. He had told Darius that they should destroy it. His friend was torn. The book was a treasure beyond price, but he had finally agreed. If loss of the fortress seemed imminent, the book would be burned and the ashes scattered. All Keverin had to do was take one step out the door with the book in hand, and it would be destroyed. That part was his idea. If ever he was forced into retrieving the book, even he couldn’t circumvent the ward.

Keverin flicked through the ancient pages. With wars going on year after year, how could anyone trust that this knowledge would not be used for evil? He didn’t know the answer. Thinking about Darius’ scroll, and the Hasian army in the pass, Keverin hefted the book and turned toward the door.

Visions of Darius screaming as he shone brighter than the sun filled his head, images of the tired girl in the hall tending his men, images of her standing on the tower throwing lightning and fire into the enemy.

Keverin took two more steps and hesitated. If he destroyed the book Julia would be trapped here. He needed her now more than ever. If he destroyed it, she would have to stay, but... he turned back and locked the book in the chest. He was a fool, and he knew it. Julia would leave and Deva would be conquered. All for honour.

Yes, but without honour we are nothing.

Lord Keverin locked the vault and the gate beyond. Nodding to the guard, he walked back the way he came. He caught a glimpse of Julia as he reached the open doors of the great hall. She was kneeling beside a guardsman and reaching out to hold his head. It was late. He should go in and order her to rest but what if more of his men died for lack of her aid? He stopped to watch...

“M’lord!” Elise hailed him. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Julia looked up irritated at the interruption and frowned at Keverin’s gawking.

Keverin looked quickly away. “What is it?” he said more sternly than his want.

“The bishop has come lord.”

“Has he?”

“Yes. He doesn’t seem happy m’lord. Father Gideon is attending him, but he... he demands audience with you.”

“He does, does he?”

Elise nodded. “Will you see him, m’lord?”

Only the King dared demand an audience with him in his own fortress, and even then he had better have a good reason. Still, this was the bishop. Allowances had to be made for the Church. He wondered what was so important that Jymis could not wait for the morning to discuss it. Nothing good he would wager.

“I’ll see him.”

Elise looked relieved. “He’s awaiting you in your study.”

“You put him in there!” he almost shrieked but managed to keep his voice down to a low roar. “You should have shown him to—”

Keverin frowned remembering the great hall was in use. There were still a great many injured guardsmen—too many. Julia didn’t want to move them for fear of aggravating their injuries.

“—somewhere,” he finished lamely. “But not in my study. Who knows what kind of mischief he’s up to?”

Elise wasn’t surprised at Keverin’s dislike of the bishop. All his people knew they didn’t get along. Still, Jymis was the bishop and the position at least was due his respect. Lords were by no means untouchable where the Church was concerned. It was a narrow path he walked between his people’s welfare on one side, and censure from the Church on the other. Father Gideon now, he would have made a fine Bishop, but then Keverin was biased where Gideon was concerned. The man had been a priest here for over thirty eight years. That was almost longer than he’d been alive.

“Marcus suggested your study, my lord,” Elise said.

Marcus had suggested. If Marcus said that, there must be something seriously amiss. He obviously wanted privacy for this discussion.

“I’ll see him,” Keverin said again and made his way to his study.

Keverin hurried through the maze of corridors imagining all kinds of dire news. The Holy Father was dead, the King was, he was being censured for not making sufficient donations, and the list went on. So it was with surprise that quickly turned to dismay when he heard the real reason for Jymis’ visit.

“You can’t be serious,” Keverin said with his eyes flicking to Gideon.

Gideon was distraught. He was sitting a short distance from where Jymis sat in the best armchair. The poor man seemed near to tears with his need to explain, but with his superior in the room, he didn’t dare speak up.

Marcus was standing a short distance away with his eyes boring into the back of the bishop’s head. Keverin glanced at him but received only a glittering stare for his trouble. The bishop didn’t know it, but he had another enemy standing right behind him. Marcus didn’t like the turn this conversation had taken. Not one bit.

“Certainly I am serious, Lord Keverin,” Jymis said. “This... person must be handed over to me for the good of all.”

Lord Keverin, and not my lord Keverin? Those few words immediately put him on his guard. “Over to you,” Keverin repeated without inflection.

“I am the highest Church authority within your borders.”

Keverin acknowledged that with a nod, but for the good of all? He doubted it. The bishop knew only what was good for the bishop, but in this case he had gone far astray. Julia was essential, absolutely essential, to Athione’s welfare and those who lived here.

“And what would you do with her?”

“Put her on trial of course.”

Keverin gaped at the absurdity of it. No one would dare put a mage on trial. The idea was ludicrous. Jymis wasn’t usually a stupid man, but he did have lapses. For instance, Jymis, then a lowly priest, had managed to get on the wrong side of not one but two lords of Athione in succession, which was an achievement few could boast. His father hadn’t been pleased with Jymis’ preaching and had taken steps to remove him for preaching sedition against the King when he should have been teaching the God’s love. Kevlarin had risked a great deal when he threw Jymis out of Athione, but Farran, the Holy Father, had been a friend of Jessica’s for years. Farran had been a simple priest in one of Lord Padrig’s villages in his youth. Instead of calling anathema on Kevlarin, Farran had quietly sent Jymis to a new post. Gideon had taken Jymis’ place at Athione, which suited Kevlarin and his son also. Gideon was a good and godly man, one who cared for the people’s souls while leaving their bodily welfare firmly in the hands of the ruling lord, as it should be.

Jymis had prospered in Malcor Town and had risen through hard work and diligence to his present prominence. He was bishop for all the lands of Athione now, and of course he was entitled to be quartered within the fortress, but by his own wish he lived in the town of Manis Crossing. Keverin was grateful for it. There was a fine old church there, which had needed a priest for some time. Jymis had taken up the duties and residence of the local priest even while maintaining his own duty as bishop for the lands beholden to Athione. Although it was a little unusual for a bishop to replace a priest in a small town church, Jymis had the people’s admiration and respect if not their lord’s. When Jymis stayed clear of areas traditionally held to be the responsibility of the lords, he was a good priest. Whether he could be relied upon to do that from now on, Keverin didn’t know, but it seemed cursed unlikely.

“With all due respect to the Church and your holy self my lord bishop,” Keverin said. Calling this little man a lord was hardly accurate, but a little flattery couldn’t hurt. “Lady Julia isn’t a member of the Church. Therefore you cannot put her on trial. If trial there be, I should conduct it as Lord of Athione and Lord Protector of the West.”

There, let him chew on titles for a while. Jymis didn’t oblige. He smiled and stood to confront him, which made Keverin want to pull his dagger in defence.

“Heresy is a Church matter,” Jymis said.

“Heresy!” Keverin blurted in shock. “What heresy? If you think I’ll let you put that girl on trial you are seriously mistaken!”

Jymis’ face blanked and he made the sign of the God in the air. “Do you set your power against that of the God?”

“Dare you say so!” Keverin spat in rage.

Jymis paled and stumbled back from Keverin’s anger.

It was Marcus who saved the situation. “My lord bishop, perhaps I’m mistaken,” Marcus began smoothly. “Are you suggesting Lady Julia is guilty of practising heretical doctrine—perhaps as the Hasians do?”

“I am,” Jymis said.

“Then you are in error. I know for a fact that Lady Julia has father Gideon for her priest. Is that not so Father?”

Keverin was still glaring at Jymis, but Marcus’ words did penetrate. He turned to Gideon expecting to see the priest acknowledge the truth of Marcus’ words, but Gideon hesitated.

“I... I would gladly teach the lady, but—” sweat suddenly burst upon Gideon’s forehead and he swiped at it irritably. “But she does not embrace the true faith.”

“Ha!” Jymis crowed. “You see? The woman is a foul heretic—”

“Silence!” Keverin said cutting Jymis off. “Father Gideon is not finished. Pray go on Father.”

Gideon cringed to see the bishop so angry. He took a deep breath and shook himself free of his fear. “Julia has not embraced the faith, so much is true, but she does believe in the God. I’m very sure,” Gideon said appealing to Jymis. “I’m certain she will come to us in time my lord bishop. Allow me to teach her and she will come to the true faith, I swear it.”

“There is no certainty. Regardless of what may happen in the future, she is a heretic now.”

“Let us sit my lord bishop and discuss this calmly,” Keverin said indicating the chairs. “Hasty words avail us nothing.”

Marcus stood behind Jymis’ chair, which made him uncomfortable. That was all to the good as far as Keverin was concerned. He did not reprimand him.

Keverin clasped his hands before him. “This woman is—”

“A heretic!” Jymis cried cutting in.

“A Child,” Keverin said firmly. “Can we at least agree on that?”

Jymis pressed his lips together and nodded reluctantly.

“Good. At least we agree on something. Darius brought this child here unwillingly. It was a mistake, but a fortunate one for us.”

“Fortunate! If you think bringing a harlot into your home is fortunate—”

Keverin ground his teeth in anger. He was increasingly difficult to stomach this man’s vile accusations. Julia had given him no reason to think she was anything but chaste.

“—worse, she’s a harlot and a heretic! If her coming here was fortunate, I can’t begin to imagine what you would call unfortunate.”

Keverin could think of quite a few things that would be unfortunate and worse than unfortunate. How about a man without the gift? Yes, that would have been far worse than unfortunate. It would have been catastrophic! One thing above all he knew, without Julia the Hasians would own Athione today.

“Julia is chaste my lord Bishop,” Keverin ground out. “News of anything improper would reach me as soon as it occurred. I assure you that the girl is a noble lady in every sense of the word. As for her being a heretic, she’s no more a heretic than say... you are.”

Jymis’ eyes bugged and his colour deepened. “You accuse me—”

“That is not what I said,” Keverin said testily. “I know you to be a godly man Jymis.” He did not know anything of the sort really, but it was best to proceed as if he did. “I also know Julia is no heretic. She is willing to learn our ways from Gideon. To me that makes her a—” he hesitated racking his brain for the concept he had in mind. Then he had it. “A convert.”

Gideon saw an opening and threw himself into it. “The Hasians blaspheme daily in their insistence that Mortain is the voice of the God on Earth, but it has long been the Holy Father’s cherished wish to bring the Hasian people to the true faith. If blasphemy can be forgiven, surely a child’s ignorance can be also my lord bishop. Julia is not evil, she fights evil.”

Keverin wanted to applaud, but one look at the bishop’s face told him it would be premature. “Yes fighting,” he said bringing attention back to him. “It enrages me that I failed to protect Athione and that another had to take my place. That a woman did so, when any woman is to be protected, shames me. Nevertheless, I love Athione and her people.

“If dishonour is the price of their salvation, then so be it. Julia is nought but a child, but to me she is one thing more. She is a weapon I will cast into the faces of the sorcerers, and to the flames with my honour!”

Marcus and Gideon gasped. They were horrified, as well they might be. Marcus knew what Keverin’s honour meant to him—it was to die for in any man. To throw it away was the ultimate sin. Keverin felt sick at the thought of dishonouring himself in Marcus’s eyes—in anyone’s eyes, but it would be worse if he allowed Athione to go down to defeat because he was unwilling to make the sacrifice. He would yield himself and every one of his men to their deaths if it would save Deva. One more death made no difference, even if that one be a woman.

“The God would not want us to use witchcraft to defeat the Hasians,” Jymis said. “Evil to destroy evil? No I say! Evil begets more evil lord Keverin. Beware lest this child bewitch you.”

Keverin shook his head at the man’s obtuseness. Jymis had heard nothing he had said. As for witches, they didn’t exist. Fables for the most part, witches were old women who healed cuts or aches with potions they swore were magic, but were in fact brews made of such disgusting things as tree moss mixed with mould and other noisome things.

Darius said there was nothing magical about such potions, but that surprisingly they could be beneficial in some instances. Keverin shuddered at the thought of putting mould on a wound, and the thought of drinking anything such women concocted made him gag, but he trusted Darius’ estimation of witches. They were harmless old women eking a living by selling minor cures.

“There are no such things as witches,” Keverin said. “Both the Church and the King hold that such do not exist. Besides, all know women do n—”

“They do now!” The Bishop crowed in victory. “Against nature, she has magic. Only men are chosen to wield His power in the world. I say she is against the God.”

“Saying it doesn’t make it true. She has magic, therefore she must be a witch? That is foolish.”

“What other definition would you have me use? A witch uses potions and curses—both are magical in nature. Witches are women with unnatural talents. They are usually old, living long beyond their natural spans. No doubt they use their talents to prolong their lives—”

Keverin listened in amusement to Jymis’ definition of a witch. Many of his utterances were contradictory. Julia wasn’t old, but perhaps he was assuming that even witches had been young once.

“—against the God’s plan for this world.”

“I don’t know what the God’s plan is, and I hesitate to say you do,” Keverin said glancing at Gideon.

“The God’s plan is unknowable by his children,” Gideon agreed quickly. “Yet we are born to learn. He sends us back to discover what he wishes us to know. When we have succeeded, we will live by his side forever,” Gideon said reverently. “Life without end.”

Keverin inclined his head and circled his heart. “Such we know. Julia is no witch, but she is a mage. I believe the God guided Darius’s hand when he brought her here. Darius would never steal a woman from her home unless the God wished it.”

“I fear your foolish acceptance of this woman, lord Keverin. As for Darius, I never had much use for that man. I seriously doubt the God would choose such as he to do his will, or that he willed this woman be brought here.”

“Why? Darius was a mage. Already he was chosen by the God to wield His power. Surely it makes perfect sense to choose him again.”

A vain throbbed at the bishop’s temple and his jaw clenched tight with suppressed anger. “The barrier was placed between the worlds to prevent this kind of thing. The God sends us to learn what he wishes us to know. If he wanted that woman here, she would have been born here.”

“I disagree,” Keverin and Gideon said at the same time. Gideon seeded the question to his lord and Keverin continued. “You have just agreed the God’s plan is unknowable, yet now you propose to know his will with regard to Julia’s presence here. You can’t have it both ways my lord bishop.”

“I can and I do. We have a choice in what we do on this Earth. The God does not prevent us from making errors—it is often the only way for us to learn, but the barrier was put there to stop us interfering with other worlds.”

Keverin found himself unable to dispute Jymis’ words. He didn’t like the doubt the bishop had put in his head. Had there been another way to save Athione? He couldn’t think of one, only... No, there wasn’t one. When King Pergann was young, bringing Julia would have been unnecessary, but as soon as the queen died in child-bed a new path for Deva had been set. Who but the God knew what might have been had Queen Alyssa not died? Pergann had been a good king for Deva back then. He would have seen the need for the library. Just think, a library built twenty years ago might now be full of studying mages. The Hasians would have met their match when they tried to invade, but it hadn’t happened that way. Instead, Pergann had wasted his life and Deva’s peril was a direct result of his neglect. The library had come too late, instead of the sound of hundreds of mages studying, it echoed with emptiness. One boy only was straining to learn the unlearnable. Mathius had admitted that without the others to teach him he had little hope. He often persevered long into the night hoping for the God’s blessing upon his endeavour. So far it had not come.

“What would you have of me?” Keverin asked.

“I have already said it. This woman must be brought to trial for heresy. None but the Church may judge this matter. Not you, not the King, only the Church.”

“And I have said I deny you this. Where does that leave us?”

“You imperil your soul.”

“And you imperil your life!” Keverin shouted angrily.

“My lord!” Gideon gasped in shock.

Keverin raised a hand to quiet Gideon. “I will not be the source of your doom Jymis. The sorcerers will. You not only imperil your life, but all my people’s lives as well. The girl is needed. Without her magic it is certain Athione will fall to the sorcerers who, you will remember, truly are heretics. I cannot allow that and I won’t. The girl is under my protection as Lord Protector of the West. The only authority higher is the King and the God above him. Until I’m ordered by either one, she will remain safely here.”

“You forget one more has the power to overthrow you, Lord Keverin. I will send to the Holy Father for a ruling.” Jymis climbed to his feet. “I will pronounce anathema on you, and you will fall.”

Marcus moved in a blink, but Keverin halted him with a glare. “Hold!”

Jymis looked back at Marcus whose eyes glittered with the need to stop him from harming his lord. Marcus knew as well as Keverin did that there were more types of harm than the merely physical. If the Holy Father did rule in Jymis’ favour, the people would have little choice but to heed it. Anything else would imperil their souls.

“You would do well to look to your own soul, Marcus. This man—” Jymis said pointing at Keverin who now stood as well. “This man will lead you to ruin.”

“My lord Keverin is the best lord we could have in these times. Any who say differently are fools and worse than fools. Only a traitor would attempt to weaken Athione in time of war. Be warned lord bishop, if you attempt to pull my lord down, I will kill you.”

“That’s enough,” Keverin grated. “You will not harm this man Marcus—I order it. The bishop will be leaving now to—” he turned to Jymis. “Do you wish lodgings here?”

“No. I will stay with Father Dobry,” Jymis said and made for the door without a by your leave.

After Marcus’ words who could blame Jymis for turning down Athione’s hospitality? Dobry was a priest in East Town. He was an uncommonly intelligent man. Keverin had no second thoughts where Dobry was concerned. With luck he would see the obvious and dissuade Jymis from his recklessness.

Keverin let Jymis go and turned to Gideon who was looking unsure what to do for the best. “Escort him, Gideon. Tell two of the men to accompany you.”

“Thank you my lord, but the bishop arrived with a squad of the Red Guard.”

That was a surprise. The Red Guard rarely left Holy Isle, but it did save him needing to send an escort.

“Fine then, but you had better go.”

Gideon bowed and hurried away to catch Jymis.

“That was ill done, Marcus. I thank you for the thought behind your action, but I fear you have made matters worse.”

Marcus snorted. “Forgive me my lord, but that man is not a fool. He knows what removing The Lady would mean.”

The Lady? Marcus was beginning to sound like the men. They already looked upon Julia with awe, and Keverin had an inkling why that was. She was literally one of a kind. In their minds, and his he supposed, she was sent by the God to save them. It was a miracle they said, and who was he to deny the truth of that? It was a miracle. What could be more unlikely than a woman with the gift?

“If not a fool, then a traitor,” Keverin said troubled. “I don’t believe that. He’s a man of the God. Why would he want Athione to fall?”

“Who can say? One thing I do know, he’s trouble of the worse kind. I will challenge him for you and—”

“You will not!” Keverin said clenching his fists. “You have your orders where Jymis is concerned. Anyway, you know full well a priest cannot be challenged.” He saw rebellion crystallise into a decision in Marcus’ eyes. “And I will not have murder on my conscience,” he said cutting that avenue off before Marcus did more than think about it. “Give oath.”

“My lord!” Marcus gasped in shock.

“Give oath I say.”

“Yes my lord,” Marcus said with a sigh. He circled his heart and spoke the words. “I swear not to harm the lord bishop Jymis—”

“Nor order it,” Keverin added quickly as he saw another path to Jymis’ death.

Marcus hesitated for a long moment. “And I further swear not to order his death,” he said stiffly.

“Good,” Keverin said clapping his captain on the shoulder to soften the indignity of being ordered to give an oath. “Now then, we have some decisions to make. Jymis will do what he said he would do, of that I have no doubt. Traitor or not, we need to stop that somehow.”

“I liked my idea better.”

Keverin grinned. “It had the promise of being permanent at least. No, killing a priest is a bad business, Marcus. Besides, if I go around killing those I don’t like, how am I different from Mortain and his ilk?”

“You are the exact opposite my lord! There’s no similarity at all.”

“I thank you,” Keverin inclined his head. “But I would see it stay that way. No killing.”

“You have my oath my lord, but if I may give council?”

“I would appreciate it.”

“Write a letter—a long letter to both the King and the Holy Father. Don’t let Jymis poison them against you.”

“Good idea. I’ll send them with our best courier. Has Julia healed Ged yet?”

Marcus shook his head. “He died early this morning my lord.”

Curse them! Every candlemark that went by, more names were added to the death rolls. Men he had known for years. “His brother?”

“Healed but grieving my lord.”

“Have him up here. I think a change of surroundings might help Kinnon with that.”

Marcus nodded and turned to leave, but as he did so he stumbled slightly.

“You are injured?” Keverin said with concern.

“It’s nothing my lord, a mere scratch.”

Keverin frowned, but nodded. Marcus left to find Kinnon and Keverin sat behind his desk to pen the letters, but as he progressed he seriously wondered if the King would even read his. As far as Keverin knew, the Chancellor held no ill will toward him, but that did not mean he would help either. The Holy Father then was his only real chance to avoid disaster. Keverin made that letter the stronger of his two thrusts. He looked upon this as an attack no less important than the Hasians in the pass. What point winning the war, only to lose to internal division?

Keverin finished composing the letters and laboriously re-copied them in his best hand. He wrote deliberately and precisely to the King, but he decided to personalise the one to the Holy Father by enquiring after his health, and speaking as one friend to another. The man was quite old now and frail, but his mind was as sharp as a sword. Farran would see the implications, he was sure.

Kinnon had still not arrived by the time Keverin was finished, so he read through the letter to the King before progressing to the second one.

—and I hope this finds you in good health. Jessica was very pleased with your gift and treasures it. I am sure you will receive her thanks before long, but this is not the time for happy news my friend.

That should help to remind Farran of Athione’s friendship. Jessica and Farran had long been friends, but it couldn’t hurt to remind him. Besides, Jessica truly did enjoy his poetry. The Holy Father had been something of a scholar before ascending his throne. He still wrote when he had time, but spare time was rare for those in positions of authority, as Keverin well knew.

Farran’s little book of poems was well written. Keverin had taken the liberty of having it copied for the library. Of course the binding was plain and undecorated unlike Jessica’s copy, but at least the work could be enjoyed by those who preferred to read within the fortress. It was very popular in the women’s quarter.

Keverin scanned the pages of his letter.

—Lord bishop Jymis. He was of the opinion that I fail in my duty to the Church by sheltering her... I’m afraid he will no doubt contact you with his request. I must strongly urge you not to do this thing. Julia is our salvation, without her we are lost... We have many dead here and I commend their souls to Him...

The girl is no witch, on my honour she is not! Without her, my losses would be far greater than they are, but even with her aid I am informed of more deaths among the wounded with each candlemark that passes...

That painted a grim picture indeed, and it was exactly what Keverin wanted. The worse he made it seem, the more dire Julia’s removal would be. He did not have to work hard to make things seem dire—they could hardly be more dire!

—Darius is gone to the God. Gone from me with all my mages except Mathius and Julia...

The God sent her to me, this I believe with all my heart. Marcus advises precipitant action, but I have his oath to proceed no further with this. Jymis will no doubt inform you of a threat to his life. I swear to you this will not happen. He is safe within my fortress for as long as we are safe from the sorcerers, how long this will be I do not know. Jymis has taken up residence with Dobry in East Town...

That should work against Jymis. He was bound to report Marcus’s words in the worst possible light, but with luck, the letter would cut off that line of attack.

Julia can be an infuriating girl. She is but a child, but still her tongue can flay the hide off of Moriz!

Keverin chuckled at that part and thought the Holy Father would as well. As a priest, the Holy Father was celibate, but he had lived long enough to know what living with a woman like Julia was like. That girl was fiery, that’s what she was. Coming too close to her would be a bad mistake to make. She would burn him without the aid of magic!

The men call her THE Lady as if there could be no other. They are in awe of her and regard her presence here as a miracle. The God help me, I do too. She took a war arrow through the shoulder and didn’t cry until they pulled it out. I would have been screaming long before.

A slight exaggeration there at the end, but he wished to paint her as a brave girl who was relying on the Holy Father for protection, which wasn’t far from the truth.

Please know that I bare you all friendship and goodwill. I dare to predict that you will like Julia. With the God’s blessing, we may come through this so that you may meet her and see her innocence for yourself.

Your friend and servant,

Keverin, Lord of Athione.

That should do it. Keverin sealed both letters and impressed his seal into the hot wax. He blew over the crossed fists of Athione to cool the wax faster and stood to see what was keeping Kinnon. Marcus should have returned with him long ago. Keverin found Marcus outside the citadel, but Kinnon was nowhere to be seen.

Marcus looked grim as he reported. “I think he went over the wall my lord.”

Over the wall was a way of saying Kinnon had left his post without permission. “Kinnon’s family live in East Town do they not?”

“Yes my lord. I will visit them and—”

“No, leave them to their grief. I would speak to Galen.”

Marcus nodded and walked by his side. Keverin rounded the citadel to enter the east courtyard. There was no sign of anyone. The stamping of hooves in the stables and an occasional voice speaking to calm the beasts broke the quiet.

Keverin had lost a great many horses in the attack, but he had more than enough for his men. It was a grim fact that although the west stables were completely destroyed in the attack, he had lost more men than horses. He wished it otherwise, but at least his men wouldn’t be afoot when a charge became possible again. If it ever did.

The gates were Galen’s only responsibility. He should be at his post within the leftmost tower. Keverin entered and blinked trying to accustom his eyes to the darkness. He found Galen whittling a doll’s face for his youngest daughter.

“Have you seen Kinnon today, Galen?”

Galen gasped and shot to his feet already saluting.

“Relax man,” Keverin said but Galen remained at attention. “I’m looking for Kinnon. Have you let anyone out today?”

“Yes m’lord. I mean I let the bishop and them Pretty-Boys out a while back, but Kinnon... I ain’t seen him m’lord.”

The term Pretty-Boys was a common and disparaging name for the Church’s Red Guard. They did look pretty in their uniforms, but they were useless for real work. Even a half decent guardsman could chop them into dog meat.

“Hmmm, I need him for something. Any ideas?”

“I heard tell his little brother died, m’lord. He’s probably praying in the chapel.”

Keverin hadn’t thought of that. “Good thought,” he said and turned to leave, but stopped as an idea came to him. “Lock the gates and don’t open for anyone. Send someone to either Marcus or myself. Clear?”

“Yes m’lord, but what if them Pretty-Boys come back?”

“This is for them especially, Galen. Them and the bishop.”

“I’ll take care of it m’lord.”

“Good.”

Back outside he asked if Marcus had checked the chapel.

“I didn’t think of it, my lord,” Marcus admitted.

Keverin led the way and found that indeed Kinnon was in the chapel. Keverin told Marcus to go back to his duties; he would talk to Kinnon alone. Marcus bowed and left.

“I’m sorry to intrude Kinnon,” Keverin said as the door clicked shut behind him.

Kinnon stood. “I swapped duty with Danil m’lord—”

“That’s fine,” Keverin said and indicated they should sit. “I didn’t come about that.”

Kinnon was ill at ease speaking to his lord alone. Keverin understood that and sat first hoping to make him feel better. Kinnon sat next to him looking at the statue of the God.

“Ged was my only brother m’lord.”

“I know. I’m sorry this happened.”

Kinnon didn’t appear to have heard. “The Lady tried for more than three candlemarks to wake him from his swoon. I sat with her holding his hand, but he slipped away without waking. The Lady was so tired after we had to carry her to bed.”

Keverin squeezed his eyes shut trying not to see the scene but it was no good. He could imagine Julia working silently in the great hall with ease. He had seen her there only a few short candlemarks ago. That she had worked herself to exhaustion worried him. What if the sorcerers attacked again? He felt guilty thinking those thoughts, but someone had to. He should go to her and order that she rest.

He did nothing.

“I need you, Kinnon.”

“M’lord?”

“I’m sorry for your loss, but The Lady is in danger.”

“What danger?” Kinnon asked sharply.

Keverin calmed him with a hand on his shoulder. “Peace my friend she is safe for the moment. What I tell you must remain between us.”

“I swear to tell no one m’lord.”

“The lord bishop visited with me earlier. He accuses Julia of witchcraft and would put her on trial for heresy.”

“The Lady is no witch!” Kinnon said angrily. “She saved me. She saved all of us!”

“I know. That’s why I need you to take these letters to Devarr,” Keverin said waving the letters briefly. “This one is for the King or his Chancellor and no other. But this one is the more important of the two. I want you to give it to the Holy Father... No, give it to Patriarch Dugan. He will see it safely to the Holy Father.”

“I can do that, but so could many. If I might ask m’lord—”

“Why you?”

“Yes m’lord.”

“The reason is that I don’t trust the lord bishop.”

Kinnon burst out laughing. “All know it m’lord! I can’t blame you after what he said about The Lady.”

“I want you to go to Devarr as fast as you can, but I want you safe. I’m not saying the bishop would try to stop you, but...” Keverin shrugged leaving his fear unsaid. “The letters are vital, but I value you as I valued your brother. I don’t want you taking risks with your life. You must reach the King and the Holy Father before Jymis can poison them against me. You know what will happen if they take Julia from us.”

“That won’t happen,” Kinnon growled and accepted the letters into his keeping.

“Let us go down and find you a pair of good horses. I want you away from here as soon as possible. I expect the bishop will be sending his own letters before long.”

“I know all the trails m’lord. I’ll not take the roads.”

They made their way to the east stables and Keverin watched as two horses were brought out. Marcus had foreseen the need for supplies and arranged for them to be waiting.

Kinnon mounted up and rode out the gate with his remount on a lead rein.

“Lock her up tight,” Keverin ordered and the gates boomed shut.

Bang... clunk!

The sound echoed with finality as the locking bars drove home.

* * *

8 ~ East Town

Julia was at the top of the gate tower staring down at thousands of soldiers. They were looking up at her, but when she made no move, they attacked her friends. Mathius died and then Keverin. Udall fell protecting Jessica—Halbert and Moriz died side by side as they had lived.

This isn’t right... this didn’t happen.

“This is wrong!” Julia screamed. “It didn’t happen this way I tell you!”

Julia blinked in sudden surprise. She was at the top of the gate tower staring down at thousands of soldiers. They were looking up at her, but when she made no move they attacked her friends.

No, not again!

Julia attacked relentlessly with her magic. Bodies flew in all directions and she laughed to see it. There was blood everywhere—she was covered in it. She laughed when she saw more of the enemy coming.

“I’ll kill you all!” Julia screamed at them.

“Thou shalt not kill, Julia. It is not our place to take a life. Not even our own.”

Julia spun and backed hard against the wall. Father Preston stood on the broken steps. He was exactly how she remembered him, totally unstained by the blood that she was drenched in.

“This isn’t real!” She screamed at him.

“I know it’s hard Julia, but you will accept this in time—you will,” he said with his kindly smile.

“No... you didn’t mean this, that was before.”

“You will accept this,” Preston pointed.

Julia didn’t want to look but she couldn’t help herself. Turning she looked down and screamed...

“NOOOOO!”

Julia collapsed back to the bed and cried silently. That had been the worst one yet. God how she needed to sleep, but she was too frightened to close her eyes. She had followed Preston’s pointing finger and saw Athione burning. In the ruins all her people lay dead. Not Hasians, Devans! She stood upon the gate tower that seemed to float above the ruins and—

“Don’t think! For God’s sake don’t think about it.”

Julia kicked the covers away and padded to the chair near the window. She slumped into it and through blurring eyes watched the sentries on the North Link walking their assigned posts. It was well after midnight by her guess. The night watch would be handing over to the day watch soon. They would have a little breakfast and then be off too bed to dream of their sweethearts. How she envied them their ability to sleep. The stars were bright, the constellations...

Julia stood and pressed her cheek against the cool glass. She had never noticed that before. She snorted. What reason would she have for walking around looking at the sky at night? The shapes in the heavens were wrong, but the moon looked normal to her eyes. The face was there and everything. Was it bigger than the old one or was she imagining it?

“I have to get home before I forget what home is,” Julia whispered trying to decide if the moon was right or not. “This is not Earth right?”

That’s right miss Morton. I must say you’re doing remarkably well.

“Thank you, I do notice things when they hit me over the head with them you know.”

Julia’s imaginary voice didn’t answer that. The voice was her form tutor from school. He had taught her history for three periods a week just a few years ago. She frowned, why choose Mister Frey?

“This is not Earth, those are not my stars, and that’s not my fucking moon either!” she said harshly.

Very good Julia, but why does it look like your moon then?

Julia slumped back into the chair. She was weighed down with weariness, but she wasn’t going back to sleep. Every night it was the same—nightmares about her murdering thousands of people. Sometimes she would strike and then find it was her parents she had killed, other times it was the Hasians, but they weren’t soldiers—they were just people like any other. Tonight was the first time she had seen Athione destroyed along with her new friends. The dreams were getting worse.

“Don’t think about it,” she said angry at the way her thoughts wandered and prodded at the pain like a tongue probing a bad tooth. “What’s going on with the moon?”

Julia sat slumped in her chair thinking and watching the stars fade...

A banging sound brought Julia awake with a start. The light streaming through the window announced a new day had dawned. She must have fallen asleep after all. If she had dreamed she didn’t remember it. She was sitting in the chair and her neck ached something fierce. She hoisted herself out of it—and that was another thing. Her backside was numb. She groaned. She felt worse than when she didn’t sleep!

Bath... right now!

Julia spent an hour dozing in the tub, which was foolish of her. Being so small she could easily slip under the water. She didn’t care. She dozed and awoke to find herself wrinkled like a prune and shivering. The water had grown cold, but that was easily fixed. Rather than climb out only to refill it with hot water, she grasped her magic and gently applied her flames to the stone. It took a while for the heat to penetrate and warm the water, but it worked. With flames all around the tub but still safely confined by her magic, Julia felt like a white hunter in a cannibal’s cooking pot. It was a strange experience, and she laughed. She enjoyed it, and did it again. Her mood began to lighten and she looked forward to a new day. Just because she had bad dreams every night since the battle, didn’t mean she would tonight.

The room was full of steam when Julia doused her flames. The feeling of the magic roaring inside her was so sweet she failed to release it. Humming to herself as she washed, she revelled in the feeling that her magic imparted to her. This was the way it should be, the way it had been when she won a competition. The feeling of completeness was fleeting back then, but here was different. She didn’t have to let it go here. As long as she held onto her magic she could feel like this all the time.

Julia towelled herself dry and dressed, but finally she had to release her link or have Mathius nagging her about the dangers of using it for too long. She wasn’t using it. She was just holding it, but Mathius must be wondering what she was doing and why she hadn’t let go yet. With a sad sigh, Julia released the magic and staggered to her knees as weariness hammered her down. This was the real Julia. This was how the real Julia felt all the time, and she hated it! If it weren’t for Mathius, she could hold her magic all day and none the wiser. It was his fault that she felt like this... but he was her friend. One of the very few she now had. It was not his fault that she didn’t know how to use magic properly. Maybe when she learned more she wouldn’t feel like this.

Julia climbed tiredly to her feet. She felt worse than when she had awoken in the chair. She poured herself a large glass of wine hoping that it would help. After drinking two glasses of the deep red wine she felt a little better—more able to face the day. Her collapse had been nothing to worry about. It was just her stupidity of releasing her link so suddenly.

That’s all it was Julia was sure.

At least her shoulder felt better this morning. It was still a little stiff, but as long as she kept it in the sling she could move about free of pain. She was pleased by that. She had a lot to do today.

Julia made her way through the citadel. As she approached the sentries she nodded or gave them a quick smile. She was relieved to see that no one had noticed her tiredness. If they had they would make her go to bed. She wasn’t a child to be coddled all the time, and besides, the dreams were waiting.

Julia reached the barracks and stepped inside. Athione used three like this for her guardsmen, but this was the one she needed. She knew that certain men were to be found here—those with injuries that Jessica had deemed trivial. Julia was careful to enter quietly. She didn’t want to wake anyone. The barracks was in semi-darkness. The beds and those asleep in them were shadows within shadows. Julia took a firm hold of herself and approached the first bed.

The first man was burning with fever. His wounded shoulder was festering from days in the same dirty bandage. Julia shook her head at this fresh evidence of neglect. She knew Jessica had been wrong to send these men off without first seeing her. She quickly healed him and he didn’t even wake. The next one was easy and so was the man that followed. Julia soon fell into a rhythm. She didn’t notice until the end that there were more men in the room than when she’d started. She finished the last one and stood to stretch her aching back. All the guardsmen were awake and silently watching at her. Then she saw the crowd near the door. There were dozens of guardsmen staring at her—perhaps waiting for her to leave so that they could go to bed. They were the night watch and tired. When they realised that she had seen them, they came to attention and saluted her—right hand over heart and a small bow of the head in her direction.

Brian stepped forward. “Thank you.”

One by one the guardsmen stepped forward and did the same before leaving the barracks to go to their rest. Those she had healed whispered their thanks, but they didn’t rise. She was just as pleased they didn’t. Many of them slept nude. It was embarrassing enough to be caught in here without that. Talk about scandal! Jessica would have a cow!

Brian escorted her back to the women’s apartments. He left her at the door with more thanks and a gentlemanly bow. Julia watched him leave then allowed her shoulders to slump.

God, she needed a drink.

Julia stood before the window in her sitting room watching the comings and goings outside and occasionally taking a sip of her wine. The sky was slate grey. It promised to be cooler than days previous, but rain didn’t seem likely. Clouds were visible running before the wind, but they were too high to drop their much needed moisture on Athione. It hadn’t rained once in all the time she had been living in Athione. Mathius said the season was the driest for more than six years.

Julia frowned. Crops would be in danger if the drought continued too long, but no one seemed worried about the possibility. Keverin had hoarded many times the usual amount of grain and other supplies below the citadel. There was more than enough to see the fortress through this year and the next if necessary.

Julia scowled. Thoughts of Keverin she did not want, but they kept intruding whether she wanted them to or not—and it was not, definitely not!

Keverin had thanked her for her healing but he hadn’t spoken two civil words to her since that day. It was as if he blamed her for something, but Julia had no idea what it could be. He certainly hadn’t told her. Whenever they met in the corridors all Keverin did was bow and take his leave as fast as possible. No smile, no small talk—nothing.

“I’m not going to ask him,” Julia murmured. “He can go and soak his head in barrel of beer for all I care!”

Julia grinned at the image of Keverin doing that. Moriz had used the expression when he told her about Marcus. Moriz had realised that Marcus wouldn’t speak up for himself, so he had taken it upon himself to speak to her she remembered...

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Lady, but I need help.”

“You’re not disturbing me, Moriz,” Julia said then grinned. “Where’s Halbert? I’ve never seen you two apart before. I thought you were glued together!”

Moriz grinned sheepishly. “He’s sitting on—he’s busy with Captain Marcus, Lady.”

Sitting on Marcus? “I see. What can I do for you Moriz?”

Moriz mumbled something that sounded like the captain could soak his head in a barrel of beer if he thought old Moriz would stand by and do nothing.

Julia frowned; do nothing about what?

“It ain’t my place to ask this Lady, but Marcus has been limping around the citadel something fierce these last few days. He wouldn’t tell you of course. He feels bad about the tower. We’re all sorry about that, but he was in command that day you see?”

Julia certainly did see. Men! They were no better that children sometimes. Just because she had been hurt while Marcus was in command, he was punishing himself by not telling her that he was wounded. Stupid man! A small wound could become serious in a hurry here. Deva had nothing like antibiotics to prevent infection.

“Where is he?”

Moriz smiled in relief. “He’s in the armoury with Halbert Lady.”

“Give me your arm Moriz. You can escort me down there.”

“I would be honoured Lady!” Moriz said beaming in pride at her request.

Julia blushed in embarrassment, but she wouldn’t take back her words—not after seeing how much it meant to him. They made their way to the armoury and found Marcus examining pieces of armour. Halbert was pointing to something on one of the racks and Marcus was shaking his head. Halbert’s eyes widened when Julia walked in on Moriz’s arm, but Marcus had his back turned toward her and didn’t realise she was there.

“Excuse me Halbert, but I need to borrow Marcus for a moment.”

Marcus stiffened and turned slowly toward her. Halbert grinned and with an inclination of his head left the room. Moriz made to do the same, but Marcus glared at him and he hesitated a moment too long.

“Stand still!” Marcus roared.

Julia fought the instinctive desire to snap to attention herself. Moriz made no attempt to disobey. Before Marcus could say anything further she took matters in hand.

“I had Moriz escort me to you Marcus so that I might ask after your men. Are they all fit to do their duty now?”

“Yes lady, everyone who could has healed well.”

Julia winced at the quick stab of pain his reminder caused her. So many had died that it was hard to remember sometimes just how many she had saved. “That’s good to hear. Any still injured might fail in their duty when called upon by their lord. I am pleased there aren’t any like that,” she turned to leave. “I’ll be in the banquet hall if you need me—”

“Wait, Lady. I hesitate to ask... it’s a very slight thing you understand, but I have a wound for you to heal.” Marcus glared at Moriz to keep him silent. “It would certainly not prevent me from doing my duty, but if you have a moment?”

“Certainly. Small injuries can be quite painful I know. There’s no need to suffer when I can heal it with none the wiser. Where are you injured?”

Marcus gingerly sat on a bench. “The leg, Lady... arrow just here.” He gently touched his right thigh about three inches above the knee.

Julia frowned. The wound was in the great muscle of the thigh. It would be easy to fix—arrow wounds always were. “You should have come to me before, Marcus. You wouldn’t allow such behaviour from your men. Why should I allow it from you?”

“I’m too busy for this nonsense,” Marcus said indignant at her chiding tone. He made to stand.

“Sit still!” Julia ordered. “And take your trousers off.”

Marcus went bright red, and gave Moriz a just you wait look. Moriz rolled his eyes and grinned. Marcus grunted as he pulled the leather of his trousers down over the thick bandaging. They were tight and sweat burst upon his forehead when his struggles disturbed the wound.

Julia pulled the bandaging loose and grimaced at the smell. The wound was infected and must be very painful. Marcus pretended it was nothing of course, just as her previous patients had. She entered the healing realm and healed the wound with ease.

Marcus pulled his trousers back up so quick she hardly saw him move. “Thank you, lady,” he said with profound relief at the lack of pain.

“You don’t have to lady me all the time you know,” Julia said with a laugh. “I’m not really a noble.”

Moriz and Marcus snorted, but it was Moriz who spoke. “You be The Lady. Any be saying different will answer to me and the rest of Athione.”

Marcus nodded and both men bowed to her before Moriz escorted her to Master-crafter Deneen.

Julia shook her head at the memory. People believe what they want to believe. She had tried to tell people before that she wasn’t a noble in any sense of the word, but everyone—including Jessica—scoffed at the idea. Don’t be silly, they all said, it’s obvious by the way you move, the way you hold your head, and the way you talk that you are noble born. Julia had tried to explain about life in England, and how it was that everyone went to school and had a similar manner to hers, but the idea was alien to them. Even the guardsmen—who it seemed had claimed her as their mascot or some such thing, even they wouldn’t have it said that she was from peasant stock. All guardsmen were born of peasant families, even Senior Captain Marcus—though you would never know it to talk to him. Yet they all insisted she was noble not peasant. She had tried to tell them the truth, but they wouldn’t listen. If they wanted to treat her like a noble, she wouldn’t try to stop them. Not anymore.

Julia sighed and turned away from the window. She put her empty glass aside and wandered her rooms. She wished Deneen would hurry and finish his work. Her healing magic wasn’t needed any longer—all the injured were back on duty. Her lessons with Mathius were not enough to occupy her time. She spent most evenings with Jessica reading by firelight. Brian had his duty to perform, and Mathius had his studies. What did she have? Maybe she could walk the walls like a guardsman, or help in the kitchens. She smirked at the image of Keverin having kittens.

“No, he wouldn’t like that...” Julia’s brows lowered in discontent. “That settles it!”

Julia left her room and made her way to the west courtyard. The citadel was bustling. Invasion or no invasion the fight against dust and grime never ceased. She knew how that was from her own experience, but cleaning an eight roomed house only seemed to take forever. Cleaning Athione literally did. Men and women were mopping the floors in a line as Julia stepped out of the corridor into the west entry hall. A good idea that. Even if it did take almost two dozen people to extend the line right across the hall. They would be finished much faster. They would do it all again tomorrow of course, and every morning thereafter.

Julia watched as a couple of strong looking men lowered each of the chandeliers for the younger girls so they might clean the crystals and replace the candles. Julia hadn’t seen them do that before, but she realised why it was necessary almost immediately. The candles were burnt completely down, which was her fault. Her magic was hard to restrict to the mere trickle needed to light candles. She had wasted the wax too many times when she lit the chandeliers. She vowed to be more careful from now on. She could see that it took a lot of work to replace all those candles.

Julia continued out of the citadel and into the courtyard. How on Earth was she to climb to battlement now the towers were gone? There must be a way up there. The Founders would have built more than one way up she was sure. She glanced at the piled stone barricade then dismissed it. She had seen it before.

Julia followed the line of the wall, or rather where the wall used to be and studied her surroundings with interest. She hadn’t been all the way around the citadel before. The wreckage of the west stables had been used to build the barricade, but she could still see the remains of walls and foundations. Much of the curtain wall had been destroyed with the gate. The west stables had backed solidly against the curtain wall and had suffered the same fate because of it. Mathius had explained that when the combined might of fifty sorcerers had struck Athione, Renard’s multiple wards collapsed instantly liberating all the magic used to build them. The multi-matrix of six huge wards had contained a great deal of energy, which when released had added its own destructiveness to that of the Hasians.

Julia remembered the citadel shaking and groaning in the aftermath, it had felt like an earthquake. That was real power.

Julia took a last look at the wreckage then moved on. Whatever the sorcerers had done, it had worked marvellously from their point of view. Having such a large hole in the defences meant the legionnaires could attack with more numbers over a wider area, or they would if not for The Gap. The towers were gone now, but that didn’t matter to Keverin’s men because with no wall or battlement, the defenders no longer needed them to ascend quickly to their posts.

Julia wondered if the Hasians were waiting for reinforcements from home. That might be why they hadn’t resumed the attack. She shivered at the thought. What kind of spell were they planning to use that fifty sorcerers were not enough to accomplish it? How many new sorcerers would ride into the legion camp over the weeks ahead, and how would Keverin oppose them?

Julia scowled. Why did everything turn on what Keverin did or said? Then again, why did her thoughts keep turning to someone as ungrateful as he was? Someone who didn’t even like, or maybe worse, someone who hated her? She was sorry Kev’s friend had died to bring her here, but he had brought it on himself. When she tried to explain that to Keverin, he had become even colder toward her if that was possible.

Julia sighed. Darius sacrificed his life willingly. No one was to blame. Why couldn’t the man see? It was obvious to her and others she had spoken to that Darius knew before he cast the spell that he would die in the casting of it.

Julia ignored the smithy but stopped at the kennels. She watched as Hermund, the master of kennels, and his son fed the dogs. She winced at the barking and uproar that breakfast time caused, and wouldn’t go near the brutes. They were huge mastiffs and made her nervous with their size and evil-looking teeth, though they seemed affectionate with Hermund and his son. She wouldn’t take the chance of them not liking her. She moved on ignoring the entrance to the walled gardens. She had wandered through them before. Herbs and vegetable plots held no interest for her.

Julia finally found what she needed when she reached the north wall. Athione’s north and south facing walls weren’t truly walls at all, but were instead the sides of the pass. The east and west walls sealed themselves to the natural rock of the mountains providing unsurpassed defences. A stairway was hewn into the rock leading up to the North Link. It was a road linking east and west walls. In emergencies men could be rushed from the eastern battlement to reinforce the western one in a short time. There were two such link roads cut into the north and south walls. Both were ruler straight and wide. They were a long way up, and would be level with the west battlement if there had still been such a thing.

“More magic. I wonder if I could do that,” she mused as she climbed.

Julia’s long skirt was a nuisance for climbing, but she had learned the knack of negotiating steps in the citadel. Using both hands, she raised her skirts enough for safety and was soon at the top.

The road wasn’t as smooth as it looked from her window. It was patterned in wriggly lines running diagonally across the road before finishing abruptly at the edge. No one would slip in the rain on Athione’s roads and walls, but there was no other concession to safety. Julia stood close to the edge and looked down at the cobbles. A thrill of danger came over her, half fear, and half excitement. It was the same tingly feeling she felt on the bars. She liked the feeling, but she stepped back to safer ground when those below noticed her. There were guardsmen looking up and pointing at her. She sighed. Couldn’t she enjoy herself for one minute without people intruding?

“They have the right,” Julia whispered almost plaintively as her dream surged up again. She ruthlessly suppressed the images and tried to distract herself with the view.

The citadel was awesome from this vantage. Julia thought herself high up, and she was, but the citadel towered hundreds of feet higher still. She craned her neck upward to see the banners on the towers. They looked tiny from here. With the distance in mind, she realised they must be three times the size of her bed sheets! Above each of the citadel’s six towers, the crescent moon on black of Deva was flying proudly above Athione’s crossed fists on green circle. The towers were round. Although half of each tower was buried in the wall, Julia knew the shape was adhered to on the inside. She had lost count of the times she had climbed the stairs from ground level to women’s quarter. Round and round you climbed, until coming to a door leading to the maze-like corridors each level boasted. No two levels were the same, which would confuse the enemy in wartime, and confused her all the time.

The ground floor of the citadel had no windows for obvious reasons, but the other levels boasted large leaded windowpanes. That was still a surprise. Had the citadel been built that way, or did a previous lord succumb to decadence? Keverin would never be foolish enough to reduce the citadel’s strength by making arrow slits wider, so it must be his ancestor’s fault. No, Julia didn’t believe any of Keverin’s family would be foolish enough to change what the Founders had wrought with their sorcery. It was the Founder’s design then. They must have been confident that their magic could defend Athione to decide that a little comfort was permissible.

“Athione was never taken, so they were right.”

“Pardon, Lady, did you say something?”

Julia looked away from the citadel toward the mountain wall. A guardsman stood there unnoticed by her until now. It wasn’t surprising. The mountain had been left in its natural state. The many cracks and crevices provided shadows enough to hide an army. Intentional? She doubted it, but the guardsmen would make use of the advantage.

“I was just wondering if the citadel had ever been different to the way it is now.”

“No, Lady. The Four are the same this day as they were on the first day. The south stable is new though—only five hundred years old or so. Lord Kevlarin built bigger grain stores thirty years ago or thereabouts, and Lord Keverin did it again six years ago. He doubled what was there already. Everyone says we have enough food for years now. Three years if we’re careful.”

“Keverin knew the Hasians would come.”

The guardsmen nodded enthusiastically. “The Lord is a good lord—the best!”

Julia smiled and moved on. Whether Keverin was the best was debatable. No it wasn’t, she admitted reluctantly. It was her own dislike talking. Who was she to judge a good lord from a bad one? She had only met two! Now that Julia knew what to look for, she found more guardsmen spaced at regular intervals along the North Link. There were enough of them to form a chain for messages to the east battlement. It seemed likely the arrangement was an old one—a standard duty post. Maybe she should tell Marcus that the men would be more use in the west courtyard. At least they would be for the next few weeks.

Better not.

Julia reached the east wall and moved along it until she stood over the gates. The towers brought her memories of the battle surging back, but it was the dream not the memory she wished she could forget. It could so easily have been different. It was just dumb luck that she had killed the Hasians and not her friends. Guilt was a powerful force, and Julia had a lot to feel guilty about. She didn’t know how many people she killed that day, but the first man was the only one she could honestly say that she felt no guilt for. She had killed him in self-defence. If only she had known how to make a ward. Julia shook her sadly. Wishing never came to anything. That she was defending others should make her feel better, but it didn’t. The dreams punished her at night, and the memory of what she had done punished her during the day. The wine dulled it though. She could live with it—she had no choice but to live with it.

Julia gazed east between two Merlons. The crenels that allowed a man to shoot his bow at an enemy came no higher than her chest, but she still had difficulty seeing. The sidewalls of the Merlons were tapered toward each other to reduce the angle for enemy missiles while maximising it for the defenders. Standing at the point of a stone V, even one as large as this, meant her view was restricted. She moved to another crenel and then another trying to see the town. East Town wasn’t far away. She could walk the distance in under an hour, or a candlemark she should say—why couldn’t she remember that? It was nestled in the valley at a point where the foothills broadened and flattened out. It was surrounded by fields of crops and grazing sheep. The town didn’t have proper walls, but she was spoilt by Athione’s grandeur. What East Town did have was a grassy ditch surrounding it, which was kept clear of buildings. The waist high wall a few paces inside the ditch was more of a boundary marker than a true defensive position. Even so, it would provide something to hide behind if attacked by brigands.

“No brigand would be stupid enough.”

“You would be surprised, Lady,” a nearby guardsman said. “When Kevlarin was lord, we had trouble with Malcor.”

“Malcor is one of the Four isn’t it?” Julia asked and the guardsman nodded. “Well then, they can’t be brigands—can they?”

“Not now, but years ago there was trouble. Lord Malcor tried to take Lord Padrig’s land. You do know that Lady Jessica is the daughter of the old Lord Padrig?

“She told me,” Julia said.

“He’s dead now of course. Kevlarin went to help Lady Jessica’s father throw back the Malcorans. He won when The Lord killed Lord Malcor.”

“You mean Kevlarin killed the old Lord Malcor?” Julia said with her mind suddenly full of new names and confusion.

The guardsman shook his head. “That’s what we told the new Lord Malcor, but Lord Keverin was the one to slay him. Kevlarin took the blame to save his son from challenge—not that Keverin needed saving. Anyway, the new Lord Malcor challenged Kevlarin for killing his pa. Kevlarin accepted and drained him on the spot!”

Two Lords of Malcor dead just like that? Deva was harsher than she had thought. “What about brigands and East Town?” Julia asked trying to get back to the original question.

“Lord Athlone—he’s Lord Malcor now. He raided East Town and did some real damage before we ran him off. He’s always making trouble, but nothing as bad as that raid before or since.”

Julia could hardly blame Athlone for wanting revenge on the murderers of his father and older brother. Still, she trusted Jessica and Jessica didn’t like Athlone at all. If Jessica said Athlone was bad news, then that was good enough for her.

Julia descended one of the gate towers and surprised a group of guardsmen lounging there. They were betting on a race between two rather large spiders. The track was composed of two scabbards lying parallel to each other, but neither spider seemed close to winning. Both were more interested in trying to escape than racing. When the guardsmen saw Julia they scrambled to their feet looking shamefaced. They were shifting from foot to foot like schoolboys caught playing truant. Julia managed not to laugh, but it was hard. She noticed that Alvin was with them.

“How’s the head, any headaches or dizzy spells?”

“No, Lady. When you fix something, it stays fixed,” Alvin said with no doubts.

The other guardsmen nodded and murmured similar things, but Julia wasn’t so sure. It cost her nothing to ask about recurring problems when she saw a former patient, and it might cost a life if she didn’t. She had some idea of magic’s limitations now, but only through trial and error. Mathius had alluded to problems that hadn’t been solved by magic, but she didn’t know whether that was a matter of choice or necessity.

“Well, I thought I would ask just in case.”

“Thank you Lady, but I’m fine now,” Alvin said with a slight bow.

As Julia made to walk on, all the guardsmen produced Alvin’s little bow. It was as if they were tied together. They bowed perfectly in synch with each other.

“You’ve been practising!” She said joking, but Alvin and the others nodded in agreement.

“Marcus showed us how the Lord does it.”

Julia didn’t know whether to be angry or amused, but this Lady Julia business was getting out of hand! She looked at their earnest faces and couldn’t spoil it for them.

“Well, you do it very well.”

Julia left the tower as quickly as she could without insulting her friends. She was glad to get away from their misplaced adoration.

The bronze clad gates were locked, but the gatekeeper was nearby. Julia knew he must be the one to see because he wore a guardsman’s armour but his sash didn’t have a scabbard thrust through it. Gatekeepers didn’t need swords. There were plenty of guardsmen armed to the teeth and ready for mayhem. All he needed was strong arms and a helper.

Galen had both.

“Open the gate for me would you?” Julia asked.

Galen’s eyes widened when he realised who was asking, but he hesitated. “The Lord said to lock her up tight, Lady. Did he say?”

“Your Lord didn’t say anything about the gates. I’m the one asking. I want to visit East Town for a few hou—candlemarks.”

“I can’t open her up without his say, Lady.”

Keverin, Keverin, bloody Keverin! Julia was sick of wandering around bored out of her mind every day or sitting in her room staring at the fire. It was too hot for a fire, but she had lit it to give her something else to stare at other than her four walls. She wanted out of here for a few hours!

“Please listen,” Julia said as patiently as she could. “I know you have orders to follow, but if you don’t open it for me, I’ll try with my magic. I’ll try not to break anything, but I can’t be sure you’ll still have a gate when I’m done.”

She felt sorry for Galen, but everyone treated her like a child that would break unless handled with care. She felt like a prisoner in Keverin’s personal jail!

“I’ll do it for you, Lady, but the Lord will be angry. If he asks... ?” Galen said almost pleading with her.

“I’ll tell him that I made you do it and that you wouldn’t open until I threatened you with magic. Will that be all right?”

“Thank you!” Galen said in relief. “That’s really good of you, Lady.”

Not really, Julia thought miserably. Galen was thanking her for getting him out of trouble that she herself was dropping him into. She watched the gate being opened, until another distraction took her attention. Alvin and the others had bundled out of the tower when they heard the well known sound of the gates rumbling open. All eight of them came toward her with determination on their faces.

“No,” she said simply.

“But!”

“You are not coming with me,” Julia said. It was time to put her foot down. Everyone was mothering her. It was intolerable!

“...do we say?”

“...the lord—”

“He won’t like it that is certain—”

“I don’t care what your Lord likes or doesn’t like.” Julia interrupted. “I’m not his prisoner or his Lady. He can’t keep me here if I want to leave for a few candlemarks. Do you dispute me?”

“No lady!”

“Not I!”

“But he will...”

The guardsmen subsided unsure what to do or say to next to change Julia’s mind, all except Alvin. He stepped forward ready to argue, and although he was younger than the others, they allowed him to take the lead.

“I don’t need an escort,” Julia said before he could start.

Alvin shook his head in determination. “I will escort you, Lady.”

“I don’t need an escort Alvin, you know that.”

“You are The Lady. You need an escort.”

The guardsmen rumbled their agreement, but each man thought he should escort Julia. Alvin was younger than Julia, but the way he looked at her made her feel the young one.

“I have magic. Why do I need an escort as well?”

Julia thought that she might win that way. No woman before her had the gift, but because she did, she could protect herself better than a man with a sword could. Alvin frowned, and Julia was just congratulating herself when he defeated her.

“Magic has nothing to do with it, Lady. It would be dishonourable to let you go without an escort. Letting any noble lady go without escort would be the same.”

“The boy’s right.”

“Yup! Nothing wrong with his head.”

Julia groaned. She heard the agreement from the others only absently, but they backed up her thoughts. Trying to separate a man from what he thought was his honour bound duty would be futile.

“All right Alvin you win,” Julia said with a put upon sigh. “But why you and not Kedric?” It was a petty revenge—trying to cut him out of the trip, but he deserved it for lumbering her with an unwanted escort.

Alvin grinned. “I thought you knew, Lady. I was born in East Town. All my family are there. Besides, I thought you might like a tour.”

The Guardsmen laughed and slapped Alvin on the back for a well run campaign. Julia scowled, but the good cheer infected her and she laughed along with them.

“Come along then,” Julia said to Alvin as she walked out the gate.

Julia was enjoying her new won freedom. East Town was prosperous and the people were happy. She walked with Alvin by her side looking at the stalls in the market place. She had no money, and didn’t know what she could do to earn some, but her lack of funds didn’t spoil the pleasure of seeing new things.

Julia held a glass figure up to the sun and stared mesmerised as the light was shattered into blinding sparkles. The figure was of a woman with arms raised as if about to fly away. Her hair streamed back behind her, and her green cloak billowed as if the wind had just sprung up. The cloak was the most amazing part. How had the artisan managed the colour? And what about the fragility of such thin glass? The woman herself could have been anyone. The features were vague with just the barest hint of femininity in her bodily features, but that enhanced its beauty by drawing Julia’s eyes to the piece as a whole rather than to one portion of it.

“Do you like it, Lady?” The merchant said hoping for a sale.

“It’s amazing work. How do they make the green?” Julia asked fascinated by the sparkles of green light streaming through the thin glass.

The merchant’s name was Keef. He was a stocky man and wore a dark coat straining at his girth. He was clean shaven and his hair had begun to thin. His constant smile had left lines shouting his good humour to all who saw him.

“That’s a secret Lady, but I—”

“This is The Lady,” Alvin stressed.

Julia frowned at Alvin. Why did he have to do that? Now the man was afraid of her. The merchant was no longer smiling, but he surprised her by glaring at the guardsman not her.

“As I was about to say, Lady,” Keef said with a last glare at Alvin. “It’s a secret, but I doubt you will try competing against me in glass. The artisans make it the usual way with fine sand, sea shells, and ash from the very best wood, but what they do then is the secret.” Keef leaned forward and spoke like a conspirator. “You know the green stuff that appears when copper weathers?”

Oxide? “I know what you mean. So they use that for green.”

“I don’t know the how but I know the what—if you follow me?” Keef said with a wink.

Julia nodded. The artisans used copper oxide to tint the glass green. She wondered how they had first found out about the colours. Maybe a batch of glass had become contaminated and they found the secret that way.

“What about the black there?” Julia said pointing at a robed man obviously a sorcerer.

Keef didn’t intend to tell Julia all his secrets, but he shrugged and whispered. “Powdered ochre produces black, Lady.”

Julia placed the figurine carefully in the centre of the table. She did not want to be responsible for breaking such a beautiful thing. She frowned as her thoughts darkened. When she left this world would she only be known for the destruction she caused?

“Thank you for showing me these, Keef. They’re all wonderful, but I can’t buy.”

“It’s a pleasure, Lady. Not many do buy these days. Times are hard everywhere.”

“How do you live then?”

Keef was surprised but pleased with her concern. “I have more money than I could ever spend, but I enjoy the work. I’ll not give it up—no matter that my wife wishes me to. How would my artisan friends sell their work without me?”

Julia shook her head grinning. Keef said he hadn’t sold any figures for a long time, but then he turned about and said more or less the opposite. “Who was the model for the woman in green?”

Alvin coughed and smirked, but Julia didn’t understand and looked to the merchant to explain.

“Ah I don’t rightly... well that is... She’s the Lady of Dragons.”

The Lady of Dragons? That sounded like a legend, like Arthur and the round table. Julia asked Alvin to tell her what it was about.

“No one knows what the Lady looked like, so they’re always like this,” Alvin said pointing at the figurine. “The Lady of Dragons is an old story, Lady. It’s said that a daughter of the Founders ran away from a marriage she didn’t want. She threw herself from a high mountain somewhere, but a huge black Dragon saw her fall and took her away. It’s said she rides him still and will live forever where she is happy as the Lady of Dragons.”

That sounded interesting. Julia decided to check the library for a book about the Lady of Dragons when they returned to Athione. She liked happy endings.

Julia moved on and enjoyed the crowds. No one knew her. She liked being able to browse without people bowing at her all the time. Having Alvin dogging her heels raised a few eyebrows, but guardsmen were a common enough sight. They dismissed him and continued about their business.

Julia glanced at the next stall and moved on. She had no real interest in weapons. Many of the stalls were dedicated to mundane things such as fruit and vegetables. Some of the fruits were unfamiliar, others looked darn bizarre. Apples, or what Julia thought might be apples, were a bluish green in colour. There were no oranges as she was used to, but the plums looked about right. Grapes did to, but the peaches weren’t peaches. They were Pella fruit and tasted like honey and pears in one.

Julia examined a selection of hand mirrors and frowned at the size. They were little bigger than her hand. “Alvin?”

“Yes Lady?”

“Is ten gold a lot of money?” she asked noting the indignant look on the merchant woman’s face.

Alvin nodded. “Yes Lady, but the price is right. I earn eighteen gold in a year. The Lord is very generous. Others pay their guardsmen ten gold or less in a year.”

Half a year’s wages for a hand mirror was incredible. Julia hadn’t thought to ask Keef the price of his figurines, but on this scale they must be worth forty gold or more!

“That makes no sense. No one could afford these,” Julia said waving a hand at the mirrors and jewellery arrayed before her.

“If you haven’t the money, move on! I’m not a charity you know,” the merchant said scowling.

Julia raised an eyebrow in amusement and the woman’s face darkened. The merchant wouldn’t sell any of her wares at the prices she was charging. Julia could understand paying good money for quality, but there were limits.

Mirrors were made with silver—at least Julia thought that was right. Silver would cost a like amount of silver to obtain, and the work involved would cost more, but surely the mirror was worth no more than a gold or two at most. Julia walked away frowning in puzzlement. Supply and demand set prices. With no demand for expensive mirrors and figurines, prices should tumble but they hadn’t. The only thing that made sense to her was that there was a demand—just not here.

“Where would you go to sell Keef’s figures if you were he?”

Alvin chuckled. “You found him out. I knew you would. Keef has friends all over Waipara. Those that live in Japura sell his stuff to the rich princes there. The ones in Tanjung sell to the noble houses. No one goes through our pass to trade with the Protectorate, but ships from Japura do go there.”

“Then why is he trying to sell them here?”

“He ain’t selling any, Lady. He’s telling the truth about that, but he likes the work.”

Julia nodded. Keef had said his consort wanted him to give it up, but she had thought that Keef meant his being a merchant. Keef must have meant working on the stall in the market place. He probably had employees for his other concerns.

“What about the woman with the mirrors then, and what about the others?”

“Taxes are bad everywhere, Lady. The Lord keeps taxes down in his towns and villages, but the King still demands four coppers in ten from his lords. The Lord pays the difference out of his own treasure, but that ain’t helping trade none.”

No, it wouldn’t. The people were prosperous on Keverin’s lands, but prices were inflated because of greedy merchants exporting their goods. Keverin’s people could not buy, which in turn meant that Keverin’s coffers were dwindling. How long could he subsidise his people’s taxes? Certainly not forever.

Julia frowned in thought. Institute a special tariff on certain exports, and trading outside of the kingdom would be less attractive to the merchants. More would stay within the borders. The King would have to institute it though, and from what Julia had seen it was unlikely to happen soon.

Assuming Pergann did the right thing, trade within the kingdom would resume albeit at a lower level, but the merchants might also pack up and leave. A tariff was no good on its own, Julia decided. A tax cut was also needed to make the merchants want to stay. Prices would fall as external demand dropped, and then level off when people in Deva began buying again. Exports would be lower over all, but the Devan people would be much better off. The traders would howl of course, but they would come around. For one thing, shipping costs would be removed. They would surely see that as an advantage.

“We should be getting back, Lady. It’s time for the noon meal.”

Julia nodded and they made their way back toward Athione. The walk was quite long, but still pleasant. The day was cooler than previous days, just as she had predicted that morning. Maybe she had a future as a meteorologist.

Julia invoked her mage-sight and scanned the sky for something interesting. The swirling energy patterns were there as they were everywhere in the healing realm. She did not mess with them just in case she did something wrong. Alvin was a tower of roiling energy at her side, but the fortress was not here, and neither was the town. Nothing but people and swirling energy was visible in this place, but for the first time she wondered what it was. Could it be the air, or was it the energy of the sun? She didn’t know the answer—she didn’t know the answer to most of the questions she had in her head, but she was learning. Maybe it was magic floating about—unattached so to speak. Julia tried to grab a strand as it came toward her, but she felt nothing and it floated on by. It wasn’t magic, she decided. It acted like the current in a river. Maybe it really was only air. She let her vision return to normal to find they were approaching the gates.

“Ho the gate!” Alvin called.

“Who comes?”

“Alvin, guardsman escorting the Lady Julia.”

Eeeeeek! The creaking of the gate made Julia jump, and Alvin laughed.

“I hope you find your punishment funny, guardsman,” Keverin said standing in the open gate. His face was stone, but the look he gave Julia burned into her. He turned back to Alvin. “Report to Marcus for punishment.”

Alvin’s face turned sickly. He saluted then trotted off without a word.

Keverin stepped back to let Julia inside. She noted the gatekeeper was a different man. It looked as if she had been naughty again. She had dropped Galen into hot water as well.

“Was that really necessary lord Keverin?” Julia said coldly furious for her friend’s mistreatment.

Booom... clunk! The gate slammed shut and the locking bars drove home sealing the fortress once again.

Keverin waited for quiet before he spoke. “Alvin will be punished for leaving the fortress without permission as well as being absent from his post, because you failed to ask my leave to go to town. Don’t think for a moment that I blame the boy for what I know is your fault. Alvin is young. He’s not the first man to be swayed in the wrong direction by a pretty face.”

Julia narrowed her eyes. She was rigid with anger. “I am not one of your guardsmen, Lord Keverin. If I want to visit a market, I will!”

“You will not!” Keverin shouted, and glared when the guardsmen stopped to stare. “Back to your duties!”

“How will you stop me? Will you clap me in irons?” she hissed ignoring Keverin’s confused expression, “Chain me to a wall will you? Bring me out like a sword to do your killing for you?” Before he could answer, she overrode him with a voice getting louder with anger by the minute. “You’ve had your say, now you will hear me! I forced Galen to open the gate after he told me your orders, and I dragged Alvin along to show me his hometown. If you want to flex your muscles and punish someone—try me!” she finished with her eyes flashing.

Keverin was cold. “You are acting like the child I know you to be. I do not punish wilful children—I teach them the lesson.”

Julia didn’t know what he meant and was worried though she tried not to show it. Keverin turned to a guardsman who ran off toward the citadel. A moment later Moriz and Halbert appeared and reported to Keverin.

Oh no! He wouldn’t do that.

He did.

Keverin turned back to Julia after receiving the guardsmen’s salutes. “Lady, meet your new keepers. This is Moriz, and this—”

“I already know Moriz and Halbert. Unlike you they are friends of mine. If you think I’m letting them into my rooms, friends or not, you can think again!”

“They will stand guard at your door day and night,” Keverin said stiffly. “Neither you nor they have permission to leave the fortress without seeing me. At no time will you attempt to leave them behind—if you do, I will assign the entire guard!” he barked the last word in his anger.

He would too.

Keverin was more than angry. Julia could see it in his clenching fists. Apart from that telltale sign he looked as if he was doing nothing but discussing the weather. If Julia was any judge, Moriz and Halbert were embarrassed at the conditions their lord was imposing, and it was a major imposition. Women were protected in Deva, but more than that they were respected. Julia saw very little respect in holding her prisoner.

“Have you quite finished Lord Keverin?” Julia said sweetly.

“They will follow you everywhere you go—everywhere!” Keverin said and spun on his heel. He stalked away without a by your leave.

Julia pressed her lips together to stop herself from shouting after him. That—that man, was impossible!

* * *

Interlude II

Jihan stood in the clearing watching the stars fade. He shaded his eyes as the sun rose for a new day. He hadn’t come here to practise with his bow as he usually did. He was here to escape the traitor. In his younger days, around eleven or twelve years old, Athlone had made Jihan’s life a misery by instructing the guardsmen to beat his training into him. Taking a horse and riding the border for a few candlemarks had allowed him some peace. Jihan was a man now and the training had left its marks on his body, but worse were the scars left on his soul. He never spoke, unless asked a question by someone with power over him. He would prowl about the fortress silently, and knew the guardsmen had become wary of him. On two memorable occasions, he had nearly killed a man when pushed beyond caring.

When Abarsis informed Athlone that the first assault on Athione had failed, Jihan had silently cheered at the news. But now the sorcerer had made a deal with Athlone to allow passage of a second legion through the northern border. The clans had been paid a huge sum of gold to allow the legion to cross the plains. Jihan was more inclined to believe that the money was to salve wounded pride than to buy safe passage. The clans were a nomadic people and gold meant little to them. They followed the great bison herds throughout the year as the beasts moved to fresh pastures. They were strong warrior’s and proud. They even trained their woman to fight alongside the men. They were ferocious fighters, but they weren’t stupid enough to anger the sorcerers.

Jihan turned and scowled back toward the fortress. How he wished he could escape. He had often fantasised about leaving Malcor for good on these early morning rides. With his training, he thought he could probably escape. He was an excellent fighter both unarmed and with weapons. What he lacked was a definite plan and the courage to defy his father. Devarr itself was out. Athlone owned the Chancellor, and the King was useless. He had thought to go to Japura at one time, but he had decided against it. He would be even more of an outcast there than he was here.

Maybe I should just ride away.

He had his sword, dagger, and bow. What else did he need? He could sleep rough and hunt for food. Why was it so hard to ride away? Maybe he liked the pain of living his life alone amongst so many people. If that was the case he would never escape. No! He wouldn’t accept that. Looking back the way he came, Jihan saw guardsmen approaching. He had only been gone a few candlemarks! Why couldn’t they leave him alone? He dismounted and waited for them to come to him rather than making it easy for them. There were three of them led by Luther.

As soon as they dismounted, Luther laughed. “Yer to come back.”

Jihan watched the loathsome man walk insolently toward him, and he made a decision—an irrevocable decision. This was the last day he would put up with their treatment of him.

“I’ll come back in a while Luther.”

“Your da said not to take no for an answer, boy. Get on your horse.”

Jihan stood deceptively relaxed with a hand close to his dagger. “You forget yourself Luther.”

“I ain’t forgot nothin’,” Luther growled and made a grab for him.

Jihan stepped clear and the sergeant stumbled to one knee. Luther’s two cronies watched impassively as their sergeant pulled a dagger.

“I’m gonna make you eat this boy.”

Jihan smiled and drew his sword. “You had better drop the knife Luther. Either that, or draw your sword. You are not taking me back, not this time.”

Luther drew his sword, but so did his friends. They spread out and attacked.

Calmly and without rush, Jihan dove to the side. Rolling back to his feet, he thrust and punched through cheap armour. The man grunted and fell sliding free of his sword. Luther was still determined to fight, but the other man had realised that the fun was over. He backed off and tried to reach his horse. Jihan couldn’t allow that. He ignored Luther to run after the cowardly guardsman.

“Yahhhh!” Jihan shouted to get his attention.

The guardsman turned to defend, and managed to parry twice before making the mistake of going high as Jihan repeated his low stroke. Jihan took the man in the groin then finished him with a strike that neatly decapitated him. Jihan felt rather than saw Luther strike. He fell face down and rolled completely on the defensive. On one knee he parried a blow meant to take his head, before managing to get back onto his feet. Going on the offensive again he struck to take Luther in the thigh, but the guardsman parried, and pain erupted in Jihan’s leg as it was sliced open. Jihan gasped in shock. He hadn’t seen it coming. Luther was grinning openly now that he had the upper hand. He pressed home the advantage and forced Jihan back, and back again.

Jihan desperately retreated trying to protect his bad leg, but Luther went for it again. Jihan tried to pull it back to safety, and stumbled. Lucky he did as Luther’s blade missed the sudden unplanned move and left him open. Jihan lunged awkwardly from his prone position to skewer Luther through the belly.

“AEiii!” Luther screamed and fell to his knee’s trying to stop his insides slopping out.

“Why did you push me? Why!” Jihan shouted.

Luther was too busy trying to gather up his guts to answer him.

Jihan limped forward with his dagger drawn. “Do you want the grace Luther?”

Luther couldn’t answer—the pain was too much. He nodded jerkily. Jihan limped forward and sent Luther to the God with a quick dagger thrust to the back of the neck and into the brain.

“May the God watch over, and comfort you at journey’s end,” Jihan said wiping the dagger on Luther’s leg.

Jihan limped over to the other guardsmen but both men were dead. He cut the sleeve from a shirt and used it to bind the wound in his leg. It was deep and had bled a good deal, but he could still use it. He thanked the God that Luther’s cut hadn’t been deeper and taken it. He didn’t have time to bury the bodies decently so he quickly cleaned his sword and mounted. Walking Jezy toward one of the other horses, he leaned forward to catch up its reins. Jihan rode from the scene of his first true battle.

Jihan rode hard for the first few candlemarks, and then stopped to change mounts. He knew the traitor would send guardsmen after him, but what he didn’t know was how many and what their orders would be. If their orders were not to harm him, he could easily escape just by waving his sword and threatening them. It was far more likely that they were ordered to stop him. That was trickier. A good bowman could drop a man at a hundred and fifty yards, sometimes more if the wind was right. He had to maintain a good lead and stay out of direct line of sight—hence the woods. The trees here were not numerous, but they did provide enough cover to prevent a bowman from hitting him in the back. Jihan decided against trying to ambush his pursuers. It could so easily go wrong. He would only stop and fight if he had no other option. As he rode through the woods, he felt optimistic about his chances of avoiding that.

Candlemarks later, Jihan stopped briefly at the edge of the forest and scanned for tracks on the highroad. It hadn’t been used recently and that worried Jihan more than a little. He would much prefer his enemies to be in front rather than behind. Making a decision, Jihan crossed the road and started riding cross-country. Athione was a long ride from Malcor by road. It would take him even longer cross-country, but he couldn’t take the chance of being caught in the open. The area he travelling through was unpopulated and it was obvious why. It comprised of rocky hills interspersed with scrub. Water would be scarce, and he had just the one water bag. As the day eased into evening, Jihan began looking for a place to stop. It was a risk to be sure, but he couldn’t afford to lame the horses. He chose a rocky hill in the distance and reached it just as true night fell.

Jihan unsaddled Jezy and his remount. Both horses were happy enough for now munching on the scrub. They would need water tomorrow at the latest, but they could manage for now on the little he gave them. He shook the water bag. It was three quarters full. He didn’t drink.

Settling down to watch his back trail, Jihan tried not to dwell on the men he had killed, but it was hard. He had ridden against brigands twice before. The first time, the fight was over before he could even draw his sword. The second time, he had fought and wounded a man, but he couldn’t kill him. Jihan had disarmed him easily and he was little more than a boy. Athlone had made him watch the hanging. He could still see the look of horror on the boy’s face as they brought out the rope. Hanging was a bad way to die.

Jihan didn’t regret Luther’s death. The sergeant had more than deserved it for his treatment of Jihan and others in the fortress. Jihan’s first real run in with Luther had been over his treatment of one of the serving girls. Lorena was a quiet girl. Some said she was a little soft in the head, but Jihan didn’t know if that was true. She rarely spoke to anyone. She did her work and kept out of the way—a good idea Jihan had always thought and one he tried to emulate. Capturing his father’s notice had always been something to avoid in Jihan’s experience. Lorena had somehow caught Luther’s fancy, but Lorena either didn’t notice or didn’t want to. Either way, Jihan had caught Luther trying to lift the terrified girl’s skirts in an out of the way corridor of the fortress one night. It had been a pleasure to beat Luther within an inch of his life for that. Luther of course had transferred his obsession from Lorena to Jihan and had made it his duty to hound him through the fortress and elsewhere whenever he could get away with it. He had never allowed himself to be caught alone with Jihan again and always brought some friends along. Jihan knew that he should have killed Luther all those years ago. It would have saved him a lot of grief. It was a mistake that he would never make again. Mercy and honour went hand in hand, but so did justice. Luther’s death was justice. Jihan was certain Lorena would agree.

It was the cowardly guardsman in the clearing that troubled Jihan. If he hadn’t killed the man the hunters would have found him immediately. He simply had to kill him, or ride back to Malcor to receive his punishment. It was cold comfort that he’d given the man a chance to fight. Jihan shifted and glanced upward. There was only a sliver of moon tonight, but his eyes were well accustomed to the dark. The night was still. If the hunters were out there he could not see them. Jihan found himself nodding off. He tried to force himself awake by continually changing his focus.

It didn’t work.

Jihan awoke when Jezy lipped his face. “Fugghh! Your breath stinks!”

Then he remembered and cursed himself for a fool. It was after dawn! He guessed the sun had been up at least a candlemark. Jihan quickly saddled the horses and remounted. It was pure idiocy to sleep when being hunted, but he’d been lucky. Constantly looking back as he rode, he saw no sign of pursuit. He rode for two or three candlemarks before stopping and giving both horses water. They were clearly not happy with the amount. The closest well was at a small village called Brai. It would take him the rest of the day to get there. Taking a sip to tide him over until midday, Jihan mounted his spare horse and continued on.

The day progressed with Jihan continually scanning the horizon all round. He was completely alone, but he didn’t trust that. He kept looking—especially behind. The rocky hills became less frequent as he progressed. They started petering out as midday arrived. Open land was good and bad for Jihan’s nerves. Good, in that he could see for a league or more. Bad, in that his pursuers would see him just as easily. He kept his eyes moving constantly searching for pursuit but there was nothing in sight. Where were they? They might have ridden by in the night, or even be on the wrong track, but he couldn’t take the chance.

As the light faded toward evening, Jihan slowed his progress even more so as to enter the village at night. He dismounted and approached the first houses on foot. He walked quietly, ready to fight if need be, but everything was quiet—too quiet. He paused and tried to penetrate the night, but the darkness was complete. Most of the houses had their shutters closed and the little light leaking through the cracks didn’t help. He listened, but couldn’t... no wait. He could hear something. There was singing and laughter coming from ahead.

Jihan relaxed a little. It didn’t mean he was out of danger, but it was a good sign. It was unlikely that the villagers would be singing so gaily if the traitor’s cronies were here. Jihan listened and grinned at what he heard. It was an old drinking song. The lyrics were being badly mangled by someone deep in his cups.

Jihan moved forward and stopped again at the edge of the square. The horses had scented the water and were eager to drink. He held them back to scan the open space. To reach the well and the horse trough, he had to walk a hundred yards in the open. The well was in the exact centre of the village and the square. The light was a little better here away from the shadows of the narrow streets. Why did he hesitate? Everything looked peaceful, yet Jihan felt... uneasy. He retrieved his bow and hung his quiver over his shoulder. Better to feel a fool than be unarmed when he needed his bow.

Jihan walked the horses the last few hundred yards to the well with an itch between his shoulder blades. Something was wrong—he could feel it. Both horses eagerly dipped their heads to drink from the water trough while he drew fresh water from the well. He kept his bow close to hand.

Jihan glanced around at the lighted windows trying to imagine the families sitting down to dinner. He shook the thought away. He was hungry enough without tormenting himself. The inn was to his left—the villagers were still enjoying the drunken sot’s bawdy song. After drinking, Jihan filled his water bag all the while wishing he had two of them. If he survived this journey, he would never ride anywhere with only one again. He drank deeply and topped the water bag off.

Thock!

Jihan fell flat behind the trough. An arrow was quivering from the well handle. He stared at it trying not to imagine what could have happened had he still been standing there.

“That was just a warning boy!” A voice called out of the darkness. “Your pa wants ye back. I don’t want to kill ye lad, but I will if ye don’t drop that bow!”

Jihan searched the darkness. The voice was coming from a small house across the way. It seemed the same as the other houses except the shutters were dark. Not one beam of light came from there.

“Are you going to kill me in the middle of the village? I don’t think the folk here will approve!” Jihan shouted, and scooted along to a better position behind the trough.

The singer and his audience within the inn fell silent.

“You should know better than that lad! They won’t get involved for the likes of you!”

The voice was unfamiliar but Jihan rarely talked to Athlone’s cronies. He rarely spoke to anyone but his father, and only to him when he absolutely had to. Crawling to the other end of the trough, Jihan peered around the corner.

Thock!

Jihan ducked back. The arrow hadn’t been intended to hit him. He would be dead if it had been. He frowned at the shaft where it stood up from the trough. The angle of the shaft was different. Sighting along the arrow, Jihan found an alley beside the darkened house. He wished he had a clan bow here. He grimaced. While he was wishing, he should wish for a clansman to use it for him! His longbow could not be used from a kneeling position, but the clans used a different design—one not used anywhere else as far as he knew.

Jihan bit his lip. Should he take the chance or not? He made his decision and knocked an arrow to the string. He rose and fired in one movement.

Thunk!

“Ughh!”

Diving down to avoid any return, Jihan was grimly satisfied to hear the cry of pain. That was one less at least. He knew there were at least two, but how many more than that he couldn’t know until they loosed at him. It would be too late then.

“Pssst!”

Jihan glanced around for the source of the noise. Next to the inn on the ground near the wall he could see an indistinct face—a boy of perhaps fifteen years if he was any judge.

“Look to your left... no your other left dim wit! See him, on the roof?”

Yes, dim wit your other left.

Jihan shook his head. He turned from the left and looked up and to the right. He could just see a man in silhouette crouched behind a chimney. It would be a long shot for his bow, but he didn’t have much choice in the matter. He knocked another arrow, and waited for the man to get bored enough to move.

Time passed. When the opportunity arrived, Jihan rose and fired.

“AEiii!”

“Oomph!” Jihan grunted with the impact and fell sprawling onto his back.

Panting in time with the throbbing pain in his side, Jihan snapped the arrow off short. By the God it hurt! It had hit him in the side, about a hand-span above his sash. His armour had saved him from a killing blow, but the arrow had still penetrated. It hurt like a hot poker in his side. It wasn’t bleeding too badly, but he would need to get it out quickly. Drawing his bow would be agony.

“I saw you hit boy, give it up! Your da only wants you home! He loves you Jihan!”

“You bastard!” Jihan screamed in anger. “My father is a traitor, and that makes you one as far as I’m concerned!”

The pain diminished as Jihan’s anger built. He was trying to see every direction at once. He looked back to where he’d seen the boy, but he was gone. Very wise. Jihan shifted toward the end of the trough thinking to grab Jezy.

Thock! Thock! Thock!

He jumped up and went for the horses, hoping to get between them before the bowmen could fire again.

Thunk!

“Oomph!” Jihan grunted and spun around. He was hit in the thigh, but he managed to get between the horses. There were four bowmen not three! That made six in all. How many did the traitor send?

Jihan snapped the arrow in his thigh, and grabbed the reins of both animals. He limped toward the inn shielded by the horses. When he reached it he half ran half fell through the doors landing on his belly on the floor. His bow skittered away from his hand as pain flared in his side. He had landed on the broken arrow stub and driven it further in. Panting in time with the pain, Jihan willed away the darkness at the edges of his vision. If he passed out now he was a dead man. Slowly the pain began to subside, and the darkness receded. The first face he saw belonged to his young helper.

Girl!

She was about fifteen or sixteen. She was staring intently at him as if trying to tell him something, but she uttered not a sound. Something was wrong. No one spoke, but the girl’s eyes skittered away toward the corner behind him and then back. Jihan quickly drew his dagger while shielding the movement by getting to his feet.

Jihan spun on his good leg and let the blade fly.

“Ughh!” The guardsman grunted and fell face down.

Jihan let out a sigh of relief when he realised he hadn’t killed a villager by mistake. He didn’t recognise the man, but he was wearing the cheap rubbish Athlone called armour and always supplied to his men. His dagger had plunged into the man at the base of his throat. He should be disgusted with so lucky a hit. He had thought the man would be taller. The villagers started babbling their story as he bent to retrieve the dagger, but Jihan was more interested in keeping his blood off the floor where much of it already stained the wood. He clamped a hand to his side, and the blood slowed to a trickle.

“Later my friends,” Jihan said holding up a hand. “There are at least three more by my count. Does anyone know where they’re hiding?”

“There’s one in my ma’s house across the street,” his helper said.

“She weren’t ye ma girl. Ye be a foundling.”

“Leave over, Ricol,” another villager said. “The girl has enough to do with her ma being dead without hearing that.”

There was a general murmur of agreement, and the girl looked gratefully at her protector.

“Point it out girl,” Jihan said gruffly. She moved close and pointed. Jihan sighted along her arm. It was the darkened house he had first heard the voice coming from. “What about the other two?” He said retrieving his bow from where it lay under a table. It looked undamaged to his expert eye. He readied an arrow, but left the string slack.

“Not sure,” the girl said frowning at the blood dripping onto the floor. Her hands twitched forward of their own accord but stopped before touching him.

“Girl? What of the others?” Jihan reminded her sharply.

“One of them kept to the stables the whole time. He might be still there. The other one could be any place.”

Jihan shifted the weight off his right leg. The arrow had struck him on top of Luther’s cut and it was paining him. He grimaced as the muscle flexed, but the pain eased with less weight on the leg. He stared out into the night trying to think what to do for the best. He might take the one in the stables by sneaking out the back—if the missing one wasn’t waiting for him that is. The one in the girl’s house though was tricky. Apart from the alley next to it, there was no cover.

Rubbing his injured thigh while trying to make a decision, Jihan ran out of time. The sound of galloping horses announced his foolishness to all.

Jihan hobbled outside as fast as he could and saw his enemies escaping. He grunted in pain as he drew his bow. The man to the right was marginally closer. He slowed his breathing and loosed his arrow. The shot was long, but the man slumped forward and fell. The constant pain in Jihan’s side said he had no chance of drawing again. He looked impotently on as the man’s friends rode on without slowing. He knew that he would be seeing them again. In a strange way his father’s intolerance of failure would work in his favour for once. The assassins wouldn’t dare return to Malcor without proof of his death. He had only to kill those two and he would be free.

Only! You’ve killed seven men in the last two days!

Jihan stared into the night. It was strange how you could justify anything, in the name of freedom.

Jihan awoke in Ahnao’s bed and wondered how long it had been. He had to tell Keverin of Athlone’s treachery. He tried to sit up, but the pain in his side was incredible. He collapsed back to the bed groaning.

Oh yes, the arrow.

He pulled the covers down noting his clothes were gone, but the sight of clean white bandaging made him frown. He didn’t recall Ahnao bandaging him, but then he didn’t remember her removing the arrows either. He rolled over weakly and managed to get his feet over the side of the bed. His clothes and armour lay neatly piled on a small rickety looking chair in the corner. The bandage on his thigh suddenly blossomed with a red flower as his blood soaked through. His exertions had reopened the wound. When he checked his side he found nothing but pristine white bandage. He ignored the blood and pulled his trousers on. When he tried to bend forward for his boots, he couldn’t do it. Steadying himself with a hand against the wall, he went in search of help.

Ahnao’s house was small—only two rooms, but it was well kept. A table with two chairs sat in the centre of the room, and various things sat on shelves around the walls. On the stove in the corner was a pan with something bubbling within it. A delicious aroma rose from there, and set Jihan’s belly to grumbling.

“Why are you up?” Ahnao said from where she stood in the doorway. She was carrying a bucket of water.

“I needed help to dress. I have to leave.” Jihan hobbled forward unsteadily and tried to relieve her of the burden she carried, but she wouldn’t let him.

Ahnao scowled and banged the bucket down. Water sloshed onto the floor, but she took no notice. “Don’t be more of a fool than you already are, Jihan! You nearly died. Five days ain’t long enough!”

“What?” Jihan roared, but Ahnao’s flinch made him guiltily lower his voice. “What do you mean five days?”

Ahnao hefted the bucket and closed the door. Jihan waited impatiently as she poured the water into a jug and placed it on the table. He moved to sit in one of the chairs. His leg was paining him again.

Ahnao bustled about the room laying the table with her only two plates and cups. All were plain fired clay. Nothing matched. She was obviously reluctant to talk until she finished her work, so Jihan watched her in silence. He had never met anyone like her. She was a peasant and one with little except this house and the things it contained, but there was something about her. Her skirt was made of brown wool, and the hem was rough. It didn’t reach the ground as it should. Occasional flashes of pale leg made Jihan shift his eyes quickly away. Ahnao had grown taller since it was made and was unable to let the hem down further. The wool was much too hot for this weather, but she probably didn’t have another dress. Her blouse was made of white cotton. There were wooden toggles running down the centre between small breasts that pressed against the fabric.

Jihan hardened at the sight and hastily looked away.

What kind of man looked at a woman so, especially when she was unaware of his regard? Certainly not a man with honour. Jihan forced himself to keep his eyes on mundane things, but he did indeed have to force himself, and that made him angry. He was nothing like his father! By the God, how he detested that man. Athlone would stare at the serving women constantly, as if imagining them without clothes. The small smile of pleasure that came upon him at such times disgusted Jihan. Anything remotely similar in his own actions appalled and distressed him. His mother was whom he wished to emulate—except in one thing. If ever he had the chance to kill Athlone and survive, he would take it.

“There. If you eat all that you will get better quicker.”

Ahnao’s voice failed to bring Jihan back from his murderous plans. He frowned. It wouldn’t be honourable to murder the evil bastard, but he could challenge him. Yes, that was the way. A fair fight sword to sword would see Athlone kneeling before the God as quick as quick could be. Jihan was determined to challenge Athlone as soon as the thing with the sorcerers was done with.

“Are you listening to me?” Ahnao growled.

Jihan blinked and found himself looking at Ahnao’s chest where she stood a pace in front of him. She was angry with him. She stood with fists on hips scowling fiercely. Jihan quickly fixed his eyes upon her face and kept them there. How could he, a man still half dead from his wounds, find his interest awakened by seeing a pretty girl? Ahnao was very pretty, but still!

Searching for something to say, Jihan noticed that Ahnao’s plate was empty. “I don’t like to eat alone, Ahnao.”

She waved that away. “I’ll eat later.”

That sounded false to him. Jihan glanced at the pan where it cooled to one side. It was empty. He shook his head, and poured half of his stew onto her plate not listening as she protested that she wasn’t hungry.

“Sit and eat girl,” he said gruffly.

Ahnao grumped but sat opposite and began eating. Jihan matched her bite for bite and enjoyed the food, though there didn’t seem to be much meat in it. Not surprising really. Peasants would be unable to afford meat more than a few times a tenday. They would make what they had last. Between bites of the delicious stew, Jihan asked what had been happening.

“You slept for five days. I took care of you after I pulled the arrows out. I thought you would die for sure, but...” she shrugged again.

Jihan stared at her in an appalled silence. This was disaster! The traitor’s men would be reluctant to go back to Malcor without evidence of his death, but this late they would be wondering if they had lost him. They might take the chance and go back for more men. Worse, one might go back. He could have enemies ahead and behind.

“I have to leave, now, today!”

“You can’t do that!” Ahnao gasped. “You can barely stand, yer fool!”

Jihan clenched a fist and pounded the table, she was right! “I have to, Ahnao. It’s not just my life at risk. I can’t let my father’s guardsmen catch me here. I have to warn Lord Keverin what he plans to do!”

“You can’t... just wait for a few days.”

A few days might be too long to wait, but not waiting might be just as bad if he was caught in the open by his father’s guardsmen. He wavered between going and not going but finally he nodded.

“Two days.”

Ahnao looked relieved.

* * *

“I said you can’t come with me!” Jihan said desperately. Ahnao must have ridden all night to catch him.

“You said two days. You lied to me!”

Jihan winced. “I didn’t lie to you... not exactly. When I said two days I meant to follow through, but the more I thought about the danger the more I realised I couldn’t wait. I’m sorry.”

Ahnao was a very determined girl. Leaving home and riding after a stranger she hardly knew took courage. It was obvious she was not used to riding such distances, but she made no complaint. She shifted in the saddle and self-consciously pulled her skirts down to cover her legs. A moment later, her horse shifted and the hem raised up to expose them again. Jihan tried to keep his eyes on Ahnao’s face—not a hardship under other circumstances, but he could not help noticing how smooth her legs looked. He would like to touch them. At that realisation, he snarled silently. He was in fear of her life, of both their lives. It was no time to be thinking of love play! They were in danger. He had to keep that firmly in mind.

“I’m sorry Ahnao. I’m grateful for what you did for me—very grateful, but it’s too dangerous for you to stay with me.”

“I ain’t going with you. I just happen to be going the same way is all. I’m on my way to the fortress to ask for work.”

“Don’t give me that! You followed me.”

Ahnao rolled her eyes. “You think a lot of your self don’t yer? This is the quickest way, lots of people use it.”

Jezy picked up Jihan’s frustration and sidestepped. It took barely a moment to calm her with a shift of his knees. “Please Ahnao, you were a big help the other day, but there are still two men after me. With you along it doubles my risk.”

“Thank you very much!” Ahnao cried with eyes flashing. “I’m just a burden now am I? That ain’t what you said after I took them arrows out of yer! Bawling like a littlun and carrying on—”

“I did not!” Jihan started but then he realised she was trying to rile him. “You must see the danger we’ll be in, and what about your house?”

“I’m ain’t stupid! Of course there’s a bit of risk and the house ain’t mine Jihan—you know I’m nothing but a foundling. When ma died, Ricol should have thrown me out, but he couldn’t coz the others said it would be shameful.”

Too right it would be! Jihan was angry at the very thought of Ahnao thrown out of her home. “What did Ricol have to do with your mother?”

“He’s her brother. Anyway, I gave it back to him in trade for a horse.” Ahnao patted the mare on the neck.

Jihan eyed the horse. Ahnao was robbed, but Ricol wasn’t all bad. No horse a peasant could afford was worth a house and its contents, but this one looked sturdy. It wasn’t a warhorse like his Jezy of course, but it looked well bred and cared for.

“What are you doing tonight? I say we split the night in two.”

That suggestion had merit. Jihan had not forgotten his first night in the hills, but the danger to Ahnao made it out of the question. He was just about to tell her no, when she froze looking over his shoulder. With a sinking feeling he turned slowly to see what Ahnao was staring at. There were two mounted figures waiting just over the rise in the road. Jihan could not make out details, but he had no doubt that his enemies had found him. He took up his bow, but he wasn’t confident at such a long range.

“Can you tell if they have bows?” Jihan asked laying the arrow against the string. His bow was for use while afoot, not mounted, but it was better than nothing.

“The one on the right does. The other one has a sword.”

“How can you tell?”

“The one on the left was in ma’s house that night. He didn’t have a bow then, and he’s short. That’s him.”

“I hope you’re right because I’ll only get one chance at this. I’m going to charge right at them. I want you behind me until I shoot. As soon as I throw down my bow, you will ride into the trees as if you have a dragon on your trail. Understand me? As soon as I shoot!”

Ahnao looked set to argue, but she nodded after a moment’s hesitation. Jihan regarded her suspiciously for a long moment. He hoped she meant to do as he said. It would be the first time if she did.

Jihan dropped the reins of his spare mount and shooed it away. “Let’s go.”

Jihan charged up the road and Ahnao disobeyed him almost straight away. Instead of behind him, she raced by his side. Ahnao’s horse, slightly faster because she carried less weight, began to pull ahead. Before she could pull more than half a length in front, Jihan shouted for her to go left. Just as he had feared she disobeyed him again and moved in front to shield him.

“No, you fool girl!” Jihan shouted. She was blocking his shot!

Jihan dropped his bow and drew his sword. Lying over Jezy’s neck he whispered encouragement. Jezy swivelled her ears and took the bit between her teeth to gallop like the wind. Jihan came level with Ahnao just as the guardsman loosed his arrow—

And missed!

Time seemed to slow as Jihan bore down on the bowman. Like a dream, the man raised his bow to fire again. Just as the arrow flew from his bow, Jihan struck.

Impact!

Jihan’s sword was almost wrenched from his hand as he passed. He held tight and thanked the God that his blade came free. He reined Jezy in hard, trying to get after the second man before he could turn to attack. Jezy skidded and sat down as she struggled to obey the impossible command. She struggled back to her feet and Jihan turned her to look back up the slope. The bowman was down and Ahnao was nowhere to be seen. He hoped she had sense enough to gallop away. The last of Athlone’s men was just turning his horse. Jihan pushed his worry for Ahnao to one side to concentrate on this new target.

He charged.

“Malcor!” Jihan cried in reflex. He didn’t have time to consider the irony of two men shouting the same battle cry as they tried to kill each other.

The guardsman charged to meet Jihan halfway up the rise. Jezy took the impact well, but the guardsman’s horse was not of pure blood. It went down squealing. The man jumped clear and landed lightly on his feet with his sword in hand. It took skill to perform such a thing so well—Jihan was impressed.

Climbing down from Jezy, Jihan limped toward the man. “You are Haiger?” He asked and the man nodded. “You could walk away. There will be no reward for my death, and certainly none for yours. My father thinks that carrying out his orders is reward enough.”

Haiger shook his head. “Your da has been good to me boy. He could have hung me years back. I owe him a lot, more than I can ever repay.” He moved forward warily. “You had everything Jihan, but you pissed it away. One thing I can do for your da, and that’s ridding him of you!”

Haiger attacked and Jihan parried easily. Haiger was good, but not good enough Jihan decided confidently. He stepped back to lead the man into a more favourable position, and then attacked high three times in a row. Three times high, and then twice low, and then three high, twice low. Jihan saw the decision in Haiger’s eyes. In anticipation Jihan broke the pattern with a third low stroke.

Haiger was slow to react and his eyes popped wide as Jihan’s sword crunched into his thigh. He staggered back clutching at the wound. “Oh... by the God!” He groaned still clutching himself.

Jihan winced at the pain-filled prayer. “I don’t want to kill you man. My father is a cursed traitor. He’s not worth your loyalty.”

“You’re the traitor, he’s your da!”

“He treated me worse than a clansman treats his dogs!”

“Let be boy. You ain’t never convincing me to turn traitor. You ain’t leaving here alive. You know, you surprised me using the girl like that. Good plan boy... she’s dead ya know!”

Haiger yelled and lunged.

Numb with shock, Jihan nearly took Haiger’s sword in the chest. At the last moment he batted it to the side and agony erupted in his arm. “AEiii!”

Jihan screamed as the sword impaled him and erupted out the back of his arm. Still shrieking, Jihan swung his sword awkwardly to lodge in Haiger’s throat. The man crumpled without a sound and wrung a last note of agony from Jihan when the sword wrenched in the wound before slipping free. Groaning at the new and old injuries, Jihan staggered toward Jezy.

I’m coming Ahnao, don’t worry.

Pulling himself awkwardly into the saddle, Jihan galloped to the top of the hill. Ahnao was lying in the road trapped under her horse. She was terribly still. Jihan’s vision narrowed until all he could see was that slight form pinned beneath a horse she had given up everything to buy. All to follow him to this place to die. Jihan groaned in grief and pain both. Blood was pouring from his arm. His hand on the reins was thick with it. He couldn’t leave her... not like this. He rode closer and dismounted. Kneeling next to her, he gently moved Ahnao’s hair aside to study her face.

“I’m so sorry.”

“So ya should be! This cursed horse must weigh as much as my ma’s house!”

“Yippp!” Jihan gasped and leapt back to land on his backside in the dust. Ahnao’s grin was feeble, but it was there. “It’s your own fault. I told you to go left!”

“I know, but you never could tell your left from your right!”

Jihan stared at her solemnly and began to laugh. He laughed so much that it hurt. Ahnao laughed at his discomfort, and that set him off again.

“Oh!” Jihan gasped. “Oh don’t! That hurts like a sorcerer’s flames.”

Ahnao’s leg was pinned beneath her horse. The arrow had taken the beast in the eye and straight into the brain. It would have been an incredible shot, if not for one minor detail. It was supposed to have hit Jihan, and not the horse. It was certain that Jihan couldn’t move it without help. With nothing else available, Jihan gathered Ahnao’s and Haiger’s reins. He tied them together in a poor looking rope and looped it around Ahnao’s mount. He tied the other end to Jezy’s saddle.

Mounting up, Jihan backed Jezy to take the slack out. “This is going to hurt, Ahnao. As soon as you get enough of a gap, get clear.”

“Count on it!”

Jihan backed Jezy slowly. He tried not to listen to the girl’s whimpers as the dead weight ground her leg. Suddenly she screamed fit to pierce his eardrums. He jumped down and dashed to her aid. Ahnao had pulled herself clear, but all was far from well. Her left leg was badly broken. The bone was completely snapped, but it hadn’t pressed through her flesh thank the God.

Jihan knew that he needed to set it and cringed at the pain it would cause her. “Ahnao, forgive me.”

“What fer?” she said through her tears.

“This!” he said and hit her on the chin—hard.

Ahnao fell back unconscious.

Seating himself by her feet, Jihan tried not to be too squeamish. He grabbed her left foot, pulled, and twisted at the same time. Even unconscious Ahnao grunted and flinched, but the leg was straight now. He used two scabbards for splints. They looked strange, but he had nothing else. He strapped the leg to them with strips of material torn from a dead guardsman’s shirt and used another shirt for padding. Over that he used the leather from the reins. It looked terrible, but the leg was held securely.

While Jihan waited for Ahnao to wake, he tended to his own hurts. The gash in his arm looked bad. Blood was pouring out and his shirt was sodden with it. He cleaned and bandaged the wound using his shirt, but when he was done, he found the blood had failed to slow. He might as well not have bothered with the bandage. It was already soaked through. He grabbed a piece of leather leftover from Ahnao’s splint and used it as a tourniquet. He watched in satisfaction as the blood slowed to a tiny trickle. That would have to do. He slipped his armour back on.

Jihan settled his armour in place and wished he was more prepared. Normally he preferred bracers on his forearms and gauntlets for his hands. He had neither here today, but so far they would not have helped any way. What he needed was a pair of armoured sleeves. As far as he knew they didn’t exist, but he thought it might work. If he could get someone to make leather sleeves to attach to his armour, he could reinforce them with rings. The normal iron discs he used between the layers of his armour would be too heavy. Protection for his arms would be a real benefit.

Ahnao groaned and awoke. She glared at him, but then her face softened when she saw her leg. “Thank you,” she said unsteadily.

“You’re welcome.”

Jihan looked around for a spare horse, but Jezy was the only one in sight. “We need to get you on my horse, Ahnao. It’s going to hurt.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said and winced at a stab of pain from the leg.

Remembering Ahnao’s difficulty with her skirts, Jihan murmured an apology before slicing the material down the centre in front and back. He lifted her easily in his arms and winced in sympathetic pain when she cried out. Ahnao was crying by the time Jihan mounted behind her.

“Here, see if you can rest it the stirrup.”

She tried but her legs were much too short. Jihan jumped down and reset the stirrup. With nothing further he could do, he mounted and eased Jezy to a slow walk.

After a candlemark or so on the road, Ahnao had cried herself into a doze. She leaned back against him and slept. The tension drained out of him and Jihan sighed in relief. It was strange how a woman’s pain affected a man. During the last tearful candlemark he had felt like a small boy unable to comfort his mother.

A little further on Jihan had to loosen the tourniquet on his arm or loose all feeling. He watched the blood running down for a slow count to twenty before tying it tight again. Feeling returned and he gritted his teeth at the agony it reawakened. Every other candlemark he did the same and worried about running out of blood before he reached Keverin.

Jihan shifted Ahnao more comfortably in his good arm. She felt good against him. He had been alone for so long, most of his life, that the simple pleasure of holding a girl had been denied him. He took this quiet time to relish the feel of her in his arms. He had been a silent brooding presence at Malcor—he spoke only when necessary and little even then. He had said more over the last tenday than he had in the entire previous year. It felt good to be able to let his guard down. The last time he had felt this good was his sixth birthday. His mother had still been alive and his training had yet to start.

Jihan never looked forward while at Malcor. It was too dangerous. Any distraction might lead to a beating at the hands of his tutors, but now he dared to imagine a happy future. His tutors had always enjoyed pounding on him, but after years of abuse, he had become so good with his weapons that they had left the fortress in fear of their lives. They were right to fear. He had long planned how he would kill them. Now he grudgingly thanked them. Without their harsh training, he might not have survived to know Ahnao.

Jihan made a promise to himself. If he ever met them again, rather than killing them, he would just hurt them a little... well all right—a lot!

* * *

Emperor Vexin had always thought of his study as a sanctuary—a place where he could hide from his minions who were always asking him for this decision or that. Today however, he had broken his rule never to let business enter the room. The business in question came from the lips of his spy master, Keppel.

No ruler could afford to be ignorant of events, especially if he happened to be emperor of Tanjung. More than one had succumbed to the skill of the Dark Brothers. Many had tried to stamp them out, but new assassins seemed to grow again like weeds.

“Are you sure?” Vexin said.

“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...

Keverin slammed the letter down creasing it in his anger. “I’ll not do it!”

“What is it my lord?”

“The cursed Chancellor orders me to imprison Julia until her trial.”

Marcus gasped in outrage. “Is he mad?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised in the least. I’ll not do it, Marcus. She’s our only hope, but more than that she’s just a child. I will not imprison a child or anyone who is innocent—ever.”

“She would tear the fortress down around our ears if you tried!”

“There is that,” Keverin said smiling crookedly.

The letter finished with banal utterances such as ‘we have every confidence’ and ‘I’m sure you will be unfailing in your duty to the crown.’

Keverin handed the letter to Marcus so he might read what the idiot Chancellor had written. While Marcus did that, Keverin broke the seal on the Holy Father’s letter. Immediately he saw the contents his humour improved. Keverin my friend, the letter began and he smiled. He sat back to read in anticipation of good news from Farran.

I trust this letter finds you in good health my friend. It has been too long since I last heard from you. I know of your current crisis through your mother’s letters to me, but ignoring the Hasians for the moment, is all well with you? Jessica’s letters are always a pleasure to read, but you have been a little remiss with them in the past. You are very much your father’s son in this. Kevlarin never did like to write, much preferring to visit instead... that was a hint by the way.

Keverin laughed. The old rascal wanted him to bring Jessica to Devarr for a visit. He would love to do that, but not until this thing with the Hasians was resolved.

I received the news of Darius’s death with sorrow. Know that he resides at the God’s side now. To sacrifice oneself for another is a noble thing.

Keverin’s mood turned sombre. Farran and Darius had never met, but the Holy Father knew of their friendship and because of that approved of him.

Now to business. This woman, she that you name your saviour, troubles me deeply. Surely her presence upon this world is the will of the God, yet she was brought here using a spell to breach the barrier that the God set to separate his worlds. I find myself with a dilemma to solve.

Keverin’s smile slipped and he sat up straight as he read. That did not sound good at all!

That you vouch for her holds great weight with me my friend, never doubt it, but though I have the honour of being the head of His Church, I also have the responsibility to look at this woman’s presence objectively. With this in mind, I have reviewed Church law. I must inform you that there is indeed cause for concern.

Oh by the God, he was in trouble now! Keverin bit his lip thinking of ways to divert this catastrophe, but nothing came to him. He reluctantly continued his reading hoping to find the answer.

Two charges were brought to my attention against Julia. Firstly, I will dispense with the charge of witchery. I have never, nor do I now, believe in witches. The Church has always held the view that they do not exist on this Earth. This is my view also. However, it has been suggested by the Bishop of Athione, that this woman is indeed a witch. Jymis points to her origins and magic as proof.

Curse the man! Jymis must have written to the Holy Father before he came to Athione to make his demands. He had known Julia would not be turned over to him. All his posturing had been just that—posturing.

The letter continued:

In my opinion, the charge regardless of these so called proofs is without foundation, and her recent actions speak for her in this. She fights evil, she does not embrace it. Accordingly I have already dismissed the charge of witchery and ordered Dugan to record my judgement in the Holy Chronicle. Copies of this latest record have been dispatched to all my Bishops, but you will likely read this letter before they receive them.

That was something, but what of the second charge, the charge of heresy?

The charge of heresy is by far the harder to judge. I will first set your mind at ease by informing you that Bishop Jymis will not call anathema upon you or anyone without my permission. This is how it has always been and will continue to be. I do not like Jymis threatening you with this, and I will be making that plain to him in person shortly.

Having said that, I now come to the bad news. Heresy is serious Keverin, more serious to the Church than invasion is to you. I can see your face screwing up in doubt as I write but it is true. The Hasians are a threat in more ways than one I fear. Many will die if they succeed in their plans for Deva, but though it sounds harsh, the soul is all that matters in the end.

Conclave will be called to discuss this matter of heresy. It is the only way to proceed. Jymis will be recalled to Devarr to account for himself and the charges he has brought against Lady Julia. In his place, I appoint Father Gideon. I would be grateful if you would inform him of his temporary elevation so that he might arrange matters with those priests under him.

That was good news. Perhaps Gideon’s elevation could be made permanent at some later date.

In conclave it will be decided whether Julia should appear before us. If such a thing were to occur, I would have you there at her side and Gideon also, to provide testimony on the happenings in and around your fortress. I hope that none of this will be necessary, but if things turn badly—as they well might—you and Gideon may turn them back with your observations of the girl.

“Find Father Gideon for me, Marcus. Have him meet me here as soon as he can.”

“If I might ask?”

“The charge of witchery is dismissed by the Holy Father. That is by his wish and backed with Church law. The charge of heresy is not dismissed, though he wishes otherwise, and will be debated in conclave. Jymis is recalled to Devarr to testify, and Gideon is temporarily raised to Bishop of Athione.”

“That last is good news, but heresy?”

Keverin grimaced. “If need be I will testify that I saw nothing heretical in any of her actions.”

“I will also. All the men will do the same.”

“Let us hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Marcus nodded and left to find Gideon. Keverin sipped his wine and read the last paragraph of Farran’s letter.

I had hoped to see you again under better circumstances my friend. Let us both pray that we may meet without a cloud of heresy above our heads.

Ever your friend,

Farran.

“Let it be so my friend,” Keverin whispered and folded the letter.

The candle was showing seventh mark. He would be late to Gy’s dinner, but he wanted to talk with Gideon before he did anything else. He paced his room waiting for Gideon to arrive and watched the candle flicker in the breeze he made. He spun when he heard the knock.

“Come!”

“Marcus said you had news my lord?”

“Come in Gideon. Here take a seat,” Keverin said indicating the right most chair. He took the left one for himself before passing Farran’s letter over.

Gideon frowned, as he read then looked up. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what? You’re to be bishop my friend. I hold this as good news, not something to be sorry over.”

“I mean that Julia is under suspicion.”

“Ah. Yes that is bad news, but at least the other charge is dropped.”

Gideon nodded but he was far from happy. “True my lord, but I feel the charge of witchery was the easier to refute. Everyone knows that Julia fought against the Hasians not for them, and therefore cannot be evil. Everyone knows she has magic in the manner of a mage and does not use potions as witches are supposed to do. Do you follow?”

“Yes of course. Farran—I mean the Holy Father intimated as much. He says in the letter that the charge of heresy is the more dangerous, and I agree. No one seriously believes in witches.”

“You would be surprised what people in small villages believe my lord, but the point is mute. The Holy Father has ruled Julia is not a witch, and I’m sure I speak for us all when I say I heartily agree with him.”

“Yes well... I’m sorry that Jymis took it into his head to accuse Julia of heresy, but I thank the God he didn’t try to confront her with it.”

“He would not do that my lord. He’s afraid of her,” Gideon said with a smirk, but it wilted as he thought of something. “I have a confession to make my lord.”

“Go on.”

“It’s my fault that the Bishop came here and said what he did.”

Keverin went cold. “Your fault... how so?”

“When Darius died breaching the barrier I was angry. I couldn’t see the obvious truth that the God chose him to bring Julia here—”

That was understandable. It would be more amazing if Gideon had understood when a woman was brought through the gate instead of a powerful sorcerer.

“—wrote the lord bishop with my fears and—”

“You did what?” Keverin said angrily. “You betrayed—”

“It wasn’t betrayal my lord,” Gideon said hastily. “The bishop is my superior. I write to him all the time as all the priests in your lands do. If I need help or instruction, I write to him. If he can help, he replies or passes my question on to the patriarchs. Please understand, my lord. We, none of us, knew Julia then. We didn’t know she had magic, we didn’t know anything about her.”

Keverin calmed himself and tried to look at things from Gideon’s point of view. A friend dies to bring someone through the barrier. The God had set the barrier to prevent just this type of thing, but worse than that the person brought through is a young girl—calamity! Gideon had believed that Darius imperilled his soul to breach the barrier, and that his sacrifice was wasted upon a girl. It was not until later that Julia found her magic, but by then Gideon had reported events to Jymis.

“You told Jymis that Julia was guilty?”

“No, thank the God,” Gideon breathed, and circled his heart. “I wrote the facts, but I admit to prejudice where she was concerned. I did not lie, but I did not soften my words either. I fear Jymis took my words at face value and acted upon them as is his duty to the God and the Church.”

Duty? The man wouldn’t know duty if it had a sign painted on it. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself Gideon. I know you owe Jymis respect as your superior in the Church, but perhaps you don’t realise what the man is truly like. Do you remember the time when my father threw Jymis out of the fortress?”

“I was a newly ordained priest back then my lord. If you will remember I had only been here a year when Jymis left.”

“Left,” Keverin snorted. “My father told me he threw him out for preaching sedition against the crown.”

“Sedition!” Gideon cried in shock. “I had no idea.”

“Jymis was sent to Malcor Town where he apparently worked hard and rose to his present position. I’m sorry Gideon, but I just don’t trust that man. He supports only that which profits him, and to the flames with anything or anyone else.”

“That is harsh, my lord. Bishop Jymis has done wonderful work for those in need.”

Keverin raised a finger. “But not since he was raised to bishop.”

“That’s true, but his duties are greater now. It could be that he doesn’t have the time any longer.”

“Ah, but he made the time before.”

Gideon frowned. He was unwilling to condemn the actions of his bishop, but he was having trouble reconciling the image of a hard working priest helping the needy, and a hard hearted bishop working purely for his own gain.

“Do you say that Jymis will use Julia for his own gain?”

“I might be... oh all right! What I’m saying is that Jymis expects his denunciation of Julia to help him in some manner. He’s not a fool, Gideon. He knew before coming here that I wouldn’t allow Julia to be taken. Coming here was a way to set things moving in the direction he desired.”

“But why would he?”

“Who can say? Jymis has been bishop for years now, maybe it’s time to take the next step.”

“Patriarch?” Gideon squeaked.

“Why not? Jymis has many years experience. If not for certain things in his past that only we two know about, he would make an excellent choice—on the surface that is.”

“All this to draw attention to himself?” Gideon said with revulsion.

“We cannot know for sure, but I think it a good possibility. A bishop discovers a heretic witch. He single-handedly accuses her and puts her on trial. What better way to make himself known to the other patriarchs?”

“The Holy Father chooses who will be raised to patriarch.”

“Yes, but he is only one man,” Keverin pointed out. “He cannot alienate those below him, indeed, he must often consult them and take their advice. Is this not so?”

“It is so,” Gideon said reluctantly.

“I called you here to inform you about being raised to bishop, Gideon, but I also want your help.”

“What can I do?”

“I want you to begin Julia’s lessons. You did mention that you would teach her. I dare not tell her about the charges against her—who knows what she would do, but I can prepare her without her knowledge. I want you to approach her as soon as you can. Befriend her Gideon, and teach her. Teach her quickly.”

Gideon shifted uncomfortably. “I would be her friend if she wished it my lord, but the one time she approached me, I to my eternal shame abused her most grievously.”

“Then if you would help her, I suggest you apologise.”

“Will you introduce me again, my lord?” Gideon said hopefully. “Perhaps with you—”

“I can’t, Gideon, I’m sorry,” Keverin said sadly. “You will have to do it alone. Whenever I come near the girl we argue and I always end up shouting. I would do you and her a disservice if I were present.” He glanced at the candle again. “We’re late to Gy’s welcoming. If you’re agreeable, let us go down now. We can speak more of this later if you wish.”

“No need, my lord,” Gideon said firmly. “I will speak to Julia and apologise. I do look forward to teaching her. Perhaps I’ll learn something as well.”

Keverin and Gideon moved to the door.

“Nothing is impossible,” Keverin said. “Especially so in these days.”

They walked side by side until reaching the tower steps. Keverin indicated Gideon should precede him, and then followed a few steps behind.

“I must say it’s a little off putting at my age,” Gideon said.

“What is?”

“Learning that what I thought to be true is in fact not true at all. I find myself somewhat excited, my lord.”

Keverin smiled at Gideon’s back. “I know what you mean, but exciting times can be dangerous.”

“Oh yes indeed!” Gideon said as he opened the lower door. “I was in the chapel when the sorcerers breached the west wall, my lord. I thought the roof was coming down.”

Keverin nodded. It had been somewhat worse for him than Gideon. He had just descended the gate tower and was walking toward Renard when the sorcerers struck. A blue light so intense it burned his eyes turned his entire world blue, but then had come the roar. The stones of the curtain wall had been sundered one from the other. In an instant, they were turned into a deadly hail of sharp rocks that slew all in their path. He was thrown to the ground and escaped most of the missiles because of that, but a piece of bronze clad wood from gates constructed a thousand years ago had speared his thigh. The agony was slow to come, but when it did, he could barely stifle the shriek building in his throat. All was chaos. Dust and stones were raining from the sky, and the ground was shaking. He awoke to find Julia’s beautiful face hovering before him—

“My lord? Are you well?” Gideon said worriedly.

Keverin blinked. They were standing outside the doors to the great hall. Inside he could here the murmur of conversation and the clink-clink sound of many forks against dinner plates. His people had started eating without him.

“Memories...” Keverin said and pulled himself together. “Let us go in and face my mother’s displeasure.” He nodded to Moriz who stood guard outside the great hall with Halbert on this special occasion. “You two may go and find your own dinners.”

“Thank you m’lord, but we had a bite a time back,” Moriz said.

“Don’t you worry about us m’lord. We are happy to wait for The Lady,” Halbert put in.

Keverin smiled and left them to their vigil. Gideon went his way to find his place, while Keverin continued on to the high table.

Jessica had done Athione proud. Excepting those guardsmen on duty, everyone was sitting at the lower tables and eating heartily. Wine was flowing and good cheer abounded. His mother was sitting in the centre of the high table facing him as he made his way down the row left clear between benches packed full of his people.

“God bless him!”

“Hurrah for the lord!”

“Hurrah!” The diners shouted and raised their glasses.

Keverin smiled and waved a hand in acknowledgement of the good wishes.

Jessica had been playing host in his absence. She was not pleased with him if he were any judge of expression. Julia was further down sandwiched between Mathius and Purcell. The contrast between them was startlingly apparent. One often forget Julia’s small stature. She was so full of life that she seemed bigger than she truly was, but beside Purcell she was tiny—as a child of five is tiny next to her parents. Purcell towered over everyone of course. At over seven feet, he was the biggest man Keverin had ever seen.

Keverin mounted the single step onto the dais and walked behind Julia and his mother before bending to speak to Gylaren. “Sorry I missed the start, Gy. Something came up.”

Gylaren lowered the piece of meat he was about to eat and nodded his acceptance of the apology. “May I ask?” he said and continued at Keverin’s nod. “Was it the sorcerers?”

“Not them. Letters from Devarr.”

“Morfran...” Gylaren growled.

Keverin patted his friend’s shoulder. It didn’t take much to set Gy off where Morfran was concerned. “Yes, him and one from Farran.”

“Nothing bad I hope.”

“I don’t want to say in front of so many, Gy. Perhaps later tonight you and Purcell will come have a late drink with me.”

“Honoured,” Gylaren said inclining his head.

Keverin patted the shoulder again. “I’ll look forward to it.”

Sitting beside his mother, Keverin tried to ignore the glare she directed his way, but finally acknowledged it with another apology.

“Where were you? Gy was ever so hurt,” Jessica said.

No he wasn’t. Jessica was just trying to make him feel guilty about being late.

“I apologised to him. I had a letter from Farran and I wanted to read it without delay.”

Jessica’s face lightened at word of the Holy Father. “How is he?”

“He’s well. He thanks you for the kind words about his poems and asks if you would like another volume.”

“Certainly!” Jessica said with pleasure evident in her voice. “He’s very talented.”

“He doesn’t think so, but I agree.”

Jessica turned to speak with Marcus while Keverin availed himself of food and drink. As he ate, he watched Julia surreptitiously. She was picking at her food without much interest. She looked tired, and although Purcell was making a heroic effort to draw her out, she seemed withdrawn and uninterested in converse. Her eyes were sunk into dark pits, and her face was slack and pale. Keverin frowned as she drank a full glass of wine and started another, but it seemed to perk her up a little and she began smiling and talking to Purcell. Keverin was pleased to see her beginning to enjoy herself, and he set about doing the same.

* * *

Julia pushed her meat around her plate thinking about going to bed. She was in danger of falling face first into her food.

“—like something else?” Purcell said with concern.

Julia roused herself a little. “I’m sorry Purcell, I was miles away.”

“Miles?”

“An expression. It means I was day dreaming—thinking about things. I didn’t hear what you said.”

“I was just saying that if the food displeases you I’m sure something else can be prepared.”

Julia liked the sound of Purcell’s voice. He would have made a very good singer in her opinion. It was mellow and deep, and sent a tingle down her spine.

“The food is fine. I’m just feeling a little tired. To tell you the truth I was thinking of retiring early.”

“Please don’t do that, Julia. Perhaps a glass of this most excellent wine will revive you,” Purcell said and filled a glass with a deep red wine.

Perhaps it would at that. “Thank you,” she said and quaffed it in one.

Purcell’s eyebrows shot up as the wine disappeared down her throat. The wine lay leaden upon Julia’s stomach and the fumes took her breath for a moment. Purcell let out a grunt of surprise and refilled her glass.

“You drink like a man girl. You want to be careful. Keverin is notorious for keeping the best in his cellars. It might be too strong for you.”

Julia knew he meant well, but the advice irritated her. Everyone was very free with their advice, but would they listen to her? Of course not! She drank her second glass almost as quickly as the first and refilled it herself this time.

Purcell’s brows lowered. “Don’t do it for spite, Lady. You will only embarrass yourself in front of our host. If you are truly thirsty you should try some of the Pella juice.”

“Our host has no care or regard where I am concerned. I could fall asleep right here and he wouldn’t notice.”

“That is where you are wrong Julia. Keverin always has you in the forefront of his thoughts. You will learn that when I say something, you can lay gold on it being true.”

“Forgive me Purcell, I did not mean to suggest—”

“Do not concern yourself. I’m feeling a might grouchy. I have bad days too you know,” Purcell said a silly grin on his face.

Julia could not keep a straight face and giggled like a child. She drowned her hilarity in more wine, but laughter was bubbling just below the surface. Maybe the wine was a little strong for her. She was feeling a little hot and knew her face must be flushed.

“Tell me,” Julia said after eating a bite of her food hoping it would reduce the effect of the wine. “What is your impression of the Hasians?”

“Good fighters,” Purcell said instantly.

“So are you. What I meant was, why are they waiting? I thought it might be because they need more mages or reinforcements for all the men they lost.”

“Nasty thought that,” Purcell said frowning in thought. “I had assumed the sorcerers needed to recover themselves after tearing the wall down, but they’ve had plenty of time for that.”

“So you don’t know? Does anyone?”

“I know Gy doesn’t, and if Keverin did he would have told me.”

Julia drank a little Pella juice. “Mathius tried to use the mirror for me not long ago, but he hasn’t had much practise. He says the legion camp is warded against his scrying, but I think it’s more likely he doesn’t know how to use the mirror properly.”

“I heard that!” Mathius said mock glaring at her from his place on her other side. “I’ve seen the mirror used countless times.”

“But you were never taught,” Julia said. “Am I right?”

“You have the right of it,” Mathius reluctantly agreed.

Julia swallowed another sip of juice. She was becoming partial to Pella, it was like peaches and honey. “I can’t use a mirror either you know. It makes me wonder what they’re up to down there. Mathius’ friends seem to have spent most of their time trying to learn what the library had to teach them as individuals. They never tried to help each other.”

“You can’t blame them for that. It takes a lot of time and work to learn how to use our magic. Everyone guards their knowledge jealously because of that.”

“But that’s silly! If you taught the children at an early age how to use it wisely, Athione and Deva wouldn’t be in this situation now.”

“Darius said much the same thing,” Mathius admitted. “He thought I was lucky because my father taught me the dangers while on the road with him.”

“Hmmm, it doesn’t surprise me that Darius thought that way,” Purcell said. “He was a wise man. The Protectorate is the only country that formally trains its mages, and you can see how they have benefited from it.”

“Lord Keverin should be combing the countryside looking for boys to train in the craft,” Mathius said thoughtfully.

“I agree,” Julia said and Purcell nodded.

“Devarr was built by the Founders so they might seek their own way forward separate from those on the Black Isle,” Mathius said in his lecturing voice. “The Histories say that both groups were friendly for centuries before finally losing touch. Children grew up learning magical theory so that when they came of age they knew how to use their power and only needed to gain experience.”

“Makes sense to me,” Julia said.

Julia knew next to nothing about magical theory, but what she did know didn’t work for her. She had to make do with what she learned by trial and error. None of her patients had died because of it—she didn’t think they had. Those who died would have died anyway—she hoped.

“Were all the children taught? Surely some of the boys were born without the gift.”

Mathius shrugged. “I don’t know. I suspect they taught everyone equally.”

“Must have,” Purcell said. “How would the Founders have known who had the gift before the children came of age?”

Julia wasn’t so sure. “I wonder.”

“What?” Both men said.

“Well you see, I might know how they did it. When I healed Mathius there was a blue light in his aura. It was beautiful—like a sapphire all lit up. Renard has it as well, though—” she broke of frowning. Renard hadn’t recovered from his trance. The light in his aura was dull and lifeless, unlike Mathius’ and, she now suspected, hers. “Anyway, none of the guardsmen has anything like that. Certainly those I healed haven’t.”

“And you think what... the light is the gift?” Mathius said intrigued by the idea.

“What else could it be?”

“It does make a kind of sense, but a school for mages won’t happen until the Hasians pack up and leave. If then,” Purcell pointed out.

In Julia’s opinion there was no chance of running the Hasians off. The Gap prevented anything of the sort, but even if it hadn’t been there, going into the pass where lots of mages and soldiers waited to kill her was not her idea of fun.

Julia finished the main course and followed it with a small desert made with fruits of wildly varying tastes and colours. The wine mixing with the juices from the fruit seemed to do strange things with her eyes, and she had trouble focusing on those around her. She found herself viewing the world with her mage-sight with no memory of invoking it. She smiled dreamily at all the strange patterns that made themselves known to her. People were so complex. She had no chance of understanding their patterns, but then that was true in the real world too. She never had understood why they did what they did, but in this place—this realm of healing, she could see other patterns. Her sight was unfocused, the wine had affected her more than she had thought. She could see the patterns were everywhere. The wood of the table had a distinctly different pattern from the marble floor, and the crystals of the chandeliers were amazing.

“Fractals,” Julia whispered gazing at the sparkling lights.

“Are you all right?” Mathius said.

Julia giggled. “Shee the pretty cryshals?”

Mathius looked up and frowned. “What about them?”

“Everything ish made of patternsh do you shee... see? The crystals are all... fractaly!” She giggled.

You are drunk miss Morton!

She was. Julia knew that she was, but it didn’t seem to matter. “I wash going to be famoush,” she said slurring the words. “I tell you that?”

“Help me with her m’lord. I don’t want anyone to see her like this. It’s the strain and—”

“I understand lad.”

Julia found herself sandwiched between two men, one huge like a giant, the other slender as a beanpole. Together they hastened to leave the great hall. People hailed Julia and she smiled at them. She would have stopped for a chat but her legs wouldn’t obey her—they insisted on walking out of the hall, or was it Mathius who insisted?

“Yes lady, I’m sure that can be arranged,” Mathius said loudly.

“Of course!” Purcell boomed with false cheer.

“Famoush... I’m going to win the... win the ‘ympics for me mum,” she said or thought she did.

“Not a word of this to anyone. Not even the lord or I’ll—I’ll do something to you!”

“Be nice Mathius and don’t threaten me,” Moriz said. “The Lady has nothing to fear while we are near.”

“Cursed right!” Halbert put in

“Moriz my friend,” Julia said trying to go to him. “Halbert too... where are yooo,” she giggled and found herself hoisted into the air. “Whoa! I’m flying,” she giggled and couldn’t seem to stop.

“Go back in m’lord, you too Mathius if you would. We will see to The Lady.”

Purcell rumbled something but Julia couldn’t understand what he said. Then suddenly she was in bed and wondering how she came to be there, but she was so tired it didn’t seem important. Julia sighed and went to sleep dreaming of patterns and blazing crystals made of magic.

The next morning Julia was invited to attend a meeting with Keverin and his friends to discuss the situation with the invaders in the pass below Athione. Keverin had requested Julia’s presence through his mother, because Julia wasn’t talking to him of course, but so far Julia hadn’t added anything to the conversation. As far as she could see she was wasting time better spent in the library… not that she had found what she was looking for in the books. Jessica said that Keverin valued her as a mage, which meant he wanted her to sit quiet and look pretty, which is exactly what she was doing—sitting quiet that is. She shook her head slightly in exasperation, and Keverin noticed. She stared blandly back at him as if she’d done no such thing. He frowned in puzzlement and turned back to the argument. She would like to do more than make him frown, she would like to box his ears for him! It was because of him that Moriz and Halbert were standing outside waiting to dog her steps when she left—just as they had done for the last tenday.

Tenday! She was starting to think in Devan now!

A month after her arrival at Athione, she was starting to think that she would never find the answer. She had read perhaps a third of the titles the library contained and only understood one in ten of them. No matter, she didn’t have to understand the theories the books contained to realise they had nothing to do with building gates. If the Gap hadn’t prevented her, she might well have visited the sorcerers to ask for their help. No, she couldn’t do that. Keverin wouldn’t like it.

Screw Keverin, I want to go home!

Ever since her visit to East Town and their big argument upon her return, Julia had made a point of ignoring Keverin when they met in the halls. Where before he would say a few inconsequential words before hastily taking his leave of her, now it was she leaving him standing there. Julia smiled secretly to herself. By giving him the cold shoulder she had achieved what she had once wanted—Keverin’s notice, but her aims had changed since then. She no longer had anything to say to the man. He was an arrogant, sexist, conceited, high and mighty, stuck up... man!

“...and run them off by the God!”

“Agreed, but the fact remains that the Gap prevents us.”

“For the God’s sake Gy!” Purcell said in exasperation. “You’ve said that ten times already. Can you not say something new?”

Julia heartily agreed.

She had been a little shy with Purcell at their first meeting. She had heard the stories told of him—that he went berserk in a fight, that he was as strong as ten men and drank more than all of them together. She thought that he would be an unintelligent bully. She couldn’t have been more wrong. Although Purcell’s size at seven feet was imposing, she had found him good natured and insightful. Gylaren on the other hand, came across as an intelligent man right off the mark, but he tended to belabour the obvious. She had known a boy at school like that once. He was a genius academically, but socially he tended to lecture people. What Gylaren needed was someone to point that out to him. Like the boy at her school, he might suddenly become more popular.

“I was only saying—”

“We know what you were saying my lord!” Julia snapped. “Forgive me if I seem rude, but you were not here. I was desperate. I’m not sorry the Gap is there because without it we would be dead!”

“Lady Julia, you misunderstand me,” Gylaren said stiffly.

“I don’t believe I do. You want the Gap to un-happen so that you can go thundering down the road and kill another four thousand people—all because God is on your side. Well let me tell you something! God is on everyone’s side! You might find the enemy stronger and instead of killing them you will kill all of us!”

“That is quite enough Julia,” Keverin said coldly.

Julia turned her annoyance on her real target. “Do you think so? Let me tell you something, I... will... not... allow... my friends to die because you can’t see sense!”

“You will not allow?” Keverin said with his head cocked to one side as if tasting a strange flavour. “You dare dictate to me in my own fortress!” He roared.

Julia jumped in surprise at his roar, but he couldn’t scare her that easily. Why couldn’t the fool see? The Hasians couldn’t get in, so why go out to die? Keverin glanced awkwardly at the other lords. They were busy pretending not to have heard him shouting at a woman.

“Your friends they may be Lady, but they are my people. They look to me for protection and just governance, and I can do nothing for them. They look to me, and I...” he looked away and sighed. “I look to you.”

Gylaren eyed each other and shifted uncomfortably. They were not happy with such plain speaking and wished to be elsewhere. To see any lord brought so low was a thing they wished not to see. Much worse to see a Lord Protector in such straights.

The creak of Keverin’s chair broke the silence. “I know you think me addled for trying to hold this pile of stone, but that’s because you are a woman—No! Let me finish.”

Julia closed her mouth, and nodded.

“Thank you,” Keverin said dryly. “If we evacuate Athione, the sorcerers would be across the Gap as quick as that,” he said clicking his fingers. “I don’t know how these things are done on your world Lady, but here a rope bridge would be strung across. General Navarien and his men would take Athione in mere candlemarks.”

Keverin stood and poured wine for each of them. Julia drank hers in one breath so she might have another. Keverin blinked in surprise and refilled her glass. Julia took her time with it and ignored Keverin’s frown. He shrugged slightly in annoyance at his preoccupation and replaced the decanter in the cabinet.

“Athione is a tool,” Keverin mused. “I might love this place and its people, but I still know that. It has but one purpose—defend Deva from enemies in the west. If I evacuate, Athione would be occupied and the invasion proper would be launched. Athione would make a strong base for the Hasians to continue their campaign.”

The other two lords nodded in agreement.

“I cannot leave, and I cannot sit and wait. The sorcerers are still out there,” Keverin finished waving a hand vaguely toward the pass.

Julia was confused. If they didn’t want her to bridge the Gap as she had assumed, what then did they want? Gylaren was complaining about not being able to reach the Hasians, and now Keverin seemed to be agreeing with him.

“Then... why am I here?” Julia said in confusion.

“I wanted to ask you whether it would be possible for you to... remove the sorcerers.”

I flaming well knew it!

“Remove?” Julia said coldly. “You mean kill don’t you?”

“Yes. I do mean kill,” Keverin said.

Gritting her teeth to stop herself from saying what she thought of him, Julia took a deep breath to calm herself. Her hand was clenched so tight on her glass that she feared she might break it. She finished the wine and carefully placed it on Keverin’s desk.

“Remember what I said at the east gate, Lord Keverin? I meant that! I’m not your little assassin. You can’t take me out of a box when someone needs killing. No, not again. I can’t—I won’t!”

“I see,” Keverin said as he sat back behind his desk. “Then we have nothing further to discuss. Athione will fall and Deva will follow.”

“That’s not fair!” Julia cried in outrage. “You can’t put this on me!”

Keverin slammed his hand down on the desk. “Fair? What is fair? Was it fair that Darius died to bring you here? Was it fair that a third of my guardsmen lie dead? Nothing about this is fair! Wake up and look around woman! We are desperate! What, did you think that because I don’t go wailing through the corridors and beating my chest in woe that we have nothing to fear?”

“Forgive me,” Julia said in a small voice. “You must think me very stupid. You are right, I did think of you as calm and that the worst was over because of that.”

“It’s bad for morale if the men see me looking worried. After a while it becomes second nature not to show it.”

Gylaren spoke quietly, and to Julia’s ears in a patronising voice. “No one thinks you stupid, Lady. Young and inexperienced perhaps, but not stupid. You do not know our world, or have the experience of war a man would have. These stupid attempts to cross the Gap only cost the Hasians lives. They might as well go home while we stay behind these walls, but that is precisely what we cannot do. The sorcerers haven’t resumed their attack yet, and although it makes no sense to us, I can assure you that it does to them.

“They will attack us Lady, of that I have no doubt. Before that happens we need to kill the sorcerers. If we don’t do that, if we simply rely upon the Gap to stop their men, a mage, you, will have to defend us against their magic. With us unable to respond, you will have to keep the Hasians at bay for years, or until they leave.”

Julia could see it all too well. The Protectorate was bigger than Deva. It had much greater resources. Deva on the other hand was a kingdom without a government fracturing into smaller… duchies she supposed they were. Each lord would rule his lands as if he were a king. That was no way to resist an invasion; even she could see it, but to kill even more people… where would it end?

“I can’t,” Julia said quietly. “I’ll help with something else. Anything else, but I can’t kill more people. Please... please understand.”

“I understand that this meeting is over,” Keverin said and slammed out of the room.

Julia watched the door rebound against the wall and slowly swing shut in stricken silence. What could she say that she hadn’t already said, what could she do that would not see her bathe in even more blood?

“It’s not you Julia,” Purcell said quietly.

Gylaren nodded grimly. “Keverin sees much—too much. Deva rides on his shoulders while his people die and his home is destroyed. It’s enough to send a lesser man over the edge into madness.

Kev was stronger than that. Julia knew he was—she felt he was. “I’ll protect myself and others if I’m near, but I’ll not murder more people, Purcell. How many deaths will you have me carry before you will let me be?”

Gylaren stood nearby shaking his head. Purcell took her hand and squeezed it gently. “I don’t know, but I fear we will find out.”

* * *

10 ~ Burnout

Navarien looked sadly at what remained of his men. His fine strong legion was a shadow of what it had been. He had lost half his forces due to the girl’s intervention in the assault, but since then he had lost almost another five hundred to Athione’s bowmen. He used to think of Belgard as an intelligent man—weaker than other sorcerers perhaps, but approachable. Now he didn’t know what to think. It was insane trying to bridge the crevasse under the conditions they were faced with. The men were becoming rebellious, and if the truth be known, he didn’t blame them. Navarien watched Lucius pace the perimeter of the camp and raged at Belgard. The fool would finish what the bitch sorceress had started! Did he want the legion destroyed?

Lucius had started taking long walks a few days after he was relieved of his position—to ease the tedium one supposed. Belgard had allowed it. No chains were needed, not with so many sorcerers on hand ready to blast Lucius the instant he made a wrong move. Belgard seemed hopeful that Lucius would try to run, but that was unlikely. Lucius seemed resigned to his fate.

Navarien glanced back at Belgard’s tent, but there was no activity. The sorcerer spent his days watching the girl in the mirror while more and more legionnaires died, and for what? To string a bridge that would avail them nothing even if the Devans allowed its completion!

Does the bastard even want us to succeed?

Navarien watched Lucius as he wandered by the sorcerer’s tents. None of his brethren would talk to him. It was as if they thought him contagious. Lucius was technically under arrest, and would be escorted back to the Black Isle after the fortress was taken. The way things were going they wouldn’t have any men left alive to send as escort. Navarien had been afraid of Lucius more than once, but he had never feared for his legion. Now he did, but it was Belgard that caused the fear and not Lucius. Deciding to take a chance, he went to head off the mage and talk.

“General,” Lucius said in greeting. “I was wondering how long it would take you.”

Navarien hated to be obvious, but he had to ask. “My Lord sorcerer—”

“No longer that I’m afraid.”

“Lucius then,” Navarien said joining the sorcerer in his sudden and intense scrutiny of the camp. He wondered what they were looking for.

“Aren’t you afraid of catching my affliction?” Lucius said. “You should be you know. Belgard will not like you fraternising with the enemy.”

“You are hardly the enemy.”

“Humph! Well, why not walk with me awhile?”

They wandered slowly around the perimeter. As Navarien neared the sentries they snapped to attention and saluted fist to heart. He acknowledged the salutes only absently. He was busy studying Lucius. The sorcerer seemed different than he had. He was remarkably at ease for a man with a death sentence hanging over him.

“If you don’t mind my saying so, you seem amazingly calm under the circumstances.”

“A burden has been lifted from my shoulders, General. Ten thousand lives was heavy indeed. It’s quite liberating really. No one fails Mortain and lives. We both know I’m a dead man.”

That was obviously true.

“Talking of dead men, why are mine dying? I have protested the lunacy of this so-called attack for tendays. Belgard just nods and smiles then dismisses me! This is not what a general is supposed to do curse it! I am supposed to command the legion, while he leads the mages. Instead he orders me to send men to their deaths while he uses that mirror of his and does nothing!”

Lucius gestured to keep his voice down. “Calmly General, calmly. You don’t want to end up like me do you?” Lucius fell silent as they approached the tents, but then he resumed. “Did you know that I never wanted to be a sorcerer? Surprising is it not? My father was an excellent artist and I thought that I might follow his example one day. Instead, two men wearing the black robe came to our house and stole me away. After my... training, I went back but my family was gone. I never found them. No, I never sought a sorcerer’s life, but once a mage always a mage.”

Navarien frowned in annoyance. What was the man rambling about? He didn’t understand what this had to do with Belgard’s actions or rather his inaction. Everyone knew the sorcerers kept watch for potential recruits. Most people would be glad to know they had the gift. He hadn’t realised that the recruits weren’t given the chance to say no, but surely the magic made up for a lot.

“What has this to do with anything?” Navarien said impatiently.

Lucius shrugged in disappointment. “Oh, nothing really—except perhaps that you can’t expect a cat to bark... Sorry. What I mean to say is that a sorcerer will tend to do sorcerous things. Just as a soldier fights, a sorcerer tries to increase his knowledge.” Lucius glanced at him as they negotiated the rocky ground. “You look sceptical General.”

“In my experience all they do is kill people with spells rather than with swords.”

“A recent development. Oh… I don’t mean a couple of decades recent. No, I mean a couple of centuries. The gifted, or sorcerers if you prefer, were primarily scholars. They were often called upon for building things such as that fortress up there,” Lucius said nodding at Athione. “Magnificent isn’t it? Building and healing were just sidelines though. Mages love to poke into things and see what crawls out—or they did. Now this lord or that uses us to further his own causes. Just like this little war.”

They were silent for a while, each thinking his thoughts. As they came abreast the road, Navarien saw another corpse being brought down from the crevasse and sighed. It wouldn’t be long before the men refused to go up there and then his problems would truly begin. Could he bring himself to execute a man for refusing an order to go up the road to almost certain death? He didn’t think so.

“Belgard is a great scholar,” Lucius went on. “Always poking into things, he is. I would wager he’s watching the girl at his mirror right now.”

Navarien nodded. There was no doubt that Belgard watched the bitch sorceress. He did so every day. Lucius had a right to sound bitter. The legion had failed him... no, not the legion. He alone had failed Lucius and now the man’s life was forfeit as a result.

“I wanted to apologise for pressing you to attack that day, but it had seemed... unwise to approach you so soon. I apologise for that as well Lucius. It was my fault that you were removed from your position.”

“You are mistaken. Mortain contacted me through the glass and gave me five days to take the fortress. That is why I ordered the attack, no other reason. I wanted to proceed with minimum losses, but Mortain and Belgard do not care about lives, they just want results. Do you remember the first day we arrived?”

“Of course,” Navarien said wondering where this was going.

“Belgard spent a remarkably long time scrying as I recall. He was watching the girl, and I must confess I didn’t blame him. She is very nice to look at. Belgard said that she represented no danger, and of course we believed him. No woman has ever had the gift. Since that day I keep coming back to Belgard taking such an interest in her. He didn’t take part in our spell to break the ward you know. He was using the mirror—again.”

“Are you saying he knew? Why not warn us?”

“I think he knew. Why is easy—he wanted to be lead mage.”

“Five thousand dead because he wanted to be lead mage. I don’t believe it,” Navarien said, but he felt a sinking sensation even as he rebutted Lucius’ statement.

Lucius shrugged. “Maybe it’s just paranoia on my part, but Belgard has always puzzled me. At Castle Black he was always first with the correct answer. Always the best at scrying, which is a hard discipline to master. Always first in sensing the magic. These things should indicate a very powerful sorcerer indeed, but Belgard is apparently only average.”

They fell silent again as they neared the tents. Lucius’ paranoia was infectious. Navarien couldn’t help noticing the many black robed figures that just happened to be lounging around watching him stroll by. He had often been angry with the sorcerers attached to his command—not just during this campaign either. Black robes were always a pain, but he had never had occasion to judge them as enemies before this.

Now he not only thought of them as his personal enemies, he thought of them as enemies of his men. No... not enemies. Enemy. Belgard was entirely to blame for all that was wrong with this campaign. That made him someone to remove for the good of all, but only another mage could stand against Belgard with any hope of success.

Navarien glanced at Lucius in speculation. “If Belgard is so very powerful, why hide it? Come to that, can it even be hidden?”

“Why is easy. Mortain would kill anyone more powerful than he is. He does so more than once each year. As to how Belgard has done it, I’m at a loss to explain how. I’ve stood closer to him than I’m standing to you and felt his power. He feels only average, yet I still believe he’s hidden his strength somehow. Obviously with magic, but as to how—who knows?”

“You can’t prove any of this can you? And what does it have to do with sending my men to their deaths?”

Lucius shrugged. “I can’t prove anything concerning Belgard, but I do know why this half hearted attack is going on.”

“Oh?”

“Yes indeed. Your men are dying so that the Devan’s attention is kept focused this way while Third Legion attacks from the north. It seems that Mortain, may he live forever, does not want to wait for us to take Athione before starting the next stage of the invasion. Third Legion will attack Deva through Camorin. The so-called lord who holds Malcor has sold it to us. He will be disposed of when the Protectorate is victorious. We can’t trust someone who would sell his own country to its enemies.”

Navarien felt sick. It was a good strategy. Keep the opponent focused in one direction while striking elsewhere was a fine plan, but the diversionary force belonged to him, and the losses were already colossal.

“It might work in the long term Lucius, but meanwhile my men are dying.”

“The only solution I can see to your dilemma is an immediate and full force magical attack on the fortress. Kill the girl, and blast the fortress until they evacuate. Only then should you build your bridge. Belgard won’t order that, it would go against Mortain’s wishes.”

Now was the time. “There must be something we can do.”

Lucius stopped and studied him for a long moment. “I feel for you and your men General, but I am no longer in any position to help you.”

“If you were me, what would you do?”

“Pray. Pray that something changes to cause Belgard to abandon this course.”

“Pray!” Navarien cried. “I need something a lot stronger than prayer!”

“I’ve been praying a lot lately.”

“For what?”

“For Belgard to get the pocks and die.”

* * *

Belgard laughed. “Oh Lucius, how can you be so right, and yet be so wrong at the same time?”

He cleared the image in the mirror and leaned back in his chair. How had Lucius found out about his strength? He would have to be more careful in future. Was it just wishful thinking on his part, or had Lucius truly only guessed?

No matter, Mortain would execute Lucius in the not too distant future.

The General’s weakness was a disappointment. He had hoped to use Navarien later. The death of so many legionnaires was regrettable of course, but it was hardly a matter over which to get so upset. They were serving a purpose by dying in sight of the walls after all. As for the girl, Lucius was right again regarding his knowledge of her magic. He had come to know her quite well. Julia was powerful but emotionally weak as all women were. She was squeamish when using her magic. With the talent she possessed, he would have destroyed the legion to the last man, but what does she do? Precisely nothing.

That wasn’t quite true he amended, she had learned to heal, but while she was doing that precious time was going by in which she could have learned other more useful things. Things such as warding. He was pleased that she was so stupid. A ward created by her might take more sorcerers than he had on hand to break. The deaths had hit Julia hard. He knew that from watching her sleep. She awoke screaming most nights. That’s what had decided him on this course. Navarien’s men might be the enemy as far as Julia was concerned, but she felt just as guilty about enemy deaths as she did about her friends.

With a little luck, he would lure her out and then strike her down. Athione would fall in short order and the book would be his. That book would make him Godwinson. A gate into the current heir’s chambers to assassinate him, and then another into Mortain’s chambers to whisper a few words in his ear…

Belgard chuckled. Who knew, he might be Mortain in a year!

* * *

“Is there nothing you can do?”

Julia sighed. She was hearing those words a lot lately. Can you not remove the sorcerers? Can you not bridge the Gap? Can you not save us!

“When I tried before I couldn’t find anything physically wrong with him. When I healed you, I found a blue light like a jewel in your aura. Only a mage has it. I think the jewel is your mage gift, or maybe it’s where you link to the magic.”

Mathius nodded. “You mentioned it before.”

Julia had only a fuzzy recollection of that night. She shrugged. “Anyway, the point is only mages have a jewel, and Renard’s is dull. I’m guessing that when the ward fell, he received a... call it a backlash, which burned out his gift.”

Mathius gasped in horror. “If that’s the case he won’t want to live.”

“I know,” she whispered.

If only she knew more! She had seen so much death since arriving here that she should be used to it by now, but she wasn’t. Every new death stabbed her with guilt and it was worse each time. She had to learn how to save them!

“I think he’s gone into his centre. Maybe to find his magic, or maybe he’s just hiding in there.”

Julia examined Renard again. Mathius had been caring for him, but he was finding it difficult to make Renard eat and drink. It was heart breaking seeing him like this. Renard had been so pleased when the ward he designed worked, he was almost dancing for joy when she first met him. Now all he did was sit in a chair and stare at nothing. She had tried to talk to him, but he was completely unresponsive.

“What about letting him share your magic like you did in the library?” Mathius said hopefully.

“I don’t know how to do that. Renard linked to me remember, not the other way… I could try it like healing, only...”

“I hate to say this, but he really would be better off dead than the way he is.”

Julia nodded acknowledging his words, but she wasn’t convinced that anyone was better off dead. She stepped behind Renard and readied herself, but she was still unsure that she wanted to do this. Would Renard want to come back without his magic? She could not stand by and watch him wither away. Standing behind him, she clasped Renard’s head in both hands and quickly entered the realm of healing. Renard’s familiar aura appeared before her. It was vigorously moving about as it should, but looking closer she could see the dull and lifeless jewel at his centre. Instead of a beautiful sapphire, it was a muddy and cloudy blue crystal devoid of life—just as Renard himself was.

I hope this works.

Julia willed her healing magic to turn blue—she tried to turn it blue. It resisted her as if not wanting to change. She forced it—she insisted that it change for her. Slowly the pure white light of her healing power dulled and became a sickly looking pale blue, but it fought her all the way. She drew harder as her magic changed back to white. Gritting her teeth she pulled more, and more again. It flickered between the two colours, neither one nor the other. Groaning at the strain, she opened her link wider still and flinched.

God... it hurts!

Her power flickered but at the last it changed reluctantly to a deep sapphire blue. This time it stayed that way. Healing had never hurt her before—made her tired yes, but it had never given her pain. She felt... not sick exactly, but subtly wrong in her head—disorientated.

This is not right. I know it’s not. I’ve never felt like this before.

Not knowing what else to do, Julia touched the jewel with her magic and it blazed up with sapphire coloured light. It had worked! She could hardly believe it. She let her magic turn white again and sighed in relief as pain was replaced by bliss. She gazed at the beautiful light of Renard’s jewel. It was much brighter than Mathius’s jewel. It was becoming brighter—intolerably bright.

Something’s wrong! God, what do I do?

Julia quickly tried to damp the jewel’s light, but it hurt to touch like grabbing a live wire. She clamped a fist of magic round the jewel trying to ignore the pain, but it was no good, it continued to blaze unaffected. She let it go and watched helplessly as Renard’s aura became unsettled. It was being drawn toward the centre! In horror, she watched as Renard’s aura changed into a ball of blue light.

He was shrinking!

His aura swirled and shrank. Smaller and smaller, no bigger than a golf ball... a marble... a blazing star in the sky... gone.

I’ve killed him!

* * *

Mathius watched Julia attempt to save Renard. There were no external signs of her work as she tried to heal the mage. No spell that he could detect, no weaving of the patterns that Julia insisted were so important—nothing but the roar of her magic and the light. She blazed with power, so much that even Darius—the strongest wizard he had ever seen—would have been burnt to a cinder. Julia wasn’t even close to what she could draw. He had seen her healing the guardsmen one after another long after other mages would have quit for fear of making a mistake and ageing. She had kept going, perhaps even unaware of how extraordinary she was. He had no doubt that she was a true sorcerer, or more properly a sorceress.

Any mage could judge the strength of another by simply being nearby when they drew upon their power. Judging how powerful they might become in the future was another matter entirely. As an initiate, he knew next to nothing of the uses of magic. He would never know until he tried just how far he might reach. Mages had aged themselves prematurely precisely because they had tried for a higher rank. They had reached and overreached.

Mages of this time believed their breed had dwindled in strength over the centuries. Before Julia’s arrival, he had no reason to doubt the theory, but now he wondered. It was possible that the only reason a mage failed to reach the rank of sorcerer was because they aged so fast that they never fully realised their strength before dying. So far he had managed to avoid that, but he was an exception rather than the rule. His father had been a mage in his time and very strict regarding the use of magic. Mathius used to think that his father was jealous of his ability to sense the magic and was unwilling to have people realise that his son was more powerful than him. It was a childish thought, which he had dismissed after watching his father call a rainstorm to help a village afflicted by a drought. That day had changed him more than any other thing. It made him proud to be his father’s son.

Mathius smiled as he remembered the years on the road with his father. They had travelled all over the kingdom selling their magic for food or a little silver. Looking back it had been the best time of his life. He realised now that his father had used the journey to teach him about magic and its dangers. It was a tragedy that he couldn’t thank him. His father died unable to avoid the fate that he had protected his son against.

“Hnnn...” Julia grunted and flinched.

Mathius stepped forward unsure what he should do. He shielded his eyes as the glow around Julia brightened even more. The light was blinding and the noise! She would overreach! What by the God was she thinking? He reached out to pull her away, but before he could touch her, the light changed again. One moment Julia was glowing fit to burn him, the next Renard was. Mathius blinked his watering eyes in stunned delight, but then he frowned in consternation. Renard was glowing, but it was not the pure white light of a mage linked to his magic—it was blue! As he watched, Renard moved for the first time since the battle and looked at him.

Mathius recoiled from the stare. An intense blue light shone from where Renard’s eyes should have been. Gaping like a landed fish, Mathius was about to speak when Renard smiled at him. Mathius was struck dumb and found himself responding to the smile in kind.

“Renard? Are you well?”

Renard smiled and raised a finger to his lips to shush him.

The light intensified until Mathius could no longer bear to look. He tried to shield his eyes with one hand, he didn’t want to miss anything, but the room was suddenly plunged into darkness. Tentatively he scanned the room for Renard, but his friend had disappeared.

Julia looked at him with weary eyes. “He’s dead.”

“But where is—”—his body? Mathius finished silently.

Julia stepped to the door. “I won’t let any more of my friends die,” she said in exhausted resignation.

Mathius nodded and Julia left with her shoulders slumped in defeat. She was so small that he wanted to reach out and comfort her like a child. He did nothing and watched the door swing closed in silence. He should never have asked her to do it.

* * *

“He’s unconscious, does anyone know him?” Julia straightened and turned to the others in the room. Mathius shrugged and shook his head.

“It’s Jihan. He is heir to Malcor,” Keverin said but when Julia made no comment, he explained further. “Malcor holds the north.”

“One of the Four?” Julia said knowing that it was.

“Hmmm yes,” Keverin nodded. “Athlone is Lord Protector of the North.”

Keverin’s every day tone didn’t fool Julia. She knew that look only too well. Why did he hate Athlone, apart from the obvious problem with him not being here to aid them against the sorcerers? The raid on East Town was long ago, and Athlone had good reasons for those attacks. Surely, that was all over with now?

“I haven’t seen any Malcorans here—have I?” she said hoping to draw him out.

“No,” Keverin said shortly.

“Nor will you,” Mathius added. “Athlone doesn’t—”

“Mathius,” Keverin warned and Mathius fell silent. “Athlone regards himself my enemy—my entire family’s enemy.”

“I know about his father and brother, and about the raiding, but surely the invasion is more important?”

“I think so, but Athlone sees things differently. He would watch Deva burn if it meant seeing me fall.”

Julia winced at the acid dripping from Keverin’s words. With that attitude it would be best if he and Athlone never met face to face. She turned back to her patient. The young man, Jihan, had ridden up to the east a short while ago, but rather than ask entrance he had sat slumped in the saddle holding an unconscious girl in his arms. Jihan’s horse had walked around aimlessly while the gatekeeper informed Keverin of his arrival. Keverin, of course, had asked her to come down and have a look. He had actually asked her, rather than order her as he usually did. It was a great improvement.

“What about the woman?”

“A village girl by her clothes. How is she?” Mathius said.

“Tired, but her leg has healed well. She should be up and about in no—” Julia broke off as the door opened to admit the subject of their discussion.

The woman wore a blue cotton dress that made her look even younger than her years. She glanced around the room but didn’t appear to notice Mathius standing near the door. Her eyes locked upon the injured lord. She marched forward and felt Jihan’s forehead before looking worriedly at Keverin.

“Please, sir wizard, heal him.”

“I’m afraid you have me confused with somebody else lady…” Keverin said. “What is your name?”

“Ahnao,” she said not taking her eyes from Jihan. “He needs help. I don’t know all of it, but he was desperate to escape his da’s guardsmen and tell Lord Athione something.”

Julia gasped. Jihan’s own father had done this? Ahnao glanced at her then back to Keverin waiting for her answer.

“I am Keverin, Lord of Athione. This is Lady Julia.”

It was Ahnao’s turn to gasp. She quickly curtsied to Keverin. “Will you help us? His da will kill him if you send us away.”

“Of course you can stay. Both of you can. Come Lady, stand here with me and explain how you came to my gate in the condition you did. Lady Julia will attend your friend.”

“Oh please! Call a healer if you won’t call one of your wizards. He needs one badly.”

“You misunderstand, Ahnao. Lady Julia is a healer, and a mage.”

“But!” Ahnao protested but then lowered her eyes. “Yes Lord, if yer says.”

While Julia worked on Jihan, Ahnao told Keverin her story. Jihan had two infected arrow wounds and a bad slash on his leg—from a sword if she was any judge. The wound in his upper arm was bad, but she had seen worse too many times. She went to work and by the time Ahnao had finished her story, Jihan had begun to rouse. Julia stumbled tiredly across the room and sat in a wooden backed chair to rest for a few minutes. It felt as if she’d just finished a day of training in the gym. Was it because she drew too much magic too often, or was she doing something wrong? Drawing deeply worked best—did it not it? The more she drew, the quicker the healing, and that was fact not a guess. Surely a speedy healing was good. Julia rubbed at her shoulder where the arrow had struck. It ached on cold days. It had healed well, but her peak of fitness attained over many years of hard work was losing way to poor eating and little sleep. She was beginning to lose weight, but what could she do? She had to heal people if she could. Anything else was just not right.

Jihan tried to sit up when he realised where he was. Ahnao’s face lit up like a beacon, but when Jihan noticed her she deliberately blanked her face and scowled at him.

“So yer awake then,” Ahnao said, in an uninterested voice. “Typical of you, running off and leaving me in a stranger’s hands.”

“Now Ahnao, you know it wasn’t like that!” Jihan spluttered.

Mathius and Julia exchanged quick smirking grins. Jihan had his hands full with this one and Julia approved.

“Lord Jihan, may I present Lady Julia and the mage Mathius?” Keverin said.

“Honoured,” Jihan said inclining his head to all present. “I thank you my lord. I am in your debt.”

“You are most welcome here, Lord Jihan,” Keverin said equally formal. “There is no debt between us.”

“I claim no title, my lord. My father is a traitor. I do not want, nor do I need, anything from him.”

“Harsh words, Jihan. Ahnao has told us her story. Why not begin from the beginning?”

“Not too long ago,” Jihan began. “We had a visitor at Malcor. The first time my father met with him alone, but it was obvious what the man was, if not exactly who.”

“How was it obvious?” Keverin said.

“He was wearing his black robe as bold as you please.”

Keverin stiffened and turned reflexively toward Julia. Julia bit her lip at the look of betrayal on his face. She wanted to reach out to him, but his face changed again in that moment. He was being the Lord Protector again now. It was as if a mask had closed over his features.

Blank faced, Keverin turned back to Jihan. “What did he want?”

“I have no clue for the first meeting, my lord, but the following one was an offer from Mortain. My father has been conspiring with Morfran and diverse others for years—”

“This I know. What of the offer?”

“Let him tell it, Kev,” Julia said.

“Lady—” Keverin began hotly but he stopped himself. “Lady Julia, if you will leave matters that do not concern you to me, I would be grateful. You have made your decision, now leave mine to me.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Julia said.

“That might be best.”

“Sorry, can’t do that,” she said sweetly. “Jihan might need me.”

“I feel fine—” Jihan protested.

Julia glared. “I’m the healer. I’m staying!”

“About the offer?” Mathius said stepping in.

“Yes, the offer,” Jihan said looking faintly puzzled at Julia’s insistence on staying. “The first was simply to refrain from aiding Athione. In exchange, my father was to rule Deva as a province of the Protectorate.”

Hisses of shock went around the room. Malcor was one of the Four. More than that, it had thousands of fresh guardsmen. What if Malcor marched on Athione? Julia felt sick at the thought. His losses had badly weakened Keverin. If Malcor marched, Athione would fall.

“You said the first agreement, my lord.”

Jihan nodded. “The second was to allow a legion through the northern border to attack you here.”

“How could he do it?” Mathius whispered in horror. “His honour—”

“My father is evil!” Jihan cried. “He hounded my mother and beat and beat her—she threw herself from the battlement to escape him! He’s disgusting! He ordered the men to attack me in the dark of night and my tutors—”

Once Jihan started he couldn’t stem the tide. Julia listened to all manner of vileness his father had committed. She was horrified when he spoke of his mother’s betrayal and eventual suicide, and felt for the seven year old Jihan having to live with the monster as he was systematically brutalised. Jihan was panting from the effort the flood of words had taken when his story wound down into silence.

“I must take council with Purcell and Gylaren on this,” Keverin said worriedly. “We have a serious problem. A legion waiting in the pass and another on the way from the north. We might soon be under attack from both sides at the same time.”

“I would offer you my skills for the defence,” Jihan said. “If you will allow it, I will join your guardsmen.”

“How good are you?”

“I would not wish to seem immodest, my lord, but I can best any at Malcor—including my father.”

“Hmmm, that good?” Keverin said faintly amused. “You and I will spar when you are more rested. If you beat me two out of three, I will take your oath as a captain in my guard.”

“Very well,” Jihan said simply.

“Do you want to know what I want if you lose?”

Jihan smiled grimly. “I never lose.”

Julia ignored the by-play. She was thinking of what she had said to Mathius after she killed Renard. It seemed fate had called her bluff. Julia stood to leave with Mathius as escort. Keverin followed a few paces behind.

“You idiot!” Ahnao growled at Jihan as they left. “Lady Julia healed the mess you made of yourself last time, now you go and accept a challenge from Lord Keverin! Are you daft?”

“Now Ahnao please, it is not like that—”

The door closed and cut off Jihan’s plea.

“I need to have a few words with Keverin. Can I meet you later?” Julia said as they walked.

“Of course,” Mathius said and inclined his head to her before leaving.

Keverin offered his arm when he heard that she wished to speak with him, but she shook her head and settled with walking by his side. He wasn’t happy. Moriz and Halbert followed them both a few paces back not wanting to intrude. They would be back dogging her heels again when Keverin went off to wherever he hid himself these days.

Julia forced thoughts of her bodyguard out of her head. She had more weighty concerns on her mind. How was she going to make the Hasians go away without killing them all? Could it even be done? She strolled along the corridor next to Keverin thinking about what she might do to prevent the deaths of any more of her friends. She had given up fighting against people’s expectations after killing Renard. How she wished there were a way out, but there wasn’t one. She knew that now. It was surprisingly easy to make the decision to kill. Was it her imagination or had the voice of her conscience become quieter these days? Whatever the answer, it was definitely becoming easier to justify killing.

“I will use magic to rid you of the Hasians,” Julia said staring straight ahead. She did not want to see Keverin’s look of triumph at her news.

The silence drew out but finally Keverin said, “Are you sure?”

Julia blew out her breath and wished she could take back the words, but what other choice was there? “I’m sure. I will not allow our people to die if I can prevent it. If I can, I will limit the deaths to the sorcerers, but if the soldiers intervene they will die,” she finished in a hard voice.

“What will you need?”

“Time mostly, but I don’t have it. Do I?”

“No,” Keverin said. “A day… two at the most. I cannot believe they have waited this long,”

“I will need Mathius to help me and time in the library. I still can’t make a ward. Without one they will kill me before I have a chance to get them all.”

“That makes sense.”

Julia parted company with Keverin and went in search of Mathius. She listened absently to Moriz speculating on whether he should bother practising for the tournament this year. Halbert was of the opinion that he needed ten years of practise to best him in the ring.

“Are you both boxers then?”

“Yes Lady, but everyone does it a little,” Halbert said.

“She doesn’t mean brawling, dim whit! She means like the tournament!” Moriz said.

“Don’t you dimwit me, dung face! I’ll plaster you over the cobbles if you don’t shut yer hole,” Halbert said, but he made no move to make good on the threat.

Julia grinned. She had heard the like many times—they were just playing, but watch out if someone else said it. Moriz and Halbert were closer than brothers. They never left each other’s side, which was one reason they had both survived for so long. She liked them both. They often made her laugh with their banter. She had always thought sarcasm the best kind of humour. It was more subtle. Still, she wished they weren’t so meticulous where their duty was concerned. They dogged her steps unmercifully. The only time she could be alone was in her room or in the library—they knew those places only had one exit.

Julia found Mathius standing like a statue near the ruined gate. He had his arms crossed and was frowning at the broken walls. “Mathius? I need your help again.”

“I was just wondering what all those men down there are thinking about.”

Julia didn’t want to think of the enemy as individuals. It was easier for her to think of them as a single malign force—one she had to stop. She didn’t want to know what they were thinking.

“You have to be my magic teacher again.”

Mathius grinned. “I don’t know how magical I will be, but I can try to teach you.”

“I need mind-speech so that we talk during battle. I need to learn wards, full sized fire balls, and anything else you can think of to kill the enemy.”

That wiped the smile off his face. “How many years have you got?”

“Two days.”

“Not possible. It can’t be done. No way!” Mathius cried in horror. “Be reasonable—”

“We have to make it happen, Mathius. Come with me to the library and I’ll explain.”

On the way to the library, Julia told him her decision, and from there the conversation drifted to Jihan’s story and what Mathius thought of a lord who could treat his son as badly as Jihan’s father had.

“I can’t believe a lord would stoop so low,” Mathius said in revulsion. “What of the dishonour?”

“I don’t know anything about honour, Mathius. Some people live for the now and don’t think about such things. They want riches and power and damn everyone and everything that gets in their way. I feel sorry for Jihan.”

Mathius nodded. “The dishonour stains him, even though he is not to blame.”

“I didn’t mean that. I meant the beatings and the abuse.”

Mathius shrugged. “That’s nothing.”

“How can you say that?” Julia said in surprise. “Athlone used the guardsmen to attack his own son. They hounded him through the fortress. They even killed his mother!”

Mathius was unimpressed. “My father was very strict. All good fathers are.”

“Mine wasn’t. He was wonderful.”

“If he was wonderful, I’m happy for you Julia, but you must realise that discipline is important. Your world might be different,” Mathius said doubtfully. “But if a child lacks discipline it can lead to death and worse.”

“What is worse than death?”

“Dishonour is worse,” Mathius said firmly. “In my case burnout and dishonour are about equal.”

“You can’t mean that! You mean to say that you would rather lose the gift than be dishonoured?”

“No...” he said thoughtfully. “I would rather not do either, but having the choice I would rather die.”

Moriz and Halbert both murmured in agreement. “No man would let dishonour stain him lady,” Moriz said.

“The God would turn his face from him,” Halbert said.

“No,” Mathius said firmly. “The God would never do that, but He would send you back. Dishonour stains the soul. None such could abide the God’s majesty.”

The three men circled their hearts and Julia felt shut out at that moment. She hadn’t been to church for more than a year and missed it. She would have asked Father Preston about honour and dishonour if she could, but she was afraid she knew the answer. Killing people was dishonourable, it was wrong, and she had killed thousands.

“What did your father do?” Julia said into the silence.

“He was a journeyman mage in the old tradition.”

“Old tradition?”

“Before Lord Keverin’s library, a mage travelled and learned the craft simply by using it. Sometimes an exchange of information could occur, but meeting another mage was rare. My father was a great man. I didn’t know it then, but he saved me.”

“The strictness you mentioned?”

Mathius nodded. “He taught me that my magic was not to be used for frivolous things. Because of him, I have a real chance at wearing the red robe someday.”

“How come?”

“It’s a theory of mine,” Mathius said as they turned down the last corridor. “Hasian sorcerers are not truly sorcerers—not as the Founders were. They wear the black robe like a guardsman wears his lord’s sigil on his chest.” Mathius cocked a thumb at Moriz where the crossed fists of Athione decorated his chest. “There hasn’t been a true sorcerer since Martaninn. He died over a century ago. Nowadays, a wizard is a rare sight indeed. Everyone knows the magic has weakened—but what if it hasn’t?”

“Tell me,” Julia said.

“I think the reason mages no longer reach the black robe is that they age too rapidly. I think they die before getting the chance. The more a mage uses his power, the greater he becomes, but the risk of ageing is greater also.”

“How does your theory accommodate me?”

“It doesn’t,” Mathius said ruefully. “You violate all the rules concerning mages. At least on this world you do. Without our magic we are hollow and empty. Without it we live only half a life. The more a mage uses his magic, the more he craves it—just like the drugs a Camorin shaman uses to see the future. Discipline is the only thing that prevents us from attempting to draw too much. You are the same age as me Lady, but you hadn’t used your power before your arrival here. You aren’t addicted to using it for everything—just like me.”

Julia nodded, but she privately thought that she might already be addicted. Maybe it was the reason she felt the need to draw so hard while healing. Something else was puzzling her though.

“What about the different ranks then?”

Mathius seemed glad she had asked, just like a teacher pleased with a particularly bright student. He was her teacher, but they often taught each other how to use the magic. Their relationship was special to her, much more than the usual student to teacher relationship. It was more like sister to brother.

“That’s the problem,” Mathius said oblivious to her thoughts. “If a mage has discipline enough not to over use it and age too fast, he has time to develop his talent. The more he uses his magic the stronger he gets—like lifting heavier and heavier weights. The problem is you again. You definitely rank as a sorceress in raw power, but you are only apprentice level in experience—It makes no sense.”

When they reached the library, Moriz and Halbert silently took their places either side of the door. Julia stepped inside and felt the power of the place sweep over her.

Use me, and know your destiny.

Every time Julia came here it seemed to say something different. She knew it was her own subconscious, but it always made her stop and think when she heard its latest proclamation.

“I’ll choose some books for you to read. We can go over them together. You never know, I might learn something as well.”

“That’s fine Mathius, but wards first then mind-speech. I can always attack with lightning. I don’t really need anything else.”

Or want anything else, if the truth were known.

* * *

The armoury was a large hall on the ground floor of the sprawling fortress. It was where generations of Athione defenders had spent their days practising their skills. There were no frills here, just racks of swords, pikes, daggers, and armour. Even a few lances stood in a neat row along the wall. They had escaped destruction when lance work became unfashionable. Their brothers had been burned as firewood years ago. No one practised the lance charge anymore. What point in trying to charge out from Athione in a column of twos bristling with lances? They would be stabbing each other in the back. Deva’s lords had long since given up battles on open fields where lance charges worked, and had instead turned to small group tactics that patrols of a hundred men could execute. Well they did have the Four to protect them, what else did any kingdom reasonably need?

What else indeed, Keverin snorted in annoyance. “Not you Jihan. I was just thinking how peace can breed stupidity. Even I am guilty of it.”

Jihan stroked the wood of the lance and patted it fondly. “I know what you mean. I wasn’t happy when they forced me to learn how to handle one of these monsters.”

“You know the lance?”

Jihan nodded. “My... tutors were most insistent. If you follow me?”

At Keverin’s nod, Jihan moved on inspecting the swords and armour. Keverin followed watching his reactions. Jihan obviously liked the armour, and the daggers were just daggers as they were anywhere, but the swords were another matter. Jihan drew one from the rack and inspected the edge. Usually someone on punishment for some minor infraction of the rules would be detailed to the armoury. Alvin wasn’t here right now, but it was his punishment along with Galen the idiot gatekeeper to hone all these weapons. Jihan nodded at the sharpness, but he grimaced when he tested the balance. He re-racked the blade to try another.

“You know,” Jihan said. “Deva lost more than prestige and revenue when the Chulym masters left. I don’t wish to offend you but—” he hesitated torn between telling the truth and telling politic lies.

“I prefer truth in all things, Jihan,” Keverin said. “A man always knows where he stands with an honest man. Don’t fear to offend me. My skin is thick and Julia would say my head is also.” He grinned at Jihan’s look of surprise.

“I know how that is. Ahnao is... and then she’s...” Jihan sighed. “Might I ask some advice of you, my lord?”

“Of course my friend, but I warn you. If it regards women, I might not be the one to ask. Come to think of it, no man understands them!”

Jihan laughed politely, but he was itching to ask his question. Jihan played with the sword hilt a moment before shrugging and racking the weapon. “Ahnao risked herself for me twice. The first time she snuck out under the nose of my father’s guardsmen to point out a target on a roof for me. If she hadn’t done that, I would have died for sure.

“Then, after I left her to journey here she sold her house for a nag of a horse to chase after me, and shielded me when I charged two men intent on killing me. Her leg was badly broken. She did all this for me, but when we arrive here and all is well again, she starts yelling and carrying on—” Jihan looked at Keverin in puzzlement. “I don’t understand.”

Keverin laughed and clapped Jihan on the shoulder. “How do you feel about her?”

“I do not know, I mean...” Jihan blushed and set himself as if facing an ordeal. “I have never held a woman before Ahnao, and I have never… you know... at all. I think I would like to with Ahnao very much, but she sees a rich lord when she looks at me, and I’m not—not anymore.”

“You can get that out of your head right now Jihan,” Keverin said sharply. “You were unconscious when Julia healed Ahnao, but if you had seen her, you wouldn’t have said what you did. She was delirious and in great pain, but she was begging Julia to leave her and heal you instead. She loves you, Jihan. I promise on my honour it’s true. You must think carefully how to proceed.”

Jihan looked stunned.

“She’s not a noble, Jihan,” Keverin warned the smiling boy.

Jihan was obviously taken with the idea that someone other than his mother loved him. “I don’t care about that.”

“Your father will, and Ahnao will have a hard time adjusting to life at Malcor—if the others will even let her try.”

“Being a noble has caused me nothing but grief. I swear I would be happy as a forester. I’ll have to tell you about the time I lived alone in the woods sometime, but will Ahnao be happy with a simple forester?”

Keverin tried and failed to see Jihan as anything but what he was. If there was a man that looked less like a forester and more like a lord he did not know him. Everything about Jihan shouted his birth. He would believe himself a blacksmith before he believed Jihan a forester!

“My lord?”

Keverin shook off his distraction. “I should think Ahnao would be happy no matter what you do with your life, but you have to do what is best for her, not yourself.”

Jihan nodded agreement and lost himself in thought.

“What do you think—the armoury?” Keverin said thinking to distract the lad.

“The armour is very good. It’s much better than my father issues his men. Are there iron discs beneath like mine or—?”

“No. We use rings sewn to the first layer, and then cloth padding over that followed by the outer layer of boiled leather. It’s light and strong, and costs half as much as using solid discs.”

“That’s a good idea, but not as strong as discs I should think.”

“No, not quite, but less weight makes my men quicker. That can be a great advantage—especially in a long fight where exhaustion is a concern.”

“You know of course that your swords are not fit for a pig farmer.”

Keverin laughed. “They are not that bad! Iron is inferior I grant you, but steel is hard to come by and cursed expensive. If I could, I would halve my treasure to buy steel to make swords for all my men, but where will I get the steel and a master to use it?”

“With Chulym more or less useless, the Matriarch is the only one with the swordsmiths you need.”

“And you can be sure that she would tell me where to go if I asked to borrow one!” Keverin said with a laugh.

Jihan laughed in agreement.

It was time to do what they came here to do. Keverin had brought Jihan for a sparring match, not converse on the merits of steel over iron. He chose a wooden practise sword from amongst a barrel full of practise blades of varying lengths and weights, but Jihan hesitated before stepping forward.

“I used live blades at Malcor, my lord. I forgot where I was for a moment.”

“We use these to prevent unnecessary injury.”

“I understand, my lord. On the way here, I realised that although I hated them at the time, my tutors gave me a great gift along with their abuse.”

“Oh?” Keverin said raising an eyebrow.

“With live blades, precision is vital. As you can imagine a miss stroke could kill or mame. Wooden swords are more humane, but they invite errors in the training... Please don’t think that I criticise you my lord, I prefer not to injure you. It was an observation only.”

They walked into space at the centre of the armoury. Jihan thought he was good, but Keverin wondered if he really was. Was it just the inexperience talking? Starting slow, he tried to take Jihan’s measure. He knew the lad would do the same. Keverin was about to try an attack, when Jihan attacked first and pushed him on the defensive.

He’s good, no question.

Almost immediately Keverin realised that the youngster outclassed him, but something was wrong. Jihan had not tried for the touch. “Hold!” Keverin said and put up his blade. “You’re holding back Jihan. Why?”

Jihan grounded his sword and lent upon it. “It’s hard to explain my lord. The last time I fought blade to blade, I killed two men. It was my second real fight. I feel unable to strike at you.”

“What of the men in the village?”

“I was ambushed that time, my lord. I had to use my bow.”

Keverin frowned. “I’ve seen this kind of freezing before. It can ruin a good swordsman. We have to get you back in form before the attack. I will go at you full force. I apologise now for any bruises.”

“Thank you my lord, but I will receive none.”

He’s a cocky bastard I’ll give him that.

This time Keverin went into a furious attack. He saw startlement in Jihan’s eyes for a few precious moments and was pleased, but Jihan rallied very quickly and pushed him back again. Keverin knew what he had to do—it would hurt but he had to make Jihan strike. He went high, then low and lunged. Jihan instinctively went for the opening.

“Ooof!” Keverin gasped.

“Sorry, my lord! Are you injured?”

Keverin bent double trying to get his breath back. His cursed armour might stop him being cut, but it certainly didn’t stop the impact. He would have a smashing bruise come the morrow. He waved Jihan’s apology away. He didn’t show it, but he was pleased with Jihan’s reaction.

“You did that on purpose. Did you not, my lord?”

The boy was sharp. “Who me?”

Jihan grinned.

They started again. This time Keverin was on his best behaviour and not taking any chances at all. Again, Jihan drove him back and then hit him lightly in the ribs.

“That’s one!” Jihan called.

“Ha! You were lucky my lad. You need another two for the captaincy!”

In the end Keverin felt thoroughly skewered and drubbed. He hadn’t come close to the boy. How the Malcoran guardsmen had wounded him, he would never know. He had never seen a better man with the blade, and fast—lightning couldn’t be faster!

“Well Captain Jihan, that was most educational. Your teachers certainly did a job on you.”

“Yes...” Jihan whispered. “Yes they did,” he said staring into space and seeing a time long ago. “I would like to find them some day and repay them,” he said in a dangerous voice.

* * *

11 ~ Battle of the Gap

Julia sighed. It was pointless. She was never going to learn how to make a decent ward in time for the attack. Mathius had sweated blood trying to show her how to control the subtle threads that made a wall out of the magic, but she just couldn’t seem to grasp it. It didn’t help that Mathius was unsurprised by her failure. He said it had taken him a year to learn how to construct his pitifully weak shield. She couldn’t even make one as strong as his!

Mathius was worried and so was she. It hadn’t been said, but they were both wondering at the differences between magic wielded by men and women. Quite often she had surprised Mathius with her gesturing and patterns that he insisted were unnecessary. What else was different for her—wards maybe? Without a shield, she would have to rely on a fast attack to do the job.

Julia winced. She was avoiding the truth. She wasn’t just attacking them, she was killing—no, murdering them. She shook her head and tried to distract herself with her wine. It had a nice colour, burgundy red, like blood.

No! Don’t think about it!

mind-speech had come to her eventually, but not until Mathius had tried and failed to reach her countless times. He said it was because of the turbulence surrounding her. When she asked what he meant, he was surprised she didn’t know. In exasperation, she had asked why he hadn’t told her about the realm of power. Mathius said he thought she knew. As it happened, she had known about the existence of a place like the one he described. She had slipped into it accidentally while trying to heal him. Although Mathius was doubtful, she knew her magic came from there, but she hadn’t realised that it was the place mages used to bespeak each other. She had entered the realm of power, as she named it, and studied Mathius’ link to his magic. She realised straight away that the turbulence he referred to was caused by magic being drawn into him. After a little experimentation, she had found a way of opening herself to the magic without causing the disturbance. After that, Mathius had succeeded in contacting her for the first time. Hoping the breakthrough would extend to other aspects of magic, he had insisted that they try warding again. With nothing else to do, Julia had agreed.

“—right,” Mathius said concentrating on her spell. “Try to extend it toward me.”

“No... it’s no good. It’s not right somehow,” Julia said in annoyance.

It was just like the last time. The light looked like a ward, it even sounded like a ward as it thrummed merrily away, but it wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t somehow. It was… light, just light. Light by itself couldn’t stop fireballs.

“You need to keep practising. You might get lucky.”

Luck was no part of her life and hadn’t been since her parents died. Instead of answering, Julia released her hold on the magic and drained her wine. She reached to pour another.

Mathius’ face blanked.

How dare he disapprove of me! Hold on girl, he’s your closest friend, and he cares.

Julia felt ashamed of herself, and that made her angrier. She had nothing to be ashamed of! If a drink made her feel better about murdering thousands of people, who was he to say no? Looking at him again, she saw the worry on his face. She grasped her magic and spoke mind to mind.

*I’m sorry Mathius, but we are out of time. Keverin must be frantic.*

*I know.* Mathius said speaking the same way. *I’ll stand with you and ward us both. My magic is weak but it’s better than nothing.*

Julia released the link to her magic. “Don’t underestimate yourself, Mathius!” She scolded. “Without you, I wouldn’t have learned a thing. I would probably still be here unable to leave my centre.”

Mathius grinned. “You have certainly come a long way since then, I—” he broke off looking at something over her shoulder.

Julia turned to find Father Gideon standing nervously before her—Bishop Gideon she should say. He looked worse than nervous; he looked haggard as if struggling with some inner demon. Gideon straightened some non-existent wrinkles in his pristine white robe then came another step forward.

“Can you spare me a few moments to talk, Lady Julia?”

Julia blinked in surprise. Gideon sounded like the humble priest he had first named himself when she discovered his chapel. She hesitated to agree. She didn’t want or need another argument, especially before going out and facing the sorcerers.

“Please, I beg you.”

Julia hesitated a moment longer, but then she nodded. “I’ll meet you in the courtyard, Mathius.”

Mathius bowed to them both and left.

“Would you care to sit, Father?”

“Thank you.”

They settled themselves on opposite sides of a table and Julia waited for the priest to gather his courage. She didn’t know what was bothering the man, but something was biting at him.

“I want to say that I am sorry, and that I was wrong,” Gideon burst out in a rush. “Darius was a good friend of mine. I warned him not to try breaching the barrier, but he ignored me to bring you here. That he died for it said to me that I was right to condemn you.”

If Julia hadn’t known better, she would have said Gideon was ashamed. That couldn’t be right, not after calling her an abomination in the eyes of God. She listened quietly as he poured out his words to her and wondered if he spoke from the heart or was just saying what she wanted to hear. She couldn’t decide which.

“No woman has ever been chosen by the God to use his power, but Lord Keverin insisted you were sent here to save us. I know the truth of his words—”

Julia frowned. Keverin had insisted. When?

“—Darius said the God helps those that help themselves, and I forgot that simple truth in my stupid indignation over the spell he was about to cast.”

Julia heard sincerity in his words—she was sure she heard it. Kindness cost her nothing she decided. What would it hurt to put his mind at rest?

“I appreciate you coming here, Father, but I wasn’t sent by God. I was stolen away from my world by Darius. It was my bad luck that he grabbed me.”

Gideon smiled in relief at her acceptance of his apology. “I know he did, but it wasn’t any kind of luck—bad or otherwise. If it wasn’t your destiny to be the one, Darius would have chosen someone else. The God made all things… you do understand this?” he said uncertainly.

“I believe God made the world—all worlds, but he gave us free will. He wouldn’t compel us through what you call destiny.”

“He doesn’t compel, that is true. We have free will and learn, or not learn, by our own choices. The God made the worlds, and the Other World where He dwells. When we die, we kneel before him in judgement. Those who need more time are reborn again and again to learn what He wishes us to know. Those of us that are ready will stay at His right hand to live with Him forever—life without end.” Gideon spoke with utter certainty.

“I understand your beliefs, Father, but what has this to do with me and destiny?”

“The God sent you to learn something by living this life with us. That’s what I mean by your destiny. That which the God wishes you to learn is here and will be revealed through the years ahead. Your destiny is here Lady.”

Julia liked it that Gideon’s faith was absolute. It was so rare to hear someone who believed with all his being. That he had overcome his confusion about her presence was wonderful. She could visit the chapel to pray. She had missed the serenity of Father Preston’s church. She had been using her room to pray all the while imagining that Preston was with her. Mostly she prayed that God would take the dreams away, but so far He hadn’t. She wondered what Preston thought about her disappearance. It was certain he would never guess the truth.

She had little time now, but what she had she gave to Gideon. She reached out to take his hand. The priest seemed surprised at the strength of her grip but didn’t try to break away.

“I am... troubled Father. I believe evil people go to hell. I must be very evil to have killed so many.”

“What is hell?” Gideon said.

“I was taught that when we die we go to heaven and live with God forever, but only if we have lived a good life. Evil people go to a different place called hell. My parents are waiting for me in heaven, but I have killed people,” she said with tears in her eyes. “I... I will go to hell and suffer torment for my sins. I will never see them again.”

Gideon gasped, horrified by the thought of such a place. “You believe the God punishes mistakes for eternity?”

“That’s what I was brought up to believe. Be good or go to hell.”

Saying it like that made it sound stupid—like a mother warning a child not to hit his brother or his father would smack him when he came home. She wished Preston were here. He could explain it much better than she ever could.

Gideon squeezed her hand. “He loves us Julia. There is no hell but what we make for ourselves. Living on this Earth, or any other I suppose, without God in our lives would be your hell.”

Julia spoke with Gideon for hours, or candlemarks she should say. She had a feeling she would be living in Deva for a long time. She should try to remember it was candlemarks not hours.

Their time together was good for Julia. It eased her mind talking with a priest about her fears. Gideon hadn’t heard her confession as such, but he did lend a friendly ear. Confession was an alien concept here, and Julia understood that, but talking with Gideon was the closest she had come to it. She could almost imagine Father Preston in his place.

It was enough.

Gideon escorted her to the west courtyard where she left him to pray. With many helping hands from the guardsmen, Julia scrambled over the barricades with Mathius by her side. Moriz and Halbert were not happy about being left behind, but she had insisted and Keverin had agreed with her. Standing on the other side of the barricade, Julia looked back and saw a familiar face watching her.

“You be careful, Lady!” Brian called.

Julia nodded and turned to Mathius. His face went blank and a ward sprang up around them.

“You know, Mathius, I think I need to invent jeans. Beautiful as these dresses are, they’re no good for climbing broken towers in.”

“What are jeans?”

“Hmmm? Oh, they’re like trousers I guess.”

“You can’t wear trousers! What would everyone say?” Mathius said sounding scandalised.

Julia laughed. She hoped she didn’t sound hysterical. Mathius laughed as well, but it was a nervous sound. She took his arm, and they walked like a lord and lady strolling in the gardens.

* * *

Keverin wondered what Julia was laughing at as he watched her strolling arm in arm with Mathius towards the Gap. There were still some legionnaires on the other side trying futilely to string a bridge. They stopped their work when they noticed Julia and gaped at the spectacle she made. She was walking with Mathius as if simply out to enjoy the mountain air.

Julia stopped a pace from the edge and shouted across. “You boys had better run along! I’m going to be blasting any of you still here in a quarter candlemark!”

Shaking his head at her foolishness, Keverin wasn’t surprised when one of the men raised a bow and fired. The arrow sped across the gap and struck Mathius’ ward directly over Julia’s heart. She didn’t so much as flinch when the arrow fell burning into the Gap followed by a trail of smoke. Keverin whirled as his men began climbing the barricade growling about their Julia, and what they were going to do to that Hasian.

“Hold!” Keverin roared and the men grudgingly slid back into position.

“That wasn’t very nice!” Julia shouted. “I’m giving you one more chance to leave. I’m going to be busy in a minute.”

What was the child planning? Julia said that she would kill just the sorcerers if possible, but she didn’t explain how she would locate them. The camp was too far away to see clearly, and what did antagonising these few men have to do with it? Some of the legionnaires had taken Julia at her word and were fleeing, but a dozen or so remained.

Craaaack!

Booom!

Suddenly out of the clear blue sky, lightning crackled and grounded in the centre of the Gap. It was so close that two of the legionnaires fell off the edge. The others were thrown back and rolled to safety further down the road. The noise of the strike echoed and re-echoed back from the mountains. Keverin staggered back in shock. He gaped trying to blink the afterimage away. Marcus had tried to tell him what to expect, but the explanation paled beside the reality. Jihan turned toward him for reassurance as his world was suddenly turned upon its head. Women could wield the God’s power and Julia was proof. Pulling his whits together, Keverin nodded for Jihan to face front again. He followed Jihan’s example a moment later to see what was happening. The blast had stirred up the camp all right. Men rushed around seemingly at random, but near the centre calm reigned.

Clever girl!

Julia must have decided the blast would bring the sorcerers to investigate, and that did seem to be what was happening. He couldn’t tell what they were wearing, but they were the only ones in the camp not running about in panic.

Sorcerers.

* * *

Belgard dashed out of his tent thinking that Lucius was trying to escape. He gleefully looked forward to seeing what was left of him, but it was the girl who was responsible and not Lucius. He had wanted her to show herself, but this wasn’t quite what he had in mind. Still, he could make use of her stupidity. After killing her, he could resume the offensive. The only places the silly bitch could see the camp from were the remains of the wall, or the edge of the crevasse. Guessing she would choose the wall for protection, he threw a fireball—

Vrooosh!

—and watched in satisfaction as it blasted the top yard of the barricade away. That should shake her. Everyone stopped to watch as he threw fireball after fireball up at the fortress. His magic was strong. It sang in his veins as he attacked without cease or pause for breath. He must overwhelm her before she could rally and attack him in turn.

Belgard glared at the others. “What are you fools waiting for? KILL THE BITCH!”

He snarled internally. What kind of fools did he lead here? Fireballs from the others finally began rising into the sky and raining down along the wall and road.

* * *

Julia winced as the first fireball struck the barricade behind her in an explosion of ancient stone. Dozens quickly followed it. At this rate the fortress would be rubble before she even started. She couldn’t see where the fireballs came from, but there were a number of people standing together in the centre of the camp. They were the only ones not running around in panic. She concentrated and called the lightning down among them.

Craaaack!

The lightning bolt smashed down connecting the ground to the heavens. The bolt was intense and seemed to remain before her eyes long after a natural lightning strike. Looking through the dust she blinked the purple after images away to see more fireballs coming toward her. They were spread along the wall behind her and the road where she stood. Mathius dropped to his belly and pulled her down beside him before reforming his shield into a dome to cover them.

Julia’s world turned to flame and shattered stone, as the fireballs arrived.

* * *

Keverin hunkered down as the fireballs rained. Athione shook and groaned as more of her stones were pounded into rubble. Dust was thick and choking and the noise of incoming fireballs was a constant. The cries of the injured brought him to his feet.

“You, you, and you. Get them inside!” he roared over the explosions.

His men hurried to drag the injured away.

Keverin ducked with his cheek stinging as a piece of stone struck him like hail. He was up again in a moment trying to find Julia. He couldn’t see a thing with the dust hanging so thick and choking upon the air. Out of the fog, two figures dashed toward him—Purcell and Gylaren keeping their heads low.

“She’s not strong enough!” Gylaren shouted above the explosions.

“Curse it Gy, she’s only a child!” Purcell shouted. “We should never have forced her to fight! This is not honourable!”

“We had no choice! I know how you feel, Purcell. It hurts me that I can’t protect my own people, but if my honour is the price needed to save them—so be it!” Keverin shouted and spat stone dust from his mouth.

His friends stared at him in shock, and he didn’t blame them. He felt sick at the thought of his dishonour, but it was nothing besides the thought of Julia being hurt because of him. He liked the girl. He admired both her courage and her intelligence. If ever he had a daughter, he wanted her to be just like Julia—less attitude would be all right too.

“Look!” Gylaren said pointing over the smashed barricade. They were just in time to see Julia and Mathius bombarded by fireballs. It was obvious the enemy had found where she was.

Keverin lost sight of Julia as flame engulfed her and Mathius. The roar of rock being sundered was like the end of the world. Even over the noise, he could hear the groans from his men as they saw their hope lost. Before he could turn to Marcus and order the evacuation, more lightning flew.

Craaaack!

“She’s still fighting!” Keverin shouted over the cheers of his men.

Craaaack!

* * *

This isn’t what she had in mind. Julia stayed down next to Mathius. There was no way to make herself heard over the explosions going on around her, so they spoke silently using mind-speech.

*You’re doing wonderfully well so far, Mathius.*

*So far,* Mathius agreed. *My shield can’t hold against more than one of those monsters at a time. I’ve never seen fireballs so big!*

*That’s because you’ve never pissed off a sorcerer before.*

Another round of fire engulfed them, and to Mathius’s surprise, his shield held. Julia had told him not to underestimate himself.

*My first strike didn’t penetrate their ward. That was fast work by someone. Any ideas how I can get through it?*

Mathius shook his head. *Lightning comes from the sky, so the ward probably only extends overhead. If you can somehow hit them from the side you might be able to do something, but how can you do that?*

She couldn’t... or could she? Julia had cast lightning horizontally before, but that time she had a direct line of sight. She didn’t have that here. From where she lay, the lightning would strike at a downward angle. With nothing else for it, she decided to strike the ground on all sides and hope for the best.

Craaaack! Craaaack! Craaaack!

The dust cleared to show dark—robed forms down and unmoving. They had been struck by flying stone, but perhaps half of the group remained standing. Before they could attack her, Julia tried to hit the centre of the group, hoping the ward was down.

Craaaack!

* * *

Lucius fell to the last lightning strike and with him the ward collapsed. Belgard had been surprised to see Lucius helping the defence, but of course he was only doing what any sensible mage would do—protecting himself. The ward had shielded all of them though, and now it was gone. Belgard quickly raised his personal shield just large enough to protect himself, it would be stronger that way. Lucky he did. Lightning slammed down amongst his sorcerers and bodies flew in all directions. He was safe though and that was all that really mattered. Without dropping his shield, he fashioned his strongest fireball and threw it at the bitch.

Vrooosh!

One or two other fireballs followed his, but most of the others were dead. Belgard watched them strike and threw another and then another in quick succession, hoping to saturate the bitch’s shield before she could reply.

* * *

Julia was bleeding from hundreds of abrasions caused by shards of rock that had managed to get under the shield. Mathius had held out until the last. Three huge fireballs had crashed down and he had barely held the flames at bay. He had drawn harder on his magic than he should have—much harder. His screams had made Julia want to cover her ears. Mathius had given all he could. He was forced to let his shield go. He had to, or he would surely have burned out his gift—or died.

Julia was sure they would die as she clasped a shaking and gasping Mathius in her arms. She quickly delved into her healing place and eased his pain, but he stopped her after only a moment to warn her of movement in the pass below. A single black robed figure had escaped and rage filled her at the sight. She drew hard on her magic, so hard that she could hear it roaring at its confinement within her. She was floating in a world of her own. One misstep would drop her into an ocean of fire. Grounding herself was an effort. She forced the God like feeling away and focused on the sorcerer walking away from what had been a tented circle, but was now a blackened crater.

CraAAAAacK!

A solid club of energy hammered down into the pass. The rock directly under the hammer of Julia’s anger turned instantly to hot particles of dust and stone that fled the scene at such a speed it shred tents and flesh in its path. The clap of thunder accompanying the strike sounded within the pass itself as super heated air expanded explosively. Rocks and scree cascaded down from the walls of the pass as the mountains trembled and vibrated in sympathy with Athione as she shook on her foundations. Stones toppled from weakened walls and cries of pain arose from within the fortress as guardsmen were struck and injured. Horses whinnied in panic and kicked stall doors in an effort to flee. Pieces of rock rained down long after the strike was over, but gradually the dust drifted away on the breeze to reveal the devastation below.

Silence reigned.

* * *

Navarien took stock. He had perhaps two thousand able-bodied legionaries left, with another eight hundred or so wounded and unable to fight. The two battalions used to ferry in supplies were untouched, but they were the only ones. He had lost over half his legion. More than five thousand men dead. None of the sorcerers had survived except for Lucius. Belgard had been the last to fall. He was taken unawares at the close of the attack and good riddance. If the bitch hadn’t killed him, Navarien swore to himself that he would have. He didn’t care how long it would have taken or what he would have needed to do, he would have found a way.

Navarien was defeated and he knew it. If the Devan’s came down now he would have to flee or lose what was left of the Fifth. Without magic, he could not attack, but far more important to his mind was his inability to hold off the bitch sorceress. That a girl had defeated him left a sour taste in his mouth. That one of his own had facilitated his defeat enraged him. Belgard and Belgard alone was responsible for his defeat. If he had attacked as Lucius had wanted him to in the beginning, the chances were good that he would be on his way to Devarr right now.

Navarien sighed. There was no point debating what might have been.

He had to decide whether to obey Lucius’ last order. His friend—yes he called Lucius friend and wished he might have sooner. His friend had a head wound that seemed serious. He had awoken briefly to order the legion home to Athinia. Lucius said he didn’t want to go back—that he would rather die here in the pass a free man than be executed as a slave in chains. Navarien didn’t know why he was debating with himself really. He was defeated and nothing he could do would change it. Returning home was the only thing he could do, and he owed Lucius a debt. For his negligence in forcing Lucius to attack too soon, he would do this thing and take the consequences when he returned home.

His ruinous decision made, Navarien set himself to carry it out. “You two,” he called to a couple of his men sitting together on a rock. They looked at him in a surly manner and didn’t bother to rise. “Round everyone up. We’re going home.”

He wouldn’t discipline them here today, but he knew their faces. The God help them when they got home. The God help him too.

It was not long before what was left of Navarien’s command started to resemble a fighting force again. He ordered two men to carry Lucius to the road and up to the crevasse. At the very edge Navarien knelt and covered the man who might have been a friend in his black robe.

“I am sorry my friend… truly sorry,” Navarien said knowing the words went unheard.

Navarien turned and left his friend to die. It was the best he could do. If the Devan’s had a shred of honour they might call a healer. A slim chance at life was better than no chance. Lucius would certainly die if he left him down in the pass.

Upon reaching the remains of his camp, Navarien gave the order, and the long march home began.

* * *

Julia held her magic ready to intervene at a moment’s notice as two guardsmen crossed the makeshift rope bridge to examine the present left behind by the Hasians. Brian was one of the guardsmen, but she didn’t know the other man’s name.

“He’s a sorcerer, m’lord!” Brian yelled back.

“Give him the grace lads!”

“No wait!” Julia yelled desperately.

Brian aborted his thrust. “What are your orders, lord?”

“Bide a moment, Brian,” Keverin turned to Julia. “What would you, Lady?”

Julia hurriedly tried to think of a reason not to kill the sorcerer. She didn’t want any more killing. “We need information. He might provide it. Bring him across and I will heal him.”

“He’s a sorcerer,” Keverin said doubtfully. “He could kill us all.”

Julia waved that away with an abrupt and annoyed gesture of her hand. “I’ll keep a close eye on him. If he so much as twitches, I’ll blast him for you.” She could see him deciding against her as she watched. “Please Kev, let him live. Please?”

Keverin didn’t answer for a long moment. He looked back at the prone figure debating the merits of a live sorcerer as opposed to a dead one. Finally he nodded.

“This goes against my better judgement, Lady, but if it’s that important to you I’ll have him brought over. He must be under your watch the entire time. Is that understood?”

“Absolutely,” she said in relief.

Keverin turned back to the Gap. Nothing had changed. Brian still held his dagger ready for the final thrust. “Bring him over, Brian!”

Brian and his friend brought their burden over the swaying rope bridge. Julia didn’t like the look of it at all. If she ever needed to go down to the pass she would have to build a better bridge. That thing was flaming scary!

“Put him down here, Brian. Have your dagger ready,” Keverin said and Brian produced it. “You kill him the instant he looks threatening—understood?”

“Yes m’lord.” Brian did as he was bid and more. He pressed his wickedly sharp blade against the sorcerer’s throat. It would take the tiniest of motions to slit the man’s throat.

“Be careful not to cut him or I’ll have to heal that as well,” Julia said but if Brian relaxed his pressure she couldn’t see it.

The sorcerer seemed to be in his thirties, but looks could be deceiving where mages were concerned. He was dark and wore a light beard that followed the line of his chin to join a goatee type moustache. The effect was quite appealing. Julia had to shake herself to remember that this man was evil. He didn’t look evil, but he had killed her friends and that was enough to make him so. Kneeling opposite Brian, Julia quickly examined the head wound. To normal vision it looked bloody but not life threatening, but with her mage-sight she could see he was near death. As quickly as she could she strengthened him before attacking the source of the purplish black light she found in his aura.

The word attacking was appropriate for what she was doing. She had noticed before that the colours seemed to have a life of their own. They were always trying to evade her healing and would sometimes escape the net she wove around them. This time she managed to encircle it without too much trouble, and then tightened the noose to destroy it.

Julia finished her work and came back to the real world still holding her magic ready to use. She watched the sorcerer intently. She was so close to blasting him that crackles of lightning appeared at her fingertips. It would take less than an instant to obliterate him, and she would the moment he tried to use his magic against her.

The sorcerer opened his eyes and saw her watching him. His eyes widened as he took in his surroundings. His hand came up to the blade at his neck. Instantly Julia raised her own hand, and allowed the lightning to jump from finger to finger before reining it back in. The sorcerer’s hand froze and his eyes popped wide in alarm when he saw how close to death he had just come.

“I mean you no harm, Lady sorcerer… sorceress?”

“Julia. My name I mean.”

“And I am Lucius, formerly Lord Sorcerer of Fifth Legion of the Protectorate. I assume that I have you to thank for healing me.”

“It was nothing.”

“Not to me, I assure you,” Lucius said with a kind smile. “I am in your debt.”

Before Julia could say anything, Keverin interrupted her. “If you mean that lord sorcerer, I would accept your oath to do no harm while here with us. I’ll not deceive you. Brian will kill you if you do not give it.”

“I see. You must be Lord Keverin then… you seem taller in the flesh. I give you my oath most willingly of course. I cannot go back in any case. Lord Mortain has issued orders that I be taken to him in chains to be executed.”

“Oh? And why would he do that?”

“Well it’s complicated you see, but basically it’s because I was lead mage in charge of the invasion. It… I failed. The penalty for failure is death.”

“We should kill him now—”

“Bastard! He’s the one—”

“He killed my brother!”

“Silence!” Keverin ordered and his men came to silent attention. “Back to your posts,” he said more kindly.

Most went quietly. One or two left grumbling. To Julia’s relief and embarrassment, she heard the others shushing them by invoking her name. Julia hoped their confidence wasn’t misplaced. If Lucius turned hostile, she could literally die from that kind of embarrassment.

“Let him up, Brian, but stay close,” Keverin ordered. “I want you and Udall to accompany him wherever he goes. The library is out of bounds and the armoury of course—as are the stables.” Keverin turned his attention back to Lucius. “I’m sure you understand why I can’t take the chance of this being a trick. I’ll not lower our defences for you or anyone. Julia will keep you under constant watch. You will not use your magic for anything. Brian will show you to guest quarters, but I’m sure you realise that Guest Right does not apply to you.”

“Of course, my lord,” Lucius said with an inclination of his head. “I’ll try to be good. Come along, Brian. Let us find me a nice comfy bed.”

Julia smiled at that. “Thanks for not killing him. If he really is under a death sentence he might be useful.”

“Perhaps,” Keverin said doubtfully. “But more helpful than dangerous? That I don’t know about.” He watched the retreating figure with a frown upon his face. “You should be with him, Julia.”

Embarrassed to realise that she had forgotten her promise all ready, Julia took her leave. She threw dignity to the wind and dashed after the three men with Moriz and Halbert lumbering and cursing in pursuit. She dodged in and out of the guardsmen and collected Mathius on her way to joining Lucius and the others.

Julia took turns with Mathius as Lucius’ gaoler. At no time did he make any fuss, and after a few tense days she began to relax. Lucius was genuinely pleased to be at Athione. She was sure he wouldn’t do anything that might jeopardise his life. On his second day within the fortress, Lucius discarded his black robe and asked for clothes and toiletries. Julia was happy to supply all that he needed, but when he asked her for a means to trim his beard, Mathius objected. Lucius was to be given nothing that might be used as a weapon, which was stupid Julia argued. Should Lucius wish to kill her or anyone, he had only to use his magic, but Mathius was immovable on the subject.

No weapons—period.

They compromised. Julia used a razor and a pair of scissors to tidy him up, while Mathius stood watching and holding his magic in readiness. Lucius took it all with good grace—he was resigned to at least. While she worked, she took the time to ask about his family. Lucius went very still and Julia thought she had cut him, but that wasn’t it.

“My family disappeared when I was child. They’re dead.”

“I’m sorry. Was your father a sorcerer too?”

“I would rather not speak of it.”

“All right,” Julia said and massaged her aching shoulder before continuing the clipping.

“Are you all right?” Mathius said. “It still hurts?”

“It’s nothing.”

“You are injured?” Lucius said.

“An old wound. It aches sometimes.”

“Why not use your magic?”

“I can’t heal myself, Lucius. You don’t know a way to do that do you?”

“No, but I can relieve pain with my magic. I would be happy to try it on you if you will permit?” Lucius said and looked up in alarm as Mathius suddenly raised his hand to cast fire. “No, perhaps not.”

“You can relieve pain you said,” Julia said ignoring the brightness around Mathius. He wouldn’t let his magic go now, that was certain. “Why can’t you heal then? A sorcerer should be able to see the auras,” she said as she trimmed the wiry whiskers.

“I never could heal very well, not like the others could. It’s not one of my talents. I don’t know what you mean by aura, Lady. I make do with a needle and thread. Sometimes I use herbs to make the man sleep first—especially if I have to amputate.”

Julia shuddered at the thought of having to cut someone’s limb off. Thank God she had been spared that horror. All she had to do was heal what remained after a soldier had already lost it. She couldn’t show Lucius her little book because it was back on the shelves in the library and he wasn’t allowed in there of course, but there was no harm in explaining how she did it.

“I use my mage-sight to see an aura. It’s as if everyone is made of light and not flesh. If I were to look at you now, your aura would be mostly white—as it should be. A wound changes the colour and tells me something about its seriousness. There’s more to it than that, but that’s basically how it works.”

Lucius listened with interest as she explained about auras and what she knew of the realm of healing. Even the guardsmen seemed interested. Mathius was on the edge of his seat as she explained how she had healed him and the others.

“What do the colours mean?” Lucius asked.

“I’m not completely sure. Pale yellow is tiredness and deep yellow is exhaustion. Red is bad and you have to destroy it with white magic. Mathius had a piece of wood through his stomach—it made the wound look like a green and purple mass attached to red streams. Maybe red is the poison caused by infection, but I’m not sure. One thing you must never do is touch the blue light at the centre of a mage. I tried that once…” Julia broke off blinking furiously to prevent tears. She hadn’t spoken of Renard’s death since that day.

“That wasn’t your fault, Julia! He was dying in any case. You did your best!” Mathius remonstrated.

Her best? Her best seemed to kill a lot of people. What would her worst be like? She hoped she never found out.

The time went slowly for Julia. She spent most of her days exploring the town or working out in the gym that Master-crafter Deneen had worked so hard to finish for her. She was lonely for Jill. Even living within the fortress amid so many people she was lonely. Wasn’t that silly?

Of course it was!

Jessica and Mathius often spent time with her. Mathius was determined that she learn everything there was to know about magic and his world. It was as if he saw himself as her mentor. Just as Darius had been mentor to him. He was a dear friend. She loved him for his kindness—Jessica too, but they couldn’t replace what she had lost. They couldn’t replace an entire world—no one could.

When the pass remained empty of threat, Keverin decided to relax the restrictions he had placed upon Julia and the rest of the fortress. The gate no longer remained locked from dawn to dusk. Julia awoke one morning to find her friends no longer standing guard at her door. She missed Moriz and Halbert terribly. It was just like Keverin to relent at the worst possible time. She should be happy that she could come and go without restriction. She could even leave the fortress without permission as long as she was escorted. All she had to do was borrow one of the guardsmen and tell another to inform Marcus that she was going out. That was infinitely better than what she’d had to deal with before, but she felt... sad all the time. It was stupid and childish, but that was how she felt.

She had no idea why or how to make it stop.

“Is anything wrong?” Lucius said as they made their way to Keverin’s study. “You are very quiet.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m just not very good company right now.”

Lucius had become a friend. She had tried hating him, but it would be like hating herself. If she called him murderer, she had to call herself much worse. Lucius had led the legion that killed half the guard, but she had killed an entire legion of men by herself.

“Is it something I can help you with?”

“I don’t think so... I don’t know. I miss my home, Lucius.”

“Ah yes. It’s easy to forget that you were not born of this world. You have family back home?”

“It’s not that,” she said as they approached Keverin’s guarded door and stopped. “My parents died not long before I was brought here. I have no other family.”

“Friends?”

“One. Her name’s Jill.”

“And you miss her.”

Julia nodded. “Very much. You’re a sorcerer—”

“I was.”

“Okay, you were a sorcerer. Do you know how to make a gate like the one Darius made?”

Lucius shook his head. “The Great Spells were lost during the Time of Chaos.” At Julia’s uncomprehending look he explained. “Before Mortain arose to lead our people, Castle Black was ruled by a king—except Stelinor wasn’t really a king. He didn’t rule so much as guide. He spoke for the council of mages. This was long ago. Before even Hasa was conquered.

“It’s written that the first Mortain was a traitor to his kind. His son—Stelinor Al’Mortain—cast a Great Spell and led our people to this world. That time is called the Founding of the Black Isle now. It’s written that for years we lived on the edge of extinction. Many Great Spells were cast to change the land and the weather until Black Isle became the paradise it is now.”

“But what has this to do with a way home for me?”

Lucius grimaced. “Among many other things brought to this world was the knowledge of magic. Stelinor was a very great mage. It’s said that many of his spells are handed down in direct line to Mortain, may he live—” Lucius broke off in sudden confusion. “To Mortain. I don’t believe that part is true, but I do believe one other thing that is written in the Histories.”

“Oh?”

“Stelinor was a great scholar. He wrote many of the books that are still used in the halls below Castle Black. I doubt he would have allowed his knowledge to die. I’m sure he would have recorded any of the Great Spells he knew, but we’ll never know.”

“Why?” Julia said desperately holding to hope.

“The Time of Chaos not only saw Mortain arise. It saw much of Stelinor’s work destroyed. The council was disbanded and a large section of the Castle was damaged by fire in the fighting. The Great Spells were lost with so much else.”

Julia’s heart sank. “So no one knows how it’s done. How did Darius do it?”

“I don’t know, Lady. I would give much to ask him.”

“He’s dead.”

Lucius nodded. “Even so.”

There was no asking the dead anything. If Darius had learned how a gate was constructed, she could as well, but where had he learned it? She had to find out everything she could about Darius and where his journeys had led him. Somewhere along his journey to Athione and his death he had found the answer. She would too.

Julia escorted Lucius into Keverin’s study.

Keverin was sitting at his desk. Purcell sat opposite him with Gylaren on his right side. A chair was empty next to Keverin for Julia, and another had been placed between the two lords on the other side of the desk for Lucius. The positioning was so obvious that Julia felt her face flame in embarrassment. Lucius took in the scene with a small smile.

“Thank you for inviting me, Lord Keverin,” Lucius said.

“You are most welcome. Please take a seat—there.” Keverin pointed.

With a quick smile, Lucius nodded to each of the lords and sat.

Julia sat next to Keverin. She had promised to keep a watch on Lucius and she had kept her word, but he had never tried anything and she doubted he ever would. Still a promise was a promise.

“I expect you are wondering why I asked you here.”

Lucius seemed completely at ease. “Not really. I imagine you want to know if you should expect another attempt on your fortress.”

Keverin smiled thinly. “We already know about the legion coming through Camorin. What I would know is whether it’s safe to leave here and attack them before they cross the border.”

“Why ask me? If I said it was safe surely you would believe otherwise?”

“You’re cursed right we would,” Gylaren growled.

Lucius smiled and inclined his head to Gylaren. “Precisely my point. And what if I say it’s not safe to leave?”

Gylaren grumbled under his breath and Lucius winked at Julia. She couldn’t help the grin that flashed onto her face, but she managed to smooth it away before Gy noticed it.

“Why not scry and see for yourselves?”

“We don’t know how,” Julia said ignoring Keverin’s warning look. Lucius already knew of her lack where mirrors were concerned. She had told him while trying to weasel the method out of him.

“That explains it then. I could use the glass for you if you wish.”

“Why would you help us?” Keverin said. “I’ll be blunt—no one likes a traitor. If you help us that is precisely what you will be.”

Lucius’ face was stone. “A boy is stolen from his parents and sent to Castle Black. He is forced to perform. If he fails he dies, if he argues back he is beaten, if he tries to escape he is beaten to death. Then late in life he manages to escape and offers to work against his old masters. Is that person a traitor?”

“No of course not! Now you’re going to say you are that boy?” Gylaren said scornfully.

Julia snatched at her magic in panic as Lucius raised his hand against Gylaren. She gasped in relief as she realised he wasn’t attacking. She watched as Lucius rolled up the sleeve of his borrowed shirt and showed Gylaren his arm. It was ribbed with thick and heavy scars. He stood and pulled off his shirt. His back was covered in old scars. How Lucius had survived Julia would never know. For a mage to refrain from defending himself with his magic would take unbelievably strong discipline.

“How did you keep from striking back?” Julia whispered in horror.

“That’s why they did it. Discipline Julia. It is, at bottom, what all magic is founded on. They taught me discipline. A man can stand any pain if the alternative is death.”

Julia remembered Mathius’ father and nodded in understanding. Mathius had told her how his father had often beaten him when defied. Mathius later learned that his father was trying to impress him with the risks he took every time he grasped his magic. Without discipline, a mage risked ageing and premature death whenever he used his magic.

“When I was first taken,” Lucius explained. “I rebelled against the training. I wanted to be an artist like my father, not a sorcerer. In the Protectorate all boys with a glimmer of the gift are sent to Castle Black for training. There are no exceptions—ever. Escape is impossible—unless you think dying is a form of escape, and some children do, I assure you.”

Lucius stared into the distance remembering what it was to be a sorcerer in the Protectorate. He was worrying the shirt between his fists as he spoke, and Julia wondered if there would be anything left of it when he was finished.

“Powerful sorcerers loyal beyond question keep the rest of us in line. The training often turns a boy into the image of his trainers. The strongest of these are chosen to watch the rest. We work together, but we never trust each other. We never know who the guardians are. You might find your best friend whom you had confided in for years is one of them.

“The training and all that goes on in Castle Black is kept secret, only another mage knows what we go through. When I finished my training, I had the authority to obtain what I needed. I went back home. My family was gone. I never found them.”

Julia sat silently in horrified fascination through the account of his childhood. When his tale was finished, she watched in silence as he put his shirt back on, and sat quietly as before.

“A sad tale, but irrelevant,” Keverin said unmoved.

Julia flinched at the cold tone. Did nothing move the man?

“Irrelevant?” Lucius said. “I suppose so. What then is relevant?”

“Your knowledge of the Protectorate’s plans. Your trustworthiness—things of this nature.”

“As I said earlier, if I say a thing you won’t believe me, so why should I waste my breath?”

“This is pointless,” Julia said in annoyance. “Lucius says he will tell you. Then you say you won’t believe him. I say we let Lucius tell us what he will, and then verify it by scrying,” she said exasperated with the dance the men were performing. It seemed obvious to her that Lucius was a friend, yet the lords didn’t seem to see it. They looked at one another then nodded when there was no dissenting voice.

Lucius inclined his head to Julia in thanks. “All right then, where to begin... The Protectorate, led by lord Mortain, has the immediate goal of the complete domination and rulership of Waipara. This is to be followed by that of Tindebrai. That is the God’s plan for the world, as spoken by his voice on Earth—Lord Mortain.”

“He sounds like a megalomaniac to me,” Julia said.

Lucius tilted his head in puzzlement. “I do not know that word, Lady. A power mad mage is what he is, but it’s not just him. Mortain took his place from the last voice of the God, who took his from the one before that, and so on. The voice of the God on Earth has led the Protectorate for centuries.”

“None of this is news, Lucius,” Keverin pointed out. “What about this army coming through Camorin?”

“The plan was for General Navarien and myself to spearhead the attack on Athione. Once taken, we were to garrison it and link up with Third Legion coming through Camorin. We would then systematically take each castle in turn until Deva was ours.

“With the failure of the spearhead, I would expect one of two things to happen. One, another legion is sent against Athione to take the fortress as originally planned. Two, Third Legion proceeds on its own and tries to complete what Navarien failed to do.”

“Which do you personally favour as the likely course?” Keverin said.

“The second,” Lucius said instantly. “It took five years to assemble enough men and supplies for this campaign. I doubt another could be ready soon. It wouldn’t take five years, but I would guess at a year—maybe more.”

“I agree. What do you think, Gy?” Keverin said.

“Sounds reasonable, but if we’re wrong we could lose Athione and the western approach to Hasa.”

“Everything in life is a risk, Gy,” Purcell said. “Let us see Lucius scry Third Legion and then decide.”

Julia nodded in agreement and so to did the others.

“A mirror?” Lucius said.

Keverin rose to fetch one from another room and a moment later Lucius placed it on the desk before him.

Julia watched as Lucius grasped his magic. Using her mage-sight, she studied his actions in detail. He manipulated the glass as if opening a window, except the window was the mirror, and the frame was the desk. Julia gulped at the queasy feeling that came over her. Lucius was twisting nature—literally bending reality in the confines of the mirror. The picture that formed didn’t look like much. The reflection was gone and in its place was mist.

Not very impressive is it?

“So that’s how it’s done. It doesn’t look too hard.”

“Humph! Looks can be deceiving, Lady. The hard part isn’t in operating the mirror, but in finding the correct image. It takes good control of your magic and proper visualisation, which means concentration.”

Lucius had sounded a bit miffed that she thought it was easy. She grinned at Keverin and rolled her eyes. That gained her a brief smile. Kev had a nice smile. It was a shame he didn’t use it more often. She wondered why he had never married. Julia watched as the reflection in the mirror changed to a picture. It showed the view of a castle or fortress from above sitting upon a large open plain. It was a huge place—much larger than Athione. She could see the tiny figures of guardsmen at their posts.

“That’s Malcor all right. Has the legion reached there yet?”

In response to Keverin’s question, Lucius widened the view to include a large stretch of land, the picture wavered slightly, and Julia felt Lucius draw slightly more magic to steady it.

“Can you close in on the road?” Julia said.

As the picture zoomed toward the road, Julia was reminded of a television picture. Everything blurred at the speed of the movement then quickly stabilised with the road centred in the mirror. It wasn’t a road like she was used to. It was more like an overgrown trail. It seemed about ten feet away, but it was actually forty leagues or more to the north.

“Does that look as if an army has used it lately?”

Keverin studied the image for a few moments. “No. It should be churned up more. Besides, an army of ten thousand would have to take to the verges or be strung out for leagues.”

“That’s what I thought.” Julia said. “It seems the legion hasn’t reached us yet. Can we search their likely route?”

“I can check the ports of Durena and Cantibria,” Lucius offered. “If they are still at sea though, I’ll not be able to find them unless I can visualise the ships exactly. With time I could follow the likeliest route from Malcor all the way to Cantibria to see if they are somewhere in Camorin.”

“What about visualising people?”

“That is easier, but I don’t know who would be with Third Legion.”

“What about General Navarien?” Gylaren interjected.

Lucius nodded and the picture quickly changed to the view of a man standing at attention in a building somewhere.

Julia listened with interest to a quiet voice emanating from the glass. The General was giving his report of the battles leading up to his retreat. She was impressed with his honesty. He left nothing out, and was unfailing in his denunciation of Belgard and his praise of Lucius. The other man, an official of some sort, listened attentively then nodded.

“You are a lucky man indeed, General. You are to be given a second chance. It has been decided to rebuild Fifth Legion rather than disband its remnants. You have until the spring of next year to ready your command for an offensive in Camorin. Details will be sent to you. For now you may concentrate on rebuilding.”

“As you command!” Navarien said saluting fist to heart before leaving the room.

A moment later another man appeared. This man, unlike the official, was a sorcerer. Lucius hissed with surprise when he recognised him.

“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.”

Rogan saluted. “The letters m’lord?”

“Get your gear ready then come back to me. My mother will want to send one as well.”

“Yes lord,” Rogan said and hurried away.

Turning to his captains, Donalt gave his orders. “Choose out five hundred men. Make them the best we have with the bow. Issue three dozen arrows each and the fastest horses we have left… food and water for two days but no more. We need to be fast.”

His captains were starting to understand. They growled their assent, and for the first time they looked less bleak. They rushed out leaving Donalt to study his map. He traced the road toward the pass and tapped a finger on the old bridge frowning in thought. He followed the road further into Anselm Forest and smiled grimly pleased at the idea forming in his head. They would pay, oh how they would pay.

Just candlemarks later, Donalt rode to meet the enemy, at the head of a column five hundred strong. This time it would be the Tanjuners who would die. There were numerous places he could use as a strong point, but none that could be held against two thousand regulars for long. Fortunately he didn’t plan to hold anything—he just wanted to kill his brother’s murderers. Almost a day out from the fortress they came to the edge of Anselm forest. He stopped and disbursed his men. The trees were large and provided excellent cover. The drawback was that cavalry couldn’t operate well here. That was to his advantage. The Tanjuners wouldn’t be able to charge his position, but it was also to his disadvantage in that his men had to fight on foot. He had weighed this decision carefully before choosing this place for the ambush. Normally a man on foot had little chance against a mounted opponent, but among the trees things were more evenly matched. It was their best chance of killing a lot of men quickly.

Donalt ordered his men to wait until the enemy was close before firing. They were to use half their arrows at most before fading back to retrieve their mounts. He was hoping to make at least two more hit and run raids on the enemy before retiring to the fortress and hunkering down behind her sturdy walls. He would have given much for a mage to scry the enemy’s position. He made do with a lookout in a tall tree. It was moving on to mid-afternoon when Donalt heard the whistle. He looked up and saw his watcher pointing toward the road urgently. He nodded, but was puzzled at first when his lookout signalled that he saw only a small group of two hundred men.

The Tanjuners had sent a vanguard ahead!

Donalt cursed his foolishness. Why hadn’t he thought about a van? This could prove cursed tricky. Should he attack and fade back thereby warning the larger column he was here? Or should he let them pass and risk being caught between two forces?

“Let them pass,” Donalt ordered Captain Trine who nodded and spread the word to the others.

It was a risky decision. They might have to fight the vanguard to get back to Elvissa, but it was a calculated risk Donalt was willing to take. He watched as the enemy rode by and wished he could kill them all. He stayed down until they past. Perhaps a quarter candlemark later, a larger group appeared.

This is it!

Donalt fired his first arrow and saw his man fall then another. Firing smoothly and unhurriedly, he watched as arrows struck the enemy from all sides. Horses as well as men were hit. They reared screaming their pain. Riders fell all along the column either thrown or hit by arrows. Some regained their feet and drew their swords looking around wildly, but many lay still. They were trampled by panicked and rearing horses. Donalt used his quota of arrows all too soon, and was tempted to continue firing, but if he didn’t follow his own orders, how could he expect his men to follow them? He fired once more at a man on a beautiful roan horse, but another rider got in the way and died in his stead. He watched his target escape with regret then faded fast into the trees.

Donalt’s men were ready to ride when he reached the clearing. He hadn’t lost a single man! He gave the order to ride and they galloped out of the trees and away. He wanted to get to their next position before sunset. This time there wouldn’t be as much cover—Anselm was the only deep forest close by, but he felt he could make good use of the river and its bridge.

Days later Donalt’s euphoria had evaporated to be replace by weariness and worry. He paced the barricade that had replaced the shattered east gate of Elvissa trying to think of a clever trick that might hold off his defeat for another day. Half his men were asleep at their posts on his orders. In two candlemarks the other half would wake them so that they could take the watch for the second half of the night.

Although he had thinned the enemy forces with his ambushes, his attacks hadn’t gone entirely to plan. In his haste to reach the bridge, he had forgotten about the two hundred vanguards. He and his men had literally galloped straight into them. The resulting battle had been brutal but ultimately victorious—if you called the loss of over thirty men a victory, and he did. He hadn’t been able to kill them all though, and the surviving third had galloped away to rejoin the bulk of their army. With so many wounded men he had aborted the planned ambush at the bridge. They had carried the wounded back to the fortress and locked themselves in.

That was days ago… was it five? He was so tired that he couldn’t remember.

Elvissa’s walls were high and her gates were strong, but nothing could have withstood that first attack for long. Fireballs had hit the gate and set it on fire. He and his men had to scramble to put out the flames. Apparently not satisfied with this, the invaders had sent one fireball after another to strike the gate and blast it off its hinges. Donalt didn’t know much about mages, but the lack of magical attacks since then said to him that the mage had exhausted himself. The Tanjuners didn’t really need him though. Now the gate was down they could enter at will—or so they must have thought. Donalt had stationed two hundred of his best bowmen on the walls each side of the sundered gate. The rest of his men were behind the barricades armed with long pikes. They still had their blades with them, but so far they had managed to repel the invaders without needing to resort to swordplay. Donalt yawned widely. He needed to get some rest before the next attack. He sat next to an alert guardsman and went to sleep.

The sun had already risen when he was jogged awake again.

“They look ready to have another go, m’lord.”

Blinking sleep out of his eyes, Donalt squinted into the sun as it rose over the mountain peaks. That was the problem with having east and west facing gates—the enemy could take advantage of the sun. He shielded his eyes and saw the man was correct. The enemy had formed up and looked ready to have another go. It looked as if their War Leader had decided to equip his men a little better this time. There were long spears standing up into the air in neat rows as the men awaited the order to attack.

“Look lively! Wake that man there!” Donalt shouted.

The tired guardsman was jostled awake and took his place in the defences. Looking up toward his walls, Donalt shouted for the bowmen to fire as soon as they were confident of hitting their mark. Donalt strode along behind his men giving encouragement as he had before and no doubt would again. He had no idea if it helped his men, but it made him feel better anyway. When he saw the Tanjuners start forward he grabbed up his pike, and shoved himself in between two guardsmen who glared at him, until they realised who he was.

“Sorry lads. I can’t let you do all the work,” he said as he readied himself for the fight ahead.

Donalt was uncomfortable calling men his father’s age lad, but they expected it of him, just as they expected him to shout orders that were common sense. He played his part, so they could play theirs confident in their belief that he knew what he was doing. The first few arrows went out. When they hit their targets more followed. Only one or two men fell, and they were not likely dead. The range was too long for bows yet, but any that dropped out of the charge would be one less for the pikes to contend with.

At least it’s not raining.

The thought skittered through Donalt’s mind just as the Tanjuners hit his line. There was no time then for thought, only action.

“Elvissa!” Donalt screamed into the roar of battle, and batted his first man’s spear expertly to the side.

Donalt thrust, twisted, and pulled his wide bladed pike clear ready for the next man. All along his line, men were thrusting and killing, but for the first time, he saw some of his own men falling to spear thrusts.

Suddenly two men next to each other fell and a gap in the line opened. One then two Tanjuners jumped through and attacked from the rear. Donalt jumped up leaving his pike where it lay, and ran toward them with sword in the air. He had to stop them before more came through. Both men fall dead before he reached them, but it was already too late.

The enemy poured through.

“Out swords!” Donalt roared as he attacked.

He killed his first opponent, but the second man was damn good. Going high, he expected the man to defend, but instead the Tanjuner ducked under his blade and thrust. Donalt sucked in air trying to sink into his backbone as the man’s blade poked him in the gut. It was close, but he felt only the faintest touch on his armour as he swung his blade down to connect with the man’s arm. There was a sickening crunch, and the man screamed as his hand fell to the cobbles. Before the Tanjuner could step back, Donalt stabbed him in the throat with his dagger. All around him was chaos. He was close to losing the courtyard. He killed and killed again. Ducking under one man’s hasty slash, he cut him down only to slip on the man’s blood just as he engaged another. Rolling away from a stabbing sword, he tried to avoid the stamping feet of his men as the fight degenerated into roiling chaos.

Staggering back to his feet, Donalt tripped and stabbed a man with his dagger before he knew what had happened. Managing to keep his feet this time, he turned to engage another soldier in good quality armour, but Donalt was struck to his knees from behind by the flat of a blade. Ears ringing, he waited for his head to be cleaved from his body, but one of his men barrelled into his attacker and the fight swirled them both away.

When his head cleared enough to rejoin the fight, Donalt stabbed another Tanjuner in the back as he rushed by intent on killing sergeant Dugal. The sergeant didn’t see how close he came to death, and continued his own fight unawares. Donalt’s men were stabbing and grappling with the enemy wherever he looked. They were fighting so close together now that swords were of little use. They had resorted to daggers and fists. Looking around hurriedly Donalt had time to realise his mistake. The men on the walls could not fire down into the courtyard for fear of hitting their own men. He quickly signalled them to come down and relieve the pressure. As soon as fresh guardsmen attacked, the fight eased.

It’s working, by the God it’s working!

Attacking with more confidence of victory, Donalt didn’t see the man to his right fall and only realised that he had when he felt a blade slide into his side. He turned with the cut trying to limit the damage, but the scream worked its way up his throat and out of clenched teeth as the sizzling agony erupted.

“AEiii!” Donalt screamed as the Tanjuner twisted his sword expertly to free the blade, and crumpled to his knees as his strength fled.

Donalt lay upon the cobbles staring at the sky, and thought it was the most marvellous thing. The God truly did work miracles and they were there for everyone to see.

Why am I lying down?

He slid into the dark.

* * *

Emperor Vexin sat upon his throne listening to a report from his spy master. He occasionally chose a grape or a plum from a dish balanced on the arm of his throne, and ate it neatly spitting the stones onto a small plate in his lap. He nodded when Keppel finished the report.

“So, the Devans defeated fifty mages. Fifty?”

“It would seem so my emperor,” Keppel said. “Athione has opened its east gate again, and riders have been seen to arrive and depart. My sources report that couriers have been dispatched to all the lords with letters proclaiming victory over the Protectorate.”

“Darius must be formidable indeed,” Vexin mused. “Perhaps the legends of flying sorcerers are not too far from the truth after all. Surely he must be stronger than any wizard I have ever heard tell of. What else have you?”

“On the same topic, a woman called Julia is being spoken of a great deal. It appears she was a significant presence in the fortress during the siege. She seems to be a healer of some repute. Many speak of her as healing death itself. Obviously that can be discounted, but if a half of what has been reported is true, she must have great knowledge.”

Vexin frowned. The name had a foreign flavour. Tindebrai? “Have we heard of her before? Of what lineage does she descend?”

“None have ever heard of her before. Even her name sounds foreign. It could be that she came from Tindebrai, but how she escaped from there and ended within Athione I cannot imagine.”

“I don’t want you to imagine, Keppel. I want you to find out! What else?”

Vexin chose a fat juicy plum and bit into it.

“According to the Archmage, our forces have met a slight setback. He reports that Methrym defeated a significant number of Devan guardsmen including a man we believe to be Lord Purcell’s first born son, but Methrym was later ambushed and lost more than three hundred men. He says not to be concerned. The attack is proceeding on schedule.”

Vexin dropped the half eaten plum onto the plate. “Datan says not to worry. Datan says! How many has Methrym lost altogether?”

“Seven hundred my emperor,” Keppel said quietly.

“Seven!” Vexin gasped. That was a third of Methrym’s entire force! “Did you say seven hundred?”

Keppel nodded, and began to speak, but was he silenced by Vexin’s raised hand. “Inform Bothmar of this conversation. I want Methrym’s relief force formed earlier than planned. We can’t afford to fail in taking Elvissa, not after losing so many to gain it.”

Keppel seemed surprised at the feeling in his emperor’s voice. He was obviously trying not to show it, but Vexin could see it in his spy master’s eyes.

“You look surprised. I’m not an unfeeling monster like those bastard sorcerers. My people are important to me, and so is my empire. I will see every Devan dead if it will save Tanjung.”

“Yes my emperor. I will see that your orders carried out.”

Vexin watched his spy master back from his presence. Unlike other members of his court, Keppel seemed to radiate danger even when backing.

“One more thing,” Vexin called. “Have the assassins take care of Darius.”

“Yes my lord. I will have the Archmage inform them at once.”

After Keppel left, Vexin sat alone eating his fruit. Alone, except for his guards of course. He would liked to have met Darius, but it was not meant to be. It was a shame. Darius might have had some intelligent conversation.

* * *

12 ~ Bad News

The candle was showing a candlemark yet before dinner. Julia had finished her dressing and had nothing to do until Mathius came by to escort her to the dining hall. Julia didn’t feel like visiting with Jessica, they would see each other at dinner. She decided to play with her magic for a while. As usual, she managed to bring up a wall made of light, but when she poked a finger at it, her hand went straight through.

Bother it!

Julia gave up the attempt and tried the mirror. She didn’t know many places she might visualise, but she knew people. Without half trying, she called up an image of Keverin.

“Ha! Lucius said it was hard—” Julia broke off as the image changed to Lucius, and then again to Jessica, and finally to Mathius.

Julia scowled and tried to make it come back to Keverin, but as soon as the picture steadied on him, it was replaced by one of Moriz. The picture wouldn’t stay fixed on her subject for some reason. It was annoying, but she persevered. Mathius was with a girl in the kitchens. He was helping her with something and chatting away as if they were old friends. The girl was looking at him like a cat staring at a bowl of cream.

“You’re only jealous. She’s probably a very nice person,” Julia said doubtfully. “Yeah, but he’s too good for her,” she said and laughed at her foolishness.

It had nothing to do with her what Mathius did, but she had thought he had more sense. She snorted, she was jealous! The picture changed and she smiled to see Moriz bouncing his granddaughter on his knee. Lucius was reading in his room. Keverin had relaxed some of the restrictions placed on him in exchange for monitoring the situation with Malcor and the legion coming through Camorin with his mirror. Julia was confidant of his friendship, but Keverin was more sceptical. Still, Keverin had given him the run of the place, which showed he was willing to try to trust him.

Jessica was reading—a book of poetry by the look of it, and then the mirror changed to Keverin again. He was in his study brooding out the window. He had a glass of untouched wine in his hand and he was absently swirling the contents as he gazed at the mountains or whatever had taken his fancy. Keverin could have been a friend, but something stood between them. For her part, it was his domineering attitude. A lord expected to be obeyed she supposed, but he never tried to order the other women about, only her. She didn’t know what the problem was from his side—except that Darius had died bringing her here. Every time he saw her, he must be reminded of his dead friend. Was there something else?

Julia let the image go and left her room. The dining hall was hardly the place to discuss personal matters, so she walked to Keverin’s study. She shushed the guardsmen with a finger to her lips. Both men were staring as if hit between the eyes. It was the dress Jessica had given her. Without knocking, Julia entered the room. Keverin was to her left still staring out the window. She was sure he hadn’t heard her, but suddenly he stiffened and turned to watch her. She smiled at his expression. He looked just like the guardsmen outside.

Keverin placed his glass on the desk. “Lady Julia, you look—amazing,” he breathed.

“Thank you kind sir,” Julia said with a curtsy. She tried to pretend she really was a lady, and it seemed to work. Keverin inclined his head then took her hand to guide her to a seat near the fire.

Julia sat, and after a moment so did Keverin. The day was ending outside, and the room needed more light. The fire was made up but unlit. She had a feeling Keverin wished to sit in the shadows so she refrained from remedying the situation with magic. A flash of lightning through the windows made Julia tense. She counted under her breath but still jumped a little at the rumble of thunder.

“To what do I owe this visit my lady?”

“I thought it was time we agreed upon a truce between us Lor... Kev.”

Keverin smiled at her use of the short name Jessica used—unless he was laughing at her. He better not be!

“We are not at war. Sometimes it seems we’re the only ones in the world who are not.”

“It feels to me like we are, but I know what you mean. Do you ever wish to just ride away from everything?”

“I would be a poor Lord Protector if I did that, but yes, it has crossed my mind. Do you know, I was relieved when I thought Athione doomed?”

“Relieved? I don’t think I—” Julia broke off in confusion.

“Relieved from the responsibility of saving the kingdom. I am very vain. Though I’m sure you haven’t noticed.”

Julia laughed gaily. Hadn’t noticed indeed. That was the only thing that came to mind when she thought of him—no, that wasn’t true. His size, his long hair, his intense grey eyes, his voice, but especially his brooding manner. These things made Keverin in her mind. She frowned. And his overbearing manner of course.

Keverin smiled ruefully. “Ah, you have noticed. I was relieved of the responsibility for saving Deva single-handed. As I said, vain in the extreme. Without Gylaren, Purcell, and especially you, Deva would already be lost. Who knows how many others in the kingdom, and outside of it for that matter, are vital to the God’s plan for Deva? Still, that was how I felt.”

“Was?” Julia said seeing a side of Keverin that Jessica had hinted was there, but had until now remained hidden from her.

“Was,” Keverin nodded. “When I thought Darius had died for nothing I was angry at you. I apologise for that, but worse was when I found you half dead in the library. I knew then that you were all we had against the Hasians, but I denied it. It would mean my dishonour if you stood to defend Athione when I could not, but events overtook us and I lay injured while you fought to save us. After that it was inevitable that I would be disgraced.”

Julia wanted to deny that, but she couldn’t think of the words. If she said he wasn’t disgraced, he would ignore her unless she could sway him with proof, but where was proof in something like this?

“I said to Gylaren and Purcell that if my dishonour was the price needed to save Athione then so be it. I have found it easy to talk of dishonour, but living with it is much harder.”

They sat in silence together thinking their thoughts without awkwardness. Julia thought over Kev’s words. The thought of his dishonour was painful to him, but as far as she could see it was a purely self inflicted malaise. Honour, dishonour, what was the real difference? Did honour make killing people all right? Of course not. Murder was murder was it not?

Julia frowned in thought. “If I could make a spell to force you to kill someone, would you be dishonoured by the slaying, or would I be the one dishonoured for forcing you?”

“If that were to happen, I would not be dishonoured.”

“Why?” Julia said simply.

“Because I had been forced to—” Keverin broke off with a frown.

“Because you were forced to do it. Wasn’t that what you were about to say? You were forced to use what came to hand when I arrived and Darius died.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Only in your head, Kev. To everyone you are the best of lords, not the worst. No one sees disgrace or dishonour in your actions. Only you see what is not there.”

Keverin just shook his head dismissing her words.

Julia sighed quietly. At least she had tried. Keverin would have to come to his own conclusions, but she made a bet with herself that her words would be considered from all angles before he made up his mind.

It was enough.

Another flash of lightning lit up the room before plunging it back into darkness. Thunder rumbled much closer than last time. A few splatters of rain fell, but then the shower quickly turned to a heavy rainstorm—the first Julia had seen since arriving at Athione.

“Let’s go down to dinner,” Keverin said rising and holding out his hand.

Julia took it and allowed him to escort her.

* * *

Rogan called to the gatekeeper just as true night fell over Athione. The first rain they had encountered on their journey was falling in sheets. He had to yell to be heard over the drumming it made on the dust dry ground. They had ridden into East Town in the dark, but they were too close to stop for the night. They had pushed on to Athione through the torrential rain. He was soaked through, worried, and he was becoming increasingly upset.

They had made good time. It took them barely nine days to make a journey that normally took fourteen. The extra mounts made a difference, but his insistence of riding from dawn to dusk without stopping had more to do with it. Even stopping for food was out of the question as far as he was concerned. They had eaten in the saddle. He had even chaffed at the necessity of stopping for water, but that was unavoidable. Rogan was keenly aware that the enemy must have reached Elvissa days ago, and he knew from experience it would take the full fourteen days to get a large enough relief force back to his home to help. He prayed to the God daily that Lord Donalt could hold out that long. Elvissa was strong, but the Protectorate was not the only country that had mages, though it was the only one ruled by them.

“The God damn you, open the God cursed gate!” Rogan shouted.

“It’s after sunset! Come back tomorrow!” the anonymous gatekeeper’s voice came back.

“Open this gate before I climb over and kill you!”

“Ha! Just you try it boy! You ain’t the only one with a sword!”

Before Rogan could shout again, Arren did it for him. “If you don’t open it right now, I swear I’ll see you dead for obstructing a courier in time of war!”

“What war? We won, ain’t you heard?”

“By the God! We’re from Elvissa curse you! The fortress is under siege by Tanjuners!” Arren shouted almost frothing in rage.

Eeeeeek!

The gates swung wide to allow them entry. Rogan urged his tired horse through the gate and dismounted to see a group of guardsmen watching him huddling under their cloaks.

The man in front stepped forward. “Be welcome to Athione—” the voice Rogan recognised as the idiot gatekeeper began.

Arren threw himself forward with a roar and tackled the man to the ground punching and kicking. He was trying to strangle him!

Rogan gaped. Of all the fool things to—

He rushed forward to battle as the other guardsmen piled onto Arren. He grunted as a foot booted him in the belly and aimed a fist at a shadowy grin. He connected and the grin went away. He was gouging and kicking. He even bit one man as the man tried to throttle him.

“Hold!” a voice roared out of the darkness. “What by the God is going on here?”

Arren and Rogan climbed to their feet and stepped aside as the guardsmen scrambled to attention.

“That one started it, Captain,” a guardsman with a black eye pointed at Arren.

The captain looked disgusted with the squealer, and Rogan agreed with the sentiment. They could have settled it later without fuss, but now that an officer was involved things could get messy.

“You’re all on report. If any of you have broken bones, you had better hope The Lady is awake. If she doesn’t like your explanation, she’ll fry the lot of you.”

The guardsmen, young and old alike, shuffled their feet in the puddles like boys. “No Captain, I mean yes Captain, I mean I ain’t broke nothing Captain,” they mumbled together.

“Get the horses stabled and shut the cursed gate. Anyone could wander in with you lot guarding it!”

Rogan disagreed. These idiots wouldn’t let a relief force in even if the fortress was falling! Arren and he braced to attention as the captain turned to regard them.

“My name is Senior Captain Marcus. You pair had better be who you’re supposed to be,” he said ominously. “If I find out you got in here because you don’t like a little rain, the God had better be looking out for you, because no one else will!”

“I’m Rogan, Captain. M’lord Donalt sent me with letters for lord Keverin and m’lord Purcell. Tanjung regulars killed m’lord Corlath in a raid. With respect Captain, if you need more you must ask m’lord.”

“God’s teeth! Follow me. Talk to no one.”

They followed Marcus as he strode rapidly away. The corridors of the citadel were deserted. People should be moving about even this late, but the place seemed abandoned. He glanced at Arren who was also looking round in puzzlement. Where was everyone?

“Wait here,” Marcus ordered, and knocked to enter a room. A moment later the door opened again, and Marcus beckoned them inside.

Rogan entered first and Arren followed. The room was part of a lord’s private apartments. He was acutely uncomfortable intruding, especially as he was dripping water on the lord’s rugs. He stopped before the desk where a man he assumed was Lord Athione was sitting. He came to attention after giving a letter to Marcus. Marcus handed it on to his lord.

“See to it that Gylaren and Purcell are informed of our guest’s arrival. Have Lady Julia and Lucius escorted here.”

“Yes my lord,” Marcus said and left on his errand.

Keverin read his letter silently and storm clouds appeared on his brow. He shook his head and dropped the letter on his desk with a sigh. “Bad news abounds these days. Your names?”

“Rogan m’lord.”

“Arren m’lord.”

Keverin nodded. “You saw the battle?”

“I did m’lord,” Rogan said. “I was ordered to stay back and report.”

“Describe what you saw.”

Rogan was reluctant, but a lord was asking. “It was in the foothills m’lord. Sergeant Ferris and I were scouting out wide—way off the trail we were. M’lord Donalt sent us to watch his brother’s back.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t tell me m’lord.”

“Come now, you are an intelligent man. Make a guess.”

Rogan hesitated but he couldn’t see a way out of it. “M’lord Donalt was arguing with his brother just before he rode out m’lord. Donalt was not happy with the numbers Corlath chose to take with him. M’lord Donalt thought the timing of the raids suspicious. With his father away and so many of the men here, he thought his brother should take more men in case of trouble.”

“A sensible precaution,” Keverin mused. “I take it Corlath didn’t follow his brother’s advice.”

“No m’lord. He would not hear of weakening the fortress further. He was confident that he could run the enemy off with what he had. M’lord Corlath followed the road hoping to close the pass quickly, but he moved too fast. His scouts didn’t have time to do their jobs.”

Keverin didn’t like that. Sergeant Ferris hadn’t been too happy about it either, Rogan remembered. Nothing is so urgent that running to your death is the answer, Ferris had said, and he was right.

“Foolish to move so quickly,” Keverin said.

“He wanted to close the pass and prevent the enemy from retreating m’lord. The Tanjuners burned the fields and the farms. The villagers ran away before they arrived, but not all could escape in time.”

“Women and children?”

“Dead m’lord. The Tanjuners were regulars not raiders.”

“You saw them?” Keverin said without dispute.

“I did m’lord. M’lord Corlath led his column into an ambush. Two groups, regulars—”

“Two?” Keverin said pouncing on the detail. “How did they attack? At the same moment, or staggered?”

Rogan frowned. Hadn’t it been together? “Together m’lord—exactly together. Why?”

“They attacked separately but at exactly the same moment. They have mages with them I wager. It must be that.”

“I didn’t see them m’lord,” Rogan said glancing worriedly at Arren. “M’lord Corlath rallied as best he could and tried to break out.”

“He failed,” Keverin said. It was not a question.

“Yes m’lord. He’s dead—they’re all dead.”

“This is not good,” Keverin said tapping a finger up and down on the letter. “We succeeded in destroying the force sent against us, but another aided by Lord Malcor is on the way. How by the God can we be in two places at once?”

Rogan felt sick. A Lord Protector had turned traitor—a Lord Protector! It was unbelievable. What of Malcor’s honour? Rogan felt his entire world teetering. If a Lord Protector could do this, nothing and no one was safe any longer. This news changed everything.

A short while later the door opened to admit a stunningly beautiful woman accompanied by a dark bearded man in white cotton shirt and dark blue trousers. Arren bowed and Rogan pulled his eyes reluctantly away from the woman to do likewise. Keverin introduced the newcomers as Lady Julia and the mage Lucius. A short while later Rogan was glad to see Purcell arrive with Lord Gylaren. He was relieved that he could complete his duty, which he did when he presented the letters from Donalt and his mother—Lady Isolde.

A mask of grief closed over Purcell’s face as he read of his oldest son’s death. The strong hands that wielded a sword to such deadly effect tightened on the letters crumpling them. Purcell stared unseeing into the distance.

“May I?” Gylaren asked Keverin.

“Of course,” Keverin said and handed Gylaren his letter.

Purcell seemed to collect his wits then. “Report Rogan,” he said in a choked voice.

Rogan repeated his story almost word for word. Keverin, having already heard it, wandered away to stare at the flames of the fire in thought. As the report came to a close Keverin looked up and returned to his desk ready to debate the situation.

Lady Julia stood and placed a hand on Purcell’s shoulder. Rogan smiled at the sight of a child consoling his lord. She was so tiny that even sitting down Purcell was taller than she was. His smile wilted when he saw the unshed tears in Purcell’s eyes.

“I’m so sorry Purcell. If I can help you in any way…?”

“I—” Purcell started but broke off to clear his emotion filled throat. “I thank you, Lady. I must return to Elvissa with all speed. Would you accompany me?”

“I will come,” Lady Julia said simply.

Rogan was confused. A woman would slow them down badly enough, a child would be much worse. Why did Purcell want a girl child to come with them?

“Don’t be a fool man!” Gylaren said. “You can’t get there in less than a tenday at the earliest. What of Malcor?”

Rogan started forward seeing his lord badgered at such a time, but he was halted before he could take more than two steps by Keverin.

“Rogan, Arren,” Keverin said sharply. “I’m sure you would like to get dried off. Marcus will show you the way to the barracks. Your comrades will have questions.”

Rogan wanted to stay, but he had been dismissed. He bowed to the lords and to Lady Julia then left. Captain Marcus led them through the labyrinth at a fast pace, but Rogan made no complaint. He wanted to ask the others why a girl child should be brought along.

* * *

Keverin waited for Marcus to lead Rogan and Arren out of the room before turning to Lucius. “I need you to scry Elvissa for me. Can you do that?”

“Certainly. I have viewed it before.”

Keverin went to his bedchamber. The mirror Lucius used last time was hanging in its usual place above a large porcelain jug and bowl. Taking it down, he reminded himself to get another from a spare room to replace it. He laid the mirror upon his desk and invited Lucius to take his chair.

“You can keep this mirror. I think you might be using it a lot more than me in the days ahead.”

“Thank you my lord, but if you need me to scry while on the road we will need one a little smaller. One about a hand on a side would do.”

“Good idea. I’ll find one for you.”

Keverin sat nearby while Lucius worked. “Have you had any luck in your lessons Lady?”

Julia made a face. “No. It’s not for want of trying I can tell you. I can’t seem to get the correct image. Whenever I try to see Malcor I see us instead. Not the fortress I mean, but people. You, sometimes Mathius… a few others. I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong.”

“You need to stop worrying about your friends and concentrate more,” Lucius said absently as he stared into the mirror.

“Oh Lucius!” Julia said in a weary voice. “You always say that, give it a rest why don’t you? I do concentrate. I can’t help it if other things keep popping into my head.”

“Lord Purcell?” Lucius said. “I think you should see this for yourself. It’s not good news I’m afraid.”

Keverin stood to watch over Lucius’ shoulder while Purcell leaned in on the other side. The image was from above and from the east if he was any judge. The fortress was under attack even as he watched. Perhaps a thousand soldiers were storming a burnt and broken gate.

“The gate is down,” Purcell said in shock. “Don is holding them though. He always did have a good head on his shoulders. The Tanjuner bast… sorry, Lady. The Tanjuners haven’t bothered to burn the town. They probably want to save it for their own people.”

“I have more bad news for you my lord,” Lucius said. “At least one mage must be present—the gate was destroyed with magic.”

“How strong do you think?”

“Not very. A journeyman I would say. See here and here,” Lucius said pointing to the mirror. “The gate is whole. It was blown off the hinges, but it wasn’t destroyed. If you compare that with what is left of your west courtyard, lord Keverin, you will understand what I mean.”

“That can’t be right,” Julia protested. “To make such a mess of our gate you needed fifty sorcerers.”

The image gradually faded to black then the surface of a normal mirror reappeared. Keverin walked to the window, and looked out into the rain. He absently listened to Lucius while going over his options.

“Ah... hmmm. Although we all wear black robes, it doesn’t mean we are the same strength. I was strongest among those in Fifth Legion, Belgard was the next strongest, but he was apparently only average over all.” Lucius frowned at something but shook his head at the distraction. “The next strongest wouldn’t equal Mathius. I think Mathius will reach my level in a few more years, and I doubt he’ll stop there. I’m a strong master mage, perhaps a weak wizard. We knew Darius was strong, but we didn’t know he was the strongest you had at Athione. Why do you think Mortain sent fifty of us?”

Keverin remembered his last conversation with Darius above the west gate, and turned to Lucius. “Darius thought the Protectorate had sent strong mages. That’s why he brought Julia through the gate.”

“Our strongest mages are never put into danger. They are for keeping the rest of us in line, and for siring a new generation. It was hoped that true sorcerers would result from the union, but so far nothing exceptional has come of it.”

“Oh? And what do the women think of being Mortain’s battery hens?”

“Lady... sometimes I think that I almost understand you, but then you say something from out-world like that. What by the God is a battery hen?” Lucius said in annoyance.

Keverin winced to here the deceptively calm and sweet voice from Julia. She had used it to flay him more than once. Most notably the times he had ordered her not to go to town. She didn’t understand that even East Town had dangers—not as many as other towns true, but no town was completely free of crime. Moreover, there was Jymis to consider—though he should be in Devarr by this time. All he wanted to do was protect her, but the last time he had ordered her not to go, she had turned red and nearly struck him. She had barely stopped herself before telling him just what he could do with his orders.

Keverin grinned out into the rainy evening.

No child should know such language, especially not a girl child. Jessica insisted that Julia was a woman grown, but still! It was a little much being berated by someone barely two thirds his size. She had called him an idiot and insisted that he was speaking out of Cavell’s rear end. What had she called him again? A horse’s arse, that was it. Keverin choked back the laugh that threatened. Now was not the time for it. He could feel her behind him radiating that strange warmth she had. It filled any room she entered. Was it her magic that affected him so? Why was he so acutely aware of her presence whenever she entered a room? He had no magic like Mathius to sense her coming. What was it about her?

“It’s nothing,” Julia said with a weary sigh. “What I meant was, what do the woman think about being used for creating new mages?”

“Why... nothing,” Lucius said in surprise. “They’re not forced to marry a sorcerer. We aren’t complete barbarians you know! Sorcerers are sought after. Of course, we do make fine husbands—and our position in the Protectorate is an enviable one if seen from the outside. I never married. I didn’t want my children taken from me and put through what I went through in the halls below Castle Black. No woman will ever tell me what’s what.”

Keverin winced again, but Julia didn’t explode. Lucius was a lucky man indeed. He could only wish for the same kind of luck where Julia was concerned.

Keverin sighed and turned back to problems old and new. “As I see it, we have two basic choices. One, we collect up all of Purcell’s men and all of Gy’s and march them with a thousand of mine to Elvissa. We will have close to twenty five hundred men so we should easily destroy a thousand Tanjuners. The problem is it will take fourteen days to get there.

“Two, we march on Malcor instead. We somehow take the fortress, kill Athlone, and replace him with Jihan. Then we march to Elvissa, and hope Jihan can hold the Protectorate off while we march back.”

“Both plans are insane!” Gylaren cried and jumped to his feet. “Elvissa will fall before we can get there!”

“I don’t care how long it takes. Elvissa is mine, and my youngest is counting on our help!” Purcell raged.

The lords argued back and forth trying to find the answer to an impossible situation.

“Excuse me… I said excuse me!” Julia yelled over the noise and it cut off as if with a knife. “Thank you. I don’t know your world very well yet, but it seems to me that you need two armies.”

Keverin pressed his lips tight to stop himself from saying something he was sure to regret. It was just like Julia to be snarling one moment then jesting the next, but there was no time for it here.

“This is no time for jesting. If I had two armies, don’t you think I would use them both?”

“Well split the one you have! Look, send me with Gy and Purcell to Elvissa, while Lucius goes with you and a thousand men to take Malcor. Simple!”

Simple she says. Malcor was stronger than Athione. It had to be. Keverin knew the terrain quite well. Low rolling hills turning to low stony hills with Malcor in the middle of a flat plain leagues across didn’t provide protection like a mountain pass did. Athione needed four thousand men in time of war, but he could get by easily with two thousand when at peace. Malcor on the other hand was huge. It needed five, perhaps even six thousand in war and not many less when at peace. How could Lucius and a thousand men take it?

“You don’t know of what you speak, Lady. Malcor is huge. There must be five thousand men in there—at the least five thousand. If they see me strolling up to their gates with only a thousand men at my back they would storm out and butcher us all.”

Lucius looked thoughtful. “Julia and not me should accompany you, Lord Keverin. I must confess that I would prefer to fight Tanjuners rather than my own people. Perhaps you can devise a way to enter Malcor by stealth?”

Keverin frowned. By stealth? Hmmm, by stealth...

* * *

13 ~ Fortress Malcor

Julia wasn’t a happy woman. Her back was killing her and her legs were cramping. She gave no outward sign. Nothing could be done about it, but she doubted she would be able to walk when they stopped. She was riding through open country on a tall roan beast, laughingly called tractable, on her way to Malcor. Back home, she had never even seen a horse in real life let alone tried to ride one. Keverin had been nonplussed when she told him she had never ridden in her life. His face had assumed a look of pity that she had not understood at the time. She did now, only too well.

The first few days they had kept to an easy pace, and Julia had wondered what all the fuss was about. A little nudge with her heels made it go. All you did was sit on top and steer. What could be easier than that? How do you make it stop, should have been her first question, and not how to make it go. When her companions stopped to make camp that first night her horse had kept walking on into the night. The guardsmen had thought it hilarious, but she hadn’t. The flaming beast wouldn’t stop no matter what she said, so all she could do was turn back. After circling three times like an airliner coming into land, she had threatened to zap their arses with her magic, unless someone stopped the damned thing. The next day she was given a lesson in horsemanship and learned how to make her horse do what she wanted.

They were well on their way to Malcor now. The land hereabouts was desolate, and she had been a little worried to see Jihan load his horse with two large water bags and not just one. He said something about a promise he had made to himself, but she didn’t know what the promise was. Seeing the desolate hills and lack of towns, she realised extra water was a good idea.

They kept riding until well after dark.

At Keverin’s order they stopped to make camp. Julia sat atop her horse and stared wearily at the ground trying to decide how she was going to get down without collapsing.

“Do you need some help, Lady?” Ahnao said.

“I don’t think my legs will work. If I can just get them to cooperate, I might be able to get off this flaming torture machine.”

Ahnao laughed, but there was concern in her eyes. “I’ll get Jihan to lift you down.”

Ahnao swept away. How Julia envied her ability to ride without pain.

The girl returned and Jihan lifted Julia down in his strong arms. Rather than set her on her feet, he took her into a tent the guardsmen had hastily erected for her. She was grateful for their thoughtfulness. She didn’t want them to see her fall and have to crawl. Ahnao helped her to undress. Each night they went through a similar routine. Ahnao helped her undress and then applied the balm to her sore thighs and backside. It warmed her muscles as if she were in a sauna.

Julia sighed as the pain was replaced by a warm numbness. “Thanks Ahnao. That feels much better. I hope I’ll be all right when we reach Malcor.”

“You’ll fine. It always feels like it will never end at first. You must be very strong with all these muscles. I thought ye were from Camorin when I first saw ye. Jihan says even women are warriors there.”

“Pretty strong I guess,” Julia said as she dressed. “I wish I could ride like you though.”

Ahnao looked down and spoke in a small voice. “I ain’t that good. I’m just a peasant. Anyone can ride a horse—been doing it since me ma took me in. Never had fine horses like them out there though. We use plough horses for most everything.”

“Don’t put yourself down, Ahnao,” Julia said reaching out and squeezing the girl’s hand. “Where I come from we don’t have peasants and nobles. In your blue dress you look as much a high born lady as Jessica does.”

Ahnao didn’t look up. “Jihan is a lord’s son. He’s the heir to Malcor! How can such as me even dream…?”

“He likes you. I’ve seen him looking at you when he thinks no one can see.”

“Looking is nothing. A lord can dally with a peasant girl, but he won’t marry one.”

Jihan was different from other lord’s sons, but that different? He did like Ahnao, Julia was sure of it. The heir to a place like Malcor though would need more. Would a girl like Ahnao be able to command respect from the others in the fortress? Would they even give her the chance to try? Julia was unused to thinking along these lines, but she tried for Ahnao’s sake. Ahnao would need to speak as the nobles did, and never slip back into her usual way of saying things. Clothes were easy—the fortress would be full of them. Jihan’s regard was already turned her way, so the only thing Julia could think of was making Ahnao sound and act like a lady.

“Do you know the difference between you and me—apart from my magic that is?”

“You are beautiful, and a Lady, and strong, and—”

Julia broke into Ahnao’s tirade. “Nothing. The difference is nothing, Ahnao. If I put on your peasant dress and spoke like you, everyone would call me a peasant. Put a fancy dress on and talk like a Lady, and suddenly I’m a Lady. Do you see? You must look people in the eyes and never look down or away. It makes people think you’re timid and below them. If you listen and remember, you can learn how to sound like a noble. I’ll help you. If you ride with me, we can chat. I’ll try to teach you what to say. Half the battle is thinking about what you want to say before saying it.”

“Do you think Jihan will want me?”

“Anything is possible. Just look at me—I wasn’t even born on this world! Getting you and Jihan together should be easy to arrange compared to that.”

Ahnao grinned. “I be good at remembering.”

Julia smiled. “If someone asks you something, don’t answer straight away. You should wait a moment to collect your thoughts and then speak carefully. You would say something like this: me ma said I was to get the water. I would say this: my mother asked me to fetch the water. Do you see? I said exactly the same thing as you did, but it sounds completely different.”

Ahnao nodded. “I understand me—my Lady.”

“That’s right. When speaking, two people of equal rank should call each other by name—unless you’re being introduced for the first time or wish to be formal. After being introduced to someone like Jessica, you would say: I am pleased to meet you, Lady Jessica. Later you would say hello Jessica or good morning Jessica, something like that.”

“I should say: I understand, Julia?” Ahnao said.

Julia nodded. “When we enter Malcor, there will be servants. Try to remember how the lords spoke to Keverin’s people. Force yourself to talk to them the way Keverin talks to his servants. He treats them kindly, but you can hear the difference when he speaks to another lord.”

Julia was uncomfortable with that last part. She thought everyone should be treated the same, but that wouldn’t work for Ahnao who was so unsure of herself. She could be less formal later when she became used to speaking differently.

They spoke late into the night.

Ahnao rode with her the next day and ignored Jihan completely. He seemed puzzled about his abandonment, but he had other things on his mind. Through the rest of the journey, Julia spoke with Ahnao about anything and everything, so that she could hear how a noble spoke. When Keverin rode close, Ahnao listened carefully as Julia kept him talking for candlemarks. When Keverin rode off, she called Brian over and chatted with him. Julia felt she might be in danger of losing her voice, but she kept talking to Ahnao, or Mathius, or one of the guardsmen.

Then the day came when Malcor loomed large.

* * *

Jihan and Julia rode toward Malcor’s south gate. The light was fading now, and it made the fortress seem made of shadow. It was a huge dark mass brooding on its foundations waiting for the unwary to come too close. What was he doing back here? Jihan tried not to let her know how badly he wanted to gallop in the opposite direction, but he didn’t think Julia was so easily fooled. He had felt torn with indecision when Keverin had told him the plan. On the one hand, he would have the chance to rule Malcor as it should be ruled. He knew how important it was for a loyal lord to hold the fortresses. On the other hand, there was his father to think of. He had often fantasised about challenging Athlone, but now the time was here he found himself uncertain. Before meeting Ahnao he would have taken any chance to see his father dead for hurting his mother, he had reasoned that he had nothing to lose, but now he found himself thinking about the risk. He had a future with Ahnao to look forward to now, but he couldn’t turn his back on his mother. Her ghost cried out to him for justice.

“We’re nearly there. Have you thought how you’ll handle your father where I’m concerned?”

Jihan turned in his saddle to look at his only companion. Keverin and the others were camped out of sight in the woods close to where he killed Luther. Malcor dominated a large plain, which allowed its approaches to be watched for leagues in any direction. They would be seen if they came any closer.

“Are you all right Jihan? You look ill.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me that galloping a few hundred leagues wouldn’t cure.”

Julia laughed as if he had made a joke. Perhaps to someone as powerful as she was this was all an amusing adventure. To him, it wasn’t funny in the least.

“Be serious will you?” Julia said grinning. “Have you decided what you’ll say?”

“There’s not much to say. If they let us in, they might not, but if they do, my father will most likely set a punishment. If he asks why I came back, I’ll say Keverin turned me out.”

“Kev would never do that!”

“You and I know that, but my father hates Keverin. He would believe the worst of him rather than accept him as the better man.”

“What kind of punishment is he likely to set?”

“He’ll most likely order his cronies to beat me—it’s his standard punishment for my disobedience. As if a beating could teach me discipline,” Jihan sneered. “All it ever taught me was how to hide and fight when cornered. That’s over with now. I swore not to put up with such things. I’ll kill them if I have to.”

Julia nodded, and stayed quiet for the rest of the trip.

Jihan reined Jezy to a halt when they reached the gate, and Julia eased up by his side. “Ho the gate!”

“Who comes?”

“Jihan, son of Athlone and heir to Malcor!”

Jihan waited wondering whether his father was aware of his arrival. The thought was soon answered when the gate swung open on well greased hinges. One thing Athlone was good for was keeping the fortress in fighting trim. Julia and he rode through the gate and into the courtyard. He dismounted handing his reins to a stable-hand, and lifted Julia down. The groom took their horses away, and Jihan turned to his father.

Athlone looked old. The man was only fifty two, but the perpetual frown he wore, as if dissatisfied that the world did not do his bidding, made him look wrinkled and worn. Athlone was still a man to be wary of, but his father’s ageing made Jihan feel his youthful strength that much more keenly.

“Well boy? Where is Haiger?”

Jihan took pleasure in ignoring Athlone and instead turned to Julia. “Lady Julia, I would like to present my father, Lord Athlone. Father, this is Lady Julia. We met on my travels.”

“I am delighted to meet you at last, Lord Athlone. Your son has told me sooo much about you,” Julia said sweetly.

Athlone was visibly trembling in anger, but to Jihan’s great delight he swallowed it.

“Delighted,” Athlone said through his teeth. “It has been long since a lady so lovely has graced my halls. You are most welcome. If you will excuse me for just a moment, I wish to speak to my son.”

“Of course. It must be hard when a son leaves to go adventuring. You must have missed him awfully.”

Jihan tried not to let his amusement show. Anyone who had spoken with Julia would realise her sugar-coated words concealed an intense dislike for Athlone. Fortunately his father was entirely unprepared for a lady to begin with, let alone an intelligent lady sorceress.

“Where are Haiger and the men I sent?”

“Dead,” Jihan said. He gave no further information, and watched his father struggle with his temper. Athlone was not one to hold his temper, but Julia’s presence seemed to restrain him for some reason.

“All six?”

“What did you expect me to do? Allow myself to be brought back like a runaway dog?”

“What I expect is some respect boy!”

Jihan shrugged.

Athlone’s face darkened and he turned back to Julia. “Perhaps you would like to refresh yourself, Lady. If you will follow me, I will show you to your rooms.”

“Thank you, you are most considerate,” Julia said and followed him inside.

Jihan looked around the courtyard once, before trotting up the steps and entering the citadel.

* * *

“She didn’t look like much,” Athlone said. “Good looking I grant you, but dangerous? I hardly think so. She’s nothing but a child.”

“Don’t be fooled by her appearance,” Abarsis warned. “That child as you call her has enough power at her command to level Malcor. Rile her my lord, and you will have the citadel coming down upon your head—upon our heads I should say.”

Athlone grunted and poured himself some wine. “I’ve sent for Jihan. He will be here shortly. You have a plan?”

Abarsis nodded and turned to his two companions. “You felt it?”

“Yes my lord sorcerer. She is strong in the magic.”

The other mage nodded. “It sings.”

“It does,” Abarsis agreed. “Take no chances. Mortain, may he live forever, orders her taken and brought before him. I order you to kill her at the first sign of her escape.”

“As you say, my lord sorcerer.”

“It will be done.”

“Go,” Abarsis said and the two mages bowed then left.

“That’s it? That’s your entire plan?”

“There are two ways to take a mage my lord. One is overwhelm him with superior power. The other is by surprise. No one has enough power to overwhelm Julia by himself—not even Mortain could do so. Surprise then is the plan.”

“What after?”

“Mortain wants her for himself. A spell to hold her, another to bend her to his will, and Julia may well be the mother to a new generation of true sorcerers.”

“I would sooner bed down with a snake,” Athlone said in disgust.

Abarsis nodded in agreement.

* * *

Jihan found his room exactly as he had left it. He took the time to wash and change his clothes before pulling his armour on again. With his sword bare, he sat in a chair watching the door. Why was Athlone waiting? The only thing he could think of was that he was trying to make him edgy. It was working.

The room was in darkness and the sun had been down for at least a candlemark when he heard the knock. Jihan didn’t bother to hide his readiness as he opened the door to find four guardsmen waiting.

“Your lord father is waiting.”

Jihan slipped into his old unresponsive attitude and did not speak. Instead, he sheathed his sword and walked unhurriedly to the training rooms.

“You took your time,” Athlone said and Jihan shrugged. “That was a pretty piece you brought back with you. At least you take after me in your tastes where women are concerned. It’s about the only thing we do have in common. If I didn’t know better, I could almost believe your mother had been whoring to the guards.”

Jihan fumed at the traitor’s slanderous words about his mother. If only Keverin had been his father instead of this foul traitor.

“You don’t answer? I think it’s time you had another lesson in who rules here.”

“You were never interested in my opinions before now,” Jihan said. “What has changed? As for the lesson, how many of your cronies can you afford to lose?”

“Boy...” Athlone growled. “You aren’t man enough to even inconvenience me, let alone take my place. I ought to disown you. See how you like living as a peasant.”

“I’m tired. Are you going to be long? If you want to teach me something, why not do it yourself?”

Jihan drew his sword, but he was disappointed when Athlone stepped back. He could run his father through right now and save himself a lot of bother later, but Athlone was unarmed. The guardsmen though were not. They circled him with their swords bare. He knew he would win. There wasn’t a doubt of it in his mind, but he had promised himself he wouldn’t put up with this kind of thing anymore.

“I swore I would not play your games any more, father. I will kill them if you don’t call them off,” Jihan said but Athlone remained silent. He tried the guardsmen, “I don’t want to kill you. Please… let my father fight his own battles.”

“You’re a cocky bastard, Jihan,” the sergeant said. “You always was. You ain’t got a chance against all of us.”

“I will not tell you again. Back off,” Jihan said in a cold voice.

The guardsmen attacked together. Their first mistake was to get in each other’s way, and Jihan took full advantage by gutting the one who had spoken. The stunned look on the remaining guardsmen’s faces said it all. Jihan had killed their sergeant so fast they hadn’t seen him land the blow. One moment there had been four guardsmen confident of their skill, the next only three.

Jihan watched the warily backing men. He didn’t move to attack—not until his father’s voice rang out.

“Did you think I didn’t know that you betrayed me Jihan? I’m disappointed in you, but then I always was. I gave you everything, and you repay me by running to my greatest enemy. Kill him!”

Before the guardsmen could even attempt to comply, Jihan was on them. Attacking one with a cut diagonally downward, he followed through to kill the man’s companion. Both men fell dead without a sound. The last guardsman was clearly panicking, which made Jihan more wary. A man pushed too hard could be unpredictable. In this case, he was almost taken by surprise, but not through the actions of the guardsman. Athlone had retrieved a fallen sword and attacked him from behind. Jihan ducked under the guardsman’s panicked swing at the same time as he threw himself clear of Athlone. His father was good with the sword. He couldn’t afford the added distraction. He charged and knocked the guardsman off his feet. One thrust of his dagger and the guard fell dead.

A slow clapping came from across the room.

Jihan turned to see his father standing next to a black robed sorcerer calmly applauding. It was Abarsis. Jihan was stunned. He had expected the sorcerer to be with the legion in Camorin not here at Malcor. Did he know about Julia?

“You have met Abarsis, but I don’t believe you know his two friends.” Athlone gestured toward the entrance.

It was a trap, and Jihan had led Julia right into it. With his heart sinking, Jihan turned as the door opened.

* * *

Julia slipped from her room and crept silently along the corridor. She had been careful to note the turns Athlone had taken when he escorted her to the women’s quarter, and now she retraced her way through the citadel. She ducked into an alcove when two serving women approached chatting and giggling about Jihan coming home, but she wasn’t seen. The corridors were even darker than Athione’s. She reached out with that sense that told her when Mathius was coming to scold her, but she felt nothing. Unlike Jihan, she wasn’t willing to take it for granted that Athlone didn’t have a pet sorcerer on call, but she detected nothing of the sort within her range which was considerable. Julia felt better about her escapade knowing that she was the only mage within the fortress and made her way to the south courtyard with more confidence.

Before stepping out of the citadel and into the night, Julia searched the courtyard for guardsmen with her mage-sight. She was scanning the darkness for the telltale auras that would indicate a guardsmen standing watch. She spotted them immediately. There were none in the courtyard, but she counted an even dozen on the gate towers and along the short stretch of wall over the gate itself. Jihan said twelve was normal practise, but it never hurt to check. The gate to the north was likewise guarded he said. Any disturbance would bring thousands of guardsmen boiling out of their barracks when the alarm was given. It was Julia’s job to ensure the alarm was never sounded.

Julia stayed in the shadows close to the wall as she nervously made her way toward one of the gate towers. The night was very dark... she gritted her teeth and swallowed the panicky feeling back. She could do this. If she could fight thousands of soldiers in the pass, she could cross one stupid courtyard! She wished there was some kind of magic she could use to take away her fear of the dark. There were some very real things to fear in this world, fearing the night itself was stupid.

Julia hesitated outside the tower door, and went over what she was expected to do. The machinery that operated the gates was in the towers, as were the locks. She needed to get one of the gates open, but she also had to prevent the guardsmen from giving the alarm. Taking a deep breath, she pasted a smile on her face and entered the tower. The room was dimly lit—thank God!—and filled with machinery. There were long chains disappearing into the darkness overhead with massive stones attached. The lower stone was resting on the floor. Julia could not see a way up to the battlement at first, but as she rounded the counterweight she saw a wooden stairway leading up to a shadowy balcony almost lost to the darkness.

“Hey! You ain’t allowed in here.”

Julia jumped and spun toward the voice. She tried to keep her voice meek when all she wanted to do was scream at him for scaring her. “I only wanted to see how the gates work. You won’t tell any one will you?” She didn’t quite simper, but her coy little smile had the desired effect.

The guardsmen blinked twice, and a vacuous smile appeared on his face. “Well... I suppose it will be all right this once.”

“This all looks very complicated. You must be very clever to make all this work. Would you explain things to me?”

The guardsmen puffed up at the praise. “This shaft here goes…”

Julia was genuinely interested as she looked around at the gears and chains. She listened closely to the guardsman’s explanation of their workings. How a culture without technology could make such things was beyond her. Maybe magic had been used in some way, but if it was she didn’t know how. She had always been good at what she did in the past, but now was a different matter. Not understanding how to use her magic properly was intensely frustrating to her. If she knew more, she could have waved a hand and have all the guardsmen disappear. Instead, she would have to hurt people again… or would she?

Suddenly Julia had an idea.

“See? Then I pull this one, the stone rises up again, and the gate closes all by itself. Clever eh?”

Julia nodded and put her hand on the lever she now knew unlocked the right-hand counterweight.

“Don’t!” The guardsman yelled and grabbed her hand.

That was what Julia was waiting for. As soon as he touched her, she grasped her magic and infused him with exhaustion. He collapsed as if someone had hit him on the head. Someone had in a way. It was a misuse of her healing, but it was infinitely better than killing the man… biting her lip and hoping he wasn’t permanently harmed, Julia used her magic to check. To her relief she found a healthy man who would sleep for a day at least. Quickly moving to the lever she unlocked the gate, but she didn’t open it. If she had tried the noise would surely have alerted the other guardsmen. Keverin and his men would just have to use muscle power and shove it open.

Julia took one more look around and then climbed the stairs up to the battlements. Before opening the door, she listened for footsteps, but she heard nothing. With a firm grasp on her magic, she stepped into the darkness and found the sentries spaced along the wall with her mage-sight. To her they looked like pillars of blazing energy. Reverting to normal sight for a moment she could barely make out the first one. The others were lost in the darkness. There were no lamps or torches to give her away, such things would aid an enemy by ruining night vision. In this case, the lack of light helped her immeasurably.

Muttering under her breath, she steeled herself to step into the darkness. She knew how silly it was to be frightened of the dark when there was a lot worse to be frightened of right nearby, but she still had to force herself to step out onto the battlement. Trying to appear casual in case someone could see her after all, Julia stepped up to the first guard. He had just enough time to look up at her touch, before slumping against the merlon. She pushed him into a position resembling a man looking into the night, and then left to find the next man.

* * *

Keverin watched the fortress from where he lay upon the ground. Mathius was nearby waiting for Julia to contact him, but so far there hadn’t been a whisper from her. He had snuck out to his current position hoping that when he arrived Julia would open the gate for him, but she hadn’t. The wait was becoming unbearable. What if Athlone had hurt her? If the traitor harmed one hair of her head, he would gut the bastard himself!

“My lord, Julia says to come now,” Mathius whispered.

“The gate is shut, Mathius. I can see it.”

“She dare not open it for fear of the noise it will make. She has unlocked one of them and has taken care of the sentries.”

“Right.”

Turning to his sergeants, Keverin signalled silently then ran in a crouch toward the gate. He wished he knew which one was unlocked, but it would take only a moment to try both. With a heave, he felt the right-hand gate move slightly. His men arrived in twos and threes and helped him shove it open. Once through, he turned and gave his orders in a hushed voice.

“First ten take men the tower on the right and hold it. Next ten, same on the left. Once we’re all inside lock the gates.”

Keverin spun as a figure dashed toward him, but before he could even think of drawing his sword, he knew who it had to be. A moment later the shadow resolved into Julia.

“I have twelve men asleep on the south wall,” Julia said as she ran to him.

“Well done my lady,” Keverin said and quickly sent some men to collect the prisoners.

Jihan had described the fortress well, and it was not long before they had men in all the strategic locations. The barracks were the thorniest problem. There were a dozen huge barracks full of guardsmen. He sent Mathius with the rest of his men to ward and guard the entrance to each one.

“Where is Jihan?”

“He said his father would set a punishment. He didn’t know for sure what it would be, but he thought Athlone might set the guardsmen on him.”

“On his own son?” Keverin said hardly able to believe it. “Where—no, it has to be the armoury.”

Keverin ran into the citadel with Julia by his side. He didn’t try to dissuade her from coming along. He knew she wouldn’t heed him. The first person they saw was a shocked servant who tried to run, but Keverin pounced on him before he could get far.

“Show us to the armoury,” Keverin growled.

The shocked man rolled his eyes up and back at Keverin. “The... the armoury?”

“Wait!” Julia said. “Where are Athlone and Jihan?”

“I couldn’t say lady,” the servant said evasively.

Keverin shook the man until his teeth rattled. “You tell her what she asked or I’ll kill you right now.”

“I’ll tell you... I’ll tell you! They’re in the sparring room.”

“Show us.”

Keverin followed the man and hurried him along with threats of chopping pieces off him until the man stopped outside an iron bound door.

“Here. They’re inside.”

“Open it and introduce Lady Julia.”

“But—”

Keverin drew his sword.

“All right,” the servant said sullenly. He opened the door and stepped inside. “M’lord, the Lady Julia and—”

* * *

Jihan watched the door open with a sinking heart, but the man who entered wasn’t wearing black. He was wearing the usual livery of a servant. Abarsis scowled at this, but then his face went blank as Julia’s face did when she used her magic. Jihan tensed expecting a fireball or some such to appear, but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, the sorcerer smiled. The smile made Jihan feel worse than the expectation of a fireball. He didn’t know what Abarsis had done, but whatever it was couldn’t be good.

The servant stepped inside nervously. “M’Lord, the Lady Julia and—”

“Me,” Keverin said walking in as the servant bolted out the door. Julia stepped beside Keverin keeping her eyes firmly on Abarsis.

“Julia!” Jihan shouted. “There are two more black robes somewhere loose!”

“I’ll worry about them later.”

“Oh really?” Abarsis drawled nodding to his two companions as they entered through the other door. “How about now?”

Jihan tensed. Abarsis must have contacted them with his magic. Julia and Keverin backed toward him keeping the sorcerers to their front. He did the same as he edged closer to them.

“What are you waiting for? Kill them!” Athlone shouted.

“Don’t ever presume to give me orders, Athlone,” Abarsis snarled. “Mine come directly from Mortain. Yours mean less than nothing to me.” He looked back toward Julia with a smirking grin. “Mortain would like a new girl to warm his bed.”

Vrooosh!

Everything happened at once. A fireball shot across the room aimed at Julia, but a ward snapped up to intercept it. Keverin, taken completely by surprise by the appearance of the ward, was unable to abort his instinctive move to shield Julia. Jihan looked on in horror as the fireball struck Keverin in the belly.

“AEiii!” Keverin screamed in agony as the fire burnt through his armour.

“Nooo!” Julia screamed with her fists pressed to her mouth in horror at what had happened.

Julia’s eyes were locked upon the crumpled form of Keverin where he lay outside the protection of her ward. Abarsis threw another fireball but Julia was oblivious to the danger. Jihan flinched expecting a fiery death as it struck the crackling ward, but all he felt was pleasant warmth. Nothing more.

“For the God’s sake Julia, do something!”

“I killed him,” Julia sobbed brokenly. “Me, I did it. Why? Why didn’t I warn him about the ward? I should have stopped him!”

Athlone was openly smirking, but Abarsis looked shocked; he had expected his last fireball to succeed. The sorcerers exchanged worried glances, but Julia was sobbing uncontrollably and didn’t see. Jihan ducked as more fireballs struck the weakening ward. A hot wind rushed over him as the fire clawed at Julia’s insubstantial wall. The ward flickered as the third one struck, but still it held.

“It wasn’t you Julia! Look at those smirking bastards—they did it!”

“No. It was me, but you’re right. They don’t deserve to profit from my stupidity.”

Julia glared hatefully at the sorcerers. She raised her clenched fists, her tears were a grim counter-point to the look on her face. Jihan shuddered to think what she was going to do. The sorcerers attacked again, but the ward flared bright and strong. It intercepted the attack and hardly dimmed. He covered his ears as the ward screeched and howled in protest, but it was obvious even to him that the attack wasn't strong enough to overcome it.

Julia screamed as something appeared before her. It was fire… Jihan thought it was fire, but it was unlike any he had ever seen before. Where it touched the floor, a puddle of molten stone bubbled. It grew, and the roaring it made grew with it. The fiery demon churned and fell in upon itself only to be renewed bigger and stronger with each cycle it completed. Julia was screaming and shaking. Jihan thought she might die from the violence of both. Suddenly Julia punched her fists toward the panicked sorcerers.

“Dieeeee!” Julia screeched.

The fiery demon roared toward the sorcerers leaving a trail of molten stone in its wake. Abarsis managed to throw a fireball, but it was absorbed into the roaring mass. Before the sorcerers could run, Julia’s wrath arrived. Blue lightning streaked across the floor and ceiling as the fire went straight through the sorcerer’s wards without slowing.

“AEiii—” the screams cut off as if they had never been. The three men had ceased to exist. Where they had stood, nothing but a round bubbling pit of molten stone remained.

Jihan sighed in relief, but then the thing Julia had made burned straight through the wall and door and into the corridor beyond.

“Stop Julia! You’ll kill us all!”

“I’m sorry Kev. I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry... sorry... sorry,” Julia mumbled to herself.

Something crashed to the ground outside as the thing went through another wall somewhere.

Jihan thought fast. “Julia... it’s Kev. You can stop now, I’m all right,” he said thickly.

“Kev? I thought you were dead!”

The roaring stopped abruptly.

Julia looked around in bewilderment until she saw Keverin. “Nooo! I heard you, you’re alive!”

Two of Keverin’s men ran in and skidded to a halt when they saw Julia drop to her knees beside their lord. She was crying as if her heart were broken.

“Take that out of here. Lock him up somewhere.” Jihan ordered gesturing toward his father.

Athlone was cowering in the corner with his mouth agape staring at the molten pit in horror. It seemed to be solidifying now, and the trail to it was as well. The guardsmen drew their weapons and took him out of the room.

Jihan knelt opposite Julia and turned Keverin over. Keverin’s armour was burned through over his stomach and blood was welling in the wound. Jihan watched the distraught woman rocking back and forth. He opened his mouth to say that he was sorry.

Blood welling!

“Julia, wake up woman! Can’t you see he’s alive? Use your magic for the God’s sake!”

* * *

Julia was in hell. How many of her friends would die before she learned to strike first? Her hesitation had killed dozens at Athione, and now it had cost her Keverin. She needed to be hard as the stone of Athione. No, she needed to be harder even than that. Feelings would destroy her in the end.

“Julia wake up woman! Can’t you see he’s alive? Use your magic for the God’s sake!” Jihan yelled.

“No, he’s dead. I killed him just like all the others.”

“For the God’s sake! Look, does a corpse bleed?”

Julia looked to where Jihan pointed. Instantly she was in her healing place studying Keverin. He was so close to death that she might not save him. His aura was hardly moving, and his centre was solid black. She forced herself not to panic or even think on whom she worked. She drew on her magic until she was on the edge of pain to strengthen him, but even as she poured her power into him, his form tattered and he slipped away from her.

No! Don’t do this to me!

Julia tried to gather him up, but it was like the others. The more she tried, the worse it got. He was fading before her eyes. In desperation she built a glowing net, a kind of ward around him. It sprang into being fully formed encircling him. She watched in hope as Keverin’s already tattered aura touched the glowing net and recoiled. Another strand and another did the same. It was working. Glowing golden, the ward repelled Keverin’s aura and prevented him from leaving her.

Julia quickly built another net around the blackness that infested Keverin’s aura. Slowly, carefully, she forced it to contract. The net squeezed down on the blackness destroying it at the same time as corralling it. Keverin stopped trying to escape as the black light diminished, but Julia didn’t remove the ward. She wasn’t taking any more chances with Kev’s life.

* * *

Jihan paced waiting impatiently for Julia to come back. He had received worrying reports from Keverin’s men that Malcor’s guardsmen were all awake and raging about what they would do when they got out. In one of the barracks they had already tried to escape, but Mathius’ ward, though weak by a sorcerer’s standards, had held them at bay. What Jihan would do if they realised that setting a fire would get them out, he didn’t know. One thing was certain, unless he could make them understand his father’s betrayal, he would never be able to rule here.

Athlone had taken a lot of bandits and outright raiders into his guard over the years. They were kinless, men without ties or family. They were what Jihan meant by Athlone’s cronies, but most of the guardsmen had families to protect—many in Malcor Town or in villages beholden to Malcor. Jihan was sure that he could rely on the locals to at least listen to him. He would turn the others out of his fortress as soon as he had control. A man with no ties couldn’t be relied upon, especially in time of war.

Jihan knew that he would have to challenge Athlone, but that didn’t worry him unduly. He had been heading toward this day all his life. The man was a traitor, but that wasn’t why he would kill him. He would kill Athlone for murdering his mother’s spirit. Jihan spun on his heel when he heard a quiet whisper. The ward was gone. Julia said something to Keverin then leaned forward and quickly kissed him. Keverin looked shocked but he didn’t pull away.

So, that’s how it is, Jihan thought. No wonder Julia had lost her head when she thought Keverin dead. Jihan didn’t want to interrupt them, but time was critical. He coughed to gain the lover’s attention.

“I’m sorry to interrupt Julia, Keverin, but I have a fortress to take control of and the guardsmen are getting anxious.”

Julia blushed and hastily stood brushing her dress clean of nonexistent dust. Keverin was slower to rise, but the wound had healed. Jihan could see the scarred flesh through the hole in his friend’s armour.

“Lord Jihan, what are your orders?” Keverin said seriously.

Jihan stood taller. He was to be Lord Malcor. “I don’t give orders to my friends, but I do request that you and your lady accompany me to the barracks.”

“Of course we will come.”

Julia didn’t answer but she nodded her agreement. She was smiling now as if all was right with the world.

Jihan led their party toward the courtyard and the first of the barracks. He chose the one closest for convenience sake, but he was glad he did when he saw Ahnao riding in with the last of the guardsmen and horses.

“My Lady, welcome to my home,” Jihan bowed and helped her down. Ahnao looked lovely in her blue silk dress, but then to his eyes she was gorgeous in anything she wore.

Ahnao hesitated for the barest moment. “Thank you my lord. I am glad to see you have taken no hurt from your father,” she said slowly.

Jihan gaped. Ahnao sounded like a noble woman born and bred! Now he knew what she and Julia had been discussing on the journey. Silly woman. She didn’t have to put on airs for him to love her, but now was not the time to tell her. They would have a long talk later. For now, he bowed formally and gave her his arm.

Ahnao beamed a smile and walked with him into the citadel.

The thrumming of Mathius’ ward pulled Jihan’s attention from Ahnao and focused his mind on what he had to do. He went over in his mind what he would say, and what he would offer those willing to stay and fight with him. It seemed obvious that those with families would be honourable men. The cronies would be thrown out without question, but the others could be won if he said and did the right things.

“Family...”

“Family?” Ahnao said.

“I must remind them of their families. A man with such responsibilities will surely understand my father’s betrayal.”

Jihan found his guardsmen sitting on their bunks talking amongst themselves. He watched them through the ward and tried to marshal his thoughts and arguments. Ahnao stood with Mathius who swore to protect her come what may.

“You’ll be fine,” Julia said stepping up beside him.

“Ready?” Keverin said from Jihan’s other side.

Jihan nodded and the ward came down. All three stepped quickly inside so that Mathius could raise it again. The thrumming at his back was both comforting and a concern. He would not run, that was a given, but he couldn’t now if he wanted to. The ward prevented all escape.

When the guardsmen saw Jihan enter, they came to their feet and started forward. It took a display of magic from Julia to stop them. She raised her hand and lightning crackled from finger to finger. The men backed off, but they were far from content to leave it at that.

“Down with the traitor!”

“Kill him!”

“The bastard sold us out!”

The calls were coming from the back of the room. Jihan couldn’t see who they were. He raised a hand and the noise diminished but it didn’t stop altogether.

“I agree with you!” Jihan called over the noise. “Down with the traitor say I, but who is the traitor?”

“You are!”

“…sold his honour...”

“I always knew he was trouble...”

“No!” Jihan shouted. “I have not been negotiating with the sorcerers, but Athlone has. I have not been taking bandits and raiders into the guard and raising them over honest Devan guardsmen, but Athlone has. I have not been bribing and corrupting the King’s own chancellor, but Athlone has—”

Murmurs took the place of shouts as the guardsmen looked at their mates and wondered what the truth was.

“All of this has Athlone done, but do you call him traitor? No! Only I have the courage to fight for what is right. Where were you, when that animal killed my mother? Where were you, when as a child I was tormented and abused until nearly insane?”

Silence reigned.

Panting, Jihan tried to regain control his anger, but the sight of all those who had not helped him made it a struggle. “Lady Julia destroyed a Hasian legion at Athione, and now she has come all this way to help me destroy another one. Not candlemarks ago you heard the results of her magic as she killed three sorcerers right here within the walls of Malcor! How many of you believe the Hasians are our friends?” He paused waiting for an answer. “What, none of you? You surprise me. Why then did you allow three of them to live under my—under our roof?”

“We never—”

“The Lord be saying they were all right—”

“I didn’t know—”

“…not my place to—”

“Shut up!” Jihan said in disgust. “You make me want to puke. It’s not my place you say? If it’s not your place to protect your own families and friends, whose is it? Do you think that when the Hasians arrive they won’t pacify the folk in the town—your town? Of course, they will!” Jihan said putting as much disgust in his voice as possible. “In a few candlemarks I’m going to challenge Athlone to a duel. I will kill him for his crimes and then throw out all the scum he collected over the years. Don’t doubt that I will do it. If any of you want to aid me in saving your families and destroying the Hasians, you can swear to me now!”

Jihan glanced at Julia and she nodded. He took that as permission. “I warn you that Lady Julia will know if you plan to betray me. I will execute anyone that betrays their oath, so be sure what you do. Anyone who does not swear will be put out of Malcor with a knife, a horse, and enough food for a tenday. If after that time I find him still on my lands, I will kill him for the brigand he is!”

The silence was deafening. No one stirred until a grizzled man stepped forward and sank to one knee before Jihan. It was Ernard, one of the oldest and ablest guardsmen at Malcor. He had witnessed three lords come and go in his time. He was loyal to Malcor beyond question.

“I swear on my life, my honour, and my soul to be your man ‘till death. May the God bear witness,” Ernard said and circled his heart.

Julia frowned at him for a moment and then smiled. “He is loyal.” She said and murmurs spread among the watching men.

Jihan blinked in surprise. He had known Ernard all his life. Of course he was loyal, but how had Julia known? Was their ruse really a ruse? Could she really tell a man’s loyalties by looking at him?

Julia noticed his look. “He is loyal my lord.”

Jihan stepped forward with a smile to raise Ernard to his feet. “I swear on my life, my honour, and my soul to take you Ernard into my service—to protect and uphold you and yours in good times and in bad, and to use you in all honour. May the God bear witness,” he said and circled his heart.

One after another, the guardsmen swore their oaths until only a small group hung back. Jihan recognised some of them as his father’s captains, but all were cronies.

“You men are banished from my lands,” Jihan said with relish, and then addressed himself to his loyal guardsmen. “In a moment I will have the ward removed. I want you to choose four captains from among the best of you—you know better than I who they are. Go down to the armoury and don full armour and weapons. A hundred of you will see to it that these men are escorted off my lands, the rest will report to me in the south courtyard.” He looked toward Mathius. “Drop the ward Mathius if you would.”

Jihan watched impassively as his loyal men left for the armoury. Mathius raised the ward again leaving the dregs still inside.

Jihan breathed a sigh of relief. It was working.

* * *

Keverin was impressed with Jihan’s way of handling his guardsmen. By appealing to their pride and willingness to fight for their families, he had managed to wheedle out those with no real ties to Malcor. One surprising thing though had been the number of men too scared to swear to Jihan. The threat of Julia knowing their intentions had dissuaded many from swearing to Jihan—even those with family in Malcor Town. Although losing over a thousand guardsmen from a total of six thousand was bad, it was really no bad thing to prune away the weaker men. Malcor would benefit in the end as the younger guardsmen learned from the older ones. It was obviously better to have strong courageous men teach the young ones to be like them than to have cowards pass on their bad habits.

Keverin was no longer really listening to the speech. It was the twelfth time he had heard it. Jihan hadn’t varied it very much, and so far the reaction had been the same each time. Jihan had ordered the loyal men to escort the bad apples in small groups all over the map, so they wouldn’t so easily link up. A thousand brigands wasn’t a laughing matter, but he thought Jihan had handled it very well. The young Lord of Malcor was generous to supply a horse and dagger to each man, and they knew it. Horses were expensive as was steel. They wouldn’t be able to get into too much mischief with no armour and only a dagger.

Keverin glanced at the silent presence beside him. Julia hadn’t said much since kissing him in the armoury. It was very forward of her, but he liked it—he liked it a lot! He didn’t know what his feelings for her were really. Gratitude was one part, but a relationship built on gratitude wouldn’t last. He admired her courage immensely, and her intelligence was not in question of course. Her beauty was staggering and her—

It was the cursed book that held him back!

Although it contained valuable knowledge he had nearly destroyed it once. It was for Julia’s sake that he had not. Even if he loved her, he couldn’t deny her a way home—especially if he loved her. It was so strange. He even knew when she entered a room without turning to see. It was as if the room itself brightened with her presence, and he felt diminished when she wasn’t with him despite their arguments. Maybe it was her magic that called to him? No, he had felt it that day in Jessica’s rooms before he even knew she had magic. Even his men felt it.

Julia burned brightly—she dazzled him.

Not even Darius had been as close to him as he now felt Julia had become. She would hate him if he didn’t tell her about a way to go home, but if he did, she might suffer Darius’ fate. The book had killed Darius—he had killed Darius by allowing his friend to study it. He was damned if he showed her the book and damned if he didn’t.

Keverin glanced down at her again and Julia smiled. He smiled back as Jihan finished taking the oaths. As far as he could tell Julia hadn’t been hurt during the earlier attack, but how could he tell if she had aged herself a day or two? He wouldn’t be able to tell if she had aged a year come to that! That she had suffered at all was driving him mad with worry.

All he could think of was Darius and Julia, Julia and Darius.

* * *

14 ~ Fortress Elvissa

Lucius thought they were making excellent time, but Purcell still drove them on. It was hard to blame the man. Seeing his home under attack and not being able to help was driving Purcell mad with frustration.

Keverin had loaned Purcell enough horses to mount their entire force, and had sent Captain Marcus with five hundred men as well. Keverin could easily afford the horses, he had lost a great many men in the attack, but the guardsmen were another matter. Gylaren had protested, insisting that Keverin needed them for his own venture, but Keverin had replied that a thousand men had no more chance than five hundred to take Malcor. If they were to succeed, it would be by guile and sorcery. Lucius agreed with Gylaren that it was a risk, but he had come to know Julia quite well. That woman was very determined. She had badgered him unmercifully trying to learn this thing or that. She had been especially interested in wards and shielding.

Lucius had tried to tell her that personal shields were just that—personal. She already knew that, Mathius had explained it, but she wanted to know the ways used by other mages so that she might link the methods in some manner and thereby see a common thread. He was doubtful. He had learned his own method through trial and error—lots of error!

Lucius had described walls of air, of light, of a mixture of the two. He described walls of fire that did not burn the sorcerer inside, but anything outside touching it would be destroyed. He told her of wards made of nothing but magic itself, and others that absorbed magical attacks to become stronger. To his never ending surprise, it had worked! To his way of thinking, Julia had messed about for a short while with no logic behind her experiments, but suddenly a shield appeared around her little finger. He hadn’t tried to stop her when she held the finger in a candle flame. He could already tell it would work.

Lucius shook his head in admiration. Castle Black had lost the perfect Mortain when Julia was born a woman. Thank the God she was! If a sorcerer with Julia’s strength ever became Mortain, no one would be able to resist his might. Julia was strong but ignorant; his former brothers were weak but knowledgeable. It equalled out... sort of.

Lucius looked around at the countryside they were passing through. They were on a section of road that had seen better days. Most of its stones were missing and the verges were overgrown. In some places the trees overhung the road so that the column continually moved from bright sunshine into gloomy twilight at random intervals. Deva must have quite a problem with bandits, he mused. Such stretches of road were perfect for such to ambush the unwary.

Just as Lucius was thinking it would be nice to stop for a while, Purcell called a halt. Lucius dismounted and took a drink of water giving some to his horse at the same time. Word filtered back to him through the grumbles of the men that they were stopping for half a candlemark. Most of the guardsmen walked around chatting to their mates and trying to work the stiffness out of cramped legs, but Lucius decided to check on Elvissa again. He rummaged through his pack looking for the mirror Keverin had given to him.

Keverin had been reluctant to part with it he remembered...

Lucius had been in the library trying to choose a book that he could understand. He had been a little upset to find the books for sorcerers were way beyond his limited knowledge, and even some of the so-called easier texts were causing him trouble.

Keverin had wandered in and noticed his frustration. “Whatever is the matter now?”

“It’s these cursed books!” Lucius cried in frustration. “I can’t understand half of what they say. It’s almost as if the author left out the part explaining how to understand them.”

Keverin frowned at the book and shook his head. “I can hardly read this one in any case.”

“Neither can I,” Lucius replied wearily.

“You need a rest my friend. Come with me for a while, I want to show you something.”

Lucius followed Keverin through the citadel until they came to a locked door in the north tower. He was expecting some kind of treasure, but he was disappointed to find an ordinary room with a bed and table along the walls. Keverin took a small mirror down from a shelf then retrieved a red blanket from a chest at the bottom of the bed.

“I thought you might make good use of these,” Keverin said stroking the red wool. He was obviously reluctant to part with the items.

“You treasure these things, my lord. Why are you giving them to me?”

Keverin handed them across. “Darius would want them to be used. There are a couple of books on the shelf if you want to read them. One is about the Founding.”

That was when Lucius realised the red blanket was in fact a robe—a wizard’s robe. He was reluctant to take it, but he didn’t want to displease his host.

“Try it on. If it doesn’t fit we can have it altered.”

Lucius reluctantly tried one of the robes on. It fit perfectly. To his surprise it felt completely right. He felt better wearing the robe of a mage again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but he had been under dressed in just a plain shirt and trousers. He stared at himself in the mirror. A wizard stared back—a wizard who was at last in charge of his own destiny.

Lucius shook off the memory of that day. Retrieving his mirror from his pack, he walked away from distractions and sat on a half rotten log at the side of the road. He frowned at his reflection in the mirror. He needed to trim his beard again. Turning his head and angling the mirror to see his profile better, he saw movement in the trees behind him. He wasn’t sure he had really seen it at first, but he wasn’t willing to take chances. He grasped his magic just as the rabbit scurried out of the brush and away. With his heart pounding, Lucius chuckled. He couldn’t believe how close he had come to cooking the poor thing.

“You’re getting old—” he said to himself. He didn’t have time to be surprised when a man stepped into sight and loosed an arrow.

Flinching away in shock, Lucius desperately threw a wall of fire. The arrow flamed. As it fell, more fire leapt from his upraised hand.

“AEiii!”

Lucius coldly watched the corpse fall to the ground. He was ready for whatever might come but was caught unawares when it came from the direction of his companions.

“Don’t turn around, Lucius,” Purcell said. “I don’t want to order your death without hearing your explanation.”

“Lord Purcell,” Lucius called loudly without turning. “If you send someone into the trees you will find my reason.”

“Very well—don’t do anything.”

Marcus walked warily into the trees. “We have a dead Tanjuner here!” he called after a moment. “He had a bow.”

“All right, Lucius, you can relax. Let us have a look at your Tanjuner,” Purcell said as he walked by.

Lucius followed Purcell and Gylaren to where Marcus was leaning over the corpse. The fireball had hit the bowman in the belly, a painful way to die, and not always immediately fatal. This time however the fire had done its work and the man was dead. The bowman wasn’t wearing armour, which was a surprise to the lords, but Marcus was more interested in the man’s weapons. Apart from his bow, he also carried a curved dagger sharpened on both sides.

“Assassin!” Marcus hissed in surprise.

The lords looked at Lucius with eyebrows raised in question. Their expressions made them look alike as brothers.

“Mortain would send a sorcerer not a bowman, my lords. Besides, he’s a Tanjuner.”

“Why is an assassin hiding way out here trying to kill you, Lucius?” Gylaren said.

“I’m surprised they even know I exist, my lord. They must be worried about what I’ll do when we reach Elvissa.”

The lords expressed their doubts, but they had nothing better to offer. Purcell detailed two men to bury the man, and then they mounted up and continued on their way. From then on, Lucius kept a wary eye on the overgrown verges of the road. He wondered how the Tanjuners had known he was coming. Scrying had to be the answer. They must have been concerned to see him riding east, and decided to take steps to stop him interfering.

He would have to arrange something fitting for a thank you. Perhaps he could try Julia’s lightning.

* * *

“Make camp!” Purcell reluctantly called. The sun had already set, and the horses were stumbling with fatigue.

He knew this area well. It was two days from home at a normal pace, but if he pushed it, they could do it in one. There was water to be had here, and plenty of wood for fires. This time tomorrow, he could be home—if he still had a home. They had ridden through the last stretch of Ariston forest in pitch darkness. That’s why he had called a halt. The rest of the journey was through open country. If they followed the river they would have water for the horses, but it would take candlemarks longer. With that in mind he had decided to cut across country at first light tomorrow. He would be in sight of Elvissa by sunset. He had vague ideas of attacking at night by surprise, but until he saw the situation, he couldn’t make definite plans.

Thinking about planning, Purcell waved Lucius and Gy over to talk. Lucius was a puzzle, he mused as he watched the wizard tuck a mirror under his arm and walk toward him. Lucius didn’t take life too seriously, which he said was due to his upbringing. Life was cheap at Castle Black and a man did well to take joy wherever he found it. He liked Lucius for that attitude. He agreed completely. Wearing the red robes of a wizard, the man looked dangerous and was. The first assassin at the roadside should have killed him, but Lucius had struck first. Purcell had thought it dumb luck at the time, but Lucius had been attacked twice more on the journey and had proved that luck had no part in it. Both attacks were from ambush, but he had survived.

The second attack could have been the end for Lucius. An assassin had tried to take him at night while asleep—except he hadn’t been. He had been using the mirror to find Julia. Lucius had seen the assassin entering his tent and had struck him down with lightning as if he did it every day. The camp had been roused to see a smoking corpse lying outside Lucius’ tent. When they examined the assassin’s knife they found it had been poisoned. One scratch would have been lethal. Lucius laughed it off, but Purcell could tell the mage was puzzled. Lucius said that next time he would try to capture the assassin alive. He had been sure there would be a next time.

“Do you want to view the fortress again, Purcell?” Lucius said readying his mirror.

“Not straight away my friend. I’m thinking of travelling cross-country at first light tomorrow. I was hoping you could tell me the way is clear. The last thing we need is a run in with a patrol.”

Lucius knelt down with his mirror and began scrying tomorrow’s route, Gylaren watched over the wizard’s shoulder.

“You’re pushing it if you think you can attack straight away,” Gylaren said. “The horses are close to exhaustion. I know you are worried, but I think we should rest tomorrow night and attack early the next day.”

“Perhaps,” Purcell said with a shrug. “It depends on what we see when we reach Elvissa. If those Tanjuner bastards are inside, I’m going in after them! If Donalt has held them out, we can rest and attack as soon as it’s light.”

“Sounds good.”

Purcell watched as Lucius scried tomorrow’s route. The terrain consisted of gently sloping hills and valleys with a farm dotted here and there. One or two looked prosperous, but the others were your average peasant farms. A burned and abandoned farm came and went as Lucius carefully followed a straight line toward Elvissa. Another abandoned farm with burned and blackened fields all about it, a burned village, another farm—it would take years to rebuild what the bastards had destroyed in days. Purcell saw no signs of cavalry on the dirt lanes or in the fields, and he would have if patrols were out. That was peculiar to say the least. Surely they weren’t that confident? Tanjung wasn’t new to war. Their War Leaders were a lot better than some lords Purcell could name. Any sensible War Leader would have patrols out to make sure there were no counterattacks in the offing, but he saw none at all.

“I can’t see any indications of patrols at all—can you Lucius?” Purcell said frowning in disbelief.

“None. They are overconfident.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Have a look at the pass would you? They might have friends coming.”

Lucius changed the image, and the pass appeared.

“There’s nothing there. A fool must lead them,” Gylaren said in satisfaction.

“I doubt that very much. They killed my boy expertly enough.”

“Sorry. You know I didn’t mean it like that. Their War Leader might be good at small actions like the ambush, but the larger actions elude him. We’ve both seen captains with promise that fail in strategy.”

Purcell nodded. It was worth thinking about, but he preferred to assume their War Leader was not a fool. It would be far safer to plan for a competent enemy rather than an incompetent one.

Lucius cleared the image. “When we attack I will use my magic against their mage. I would advise you, if I may Purcell, to wait until I eliminate the threat before attacking.”

Eliminate. That was a good word. He was going to eliminate every one of those Tanjuner bastards, and when he was done, their so-called emperor would never dare to send his men against Deva again!

The next day dawned with Purcell and his men already in the saddle. They had broken their fast in the dark, and although the men had not slept long, they were eager to be moving. The Elvissans knew how close they were to home. They tried to push ahead faster than was wise. Purcell had to slow the pace more than once or else tire the horses.

At midday they stopped and watered the horses from their water bags. What seemed like moments later they were back in the saddle and riding hard.

When the day moved into evening, Purcell slowed the pace to a walk, and sent scouts far ahead. He gave specific orders—they were not to be seen under any circumstances, but they should check the situation at the fortress before reporting. Purcell had decided, lacking any sign to the contrary, that the Tanjuners had indeed concentrated on the fortress. They were over confidant just as Lucius had surmised. The day had darkened to night before the scouts returned with bleak news. The Tanjuners were inside the walls.

“You’re sure?” Purcell said with his stomach sinking. “Was there still fighting?”

“No m’lord, it was right peaceful. Them bastids were inside and making themselves at home in the courtyard.”

“In the courtyard?” Purcell pounced on the words. “Not in the citadel?”

“I can’t say for sure, m’lord,” Arren said. “They were in the courtyard—I could tell that much, and they ain’t fighting, but that’s all we could see without being caught.”

“You have done well. No need for you to go out again when we’re so close.”

Arren saluted and rode back to his mates.

“We have done it!” Purcell crowed. “By the God we have done it!” He pounded a fist on his thigh in delight.

“Calm down, you can’t sure,” Gy warned.

“Why else would they be out in the courtyard at night if not camped?”

“I don’t know, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a reason.”

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do Gy, but it’s not necessary. I know things may not be as they seem, but I choose to believe that my family are still alive in there.”

Gylaren was quiet, which Purcell appreciated. He would soon see his son and daughter again, and his beloved Isolde. Corlath was gone, but he still had family to care for.

A candlemark or so later, Purcell crouched in darkness studying the fortress. The Tanjuners had made no effort to barricade the gate and were settling down to sleep. There were men on the walls keeping watch, but he knew from personal experience that they wouldn’t see anyone approach until the last hundred yards or so. With the gates closed that didn’t matter too much—the alarm would be wrung in time for any attack, but for his purposes the gate being down was sent by the God.

Purcell settled more comfortably to wait. He itched to give the order to attack, but Lucius had yet to take care of the mages. Lucius was sure there were only two of them. How he knew, Purcell wasn’t sure, but he seemed very confident. After admonishing Purcell and Gylaren not to start until they heard back from him, Lucius had walked into the darkness toward the fortress. That was maybe a half candlemark ago and there had been no word. Purcell took comfort in the knowledge that no alarm had been raised. If Lucius had been discovered, they would have heard the explosion easily from here. Purcell wasn’t likely to forget that it was men like Lucius that had sundered Athione’s west wall. He had seen the destruction Lucius could unleash and was sure no one would take him without a fight. Purcell had great confidence in Lucius’ abilities.

Thinking of Lucius seemed to conjure him forth. Purcell was staring intently at the shattered gate and saw a figure detach itself from the hulking shadow of the gate tower. With no outward sign of concern, Lucius strolled out the gate and into the night. Purcell hissed angrily at the sight. If Lucius was seen… but he wasn’t seen. Lucius must have used some kind of spell to hide himself. Purcell hoped it was that and not Lucius simply relying upon luck, because as bold as you please Lucius wandered up to Purcell and then dropped to his belly beside him. He handed the garrote he had borrowed back to Arren.

“All done,” Lucius said cheerfully. “Ready?”

Purcell nodded eagerly and began crawling forward. The ground seemed to writhe in the darkness as he and his men crawled toward home. The Tanjuners would pay.

Oh yes, they would pay.

* * *

“M’lord?”

Donalt heard the voice from far away. How long had he lain here? He had to get up and fight, but someone was holding him. He thrashed trying to throw the enemy off. He was confused when he heard Lysy’s voice. She should be hiding in the citadel, not out here!

“He can’t help you—he nearly died! Please leave him alone!”

“I’m sorry but there’s fighting outside. We can hear it.”

Donalt remembered the blade entering his side. Pain erupted as he clapped a hand to the wound to stop the bleeding. Groaning as the agony faded he realised he hadn’t felt armour under his hand—bandages... he felt bandages and bare skin.

“Now see what you have done! He’s bleeding again!”

“There’s fighting in the courtyard m’lord!”

Fighting? Of course there’s fighting! Why does he think I’m lying down and groaning?

“Report,” Donalt tried to say, but it came out as a whisper. He tried again, “Report!” That was a little better.

“Thank the God!” Captain Trine said. “M’lord, you were wounded a tenday ago. I carried on as best I could without you, but I lost the courtyard and the main doors to the citadel this morning. I have men barricaded in the great hall, the woman’s quarter, and the armoury. There is fighting in the courtyard, but we can’t see who.”

A tenday? That couldn’t be right... could it? Never mind that! The fighting, think about the fighting. It might be another noble house fighting over the spoils. It would be just like the idiot Tanjuners to fight each other at a time like this.

“Hold the barricades...”

“I didn’t hear m’lord. Lady did you catch what he said?”

“Leave him alone!” Lysy wailed. “We’ll all be dead soon any way,” she said sobbing.

Summoning what energy he could, Donalt tried to make himself heard. “Hold the barricades. Don’t sally, hold... the... bar... cades.”

“He said sally! I understand m’lord. We’ll take as many of the bastards with us as we can!”

“No... hold the barricades...” Donalt said desperately.

“Shush Don, he’s gone. He’ll follow your orders don’t worry.

* * *

It was a complete slaughter, Purcell thought gleefully. Emperor Vexin had paid for Corlath’s death with the lives of nine hundred of his soldiers this night. He wished it had been thousands, but the outcome might then have been in doubt. Corlath was worth more to him than any number of Tanjuners, but nine hundred was a good start. Now that it was over, Purcell spotted people he knew wandering around checking the wounded. Many of them were not guardsmen at all, but townsfolk wearing bits of armour. For them to be fighting, Donalt must have been desperate. He couldn’t see Don anywhere, but it was dark.

Many on both sides were wounded, but most of the dead belonged to Tanjung this time. Over by the stables Lucius was checking to see if a man was alive. He was, and Lucius took him inside. Here and there Tanjuners were being given the grace. It was too good for them, but he dare not let them wander off to the God alone knew where. It was better that they be safely dead.

“Why don’t you go in and see Isolde? I’ll take over here.”

“Thanks Gy, I’ll do that,” Purcell said with gratitude.

Purcell entered the citadel and quickly made his way to the great hall. The place was a mess in many ways. Wounded men lay in rows on the floor with woman from the town tending them. It was almost as if he had been magically transported back in time to Athione. The scene was that similar to what he had found in the great hall there. Some of the injured were well enough to greet him with a small cheer. Others just stared at him, mutely demanding to know why he hadn’t been here to protect them. There was furniture piled close to the doors—used to hold them shut no doubt, and blood and scraps of cloth used for bandaging littered the floor.

An older woman hurried toward him and made to go by, but he stopped her with a raised hand. “Where is Lady Isolde?”

“And who are you to be asking?”

Purcell sighed. There was nothing like a woman to bring a man down to earth with a bump. “I am her consort.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “Sorry m’lord! Lady Isolde and Lady Lysara are in the woman’s quarter with our lord Donalt.”

Our lord? “Thank you.”

Purcell left the hall and quickly made his way to the women’s quarter. Evidence of the struggle was strewn all along the corridors—blood on the stone where someone was dragged to safety, various pieces of furniture piled at intersections to provide cover for archers. The whole place stank of death and would continue to do so for some time to come.

There was no one to direct him when he reached the women’s quarter. The door was open and unguarded. He started ducking into rooms searching. Eventually he found Lysara in her own room, but Isolde was not with her. Fear for his wife clutched his heart.

“Oh, father! It was so awful. Corlath is gone and Donalt—”

Purcell stiffened. “Not Donalt too,” he pleaded.

“No, but badly wounded. We thought he would die, but he held on. He was still giving orders until just a little while ago. You would have been so proud of him, father. He rode out with half the men and ambushed the Tanjuners in the forest, and then he did it again at the bridge. He saved us all. The men fought like dragons to get him to safety when he was wounded in the courtyard.”

Purcell’s pride in his son was beyond words. He couldn’t have spoken in any case. The relief at hearing Donalt was safe brought tears to his eyes. Lysara showed him into her bedchamber. There was a pale ghost in the bed—his son asleep. He looked dead. Purcell sighed in relief when Don shifted a little in his sleep.

“I’ll fetch Lucius up here. He’s a wizard—not as powerful as Julia maybe, but he should be able to help.”

“Who is Julia?” Lysara frowned at the strange sounding name. “Never mind—you can tell me later.”

“How is your mother?” Purcell dreading what he would discover.

“It was bad at first. She cried and cried. I didn’t think she would ever stop—”

Purcell could easily imagine the terrible grief she felt. Isolde was a strong woman, she’d had to be to put up with him and two strapping boys all these years, but the loss of a first born child was enough to break anyone’s spirit.

“—alive again. You should have seen her with the wounded. It was as if she saw Corlath in each one she helped to save. She’s asleep in her room now.”

Thank the God! I couldn’t live without you my heart.

* * *

Lucius tried to see the wound the way Julia did when healing. He frowned in concentration but he was having difficulty envisioning what she described. He thought that he might have glimpsed it once or twice as he slipped into the realm of power, but it was probably his imagination. Although Julia didn’t have as much experience with magic as he did, her control over this aspect was way beyond his. Healing was her primary talent, though that might change when she had learned enough to judge her abilities one against another. Maybe it was something to do with her sex, or maybe people were inherently different where she came form. Whatever the case he was wasting his time trying to learn her method. It just didn’t work.

Sighing, he gave up and brought out his needle and thread to begin sewing the man’s arm. He had found the Tanjuner bleeding to death near the shattered gate and instead of giving him the grace had decided to use him as a messenger boy.

“There, that should do it,” Lucius said as he finished.

“Why are you helping me?” Methrym said. “Your people will kill me as soon as they find out I’m in here.”

“So you’re awake are you? No, no! Don’t thank me, it was my pleasure I assure you.”

The Tanjuner growled a curse and tried to get up.

“You listen to me War Leader—yes I know what you are. I saved you for a reason. I’m going to give you a horse and supplies so you can ride home to your emperor with a message.”

Methrym stopped struggling to rise and looked warily at him. “What message?”

“Tell Vexin not to send any more assassins after me. Tell him to heed me or I swear that I’ll pay him a little visit. While you’re there you might as well mention that the next Tanjuner army I see on Devan soil will not survive long enough to be an inconvenience. Tell him to look to Athione. I’m sure he’ll know what I mean. Now get up and follow me.”

Lucius led the fuming War Leader out into the courtyard and into one of the stables. He quickly saddled a horse while Methrym hid in the darkness. Scouting about, Lucius found a water bag and a small travel pack and threw them both to Methrym before leading him and the horse into the night.

The War Leader mounted. “I am Methrym of House Malai. Remember it wizard. I want you to know the name of the man who kills you!”

“Very pretty speech,” Lucius said in amusement and Methrym scowled. “You just remember what I told you to say. Now be gone!”

Methrym galloped away into the darkness.

Julia wouldn’t like what he had just done, but it was necessary. Vexin would hardly give up his dreams of conquest just because of a little set back like losing an army, but the thought of what happened at Athione might give him pause. He hoped so any way.

“Who was that?”

Lucius turned and went to join Purcell. “A man named Methrym.”

“I know you must have a good reason, but why are you letting one of the enemy go instead of killing him?”

Lucius was not fooled by Purcell’s tone. The look in the lord’s eyes said he was holding his temper until he had his answer. Lucius appreciated Purcell’s restraint. He had been accepted as a friend only recently—letting an enemy go could be construed as traitorous. He liked Purcell, but more than that, he liked his new life and didn’t want to lose this chance at happiness.

“He will carry a message back to emperor Vexin for us,” Lucius said as they walked back inside. “I told him I would take exception to any more assassins being sent, and that if we see another Tanjuner army on Devan soil it would be destroyed.”

“Good idea! Shame it’s only a bluff,” Purcell said beaming.

There were still a good many people moving about collecting weapons from the fallen and removing the bodies. Outside the wall, the Elvissans were taking care of their own dead. The Tanjuners had indiscriminately piled bodies a few hundred yards away, and it was their unenviable task to find their comrades and remove them for burial. The Tanjuners would be burned.

“I wasn’t bluffing about destroying Vexin’s army,” Lucius said with a shrug. “You have seen what Julia can do when she fears for her friends. They don’t know her as we do. They would certainly be surprised and defeated, but the assassins are another matter. I’m certainly not going to kill Vexin, but it can’t hurt to warn him. You never know he might take heed.”

They paused looking around at the scene of battle. The gates were lying against the wall and the remains of the barricades had been shoved to either side. Bodies lay where they had fallen, but there was no longer any Devan dead among them.

“If they send another army Elvissa will fall before Julia could possibly get here,” Purcell said. “Donalt barely held them off, and more than half of his men are dead. Gy will have to return to Meilan eventually, and Marcus to Athione. I don’t think my boys will be able to hold off the might of Tanjung for long—not if Vexin is serious.”

Lucius made his way into the citadel thinking of ways to bring Deva into parity with Tanjung. “You have to find some way to motivate the other lords into levying troops. In the Protectorate each lord pays to equip two thousand men for the legions. You need something similar here in Deva.”

Purcell chuckled, but there was no humour in the sound—more like frustration. “I agree my friend, but unlike the Protectorate we don’t have a strong leader to force the lords to do that. If we did, we could have a hundred thousand men under arms.”

Deva had always been a rich land, and although hard times had now come, the lords could easily afford to contribute to the kingdom’s defence. The lords ruled their lands, which included the towns and cities nearest them. The king in Devarr ruled the lords in turn. Most lords had a castle or stronghold, but even those who did not could help with funds.

There were only two ways to make someone do what you wanted, Lucius mused as he negotiated the tower steps. The first way was to offer something in return, and the second was to threaten dire consequences if they didn’t cooperate. The problem with the first was that the lords were already rich. What could possibly be offered that would make them do their duty? If the second way were to be tried, Purcell would need a very big stick indeed to make the lords sit up and take notice. Civil war could result if it wasn’t handled right, and they would be even worse off.

Looking around at the aftermath of the battle, Lucius didn’t at first recognise where he was. A separate section for the women where their word was law was still strange to him.

“Where are we going?” Lucius said. “If I’m not completely lost, we’re in the women’s quarter. I don’t think you should have brought me up here.”

“Don’t panic man! Big strong wizard like you should have no trouble standing up to the women,” Purcell said laughing.

It was all right for him to laugh. He was already married! Men ruled the Protectorate, but it was surprising how many times Lucius had heard a fellow sorcerer say he was adamantly opposed to this thing or that, only to see him energetically pursuing the opposite position the very next day. Women in the Protectorate might not rule the country, but they most definitely ruled their consorts!

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lucius said. “No woman is going to tell me what’s what. I’m not married, and I’m not going to be married. I like my life now I have some freedom and I’m not giving it up. I don’t like marriage!”

Purcell laughed. He was completely at his ease, but Lucius was becoming extremely uncomfortable. As they progressed, they were passing more and more women. The lord would incline his head respectfully to high born and low alike, and receive one in return. A serving girl, who would curtsy to her lord while elsewhere in the fortress, became a completely different person here. Her manner would change from subservience to haughtiness as soon as she crossed into this quarter.

Lucius followed Purcell’s lead, but he didn’t receive the same response as the lord. The woman in question would incline her head in like manner, but before and after that, he was subjected to intense scrutiny as if she were trying to decide what shelf he should go on. The last one was the worst. He would swear that she catalogued his every fault!

Subject: male two yards tall, dark hair and beard. Occupation: wizard. Dirty boots, thread hanging from right sleeve. Status: unmarried!

Lucius snorted at the thoughts running through his head, and received a grin from Purcell. Together they walked into a room. It was nicely appointed without being over done. The walls had good quality tapestries depicting the Elvissa Mountains if Lucius was any judge. A large fireplace provided the only illumination. The logs crackled and popped quietly.

Purcell left him to enter another door.

Lucius caught a glimpse of someone in a bed as Purcell entered a brightly lit room, but he couldn’t be certain who it was as the door closed to cut off his observation.

Walking idly around the room, Lucius came across a painting. It was a simple family scene painted in this very room. He studied the portrait of a younger Purcell and his family. Lady Isolde—he assumed—was sitting on the arm of Purcell’s chair. A young boy and girl were sitting at their parent’s feet while the older son stood behind the chair with one hand on the back of it staring at him. The eyes of the staring figure seemed to follow his movements as if judging his fitness to be in the room. This had to be Corlath. He knew Purcell’s son had died only recently, but the portrait seemed to dispute that. It was so life like. He almost expected the boy to walk out from behind the chair and demand to know what he was doing here.

“Janni painted that almost ten years ago.”

Lucius spun to see who had spoken. It was a girl—no a woman. She was the child in the painting. She had grown into a stunningly gorgeous woman. She was about his height and wearing a simple dress of pale yellow cotton. Her hair was golden fire and her eyes sapphire pools that glowed in the firelight. She shone. She trapped his gaze with hers, and he couldn’t look away.

When Lucius had first met Julia, he had thought he would never meet a more beautiful woman than her. He was wrong. Julia was lovely, but in a different way than Lysara. If Julia was the strength and fire of the sun, then Lysara was the quiet serenity of the moon at midnight.

“I told you to bring him in, not stare at him with your eyes falling out!” Purcell boomed from his place in the doorway.

Lysara blushed charmingly and turned to her father. “Sorry father. We were just looking at Janni’s painting.”

“Never mind that my girl. Donalt is awake.”

Lysara quickly went to her brother’s bedside. At Purcell’s invitation, Lucius followed. The man in the bed was very pale but he managed a smile at his father’s reappearance.

“I am Lucius. With your permission I will examine you and try to help.”

“My thanks, Lucius,” Donalt said weakly.

Lysara moved out of the way to let Lucius close to the bed. He pulled the covers down to reveal the bandaging wrapped around Donalt’s middle. Using his dagger, he gently cut the bandages away to reveal a long livid wound in Donalt’s right side. The cut was deeper in the front then quickly became shallower toward the boy’s back. It was at least two hand spans in length.

“You are a very lucky man. Any deeper and your stomach would likely be punctured,” Lucius said as he pressed the wound firmly.

Donalt grunted as puss was squeezed out of the wound.

“I’ll take your word for it Lucius of course. I must say I don’t feel very lucky,” Donalt said with a weak laugh, but then he grimaced as his movement caused him more pain.

“Ha! That will teach you—” Lysara scolded her brother.

Lucius listened only absently as he invoked his mage-sight. Again, he failed to see what Julia said she saw. Resigning himself to failure, he didn’t bother trying further. Instead, he used his magic to ease the boy’s pain. Donalt gasped in relief as the spell touched the wound and soothed it. Using a method of his own devising, Lucius ensured his spell would continue to keep the pain at bay. It was a part of what a mage did when building a self sustaining ward. In this case, the magic would be continually entering the wound in the shape of his spell.

Lucius prodded the wound again. “Can you feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“Good. If Julia was here you would be completely healed in moments, but she’s at Malcor. You will have to heal the slow and natural way, but I can keep the pain at bay and give you strength. I’ll sew the wound closed. It will help to keep infection away.”

“Sew! Will that not hurt him?” Lysara said worriedly.

“Not in this case lady. My spell stops the pain. Do not your healers know of the invisible animals that cause infections?”

“Surely you jest! Animals small enough to get in there?” Lysara pointed to the wound.

“I am not jesting. In Hasa all healers know of them, but knowing about them doesn’t help to stop infection. Keeping wounds clean, using clean bandages each day, and boiling the old ones does. Julia could probably destroy them directly, but none of her injured guardsmen were wounded long enough to need that.”

“I mentioned her to you earlier Lysy,” Purcell said.

Lucius began closing the wound with his needle and thread, while listening to Purcell describe Julia’s battles at Athione. He was interested to hear that Mathius had handled the wards for both of them—it confirmed his earlier thought. Mathius would be strong one day... if he survived. Lucius finished sewing the wound closed. He left a small part of it open at the lowest point to allow any blood to drain. With Purcell’s help, he bandaged the wound and used his magic to strengthen Donalt’s flagging energy.

“Are you married Lucius?”

Lucius looked up at Lysara in sudden alarm. Purcell watched with a slowly widening grin.

* * *

15 ~ Lord of Malcor

Jihan stood fully armoured in the south courtyard waiting for the guardsmen to bring his father. The entire population of the fortress was crammed onto the walls and around the sides of the courtyard waiting to see him best Athlone. Ahnao stood with Julia and Keverin directly opposite him. Ahnao looked worried, and strangely that made him feel better. It was wonderful to have people who cared. During his time at Athione he had made a number of friends, not least Keverin and Julia, but it was Ahnao he instinctively looked for upon entering the courtyard.

It was a good day for the challenge. He had chosen to fight during the morning hours so that the sun would not be a hindrance. The season was hot. It had not rained in ages, and he was glad of it. Athlone would be enough of a handful without fighting on wet and slippery cobbles.

The wind suddenly dropped. Only the hushed whispering of his people broke the silence. That was a new thought for him as well. His people! Before his escape they had always been his father’s people, but now the cronies were gone the fortress already felt much friendlier. It would be a while before he was as comfortable here as he had been in Athione, but he no longer doubted that he would find his ease here. The whispering died away as the guardsmen escorted Athlone into the courtyard. He was wearing his armour, but he was without his sword. He looked around in contempt, but saved most of his scorn for his son.

Jihan nodded to the sergeant to give Athlone his sword.

“So, you finally have what you wanted Jihan. Malcor is yours, and you—”

“No!” Jihan interrupted. “What I wanted was the love of my parents, but you killed mother, and love is not in you. I once thought to gain your respect by learning what you wanted, but all I ever received from you was contempt. It’s time I showed you what I learned. On your guard!”

Jihan didn’t start slow. There was no point. He knew Athlone’s style as he knew his own. He attacked with a furious combination of two handed blows. Athlone was driven back, but then he regained his poise and attempted an attack of his own. Back and forth, they attacked and defended neither gaining the upper hand over the other. Jihan switched to a single hand and drew his dagger with his left. Athlone did the same and the fight took on a newer deadlier dimension.

Jihan allowed Athlone to gain an opening, and then tried to turn it to his advantage by using his dagger in close. Athlone failed to take the bait though, and the fight continued unchanged. Jihan changed hands and Athlone was taken by surprise for a moment. He managed to wound his father in the arm, but it was a trifle. Athlone backed away. Jihan followed keeping the pressure on.

Athlone started to tire but Jihan felt as if he could go on all day. His overconfidence nearly ended the fight prematurely when he over extended in his attempt to lunge. Athlone reacted instantly and slammed his blade to one side. Jihan saw the dagger at the last instant. Throwing pride to the winds, Jihan dove aside and rolled out of Athlone’s reach. He scrambled back to his feet cursing. He above all should know how dangerous his father was, yet what did he do? He took stupid chances, and Athlone had nearly made him pay dearly for it.

Blanking his mind of all distractions, Jihan concentrated on the task at hand and settled into a smooth rhythm by pretending he was practising against one of his tutors. They had been exacting taskmasters and wouldn’t tolerate even the slightest mistake. Athlone became even more wary when he noticed the change.

Finally, it happened.

Athlone, so weary now he was stumbling, tried to end the fight by using the same lunge his son had tried. It might have worked, but his weariness betrayed him. He slipped. This time Jihan didn’t lose the chance. His sword thrust went home—all the way to the hilt. Jihan stared into Athlone’s eyes and shrugged off the man’s fumbling and weak grip on his shoulders. Athlone’s sword dropped to the cobbles with a clang.

Looking into his father’s eyes, he said one last thing before Athlone’s soul fled to kneel before the God. “This is for mother,” he whispered and twisted his blade savagely.

Athlone’s eyes popped wide, but he was dead before the scream of agony left his throat. Jihan tilted his head and smiled as he looked into lifeless eyes to savour the moment. His entire life had been leading to this.

Jihan pulled his sword free.

There was complete silence as Athlone fell to the cobbles. Holding his dripping sword Jihan looked around at the silent crowd. First one, then another, then everyone at once cried out in one voice.

“Long live Jihan! Long live Lord Malcor!”

* * *

A few days after Jihan’s victory over his father, Julia and Keverin were in her room discussing what they might do about the legion approaching through Camorin. One of the first things Jihan did as Lord Malcor was to inform his men of the legion’s approach. He dispatched heavy patrols to watch the border so that they might have warning. Everyone was grim and Julia often caught people looking worriedly northward as if they might see the legion through the walls.

“You know you don’t want to be under siege for weeks.”

Keverin frowned at her use of an unfamiliar word. She kept forgetting that Deva didn’t use weeks. It was tendays, why couldn’t she remember that?

“Sorry. A week is seven days.”

Keverin raised an eyebrow at the idea. “Of course I don’t want that, but we have no real choice. Jihan is right about our lack of men. He has just about five thousand men under arms. He must leave half here to protect Malcor. We will be facing an entire legion—that’s ten thousand highly trained men. My five hundred won’t make that much difference to the outcome.”

Julia acknowledged his point, but she still thought waiting was a bad idea. “I’m sorry I failed to find them for you Kev. I just can’t seem to get the right image.”

“It doesn’t matter my lady.”

Julia frowned at the obvious lie, but also at his use of the possessive. She did love him, or thought she did, or could... hell! She wasn’t sure of anything anymore! Keverin had thrown himself into a fireball to protect her, all the while knowing he would die! She had to love him—right? So what if it was her fault he was injured—he hadn’t known that she had cracked the secret of warding. It had been her stupidity that nearly cost Kev his life, but that didn’t change his actions or her feelings.

Julia frowned. How could she love him? She hadn’t even liked him at Athione! He had returned that dislike in spades, but then the awful day in Malcor’s armoury, and she was smitten. She wasn’t usually so fickle, but Keverin lying dead at her feet had felt like the end of the world. It had been like the death of her parents all over again.

Julia shifted uncomfortably at the thought. Keverin might be twice her age, but she wasn’t looking for a father figure. She felt... she did not know what she felt! Back home, her work had been everything to her. She had no time, or inclination to make time, for relationships. Her failure with Robby had been one too many to her way of thinking, and she hadn’t been eager to repeat the experience. Now there was Keverin. She had never had a boyfriend like Keverin before. Keverin and Robby were complete opposites. Keverin was strong and had a sense of duty. His duty and honour defined him as a man. Robby on the other hand was just… Robby. Robby was a boy next to Keverin. He was a whiner not a doer, weak not strong. The last thing Robby could ever be called was dutiful. If he had been in Keverin’s place in the armoury, he would have run a mile, or a league—whatever it was.

Keverin had said nothing to her about that day in the armoury. Julia had tried to bring it up any number of times but he was always busy or someone needed him elsewhere. The thought that maybe he didn’t feel for her what she felt for him surfaced. She was a fool. He was one of the greatest lords in Deva! There were only four Lord Protectors in the whole world! She wasn’t even a native of his world let alone a Devan noble!

Julia stared moodily into the flames. When she had finally realised that she was stuck here, she had been angry with Darius, but that was before she had come to know the people. Her goals had changed since then, but her determination hadn’t. She cared what happened to Deva and its people—she would protect them if she could. She had lived a lonely life before arriving at Athione. It hadn’t seemed like that at the time, but she knew it now. Her parents had loved and supported her, and Jill had worked with her everyday, but friendship had been sacrificed to her work. She had never made friends easily, but the few she did have had wanted different things. While she worked herself to exhaustion each day, they were out with their boyfriends. She had gradually lost touch with them. The sad thing was, she hadn’t even noticed. Her life had been full of her work, but the car accident had changed all that. The shock of losing her parents had thrown her world into turmoil. The thought of her training still sent a pang of guilt through her, which was hard to shake off. Her mother had been so proud of her when she won, but that was past. She was some kind of saviour to the Devans now. Her old life was over, but she had found a new one here. Her new life was different from the old one, but better in some ways—she glanced at Keverin—much better in some.

Poor Jill. Years of work with nothing to show for it.

One problem Julia hadn’t foreseen was her notoriety. It seems the guardsmen had told the disbelieving Malcorans about her battles. They had exaggerated the whole thing no doubt, but the result was that she couldn’t walk anywhere without hearing the whispers. If she left her room, scared looks and hasty bows greeted her. If she decided to walk the walls, Athione guardsmen appeared each time to escort her. It was far worse than having Moriz and Halbert dogging her steps. She had become used to them and had enjoyed their company. This time it was… it seemed different that was all.

Julia didn’t want or need bodyguards, but when she told him that, Brian had replied it was their honour to escort her. She couldn’t deny them their wish to protect her after she had failed so many of them. She had just nodded her acceptance. Consequently she never left her room anymore. It was the only way to avoid the unwanted attention without hurting someone’s feelings.

Julia glanced at Keverin. He was sitting silently in the armchair occasionally sipping his wine mesmerised by the flames. How was she going to convince him to talk to her? His duty was everything to him. His own life was secondary. She had the perfect opportunity here to talk about their relationship, but what had she been doing? Talking about the Hasians!

Shaking her head, Julia decided that this time she would find out what his feelings for her were. She didn’t understand her own that clearly, but she remembered her utter despair when she thought him dead all too well. She wouldn’t let him get away.

“Kev... that day in the armoury. You never did answer me.”

“Lady Julia I’m—”

Julia winced at the formality already knowing she wouldn’t like what he was going to say.

“—old for you.”

“You’re not old Kev. You’re only forty!”

“Yes, and you are what—fifteen?”

“Nineteen,” Julia said instantly and flushed at his sceptical look. “It’s true! I’ve had to put up with people thinking I’m a child for years. I can’t help being small. You should try it sometime! Besides, you’re only using that as an excuse. Why won’t you at least talk to me?”

Keverin sighed. “I decided before the invasion to adopt an heir for Athione’s future. I have my duty, I need nothing else.”

Julia listened to his words, but she was watching his eyes. He was lying. She was almost sure he was lying to hide his real reasons.

“You’re lying to me… not about adopting an heir, but you lied about the rest. If you don’t want me, just say it.”

With hope and some little fear, Julia watched his face as he struggled to find something to say. He was clenching and unclenching his fists as he struggled to find the words. Why was he so hesitant about admitting it? He wasn’t like this normally. He was never like this. He was always strong and in control.

“I think perhaps I do love you, but I don’t want to.” Keverin said quietly. “You know you are beautiful, and I admire your courage, but when you leave I’ll be alone again. It’s best if we don’t get involved.”

He finally said it! Yes, yes, yes!

“I can’t leave, so it’s all right!” Julia said happily. “We can be together.”

Julia gazed at him noting again how the flames made shadows dance across his face. The evening had crept upon them while they sat together. She thought of lighting the lamps with her magic, but her thoughts were suddenly sent into turmoil by what he said next.

“You can go back, Julia,” Keverin said so quietly she almost didn’t hear him over the crackle of the flames.

Back… back where? He couldn’t mean home to Athione. She was trying to make sense of what he said but she couldn’t. While she struggled to understand his meaning, he was muttering almost inaudibly—almost.

“…honourable… tell her.”

Warily she asked the question, “Tell her what?”

Silence answered her. With a chill, Julia saw the weariness on his face as he looked away from the flames and toward her. Please, don’t let it be bad!

Keverin’s face blanked and he seemed to gather himself before speaking. “How do you think Darius opened the gate to bring you here?”

“I don’t know, but what has that—”

“I taught him,” Keverin said wearily. “I have a book in the vault at Athione that shows how it’s done.”

Julia closed her eyes and groaned. Inside she was shrieking. He knew! All the time she had spent searching for the answer in the library and he already knew! How could he do that? Why did he do it?

How could you betray me!

“You must believe me,” Keverin was saying desperately. “Darius died from the spell. I don’t want you to die!”

“Liar, liar, LIAR!” She shrieked. “How could you betray me? You used me. I killed thousands,” she said with tears hovering. As they spilled over she screamed at him. “ALL FOR YOU!”

“But… please you must understand… we need—I need you.”

Shaking, she screamed at him. “GET OUUUT!”

Keverin stood. “Julia I—”

Julia knew she shouldn’t have done it, but she didn’t realise she had until too late. She snatched her magic—

Whump! Crunch!

—and reduced her door to kindling.

“Get... out,” she spat.

Keverin hesitated but then he bowed stiffly and walked through the shattered remains of the door. Julia watched him go trying to stifle her wails of grief. All she could see was his betrayal. She didn’t know what to do, where to go. Everything was different. How could things change so fast?

She should just ride away and never come back, but she couldn’t do that. Jihan needed her. She couldn’t leave… but she had to get away from... from him. With that thought in mind, she quickly changed into her riding dress and boots. Looking around for anything she had forgotten, she ignored the commotion outside to snatch up her mirror and cloak. In the corridor, the shocked stares of Ahnao and the woman of Malcor confronted her.

“Are you all right Julia?”

Not really.

“I’m fine Ahnao.”

Julia studied the shocked faces of the women. “I’ve had an accident with my door. Would someone ask the master wood crafter to make a new one for me?”

“I will.”

Julia nodded her thanks. With a weak smile for Ahnao she walked away with her cloak billowing behind her.

When Julia reached the stables, she couldn’t find a stable-hand to help her. In frustration, she tried to ready the horse herself. She managed the bridle without getting bitten, but the saddle was harder. She could lift it well enough, but her horse was too tall. Trying not to scream with frustration must have taken her attention. She didn’t realise that Mathius had arrived until his hands appeared from behind her to lift the saddle into place.

“Lord Keverin said you were upset,” he said, not looking at her while he buckled the girth. “I already knew. I felt you use your magic. What did you do to him? He looked like a troop of cavalry had ridden over him.”

“I did nothing to him,” Julia said guiltily. “If he looks bad, it’s probably his guilty conscience plaguing him.”

Mathius finished with her horse then started saddling his own.

“You’re mot coming!”

Mathius continued saddling his horse with practised ease. “I’m afraid I must. Please don’t confuse matters by ordering different. Lord Keverin holds my oath. He ordered me and some others to protect you.”

“What others—” Julia started to say, but she could guess. In the end, she didn’t have to because Brian and Udall walked in and started saddling their horses.

This bodyguard business was no longer just irritating. It had reached the point where she couldn’t move without being followed by this guardsman or that, and now Mathius was getting in on the game. She had to find a way to take back control of her life!

“Would you stay if I ordered it?”

“You are stronger than me Julia, therefore you lead, but please don’t order me to break my oath. To do so would mean my dishonour.”

Julia turned to Udall. “And your orders are?”

“To accompany you, Lady.”

“And if I say we ride to Athione—what then?”

“Then we ride. The Lord said to take your orders.”

He did, did he?

“Fine!” Julia snapped. “Let’s go.”

Julia felt better once Malcor was behind her. She calmed down enough to appreciate the company of Mathius and the others. She was still determined to find a way to shed the bodyguards, but it would be stupid to try while on the road. Besides, she needed someone to keep her company. After riding for a candlemark or so, she called a halt.

“What’s to the north except more of these hills?”

The rolling hills were empty of people as far as she could see, but there must be people out here evidenced by the few scrawny sheep and cattle wandering around. She couldn’t see the farm house, but that didn’t mean much. The hills blocked her view after a few hundred yards.

Mathius put on his teaching voice. “Camorin is in the north as you know. The plains cover most of the land. You’re not thinking of going that way are you? We certainly won’t be welcomed by the clans.”

“The clans?” Julia said. “I think you mentioned them before.”

Mathius nodded. “We might not come across any—they are nomads—fierce warriors who can hide behind a blade of grass! Traders used to meet them at a place called Denpasser to trade for horses, but now the crafters have left Chulym no one goes that way.”

“Why wouldn’t we be welcomed? Are they enemies of Deva too?”

Julia wouldn’t be surprised if they were, everyone was trying to kill everyone else on this bloody world.

“Not exactly enemies. An occasional raid across the border doesn’t make them such. They like to fight, but it’s regarded more as a sport than warfare. They gain honour by making off with various goods without being caught. They’ll fight if confronted, but they rarely kill unless pushed to it. Outsiders are regarded with suspicion. Traders are tolerated for the goods they bring.”

Julia nodded and looked for the sun. “Sunset is not far away. Can we reach Malcor before full dark? The town I mean.”

“If we continue as we are we should be able to.”

“Good.”

They started moving again and entered the outskirts of the town well after dark. Julia hadn’t taken the unfamiliar ground into consideration. She had been concerned about the horses vulnerable legs and wouldn’t take Mathius assurances that the ground before them was safe. Malcor Town was walled, but by the look of the gates they hadn’t been shut in years. It was a good sized town. She estimated the population at about fifteen thousand.

“That’s about right,” Mathius said. “It’s bigger than East Town by far.”

“Does Jihan rule the town as well as the fortress?”

“Yes, but not directly. The town council answers to him of course, and he is the sole judge in criminal cases, but the council runs the town day to day. The same system is used throughout Deva.”

That arrangement sounded as good as any other Julia could think of, but it did rely on good rulership by the lords. Athlone had been a traitor, but even he hadn’t upset the town’s circumstances too badly.

They left the gates far behind, and followed the street toward the centre of town.

“Do you know a good place to stay?”

“Most of the inns have good rooms,” Mathius said. “Jihan did mention the Ram’s Horn. It’s in the main square just ahead.”

Julia nodded, but she silently fumed about the men in her life trying to run it for her. First Keverin using her for his own ends, and now Jihan was making sure he knew where to find her. She decided yet again to take charge of her own life from now on.

The Ram’s Horn looked well cared for, at least on the outside. It was a three story building made of wood except for the ground floor, which was brick. The slanting roof seemed to be tiled with slate, but the light was bad and she couldn’t be sure. Faint voices came from inside, and light shone through the slits in the shutters. Brian and Udall took charge of the horses while Mathius and Julia entered the common room. There were plenty of patrons listening to a man playing a harp and singing a quiet folk song.

Mathius tapped her on the shoulder to gain her attention, and pointed to the innkeeper. She nodded and made her way there.

“Have you four rooms for rent?” Julia said raising her voice over the singing.

Some of the patrons looked at her in annoyance for spoiling their enjoyment, but then did a double take. Julia sighed. They knew who she was. The slightly balding man looked at her then at Mathius’ green robes. His eyes widened when he recognised him as a mage.

“I have but three left lady, and they ain’t my best, but they be good rooms when all is said.”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine. Now, how much?”

“You can have all three for six silvers a day, or I could do the three for five golds if you stay for a tenday.”

There were ten silvers in a gold, but she didn’t know if six silvers per day was too much or not. Glancing at Mathius from the corner of her eye, she thought she saw him shake his head slightly.

“Daylight robbery,” Julia said coldly. “Three silvers a day would be closer.”

The man’s eyes popped wide in outrage. “Three! You will put me out of business! I couldn’t take less than five.” He looked about to have a seizure by his colour.

“Fine then, four it is,” Julia said. “But I want a nice dinner for the four of us... over there.” She indicated a table she had just chosen. There were four seats around it, and there was a clay jug in the centre.

The innkeeper sighed. “All right four—but not a copper less!”

Julia had no money, and no way of earning any, but Mathius had a large pouch of coin and paid for a tenday in advance. They settled at the table and Julia poured a mug of water. She drank half.

“Thank you for paying, Mathius. I’ll get it back to you.”

“Ah, you see... that is…” Mathius broke off with his face burning red with embarrassment. “The Lord gave me this to hold for you.”

So much for going it alone.

“Just out of interest, how much is in there?” Julia said trying to peek into the pouch.

“Two thousand silver.”

“Two thous—that’s two hundred gold. Is that a lot?”

“Yes. You paid too much for the rooms. Two or three silvers would have been about right—assuming they’re good ones. A meal would be a copper each, perhaps two if it were exceptionally good. A horse could cost anything from ten golds up. A good warhorse trained to fight would bring twenty golds easily. With this pouch you could buy two dozen Camorin horses and double your money on market day.”

“Lord Keverin was generous,” Julia said with heavy irony.

“Perhaps,” Mathius said with a shrug, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “A lord such as he could give this much away every day and not notice the loss.”

That put a different complexion on things, and incidentally made her feel much better. She knew Keverin was wealthy—he had to be to keep a fortress like Athione from ruin, but now she realised he must be the equivalent of a millionaire back home.

Brian and Udall chose that moment to wander in, and she called them over. They sat around the table, and a serving girl came to take their order. Mathius chose the lamb roast, and rather than take a chance on something else Julia ordered the same. Brian agreed with their choice, but Udall preferred the beef.

“Three lamb, and one beef,” the girl said. “And what to drink?”

“Beer,” Mathius said and the other men agreed with him.

“What wine have you?” Julia said.

Mathius looked quickly away.

Oh, bother it!

“Have you any milk?” Julia said quickly changing her mind and trying not to notice the surprise on Udall’s face.

“Milk!” the waitress choked. “I mean yes lady. I’m sure I can be finding some.” She shook her head as she was leaving. “Milk.”

“Thank you,” Julia called to her back with her face flaming.

The waitress went off to arrange the meals still muttering, and Julia looked crossly at Mathius. He grinned and nodded at her. She rolled her eyes in exasperation. So much for not letting anyone else run her life.

“Are all the lords rich then?” Julia said and topped her mug with water from the jug and sipped it.

“They’re all wealthy, but the Lord Protectors are fabulously wealthy in comparison to the others.”

Just then, the serving girl returned with the meals they ordered. The plates were piled high with roast meat and vegetables. Potatoes were potatoes anywhere it seemed, but the orange things weren’t carrots. Mathius called them darella-root. Julia took a bite and found them delicious. It tasted like a cross between a carrot and a parsnip. Halfway through her dinner, Julia asked an important question.

“If a woman wanted to pay her own way, how would she earn the money?”

“I know what you’re really asking,” Mathius said. “But you see, none of the normal things would suit you now that you have tasted power. The only thing for you is magic. If you learn some useful spells, people would pay for what you can do or make for them. Digging a well is a good example. That would earn you five silvers. As it is, you could be a healer. A good healer is always in demand.”

“I know one other thing you must be good at—a lord’s whore!” a man shouted at the top of his lungs.

Brian and Udall jumped to their feet and kicked their chairs away to draw steel. Julia hadn’t noticed the man approach as she listened to Mathius. There was a mad scramble, as the inn patrons cleared a space.

“Stop!” Julia shouted.

“But Lady—your honour!” Brian said spluttering in outrage.

“I said stop, Brian. You as well Udall. Put up your swords and step aside please.”

They looked rebellious, but Julia glared at them and they reluctantly sheathed their blades. This was just what she needed to show them she could look after herself. She didn’t need bodyguards.

“Do you have something to say to me?” Julia said to the disreputable looking man who had insulted her.

“I think you heard me the first time you whore! You let the traitor into the fortress after m’lord Athlone accepted you as a guest!”

“Ah…” Julia said seeing clearly what had happened. “You are one of the traitor’s men then. I should have known scum like you wouldn’t just disappear. How can you walk among these people without shame?”

Julia turned to the spectators and told them the news. “Athlone was a traitor. He was working with the sorcerers to bring an army through the northern border. This town would have been the first of many to fall. It still might. Lord Jihan and his men will soon be fighting for your freedom, and they are outnumbered. Men like this man would see you enslaved.”

The patrons shouted their hate and moved toward the ex-guardsmen en masse, but he surprised Julia by standing his ground and drawing his sword. The next few seconds went by in a blur. With sword raised, he charged her—

Craaaack!

—and met his death at Julia’s hand.

The man came to rest against the door with a hole the size of Julia’s fist burned through his chest. The sudden silence was deafening. The inn patrons looked at her and flinched back at the cold expression on her face.

“Death to Deva’s enemies,” Julia said coldly. She turned to her companions and raised an eyebrow. Both the guardsmen seemed pleased and even Mathius nodded.

The innkeeper had the body removed then offered to show them to their rooms. Julia quickly agreed, and followed the others as they made their way upstairs. The whispers started behind her as she climbed.

“Did you see that?”

“…Deva’s enemies—”

“Wouldn’t cross her—”

Julia smiled grimly. People were people anywhere she had found. As on Earth, force was the only thing some people respected. It always came down to who was strongest in the end.

The next few days went by in much the same way. Julia would wake at sun rise. After washing and dressing, she ate breakfast with the others in the common room. She always had the same thing, two eggs and toast, and a cup of goat’s milk. The milk took a little getting used to, but she had decided Mathius was right about the amount of wine she was drinking lately. She decided to drink water or milk with one cup of wine at dinner from now on.

The rest of the day she spent exploring the town and getting to know the people. Brian and Udall would not let her go alone of course, but word of her first night’s encounter must have preceded her because she met with no further trouble.

She hadn’t brought any clothes with her from the fortress, so with a red-faced Mathius helping her choose what was, and what was not, appropriate, she bought some underclothes and various essentials from the local shops. Mathius told the grinning guardsmen who watched from the door to shut up or he would fry them.

Julia’s routine changed though, when on the fifth day after her arrival, a woman interrupted her breakfast.

“Are you the lady healer?”

“I am she. My name is Julia.”

“Thank the God I found you! My boy, he’s awful sick. Will you help? I can pay you a copper or two, and more when I get it.”

“Don’t worry about the money. Just take me to him quickly,” Julia said and dashed out behind the woman. She didn’t need to look to know her friends were following.

They soon left familiar streets and Julia began to wonder if she was wise to come. The streets were dirty and smelly, and there was garbage and worse things in the gutters that ran along the edges of the road. It was not the smell that made her edgy though. It was the stares she received. On each corner, rough men stood and watched her as she passed. She stood out as an outsider, but worse than that, her dress and the guardsmen marked her as highborn. If it hadn’t been for the woman who led them, Julia felt sure she would have been mugged or worse. Julia belatedly realised that Mathius was linked to his magic so she did likewise—just in case.

“Here lady,” the woman said pointing to a ramshackle house.

Julia stepped into a gloomy room warily. It was the only one in the house. There were curtains to divide the sleeping area from of the rest of room, but they weren’t being used. On a low bed in one corner was a sick child about six years old. He was flushed and crying out in pain.

One moment Julia was at the door the next on her knees trying to comfort him. “There, there. Auntie Julia will fix you up, don’t you worry.”

“Nonsense. He’s dying.”

Julia looked up in outrage. “Oh? You must be the so-called healer that failed to cure him. What in your learned opinion is wrong with this child?”

“Why... it’s plain to see.” The healer stepped forward and gently pulled the covers down. “Touch him gently just there.”

Julia frowned. There was something about that point on the body... Then she remembered. In her first aid classes the instructor had said appendicitis could be diagnosed with reasonable accuracy by lightly pressing that part of the abdomen. Would magic cure something like this? Julia bit her lip—she didn’t know. She felt the area and the boy screamed. There was no doubt. It might even have ruptured into peritonitis. He needed surgery, but that was unknown here except for an occasional amputation.

Julia took a deep breath and started to heal him, there was no choice but to try. She raised her golden ward first. She never took chances anymore. She built a net around the evil looking green and purple mass that pulsated in the boy’s aura. She quickly destroyed the red streaks that permeated him, until only the source lay trapped in her net. Fresh red streams tried to spread outward only to be stopped as they encountered her barrier. Squeezing the net smaller and smaller, she destroyed the nasty thing.

When it was done, Julia dropped her ward and returned to the real world. She didn’t know how long she had worked, but her legs had gone to sleep and her neck ached something awful.

“Help me up Mathius.”

Mathius lifted her to her feet easily, and steadied her until the feeling came back to her legs.

“I don’t believe it,” the healer said in shock. “What you have done is... I humbly beg your forgiveness lady. May I send for you in future need?”

“There’s nothing to forgive. I wasn’t sure it would work either. If you need me, I’m staying at the Ram’s Horn.”

The healer nodded her thanks and left after saying a few to the boy’s mother.

“Thank you. Here is everything, but it’s worth it,” the boy’s mother said holding out a dirty hand with four coins in it.

Julia looked at the woman’s four coppers and couldn’t think what to do. She put out a hand toward Mathius. Shaking his head, he handed the pouch over. She pulled ten silver pence out of the pouch and added them to the four coppers in the woman’s hand.

The woman looked at the money in bewilderment. “I don’t understand, lady.”

“You need coins more than I,” Julia said and left the woman staring at more money than she had ever seen at one time. Once outside, Julia handed the money pouch back to Mathius, and they walked back to the inn.

Over the following days, Julia kept herself busy healing the sick, or walking around learning what she could about the Devan way of life. She no longer needed guardsmen to walk any street safely, but Brian and Udall had their orders and took them seriously. They wouldn’t hear of her walking the streets alone. When Julia was called to heal someone with the means to pay, she charged five silver pence, but when she went into the poorer quarters, she gave her money away. As long as she could pay for the rooms and food, she was happy to save lives instead of take them. According to Mathius, she was breaking even so far, and that satisfied her.

Julia caught Brian talking to a guardsman from Malcor and although she knew he was reporting to Keverin and Jihan, she made no comment. It was inevitable they would keep an eye on their only powerful mage. She was well aware of the Hasian threat approaching from the north. A couple of times she had thought to go and look for the enemy instead of trying and failing to see them in the mirror, but she had come to her senses in time. Lucius had insisted her failure with scrying was not due to his teaching or her lack of practise, but was instead due to her emotional state. She had protested, but he said women were always emotional and her failure was to be expected. Julia had wanted to singe his ears for that, but it would only make his point for him. What was worse, she saw the awareness of that in the grin he turned her way. In the end, she had laughed it off, but that didn’t help her continued failure. She spent a candlemark at the end of each day trying to solve the problem, but so far she had failed to see anyone other than her friends and Keverin.

Days came and went. She became known throughout the town as a fine healer and a fool with her money. People knew her by sight now, and when she wandered the streets, this woman or that man would often greet her.

She was content.

Julia made her way upstairs to her room. The boys said they would stay a while to listen to the minstrel, but she thought they just wanted to chat with the serving girls. The boys had become fond of two girls in particular. Both seemed very young to her, but women were routinely married here at seventeen. She knew both Brian and Mathius had found a bed other than their own more than once. Udall had smiled tolerantly at the two younger men and said he was too old for such games and followed her up. It made no difference to Julia who they slept with, and besides she was starting to sound like an old prude. She was only nineteen herself.

Julia sat on her bed looking into her mirror and watched the swirling grey subside. The image she called forth was rock steady, and seemed real rather than a picture made of light. She absently wondered what else she could make with light, but the thought soon faded as she saw what she was looking for.

Where was he riding to so late?

Julia watched Keverin riding hard toward something she could not see. He looked both grim and determined about something, and with a chill she realised he was in full armour.

He’s coming here! She thought excitedly, and then scowled at her reaction. “I don’t care if he’s coming... I don’t!”

A part of her, a small part, wanted to avoid the confrontation, but she knew she couldn’t, especially not with the Hasians coming. She quickly packed her few belongings, and left the room. Two doors down she knocked and entered Udall’s room.

“We are going back to Malcor. Your lord is on the way here. I think the enemy must be close.”

Udall nodded and didn’t ask questions. “I’ll tell the others.”

“Good, meet me in the stables.”

Udall excused himself and headed for the common room. Julia walked slowly to give the boys time to pack. She managed to saddle her horse on her own and was congratulating herself when the others arrived. Before long, all four were riding out of town toward the fortress.

The moon provided the only light, but it was nearly full and was enough to see Keverin galloping towards her near the midway point. Julia pointed him out to the others, and reined to a stop. The others stopped with her and waited for Keverin’s news.

Keverin brought Cavell to a gentle stop. “Well met. The Hasians are no more than two days away.”

Julia’s friends greeted their lord warmly, but she just watched him in silence. Now they were together again she found her anger returning. Rather than start an argument she swung wide around him and continued riding on toward the fortress. She heard the others talking quietly as they moved to follow, but she couldn’t hear the words clearly. She didn’t need to hear them to know that Keverin was asking for a report.

I’ll give him a report!

How about a report on the arrogance of Athione’s lord, how about that? Or a report about the poverty of Deva’s people? She had learned a lot about Deva since leaving the fortress, and one thing was clear. While the lords and merchants lived in splendour, Deva’s common folk lived in poverty. More than once she had been asked to heal someone only to find the symptoms due to malnutrition. She had temporarily strengthened them with magic and given them food and money to buy more.

Julia had asked questions. Why were the people were so poor? The answers were always the same. No trade meant no money, and no money meant no food. King Pergann had let the kingdom fall into ruin. The traders had stopped coming years ago. The economy, such as any country had here, had collapsed. Only the lords lived as they always had, mainly due to the fealty of the farm folk on their lands. Devan metal goods had been sought after at one time, but the trade had declined through over taxing. Eventually it had ceased altogether when the master crafters relocated to Japura where their skill was greatly prized. The master crafters and master miners left en masse when the king doubled the price of iron ore from the mines, which were crown property.

The Athinian and Elvissan Mountains were rich in various metals, but the mines were no longer producing as they once had. What goods Chulym produced were limited to poor quality farm tools, and cutlery for the common folk. Chulym at one time had rivalled the capital in importance, but the day of the master sword smiths was long gone. Julia was not an economist, but even she could see Deva needed trade to get back on its feet. How to make the traders come back was the question. What do traders want? Money of course, and they get that by buying cheap and selling dear. What does Deva have a lot of, which traders might find worth buying?

Keverin riding up to her side interrupted her thoughts. “We need to talk Julia.”

“Do we, lord Keverin?”

“You used to call me Kev.”

Julia snorted. “That was before.” She watched his face darken with satisfaction.

“Curse it Julia! I could have destroyed that God cursed book if I had wanted to keep you here! You wouldn’t have known a thing about it, but I didn’t. Instead I kept it for you and hoped you wouldn’t use it.”

“Hoped I wouldn’t? You knew I wouldn’t. I didn’t know about it! Oh yes, you needed me to save Athione so you didn’t tell me, and then there was Malcor so you didn’t tell me then either. When would you have told me—after I saved the whole bloody kingdom?”

“If only you could,” Keverin sighed. “Darius was my best—my only friend and he died because I showed him that cursed book. I don’t want you to follow him. Not just because Deva needs you, but because I love you.”

“I’m not sure it matters anymore, Lord Keverin. I just can’t trust you. I’ll help you fight the invaders, but don’t look for more from me.”

“How can I make you believe me?” Keverin said in frustration.

“I don’t know,” Julia whispered.

When Julia reached the fortress, she left her horse in Brian’s care and made her way to her old room. The door was new, but when she opened it, she found Jihan sitting in Keverin’s chair waiting for her.

“I’m glad you’re back Julia. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. You’ve changed,” Julia said. He had grown into his position. “You cut your hair.”

Jihan smiled ruefully. “Clan braids seemed inappropriate for a lord protecting the border against Clan raids.”

Julia smiled and nodded. She supposed he was right, but she had liked the style. The beads woven in looked otherworldly, and she liked that. Jihan was a handsome man. A single ponytail at the back like the one Marcus wore didn’t detract from that. Jihan was still pretty.

“I saw your preparations. How far away are they?”

“The scouts came in just before midday. The Hasians are no more than two days out at the speed they’re moving.”

Julia dropped her cloak across the back of her chair and sat down. Jihan looked worried, but that was no surprise. “Are we going out to meet them, or waiting for them to come to us?”

“That’s what I want to talk about. Keverin recommended staying behind the walls, but I think that’s a bad idea.”

“It is,” Julia said in amazement.

Why would Keverin say something stupid like that? Malcor would be defenceless against a legion with sorcerers supporting. She would do her best to help, but her ward wouldn’t protect both gates and four walls. She still couldn’t build a ward like Renard used at Athione even with Mathius trying to teach her every day. She didn’t expect matters to change before the Hasians arrived.

“I know why I think so, but why do you?” Jihan said.

“At Athione we had five mages warding one gate and a small stretch of wall. Now all you have is Mathius and me. I couldn’t ward your gate to save my life, but even if I could, the legion will surround Malcor and attack from all sides.”

Jihan was nodding. “Keverin agrees with us on all that, but he feels you would be safer fighting from inside the walls, rather than taking the fight to them.”

That explained why Keverin wanted to fight defensively. She probably would be safer inside the walls, but what about everyone else? The sorcerers would bombard Malcor as they had Athione, but this time they would attack until nothing was left. They knew all about her now. They wouldn’t take the chance of her getting away. She was sure of it.

“Would I be safer inside the walls do you think?”

“Probably, but we would lose in the end. What I have planned is for you, along with Keverin’s men, to hide in the town. Then after the fortress is besieged you attack their mages by surprise. With luck, I will lead my men out to attack while they’re still reeling from your lightning.”

“It might work, but you are relying a great deal on luck. What if they attack immediately they arrive? They could take your gate down in no time.”

“I know, but you’ve seen the plain. There’s no other cover to be had.”

“I should ride to meet them,” Julia said not at all enthusiastic. “If I can take care of the sorcerers again, they might go home.”

“But can you win?” Jihan said in frustration. “They know what you did last time. They will be ready.”

“I won’t know that until I try. I’ll need a couple of your men to show me where they are.”

Jihan was silent. He was trying to find an honourable way out of hiding behind a woman. That kind of thinking was extremely irritating to her. As if one person’s life was more important than another’s was! A guardsman’s death would be just as tragic as a woman’s death to her. Everyone was equal in her eyes, and according to Father Gideon, the Devan’s agreed that this was the case. How then could the men continually insist it was dishonourable to send her into battle?

“You might as well stop squirming Jihan. I know your honour will be bent out of shape by this, but maybe if you look at it differently, you’ll feel better.”

Jihan looked warily at her.

Julia had to grin. “I’m a mage Jihan. Unlike other women in Deva I don’t need your protection. You must admit I can protect myself better than you could protect me.”

Jihan nodded reluctantly. “If you’re sure, I’ll send you with the scouts.”

“That’s fine, but I want to leave tonight—straight away.”

“Is a candlemark soon enough?”

Julia nodded, and Jihan left to talk to his scouts while she went in search of Mathius. She found him talking with Keverin in the dining hall.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need a favour Mathius. Do you know of a way to stop a mage from finding you in the mirror?”

Mathius nodded and Julia’s spirits rose. It might work after all.

“There is a way Lady. It’s a kind of ward.”

Her spirits fell again. “Oh no! You know the trouble I’ve been having with wards. Can’t you show me how it’s done?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do it either. You could ask Lucius.”

If only she could. Julia hadn’t known it was possible to ward against scrying, so how could she ask about something she didn’t know existed? Any way it was too late now. Lucius was at Elvissa, which was half the kingdom away.

“I’ll just have to make do without it.”

Keverin was standing close by silently listening. “Why do you need this thing?”

“I’m going out to attack the sorcerers before they can lay siege to Malcor.”

“No!” Keverin shouted and grabbed her shoulders. “I told Jihan it’s too dangerous. I’ll not let you go.”

“You can’t stop me Kev,” Julia said and disentangled herself from his grip. “This is the only way to give Jihan a chance to beat them.”

“If you won’t see sense, I’ll have to go with you,” Keverin said pulling on his gauntlets and hefting his helmet.

“I won’t tell you no—it’s your decision, but what of your men?”

Julia watched him struggle with his duty to his men and felt sorry for him. He wanted to come so badly, but she could see before he spoke that his duty won. It always did with him. It was part of what she loved about him.

Keverin bowed. “Lady Julia, good luck with your attempt. May the God watch over you,” he wheeled and strode away.

“That was hard for him to say, but he’s right,” Mathius said. “You’ll need all the help you can get. I’ll come with you.”

“Thanks Mathius. I appreciate the company. We’re leaving as soon as Jihan informs the scouts.”

A short while later Julia found herself heading north in the company of Mathius and four scouts. The grass was long and dry and puffs of dust rose from the ground choking her. Mathius said the nearest water was Malcor, and that dust was better than travelling through mud and rain, but she wasn’t so sure. There was no proper road, but the moon provided enough light to see a vague trail. When she asked, Mathius told her the traders had used it. They would buy horses in exchange for swords and other metal goods the clans needed.

They continued moving north through the night, and dawn found them making a cold camp in the shadow of a hill. None of the surrounding hills were large, but this one was the best of a bad lot. It was about four yards high finishing in a gently rounded top. Without orders, two of the scouts made their way up and hunkered down in the grass to watch. The other two made themselves comfortable and promptly fell asleep. Mathius sat silently talking with her with his magic.

*Have you decided how you’re going to attack without being seen?*

*They know more than I about magic, Mathius, but so far I’ve only seen them use fireballs as a weapon. If I try that, I’ll be discovered. The only thing I can think of is lightning.*

*At least we can use the hill to see them.* Mathius said. *I’ll shield us both.*

*I’m still having trouble with warding things,* she admitted. *But I’ve had some success with my own shield. It stopped those sorcerers at Malcor easily enough. You should shield yourself and use your magic to attack.*

*If you’re sure?*

Julia nodded and they both settled down to sleep but she couldn’t rest. The sun was just rising over the hill now, and although she was in shadow, she couldn’t help looking around at the grassy hills. She closed her eyes determined to sleep, but she kept thinking of what she had seen since arriving at Athione.

Visions of life and death, beauty and devastation filled her head. One thing overshadowed all the others—the image of Keverin riding toward her with hair and cloak billowing behind him, and grim determination on his face.

Julia awoke with the sun beaming straight into her face. Groaning and squinting she fumbled around for a water bag. After a lot of cursing that made the scout’s eyes widen, she managed to get the stopper out and wash the sleep from her mouth and face.

“Any sign?”

“Not yet Lady,” Delin said. “The mage is up the hill looking now. There is bread and cheese if you have a mind to eat.”

“Thanks.”

The scout handed her some rations that looked as if they had been baked in a kiln rather than an oven. The bread was so hard and dusty Julia had to soften it with water first. She didn’t say anything. If her men had to eat this vile rubbish so would she.

“It tastes foul doesn’t it?” Delin said watching her trying to chew the iron hard cheese.

Julia swallowed with the aid of some water, “It’s certainly different!”

“There’s a reason for that Lady. There’s one for most everything I reckon.”

“You don’t have to call me lady you know. My name is Julia.”

Delin looked flustered about calling her that, and Julia sighed. Crossing the barrier between noble and common folk would be hard she found. Even Athione’s guardsmen insisted she was a lady. They didn’t class her the same as other noble ladies though. Honour forbade a woman being put it danger, but she had magic and it was needed desperately. They had wrestled with the problem and rationalised it by thinking of her as one of them—a kind of special guardsmen—one that just happened to be a woman.

Julia found that amusing because she wasn’t a noble anyway, but she liked being a woman, and she wasn’t sure now that she liked them thinking of her as something else.

“It wouldn’t be proper lady.”

“You were saying there was a reason for this indestructible cheese.”

“Aye lady. It’s that way because it’s about ten year old I reckons,” he said laughing.

“Ha, ha. Have you a consort Delin?”

“Aye I do, and two strong boys she bore me. A fine woman she is. She had to put up with a lot over the years, what with me being away so much.”

“Why is that?”

“Lord Athlone used us scouts as messengers, Lady. I had to travel all over with his scrolls and such. I ain’t got a clue what was in ‘em, but there was a mighty lot of ‘em!”

Julia frowned. What could Athlone have been doing that needed so many messages to be sent and received? “Does Lord Jihan know about the messages?”

“Don’t know lady... don’t think so. The Lord was mighty careful about us being seen. He always sent us out with regular patrols so we could slip away.”

Julia didn’t like the sound of that at all. “Where did he send you?”

“To the Lords mostly,” Delin said. “I was sent to Devarr more than once—to the Chancellor. Mostly it was the Lords though. Ascol, Penola, Godstone, Herstal, Kelvadon—I been to most of ‘em at one time or another I reckons.”

“What about the fortresses?”

“Never been sent to the Four, lady. Strange when I was sent everywhere else ain’t it?”

“Yes... strange,” Julia murmured.

Julia only knew four lords, and Delin hadn’t been sent to any of those. That made her foreboding even worse. Keverin said the Lord Protectors were the only truly honest lords in Deva—excepting Athlone of course. He was a traitor through and through. Whatever those messages were about, they couldn’t be good for Deva.

Julia was still trying to guess what Athlone had been planning, when Mathius interrupted her thoughts by sliding down the hill.

“They made good time. They’ll be here in a candlemark or so.”

“Will they camp, or press on through the hills?” Julia said.

Mathius frowned in thought, but then shrugged. “No way to know.”

“It’s not even midday, Lady,” Delin said. “I reckon they will press on and camp late.”

Julia nodded as she thought about message scrolls and consorts. “I have an important job for you and the others Delin. Lord Jihan needs to know all you can tell him about his father’s dealings. You and the others are the only ones who know where those messages went.”

“What messages—” Mathius started to say but broke off at her raised hand.

“I want you four to ride hard to Malcor and tell Jihan everything you told me.”

“But Lady! You need us here,” Delin protested.

“Mathius and I can protect our selves with magic. You four cannot. This is important, Delin. Jihan has to know what Athlone was doing.”

Delin struggled to find a way not to obey, but his upbringing worked against him this time. Devan men didn’t like opposing a woman unless they knew she would be hurt, but she was the all powerful Sorceress of Athione, Julia thought bitterly. If only she was. She might then be able to take control of her life.

“If you orders us, Lady, then we must obey,” Delin admitted finally.

“Good. Tell the others and be on your way as soon as you can.”

Delin nodded and rushed off.

“What are you doing now?” Mathius said impatiently.

“You heard what I…” Julia began but Mathius stared at her steadily, and she felt her face heat. “All right. Delin has a consort and two children. Besides, what will four scouts do against an army of ten thousand?”

“About the same as two mages I should think—nothing much.”

“I’m not going to die today, Mathius, but a lot of people will,” she said coldly.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know. If force is all they can understand, then I will have to supply it. We can’t keep fighting off a new legion every few tendays. They need to be made to see that attacking Deva from now on is extremely unwise.”

Before Mathius could say anything to that, the scouts came down from the hill and saddled their mounts.

“You are sure, Lady?”

“I’m sure. You ride safe, and report to Jihan.”

“The God watch over you Lady—you too mage,” Delin said and mounted up. A moment later all four galloped away.

Shit! She should have told them to go slow at first. The dust rising from their galloping mounts would be seen!

“That’s torn it,” Mathius said also seeing the danger. “They will see the dust for sure. We better get up there.”

That was easier said than done. Although the hill was gentle, Julia still had trouble climbing up the slope. The Earth was loose and when she grabbed tufts of grass to pull herself up she ended up with a hand fall of dead grass and no higher up the hill. The problem was solved eventually by kicking her boots off and digging her toes in.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” Mathius panted as they reached the top of the hill and lay flat. He was covered in dust. His robe looked more brown than green as if he had been demoted to an apprentice.

“This is nothing. You should try ballet practise sometime,” Julia said absently as she searched the hills for the Hasians.

“What is ballet?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Julia said in a distracted voice. Peering through the long stalks of dead grass, she saw two armies.

Two?

One was about a thousand men strong and was galloping forward. Dammit! They must have seen the dust. The bigger one had stopped its progress. It was so far distant she couldn’t see any detail. To her the legion seemed a dark mass clumped together between the gentle hills. Could she even hit something that far away?

“The first one will catch Delin if we don’t stop them,” Julia said urgently.

“That’s the vanguard,” Mathius said.

“What difference does that make?”

“None,” Mathius said. “I was just saying that’s all. Don’t be so touchy.”

Touchy he says. Didn’t she have a right to feel upset? Grasping her magic, she drew lightning down amongst the vanguard.

Craaaack! Booom!

The blast echoed back to her. The sound bounced from the hillsides as if coming from all directions. Julia was careful to make the lightning come straight down so it would not give away her position. It struck the first quarter of the van. Men and horses dropped straight to the ground dead before they hit. Others were thrown from their horses and killed when their panicked mounts rolled over them. One horse then another screamed in pain galloping with their manes on fire. Dust hung heavy in the air along with smoke from burning grass and bodies.

Ulp.

Julia looked at Mathius and he paled. Her face must be something to see. She didn’t know what Mathius had expected, and she didn’t have time to ask. Her thoughts were cold and sharp as a steel blade. She turned back in time to see the men reorganising. She couldn’t allow that so she killed them.

Craaaack! Booom!

Ignoring the noise as best she could, Julia waited for the dust to clear. She estimated that no more than hundred had escaped her lightning. They were running back to their friends. Nodding to herself in cold satisfaction, she turned her attention to the main body of the legion. They hadn’t been idle while she dealt with the van. Each battalion was forming itself into neat rows ready to charge into the hills. A large group were unmoving behind the cavalry. She assumed them to be the sorcerers and generals. They didn’t know where she was and had decided to attack in all directions hoping to get lucky. As one, they thundered outward like a fan.

Julia attacked behind them trying for the sorcerers.

Craaaack! Booom!

Julia knew she had failed when she saw the shimmering ward. It was in the shape of a dome and covered the unmoving group completely. All the cavalry was outside it and charging the hills. If she waited much longer the closest group would see her horse.

“They learned to ward the sides as well as overhead,” Mathius commented.

“Hmmm,” Julia said nodding at the charging men. “We have other things to worry about,” she said aiming for the closest group.

Craaaack! Booom!

Julia realised her mistake even as the lightning struck, but she was unable to stop it. As the middle section of cavalry went down, the sorcerers attacked her hill. They had used the cavalry to draw her fire in order to locate her. Now it was Julia’s turn to hunker beneath a shield. She dug her fingers into the dirt trying to flatten her self even more to the ground. She would have dug a hole and pulled the soil back in after her if she could. Mathius was doing the same. Sweat poured from her as tongues of flame rolled over the hill and heated the air beyond endurance, but they had to endure it or die.

Finally, after an eternity in the furnace of the sorcerer’s wrath, the billowing flames died away. Her little hill was completely black. Every living thing except Mathius and her was destroyed leaving nothing but fine black ash. There were fires burning all round the hill, and the smoke was making it hard to breathe. Tears ran from her eyes as the stink of burning bodies impinged on her senses. Behind her, the horses lay burning. In front, more of the enemy cavalry lay dead than she had accounted for. The sorcerers had killed their own men trying to reach her.

“Mathius, ack, ack,” Julia hacked and coughed as the smoke billowed up. Mathius looked at her in fear. His face and hands were covered in soot and ash and his eyes were red and streamed constantly, just as hers did. “We have to... ack, ack, burn them out. Lightning won’t... ack, ack, ack, work.”

“If we do that, we might die with them,” Mathius rasped.

“No choice, the ward... ack, ack, too strong for me.”

Mathius nodded and looked toward the relatively calm area around the sorcerer’s ward. Suddenly a huge ball of fire rose and dropped just behind the ward. Another followed it and then another in rapid succession. He made them fall on all sides, and soon the enemy was surrounded by fire.

Julia lost sight of everything in front of her as smoke billowed up. The breeze whipped the fire into an inferno. Surely nothing could withstand such heat. The sorcerers thought differently. She could feel them pouring their magic into the ward. It was holding the flames at bay! Before Julia could even try to hit it again, more fire engulfed her hill. Mathius’ shield was the first to fail, but before the flames could do more than singe his robe, she extended hers to cover him. Her shield dimmed and the air inside became hot as an oven. Gritting her teeth at the strain, Julia drew more magic to strengthen it. She hugged Mathius close so that it covered a smaller area, and prayed.

The flames kept coming and coming.

How could they keep it up? Even she couldn’t last this long! Julia pulled more magic, and then again. The air was almost impossible to breathe with the smoke rising around them. It was so hot that her dress was starting to smolder, and her exposed skin felt stretched tight. Mathius was using a piece of his burnt robe to cover his nose and mouth. She grabbed a piece and did likewise.

It didn’t help.

* * *

Keverin galloped north in a thunder of hooves. He knew it was foolish, but he couldn’t make himself care. When Julia left Malcor for the north he had fallen back on his duty like a coward as he always did and let her go. This time was different. Keverin had found himself saddling Cavell with no memory of making the decision. When he left the stable, his men were waiting for him. They had found him out somehow, and they wouldn’t let him leave without them. They said their Julia was fighting for them, and that she would need them all to fight for her. Of course, he had ordered them to stay at Malcor and defend it under Jihan’s orders, but Jihan had come down and said he was coming as well. None of his arguments swayed either Jihan or his own men, so he gave in. He couldn’t afford to waste any more time arguing.

And that was why he was racing north with two thousand men toward their deaths.

The day had moved on toward evening when they were close enough to see the flames. The smoke blanketed the sky for leagues. When Keverin saw the devastation, his heart sank. There was a wall of fire advancing across the plain, and behind it nothing remained except ash. There was no sign of Julia. Burned corpses of men and horses littered the ground. Keverin didn’t know where Julia had set up her ambush, but with her strength, she could be a league or more away. He was about to order his men to search for her, when a shout of alarm went up. He turned to see the remnants of a Hasian battalion galloping out of dense smoke.

“Athione!” Keverin roared and spurred to meet them.

“Athione and Julia!” His men responded.

“Malcor!” Jihan and his men roared.

Keverin took his first two men relatively easy. The Hasians seemed more intent on running from the flames than in attacking him, but he didn’t have it all his own way. A man, a Legion Captain by his rank badge, attacked and managed to wound him slightly. Keverin’s rage was such that he barely felt the wound. He cut the man down and spurred Cavell toward another target without slowing.

Jihan’s men fought methodically and in pairs where that was possible. Jihan himself worked his horse into the fray and was unstoppable. He controlled his horse with his knees turning Jezy this way and that, while his sword blurred around him. Nothing came near to wounding him.

Keverin cut another man from his saddle and it was over. Casting about for Jihan, he breathed easier when he found his friend unharmed. Dead and wounded were scattered over the ash black ground. He had lost easily five dozen men, but he quickly revised that figure when he found many of those unhorsed were just wounded.

“Mount the wounded in front of the able bodied,” he said to Jihan.

“Best we can do,” Jihan agreed and quickly had the wounded mounted in front of their companions. They would ride in the centre of his formation.

Keverin beckoned Brian. “I want you and a half dozen men to scout ahead—no more than a few hundred yards mind. Keep a sharp eye for Julia and Mathius, and watch those fires. If the wind changes we’ll all be for it.”

“Yes lord,” Brian said then turned and shouted to the men. “First six men with me!”

Keverin waited until the scouts were well ahead then led his men forward. He remembered his own advice and watched the flames warily. The wind seemed to be favouring them, but he wasn’t comforted.

“Have you any idea of her plan?” Jihan said.

“No, but knowing her she probably rode up to them and ordered them to go home,” Keverin said sourly.

Jihan snorted but didn’t laugh. There really wasn’t anything to laugh about in this situation.

The ash puffed up and mixed with the dust. They had to cover their faces to filter it out. The stink of burnt meat was enough to turn Keverin’s stomach, but he had to continue. His Julia was in the middle of this somewhere. He wanted to dash ahead and find her, but his common sense stopped him this time. He had to search the hills methodically. The flames had denuded the entire area of grass, but it was still hard to see if a body lay in the ash. The thought of her dead sent a pang of grief through him, but he managed to stop the impulse to charge off yet again.

The wind changed direction and added a new dimension to his worry for Julia. The burnt area they were moving through was safe enough from the flames, but they could still die from the smoke, which was becoming worse now. He was having trouble breathing, and as the smoke became denser, he was able to see less. He slowed the column to a crawl to be sure not to miss anything.

“Look there,” Jihan said pointing ahead.

The scouts were heading back in.

“Report,” Keverin ordered.

“Hasians m’lord,” Brian said. “The smoke is too thick to see, but we heard them.”

“How many?”

“Can’t tell m’lord.”

Keverin nodded. The cursed smoke was too thick.

“I’ll take half around the hill—” Jihan began.

“And I’ll draw them in,” Keverin finished.

They both grinned.

Jihan led half the men behind the hill while Keverin and the rest of the men pretended to stop for a drink. He watched Jihan slowly disappear into the smoke and the Hasians appear from the other side of the hill. The legionnaires were in good order. They hadn’t lost any men. The scouts out front were searching for a way around the fire, which was starting to circle back towards the south. When they saw Keverin’s men, they spurred back to the main body to report. A moment later, the battalion charged to the attack.

Keverin’s men held a tight formation and resisted the initial push until Jihan circled the hill and struck the Hasians in the flank. They were taken completely by surprise. Before their captain could reorganise, they were split into two groups.

“Sweep right!” Keverin roared over the din of battle.

Keverin led his men and slammed into the Hasians. He screamed his rage into the faces of his enemies and cleaved men from the saddle. His blade blurred right and left harvesting arms and heads as he urged Cavell forward with his knees.

“Athione!” Keverin roared as Cavell kicked a man intent on stabbing him in the back. “Athione!”

Jihan had more difficulty with his half. It was bad luck that most of the sergeants were trapped in his part of the battalion. Consequently, the legionnaires were well organised. Jihan tried to cut down key men in the Hasian line, but the press of battle prevented his efforts for the most part.

It was Keverin’s turn to attack from the rear. He finished his half of the Hasian battalion and immediately wheeled to attack those pressing Jihan. The extra men made all the difference and the battle ended with him owning the field.

Keverin didn’t feel very victorious as he stared at all the empty saddles. He had lost more than three hundred men. Jihan had lost more. The legions were deadly. A single battalion—a thousand men—had almost succeeded in holding off twice its number of Devan guardsmen even when surprised.

Keverin took off his helmet to let the air dry his sweat soaked hair. He watched his men give the grace to comrades and enemies alike. There weren’t many wounded left among his men. He tried not to notice the familiar faces who were gone.

“We can’t do this again,” Keverin said wiping his face.

“If we have to, we will,” Jihan said grimly. “Julia is more important than the men. She’s more important than all of us—you know that.”

“I love her, my friend,” Keverin said. “She’s important to me.”

“I don’t mean that. Without her Deva is finished. Even with her it might be.”

Keverin pulled his helmet back on. He didn’t want to think about this. Not now, not ever. Jihan was right about her importance to Deva, but Julia wasn’t a tool. She was to be his consort whether she knew it or not. She was already his life.

“I can’t think about Deva now,” Keverin said. “We better move on.”

Jihan nodded and gave the order to mount up, but the horses were panicky. The men cursed as they tried to climb into the saddle. The horses side stepped and reared. Some turning full circle as their riders tried and failed to climb into the saddle. They were not at all happy about moving on.

“On foot?” Jihan said grimly.

“Have to.”

Another candlemark went by and Keverin was beginning to despair of ever finding her. He was tired, worried, and his feet hurt. The sun had disappeared behind the smoke, and the very air itself was hot. Breathing the foul stuff was almost impossible.

“Come on you... ack, ack... flaming wooden-headed...”

Keverin turned to see a guardsman trying to pull his horse onward. Its eyes were wide and panicked. It refused to move on.

“Brian... ack, ack. Get someone up that cursed hill. See... ack, what’s to see.”

Brian wheezed his acknowledgement. He scrambled up himself rather than order some other poor soul to do it. Almost straight away, he returned.

“Lord... ack, the flames are circling round. We... ack, ack, ack, must turn back now or be trapped.”

He couldn’t leave! Julia might be only a few yards beyond the next hill. He looked around at his men fighting the horses and came to a decision.

“I’m sorry Kev... ack, ack, it’s hopeless. We’re done,” Jihan wheezed. The young lord’s face was black with ash and he looked out at the world through red rimmed and streaming eyes.

“Jihan... ack, ack, listen carefully. You are to lead... ack, ack, ack... my men... back to Malcor. I want you to... ack, ack... to... witness the declaration of my heir. Tell... ack, ack, Gylaren’s second son... tell Niklaus that he is my choice. Do you understand?”

“But Kev...”

“Do... you... understand?” Keverin said intently.

“I understand Kev, but... I understand,” Jihan said sadly.

“Good... ack, ack... Take Cavell with you. Now you best be on your way.”

“May the God watch over you and Julia,” Jihan said.

Keverin watched Jihan turn reluctantly and head south. The horses were so eager to go back, they quieted enough to allow the men to mount. They galloped away like the wind.

Keverin hoped they made it before the circle closed.

Looking for a direction was hopeless. Julia could be anywhere. Closing his eyes, he prayed for guidance then turned on the spot. When he opened his eyes, he was looking into the worst of the smoke. Without hesitation, he walked into it. Keverin’s world turned to stinging eyes and hacking cough.

* * *

Julia’s world had narrowed until only one thing remained—breathing. She was slowly suffocating. She had tried dropping her shield when the sorcerers succumbed to the firestorm—a mistake. The heat and smoke were so much worse that her hair ignited.

“AEiii!” Julia screamed in shock.

Her magic jumped into her grasp so fast she wasn’t sure afterwards whether she reached for it or whether it came to her aid unbidden. Whichever it was her shield slammed down so hard the ground was grooved in a circle around them. As quick as thought she extinguished her hair, but Mathius was unconscious and didn’t know he was burning.

Julia put out the flames with a thought and tried to heal his arms and legs, but she couldn’t hold the shield at the same time. Coughing and with her eyes streaming she drew more magic until she was floating in fire, but still she couldn’t see his aura. She returned from the abyss gasping at the pain that stuttered along her nerves.

Julia tried to make the shield harden itself against the smoke. She had to keep it out or suffocate. It seemed to work. As the smoke cleared, she began to hope they might survive. Her hopes were dashed when after half a candlemark she became light headed. The shield was keeping everything out, the air included. Julia changed it again and started hacking her lungs up as the smoke rushed in along with the air.

The fire raced across the plain faster than a horse could gallop. It was raging completely out of control. A large body of men galloped north trying to make a run for it. They were Deva’s enemies, but Julia wished them luck. A short time later, she saw a group only a fraction of the size galloping back to the south, and believed it to be the same one.

She doubted they survived.

How many people had she killed now? Directly and indirectly, she was responsible for the deaths of twenty thousand legionnaires, and she had failed to save over half of the guardsmen at Athione. If Father Gideon was right, she would kneel in judgement before God soon. Would he understand why she made the choices she had? Would he forgive her?

It was time to change the shield again. Smoke and the stink of burnt meat rushed in. Julia’s eyes streamed so badly she lost sight of the few remaining groups of legionnaires. She could only hope they didn’t decide to gallop this way. The little she could see was seen through a veil of tears. That would be a good name for this battle. The Veil of Tears. If more battles were named thus, there might be less war.

The coughing became so bad, she hardly drew any air in at all, but it was still a more merciful death than the one the Hasians were receiving. Death by suffocation was far better than death by fire. The misery of slow suffocation continued as she changed the shield at intervals. The sky was dark with smoke. It had been blowing southward toward her for a long time now, but suddenly it shifted west. The air outside cleared a little, and she let it back in with relief. It didn’t feel hot any longer and tentatively she raised the shield ready to slam it down again.

A cool breeze caressed the tight skin of her cheeks.

Coughing and gasping for air, she released her magic... tried to release it, but it was a struggle. She had been using it constantly for most of the day. It left her reluctantly, but it did leave and weariness hammered her flat. Staring at the sky, Julia thought she saw stars intermittently as clouds of blackness drifted by. The darkness closing in hadn’t been smoke then, but the night approaching. She stared at the beautiful stars unmoving.

Julia might have died then, but the figure crawling toward her was Keverin not a legionnaire bent on revenge. He collapsed besides her wheezing.

“They’re beautiful aren’t they,” she croaked from a throat roar from smoke.

“Not as beautiful as you, my lady.”

Julia instinctively touched what was left of her hair. There was only stubble on one side, the other hung in tangled and melted snarls.

“Flatterer.”

Keverin croaked a laugh. All he could manage with his breathe rasping in and out. Julia grasped his hand and eased him with her magic ignoring his startled exclamation and the scolding he gave her for wearing herself out. She needed his strength to get them all out of here. There was no point in the boys being in such poor shape when she could do something about it. Mathius was barely breathing, and Julia cursed herself for the delay. She quickly healed him, but the scars remained, mute testimony to her stupidity in opening the shield in a firestorm.

Tears leaked from Julia’s eyes as she gazed at the stars. Back on her old world people didn’t notice the beauty all around them, but here she had seen more in the last half year than all the previous nineteen put together.

“Here... drink some of this,” Keverin said.

Julia let him pour some of the water from the bag into her mouth and swallowed. “Gahhh! That’s disgusting,” she wheezed.

“It’s only water.”

“Tastes... the inside... my boots,” she whispered.

“We need to wake Mathius and get out of here.”

“Please... do...” she croaked.

Damn! Her voice was going now. What next?

* * *

“Mathius wake up curse you!”

The voice sounded familiar. Mathius sat up with a gasp, and looked around. Lord Keverin was kneeling beside a figure on the ground. Julia! Mathius jumped to his feet and watched numbly as his robe disintegrated around him. What had happened? He could remember the suffocating smoke and heat, but that was all.

Mathius could see by the moonlight that half the day had fled and him unknowing. Everywhere he looked was ash. The fire was still raging leagues away, but from here it looked like a solid wall of bonfires made small by distance. He shivered. The fire would keep going for a hundred leagues until it met a river, or until it rained. He was horrified to see that Julia was burned, but with relief he realised it was just her hair. There wouldn’t be any scars. Thinking about burns, he looked at his forearms and legs. He could see faint silvery scars encircling his arms and the calves of his legs. They looked years old. He had Julia to thank.

Julia looked at him and smiled wanly. *Sorry. I let the shield go too soon. I healed you, but the scars... I’m so sorry Mathius.*

Mathius smiled. “Don’t worry about that. You saved me. That’s all that matters. Now I get to save you for a change.”

Julia didn’t laugh. She was struggling to breathe. The smoke had done its worst on her. She needed a healer right away.

“We need to get her back to Malcor as soon as possible my lord.”

“I know that Mathius! I’m looking for her cursed boots,” Keverin said in frustration.

“Forget them. She can’t walk like this. I’ll carry her,” he said urgently.

Mathius knelt by her side and hoisted in his arms. The slide down the hill was no worse than last time and he quickly regained his feet to head south. Luckily, the sky was clear overhead or they might have travelled in circles all night. Julia was as light as a child in his arms, but she was no child. He could feel the hard muscle beneath her soft exterior. She was like that in many ways. He remembered the look on her face as she killed a battalion of men intent on following Delin’s dust trail. The image of a beautiful woman was completely at odds with the hard steely eyed harridan she had become as she blasted them into the next world.

Julia was full of contradictions. One moment killing a man, the next she was healing a sick child. She killed hundreds of men at Athione, only to heal hundreds more afterwards, and now this. She was both strong and weak, feared and trusted, loved and hated, but most of all it was love people felt. Lord Keverin and his guardsmen loved her more than life. The God help him, he felt the same.

A few candlemarks later, Mathius was stumbling with exhaustion, but he forced himself on. He followed Keverin as he searched for the shortest route home to Malcor. Julia had lapsed into unconsciousness a while back, but her wheezing breath said she still lived. It drove him on. Mathius tried not to think about what he needed to do when they reached the fire. He had seen his father summon a storm once as a child, but it would take every scrap of magic a simple mage like him could draw. He had steadfastly refused to try for the yellow robe precisely because he knew he might not survive the test, but he was willing to risk it for Julia.

Anything for her.

* * *

Keverin edged forward. “Easy girl easy…” he said as the bedraggled horse edged back from him.

No, you God cursed excuse for a horse!

The mare stopped and Keverin resumed his careful stalk. She was burnt, but not too seriously. Her mane and tail were nothing but stubble. She looked rather strange, but her legs were sound and that was all Julia needed. Mathius was resting a few yards away holding Julia in his arms. How he envied Mathius his closeness with her.

He forced himself not to despair.

When he found her alive, he had felt like cheering. He hadn’t recognised how bad Julia needed a healer until later. Now he began to panic. Julia had fallen unconscious and her lips were tinged blue. She was slowly suffocating. Beneath the dirt and ash, Julia’s cheeks were pale, and he tried to make himself believe they weren’t turning blue as well, but knew he was fooling himself.

Finally, he caught the reins and held on while the flaming beast bucked and neighed her indignation. He was lifted and tossed about but there was no way he was letting her get away. He would hold on until the mountains turned to dust if he had to! The flaming beast finally got it out of her system and he helped Mathius to mount. He lifted Julia up to him and they set off southward again. She looked like a child in Mathius’ arms. A hurt child in desperate need of a healer.

The night fled and dawn found them confronted by a wall of fire. Julia hadn’t regained consciousness. Mathius said that she was no worse. Keverin took him at his word. It was all he could do.

“Why do you keep looking at the clouds?” Keverin asked. He gazed up at them himself. They were only smoke weren’t they?

“You never knew my father, did you my Lord?”

Keverin shook his head. “Can you shield us through the fire in some way?”

“Not through that. If I tried there would be nothing left of us to say we ever lived. He was a great man, my father. Of course I didn’t know that then, but he taught me something that might get us through this.”

“If not a shield, then what? Can you bridge it?”

Mathius shook his head. “I saw him call a storm once to help a village during a drought. I’ve never tried anything like that before, but I might be strong enough to do it here.”

“And if you’re not strong enough?”

“You already know,” Mathius said quietly.

Keverin hugged Mathius, and then left him to his work. He sat next to Julia to watch the mage try to surpass his rank to save her. It was a good thing she wasn’t awake. She would never have let him try it if she had been. There was nothing to indicate Mathius was doing anything at first. The fire continued to advance southward at the same rate, but the wind suddenly came up from the north.

He’ll make it worse!

Keverin looked up at the towering clouds. Before he could do anything, he felt a splash on his face, then another. It was working! Mathius had brought rain clouds from the north. Lightning crackled, and thunder crashed, but Mathius stood unmoving with his head thrown back and his arms out stretched. On his face, there was a look of joy! More thunder and lightning shattered the morning, and the heavens opened to pummel them with heavy raindrops. The flames were already dying back, and steam rose into the air as the water struck the hot ashes. Keverin tried to shelter Julia with his body as much as possible and watched Mathius bring a deluge.

A short while later, Keverin rode with Julia in his arms and Mathius lead the way on foot. The rain continued to fall as they moved south. It didn’t impede them too much. The ground had been parched and it eagerly drank the water down without turning to mud.

They travelled without stopping, and arrived at Malcor that same afternoon.

* * *

16 ~ A World of Dreams

Lucius rode from dawn to dusk with Lysara at his side. To his surprise, the girl had kept her promise not to hold him back, and they were making good time to Malcor. Purcell had dumbfounded him by agreeing with her request to go with him. Lucius couldn’t decide why that should bother him so much. On the one hand she would be perfectly safe. He was a wizard after all, and besides he had a company of guardsmen with him. On the other hand, she was Purcell’s only daughter. Why would a lord like Purcell allow her to go? The only thing he could think of was that he looked with favour on Lysara’s silly notion of wedding him!

That time in Donalt’s room hadn’t been the only time she had mentioned marriage. Even Purcell had looked askance at first. Lucius didn’t know what she had said to her father, but whatever it was had caused Purcell to suddenly find excuses for them to be together. It was: “Lucius would you escort Lysara to...” Or “Lucius my friend, Lysara wanted to show you...” it was intolerable being manoeuvred in such a fashion.

To his horror, he was starting to like it!

He had been watching for Julia in the glass every few days since reaching Elvissa. It was a genuine pleasure to give the news of victory at Malcor to Purcell. There had been celebrations and feasting in the fortress and the town. Lysara danced wonderfully. She insisted on teaching him the latest dance steps to come out of Japura and the Capital. Silly though it was, he had enjoyed himself immensely.

The habit of checking his mirror had stayed with him. That was why he was thundering across Deva. He had watched Julia leave for the north, and he left Elvissa the following day. He didn’t know if Julia would need him, but he was determined to be on hand if she did. While stopping for water one afternoon, he used the mirror and checked Julia’s progress only to see the terrible results of her magic. Another legion destroyed with Julia trapped and close to death. They had ridden right through that night and led the horses at a walk the next day.

“We have to stop for the night!” Lysara shouted over the thundering hooves.

“We’re nearly there. If we keep on we could be there in another couple of days.”

“You fool!” Lysara shouted, “You’ll founder the horses!”

“To the flames with the horses. Julia is dying!”

“Think Lucius! You’ll be walking. How long will it take you then?”

Curse it! The girl was right. He slowed from the gallop to a trot, and then to a walk.

“Make camp,” he ordered with frustration thick in his voice.

With mirror in hand, Lucius stalked over to a log and sat. He stiffened when he heard a noise behind him. Thinking of the last time he had sat like this, he readied his magic. He sighed when the noise turned out to be Lysara sneaking up to catch a look at the mirror.

Fool girl!

“You might as well come over and have a look. You’ll strain your eyes from there,” Lucius called into the gloom.

“Wizards...” she mumbled. “Unnatural talents...”

Lucius grinned.

Lysara sat next to him and looked at the mirror. Thoughts of her closeness and the smell of her perfume vanished as he saw Julia lying pale and unmoving in a bed. She was safe at Malcor, but...

“She looks dead,” Lysara said.

“No!” Lucius snapped and lowered his voice as some of the guardsmen looked up in alarm. “She lives. She’s in a deep sleep. The body does that to save its strength and to try to heal.”

“How can you tell? Her lips are blue, and she’s not moving.”

“I told you,” he said trying not to be harsh with her. “In this kind of sleep the body doesn’t move to save strength. Besides, a healer is giving her something look.”

Lucius watched the old woman administer a potion of some sort. He widened the view and saw the ingredients on a side table. With a startled oath, he shot to his feet to run for his horse, but then he remembered they were camping. Everyone was looking at him strangely as he made himself stop and walk back to retrieve his mirror.

Lysara handed him the glass. “Are you mad?”

He grimaced. “It was stupid of me. Of course the healer has no choice, but the cost!”

At Lysara’s impatient look, he explained.

“She was giving Julia Tancred. Julia must be having trouble breathing. That makes sense when you see how much smoke a grass fire causes. Her lungs must be in a bad way, but Tancred is addictive. The amount the healer was pouring down Julia’s throat will make her crave more of it, but that’s not all. She will have visions and dreams. Some of them will be prophetic. I have seen sorcerers give up on life because of what they saw.”

“I’m sure she’ll be all right, Lucius. You said she was strong—even sorcerer rank.”

“There’s no doubt that she is a true sorceress, but that makes it worse. The stronger you are the more vivid the dreams.”

“Come and have some food. There’s nothing to be done tonight.”

Lucius nodded reluctantly and walked with Lysara back to the campfire. Julia was on her own.

* * *

The last thing Julia remembered was watching Keverin moving ahead while Mathius carried her through the desolation she had created. Maybe Keverin really did love her after all, but it was too late now. Julia drifted above the plain. She didn’t know where she was or what she was doing, but one thing was clear—she could only fly on the bars, not in the sky.

This must be Father Gideon’s Other World.

The thought of being dead didn’t distress Julia as much as she thought it should. Her thoughts felt wrapped in cotton wool. She saw with relief that the fire was no longer burning. She hoped next year new grass would obscure what she had done here. Nothing would make the memories disappear, but at least the land could heal. Wondering about Keverin, she flew south hoping to catch a last glimpse of him before trying to find her way to her parents. What if heaven was different for different worlds? How would she find them? She didn’t know the answer, and tried to forget about it for a while.

As she flew toward Malcor, the sun flickered across the sky. Why was the sun moving so fast? As usual, she had more questions than answers. It wasn’t fair! She should have all the answers now. That’s how it was supposed to be!

Julia reached Malcor and cried out in horror. The fortress was a blackened shell. The citadel had been reduced by fire. What was going on? She had destroyed the legion sent against Jihan. Malcor couldn’t be destroyed... but there it was before her. Julia landed and wandered into the citadel—what was left of it. She found blackened walls and burned doors. She pushed open what was left of the doors leading to the great hall. The blackened carvings mocked her. She remembered them whole and unburned from her time at Malcor. It seemed impossible that these were—

The world dimmed.

“Noooo!” Julia shrieked in panic.

The fortress brightened once more leaving Julia gasping and shivering. “I don’t understand...”

She wandered into the great hall and found nothing but more burned remains. A chair here, a tapestry there. Julia picked up a scrap of cloth. It was Jihan’s banner. She looked up to where she had last seen it hanging, but of course, there was nothing there now…

Julia gasped and swayed with sudden dizziness as the hall changed around her. The banner appeared exactly as she remembered it. She was back! The hall was unburned and whole—just as she remembered it. Exactly as she remembered it. She laughed in delight, but her pleasure faded as she watched familiar faces coming and going. They couldn’t see her, but she knew them all. They were Jihan’s servants.

“A new door,” Ellyn said.

“What did she say?”

“Only that she needed a new one. It was an accident she said.”

Julia staggered as the hall faded to be replaced by the burned and broken remains she had found earlier. She dropped the scrap of cloth and wiped her hands upon her dress with a shiver. What she had seen was just a memory—a ghost from the past.

Julia ran outside and launched herself into the air. She flew toward Athione on instinct. With joy she realised it hadn’t been destroyed, but her joy was short lived when she saw the gates hung broken and untended. She made her way into the citadel but the place was abandoned. Julia was about to leave when she saw someone outside in the courtyard. As quick as thought, she was standing behind the bent figure of an old man. There was something about him. She couldn’t quite grasp what it was, but suddenly she knew the worst.

This was the future! The ruin of a man was Keverin, and he was at least seventy years old. Worse, he was blind and missing his right hand. What had happened?

“Who is there?” Keverin said.

“It’s me Kev, Julia.”

“Julia, are you there?”

Before Julia could answer, a teenage girl came out of the stable wiping her hands on a scrap of cloth.

“Of course I’m here. Where else would I be?”

“I could have sworn... no matter. Have I ever told you why you were named Julia?” Keverin said seating himself upon the steps to the citadel.

“Yes father. Hundreds of times,” she sighed.

Father? This girl was Keverin’s daughter?

“When I adopted you,” Keverin went on oblivious to his daughter’s scorn. “You reminded me so much of her that I thought the God had been kind and sent her back to me.”

“I know,” the girl said impatiently. “She was a great sorceress, defeated three armies, and killed thousands of sorcerers. Now I need to get back to work.” The girl stalked away.

“She’s so like you Julia,” Keverin whispered to the empty courtyard. “Fiery she is, just as you were. Back then I was tall and strong and Athione was a power in the land, but you weren’t impressed.” He chuckled rocking back and forth.

“I was... I am impressed with you Kev,” Julia said sadly.

“You put me in my place more than once, and everyone loved you, but I couldn’t say it, fool that I was. My pride wouldn’t let me, but I did tell you in the end. All our dreams are gone forever now, as you are. We thought you would never lose. You were so powerful. None could stand against you. Then he came and took you away from us, but I fixed him. It was too late to save you, but I fixed him.”

Julia wanted to weep for the broken man that had been a great lord. As she moved away, she heard him speak once more before she fled.

“I love you Julia said I, and you said it didn’t matter, but it did you see. You see that don’t you? Love always matters. I love you now as I did then. Perhaps the God will take me today and we will be together by his side. I hope it’s today.”

Julia flew away crying.

The sun was flickering again, but now she knew why. It was the days moving by so rapidly that all she saw was the flicker of the sun’s movement across the sky. She crossed the country to Elvissa, then Meilan, each time looking for the answer, but everywhere she looked she found broken walls or burned towns.

War had come to Deva... and we lost.

Devarr itself was whole and undamaged. It was full of busy people. Hasian legionaries mingled freely with Devan’s and there didn’t seem to be any animosity. Why should there be? These people had been starving under their own lords, but now they seemed prosperous and happy. She flew to other towns not near the fortresses and saw prosperity. Was it so bad that the Hasians had won? It didn’t seem that bad at all. Julia noticed one strange thing and flew down to investigate. Two black robed men were taking a young boy away from a crying woman. Boy? Well he was a man really. At fifteen children were considered adult here. The scene seemed familiar, but she couldn’t think why.

Then Julia remembered Lucius talking about his childhood in Keverin’s study. The black robes were stealing the boy away for training as a sorcerer. She followed them until she came to a horrible sight. Perhaps thirty black robed sorcerers surrounded a compound full of children. The older boys were trying to be brave and were comforting the younger ones, but the whole place reeked of fear, and desperation. One young man stood apart from the others coldly studying the sorcerers. He was older than most—quite a lot older in fact. He was at least twenty. How he had escaped detection for so long was a puzzle. Julia wanted to shout to him not to try what he was so obviously considering, but she knew he wouldn’t hear her. Moments later he was dead. He had tried to use his magic to escape, but the sorcerers had sensed him and burned him to ash.

“There’s always one who tries it,” a black robe said.

The other nodded in satisfaction. “Hmmm. Lucky for us too. No need to choose one at random for our example.”

“You’re too soft!”

“Nothing to do with being soft. We might have chosen one with real potential. Godwinson wouldn’t be amused to lose such.”

Julia moved away grieving for the lost boy. Intellectually she knew he was not dead yet, but emotionally was another matter. Not knowing where to go, she drifted through the streets like a ghost, but nowhere among the every day conversations did she hear talk of rebelling against the Hasians.

Keverin was both right and wrong about how to save Deva she decided after viewing similar scenes in other towns. He was right in trying to educate new mages, but he was dead wrong about leaving the lords to their own devices. This future was the direct result of an over privileged nobility. In the future, how far she didn’t know, the common people would welcome the Hasians. They would welcome anyone who put food in their mouths, and who could blame them? The fortresses had resisted fiercely. She knew that from the remains left behind, but they were overwhelmed. The sorcerers had made harsh examples of them and the towns nearby. No one could doubt how resistance to Hasian rule would be answered.

The lords had to be brought to heel and the kingdom united under a strong leader. More than this, the common people needed to feel they would be treated justly, and that defending Deva was in their best interests. If Keverin failed to stir some patriotism in the people, he might as well invite the Hasians to take over rather than lose lives in a futile war.

* * *

“You gave her Tancred,” Lucius accused. “I saw you in the glass.”

“Aye of course.” the healer said in exasperation. “Her breathing was so bad that she would have died if I hadn’t.”

“Don’t you know it’s addictive?”

“Aye, but the craving is better than being dead.”

Lucius couldn’t say much to that. Of course, he hadn’t said anything about the dreams. What would be the point? She would only use the same argument, and she was right.

Lucius glanced at Keverin. The lord was sitting at Julia’s bedside staring hard at her as she wheezed her shallow breaths. “Does he know how bad she is?”

“He’s no fool, but I think not.”

“That’s what I thought. Thank you for keeping her alive. Would you ask Mathius to come in? This will take both of us... if it works.”

The healer didn’t answer with words. She moved to the door.

Lucius crossed the room to stand next to the bed opposite Keverin. Julia looked no worse than when he had viewed her in the mirror. She couldn’t have and still be breathing. She looked truly awful. Someone had cut away the burnt hair. Only stubble remained of the beautiful black mane she’d had when he first met her. Her face was white and slack totally devoid of the fiery person he knew Julia to be. The telltale blue tinge on her lips and cheeks was what worried him most. She was suffocating.

Upon his arrival at Malcor, Lucius had run into the citadel and crashed through Julia’s door like a storm. Grasping his magic, he had tried to heal her as she had tried to teach him, but as usual it failed. He just couldn’t see what she saw. He had one other thing to try, but he needed Mathius for that.

“Is there nothing you can do?” Keverin said without looking up.

“Not alone my lord, but with Mathius’ help there is a chance. I sent the healer to find him.”

“He’s in his room practising his magic. He’s trying to understand what Julia learned now he wears the yellow robe.”

Just then, the door opened to reveal the healer followed by Mathius.

“Any luck?” Keverin asked then turned back to Julia.

“No my lord. I understand what I’m supposed to do, but when I try to see what Julia described I slip into the realm of power.”

Lucius nodded. The same thing happened to him. He just didn’t have a fine enough control. As a woman, Julia might be inherently different concerning the magic... He crushed that traitorous thought ruthlessly. Mathius and he together would see it... they would... he was sure.

“Do you know how to link, Mathius?”

“I saw Renard accidentally link with Julia once,” Mathius answered. Then he spoke to Keverin. “It was that time in the library my lord. Do you remember?”

Keverin nodded, but he didn’t take his eyes off Julia.

Lucius shook his head. How someone could accidentally link was beyond him, but the answer would wait for another time. “So you know how then?”

“Not really. I saw the flows, but they were beyond me then. Now... I don’t know. I’ve had a great deal of practise since then.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll initiate the link. Be ready to grasp your magic but don’t actually take hold.”

Mathius stood next to him and made ready. Lucius laid his hand on Julia’s chest then linked with Mathius. He felt the increase in strength immediately. The youngster’s magic had a solid feel to it, which weaker mages could never provide. Mathius had a long way to go before matching him in raw strength, but he definitely had the potential.

Lucius turned his attention to Julia, and tried to see what she called the realm of healing, but again he failed. He was so frustrated that he didn’t hear Mathius speak at first.

“Lucius... listen!” Mathius yelled.

“I’m listening,” he replied.

“I thought I saw something when you used your mage-sight. Can you change the link so that I can draw from you?”

Lucius hesitated a moment before replying. To let someone link in that way was to give him power over you. Mathius had done it in ignorance, but he knew what it meant.

“I can do it. Be prepared for the rush,” he said quickly before he changed his mind.

Lucius gave control of the link to Mathius and became just a spectator. When Mathius invoked his mage-sight, he was compelled to do the same. He didn’t fight it because he knew what to expect. He watched Julia avidly hoping to see the change, but he was confused at first when nothing seemed to happen. Then confusion gave way to excitement as Mathius shifted his sight oh so slowly until Julia became something else.

“That’s it!” Lucius yelled in glee.

“Yes, but what do I do now?” Mathius said.

“Julia told me about this. White is good, anything else is bad. Yellow means tiredness or exhaustion. She also said mages have a blue light in the centre of their aura’s. We mustn’t do anything with that.”

“I remember. She tried to give Renard his magic back after he burned out, but he... died.”

Lucius absently wondered what Mathius had been going to say, but he dismissed the thought as unimportant. Julia’s aura was hardly moving, but he wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. The blue light at her centre shone strongly. It was so strong he could hardly bear to look. The good news ended there. Her aura was a dark yellow orange. There was a large purple area—almost black.

“Send some of the magic at the dark area, but remember to make it white,” Lucius said.

Mathius didn’t answer, but a white stream appeared and attacked.

* * *

Julia opened her eyes to find three worried men staring down at her. She smiled, but she could hardly keep her eyes open.

“How do you feel my love?” Keverin whispered.

“Hmmm, tired,” Julia smiled sleepily at hearing Keverin call her his love, but the smile faltered when she remembered the old man of her dreams.

That won’t happen! I won’t let it!

“We could try for more,” Mathius said uncertainly.

“No. Let us not push our luck too far. Neither of us really knows what we’re doing. Besides, she’s breathing normally again.”

Julia hated it when people spoke over her head, but she couldn’t summon the energy to protest. The last thing she heard before dropping off to sleep was Keverin whispering.

“Sleep my love, I’ll stay beside you.”

She slept.

* * *

The Power That Binds

(Devan Chronicles 2)

Prologue

Pergann stared into the flames oblivious to his surroundings. He was the last in a proud line of kings that could trace their heritage through twelve hundred years of history to the beginning of Deva and to the Founders themselves. The room in which he sat was dusty and cluttered with the remnants of meals taken alone in the dark. Food lay mouldering untended on silver plates, but not a rat could be heard. There was no longer enough food in all of Devarr to tempt a rat from hiding, for if it did, it would become dinner itself. Devarr starved, while the spring sunshine beat down, but Pergann neither knew nor cared. The drapes remained closed shutting out the day and life’s cares, all except a thin sliver of sunlight spearing the darkness through a tear in the rich fabric. The door opened behind him, and a shadow clad figure slipped inside.

Pergann cared not. He did not turn. “Leave me. Take your prattle to Morfran.”

The figure continued into the room and stopped behind the king’s chair. “Chancellor Morfran has… departed shall we say. It’s time for you to follow him.”

“Ascol!” Pergann gasped. “What do you think you are… Gahhh!”

The man named Ascol pulled on the toggles of his garrote just enough to immobilise the struggling and dying monarch.

“It is time Deva had a strong king again. Not a self pitying old man like you,” Ascol said sawing on the toggles with great enjoyment. “My sorcerer wanted to kill you himself, but it’s more fitting for the new king to remove the old one don’t you think?” He frowned and stopped his play. “Oh, you can’t answer can you? Never mind. I’ll take it as said you don’t agree.”

Pergann struggled for just one more gulp of air. The twine was buried deep within his flesh. My dagger, where? Sparkles of light flashed before his eyes as his oxygen starved brain struggled to find a way to survive. He finally remembered, and fumbled at the side of his chair.

“Now, now, none of that,” Ascol said in a conversational voice as he reached for the dagger. Pulling with one muscled arm on the garrote, Ascol turned the blade with his other hand.

“Well, this is a surprise! You do have taste in some things it seems.” He turned the blade in the meagre firelight watching entranced as the light glinted on the perfectly formed steel. “Chulym steel, or might it be Japurans I wonder…no it’s too old for Japura. I think I’ll take this for a keepsake…” He thrust the dagger into the sash around his waist. “…just to remember you by as it were.”

As Ascol leaned back, Pergann’s struggles ceased and the stench of death filled the room.

Crunch!

“Ah, curse it! Now look what you made me do… by the God you stink!” Ascol unwound the bloody garrotte from where it had sliced through Pergann’s neck to the bone. “Demophon isn’t going to like this. No indeed not.”

“And what precisely won’t I like my dear Ascol?” Came a voice out of the darkness behind him.

Ascol spun in a crouch drawing his sword as he turned. He straightened when he found a familiar man in a guardsman’s armour standing in the doorway. The man was no guardsman. Demophon was a Hasian sorcerer only recently come into his service. Using the sheathing of his sword for an excuse, Ascol looked away from Demophon’s eyes.

“Just a little accident,” Ascol said airily.

Demophon crouched to examine the corpse. His head snapped up and he glared angrily. “A little accident! You fool, this was supposed to look like a natural death, not murder!”

Ascol twirled the bloody garrote through the air unconcerned with the spatters of blood flying away from it. “Well… you see… and then…” he stammered, but then more firmly, “Well curse it man, fix it with your magic!”

“Don’t ever give me orders,” Demophon said in a deadly voice. “I’ll fix your little accident this time, but make another and it will be the last you ever make!”

Ascol goggled at this… this peasant addressing him in such a fashion. “How dare you, I’m to be king! I’ll have you executed!”

Demophon cocked his head. “Oh? And just how will you do that from the grave?”

Ascol didn’t answer. He edged away from the now scowling sorcerer, until his back touched the door.

Demophon waited for a moment listening to the silence. “No glib answer? In that case you may leave. I have to arrange something to cover your incompetence.” He turned his back on Ascol declaring his contempt for the would-be king of Deva.

Ascol clamped his jaw shut and spun on his heel to storm out the door followed by the sorcerer’s quiet laughter. Making his way through the deserted corridors of the palace, he cheered himself with thoughts of Demophon and his garrotte, Demophon and hot coals, Demophon screaming in agony as Ascol put his eyes out with his new dagger. By the time he reached the alley where his men held the horses, he was positively cheerful.

The guardsmen heard their lord whistling and glanced at each other in relief. Ascol angry they did not want to see.

* * *

Godwinson bolted up out of his bed with a gasp, and the vision dissolved. He covered his face with shaking hands and rubbed sweat out of his eyes. Pergann of Deva was dead. He had seen it as if right there with Ascol as he did the deed.

The cataclysm was looming closer.

He swung his legs out of bed and reached for his robe. He dressed quickly and left his room in search of the others. They needed to accelerate the plan.

* * *

1 ~ Morton

The column of soldiers climbed the rise in the highroad with banners held proudly overhead. Lord Keverin of Fortress Athione reined in and pointed ahead.

“There, see it?”

Julia nodded. She could see their destination now, made small with distance. From the vantage of the high road, she could see most of the tree filled valley laid out before her. A man made clearing had been cut in the forest and the beginnings of a town had sprung up athwart the road.

“It’s lovely here. How come it was never settled before?”

“It was,” Keverin said and pointed into the distance. “Those hills were mined for coal for many years.”

That startled her. Coal mining seemed a thing of her old world, but before Julia could voice her surprise she realised that she should have known there would be such things here. She had seen Athione’s treasure, and everyone carried swords and knives. Where else did metal come from but out of the ground? Of course, there were mines, but coal mines?

“We burn wood,” Julia said trying not to betray her ignorance, but it didn’t work. Keverin eyed her and his lips twitched. “You’re not going to tell me are you?”

“Tell you what, my lady?”

Julia sighed but her lips shaped themselves into a grin of their own accord. “It’s something to do with Chulym isn’t it?”

“Close. The coal was sold to the masters there. They were insatiable in Chulym’s heyday and bought it wherever they could. Smithies throughout the kingdom used Athione coal, but now they have to go elsewhere for it.”

“Oh?”

Keverin nodded. “There’s still coal down there I’m sure, but it’s too deep. We started losing men.”

“Gas?”

“Bad air.”

Julia took that to mean the same thing. “You said there was a town.”

“Gone now. My grandfather shut down the mine and there was nothing to keep the men there so they moved on.”

The river gleamed with the early morning sun, Julia could see that, but the trees were too dense to see much else. She couldn’t see anything resembling an abandoned town. Maybe it was near the old mine. Keverin urged Cavell to walk on and Julia nudged Ayita forward to keep pace with him. Behind her, the guardsmen escorting the wagons were chatting quietly among themselves. They descended into the valley and the trees closed in. They lost sight of the river and their destination, but the road was easy to follow even if it did need work. The verges were overgrown and many of the stones had shifted making the road uneven and in some places downright dangerous. Julia was careful and guided Ayita around the worst places.

“This needs work,” Keverin said looking around. “There was a time when this road was the most important one on my lands. Wagons full of coal would head south on it, and others north to the fortress carrying goods paid for with the profits. Now look at it.”

“I’m surprised you let it get this bad,” Julia said and he looked at her sharply. She grinned. “It’s your road, Kev.”

Keverin scowled. “My road it is, but there are others with destinations still worth visiting.”

“West Town will be eventually.”

“That’s why the road needs work—like I said.”

Julia laughed. “My… you are testy this morning.”

Keverin flicked a glance toward his men, but they were far enough back not to hear him easily. He leaned close and whispered, “I should have married you before we left.”

Julia smiled. That was one way of saying he missed her in his bed. She wouldn’t mind sharing her tent with him, but of course it wouldn’t be proper. Keverin was uncomfortable with his people knowing he had slept with her, not that they did much sleeping that night. No one could keep something so scandalous a secret for long. Fancy, a Lord Protector bedding a lady without marrying her. Horror of horrors! She snorted and he looked at her again with an eyebrow raised in enquiry.

“I don’t care what people say about me, Kev.”

“I do,” Keverin said firmly. “That night was wonderful Julia, but we can’t do it again until we’re wed.”

Julia nodded reluctantly. She had found people quite tolerant of her differences, but this was pushing it a little. They would never say anything of course, but they would think less of her if she allowed such goings on. She didn’t want that. Despite what she had just said to Keverin, she liked her new life and the people in it. She didn’t want to do anything to ruin it.

Julia brightened. “We could ask Father Tulley to marry us.” Tulley was the only priest within leagues. West Town was his parish.

“Gideon would be hurt, but we could do that,” Keverin said.

They looked at each other for a long moment then sighed in unison. “No,” they said together and laughed.

“I would marry you on the instant, Julia. I should have done it when I had the chance.”

“Something always seems to interfere. The war, Tancred poisoning, and now this. We can’t have a wedding without inviting Gy and Purcell in any case. Then there’s Jihan and Ahnao, Blaise and his father, Lucius and Lysara. I’ve never met Isolde, but I would like to. Do you think they would come all this way to see us married?”

Keverin smirked. “There’s no doubt of it my love. Purcell threatened to dump me in the horse trough if I chose Gy as sword brother.”

“And what did Gy say to that?”

“He said he would dump me in if I didn’t choose him!”

Julia laughed. She wouldn’t mind watching that… from a safe distance of course. “So choose Jihan. No one would dare try it with him as sword brother.”

“You’re right!” Keverin said but then he shook his head. “No, I’ve known Gy and Purcell for years. Jihan will understand.”

Jihan would understand, that was true, but it would solve a problem. Kev had been Jihan’s sword brother when he married Ahnao. It would be nice if he could return the favour and stand beside Kev.

“Maybe you’re right. I could always ask one of them to stand as my father.”

Keverin groaned.

“What?”

“If you do that they won’t know where to turn. Both of them want to stand with me, but when they hear you need one of them, they will both want to do that as well!”

Julia chuckled, he was right. “I thought Mathius could do it, but he’s my age. Besides, he’s my brother not my father.”

“Hmmm. What of this Best Man you spoke of? Perhaps Mathius could be that.”

“You have it backwards. A best man is for the groom—like a sword brother.”

“Oh.”

She would think of something. Mathius would like to be included. He was the last of Keverin’s mages—the last survivor from before her arrival. He would be hurt if she left him out. Maybe she should just go ahead and make him the bride’s father and damn the age thing? Julia sighed. It just didn’t feel right. She would give it more thought.

They reached the clearing around mid-morning. The trees had been felled to provide a space large enough for the folk of West Town to live and work, but most of the stumps had yet to be removed. There were tents and campfires all over with no obvious plan behind their positioning. Hundreds of men were hammering and sawing while their wives bustled about carrying things back and forth. A large group were working to prepare a community meal. Even the children were hard at work, though theirs was a different task. Father Tulley was the only teacher they had but his school was in full swing. The church had no doors, windows, or roof, but it did have walls. It was the only building anywhere near completion. Julia and Keverin’s arrival caused quite a stir. The menfolk downed tools and trotted to line the road cheering their lord and the wagons of supplies he brought. Someone called Julia’s name and the others took it up. She smiled and nodded to a face she knew here and there, but Keverin didn’t stop.

“Hurrah!”

“Hurrah for Keverin and Julia!”

“Hurrah!”

Julia smiled. Hurrah for twenty wagons of supplies too?

The new town was barely begun but Julia could see the work was progressing apace. The streets were laid out in straight lines with pegs and string. Someone was thinking ahead, she noted. The streets were wide. She was surprised to find the town square, which the church doors opened onto, already complete. The road had been widened to make a large paved square, and by the looks of the pegs, it would have buildings lining it all round. Further along there were foundations for houses lining the highroad with more following the lanes that branched from it. The lanes were little more than string and pegs as yet. Julia could see that Dergan was building for the future. The houses here in the centre of town would be three stories and by the look of those she could see, they would all have deep cellars.

“This is excellent,” Keverin said looking around in pleasure. “Truly excellent.”

“I agree, but why do you think so?”

“Market Square is more than big enough to accommodate a town twice the size of the old West Town, and they set it athwart the highroad.”

“You expect the town to grow?”

“Not necessarily, but I prefer this to the reverse.”

Julia nodded. “And it’s placement?”

“More trade,” he said simply.

If trade ever came, it would come via the highroad or the river. Dergan had allowed for the possibility. Another road, laid to join the centre of Market Square on one side, ran straight as an arrow to the river. There was a ramshackle jetty there. It looked old.

Keverin dismounted and lifted Julia down before turning to greet Father Tulley and Dergan. Tulley was a young priest. He hadn’t lived in West Town long before the evacuation, but even so, he had settled in and was respected by the people.

“My lord,” Tulley said with a bow. “My lady,” he bowed again. “Welcome to Morton.”

Julia gaped. “But…” How did they know?

“I told them,” Keverin said with a grin.

“We wanted to honour you, m’lady,” Dergan said into the hush that descended over the people. “The Lord said you have two names. Some said we should call it Julia Town, but I think Morton sounds better.”

“It does… I mean thank you.” Julia turned with bright eyes to scan the crowds of grinning folk. “Thank you all. My father would have been honoured to lend his name to such a wonderful place.”

Dergan grinned then scowled at all the onlookers. “Back to work! Back to work if you want a roof over your heads!”

Grumbles and chuckles abounded, but they knew Dergan was right. They dispersed to go back to building their homes.

“We have plenty of room to set the tents, my lord,” Tulley said and pointed toward the hundreds that were already up to house the townsfolk. “We have our meal at—”

Julia peered around at all the busy people and grinned at the children peeking hopefully out of the church. They wanted the rest of the day off. The sun said it was still only midmorning, but what harm in having a day off from school? Julia grinned again and decided to conspire with them.

“—generous, my lord. Wendell was bemoaning the lack only yesterday,” Tulley was saying.

Wendell was the smith for Morton. Julia raised an eyebrow, and Keverin nodded at the wagons. The guardsmen were moving off to set up a camp. The wagon drivers had pulled off the road and were moving toward the piles of lumber and stone awaiting the building projects. There was a good stock of building materials, but never was there enough for an entire town. The piles of stone seemed to dwindle as she watched. Lumber wasn’t a problem, there were millions of trees right nearby.

“He has his smithy built?” Keverin asked looking around.

“Not the walls, m’lord,” Dergan answered. “But we did the floor and foundations for him. We needed the forge first thing.”

Keverin nodded. “I don’t see it anywhere.”

“I’ll show you, m’lord. Wendell will be right pleased when he hears you brought his iron. He’s helping the others square wood for the church joists, but he prefers metal to wood.”

Keverin nodded. “Julia?”

“I’ll stay with the good Father. He can give me a tour.”

“Honoured, lady,” Tulley said with a bow.

“I will see you soon then,” Keverin said and turned back to Dergan. “Lead on.”

“This way, m’lord,” Dergan said and they wandered off chatting.

To Tulley’s great embarrassment, Julia took his arm and walked with him into the church. She grinned again to see all the little faces back at the benches hard at work.

“My, your children seem very hard working, Father. How ever do you do it?”

Tulley beamed at his students. “They are good, but I cannot take credit my lady.”

“Call me Julia won’t you?”

“Oh, oh… I couldn’t. You honour me lady, but I couldn’t.”

Julia sighed. “Lady Julia then. Please? For me?”

“For you my lady… Julia,” he said with a red-faced nod.

“You were saying about the children?” Julia said to distract him from his embarrassment. She’d had a lot of practise with this kind of thing.

“I was saying that I couldn’t take credit, Lady Julia. They have ever been well behaved—except one or two,” he said with a mild glare at the offenders.

Julia chuckled as the two boys bent to their work again. She walked behind a row of girls and peered over their shoulders. She would guess their ages ranged from seven up. The oldest was more woman than girl. She frowned at the childish hand most of them used to do their work. She leaned forward and took up one of the slates.

“Are they all like this?”

Tulley reached out to see what she had found. “Ah… yes. Most of them are, but they are new at this.”

“Oh?”

“Yes indeed, lady,” Tulley said and handed the slate back to the girl. “Lord Keverin has strong views.”

Julia knew that well, but what did that have to do with a child’s handwriting?

“The Lord has always encouraged the Church to teach his people—boys and girls both, but it’s not until now that I have been allowed to do so.”

“Allowed?” Julia said in puzzlement and looked around the church. There were more girls sitting here than boys, and the girl’s ages were higher. Most of the boys were less than eight years old she would say. “Who could prevent you?”

“The bishop, my lady.”

“Gideon?” Julia said in disbelief. “Why would he?”

“Not Bishop Gideon, my lady, his predecessor. Bishop Jymis and the Lord never did see eye to eye. Nobles are taught to cipher, common folk are not, but lord Keverin wished to extend the offer to all his people. Jymis refused as is his right as bishop.”

“But then Gideon was raised?”

“Yes, Lady.”

“Julia.”

Tully smiled at her correction. “That’s right, Lady Julia. Bishop Gideon sees things differently. He wrote to me and all his other priests encouraging us to seek out students for other lessons.”

“You have plenty here,” Julia said pleased with Gideon. “You teach them to read and write?”

Tulley nodded. “Ciphering, the art of the mathematic, scripture of course, history of Deva, some history of the Protectorate as well… the Protectorate is heavily linked with our past.”

“I understand. I don’t hate the Protectorate, Father, only those who would kill my people.”

Tulley’s face lightened. “There are many good people there. It’s a shame they are misled into heresy.”

“Heresy?”

“They believe that Lord Mortain is the voice of God on this Earth. They are mistaken.”

“And what is the view of the Church?”

“That heresy is the worst of crimes, but those deluded by the sorcerers are not to blame.”

“An enlightened view,” Julia murmured.

“The Holy Father would see them come to the true faith, but I do not see that happening. As long as the sorcerers hold sway and remain their people’s teachers, the heresy will continue.”

Julia nodded and walked along the rows noting that the lesson varied widely from student to student. Some of the older girls were practising the alphabet and they needed it. The younger ones seemed better at it and were writing sentences already. The boys were doing math. “You don’t teach one lesson at a time?”

“No Lady, of course not. Each child learns at his own pace, as do we all.”

Julia nodded. The children weren’t pressured to learn, and that was good, but teaching this way would take longer.

“Would you like another priest to help you?”

“Why? My duties are not burdensome. I would wish the other children here, but I am happy enough with these.”

“There are others?”

“Indeed. The older boys work alongside their fathers or are apprenticed in trade. They will not come, and many of the girls are kept back by their parents.”

That annoyed her. “I will talk to Keverin about it. I’ll see if he can’t make them release the children for part of the day—the morning at least.”

“Would you, Lady? That would please me greatly.”

“I can’t promise,” Julia warned. “But I will speak with him.”

“Thank you, Lady”

It was time for some conspiracy. “How about that tour?”

“The children—”

“Surely one day wouldn’t hurt?” Julia said smiling at the suddenly hopeful faces.

“I suppose… yes,” Tulley said and walked to the Altar. He clapped his hands for attention. “Lady Julia has asked for a tour of our town. You will have this day to yourselves. Thank the Lady.”

“Thank… you… Lady… Jul… i… a,” the children sing-songed together.

“You are welcome,” Julia said and smiled as they jumped to their feet.

“Walk! Don’t run!” Tulley shouted and the rush subsided a moment until they were outside. Screams of childish delight were raised and they ran off to play.

Julia and Tulley smiled as they left the church. “Full of energy,” she said.

“Too much, sometimes,” Tulley said as they crossed the square. “What would you see first, Lady?”

“Oh, I don’t mind Father. I’m here for a few days. No doubt I’ll have time to see it all. You choose.”

Tulley nodded. “Along this side we have the inn and its stables.”

“What about that one?”

“Houses, but they have yet to start on those. Too many stumps.”

Julia frowned. There were a lot of men stripped to the waist with spades and axes attacking the stubborn things. “Let us go see,” she said with a vague notion forming in her head.

“As you wish, Lady.”

They walked along the road toward the struggling men. Apart from the pegs, there was nothing to distinguish the road from the surrounding land. Stone was in short supply it seemed.

“Where does the stone come from for the roads?”

“Same place as for the foundations, Lady.” Tulley nodded toward the wagons being unloaded. “The stockpiles are all that is left from two seasons of work.”

“I meant the quarry.”

“Oh. The hills to the south have plenty of rock, Lady. There are heaps all around the old mine. It’s stone we are short of.”

“The mason?”

“Him and his apprentices are working non-stop and have been since this site was given us by the Lord, but they can’t keep pace.”

“What will you do when you run out?”

Tulley grimaced. “Use wood I suppose. That’s why we stopped using stone on anything other than foundations after finishing Market Square and River Road.”

“I’ll talk with Kev. Maybe we could reuse the old stone in West Pass.”

“Forgive my saying so Lady, but that would be more trouble than it’s worth,” Tulley said and at her surprised look he explained. “Stone is heavy. You can’t carry much in a wagon and Athione is a long way from here. Then there is the Gap to consider. We would have to build a sturdy bridge just to cart up a few blocks at a time. The wagons would make their way here, and then have to turn around empty for the return trip and—”

“I get the picture,” Julia said ruefully. “That means I understand,” she added at his confused look.

“Get the picture? Get the picture…” he said and shook his head very much like Keverin did when she said something he didn’t understand. “I like that, Lady. I have learned something this day.”

Julia smiled and stepped over the rope boundary of the road. They stopped to watch dozens of sweaty men heaving on ropes while others chopped frantically at stubborn root systems.

“Heave!” the first man on the rope shouted.

“And here she goes!” his comrades sang in response.

“Heave!”

“The God knows.”

“Heave!”

“And here she goes!”

“Heave!”

“The God knows.”

Tulley smiled and circled his heart. “He does know.”

Julia nodded her agreement. “He does, but that stump isn’t coming.”

“Redwood, Lady. They’re stubborn,” a sweaty man said leaning on his axe panting.

Julia pursed her lips in thought and stepped forward.

“Heave!”

“And here she… goes,” the song stuttered to a confused halt.

“Heave?” the man said one more time and stopped pulling.

“Do you mind if I have a look?” Julia asked the men as they brought their axes to the ground and leaned on them tiredly.

They were exhausted. Sweat rained from them and there shiny bodies bulged with muscle. Chopping roots and stump pulling were good ways to build strength, but she bet they would rather be putting up walls.

“What would you, Lady?” Tulley said.

“I might be able to help.”

“I don’t know… you are our Lady not a forester.”

Julia looked around uncertainly. “Am I doing wrong?”

“Not by me, Lady,” the leader on the rope said.

“Nor me…”

“… get the dang thing out of there…”

“Nothing wrong with helping folks, the God says…”

“She’s our Lady, not one of us…”

“Give over! She’s ours.”

Lots of nods to that last one and Julia blushed. She couldn’t help it. She always did flush easy. She needed to work on a tan to cover it! Everyone chuckled to see her, even Tulley.

“You don’t mind then?”

“Have a look, Lady. The God knows two days wasted on the cursed… pardon, Lady,” he said blushing himself now. “Two days wasted on a single stump is two days too many!”

“Too right!”

“The dang thing has nearly crippled me!” another voice, lost in the crowd, said.

Julia nodded and looked into the hole with her helper pointing out the trouble. There was a huge taproot gripping the soil, but there were many others with chop marks. By the looks of it the stump would be out soon without her help. The digging had already been done, and most of the roots were already severed.

“How many stumps have you done?”

“Hundreds, Lady.”

“Mind if I do this one?”

He looked at her uncertainly, but reached for a comrade’s axe. “It’s heavy,” he warned. “I think Father Tulley is right, Lady.”

Julia laughed as he offered her the huge axe. She doubted she could swing it let alone hit her target. She was more likely to cut her toes off than the roots.

“I’m not laughing at you,” Julia said and daringly squeezed his shoulder. He was all hard muscle, just like Kev. “I couldn’t lift that. I was going to use magic.”

“Good idea, Lady. These are dangerous,” he said swinging the axe easily and smacking the handle into his other palm.

“So is magic.”

Julia gestured everyone back. She was sure stumps had been burned out of the ground on her old world before machines were designed to do it quicker. Her magic could easily provide that and more, but a fireball could bounce. She chose an alternate method. She grasped her magic and sent fire in a controlled stream no thicker than her arm into the hole.

The roots exploded.

Julia ducked and scuttled back releasing her magic at the same time.

“Oooh!”

“Ahhhh!”

“Magic is wonderful stuff ain’t it?”

Lots of nods and appreciative murmurs.

Julia didn’t tell them that the explosion had been unexpected. The fire was so hot it had caused the moisture in the roots to expand into steam. She would have to be more careful next time.

“Heave!”

“And here she goes!”

And she did go. Julia grinned as the rope teams fell back as the stump popped free.

“Drag it there,” Julia pointed to a point well away from the next stump. “That one next?”

“Yes Lady, but she needs to be dug out first,” the gang leader said apologetically.

“Oh,” Julia said disappointed that she couldn’t help more.

Julia studied the stump knowing it would be stubborn like the other one had been, and an idea came to her. Back during the war, she had needed to get into a door blocked by fallen stone and timbers. She hadn’t been any good with her magic back then. She had succeeded through luck and desperation. Maybe she could do something here—just like the machines on Earth!

“I have an idea,” Julia said and grasped her magic.

She frowned in concentration and stroked the tree stump with an outstretched hand. She nodded as the feeling of the living wood came to her. She had it now, and heaved.

Eeeeeek! Snap! Crunch!

Julia ripped the stump out of the ground with ease. It didn’t feel heavy at all!

“By the God! Did you see that?”

“I am seeing it!”

Julia smiled and dropped her burden next to the other one. Her helper pointed to the next and the next and Julia ripped them out the same way. She soon got into a rhythm. Julia and her admirers wandered the clearing ripping out tree stumps and piling them in a central location for burning. It didn’t take people long to get used to the sight of a tree stump floating by.

“It’s noon, Lady. Time for a meal,” Father Tulley said.

Julia nodded and released her magic. “I’ll leave the rest for you,” she said to her new friends.

They bobbed their heads up and down and thanked her for the help. There were hundreds more to do, but it was their town. It wouldn’t be right to do it all for them.

“That was good of you,” Tulley said stiffly as they walked.

“Don’t be angry with me,” Julia said with a sigh. “I like helping people.”

“You are nobly born.”

“Not really…” she began, but his look stopped her.

“What would become of us all if the nobles left their castles to work next to their tenants?” Tulley said.

Might make for a better world, but Julia didn’t say that. “The lords would never do that.”

“You have.”

“But I’m different. I wasn’t born here.”

Tulley frowned. “We each have a place in this world. It is not good to forget that, or try to change it.”

Julia gaped. “The Church doesn’t teach that view…does it?”

“No, it’s my own.”

“It’s the wrong one,” Julia said firmly. “Gideon taught me that the God wants us to learn. What point in restricting ourselves? If we followed your way we would never learn anything new.”

“We are reborn time and again, Lady, sent back to learn. This is true, but the God sends us where he will, not where we would have him send us.”

“The point being?” Julia asked as they reached the tables.

“If He sends me back to learn what a priest knows, then I will be a priest and should not change it. If He sends me back as a lord, then he wishes me to learn what a lord knows. Do you see?”

“I see where you are heading, but you’re still wrong. Does the God say I must learn one thing at a time? Of course not. As you said earlier, we all learn at a different pace. If I learn all I can in this life, does that not mean I will be by his side that much quicker?”

Tulley frowned trying to puzzle it out. He still hadn’t answered when Kev sat by her side and reached for the bread.

“How is Wendell?” Julia asked him.

“Pleased to have the iron,” Keverin said and poured himself a mug of ale. “It’s good, want some?”

“A half mug, then,” she said and sipped it. It was good.

“Wendell has his forge, and now he has iron to work with he can start making hinges and such.”

Julia nodded. They had brought wagon-loads of iron, but that wasn’t all they brought. “What did he say about the nails?”

“He nearly wept with delight!”

Julia laughed. No smith liked making nails.

“What have you done to Tulley?” Keverin whispered as he leaned forward.

“Nothing. We did a little stump pulling,” she said and at his raised eyebrow, she explained. “I used magic to rip them out, but Tulley doesn’t approve of me.” Keverin’s brows lowered and she hastily patted his hand. “That came out wrong. He likes me, and I like him. He doesn’t like me lowering myself to help the folk here. It’s this noble and peasant thing again.”

“Ah,” Kev said and his features lightened.

Julia breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t want Keverin to upset Tulley by accusing him of disrespecting her. The poor man had enough on his mind without having his lord angry with him.

“We need more stone, Kev,” she said after swallowing a piece of cheese. It had a strong flavour and she cut another piece. “Tulley says they used it on River Road and Market Square. They can’t do much more without running out.”

“Wooden foundations won’t last,” Keverin said scowling.

“That’s what I thought.”

“We won’t send the empty wagons back just yet,” Keverin mused. “I think we should have a look at the quarry and see what might be done there.”

“Maybe I can help.”

Keverin smiled. “You always do,” he said and took her hand for a chaste kiss.

Julia smiled in pleasure. “I love you.”

“And I love you my lady. My lady Sorceress.”

A few days later, Julia and Keverin rode into the hills with twenty empty wagons clattering along in their wake. The trees gave way grudgingly as the hills came into sight and they were able to make better time. The forest had encroached so badly upon the road that at times Julia thought further progress was impossible. Keverin hadn’t hesitated. He and his men had simply dismounted, pulled axes from a wagon, and waded into the forest as if attacking a troop of bandits.

Quarry Road was a mere lane compared with the high road, but it was adequate for their needs. The large wheels of the carts were wide and strong. They coped well with the rutted lane. The stone that once covered the road was missing in places, perhaps swallowed by the earth in some long ago storm when the ground had turned to sludge. Keverin directed his men to take to the verges to protect their horse’s vulnerable legs. Julia followed suit. Although Ayita was doubtful, she settled down once on a relatively flat stretch of the verge.

“She doesn’t like this,” Julia said meaning the dew soaked ground.

“Her Dam never did like getting her feet wet,” Keverin said with a grin. “Temperamental she was, like all women.”

Julia gave him a dirty look. “Sensible if you ask me. Why walk on wet grass when you can stay dry on a nice stone road?”

“Ah yes, but we haven’t got a nice stone road.”

“We haven’t any stone either.”

“Not yet,” Keverin said.

Julia nodded. That was why they were riding out here. By rights, they should be on their way back to Athione now, but a little side trip wouldn’t hurt. In time they took to the road again as it made its way between hills somewhat larger than the others they had seen. Keverin sent scouts out wide as the hills closed in and obscured the road ahead. They were in the heart of Keverin’s lands, yet he took no chances. Reports of bandits and highway robbers did filter through to the fortress from time to time. The closer they came to the abandoned town of Dirlston, the better the road’s condition, adding credence to Julia’s earlier thought. The town was at a higher elevation and the ground was dryer—stonier too. Flooding hadn’t submerged the road and the blocks were still in place.

“It’s quiet,” Julia whispered staring around at the abandoned buildings as they made their way through the town. Many had collapsed under their own weight, but most still clung to their foundations like a stubborn old man clings to a favourite chair. “It’s scary.”

“There’s nothing to affright you here,” Keverin said, but his voice was hushed also.

The creaking of harness and the clatter of iron-rimmed wheels over cobbles was the only sound. Even the guardsmen looked warily around. Conversation lapsed as the men touched sword hilts to reassure themselves of their safety. Julia whirled to the right. She thought she'd seen someone at a window. The shadow—if shadow there had been—was gone now. A creaking door had her grasping her magic and jerking Ayita to a startled halt, but it was only the wind. She watched the door swinging playfully in the wind, and waited for her heart to slow.

God… she was shaking!

“Julia?” Keverin said reaching for her hand. “Are you well?”

“I’m well. I thought…” she shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

Keverin searched the empty windows and doors and stroked the hilt of his sword. He looked back to where his men fidgeted and beyond to the deserted buildings. “No birds,” he whispered. “Scouts out forward! A dozen men on all sides of my lady!”

“It’s nothing, Kev,” Julia protested over the clip clopping of hooves. “I’m fine.”

“Something feels amiss. Best be safe,” Keverin said easing his sword in its scabbard.

Julia bit her lip and said nothing more as they waited for the men to reform the column.

“At the walk, forward!” Keverin ordered and the column, this time in battle formation, moved out.

Julia kept her head swinging, constantly looking for threat to Kev, but saw nothing. More importantly, she felt nothing now. The sensation of menace had left as it came—without explanation. She kept a firm hold on her magic all the same. Market Square came and went and bird song returned.

“Maybe the noise scared them,” Keverin said doubtfully. “That might be it.”

He didn’t sound convinced, and neither was Julia. “Might it be brigands?”

Keverin nodded. “What better place to call home?”

Dirlston was a forgotten town. No one came here. Rather, no one had come here until now. With Morton being built not far away it wasn’t inconceivable for Dirlston to be repopulated. No, what point in opening a mining town without a mine?

“Who was Dirl?”

“What?” Keverin said taking his eyes reluctantly away from the empty windows.

“Dirl’s Town,” she nodded at the buildings surrounding them. “Dirlston.”

“My many times great-grandfather. He had the gift, you know.” Kev grinned. “You have seen him.”

“I have?”

“His portrait hangs in the east entry hall of the citadel.”

Julia remembered the image of a strong man with a stern expression. He was shown holding a staff barring the way into his citadel, which was rendered in the background in perfect detail.

“That’s Dirl?”

“Lord Dirl, eighth lord of Athione and Lord Protector of the West.”

“Which are you?”

“I am fourteenth lord. My line is unbroken in lordship of Athione. Few can boast such.”

Julia smiled at his quiet pride. Keverin was a noble in every sense of the word. He was tall and strong, implacable against enemies of Deva, but just. He was beautiful.

“Why does Dirl hang in the east entry and not the west?”

“He ordered it.”

“That’s it?” Julia said in surprise. “Why did he order it, and how long ago?”

“The story has it that he commissioned the portrait to thumb his nose at Deva and her king. Dirl’s father married a Hasian woman. When he died, she became regent for her son. The young Dirl was raised by her and idolised her. She was a remarkable woman by all accounts. At that time, King Roderick had plans to strengthen the kingdom. Deva was beset almost everywhere with raiders and rebellious lords. He planned to channel their restiveness into conquest. Dirl was sympathetic with his mother’s people. He stood in Roderick’s way.”

“Dirl barred his own king’s way into the west!”

“Ironic is it not?”

Athione was built to bar the sorcerers from entering Deva. Dirl had switched things around. Talk about irony.

“If he had let them pass we might not have fought the war last year.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Keverin said. “The sorcerers had yet to invade Hasa, but would they have stayed out of it? Roderick thought so. Dirl did not. Either way, it is certain you would not be here if not for him.”

Julia went cold at the thought of losing Keverin. “I will thank him in my prayers.”

“I doubt he sits by the God, Julia. He was a bit of a rogue by all accounts. He’s probably running around down here somewhere and loving every moment.”

Julia laughed at the image of a spotty teenager getting into mischief. “You said he had the gift?”

“Apparently so. There were more mages back then. Dirl ruled Athione four and more centuries ago.”

“So long?”

Keverin nodded. “The Founding of the Black Isle was almost twelve hundred years ago. We built Athione in eighty-one AF. Eleven hundred years she has been in my family. Dirl had the gift, but there have been others.”

“Perhaps our children?”

Kev took her hand. “Gift or no, our children will be special and we will love them.”

Julia brought his hand up to her cheek and then kissed his palm. “Soon.”

“Let it be soon.”

They rode out of Dirlston and followed the road until a few candlemarks later, they found the mine. The wagons pulled off to one side near some grassy hills that didn’t look quite right to Julia. She frowned at them in puzzlement.

“Slagheap.”

“What?”

“Those mounds. Coal and rock mostly.”

Keverin dismounted and lifted Julia down to greet Stefn and his three apprentices. Stefn had lived in West Pass all his life. The son of a mason, he had followed his father into the trade. He was in his fifties now, but still strong as the stone he cut everyday. His apprentices were made of lesser stuff. One of the apprentices, Bo, was his son, the other two were volunteers from Morton. All three were young and obviously unused to the heavy labour Stefn took for granted, but masonry was a good trade. They would learn. Stefn had more work on his hands now than ever in his life. He needed the help.

“Welcome, m’lord,” Stefn said with a bow. “M’lady,” he bobbed his head again then clouted his son’s ear. Bo was gaping at Julia. The boy looked down and bowed quickly. “Have you come for the stone, m’lord?” He said looking beyond Keverin to the wagons. “I ain’t got near enough for that lot.”

“We will take what you have my friend, but we came to see what might be done to speed things up. The stocks are dwindling.”

“Aye, m’lord,” Stefn said running a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. “I knew it would happen. I can’t do it any faster.”

“We shall see,” Keverin said. “Send your lads back to their work and show us what needs to be done.”

“You heard the lord, be off with you,” Stefn said and his apprentices trotted off.

Julia and Keverin flanked Stefn as he led them to his work. Julia looked around with interest trying to find the mineshaft. She found it easily, but it was just a hole in the ground. She was a little disappointed. She had hoped to find something worthwhile. She used her mage sight to look below the surface of reality and found what she was looking for. Below her feet, a network of interconnecting tunnels crisscrossed the entire area. They went down hundreds of yards or more. No wonder the miners had trouble with bad air. Julia followed the tunnels to the coalface. The seam of coal didn’t feel or look the same as the surrounding rock and shale. Patterns again. Coal seemed to have a grain quite unlike anything else she had seen. One thing puzzled her—the tunnels worked their way along the seam, so much was expected, but they followed a minor seam. Perhaps two hundred yards further down, there was a huge cavern excavated and a tunnel leading from it. A pocket of coal? Must have been, but why not follow the mother load? The seam they had followed was nothing compared to the one she found with ease. It didn’t make sense.

“Julia?” Keverin said.

“Hmmm?”

“I was just saying to Stefn that we could have some people up here to excavate the rock for him.”

Stefn nodded. “It would be a big help lady, no question about it, but I can’t do the work any faster. They will just have to wait.”

“They can’t wait,” Julia protested.

“Why?” Stefn said looking from her to Keverin and back.

Keverin grinned and waited for her to answer. Why couldn’t they wait? Well there was… and then… hmmm. They could wait actually, but Julia knew they wouldn’t. That was the reason. Keverin didn’t want a town made of wood. They were building for the generations.

“They could wait Stefn, but you should know your neighbours. Do you believe they will wait for your stone when there are hundreds of trees right nearby?”

Stefn scowled. “Wood? That’s no way to build anything to last.”

“I agree, but when a man has a wife and children waiting for him to provide a home for them, what is he to do?”

“You’re right. They won’t wait, but I can’t go faster. Not won’t—can’t.”

“Show us,” Julia said and Stefn led the way.

“This place is good for brick making, Lady. Plenty of shale and such was dug out of the mine, but it still takes as long as it be takes. Nothing can change that.”

Julia pursed her lips at what she found. To one side, one of the mounds had been excavated for the shale Stefn mentioned. A lot had been discarded—coal mostly—but materials seemed plentiful nonetheless. In the centre of the open space were rows and rows of kilns connected by brick tunnels so that the heat from the preceding kiln wasn’t wasted.

“Bricks…” Julia murmured to herself trying to see a way to speed it up. “What if I used my fires to speed the drying?”

“No!” Stefn cried in alarm. “Don’t do that, Lady. Too fast and they will shatter, too slow and they won’t be strong enough. It takes years of practise. We can’t go faster.”

“I’ll have some men come up to help with the digging,” Keverin sighed. “That will help at least.”

“There must be more that we can do,” Julia protested. “What about stone blocks?”

Stefn nodded to a small pile of rock. “I do them while the bricks are firing but they take even longer. I charge more for them of course, but it won’t matter how much I charge if everyone uses wood.”

“Precisely,” Julia said following Stefn to another area. “You found all this here?”

“Aye,” Stefn said with pride. “It’s a good place this. The soil is thin here in the hills.”

“How long did it take you to cut that many?” Keverin said nodding at enough rectangular sandstone blocks to half fill just one of his wagons.

“Near on a tenday, m’lord, but we have a couple of wagons full of fired brick you can take.”

“Nowhere near enough.”

“No m’lord, sorry m’lord,” Stefn said downcast.

“Not your fault,” Julia said trying to cheer the man while glaring at Keverin. He didn’t have to be so blunt. “I’m sure old West Town wasn’t built in a day.

“Ten years,” Keverin said.

“What?”

“West Town took ten years to grow from a few houses into the town I burned to the ground.”

Ten! “We can’t wait that long. What about winter?”

“That’s not a problem. I will build wooden huts for them so that they can live, and then replace them as I can with brick.”

“But you know what will happen,” Julia protested. “Morton will stay like that and the first fire will destroy it.”

“What else can we do?”

Julia picked up one of Stefn’s stone bricks. It was heavy with sharp edges and felt good in her hand—solid and strong. She wanted millions of them to build the town—the town with her name. But how?

“How do you work? Mallet and chisels?” Julia said noting the tool marks.

Stefn frowned. “What other way is there?”

“Magic made Athione they say,” Julia said and Keverin looked at her sharply. “No, I don’t know how they did it, but maybe I can make more of these,” she said studying the block with mage sight.

“If you can do that lady, you should be the mason.”

“It’s in a good cause Stefn,” Julia chided. “Besides, any I make you get to sell.”

Stefn grumbled about tradition being upset and the like, but he watched with the same interest that Keverin showed.

The pattern of the block seemed simple enough. It was the same as the natural rock in the ground except the pattern didn’t flow unending. Instead, it was hemmed in by the shape of the block and turned back on itself. She dropped the brick and grasped her magic. The cleared area was the logical place to make them so she stepped onto the shelf of rock Stefn’s apprentices had cleared for him. He had cut a section near one edge and she used that as her starting point. She could see a fault line running diagonally across the shelf as clear as day with her mage sight and tried to avoid it. She was sure that crack went deep. It would ruin any bricks cut from there. Focusing her magic on the rock, Julia twisted and wrenched the pattern she found there.

GRRrrrrrrrRRRRRrrr.

Julia staggered as the ground heaved beneath her feet. She heard the shouts of men and the squeals of horses over the rumbling beneath her feet. They were shouting of earthquakes and the like, but this was no earthquake. Julia watched as her magic forced the pattern to twist sickeningly. It seemed wrong, twisting nature. There was surely a better way. She managed to keep her feet as the ground heaved and vomited her bricks. Sweat was beading upon Julia’s brow as she moved across the shelf ripping and tearing at nature. Finally, she reached the end of the rock shelf and stopped her vandalism feeling a little queasy. She knew it was necessary—they needed the stone, but twisting nature was wrong. She knew it was… she felt it was. Julia shook her head at the thought and took a shaky breath. Wherever she looked, she found loose blocks of stone shimmering with heat.

“They’re hot!” Stefn said glaring with his fingers in his mouth. “Why lady?”

“I don’t know,” Julia said, but she did.

Magic was a kind of energy. By forcing it to change the stone into what she desired, she had transferred some of it into the stone. The only way for the blocks to release it was by radiating heat. She knew she was doing it wrong somehow. It seemed wasteful this way. She was sure there must be a better one.

“Are they all right?” Julia said worriedly. There were hundreds here. If they weren’t they would be wasted.

“They seem to be, Lady. Wait a moment,” he trotted off and came back with his hammer. “Best be sure,” he said and struck the brick a hard blow.

Clung! Clank.

“Well I’ll be—” Stefn said staring at his broken hammer. “Never seen the like of it.”

“I’m sorry,” Julia said.

She hadn’t done it quite right. The pattern in Stefn’s brick was truncated and turned back on itself, but hers was whole. She couldn’t see a break or join in the flow of the pattern anywhere, and the grain seemed different than before. It no longer matched the native sandstone in pattern or appearance. If she didn’t know better, she would have said her bricks had been cut elsewhere from some other kind of stone. They didn’t look like any kind of sandstone she had ever seen. The pattern flowed evenly in one direction along the length of the brick.

“Don’t be, it was an old one,” Stefn said with a grin. “I let the lads use it. I never let them use my good tools.”

“I’ll have the men load them up,” Keverin said gingerly checking for heat. “They seem cool now. How many did you make?”

“I don’t know. I just made the shelf change into bricks.”

Keverin nodded. “Enough for our wagons anyway.”

Julia nodded but it soon turned out differently. She had done more than she knew with her foolish twisting and wrenching. A short time after the men began loading the wagons, Keverin noted the hillside had slipped. He shrugged his shoulders and said it was the earthquake, but it wasn’t.

“Lord!” Alvin cried. “Come look at this.”

Keverin went to investigate Alvin’s discovery, and Julia followed feeling vaguely puzzled and upset. Twisting nature wasn’t what she wanted to do. She wanted to make things that were in harmony with it. There must be a better way than wrenching patterns out of shape. She needed to make her own patterns… or something.

Keverin crouched down and looked at what Alvin had found.

“I’m taking them out m’lord, but look.”

Julia watched as Alvin continued removing bricks from the ground. He was knee deep, now waist deep, and still the bricks went down. She swallowed sickly. The hillside had slipped because it now consisted of bricks—all the way through. The turf was the only thing stopping the hillside from sliding in a heap of bricks down the road.

“I didn’t mean to,” Julia whispered.

“This is a good thing,” Keverin said giving her a little shake. “A good thing, Julia. We need them.”

“It’s not. I wanted enough to fill the wagons, not this. I can’t control what I do, Kev. What would have happened if I’d tried for this many? I might have buried us all!”

“Calm down,” Keverin said with another shake. “We are safe, the bricks are made, and Morton will be built properly. I have faith in you. You won’t let anything bad happen.”

Julia nodded jerkily. “I swear I won’t.”

“No need,” Keverin said. He flicked a look over her shoulder. “Stefn is a little upset.”

Julia turned to find the mason staring sickly at the unending stream of bricks flowing into the wagons. “Oh lord, what shall I say to him?”

“Say you’ll let him keep half the profit for showing you how to do it.”

“Half? He should have it all.”

Keverin shook his head emphatically. “You will insult him. Pay he can accept, but not charity.”

Julia nodded. Keverin had known Stefn the longer. She wandered over to the downcast mason. He was talking quietly with his apprentices and they weren’t happy. Julia sighed; she had gone wrong again. Whenever she used her magic to do something other than fight, she always managed to upset people or tradition.

“…back to East Town, Da?” Bo was saying.

“I think it might be for the best,” Stefn said grimly.

“Don’t do that Stefn,” Julia said. “Morton is your home now, or it will be.”

“There is nothing here for me now, Lady.”

“Our new bricks won’t build a town, Stefn. There aren’t near enough of them.”

“They are yours, Lady.”

Julia tried to look surprised. “Why do you say that? We made them together.”

Stefn looked down. “I know no magic.”

“No, but you showed me how to do it with your bricks. I will be going back to Athione soon and you will have to continue the work we started. These new ones will help the shortage, but you know they will run out soon enough.”

Stefn looked up hopefully. “But I thought—”

“What?”

“I thought the hill…” he broke of in confusion.

Julia summoned a smile. The entire hill was made of bricks just as he thought, but even that many would run out before half of Morton was built.

“Don’t be silly,” Julia laughed gaily. “You know,” she said in a off-hand way. “Once you sell all these to Dergan, you’ll be able to hire some more young men to keep the kilns running. You can train Bo to do the stone ones.”

Bo looked hopeful. “Can we, Da? I know the clay already, and I never break ‘em in the kiln. Can I do the stone now?”

“Quiet boy,” Stefn said gruffly, but his face had lightened. “They are yours, Lady. I won’t hear different.”

“And I won’t take your charity, Stefn the mason,” Julia said trying not to laugh at the outrage on his face.

“My… my charity! I won’t take yours, Lady!”

“Good then. Half are yours, half are mine, but you sell them for me.”

Stefn spluttered at the notion. “You tricked me!” he said with his lips twitching. “You’re a tricksy one and no mistake.”

“You have no idea. My half of the money will go to Dergan for the town.”

Stefn gaped. “But he will buy more bricks with it!”

“I know,” Julia said smugly.

Keverin came up to her and listened to the spluttering mason with a raised eyebrow. “Is all well?”

“Aye,” Stefn sighed scratching his head. “Your lady is different, Lord.”

“She is special,” Keverin agreed looking down at Julia fondly and making her squirm. “We must be off to Dergan with that little lot.” He nodded at the nearly full wagons. “You will have to work hard my friend. I want a prosperous town not a trail camp of wood.”

“Perish the thought, m’lord,” Stefn said. “Stone is best.”

As they were mounting up to leave, Julia noted Keverin doing something with his saddle. “What have you there?”

“My new paperweight,” Keverin said with a grin. “A token to remember this day.”

Julia shook her head as he secured a single brick with a piece of twine and hung it from his saddle. Keverin mounted Cavell and together they trotted to the fore. The wagons pulled into line and the guardsmen moved into position with lots of prancing horses bumping each other. Julia and Keverin trotted down the road for a little way to give the wagon drivers some space before slowing to a walk. Julia breathed deeply. She shut her eyes and smiled into the sun’s warmth. It had all worked out for the best after all.

“…Stefn?” Keverin said.

“I’m sorry?”

“I asked what you did to Stefn.”

“I split the profit as you said, but told him to give my half to Dergan to buy more bricks for the town.”

Keverin guffawed. “No wonder he looked as if he’d been bashed on the head!”

Julia grinned and changed the subject. “Your mine has plenty of coal in it you know.”

“I told you it did.”

“No, I mean I saw it down there. It’s not deep Kev. The miners went the wrong way into a seam.”

Keverin raised an eyebrow. “You saw it with magic?”

Julia nodded. “There’s a large cavern almost directly below Stefn’s kilns. The tunnel continues on from there, and it goes very deep, but if they had dug westward, they would have found a huge seam much nearer the surface.”

“Why didn’t they then?”

“Maybe they didn’t know it was there?” Julia said doubtfully. “You did say the mine is old. Dirl must have been long dead when that cavern was created. Did they have a mage to point the direction?”

“I don’t know, but probably not,” Keverin said. “You know what this means?”

“I have some idea.”

“It means Morton will have trade. This is wonderful news Julia. You know I have worried about that side of things.”

Julia nodded, so had she. “Morton is too far from the mine though isn’t it? Dirlston is closer.”

“True, but you know Dirlston was always badly placed. The ground is too stony, and the only water is a single well that goes down a hundred yards or more. The farms will have to be leagues away to find good soil and water. Dirlston is safe from flooding, I grant you, but the well runs dry every other summer. And then there’s the river to consider.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing is wrong with it but its distance from here. Morton sits astride the high road to the south, but it also sits close to a bend in the river. It’s the perfect place. The river is like a highroad too, but it’s faster than any road.”

“But the mine is way up here,” Julia protested.

“True, but that’s good in a way. Wagoners will come and bring more trade with them. Merchants will come to buy the coal, and their money will attract others here. It will take time. Dirlston wasn’t built in a day, nor will Morton be, but it’s a good start for a new town.”

“I’m glad.”

Keverin smiled.

They entered Dirlston and Keverin sent scouts out forward. They had seen no sign of brigands but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Keverin was unwilling to take chances. The first they knew of an attack was Ayita rearing and falling with an arrow standing out of her neck. Julia landed hard and grunted as the horse crashed to the ground squealing in pain. Her head cracked against the cobbles in an explosion of pain. A light seemed to flash in her eyes and she saw stars for an age of time. The pain in her head was terrible, but the thought of Keverin being hurt was worse. Julia staggered to her feet only to fall again. Her head was bleeding and the world was spinning.

“Athione!” Keverin roared in rage. “Charge!”

“Athione!”

“Athione and Julia!” Keverin responded to his men’s shout as Cavell slammed into a troop of brigand three-score strong.

Julia tried to grasp her magic, but it was elusive and she was unable to hold it. She swore and raged at herself, but no matter her desperation, she could not grasp the medallion glittering in her mind’s eye. She watched the fight as the world spun about her. She was sinking into the cobbles, or were they rising up around her? There was nothing she could do but watch.

“Oh, God…” Julia groaned trying to stop her rebellious stomach from emptying itself over the cobbles.

* * *

Keverin hewed a man out of his saddle and then another. His rage was incandescent. Keverin didn’t feel the wound the brigand dealt him, but the brigand felt his. He screamed as his arm fell to the cobbles, but only for a moment. Keverin’s sword found the man’s throat.

“Athione!” Keverin roared into the dead man’s face as he fell from his horse.

“Athione!” Alvin shouted with his voice cracking. Young he might be, but Alvin knew his duty. He cut a man down who was intent on killing his lord from behind, only then did he raise his shield and block another chop aimed to kill him. The blade careened off the top edge of his shield missing his face by mere inches. He didn’t give the brigand a second chance.

Keverin threw himself out of his saddle and dragged a man attempting to bypass him from his. The brigand was going for Julia. He was as certain of it as he was of his own name. Why didn’t matter, that he die, did. On the ground fists and feet hammered him, but Keverin shrugged them off to stab the man to the heart with his father’s dagger. The man was another Tanjuner!

What by the God is a Tanjuner doing here?

Back on his feet, Keverin slammed a gauntleted fist into a horse’s face. The horse went down kicking and squealing. A quick thrust ended its rider’s life. It was another swarthy-faced man. He spun around. They were too well equipped to be brigands. He didn’t know what he had here. They were too far west to be Tanjung Regulars. Purcell had fought them last year, but that was to be expected. Purcell was Lord Protector of the East, and Tanjung was in the east.

Assassins! What else could they be? Lucius had been plagued by them last year, and there had been that pair of street thieves in East Town not too long ago. The attack upon Julia had puzzled him at the time. Everyone knew who she was and that she was a sorceress. Only a fool would attack a mage, yet both men had died trying to do just that. Julia had been very upset by their deaths. She hated killing. Keverin looked hastily around for something that could explain what he had here. All around was chaos. Men were dying, horses too, but Keverin breathed easier when he realised that his men had the upper hand. That changed when he saw Julia crawling upon the road. She was hurt!

The assassin saw her at almost the same moment.

“No!” Keverin raged and ran for the man, but he couldn’t reach him in time. “Julia!” he screamed in despair.

Alvin whipped his head around at the anguished scream and saw The Lady on the ground with a brigand bearing down on her. “Yah!” he shouted and booted his horse into a desperate gallop.

* * *

Julia fumbled at her girdled waist and presented her dagger in a shaking hand. Her vision doubled and tripled then came back to normal with the brigand much closer. Keverin was safe, was the thought that skittered through her mind as the man jumped down from his horse to kill her.

Julia swiped the knife at him, but he smacked her hand aside and raised his sword. Alvin raced toward her like a dream. He cast his shield aside as he bore down on her murderer. He thundered toward her, but Julia knew it was too late. The brigand’s sword was already on its way down. The world slowed and narrowed to that glinting blade coming for her. She watched it descend as if mesmerised.

Alvin arrived and the brigand’s head leapt free of his body. Blood fountained into the air and the body fell aside. Julia watched the wide-eyed face tumbling upward in an arc to fall moments later. The sound of it hitting the cobbles was horrible. A sort of squishy hollow sound she would never forget. Her gorge rose as the eyes rolled looking at her, but then they stilled in death. Alvin thundered by with his sword still following through. Time returned to normal and with it the screams of the wounded and dying. Julia’s senses reeled and she collapsed back to the road.

“Julia?” Keverin said. “Julia! Wake up, you have to stay awake!”

“Tired,” she protested.

“Stay awake! Your head is broken. You have to stay awake my love. Don’t leave me!”

“Never,” Julia said and forced her eyes open as Alvin rushed to do something to her head. She winced as he dabbed at the blood and pressed gently.

“Thank the God!” Alvin said in relief. “Her head is whole m’lord! She has a nasty bump the size of an egg but that’s all.”

“But she can hardly keep her eyes focused on me,” Keverin said worriedly.

Julia tried to sit up but she didn’t have the energy. She was so tired of fighting, when would they let her rest?

“She was knocked senseless I reckon m’lord,” Udall said from somewhere nearby. Julia couldn’t see him. All she saw was Keverin’s worried eyes.

“She will be all right, m’lord.”

“Don’t worry so much…” Julia said and blackness swallowed her.

* * *

2 ~ Shaman

Shelim rode at an easy pace. In reality, he lay asleep, but knowing this didn’t help. He had yet to find a way of controlling his dreams. He would keep trying, he had no choice. He patted Nyx on her muscled neck and breathed deeply, but his smile turned to a frown when he smelled smoke on the breeze. He turned in the saddle looking for the source. The day was brilliant and the air clear. The sky was the colour of his mother’s eyes, sapphire blue and beautiful. No sign of smoke up there, nor cloud either. He twisted around. Behind him, his trail stretched into the distance, but again there was no sign of fire. A dream… did dream smoke on the wind mean anything, and if it did, what did it portend? Shelim turned to Kerrion to ask him and gasped in horror. His mentor was shrivelled and wizened beyond belief. Kerrion was old, everyone knew it, but this was ridiculous! He must be a hundred at least! Kerrion turned to him and Shelim gasped again. Half his mentor’s face was a ruin of burned and suppurating flesh, while the other was as he had always been.

Shelim recognised this Kerrion. His thoughts flashed back to his manhood ceremony, almost a year ago now. He had drunk Tancred along with the others and had dreamed so strongly he flew to Deva. There, in a huge stone tent he found Kerrion injured and attended by the outclan woman. Kerrion was injured in battle, or would be. He frowned. A shaman never joined battle or went raiding.

“What happened?”

Kerrion smiled at him fondly. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Of course I worry!” Shelim snapped. “This is the future… is it not?” he said suddenly unsure.

“One of many.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will in time,” Kerrion said turning to look behind him.

Shelim looked back and saw two distinct trails in the grass. “Teach me, Mentor.”

“The future is slippery, my boy. I told you once that I could divine with the aid of the drug. You don’t need it. Both are true, but what you must realise is that the future is not fixed. We don’t go through life following a trail laid down for us by the God.”

“But… how can we know what will happen?” Shelim said in confusion. “What then is divining?”

“Good, Shelim. You are thinking,” Kerrion said in approval. “Divining shows us what may happen.”

“Only what may?”

“Only that, my boy. Of course one of the many futures will happen and then it will be called the past. We can look backward much easier than forward.”

“To see what happened, and learn by the doing?”

Kerrion nodded. “By watching past mistakes, we try to void future ones.”

“There is a way to find the most likely possibility?”

“Yes indeed! By viewing each we weigh the possibilities hoping to find the one most likely to occur. Steering away from that one is the hardest of all. Try to imagine everyone in the clan riding with us but each in his own direction. The trails left in the grass would be confusing. The possible futures are endless, many times more confusing than those trails.”

“How will I know?” Shelim said and Kerrion showed him.

“Like this.”

Shelim blinked, the plain was gone. He was riding beside an outclan woman wearing the leathers of a shaman. No woman was ever a shaman, but he looked at her without surprise. He knew her… but he had never met her. He rode on her left, while Kerrion stayed to her right.

“…are the one Julia,” Kerrion was saying.

“I know old man, you told me long ago,” Julia said coldly.

His mentor had changed, Shelim saw. He was still ancient, but the terrible burns had healed. Half his face looked as if it had melted. The hollow eye socket was a horror.

Where… what… when was this?

The woman was young seeming, perhaps thirty summers. Shelim wished he could look at himself in his mirror. He was afraid of what he might see—himself at his father’s age?

Kerrion blinked in confusion. “No… we haven’t met you yet.”

Shelim gaped. “Kerrion?”

“What is it my boy?”

“How can we be here if we haven’t met yet?”

Kerrion laughed and waggled his remaining eyebrow. “This is a dream Shelim. Ride it out and try to remember all you see. It’s important.”

“But—”

The outclanner interrupted. “I will decide what I will do, not you old man,” Julia said coldly.

Shelim was shocked. Kerrion was a shaman and due proper respect. Outclanner this woman might be, but that didn’t excuse her lack of common courtesy.

“The prophecy—”

“Said that the End Times are coming,” Julia finished for Kerrion. “That is done with old man. I have personal business to attend.”

“He’s dead, child,” Kerrion said kindly. “He wouldn’t thank you for killing yourself too.”

“I do this for myself, not him.”

“Do what?” Shelim said in confusion.

Julia turned toward him and Shelim gasped. Her eyes burned with rage and madness. “This,” she said and swept her arm in an arc ahead of them.

The world changed.

They were no longer on the plain. He didn’t know where they were, but cities had no place on the plain. It was burning, that city. Clouds of smoke billowed into the sky and the stink of burned flesh was heavy on the air. Dead horses and men lay carpeting the ground in all directions for as far as he could see. Hulking metal shapes he had no name for lay abandoned some half melted or buried. Men wearing metal shells lay dead next to others wearing ones made of leather. Black robed men lay in heaps where they had died fighting together, but worst of all, intermingled with them were clan warriors and shaman. He groaned. There were many thousands dead here, many, many thousands.

“Why?” Shelim gasped. “Why…”

“Why did I kill them all?” Julia asked.

“Yes.”

“Because I am the One, because they understand nothing but force, because there was no one else… and because I wanted to.”

“Wanted to…” Shelim whispered sickly.

Julia looked around with a small smile on her face. “They thought to take my people back through the gate. They were wrong wouldn’t you say?”

Kerrion nodded sadly. “Very wrong. You warned them, but they wouldn’t listen.”

“How can you be so calm!?” Shelim shouted.

“Would you have me cry?” Julia sneered. “I have cried enough over this land. It is time for my enemies to weep, and they will. Oh yes, they will weep,” she chuckled madly.

Shelim glanced worriedly at Kerrion, but his mentor was dismounting and didn’t see. He jumped down to help him with whatever he had found.

“What is it, Mentor?”

Kerrion was weeping silent tears from his remaining eye. “Don’t come any closer, Shelim.”

“What… who is it?” Shelim said and bent to look. He had to know. On the ground was a… a thing that had once been a man. Its chest was a gaping hole and something writhed inside the shattered rib cage—maggots. It was Tomik.

“NOOOOO!” Shelim bolted awake with the cry building in his throat. He strangled it and staggered out of the tent.

Shelim sat cross-legged in the grass and shut his eyes trying to hold in the wail of grief that threatened to burst from him. He breathed deeply and composed himself. His father wasn’t dead… but what if? No! Tomik wouldn’t die… but his dreams were never wrong—never! Shelim rocked back and forth in agitation. He had dreamed of Nerina falling from her horse and she did. He had dreamed of Nyx before ever laying eyes on her and knew she would be his no matter that Bardan later refused to trade. He had known beyond doubt or question and so it had come to pass. He had dreamed of riding Nyx to battle. Even knowing shamen never fought in war, he believed it still. All these things he had dreamed before his manhood ceremony made him a give up the warrior’s life to become a shaman… and now he dreamed his father’s death. But wait… wait now. He hadn’t dreamed that he would be a shaman had he? He hadn’t dreamed that he would lose the life he had loved to become a despised shaman, but did that mean anything? Kerrion… the Kerrion of his dream said the future wasn’t fixed. He said a dreamer could learn what might happen and change it! What might happen! That meant what he saw was only one of many possibilities. Tomik might die… or he might not. His death in that battle was only one of many possibilities, just as Nerina’s fall had been. That she fell meant only that she had failed to heed his warning that day. Nothing more.

“I swear by the clan you will not die, father. I swear it!”

Shelim rose to his feet and ducked into the tent. He snagged his tunic and slipped quietly outside careful not to wake Kerrion. Denpasser was empty of people, but walking around in only his leggings felt wrong. He waited until he was outside to pull it on, the rattling of the beads might wake his mentor. Shelim watched the sun rise over the plains and thought back over the last few seasons. He had learned so many strange things, it felt as if his old warrior self had died and been reborn. He would never have guessed two summers ago he would become a shaman and be glad of it! A time of change was coming to the people, and if they did not change with it, they would disappear from the memory of the land. How fitting then that his manhood ceremony marked the beginning of the changes.

Winter had finally given way and Denpasser looked different. The gather had ever been an exciting event to him waiting just over the horizon. Denpasser had always looked new to his eyes, but living here for so long made him yearn for a different view. The river just ahead chuckled and splashed as it always did, and the wind blew the long grass flat as it always did, and even the ruins no longer held the same fascination they once had.

No one, not even Kerrion knew what significance Denpasser used to have, or so he said. Was the ruin a place to meet with the clans and outclan traders even thousands of years ago? Or did the ruins mean the clans once lived inside stone as the Lost did? He couldn’t believe that. Every clansman had a horror of cities, and anyway, Denpasser was the only stone tent on the plain. It was large, but never was it big enough for more than a single tribe to live in, even if they would. Shelim studied the ruin yet again trying to solve its puzzle. The hole in the wall where a door used to hang was eight yards across—easily big enough for a dozen warriors to enter walking side by side. That wasn’t the half of it though. Wide the doorway might be, but the height of it was ridiculous! The thing was taller than it was wide! Why make something without reason like that? Kerrion said that the holes in the sides were called windows, but they seemed small in comparison to the door. Inside was just as much of a puzzle. There were several dish shaped depressions in the floor. None had any use he could see. Along the sides and rear walls, there were stone benches arranged in tiers that could seat an entire tribe without crowding, but had they been used for that purpose, or something else? No one knew. Kerrion knew the history of the people better than any other, but all he would say about Denpasser was that it had been built more than ten thousand summers ago. When Shelim asked how he knew, his mentor had shooed him outside. The lesson in magic that Kerrion had given him had made him sweat so much that he forgot to ask again.

Might he be able to dream the building of it? Shelim dismissed the puzzle as unsolvable and turned to regard the tent flap. There was no movement within. Kerrion was old. He would be a while yet in waking, but food was in order, so Shelim went to examine their dwindling stores. How he was supposed to make something tasty out of bison meat that had sat here for four seasons he didn’t know. It was still edible smoked as it was, but even bison meat became bland after eating it every day for this length of time. Shaking his head at the tough strip of meat, Shelim dropped it back onto its hook.

“What we need is some fresh food.”

Nyx could use some exercise. Maybe he could ride out and find a stray from the herds. There were always herds of bison on the plains. Some were huge with more than one tribe following them, others were too small to support the people. With luck, he might find one of them. With a definite plan in mind, Shelim fetched his bow and was soon riding away. This was what the people were born for, he thought as the wind blew his long hair behind him and made the beads on his tunic rattle. He urged Nyx into a full gallop. In no time she was racing over the grass so fast it was as if she was trying to take to the air and fly. Shelim’s full-throated shout echoed back to him from the empty plains announcing his joy to the land.

It was around mid-morning when Shelim decided to turn back empty handed. Rather than retrace his route he decided to circle around. He might yet be lucky and find a stray on the way back. If not, well there was always tomorrow and he had enjoyed the ride. He knew Kerrion would want to begin today’s lesson soon, and he didn’t want to keep his mentor waiting. On the way, Shelim noticed some tracks that should not have been there. He dismounted to investigate but what he found made him frown in puzzlement. The grass lay crushed as if a herd or tribe had journeyed this way recently, but clan horses didn’t leave prints like this. Anyway, the people weren’t due back this way for tendays yet. Outclanners had been here, he had no doubt. Clan horses were unshod, but the prints showed a telltale pattern of iron shoes. There must have been a large group of them to tear up the land to this extent, but the tracks were old. He couldn’t tell how old with his usual accuracy—metal shoes left a deeper print. These were faint, but surely not faint enough to be more than a couple of tendays old.

Shelim shielded his eyes to search the horizon. He had dreamed of smoke. Could there be a connection? He found the sky like his dream, both cloudless and smokeless. He had assumed the smoke was due to the burning city, but it couldn’t have been. He had smelled it before Julia appeared and showed him the burning city. He remounted Nyx and followed the tracks south until he came to the remains of a camp. He could see nothing out of the ordinary, but the absence of bison tracks and droppings nearby confirmed his thoughts. Outclanners, no question. He dismounted to investigate the remains of a camp fire, but it was old. He hesitated a moment, but decided not to follow further. Kerrion needed to hear about this. He could easily pick up the trail later if need be.

Cantering back to Denpasser, Shelim wondered what a hundred or more outclanners were doing crossing the plains. They were running a big risk doing it in the first place, let alone doing it when the clans were on their way to the Gathering. The people did welcome outclan traders to the Gather, but at any other time they were… discouraged from venturing far onto the plain. At the last few Gathers, Shelim had noticed many of the familiar outclan faces had stayed away. That seemed strange now he thought about it. War would keep traders off the plain, but the clans lived in peace and had done so since before he was born. The tracks weren’t heading toward Denpasser in any case, but toward the south. That meant they had crossed nearly three-quarters of the plain from the north. There was no way for them to reach so far without encountering a tribe or clan of the people so they must have traded for free passage. Shelim couldn’t think of any reason for a chief to grant an outclanner such a boon, but at least one must have.

“I’ll ask Kerrion what he knows about this.”

Shelim rode back into camp to find Kerrion already breaking his fast. He rubbed Nyx down and went to join his mentor.

“Did you enjoy the ride?” Kerrion said with an understanding smile.

Shelim knelt and poured two cups of the tea Kerrion liked so much. Kerrion said the tea would make him live longer, so Shelim drank it now as well. One thing he had learned about Kerrion—he was never wrong.

“Nyx needed the exercise,” Shelim said defensively and Kerrion grinned. “I dreamt of The One again last night.”

Kerrion’s smile slipped. “Bad?”

“Couldn’t have been worse, Mentor. Are you sure she’s not evil?”

“Nothing is certain, my boy, but I believe she is good… I hope she is,” Kerrion said with a frown. “Tell me of it.”

“We two were riding alone together at first—” Shelim began and detailed his dream from the moment he went to sleep. “—you were crying. When I looked I found my father. That’s when I awoke.”

“You said we were not on the plain?”

“At first—”

“No, I mean the battle,” Kerrion said intently.

“We are clan, we have no cities,” Shelim said by way of explanation. The plain had nothing like that burning city. It was many times bigger than Denpasser—many, many times bigger.

Kerrion looked relieved. “Good. That is good.”

“Very little was good about the dream, mentor. You were old—”

Kerrion grinned in amusement as if he had a secret.

“—and you were scarred over half your face.”

“Hmmm… I can’t say as I look forward to that part. You have seen me injured like that before.”

“Many times, but never like this. At first you looked as if you were injured moments ago, the next you were healed.”

Kerrion waved that away. “That will often happen in dreams. Keeping to one time will come with practise, my boy. You dreamed two dreams. One peaceful and one not. Both are possibilities. We must work to discover how to make the first come true.”

Shelim grimaced but Kerrion didn’t notice. The first one would not be painless. Kerrion had been hurt in that one not the second, and what about the smoke?

“—a few things… are you listening?” Kerrion said.

“Sorry,” Shelim said flushing. “I was thinking about other things. On my way back I found some tracks made by outclan horses. There must have been a hundred at least.”

“What direction were they heading?”

That Kerrion had asked when the only normal heading for them was north, meant he already knew. As Kerrion’s apprentice he should have been confided in—surely?

Shelim handed Kerrion his cup. “Why didn’t you tell me about the outclanners?”

“I should not need to tell you outclanners are close. If you used your mirror more you would be aware of what is going on around you.”

Shelim shrugged uncomfortably. He knew Kerrion was right, but whenever he used the mirror he was tempted to view the clan. It made him count the days to the Night Wind’s arrival even more.

“I know your reasons, Shelim, but it’s our duty to look for dangers in the mirror. Not only for our own sakes, but also for the good of the clan. I always check in the mornings. You should do the same.”

“I hear you, honoured Kerrion,” Shelim said with a quick bow of his head. “Will you tell me what you know of the outclanners?”

Kerrion nodded blowing across the tea to cool it a little. “The chiefs have agreed to allow them passage. The outclanners paid in gold for the privilege.”

Shelim knew by the way Kerrion spoke that he didn’t agree with the decision. It was hard to see why the chiefs would want gold anyway. The stuff was heavy and awkward to carry. You couldn’t make anything useful out of it, except a bit of jewellery for a wife perhaps. The people had no need for what the traders called money. If Shelim wanted something, he traded something else for it.

“Why do the chiefs want gold?”

“They don’t!” Kerrion said with his eyebrows climbing, obviously wondering if his apprentice had lost his wits.

The surprise on Kerrion’s face confused him. If they didn’t want the gold of these outclanners, why let them onto the clan ranges? “What other reason is there for letting them pass?” he asked and took a bite to eat.

“Fear mostly.”

Shelim choked, and let out a shocked oath. Coughing he drank more tea to wash the food down quick.

Kerrion chuckled, but it wasn’t in amusement. “It might surprise you to learn that the clans are weak compared to outclanners.”

Shock on piled on shock. “But Night Wind has more than two thousand warriors! What about all the others?”

Kerrion sighed. “We might as well make this your lesson for today. Knowledge of outclanners will be important in your future. Unlike in the past, the clans will have to deal with them rather than just ignore them.”

Kerrion settled himself and drank his tea while Shelim finished his food. Then, when Shelim was sitting comfortably opposite him, he began.

“If you journey north as far as you can go, you will find the sea of the Lost One’s. If you could cross the mountains in the east and west somehow, after many days ride you would reach the sea again. I don’t know why, but it’s called different things depending on where you are. In the south, it’s called the Sea of Despair. A good name for any sea I think, but the clans never go there… unless one of the Lost has, but I don’t know anything about that. In the south, outclanners are called Devan’s. That’s where most of the traders come from. Their land is smaller than ours, and they live in cities.”

Shelim knew what cities were. In his dreams he had once seen the city of the Lost One’s, and last night he saw another. Many stone tents together made a city. He didn’t like cities and didn’t understand why anyone would want to live in one.

“—King. Do you understand all that Shelim?” Kerrion asked.

“No,” Shelim said in embarrassment.

Kerrion shook his head. “Listen closely this time. The Devan’s live in cities and don’t have chiefs, but they do have lords, which is the same thing. In the middle of their land is a big lake with a city on its shores. In a big stone tent called the palace lives a chief of chiefs. His name is King. Now do you understand?”

It seemed simple enough, but what about the tracks? “Yes Mentor, but what about the outclanners crossing our land?”

“I’m coming to them. To the east of Deva are two more lands, but we rarely see traders from there. The land to the west is very big, perhaps twice as big as the plain, and its name is Protectorate. I know it’s a strange name, but try to remember it. It’s important. The outclanners who live in the Protectorate are Hasians, and are the ones who made your tracks. They are a greedy people—they want to take the land from the Devans.”

This was all very complicated. Shelim’s people didn’t own the land, and didn’t want to. Why would they when they travelled constantly? But outclanners lived in one place all the time and it seemed they owned the little bit their stone tents stood upon. What point then for these Hasians to own all of Deva? You could only live in one tent at a time. Why be greedy for more?

Shelim put aside his cup. “I don’t understand why the Hasians want more land, but no matter. It has nothing to do with us. Why are they crossing the plain?”

“Last summer, the Hasians made war upon the Devans who fought a great battle and defeated them. Now the Devans won’t let the Hasians into their land. The Hasians can only reach Deva from the north now. That is why they have been crossing our range.”

Finally an answer to Shelim’s original question, but… have been crossing? How many times have they crossed? Outclan the Devans might be, but at least they weren’t trying to steal the land. The traders were always friendly, and they knew what they were looking at when trading for clan horses. That was important to Shelim’s people. Bison were a necessity for survival, but horses were the people’s pride and joy. Their clothes, food, tents, everything came from bison and they couldn’t live without them, but horses made those lives worth living.

“Why are we helping to destroy the Devans, Mentor? They are not our enemy. Or are they?”

Kerrion shook his head. “Deva is not our enemy, that’s true, but they are not clan either. We will not help the Devans… or the Hasians.”

“But we are helping the Hasians by giving them passage across the plains!”

Kerrion nodded reluctantly. “The Hasians are powerful, Shelim. By allowing them to cross the plain without hindrance, the chiefs believe they will leave us in peace. There are many shamen in Protectorate—their people call them sorcerers. Unlike us, they fight by the side of the warriors and don’t care how many they kill. A shaman called Mortain is the chief for all the lands in the west. He wants to be the chief for the rest as well. I counselled against letting the Hasians through, but the chiefs are frightened of the sorcerers. They are right to fear them.”

Shelim nodded. “You counselled against letting the Hasians pass, but you also said the chiefs are right to fear the sorcerers. What would you have them do then?”

“Nothing for now, but Deva alone will not satisfy Mortain. He will want our land as well. When that time comes we will fight as one.”

This Mortain was a fool if he thought he could just take the plains without paying with his warrior’s lives. Every clan would unite as never before to stop him. Unless… unless Mortain didn’t care how many died. Shelim shivered at the thought.

“If you believe that, we should stop them now. The sorcerers will be stronger after they take Deva.”

“You are forgetting one thing, Shelim. Julia lives in Deva. She will not allow the Hasians to take it. We will not start a war with the sorcerers, but the clans will fight if pushed to it.”

Shelim nodded but wondered if perhaps Kerrion wasn’t expecting too much of the One. She was not a warrior. She did have great power, but would she be able to win against such odds alone?

The days went by quickly and the time of the Gathering drew closer.

Shelim walked through the crowds with Darnath relishing the sights and sounds. After living for so long with only Kerrion to talk to, the crowd was a little overwhelming. The first thing he did when his clan arrived at Denpasser was to visit his parents. His mother was as beautiful as ever, and his father was just as strong, but they had treated him like an important stranger rather than their son. He had been confused and hurt until he realised that where he saw himself as their son, they now saw a shaman in his place.

Shelim had quickly dispelled the false image when he said, “What’s for dinner?”

His father laughed and sat beside him asking questions, while his mother quickly made a meal.

“Did you miss the hunt?” Tomik said eager to hear his news.

“I thought I would, but I managed to escape from Kerrion to hunt a couple of times. The rest of the time I was practising my magic.”

“So! The stories are true then?”

“Yes father, the stories are true, but they don’t tell half of what a shaman can do. I can’t show you because Kerrion forbade me from using my magic until he’s sure I won’t challenge anyone.”

“I thought the old man had more sense. No boy of mine would dishonour himself so.”

Those words made Shelim sit taller. He was proud that his father thought so highly of him. It also made him more determined not to let them down.

“Kerrion is worried about the outclanners, father. He has seen the clans at war with them, but the chiefs are allowing them across the plain and won’t see the danger. I found tracks of a hundred outclan horses heading south. Have you noticed the traders have stopped coming?”

“Of course! Fewer come to the Gathers each summer that passes. I haven’t seen an outclan trader for the last two at least.”

“You won’t be seeing any for a long time I think. The traders come from Deva, which is the land to the south. The outclanners who live in the west want to take their land. Last summer the Devan’s fought and won two big battles against them. I think we will be fighting them soon.”

Tomik glanced worriedly at Selima and then back. “You are talking war.”

Shelim nodded unhappily. “Yes, but it will be unlike any the people have ever fought before. All the clans will fight as one against the outclanners, and the shamen will fight beside them.”

The shock on Tomik’s face stayed with Shelim over the following days. He had told his father that the chiefs weren’t listening to Kerrion in the hope he would quietly inform the Night Wind warriors. Tomik had understood.

“What’s it like?” Darnath said interrupting his thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, being apprenticed to the Eldest.”

“I don’t know what you’re asking, Darnath. Surely your life with Duren is no different to mine with Kerrion.”

“You even sound like a shamen now,” Darnath said in accusation. “Don’t you realise how much you’ve changed since that day in the council tent?”

“I am a shaman, Darnath, but I haven’t changed… unless you mean I’m taller now.”

Shelim knew that Darnath wasn’t referring to his greater height. He truly hadn’t realised how much his training had changed him until he met his parents again and saw the wary respect in their eyes rather than the more familiar smile of parent to son. Nevertheless, he had only known Darnath for short periods at the Gathers. How then could Darnath say he had changed?

Darnath stopped him with a hand. “You have changed, Shelim. You seem more… well, like the Eldest. You look serious all the time now, and… I don’t know. It’s like when I’m alone in the tent and Duren walks in. I know without looking it’s him.”

With relief Shelim realised his friend meant he could feel his magic. “Oh that’s nothing, Darnath. That’s just the magic. I can feel you, or any shamen for that matter. Kerrion says I’m just sensitive to it. You must be the same.”

“No, it’s not that,” Darnath said impatiently. “You know the secrets now, but Duren says I’m useless. I will never be a shaman as he is… or like you’ve become.” Then in a weak voice, “He said I should join the Lost.”

Shelim was boiling with anger. “That’s disgusting!” he almost shouted, and then guiltily looked around to see if anyone had noticed. They hadn’t, or they were too polite to show their regard. “No shaman should ever say that to one of the people,” he whispered angrily.

“Maybe he’s right though. I was a good warrior, but when I try to be a shaman I can’t do anything right!”

They walked on again.

Shelim couldn’t believe how outrageous Duren had been to say that to Darnath. To push someone toward the Lost was disgusting. To push a shaman away when they were needed so desperately was enough to make Duren a renegade and criminal. Darnath was in turmoil, but what could Shelim do about it? Duren was a full shaman and Darnath’s mentor. Kerrion couldn’t interfere with that relationship without evidence of some crime.

“Are you going back to your tribe after the Gathering?” Shelim said with a vague notion how he might help. It was risky, but Darnath was a friend of sorts and a brother shaman.

“I suppose so,” Darnath said listlessly.

Shelim stopped Darnath with an outstretched hand. Clan folk made a wide detour around them making him feel like an island in a river of the people. “Would you be willing to stay with the Night Wind if I could arrange it?” he said quietly while watching to see if anyone had overheard.

“I suppose so, but why bother… I’m useless.”

“I’ll help you to learn the lessons that’s why!” Shelim hissed keeping his voice low.

Hope sprang into Darnath’s eyes along with a great deal of gratitude. It made Shelim feel uncomfortable, but the responsibility also made him feel like a true shaman.

“Come on, we’ll be late!” Shelim said and they rushed off toward the council tent.

“You will ask Kerrion today won’t you?” Darnath said as they loped along.

“Yes.”

“You won’t forget will you?”

Give me strength!

Mastering his initial reaction to snap at the worried man, Shelim said that no, he wouldn’t forget. As they ran, people scurried out of their way. That is they did until Shelim slammed straight into a group of young warriors. His heart sank as he recognised Dehaan. Dehaan was a Dragon Clan warrior who had made himself an enemy a few years ago when he tried to bully a much smaller warrior named Shelim.

“Well, if it isn’t little Shelim,” Dehaan said sneering and making his friends laugh. “Where are you off to in such a hurry little shaman?”

The warriors, all from Dragon Clan, laughed at Dehaan’s words and jostled each other like children.

“I’m on my way to the council, Dehaan. Let me by please.”

“Let me by please!” Dehaan said in a silly voice and laughing with his friends.

Shelim could see Darnath bristling and quickly signalled him to stay out of it. Dehaan saw the hand signs and turned his attention to Darnath.

“I don’t know you,” Dehaan said after a quick assessing look. “If you want to put yourself forward, I’m willing.”

“Leave Darnath out of this,” Shelim said interposing a shoulder between them. “I have no quarrel with you Dehaan, but you seem to have one with me. I would love to challenge, but Kerrion has forbidden it.”

“How convenient! The old fool as Mentor to the young fool.”

Kerrion had made it plain he was not to challenge anyone at this Gathering… at this Gathering. Thinking fast, Shelim made his decision. “Are you man enough to accept a bargain Dehaan, or are you too cowardly?”

“What bargain?”

“I will accept your challenge at the next Gather. Kerrion will allow it, this I swear.”

Dehaan sneered. He was really good at it. His face seemed to lend itself easily to that kind of expression. “Fine by me little shaman, but remember this—if you try to escape like the cowardly shaman you are, I will challenge to the death.”

Shelim blinked in surprise. To the death was almost un-heard of! Dehaan’s friends backed away trying to distance themselves from their friend’s folly. He could hear them muttering about Dehaan’s lack of honour. A challenge to the death was like warfare. There were no rules. Dehaan didn’t realise it, but he had no more chance of surviving a challenge to the death against a shaman, than he did of sprouting wings and flying. Shelim couldn’t resist a taunt.

“If that is what you desire Dehaan, I accept, but I must warn you that there are reasons why challenging a shaman is considered without honour. I suggest you think hard before taking that course.”

Dehaan looked at his backing friends worriedly, but he shook off his sudden doubt and sneered. “I stand by what I said. I challenge you Shelim, and we shall fight on the first day of the next Gather. If you fail to appear, it’s to the death.”

“I accept,” Shelim said simply and shouldered Dehaan out of his way.

Shelim and Darnath trotted toward the council tent. They were the last two to arrive at the meeting, but Kerrion hadn’t started yet. They separated to join their mentors. Shelim sat next to Kerrion, and tried to ignore the glare he received.

“Sorry Eldest. Something happened—something very important. I would appreciate your help with it.”

Kerrion’s glare disappeared. “What happened?”

“I don’t want to say in front of so many, but will you trust me and request that Duren and Darnath stay with us after the Gathering?”

Kerrion frowned at Shelim in silence and then nodded slowly. “I will do as you ask, my boy. You have a good head on your shoulders, and I do trust you as you know.”

“I do know, honoured Kerrion, and thank you.”

* * *

3 ~ A Long Journey

It was good to be home, Julia thought. They had ridden into the fortress minus the wagons just yesterday. It was a tiring trip, but at least she wasn’t seeing double anymore. Dergan had been ecstatic when he saw the bricks, but even more so when she told him of her deal with Stefn. He was almost dancing for joy when Kev told him he could keep the wagons for as long as he needed them. The money Stefn owed her would supply Dergan half as many bricks again as she had made. Dergan had gone from a man desperate for supplies to having abundance in one stroke! It was all she could do to stop him going to his knees in gratitude. Talk about embarrassing!

“What do you think?” Jessica said.

Julia studied herself in the mirror. She certainly looked different. Jessica had promised to style her hair as soon as it grew enough to work with. What had taken her attention now though wasn’t her new style. It was the streak of white over her left eye. It had appeared when her hair grew back after the war. She quite liked it, but she wasn’t sure if Keverin did. Correction, she knew he didn’t, but it was the cause and not the white lock itself he didn’t like. It happened when she entered Camorin to fight the Hasians. Keverin didn’t like to be reminded of that time.

Julia turned this way and that studying the problem from all angles. “I don’t know. Do you think Kev will like it?”

Jessica tapped a finger against her lips in thought. “I think any style you wear pleases him, but perhaps we could bring some over to your left shoulder like this.”

Jessica re-arranged Julia’s hair to drape over her shoulder. She had spent a long time loosely curling and arranging it already, and it seemed a shame to undo all the work, but as soon as Jessica showed her what she had in mind, Julia agreed that it was better. By moving her hair off centre, it obscured most of the white until only a hint remained.

Julia watched the transformation and smiled. “I think he’ll like that better don’t you?”

Jessica nodded her agreement. She had been overjoyed when Keverin finally declared his love. She had wanted to set a wedding date straight away. Gideon had been delighted at the prospect, but Julia had been still recovering from the fire and the craving for Tancred. The wedding was put off. Julia’s smile wilted as she remembered screaming for what seemed like a tenday. She would have died without Keverin sitting by her side and holding her as the pain shook her to the core. She was still amazed that she had come through it sane. Well, as sane as she had ever been.

She shook off the bitter memory for a much more pleasant one. Keverin had declared his love almost three seasons ago, but Jessica was still in shock. After all the years of trying to get him interested in marriage, he had found love on his own. Julia wondered if Jessica saw the parallel between Keverin and his father. Probably not, she decided.

Kevlarin’s mother had gone through similar pains as Jessica. She had schemed to wed her son to the daughter of a Chulym master crafter, but Kevlarin was set against it. Hoping to make Kevlarin meet the girl and fall in love with her, his mother had arranged a banquet. It backfired badly when Jessica boldly ignored Kevlarin’s dark mood and asked him to dance with her. Kevlarin fell passionately in love, and his mother could say nothing to change it.

It was no bad thing that Athione had remained aloof from Chulym, especially since that once prosperous city had fallen on hard times. While living in Malcor Town, Julia had learned a lot about Chulym and how the common folk lived in Deva. In her opinion, the lords had failed in their duty to protect the people and that unfortunately included Keverin. Of course Keverin didn’t see it that way. His lands were prosperous and his people happy. Keverin had no authority outside of his own lands except in time of war. In theory, his position as Lord Protector of the West gave him leadership of the entire Western Marches including the western lords, but in practise he ruled only those towns and villages within his own borders. If Keverin tried to pressure the other lords he would have to fight them all. Keverin wouldn’t be the cause of civil war, and although the King was failing the country, he wouldn’t try to depose him. If it were up to Julia, she would take the old man off the throne and put Gylaren in his place. Keverin would be better, but she knew he would never accept it.

Jessica made eye contact with her in the mirror. “You’re quiet. What are you thinking about?”

“Is there a procedure for choosing a new King when the old line ends?”

“Pergann is an only child with no family left alive. One of the lords will have to take—” Jessica stopped what she was doing. “Oh no you don’t. Keverin will not take the throne and you know it—or you should.”

Julia shrugged. “I do know it, but someone has to take control and start trade going again. The people are suffering all across the country. I was thinking more of Gylaren than Kev.”

“Gylaren is a good choice. He has three boys, but don’t forget there are three score lords and any number of those may not agree with you.” Jessica inserted the last pearl encrusted comb into Julia’s hair and stepped back. “There! I think that’s better don’t you?”

Julia turned her head to look at both sides. “It looks great. Thanks.”

They left Jessica’s bedchamber to sit in the other room chatting about their friends and how the new recruits were shaping up. They discussed the wedding plans again and finalised the invitation list.

“Have you and Kev decided on a day yet?” Jessica asked eagerly. “I just need the day and I can have the couriers deliver the invitations.”

Julia grinned. “We have talked about it as it happens.”

“And?”

“And we thought mid-summer’s eve might be nice.”

Jessica jumped up and hugged her. “Oh this is wonderful! It’s the most romantic time of the year.”

Julia hugged her friend—her future mother—and grinned. “You don’t think I’m rushing into this do you?”

Jessica snorted. “Tomorrow wouldn’t be too soon for me, though I doubt Purcell and Gylaren would appreciate missing it.”

Jessica was bubbling with excitement. She wanted to see Elise about the wedding arrangements right away. Julia shook her head and followed Jessica out into the corridor.

“Summer is a season away yet.”

“I know, I know!” Jessica said. “But time goes so fast. It will be here before you know it. Gideon will be so pleased…”

Julia watched Jessica hurry away and chuckled in amusement.

There was a while to go yet before dinner. Julia decided to make her way down to the library to find Mathius. He had changed a great deal since she had first met him. Gone was the inexperienced young initiate, to be replaced by a serious yellow robed journeyman mage. Mathius had gained confidence since his promotion to the yellow robe. Consequently he was more serious about his studies now. Mathius was her friend and he was still fun to be around, but if she wanted to find him these days, she would need to drag him out of the library rather than prowl the walls hoping to find him the way she used to do.

Thinking about Mathius brought Julia’s own studies to mind. She had learned so much, but there was a seemingly infinite amount to learn. She doubted she would ever be finished. There was the realm of power that allowed her to talk to a mage mind to mind. Another was the realm of healing which allowed her to see auras of people but not inanimate objects—walls and other things appeared as random energy. Was it the soul that made the difference? Of course, animate and inanimate objects were very different in the real world, but everything was made of energy when you looked deep enough, so why did she need a different realm to see a recognisable pattern? Another question she had no answer for, but it didn’t prevent her from using it.

By using her mage sight to reach the healing realm, she could then change focus to see inanimate things better. It wasn’t like that really, but it was how she thought of it. Mathius used a different and more complex way of explaining it of course, but Julia preferred her own interpretation. Mathius had no interested in her patterns. He was much too busy trying to learn proven spells to have time to make his own. Her wish to discover a new way was driven by frustration. Most of the books in the library didn’t seem to work for her, though she was sure it was her own lack of understanding at fault.

When she examined someone’s aura in the healing realm, she saw random swirling energy everywhere she looked, but once she changed focus, the auras disappeared and the random patterns made sense. She had spent a lot of time over the winter learning the patterns of various objects hoping to learn something new. Whether it was new or not, she didn’t know, but she had learned that everything had a distinct and individual pattern. Stone was easiest to see, there was plenty at Athione to study. To her mind, Stefn’s bricks demonstrated the worth of her studies.

Julia entered the library and gently closed the doors shutting out the world.

Use me, and know your duty.

Julia paused as the silence of the library settled over her. It had never said that to her before. What was her duty? Perhaps her subconscious was telling her to do her duty regarding the common folk.

Julia found Mathius sitting in a corner frowning over a pair of leather bound books. She stood in the archway and watched for a moment. He was linked to his magic, but he didn’t seem to be using it. She could tell without needing to see the telltale glow surrounding him. What was he doing? He seemed to be comparing two different entries in the books and frowning over the result.

Grasping her magic, Julia spoke mind to mind. *Have you found anything interesting?*

Mathius looked up and grinned. “I think so. Did you know the fortress was built by sorcerers?”

“Brian told me when I first arrived.”

That was why Keverin assembled the books on magic. He wanted to resurrect the dual role of the fortresses—magical defences backed by the martial might of his guardsmen. With that goal in mind he assembled the books over a five year period when he realised that the Hasians wouldn’t be satisfied until they ruled all of Waipara. He bought them one by one from people all over Waipara. People who couldn’t even read brought books to Athione and sold them to him for gold. He was generous in his payments hoping to attract other book owners. Athione’s library was the result.

Julia moved to join Mathius at the table and like a gentleman he rose and helped her to a seat before seating himself opposite. Mathius rested a hand on the page he was reading to hold his place.

“In the time of the true sorcerers,” Mathius began. “Buildings and other things were routinely made with magic. Back then much of what they did was common knowledge and wasn’t written down. I’ve found errors in some of these books because people struggling to save the knowledge wrote them after the time of the true sorcerers. It seems many of the authors had an imperfect understanding of their subject.”

That didn’t sound good. How was she to learn anything if the books were wrong? Julia shrugged the thought aside. Much of what she had learned so far was by trial and error. The only thing she could point to that came from the books was her first try at lighting a candle. Even then, Mathius had to help her.

“How bad is it?”

“Oh, nothing to worry about. I have marked the errors and in some cases referred to another book that is correct. The problem is, I cannot know all the errors until I’m strong enough to try the spells.”

“What are you checking today?”

“This is something I’ve been trying to understand for a while. When Lucius was here, he mentioned communicating with Mortain via the mirror, and it puzzled me at the time. How could something like that be possible?”

Julia remembered thinking the same thing. “Well, I thought both of them must have scried each other at the same time. That would work wouldn’t it?”

Mathius was shaking his head. “That’s exactly what I thought. It would work, but only if you used an agreed upon time. I thought it would be better if we could somehow open both mirrors for scrying at the same time.”

“That’s an outstanding idea Mathius! Have you found something that will do that?”

“Not exactly… but I have found something that might be as good. This book explains the theory of contagion.” Before Julia opened her mouth, he hurried on. “And I don’t mean disease!” Mathius laughed.

Julia smiled. Mathius knew her too well. Anything to do with healing was intensely interesting to her. She was always willing to learn new ways to heal people.

“According to this,” Mathius went on. “When a sorcerer wanted to make an exact copy of something he used pieces of a whole to get his result. He constructed a matrix over the original he wished to copy and another identical one over the item he was making…”

Julia listened and the time flew by. This sounded important and she wanted to try it straight away. Kev would give her a big mirror if she asked him, and Master-crafter Deneen could probably recommend someone to cut it into sections once they had worked their magic upon it.

“…and that’s it. If we had a big enough mirror we could have dozens of people talking to each other,” Mathius said beaming.

Julia nodded thoughtfully. If it worked, instant communication would be born without recourse to the book in the vault. The changes such a thing would bring about were staggering to contemplate.

“I’m thinking of three Mathius. You, me, and Lucius.”

“That would be a good start, but a start only. I think we should have a different one for each of the four fortresses so that makes seven. Lord Keverin would like that very much. He could talk to Purcell and the others anytime he wanted!”

Whoa! Mathius was up and running with this one! “Calm down Mathius. We don’t know if it works yet.”

“Don’t know if what works?” Keverin said as he strolled in to the library.

Mathius hastily stood and inclined his head in greeting. Julia walked over to Kev and gave him a kiss. Mathius was a little red faced, and she rebuked herself for embarrassing him. In Deva, public displays of affection were frowned upon, but she couldn’t let Kev walk around kissless.

“Mathius is a genius, Kev!” Julia said taking his arm and walking with him back to the table.

Mathius blushed scarlet. “We don’t know if it will work.”

“Don’t be modest. It doesn’t matter if it works or not. It’s still a brilliant idea!”

“But it does matter—”

“Could someone tell me what we are supposed to be talking about?” Keverin interrupted. “I came to find Julia for dinner. Jessica is waiting. Do you like lamb, Mathius?”

“Do I… oh yes my lord, I do.”

“Good! You are hereby invited to dine with us. You can tell me what all the excitement is about at table.”

Julia walked on the arm of both men as they made their way to the small dining hall. She knew her way around the fortress as if born here now, but it was nice to have two handsome men escort her. Keverin towered over her as always, but she could have sworn Mathius had grown taller this year. He had filled out and his new confidence made him seem bigger than when they first met. He had looked like a pimply-faced boy, but now the girls in town and fortress alike sought him out. He had resisted any permanent relationships so far, but Julia thought one of the girls in the kitchens had caught his eye especially.

Thinking about Mathius and his string of admirers brought Julia’s thoughts to Lucius. “Have you heard anything from Purcell recently?”

Kev nodded. “I have as a matter of fact. There has been no sign of the Dark Brothers. Purcell has been looking and Lucius is very keen on stamping them out. They’re still after him apparently. Purcell is recruiting more guardsmen to replace his losses. Isolde is feeling better and Lysara is still chasing Lucius around the fortress.”

Julia laughed. Lucius was a confirmed bachelor, in his own eyes at least, but Lysara was picking away at his resolve. Julia had met Lysara at Malcor while recuperating from the war and had come to know her quite well. Lysara could be determined just like her father. Lucius’ bachelor days were numbered in her opinion.

“How are the new men coming along? I meant to ask you earlier but I forgot when Mathius told me about his brilliant idea.”

“What idea? You still haven’t told me yet!”

Mathius began to explain.

“Oh no you don’t!” Julia said interrupting him. “The least you can do is feed the poor man before picking his brains!”

They laughed as they entered the dining hall.

Jessica was already seated and waiting for them. “I hope you’ll still be laughing when I tell Janna that you let her lamb roast go cold!”

Julia apologised and the others did the same. Janna was the head cook and took her role to feed the masses seriously. If she heard her lamb special was ruined there would be hell to pay. Julia sat next to Mathius opposite Keverin. Pia quickly set an extra plate in front of Mathius followed by a wineglass. She curtsied to Keverin and left. Keverin quickly carved the roast while Jessica poured wine for each of them. Mathius sat wide-eyed watching his lord and lady serving him.

“I do believe we have shocked young Mathius,” Julia said trying not to laugh.

“Young!” Mathius squeaked in outrage. “I’m older than you are. And I’m not shocked, just… surprised that’s all.”

Julia laughed along with Jessica at the outrage on his face. “I know. I’m only teasing you.”

Julia ate her dinner and left the conversation until the end. Mathius explained his idea to Keverin who was intensely interested, and said he would find Mathius a mirror to experiment with.

Julia sipped her wine. “You didn’t tell me how the new men are coming along. Are they as bad as you feared they would be?”

Keverin frowned in thought and swallowed his mouthful. “Not as bad as I feared certainly, but not as good as I had hoped either. They all have armour now, and swords are not a problem. The Hasians left plenty of good steel behind. The problem is that many of the men come from towns and villages near Devarr. None have ever used a sword.”

“I bet that didn’t please Brian.”

“No it didn’t. As their captain he’ll have to train them until they can be trusted not to cut off their own…”

“That will do thank you,” Jessica said hastily. “I think we all know what you fear they will cut off!”

“I was only going to say fingers!” Kev said laughing.

Julia laughed at Jessica’s sigh of exasperation. This was how a family should be. Mathius was closer than a brother, and Jessica was like her mother, but Keverin was… he was simply the most important thing in her life.

“Let’s get married tomorrow, Kev.”

Mathius choked on his wine. Keverin looked taken aback, but Jessica was grinning fit to swallow her plate.

Julia stuck her lower lip out, pouting for all it was worth. “You do still want to marry me don’t you?” she said in a small voice trying not to laugh.

“Of course!” Keverin said jumping up and heading for the door. “I’ll get Gideon right now!”

“Whoa! I was only joking!” Julia said laughing. “I want all our friends here with us. Purcell, and Gylaren, and Lysara, and….”

Keverin walked back and sat down to listen to her list for the wedding invitations. “Maybe we should invite all the lords,” he mumbled quietly, but Julia heard him all right.

“You might be right! Do you think they would come?” Julia said. Jessica was watching her intently. She knew what her future daughter-in-law was up to all right.

“I was jesting, but you’re not are you?” Keverin said finishing his wine then reaching to re-fill her glass as well as his.

“No. But seriously Kev, I would marry you right now, but I think inviting the lords would be a good idea. I told you about my premonition while under the Tancred.”

“It’s called divining,” Mathius said.

“Thanks. I divined Malcor destroyed, and Athione deserted but for…” Julia broke off remembering the broken old man Keverin had become in that dark future. She concentrated on him as he was now to dispel the vision.

“Are you all right? You’re trembling!” Mathius said in concern.

“I’m fine. It’s just the memory of what I saw… anyway, I saw Deva conquered by the Hasians, but the common people were happy and prosperous. If we don’t start helping our own people soon, they won’t help defend Deva against the Hasians, and the future I saw will happen. I will fight to prevent it, but in the future I saw…” she broke off to whisper, “I was defeated.”

Keverin reached for Julia’s hand in concern. He squeezed gently. “You never told me. What else did you see? Please trust me.”

Julia didn’t want to tell him, but by asking her to trust him he had forced her into a corner. Without trust, there could be no love. “I saw you,” she said in a quiet voice. “You were old and blind with only one hand.”

There was complete silence. Julia looked up and saw horror on Jessica’s face. Mathius looked worried, but Keverin was smiling. Smiling! What was there to smile about?

“Is that all?” Keverin breathed much comforted.

“What do you mean is that all? Isn’t it enough?”

“You said I was old. That means I have thirty or more years to live at least. A lot of people would be pleased to have that long with someone they love.”

Oh God, that was why.

“You don’t understand,” Julia said in a small voice, almost a whisper. “In the future that I saw I was defeated and killed years before. That means it could be tomorrow for all we know.”

Kev’s face changed at that. “That won’t happen. I’ll be dead before you, that I swear.”

“I as well,” Mathius said.

“Thank you both, but some battles I must fight for myself,” Julia said catching Keverin’s eyes with hers and holding them. “You understand?”

Keverin seemed ready to argue, but he reconsidered when he remembered the battles she had already fought. The supposed attack by brigands in Dirlston was only one of many incidents. As it turned out, they hadn’t been brigands. They were assassins sent to kill her by the Emperor of Tanjung. She was grateful for Keverin’s concern, but pleased he recognised the truth of her words.

“You know divining the future is never accurate, Julia,” Mathius said. “What you saw in the dream was only one of many possibilities. I might divine myself falling down the tower steps tomorrow, but now I know about it, I don’t leave my room or I use another route, and therefore the dream becomes false. The very act of divining the future changes it. It cannot be avoided, which is one reason—the most important one—why mages leave divining to clan shamen.”

“Do shamen have better luck?”

“Not that I know of, but when they divine they are looking for different things. The possibilities are more limited for a clan that must follow the herd to survive. Knowing for instance they will be attacked tomorrow will not make them change direction, because they cannot. In that event they would be forewarned and have their warriors ready, but the attack would still take place.”

“I wonder,” Julia thought aloud. “I wonder what a shaman would say about—”

Thump!

Keverin rose and went to see who was at the door. He spoke for a few moments then turned to look at Julia. “Couriers have arrived from Malcor and Devarr both. The King is dead. I’m afraid we will have to put off the wedding again.”

“May the God watch over and comfort him at journey’s end,” Jessica said quietly.

“Who will be King now?” Julia said looking from Jessica to Keverin and back.

Keverin shrugged not knowing the answer. “The lords will be met in the palace at Devarr to decide that. Jihan is already on his way and will arrive here in a few days. We can use the time to arrange matters here before leaving.”

Julia’s thoughts were racing. This might be just what Deva needed to get back on its feet. She had to make sure Gylaren was crowned King somehow. Then perhaps rebuilding could begin. She smiled as an idea sprang to mind. That Jihan was on his way was providential. Under the circumstances she was sure he would bring them with him. He wouldn’t let her down.

The next few days were frantic ones of preparation for the journey. They had only recently arrived back from Morton and no one had expected to leave on another journey so soon. Elise had to dig deeply into Athione’s stores and was heard to complain about the level of her grain reserves. Warhorses ate a lot and the journey to Devarr was long. It took precious days to round up enough wagons for all their supplies. Keverin cursed his decision to let Dergan keep his wagons, but there was no changing the decision now.

Jihan and Ahnao arrived before Keverin was ready to move. Jessica and Julia entertained them and Jihan’s captain while Keverin and Marcus hurried to finalise their preparations. Marcus didn’t like being left behind, but someone had to guard Athione. Brian was chosen to lead the men accompanying them to Devarr. Marcus took the newly minted captain aside for a long and private chat before seeing them all off at the gate some days after Jihan’s arrival.

The column moved slowly along the highroad. Two thousand guardsmen mounted on warhorses took a long time to pass. The baggage train was huge by itself. Banners flying in the stiff breeze proclaimed half the men from fortress Athione, and the other half from fortress Malcor. The armour each man wore was identical in appearance except for sigils on the right of each man’s chest. Like the banners, Malcorans wore crossed war hammers over a black keep. The men from Athione sported crossed and gauntleted fists on solid green circle. Here and there, a captain could be seen wearing colourful sashes proclaiming their rank, while the sergeants proclaimed theirs with three gold chevrons below the sigils on their chest. The column was cheerful, and the colourful banners and cloaks lent a carnival air.

At the front of the column, lords Keverin and Jihan rode next to their ladies. Lady Julia and Lady Ahnao were laughing while the two men looked at one another uncomprehending over their heads. Jessica watched her son, and smiled to see his eyes returning constantly to Julia to make certain she was near. Mathius sat silently next to Jessica brooding about leaving his friend in the kitchens. Bishop Gideon rode his horse on Jessica’s other side enjoying the ride. It was a rare pleasure for a man who hadn’t left the vicinity of Athione’s walls for ten straight years.

“Sorry, Kev, I’ve been ignoring you,” Julia said.

“Not at all. I was saying that we’re leaving my lands now.”

Julia looked around but couldn’t see any obvious difference. Keverin noticed her confusion and drew her eyes to a stone they had just past.

“The boundary stone. There’s one on each of the roads so travellers will know who holds the land.”

The stone had Keverin’s banner chiselled into it and the distance to the fortress below. “Eighteen leagues already?” Julia said in surprise.

“Yes, by road,” Keverin said. “It’s more like twelve cross country.”

That was still a lot of land. A league was roughly three miles. Thirty-six miles of land beholding to Keverin, and that was just in this direction.

“Just out of curiosity, how much land do you control?”

“Roughly five hundred square leagues.”

Jihan disagreed. “Closer to six I’d say.”

Julia didn’t care. Either one was a lot of land. A great many people could live on that amount. She had visited East Town many times, but she hadn’t seen the other towns and villages beholding to Athione, except the new town of Morton. How many people were loyal to Athione?

A lot!

“What is the plant with the blue flower just there?” Julia said and pointed to a field full of them.

“Flax. We use it to make linen,” Jessica said.

“And oil,” Keverin put in. “See those ball shapes?”

She nodded. The plants had spear shaped leaves at the top of the plant, and blue flowers with five petals on stems at the end of the branches. The balls looked to be seedpods.

Keverin explained. “Inside the balls are seeds we press flax oil from. The leftover seed is good for animal feed, but we grow it mainly for making linen.”

There was so much to learn here. Back in England, Julia had bought things and used them without needing or wanting to know where it all came from, but here life was slower and things were more interesting. Up ahead Julia noted they were approaching a broken down shack with a large corral beside it. The building had obviously been abandoned many years previously.

“What’s that?”

“A way station—or it was once. You will see a lot of them on the way to Devarr.”

“A way station?”

“A good idea that like so many other things has been allowed to fail,” Kev said with a sigh. “Pergann’s great, great grandfather used them as a way for the King’s messengers to cross the kingdom quickly at need. Fresh horses and supplies were kept at each station so that a messenger could ride without stopping. They belong to the crown, but they’re all like this now.”

Julia craned her neck as they left the way station behind. The foundations and chimney were still solid, but the walls were fallen on two sides as was the roof. The open door creaked in the slight breeze. It looked sad and abandoned. If she concentrated she could almost imagine the corral full of restive horses and see a messenger pounding in from the capital. He would jump down with his message case and quickly remount a fresh beast and gallop out again on his way to Athione—to Kevlarin’s father perhaps.

They rode through that day and camped for the night. The road continued without a village or town for leagues, but even had there been one, two thousand guardsmen were too many to find room for. Julia slept alone, and envied Ahnao who was married to her lord. The lucky thing was happily enjoying his company right now.

Julia growled in annoyance and turned over to sleep.

The next morning dawned. As usual, Julia was awake before everyone else. She used the time to wash and dress. They had only been on the road a few days and already she missed her bathtub. She chuckled at the thought of her decadence and made do with cold water drawn from the stream.

“Thank you, Alvin,” she said as he handed her the bucket.

“My honour, Lady,” Alvin said inclining his head with respect before leaving.

Julia closed the tent flap and dropped her cloak back to the ground. She was decently dressed. Her underskirt was like a dress—in England it would be. Still, Jessica had warned her once that people held different views in Deva and Julia took the warning to heart. She was always careful not to shock anyone too badly. She warmed the water with her magic and performed her ablutions before hefting the bucket and casting the soapy water outside. She dressed quickly in her grey riding dress. She had worn the blue yesterday; it was safely tucked away in her trunk for another day now. She pulled on her boots and stamped to settle her feet comfortably before throwing her cloak over her shoulders with a practised whirl of velvety material. She fastened the short chain at her throat with the brooch Kev had given her.

Julia smiled. The brooch was one of a pair that he had commissioned. She wore one and he the other. The hexagonal bronze disk sported the crossed fists of Athione on the front. Kev had decided that bronze better suited them and Athione. Gold was too soft, he said, and one thing Athione wasn’t was soft. The bronze had come from the remains of the west gate—another reminder of strength, but this time it reminded her of the sorcerers who had shattered the gate and so many lives last year.

On the back was a short inscription:

Together always

Kev was such a romantic.

Julia stepped out of her tent to watch the sunrise, but the sun wasn’t quite ready to cooperate she found, so she wandered around the camp nodding or saying a word to the sentries to pass the time. Deva was relatively peaceful within its borders. Feuds between lords were few and rarely erupted into open violence, but that didn’t mean Keverin and Jihan were willing to take chances. Dirlston had taught them an appearance of safety was different from actually being safe. It was standard to set sentries through the night, and it had always had been so, but they didn’t expect trouble. Brigands would be foolish indeed to attack so many armed men. If the brigands knew what was good for them they would ride somewhere else in a hurry.

“I hope you won’t miss Adara too much, Moriz,” Julia said stopping next to two shadowy forms. She had no trouble recognising them even in the dark. Moriz carried a monster of a sword, and Halbert was always by his side.

“Teething. I ain’t going to miss teething much, Lady. Yells something awful she do,” Moriz said.

Julia waited for it, and wasn’t disappointed.

“Takes after her grand pappy I be thinking!” Halbert said with a laugh.

“I’ll show you yelling!” Moriz spluttered.

Julia laughed quietly. The two were always using insults and sarcasm to cover their affection for each other. Conversation lapsed into silence as they watched the show. The sun lanced through the thin clouds as it raised its face above the land. Reds and oranges painted the sky, and the birds began singing to herald a new day. Julia shielded her eyes as she stood with her friends watching the stars flee. In England, she would never have time to see the sunrise, not that she would have been awake in any case, but if she had been she knew she wouldn’t have taken the time. Since coming to Waipara, she had lived each day far more intensely. It was as if she had led her old life with blinkers on. Coming here had stripped them away showing her what she was missing.

“I never want this to end,” she said prayerfully.

“With the God’s blessing, we’ll all be here for many more years, Lady,” Moriz said, and Halbert grunted his agreement.

Julia nodded and watched God’s display fade until the day was truly begun. Around the camp people were awakening and campfires were being stoked back to life. A small breakfast would be eaten before the tents were struck and they moved on toward Devarr.

Keverin ducked out of his tent, but there was no sign yet of Jihan and Ahnao.

“I’ll see you later,” Julia said to her friends and went to meet Keverin.

“Good morning my lady.”

She sighed. Kev was still being formal. “Yes it is isn’t it?”

Keverin laughed and surrendered. Julia stood on tiptoe and Kev bent to kiss her, but it was over too soon. He hurried away to arrange the order of march.

A short while later, they were on the road again.

Julia studied her surroundings with interest. The land wasn’t cultivated but the grass was short. Used for pasture perhaps? Her suspicion was confirmed a short distance on when she saw fenced fields with sheep and cattle grazing upon the grass.

“Who is lord here?”

Keverin grimaced. “Cogan of Lomond. He doesn’t like me I’m afraid, but he’s an honourable lord when all is said. He cares for his land and people deeply.”

Jessica nudged her horse forward. “Cogan doesn’t like anyone, Kev, you know that.” She turned to Julia, “Cogan is a lord of the old type.”

“Old type?”

“She means Cogan has strong feelings where peonage is concerned,” Keverin said with a grimace of distaste.

Julia frowned. “Is that slavery?”

“Not quite,” Keverin said.

“It either is, or it’s not. Which is it?”

“Peonage is mostly gone from Deva. I can’t tell you how it originated—”

“I can my lord, if you’ll permit me?” Mathius said.

“Go ahead.”

“It began not long after the Founders settled Devarr,” Mathius began in his lecturer’s voice. “Devarr was only a town then. As the population grew, so did the need to expand. Some of the poorer folk were persuaded to work on farms as peons and their lives were greatly improved. You see Julia, most of them were unskilled, and Devarr was inundated with people having no chance of work. The Founders had a real problem persuading people to spread out. Devarr was the first city and it was over populated. No one wanted to found new towns and cities if it meant leaving the safety of the Capital. The Founders thought long and hard on the problem and came up with a solution. They decided to raise a nobility to watch over the people and protect them and their new homes. Forty lords were raised and given land to hold throughout the kingdom. They obviously needed farms and people to work them, so they attracted them away from Devarr by offering more of the yield from the farms for themselves.

“Peonage is a form of slavery, but where slaves have no rights, peons do. Most lords tax their people and that’s all they take. In return, they provide protection and governance. The lords are loyal to their people, and the people reciprocate. Peons on the other hand don’t own their farms as lord Keverin’s people do. Instead, they work for their lord and all they produce belongs to him. In return for their labour he returns a certain percentage of the yield from their farms and they are allowed to live there.”

Julia wasn’t as horrified as Keverin so obviously thought she would be. She was used to people working for a wage, and this sounded no different really. “So they work for a wage like our guardsmen.”

“Ah… no, not really. The percentage a traditional peon keeps is barely enough to live on.” Mathius winced at the look Julia gave him.

Now she was horrified. “How can you call Cogan an honourable man when he treats his people like this?”

Keverin smiled. “As I said, peonage is mostly gone. I can think of only two lords off hand still using it. Lord Lomond is one, and Lord Ascol is another. I say Lomond is an honourable lord because he allows almost half the yield from his farms to stay with the peons. That is much more than they need to live on. Look around Julia. You can see that his people prosper. I heard that upon his death all peons on Lomond land will inherit their farms. Cogan is old. I expect his people will be celebrating his death soon.”

“What of his heir?”

“I believe Lord Blaise will abolish peonage whether his father wills it or not. He and I are friends and we’re of like mind. That’s one reason Cogan doesn’t like me.”

Julia subsided somewhat mollified. Cogan’s people would be celebrating the year of his death for a long time to come. It was a strange kind of immortality, but each to his own she supposed.

They soon navigated through the outskirts of Lord Lomond’s land, and turned onto a new road running southeast. The area was crown land. The king owned all unclaimed land throughout Deva. He would occasionally give a few leagues to a lord for some service performed.

Father Gideon spoke up from his place next to Mathius. “The Church also holds land such as this. The Holy Father administers it and the money is used to fund good works.”

“That’s interesting. No one lives here, but I assume Church land must have people,” Julia said. “Who lives on it then?”

“Monks mostly, but towns do grow in the most unexpected places. Poor soil is the reason no one lives here.”

“And water is scarce,” Keverin added.

Julia frowned. She used her mage sight to examine her surroundings and found that Gideon was right. Perhaps ten inches or so below the surface, she could see the tell-tale patterns in the energy field indicating rock. It seems the Athinian Mountains continued under the surface, but were folded upward here. Millions of years from now the land would erode to reveal another mountain range where she was riding.

She could tell there was plenty of water under the ground, but the rock prevented digging a well. She knew there was a way of digging wells with magic—there was Dirlston’s well for one. Mathius’ father had earned a living creating such things, but she didn’t know how. She wouldn’t try it without a good reason in any case, but this kind of thing brought home to her yet again how little she really knew about the uses of magic.

“Lady? Are you well?” Gideon asked in concern.

“I’m fine, I was just looking at the rocks under the ground.”

Gideon eyebrows arched and Julia laughed. He hadn’t expected something so strange. “You said the soil is poor and water scarce. I thought I would have a look. There’s plenty of water down there, but the rock prevents the digging of a well.”

“Precisely,” Gideon said relieved that she was making sense again.

“I don’t know how to dig wells, but Mathius could do it I’m sure.”

“No need,” Keverin said. “No one lives here and I doubt any will in the near future. Land like this is abundant in Deva. Luckily, land like my own is also.”

Julia was just as happy to leave it at that. She hadn’t seriously wanted to dig the well, but it would have been interesting to make something with her magic rather than destroying things all the time.

They stopped at midday to water the horses at a small stream and used the opportunity to stretch tired legs and have a bite to eat. Julia thought the trip very civilised. She had all the amenities—not baths of course but you can’t have everything. As she ate her bread and cheese on a proper plate with a wine cup at hand, she mused it was more like a camping holiday than an important mission to select a king.

“Here, have a look at these,” Jihan said proffering a leather case.

“So these are the letters Delin was talking about,” Julia said putting aside her plate and taking the case and opening it. Inside were scrolls—lots of scrolls.

“My father always kept his letters so he could refer to them at need. These will be of help to us I think.”

Julia nodded absently as she scanned the contents of the satchel. She remembered Mathius saying there were forty lords of Deva, but then Jessica had said sixty earlier.

“How many lords are there Jihan?”

Jihan slid his sword from his sash so he might sit on the ground next to her. He lay the weapon within easy reach, and leaning on one hand, he began to explain.

“There were forty to begin with, but over the centuries some lines have died out and others grown to take their places. There are over sixty now. They are equals in theory, but as always some are more equal than others. If you follow me?”

“I understand. The Lord Protectors are the strongest. Is that right?”

“That’s right, but there are only four of us. The rest are weak in comparison to be sure, but banded together they represent a strong block for the voting.”

“What of your father’s friends here?” Julia said indicating the letters.

Jihan made a face. “Traitors the lot of them. They’re not as bad as Athlone was—he instigated the thing, but they did go along with him and pledged their support as the letters show.”

“Do you think the threat of making these public will be enough to bring them to our side?”

“Who can say? I do know these men were chosen by my father for specific reasons. Some are powerful, but most are not.”

That was a puzzle. If she had been the one to choose conspirators, she would have chosen powerful men with large forces of guardsmen at their disposal. Lord Protectors were ideal, but they were all honourable men who would have challenged and killed Athlone had he tried to recruit them.

“Why choose weak allies? That doesn’t make a great deal of sense, Jihan.”

“Some of them are powerful, while others have certain things my father thought necessary.”

“Like what?”

“Strategic location for one,” he said off hand.

“You make it sound like a war!”

“It would have been war,” he agreed. “Keverin and the other Lord Protectors wouldn’t have stood by and allowed my father to usurp the throne. A good many of the other lords would have fought against him as well.”

“And many for him if these letters are anything to go by,” Julia said flicking through the sheets.

“Exactly. Civil war would have resulted. I believe my father would have won in the end. He chose his allies well in my opinion. I couldn’t have done better myself.”

Jihan hated Athlone more than any other thing. For him to praise his father for anything said to Julia that the men who wrote these letters were strong allies of Athlone and therefore dangerous. There were many kinds of strength. Guardsmen were just the most obvious.

“May I keep these for a time? If it’s all right with you I want to read through them properly and show them to Kev.”

“Certainly,” Jihan said waving the letters away. “After all this is over I was going to burn them in any case. I wish I could challenge each one of these men, but even I might have trouble against so many.”

Julia grinned. Jihan thought a great deal of himself where his fighting skill was concerned, but that was understandable. He was the best with any weapon she could name including a good many she couldn’t. Keverin was in awe of Jihan’s speed and skill.

Keverin came by not long after saying it was time to move on. Julia decided to wait until they stopped for the night to show the letters to him.

They journeyed on and the day passed. There was one moment of excitement as the afternoon turned to evening when Burke’s horse appeared to go lame on its right hind foot. It turned out to be a loose shoe and was fixed by Burke himself. Most people knew a little of the farriers art—enough to get by at least. Keverin said a smith could pronounce the job sound at the next town—at Kirstal. That evening, Julia made a point of claiming Keverin early so she might show him the letters. Jihan and Ahnao were walking together around the camp and she refrained from interrupting them. So it was that she and Keverin were alone by one of the fires as he read one after another of the letters.

Keverin looked up from his reading. “It’s the stupidity that never fails to amaze me. How they thought they could make a treaty with Mortain I will never know.”

“Jihan said civil war would have resulted had this plan gone ahead.”

“Not much doubt of that. I would certainly have fought against this madness. I’m sure all honourable men would have done the same.”

Julia nodded, but she was wondering just how many lords could be called honourable anymore. “Who will you vote for?”

Keverin replaced the letters in the satchel. “Halden would have been my first choice. He’s well respected. Even his enemies, such as they are, acknowledge him as scrupulously honest.”

“You said you would have chosen him. What’s wrong with him then?”

“He’s old, Julia, over seventy I think. We need someone with energy and time to set Deva to rights, not someone likely to be in his grave five years from now.”

Julia hadn’t thought about the time aspect. Life ran at a much slower pace here. The King couldn’t pick up the phone and order somebody to do something. He needed to send messengers, which took days to travel anywhere. Deva would take years to get back onto its feet. Gylaren was older than Kev, but not as old as Halden. She wasn’t sure how old Gylaren was.

“What would you say to Gylaren as King?”

Keverin raised a brow in speculation. “I would say he’d make a very fine King, but Gy’s not young either.”

“He does have three boys. Surely they would help, and anyway, Gylaren is vigorous as a bull.”

“Gy won’t like it, but if he agrees I’ll vote for him. He is better than all the others and Dylan takes after him.”

“Dylan is Gy’s eldest isn’t he?”

Keverin nodded. “Niklaus will have to take Meilan, but I don’t see a problem with that.”

Julia nodded pleased at the decision. All she had to do now was persuade Gy to take the throne and Deva’s problems would be solved!

Kirstal hadn’t been anywhere near this bad, Julia thought as she rode into Hringham. Hringham was the last major town before they reached the capital, which was still days away at the plodding pace they had maintained thus far. There were children lining the road. Julia watched them silently watching her and wanted to kill someone. They were starving and obviously frightened of nobles. They stood silently watching and hoping for a scrap or two of food. Keverin was looking around in shock. Julia knew how he felt, but Keverin was having a harder time of it than she was. Television broadcasts of famine and starvation—though not at all like the real thing—had prepared her for the sight. Keverin on the other hand had never even conceived that this could happen in Deva.

“Haaalt!” Keverin called to the column. “Dismount!”

“—mount!”

“Disssss-mount!”

The orders echoed into silence as Julia jumped down. Keverin quickly reached up and helped Jessica to the ground. Mathius was rummaging in his pack, and Julia belatedly did the same. She didn’t have much in her travel pack, but it would do until they could get to the baggage wagons and the food they carried.

With fists full of bread and cheese, Julia approached the children, but they backed away. “Don’t be afraid. Here, this is for you,” she said keeping her voice low and trying to coax one of them toward her.

A girl snatched a piece of bread and ate it so fast that Julia’s blink almost missed it. As soon as the others saw it, they ran forward. Julia staggered as dozens of children slammed into her. They were fighting over her cheese. She gave what she had, but they weren’t satisfied and they began hitting each other—fighting over a morsel of bread.

“No don’t… don’t do that!” Julia cried trying to fend off the fists with her arms while keeping her hold upon the girl. “There’s more in the wagons! Don’t hit her!”

Julia dragged the girl clear of the fighting. She was bleeding and seemed dazed. A hand snatched Julia’s travel pouch out of her hands. She let it go, but another fist was tangled in her hair. Enough was enough. She grasped her magic.

Vrooosh!

A gigantic fireball leapt straight up into the air. Julia watched worriedly as it disappeared into the clouds, but it didn’t come down anywhere near the town, thank the God. She hadn’t known what else to do. She knew so little! She couldn’t even stop children from fighting without scaring the wits out of them. They were staring at her in silent awe and fear.

“Give me your pouch, Mathius, and get the baggage opened up quick.”

Mathius nodded and handed her his food before running off. Julia pointed to a boy and he hesitantly came forward. She handed him a piece of bread. He swallowed it in one go and waited for more. She pointed to another boy and gave him the same amount trying to make the food last until Mathius returned. Some of the guardsmen started handing out their rations. A few of the children deserted her to go to them. Keverin handed his pouch over so that she could continue.

When Julia ran out of food to give them, the children ran off to find someone else. Hundreds of people were lining up to the wagons. It wasn’t just the children. The entire town was starving, but it was crazy! Thirty or forty leagues to the north there were prosperous towns and fields aplenty, yet these folk wouldn’t have survived without Keverin’s column! What if they had chosen another road? Julia shook her head preferring not to think about that.

“We need to stop here, Kev. We can’t leave them like this—we just can’t!”

Keverin was nodding. “This is much worse than Kirstal. Much, much worse.”

Julia nodded remembering her first sight of Kirstal…

Kirstal was a town on the highroad they had visited briefly. They had noticed something wrong as soon as they rode in, but at least the people had some food to eat. Not much, but some. Kirstal was only a village really. Most of the homes were two roomed cottages with thatch roofs. The inn had the usual red tiles on its roof, but it was the only one with more than a single story. Most of the homes looked rundown and neglected. The thatch needed replacing and the walls needed re-plastering, but the people didn’t seem to care. They were listless and uninterested in their surroundings. They weren’t starving—not quite, but they were obviously poor. It didn’t make sense.

Julia looked around in puzzlement. Her expression was mirrored on Keverin’s face. Jihan was frowning back the way they had come. The fields were bursting with life and colour. The farms seemed prosperous, yet the village could almost be called abandoned if not for the few people hurrying away from them.

“Something’s not right,” Jihan said. “It’s market day. Where are all the stalls and peddlers?”

“I don’t know,” Keverin murmured. “Let’s find out.”

Jihan nodded. “Disssss-mount!” He called and the order was repeated down the ranks.

Keverin jumped down and helped first Julia and then Jessica to the ground. Burke’s horse was led away to find a blacksmith, and the other guardsmen milled around stretching their legs. Ahnao murmured something to Jihan as he handed her horse’s reins to one of his men. He nodded and trotted off toward a house they had passed.

Julia watched as he pounded on the door. “Ahnao?”

“It belongs to the wise woman. See the sign?”

Julia frowned, but then she saw it. There was an iron bracket with a board hanging from two short chains. A mortar and pestle was painted on the side facing her. It was faded and old. “A healer?”

Ahnao nodded. “Every village has at least one.”

Keverin was listening to the innkeeper. He was scowling ferociously and shaking his head. He raised a hand and the innkeeper fell silent to listen in his turn. Whatever they were discussing had made them both angry. Julia tensed, but it wasn’t anger aimed at each other. It was aimed at another.

Keverin stalked off and banged on another door. She watched as this was repeated until he finally came back to her fuming in anger.

“Report!” Julia said mimicking Keverin’s way of speaking to his captains.

The men nearby guffawed, and Keverin laughed. That eased him somewhat, though the scowl wasn’t completely gone. “The people here are ready to erupt. Lord Scalderon is a fool if he thinks he can get away with treating the people like this!”

“Treating them like what? You haven’t told me yet,” Julia said in annoyance.

“He’s been taxing everything in sight and saying the King demanded it. I just spoke to the head man. Even he believed it was the King’s order! I told him the truth, and he’s going to call a town meeting. What they can do about it…” he shook his head. “I just don’t know.”

“Will there be a fight?”

“I don’t know… I don’t think so. Scalderon isn’t a strong lord, but it wouldn’t take many guardsmen to terrorise these people.”

Jihan met his lady upon his return and they approached together. “I think we need to visit Scalderon. I don’t know about you, but I can’t stand by and do nothing while these people are bled dry.”

Keverin nodded. “We can speak with him, but anything more will have to be decided by the King when he’s crowned.”

Jihan was shaking his head. “They haven’t got time for that. What would you say if I sent a messenger back to Malcor ordering three hundred men to occupy Kirstal?”

Keverin looked thoughtful. “I would say… Athione is closer,” he said with a crooked grin.

Jihan laughed.

Keverin sent a messenger to Marcus with precise orders stating he was to send three hundred fully equipped men to defend the people of Kirstal from any and all attacks—that included depredations by Scalderon’s men.

Julia shook her head. Keverin and Jihan had paid a quick visit to Scalderon but he was away visiting another lord—or so the seneschal told them. Keverin had been vexed to say the least. He had returned to Kirstal to await the men from Athione and cursed Scalderon daily for the delay.

They had moved on as soon as the fresh contingent of guardsmen arrived, secure in the knowledge that Kirstal was safe, but now they had an even worse situation on their hands. Hringham was larger than Kirstal and the people were in dire straights. They were starving and it almost had to be the local lord’s doing.

“Who is lord here?” Julia asked.

Keverin thought for a moment. “That would be… Meagan of Herstal Keep.”

Jihan nodded.

“You can’t tell me Meagan is an honourable lord.”

“He’s a weasel,” Keverin said in disgust. “He’s powerful enough to put most men in their places, but not me he’s not.”

“Nor me,” Jihan growled as he watched the people queueing for food.

“What are you going to do? You’re not going to fight him are you?” Julia said worriedly. Keverin could look after himself, but mistakes did happen. Mistakes in a sword fight led to death or maiming.

“Don’t worry. Meagan is a non-entity as a swordsman—a total dandy.”

Julia felt better hearing that, but she decided to pay special attention to Meagan. She had letters belonging to the Lord of Herstal. Now that she had seen Hringham, she would be sure to use them. Meagan had thoughtfully not signed his name, but his seal was enough to give him away as an ally of Athlone and therefore a traitor to the crown.

“We’ll need more food by the looks of it,” Julia said nodding at the crowds.

“That’s what I’ve been thinking,” Keverin said in concern. “I’ll send another messenger to Marcus. The way we’re going, he won’t have any men left to command!”

Julia snorted. She walked toward the crowd on Keverin’s arm to watch the progress. It would take a good many wagons to supply a town this size. She made a mental note to ask Jihan to send a messenger to Malcor as well. Two caravans were better than one.

“Do you think Meagan is at home?” Jihan said still watching the children.

“I don’t know,” Keverin said watching the food being gobbled by the hungry little mites.

Jihan stroked the handle of his sword as he watched. “I could pay him a visit—a courtesy call you understand.”

Keverin smiled as he imagined it. “Hmmm… I would hate to be discourteous.”

Julia opened her mouth to argue.

“It’s settled then,” Jihan said. “We ride to Herstal to pay our… respects.”

“Now?”

“Now would be best,” Jihan agreed with a white knuckled grip upon his sword now that mirrored Keverin.

“Now wait a damn minute!” Julia said. “If you think you’re leaving me behind—”

“Or me!” Ahnao said glaring at Jihan.

“—you have another think coming!”

Keverin and Jihan eyed each other over their lady’s heads. Julia stood with her fists on hips and glared fit to blister paint. Ahnao was more direct. She fisted Jihan’s shoulder.

“Now Ahnao…”

“Now Julia…”

A few short candlemarks later, Julia rode with Keverin and Jihan to the keep. Ahnao was conspicuously quiet. Julia didn’t know what Jihan had said to her when he guided her away for a private chat, but whatever it was had her red-faced and fuming.

“Are you all right?”

Ahnao scowled. “I be fine.”

Julia raised an eyebrow at that. Ahnao had fallen into her old way of speaking without even noticing. “Are you sure?”

Ahnao took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She nodded. “I’m fine Julia, it’s just…”

“Just what? Did Jihan say something to upset you?”

Ahnao grinned mischievously. “We can make up later.”

Julia chuckled. “So what did he say?”

“Nothing important,” she said and quickly changed the subject. “When I lived in Bri with ma… mother, I used to dream about living in a fine castle with lords and ladies. My dream came true when I met Jihan, but it’s different to how I thought it would be.”

“How is it different?”

Ahnao hesitated and then spoke softly. “It’s harder to pretend that I’m a lady than I thought it would be.”

“Hey!” Julia said and Kev looked back. She flicked her fingers at him and he faced front again with a smile. Julia grasped her magic and raised a ward of silence. “You’re not pretending—you’re more a noble lady than I will ever be!”

Ahnao looked quickly at Jihan.

“Don’t worry, they can’t hear us.”

“Magic?”

Julia smiled. “You’re Jihan’s consort, Ahnao. That on its own would be enough to make you a lady in most people’s minds, but he didn’t make you what you are. You did that. I told you once that anyone can act like a lady, but it’s what’s inside that really counts. Jihan saw it in you the moment he met you, and so did I.”

Ahnao smiled and took Julia hand. She squeezed once then took her reins again. “Thank you for saying that.”

“Is everything all right at Malcor? Are the others giving you a hard time?” Julia said thinking that she would pay Malcor a long visit and sort this out.

“At first they did,” Ahnao said with a shrug. “Whispers and spite. Nothing I couldn’t handle. I never told Jihan, but I had to wipe the floor with one of them in the women’s quarter.”

Julia gaped. “Really?”

“Yes really!” Ahnao said through her laughter. “You ought to see your face!”

She looked away sheepishly. “Who was it?”

“Ellyn.”

“I liked Ellyn,” she said, disappointed in the woman who might have become a friend.

“I still do,” Ahnao said. “After you and Jessica, she’s my best friend.”

Julia blinked.

“It’s not Ellyn or Malcor that I’m worried about. It’s Devarr.”

“Devarr? What’s at Devarr for you to worry about?”

Ahnao looked at her as if she were dense. “Every Lord and Lady in the land will be there.”

Ah! Julia had to admit that she’d been a little apprehensive about that as well. She knew very few of the lords. There was Jihan, Purcell, and Gylaren of course, and lord Blaise was a friend of Keverin, though she had met him only three times. There were sixty lords. Most, if not all, would bring their consorts to Devarr for the new king’s coronation. She knew only four of them.

“I’m in the same boat, Ahnao,” Julia said but her friend looked confused. “I mean that I feel the same way. At least you know what to expect. I’ve only been on this world a year!”

Ahnao nodded. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I guess we should stick together. You watch my back and I’ll watch yours.”

Ahnao and Julia looked solemnly at each other. A moment later they spoilt it with fierce grins.

* * *

4 ~ Herstal Keep

Keverin shook his head at the impossibility of Julia and Ahnao chatting without a sound coming from their lips. He shook his head again. He was becoming resigned to impossible things happening. Living with Julia nearby was making them an almost common occurrence.

“Doesn’t that bother you?” Jihan said. “I could never get used to it.”

“I’m not so much used to it as I am resigned to it,” Keverin said with a small smile. “I’ll tell you one thing, there’s nothing that Julia has done or could do to make me give her up.”

Jihan nodded seriously. “It’s the same with me and Ahnao. She means more to me than… well, anything!”

“Exactly my thought. Things have gone well for you?”

“Very well. Do you remember what you said to me that time in your armoury?”

“Ouch wasn’t it?”

Jihan coughed. “Before that.”

Keverin smiled. Jihan had asked for his advice regarding Ahnao. It was before Julia destroyed the legion in the pass. Before the battle in the north and the re-taking of Malcor. He had told Jihan that he must do what was best for Ahnao no matter what that might be. Jihan had been considering not returning to Malcor. He had even mentioned renouncing his place as his father’s heir.

“Are you glad that you decided against the forester’s life?”

“I suppose I am. With Ahnao beside me I would have been happy, but…”

“But?”

“What of children?” Jihan said.

“Ah,” Keverin nodded feeling suddenly melancholy.

His forty first year had come and gone, yet he had no sons. He wanted children. He wanted what he saw in other’s eyes when they looked upon their sons. The love and the pride he saw caused a yearning in him for the same. He took a deep breath trying to shake off his mood. There was time yet for children. Once their business was done at Devarr, Julia and he would be wed, but he couldn’t help regretting the lost years before they met.

“You speak of dynasty.”

Jihan nodded. “My ancestor’s rulership of Malcor isn’t ancient like yours. Not even four hundred years yet. More than one Lord of Malcor has died childless. Adoption at Malcor was almost a tradition before my family was raised to rule in the north. I wouldn’t bring those uncertain times back again.”

“I’m sure you will not. You have time,” Keverin said to comfort his friend, but it was for himself and Athione that he sent a prayer winging its way to the God.

Please let there be time!

Jihan nodded. “You’re right. So, what’s the plan?”

“Plan?”

“Meagan.”

Keverin grunted. “I will confront him with Hringham and the plight of the people there.”

“His people.”

“Your point?”

Jihan shrugged. “My point is that he breaks no law—”

“He breaks the God’s law!” Keverin said sharply.

“Peace my friend,” Jihan said raising a hand. “Under the King’s law, he may do whatever he wishes within his own borders. We have no power to challenge that. Only the King may do so.”

“No one with honour would treat his people so.”

“Exactly my point. Meagan is an honourless little weasel—you agree?”

“Certainly.”

“Then what makes you think he will change his ways?”

Keverin scowled. “I could challenge him.”

“So could I, so will I, but what if he refuses to accept?”

No true man would refuse to accept such a challenge to his authority, but Jihan was right in his estimation of Meagan. “I’ll think about it when it happens.”

“Fair enough.”

They camped that night beside the road in a small clearing that had obviously been used for that purpose for many years. There were stone circles blackened from the ash of old camp fires, and there was a stream that ran sweet and pure near to hand. Firewood had been left in neat piles by previous travellers, and Keverin ordered more cut to replace what they used. The sergeants arranged a watch schedule with their captains and sentries were quickly set. Jihan’s men would trade off with Keverin’s to split the night in two. The weather was fine, the chance of rain remote. The tents were left packed aboard the wagons in order to facilitate an early start in the morning.

“We should do this more often,” Julia said snuggled next to Keverin where he sat on a log before one of the fires. “I could get to like camping.”

“Camping,” Keverin mused. “You make it sound like entertainment.”

“Where I come from it is. There are people who journey into the countryside just to live in a tent for a while.”

Keverin’s eyebrows climbed. “A strange pastime.”

“You would say that, but if you saw my world you would understand.”

“Oh?”

“We live our lives by the clock, Kev. We never seem to have enough time to do what we want to do. We rush from place to place not realising just what we’re missing. Our trip to Devarr would be considered a short hop in my world. It would only take a few days by car and we would still think it too long. There are people that regularly fly around the world and think nothing of it.”

Keverin shook his head hardly able to imagine it. “I would like to see that.”

“No you wouldn’t,” Julia said with a shiver. “You wouldn’t like my world. I don’t ever want to go back—not ever.”

“You won’t have to,” Keverin said wondering at the change in her.

“I don’t want to be alone. Not again,” she whispered.

Propriety be damned, he thought. He bent to kiss her. Julia raised her lips to his and the kiss deepened. The world faded until there was only Julia and her touch. She was everything he had ever wanted in a woman. He would be lost without her. Their lips parted and they stared into each other’s eyes completely unaware of all the grinning and happy faces surrounding them.

“You will never be alone again. I swear it.”

“I love you so much it hurts,” Julia said suddenly teary eyed.

Keverin nodded. “I feel it too,” he said and thumped his armoured chest over his heart. “Right here.”

“Yes,” Julia said swallowing her tears and laughing at herself. “Just look at me. See what you’ve done?”

“I am looking.”

Julia blushed scarlet.

Keverin looked reluctantly away. “Strike us up a tune, Udall.”

“Aye m’lord!” Udall said happily and took up his lute. “What would you have?”

“The Milkmaid’s Daughter!” someone called.

“The Guardsman’s Lament!” another said, but it was drowned out by laughter. It wasn’t a song for polite company and there were noble ladies present.

“How about Gentle Gwen?” Moriz said. “I always liked that one.”

Halbert snorted. “Big bad guardsman! You’re nothing but a big softy!”

The guardsmen howled in laughter. “He’s right Moriz!”

Moriz scowled. “It’s a good song,” he said trying to ignore the laughter and catcalls.

“It’s about a village girl and her sweetheart,” Keverin whispered to Julia while the debate continued. “She falls in love with a guardsman, but he’s called away to war by his lord.”

“Does it have a happy ending?”

“In a way. She crosses the kingdom to find him, but he lies buried under a weeping willow where he fell. She finds his grave and in her time is buried by his side. The last part tells of them living forever in the Other World.”

“Together?” Julia said.

Keverin nodded. “Forever,” he said and raised Julia’s hand for a chaste kiss.

Udall began to play Gentle Gwen and Moriz sang in a surprisingly good voice. Burke retrieved his flute and played along. Halden sang the chorus and everyone joined in. Julia concentrated upon the words, and when the chorus came around a second time, she joined in. To Jessica’s amused disgust, Udall played The Milkmaid’s Daughter next. It was a popular tune with the guardsmen. More instruments were hastily pulled out of the baggage and into the firelight. It wasn’t long before they had their very own orchestra composed of widely grinning foot tapping guardsmen.

Julia laughed when she heard the song. It belonged in a common room and would probably be sung by a sot deep in his cups. Everyone roared with laughter when Keverin played the part of the daughter’s intended. On one knee he sang to Jihan. Jihan fluttered his eyelashes coyly and flounced away singing his part. He returned to Keverin with his hands folded shyly under his chin for the chorus.

Everyone sang the chorus, and then Keverin sang to Jihan again. He was panting from laughing so hard when he rejoined Julia.

“That was marvellous,” Julia said happily.

“Jessica will give me what for later.”

“No she won’t. She hasn’t laughed so hard in ages.”

“Nor have I!” Keverin said with a grin.

Mathius rose to his feet and everyone hushed in expectation. In a quiet voice he told the story of the Founding. Keverin had heard the tale many times. Instead of watching Mathius as he brought that long ago time to life, he watched Julia. She was spellbound. She was leaning forward and hanging on Mathius’ every word.

Julia saw him watching her out the corner of her eye. She grinned at him. “What?”

Keverin shook his head with a smile. “I just like looking at you.”

Julia held out her hand and he took it. “Listen, he’s coming to the best part.”

Keverin reluctantly turned his attention to Mathius just as he conjured a dragon. He gasped in shock, but it went unheard. There were gasps and gaping faces aplenty.

“Oooh…”

“Ahhhh…”

“Look at that!”

The dragon was lovingly crafted in tiny detail. Its silver scales shimmered and reflected the firelight. It floated above Mathius’ hand lazily flapping its wings as if flying through the air. It was a beautiful creature and one that Keverin recognised. There was a much larger version of Mathius’ dragon in the great hall at Athione. The dragon tapestry was very old and based on a story from the Histories.

Julia was grinning at his stunned expression. Keeping her voice low she said, “I knew he could do it.”

“Do?”

“Illusions,” Julia said simply. “He’s been playing around with them for tendays. He got the idea from my botched attempt at a ward—you remember?”

Keverin shook his head. “I never saw it.”

Julia’s face darkened and he squeezed her hand. She was remembering her first attempt at warding. It had been just a short time after the sorcerers destroyed Athione’s west wall and gate towers. He had been badly injured and near death when Julia climbed one of the crumbling towers to fight. She had tried to raise a ward to replace the one destroyed, but according to Marcus and others he had spoken to, it had manifested itself as a mere curtain of blue light. It had looked like a ward, but it was merely light. It was unable to hold the enemy out of the fortress.

“That was a long time ago, Julia. Don’t think about it.”

“Easy to say,” Julia said with a brittle smile. “Anyway, that’s where he got the idea. He really is a genius, Kev. We were talking about wards and how the different types were constructed, when he suddenly said that if I could raise blue light with magic, why not shadows? That’s all an illusion really is you know—light and shadows. The next thing I know, he’s experimenting with them and adding other colours.”

“He’s amazing,” Keverin said because Julia wanted him too. “What else can he do?”

“Just the dragon—he isn’t very strong yet. It’s tiring for him.”

The dragon was a pretty thing, but it wasn’t a very practical kind of magic. He didn’t say that though. Julia and Mathius had a special relationship—one he could have been jealous of if not for his own special place in Julia’s heart. He respected her feelings for Mathius because he shared them to a—no doubt lesser—extent. He could never know the intimate bond they shared—the bond between two people blessed with the God’s power, but then Mathius would never know what Julia and he shared together. Keverin watched the dragon rise above Mathius’ head and belch flames into the night. It rose higher and higher until finally disappearing with one final blast of fire. There was a hush over the camp. All eyes were searching the sky as if expecting the creature to return.

Mathius broke the silence, “And that, my dear friends, was how Deva was born in blood and fire.” He bowed to Keverin and Jihan.

Thunderous applause erupted from all sides as Mathius took his place by the fire. Julia winked at him, and he grinned in delight.

Keverin stood and the camp quieted. “We have an early start tomorrow, but I think there’s time left for one dance,” he said and held out his hand to Julia. “Come my lady.”

Udall whispered to Burke and the other players. There were nods and hasty retuning of strings. Udall began it. It was a simple melody that was commonly played at weddings and feast days. No one knew its origins, but that it was old was beyond question. There had been many different songs penned to accompany it over the years.

Julia took Keverin’s hand reluctantly and he pulled her to her feet. “I’ll get you for this,” she said under her breath just as Burke and the other players began to play their accompaniment.

“Hush,” Keverin said. “You know how to dance better than anyone I know.”

“Gymnastics is a different kind of dancing.”

“I know,” he said with laughter in his eyes.

Julia curtsied and tried to cover her sigh of exasperation, but Keverin heard it all right. He bowed, and then led her into the dance. She responded to him and the music beautifully. He knew she would.

Julia was made for dancing.

The next day found Keverin’s thoughts far from music and dancing. In the distance, Herstal Keep rose seemingly out of the forest as they followed the road over dip and rise. It was built on a hill that had once been the site of a watch tower guarding the river approach to Devarr. The tower was gone now, only its purpose remained. A purpose Herstal fulfilled admirably. It was a shame that the same couldn’t be said for its lords. The trees had been allowed to close back in from where the Founders had pushed them. No doubt Meagan liked a little hunting—most lords did, but allowing the forest to hold that which foolish lords had allowed it to reclaim, was more than just unwise. True, the keep—and the tower before it—had been built to watch the river approach, but it also watched the land. That land was now composed of deep forest.

Meagan wasn’t a fool, but he was acting like one. No one could treat his people so badly and not reap the consequences. He must know that. Why then was he doing it? Why, if not for greed, was he taxing his people into ruin? It was more than just brutal. It was foolish. Meagan’s prosperity relied upon the prosperity of his people and lands. By doing as he had done, he was weakening himself.

“Why destroy his own?”

“Hmmm?” Jihan said. “Who?”

Keverin nodded at the keep, visible again as they topped a rise in the road. “Meagan. Put yourself in his place for a moment—”

“I’d rather not.”

“—do that and destroy your own people?” Keverin said ignoring Jihan’s sarcasm. “Where is the gain?”

“Gold?”

“In the short term, yes, but he’ll ruin his lands. It doesn’t make sense.”

“It makes sense all right,” Jihan said. “Just not to us.”

Keverin grunted. “I suppose.”

“What about undermining the King? It would have that effect wouldn’t it?” Julia said.

“He’s dead.”

“Yes, now he’s dead, but he wasn’t when Meagan and Scalderon started this.”

Keverin frowned. Julia had shown him the letters penned by such lords as Scalderon and Meagan. There was no mention of any such plan. There was treachery and conspiracy, but no mention was made of taxes.

“How many others were involved in your father’s plans?” Keverin said.

Jihan scowled. “Athlone’s treachery was spread far and wide. Did they all write letters? I doubt it. Those that did are bad enough. There’s no telling how many were involved or how deeply.”

“You’re looking at this all wrong,” Julia said.

Keverin turned to find his lady close behind him. “Oh?”

“You told me that if Athlone had tried to go through with his plan, there would have been civil war.”

“And so there would,” Jihan said. “Athlone chose his allies carefully and well. Those he needed most would have known his plans in detail. They had to be deeply involved—the letters prove that—and trusted as much as Athlone trusted anyone.”

Julia shook her head. “That helps, but it’s not what I was talking about. War costs money—lots of money. From where do such lords get their money?”

“Outside the kingdom,” Keverin said grimly.

“The sorcerers—” Jihan began.

Julia shook her head. “Not them, well maybe, but I was thinking more of Kirstal and Hringham. We have letters from both Meagan and Scalderon. Both of them are taxing their people into ruin. Where is all that gold going?”

“Supplies… war supplies?” Jihan said with a frown at Keverin. “It might be that they’re taxing so heavily in order to raise armies.”

“If so, we should turn around.”

Julia shook her head. “We need to know what they’re up to. Why not send Kinnon on ahead?”

Kinnon was their best scout. What he did was close to artistry in his opinion, yet he hesitated. Kinnon had lost his brother to the Hasians last year and he hadn’t been the same since. His brightness had dimmed into something hard and cold. Where before it had been his brother Ged who had been prone to brooding, now it was he. It was almost as if Kinnon had died that day and not Ged.

“Brian!”

“Lord?” Captain Brian said as he kicked his horse into a brief trot to come alongside Keverin.

“Your opinion on Kinnon’s squad?”

“The best we have, my lord, and veterans all. Sergeant Kinnon is the best scout in the fortress and his men aspire to match him. They never will, but they’ll come close and keep trying. For pride, and for him, my lord.”

“What of his mood?”

“Mood my lord?” Brian frowned. “I don’t think I—”

“The death of his brother hit him hard.”

“Yes my lord, of course it did, but none would let such things interfere with duty, least of all Kinnon. Might I ask…?”

Keverin nodded. “I’m considering whether to send Kinnon’s squad on ahead to investigate the situation at Herstal. Think you they’re ready?”

“Yes my lord.”

“No doubts?”

“None my lord! They’re veterans and they were good before Kinnon took them on. They won’t fail you.”

“That agrees with my thinking on the matter.”

Brian was confused. “Then why…?”

“Why did I ask you?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I asked because you’re his captain, but you’re new to your position. I wanted to hear your reasoning.”

“I see,” Brian said stiffly.

Keverin noted Brian’s tone. “Marcus recommended you for the position. You’re young for it, but I decided to take his advice. I can see that I was right to do so.”

The stiffness in Brian’s posture eased. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Order Kinnon to go on ahead and scout the situation. Tell him to pay particular attention to the horses. I would know just how many guardsmen we will find upon our arrival.”

“At once my lord!” Brian saluted and turned his horse to ride back.

Julia watched Brian ride away then turned to Keverin. “That was good of you.”

“He deserves to know that I have faith in him. Marcus was right to promote him.”

“I know, but it was still nice for him to hear it from you.”

Kinnon galloped away at the head of his squad and was quickly lost to distance. He would take to the trees at some point and scout the lay of the land.

“Tell me more of Herstal,” Julia said watching Kinnon out of sight. “For what is he most known?”

Keverin shrugged. “His father, perhaps?” he said looking at Jihan for confirmation.

“Before my time, I’m afraid,” Jihan said with a quick smile. “I know of him though.”

Keverin nodded. “Lord Grier was a good man, though I think unsuited to the life that the God gave him. He was a less than average lord, but as a man, there were few better. He used to spend a good deal of his spare time on the hunt. He invited my father many times.”

“I remember,” Jessica said. “Kevlarin enjoyed his company.”

Keverin nodded. “I was only a boy, but I know father respected him.”

“So what went wrong with his son?” Julia said.

“I don’t know. Meagan is nothing like his father. Grier spent a good deal of his time working with his dyers. I’ve heard it said that he would actually get down in the vats with his men to clean them. He was always looking for new ways to make Herstal dyes the best. Meagan would never lower himself to do that.”

“Your cloak was probably made using Herstal dye,” Jessica put in. “You won’t get a blue that rich using anything else.”

Julia stroked the material of her cloak. “I didn’t realise. I thought this came from Lomond.”

Keverin smiled. “It did. Lomond is one of Herstal’s biggest customers and always has been. Chogan relies upon the tried and true, but Blaise is different. He told me that he’s been experimenting with other suppliers.”

Julia nodded. “I remember you two discussing that. Have you decided?”

“I know nothing about pigments and what not. Blaise has a positive knack for it. What do I know about coal tar and chemicals—nothing. It’s like listening to a mage when Blaise gets started on the subject! He would do better asking Mathius and Lucius to join him, not me.”

“You could learn.”

“I suppose.”

Keverin was not at all enthusiastic and had no intention of joining Blaise in shaking up the dyer’s industry. He had enough to do without trying to become a merchant prince like those in Japura. He would never admit to it openly, but he had a lot of sympathy with traditionalist lords like Chogan. Although they didn’t see eye to eye on the issue of peonage, he agreed with Chogan’s views regarding a lord’s duty to his people. A lord’s traditional place was to provide governance and protection to his people. It was a duty that Keverin felt well equipped to discharge. He’d learned from his father all he needed to know about merchants and trading. Kevlarin taught him to invest gold wisely, but take no active part in the myriad of schemes proposed to him each year. That advice had stood him in good stead over the years. Athione’s treasure was increasing slowly but steadily, and like his father before him, he had time for the things he considered more important than gold.

“Blaise will be disappointed,” Julia said interrupting Keverin’s reverie.

“He knows me well enough to guess what my decision would be. I would do him a disservice if I tried to meddle with the trade he and his people know so well.”

“It might give Meagan pause if he heard you were backing Blaise,” Jihan said with a grin. “I can almost hear the howls from here!”

Keverin and Jihan laughed over that but Julia had a distracted look upon her face. A moment later she smiled grimly. Jessica noticed and leaned in to ask what had occurred to her, but Julia just shook her head unwilling to divulge her secret.

Keverin shielded his eyes as he checked the sun’s position. Thinking it would be beneficial to give Kinnon some time to work, he conferred with Jihan and it was decided to stop for an early meal. Midday was a candlemark or more away, but Kinnon could use the extra time.

* * *

Kinnon would have agreed with his lord had he known his thoughts. As it was, he was cursing under his breath and wondering how he was to cover such a wide area of forest in the time available. He couldn’t of course. That being true, there was no point in trying. A half-arsed job of scouting was worse than useless. It would lead to a false feeling of security when in fact there was none. Lord Corlath—Purcell’s eldest boy—had found that out to his cost just last year. He was dead, and his men with him, because he forgot that basic lesson.

When Kinnon judged his squad was close enough, he ordered they dismount and proceed on foot. He left Danil in charge of the horses and told him not to unsaddle them. Secure in the knowledge that Danil had the horses in hand, Kinnon led his nine men deep into the trees. There was no talking. Each foot was placed carefully and precisely to prevent noise. Kinnon did it as easily as breathing—without thought. His father had taught him and Ged the way of the deep forests and there was none better in the land. Kinnon’s squad tried to emulate him with varying degrees of success, but the result was very nearly perfect.

No one heard them.

But then again, Kinnon mused as he edged through the undergrowth, there was no one around to hear them. He didn’t seriously expect to find anyone this deep in the trees. If he was right, he would find what he was looking for camped near the keep or even within the town of Herstal itself. There was no logical reason for an army to camp within—

“Down!” Kinnon hissed with a patting gesture in the air behind him.

His squad instantly obeyed. The ground seemed to writhe for a moment then cease. The guardsmen were as close to invisible as made no difference. Kinnon took one hasty glance back to satisfy himself that his apprentices had remembered their lessons. They had. He cocked his elbow and raised a clenched fist.

Hold here.

Kinnon eased forward and into the cover of a fallen tree. He slithered into a hollow under the rotted trunk and carefully peered through the undergrowth at what had alerted him. It was an encampment. Not large at first sight, but it was a sprawling mess. The more he studied it, the more he realised that it could be very large indeed. There were no orderly rows of tents to count. No picket lines to easily estimate cavalry. Even the latrines were out of sight somewhere. The more he thought about it, the more he realised that such a disorganised camp was in fact very clever. He scanned the area for a banner, but there was nothing. There was no resemblance to one of Lord Keverin’s orderly encampments, the tents were set at all angles and positions with no two the same. It gave the impression of being haphazard, but Kinnon wasn’t fooled. Someone had gone to great lengths to make the camp appear this way. Might there be more of these? His eyes narrowed. There could be, he thought grimly.

Kinnon eased himself backwards and out from under the tree. He raised his fist and pumped it once. The ground writhed and his squad converged upon his position.

“We have ourselves a camp.”

“The captain was right?” Hanlon said in surprise. “That boy is full of surprises. Who are they?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out. Circle around in pairs, and watch each other’s backs. Remember what I taught you about cover and movement. Stay still and you’ll fool the keenest eyes. We meet back at the horses. Hanlon, you’re with me.”

Hanlon nodded.

* * *

Keverin listened to Kinnon’s report in silence. He didn’t know quite what to make of it. Neither did Kinnon even though he had seen it. The encampment in the forest was a puzzle. No banners to indicate allegiance, purposefully disorganised as if they wanted it to be mistaken for a brigand camp, and then there was the keep itself.

“Tell me again what you found at Herstal,” Keverin said.

“It’s like a festival, m’lord. There are banners of almost a dozen lords flying over the keep, and hundreds of guardsmen in the town. They’re walking around stuffing their faces and swilling ale like it was mid-summer’s eve. There was some right big ships in the harbour—under Lethbridge and Ascol banners they was.”

“Scalderon too?” Julia said.

Kinnon nodded. “Aye, lady, he’s there. I recognised his banner right off.”

“Wait a moment,” Julia said and went to fetch the satchel of letters from her horse. “What about…” she said rummaging in the satchel. “Horton of Choma?”

“Aye, him too. There was Herstal, Kelvadon, Choma, Ascol, Penola, Godstone, Lethbridge, Atherton, and Chaidren Ridge. There might have been others, but I didn’t dare go closer.”

“That’s fine,” Keverin said. “You did well.”

“Thank you, m’lord.”

“Go and find yourself something to eat while we decide what’s to be done.”

Kinnon saluted, bowed to Julia, and went to join his mates. Keverin waited until he was out of earshot to speak. He didn’t want his words carried to the men. There was no point in worrying them until they knew for sure what this all meant.

“Are they all in there?” Keverin said to a distracted Julia as she went through the scrolls.

“Not all. Atherton and Chaidren Ridge aren’t, but the rest are. I don’t know that it means anything. As Jihan said before, they might have sent messages verbally or not at all. What are we going to do about this?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing!” Julia said in a shocked voice. “What do you mean nothing?”

“There’s no law against holding a celebration or gathering of lords like this. They do no wrong, and we have no say in Meagan’s guest list.”

“But it must have something to do with Athlone’s plan.”

“Possibly. Probably it does, but that doesn’t change matters.”

“He’s right Julia,” Jihan said. “We would look foolish indeed if we tried to make something of this.”

“What of Hringham?”

“Ah now, that is an entirely different matter,” Keverin said with enthusiasm. “I can and will talk to Meagan about that.”

“Talk?” Julia said suspiciously. “Just talk?”

Keverin nodded once. “Just talk.” Of course she didn’t know that the talk he had in mind for Meagan would flay the hide of him. The sword wasn’t the only way of dealing with weasels.

They reached the town of Herstal late in the day. Keverin and Jihan decided not to visit Meagan immediately, instead they busied themselves with setting up a strong camp outside the town. Julia watched the preparations with concern, but Keverin put her mind at rest by assuring her that he didn’t seriously expect an attack. He just wanted to be careful. Caution cost nothing, he assured her.

The next morning saw Keverin waiting for Julia outside the camp. He patted Cavell’s shoulder and mounted. “That should do it don’t you think?” he said nodding at the camp walls.

Jihan laughed. “In more ways than one.”

They had proceeded on the assumption that Herstal was hostile territory. The tents were arranged in neat rows with wide avenues between, and earthen walls had been quickly thrown up to ring them. The baggage carts were ranked hub to hub in the centre and the horses were picketed within the rampart, not outside of it. Half of Jihan’s men were on the walls standing watch with half of his. Anyone with half a brain could see just by looking that it was a war camp.

Keverin nodded. “Meagan won’t like it, that’s certain.”

“Who would?”

Julia strode out of her tent pulling on her gloves. She nodded to Moriz and stepped quickly into his waiting hands for a boost into the saddle. Keverin watched her with pride. No one would have guessed that a year ago she had never sat a saddle. She turned the big black and pushed her into a trot as if born to it.

“Ready?” Julia said as she drew rein by his side. “What?”

Keverin shook his head. “I love you, my lady sorceress.”

Julia’s jaw dropped open a little and her cheeks reddened. “Well… good!” Her eyes found a grinning Jihan. “He’s such a comfort. I think I’ll keep him.”

Jihan guffawed.

“I love you too,” Julia said to Keverin and took his hand for a brief squeeze. Kyrie shifted under her and Julia patted her neck. “I miss Ayita.”

Keverin nodded. Ayita had taken the arrow meant for Julia and had bled out upon the ground during the fighting at Dirlston. “Kyrie suits you—very lady like.”

Kyrie meant lady like.

Julia snorted.

“You’ll get used to her.”

“She tolerates me,” Julia said with another affectionate pat. “We’re fine.”

Keverin turned to Jihan. “Ahnao?”

“I asked her to stay here with Jessica—”

Keverin raised an eyebrow and nodded toward the camp as the subject of their discussion mounted her horse. Jihan’s face darkened. “Peace, my friend. She will be safe enough.”

“That’s not the point,” Jihan said stiffly.

Keverin shrugged and decided he had said enough. Advising a man about what he should or shouldn’t do where his consort was concerned was an uncertain business, and besides, Julia and he were not yet wed. He could hardly call upon his vast experience in the matter.

Ahnao brought her horse beside Jihan’s and murmured something that Keverin failed to catch. Jihan shook his head impatiently and her face crumpled. Julia was about to say something but Keverin quickly stopped her with a raised hand. She hesitated too long and missed her chance to intervene. Luckily so. Jihan’s face softened and he reach for his consort’s hand. He whispered something that made Ahnao smile shakily.

“Is all well?” Keverin said.

Jihan nodded. “Ahnao has never visited Herstal. She will be joining us.”

“That is well,” Keverin said with a smile and looked back to Brian. “Move out in column!”

“Column…!” Brian ordered in a strong voice that echoed in the mid-morning air. “Forward!”

“Column…!” Echion echoed the order for Jihan’s men. “Forward!”

Jihan and Keverin led their men in a column of fours with their ladies in close attendance by their sides. It was decided to ride straight through the town rather than circle around. It was a faster and more direct route. Keverin was all for directness in this matter and Jihan agreed. Julia’s head was turning constantly trying to take in all the new sights. She had seen very little of Deva. Come to that, she had seen very little of his own lands, Keverin mused. It was something he was determined to remedy.

“Way there!” Jihan roared. “Make way!”

The streets were busy. Townsfolk and guardsmen hurriedly lined the street to allow them passage and closed back in behind once they past. Keverin noted the folk were well fed and happy, unlike those poor souls in Hringham. He supposed that was good news, but he couldn’t work up much enthusiasm. Meagan would be a fool indeed to treat people on his own doorstep as shabbily as he had those in other towns. Rebellion and unrest, though rare, could not be discounted.

The sights and the sounds had Julia craning her neck trying to see everything at once. The rhythmic clanging of a hammer on anvil spoke of a blacksmith working at his trade. Boisterous singing greeted them outside a tavern. A bakery came and went making Keverin’s mouth water at the scent of freshly baked bread. The marketplace was full to overflowing. They detoured around it. It was easy to find their way. The keep dominated the skyline and could be seen from any point within Herstal Town, and besides that, the grade would have told them the right direction.

They left the town behind them and followed the road up toward the keep. The encampments mentioned in Kinnon’s report were here too, clinging to the hillside. Keverin took note of the banners and found nine including Meagan’s Herstal. Kinnon had been thorough. Looking back over the rooftops of the town, Keverin could easily make out four huge ships. Their naked masts clawed at the sky like a tree in winter with banners fluttering atop.

Herstal keep was constructed quite unlike other Devan fortifications. The most obvious difference was its lack of a curtain wall and towers. The keep was only a tenth the size of Athione’s citadel. It was tall like any good watch tower should be, but Herstal was no longer a watch tower. Not truly. Truth be told, Keverin didn’t much care for it. It was an ugly building of dark stone. It dominated its hill and surroundings, but it didn’t lend the feeling of safety like Athione did. No doubt so many windows (there were dozens and dozens) could be used for archers, but without walls and towers they were Herstal’s only offensive advantage. Defensively was another matter. There were no walls for an enemy to climb, and hence there was only one way in—the gates. It would take a very determined enemy to force the gates and enter the keep while under fire. They were narrow to prevent a large force from doing just that. Keverin knew he could hold Herstal for many tendays against a much larger force should that be necessary, but what of protecting the town?

Keverin paid close attention to the stables and out buildings. The stables were small, probably only enough capacity for two or three hundred men. There were almost certainly more stables on the other side of the hill, but if they looked anything like these, he had nothing to fear. Keverin felt sure Meagan had not been recruiting an army. If he had been, there would have been many more horses and supplies in evidence. The mounts that he could see grazing looked of good quality but not the best. He doubted two in ten were bred from Camorin stock. No doubt they were all war trained, but Devan bloodlines were known to be inferior.

The gates remained tightly shut—not very hospitable—but to be expected. The guardsmen within the camps looked on without concern, which lessened Keverin’s anxieties. More guardsmen ducked out of tents—without their weapons for the most part, and took the time to watch a rare spectacle. Two of The Four had come calling.

A rare event indeed.

Keverin was pleased by their lack of readiness. He didn’t want a fight, Jihan didn’t want a fight, and if he had any sense, Meagan didn’t want a fight.

“Chaidren and Atherton seem out of place,” Jihan said as they rode under the eyes of the silently watching guardsmen.

“Why?” Julia said.

“They’ve joined forces in one camp, and they’re sharing guard duties.”

Keverin frowned. He had missed that and he shouldn’t have.

“The others are keeping to themselves,” Jihan went on. “There appears to be some division between allies here. See how they’ve set their camp apart from the others? And see there,” Jihan nodded toward the picket lines. “Half the horses are already saddled for a quick response.”

“Hmmm,” Keverin mused, “Not all is well here. Some, it would seem, dislike the taste of treason.”

“That,” Jihan agreed with a nod. “Or they bicker over some other point.”

They rode beyond the encampments and right up to the keep. Brian ordered his men to reform into two ranks before the gates. Jihan’s men did likewise. There was complete silence except for the creak of leather as the men shifted in their saddles.

“Ho the Gate! Open!”

“Who comes?”

They already knew who and what had come calling, but the challenge was traditional.

“Keverin, Lord Protector of the West!”

“And I! Jihan, Lord Protector of the North!”

The silence resumed and continued long after it should.

Keverin glanced at Jihan who shrugged. It seemed neither of them had thought they might be denied admittance. Keverin fumed. He was angry with himself for not considering such an obvious turn in events. If Meagan didn’t want to admit them into his home, why then, he need not do so. He need only keep the gate barred, and there was nothing to be done about it. Keverin was almost growling with frustration. He was embarrassed not to have thought of this. He felt ridiculous cooling his heels before the barred gates with no idea what to do next.

Julia took matters in hand. She nudged her horse forward. “Let me see now,” she said reaching out to touch the wood of the gate. “Hmmm…”

“Julia, what are you—”

There came an audible clunk from within the keep and the sound of heavy wood falling. The gates swung open without a touch upon them. Keverin watched with a feral smile as Julia’s magic opened the way. There were frightened shouts from within the keep and the sound of running feet on cobbles. No doubt the gatekeeper was off to find his captain or his lord.

“That’s handy,” Jihan murmured and Keverin nodded. “Shall we?”

“One moment,” Keverin said and turned to speak with Brian. “If we don’t return within a candlemark, send back to the camp for reinforcements and pry us out of there.”

“But my lord! I should accompany you.”

“And I,” Captain Echion said appealing to Jihan. Jihan raised his hand and told him to wait.

“Follow my orders, Brian.”

“Yes my lord, but at least take an honour guard… a bodyguard for the ladies at least,” Brian said slyly.

Julia opened her mouth to protest, but it was too late. Keverin nodded and let Brian have his way. “Give me Kinnon’s squad—”

“Yes my lord, I was about to suggest it. Take Moriz and Halbert as well… and another twelve besides.”

Julia was growling under her breath about bodyguards and what Brian could do with them.

Keverin smiled. “I think twelve is enough, Brian. Two dozen would be discourteous to Meagan.”

“What of Lord Jihan?” Brian said glancing at Echion.

Echion nodded. “I must insist on a like number for my lord’s honour.”

Jihan’s lips twitched fighting not to laugh. Keverin raised an eyebrow and Jihan nodded with a shrug that said, ‘let us get on with this.’

“Twelve each it is,” Keverin said in appreciation of the well executed strategy. Brian knew that Julia’s safety was paramount to him as was Ahnao’s to Jihan. Two dozen it would be.

Jihan and Keverin helped their ladies to dismount, and then entered the keep on foot with their respective honour guards hovering protectively behind. Moriz and Halbert took up their accustomed places at Julia’s back.

“Can you jam the gate open?” Keverin said as they stepped around the fallen locking bar.

Julia flicked a finger at the huge beam where it lay upon the cobbles. It shot through the air and hit the right-hand gate, which slammed against the wall with a boom. The beam groaned and creaked as Julia wedged it open. Keverin stared at the sight. The beam was easily a half yard square, yet it was bowing like a twig. He had no doubt that she could snap it like one if she chose.

“Is that all right?” Julia said.

Keverin nodded. Meagan would have to chop through the thing to have a hope of closing the gate. “That’s fine.”

Julia took his arm and they continued through the dimly lit tunnel into the keep. They emerged into the stable court and looked around for a welcoming committee. The courtyard was empty. It was a small space open to the sky and surrounded on all sides with walls studded with windows. Directly ahead was a large door that opened into the keep proper. Smaller doors to the left and right allowed entry into other areas. Perhaps even into the very barracks and rooms above the gate that belonged to the windows they had seen on their approach.

“Not very friendly,” Julia said. “I wonder if they know we’re here.”

“They know,” Jihan said as guardsmen bundled out of each of the doors. “And here is our welcome.”

Keverin watched the guardsmen organise themselves into a semblance of proper form, and then Meagan emerged looking nervously at his companion. Not his seneschal surely?

“Do you know the man on his right?” Keverin said under his breath.

Jihan shook his head. “I’ve met Meagan less than a dozen times all told. I don’t know him. You?”

“No.”

Meagan stopped before Keverin and inclined his head politely. “I apologise for the lack of welcome. I wasn’t informed of your arrival.”

That was a boldfaced lie if ever he had heard one. Meagan certainly knew of the camp outside of Herstal Town, and his gatekeeper would have informed his captain of intruders at the gate.

“Apology accepted,” Keverin said making Meagan’s face darken. Meagan had expected him to wave his apology. “May I introduce my lady Julia?”

“Charmed,” Meagan said and inclined his head to Julia.

“And Lord Jihan and his consort Lady Ahnao.”

“Welcome to Herstal my lord and lady of Malcor.” Meagan said and then with a quick glance at his companion he went on, “This is—”

“A friend,” the stranger said watching Julia as if mesmerised. “Might I ask?”

Julia cocked her head. “Ask what… friend?”

“Forgive me. My manners seem to have deserted me. My name is Demophon,” he said with a handsome bow. “It’s said that you have magic in the manner of a mage, and that you can heal death itself.”

“No one can heal death, but I do have magic… after a fashion.”

“It’s amazing to me that the stories are true, lady.”

“I know how that feels,” Julia said ruefully.

Keverin nodded in agreement, and then turned his attention back to why they had come. “We journey to Devarr, Lord Meagan. I’m a little surprised to find you attended by so many lords here, and not already on your way to the Capital.”

Meagan smiled. “Ah, I see. We intend to take ship shortly. No doubt you saw our transportation awaiting us.”

“We did.”

“Perhaps you would join us?” Meagan said with a glance at Demophon. “You would be most welcome, my lords.”

Neither Keverin nor Jihan had to think. They shook their heads. Meagan wasn’t a friend to them, or the kingdom if they were right in their suspicions, and neither were the lords attending him. An accident could too easily befall them when separated from their men aboard ship.

“We thank you for the offer, Lord Meagan, but we have made other arrangements,” Keverin said.

Jihan nodded. “We came primarily to pay our respects to you and your lady, but I wonder if we might discuss something of mutual concern with you while we are here?” He gave Demophon a hard look. “In private.”

“If it regards the voting—”

“It does not,” Jihan said. “I would prefer private, but if you insist on speaking of it here…?”

Meagan looked puzzled. “No, no. If privacy is what you wish, you shall have it. Demophon can show the ladies the way as well as I can.” He turned to his guardsmen. “Dismiss the men, Captain.”

Keverin knew that Julia would prefer to hear what was said, but he would rather she didn’t. Julia had a fiery temper. He didn’t want her using it on Meagan until he was certain it was necessary.

He leaned down to whisper. “I’ll tell you all about it later, I promise.”

Julia’s lips thinned, but she nodded. “I’ll see if the others know anything.”

“Don’t hurt anyone.”

Julia snorted in amusement.

Keverin watched Demophon escort Julia and Ahnao inside. Moriz and Halbert followed Julia like a shadow. “Wait here.”

“Aye m’lord,” Kinnon said.

“I can have refreshments brought to your men if you wish,” Meagan said.

“That won’t be necessary, Meagan, but thank you for the thought.”

Meagan shrugged and led them inside.

* * *

There was something not quite right about Demophon, Julia mused as they made their way deeper into the keep. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but he made her uneasy. It wasn’t anything he had said, but more in the way he said it. Demophon hadn’t named himself a lord—she felt sure Keverin would have acknowledged Demophon as one if he had recognised him—but he acted very much like a lord. And then there was Meagan’s reaction to him. Meagan not only respected Demophon, he treated him as a figure of authority. What that authority was and from where it was derived were the questions on Julia’s mind.

Julia and Ahnao followed Demophon into a crowded room of murmuring people. He paused just inside the door and looked impatiently around the room for the Lady of Herstal. Julia didn’t recognise anyone. A quick check with Ahnao found her friend also unable to name them, but it was obvious by their clothing that they were of noble birth. Considering where she was, Julia judged them to be Meagan’s allies and their consorts. Demophon found the one he was looking for, and quickly led Julia across the room toward a tall woman wearing dark green. Lunetta of Herstal—it was surely she they approached—looked every inch a woman of noble birth and bearing. Julia was very aware of how poorly she compared in her grey riding dress. There was no help for it, but she wished she had come better prepared for this meeting.

“Lady Lunetta, may I present Lady Ahnao of Fortress Malcor and Lady Julia of Fortress Athione?” Demophon said interrupting Lunetta’s conversation with two of her guests. Silence descended over the room and all eyes turned to this new distraction.

Julia surveyed all the staring faces making eye contact with each one and noting those few that did not look guiltily away. She smiled crookedly at the dismissive looks coming from one of the more lavishly attired ladies, which made the woman scowl and flush with anger.

“She doesn’t like you,” Ahnao whispered.

“Lydia doesn’t like anyone, I’m afraid,” Lunetta said

Julia kept her eyes fixed upon the scowling woman and allowed her smile to widen. Lydia’s eyes narrowed at the sight. She whirled away to find the wine. Conversation slowly resumed, but at a much reduced level. Julia was conscious of the eyes warily wandering toward her and then skittering fearfully away again. She tried to ignore them.

“Interesting,” Demophon said in amusement. “Do you know the Lady of Choma, Lady Julia?”

Julia turned her attention away from Lydia and back to Demophon. “We have never met. I know a little of Choma, but not enough to know why she hates me.”

“Not hate,” Lunetta was quick to protest. “I believe she envies you—envies all of us really, for having what she does not.” Lunetta beamed a smile at Julia that made her want to back up. “Let me introduce you to the others.”

“I will leave you in Lady Lunetta’s capable hands,” Demophon said bowing to each of them in turn. “I have some matters to attend to.”

“Oh, leaving so soon? I had hoped speak with you,” Lunetta said.

“Alas, Lady, duty calls.”

“A shame,” Lunetta said watching Demophon exit the room. “He’s a very interesting man once you get beyond his reluctance to talk about himself.”

Julia had also watched Demophon leave. “Who is he?”

“Why, I thought you knew. Demophon is our principle broker… buyer?”

“I know what a broker is,” Julia said tartly. “So, Demophon is a merchant is he?”

“He’s much more than any mere merchant. He oversees my lord husband’s interests not only throughout Deva, but also Tanjung and Japura. Through him, we have contracts for our dyes all over Waipara.”

Julia thought of her friend Keef in East Town. He named himself a glass merchant, but almost from the first moment they met, she knew he was more than that. He also had contacts. His friends among the artisans sold their work to him, and he sold that work to the wealthy in faraway lands.

“The Protectorate too?”

“Why… yes. I believe he does. Why?”

Julia shrugged. “No reason.”

Lunetta nodded once and led the way to meet her other guests. Scalderon and his lady Cymbeline were first. Julia had to fight hard not to let her temper get the better of her. It was this man who was directly responsible for the suffering in Kirstal.

Scalderon loomed over her. He was almost as tall as Kev. “You don’t look like much.”

“There’s an old saying where I come from, Lord Scalderon. Great things can come in small packages.”

“You call yourself great?”

Julia shook her head. “It’s just a saying, but it’s one worth remembering. Being bigger isn’t the same as being stronger.”

“Humph!” Scalderon snorted. “You’re a fool if you believe that.”

“Perhaps. Navarien certainly believed as you do.”

“Navarien?”

Another of Lunetta’s guests wandered over to join the conversation. “I believe his full title is General Navarien,” the newcomer said and inclined his head politely to Ahnao and Julia. “Allow me introduce myself. I am Horton, lord of Choma and this is my lady, Lydia.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Julia said and Ahnao murmured the same greeting. Lydia continued to glare coldly and didn’t speak. “You know of Navarien?”

“His name, and yours lady, are well known. I’m surprised that anyone could fail to recognise the name of the General who led the assault against Athione last year.”

“Some people have short memories,” Julia said with a quick glance up at Scalderon. “They remember only what they want to remember.”

Scalderon scowled.

“As do we all, lady.”

Julia nodded. “Tell me, Lord Scalderon, have you visited Kirstal lately?”

“Kirstal?”

“One of your villages.”

“I know where it is! What has Kirstal to do with anything?”

“We rode through on our way to Devarr. Did you know that your people were under the false impression that the King had ordered heavy taxes levied? They were very upset when we told them the truth. They were all for marching upon Kelvadon to ask you about it. Keverin had to send to the fortress for more guardsmen to prevent any unpleasantness.”

“Keverin has men in Kirstal—my Kirstal?”

Julia nodded.

“He goes too far!” Scalderon erupted. “How dare he… the utter gall of the man!” He rounded on Horton. “Now do you see? He will have us all kneeling before him in chains before he’s done!”

Julia watched in amazement as Scalderon blazed with anger. The reaction was well beyond anything Julia had expected, and she wasn’t the only one to think so. Lord Horton took the liberty of easing Julia away from Scalderon, a fact his lady didn’t like in the least. That Horton did likewise for Lydia just a moment later only seemed to anger her the more.

“Now that’s something you don’t see every day,” Julia said in amazement. Scalderon’s rage was so acute he was red-faced and gasping for breath. He was literally foaming at the mouth! A number of lords hurried forward to calm him.

“You touched a nerve there,” Ahnao said.

“Hmmm. I only said that Keverin had stationed men in Kirstal.”

“Do not concern yourself about that, lady,” Horton said. “It has nothing to do with Kirstal… not directly anyway. This has been building for quite some time. Years at least.”

“What has?”

“Resentment at the way Lord Keverin usurps authority,” Horton said and nodded at Julia’s surprise. “For twenty years the King has been weakening the throne by not exercising his power. Little things at first. He would overlook a lord late with his taxes let’s say, or one who took liberties with crown land, but it didn’t end there. His blindness strengthened The Four, and they have always been high-handed when dealing with the rest of us. The King gave them his authority by failing to use it himself.”

Scalderon calmed enough to drink the glass of wine that Cymbeline pressed upon him and then allowed himself to be talked out of the room. His lady accompanied him followed by one or two of the others lords.

“It looks as if I spoilt the party.”

Horton snorted. “With such company, I would hardly call it a party.”

Julia chuckled. “I agree, but I’m surprised to hear you say it. Forgive me, but you don’t seem the kind of man to be involved with a lord like Scalderon. You don’t even like him. You can’t tell me it serves Choma’s interests to be involved with the likes of a man who half starves his people for profit.”

“Self interest,” Horton mused as he watched his ally leave. “I’m not immune to it, lady. Though I could wish it otherwise, I am not your friend, nor am I your lord’s friend. Good day, ladies.”

Horton left with his lady walking stiffly beside him.

“What do you make of that?”

“I like him,” Ahnao said. “He’s very handsome.”

“Handsome? I suppose,” Julia said not really seeing it. He looked nothing like Kev. “You’re not ready to trade Jihan are you?”

“I said he’s handsome not beautiful!” Ahnao said scornfully. “No one’s as pretty as Jihan.”

Julia nodded.

Lunetta said a word or two to Cymbeline and then came back to her remaining guests. She spoke a moment or two with each of them and conversation resumed. Only then did she rejoin Julia and Ahnao.

“I’m sorry for disturbing your party, Lunetta.”

“I doubt that,” Lunetta said with a smile to take the sting out of her words. “I’m sure if you had the opportunity you would say the same or similar things to Scalderon.”

“As a matter of fact I would,” Julia agreed. “And not only to Scalderon. I saw much worse things in Hringham than in Kirstal.”

Lunetta’s lips thinned. “Hringham has ever been a problem for us. They bring hardship upon themselves by defying my lord husband.”

“Do you truly believe that?”

Uncertainty flickered in Lunetta’s eyes. “He has spoken of it many times. We have few guardsmen, Julia. The villagers know this and take advantage. When our tax collectors visit our holdings, the villagers hide their stock in the hills. We can’t stop them—not everywhere, so we make an example of our most troublesome. Meagan says it has worked too.”

Julia listened to Lunetta’s words knowing they were false, and realised that Lunetta believed what she was saying. There was no guilt in her eyes when Julia looked for it and that made what she was about to do even more difficult.

“Lunetta… I rode through Hringham just a few days ago. The villagers are starving. The children were so thin—”

“You exaggerate. Why would you say such things? Why do you lie to me?”

“They’re not lies—”

“I won’t hear this!” Lunetta said covering her ears. “Meagan said I should be wary, but I didn’t listen. Why would a stranger want to hurt me, I said, but he was right. You are spiteful and… and I think you’re a very bad person so there!”

Silence fell over the room as the lords once again found better entertainment than they could provide for themselves.

“Lunetta…” Julia said but sighed as Lunetta hurried toward the door. “Come on, we better go after her,” she said to Ahnao as she tried to catch the fleeing woman. “Lunetta wait!”

“Lady?” Moriz said from his position outside the door. “Should we stop her?”

“No, we are her guests, but we should follow her. I think she will lead us to Jihan and Kev.”

And so it proved. Lunetta would hear nothing more of Hringham. Julia realised she had lost a potential friend by accusing Meagan of wrongdoing. So be it. It would have been nice to have become friends, but she had always attracted enemies more readily.

Again Moriz and Halbert took station outside of the door, but this time they weren’t alone. Two Herstal guardsmen were already guarding this one and they looked upon the intruders with flat unfriendly eyes. There was a lot of hostility there. It became obvious why when Lunetta opened the door.

* * *

“—will not! I will not be dictated to in this fashion. This isn’t mighty Athione where you can sit in luxury and look down at the rest of us from her lofty towers. This is Herstal, and she is mine! You have no right to come here with an army expecting me to kneel before you. You have no right to tell me how to rule my own lands, Sir!”

“And you have no right to treat people like animals!” Keverin snarled. “A Camorin treats a dog better than you treat those people!”

“Hringham is in rebellion!”

“Rebellion! Don’t take me for a fool! Those people couldn’t rebel even if they wanted to. Another tenday would have seen half of them dead!”

“Better that than all of them!” Meagan cried. “The Lord Protectors have lost touch—you don’t understand the rest of us. You and your ten thousand guardsmen patrolling the roads and the country in between. The rest of us have nothing compared to that! Your people remain loyal because they have no choice. Mine do as they cursed well please and laugh in my face because I’m not strong enough to stop them! Well Hringham has stopped them. Let them die if it will save the others.”

“I won’t allow that,” Jihan said.

“Nor will I!”

“You are not King yet, Keverin! If I have anything to say about it you will never take the throne!”

Keverin spluttered in angered surprise. “You think me fool enough to want the throne? No one with sense would want it!”

Meagan glared. “I am not a fool, Keverin. Don’t treat me like one—that would be a mistake.”

“Do you threaten me?”

Meagan waved that away impatiently. “Herstal may not be a power in the land like Athione and Malcor, but I have many friends. Together we will see the right man put on the throne. When that day dawns, you will remember this conversation.”

“You do threaten me,” Keverin said flatly. “We have two thousand men camped outside the town.”

“Why do the Four always respond to any argument with force?” Meagan said in a tired voice. “I have nothing with which to threaten you except the King’s law. When we have one again, you and I will settle this.”

Jihan didn’t say ‘I told you so’, but Keverin heard the words nonetheless. The people of Hringham were safe while his men remained in the town, but he couldn’t keep them there forever. No matter Meagan’s opinion of Athione’s resources, they weren’t inexhaustible. No, this had to be settled now.

“I challenge your right to—”

“And I do not accept it,” Meagan rebutted. “I defer this matter to the King’s justice. Let him decide the issue.”

“You—”

Jihan stepped between them before Keverin’s anger exploded. “Deferring to the King’s justice is your right, Meagan, but think of the consequences should you fail in your petition. We can solve this like honourable men right here.”

“I’ll not fight you, Jihan. Do you think me a fool? You would kill me before I could draw my sword—him too.”

“It needn’t be to the death.”

“I said no.”

Jihan sighed. “Then, the King will decide.”

“That’s too cursed long to wait!” Keverin hissed.

“I agree,” Julia said as the door opened to admit her. Lunetta hurried to Meagan and whispered to him urgently. “Perhaps a deal could be struck?”

“A bargain?” Keverin said uncertainly.

“What bargain?” Meagan said.

“Perhaps you have heard that Lord Blaise and Keverin are good friends?”

“That is known, lady. What bargain do you speak of?”

“Blaise has been working hard on his little dyeing venture and has asked for Keverin’s backing.”

Meagan looked sick, as well he might. Blaise’s operation was strictly small time compared with Herstal, but backed by Athione’s treasure it could become much more. Certainly more than enough to threaten markets that Meagan had long held to be his alone.

“You haven’t agreed?”

“Not yet,” Keverin said cheerfully. “I had planned to tell him when next we meet.”

“You don’t want to become a merchant,” Meagan insisted.

“Oh… I don’t know. It might be interesting. Blaise is very enthusiastic about our partnership.”

“You know nothing of dyes.”

“No, but Blaise does.”

Meagan sat behind his desk, slumped rather, and said plaintively, “What do you want?”

Keverin told him.

Less than half a candlemark later Meagan escorted them to the gate where Brian and Echion were waiting. Keverin lifted Julia easily into her saddle and then mounted Cavell. Brian and Echion reformed the men and Keverin began to lead the column back down the hill.

Meagan watched them in silence, but then, “Lady Julia?”

Julia looked back. “Yes?”

“My gate… please?”

Julia nodded and gestured at the keep. There was a loud crunch followed by the sound of heavy timbers falling. She had snapped the locking bar clean in two. She faced forward and rode away without another word.

“Thank you,” Meagan said under his breath. “Thank you for proving me right. It’s time I told Demophon my decision.”

None heard him.

* * *

Interlude I

The cane landed upon Nisim’s back in a flare of agony. He grunted but stared at the others without flinching. They flinched for him—in sympathy. They knew what it was like. They were slaves like him, forced to watch his punishment so that they might learn the penalty for disobedience.

“Nine!”

Thwack!

“Ten!”

Thwack!

“Now get back inside you lazy good for nothing beasts!” the mistress yelled. “Let this be a lesson to you all.” She looked back at Nisim. “Cut him down.”

Nisim stared at her with loathing, but he didn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing him fall as the ropes were cut. It took all his self-control to stand straight and rub circulation back into his hands without giving away the rage he felt. He stared unblinking into her eyes and watched uncertainty flicker in their depths.

Mistress Lakshmi firmed her grip on the cane and backed away then spun to flee inside.

“You bring this on yourself, Nisim,” Trista said from where she stood holding the ropes in white knuckled fists.

“Never say that to me,” Nisim spat. “The mistress is all to blame, not me.”

“But you’re the only one she has ever caned! She’s good to us.”

“I’m the only one she has ever struck personally,” Nisim said with a nod. “Not the only one she has had struck. There’s a difference.”

There was a gulf of difference between the two. He had lived in the Matriarch’s palace for years and had never been hit let alone caned. The only violence he had received was his branding. That had been necessary to make him the Matriarch’s body slave, and though painful he had eagerly accepted the anguish to be near her. Nisim stroked the ribbed flesh on his shoulder. The stylised M surrounded by thorns said that the Matriarch owned him personally—or she had before he made his mistake. Chamberlain Jarek had saved him from the noose, but how he wished the old man had not done so.

“You’re doing it again,” Trista said.

“Doing what again?”

“Stroking that hideous brand like it was a lover. Do you really think it makes you special?”

“No of course—”

“Don’t lie to me, you’re no good at it!” Trista snapped. “When will you understand that you are nothing? We are slaves—less than beasts in the field! Talitha is far above us. Should she deign to look she would see nothing but two slaves among thousands.”

“I know—”

“You don’t know!” Trista blazed. “When have you ever truly lived like a slave? Never have you woken in the morning and trudged a league to the fields like my mother. When have you ever worked until your hands bled and became so slippery on the haft of a mattock that you couldn’t pick it up?”

Nisim took Trista’s shoulders. “I do know,” he whispered to calm her. “My mother was a whore like me, but my father worked on the docks. I worked there too before Jarek came for me. I do know Trista, but in all that time I’ve never been caned or flogged. The mistress is to blame, not me.”

Trista shrugged him off. “You just won’t see. You walk around like a prince with that brand as if having it makes you free. We all see it except you, Nisim. You don’t act as a slave should act. That’s why you bring grief down upon yourself. If you weren’t caned before it’s because your owner made allowances.”

Nisim sighed as Trista bolted back inside.

Jarek had been good to him, but sending him here was a terrible mistake. The mistress hadn’t liked him the moment she saw him. He truly hadn’t done anything to upset her, but she had strapped him with a piece of leather on his very first day. The pain was nothing. It was the shock of being hit that had made him shout. All he had done was smile at her. Jarek had told him that mistress Lakshmi was a friend. He could hardly believe they knew each other let alone that they were friends. How did it happen that a gentle soul like Jarek called this harridan a friend?

Nisim bent to retrieve his shirt and wandered back inside the brothel that was his home now. It was early yet, but he had to wash and dress before the patrons arrived. Already some of the others were lounging around the main room in seductive poses chatting together. Knowing his luck, he would have to do two at the same time. He sighed and trotted down stairs to the slave quarters. He didn’t notice his hands knotting his shirt into a useless mess as he walked inside.

Nisim stripped and washed. Bruises covered him, but the cane hadn’t cut his back. The mistress wouldn’t want to scar him, but accidents did happen. He was pleased to see the stripes would fade. He pulled on tight trousers and struggled to stretch the leather enough to button the buttons. Was he putting on weight? He turned sideways to the mirror but decided he wasn’t, it was the leather. They were always too tight. He shrugged. It wasn’t as if he would be wearing them for long. His shirt was too crumpled to wear, so he pulled another out of a drawer full of them. He frowned at the plain shirts he found. Garym and Kim were already dressed and sitting upstairs. They had taken the best ones. Kim always did like the lace and Garym was as bad. He sighed and pulled the shirt on. It wouldn’t hurt for him to look plain for once. He grinned. It might give him a quiet night and lose the mistress a fist full of gold! Nisim snickered as he buttoned his shirt buttons. It would serve her right if she lost a fortune!

The cotton was cool on his back. It was soothing at first, but then it began to irritate him. “Oh, fine! That’s all I need.”

“Nisim?” Nona said hesitantly from the door. “Can I come in now?”

“Of course you can.”

Nona came slowly inside. She was young and new at all this. The mistress had bought her only recently. Nona was unused to sharing a living space with so many, but she would have to get used to it. All the whores used this place to sleep during the day.

“I’m sorry about your back.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Nisim said but as he did, he felt a twinge in abused muscles and his back began to ache.

“The mistress says I have to serve upstairs tonight.”

“Tonight?”

Nona nodded nervously.

Nisim took her hand and led her to the nearest bed. “Sit here,” he said and sat next to her. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“But what do I do?”

“You dress up like the others and sit around the main room until a man chooses you. He will take you to one of the upstairs rooms and you will undress for him. He will tell you what to do. Don’t worry, it’s easy, you’ll see.”

“But what if no one likes me? I don’t want to go to the fields,” Nona said close to tears.

“Hush! Any man will want you. You’ll see.”

Nona was a little bird—lovely and charming, but she was quiet and timid with it. He prayed to the God for a kind man to be her first. He wouldn’t entertain the thought of her hurt.

“Will you help me?”

“Help you? I don’t under—”

“With dressing up, silly!”

Nisim sighed in relief. He had thought that she meant… never mind. Nona was virgin. If he touched her in that way they would both die. The mistress would be expecting a great deal of gold for Nona’s first night and she would literally kill him if he ruined it.

“You know the mistress wouldn’t like it.”

Nona nodded with a sad sigh and stood to leave.

Nisim clenched a fist. “All right,” he said praying he wasn’t being a fool about this. “I’ll help you.”

Nona clapped her hands in delight. “What’s first?”

“Well… have you washed?”

She nodded eagerly. “This morning.”

“Better have another one,” Nisim said thinking about what he needed to make Nona’s first time special. “You go ahead and wash. There’s water and soap there,” he said and made for the door.

“But where are you going?”

“I’ll be back in a while. I want to get you some special things.”

“Special?” Nona said looking excited. “Special like what?”

“It’s a surprise.” He smiled and strode out the door.

Nisim clambered up the stairs two at a time. The others would help him if he said it was for Nona. Everyone loved her. It was a shame she was a slave. Any number of men would have married her for beauty alone, but she was a special person besides that. She could sing like a bird, but none ever heard her outside the kitchens or slave quarters. Just as well he supposed. Some prince or other would lock her away for his enjoyment and she would pine away for company.

Nisim looked around the main room and found Trista and Magda talking quietly together. Magda was plain in her face except her eyes, which were a startling liquid brown. Men had fought to have her for the night. She had a spectacular body and knew what to do with it. Trista was… Trista. She was his friend and older than the others. She still had men ask for her, but they were of an age with her. What was in her heart counted more to them than youthful beauty. She said that men of a certain age needed the reassurance she could give them.

“I need help.”

Trista looked at him coldly—still angry with him perhaps, but Magda smiled.

“What with?” Magda said.

“The mistress told Nona it’s her time, and she asked for help her with her dress—can I borrow a few things?”

“We’ll help,” Magda said and elbowed Trista. “Won’t we?”

“Yes, we’ll help,” Trista said glaring and rubbing her arm.

“Thanks. She’s having a wash downstairs. I thought some perfume and your blue silk Magda.”

“Good choice,” Magda said. “I’ll go get it.”

Trista watched Magda hurry away. “And from me?”

“Do you still have that headdress?”

“You know I do,” Trista said and went to fetch it.

Nisim was sad that Trista was angry with him, but he tried to put it out his thoughts while he collected a few things from the others. Calli gave him her best small clothes laughing as he tried unsuccessfully to explain that they weren’t for him. Dagmar gave him her paints and perfumes, but she made him promise to bring them back as soon as he was finished with them.

“The mistress bought them special. You won’t let anything happen to them will you?” Dagmar said biting her lip.

Nisim took them from her and started to leave, “Would the mistress beat you?”

Dagmar looked frightened and nodded jerkily. “Of course she would.”

Nisim nodded and left. He knew he was right. It wasn’t him, but the mistress who was to blame for his stripes. Trista didn’t see it, or maybe she had never witnessed it before today, but whatever the reason for her dislike of him, it was the mistress’s fault and none of his.

Nisim trotted downstairs and entered the room to find Nona standing naked before him. He gasped at the sight. The scene reminded him that strongly of the palace. It was almost as if he were back there again. Nona could easily have been the Matriarch standing with her girls as they dressed her. Nona was standing in the middle of the room with her arms raised as Trista and Magda dried and powdered her. Her hair was roughly draped over one breast lending her a tussled look that appealed to him immensely. He couldn’t stop his eyes roving and fixing on the dark triangle below her flat belly. He pulled his gaze reluctantly away and found her eyes. She blushed at his frank regard.

“You see?” Magda said with a chuckle. She aimed a grateful smile at Nisim. “Any man would want you.”

Nisim nodded eagerly. “I told you that.”

Nona blushed and tried to cover herself when she realised that she was just standing there letting him look.

“No, no! You mustn’t do that.” Trista said and pulled Nona’s hands away. “Nisim doesn’t mind, but a patron won’t like you covering up.”

“But I feel silly,” Nona said with her almond skin darkening still further.

“There’s nothing to feel silly about,” Nisim said with his eyes sweeping over her thighs, the curve of her hips, and then on to her smiling eyes. “You’re beautiful Nona. They will be fighting over you.”

“Really?”

“Really, I swear it,” Nisim said with a nod and Nona relaxed a little more. “I have Dagmar’s paints,” he said to the three.

“I’ll do her face,” Magda said.

“I’m doing her hair,” Trista said.

Nona looked hopefully at him. “Oh all right! I’ll do the rest of you. Are you sure you haven’t done this before?” Nisim teased as he found the file. He crouched down and she raised a delicate foot onto his knee. “Never had to do this for a woman before,” he grumbled.

“No,” Trista said. “He had a palace full of women doing his!”

Nona giggled and Nisim grinned not letting her see the truth. He did have one of the girls do his, but he had never let her paint them.

“When I’ve done this, what colour would you like?”

“Blue?” Magda suggested.

“No, the dress is blue,” Trista said.

“How about pearl?” Nisim said. “Talitha liked…” he broke off with a frown.

“The Matriarch?” Nona gsped. “Can we?”

Trista looked down at Nisim and shook her head in pity. He stared up at her with sorrow crushing him down. By the God, what was he going to do? He loved the Matriarch, he knew he did, but Jarek was right. A slave had no place and no status. The thought of the Matriarch and him together was ludicrous and he knew it. He was a prisoner in this city. He would never escape. He knew it now, but he had to wonder if Jarek had always known. The old man had held hope out to him last year but…

“Can we Nisim?” Nona said again.

Nisim smiled at her. “Of course we can. Dagmar gave me the whole set.”

Nona squealed and clapped her hands, but Trista was still looking at him with pity. He nodded for her to go back to her pampering. She gave him a long look then turned her attention to Nona.

Nisim filed Nona’s toenails and carefully painted them, and then he rose to do her hands. Trista arranged Nona’s hair to frame her sweet face and to give the jewelled headdress a backdrop. The jewels were only coloured glass, but the gold and silver was real, and so was Nona’s beauty.

“There,” Trista said. “Are you done?”

“Just about,” Magda said.

Nisim nodded that he too was finished. “Don’t touch them,” he warned. “They’re still wet.”

Nona stood like a statue trying not to move as they stepped back to admire her. “Is it all right?” she said nervously.

“More than all right,” Nisim said. “It’s splendid.”

Magda and Trista agreed with emphatic nods.

“A little powder and perfume?” he asked them.

“Her breasts need something,” Magda said tapping her lips.

“What? They look good to me.”

Trista coughed. “Of course they do.”

“You’re a man,” Magda added by way of explanation.

“So?” Nisim said even more puzzled.

“All men like a woman’s breasts. Makes them remember their mothers!”

“So? If they look good to me then they must be good for the patrons—right?”

“Maybe, seeing as it’s you we’re talking about, but you’re a whore. Whore’s see things differently. They look too dark to me.”

Nisim tilted his head. Nona had very nice breasts. They were small, but their shape was good. They were nicely rounded and the nipples jutted upward in challenge. They looked just right to him.

Nisim shrugged. “If you say so.”

Magda found the powder. “A little of this will lighten them, and a bit more for her cheeks, I think. Then some paint on the nipples—not too much mind!”

Nisim watched Magda work and he did see an improvement. Nona was already gorgeous but she was even more so when Magda was finished. She was glowing, like a girl at her wedding. Nisim’s good mood plummeted at the thought. Nona was a whore like him, or she would be after today. She would never have a wedding.

“Now the perfume,” Trista said. “Essence of Saposia,” she said inhaling the essence.

Saposia was a mountain flower with a sweet scent. It was very expensive. Talitha liked it a lot and always bought it when the traders came from Deva. It grew in many high places, but the Elvissan Mountains were too cold for it to flourish. Trista dabbed the sweet smelling liquid in strategic places on Nona’s body—her neck, between her breasts, and finally between her legs.

“That tickles!” Nona said squirming.

“If you think that tickles wait until tonight!” Magda said with a smirk.

Nisim helped her dress and then stepped back to admire the results. By the God she was wonderful. Nisim hardened at the sight of her in clothes and wished she were for him and not some stranger.

“We had better go up. The mistress will be opening the doors soon,” Trista said and Nona went out the door first.

Nisim collected the paints and quickly put them under Dagmar’s pillow where she would be sure to find them. Trista and the others were gone when he turned back so he hurried up the stairs to find a crowd admiring Nona. He slipped along the wall and sat in a quiet corner out of harm’s way. He didn’t need the mistress’s regard tonight. He hadn’t touched Nona, well not very much, but he wasn’t willing to put himself forward in case she disagreed. Nona basked in the adoration heaped upon her. He was glad for her and hoped she wouldn’t be disappointed with her night. He would do anything to guarantee it for her, but all he could realistically do was hope for the best.

The mistress was beaming at everyone. She was well pleased with Trista for transforming Nona into a princess. She examined Nona from all sides and said something to her that had Nona blushing and smiling at the same time. Nisim watched as his friends chattered excitedly, but he took no part. How could they be so friendly with that woman? They were talking with the mistress as if she were one of them, but she wasn’t and could never be! Mistress Lakshmi was born a free woman—a commoner true, but still free.

The mistress said it was time to open and shooed everyone into place. She looked around the room once more, looking for Nisim perhaps, but he eased back further into the shadows. She didn’t see him. She turned away with a puzzled frown to open the doors.

That night was busy for Nisim. He had two women to pleasure as soon as the doors opened. They had heard about his brand and that he had been Talitha’s personal slave. He managed both of them, and they left satisfied, or so he thought. The mistress seemed happy with the fee anyway, but two was his limit for a while. He drank the brew all the males had to drink and waited for it to work.

Nona hadn’t been chosen once in all that time.

The mistress—the stupid bitch—had overpriced her. There weren’t many men willing to pay ten gold for a girl, even if she was a virgin. The poor thing sat in quiet misery as Magda went up then Trista. All the girls had been up at least once before things started going horribly wrong. Nisim knew something wasn’t right when the mistress began bowing and scraping in the extreme. He craned his neck to see what was happening but what he found was a puzzle. A woman like any other had come in with a man following her like a bodyguard. She was ugly, ugly, ugly!

“The first prince’s daughter!” Magda said. “The mistress is honoured indeed.”

“Oh? Maybe the mistress will do the honours then,” Nisim said grumpily.

Trista laughed but covered it when heads turned toward her. She needn’t have worried. The mistress beckoned Nisim and Nona, and they went forward to their doom.

“Lady Mireya, this is Nisim.”

“Show me,” Mireya snapped.

“Show her the brand, Nisim,” Lakshmi said.

Nisim gritted his teeth and pulled his shirt down to reveal the mark.

“So it’s true,” Mireya said. “How does it happen that a common brothel owner buys such a treasure?”

“The Matriarch’s Chamberlain is a friend, Lady. When our beloved Matriarch tired of the boy, Jarek remembered me.”

“I see. I will give you twenty gold for him.”

“I’m sorry, Lady Mireya. Nisim is my prize, he’s not for sale.”

Mireya’s eyes bored into Lakshmi. “Thirty gold.”

“No.”

“Fifty.”

“N-no,” Lakshmi said sick at the thought of turning down such a sum.

Nisim was pleased. Maybe he had misjudged Lakshmi after all. Could it be that she was protecting him as Jarek said she would? Surely not. Why beat him then? No, she just thought to earn more from working him here. That must be it.

Mireya’s eyes glittered at being balked. “I will take him for the night then. The girl is for my man.”

The mistress bobbed her head, and the deal was struck.

Nisim led Mireya to a room while Nona did the same for the guard. He hoped everything would work out for her, but he had his hands full—literally—with the first prince’s daughter. Mireya was all over him the moment Nisim closed the door. She ripped his shirt off and drew blood with her nails. He hissed as she bit his nipple, but he didn’t backhand her as he wished to. He was all control, control, control tonight!

“Undress me.” Mireya said stepping back from him.

Nisim jumped to obey. It was better than having her rip him to pieces. He had her naked in no time flat and pretended to like what he saw. He hadn’t had much practise at pretending. The women he serviced were generally young and good looking. Not so Mireya.

“Strip!”

Nisim did that, all the while pretending he was doing it for Talitha. To his surprise it began to work and he hardened ready for what was to come. He moved forward to do his duty but he was a little confused when she lay not on the bed but knelt on the floor.

“Down here. Behind me.”

Nisim took a deep breath and moved into position. At least this way he didn’t have to look at her ugly face. By the God, he wished he were with Nona!

“Well?” Mireya snapped. “What are you waiting for?”

Nisim gritted his teeth and fitted himself against her. A slight push and he was in and moving. He closed his eyes trying to see Talitha, but Mireya ruined it with her grunting and groaning. Talitha never did that, she sort of purred. Yes, purred like a big cat, and moved like one as well. Very sensuous it was, but this fat sow sounded more like a pig wallowing in the mud. Not that she was fat really, but she carried herself as if she was. Sort of droop shouldered and slovenly.

“AEiii, Nisim!” a voice screamed and sobbed, “No, no, noooo!”

“Nona?” Nisim said turning toward the door. “Nona!” He jumped up and ran out the room naked as he was.

“Slave!” Mireya roared in anger.

Nisim slammed into a door but it was the wrong one. The room was empty. He spun on his heel and ran back the other way. He shouldered another door open. Inside he found Nona naked in the corner and crying fit to break his heart. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the blood on the sheets, but then his world seemed to haze red and a roaring filled his ears when he saw the bruises. Nona’s face was a mass of bruises on one side, and her breasts were badly scratched and bitten. One eye was swelling shut. She reached for him like a child seeking comfort. The world slowed as he turned to find the bodyguard calmly dressing. He had his uniform on but unbuttoned and his armour lay discarded at his feet. The man was turning toward him.

“You bastard!” Nisim howled in rage and launched himself to slam the man against the wall. “I’ll kill you!”

And he did. It took him just one punch.

Nisim was strong, but not that strong. The man had flinched when he saw the punch driving in and caused Nisim to miss badly. His fist, aimed for the bodyguard’s jaw, smashed the man’s larynx instead. Nisim stepped back and watched the guard flail around trying to breath. He watched him die and wished he hadn’t needed to kill him. The bastard had deserved it, but now he was stained with the man’s blood.

“He hurt me,” Nona sobbed. “He laughed at me and hurt me…”

Nisim nodded and waited for the Lakshmi to come. He would be executed for this, he had no doubt.

“It’s all right now. He won’t hurt you again—not ever.”

* * *

“—and all of our ships have returned safely,” Chamberlain Jarek said and leaned back a little to massage his left arm.

Talitha frowned. Jarek seemed to have a cramp of some sort. She frowned at one of her slaves. Instantly the girl jumped forward with a cushion for Jarek, but Talitha was still annoyed. She should not have to tell her girls how to serve.

Jarek was still waiting for her comments.

“That is good, very good Jarek. Have we estimates on the damage inflicted?”

Jarek nodded. “Our strike leaders report ten small towns, sixteen farms, and twelve villages completely destroyed along the border. The fleet reports significant damage to two port towns also. We have booty and slaves to cover the costs of the expedition five times over.”

“Only five? That doesn’t seem very good.” Talitha said but she noted that Jarek disagreed. “All right what am I missing?”

“Nothing Matriarch. Five times is fine. The idea was to hurt Vexin not to make money. Tanjung has lost twice what we gained because they need to replace it all. Even that’s not the best part.”

Talitha thought for a moment and then grudgingly acknowledged Jarek’s words. Vexin himself was weakened by this raid, which was worth far more than anything gained through slaves and booty. Being Emperor of Tanjung was a precarious position to hold, but one Vexin and his father before him seemed suited for. That was not to the benefit of Japura. No Matriarch wanted a strong and united empire on her border, but Tanjung had shown a distressing trend toward stability over recent years. In the past, the noble houses had constantly feuded with each other, thereby fracturing and weakening the empire, but now things were changing. Feuds were still ongoing, but they tended to be political rather than the full-blooded mini-wars of the past. Assassination was an art form in Tanjung, and it was used to good effect in politics there. Talitha had ordered the raids against Vexin last year in retaliation for the piratical acts of one of his lords upon her coast. History had taught Japura that the only thing Tanjuners respected was force. Counter-raiding was the only way to make Vexin sit up and take notice.

“What are the chances of Vexin’s assassination over this?”

“Three to one against I would say,” Jarek said. “Vexin has an able spy master in Keppel. Any attempt would be anticipated.”

“A shame.” Talitha said and sipped some of her Pella juice. “Still, Vexin’s position will be weakened somewhat. That’s better than nothing. Will he talk do you think, or try another raid?”

“As I said before we sent the fleet, Matriarch, Vexin was probably not aware of the raids against us. He has other concerns right now. Deva for one.”

“Yes, yes,” Talitha said in annoyance. “I remember, but will he talk?”

“Hard to say. Vexin has shown more willingness to talk than fight over the years, but his war with Deva shows that he is willing to fight on occasion.”

“Hmmm yes. I want an eye kept on that army of his. In Tanjung Karang is it not?”

Jarek nodded. “We have eyes in all the cities. I do have a few at the fortress.”

“That is good, very good. Maybe we should kill the Strike Leader in command there.”

Jarek didn’t like that idea. “War Leader Barthan is an able warrior, but he’s our best friend where Vexin’s army is concerned.”

Talitha noted Jarek’s subtle correction. Tanjung didn’t use Strike Leaders. They had War Leaders instead. The title mattered not, the function was the same. Barthan was Tanjung’s greatest warrior, but Jarek was right. Barthan was as much stupid as he was a good fighter.

“Assassination is a bad business, Talitha. You assassinate theirs they assassinate ours. Where do we draw the line—anywhere? We assassinate Vexin. They assassinate… you.”

Talitha shifted uncomfortably at the thought of the Dark Brothers coming into Japura. She glanced at the reassuring sight of Force Leader Tymek. His men were always present. Tymek himself was on duty today, but half his men were always here with her. The other half were asleep and would be with her at night. Tymek alternated between the two to keep his eye on both halves of her guard. She was never alone, but she felt separate from everyone.

Talitha sighed. “It’s at times like this when I wish we had sorcerers like the Protectorate.”

“They’re more hindrance than help, Matriarch. They can do marvellous things I will admit, but they’re completely un-governable. Would you really want a new class living in Japura—one with abilities the Matriarchy lacks?”

“You forget yourself Jarek! The Matriarch is perfect, I can therefore lack nothing.”

“This is true little one,” Jarek said soothing Talitha with his pet name for her. “You are perfect and lack nothing. Therefore magic cannot be desirable. If it was you would already have it.”

Talitha mumbled grumpily. Japura was the oldest nation in Waipara. It had flourished under the rulership of the Matriarchy for thousands of years. Everyone was content in the knowledge of who his superiors and inferiors were. The Matriarch was perfect and therefore superior to all, princes were superior to all except the Matriarch, domain-lords were superior to commoners only, and commoners were just that… commoners. Slaves of course were slaves. They had no inferiors, they had no place except to serve their betters.

“Prince Ranen arrived in the palace last night,” Jarek said in an off-hand manner.

Talitha smiled. “I heard. Do you know what he wants?”

“He said he would like a private interview with you, Matriarch. I said I would enquire,” Jarek said with a smirk.

“Oh you!” She threw a cushion at Jarek but he ducked and it landed at Tymek’s feet. The force leader ignored it of course.

“Do you like him Talitha?”

She nodded, but she liked many people. What Jarek was asking was whether she thought Ranen might be the one for her. Jarek was concerned with providing the Matriarchy with an heir, which Talitha knew reflected the people’s concerns for her.

“Is he whom you choose?” Jarek said hopefully.

“I think… yes. But I haven’t spoken to him about it.”

“Perhaps this is why he is here.”

Talitha thought it unlikely. Ranen never mentioned anything about marriage. When Talitha ordered his father to kill himself last year, she had seen something she liked in Ranen. All of her princes were loyal and intelligent men. Most were handsome, but Ranen felt different to her. Was that love?

“Ranen never talks about things like that,” Talitha said. “We always talk about flowers, or poetry, or history… many other things. But we haven’t spoken about the Matriarchy with regard to marriage.”

“Perhaps today is the day to discuss such things.”

Perhaps it was, Talitha mused. “Have we more business to discuss?”

Jarek nodded. “Yes, but it’s the last. I can see you want to jump in the pool again. I swear you seem smaller each time I come in here. You really are shrinking!”

“I am not shrinking! I was always exactly one and three quarter yards tall, and I still am. You’re the one who’s shrinking, not me!” Talitha scolded but she was laughing as she said it.

“Old age does that. My replacement should be the same age as you Matriarch.”

“You’re not old!”

“Sixty is old Talitha. Ten years more perhaps and I’ll be gone. I have a man in mind. I’ll introduce you. If you agree he can take over at my death.”

“I don’t want to talk about this!” Talitha said worriedly.

Was Jarek ill? There had been that cramp earlier. Was it age or something else? He seemed fine now, but some illnesses didn’t show. She would tell Wani to make enquiries. If Jarek was seeing a healer, Wanikiya would find out. She was her personal healer and had many friends among the other healers in Pura.

“No hurry, Matriarch.”

Talitha’s face froze. She would see Wanikiya straight away! There was something wrong with him. Trying not to let her fear show, Talitha asked what other business they had to deal with.

Jarek frowned in puzzlement at the change in his Matriarch. “Er hmmm. What was it… ah yes Tindebrai.”

“What about it?”

“Verner has been receiving a great many massages over this last year.”

Verner was ostensibly a merchant who had settled in Pura from Tindebrai. What he was really doing was spying for Empress Marzina of Tindebrai. The empire was huge. It covered most of the continent, and was extremely rich and powerful. The few remaining independent lands were insignificant in comparison. The only reason they hadn’t been absorbed was that mountain regions were of no interest to the empire for some reason.

“Ships arrive and depart all the time,” Talitha said. “There’s nothing new in this.”

“True, but the content of the messages is different.”

“In what way?”

Jarek shrugged. “It’s hard to say. Slaves and slave prices have always been of concern to them. The messages always talk about trade of one kind or another, but…” He shrugged again. “I can’t point to any one thing, but they feel different as if what I’m reading isn’t what was written.”

“That is strange, but then Tindebrai always is. Why do they prevent our traders from leaving port and going in land? What does Marzina have that we must not see?”

“That question has been asked for nine hundred years or more, Matriarch. Anyone leaving the ports to find out would disappear. It’s happened before.”

“Have you copies of the messages with you?”

Jarek rummaged in the pile of scrolls by his side. He handed her six of them.

Talitha looked through them and frowned. Amongst the trade ship names and cargoes was a section dedicated to her warships.

“They noticed the fleet was sent against Tanjung I see.”

Jarek nodded. “What do you think of page three?”

Talitha scanned the page and frowned harder. What business of Marzina how many slaves Japura kept out of the market place? These figures couldn’t be right!

“These numbers are all wrong.”

“Six million is ridiculous!” Jarek burst out. “That’s more like the entire population of Japura!”

“Yes, but what does it mean? Perhaps Verner simply made a mistake.”

“I don’t know, but the mention of warships worries me.”

“Yes I saw that, but we did send the fleet out. They were bound to take notice don’t you think?”

“Yes, but you see what I mean. They’re talking trade as usual, but the information is mostly wrong.”

Talitha didn’t see really. The numbers of slaves was wrong, but they had the size of the fleet correct. Jarek was not usually prone to worry over nothing, but…

“Keep an eye on this, Jarek. Without more information we can’t know what it all means.”

“That’s what worries me.”

Jarek left shortly after that and Talitha prepared for her bath. Ranen was here and she wanted to look her best. Thoughts of Tindebrai were far from her mind, but Jarek wasn’t.

“Send for Wanikiya.”

“Yes mistress,” the slave girl said and hurried away on her errand.

Later that day, Talitha was sitting comfortably in her favourite room of the palace with prince Ranen. It was an extravagance she supposed, but a room made of glass was wonderful in the summer. The palace was all heavy stone and marble floors, but this one room was an exception. When entering here the immediate impression was sunlight and spaciousness. The solarium was built on grand scale in keeping with the rest of the palace of course, but the styling was completely different. It boasted a massive bay window designed to open in sections. She could enjoy the cool sea breezes, or perhaps step into the garden for a pleasant stroll among the carefully tended flowers. The bay window accounted for one wall, the adjacent walls were of glass also, but where the bay was clear, these were styled using mosaics of coloured glass.

Stained glass windows and the scenes they depicted were a common sight in Japuran noble estates, but as far as she knew, no other country had the same fascination with them. Even the commons had coloured glass in their homes. Not windows with pictures of course, but there were always figures or other ornaments to be found that a family could be proud of. The traders had found a good reception in Deva with glass figures and other baubles, but with the trouble that kingdom was currently experiencing, trade had fallen off until it barely paid for itself. Few traders came through the pass now, and those that did bought less.

Ranen had been quiet all morning, almost subdued. Talitha had tried to interest him in a game of Dragons and Sorcerers, but he had yet to make a move. It was obvious that he wasn’t interested in the game. It was time to become the Matriarch again.

“Prince Ranen, look at me,” Talitha ordered.

Ranen heard the change in her voice and instantly obeyed. “What do wish, Matriarch?”

“Tell me what is troubling you.”

Ranen didn’t hesitate. To do so could have meant his death. Talitha liked him too much to have him executed, but his training would not let him do other than instantly obey her.

“Mother insists it’s time for me to provide an heir for Lushan. My brother is a year younger than I—he has a daughter and another babe on the way,” Ranen sighed. “I had thought to wait awhile, but then father did what he did, and you had to do what you did—”

“And now you are not only a prince, but head of your family as well,” Talitha finished for him.

“I am first prince of Lushan, yet my mother is still my mother. She has long planned to link our family closer to Jundai. The girl she has in mind for me is nice enough I suppose, but I want—” he broke off unsure of himself.

Now was the chance Jarek had spoken of. Why did she hesitate? Jarek had investigated and learned everything there was to know about Ranen and his family. He had agreed that Ranen was perfect for her, but still she wasn’t sure. Talitha once told Jarek that her slaves satisfied her needs, and they did. She also told him there was no love in the world for her, but this remained to be seen. When she said those things she had believed them to be true, but even then she had hoped to be proven wrong. Ranen might be the proof, but she wasn’t sure and feared to find out. Did that make her a coward? That was unacceptable! The Matriarch was perfect. Fear of something new was far beneath her.

“Is your mother still in Lushan?”

Ranen shook his head. “Visiting friends in Pura.”

“That is good. You will convey my invitation to her.”

Ranen frowned not understanding. “Invitation Matriarch? I don’t—”

“To our wedding of course… perhaps you wish time to think about it?”

Ranen was gaping at her in shock, no not shock, surprise. Anyone would think he had never heard an order from his Matriarch before. Talitha was just about to send him on his way with his mother’s invitation, when she remembered Jarek’s latest lesson.

Ask him little one; don’t order him!

Damn! She had forgotten that part.

“Prince Ranen, you would like to marry me… wouldn’t you?” There, that was the best she could do.

“This is a gift from the God,” he whispered.

“I don’t know how the God feels about it. It’s my decision, not his.”

“I don’t mean that, I meant… I love you Talitha. I have ever since that day in council when you honoured my father with a quick death. I never dreamed you might love me the same way.”

“Not the same way,” Talitha said sadly and felt tears threaten. Ranen didn’t love her, he was grateful to her. If he did love her, it was just a prince’s love for his Matriarch. Nothing more than that.

“Mother just laughed when I told her that I loved you,” Ranen was saying. “When I insisted, she became angry. I had to order her to keep silent! Can you believe that?”

Talitha’s emotions were swinging first one way then the next. One moment depressed, the next jubilant. She didn’t know what was happening to her. She had never felt like this before. It was terrible, she had to make it stop!

“Do you love me as a man to a woman or not?”

Ranen blinked. “I thought we had already… Yes Matriarch. I do love you as a beautiful, special, lovely woman, and I love you as prince to Matriarch. I would be honoured and blessed to be your consort.”

Jubilant now, definitely jubilant.

Talitha gazed at Ranen and smiled. He smiled back and they kissed. It was wonderful. Better than Pella juice, better than her pool, better than… it was better than a slave in the morning! She remembered Jarek saying this might happen.

When you love someone, he will became the centre of your world.

Talitha couldn’t allow that to happen. She was Matriarch—superior to princes and all others. She had Japura to think of. She would not allow him to interfere with her duty.

I’ll have the palace redecorated for him. I wonder if Jarek knows what his favourite colours are. What ones doesn’t he like? I’ll have to throw away the wrong coloured silks in my wardrobe. What about…

Talitha, sole ruler and Matriarch of Japura, was in love. The centre of her world had just been redefined.

* * *

5 ~ Holy Isle

Dugan found Jymis waiting for him. “Bishop Jymis, if you will follow me?”

“Of course your Grace,” Jymis replied in that oily way of his.

Dugan nodded, but he couldn’t help but frown. It wasn’t charitable to call the man oily when he hardly knew him. He couldn’t afford to allow snap judgements to interfere with his investigations. Heresy was serious, perhaps more serious at this time than any before it.

“The Holy Father has instructed me to investigate the charge of heresy you recently laid against Lady Julia,” he said as they walked through bustling corridors. The holy palace was busier than ever before. A thing he wished were not so.

“I understand your Grace, but the charge was not recent. I have been here all summer and winter waiting for the Holy Father’s judgement!”

Dugan’s lips twitched but he straightened his face before Jymis could take note of his amusement. Farran expressly ordered him to keep Jymis away from Athione for as long as possible while he wrote and received letters from Lord Keverin and Lady Jessica.

“Yes I know, but the Holy Father is frail. He can no longer deal with every issue himself. Instead, he delegates the responsibility. Not the quickest way I will admit, but he must use his time on those issues he deems most important. As you would expect heresy ranks first among them. Unfortunately, speed and good judgement rarely go hand in hand.”

Jymis scowled. “I understand your grace, but Julia is a heretic and a witch. All the lands of Athione are in danger from her evil.”

Dugan frowned. “That remains to be seen. You should know the Holy Father dismissed the charge of witchcraft.”

“I was informed your grace, but if I might speak plainly?”

“Please,” Dugan said with a nod.

“The Holy Father is… mistaken.”

Dugan couldn’t prevent his expression from betraying his surprise. It wasn’t Jymis’ opinion that surprised him. No, it was the man’s utter gall in voicing it. Of course, he had invited plain speaking, but still!

“It is hardly your place to judge his Holiness, Bishop Jymis,” he said coolly. “However, the Holy Father recognises his fallibility and the seriousness of the charge. That is why he called the conclave to debate the matter and why I represent him at its head.”

“With all due respect to you and the Holy Father your grace, Julia should be summoned here to stand before the conclave not me. I am not on trial here, she is!”

“That remains to be determined. The conclave is not a trial, merely an investigation.”

The conversation lapsed for a time. They made their way through the palace and all its glory without taking note for the most part. Dugan took this place for granted, perhaps too much so. Everywhere he looked, he saw riches. Marble floors and artistry abounded. The ceilings were decorated with scenes from the holy chronicle and from the Founding. It was a crime to ignore such beauty, one he was determined to remedy—he glanced at Jymis’ scowling face—but not now. Riches… riches couldn’t feed the hungry. That was why so many people filled the palace these days. The island could grow barely enough food for those living here. Just a few thousand people he had saved, only a fraction of those in need in Devarr, but while the king lived, he was powerless to do more.

In the silence of his own mind, Dugan cursed King Pergann for allowing this to happen and not dying sooner, but then he guiltily offered a prayer to the God asking for forgiveness of his lapse. He was always too quick to judge others. One of his many faults, he knew. It was a fact he had rued many a time. He had been praying for the God to take the King for judgement for years, and the news of his death had lifted his spirits when it finally came. Was that wrong of him? Praying for another’s death… surely that was wrong, but what of the people? They had deserved respite from his misrule… surely?

Dugan entered his room with Jymis a step behind. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said as he lit the lamps.

Jymis stood in the doorway looking around the spartan room in something akin to shock. Dugan frowned looking for what had upset the man. His bed was neat and tidy, and the few books on his shelf were proper, though two of them were poetry. His desk was bare, and there was a fire in the grate.

“Is something wrong?”

“No I… I was just surprised by your accommodations your grace. I thought…” Jymis broke off in confusion.

“I see,” Dugan said. “The palace is large, but not so large that we can live as you are evidently accustomed to at Athione. I prefer this actually. Luxuries are a distraction from the God.”

“I don’t reside within the fortress, your grace. I prefer to live among the people,” Jymis said fervently.

Dugan smile politely. He had heard the story a little differently. Keverin’s father couldn’t abide Jymis, or so Keverin said. He wouldn’t discuss his father’s reasons for disliking the man, but from what he had managed to weasel out of his Holiness the reasons were good ones. Farran was reticent regarding those days, but what he did say had put Dugan on his guard where Jymis was concerned.

“Have a seat,” Dugan said throwing the burning taper into the fire and seating himself opposite the Bishop. “Tell me all you can about Lady Julia.”

“She’s a witch and a heretic and—”

“No, no, no!” Dugan broke in crossly. “I meant how did you first hear about her. What did she do and why?”

Jymis scowled. “As I said your grace, I do not reside within the fortress. If I did, I would have prevented her blasphemy, I assure you!”

Dugan sighed. This was going nowhere. “Who told you of her then?”

“I received word from Gideon. He was the only priest I had within the walls of the fortress. I have complained many times about that, but Kever… lord Keverin is deaf to my words.”

“What did Gideon say?”

“He wrote of his concern regarding the blasphemous spell Darius wrought. About the breaching of the barrier and subsequent death of the mage—”

Dugan winced at the satisfaction in Jymis’ voice.

“—scandalous attire. I did mention my concerns to Keverin before leaving for Devarr your grace, but he insisted the woman was chaste.”

“Is that all?”

“All!” Jymis gasped red faced.

“Yes. This woman was brought to us against her will, and all you’re concerned about is her lack of modest clothing? Forgive me, but this does not prove her guilty of heresy or witchcraft, not that witches are real in any case. Perhaps different customs hold sway where she comes from.”

“Different customs I don’t know about, but that she has magic at her command is beyond question. She killed thousands—”

Dugan raised a finger in emphasis. “And saved thousands. That balances… to a degree.”

“I bow to your judgement your grace,” Jymis said stiffly.

“Not mine, but the Holy Father’s. I merely listen in his stead.”

“As you say your grace. Men not women wield the God’s power. Julia is against nature and therefore against the God!”

Dugan frowned. There was something in that. The God chose certain individuals to wield his power in the world. They were mages and called the God’s power magic, but did that mean He would always choose men?

“—the true faith and Gideon agreed she did not,” Jymis finished.

“But did you ask her directly?” Dugan asked intently.

“I?” Jymis said shifting uncomfortably. “No your grace.”

“Then you should have!”

“Yes, your grace,” Jymis said sullenly.

“Gideon wrote to the Holy Father you know. He insists Julia does believe in the God. Her customs are indeed different from ours, but the God made all worlds. I do not hold her differences against her. Gideon says she is working hard to learn our ways, and that she is not a heretic. What would be your answer to that?”

“I would say that he, like Keverin, is bewitched! All Athione’s guardsmen love her your grace. It’s not a pure love, but one created by the misuse of the God’s power.”

Dugan pursed his lips. “People love her you say. She has magic, she killed thousands to save thousands more, and she came here not understanding our ways. These things constitute your entire reasoning?”

Jymis nodded.

“Are you mad? You have no direct proof she practises heretical doctrine, you have no witnesses or statements. You have no confession—you don’t even have a condemnation from the one priest living close enough to Julia to see wrong doing!”

“I have done as my conscience dictates your grace.”

“Yes well,” Dugan paused for a moment trying to see a way to end this thing quickly, but there wasn’t one. “Though Gideon was recently raised to Bishop of Athione, his word in this matter must be weighed as that of a priest. Although I would dearly love to have it otherwise, your word holds more weight.”

Jymis flushed in anger.

“I will make known my report to the Holy Father. You will be called before the conclave and perhaps his Holiness also. Until then you may go.”

Jymis stood and bowed before stalking out of the room.

Dugan sighed. “Fool.”

Jymis had threatened Keverin with anathema on absolutely no evidence of heresy. As far as he could see, Jymis had accused Julia on little more than fear of the unknown! If heresy there was, Gideon would not have written about her in such glowing terms. His letters were full of Julia’s selfless bravery and her devotion to healing the sick and injured. Unfortunately his word regarding the comparative weight given Gideon’s and Jymis’ statements was accurate. Gideon had been a priest when the events in question took place. He was a good man but new in his position where Jymis had been a bishop for years. There was nothing more to be done and he was late. Dugan quickly extinguished the lamps and hurried out. He had a conclave to lead and the life of a young woman was in the balance.

Dugan listened to Patriarch Edrigu with apparent interest. It was apparent because he had plenty of practise perfecting his outward demeanour. Edrigu was a towering bore. Worse, he was a highly respected towering bore, but Dugan was polite enough not to hurt the man’s feelings.

“—the God. Now then, some might say the God knows all things and use this truth to blind us to the real issue. This woman came to our world through the barrier. The God set the barrier to keep his worlds separate. A fallible man breached the barrier. These three things, and these three things only, are the crux of the argument, but why is there argument? The facts are beyond question. Lady Julia was brought through, the God did set the barrier, and all men are fallible. No, the argument is without question, pointless. In my opinion, we should turn our collective gaze upon the woman’s character and actions since coming here, and ignore the circumstances of her arrival.”

Dugan’s ears pricked at the last part of Edrigu’s speech. There was real promise there. “I thank you for your most learned summation of the situation, Edrigu,” he said and waited for the man to take his seat. “Patriarch Malvin has a few words to add. Malvin, if you would please?”

“Certainly,” Malvin said as he stood and made his way down from his seat. He stood in the centre of the patterned floor and surveyed the faces of his brother patriarchs. “Our brother Edrigu would have us ignore the manner of Lady Julia’s arrival into our world. He would have us ignore the perversion of nature she represents. I say no. I say these things are at the heart of the issue laid before us. The God knows all things, but his knowing of them has no bearing on the matter. The God does not prevent our mistakes, he accepts them for what they are: The fumbling and uncertain journey of his children toward him. It is for us to prevent mistakes—when we can—and limit them when we cannot. In this way we learn what He wishes us to know. Julia is against nature and therefore against the God. It is that simple. Her being here is a mistake, one we should remedy without delay. Thank you,” Malvin said and climbed the tiers back to his seat.

Dugan sat in stunned silence as the rest of the assemblage was doing. Malvin’s speech was beyond provocative. How did he think to remove Julia from the world? Malvin had shied from actually using the word execution, but still it had resounded through the hall. No one could fail to know what was meant. Malvin’s words were tantamount to saying that Julia should be killed. There was no other way to remove her presence from the world.

“I would like to say something in answer to Malvin’s words,” Dugan said when no one spoke up. “We are here to judge whether Lady Julia is guilty of heresy. No other reason. It is not the place of this conclave to judge her worthiness in the eyes of the God, or her supposed violation of nature. All here know she commands the God’s power, but again this is irrelevant to the issue at hand. Is she, or is she not, a heretic. That is the whole of the question before us.”

“Here, here! About time someone put the record straight!”

Those words seemed to signal a free for all. Questions were voiced and answered in one breath. Some were amusing and chuckles erupted from all sides, others were more serious. Dugan listened to everything trying to gauge the mood of his brothers. Farran would ask him later.

“…but surely it all stems from her being brought here? How can it not have a bearing—”

“…always chooses men, it’s traditional—”

“Who are we to say? Will you tell the God he cannot choose a woman to represent—”

“…foolishness. She must be brought before us, it’s the only way to be—”

“How would you like to be the one to tell her?”

“Send the Red Guard. The lazy beggars have little enough to do—”

Dugan grinned. Julia was headstrong by all accounts, and powerful with it. No one would dare to tell her anything of the sort. He listened for anything useful, but took matters in hand when comments began repeating.

“Order! Order I say!” Dugan said and his brothers quieted. “I believe Patriarch Karel has something he wishes to say. Karel?”

“Yes, indeed I do,” Karel said making his way to the patterned floor. He positioned himself in the exact centre of the God’s circle and turned to survey his brothers. “How many here believe Lord Mortain is the voice of the God on this Earth?”

Silence.

“None of you?” Karel said in apparent surprise. “Forgive me, but anyone listening to us debate the merits of Julia’s presence in Deva could not help but wonder if perhaps we supported the man in his blasphemy. The sorceress is here. How she came is, in my humble opinion, irrelevant to our discussion. Instead, I would draw your attention to another issue. Lord Mortain styles himself the voice of the God—blasphemy we all agree. By his people’s acceptance of the lie they are led into heresy. Julia arrives, but does she help the Hasian heretics conquer? Indeed she does not. Instead, Lady Julia fights with our people and throws the Hasians back. Julia’s alignment with us shouts her innocence. None have seen or heard her utter one heretical word, none have seen her practising heretical doctrine, but they have seen her fight and save thousands of Devan lives. Not one piece of evidence will you find against her, yet there is a fistful of evidence in her favour. She is innocent, it is obvious.”

Karel slowly ascended the tiers and sat in his seat.

Dugan took advantage of the lull. “My stomach tells me it is getting late. I suggest we adjourn for the night and return refreshed on the morrow.”

“Good idea—”

“I could eat.”

“I’m starving… I mean…”

“It’s all right, my friend. We know what was meant.”

“But all those poor people.”

Dugan nodded to himself sadly. Those poor, poor people. They truly did know what starvation was, but there was nothing anyone could do about it. Devarr was a city of many thousands. How could he even hope to feed a fraction of those in need?

He couldn’t.

Dugan followed his brothers out of the hall, but he had lost his appetite. He decided to use the time walking and meditating. Perhaps, if he thought long and hard enough, an answer might come.

* * *

6 ~ The Pestilence

Julia rode beside Keverin as they approached Devarr. The city should have impressed her, and it would have at any other time, but what she had seen on the journey had dampened any enthusiasm she could summon. Julia couldn’t shake the image of starving children from her thoughts. It had broken her heart to leave them in Hringham like that, but they had to reach Devarr quickly to solve the problem at its source.

She looked back as they entered the gates of the city. Jihan’s Captain Echion led a thousand Malcor guardsmen in a column that stretched out the open gate behind her. Brian led a similar number from Athione all in armour, some armed with bows, but all had iron swords. Marcus had been left at home with a solid core of veteran guardsmen, each armed with steel left behind by the Hasians. Athione boasted more guardsmen than ever these days, but only a third were veterans of the Hasian invasion last year. Marcus had nearly five thousand guardsmen to hold the fortress, which would be more than enough against any mundane attack, but Julia was still worried. If the Hasians took this opportunity to invade, she wouldn’t have time to reach the fortress to stop them.

“I noticed,” Keverin said.

“What?” Julia said puzzled.

“No gatekeeper,” Keverin said hooking a thumb toward the gates. He pointed along the deserted wall, “No one on guard. That was what you were looking at wasn’t it?”

She followed his gestures but shook her head. “Actually no. I was thinking about Marcus and the Hasians. Kev, are you sure five thousand will be enough?”

Keverin shrugged and patted Cavell. She snorted and shook her head at something that had annoyed her. “No, but it’s a calculated risk. We know General Navarien is campaigning to the north, and Mortain lost an entire legion to the fire last year. Being a conquered nation doesn’t sit well with the Bandarians. Mortain needs to hold back his other legions in case of a rebellion.”

“Do you think Bandar will rise?”

Keverin snorted. “Not a chance. Mortain won’t take the risk though. Nor would I in his position. Sending the only forces capable of putting down a revolt would be stupid, and by all accounts, Mortain is far from a stupid man. No, he will build another legion to add to Navarien’s, maybe more than one.”

“I agree,” said Jihan. “Bandarians aren’t very bright when all is said, but even they know not to try anything with three legions hanging about.”

Julia frowned. They seemed so sure, but surely even three legions couldn’t hold a country the size of Bandar. “Can’t they send the militia from the cities?”

“They’re only used for holding actions, not true warfare. Think of them as a Guardia, Julia. Brigands would be unable to match them, but put them against real legionnaires or even our guardsmen, and they wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Julia nodded. Guardia were like police officers, they kept the peace and enforced the laws. They were not truly soldiers and didn’t go to war. Keverin had never needed them in his towns. They were crime free in the main. The odd bit of pilfering that went on was taken care of locally by the town council. If ever they came across something they couldn’t handle, they would send to the fortress for help or call upon Keverin’s patrols of the highroads. The last time they had done so, Keverin had led five hundred guardsmen to search for a man who had accidentally killed his wife while drunk. They found him hanging from a tree. He had killed himself when he realised what he’d done.

Julia frowned at the dirty rubbish-filled street ahead. Gylaren had described his experiences in Devarr to her last year. He said many of the houses were abandoned, which she could see was true. They had once been well cared for, but many of them had slates missing from the roofs now, and broken shutters banging in the slight breeze. She gagged at the stench wafting from them. A cold feeling settled into her stomach.

“Stop!” Julia shouted in sudden panic.

Keverin and Jihan threw up a hand. Down the line, orders were shouted to halt the column. All was quiet except for the stamping of an occasional hoof and the creaking of leather as Jihan looked for an enemy to charge. Finding nothing, he looked toward Julia with a question in his eyes.

“Lady?”

Julia didn’t answer. Invoking her mage sight, she scanned her surroundings. In the realm of healing, she could see energy swirling next to her, and when she looked, behind her as well. Each aura represented a living person. Nothing solid existed here, nothing except those swirling auras. Instead of houses, there was nothing but a pale mist glowing faintly as it drifted by. She turned to check her other side and gasped. There were at least three people in that house… dying.

Julia swallowed bile. “We have a problem.”

“What is it?” Jihan said looking worriedly around.

“I think… plague.”

“The pestilence?” Keverin whispered trying to keep the news from the men.

“I can’t be sure,” she said watching the sickly pulsing auras in the house. The breeze picked up again and she covered her nose. “If there are unburied bodies in those houses—”

“Pray the God it’s not so,” Jihan said.

Julia nodded fervently. “We need to check every house, every place where people might live. If there’s plague… if there is, we have to burn the bodies and fumigate the houses.”

“Fumigate?” Jihan said puzzled.

“Plague is carried by fleas on the back of rats, but fleas can live in bedding and elsewhere long after the rat dies. I don’t know if magic will cure the pestilence—”

Keverin shook his head. “It won’t. The Histories talk of mages burning entire towns to stop its spread.”

“We can’t burn Devarr!” Jihan shouted in outrage.

“Keep your voice down!” Julia hissed, but it was too late. She heard the word being spread down the line.

“Burn Devarr—”

“Why does she want to do that?”

“Don’t know why we should—”

“…might be pestilence—”

“Pestilence!”

“The pestilence is loose in Devarr!”

“THE PESTILENCE! We have to get away!”

“GIDEON!” Keverin roared.

Gideon urged his horse forward. “My lord, is it true? Has the pestilence struck Devarr?”

“We don’t know yet, but one thing is certain, there are many dead here. You can smell it.”

“What would you have of me, my lord?”

Keverin sighed in relief. “Thank you, Gideon. I want you to calm my people’s fears while I investigate.”

The bishop nodded eagerly. “I will lead them in prayer my lord.”

“Good.” Keverin dismounted and handed the reins to Burke who was waiting to receive them. “As soon as I know the truth, I will tell both you and them.”

Father Gideon called for prayers and the men fell silent in obedience. Calm descended while Gideon gave forth heartfelt prayers for the people of Devarr.

“That should hold them for a time,” Keverin said. “Jihan, you take the right I’ll take the left.”

Julia broke in. “Don’t touch anything! Nothing at all. The fleas can be spread by touch.”

Both she and Mathius climbed down to follow Keverin. When he saw her following, he started to forbid her. She quickly grasped her magic and raised her shield. He regarded her for a moment before finally acquiescing with a nod.

Julia was sure the shield would protect her from the fleas. She had hardened it against everything she could think of, including air. Last year she had nearly suffocated when she built a shield like this, but she knew the dangers now. She would let air back in after she was clear. Keverin pulled on his gauntlets and tried the latch on the door. It was locked. Stepping back, he gave the door an almighty kick. The door flew open and re-bounded to slap his outstretched palm. The stench pouring out of the house was overpowering. Keverin staggered to the side and spewed.

Thanking the God for her airtight shield, Julia edged into the darkened room with Mathius close on her heels. Using her magic, Julia increased its flow to her shield in order to make it glow brighter. Blue light flooded the room and revealed the first emaciated form. It was…had been a woman. The body had decayed too much to be sure of how she had died. Using her mage sight, Julia scanned the room looking for the three auras she had seen earlier, and found them lying in their own filth in a corner. Tears ran over Julia’s cheeks as she approached the pile of misery. She hoped and prayed that she wouldn’t see signs of plague. She lifted the boy from his mother’s arms with her magic and looked into the half open eyes. They were still clear blue and half open. He was awake, but he had no energy to move or even make a sound. She flooded him and his family with magic to strengthen them, and then with her normal vision she looked for swellings under the arms and between the legs.

“Oh thank God for his everlasting mercy,” Julia breathed when she saw no sign of swelling.

“We’re saved!” Mathius said prayerfully.

“Not yet,” Julia warned. She laid the child down and went to the door. Keverin was standing just outside watching her. “It’s not plague. Not here at least.”

Jihan came back white faced from his scouting. “They’re all dead. Not plague, thank the God. There isn’t enough food for the rats—”

“I think there’s plenty in these houses now, Jihan. Don’t you?” Julia said. She had dropped her shield and her eyes were dry now. They burned with anger. The King had done this. That bastard son of a bitch should have been taken off the throne last year. She had told them—she had told them and they hadn’t listened.

Keverin looked away from her accusing eyes. “I didn’t know. How could I have known?”

“Now do you see?”

Keverin and Jihan nodded grimly.

Keverin went to speak with the men, and after a moment, Brian began detailing them to search the area for more sick people. In the meantime, Julia was considering the enormity of the task that faced her. Devarr had a population orders of magnitude greater than Athione. How could she care for so many people?

“Mathius, how long for Lucius to get here do you think?”

“No way to tell. He could be here tomorrow, but he might not reach us for tendays.”

“Let’s hope it’s tomorrow,” Julia said. “We need somewhere to work. Somewhere big.”

“The warehouse district,” Jihan said. “We can empty as many as you need.”

Keverin walked back to Julia and his friend. “I’ve ordered a search of every building. I hope you don’t mind me ordering your men as well, Jihan?”

Jihan shook his head as he stared at the houses. His face was pinched as he recalled what he had found inside.

Julia took immediate charge. “The dead will be burned at once. All bedding and clothes—anything found with the bodies—must be burned with them. The sick will be brought to the warehouse district. I think there will be room there, I hope there will be.”

Devarr had a population in the region of a hundred and fifty thousand. Rather it used to have. Who knew how many still lived?

* * *

Keverin rode grimly beside Jihan with a small detachment of guardsmen at his back. He had left Julia with Mathius and Brian setting up what she called a hospital in an empty warehouse. They were all empty. His mother was helping as if she did this sort of thing everyday. Never had he been so proud of her. She hadn’t batted an eyelid. The warehouses were perfect for their needs. Those gigantic buildings would normally store enough food for every person in Devarr for two years. It seemed Chancellor Morfran had not only plundered the rest of the kingdom when he taxed everything beyond endurance, he had also sold Devarr’s grain and food reserves for gold. Keverin could hardly contain his wish to charge Cavell to the palace and confront the evil bastard.

“I’m going to gut that scum sucking…” Keverin snarled, but words failed him. Jihan jumped and looked at Keverin in surprise. “I’m not too old to lose my temper, Jihan!”

Jihan grinned. “You’ll have to wait. I have first claim,” he said nudging Jezy a little faster.

Keverin did the same, and Cavell eased into a trot. Any faster would be dangerous on the cobbled streets. He looked into the alleys as they rode by hoping not to find people in need, but he was ready nonetheless. He saw and heard nothing except the clip clopping of hooves, and piles of festering rubbish.

“My Lord!” Burke shouted in alarm.

Keverin swayed out of the way of a thrown dagger and lost his seat. He crashed to the cobbles shouting and cursing in surprise. Cavell stopped as she was trained to do, and looked back at him as if wondering what he was playing at. Roaring in fury Keverin climbed to his feet only to dive under a hasty slash from a peasant’s sword. The man should properly be called a brigand, but whatever he was, he was cursed dangerous. Bent his sword might be, but it looked wickedly sharp. The ring of good steel, and the duller clang of flawed iron, spoke of Jihan engaged. Burke was fighting his way forward, but his opponent was just as determined to stop him.

Keverin flicked his blade at the peasant’s eyes. The man moved to parry, and Keverin lunged. The scream gave him no satisfaction. It wasn’t like the fight against the Hasians last year. These men were as much Devan as he was. He left the peasant trying to crawl away dragging his guts behind him on the cobbles. There were at least twenty brigands. Keverin had eight men including himself and Jihan. It wasn’t fair to the peasants, but battle was seldom fair. He lopped a brigand’s head off in passing and then engaged another man he believed might be the leader of this little gang. He was a young man, certainly no older than Jihan. He was the only one wearing armour. Where he had found it, Keverin hated to think. Probably some hapless guardsmen from the palace, he decided. Armour didn’t make a man invulnerable, but it did allow him to take some chances that would otherwise be suicidal.

The brigand charged.

Keverin braced himself and turned his shoulder into the man as they clashed. The brigand grunted from the impact and attempted to thrust a dagger into Keverin’s armpit, but he managed to evade and draw his own dagger. The brigand backed off slightly then attacked all out. Keverin parried and slashed the man’s face with his dagger. The brigand had courage enough for two men. He ignored his cheek hanging down and flapping in the breeze. All the wound seemed to do was rile him up. Keverin feinted for the other cheek with his dagger, and as the brigand ducked away. Keverin took the opportunity the God gave him and thrust his sword into the man’s thigh; the leg buckled and he took instant advantage. He leapt forward and drove his dagger under the brigand’s chin and into his brain.

Keverin turned just in time to see Jihan finish the last one, and an eerie silence fell. Nothing stirred in the houses along the street. It didn’t take much imagination to guess what they would find behind those doors and windows. He had no wish to investigate now, especially not after spewing his guts earlier. He’d never envied Julia her ability until that moment. If he’d had a shield like hers, he might have been able to enter the house without throwing up, but he wasn’t certain. Julia seemed so fragile sometimes, like a child quite often, but today she had handled the experience with a calm beyond her years. She had seen many more and worse things since her arrival at Athione, it was no wonder a few corpses didn’t affect her any longer. It was sad that a gentle woman like his Julia could see something so grisly and not cry.

Jihan was finishing off the fallen brigands with a dagger thrust and a whispered prayer to ease them on to the God. Keverin looked around for one that needed attending to. The man had dragged himself quite some distance, but had left most of his gizzard behind him in long ropes of intestine. He was still alive but in shock. Keverin gave him the grace with a dagger thrust to the heart.

“May the God watch over and comfort you at journey’s end,” Keverin whispered. He cleaned his sword and dagger on the body before sheathing them both. Cleaning a scabbard was an impossible job. “Burke, any injuries?”

“None m’lord,” Burke said cleaning his own sword likewise.

Keverin was pleased that his men had taken no hurt, but they shouldn’t have needed to fight in the first place. “That is good. Mount up, we’re heading for the palace as before.”

They mounted and rode on leaving the bodies for Brian and his men to find. They hadn’t left the swords of course, not that there seemed to be anyone around who would steal them, but you never know when a dropped weapon might come back to haunt you. The last thing he wanted was Brian’s men attacked with a blade he had let lie.

They rode into the palace grounds unhindered. Keverin dismounted and entered the stable. Nothing. Not one horse was in evidence and there were no stable hands to be seen. He didn’t know why this should bring home the situation more forcefully than the fright they had received upon entering the city, but it did. No guardsmen on the palace walls, and none on the gate. He doubted he would find the Chancellor still here. Morfran had probably robbed the place blind and then run for Japura. At least the man had the decency to send word of the King’s death before leaving; it was about the only decent thing he’d ever done.

Keverin signalled Burke, and the sergeant trotted over to him. “Send pairs of men through the palace. Check every room for the Chancellor. Leave no place unchecked. I’ll do the same with Jihan.”

“Yes m’lord,” Burke said then turned to his men. “Right you lot, you heard the lord.”

They stabled their horses and began searching the palace. Keverin could tell straight away the place had been looted by the mob. Beautiful and ancient tapestries were strewn over the floors. Many were soiled with what looked like human excrement and others were torn and ripped. Tables and chairs in some rooms were little more than kindling, where other rooms hadn’t been touched.

The dragon throne was unharmed, but every single banner hanging from the walls, including Athione’s, was shredded. He shook his head at the vandalism, and dropped what was left of his banner.

“Let us head for the King’s apartments and the women’s quarter. If anyone is still here that’s where they’ll be,” Jihan said eyeing the remains of Malcor’s banner.

Keverin kicked the rubbish aside. “Good idea. This means nothing in the long run.”

The women’s quarter was deserted just like the rest of the palace, but they finally found Chancellor Morfran in the King’s own study still sitting at his desk. He was very dead. Jihan quickly opened the windows behind the mummified remains.

“He killed himself, see the wrists?” Jihan said.

“Hmmm, I didn’t think he had it in him. Why did he do it? He could have taken the treasury and run.”

Jihan didn’t answer. He was carefully trying to retrieve a piece of parchment from the desk without moving the corpse. He managed it finally and whistled when he read it. “Listen to this,” Jihan said and began reading aloud.

“I Morfran, chancellor of Deva and regent for Pergann King of Deva, hereby set pen to parchment in the hope that whoever may find my body will not look too unkindly upon me.

“Pergann has been getting worse the last few days. He was raging this morning about traitors amongst his lords and going to war with Tanjung, which is utter folly. I tried to reason with him, but he was determined to carry out his threat. I fear me he is mad. If you are reading this, then you already know that I have killed him. I have my dagger here while I write this and will use it tonight.”

“Is that it?”

“What else were you expecting?” Jihan asked dropping the parchment back to the desk.

Keverin shrugged. “I don’t know, it just seems… well, so unlike the man. He was a coward through and through, yet this makes him seem a hero.”

“Who can know a man’s mind when he’s faced with this kind of decision?”

“I suppose.” He moved to look out of the window into the overgrown gardens below. “Where is everyone? They should have been here waiting for us.”

Jihan chuckled. “You have a positive knack for asking unanswerable questions. You do know that, don’t you?”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Yes really. As for the lords, Meagan and his friends will be here soon enough.”

“Maybe they knew the situation better than we did and wanted us to fix the mess.”

Jihan shrugged. “It’s more likely they expected the pestilence to take care of us.”

“You might be right at that.”

* * *

“Your Grace!” a voice hailed Dugan.

He turned to find Father Mignon hurrying toward him. “What is it?”

“A boat has come, your grace.”

Dugan sighed sadly. They could barely feed those already here. The gardens had been turned over for growing food, but there wasn’t enough. Never enough. They couldn’t take any more people in… but how could he turn them away?

“Tell them to come ahead. I’ll find somewhere to put them.”

“I’m sorry, your Grace, but you misunderstand. There are guardsmen in the boat. They ask that we start running the ferry again.”

“Guardsmen? Which lord?”

“Malcor and Athione, your grace. Will you come?” Mignon said hopefully.

“Yes, yes indeed I shall!” Dugan said excitedly. “Lead on.”

Mignon hurried away and Dugan followed him outside to the landing stage. A crowd of gawking people were standing nearby but were being held back by a Red Guard squad. The centre of attention was a group of three men in armour, and indeed, they were from the fortresses Mignon mentioned.

One man stepped forward and bowed. “Lady Jessica said we should come, your Grace.”

“Jessica is here?”

“In the city, your Grace. The Lady said that Jessica should come with us, but Jessica wanted to help with the city folk.”

The Lady?

Could he mean Julia? The man sounded respectful in the extreme. The other two guardsmen were Malcorans and had yet to speak. Dugan addressed himself to the Athione Captain.

“Your name?”

“Captain Brian, your grace.”

“I am Patriarch Dugan. Your lord has come?”

“Yes, your grace. Lord Keverin and his friend, Lord Jihan, have taken up residence at the palace. They have come to await the other lords so that a new king might be chosen.”

“At last!” Dugan breathed. The nightmare was ending. “This is excellent news! Your lord wishes the ferry to resume the run to the city?”

“Yes, your Grace, but not only that. The people need help. The Lady has ordered a warehouse used to house them all, but there are too many for her alone. She asks for priests to help feed them, and others to help care for the young ones.”

“We have little food here, but what we can spare will be provided,” Dugan said. “I will inform his Holiness of your arrival and the ferry will be re-opened immediately. I will send my priests to help.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” Brian said with a bow.

* * *

7 ~ Conquest

The wind howled through the rigging as the ship plunged from the crest of a huge wave. The storm had come up out of nowhere. It had taken even Master Sacherval, an old hand at the northern trade route, completely by surprise.

“Get those rags down, damn you!” Sacherval roared over the keening wind. They had to relieve the stress on the masts or lose them. He hated to do it, but the storm was beyond anything he had weathered before. Canvas could be replaced, the ship and those she carried could not. “Cut them down!”

Old Warrin gaped at his Captain, and then spun to his mates. “You heard the Cap’n! Pass out them axes!”

Sacherval watched Warrin and the others frantically chopping at lines and prayed they would be in time. Eleven ships had left port at Banswara with him as Master of the flagship. The weather had been fine with a good north easterly to speed them on their way. They had made excellent time. He had been certain that Lord Mortain—may he live forever—would reward him handsomely. But now his fleet was scattered. He had no idea how many of his ships had survived.

How could his luck turn so fast?

The ropes hummed and sang like harp strings. The masts groaned with the strain. Down below, his crew was frantically pumping and bailing as fast as abused muscles would allow, but they were losing the battle. He could feel it in every roll and shudder of the deck beneath his feet. He clung to the wheel desperately trying to keep his feet.

The ship hit bottom and water sheeted over the bow.

Sacherval shook his head gasping and trying to breath air that was two thirds sea water. Lightning forked down briefly illuminating the deck and the few struggling sailors trying to save the ship—his ship. His beautiful ship heaved herself gamely up and out of the trough, but as she did, she staggered and rolled as another mountain of water thundered down and buried her. Sacherval lost his feet and skated over the deck kicking and scrabbling for any hold he could find. The deck canted further and further… she was going to roll! His fist clamped upon a stray line, and he found himself dangling with feet kicking over the side with nothing but a watery death below him and a near vertical wall of decking above.

Not me—you’re not having me, you bitch!

Sacherval pulled himself up the line and back aboard ship as she reluctantly rolled upright. She was losing her trim. There was just too much water below and no way to pump it out fast enough. Another mountain of water hammered over her bow, and sheeted across the deck. The broken and buckled railings were no hindrance. He could only wonder how much longer she could take such a pounding as she began yet another climb.

Sacherval staggered back to his place next to Fenton.

CraAAAAacK!

Sacherval flinched as lightning stabbed down and struck the foremast. The howl of the wind might have hidden it. The whip-crack sound of sundered canvas might have, but nothing could hide the results. Old Warrin was haloed briefly in an eerie blue light. Sacherval blinked water out of his eyes—he would swear later that it had been no longer than that, but it was long enough. One moment Warrin was frantically chopping at lines, the next he was gone. Sacherval couldn’t grieve. Even if Warrin hadn’t been a royal pain, which he had been, even if he’d been a friend, which he was not, he didn’t have time. Warrin was part of his crew. That was the whole of the matter and a tie Sacherval considered closer than blood, but he was gone. There were others that still lived.

“We’re going to lose the foremast!” he shouted to Fenton.

“Aye sir! We are that!”

“Best lose her now as later!” Sacherval screamed over the howling wind. He staggered forward and took up an axe. “You there!” he shouted to Garrett. “With me!”

Sacherval swung the axe and severed the stays one after another. Garrett did the same on the portside. The foremast screamed with the suddenly increased load and snapped. Sacherval gasped in pain as the severed end of a rope flailed at him and stung his cheek like a whip. Mast, canvas, and ropes disappeared over the side and were whirled away. He staggered back to Fenton with his cheek bleeding and stinging from the salt water. The ship buried herself into another mountainous wave and icy water cascaded over the bows.

Sacherval swept a hand over his face and cleared his eyes. “She can’t take much more of this! Where are the cursed sorcerers?!”

“The Victory’s gone, Cap’n!” Fenton yelled back. “We’re on our own!”

The Pride was almost standing on her stern as she climbed toward the sky.

“Hold on!” Sacherval cried as his ship heaved herself over the top and plunged down the other side. “May the God save us!”

The sky was replaced with roiling heaving water.

* * *

Thump!

With a startled oath, Navarien sat up and struck his head on the deck above his bunk. “The God curse you, come in!”

“Sorry to wake you, Sir, but the storm is over and we’re within sight of land.”

Why was the man always so jolly? Cragson hadn’t been sick even one day during the passage. It was cursed un-natural! Navarien swung his legs over the side of his bunk and dropped down. He swayed uncertainly in place and waited trying to decide if his belly was under control or not. He decided it was—barely.

“Excuse the bad temper, Cragson. I feel like I died and haven’t been buried yet.”

Cragson’s lips twitched, but he managed to stop himself from laughing at his General’s discomfort. He was a good man, but more to the point, he was an excellent Captain. Cragson had been with Navarien during the war with Bandar, and the debacle at Athione where he was badly wounded. Luckily he had survived what passed for healing in the legions and was now the Fifth Legion’s most senior Captain. Navarien busied himself with washing and putting on a clean uniform tunic. He didn’t bother with his armour, and wouldn’t until he debarked at Cantibria.

“So we didn’t sink after all. If that’s the good news what’s the bad?” Navarien said trimming his beard in a tiny mirror that went everywhere with him.

Cragson kept his expression neutral, but he couldn’t hide the glee in his voice. “No ships in sight sir. Victory went down at the height of the storm.”

“Oh dear, that’s terrible!” Navarien said trying to cover his own glee at the thought of all those sorcerers sinking to the bottom of the North Sea.

Victory had been assigned to transport the mages. Navarien had tried to tell them that putting all their apples in one basket was a bad idea, but the lead mage had used his hard won orders against him. Navarien had campaigned hard to get written orders stating that he alone was in command of Fifth Legion and that he wasn’t to be hindered by—or even made accountable to—the lead mage. It all stemmed from the mess at Athione last year. He would never again put his men through what that bastard Belgard had put them through last year. The mages had their own separate orders giving them autonomy in their own area. They had refused to heed him and had paid the price when their ship went to the bottom.

“What is the world coming to?”

Navarien chuckled. “Now, now—they’re on our side after all.”

Cragson snorted.

After a moment’s thought, Navarien decided that the loss of the sorcerers wouldn’t hamper his campaign over much. Well, not at all really. He would be out of contact with Mortain—may he live forever—but that was no bad thing as far as he was concerned. One thing he didn’t need was interference from his superiors. He was confidant that he could fulfil the mission if he was left alone long enough.

With those thoughts in mind Navarien made his way on deck with Cragson following. The sun was shining and a pleasant breeze was blowing. The day smelled fresh and clean. Even the ever-present briny smell of damp wood and sailcloth didn’t spoil his enjoyment. Looking up he saw bare masts and yardarms as expected, and at the dizzying height of the main mast, he could see a lookout scanning the horizon. Some of the crew were preparing the stub of the foremast for splicing. Navarien had no idea how long it would take to raise a new mast, but it didn’t concern him. They were within sight of land and could get there with two if they had to. Master Sacherval was standing near the port rail staring out to sea. Apparently, left was port and starboard was right. Why sailors insisted on changing perfectly good words for incomprehensible ones was beyond him, but that was sailors for you. He couldn’t even walk on the floor. He had to do it on the deck instead. Stepping beside Sacherval, he scanned the empty horizon.

“Any sign of the others?”

Sacherval spat over the side. “None. Your man told you about the Victory?”

Navarien nodded.

“A sad loss. I knew her master for many years. A grand ship and a fine crew.”

Navarien didn’t quite snort. The Victory couldn’t have been that grand or it wouldn’t have sunk, but he held his tongue. There was no point in upsetting a potential friend.

“How long to Cantibria?”

“Well, as to that, we could be there tomorrow morning—even with the foremast gone, but I propose to stay here and wait for the fleet to rally to us.”

Navarien was pleased. “I concur. No point going in with First Battalion alone. Any idea how long it will take?”

“If they’re seaworthy, all that are coming will be here in a few days.”

“Hmmm… I propose we wait until we can assemble half the legion, and then move on to Cantibria. The rest can follow later and dock after we’ve pacified the city.”

Sacherval shrugged. “Fine by me, General.”

In the end Navarien didn’t have to proceed with only half of his legion. Three ships were sighted later that day, and then another as night fell—this time alone. The next day saw the rest of the fleet arrive in one’s and two’s. All except the ill-fated Victory.

They set sail and sighted the city at noon the following day.

Navarien was unsurprised by the disinterest shown him by the city-folk. Third Legion had docked here just last year on the way to destruction at the Devan’s hands. The inhabitants were familiar with the legions. They weren’t surprised to see another one. Their acceptance would change when they realised what was happening, but he would have the city firmly within his grasp before then.

He quickly deployed two battalions fully weaponed and armoured on shore. At his orders, they took control of the waterfront district. The other battalions swelled their ranks and helped to evict the current tenants. There were scuffles and outraged faces aplenty, but no coordinated resistance. Everything was going according to plan.

Navarien looked on as a delegation from the city council arrived and demanded converse with him. “Escort them through our lines, Tikva,” he said watching the red-faced councillors arguing with Captain Corbin.

“Yes sir!” Tikva said snapping off a salute. “Might I suggest the tavern?”

Navarien glanced aside. It was a ramshackle dump but adequate for a simple meeting. “You may.”

Tikva nodded and trotted off. Navarien entered the common room of the tavern. The interior was shadowed and stank of stale vomit and cheap ale. He took off his helmet and kicked a chair out of his way. Sweeping the mugs and plates off a nearby table, he placed his helmet in the centre and sat to await the council’s delegation. Four men and one woman were escorted into the common room by Tikva and a squad of his men. Navarien remained sitting as Tikva introduced his visitors.

“General Navarien, this is First Councillor Keiji. Councillor, this is—”

“I heard you!” Keiji said before Tikva could complete the introductions. “I demand that you and your men leave our city! You’re not welcome here!”

Navarien’s lips quirked in amusement. “You wound me deeply,” he said theatrically slapping a hand to his armoured chest and Tikva’s men chuckled.

“We didn’t come here to be mocked!”

Navarien’s face hardened. “You’re here because I want you here, no other reason. The waterfront district will house my men. You will speak with your people and tell them to cooperate. Tell them to stay off the streets after dark. My men will be patrolling the city. Anyone found wandering around at night will be arrested.”

“You have no right!” another of his guests gasped.

“And you are?”

“Third Councillor Jamila.”

Navarien looked the woman up and down and liked what he found. He stood abruptly but she held her ground when he advanced upon her. She stared at him defiantly and was unafraid.

“I have every right, Councillor Jamila. Cantibria is under the protection of my Lord Mortain—may he live forever. As his representative, it falls to me to enforce his laws and protect this city. In a few tendays, I will hand over control to civilian authority, but until then the curfew will remain in effect.”

“I won’t help you!” Keiji spat and lunged forward, but Tikva’s quick intervention brought the councillor’s attack to an abrupt halt.

Navarien shook his head at the struggling men at his feet. Tikva twisted the councillor’s arms up behind him and raised him back onto his feet. Tikva gave Keiji into the custody of his men.

“Have him locked up somewhere,” Navarien said.

Navarien ignored Keiji’s impotent threats as he was escorted out. Jamila was whispering urgently to a rotund and balding man but he was having none of it. He abruptly raised his hand to silence Jamila.

“General, I am second Councillor Devril. You have heard our demands. I will now add another. You must release Keiji at once.”

“I will not.”

Devril inclined his head. “Then I have nothing further to say to you.” He turned to leave gathering up the others of his party. “Jamila, are you coming?”

Jamila opened her mouth to say something to Navarien, but she shook her head leaving it unsaid. “I’m coming.”

Navarien watched her leave.

“That didn’t go too well,” Tikva said.

Navarien snorted. “Did you expect it would?”

“Well, no, but I had hoped.”

Navarien smiled and slapped the Captain on the shoulder. He swept his helmet up and replaced it on his head before stepping back outside. He shielded his dazzled eyes and watched the supplies being unloaded from the ships for a moment before turning away and marching up the quay with Tikva in step by his side.

The first real fighting erupted when five legionnaires tried to evict a merchant family from their home. The merchant wouldn’t leave, and Corbin’s men had no choice but to lay hands on the fellow to throw him out. Two women—one assumed were mother and daughter—attacked and killed four of his men in as many minutes, and seriously wounded the other before escaping with the merchant into the countryside. Navarien had been informed that some of the women were supposedly warriors, but he had dismissed the information as hearsay. Upon hearing the report he had re-thought his position and ordered that any resistance was to be met with deadly force.

The legion succeeded in taking the district on the first day, but not without losses. Twenty-three dead and ten wounded made Navarien grit his teeth in anger. Those numbers were totally unacceptable for any legion, let alone for the Fifth. His men needed more training, so much was obvious. First, Sixth, and Eighth Battalions were all veteran units of the Bandar War as well as the Athione debacle, but the rest were comprised of green recruits. Cragson and he had trained the recruits hard with the veterans breezing through with practised ease, but there hadn’t been time to do a proper job. A year was barely long enough to make them look like legionnaires. To make them as good with their weapons as the legions considered essential took much longer. Navarien tried to console himself with the thought that no campaign was accomplished without loss, and that the recruits would soon learn or they wouldn’t survive, but it still made his jaw ache.

His men were all ashore in temporary barracks by the end of the first day. Tomorrow they would begin the hard work of building a fort. The plan called for suppressing all resistance in Cantibria and using it as a staging point for taking the coastal cities of Camorin one by one. If the weather held fine, he should be relieved before the season was out by a garrison of militia raised especially for the purpose. Responsibility of governing Cantibria would then fall to civilian authority. Although not part of the legions, militia were good at keeping the peace and holding what the legions conquered. They would do well in Cantibria, he was sure.

The city was quiet that night, but the next day things started happening. The dawn found Navarien fully armoured and sitting in the common room eating breakfast. The Ship and Dragon was an inn he had seized for his headquarters. The badly painted sign above its door was a prominent feature along the dock and easily found by his men wanting to report to him.

“No trouble last night at all, Sir,” Cragson reported. “The fighting yesterday seems to be an isolated incident but we aren’t taking chances. I’ve doubled the usual patrols. So far there’s been complete silence. That bothers me, if you don’t mind my saying so. I can’t believe it’s going to be this easy.”

“I’m not really surprised by the lack of a decent defence, Cragson. You have to realise these people are a long way from what they were. The real clans are on the plain.”

Just then a messenger called Cragson away. The Captain listened then hurried back to Navarien. “There’s trouble in the southern quarter of the city, Sir. There’s a riot in progress near Market Square. Fifth Battalion has been trying to restore order but they’re meeting stiff resistance.”

“Damn!” Navarien shoved away from the table. “It looks as if I spoke too soon. What have we on hand?” he said striding outside and loosening his sword in its scabbard.

Cragson loosened his own sword. “Just the Eighth, Sir.”

That was good. Eighth Battalion was a veteran unit.

“Call them out, but swords and shields only. Javelins are no good in these narrow streets. I’ll lead, you’re my second.”

“Yes, Sir!” Cragson saluted and trotted off roaring orders to Under-Captain Tikva, who roared at his sergeants in turn.

After a lot of shouting by their sergeants, the men fell in and Navarien led them toward the disturbance. They trotted through empty streets and turned down lanes normally flooded with people. The city almost seemed to be holding its breath as the legionnaires marched to battle. Navarien heard shouts and screams long before he reached the square. He ordered double time and the men broke into a trot.

It was both worse and better than he had feared. Dead legionnaires littered the ground, but there were still plenty of them fighting. They seemed to be holding easily three times their numbers. He estimated he was facing perhaps as many as three thousand Camorins. His heart sank when he realised that many of them were women, but he hardened it against pity when he saw his men falling to their expertly wielded blades.

“Cragson!”

“Sir!”

“You lead maniples one through five to the right,” he said sweeping a hand around the square. “I’ll take the other five to the left. Wait until I’m in position then we’ll slam together at the same time.” He clamped his hands together in emphasis. Then in a quiet and angry voice he said, “Cut every one of them down.”

“Yes, Sir!” Cragson said.

Whether Cragson was surprised by the brutal order or not, he made no protest or gave any sign of it. He turned and shouted his orders, and the first five maniples of Eighth Battalion peeled off to the right of Market Square. Navarien led his five hundred men to the left and had them form line. He didn’t want to kill these people; the Protectorate would need them, and besides, they were Protectorate citizens now whether they knew it or not. He didn’t want this fight, but he couldn’t afford to be merciful at the beginning of a campaign. They would only take his mercy as weakness. He tried to think of another choice, but they had left him none.

Navarien drew his sword, and stood in front of his men holding it high. “Out swords!” he cried over the bedlam of ringing swords and shrieks of pain.

All along the line, his men drew their weapons and firmed their grip on their shields. He stepped into place in the line and turned to his signaller.

“Sound advance at the walk.”

Rah-taaa, Rah-taaa, Rah-ta-taaa!

The sweet sound of the boy’s cornet sounded incongruous in such a setting, but the sound focused Navarien’s attention on the enemy ahead as it was meant to do. He couldn’t see Cragson’s men, but he didn’t need to. Cragson was his best man. He trusted him to do the job.

Some of the Camorin warriors were quicker to react to the new threat than others, but they soon reformed and were fighting on three sides. With a chill, Navarien realised what a fool he had been to believe these people were weak. They might be a long way from their nomad origins, but it was obvious by the way they fought that they hadn’t forgotten their heritage entirely. They had reformed their lines as if used to fighting this kind of battle, which he knew they weren’t. That meant they had been trained to do it, and well by the look of them.

He was soon too occupied with defending himself for theorising. He easily dispatched his first opponent, and ran his next man through as well. He nearly died the third time he was attacked and cursed himself for hesitating to kill the woman. She was only a girl, but she had slashed his sword arm with her blade like a veteran. Pain and shock slammed through him. He was nearly run through as he clutched at the wound.

“Beg pardon, Sir!”

Navarien was unceremoniously yanked backward by a grizzled sergeant to his right. He almost fell as he staggered out of the line. He just had time to see the girl’s shocked face as the sergeant thrust his sword into her guts before she disappeared under the trampling feet of his men. He would never forget the hurt and accusing look in her eyes as she fell.

Shaking off the stupor he seemed to be in, Navarien quickly staunched the flow of blood and rejoined the fight. His half of Eighth Battalion accounted for perhaps a third of the enemy before linking up with Cragson’s men. Together they pressed the fight and linked with the much beleaguered Fifth Battalion to encircle the enemy. The Camorin warriors didn’t hesitate in continuing the fight. Navarien hadn’t seen one man or woman try to surrender, and he doubted any would at this late juncture.

The fight lasted perhaps another half candlemark until the last Camorin fell at mid-morning. It was another girl. She fell silently from a sword thrust through her middle and lay as if falling asleep among the stinking corpses. She stared at the sun unblinking.

Navarien dragged his eyes from hers. “Cragson!”

“Sir!” Came Cragson’s voice from somewhere behind him.

Navarien waved a hand at the mess. “Collect all the weapons and put them under guard. Enemy dead to be burned outside the city, bury ours there also.”

“Yes sir.” Cragson looked around then said, “We were lucky.”

Lucky? He supposed Cragson was right, but by the number of Legion shields lying discarded, he would estimate his losses at least two hundred men.

That night an uneasy silence settled over the city. What with one thing and another, Navarien didn’t sleep much. The morning dawned with him still looking out his window at the placid North Sea. His arm was paining him. All he wanted to do was yank out the cursed stitches to get at the flaming itch that plagued him. So he was in a particularly foul mood that morning when Cragson reported to him.

“How many?” Navarien said crossing to his desk and sitting down.

Cragson stood at attention before him. “We lost close to two hundred from Fifth Battalion and the original patrol—a maniple from Second. Eighth Battalion lost only a hundred and thirty two. We have about three hundred walking wounded—roughly half are from each of the two battalions, and all will recover.”

Navarien tapped a finger on his desk in time with his words. “You realise that if I include the men we lost the first day we have almost half a battalion dead?”

Cragson fidgeted uneasily. “I… Sir, I have been interog… I mean questioning the locals who witnessed the beginning of the fight and—” he broke off.

“Sit down Cragson,” he said and watched the man try to sit at attention. “Relax man, I’m not going to explode!”

Cragson leaned back in his chair, but then he leaned forward again and sat at attention once more. Navarien sighed. “Spit it out.”

“I had the opportunity to talk to the locals who live near Market Square. They are quiet—older folk mostly. I’m convinced they weren’t involved in the actual fight, but they did see how it started.”

“And you believe what they told you?”

“Yes sir, you see—”

Navarien raised a hand. “It’s all right, Cragson. I trust you and your judgement. If you say they spoke the truth, then that’s good enough for me. What did they see?”

“Ninth maniple of Second battalion was ordered to patrol the market and surrounding streets. Sergeant Alerion led them. His men were all from Bandar—”

That sounded like an ominous beginning. Why did Cragson sight the men’s origins as part of the story?

“—no problems at all. They came into the square the second time around, and of course the market wasn’t empty any longer. It was beginning to receive a few patrons. One of the men—I don’t know his name but he was dark haired and clean shaven—pawed a woman in passing.”

“What!” Navarien roared.

Cragson flinched a little. “He patted a woman on the rump, Sir. She was apparently unused to such games. She objected, and he took it the wrong way. He pushed her down and—”

“Are you telling me that not only did I authorise the deaths of more than three thousand Camorins, but that it was my own men that started the fight?”

Cragson gulped audibly.

A red haze was beginning to overcome his sight at the thought of a woman thrown down and brutally raped by this scum of a Bandarian. He heard the rest of the story distantly, but snapped back when Cragson reached the next shock.

“—took turns.”

“Oh my God!” Navarien felt sick. “Surely you didn’t just say what I heard you say.”

Cragson nodded.

“By the God! What was the cursed sergeant doing while his men were raping this woman?”

Cragson’s face hardened to granite. “According to the witnesses, Sergeant Alerion killed three of his own men trying to save her before they slew him. I knew him. He was a veteran from Athione. He carried me back through the pass. He would never have allowed anything even remotely like this to happen if he could do something about it. He has… had, two daughters at home in Al’Haden.”

This was a flaming nightmare! He wanted to puke, he wanted to kill them all, but he couldn’t. They were the first of many to die when the city folk attacked. He wished he had a sorcerer here to re-animate them so he could kill them all over again.

“The woman?”

Cragson shook his head. “They slit her throat when the attack began.”

Navarien spat in disgust.

The legion comprised of ten battalions each with ten maniples of a hundred men each. After Athione, Navarien had been ordered to bring his legion back up to full strength and had only managed to find enough men for eight battalions. He had to turn to the recently conquered Bandarians for the last two. Second and Ninth Battalions were exclusively Bandarian with Hasian captains and sergeants to lead them—veterans every one.

During training, the Bandarians had been rebellious, but they had quietened down as the training took hold. Traditionally the Bandarians fought from horseback and never on foot, but they soon learned the benefits of having men who could fight effectively as infantry as well as cavalry. Navarien had decided at the time not to break up his veteran units and therefore weaken them. They provided a strong backbone to the legion on which he had hung the newly formed units. They were a considerable asset in a fight and could be relied upon to follow orders even when those same orders seemed insane. They had learned through experience that fighting together made them all ten times stronger. It was a lesson the Bandarians had learned the hard way during the Bandar War, when they fought in their traditional way. They had lost to the legions every time.

He was wondering if he had set himself up for a fall. The new recruits in the other battalions were all Hasian, and although they didn’t take protecting women to the same extremes that Devans did, they were of similar mind where women were concerned. The Bandarians were a different breed though. Their outlook was closer to Japuran than Hasian or Devan. They didn’t have slaves as Japura did, but they did take more than one wife and treated them little better than the Japurans treated their slave girls.

While he considered what to do, Cragson watched him for the imminent explosion he so obviously expected to see. Navarien wasn’t going to give him one. The legion was ultimately his responsibility, and so were its actions. The woman’s death… all the deaths were his responsibility, and it was up to him to make sure it never happened again.

“Disband Second and Ninth Battalions,” he said quietly.

“But—”

“You heard me, Captain!” he roared as the rage finally escaped.

Cragson flinched. “Yes sir, but what will we do with nineteen hundred Bandarians?”

Reining in his temper was hard, but he managed it finally. “I know what I’d like to do with scum like that patrol, but I didn’t mean throw them out of the legion. I want you to bring Fifth Battalion back up to strength by re-assigning all the wounded men there. Then bring the others to full strength with Bandarians making sure they are not all in the same maniples.”

Cragson nodded slowly.

Navarien counted his points off on his fingers. “The rest of the Bandarians are to be shared equally among each of the battalions. When you re-assign the men, make certain at least three-quarters of any maniple is Hasian. The remaining battalions will obviously be over strength, but our people will be able to control any… deviant tendencies exhibited by the Bandarians.”

Cragson grinned. “You can count on that, Sir.”

Navarien looked at him silently, and then perhaps a little more coldly than he meant to he said, “I am counting on it. You can tell all the men—not just the Bandarians—why I’m doing this. Tell them if I hear of anything even remotely similar happening again, I will impale the men responsible… tell them.”

Cragson nodded and left to see to it.

Two days later Navarien’s resolve was tested when a young girl was raped and beaten, but thankfully she wasn’t killed. She was little more than a child. He called his captains into his room and screamed at them for almost a candlemark. He was red in the face as he berated them in a spittle spraying rage. His head was pounding and his hands were shaking with the need to punish those who were responsible. They left the room stumbling and almost dazed. They silently excited the inn and separated without so much as glancing at each other. In their turn they called upon their sergeants and screamed at them for an age; perhaps to relieve their own frustration at not preventing the atrocity, or perhaps feeling the same helpless anger as their General in some small manner. It didn’t matter. The result was the same for each battalion.

They were assembled on the wharf amidst a nervous silence.

The girl was almost catatonic when Navarien escorted her to see the assembled men. Pity and disgust painted the Hasian faces, but the Bandarians looked on blank faced and unconcerned. Would he ever teach them the Protectorate’s way of life? He didn’t know the answer, but whatever it might be, it wasn’t allowing the criminal to escape punishment.

“Do you see the man, lovey?” he said quietly. “Don’t be frightened. I’ll protect you. Just point to him and you will never have to see him again. I promise.”

She made no sign that she’d heard him.

He sighed and kept walking. He was beginning to doubt she would ever respond when suddenly she whimpered and stopped moving. She was staring at a legionnaire in the second file. He was sweating and glaring at her.

“Cragson!” Navarien bellowed.

The rapist lurched out of formation and drew his sword, but his own sergeant backhanded him across the mouth before he could attack. Cragson moved to disarm him and drag him away.

“You can’t do this!” the man yelled. “We conquered them! It’s our right to take them! Do you hear me? It’s our right!”

Navarien held the girl close while she shook and cried. He gave her into her mother’s arms. The girl’s father stayed while his wife and child left. He looked at Navarien as if trying to understand some strange thing he had found.

“You are his chief. Why are you helping us?”

“I’m that man’s leader, yes, but I’m not a chief. Lord Mortain—may he live forever—is my chief, and I am his General. That means I represent him and follow his orders.” He waved a hand at his surroundings. “This city belongs to Lord Mortain now. The people here are his people. He gave us laws to care for his people and no one may break them without punishment. Not me, not you, and not that bastard over there.”

The girl’s father watched the Bandarian being stripped and bound. “Why do you wish to cause him suffering? You should kill him cleanly with a blade. He must be sick in his head to force my daughter to do what he did.”

Navarien was speechless. Didn’t he want the man who had raped his daughter to suffer? That seemed incomprehensible to him. “He will suffer so that others will understand that what he did was wrong, and that they’ll be punished harshly.”

The Camorin tilted his head to one side in contemplation. “Why do your people need such harsh lessons to understand what anyone should understand from childhood? Did not your parents teach you what is good, and what is not?”

“My parents taught me right from wrong, but some people are bad parents and their children become bad parents and so on.”

The Camorin shook his head. “Not here,” he said and walked away.

“Don’t you want to see him punished?”

The man stopped and looked back. “I already know what is good and what is not. I do not need your lesson to understand.”

He watched the man walk away and tried to understand what he meant. He knew what was right and what was wrong, and rape was wrong. Not only that, it was dangerous. The legion was all alone here. He dare not alienate the population too severely lest he have an uprising on his hands. The Bandarian was about to pay for his crime with impaling, surely that was right… surely?

The rapist’s screams ended quickly, barely three candlemarks, and he was dead by the fourth. The Hasians among Navarien’s men had wanted to make the stake a short one to prolong his agony. They stated, and rightly to Navarien’s mind, that a rapist deserved worse even than that. Although he agreed with the sentiment behind the idea, he had overruled it after considering the effect on the locals. He didn’t make his men watch for longer than the first candlemark. They were needed to patrol the city. He detailed five battalions to flatten buildings in the area chosen for his new fort. The fort was his top priority, more so now than ever. The mood in the city was ugly, and might become uglier. He wanted thick walls between him and the nasty sharp swords the Camorins carried.

A few days after the first impaling, Navarien had to sentence another three to the same fate. This time the girls had been twin sisters, much older, and had died. The only witness was a passer-by. The old man was knocked to the ground and kicked unconscious when he tried to intervene. Later, a patrol discovered the scene and brought the man to the site of the new fort to point the men out.

To Navarien’s great relief, the Bandarians settled down after their lessons and gradually became more Hasian in their ways. The men could always find willing girls when they were given a day off from duty by their captains. Forcing one was not tolerated or necessary. It was his policy to rotate a maniple off duty each tenday while in a city. In that way each of the maniples in a battalion had a day free each tenday, and the men were content to spend what little of their pay they had saved on drink and buying pretty baubles for the women. The same policy was used in varying forms throughout all the legions. It helped to ingratiate them to the city folk. In Hasa, the legions were eagerly anticipated for what the men would spend.

Navarien often puzzled over what the girl’s father meant when he had a spare moment, but he couldn’t see how punishment for rape was wrong. The thought of the man knowing something he had failed to see bothered him, and made him look at every situation more closely. Finally, he went to see the man to ask him outright what he’d meant, but the house was empty. Many of them were these days. A good many people had left the city after the battle.

Cantibria settled down over the following tendays and the patrols were reduced to the normal level for a captured city. The empty houses were a stark reminder of how many people had disappeared into the countryside. Hundreds were missing—especially young sons and daughters of the wealthy. Navarien assumed they had journeyed to the other cities, but they may have wandered south onto the plain. The clans were insular and unlikely to accept them. If they did find a welcome there, well, that was all right too. When the time came, he knew where to find them, and it would be easier to fight one or two large battles than dozens of skirmishes.

He couldn’t help wondering about that family though.

Navarien studied his new fort and cursed. The flaming gate was crooked! His men had done a wonderful job of demolition during their first days in Cantibria. The salvaged materials had been reused to build a proper barracks, stores, and curtain wall. He had chosen the location for his fort to take advantage of a deep well that had once graced the courtyard of a mansion house. The well stood dead centre of his shiny new fort’s parade ground. What remained of the courtyard had come in handy for sword drill. Admittedly, the fort was small, but stone was hard to come by. Unless he started dismantling even more of Cantibria than he already had, it would have to stay as is. He couldn’t, or rather he wouldn’t, demolish more of his city. The people he had displaced when the demolition began had filled the houses vacated by the exodus of the younger population. To uproot them again would be begging for an uprising. With all this in mind, he had ordered his men to build three barracks just large enough for the legion, but no larger. It was a tight squeeze, but no worse than the cursed boats had been. Besides, they wouldn’t be here much longer.

Navarien had moved into the fort as soon as it was livable and turned his old headquarters back over to the innkeeper. His men often used it for picking up a woman for the day. No more trouble had been reported on that front, and although the streets weren’t as busy as they had been before their arrival, they did have people on them again. He was hoping the runaways would return once it became known that the city was peaceful again.

“Cragson!”

“Sir!”

Navarien jumped. The Captain was right behind him and not in the fort. “I want that… that carpenter brought back here and set to fixing my gate! Look at it, just look! That’s flaming embarrassing. What will the militia think when they arrive to take over? Their colonel will say I did that on purpose!”

Cragson’s lips twitched, but he managed not to howl with laughter. “I’m sure he’ll realise that you’re not a crafter, Sir.”

“Ha, ha. Now get him back here to fix it.”

“I’ll do that for you,” a voice behind them said.

Cragson slapped a hand to his sword, but Navarien waved him off. “Who might you be?” he said looking the newcomer over. The man was medium height with flaming red hair and pale skin. He was so pale he was almost white!

“I might be anyone, but my name’s Turner. You can call me Turner if you like.”

“Well thank you,” Navarien said dryly. “Where did you come from?” he said looking around for other intruders. He couldn’t see any, but these people had an uncanny knack for sneaking.

“Tindebraisha originally, but I’ve lived here for the last five summers… you say years do you not?”

Navarien nodded absently. Tindebraisha was the old name for Tindebrai. It wasn’t at all what he had expected to hear. He had meant how had Turner managed to come so close without being stopped by the sentries, but his answer was more interesting.

“Are you a wood crafter then?”

Turner nodded and pointed to a small wooden toolbox on the ground at his feet. “I was the apprentice of one until you lot killed him in the square, but I’m good enough to be my own master if I do say so myself—and I do.”

He certainly does, doesn’t he?

“How much to sort this embarrassment out?”

“A gold,” Turner said.

“A gold!” Navarien howled in outrage. “It already cost me a flaming gold to put the flaming things up there! That’s daylight robbery!”

Turner smirked at the crooked gates. “Well, there you are then. I would have charged two, but looking at what you got for only one, I’d say you did well.”

“If I give you one as well, I am paying two,” Navarien spluttered.

“Yes, and you’ll get a very nice gate too,” Turner said grinning for all he was worth.

Navarien was speechless. The man was grinning with a mercenary twinkle in his eye, and even Cragson was close to laughing.

“Right then! What—exactly—do I get for my gold?”

Turner made a show of examining the craftsmanship of the gates. He made his bid when Navarien started grinding his teeth in annoyance.

“How about both gates—not crooked of course—with a hefty drop bar for locking her up at night.”

Navarien pounced. “I want that, and the whole lot smoothed so I don’t get splinters!”

That wiped the smile off Turner’s face. Those flaming gates were big. They would take a lot of rubbing down to make them splinter free. Serves him right too.

Turner frowned trying to make up his mind. “You drive a hard bargain, General, but I agree.”

“Good. Cragson, pay him would you?”

Navarien turned and walked away.

“Here! Don’t you want to see the quality of my work?” Turner said as Cragson gave him a coin.

Navarien turned back. “I trust you, Turner. If you cross me… well, let’s just say you won’t do it again.” He entered the fort and dismissed the gates from his mind.

Navarien stopped to watch the men at sword practise and noticed sergeant Meran demonstrating a thrust and parry combination to his maniple. He wandered a little closer to listen.

“See lads. Even the General does it like that. I don’t want to see you hacking and slashing like children. That goes double for you Lewin!” Meran said glaring at the offending legionnaire. “Yes, I saw you Lewin, don’t think I didn’t. Slashing like that will get you killed. Worse, it might get me killed!”

The new men in his maniple laughed, but Navarien noticed the veterans didn’t. He nodded to himself. They already knew their sergeant was deadly serious. Meran knew what he was talking about. When fighting on horseback, slashing had a place, but even then, it was far from the only way to fight, or even the best way necessarily. In tight formations on foot, like the battle in the square, thrusting was the best way to kill your enemy quickly. Parrying was fine, but most defence relied on the shield. Conversely, the shield took second place while on horseback, and the parry became more important. Legion shields were cumbersome to use on horseback because they took time to shift from one side to the other. Often you would see men discard their shield at the start of a battle and use a second blade for defending. Another short sword or a long dagger was the usual weapon chosen for this, but he’d seen a man use a small hand axe to good effect. When mounted, he preferred to stay with his shield for defending the left, and relied on his parry for the right, but there was an argument for both ways of fighting.

The legion short sword, ideal for infantry, was a little too short for cavalry. Navarien had been vocal in his opinions back home, but although the legions were supplied with steel swords, the treasury was not inexhaustible. Longer swords would take twice the steel the current short swords did; worse, he wanted both sizes in his arsenal. The legions as infantry were unparallelled mainly due to the disciplined formations, and as cavalry due to strong tactics and leadership. There was no point in encumbering infantry with long swords better suited for cavalry and smaller independent actions. Maybe he could overcome the objections by mounting only a token force—two battalions say.

Hmmm, that’s a thought.

Still, these were things to consider in the future. He had no cavalry at present, and wouldn’t until he began the campaign against the real clans on the plains next year. Navarien watched the training for a while before interrupting.

“Sergeant Meran!”

Meran spun around and braced to attention. “Sir!”

“Walk with me a moment, Sergeant.”

“Yes, Sir!” Meran said, and turned back to his men. “Right you lot, I’m going for a little walk. I want you to pair up and practise the lunge and parry. You too, Lewin! When I come back, you better not be trying to slash.” He glared at the offending Lewin before joining Navarien.

They ambled around the courtyard scrutinising the training of the other maniples. “I wanted to thank you for saving my hide during that little get together in the square, sergeant.”

“Weren’t nothing, Sir. I’d do the same for anyone.”

That made Navarien smile. “Well, thank you any way. How are your new lads coming along?”

The sergeant looked ready to spit. “They’re useless, Sir! They do learn, but it’s slow going. Lewin is the worst, and even he’s slashing only half the time now. The others still fight like brigands, if you know what I mean?”

That sounded ominous.

“How so?”

“Well, they fight good alone, but put them in a line and they get in each others way! They’re all shoulders and elbows!”

“Are the others having the same difficulties?”

“I couldn’t say, Sir,” Meran said all innocence.

“Don’t give me that! The sergeants run the legions and we both know it. You know everything that goes on in the Fifth, and you will tell me what that is!” Navarien said putting a little heat into his words.

Meran stopped and saluted. “Yes, Sir! All the Bandarians are having the same problem. They’re good fighters alone, but in formation they ain’t worth shit… Sir.”

Navarien nodded, it was just as he’d feared. “How do you plan to solve the problem?”

“Well as to that, you saw me show them how it should be done. What else can I do?”

“Firstly, we have to put them in an actual formation I think. Not the entire maniple, just a half dozen men say. Have you some big men you can put on each side of the Bandarians?”

Meran nodded. “Yes, Sir. Most of them are big, but I have some really big one’s in mind.”

Navarien knew that, but it was best to let Meran run his maniple as he thought best. “Fine. What I want you to do is arrange big men on each side of the Bandarians with orders to keep their spacing. Then I want another group in formation, all Hasian veterans, to attack their front. With luck, the Bandarians will learn the only way to attack in formation effectively, is to thrust and parry.”

“That might work,” Meran said seeming surprised. “I have half a mind to tell my boys to make the spacing even tighter than normal… just to force the idea through like.”

“Good idea. Try it for a tenday and then report to me. If it works you can pass on how you did it to the other sergeants, but not until you report success to me. There’s no point in disrupting the training of the other maniples until we know it works. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir, I understand.”

“Good, dismissed.”

Navarien returned Meran’s salute and watched him go back to his maniple to try out the new idea. He watched for a while then made his way into the barracks. A small section had been set-aside for him to use as a study. It had a curtain to enclose it for privacy. No one was in the barracks at this time of day so he left the curtain open. The accommodations were admittedly primitive, but he wouldn’t go back to the inn no matter what. His whole life was the legion. He ate, slept, fought, and would eventually die in the legion. This life suited him, and he wanted nothing else.

A few days later, Turner was again escorted into his presence, this time they met in the barracks. The crafter looked around the place and shook his head in disapproval.

“What?” Navarien said already starting to fume.

Turner shrugged. “Nothing, General.”

Why did this man always make him think fondly of a hangman’s noose? “Don’t give me nothing, General! What’s the matter with my barracks?”

“Well if you really want to know, it looks like it was built by a bunch of soldiers.”

Navarien clenched his fists. “It was!”

“Well there you are then.”

“What… exactly do you mean by that?”

“Let me put it this way, General. You wouldn’t trust me by your side in battle would you?”

“No I flaming wouldn’t!” Navarien roared.

“Exactly! I’m not a soldier. Why then do you expect soldiers to do my job? They’re not crafters are they?”

There wasn’t a lot he could say to that. His orders were to take three Camorin cities and hold them by building forts. That’s what he had done here. He couldn’t expect his men to do as good a job at building as they did at fighting. As Turner said, they weren’t crafters.

“The legions go where they’re ordered, and do what they’re ordered to do. Whether that happens to be the capture of a city, or the building of a road, it makes no difference.”

Turner snorted contemptuously. “It may make no difference to you, General, but I assure you it does to the people who have to use what you build. Why else pay me for fixing your gates, which are done by the way.”

“Already?” he said in surprise.

Turner nodded. “Would you care to have a look at true craftsmanship?”

Talk about singing his own praises! How Turner had survived so long was a mystery. Navarien stood and followed the crafter outside.

“You think a lot of yourself don’t you?”

Turner glanced his way, and then forward again. “I have respect for good craft—my own included. I know I’m good. Why should I pretend otherwise? Besides all I have is my skill with wood.”

“Have you no family then?” Navarien had a feeling the man wouldn’t.

“No,” Turner said abruptly.

“You said you came from Tindebrai. How did you escape?”

Turner stumbled to a halt. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t, but I thought it a good possibility. Your family are slaves as well?”

“Were. They were slaves. They’re dead now. I escaped, but they were caught and hung. My little sister… she didn’t die quick.”

Navarien winced at the pain in Turner’s voice. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? Tindebraisha is a long way from here. That’s why I came here. Japura has strong ties to Tindebraisha, and Deva is too close.”

Camorin was a good choice for a runaway. The clans wouldn’t let slavers, or anyone else for that matter, cross their lands. “What about Tanjung? They’re enemies of Tindebrai and Japura.” Actually, Tanjung seemed to be enemies of everyone.

Turner laughed bitterly. “Don’t you think my red hair and white skin might have stood out a bit?”

Turner was exceptionally pale skinned. Most had brown skin, but pale people weren’t unheard of. They didn’t tan well, and in hot years had a lot of trouble from sunburn. Tanjuners were all dark haired and swarthy. Deva and the Protectorate seemed to have the most variation in colouration. Red and blond haired people were rare compared to brown or black, but there were still plenty of them.

“Would they still look for you after what… five years wasn’t it?”

Turner laughed bitterly. “Runaways are never safe, General. Japura’s slave traders are paid double the rate for bringing us back, so that others will know there is no escape.”

Navarien inspected the gates; they were so much better that they hardly seemed like the same ones. They were beautiful work—totally smooth, and even the drop bar was free of splinters. He hadn’t asked for carving, but the bar was carved in swirling patterns. The patterns didn’t seem to mean anything, but they did provide better grip.

He was more than satisfied with the work. “They are excellent,” he said running a hand over his gates once more. “Come back with me to talk for a while.”

Back in his study Navarien poured wine for them both and sat down to talk. Turner had been quiet since their discussion about his family. “You remember our earlier discussion about how the legions do whatever is ordered?”

“Yes,” Turner said not really interested.

“I was wondering if you had any ideas.”

Turner frowned into his wine but then he shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s ever been done, but I should think what you need is a… battalion is it called?”

“A battalion is a unit of ten maniples each having one hundred men. Sergeants head each maniple, and an Under Captain heads each battalion.”

“That’s a thousand men. That’s too many by far. Perhaps a special small maniple would do. One that doesn’t fight.”

Navarien coughed and nearly spilled his wine over his armour. “A maniple that doesn’t fight would die! Let’s assume we can train them to at least defend themselves. What would they do for the legion?”

“I thought you understood,” Turner said in surprise. “I’m talking about a crafter maniple. Look, you have all those legionnaires out there for labour, and they can build anything in a very short time. What you lack are master crafters to design what you need and oversee the work. Of course, they would have to do any tricky bits themselves, but most of the time they would be telling your men where to place this wall or that joist. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

Navarien liked that. “The men look after their own armour and swords, but we always bring farriers for the horses and mules. They are legionnaires, and fight like everyone else, but their first duty is to the horses. There are never less than a hundred in a battalion.”

“That’s it exactly, but you need to expand it. You need master crafters in wood, metal, and stone. If you have a few of each, the work would go much faster. More importantly the quality would be excellent as you would expect from any master of his craft.”

Ha! I have him.

“You’ve convinced me. When can you start?”

“Me?” Turner said with a snort of amusement. “I’m not Hasian. I’m not anything really. I thought I would be Camorin, but…” he shrugged.

“Why not try it?” Navarien pressed. “You would be safe from slavers in the legion. We look after our own. I can get you a uniform and armour no problem at all. You would have to learn how to fight, there are no slackers in the legion, but when we need to build something properly you would be doing it.”

“I don’t know… I’m a wood crafter not a soldier. What you want is a soldier who knows wood not the other way round.”

He nearly had him there, Navarien was sure of it. Turner would be a good addition to his legion. They often had to bridge rivers or build fortified camps. A maniple of crafters would be just the thing. That would show the militia he knew how to build a flaming good fort! It would also be the Fifth Legion showing the way forward, which he admitted to himself, was attractive. First Legion was always lording it over the Fifth because they had a much longer history of service. Fifth Legion was commissioned in the last year of the Bandar War, where the First, Second, and Third legions had been around since the Protectorate was first formed.

Navarien tried again. “How about this. If you join up and learn how to be a legionnaire, I will promote you to sergeant of the crafter maniple. We could build it with men you choose, and make it part of First Battalion. If it works out, we could make your crafters First Battalion’s first maniple. You never know, the other legions might follow your lead.”

“It’s tempting, General, but… would I have authority to buy tools? I would need to steal some likely looking men from the other maniples as well. I must insist on at least that.”

I have him!

“I’ll inform Cragson. He’ll work with you to build your maniple, but don’t forget, the men under you will know how to fight better than you and that may cause difficulties later. You will have to learn everything fast.”

Turner took a deep breath and nodded. “All right.”

“Good man! Now, stand up, this is your first lesson—”

Navarien showed Turner a salute and made sure he knew to say sir when addressing a superior. He didn’t like that part because of his days as a slave, but he subsided when reminded that his men would say sir to him in turn. After a candlemark, Turner left with a bemused Cragson to get a set of weapons and armour.

Over the next few days, Navarien watched Turner working hard at learning the drills. The crafter was quite good with the javelin, but his sword work needed help. Overall, he seemed to be doing well, and Meran agreed.

“He ain’t got no bad habits to unlearn, Sir. He’s better than that pain in the arse Lewin right now.”

“That’s good, very good in fact. How are the Bandarians doing with the thrust and parry drill?”

“It’s working. Ain’t no doubt about it, but it’s taking time.”

Navarien considered that for a moment. “Is it worth telling the others do you think?”

“Yes, Sir. The longer I keep the secret, the longer the others will need to catch up.”

“Good point. Fine then, tell the other sergeants how you managed to turn the Bandarians into legionnaires. That story is worth a couple of free beers any day!”

“Right you are, Sir!” Meran said grinning, but then he scowled and trotted off. “Lewin! If I see you drop a blade like that again I’ll ram it up your bum!”

Navarien walked away laughing quietly to himself. The legion was just like a family, and like a family, it had some strange characters. Cragson, the perfect legionnaire, was like a mother hen when he thought his men were going into danger. Meran was like a grumpy uncle always yelling insults, but if one of his men found himself up against something he couldn’t handle he was suddenly there explaining and teaching.

Navarien surveyed the grounds and took a deep refreshing breath. By the God he loved this life. The good far outweighed the bad. He never wanted it to end.

* * *

8 ~ Lost Ones

To Shelim’s chagrin, Darnath wasn’t learning as fast as he thought he should have. He had no complaints about Darnath’s eagerness to learn, but he was still having trouble with some of what Shelim had found the easiest to master. Kerrion had taught him all he knew about magic and he was passing those lessons on to Darnath almost word for word. It couldn’t be his teaching that was at fault. It must simply be a case of talent. Some shamen were better than others at some things. Just as he divined the future most nights without trying, others drugged themselves insensible with Tancred just to see what tomorrow would bring. It wasn’t surprising that Darnath’s talents were different to his own, just frustrating.

Darnath’s work with the mirror was going slowly, and Shelim had a good idea why that was. While living at Denpasser with Kerrion, there had been few distractions—he had learned quickly because of that, but life in the clan was full of them. He, unlike Darnath, had no trouble learning to use his mirror because he had learned the way of it while living separated with Kerrion at Denpasser. But when Darnath used the mirror, one image after another would flash by without steadying down to what he wanted to see. Today was going to be different. He had divined something last night that he was going to use to help Darnath. That was the reason he had chosen not to ride too far ahead of the clan today. The lesson would be cut short partly because of that, but he was determined the day wouldn’t be wasted.

“Let’s stop here Darnath,” Shelim said as he slowed Nyx to a walk.

Darnath looked around. “Why here, Mentor? We haven’t come nearly far enough.”

Shelim dismounted, and after a moment, so did Darnath. He walked a short distance away from the horses and sat cross-legged. When Darnath was sitting opposite, Shelim told him to retrieve his mirror.

Darnath groaned but did as he was bid. “Do we have to practise the mirror again Mentor? You know how much trouble I’m having with it.”

“That is why you will practise.”

“All right,” Darnath said with a put upon sigh. “What do you want me to find?”

“We haven’t tried this yet, but I’m sure you will succeed Darnath. I won’t tell you why, but I know you will succeed.”

“How?”

Shelim smiled and shook his head not willing to say more.

Darnath looked puzzled for a moment, but then his eyes widened. “Divining?” he squeaked.

He laughed at Darnath’s shock. His friend had obviously forgotten that he didn’t need Tancred to dream. “I said I wouldn’t tell you, Darnath. I want you to find us in the mirror and hold the image steady. Then when I say now, I want you to widen the view to look at the plain in a big circle with us at the centre.”

Darnath wilted at the complexity of the task. “I won’t be able to find us, let alone the rest you wanted.”

“You will. Remember when I made you imagine your friend with the dog?” He waited for Darnath’s nod then went on. “I want you to do something similar. It should be easy out here away from distractions.”

“Teach me, Mentor.”

“I will,” he said seriously. “What you are to do is look around until you’re sure you can remember this place—including us sitting here… I meant now, Darnath.”

“Oh sorry,” Darnath said then began looking carefully around.

While Darnath was doing that, Shelim checked the sun again and judged that they still had time. That was one thing about these lessons, they seemed to make the day fly by.

“I’m ready, Mentor.”

“Grasp your magic and concentrate on making us appear in the mirror.”

Darnath didn’t answer.

He watched his apprentice frown at the mirror and held his breath. A picture appeared of two men sitting cross-legged in the grass together. He couldn’t help looking up to see if anything was visible, but as usual, nothing was. The picture in the mirror was how a tall man would see them, if he stood a few paces away looking down.

“You see, that wasn’t hard was it?”

Darnath grinned. He was about to say something, but he lost concentration and the picture dissolved. “It worked, but not for very long. I’ll try for the whole thing this time.”

“Very well, concentrate as you did before…” Shelim watched the mirror. “Good, now widen it—pretend you are high up and looking down at me sitting here.” He watched as the mirror changed again, but he frowned. The image was wavering like a heat haze in summer. That never happened to him when he did this. “Try drawing a little more magic to steady it, Darnath.”

The picture sharpened, but it wasn’t perfectly still. It was good enough for his purposes.

“That’s fine,” he said. “Can you make the picture move now, toward say… the north?”

“I’ll try, but this is hard work Mentor. I could sleep for a day.”

“It is tiring in the beginning, but you’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t know how you can do this every morning and still have enough energy for the day, Mentor.”

Shelim didn’t answer; he was concentrating on the mirror. Where were they? Even on foot, they should have reached… there!

“There are some people to the north of us, Mentor.”

“Are there?” he said trying to sound surprised. “They must be riders from another clan.”

“No… I don’t think so,” Darnath said leaning forward and squinting at the image. “Their clothes are strange, and they’re on foot. There are three… a family I think. I’ll try to move in closer.”

A shaky picture formed. The mirror was so dark, Shelim could hardly pick out the three Lost Ones. He shook his head. Would Darnath ever match him with the mirror? It didn’t seem likely.

“You can release it, Darnath. They’re definitely not clan, but they aren’t outclan either.” Tapping a finger against his lips, he pretended to think. “You know, I think they might be a family of Lost Ones.”

Darnath gasped. “Lost Ones! What are they doing on the plain?”

“I have no idea. Let’s ask.”

They galloped north until they spotted the three people trudging through the grass. The Lost Ones looked tired and hungry. There was a man and two women—mother and daughter if his eyes weren’t deceiving him. All three had nothing but the clothes they stood in and their weapons. How they had come so far without horses was a mystery that he would love to solve.

They slowed their horses so as not to frighten their guests. As it turned out, they needn’t have bothered. Both women wielded long knives and were ready to attack. The man held a clan bow already drawn, but it was obvious by his stance that he was unused to the weapon.

“Stop there!” the man said using Shelim as his target. “We don’t want to kill you, but we will if we have to.”

Darnath growled something under his breath.

“I was about to say the same,” Shelim said in amusement. “Considering where you are, you would have done better asking for our mercy, don’t you think?”

The younger of the two women took a step forward. Without taking her eyes from Shelim, she spoke over her shoulder to her companions. “I told you they were savages, father. We should have gone to Durena.”

“Hush Betsia,” the man said.

Shelim wondered how long the man was going to hold the bow drawn without tiring. He was obviously unused to the pull of a clan bow. He watched the man’s arm shake and readied himself to use his magic.

“I would appreciate you aiming that elsewhere,” he said to the tiring man. “Otherwise I’ll have to take it from you.”

Betsia spluttered in anger and waved her long knife at him.

Darnath leaned in from the side to whisper. “What are you doing, Mentor? Just kill them and be done. It’s not honourable to play with them like this.”

“Trust me. I divined them coming here.” Shelim turned his attention to the Lost Ones. “Drop your weapons, and I will escort you to the clan. You can ask Kadar for sanctuary… yes, I know you’re running, Lost Ones.”

“I think we should do as he asks, Martia,” the man said.

Martia nodded her agreement and dropped her weapon. The man did likewise with the bow, but Betsia took persuading.

“I said drop the knife girl, are you hard of hearing?” Her squawk of outrage made him grin.

“Who are you calling girl? I’m older than you are, boy!”

“I called you girl because you’re acting like a child, not because of your age.”

With lips pressed tight together, Betsia threw down her long knife and fumed. Shelim signalled Darnath to collect the weapons and then indicated to the Lost One’s they should walk ahead of the horses. They complied with his order without too much fuss, but of course, the girl—Betsia—argued. Shelim was already coming to expect it.

They rode south and it was a slow boring trip at first, but it became more interesting when the man dropped back to Shelim’s side and introduced himself.

“I am Farel, and your names are?”

“I’m Shelim, my friend is Darnath.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Farel said.

“Really?”

Farel laughed. “You mustn’t mind Betsia. She takes after her mother. Impossible woman sometimes, but I wouldn’t change her… either of them. They saved my life back home.”

“They are warriors.”

Farel blinked. “What makes you say that?”

“You just said they saved your life. They hold their weapons like warriors and know how to use them. I assumed you meant they had saved you by killing your enemy.”

“Ah well, I suppose I did mean that. In Cantibria anyone who wishes may train with sword or bow, but none of us are truly warriors like the old days. We don’t hunt like the clans, or make war on each other. We are peaceful people… we were peaceful people,” Farel said sadly.

“What changed?” Darnath said with interest.

“The Hasians came.”

Shelim’s face turned grim. So, it had started as Kerrion said it would. Farel and his family would be the first to bring the news of war, but he doubted they would be the last. The Hasians had been thwarted in the south last year, so they had taken Farel’s home intending to attack Deva from a different route. Unfortunately, the clans were in the middle.

“—Lost Ones?” Farel said.

“Sorry, I was thinking about the Hasians. What was the question?”

“I was just wondering why you called us Lost Ones.”

“We call people who leave the clan that.”

“My grandfather didn’t leave, he was driven out!”

Shelim shrugged. “Sometimes, if someone commits a crime, they join the Lost instead of facing challenge. Kerrion told me some of our young people have run away to the Lost because they wanted to see the ocean. I can’t believe anyone would be stupid enough to leave the land for the sea, but he says it’s true.”

“So you think my grandfather was either a criminal or a child when he left the clans?”

Shelim studied Farel and wondered why the man cared. Did it matter sixty or seventy summers later why a man left the clans to join the lost? Farel seemed to think so.

“There is one other way a man might join the Lost.”

“What way is that?”

“If he was marked by the God to be a shaman, but refused his call.”

Farel took a long look at Shelim. “How do you know so much? As Betsia said, you are only a child yourself.”

“I know because I am a shaman.”

They reached the clan as afternoon turned to evening, and caused an uproar. Farel and his family were looking around trying to make sense of all the new sights and sounds as people clamoured to know what was going on. It wasn’t yet time to make camp, but it looked as if they would make no further progress today. Kadar was nowhere in sight, and Shelim was grateful for the fact. He wondered what the chief would say about this when he found out.

Kerrion solved one problem by shooing everyone away and telling them to make camp for the night. No one argued with a shaman, at least not in public. Everyone rushed off to unpack their tents and other belongings from the carts.

Kerrion studied the three Lost Ones in silence for a brief moment before turning to his apprentice. “So Shelim, you have found us some strays.”

“This is Farel and his wife Martia, Mentor. Their daughter is Betsia.”

“Why didn’t you kill them?”

Shelim ignored the shocked curse from Farel. “They are of the people, Mentor. Shamen protect the people… all the people. Is this not so?”

“It is my boy, but they are Lost Ones.”

Shelim couldn’t tell if his mentor was pleased or not. He hadn’t asked a question, but he felt an answer was expected. What did his mentor want him to say? Did he mean the Lost were not of the people, or did he mean they were a special case?

“They are Lost Ones,” he said slowly feeling his way toward the answer. “But can they not come home? Surely what is Lost may be found.”

Kerrion nodded and smiled his approval of Shelim’s words. Was that the answer then? That the Lost were still of the people no matter where they lived? Did Kerrion expect them all to return? That was not the impression he’d received during their conversations. His mentor seemed more inclined to believe they would be truly lost, never to return, just as their name implied.

Kerrion didn’t explain his words. He left Shelim to help Farel find a tent for his family. That turned out to be simple. It wasn’t long before the women came bearing presents of one sort or another, and Shelim was soon helping Farel set up an old tent good enough to use temporarily. Martia was overwhelmed with all the gifts from her new friends—the pile was growing by the moment, but Betsia was scowling. She was far from happy.

“What’s the matter now?”

“We had a nice house in Cantibria until the Hasians came. Now look at us! Living like savages, with savages!” Betsia said angrily.

“Fool girl!” Shelim said loud enough for people to stop and stare. “You don’t have to live here. You can do what your great grandfather did and join the Lost. No one will force you to be sensible and live how the people should live. You can be a coward and join the Lost, or you could even become a renegade if you prefer. Of course, if we see you we’ll kill you, but some prefer not to leave… for a summer or two anyway.”

“Oh? And what do they do then, boy?”

“They die,” he said simply, and left her standing there.

He made his way to Kerrion’s tent, but before ducking inside he looked back to see Betsia working on making her new home presentable. He grinned as he ducked into the tent, but it slipped from his face when he found Kadar already seated inside talking to Kerrion.

“—harms us Kadar. Night Wind is small compared with Protectorate. If you would see the Night Wind prevail we need more warriors.”

“More warriors, more warriors!” Kadar cried in mocking imitation of Kerrion. “You never stop, do you old man? We are at peace! Night Wind needs less warriors and more people willing to craft things for trade.”

Shelim couldn’t let that stand. “You know I have been a shaman for only a short time, Kadar, but I was a good warrior wasn’t I?”

Kadar turned to Shelim. “Yes very good, but I was pleased to see you become a shaman. The people need more healers and fewer warriors now. I would appreciate Kerrion more if he would leave the leadership of the clan to me, and spend his time healing the sick, which is what a shaman is supposed to do.”

Shelim ignored Kadar’s slur to keep his thoughts on the problem at hand. “Thank you for saying that, Kadar, but if you agree I was a good warrior, would you then also agree that a good warrior must try to anticipate what his enemy will do in the future?”

Kadar frowned. “Yes of course, but we have no enemies. Unless you count the feud with Horse Clan, and I don’t.”

Shelim shook his head impatiently. “I have brought a family of the Lost into the clan. They are of the people, but are at war with the Hasians. One of their stone cities has been taken from them already. All three will be soon, I have seen it. Thousands of warriors will come to the clans from those cities over the seasons ahead. Who would you see gain strength from such numbers, Horse Clan or us?”

That made Kadar stop and think. Shelim took the chance to glance at Kerrion, and received a tiny nod. He didn’t see what there was to think about. Night Wind was one of the smallest clans on the plain. They could welcome thousands of the Lost and still not rival the largest clan. Night Wind had two thousand warriors. That meant almost three quarters of the clan were warriors, which was why Kadar said they needed no more. Only half of Dragon Clan were warriors, but they still had five times as many as the Night Wind did.

Kadar came to a decision. “Thank you for your council, shaman. I will tell the people to start making more tents.” He left then and Shelim slumped in relief.

Kerrion pounded his apprentice’s shoulder. “Well done Shelim! You have reached him when I could not. Well done indeed!”

Shelim blushed at the praise heaped upon him. “It was only because he still sees me as a child, mentor. A child cannot challenge his leadership so he didn’t feel threatened.”

“You’re wrong about that. He saw a shaman giving good council, and he saw correctly.”

His face heated even further from Kerrion’s praise. He didn’t know quite what to say. That is until Kerrion said it was his turn to make the tea.

“I made it last time!” He protested but reached for his pouch.

* * *

“He will never be a shaman, eldest,” Duren said snidely. “Darnath can’t or won’t learn the lessons. All he does is wander about the camp complaining.”

“Surely you’re exaggerating the problem,” Kerrion said. “Apprentices often have difficulties adjusting to a new way of life. Darnath will learn in time.”

Shelim was almost bursting with his need to tell Duren what he thought of him—a shaman so disgusting as to try to force his own apprentice to flee to the Lost had no honour, none! Duren had come storming into Kerrion’s tent just a short while ago angrily denouncing Darnath as a useless incompetent. Why Shelim hadn’t divined this day he didn’t know. He normally had trouble stopping the dreams not the other way around. Although Kerrion was eldest, he couldn’t interfere with another shaman’s apprentice or that apprentice’s training. Shelim knew he was technically in the wrong by training Darnath, but he couldn’t make himself care. Something just wasn’t right about Duren. He had tried to see the man in the mirror any number of times, but for some reason the mirror refused to clear, it was like looking into a cloud. At first, he had thought it was a lack of practise on his part, but that wasn’t it. He could see everyone else perfectly.

“Eldest,” Duren said. “I know you prefer to believe the best of everyone, but I must insist on my rights this time. I will not waste my teachings on one who should be with the Lost!”

Kerrion’s shocked oath was drowned out as Shelim shouted, “You disgusting, outclanner! Darnath is worth ten of you!”

“Be silent, Shelim” Kerrion roared.

“I’m sorry, Mentor, but that—”

“I said silence!”

He swallowed fearfully at the look on Kerrion’s. What had he done? He was still an apprentice. To call another an outclanner was almost as bad as calling him a Lost One. Duren was silent, but strangely he was smiling. He might be willing to forgive… he lost his train of thought as Kerrion bowed to Duren. He touched his forehead to the ground as if bowing to a superior. It made Shelim sick to watch his mentor’s humiliation.

“I most humbly apologise for my apprentice’s words, Duren. He will be suitably punished I assure you. It is your right to banish Darnath to the Lost, but I implore you to think carefully before doing so.”

Shelim closed his eyes and groaned silently. Oh no, this was a complete disaster. He had played directly into Duren’s hands. Darnath was a Lost One now for sure and there was nothing anyone could—wait! There was one thing he could do.

Duren was speaking, “—this course eldest. Darnath is of the Lost from this moment. I’m sorry, but our traditions dictate my actions. I have the right to banish one of the people if I think the situation warrants it, and I do.”

Shelim sent a prayer winging its way to the God and took a calming breath. He spoke very clearly and precisely lest Duren try to wriggle out. “I Shelim, shaman of the Night Wind Clan, do call you vile outclanner not worthy to care for an apprentice! I challenge!”

“I said be silent!” Kerrion roared.

“I’m sorry ment… Kerrion. Darnath is a good friend to me and the people. I will not allow his banishment to stand unchallenged. Please understand… please,” he begged.

Kerrion slumped in defeat and nodded. It was anyone’s right to challenge. Shelim had never heard of two shamen challenging each other… perhaps it had never happened before, but whether it had or not the words had been spoken and there was no taking them back.

Duren was grinning openly. “You young puppy, I spit on you and say we fight!”

Kerrion nodded as the challenge was accepted. “So be it. Tomorrow two shaman will do battle with magic. The prophecy will not be denied it seems,” he said wearily.

Duren left, and Shelim was hustled out a moment later. Kerrion refused to discuss the challenge, and was obviously hurt by his actions. He decided to leave his mentor alone for a while. He sought out Darnath and told him what had happened, but his apprentice wasn’t surprised. Looking into the distance at nothing Shelim could see, Darnath seemed calm… too calm.

“So he finally did it. I’m a Lost One,” Darnath said in wonder. “I don’t feel any different. Shouldn’t I feel like an outclanner now?”

Shelim wrinkled his nose. “Who knows what one of them feels like? You’re not a Lost One until I lose the challenge.”

“You shouldn’t have challenged him, Mentor, but I thank you.”

“Will you do something for me?” he said, and Darnath nodded. “Tell Kerrion everything that’s been going on. He was hurt when I disobeyed him. I would like him to think kindly of me.”

“I’ll tell him Mentor. I’ll tell him everything about that disgusting pustule on a dog’s arse. Everything!”

Shelim nodded.

After his visit with Darnath, he returned to speak with Kerrion, but Kerrion refused to hear him. He watched in disbelief as his mentor moved all of his possessions out of the tent and secured the flap barring him from entering.

The next day dawned bright and clear, but Shelim awoke in strange surroundings. His parents had made the tent for him when they thought he would be a warrior, but unknown to him they had changed the sigils since then. Instead of a tent with stitching showing a warrior riding to the hunt, it now had a shaman healing a child on one side.

His challenge had caused a great deal of upset, and maybe that was a good thing. His people needed to be shaken out of their old thinking. Warriors were strong and shaman were weak, they thought. Well if this was to be his last day in the world, he would show them what a shaman’s magic could do! At least one good thing would come from his death.

The prophecy of The One mentioned a battle between shaman, but Kerrion had believed it meant between a clan shaman and a Hasian sorcerer. The truth was that one brother would kill another this day. It was a heavy blow to Kerrion, who felt responsible in failing his apprentice. Shelim had tried to tell Kerrion that he was a great teacher, but he wouldn’t listen. It was a mentor’s responsibility to teach and guide his apprentice. If he went astray, it was the fault of the mentor not the apprentice.

Nothing he could say would dissuade the old man.

Shelim prepared himself for the day with his usual routine. He used his mirror to look for danger, and was pleased to see none anywhere near. He ate a little food, and drank a little water making sure both times not to take too much. His stomach felt knotted, and too much food might upset him at a crucial time. He grasped his magic and heated a little water to wash the grease off his hands and face then cooled it again before throwing the water outside. He hung his medicine pouch from his shoulder, and his long knife at his waist then left the tent.

He walked through the camp trying to ignore the whispers and shocked stares. He couldn’t help but smile at some of the comments.

“He still carries his long knife, never should have been a shaman”

“…warrior not a shaman.”

“…always was… never should have—”

“—not worried… look—”

He was both a warrior and a shaman. Fifteen summers as a warrior, weren’t erased by a mere two summers of training as a shaman. He might have felt differently after another ten, but he would never know now. He wasn’t concerned about his death, but he was worried for his apprentice. Darnath would be banished when he was defeated, unless he could somehow take Duren with him into death. He was determined to do that somehow. Kerrion would become Darnath’s mentor and would teach him all he needed to know.

He took a deep breath before scratching on the flap of his parent’s tent. His father looked out and beckoned him inside. He seated himself with his mother and brother while his father tied the flap down. His brother didn’t say anything, which he appreciated, but his mother was close to tears. She was a strong person, she wouldn’t let herself cry.

“My son,” his father began. “Why did you challenge?”

“Darnath has been training with Duren for as long as I have with Kerrion, yet at the last Gathering he had learned nothing! Duren was deliberately holding him back and now he has threatened Darnath with becoming a Lost One.”

Tomik sat back with a hiss of shock. There was no worse punishment than banishment. Most would prefer death rather than leave the clan, which is why some preferred becoming a renegade. A renegade was one of the people who had been banished but refused to leave the plain. They were rare, as was banishment, but it did happen.

“I became Darnath’s mentor and taught him what Duren refused to teach, but yesterday Duren finally pronounced banishment for Darnath’s supposed failure to learn. I challenged to prevent that.”

Tomik was shaking his head in denial, not at what he was doing, but rather at what Duren had already done. “Why would he treat his own apprentice so badly? It makes no sense. Can you win?”

He shrugged a little guiltily and nodded. “I think I can prevent the banishment, yes.”

“I didn’t ask that. Can you win?”

He shook his head.

“I want Torin to have Nyx and my weapons. Give my pouch to Kerrion and tell him I’m sorry for disappointing him. My tent… give that to Darnath, or if he’s banished give it to Betsia.”

Torin’s face remained blank. “I will do as you ask, but I’m sad to see how weak you’ve become.”

Selima gasped at the disgust in Torin’s words. “Torin! How can you say that to your brother? Apologise!”

“I say it because it’s true! Not two summers ago he was one of our best warriors. Now he comes here defeated before the challenge even begins!” Torin turned angrily toward his brother. “You should be planning how to win, not lose!”

With that Torin untied the tent flap and left.

“He didn’t mean that, Shelim. He loves you and…” Selima began.

“He’s right though,” he said. “I should be trying to find a way to win.”

“You need to think about how you would attack if you were Duren,” Tomik said seriously. “Then you need to think of a way to turn his strength against him.”

He nodded. Kerrion had taught him all he needed to be a shaman, but Duren was older and more experienced. He must have learned a few tricks in that time. There was no way for him to know what those tricks might be, so turning them back against him was unlikely. What he needed was a way to surprise him, and then hit him as hard as he could all at once.

Torin ducked back into the tent. “Duren is ready.”

Shelim hugged all three of them before leaving the tent to face his enemy.

“Shelim…” Torin said uncertainly.

“I know.”

“I didn’t mean… I’m sorry about…” Torin took a deep breath. “I love you brother.”

“And I love you,” he said and hugged Torin. “We will see each other again.”

Torin nodded at the words He didn’t say they would see each other again in the Other World where the God dwelt.

Hundreds watched him walk out of the camp and into the open. Common sense said that throwing magic around where flammable tents stood was foolish. He walked a good distance from camp and stopped. Duren, though small with distance, was well inside his range. He hoped that Duren was close to his own limit, but didn’t know what it might be. He knew the man was weaker than he in raw power, and hoped he might have less stamina because of that. It was his only advantage. Shelim was ready for any attack, but he didn’t grasp his magic. He was hoping to unsettle Duren by waiting. He listened to the sigh of the wind, it was a beautiful day, and there wasn’t a cloud to be seen. The smell of cook fires and curing hides wafted his way on the breeze. The sun was directly overhead giving neither of them an advantage. He was expecting Duren to attack with fire, and he was ready for that, but the man just stood there as if he had all day.

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.

Negligible was a relative term, Vexin now thought. It could hardly be called negligible to those who had died. Talitha’s losses had been catastrophic though, which is why she, and not he, had been the one to pay compensation in the form of a further five thousand swords. He had been well pleased until the tribute arrived. The little vixen had sent him rubbish swords that no self-respecting guardsmen would be seen dead carrying. Still, Vexin mused, he had made good use of them in the end by melting them down into ploughs for his peasants. They loved him for that gesture. It was then that he realised what a resource the common folk could be to an emperor beset by rebellious lords. He had taken immediate advantage by remitting taxes. Each year, a pair of villages was selected at random to have its taxes waved.

The lords thought him mad. Who cared what the peasants thought, they said? Vexin cared. He cared very much. There were ten powerful Houses that he was required to keep constant watch upon, and perhaps as many smaller Houses that he could safely ignore. There was something like three million or more peasants. The lords could ignore them at their peril, but he wanted friends. Lots of friends!

The solution to the current situation stuck in Vexin’s craw, but he had no real choice. Truly, history did repeat itself as the philosophers maintained. He would have been far happier had the cycle been longer. Deva was ripe for the taking, he even had an army ready to go, but what does Vivika do? He attacks Talitha on his own and ruins it all.

Vexin sighed. “I’ll have to send the army into Japura.”

Keppel nodded unsurprised at his decision. House Malim raids, Talitha counter-raids. Now he, Emperor Vexin, counter-counter raids. It was sickening! If he was going to do this stupid thing, he was going to do it right. No more of this raid and counter-raid shit!

“I can’t kill Vivika, but what about his bitch wife? This is her fault.”

Keppel smiled dreamily. “Not a problem, but the lords will know it was you.”

“Humph!” Vexin leaned back in his chair playing with his seal ring. “If someone drops dead from a fall off his horse, they think I did it! Still, best we try to keep attention on the task at hand. Hire an amateur—”

Keppel was scowling now. He didn’t like people who made a mess of his craft, and people who Keppel didn’t like had a tendency to disappear. There had been that guard last year…

“Don’t scowl Keppel, you’ll get wrinkles!” Vexin said laughing. “Seriously now, how about someone posing as her latest lover? He could kill her, and then you could arrange for him to be caught escaping. What do you think?”

“I like it,” Keppel said. He seemed positively cheerful at the prospect.

“I thought you might,” Vexin said slyly. “You know, I think I might give Vivika to Talitha as a present when all this is over. Hmmm, I’ll give that more thought, but I might just do that. First, I have a war to win—just a small one for now—then back to the more serious matter of Deva.”

After Keppel left to find himself a would-be lover/assassin, Vexin went to see Bothmar. It was unusual for him to seek out his minion personally, but he was in no mood to sit on his hard throne waiting for Bothmar to arrive as he usually did. He found his servant hard at work like a squirrel storing his nuts. He always thought of squirrels when he was with Bothmar.

“My Lord!” Bothmar gasped rising quickly.

“That’s all right, you may sit.”

This was a novel experience—Bothmar behind the desk, and Vexin sitting in the guest’s chair. Bothmar was ill at ease and reluctant to sit in his emperor’s presence.

“For what do I owe this honour my emperor?”

That was nicely said. Bothmar had taken his words to heart it seems. He had been in a bad mood that day, and ordered Bothmar to do better concerning his suggestions. It appeared Bothmar was learning courtly ways as well.

“It seems that Talitha has raided my border,” Vexin said slowly.

“Yes m’lord, I have the reports here,” Bothmar said reaching for a pile of parchment.

“You do? That is most excellent of you Bothmar,” Vexin said beaming a smile at his servant. “I must say, you are proving to be a surprise.”

“A surprise, m’lord. In what way a surprise?”

Vexin smiled at the note of worry in Bothmar’s voice. “I had thought you to be an unimaginative man. That’s not a criticism. I need someone who will follow my orders to the letter without deviation… are you following me?”

Bothmar paled. “Yes m’lord. I understand perfectly. I always follow your orders to the letter, even when—if I might say so, even when I feel them to be in error.”

Vexin chuckled. “Excellent again, Bothmar. You are my most visible servant. Everyone knows you, and that you speak with my voice. Which is why I need to know your words are my words—do you see?”

“Yes m’lord.”

That was good. Vexin really did trust Bothmar to do what he was told. He always had, but being emperor meant he could never be too trusting. If his father had been more careful, the assassin would have died in his place.

“Now then, what’s the damage as far as this Japuran raid is concerned?” Bothmar winced at his words. That bad eh? Well, he would just have to make it plain to Barthan that he wanted Talitha to pay dearly.

Shuffling through the reports, Bothmar distilled their essence. “All the villages along the border were depopulated by the Tanjuner slavers m’lord. Many of the men were killed in the fighting of course, but not a single woman younger than thirty was found dead. The villages and farms were put to the torch and the fields were badly damaged. It’s not my place m’lord, but might I suggest we not replace the villages as we usually do with new ones?”

Vexin’s brows rose. Bothmar was starting to intrigue him. “Just out of interest Bothmar, what would you do?”

“I, m’lord?” Bothmar said hesitantly. “I would not rebuild the villages. Instead, I would build a line of forts along the border as the legions are want to do. I would garrison them with men from the lesser noble houses—less risk that way. In a few years, small towns will grow nearby to take advantage of the protection they provide. Forgive me for saying this m’lord, but war really doesn’t solve anything. If you want to strengthen the Empire, I would suggest fortifying the land along the border—and over it when you can get away with it—”

Vexin grinned at that.

“—with people whose first loyalty is to the Emperor and not the noble Houses.”

Vexin gaped. He had thought Bothmar would come up with some crackpot scheme, but this… this could work. It would work if he had enough people willing to risk living along the border. It wouldn’t help him, but his son would definitely benefit from a stable border. Odrhan’s sons might see a goodly portion of Japura loyal to the Tanjung Empire.

“I like your thinking, Bothmar,” Vexin said with approval heavy in his voice. “War doesn’t solve anything in the long term, I agree, but in the short term it is sometimes the only option. I need you to draft orders for Barthan to deploy his army over the Japuran border. I want you to specifically state this is not a raid. It is to be war on a limited scale. I want Talitha to regret her raid into my territory. I want her to hurt, as my peasants were hurt! I want maximum destruction, minimum losses on our side. You can mention that Deva is still the primary target, so Barthan is not to lose any significant portions of the army.”

Bothmar was scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment. “I have it m’lord.”

Vexin nodded, and tried to think of anything he’d forgotten. “Once you’ve sent that with our fastest courier, I want your idea in writing with detailed lists of men and gold required. Include anything that you think is needed to do the job right. Don’t be stingy at this stage. We can always make some cuts later.”

Bothmar sat up straight and pleasure radiated from him. “Yes my emperor!”

“Plan it however you like, and we’ll go over it together. If you have any other ideas, don’t hesitate to tell me. I might yell and scream at bad ones, but I promise not to execute you.”

“Thank you m’lord!” Bothmar said surprised and pleased at the promise.

* * *

Methrym sighed and shook his head at Soren’s offer of wine. Soren poured more for himself then sat back to guzzle it. Foolish to lose control at any time, more so here on the border with Japura. Talitha’s spies seemed inept to him, but surely they would notice an eight thousand strong army eventually. Methrym snorted at the thought. There was no evidence so far to back up his surmise, but it was completely beyond belief that Talitha would not respond in some fashion.

He clenched a fist thinking about his glorious leader Barthan. The fool actually wanted Talitha to send an army to oppose him! Barthan was a good warrior, but he wasn’t a soldier. Most would wonder what the difference was, but not Methrym, oh no. A warrior like Barthan knew nothing of strategy, and relied entirely on battlefield tactics to win one battle at a time. Tactics were important, but not as important as strategy. Barthan had no strategy to deal with the Japurans, and he had only one tactic: hammer the front of the enemy with superior force until the enemy broke or the hammer did—if the former, fine, but if the latter, use a bigger hammer! Barthan cared not at all for the losses his so-called tactic would cause. To Barthan, his men dying in battle was just the price he paid for glory, and he lost not a wink of sleep contemplating death. What was an admirable quality in a common soldier was a disaster waiting to happen in a War Leader—especially one in charge of the largest army Tanjung had ever fielded.

Vexin had ordered them to hurt Talitha in the hope of preventing more raids. The orders seemed specific enough to Methrym, but Barthan read something entirely different into them. Barthan had proceeded on the assumption that hurting Talitha meant killing her soldiers, but Methrym felt certain Vexin would not agree. His cousin was different from previous emperors in that conquest was a means to an end rather than an end in itself. Vexin didn’t want glory, he wanted peace in the empire and was willing to go to war to get it. Whether the idea would work or not was debatable, but it couldn’t be put to the test while Barthan sat on the border with his thumb up his arse!

“So what did he say?” Soren said reaching for the wine again.

Methrym slapped a hand to the bottle and shook his head. “You’ve had enough—more than enough.”

Soren looked ready to argue, but one look at Methrym’s face changed his mind.

How Methrym wished Niko had survived the Elvissa fiasco last year. Soren had replaced Niko as his second, but he was nothing like his old a sorely missed friend. Soren was another warrior like Barthan, more interested in personal glory than strengthening the empire. There were unfortunately all too many of the type in Tanjung. How he wished he had men like the Devans under his command, or better yet, the legionnaires of the Protectorate. He would never say it aloud of course, but he had been thoroughly beaten at Elvissa by a mere boy. Keppel had informed him after his humiliating return to Tanjor that Lord Donalt was barely twenty, yet he had proven himself a better man and soldier than he. The thought was an uncomfortable one, but he would not delude himself as Barthan did. Faults could be worked around if you knew of them. After many sleepless nights following his defeat, Methrym had concluded that if he had a fault, it was overconfidence.

“Barthan wouldn’t listen, no matter how I explained my reasoning,” Methrym said.

Soren burped wine vapours at him. “I told you he wouldn’t cous—”

Methrym clenched his teeth and didn’t kill him for the affront. Soren might be a drunken sot, but he could fight like a demon, and that would be useful later.

“—Baltu is a proud house, and Barthan is the best they’ve ever had. Why you ever thought you could change his plans, I’ll never understand.”

“I know,” Methrym said sadly. It was a shame really. Soren could have been so much more if he’d had the training that Vexin and he’d had. “This is politics.”

Soren blinked blearily. “Politics? Politics is nothing but dickering for trade rights and such. How can war be politics?”

Give me strength!

“Listen carefully cousin! Vexin has a disagreement with Talitha, that’s the only reason we’re here. She wants to raid us, Vexin doesn’t want her to! Politics is nothing without force to back it up, and we are supposed to be supplying it, not sitting here waiting!”

“If you say so.”

“You fool! Don’t you see? Vexin wants us to hurt Talitha so that when she finally agrees to talk, he can point to our success and threaten more of the same next time she raids. Vexin won’t be satisfied with just a raid from us, he wants raiding to stop!”

Soren didn’t answer. He was passed out in his chair.

Methrym rose and walked out of the tent leaving Soren to his slumber. He looked around at the haphazard camp. The men were young and inexperienced. If he had his way, this little war would prove excellent training for the real enemy. Deva was still the target. He would see to it that these boys were turned into soldiers able to fight the Devans and win. He could hardly wait to see that bastard wizard again. This time he would be the one looking at a defeated man.

Methrym pulled the little glass vial out of his pouch, and shook it to swirl the greenish liquid it contained. It was Henna, a deadly poison. He had been dosing himself with the vile stuff in tiny amounts for years in anticipation of a time like this. He was sure he could drink this amount… he was almost sure.

Methrym glanced at Barthan’s tent and smiled. It was time to see if ten years of belly aches had been worth it.

* * *

Nisim stretched his aching back and bent to lift the buckets. The sun was shining, but the clouds coming in from the west threatened a storm to come. He hurried inside and poured the water into the washtub then went back for more. Another six should see it done. Back and forth he trotted always dashing back for two more.

Nisim stopped and raised his face to the sky as the rain came down. He was drenched in moments. It was refreshing to stand still for a moment, it was a luxury he hadn’t been allowed to sample since his stay of execution. A lot had happened since his first day in Mireya’s house…

The guards had dragged him out of his cell blinking into the light and squinting dazzled eyes. Nothing had changed. The slave pens were full, as usual, and the stench was awesome, also as usual, but many of the slaves looked unusual to his dazzled eyes. They had the look of Tanjung about them. Was there war? It wouldn’t surprise him if there was. Slaves were often taken as booty. He didn’t know how long he had been in that stinking hole in the ground, but it was a lot. There could be war and he not aware of it. At least his captivity was over now. He had made his peace with the God. He was sorry he’d needed to kill the guard, but he wasn’t sorry he had done it… if that made sense. It did to him anyway. If the bodyguard hadn’t hurt Nona, he wouldn’t be dead.

Simple!

Nisim shuffled toward the gallows with chains clanking between his manacled hands and feet, but he was jerked roughly to a halt before reaching halfway. He hissed in pain. The iron had galled tender sores on his ankles.

“What’s happening?” Nisim said noting the slave master and another man haggling to one side.

“Quiet,” the guard said and yanked the chain linked to his neck collar.

“But I only—Ooof!” Nisim doubled over gasping for breath from the neatly planted foot in his stomach.

“Don’t make me tell you again.”

Nisim nodded awkwardly and tried to breathe. He supposed it didn’t matter what was happening. His sentence was death, and had been the instant the bodyguard ceased breathing. A slave would never be allowed to live after killing a free man. Kill another slave, and one might expect to survive after a whipping or some other punishment. Slaves cost good money after all, but kill a free man? No, it never happened… Nisim blinked, until now.

“Come on,” the guard growled as one of the hagglers waved them over. “Looks like your lucky day.”

“Yes?”

“The first prince has interceded for you. Can you imagine that?”

“No.”

The guard snorted. “Neither can I!”

Nisim shuffled toward the two men, urged along by the guard dragging on his collar chain. The slave master was counting a bag of coin while the older man waited impatiently for him to arrive. Nisim studied the man. He seemed to be a slave in his fifties, a slave, but an important one. No one would entrust a mere slave with such coin as the slave master was counting. There were hundreds of golds in the pouch, many hundreds! This man was trusted by some important personage—the first prince the guard had said. Might this one be the first prince’s very own body servant?

“Not worth the money,” the slave said in contempt, as he studied Nisim.

“If you were a woman, I’d show you what I’m worth!” Nisim said stung.

“Ha, Haaaa!” The slave master bellowed and slapped his thigh.

“Good one, boy!” the guard guffawed and punched Nisim’s shoulder painfully hard.

The body slave, if such he was, turned red in anger and spluttered about whipping and other nasty sounding punishments.

“I’ll have you beaten bloody for that!”

“Now, now,” the slave master chided. “Play nice, Aken.”

Nisim just glared trying to gain some slack as the guard yanked his collar chain. The guard was laughing so hard he didn’t notice Nisim’s struggle.

“It’s too late to throw him back,” the slave master warned secreting the money about his person. “Lady Mireya wanted him, and she’s got him.” He waved a hand at the guard. “Take that lot off. Can’t wait to see Aken try to handle him without chains!”

Nisim was still thinking murderous thoughts about Aken, but the slave master’s words did penetrate. Mireya wanted him, Mireya! Oh no! The guard grinned oblivious to his horror and removed his shackles, all except his collar, which would come off by his owner’s order or not at all. Aken stepped nervously back as the last chain fell from him, but Nisim was too sunk in woe to notice. How could he face the fat sow without shrieking in horror, let alone allow her to slobber over him? He had thought doing his duty in Lakshmi’s brothel was bad, but at least those he serviced were clean and good looking. They appreciated what he was and what he could do for them. Mireya…

He shuddered.

“Follow!” Aken said as if talking to a dog.

He felt like crying as he followed Aken through the teeming streets. They dodged in and out of the traffic keeping to a fast pace—they were in a hurry apparently. Aken didn’t explain, and Nisim didn’t ask. He spent his time breathing the fresh air and revelling in his ability to move without chains dragging at him. He tried hard not to think about his destination, or smell his own stink.

They walked by his old home on the Street of Flowers. Lakshmi’s looked different now he was an outsider. Was Nona in there, was she all right? Everyone would be asleep at this time of day. They wouldn’t know he had been near. How he longed to see them again. Trista would look after Nona, and she had Magda to help her. They would be fine; he should be worrying about himself not them.

“Mireya sent you to save me?”

Aken looked at him with loathing. “Mistress Mireya does not own me. M’lord Jarden sent me. You’re a present for the lady.”

“Why does she want me? I killed her man.”

Aken didn’t answer.

“I said, why does she want me?”

“You suit her tastes,” Aken sneered.

What did that mean? He had hardly started when Nona called to him. How could she know that he satisfied her tastes when she had hardly experienced what he could do? He frowned in puzzlement and noted Aken’s amusement.

“What?”

“You’ll find out.”

“Remember why they stuck me in that hole, Aken, and tell me!”

“You won’t hurt me. I thought you would at first, but you aren’t that kind.”

“No?” Nisim growled trying to appear ominous.

Aken snorted. “Don’t try. You’re not fooling anyone. You killed the guard by accident I would judge.”

Nisim sighed. “You’re right, I did, but I would do it again. He deserved it.”

“I’m sure he did. Lyle and the mistress have… had similar tastes.”

Nisim’s face blanked as he realised what Aken meant. He remembered Mireya biting and scratching him. She had drawn blood. Mireya liked to inflict pain, and the guard had hurt Nona.

Aken chuckled. “You have no idea how many she has used up and thrown away. My lord has bought her dozens better than you, I wonder how long you will last?”

So did he.

Aken led him into his master’s house and upstairs to Mireya’s apartments. The east wing was entirely hers, Aken said. Prince Jarden always summoned his daughter to his presence when he wished to speak with her and never entered the east wing. Everything in it was hers, Aken said with a smirk. Everything was hers to use or discard as she wished.

Mireya was sitting at her ease when Aken led Nisim in. “Ah…” she sighed and rose to study him. “Here’s my fine little warrior.” She circled him once. “Strip!”

Nisim complied with her order not knowing what else to do and unwilling to chance her sending him back to die. He stood naked before her and prayed that what he feared would not come to pass.

“This hurt, I imagine,” Mireya said stroking his brand as she circled. “I said, this hurt I imagine.”

“Y-yes mistress?” Nisim said shivering at her touch. He wished he could run away.

“Did you scream?”

“I… fainted, mistress.”

“A pity. I would like to see it done.”

“Only the Matriarch may use the brand, mistress.”

“Oh this one, yes. I meant a branding—any branding would do, don’t you think?”

Nisim broke out in a cold sweat as her fingers trailed over his shoulders and down his back. He didn’t answer. Would she burn him for her pleasure? If she tried, he would kill her and then himself.

I swear it!

“Not to worry, Nisim. You are too precious to harm in that way. Do you know how much I had to pay to make my dear father save you?”

“N-no, mistress. Three hundreds of golds?”

Mireya pursed her lips. “Perhaps it is best you not be told. Flapping tongues are cut out. I would not see my prize harmed. You may know however, money was not all he wanted.”

Nisim frowned. He had heard it said that the first prince was an honourable man. Did that mean he had ordered his daughter to curb her excesses? He hoped so, but that might mean he would be under even more pressure to perform, not less. He could hardly bare to look at the sick bitch let alone be of service under her! What was he going to do?

Mireya rounded him again and began her third circle. “Our dear Matriarch likes strong men, does she not?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“I can see that she does,” Mireya said silkily. Her fingers trailed over the muscles of his stomach and over his hip as she passed. “I have seen another of her cast-offs you know—you could almost be brothers. How does it make you feel knowing that you are just one of a hundred to sample the Matriarch?”

Nisim ground his teeth and clenched his fists in anger. How dare this sow talk about Talitha that way? If the Matriarch ever heard, she would have the sick bitch executed in the most painful way imaginable.

“No answer?” Mireya smiled slyly. “Oh, I know all about you, Nisim. The slave who fell in love with his owner.” She chuckled in amusement.

“Not my owner.”

Nisim had never thought of Talitha in that way.

Mireya shrugged. “Talitha owned you and many like you. The Chamberlain is nothing but a commoner holding the purse strings. Do you deny this?”

“No.”

Jarek was a commoner, but he was also his only free born friend. Jarek had bought him for Talitha as a present—he always bought her slaves for her. Jarek loved Talitha as a father loves a daughter. He wanted the best for her and had decided during a trip into the city that a slave named Nisim fit the description.

“So,” Mireya said and turned away from him. “You are mine now and I’m sure you know what your duties will be.”

“I will try to please,” Nisim choked the words out.

“Oh you will do more than try. Killing Lyle was the last mistake you will ever be allowed to make in this lifetime… do you believe me?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Good. Go and get cleaned up. You will await me in my chambers at sunset tonight.”

“Yes,” Nisim said and walked stiffly away leaving a smirking Aken to pick up his filthy clothes. It was the only revenge left to him, petty though it be.

That night had taught Nisim the meaning of depravity.

Mireya came into the room smiling with Tiberio at her heels. Nisim had watched them like a deer watches the hunter. He should have run as soon as he saw the smile on her face and the sick excitement in her eyes. Tiberio was her new bodyguard—a good friend of the old one as it turned out. Nisim hadn’t known what to expect, nothing good he was sure, but what he got was worse than anything he could have imagined.

Mireya remained silent waiting for something.

Tiberio came forward with his hand resting casually upon his sword hilt. “Drink this,” he said and held out a cup.

Nisim took it and sniffed its contents. “What is it?”

Tiberio growled a curse at his effrontery, but aborted his move to strike when Mireya’s voice rang out.

“Tell him.”

“Something to make you more receptive. A little quelimane,” Tiberio said and grinned.

Nisim gritted his teeth in sudden fear. Quelimane extract was a powerful drug—an aphrodisiac with a difference. Given to a woman it would make her crazy with lust, give it to a man and he would stay hard for candlemarks no matter what. If he drank this amount, he would be at attention for days and itchy for a woman for even longer! It was addictive and dangerous if over used. It heightened the senses to the point of madness. He had never used it, and neither had anyone he knew. Trista said one of her regulars sometimes did, but she never would. Lakshmi’s home brew that all the males had to drink was nothing compared to quelimane.

“I don’t need—”

“Drink it!” Tiberio snapped at the end of his patience and would have forced him, but Nisim stepped back out of his reach and drank it in one breath.

“Gah!” It had a strong taste and burned his throat.

“Good boy, now move to the wall,” Tiberio growled.

“The wall?”

“Do it or die,” Tiberio said in a disinterested voice. He didn’t care which he chose.

Nisim edged toward the wall already feeling the drug beginning to work. He could almost feel the air brushing his skin. What were they going to do to him? He backed toward the wall trying to keep out of Tiberio’s reach. He pressed his back against the cold marble and hissed at the shock of it. He had never felt anything so intensely.

He glanced fearfully from Mireya to Tiberio and back. “Please, Mistress—”

“Hands out to the side,” Tiberio ordered and Nisim began to shake.

On either side of him, well out of reach, was a marble pillar. They were carved all over with patterns and supported the roof, but it was obvious that Mireya had another use for them. There were ropes tied to them.

“Do it, boy. Lyle was my teacher as well as my friend. Don’t think I won’t kill you.”

“Mistress I—” he tried to appeal to Mireya as she watched him from her place near the door.

“Do it!” Tiberio roared in a red-faced rage.

Nisim flinched and raised his arms. Tiberio pulled a loop tight over each hand and stretched him between the posts. He didn’t even have enough slack to fall. He had a feeling he would rue the lack before the night was over.

He was right.

“Proceed,” Mireya said licking her lips with excitement.

The first punch was a surprise, but it didn’t hurt that much. Nisim’s head flew back and his cheek stung from the force, but he shook it off to glare hatred at his tormentor.

“That was for Lyle, these are for the lady’s amusement,” Tiberio said and began in earnest.

A fist slammed into his belly and Nisim choked gasping for air. He couldn’t fall, but would have had he a choice. An uppercut straitened him up ready for another hammer blow this time to his ribs on the right side. He couldn’t shout, he had yet to regain his wind. He dragged in a laboured breath in time to have it blasted from his lungs a second time.

And so it went… for candlemarks.

He couldn’t remember when he started screaming, but he did remember kicking Tiberio in the thigh. The guard went to one knee as the kick numbed his leg, but when he tried for another kick this time to the guard’s head, Tiberio smashed a fist straight up into Nisim’s groin.

The world went away in a flash of light.

Sometime later, he awoke hanging from the ropes with vomit still dripping from his shirt. His manhood was at attention but throbbing in pain from the blow. His groin felt like it was on fire. The quelimane still raged in his blood. He groaned at the ache in his testicles and stomach. He wanted to pull his legs up and hug his knees to force the agony away, but he couldn’t. He regained his feet and suffered instead groaning all the while.

“—fool! I told you not to permanently damage him!” Mireya screamed in a spittle spraying fury.

“I know what I’m doing, my lady. I pledge that he will not be maimed, in any way.”

Mireya’s eyes glittered. “Make certain you keep that pledge, or else I will make your last days seem like years!”

“Yes, lady.”

“Continue.”

“No,” Nisim groaned.

“Yes,” Mireya said in excitement.

The fist arrived.

He awoke to find himself lying down, but how he came to be there he did not know. He awoke and shrieked when he found Mireya straddling him and making free use of him. He tried to push her off, but found his hands still tied—above his head this time.

“Enjoy it, boy, you have no choice anyway,” Tiberio said from where he sat holding the rope to his hands. “Many men would envy you,” he said and laughed.

“God, save me!” he shrieked.

Mireya and Tiberio laughed at his tears and shrieks of rage.

Nisim stood in the courtyard in the rain remembering that night. If ever he had the chance, he would kill her—Tiberio too. It distressed him to realise how much he had changed from the peaceful young slave living in Talitha’s palace, but he had suffered things since then that his younger self could hardly have imagined.

“What are you doing, Nisim?”

Nisim wiped the rain from his face and turned to see Tanni standing in the doorway. He was a slave like him and a friend of sorts. “Nothing.”

“Why are you doing nothing in the rain?”

“Because it feels good.”

“Oh.”

Nisim winched up the last bucketful of water under Tanni’s eyes, and entered the kitchen to pour it into the tub. Tanni was a bit slow. Well not slow exactly, he was more a bit young for his age. It was said his mother dropped him on his head, but Nisim doubted that. He wasn’t stupid or anything. He just never thought about consequences before he acted.

“Do you need any help?” Tanni asked.

“What did Naida say you should do?”

“Oh her,” Tanni said with a shrug. “She said I was getting under foot and that I should come find you—”

Nisim grinned. Tanni and Naida were friends, but everyone needed space now and again. He felt sorry for Naida, actually. She had no one for companionship and although she wished otherwise, Tanni didn’t look at girls that way. Nisim wondered what Tanni saw when he looked upon Naida. A sister maybe… his mother?

“—the mistress. She said Mireya would be gone for a tenday!”

Nisim knew that and was heartily thankful for it. “Well, that’s all right then. Come here and hold this,” he said giving Tanni the drying cloth. “I’ll wash this stuff, you dry it and put it carefully away.”

“All right,” Tanni said with a pleased smile.

“No breaking things, mind. You’ll get me into trouble.”

“I won’t.”

Nisim busied himself with the washing, but kept a wary eye on Tanni as he put the jugs, plates, and other things away. He trusted Tanni to do what he was told, but the man was easily distracted and could become careless.

“Nisim…”

“Yes?” he said absently as he struggled to lift the big cooking pot into the water. He managed it finally and began scraping the congealed mess off it. No one liked cleaning it, which was why it needed one so badly. He would rather do it himself to ensure his food came from somewhere at least half clean.

“What’s it like to bed a woman?”

Nisim’s eyebrows climbed. This was Tanni, wasn’t it? The same Tanni who could walk through a room full of naked women without noticing?

“Well it’s… and then it feels…” Nisim broke off suddenly red-faced and flustered. “Well it’s… nice,” he finished lamely.

“Nice?”

“Yes, it’s nice… warm and nice,” Nisim said. Unless he was with Mireya of course, then it was ghastly. “When I’m with someone I like, it makes me feel happy… like I was free.”

Tanni thought about that for a long moment. “I wish Naida would let me… you know.”

“Do you want to, you know, with Naida?”

Tanni nodded.

Nisim smiled and rubbed at a stubborn piece of crust on the pot. “All you have to do is ask her. She likes you.”

“Not really,” Tanni said kicking the table leg like a child.

“She does, but she doesn’t think you like her.”

“But I do! I really, really do!”

“Well tell her then.”

“Just like that? Tell her?”

“Certainly,” Nisim said with amusement. “When next you see her say this: I really like you, Naida, and if you like me, let me take you to bed.”

“I couldn’t say that!” Tanni spluttered.

“Why not?”

“Because she would laugh!”

“No she wouldn’t. She’s a kind person, Tanni. Just wait until you two are alone and say it. You’ll never know otherwise.”

“I don’t know,” Tanni said frowning as he dried a plate.

“That one’s done.”

“What?”

“The plate? It’s dry.”

“Oh,” Tanni said and wandered away to a cupboard. “Do you think she will let me… you know?”

Nisim laughed and flicked water at Tanni. “I think she will, but not unless you ask her nicely!”

“I’ll do it!”

“Well good! I’m glad that’s sorted out.”

“What is?” Naida said as she came in carrying a tray. “What?” she said staring at Nisim and Tanni as they giggled together. “Men!” she said leaving the tray on the table and walking back the way she came. “Don’t understand them. Mutter, mutter, always doing silly things, mumble…”

Tanni forgot about drying plates and chased after his friend.

Later that night, Nisim watched Naida and Tanni slip away from the dinner table and smiled secretly. He was glad for Naida especially. She wasn’t allowed off the grounds and was alone too much. Slaves could not marry of course, but they could have children. Even that was denied Naida. She had been hurt when she was small and couldn’t have babies now. Another reason to hate Mireya and her guards.

“The mistress is away for a tenday—” Adien was saying.

Nisim nodded and used a piece of bread to clean his plate. That was one good thing. Mireya insisted on the best food, which meant the slaves ate well of her scraps. Adien was a good cook. She knew all there was to know about herbs and seasonings. Everyone looked forward to mealtimes here. She always made more than enough for everyone.

“—and I was thinking…”

“What?” Nisim said still stuffing himself.

“Weeeell,” Adien said slyly. “Since she’s gone, that means you’re all alone.”

Nisim swallowed and coughed. He took a sip of water to wash his food down. “Er well no—I mean yes I’m alone, but I don’t mind!”

That was an understatement. The sick bitch used him so hard that he was sore for days after, and she never let him rest. It was agony. It was so bad, he was becoming dependent on the quelimane to rise in Mireya’s presence, and that was dangerous. He would much rather stick a knife in her than his manhood, less painful—for him anyway.

“I really don’t mind… really… I like sleeping alone… truly I do,” he said looking for an escape. The others chuckled at his stammering.

“Poor Nisim, nowhere to run—”

“Who would run from that?”

“Go get him, Adien!” someone called and more laughter arose.

If only they knew, but he wouldn’t tell them. It was too much humiliation. Mireya and Tiberio did whatever they wanted to him whenever they felt like it, and there was nothing short of his or Mireya’s death he could do about it. He didn’t mind playing along with his friend’s jests, as long as they were jests, but he was starting to think that things were different this time. He was in no mood for games today. He shoved back from the table and stood to leave, but Adien followed him and pressed him into the corner.

“I… really should be… ermmm… fetching the water! Yes, I have to fetch the water for—”

“You like my pies, don’t you?” Naida said.

“It was delicious!” he said back on safer ground.

“Want some more?”

“Er… yes?”

“You can have as much as you like, Nisim, for a price.”

“What price?” he said warily.

“I want to see what you do for Mireya that’s so good!” Adien said with a grin that began to wilt as soon as she saw the effect on him. She gasped, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it Nisim, I—”

His face was granite. “Never. I will never show you, or anyone. Leave me alone!” he shouted and stormed outside.

“I’m sorry!” Adien cried after him.

He stumbled outside and ran to a corner of the yard. He knew he was being watched by the guards but he didn’t care. He hammered his fists against the stone of the wall in pent up rage and frustration.

I want out of here!

Nisim came back to himself with his fists throbbing and bruised. He sighed. It was a good thing Mireya wasn’t here. The way he felt now, he would kill her the moment he saw her and damn the consequences.

“Nisim?” Adien said hesitantly from out of the shadows. “Are you all right now?”

“No, not really.”

“I’m sorry about… you don’t have to…”

“You don’t know what she—” he shut that part of his life away refusing to think about it. “I promise you, you wouldn’t like what the mistress likes.”

“I believe you,” Adien said and turned sadly away.

“Adien?”

“Yes?”

“If you want—” he hesitated. Did he really want to do this? No, he didn’t, but he missed Trista and the others. He even missed mistress Lakshmi! He had friends here in Mireya’s house, but it wasn’t the same. They weren’t whores like him. He missed the feeling of family they shared and especially the sound of their breathing in the slave quarters when he couldn’t sleep. He missed talking to Nona and the others when he felt depressed. He wanted… needed, someone to talk to again. He took a deep steadying breath. “If you want, I could show you what I like.”

“I would like that.”

He stepped forward and hugged her to his side. “I know a place,” he said and led her there.

And show her he did, all night without pain or drugs. It was like rediscovering himself. Mireya hadn’t destroyed his old self. She had simply buried him with her brutality. Adien brought him back, and the world became a better place. He was so very thankful, but it was she who thanked him.

“That was wonderful, Nisim. Did the Matriarch…?”

“No, Jarek supplied my teachers so I would please her.”

“They were very good!” Adien said chuckling.

“Yes,” he grinned.

“Can we?”

He smiled. Rather than answer her with words, he made his body answer for him. The next day found them still entwined naked together, but the others covered for them. They were all good people, but still Nisim wished himself back with Trista and the others.

* * *

9 ~ Conspiracies

Julia was sitting with her friends in her private suite within the women’s quarter of the palace. Mathius was resplendent in his best yellow robe and looked very stern and powerful just as they had planned. Lucius had decided to play his forbidding wizard routine and it had worked better than even he had expected. The image of his piercing eyes and strong jaw was firmly branded upon Lord and Lady alike. His quiet presence had rattled more than a few of them, the latest of which had been Lord Horton who had just left.

“That didn’t go at all well,” Julia said with a sigh. “I could have handled that better.”

Jihan finished folding the letters addressed to his father from Horton. “Perhaps you could have, but no harm was done.”

“How can you say that? I botched the entire thing!”

“I would wager that Horton came here out of curiosity. He never had any intention of being swayed by anything we said. He is a strong supporter of Meagan—his presence at Herstal suggests it at least.”

“Of Meagan, my lord?” Lucius said. “Are we sure it will be Meagan?”

Jihan nodded. “I think it’s quite likely.”

“I’m not sure I agree,” Julia said with a frown. “If I were to choose between Horton and Meagan, I’d choose Horton—no question.”

“So would I,” Jihan said. “But the choice isn’t ours, nor is it between those two alone.”

She nodded, he was right about that. Jihan’s father, then Lord Malcor, had sent messengers all over Deva with proposals tantamount to treason. Athlone died for his crimes at Jihan’s hand, but his co-conspirators were very much alive and thus able to influence the vote on who would become the next King of Deva.

Just then, there came a knock upon the door. Mathius rose to see who had come calling. He stepped back and allowed their visitor to enter. “Lady Julia, may I present Lord Robsort?” Mathius intoned formally. “Lord Robsort, this is Lady Julia—Sorceress of Athione.”

Robsort bowed stiffly. “Honoured.”

The poor man was pale and visibly uneasy. Julia rose and clasped Robsort’s hands. They were shaking.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Lord Robsort. Please have a seat. Can I offer you a glass of wine?”

Robsort flicked a nervous glance at the red robed figure sitting silently in the corner.

“Forgive me, Robsort,” Julia said. “Allow me to introduce my dear friend Lucius. You’ve met Mathius of course, and Lord Malcor.”

Robsort inclined his head uneasily to Lucius. “Honoured, sir” he said and turned to incline his head to Jihan. “I already know Jihan of course. I will take some wine, thank you, Lady.”

Mathius sat next to Lucius and Robsort took a seat across the room. He was nervous. His eyes kept flicking back to the mages every few moments as if he were afraid they would change him into a toad or something. Julia smiled at the thought of Robsort sitting there croaking. He was a very minor noble, but according to Jihan’s letters, he had one important resource—wood. Robsort owned a large tract of forested land in the south. Wood had always been important, but it was especially so to the foundries in Chulym. Apparently, the master smiths had once used charcoal and clay pots in a special process to make fine steel. Those days were gone now. Chulym was a mere shadow of what it had been, but Athlone had been no fool. He had known, as Julia did, that Chulym would have an important part to play in Deva’s recovery.

Julia handed a glass of wine to Robsort and sat next to Jihan. “I expect you’re wondering why I asked to see you, my dear Robsort.”

Robsort didn’t touch his wine. Maybe he thought it was poisoned. She didn’t need to resort to that kind of thing. If she wanted him dead, he would be ash already, and he should know that. She saw the worry and the fear in his eyes and decided to go easy on him. He wasn’t really her enemy, and he certainly wasn’t the worst lord she had ever met. There was Scalderon and Meagan after all.

“Could I have the letters please, Jihan?”

Jihan sorted through a large leather satchel allowing Robsort to catch glimpses of the other letters until he found those he was looking for. He pulled out a bundle and gave them into her waiting hand.

“Thanks.”

Julia absently flicked through the letters then glanced up. “I have thirteen letters here that you sent to Jihan’s father. I’m sure you already know the contents, so there’s no need to read them out. I hope you will take this as it’s meant, Lord Robsort, but I think you have been very silly. Don’t you?”

Robsort licked his lips. “Wha… what do you want?” he asked desperately.

“Nothing too difficult. I simply want you to be my friend. I’m always looking for new friends. When my good friend Gylaren becomes King, I’m sure he will be delighted when I mention your help with the voting to him.”

Robsort glanced at Lucius. “Gylaren you say? He’s a good man. When our friend is crowned, we should have a banquet to celebrate his good fortune.” Robsort swallowed and dabbed at his sweaty brow with a piece of lace. He made to drink his wine, but then he hesitated with a look of horror forming upon his face. He lowered the glass untouched.

Julia was feeling dreadfully guilty, but she pushed on. “That would be very nice, Robsort. If it’s all right with you, I’ll look after your letters until after the coronation.”

Robsort made to protest, but Lucius shifted just a little in his seat. He didn’t do anything more, but it was enough to shut Robsort’s mouth with an audible click as his teeth came together.

She smiled. “Drink your wine. It’s a very good vintage. I promise.”

Robsort hesitated, but then he gulped the wine in one go. He carefully placed the empty glass on the table beside his chair and stood to leave. “I have to go… the others… I should go…” he said almost bolting out of the room in his haste to be gone.

Julia sat sadly looking at the closed door for a long brooding moment, and wondered if she would be able to live with herself by the time they reached the bottom of the list. Lucius pushed back the hood of his robe and sat on her other side to sandwiched her between him and Jihan.

Lucius cocked his head at her. “That was hard for you, I know, but it was necessary. The Protectorate will never stop trying to conquer Deva. Without a strong King, and some kind of permanent fighting force that can take on the legions and win, Deva will be just another province in a few years.”

“I know you’re right, Lucius, but I’ve seen the future. Would it really be so bad if the sorcerers won?”

Lucius glanced at Mathius who shrugged letting him answer. “You saw a possible future, but that one is bad enough to my mind. Is it right that people steal children and torture them? Is it right they kill some of them and make others into sadists themselves? Is it right a minority suffers to support the majority?”

Julia squirmed with each point Lucius made, but the last one made her sit up straight. “The first two are wrong, I grant you that, but the last one is basically what my guardsmen do isn’t it?”

“No it’s not!” Lucius said hotly. “Soldiers choose to sacrifice themselves, the children do not. That’s the difference. Heroes have a choice to be what they are. Who ever gave me or people like me a choice?”

She took her friend’s hand and squeezed gently. “You’re right,” she said quietly. Then a little louder, “How come you always have the right answer?”

Lucius grinned. “I’m a genius of course. I’m sure I told you.”

She laughed and nudged his shoulder with hers. “What you are is a nice man trying to cheer me up, and it’s working.” She set herself for the task ahead. “Who’s next on the list, Mathius?”

Mathius paced back and forth reading a list of names. “Hmmm, the next lord hasn’t arrived yet. Nor has the next or the next. Ah! Lord Rowton has arrived. He’s influential and won’t be as easy as poor Robsort. He’s the Lord of Ascol.”

Julia frowned, thinking back over her time with Keverin. She couldn’t remember Lord Ascol ever coming up in conversation… or did she? Wasn’t he the one who still used peonage?

“Where does Rowton fit within Deva?” Julia asked. Mathius knew everything. Well, he knew everything she had ever thought to ask about anyway.

Mathius didn’t disappoint her. “His castle is to the south of Devarr on the east bank of the Ascoli River. It’s right on the confluence of the Aboso and Ascoli Rivers, which is probably one reason why he’s so heavily into shipping.” Mathius tilted his head. “His boats transport all sorts of things along our rivers. His banner is a little strange for a lord.”

“What’s strange about it?” Lucius asked.

Julia was thinking about boats, and not listening to Mathius as he spoke of the significance of this banner or that. In a world using horses for transport, speed would be something dreamed of but seldom attained. Caravans carrying trade goods would take ages to transport things along poor roads to their destinations. Boats would be cheaper than horses or mules and quicker too. She doubted that Athlone had been thinking of trade when he sent his letters to Rowton. Moving troops quickly could be important in war, perhaps even more important than numbers. That must have been part of Athlone’s thinking.

“Sounds more like a merchant house than a lord. What do you think?” Lucius said.

Jihan shrugged. “I’ve heard of worse banners. I always thought mine better suited to a blacksmith!”

“Why a blacksmith?” Julia asked in puzzlement.

“You know, because of the hammers.”

“Oh right,” she said with a slight nod.

On the journey to Devarr, Jihan and Keverin had flown the Devan banner of white crescent moon on black, as well as their own banners. Jihan’s banner consisted of two crossed war hammers over a black keep. Keverin’s banner had two mailed fists crossed on a solid green circle, just like the pattern on the floor of Athione’s great hall.

Julia shook herself back to important matters. “So lord Ascol is influential, he’s into boats, his banner is a silver fish, and he arrived yesterday. What else do we know?”

Jihan gritted his teeth in anger. “We know he’s a cursed traitor!” Then more calmly, “And his banner is not a Silver Fish. They’re bigger, and look completely different. His banner has a black tailed Barranka leaping on a field of red.”

Julia rolled her eyes. “I didn’t mean the type of fish, Jihan. I meant the colour!”

“Oh, sorry.”

They laughed at Jihan’s embarrassment.

Julia pursed her lips. “You’re right about him being a traitor, but then all the lords on the list could be classed that way couldn’t they? Even poor Robsort?” she said looking to Mathius.

Mathius rocked a hand side to side. “I suppose so, but I wouldn’t call Robsort a traitor. He’s just an idiot. You’re right though, the King’s Law would find them all guilty of treason… if we had one.”

“Well, that’s something we’re going to arrange,” Lucius said stroking a finger along the beard at his jaw. “I think you can forget about executing these lords for treason. They will never vote for Gylaren if they think the first thing he’ll do is behead them.”

She nodded, that made sense. “Robsort didn’t mention law proceedings, or a pardon.”

“That’s because he’s an idiot,” Jihan said with a snort of contempt. “He’ll think of it eventually, you wait and see. Tomorrow he’ll come back here asking for one. I’d lay money on it.”

“How much?” Lucius said.

“How about five coppers?”

“Make it five silvers and you’re on.”

“Done!” Jihan said instantly.

Julia waited for it and wasn’t disappointed.

“Julia,” Lucius said timidly. “You couldn’t lend me five silvers could you?”

She sighed, but she held out her hand to Mathius. He rolled his eyes in exasperation and handed over the purse. She always let Mathius hold her money. Her dresses didn’t have pockets. Hanging it from the girdle at her waist, as was the custom in Deva and elsewhere, was awkward because it pulled the gold chain she used off centre. Gold and silver was heavy, and anyway she’d only spend it all if she carried it. She withdrew five silvers and gave them to Lucius.

“I’ll get it back to you,” Lucius said in thanks.

“Any ideas how we should approach Lord Rowton?” she asked and handed her purse back to Mathius. “He won’t be so easily pushed as poor Robsort.”

There was silence while everyone thought of ways and means. Surely, the lack of trade must have hit his finances hard. Perhaps they could use that in some way.

* * *

Keverin strode through the silent streets boiling with anger. Brian and Udall kept pace a step behind with difficulty, but they managed to keep up by trotting every few paces. Keverin had always prided himself on how well he cared for his own people, but he had blinded himself to the injustice he was doing to the rest of the kingdom. Oh yes, he had big plans, important plans to save Deva from the sorcerers, but they hadn’t included the plight of the common folk, and they should have curse it!

“But what could I have done?” Keverin said plaintively.

“Lord?” Brian said.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

If he had come storming into Devarr full of righteous anger to depose the King, he would have started a war all right, but it would have been the wrong one! Deva needed to be strong, not divided by civil war, and that’s exactly what would have happened if he’d tried to force Pergann to act. Athlone, curse his hide, had his rotten fingers into everything. Julia had showed him the evidence on their way here in the form of letters. Athlone had even had contacts in Japura of all places! What by the God was in Japura that any decent man would want?

Ah, but that was the crux of the matter, was it not? Athlone had been many things, but decent was not among them.

Julia had been badgering him to do something about the King ever since the war ended last year. He knew she didn’t blame him for this mess, but she didn’t have to. He blamed himself. He was a lord of Deva, but with the privilege came responsibilities. He had been loyal to the crown, when he should have been loyal to the people first.

At least Devarr had food enough now. Gylaren, bless his foresight, had brought abundant supplies with him, and Ranulf had just the place for distributing it. Ranulf’s inn was on Merchant’s Way. Merchant’s Way was the main street through the city, and his inn was central to it. It had been the best in the city at one time, and although the place had seen better days, it would be so again.

Keverin had always taken pride in his honour. He didn’t feel very proud now. All he felt was anger. Two-thirds of the lords were here now, but they couldn’t begin proceedings to elect a new king until the others arrived. What they could do was set the palace and Devarr to rights, but even here, he had met resistance. He didn’t have to ask Purcell, Gylaren, or Jihan for help. They had seen the need for themselves, but the other lords seemed to walk around in blinkers. He had to badger, cajole, and in a few cases, outright threaten them to get co-operation. But get it he had. He had forced the lords to supply him with guardsmen to help patrol the streets, which were dangerous still. Another group comprising of older guardsmen had been set to break into the houses and buildings. That was a bad job and best left to men with strong stomachs. Thankfully, the task was almost complete. Another day should see the unpleasant necessity finished, and the pall of smoke from the cremations would clear. He hoped the memories would fade as quickly. How Devarr had managed to stay free of the pestilence was anyone’s guess, but it had, and he thanked the God for it. The sick were being cared for by volunteers and priests sent by Dugan from Holy Isle. The weakest among the sick had been taken directly to Julia’s Hospital. She spent most days there helping care for them with her magic.

Keverin entered the palace grounds and dismissed his bodyguard. That had taken some getting used to as well. He had never needed a bodyguard to walk a simple street before, but Devarr wasn’t safe even for a heavily armed man. Gangs of young toughs were still roaming the streets. Brian and he had captured a couple of the would-be brigands only yesterday. Del and Tor were completely wild and had fought as if their lives depended upon escape. They hadn’t known that he had no intention of holding them for a judgement. He had given them into Ranulf’s care, but after forcibly washing and feeding them, both boys had run off. He hoped they had the sense to realise it was safer to go to Ranulf for food than to take on the patrols.

He entered the palace and stopped to look around. Everything was as it should be. The broken furniture and ripped tapestries had long been burned. The floors and lamps were clean, and the undamaged furniture and tapestries had been re-distributed. Jessica, with help from her friends among the lord’s consorts, had taken care of that side of things. It was as if nothing had ever disturbed the place, and perhaps that was part of the problem. The illusion created by Jessica and her friends was contributing to the lack of concern shown by the lords. If he could find a way to encourage them out onto the streets, they might then begin to understand how bad things really were. With a little luck, they would be attacked—surely that would show them?

It was something worth thinking about.

On his way through the palace, Keverin found Ahnao helping an older woman hang a tapestry. He decided to stop a moment and have a word. Ahnao certainly had changed from the young village lass he had first met when Jihan informed him of Athlone’s treachery. Ahnao hadn’t been at her best, what with a broken leg and all. She had been very unsure of herself, but she had covered it well with bluster. Now she was Jihan’s consort, and had him wrapped around her little finger. Ahnao still had a tongue like a file sometimes, but it rarely showed unless she was upset about something. She could be very charming when she wanted to be, and that reminded him strongly of Julia. They both could be charming, but say the wrong thing, and they could make you think they’d had the hide off you! Julia’s tongue could be lethal! Fiery she was—they both were. Neither he nor Jihan would have it any other way.

“Ahnao? Could I have a moment?”

Ahnao glanced his way and smiled. She murmured something to her companion that made them both laugh and Keverin cringe. She came over and greeted him with a peck on the cheek. The little tease had picked that up from Julia. He quickly looked around to see if they’d been seen, but with relief, he found they were alone except for her companion.

“Who are you looking for?”

Oh no, she was in a playful mood. Keverin looked around for some help, but there wasn’t anyone. “Umm… no one in particular,” he said warily.

“Oh, I thought you might be ashamed of me or something,” she said in a timid voice.

Keverin gaped. “Of course not! Why would you think… ha, ha.”

Ahnao laughed. She was very beautiful when she laughed…but not as beautiful as his Julia was, he thought loyally.

“I was wondering if you knew where Jihan is.”

“Yes I do.”

Keverin sighed. It was going to be one of those days, he could tell. With a formal bow, he asked her again. “Would you tell me where your lord is please, Lady Ahnao?”

“Since you asked so nicely, he’s with Julia and Mathius in her rooms.”

With relief, Keverin realised that she was letting him off. “My thanks lady,” he breathed gratefully.

Ahnao laughed and returned to her friend who glanced at Keverin before murmuring something to her. Ahnao shook her head and blushed. Her friend seemed surprised at Ahnao’s reaction. Keverin decided to leave while he still could. Whatever they were discussing wasn’t meant for his ears. He reached the women’s quarter and was escorted to Julia’s room by Moriz. Halbert was standing guard on Julia’s door as usual. Keverin nodded to him and entered.

“What are you four up to?” Keverin said as he entered. He didn’t expect the reaction he received.

Julia looked guiltily away and Jihan was stricken dumb. Lucius smiled and watched in unconcerned silence.

“What do you mean, my lord?” Mathius said with his face flaming.

Julia groaned. “Mathius! You’ve blown it!”

Blown it? Julia often said strange things—Keverin had come to expect it. Mathius didn’t understand either, so he was in good company.

“What’s going on?” he said collapsing into a spare seat.

Julia glanced at the others and sighed when they failed to rescue her. “I suppose you would have found out sooner or later. We’ve been talking to the lords about making Gy the next king.”

That wasn’t what he had expected to hear. He’d thought they were planning a surprise dinner or something. He looked to Jihan for an explanation.

His friend leaned forward with elbows on knees. “We need a king who has had no dealings with my father. Julia showed you the letters. Would you want anyone who could write such?”

Keverin shook his head emphatically. Of course he didn’t want that, but what they were proposing was fixing the vote. He wasn’t naive enough to believe that deals between lords weren’t being made, but if he did the same, how was he better?

“I understand what you’re saying, Jihan, but vote fixing is dishonourable. It’s wrong.”

Julia waved a hand wiping away Keverin’s words. “We aren’t fixing the vote. I know it seems that way, but we’re not. We all know when a lord votes he’s looking for a king who will benefit him. Am I right?”

He nodded. “But we need someone who will benefit everyone.”

“Exactly. You have to agree that Gy would make a fine king, Kev. He wouldn’t play favourites like some others I could name. All we’re doing is making the lords see where their real benefit lies. Some will see it without help. You, Purcell, and Jihan will vote for Gy because you know him. The other lords don’t know him like you do. They will vote for friends, or for someone who will favour their short term interests. They don’t realise that without a king like Gy on the throne, there won’t be a long term!”

Keverin glanced aside at Jihan and found the expression he had expected to see on his friend’s face. He heartily agreed with Jihan’s rueful grin, but he didn’t agree with the sentiment behind it.

“You’re not just telling them about Gy’s fine character. Those letters being here tells me that you’re threatening them!”

Julia made to answer, but Lucius interrupted her. “Where I come from, the men who wrote those letters wouldn’t be threatened, they would be dead. Julia is being kind to them, too kind. If she can save Deva by calling them bad boys and waving letters under their noses, I say well done!”

Keverin frowned. Was he wrong about this? Just a little while ago he had cursed himself for allowing Devarr to suffer because his honour forbade him from denouncing the King. Was he going to make the same mistake again? No he thought firmly, but honour was important. If he didn’t already know that, he had only to remember Jihan’s father to see it.

Julia interrupted his thoughts. “Is killing people honourable?”

Keverin shook his head. She knew it wasn’t, but there was no harm in him saying it. “No.”

“But you killed people when you came after me with Jihan didn’t you?”

“That was necessary…” he broke off. That had been war, and yes killing wasn’t honourable, but he had been defending himself and his men.

“Yes, you do see now don’t you? What we’re doing here is necessary. Right or wrong, it’s necessary, Kev.”

Keverin looked at Jihan who was grinning for all he was worth. How did Julia do that? It wasn’t magic he was sure. Then again, perhaps it was. The magic of knowing someone you loved better than he knew himself.

* * *

“This course is unwise… extremely unwise,” Demophon said uneasily.

Rowton snorted in amusement. They were sitting comfortably in his rooms in the east wing of the palace and completely safe, yet he was almost shaking in his boots! Hah! Besides, two of Demophon’s friends were standing guard just outside the door for the God’s sake. They looked indistinguishable from any other guardsman in the armour he had supplied to them. Julia wouldn’t get near, no one would, but if anyone tried they would have a nasty surprise indeed. Sorcerers didn’t give second chances, or leave bodies behind.

Rowton had arranged his late arrival at the palace to avert any chance of suspicion. As it was, most of the other lords had been too lazy to arrive on time anyway, so he had still been in the first group. As it turned out, the insufferably honourable Keverin had been the very first to arrive, which had suited him perfectly. The story of Morfran’s suicide had circulated and was readily believed coming from Keverin’s lips. It amused Rowton greatly to use the excruciatingly honourable Keverin to cover his regicide. Of course, if the man ever found out… but he wouldn’t. Keverin might be a heroic figure to the lords, but heroism went hand in hand with stupidity as far as Rowton could see.

“Are you even listening to me?” Demophon said through gritted teeth.

That was really too bad of him, Rowton thought. Not only did he think he could give orders to a lord and future King of Deva, but he thought that he could get away with insolence as well. Demophon might be a powerful man, but he was still a peasant. Most sorcerers were, of course. The realisation lent a measure of composure to Rowton. He would make allowances for their boorish behaviour. After all, one couldn’t blame a horse for shitting in the street, so why expect a peasant to have manners? It was a puzzle to him that Keverin and some of the more powerful lords actually seemed to care for the little animals.

When he first arrived at Devarr, he had been quite shocked to find so many guardsmen at the city gates and on the walls. For a moment there, he had forgotten the plan and Keverin’s towering reputation. He had thought that Athione had stolen the throne out from under him! What had really upset him though, was the care being lavished upon the peasants. Why, he had even set up that—what had he called it? A hospital, that was it. His lady had even arranged a hospital to care for them.

Didn’t Keverin realise that one batch of peasants didn’t matter? There were always peasants. They grew like weeds in a field. There was certainly no need to worry over them. Let them all die and then bring some more from the countryside to serve. Now there was a thought… might it be that Keverin was concerned about a lack of servants? Yes, that really might be it, he realised. Finally, he had the answer! Puzzles always vexed him. He didn’t like puzzles, especially ones involving powerful lords who might do him harm in the future.

“Listen you fool!” Demophon said and grabbed Ascol’s arm.

That was too much! Rowton drew his dagger and rounded upon Demophon so fast that the sorcerer was taken completely by surprise.

“Take your hand from me peasant,” he growled. “I’ve made enough allowances for you. Laying hands on me isn’t something I will tolerate.”

He was quite pleased with the sound of that. It was something he imagined Keverin would say. He giggled at the look of shocked horror on Demophon’s face. He really did look quite comical trying to see the blade under his chin without moving.

“You are mad. Truly mad,” Demophon whispered in stunned realisation.

“Now, now. No insults please,” Rowton said cocking his head in thought. Was it worth explaining Demophon’s death to his friends, or would it be better to wait until he was crowned to kill him? “We are friends after all,” he said cheerily, and decided to wait.

Demophon blinked. “Friends… yes of course.”

Friends, he thought contemptuously. Lords had friends amongst their own kind or not at all. Still, peasants could be useful sometimes. One said what one had to. He withdrew the blade.

“I will meet with the woman as I said. There’s nothing to worry about my dear, Demophon. She won’t hurt me.”

He was confident of that. Women loved him. His wife had told him years ago, and he knew it was true. They could see his greatness and were attracted by it.

Demophon’s eyes glittered in the candlelight. “Trying to fool Julia will be your… our undoing,” he said watching Rowton intently. He seemed balanced on the edge of some decision. “Julia is shrewd—perhaps even intelligent. You have no chance of bringing the Lord Protectors to our side. My sources tell me she has already moved to secure lord Robsort’s vote for Gylaren. Horton, Meagan, and the others have all reported attempts to sway them to her side. You’re next on her list, but she won’t stop with you.”

He regarded himself in the ancient mirror. It was part of a chest of drawers that dated back to the Founding. The craftsmanship was exquisite. When he became King, he would be sure to remember the piece. He would have it moved to the King’s apartments—his apartments.

“Gylaren you say?” he said to Demophon’s reflection. “I wonder why Keverin didn’t take the throne. He is the better man.” He shrugged the matter aside. “Robsort is an idiot. I’ll mention torches and oil and he’ll come back to my way of thinking quicker than you can blink. It worked for Athlone after all.”

“Robsort is not the problem. Julia is.”

“Stop running scared man! She’s only a child. There’s nothing she can do.”

“You wouldn’t say such things if you had witnessed the massacres last year. She is—evil is too strong a word—perhaps ruthless would suffice. Multiply the most ruthless man in history by ten. That is Julia.”

“Really…” he drawled in amusement.

Demophon tried again. “Julia will do whatever she thinks is necessary no matter the cost to herself or others—especially herself. Her only weakness is her friends. Attack them and we may unsettle her, but attack her directly and you will reap only destruction.”

Rowton shook his head. Demophon was a weak fool. Why hadn’t Mortain sent him someone with some backbone? By all accounts, Lady Julia was powerful, but ruthless? He hardly thought so. In any event, he could be just as ruthless as any mere woman—more than Julia could if he put his mind to it.

“Can’t have her outdoing me, certainly not.”

* * *

Julia sighed and tried to remember what she had just read. She had been on this same page for candlemarks. Poetry wasn’t really her scene, but without Athione’s library on hand, her choices were limited. It was early yet for bed, but she was seriously considering an early night when a tap on the door put the thought of sleep from her mind. Keverin had come! She stood to go to him, but instead of Keverin entering, it was Moriz holding the door open.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Lady, but Lord Meilan wishes to see you.”

So, Keverin still hadn’t come to her. This aspect of his honour was becoming annoying. How she wished she had married him before they left home!

“Ask Lord Gylaren to come in, Moriz.”

Moriz inclined his head. “Yes, Lady.” He backed out the door and Gylaren came in.

“Come in, Gy. Would you like some wine?”

“Thank you, no,” he said with eyes sweeping the room.

“Have a seat, and I’ll be with you. This heat always makes me so thirsty.” She poured a glass of water for herself and sat opposite her friend. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Gylaren smiled. “Direct as always. Can’t I come just to talk?”

“Of course you can. Visit me any time you wish—we can chat about my wedding plans. Have you decided which of you will be Sword Brother?”

“Purcell thinks he should do it, but no decision has yet been made. I suspect we’ll have to fight over it.”

Julia laughed uncertainly.

“I’m not jesting,” Gylaren said with a smile. “It might come to that. A friendly contest for the first touch, of course.”

She sighed with relief. She could never be quite certain that she understood things correctly here. Something always seemed to trip her up at unexpected moments.

“I’m glad to hear that it’s play only.”

“Who said play? I’ll fight to win, and I assure you Purcell never fights any other way.”

Julia waved that away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I’m always saying to Kev that he’s playing with his friends when he’s practising with his sword. If there’s no blood involved, it’s always play to me.”

“I see. I came here to talk about the succession, not play. Keverin came to see me today. He told me that he was going to vote for me. I don’t want the throne, Julia, and I would appreciate it if you would stop meddling in things that do not concern you.”

Whoa! That was a change. She didn’t quite know what to say. He wasn’t angry, he had simply stated his wishes completely without emotion.

“Would you have Meagan or Ascol as king?”

“Of course not!”

No one liked Ascol, even his own allies loathed him by all accounts, but they saw advantage in being allied to him and could stand his arrogance because of that. Gylaren was still ranting, and Julia turned her attention to his words.

“—are other lords here. One of them can be king.”

“Shirking responsibility, Gy? That doesn’t sound like you,” she teased. Now there was anger, and she was satisfied. He should be angry.

“By what right do you say I shirk my responsibilities?”

She stiffened. “By what right?” She whispered seeing again the rows of dead guardsmen in Athione’s great hall, the flames raging out of control across the plains, Mathius burning all unawares. “I’ll tell you by what right, Lord Gylaren! Should I be the only one willing to fight for your bloody kingdom!”

The door banged open to admit Moriz and Halbert with swords bared looking for an enemy.

“Out!” Julia snarled.

Moriz and Halbert jumped to attention and saluted before withdrawing. At another time, she would have been amused at their instinctive reaction, but not today.

“Calm down, Lady,” Gylaren soothed. He was worriedly looking around for an exit.

She knew better than to use her magic while so upset, but the gold medal was in her mind’s eye ready to be used. It was almost begging her to grasp it and use her magic to… to do what? Gylaren was her friend, she couldn’t hurt him… she mustn’t.

She took a deep calming breath, and tried to explain herself. “Do you realise the difference between Lord Protectors and the other lords of Deva? I’ll tell you. Lord Protectors stand up and are willing to fight. Fighting means sacrifice, but that is what being Lord Protector means! How much more then, must a king be than a Lord Protector? With the privilege come responsibilities, responsibilities that most of the lords shirk now! I didn’t see the lords sending guardsmen to help Athione, Gy. How can you even think to make one of those… those cretins into a king!”

Gylaren’s face was stiff, but she didn’t care. Why was she the one who had to set the kingdom to rights? She snorted. That was easy. No one else cared! She knew she was being unfair. Keverin cared and others she had met, but no one seemed able to make the crucial difference.

“I’m not the only Lord Protector,” Gylaren said in a subdued voice.

“Jihan is too young. He’s still learning to be the Lord of Malcor. Purcell is… Purcell, so he’s out. You know what Keverin will say if you try to push it on him.”

“So I have to let it be pushed on me? Is that fair? Keverin would make a good king. He cares deeply for the people, and he anticipated the Hasians splendidly.”

“I agree. I would have made him king if I could, but he will never allow it. He blames himself for too many things to let me do that. You’re the best man for the job, Gy. You know what’s at stake, and you’re intelligent. The lords need someone to push them in the right direction without resorting to outright force, as Purcell would do. Lastly, you have three boys. Niklaus would be good for Meilan, and Dylan will be here with you to help run things as prince and heir to the throne.”

“I see. You’ve planned not only my life but my son’s lives as well,” Gylaren said coldly.

“Someone had to take control. No one else has done anything to stop Meagan and his ilk from snapping up the lord’s votes by the fistful. If we aren’t careful, he’ll be the next King of Deva.”

“That must not happen!” Gylaren snapped.

“It will happen unless someone steps forward to rally the lords behind him in opposition.”

Gylaren fell silent.

Julia was sure he knew where his duty lay, but it would take some time for him to become accustomed to the idea. It had been the same for her last year when people’s expectations drove her to a hard decision. She chose protecting them over going home, and didn’t regret her choice now. Home had become Athione and Keverin. Gylaren would have to see his own way through to the throne. She couldn’t force him to make the right choice. Even if she could, it would be a waste of time. An unhappy King wouldn’t be good for Deva or her people. She had to persuade him, not force him. The problem was, she wasn’t very good at persuasion.

“I don’t want to be King!”

“Your wants have nothing to do with it!” she snapped. “Do you think I wanted to come here when Darius called? I didn’t even know there was a here to come to! And what, you think I like it when I ride through a town and everyone hides their children?”

“You exaggerate—”

“Not by much,” she said remembering those times. “Everyone’s afraid of me. You would have to be a blind fool not to see it.”

“You think me a fool?”

“The point,” she said with gritted teeth. “Let’s stick to the point shall we?”

“The point is I don’t want to be the King!”

“The point is that it doesn’t matter what you want! Haven’t you been listening? It’s your duty!”

Gylaren erupted out of his seat, “Don’t tell me my duty woman!” he roared, looming over her and supporting his weight on the arms of her chair. Caging her there. “My entire life is duty,” he hissed in her face.

“Back… off,” she said calmly. She was drawing so deeply upon her magic that Gylaren would find himself landing somewhere north of Malcor if he said one more word.

He blinked, only then seeming to realise what he was doing. He pushed himself erect and stepped back. “I apologise.”

Julia nodded. “So do I. Look, we have to agree on a battle plan.” Gylaren’s lips twitched. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Not at all—”

“Because if you are, we are going to have a real problem working together against Meagan—”

“Ascol.”

“—and… what?”

Gylaren took his seat. “It will be Ascol.”

“How do you know?”

“I just came from the meeting. Ascol has declared himself as the first candidate.”

She frowned. She had been so sure that Meagan or Horton would… she shook her head. “Who else?”

“Halden has put himself forward in opposition, but no one seriously expects him to win. There will be other candidates before this is done, but Halden wanted to make his position plain from the start. He’s not a friend of Ascol, nor is he friendly with Meagan.”

“Kev likes him.”

“He’s an honourable man, Julia, and that’s good, but he’s old. Worse than that, Halden has stepped on more than a few toes in his time. He was a very good friend of Pergann when they were younger.” He shook his head. “I would vote for him in an instant, and so would Kev and Jihan, but it would do no good. Besides, we need a young man on the throne.”

“Young, right,” she said in exasperation. “You’re not getting out of this, Gy! Who—apart from Kev, Purcell, and Jihan—do you trust enough to put on the throne?”

“Um…” Gylaren looked faintly surprised that he couldn’t think of anyone off the top of his head.

“See, I told you. It’s got to be you.”

“I have a lot of friends, good friends,” he protested. “There’s Chogan for one, and Govannon is another. And what about Garth of Chaidren Ridge—everyone likes him. I have lots of friends.”

“I know you do, Gy,” Julia said kindly. “But all of them are your age or older than you. Besides, age isn’t the only issue. I’ll ask you again, which of your friends would you trust with Deva’s future?”

Gylaren stared at nothing for the longest time. Finally, his shoulders slumped and he nodded. He seemed so weary at that moment that she wanted to hug him, but he straightened before she could act upon the impulse.

“We have to plan on losing the lowland votes,” Gylaren began. “Most of them are in Ascol’s pocket. The southrons should stand by me, and at least some from the Western Marches will vote for whomever Kev votes for. We should talk to Halden about his supporters—I’ll need them all. Purcell can badger his friends into voting for me too. If I win, I’ll have to build an army—”

Julia smiled, he would win. She would see him on the throne, and God help anyone who stood in her way.

Julia paused in her work and took a moment to look around the warehouse. There was more room now than there had been. Both the very old and the very young had been the first to die, which had given more space to the middle-aged. Teenagers were rare for some reason. Keverin said it was because they were strong enough to survive through banditry. Gangs had ruled Devarr for the better part of a year, but their time was ending now. Keverin was slowly sweeping the young toughs into his net and restoring order. Whatever the reason for their absence, she was grateful for it; she had more than enough people waiting for her healing. She didn’t need any more.

She looked back along the row she had been following. She invoked her mage sight and braced herself for what she was about to see. Everywhere she looked, she saw the weakly flickering auras of sick people crying silently out to her for relief. The darker colours were absent, thank the God, but the yellows and oranges of exhaustion and starvation were everywhere.

She took a deep breath trying not to vomit at the stench of unwashed bodies. The priests were trying to keep pace, but the warehouse was so large, the task so huge, they were falling behind. It almost seemed to take an army to clean and feed so many. Father Dugan had all but emptied the Holy Palace of priests in order to help her manage the disaster that had befallen Devarr. It had been barely enough.

Julia walked slowly along the next row of suffering people. She paused to lay her hands briefly on each person before moving on to the next. Her healing magic flowed in a continuous stream. The constant roar of her magic filled her entire being until she seemed to thrum in time with it. It was like a second heartbeat, the magic like life itself coursing and singing in her veins. Somewhere to her left, Julia could feel Lucius and Mathius. They had linked their power and were moving in the opposite direction healing as they went. She could feel them like a caress on her skin, their magic thrumming in silent counterpoint to hers. She tried not to be concerned when she felt them falter. She had felt it before and would again. They had paused to rest and regain a little strength. She continued regardless of tiredness. What if someone died just because she stopped to ease the ache in her back?

“Thank you, lady…”

“The God bless you…”

“My da first,” a child’s voice said. “Please… my da first…”

“The God bless you lady…”

In the healing realm, Julia couldn’t tell who spoke. She mumbled her usual nonsense in reply. “You’ll be all right… He is with you… you’ll be all right…”

Hands grasped hers, or touched her as she moved through the ocean of misery. Her healing magic instantly split and jumped into all those grabbing at her. The strain… was… increasing… she gritted her teeth and drew harder upon her magic. The roaring within changed into a keening howl.

“He be sending you…”

“…my boy first! Oh please my boy!”

“My wife…”

“My baby, where’s my baby…”

“Husband…”

“Wife…”

“You’ll be all right… He is with you… you’ll be all right…” Julia mumbled and walked unknowingly into the warehouse wall. To her mage site, there was nothing there but a faint glowing mist. She released her magic and stumbled to lean against the wall for support.

Silly me, I should have remembered to let it go gently.

She turned to see where she was. She had made a complete circuit of the warehouse and was back where she had started. She peered out the loading doors. It was not yet mid-day.

“Once more for luck,” she whispered and grasped her magic. The gold medallion at her centre leapt into her grasp and the magic thundered down. “Oh yesssss,” she breathed as her heart raced.

Pleasure built beyond anything she had ever felt. This was how life should feel, not tired all the time. This was how God must have felt when he looked down upon the world he had just created. Everything had a clarity to it not present without the magic. She invoked mage sight and began a new circuit. The grasping hands had no effect this time. She was humming to herself as she worked, unaware that the people she left behind her were grinning and swaying as if drunk, which indeed they were. They were drunk on the power she had flooded each of them with. To her eyes, they blazed in the healing realm brighter than the sun in the real world.

“Lady you must stop!” Mathius said sternly.

“Hmmm? Why would I do that?” Julia said frowning at Mathius and the yellow light streaking his aura. She touched him and the yellow tinge disappeared instantly to be replaced with purest white.

Mathius gasped as his tiredness was wiped away. He swayed where he stood. Lucius pushed him aside and tried to get Julia to listen to him. She touched him as she had Mathius, but Lucius was stronger than Mathius and better able to cope.

“You’re drunk, Julia!”

“I haven’t touched a drop!” she protested. Why did they always have to spoil everything? The pleasure was fading now, to be replaced with depression. She thought to draw a little harder upon her magic to make it all right again, but at that moment she remembered something. It was naughty to draw this much.

Keverin wouldn’t like it… Keverin… Keverin wouldn’t like it.

She released her magic all at once and collapsed as if someone had cut her legs out from under her. One moment she was fully aware, the next darkness.

Oh God, was this burn out?

“Shush, Julia. Here, take my hand,” a gentle voice said.

The voice sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She felt herself reach and suddenly she was staring up at Lucius’ worried face. “That was silly of me,” she said contritely glancing around at all the worried faces. “I know better than that. I should have released more carefully.”

She rose to her feet with Lucius helping.

He was almost shaking in rage. “That was foolish! What ever possessed you to try healing more than one person at a time?” he said gripping her shoulders hard enough to bruise.

Julia shrugged him off. “I said I was fine! God! It just happened when they touched me. I didn’t make it happen!”

“You could have overreached. Your magic was multiplying!”

“Multiplying?” she whispered in puzzlement.

“Now do you see? You were healing five people there at the end. Five times your usual amount was flowing through you… you… you idiot!” Lucius was frothing in anger… no it was fear. Fear for her.

“I’m sorry!” she wailed. “But it was easy! I wasn’t near my limit… was I?”

She was suddenly unsure.

“If you have a limit, I don’t know what it is. I would have wagered anything you care to name that you surpassed it today, but you’re still alive, so I must be mistaken.”

Still alive.

Julia shuddered at Lucius’s matter of fact way of naming her stupidity. “I think that’s enough magic for today,” she said weakly.

Lucius and Mathius nodded emphatically.

Julia made her way back to the palace escorted by Brian and Udall. Moriz and Halbert were helping Jihan with his students. They were helping him demonstrate how the legions fight in formation. They had fought the Hasians at Athione just last year and were the most experienced men Keverin had here. Jihan had been approached by a number of the younger lords about teaching. While their fathers spent the time between council meetings politicking and making deals, they spent theirs with Jihan listening to tales of his adventures and trying to learn his skill with a sword. She had encouraged them in this. Those young men were the future lords of the realm. If Jihan could inspire them to become like him it would be no bad thing.

Her thoughts returned to her close call at the warehouse. Why had her magic decided to heal those people when they touched her? She snorted. Magic wasn’t alive, it couldn’t make decisions… at least she didn’t think it could. She had to consciously direct healing, but strengthening people was different. All she had to do was flood them with magic. Her magic must have responded to her unconscious desire to help everyone quickly. That must have been it.

Julia scowled and put the matter to one side.

She had other things to think about, Lord Ascol for instance. Ascol came across as a man who thought the world owed him favours. He thought he was untouchable, worse even than Meagan did. Julia knew she had let her dislike of him ruin their meeting, and she was angry at herself for that lapse, but she also knew that claiming his vote had been a lost cause from the beginning. Rowton had accepted her invitation for his own reasons. Whatever they were, he had never intended to vote for anyone but himself. He had listened to her proposals in silence with that irritating smirk on his face, and then he left—still smirking.

I know a spell that would fix that for him.

Gylaren currently held roughly forty percent of the lords, while Ascol had about thirty percent—a smaller group but one more powerful in the real world. Ascol was buying votes right and left. If things continued as they were, he just might have enough to force another vote through at Council. That was something she couldn’t allow. Not yet. Gylaren’s majority was narrowing by the day, and he would never stoop to buying votes. It didn’t matter really. Any lord willing to sell his vote wouldn’t sell it to Gy. They knew he was an honest man, and they didn’t want an honest king. They wanted a man on the throne that they could control, or failing that, one who could be relied upon to do them favours. No, Gy was an honourable lord and a good man, that’s why she was taking care of certain things for him—things that would probably have distressed him to learn. Oh, not favours. She had nothing to offer the lords and no way to bind him to her word even if she had. No, her persuasions lay in the other direction. Firstly, she threatened them with exposure as traitors, and then she used Jihan’s letters to pummel them into submission, but occasionally that failed, like it had with poor Robsort. Lucius won his bet with Jihan when Robsort failed to return for a pardon. That had surprised her, but what was even more surprising was seeing Robsort courting Lord Ascol as if they had never discussed Gylaren. It seemed that her threats had pushed poor Robsort deeper into Ascol’s clutches. She regretted that.

Why did she only succeed when she used her magic to hurt people? Shouldn’t she be able to persuade them with reasoned talk instead of threatening them?

One thing that was going right was Jihan’s friendship with the heirs. He had learned a lot about their fathers plans over the time spent teaching them his skill with the sword. Many of them were discontented and wanted adventures like he’d had. They would listen avidly to his tales of fighting his way to Athione, all the while imagining themselves in his place. Jihan was something of a hero to them. It was funny, but he’d been taken completely off-guard by their attitude. He didn’t really understand why they stood in awe of him. He had done what had to be done, and that was that as far as he was concerned. Still, his friendships with Deva’s future lords could only spell good things for the future.

The future, Julia mused, was uncertain. She hadn’t been here long, but it was already obvious to her that Deva needed a government. A Chancellor was simply insufficient. Deva needed something to ensure that no matter who sat the throne, the people would be cared for and safe. She would never have believed herself capable of singing the praises of bureaucracy, but it was an unpleasant fact that without one, a country the size of Deva would grind to a halt when the head of state died. Gylaren would need an organisation to run his armies, another to look after trade and the treasury, a third to police the city, a fourth to re-build the roads and keep them in good repair. Dozens of other appointments needed to be made to set the kingdom on a path to equal the empire being built by the Hasians.

The sorcerers had a strong system, one that would continue to produce a Mortain and Godwinson forever unless stopped. Although the sorcerers were harsh, their country was strong and their people were happy and protected, but Deva’s lords would never accept a system of governors to oversee the towns and cities like those the Protectorate used. She was sure the Hasian and Bandarian lords didn’t like it either, but they had no choice, not unless they wanted to face an angry legion with sorcerers in support. Deva needed a system that the lords would accept. One that would continue running the kingdom even during periods of transition such as the one occurring now.

The King would need mages to watch the political situation and help him anticipate what the neighbours were up to. They could ill afford armies moving without his knowledge. Travel was slow, and even with good roads it would continue to be slow. He needed to know about enemy troop movements ahead of time so that he could meet them with his own forces before they crossed the border. All this would take years to build, but if Ascol became King, it would be utter disaster. All he wanted was power, and damn everything and everyone else.

The first thing Gy needed to—

“Down!” Udall shouted desperately and shoved Julia to the side.

Julia sprawled onto the dirty cobbles skinning her palms, and crying out in shock.

“Ughh!”

Julia looked back at her guards. Udall was falling with an arrow standing out of his chest, an arrow meant for her. Brian was moving as if in a dream charging a group of rough men, but all Julia could see was her old friend falling… falling… and down. The clash of swords and the grunting of straining men snapped her head around in time to see Brian cutting one man nearly in two with a mighty swing of his sword. The scream of agony was short lived. With a snarl of hate, Brian spun to attack again, but the three remaining brigands were ready. They struck, and Brian fell beneath rising and falling daggers.

“Noooo!” she screamed reaching out as if to stay those wickedly sharp blades.

Craaaack!

Lightning smashed down and struck the raised dagger of a large bearded man. The brigand was blasted up the street blackened and smoking. The other two men turned to run, but before she could strike them down, yet another figure stepped out of the shadows and into the street. She watched as he expertly tripped one of the escaping brigands while stabbing the other in the kidneys. Before the first one could clamber back to his feet and run, Julia’s rescuer bent and cut the brigand’s throat with an economical and practised movement.

Udall gasped as Julia unbuckled his useless armour. The arrow was close to his heart. How was she to pull the horrid thing out with his armour on?

“You’re safe…” Udall whispered with a little smile.

Oh, God help me!

“You saved me Udall, you both did. I’m going to heal you, don’t worry,” she panted in fear for his life, but he didn’t hear her. “Udall, Udall!”

She threw herself into the healing realm, but it was too late. The tattered remains of his aura winked out even as she reached out to it. The spark she had come to believe was the soul shot into the distance and was gone.

Julia came back to the real world clutching her friend in her arms and sobbing her heart out. She shook him, and prayed for him, and cursed him for leaving her. She prayed for him to come back, but he was gone like the others. How many could she lose before going insane with grief?

“—still be alive. He won’t be for much longer I be thinking.”

“What?” sahe said choking back her tears. “What?”

“Your man, he be alive,” the scruffy urchin said nodding up the street.

Julia ran to Brian’s side and threw herself down next to him. He was unconscious, and she thanked God for it. There was a dagger in his stomach, and dozens of stab wounds. His cheek was ripped open, and she could see the skull like gin of his teeth.

“Boy!”

The urchin spun toward her angrily. “I ain’t no boy!”

“Come here!” she yelled, and he came a little closer. “When you see a golden light spring up around us, pull this dagger out as gently as you can.”

The boy stepped hastily back shaking his head. “I ain’t having nothing to do with witchcraft!”

“I’ll pay you!”

The boy stopped. “How much?”

“Ten silver? No don’t go!” she cried desperately. “Ten gold, anything! Just don’t go for God’s sake!”

A sly look came over the boy’s face. “You swear on your life to pay me?”

God, I don’t have time for this!

Maybe if she pulled the dagger out really quick… but what if she wasn’t fast enough? She didn’t dare risk it. “I swear on my life and by God to pay you what you ask, now hurry!”

The urchin came forward and knelt opposite her. He put his hand on the dagger and looked at her waiting for her to do something. She entered the healing realm and erected a ward. She couldn’t see the blade while healing. She had to hope the boy was honest enough to perform the task. She lost all sense of time as she healed one wound after another without pause.

* * *

Lorcan tried not to let the stares of the guardsmen unsettle him. Although his mother used to say that if he wasn’t good, a witch would come and get him, this witch hadn’t hurt him. He wasn’t so sure about the guardsmen though.

Lorcan had been stuck inside this… this thing, for ages. The witch hadn’t told him that would happen. He had pulled the dagger out carefully like she wanted and wiped it clean on her man’s shirtsleeve. It was a good blade, so he slipped it into his tunic, but when he tried to walk through the light, he found he couldn’t. It was just gold coloured light, but it was as solid as a wall! When he realised that he was stuck until she was finished, he had amused himself by drawing on the wall-that-was-not-a-wall with his dagger. He thought his horse was the best. The tail seemed to wave in the wind as the sparkles of golden light shimmered and moved. His banner was all right too. He had started to draw his mother, but he couldn’t finish. He had stopped halfway through. Her single eye was staring at him making him feel guilty. She looked as if she had pushed her face halfway through the not wall to scold him.

Why had he gotten involved with the witch? The fight had been none of his concern, but without thinking he had stepped out of his hidey-hole to help her. Killing wasn’t hard for him, he had done it enough times over the years that he no longer felt anything when he searched the bodies. It was survival. The guardsmen wouldn’t understand that, he was certain. They would hang him for sure. That’s what you did with murderers—hang them. He had until the witch finished whatever she was doing to plan his escape.

How long was that?

Her man hadn’t died as Lorcan thought he should have done, and she was glowing far brighter than she had at the beginning—did that mean she was nearly done or just starting? Did it mean anything at all? Probably it did, he decided remembering the same thing happening when she killed the brigand. One moment she had been an ordinary woman walking along a deserted city street—if any noble could be called ordinary—the next, there had been an intense flash of light surrounding her, or maybe coming out of her, he wasn’t sure which it was. That was when the lightning had struck. She made it happen. Witches could do that stuff and a lot more besides. She was a healer too. Maybe that made her a good witch, though he had never heard of such a thing. Everyone knew witches were evil, but she had promised to pay him. Maybe she would make the guardsmen let him go, but…

Lorcan sighed glumly when he realised that he couldn’t believe anything she had said. Ten golds she promised him, but then she said he could have anything he wanted. Maybe if she was a good witch, he could ask for a new pair of boots—a pair never worn by anyone else, and all for him. A pair made to fit him perfectly, and not taken from a dead boy. His old ones were too small and hurt his toes. Were boots worth more than ten golds? He had bought a sausage for two silvers once. That meant he had fifty sausages coming! Was a pair of boots worth more than fifty sausages? They couldn’t be. That many would feed him for nearly a season if he were careful. His feet were small, maybe he could ask for a pair of boots and ten sausages.

Lorcan was so caught up with the fantasy of eating huge sausages while strutting in his new boots, that he didn’t notice the ward collapse until a guardsman grabbed him. He stamped the man’s instep and pulled a dagger.

“Don’t hurt him!”

“AEiiiiiiiiii!”

Blood gushed over Lorcan’s shirt and the hand holding him withdrew, but before he could take advantage and run, another guardsman smashed him to the ground.

Everything went black.

* * *

“Don’t hurt him!” Julia cried.

“Don’t hurt him? What about my hand?” Sergeant Burke said holding up his hand where a dagger thrust completely through it.

Julia stood tiredly and examined the sergeant’s hand. “Brace yourself,” she said and yanked the blade out in one hard pull. Burke’s eyes popped wide, but he didn’t utter a sound. He was trying to be brave in front of her and his men.

“Ooh! I bet that hurt!” someone said and the others laughed.

“Hurts something fierce, eh sergeant?”

“Mind yer business,” Burke growled through gritted teeth.

“You reckon we might get the rest of the day off?” another man said and was answered. “I could do with a day in barracks.”

“You’ll get a tenday in the stables if yer don’t shut yer holes!” Burke hissed.

Julia ignored the catcalls and whistles from Burke’s men. They were only trying to take his mind off the pain. Besides, his wound wasn’t life threatening and she healed it very quickly.

One of Burke’s men lifted the unconscious boy, and another picked up Brian. Udall, poor dear friend, had already been taken away it seemed.

“Were they simple toughs, or were they paid do you think?”

“Both, Lady. They were brigands, but they all had five golds in their pouches. I sent everything back to the palace. The bow was good quality, so were the swords. I’m thinking you need a bigger bodyguard if you want to come out onto the streets, Lady.”

She pushed her hair back from her eyes and sighed tiredly. “I have to, Burke. They need a healer more now than ever.”

She took a quick look at the boy, but he didn’t seem badly injured. She would make certain later. They made their way toward the palace as if moving through enemy territory. They were in a way. Burke and two others stayed back with her while half of his men moved in front with heads swinging left and right looking for assassins. The other half did likewise behind her, but for the most part, they were walking backwards. Julia felt like the President walking through New York. Every corner might be hiding a man with a gun or in this case a bow.

Who wanted her dead? Ha! Stupid question. Nearly every powerful lord had a grudge against her, and would see her dead if they could. Those she had forced into supporting Gylaren would want revenge, and those supporting Ascol would want her dead because she opposed him. Then there was emperor Vexin who, it seemed, blamed her for his defeat last year even though she had been in Camorin at the time. His men had nearly done her in at Dirlston.

And now this. What a mess.

Brian awoke just as they entered the palace grounds and insisted he take his post at her side. She agreed to keep him happy. Brian took charge of the boy, and together they entered her rooms. Burke insisted on stationing a guardsman on the balcony and two outside the door. This was going to be impossible. She had become used to Moriz and Halbert following her around and standing guard at her door, but she wouldn’t be able to move without tripping over guardsmen if Burke had his way. She would be glad to get back home to Athione where she was safe and didn’t need bodyguards within the walls of the fortress.

Julia snorted at the thought. When she had first arrived at Athione, having any guards at all was annoying, but now she was half way to accepting them all the time!

She gestured to her couch. “On the couch Brian.”

Brian dumped the filthy boy on her couch, and started searching him!

“What are you…” she broke off as Brian found another dagger.

She watched as Brian thoroughly searched the boy. In all he found three daggers secreted in little pockets sown into the urchin’s clothes. There was a gold ring and a few coins as well. In one pocket, he found a mouldy sausage. Julia hoped the boy hadn’t intended to eat it, but he probably had. While Brian took the boy’s weapons away, Julia asked one of her men outside to find a selection of clothes for him.

Brian hovered close while she used her magic to examine the boy. He was healthy enough for a half starved vagabond, but it was what else she found that had her heart pounding. The boy was a mage! He obviously didn’t know, or he would have used his magic to survive rather than a dagger. He might not have used his power for the first time yet. She was about to ask Brian to find Keverin, when her door banged open and Kev stormed in. He hugged her in relief when he found her unharmed.

“Are you all right? I heard about Udall.”

Tears for her friend welled up. Julia clung to Keverin not wanting him to see, but he knew. His stroking of her back and kissing of her hair in public told her. Brian had moved to the balcony to give them as much privacy as he could, but is was still public to Kev.

“It was awful,” she mumbled against his armoured chest. “Udall pushed me out of the way and the arrow hit him instead.”

“I honour him for his gift to you,” Keverin said sadly. “I pray the God finds him worthy.”

“He will. Brian and I killed two of the assassins. The boy took care of the other two. He’s only a child, yet he killed them as if he’d been doing it all his life.”

Keverin studied the boy from where he held her. “He’s probably been living day to day on the streets. It’s kill or be killed out there. I owe him a great debt.”

“How much?” the boy said abandoning his pretence of being unconscious.

Keverin grinned as the boy say up warily. “You’re awake are you? Good. I want to thank you for helping my lady. I’m in your debt.”

“I heard. She… Julia owes me ten gold. How much do you owe me?”

“That would depend on what you want.”

“I want a new pair of boots that fit just right, and ain’t never been worn by no one, and—” he broke off biting his lip in anxiety.

“Go on boy, what else?”

“Ten sausages—big ones mind!”

Keverin frowned. “Hmmm, only ten? How about two dozen?”

The stunned expression on the boy’s face made Julia sad. He was so shocked that anyone would give him so much just for killing two men. The world could be a hard and cruel place sometimes. The prospect of getting his hands on two dozen sausages delighted the boy. He nodded enthusiastically. Keverin clasped hands with him to seal the bargain.

Julia took the opportunity to bespeak Lucius and Mathius. *Can you two come to my rooms?*

*Is something wrong?* Lucius said in concern. *We’re nearly at the palace.*

*Udall is dead,* she said fighting to hold back the tears his name summoned. *He saved my life, but that’s not why I want you here. I have someone I want you to meet.*

*How did it happen? Are you all right?* Mathius said with anxiety clear in his mind’s voice.

*I’m fine, Mathius. I’ll explain everything when you get here. Just come as fast as you can; will you?*

*We’re on our way.* Mathius said.

*Good,* she said and released her magic.

The boy had seen her using her magic. He was warily looking around, probably wondering what she had done. She remembered doing exactly the same thing when she first saw Mathius use his.

“Can I have my money now?”

Julia nodded. “I remember my promise boy—what is your name?”

“Lorcan.”

“I would like to offer you a bargain first, Lorcan.”

“What bargain?”

“We will give you two golds every tenday, if you swear to be Keverin’s man—”

Keverin turned to her in surprise. “Julia what—”

“You’ll see in a minute,” she said noting the worry on Lorcan’s face. “Do you know what swearing to a great lord like Athione means?”

“Course! We always used to pretend, but that was a long time ago, and only make believe. Why me? I ain’t nobody.”

Imagining this tough streetwise boy playing at guardsmen and lords with others his age made her smile. It was hard to visualise him as anything but what he was now, especially after seeing him dispatch two brigands so effectively.

“Do you remember when I said I’ll give you anything you want?”

“Yes, but you still ain’t said why!”

“I’m coming to that. You are very important to us. We, Keverin and I, will give you anything you want—” Lorcan’s eyes lit up and she hastily corrected herself. “Well not anything. We will give you two golds every tenday as your pay. We will give you a completely new set of clothes with boots. And yes, I’ll still give you the money I owe you. We will give you rooms to live in, all the food you want, a horse to ride. All those things if you will swear to be Keverin’s man until death. You must be loyal to him and obey him when he gives you an order. You must never betray him or anyone from Athione.”

Julia smiled at Lorcan and Keverin’s puzzled faces. “You are very special Lorcan, and because you are special, I have some friends who can teach you magic.”

She watched as Lorcan tried to understand his change in fortunes. He was having trouble believing that she was telling the truth if she was any judge of expression. He would be looking for hidden meanings in her words, and trying to find the catch. She would do the same in his position.

“Will you swear?”

* * *

Lorcan’s world had been turned upside down, and all because he had killed two worthless brigands on impulse. Maybe the God was watching over him after all. He shook his head in wonder. He was a murderer and a thief, but here he was, sworn to Lord Athione himself—Athione! Not just any lord, but the greatest lord of the greatest fortress in Deva! His life couldn’t get much stranger than this.

He eyed the fancy tapestries and such as he walked, but forced his itchy fingers to leave them where they were. Food was no longer the only thing of worth in Devarr. The Lady was feeding everyone, and gold was worth something again.

“Where are we going, Mathius?”

“I wondered when you were going to ask. I’m taking you to the rooms assigned to the men of Athione.”

The men of Athione. He was a man of Athione now, and he was going to be a mage, the Lady said. It seemed too good to be true, but lord Keverin had sworn to uphold his rights, and to protect him and his family as the stories said he should. He had no family now, but it seemed he might have one in the future at Athione. He wished his mother could have seen this day.

“When do we leave for Athione?”

Mathius smiled. “I’m not sure, Lorcan. The lords are here to elect a new king. Lord Keverin wants Lord Meilan to be king—Gylaren is a good friend of his. He would make a good one.”

“What happened to the old one?”

“He died,” Mathius said.

The King was dead. Why didn’t lord Keverin take his place? Athione was the most important fortress in the world, his father had told him that years ago. Athione made Deva safe from the bad men in the west. He sneered at the thought even as it occurred to him. Bad men in the west indeed! There were plenty of bad men right here in Devarr. He had killed a dozen of them himself. If Keverin wanted Gylaren on the throne, then that must happen. He was sworn to Athione, and Keverin was Athione in his eyes.

“Who else wants the throne?” Lorcan asked, and Mathius grimaced. It seemed Mathius had little liking for the lord who opposed Keverin.

“Lord Ascol is opposing us, but he would be a disaster. We are in the lead in the voting, but we don’t have enough to win, and neither does Ascol.”

Lorcan decided to find out where Ascol lived. A quick thrust with his best dagger would solve his lord’s problem, and they could go home to Athione. Mathius turned down one last corridor and entered a room. Lorcan followed. It was a large room filled with light coming through the open balcony doors. He stepped outside and found himself looking down into an overgrown garden. He stepped back inside and turned full circle noting all the doors.

“Which one is mine?”

Mathius smiled. “All of them of course. This is a guest suite, Lorcan. The bedchamber is through that door there, and the bath is through this one,” Mathius said pointing to each of the doors in turn. “We—Athione that is—claimed this entire section of the palace for our own. Lord Jihan’s men have the adjoining corridor.”

He nodded. Anyone wanting to get to the women’s quarter had to pass through one of those two sections. It was no accident that lord Keverin and his friend had chosen them.

“Lady Elise should have found some clothes for you, maybe in the bedchamber. I want you to have a good long bath then see what will fit. We’ll buy you more sets later, but they should do until we get home. I’ll have a robe made for you as well—to warn people.”

Mages were dangerous, more dangerous than a gang on the street, more dangerous than a gang on the street with daggers even. Lorcan liked the thought of being dangerous. He went into the bedchamber, and took a quick look at the clothes laid out on the bed. There was a good selection. He found the bath just where Mathius said it would be. There was a privy!

What would they think of next?

It seemed strange not having to use an old pot and empty it afterwards, but he used it then stripped off his old clothes. The bath had gilded levers at one end. When he pulled the one on the right, hot water gushed into the bath. Magic! That shouldn’t surprise him, this was the palace after all. The King would have the best of everything. It was only right. Athione would be even better though, he thought remembering the stories about the fortresses. He could hardly wait to see.

He washed himself thoroughly, and the water turned brown. He emptied the bath and refilled it to wash again.

“Don’t forget your hair!” Mathius called from the other room.

Lorcan sheepishly ducked under the water to wash his hair. Mathius sounded like his mother used to. She had been very clean and would insist he bathe once a tenday without fail. The water seemed only slightly brown after his third bath, and he decided that it would do until the next time. After towelling himself dry, he went back into the bedchamber to dress. The clothes were very fine! He would look like a lord wearing them. He tried on two different pairs of trousers until he found a pair that fit. A pair of stockings on his feet, and then a pair of boots. He scowled at the boots. They were nice, but they were slightly worn. Lord Keverin had promised him new ones… but of course such a great lord would never break his word. Maybe they needed to measure him? Yes, that must be it. He would have new ones when they went home. Some of the shirts were cotton, and Lorcan decided they would fit, but he couldn’t resist putting on the blue one. It was made of silk and it felt wonderful on his skin. He gathered up the clothes that he was sure wouldn’t fit and took them into the other room.

“By the God!” Mathius gasped. “You look like one of the heirs!”

Lorcan blinked. “What?”

“The clothes. They make you look like a lord’s son. Are those the one’s that don’t fit?”

Lorcan nodded and gave them to Mathius who threw them on a chair. They made his room look untidy. He would hide them somewhere later.

“Oh, don’t worry about the mess,” Mathius said easily. “Lady Elise or one of the others will take them away. Hmmm, you need a sheath for your dagger. There might be one…” Mathius trailed off as he disappeared into the bedchamber. Lorcan went to see what the mage was up to.

Mathius was gathering up his clothes from the bed and putting them in the drawers. “We don’t want the servants throwing away the good ones do we?” he said absently rummaging in one of the drawers.

“No,” Lorcan said. If anyone tried they’d be sorry.

Mathius handed him a sash and a sheath. He hadn’t thought to need a sash. He had always hidden his daggers inside his clothes, but blending in might be a good idea. He hadn’t forgotten his need to find Ascol.

Lorcan wound the sash tightly around his waist and Mathius helped tie it with the correct length left hanging on his left hip. He thrust the sheath behind the sash, but the only dagger that fit was the new one he had claimed earlier. Maybe he could hide the others in his boots, but he would try that in private. What point in hiding a weapon if you let someone see you do it?

“Let’s eat,” Mathius said and led the way out into the corridor.

“How did the Lady know, Mathius?”

“Know what?”

“That I could be a mage.”

“Oh that. The glow you saw around Julia means that you can work magic. Mages always glow when they use it, and only another mage can see it. You see?”

Lorcan nodded. “She used it in her room, but nothing happened.”

“Uh-huh,” Mathius said with a nod. “That’s because she was talking to me. You have heard of mind-speech?”

“Like in the stories.”

“That’s it. I wasn’t even in the palace when she called. I was walking back from the hospital—the warehouse district?”

“I know where it is, everyone knows. I thought the stories were all make believe.”

“Some are, I’m sure, but the ones about sorcerers flying and throwing fire are true. My father was good at calling storms, and I called one just last year.”

“Really?”

Mathius grinned. “Really. Julia went to fight the Hasians, and I went with her. There was a big fire and I needed rain to put it out.”

Lorcan looked at Mathius sideways. Was he jesting?

“I swear it’s true.”

He shook his head. To think he might do the same some day was exciting, but a little frightening as well. Fighting had always meant being quick enough to avoid the other boy’s blade. How would he fight a sorcerer with magic as Julia had done? No one was faster than lightning! If Julia could do it, then he supposed he could as well.

“Why did the lord let her fight?”

Mathius gritted his teeth. Lorcan noted the muscles working at his new friend’s jaw. Mathius didn’t like it either then. Good. The Lady shouldn’t be allowed to fight. It was too dangerous.

“Julia is the only sorceress in the world, Lorcan. She’s the most powerful mage there ever was. None of the others were strong enough—I certainly wasn’t!”

“What others?”

“They’re dead now,” Mathius said bleakly. “There’s only you, me, Lucius, and Julia in all of Deva. Lucius wears the red robe as you saw. That means he’s a wizard. I’m a journeyman, and you’re a novice—novice’s where the white robe. Julia should wear the black robe really, but she prefers her dresses, and besides, the sorcerers are evil and they all wear black. She didn’t want to look like them.”

That made perfect sense to him. People might not like her if they thought she was a black sorcerer. Julia looked like just another noble woman in her dress. She didn’t look at all like the sorceress of Athione he had heard about on the streets. Being sneaky like that could take the enemy by surprise. He approved.

They entered a large hall with rows of wooden tables and benches in it. He thought this must be the biggest room in the world, but Mathius said Athione’s great hall was much larger. This wasn’t the throne room as he had first thought. Lorcan had been in there before during the riots and the throne was nowhere in sight. He followed Mathius to a table at the far end of the room and drooled at what he found. There was enough food here to feed the entire city!

“Here take this,” Mathius said absently handing him a plate.

Lorcan didn’t know what he should do, he felt like snatching everything in sight. He didn’t want to look the fool in front of Mathius, so he tried to watch his friend without letting on.

Mathius noticed. “You don’t have to copy me, Lorcan. The food is here for anyone who wants it. The servants keep it stocked so you can come here at any time during the day and eat as much as you like. See, there’s water in those jugs, and ale in those others. The wine’s in the decanters—”

He listened with his jaw on the floor as Mathius pointed to each of the dishes and drinks. He hadn’t known so many types of food and drink existed. There were sausages! He grabbed ten of them, and added some green stuff because mother always said he should. He never used to like greens, but now he couldn’t wait to stuff himself with it. He hadn’t eaten any for ages.

He sat next to Mathius and ate until he couldn’t eat another thing. There were still two of the sausages left when he was finished, but when he started to put them inside his shirt, Mathius grabbed his hand. He nearly pulled his dagger before remembering where he was.

“You’ll ruin your shirt, Lorcan,” Mathius said kindly with an understanding smile. “A servant will come and throw them to the pigs or something. If you feel hungry later, you can come and get some more. All right?”

He nodded slowly. A servant would throw them to the pigs! He was truly in another world, a world where the pigs were more important than people were. If he was careful, those two sausages could have lasted him for days on the streets.

After they finished eating, Mathius took him to Lady Elise to be measured for his robe. She said she would make two and they would be ready for tomorrow. Finally, Mathius left him back in his room, and said he would come visit the next day. With relief, Lorcan collapsed into a… his armchair. All this was his. Everything here was his!

He jumped up and wandered around his rooms. He lay on the bed trying to get comfortable. He needed to sleep for a short while before exploring the palace looking for Ascol. The bed was very soft, too soft. He couldn’t sleep! Back in the main room, he experimented with hiding his daggers in his boots. They fit well enough, but they were too obvious. Pushing them down further would hide them better, but then he wouldn’t be able to get to them in a hurry. Maybe tomorrow he could wear them under his robe. If it was like Mathius’ robe, it would hide them perfectly. He could almost carry a sword in those sleeves!

He sat in his chair pondering what he could do to his robe to make himself safe.

A few nights later, Lorcan prowled through the darkened corridors of the palace as had become his custom at night. His robe almost seemed to glow of its own will as he ghosted by another pair of guardsmen guarding their lord’s door. It was an illusion—not a real illusion like Mathius’ dragons—it was simply the glow of good quality wool. Something he had never owned in his life, but now he had two of them, and much more besides. He had a life worth living and real friends. Friends that helped each other without asking or thought of reward. That was special, and to him, a very rare thing.

Six hundred and thirty paces… Lord Atherton—allied to Keverin.

Lorcan glanced aside at the tense guardsmen, but he did not slow his pace. He smiled when he saw the white knuckled grip they had upon their swords. They knew him… well, they knew of him really. Everyone had heard of the attack upon The Lady and his part in her defence. They assumed, wrongly it turned out, that he had killed the brigands with his magic. They didn’t know that he was infinitely more deadly with a dagger in his hand than he ever had been with magic. Everyone knew what the robe he wore meant—he was a mage—therefore he had used magic. He certainly had no intention of telling them otherwise. Their mistake was protection of a sort.

Turn left, fifty paces… and right… Lord Chaidren—Unaligned Julia says.

Lorcan didn’t look, but he could feel the suspicious eyes of the Chaidren guardsmen burning into his shoulder blades as he left them behind. Lord Garth hadn’t chosen sides yet. There were quite a few lords that were holding back. Keverin called them the Undecideds, and spent a great deal of his time in meetings with them. Lord Gylaren shared his time between the Undecideds and the more easily influenced of Ascol’s allies. The Lady had confided to him that she didn’t agree with Gylaren on this. She said a lord that was easily swayed to Gylaren’s side, could just as easily be swayed back again by Ascol. Of course, he always agreed with whatever Julia thought best, and knew that about himself, but that didn’t make her less right. He knew that Julia could never replace his mother, no one could, but she was the next best thing—even when she insisted he learn his letters!

Straight ahead for three hundred paces…

He prowled by another row of guarded doors mentally inventorying those within. Gylaren was still ahead in the voting, but he wasn’t winning. Ascol owned too many of the more influential lords leaving the weaker ones to fend for themselves or for Gylaren to pick up. Julia was working hard to break Ascol’s allies away from him, but she had to do it quietly. Lorcan had caught her sneaking out of the women’s quarter just the other night and knew Gylaren had her to thank for Lord Reid’s change of allegiance. He didn’t know what was said, but Reid had announced his change of heart at this morning’s council meeting. More than that, he had moved into the suite next to Purcell where their combined guardsmen could guard both lords.

Lorcan made his way through the palace, ignoring several branching corridors, and suddenly side-stepped into an alcove. He squirmed into the tight space behind the statue and waited to see who was following him. The footsteps approaching faltered for a moment, but then hurried forward. He watched as two guardsmen trotted by. They wore the silver fish emblem upon their armour—Ascol’s men. Lorcan waited until the footfalls faded before emerging. He checked both ways to see if he was being observed, he wasn’t, and quickly entered the room opposite before someone else came along. He would wait here for a while before moving on, he decided.

He glanced around. The room hadn’t been used in years. It was in the newer section of the palace, but it adjoined the older corridors, which was one reason he had decided to see if it was occupied. Scouting was something he always did, and always would. He was determined never to become overconfident like some he had known on the streets. They were dead and he wasn’t because of that determination. Now was no time to change old habits.

He looked around the room but there was nothing of interest. An old and dusty bed, a chest of draws with a mirror above it, and some faded tapestries on the walls. None of these things held his interest. He turned to leave but hesitated. He looked around the room again. Something wasn’t right here, but what was it?

Dusty bed, dusty and faded tapestries, dusty chest of… the mirror was clean! Someone had been in here recently and used the mirror. He walked closer and studied his reflection. He saw a young lord in white robe staring back at him. He smiled, if only his mother could see him now. He had chosen not to change into dark clothes while wandering the corridors for a reason. People who dressed suspiciously would obviously draw suspicion down onto themselves. By wearing his robe, he looked like what he was—a nosy novice mage. If they could see what he’d done to his robe though, they would have been more than a little surprised. That, after all, was the idea.

He had spent more than one sleepless night sewing pockets inside his robes. Some of them held his daggers, and he was pleased to find they were even easier to reach than before. Other pockets held his mother’s ring, some sausages wrapped in parchment, a fire striker stolen from an empty room, a tinderbox, and some thin wire bent to fit his lock. Mathius had given him a key to his room his first day in the palace, but he had kept in practise since then by locking and unlocking it with his pick. The locks in the palace were shockingly easy to open. It was as if the King hadn’t cared about thievery. He had probably thought himself safe from such, what with having hundreds of guardsmen on his walls. Still, you couldn’t be too careful these days.

There were a lot of criminals about.

Lorcan grinned, but the expression slipped when he noticed the door handle move in the mirror’s reflection. He silently slipped behind the door to wait, praying all the while that there was only one of them. The door opened and a small figure crept silently in. Lorcan breathed a silent thank you to the God when his visitor backhanded the door closed. In one movement, Lorcan drew his longest dagger and grabbed the man from behind. The figure tried to throw him off, but he froze when the wickedly sharp edge of touched his throat.

“Don’t move,” Lorcan hissed.

“Who… who are you?”

“Never you mind who I am. Your name, now.”

“Adrik. You had better release me, peasant, before my father has you executed for attacking his heir!”

Lorcan grunted. So, he was a lord’s son was he? Keverin wouldn’t like it if he killed an ally. “Which lord?”

“Ascol curse you!” Adrik said trying to suppress the tremor in his voice.

Lorcan chuckled. It wasn’t funny, but he couldn’t help it. Of all the lord’s sons he could have disposed of, he had to end up with Ascol’s son! He didn’t dare kill him—Ascol would be forewarned and might double or even triple his guards.

“You’re not going to kill me for nothing… are you?”

“Why shouldn’t I kill you?” he said stalling for time. He had to get out of the room without Adrik calling the guards.

“I… I’ll show you something if you let me go… I won’t say anything. I swear on my honour as an Ascol.”

That was interesting. Adrik sounded sincere, but did Ascol’s son have honour?

“If you cross me, you are dead,” he said. He released Adrik and pushed him further into the room.

Adrik stumbled forward. He regained his balance and pulled his dagger. Lorcan watched him closely waiting to see if his word meant anything to him. The lordling held his dagger low with his knees bent ready to defend or attack.

“Well? Does your honour mean anything to you, Adrik?”

Adrik’s face reddened. “What does a peasant know of honour?”

“It sounds to me like you need more of Lord Jihan’s lessons.”

At Jihan’s name Adrik scowled. He turned toward the faded tapestry and pulled it to one side. A panelled wall like any other was revealed, but Adrik did something and a panel popped open to reveal a portal.

“There, peasant, as I promised.”

Lorcan gaped. Why hadn’t he thought to check for secret passages? The stories always had at least one secret passage in the enemy keep. That was why he hadn’t checked, he realised. Stories weren’t real, so how could the secret passage be real? Mathius told him that some of the stories about mages were true, but he hadn’t thought to apply that to his father’s tales. Were dragons real too? He made his dagger disappear and Adrik blinked in astonishment. Lorcan grinned. It had taken a lot of practise to learn.

“You kept your word,” he said moving to investigate.

Adrik stepped aside. The passage beyond the wall was just wide enough for a single person. Dust lay heavy on the flags. Lorcan could see by the footprints left behind that Adrik had used it before.

“Where does it lead?”

“Along the east wing,” Adrik said. “It’s not a secret passage, just bad craftsmanship.”

“How do you mean?”

Adrik glanced around the dusty room. “When they made these rooms, they sectioned the old palace’s halls using wood rather than stone. The passage is the gap between the original stone wall and the new wooden ones.”

Lorcan nodded. He didn’t want to enter the passage with Adrik at his back. The lordling seemed willing to let things lie, but there were limits to his trust.

“After you lord Adrik,” he said with a grin.

Adrik frowned, but he bent his head to scramble inside.

Lorcan waited a moment for Adrik to move along before following. Lorcan hadn’t thought to bring a lamp, but Adrik had foreseen the problem. Sparks flashed in the darkness, and he held up a burning torch. Lorcan could see the remains of other torches discarded on previous trips leaning against the wall.

“This way… what is your name?”

“I am Lorcan, novice mage of Athione,” he said with pride.

Adrik stiffened. “You are a mage?”

“Will be—I will be a mage,” he said shaking his head. Talk about walking around with your eyes shut. He shook his robe at Adrik and grinned. “I can’t do much yet.”

Adrik relaxed. Might it be that he feared mages? That must be it. The Hasians were evil, everyone knew it. Julia said they had given magic a bad reputation. Lord Keverin was going to find more people with the talent and make them mages. Mathius said the lords didn’t like the idea. They thought Athione was already too powerful.

“Are we standing here for a reason?”

Adrik scowled. “This way.”

Lorcan followed. The trip was quite long, longer than he had expected. The obvious destination was Lord Ascol’s suite, but he estimated they had left it behind long since. He didn’t ask the lordling, he didn’t want to appear scared. He wasn’t scared, but it was best the lordling not think it and try something foolish. Adrik doused the torch and plunged them into darkness. Lorcan stepped back and tensed, but a crack of light appeared to reveal Adrik crouching close to the floor.

“What you doing?”

“Shush! He will hear!” Adrik said almost in panic.

Lorcan crouched down. “Who?”

“Demophon.”

Who was Demophon? He shrugged and wriggled down next to Adrik. His robe would get filthy, but it was in a good cause. He stilled as he heard voices.

“Mortain, may he live forever, would kill us if we failed our mission, but how I wish that man dead!”

“Calmly, my friend, calmly. He would be of no use to us as a corpse. Ascol is a fool, a mad fool, but that makes him easy to manipulate. Wave the kingship under his nose and we can lead him by it.”

Adrik stiffened in anger, but a warning pat on the shoulder from Lorcan calmed him. He subsided to listen.

“It was a good try I admit, but he failed to kill the bitch, and now matters are worse! Why didn’t he talk to us about it ahead of time? I could have taken her—”

“Hah, ha!” the second voice laughed. “Don’t be a fool. I would hate to lose you this late in the game. Julia hasn’t changed her habits in the slightest. She still sneaks out without her guards. She still works her magic in her hospital, what has changed?”

A deep and heartfelt sigh sounded within the room. “You’re right. We can still do what needs to be done, but I swear, the moment Ascol is no longer needed he's dead!”

“I’ll help.”

Lorcan and Adrik stared at each other in the gloom as their mutual enemies laughed together.

* * *

10 ~ Towering Inferno

Navarien marched through the long grass at the head of his men well on his way to Durena. He had handed over responsibility for Cantibria on a warm day with the sun beaming down on his wonderful fort. The navy was late—no surprise—but the militia had finally arrived and that was all that really mattered. The shock on the militia colonel’s face when he saw the fort for the first time had been something to savour. He was so pleased with it he said, he planned to mention it in his next report! Of course, the colonel didn’t need to know that Turner’s new crafter maniple had rebuilt much of the original one.

The sealed orders that Colonel Gabor handed him upon his arrival were little different from his original orders. The loss of the Victory, and thus his entire contingent of sorcerers, had been acknowledged, but he was to continue the campaign as planned with one revision. A ship would be especially outfitted to brave the winter storms to bring him a new contingent of sorcerers, but they wouldn’t arrive at Calvados until after the city had fallen. The ship would bring new orders for him concerning the next stage of the Camorin conquest, and the sorcerers would help in that endeavour when the campaigning began again in the spring. That time was still a long way off, summer had barely begun, and he had both Durena and Calvados to take.

Navarien took a deep breath and scanned the horizon. It was good to be on the road again, even if the so-called road was more like a trail. Sitting on his backside all day had made him soft, but he would soon toughen up again. He hadn’t ridden a horse since embarking the ships to come north, nor had his men for that matter, but where was he going to find ten thousand horses just wandering loose? So they marched, the legions were good at marching. He liked marching. Unfortunately his feet didn’t like it. They were killing him!

Despite the loss of the sorcerers, he was only a few tendays or so behind schedule. That was miraculous good luck, but he didn’t expect it to continue. One solid and insurmountable part of the plan did exist though, and that was the coming of winter. He not only had to take both cities, he had to be snuggled into a fort in Calvados before it gained a strong grip on the north. Winters in Camorin were harsh. The north winds blew incessantly bringing the touch of death for anyone caught outside for too long. The clans almost seemed to hibernate like bears at that time of the year. If they could survive it, then so could the legion. That didn’t mean he wanted to put it to the test.

All in all, there was a lot to said for cities in wintertime.

The day wore on until the legion stopped to make camp. The baggage had already been unloaded by the time he staggered into camp. He was almost asleep on his feet and had to force himself awake to watch the men of First Battalion erect his tent. Being a General did have its privileges he supposed, but to his way of thinking, they were far outweighed by the responsibilities. Still, he much preferred giving orders than taking them all things considered. The tent was soon up, and he ducked inside. Cragson would be busy setting the captains various tasks to help them settle in. He would come by for a short visit later. Until then, he had time on his hands. Despite his tiredness, he pulled out his maps and studied them. Whenever possible, it was his policy to use a hill or other high place for a campsite. It was standard procedure within the legions, but here in Camorin everything looked the same. There were some exceptions to be seen—the odd small clump of trees, a hill or two seemingly thrust up at random, but none were close to his line of march. He had no reason to expect an attack, but the ditches surrounding the camp would offer some protection if it proved needful. He didn’t have any stakes for a proper defence against cavalry, but the ditches should help. The earth piled along the inside perimeter would further deter an attack. His men would make good use of those earthen walls as a rampart.

The terrain hereabouts was typical of northern Camorin. It was mainly a plain of course grass with the land sloping gently and without hills to the sea. If he wanted different terrain, he would have to march south-east for eight or nine days, but he had no interest in prolonging the campaign simply to verify the correctness of his map. He had no pressing need for trees at present. Durena was the target this time, and it wouldn’t be as easy as Cantibria had been. The city was of good size, not as big as Cantibria maybe, but unlike his previous conquest, it was walled on all sides. There was no doubt in his mind that some of the missing families from Cantibria had fled to Durena. To his mind that meant they would be ready for him.

The walls would be a problem, but not an insurmountable one. His men had techniques for scaling walls, and Turner’s men were on hand to provide the necessary tools. The defences could easily have been blasted by a sorcerer, but he had none on hand and was grateful for the fact. They were an argumentative lot and totally without military discipline. He liked discipline. He liked the orderly chain of command that the legion provided, where every man knew his place and could take over a task if his superior was killed. What sense did it make for a sorcerer to lead them into war? The lowliest legionnaire knew more about battle than the strongest sorcerer. It was simply the nature of the beast. Knowing how to apply the necessary force and no more, was the reason there were Generals in the first place. The sergeants were undeniably more proficient with their swords, but they were much less able at devising strategy.

In just a few short days, he would use his nine thousand plus men to take a city of sixty thousand, thereby proving his legion’s mastery of the battlefield with not a single sorcerer in attendance. The thought was particularly pleasing, he mused, considering the reason for his defeat at Athione last year.

Days later, Navarien’s confidence was taking a severe beating as he stared up at the walls of Durena—the very thick, the very tall walls of Durena. How was he going to get over those massive walls? They towered high into the air, and although he had seen larger—there was Athione after all—these seemed monstrously tall from way down here.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Sergeant Turner said.

“Yes sergeant. How are you settling in? Any problems?”

“Fine. No problems worth mentioning… sir.”

Navarien’s lips twitched. Turner sounded like a veteran legionnaire already. None of them would complain to a superior about someone he was having trouble with, but suddenly he would be walking around grinning while someone else limped around groaning. Fighting among the ranks was strictly against the legion code, but any General worth the name allowed it, as long as it was refereed by an under-captain or higher. Cragson had been Turner’s referee. Lewin would be all right in a few days.

“Good, I’m glad to hear that.” Navarien turned and waved a hand at the walls. “They look set to cause problems don’t you think?”

“That would depend on whether you wanted to go under, over, or through I’d say.”

Navarien chuckled. That described the situation all right. “The fastest way would be to blast the gates with magic, but that’s out of the…” Turner was shaking his head. “You don’t agree?”

“You see Nav… Ah, umm. You see sir, going through is out of the question, but it has nothing to do with our lack of magic. It’s because we have no stone.”

“Stone?” he said in puzzlement. What did stone have to do with anything?

Turner was nodding enthusiastically. “Yes sir. I’ve been thinking about this ever since we left Cantibria. What we need is a big winch that would power a lever to throw stones against the gates.”

He frowned trying and failing to picture what the sergeant had in mind. How could a winch power a stone through the air? They were only for lifting things weren’t they? He shook his head at his preoccupation. Turner had obviously thought of a way.

“It would take a really big stone to smash something like that,” he said nodding at the huge gate. “A boulder even. Would your winch be able to loft a stone that size?”

“That’s the problem. We don’t have any stone around here, but if we did, I think my winch could work. If we kept up a constant hammering on the gate, it should fall.”

Navarien frowned in thought. A winch? Hmmm, a siege winch? No, that didn’t sound right at all. A stone thrower… that was a little better but it didn’t really conjure the right image. Turner’s machine was an engine of war—a siege engine to be precise.

“Your—let us call it a siege engine—is an interesting idea. Who ever thought of blasting down gates without magic? I like it!”

“Yes sir, but there’s no stone here.”

“True.” The city itself was the only source of stone available, but there was still Calvados to think about. Perhaps arrangements could be made to move stone from Durena to Calvados, but that time was not yet. “My remaining options are over or under. I prefer over.”

“Yes sir, so do I. Those walls are big,” Turner said in awe. “They must go down deep to bedrock, or they would have collapsed under their own weight long ago. It will have to be over. If I had enough wood, I could make ladders.”

Navarien grimaced. It was the traditional method for scaling walls, but he didn’t like the idea. The legions were trained to do it, right enough, but sorcerers generally found it easier to knock the walls down rather than climb over. In this one thing, he agreed with them. Ladders would slow his men so badly, they would be easy meat for bowmen. He would still win of course, he had no doubt of it, but he would lose too many men doing so. What he needed was a way to protect the men as they climbed, while maximising their numbers upon reaching the top. He spoke his thoughts aloud, and Turner frowned in thought.

“…protect them while climbing up… then over. No, that’s no good. What about… and then… yes, but how… That’s it!” Turner shouted in his excitement.

“What’s it?”

“Towers sir! Put the ladders inside wooden towers and roll them up to the walls.”

Wooden towers on wheels?

Navarien looked up at the massive walls and tried to imagine a tower rolling forward and disgorging a battalion onto the battlement. It was certainly an elegant solution, but would it work? The walls were twenty yards high at least. A tower that high would take a great many trees to make. How heavy would that be? The ground seemed firm, but something like Turner had in mind would be incredibly hard to move, even on good ground such as this. On wet or soft footing, it would be impossible. Still, it was better to try an idea then discard it if it didn’t work, than to lose his men’s lives through laziness.

He nodded, decision made. “I want you and your men to bring in enough wood for two of your towers, Sergeant. Cragson can lead you to the closest supply. I’ll send him in command of First Battalion to help with the felling.”

“Two! If you don’t mind my asking, why build two? It will take me twice as long.”

“I want two of them to attack on different fronts at the same time. Four would be better if you think you can do it… no I see not,” he said grinning at Turner’s horrified look. “It’s always a good idea to split an enemy’s forces if you can. Fight in formation when that’s possible, and concentrate your strength on the enemy’s weakest point.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Turner murmured dryly.

“With two towers, I can halve the opposition either tower will need to face.”

Turner nodded and continued his study of the walls. The amount of work necessary was just dawning on him. Navarien smiled. Turner would find ways to induce the best effort from his men. He always seemed to have that effect on people. It had been the same when he bargained with the farriers to reinforce his carts, or when he filched men for his new maniple from the other sergeants by promising them a bit of wood craft. In Navarien’s opinion, Turner would have made an excellent trader. Instead, he was turning into a very resourceful legionnaire.

Navarien walked through the camp noting yet another wagon without its wheels. Turner had stolen them from everything that rolled to ferry in the wood he needed. The carts themselves were too small, so he had simply stolen the wheels fixing them to the already downed trees on new axles. It had been something to see when the first twenty yard long wagon rolled in, but now it was a common sight. Rolling entire trees into camp had seemed a bit excessive, but after construction of the towers began, he could see why Turner had chosen that method. Durena’s walls were twenty yards high, maybe even a little more. What sense did it make to cut up a tree then join it back together? None.

Turner’s towers would be four-sided and wheeled. Cragson had marched out with the sergeant and his men to cut enough wood for the corners posts. Eight mighty trees had crashed down, only to be raised up again in camp. The wheeled axles were immediately sent back, and more trees were downed, but this time cut to a quarter of the corner posts’ length. These shorter logs were used to form a square base sitting on the strongest wheels and axles Turner could devise. No spoked wheel could handle the huge weight of a fully built tower, so the wheels were wide and solid. The towers would be hard enough to move without contending with bogging wheels.

One of the towers was nearly complete, and the other was not far behind. Perhaps three more days would see them ready. They were remarkable feats of engineering. It had taken a battalion of men just to hoist the corner posts upright and hold them in position while Turner’s maniple fixed them to the base. The contraption had threatened to tip over, but Turner had foreseen even that possibility and braced everything with ropes.

As the towers grew, the defenders in the city had become anxious. An occasional arrow would fly from the walls, but the range was far too great to worry the men. They just waved cheerfully and continued working. They were behind schedule for taking Durena, but Navarien found himself unconcerned. Once he took the city, building a fort would go much faster than usual due to the crafter maniple’s new skills. Turner said they could even take the towers apart again for building materials!

Everything was going splendidly.

Three days later the day dawned with both towers standing in position ready to attack. Navarien chose widely spaced sections of wall for the assault, and the towers were ready. Third and Fourth Battalions were inside the towers ready to boil out and take their section of wall. They would hold until relieved by Fifth and Sixth Battalions. Turner had objected when informed that his men were not to go. He argued that his men had the right to go first, but Navarien silenced him with the simple expedient of ordering him to watch the show.

“Cragson!”

“Sir!”

Navarien studied the silent ranks of his men, and then nodded to Cragson. “Order the towers forward. They all know the plan?”

Cragson nodded. “Yes, Sir. I went over it again this morning.”

“Good. Get them moving.”

“Yes, Sir!” Cragson said with a salute. He turned and ordered Fifth and Sixth Battalions to begin pushing the towers forward.

Navarien held his breath dreading what it would mean if they failed to move the monstrous weight, but a tense moment later, he released it with a sigh of relief as both towers edged forward. There had been some concern among his officers regarding the weight of the towers. True, wide wheels would help to prevent them digging in, but they had felt it would be more prudent to use two battalions per tower. He had vetoed that idea. There simply wasn’t room for two thousand men to push effectively. More than that, they would be easy meat for enemy bowmen. The towers had long beams projecting outward from each side, and they were shielded against arrows with a wooden fence, but never was there enough room on those beams for a battalion of men, let alone two. The towers moved ponderously, but they did move, and he was pleased at how stable they were. He couldn’t see any swaying at all. That had been one of his nightmares. If one of those monstrosities fell, it would kill everyone inside.

“They look good, Turner,” he said glancing at the worried man.

“Yes, Sir. I’ll be happier when they drop their bridges upon the wall.”

“Relax man, everything is going splendidly! We won’t have to rebuild the wall, and it will save lives. Mortain—may he live forever—will be delighted. Magic is all very well, but sorcerers don’t have to fix the mess they make.”

Navarien watched the attack full of anticipation, but then he noticed that the nearest tower was falling behind. The point of the exercise was to attack at the same time. Fifth Battalion seemed to have encountered a patch of rough ground, and it was slowing them. The other tower hadn’t slowed to keep pace as he’d ordered it should in this eventuality. He was about to order Cragson to slow Sixth Battalion’s pace when disaster struck. Their tower was nearly at the wall when the city’s defenders threw oil and set it ablaze.

The tower went up like a bonfire.

“Sound retreat!” he screamed and watched in horror as his men burned.

Rah-Rah-taaa, Rah-Rah-taaa, Rah-Rah-taaa!

The boy blew his cornet and the notes soared out over the camp. It was a sound rarely heard by the legions, but the men of Sixth Battalion were only too willing to obey.

Rah-Rah-taaa, Rah-Rah-taaa, Rah-Rah-taaa!

Captain Duer of Fifth Battalion held his men back from the retreat and tried to save his tower. Many of his men were killed as an arrow storm descended upon them. Duer himself took one in the leg, but he managed to move his tower out of range of the throwers. Fires blazed up where jars of oil missed their target and set the grass burning. All was a confusion of screaming and running men. The burning oil clung to their armour and skin, and resisted all their attempts to extinguish it. Navarien was frozen. He watched hundreds of his men rolling upon the ground trying to put out the flames that were eating them alive. He watched as men jumped or fell from the tower burning as they fell. He watched as his legion came apart unable to think beyond the screams.

“Blankets! Get the blankets!” Turner bellowed, and snatched up an empty sack. He threw a screaming man to the ground and rolled him in the sacking in an effort to smother the flames. He cried out at the pain of burned hands, but the oil was extinguished. “Tear down the tents and use them for the God’s sake!”

Navarien nodded numbly. “Do it.”

Cragson ran off roaring about using their tents and bedding to smother the flames. Navarien listened to his men scream. This was his fault. He should have thought of fire. How many times had he seen sorcerers attack using it? With none here, he hadn’t even thought of the possibility, but he should have. Anyone could set a fire. It didn’t take a cursed sorcerer to do it! Fool, fool, and three times a fool! Why didn’t he think?! Perhaps half of Fourth Battalion managed to escape their tower, before the flames took too great a hold. Most were injured in varying degrees, some seriously. The rest perished packed in ranks where they stood, unable to move.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I should have thought of fire—” Turner broke off at Navarien’s raised hand.

When the screaming stopped replaced by the roaring of the flames, he turned silently and entered his tent. A short while later, Cragson reported the second tower safe, but a third of Captain Duer’s men had been wounded, and no few of them would die. Captain Duer was to be commended for his fast thinking, but what good was a scaling tower when fire could so easily destroy it?

“How many of Fourth survived?”

Cragson sighed. “Four hundred or so. They were the ones on the lower ladders and gallery. The upper gallery was burning before they could reach the lower and escape.”

Four hundred was good news, miraculous good news in fact. How so many had escaped the inferno was something he would never understand. It had roared like a furnace once the fire took a firm grip. The screams had been—

He shook his head. “See that the wounded are cared for, and stand the rest of the men down. Use First Battalion for sentries, and see to it that everyone receives double rations tonight. They need something to take their minds off that bonfire.”

Cragson nodded silently and left.

Navarien lay on his cot trying to conjure up a plan, but nothing came to mind. As Turner had said before, the walls were big and heavy, their foundations must run deep. Mining the wall could take all year. A tunnel would cause similar problems, but even if he could get through that way, the defenders would see what he was doing. They would have time to locate the exit point. The towers had been the perfect solution, but they weren’t fireproof curse it! Even now, he hadn’t lost as many men as he would have done using scaling ladders, but Durena had yet to fall. If he ordered ladders used now, he would lose at least another battalion, and probably more.

He lay sleepless and unseeing upon his cot through that night, and when dawn came, he was no closer to a solution than he had been. Mortain—may he live forever—would never accept his failure. He had to find a way over the walls that left the legion intact and strong enough to take Calvados before year’s end.

“Sir? I’m sorry… I should have thought about what they would do when they saw us coming, but I didn’t. I was too caught up with the work.”

Navarien spoke without looking. “I command this legion not you. It was my decision to make, and I made it. Sergeants follow orders, Generals give them. Let that be an end to it.”

Silence.

He sat up expecting to find the sergeant gone, but he was still there. Turner was standing just inside the tent flap holding a shield in one hand, and what looked to be a jug of oil in the other.

“What have you there?”

“Oil. We use it for cooking.”

Trying for calm that was in short supply, Navarien rubbed his temples and took a calming breath. “I know what we use it for, man! Why is it in here?”

“I think I may have a way to stop them burning my… your other tower, Sir.”

That made him sit up straight. “Show me,” he said and followed Turner out of the tent and away from the camp. “Where are we going?”

“It’s not far, Sir.”

Their destination was a small hollow out of sight of the camp and its perimeter guards. Some of Turner’s maniple were loitering within the hollow and came to attention as he arrived. Navarien ordered them to stand easy, while he surveyed the scene. To one side, a campfire was burning. It had four wooden posts driven into the ground around it. Near the centre of the hollow, was a crude model of a tower. It didn’t have wheels or anything similar, but it was roughly the right shape. There were four legion shields attached to its sides, and when he looked through the opening in the top, he could see ropes tying them onto the wooden frame.

“Show me.”

Turner placed the shield he was carrying upon the posts over the fire. Navarien wandered over and crouched down to see underneath. The flames from the campfire were touching the shield. He expected to see it catch fire, but it didn’t.

Turner began counting time.

The inner surface of the shield was uppermost and it was starting to smoke. Turner reached six hundred before the flames burned completely through, but even then, the shield wasn’t actually burning. The men carefully removed it from the fire and cooled it with water.

“Do you see, sir?” Turner said tapping the burnt edges of the shield with a knuckle.

“Hmmm,” he murmured.

The leather seemed to have hardened and cracked before turning into something resembling charcoal. A slow count of six hundred was almost a quarter candlemark. If Turner covered the tower with legion shields, there should be enough time to get in position and onto the wall before the tower was destroyed.

“What about your little model?”

“If you’re ready, I made that to show you how long a shield will last when affixed to the tower. Laying flat as you saw, it lasts for a count of six hundred, but upright it will last all night for some reason—even when we use oil!”

He frowned. “Strange. Might as well show me, Turner, your men seem eager to burn it.”

Turner laughed and gave the order. Navarien watched as the oil was poured over the model then set alight. He counted along with Turner this time, but the sergeant was right. The oil burned completely away leaving hot undamaged shields. The heat had penetrated right through, but not enough to even burn his hand let alone set the wood alight. Somehow, the shields spread the heat out over their entire surface, they hadn’t allowed the flames to penetrate.

“How long?”

“I can have the remaining tower ready for you in a few days. If you want a second tow—”

“No,” he said abruptly. “One tower will have to do. We are far behind schedule. We still have to build the fort before the militia arrives. Calvados is waiting for us, and we have to be tucked away inside before winter descends. I can’t waste the tendays it would take to build another tower.”

“Right you are.”

Navarien made his way back to camp in better spirits. He was determined to lead the assault himself this time. The men would be understandably reluctant to use the tower after yesterday’s catastrophe, but he felt sure they would follow orders if he led them personally. Ordinarily, he would lead First Battalion on an assault such as this, but baring in mind recent events at Cantibria, he decided the Eighth would have the honour of leading the assault. Captain Tikva and his sergeants had done wonders in training the Bandarians to their fine standard, and Eighth Battalion was a veteran unit. It was infinitely better suited to the task than say… Third Battalion.

Come the day, Cragson was still arguing his decision. It was gratifying that Cragson was worried for him, but in the end he would still have to follow orders and lead First Battalion through the gates once Eighth Battalion had taken them.

“You all know the plan,” Navarien said to his Captains. He waited for their nods of assent then continued, “Tikva, you are my second for the actual assault on the walls, but as soon as we take the gates, the usual chain of command is back in force. Cragson, you will be in command of First Battalion, but I want you to leave the fight to the sergeants. You will have to oversee the thrust through the gate until I arrive. Any questions?”

“Sir, let me take the Eighth over the wall and you oversee the gates. I’m not happy with this—”

“Captain Cragson, thank you for your concern, but I’m ordering you to accept the plan as stated. Clear?”

“Yes, Sir!” Cragson said and saluted.

He slapped Cragson upon the shoulder then made his way to the tower with Tikva. The tower looked very military with its shell of legion shields. It had taken thousands of them to cover it. He wasn’t completely happy about some of his men not having their shields, but he couldn’t have everything. He felt that it wouldn’t matter too much on the wall, so he had redistributed the remaining shields to the men storming the streets through the gates. If all went well, the city would fall by evening. The men of Eighth Battalion cheered when they saw him coming to lead them. He hoped they would be cheering when they came within range of the walls.

Navarien noticed sergeant Meran standing with his maniple and beckoned him over. “I want your maniple with me at the top Meran.”

“Yes, Sir. I thought you might.”

Navarien laughed. “It’s not like that, Sergeant. I watched those big men of yours knocking sense into the Bandarians for tendays. I want your maniple to do the same to these bastards on the wall.” He turned grim, “They are really going to regret burning my men.”

“Oh my yes,” Tikva said equally grim-faced.

“Fine, Sir!” Meran grinned then turned toward his men. “You heard the General. Get your lazy arses up that tower! Yes… I do mean you as well, Lewin—and take your cursed sword with you this time!”

Navarien grinned. Meran’s men laughed and joked as they approached the tower. Lewin was pushed and shoved jokingly as he went by, but they quieted as they started climbing. As soon as the maniple was all in, Navarien swung onto the ladder and climbed up into the gloom. It was a long way up, and for a time all he knew was the man in front, and the friendly curses as men bumped each other.

He reached the lower gallery quickly, and then climbed the ladder to the next. Once at the top, he made his way to the door. It was closed now of course. The bridge acted as a door to safeguard anyone from falling out. The upper gallery was just big enough for four maniples packed shoulder to shoulder. Navarien positioned himself next to Meran, so he would be the first onto the bridge. Then they waited.

Candlemarks seemed to pass before the tower started moving. Everyone cursed, Navarien included, at the abruptness of the movement, but there wasn’t room to fall. He remembered watching the towers approaching the city just a few short days ago, and thinking how stable they looked. Well, it just went to show how very far appearances were from the truth. The tower, slow as it was, was lurching from side to side enough to make the men beside him a necessity. Without them, he doubted he could have kept his feet.

He watched the wall approaching through the peephole in the bridge. “Nearly there now, Meran. Get ready to drop the bridge.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The first jugs of oil sailed toward him, and he offered a prayer to the God. Flames and smoke billowed up. The men cursed and shouted, but they didn’t panic. Turner had shown them his model tower, and they had seen for themselves that shields wouldn’t burn. It was hot though and becoming hotter. Battle or no battle, he would be glad to get into fresh air. Smoke had managed to get inside, but it wasn’t too bad yet. Besides, they were nearly there.

The tower lurched and crashed to a stop against the wall. Navarien didn’t need to give the order, Meran released the bridge the instant the tower stopped. Sunlight flooded in and the smoke with it. Navarien ignored everything but his footing as he ran across to the wall trying not to fall off the bridge. The ground looked a cursed long way down, but he was on the wall and cutting his first man down before he had time to be scared. Meran was beside him and another man—Lewin—was on his other side. More and more of his men boiled out of the tower to increase the foothold he had gained.

The city’s defenders attacked all out. They were almost berserk with rage. Navarien was struck a hard blow on his right side, but the armour stopped it from penetrating and Meran killed the culprit. Slowly he advanced to where he could see a stone stairway. Captain Tikva was advancing similarly in the opposite direction, and looked to have succeeded in holding his end of the wall.

With Meran by his side, Navarien gained the first step, and the next. He was wounded on the left leg, but it didn’t seem serious and he kept going. There simply wasn’t room on the steps for more than two people side by side, and after a few narrow escapes, they succeeded in reaching the ground. Then things became dicey. With more room, the defenders attacked harder than ever. Screams of fear and pain mixed with the roar of hate from the legionnaires. They were determined to visit their vengeance upon the city for burning their comrades, but determination wasn’t enough. They were in desperate danger of being overwhelmed.

The defenders threw themselves bodily upon legion swords dragging those blades down and spitting their dying breaths at their enemies. Meran’s maniple formed a square to hold them. Without shields, the square was less effective than otherwise would be the case and he was rapidly losing his ability to protect his General. Meran ordered his men to back slowly toward the gate, and they did so grimly holding to discipline. More men fell, and yet more, but finally they reached the gate to lift the locking bar clear.

Cragson was ready.

With a roar, seven battalions charged through and slaughtered the defenders in the immediate area to a man.

“Cragson!” Navarien roared above the screams of the dying.

“Sir!”

“I want a battalion on each of the three main roads and one to hold this gate. Get another up on the wall to relieve Tikva.”

“Yes, Sir!”

Navarien stood back to watch as his men moved to cover the entrances to the square. Meran and his men were checking the fallen for wounded. Perhaps half his maniple lay unmoving in pools of blood. Bodies lay in heaps at the base of the steps and all along their desperate route to the gate. Meran ordered his able-bodied men to carry the wounded back to camp, and the dead to be dragged from beneath the stinking heaps of Camorin corpses. They would be prepared for burial as soon as the city fell and it was safe to think of something other than survival.

The enemy attacked desperately down two of the main roads, but so far they had failed to breakthrough. An occasional man did fall of line, but another would run to take his place from the reserve without needing orders. This was the kind of fight legionaries were used to, and they were evidently relieved to get back to what they knew how to do. As far as they were concerned, building was a sideline and not proper work for the legions.

The shouts and screams of battle, the clang of sword upon sword seemed somehow unreal to Navarien from where he stood watching the scene. He grimaced at the pain in his leg and shifted his weight. The battle was real, and so were the deaths, as far too many bodies of his men could testify. He had sworn vengeance upon those who had burned his men, yet suddenly he was sick of death. The stench of it filled his nostrils and the screams filled his ears until he felt he must surely go mad from both.

“Sir?”

He turned to find Meran standing beside him. “Yes?”

“Orders sir?”

“None. Take care of your men, sergeant. That’s all I ask.”

“Aye sir, but… aye,” Meran sighed and left to join the remnants of his maniple.

Navarien turned back to watch the battle.

“Tikva owns the wall, Sir,” Cragson said dismissing a messenger. “The enemy has abandoned their positions.”

“Very good,” he said in satisfaction. No one liked arrows coming from above, but it seemed the enemy had decided to fight on the ground from now on. He called his captains together and gave his orders. “I want Sixth Battalion to hold here and First Battalion to continue up the main road to take the other gate.” He glanced to his right where Third Battalion was meeting heavy resistance. “Tenth Battalion under Bannan will reinforce Third on my right. Push them back for me.”

“Yes, Sir,” Bannan said.

“I’m leaving Tikva on the wall for now, he’s done enough for us today,” Navarien said and turned to Cragson. “You stay with what’s left of Fourth and Fifth Battalion on my left. They can’t take much pressure, but that side has been quiet.”

“We’ll hold, General.”

“I know you will.”

Fourth and Fifth Battalions had sustained heavy losses in the retreat and would need rebuilding. Captain Duer wouldn’t be fit for some time to come.

“You have your orders,” Navarien said. “Let’s be about it.”

The captains saluted and ran back to their units, which shifted into new formations and pressed home the attack.

“What of Seventh, sir?” Corbin said looking worried.

“With me in the centre. Always keep a reserve, Corbin, never forget that.”

Corbin was relieved not to have been forgotten. “Yes, Sir. I’ll remember.”

Navarien nodded. “Away you go.”

Corbin braced and saluted. “Sir!”

Corbin was a young and dashing captain—too dashing for Navarien’s peace of mind. He was the perfect cavalry commander, but his enthusiasm often needed reining in. Corbin sometimes took the legions’ reputation for fearlessness entirely too seriously, and to the detriment of his command. He would learn in time, or he would die.

“Sir, Captain Tikva said I should come fetch you,” Lewin panted from his dash across the square. “It’s urgent like.”

He nodded. “Corbin!”

“Sir?”

“Hold your men here. If you see the need to reinforce one of the others, do so on your own authority.”

The young captain gulped but answered confidently. “I understand, Sir.”

“Take me to Tikva,” Navarien said to Lewin.

They made their way up the same steps they had earlier fought their way down. The bodies had been kicked over the side, and the way was clear. He slipped on a puddle of blood, and nearly dove off the side, but Lewin grabbed him in time. He nodded his thanks, but saved his breath for the climb. He didn’t remember so many steps on the way down, but he had been busy. Finally, they reached the battlement and Tikva.

“Report!”

“We have observed enemy movements toward the south.”

Navarien looked to where Tikva was pointing, but the distance was long. “They might be families fleeing,” he said doubtfully.

“They might be, Sir, but I was thinking they might also be massing for an attack at the centre. See that road, sir?” Tikva said pointing.

“I see what you’re saying, good work! If you see anything else, send Lewin with the word.”

Tikva saluted him, and Navarien hurried back to the square. The road Tikva was talking about connected to the one in which First Battalion was fighting. If Tikva hadn’t noticed something strange, the enemy might have moved down that road and hit First Battalion from behind. There wasn’t much time to stop another disaster.

“Corbin!”

“Sir?”

“I need you to lead your men after me at the double,” he said already heading toward the ambush site.

“Yes, Sir!” Corbin said to Navarien’s back as he trotted off.

If he handled this right, he thought, he might be able to break the back of the enemy defence. He stationed Corbin with half his men at the junction between the side and main roads, then led the other half further along the narrow street. He concealed his men down various alleyways with orders to attack when he did and not before. Then he waited, and waited, and waited, and waited. What if they didn’t come this way? No, they would come. What if they chose another route? No, it was a perfect way to cut his legion into chunks. They would come, because he would in their position.

The time dragged slowly by.

He was reconsidering his plan when the enemy ran by on their way to attack Corbin. He waited for the last of them to pass, but there were hundreds streaming by his hiding place. He estimated that he and Corbin would be outnumbered by a significant number, but it was too late to change the plan now.

This might be a little tight.

If he waited too long, Corbin would be overwhelmed, if he didn’t wait long enough, he would be attacked in the rear as more of the enemy arrived at his back. He was about to rise, when another group charged by. He shrank back into hiding and waited. Group after group ran by in a never ending supply of fools wanting to die. If many more ran past, it would be Corbin and he that would die, not the Camorin fighters. He decided to take a chance. He leapt up and gave chase with his men following silently behind him. He could hear the shouts and the clash of steel coming from somewhere ahead, and was about to increase his pace, when he ran straight into the mob.

Navarien cut men down left and right, before they could organise themselves. His maniples formed line and attacked as a unit. It was reminiscent of Cantibria. There were perhaps eighteen hundred young men and woman with swords trying to kill Corbin’s five maniples, but Corbin had sensibly stationed his men at a choke point. The street was narrow. The Camorins couldn’t bring their full weight against their enemy. As soon as they realised what had happened, half the rabble’s numbers turned to engage Navarien and his men, while the others continued pressing Corbin. The young captain was doing well. He was yelling orders even over the noise of battle and those orders were having the desired effect.

The enemy could not break through, but they wouldn’t surrender.

Navarien slammed his gauntleted fist into the face of a young boy and kicked him in the head for good measure. When the fool tried to rise, he took a moment to finish him off. That moment was almost more than he could spare. He looked up in time to see a blade seeking his life, he threw himself backward, but the crowding behind him prevented his desperate move. The sword slammed into his armoured belly and skittered aside unable to penetrate.

By the god!

That was flaming close! He slammed his sword down shattering his enemy’s blade, and then thrust. He didn’t have time to wonder if the wound he inflicted was mortal. He parried another blade and killed the one responsible for the attack, and another, and another… Why wouldn’t they surrender? To die like this was senseless. They surely knew the city was lost, but they didn’t give up.

In the end, the skirmish cost him three out of his five maniples. The enemy’s losses were total. Corbin had lost almost as many—in total, another six hundred dead.

This campaign was proving costly indeed.

During the Bandar war, most of the battles had been fought on open ground where the legions excelled. Losses were light, especially when the sorcerers deigned to use their magic to soften the enemy up first. Street fighting however, could be unbelievably costly. He might clear one section of the city, only to find it infested again within candlemarks. The defenders could use a street like this one to manoeuvre, and they knew the territory. Navarien’s men didn’t. If it hadn’t been for Tikva’s observations, he wouldn’t have known the enemy’s plan until too late.

Corbin’s men collected the wounded and they made their way back to the square. When he reached the gate, Navarien stepped aside and ordered Corbin to continue on to camp. He was to use what men he could scrape up to protect the wounded as they arrived in camp. Corbin saluted wearily and led his men out of the city.

Cragson was waiting for Navarien to finish. “General—”

Navarien winced. Cragson only ever called him that when he disapproved of something he’d done. He wondered what it was.

“—Jhamil reports that First Battalion has won the southern gate. He’s holding as ordered. He reports observing a great many people leaving that way. They’re heading toward the plains. He asks, respectfully, to be allowed to let them go. He says there are too many to fight, and that without support he would be quickly overwhelmed. I concur, Sir.”

Navarien nodded thoughtfully. Another group of refugees. Would the clans take them in? Did it matter? He decided it didn’t. News travelled fast whether by refugee or by messenger. The clans would be subdued in time, there was no point in borrowing trouble. Next year’s campaign was next year’s campaign. He had enough to do with this one.

“Send a runner to Captain Jhamil with my compliments. Tell him that I have full confidence in his judgement and that I concur with his decision.”

Cragson nodded.

“What news of Third and Tenth?” he said looking that way.

The road was empty now, nothing visible but corpses. Thankfully, most were Camorin, but he could see a few forlorn looking legionnaires lying where they had fallen. There wasn’t time to look after them properly. After the city was won, they would be buried with honour.

“Still fighting hard, Sir. These people don’t know when they’re beaten. They won’t surrender, and they won’t run.”

That mirrored Navarien’s observations. When this campaign ended, would there be any of the clans still in existence? Cantibria was a city of old folk now, and Jhamil had reported refugees leaving by the southern gate of this one. It looked as if they were heading for the plain to join the clans as the ones from Cantibria had probably done, but where would they go when the legions pursued them even there? He shook himself. His job was to take three coastal cities, not think about policy. The cities would soon be bustling again as good Hasian families saw an opportunity to better themselves at the Protectorate’s newest frontier.

“Any trouble on your side?”

“None, Sir. Fourth and Fifth Battalions are guarding that approach, but it’s the artisan quarter and has been entirely peaceful. It’s the same as Cantibria. Only the young are willing to fight,” Cragson said frowning toward the two battalions in question.

“That’s good. Later we’ll have to reorganise the legion. Corbin and I just managed to lose more than half of Seventh Battalion.”

How he hated to lose his men, but it was the price of doing business in the legions. Cragson didn’t seem surprised or dismayed, but he’d seen what was left of Seventh when they returned.

“For now,” Navarien went on, “have Corbin station his able bodied men at this gate. I want you to take Sixth and reinforce Third and Tenth. That area seems to be the last one still fighting. Push your men down a side road and try to flank them. Tikva should be able to suggest a likely prospect.”

That received a reaction. Cragson’s eyes lit up at the thought of flanking the enemy. He obviously felt a little left out of the fighting, and besides that, he always did like sneaky tactics. Cragson ran off, and a short time later, Sixth Battalion marched toward the fighting.

Navarien studied the remainder of his forces. Corbin had stationed his half battalion just outside the gate to keep an eye on things. There were wounded men streaming back from all over the city and heading back to camp. Most were walking wounded, others needed help from their comrades. They tried to salute him as they past, and he returned their effort, but he thought it better to remove himself. They had enough to do caring for their friends. They shouldn’t have to worry about him too.

He made his way up to the wall and along to where Tikva was standing. The captain had stationed his men along the parapet on the inside of the wall. Clever fellow. Tikva was using his men as a kind of scout. They were watching the city from the walls, and then bringing him the information, which he was writing down. The captains all carried a small diary to note down certain important points of a plan, but this was the first time he had seen one used during a battle.

“Report!” Tikva said but didn’t look up as Navarien approached. He was writing in his diary.

Navarien grinned and complied. “I think everything is under control don’t you?”

Tikva gasped and shot to his feet. Blushing red, he stammered an apology.

“Don’t worry about it. What are you doing by the way?” he said leaning against a merlon.

“I’m trying to understand the way the clans fight, Sir,” Tikva said.

That was unexpected. He glanced at the pages of notes and saw that, not only was Tikva noting down the information gained from his men’s observations, he was also trying to relate it to a pattern. That was the sort of thing Cragson or he would do. Tikva had a good future in the legions. If he survived, he might be a General himself one day.

“I can’t understand why they won’t surrender,” Navarien said with a frown. “They’re obviously beaten. As for the way the clans fight, you won’t find out by observing the ones in the cities. The real clans are on the plain.”

“Agreed, but these people have the clans in their ancestry. It’s obvious they still train with weapons, but it seems to me they don’t have generals or captains. They’re like a legion without officers. Everyone knows what to do, and does it without orders. The problem is, there’s no co-ordination that way.”

Hmmm, that was interesting. On the plain, they would have chiefs to give them co-ordination, but would they fight together like a legion, or would each tribe fight separately? If they were to fight as a unit like the legions, they would need someone to hold them together. The clans were rivals and regularly fought with each other. Who was strong enough to subjugate all the chiefs?

“I think the reason they don’t surrender is part of that, Sir,” Tikva went on. “I wouldn’t surrender unless you ordered me to, and my men wouldn’t, unless I ordered them to, but these people don’t have anyone to order them to surrender. Each one carries on fighting because his comrades are still fighting!”

No, that didn’t ring true somehow, Navarien thought. Tikva was right about them having no one to lead them in a coordinated attack, but surely some of them would have surrendered. It might simply be a tradition among the clans. If that were so, they would have to be completely broken instead of subjugated. He liked that not at all. He was a soldier, and soldiers fought others like themselves not women, children, and old folk. If they would not surrender, he would have no choice but to break them.

He turned to stare out over his city, and in its place he saw a slaughter never before seen in the history of the world. It appalled him and excited him at the same time. A civilised man should feel sickened, surely? Such a man would never be a part of it. Certainly a man with honour should not.

He stared silently. What was he really? A bloodthirsty maniac who happened to be a General, or a civilised man who happened to be one? The thing of it was, he wasn’t sure himself.

* * *

11 ~ The Book

Shelim frowned at the book Kerrion held. “What is it, Mentor?”

He knew how to read, but the only books he’d ever seen had come from the Devan traders. He had read his father’s two books many times, but this one looked nothing like those.

“I told you to call me Kerrion, Shelim.”

“No one can hear us, Ment… Kerrion.”

“You do not know that. There is no way to stop a seeing of us in the mirror.”

“Who would do that?” he asked, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

“The same people who made this book, I shouldn’t wonder. I found it in Duren’s tent during your challenge. I think he was an outclanner.”

Shelim remembered Darnath’s words concerning his old mentor. He said that Duren needed a beaded tunic, a mirror, and an apprentice to look like a shaman, but he didn’t act like one. He had tried to think why the man should give that impression, but he hadn’t been able to think of one. If Kerrion was right, it hadn’t been just an impression but had instead been reality.

“But it’s just a book. It’s different than the ones I’ve seen, but it’s still just a book.”

“Yes, just a book, but look with your other sight, and it’s much more.”

Shelim did as he was bid. The first surprise was that the book was even visible here… sort of. It looked like a glowing bundle of light made of thin strands woven together in a complicated pattern. The second surprise was a strand vanishing into the distance connecting the bundle to something far away. There was no sense of direction in this place, but he guessed it went southwest toward Protectorate.

He released his magic and nodded at Kerrion’s raised eyebrow. “It’s a magic book, but what did he use it for?”

“For writing in. Here, you read it.”

Shelim turned the pages reading a few lines then moving on. The words were very small to save space, but he could read them well enough. It was a story like his father’s books, but instead of being about such fanciful creatures as dragons, this one was about life in the clan. It was interesting, but he noted some strange parts. Duren had been careful to note down the exact number of people in each tribe, and especially the numbers of shamen.

“He was trying to learn our strength. What does wizard mean?”

“It’s what the Hasians call a shaman who is very strong, but not as strong as a sorcerer.”

“It says Larn is a wizard, and we are both masters, but I know we aren’t the same strength.”

Kerri smirked. “The sorcerers believe there are seven strengths, but that is pure foolishness. If a shaman lives long enough, there is no end to how strong he may become. They believe the strengths go by colours. The colours go white, brown, green, yellow, blue, red, and finally black. Black is the highest. According to them, we are both blue. I prefer the different coloured beads we wear instead… don’t you?”

He nodded. “I wouldn’t like wearing blue all the time. I wonder what colour Darnath is… I suppose he’s in here somewhere. So, Duren wasn’t a shaman, but a Hasian pretending to be one?”

Kerrion made a face then shrugged. “Perhaps that is so, but what concerns me is that there may be more of our brothers writing in these books. You saw the string of light?”

“It goes into Protectorate does it not?”

“I believe a shaman in Protectorate can read whatever is written in this book using the string. If that is so, then our enemies know how many warriors and shamen we have. They know our strength,” Kerrion said grimly.

“That is bad news, Mentor. Attacking by stealth is what the warriors do best. The Hasians will know this. They will not be surprised—we must warn the chiefs.”

“We cannot do that. If they learn that some of our brothers are their enemies, they may count us all as enemies. We must find who among our brothers are writing in these books and stop them ourselves.”

“More challenges,” Shelim said unhappily remembering his near escape.

“Yes,” Kerrion said sadly. “The prophecy speaks of it, as it did of your battle, though I did not understand. We cannot allow the Hasians among us to tell their friends about the Lost Ones. Our numbers will increase by many thousands of warriors very soon, and perhaps they will still be surprised.”

The next Gathering was more than three seasons away and that was far too long to wait, he decided. He needed to find the Hasian shamen among his brothers quickly.

“You met the strongest of our brothers at your ceremony, Shelim. You should go to Larn first. Tell him what we know of Duren, and show him this book. Larn can pass the word while you find Dragon Clan.”

Shelim nodded. Dragon Clan, being the largest, had the greatest number of shamen. “I’ll take Darnath with me. He knew Duren better than anyone and he is my apprentice now.”

“I wish I could come with you, my boy, but I can’t leave the clan without a shaman.”

“I understand.”

Shelim left a little later with the book in hand. He had a lot to do before he left in the morning. Firstly, he said good-bye to his mother and father. When his father asked where he was going, he guiltily told him that he had messages to deliver for Kerrion. He didn’t think Tomik believed him, and was relieved when his father didn’t question him further. Secondly, he found Darnath and told him they were going on a little trip, and that he should get his supplies in order. Lastly, he gathered his own things ready for the morning.

The next day dawned dull and overcast with the prospect of rain. It seemed a fitting day to be leaving friends and family. Shelim pulled his tent down with Tomik’s help. He didn’t want to be slowed by a cart, so he helped his father stow it with Kerrion’s tent.

They were ready to ride before most of the clan had stirred, but there were a few of the people walking about. Shelim noticed Betsia walking by wearing the tunic and leggings of a clan warrior. She looked very good to his eyes. She had settled in and seemed to like the traditional life. He was surprised after the fuss she had made, but not as surprised as she herself was.

When Betsia saw him watching, she raised her hand in greeting and wandered over. “Where are you two off to?”

“Kerrion has some messages he wants delivered. I probably won’t be back for a season or more. Will you miss me?” he said and grinned.

Darnath laughed.

Betsia scowled and drew her blade. “No I will not! Come down from that horse and try to take my sword from me this time,” she said waving it about.

Shelim laughed at her antics. He did like her, even if she played the clown sometimes. Challenging a shaman was without honour, but she was only playing… he thought she was anyway.

“I can’t put off Kerrion’s messages because you want to play, Betsia. Some other time perhaps,” he said and rode away laughing.

“I’ll show you how to play!” Betsia shouted at his back.

That might be fun.

Horse Clan’s range was far to the north. Shelim knew he would encounter other tribes on his way to Larn and would use the opportunity to kill two bison with one spear so to speak. A tribe would be unlucky indeed not to have a Shaman among them, so he planned to ask for word of Horse Clan at his first opportunity, and at the same time pass Kerrion’s message to his brothers.

“I was right about Duren?” Darnath said as they rode side by side.

“Hmmm. It’s strange to think that some of our brothers are outclanners, but he seems to have been just that. I wonder how he did it. Surely someone would have noticed something.”

“We didn’t. So why expect a warrior to notice?”

“Good point,” he said with a nod.

He was worried about what he would have to do if he found an outclanner shaman. He had his shield spell now, but luck had played a much larger role in his victory that he cared to think about. He couldn’t afford to rely upon luck in the future. Kerrion had been fascinated with the idea of a magical shield, and said that no other shaman he knew could make one. He had only reluctantly shown Kerrion how he made the spell because of how dangerous it was. He remembered his desperation at losing control of it too well to be easy about using it again, even as a demonstration, but to his vast relief nothing had gone wrong. Holding it was easy. It only became difficult when the shield absorbed too much magic.

Just as he had tried to copy Duren’s shield, Kerrion had tried to copy his. The result had been the same. Instead of a shield, the old man had received the mother of all headaches. Shelim had feared for his mentor’s life when Kerrion collapsed, but he woke as good as new after a healing. Neither of them knew why copying the spell didn’t work, but Kerrion said that he would practise over the seasons ahead.

Many days went by with Shelim spending his time in the saddle teaching Darnath the uses of magic. The apprentice alternated his time between listening to his mentor’s words, and putting his lessons into practise. As there was no one to see, he made Darnath light and extinguish the campfire with magic. It was good practise, without which Duren might have defeated him. Shelim was well aware that they might be fighting with magic before this journey was done, so it became Darnath’s chore each night to build the campfire with magic, and each morning to put it out. He even scattered the ashes with blasts of magic-conjured air that could easily be used to knock an enemy from his feet.

Most evenings, they spent on their backs watching the stars and talking about their families. Shelim spoke of his parents, and how it was that his father had seen the white bison. Darnath told the story of his great grandfather’s journey to Pura—the great stone city in the east—and how he came to be the first warrior ever to see a smoking mountain.

“There is a smoking mountain there?” he asked doubtfully. “Truly?”

“Not there. There are islands, far across the Sea of Despair, called the Socotra Isles. My great grandfather’s ship was attacked by raiders from there and was captured. He slew many, and would have dived overboard to drown rather than be taken prisoner, but the chief of the raiders was impressed with his skill. They say he offered my grandfather his freedom, if he would stay with the chief for two summers and teach him The Way.”

“And he agreed?”

“It was better than drowning,” Darnath said a little defensively. “Anyway, he agreed to teach the chief. He saw many strange things in that land. There are smoking mountains, and rivers of hot water. There are places where the ground is yellow like the sun.”

“Sounds like a fever dream to me,” he snorted.

“It’s true, I swear it.”

“I would like to see that, but if it means going on a boat—”

“Ship, big boats are called ships.”

“—I would rather stay here.”

Shelim used his mirror every morning as Kerrion had taught him to do. While Darnath put out the campfire and packed away their supplies, he would sit cross-legged with his mirror in his lap looking for danger ahead. The first indication that they were no longer alone occurred during one such session. He recognised the scouts for what they were—warriors of Jaralk, but decided not to announce his knowledge just yet. Jaralk was a tribe owing its descent to Eagle Clan, and Eagle Clan was friendly with most others. He was unconcerned by their presence and expected them to fade away sometime later in the day.

But they didn’t.

Finally, out of patience and trying to sound like Kerrion, Shelim shouted, “I think that’s enough practise for today, don’t you?” A moment after his shout died away, four warriors stood and encircled them.

“I am Anwa of the Jaralk,” the strongest of the four said.

“Greetings Anwa of the Jaralk. I am Shelim, shaman of the Night Wind, and this is my apprentice, Darnath.”

Anwa blinked in surprise. Shelim didn’t look old enough to have an apprentice. “Greetings shaman. Where do you ride?”

“To Larn of Horse Clan. Have you knowledge of where they may be found?”

“Many days north, Shelim. As always, Horse Clan is closer to the Lost than any other.”

That could be taken two ways. As far as he knew, Eagle and Horse Clans were friendly, but news travelled slowly. If there was a feud, he would not normally hear of it until the Gathering. Anwa might just be commenting on Horse Clan’s choice of range. The cities of the Lost were far to the northwest and not directly north from here.

“So then, I must journey on. Tell me Anwa, has the Jaralk a shaman?”

“Yes, we are fortunate. The Jaralk has two of them and an apprentice.”

Jaralk was fortunate indeed, though Anwa didn’t sound like he thought so. Shelim tried not to smile but it was hard. Not long ago, he might have thought the same as Anwa. No warrior thought highly of a shaman, not until they needed healing at least.

“You are fortunate indeed, Anwa. It must be comforting to know that when you are hurt, or when your wife is heavy with child, there are three shamen ready to help.”

Anwa flushed, and his comrades laughed at his embarrassment.

“He has you Anwa!” one of his comrades called out.

Anwa laughed with the others and agreed. “You are right honoured, Shelim. My wife is with child, and it is comforting to know that a shaman is near.”

He was surprised at the apology so easily obtained, but he quickly realised that Anwa was concerned for his wife. It was likely that she was pregnant with her first child then, and Anwa was worried for her safety.

“We will escort you to the tribe,” Anwa said.

“Thank you.”

It was mid-day when they joined Anwa’s tribe. After caring for their horses, they followed him to the chief’s tent.

“Petya, we have guests,” Anwa announced. “This is Shelim and his apprentice Darnath.”

Petya was an ageing man, but he seemed hale and hearty. He was sitting on his rugs drinking tea. They had interrupted his meal.

“A shaman and his apprentice, you say?” Petya said looking sceptical. “You have done well. I’ll take care of our guests.”

Anwa left the tent and Petya studied his guests. Petya’s surprise was understandable. Shelim wished he looked older, it would make certain things easier. Every time someone heard that Darnath was his apprentice, he would come across this reaction.

“I have heard it said that a shaman named Shelim challenged his mentor and killed him. Would you be that one, Shelim? Before you answer, know this: we have no room for such as would kill his own teacher.”

He gaped. That the news had travelled was inevitable, but that the retelling had changed to make him the killer of his own mentor was unbelievable. Before he had a chance to correct Petya’s impression of him, Darnath jumped in with both feet.

“That’s a lie!” Darnath choked out. “Shelim challenged Duren because—”

“Be silent!” Shelim broke in.

“But Mentor this—”

“No, Darnath. I will correct this error not you.”

“Yes Mentor,” Darnath said still glaring at an amused Petya.

Petya chuckled. “Be seated Shelim… both of you. Tell me the story of Shelim and Duren.”

Shelim sat and retold the story, but he made no mention of the magical book or of his suspicions about Duren’s origins.

“That was well done,” Petya said nodding in approval. “Anyone who would push one of the people into joining the Lost deserves death. It is still amazing to me that the stories of magic are true. All know shamen can heal—that’s not magic, it happens all the time. But fire appearing from thin air! That is truly magic,” Petya said, sounding awed.

Shelim listened with amusement. Fire was just that… fire. There was nothing magical about it. What was magical to him was that which Petya found the least awe inspiring—saving a life with his healing magic. Petya’s reaction brought home the changes within him as nothing else could. As a warrior, he had been taught to hunt and kill his enemy, and that had been his role in the clan. Now he was so much more. His main concern these days was preventing pain and death, not causing it.

“We are here to ask for the whereabouts of Horse Clan. I would speak with your shamen also.”

“You must stay a few days. Everyone will want to hear your news. As far as I know, Horse Clan is to the north perhaps as many as forty days ride.”

“I cannot delay. I must deliver Kerrion’s messages quickly, but I thank you for your hospitality.”

Petya wouldn’t take no for an answer. “At least stay with us today. You can leave first thing tomorrow.”

Shelim hesitated for a moment but then he nodded. “I accept, Petya. Now I really must speak with your shamen.”

“Good! You and your apprentice will eat with my wife and I. Galatyn is the shaman you will wish to speak with. I’m sure he already knows you’re here. He always seems to know what’s going on without being told.” Petya frowned in puzzlement.

Shelim was sure he did. Galatyn would have seen him approaching in his mirror. That kind of advanced knowledge always made shamen appear strange to a warrior’s eyes. “Until later, then.”

Petya nodded. “Later.”

Once outside, he had a chance to speak privately with Darnath, “While Galatyn and I are together, I want you to get to know his apprentice. Find out how he is being taught—understood?”

Darnath nodded knowingly. “I understand, Mentor.”

He nodded back and continued toward Galatyn’s tent. Darnath was uniquely qualified in sniffing out an outclanner shaman. He had lived with one—Duren—and had experience with his so-called teaching.

As he made his way through camp, Shelim was greeted with smiles and surprised looks when they realised that he was a very young shaman. The news of his arrival had spread very quickly, and he knew that he had Anwa to thank. He fixed a smile upon his face and put up with it the best he could. He absently wondered if a beard might make him look older. He snorted, by the time he had managed to grow a beard, he would be old enough not to need one!

Outside Galatyn’s tent, he composed himself before scratching the flap. Moments later, a dark haired shaman put his head out to see who had come visiting. Shelim thought this was most likely Galatyn’s apprentice.

“Welcome Shelim, my mentor is waiting to see you,” the apprentice said.

“I’m sorry, I remember seeing you from somewhere… the Gathering perhaps, but I don’t remember your name,” he replied wracking his memory trying to remember.

The apprentice laughed. “We were a little busy that day, Shelim. I am Benok, we had the same ceremony.”

Now he remembered. There were five new shamen that year, and they had indeed been busy. They were given Tancred as part of the ceremony and he had a strong reaction to it. He remembered falling into a fit, but far from a bad experience, he looked back on it fondly. His dreaming had been strong, and he remembered flying over the plains with pleasure.

“It is good to see you again, may I come in?”

“Of course! Sorry, I was remembering the ceremony.”

“I too,” Shelim said with a smile.

They entered the tent to see an older man sitting alone making tea. The image of Kerrion doing the same thing flickered before Shelim’s eyes and he smiled. He recognised Galatyn as the one who had given him a small mixing bowl during his ceremony. The very same bowl resided in his medicine pouch even now. He never went anywhere without it.

“Welcome, Shelim. What brings you here so far from your mentor?” Galatyn said.

Shelim sat and settled himself to give him time to think. That Galatyn had heard the rumours about him he had no doubt, but by mentioning his mentor, Galatyn was questioning his right to call himself a shaman rather than an apprentice. That couldn’t be allowed to stand unchallenged, not if he was to be taken seriously.

“I am no longer an apprentice, Galatyn. Kerrion is my best friend and I honour him above all except perhaps my parents.”

“By what right do you cast apprenticeship aside like a broken arrow?” Galatyn snapped angrily.

“I am a shaman by Kerrion’s word,” he said keeping cool to offset Galatyn’s hot reaction. “He is eldest… do you dispute his judgement?”

“Not I,” Galatyn said shocked at the thought. “Questions will still be asked in council over this.”

He nodded, he already knew the next gathering would be a trying time for him, but that time was a long way off. “I will be there to answer them, but my news cannot wait another three seasons.”

“Speak your news then,” Galatyn said obviously intrigued.

He glanced meaningfully at Darnath, who bowed and left the tent, and then back at Galatyn in silence.

The now irritated shaman gestured at Benok to leave. “What have you to say that our brothers may not hear?”

In answer, Shelim retrieved the book from his medicine pouch. “I challenged Duren over his foul treatment of Darnath, but while I fought him, Kerrion was searching for a reason behind his actions. He found this.”

Galatyn frowned as he flicked through the pages. He stopped to read a page then moved on. Suddenly he looked up. “He was writing about the clans and tribes as if scouting before an attack. Why?”

“If you look at the book with your other sight, you will see part of the answer.”

While Galatyn did that, Shelim took the chance to glance around. He couldn’t see any books in here, but that didn’t mean there weren’t a couple hidden under the clutter. He had an idea suddenly and before Galatyn finished, he used his other sight to look around. Galatyn blazed with health to his eyes, but apart from the book in his hands, there was nothing else in evidence. He would wait until he had spoken with Darnath before he decided for certain, but the lack of a magical book in his tent made it unlikely that Galatyn was an outclanner.

“Did you see the string of light?”

Galatyn nodded. “Does Kerrion have an explanation for this?”

“We believe that Duren was an outclanner shaman—a Hasian. The string does go west. We believe that when something is written in this book, it can be read by others in Protectorate.”

“It’s unbelievable! One of our brothers a scout for outclanners. There could be more!”

“Exactly. That is what we fear. I do not know the name of the other shaman here, but do you think it possible that he…?”

“No!” Galatyn snapped then lowered his voice. “No… Tendell was my apprentice before Benok. I know his parents well. He is clan, no question there.”

“That is good,” Shelim said in relief. “One of you must ride to spread the word to the rest of your clan and nearby tribes. I will do the same on my way to Larn. If one of these books is found, the outclanner must be stopped—permanently.”

Galatyn nodded sadly. “More challenges among brothers. Kerrion was right, the end times are here.”

There wasn’t anything more to be said. If the end times were truly here then the clans would be broken and scattered, if not, they would survive. Either way, they must fight, and fight they would. The outclanners had never seen a fight like the one the clans would give them—they couldn’t have—shamen had never fought in war. United, they could not fail, but uniting was not certain. One thing was certain however, once united, their old way of life would be over—perhaps forever.

* * *

12 ~ Militia

Sergeant Turner eyed the position of the block critically before signalling to the crane crew. “Lower away!”

The block of limestone must have weighed as much if not more than a horse, but Turner’s crane lifted it over the hold of the waiting ship with ease. Navarien held his breath as it was carefully lowered by four sweating legionnaires on the handles of the crank. If a stone was dropped from that height, it would go straight through the hull to the bottom of the harbour.

“Easy, easy you blasted fools! I swear I’ll make you swim down and get it if you drop it!” Turner shouted as the winch men allowed the stone to drop slightly. It was tiring working those handles.

“Cragson!”

“Sir!” Cragson said from the gangplank.

“Send someone to collect sergeant Meran and his men. I think this will go a lot faster with shifts at the winch.

“Yes, Sir!”

While Cragson was doing that, Navarien ascended the plank to watch Turner snug the block into the hold. There were twenty blocks already loaded, with another twelve waiting near the crane. He would liked to take more, but the ship wasn’t big enough. Besides that, if he sent more he would have to demolish something. The stones were leftover from the fort’s construction.

He turned to watch as Colonel Volker led a detachment of militia along the quayside. They were pretty troops, he thought. It was a shame they couldn’t fight worth a damn. When the militia sailed into the harbour a few days ago, he had welcomed the chance to hand over the fort and march on Calvados, but then he realised what a marvellous opportunity the militia’s transports gave him. Rather than march immediately, he chose to vacate the fort in favour of a camp outside the city walls, and commandeered the largest of Volker’s ships. Turner should have more than enough stone to prove that his siege engine design was workable.

“Hello Colonel, what can I do for you this fine afternoon?” he said cheerily as Volker ascended the ramp.

“You can leave my city for a start! Your men are making it impossible for me to rule effectively.”

Rule?

“Volker… you don’t mind me calling you Volker do you?” he said in a deceptively mild voice, but Volker obviously did mind. “My dear Volker, it was my impression that governor Langdon ruled here. Not that he does rule of course, but my lord Mortain—may he live forever—chose Langdon to represent him here in Durena, not you. You aren’t trying to usurp Langdon’s authority…” Navarien made his voice cold. “Are you?”

Before Volker could answer, sergeant Meran and his maniple marched onto the quayside.

“Excuse me a moment won’t you?” he said not waiting to see if Volker would or not. He descended the plank and met Meran. Volker fumed for a moment, then stomped off toward his detachment.

“Meran!”

“Sir?”

“Assign four men to the winch in shifts—one shift per stone. The rest of your maniple can snug the stones into the hold under sergeant Turner’s direction.”

“Understood, Sir!” Meran called.

Volker was standing on the quay waiting for him, but he ignored the man and ascended the plank again. Lewin attached ropes to a stone and gave the signal to lift. It all happened so fast that Navarien didn’t have time to shout a warning. He wouldn’t have let it happen, even to Volker, but afterwards he couldn’t bring himself to discipline the walking disaster area called Lewin. Volker moved between the stones to intercept him as he climbed the ramp. Lewin’s stone lifted high into the air swinging and swaying, and slipped out of its sling.

“Arghhh!” the men on the winch yelled at the sudden loss of tension and sprawled away from the winch handles.

Volker barely had time to look up and see his fate before the stone crashed down onto one of its brethren. It seemed unbelievable to Navarien, but the stone actually bounced and then came down again pinning Volker against the piled stones.

“AEiiiiiiiiii!” Volker screamed without a breath.

The scream was terrible, like a woman seeing her child trampled. Navarien ran down to see what could be done. His men were attaching ropes to the stone and others were hurriedly rewinding the rope onto the winch from where it had uncoiled. Volker’s men were idly watching, but they couldn’t help in any case. What could be done was being done.

“Volker… Volker!” Navarien shouted over the screams. “I’m sorry man, but your legs… they’re off at the knees.”

Volker’s eyes were wild and his face was distended with pain, but he focused on him and clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Petras…” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “My Captain… to… take command,” he said.

“I’ll see to it,” he said, but Volker was gone. He was surprised at the intensity of his regret. “No rush, Lewin. He’s dead.”

“Yes sir, sorry sir. I tied it tight. I swear I did, Sir!”

Navarien examined the sling. The knots were still intact, but one strap was broken. He checked the ends and with relief found they weren’t cut cleanly as with a knife. They were frayed. The stones must simply have worn through the strap as they swayed in the air. It was no one’s fault. He stepped well clear as the stone was lifted, and Lewin pulled Volker away. Meran’s men raised the now gory block and lowered into the hold of the ship. The militia were still standing around and hadn’t attempted to claim their commander.

“Which of you is, Petras?”

“He’s on patrol, Sir. He’s always doing something, like a bee that one is,” the sergeant said.

That said well of Petras to his way of thinking. “Send one of your men to fetch him immediately, and another to get a stretcher for your colonel.”

“Yes, Sir!”

Two of the militia ran off, and the sergeant claimed Volker.

“Don’t forget those,” he said pointing to Volker’s legs.

The blocks were all loaded by the time Petras arrived. He was a tall man with red hair and light beard. He reported to Navarien like one of his own captains would. Navarien liked him immediately and wondered why he hadn’t joined the legions instead of the despised militia.

“I prefer to help people rather than kill them, Sir,” Petras said with complete candour.

Navarien raised an eyebrow at that. “I see. I’m promoting you to Colonel of Militia. First, take care of Volker—give him a honourable burial. Second, report to Langdon and execute his orders.”

Petras nodded. “I would have anyway, Sir, but thank you for the promotion. Langdon will have to verify it of course, but I don’t think he will overrule you.”

“He’d better not!” he said annoyed at the very idea. “Volker told me you were to command just before he died.”

This time it was Petras’ turn to show surprise. “Thank you, but I’m surprised. We didn’t get along, you know?”

“Hmmm, me neither. Carry on Colonel Petras.”

“Yes, Sir!” Petras said and saluted.

He acknowledged the salute with one of his own and turned to finish up. Cragson was arguing furiously with Master Belok about something, and Meran was bristling with outrage. His men had the look in their eyes that said violence was not far off. Navarien quickly intervened before more blood was shed.

“What’s going on here?” he called pushing his way through.

Belok had some of his crew at the top of the ramp preventing Cragson and Turner’s men from going aboard. As he reached the confrontation, he saw Turner sneak out of the hold and draw his sword. Navarien nodded and Turner poked Belok in the back with the blade. The shocked look on Belok’s face confirmed Navarien’s thought that Turner had been forgotten in the hold.

“You understand now I trust?” he said to the ship’s master.

Belok licked his suddenly dry lips and nodded jerkily. “I understand.”

“Good! But just in case you change your mind on the way, I’ve decided to send Turner and his entire maniple with Cragson to make sure.” He tilted his head and regarded Belok for a moment. “You don’t mind do you?”

Belok shook his head… no he didn’t mind at all.

“Excellent!” Navarien dismissed Belok from his mind. “Cragson, see it done as we discussed.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Come along sergeant,” he said to Meran, and descended the ramp.

Meran caught up with him a few hundred yards down the quay and unconsciously matched his general’s steps. His men marched a few yards behind. Navarien absently wondered if Turner’s maniple would be enough to keep Belok and his crew honest. He snorted, they were only sailors!

“I hope the fuss will be worth it.”

“It will be, Sir,” Meran said enthusiastically. “No more towers for us, just a nice stroll through the gates.”

“Humph! We will see.”

These new ways of doing things sounded good, but the loss of one of his towers to fire had soured him on invention.

* * *

Interlude III

Methrym groaned. He raised a shaking hand and rubbed blurry eyes. It had been close, too close for comfort—not that being poisoned was ever comfortable. Barthan had been suspicious when he arrived with one of Soren’s bottles of wine in hand, but he had relaxed after watching him drink a large glass. The first cramp hit him as Barthan drank, but he was able to hold in the cry he wanted to voice. After that, things became hazy and disjointed.

He remembered screaming in agony as if someone had set his stomach on fire. Barthan was screaming as well, but that was small comfort. He vomited explosively and lost control of his bowels, just as the guards rushed in to kill the enemy assassin they thought must surely have slipped by them. Little did they know that the assassin they sought was right in front of them screaming his throat raw.

Methrym shook off the memory and tried to sit up, but he was so weak. It took him three tries before he succeeded.

“Guard!” he croaked, his voice almost a whisper. He tried again, “Guard!” It was no better. He staggered erect, and his head swam as another cramp hit. His eyes bugged and sweat burst all over him leaving him gasping. Sweat was pouring off him as if he had a fever, but his teeth were chattering with cold.

How long had it been?

Another cramp hit, but this one was mild compared with the first. It couldn’t have been long if he was still having cramps. He was bare to the waist and didn’t recognise the trousers he was wearing. They were hanging on his hips as if he’d lost weight. He staggered outside and found they were still encamped on the border.

“Methrym, you’re back!” Lorenz cried in delight.

“Nearly,” he croaked.

“Here, let me help you back inside.”

Lorenz helped him back into the tent and sat him down in a chair. Methrym panted and shivered while the sweat poured off him.

“How long was I ill?”

“You weren’t ill. The bastards poisoned you and Barthan with the wine. How they managed it no one knows.”

“How is he?” He didn’t have to fake the concern in his voice. If he’d gone through this for nothing…

“I’m sorry. Barthan died that same night. You’ve been unconscious for eight days. We feared you would follow him to the God…” Lorenz said sombrely, but then he brightened. “But here you are!”

“Barthan was a good warrior,” he said, and a shit War Leader, he added silently.

“He was,” Lorenz agreed sadly.

Lorenz should really swap places with Soren now, Methrym mused, but that was impossible. Lorenz was the more insightful of the two, but where Soren was of House Malai, as he was, Lorenz was from House Calida—a minor noble house. It was foolishness, but you had to live in the real world, and politics played an important role in Tanjung.

“Where are my guards, and what has been happening while I’ve been ill?”

Lorenz looked uneasy. “Now don’t get worked up, but Soren has taken charge of the army in your stead. He sent two thousand men across the border to raid.”

“He’s done what!”

“Calm down! You’ll have a relapse,” Lorenz said pushing him into the chair again.

“For the love of the God Lorenz, let me up will you! I have to see Soren!”

“He has everything under control! Someone had to take command, we thought you would never wake. Soren was in a rage. You should have seen him! I’ve never seen someone that angry. He said he would make the Japurans pay for what they did to you!”

Methrym hissed and pounded the arm of his chair in frustration. He should have thought about how Soren would react.

“Where is he now?” He asked trying to be calm. Various disasters played themselves out in his mind. Two thousand men ambushed and killed was the most prominent one.

“He claimed Barthan’s tent for his own… I know, I know, but it made sense at the time. It’s the biggest and Soren needed the space for the maps.”

“Take me to him right now—now!”

“All right, but you’re not well. Let me at least dress you.”

He allowed Lorenz to pull a silk shirt over his head and put his boots on. “My trousers keep falling down,” he said petulantly.

“They’re Soren’s.”

Methrym blinked in surprise. Soren was much smaller than he. He had lost as much as a quarter of his body weight, he realised. In just eight days! The thought brought home to him again how close he had come to death. Still, the risk had been worth it to remove Barthan. If Soren hadn’t lost those two thousand men, his plan would still work.

Lorenz walked him to the entrance of Barthan’s tent, but Methrym shrugged him off and entered on his own. Lorenz waited a little before entering after him. He ignored the shocked stares of his squad leaders and kept focused on Soren. By will alone he managed to smile.

“Cousin!” Soren gasped in delight. “Thank the God you’re all right. I feared for you. This calls for a celebration!”

Soren was truly glad to see him. Methrym felt guilty to have doubted him. “Thank you for the thought, Soren, but I want to make those Japuran bastards pay for Barthan first.”

The squad leaders growled assent and Soren beamed. “I’ve made a start on that, cousin. I have two thousand of my… your men over the border as we speak. You should see the loot they’re sending back!”

“I’d love to, but I want you to recall them right away. I have plans for them. I’ll tell you now my goal is not to raid Japura.” He look around at his men. God how he wanted to lie down, but he had to show he was capable of command. The men were confused and mumbling questions to each other and him. He gave them their answer. “Talayan,” he said simply.

Talayan the Invincible, Talayan the jewel in Talitha’s crown. The silence was absolute. Methrym saw shock on every face. They knew he was talking war and not raiding, but that wasn’t the reason for their shock, he was sure. No, their problem was that Talayan was a city, a very big city in fact and he had no mages to blast the gates.

“This is how we are going to take Talayan—” he said and gave his long thought out orders.

The shock gave way to smiles of anticipation on most faces. Some had speculation on theirs—perhaps wondering how such a plan could pop into his head fully formed. It hadn’t of course. He had been planning this ever since reading Bothmar’s addition to Vexin’s orders, and now was the time.

“I’ll recall my… your men at once, cousin!” Soren said.

“Yes, do so now would you? Then come back and we can discuss the details. The rest of you have your orders, carry them out to the letter and we shall send the wealth of Talayan to Vexin.”

The men nodded and left talking excitedly. Soren left to write the message and send it with a courier to his raiders.

“Lorenz, stay by me a moment,” Methrym said wearily leaning against the map table.

“You need rest,” Lorenz said with concern.

“What I need is food and fresh clean water. I don’t want the others to know how bad I am. Will you keep my secret?”

“Of course I’ll help. The others would understand, but I’ll keep the secret if that’s what you want.”

“It is,” Methrym said staggering to a chair and collapsing into it. “It is.”

Over the next days, Methrym’s health slowly improved. The fever broke, and his voice came back as strong as ever. The cramps diminished until finally quitting a tenday after he had first awoken. He looked gaunt in his shaving mirror, and his lack of stamina was a concern. He needed to be strong if his plan was to succeed, but he felt tired all the time. He ate heartily and hoped to see an improvement. It was all he could do. Preparations for the attack progressed satisfactorily until he awoke one morning to silence. He had become so used to the constant babble of voices and the continual hammering that its lack woke him. Another tenday had fled while his squad leaders carried out their tasks. Some were over the border stealing what he needed for the plan; others had their men racing across Tanjung procuring the needed wagons and clothing.

He dressed and buckled his armour hastily. With sword in hand, he left the tent to find the camp all quiet. Nothing stirred. “Where is everybody, Hardyn?” he asked one of his guards.

“Asleep mostly. Some are down by the river taking a dip”

“Is all done then?”

“I don’t know about all, but Lorenz walked by a while back beaming brighter than the sun!”

“Ah good!” he said as he sheathed his blade. This was the day then.

Methrym found Lorenz inspecting the wagons. They were large and four wheeled with a canvas covering to keep the rain off the merchandise. Before they reached the walls of Invincible Talayan, he would order the covers stowed. The guards on the gates wouldn’t bother with a thorough inspection. After all, what is not hidden cannot be of importance—can it?

“How goes it, Lorenz?” he asked, trying to see what had captured the man’s attention.

“You should be in bed!”

“Don’t start mother!”

Lorenz’s lips twitched. He pulled on each of the chains checking for movement in the staples. Methrym watched closely but everything looked fine to him.

“Done! That was the last one. We’re ready. Have you decided who will be in these?”

“Me,” Methrym said waiting for the explosion, but Lorenz nodded unsurprised. “I’ll be taking Soren with me and two hundred of our best in the wagons. I want you to lead the rest into position and wait.”

“Me! The others will howl over that—they won’t obey me,” Lorenz said worriedly.

“They had better! If they don’t, they’ll have Vexin and Malai to deal with,” he said with some heat.

Lorenz was of House Calida, which was a minor house and unable to force obedience. Politics could still screw him and his plan. If he could only make the men forget old rivalries for long enough, they would be successful.

Later that day, Methrym was sitting in a jouncing wagon thinking dark thoughts about Vexin’s roads. They would be crossing the border any time now. He had ordered his men to wear the coffles from the outset to accustom them to the weight. His coffle felt like a millstone around his neck. No matter how he shifted it, he couldn’t get comfortable. The indignity of slavery was brought home to him with such force, he could hardly think of anything else but the weight around his neck.

One difficulty he hadn’t foreseen was finding drivers and guards for the slave caravan. His plan had called for some borderers to act the role of slavers, but he hadn’t realised just how hard Talitha’s raids had hit the region. Borderers were a hardy people. They weren’t truly Tanjuner or Japuran, but were instead a mix of the two—the product of centuries of raiding along the border. They were nominally loyal to Tanjung, not out of patriotism, but out of a personal loyalty to Vexin. Vexin was a shrewd man. He had seen the benefit of having people living on the border loyal to him, so he had cultivated their trust with special taxing and other incentives. That policy had caused some problems in Tanjung, but he felt the benefits far outweighed them. He was, after all, harvesting the benefits with his slavers right now.

There were twenty wagons in the caravan, each carrying ten of Methrym’s men coffled neck to neck. That was two hundred men. He had a hundred and twenty borderers—twenty driving the wagons—and the others armed to the teeth and mounted. With luck, they wouldn’t be needed, but it was comforting nonetheless. Borderers were unlike any other peasant he could name, they had to be. Living on the border was risky to say the least, and unlike other peasants, they knew how to fight with sword and dagger, and were good with both. They were even more deadly now that he had supplied them with new armour and some of his precious steel swords. The borderers were worth their weight in gold to him. They could literally prove to be all that stood between him and the auction block in Talayan.

The wagons continued through the morning and into the afternoon. Methrym ordered they not stop for longer than a quarter candlemark until a day out from Talayan. As night approached, his slavers stopped to make camp and roughly shoved the slaves out of the wagons.

The slaves yelled abuse and glared, but the borderers just laughed enjoying themselves immensely. It was all to the good. If they acted too friendly the plan would be screwed and him along with it. The slaves relieved themselves while still chained, and then the slavers shoved them toward the fires. Methrym glared at the slop he was given to eat. This was going too far! He glanced at Soren who was eating his mutton with relish.

Soren noticed and shrugged. “I’ve always like it.”

Methrym glared at his plate, and then began to eat stolidly. He needed the energy. Mutton was exclusively… he glanced at Soren again, almost exclusively, a peasant’s food. He was used to eating good beef or fowl, not this. As he ate, he watched his slavers setting guards around the perimeter. They had used only half their numbers, and he approved. Terriss, the leader of the borderers, was pointing out the best places from which to watch both inward and outward, and his men obeyed without fuss.

Terriss wandered over and crouched down to talk quietly. “All is going well yes?”

Methrym nodded. “So far yes. When we get there, leave the covers down so the guards can see your merchandise.”

“I know the plan, but I have one change to make.”

Methrym ground his teeth. If his coffle hadn’t been real, he would have thrown it off and shown this man what changing his plan would cost.

“What change?”

Terriss looked around at his men, before turning back with a look that worried Methrym. The borderer had a glint in his eyes that he didn’t like the look of at all.

“Do you know why we came with you?” Terriss said.

“Because you hate the Japurans?”

“That’s part of it,” Terriss agreed. “We’re here because we’re the last. You understand?”

“Not really.”

“We are all that’s left of twelve villages. You understand what I’m saying? Every village along the border—we’re the last still free. All children be gone. All women be gone, just us left. My wife, my daughter, my whole life is in Talayan. They’re some bastard’s whores!”

“So you want revenge. I can understand that,” he said in relief.

“I want more, much more than revenge on raiders. I want my life back! I want all my men’s lives back! You will help me do it.”

The look on Terriss’ face worried him. The last time he’d seen something like it, he’d been trying to kill the heir to Elvissa. Donalt’s men had literally thrown themselves onto his men’s swords in order to bind them and gain time to pull the boy to safety. That kind of desperation and fanaticism could lend great strength to a man, but it certainly didn’t lend good judgement. Methrym studied the other slavers. How had he missed the signs? Were the signs even to be seen? He licked suddenly dry lips and pulled at the coffle. Terriss grinned and he tugged harder. There was no way he was going to break the locks that Lorenz had affixed to it.

“What are you planning?”

Terriss grinned and told him. At the end Methrym was tugging on the coffle for all he was worth. His men heard the commotion and when they realised what had caused it, they howled and tried to do the same. It was no use.

Terriss walked away howling with laughter.

“I’ll kill you for this!” he howled after the borderer. “Terriss!” he screamed, “TERRISS!”

The next day dawned overcast and raining. The covers were left down as Methrym had planned, and he sat in soaking misery with his men glaring daggers at him. He was truly a slave now, and so were they. By the looks they gave him, he knew he wouldn’t live long to bemoan his fate. Terriss’ plan couldn’t possibly work. They had planned to capture the gate towers and open the gates for Lorenz, but Terriss had other priorities. He had tried to reason with the man, and when that didn’t work he tried threats, but Terriss wouldn’t be turned from his suicidal course.

At mid-day, a patrol from Talayan found them wending their way toward the city. The Japuran’s examined the slaves thoroughly and laughed at the looks they received.

“Look at that one, master Terriss,” the force leader for the Japuran lancers said pointing at Methrym. “He should fetch you three golds at least!”

The Japuran didn’t see the snarl of hate appear on Terriss’ face.

The Japuran lancers escorted them toward the city allowing only short stops for watering the mounts and the slaves—the slaves after the horses of course. The city came into sight at dusk. The towers and walls first, then the massive gates. Talayan was mighty indeed. A city built like a fortress by slaves. It had taken centuries of work and many thousands of deaths to complete. It sat in a rich valley surrounded by farms and their attendant villages, all of which supplied invincible Talayan with produce. The gate towers Methrym had planned to capture came and went, and he mourned their passing. If his plan had been followed, his coffle would be off and he would be happily killing Japurans now. Instead, he was depending on a half mad peasant—one he would take great delight in killing.

The city was impressive, he grudgingly concluded after passing through yet another market place. A city this size would need dozens like this, just to feed and clothe its people. He watched a detachment of city militia jog by the wagons on their way to some disturbance. He took note of the short swords and batons they carried. They wore only light armour and helms, carried no shields, and would be dog meat if, no when, Lorenz attacked. It was the lancers he had to worry about, not city militia that rarely dealt with anything more taxing than a drunken brawl. Japuran lancers were the bane of any Tanjung War Leader, and they always would be. They were regular troops, not simply conscripted peasants who spent most of their time devising ways to return home. Desertion from the lancers was death, but that was meaningless. No one wanted to desert from Talitha’s elite. They had the best horseflesh, and the best weapons the Matriarch could supply—which was very good indeed—and the best commanders. In short, lancers were respected and well paid with good prospects. Plus they lived longer. Good armour and leadership did have that effect.

Who would run from that?

They left the square and moved into another shadowy street. The buildings loomed high above him and blotted out the sky where the upper stories hung out over the street. They were so close together in some places that he was sure a thief could step from one rooftop to another across the street. There must have been over half a million people or more living within Talayan’s walls, but as the caravan travelled through the streets, the expected stink of humanity did not make itself known.

How was it possible?

He leaned over the side of the wagon trying to see the gutters. They were clean! Not one piece of rubbish or flotsam could he see, but there was something else that puzzled him. Every five yards or so, there were small openings going into the ground. Tunnels, why have tunnels? He learned part of the answer after the lancers left the caravan to continue on its way toward the slave pens. There were old men sluicing the streets—street cleaners—men who did nothing all night but wash the roads and gutters. It was unbelievable!

Truly, the Japurans were decadent, just as he had heard.

When they reached the slave pens, Methrym finally found something expected. They entered a compound through a heavy iron-barred gate where the wagons were unhitched and the horses led away. He swallowed trying not to gag at the stench of unwashed bodies. It was enough to make his horse swoon let alone him!

“Out you lazy bastards!” Terriss shouted and the other slavers took up the cry.

Methrym climbed down and looked around. The compound covered a huge area and the pens themselves were full to capacity. Overfull he would say. There were thousands of people crammed into a space fit for no more than a few hundred. There was standing room only in some of the pens, but the press of bodies prevented the weary slaves from slumping to the ground. No one should be treated this way, not even the much-hated Terriss.

Terriss and his men removed the coffles, and while a fat Japuran counted them, shoved Methrym and the others roughly into a crowded iron cage. Terriss suddenly froze and clenched his fists. Methrym whirled around to see what the man was staring at. There! In the corner was a group of women and children. He looked back in horror as Terriss started forward.

“You bastard! Stay away or I’ll kill you!” he shouted, frothing in rage.

Soren saw what was about to happen and moved some of the men to block the women and children from Terriss’ sight. One of his own men intercepted Terriss and whispered urgently into his ear. Terriss snarled something in reply, but whatever it was didn’t deter his friend. The man shook him roughly, but it was the attention of the puzzled slave master that finally snapped him back to reality.

“Good yes? The girls are especially sweet. Not quite ripe if you know what I mean?” the oily slave master said and winked in exaggeration.

Terriss grimaced but nodded. He knew what the slave master meant all right. Japurans didn’t care what they fucked. It was an old saying among his people that Japuran woman bedded Tanjuner men, while Japuran men bedded Tanjuner donkeys.

“Sell the mouthy one to me, and I’ll teach him his place for you,” the slave master said.

Terriss grinned as if considering it. Methrym held his breath for what seemed a lifetime, but Terriss finally shook his head, and he his breath whooshed out.

“I might be willing to take a loss on that one,” Terriss mused. “I might sell him to a brothel… as a eunuch!”

The Japuran cackled with glee. “A fitting punishment indeed!”

“Can I leave the wagons here? I’ll be watching the auction tomorrow to see how much this lot brings me.”

“Certainly my friend! Come along with me and have a drink.”

“Good of you,” Terriss said. “I am a little thirsty.”

“I have a bottle of the good stuff in my room…”

Methrym lost the rest of the conversation as Terriss entered one of the buildings lining the wall. Soren brought Methrym word a moment later that Terriss had succeeded in finding his family, but the question remained—was the plan still workable?

Only time would tell.

* * *

“And the sorcerers attacked without warning,” Vexin said.

“What happened then father?” Odrhan asked from his place under the covers.

It was late, but Odrhan had been taking an interest in history lately and Vexin thought it a good idea to encourage the interest. If a ruler wanted to avoid repeating mistakes, he needed to know of them and understand the reasons behind them.

A quiet tapping came from the door. Bothmar poked his head inside and beckoned. Vexin nodded and gestured the door closed.

“It’s time for you to be asleep, my son. I’ll continue the story tomorrow night. Now slide down so I can tuck you in.”

“I won’t be able to sleep if you don’t tell me,” Odrhan said slyly.

Vexin chuckled as he tucked in the covers. A chip off the old block the boy was. “I’ll give you a hint then. The sorcerers had a bigger problem to solve… one that flies.”

“Dragons!” Odrhan squealed excitedly.

“Tomorrow,” Vexin said firmly and blew out the lamp.

“But I won’t be able to sleep!”

“Not to worry,” he said from the open doorway. “If you can’t sleep, I’ll have to stop keeping you up at night with these stories won’t I?”

“That’s not fair!”

“Sleep now, Odrhan, that’s an order from your emperor!” he said trying not to laugh.

“Yes lord,” Odrhan said with a put upon sigh.

Vexin closed the door and nodded to Bothmar. With the man a pace behind, he quickly made his way through the palace to his study. Bothmar had graduated to the group allowed into this room only recently when he produced a plan to secure the Japuran border for Odrhan and his future sons. As a reward, he had given him permission to enter this room, and a bigger suit in the palace for his own use. Bothmar was unmarried, but it wasn’t inconceivable that he would find a woman to consort with. He would suggest it later. After all, Odrhan would need reliable men just as he did. A son of Bothmar’s would work very well. No such luck with Keppel though. He would never find someone willing to marry the Snake.

Vexin sat behind his desk and indicated to Keppel and Bothmar to sit also. He was more comfortable here than in the great hall. His throne might look impressive to others, but as the years went by he had found that soft cushions impressed him far more than hard marble and ornamentation.

“What have you for me, Keppel?”

“My lord, a tragic death in House Malim,” Keppel said mournfully. “It seems that Lord Vivika’s consort made a bad choice in her latest lover. The man was nothing but an opportunist. He murdered her and tried to steal her jewellery. He was killed trying to escape the grounds.”

“Oh no, that’s terrible!” Vexin said in shock.

He hoped it sounded like shock. He needed to practise so the lords would accept his innocence. If he didn’t know better though, he would swear that Keppel was truly sad to hear about the death of Lady Hakima. Perhaps he mourned not being allowed to kill her personally. That might be it.

“Draft my condolences to Lord Vivika, Bothmar, and I’ll sign it personally.”

“Yes my emperor,” Bothmar said with a straight face.

Vexin poured some wine. After a brief hesitation, he poured two more glasses. It never hurt to cement his people closer to him. He sat back behind his desk to savour the wine. He never drank to excess like some lords he could name, but he did like a small glass or two at the end of a good day’s work.

“Is there more to report?”

“Not concerning House Malim, my emperor,” Keppel said. “But I have news regarding the army.”

“It’s about time! Why has that imbecile Barthan been flouting my orders?”

“He hasn’t, my lord. Barthan and Methrym were poisoned and Methrym’s second took command. Soren ordered the raid in vengeance for Methrym.”

That was a little better. A revenge raid was at least understandable. What had worried him was the thought of House Baltu flouting his orders. If Lord Rodyn felt he could do that and get away with it, he knew he would be in serious jeopardy of losing the other lords. House Baltu was strong. Not as strong as House Malai, but the others houses respected Rodyn and would follow where he led.

The previous Lord Baltu had assassinated his father. Vexin never let himself forget that. He had killed that man, and made Rodyn what he is. In return, Rodyn had made House Baltu the most ardent supporter of House Malai and the emperor. Vexin however, watched Rodyn and all the noble houses like a hawk looking for the telltale signs of treachery. He had thought that the now confirmed rumour of a raid across the border was such a sign, but apparently not.

“Japuran assassins are known for their abilities, but they’re not good enough to walk into a camp held by eight thousand men I would judge.”

Keppel was pleased. “You are correct, my emperor. Methrym poisoned himself and Barthan. Barthan died, and Methrym was heard to scream for days before lapsing into unconsciousness.”

Vexin winced, that sounded very nasty indeed. He reminded himself to check his antidotes again.

“I know this drug,” Keppel went on. “There is no doubt that Methrym himself was the culprit. If he hadn’t been, he would be dead. As it was, he took a great risk. Upon awakening, he recalled Soren’s raiders and began a systematic plan of some kind.”

“Good. Time is wasting. When I see that young man again, I’m going to ask some pointed questions. If I don’t receive satisfactory answers, I’ll give him to you, Keppel.”

“Thank you, my emperor!”

Bothmar shivered at the anticipation in Keppel’s voice, and Vexin grinned. Keppel often had that effect on people. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff and leaning forward to look over the edge into the abyss.

Scary.

“Do you know Methrym’s plan?”

“No, my emperor, but I’m sure he has everything under control.”

“I agree I think,” Vexin mused. “After the Elvissan affair last year, he will be doubly careful in keeping on top of things. I’m sure nothing will go wrong this time. It had better not.”

The three men drank a toast to Methrym’s success, and then went their separate ways. Vexin went to join his beloved wife Dulcinea in bed, Bothmar to his letter writing, and Keppel to his hobby of ornamental fish.

Each to his own, as Vexin would say.

* * *

Methrym glared through the bars at the bowmen on the walls. The moon was half full, but enough light made its way through the clouds for him to watch them silhouetted against the sky.

“Any sign, Cous?” Soren said quietly.

“Not yet,” he replied without taking his eyes from the bowmen.

Terriss hadn’t reappeared, and neither had any of his men come back from their trip into the city. He prayed to the God for Lorenz to hold the hotheads away from Talayan until he received the signal. If he didn’t, all would be for nothing.

“How did the slaves… the real slaves take it?” he asked his cousin in a whisper.

Soren shrugged. It was a movement barely seen in the gloom. The torches, what few were lit, were not for the convenience of the slaves. They were there so the bowmen could peruse the merchandise to keep from falling asleep. He would like to make them sleep forever.

“About as you would expect. Mostly disbelief at first followed by hope. They’re willing to help, but the children will be a hindrance.”

The pressure Methrym exerted on his jaw was in danger of breaking teeth. He forced himself to release the anger so he might think better.

“No one is staying in this… this cesspit!” he said furious at the very idea. “Not while I can do something about it.”

“I didn’t mean—” Soren began.

“I know, forgive my temper cousin. If Terriss had followed orders, we would be sacking this shit hole by now!”

“A sack!” Soren voice rose in surprise.

“Keep your voice down!” he hissed.

Soren glanced quickly at the guards and lowered his voice. “A sack? I thought we were going to raid the place and run.”

Soren’s reaction would have been amusing under other circumstances, but nothing here was the least amusing. If things didn’t start happening soon, he might well find himself a slave for the rest of his life. It would be short, he would see to that, and take as many Japurans with him as he could.

“I never planned a raid, cousin. I told you that in the beginning. You saw Vexin’s orders. He specifically asked for a small war, not a raid. I’ve decided to burn this stinking place to the ground—after we steal everything not nailed down of course.”

Soren chuckled but he smothered it. Laughing was foreign to this place of misery, and might draw unwanted attention.

Methrym completely missed the thing he had been looking for. Not surprising really, he was looking toward the north wall, but it was behind him that the first of the borderers struck. One moment there was a guard standing upon the wall fantasising about what he would do if he could afford one of the women in the pens below, the next, a borderer stood in his place. It all happened so fast that none of the other guards noticed a thing until the borderers had control of the southern wall. The first Japuran to realise something was wrong, was standing on the north wall above the gate, but he didn’t shout the alarm, he couldn’t, he had a Japuran war arrow through his larynx.

Methrym hissed in excitement as the guards fell to arrows. One or two flew back, but from the lack of outcry he assumed, incorrectly, that they had all missed. In fact, two of Terriss’ men fell that night, but neither cried out. They died in silence to give their families a last gift and hope of escape. In no time at all, the walls were devoid of Japurans.

Terriss ran out of a building with a ring of keys that jingled as he raced to find the correct one. Finally, after three attempts at the lock on Methrym’s cage, he found it and opened the door. Methrym dove out and struck the man full in the face with his entire weight behind the blow. Terriss flew back from the force of the punch, but he rolled to his feet with a dagger in hand. Blood was flowing freely from his broken nose and pulped lips.

“Betray me again, and I will kill you!” Methrym growled. “Open the others.”

Terriss threw the keys to one of his men.

Soon all the slaves were free of the cages, and Methrym detailed men to help with the little ones. The armour and weapons were reclaimed from under the wagons while he urged them to greater speed.

“Quiet!” he hissed and the excited murmurs were silenced. “I’m going to burn this stinking place to the ground. I’ll not leave our people behind in chains. All those willing to fight, step forward.” As one, the entire body of ex-slaves moved forward—even the women with babes in arms. He shook his head in annoyance. “All right, the men then—those without family here.”

There was a rumble of agreement and hate from the slaves—ex-slaves now—and he realised they were his. They were more his at this moment than his own men were.

Soren helped to prop the iron gate open and keep watch. He nodded to Methrym and went through quietly. The men without families to protect ran silent as death down the connecting streets. Methrym shivered. The Japurans, those that lived beyond this night, would never again be able to look at a slave without remembering Talayan.

With Soren at his side, Methrym made his way quietly toward the main gates of the city. Having his armour and sword back made him feel better, but by no means secure. He had thousands willing to fight, but only his original force was armed with swords. More than once a pedestrian started to give the alarm on sighting them, but Terriss’ bowmen turned them into pincushions before they could utter more than a startled cry of surprise. Upon sighting the gate towers, he held the bowmen back with the women and children. He stood in the shadows at the mouth of the alley trying to decide how many guards he would be facing.

Soren’s impatient sigh decided the matter.

Methrym stepped casually out of the alley backed by Soren and his men marching in column. Trying to appear as if they belonged, they marched toward the towers. Terriss’ men covered them with their bows, but having that man with a bow behind him made his skin crawl. He clenched his fists. He had to trust Terriss this time. No choice.

Most of Talayan’s forces were asleep in barracks, and why not? Japura didn’t know it was at war. The slaves would take care of the garrison by the simple expedient of locking the doors and burning the place to the ground. Those men would soon be sleeping the sleep of the dead. Methrym chose the tower on the left, leaving Soren the right. He gave the signal and they shoved the doors open at the same instant. The fight was brief but savage. His men had no intention of being recaptured and that made them ferocious. No quarter was given, neither was it expected of the Japurans after seeing the slave pens. The battle was over almost before it began with the Japuran guards falling one by one. Methrym waved his men up the tower steps while he puzzled out the gate mechanism. The clang and shout of battle rose above him, but he took no notice.

There was a large crank that he assumed he needed to turn, but where was the lock? He heard a rumbling coming from outside and realised the lock must be in Soren’s tower. He quickly applied himself to the crank and opened his gate before running outside to signal Terriss.

A flicker of light within the alley, and an arrow flying into the air like a shooting star was his reply. He hoped Lorenz had sharp eyes. That was answered soon enough when the thunder of hooves heralded his approach. Methrym gestured everyone away from the gate less they be trampled, and lucky he did. Lorenz charged through with eight thousand men at his back yelling for all they were worth.

“What kept you?” Lorenz said as his men thundered by.

“A slight change in plans, Lorenz. We have women and children to see to,” he said waving a hand at the ex-slaves.

Lorenz’ eyes widened. “So I see. Orders?”

“Much the same as before. Kill all the men, free the slaves, loot everything in sight, and burn Invincible Talayan to the ground!”

“Burn it!” Lorenz gasped. “I don’t think Talitha will like that.”

“Screw her,” Methrym growled remembering the slave compound. “Vexin will, and that’s all that matters as far as I’m concerned. Now go.”

“By your command!” Lorenz said and rode after his men.

Methrym could already hear the wails and screams as the slave revolt gained a strong following. Fires were leaping up all over, and he knew much of Vexin’s loot would be lost. Not all of it though, and Talayan is… was fabulously wealthy. His men should be able to save a good deal of it. Looking around himself at the homes of the wealthy, he estimated that he would be able to carry away enough to buy all of Tanjung with money to spare.

Slavery is profitable it seems.

That thought wiped the smile from his face. Looking for something to do, he ordered the women and children out of the city and into the fields. They didn’t need to see or hear what was going on in those rich houses. Even if he was inclined to give them one, which he wasn’t, his men were unlikely to heed an order from him preventing the rape of the women. The slaves were raped every day of their lives just by being slaves, raped of their right to choose how to live, and that didn’t include the men and women who were raped in the usual sense of the word either. As far as he was concerned, all those living here were responsible for that and deserved their fate. He watched the fires leaping into the sky and smiled grimly. This was justice, his justice.

Women and children were flowing out of the gates in an unceasing flood. There seemed to be a lot more than he remembered seeing in the compound. He walked along the line a short way trying to see its end but he couldn’t! More were joining the line even as he watched. It seemed that someone had told them all to head this way and that was what they had done.

How would he feed them all?

“I’ll find a way,” he muttered thinking about the march ahead. “No reason to panic, the border isn’t that far.”

It wasn’t long before wagons began moving through the gate driven by Lorenz’ men. Methrym peeked inside one as it headed for the gate. It was full, and he did mean absolutely full, of gold coin. It was so full, he was surprised the wagon could carry it all.

“Where did you get all that?” he said in shock. He didn’t recognise the driver, but he thought he might be a friend or cousin of Lorenz.

“It’s the treasury!” the man said with so much glee, Methrym thought he was going to float off his seat. “Lorenz told me to keep an eye out for it.”

“Be careful not to run off the road. With that load you’ll bog down in no time.”

“It is a little heavy for a wagon this size,” the driver admitted. “We could only find these three.”

Three?

Methrym peered into the darkness and saw the other two heading his way. He waved the first one through and went to see this miracle. Two more wagon full of gold coin was… it was… there were no words to express it!

“We had to cover the wagon beds with shields to stop it breaking through the boards!” the third driver said laughing.

Methrym waved him through and watched as wagon after wagon followed him out of the gate in a continuous stream. Lorenz had taken his orders to heart it seemed. There were wagons filled with gems, wagons filled with bulk silks straight from the warehouses, wagons filled with every imaginable precious item—figurines, spices, wines… the list was endless.

He turned his attention away from the convoy of wagons and focused upon the situation in the city. The fires had taken a strong hold of the east section by this time, but he saw no sign of Japuran refugees. It was likely the few who did escape would go out the south gate… if the fires didn’t block the route of course. The first he knew of trouble was a yell and frantic hand signals from his men on the towers.

“Terriss!” he bellowed as he ran. “We have a patrol incoming on this gate! Get your bowman in position around the sides of the square! I’ll hold them, and you shoot them!”

“Right!” Terriss said as he pushed his family into a doorway to shield them.

The women and children drew back up the street as word of the patrol was passed. How large a force was it? Did he have enough men to hold them? It didn’t matter whether he did or not, he had to hold! Methrym arranged his men and waited. If the patrol galloped through the gate he was screwed, there was no way he could stop a charge, but he didn’t think they would do that. They didn’t know what they might find in Talayan, so they should be cautious and approach slowly. At least that was what he would do in their place. He prayed their officer would do the sensible thing so he could kill him.

He did.

The patrol was three hundred strong and trotted through the gate with swords bared. The officer was the first to die as Terriss fired. Arrows from all round the square struck their targets invariably killing the man struck instantly, but the Japurans were undaunted and urged their horses forward to the attack.

Methrym’s men didn’t need to be told what to do, every one of them hamstrung a horse and dragged its rider from the saddle. The fight turned into a chaos of screaming pain filled horses and clanging swords. In his own estimation, he did well—at first. He wasn’t struck and he did manage to dispatch three Japurans he was certain of. He took down another two he thought would be badly wounded, but his strength waned quickly. He was wounded twice in rapid succession, and fell away clutching his arm. He hobbled away cursing his lack of stamina, he was still suffering the after-effects of Henna poisoning.

His men covered his retreat.

He widened the cut in his trousers with his dagger and attended to the wound. His forearm was bleeding profusely, but he could tell from previous experience that the wound was minor. The leg was the more serious of the two, and he spent his attention on that. The strumming of bowstrings became constant, but Terriss’ men were losing the battle. Methrym cursed the luck. He had the greatest army in Tanjung’s history, but he didn’t have enough men to hold a single gate!

* * *

It was the screams that alerted Trista. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and listened to the sounds of a struggle in the room above. Another scream made her jump. Without thinking she dashed upstairs to find a man in a filthy loincloth struggling with Mistress Lakshmi on the floor. Without thinking, she snatched up the jug from the table and smashed it down as hard as she could.

The man slumped bonelessly atop the mistress without a sound.

“Did I kill him?” Trista mumbled through her fingers in horror. “Is he dead?”

“If he isn’t kill him again!” the mistress said shoving the man off and climbing shakily to her feet. “Call the girls together and tell the boys to arm themselves. Talayan is burning.”

“Burning… but—”

“Quickly girl!”

Trista jumped to obey. “Yes mistress!” She ran into the kitchen and snatched up a knife before dashing downstairs to find Nona and Magda. Everyone was awake and getting dressed for the night’s custom.

“What’s happening?”

“What was that noise?”

“Where—”

“Who—”

“Quiet!” Trista shouted at her milling friends. “The mistress says to—” she thought for a moment and embellished. “We must collect our best things and go upstairs. The men are to arm themselves with knives and clubs to protect us.”

“Why?” Nona said.

“Talayan is burning. I think the slaves in the pens have escaped. I just killed a man trying to rape the mistress,” Trista said, but even as she did she realised it must be true. The man had been wearing a filthy loincloth and nothing else.

“Good!” Kim said heading for the stairs.

“Where are you going, Kim?” Magda said.

“You heard her, we can escape.”

“Oooh,” Magda said sarcastically. “And will you leave the rest of us to die?”

“No but… escape Magda, just think!”

“I am thinking, unlike you! The only place close enough is Tanjung, but it’s a long way. We need to stick together. Right?”

“She’s right—”

“There will be soldiers—”

“—the slave pens. They will rape us and kill us!”

Kim growled a curse. “I wish Nisim were here. He would know what to do.”

“Well he’s not, but I am,” Trista said taking control. “The boys will get knives and clubs, the girls will grab the best stuff we have. If we have to, we can sell it.”

“You heard her,” Kim said to the other men. “Let’s go.” He spun and bounded up the stairs. The men ran by leaving the girls to collect anything valuable.

Trista dumped her best dresses and all her small clothes on her bed, they were silk and the mistress said they were expensive. She added the headdress to it. It was made with silver and gold. She used the blanket to make a bundle and the others did the same. Dagmar clutched her case of paints in one hand, and a huge bundle in the other. Nona didn’t have very much, so she helped carry a few things for one of the others. Upstairs, Trista found the men standing guard at the windows and doors. The mistress was clutching a chest containing her gold. She had nothing else with her. Gold was heavy.

The mistress put the chest on the table and clapped her hands. “Talayan is burning. There are slaves killing people on the streets! We must leave for the south gate immediately.”

“I don’t think so,” Kim said.

“Silence!” the mistress said in shock. “You will do as I say!”

“That won’t work,” Trista said smugly. “We are leaving, but not to the south. We go north.”

“North to Tanjung!”

“—to freedom!”

“—leave her here!”

“No!” Trista said. “We don’t leave anyone. The mistress comes too.”

“But why? She wants to go south, I say we let her.”

“And do you speak for all of us now, Garym?” Magda said.

“Now Magda, don’t be like that. You know I’m right.”

“No you’re not, the mistress is free born. She can get us through the soldiers,” Magda said smugly.

There was silence as everyone turned to the mistress.

“I… will go north,” the mistress said nervously. She was watching the men as if expecting them to use their knives on her. “If soldiers try to stop us, I will talk us by them… or bribe them with gold.”

Garym and Kim exchanged a look, but they nodded.

“Youngest in the middle, older girls around them,” the mistress said regaining her composure. “The men will guard us,” she said and clapped her hands.

Everyone, including Garym and Kim, jumped to obey.

* * *

Naida searched frantically through the bushels of hanging plants but she couldn’t find it! In desperation, she spun to the curing bins and ransacked them, all to no avail.

“Ahhhh!” she screamed in frustration. “Where is it?” She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sobs. Tanni was dead… he was dead!

Tears ran over her cheeks and rained onto her blouse, but she took no notice. Her bleary eyes searched the room frantically and stopped. There! She roughly wiped her eyes and stared up at the top shelf. It must be up there, there was nowhere else. She dragged a barrel close to the shelves and climbed up to see.

“I don’t keep my medicines here, Naida,” Adien said quietly. “Those herbs are harmless.”

Naida clutched the leaves to her breast, but then her shoulders sagged and she let the useless things fall. “Help meeee,” she sobbed.

“Not to kill yourself I won’t! Get a grip on yourself!”

Naida laughed and cried so hard it hurt. She held her stomach and cried tears of mirth. Adien thought… Adien thought she wanted to kill herself! She howled in laughter at the thought. Adien came forward in a rush and slapped her face—hard, and it hurt too!

“That hurt!”

“It was meant to. What’s the matter with you? I’m sorry Tanni’s dead, we all are, but I don’t want to lose you too.”

“You have it wrong, I want it for… someone else.”

“Someone else? The mistress?” Adien yelped. “That’s even worse! She’ll kill us all if she finds out.”

Naida grasped her friend’s shoulders. “She won’t find out. She’ll be dead.”

“But if you fail… you risk us all with this foolishness!”

“I won’t be turned from this Adien. She killed Tanni!” She said seeing again the fear on Tanni’s face and the desperation on Nisim’s as he fought to reach his friend. Poor Nisim, he had fought so hard and bravely, but it was for nothing. Tiberio was a trained soldier and Nisim was no match for him. He was clubbed and kicked to the floor still trying vainly to save Tanni from execution. “She killed him for nothing… he didn’t do anything wrong!”

“I know, Naida. The mistress is sick—evil. You know what she does to Nisim. She is sick in her head.”

“I don’t care! She killed Tanni, and I’ll kill her!”

“What about Tiberio?”

“That’s why I want the medicine. I’ll take up some wine and when he drinks it—”

“He will kill you,” Adien said with no doubt. She clenched her fists. “You’ll do this no matter what I say—won’t you?”

“I have to do it, Adien, have to,” Naida said and made to go around her friend but Adien grabbed her arm.

“I have an idea. Come with me.”

“What idea,” Naida said to her friend’s back. “Where are we going?”

“I have what you want, but I don’t keep it down here.”

“You have it?”

“I said I do. Be patient.”

Patient she says. How could she be patient when the mistress still lived while her beautiful Tanni lay dead? She squeezed her eyes shut and held back the wail of grief that threatened to escape. The mistress had to die before she could join Tanni in the Other World. Naida shifted from foot to foot anxiously watching Adien rummaging in one of her cupboards in the kitchen. She watched wide-eyed as her friend removed a board from the back of the cupboard and pulled out a dagger.

“Here,” Adien said proffering the dagger by the sheath. “Well go on, take it.”

Naida took the thing and looked at it in puzzlement. “Tiberio will take it from me.”

“No he won’t. One scratch from that and he will be dead at your feet.”

“You put something on this?”

“No, a friend,” Adien said evading the responsibility. “Take the tray with the wine and keep the knife hidden under it. When the time comes, make sure you cut him—the deeper the better, but any cut that bleeds will do. He will be dead in less than ten heartbeats.”

“After all you said about me being crazy, it was you who was crazy!”

Adien shrugged.

Naida hugged her friend and picked up the tray. “Can you see it?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“Come back safe, Naida,” Adien said.

Naida nodded, but she didn’t intend to come back. Tanni was waiting for her; she could hear him calling. She climbed the stairs full of excitement but kept her face still. Tiberio was at his post, as she knew he would be. He turned to watch her ascend the stairs and waited for her to come to him. She stopped out of reach.

“You shouldn’t have come up here, Naida.”

“Adien said I must,” she spat not holding back her loathing.

“Hmmm, I doubt it. She has better sense. Why are you really here?”

Naida stepped closer. “The mistress will want her wine when she’s finished tormenting Nisim.”

“Tormenting him? She’s using—”

“I know what she does!” Naida spat and struck.

Tiberio saw the knife at the last instant and slammed a fist at her.

Pain crackled through Naida’s arm and she ducked back. She dropped the tray and attacked, but Tiberio jumped back unhurt. Before he could do more than slap at her knife hand, she bore in. In a frenzy she slashed and stabbed, the only sound was her panting breath and his grunts as he fended her off. She hit his armour more than half the time, but Tiberio—unknowing of the danger—was fending her off with his hands. Naida laughed as blood began to flow.

“You bitch!” Tiberio cried. “You’re dead!”

“No, you are.”

Tiberio took a step toward her already reaching for his sword, but then he swayed and stumbled to one knee. He struggled for a moment in silence then sighed and fell face down.

“You see?” Naida said chuckling. “I told you.”

* * *

Methrym was about to order his men to make a run for it, when the crowd of slaves surged forward howling for blood. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The men were unarmed and wearing tiny loincloths that barely covered their tackle, but they jumped onto the lancer’s horses and pulled the Japurans down. The lancers wielded their swords in desperation and killed many of the slaves, but the odds had shifted in Methrym’s favour. His men attacked with renewed energy. He gave up trying to direct the chaos and waded into the Japurans with his sword. He took a grim harvest and tried to ignore the numbers he fought against. He concentrated upon his immediate foe as if the fight was simply one long series of practise bouts.

Lorenz finally showed up with more wagons in tow and the tide of battle turned again. When he realised what was happening at the gate, Lorenz and his men abandoned the wagons to charge forward and engage the enemy. The lancers fought grimly on knowing they were about to die but unwilling to yield.

The last to fall was a young lad barely old enough to shave. He was the banner man for the lancers and proud. When offered his life, he sneered at Methrym and cast the banner staff like a spear. Methrym knocked it aside with his sword and would have ordered the boy disarmed and bound, but one of Terriss’ men had already loosed an arrow. The boy swayed in his saddle and fell with a clatter of armour upon cobbles.

Methrym turned to survey the field. He had won, but at a cost. The Japurans had killed easily twice their numbers, many of them slaves, but thank the God the children had stayed back and were consequently physically unharmed. Uninjured, but they had seen the slaughter, and many had seen a sibling killed. They were crying fit to break his heart.

“Terriss!” he yelled. “For the God’s sake man, lead the children out of here!”

Terriss saw the need and did as he was bid.

Wiping the blood off his hands and face, Methrym turned to Lorenz. “Bring your wagons through and then station your men here. We need to get these people out quickly.”

Lorenz rushed away and soon the lines of people were moving through the gate again.

Methrym ordered two men to keep a sharp lookout from the towers and hoped there would be no more surprises out there. With most of his forces scattered throughout the city, he had no way to concentrate sufficient men to oppose a large force.

Soren arrived as night gave way to dawn with nearly half the army in surprisingly good order. Methrym was so pleased to see them, that he found he could easily ignore the half naked women many of the men held bound before them. He didn’t flinch at the horror and madness he saw in some of those Japuran eyes, and he made no mention of the rich loot hanging around his men’s necks, nor did he berate Soren for his tardiness. All he felt was relief. If a patrol arrived now it would be doomed.

Soren glanced around curiously. “Are you all right cousin? I can see you had some fun here.”

“No fun,” he corrected. “A patrol nearly had me, but the slaves swung the fight our way.”

“So I see. I have two score wagons back there, they should be…” he turned in his saddle to look back the way he came. “Here they come.”

Methrym turned to see the wagons approaching. The two lead wagons held a number of large barrels. “What’s in those two?”

“Oil mostly.”

“Have some of your men use it on the buildings then set fires. I want Talitha to howl when she sees her so-called invincible city destroyed.”

“Oooh, you really do have a mean streak don’t you?” Soren said and ordered his men to arrange it.

Methrym stood back to watch. The fires would do two things for him. First, it would hurry his remaining men about their business, and second he really did want Talitha to regret her raids. Vexin would have a big stick to threaten Talitha with after this night was done. What could be done once, could easily be done again.

That day saw Methrym riding at the head of a column of more than two hundred wagons all filled to the brim with precious silks, tapestries, gold, jewels, steel swords by the thousands, armour, incense, herbs and medicines… the list went on and on. He was not usually a sentimental man, but of all the riches he had brought out of not Invincible Talayan, the children were the most precious.

He looked back to Terriss. The man was riding a magnificent horse stolen from a prince of Talayan. Next to him, his wife and children rode with joy on their faces, while leagues behind them, the smoke from the firestorm rose higher than the clouds. The flames from the oil had raced through the houses, and quickly added more destruction to that already heaped upon the burning city. The fires had raged out of control until the city became hotter than a blacksmith’s forge. There would be nothing left but heat cracked walls when the fire had run its course.

The men were on a high of good humour. Many of them were singing along with the slaves—ex-slaves he should say—why couldn’t he remember that? He had lost perhaps five hundred men altogether, and he regretted every one of those deaths. If he counted the children, and he did, he had around seven and a half thousand men left to guard twenty maybe even thirty thousand slaves. Not that they needed guarding. There wasn’t a force anywhere in Waipara capable of threatening a column that size.

“Nisim!”

Methrym turned in the saddle to watch a group of people rush to gather up a man walking alone.

“Trista!” he shouted back. “Are the others here? Is Nona all right?”

“She’s fine, Nisim. Come back and see for yourself.”

“Where… what…”

Methrym watched them lead the stunned but happy man away. Who wouldn’t be happy to be greeted like that by so many good looking women? By their clothes, he guessed they were pleasure slaves—had been—pleasure slaves. He could see women in the clothing of whores walking next to kitchen slaves. Old men stumbled along grinning and chattering in excitement about returning home. It was obvious what the well-muscled men had been used for. It seemed that Talitha wasn’t the only one to use male slaves in her bed. The older men were probably street cleaners or something of the sort, and the children would be sold to brothels or, the God have mercy, to dark Tindebrai!

He shuddered at the thought.

The column crossed the border into Tanjung a little after noon two days later. A journey that, had his men been unencumbered, would have taken less than a tenth of the time, but he couldn’t increase the pace without leaving people behind. He would not do that—not after everything that had happened. By late afternoon the children began to falter and he ordered a short stop. He used the excuse to water the horses and to check for stragglers.

Methrym took the opportunity to stretch his legs and plan the next step. The closest city large enough to provide for so many people was Tanjung Nelek. It would take eight days to reach at the pace they were moving. Nelek was the home of House Nelek, one of the major noble houses of Tanjung. Tanjung Calida, Lorenz’s home, was about the same distance away on a different heading, but it was too small to help so many refugees. As he contemplated his options, he began to see the enormity of what he had done at Talayan. He wouldn’t change it even if he could, but he had to come up with a solution to feeding this many people fast. There was really no other choice, he mused, he would have to cut through the Tanj forest. If he did so, he could cut days from their travel time. The refugees would still be hungry, but he hoped not enough to cause them to collapse. With resolve hardening into action, he called his best couriers over and gave them their orders. They were to make their way to Nelek with news of the refugees and a request for supplies. He sent a more detailed written message to Tanjor for the Emperor’s eyes only. In it, he explained his actions and the reasons behind them including a rough accounting of the loot taken and its worth. Lastly, he tasked half the men under Lorenz with protecting the wagons, and ordered him to continue via the roads to Nelek. He would lead the slaves through the forest himself with Soren and the other half of the men.

Soren looked rebellious.

“I feel safer with you and your men with me, Soren,” Methrym said glancing sidelong at Lorenz.

Lorenz smiled knowingly.

Soren sat straighter in his saddle and looked pleased. “I’ll die before I’ll let another assassin near you, cousin!”

“Thank you,” he said solemnly and grasped Soren’s arm forearm to forearm. “Is all understood?”

Nods all around indicated it was.

“Good. We need to get these people to some food and shelter as quickly as possible.”

Lorenz moved off with his men and the wagons, leaving Methrym with three thousand men to protect forty thousand men, women, and children from bandits. The bandits didn’t have a chance, his men were veterans now, and so were the slaves!

* * *

13 ~ Calvados

Navarien stumbled tiredly into his tent and collapsed upon his cot. By the God, he had never missed his horse as much as he did at this moment. His feet were throbbing; it felt as if he was still marching!

From dawn to dusk, he led his legion marching toward yet another battle. He was tired, and his men were tired. It would be good to finish this campaign so they could rest. Winter was still far enough ahead, but the fall was here, not that you would know it. To his eyes the country hereabouts was unchanging. The grass was scraggly as it always was, and the wind blew at his back seemingly urging him on as it had everyday of the march. The winds represented an uncompromising goad to his efforts. Any day now he expected to feel the ice cold blasts heralding the coming of the winter storms.

He turned on his side trying to get comfortable. The sounds of his men labouring to dig latrines and earthwork defences lulled him toward sleep. As he slipped under, he wondered if the mages had left port yet, if they hadn’t they would be in for a very rough trip. He smiled contentedly at the thought and dropped off to sleep.

He snapped awake blinking in confusion. Something had awoken him. Quiet breathing—not his! He leapt out of bed and grabbed his sword. He ducked and gutted his attacker.

“Guards!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs, but none answered him. He didn’t have time for his armour. Still bootless, he rushed outside. “Awake! Awake! Intruders in the camp!” he yelled as he parried a stroke from a shadowy figure.

He was relieved to hear Bannan and Tikva taking up the cry and soon the clash of swords became general throughout the camp. The intruders realised their chances of winning had been badly reduced, and immediately faded back onto the plain. Navarien tried to take one of the attackers alive, but as usual the clansman would not allow it. The warrior died when he threw himself forward in an attempt to use a dagger in close.

“Sir, are you well?” Tikva said running toward him. He wasn’t wearing armour and his white legion shirt glistened redly in the meagre light of the campfires. The fires were roaring back to life as someone began adding more fuel. “It’s not mine, Sir. A warrior took a liking to me for some reason. He was so close, I thought he was trying to kiss me!”

Navarien nodded but he didn’t laugh at Tikva’s weak attempt at a jest. There was nothing funny about a dead man. He studied the corpse at his feet. It was as he had suspected. The man was a clansman and not one of the degenerate ones living in the cities. On the man’s back he discovered embroidery in the shape of a horse or some other animal. It was a basic design, perhaps signifying his clan or the position he held within it.

“What do you make of that, gentlemen,” he said as the other captains arrived to report.

Bannan knelt down to turn the corpse this way and that. “Clansman, Sir—not one from the cities either. The device on his back, the calluses on his hands… I’d say he is… was a Horse Clan warrior, Sir.”

“Check the others for clan affiliation, and detail some men to bury them. We haven’t enough fuel for pyres.”

“Yes, Sir,” Tikva said and trotted off to see to it.

“I wish we had a few horses for the scouts, Sir. I fear this,” Bannan nudged the corpse with his boot. “This doesn’t bode well.”

“Hmmm,” Navarien said thinking.

The attack was something of a surprise to him. He hadn’t considered clan opinion while planning his campaign against the cities. He had assumed, wrongly it now seemed, that the separation between the people living in the cities and those he termed clansmen, was a permanent situation. Neither had his superiors at Castle Black considered such a turn, or its consequences. Mortain—may he live forever—could not be in error of course, but he did have to rely upon fallible minions to carry out his orders. It seemed one such had failed to consider what this could mean, and that one was a certain General Navarien.

Curse it!

“Double… no, triple the sentries and make sure they keep each other in sight. This may just be an isolated incident—the clans are said to raid for fun, but I’ll not take chances.”

“Yes, Sir,” Bannan said before he too trotted off as Tikva had done.

“And if this is the beginning of an organised resistance, Sir?” Captain Corbin said.

“Umm…” Navarien said absently.

That was a hard one. Without horses his options were more limited than he’d like. If he arranged a vanguard, it would almost have to be two battalions strong—any less and he risked its destruction, too many and the main body could suffer the same fate. With the losses the Fifth had suffered, and with the injured left behind in both Cantibria and Durena, he barely had seven thousand men with him now.

“A vanguard from now on, I think,” he said feeling his way through the problem. “Not too far ahead, just enough to upset any ambushes while still being in range to reinforce the main body or vice versa. Two battalions should do nicely, yours Corbin, and yours Duer. How’s the leg holding up now?”

Captain Duer slapped his left thigh. “Fine Sir, thank you. It aches a bit in the mornings, but other than that it’s fine.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear it. How many did we lose just now?”

“I’m not sure yet, Sir. Not too many… perhaps a dozen or so,” Corbin said.

“One is too many. The vanguard should prevent ambushes though, and the extra sentries should do the trick at night.”

Both captains nodded agreement; it really was the only thing to do. Navarien was thinking far ahead now as he played the odds of this happening against that happening in his head. He watched battles in his imagination and came to a decision.

“Have the men carry their javelins… no, have them carry one each for now. Keep the others in the baggage, which will stay with the main body by the way.”

He grinned at the twin groans from his captains. By holding back the baggage, he had ensured that all the men would have to pitch in to raise the tents and dig the latrines regardless of the order of march.

He dismissed his captains and entered his tent only to find the dead clansman still on his floor. Rather than call someone, he grabbed the feet and dragged the corpse outside.

“Where did you find that one?” Tikva said as he trotted back with a report.

“I woke up with him trying to do me in, but as you see,” he gestured at the corpse. “I was faster… barely.”

“So I see. I have the numbers you asked for. We have eighteen dead on the wall, and thirty-four within the camp.”

He winced. So much for Corbin’s estimate. Eighteen was the exact number of sentries on the south wall. Interesting. They really should have attacked from all sides at once. He would have in their place. He shrugged; no one was perfect. Maybe their chief had a bad day.

“And the wounded?”

“None, Sir. They infiltrated the camp and attacked from behind using daggers. When you gave the alarm, they faded away and that’s when they lost some of their own. I’ve counted the dead and including this one, we have twenty three clan corpses.”

That was bad. The clansmen had killed two of his men for every one of their own that fell. He hoped surprise was the only reason for such losses. He could ensure they weren’t surprised again, but if the reason was the clansmen’s fighting ability, he might find next year’s campaign somewhat… tricky? Flaming impossible?

The next day, Captains Corbin and Duer led their men out as the vanguard, and Navarien followed with the remaining four battalions. The baggage train was held in the centre of the main body of his men. Marching at the head of the column with his captains, he couldn’t see the vanguard, but he knew they weren’t far ahead. He had left camp perhaps a candlemark after they did, certainly no more than that. It was a surprise then, when he had his attention drawn to a riderless horse trotting toward him. It was a beauty as most Camorin beasts were, but the animal was exceptional even so. Tall and fast looking as usual, but what wasn’t, was its colouring. The horse was pristine white from nose to tail; not one patch of colour to mar its lovely hide could he see.

What a beautiful creature you are.

“I want that lovely creature captured. Send some men and tell them not to lose it,” he said thinking of herds just like this one.

“I’ll send Lewin. I’m already half sure he was a horse thief in a previous life,” Tikva said grinning.

“Good idea, see it done, Tikva.”

Tikva trotted off and Navarien watched as Lewin ran to intercept the horse alone. He gaped when the beautiful creature slowed and nuzzled Lewin’s outstretched hand without protest.

“Would you look at that,” he breathed.

Bannan was too preoccupied to care much about a horse. “Sir, I know it’s not my place—”

“Don’t start that! Cragson being away doesn’t mean I can’t knock you on your arse!”

Bannan laughed as if he were jesting. That was all right, let him think that, but he wasn’t jesting. He was beginning to think using Cragson as a go-between had been the wrong course to take. It was convenient to be sure, but he had found himself divorced from all the details that ran the legion. Details, though small in themselves, were important to the smooth running of any army. He had forgotten what being an under-captain was like; but it wasn’t too late to address his error.

“You can tell the others that whether Cragson is with us or not, they can come to me with ideas and need not fear my censure. I was a captain myself once, so I know what it’s like to have a general who won’t listen.”

“Yes sir,” Bannan said deadpan.

Navarien sighed. Bannan would learn in time. “What were you going to say?”

“Well sir, that’s a mighty fine horse to be running lose don’t you think?”

It was that. Lewin was trotting back with… him her? It was a mare! The clans only sold geldings to outclanners. They might appear backward from the outside, but they knew what they were doing where horses were concerned. Allowing breeding stock to fall into outclanner hands was something they were never guilty of, but they were now. If he could somehow find a stallion for her, he would have the beginnings of a herd that could match the clan mounts. It would be a crime to breed her to the Protectorate’s lesser breeds, one he was determined not to commit. He would find her a stallion next year he was sure.

“I’m thinking that Corbin and Duer might have found some more horses for you… with clansmen on top,” Bannan finished dryly.

Idiot! Of course a mare like her wouldn’t be out alone. He had been so caught up with his plans that he had forgotten his current situation!

“Lewin!” he called. “Mount up and ride ahead until you sight the van. Then ride back and report.”

Lewin saluted his General and mounted. Resting his javelin beside his boot in the stirrup, he galloped ahead.

Navarien picked up the pace, but not too much. There was no point in running into an ambush. He strained his eyes looking to see Lewin coming back, but it was another half candlemark before he saw him. Lewin was clutching his arm, and his javelin was missing. Navarien tensed, but the grin on Lewin’s face helped.

“Captain Corbin says a party of two or three hundred clansmen attacked from ambush. Our men ran them off without losses—on our side that is, Sir. Captain Corbin has mounted a maniple on captured horses and split them into two scouting parties.”

“No losses? Then where did you come by that dirty great arrow in your arm?” he said pointing to the offending shaft. Lewin made no mention of it, but the thing must hurt like a sorcerer’s flames.

“I got one of them clanners on the way back, but the bastard shot me afore I could do him in. Corbin has maybe four score wounded, Sir. He said to tell you that he’s moving on, and could you pick them up?”

Navarien blinked at that. Could he pick them up? Corbin sounded confident, too cursed confident for his peace of mind, but mounted scouts should locate any ambushes ahead of time. It was by no means certain however. By all accounts, clansmen could hide under a blade of grass!

“Get that arm seen to, Lewin, and pass your horse onto one of the others. I want whoever it is to tell Corbin to slow the pace a little, the baggage is slowing us more than I like.”

Lewin made to salute and paled as he jarred his wounded arm. “She’s a beauty ain’t she, Sir? Rides like a dream—nary a bump, Sir.”

Navarien winced in sympathy, but he didn’t say anything about the stupidity of trying to salute with a war arrow in his arm. What would be the point? Lewin was Lewin after all.

“Yes she is, now carry out your orders.”

“Yes, Sir!” Lewin said not saluting this time. He did learn after all.

Lewin rode back along the column. Navarien shook his head. Lewin was the biggest pain in the legion according to Meran, but when it came to the job, he was someone you wanted at your back ready to defend you. He remembered the fight on the walls of Durena when he had relied on Lewin to do just that. He hoped the wound wouldn’t turn bad; they had no healers out here to provide a poultice against infection.

Navarien found it hard to bemoan his lack of sorcerers even for Lewin’s sake, besides, men treated with magic had just as much chance of dying when all was said—they did in the Protectorate anyway. Rumours had circulated about how the bitch sorceress could heal death itself, and how none died from her healing. He didn’t believe a word of it, but if true, it would be a wondrous thing not to fear death from a wound even as slight as that caused by an arrow in the arm.

He watched one of his men ride ahead to give Corbin his orders, and… yes, the wounded men were coming into sight now. There were a lot more than four score by his estimate, but before he had a chance to frown he realised why that was. Corbin hadn’t lost his head completely it seemed, two maniples had been detailed to guard the injured from further attacks. The wounded were quickly lifted into the carts with much joking at their expense. How nice it must be, they said, to be hit by a little stick and then have to ride in a wagon all the way to Calvados.

That night, he ordered tripled sentries again and hoped it was enough. Another five days to Calvados, he thought, could be made to seem an eternity if the clans had a mind to do so. Did they suspect he would be subduing them next year? Of course they did, they weren’t stupid. That reminded him…

“Corbin!” he roared across the camp.

Many faces turned toward him in the light of the fires and one or two of the men pointed to the south wall. He walked that way then yelled again. This time an answer came to him.

“Sir?” Corbin said and scrambled down from the earthworks.

“You had better watch that,” he said, nodding to the wall.

“Sir?”

He sighed at the man’s obtuseness. “The firelight will reveal you in silhouette to bowmen for a league at least. We can’t see more than a hundred yards or so, there could be an entire clan out there and we wouldn’t know it.”

“I hadn’t thought,” Corbin said looking into the dark uneasily. “I’ll have the sentries lie down to watch.”

“Don’t bother, they have more sense,” he said nodding to the sentries nearby already lying prone with only their eyes above the wall.

Corbin flushed at the rebuke. Navarien admitted that he was feeling a little testy, and tried to soften his next words. “Your little fight—was it our friends from Horse Clan again?”

“Horse Clan on their own again, yes Sir,” Corbin said relieved at the subject change. “This area might be their range… maybe we’re trespassing.”

Corbin obviously didn’t care which clan he fought, but Navarien most definitely did care. He had less than seven thousand men. If Horse Clan could somehow persuade the others to join them, he would be out-numbered by twenty to one. He didn’t know the exact numbers, but he wouldn’t be surprised if the odds were closer to a hundred to one. Everything else had conspired to cause him difficulties, why not this aspect as well?

“I’m giving Tikva the lead with Duer tomorrow,” he said and a scowl appeared upon Corbin’s face. “I can’t let you and your men have all the fun can I?”

Corbin grinned at that. “I understand, Sir!”

He doubted it, but he nodded and walked away. He had no qualms about Corbin as a captain, but as anything greater… well, it just wouldn’t happen. Corbin was a fighter, a brawler really. He inspired confidence in his men, but he did it by being in the thick of the action, rather than viewing things from a slight remove as Cragson and he had learned to do. Tikva seemed to have the idea as well, although in Tikva’s case he had somehow managed to do both, which was an achievement few achieved. That man could be wielding a sword one moment then ordering a maniple to reinforce his left wing without looking the next! It was uncanny, but he seemed to sense what was needed instinctively, and then gave orders that saw it done.

Navarien wished it were that simple for him. He had to puzzle out every contingency he could think of before hand, thus ensuring that at least the Fifth Legion’s General wouldn’t be surprised when the enemy did something to mess up a well laid plan. He knew he was far from the best with a sword; though he was always quite pleased with the results he achieved with the javelin, but he was the best at strategy… at least he thought so.

As he walked through the camp, he noted the diminished number of battalion and maniple standards. When he rearranged his men into seven full battalions after the battle in Durena, there had been some friction. The men were proud of their formations, and they didn’t want to see their standards packed away among the baggage. They had subsided, all be it reluctantly, when he assured them it wasn’t forever. He hoped he wasn’t lying; he had every confidence in the mirrors of sorcerers like that of Lucius and the traitor Belgard. He was confident that Mortain—may he live forever—knew of his situation, but he wasn’t so confident about his ability to take the necessary steps to remedy it.

He was just passing a campfire, when he bumped into one of his men with a tin plate in hand.

“Sorry, Sir!” the man said managing to keep his plate, but he had dropped his hunk of bread.

“Don’t worry about it, my fault,” he said and bent to pick up the elusive piece of bread.

Thunk!

“Ughh!”

Navarien dove behind the fire as shouts of alarm arose. He peered around the flames to see the legionnaire looking at him with eyes glazed in death. His plate was still in hand; he hadn’t spilled a drop.

“You all right sir?” Sergeant Meran said looking down at him.

He scrambled to his feet. “Fine sergeant, are we under general attack, or was that a warning do you think?”

“Neither. It was an assassination attempt.”

He nodded noting his men were ready at their posts. The next days looked to be long ones indeed. Not many would sleep now, not while worrying about sneak attacks that everyone knew the clans were good at. Maybe he could lessen the effect though, and reassure the men at the same time.

“Corbin!”

“Sir!”

“Inform the others that I want a third of the legion at battle readiness to stand watch,” he said staring into the night. “Three shifts through the night, two full battalions each time. The rest of the men are to stand down and sleep as soon as they have eaten.”

“I’ll see to it, Sir.”

Corbin trotted off. Meran shrugged when his men were stood down for the first third of the night. He left to join them.

Navarien watched the man who had died in his place being carried away and shook his head at the waste of it. That was all it took, an arrow from the darkness, a quick flash of pain, and then off to the God’s judgement. He made a note not to take off his armour from now on, even in bed.

Uncomfortable was better than dead any day.

“The scouts are coming back in, Sir,” Corbin said pointing to the riders cantering toward them.

Navarien had chosen to lead First Battalion with Corbin commanding his Seventh Battalion in the van this morning. Tikva had protested sounding remarkably like Cragson in full spate. What was it about his captains that they thought him not capable of leading a mere battalion? It wasn’t shear bloody mindedness, no matter what his captains thought of their general in the van with only two battalions between him and the clan’s spears. No, it was purely his frustration at not being able to do anything about all the hit and run raids they had been suffering!

“It’s about time they showed up,” he said testily watching his only mounted contingent ride in.

Cavalry, what wouldn’t he give for more horses right now? Two mounted battalions would sort out these flaming raids in a hurry! Since the night of the assassination attempt, his men had been plagued with hit and run raids, every single day. At night, he had to keep half the men awake, and as a result they were all tired and not at all looking forward to the next day’s march. He was losing men and he couldn’t do a thing to stop it! As soon as the clansmen released their shafts, they galloped away and he couldn’t catch them. They didn’t even wait to see if their arrows struck their targets, as if the very idea of missing never occurred to them! Discipline in the ranks was getting worse. More refereed fights were taking place each night, and more injuries were being inflicted. It was as if being unable to hit the clansmen was transferring the men’s rage to their own numbers.

“Report,” he said to the sergeant in charge of the scouts and Corbin halted the column for a short rest.

“—half a league ahead, Sir. I can’t be sure, but I think they’re setting another ambush for us.”

Bastards! Navarien saw red at the news. “How many would you estimate?”

“Don’t need to guess, General. I counted them! That’s why we were late back.”

“How many, sergeant?”

The sergeant flushed. “Sorry, Sir, it’s a big one. I think they’re after doing us in this time. I counted nearly fifteen hundred. Took a while it did—kept getting lost…” the sergeant flushed again. “Sorry, Sir.”

“Did they see you?” he asked intently. If the clansmen knew what he was planning, they would be gone in a flash.

“I think not, Sir. I can’t be certain like, but I snuck up on me belly—alone this time, Sir.”

“Good man!” he crowed in delight. He would show these clansmen what happened when they baited him and a legion of frustrated men. “Detail one of your men to bring up Tikva and the others. Tell him to leave the baggage with a strong guard and double time to us here.”

“Yes, Sir!” the sergeant said with a salute. He turned and ordered a man, “Feagan, you heard the General. We’re going to make these bastards pay!”

“On me way, Sarge!” Feagan said, and galloped to the rear.

Navarien smiled grimly. The clansmen were going to pay all right, and with luck, he would have his horses. It wasn’t long before he and Corbin resumed their march, but at a much reduced pace this time. The men were excited and looking forward to paying back their tormentors, so much so, that he had to hold them back. Walking into a trap like this was not something he was eager to do, but the men didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Are you sure about this, General? I don’t like giving up our javelins,” Corbin said marching backward to watch his men’s spacing.

This was what came of letting his captains speak their minds, he thought ruefully. He still thought it was a good idea, but some of the disadvantages were now making themselves plain.

“We have the easy part. We won’t need the javelins, but the others will.”

Corbin shrugged, “I suppose—”

“I know it’s hard, but we aren’t going to win this fight. Tikva and the others will do that for us. All we have to do is fix the clansmen in place.”

“I understand that, General, but I didn’t join the legions not to fight!”

“Oh?” he said coldly. “I joined the legions because I like the life, and I like to win!”

Mumble, mumble, mutter, mumble!

He shook his head as Corbin grumbled. The legion was a single force and not ten separate groups, as Corbin seemed to imagine. Pride in their battalions was good for the men, even for the captains it was good, but only as long as they remembered who the enemy was! Rivalry between maniples and between battalions was common, but when the fighting started, such childish concerns were to be forgotten until after the battle was won.

Navarien was tense as he marched into what should be the ambush site. He couldn’t see any clansmen and was wondering if he had mistaken the distance they had travelled. He turned to look back and was about to ask Corbin’s opinion, when all along the column men fell transfixed by arrows. In some cases, they were struck by two or even three arrows a piece! His shock wasn’t tempered by his advance knowledge of the ambush. The situation threatened to turn into a disaster as his men tried to duck under shields.

The surprise was complete.

He was surrounded and losing men fast. He was shouting orders, but many of the sergeants were down. The clansmen had chosen their targets well, but Corbin wasn’t hit, and he soon began making sense of the chaos. Meanwhile, Navarien gave up shouting and started kicking the men into the beginnings of a square. With this example, discipline returned and two squares formed twenty-five men wide and twenty ranks deep—or they would have if not for the losses to First Battalion. Navarien’s square was three ranks short already and more men were falling.

“Lock shields!” he screamed as loud as he could, hoping Corbin would hear and comply.

A shell of legion shields appeared over the two battalions and no more men fell. The clansmen were evidently not impressed as they continued loosing their shafts. Arrows continued to rain down, but all they did now was make clattering noises as they struck the overhead shields. One or two arrows did find targets in shoulders or feet, but none of the men died from such strays. Navarien was panting in fright, and so were many of his men. He had nearly lost two battalions without reply.

By the God, I nearly lost two out of seven…

He took a deep breath and calmed his racing heart, he hadn’t died, and neither had most of his men. He would never, never again walk into a trap set by clansmen. If he did, he had no doubt that he would die. Clansmen were better than any bowman he had ever come across. It took moments only to organise a shell-covered phalanx, but he had lost upwards of two hundred men before it was fully formed.

He had never been in a situation like this. The phalanx wasn’t just the best tactic, it was the only tactic. From his place in the first rank, he saw the sky darken with flights of arrows. They rained down on his position without let up. He ducked down behind his shield as another arrow came in low and struck the top of it. He looked up again to see the arrowhead had punched right through. Clan bows had a heavy pull, and would go clean through his armour. Luckily, legion shields weren’t as flexible as armour, they were able, barely, to hold against the arrows.

“Where are the others, General?” a man to his left said nervously and then ducked as another stray arrow came in.

Good flaming question!

“I told them to have dinner first. Can’t have them getting tired arms, can we?”

The legionnaire gaped, but then he realised and laughed sheepishly, which gave the others more heart. Navarien grinned more in fear than any real feeling of humour and forced a laugh. The others took it up until it was loud enough for the clansmen to hear. The warriors glanced at each other as if wondering what the jest was.

They soon found out.

Four battalions of legionnaires marched into position at treble time—almost running—and cut off any chance of flight by the clan warriors. At an order from each captain, every second man dropped his shield and ran forward to cast his javelin.

Screams erupted from the clansmen and their horses as a deadly hail of javelins two yards long rained down upon them from all sides. Many missed their targets, and no few struck horses, but they were only the first wave. Navarien had distributed his and Corbin’s javelins to the other four battalions, which equated to five waves of four thousand javelins each—twenty thousand javelins to kill a few hundred warriors. They had no chance—no chance at all.

The javelin throwers ran back to retrieve their shields. A few men fell to arrows in the back, but very few. Perhaps only a quarter of the clansmen died to the first wave of javelins, but the terror engendered from seeing friends nailed to the ground with three javelins in some cases, was enough to make anyone reconsider their plans. They attempted to mount and flee, but the first four thousand very sharp javelins, were quickly followed by a second wave, and then a third in quick succession.

All was chaos.

Falling men here, horses lying pinned to the ground and still kicking there. The screams were terrible to behold—horses and men screaming fit to burst eardrums. A hundred or so clansmen without mounts were charging the line and dying beneath legion steel, legionnaires were falling beneath clan arrows, screaming for wives or mothers as they died. One clansman, perhaps destined to live, maybe just lucky, leapt his horse over the legion line and killed two men in passing as if he did it every day. The warrior tried to weal his mount, but his horse was crazed and it would not turn back. The warrior howled in rage as he was carried away from the site of his tribe’s destruction.

The arrows ceased to fall, and Navarien issued new orders. “Shields down! Form line of battle!” The two phalanxes reformed into line seventeen hundred and fifty two men strong. “Out swords!” he ordered and the few remaining sergeants echoed the order.

Seventeen hundred and fifty two blades made quite a loud sound as they whisked free of scabbards, but it went unheard in the din. Clansmen arrows were sporadic now, but they still continued to take a toll. Navarien ignored the missiles and concentrated, waiting for the optimum time. He raised his shield to intercept the occasional arrow, and watched the fight intently.

And now! “Advance at the walk! Ad-vaaance!”

He knocked aside another arrow with his shield as it sought to stop his orders, but he couldn’t be stopped—not any longer. All six battalions advanced, implacably squeezing the remnants of the tribe into a compact mass.

The slaughter commenced.

Navarien called a halt at noon a few days later and sat cross-legged to eat food no better than that given to pigs. He couldn’t recall ever eating worse, but then he was young yet. No doubt in some future time he would look back at this day with fondness. Much of the meat was rancid, but he cut away the worst portions and forced the rest down with some water. He listened to the usual grumbles of ill fed men and grinned, this was the life!

He had no doubt the God would send him back when it was his turn to be judged. When that time came he wanted to be in the legions again. Failing that, he thought a clansman riding forever across the plains would be the next best thing. Fighting another tribe when he was bored, hunting the bison when he was hungry—yes a clansman’s life was a good one.

He looked around and found Tikva tending his men, Bannan sat not far away eating doggedly, and obviously not enjoying it. Duer and Fifth Battalion was taking their turn at what had come to be called the cavalry screen. Corbin had argued as usual, but he had subsided when told he could have the screen tomorrow. The cavalry position had become a choice assignment—not surprising when one considered how many leagues on foot they had covered since leaving the boats in Cantibria.

“Some of the men have the foot rot, Sir,” Tikva said sitting next to him and taking a drink from his water bottle.

“Hmmm, not really surprising is it?” he said taking another swallow of water himself. “Make sure everyone uses their magic powder.”

The powder was something that all legionnaires carried. They were supposed to use each it morning before pulling their boots on. As far as he knew, it wasn’t really magic, but its effects seemed magical to men marching day after day.

“I tell them every morning, Sir, but there’s always someone who knows better—until they come up lame that is.”

He nodded. Since the destruction of the clansmen at the ambush site, he had marched the legion unimpeded toward Calvados. That pleased him and the men no end, but it was the capture of the horses that had been the real prize.

“What do you think of the cavalry screen?”

Tikva was the closest thing to a Cragson that he had here. Duer was good, so too was Bannan, but as with Corbin, neither was general material. Unlike the others, Corbin didn’t realise this and chafed at restrictions he felt were unnecessary.

“I like it, Sir,” Tikva said thoughtfully. “If we all had horses, we would be chasing the clans over the plains trying to force them to engage us. If we had none at all, we would be dog meat! They could hit us and disengage at any time, and we would be unable to give chase.”

“I like your thinking,” Navarien said. Tikva’s words mirrored some of his own thoughts with regard to next year’s campaign. “The legions have always fought either afoot, or all mounted with nothing in between, but this way we can force the enemy to attack the infantry where we choose, at the same time as hitting the wings with the cavalry.”

Tikva rocked a hand, not quite in negation, but not precisely agreeing either. “I was thinking we could keep them at a distance with the cavalry, Sir—just far enough for the javelins. If they pull back, we use the cavalry with the captured bows to harry them.”

“Hmmm, a possibility I’ll admit, but if we do that, their bows will also be in range of our throwers. With a full legion in mind, I think I like my idea better, but we need more than a thousand men mounted—two would do it, four would be better.”

“That’s a great many horses, Sir. Where are you planning to get them?”

“I’ll buy them from the clans with gold captured at Calvados.”

Tikva whistled. “Do you think Mortain—may he live forever—will agree?”

“I don’t know, but I can hardly ask him can I? I’ll use the gold and hope all will be well. It’s all I can realistically do, isn’t it?”

Tikva nodded then left to chivvy his men back into line. Navarien dusted himself off and resumed the march with Bannan’s men in the lead this time.

This land, this unending ocean of grass, made time seem unimportant, but the rest of the world continued its pace unimpeded by his progress or lack thereof. The campaigning season was ending, and he had yet to reach Calvados. The clans couldn’t have realised just how successful they had been at buggering his plans. With their harassing attacks during the day, and their night time exploits keeping everyone awake at night, his pace had been reduced by as much as two-thirds. They should have been there days ago, but they were, still in the middle of nowhere.

The first indication he had of a change in the weather was the wind. Up until now, the wind had blown at his back hurrying his steps toward the east, but his morning it began blowing into his face from the east. He could smell winter in the air. He needed to be inside Calvados before the snows hit. Would Turner’s stone thrower work, or would they have to squander even more time building towers? No, it had to work. Once inside, he could billet the men in the houses if he had to, but it wasn’t something he wanted to do. A fort would concentrate his dwindling men into a strong force for any contingency. Spread out in small packets they could be overwhelmed. The thrower had to work.

The days raced by and the march continued. Tikva’s foot-rotted men recovered and others came down with it. Bad food continued to be grumbled about, Corbin led the cavalry then grumbled about handing the horses to Tikva for his turn. Through it all, Navarien marched at the head of his men and worried. At one point he wondered if the God was playing tricks on him and shifting the stars in the heavens—surely they should be there by now? Was he lost? He gauged the sun’s position—he was moving in the right direction.

More days went by.

Duer was again leading the cavalry screen when he and his men rode back early. “We’re here, Sir.”

He frowned. “We’re where?”

“Calvados, Sir. Ah… you can’t see it from here. It surprised me as well. Calvados is sitting in a big… hole? A basin shaped hollow I suppose it is.”

“Any sign of the ship?”

“That’s why I came back, Sir. It’s anchored off-shore waiting for us, but there’s a bit of a problem. The city folk are camped nearby and shooting arrows at it—not that they have the range, but Cragson can’t land with the crafters, Sir.”

“We’ll see about that straight away,” he said looking forward to some action. “How many opposing us?”

“Er… all of them I think.”

His temper flared. “Be clear man! What do you mean all of them?”

“Sorry, Sir. The old folk and children aren’t there, but nigh on every one else is, they must be. There are too many to count, but at a guess I would say there must be thirty thousand.”

Navarien blinked in dismay. He looked back at his six thousand plus men, and then back at Duer. “We’re screwed.”

Duer nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

Navarien crouched with Tikva on one side and Duer on the other. The rest of his men had withdrawn a short distance and made camp while he investigated this wonder. Duer had led him on horseback for a look at the city. The captain had exaggerated the situation somewhat, but not by much. He estimated that he faced an army of twenty thousand at most, still that was almost four times his numbers—too many to attack with any realistic chance of victory.

What by the God, did these people think they were doing sitting outside the walls? Why didn’t they hide inside so he could attack them as he’d planned?

“What about signalling Cragson to sail out of sight? They might wander back inside,” Duer said.

Navarien grunted, they might do that, or they might decide to have a look this way. He shook his head. They couldn’t have done anything worse from his point of view. He couldn’t attack so many and survive; he couldn’t leave either. Food was short, and what they did have was poor. He needed to be inside the city when the snows hit, but the inhabitants weren’t cooperating! He watched another wagon leave the city with supplies for the camps, supplies he desperately needed.

“I think they did this on purpose,” Tikva said.

Well of course!

“What I mean is, they must have heard about Durena, so they took steps to prevent towers being built. Why don’t we wait till dark and sneak in?”

Navarien opened his mouth to rebuke Tikva, now was no time for jests! He closed it with a snap and glared down at the open gates. They were open now, but would they be tonight? Surely they wouldn’t be stupid enough… surely?

“We wait,” he said. He closed his eyes for just a moment, but the next thing he knew he was being shaken awake. “Now what?”

“It’s full dark, Sir,” Tikva said.

Full dark already! He must have been more tired than he’d thought. Half the day had fled while he slept, he didn’t feel any better for the rest either. If anything he felt worse. He took a drink to wash his mouth out, and used a little water to unglue his eyes. By the God, he hated that! He looked over the ridge into a well lit and quiet camp. The gates were open!

Boom! Clunk!

“Ah, curse it! Why did they have to go and do that?” he said to no one in particular. He took another look at the closed and barred gates, and then slid down from the ridge out of sight.

“Now what?” Duer said sliding down to join him.

How should I know?

“Back to camp.”

Upon his return, he was pleased to find that Bannan and Corbin had chosen a good site. The camp was dug in on a reasonably flat section of ground up slope from the beach. Latrines were at the lower end, and fresh water was available from a small stream. He had ordered the water wagons refilled before he left, and he could see that was still being done. The river, though small, was a weak point in their defences, so Bannan had chosen it for the gate. They splashed into the shallows and were challenged at the trestle. They were recognised and allowed in. Navarien handed the reins of his horse to one of the men and ducked into his tent.

“How did you get here?”

Turner laughed. “Nice to see you too, General!”

He smiled and took Turner’s hand. “It is good to see you, but answer the question.”

“We swam of course. Had to wait for dark, but it weren’t too hard.”

Navarien sat on his cot to remove his boots. “We?”

“Me and a couple of my boys. Cragson couldn’t come. He can’t swim!”

He chuckled, he had known that. Cragson must be steaming mad. “Well, we have a fine situation on our hands, don’t we?”

“The way I see it, General, you can’t afford a battle here. Even if you found a way to force them back inside the walls, you would be hard pressed to take the city defended by so many.”

That had been an unpleasant surprise. His information made it plain that Durena was the largest of the three coastal cities, and physically that did appear true. The problem arose when considering the strength of arms each city had. Calvados wasn’t supposed to be any stronger than Cantibria, but it obviously was.

“Where did they all come from?” he said and threw his boots into a corner.

“Don’t know for sure you understand, but my guess would be Durena. Do you remember Tikva’s report about the exodus from the south gate? Well, here they are.”

“Good thought that,” he said with a nod.

He had lost a great many men at Durena. The Camorins were better than anyone he had fought before. Without Turner’s scaling towers he would have lost a lot more of his precious men.

“General—” Turner hesitated.

“Spit it out, man. If you know a way to pull this off, I’ll promote you to captain!”

“How important is Calvados to you?”

“I don’t care about it personally, but Mortain—may he live forever—wants it. That’s good enough for me.”

Turner hesitated, and then went on in a rush. “I suppose you wouldn’t consider burning it then?”

“Burn it!”

Turner nodded. “While we were waiting for you, we tinkered together a stone thrower. Master Belok was not happy, I can tell you! Cragson shut him up though. I don’t know what Belok’s objection was really; he didn’t need the spare masts for anything.”

Burn Calvados. Was the man insane? “Why burn it? Except in revenge for a buggered campaign, I can’t see why you would want to.”

“I don’t want to burn it, but it would solve the problem. They are hardly likely to stay once the city is gone.”

Navarien shook his head. He had hoped Turner would come up with a miracle, but no, he should have realised that miracles only came once per campaign. Durena had used his up. If he burned the city, not only would he kill thousands of innocents, but the supplies he needed for the winter would be destroyed.

“I can’t burn it. Think of the women and children man!” Covering his slip, he hardened his voice. “Besides, we need somewhere to live through the winter.”

Turner smiled, he wasn’t fooled. “I could have a fort built for you in no time. The stone won’t be destroyed, and there will be plenty of it. I could build one twice the size of Durena’s fort.”

“I said no and I meant it! We’ll have to think of something else.” He was angry at the very thought of burning Calvados. He wouldn’t do to these people what they had done to his men at Durena, no matter the provocation.

“Like what, General? I suppose you could convince Belok to take us into the harbour, but what will that get you?”

Nothing much, he thought gloomily. A thousand men might be able to seize the gates, but then they would be attacked from within as well as from without.

What by the God, am I going to do? I can’t burn it…

* * *

14 ~ Final Battle

Navarien was more than ready for the fight to come, but the odds against victory were high. Never had he had such doubts before going into battle. Even at Athione he had been confident—stupidly confident as it turned out—but this time he doubted. This morning might see the end of him and the Fifth Legion.

Their food had run out yesterday and underlined the need for action. He had kept his men away from Calvados and used the time until now to prepare his camp. The wagons were broken up and the wood sharpened to use as stakes. They were bristling outward along the dirt walls of his rampart. The stakes would slow the enemy’s advance but not stop it. So would the ditches that ran parallel to the walls. He had ordered them dug deeper and flooded with water from the stream. The water level was low—the walls were too porous for more than that, but the ditches had become a slippery quagmire providing another obstacle to slow the enemy. The earthen walls had a shallow slope inside, and a much steeper one outside. With luck, he should be able to slow the onslaught enough that his men would take a heavy toll before falling beneath the Camorin swords. He hoped Mortain was watching; it would be nice to think that his last battle had a witness.

“Corbin should be hitting them about now, Sir,” Tikva said in a musing tone.

“Probably,” he replied trying to ignore his rumbling belly. “He’ll take a good many down with him.”

Corbin’s orders were to hit the enemy hard, but then fall back leading them this way. The problem was that with the new water-filled ditches and stakes, he would be unable to re-enter the camp. Once his task was done, Corbin had discretion. It would be his decision whether to attempt escape, or fight on to the death.

“There, Sir!” Bannan called as Corbin’s cavalry galloped toward them pursued by a like number of the enemy.

“Be ready to feather as many as you can!” he shouted to his bowmen as Corbin’s battalion raced by the camp and then away following the beach.

“Good luck to them, they’re going to need it,” Tikva murmured as the last man galloped away.

The bowmen stood and released a storm of arrows. Horses screamed and reared in pain, others fell rolling head over tail killing their riders instantly. Across the entire front, rank upon rank fell dead. The humming of bowstrings was a constant, as thousands of shafts were loosed in moments. The surviving warriors regrouped and charged the camp ignoring the chase they were originally on. More men and horses fell, but not enough. The warriors had seen friends killed and their anger was great. Navarien grinned waiting for the inevitable.

It arrived.

The horse is not a stupid animal. They will charge, and yes, they will ride men down, but charging a mud wall as tall as they are bristling with nasty sharp stakes was something else. They skidded to a stop, bucking the stupid men off their backs and into the slippery ditches. Many of the horses were unable to stop in time and they slid down into the ditch to bury the men. Navarien’s men kept a constant stream of arrows flying, and soon the fighting, if one could really call it fighting, ended. Perhaps a thousand Camorins had died. The legion lost none at all.

“I can’t believe they did that,” he said in wonder. “The fools actually charged a fortified position without scouting the defences.”

Tikva nodded. “They won’t do it again.”

The remnants of the charge had dismounted and seemed to be waiting for something. There was a noise in the air, a rumbling like thunder far away, but this was no thunder. It was the sound of many feet marching to war.

“It worked.”

“Looks like all of them to me,” he said with a snort of laughter.

Tikva turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. The men nearby glanced at each other as if asking what the jest was, others simply shrugged knowing all officers were crazy. No few of the legionnaires were caught up in the insanity, and peals of laughter rose over the camp drifting on the wind to the enemy.

Navarien watched them advance and drew his sword in readiness. His men had their swords in hand, all except those chosen for their skill with the captured bows. They had arrows standing in rows near to hand, and one shaft knocked to fire the instant he gave the word. Javelins had less range than the bows, but the extra elevation of the wall increased this to a hundred and fifty yards or so. The wall narrowed the gap between each of the legion’s ranged weapons considerably. Every one of his men had at least three javelins. Some—those with more skill—had four. He didn’t expect them to be able to score with every throw or shot, but even if they did, there were more men than he had weapons to kill them with.

He watched as the slow and ponderous advance turned into a trot. The trot turned into a run, the run into a screaming mass of charging warriors intent on killing him and all he held dear.

“NOW!” he screamed and the bows sang.

“AEiii!” the woman screamed and tried to gather up her guts as they slopped to the muddy ground.

Navarien finished her with a cut to the neck and kicked both pieces back down the slope. He took a chance to look around. So far there were no breaks in the line. The enemy had again chosen to mass against the south wall where the stream had previously caused a weak point in his defence. Knowing they would attack there, he had strengthened the section with extra dirt to damn the stream so its water overflowed into his ditches. That stretch had more than its fair share of the stakes also, but though they did their job of slowing the advance, they hadn’t been as effective as he had hoped. Many of the stakes had been hacked down now opening a clear path to his wall.

Bannan was heavily engaged and looked to need help. Navarien had no reserve so he ordered a man to send one maniple from the east wall to reinforce the western end of the south wall. He reshuffled his forces to plug the new hole, but it dangerously thinned his defences in other areas. There was nothing to be done about it. He turned his concentration toward defending himself against an over eager boy/warrior. He dispatched the boy easily enough, but then he had to focus on his next opponent. This man was cannier than others he’d defeated. The warrior came in close binding his sword with his own and attempting to use his weight to force him back.

It was working.

Navarien struggled and punched the man in the face with his free hand, but the Camorin shook off the effect easily. The punch evidently annoyed him however. Suddenly Navarien was down with his head ringing. He rolled away to escape a kick and was just congratulating himself on surviving, when he splashed into freezing muddy water.

He had rolled the wrong way.

Cursing his way back out of the ditch, he dragged himself upward covered head to toe in mud. He found himself next to another filthy man and stopped breathing when the warrior noticed him.

“Try to work your way over to the east wall,” the warrior said. “The monster has moved some of his men away from there,”

He gaped then nodded jerkily. “Right.”

The warrior climbed on.

Navarien scrambled upward and threw himself under a sword aimed to take his head. “By the God, Meran, watch what you’re doing! You flaming nearly killed me just then!”

“What are you doing out there you flaming… Sir?” Meran said impaling another warrior on his sword as he pulled Navarien to his feet.

“I was scouting!” he shouted and killed his own opponent.

All along the south and west walls, men were killing and being killed. He wished he could reduce the men to north and east, but if he did that, he would be begging to be hit there as well as here.

“Look there, Sir,” Meran shouted pointing behind the enemy.

Navarien took a quick look determined not to be distracted and end up in the stinking ditch again. Galloping at full speed, Corbin and his battalion slammed into the flanks of the enemy. The charge shattered the enemy rear, and a ripple seemed to pass through the horde as the effect spread. Warriors turned to attack Corbin, thereby lessening the pressure on the camp. Corbin shouted and the cornets blared. As one, the cavalry wheeled and raced away with hardly any casualties at all, the surprise was complete.

“That boy is full of surprises,” he had time to say before cutting his next man down.

“Knew he wouldn’t run out on us, General,” Meran said not sounding sure at all.

Navarien grunted with the effort of throwing back a warrior, “More… than… I… did!”

The attack ebbed and Navarien staggered away exhausted. The noise of battle died away allowing the screams of the wounded and dying to come to the fore. Bannan had a rough tourniquet tied around his leg, and Duer was bleeding from more than one gash on his unprotected arms. Navarien left the sergeants in charge while he called his captains together.

“What do you think?” he said panting.

Duer sank down to his haunches and gestured weakly with his sword. “We’re dead.”

“I know that!” he snapped in annoyance. Didn’t the man realise how bad for morale it was to say that in front of the men? “Can we kill enough of them to give the sorcerers a chance at finishing up?”

Bannan nodded. They had killed thousands, perhaps as many as three thousand, but they had lost nearly a battalion in return. Some of those men were only wounded, and under normal circumstances they would heal with rest, but the fact remained they couldn’t fight now and the only rest they would get was that of the grave. Three to one odds was a good ratio, but wasn’t good enough to ensure victory. They needed five to one at least, and that would still mean the legion’s destruction.

“If we can do this for a few days more, they might give it up for a bad job.”

He sat on the muddy ground. More collapsed than sat, but he had to rest… just for a moment. His side hurt like a sorcerer’s fire, but he’d checked earlier and found the armour uncut. The impact had been bad enough. He would have fainted with the pain but in the heat of battle it had seemed only a small thing, now he almost screamed. He held it down to a groan that his captains thought was for Bannan’s observations. His ribs on the left side must be cracked; if they were broken he would be unable to fight, so they were only cracked and that was that.

“Sorry sir, but that’s how I see it,” Bannan said contritely. “If we hold for a couple more days, they might give up… only might. I really don’t think one will be enough, not unless we can kill twice as many as we did this time.”

That was obviously impossible. They had no food and the lack was already taking its toll. He had no option but to continue the defence. The walls were a force multiplier—he was stronger on the defensive than on the offensive, but either way he needed more men. It was good of Corbin to stay—that would keep the Camorins looking behind them as well as in front, but he would need another legion to attack this many men under normal circumstances. The circumstances weren’t normal in any sense of the word.

“They look set to have another go, Sir,” Duer said.

Navarien struggled to his feet biting his lip as his ribs shifted. The warriors had been arguing among themselves about something—probably on what to do next—but now they were agreed on a new course and had shifted into a new order of battle. He shaded his eyes—the sun was directly overhead now.

“Oh, shit…” he breathed. “Everyone under shields now!”

Hunkering down behind his own shield, Navarien watched the Camorins send an arrow storm at the camp. The legion shield would stop arrows that dropped in as these were doing, but any that flew straight would punch through. His men were down low with only their heads above the wall to watch for a charge, but still some were struck. Many arrows overshot the walls and landed sticking up from the ground or hanging from the tents in the centre of the camp. Some of the enemy were better bowman than others however, and he watched sick at heart as experts sent arrows straight to their targets. Men were punched backward to roll down the inside slope of the walls. Arrows were hitting targets as tiny as a legionnaires helmet and in some cases penetrating the metal as well. Some of those struck were knocked senseless, then struck again and again, as they tried to stagger away. Arrows slammed into shields and nailed men’s arms to them, the men screamed at the pain, but endured at their posts, to do otherwise would mean their deaths as the defence weakened. The range was long, yet more and more men slumped forward dying in silence.

Arrows hit his shield, but he experimented with angles and succeeded in preventing his arm being nailed. Others seeing success, copied him, and after a time the arrows stopped penetrating the shields. Through all this he was cursing over and over, muttering what he would like to do to these Camorins if only had this thing or that.

Futile, all futile.

The Victory sinking at the beginning of his campaign had seemed like fate smiling on him. It had allowed him to show how good he was at taking three easy cities; now he would give his life to have some sorcerers here to save his men. It wasn’t to be. The sound of arrows coming down was like hail hitting a roof. He remembered sitting out a storm like that once. His father had been a farmer—he was dead now, but back then Navarien had been in awe of him. Varian had been a big man, and hardened from his labour in the fields.

He watched the arrows come down and the screams faded…

Varian walked slowly toward the barn as if unaware of the ice that pummelled him unmercifully. Up the dirt road he came as Navarien watched. His father seemed to enjoy it!

“Come out here, boy,” Varian said.

“It’ll hurt!” he shouted over the noise. He was only eight; surely papa wouldn’t make him.

“Come Navarien, be brave it’s only pain.”

He came out of the barn and was struck many times. He was determined not to show his pain. It stung something awful, but as he looked into his father’s eyes and saw the approval there, the pain seemed to fade. His father was right as he always was. It was only pain. To fail in his father’s eyes would be more painful.

“You see? A man will face the fear of pain and not let it sway him from what he must do. You will face worse than hail before you die, Navarien.”

Varian clapped him on the shoulder and they made to enter the house.

“What are you doing teaching my boy to stand around in this weather?” Navarien’s mother said in disapproval standing on the porch.

Varian and he grinned at each other.

“Men!” she said in disgust and stomped back inside.

Varian looked down at him smiling. “You see? Your mother knows that we are men.”

Navarien could feel the pain of that hail even now so many years later, it burned, and he moved to rub the spot on his shoulder. His hand bumped wood, and the pain flared higher.

“Shit… the bastards!” he growled as he snapped the shaft short.

He looked around but nothing had changed. Men were lying dead at the bottom of the wall; the rest hunkered down as he was doing behind shields that were bristling with spent shafts.

Whump!

The noise had come from behind him. He turned to look and saw Cragson’s boat so close to shore it would surely be beached when the tide turned. Master Belok must be hopping mad about that, but Cragson was a hard man to convince when he had his heart set on something. Navarien couldn’t see what had caused the noise, but he was sure Turner had something to do with it.

Whump!

This time he saw something fly away from the huge ship and pass overhead. It was so high that he couldn’t tell what it was at first. It dropped among the Camorins and a great chunk of the enemy fell. Gravel! Turner, the wonderful bastard, had smashed the stone blocks into fist-sized pieces of gravel, and he was throwing stone loads of the stuff at the enemy with his thrower. Navarien watched as Camorins fell by the score. Whether they were dead or not he was unsure, but they were out of the fight. Turner swung into a rhythm and hundreds died, then a thousand, then two. Corbin charged in from the right this time and took a heavy toll, but some of the gravel struck his battalion. Horses screamed in shock and surprise, but Corbin’s men kept them under control, and charged away again leaving chaos in their wake. Only a score or two had fallen to leave their mounts wandering loose.

“Bannan!” Navarien shouted.

“Sir?”

“Have the best bowmen start firing the spent arrows back to their owners!”

Bannan didn’t answer he was grinning too much. Moments later, the arrows collected from the camp went back out and added their weight to the toll being taken by the gravel.

Navarien watched as Corbin wheeled and charged back in again. The formation was ragged this time, but that would work to Corbin’s advantage he saw. If the cavalry was to have any chance at avoiding the gravel, it had to spread out. It was obvious from the first to him, but the enemy did not catch on as quickly. The warriors remained concentrated in large groups, which Turner used for an aiming point. The Camorins were still determined, but with gravel falling from the sky, and Corbin chopping them up at every opportunity, they were distracted. Thousands more fell.

“Dumb bastards! Run away!” he shouted as the Camorin bowmen withered under stone loads of gravel.

“Some are sir,” Duer said.

He nodded. Some were, but not enough. At the rear, the farthest from both the gravel and Corbin, he could see men and women streaming away on foot. They were running as hard as they could for Calvados.

“But are they running away for good? They might be going for horses to use against Corbin.”

“No, I think not,” Duer said in a musing tone. “They’re planning on forting up.”

“That’s better for us today, but what do we do tomorrow?”

Duer laughed, and after a moment so did Navarien. Just a short while ago, he had been ready for death, now here he was thinking of how to complete his campaign! Corbin attacked again and again, losing a few men here, and then a few there. His battalion was dwindling now, just as the rest of the legion had throughout this year.

Navarien stood up and showed himself to the enemy. For a wonder, no arrows killed him, though a few did strike the ground at his feet and others added themselves to the cluster protruding from his shield.

“By the God, get down from there you flaming lunatic!” Duer screamed.

Navarien ignored him and pointed with his sword toward the retreating warriors. In his loudest parade ground voice, he shouted fit to shake mountains. “YOU STUPID BASTARDS! LOOK AND RUN AWAY! LOOK BEHIND YOU!”

To Navarien’s and Duer’s surprise, some did look back. Others saw the unease in their comrades and looked back also. Soon more than just the front ranks were looking behind at the retreat that was turning into a stampede as they watched.

Suddenly it happened.

A strike by Turner turned a group of men in the front rank of bowmen into so much dog meat. Those nearby recoiled from the shock of seeing a block of limestone fall from the sky weighing twenty-five stone or more. That was nothing compared to what happened to the men hit by it. The thud was loud enough to be heard in camp, and the results were obvious. Half a dozen men literally splashed away from the impact. Wasteful to use a block on so few, but the effect on the survivors made up for it. Those nearby tried to wipe their friends from their faces without success. Blood and brains dripped from their horrified faces, and ran down their clothes. Men were screaming as they tried to spit the disgusting stuff from their mouths. Another full sized stone came in. Then a load of gravel, and then another load of gravel followed by two blocks of limestone. That was enough.

They turned and ran.

Corbin took a heavy toll by harrying and slaying wounded and stragglers alike. Turner kept up his bombardment until the last two blocks missed by ten yards or more. No more stones fell, but Navarien’s men hardly noticed, they were too busy shouting and jumping up and down with relief and joy. He took a rough count of his remaining men and felt like crying rather than celebrating.

A short while later, he knew the worst. Out of five thousand three hundred men in the camp, twenty-eight hundred had died. Six hundred were wounded, but might recover if they could be given food and shelter quickly enough. He didn’t know how many Corbin had left, if any, as the captain had failed to return. He might have fallen into an ambush, or he might be fine, whatever the situation with Corbin, he was in no position to help.

“Move the wounded to the beach, I want them aboard first. Keep a sharp eye for Corbin or the enemy. We have to get out of here fast. If they realise how few of us are left, they’ll come back quicker than they left.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Navarien saw Lewin limp by, “Lewin!”

“Sir?” Lewin stumbled to a stop. An arrow had taken him in the right leg early on in the fight.

“Where’s Meran?”

Lewin looked angry for a moment then all emotion fled. “Dying, Sir. I’m all that’s left of the third of the eighth. He’s over there by the fire.” He pointed to a smoldering heap of tent cloth that was all they had for fuel. “Might as well burn the fucking standard now! Ain’t that right, Sir?” Lewin spat on the ground at Navarien’s feet.

“He was one of the best,” he said sadly, ignoring the spittle close to his boot.

“We were all the best until you led us here!”

“That’s enough!” Duer shouted to the angry man.

Navarien waved the captain off. “Yes I led you here. We are legionnaires! We fight and we win, or we fight and we die, whichever it is, we fight! If you’re not prepared for the consequences, you should go home and be a farmer!”

Lewin turned and stalked away without a word. Duer made to grab the dispirited man but Navarien stopped him, and Lewin didn’t notice. He was so tired of marching and fighting, death would almost be a relief… almost. He went to check on Meran where he lay next to the makeshift fire. Duer matched his steps and gave his report.

“Corbin is on his way back, Sir. I made a rough count, he looks to have lost six hundred or so.”

“Good… that he’s coming in that is. We should just about fit aboard the ship don’t you think?” he said feeling sick. He had less than four battalions alive… less than two were able to fight.

“Just about. We heading back to Durena?” Duer said stepping around the wounded.

“Have to,” he said wearily. “We have no food and no one to heal the wounded. The sorcerers probably know what happened already; they’ll meet us there I should think.”

Navarien knelt beside Meran and pulled the blanket down.

“I’m all right, Sir,” Meran whispered.

Navarien found two arrow stubs in Meran’s side. He glanced at Duer, and then forced a smile. “I know, Meran. I just wanted to ask whether you would mind being a captain for me.”

“A captain?”

Navarien gritted his teeth. “I’m a little short of good officers. I know you don’t like the idea, but would you do it as a favour to me?”

“If you want me to…” Meran said then fell unconscious.

Navarien stood to let two of the men carry the unconscious sergeant… captain away.

Navarien went to meet Corbin on the beach. Corbin was grinning unaccountably as he and his men rode up and stopped in good order. Corbin looked for all the world as if he’d just been on a picnic with his latest girl. Couldn’t he see the wounded and dying awaiting transport to the ship? Didn’t he see the dead men lying in rows that wouldn’t have a decent burial because their General was scared the enemy would return?

“Get off that fucking horse!” Navarien roared in fury.

Corbin’s face froze in surprise. He dismounted and stood at attention. His men remained mounted looking angry at Navarien’s abuse of their Captain.

“Report!” he snarled.

Corbin became even stiffer if that was possible. “The Camorins are routed. I led my men within sight of the gates—they’re open and everyone is leaving. You have won, General. You have won an empty city. I hope you choke on it!”

Corbin stormed away, and his men dismounted to follow.

Navarien glanced aside at those of his men nearby. Most avoided his eyes. “Captain!” he shouted, and Corbin paused to listen. “I am… pleased with you and your men. You did the legion proud.”

Corbin nodded once at the apology and then walked away, but this time his steps were lighter.

Navarien turned to his men. “We’re staying!”

The men groaned, and hefted the baggage to trudge back toward the camp. They had to cross those flaming ditches again!

* * *

15 ~ Poor Robsort

Come the day of Julia’s proposed re-capture of Robsort’s vote for Gylaren, she chose to wear her special dress. The one that made her look even more ominous and powerful than a black robe would have. Black robes were associated with the Hasian sorcerers so she wouldn’t wear one, but black was the highest colour a mage could attain. She had asked Elise to recommend someone to make it for her. It was made to her design and was based on an evening dress she had once seen the Princess of Wales wearing to a premier of a movie. Lady Diana’s dress had been white satin, but Julia had chosen black to emphasise her complexion and her status as a sorceress. She had wanted the dress for Gy’s coronation, but she thought today was an appropriate debut. She had styled her hair to show the white streak like a badge of honour. She had fought and nearly died twice for Deva, it would do no harm to remind Robsort of that. Lucius said she looked very powerful and forbidding, which was, after all, the idea.

Mathius played lookout while Lucius helped her to block Robsort’s escape—there were only two ways into the garden.

*He’s coming, but he’s not alone.* Mathius said. *He looks like a prisoner… What’s going on?*

Julia grasped her magic and spoke mind to mind. *I don’t know, Mathius, but it doesn’t change what we have to do. Do you recognise his escort?*

*They’re sorcerers. I can’t feel any spells, but they’re linked to their magic.*

Lucius broke in. *If they’re guarding Robsort, whether he’s a prisoner or not, they will be holding their magic in readiness. How do you want to handle this, Julia?*

*We don’t have much choice. Robsort won’t be any good to us if they see us talking. I’ll deal with them, and you back me up. Mathius, you try to shield Robsort, but don’t take chances. I’ve lost enough friends to Mortain’s ambitions. I’m not prepared to lose you too.*

*That’s good to hear. I’m following well back. They will be with you in a tenth candlemark.*

That was about five minutes or so. Julia used the time to move into the centre of the small garden to wait. She seated herself on the edge of the fountain’s basin and trailed her fingers through the water. The little silvery coloured fish swam around the central figure of the fountain unconcerned with human affairs. The garden was a pleasant place to walk during the height of the day. The sun, as now, would be overhead and shining directly into the garden. The grass was lush, and if it became too warm, the covered walkway connecting the two entrances was shady and had marble benches running along its length. Athione’s walled gardens didn’t have fountains. She wondered briefly how she could get some.

She felt something on the edge of her range that resolved into two and then three distinct sources of magic. The third source was the familiar solid feeling of Mathius link to his magic. He was hanging well back from the sorcerers for fear of being discovered. Julia didn’t move from her contemplation of the fish, but instead, concentrated on following the feel of power approaching. They were nearly here now, nearly…

“Lady Julia, help me!” Robsort cried.

The lord tried to run to her, but one of the Hasians grabbed his arm before he took a step. Both were dressed like guardsmen, and Julia cursed herself for not paying better attention. How many sorcerers were in the palace? Perhaps Ascol’s allies weren’t allies at all but were prisoners!

“Let him go,” she said coldly and rose to her feet.

The sorcerer pulled Robsort close as if to use him as a shield, but Mathius arrived at that moment and threw a ward around the frightened lord. That was what Julia had been waiting for. She grasped her magic and cast a fireball. Lucius did the same and both Hasians staggered back and away from Robsort’s cowering figure. Robsort had dropped to his knees and rolled into a ball trying to make himself as small as possible. Fireballs came back in reply, but Julia stood her ground and relied upon her shield. She flinched as the heat rushed over her, but the flames didn’t penetrate.

She struck back with lightning.

Craaaack!

Lightning lanced from her outstretched hand and hit the sorcerer’s shield squarely. The crackling energy barely hesitated as it burst through and struck him full in the chest. He was lifted from his feet and blown back toward Mathius, but he didn’t have to do anything. Half the sorcerer’s torso was missing. The second sorcerer was stronger, and it took all three of them to burn his shield down. A final bolt of lightning finished him just as his shield failed.

Julia looked down at the fountain sadly. The water in the basin was bubbling, and the pretty silver fish were all floating on the surface where they had been cooked instantly by the Hasian fireballs. Robsort was still cowering on his knees, but when Mathius dropped the ward, he scrambled to his feet and ran toward her.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! I didn’t think you would ever come,” Robsort gabbled.

Julia scowled, she didn’t believe Robsort’s act. “My lord Robsort, you have some explaining to do. Why did you court Ascol after our conversation about Gylaren?”

Robsort was quiet, but when Lucius emerged and came toward them, he started talking. “I’m not a brave man, Lady, the God knows. When Lord Athlone threatened to burn my forests, I agreed to do what he wanted. You know I’m not a proper lord do you not?”

“I don’t understand you, Robsort. You’re a lord of Deva as far as I’m concerned.”

Robsort started to explain, but he was interrupted as guardsmen rushed in to the garden. Brian was in charge. Julia ordered him to remove the bodies.

“One more thing,” she called as Brian oversaw the removal. “The poor fish were cooked in the attack. Have someone replace them would you?”

“Ah… yes lady,” Brian said obviously wondering how he was going to find fish in Devarr that hadn’t been eaten.

Julia grinned. Brian went away shaking his head and muttering about women and mages. Julia invited Robsort to her rooms and waited until they were safely inside before continuing the conversation earlier interrupted.

“Now that we are more comfortable, Lord Robsort, I would appreciate it if you would explain what you meant earlier,” she said folding her hands in her lap to listen.

“It’s simple really. My grandfather was a merchant and not a lord at all. My home is a mansion house, not a castle. I do have a few guardsmen to run off bandits but few of the more usual trappings of nobility. My wealth is tied to the land. I have artisans living in Penola whose oaths I hold—they make furniture and such things out of fine wood from my lands. To be brutally honest, I’m nothing but a forester and merchant.”

“How did you become Lord Penola then?”

“In his youth my father helped Pergann with the masters in Chulym. Later that all turned into a disaster, but at the time Pergann was grateful and added Penola to the list of Devan lords.”

“I see,” she said with disapproval thick in her voice. “Athlone threatened to destroy your forests and therefore your wealth. So you became a traitor to Pergann and Deva.”

“It isn’t just about me!” Robsort cried in desperation. “Don’t you see? Without the forests, Penola would starve. All the wood comes from my lands, and without it my people would be unable to work. Worse than that, most of our meat comes from the deer in the forest. Rowton knows my weakness, as did Athlone before him. It’s plain to see for anyone with eyes. Even if I had a castle, I wouldn’t be able to stop one man in the night with oil and torches!”

That did put a different light on his actions. Robsort was protecting his people as much as himself—if he wasn’t lying about his motives. She turned to Lucius and received a reluctant nod.

“Very well,” Julia said. “You have my word that I will destroy the letters I’m holding for you, but I need your help in return. Your bodyguards were sorcerers. I need to know how many are in the palace, and whether they are holding other lords against their will?”

Robsort took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes. Yes, it’s time I became a lord for true. There are almost five score Hasians altogether, but I believe only thirty of them are mages—that’s how many are in the palace, so…” He shrugged. “I could be wrong, but I don’t think so. I know that Ascol himself is free, but I don’t know about the others.”

Thirty! Julia gaped in utter shock. That was too many to confront directly. Two she could handle, perhaps four by surprise, but they knew she was here and would be ready. She cursed herself for a fool. She had warned the Hasians that she was coming for them by blasting two of their friends.

“You are a lord, Robsort. You were protecting your people as a good lord should. The point at which you strayed was when you chose their welfare above that of the kingdom. I can understand that, but nevertheless, what harms Deva will ultimately harm Penola.”

Robsort was silent, but he agreed with a reluctant nod.

She had to decide what to do about these Hasians. If she went around blasting them, the lords would condemn her as a lunatic. Somehow, she had to expose them as sorcerers and then destroy them.

“I could show you where they are, Lady,” said a voice from the door.

“How long were you listening?” Mathius said scowling at Lorcan.

“Long enough to know that you need what I’ve found, Mathius. Besides, you should have guardsmen out here. Anyone could be listening!”

“Someone was!”

“There you are then,” Lorcan said laughing.

“All right you two,” Julia said trying not to laugh. “Come inside, Lorcan, and tell us what we need so badly.”

* * *

Lord Halden peered into the portal. “Secret passageways, how wonderful! When I was your age, I would search for passages just like this when I visited the other lords. Some of their castles are very old you know.”

“Did you find some?” Lorcan said eagerly.

“I did, but someone had found them before me and bricked them up after only a few yards,” Halden said sadly.

Keverin listened in amazement as Lorcan and Halden chatted like old friends. Gylaren hadn’t needed to persuade Halden to help him against Ascol; he had leapt at the chance to explore the palace’s secret passageways. Instead of a staid seventy-year-old lord, Halden seemed like a ten-year-old boy eager for an adventure.

“We had better get in there and start causing Ascol some grief,” Halden said to Keverin with a mischievous grin.

“I’ll show you m’lord!” Lorcan said bolting forward.

Keverin snatched the hood of Lorcan’s robe and brought him up short. “Not so fast, Lorcan. You know the plan as well as the rest of us. If you go in there, the sorcerers will sniff you out.”

“But they didn’t before,” Lorcan said sullenly.

“You hadn’t used your magic before—I asked Mathius about it. Why do you think Julia and the others have stayed away? I know it seems unfair, but it’s important we not be discovered.”

“Cheer up young mage,” Halden said. “I’ll take you around the city tomorrow. You can borrow Davida’s horse. Would you like that?”

Lorcan’s face lit up, but then he frowned. “I can’t ride.”

“What!” Halden said in mock outrage. “You don’t know what you’ve been missing, lad! I’ll teach you.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t tell anyone, but the lords always pretend that riding a warhorse is hard because they want to look clever and brave!”

Lorcan’s eyes were huge, and Keverin barely prevented a laugh escaping. It was the perfect thing to have said to Lorcan. Anything that smacked of sneakiness appealed to him immensely. Of course, he would soon learn how hard a fractious warhorse was to control, but by then he would be inaugurated into the soldier’s way of downplaying hardship and would be unlikely to complain.

Keverin clapped Lorcan on the shoulder. “I want you to keep watch here. There’s no point in sneaking in there if someone sees us do it.”

“If I see someone I’ll close the panel, m’lord.”

Halden climbed through the open portal. He had no difficulty, being not much bigger than Julia, but Keverin was another matter. He squirmed through ignoring the discomfort and was finally able to stand within the passage. As Lorcan had reported, they had been created when the old halls were sectioned into rooms. Keverin wondered if King Eagon, who was on the throne when this work was done, had known of them. According to the Histories, Eagon wasn’t a mage, but he did have a way about him that had puzzled more than a few people. Eagon would often know things he shouldn’t know. The lords of the time spent hundreds of golds employing mages to ward their castles and rooms to prevent him from scrying. It would be ironic if these passageways were the only reason Eagon knew about the schemes his lords were hatching. He could well imagine Eagon crawling through here intent on uncovering a secret.

Halden moved ahead carrying a small torch to light the way. Lorcan said the tapestries would hide the light, but Keverin didn’t want to take chances. He tapped Halden’s shoulder when they neared their destination and he doused the torch. Keverin found the catch and pressed it hearing the faintest of clicks, as it released. He and Halden held their breaths when the conversation in the room became audible, but they hadn’t been detected. He couldn’t see a cursed thing in the darkness so he reached out to find Halden intending to whisper in his ear, but he couldn’t find him. Frantically he waved his arms around until he found the man on his knees. He had his head through the portal! Panic quickly subsided when Keverin remembered the tapestries, but still! The risk of discovery was extreme enough without Halden’s foolishness.

Keverin listened intently as Ascol raged about Julia and Gylaren. He thought Ascol’s guest must be Demophon, but he changed his opinion when he heard the sound of a palm striking flesh. No sorcerer would stand for that. Ascol’s consort might it be? He aborted his instinctive urge to barge through the portal when he remembered that Ascol had arrived at the palace minus his consort. He relaxed with that realisation. If Ascol had struck a woman, then secrecy be damned. He would have been inside before Ascol could blink.

“Please father!” said another voice followed by the sound of another blow.

Keverin tensed again. Ascol hitting his son was marginally better than hitting his consort to his mind, but only just. Adrik was old enough to fight back if it became too bad. The sound of a door opening came through the portal clearly.

“Ascol! We need to talk. Stop playing with him and listen, we have important things to discuss.”

“I’m busy!” Ascol snarled, “Wait outside.”

“Send the boy out, or I’ll remove the problem myself, permanently.”

“How dare you—” Ascol screeched.

“If you try to use that on me again, I’ll kill you. Once was enough. I won’t warn you again Ascol, sheath it now!”

Smackkk!

“Father!”

“Don’t try it boy,” Demophon said slowly. “You should be grateful to me for keeping your latest beating so short.”

“I deserved it for speaking out of turn. My father is an Ascol. I’m an Ascol, but you… I’ll find a way to make you pay for hurting him, sorcerer,” Adrik said in a voice that sounded very young.

Keverin shook his head at the boy’s foolishness. Talking to anyone that way was bad enough, but to a sorcerer… well, Adrik was dead lucky not to be feeling the man’s fires right now. If Adrik had been his son… but he wasn’t. He had no sons, would he ever?

The door slammed.

“Enough of this, we have things to discuss. Your son takes after you in his stupidity, but that could be useful if turned upon the right target.”

“Plans you said,” Ascol said. “What need have I of a sorcerer who fouls himself in fright at the sight of a mere woman? I will deal with the whore in my own way.”

Keverin’s eyes blazed, but he checked his instinctive urge to attack. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists in rage. If the wall hadn’t been so thick, he would have smashed through and wrung the bastard’s neck for talking about Julia that way.

Demophon snorted. “Underestimating her will be your downfall… unless I am. Yes, I was scared that day, if you had seen it… but you can’t. Lady Julia was this close to destroying us all. The amount she was holding would have seen Devarr turned to a smoking pit in the ground. Mortain—may he live forever—would be less than ash if he tried to hold that much power, but what did Julia do? She laughed in joy! Joy! Do you even have an inkling as to what that means?”

Ascol obviously had no more idea than Keverin did. The awe and fear in Demophon’s voice worried him. What did it mean?

Halden wriggled backward like an eel, and stood to whisper in Keverin’s ear. “Let us go. I have heard enough.”

“But we haven’t heard their plan,” Keverin whispered in turn.

“It doesn’t matter, I have what we need,” Halden said grimly.

“What? No, tell me later,” Keverin whispered and moved carefully back along the passageway.

* * *

16 ~ Party

Julia could hear music and the sound of voices as she walked through the palace. She held Keverin’s arm intent on appearing like a noble woman born. She was determined not to disgrace him before the other lords. She was wearing her white dress, the one Jessica had given her to wow Keverin. She was pleased to see that it hadn’t lost any of its appeal through familiarity. Her jewellery, diamonds and sapphires, contrasted the pristine white of her dress and had dazzled many an eye before now. Although she was biased, she thought hers outshone any she had seen previously barring Jessica’s emeralds, which her late consort Kevlarin had given her. Jessica was wearing them now.

She smiled and Jessica returned it from her place on Gylaren’s arm. She whispered something and Gy glanced over. Julia raised an eyebrow in enquiry.

“Dazzling as ever, Lady,” Gy said inclining his head without checking his stride.

She blushed.

Keverin chuckled fondly. “It’s your own fault. You know what that dress does to people.”

“He’s right, Julia,” Lysara said from her place on Lucius’ arm. “It’s like bashing them on the head!”

“You can talk!” she said with a gurgle of laughter. “Yellow silk? I’ve never seen you looking so glorious!”

“I have,” Lucius said with a grin. “I will never forget our first meeting. She was like a vision. I couldn’t look away.”

“Oh that old thing,” Lysara said with a negligent wave of her hand. “It was just something I threw on that morning,” she said but she was inordinately pleased with Lucius’ comment.

Julia laughed gaily.

Lysara was still waging her campaign to win Lucius. From the way he kept glancing at her when she wasn’t looking, Julia thought Lysara was winning. Purcell and Isolde were walking arm in arm just behind Lysara, but they were close enough for her to see Purcell’s wink. He grinned at his daughter’s back. He knew Lucius’ days as a bachelor were numbered.

Jihan and Ahnao completed their group. Ahnao wore a simple dress of blue cotton and lace that would outshine many a lady’s more expensive and gaudy dress. She had a quiet beauty that none could fail to see. Where Ahnao’s dress was simple, Jihan’s was the opposite. Everything about him was black—from his shiny boots to his leather trousers, from his silk shirt and velvet doublet to the single onyx earring he wore. The doublet was particularly fetching. It sported rows of pearls down each arm. He looked splendid, and knew it. He grinned at Julia whenever she looked his way.

“You should have worn the green, Kev,” she said eyeing Jihan for the umpteenth time.

“I prefer the russet.”

“I know, but Jihan’s so pretty. He’ll steal the show!”

“He is, isn’t he?” Ahnao said smiling lovingly at her consort. “If we had a prize for the most handsome lord, he would win.”

“He can have it,” Keverin grumped over Jihan’s splutters.

Jihan seemed to think being called pretty was somehow undignified, but everyone knew Ahnao was right.

“I can’t believe we’ve been here all this time and still haven’t chosen a king,” Jihan said trying to steer the conversation away from his looks. “The decision should have taken no more than a tenday, two at the outside.”

“Stop being so negative,” Julia chided. “Tomorrow or the next day will see it over and done, and we can go home.”

“Nothing is certain,” Gylaren warned. “Raising a king is only the first step. We have to change the trade situation, and the treasury needs addressing. Taxing is a big issue, and then there’s the Protectorate to worry over. We need standing armies on the same scale as the legions if we hope to hold out against Mortain for long.”

I know, I know,” she sighed. “But tonight is for celebrating. Let’s make the most of it.”

They entered the bunting decked hall without ceremony. If the king had been alive, the lords would have entered in order of seniority. The Four were first of those lords given land to hold. As the first lords raised within Deva they had the right to enter first. Athione had seniority among the Four—it was the oldest. Next came Malcor, which was also the strongest of the Four in military terms. Meilan and Elvissa were built at the same time not long after Malcor was completed and were equals in theory. In practise, all four wielded the same influence. They regarded themselves as equals and more—they were brothers in arms.

Julia and the others paused on the threshold to study the lords as if studying armed camps. They very nearly were. As with every argument, there were two sides to the issue and this was apparent from the stance the lords had taken. Those siding with Gy had gravitated to the right of the hall and those with Ascol were more to the left. The so-called Undecideds were enjoying their brief notoriety and popularity by holding themselves aloof from either camp in the centre.

She watched lord Karel detach himself from his allies and speak to a lord of the undecided camp. It was a kind of courtship she was witnessing. Lord Horlen received Karel as a king receives an ambassador. He inclined his head politely but made it plain he was the one being courted. He listened to Karel for a short while then acquiesced to follow him back to Ascol to hear more. Ascol was holding court with his allies and received Horlen with apparent good will, but Julia could see the anger in his eyes. Courting a lesser lord would be distasteful to him, necessary perhaps, but still distasteful. She hoped it soured his stomach.

“Don’t glare at him, my love. It will only spoil your evening,” Keverin said guiding her inside the hall.

“I wish I could be there when you stick it to him!” she growled, but she allowed herself to be led toward Lord Halden and their other friends.

“Stick it to him?” Keverin murmured. “I like that! Shame I can’t use my sword.”

“A dagger is sharp enough. The one I have in mind will do the job nicely.”

Keverin agreed with a nod.

Julia offered her hand to Halden to kiss and then his son Davida. Davida was a good friend. He and Keverin had known each other for years.

“You look… amazing,” Davida breathed.

Keverin smiled down at her. “She always does.”

Julia blushed. She wished she had a spell to help her with that. “Have you decided what you will say tomorrow?”

“Indeed, Lady,” Halden said. “Have no fear on that. Ascol does not know it, but his own actions have doomed him to the block. Let him try to sway the lords to him, it matters not. We have already won.”

“Confidence is good, my lord, but overconfidence can lead to unexpected places,” she warned.

“Gy will be King Gylaren the first,” Keverin said with no doubt. “I give oath that Ascol will die before he sets one foot on the dais.”

Davida blinked in surprise at Keverin’s vehemence. “Why so angry?”

“A strange thing to ask,” Purcell said. “Ascol has done much that is worthy of anger, but bringing sorcerers here… that deserves anger and worse than anger.”

Gylaren nodded. “If Ascol were king, Deva would be annexed to the Protectorate in less than five years. He has no idea what he’s dealing with.”

Julia agreed with that. “You can’t deal with a sorcerer without getting dirty.”

Gylaren raised an eyebrow. “Another saying from your world?”

“Something like that.”

She watched the goings on and listened to the music. The musicians were trying hard to please but no one was dancing. The lords were grouped together talking about tomorrow’s vote or busy trying to persuade their peers to vote for Ascol or Gylaren. The consorts looked bored from where they sat along the walls or stood picking at the array of food on the tables. The musicians had been chosen from the best the lord’s retinues had to offer. The occasional dropped note could be ignored. It didn’t lessen her enjoyment of the music.

“May I have the pleasure of this dance?” Keverin said with a smile.

She curtsied. “That would be delightful,” she said but spoilt it with a grin.

Keverin led her into some space and whirled her into a world of music and dance where all that mattered was his strong hands guiding her around the floor. The music seemed to fade as she stared mesmerised into his eyes. God, how she loved him. It was frightening in its intensity, that love, but she wouldn’t change it. She would give everything she was to see him safe and happy, and he would do the same for her. Keverin was everything she had ever looked for in a man, everything she had dreamed of and more. He was her life, her soul, everything. She held him close and swore their love would never end—if she had to burn the world to ensure that, still would she swear and make it so.

Though she could care less, she had the rare pleasure of dancing before all the peers of the realm. Her delight in Keverin and the music proved infectious and it wasn’t long before the sons of the lords began asking the ladies to dance. Their fathers for the most part remained aloof and continued their own dance of politics. Julia noticed not, her world was Keverin and his hands upon her.

The music ended all too soon. “You are my life,” Keverin whispered.

“And you are mine,” Julia said drowning in his eyes.

“Let us find a priest and be wed now—on the instant.”

“Ye—” Julia was saying, but lord Meagan used that moment to interrupt.

Meagan, Lord of Herstal was a non-entity next to Keverin. A ferrety man, he wore such finery as any king would be proud to own, but on him, it was wasted. His pasty complexion and scraggly beard needed a lot more than a fine doublet and be-ringed fingers to offset. He was thin to the point of emaciation and shifty with it.

Julia loathed him now more than ever.

Meagan looked nervously back at his master. Ascol and his cronies were watching intently. It was obvious Ascol had sent him on the errand. With that in mind, Julia grasped her magic. She didn’t seriously expect Meagan to attack her or Keverin, but with her words to Gy about overconfidence clearly in mind, she decided to take no chances. After all, there were sorcerers loose in the palace.

“May I have the pleasure of the next dance?” Meagan said nervously.

Keverin growled and made to step forward, but Julia recovered from her jaw dropping surprise and interceded with a touch on his arm.

“How can I refuse such a courteous invitation? I accept.”

Keverin’s head whipped round to stare at her in shock.

“Meagan has something to say to me, I would judge. Not so?”

Meagan swallowed and nodded jerkily.

Keverin’s eyes narrowed in anger, but not at her, thank goodness. He chose Meagan and Ascol for his targets. He inclined his head slightly to Meagan, very slightly, and gave Julia into Meagan’s care before stalking away to find the wine.

The music began and they moved mechanically into the dance. Julia did not enjoy herself. Meagan’s touch was repugnant. She would need a good scrub in the tub to remove it.

“Lord Ascol—” Meagan began.

“Your owner wishes to send me a message. Why did he not deliver it himself?”

Meagan’s lips compressed into a thin line. That he was angry there was no doubt, but he was also afraid of her. Many people were, but Meagan had more reason than most to fear her. She recalled her journey to Devarr clearly, and chief among those memories was a town called Hringham—a town of starving people supposedly administered by the him.

“He does not own me, I’m my own man. We are merely allies.”

“You’re deluding yourself. The Protectorate owns Ascol and will own Deva through him. The sorcerers will never let him rule as a king should. He will be their lackey and you will be one of his. If you doubt me, look to Bandar. Where are those proud lords now? Either dead, retired to their much reduced estates, or serving in the legions.”

“That won’t happen here. We have assurances—”

“Spare me,” she said with a snort of contempt. “Don’t you think the Bandarians were given assurances? Of course they were.”

“This is not what I was sent to discuss,” Meagan growled.

“No? Then what was?”

“I am to make you an offer.”

“He has nothing I want.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Meagan said smugly. “Ascol has acquired certain information that he feels you would be interested in obtaining.”

Julia frowned. “What information?”

“Information of a magical nature perhaps. Perhaps information that would see you safely home.”

The music ended but she hardly noticed. She stepped back a pace from Meagan, one dance was all she was prepared to tolerate. A way home, he said. He didn’t mean Athione that was certain. Was the book in Athione’s vault the only one? It must be. If there were others, the sorcerers would have used what they contained before now. What was Ascol’s game? He must know she wouldn’t fall for so transparent a ruse… unless it wasn’t a ruse. She needed her mirror. If someone had somehow gained entrance to the vault… No, it wasn’t possible. Even she would have trouble getting through Darius’ ward on the vault door. It was complex in the extreme and strong with it.

“Ascol doesn’t have the knowledge, and neither do his masters,” she said with certainty, but she wanted her mirror. She was sure Meagan was lying, but a mirror… was he lying?

“He’s willing to show you under any conditions you care to name,” Meagan said. “He knew you would be sceptical, but once you see what he has, you will deal with him.”

“What makes you think I want to go back? I like it here.”

Meagan blinked. “I… I was told you were brought here against your will.”

“I was.”

“Well then.”

“Well then nothing!” she snapped. “I will never deal with the likes of Ascol. You can tell him from me that I know what he did. Tell him that I’ll see him in hell before I’ll deal with his masters!”

Julia stalked away leaving Meagan standing alone. She scanned the room and found Keverin heading her way. She intercepted him near the tables. She poured a glass of wine for each of them and stood alternatively sipping her wine and glaring at Ascol’s lackeys. The gall of the man trying to buy her with his lies… was it a lie?

“What did he want?” Kev said.

“He tried to bribe me.”

“Bribe you… with what?”

“A way back to my old world,” Julia said frowning. Did Ascol really have a way, and if he did, did his masters know of it? “The book in the vault—”

“What about it?”

“Is it the only one?” she said and gnawed her lip in worry. “If it’s not—”

“It is,” Keverin said firmly. “It must be.”

“How do you know?”

“If it were not, we would be dead. Mortain would have used it last year.”

“But how do you know?”

Keverin was silent for a long moment. “I have to believe it is the only one,” he said finally. “We have no evidence it is not, and more that it is.”

Julia nodded. All they could do was have faith. “Nothing is certain, but I believe it’s unique. I believe Ascol sent Meagan to tempt me into a meeting with him—maybe to kill me. I have no reason to believe anything he says, but I do know he hates you.”

“He hates anyone not allied with him. Moriz and Halbert are still your bodyguards—do you want me to assign Alvin and Gerard as well?”

“No. I have my magic, and besides, they would be hurt by the lack of confidence.”

Keverin snorted. “If they heard you say that, they would drag the entire guard after you.”

“Don’t tell them!” she said horrified at the thought. “I’ll stay in the palace for the next few days. Gy will be on the throne by then and all this will be over.”

“Let us hope so.”

“Have faith in Halden, he will see it done.”

“I have faith in the ultimate goodness of the God, and I have faith in you. That suffices.”

She smiled. “And I have faith in our love.”

Julia danced twice in a row with Keverin, but she sat out the next two and took the opportunity to eat something before dancing with Jihan. As with all his training, he danced to perfection. Lucius and Lysara were smitten with each other. Neither was interested in dancing with anyone else. Gylaren paid his attention to Jessica, and Purcell his to Isolde. Keverin spoke at length with one or two of the undecided lords and managed to win lord Horlen to the side of the angels. One more vote for Gylaren was helpful, but Keverin wasn’t satisfied. He went back to continue his battle of words.

The night was moving apace now, but there seemed no end in sight. What had been another boring political affair had turned into a genuinely enjoyable event. Most of the lady’s were dancing, and even some of Ascol’s lackeys had succumbed to the party atmosphere. Maybe the breach between Deva’s lords could be healed after all. Once Gylaren was crowned, much of the animosity would fade. Julia hoped so at least.

“—new town, lady?” Lord Horton said.

Julia raised an eyebrow wondering what the Lord of Choma was after. He was a strong ally of Ascol. She had tried to persuade him to join Gylaren’s cause, but he had refused outright. He told her to make copies of the letters and distribute them far and wide if she wanted to, but he would never give in to blackmail. It was a shame he was her enemy. She rather liked a man who was willing to stand up for his principals. Of course, it wouldn’t stop her from burning him down if he tried to harm Gy or her other friends, but she did like him all the same.

“That’s right,” she said. “It’s called Morton.”

“That is what I had heard.”

“Keverin ordered its construction so that those displaced from West Town during the war would have new homes.”

“Paid for with Athione’s treasure?” Horton asked.

“That’s right. What’s this about?”

“There was a mine once…” Horton said seemingly feeling his way forward. “A coal-mine I heard.”

“What else have you heard?”

“That this mine—if mine there is, was played out. I have heard a story… but I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Go on,” Julia said. “Tell me this story. Does it have a happy ending?”

Horton looked at her sharply expecting mockery. Julia kept her features smooth not giving away her surmise. Horton was fishing for something. She could smell an offer of some kind in the wind.

“This rumour… this story came to me through a merchant I have had dealings with.”

“His name?”

“He is a reliable man, this merchant,” he said ignoring her enquiry. “He told me this story, and told it as fact.”

“Yes?”

“He said the mine has coal in it again. He said a certain person magicked it down there—his words I hasten to add. Magicked, like it was fact. Know you anything of this?”

Julia’s eyes narrowed. “And if I did? How would this be of interest to Choma?”

“Do you know anything of my lands, Lady?”

Julia shook her head.

“Choma lies south.”

“Yes?”

“Choma and Chulym abut one another. Know you that?”

She nodded. “I have heard of Chulym. Hard times have befallen it.”

Chulym had been the home of the master swordsmiths. The city had thrived for centuries sustained by its quality metal goods, but King Pergann had destroyed Chulym’s trade with unreasonable demands for swords to outfit an army. When the guild refused him, he raised taxes and the price of iron from the crown mines in an effort to force them to comply. The smiths left Deva en masse, and Chulym collapsed into ruin. Chulym survived now by producing poor quality goods—farm tools and piss poor daggers that no one but the desperate would buy.

“Hard times indeed,” Horton said grimly. “Chulym and Choma are as alike as peas in a pod. Chulym thrives, Choma thrives, but if Chulym falters—”

“Choma follows?”

“Indeed yes, Lady. Chulym is a mere shadow of what it was. With the Chulym trade gone, my lands have struggled to maintain a modicum of prosperity. I have turned to farming and horse breeding in an effort to raise trade. I’ve had some small success, but my people are still poor. My farms barely feed them.”

“I’m sorry for your people’s suffering,” she said, and she was. She felt sorry for those less fortunate than Athione’s people, but what could she do that she was not already doing? “What has this to do with your story about a coal-mine?”

“Ah… if you are indeed the one who magicked coal into existence, might you not magic up copper?”

Julia frowned, copper? “I don’t think I follow you, Lord Horton. You wish me to make you some copper—whatever for?”

“You misunderstand, Lady. Long ago—before the Founding even—Japura ruled all the land that is now Deva. They did nothing with it of course, they have plenty of land on their side of the Elvissan Mountains, but they did have interests here.”

“Mines,” Julia said deadpan.

“Exactly so. Copper is highly regarded in Japura, and not for the usual things like plates and bowls. Glass making is important to them and—”

“Copper makes green glass,” she said only then falling in.

Horton looked taken aback. “Yes, that’s right. You surprise me, Lady.”

“I do know a few things about this world.”

“I can see that you do. I have a mine; it still produces copper but a meagre amount only.”

“And you want me to fill it up like I did with Keverin’s coal.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“I would be willing to p—”

Julia shook her head and tried to explain. “You misunderstand me my lord—”

“I will vote for Gylaren,” Horton said desperately.

Julia shut her mouth and strangled the explanation before she could utter it. Horton was looking at her appealingly making her feel guilty. He didn’t know his story was false. She hadn’t made any coal; all she had done was find a seam missed by the miners. Could she find a way to do what he wanted? It might be possible, but the fact was she didn’t know for sure and certainly didn’t have a spell ready.

She cursed herself for a fool and told him the truth. “It’s not that I don’t want to, Lord Horton. I cannot do what you want.”

Horton’s face hardened and he turned to leave.

Julia reached out and stopped him. “The coal was already there. Your story is false.”

“But I was assured by—”

She shook her head. “Your friend was mistaken. The mine does have coal, but it always did. The miners missed a seam. All I did was find and point it out. I’m sorry.”

Horton’s shoulders sagged. “I see. Thank you for your honesty.”

“My conscience would not allow me to deceive you.”

“I would wish more people had your sense of honour.” Horton inclined his head and turned to leave. “Good evening to you… my vote is for Gylaren.”

Julia gaped and watched him rejoin Ascol as if he had never uttered a word about betraying the man. Was it betrayal to vote for Gylaren when the alternative was a mad man working with the kingdom’s enemies? Not by her way of thinking, but it was still double-dealing.

“You look puzzled,” Purcell said coming up behind her.

“I am I think. Lord Choma has just informed me that he will vote for Gylaren. What do you think of that?”

“I would say he made a good choice, but he still courts Ascol. You’re sure he will take our part?”

“I’m not certain, but I think he will.”

Purcell stared at Ascol’s lackeys. “I wonder how many others would vote for Gy if they could do it secretly. What is Ascol holding over them?”

Good question that. Julia pursed her lips in thought but this kind of thing made her head hurt. Horton had turned her down when she had tried to blackmail him, yet he ostensibly supported Ascol. If he wouldn’t respond to her threats, why had he responded to Ascol’s? Maybe Ascol had not threatened him. Maybe he had paid Horton for his vote, but with what?

“Has Ascol any mining interests by any chance?”

Purcell snorted. “He has interests in everything. His boats are everywhere on our rivers.”

“Horton has a copper mine, you know.”

“Hmmm, yes I know. It used to be a crown mine, but there were some collapses I seem to recall. Pergann closed it down and Horton took it over. It’s played out now, or so I understand.”

She frowned. Ascol supplying copper to Choma didn’t make sense unless Horton was planning to make the glass himself. She knew there was a market for glass; Keef was a friend of hers and a merchant in East Town dealing in figurines. They often chatted about his dealings. The Protectorate was a big market for him, and although West Pass was closed, ships sailed to and from Tanjung and Japura with stops all over Waipara.

She sighed. “I give up. I can’t see what Ascol offered him, but whatever it was, Horton seems to have decided not to accept it.”

“Or he has already received what he wanted and now sees a way to rid himself of Ascol.”

“Possible, very possible, but he doesn’t seem the type. I like him, Purcell. He sticks to his principles.”

“He isn’t known as a dishonourable man,” Purcell agreed. “But courting Ascol and voting for Gy is hardly consistent with honour. I don’t know what to think.”

“Neither do I.”

Keverin gave up his effort of persuasion to join her and they spoke of inconsequential things—the food, the dancing, the music. Gradually their conversation turned to the future and their hopes.

“—and I’ll coach her just like Jill coached me,” Julia was saying.

Keverin smiled. “Ah, but what if we have a son as well?”

“Then I will teach him just the same. Men can do it as well, you know.”

“I’m sure. It would be a good way to strengthen the body for sword work,” Keverin mused. “Jihan hasn’t seen you on the bars like I have, but he did mention something about toughening up his recruits.”

She thought it was a good thing Jihan had not seen her in the gym. He would have apoplexy if he saw her in such scandalous attire as her leotard! Jihan’s so-called recruits were the heirs to Deva’s lords. Jihan had been making them workout with practise swords mostly, but he hadn’t neglected other aspects of their training.

“We will teach them to ride and hunt, and Jihan can teach them to dance!” Keverin said with a boom of laughter.

Julia nodded seriously. “Both kinds.”

Keverin agreed. “I would want our son to have Jihan’s skill with a sword. I could wish I had it.”

“You’re no slouch.”

“No, but no one bests Jihan.”

“There will always be someone better, Kev. Let us hope Jihan never meets a man better than him.”

Keverin nodded seriously. “No one in Deva is his master, I would wager Athione’s walls on it.”

She grinned. “Athione without walls wouldn’t be much good. What would hold the roof up?”

Keverin snorted. “Jessica will teach her granddaughter to sew and her grandson to paint, and Gideon will teach them both to revere the God. You will teach them of your world, and I will sit back and be proud.”

“Oh no, you lazy beast!” she said laughing. “You will teach them honour. I would have them be strong, she especially—”

“Any daughter of yours will be strong, my love.”

“Perhaps,” Julia said turning serious. “This world is dangerous, Kev. I would have her capable of more than sewing.”

Keverin nodded thoughtfully. “Jessica will teach her to play the lute and how to politic the lords so she may wrap one around her little finger—just like you did.”

Julia grinned. “And then there is magic.”

Keverin sobered. “The God will decide.”

Magic wasn’t always passed from father to son, but it wasn’t unknown for a son of a mage to be gifted. Mathius’ father was a mage, but Lucius’ father was a wood-crafter and none of his ancestors had ever been mages. The God chose who would wield his power.

“Let us dance one more before the night catches us,” Keverin said, and they did.

Julia took the opportunity to speak with Horton before they left to find their beds. His consort didn’t like her. Lydia’s eyes blazed when Julia reached out to guide Horton to one side, and out of the path of those leaving, but she ignored the woman. She had something important to discuss.

“What do you wish, Lady?”

She wished for many things—peace and Gylaren on the throne headed the list. “I have been thinking about your predicament—the mine?”

“Yes?” Horton said warily.

“I cannot do what you wish, I do not know how or even if it is possible to—”

“You are the all powerful sorceress,” Lydia sneered. “You cannot even magic up some copp—”

“Be silent!” Horton said with a glare. “We will discuss your outburst later,” he said coolly before turning back to Julia. “My apologies, lady.”

She waved that away. “I have heard worse things said of me, my lord. Do not concern yourself.”

“Perhaps that is so, but that does not excuse it. You were saying about the mine?”

“I’m still new in this world, Lord Horton. What I have learned to do, I learned through battle. The mine was a fortunate side effect of my wish to provide Morton with bricks.”

“I see.”

Julia doubted he really did see. He had the look of a man puzzled about something but unwilling to voice it. Maybe it had something to do with why a noble was dirtying her hands making mere bricks. Whatever it was, he did not explain.

“I would like to offer you my magic, lord Horton. If you wish it, I will ask Keverin to arrange a visit with you. I can inspect your mine and look for deposits of copper. Like Kev’s coal, the miners may have missed some. What do you say?”

“A gracious offer, Lady, and I accept. If you would convey my invitation to Keverin on my behalf?”

“Certainly. I’m sure he’ll speak of it before we leave for home.”

“Until then,” Horton said and bowed before taking his leave.

* * *

“But your Grace! She’s a heretic!” Jymis cried. He couldn’t believe that after all they had done she was going to walk free. “We cannot allow her to remain unpunished!”

“We cannot prevent it,” Patriarch Malvin said. “His Holiness has judged her innocent of the charge. There is nothing further to be said on the matter.”

“But he’s wrong—”

Malvin’s eyes hardened. “You forget yourself,” he said coldly. “The Holy Father cannot be questioned, only advised.”

“But—”

Malvin raised a hand. “I will hear no more of this. Be gone.”

Jymis bowed stiffly and left.

Demophon had told him that this would be Malvin’s answer, but he hadn’t wanted to listen. Demophon, no matter his power, was a heretic too. The necessity of working with such a man disgusted him, but what else could he do? The sorceress was worse than any ten sorcerers, even ten like Demophon!

He reached the ferry in pitch darkness. He dare not light his way with a lamp or torch lest he be seen. It was imperative he not be. He climbed aboard and in silence was ferried across the lake. He had ordered a Red Guard captain to replace the ferryman this night with a squad of hand picked men. They knew not to ask questions, but it mattered not. The squad and their captain would be disposed of after they performed a certain task.

The ferry bumped the far shore and Jymis left the same way as he had arrived, in silence. He quickly made his way through the city streets. He turned down an alley, but leapt back stifling a shriek of utter terror when a pair of luminous eyes glared at him. His heart thundered in his chest as he fumbled for his dagger. The eyes came closer, and Jymis sighed in abject relief. It was merely a mangy dog sniffing for scraps in the gutter. He kicked at it, and the cur snapped at his foot. Skin and bones or not, the cursed thing had enough fight in it to wound. He kicked at it again, this time landing a telling blow upon it, and it ran off yelping. He watched it go, then turned back to the alley. He was not at all happy about entering, but his duty to the God was clear.

He stepped inside.

It was so dark, he feared he might lose his way, but almost as soon as the fear grew in him, it left. He was doing the God’s work and would not fail. He ignored the squelching beneath his feet, and the disgusting smell that arose around him as moved deeper into the alley. Keeping his feet took all his concentration for a time. Whatever he was walking upon, made him slip and slide nearly every step. The fetid mess made him want to gag. He would ruin his boots, and what of his robe? It was his best one! How could anyone live like this?

“You would be surprised at what a man can endure, m’lord bishop,” a voice said out of the shadows.

Jymis gasped. He hadn’t realised that his muttering would carry so far. He peered into the shadows trying to make out the man.

“Kell… is it you?”

“No names,” the voice growled. “What is the word?”

“Demophon, the word is Demophon.”

Kell stepped out of the shadows. “You don’t need that.”

Jymis looked down at what Kell was looking at. He was still clutching his dagger in a white knuckled grip. The way Kell was eyeing the jewelled hilt made him nervous and he quickly tucked it away out of sight.

“Follow,” Kell said and led the way.

* * *

Interlude IV

Mortain, voice of the God, first lord sorcerer, head and absolute ruler of the Protectorate was insane.

“He’s completely, totally, out of his head insane if he thinks I’ll let my son die on this… this whim!” Godwinson snarled. He ignored the murmurs of agreement his accusation elicited from the others.

Godwinson re-read the message, but it was no different the third time. That Mortain was paranoid was beyond doubt, and with good reason. More than one had been blasted out of Castle Black since its founding. The current Mortain always killed rivals to his power as soon as he became aware of them, and in so doing, he had held his place longer than any before him. One of the goals that all Mortains purportedly strove for was the strengthening of their kind, but in reality they didn’t want stronger sorcerers born. Why would they when any one of them might turn out to be a successor?

Godwinson smiled grimly. His goal was different in that he truly did want stronger sorcerers—the more the better. He wanted to recruit men strong in their magic and sense of duty. Men with his vision that would do anything, anything, to see it achieved. He needed such men, but more importantly, the Protectorate needed such men if she was to survive the coming cataclysm.

Godwinson resolutely turned his thoughts away from the grim vision that had set him upon his current path, and gazed out the window of his Banswara residence at a breathtaking scene. In the harbour below were ships. And what ships! The entire western fleet lay at anchor taking on stores and men on a scale never before attempted, and all of it on his orders alone. Those huge transports could hold almost thirty thousand legionnaires, almost three legions tasked to fight the greatest campaign the Protectorate had ever undertaken. It was an all or nothing venture that made him swell with pride, and at the same time made him sick with dread. The risk was extreme to say the least. If those ships were lost as the Victory was lost earlier in the year… no, it was unthinkable.

Godwinson glanced down at the message again and it burst into flame. He hastily dropped it mumbling a curse and sucking his burnt fingers. He ignored Felda’s hiss of amusement, and pretended that the others hadn’t seen his fit of temper. One of these days his temper would break loose where someone outside of his personal circle of confidants could see it. That would be bad for more than his image. He must always project an air of calm confidence and dignity to outsiders lest they see weakness where there was none. He could not afford a challenge to his position as Mortain’s heir, least of all now. He could only truly be himself when with Felda and the others. They were his to their very souls—he had cast the spell himself. All others were suspect and not to be wholly trusted. Even he, Mortain’s heir, did not know how many guardians had been set to watch him. Although Beltran seemed very competent at sniffing them out, he would be a fool to let his guard down.

“Do you ever wish you had refused the Bond?”

“Sometimes,” Felda said with a grin.

That wasn’t the expected response and Felda knew it. They had been a team from the very beginning. Long before his circle had come together in common cause, they had been working toward combating the threat of his visions. They were more than friends and allies, they were brothers in all but blood. One by one, they had approached the others until the circle was formed. It consisted of six of the strongest mages—eight if he included his son and Felda—Bonded closer than blood kin to see the cataclysm averted, and there wasn’t much time left. The one he had feared would come into the world had indeed come, though via a different agency than his vision had promised.

Both woman and shaman the one shall be…

His vision had been flawed—he could almost feel the cataclysm growing closer with that realisation. Lady Julia had not been born to the clans as he had prophesied, and because she had not, his plans had gone far awry. For a score of years his watchers had remained hidden among the clans waiting and watching for the one of his vision to be born so that she might be spirited away and raised among sorcerers. Julia was to have been his secret weapon, but the years had rolled on by with no word of her. He had thought that no news was good news. It meant he had more time in which to prepare. How wrong he was, how foolish, how arrogant he was to think he might circumvent the God’s plan for Julia and the world.

His prophecy had been wrong, but did that mean he was doomed to failure? He had foreseen many things that had come to pass—Queen Alyssa’s death, King Pergann’s decline, his own promotion to Godwinson, Felda’s bonding, and many other things. And then there were those yet to occur—war across the land, the fall of Japura, the destruction of Tanjor, Emperor Vexin dead by the roadside and his son hanging from a tree, huge unfathomable shapes in the sky fighting, strange boxes upon the ground that roared like dragons and spit fire, clanking rumbling things that threw thunder and shattered walls, and… and… and…

Godwinson squeezed his eyes shut and clutched his head. He groaned as the impossible shapes and images flickered before his eyes one after another in an unending nightmare of destruction. He saw…

“Are you well?” Felda said in concern. “Should I fetch—”

He saw…

“Father? I will get your medicine!”

He saw again the great cities of Japura, Tanjung, Deva, Bandar, Hasa, and yes, even Castle Black herself sacked and reduced by fire. He saw a column of flame climbing higher and higher into the sky, its mushroom shape blotting out the stars, and within it the sorceress screaming in madness as she throttled someone in the uniform of the legions. He saw people chained neck to neck, boarding great ships, bigger by far than those in the harbour below. He saw people living hand to mouth in the great forests and mountains and knew, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that these pathetic remnants were all that was left of the once proud lands of Waipara. The cities were silent, empty, abandoned.

“…silent, empty, abandoned,” he mumbled.

“Godwinson!” Felda yelled and struck him a sharp blow upon one cheek.

The world rushed back into his head and with it the stinging pain of Felda’s slap upon his face. The hand came around again, but he caught it before it could land.

“I’m back,” he gasped in wonder. “I’m here. It hasn’t happened, won’t happen, might happen, mustn’t happen…”

“Father, drink this quickly!”

Godwinson clutched the goblet his son thrust at him and downed the evil tasting brew. Almost at once he felt his head clear from the last lingering traces of his vision. He turned and found his brothers watching him with worry and fear upon their faces. It won’t happen, he said to himself one final time.

Not with these stalwarts by my side.

“Was it…?” his son asked.

Godwinson nodded shakily. “The same.”

The visions always came with little warning and when they left he felt wrung out like a dirty wash cloth. He raised his trembling hands before his eyes and clenched them into fists. Taking a deep breath, he willed his legs to support him and the trembling throughout his body to stillness. He unclenched his fists and stared at his hands. They were rock steady.

“It was the same,” he said again.

Eban shook his head. “Not the same, I think. When was the last time a vision came upon you in broad daylight like this?”

“A year, was it not?” Felda answered for him.

He nodded and drank the rest of his medicine. The trail of fire left by the brew ignited into a comforting warmth in his belly, which spread slowly to his extremities. He felt strength returning.

“A little more, I believe,” Eban said. “It was just after the destruction of the Fifth Legion at Athione by the sorceress.”

Godwinson massaged his temples trying to smooth away the beginnings of a headache. He remembered the time well. He had been walking in the gardens when he fell into a fit. The vision had been short but shocking and it had hit him hard.

“You think it means something… what?”

“I don’t think it means something, I speculate that it might mean something. Are the visions random?” Eban asked and immediately answered his own question. “No, they follow logical patterns. Are they triggered by outside stimuli? Possibly, probably they are. What is the connection between each vision? The cataclysm. What—”

“For the God’s sake get to the point!” Felda snarled.

“The point is that when you invoke your gift—”

Wotan snorted. “Gift, a curse more like!”

“—you are in control of what it shows you. By that I mean you see answers—or possible answers—to questions you pose to yourself, but when—as just now and a year ago—you have a vision with no warning, the fit lasts only long enough to pass on some scrap of information. True?”

He nodded. “There was one thing that I don’t remember seeing before.”

“And that was?”

“I saw fire.”

“You have seen that many times.”

“Not like this. I saw a fire so huge that it touched the heavens, and within it the sorceress screaming in madness with her hands locked around the throat of…” he frowned. “Of… someone in legion uniform.”

“Someone?”

“I didn’t see his face, but I know him—I think I know him. I’m not sure now.”

Eban was quiet for some time, but then, “Might it have been General Navarien?”

“It might have been, why?”

“Simply because it was either Julia or Navarien that triggered your vision of last year.”

“That doesn’t follow,” Felda said with an exasperated sigh. “Anyone at that battle could have been responsible, or none! We don’t know that the visions are triggered by others. They might just happen!”

“Nothing just happens, man!” Eban said in annoyance. He hated it when people denied logic. “There is always an explanation.”

Felda grinned. “Why do you have green eyes?”

Eban opened his mouth, and paused nonplussed. “I don’t know, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t an explanation.”

“Ha!” Felda said satisfied.

Godwinson smiled wearily. Sometimes he wished he didn’t know what was coming. It would be so much easier living his life in blissful ignorance of the future. But he did know, and because of that, every waking moment of his life was dedicated to preventing his vision from coming to pass. He shouldn’t feel sorry for himself. He had friends and allies to support him. There was his son for one.

Wotan had only recently finished his so-called schooling. It had been hard for both of them. He knew what his son would go through and had prepared him as thoroughly as he knew how, but as usual, children disbelieved what their parents told them. Thank the God Wotan was intelligent, and had seen for himself the sense in his advice when he saw what went on under Castle Black. From all reports, Wotan had managed to come through without too many scars. Obedience above all was necessary to come through the halls alive, even if obedience meant killing another, which it very often did.

Molan stood by the door, always first with information, always touchy when the information was questioned. Storms always came to mind when Molan entered a room, it was something he could live up to—there was none better at handling weather.

Eban was the only one sitting. Rocks came to mind when looking at him, very big rocks! Eban stood far above him in height, but for all of that he was a quiet sort. He never became angry; he never did anything emotional at all. Calm thought was his watchword, and debates were his joy. He often talked to Eban just to hear his outlandish ideas.

Kontar stood near Felda a step or two away. A ferrety man, Kontar was the sort you would generally avoid in the common room of an inn. He always looked sour, but that was deceiving. Kontar was second only in strength to Felda. He was good at finding what people wanted the most and supplying it; when the circle needed something from someone without removing that someone, Kontar was the one chosen to do it.

Magar stood next to Wotan. He was a little older than Wotan, but acted younger. They were good friends, and worked well together. Wotan was weak as yet—compared to these men, everyone was weak, but he would gain strength with experience. Until then, Magar was Wotan’s shadow. Wotan supplied something Magar desperately needed—someone to look up to—in exchange, Magar supplied the strength in magic that Wotan would need for the foreseeable future.

Apart from Wotan, Pendaran was the weakest among the circle, but there was nothing wrong with his skills. He could build anything if he studied the problem for long enough. He and Eban were the best of friends; he would often make things Eban thought up.

Finally, there was their newest recruit—Beltran. He was a killer, with or without magic, but never without orders. He neither liked nor disliked killing, to him it was a job that needed doing. He was about equal in strength to Magar, and still seemed a little dazed—the bond did take getting used to. Feeling what everyone in the circle felt could be confusing at first, but given time he would learn the trick of separating himself from the others.

Felda and Eban were still arguing. Godwinson broke in, “So you think that perhaps Julia or Navarien has done something to merit a vision?”

“I do, yes,” Eban said and Felda shook his head.

“You don’t agree?” he said turning to his friend.

“It’s Eban’s assumptions I disagree with. It’s always dangerous to assume you know more than you do.”

“Enough!” Godwinson said before Eban could retort. “I have a headache and you two aren’t making it any better. I have no intention of assuming anything about Lady Julia, especially as it appears that my visions are unreliable where she is concerned. If she can’t be recruited—and I believe we are all in agreement that she cannot—then she must be eliminated. As for General Navarien, he has my every confidence. I didn’t save him from Mortain because I liked him—not only that. My vision was most specific regarding him, and you all know that.”

Felda nodded. “I will check with Demophon to ascertain the situation regarding Julia.”

Godwinson smiled. “Do that, and keep me informed. Now then, about our gracious lord’s… whim. I see no alternative. You’ll have to go, Wotan. We’re not ready to challenge him just yet, and we may not have to if things go well.”

“Tutt-tut-tut,” Eban chided. “You know we will. Nothing goes exactly to plan. If you plan for the worst all your surprises will be good ones.”

“I can hope at least,” he said with a sour smile on his face. “Mortain has specifically ordered Wotan to lead the mages to Calvados, yet he knows that he is weaker than many already chosen to go. What does that say to you?”

“He wants your son dead,” Beltran rumbled without inflection.

Godwinson nodded. “Exactly. Wotan isn’t strong enough to warrant it, and he’s too young to have made enemies that might prevail upon Mortain to order it, so why?”

“Why does that maniac do anything?” Eban laughed sarcastically. “He wants to hurt you, I should think. If he knew about us it would be you he would be removing and not your son.”

Godwinson left his place at the window and moved to seat himself next to Eban. Once seated, the others found places to be more comfortable. Wotan moved to take his place at the window and stare at his future in the harbour below. Magar shadowed Wotan of course; where else would he be?

Godwinson studied his son. He couldn’t help thinking that Mortain was doing this for more than spitefulness, but Eban was right, if he knew about the circle and its purpose, he wouldn’t settle for Wotan alone.

“I’m looking forward to meeting the general, father,” Wotan said absently as he watched the ships that would take him to Calvados.

“You’ll like him, I think. Navarien isn’t too fond of our kind, but I don’t believe it’s entirely personal with him. He saw many of his men die against Bandar and Athione. Our orders to him cost nearly six thousand men, men he had lived with and commanded for over two years. His loss has made him wary of trusting us, but if you show a willingness to work with him, I think he’ll come around.”

“Are you still set on sending so many? Mortain will hardly approve your actions,” Felda said.

That was an understatement. The Protectorate lost almost two full legions to Julia, and now here he was sending the replacements for those legions to Calvados! Those men were badly needed elsewhere. Being conquered did not sit well with the Bandarian people and they had made their displeasure felt just a short while ago. General Menelaus was even now teaching those rebellious lords the error of their ways. First Legion was an effective tool for the giving of such lessons, but Mortain wouldn’t care about that. He would only see the Protectorate’s resources stretched and all its forces committed with none to spare. As his heir, he was well aware of the man’s likes and dislikes, but as far as he was concerned, the decision to send the reinforcements was final.

“I think I can make him understand the necessity,” Godwinson went on. “Expecting Navarien to be victorious against the clans with so few men is unrealistic. Mortain’s no fool, he wants success as we do.”

“Not a fool certainly,” Eban said. “But he views the world… how shall I put it? Let’s just say that he has a unique point of view and leave it at that.”

Molan and Felda laughed at Eban’s dry tone.

Wotan looked worriedly back at his father, but Magar noticed it. He clasped his friend’s shoulder and whispered something to him. Wotan straightened at the contact and was reassured by it.

Godwinson frowned. “Molan must accompany Wotan and Magar on Bandar’s Pride. We can’t afford to loose the ships or the men they will carry. As it is, I’ll be explaining why I sent so many for tendays, without the added complication of losing the fleet.”

“I will enjoy that,” Molan said delighted at the prospect of testing himself against the worst storms nature could devise.

Godwinson shuddered at the thought of braving seas known to tower over the highest masts, and winds that carried ships off course by a sixty leagues in a night. The North Sea could rival the Sea of Despair for storms that could arise seemingly in the blink of an eye. Spring was the only truly safe time for ships to make their way to Camorin.

“That’s all for now, everyone. Wotan, stay behind for a moment.” The others left singly or in pairs chatting about inconsequential things, but Magar hesitated looking first to Wotan and then back to Godwinson. “You may stay Magar.”

Magar relaxed, and stepped to one side to give Godwinson room with his son.

“I wanted to say that I’m proud of you, son. I don’t want you taking foolish chances. The clans won’t be your biggest enemy in Camorin, your brothers will.”

“I’ll be careful, father, but I can’t stay completely safe—not in battle at least.”

“I realise that, but who can say which of the others is a guardian? You mustn’t allow your real self to shine through the mask. Try to mimic Beltran if you can, or if not, be ready to strike hard with your magic.”

Wotan stiffened at the implied lack of confidence. “I assure you that I can perform the task, father. I can be ruthless when needs be, but I prefer discussion and compromise to force.”

“I know you will do well. I have every confidence in you, but remember that force does have its place.”

“I know,” Wotan said simply.

He nodded, and turned to Magar.

“My life before his, Godwinson,” Magar said with a quick bow.

He returned the bow with respect. The bond between them had rung with Magar’s conviction.

* * *

“Relax Keppel! If you move with it, you’ll enjoy it more. Look at Bothmar, he can do it!” Vexin said from his place on the beam.

“If I relax anymore, my emperor, I’ll fall and break my neck!”

“Nonsense, it’s only a yard or so from the floor! Whatever do you do when you need to infiltrate somewhere? You can’t be afraid of heights!”

“I use a rope!” Keppel said testily.

Vexin laughed at the sour look Keppel gave him and continued his work. He was enjoying himself, and it was good exercise.

Keppel jumped down from his perch and watched his emperor perform a version of Lady Julia’s gymnastics. Vexin enjoyed the effort the exercises took. He had spent far too much time sitting on his throne and had developed a belly. With Dulcinea in mind, he had decided to exercise. Having a fat man lying atop her—emperor or not—couldn’t be fun, but it was supposed to be. He was determined to become the man she had married once again.

Vexin performed what he called a forward tumble, and managed it without falling onto the mattresses. He was pleased with his success. That is, he was pleased until he saw Bothmar do it on his own beam twice in succession without pausing. Vexin frowned and tried to copy it and succeeded, but he ran out of beam and had to jump down at the end of the move. Bothmar tumbled his way along his own beam and performed a breathtaking dismount. It was like a tumble in mid-air, but he managed to twist his body as well. Bothmar landed on his backside amongst the mattresses beaming fit to split his face in half.

“All right smarty, that’s enough grinning,” Vexin said testily. “Where did you learn to do that, and don’t say you made it up because I don’t believe it!”

Bothmar was full of good cheer today. He was still grinning as he approached. “Datan has been keeping an eye on the sorceress as you ordered, my emperor. I asked him to recall the gymnastics, but he did one better. He said he was fed up with everyone asking him to show them Julia, so he made something for me.”

Bothmar went aside to the bench along the wall and returned with something in a velvet bag. Bothmar proffered the contents to his emperor grinning all the while.

Vexin frowned at the small mirror. It was no bigger than his hand, but as soon as he touched it a picture formed. Julia walked into a room wearing her under garments. Vexin felt himself harden at the sight. He scowled at the reaction. He loved Dulcinea and no other, no other! His body complied with his wishes and subsided as he watched her perform an intricate dance routine.

Bothmar gestured at the mirror. “I have one of these for the beam and another for the bars, my emperor. I learned how to do my twist and tumble from watching her.”

“This mirror,” Vexin said thoughtfully. “Is Julia doing her gymnastics now?”

“No, my emperor, it’s not a scrying mirror. Datan fixed the image to the glass after he recalled a day when Julia was in her gym.”

“An illusion then. I’ve never seen an illusion fixed to an object before.”

Vexin watched Julia perform again. He winced as she slid down to perform something likely to split him in half if he tried it. One of her legs was stretched in front while the other was behind her. Both were flat to the floor as she danced with her hands and arms.

“Datan said it’s easier to attach an illusion to something that uses light, than to make one appear in the air.”

“This could be useful for other things,” Vexin said slowly as his thoughts raced through the possibilities. “Hmmm, I’ll have to give it some more thought. I wonder if Datan could magic up some cavalry. That would confuse the Devans all right!”

Vexin watched Julia to the conclusion of the routine then handed the glass back. He grinned thinking of the argument Datan would likely give him when he asked for mirrors the same as Bothmar had.

“Will you hear my news now, my emperor?” Keppel said sourly.

Vexin reached for his robe and began dressing. “Don’t be like that, my friend, I have few distractions to occupy my time. I don’t tell you not to breed your fish do I?”

Keppel didn’t answer, but he did smile. That was good enough. Vexin led the way to his study wondering what it was like to be Keppel. The man was dangerous true, but he must always fear another like him would appear one day and take all he held dear. Not that there was much. He had no consort—or children as far as he knew. His only passion was killing people and breeding ornamental fish. He was good at both, he thought remembering the pond in Dulcinea’s garden, and there was that missing guard last year. He idly wondered what the guard had done, but wasn’t interested enough to ask. The man had probably scared the fish or something.

“Have a seat both of you, while I pour some wine. No, I think some tea for a change.”

“Let me do that, my emperor,” Bothmar said taking the pot from Vexin.

“Very well, but you know what I think of having servants do every little thing for me.”

“Just this once,” Bothmar said bending to the task.

He smiled and shook his head. If he wasn’t careful, these two men might become real friends. The smile slipped and a frown took its place. Friends were dangerous, they left you open to attack by people willing to kidnap or kill. He smiled again. If someone tried Keppel, he wouldn’t be doing it again or anything else for that matter.

He made himself comfortable. “Now then, what news?”

Keppel looked relieved. “Methrym has been very ambitious, my emperor.”

He scowled. He didn’t like ambition, it usually meant someone was trying to assassinate him again. He found it hard to believe Methrym would want to be emperor; the man hated politics, but Vexin secretly suspected the War Leader would do well in the political arena. Politics in Tanjung quite often ended with one’s opposition dead by poison or other such device, and by all accounts, Methrym was good at killing. He wasn’t as good as Keppel, but then no one was.

Keppel took his tea from Bothmar, and to Vexin’s surprise, drank some. He usually distrusted anything not made by his or his emperor’s own hands. Bothmar had just been paid a compliment—a rather large one. Vexin wondered if he knew just how large.

Keppel put aside his empty cup. “As I informed you earlier, my emperor, Methrym killed Barthan to take charge of the army. The raids stopped immediately and many men were seen racing along the border collecting this and that. I can now report that the army has camped outside of Tanjung Nelek and a courier will arrive sometime today.”

“Today?” he said watching the spy master squirm in embarrassment. “It’s unlike you to be so late with news. What happened?”

“My sources were taken by surprise, my emperor. Methrym took your orders to heart it seems. If you remember, you ordered a… small war, I believe you termed it.”

“I remember,” he said impatiently.

“Methrym’s version of small may not match yours, my emperor. It certainly doesn’t match mine.” Keppel took a deep breath then said in a rush, “He sacked Talayan.”

“I didn’t know Talitha had a village called Talayan.”

Keppel tried again. “He sacked invincible Talayan—not that anything is… invincible I mean.”

He hissed in shock and Bothmar mopped tea from where he spilled it in his surprise. Vexin slumped back in his seat and stared at nothing while his thoughts raced in every direction at once. Madness, it was utter madness to attempt Talayan, yet he had succeeded in his plan. How had he done it? He shook his head, it didn’t matter now. His thoughts raced down avenues he never would have looked to go but then he froze.

“How bad was the damage do you know?” he asked calmly.

“It was total, my emperor.”

“Total?” he breathed less calmly.

“Yes, my emperor. Methrym and some of his men locked themselves in coffles and entered as slaves chained in some wagons his men pilfered along the border. He opened the gate and, well, he sacked the place. He burned the entire city to the ground after freeing every slave he could find.”

This could be utter disaster. What would Talitha do when she found out? Perhaps she was already doing it while he sat here thinking!

“Has Talitha mobilised?”

“I don’t think so. I have no news from my sources in her palace.”

That didn’t help him. Keppel’s sources might have been found out and killed. That sort of thing did happen from time to time, especially in the Protectorate, but as far as he knew, not in Japura. Talitha wouldn’t stand for this, nor would he in her place, but he might be able to stop her hard.

“Bothmar, have you your—” he began, but Bothmar was already holding parchment and a stick of charcoal. “Ah good. Note this down for me, and then write it up.”

Bothmar nodded and made ready.

“To Talitha, bitch Matriarch of the cesspit known as Japura: greetings! As I’m sure you’re aware, I have taken steps to remove a small and insignificant irritant that has nagged my borders for some time now. I am sure you are pleased, as I am, to hear that centuries of raiding along the border of our two great countries has been stopped permanently, and the culprits brought to justice. Underline permanently for me would you Bothmar?”

Bothmar nodded and underlined the text with his charcoal.

“Where was I? Ah yes I remember now. My dear Talitha, now that the vermin have been stamped out, we can enter into a new era of peace and trade between our two great nations. I have heard wonderful tales of the merchandise to be found in Orrisa, and I’m sure there are no vermin to be found there. I hope this finds you in good health blah, blah, blah. Underline Orrisa as well.”

That should rattle her. He had to make her believe that his patience with restraint was gone, and that he would sack Orrisa despite his own likely losses just as he had Talayan. Talitha couldn’t afford to lose both of her biggest trade cities. Talayan had always been the jewel in her crown, but Orrisa was just as important. It would have been important without the taxes and other revenue it brought her treasury. Its location alone made it so, just as Tanjung Karang was to him.

Bothmar looked up from his writing. “I have it, my emperor. Do you want me to ready this for your signature now?”

“No hurry, tomorrow will do. I might have something to add after I read the messages from Nelek. Do we know what kind of losses Methrym suffered?”

“I should have mentioned that,” Keppel said. “Methrym lost three hundred and two.”

Vexin blinked. “You mean he destroyed invincible Talayan for three hundred lives!”

Keppel nodded. “Three hundred and two dead. There were quite a few wounded but nothing more than that. Methrym brought out more than forty thousand slaves, many of them our own people stolen on border raids. Some of the oldest were stolen as children—they must be eighty now!”

Forty thousand new peasants—what would he do with them all? With Talayan gone, the border would be much safer—perhaps forever, but certainly for many years to come. He realised he could follow Bothmar’s plan—settle them along the border, and train the young men for garrisons. It would cost a fortune to rebuild the towns and villages, especially the forts he would need, but it would be worth it if a stable border could be created—one that would last. Odrhan and his sons would benefit immensely, it would allow them to concentrate on other concerns.

Thump!

Bothmar stood and answered the knock at the door. A guard handed Bothmar two scrolls then departed. “I think this is the message you mentioned, Keppel.”

“Read it for me, Bothmar, but just the essence for now. Keppel has already spoilt the surprise.”

Bothmar read the message quickly then opened the other; Vexin watched his eyebrows climb.

“Hundreds of wagons of loot were taken during the sack. Methrym and the ex-slaves are camped at Nelek—he has taken the liberty of supplying food and clothing paid for from the loot. It only comes to a few thousand golds or so.”

“That’s fine,” he said, well pleased with Methrym’s foresight. Already these people were in his debt. “These new peasants are to be my new borderers… heavily armed borderers I might add.”

“Is that wise?” Keppel said. “Arming peasants will have the lords howling.”

Vexin shrugged fully aware of the potential problems. “If it strengthens the empire it is good, if it weakens the empire it is bad. Arming these people on my border strengthens it and me. If it weakens the lords somewhat, so much the better!”

Keppel looked sceptical but Vexin was determined to carry this through to completion. One of the reasons that Deva had survived so many struggles, was that a peasant was free to join a lord’s guard and be trained almost as if they were kinsmen. That gave Deva unbeatable numbers when they needed them. Besides, Deva’s lords were still in power. If Keppel was right, wouldn’t the peasants have taken control before now?

Bothmar was engrossed in the scrolls, but he surfaced long enough to give his emperor another morsel. “Lord Nelek has your goods under seal, my emperor. One of these scrolls is an offer to market the whole lot for ten percent of the value. I would suggest… strongly suggest that you not accept.”

Vexin was already willing to accept Bothmar’s suggestion. When Bothmar said he strongly suggested something though, he knew he had better look closely before making a firm decision.

“Oh, and why is that, Bothmar?”

“Because three of the wagons carried coin already. Nelek must know this.”

“How much?”

“A little more than a two million golds my emperor—in each wagon that is. Six million golds and the other items will bring twice that. The wagons carrying the silk will sell for another two million I shouldn’t wonder.”

“How…” he croaked and then cleared his throat. “How much would you estimate altogether?”

Bothmar shrugged and began adding in his head. “We won’t get top price, my emperor, not unless you trickle it into the market place. The gems alone—perhaps three million or so. All together at top price, twenty… twenty-five million, but if we dump it all at once barely seventeen million I shouldn’t wonder, possibly less.”

Barely!

Seventeen million golds… he was flaming rich! He calmed his thoughts. He was already much richer in property than seventeen million golds, but he had never had seventeen million in spare gold at one time.

Seventeen million spare golds!

He could do… things! He could build roads, and libraries, and schools, and ships… and… and armies! By the God, Tanjung was about to become the power it was meant to be!

* * *

17 ~ Pretty Boys

Sergeant Burke led Julia silently through the palace. His eyes scrutinised every alcove and doorway for threat to his charge, while Alvin did similarly from the rear of their party.

“Here you are, lady,” Burke said.

“Thank you Burke, you too Alvin. I’ll be much happier when we can leave for home. I’m sure you have better things to do than follow me about.”

Burke and Alvin shook their heads vigorously. “No, Lady. Our first duty is to protect our Lord and Lady. By the Lord’s order, that means protecting you first from all harm.”

She laughed. She knew he would say that, just as Udall always did… had done. With that thought, her laughter died.

“I want you to be careful, very careful. Udall… poor Udall didn’t have a chance to save himself. I want you to take every precaution you can think of. Every precaution.”

Alvin shook his head denying her words. “He died protecting you. For that we honour him, Lady. There can be no higher honour than dying to protect you,” he said seriously, but he was young yet.

She didn’t laugh at the boy. Alvin was serious. She hadn’t expected the nod from Burke though; she’d thought he had more sense.

“Well I… thank you,” she said flustered.

Burke and Alvin grinned at her embarrassment. They waited for her to enter the women’s quarter before leaving. She nodded to Elise and continued on, hearing it boom shut behind her like the door to a prison cell. It did feel like a prison to her. At home in Athione, the women’s quarter had a different feel to it. It was somehow lighter, though the corridors were dimly lit. Athione left a person with no doubts it was a fortress built for war, but she felt happy there and not at all out of place. She did feel that way in the palace. Here, people knew her only from stories retold of her actions last year, and they were afraid. Her reputation had more than a few people scurrying from her path when she walked through the palace. The scowl she often wore made it worse, she knew, but she couldn’t help it sometimes. The wall she had cultivated to keep people at a distance back in England, had long since eroded to nothing. It still surprised her how much it hurt when a mother snatched a child from her path in fear of what the ferocious sorceress might do.

Julia nodded at the ever-present guardsmen standing either side of her door. Halbert and Moriz were old hands at being bodyguards; they had often shadowed Keverin when he was younger. They were good with their swords even now, but they were getting on a bit for a guardsman’s life. She wouldn’t hurt their feelings by offering to have chairs brought out for them, but it made her uncomfortable to ignore them.

“How’s the arm today, Halbert?”

“Fine, Lady, thank you. It was right nice of you to fix it up for me—might have missed duty else.”

“Glad to help. I like healing people, it makes me feel useful. No doubt Moriz here will be more careful with that scythe he calls a sword from now on!”

Halbert grinned at the spluttering coming from Moriz.

“There’s nothing wrong with this blade, Lady,” Moriz said stoutly and patting the weapon affectionately. “I’ve ridden to battle many a time with Lord Keverin and his father afore him. This here blade has saved me more than once. It’s better than those tiny things the youngsters are carrying these days!”

“I wish we were home,” Julia said wistfully. “I wonder if Adara has her first tooth yet. What do you think?” She winked at Halbert who rolled his eyes. Adara was Moriz’ great granddaughter. He doted on all his family, but his second born granddaughter was special in his eyes.

A dreamy look came over Moriz’ face as he imagined the baby safe in her crib. “I would hear her even here, Lady!”

Julia laughed. “You might at that!”

Still laughing, she entered her room closing the door behind her. Both men were acutely uncomfortable being in the women’s quarter of the palace, but she refused to sympathise with them too much. She had put up with the nonsense of bodyguards for almost two years now. They deserved being uncomfortable after dogging her heels around Devarr all yesterday. She chuckled remembering their aggrieved comments about aching feet as she aimlessly walked around the city sightseeing.

Julia wandered through her empty rooms trying to find something to do. She could have a bath and change her dress for dinner, but no, Jessica had reminded her not long ago that Kev wouldn’t be there. He was still trying to persuade Ascol’s allies to break with him. She could help Lucius with his experiments… only she didn’t know a fraction of what was necessary to help. She had raw strength and little else. She could maybe visit Lysara and Ahnao, but they would be with the others, and she wasn’t very popular with many of the lord’s consorts. Besides, she didn’t know any gossip, and half what they thought funny made no sense to her.

She stopped before the open windows and watched the guardsmen pacing the palace wall. She wished Keverin would come by. He had stayed away every night of their stay. He said it wouldn’t be proper for him to spend the night with her. She knew he was right, but it didn’t make her feel any better. She wanted to be with him day and night and never let him out of her sight, but she wasn’t getting her way. Deva could be prudish about some things. A lord could dally with a peasant woman, but marrying one was shocking. Jihan was still receiving strange looks for marrying Ahnao, but he ignored them. A Lord Protector could do that. He had six thousand guardsmen who said he could! Another thing was sex outside of marriage. Again, a double standard reared its head. Lords received a boys will be boys attitude, but noble ladies… well, even a hint of that kind of thing would be a major scandal, which meant she had slept alone for well over a year! Ahnao’s pregnancy only reminded her of her own lack of intimacy.

It was infuriating! She wasn’t even a real noble, but Keverin said she was, her guardsmen knew beyond doubt that she was, so that was that as far as they were concerned. She was trapped by people’s expectations.

With nothing to do, she settled herself to read a book she had borrowed from Jessica. Poetry was not to her taste, but she could hardly turn on the radio and listen to music. At home, she would use her spare time working on her gymnastics. She still trained. She was determined not to lose her ability without a fight, but it was a more relaxed kind of training—more for enjoyment and fitness than anything. She had discussed adding a new event to next year’s tournament with Jessica, and she had loved the idea. Julia wondered what Keverin would say when he heard that she wanted to train others in gymnastics? She had a feeling he wouldn’t like the idea. He’d nearly had apoplexy when he first saw her in a leotard.

She settled down and tried to concentrate on her book, but after reading the same paragraph twice, and still not remembering its content, she gave it up as a bad job. She rubbed chilled arms and gestured at the logs in the fireplace. It took only a little magic to create a nice blaze. The evenings could be chilly here.

There came a tap on her door and it opened to admit Gideon. He was in a dither. He was wringing his hands fit to twist them off, and his face showed a deep worry.

“I have terrible news. A Red Guard captain informs me the Holy Father has taken ill. Will you come?”

“Of course I’ll come!” Julia said and snatched up her cloak.

Gideon helped her with the brooch that fastened her cloak, and then hurried to follow her. She collected her guardsmen and rushed through the halls with the cloak billowing behind her.

“Dugan must be frantic,” she said.

Gideon puffed along beside her, but when she made to slow her pace, he urged her on. “The captain made no mention, Lady, but I imagine you’re right. Dugan loves the Holy Father—we all do.”

Julia wouldn’t say that she loved the old man, respected him certainly, liked… maybe, but not loved. To her the Holy Father seemed too preoccupied with inconsequential matters, such as why Malcor town didn’t have three chapels instead of two larger ones. What difference to the world did that make? Still, she didn’t have to love someone to offer them her skills. She would heal a sorcerer if asked, she had once, and Lucius had become a good friend.

They left the palace proper and entered the grounds in a whirl. Startled people jumped out of her way as they realised who she was. Halbert and Moriz, with heads swinging side-to-side, kept the people back. A large contingent of Red Guards stood uneasily watching her sweep toward them. There were twelve men with halberds and a thirteenth in front wearing a gold sash of rank. Julia frowned at the slovenly soldiers at the captain’s back. Her guardsmen always looked professional. Whether standing at their ease or fighting a battle, they looked ready for whatever might come. These men looked nothing like her guardsmen, which Moriz and Halbert had noted.

“Look at them pretty boys, Moriz,” Halbert whispered. “Have you ever seen worse?”

Moriz grunted he hadn’t. “Keep your eyes moving. They ain’t gonna be worth shit in a fight!”

Julia tuned out their conversation. The captain was a big man, but surely they could have found him a uniform that fit better than this. The red tunic was fairly bursting at the seams where the his belly stressed the material. He wasn’t wearing the shiny breastplate the others wore either. Maybe they couldn’t find enough metal to cover that belly. He was sweating and breathing heavily, he must have been marching at the double.

“What news of the Holy Father?”

“Captain Kell, Lady, at your service,” he said and performed an awkward bow. “He be dying they say.”

Julia blinked in surprise. She had never heard the peasant twang from an officer before. Even Brian, a newly minted captain, was losing his as greater contact and speech with Keverin rubbed off on him. The Red Guard must be different from other guard companies, less… prejudiced was too strong a word, but they were obviously less concerned with class. That was all to the good to her way of thinking.

“As bad as that?” she asked. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I… I’m not sure, Lady. You should come and see.”

“Well, if you don’t know then you don’t. Have you horses ready?”

“Er no, Lady… we marched.”

Halbert and Moriz snickered but she ignored them. “All right we can—”

“Can I come, Lady?” Lorcan said panting as he ran to catch her.

“I don’t—”

“We’re only supposed to bring you and the priest, Lady,” Captain Kell said.

“You can come, Lorcan,” she said smiling, and totally ignoring the captain’s squawk. “We had better leave for the ferry… now, Captain!” she said firmly brooking no argument.

Kell nodded jerkily, and with more confusion from his men and more snorts of laughter from Moriz, they turned about and marched out the gate. Julia shook her head at Halbert and Moriz. They were smirking and pointing at this or that Red Guard’s attempt at a proper marching formation like children at a funfair.

Captain Kell and his men led the way through the darkening streets. Julia muttered to herself about the dark and how there was nothing to be scared about. She had always feared the dark. Back in England she would usually carry a torch with her, but here she had nothing… she realised she did have something better than a torch—she had magic! Her preoccupation with ways and means of producing light without fire caused her downfall. She wasn’t ready when dark robed forms glowing for all they were worth suddenly surrounded her group. She snatched at her magic, but it was too late—far too late for her friends.

Vrooosh!

Two small fireballs arced toward her. She threw herself to one side and they struck Halbert and Moriz in the chest throwing them to the cobbles burning. They screamed rolling on the ground trying to beat out the flames, but magic fire could not be extinguished that way. Her hand was coming up, oh so slowly. Her power reached out and the flames died, but so did her friends with a last gasp of pain. All she could see was Moriz and Halbert lying dead before her. Gideon was dropping to his knees reaching for the guardsmen in an effort to help them while Lorcan moved toward her in a rush slowed by her shock into a snail-like dash.

Time snapped back to normal as Julia recognised Demophon. “You bastard! I’ll—” she began in a towering rage.

“Do nothing or the priest and boy die!” Demophon yelled quickly.

She was drawing deep enough to obliterate this murderer and the entire street he stood upon, but Lorcan… Gideon. She might—only might—be able to shield one of them along with herself in time to stop the fireballs that would surely rain upon them. She couldn’t choose!

Demophon stepped toward her and she did nothing to prevent him. Captain Kell and his men dropped their weapons and she thought that wise of them, until the smirking captain received a pouch of gold.

“Traitors!” she screamed. “Keverin will track you down and hang you all!”

Demophon chuckled as the Red Guards looked nervously at each other.

“The Holy Father?” Gideon breathed in hope.

“Your Holy Father has never been better, I assure you Gideon,” Demophon said in a surprisingly kind way.

Mathius was beyond her range, but perhaps Lucius? Julia strained to reach him but he wasn’t near enough! She could sense he was just out of range. She strained with all her being, but she couldn’t quite grasp his mind.

While Demophon gloated over his success, the other sorcerers stood immobile watching her intently. She frowned at them; something wasn’t right about them and she couldn’t think what it was, but then she realised what had caught her attention. Every one of the black robed men was exactly the same strength! Not possible! If not for the evidence of her eyes, she would have said they were brothers as alike as twins. In reality, they diverged widely from one another. She couldn’t see faces in the dark, but they were of widely varying builds. She had the answer after a moment of thought. They were linking their magic and it had equalised them to the weakest of their group. None could stand against Mathius let alone her alone, but together… she was no match and they knew it.

The Red Guards were dragging something from the alley on her right. Her gorge rose as she realised why Kell’s uniform didn’t fit. Thirteen unclothed and very dead men were dragged onto the street and positioned in rows with a halberd close to hand.

“Just drop the uniforms on top of each one. Time is critical,” Demophon said impatiently.

The fake guards stripped and did as Demophon bid them, then hurriedly dressed in ordinary cotton shirts and trousers.

“If you hurt her, you die!” Lorcan snarled.

Demophon raised an eyebrow at Lorcan. “Well said young man. Not that you could stop me, but well said nevertheless. She will not be harmed; she’s going on a little trip with my friends here,” he said waving a hand at the sorcerers.

“And what of your friend Ascol?” Julia said stalling for time. Surely Lucius would move a little closer soon.

Demophon snorted. “Ascol has no friends, as you’re well aware, but he won’t be abandoned I assure you. With you out of the way, he won’t need so many of us to hold his hand.”

“It’s done as you wanted,” Kell said.

“The woman?” Demophon said turning to look. “No I see her. You can go.”

Without a word, the traitors ran off.

Julia stared at the dead woman. She was the right weight and general build, but no one who knew her would ever believe this poor woman was she.

“Take off your dress—you as well, Father. Don’t worry about modesty, Lady. We’ve all seen you practising.” Demophon smiled lewdly. “Very nice by the by.”

Julia’s rage peaked higher than ever but there was nothing she could do. She slowly began to undress. If they wanted her nude, they would get a fight that would make her and the Third Legion last year seem a mere side show! She threw her dress and cloak at Demophon who gave them to one of his men. The sorcerer clothed the dead woman in the dress and fastened the cloak about her throat grimacing all the while. When he was finished, he fastidiously wiped his hands.

Demophon smirked at Julia’s shivering. Her underskirt was cotton, but she was still cold. She vowed that one slip by any of these men, would see them turned to ash on the wind. The silent houses each side of the street seemed to mock her, as she frantically sought a way out of the trap. A face appeared at an upstairs window then ducked away lending her hope of rescue, but it almost had to be a peasant’s face and none but guardsmen could save her now.

Another sorcerer came forward and handed a water bag to Demophon.

“Drink,” Demophon said handing it to her.

“What’s in it?” Julia said warily.

“Tancred—Stop!” Demophon snarled as she made to dash it upon the cobbles. “If you do that, the boy dies. Refuse to drink, and they both die, you included. Now drink it!”

Julia lowered her arm. She couldn’t drink, she mustn’t! But they would kill her friends if she didn’t.

“Don’t you do it, Lady! Kill them all!” Lorcan shouted pulling a dagger and lunging at Demophon.

A tiny arc of light connected Demophon to Lorcan’s dagger.

“Arghhh!” the boy howled shaking his hand as the dagger flew through the air to land a few yards up the street.

“That was your only warning, boy.” Demophon held up a hand crackling with lightning barely contained. “Don’t try my patience further. I will kill you next time. Believe it!”

Julia raised the bag to her lips all the while screaming for Lucius in her mind. One sip and the acrid fumes flooded her mouth making her want to gag.

*Lucius help me, Luciuuussss!* she screamed into the void as she swallowed a mouthful. She lowered the bag coughing. She wanted to heave up the vile stuff, but she forced her stomach not to humiliate her further. *Lucius for the God’s sake answer me!*

“More!” Demophon demanded.

She shook her head playing for time, but Demophon threatened Gideon. Her hold on her magic was slipping! She struggled to hold on.

*Luciuuussss!* she screamed even as she gagged on the vile brew.

*Julia! What’s wrong?*

*Lucius help—* she began but she lost her struggle. Her magic abandoned her, and with it her ability to reply.

*Julia? Why don’t you answer?* Lucius’s voice was diminished now but not gone. *Tell me where you are… what’s happening? Juliaaa!*

The world was spinning and she staggered into someone’s arms. She looked up and saw Demophon smiling down at her. She pushed away and sprawled to the ground falling over a body. In the distance, she heard yelling and cursing, but it was far away and getting further every moment.

She looked blearily into a face. It was her own face lying there all cold and dead. Poor Keverin…

* * *

“Well it’s something at least, but how it helps I have not the slightest idea,” Mathius said scratching his head.

Lucius nodded. The something was their latest experiment in contagion magic. They had exhausted the possibilities concerning mirrors without success and had proposed testing the spell’s validity by experimenting on something simple. Simple is a relative term, they had found, but it had been simpler to make the candles. Mathius lit one of the candles with a mundane striker not wishing to contaminate the experiment with his magic. As the candle took flame, its twin on another table sprang alight also.

“That’s it!” Mathius said in delight.

Just moments later, Lucius studied the candles resting upon his table side-by-side. Experimentally he blew one of the flames gently expecting the other to flicker but it didn’t.

Most strange that.

Stroking his beard, Lucius thought for a moment then nodded. “The flames are not twinned—only the candles themselves. They light at the same time, and if we measure the amounts consumed, I would be willing to wager five—

*—ius!*

“What’s the matter, Lucius, re-thinking the wager?” Mathius said grinning, but the smile wilted. “Lucius?”

Lucius listened with his head cocked, but then he shrugged. “Sorry, I thought I heard… never mind. Now, I was saying that I would be willing to wager that equal amounts of each candle are used.”

“That’s not much of a wager!” Mathius snorted. “They lit together, they’re burning together. They must use an equal amount of wax.”

“Ah… no. If we restrict one candle to half its length say, but leave the other as it is, I believe they will still use equal amounts and burn for the same length of time.”

Mathius was having trouble believing that, but he dragged the candles toward him. “Let us try that, but not using a half—it will take too long. How about two stubs, one half the size of the other?”

“Fine,” Lucius said.

Mathius cut two stubs from one of the candles—about a thumbnail in length for one, and half that for the second. “I’m lighting the one on the right with magic,” Mathius said and lit the candle.

Lucius watched closely, but neither Mathius’s spell nor the matrix within the candles was distorted in any way. However, not everything went to plan. Both stubs lit as expected, but so too did the longer candles.

“Would you look at that!” Mathius said in wonder.

Lucius wrinkled his nose then laughed. “We should really have expected that, but I must admit to being somewhat surprised.”

Mathius was nodding, but then he frowned. “It will give us a false result.”

Lucius snuffed one of the candles, and the others winked out together. “Submerge the larger two in water then try to light these.” He said pointing to the two stubs. Mathius did that, but the second stub seemed to hesitate before it lit. “Do that again would you, Mathius?”

Lucius watched closely. Yes, there was definitely a slight hesitation. He checked the submerged candles but as expected, they were not lit. “The stub on the left hesitated for just the blink of an eye before lighting. I wonder if the candles are not actually lighting at the same instant, but sequentially. If we call the candle on the left number four, then it would light last. By submerging two and three we can see the delay, where before we couldn’t.”

“You’ve lost me, Lucius. How does this help with the mirrors?”

“Beats me,” Lucius said grinning. “But it’s fun isn’t it?”

*Luciuuussss!*

Lucius staggered under the hammer blow of Julia’s scream. It was as if she had screamed directly in his ear and inside his head at the same time.

“Lucius! Are you all right?”

Lucius leaned against the table clutching his pounding head. “Julia!” he gasped.

“What about her?!”

Lucius waved Mathius away trying to calm himself enough to grasp his magic. He succeeded finally, and tried to contact Julia mind to mind.

*Julia! What’s wrong?*

*Lucius help—*

Lucius waited, but she didn’t come back. *Julia? Why don’t you answer me? Where are you?*

Mathius was pacing fit to wear a trench in the floor.

“Julia’s in trouble,” Lucius said. “I don’t know where she is. She broke off almost as soon as she began.”

Lucius swept his table clear ignoring the clatter as everything tumbled to the floor. He placed his mirror in the experiment’s place. He barely noticed Mathius slam out the door, he was too busy trying to find Julia in the mirror. He was being blocked! Demophon, it must be him.

“I’ll kill you deader than dead for this!” Lucius snarled and stormed out of his room. He ran down to the courtyard shouting for the guards all the way. “Athione to me, the God blast you all! Athione!” he shouted again and heard the name repeated as guardsmen took up the cry and gave chase.

People popped their heads out the doors to their rooms as he ran by shouting for all he was worth. When he reached the courtyard Mathius was on a horse and riding out the gate.

“Mathius, you God cursed fool, wait!”

His friend ignored him and galloped out onto the cobbled street. The horse slipped badly, and he held his breath, but Mathius gained control and the horse did not go down. Mathius was glowing brighter than he had ever seen him. He must be using his sensing spell, but charging out on his own was stupid—the others would be unable to follow.

“What’s amiss?” Sergeant Burke said as he ran up to Lucius.

Lucius saddled his horse in record time. “Julia’s in the city somewhere and in serious trouble! Send to your lord that I’m going out after her.”

He mounted his horse and charged out of the palace grounds as Burke began shouting orders to every guardsman in sight. Lucius ignored everything but his inner senses. He wasn’t as good as Mathius with sensing, but he could feel his friend racing ahead. He followed him, it was all he could do.

He pushed his horse faster than was safe to keep from losing his sense of where Mathius was. He used his magic to keep his horse upright as he careened down alleys and cross streets jumping piles of junk accumulated over the years. He reined his horse to an abrupt stop, and nearly ended his journey right there as his horse reared. He glanced down the alley to his right and frowned—he had felt a glimmer of magic just then… he thought he had at least, but Mathius had not gone that way he was sure. Lucius bit his lip in indecision, but he had to follow the sure course. He turned his horse to the west and rode after Mathius. He found his friend kneeling next to a badly burned corpse.

“No…” Lucius whispered in horror and jumped down from his horse to kneel opposite Mathius.

Mathius sat slumped forward. “She’s gone, Lucius. I never really believed she could lose. Stupid isn’t it? She nearly died that first time in Athione, but somehow that didn’t seem to matter…” he broke off and sobbed into his fist trying to stifle his cries.

The stench of burned pork was terrible. Lucius tried to make sense of what he saw. Men, Red Guard if he wasn’t mistaken, had died instantly while still in formation it looked like. The bodies were mostly ash, but a piece of red uniform here and there lent him enough to identify them. The halberd blades were partially melted, and the shafts were completely gone. Demophon had taken no chances it seemed.

Fireballs could melt rock if the mage was strong enough, but Demophon wasn’t that strong. More than one mage linked would be needed. Four would do it, which was worth knowing. A flash of white robe made him think of Lorcan, but no, it must have been Gideon from the size of the corpse and what was left of a rope belt. That made sense. Julia had probably intended to visit the Holy Father.

“I know them,” Mathius said nodding at the two guardsmen. “Halbert and Moriz. Hit in the chest first… before Julia I think.”

Lucius nodded. “Yes, I think so. Julia… what’s left… we need to do something for her…” he trailed off.

She was beyond help. The fireball had hit her full in the face. Her head… Lucius gulped hastily as his gorge rose. Her head was mostly gone. He could see the corpse was she from her small size and her dress. Lucius leaned forward and picked up a melted brooch—from her cloak he thought it must be.

He squeezed the brooch and blood dripped from clenched fist onto the ash-covered street. “Demophon dies this night.”

“Oh yessss,” Mathius whispered almost reverently.

* * *

The news raced through the palace and found Keverin in council with the lords of the realm. The doors burst open to admit Brian, white faced and in shock. He stormed by the startled guards at the door. Both men would be all right in a few days, but they really should have known better than to try to stop an Athione captain in pursuit of his duty. The instant they laid hands on him, Brian erupted in fury, and both men were left in his wake unconscious.

“I protest this outrage. Guards, have that man arrested!” Lord Karel shouted.

Karel was a middling powerful lord, one of Ascol’s lackeys, but Brian didn’t know or care about that. He drew his sword to warn the other guards off then stood before Keverin and saluted.

“Report Brian!”

“Lord… we have failed you. Julia… our lady is… was murdered in the streets by sorcerers,” Brian said trembling in his need to rend and kill something.

“Impossible, she wouldn’t do this to me, no she wouldn’t. I would know it the instant—” Keverin mumbled.

The lords were silent for a moment before strident laughter burst forth from Ascol. It was taken up uncertainly by his lackeys. That was the signal for absolute bedlam. Swords were drawn on both sides of the hall. Ascol had more men, but Gylaren’s faction had the better fighters. Jihan jumped over the railing and onto the floor from the stands, followed by Purcell, his great sword in hand ready for mayhem, but Jihan had no such intention.

“I call for a recess!” Jihan shouted loud enough for his voice to echo, and stunned silence fell.

Halden jumped up. “Seconded!”

Purcell rumbled to life preventing objection by waving his sword. “It’s unanimous!”

Keverin heard the last part and stood to stride out the door. Now he was pushing through a crowd of panicking women who had heard a distorted version of events. They were frightened of an imminent invasion if he had their fears correct.

“—sorcerers are going to kill us all—”

“I don’t want to die!”

“Where are the guardsmen?”

“—Julia’s dead, burnt to nothing they say—”

“—knew she wasn’t special like they said. No such thing as a lady mage. It was all lies I tell you—probably a peasant as well!”

Keverin stumbled to a stop and looked for the one who had said that. “All of you get out of my sight!” he roared at the top of his voice.

The crowd stopped pushing at the guardsmen and backed away in stunned silence. Keverin glared when no one moved to leave. He spun on his heel and strode out into the courtyard. Cavell was waiting for him when he emerged from the palace. He mounted and was out the gate before his guard could move. Brian overtook him easily. Keverin didn’t want to push Cavell on such unsure footing. He followed as more and more of his guardsmen filed by until he was sandwiched between a strong force.

“Kev… Kev!”

“What!” Keverin snarled at Jihan who had just then caught up.

Jihan rode by Keverin’s side with his face full of sympathy. Next to Jihan, Purcell and Gylaren rode grim faced. Everywhere Keverin looked he saw grim certainty of Julia’s death, but that didn’t matter. He knew she wouldn’t do that to him, so it was all right.

“I’m sorry Kev, Julia was…” Jihan didn’t continue, he couldn’t. He had no words to express his anger and sadness for his friend.

Keverin blinked at Jihan, and uncertainty threatened to take him, but he forced it down with images of Julia surviving much worse than a Devarr street. He looked only ahead from then on. Images of Julia on the gate tower flashed before his eyes. Yes, she survived a tower falling on her. If she could do that she could by the God survive a street in Devarr! Then there was Malcor’s training room—that was a good one! Three sorcerers couldn’t hurt her then. Julia had killed them all and made a hole in the fortress a hundred yards long in her anger. Devarr was still here, so she must be all right you see? Then there was the big one. She destroyed only the God knew how many sorcerers when she destroyed the Third Legion in Camorin. If she could do that, why, Demophon and his ilk had no chance at all!

It was the smell that first brought him up short. The roaring in his ears threatened to get worse. A mixture of Athione and Malcor guardsmen had sectioned off the street ahead. Cavell refused to move on, and Keverin impatiently jumped down dropping the reins to hobble her. Cavell snorted and banged a hoof down in annoyance, but Keverin simply walked away. The guardsmen moved to open a corridor in their silent ranks, and he walked through along with Jihan, Purcell, and Gylaren. The scene before him was worse than reported. He recognised Halbert and Moriz instantly, and his hold on sanity slipped a little more. The white robe of a priest caught his eye next. No one had mentioned Gideon to him, but that was he. He stumbled to a stop. If Halbert, Moriz, and Gideon were here, then… No, she wouldn’t do that to him. He moved forward to see. His world narrowed to the dress and the child sized form that wore it.

It was Julia.

No, she wouldn’t do that to him. He moved closer and knelt beside her. He groaned in grief and pain. Her beautiful face… her head… He was breathing deeply now, almost panting, but still holding on. This was his Julia. No she—the roaring stopped, and he snapped alert for the first time since hearing the news.

“It’s not her,” he breathed with relief so great he almost collapsed to the cobbles.

The others looked at him then at the remains of Julia.

“I’m sorry Kev, but that is Julia,” Purcell said and Gylaren nodded.

Jihan looked closer but reluctantly nodded. “It is Julia.”

The guardsmen heard, and a rumble of voices spoke Julia’s name and revenge in the same few instants.

He smiled. “It’s not. She’s the same size, and the dress is hers I grant you, but that is not Julia!”

Jihan and the others nodded at each other and moved to take his arms.

“What are you doing you fools? That’s not Julia I tell you!” he yelled in rage.

“It’s all right, Kev We’ll take care of her,” Jihan said kindly lifting him to his feet with a grip like steel.

“Guards! Have them release me,” he roared out of patience with these fools.

Jihan turned to find hundreds of Athione guardsmen with swords bared. Purcell and Gylaren backed off slowly, but Jihan remained where he was, steadfastly refusing to yield.

“Your lord is ill—the shock of losing Julia. Let us pass!” Jihan ordered loudly.

The guardsmen shifted and their murmurs sounded like a growl, but they failed to give way. Jihan turned to his own men and nodded. With a whisking sound Malcor swords faced down Athione.

Brian as senior captain present for Athione gave the order, “Change front!”

The Athione men were alert for the order, and moved ready to attack.

“Hold Brian!” Keverin said. “Jihan, believe me. That’s not Julia and I can prove it.”

Jihan hesitated. “Show me.”

“Brian to me, everyone else stand down!” he ordered.

The guardsmen sheathed their blades in relief. They would have fought and died at their lord’s orders, but dying to kill men who were friends a moment earlier was a waste.

The lords spoke in a huddle.

“Do you remember when Julia first arrived, Brian?” Keverin said intently willing his captain to say he did.

“Of course!”

“Good Brian,” he said in relief. “You remember her clothes do you not, she called it a leotard did she not?”

Brian blushed and nodded.

“Udall saw her and he’s dead now. So are all the others except you and Burke. Burke is in the palace somewhere so it’s up to you. I want you to examine this woman, closely examine, and tell me if this is my Julia. I’m counting on you Brian.”

“Yes my lord, but if it is…”

Keverin grimaced and raised his voice, “Guards! Make a wall around us face out!”

The guardsmen were puzzled but did as they were bid. Closely packed, none could see inside and the torches they held flooded the enclosed space with light. Brian set about his grizzly task. At first, he was reluctant, but the task accelerated when he decided to get it over and done. The dress was discarded and he looked.

“It’s not her,” Brian breathed in shock. “It really isn’t. I’m sorry my lord. I thought you crazed, but this poor girl is not Lady Julia.”

Keverin closed his eyes and nodded. He knew it!

“Come on man! How can you tell? Her head… it’s not there by the God!” Gylaren said in a sick voice.

Brian grimaced. “I had noticed that. Julia is strong, m’lord, not just strong in magic, but strong in body. She told me when we first met that she competed in tournaments against men and women on her world. If you had seen her in her leotard, you would understand. She has very muscular arms and legs. Her arms are like a guardsman’s arms—almost as if she wielded a sword every day! This girl has none! This is not Julia!” he was almost shouting at the end and the word rushed through the men.

The mood lightened for a moment, but then it darkened again as the guardsmen looked at each other in puzzlement. If Julia was alive, where by the God was she?

* * *

“Are you ready?” Lucius said.

“Ready,” Mathius said and kicked the door in.

Lord Ascol jumped up and shouted in anger, but Mathius and Lucius ignored him as the non-entity he was. Their attention was fixed firmly upon the six men at the back of the room. Before the sorcerers could attack, Mathius took the link from Lucius, given freely, and focused his hate into heat.

A column of flame roared toward the sorcerers. Mathius had decided not to bother with fireballs or the like before he came here. Fireballs could be deflected away, or worse, back to him. The lance of flame was so hot, the windows exploded outward. Neither Lucius nor he took any notice as Ascol bolted out the door. Adrik stood against the wall grinning for a moment before following his father out. The flames ignited the furniture. Priceless tables and chairs made in the first years after Deva’s founding succumbed and were turned to ash, paintings shrivelled, and tapestries fell from their mountings onto burning rugs. He felt the first shield fail closely followed by two others, but there were no screams. The three sorcerers died before they knew it was time to scream.

The explosion of ancient brick as it succumbed to the heat was a surprise, but again He kept the heat focused. Heat upon heat upon heat, he sent roaring forward. The pain was incredible, but he forced himself to ignore the hurt for Julia. As he aged, Mathius thought of all the years she wouldn’t have—he drew more, he drew hard. Lucius groaned as the strain built even higher, but he did nothing to rein his friend in. Demophon could not be allowed to retaliate. His pain was nothing in comparison to what Mathius must be feeling, and he knew it. Mathius was the weaker mage, but he had insisted that he be the one to enact their revenge. No amount of arguing would gainsay him, and truth to tell, Lucius hadn’t tried that hard. Julia had been like a sister to him. Vengeance was his right to claim.

Another shield collapsed, and Mathius screamed. The sorcerers were yelling and cursing as they tried to retaliate, but they couldn’t—not without sacrificing the strength of their shields. They dared not. Another shield collapsed and the sorcerer was turned to a pillar of fire waving his arms and shrieking in agony. He fell face down and was silent. The room was completely aflame and it threatened to drive them back, but they refused to yield even as their own robes began to smolder. Finally, it happened. The last sorcerer—increasingly losing ground to the flames—attempted to jump through the shattered wall to escape his fate.

Craaaack! Craaaack! Craaaack!

Three huge bolts of lightning hit the sorcerer in quick succession. It was a fitting end to Julia’s murderers, Mathius thought as he reined in his lightning.

Lucius, took control and damped the fires. Suddenly the room cooled, and frost appeared over every surface, plaster cracked and exploded at the sudden change of temperature and more of the ceiling fell in. He had forgotten that he was linked with Mathius and had more magic at his command than he was used to. They released their magic at the same instant of course, being linked they had no choice. Collapsing to sit against the walls in tandem though seemed a bit much to Mathius, and he chuckled.

“You don’t think they’ll make me pay for the damage do you?”

Lucius chuckled tiredly. The room was gutted. The ceiling was gone along the far wall, and a hole big enough to ride a horse through had joined itself to where the windows had been. The furniture… well there just wasn’t any anymore. The plaster was missing on three walls where it had exploded into dust as the heat built beyond endurance, and finally everything sparkled white with frost.

“A little paint and it will be fine,” Lucius said.

“That’s all right then. Which one do you think was Demophon?”

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t the last one.”

Mathius shrugged. “It doesn’t matter I suppose, but I would have preferred him to be the last.”

“Julia would have liked that don’t you think?”

“Not really my friend, she hated killing. As a healer, death was her enemy.”

Lucius plucked a scrap of cloth from Mathius’ robe. “You need a new one.”

Their robes hung in tatters. Holes out-numbered yellow material on Mathius’s robe, and Lucius’s red one was little better.

“I have another in my room… what?”

Lucius was smiling. “Yellow is no good Mathius, you need a blue one. Or was I mistaken?”

“What? I mean what about?” he said puzzled.

“You cast lightning did you not?”

He gaped in surprise. He didn’t feel stronger, but then after a battle like the one he’d just been through he should have collapsed. He felt tired but not exhausted.

“I wish Julia could have seen me in blue. She always did like the blue robes the others wore when she first arrived.”

“Blue will suit you my friend,” Lucius said sadly. “It will go with the grey in your hair.”

They exchanged looks in silence and then nodded. It was worth it.

* * *

18 ~ King

Captain Brian finished sharpening his sword, but he had no inclination to go back to his duties. He sat on the edge of the fountain and watched Julia’s fish. He smiled as he remembered the day when she ordered him to replace the cooked ones floating atop the water. He’d had a hard time finding some; everything edible had already been snapped up and devoured. In the end, he took some of the lads fishing on the lake—trawling might be a better description. Using an old net with more holes in it than Athione’s west wall, it took them all day and all night, but Julia had wanted fish in her fountain. They’d done it too, but the new fish weren’t ornamental. They were Black Tailed Barranka. Barranka were for eating, but they looked fine to Julia. She had never seen any before. She grinned at him, and said something mysterious.

“I have Ascol in my fountain,” Julia said laughing.

Brian understood now, but he hadn’t then. A Barranka featured prominently on Ascol’s banner.

In one way, Brian was looking forward to going home, but in another, he dreaded it. Marcus could be a hard man when he found something to latch onto. When he learned that he had lost the Lady he would be in a rage.

“Captain, I need you in the stables,” Burke said upon entering the garden.

Brian was uncomfortable with his old sergeant addressing him with such respect, and by Burke’s grin he knew it too. “What’s this about, Sergeant?” he said marching in step through the corridors.

Burke glanced sideways at him then ahead again. “You will see in a moment, Sir, please you.”

He shook his head and sighed. The change in his station had brought some uncomfortable things with it. “You can stop all the nonsense when we’re alone, Burke. I won’t tell anyone.”

“No, Sir!” Burke said scandalised. “That ain’t proper. You done good, Captain. It’s only right to treat you as what you are.”

He gave up. Burke was one of the most stubborn men he knew. “As you will then, but I be knowing where I be coming from. I ain’t forgot.”

They laughed together at the foolishness of nobles, but it was a handy foolishness. You always knew where you stood when you heard the peasant twang from a man, and knew to be on your best behaviour when it was absent.

When Brian entered the stables, he was surprised to find a goodly number of Athione’s guardsmen standing around doing nothing much, when they should be working. He was about to start shouting as he’d often heard Marcus do, when he saw the subject of their attention. An old man sat on an upturned bucket in the middle of the stable nervously glancing at all the swords. Brian forgot all about his yelling, and instead went to the see what was happening here.

“Who are you grandfather?” he asked at his politest.

Burke made to answer, but Brian’s raised hand prevented him, and the old man answered for himself.

“I’m Dalit, always was and always will be I ‘spect.”

“We found him making his way up to the palace, Sir,” Burke interjected.

Brian nodded. “And why did you want to come here?”

“I want gold for my girl. I knew you would give me some.”

“Oh? Why would I do that?” he said intrigued.

“Coz I saw The Lady taken. That’s why.”

Brian was on his knees in the muck looking at Dalit directly in the eyes without memory of getting there. “Give!”

“Me gold—”

Brian waved that away. “On my honour, you will have gold—more than you dreamed possible. Now give!”

Dalit eyed Brian closely then nodded. “I live with my girl on the Street of Woodcrafters. Her man died from The Hungry, so did her boy, but I held on long enough for The Lady to save me. If it was just me, I would tell you for free, but my girl—”

He tried to hold his temper. “Yes, yes, what of the Lady!”

“I was upstairs—my girl’s house is a good one. Her man was mighty good with the wood, and the money was good. I looked down into the street and saw them Pretty Boys in red marching down the street, ‘cept they wasn’t really—Pretty Boys I mean.”

Pretty Boys was a slang term given the Red Guard. The red uniform was pretty, but useless for real work.

“The Red Guard weren’t real Red Guard?”

“No,” Dalit said shaking his head in certainty. “They were street scum dressed up. The sorcerers popped up and takes the Lady by surprise. When she threatened to kill them all, they killed her two men with fire. They screamed real bad and fell down rolling around until they died.”

There was a growl of hate from the men as they heard how Moriz and Halbert died. Dalit looked worriedly at the guardsmen, but when they made no other move, he relaxed a little more.

“The Lady was angry, so angry I thought the street was a goner for sure, but the leader of the sorcerers stopped her by saying he would kill the boy.”

“What boy?” Brian said puzzled. They all knew Gideon had died when Julia was taken, but there were no other bodies unaccounted for.

“Don’t know,” Dalit shrugged. “But the Lady was scared for him. The boy was brave though. He pulled a dagger and tried to kill the leader, but then he shouted and dropped his knife when a sorcerer hit it with lightning.”

It had to be Lorcan! No one had seen the boy. Brian had assumed Lorcan was hiding somewhere. He was a tough little bastard, but everyone knew the lad loved the Lady. He would wish to grieve for her privately.

He listened as Dalit told the rest of his story. He was almost blind with rage when he heard they had forced the Lady to strip, and he was deathly afraid he knew what they had forced her to drink. Julia had almost died from Tancred poisoning not long ago—he could still hear her screams all this time later. It had taken a long time for the evil stuff to let her go, but she had survived. She would this time too… he was almost sure.

“Where did the traitors go after they took the gold?”

“I could show you.”

“Good,” he growled and stood. The men were eager—a little too eager to his way of thinking. “You all listen to me! These traitors know where the Lady is, and I want to know that real bad. If any one of you bastards kills a one of them, I’ll kill you!” he put sincerity into every word, which wasn’t hard at all. There was a brief indignant rumble from the men, but they knew why they couldn’t kill the traitors, and they subsided after a moment. “Burke, you and this lot are volunteers.”

“Yes, Sir!” Burke said delighted that his luck was in. “Should we tell the Lord?”

“After,” Brian said.

Dalit needed help. He was still quite frail from the bad days he called The Hungry. Two men took turns carrying him as he directed them toward the waterfront district. The area was mostly warehouses. Julia’s hospital was here, merchants had once sold things from premises all along the quay—various things brought to Devarr via the rivers supplying and draining the lake.

“That’s the one see?” Dalit whispered.

Brian nodded as he studied the shop. It had once been used for selling rope and supplies for the boats that plied the rivers. He didn’t have much to do with boats, so he couldn’t judge if the location was a good one for its proper purpose, but he could see the leader of this scum was as stupid in his choice of lair, as he was in his choice of employer. The shop had wide alleys either side of it—perfect for wide-bodied wagons carrying stone loads of rope, but those alleys would give the men access to all sides as well. He was more than pleased. None would escape his sweep, he would see to it.

“Burke,” Brian said gesturing the sergeant closer. “I want half the men to ring that shop. No one gets away, but remember no killing. Rap them upside the head or something, but no killing… understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” Burke said and staying low, he led half of the men to secure the area.

Brian watched the sergeant go. “Dalit, you stay here in the shadows. Once it’s done I’ll see to your gold.” Dalit nodded, but Brian was already leading his men toward the shop and didn’t see.

He drew his sword and kicked the door in. As the wood exploded inward, someone dove out the window smashing the glass in passing. The fat man tried to run, but was taken down by four guardsmen piling on top of him. Brian ignored the thuds of fists repeatedly striking flesh, and the screams that came from the fat man as he was beaten bloody. He had given his orders; he had no doubt they would be carried out. He charged into the room as men were bolting out of doors and windows. His men yelled in glee and dove after them. Brian stood in the centre of the room and looked around as twelve men were beaten and restrained in various ways.

On a table was a set of cards and a large pile of gold. He quickly scooped everything up and dumped it all into the pouch that he found on the floor. He didn’t bother counting it, but by the weight, there were two hundred or more gold coins in the pouch. There wasn’t enough money in the world to buy the Lady, but this would cover Dalit’s reward.

“Take them back to the palace, and give this to Dalit. Detail two men to carry him home. He’s done us proud.”

Burke grinned and took the heavy pouch. “Yes, Sir. The Lord will be right pleased I reckon.”

“That remains to be seen. If these men know where the Lady is, then he will be. If not…”

Burke nodded grimly and left the room. Brian took a last look round, and then followed.

* * *

Keverin growled a curse. “She needs me now! I can’t wait!”

“Listen!” Purcell roared. “You don’t know where she is! Those flaming idiot mages killed the only ones who could tell us! Calm yourself and think man! Put Gy on the throne in the morning and we’ll have the entire kingdom searching for her!”

“You’re not putting me anywhere!” Gylaren protested angrily. “When… if, I’m to be king, then I will be the King, and I’ll do what I think is right.” Gylaren was steaming mad. He paced the room like a caged animal. “Julia put this on me, and you two backed her on it, now you can flaming well reap the benefits of your foolishness and listen to me when I say something!”

“All right, your Majesty. What do you say?” Keverin said holding his temper barely in check. He had to ride out after Julia. Her kidnapping was candlemarks old now. The longer he waited, the further away she got.

“Gy is fine thanks,” Gylaren said with a shaky smile; he was not a happy man. “After dark or not, I say we call the lords back into session right flaming now! We settle the question of who’s to be King once and for all, and then we start setting the kingdom to rights and that includes finding Julia.”

Keverin growled in frustration.

“Purcell, you have the biggest mouth, why don’t you go and call the council.”

“Yes your mightiness,” Purcell said with an exaggerated bow almost touching his brow to the floor.

Purcell left the room to call the lords into session.

Keverin paced wondering if Ascol would dare to show up.

“He will… show up I mean,” Gylaren said.

“Why do you think that?”

“Simple, the man’s a cursed maniac!” Gylaren collapsed into a chair with one leg over the arm kicking back and forth with nervous energy. “If Ascol had any sense at all, he would run for Japura where we can’t get to him, but he won’t do that. You wait and see, he’ll be there trying for the throne as if nothing untoward had happened.”

“I doubt even he can ignore his room turned into a Chulym master’s furnace!”

Gylaren laughed and nodded. “We should be going.”

They left the room and marched in step toward the throne room passing many other lords on the way. One such was Halden and his son Davida. The two men joined their party, and at a slower pace, a concession to Halden’s advanced age, they entered the hall and found their places in the stands to the right of the throne. Purcell entered the hall shortly after that, and Keverin waved him over.

“You almost have to admire the man,” Purcell said hooking a thumb at the doorway as he sat next to Keverin.

Lord Ascol and his son entered the hall and made their way to seats opposite Gylaren’s party. The positioning was no accident on Gylaren’s part—he had chosen his place with care to demonstrate his opposing view.

“Don’t glare at me!” Purcell said with a chuckle.

He glared harder. “There’s nothing to admire about that man!”

“Of course there is,” Purcell went on oblivious to Keverin’s rising temper. “Who else do you know that’s stupid enough to come within reach of our three swords after doing what he’s done?”

“Four swords,” Jihan said catching the end of the conversation as he sat next to Gylaren.

“Did you send them?” he said instantly.

Jihan nodded. “I have two hundred men on each of the roads moving fast for the borders. I sent couriers to all four fortresses with orders to turn out the men and close the borders tight.”

“Good.”

“I’m not so sure, Kev. The couriers won’t reach the fortresses for a tenday even galloping the entire way, but it’s the patrols that worry me. Robsort says there are thirty sorcerers, but Mathius only killed six. If the others have Julia, our men won’t stand a chance.”

“What good are they if they won’t fight?!” he snarled, looking at Jihan as if betrayed.

“I didn’t say they won’t fight, damn you, Sir!” Jihan said eyes flashing. “They will find her and die! How does that help us or her?”

Keverin blinked and the others looked away in embarrassment. “Sorry Jihan, but what else can we do?”

Jihan just shook his head.

Sorcerers could only be killed by other mages, unless they could somehow be taken by surprise. At night perhaps, when most were asleep it could be done… maybe. How they took Julia was unimportant now, but how they were holding her was. Knowing her as he did, Keverin was surprised he hadn’t heard the explosion from here. They might be using threats against Devarr and him… yes that would hold her, for a time at least.

“They’re all here,” Gylaren said as the doors boomed shut.

Keverin looked around and nodded. He was taken by surprise when instead of Gylaren standing to speak first as had become his custom, he allowed Halden to rise.

Halden stepped onto the floor and walked slowly toward the throne. He gazed at it for a time until a hush fell over the seated lords. Halden turned to look at every man in the hall, no few of them sat straighter as his gaze fell on them before passing on. Halden was the oldest lord still holding his seat, and was greatly respected for his meticulous honour and wit.

“My lords, you all know me, and I flatter myself that you know I am honest. I will not lie to you no matter the provocation.” There was a rumble of voices from the benches. The lords were surprised Halden felt the need to state the obvious. “Thank you all for that. I will come to the point of this late session of the Council in a moment, but first I would like to say a few words concerning the abduction of Lady Julia, Sorceress of Athione.”

Shocked murmuring gradually increased in volume until a lord stood to ask the question on many lips. “Abducted you say? I heard she was killed,” Lord Robsort said and sat again.

Murmurs of agreement arose and Halden let them continue for a moment.

“Please my friends, quiet if you would,” Halden said with a smile, he was well pleased with Robsort. “Thank you. Foul Hasian sorcerers abducted her, Lord Robsort. Lady Julia and Bishop Gideon were making their way to attend the Holy Father this evening escorted by the Red Guard.”

“Oh well done,” Gylaren whispered.

Keverin raised an eyebrow in question, and Gylaren leaned in to answer in a whisper. “Halden has everyone thinking of Julia and the Holy Father in the same breath.

“—found brutally murdered by fire. The sorcerers abducted Lady Julia leaving more of our people dead to distract us.”

Lord Ascol stood and glared down at Halden. “Why don’t you get to the point you old fool?”

Halden bowed mockingly to Ascol. “I will then, since you ask so politely. My point is this: voting for you, would be the same as voting for Hasian murderers, kidnappers, and sorcerous enemies of Deva!”

Shocked indrawn breaths were heard from every side. Rowton was red with rage, so much so, he seemed unable to voice it. Adrik put a hand out to his father, but received a vicious blow to the side of the head as thanks. The boy made no outcry; he simply sat back with a hand covering the new bruises.

Before Rowton could speak, Halden went on. “I’m sure everyone here would like to know how I dare voice such a scandalous accusation.”

“Yes, tell us!”

“—the man’s proof, eh?”

“Proof! Give us proof!”

“—accusing him of treason! Challenge him to the death if it was me, Halden or no Halden.”

Halden held his hands high trying to regain order. “Please, hear me out my lords. Please… order I say. Quiet!” he roared and the noise decreased but it did not cease.

“Silence!” Purcell boomed and the noise was cut off as if severed with a sword.

“Thank you,” Halden went on. “Soon after the abduction was discovered, the wizard Lucius, and journeyman Mathius discovered six—not one—but six sorcerers in Lord Ascol’s apartments. I suppose Ascol might have mistaken them for pieces of furniture, but it does seem somewhat unlikely to me.” Halden grinned at the laughter and catcalls of the jeering lords. “The ensuing battle saw the sorcerers dead, and one apartment destroyed.”

“Look at those bastards,” muttered Keverin.

Jihan and the others nodded. Some of Ascol’s lackeys were distancing themselves from him by moving along to sit elsewhere. The result was Rowton and his son with twelve of the more stupid lords sitting in a desert of open bench devoid of support. Adrik made to stand, but his father shoved him back.

“Sit down, and stay!”

Adrik’s face reddened. “I’m not a dog, father, to stay when you say the word! Lorcan is my friend no matter what you say. I’ll not sit with you!”

Adrik scrambled away easily avoiding the blow his father aimed at him, and sat against the wall near the guardsmen guarding the doors.

“Lord Ascol,” Halden continued trying to ignore Adrik’s show of defiance. “I name you traitor and regicide!”

Pandemonium erupted. The gist of which seemed to be where was proof.

“Where is proof you say? There, sheathed at this foul traitor’s waist is the dagger my dear friend King Pergann always carried—gifted him by his beloved queen the year before she died.”

All eyes swung to Ascol to see him refute the statement, but instead he snarled a curse, pulled the dagger, and threw it in one motion. Gylaren flinched away and the dagger struck the man behind him.

“Ahh! My leg, someone call a healer!” Lord Horlen cried.

“Guards! Seize Ascol and hold him for the King’s judgement!” Halden ordered quickly before Ascol could attempt escape.

Two guardsmen drew their swords and took custody of Ascol, but the man refused to be moved from his place in the stands. He was staring into space unseeing, as if denying the proceedings were taking place.

“Guard him there then,” Halden said impatiently. “But take his sword and check for hidden knives.”

The guards disarmed Ascol and searched him roughly. They discovered two knives, one in each boot top, and removed them. They pushed him down, and then sat each side ready to kill him if need be. Lord Horlen was tended by one of his friends. The wound was superficial only and a rough bandage sufficed. The dagger was examined, but it looked no different to others of its type.

Halden pointed an impatient finger toward the knife in Horlen’s hand, and made a twisting motion. “Unscrew the pommel my lord, and you will be the first, other than myself, to see its difference.”

Lord Horlen did as he was bid. Inside the hollow hilt was a parchment that he began to read. He blushed red in embarrassment and quickly returned the letter to its hiding place.

“Are you satisfied, Lord Horlen?”

Horlen nodded and stood to announce his findings to the assembly. “The parchment was a personal—a very personal—missive from Queen Alyssa to Pergann King of Deva.”

“Thank you, Horlen,” Halden said. “I have one last thing to say. Vote for Gylaren, he is the best choice to save us from the Protectorate.”

No one seemed sure of what to do next, that is until Adrik stood and walked toward the throne. “My Lords, I am not yet one of your number, and may never be by our new King’s decree. Be that as it may, I would like to suggest that all those in favour of Lord Gylaren for the next King of Deva, step to the right of the throne as I do now.” Adrik walked the short distance to place himself beside the dais. One by one, the lords stood and joined Adrik.

Gylaren was the last to stand. He took a deep breath and walked silently to the dais. He looked up at the throne in silence for the longest time, but then he placed one foot on the dais then the next until he stood before the throne itself. He turned and sat.

“Long live King Gylaren!” Adrik shouted.

“Hail, Hail, Hail! Long live Gylaren!” the lords shouted in response.

Gylaren nodded. “Please be seated, we have a great deal to do.”

* * *

Brian stormed through the palace hallways. The Lord would be pleased with his news this time, but not for long he was thinking. The guards on the door glared at him as he approached and Brian frowned wondering why.

Ah, yes.

“How’s the head?” he said but received nothing but twin glares for his trouble.

Shrugging, he opened the doors to enter the hall. He quietly closed them behind him and scanned the stands for his lord, but his eyes snapped to the throne in surprise. Lord Gylaren sat upon the throne, King Gylaren he should say.

He didn’t know what he should do now. He had never before stood in the presence of royalty. He fell back on his training and decided to pretend Gylaren was a lord like any other. As such, he was obliged to report to Gylaren first as the palace was now his rightful seat. He strode forward glaring as two new guards edged forward uncertainly; they were Malcoran, but they backed off when they recognised him and his rank as an Athione captain. Brian looked neither right nor left as he made his way toward the throne.

Halden, who was standing near the dais broke off his conversation—about taxes—Brian thought it was, and turned to see where Gylaren was looking. When Halden saw him, he stepped to one side to give him access to the King.

Brian held his sword hilt and bowed deeply. “My King, I have news for my lord Keverin if you will permit?”

Gylaren smiled and nodded in appreciation of his manners. “You have my leave, Brian.”

“Thank you my lord, I mean—”

“Lord is fine,” Gylaren said chuckling, not unkindly.

He bowed again and moved to find Keverin. He found his lord as expected, sitting with Purcell and Jihan, but he was surprised to see Adrik of Ascol sitting with him. Keverin must know what he was doing so he ignored the boy and addressed himself to his lord.

“Report captain,” Keverin said warily.

Brian smiled. “Good news, mostly my lord. Sergeant Burke and I received information we felt had to be acted upon. As a result I have thirteen men under heavy guard down below.”

“Ah? And what did they do?”

“They posed as Red Guard and led—”

“What!” Keverin roared bouncing to his feet.

Lords all round the hall turned from the boring issue of taxation in hopes of a diversion. King Gylaren broke off explaining his idea to glare at them. Brian blushed scarlet, but hurried to follow as his lord trotted down the steps.

“You do not have my leave, Lord Athione!” Gylaren called loudly.

Keverin stumbled to a halt and turned to his King. He bowed. “May I have your leave to withdraw my liege?”

“You may not! From your reaction I feel it would be better to hear Brian’s news myself.”

Keverin rumbled something that sounded to Brian vaguely perverted and physically impossible. He nodded his permission.

“My Lords,” Brian began. “I have thirteen men under guard down below. They were responsible for killing the real Red Guard squad, and the two people left in Father Gideon and the Lady’s places.”

Gylaren raised a hand and the whispers among the lords quieted. “That was quick work, Brian, well done. Now what’s the bad news?” a chuckle swept around the hall.

Brian wasn’t laughing and neither was his lord. He looked to Keverin who gave an almost imperceptible nod. “The bad news, my King, is that Julia and the others are being held by thirty sorcerers and nearly sixty guardsmen. All of which are making their way northward. They have almost four candlemarks lead on us and we do not know their route or ultimate destination.”

“I see. That is bad news, but not dire. Lord Malcor has sent word to close the border and he has strong patrols heading in that direction.”

“You know that will do no good, Gy!” Keverin burst out. “I have to get after them right cursed now!”

“You will not!” Gylaren glared from his throne and looked around as the lords rumbled in surprise.

Brian frowned in worry. Everyone knew the Lord Protectors were closer than brothers. Many here would now be wondering if they were witnessing a split, and if so how they could exploit it.

Keverin was clenching his fists repeatedly in rage, but his face was icy calm. “My King, if Julia is harmed by your actions, we are finished!”

Shocked oaths ran around the hall. Shock that a lord would have so little respect for the King, all be it one freshly minted, and shock that Gylaren did not immediately challenge the words.

“My Lord of Athione,” Gylaren said coldly. “You were instrumental in raising me to this position. Be mindful of our earlier conversations and be silent! All my lords will be needed to make Deva great again, that task is begun here today. If you would be the Lord of Athione, shoulder the responsibility and seat yourself!”

Keverin hissed in surprise. And Brian wasn’t far behind in voicing his shock. To think of removing Keverin… it would split the kingdom irrevocably. What by the God was the King doing!

Keverin turned to him with frustration plain in his voice. “Take personal command our forces, Brian. Ride out within the candlemark in pursuit of the sorcerers. No matter what Gy says, I will join you no later than sunset tomorrow, you have my oath on that. Leave me five men but no more.” Then in a quiet voice, “Bring her home for me, Brian.”

Brian saluted and turned to leave.

“What do you, Athione?” Gylaren said.

“What you evidently refuse to do my King, I stand by my earlier words—” Keverin was saying.

Brian slammed the doors and hurried away. His lord had made a bad mistake in raising Gylaren it seemed. The power had gone to the man’s head! How could he treat Keverin so foully, and Julia? She had saved the fortress and the kingdom just last year. She deserved everything Deva could provide and more besides. Gylaren wouldn’t have a throne if it weren’t for her.

“Captain! Wait for me will you?” Adrik shouted trotting toward him.

He turned with his hand upon his sword. This was the son of his lord’s enemy, but then he remembered the King. Who was the enemy now?

“You won’t need that I assure you,” Adrik said.

“What do you need, my lord? As you heard, I’m a little busy for conversation.”

“I asked permission of the King to accompany you. My father… he is no longer Lord of Ascol. I am to be the new lord, but the King agreed I am of little use here today. I want to save Lorcan. Please… he’s my friend, my only friend.”

Brian huffed. A boy lord would be little help, but also little harm. “All right, my lord, you may accompany us. We leave within the candlemark.”

“Before you go, I have a suggestion to make.”

He was regretting his decision already! “What would that be?”

“Steal remounts from the other lord’s men, and don’t forget the mages!” Adrik said as he ran off, to get his armour one supposed.

Brian gaped after the young lord, and then spun on his heel to find Mathius. He hadn’t thought about scrying ahead, but he didn’t need telling twice. He stormed through the hallways and dispatched every Athione guardsmen he came across to the stables and storerooms. He didn’t bother knocking, but burst into the room to find both mages staring intently into mirrors.

“Lucius I need—”

“Shush! I’m concentrating, see Mathius.”

“Mathius I—”

“Shush! I’m busy can’t you see?”

Brian drew his sword and slammed the blade down with all his might against the edge of Lucius’s table. The table split with a crash as both mages snatched up their mirrors to prevent damage. He glared at the surprised faces and directed his words to Mathius.

“Our lord orders a general pursuit of the sorcerers.”

Mathius snapped his mouth shut and glared. It was a very effective glare usually, but Brian was beyond such petty worries as being blasted by a mage. Julia needed him.

“That’s a good idea isn’t it, Lucius?” Mathius said scornfully. “Without any idea where the sorcerers are, we are to pursue!”

Before Lucius could say anything, Brian spoke just as scornfully. “Despite you idiots killing the most likely people to give us the Lady’s whereabouts, we—my men and I—have found where they are. At least we know where they’re going to be!”

Mathius gaped in surprise, but it was Lucius that asked the obvious question. “How?”

“I don’t have time! If you two want to come with us, be on your horses in a candlemark!”

He spun and stormed out ignoring more questions from the mages as he tried to think of everything at once. In the dungeons, he walked in to find a group of his guardsmen gawking at the traitors.

“All of you get your yourselves up to the courtyard. Full kit and an extra horse each! We’re going after the Lady, and I don’t give a shit if you ride out on the King’s own horse, now move!” Brian glared into the cells at the prisoners as his men ran out in a clatter. “You bastards will stay in here and rot!”

Brian stormed out of the dungeon and slammed the door in passing. The King knew where the traitors were, but he had a lot on his mind. With luck, by the time Gylaren remembered the traitors were down here, the bastards would be rotting in truth.

* * *

19 ~ Escape

Demophon handed Gideon the water-bag. “Make sure she swallows all of it.”

Demophon rode by the side of the two-wheeled wagon, while his brothers in front and back kept continuous watch on Julia. The flow of their magic constantly pounded upon his senses, but he had to put up with it. There was no way he was risking his life any more than he absolutely had to just to take Julia to Mortain as a trophy. They were making good time, but the sorceress was throwing off the Tancred—again! Every time Julia so much as twitched, he wanted to kill her. He couldn’t allow her to wake, not when she could destroy everything for leagues around without half trying.

“I won’t! Don’t you realise how dangerous Tancred is? She nearly died last year because of it!”

Demophon watched Julia writhing and shaking and grimaced in distaste. She was filthy from lying unwashed for days, but what worried him the most was the drug. To keep her under every day she needed more of it each time. Somehow, she was becoming immune to the stuff. He prayed to Mortain and the God that he had enough ingredients to keep her under until they reached their destination.

Lorcan glared at him, but that was all he could do. It had soon become apparent in Devarr that the boy could link to his magic, but not yet use it for anything worthwhile. The little fool had tried to use it to escape soon after he was taken, but a club to the head had quieted him down—for a time. He had a bad attitude where discipline was concerned. Mortain’s school would take care of that little problem for him, but for now, the ropes would hold him.

“No…” Julia mumbled. “They’re coming… Athione… Malcor… all gone. No one to save us… the end times…”

“Pour it down her, Gideon, or I swear I’ll kill her before she wakes! Do it… do it now!” Demophon yelled as Julia started to come round.

“May the God forgive me,” Gideon said as he tipped the bag toward Julia’s mouth.

Julia coughed and gagged as she inhaled the Tancred. “No… please… the end days are coming…”

“Shush Julia, it’s Gideon. Don’t be afraid. I am with you,” he said stroking her hair away from her sweaty brow.

Demophon watched as she collapsed, but this time the shaking remained—a symptom of her addiction. The priest might be right this time, but he could do nothing other than he was doing. He had wanted his prize to survive, but with this new evidence of her decline, he would have to resign himself to her death. Mortain would still reward him for removing an obstacle to Deva’s annexation, but the prestige of capturing her alive would be lost.

Ah well, nothing can be done about it now.

* * *

Lorcan shifted uncomfortably trying to find a position that didn’t hurt. His backside was numb where he sat on the hard boards of the wagon. Whoever held the lands hereabouts had a lot to answer for. The roads were little more than a string of potholes, and the wagon wheels insisted on finding every... single... one!

“Will she be all right?”

“I don’t know, lad,” Gideon said wearily.

“But you said she would be last time!” Lorcan cried with eyes stinging.

“That was before they started pouring that vile mixture into her twice a day.”

“I swear I’ll kill him for this!” Lorcan said trying to strangle his shout of grief. “If she dies—”

“Pray, Lorcan. Pray it doesn’t happen. It’s all we can do.”

“How perceptive of you,” Demophon drawled as he reined in beside the wagon.

“Come to see your evil work?” Gideon said angrily.

“Evil? What is evil pray tell? Was it evil for Julia to kill almost twenty thousand men last year?”

“Of course not!”

“No?” Demophon said cocking his head in apparent surprise. “Then how can I be evil? I have killed no one… well, not recently.”

“Julia was defending us!”

“And I am defending my people from her! Don’t preach to, me old man. Don’t tell me she’s not a danger. I know what she is better than you do! You have no idea what you clutch to your breast, old man. If you had seen her in Devarr, if you had heard it, you would run screaming.”

“No.”

“Are you so certain?”

“I am certain of the God’s love. I have faith in him and Julia. He would not have given her his power were she evil. She is good, and kind, and loving!”

“I see. That’s your answer is it? Tell me, old man, why did the God give his power to Mortain—may he live forever—if Julia was intended to fight him? Where is the logic?”

“Mortain is a blasphemous heretic! Julia is not. Mortain leads his people along the wrong path. Julia does not lead at all!”

“That is where you’re wrong. She leads, oh believe me she does. She’s subtle about it. A whisper here, a whisper there—she whispers in Gylaren’s ear and suddenly he wants to be king. People follow where she leads, never doubt it.”

“You twist everything,” Gideon said his voice thick with disgust. “Julia does what she does out of love. Mortain does what he does out of his greed for power.”

Demophon snorted and kicked his horse into a brief gallop. He took his position at the head of the column and didn’t look back.

The wagon continued crashing over the potholes and winding through the trees following the road to Anselm. The sun shone down upon Julia where she lay in the bottom of the wagon, yet still she shivered as if wracked with cold. Lorcan studied his guards and planned his escape. They would make a mistake, everyone made mistakes. When his time came, he would be ready. He needed a town. A city would be better, but Gideon said Anselm was less than a third the size of Devarr. It would have to do.

He would escape and hide. He was good at hiding, and when they gave up looking for him he would creep back and kill them one by one. He, Lorcan, would save the Lady…

The Lord would hug him and say, “Thank you, my friend. I am again in your debt. How can I repay you?”

“I am your man, lord,” he would say. “My honour to serve.”

Keverin would turn to his men and announce for all to hear, “This man is my good friend. From this day on, I call him son. Honour him.”

All the men of Athione would bow, and all the women would curtsy and say, “Hail Lorcan!”

“Are you all right, lad?”

His smile slipped and he came back to the jouncing wagon. “I am well, Father.”

Gideon nodded ahead. “There is Anselm just ahead.”

Lorcan turned and saw that indeed a town lay there. It was small with distance, but already he could see the walls surrounding it. Would Demophon insist on going to the boat right away, or would they take rooms? It could be either, but he would wager the first.

“Do you plan on taking us in there tied?” he shouted.

“Shush Lorcan!” Gideon said worriedly. “They’ll hear you.”

“Well? I don’t think the Guardia will like that!”

“Shut your hole, boy,” a guardsman snarled and swung a boot out of his stirrup to kick at Lorcan.

He ducked most of the blow. “You’re as stupid as you look then,” he spat working his shoulder against the pain of the kick. “I’ll be glad when they kill you!”

The soldier made to kick him again and Lorcan tensed.

“That’s enough, Sergeant!” Demophon snarled. “The boy is right.”

“Yes, my lord sorcerer.”

“Remove their bonds when we reach the bottom of the hill,” Demophon said and looked down at Lorcan. “No one can outrun magic, boy. Don’t even think of trying.”

He glared, but inside he was laughing. Once the ropes were off he would be into the crowds in a flash. They wouldn’t dare to use magic on him—not where people might see.

Demophon kicked his horse into a trot and rode back to the head of the column. The sergeant aimed a glare at the prisoners that promised retribution, and then jerked his horse around savagely to ride to the rear.

“You have a plan, lad?” Gideon whispered as he leaned forward to dry the Lady’s sweaty face.

“I will save her.”

“Just save yourself, lad. Lord Keverin cannot be far behind. Wait for him to come, and then join him. He will need all you can tell him.”

He scowled. “No, he might be too late.”

Gideon sighed. “Just be careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

When the time came for the sergeant to untie him, Lorcan was wary of angering him. He remained utterly still until the ropes were off and while Gideon was being untied he worked his hands trying to restore feeling. His wrists were heavily ridged, and rubbing them awoke pain, but he did not complain. When Demophon was satisfied that Julia was properly hidden under the blankets, he ordered the column to move on again. He gave Lorcan a look of warning before trotting off.

He was careful not to act different in any way as they entered the gates. He kept still under the curious eyes of Anselm’s guards and they didn’t stop the wagon to search. He wanted to shout to them that he had the Lady right here, but he dared not risk Demophon’s anger. He might kill Julia rather than allow her to escape—he seemed the type to do it. Gideon had similar thoughts where the guards were concerned, but Lorcan shook his head urgently and Gideon remained quiet.

He breathed a little easier once they were well inside the city. He studied his surroundings with interest. Anselm was only the second city he had ever seen. It was smaller than Devarr, he could tell that without really looking. It was quieter and smelled a good deal better. Less people made a difference, but the main cause was Anselm’s prosperity. No one had ever gone hungry here, and that was certain. People without fear for where their next meal was coming from could afford to spend money and effort on their homes. It showed. The streets were clean and free of garbage, and even the gutters were clean. The houses were all in good repair. He saw many people laughing and chatting on street corners doing nothing but passing the time of day with friends. This was how Devarr used to be—when he was small, before The Hungry took his mother to the God along with so many others.

The instant they entered Market Square, he was over the side of the wagon and into the crowd. He dodged this way and that heading for the most crowded part of the square. He pushed and shoved his way through, and when that didn’t work, he punched and kicked.

“—little bastard kicked me!”

“Hoy! Watch what you’re doing you little—”

Lorcan took no notice, and barged his way through. Finally, he dashed down a street not knowing where he was going, but only intent on getting there fast. He dodged down an alley that let out onto a quieter street, then into another alley.

Gasping he went to ground and watched his back trail.

“This way!”

“Where my Lord Sor—”

“Quiet fool! I sense him close by. Send two down that alley and—”

Lorcan bolted with fear in his heart. He hadn’t realised that they could track him with magic. The Lady had never mentioned spells that could do that, and the stories always spoke of fire and lightning, not tracking. He sped down a street and into a more crowded one. He didn’t hesitate as the opportunity arose. He snaked a hand onto a man’s purse but bypassed it. He snatched the sheathed dagger at his waist instead and ran like the wind.

“Stop thief!”

“Hoy, stop him someone!”

“Call out the guard!”

Lorcan would almost welcome the guard, but he had to save the Lady. He ducked into an open door and found himself in a bakery. The smell of baking bread made his mouth water, but he was more interested in his dagger. It was a good one—wide bladed and strong. He dropped the sheath and stashed the blade in one of his secret places. It felt good to be armed again.

“Get out of here you dirty little beggar!” the baker shouted and came forward with a broom in hand.

“You have a back door?”

“Get out I said or I’ll call the—”

The dagger was in Lorcan’s hand again and glinting in the sunlight. “Point to it, Baker, or feel my steel.”

The baker stepped back with narrowed eyes, perhaps calculating his chances. They weren’t good, and he backed down. He pointed to the right of the counter. Lorcan dove over the obstruction and rolled to his feet feeling the wind of the broom as it swung over him. He slammed out of the door and jumped a low fence. He darted a look around.

Alley.

He sped to the end of it, and ducked back when he recognised the surly sergeant. The Hasian was searching the doorways. He turned and sped to the other end of the alley skidding to a stop. He peeked around the corner.

Clear.

He darted across the street under the nose of a team of horses and into a doorway. He looked both ways and found himself safe for the moment. He straightened his robe and walked calmly out of the doorway and down the street as if he had nothing to worry about. He wiped his face free of sweat and followed the grade downward. The river and the docks would be that way. He needed to steal some clothes, he decided, his robe was too easily identified.

“Keep walking, boy,” a youngish sounding voice said, and Lorcan felt the prick of a dagger. “Keep walking I said!”

He moved on again and carefully retrieved his dagger.

“Down to the right.”

“Who?”

“Now that would be telling. You should know better than that. Thieving on my turf and then asking stupid questions. Where you from?”

“Ganger?” Lorcan said trying to decide whether he could take this man or not. “Are you?”

“You’re just full of questions, aren’t ya?”

“No harm in asking,” he said and turned down the alley his captor had pointed to.

“Depends on the question, I reckons. I’m a guild man, I am.”

Lorcan snorted. “Hardly.”

“Oh, it’s hardly now is it? Don’t you put on fancy airs, I saw ya swipe that purse.”

“And you want it. Do you?”

“Yeah, I wants it—you took it on my turf.”

“Have it then,” Lorcan spun and rammed his blade to the hilt in the man’s belly.

“Gah!” the dirty-faced man said with eyes gone wide in shock. “Why did you have to do that? You kilt me…” he sighed and dropped to the cobbles dead before he hit.

“Stupid question,” he mumbled as he searched the corpse.

He found another dagger, a purse of silver, and a pair of dice. He took it all. The dagger went into his boot. The silver and the dice went into one of his secret pockets. The clothes were too big for him, so he left them. He cleaned his dagger and made it disappear before leaving the alley and returning to his original task. He found the docks quickly enough and secreted himself nearby. He didn’t know how he was to free Julia, but he would think of something—he had to. Could he sneak aboard the ship in the darkness? Maybe, but there were many guardsmen with Demophon. What he needed was—

“There you are,” Demophon said walking around the corner. “How very disappointing. I thought we had an understanding, you and I.”

Lorcan turned to run but suddenly he felt his legs jerked out from under him. He crashed to the cobbles cursing. He tried to rise, but he couldn’t, his legs were held in a vice of nothing, and a moment later his arms were bound similarly.

“Don’t struggle so, boy.”

He spat at the sorcerer and struggled harder.

“Oh well, go ahead then if it makes you feel better. My—” Demophon lowered his voice to a whisper. “My magic will out last you, boy. Terribly sorry.”

The surly sergeant came around the corner and with a word from Demophon threw Lorcan over his shoulder. Lorcan cast around desperately for help, but the sailors just laughed to see him carried like a sack of oats.

“Drunk again,” Demophon said loudly. “He’s a great disappointment to me, but his mother does dote on him so.”

“Ha! Looks like skin and bones to me. Should fatten him up some!”

“—he all in white? He going to be a priest or what?”

“Ha, ha! Look at him glare. Blister paint off your door he could!”

He cried tears of rage at the laughter, but when he tried to shout, he found his breathe stopped in his throat. He struggled to yell, but nothing came out. He couldn’t breathe!

“You see how it is, Lorcan,” Demophon said bending to look him in the eyes. “You do see the futility now I trust?”

He glared and turned blue.

“You may take a breath, but if I hear one word from you from now until we are safely on our way, I’ll kill Gideon. Not you, but Gideon—understand me?”

He gasped and nodded.

“Good, good. Glad that’s sorted out. I can’t wait to see you enrolled in our school. You might even give your instructors pause. I would really like to see that.”

The sergeant carried him up the ramp and onto a boat and then dumped him roughly on the deck. He grunted with the impact but did no more than that. He took Demophon at his word and stayed silent.

“Cast off forward!”

The sergeant bent toward him and searched his robe roughly. The sergeant grunted in surprise when he found the silver and the dice. He took both items and added them to his own purse.

“Cast off aft!”

The sergeant came up with the dagger next, and his eyes narrowed. “Intending this for me, were you?”

Lorcan glared, but gave the man a nod.

The sergeant tested the edge with his thumb and quickly stuck the bleeding member in his mouth. The dagger was of the finest quality and razor sharp.

“A very fine gift. I thank you,” the sergeant said and chortled at his own wit. “Hold out your hands.”

He did so and was bound tightly—tighter than on the wagon.

“Get up and go down below. Move!”

He struggled to stand, but managed it finally. He had time to see Anselm receding before descending into the dark. He allowed his shoulders to droop, but inside he was thanking the God for the sergeant’s stupidity. He hadn’t found the second dagger.

“Hello again, Father.”

Gideon nodded to him sadly, before turning back to his care of Julia.

* * *

20 ~ Dream World

Julia stood amidst the wreckage, and glared. She was just a little bit upset. Well, closer to exploding like a volcano with rage would be the best way to describe her feelings at this moment. She was standing in the burned out remains of Fortress Meilan—Gylaren’s fortress—and this wasn’t the first time she had found a reality where Deva was destroyed by war. Dozens of attempts to find a peaceful resolution to Deva’s problems always led her to something like this—war on a scale that would see the entire kingdom destroyed.

Demophon had forced her to drink Tancred dozens of times, too many to remember clearly. She had been confused, disorientated and stumbling from one future to the next never remembering what she had learned in each, but that had changed now. She was learning. She not only remembered what she saw, she was able to direct her course through the realities. What she wanted was a course of action leading to peace, but so far she had failed to find even one. All of them led to this kind of destruction.

Deciding on a new plan, she frowned in concentration and the world dimmed rapidly. In the blink of an eye Meilan was restored to its bustling self. She watched a troop of cavalry making their goodbyes and wondered where they were going. She listened to three men talking at the head of the column.

“Three thousand is too many, Dylan! How am I to see the border secure with you taking two-thirds of my strength?” A young man of about twenty-five years said.

Dylan laughed. “It didn’t take you long to take my place, little brother.”

“Never would I!” the younger man said in outrage.

The third man had a striking resemblance to the others, and Julia nodded to herself. These were Gylaren’s sons. The outraged youngster was Niklaus, Gy’s second son, and that meant the silent one was Gydrid his youngest.

Gydrid stepped forward and took hold of Dylan’s bridle. “Stop teasing him, Dylan. You know how we all feel about this. Father is wrong!”

“Father is King, that’s what he is!” Dylan said glaring at his brothers equally. “Right or wrong, we obey him as our father and doubly so now that he is our king.”

“But three thousand leaves me only one!” Niklaus wailed. “A thousand can barely man the walls of Meilan, what about patrols?”

Dylan surveyed the fortress as if memorising it. “You are lord here now, Niky. It’s up to you to arrange matters from now on. If I were you, I would collect as many likely lads as you can and train them. Japura is quiet, but the sorcerers will be back. They’ll be needed.”

Julia nodded. Gylaren was King in this reality. That was good to know. If she stayed with this one she might learn why everything always ended in destruction.

She walked away ignoring the commotion as Dylan led his men out of the gate. She wasn’t watching where she was going and walked straight through the curtain wall. She shuddered as the cold stone slid through her, or she slid through it… whatever. The first time it happened she had freaked out. Weird or not, it was very convenient for entering locked rooms. If she decided a wall was solid, then it was solid. If she decided it wasn’t or she was distracted, then she could walk through it without ill effect except a slight shudder as her body tried to reject what was happening to it.

She walked a short distance from Meilan and looked around. This was as good a place as any. She concentrated on Athione, but kept her sense of time fixed on this day—she didn’t want to stray into another of the myriad realities. She wanted to follow this one. The world blinked and she was standing in Athione’s library. Sadly there were no hushed voices to greet her, no whispered prophecy counselling her as she had come to expect when entering the library.

She concentrated on being solidly here—here in the library and nowhere else. The books on their shelves were all in place as they should be, but when she pulled one down to read, it vanished only to reappear back in its slot. She sighed; it was too much to expect to find answers in the books.

“Damn,” she said looking hungrily at the Histories and imagining that one of them contained all she needed. Surely someone had divined Deva’s future as she was doing—they would surely have left some warning. She heaved a sigh in frustration. “The past won’t help me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Julia.”

She spun and yelled in fear. She backed hard from the apparition standing in the shadows. She concentrated with all her might and tried to make him disappear.

“That won’t work you know. I’m as real as you are.”

“Who… what are you?” she said staring at the luminous blue eyes.

The apparition was cloaked in shadow and Julia was unable to see the rest of him, but his voice was vaguely familiar. She remembered her stupidity in Deva, and a voice in her head saying to take his hand. The voice was the same. She wracked her memory trying to remember where else she had heard it, but it kept slipping away from her.

The Tancred must be turning my brain to mush.

The figure stepped forward into the light and she paled. “Renard,” she whispered. “I’m dead then.”

Renard smiled. “Not yet,” he said and cocked his head as if listening to music that only he could hear. “Perhaps not for a very long time. It depends.”

“Depends?”

Renard nodded. “Depends on many things.”

“Like what for instance?” she said and moved to sit at one of the tables. She remembered to make the chair solid just in time, and flopped down.

Renard strolled along the aisles and pulled down a book from the shelf. Julia gaped at this fresh evidence of Renard’s change, the book stayed in his hands! He leafed through the tome and began to read.

“Renard?” she said and jumped when those glowing eyes turned to regard her. That was very… off-putting.

“Hmmm?” Renard said vaguely.

“Like what?”

“Oh, many things. Whether Keverin does this thing or that, whether Brian does also. There are a great many men who love you, Julia. You are very lucky in this life. It makes up for your last one I suppose… hmmm, I hadn’t considered that, I wonder…”

My last one?

She was fast losing her fear of this new Renard. He was muttering away to himself as if talking to a group of friends she couldn’t see, and he didn’t explain anything!

“Renard, I’m sorry… I mean I… killed you,” she whispered remembering how she had tried and failed to give him his magic back.

“You didn’t kill me, Julia,” Renard said smiling kindly. “Well perhaps you did in a way, but I don’t mind.” He put the book back on the shelf and joined her. He leaned forward across the table and clasped her hands in his. “My life is more wondrous and strange than you can possibly imagine. I can be anywhere I wish, see anything I wish. You changed me, Julia, and I am grateful.”

“Grateful for death?” she whispered numbly. Burnout was indeed terrible, just as she had thought. Then she realised what he had said. “How grateful would that be?”

Renard boomed a laugh. “Trust you to be always thinking. I am very grateful. Grateful enough to help you while you are here, but I can’t help you to return to what you think of as the real world, or do anything while you’re there. It’s forbidden…” Renard frowned as he listened to the silence.

Julia could hear a buzzing noise, or thought that she could, but as she concentrated, the noise diminished and was gone before she could grasp it.

“It’s time to go,” Renard said standing up and drawing her to her feet.

Renard held her hand in his very real and solid feeling right hand, but she thought it couldn’t be real. She was sure it wasn’t… was it?

The world blinked and they were standing on a cliff overlooking a sea. Down below—a dizzyingly long way down—she could see the surf pounding against the cliffs. Empty sea met her eyes for as far as she could see. She turned to look at the land behind her and was disappointed to see a normal seeming landscape. Grass, a few scattered trees, and mist in the distance that might be spray from a waterfall, or it might simply be mist. Who knew?

“Where are we, Renard?”

“You should say when are we, but this is Fisher Isle before it came to be called Black Isle.”

Julia glanced nervously at the trees. She hadn’t come here before now out of fear. She knew so little of her new world, what if Mortain could sense her somehow.

“Where’s the castle?”

Renard laughed. “As I said, this is Fisher Isle. The year is three BF. Three years from today, this island will be called the Black Isle and Castle Black’s foundations will be set in that valley.” Renard pointed inland toward the mist.

“Valley?”

Renard heard her puzzlement and glared in the direction he was pointing. The mist gave way to reveal a lush valley. Julia glanced at him nervously. He was very different from the man she used to know. She could make things soft here to allow her to pass, but she couldn’t make them change in any other way. Renard had just frowned at the mist and it had disappeared! Had it really gone, or was it still there but invisible to her eyes? She shook her head.

What difference does it make?

“Why are we here?”

“If you would know the future, the most likely future,” Renard stared hard at her with his glowing eyes. At her nervous acknowledgement of his qualification he continued. “Then you must know the past. Old grudges come back to haunt us. Some are more dangerous than others.”

Renard pointed toward the clearing that adjoined the cliff top.

Julia watched as a gate opened in the air. She hadn’t seen the gate that had brought her to Waipara and she was fascinated. She tried to see the way it was constructed, but her mage sight wouldn’t resolve anything.

“Don’t try, Julia. You’re dreaming remember?”

Damn! She’d forgotten about that.

Crackling streams of blue lightning streaked across the sky and the ground both. In the centre of what looked like a whirlpool made of light, a hole opened in the air and then widened to swallow the swirling energy. The lightning cut off instantly as the gate snapped into stability. Moments after it stabilised, a man in a black robe jumped out of the gate and ran to one side. Others piled out one after the other, some appearing injured.

The sorcerers stood in a semicircle watching the gate intently. They made no move to help the people that streamed out of the gate. There were mages amongst them, but most of the refugees were women and children… thousands of them. The sorcerers were shouting urgently, and the people were scurrying away into the mist. Finally, a man dragging another by his arms came into view. Before he could get out of the gate, a fireball streaked through and struck him. The mage became a screaming torch, and still the sorcerers did nothing. They waited and waited then suddenly attacked. Dozens of fireballs and bolts of lightning entered the gate to strike at their unseen enemy. Julia couldn’t believe how strong these men were. Only she herself had ever been able to keep up this kind of barrage.

“They are the Founders, Julia. Every one of them is a true sorcerer,” Renard said somehow reading her. He was watching her more than the battle.

Fireballs were coming from the gate and striking the sorcerer’s shields. Some were deflected away toward the sea, others simply winked out as a sorcerer drained the heat away. They were throwing dozens of their own, yet Julia felt they weren’t really trying to win. None of the men seemed tired or desperate, not since the women and children had left the area safely. They were determined, she could see it on their faces, but not desperate.

The reason became apparent when she looked into the gate. On the other side—a place that looked as if it were only yards away—she could see masses of soldiers readying themselves to come through the gate. At their head was another contingent of mages wearing black robes. They started forward throwing fire ahead of them and using wards to cover not only themselves but also the soldiers behind. Julia was impressed with their courage. Many of the shields flared and shrieked in complaint as they rubbed against each other or the edges of the gate. Crackles of energy bled away, but the strength of the wards was instantly bolstered as the mages fed more magic into the matrices.

She watched in fascination as the enemy seemed to walk in place. They didn’t appear to be moving forward. The distance they covered should have been enough for them to walk out and across the clearing.

The leader of the Founders shouted, “Now!”

The Founders left off their attack and instead began to close the gate with the men still inside. No, they weren’t just closing, they were twisting the gate matrix. She watched in horror, as the men inside seemed to deform before her eyes. The effort of twisting the gate was taking its toll on the founders. More than one collapsed unable to continue, but the others kept working their magic.

Renard was suddenly by her side again. “Their enemy is fighting back. They’re still moving forward, do you see?”

“But look at them, they’re all twisted,” she said sickly.

“Not really. The gate is twisting as the Founders try to reset the terminus. If they succeed, their enemies will be unable to find this world again.”

“So they won’t die from the twisting?”

Renard hesitated then reluctantly said, “They will die—not from the twisting, but the Founders did succeed in resetting the terminus to a world without air to breath.”

“That’s terrible!”

“Ermmm… it’s not so terrible actually,” Renard said and winced at the look she gave him. “The Founders were persecuted on their own world. They were forced to fight their people’s wars for them and were treated little better than slaves at other times.”

Julia sighed when the gate finally winked out. The Founders staggered away carrying their unconscious comrades. “Are there no worlds in all the heavens where people live in peace?”

“Only in the Other World where the God dwells will you find that, Julia. People are made to struggle toward perfection. The struggle leads often to violence and war, but just as often you will see mercy and love.”

Standing at the edge of the cliff again, she stared out to sea. “What has the Founding to do with Deva’s future?”

“As I said before, you must know the past to know the most likely future. If you’re ready?”

She gave her hand to Renard. The world blinked and she screamed.

* * *

Tomik rode back toward camp well pleased with his scouting. The old man was truly a wonder just as Shelim had said. Tomik always followed the traditions as best he might, but in recent years they seemed to have faded in his people’s minds. To most, Kerrion was nothing more than an old man whose only usefulness was that of a healer, but Kerrion was much more than that. The stories didn’t tell a half of what a shaman could do, and Kerrion by all accounts led his shaman as a chief leads his warriors—even across clan boundaries—a power no clan chief had ever wielded.

Shelim had spoken of his training only briefly, but he had said enough for Tomik to learn what the others could only guess at. Things such as how a shaman always knew who had come calling at his tent before the tent flap was even lifted, and why it was that a shaman knew without being told that he was needed—even if that happened to be on the far side of the camp. And then there was Shelim’s battle to consider. Fire, and crushing, and floating above the ground, and calling wind, and… so many things. There were some things that even Shelim was unwilling to speak of—something to do with dreams and the future.

He chuckled as he remembered the near tantrum Shelim had exhibited when he learned beyond doubt that he was destined to be a shaman. Things had certainly changed since then. Not only did his boy like being a shaman, he was already changing the warrior’s minds concerning them. Shelim’s battle had shown the warriors why challenging a shaman was not only without honour but foolhardy as well. He had thought his heart would burst with pride when the pillar of fire struck the heavens announcing Shelim’s victory over Duren. The shock and respect he saw upon his friends’ faces only emphasised his pride in his son.

He reached the camp and Torin rose from his concealment to meet him as he dismounted. After settling his horse, they made their way back to the others where they sat around a small fire.

“Were they there?” Torin asked impatiently.

The boy hadn’t yet learned the patience of a seasoned warrior. That would only come with time and experience. Tomik sat with his son next to Kerrion who was silently staring into the flames as if mesmerised. Around the fire, dozens of shamen watched him with firelight reflecting from their beads. The telltale rattling told him that there were more further out from the camp watching the night. He winced at the thought of these men trying to sneak like warriors with their tunics announcing to the entire world where they were.

“Don’t worry, Tomik,” Kerrion said smiling mischievously. “We were all warriors once. We have magic to silence ourselves.”

“Can you read minds as well, Kerrion?” Tomik grinned and Torin gulped.

Kerrion and his brothers chuckled. “I wish we could sometimes. It would make certain things easier—such as finding the Hasians among us.”

There was an uneasy rumble from shaman and warrior alike. Kerrion had told him about the Hasian scouts just days ago…

Kerrion had come to see him with Shelim’s apprentice in tow. Tomik’s breath had frozen thinking Shelim to be dead, but that wasn’t the reason for the visit.

“I want you to choose three dozen warriors to come with me on a raid,” Kerrion said.

“A raid?”

“A raid,” Kerrion agreed. “I’ve had a vision, Tomik. We have something far more deadly than a renegade to deal with. The Hasians have stolen the one from her people and are heading north on the river.”

He didn’t know who Kerrion meant, but if the shaman thought it was important enough to ask for his help, he was willing to go along. “That will be no problem—”

“Kadar doesn’t know of this,” Kerrion warned. “And he mustn’t hear of it before the task is done. I’m not sure if he would allow it if he knew. I want you to choose the warriors yourself and swear them to secrecy. I don’t know how else to make you believe the importance of this raid, Tomik, but perhaps knowing I have summoned two dozen shamen will give you some idea. We will be coming with you.”

Tomik shook off his preoccupation. His reaction upon hearing that Kerrion would be leading shamen on the raid hadn’t been what the old shaman was expecting. On the day of Shelim’s challenge, his son had told him about the war to come, and that warriors and shamen would fight side by side. It seemed he had been right, but Tomik would wager a fine dagger that his boy hadn’t realised the war would start so soon, or without him.

“Are you satisfied?” Kerrion said.

“I never doubted you, Kerrion, it’s just that I prefer to scout for myself.”

Kerrion nodded grudgingly. Any warrior would say the same. “We strike at midnight. There will be cloud to mask the moon, but no rain.”

Two shaman opposite nodded as if receiving orders.

Tomik glanced at the cloudless sky, “If you say it,” he said doubtfully.

“We must be swift, else they will use their magic upon us—the warriors are the lesser danger in this. The One must be saved,” Kerrion said firmly, and then whispered, “At all costs… any at all.”

“You deal with their magic,” he said. “Their warriors are my problem.”

At midnight, Tomik and his hand-picked warriors were in place watching the boat moving slowly toward their ambush. The sky had clouded up unnaturally fast, but it was the two shamen staring at the sky in silence that made his short hairs lift. They were somehow responsible—he just knew it. Torin and the others didn’t realise it, he was certain. They called it good fortune, and were buoyed by the knowledge that the God was smiling on them. He wouldn’t challenge their certainty, it was good fortune and the God did choose who would become a shaman, just as he chose who would be a warrior or a weaver. It was the way of things.

He decided to split his warriors into two groups. One group would stay back to provide cover with their bows, while the other half would sneak aboard and try to recover the woman Kerrion wanted so badly. If all went well, the shamen would destroy the boat using their fire magic. That was the plan, and so far the Hasians had not seen them.

He watched the boat from his place in the shallows of the river. The current was not strong, he had chosen a wide stretch on purpose for that very reason. He and his warriors were submerged up to their chins with mud smeared over their faces to prevent the Hasian sentries from seeing them. He studied the boat’s construction and was pleased to note how low to the water it was. It should be a simple matter to climb aboard.

He whistled once and pushed off. The others did likewise, and he led them swimming strongly to the boat. When he reached it, he forced his dagger into the caulking between the boards, working it backwards and forwards to set it strongly. Another dagger was offered as the boat dragged him along, and he thrust that one in further up. Two daggers were enough, and he pulled himself up to see if they were observed. Evidently they weren’t because Torin followed him up without waiting for the all clear. Trying to look everywhere at once, he found his boy by the flash of white teeth. He was grinning in excitement. A Hasian warrior lay before him with his throat cut, while above him a long handle swung back and forth with the movement of the river. Kerrion had said there would be at least one man at the reins of the boat; this must be him. He nodded to Torin and whispered congratulations on his first kill.

Tomik waited until they had a few more warriors aboard before moving toward the bow. Crawling silently, following the cabin's wall that stretched the entire length of the boat, he was almost taken by surprise. He stopped, and turning slowly, peered upward toward the roof of the cabin. There was an outclanner sitting with his back toward him and a long knife unsheathed across his knees. Peering into the darkness, he could make out others sitting similarly. They weren’t very good guards, he decided. They should have been lying down and facing both ways, instead they were all facing forward and looking the wrong way.

“Move on and take the next in line when I do. Tell the others to do the same,” Tomik whispered directly in his son’s ear and felt the nod.

A moment later and more whispers, his son moved on. Tomik watched their progress, and then stopped the next warrior with a tap on his arm when he saw them reach the bow.

He lunged up to the roof and struck in one movement. All along the line, his men did likewise but Tomik winced at the sound of a body falling close by. Someone had let his target fall and make a noise. In a rush, they moved back to the stern and entered the cabin hoping the noise hadn’t been heard.

No such luck.

He ducked under the long knife and killed the warrior quickly so that he might split the next one’s head. Screams and clanging of steel raised the alarm, and suddenly he doubted whether they could win. His warriors were the best, but there must have been three times their numbers facing them. Tomik would have died any number of times in the first moments if not for the cramped conditions. The men were groggy from sleep, but they were still quick enough to kill. He saw two of his friends killed and howled in mingled rage and grief. The others took up the cry and slew a dozen in retribution, but it was no good. He couldn’t move forward to find the woman.

He was thinking only of Selima and escape when a boy in a dirty white robe popped up behind his latest opponent and killed him dead. He gaped in surprise.

“Don’t just stand there! Help me with the Lady!”

Tomik didn’t need telling twice! He rushed forward to grab the girl, while the boy cut the ropes on another man. With the girl over his shoulder, he raced outside, and without slowing dove overboard quickly followed by the others. He came up for air and ducked under again as fire shot toward him from the boat. He watched the surface of the river trying to stop the girl from floating. If she surfaced, she would be roasted for sure.

An age seemed to pass, but eventually the flames gave way to the night and he surfaced. With swift strokes he made for the riverbank dragging the unmoving girl behind him.

“Here father, grab my hand!” Torin shouted pulling him to shore.

Together they pulled the girl into the reeds and finally onto dry land. Behind him more fire streaked overhead, but it was obvious the Hasians had ruined their night vision and misjudged his position.

“I think she’s drowned, father.” Torin checked the girl’s breathing again to be sure. “She’s dead.”

* * *

21 ~ Dragons

Julia stood in awe of the huge beast. Standing, he would be taller than Athione’s great hall… much taller. His scales were a glittering deep copper colour as if an artisan had decided to make a gigantic metal sculpture. His wings, when he bothered to fan himself with them, were huge—easily spanning a hundred yards! The eyes looked like huge jewels set in his head. This one’s eyes were a deeper colour than his scales, still copperish, but a deeper red with slit pupils like a cat. He was lying in repose on the banks of the lake that would eventually become a ferry staging point in Deva’s capital city.

He wasn’t alone.

She stood gaping at the wonderful creatures. Everywhere she looked, dragons of every colour imaginable lay or swam in the deep waters of the lake. Black, red, silver, gold, copper like her big beauty a pace in front of her; there were green ones like emeralds lying on the beach, sapphire blue ones the same, every colour she could imagine and some she wouldn’t have.

“They’re wonderful, Renard. I nearly bought a tapestry with dragons fighting on it, and I thought that was beautiful, but this! This reality makes the tapestries I’ve seen look pale in comparison.”

“You can’t blame the artisans for that. These creatures were long gone before they thought to capture the Histories in picture form. They used their imaginations to bring their dragons to life, but here you’re seeing the reality.”

Julia walked up to a big black and looked into its eyes mesmerised by the intelligence she saw within them. She hadn’t thought they were more than beasts, but now she knew. Excitement coursed through her. Man had always been alone, but here was another intelligent race to live with. Humans could be companions to dragons. To sit here and talk to them, to understand their strange point of view. Who wouldn’t want to sit and hear their wisdom?

Renard ambled along more interested in her reactions than looking at the dragons. “We are on the shores of Holy Lake, in the twenty-second year after the Founding.”

Renard looked at the black dragon sadly for a moment then continued his history lesson. When she arrived back at Athione, she was going to pull out every history book she could find.

“Castle Black is complete, and by this time the Founders have separated into factions. The older ones will stay on the Black Isle and their descendants will become the sorcerers of your time, Julia.”

She nodded absently. The big black opened its cave of a mouth to yawn. His jaws opened wider than she was tall, three times wider at least. The lazy creature kept his bottom jaw on the ground, moving only his upper jaw and head. The rows of teeth in his mouth confirmed her thought that they must be carnivorous.

“What do these beauties eat?” she asked.

She ran a tentative hand over a lower spike-like tooth in the front of her dragon’s mouth. It was like the tusk of an elephant and almost as big. It was straight unlike a tusk, but was similar in that it was round and became larger in diameter towards its base.

A canine.

“If you’re ready I’ll show you,” Renard said and clasped her hand.

The world blinked and she found herself flying above the plains of Camorin. Below she could see a huge herd of bison. Bison were big animals, but from here they seemed small. They were as numberless as the blades of grass they grazed upon. The sky darkened as a flight of dragons blotted out the sun. With wings locked wide, they glided, playing with the thermals to adjust their flight with finicky precision. As one, the dragons dove upon the bison as yet unaware of their fate, and struck to wing laboriously away carrying their chosen dinner in strong claws. She could see the dragons had two forelegs with talons big enough to carry a fully grown bison. Their rear legs were heavily muscled, probably to help them launch themselves, but the forelegs were far from weak. Julia watched them carry their dinners close to their chests away from the herd.

“So they eat bison, what of the clans?”

“They’re here too, don’t fret!” Renard laughed at her transparency. “The clans aren’t numerous at this time and they have an understanding with the dragons. Dragons are heavy eaters true, but two bison a ten day fill them and the rest of the time they like to play in the sea and eat fish when they can be bothered to catch some.”

She watched the dragons land to kill their dinners. The herd had run a few leagues before stopping to graze again. The bison were obviously well used to this and weren’t terrified by the dragons… well those chosen were, but the rest started grazing again after eyeing the dragons and deciding they were far enough away. She thought the dragons would rend and tear the poor creatures, but they were too fussy for that. Rending would bloody their pretty scales, so instead they snapped the struggling bison necks and began feeding.

“The clans are friends of the dragons then?”

“Were friends Julia, this is the past,” Renard reminded her. “Thousands of years ago, the clans lived to breed their horses and contest with each other. Dragons could eat horse meat, but choose not to do so. In return, the clans cull and manage the bison to keep disease and weak animals from harming the herd. It’s a good system. The clans have plenty to eat—the dragons don’t mind humans eating their bison—and the clans are protected from those who would harm them. The clans are peaceful at this time. They have very few warriors and their contests have more to do with who can breed the best horse, than who is strongest with weapons.”

“What changed?” she said as she watched a bison disappear down a sapphire dragon’s maw.

“Come, I’ll show you,” Renard said and their surroundings changed. They were in the mountains.

Julia recognised this place, but it seemed strange to be standing in the middle of West Pass without seeing the mighty walls and towers of Athione. Athione was completed in the year eighty-one AF so she knew they were farther back than that. In the pass ahead, she could see mounted men riding toward her. She studied them and nodded to herself. They were wearing the black robe of sorcerers. The Founders were coming to settle Deva; but what of the dragons lounging around the lake?

Julia uneasily watched them approach and the inevitable happened. A passing dragon noticed the newcomers and flew down to investigate. The men shouted in alarm and the women screamed at the sight of a small silver dragon. It was obvious to her that he was young and inquisitive, but to the Founders he was a ravening monster come to kill them. Horses bucked neighing in fear. Some of the Founders were thrown. Shouts and curses were raised…

“No don’t!” she shouted and watched sick at heart as fireballs rose to strike the dragon in the chest.

To Julia’s delight and surprise, the dragon seemed more surprised than hurt. He did fall from the sky a little way, but he managed to veer away before hitting the ground. He roared his outrage, and beat his wings hard to gain height. He turned and made a sweeping pass above the Founders contemptuously dodging the fireballs as they rose toward him. The horses were still bucking in fear and no few of the men were thrown to lie still upon the rocky ground. The silver beast roared as he flew away—dragon laughter. She watched him go to tell his friends about the foolish humans and laughed, but Renard wasn’t smiling. He seemed grimmer than she had ever seen him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Come, I’ll show you,” Renard said.

The world changed again and Julia was standing amidst disaster. The lake was full of bloated and rotting carcasses. Dead dragons lay scattered amid burned wagons and fields while others lay among smashed and burning trees. As she watched, a flight of dragons flew overhead and attacked the Founders below.

“They’re mages!”

Renard nodded. “The jewel colours are rare among dragons, as mages are rare among humans. Both female and male dragons might be a mage, but only one in a hundred hatched jewel coloured in these days.”

Julia found her big black lying badly injured on the shore, even as she reached him he gave a huge sigh and died. A roar of anger and grief echoed over the battleground as the fighters above realised he was gone. The silver dragon wasn’t here she saw, and she was relieved to see the copper one flying unhurt. The Founders continued their evil work and more dragons were knocked down, but as one, the jewel mages hit three Founders together and turned them to ash, but they were the only ones. Finally, a beautiful pearl coloured female dragon made the only decision possible and called retreat.

In formation the dragons withdrew roaring their hate of the new humans.

“Where will they go?” she asked watching them fly out of sight.

Renard touched the big black, stroking his muzzle. “Tindebrai eventually. This was the last battle in a string that started when a young silver dragon startled the Founders in West Pass. Hundreds of dragons are dead lying all along the route from West Pass to Holy Lake. The survivors—mostly younger dragons and the jewel mages—will fly to the plain. The clans will help with their injuries and quite a few will go with them to Tindebrai. Deva is born this day, Julia. A bloody birth is it not?”

She nodded. “The jewel mages aren’t as strong as the sorcerers. They had to join their efforts to strike those three,” she indicated the dead Founders.

“No human has ever been as strong as the Founders in magic. In your time, magic has declined as mages age themselves prematurely before learning enough to rank on their scale. You are the strongest mage to come into this world since the Founders brought human magic to Waipara, but even you do not match them.”

“Will I ever?” Julia said not caring if she did or not. She was more interested in how she could visit the dragons in Tindebrai.

Renard cocked his head listening to the music that Julia imagined he could hear. “If you survive, you will become stronger than the Founders.”

She stumbled to a halt and rounded on Renard. “If I survive… if?”

Renard sighed. “I told you there are many futures—many worlds if you will. In some, you live with your parents and become a great athlete. In others, you went on a vacation with them and died. In yet another, you killed yourself. You see? By Darius’ action, all of those possible futures ceased to exist and new one’s opened before you.”

They stopped and watched the Founders bury the ashes of three of their number, and then begin the long job of cremating the dragon carcasses with fire.

Renard continued his lecture. “You might die of Tancred poisoning, or live then die later in battle. You might marry and have many children, or you might marry and have only one. The possibilities are endless. Making decisions is how we narrow the possibilities, and that is why divining is of limited use. Anything of the future I show you can be made redundant by the correct choices. Only the past is immutable, and that is why I’m showing you all this.”

Julia watched the sorcerers collecting dragon scales and loathed them for it. Dragons were intelligent creatures, yet they were hacking at the corpses for their grisly trophies as if they were nothing more than animals. When the task was done, it took all the Founders working together to destroy the carcasses. The heat of the pyres rivalled that of a furnace, but gradually the numbers of dead dwindled. Julia watched as the last one, the big black was cremated. There was nothing to show that a battle had ever taken place, except for piles of ash that began to drift on the wind.

“I’m surprised the dragons didn’t win. Look how hard the sorcerers had to work.”

“Fire is a crude weapon in war, Julia. Mages find it easy to make and use against their enemies, but try it sometime against an equal opponent and you will wish for something stronger and faster. Even among their own people on their homeworld, the Founders were strong in their magic. We call them true sorcerers. On the same scale, a dragon mage was a poor second, but don’t be fooled into thinking they’re weak, because they aren’t. In battle, you would have trouble with just one dragon, let alone three. The dragons of your time are warier than the ones you saw here. Using magic for battle was alien to these dragons, but that is no longer the case, I assure you. Battle magic is now as natural as breathing to them.”

That sounded ominous. Julia was glad to hear that the dragons were alive and well on Tindebrai, but although she would love to meet and talk to one, having a flight of dragons land in the middle of Devarr would cause no end of trouble…

Julia looked to Renard who was trying to avoid her gaze. “You’re not saying the dragons are coming back are you?”

“That’s only one possibility. I see war wherever I look. If not the sorcerers, then it’s Tanjung. If not Tanjung, it’s the dragons. If not the dragons it’s…” Renard broke of red-faced. He had that listening to nothing look on his face again. He nodded almost imperceptibly and went on. “No matter how far I look, I see destruction. The dragons bring annihilation for Deva, but the sorcerers aren’t interested in destruction for its own sake. Mortain wants to rule, so he’ll not want to destroy everything. Of course, his estimate of what’s necessary may not match yours.”

She nodded. “The dragons want their home back and a return to the old days, but what does Tanjung want?” She could guess, but she preferred to hear it from Renard.

“Similar to the Protectorate. Emperor Vexin wants peace in his own land, but the only way he sees to achieve that is to turn his lords’ aggressions outward, instead of toward each other as is currently the case.”

What a mess! Deva had to fight the sorcerers for its freedom, but at the same time Tanjung wanted an enemy to fight and had chosen Deva. If the dragons became embroiled in the mess that Waipara had become, who knew what would happen. The sorcerers were weak compared to the Founders, but there were a great many of them. Julia could foresee chaos in every direction and no way out.

“Renard I—” she broke off as the world shivered then settled back as it was.

Renard was looking around in amazement. Then his face blanked as he listened to his invisible friends.

“Renard…” she felt light-headed and strange. “I feel…” The world began to fade and her friend made no attempt to stop it. “Renard?”

“Good bye Julia, good luck.”

Julia’s world spun about and went dark.

* * *

“Give her to me; she’s not dying after all this!”

Tomik turned the unresisting girl over and lifted her around the waist so that she hung head down. He jumped up and down allowing the dead weight to flop about, all the while praying for her to cough up the river she had inhaled. He shook her hard and wished Kerrion would come to help, but the shaman was fighting the Hasians. He did all he could—he prayed that his friends had not died for nothing.

A flood of water gushed out of the girl and she took a ragged breath before puking all over his boots.

“She’ll be all right,” he said grinning in relief.

The night was lit by shaman fire as it flew toward the boat and set it to burning. Men screamed and jumped into the water to extinguish the flames eating them alive, but others stood their ground and threw fire back toward the shamen. The boat began drifting sideways to the current, but it was still moving as men raced along the sides trying to put out the flames. Arrows rained down killing every one of them stone dead, and the bodies fell into the river to be carried downstream.

More fire came from the boat, aiming for the bowmen this time, but the sorcerers were unlikely to hit anything. Kerrion had told him—and he had spread it among his warriors—that the bowmen should strike and then move before striking again. It was the only way to avoid magic.

The light from the fires was bright enough to reveal them now, so Tomik pulled the girl further back from the river into the darkness. His men were having little luck with killing the outclanner shamen. Tomik watched in amazement as arrows struck them and bounced away to fall limply into the river. Truly, this was a battle for shamen. His men realised they were having no effect and stopped wasting their arrows.

“I wish Shelim was here,” Torin whispered.

“So do I, but Kerrion is stronger. Shelim said so. He’ll stop them.”

Tomik felt sure the boat would have sunk, but the fires suddenly winked out. More magic. He watched in glee as Kerrion and the others set it ablaze again. Every time the Hasians put the fire out, Kerrion lit it again. The boat finally lodged against the closer bank and Kerrion’s brothers began killing the Hasians one by one.

The outclanners were too strong to be killed one on one, so the shamen all threw fire at the same time—all at one man. Human torches began jumping into the river to die or were instantly turned to ash as the sorcerers were overwhelmed. Ten dead, then twenty, there were no longer enough to stop the boat from burning. It gradually settled at the bow as the hull burned completely through allowing the river to flood in. The fires hissed and steam rose as the boat settled sharply below the water. The river was too shallow for it to go all the way under the surface, but it settled enough that the sorcerers were up to their ankles in the river. As the water touched their shields, little sparks shot away from them accompanied by a shrieking crackling noise that agitated the outclanners beyond all measure. They started edging toward the dry embankment of the river.

Tomik blinked as the last of the fires were extinguished by the river. “There were eight left weren’t there?”

“Not sure, why?”

“No matter. There are only seven now. I think we should pull the girl back to safety just in case they decide to come this way.”

The outclanners were intent on reaching dry ground. They really didn’t like getting their feet wet, but Kerrion was just as determined they would not step ashore. Hundreds of fireballs and for the first time something else hit the sorcerers. Three of the men screamed in agony and collapsed to float out of sight. Another folded then another, both men struggled weakly as they slipped under the surface of the river to drown.

The last two men did reach the riverbank. Their shields strengthened and brightened, but their victory was short lived. Both men rose into the air screaming as the shamen reached out to grasp them with their magic.

Tomik looked on in disgust as both men were wrung—literally twisted along their lengths, just as washing was wrung dry. In this case, blood rained down and not water. Both men were dropped into the river to sink like rocks.

“Ughh! That was a nasty way to go,” Torin said then jumped to his feet in shock when a voice right behind him spoke.

“If you know a good way to die,” the outclanner said. “I wouldn’t mind hearing it. Those bastards deserved a lot worse than they got.”

Tomik glared at his son in reproach for letting an outclanner sneak up on him. An outclanner! Torin’s blush of embarrassment was well deserved, but a moment later it was Tomik’s turn to jump guiltily when another voice spoke from directly behind him!

“Be charitable, Lorcan. The God will judge them for their actions. He will send them back to learn anew.”

“They don’t deserve it,” Lorcan pouted.

Tomik scowled; he was as bad as Torin this night! How could he let an outclanner so close, an old outclanner at that? He must be going senile to be so easily distracted. Torin grinned aware of his thoughts.

“All right, you can have your ceremony.”

Torin barely held in his glee. “Thank you father, thank you very much!”

The outclanners were staring at him and Torin in puzzlement. Neither one could understand their amusement or what Torin’s ceremony meant to him. Just then, Kerrion and the other shamen arrived. Kerrion knelt and laid a hand upon the half-drowned woman’s forehead. He shook his head and turned with a hand outstretched. Darnath handed a small bottle to him. Kerrion made to pour the contents into the girl’s mouth but suddenly a dagger appeared at his throat. Everyone hissed in surprise at the outclanner’s speed.

“What’s in that bottle?” he growled in his not quite man and not quite boy voice.

“Nothing that will harm her, my boy,” Kerrion said carefully. “I cannot heal her—there is nothing wrong with her. The Hasians have given her Tancred, is that not so?”

“Pints of it each day for most of the journey,” Gideon said.

The shamen hissed in shock at the news and worried whispers erupted. Tomik didn’t know what all the fuss was about. Shamen used Tancred all the time, and it never did them any harm.

“Why so much?” Kerrion said ignoring the knife at his throat.

“Because they’re scared of her. She kept trying to wake sooner every day, so they made that stuff stronger and gave her more each time. They gave it to her in the mornings and in the evenings.”

“I have more Tancred here—stop!” Kerrion said as the knife nearly slit his throat. “She needs it boy, just as we need air to breath, she needs Tancred to live. I made this myself—a small amount of Tancred mixed with water. She will die without it.”

“You’re lying!”

“He’s not Lorcan!” Gideon cried putting out a hand to stop another death. “She nearly died last time. None of us knew what to do when she started shaking and screaming, we thought she would die then, but she pulled through. If this man is a healer, he knows better than we what to do.”

Tomik nodded. “I swear that Kerrion is the best healer we have, and he was the one who sent us to save her.”

“And you have my word, that if she dies you and he will also,” Lorcan said. He released Kerrion and made his dagger disappear.

Tomik gaped. Was that more magic?

Kerrion carefully poured some of the drug into Julia’s mouth, and massaged her throat to force her to swallow it. The effect was almost immediate. The shaking diminished, but it didn’t stop altogether. By Kerrion’s frown, Tomik thought it should have. There came an audible sigh of relief from the shamen when she opened her eyes.

“Hello Kerrion,” Julia croaked. “I didn’t expect to see you this side of life.”

Mumbles of surprise swept through the warriors, but not the shamen, Tomik noted with a frown. Did Kerrion know this girl—how, and from where?

Kerrion chuckled. “Hello, Julia. Welcome to the plains—welcome to the Night Wind.”

* * *

The fire had long since burned out, and the clansmen left by the time he dared move from his hiding place. While he waited, he tried to formulate a plan, but nothing came to him. He clambered tiredly out of the freezing river and onto the remains of the boat hoping to find something useful. In the cabin—up to his neck in water again—he found some waterlogged supplies. They would be disgusting to eat, but they should keep him alive.

He knew that journeyeing overland would be impossible. He dare not risk a confrontation with the clans, so he used his magic to carefully break the sides of the boat. Eventually, after much cursing, he had a serviceable raft made from planks, doors, and a hatch cover. It looked terrible, but it would hold together forever—well, as long as his spell did any way—and that would be long enough for his purposes.

Demophon clambered aboard and shoved off letting the current take him north. He looked back once at the sight of his former glory, then turned resolutely forward. There would be a reckoning. If he couldn’t bring the bitch to Mortain alive, no one would.

He would see her dead first.

* * *

The Warrior Within

(Devan Chronicles 3)

Prologue

Julia opened her eyes to look around, but nothing had changed. She was lying on something that swayed and bounced as she moved. The sky above was still grey and contemplating whether to drop its contents on her or not. Why not, she thought sluggishly, she’d had worse than a little rain—much worse. Another surge of pain crackled through her and she took a ragged breath to scream, but Kerrion’s magic quickly damped the agony. She couldn’t grasp her own magic, but even if there had been something to heal, which there wasn’t, she couldn’t heal herself. Her addiction wasn’t a physical ailment, but it hurt worse than any other thing she could name.

“Oh God, not again,” Julia whispered as the pain hit her with greater force. “Hnnnoooooo!” she screamed. The pain suddenly eased as Kerrion’s spell wrapped itself around her. “Oh God thank you… thank you… thank you,” she whispered as tears leaked from her tightly closed eyes. She raised a shaking hand to wipe them away.

“How do you feel?” Kerrion asked kindly.

“Terrible,” she croaked.

“You still have pain?”

Another cramp hit her. “Hnnn! Yes,” she gasped.

“I can do nothing further. I’m holding the pain down with magic. If I do more you could lose feeling permanently.”

“It’s… it’s all right… I’ve had… Hnnn! I’ve had worse,” she gasped but Kerrion was sceptical. She didn’t have the energy to explain. “I want Keverin. Is he near?”

“Your man?” Kerrion asked and at her jerky nod, he shook his head. “I don’t know where he is. He can’t come onto the plain—not now at least. Do you know of a Hasian named Navarien?”

“Yes… he… hnnn!” she gritted her teeth to prevent the scream escaping. “He was the general—the leader that tried to take my home. I killed his legionnaires—his warriors. He went back to the Protectorate.”

“Ah, well done! This man, this monster, is killing everyone in the north. He is a vile creature that kills his own men and laughs while he does it. He allows his men to use children for sport and—”

“No…” she whispered tiredly. “He is my enemy, but he’s an honourable man and a very great general for his people.”

“How can you say that?” another voice said, one out of Julia’s sight.

“I say it because it’s true. I watch him in the mirror sometimes, I know he…” she grunted as another cramp hit her. “…he’s an honourable man.”

“Let her rest my friend. Here, drink this,” Kerrion said.

The waterbag contained dilute Tancred. The thought of the vile stuff made her want to throw up, but she needed to be weaned off the drug like a babe from her milk. She took a single mouthful this time and swallowed hard trying to stop herself from spitting it out. Kerrion offered more, but she refused it.

“You must!”

“No, it’s faster this way… Hnnn!” the scream forced its way loose from her control. “Hnnnoooooo!”

“Faster is not better. Now drink!”

Kerrion forced more into her while she glared daggers at him. Wait until she was up and around, she’d singe his ears for that! The pain receded, or was it her receding? She was still awake, sort of, but everything was hazy and disjointed. Kerrion was walking by her side and talking to another shaman, but his voice was fading in and out. She stared up at him and blinked at what she was seeing. The world slowed to a crawl and she watched a snowflake hover before her eyes seemingly suspended in time. She wasn’t dreaming; she was almost sure she wasn’t. Another snowflake replaced the first and slowly made its way to land upon her face. She blinked it free of her eyelashes, but another joined it. Kerrion’s hand appeared and brushed them away.

She blinked fuzzily up at him. “Your face… the burns… sorry about your face Kerrion…”

Kerrion shook his head in puzzlement.

She was floating now, floating gently upward. If she reached over there—a place in her head—she could fly. She could see exactly how to do it, though she had never tried anything like that before. She fumbled for the thing at her centre, but it kept getting away.

Bother it!

The gold thing kept slipping away. She nearly had it a couple of times, but it squirted from her grasp like a piece of slippery soap. She gave up, and watched the snow fall.

* * *

1 ~ Blademaster

Lord Keverin reached the Camorin border in a foul temper. Although a troop of brigands had intended it otherwise, his journey from the capital had been quick. The reason for his mood had nothing to do with brigands, nor yet the length of time taken to reach the border. No, what had him seething was the sight of nearly a thousand of his guardsmen sitting encamped on the Devan side of the border.

“Calm down. Listen to Brian’s explanation first.”

He frowned in irritation. Jihan was a good friend, and an honourable lord, but he didn’t know how irritating it was to have someone half his age telling him what to do. He was calm; he was always calm! When hadn’t he been calm? Brian should be on the trail, not loafing around on the border. He had better have a flaming good reason for his loafing, if he didn’t… he just better had, that’s all.

Keverin dismounted and made his way with Jihan toward the centre of attention. The men were listening to a pair of mages conferring with Brian. At their feet were two mirrors glowing with magical images. He couldn’t see what the views were, but he would wager they showed Julia’s location. In fact, he was wrong as he saw when he finally broke in among his men.

“The Lord—”

“Brian’s a goner for sure—”

“He looks madder than a sorcerer with his beard on fire!”

Keverin tried to ignore his men’s comments, but the last one had even him grinning. That would be something to see all right, something worth savouring. His temper cooled as if quenched in oil, and it was with a cool head that he questioned his captain.

“Report Brian,” he ordered, and the men quieted down. Jihan was at his left elbow studying the images in the mirrors.

“My lord, we tracked The Lady toward Anselm, but were unable to close the distance more than half a day. With Lucius and Mathius scrying ahead, we discovered the Hasians had boarded ship—”

“One of my father’s barges,” Lord Adrik added.

Keverin didn’t show his annoyance at the interruption. He nodded politely to Adrik and indicated to Brian he should continue.

“A barge then,” Brian said annoyed at being corrected. “It was obvious we would lose ground, so I ordered my men to head straight north to cut them off here where the river crosses the border. I failed.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Brian,” Lucius said. “Julia would understand.”

Mathius lent his support. “That’s right. Besides, she’s safe enough for the moment. The clans won’t hurt her.”

“What’s this?”

“I was just coming to that part, my lord,” Brian said glaring at Mathius. “We had fallen more than two days behind when the barge was attacked during the night by clan warriors—”

“Not just warriors, my lord,” Mathius said. “Shamen attacked in the night with magic. It was beautiful. The warriors swam to the boat and killed the sentries and the steersman without a sound. One moment everything was quiet, the next, a warrior was diving over the side with Julia over his shoulder! None could have done it better.”

A rumble of agreement and admiration swept through the men. Julia was safe! It was wonderful news but he pushed aside his exultation to hear the rest.

“—burning,” Brian was saying. “Every time the sorcerers put out the fires, the shamen threw fire and lit them again!” Chuckles swept through the crowd, but no one would be fooled into thinking they were amused. It was a positively evil sound; the Hasians deserved what they got and more. “The barge sank near the west bank. The last sorcerers were crushed.”

“Not exactly,” Lucius said in glee. “The shamen were very annoyed at this point, my lord. Whoever led them made a point I feel won’t be lost on Mortain. They wrung the last one like a dirty wash cloth!”

“Ooh, I bet that hurt!”

“—bastard deserved it!”

“No one does that to our Julia and gets away with it!”

Keverin nodded. He felt the same, but he would have preferred killing them himself. Still, they were dead and that was all that really mattered.

“So, why are you encamped here instead of riding to meet Julia?” Keverin asked. He had no doubt she would be spitting mad and in a hurry to return.

“My fault I’m afraid,” Lucius said. “I advised Brian to hold back.”

Brian was new in his rank of captain. He had allowed himself to be swayed by an older head. Whether Lucius was wiser as well remained to be seen.

“Why?”

“Julia is safe for the moment, as safe as she can be full of Tancred as she is—”

“Tancred!”

Lucius nodded.

Tancred was a dangerous drug for anyone, but it was more dangerous for Julia as she’d had a run in with the vile stuff before. Tancred saved her life then, but later, her addiction nearly killed her. Thank the God she had survived. The worst effects had diminished after a tenday, but it had taken much longer to recover completely.

“It was the only way to hold her,” Lucius explained. “Demophon must have been a worried man to order the use of Tancred, but though I detested the man, I can understand why he chose it. It really was the only way to prevent her from blasting everything in sight short of killing her.”

Lucius and Mathius had killed Demophon, five other sorcerers, and destroyed an entire set of rooms in the palace as revenge for Julia’s murder. They hadn’t known at the time she was still alive. If they hadn’t killed Demophon, Keverin vowed he would have, assuming he could that is. Killing a mage was very hard to do—by surprise or with magic were the only ways to have even a remote chance.

“So you see, Julia’s all right,” Lucius went on. “The warriors are what worry me.”

“You’ve lost me, Lucius,” Keverin said. “What’s this about, Brian?”

Brian was almost bursting with his need to speak. “We have more than a few warriors watching us from concealment as we speak, my lord. Lucius found them in his mirror. If we move on, I’m thinking the King won’t like it, especially if we hand him a war in the process. Lucius wants me to wait until they visit us to talk. I prefer the reverse.”

Keverin nodded. “Bide a moment, Brian.” He turned to Adrik, “My lord, if you’ll follow me?”

Adrik stood from where he had been studying the mirrors and followed Keverin and Jihan away from the others so they might discuss their options.

“First, I have a duty to perform,” Keverin said. “The King has confirmed you as Lord of Ascol before the Council. Your father was executed for treason and regicide… I’m sorry,” he added just a little late.

Adrik’s jaw clenched, but he held the pain at bay. The young man’s eyes were haunted, but they remained dry. “Not really.”

“No, not really,” he agreed.

Lord Rowton of Ascol had been his enemy. More, he was the King’s enemy and that of Deva herself. Rowton was beheaded for his crimes as befit his station, but Keverin felt it too good for him. Rowton should have been hung as a common brigand as were all those involved in Julia’s abduction.

Jihan interrupted Keverin’s reverie. “Gy won’t want a war with the clans; he’s more interested in buying their horses for the new armies.”

Keverin knew that was true, but Julia was his personal priority. Too many times he had allowed duty to come between them—most notably when the King forbade him from pursuing Julia’s kidnappers the night of her abduction. Gylaren had threatened his removal as Lord of Athione if he did not obey. That had been a tense moment. His removal would have split the kingdom wide open, and although Keverin had no doubt the King would have won in the end, he had been on a sword’s edge, teetering one way then the other in indecision. In the end, he had ordered Brian and all his guardsmen to pursue the kidnappers, while he obeyed the letter, if not the substance behind the King’s order. Gylaren had acknowledged his stance and accepted the situation with good grace; he’d had little choice unless civil war was what he wanted. They had been friends for years and the split between them had been sudden and shocking. He still couldn’t believe it and wondered even yet if it was permanent. He had vowed that if Gylaren’s actions harmed Julia, then their friendship was finished, but privately he had vowed one thing further. If she were harmed, he would challenge and kill Gylaren. Nothing was more important to him than Julia.

She was his life.

Putting grim thoughts to one side, Keverin concentrated on the current situation. These hidden watchers or scouts might be useful. He looked around but couldn’t see anywhere they might be hiding. It was said clansmen could hide behind a blade of grass, but this was ridiculous! Although still on the Devan side of the border, it looked indistinguishable from the plain. He could see for leagues, but there was nothing to see, just long grass waving in the chill breeze. Winter was almost here, and he felt it likely they would end their journey back to Athione through the first falls of snow.

“War isn’t what I want, nor do the clans want it,” Keverin said. “They saved Julia when I was unable to, for that they have my eternal gratitude. I don’t believe war is likely. They have Navarien to worry about.”

Jihan shrugged. “People can be irrational, but I agree I think. If I had him on my doorstep, I’d be worried indeed.”

“Why not walk over there,” Adrik said hooking a thumb over his shoulder, “and shout that you want to talk?”

Keverin’s eyebrows climbed. “Why not indeed?”

He wandered northward shouting that he wanted to talk. He felt a little silly, but his bubbling hilarity disappeared as if it had never been when dozens of clansmen stood from where they had lain hidden. Worse, some were between him and the safety of his men. Brian was alert to the danger, and suddenly every guardsman of Athione and Malcor had his sword in hand ready to charge to the rescue. The clansmen seemed unconcerned, though they were outnumbered a hundred to one.

“I am Anwa, warrior of the Jaralk. You may speak to me.”

“I am Keverin of Athione, Lord Protector of the west—Deva’s west that is.”

“I know who you are,” Anwa said coldly. “What do you want, man of Deva?”

How? Maybe Julia had told him. That thought cheered him no end. “My Lady was abducted by Hasian sorcerers. I’ve come to bring her home.”

“No,” Anwa said simply and turned to leave. The other clansmen turned away silently.

Keverin stepped forward angrily and grabbed Anwa’s arm. The clansman stopped, and looked at the offending grasp, and he released the warrior reluctantly. “It’s not your decision, Anwa. I am a chief of my people. You are a mere warrior. I demand to speak to your chief.”

Anwa thought about that for a long moment and then made a sign to one of his men. The warrior nodded and loped away. “We wait.”

Keverin walked back to his men unhindered, but he was worried. Why, after saying he knew about Julia and him, would Anwa prevent him from seeing her? Were the clans playing some kind of game with him?

Days of inaction chafed upon Keverin so much he felt he must surely go insane with worry. Yet again he considered breaking camp and moving north in pursuit of Julia, but Lucius’ assurances came back to him and staid his hand. Lucius had used his mirror to assure him that Julia was well. If it hadn’t been so tiring for the wizard, he would have watched her all day and night. Julia was sick, but in no danger from the clans. That might change if he ordered his men north. No, he must wait for Anwa’s chief to come.

Keverin watched Adrik’s sword practice as the snow came down. The young Lord of Ascol badly needed Jihan’s instruction. Luckily, Jihan was a patient teacher and was carefully working to improve the boy’s speed with repetition of the sword forms he knew so well. The boy’s accuracy was fine—though he had no chance of striking Jihan of course, but his endurance was non-existent, which had the effect of slowing him too quickly. Jihan was a true master of the sword and was fighting at a snail’s pace on his own scale, yet Adrik’s breath smoked white as he panted into the cold winter air. The snow had started just a few days ago and had settled, but there was little wind to whip it up into a blizzard thank the God.

Anwa’s men remained separate but observant. The ones Keverin could see were watching Adrik’s lesson with interest. Lucius had used his mirror to locate the hidden watchers, but apart from noting the numbers and location of each clansman, they had decided not to acknowledge them. Secrecy was best. It seemed likely they would move if they knew of their discovery.

“No, no, no!” Jihan said and called a halt to the fight. “You are fixating on my blade, Adrik. You have to ignore such things as the distractions they are. Try to take in all of me; don’t fix on any one thing.”

“That’s easy for you to say Lor… Jihan,” Adrik said panting and stumbling over the fact that he was now a lord himself.

Well, he was in name at least. Jihan was a blade-master and a Lord Protector. He denied the title of blade-master simply calling himself a swordsman. Denying it didn’t make it less true though. Everyone knew he was unsurpassed with a sword—with any weapon really. Ignoring mages for the moment, Jihan was the most deadly fighter in the land. Lucky for Deva he was scrupulously honourable in all things. His father had been a traitor, and because of that, Jihan was the most trustworthy lord you could ever hope to meet. He shied away from anything that even remotely reminded him of his father’s behaviour and dishonour.

“I mean you no insult, chief of Deva, but your son would be better suited to the weavers life—almost any other life than that of a warrior,” Anwa said from behind him.

Keverin hadn’t heard him approach, but he didn’t betray his surprise. “He’s not my son. I have no sons.”

“I feel for you, but daughters bring their own joy—” Anwa broke off as Keverin shook his head.

“I have no children. My title will pass to another line after me, and my ancestors will be forgotten,” he said truly believing for the first time it would happen.

He had often contemplated adopting an heir, but circumstances had always seemed to intervene. Jihan’s consort was pregnant with their first babe and it brought home to him his own lack. Julia was young yet, but he was forty-two and had never sired a child. Perhaps he couldn’t.

“That is sad. The boy is a friend then?”

“He is Lord Adrik of Ascol, and recently become a friend. The other is Lord Jihan of Malcor and Lord Protector of the north—a very good friend.”

Anwa’s eyebrows lifted at all the titles. Although the clans didn’t have nobles, he understood the meaning of the word. To him a lord was a chief, so he found himself confronted with not one chief as he had assumed, but three. The clans had no use for titles, except perhaps the title of chief and shaman. Everyone else used their given name and thought of themselves as Horse Clan, or Night Wind, or any of the other clans and tribes.

“That he is a chief and still so abysmal with the long knife is shocking, but outclanner ways have ever been a puzzle. Why so many chiefs?”

Keverin ignored the insult given to Adrik, the charge was after all true, but he was always happy to talk about Julia. “My Lady is greatly loved and very special to all of us. She is a sorceress, the only one ever born that we know of. She saved our land from the Hasians last year, and helped save it again this last season. Many love her.”

“She is fortunate indeed,” Anwa said watching the sword practice resume.

“How fortunate is it to be kidnapped, drugged insensible, half drowned, and then finally taken north away from those she loves?” Keverin said as his anger kindled.

“Save your anger for those deserving of it,” Anwa said coldly.

“Oh? And are you not deserving of it? Are you not one of the men holding me on the border away from my Lady?”

Anwa ignored him as his interest was drawn to the north. Keverin turned to find a party of clansmen riding slowly toward him. Anwa trotted off toward his own people without another word.

“Brian!”

“Lord?”

“Assemble the men. I don’t think we’ll be fighting, but I want everyone ready.”

“At once, my lord!”

Keverin nodded as Brian trotted away, and the men struck the camp. By the time the clansmen arrived, the men were mounted and ready for what might come. Keverin had Cavell near at hand, but remained afoot with Jihan and Adrik.

“What do you think?” he said.

“I think they will refuse us,” Jihan replied. “If they do, we can beat them best with an immediate charge. That should surprise them and give us time to chop them up.”

Adrik nodded but he had a suggestion. “Don’t let them say no to you. We have Lucius and Mathius to even the odds.”

Keverin nodded, he hadn’t forgotten the mages. Both men nodded at him as he looked their way. They were more than ready. There were perhaps five hundred warriors in the approaching party. That was many more than was needed to escort a single chief to the border. It was likely they were here to run him off. If that was so, they were in for the fight of their lives—the last fight of their lives.

Anwa was talking with an older man that Keverin assumed was the chief of his tribe. Petya was the name of the chief, and Jaralk was the name of an offshoot tribe of Eagle Clan. Keverin knew the names of the clans well enough, but what they meant in strength and numbers of warriors was a mystery to him. Jihan was Lord Protector of this border. If any Devan knew, it would be he.

“What do you know of the Jaralk? Anything that might help?”

“Just what everyone knows about the clans—ten nomadic clans but hundreds of tribes. Fierce warriors that can hide under a blade of grass. The clans always meet at a place called Denpasser in the spring where they trade with each other and us when we want their horses. Honourable men I’ve always thought, but they don’t like intruders. To them there are two kinds of people: clan and outclan.”

Keverin grunted. Such was common knowledge. He would like to know why the clans had intervened and saved Julia. If they wanted to help her, and they obviously did, why bar his way?

He waited impatiently as one of the newcomers dismounted and together with Anwa approached him. The rest of the clansmen stayed mounted and moved into a line that could charge with little fuss or warning. Keverin raised an arm and swept it to either side. Instantly Brian reformed his men into an opposing line. Neither Petya nor Anwa took any notice—none of the clansmen did.

“Arrogant,” Adrik mused.

“Not at all,” Jihan corrected. “They are simply confident—foolishly so in my opinion. We know the clans are good fighters, but they do not know us. If I led them, I would be cautious until I had the chance to take our measure.”

Keverin agreed. In this situation, caution cost nothing.

“I am Petya, chief of the Jaralk.”

“I am Keverin, Lord Protector of the west. My friend to my left is Jihan, Lord Protector of the north. My friend to the right is Adrik, Lord of Ascol.”

Petya wasn’t surprised to be addressing three chiefs. Anwa had obviously reported his findings. “Why are you here?”

Keverin gritted his teeth. The man knew why! “We both know the answer to that, Petya. My lady is currently residing in your land and I mean to bring her out. With your help or without it, that will happen.”

“You listen to me outclanner—” Anwa began angrily, but Keverin cut him off.

“No you listen!” he roared. “I’ve been kept waiting here for days while my lady journeys further away each candlemark. I’ve been patient up until now, but no more. Either you escort us to Julia or we ride north to find her.”

Petya was amused. He glanced at Anwa then raised a hand in a complicated gesture. Keverin wasn’t surprised or particularly worried when more clansmen galloped to join those already at Petya’s back. Lucius had been thorough with his mirror. He still had a slight advantage in numbers. He had Brian and a thousand Athione guardsmen, Adrik with a hundred from Ascol, and Jihan with two hundred from Malcor. Petya had a thousand, maybe a little less.

“What say you now, little outclanner?” Petya spat, obviously trying to provoke him into risking action.

“You are a fool, Petya. Your men will die for nothing. My friends in the colourful robes behind me are mages. You have heard of magic, I trust? I see that you have. If you want to die, fight me alone. There’s no reason to kill hundreds with your stupidity!”

“We are not afraid to die!” Anwa spat angrily.

“Where is the honour in dying for nothing though?” Petya mused, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

“But—” Anwa began, but he was silenced by a look from Petya.

“What are you proposing?” Petya asked.

“I propose that we two fight. If I win, you allow us to journey north to find Julia. If I lose… If I lose, I submit to you and hope you have honour enough to bring my lady to me.”

“Kev, are you sure?” Jihan said. “We can take this many, I’m certain of it.”

“I’m sure. If we do it your way, hundreds on our side will die.”

“Hundreds!” Petya spat in outrage. “All of you will die!”

Jihan smirked and enraged Petya even more—as intended.

“I agree, but we will not fight,” the chief said.

“Who then?” Keverin growled, annoyed at being deprived.

“My son against this smirking simpleton!”

“No!” Anwa cried in horror.

Keverin grinned; Anwa knew how good Jihan was.

“I have said it!” Petya shouted truly angry now.

“But you—” Anwa began, but he was silenced by a chopping gesture from his chief. Anwa scowled and stomped away in silence.

Petya gestured and a tall man dismounted to join them. “This is my son, Jolon.”

Keverin introduced himself and the others then waited for Petya to explain to Jolon the bargain. He was grinning at the end of the explanation, full of confidence.

Keverin followed Jihan into some space. “Finish this as quickly as you can, Jihan, and please don’t play with him. Would you do that for me?”

“If you wish it, but Petya needs a lesson in humility.”

Keverin tried not to laugh in Jihan’s face; it would have been rude. His friend wasn’t exactly a model of humility himself. His pride in his skills was thoroughly deserved however.

Jihan removed his cloak and handed it to Adrik. He gestured at Jolon’s lack of armour. “I do not wish to see you permanently injured. Do you wish to borrow armour?”

All the clansmen laughed including Jolon, but Keverin noticed that Anwa wasn’t. The warrior was scowling fiercely at what he saw as mockery.

“True warriors do not need armour, but I thank you for the thought. Perhaps you would care to borrow a shield as I see that you have none.”

“I thank you, Jolon. My training negates the use of a shield. I have found them to be an encumbrance against anything but arrows.”

“I see,” Jolon said slowly with a raised brow.

Keverin was impatient for the fight to begin, but he refrained from saying anything that might distract Jihan. The two were sparring with words, which he assumed would eventually lead to the challenge. He was right.

“So, if you’re ready then?” Jihan asked.

“Let us begin,” Jolon said with a nod.

Keverin blinked and nearly missed it.

Jihan pulled his sword and struck in one motion. Jolon raised his shield barely in time and deflected the blow. Jihan was obviously surprised at his opponent’s speed; Keverin could see it in his friend’s sudden wariness. Jolon in the meantime had counter-attacked, but Jihan easily parried each time. With a sigh of relief, he realised that Jihan was indeed the better man. He scowled knowing he had doubted for a moment.

Jihan moved with the total assurance of a master performing his art, but although it seemed obvious that Jolon was not his equal, he was also no slouch. The clansman was dangerous. Jihan knew it of course; he had known it the instant his first attack failed. He glided forward, his sword in the classic two-handed grip, and Jolon backed, circling to the left. Jihan suddenly changed to a single hand—his left, and attempted to bypass Jolon’s shield to land a blow. Jolon cursed in surprise and cast it at Jihan. It had suddenly become an encumbrance.

Jihan aborted his attack and ducked. He barely escaped Jolon’s follow up slice, and changed back to his right hand. The clansman desperately parried the new attack, but he was feeling the loss of his shield acutely. Jihan danced in the snow. All eyes were on him and Jolon seemed a nonentity in comparison, but gracefulness didn’t win battles. Jihan’s skill was beyond compare, however. Jolon was good, none could ever deny it, but Jihan was simply better.

Keverin was fuming. Jihan hadn’t kept his promise. He was playing.

Jihan thrust, but his sword was pushed to the side. Jolon tried to make use of the opening so foolishly handed to him, but then he felt a slap high on his right side. He looked down in amazement to find Jihan’s sword hard against his body with its wickedly sharp edge turned safely away.

“Hit!” Jolon called feeling sick. In a real fight, he would have been dead.

Jihan straightened from his awkward lunge and saluted his opponent with a graceful yet complex flourish of his sword then continued the movement to sheath his blade with a quiet snick.

Petya was dumbfounded, but the other clansmen were angry. Many of them had seen Jihan’s skill while he taught Adrik and felt, as did Keverin, that Jihan had played Jolon for a fool. It was a notion quickly dispelled on when Jihan reacted angrily to his accusation.

“How dare you, Sir! I have never gone back on a promise once made, and I resent your implication that I would do so,” Jihan said coldly. “I said I would not play with him, and I did not. It will no doubt surprise you to hear that Jolon is as good with his blade as Athlone was. Not that you would know!”

Whoa! Jihan was angry. He had only seen him like this once before. That time he had been readying himself to kill his father.

“I apologise Jihan—from the heart my friend.” Keverin offered a formal bow. “It was frustration talking. I should have known you would never do something like that after saying you would not.”

Jihan’s glare faded and he nodded in better humour. He was not one to stay angry for long; he had to work at it. “You should have known, Kev, but let us speak no more of it. Jolon was quite a surprise to me. My first attack would have ended the fight nine times out of ten, but he appears to be my tenth man.” He frowned but then smiled ruefully. “I should have known better. I have mentioned Cowan to you before. He was one of my two instructors in the sword. He truly is a blade-master, and a clansman. I wonder how many like Jolon there are living among the clans.”

He was pleased that his friend was no longer angry, but he had no interest in speculating on numbers of skilled swordsmen. He wanted to know if Petya would hold to the bargain he had made. The chief was angrily arguing with his warriors. One warrior in particular was denouncing Jolon as incompetent and calling his chief a lover of outclanners.

“Bide here a moment would you?” Jihan said absently as he walked toward the confrontation.

Keverin sighed. They were getting nowhere fast. Adrik murmured that it would have been quicker to fight it out, and he agreed. Petya was close to being challenged, and he was old. If loud-mouth became chief, a battle would ensue that would likely see all the clansmen dead and a good many Devans also. The merits of armour versus free movement would be mute when the Devan medium cavalry charged the clan light cavalry. He wondered how many would survive. Few he thought, too few to continue north. Jihan had seen the likely consequences before he had and was taking steps.

“You, Sir!” Jihan pointed at loud-mouth. “Do you say Jolon gave me that hit?”

“This does not concern you outclanner!”

“Ah, but it does you see. If Jolon is judged to have given me the fight, I must see it as a stain on my honour. I know you do not understand honour, Sir, nor have any, but I assure you it is important to me!”

Keverin winced.

“Now he’s done it,” Adrik whispered.

The clansmen hissed in shock. All were struck dumb. All except loud-mouth who was turning purple with rage and growling.

“Are you all right?” Jihan said in concern. “Breathe man, breathe!”

“You filthy outclanner! I’ll kill you!”

“Is that what you call a challenge?”

“Yes! To the death!”

“Well then, I accept. Would now be all right?” Jihan said in a bored voice, but his face was anything but bored. His eyes glittered and his face was as granite.

Loud mouth’s answer was to jump down from his horse and stalk to where the snow was already packed down from the earlier fight. Jihan shrugged and followed.

Keverin watched intently and made sure not to blink this time. Jihan faced his opponent as he had faced Jolon before him. He was not surprised when he pulled his sword and struck exactly as before. It would be called foolhardy for any other man to repeat his strike, especially when his new opponent had witnessed it, but Jihan was not concerned. The blow landed and Jihan walked away without looking back. Everyone stared in shock. Loud-mouth swayed and then fell dead. His sword arm and shoulder was hanging by a mere flap of skin.

“Let that be an end to the foolishness!” Keverin said loudly. “Petya made a bargain as your chief. Honour it!”

There was a rumble of discontent, but no one interrupted as Petya gave orders to escort the outclanners to Denpasser.

Jihan was already mounted when Keverin turned to find Cavell. Adrik and he quickly followed his example. Brian reformed the men into a column of fours and then ordered them to move out. Keverin rode at the head of the column beside Adrik on one side and Jihan on the other. The two mages were close behind talking quietly together.

“—Julia’s idea… matrices—”

“Yes but… and what if—”

Keverin shook his head; it was mage talk.

“That was well done, Jihan,” Adrik said.

Keverin didn’t quite groan. He should have warned the boy what Jihan’s silences meant. He tensed waiting for the explosion, but it didn’t happen that way.

Jihan sighed and shook his head sadly. “I have tried to teach you and the others what I believe honour means, Adrik. Would you say it’s honourable to force a fight knowing beyond doubt that you will win? Knowing that forcing it, you are murdering the man or as close to it that it makes no difference?”

Adrik frowned. “But you always win! You always know you’re going to win! That means—”

“Exactly. To force a fight is dishonourable.”

“But if someone challenges you?”

“To accept a challenge is honourable.”

Adrik thought for a moment. “If you see something about to happen that you know is wrong, should you challenge?”

Jihan nodded.

“That’s all you did here, Jihan. You saved hundreds of lives by telling the truth. Was it honourable for loud-mouth to try and break Petya’s bargain?”

“No.”

“Then you did not dishonour yourself. You said he had no honour, which was true. He challenged you, not the other way. You did right.”

“He’s right, Jihan,” Keverin said well pleased with Adrik. Jihan was extremely vulnerable to self-criticism.

“Perhaps…” Jihan said, thinking it through.

Keverin smiled. His friend was sitting straighter and taking an interest in his surroundings again. He was no longer worrying about turning into his father.

* * *

2 ~ Reunited

“May I?” Jolon said holding his hand out.

Jihan didn’t hesitate. He offered his sword, hilt first, to the clansman and received Jolon’s sword in exchange. He had no interest in the clansman’s lesser blade, but out of politeness he examined it. It was of steel, which was the last thing that was good to his way of thinking. The balance was off, not by much true, but it was enough to distract him as he brought the blade up to high guard. That wasn’t a good thing for any swordsman to have to contend with. The blade was shorter than he was used to at a little under a yard in length, but it was lightly curving as his sword was. It was sharp on both edges and the point as clan blades usually were.

He was used to a single edged weapon and used both the edge and the point to his advantage. The hilt of Jolon’s sword was made of black lacquered wood as was his of course, but again that was where the similarity ended. His sword’s hilt was long, and could be used one or two handed. It had a small circular guard that didn’t interfere with his grip; the black silk wrapping was merely to aid him in that. Jolon’s hilt however, was short and had a brass hand-guard that looped over the knuckles to attach to the pommel. It was therefore a single-handed weapon and reminded him of the standard Devan cavalry sabre in its overall design and measurements.

Jihan flexed the blade and nodded his approval as it sprung back into shape. At least the steel was good quality. The blade was thinner than his sword and less heavy as a result. That was both good and bad. Less tiring to wield certainly, but it would also land a lesser blow when used full force. Overall, he preferred his custom made sword.

Jolon and he exchanged blades and each sheathed their weapons.

“I have never seen a long knife like it.”

“Neither have I,” Jihan admitted. “Though the type is more common over the mountains to the east. This was made especially for me by a master in Japura. He sent his apprentice all the way to my home to measure me in my armour and in my skin. He really put me through my paces I can tell you! He went away with a little book full of numbers, and a year later delivered this and a matching dagger along with it.” He pulled the dagger and gave it to Jolon.

Jolon looked the blade over, but the sword was what he was interested in and quickly handed it back. Jihan sheathed it as they walked back to the campfire.

“I would give a lot for a long knife—”

“No, Jolon. I am sorry, but there is nothing you could give me worth this blade.”

“You don’t know what I would offer!”

“Please my friend, don’t be angry. You have to understand something about me. I have trained all my life with all kinds of weapons. I am expert in them all, but there is nothing more precious to a man than his family and his friend’s lives. This sword may one day be all that stands between them and death. I killed my traitorous father with this blade, and saved my lady with it. It has saved me many times. Nothing is worth more to me than life.”

Jolon nodded reluctantly. “Maybe I can seek out the man who made it.”

“Japura is far from here. Would you truly wish to leave the plain for the sake of a nice piece of metal?”

Jolon hesitated but shook his head. “No, you are right. Family and friends are everything,” He said and tried to forget the dream of owning such a fine weapon.

Jihan left the clansman to make his way back to his people and sat next to Keverin. Lucius and Mathius were talking as they usually did about magic and its uses. Jihan tuned them out; he couldn’t understand half what was said in any case. Keverin was staring into the flames as if mesmerised.

“Tomorrow they said,” Keverin said quietly.

“Have you ever been to Denpasser?” Jihan asked.

“No,” Keverin shook his head. “You?”

“No, but I have heard the traders talk of ruins. To tell the truth, the horses were of more interest to me.”

“Hmmm. Do you think she’ll be all right?”

Jihan didn’t have to ask who was meant. It had to be Julia. “Lucius said she is. Shamen are like mages; they’ll heal her and we can go home to Malcor for the season.”

“I hope so. Maybe you should return now, Jihan. You have Ahnao and the babe to consider.”

“I do miss her,” Jihan admitted. “But Jessica will look after her for me. I’ll have to go back before long; I don’t want to miss the birth.”

“Of course you must. I have Brian and his men for company. We’ll be fine.”

Jihan nodded looking at the clear sky overhead. At least the snow had held off today. The plain was already knee deep, and in some places, it was much deeper than that. He had discovered part of the reason the clans could hide so effectively yesterday when he stepped into a hole and disappeared up to his eyes in snow. Everyone laughed, but he had been delighted with the discovery. The plain had always seemed flat, but that was an illusion created by the long grass. It was actually comprised of many hollows, which the clans used to hide their presence. They were so effective that the clan’s ability to hide behind a blade of grass had reached legendary proportions, a fact the clans did not try to disabuse people of.

He was glad to have worked out the puzzle, but it really made no difference whether he knew the how of it or not. The grass hid the depressions and the clansman within them, knowing about it wouldn’t change its effectiveness. Only in winter would the clans abandon the tactic, as the snow would give them away.

He watched the guardsmen going to the perimeter and exchanging places with their friends who came in and sat down for a bite to eat before bed. The candlemark was late for talking, but Keverin seemed unwilling to leave just yet.

Jihan stood quietly to find his blankets and left his friend staring into the coals.

* * *

Keverin nodded goodnight to Jihan and watched him duck into the tent assigned him by Brian.

Tomorrow he would be with Julia again, and they could go home to be married. She had wanted all their friends to come to the wedding, but that was before Devarr. She had admitted part of the reason for inviting the lords was for an excuse to persuade them to support Gylaren as King. Well Gy was King now; so there was no longer any need to invite so many. He would send invitations to Purcell and his family, Jihan and his; Lucius and Mathius were already here so that really left only Gylaren. He felt a little ambivalent toward Gy these days, but an invitation had to be sent. He doubted Gy would attend. The Kingship was a heavy burden, one that would take all his attention for many years to come.

Who else should he ask? Ah yes, Lords Adrik, Halden, Davida and Blaise came to mind. Other than that, he could think of no one. He had more friends now than he’d ever had, but that was due to Julia’s influence. Everyone loved her, but she had chosen him to give her love to. He still found himself grinning whenever that came home to him.

Julia chose him!

Before her, he’d only Darius. Now Lucius, Mathius, and all the others had, not replaced him, nothing could, but they had joined Darius in his affections. He wished Julia could have known his old friend; she would have loved the man as he did. His eyes stung just a little, it was the smoke from the campfire, must be.

“You would love Julia, Darius. Everyone does, but she chose me!” he whispered.

He stood and walked to his tent. Before he ducked inside, he looked around at the fires and sentries on guard nearby. All was well.

The next day, Keverin was up early and ready to go. It was dawn when they moved north. Petya assured him they would reach Denpasser by midday at the latest. Jihan and Adrik were close by and Brian rode in his place at the head of his men. Promoting Brian to captain had been a gamble at the time, but it had paid off handsomely. Marcus had recommended him for the new captaincy, and he had lived up to the position. His men were new to the guardsmen’s life having joined Athione just a year ago, but they were well trained if still inexperienced. Keverin was glad he had them here, but would have been happier with more experienced men. He supposed he couldn’t have everything. If Marcus were here with the veterans of Julia’s War as those battles had come to be known, Athione’s defences would be weakened and with them Deva’s.

Snow began falling again at mid-morning reducing visibility to just a few yards. Everywhere had turned solid white, and when he looked back most of the column was lost to sight. Cavell was turning white also, as the slowly falling flakes settled. They arrived as Petya promised at noon, not that he could tell at first. If the chief had promised him it was dusk, he would have accepted the man’s word. There was nothing to see but snow and then walls suddenly looming up out of the ground. The ruins were a shock coming as they did out of nothing. Athione was gigantic, and Denpasser was tiny in comparison, but as the only stone building anywhere on the plain, it was still impressive. A gaping hole in one side showed where massive doors had once been. The doorway was easily big enough for a dozen guardsmen to enter walking side by side. Athione’s gates were larger, but that was to allow a strong sallying force to charge out. Wide the doorway might be, but the height of it was ridiculous! The thing was taller than it was wide! Why make something without reason like that? The windows in the sides of the building seemed small in comparison.

Was it a chapel to pray to the God, or was it for something else? Petya claimed not to know. He said Denpasser had always been here, and that the clans used it as a gathering place. As the only fixed location on the plain, it really was the only good place to meet with outclanners.

Petya led them around the ruin and the first tents became visible. There were not many people abroad in this weather, but there were some. They stared at the outclanners then hurried away to tell family and friends of what they had seen. The chief eased his mount to one side letting his warriors go back to their families.

Keverin and his friends pulled out of line with Petya to talk. “Where do you suggest we set our tents?”

“Tell your men to follow mine and they will see a large empty space on the right. They can use that for now.”

He turned to give Brian his orders and then watched him lead his men into the snow and disappear. “Where is Julia?”

Mathius and Lucius leaned in from the side to hear what Petya would say.

“We need to arrange some things first,” Petya said.

“What things?” Keverin said trying to hold his temper. How many times would he be diverted from going to his lady?

“The chiefs are meeting to discuss the situation with the outcla—err hmmm. With the monster in the north… with Navarien,” Petya said stumbling over the fact that he was talking to outclanners right now.

“What has that to do with me? As soon as I see Julia, I’ll be taking her home.”

“Not until you speak with the chiefs and tell them what you know of Navarien.”

“Conditions Petya?” he said fuming. “All right! If I have to then I have to, but immediately after this council of yours, I see Julia or we’ll be fighting. You have my word on it!”

“I’ll look forward to showing you how to fight, but important business first.”

Jihan and Adrik chuckled at what they saw as a jest, but neither Petya nor Keverin were. They were quite serious; a fact Jihan realised when both men failed to understand their amusement.

Jihan leaned in to whisper. “Be careful. Jolon was taught by the best, and Petya is his father. What chance that he taught his son?”

“Do I look like a child, Jihan?” Keverin said in exasperation.

“Of course not, it’s just—”

“Then why are you treating me like one!”

Petya laughed. “It’s good to have friends who care is it not?”

Keverin smiled, and then laughed. It was good. “Sorry.”

Jihan waved the apology away.

One of the warriors led the horses away to be cared for by Brian, and Petya showed them the way between the tents explaining things as he went. Every so often people would stop and stare at the outclanners, but as far as Keverin could see, there was no animosity toward them.

“—Cricket Clan, they’re one of the smallest you know. And here we have Night Wind, Kadar is chief, and… you do know that tribal chiefs are subordinate to the clan chiefs?”

“I had heard that,” he said with a nod.

“Kadar is Clan Chief of Night Wind, he’s a good man. I think you’ll like him. That’s his tent there with the white bison and the maiden on the side, see it?”

“Yes. Do the sigils mean anything?”

“Not really. The shamen always use something distinctive so we know where to find one. Lightning bolts at the top are popular for some reason, but most of us use a picture that means something to us personally. I have a wolf attacking a warrior on it. I was lucky that day I can tell you! Talking of wolves,” Petya said waving a hand at his surroundings. “This is Wolf Clan. Tobiah is Clan Chief. A hard man, but honourable for all of that. You won’t like him much I’m afraid, he doesn’t like outclanners.”

Keverin raised an eyebrow at that. No clansman liked outclanners. This Tobiah must be a terror if Petya made a point telling him about his prejudice.

“Why are there two empty areas there?” Jihan said pointing to the right.

“Dragon Clan is largest, but they haven’t come,” Petya said grimly. “Don’t tell anyone, but I don’t think we will see them until spring. They need so much food to survive it’s a real chore for them to leave the herd. The other area is Horse Clan’s place. They won’t come for fear of what Dragon Clan will do. They have a feud going and their ranges are near each other.”

Jihan raised an eyebrow at that and glanced at Keverin who nodded that he understood the implications. Feuding between clans was bad news, especially now. Navarien was north. They needed to work together to face him.

“This is Eagle Clan,” Petya was saying. “We are about middle of the trail in size. I’m chief of Jaralk tribe as you know, and my Clan Chief is Allard. He’s a bit young, but he’s a good warrior. He was chosen when his father was killed in a stampede. The warriors chose him to honour his father, but I think he’ll surprise them. In any case, he’s unlikely to be challenged unless he does something stupid.”

“Your authority does not pass from father to son?” Adrik said.

“No,” Petya said and laughed at the idea. “We vote for the best warrior. If there’s more than one after that, they fight for it. It has always worked well for us. The chief must be a warrior as he has to lead in battle, but he can be old or young. I’ve always thought the only qualification needed is to be a warrior and still breathing, but our people are sensible when all is said.”

Keverin could hardly argue with that. The clans were already old when the Founders decided to make Deva their new home.

Petya named the rest of the ten clans and their chieftains as they walked. Keverin filed the names away but he wasn’t paying too much attention to the anecdotes attached to each man. If he needed the names, he was sure he would remember them, or he could ask Mathius who was listening raptly.

Julia was in one of these tents, but which one? He had to get this meeting over with so he might see her again. Would she still be in pain? The thought that she might be made him want to hurt someone, preferably a sorcerer. He forced his thoughts onto more pleasant things. As soon as they reached home, he would be married. No more waiting, he decided. He smiled imagining her in her wedding finery with Purcell near, his sword bare and standing as Sword Brother. Who would stand as her father? Mathius would have to do it… unless Gylaren would come, but if he did they would have to delay the wedding! Curse it, he would have to wait for Purcell in any case, his friend would be hurt if he wasn’t invited. He sighed at the realisation. There was always something that seemed to get in the way. It was as if they weren’t meant to marry. The bad omen chilled him. No! He wouldn’t accept that. They would be married and have lots of children and be very happy—they would!

“This is the council tent,” Petya said. “Let me do the talking. You’ll need to be accepted before you can do anything else, so please don’t upset anyone.”

“Whatever it takes to see Julia again,” Keverin said impatiently.

The chief nodded and entered the tent with Keverin and the others on his heels. Inside was dimly lit by shielded torches not lamps. He wondered about that and whether lamps and oil would sell here. He knew some people in East Town who would like to know. All around the huge tent, men were lounging on the rugs talking amongst themselves, but sitting in a circle in the centre were ten men separated by a space left clear. He remembered Petya’s explanation; these ten were the Clan Chiefs.

Petya indicated they should wait just outside the circle, and singled out a man who Keverin thought must be Allard of Eagle Clan. His surmise was confirmed a short time later when Petya gestured him forward for introductions.

“This is Allard, Clan Chief of Eagle Clan—” Petya began and then introduced the others one by one.

Thank the God Petya wasn’t introducing the tribal chiefs as well, Keverin thought. He would never remember this many. He frantically committed their names and faces to memory admonishing himself to remember courtesy. Although they didn’t have lords among the clans, he considered these men to be the equivalent.

“—and this is Kadar of the Night Wind,” Petya concluded.

Keverin and the others bowed. “I am Keverin, Lord Athione and Lord Protector of the west. My friend to my right hand is Jihan Lord of Malcor and Lord Protector of the north. To my left is Adrik Lord of Ascol. My friend in red is the puissant wizard Lucius, and my friend in blue is the puissant master mage Mathius.”

There was silence while the clansmen tried to make sense of what they had heard.

Petya coughed in amusement. “He means that he and the other two warriors at his side are chiefs of the Devan people, and the two in bright colours are shamen of Deva.”

Oh! Why hadn’t he said that then?

Keverin could almost hear the thought race through their heads. He was impatient to get this over with so he might join Julia, but he refrained from telling them to hurry it up. Courtesy, he must be courteous!

“Why have you brought outclanners here? You know the situation we are in!” one of the chiefs said and the others rumbled agreement.

Petya waited for quiet with a small smile on his face. “I did not exactly bring them, Tobiah, rather they brought me with the thousand warriors they had along. They come to visit you, Kadar.”

Keverin saw the surprise on Kadar’s face. The man obviously had no clue what this was about. The other chiefs were more interested in why a thousand outclanners had been allowed on the plain to begin with.

Petya was explaining, “—killed him stone dead the fool. I could have told him, but he wouldn’t listen. Anyway here we are.”

Kadar looked to Keverin. “I am Kadar, Clan Chief of Night Wind. What have you to say to me?”

“Thank you comes immediately to mind,” Keverin said. “Your warriors saved my lady when mine were unable to reach her in time. For that, you have my gratitude and undying friendship. I have come to bring her home with me.”

Kadar’s eyes narrowed in anger. “I did not save her. My shaman and some of my warriors led by Tomik saved her. They did so without my permission or even informing me! I would have challenged Tomik for the insult, but Julia made me promise not to.” Kadar sounded puzzled, as if he couldn’t understand how he had ended up agreeing.

Keverin grinned; he knew how that felt.

Mathius was less politic. He burst out laughing. Kadar scowled angrily but Mathius waved an apology. “I am sorry Kadar, truly, but it is a vast relief to me to hear that she is unharmed and unchanged by her ordeal. She has always been one to tie men in knots.”

Kadar laughed. “That describes every woman I know!”

All the chiefs nodded in agreement. Keverin had to agree with them. Whenever he was with her he found thoughts of other things suddenly less important than they had been.

“I asked these outclanners to the council because they have fought Navarien and won,” Petya explained.

Keverin ignored Petya’s white lie. He had not asked, he had demanded. “Julia won that battle with her magic, not me.”

The chiefs whispered among themselves at Keverin’s words.

“We will be fighting a war with Navarien very soon. I would like to hear about your war with him,” Kadar said.

He nodded and the Clan Chiefs moved apart to give him and his friends a place to sit. He sat cross legged with Jihan and Adrik on each side. The mages opted to sit along the tent wall where they could keep an eye on everyone.

Keverin kept his voice low, and the chiefs leaned forward to hear the tale. “Navarien led ten thousand legionnaires and fifty sorcerers through the west pass of the Athinian Mountains two summers past. Legionnaires are warriors the like of which you have never seen. The sorcerers are like shamen, but they do not heal—they kill! The sorcerers used fire to destroy the gates of my home. You have to realise how powerful these people are. The gate of the fortress is perhaps three times bigger than the gate would have been in the ruin outside.”

That caused a shock. The chiefs were murmuring and muttering in disbelief.

“I swear it’s true,” he said over the noise and the chiefs quieted once more. “More than this, my gate was twice the thickness of a man and clad in bronze, or rather it was. I had a strong fortress, seven mages, and four thousand guardsmen when Navarien came. After his sorcerers were finished, I had less than two thousand guardsmen, one mage and no gate or wall to hang it on.”

Keverin let the uproar die away before continuing. “I was badly injured, near death, but Julia climbed a tower that was just one breath of wind away from falling to blast Navarien’s legionnaires. She was struck by an arrow, but she kept fighting until in her desperation she destroyed a road of solid rock to prevent him reaching us.”

There was stunned silence before Kadar said, “What happened next?”

The chiefs laughed. Kadar had sounded like a boy asking for a story at bedtime. The chief scowled and shoved the man next to him, only to be shoved back in turn. Finally, he laughed along with the others and the noise quieted.

“Mathius was the only mage still alive, but we had Julia and the gap in the road. My men held Navarien’s men off with arrows and he was unable to build a bridge to cross the gap, but the sorcerers were gradually recovering from their mighty spell. Julia went down that road with Mathius, the two of them alone against perhaps five or six thousand legionnaires and fifty mages. She attacked with lightning and killed all the sorcerers. After that, Navarien was unable to reach us. He was worried that she would kill what remained of his men, so he marched home.”

The chiefs stared and then looked at Mathius. His face was grave as he remembered that terrible time when he lost six brothers and gained a sister in exchange.

“No warrior can kill a sorcerer. It takes magic to kill them, or utter surprise—preferably both,” Keverin added into the silence. Mathius and Lucius nodded emphatically.

“That was a very nice story, outclanner,” Tobiah snarled. “But I’m not a child that you can lull to sleep with your babble. All know shamen are weak and that women are never shamen. What say you to that?” he said with hate in his eyes.

Keverin jumped to his feet with Jihan and Adrik at his side ready for mayhem. Lucius and Mathius moved apart to cover the suddenly hostile tribal chiefs.

“I will answer that!” Julia called a little breathlessly as she walked unsteadily into the tent, guided by an old man’s arm around her shoulders.

She was wearing a clan tunic and leggings almost identical to the old man’s outfit. Beads in flame patterns sparkled and jangled as she moved. Brian and Alvin were hovering behind her protectively and grinning for all they were worth. Lorcan ghosted along nearby with his eyes flicking from face to face looking for danger. Keverin was glad to see the boy unharmed and assumed Gideon was safe also, but his eyes were all for Julia. He knew he was grinning like a fool, but he didn’t care. His grin wilted when he saw the strain on her face. She was biting her lip against pain.

Keverin was through the crowd and at her other side before Tobiah could blink. “Are you all right? By the God that was stupid of me, of course you’re not! Here Julia, lean on me.” She was staring into his eyes and couldn’t seem to say anything. The pain must be terrible, he thought. Her helper was looking at him funny. What was the old fool grinning at?

“I—hnnn!” Julia caught her breath and bit her lip. “I Love you Keverin of Athione,” she said breathlessly.

He was drowning in her shining eyes. “I love you more than anything in this world Julia of Athione. I thought… I thought I had lost you.” She was trembling in his arms. “Please sit down or…” he was beside himself with worry. He turned to the old man. “Do something for her!”

“I am my boy, but the Tancred won’t let her go that easily. Your sorcerer friend has thoroughly addicted her.”

“He is,” Lucius said over his shoulder and clasped Julia’s hand for a moment.

“He’s holding a spell on her to keep the pain away,” Mathius added taking Lucius’s place and patting her hand.

“Oh no, no Mathius! What have you done,” she cried stroking Mathius’s hair out of his eyes—his grey streaked hair.

Tears ran down her cheeks when she noticed the tiny wrinkles around his eyes. Mathius had aged himself to kill Demophon and his sorcerers when they all thought her foully murdered. He didn’t look old even yet, but he had aged at least ten years since she last saw him.

“I’m all right, don’t worry about me. Premature grey runs in my family, remember?” Mathius smiled and stroked her tears away.

She tried to smile for him, but her heart wasn’t in it. Jihan glanced quickly her way, then back to the chiefs. He stayed where he was protecting Keverin’s back. Adrik also held his ground near Jihan, but no one took any notice. All eyes were on Julia… except Tobiah. Tobiah glared fit to give Jihan sunburn, but all he gave Tobiah in return was a small smile and glittering eye contact.

“I’m fine, Kerrion,” Julia said releasing his arm and taking Keverin’s instead. “We watched you arrive, but when Petya stole you away from me—hnnn!”

Kerrion quickly took her hand and the pain eased as his spell took effect. She nodded her thanks and didn’t try to reclaim her hand a second time.

“I decided to come get you,” she finished.

“This is sickening!” Tobiah shouted angrily and glared at the other chiefs. “These people are outclanners! What right do they have in this council? None I say!”

“And of course you are the only chief present are you?” Jihan said with his head cocked to one side in contemplation.

“No he is not!” Kadar and Petya said as one. Petya stepped back ceding the floor. “I say we all sit down before Julia collapses, and talk about this calmly.”

There was a rumble of agreement from the majority of the chiefs, but a few did side with Tobiah. Keverin thought they were probably Wolf Clan tribal chiefs. He seated Julia at his side on plenty of rugs and she leaned her back against him. He leaned forward and kissed her hair. She raised her free hand to stroke his cheek. Kerrion sat next to her on her other side, holding her other hand so his magic could do its work. Keverin didn’t like it, but he understood the necessity; healing didn’t work without touch.

“You don’t believe Keverin’s story?” Julia asked Tobiah.

“I’m not in the habit of accepting fairy tales from outclanners!” Tobiah snarled.

Keverin shifted a little but Julia was in control of the situation.

“Fairy tales? Does this look like a fairytale to you?” she said holding up a hand with blue crackles of lightning snapping from finger to finger.

Keverin smiled grimly as the chiefs reared back in shock from the first real magic they had ever seen. It was still amazing to him how quickly he had become used to the idea of Julia as a powerful mage.

“Keverin never lies,” she said and let her display go.

Tobiah’s eyes narrowed in anger, but there wasn’t much he could say to dispute her now obvious ability.

“I think I speak for all of us when I say you are undoubtedly a shaman, Julia,” Kadar said and there was a murmur of agreement from the chiefs. “What is your council?”

“She is an outclanner!” Tobiah protested but was glared into silence by the other chiefs who were interested in what such an unusual shaman had to say.

Julia smiled at her newest enemy. “Mortain’s people will begin to repopulate the northern cities very soon, and you will have an enemy to your north forever more. You must destroy those cities before that happens. If you don’t do that, two years from now you will have another legion to contend with, and then another the following year and on and on. Deva has had that problem for years, but our land has mountains that act as walls, and fortresses that act as gates keeping our enemies on their own side. You have nothing to stop the sorcerers from taking your land. If you fail, ten years from now you will have towns on the banks of your rivers and the plain as you know it will be gone.”

Keverin nodded. “I would like to add something to that. Defeating Navarien will not be easy, but even should you be victorious that will not be enough. We won against Navarien two years ago, but Mortain sent another legion through your lands to attack us from the north as a result. Julia destroyed that legion utterly. Ten thousand warriors dead, but still Mortain did not give up. This last summer, he sent sorcerers to kidnap her and place a man of his choosing on the throne of Deva, which means a man sympathetic to him as chief of chiefs over all Deva. We stopped him, barely, and Kadar saved Julia when the sorcerers tried to escape back to Navarien. This should show you that Mortain will never, never give up his ambitions to rule your land. Think about what that means. Whatever you decide to do will affect the future of every clan forever more. Your old rivalry must be abandoned if you are to oppose Mortain and the Protectorate. If not, the clans are finished.”

Jihan looked around at the thoughtful expressions then added his two coppers worth. “I am a Lord, a chief if you will. I say that if you do not choose a chief of chiefs from among you and unite against Navarien the clans are finished.”

Lucius nodded. “I am a wizard now, but I have been a sorcerer in my time—”

That was a shock. The chiefs yelled in outrage at what appeared to be a spy in their camp. Daggers and long knives were snatched into fists. Julia’s ward sprang into existence moments before Lucius raised his. The wards clashed as they tried to coexist in the same place at the same time. The light was blinding, but the screeching was worse. The chiefs howled as the noise pierced eardrums threatening to burst them. The effect on Julia was worse. The magic in her grasp surged and she lost her grip.

“AEiii!” she screamed as the magic whiplashed and hammered her flat.

Lucius reeled as his magic surged and receded unpredictably.

Kerrion was instantly pouring his healing into Julia. The chiefs backed away and didn’t seem interested in coming any closer. They were staring at Julia and Lucius in shock at what had happened. Lucius dropped his ward to go to Julia’s aid, but he was not needed. She was awake again and looking dazedly around.

“What happened?” she said.

Keverin sighed in relief. “I don’t know, you made a ward and then collapsed.”

“Never do that again!” Lucius said angrily. “Two wards existing in the same place can cause burn out, you foolish girl! I know you were trying to help, but I can take care of myself. You are too weak to be using your magic.”

Julia paled at the mention of burnout and Keverin felt sick. Renard had suffered burnout and had been mindless for many days before dying when Julia attempted to give him his magic back. The thought of her staring and drooling at nothing made his heart hurt.

He leaned forward. “Please be careful. I can’t live without you my heart,” he whispered for her ears alone.

Julia struggled to sit up and he helped her. “I will.”

He wasn’t much comforted. She always seemed to be in the thick of the action, whether it involved street toughs or sorcerers, it didn’t matter. He could no longer count the number of times he had feared for her life.

Tobiah was causing more trouble Keverin saw. He was arguing fiercely with Kadar and Allard about allowing Lucius to live. Allard was of the opinion that they should hear what Lucius had to say before doing anything hasty. Kadar was more direct. He was saying the outclanners were his guests and he would not allow them to be harmed. If Tobiah still wanted to try, he could challenge and die on his sword.

“Fools!” Kerrion shouted.

The chiefs quieted and looked at Kerrion in amazement. How had the old fool dared to insult them? He was sure to be challenged. Keverin grinned. Kerrion was a shaman; as such, he need not fear a sword or any man who wielded one.

“Fools I say!” Kerrion repeated. “Do you think the Hasians have this problem? Of course not. Navarien tells his warriors what to do and they do it or die! Don’t any of you understand? This constant bickering must end. If the clans do not unite, the people will vanish from the land. I have seen it!”

Tobiah snorted. “You’re the fool, old man. Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing. Who is to be this chief of chiefs? Kadar I suppose!”

Kadar angrily stepped forward, but Kerrion waved the chief off. Surprisingly Kadar subsided.

“Do you all see?” Tobiah glared around at the chiefs. “The old fool leads Kadar by the nose! I will die before I accept Kadar over me as chief of chiefs!”

Tobiah stormed out and took his underlings with him. The other Clan Chiefs reluctantly ended the council and followed until the only chiefs still present were Allard, Petya, and Kadar.

“That was ill done, Kerrion,” Kadar said. “You should have let the challenge to go ahead. Tobiah would be dead and we could have continued the council.”

Kerrion shook his head. “Will you listen to yourself? Tobiah is clan! Navarien is the enemy not him, or any other among the clans for that matter. That even goes for Ingharr!”

Petya smiled at mention of Ingharr of Dragon Clan. The man was universally despised for his arrogance and most said his stupidity as well. They were very careful when they said this. There were a great many Dragon warriors, and Ingharr was good with the long knife and spear.

“I take it you three agree that uniting is the only way forward?” Keverin said.

Kadar nodded along with the others. “It would seem so, but whether it will happen that way I don’t know. We are a proud people. I do not believe we could live the way your people do. If we do go ahead with this, I will push for it to be only used in time of—” he frowned. “I haven’t the word for it.”

“Invasion or emergency?” Julia offered.

“Yes,” Kadar said nodding. “Emergency would be the only time I would countenance this chief of chiefs you are proposing, Kerrion.”

Kerrion clapped his chief on the shoulder. “That is all we need. We cannot keep arguing about every decision during a battle. We must find someone to lead who all chiefs can accept.”

“Who did you have in mind?” Allard said glancing at Kadar and quickly away again.

“Not you Kadar, I’m sorry,” Kerrion said. “The others would not accept it. Even Ingharr has more chance than you do now—he is the most powerful. I was thinking Mazel would do well. Horse Clan is second in strength to Dragon Clan.”

“I don’t know,” Allard said uncertainly. “Horse Clan isn’t here. How can you expect us to follow someone who doesn’t even see the need to talk of uniting, let alone actually doing it?”

Kerrion grudgingly agreed. “Maybe the warriors should vote.”

“That might work,” Petya put in. “But what’s to stop them from voting for their own Clan Chief? They will you know.”

“You should have a tournament,” Jihan said thoughtfully. “Arrange it in such a way that the winner of each round fights the winner of the others until there is just one. That way the best warrior among the chiefs will lead no matter what clan or tribe he comes from.”

Kadar frowned. “I assume you mean practice bouts, but that could mean we are led by a tribal chief.”

“Does that really matter?” Jihan asked. “The winner will be the best among you and you will need the best to win against Navarien.”

“It does matter,” Kerrion admitted. “Clan Chiefs lead. It has always been that way,” he said regretfully.

Jihan threw his hands up. “If you want it that way, have the tournament restricted to Clan Chiefs.”

“Who is the most likely to win such a tournament as this?” Keverin said.

The chiefs conferred for a moment. “Ingharr would win but he’s not here,” Kadar said thoughtfully. “Tobiah might, but I think it more likely Cadell would win.”

“Cadell!” Kerrion said in shock.

The chiefs nodded grinning.

“What’s the problem?” Jihan said.

Kerrion sighed. “Cadell is Clan Chief of Cricket Clan. They’re the smallest of all.”

“So? Will the chiefs follow if he wins?”

“They might, it’s traditional for warriors to challenge for leadership if they feel a grievance. The chief is always the best man for the position partly because of that.”

“Well, if you three can persuade the others to accept the idea of a tournament, your problems should be over,” Julia said.

Keverin shook his head slightly. “They still have Navarien to deal with, my love, but at least this one area will be dealt with.”

Julia smiled at his casual admittance of his love for her. It said more to her than a deliberate declaration.

“It’s a shame Jolon is not a Clan Chief,” Petya said. “I’ve never seen him fight better than when he took you on, Jihan.”

“He is good,” Jihan grinned. “But is he the best you have?”

Petya nodded. “I’m biased as he’s my son, but I truly think he is.”

Jihan nodded in satisfaction and Keverin laughed.

“What?” Jihan said indignantly.

“You’re licking your whiskers as a cat does after a good meal. Your vanity is showing Jihan!”

“Well, I did beat him, and he is their best—so what if I’m vain about it?”

Keverin laughed again, and lightly punched his friend’s shoulder. “Nothing Jihan. We like you just as you are—right Julia?”

“That’s right!”

“Are we agreed to try this?” Kadar asked.

“Can’t say that I’m looking forward to being beaten to a pulp by Cadell, but I can see no other way,” Allard said.

Petya clapped the young Clan Chief on the shoulder. “I know what you mean. I feel like that every time Jolon does it to me!”

Keverin laughed along with the others, but he was wondering how he and Julia could be alone in his tent with Kerrion holding her hand all the cursed time!

* * *

3 ~ Exodus

“How bad is it?” Navarien said watching the snow falling outside through the window of his headquarters. The weather was transforming Calvados into an artist’s dream right before his eyes.

The towers and slate tiled roofs of the city were heavy with the snow that had fallen, and was continuing to fall, without cease since they had taken possession. Many of the streets were becoming impassable, and all of them were treacherous underfoot. He had too few men to do anything about it. Those few legionnaires not tasked with patrols or guard duty had their hands full with the wounded.

“More die by the candlemark, Sir. We can’t stop it,” Cragson said from where he stood by the fire drying his cloak. “Exhaustion and bad food has sapped their will to go on. There’s nothing to be done.”

“And Meran?”

“Barely holding on, Sir. Maybe he will rally,” Cragson said with doubt heavy in his voice.

“I want Lewin to take Meran’s place.”

“Lewin?”

He nodded and watched the snow cover his city. “You will inform him of the promotion when he comes back in. It’s time he put up or shut up. I’m tired of his bitching.”

Cragson coughed. “Yes Sir, but… Lewin?”

“He’s capable, never doubt it. I remember Durena…”

“Who doesn’t?”

Navarien smiled sadly and refocused his eyes upon his own reflection in the window glass. He looked ghastly. His haunted eyes, sunk into dark pits, peered out at the world above cheeks gone gaunt from bad food and little sleep. Under the stubble he had yet to clean away, muscles bunched as he clenched his teeth. By the God, he was tired. It had been a long year, and the next one promised to be longer yet. His hand wandered to his shoulder and he rubbed gently wincing at the pain. He had taken an arrow there late in the battle for Calvados, but it was nothing compared to others who even now lay dying. Meran was such a one.

“He was beside me all the way in Durena,” he said meaning Lewin. “He’s capable of being more, much more.”

“He shirks responsibility—”

“That will stop. That will stop or he’s out of my legion… what’s left of it.”

Cragson stood in disapproving silence.

The fire popped and Navarien jumped as a spark leapt into the room. Cragson took one step forward and crushed it beneath a boot heel before it could do more than char his ratty carpet.

“I’ll inform him.”

He nodded and watched a weary group of men stumble into Market Square. If he was not mistaken, they belonged to Corbin’s second maniple. He counted the men as Sergeant Milos led them to barracks.

…forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty. Half a maniple to patrol an entire city quarter.

Navarien stared at his empty city and shook his head. “Where are all the people?”

“Sir?” Cragson said stepping up beside him. “Did you say something?”

“How is the grain situation?”

“Fine, Sir. The granaries are full and the city’s reserves of meat and other provisions will see us through more than one winter if need be. The men, those uninjured at least, are greatly cheered.”

“Good, good. The horses?”

“Corbin has seen to them, Sir.”

“He does love them so,” he said with a twisted smile for some of the jokes he had heard the men tell. “The best man on four legs I’ve ever seen.”

“That he is, Sir. He inspires his men—all of them are excellent horsemen.”

“I hear a but coming, Cragson. Spit it out man.”

“Cavalry are good to have, but when a man forgets how to be an infantryman, then we had better watch out. You can’t guarantee he will stay mounted in the heat of battle, Sir.”

“And you think Seventh Battalion needs reminding?”

“I do, Sir.”

“See to it.”

“Yes, Sir!” Cragson saluted hearing the order in Navarien’s voice. He turned to leave.

“And Cragson,” he said without turning.

“Sir?”

“Find me a woman.” He turned to see Cragson standing with the door open and his mouth agape. “A mature woman—one with children preferably.”

Cragson snapped his mouth shut. “Yes, Sir, but…” he braced up. “Yes Sir!” he saluted and left.

Navarien turned back to the view.

Milos was gone, but another patrol was just now leaving, this time toward the south. He had ordered patrols maintained outside the walls. It was a gesture only. He simply didn’t have the men to do it properly, but at least they would provide a warning of impending attack. Horses stamped hooves nervously and shook snow from their coats where already a thin layer was settling. Clan horses these, every one of them pure blood. Never had a legion been equipped with such fine beasts, but he would trade them all for another battalion of men. It was not to be. The closest reinforcements lay south and west over the Athinian Mountains. There lay the Protectorate in all her glory oblivious to his need.

He shook his head and turned away from the window. On his desk lay a well read sheaf of paper. He knew what it said, knew every word, but still he picked it up and thumbed through it.

To: General Navarien, commanding officer Fifth Legion.

From: Godwinson.

General, know that both Mortain and I are grateful for your sacrifice for the greater glory of the Protectorate. Your actions on our behalf in the North bring your name great renown and glory…

He snorted. Glory was something he used to want, something any officer in the Protectorate wanted, but he had seen things since taking command of the Fifth that had soured him on glory. These days he found himself wishing for his men’s survival more than anything else. He was a general, a legionnaire… a soldier at bottom. His duty was what he lived for, but glory? No. It had no real worth, no real meaning to him any longer. Seeing his legion decimated, not once but twice in as many years, had cured him of any belief in such things.

He slumped into his chair and thumbed through his orders. He found the relevant passage and read it again.

We are aware of your current situation and acknowledge the loss of the Victory with all hands. However, we require you to press on with the campaign. A ship carrying fifty legion mages will be dispatched to reach you at Calvados in late fall. Until then, you will take all necessary actions to secure your objectives as previously ordered…

Navarien dropped his orders back to the table and rubbed tired eyes. A ship with fifty mages to be dispatched to reach him in late fall. He glanced out the window and snorted. It was winter and no ship had been sighted. The North Sea in winter was no laughing matter. No ship’s master worth the name would dream of sailing this far north in wintertime, and besides, how much good could fifty sorcerers possibly be against the entire Camorin nation?

He pushed himself tiredly to his feet and fetched his cloak. It was time he made his rounds again. He clumped down the wooden stairs and into the common room of the inn. He glanced at the tables where they were pushed together for his maps, but he made no move in that direction. He had nothing with which to plan a campaign. His legion was down to three able bodied battalions and the odds ‘n’ sods. Out of those three thousand odd men, he could count on perhaps half being fit for a real battle. No, the Fifth was going nowhere for a while, so why plan?

“You warm enough, Aden?” he asked the guard on his door.

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. Can’t say as I like the north much, Sir. Snow… who needs so much snow?”

He grunted looking up at the clouds overhead. He blinked as the flakes fell upon his face and eyes. His breath puffed steam into the air and hung round him. Everything was totally still, not a breath of wind.

“Ever been to Bantay in winter?”

“Can’t say I have, Sir. I joined up straight from the farm like. The only places I been is with the Legion, Sir.”

“Hmmm. Take my advice, don’t ever go to Bantay, but especially not in winter.”

“Bad Sir?”

“Not as bad as this, but Bantay is always windy for some reason. Only Mortain—may he live forever—knows why.”

“I’ll remember that, Sir,” Aden said.

“If it gets worse, you have my permission to step inside. You can guard from in there as well as you can out here.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Navarien stepped carefully into the square and made for the barracks. He called them the barracks, but they were really shops and houses converted to that use. Sergeant… Captain Turner now, had made a start on clearing the site for the fort, but apart from a little demolition work, nothing had been done. They just didn’t have the men or the energy to do more.

He glanced at the piles of snow-covered rubble and found a few hardy souls picking at the mounds. Turner had them sorting through the heaps for building materials, which they stacked neatly to one side when they found a worthy stone or joist. It was back breaking work, but it had to be done. Looking at their progress, it would take all winter to see it even partway finished. He could hardly make himself care. It wasn’t as if his men didn’t have shelter.

Inside the first shop turned infirmary, he made his rounds. He chatted with those awake to hear him, and asked about those that were not. He was glad to hear no more had died since yesterday… in this one at least. Cragson said they had lost more men; they must have come from a different shop.

“How has he been?”

“Not too good last night, Sir, but he seems better today.”

“That’s good,” Navarien said checking for a clean bandage. “Look after him, and don’t forget to boil the old bandages.”

“We do ‘em all at the end of the day, Sir.”

“Good,” he said with a nod. He always reminded them of the same things, and they always responded the same way. “Good.”

He stepped out into the snow and crossed the square to the next infirmary. The shops were too small to house all the wounded and he would not hear of moving them further away. The square was convenient for everyone and it was easy to defend at need. Besides, the men were happiest all together. It was comforting having your mates close by at times like these.

Navarien worked his way through each of the shops noting the empty beds and missing faces. He could name every one of his men that should have been smiling at him but now was gone. So many he had lost on both this campaign and the last. So many…

“Meran?” he said crouching beside the next to last bed on his rounds. “Meran, can you hear me?” he whispered close to the Captain’s ear. “I want you to listen to my voice, Meran. Listen and follow it back. I need you… do you hear me? I need you, and your men need you. Lewin will have to take your place if you don’t come back. You don’t want that, do you? The worst legionnaire in the legions, you said. You don’t want him taking charge… Meran? Can you hear me… Meran?”

There was no response, there never was. He stood and stumbled slightly to lean against the wall. He watched bright colours bursting before his eyes and waited for his sight to clear.

“Are you all right, Sir?”

“Fine, I’m fine. Just rose too fast,” he said wiping his suddenly sweating face with a shaking hand. “A bit tired maybe. How’s the leg now, Lenn?”

“Fine Sir. No gangrene or nothing,” he said cheerfully. “I reckon I could stand watch with the others if you want.”

“No need for that just yet. I’ll let you know when I want you,” he said pushing himself upright. “I want you to keep forcing Meran to drink, he needs it. Get some soup into him if you can.”

“I’ll try, Sir,” Lenn said doubtfully. “I be scared of drowning him.”

“A risk we have to take. The sorcerers will be here any day now. Any day, I’m sure. We have to keep him alive long enough for them to heal him.”

“Right you are, Sir.”

Navarien forced himself to walk normally until he was outside. He leaned against the wall where none could see and breathed deeply of the cold air. It refreshed him somewhat, but still he was sweating. He pulled open his cloak to let in the cold and suddenly he was shivering.

“Curse it! Not now, please not now,” he whispered as he quickly covered up again.

He crossed the square back to the inn, his headquarters, and pulled himself up the stairs. He had to rest. Sleep was what he needed, he was sure that was all it was. He rubbed irritably at his shoulder as he climbed. The wound was paining him again. He had checked for infection this morning… no, it had to have been yesterday. He frowned as he opened the door to his room. He couldn’t remember the last time he took off his armour. Was it yesterday when he checked it? Thoughts of the wound fled as he entered the room to find Cragson waiting for him with a woman in tow. What was this about? He closed the door and removed his cloak forcing his hands not to shake.

“And who is this?” he said. He tossed the cloak over the back of a chair.

“You asked me for a woman, Sir. She was available.”

“I did? A whore is she?”

“Oy! I’m not a—”

“No, Sir,” Cragson said obviously embarrassed. “A seamstress, Sir.”

“Are you?” Navarien said to her.

“Yes.”

“Then why come here?” he asked seating himself behind his desk.

“He asked me,” she said looking meaningfully at Cragson.

“I see. Take a seat, you too Cragson.”

Cragson was surprised but did as ordered. The woman trusted him, so much was obvious. She made certain to seat herself as close as she could to Cragson.

“Your name?”

“Mathild.”

Navarien cocked his head at the accent. “You aren’t from around here.”

“No.”

“Socotra?”

“How did you—”

“How did I know? Your accent told me. I know what you think I want from you, but you’re wrong. I want to know where all the people went.”

“The clans of course!”

“That’s what I assumed. How many have left, Cragson?”

“Maybe half the city, Sir.”

Mathild shook her head. “You really don’t know anything, do you? Have you looked out your windows lately?”

“Why?” Navarien said.

“Seen any people? They’re still leaving and have been since the battle. They won’t stay here now.”

“Is she right, Cragson?”

“You gave me no orders to stop them, Sir,” Cragson said uncomfortably. “There are always a few ready to leave when we open the gates each morning. Not many, but a few.”

“A few can’t hurt.”

“It’s not a just a few,” Mathild said scornfully. “Hundreds each day are leaving.”

“I’ll order the gates barred, Sir.”

He rubbed his blurring eyes. “No, there’s no point in that. If they want to go, let them—”

Thrap!

“Come!”

“We have a problem, Sir,” Tikva said as he entered.

Another one? “What kind of a problem?”

“There’s a line of wagons heading for the west gate, Sir, and they’re taking everything not nailed down with them.”

“Told you so,” Mathild said smugly. “I bet half the wagons are carrying food.”

Tikva eyed Mathild obviously wondering who she was. “She’s right, Sir. They must be planning a long journey.”

“To the clans,” Navarien said wearily.

“Yes Sir. That would be my guess. Orders?”

Navarien tried to think. “I’ll come have a look. Get my horse ready.”

“Yes, Sir,” Tikva said and left on his errand.

He stood and reached for his cloak. “Let us go see this exodus.”

They found the wagons long before reaching the gate. Cragson rode by his side on the right, and Tikva did the same on the left. The main route to the gate was filled with wagons rolling west.

“This is too organised,” he mused. “Someone is leading them out.”

Tikva nodded. “At least they’re not fighting us; that could be messy.”

Navarien snorted. Messy did not begin to describe what would happen if this many people attacked them. There was no way he could defend against so many.

“You think they’re after joining their menfolk?” Tikva said eyeing the wagon loads of women and children as they rode by them.

“That’s exactly what I think,” Navarien said angrily. “Are they mad? Why leave in the middle of a flaming blizzard?”

There was no answer to that and they trotted in silence to the gate.

When he reached the walls, he dismounted and climbed the steps up to the battlement for a better look. Looking over the city, he could see streets that were packed with people heading toward the gates. Never had he seen so many people so solidly behind such a stupid idea. The snow was falling thickly now. It had fallen steadily almost from the time he dragged what was left of his legion through the gates.

He stood above the open gate and watched people pulling handcarts with a few meagre possessions out and into a blizzard. Wagons rolled west carrying food and water barrels, it was as organised as anyone could want—almost legion like in its planning. He watched handcarts trickle out the gate filled to the brim with the owner’s possessions piled next to their children who thought they were off on a grand adventure. He couldn’t believe people living in the north would be so unheeding of the weather.

“I have to stop them.”

“Don’t, Sir!” Tikva cried in alarm and took his arm. “We can’t fight them, not this many!”

He knew Tikva was right, but… “The children—they’ll die!”

He spun on his heel and stomped down the stairway. His victory, if one could call it that, was becoming a hollow one indeed. More than two thirds of the population was now gone, and the exodus was not stopping this time. In Cantibria and Durena, the young warriors had left with their families, but a goodly amount of people had stayed. Those remaining were older folk mostly, but he had been pleased to note that all the crafters and artisans had stayed. Not so with Calvados it seemed. Every living soul was leaving, and they didn’t seem to care that leaving meant death.

He reached the ground and hurried to stop any more from leaving. “Wait!” he called. “You don’t have to leave, the fighting is finished now.”

The people ignored him and continued out the gate and away, disappearing into the white out conditions. Angrily Navarien thought to bar the gates after all, but what point? They weren’t slaves. The Protectorate frowned on slavery, and the owning of slaves was illegal in its territory except convict labour. Using convicts to repair roads and such was not slavery in any sense of the word; they were released when their sentence was complete. Slavery was from birth until death.

“Please,” he said stopping a family with an upraised hand.

The young man made to push by, but then he stopped and glared. “You are the monster Navarien?”

“General. The title is General Navarien.”

“We know what you did, we know. None will live where you and your men are. Go away. Go back where you came from and the people will return.”

“I can’t do that—” he grabbed the man’s arm as he moved away, but his grip was shaken off. “You fool! Think of the children!” he shouted as the man and his family disappeared into the whiteness.

The snow was falling so heavily now that he could hardly see the gate and walls of the city. A vague darkness on his left was the only bearing he had in a world of white.

“We are doing this for the children,” another man said.

“I don’t understand you,” he yelled at the man’s back, but there was no reply. He shook his head free of snow. He was cold and getting colder, but he tried again. “They’ll die for the God’s sake!”

An old man stopped and glared at him. If looks could kill, he would be kneeling before the God already. “Don’t pretend to care for the little ones. We know what you did!”

“But I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Remember Cantibria!”

Navarien was stunned. Cantibria? He remembered a whimpering girl and a glaring Bandarian, then the same Bandarian screaming as he died in agony impaled by his order—punishment for rape.

“Oh God no. They think—”

He watched them leave and knew nothing he said would make them believe him, not when they thought he would give their children to his men. He was sick at heart seeing those smiling faces going into the snow. Perhaps if the God was kind they would survive. No, he didn’t believe it.

“Don’t go to the clans!” he shouted, knowing beyond question that they would. “I’m heading that way soon—very soon! Go to Durena instead!”

Days later, Calvados was empty and the city gates were barred. The men were quiet and subdued, still not believing it. Navarien knew they thought him to blame for the legion’s current state, and they were right. As their general, it was his place to see them safely home, but he had failed for all too many of them.

The city was utterly silent.

The houses were left as they were; he would see no looting done. Instead, he sent Cragson and Turner’s maniple—the only one at full strength—to make inventory. Any coin would likely be with its owners, but there were too many other goods in the city for the refugees to carry away. Navarien vowed the families of his slain men would not be in want. As soon as the trading ships arrived in the spring, he would order certain of the things sold to provide his men’s widows with a quarterly stipend. Mortain wouldn’t like it, but damn him if he thought the man responsible for their deaths would tolerate allowing their families to starve.

Navarien looked into the night sky wishing he could live this last year over again. He had learned so many things on this campaign, things he would do differently had he the chance. A certain Bandarian would have disappeared overboard had he known back then what he would do in Cantibria.

No sense in wishing for impossible things.

He made his way to the infirmary. He had his rounds to do. He wished he could go back, wished he might change the past. Only the God could turn back time and it was certain he would not. All he could do was learn from his mistakes in the hope not to repeat them.

He entered the infirmary and bent to speak with the first man, but as he did, he found himself unable to stop the motion. Everything went dark as he collapsed.

“Sir?”

“Sir!”

Navarien did not feel the cold stone floor as his head slammed down upon it.

* * *

4 ~ Storm

The wind howled over the plain and brought the snow with driving force. It was a killer, that wind, but the warriors were prepared and dealt with it without complaint. Complaining was pointless. The task before them was necessary.

Shelim shielded his eyes and pulled his mask up over his face a little more. He staggered forward having to lean into the wind to stay on his feet. The wind was incredible. This must be the worst winter of his life. It howled over the plain and blasted everything with its fury. He was covered in frozen slush, but his concerns were all for the others. Just a few yards ahead, the warriors struggled with the frozen bodies. There were hundreds of dead families here. All were Lost Ones. He had no idea why they had come, or why they had chosen this time, but whatever the reason it was a stupid thing to do. None outside the clans could survive the plains in these conditions, a fact these people should have known. Why hadn’t the fools left in the spring? Maybe it was so bad in their cities that they preferred death. He could understand that up to a point, but surely Navarien could only be in one city at a time. Why hadn’t they made their way to one of the others?

He shielded his eyes and watched the indistinct forms of Mazel and his warriors prying stiff bodies apart. The huddled forms had tried to protect their loved ones from the blizzard, and now the chief was having trouble separating them. Although Larn had told him none lived here, Mazel could not accept it. He had ordered his warriors to check each one while he did the same. Shelim’s other sight showed him nothing when he turned it upon the Lost Ones. They were dead and had been for days. The children—the children had died last. The small forms were packed together in the centre shielded from the blizzard by their parent’s bodies.

“This is pointless!” Larn called over the howling wind.

Shelim agreed, but he knew better than to try convincing Mazel. Mazel was a Clan Chief and would not take kindly to anyone trying to overrule him—especially not a shaman.

He pulled the hide mask away from his mouth. “They’re nearly finished!” he shouted. “We could better use our time locating the next group!”

Larn waved a hand in agreement and they huddled around his mirror. Snow kept falling and obscuring the image as he called a view of two shamen huddling together around a mirror being obscured by snow. Shelim thought for a moment and grasped his magic. He warmed the air directly over the mirror to melt the snow and kept it that way. Larn nodded his thanks and tilted the glass slightly to allow the water to run away as it would.

“Which way?” Larn said through his mask.

“We know they’re all dead to the west. How about trying more to the north?”

Larn agreed with an exaggerated nod.

The image in the mirror blurred as he made it race northward. There was nothing but whiteness to see. The image slammed to a halt, but the shadow was simply a group of strays from the herd. Larn moved on. Nowhere could Shelim see signs that the Lost Ones were out there. The blizzard made it hard to see detail, but whenever the slightest doubt arose, Larn zoomed inward to make certain. They had found groups like the one here almost immediately after leaving the clan. Those people would have survived if they had kept moving for another half day, but they hadn’t. On average, they had found four groups a day, never more than five and never less than two. Twenty groups then, some with hundreds of dead, some with as many as a thousand. The scale of the disaster was staggering. Twenty thousand dead—at least twenty thousand and more on the way, Shelim saw as Larn zoomed into another huddled group.

“By the God, please tell me this isn’t happening!”

“I can’t Larn!” he yelled. “You can see it as well as I can!”

Larn was silent as he widened the view, and widened it, and widened it, and widened it…

Shelim groaned. This group was by far the worst. Larn had to pull back so far to encompass it that the Lost Ones were reduced to dark spots against the snow. If he pulled back any further to fit them into the mirror, they would have disappeared into the whiteness.

“They’re all dead!”

“We can’t be sure,” Shelim replied.

“All dead I tell you!”

“We have to check, Larn! Just think of a child in the middle of that—we have to check! Have to!”

“All right,” Larn said unhappily. “I’ll tell Mazel.” He put his mirror away and struggled through the snow toward his chief who it appeared had finally acknowledged the worst.

The Lost Ones were all dead here.

Shelim made his way to Nyx whose black coat was white on one side where the snow had been driven into her and stuck like a second skin. He removed his gloves and scraped the hardening slush off her.

“Easy girl! I’m sorry about this but what else can I…” he said but suddenly he had an idea.

He unbuckled her girth strap and dumped the saddle. Rummaging in his pack, he came up with his blankets. With his magic, he spread them over Nyx’s back and prevented the wind from blowing them away. He replaced the saddle and tightened the girth strap.

“How about that?” Nyx bobbed her head as if agreeing that it was much better this way. “I’m glad you agree!”

The warriors took note and while Shelim took care of Larn’s horse, they helped each other with theirs. Larn came back while he was tightening the girth strap and nodded his thanks.

“We ride north!” Larn yelled.

Shelim used an exaggerated nod to show he had heard and then mounted. Larn rode by his side and they used their magic to warm themselves. They couldn’t do the same for the warriors.

It was close to dusk when the blizzard finally blew itself out. Mazel called a halt to make camp and everyone gratefully climbed down. Shelim was pleased to see Nyx and the other horses were coping well. They were used to winters on the plain, but the blizzard had been extreme. Still, everything was fine. He used his magic to dry his blankets once removed from Nyx, but the warriors were too proud to ask. He wandered over and did the chore without comment. The warriors watched wide-eyed as steam rose from one blanket after another until they were all dry.

“Was that wise?” Larn asked after he returned.

“Probably not, but what point in hiding our power after they witnessed so many challenges among us these last few seasons?”

“I suppose,” Larn said shrugging uncomfortably.

Larn was one of those who had challenged and killed another shaman this season and still felt as if he had killed a brother. Shelim knew how that felt, and he hadn’t even liked Duren.

“The tribes should be assembled now, don’t you think?” he said putting grim thoughts aside and heating water for tea with his magic.

With no evidence of fire to be seen, the warriors tried to take no notice of the bubbling water. They resolutely thrust the impossibility away from conscious thought and instead lit a fire with kindling brought with them for that purpose. Shamen always seemed strange to them, but only now were they beginning to see just how strange they were. Healing was something warriors took for granted, not even connecting the phenomenon to magic—it was just how things were. Water heating without fire, blankets drying without the sun; these things were truly magic to them and completely unexplainable. They glanced at the shamen and then at their friends in puzzlement, but finally they shrugged.

They were shamen; what do you expect?

“I still don’t know how you persuaded Mazel to call the tribes together.”

“I said either he called them in or I would,” Shelim said.

Larn coughed and spat his tea out before he choked on it. “Please tell me you’re jesting!”

He laughed. “I’m not jesting, Larn. Oh, I would have tried to call them in, but they wouldn’t have heeded me. Mazel couldn’t take the chance though. He sent messengers out that same day, but have you noticed how he’s been avoiding me?”

Larn nodded and ate some of his stew. “I had noticed, but warriors always avoid us when they can. How did you know calling the tribes in was necessary?”

“It was necessary as soon as we heard about Navarien’s massacre of the Panawyr, but he still wouldn’t call them in as he should. When we started to hear of dead Lost Ones by the hundreds, I talked to him and said that with the tribes called in, Horse Clan would be better able to defend itself. He saw the sense, but didn’t want to call them. That’s when I threatened to call them in his stead.”

“Phew! You take a lot on your shoulders, Shelim. We are shamen not chiefs.”

“Better a shaman lead than a stupid chief.”

“Mazel isn’t stupid! He’s just—”

“Incompetent?” he said quietly. “I know he isn’t stupid, but stupid or not, Horse Clan cannot stand alone against Navarien. Not even Dragon Clan can!”

Larn nodded reluctantly.

“I’m hoping this little trip will persuade Mazel to leave for Denpasser, but if not, there will be dozens of chiefs waiting back in camp. Perhaps I can force them into action.”

Larn hissed in shock.

“Don’t be a fool, I didn’t mean with magic, I meant with words.”

Larn nodded but he didn’t seem convinced.

Shelim smiled then laughed shaking his head. Larn’s lips twitched and he laughed at his suspicions. That was good, he thought. Best not tell Larn that if magic was what it took to save Horse Clan from Mazel’s foolishness then he was more than ready to supply it.

The chief joined the shamen when most of the others had settled down to rest. He nodded to Larn and sat on Shelim’s hastily laid blanket, but he ignored them to stare up at the stars in silent contemplation. The sky was clear now that the storm had blown itself out, and the heavens blazed with starlight and moonlight. The night was utterly still. Mazel’s men, those still awake, whispered quietly to one another loath to break the peace that had descended upon the plain. It was the peace of the dead for many thousands of the Lost, but peace all the same.

“How long?” Mazel said.

Shelim understood without being told just what he was referring to. These skies had seen uncountable generations of the people born and die on the plain, living and dying according to tradition. How long would the clans continue to do so?

“Some things are beyond even a shaman.”

Larn nodded. “Too many things. We each live and pass on to our next life according to the will of the God. Perhaps the traditions will also, or the people as a whole.”

Mazel sighed deeply obviously hoping for comfort and receiving none. “If the traditions pass on, then the clans will be dead. Without them we're no better than outclanners.”

Shelim raised a brow at that, but he could see the sense of it. What made a clansman different to say… a Devan trader? Certainly not his skin colour, or eyes or hair—all these things were irrelevant. Did not the God make all peoples regardless of such surface things? Of course he did. The soul was what mattered, not bodies. The soul moved on to its next life according to what the God wished it to learn next. It was an uncomfortable truth that when a clansman died he was just as likely to become an outclanner next time. Just because the people preferred to believe they would return to the plain each time, didn’t make it true. Only shamen thought of these things and didn’t blind themselves to the truth. The chiefs would say shamen had too much time on their hands if all they could think of was irrelevancies such as where the soul came from or moved onto next.

Shelim smiled. It was comforting to know the soul endured, but it did not make the deaths easier to live with. He wanted the people to live and thrive for their full span before moving onto their next lives. It was something he felt sure the God would approve of. After all, the God wished his children to learn. What sense did it make to cut short their lives before they had learned what he wished them to know?

“Are the end times upon us?” Mazel whispered turning his face from the sky to look at Larn.

Larn blew his breath out and looked to Shelim who shrugged.

“I don’t know,” Larn said finally. “I can tell you this; a time of change is upon the people. Those willing to change… no that’s wrong. Whether willing or not, those who change with the times will survive, those who don’t will fade away from the memory of the land.”

Shelim nodded seriously. He had spoken of this very thing with his mentor. Kerrion had seen the change approaching, but they had both been unable to see beyond it. He preferred to believe his divining had failed, and that there was a future beyond these times. Kerrion was less sure. He had great faith in his apprentice’s dreams but was willing to concede that one possibility was as likely as the other. Still, whether a future existed or not, the clans would pass through hard times, dark times to reach it. Of that he was certain beyond all doubt.

Mazel stared at the stars as if storing the memory against the dark times ahead. “It’s a hard council, Larn, but from what we have seen on this journey I cannot dispute your words.”

Shelim saw the opportunity and seized it. “I’m sorry for my hasty words to you in camp, Mazel. You are chief of Horse Clan—undisputed chief. I had no right to threaten calling the tribes.”

Mazel didn’t turn from his inspection of the skies, but he nodded acceptance of the apology. “It was not your place, but you were right about me. I was living in the past, but no more. My eyes are open now. The world is changing, and I will see Horse Clan… all the clans survive to live in it.”

Shelim and Larn glanced at each other. Larn nodded almost imperceptibly giving him the lead. “Even the Dragons?”

Mazel chuckled quietly and slapped Shelim on the shoulder. “Yes, even the cursed Dragons!”

“That is wise I think. I would suggest that after checking the next group of Lost Ones we return to the clan and make ready to leave for Denpasser.”

Larn winced in anticipation, but Mazel’s outburst didn’t materialise. Instead, the chief nodded. “It will be as you say.” He stood and left to find his blankets.

Shelim watched him go. Hard times were coming, soon now, very soon. A heavy toll would be taken of the herd to support the trip to Denpasser. It would take many seasons to repair the damage, but there was no choice. The clans were concentrating all their might on Denpasser. When spring came they would boil out and slaughter Navarien and his outclan army.

The God let it be so.

The next day dawned clear and cold. The snow on the ground crunched as the warriors moved to saddle the horses. A quick bite to eat was taken before they began riding north again. According to Shelim’s calculations, they should reach the site around midday. They were very far north now, and Mazel decided to send scouts ahead to warn of Dragon riders. It wasn’t inconceivable that they would run into Dragon Clan outriders or even outclan patrols from the stone city called Calvados. If the latter happened and the force was large, a quick fight would be undertaken to dissuade the outclanners from pursuing. If the force was small, Mazel might well decide to destroy it, but Shelim was confident he wouldn’t take foolish chances now that his decision to leave for Denpasser had been made.

As it turned out, Shelim’s calculations were wrong. The snow had slowed their progress a small but cumulative amount so that it was mid-afternoon before they came upon the scene. Shelim immediately viewed the disaster from the remove of his other sight and as one with Larn shouted in excitement. Near the centre of the group, three forms glowed with life.

He directed the warriors. “More to the right… no back a little—right there! I see three of them.”

“Only three?” Mazel asked in dismay.

“I’m afraid so,” Larn said sadly.

“But… but there are thousands here! You’re wrong.” Mazel turned to his idle warriors and angrily ordered them to check.

As the warriors began the hopeless task of trying to separate frozen bodies from their kin, the warriors that Shelim had been directing came up with three children. They hurriedly rushed them to the shamen for healing.

“Twin girls about nine summers old I would say. The boy is younger but… the frost bite… his hands,” the warrior said looking sick.

Shelim examined the girls but found nothing of concern. He washed away their sleep with magic, making them blaze with health in the healing realm. They stirred immediately. The boy though would be a cripple for life. Dead black areas floated in his aura. Black was shunned by the living energy that pulsed through the rest of him. The pulsing and surging current of life would not enter the black areas, and no matter how much magic he poured into them the colour didn’t lighten. If he had arrived this morning the boy’s hands might have healed, but magic could not heal death, and the flesh of his hands was indeed dead.

“I can do nothing Larn. Do you have an idea?”

Larn nodded and pulled his dagger. A quick thrust into the tiny chest ended his suffering and sent him to the God to be born anew.

“Put him back with his parents,” Shelim said sadly.

The warrior carried the boy away and did as Shelim bid him.

Mazel’s warriors were only half-heartedly checking the corpses. They had come to respect a shaman’s magic in determining who lived. Mazel was still searching frantically, but finally even he acknowledged the disaster. Another clan-sized group of Lost Ones had died.

The two girls were struggling to be set free. The warriors didn’t quite know what to do for the best, so they let them down. Both girls ran back to their parents and stared at them. Shelim sighed in exasperation at the warrior’s stupidity but corrected his thought when he reached the girls and found they were not hysterical. They acted as clan children would—there were tears but the girls were in control. He was pleased at the discovery. It would make adoption easier.

“Come, they are with the God now,” he said trying to lead them away.

Before they followed, both girls reached down to take something from their parent’s bodies. Two daggers and two long knives were clutched in tiny hands as Shelim led them back to Nyx. Larn took one up onto his horse with him, and Shelim took the other.

Mazel turned the warriors toward the south and the waiting clan. It would take about a tenday to return, and then the round of talks would start to persuade the chiefs of the obvious. With luck they would all be at Denpasser before the season was half over. That would give the clans plenty of time to plan Navarien’s destruction. The Dragons would not be there, and that was a worry, but what could not be altered had to be endured. They would manage without the Dragons—they had to.

“Where are you taking us?” the girl said, clutching her long knife in a white-knuckled grip.

“South to the clan.”

“Which one?”

Shelim smiled pleased again. Most outclanners didn’t know the difference. “I am Shelim, shaman of the Night Wind, but this troop belongs to Horse Clan.”

The girl’s eyes were dry now. She kept glancing across at her sister riding in front of Larn. “I am Amara of—I was Amara of Calvados, but what am I now?”

Good question that. “What is your sister’s name?”

“She was Emma of Calvados.”

He smiled, eternal and universal. Good names for this pair. “What name would you like?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if you stay with Horse Clan you could ask to be adopted into a family and you would become Amara and Emma of Horse Clan. Or you could stay with us until we reach Denpasser and ask one of the other clans.”

“Will there be lots there?”

“Yes,” he said with a smile. “Lots and lots.”

Amara and Emma nodded at each other. “We will wait. More choice that way.”

Shelim burst out laughing. That was one way to look at it all right. The warriors looked puzzled until he told one of them what the girls had decided. Soon everyone was chuckling and the mood lightened considerably.

“We will be warriors like great-great-grandpa was,” Amara said.

“Do you know how to use these?” he said tapping a knuckle on the sheathed weapon.

Amara nodded. “Mother showed us.”

“How old are you?” They looked around nine or ten. With luck, the war would be long over before this pair had to fight.

“Twelve. Is that bad?”

He almost groaned. Is that bad? Yes it was—unless they were lying. No, he believed Amara was telling the truth. Some children were naturally small, but that meant it was almost certain this pair would fight and die in the war. No! That must not happen.

“If you are twelve, then you will have to wait awhile before you can have your womanhood ceremony and be called adult. Until then, you will have to choose a new family and do what your new parents say.”

Amara didn’t like that, and neither did Emma. Emma was the quieter of the two, but Shelim noticed Amara always checked with her before saying anything of consequence. He looked Emma in the eyes and she grinned at him.

“We choose you,” Emma said.

“I thought you were going to wait.”

“We changed our mind,” Emma said and Amara nodded. “We choose you.”

“Choose again,” he said uncomfortably. “A shaman never marries or has children.”

“We choose you.”

“You heard what I said! Choose again,” he said angrily.

He had always wanted to marry and have children, but he had adjusted to being a shaman now. Fantasies of teaching a son how to hunt were just that—fantasies. No woman would take a shaman for her husband.

“Why are you angry?”

“I’m not angry,” he said angrily.

“Yes you are. You don’t need a wife to be our adopted father. We choose you,” Emma said with finality.

“We choose you,” Amara said with a nod as if it were settled.

He just shook his head. They would change their minds when they realised they would miss having a mother.

* * *

5 ~ Lord Sorcerer

Demophon was weary, but if he stopped for even a moment, he would sleep forever. “Yes, the sleep of the dead you fool. Think about Julia and what you have to do.”

He stumbled on. His pack was long gone and his hunger was acute. To keep warm he had stripped some bodies he found in the snow. Two layers of clan tunics covered his robe and kept him from freezing. His magic could sustain him for only so long before he became too weak to hold on. He could feel his grip loosening as the candlemarks rolled by. He had no food, but there was plenty of water. A hand full of melted snow quenched his thirst, but a belly full of water could not replace meat pies, or meat stew, or soup, or—

“Don’t think about it you fool! Are you going to let that bitch have the last laugh?”

No, he wasn’t going to let that happen. Demophon doubted Julia would laugh at him even if she could. She was more likely screaming in agony in any case, but even if she wasn’t, she wasn’t the vindictive type. Murderous, ruthless, utterly dedicated yes, but not vindictive. She was many things—cursed frightening came instantly to mind!

“Yes frightening, that’s what she is Demophon my boy. Still, pissing yourself in front of her was a little embarrassing was it not?”

Too right it was! When Julia called to her power that day at the ferry, it had been like the sun coming out in front of his face. One moment, a beautiful noble lady stood on the landing stage of Devarr’s ferry, the next a true sorcerer—sorceress he supposed was the term even though there had never been one before. She had burned brighter than the sun, and the noise! No one but a mage would have seen or heard it, but she had been close, so very close to turning Devarr into a smoking pit in the ground. The noise was the most frightening thing about that day. When you heard that sound from a mage, they were on the edge. Even now he didn’t believe she had known what she was doing. To raise the ferry and fly it to shore would have taken a fraction of the magic she had drawn, but that made it more frightening not less. To his shame, he had pissed himself, but at least he survived.

It was blasphemy to think that Julia was stronger than the God’s chosen voice, but he knew she was. Worse, she was a woman. The God knew all things, and of course he had made Mortain the strongest to be his voice on this world. What did that mean for Mortain, and the Protectorate? A woman as Mortain? Unthinkable!

“Blasphemy is punishable by death with sorcerous fire. Better not think what you’re thinking near a guardian Demophon old chap. Yes, but who are the guardians my dear?”

By the God, he was talking like that imbecile Ascol! Had the fool taken the throne yet, or had he messed it up? It seemed unlikely that even Ascol could mess up the plan so close to its completion, but still, if anyone could ruin it, Ascol was the one.

He stopped for a drink and looked around. He was still heading the right way according to the position of the sun. He had left his makeshift raft days and days ago. Surely, he must be close to Calvados by now? The last news he’d received put Fifth Legion marching to take the city. They would have it well in hand by now he was sure. If he could reach it and eat something, he would be fine, but before then he would have to release his magic or die when he released it uncontrolled. Without magic, his remaining strength would wane as the cold leeched it away.

“That’s days away yet—” he said to himself and tested his grip. “All right, a day then. Surely I can reach the walls before night time tomorrow.”

“I wouldn’t count on it if I was you, clansman,” a voice behind him said.

He gasped and spun to find a group of legionnaires watching him from horseback. How had he missed the bastards sneaking up?

“Sloppy of me, very sloppy,” he mumbled drunk with fatigue and relief.

The sergeant grinned. “I’ve never seen a worse clansman than you, fellow, but I don’t suppose you lot can all be perfect.”

Clansman… what was he talking about? Oh yes the clothes. “My name is Demophon, Sergeant. I’m no clansman. Let me demonstrate.”

He called a ball of fire into the palm of his hand and let it roll around on a cushion of air. The warmth was pleasant, but he let the spell go as quickly as he could. He was so tired; the magic was tearing loose from his grasp. He had to release now, or loose control. Gently he pried his grip loose and slumped to the ground.

“He might be one of them shamen we were told to watch for, Sergeant.”

“Nah, I’ve seen hundreds of them sorcerous bastards in my time. He’s one of them I’m thinking.”

He felt a little indignant at the sergeant’s tone, but he let his anger go. The sergeant believed him, and that was all that mattered.

“Go gets ‘I'm, Lewin,” the sergeant said.

“Why me?”

“Because I fucking said so you whore’s son!”

There were grumbles from the one named Lewin and laughter from the others. Demophon shook his head in bemusement. This seemed an ill disciplined group. The legions prided themselves on the discipline of their men, but this lot seemed more like a troop of brigands. Oh well, as long as he got some food they could be pirates from Socotra for all he cared!

Lewin pulled him onto his feet grumbling all the while and supported him to his horse. “I wish Meran were back on his feet,” Lewin grumbled. “He wasn’t bad for a sergeant.”

Demophon refrained from asking anything until he was on the horse behind Lewin and the patrol had moved on. “Did Calvados fall to the legion?”

Lewin grunted. “You might say so—sort of.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the general led us, and we took all three cities one after another. The bad news is that no one ’cept us lives in ’em anymore. We lost more than six thousand men, and that’s why this bad excuse for a maniple is so shit. We’re the odds and sods.”

His brain whirled with all the new information. “Odds and sods?”

“Not enough of any battalion or maniple left, so the general says stick the bits together until we’re relieved.”

That at least made sense. General Navarien was highly thought of in many circles, strangely not among his own peers—the other generals. Godwinson liked him, and that was very fortunate. Not many that Godwinson disliked lived long.

“What’s this about the cities being empty?”

“Cantibria and Durena still have people—old folks and artisans mostly. Calvados though is different. It’s spooky. The folk hereabouts don’t like the general much. They started leaving the day after we marched in.”

He left the rest of his questions until later; he had more than enough to think about. Calvados empty meant the bodies he had found were probably from there. Foolish to leave in the winter like that, but it was really of little consequence. In the summer, Calvados would soon fill with people looking to improve their lives on the Protectorate’s newest frontier.

They rode for candlemarks but eventually stopped for a meal. It was a poor affair, barely warm meat broth made from dry strips of meat from the legionnaire’s packs mixed with chopped vegetables and cooked in melted snow. It was marvellous! Demophon ate it all and scraped the pot out with a piece of crusty bread.

“Good ain’t it?” Sergeant Davin said.

Demophon nodded and sighed contentedly as his first proper meal in ages made its way into his belly. He felt better already.

“You should have seen the crap we ate on the way to Calvados!”

“Rancid?”

Everyone laughed.

“You might say so. We ate it because that’s all there was! We ran completely out a day before the battle.”

“Lord Sorcerer?” one of the men said.

Demophon sat up straight in his rags and tried to live up to his rightful title. No one had called him that until now. “Yes?”

“Will you heal my friend when we get back?”

Silence descended as the men leaned in to hear what he would say. He wasn’t very good with healing, but he could do it after a fashion. His talent lay more in the direction of warding.

“I will assist my brothers to care for your friends of course.”

“Ah, you see my lord sorcerer it be kinda like this… well you see—” Davin paused then said in a rush, “We ain’t got none.”

“Ain’t got none?” he said in confusion. “What do you mean you haven’t got any?”

“We ain’t got no sorcerers, excepting you. They were all drowned in the North Sea last spring.”

“None at all?”

“Nope,” Davin said. “Not a one!”

This was excellent news! When he reached Calvados he would instantly be elevated to lead mage of Fifth Legion. The fact he would be lead mage to himself made no difference. He would decide what was to be done, and the general would see the mission carried out in whatever way he deemed appropriate. That was how the legions always worked. He already knew what the mission was: kill Julia before she found out he wasn’t dead!

“What are your current orders, sergeant?” Demophon said.

“I was ordered to patrol three days out of Calvados to the south. We’re returning there now, my lord sorcerer.”

“Good. I want you to make all speed to Calvados. How long will that take?”

“If we don’t stop for the night I could have you inside by first light.”

“Excellent. That’s what we will do in just a moment. When I reach Calvados, I will attend to your friends as best I can as soon as I have spoken to General Navarien.” He decided honesty would be best at this point, “I can’t promise to save them all. I’ll be alone, but I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all anyone can ask, my lord sorcerer. The bitch sorceress is the only one who can heal everything.”

“You have heard of Julia?”

Rumbles from the men indicated they had. “Did you not know my lord sorcerer? The Fifth was decimated at Athione just two years back.”

He hadn’t known it was the Fifth Legion. He wasn’t a legion mage, so he could be excused for not taking notice of which it was. Talk about dumb luck, or was it the God looking out for him? Whichever it was, having the Fifth here was perfect. They hated Julia, and although he knew she didn’t deserve hate, he was more than ready to channel it in the right direction. First, he needed to reach Calvados, second he had to give Navarien his new mission, and third he would make the legionnaires into friends so they would protect him against Julia—that most of all. The sorceress didn’t like him at all. Indeed, she did not.

The ride to Calvados was an uncomfortable one, but he wouldn’t take a man’s horse away from him and cause resentment. Instead he rode behind Lewin. It was undignified, but he was playing his roll as legionnaire’s friend now. This little display of comradeship was probably wasted, but every little helped. You could never tell what would tip the scales in your favour. The gates were locked tight when they finally arrived at the city, but a quickly shouted hail to the sentries and they were riding through. Demophon heard the gates boom shut behind him, but he took no notice, he was looking at the empty streets and silent houses. Nothing. No people to be seen anywhere, and it was indeed spooky as Lewin said earlier.

The central square of Calvados was large, which was handy because the legion was quartered in the buildings surrounding it on three sides. The fourth side was full of rubble and appeared to be the site of a building project of some kind.

“Our future home that is, my lord sorcerer.”

“Oh?”

“Yup! Captain Turner said he’s building us a fortress to rival the Devans.”

Before Demophon could laugh, the others did it for him.

“Well he did say it!” Lewin said indignantly.

Davin snorted. “If the captain said you could fly off that bell tower you would believe it!”

“No I wouldn’t!”

Demophon laughed and shook his head. Perhaps he had missed something by not being a legion mage.

Yes, like drowning in the North Sea for one thing!

Hmmm, there was that to consider wasn’t there? “Where will I find Navarien, Sergeant?”

“I’ll escort you to the General, my lord sorcerer,” Sergeant Davin said, and turned to his men. “You lot can put the horses away, and make sure you rub them down proper. You know how Corbin loves them.”

“—be humping them next!”

“What do you mean next?”

“Ha! Bet you wouldn’t say that where he could hear you—”

Demophon smiled at the crude jests that arose about Corbin and his bad habits where horses were concerned. This Corbin sounded like a good man. You could usually tell if someone was liked by the kind of jests told about him. Spiteful and he was not liked, playful as these were, then he was. Davin led the way toward a large hostel or inn. They entered and Demophon found the lower floor had been converted from its previous function of common room, to its new one of map and briefing room.

“If you’ll wait here, my lord sorcerer, I’ll get the General. He’ll already be up and worrying I shouldn’t wonder.”

He nodded.

While Davin was away on his errand, Demophon removed his outer layers of clan hide to reveal his water stained robe. He dumped the hides by the door to let the stink blow away, and went to the map table. It had been made in sections for easy storage, but they were laid edge to edge and pinned to a group of tables that had been shunted together. He noted the legion’s deployments marked by tiny replicas of the battalion standards. Navarien had one battalion split up and on patrol within one day’s hard ride, and the rest of his very few men billeted here in Calvados. One battalion had been tasked with holding the wall, and the other two were meant to be building a fort by the look of it.

“Hmmm, a fort is a little redundant under the circumstances. Calvados itself is a fort now.”

“I agree, but that won’t always be so.”

Demophon turned and smiled. Navarien didn’t return the gesture; instead, he studied his guest’s appearance and filed it away. Demophon absently wondered under what heading. The general looked ill, or maybe just tired. He was clean shaven on his cheeks with a light beard and moustache around his mouth, but it did little to disguise his gauntness. His eyes were clear and burned into whatever they gazed upon.

“Pleased to meet you, General. The name is Demophon,” he said and shook the automatically extended hand.

“My lord Sorcerer—” Navarien began.

“Please, General. I’ve had a tiring trip and no sleep for days. You may dispense with the titles and pleasantries.”

Navarien became even stiffer if that was possible. “My lor—Demophon then. Have you heard anything concerning our reinforcements?”

Demophon slumped into a chair and indicated Navarien should seat himself also. “I have not been in communication with Mortain—may he live forever—for some time. I barely survived, and to be honest, talking was the last thing on my mind. As soon as I have rested and eaten, I will begin redressing my shortcomings, I assure you.”

There, that was humble enough to sink a warship, he thought. If he had laid it on any thicker, he would have burst out laughing.

“What do you propose to do while here with us, my lord sorcerer?”

“I have already promised Davin that I will see to healing the men, but I need to rest first. I’m the only sorcerer present am I not?”

“You are.”

“Then I am lead mage. As such I have new orders for you…” Demophon broke off. Navarien was shaking his head and smiling. That wasn’t good. He tried to think what was amusing the man but nothing came to his tired brain.

“I have orders to take three cities and hold each in turn by building forts. The militia has taken control of the other two now, but the task is yet unfinished here in Calvados.”

“Are you are refusing my orders then?”

Navarien stiffened and all emotion fled his face. “I have written authority given me by Godwinson himself which states that I, and I alone, command this legion.”

Demophon frowned. Would he be opening himself to recriminations from home if he countermanded these old orders?

“I see. Then we have nothing further to discuss until I have contacted Lord Mortain. I am weary; please have one of the men show me to my quarters.”

Navarien nodded and called a man from the door to escort him to a room on the third floor. Once inside, his pleasant smile disappeared as if it had never been. Why did Godwinson do it? A sorcerer overruled by a mere legionnaire… he had never heard of anything like it. It didn’t matter now, he supposed. He had no choice but to contact Mortain—may he live forever—and ask that Navarien’s old orders be rescinded in favour of new ones to give him control of the legion.

He pursed his lips in thought. Killing Navarien wouldn’t give him control… or would it? He didn’t know who the next most senior man was, but he would be unlikely to take kindly to his general being murdered. He stripped off his disgusting clothes so he might wash and sleep. Later as he drifted toward sleep he found himself wondering what Godwinson’s game was, and what part the general played in it. He would give much to know that.

* * *

Interlude I

Talitha lay back in the water and gave herself to the attentions of her girls. Bathing was still one of her favourite pleasures, but she found her attention wandering.

Talitha and Ranen, Ranen and Talitha.

It even sounded right. The ceremony to join the First Prince of Lushan to the Matriarch in marriage was complete. Never before had a ceremony been arranged so fast. The people had been delighted and afterwards they had breathed a collective sigh of relief.

The Matriarch was wed, hallelujah!

She grinned. She wondered how long it would take them to change their worry from her marriage to her lack of pregnancy. Not long she thought. Still, the people were happy and that was good, but she and Ranen were closer to ecstatic than happy, which was marvellous. They had seen each other many times over the years, usually at court, but sometimes at other functions as well. It was only over this last year they had found an attraction, and that seemed strange now she thought on it. All men were attractive to her in varying degrees, but Ranen had never caught her eye before. That is until his father made his inexcusable blunder and was forced to commit suicide. She had seen something she liked that day, and it had blossomed into love. At least she thought it had. Love was a stranger to her, one she had been uncertain existed. Jarek was the one who told her what it was like. That was how she knew she loved Ranen. She had found love to be exciting and scary at the same time—like riding a horse at full gallop toward a jump and being uncertain if she was going to make it.

Exhilarating. That’s what it was.

Talitha lay floating with her eyes closed enjoying her bath and seeing Ranen in her mind’s eye. Since their time together began, she had hardly needed a slave in the morning. It was a relief in some ways, but a slight disappointment in others. She had always enjoyed using a boy in the morning, but now she kept thinking of Ranen and found herself uninterested in any other man. She had found in him all she needed, and was thinking of giving her slaves to Jarek to sell.

She smiled as her attendants giggled and splashed each other. It was good they enjoyed their work. “Hmmm, that’s lovely Irena.”

“I’m glad mistress. Is this good too?”

She gasped, the voice was not Irena’s! She opened her eyes to look into Ranen’s and smiled. “That was sneaky; I thought you were still asleep.”

He continued his caress. “I was, but all the giggling and sighing out here woke me. I thought I had better investigate… just in case Tymek had missed an intruder.”

Talitha chuckled and splashed him as she rose to her feet. Her girls quietly withdrew as she kissed him deeply. His hands stroked her back and his flaccid penis pressed against her. She moved against him and felt him stir as his questing tongue explored.

Ranen pulled away. “I love you more than life.”

She jumped forward with a splash to hug him. “I love you more than—bath time!” she said laughing, but he was disappointed at her jest. “I love you more than life, Ranen. Before you, there was only duty. You taught me what love is.”

“I have something else to teach you,” he said with a wicked chuckle.

She looked down; his manhood was hard and pressing against her belly despite the cooling water. “I wonder what it could be,” she said tapping a finger against her lips.

“Let me show you,” he said hoisting her into his arms. He carried her dripping and shivering out of the pool and into bed, but his lesson soon warmed her up.

Candlemarks later they sat eating breakfast near the windows overlooking the palace grounds. The snow had stopped, leaving the gardens pristine in their whiteness. This time of year was special to her. The days rolled by slower than usual and the palace was quiet. Her princes and their retainers shunned the palace at this time of year. It was almost as if the rest of the country ceased to exist, all gone except the palace and her own city. She imagined time stopped for everyone outside of her palace, and only began again when spring came. It didn’t really of course. Down in the bowels of the palace, her servants were as busy as ever running things for her. Without them, Japura really would stop. Sadly, in a few short tendays the princes would descend on Pura with their problems and concerns once again.

Thoughts of those down below brought her chamberlain to mind. Jarek had professed innocence when she spoke of his illness, but she knew he was hiding it from her. Wanikiya had asked the other healers if they knew anything of his ailment, and one had come forward. Sahamia was younger than Wani, but she was still a very good healer when all was said. Jarek had a bad heart. Worse, he would likely die if he didn’t rest. The answer seemed simple—replace Jarek so he might rest, but it wasn’t that easy. He would die of boredom if she did that.

“What’s the matter my love?” Ranen said as he pushed his plate away.

Talitha had already finished hers, and was sipping a tea Wani said was good against winter gripes. Whether it was or not, she liked it. Hot lemon tea was always nice in winter.

“I was thinking about Jarek. Wani says it’s serious, and he’ll die if he keeps on as he is.”

Ranen swirled his tea around the glass absently. “I know he’s important to you, but he wouldn’t understand if you replace him.”

“I know. We need to think of something, but what?”

Ranen smiled at being included in her decisions. Matriarchs didn't often consult their consorts; they often ignored them entirely after they performed their duty of siring an heir.

“Perhaps he needs another task—something mentally challenging that he can do from his bed.”

“Hmmm, we could—” she broke off as her guard admitted the subject under discussion. Her smile of welcome froze as she saw his face. Ranen jumped up as if expecting the older man to expire on the spot, he looked that bad. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Talayan… Talayan is gone!” Jarek’s face was grey. He had never looked older to her than he did right now.

“Sit down before you fall!” she commanded, and without complaint, he did.

His meekness was not like him. He was favouring his left arm again. It seemed weak and she could see his hands were trembling. Her eyes stung at this new evidence of his decline. She waved Tymek to her.

“Send for Wanikiya.”

Tymek sent one of his men off on the errand then stood back to watch. Talitha meanwhile was sitting next to Jarek listening with growing horror to his news. Ranen was silent and grim; he knew this meant war on a scale not seen for two hundred years or more.

“The city is burned, utterly destroyed. Refugees are streaming into nearby towns, hysterical for the most part. They say an army of a hundred thousand Tanjuners attacked in the night and defeated our lancers. The slaves were helping them. The city fell and the population was systematically abused and murdered. Barely twenty thousand survived the sack. That’s twenty thousand from a possible eighty thousand, discounting the slaves. The Tanjuners looted the city and put it to the torch. Nothing remains but blackened and cracked walls where Talayan the Invincible once stood.”

“Now we know what Vexin is made of,” Talitha whispered remembering the conversation they’d had and her decision to raid Tanjung. When one of his lords raided two of her coastal cities, she had considered using diplomacy to make him desist, but history clearly showed that Tanjung never ceased raiding unless greater force in the form of counter-raiding was applied. In short, Tanjuners respected only force.

Mighty Talayan, Talayan the Invincible was gone. It was the greatest disaster ever to befall Japura in all her long history. Pirate raids and other attacks over the years were as nothing compared to this—even collectively, they were as nothing! Talayan was—had been—her greatest city. Only Orrisa in the west came close. Even her capital, Pura, didn’t match what Talayan boasted in population and wealth. Sixty thousand of her people were dead… the slaves were nothing, but sixty thousand dead Japuran citizens… it was war. No question of raiding or talking would be countenanced this time, even if she wanted to she couldn’t do other than attack. The people obeyed her absolutely, and so did the princes, but Vexin was not under her authority. What would be his next move? Destroying Talayan had lain open her entire northern border. It had to be the first move toward invasion.

What else could it be?

Why had he done such a monstrous thing? He must know she could not let this stand. Japura had been stable within her current borders for thousands of years, ever since the installation of Armina as the first Matriarch. Why now, what reason could there be? She just didn’t know.

Vexin had hit Japura where it hurt, and she had to respond—had to! For years, raiding and counter-raiding had been the norm, but this atrocity had changed that forever. It was unbelievable. Why did he do it… why? Sixty thousand dead—it meant the end of Tanjung, or the end of Japura. This war wouldn’t stop until one or the other was destroyed. The victor would own it all, but she couldn’t see gains in this. All she saw was the ruin and devastation that would result from Vexin’s action.

She stared into the distance at nothing. For years to come, her people would look back upon her reign and cry tears of woe, and there was nothing she could do to avert it. Sixty thousand dead… and how many more to follow them to the grave before it was done?

Wanikiya came in then and quickly set about examining a protesting Jarek. His colour was much improved, but Talitha noticed him surreptitiously massaging his left arm.

Wanikiya pounced instantly. “Hah! I knew it, but no, you had to pretend. Fool man!”

Jarek spluttered. “How dare you! Have you no respect for my position?”

Wanikiya laughed as she rummaged in her basket. “What position is that, deary? I’ve tried them all at one time or another!”

“I meant my position as chamberlain!”

“Oh that, no,” she said absently.

“No?” Jarek said puzzled.

“What use is a chamberlain to me? You’re just someone who needs my help… and a man of course.”

Jarek’s brows shot up at the casual addendum. Ranen smirked, but Talitha was thinking of snowy roads and travel times, supplies and cavalry. How many could she call on and how long to get them into the vicinity of Talayan? Were Talayan’s walls still standing, and could they be used as a secure camp? Tanjung had mages and she did not, would it be better to disperse her forces or concentrate them in the ruins? Dispersal leapt to mind as the obvious choice, but she immediately distrusted that. Any force had to be large enough to overwhelm the Tanjuners before their mages could do too much damage to her forces.

“Here we are deary, now put that under your tongue, and don’t swallow it.”

“Mmmph!” Jarek said as Wanikiya stuffed a wad of something rather nasty looking in his mouth. “—hy ot ollow it?”

“Because I said so! Humph, men never do anything without an argument.”

“—astes isgusting!”

“Best medicine always does deary.”

“We must call the princes and domain lords to immediate council,” Talitha said over Wanikiya’s scolding.

Ranen nodded. “The news is days old. Who knows how far Vexin has moved since Talayan? A hundred thousand men the report said. Where did he get so many?”

“Nowhere,” she said with certainty. “He would have to unite all his lords behind him to raise so many. I don’t believe he could have done that in secret. My guess is the new army at Tanjung Karang isn’t there any longer.”

“Eight thousand against Talayan? Surely they needed more than that.”

“They had more. You heard the report, Ranen. The slaves were helping. How many would you say were in Talayan?”

He paled. “At least as many as there are citizens.”

“You’re wrong there. There must be three times as many slaves as there are citizens. The slaves have always outnumbered every class except the commons. I don’t know how many Talayan had.”

Ranen nodded.

Commoners couldn’t afford slaves, but the princes, domain lords, and the wealthy could afford many. There were hundreds in the palace alone. Talitha had no idea how many resided in Pura and her other cities. Every Japuran knew his place from birth to death including those born to slavery, but Talayan was on the border. Why buy expensive slaves from Orrisa or another city when they had plenty for free right nearby? Many slaves had been captured on border raids over the years, and it made sense to keep most of them in the city. Borderers were neither fully Tanjuner nor Japuran but a mixture of the two. They were consequently a hardy folk, but unlike pure Japuran slaves, they were wilful. She had no doubt the slaves had butchered their masters with glee.

“We have this winter to prepare and that’s all,” she continued. “I don’t believe Vexin will continue his campaign through the winter snows. Supplies will be low. So many horses and men will need a lot of food. We have to be ready to meet and destroy that army in the spring.”

“If we strip Orrisa we could match him immediately,” Ranen offered.

She had already considered that. It was a terrible risk, but it might surprise Vexin… unless he was counting on her doing it. What she needed was more than one force—two armies for Vexin’s War Leader to worry about. Let the Tanjuners worry over one force while she sacked Vexin’s cities and lay waste to his empire with the other.

“I will think more on that, but I’m reluctant to strip Orrisa’s protection, especially considering what happened to Talayan.”

“Perhaps a compromise?”

“Go on.”

“We could inform Strike Leader Wakiza of the situation and have him ready to move out the instant the roads clear, but in the meantime have the princes and domain lords raise their forces. When Wakiza moves, you can replace Orrisa’s defence with men from the lords, while using the princes as a second army.”

This was a demonstration of how right they were for each other. Ranen had read her mind. “That’s exactly what we will do,” she said and turned her attention to Jarek. “How are you feeling now, father of my heart?”

Ranen breathed a shocked oath that made Talitha smile. The Matriarch calling a commoner father! What would everyone say? They would say whatever she told them to say, she thought a little grumpily. She was the Matriarch and therefore perfect. She could not be in error and could not be called to task for anything she did.

“I eel underful. I on’t eed edicine!” Jarek spat out the wad of nasty looking medicine. It was made of various evil looking leaves and mould. Talitha felt queasy just looking at the vile stuff.

“Perhaps I should meet your assistant after all,” Talitha said. “Not that you’re not capable!” she hastened to add.

Jarek was sad at the need, but pleased his Matriarch had finally seen sense. “I’ll bring him along next time, but I feel fine now. I can certainly continue my work; I don’t want to miss anything.”

“This isn’t fun Jarek!” she scolded. “People died by the thousands just a few tendays ago.”

“I know, but I meant I don’t want to miss what you’re going to do to Vexin.”

“I’m going to remove that man from this life and his festering cesspit of an empire from the world once and for all,” she said coldly.

“Good,” Jarek said, and Ranen nodded.

Good?

No, it wasn’t good, but it had to be done. For Japura, for Talayan, but especially for sixty thousand dead citizens.

* * *

6 ~ Dissension

Navarien was concerned; more than concerned if the truth were known. Demophon was about to use the mirror to contact Lord Mortain—may he live forever. What if Mortain was angry with him for the loss of so many of his men? If that was the case, then his days as commanding officer of the Fifth were over, and nothing he could do or say would change it. True, the Protectorate was a long way to the southwest, but now that Demophon was here the Legion was no longer out of contact with it. He could be replaced in an instant now. All Mortain had to do was say four little words: General, you are relieved.

Navarien stood before the mirror hanging on the wall, and watched while Demophon did whatever sorcerers did to bring images of far off places to its surface. The mirror brightened and Mortain appeared. Navarien braced to attention and saluted hand to heart.

“Demophon…” Mortain said silkily.

The sorcerer paled at the malice they heard in that single word.

“I wondered if you would have the stones to contact me after the latest fiasco perpetrated by you and your brothers.”

“I’m sorry, Lord,” Demophon said meekly. “We were intercepted by a hundred shamen and an entire clan of warriors. They took Julia from me, but she might yet die of Tancred poisoning. I ensured her thorough addiction.”

Navarien wanted to spit. No one deserved death by Tancred poisoning; the pain was extreme. A sword was much cleaner. He didn’t like learning that Julia was now among the clans. That snippet could prove dire indeed. If she didn’t die, she could prove to be a major impediment to next year’s campaign.

“…fought to the last man and—” Demophon was saying, well babbling might be a better description.

“Silence!” Mortain ordered. “Your lies do not interest me. Only results interest me. Ascol has been executed for regicide, and six of our brothers died at the hands of amateurs—two against six! You were not attacked by a full clan, nor even a half. You were attacked by a small raiding band and a few shamen!”

Demophon was stricken dumb with fear.

Navarien took a deep breath. “My lord, if I might have a moment of your time?”

Mortain nodded. “I am very pleased with you, General, very pleased indeed. Your stone throwing contraption was amazingly effective, and the towers worked very well. Well done.”

“I thank you my lord, but I could never have won through without good officers and men. The Fifth has the best.”

“I agree, but don’t tell General Menelaus I said that.”

He laughed as was expected of him. Menelaus was General of First Legion. “I’ll be sure not to gloat too much, my lord. The reason I wished to speak with you, Sir, is that I need a clarification of my orders.”

“A clarification?” Mortain frowned. He glanced at Demophon and his features lightened. “Ah I see! A clarification. Well, that’s easy enough. Your orders are to hold Calvados, build a fort, and await reinforcement to continue the pacification of the clans in the spring. Is all clear now?”

“That much is clear, my lord, but could you clarify one thing further?”

“Go on,” Mortain said with a small smile.

“Demophon is of the opinion that he should lead the Fifth on a new mission of some kind.”

“What mission?”

“I do not have that information, my lord.”

Mortain turned his attention to Demophon. “Well?”

Demophon glared hard at Navarien promising retribution for this humiliation. “As the only sorcerer here, it seemed reasonable I should be lead mage. As such, I wanted to give orders that would see next year’s campaign completed the quicker.”

“That sounds reasonable so far. What did you have in mind?”

Navarien clenched a fist. This was turning bad. If Mortain gave permission to proceed, he might find himself under Demophon’s orders after all.

“The Fifth is in dire straights I’m afraid, only one battalion is mounted out of a possible three that are battle ready. It seemed to me a sensible idea to redress the situation by procuring mounts from the natives. The local tribes are small and shouldn’t present the general with any difficulty.”

“Hmmm, he has a point, General. It’s the first thing you need to do next spring in any case. Any reason not to start early?”

“Two, my lord. I have barely enough men to hold Calvados. If I were to lose another battalion on this raid, I can foresee a time when I will not be able to hold the city. Secondly, there is the matter of the fort. Construction is behind schedule due to my lack of men. That will only become worse if I lead a battalion on this raid.”

“What do you say to that, Demophon?”

“Navarien is the best general, and the Fifth is the best legion we have. I have every confidence in him and his men. I believe there will be no difficulty, but I will understand if you’re unwilling to risk it, my lord.”

Navarien groaned silently.

Mortain’s eyes glittered as Demophon’s words went home. “Wotan will be lead mage, General. When he arrives, he will assume the traditional duties of his position. Until then, Demophon will give you all assistance, but you are not to take his orders. You will plan and execute these raids to supply your men with mounts, but under no circumstances are you to lose Calvados. If that means curtailing the raiding early, so be it.”

Navarien saluted.

Mortain looked at Demophon and smiled an evil smile. “I’ll be watching you… very carefully. You will assist the general in the furtherance of his mission and not hinder him in any way. Fail me again, and I will see you dead, ten times over!” he roared and his image faded until the mirror was simply a mirror again.

Days later, Navarien was cursing the day he ever met Demophon. If it wasn’t for him, he wouldn’t be freezing and fuming in the middle of the plains in winter, when anyone with sense was snuggled down inside where it was warm. He stalked away shaking his head. The clansmen were unbelievably stubborn. Demophon was sitting astride his horse smirking as usual, but he couldn’t blame the man for that this time.

They had ridden out of Calvados with Corbin’s battalion hoping to buy the horses he needed with gold looted from the city, but he had met nothing but hostility. That wasn’t surprising. The clans were always hostile to outclanners, but he had hoped they might see sense. They hadn’t. At least the tribes hadn’t offered violence—not yet.

“How many times are you going to allow these people to humiliate the Legion?” Demophon said with a pleasant smile.

Navarien wished he could wipe it off for him. Corbin’s men rumbled agreement with the sorcerer, and that made him angrier still. The sorcerer had healed the injured as promised, and by doing so had earned their friendship. The way things were going, the men would start taking Demophon’s orders instead of his!

“Lord Mortain, may he live forever, ordered you to begin raiding not trading. He said it very clearly. I’m sure it was raiding,” Demophon said over chuckles and laughter from the men.

“Silence in the ranks!” Captain Corbin snarled angrily. “Sorry Sir,” he said to Navarien’s scowl.

He mounted his horse. It was a beautiful animal, captured last year by Lewin. Its coat was pristine white like the snow under its hooves without a blemish of colour to be seen.

“I heard his orders, my lord sorcerer. It was just before he said he would see you dead ten times over for… incompetence wasn’t it?”

More laughter from the men, but this time Corbin allowed it to continue for a short while.

“Silence!” Corbin ordered finally.

Demophon glared daggers at him, but said and did nothing else. He nodded acceptance of the victory. “As to your question, my lord sorcerer, the answer is simple. The Fifth Legion has not, nor will it ever be, humiliated. I don’t see humiliation in trying to buy what we need with gold that we have plenty of, rather than buying it with my men’s lives. Even one life is too great a price.”

Corbin’s men liked that, which was good because he meant every word. Unfortunately, it was now clear the clans wouldn’t sell him the horses he needed; he would have to fight for them. The entire situation was Demophon’s fault. If they had waited until spring as planned, his reinforcements would have given him more options. He had planned to intimidate the tribes with his increased numbers and then take the horses he needed, but now he would have to fight it out… he looked around the camp noting all the hostile faces watching them. But not here.

“We’re leaving,” he said to Corbin.

“But—”

“Just do it,” he snarled, fast losing patience.

Corbin turned and ordered the column to move out, but Demophon had to add his own two coppers worth.

“So General, your reputation is overblown after all. I can’t say I’m surprised.”

He ignored the sniping. “At the trot, forward!” he ordered and kicked his horse into a trot. His men were well trained and followed his order without fuss, but Corbin was not happy and Navarien was getting a little tired of his attitude.

“Do you like being an under captain?”

“Sir?” Corbin said loudly over the jingle of harness. “Er, yes I do. I would like promotion some day, Sir.”

“You won’t get promotion unless you learn to look beneath the surface,” Navarien said looking around. He decided two leagues was far enough from the camp. “Haaalt! Disssss-mount!”

“—we doing now?”

“How should I know yer dick head?”

Navarien ignored the complaints from the men as he dismounted. Demophon was playing hard to get by staying mounted while everyone else was now afoot.

“If you would step down, my lord sorcerer, I need for you to use your mirror to view that camp.”

Demophon was scowling by the time he had his mirror out.

“Summon the sergeants,” Navarien said.

“Yes Sir!” Corbin went off to do that.

Demophon watched Corbin moving away. “What are you doing, General?”

Navarien debated with himself for a moment, but decided there was nothing to be gained by antagonising the man further. “I’m about to demonstrate why I’m a general and you are not, Sir.”

The sorcerer raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t seem angry, intrigued was more like it. “I see. Am I to call the entire camp or just a certain part of it?”

“The whole thing at first if you would. After I have explained a few things, I’ll ask you to close in on one or two areas.”

Demophon nodded and set about calling the image as Corbin returned with his anxious sergeants in tow.

“None of you are in trouble,” Navarien began. “I want you to witness a scrying of the camp we just visited. How many warriors would you say there were in that camp, Corbin?”

“Three hundred, Sir,” Corbin said without hesitation.

He nodded at the expected wrong answer. “I assume you counted?”

“Yes Sir, first thing I did, Sir.”

It was also the first thing Navarien had done upon entering the camp—after checking for ambush of course.

“I have your camp for you, General,” Demophon said.

“Thank you, my lord sorcerer,” he said keeping things scrupulously polite and turned to the sergeants. “Your name is Milos is it not?”

“Yes Sir,” sergeant Milos said with a gulp at being addressed by the general directly.

“Count the tents.”

“Sir?”

“In the mirror,” he said with a sigh.

Milos reddened as his comrades shoved him forward with chuckles and good natured insults. Milos bent to his task, but took far longer than Navarien felt proper. He was about to ask what the problem was when Milos straightened with a puzzled look on his face.

“Well?”

“Sorry Sir, but I counted twice and there are nearly seven hundred not three hundred.”

Navarien smiled and clapped Milos on the shoulder. “Good man. That’s what I wanted you to see. Now how many warriors are there likely to be in a camp with seven hundred tents?”

“I don’t know, but at least twice the number of tents I’m thinking. It was a trap, weren’t it, General?”

“Precisely Milos,” he said beaming at the man. “It was a trap meant to take us in. Three hundred warriors on show, and the God only knows how many hidden in the tents. Milos here says double seven hundred, but who is to say it’s not treble?”

Corbin looked sick, as well he might. Demophon was quiet and thoughtful, but made no comment when Navarien asked him to close in on the horses.

“There are about four thousand of them General,” Milos said estimating the total.

Navarien looked over the man’s shoulder and agreed. “Four thousand horses does not mean four thousand warriors, but it does mean no more than four thousand. Personally, I think there are likely two thousand warriors, which gives each man two mounts but I could be wrong.”

“How did he know?” one man whispered.

“How should I know, yer dick-head? He’s the General. That’s what generals do!” another sergeant answered.

Exactly so; He was a general and that’s what generals do.

“What’s the plan?” Corbin said full of admiration.

“We look for tribes with five hundred tents or less, count the horses to make sure and attack at night. If all goes well, we should wipe out the smaller tribes and have all our battalions mounted before going against the larger ones.”

“Why bother? Once we’re mounted, there’s no need,” Milos said.

“I want all the horses I can get, Milos. We need mounts for our men and for the reinforcements that Mortain—may he live forever—is sending us, but we also need spare horses for the baggage. I’m not happy with those carts we used last time; they look shit and slow us down too much.”

“He’s right there, they do look shit!”

“Yup!”

He glanced at Demophon who inclined his head in congratulations.

“Have you a preferred direction for the first raid?” Demophon asked.

“Yes,” Navarien said pointing south.

“Why south?”

“I don’t want to waste time riding over the same ground twice, so I want a continuous drive toward Calvados. We’ll ride south a ways then turn back north to start our raids taking on each tribe in turn. We’ll collect up the horses as we go and then push on toward Calvados.”

Demophon bent to the task of searching out likely looking targets. Navarien took a sip of water and gave some to his horse while he waited. Corbin idly watched the images in the mirror over Demophon’s shoulder. If the sorcerer resented the intrusion, he made no mention.

The sergeants returned to their maniples and told their men to ready themselves for a fight and Navarien was pleased to hear the earlier events discussed; it would help things along if the men thought he had a sixth sense where traps were concerned. He didn’t of course, he was just very careful to analyse all the possibilities.

Tikva really did seem to have a sixth sense, which he used to good effect during a fight. Cragson needed the best to hold the city, so he was back in Calvados. It was unfortunate that Corbin wasn’t more like him, and that he failed to look at all the angles as Navarien always tried to do in these situations. It was a shame such an able officer would never realise his dream of promotion, but though an excellent fighter, Corbin would be an utter disaster as a general. He didn’t look deep enough into a problem to see what was hidden, and as a result was unable to originate worthwhile plans. He was still the perfect cavalry captain, and could take already laid plans successfully to completion often in a dashing manner, but he just didn’t have that little something extra that Tikva had. Navarien knew his strengths as he knew his own. The greatest was his ability to lead a battalion, preferably mounted, against overwhelming odds and survive with most of his men intact. He had seen Corbin do precisely that at the battle for Calvados.

“Found one!” Corbin said waving at the mirror.

He went over for a look. “How many horses?”

“I make it just under a thousand, General,” Corbin said pointing to an area of the mirror. “It was the tents that made us sit up straight. There are roughly three hundred tents. Even if our ratio of horse to warrior is off, there still can’t be enough warriors to worry us.”

He wouldn’t go that far. He hadn’t forgotten how much trouble the clans had given him on the march from Durena, but he was willing to risk attacking when there were only three hundred tents in evidence.

“How far?”

Demophon shrugged. “A day riding hard, two at an easy pace.”

Navarien nodded. “Two it is.”

Demophon grimaced but stood to pack his mirror away.

“You’re right, Sir, two is better. We might need the horses. There’s no point in winding them.”

He glared at Corbin. “I didn’t ask,” he said and mounted his horse. “At the walk, forward!”

* * *

7 ~ Decision Time

Shelim and Larn studied the image in the mirror trying to think what to do. They were too far away to warn the tribe, and it was too far to use magic to attack the outclanners. Nothing, there was nothing they could do.

“Is it the Hasian outclanners?” Mazel said watching as the attack began.

Shelim nodded absently noting the formation they were using. The clans called it the horns of the bison for the pattern it made in the grass. Two groups representing the horns would sweep round to strike the wings and flanks of the enemy, while a third and usually larger force advanced in the centre representing the head of the bison. In a fight, the head would crush the tribe as the horns pulled in driving the warriors toward it.

“I don’t know the name of this tribe,” Larn said. “But it has to be one of the smallest Dragon tribes. They barely have two hundred warriors.”

The horns were pulling in now. The warriors were dismounted having been caught by surprise in their tents. He shook his head at that; it was very sloppy. Whoever was chief should be taken to task for not ensuring his tribe had proper outriders guarding the camp. He frowned at the uncharitable thought—the chief would likely be dead soon.

“They’re sweeping up everyone, not just warriors!” Mazel said, shocked at the sight.

Larn smiled sadly. “Why are you surprised, Mazel? You’ve heard the tales, why do you think their leader is often called a monster? It is for this radon. What he makes his warriors do is monstrous.”

“Hearing it is different to seeing it. Your mirror is a wonder, but I wish it showed happier things.”

“It can show whatever we wish to see, but only what is real—”

Shelim ignored Larn’s explanation to Mazel. Someone should witness the slaughter. Many of the warriors were dead now, and more were falling as he watched. The manoeuvre was all but complete. The women and children were in the centre of the camp, surrounded by warriors bristling with long knives. The tents were flaring up as fires were set for no reason that he could see. Warriors were dying to thrown spears and the occasional horse charge, but he couldn’t tell why the outclanners didn’t finish the warriors off. It was obvious they could do so at any time, but something was holding them back, or was it someone? The Dragon warriors fired their arrows, but then were instantly killed by a hail of spears.

“Do you see what I see?” he pointed.

Mazel nodded. “But why?”

“It seems they want them alive for some reason.”

Mazel nodded, but didn’t offer an explanation. He didn’t have one and neither did Shelim.

The outclanners had herded the people together, but they were only killing those who fought back. The women saw this first and began pulling on the arms of the warriors begging their husbands and sons to stop shooting. Gradually the killing stopped, but easily a third of the warriors were already dead.

“I can’t see any dead outclanners, can you?” Mazel said looking close.

Shelim moved the image in closer. “A few are wounded but that’s all.”

He couldn’t believe how sloppy the Dragon warriors had been to allow this to happen. It was as if they believed numbers made up for their lack of skill. They were as children to these outclanners; the attack had been easy! He watched the Hasians rounding up the horses and strike north with them.

“Horses? They did this to steal the horses!”

“Calm down! You’re losing the image,” Larn said.

Shelim breathed deep and pressed his lips tightly together. As he did, the image steadied and sharpened. The outclanners were herding every horse away to the north leaving the tents burning and the women keening over their dead. The tribe was shattered. Only one in three warriors had survived, and that included the young ones who had foolishly taken up their weapons and died with the adults. Those left alive with families intact were rushing to put out the fires with snow, but he could see they would save little. If they saved enough, they might survive long enough to reach another tribe—if the weather held good.

Shelim let the image go. “Well that’s it. What do we do?”

“Do? What can we do? The fight is over,” Larn said.

Mazel shook his head pityingly. “The Hasians want our horses, Larn. That’s important to know. Do you really think a thousand will satisfy them? They stole a thousand from the Panawyr before the snows, and now they’ve raided this tribe for another thousand or so. It’s obvious why they need them; Navarien wants all his warriors on the best mounts he can find. What chief doesn’t want that before battle?”

“He had ten thousand men to begin, but he only has about half that now,” Shelim pointed out.

“Yes, that at least is good,” Mazel conceded. “But that means he needs another three thousand at the least, but what if he decides two or even three horses for each of his men is better than one?”

Shelim and Mazel stared silently at each other and then at Larn who was shaking his head trying to deny what was happening.

“We might be witnessing the end of Dragon Clan as a force on the plain—or even altogether!” Larn said in horror.

Shelim nodded, but privately he thought there was no doubt. The reason for burning the tents was obvious now they knew the Hasian’s plan. They wanted the tribes slowed down. Without horses and supplies, the tribes would be unable to link up to defend themselves. Navarien’s raiding parties would snap them up one by one. What they would do then was anyone’s guess, but he was sure Navarien had thought the problem through and had some ideas. Shelim would have in his position. Would Ingharr listen to Mazel if they turned around and went looking for him? Ingharr was Clan Chief for the Dragons. Shelim was unsure where the clan was wintering. Worse than his lack of knowledge was the long and bitter feud between Horse and Dragon Clans. He didn’t know what to do for the best, and there was Emma and Amara to consider.

He looked back to see the girls sitting quietly talking together. Emma saw him and smiled. He smiled back.

“—have to try!” Larn said.

“It would be a waste of time, I tell you!” Mazel said angrily. “Ingharr is Dragon Clan as I am Horse Clan. He will never see beyond that.”

“I think we should try,” Shelim said not really wanting to.

It was his duty as a shaman to protect all the people, whoever they were, but he believed Mazel had the right of it. By the time they found Ingharr, in all likelihood it would be too late. If not, they still had the feud to contend with.

Mazel threw his hands up. “One I can deal with but not two! You win Shelim, but tell me this: which way do we go?”

“Toward Calvados of course,” he said surprised that Mazel had not seen that. “As soon as we find the remnants of a tribe we can get Ingharr’s location and head there moire directly.”

Mazel winced at the reminder of the attack they had just witnessed, but he nodded and went to inform his warriors.

“Well done, Shelim,” Larn said nodding his approval.

Shelim was still upset. “This is a waste of time, Larn, and you know it! Ingharr will never listen to us and especially not to Mazel—” he broke off and grudgingly nodded. “But it is our duty to try.”

“Perhaps he will listen. When Ingharr hears about the attacks he’ll have to listen,” Larn said, but even he sounded doubtful.

Shelim wasn’t doubtful; he knew the Dragon’s arrogance would hinder their efforts. If it didn’t end it altogether, he would be vastly surprised.

They rode north for three days before they found evidence of the Hasian’s passage across the plain with their own eyes. The smoke on the horizon had Mazel turning his people in that direction without stopping. The smoke made Shelim nervous, he hadn’t seen anything to worry about in the mirror this morning, but then, he hadn’t seen this smoke either. He fumbled in his medicine pouch and retrieved his mirror. Emma was riding with him this morning and held the mirror carefully while he attempted to call an image while riding. It was unbelievably hard to do, but he managed it finally.

“The picture isn’t very good, father!” Emma called out over the wind of their passage.

He sighed. Neither Emma nor Amara had given up their foolishness. He had stopped scolding them days ago. All he could do was hope they found someone else at Denpasser.

“It’s the best I can do while riding. Can you see anything of the outclanners?”

“Oh yes look! They’re burning the tents, and everyone is dead like… like mama and papa,” she said sadly.

He stroked her hair as he tried to see the image over the top of her head. It was dark and shaky, but it was there. The camp was larger than the last one. He could see the horses being driven north already. A small group of outclanners were burning the tents, but where before there had been survivors; this time there was nothing but a heap of burned corpses.

“Can you see any of our people?” he asked as he moved the image around the camp.

“No, they’re all gone to the God, father.”

Gone to the God. Emma had picked up the saying from him when he said that about her parents.

“Give me the mirror and hold tight,” he said and stuffed the mirror back into his pouch.

He kicked Nyx into a gallop and raced ahead. He ignored Larn’s cry of surprise as he attempted to reach Mazel before they ran headlong into a battle. The outclanners had twice their number, but Mazel might end this thing right here if he chose wisely. The chief was talking to some of his warriors, but he broke off when he saw Shelim’s urgency.

“What’s amiss?”

“Everything these days, but Navarien’s men are just ahead. The entire camp is dead this time. Some of his men are still setting the fires.”

“How many in the camp?” Mazel demanded.

“About a hundred I would say,” he said with a hard grin.

“Right!” Mazel turned and started telling off warriors and they peeled away, galloping in a dozen different directions at once.

Shelim nodded his approval. Mazel intended to destroy the outclanners at the camp first. After that, they would see what could be done about the larger group. Mazel had chosen the obvious move of putting his warriors between the two outclanner forces, and then hitting what was left of the camp from two directions at once. It would cause the Hasians some confusion, but the main reason for doing it this way was to ensure the main body didn’t interfere. Any move by Navarien’s men to rescue those left at the camp would be seen, and that would give Mazel plenty of time to flee. Hit and run was a favourite clan raiding tactic, and Mazel had instinctively planned to use it here.

“You and Larn stay back with your girls, Shelim. Keep an eye on the main body of outclanners and watch for any trying to escape.”

Shelim wanted to protest, but he did have the children to think of. He nodded reluctantly. Larn was using his mirror to watch the fight, and Shelim divided his time between the images called forth and his real world view of the camp.

Mazel rode forth with half his warriors, the other half were already in position and began moving in toward the ruined camp when he did. The outclanners hadn’t noticed anything yet—correction one had. He watched as an older man began shouting to his comrades. Shelim was impressed at the speed of the outclan warriors. One moment they were afoot lighting fires, the next they were mounted and attempting to flee. Even fleeing they were disciplined. There was no scattering, instead they formed a long line and charged.

Mazel was taken by surprise at the courageous move, but very few outclanners managed to break out even so. A hundred outclanners against two hundred and fifty clan warriors had little chance, but no chance at all with a second troop charging them from behind. The two troops slammed together and pinned the outclanners between them. Shelim threw two small fireballs and incinerated both escaping outclanners, but no more made it through on his side.

Larn stood abruptly and threw fireballs high into the air without seeming to aim. He was gazing at the mirror the entire time. Shelim watched the fireballs rise in an arc then fall on the far side of the camp. The image in the mirror told him why. The enemy had been slammed so hard between Mazel’s forces that some few outclanners had squirted out the ends like honey from between two slices of bread. Larn was using the mirror to aim his fire, and to Shelim’s surprise, it was working very well. The fireball appeared in the mirror an instant before it grounded. He felt sorry for the horses, but the pain was over very quick. One moment a man and horse was galloping like the wind, the next a cloud of ash replaced them. Larn was very powerful indeed. He had always known that about Larn, he was the strongest shaman they had, but knowing and seeing were two different things.

“And that is how we deal with murdering outclanners!” Larn growled nodding as the ash blew away.

Shelim shivered at the excitement in Larn’s eyes. Kerrion had told him once that he liked using his magic too much, but he hadn’t really understood what he meant. The magic was so wonderful, it was completely understandable for a shaman to enjoy using it, but it should not be pleasurable to kill no matter how the killing was done.

“Better see what Navarien is doing Larn—Larn!”

Larn blinked at him. “Hmmm?”

“Better see what Navarien is doing don’t you think?”

“Yes. Yes you’re right, forgive my lack of attention.”

“There’s nothing to forgive Larn, but I really think you should consider using your magic less my friend. You seemed… I don’t know, you seemed mesmerised as if you were divining and not just holding it just then.”

Larn’s face froze. “Thank you for the concern, but I’m not an apprentice to be told how to live. I’ve told Kerrion and now I’m telling you: I decide when and how to use my magic, not you.”

He backed off. You just couldn’t help some people. “What is Navarien doing?”

Larn blinked at the subject change, but turned back to the mirror.

Shelim sighed in relief and turned to watch Mazel finishing his fight. Sadly, there were empty saddles among Mazel’s troop now. He tried to estimate the number and reluctantly came to a figure of over thirty. It was hard to be sure as riderless horses were running all over the place, but thirty looked about right. Mazel regrouped and began to lead his men out of the camp.

Larn suddenly cursed and threw a fireball very high into the air heading north. Shelim found the reason in the mirror. Perhaps five hundred outclanners were riding back toward the camp at a full gallop. How they had known they were needed was irrelevant now, but Shelim thought the culprit might have been a loose horse. He grasped his magic and chose to strike one of two men in the lead. He seemed different from the others. He was wearing black robes instead of armour. Armour wouldn’t stop fire in any case, but he threw two of his strongest fireballs at the man just because he was different from the others. He might even be Navarien himself, the man who had caused so much grief for the clans.

One could hope.

Mazel reined in and watched in awe as fireballs rose into the air one after another and disappeared northward. Larn was having no difficulty, but Shelim was straining to reach so far.

“I think we should ride away Mazel,” he said between fireballs.

The target was so far away that his first fireball had yet to land when his fourth left his hand. He stopped throwing when Larn did to watch the mirror. The fireballs dropped into the picture and struck the ground behind the outclanners.

“We missed!” Shelim shouted angrily.

“Not yet, the first ones were almost certain to miss. The outclanners are riding closer don’t forget.”

He frowned and shook his head at his stupidity. He was ashamed of himself. All of his would miss because he hadn’t taken into account that the outclanners were closing the distance while the balls were in flight. He grasped his magic and threw four more fireballs, but staggered their targets to make up for his error.

Larn raised an eyebrow but nodded when he saw his earlier attack missing.

Larn’s fire struck the outclanners all along the length of their column, but he yelled in shock when the telltale blue light of a ward flared to life. The only other time Shelim had seen something like this, was when he fought Duren. The ward was like a warrior’s shield but made of magic. Unlike the one Duren had used, this one was huge! It was protecting all of the outclanners and their attacks were wasted against it.

“We have to leave right now!” he yelled when the last fireball failed to penetrate the shield.

Mazel required no urging, but it was too late. Fireballs appeared and dropped into the burning camp and then advanced toward them. Mazel yelled and everyone scattered except the two shamen. Shelim erected his shield and extended it over his friend and both the girls who were clutching them both in fear. Larn snuffed out the fireballs as the warriors made good their escape, while Shelim concentrated on holding the shield. Fireballs pelted the shield and he groaned as the magic was absorbed; the strain of holding the shield grew. If the fight kept on, it would become unmanageable just like last time.

“We have to retreat!”

Larn let the badly aimed fireballs through and clouds of steam erupted as they vaporised the snow, and then quickly mounted to follow Mazel. They were far behind and losing ground fast as the chief led his men away at the gallop. The horses didn’t like the shield or the fire that burst around it, but so far they hadn’t tried to bolt. The girls were frightened but they were coping. Shelim was proud of them. He looked back and found the outclanners with his unaided eyes; they were closing. Instead of using fireballs, he chose to use his fire lance. It had worked against Duren. He wanted to heat the outclanner’s shield until it failed. A moment later Larn’s much stronger magic added its fury to his… dwarfed his really. He was putting as much effort into his shield as he was into the fire, but Larn had no such constraint, he was using every scrap he could draw to break through to the outclanners. It wasn’t enough to kill them, but it was enough to make them break off pursuit.

Shelim kept his fire raging toward the outclanners until he lost the range. Once he was certain he could no longer hit the enemy, he let his fire go, but he kept the shield up. Larn’s range was greater than his, but soon he too could no longer reach the outclanners and reined his fire in.

“I must practice your shield, Shelim. We would all be dead without it,” Larn said panting. His face was pinched from the effort expended on his magic.

“I have told you before. Every time someone tries to copy my shield they spend the rest of the day lying down groaning in pain.”

“I don’t care about that, I have to have one. I have to!”

He shrugged. If the truth were told, all shamen needed one. He wondered if Kerrion had succeeded in making his yet. At least this time the shield hadn’t reached the point where it threatened to escape his grasp, but it was still uncomfortable. He hesitated, but…

“Why not?” he mused.

“What?” Larn said but his mouth snapped shut as Shelim allowed the shield to discharge.

Instead of wasting the magic by aiming it into the sky like last time, he aimed it back at the outclanners. He had no thoughts of actually hitting them, he had left his range far behind, but he thought the gesture a good one. A solid bar of magic roared back toward the outclanners and almost instantly smashed into the shield covering them. It felt as if he was trying to push Nyx forward as the magic howled and rushed back. The thunderous roar drowned out Larn’s gasp of shock. Shelim could hear the teeth grinding in his head as he struggled to prevent the bar from swinging sideways and killing his friends. The shield was trying to spin like a wheel on its axle. He envisioned himself as the axle and tried to clamp the cursed thing solid.

That he’d hit the outclanners at such a distance testified to the amount of magic the shield had absorbed, but although the outclanner’s shield was flaring and crackling in distress, the cursed thing was still holding! Whoever the outclan shaman was, he was cursed powerful! Finally, after what seemed an eternity but was actually moments only, the bar of magic stuttered then strengthened for a moment before winking out altogether. Shelim’s jaw was aching and he was sweating in the cold air as he let his now quietly humming shield go. It disappeared with a sizzle and snap like a log on the campfire.

Larn blinked and snapped his mouth shut with an audible click.

Mazel was waiting for them a few leagues ahead. His outriders gave up their positions as they saw their shamen riding in, and fell back covering their flanks until they were all again concentrated waiting for their chief to speak.

“How can a warrior fight such a horror as fire falling from the sky?” Mazel said.

The warriors nodded and wondered aloud where the honour was to be found in such a fight. Shelim opened his mouth to speak angrily, but Mazel silenced him and the warriors with an upraised hand.

“I do not accuse them of dishonour,” Mazel said. “Never would I, but especially not when through their actions alone we are still breathing. I say they did what was needful. Honour is to be found between two men at challenge, or between two clans raiding for horses. There is no honour to be found in war, and war is what we now have.” He turned his attention back to the shamen. “What I would know is this: how will the clans win against fire from the sky?”

He looked at Larn who shrugged. Shelim wondered what Kerrion would want him to say at this point. Should he say that shamen would protect the warriors and thereby shame them, or should he say what he was coming to believe would happen? Did his words even matter? Although he was young for a shaman, he thought they did.

“I don’t know if we can win this war,” he began. “The Protectorate, from whence Navarien comes, is huge. They have many warriors, and many shamen. They fight as one and care not for honour. Winning or losing this war is all they care about, and I’m very afraid it will be win.”

Angry shouts and name calling erupted, but Shelim was not angry. This sort of thing proved his words. Navarien had complete obedience, which in a war would win battles. The clans could not live that way—rather they would not. Navarien would win, because he didn’t care how many died to achieve his aims. Would it be better to become like him and win the war, only to lose what made the clans what they were? Shelim was almost certain it would be better for the people to vanish from the memory of the land rather than have that happen—almost. He looked into Emma and Amara’s eyes and could not make himself say it would be better to die.

“Silence!” Mazel shouted, but if anything the noise increased. “The God curse you all, I said silence!”

The noise abated as if cut with a knife. If anyone else had said that, there would be a challenge. As it was, one or two warriors looked ready to do just that.

Fools, Shelim thought sadly.

“Shelim has spoken what we all fear and you know it! How many of you did not fear they would die when they saw fire falling upon them? If any of you say you weren’t afraid, then I call you a liar and we fight in challenge!” Mazel said catching and holding as many eyes as he could. None could hold his for long before turning away. “No one? That is good. I do not wish to kill my own warriors when I need every one I have!” Mazel turned back to Shelim. “You have spoken our fears aloud, Shelim, but now I would hear how those fears can be made small.”

“The only way I see is for the clans to become as one, but that will not happen. Dragon cannot abide Horse; Horse cannot abide Dragon. Night Wind feuds with Horse, and Snake feuds with everyone, and on and on and on. How can we defeat Navarien when we are too busy defeating ourselves?”

“This is why you came to us to begin with.”

“Kerrion saw this time in his visions,” he agreed. “He tried to make the chiefs listen in council at Denpasser two summers ago, but they would not hear him. He sent me to persuade the tribes to head for Denpasser early, but it wasn’t until the Lost flooded the plain that the chiefs began to listen, and then there was the destruction of the Panawyr and panic set in. Now all but Dragon and Horse Clans are at Denpasser, but all they do is argue.”

“You know this?”

“I have seen it in visions and more recently in the mirror. Nothing has been decided—nothing at all!”

The warriors looked at each other uneasily and argued among themselves about what was best to do. Most seemed to be of the opinion they should ride and attack Navarien now, a few said they should seek Dragon Clan, but one, the most important one here, had made a decision.

Mazel raised his hands for silence. “We ride home to the clan, and from there we take all the tribes to Denpasser. I will put a stop to this arguing and in spring we will kill every outclanner on the plain!”

The roar from the warriors was deafening, but Larn was asking about Dragon Clan.

“They will have to come on their own!” Shelim shouted, but he knew they wouldn’t. Their arrogance would blind them to the need.

Larn shook his head, but he was defeated. Dragon Clan would fight alone until the spring; Mazel had decided it.

* * *

8 ~ New Orders

Despite Demophon’s earlier stupidity, Navarien thought his winter campaign had gone surprisingly well. The non-combatant losses on the second attack were to be regretted, but wouldn’t be repeated. He had admonished Demophon not to repeat his over eager use of fire, and although it was obvious the man did not like it, so far he had followed orders.

The destruction of Corbin’s eighth maniple by magical bombardment had been shocking in its suddenness, but Demophon had done an outstanding job in preventing further loss of life. His ward had been a lovely piece of work. Built to move with the legion as it galloped to relieve the now destroyed eighth maniple, it had performed flawlessly. The sorcerer hadn’t needed to do more than kill an over eager shaman now and then since that attack, which satisfied both of them. Demophon wasn’t such a bad sort once you got to know him. Navarien supposed a sorcerer’s training might have something to do with the abrasiveness the average sorcerer showed the world.

Navarien remembered his long ago conversations with Lucius. Everyone called his friend the traitor now, but never him. He and he alone, knew what went on during those terrible days below Athione’s walls. Lucius had told him once that sorcerers were recruited when they were children and how they were tortured and abused to keep them in line. Navarien had already known about them being recruited young of course, but he hadn’t known the rest of it. After the retreat from Athione back to Athinia, he had made it his business to learn more of what Lucius had told him and had sought out a man willing to confirm Lucius’ story. Lucius hadn’t told him half of what went on under Castle Black. Beatings and torture were just two of the things used to train a sorcerer. No, he was not surprised they acted as they did. Belgard, the foul bastard, was to blame for all that went wrong during those days, not poor Lucius.

“Did you say something, Sir?” Corbin whispered.

“Hmmm?” he said looking across his saddle at Corbin. He had five hundred men dismounted waiting for the others to get in position. “Oh, nothing important, I was just thinking Demophon has done us proud.”

Corbin nodded. “Glad he was there when that fire or whatever it was hit us! I nearly fell off my horse when I saw it roaring toward me, but he just put up his hand and splat! The stuff hit the ward, and all the while he was grinning like a loon. He was enjoying himself, I swear!”

Navarien chuckled imagining the scene, but then he remembered the sorcerer blasting all those people in the middle of the camp in retribution for one man’s stupid act of rebellion. The arrow had no chance of hitting him in any case; it had turned to ash the moment it struck his ward.

“How long has it been, Corbin?”

“About a candlemark, Sir,” Corbin said looking at the sun as it made its way toward sunset.

That was about right. “I think we should get the men mounted ready to go.”

“Right Sir!” Corbin said with excitement.

Navarien mounted his horse ready to charge the camp. He had already decided this would be the last one of these raids. They had so many horses now that he hardly had enough men to herd them north. He hadn’t counted them, but he must have three for each of his men by now. Eight thousand or more horses should be enough, but he only had a single battalion here to care for them. What if they were attacked on the way? No, this was the last one—for now.

“There Sir, the signal!” Corbin pointed at a tiny ball of light shooting skyward.

“At the gallop, forward!” he roared and spurred his horse at the gallop.

His men thundered after him into the camp. Fires were starting on the other side, which had become the standard attack pattern on these raids. It was probably time to change it again. If they didn’t, they might find the warriors ready and waiting next time. There was nothing like fire near flammable tents to bring everyone running. The camp had been quiet until now, but it didn’t take the warriors long to get themselves organised. Arrows started flying and striking shields as the men rode the warriors down.

Navarien blinked in surprise at the arrow standing out of his armour, but it hadn’t penetrated and he swung his sword to decapitate the bowman. Just moments seemed to pass and he was galloping out the other end of the camp.

“Corbin!”

“Sir!”

“Rally the men for the next pass. You know what to do,” he yelled panting and trembling in excitement.

“Yes Sir, same as usual,” Corbin grinned and turned his horse to collect his sergeants.

Navarien watched as Demophon’s fire reached out to the tents encircling the camp. “At the gallop!” he screamed over the roar of the flames.

The clansmen were ready this time, but as usual, they concentrated in the centre of the camp away from the fires. There were more warriors in this camp than in the other six they had hit, but it didn’t surprise him. They had run out of small tribes just the other day.

Demophon rode to Navarien’s side and raised a hand in greeting. “Same as all the others!”

He nodded. “You know, I’m surprised?”

“How so?”

“The warriors in the cities are degenerate clansmen, but they were still excellent warriors. I assumed the real clans would be better—their reputation points to it, but look at them.”

They turned to watch as the scene played itself out as it had every time. The warriors were protecting their families in the centre while Corbin’s men kept them pinned. The warriors were firing their bows and then dying nailed by thrown javelins. It didn’t take them long to realise they were defeated. They lowered their weapons but did not surrender them. Navarien had given orders that no one was to attempt disarming them after the first time they tried, and so far the order had paid off. They clansmen would fight to the death rather than surrender arms, but give them a chance to stand down and they would see reason most of the time.

Demophon stared at the scene trying to see what was wrong with it. “I don’t understand. Doesn’t it make sense for them to give up when they’re beaten?”

“That’s what I mean. It does make sense to us, but it didn’t to the warriors in the city. I’m disappointed I suppose,” he said and grinned.

“Disappointed!” Demophon said in amazement, “Why disappointed?”

“I expected better from them. We have nine hundred; they have two thousand, yet we took them easy. It doesn’t make sense! Where are the clans that can hide behind a blade of grass and kill a bison with their bare hands?”

“Perhaps their reputation is overblown.”

“If these are anything to go by then it is, but I’m not going to bet on it. The camps are all small; I want more men before going up against a larger one. We’re heading back to Calvados. I have a feeling I’m not going to be disappointed the next time we meet a clan.”

“Far be it from me to speak against strong feelings. Besides, this is the last smallish one I could find.

“That’s the other reason I want more men.”

Demophon laughed and they rode out of the camp together. The tents were all blazing now. Navarien tried to ignore the wails of the women and children as they found their menfolk dead. He blocked it out and looked steadfastly ahead.

Nightfall found them riding north with most of the men herding the horses before them. They were perhaps a day out from Calvados now, but he decided to ride through the night in hopes of reaching the city by dawn. It was overly optimistic of him, but not by much. The sun had been shining wanly down on his column for two candlemarks when the city was sighted. The men were in good spirits, and didn’t complain about the lack of food and sleep.

“Here we are Sir, home again. Well, home for this season at least,” Corbin said cheerfully.

“Humph!” Navarien said standing in his stirrups to ease his numb backside. “I hate horses!”

Corbin laughed. “Just last season you hated marching!”

“Well… that was then,” he said with a grin. In truth, they all preferred riding, but they had been absent from the saddle for roughly a year before the taking of Calvados. Why did it have to be so cursed painful?

“We’ll herd the horses inside the walls for now, Corbin. I don’t want someone to steal them. Not after all the work put into this. Cragson can sort them out while we sleep for a few days.”

“Right you are!” Corbin said looking forward to his bed.

The gates of Calvados rumbled open well before they arrived. The horses were driven inside and away to whatever destination Cragson had deemed appropriate. Navarien had no concerns where Cragson was concerned.

He was suddenly weary beyond measure, but he sat straight in his saddle to one side of the gate to see all his men safely inside. The men were drooping now, as he was, but the salutes were crisp as they entered the gate. The difference from the last time they had ridden into Calvados was striking. They had been beaten then, it mattered not that they had taken the city. More than six in ten had died on that campaign; a campaign that culminated in three new cities under Mortain’s sway, and only three thousand men from the Fifth Legion still breathing.

Sergeant Davin was the last man through the gate. “That’s all the lads, General. Orders?”

“To bed for two days, Davin, and then light duties under Captain Turner until further notice.”

“Thank you, General!” Davin said with a salute and a wide grin. He rode on.

“They’re good men,” Corbin said.

“They are,” Navarien agreed, but he couldn’t help thinking of Lewin—Sergeant Lewin now, as he screamed into his general’s face that they had all been the best until led to die at Calvados.

“General?”

“Hmmm?”

“Might as well head in Sir,” Corbin said nodding at the empty gate.

He nodded, but looked around for Demophon.

“He went on ahead Sir,” Corbin offered, somehow divining whom he was searching for.

“Fine, lead the way Corbin.”

Corbin nodded and turned his horse through the gate.

Navarien followed slowly and stopped just inside. Corbin continued unaware that he had halted.

“Lock her up tight, Rahil,” Navarien called to the legionnaire closest him.

“Yes Sir, if you get out of my way like,” Rahil said nodding at the space cleared of snow needed to close it.

He smiled and moved his horse forward to exit the cleared area. Snow was deep on the road, but it seemed Cragson had been keeping the main street clear. The rest of the city was buried in the stuff up to his horse’s barrel. With no one living along those thoroughfares, there was no point in clearing them. One road from the gate to the central square was enough for their purposes. Calvados fairly screamed of emptiness as the huge gates boomed shut. He winced at the reminder; he couldn’t help thinking of the children in the wagons as they left the city in a blizzard. He watched the bar crunch down and nodded his approval. His men were safe again—for now. He was about to move on when Rahil hailed him.

Navarien looked down in surprise. “What is it?”

Rahil was a little red, perhaps embarrassed to be talking to the general, or perhaps it was just the bite in the wind. “It’s not my place to say, Sir, but I think you should sneak in and talk to the Over Captain afore bed.”

His eyebrows went up at that. “Why is that?”

“Well Sir, it’s the fleet you see and—”

“All right, Rahil, a full report if you please,” Navarien ordered.

Rahil braced to attention and began his report in the legion fashion. He was evidently relieved to be able to leave small talk and conversation behind.

“Yes Sir! The fleet was sighted three days ago. There were hundreds of ships! I didn’t know we had so many,” Rahil said in awe.

“Yes, yes,” he said impatiently. “Finish the report man.”

Rahil blushed redder still. “Sorry Sir. Like I said, there are hundreds of ships, and they’re much bigger than those bastid boats—sorry Sir. They’re much bigger than them as brought us north last year. There was food, and swords, and shields, and javelins, and… and everything you could name, all pouring off them boats. So much, we had trouble moving it all! Then there are the new lads. I swear there are three legions of them, and every one green as summer grass! You wouldn’t believe the state some of them were in—”

Oh yes he would, he thought with a grin. He hated boats. He’d been sick as a dog every day of the trip to Camorin.

“—seen so many of them black robed buggers!”

“Sorcerers were with the men?”

“Yes Sir. There are hundreds!”

Navarien’s heart sank. Hundreds of sorcerers to deal with, but perhaps Rahil was exaggerating. Yes, the more he thought about it the more he believed he had to be exaggerating. Why, hundreds of boats would have to be the entire Protectorate fleet! Three legions… thirty thousand men? No, he had to be mistaken; he had to be.

“Is that all?”

Rahil gaped, and then snapped his mouth shut. “All Sir? It’s enough I’m thinking, but it ain’t all, no Sir. The Lord Sorcerer made all them black robes help Captain Turner with the fort. You should have heard the fuss they made!”

Now he knew Rahil had to be wrong. Sorcerers working alongside legionnaires; it was cursed unlikely! But… but what if? Better see Cragson and see what was really going on.

He returned Rahil’s salute and rode to the square. He hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary until then, but he gaped at what he saw upon entering the square. Turner’s building site had been transformed.

When he had led Seventh Battalion out on the raids, Captain Turner had been struggling to build a fort with too few men. Now the site was a hive of activity. Thousands of men scrambled over walls that rose before his eyes. He blinked in dumbfounded amazement when he noticed Turner’s cranes standing abandoned and stones weighing as much as his horse rising into the air unassisted. That was when he realised his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. Black robed forms stood in what looked like groups of twenty apparently doing nothing, but where they stood, stones were rising on their own. Magic was lifting them, it had to be that, but who could possibly force this many sorcerers to work like this?

“I’ll have to apologise to Rahil,” he murmured. He automatically calmed his horse when a stone was pounded to dust nearby with no one but him near it.

Navarien watched as legionnaires—Turner’s crafter maniple, raced in to scoop up the dust. “Mortar, they’re making mortar with the dust,” he said to himself and was pleased he was able to understand this one thing.

The fortress walls were climbing as he watched. Small figures were running along the top of the walls, unmindful of the huge stones hovering over their heads. Buckets of mortar were poured before they signalled the sorcerers to lower the stones one after another. The wall climbed by another tier as quick as that.

The men rushed to abandon their places on the wall as a shrilling whistle blared. Cragson was blowing a tiny flute over and over.

“What by the God for—” he began as the noise irritated his tired brain, but the explanation soon became apparent.

The sorcerers played their fire over the walls as soon as the men were clear.

He had never seen magic so gently and creatively used. It was exciting to watch. This must be what the God intended magic to be used for, not killing and destruction, but building—making the world better.

Think what could be done with this, he thought as the fire winked out and an icy wind blew against the shimmering stones to cool them.

Cragson blew his flute after conferring with a young man in black robe, and the men scrambled up their ladders to pour fresh mortar. Stones again rose into the air and the entire procedure played itself out again before Navarien’s eyes. He was entranced, but he snapped awake when someone called to him.

“You want to climb down, Sir?” Captain Meran shouted over the explosion of noise as more stones were pounded to dust.

Navarien winced as the cursed whistle blew again, and climbed down. Meran bellowed to a man and the horse was taken away from the square for a rub down and some food.

“Amazing ain’t it?”

“By the God yes!”

Meran laughed. “You should have seen it the first day—chaos, Sir! Cragson said this, Turner said that, and the Lord Sorcerer insisted on the other thing. Sorted it out in the end, but it was touch and go for a while. There’s one sorcerer, Odelyn is his name—never seen a bigger pain in the arse, begging your pardon, Sir. He’s worse than a hundred Lewins!”

“A hundred! That bad eh? I hope I don’t meet him then.”

“No chance you could be that lucky, Sir. He’ll seek you out, you can count on that!”

No doubt, he thought tiredly. The flames were again playing over the walls drying the mortar gently. The heat radiating from the stone had melted the snow all round, and even the roofs nearby were clear. Someone had anticipated even that. Buckets and barrels of water ringed the square, and had men dipping some out for a drink now and then. They were there to supply the mortar crews, who were dumping buckets full into large vats with stone dust and other things following. Even here, a sorcerer was using magic to stir the mixture.

“It’s incredible. Whoever the Lord Sorcerer is, he must be a terror to make them work like this.”

“He’s a gentle sort if you ask me. Wotan is his name. That’s him there, see?” Meran pointed to the sorcerer next to Cragson.

“I’ll have a chat with him shortly, but I need a report from you so I don’t make an arse of myself. Rahil told me some, but I must admit I didn’t believe it. Hundreds of ships, and thousands of men…” he shook his head in disbelief. “Report Meran, but be gentle with me, I don’t think I can stand another shock,” he said with a tired grin.

Meran chortled. “The fleet arrived with almost two hundred ships of all shapes and sizes. Some had the sorcerers on them—we have nigh on two hundred of them. Then there are the new lads—twenty five thousand of them, about half fully trained, the others are green as grass. Not to worry though, we have Captains Tikva, Bannan, and Duer training the worst half. They’re over to the north, just outside the walls.

“Turner is running things here with my boys chipping in, and Cragson’s overseeing the lot. Captain Calva was delighted to have a battalion to run again Sir; he’s getting to know his sergeants and men on the wharf. They’re finishing the unloading. The Lord Sorcerer says the ships will be returning to Banswara straight away, but they’ll be back in late spring with people who want to live here. It won’t be long before this place is alive again.

“Captain Turner did take one liberty, Sir. He redoubled the size of the fort when he saw how many will be living in it. Lucky the east and north foundations weren’t set.”

Navarien smiled in relief. That was one less problem to worry about. “Turner has my complete confidence. If he thinks double is what is needed, then it’s double—besides, it’s hard work arguing with him!”

Meran grinned. “That’s about it, Sir.”

“Not quite,” he said. “You haven’t mentioned the generals of the other two legions. We have, what, twenty seven thousand men?”

Meran nodded. “Ermmm, it’s about twenty eight with the sorcerers and the odds and sods, Sir.”

Navarien nodded. “Twenty eight battalions. That’s three legions near enough.”

Meran blinked and grinned as he realised something. “That would be you, Sir. Everyone here is Fifth Legion—every soul.”

Navarien snapped his mouth shut. By the God! What couldn’t he do with twenty eight battalions and two hundred sorcerers? He could take Camorin and Deva with that many. He frowned. That had to be the plan he realised. What other reason could there be for trebling his strength?

“Right then. I have a lot of planning to do, Meran. You go back to whatever you were doing. Mortar was it?”

“Yes Sir,” Meran saluted and off he went.

Navarien’s thoughts were whirling. He could give half to Cragson, but they would be out of contact that way. Twenty eight battalions—would it be better to keep them like that? No, he would have so many captains to deal with he would be talking forever. Halve them? Hmmm, two thousand per battalion… he would still need four new captains.

He pursed his lips in thought. How about twenty eight maniples per battalion? That would work very well. Corbin would be ecstatic commanding almost a third of a standard legion. It would be good for him to learn how much harder it was to keep control of so many men. It would also be easier to plan his campaign using his accustomed ten battalions, he admitted to himself.

He walked slowly into the chaos thinking hard. He didn’t try to dodge the rushing men, he was more likely to cause an accident rather than avoid one that way. Instead, he kept a straight cause toward Cragson and allowed the men to dodge him. Was he being lazy? Would twenty eight battalions work better against the clans? He shook his head, no that didn’t feel right. Ten strong battalions were better than twenty eight weaker ones any day.

Navarien stood behind Cragson unnoticed, but not by the sorcerer standing next to Wotan. Bodyguard, Navarien thought with a frown. The man was older than Wotan but not by very much—ten years perhaps. Wotan was young for this much responsibility, but he must be powerful or he wouldn’t be lead mage.

What need for a bodyguard then?

It was strange seeing a sorcerer acting as a bodyguard, especially when his patron was a sorcerer as well. Navarien mentally shrugged the thought aside; whatever the reason, he would no doubt find out in due time. He waited until Cragson had blown his cursed flute again, and the men were climbing the scaffolding to reach the ever taller walls before speaking.

“Won’t you introduce me, Cragson?”

Cragson stiffened and turned. When he saw his general had returned, he braced to attention and saluted.

Navarien grinned as he returned the salute, but he finished the gesture with a comradely slap to Cragson’s shoulder. Wotan was watching with a small smile on his face, but his bodyguard was staring intently as if about to attack. Navarien shivered at the intense look of mayhem in those eyes. Why he should be the target for it he didn’t know—unless they had heard of his dislike for sorcerers. That might be it. He had better disabuse this man of his hostility, he decided.

“—is General Navarien. General, this is your new lead mage the Lord Sorcerer Wotan, and his… companion Magar,” Cragson said indicating each man.

Navarien bowed and shook each man’s hand. Wotan was genuinely pleased to meet him, he decided, and he found that he reciprocated. Anyone who could motivate this kind of effort was worth knowing. Magar on the other hand had not changed his opinion; at least Navarien thought he had not. Magar was watching him as if he saw the words enemy stamped on his forehead. Maybe he saw everyone that way.

“I’m impressed, my lord sorcerer. I mean that sincerely. I’ve never seen such industry from so many men at once.”

Wotan nodded his thanks. “Call me Wotan, won’t you?”

He tried not to frown. The last time a sorcerer had said that was when Belgard had thrown his legion to the wolves.

“If you wish it, Wotan,” he said with a nod. “I’ve already received some reports from my men, but have you new orders for me?”

“I have them, General, but I think your study would be the better place for such discussions. I can meet you there in a few moments. I have to hand over the work to Odelyn first.”

Navarien bowed acceptance. “I would have you there with me, Cragson. Give your flaming flute to one of the others and follow me up would you?”

“Yes Sir,” Cragson said grinning at the distaste he showed toward his noisemaker.

“In a short while then my lo… Wotan,” he said stumbling over Wotan’s title.

“Yes, General, soon.”

Navarien turned away and made for the hostel. Even here, changes had been made. The lower room with his map table had been reorganised and the tables replaced in their original places. The maps were now pinned to a large easel. More of Turner’s work by the look of it. Navarien didn’t know what he felt about all the changes made without him, but this one was useful. The captains and sergeants had room to sit at the tables while viewing the maps directly ahead, instead of leaning over each other as before.

He took a long look at the standards pinned to the map, and nodded. They were up to date, but many of the pins had just a piece of parchment on them indicating numbers, rather than the miniature standards that were usually used. He would have the men carve some more to represent their maniples.

He studied the map. It was as Meran said; Tikva, Duer, and Bannan were to the north with their men and nearly ten thousand of the new arrivals. That meant he had almost thirteen thousand outside the walls and training hard. It was still hard to believe. Thirteen thousand was more men than he had ever commanded, yet it was less than half under his present command! Someone had thoughtfully pinned a sheet of parchment to the upper right hand corner of the map stating the composition of the legion, and all the supplies on hand.

He amended the number of horses with a piece of charcoal. Instead of a thousand horses, it now read: nine thousand approx. He nodded at the figure and wondered how many horses the clans had nearby. Enough for twenty-eight thousand? He doubted that very much. It looked as if the ideas he had bounced off Tikva on their way to Calvados would be put into practice.

Combined infantry/cavalry campaign? No, that didn’t sound right somehow. Combined arms campaign? That sounded better, but how about dropping the word campaign and just calling it combined arms? That would do he decided. He would call it that when he explained his plans to his men.

He made his way to his room to change. It didn’t look as if he would have time for sleep. Wotan was coming with his orders, and then he had to catch up on what was happening and where. After that, he had plans to make with Cragson. He would invite Tikva along as well, he decided. That boy had a good head for strategy.

* * *

Wotan watched the general enter the hostel that everyone called the General’s Place. “He seemed tired, but excited by what he saw here, wouldn’t you say?”

Cragson nodded. “Using a single battalion to take on the clans would be exhausting—especially when we can’t afford losses. As it is, that hundred he lost hurt him and not just in manpower, my lord sorcerer. He’s a good man as well as the best general ever born. He hates losing as you would expect, but he hates losing his men more.”

“What do you think he thought of our fortress?”

Cragson snorted. “It was plain to see, my lord sorcerer. He was excited by the cooperation he saw, but he feels there must be a catch. Forgive me for saying so, but the legion has been ill used in the past by sorcerers.”

Wotan frowned. “Athione you mean.”

“That was the worst time, but we had some close scrapes in Bandar a few years ago as well. Still, I think you will find us ready to work with you my lord sorcerer. It’s amazing how bad times are forgotten when good times come around again. Looking around here, I think the Fifth has entered very good times indeed!”

Wotan chuckled and excused Cragson as he went looking for someone to take charge of his flute.

“Where’s that bastard Odelyn?” Wotan muttered scanning the square.

“I haven’t seen him this morning, but if you want to hand things over to someone responsible, Anius is just over there,” Magar nodded to a middle-aged sorcerer who was busy pounding a stone into dust.

“You’re right my friend. I wouldn’t be surprised if Odelyn incinerated the legionnaires for a jest. Call Anius over would you?”

Magar hesitated, but dashed away and was back at Wotan’s side moments later.

“I’m perfectly safe, Magar, no need to dash about!” Wotan said shaking his head at his panting friend.

“I always liked running.”

“You could have called him with your magic you know.”

Magar smiled sheepishly. “I forgot.”

Wotan laughed good-naturedly at his friend’s embarrassment.

Anius handed his place to one of the others and made his way through the chaos toward Wotan. The man walked with his hands clasped and thrust out of sight within the voluminous sleeves of his robe. He was completely oblivious to the rushing men that nearly collided with him.

“What can I do for you, Wotan?” Anius said with a bow.

Wotan returned it quickly and explained.

“That’s not a problem. Where is… ah here they come now.”

Wotan turned and saw Cragson accompanying an under captain that he hadn’t yet met.

“May I present Under Captain Nissus, my lord sorcerer?”

Wotan nodded. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Nissus. This is Anius; you two will be working together for a while. I don’t want to hear of any accidents while I’m gone. Clear?”

“Yes, my lord sorcerer,” Nissus said with a nod.

“Certainly it is Wotan,” Anius said with a smile.

“Good, I won’t be long. Come with me my friends,” Wotan said to Magar and Cragson as he walked toward the General’s Place.

Wotan found Navarien sitting at his desk going through a stack of parchment. Ship manifests if he was not mistaken.

“Take a seat. Ah… I don’t appear to have enough. Would you mind standing, Cragson?”

“No Sir, I prefer—” Cragson broke off as Magar spoke.

“I will stand,” Magar said stepping beside the closed door as if guarding it, which he was of course.

“Don’t mind Magar, General. He takes the guarding of my life a little too seriously sometimes.”

“That is not possible,” grumbled Magar.

Wotan laughed. “See what I mean?”

“Ah yes I suppose…” he frowned. “Please take a seat, Wotan.”

Wotan sat opposite the general. Cragson slid a chair closer to the wall so that he had his back well clear of the window. A soldier’s reflex, or was he playing bodyguard as Magar was? The latter Wotan decided with a smile.

Wotan crossed his legs and leaned back with his hands clasped. “Well, General, here we are. I have been looking forward to meeting you ever since my father discussed your last campaign with me. Brilliant work with the siege towers by the way, and the stone thrower… amazing what can be done when there’s a pressing need. All without magic too!”

“Thank you for the endorsement, but it was Captain Turner—then Sergeant Turner—who designed and built those devices. I simply encouraged him and supplied him with what he needed.”

“Ah yes! The redoubtable Captain Turner. I met him the first day. He asked for some help lifting a walloping big stone he had his eye on. Apparently the winch kept breaking when his men tried to lift it with his crane.”

Navarien shook his head. “That sounds like Turner all right.”

“I hope you don’t mind my people mucking in down below?”

“Mind!” Navarien said in surprise. “Ah… no, not at all. To tell the truth I was surprised but very pleased to see it. Magic being used in such a manner is awesome to behold. It has always seemed a shame to me that magic is only used for destruction, but now I see the other side of the coin.”

Wotan was pleased they saw things in a similar way. “I know exactly how you feel. It is very satisfying building something that will endure long after you and I are gone.”

Navarien nodded seriously. “Well, let us discuss the next step. You have orders for me?”

“I certainly do, though I doubt you will be surprised. I noticed you have already made a start with your round up of local horses.”

Navarien nodded and reached for the sealed packet of orders that Wotan held out to him. He sat back to read, and after a few moments refolded them and handed them to Cragson to read.

That the general trusted Cragson was already evident, but Wotan was still surprised by the courtesy. They all waited until Cragson had read the parchment and handed them back before continuing the conversation.

“Would you care to read them, Wotan?” Navarien offered.

Wotan smiled at the offer. He was already beginning to trust him, just as his father said he would. Work with him, and he will come around, Godwinson had said, and here they were!

“No thank you, I already know what they contain.”

“Oh?” Navarien said with a frown as he looked at the seal.

“I know because I helped my father write them.”

Navarien stiffened, and reread the signature on the documents. “Godwinson is your father?”

“I’m afraid so,” Wotan said with a smile. “Not that paternity means anything within our ranks—just like the Legions. Lord Mortain—may he live forever—chose me to be your lead mage not my father.” Wotan leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “Actually, my father was a little miffed when he was told. He wanted me to stay with him for another few years, but I must say I was delighted with my posting. It gives me a chance to use my magic for something worthwhile.”

“Pacifying the clans will not be easy, Wotan, but I believe it can be done. I assume you watched the raids via mirror?”

Wotan nodded.

“I thought you might have. Those attacks were unbelievably easy when you compare them to what we went through in taking the cities. I doubt that will continue, but whether it does or not, I do not intend to take the chance. I have more than enough cavalry to take on the larger clan camps now. With luck and your help Wotan, I will reduce the locals’ ability to make war on us to nothing, and then move south repeating the procedure. Eventually we should cross into Deva secure in the knowledge that the clans cannot harm our rear.”

“I assume you have detailed assignments for my mages?”

“Yes I do. Demophon has already demonstrated the effectiveness of combining arms in battle. I will add a large concentration of infantry to the mix also. With a magic bombardment from the rear, quickly followed by cavalry charges, the infantry will march in and mop up—in theory at least. I won’t know how well it will work until we try it out, but once we know, we can modify the tactic until we have it as near foolproof as possible.”

“It sounds good,” Wotan said. “But have you considered what will happen when you try to charge a shaman?”

“I have thought on it of course, but have you suggestions to make?”

“I have two hundred mages of various strengths and talents,” Wotan said laying out his plans. “What I had thought to do was arrange them into groups tasked with particular parts of your plan, General. For example: I assume you will want a bombardment before sending in your cavalry?”

“Absolutely!” Navarien nodded emphatically.

“As I thought. I believe that I can guarantee the best mages for the job will be tasked to provide that for you, and another group tasked with warding, another to keep each of your battalions in communication with you and each other—the list goes on. In the past, a Legion had fifty mages that threw fire or warded themselves and that was all they did. What I propose to do is make us an integral part of your force, one with a special part to play, true, but still a definite part.”

Navarien stared hungrily at him, and Wotan smiled. What he was offering the man was nothing short of the strongest force ever assembled. Almost three legions in strength of arms, with two hundred mages not just supporting but actively participating day to day. It was no wonder he was drooling—figuratively of course.

“You will do this?”

“I will,” Wotan said simply.

“By the God! We will own Waipara in five years!” Navarien said reverently.

That, of course, was the idea, Wotan thought smugly.

* * *

Demophon poured Odelyn another glass of wine making sure to fill it to the brim.

“Here my friend, get that down and you’ll feel better about things,” he said trying to sound sympathetic and not how he really felt.

What an idiot! How had this fool ever survived the training? It was certainly a puzzle, but one that didn’t really concern his future plans for Odelyn. This fool was the perfect tool to give him the legion. The prize was even bigger than before. Who would have thought Mortain would have the guts to send so many mages and men? Certainly not he, Demophon mused.

“It should have been me,” Odelyn said guzzling his wine.

“I know it should my friend. Why is that upstart Wotan our lead mage? He’s weaker than half the others here, yet none are willing to challenge him,” Demophon said, but he already knew who Wotan’s father was.

Odelyn burped wine fumes at him, and he clenched a fist to prevent his fires from escaping. By the God, he despised drunkenness. His father had been a sot as well.

It had been a great shock to him when he found upon his return that all his hard work of ingratiating himself with Navarien was wasted. Wotan had outdone him in every department, but then again he did have two hundred mages to help him. Still, the work on the fortress was still impressive despite the numbers involved; it had taken real thought and planning to accomplish. There was no doubt Navarien would see it that way also. Demophon had thought all was lost, but then he saw the look of hatred on Odelyn’s face when Wotan wasn’t looking, and a way forward opened.

“Mortain wants him—” Odelyn mumbled.

“Mortain?”

“God… hic! Godwinson was furious they shay… say.”

He smiled pleasantly. “Do. Tell.”

“Yes… they shay… hic! Say Mortain is punishing Godwinshun fur summat he done.”

“Well, well. That is interesting. I think we should help our Lord Mortain don’t you?”

Odelyn smiled blearily. “My bestest friend…” he said before collapsing over the table.

“Friend,” Demophon said smirking, but then smoothed his face. “Odelyn my friend, my very dear friend, you are going to remove Wotan from my path.”

Yes indeed. Once done, he would remove Odelyn for the murder of their beloved lead mage, and both Mortain and Godwinson would be pleased!

Demophon laughed gleefully.

* * *

Interlude II

Godwinson turned from the view of the empty harbour to see his two closest friends sitting at their ease. “Does he know?”

Felda laughed, it was a far from pleasant sound. “He suspects everyone, of course he knows.”

Eban voiced his disagreement with a snort. “Everyone is his enemy therefore he knows? Where’s the logic in that?”

“Don’t start that—” Felda spluttered.

Godwinson turned back to his scrutiny of the harbour. Thank the God Wotan had reached Calvados safely and none of the fleet was lost. Molan was jubilant; he had braved the worst winter storms the North Sea could throw at him and he was jubilant! He truly was the best with weather, but to be able to control a storm with waves towering over the tallest masts was incredible. Frightening came more readily to mind. It was a good thing he was an ally and dedicated to the circle’s cause. If he hadn’t been he would’ve had to die of course. Molan’s storms used by Mortain as a weapon would have seen all their plans undone.

They were currently residing in Banswara as a waypoint on the continuous journey maintaining the Protectorate. The life could be exhausting, but seeing new places and faces had always appealed, unfortunately riding league upon league between town and city palled very quickly. When he was Mortain, he would be imprisoned upon Black Isle and his successor would have the job of journeyeing from city to city. If he wasn’t careful, he would be imprisoned for true—more probably dead. Mortain had contacted him just a few days ago and recalled him without giving a reason. The man was always ill tempered, but the abruptness of the contact and his manner had them all on edge. Mortain knew something, he was sure of it. They were leaving on a direct route to the Black Isle in the morning. The last time he had set foot inside Castle Black was over two years ago when he persuaded Mortain that General Navarien was an invaluable resource and should not be executed. This time he might well be begging for his own life.

“How many guardians have we weaselled out?”

Felda’s eyebrows rose. “As far as we could determine, the Fifth is free of them. The two we did find were detained until the fleet sailed. I personally berated them on their slackness. Drunk on duty, disgraceful!” Felda grinned but it wilted at Godwinson’s look. “You mean altogether?”

Godwinson nodded. “I have a bad feeling about this meeting. Mortain made no recriminations about my sending almost two legions worth of recruits to Camorin… or two hundred of our brothers. It’s not like him.”

Felda glanced at Eban and received a slight shrug. “Beltran seems to have a positive knack for finding them. He seems certain we have them all.”

“All?” Godwinson said in surprise.

“He seems very confident,” Felda said. “We have reliable people close to them awaiting your orders.”

He frowned in indecision. “Put them all on notice. I want them ready to strike the instant I give the word.”

Eban opened his mouth to question the advisability of preemptive action, but then he rethought and left his concern unvoiced. Godwinson smiled. Eban had always said this time would come, but he seemed unsure now it had arrived. It was a big step to take, but if successful, the Protectorate would enter a new stage in its journey toward dominion of Waipara.

* * *

Beltran grasped his magic and called the image. He forced a smile onto his face as Mortain stared at him.

“It is as I said.”

“You are certain?” Mortain said.

Beltran nodded. “Godwinson is ready to move against you.”

“Why now? Is it his son?”

Beltran shook his head. “We have news that Wotan has reached Calvados safely. No, it is simply time for the next step in his plan.”

Mortain’s eyes burned with rage. “I have recalled him as you advised, and now you say he will kill me!” he screamed in rage.

“He will not kill you, my lord. I will be with him on his journey.”

“Kill him now!” Mortain roared.

“I will try if you order it, my lord, but I will fail.”

Mortain’s rage fled instantly. “You are my deadliest guardian, Beltran. Why would you fail?”

“Because he is never alone. Felda is strong, almost as strong as Godwinson himself—”

“Yes, yes,” Mortain said impatiently. “I know all my mages’ strengths and weaknesses. Felda could have been Godwinson had he removed a certain man—but no matter. Make sure you accompany him here. I have something in mind that will see the end of all his plans, and this precious circle of his. All will accompany him?”

“They always do, my lord.”

Mortain nodded. “You have done well.”

The mirror cleared and Beltran dropped his ward. “I have done well? You have no idea how well, my lord. None at all.”

* * *

9 ~ War

The night was quiet, broken only by Nisim’s footfalls on crisp snow as he made his way back to camp. It was cold, and his breath smoked as he slogged through knee deep drifts toward the welcome of his tent.

“Stop right there!” a voice called. “There’s nothing for you here!”

He smiled and continued forward. “I wouldn’t say that, Garym. I live here.”

“Nisim?” the shadowy figure said stepping into the light of the moon. “I didn’t know you were out.”

“Kim was here then.”

“He should have told me. I might have shot you!”

He frowned at the bow in Garym’s hand. “Have you done that?”

“Twice. They won’t leave us alone. Can’t you talk to Methrym about it?”

“I don’t lead here, Garym. Joz does.”

Garym blew a rude noise. “Whatever you say, Nisim, but can’t you make them leave us alone?”

Nisim sighed. Why did they insist on making him responsible? Couldn’t they see he wasn’t the right person to lead them? Joz was the fighter, not him. He didn’t want to lead. He didn’t want to be responsible for anyone but himself. If they knew how bad at the job he was they wouldn’t push at him so, but he didn’t tell them about Tanni. It hurt too much.

“What does Terriss say?”

“He says we’re borderers now, and borderers fight to protect what is theirs. He says we should patrol the camp as Methrym’s men do and shoot anyone who won’t go away after they’ve been warned.”

Nisim agreed with that. “As long as you do warn them first.”

“I did, but I don’t like killing, Nisim,” Garym said and hung his head. “It made me sick.”

“If you ever begin to like it, you should stop carrying weapons.” Nisim looked back the way he came. “How many have… we killed so far?”

“About a dozen. The mistress says we should go home.”

His eyes narrowed. “The mistress has no power over you anymore. Kim should never have brought Lakshmi out of Talayan.”

“It wasn’t him. Magda insisted we bring her.”

“She should have more sense!”

“The mist… Lakshmi hasn’t caused any problems, Nisim. It’s the cursed soldiers I’m guarding against!”

He took a breath and tried to calm himself, but the thought of that woman living so close made him furious. They were no longer slaves, but Lakshmi still treated them as if they would do her bidding. The worst part was she was right. Trista, Magda, and the others were so used to doing what they were told that they obeyed Lakshmi instinctively. It was something he was determined to break them of.

“Why doesn’t Terriss guard us?”

“He has other things to worry about. The war?” Garym said as if Nisim might not be aware of it.

He was very aware of it. Tanjung was at war with Japura, and no matter what else he was, he was Japuran. He couldn’t fight his own people—rather he would not. Methrym might have his plans where the whores were concerned—Nisim was sure he did, but whatever they were, Methrym could leave him and his friends out of them. He would not fight his own people, but what about Tanjuners? It was they who were continually trying to sneak into the camp. He could fight them, couldn’t he? Terriss had been teaching all of them how to fight. He said no borderer was ever helpless and that they were all borderers now.

“I’ll go back,” he said and turned toward the city, toward Nelek.

“Nisim!” Garym shouted. “I didn’t mean now you idiot!”

He didn’t turn back. “Best get it done!”

Joz had chosen a clearing on the edge of the forest for their camp. It was a good site, chosen mainly for the trees that acted as a windbreak. As soon as Nisim cleared the last trees, he faced into the wind and slogged toward the city. Nelek was more like a walled town than a city, but then, nothing compared to Talayan. Tanjung’s cities were small compared with those in Japura, but then the empire did not have anything like the same history behind it. He supposed Nelek was a nice enough place, but he couldn’t summon much enthusiasm for it. The ruling lord didn’t like him or so many Japurans camped on his doorstep. He hated Methrym for some reason to do with his House. Politics was a serious matter in Tanjung and dangerous. He didn’t like Terriss or Joz either. In fact, the lord of Nelek liked very few people all things considered. Three separate camps on his land, two consisting of armies and one consisting of freed slaves had made him close the city to any not living there. Even Methrym was not allowed inside without an escort.

Nisim did not aim for the gates; instead, he walked toward a sentry he saw on the perimeter of Methrym’s camp. The man watched him come and escorted him to the big tent in the centre of camp. It was where Methrym made his plans and kept his maps. He ducked inside and found the War Leader working alone by lamplight. He watched from just inside the tent flap as he measured distances and jotted figures on a scrap of paper. Nisim moved quietly forward to speak with him.

“Well?” Methrym said without looking up.

“I need to speak with you.”

Methrym looked up in surprise. “Nisim! I thought you were Soren. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He studied the map. “Orrisa is a long way from here.”

“I know,” Methrym said dryly.

“You will not attack it easily. You will have every domain lord and petty prince coming down on you like wolves on a dear.”

“What makes you think I intend to attack it?”

“You were measuring distances to it,” he said.

“Not to it, from it. Talitha has an army at Orrisa that I would rather not face, but I suspect I’ll have to. I need to know how long it will take to get here.”

“It’s winter—”

“That’s no guarantee of safety, Nisim. Besides, I was talking of spring. If I can attack and push back any Japuran presence in the border regions before that army arrives on the scene, I will deprive it of supplies.”

“More burning?”

“It’s war,” Methrym said and shrugged. “I don’t want to destroy the farms and towns, but I will if necessary.” He frowned at one of the lists lying atop the map. “Do you know any of these people?”

Nisim glanced at it. “Talitha’s Strike Leaders.”

“Correct. Who will she send?”

“All of them I should think, but Wakiza is her greatest Strike Leader. It’s him you should be worrying about.”

“Exactly! Strike Leader Wakiza commands the army of Orrisa… not so?”

“It is so, but I doubt Talitha would wish to uncover Orrisa. She might well put Wakiza in charge of the war, but keep that army where it is.”

“I wouldn’t if I were her, but it’s a possibility I admit. I’ll plan for the worst, which is Wakiza and that army coming after my arse.”

“Sensible.”

“It is, is it not?” Methrym grinned. “Now then, you didn’t come here to talk about Wakiza.”

“No,” Nisim agreed. “We’ve had some trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Your soldiers sneaking into our camp looking for a good time with one of the girls.”

“You can hardly blame—”

“I can and I do,” he snapped angrily. “You will stop them, or I will.”

Methrym drew himself up. “Are you threatening me, Nisim?” he said in a deadly voice.

Nisim sighed in exasperation. “Not you, them! We are slaves no longer. We will not allow outsiders within our camp.”

“It’s partly your own fault you know. I told you about calling yourselves whores. Is it any wonder the men believe you are what you say? Names are important.”

“We’ve been whores all our lives, we’re not ashamed of it.”

“I didn’t say you were, or that you should be. Look, you say you are free now—”

“We are!”

“Why then do you insist in naming yourselves something you are not? We both know your people do not sell their services. You are no longer what you name yourselves. What point in pretending?”

He frowned and tried to explain. “The slaves you brought out of Talayan have been scattered far and wide over Tanjung, yet we are still here. We are still together. Naming ourselves whores is part of that. We are family, Methrym. That is how we think of ourselves at least. All the others are wandering alone now, but we are together. Do you see?”

“Not really. You’re saying that naming yourselves whores keeps you together?”

“Partly. By keeping the name, we remind ourselves of where we came from. None of us have left since escaping from Talayan.”

Methrym did not look convinced. “No matter. What would you have me do about your situation?”

“Order your captains to stop their men from intruding.”

“I can do that, but you know it will make no difference. Men are men, and you have the only women outside the walls of Nelek that are in any way accessible. You know what would happen if they tried for those with Terriss.”

Terriss would hang them head down over his camp fire for the women’s entertainment. He had done it before. “We can stop them for you, but I want your word that you won’t retaliate.”

Methrym pursed his lips. “You have my word that if they disobey my orders, you may deal with them as you see fit without fear of retaliation, but I want something in return.”

Nisim’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Your input in my planning, and you as your people’s captain.”

Nisim shook his head. “Joz is—”

“Joz did not live in Talitha’s palace. You did.”

“Joz is my friend and already our captain. I will not betray him by taking his place.”

“Very well. Just the planning sessions then.”

Nisim nodded reluctantly.

“Good. I’ll walk you back and we can discuss it on the way.”

Nisim slowly retraced his steps through Methrym’s camp reminiscing about days past. He spoke of his father and mother, and how it was he didn’t know if she lived.

“And your father?”

“Dead,” Nisim said. “He worked on the docks… well, in the warehouses really. I did as well.”

“I heard you lived in the palace.”

“I did, but that was much later. As a boy I worked in the warehouses and loaded the ships bound for Tindebrai. My father died in that same warehouse.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “Don’t be. He lived long for a slave. It’s my mother I wonder about. She was sold when I was a child. I doubt she still lives.”

“How did you end in the palace?”

“Jarek liked me.”

“Talitha’s chamberlain?”

“Him yes. He was looking for a certain type of slave for Talitha and thought I would please her. I was only fourteen then, but Jarek used the time until my seventeenth year to train me for my duties.”

Methrym was silent but Nisim knew he wanted to ask. He grinned into the darkness remembering that time. It was probably the best of his life.

“You can ask.”

“What?” Methrym said.

“About my training? You were wondering.”

“I don’t want to pry.”

“It’s all right; I don’t mind talking about it. I was taken to the palace and given new clothes and a set of rooms to live in. You cannot imagine what it was like for a slave like me to be suddenly elevated to living in the palace. It was like a dream. I was branded with this,” Nisim pulled his shirt aside to display the brand.

Methrym hissed. “It’s deep. That must have hurt.”

“It did,” he said and pulled his cloak back to cover himself. “It means no one may touch me but Talitha, or rather it did. I used weights to keep and increase my strength, and Jarek supplied girls to teach me what I needed to know to please Talitha… it was a wonderful time for me. I lived there for almost five years.”

“You sound like you want to go back.”

Nisim shrugged uncomfortably. “I cannot go back. If I did I would be executed.”

Methrym nodded to the sentries as they left the confines of his camp. “You cannot go back you said. That’s not the same as saying you do not wish to.”

Nisim stopped and stared toward the bridge and the woods beyond. There was movement that way; he was sure he had seen something. He strained his eyes looking for what had caught his attention.

“Nisim? Do you want to go back?”

“Have you any patrols out over the river?” he asked ignoring the question.

“No.”

“There’s someone coming… a lot of some ones!”

Methrym cursed and turned to run back to camp. Nisim followed closely on his heels as hundreds of men on horseback poured over the bridge. Methrym was shouting at the top of his lungs as he ran into camp. A few confused and tired men pushed their heads out of their tents as he ran by wondering what was happening.

“…matter with him?”

“Don’t know—”

“It’s Methrym, he looks upset—”

Methrym finally reached his tent and kicked his signaller awake. “Sound stand to, boy!”

“What… what is it… who… what?”

“Sound stand to!” Methrym roared and came back out of his tent with his sword bared.

“Yes Sir!”

Nisim winced as the boy blew his cornet as hard as he could in the pattern called stand to. The camp erupted with men half dressed but carrying swords and shields. Methrym rushed away and took charge.

“To the south!” Methrym roared. “Enemy to the south!”

Nisim watched Methrym lead his men to war and felt useless. He didn’t want to fight and perhaps kill his own people, but he didn’t want to be killed by them either. He ducked into an empty tent and came out with a sword and dagger. He didn’t know how to use either one very well, Terriss’ lessons hadn’t progressed very far, but he felt better with them in hand.

He moved around the camp and away from the fighting. He stopped to watch and cringed at the screams of the dying. Men were screaming and shouting in rage, horses were whinnying and rearing in pain. Men fell and were trampled or were simply cut down where they stood. Everything was chaos. He looked east to where his own camp lay hidden in the trees then back to the fighting and made a decision. There was no way he was joining Methrym in that mess.

He ran for home.

“What’s going on?” Garym shouted well before he reached the safety of the trees. “What’s happening?”

“Wake everyone up. The war is here.”

Garym didn’t question. He dashed off shouting for all he was worth. “Wake! Wake! The war is here! Wake!”

Nisim watched the battle stony faced. If they brought it up here, Japurans or not, he would kill them all.

* * *

Julia felt thoroughly miserable and it was all her own fault. She should have known telling Keverin she was staying with the Night Wind was a mistake. Mathius had tried to warn her, but she hadn’t listened.

She loved Keverin so much it hurt, but she had allowed herself to forget what he was. Not only was he the man she loved, he was also Lord Athione and Lord Protector of the west. It was the Lord Protector and not Keverin the man she found herself in conflict with. Lord Athione had responsibilities awaiting him at home, responsibilities he could not put aside, yet Keverin loved her as much as she loved him and needed to be where she was. The two could not be reconciled.

She should have asked him. That is all it would have taken she was sure. If she had asked him to stay for her honour’s sake, he would have. She knew he would, but somehow she found herself telling not asking and that led to his demand that she leave for Athione with him. No one demanded things of her—she never heeded demands. She had reacted angrily without thought and now things were ruined between them. She missed him terribly, though he was just a short walk away. They were not speaking, and had not for more than a few days. Keverin watched her from across the camp, a distance that felt like leagues, and she watched him with her mirror, but they never spoke.

Julia sighed and climbed to her feet. Jihan and Adrik were leaving for Deva today. She wanted to say goodbye. Jihan was in his tent packing when she ducked inside. He travelled light, but he had a few presents to take home to his wife. Her present to her friend was in those bundles somewhere. She hoped Ahnao liked it.

“There, all done,” Jihan said with a smile for her. “I will miss our talks, Julia, but I must confess I yearn for home.”

She grinned. “Love does that.”

Jihan nodded with a sober face. “Just go to him and apologise. We two have spoken. I know he regrets his harsh words. Just go to him.”

She shook her head instinctively. “If he wants to speak with me all he has to do is come to my tent.”

“An argument takes two people. They always have two sides. A wise man, or woman, should realise this and try to see the other side.”

“I do see his side. I swear I do, but I can’t let these people face Navarien without me. They saved my life, Jihan. I owe them.”

“I know you do, and Keverin has admitted his debt to them also. This argument is pure foolishness.”

“I know,” Julia said sadly, but it did not change things. Her father always said her temper would get her into trouble one day.

Jihan hefted his bundles and ducked outside with Julia following a step behind.

Adrik was chatting with Lorcan who looked downcast at their imminent separation. Their friendship was something of a surprise to Julia. Adrik was Lord Ascol now. He had met Lorcan in Devarr last year before taking his father’s seat on the council. Lorcan had nearly killed him, had in fact been debating with himself for many a day after that chance meeting. Now they were the best of friends. If anyone looked crosswise at Adrik, that person had better have eyes in the back of his head because Lorcan would be there. The boy was good at sneaking and was deadly with the dagger. He always carried one hidden about his person and, Julia suspected, he carried more than one.

Jihan tied his bundles to the back of his saddle and mounted Jezy. Adrik clasped Lorcan’s hand then climbed into his own saddle. A brief time later, Jihan and Adrik led the Malcorans out of camp and away south to Deva. Julia stood by Keverin’s side. So close, yet there was a gulf of distance between them. They watched Jihan ride out of sight before turning silently away. Julia almost said she was sorry—almost, but Keverin continued walking and did not see.

She wandered through the crowds of clansmen not really seeing them or where she was going. What was she going to do? She knew Jihan was right, but the thought of crawling to Keverin and asking for forgiveness made her so angry! She wasn’t in the wrong… but then neither was Keverin really. Athione did need him and he did have responsibilities back there. Kev had told her about Gy’s changed behaviour—about his threat to remove him from lordship of Athione, and that worried her. He needed to be in the fortress where he belonged not in Camorin.

Julia stopped and watched a weaver at her work wondering what was to be done. What she needed, she decided, was an excuse to talk to him—a peace offering. Yes! A present especially made for him. She had the perfect thing in mind, and it would thumb her nose at that pig Tobiah at the same time. That idea was damn attractive. She grinned in mischief. Keverin’s nameday was nearly here and he was touchy about his age. No, that was wrong. It was the difference in his age compared to hers that worried him. She would make him a present and they would all celebrate his nameday. So what if he was almost forty three years old, so what if he was touchy about it. She grinned again, and so what if everyone would find out!

She laughed quietly under her breath hurried away to find what she needed. Lucius would help her with the difficult part.

* * *

10 ~ Practise

Navarien pursed his lips and nodded. “This appears to be all of them,” he mused.

In one of the mirrors he could see an assemblage of camps scattered around a central and larger camp. Some of the tribes totalled little more than a dozen families, where others had many thousands of people. There were dozens and dozens of tribes, but he was unconcerned.

“All?” Wotan said glancing from the mirrors to the enemy and back. “You are sure?”

“Well no, but I think it a good possibility. Corbin’s scouts have scoured the plain and found nothing but herds of bison where the clans used to be. It seems all but Dragon Clan have left.”

“To where?”

“Denpasser of course,” he said with brows raised. “It is the only sensible destination, and a good move from their point of view. I’m sure they intend to come back and contest me en masse.”

“And you are pleased by this?”

“Certainly. The legions excel at what the clans do poorly—fight in disciplined ranks to a disciplined plan. By retiring to Denpasser and attempting to join forces, they are playing directly into my hands. Their warriors are unused to fighting as we do. Any attempt to do so will end in failure. Furthermore, we have news of ongoing feuds among the tribes.”

“Old news, General,” Wotan cautioned. “I fear we will receive nothing further from our people hidden among the clans. Somehow they were found out and dealt with.”

“No harm done. Bringing feuding warriors into close proximity is bound to cause problems for them. They would have done much better to stay separate and attack me from all sides. Their attempt to match me in my own area of expertise will be their downfall. They are simply unused to thinking the way I do.”

“You are confident, but are you overconfident?”

“I don’t think so, but that is what this test is for.”

“Combined arms,” Wotan mused, “I find it strange that no one else has fought in this way. Perhaps there is a reason for that.”

“Not so. Oh, you’re right about this exact thing never having been tried, but each component has been used successfully for centuries. Bringing them all together is a logical step. There’s nothing in the plan that will interfere with each unit’s effectiveness. Each has its task independent of the others. We are just making them perform them at the same time.”

Navarien turned back to the array of mirrors before him. This was a novel way to fight a war. He was standing beside a table under a brightly coloured awning surrounded by sorcerers talking to other sorcerers via their mirrors. He watched the clansmen mounting up and moving toward his forces; everything was going according to plan.

“You may start your bombardment when they reach there,” Navarien said pointing to a place about a third of the way between the clan camp and his earthworks. “Not before then, if you please my lord sorcerer. We want this to be a valid test of the tactic.”

“I understand,” Wotan said and turned to give his orders to his mages. A moment later, he turned back. “All have acknowledged your instructions, General.”

“Thank you,” Navarien said and watched the clansmen come. “About now wouldn’t you say?”

“Just about.”

The first fireballs rose into the air and began falling among the clansmen. Dirt and burning bodies erupted into the air. Horses went down en masse and with them their riders. It was a complete slaughter. Those hit by the fire were dead before they hit the ground, they had no chance of survival. Those lucky enough to avoid the sorcerous flames—a surprisingly large number actually, charged the sorcerers only to be met with a hail of javelins thrown from the infantry.

“I have a request from Odelyn, Wotan,” Magar said. “He wants to fire the camps.”

“No!” Navarien snapped.

Wotan eyed him coldly for just a moment before turning to Magar. “Inform Odelyn that he has his orders. Tell him to carry them out to the letter or I will send his head to Mortain in a pickle jar.”

Magar bowed and turned to give the order.

“I’m—” he began to apologise.

“Do not presume on our friendship too far, General,” Wotan said in a surprisingly conversational tone. “I am lead mage of the Fifth. You tell me what you require, and I will deliver it if I can. If I cannot, I will tell you why not. You will never embarrass me in front of my people again. Is that clear?”

Navarien glanced at Demophon across the table. He was watching the confrontation with interest. He would wager his horse that every sorcerer around the table was listening intently and perhaps planning a way to use this to his advantage.

He bowed deeply. “I apologise, my lord sorcerer. It was not my intention to usurp your authority.”

Wotan glanced aside at Magar and nodded. Magar relaxed and returned to his mirror. “Let us speak no more of it.”

He nodded and turned his attention back to the battle. Corbin was manoeuvring to bring his battalion to bear on the warriors as they regained some order, but he was unused to the added time it took for so many men to assemble. Navarien frowned in annoyance. That he had predicted this didn’t matter. Corbin was used to commanding a thousand men not three thousand. The resulting confusion was reminiscent of a battalion of raw recruits.

“Contact Corbin, if you would my lord sorcerer. Tell him to get his men out of the flaming way before I do it for him.”

Wotan smiled and did that and a moment later said, “He protests your order, General, but he will endeavour to obey—his words I hasten to add.”

Navarien snorted. “Endeavour to obey indeed. He’s been talking to Tikva again.”

“They seem good friends.”

“Hmmm,” he mumbled as he turned to a different mirror this time showing him Captain Meran’s infantry. “Thank the God for a cool head.”

Meran had aborted his planned attack in favour of a wait and see posture. With Corbin messing around in the centre and Tikva out of position, it was all he could realistically do. Another mirror showed Bannan also in difficulty. Three thousand mounted men that had been green recruits less than two seasons earlier could mess up any manoeuvre—even the charge.

“This is a flaming disaster!” Navarien said staring at total chaos in the mirror. “For the love of God, where is Cragson?”

* * *

“Where is Cragson?” Bannan screamed with spittle spraying. “He should be here!”

“Ain’t seen him Sir!” Sergeant Ferrol said.

It was all falling apart here. If he didn’t pull his men back, he would lose half of them. Meran was holding the centre, but what else could he do surrounded as he was? Tikva was dismounted trying to make some kind of sense of the chaos, while Nissus was leading his men on a flank attack that had some chance of success but which had no relation at all with the plan. Cragson was nowhere around and could be dead for all he knew. Corbin’s battalion had turned into an utter joke, a fact not lost on the captain. Corbin was screaming in rage as two thirds of his battalion milled around uselessly while the third composed of veterans futilely tried to attack a force many times their size.

“My lord sorcerer,” Bannan said helplessly. “Contact the General and ask him to order Corbin out of here. If he fucks up any worse they’ll be a panic.”

“It is my understanding that he has already done so,” Anius said in amusement.

Bannan gritted his teeth. “Tell him again—please.”

Anius nodded and used his mirror. “The general says to stop worrying about Corbin and start worrying about the clansmen. He says Cragson is heavily engaged and is in need of help. He says Cragson was ambushed.”

“Where?” Bannan snapped.

“The right flank.”

“Signaller!” Bannan roared.

“Sir?”

“Sound rally and—”

Booom!

Out of nowhere, a fireball came in and grounded splashing fire in all directions. Horses and men screamed as the entire front line of Corbin’s battalion went down. Bannan fought his horse’s panic and tried to find the shamen. More fire came in and yet more. Men were plucked out of the saddle by unseen forces and crushed in full view of the men. Fear and panic began to spread through the battalion.

Bannan was at a loss. He could not attack what wasn’t there; he had to concentrate on the known enemy. “Signaller, signal dismount!”

Rahhh-ta-ta-ta! Rahhh-ta-ta-ta!

* * *

“No, no, no!” Navarien roared in frustration. “It’s no good. I’ll have to take personal command and—”

“We have found the shamen.”

“Where?”

“Just here behind Corbin,” Wotan said. “He has not detected them.”

“Why not?” Navarien snarled.

“I would guess he has other things on his mind. Odelyn should have found them, but he is busy warding Corbin’s battalion. With the men all over the place, he is having trouble.”

“Who isn’t these days?” he said wiping sweat from his brow. “All right, this is what we will do. Pass the location to every sorcerer we have please, Wotan, and order them to saturate the area with fire. Tell them to burn the ground to bedrock if that is what it takes.”

“Crude, but effective,” Wotan said and turned to give the order.

“Let us hope so.”

Navarien found Cragson again and breathed a little easier when he saw Fifth Battalion under Duer marching to relieve him. Duer was a good man, he wouldn’t mess up. Navarien watched in satisfaction as Duer linked up with Cragson and turned their combined might upon the clan. The warriors were wiped out in short order as wave upon wave of javelins descended upon them in the age old response of a beleaguered legion to an attacker.

“Good, that is good. Order Cragson and Duer to stay together and march on the camps. Tell them to threaten, but not attack them. That should relieve the pressure on Meran.”

“Good idea,” Wotan said and gave the order to Demophon. “The shamen are destroyed,” he said a moment later.

“So I see,” Navarien said staring at the red hot crater. “Ask your people to put out those fires would you?”

“They should have seen the necessity,” Wotan scowled.

“After what happened last year they should have,” he agreed. Fire on the plains was not a laughing matter. “We seem to be getting it together. I was beginning to think the idea flawed.”

“We need more practise.”

Navarien nodded. “I’ll see to it.”

Corbin finally rescued his piss poor battalion from the mess it was in and even managed to contribute a little help. Meran’s battalion was battered but not severely hurt; with Corbin’s help he marched to aid Nissus. Navarien could see things were improving, but the battle was far from won.

“Order Captains Turner and Calva to here. Tell them to wait until Cragson is in position then attack.”

Wotan estimated the distance and direction and then gave the order. “You believe the clan will retreat?”

“It will,” he said with no doubt. “The warriors have families to think of. They will not hesitate.”

They watched the battle progress together, but he had no further orders to give even when he saw areas that could be improved upon. His captains needed to learn this new way of fighting a war. What better way than in battle?

“It’s starting,” Wotan said a short time later. “You were right.”

Navarien nodded. His face was a mask. “The camps are to remain unmolested, my lord sorcerer. I will have no sacking or rapine done.”

“That was understood,” Wotan said in surprise.

Navarien nodded again. He just wanted to make his position perfectly clear. The words remember Cantibria were etched upon his soul.

“Order no quarter.”

Wotan did that.

* * *

11 ~ Oaths

“They are still fighting over it,” Shelim explained to the others sitting nearby.

They were just a few days away from Denpasser now, but the journey had been excruciatingly slow compared with what he was used to. Horse Clan was large, not as big as Dragon Clan had been, but it had still taken a long time to collect all the tribes and strike south. The cull had been the biggest obstacle with many of the lesser chiefs balking at what they saw as an irresponsible waste. It had been frustrating for Shelim, but it was far worse for Mazel. The man looked haggard even yet, but at least the wounds no longer pained him. Larn had healed the chief, but those wounds hidden in his mind would take longer. Mazel had been challenged many times over those hectic days, but he had won through each time—barely in two cases. Mazel had no wish to kill his chiefs, but twice he’d had no choice. Those two fights had almost ended in mutual death. Mazel had barely survived with Larn throwing himself forward to save him even as both men fell. They would never know now whether they might have saved the other men. Mazel lived, and the others died.

Horse Clan in its entirety was heading south. Not one person had been left behind. The sight of an entire clan moving was always awe inspiring, but the Night Wind was one of the smallest clans. Not so Horse Clan. They had almost twelve thousand warriors in all. Mazel had shocked everyone including Shelim when he said that children of fourteen would have their ceremony at Denpasser a full year early. Those warriors concerned were delighted of course, but Shelim hadn’t been. His girls were twelve, so they were still considered children thank the God, but by bringing forward the ceremonies Mazel had almost certainly guaranteed they would participate in the war. No matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t bring himself to believe the war would be a quick affair. Many had protested that such young warriors would be little use, but Mazel had only to point at the pathetic remnants of Dragon Clan to make them agree.

The outclanners had decimated Dragon Clan just days ago. Shelim had used his mirror to show the chiefs the battle as it occurred. Navarien and many thousands of warriors had snapped up the outlying tribes one by one then turned on the clan itself. This time the warriors had fought well. Ingharr had led his warriors out of the camp and attacked with his full force. The outclanners had been surprised and had lost many men before counter-attacking. Rajnish, Dragon Clan’s shaman, had killed hundreds with his magic before he was killed, but in the end it was all for nothing. The outclanners had overrun the camp even as Ingharr fell.

Of those warriors who had been Dragon Clan, only those who were still children were spared. Navarien had been thorough. He had stolen every bow and long knife from the warriors leaving them with spears only. Shelim was surprised at Navarien’s generosity in leaving the spears, but Mazel disagreed. Dragon Clan was no longer a threat. He was right. Spears were enough to allow hunting to feed the clan, but they were helpless against the real threat from Navarien’s men. They couldn’t fight back anymore.

“Who is winning?” Mazel said breaking into Shelim’s reverie.

“Hmmm?”

Mazel sighed. “Who is winning at Denpasser?”

“Sorry, I was thinking about the Dragon warriors.”

“Nothing can change the past. You have to look to the future.”

He nodded at the truth of those words. He would journey tonight in dreams to see what he might discover.

“Tobiah will be chief of chiefs,” Shelim said. “I have seen it. Cadell might have been, had it not been for Kadar’s lucky hit.”

Mazel nodded.

Cadell was the best man with a sword among the clan chiefs. Luck had turned against him though when Kadar had taken advantage of a slip on uncertain footing. Skill and courage were important, but luck did play its part.

“Kadar will never beat Tobiah,” Mazel said. “So it’s decided. Wolf Clan leads.” There were grumbles, but this kind of selection was fair. The best warrior must lead this fight. “I might be able to take him,” Mazel mused. “But should I even try?”

“You must try, Mazel!”

“Horse Clan should lead—”

“…cursed wolves!”

Shelim took the time to think about the question. Was Mazel the better man? That was the question. The best fighter was not always the best man to be chief, but they didn’t need another chief. What they needed was a… a war leader. The clans had never needed such a thing before, but they desperately needed one now. Being chief was more than fighting and raiding. A chief had to be able to soothe arguments and persuade people to his way of doing things, but a war leader would need to be obeyed instantly just like Navarien. A chief could not just order his people; he had to make them do the right thing by convincing them it was right. Mazel was a thinker as well as a good warrior, but was he the better man to fight this war?

“I think it might be best to leave things alone,” Shelim said uncertainly. “If Tobiah leads well, then fine, but if he leads badly he must step down or be forced.”

Mazel was not completely happy with that. “If he leads badly many of our people will die.”

“True, but can you honestly say you can beat the outclanners and Tobiah cannot? If so, you must challenge him. It matters not who among the clans leads us to victory as long as it is victory he leads us to.”

“No, I cannot say I would win, but battle is always uncertain. Where did he find so many new warriors? He only had four thousand, now the number is closer to thirty thousand!”

“They had to have arrived by sea from Protectorate, there’s no other way. The clans outnumber him though; we must have four times his number.”

“You are counting the young ones as well, Shelim. It’s closer to three times now that Dragon Clan is gone,” Mazel said, and the other chiefs nodded.

Dragon Clan is gone. Such a simple thing to say, but the reality was something else. Dragon Clan is gone, twenty thousand warriors dead—at the least twenty thousand. Many of the younger ones had fought and died with their families on those occasions that Navarien had not held his men back. Why did he do that? Why do it on some occasions and not others? It was almost as if he was two different people. He was ruthless against warriors one moment, then ruthless against everyone the next. It didn’t make sense to Shelim, but it didn’t have to. He would work against Navarien no matter how the man chose to lead his men, or what he chose to do with them.

A few days later, Mazel’s decision to allow Tobiah to lead was put to the test when they reached Denpasser. Shelim was riding Nyx beside Larn as he had most days. They had fallen naturally into the habit of riding together on the journey to Denpasser, but a strange thing had evolved. Shelim wasn’t sure how it had happened, but over the time spent with Horse Clan he had found himself falling into the role of Mazel’s councillor. He had become a leader. He had tried to push Larn forward instead, but Larn said he was happy where he was—one step from his right hand.

He glanced at Larn who was chatting quietly with some of the others, uncomfortable with the subject of their discussion. Larn was praising him, and retelling the story of their battle with Navarien’s shaman. He supposed it didn’t matter now they were here. Kerrion was the eldest; let him put a stop to this nonsense.

“Who is Kerrion, father?” Amara said from where she rode her own horse nearby. She had heard him muttering to himself.

“He is my mentor—my teacher. He is very old and very wise.”

“You love him,” Emma said, it wasn’t a question. “Is he our new grandfather?”

“We are not related except in clan and calling. Kerrion is my best friend and my mentor. My father is your new grandfather. His name is Tomik.”

“Oh. Is he a warrior like us?” Emma said.

“He is a very great warrior,” he boasted with justifiable pride. “My brother Torin is as well.”

Amara rode her horse closer. “What does grandmother do?”

“Selima is a weaver. You’ll like them all I promise.”

Shelim could see the tents of the people clearly now. There were many thousands of them, but two areas were conspicuous in their emptiness. One would be filled shortly when Horse Clan took its customary place at the Gathering, but the other was for Dragon Clan and would remain empty. Would Dragon Clan recover someday to take its place again, or if not that, at least a part of its previous greatness? He shivered, not if Navarien had his way.

“I will be leaving you here, Larn. I have things to see to.”

Larn nodded smiling and winking at the girls. “Tomik and Selima are in for a surprise. Kerrion too!”

Amara and Emma giggled in excitement.

“My parents will be, but not Kerrion he will—”

*That’s right my boy! Welcome back. We have much to discuss, but I’ll come to you. Go see your parents first.* Kerrion said from nowhere.

“Shelim? Are you well?” Larn said in concern.

“I—”

*You’re not mad my boy. I have learned a few things since we last saw each other. Julia calls it mind-speech. Good name yes?*

Shelim nodded at Kerrion’s words, but realised the others had not heard them. “I’m fine Larn. I was just thinking that Kerrion likely knows everything already. You know how nosy he is!”

Larn and the others coughed and tried not to laugh. Calling the eldest nosy was accurate, but a little close to the mark.

*Nosy am I? It’s a good thing I’m nosy, eh Julia?*

*There’s nothing wrong with curiosity, Kerrion. I’m looking forward to seeing you again, Shelim.*

Shelim felt them leave him. Julia was here—The One was here! He frowned; what did she mean see him again? They had never met. The sooner he found out what was going on the better.

“Follow me you two,” he said to the girls. “We’ll go visit my parents first then I’ll introduce you to Kerrion.”

Emma and Amara grinned and edged their horses out of the group to follow him.

“I’ll see you at council,” Shelim called back to Mazel and the others.

Mazel waved.

Shelim managed to avoid all the fuss as the other clans realised Horse Clan had finally come. He manoeuvred Nyx around the tents, as people rushed by to greet Mazel and his people. Finally, he reached the camp of the Night Wind.

“We are home,” he said with pleasure.

The girls were looking around and talking excitedly about this or that tent. He listened as Amara insisted the lightning bolts at the top of Kerrion’s tent were the best, and Emma insisted the bison on Kadar’s tent was best.

“I have a shaman healing a child on it,” he said when Emma asked what his sigils were.

“Why?”

“Because the first time I healed someone was very special to me,” he said grunting as he strained to release Nyx’s girth.

He succeeded finally, and helped his daughters with their mounts. He gave the animals a brush down then released them into the Night Wind’s herd. He nodded to Honovi who was guarding this section, and then walked back to collect the girls.

“Mentor!” Darnath shouted as he ran toward Shelim.

Emma and Amara almost pulled their weapons free when Darnath cannoned into him and began pounding him on the back in welcome. Shelim waved a hand at his would be protectors and they subsided to watch.

“—missed you!” Darnath was saying.

“It’s good to see you too, Darnath. Here let me introduce you to my daughters,” he said trying not to laugh at Darnath’s bulging eyes.

“Daughters!”

He pulled the girls in front of him. “This is Amara,” he said with a hand on her shoulder. “And this is Emma. Girls, this is my very dear friend and apprentice, Darnath of the Night Wind.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Emma and Amara chorused, but Emma continued, “Can you do magic like father?”

Darnath shook his head. “Not yet, but he’s teaching me. How can you tell them apart mentor?”

Both girls shook their heads; everyone said that.

Shelim smiled down at them mischievously. “Simple. Amara is the pretty one!” He laughed at the gasp of outrage from Emma, but Amara was laughing, and it wasn’t long before Emma was too. They were twins after all. Shelim started them all toward Tomik’s tent while listening to Darnath’s news.

“Kadar was mad, I can tell you!”

“I’m not surprised. How could Kerrion think to get away with leading warriors on a raid without Kadar’s permission?”

“That’s what I said, but Kadar soon settled down when he met Julia. She’s amazing. Kerrion said the pain would have driven anyone else insane, but somehow she survived it. She’s strong Shelim; her magic is…” he shook his head unable to explain. “It’s like the sun coming out from behind the clouds when she uses it!”

“Kerrion said he has learned a few things since we last met. Did Julia teach him?”

Darnath nodded. “Not just him either. All the shaman are meeting with her in the ruins to learn what she has to teach. Her two friends have been helping us with linking and warding, but it’s really hard, Shelim. Will you help me?”

He smiled; Darnath hadn’t changed. “Of course I will help you. You’re my apprentice, but it will have to wait until I can learn it!”

Darnath chuckled. “I forgot you don’t know how yet. Hey, that means I know more than you for a change!”

“Not for long,” Amara said nodding at Emma.

“That’s right!” Emma said.

Shelim laughed and put an arm around each of his daughters as they walked through the camp. It would be hard watching these two choose someone else to be their father, but he wouldn’t step in their way. Once they began to meet other families, they would want a mother as well as a father and shamen never married. What woman would marry a despised shaman?

He ushered the girls inside to find Selima sitting alone working on a tunic for Torin.

“And who are—” Selima began but broke off as Shelim ducked into the tent. “You’re back! Why didn’t Tomik say something?”

Shelim grinned and hugged his mother. “Probably because he doesn’t know yet. I sent Darnath to find him and Torin.” He released Selima to bring the girls forward one under each arm. “Emma, Amara, this is your grandmother Selima—”

Selima gasped in surprise.

“—she’s the best weaver in the Night Wind.”

“Hello,” Amara and Emma said together.

Selima looked at each of them in turn and back to him, before greeting her guests. “Welcome to my tent. What I have is yours,” she said and gestured for them to sit.

After they were seated and Selima served them food and drink as courtesy demanded, Shelim told his mother all that had happened to him over the last two seasons, but much of it was not a surprise to her.

“Kerrion told us of your battles, but he never mentioned the little ones.”

“We’re not little!” Emma said.

“That’s right!” Amara said backing her sister. “We’re to be warriors in two summers.”

“Only if you’re ready,” he cautioned.

Both girls shook their heads as if tied together. “Of course we’ll be ready; Tomik will help.”

“And just what will I be helping with?” Tomik said as he entered the tent with Torin just behind him.

Shelim stood and embraced his father and brother. “I think you have just volunteered to train my young warriors.”

“Yours?” Tomik said looking at the children.

“It’s a bit sudden I know, but you’ve just become a grandfather. Congratulations!”

Selima and the girls laughed at the amazement on Tomik’s face, but Torin was looking from the girls to Shelim in puzzlement.

“How can you tell them apart?” Torin said.

Shelim and the others groaned.

“What?” Torin said even more confused.

“Everyone says that!” Shelim and the girls chorused.

A short while later, Shelim had told his story and it was now Emma’s turn. Tomik was very interested in her knowledge of Navarien’s battle at Calvados. They were quiet when she spoke of the people leaving the city in a snowstorm, and Tomik held Amara close when she cried at the retelling of her parent’s deaths. Emma was stronger than Amara; she held back her tears.

“They defeated themselves,” Tomik said shaking his head.

“How so?” Torin asked.

Tomik explained. “Stones from the sky are frightening, but by Emma’s account not many were killed by them. It was the fear of being struck down in such a way that made the Lost One’s flee. Had they thought about it they would have realised there was more chance of dying by arrow than by stones from the sky. They missed their chance to destroy Navarien that day, and now we are paying for it. Dragon Clan has already paid.”

“Has Tobiah beaten Kadar yet?”

Tomik frowned. “They fight tomorrow. Do you know something of who will win?”

“Tobiah will be chief of chiefs. I have seen it. Whether he will be a good one is another matter—one I know nothing of. I told Mazel just the other day that it matters not who leads us as long as he leads us to victory.”

Tomik agreed, but Torin was less sure. “It does matter who leads. There is much honour to be gained from leading the clans.”

Shelim sighed. He should remember that warriors were greatly concerned with the gaining of honour. Here was another thing that brought home the changes he had undergone when becoming a shaman. All he thought of now was saving the clans. If he could think of a dishonourable but nonetheless sure way to defeat Navarien, he would seize it and to the winds with his honour. That thought would have been shocking a mere summer ago, come to that he still felt uncomfortable with it, but that did not change his determination. Unfortunately, he didn’t know of a way to defeat the outclanners except by fighting them to a standstill.

“Defeat in this fight will mean the end of us all, Torin,” Shelim said. “Honour has no place in this kind of fight. We are not raiding for horses now. We are trying to save our families and clans from extinction.”

Tomik nodded, but Shelim could see Torin was not convinced. Torin was not ready for change. Most would prefer to live as the clans had always lived, but until Navarien was defeated that would not be possible. Change was the order of the day. Could the clans change enough to cooperate in this war? He hoped so.

By the God and all that is good, let it be so.

* * *

Julia supposed the ruins were impressive, they were ten thousand years old after all, but she wished they had a decent roof. The weather had improved markedly, but it was still cold. She warmed herself with magic, and sighed in contentment. She was really supposed to be supervising her students as they practised mind-speech, but they needed little help. Mind-speech was easy, it was what came next they had difficulty with, just as she had done. Shields and warding would be extremely important in this war, but they were hard to learn. She knew they would get there eventually, but did they have enough time?

Lucius and Mathius were not here today. They had stayed with Keverin to talk with the chiefs. The loss of Cadell as a candidate for chief of chiefs was causing problems. Many felt Tobiah unsuitable, but they had fallen victim to their own honour. They had all agreed that the leader would be whoever won the contests, but they had been confident it would be Cadell. Julia thought Kadar should have made certain Cadell won by throwing the fight, but of course, that would be dishonourable! Now they were stuck with hoping Kadar could win against Tobiah—a near impossibility.

Larn was chatting with Kerrion using mind-speech. She was very pleased with him. He and the other Horse Clan shamen had only been here half a day and already they were making themselves understood via mind-speech.

“You are a quick study, Larn,” Julia said. Larn smiled but was obviously puzzled by her expression. “I mean you learn fast.”

“Tell that to Kerrion. When I was an apprentice he often said I was taking too long.”

“Humph!” Kerrion shook his head, “It made you work harder. Be grateful.”

Julia laughed, but thoughts of Keverin dampened her good spirits. They had not spoken again today. Jihan and Adrik returning to Deva had not helped the situation. Jihan had waited as long as he could, but his responsibilities had called him home. Ahnao had a lot to do with it of course, and in all honesty, Julia wished she could have gone with him to see that the birth proceeded without complications. Jihan had understood, but she wondered if he would have insisted she accompany him had the birth been imminent. Ahnao wasn’t due until summer, and spring had barely begun, she therefore had plenty of time to help Kerrion and reach Malcor in time. Still, whenever she thought things were settled, they had a tendency to spin out of control.

“Shelim is on his way here,” Kerrion said with pleasure.

Julia smiled. “If he’s as good as you say, Larn, he should have little trouble with the wards.”

“I don’t know about that. From what you say a personal shield is unlike a ward.”

“That’s true, but they’re made on similar principals. I thought I told you to talk using mind-speech.”

Larn frowned in concentration and contacted her as she wished. *I’m finding it hard to overcome the turbulence.*

Her eyebrows shot up. She checked her hold on her magic. She was causing turbulence in the realm of power, but she had overcome that problem two years ago! What had changed? She snorted; what hadn’t changed? She made the correction in her link as she had back then and the turbulence smoothed out.

*How’s that Larn?*

*Much better.*

“I don’t know why, but I had the same problem when I first came to this world,” she explained. “I fixed it then, and I just corrected my link again, but there’s still some turbulence left.”

“Perhaps you are stronger now?” Kerrion offered.

She wondered. She pulled on the magic and floated in an ocean of pure bliss. This was how much she had drawn at the hospital in Devarr when she had accidentally overreached, but she wasn’t overreaching now! Kerrion was right. She was stronger. Did the Tancred have a beneficial side affect? It must have. Tentatively she drew harder and harder again. She was beginning to feel a little nervous now, but thrust it aside and drew a tiny bit more, then again. Shamen all round the room had stopped their lessons and were shielding their eyes. Shelim appeared in the doorway with Darnath and two children. They were also shielding their eyes, all but the two children. She bit her lip and tried just a teensy bit more.

“Hnnn!” the pain was suddenly there and she released her magic instantly.

“What did you do?” Lucius said angrily brushing by Shelim. “I felt you clear across the camp! The God curse it Julia, you have to stop this insanity!”

She glared. “I’m fine, Lucius, stop scolding! I wanted to check something is all.”

“Check something. Check something she says!” Lucius threw up his hands in despair. “The only thing you’ll be checking is how you look in the mirror at sixty years old!”

Lucius was angry—much angrier than she had ever seen him.

“—if she was stronger,” Kerrion was saying.

“By the God! Why did you not simply ask Mathius! He knew you when you first arrived. He could tell you if your strength has increased!”

“Enough Lucius,” she glared. “You’re not my father!”

“Perhaps if I was, you might learn some caution!”

She sighed. This was going nowhere. “All right! I won’t do it again. Satisfied?” By her tone, Julia made it clear he had better be!

Lucius stared at her for a long moment before nodding.

“Back to work all of you!” she called to her students. “I want you good enough to hold a normal conversation with everyone in this room before sunset.”

“I feel like an apprentice again.”

“I know what you mean!”

“I do to, but then again, I still am one!”

Julia grinned at the grumbles.

Shelim picked his way through the sitting groups of shaman trying not to step on anyone. Julia and Kerrion stood to greet him and the twins.

“Welcome back my boy,” Kerrion said. “And who are these two fine warriors?”

“I think you already know mentor, but this is Emma,” he said bringing the girl forward. “And this is Amara.”

Kerrion smiled at the twins. “You are very welcome Emma of the Night Wind. You are very welcome Amara of the Night Wind. We have a great deal to talk about. Did you know that your father used to be my apprentice?”

“Yes,” Emma said.

“He loves you very much,” Amara said nodding.

Kerrion blinked and smiled at Shelim’s blushes. “And I love him very much. I’ll have to tell you about the time he came to see me about a curse some time.”

The twin’s eyes were huge at the mention of a curse.

“Mentor! Do you have to?”

“Oh indeed I do, my boy! I remember your first look at my mirror particularly well!”

Shelim groaned and laughed at the same time.

Julia was beaming as she watched the by play between the two. It reminded her strongly of her visions of them riding with her across the plain.

“It’s good to see you again, Shelim,” she said.

Shelim shook his head. “I know who you are, but I have never met you before today.”

“I know, but I feel that I know you from my visions. Both you and Kerrion helped me in my dreams.”

“I see,” he said, but it was obvious he didn’t really.

“Please join us won’t you?”

Shelim nodded and seated himself with the twins on each side of him. Julia and Kerrion made themselves comfortable, but Darnath opted to practice with the other apprentices and excused himself.

“So here we all are,” Julia said. “You have been busy this last season.”

“It was hectic. Dragon Clan—you do know Dragon Clan is gone?”

Julia nodded, but Kerrion hedged. “Not all of them. They are less than Cricket Clan now, but they will survive.”

“Perhaps so,” Shelim said not committing himself. “It depends on whether we can destroy Navarien’s threat.”

She agreed with that assessment. The clans were now in the same position as Deva was with the protectorate. The clans had a belligerent country to their north, where before they had at worst neutrality. The people of the northern cities had been peaceful toward each other and the clans. Not so the Hasians. Mortain in the form of Navarien’s legion was determined to take the plains as a precursor to attacking Deva. Should Navarien fail, which was not certain at this juncture, Mortain would not give up. Those three cities gave him the staging point he needed, and as long as they remained in his hands, the clans would have a threat to their north that could never be ignored.

“—Tobiah. I have no doubt of it mentor,” Shelim was saying.

“You have seen this?” Kerrion pressed.

Shelim nodded. “Mazel will not challenge Tobiah, not unless it becomes obvious that he is not the one to lead us to victory.”

“It might be too late then,” Julia warned.

“There is little else to be done about it. What we need to do is decide how we are going to deal with the sorcerers.”

“That’s something I wanted to ask you about. Do you know how many sorcerers were with the army that you and Larn attacked?”

“One,” Shelim said without hesitation. “It was a raiding party only.”

“Are you positive?” Lucius said frowning.

Larn nodded. “He’s right. I was using the mirror to aim my fire and I saw the shield snap into place as my fire struck. Later when the outclanners were closer, we could see the man with our own eyes. There was definitely only one.”

Lucius frowned. “If you’re right, the sorcerer who made that ward is very powerful. Wards that big take a lot of magic to construct. Not only that, it moved with the charge. Can you call this man in the mirror?”

Shelim shrugged and dug his mirror out of his pouch and handed it to Larn. Larn grasped his magic and called the image. That was the last coherent thing Julia remembered for a while. Her eyes narrowed and her magic leapt into her grasp before she thought about it. Luckily, her rage hadn’t sapped her wits completely. She didn’t blast the image in the mirror—not quite.

It was Demophon.

Lucius cursed. It couldn’t be Demophon. Mathius had killed him and his friends in the palace. Oh God, poor Mathius! He had aged himself ten years in his pursuit of vengeance, and now to find Demophon still lived…

“How?” Julia breathed.

“He must have slipped away before we attacked,” Lucius said. “We didn’t have time to see who we were fighting.”

Julia released her magic, but it was a struggle. She still wanted to obliterate that image. “Poor Mathius, my poor friend. He’ll go ballistic when he hears about this.”

“What’s ballistic?” Lucius said.

“It doesn’t matter. I meant Mathius will be very angry.”

“That’s an understatement!”

“Who is this Demophon?” Shelim asked.

“He was the one who led the sorcerers that kidnapped me. They killed a woman, an entire squad of soldiers, and two of my dearest friends to capture me.”

“I see. This is the man who warded the outclanners.”

“Just him? What of the ones you saw attacking Dragon Clan?”

“He was the only one the first time. I’m sure I would have seen any others,” Shelim said.

Larn nodded in agreement.

“There were well over a hundred men in black robes attacking Ingharr and his warriors,” Shelim added. “Maybe even two hundred.”

Julia had watched that battle in her mirror. Mathius and Keverin needed to hear this. She grasped her magic and contacted Mathius.

*I need for you to bring Keverin to the ruin, Mathius.*

*What’s wrong?* Mathius said in concern.

Julia licked her lips. He would know soon enough in any case. *Demophon is alive and well near Calvados.*

*What!* Mathius shrieked in rage and broke the connection.

Julia flinched at the blast of hate that came to her down the link. She had never felt anything like that before. He was so angry, the words tasted purple!

“Mathius is… upset,” she said worriedly.

Lucius snorted. “Raging mad more likely!”

Julia thought so too, but when he came in with Keverin, he was ice calm. That look made her even more scared for him than if he had been raging.

“Promise me you won’t do anything,” she said fearfully. “Promise me Mathius.”

Mathius was a terrible liar. If he so much as thought of lying his face would burn red telling everyone within leagues of his attempt. He shook his head and that was all. Lucius made to speak, but Mathius raised his hand, he wasn’t interested.

Keverin pulled Julia to her feet and kissed her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You were right to stay. If we had left I wouldn’t have the chance I now have to finish Demophon.”

Julia pulled violently away. “Not you too! Have you both gone insane? Demophon will kill you!”

“Now Julia—” Keverin began.

“Don’t now Julia me! You don’t know this man as I do. He’s powerful, Kev. More powerful than you are, Mathius. By far!” She turned to Lucius, “Tell them Lucius; tell them not to go!”

“I can’t do that. You see, I’ll be going as well. I vowed to kill him deader than dead for what he has done, and now I mean to make good on that vow.”

“No! There are hundreds of sorcerers with him,” she turned back to Keverin. “And thirty thousand legionnaires, Kev. What can you do against that?”

Julia was relieved to see frustration appear upon his face as he digested that. Thank the God her sensible Keverin was back. He wouldn’t risk his men for nothing—she hoped.

“You’ll let Mathius and Lucius help kill Demophon won’t you, Shelim?” she said eagerly, willing him to say yes.

Shelim turned to Kerrion with an eyebrow raised in question. Kerrion shrugged. It was all right with him. Julia clutched Kerrion’s hand in gratitude.

“You may ride by my side,” Shelim said to the mages. “If you would do me the honour of killing this Demophon for us, I would be in your debt.”

Lucius looked to Mathius for agreement. Mathius’s face unfroze a little.

Julia saw a chance and took it. “Do it for me, Mathius,” she said clutching him close. “Do it for Moriz and Halbert and all the others Demophon has killed—please.”

“You fight dirty, Julia,” Mathius whispered. “All right, but this time he dies or I do.”

Keverin nodded. “He dies or I do.”

“He dies or I do,” Lucius said sealing the triumvirate.

Julia looked at the three men she loved above all others and was scared to death. They were serious, deadly serious. If Jihan was here he would have made it worse. She had no doubt he would have joined this insanity, and Purcell… Julia groaned, thank the God Purcell was leagues away and didn’t know what was going on. She never wanted to see him berserk again. Silently she vowed to seek out Demophon and kill him before her men found him; it was the only way to be sure they would be safe.

Now that some kind of agreement had been reached, everyone settled down to talk about the situation more calmly. Shelim told Keverin about his battle, concentrating on how the legionnaires handled themselves and what tactics they chose to employ. Keverin knew all there was to know about the Protectorate and its legions, but it wouldn’t hurt to verify his knowledge with firsthand accounts.

Julia frowned as she thought of something. “That’s what I wanted to ask you about. Do you know if magic was used to take the cities?”

Shelim shook his head. “Do you remember hearing anything like that?” he asked the twins who were starting to look bored.

“No, father. I mean no it wasn’t. The monster used stones out of the sky, but they came from a big boat,” Emma said looking at Amara who shook her head.

She frowned at hearing that. “They might have been thrown with magic, but why bother? They could have used lightning or fire as easily. You know what I think?”

None of them did.

“I think they used a catapult to throw those rocks precisely because they didn’t have any mages with them.”

“What is a catapult?” Keverin said.

“It’s a machine that throws things. What you do is make a winch that powers a lever. You put a stone in the bucket at one end then wind the arm down. When you let the tension go the arm springs up and the stone sails out to hit what you aimed at. I haven’t seen one on this world, but a long time ago on my old world we used them a lot. I’m betting that’s what was used at Calvados. Think about it. At Durena, they used towers to climb the walls when blasting them with magic would be easier, then at Calvados they fortified their camp and defended instead of attacking. At no time was magic seen to be used. That says to me they didn’t have mages.”

“You might be right, but they have them now. We have to make sure they don’t interfere when Tobiah attacks Navarien’s warriors,” Shelim said.

“We have made a start on that,” Julia said. “The shamen are learning mind-speech so they can talk to each other during battle and coordinate their attacks. Kerrion is the only one who can produce a shield as yet. It’s weak, but it’s there. With practice it will gain strength. Linking is causing your people some problems, I will admit to that, but I think we’ll overcome the problem in time. Weapons… well you already know fire, and some can use lightning, though not many. Kerrion has taught me the crushing of things and all shamen know how to do that. I think if we concentrate on mind-speech, linking, and shields, we should be in good shape to counter the sorcerers.”

Everyone nodded. It all depended on Tobiah. If he could devise a way to bring the shamen close to the Hasians without getting them killed, then they could wreak havoc on the legion, if not…

Best not to think on that side of things, Julia thought grimly.

* * *

12 ~ War Leader

Why did it have to be him? Methrym fumed. He knew why of course, Wakiza was the best Japura had after the destruction of Talayan, but knowing didn’t make it any easier. In a way, he had brought this on himself when he went ahead with his plan to sack the city. Now that Talayan and its people were gone, he had to contend with Talitha’s only other veteran Strike Leader, a man from Talitha’s second greatest city. A man named Wakiza.

The roar of battle almost drowned out the cry of the cornets, but that was good enough for the men as another thousand strong battalion charged the centre of the Japuran line. He winced as they crunched into the line at a full gallop. Men were cut from the saddle all along the line; others defended successfully and attacked in turn trying to protect their mounts as well as themselves. Those unlucky enough to be dispossessed were easy meat for Japuran swords, but not many fell this time. That had not been the case with other battles they had fought recently.

The screams of the horses were the worst part. Many of the horses were down from the previous charge. They were still trying futilely to rise on hamstrung legs. Men were screaming in hate and fear, the horses in fear and pain, but still the Japurans came on. Thank the God for this valley, Methrym thought. Without it, the battle would have been a running fight like the all the others had been. Instead, he had brought the Japurans to a field battle of manoeuvre and it was paying off. The charge was broken as the one before it had been, but the Japurans were blooded.

Just two seasons ago, he would have been shouting his throat raw trying to make his orders heard, but now the cornets sounded, and the men readied themselves for another charge. He had stolen the idea of using music instead of waved flags and shouting, from the Hasian legions. It was just a small part of what made them to be feared, but every little advantage helped and he was certainly receiving the benefit here. The men had become so accustomed to the tunes now that they were responding faster than they had ever achieved before. They hardly needed their captains any longer; instead, they took their orders directly from the cornets.

“It’s about time my luck turned,” he said to himself.

“What did you say cousin?” Soren enquired.

“I said Lorenz is doing well!” he yelled over the noise.

Soren nodded and went back to watching the battle.

Methrym had chosen this valley with care. He had every advantage that he could think of except overwhelming numbers. He was standing on the rise of a small hill in the centre of a sloping valley. To the right was dense forest that he had ordered his captains to use as an anchor for their formation. On the left a river—a small one to be sure, but Lorenz was making excellent use of it. His cousin was fully committed now, but the Japurans were still pushing him hard.

“Fucking Wakiza!” Soren snarled.

Methrym nodded grimly. Wakiza was War Leader for the Japuran army that had invaded at the end of winter; not that Japurans had war leaders, but a Strike Leader was the same thing. It had been a great shock seeing an army of Japurans running toward him through the snow that night where none had any right being. It was enough to make anyone gasp in surprise, but it was the Japurans that had lost that battle handily. They had thought to destroy Nelek, and it would have worked, except for one minor detail they hadn’t known of. Methrym’s entire army had been encamped outside its walls. Eight thousand men, veterans all, had no trouble at all dispatching the overeager Japurans.

He grimaced. That was the last time he had won anything in this war. He was losing, and there was not a thing he could do about it. If Wakiza had been with his army that night things might have been different now, but he hadn’t been worse luck. Instead, he was busy laying waste to entire towns and villages expecting to have a free hand. The Japuran bastard was wrong in thinking that, but although Methrym was contesting him at every turn, he had been unable to beat him convincingly. Strike Leader Wakiza now had the inestimable honour of being Methrym’s personal nemesis.

He shaded his eyes. There was activity at the rear of the Japuran line now. Wakiza habitually held his personal forces in reserve, and today was no different, but he might be becoming concerned. Methrym grinned as detachments from the centre moved to reinforce the left wing where Lorenz was in danger of rolling up their line. Yes, it was working but too slowly. As Lorenz pushed ahead on the left, Wakiza reinforced with men from the centre as Methrym had wanted, but the centre was not yet weakened to the point where a charge would break through.

He checked the right wing, but it was still strong. Maybe leaving three thousand men with Parry was the wrong move, but no, he had to be sure his rear was covered. Besides, his army was supposed to protect the people not leave them open to attack. The city of Chala was Wakiza’s target, but this time the bastard was not getting it! This time he was going to stop Wakiza and destroy his army as he did.

The thought of getting his hands on Wakiza was enough to make his palms sweat, but he didn’t believe he had a realistic chance of that here today. It was far more likely he would chase the Japurans all over the landscape. Wakiza was too damn good to allow his army to be decimated when he could so easily retreat to Japura and live to fight another day. No, hoping to lay hands on the man was pointless; what were the odds of fighting his way through an entire army and then confronting the one man he wanted above all others?

None, no chance at all.

His army was the strongest ever to be raised in Tanjung, and most of it was right here, but five thousand against twelve thousand Japurans was pushing it just a bit. Still, this battle might just be the turning point of the entire war. If the rumours of a second army to the east were unfounded as he thought, then all he had to do was kill enough men here to make the Japurans retreat and then keep the pressure on to drive them back.

Soren was pacing back and forth impatient to join what he called the fun. Methrym glanced sideways at him. The only fun to be found down in the valley was riding back unharmed. The Japuran line was still strong; Wakiza’s force leaders were taking advantage of the forest and river as Sabra and Lorenz were doing. That was the one problem with choosing this valley; what could be used to advantage could as easily be turned to his disadvantage especially as he was outnumbered. He frowned. The reports of a second army might not be too far from the truth he realised. There weren’t twelve thousand Japurans visible here. With a sinking feeling he turned to one of his messengers.

“Ride to captain Sabra and tell him to watch for surprises out of the forest,” he ordered the man.

The messenger saluted and sprinted to his horse then galloped toward the fighting on the right.

Soren looked at Methrym with a question in his eyes. “Cousin?”

“How many would you say we’re up against here?”

Soren turned back and made a quick sweep of the battle lines. “Seven, perhaps eight thous—” he broke off.

“Exactly,” Methrym said grimly. “Where are the others?”

“Fucking Wakiza!” Soren said again with feeling.

Methrym cupped his chin and thought furiously. If Wakiza had four thousand fresh men, what would he do with them? He spun urgently to look behind him, but there was no sign of anything amiss and there would be if the enemy was back there. The ground was open to the rear and the valley widened considerably, enough to make him confident in his assessment. It had to be the forest. He wished Lorenz had taken the right instead of Sabra. Both captains were good soldiers, but Lorenz was the more able man in these circumstances. He was better at making fast decisions when surprised.

“I want you to mount up and hit them on the right, Soren. Take a thousand from the reserve and hit them hard. Smash them up for me.”

“It will be a pleasure,” Soren said and ran off toward his men.

I doubt it.

The words Soren hadn’t said still hung in the air, but Methrym didn’t care what Soren thought. Being too cautious could be as bad as being too eager, but not when Wakiza was the opponent.

Cornets blew and Soren charged at the head of a thousand eager soldiers. The Japurans had a large debt to pay, and they were going to collect. Soren seemed to live a charmed life, but Methrym was still relieved to note that his second had seen sense and dropped back into the bulk of his men before engaging the enemy.

The impact was horrendous.

Methrym marvelled at the strength of the Japurans to withstand such a charge, but then he spat in disgust at the lack of a breach. He watched the Japurans as they were hammered back, but they did not break. The shock of the charge sent ripples through the Japuran ranks, but it halted abruptly when it reached Wakiza’s best troops in the centre.

“Come on curse you, send some to the right!”

He was staring at the Japuran lines and willing Wakiza to thin his centre when he did just that. He was so shocked he couldn’t believe his eyes at first, but it was true. A large group detached itself from the centre and went to oppose Soren who had pushed well forward. The strange thing was that the opposition had stiffened now and Soren was making no further progress; so why reinforce? Straight away, he began looking for the trap, but he just couldn’t see it. Why now, when Lorenz had been chewing up the left for candlemarks? He hesitated once more but then he snarled a curse. Soren was right; he was being an old woman. It was time to fight. He turned to young Alrik who was standing not far away with his instrument in hand.

“Sound general advance, boy.”

Alrik saluted and blew for all he was worth. The tune soared out over the battlefield and the men already engaged answered with a hard push at the Japurans. There was some confusion among the reserve, but captain Casta shouted the men back into line. While this was going on, Methrym mounted and indicated to Alrik to do the same. The boy gulped but did as he was bid.

“Casta!”

“Sir?”

“Get your men ready. At the signal I want a full charge at the centre and this time we’re going through!”

Casta grinned and saluted before running back to his men shouting orders. The men were ready, they had been for candlemarks, but it never hurt to make sure as Casta was doing.

He turned to Alrik. “Stick to me like rust, boy. I want you to blow the charge, but as soon as we hit the line, I want you to blow general advance again. Keep blowing that thing and pray this works.”

“I haven’t a shield, Sir.”

“You can’t play if you carry a shield can you?”

“No but—” Alrik broke off as a messenger with the distinctive red chevrons on his arms raced toward them from the rear.

Methrym turned back to the battle, but decided he had time to hear the message.

“Sir, Captain Parry sent me on ahead,” gasped the messenger.

“What?” Methrym said in confusion. Parry was to hold Chala with his portion of the army not join him in this battle.

“He’s abandoned Chala—”

“What!” he roared in disbelief and startling his horse. The beast hopped and bucked. Pulling her cruelly back under control, he glared at the messenger. “I’ll have him executed for dereliction!”

“But Sir!” the messenger cried in shock. “He had to. We were attacked two days back. It was Wakiza himself I swear! The captain had to retreat. We have hundreds of wounded.”

Wakiza’s name snapped him out of his fury. “Wakiza? You’re sure it was not another?”

“I’m sure.”

He nodded and looked back at the battle. Wakiza was not here, and that explained why the centre of the line below was thinning. He would never have allowed that had he been present. He would have retreated a short distance to reform his lines. Methrym calmed himself. Nothing had changed, yet everything had. The second army was not to the east as rumour had it. It was north and coming up his arse!

“How long before Wakiza hits me here?”

The messenger licked his lips. “He’ll be here by morning if we don’t stop him. He let us retreat without pursuit. He stopped to destroy Chala.”

He shook his head in dismay. Another ancient city gone. He should never have given in to the temptation to burn Talayan. Tanjung was paying dearly for that night of weakness.

“The people?”

“Most are dead, some came with us—not many.”

“How many?”

“Two or three thousand.”

Methrym groaned. Two or three thousand was less than a quarter of Chala’s population. This couldn’t go on. The borderlands had already been depopulated from Japuran raids last year, but now the devastation was beginning to stretch into the very heart of Tanjung. Chala wasn’t the seat of a major noble house, but it was the last minor seat between Japura and Chalek. House Chalek was very much a major house, and if Wakiza destroyed it, the repercussions would resound throughout Tanjung. Lord Chalek was not at all happy with him, or with the Japurans he had been associating with of late, and it would only get worse when news of Chala reached there.

“Orders?” the messenger said breaking his reverie.

Idiot, you have a battle to fight here! Wake up!

“Send to Parry. He is to make all speed and rendezvous with us at Chalek.”

The messenger nodded, “Chalek. I’ll tell him.”

Methrym dismissed the man and turned his attention back to the battle. Lorenz had gained no ground. Soren was fully engaged and seemed to be bogged down. It was time he remedied that.

“Remember boy, stick to me like rust!”

Alrik nodded and blew the charge. Methrym hardly heard it. His attention narrowed to the fight ahead and what he had to do. The reserve battalions thundered down the hill at a full gallop. They smashed into the Japuran line so fast that they penetrated nearly half the depth of the Japuran line before slowing. He was cutting men down in front of him while his horse frantically bit and kicked her way forward.

He concentrated on the Japurans directly ahead and trusted to luck—it was all he could do in such close confines. Alrik was close behind him blowing his cornet for all he was worth and using him as his shield. Clever lad. Methrym kicked a last man in the face wincing as teeth shattered, and then urged his horse to the gallop as the Japuran line broke in half. Alrik was blowing the advance as he had been told and the men galloped through the remnants of the enemy formation.

“Blow rally, boy!”

Alrik blew, and the men responded.

Methrym waited impatiently for sufficient numbers to arrive. Lorenz had taken advantage of the confusion and was rolling up that side of the Japuran line. He was forcing them into the centre that was still reeling from the charge. Soren was not making as much headway with his side. The reinforcements were fresh and well able to hold him off. Still, Soren was slowly making his presence felt even so.

Methrym looked around at the force he had managed to rally and judged he had lost perhaps a tenth part of his men. Hundreds dead, but thank the God not thousands.

“Blow the charge boy!” he shouted and spurred his horse forward.

The charge slammed into the still reeling centre and obliterated it. Not one Japuran was left standing as his force thundered through the lines riding men into the ground. The men wheeled and struck the flanks of the embattled Japurans on what had been the left wing but was now a furious mass of confusion. No mercy was asked for or offered. Methrym withdrew from the fighting and watched from a safe remove as Casta subordinated himself to Lorenz and destroyed the Japurans utterly. The victory was all but complete. The Japurans lost cohesion the moment their commanders were destroyed. The fools had all been in the centre, and now small packets of men fought and died separately unable to help each other.

Lorenz finished those opposing him and led his men to assault the rear of those attacking Soren. Methrym sat with Alrik watching the inevitable victory coming to pass, but he could not help glancing back over his shoulder. Wakiza…Wakiza was back there somewhere and he was coming. They had to get out of here before the Strike Leader did to him what he had just done to his army.

Neither Soren nor Lorenz were accepting surrender of course, they wouldn’t even if they could. This war had seen the end of the old practice of ransoming prisoners. Neither side was interested in gold any longer. Tanjung was fighting for its very life, and the Japurans… well they were fighting to avenge Talayan he assumed. Lorenz was quicker than Soren to finish his grizzly task and report.

“I have many wounded, Methrym; what’s the urgency?”

“I’m glad to see you’re alive too, Lorenz!”

Lorenz shook his head and mumbled, “I can never talk to you when you’re like this.”

“Like what?”

“You know what. So why are we running?”

There was no easy way to tell his friend, so Methrym said it straight out, “Parry pulled out and left Chala for Wakiza. It’s gone.”

“All of it? Everyone?” Lorenz whispered.

He nodded watching Lorenz’ face. Lorenz had friends in Chala… he used to have friends there. “Parry brought out two in ten. She might be all right,” Methrym said but how likely was that? Not very Lorenz’s face said and he agreed.

Malvina was Lorenz’s mistress. He loved her deeply and would have married her if not for one thing. She was the daughter of a merchant not a noble. Lorenz was the son of a minor noble house true, but even a minor noble was expected to marry for position not love. Lorenz’s father would never understand if he ask to marry her.

“Parry’s dead!” Lorenz snarled.

“Never mind him,” Methrym said privately agreeing. “We have Wakiza behind us and nothing ahead of us but burned towns and villages. We have enough supplies for a tenday and nowhere to get more.”

“Sounds lovely,” Lorenz said still distracted by his loss.

“Snap out of it!”

Lorenz braced to attention and saluted. “Yes Sir, sorry Sir, orders Sir?”

“And stop pissing about.”

Lorenz turned his thoughts toward the current situation. “All right Methrym, I’ll be good… for now. What are we doing?”

“We are getting out of here fast. Swinging wide to the east, we’ll work round to rendezvous with the others at Chalek.”

“Long ride that,” Lorenz mused. “What of the rumoured second army? It’s supposed to be in the east somewhere. It would be disaster running into that while we’re like this,” he said nodding at the wounded.

“It’s a chance we’ll have to take. I’m sorry, but we haven’t time for pyres or burials. I need everyone in the saddle and moving east immediately. Those that need help will have to ride double.”

Lorenz grimaced. “We’ll lose more than a few on the trail, but you’re right, we can’t afford to stay here.”

“Get started,” Methrym said as Soren walked up.

Lorenz nodded to Soren and went back to his men.

“Well, Cousin?” Soren said beaming.

“You did fine.”

“Fine!” Soren said in outrage. “It was better than fine cousin! It was… it was marvellous! Even Barthan couldn’t have done better. Your plan worked exactly as you said it would.”

No it hadn’t, not by a long way, but there was no point in dwelling in the past. “We need everyone mounted and away to the east, Soren. Double up where necessary, but get it done.”

“We’re running?” Soren said in disbelief. “But we just won a smashing victory here! Let Wakiza come Methrym, we can take him.”

“Don’t be a fool!” Methrym said losing his temper. “He has twice our number. We’ll be in the same position as they were if we stay,” he said nodding toward the heaps of Japuran dead.

“And whose fault is it that we have less men? If you hadn’t given so many to Parry this wouldn’t be happening.”

“For the God’s sake, Soren, wake up will you! We are supposed to be protecting our people, not running around having fun! I had to secure Chala at our backs, and three thousand was barely enough to do it.”

“A fat lot of good it did. Those men with us would have given us choices, but now we have none.”

Methrym was deadly calm. His hand on the hilt of his sword was relaxed but ready to draw. “Are you saying that you could have done a better job?”

“Maybe I could have led better. I’m no novice like that bunch of whores you like so much!”

“I am mindful that we are cousins, Soren, but don’t ever make the mistake of thinking I won’t kill you. Tanjung is more important than petty rivalry. Vexin can’t afford divided leadership. Will you follow, or do we fight?”

Soren was close to drawing his sword, he could feel it. He firmed his grip upon the hilt of is sword but was saved the need when Lorenz returned. Lorenz stilled at the sight of the cousins standing like statues two sword lengths apart.

“What’s amiss?”

Without taking his eyes away from Soren, Methrym spoke up. “Well?”

Soren relaxed and shook his head. “No. Nothing is amiss, Lorenz,” he said then addressed himself to Methrym. “Chalek was it?”

“Chalek,” Methrym agreed.

“I’ll take point. Shall I?”

“That might be best.”

Soren saluted and moved away toward his men.

“What was all that?” Lorenz said not dismounting.

Methrym walked to his horse and mounted without speaking. Soren moved to his side as they rode toward the bulk of their forces.

“Well?”

He sighed. Lorenz didn’t know when to leave it alone. “Soren thinks we should stand and fight. He thinks he should lead this army, and that I was stupid in leaving near three thousand men at Chala. He’s right in a way.”

“Don’t talk rubbish! We killed… what? At least three quarters of Wakiza’s army right here!”

“I didn’t mean that, I meant leaving three thousand under Parry. I should have left you there.”

“Maybe you should have, but then Parry would have been here holding your left wing. What was the least risky place?”

“It was Chala, but Wakiza—”

“Wakiza is a fine War Leader or Strike Leader or whatever you want to call him. He took a chance and beat you at Chala, but he lost big here, Methrym. This battle might be the turning point for us. One more like this and he’ll be finished!”

Lorenz was right and Methrym took heart. Chala was a loss he regretted deeply, but it was a small loss when compared with the gain he had salvaged here. Wakiza would have to pull back now… no, he wouldn’t do that, but he would have to be more circumspect at the least.

Surely I can find a way to use his losses here to my advantage.

“You’re right, Lorenz. We ride for Chalek before Wakiza can get here.”

Lorenz gave the order and the army, weary but victorious, moved east.

“…the whores,” Lorenz was saying.

“What?”

“I was saying that as Soren doesn’t want them. I’ll take on the whores.”

Methrym grimaced. Nisim should have chosen another name for his little war band. “You can’t have them. I have something in mind for the borderers and Nisim’s people.”

Vexin’s plans to fortify the border and repopulate the region with freed slaves had fallen through when Japura invaded. Terriss had vowed not to let Japura take them or their land again, but when the time came, he had no choice but to flee. Terriss and his people had quickly faded away without fighting and were currently residing in Chalek with Nisim’s people. The borderers and whores represented a significant force in the region, one Methrym had plans for. If the Japurans tried to take them back, they would have a serious fight on their hands.

They made camp that night under the trees and buried those that had died during the trip. It was both better and worse than he had feared. Less than a hundred had died, but the effect on the morale of his men was dire. They were unhappy about not sending their fallen friends home to the God properly, and it was weighing on their minds. He couldn’t let them have pyres, and they knew why, but he could almost hear their thoughts coming to him like whispers on the breeze.

“Will he leave me lying somewhere unburned for the wolves to find?”

Methrym walked through the camp trying not to trip in the dark. He had ordered no fires and cold rations, which was unpopular, but that was nothing compared to his men’s main concern. He tried to reassure them where he could and hoped they would pass his message on.

“The God sees us wherever we are. He does not need smoke to find us when we die. Remember your lessons and trust that he sees all,” he said over and over, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was until he returned to Soren under a giant oak.

“That was well done,” Soren nodded toward the men. “Reminding them of childhood lessons. I’m sorry about earlier, Cousin. I know I’m no Barthan… or a Methrym either for that matter. I could never take your place, but I am good at what I do.”

“You are,” he agreed, well pleased with the apology. Strife amongst his captains he did not need.

“We will reach Chalek in… what? About a tenday I would judge.”

Methrym nodded. “About that.”

“Have you decided what’s to be done?”

“Re-supply at Chalek, gather every man including the whores, and then turn and destroy Wakiza’s army to the last man.”

“Oh! Nothing too strenuous then,” Soren said chuckling quietly.

Methrym snorted. It was late and getting later, he lay down to sleep.

* * *

13 ~ Royalty

Lady Ahnao stood with her lord upon the west wall of fortress Malcor to view the camp. Jihan’s men had done wonders with its construction. Where before there had been an open plain, now a new town constructed of wood sat. The buildings, of which there were precisely one hundred and two, were built to house Deva’s future legions as they trained. One hundred were identical to each other and were the barracks for the recruits; the other two were much larger and had more than one purpose; they were stores, classrooms and eating areas. Although Jihan had in excess of six thousand guardsmen under his command, it had still taken them nearly an entire season to raise the camp. His men had made a heroic effort, often working through snow and rain to finish it.

There it stood—empty!

“The King said spring; well it’s spring. Where are the recruits he promised to send? If I’ve built all that for nothing I’ll—” Jihan broke off frowning.

Lady Ahnao smiled. Her consort was loyal beyond question. There was not much he could say or do if the King decided not to send the promised men.

“They will come, Jihan. When they do, you’ll be run off your feet wishing you had never seen them!”

Jihan chuckled and gave his lady a gentle squeeze. He was always very careful with her. Even though he knew her to be a strong woman, he treated her as if she might break. Her pregnancy had only emphasised his care.

Arm in arm they descended the steps and made their way through the corridors until reaching a pleasant little room that faced east into the sun. Jihan saw her safely seated then poured two glasses of a richly scented wine. She grimaced behind his back, but smiled when he turned to proffer the glass.

He sat close beside her and drank his wine. Ahnao took a small sip then placed the glass well away on the side table. Her stomach was still queasy even after six moons of pregnancy. The healer said it was normal and gave her some herbs to eat, but they didn’t help very much.

“Do you think Julia will come home soon?” she asked, trying to take her mind off her stomach. She was hoping that her friend would reassure her that the babe was all right.

“I doubt it. Keverin was of the opinion she would return with him immediately she was well, but we both know Julia wouldn’t have done that.”

Ahnao sighed. Julia was known throughout Deva as the Sorceress of Athione and the saviour of Devarr, but she was also known for sacrificing her own wants to help those she considered friends. With the Hasians in the north, it would be very hard for her to turn her back on her new friends within the clans.

“Will she win?” Ahnao asked intently. If the answer was no, Malcor would soon be under siege by General Navarien.

Jihan was silent as he considered the question. She waited patiently for her answer preferring a well thought out response to glib reassurances.

“Possibly,” Jihan said finally. “Navarien is good by all accounts, but the clans still outnumber him. The problem is the clans don’t fight in the same way as the legions take for granted. A well led legion can destroy three times its own numbers. If their enemy is ill led and undisciplined, even more.”

That was about what she had expected. “What of magic?”

Jihan took a swallow of wine before answering. “I only know what I have witnessed myself where magic is concerned. Julia is unbelievably strong according to Lucius and Mathius, but to defeat the numbers said to be opposing her? I doubt she can. The shamen will even things up, but according to Petya they are not warriors and by tradition they do not fight. Without shamen to hold off the sorcerers, the clans will be destroyed.”

Ahnao shivered at Jihan’s bleak but matter of fact tone. What would her son do in a future where the Protectorate ruled?

“What will we do when Navarien comes?” she whispered. She no longer doubted the day was approaching.

“What we can. I will attack when that’s possible; defend when that is necessary. I’ll not allow a siege if I can avoid it, but I probably won’t be able to. Long before then you and our child will be at Athione.”

“Oh we will, will we?” Ahnao said angrily. “Just how were you intending to send me there? Will you turn me out of my home? Because that’s what you will have to do!”

Jihan tried to pull her into his arms but she would have none of it. She bounced to her feet and chose an armchair to sit in where he couldn’t coax her into agreeing.

“Now Ahnao, don’t be like that,” Jihan pleaded.

“Like what?”

“You know very well like what!”

Ahnao blinked. Jihan must be very worried. He was always the perfect gentleman with her or any woman come to that. She listened quietly as he went on.

“—or daughter to the cursed Hasians! I’ll not have it! My son will live to be Lord Malcor and so will his son after him!”

“But you just said—”

Jihan held up a hand to silence her. “If it comes to that. When or if it comes to that, you will obey me!”

She bit her lip. She wanted to argue but knew it would do no good. He was scaring her with his talk of the next lord Malcor. Jihan and she had many more years together! She had to believe that.

“Athione is more defensible,” Jihan was saying. “But perhaps Elvissa would be better. Yes, if she falls, Purcell can retreat into Tanjung to continue the fight.”

“You’re talking as if we’ve already lost!”

“Not at all,” Jihan said with a smile for her. “I have told you of my training, Ahnao, and you know me better than anyone. I look at all the possibilities and try to choose the best one for victory. Because I do this, does not mean I am unaware of the possibility of defeat. Sending you and our child to Purcell is a precaution.”

“A precaution? When will you know if it changes to a necessity?”

Jihan shrugged. “Who can say? If the clans defeat Navarien, none of this will be necessary. If I stop them short of the border, then none of this is necessary. One thing is necessary however, you will be on your way to Elvissa the moment I know a siege is inevitable.”

“All right,” she said faintly.

She would die without him, but she would not disobey him when doing so might risk their son’s life.

* * *

A few days after his conversation with Ahnao, Jihan had visitors. Senior Captain Echion came to him with the news.

Echion was a good captain for Malcor. He was well respected by the men and an old hand with the guardsmen’s life. He had been that very rare commodity: an honest sergeant during Athlone’s lordship of Malcor. When Jihan turned the cronies out of the fortress, Echion was raised.

Since then the man had overseen the construction of the training camp while Jihan accompanied Keverin to Denpasser. When he saw how good a job Echion had done, he promoted him to senior captain on the spot, a post that had remained empty from Jihan’s father’s time as lord. Echion had proven well able to cope with his new position. As Malcor’s senior captain, he was second in authority to Jihan himself.

Jihan continued the lunge he was practising, but a moment later he called hold. Niall smiled in rueful relief. He was grateful for the respite. All of the men were in good shape, but Niall was sweating heavily and obviously needed a break. Jihan always needed three or four partners when he practised. He found it too easy to become accustomed to a particular man’s style; as a result, he would begin anticipating his opponent’s moves. That was no way to train, hence the partner changes.

He dried what little sweat there was upon his face and Echion took the opportunity to approach.

“We have visitors my lord,” Echion said slowly.

Jihan smiled. The man had spoken slowly and deliberately. He was trying hard not to allow his peasant origins to show. He was still new to his position and was not yet confident enough to speak at a normal pace. It was all foolishness of course, but the men expected it. All guardsmen had a peasant background of course. They were recruited from the towns and villages nearby, not from the nobles. In Jihan’s opinion, that was a cursed good thing. He had met the other lords of Deva just last year and found most of them to be useless for anything except looking pretty, and he was less inclined to hold himself aloof than most noblemen. His lady had been a peasant living in the nearby town of Brai, a fact the lords had made plain they disapproved of. He couldn’t care less.

“Go on.”

“Lord Dylan’s party will arrive at midday. He has the recruits with him.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. Dylan was the heir to the throne. It was something of a surprise to hear that he was escorting the recruits personally.

“How do they look? The recruits I mean.”

“About as you would expect, my lord, though I confess to some surprise. Delin reports they’re marching in formation. Apparently they aren’t as good as they could be, but when I questioned that, Delin admitted he was impressed with the effort they were putting in.”

Jihan nodded. That boded well for his training efforts. If the new men were motivated it would be that much easier to turn them into legionnaires—the first legionnaires for the first legion in Deva’s history.

“How many would you say there are?”

Echion shrugged. “Not near enough to build a legion my lord. Delin estimates around three thousand recruits with roughly another hundred or so guardsman under royal colours.”

Royal colours meant they were marching under the crescent moon. That was to be expected with Dylan leading; he was the heir to the throne and therefore entitled to ride under the crescent moon alone.

Jihan dismissed Echion and his sparring partners and went to change. He found Ahnao overseeing preparations for greeting Dylan so he left her to that and made sure the camp was ready for its new inhabitants. The storerooms had food enough, but the racks intended for weapons and sets of armour were bare. It was a worry, but again the King had promised supplies would be forthcoming. Until they did, he would have to use weapons from the fortress, which meant some of his own men would go without. That would cause an unacceptable drop in Malcor’s strength, but what could he do? He had to make a decision now that some of the recruits were here. He would reduce patrols south, east, and west, while doubling them to the north where the true danger lay. That way, he would free up men to train the recruits and weapons for them to use as well.

At midday, Jihan was standing just outside the doors to the citadel with Ahnao on his arm waiting to greet Dylan. Echion was nearby and would be taking charge of the recruits for the first few days. Jihan would rather be doing that than playing host to royalty, but his duty was clear. He was always careful to do his duty.

Dylan finally appeared riding through the gates flanked by his captain and guardsmen. Thank the God he had sense enough to leave the recruits outside! Jihan, with Ahnao by his side, stepped forward. He bowed while Ahnao curtsied.

“My lord of Malcor, you and your beautiful lady are well I trust?” Dylan said handing his reins to the stable hand. All along the lines horses were quietly led away leaving Dylan free to look around at the largest fortress ever built.

“We are very well your highness, and you?” Jihan said.

“Much better for seeing you,” Dylan said clasping hands with Jihan. “If I might take the liberty?” Dylan said kissing Ahnao fondly upon her cheek.

Ahnao blushed at this sign of royal favour. Neither Jihan nor Ahnao knew Dylan particularly well.

Jihan gave himself a shake and introduced Captain Echion. “If you will permit?”

“Certainly, I have every confidence in whomever you choose,” Dylan said then looked to the captain who was obviously intent on leaving as soon as politeness allowed. “My thanks, Echion. You will find them a good bunch, a little over eager if anything, but that’s to the good when training is in the offing don’t you think?”

“I do, Highness. I’m sure they’ll lose some of their enthusiasm when the real work begins,” Echion said with a small smile.

Dylan laughed. “Not too much I hope!”

Jihan was impatient to hear Dylan’s news. “You know the plan, Echion, but see to the comfort of Lord Dylan’s men first would you?”

“Yes my lord,” Echion said and took his leave.

Jihan led Dylan into the citadel. “I have a suit of rooms for your comfort your Highness. Would you prefer to refresh yourself first or—”

“Call me Dylan, Jihan. I’ve only been a king’s son for a season or so and already I’m tired of all the bowing and scraping. We never really went in for that kind of thing at Meilan.”

Jihan laughed. “I must admit Keverin and now you have surprised me by your easy manners, but I confess I do prefer less pomp myself. It comes from having Athlone for a father I suspect.”

“Oh?”

“He was very aware of his exalted position as Lord Protector of the north. He always made certain that everyone knew his power. My mother and me most of all—” Jihan broke off as those times again rose up in his memory to darken his day.

Ahnao gave his arm a gentle squeeze to wake him from his remembrances.

“—talk first I think,” Dylan was saying.

Jihan had missed the first part but he inferred that Dylan wished to speak privily before refreshing himself. He thought his study was the best place for such a discussion, and so he led the way there.

He seated Ahnao in the best armchair and offered wine, but she declined; her stomach was still not completely well. He frowned; he was unsure if that was normal, and he disliked taking the healer’s word on the matter. If Julia had been here he would have had no hesitation, but as she wasn’t… perhaps he could talk to one of the older sergeants, one with lots of children. Devin came to mind. Yes, he would ask Devin whether he recalled his consort being ill for this long a time.

He sat opposite Dylan and waited for his guest to speak first. Dylan savoured his wine for a moment then began.

“This is very good, Jihan.”

He had thought Dylan wanted to talk about important matters not make small talk. He kept his face bland not showing his annoyance.

“I’m glad you like it, Highness. I can let you have a couple of cases to take back to Devarr if you think your father would like it?”

“I think he would enjoy this very much. The cellars at the palace were ransacked as you know. The wines he restocked it with aren’t the best in my humble opinion.”

Jihan nodded and sipped his own wine. “Forgive me for being blunt, Dylan, but do you have news of import for me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive. As I said, I prefer directness between us.” Dylan finished his wine and gently placed the empty glass on the side table. “I have disturbing news from almost every quarter I’m afraid.”

“Disturbing?”

“I should probably say worse than disturbing, frightening even, but it wouldn’t do for me to admit that, especially not when I’m representing the King.”

“Explain.”

“General Navarien has three legions at his command and is intent upon subjugating the clans and then us. Keverin is lolling about in Denpasser when he should be ruling Athione and protecting the western border—” Dylan raised a hand to stop Jihan’s protest. “I know he has a reliable man in Marcus, but the fact remains Keverin is not doing his duty to Athione or Deva.”

“Are you talking about replacing him as Lord Athione?” Jihan asked intently.

“Not yet.”

Yet? That didn’t sound good. It wasn’t good for Keverin, but worse, it wasn’t good for Deva. If Keverin was successfully ousted, Julia would leave with him.

“If you think to remove Keverin, you will receive no help from Malcor.”

Dylan’s face hardened for a moment before going blank again. “Keverin is my father’s friend, and yours I know, but Deva’s welfare comes before friendship.”

Surely Dylan did not truly believe Deva’s welfare was best served by replacing Keverin. Jihan frowned as he remembered an argument he had witnessed in Devarr. Keverin had been angered when Gylaren ordered three thousand cavalry to Devarr, but would not send them in pursuit of Julia’s kidnappers. Purcell had pointed out that the king had the entire kingdom to think of, not just one person. Because of this, he could not do as Kev wished. Keverin had rebutted by saying that without Julia, the sorcerers would take Athione easily, and therefore Deva was in jeopardy without her. Neither Jihan nor Purcell were fooled into thinking Keverin’s concern was for Athione alone, but that did not make his words less true.

“Friendship is important to me, Dylan, but I do take your meaning. Even so, you should not think to strengthen Deva by removing Keverin. Among other things you would lose Julia’s aid in defending us against the Hasians.”

“As I said, Keverin has not been removed,” Dylan said dismissively and changed the subject. “Now the news to the east is not good either. Although it does not affect us directly from a military point of view, my father is still very concerned. Tanjung hit Japura hard last year. With the loss of Talayan, the Matriarch had little choice but to retaliate in force. The Tanjuners have been pushed way back on the defensive. If things keep going the way they are Vexin will lose his capital.”

“If that happens, he’ll lose the confidence of his lords and from there his position as emperor.”

“Yes exactly. The Japurans have stayed within the same borders for their entire history… well, we assume they have. They haven’t moved since the Founding, but what precisely this all means to us is anyone’s guess. My father is concerned as I said. He has made a few inroads on the problem of trade, and I can see that more will come in the future, but war in the east will likely ruin his current efforts.”

Jihan could see that. Deva was in a poor position where trade was concerned. High quality metal goods had always been the bedrock of Devan trade, but now they had nothing anyone wanted. The larger mines had been closed well before the last master smith left Chulym. Gylaren could sell ores to Japura, but the smaller mines were not producing anywhere near their capacity. The good quality ores had always come from the larger mines in any case; they were deeper than the smaller ones and dated from the Founding. The Founders had their magic to seek out the best ore, and succeeding generations of miners had simply followed them into the mountain’s bones. Trade was a long term problem; one Jihan felt ill equipped to deal with. He did feel able to deal with current concerns however.

“All I know of trade is what little I have picked up from my tenants and farmers. The merchants always laugh at my attempts to understand their business. I do understand matters of war though.”

Dylan nodded. “We know this. I have brought three thousand recruits to you. The rest will arrive in smaller groups throughout this year, but I expect you to have enough for a full Hasian-sized legion before the summer closes.”

“That is good news, but what of weapons and armour?”

“That’s not a concern for the group I brought with me; they have what they need with them, but the future is more difficult. Father has put the supply situation squarely into my hands while he tries to solve the trade problem. I have a few ideas, but how I’ll supply your second legion, I have no idea. Perhaps trade will have resumed by then. I can hope so anyway.”

Jihan was not concerned about the second legion; he had yet to build the first one! Ahnao had remained silent while Dylan spoke, but now she took charge.

“Well, if further discussion will wait a little, Jihan, I think Dylan might like to freshen up before dinner.”

Jihan and Dylan nodded.

“I will show you to your rooms, Dylan,” Ahnao said rising to her feet.

Dylan stood and offered his arm to Ahnao and they left together.

Jihan was grateful to her for taking Dylan off his hands. He felt an urgent need to find Echion and investigate Dylan’s claims that weapons and armour were indeed no longer a concern. He made his way through the corridors nodding occasionally to guardsmen as they snapped to attention as he past. A quick ride to the camp should reassure him that all was well. With this in mind, he was soon riding through the gate toward the camp.

He found the camp a boiling chaos of shouting and shoving men, but it wasn’t a fight he was seeing. This was the result of trying to integrate three thousand young men into a new way of doing things—the soldier’s way. Jihan called a man over to hold Jezy while he went to speak with Echion who was standing to one side of what was to be the parade ground.

“Is it as bad as it looks?”

“Not quite, my lord,” Echion said with a smile. “Our lads can work around the confusion well enough for now.”

“They shouldn’t have to,” he said and walked toward the centre of the confusion.

Men were rushing back and forth carrying long crates that Jihan assumed held swords. Where Dylan had found them was a mystery, but he was glad to have them. Other crates he assumed held armour, but when a recruit dropped one, he found something else.

“Shirts?”

“And boots my lord,” Echion said. “Some of them have armour, others trousers. The long ones are swords; some have daggers in as well. The list goes on. Everything we could want is here, except a full compliment of recruits that is.”

“Dylan has promised us the rest in smaller groups. We should have enough by the end of summer, but we’re not waiting around. I want the men to assemble before me right now. Tell them to drop whatever they are doing and tell our captains to stand with me. All clear?”

“Yes lord!” Echion said and trotted off to get the captains working.

Jihan waited as his captains yelled at the sergeants and the sergeants yelled at the recruits. When that didn’t work, they began shoving the recruits into rudimentary ranks. Echion finally returned with the captains and Jihan was able to hear himself think.

“My name is Jihan, lord of Malcor and lord Protector of the north,” he began in his best parade ground voice. “You are recruits for Deva’s first standing army. I’m sure you have all heard how good the Hasian legions are. I will train you to be as good, and hopefully, better than they. It will take time and hard work, but if you are willing to give it your all, you will become the best!”

He walked along the first rank trying to guess which of the recruits would make good sergeants. It was a purely intellectual exercise at this stage.

“With these aims in mind I want you all to realise that you are now under orders,” he said stopping next to Echion in the centre. “My sergeants, my captains, and I will be obeyed without question. Any Malcoran guardsmen tasked with training you will be obeyed similarly. This camp has been built to house you and others like you; you will treat it with respect. Anyone found wantonly damaging this camp will be thrown out and chased off my lands. Is that clear?”

Jihan waited. There were a few nods and murmurs indicating it was, but by no means was it an adequate response.

“I said is that clear!” he roared.

“Yes lord!” came back the shouted response.

He nodded accepting what he had received as the best he was likely to get. Not everyone had entered into the spirit of the thing, but it was their first day. Time would tell.

“Good! I am taking you at your word. I am a man who believes in honourable conduct. I expect to receive it from those I have dealings with. This includes all of you!” He waited a moment for that to sink in. “Now, if any of you during the course of your training believes he was treated underhandedly or unfairly, you will first go to senior captain Echion, who will judge if your case should be brought before me. I believe my men are honest and true. In the unlikely event I find that indeed you were treated badly, I will give similar treatment to your alleged tormentor. That I swear!”

Jihan found belief on most faces, but not all. There were some in a group on the left that seemed sceptical, whether from intelligent paranoia or from a distrust of nobles in general, he could not say.

“Keep an eye on that group to the left,” he whispered to Echion. “They might be all right, but they seem different from the others.”

“Yes my lord. I had noticed they stick together. I’ll find out more later.”

“Good enough,” he said and reordered his thoughts to the task at hand. “The legions have a system of maniples and battalions. It’s a good system. I want all of you to reorganise into groups of a hundred. A sergeant will be with you in a moment to check the count.”

“See that done, Echion,” Jihan said waiting.

Echion gave the word and the camp again erupted into a chaos of screaming men. Thirty hand picked guardsmen, the very best Malcor had, rushed forward to attend to their maniples. In short order, the recruit sergeants had all three thousand recruits reassembled into square formations. The sight made Jihan shiver with excitement. These men could not fight, could not ride, could not do much of anything yet, but already they were looking like soldiers.

“That certain group managed to stay together again my lord,” Echion said with a nod.

“Maybe they all come from the same village,” he replied and turned his attention back to the recruits. “The man standing in front of your maniple is your sergeant. Get to know his face. The men of your maniple will become closer than brothers. Get to know your brothers. There may come a time when all that stands between you and death is one of these men. Think about that carefully.

“The first ten maniples on my left are first battalion. The middle ten are second battalion, the third ten are obviously third battalion. Do not forget your maniple and battalion numbers, they’re important. You will find two numbers painted upon the doors of the barracks; these correspond to your maniple and battalion numbers and are where you will live for at least a year and more probably two.”

He moved toward first battalion and returned the salutes of the sergeants. The recruits of course stayed as they were. He decided on Erwin as captain because the odd group was contained in a single maniple within first battalion.

“Erwin!”

“Lord!” Erwin said and trotted to him.

“You are captain for first battalion,” Jihan said and moved on.

“Yes my lord,” Erwin said to Jihan’s back.

Erwin was a good captain, but a hard man, which is why he had chosen him for first battalion. If the odd group became in any way rowdy he could rely on Erwin to sort it out.

Jihan made his way along the silent ranks and assigned two more captains. Captain Cort was his choice for second battalion, a young but able ex-sergeant. Lastly, Captain Rikka for third battalion, a contemporary of Echion. The two were friends, and would often spar together.

Jihan took his place next to Echion once more. “There will be no training today. You will follow the orders of your officers and finish the unloading. Tomorrow you’ll begin the journey toward becoming soldiers.” He began to turn away but stopped himself. “One last thing. Make me proud fellow soldiers.”

“Dismissed to duties!” Echion roared.

Jihan turned away with Echion at his side as the cacophony erupted once more. This time he could hear the difference. Instead of thousands of voices shouting and talking at cross purposes, he heard three captains quietly giving orders and thirty sergeants bellowing instructions. Much better, he thought, and Echion seemed to agree.

“I would never have believed so many recruits could be organised so quickly if I hadn’t seen it my lord.”

He smiled as he mounted his horse. “It’s simple Echion. Every problem whether big or small can be broken down into smaller and smaller parts. Do that enough, and soon you find there is no problem.” He turned his horse toward the fortress. “You know the plan. I’ll leave it to you until I can see Dylan safely on his way.”

“You can count on me my lord!”

“I know I can,” he said and urged Jezy out of the gates.

* * *

Interlude III

Vexin stared at the map of Tanjung unseeing. Too many places were crossed out. Every town and village in the borderlands was gone. More worrying was Keppel’s news confirming the rumours of a second Japuran army in the east. It seemed Talitha was not satisfied with her greatest strike leader’s efforts even though Wakiza had won every battle to date.

“Prince Ranen you say?”

“Yes my emperor,” Keppel said with a firm nod. “Talitha has raised the princes. Not that they needed much persuading. Talayan was a big incentive for them.”

“Yes it would be,” Vexin said.

Bothmar remained silent, but his slight nod said he agreed.

As Talitha’s consort, Ranen was leading the princes, but it was hard to say which army was the more dangerous of the two. Wakiza was the older and more experienced soldier and was so far undefeated. Ranen on the other hand was young and inexperienced but had more men in the form of the princes and their sworn men.

“Are the houses mobilising as ordered?” Vexin asked as he left the map table to pour more wine.

“All are delighted, my emperor. I’m not aware of any problems as far as the nobles are concerned.”

“That’s good.”

That Vexin had to ask was an indication of his precarious position as emperor. He had ordered the raising of the second army when it became apparent that Methrym, good though he was, was unable to bring Wakiza down.

“We have to do something about Ranen. He could be here in less than a tenday if he pushes the pace.”

“He’ll not do that,” Bothmar put in. “He has to be concerned about ambushes and the like. More likely he’ll take our towns one by one as Wakiza is doing to secure his rear.”

“Probably,” Vexin agreed, “But just in case, I want Dulcinea and the children sent to Karang.”

Bothmar nodded as he made his usual notes. “And Ranen?”

How Vexin wished that Methrym had not been so successful last year. If he had known then what this year would bring, he would have sat on Methrym personally to prevent him from crossing the border. He had been so pleased to hear of Talayan’s doom back then, but now all he felt was frustration and despair.

Vexin frowned as he went over his options. The first thing that came to mind was assassination, but the Dark Brothers had failed him more than once recently. He had ordered Lady Julia and the wizard Lucius killed to further his plans concerning Deva, but the assassins had failed on each occasion. The last time they sent a message to him stating they would not accept any further contracts against her. Keppel had offered to take care of the sorceress personally; he seemed to look upon the thing as a challenge, but Keppel was much too valuable to risk on. Besides, Deva was no longer a concern. Japura was the problem, more specifically prince Ranen. Did Talitha love the man, and if she did, would it be better to kill or capture him?

“Ranen has to be stopped and stopped hard,” Vexin said fiercely. “Send our fastest couriers with all the information we have regarding Ranen and his army. Methrym is to break off his attacks on Wakiza and march east. We can’t lose any more ground.”

Bothmar scribbled furiously.

“And Ranen?” Keppel said.

Vexin stared at the eastern section of the map and clenched his fists. “Kill him,” he said quietly.

* * *

14 ~ The Snake

Nisim lay awake listening to Leona’s breathing. It was a small thing he supposed, but lying here doing nothing would have been unimaginable to him not long ago. In Talitha’s palace, he would have been waiting for her to wake and use him, or he might have been working with his weights. In Talayan, he had briefly worked in a brothel before Mireya bought him. He wouldn’t have been to bed yet were he still there. Well not to sleep any way! Freedom was such a small word for something so huge. Freedom to do or not do whatever he wanted was something a slave had no business even dreaming about. Dreams were dangerous for a slave, dreams led to wrong thinking and error. Error led to beatings or worse… and he had seen worse. Oh yes he had seen worse all right.

Tanni was a friend who had died horribly because of him. He hated remembering that, but it was true. Mireya had learned that he cared for Tanni and had used the boy to hurt him. It was his fault, but Mireya hadn’t lived long enough to gloat about it. The night of Methrym’s sack of Talayan, he had killed her with the help of one of his friends. Naida had been Tanni’s lover for only a short time, but she had loved him dearly. When he died, Naida had vowed to kill Mireya. She used a poisoned dagger on her bodyguard and then used it on Mireya herself; he had helped with pleasure by holding the evil bitch down for the killing stroke. He wasn’t proud of that night’s work, but he would do it again. Mireya had been evil—sick in her head. She deserved the death she received and he would swear so before the God himself.

Nisim glanced toward the tent flap. The sun was barely up, but he decided to get dressed. Terriss was demanding when it came to being on time… he was demanding in all things. Methrym had dragged his army to Chalek just a few days ago, and had immediately called upon Terriss. The outcome of that meeting was to be discussed this morning, which was why he had to hurry.

He was careful not to wake Leona as he stepped outside. The whores and borderers were still living under canvas as they had been since arriving at Chalek. The lord here was not at all happy with having to feed thousands of borderers and freed slaves. Especially not when, in Lord Chalek’s eyes at least, they did nothing all day at his expense. Nisim knew Lord Chalek’s type very well. He was a weak man within himself, a coward and the worst kind of fool—a powerful one. It was little wonder that there was so much friction between him and Terriss. They were exact opposites. Unfortunately, that meant Terriss was powerless to better his people’s lot.

He ducked into a tent that Methrym used for his maps. Joz said it had belonged to a great War Leader named Barthan as if that explained its great size. Nisim had never heard of this Barthan, and had briefly wondered why the man wasn’t leading the army if he was so great. Terriss explained that his death had led to Methrym seizing control of the army, which in turn had led directly to the sack of Talayan and the freeing of the slaves. It was ironic really. Nisim and all his friends owed their freedom to an unknown Japuran assassin for killing Barthan.

He found the tent a little crowded, but there was room to move forward if carefully. After taking a moment to locate Terriss and Joz he made his way over to them. He felt like the odd one out at this gathering, which of course he was. He was pure blood Japuran and not even a soldier like the others. Joz was the soldier and his captain. He refused to call Joz the prince of whores as some of Methrym’s people had begun to do, but they were right in one thing. Joz led them and had a right to be here; Terriss did as well.

But why am I here?

He knew why. His friends had wanted him to lead them because of his foolish and risky actions in the battle for Talayan, but he had refused them their wish. He didn’t want anything to do with killing Japurans. Although he was a slave, he was still a Japuran in his deepest heart, but his friends weren’t happy with his refusal. They had insisted that if he wouldn’t lead them to war as Joz did, he would at least represent them in matters not pertaining to the war. Methrym was as bad. He had bargained for his help with planning his battles, but so far all Nisim had done was confirm information on Talitha’s strike leaders and princes when he knew anything. He had tried to get out of it but it was no use.

“Well?” Joz said as he reached him.

“Well what?” Nisim said and nodded to Terriss who returned the greeting with a nod of his own.

“Come on, Nisim, she is my sister!”

He sighed. “You know I like her Joz, but I’m just not ready to take a wife.”

“But she’s perfect for you! You said yourself that you like her, and I know she likes you. She’s good in bed, and she even knows how to cook that fiery stuff you like so much. What more could you want?”

All of that was true. Leona was a trained whore as Nisim himself was, so they had that in common. They knew how to please each other, and yes, he loved her pentach. He had always liked it very hot and she made it just right but…

He did not love her.

Nisim sighed again. “She is wonderful Joz, but I do not love her.”

“You could learn to,” Joz said solemnly.

“I don’t know. Sometimes I think that if I try a little harder… but then I remember and I know it won’t happen.”

“You are a good friend, Nisim,” Joz said shaking his head in pity. “But you’re also the world’s greatest fool. You were a slave in her palace, less than nothing in her eyes, and yet you pine like a lovesick fool. Talitha is Matriarch of Japura for the God’s sake! Even if she wasn’t, she has a consort now!”

He was a fool, he knew it, but it did no good! “You’re right. I know you’re right, but I can’t change how I feel.”

Joz put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I feel sorry for you. Truly I do, but Leona deserves better than someone who thinks of another woman constantly. It’s not right leading her on like that.”

“I’ll tell her,” he said dreading the thought, but Joz was right, she did deserve better than him—much better.

* * *

“Why now when I’m so close!” Methrym glared at the messenger.

Keppel gave him a cold hard smile. “I will tell you War Leader. You have made such a pitiful mess of this war to date that Talitha felt she could get away with sending a second army to hit Tanjor.”

Methrym slapped a hand to his sword, but before he could reveal a fraction of its length, a knife appeared at his throat.

“Yessss,” Keppel hissed. “That’s right, let it drop.”

He released his hilt and the sword dropped back into its sheath with a quiet snick. He licked his lips as a bead of blood welled and slid down his neck. He looked into Keppel’s eyes and shivered. He saw his death within them.

“Who…” he squeaked. He tried to relieve the pressure upon his neck by stepping back a pace but Keppel would have none of it. The assassin moved with him and more blood trickled.

He tried again. “Who is my replacement to be? I would strongly suggest Lorenz. Soren would likely lose this army.”

Keppel frowned. “I’m not here for you,” he said stepping away and making the dagger disappear.

Methrym urgently needed to use the latrine tent, but as Keppel moved away the need fled to be replaced by another. He snatched his sword free so he might go down fighting. He knew the Snake would best him sword or no sword, but he felt better with it in his hand.

“I’m not here for you,” Keppel said again. “You are ordered to break off from Wakiza immediately and march to engage Ranen’s army in the east. I have my own task, which does not concern you. I will travel with you a while then leave to attend to it.”

The only business the Snake ever had was assassinating people at Vexin’s order. Methrym belatedly realised he had been given a reprieve and sheathed his sword. What the guards thought they were doing letting the assassin by them he didn’t know—not that they could have stopped him, but they should at least have tried! Keppel had entered his tent at sunrise without a by your leave, and given his ruinous orders. Now it seemed he had business with someone nearby. It didn’t take a genius to realise that someone was going to die soon. Why not Wakiza? The Strike Leader had been hurt by his losses in the valley; one more battle and he would be done for, but these orders to break off were tantamount to giving him a second chance!

“If I… when I follow these orders, Wakiza will regroup and reinforce! He’s vulnerable now curse it!”

“You listen to me,” Keppel said. “If we lose Tanjor, we lose everything! The lords are mobilising, but if Tanjor is lost it’s certain they will pull Vexin down and with him the empire.”

“All right, I can see the concern, but surely I have time to hit Wakiza first. I swear to you that one strike will finish him!”

“You have your orders,” Keppel said unmoved.

“What about this; you assassinate Wakiza while I take care of this new army. With luck, his forces will retreat in confusion. At the very least it will make them less a threat.”

Keppel frowned. “I have no orders regarding Wakiza.”

That wasn’t a no, Methrym realised in excitement. “Think about it. Vexin hasn’t ordered you not to kill him—has he?”

“I will think on it.”

“But—”

“That is all I will say on this,” Keppel said cutting him off. “Perhaps something can be done, perhaps not. Either way you have your orders.”

He backed off. He had planted the seed of an idea; he would have to hope it flowered into action. “I have a meeting to attend. Would you care to accompany me?” he asked hoping for a demurral.

“I will,” Keppel said and waited for Methrym to lead the way.

Crossing the camp with Keppel one step behind him was not an experience Methrym was eager to repeat. He could feel Keppel, as if an aura of malice radiated from him. He had never felt anything like it. He knew the man was staring at him—without looking he knew. He entered the tent and was relieved to have others near at hand. Whether for protection or to dilute Keppel’s stare he was uncertain. All the usual faces were present. He had asked Nisim to attend as the representative of the whores because he had planned to use his war band against Wakiza. He was the closest thing to a leader they had. Joz was supposedly their captain, but Nisim really led his people whether he was willing to admit it or not. Soren and Lorenz were standing at the front next to the map table talking when Methrym came in. Lorenz’s eyes widened when he saw Keppel. Soren was oblivious. Methrym quickly shook his head when Lorenz dropped a hand to his sword hilt.

“You have loyal men, but to whom are they loyal? That’s the question,” Keppel said.

“No question,” he rebutted. “They’re loyal to me and through me to Vexin.”

“I see,” Keppel said without revealing his opinion of the arrangement. “What of the two Japurans? They are pure blood.”

“The tall one is Joz. He’s captain for the whores. The shorter one is Nisim. He represents their other interests.”

“A slave who would be lord.”

“Not at all. He fought at Talayan to free the slaves; he’s respected because of that. He refused the captaincy and would have refused his current position but his people wouldn’t let him.”

“It would be well for me to get to know him. Popular leaders are dangerous.”

Methrym doubted Nisim was a danger. Terriss now; he was a different proposition altogether. Terriss was more than dangerous, but not in a political sense. He would make an excellent war leader or even an assassin. Keppel had already taken note of Terriss and his position within the tent. How he knew of him was anyone’s guess but he obviously did. The Snake was afraid of nothing, everyone knew that, but he was also far from a foolish man as he demonstrated by giving Terriss a wide berth. The crowd quieted as Keppel and Methrym stepped to the fore and turned to face them.

“The war is off!” he said eliciting laughter from all sides. “Seriously, I have new orders to break off from Wakiza and march east. I’ll need the men ready to go—”

“This is madness!” Soren yelled. “We have Wakiza right where we want—”

“Are you refusing?” Keppel said quietly.

“No I—” Soren broke of worriedly.

“Good. Your emperor expects this army to move, and it will move. He expects you to destroy the Japuran threat in the east, this you will also do,” Keppel said then in a dangerous voice, “Do we all understand?” he said with eyes boring into Soren.

Soren nodded nervously as did most of those present in the tent. Terriss had a look of speculation on his face, Joz and Nisim looked bewildered—they didn’t know who and what Keppel was.

Methrym cleared his throat to bring all eyes back to him. “As I was saying, we move in two days. You have preparations to make, I suggest you get to it.”

“We might have a problem there,” Lorenz interjected before anyone moved to leave. “Lord Chalek is being… difficult shall we say.”

“Difficult? In what way difficult?” Keppel said before Methrym could speak.

“Lord Chalek does not like Methrym, Keppel. Actually, he doesn’t like any of us. Trying to get supplies out of that man is like trying to get a whore to give you one for free,” Lorenz said laughing. He turned to the two Japurans. “No offence.”

Joz and Nisim were grinning. “None taken,” they said in unison.

Methrym snorted. They may have chosen to keep the name, but as far as he knew Nisim’s people were no longer whores in the true sense of the word. They were very free with their bodies true enough, but they kept it in the family so to speak. Bed hopping was rife in the whore’s camp, but if an outsider tried to get in, he would be lucky to get out in one piece.

“I will deal with Lord Chalek,” Keppel said. “Prepare your men. The supplies you need will be provided. That I promise you.”

“Ah… Keppel?” Methrym said.

“What is it?”

“I don’t think you ought to, you know, kill him or anything.”

Keppel snorted. “There are worse things than death. You would do well to remember it.”

He decided to leave it at that. It was never wise to become involved with Keppel’s business. “I’m sure you’re right.”

The meeting began to break up, but Methrym held back Terriss, Joz, and Nisim. Keppel was still interested in the Japurans it seemed and remained behind also.

“What do you want of my people?” Terriss said almost angrily.

He took no offence. Terriss had been like that since the Japurans overran his people’s land. Swearing an oath to oppose the Japurans last year, only to be run off a few seasons later was galling him badly.

“I want you to do what you promised you would do.”

Terriss frowned. “You say we’re not going to kill Wakiza now. Promise finished.”

Keppel shifted slightly and Methrym hurried to explain before he lost an ally. “It will still work in the east. Wakiza will be here for you when we have finished,” he said, but he hoped he was lying. If Keppel decided the right way then he was.

“Your plan will take time, time we don’t have,” Terriss said.

That was partly true, but Methrym felt it could still work. The original plan had called for building a trap for Wakiza, but time was short. Well, Tanjung Malim was already built. What Vexin would say was something he did not like to think about. The risk to the city was extreme, but the times called for extreme measures. If Ranen fought anything like Wakiza, it would work. One thing they had always had trouble doing was bringing the Japurans to battle. Oh, he didn’t mean skirmishes or hit and run raids. No, he meant a full scale battle in fixed positions. The battle of the valley had been the first time he had brought Wakiza’s forces into a prepared position where the Japurans had to stand and fight. The result had been victory for him for the first time in this war. Victory or no victory, he had been well aware for a long time that he had to bring the Japurans to ground, but Wakiza had not allowed it. The strike leader would always bypass his carefully laid traps and battlefields to strike at cities and towns behind him. It had been infuriating, but now the pattern was set. It all depended on Ranen’s training. If he was good like Wakiza, then this would work and Ranen was a dead man.

“Ah… you want us in the city,” Terriss said finally realising what he had planned.

He nodded.

“What of us?” Joz said indicating Nisim and himself.

“I don’t have anything specific in mind. Your people are Borderers now. You can assist Terriss.”

Joz nodded and agreed to do that. Joz and Nisim made to leave but Keppel spoke up.

“I would speak with you, Nisim.”

Nisim looked surprised. He whispered something to Joz who nodded and left.

“What would you have of me?”

Keppel seemed to ignore the question. “I have heard that you are the leader of your people. Is that correct?”

Nisim made a face, which Methrym felt sure Keppel made a note of.

“In a manner of speaking,” he said. “They chose me to lead them, but I don’t really. All I do is listen to their problems and ask them what they think should be done. They know the answer already. I only need to point it out to them.”

“I will be travelling with the army to Malim,” Keppel said. “I would like to speak with you again.”

Nisim looked as confused as Methrym felt. What by the God did the Snake have to talk about with Nisim? It wasn’t as if they had a lot in common!

“I’ll look for you on the journey then,” Nisim said.

“I’ll find you,” Keppel said.

Nisim nodded and turned to leave.

Keppel watched Nisim leave the tent with a small smile on his face. Methrym didn’t like the look of it.

“This Nisim will prove useful to me,” Keppel mused aloud.

“Useful how?”

“That is not your concern,” Keppel said and left Methrym standing alone.

* * *

15 ~ Breakthrough

“Do you see it?” Shelim asked intently.

“Hmmm,” Julia said concentrating on her mage sight.

“The string is heading north now, but when Kerrion first found the thing it went in a westerly direction.”

“Uh huh…” she said vaguely.

The book was fascinating reading in its own right. She hadn’t had time to read all it contained, but the small snippets she had managed to peruse gave her a view of the clans from a unique perspective. True, the book had been written by a sorcerer, but the author had been masquerading as a shaman for years—successfully to! The hand written accounts were surprisingly free of bias, and from what Shelim said, she gathered the book held an accurate account of clan life. She was determined to study it thoroughly. She skimmed through the book until she again found a discrepancy. A single page written in a different hand stood out from nearby pages. There were just a few short sentences on an otherwise clean page.

“What do you think of this?” she said proffering the book to Shelim.

He read the words and flicked back a few pages then forward a few. “Someone else wrote this page. The hand is different and the tone is more commanding.”

Julia nodded. “You’re right. We already know this book is linked to another one somewhere. Obviously a page was written in that other one and appeared here as I assume words written here appear there.”

He flicked through and found another instance. “This time he’s asking for more detail about the Gathering. I think you’re right. The man who wrote these pages was Duran’s chief.”

She smiled. “The Hasians don’t have chiefs, but I take your meaning. Yes, Duren and the others were spies, scouts if you will, sent in before the legions. You’re sure the string went west?”

“Yes. Larn has one of these, but we destroyed the others with their owners.”

“A pity,” Julia said taking the book back.

“Why a pity? What use could they possibly be now?”

She shrugged. “There could have been many uses, but only one comes to mind right now. We could have written in this that the clans will attack in a certain way. When the enemy reads it, we attack differently.”

“That should surprise them!”

“It probably wouldn’t have. I’m sure the sorcerers would check through the mirror first.”

Shelim nodded ruefully. “I should have thought of that.”

That the string went north now wasn’t a surprise. Julia had already guessed that Navarien’s sorcerers had journeyed to Calvados by sea. Obviously the books had been sent along to provide advanced knowledge of the clans. The books themselves were of less use now that the fake shamen were dead, but the damage had already been done. Navarien knew how many warriors opposed him and in what way that opposition was likely to manifest itself. That was a strong advantage. The only way she could see to negate it was to do the unexpected. By changing Tobiah’s plan, the clans would make the information the legions had acquired, if not useless, then certainly less damaging.

“You must ask Kerrion to persuade Kadar to change the plan.”

“Tobiah is the one we need to convince,” Shelim pointed out.

“I know, but he won’t see me. I’m a disgusting outclanner remember?”

Shelim flushed with embarrassment.

Julia smiled. Shelim knew she was right, but he was uncomfortable hearing Tobiah’s bigotry so openly expressed. Every man and woman of the clans was prejudiced against outclanners, and that included Shelim and the other shamen. But they had come to respect Julia and those with her. Not so Tobiah, and not so most of Wolf Clan’s people. There were exceptions of course—Kornel and his son, Petya and his, a few others, but Wolf Clan was by far the most outspoken against the outclanners in their midst.

Shelim explained his reasoning, “Kadar can’t overrule Tobiah, and nothing else will work. He’s a proud warrior and won’t let himself appear to be subordinate to Kadar. He is chief of chiefs and will act like it.”

Julia hesitated. Shelim seemed so sure. “Perhaps Kemen can persuade him then. Surely a Wolf Clan shaman’s words will have more weight.”

“I will talk to Kemen,” Shelim said in agreement. “But I doubt Tobiah will listen. The chiefs have been planning this war since Tobiah won the tournament. I doubt they’ll be pleased with him trying to change things at this stage.”

“But that’s stupid! This book has told Navarien how to beat you. Surely he will see that?”

Shelim looked down and mumbled something that Julia failed to catch.

“What was that?”

Shelim sighed and looked back up. “I said only shamen know of the books. Everyone else believes the challenges were between shamen, not between a sorcerer and shaman.”

She gaped. No one knew? Surely someone would have asked why shamen were killing each other? “You will have to tell them then.”

“We can’t!” Shelim cried in agitation. “Warriors have little use for us as it is. If they ever found out that some of us were enemy scouts I don’t know what would happen.”

“You must be exaggerating.”

“I’m not. Warriors will never admit fear of another, but it’s there just the same. Shamen are other is a well known saying among my people, Julia. Shamen are strange, shamen are other. Shamen never marry by tradition, but that tradition came about because no woman would want a shaman for her husband. Warriors tolerate us at best; they need us for healing. It wasn’t always that way, we were councillors to the chiefs, but it is now.”

A lot more was making sense to her now. No wonder Kerrion had led the raid to free her. Kadar had been in a terrifying rage over that. She’d had to talk him down for candlemarks before he would let his anger with Kerrion go. She had thought him angry because Kerrion had usurped his authority, and of course that was part of it, but now it seemed the problem was much deeper.

“I’ll see Tobiah.”

“And if he won’t see you?”

She smiled coldly. “I won’t let him refuse.”

Shelim left shortly after that leaving her to her reading. As she read about clan life, something kept nagging at her. It was very off putting that niggling in the back of her brain. What had she forgotten? No, that wasn’t it. Something in the story then? No, that wasn’t it either. She closed the book keeping a finger inserted to hold her place. She glanced around the tent but could see nothing that would cause the feeling of something undone.

Julia grasped her magic and contacted Mathius. *Is anything wrong there?*

*Not unless you call Lucius pulling his hair out wrong,* Mathius replied.

*Nothing unusual in that,* she said with a grin.

*I’ll have you both know that I never pull my hair out. It’s my beard!* Lucius put in.

Julia laughed. *Why are you tugging it this time?*

*The usual. The mirror doesn’t—*

She gasped and missed the last part of what Lucius was saying. The mirrors! That was what the nagging was. The books worked as the mirrors had so far failed to do!

*I’m coming over Lucius,* she said grinning in delight now. This was it, she could feel it.

*We’re in my tent,* Mathius said.

*Thanks.*

Julia ducked outside and began walking through the camp. The tents belonging to Keverin’s men were drab and utilitarian compared with the much taller and bigger clan tents. They were a drab dirty green colour that faded into the surroundings. She was sure that was intentional. Keverin would use any advantage to help his men survive. Camouflage was not unheard of here it seemed. The green tents were as close to invisible as it was possible to get.

Mathius’s tent wasn’t far away; she ducked inside full of anticipation.

“What’s funny?” Lucius grumbled glaring at his reflection in the mirror he held.

Julia picked up another mirror that had been discarded not far away. It was very off putting seeing a bearded man staring back at her rather than her own reflection. She snickered and watched the face in her mirror darken.

“I’m sorry Lucius,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to school her features. “Of course it’s not funny in the least. I’ve found something that will help you. Shelim found it and I’m passing it on to you.”

Lucius frowned at the book, but he did take it from her. He opened it at random and read a few passages. “How does this help?”

“What is it?” Mathius said throwing another mirror down onto the rugs.

Julia winced, but it did not break thank goodness. They didn’t need seven years bad luck on top of everything else.

“It’s an account of the clans written by a sorcerer posing as a shaman,” she explained. “If you use your mage sight you will see something extremely interesting, something that will have you both grinning I think.”

They each raised an eyebrow at that. They were like twins in their expressions, but Julia didn’t say anything and managed not to laugh. Lucius shrugged and grasped his magic with Mathius a moment behind.

“Do you see the string?” she asked eagerly.

“Yes,” they chorused.

“That goes to another book in Calvados—rather we believe it does. When you write in this one it appears within that other, and we believe the reverse is true too. Will that help do you think?”

Mathius looked up. “Do you mean to tell me that all our experiments in contagion magic are useless?”

Julia’s grin slipped. “I… well, yes I suppose… so.”

Mathius moved toward her with a stern and forbidding look on his face, which dissolved into a grin as he hugged and lifted her from her feet. “This is wonderful!” He shouted as he whirled her around.

Julia laughed in delighted relief.

“So that’s how it’s done,” Lucius said. “Our experiments aren’t wasted, Mathius. We can combine the two spells. Our mirrors work up to a point; they just fail to show the correct images. With this… linking spell let us call it; with this linking spell we should be able to solve the problem,” he broke off frowning. “If Mortain can make linked books, why doesn’t he adapt this for use in mirrors?”

Julia shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe he didn’t think of it, or maybe someone else made the books. I think it’s more likely that he’s just blindly following tradition.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“One good thing about the Protectorate is its stability,” she said. “The system that continues to produce Mortains and Godwinsons is based upon tradition. Mortain rules because that is how things are. Mortain is strongest, because Mortain is always the strongest. Do you follow me?”

“So you’re saying the only reason they contact each other at set times of the day is tradition?”

“Not the only reason. I do think it’s the main one. A sorcerer’s training follows a set pattern, a pattern set down centuries ago. That kind of schooling doesn’t lead to original thinking.”

Lucius looked grim. The training of boys under Castle Black was torture, pure and simple. Many died as they were pushed beyond endurance. The fittest survived; the others died or were killed as object lessons or even as targets for the novices in training.

“You’re right,” Lucius said and shook himself free of grim thoughts. “Obedience is the mainstay of the Protectorate. Obey or die is a way of life for a sorcerer.”

She nodded. Lucius had lived that life for many years, but he was free of it now. He was intelligent, and that intelligence had been stifled in the Protectorate. He delighted in investigating things to see what he could unearth about them. Julia found it hard to imagine her friend as he must have been living below Castle Black, and she thanked God for it. She didn’t need more nightmares.

She left her friends discussing how they might test the new spell and made her way toward the Wolf Clan’s camp. Her luck seemed to be in today, so she decided to use it on Tobiah while it lasted. As she walked through first one camp then another, she noticed a change in atmosphere. If she remembered Kerrion’s lessons correctly, the first camp she had entered belonged to a tribe of Cricket Clan. The people took note of her, but no more than they would for any other shaman. That was surprising and gratifying. Surprising, in that although Julia was wearing a shaman’s beaded tunic and leggings she was obviously a woman and therefore unusual. And gratifying, in that everyone knew the only female shaman was an outclanner. The lack of outward interest, or more importantly hostility, in an outclanner passing through the camp was very welcome.

When she entered Horse Clan’s main encampment she felt the difference. The people walking by felt extremely hostile to her. No one said or did anything, but she felt them watching her, staring at her. Shelim had told her all about his adventures with Mazel and Horse Clan, so she knew that many of these people had seen Navarien’s handiwork first hand. Navarien was a monster to them, but he was also an outclanner. They obviously weren’t happy having more outclanners nearby.

At least they didn’t do anything. They contented themselves with hostile staring.

Julia made her way through other camps and received varying responses. Most were open and friendly, some were like Cricket Clan in their acceptance of her, but then there were the Wolves.

She knew as soon as she entered the camp that she had made a mistake. Women and children stared for a moment then quietly withdrew into their tents. In moments, the only people in sight were warriors. Rather than slow her pace and therefore broadcast victim to all and sundry, she continued as if unaware that a problem existed. It did exist though and she grasped her magic in case of trouble.

This was all Tobiah’s fault. The younger warrior’s patterned their attitudes after his likes and dislikes. One thing the chief disliked above all things was outclanners. He was a holy terror on the subject. She didn’t know why he should be the worst when no clansmen thought well of outclanners, but he was.

“You don’t belong here, outclanner. Go back where you came from,” a young woman with a sword on her hip said.

“I’m visiting a friend. Tobiah and I have things to discuss,” she said and pushed on by.

The woman gave way in surprise at hearing who she planned to visit. Julia was congratulating herself when she came upon a group of young warriors intent on blocking her path.

“No Wolf is a friend of an outclanner, least of all Tobiah,” a man said from within the group.

“You speak for the chief of chiefs do you?” she asked.

“I speak for myself.”

“From within a group like an honourless…” she couldn’t say outclanner. “Dog!”

There was a rumble of anger from the warriors and a man stepped forward. He had mousy coloured hair worn long and braided with feathers and beads. His face and body was bronzed from the sun and he had intense blue eyes. He was very pretty, she thought—if you liked muscle-bound children—and she didn’t. It seemed likely that if he’d already had his manhood ceremony, it had been recent—very recent.

“You would turn me away?”

“We will.”

“As I said. I have things to discuss with Tobiah, but if you think you can send me back go right ahead.”

The boyish warrior was uncertain. He did not draw his sword, which was lucky for him, but he did move forward and that was enough. Julia touched him with one finger and infused him with exhaustion. He collapsed instantly asleep. She looked up from the sleeping warrior and saw dozens of stunned and fearful faces. She should have known her luck would desert her.

“Well?” she said when no one moved.

A gap opened in their midst and she walked between them listening to their fearful voices. Why did she always have to frighten people just to do what was necessary?

“…shaman…”

“I knew we shouldn’t have…”

“An outclanner and a shaman, what could be worse?”

Julia snorted. What could be worse? In Tobiah’s eyes, being a woman, an outclanner, and a shaman was quite enough!

She eventually found Tobiah speaking with the chiefs. She recognised a few of them and knew them to be friendly toward her. Kadar was among them and Allard also. Petya was sitting to one side and he stood to give her his place in the group. Others glared at her as she sat in their midst. She knew the worst ones were Wolf Clan tribal chiefs. Kornel winked and she smiled. Kornel was the only Wolf Clan chief she knew who was in anyway friendly.

“I need to speak with you,” she said, addressing herself to Tobiah where he sat glaring at her.

Tobiah was not happy, but he was civil. “What have you to say?”

“I want you to allow my friends to accompany you when you move against Navarien.”

The expected explosion did not come from Tobiah. Instead, there was a hiss of outrage from the Wolf Clan contingent among the chiefs. Shouts of no and send her away were quickly silenced by Tobiah’s glare. Mazel looked far from happy with her request as well. He leaned in and whispered something that Tobiah obviously did not like and he gestured Mazel away.

“Why do you want this? You are an outclanner’s women. An outclanner yourself.”

She frowned. Why did she care what happened to this fool? The answer was that she didn’t care about him. She tried not to care if he lived or died, but if she was brutally honest with herself, she would prefer him dead. That thought would have horrified the Julia of two years ago, but she was a different person now from that naïve young girl.

“Unlike you, I take no insult from the truth, Tobiah. I am an outclanner, but I have friends here and I would not see them hurt. For you however, I feel nothing but contempt.”

Tobiah’s eyes narrowed as her words went home. “If you were a warrior I would—”

“Don’t bother,” she said. “I’ve heard challenges before. Why did you want to become chief of chiefs?”

Tobiah blinked at the subject change. He was still angry and having trouble thinking of anything else. That was exactly what she was talking about! The man had no self control. He was a disaster as chief of chiefs.

“I am chief of chiefs because I am strongest.”

“That’s not what I asked. Why did you want to lead?”

“The question is meaningless! Any warrior with honour would want to be a chief, and any chief would want to be chief of chiefs.”

There was a rumble of agreement throughout the tent.

“I’m sure you’re right. You wanted to be chief for the great honour to be gained.”

“Yes. I lead the clans north tomorrow and—”

“There is no honour in defeat! Besides, you’re not leading the clans north. You’re leading the warriors north!”

“It’s the same thing! Why are you baiting me?”

Julia ignored that. “It’s not the same thing, Tobiah. Without the shamen you and your warriors will die. I don’t care about you, but without the warriors, the women and children will be helpless.”

“Outclanners are weak,” Tobiah hissed. “Not my people. None among us is weak!”

“She is right, Tobiah,” Mazel said grimly. “I’ve tried to tell you but you would not listen. I have seen fire raining from the sky. Without shamen at our sides we will be helpless! How can we fight fire from the sky without fire of our own?”

The chiefs were worried. Julia could see it clearly. Mazel had only said what many of them were thinking. They were right to worry in her opinion.

Tobiah glared hotly at Mazel. “Outclanners are weak!”

“If you think General Navarien is weak then you are sorely mistaken,” she said bringing Tobiah’s attention back to her. “That goes for the sorcerers as well. Believe me Tobiah, I beg you. Without magic you will all die.”

She willed the idiot to see the truth, but she could see him dismissing her words even as she watched. It didn’t help that she was an outclanner of course, but she was also the next best thing to a shaman. Tobiah didn’t like shamen—he believed them to be weak and manipulative, and they did sometimes manipulate events, but they always did so for the good of their people. Tobiah would not see it that way though. Before he could leave, Julia had an idea.

“Wait, before you go, Tobiah, I have a question. Do you think of yourself as a good chief?”

“I am a good chief.”

“And you believe that being a good chief means having good judgement as well as good warrior skills?”

Julia waited with baited breath for him to fall for it.

“I agree,” Tobiah said warily.

“Then I ask for a judgement!” she crowed.

Ha, she had him! She had him right where she wanted him. All she had to do now was prove that his warriors needed the shaman to win this war. How she would do that she had no idea, but she would think of something—Tobiah was grinning and shaking his head. Mazel looked away.

“What? You have to call the people together now. Right?”

Tobiah laughed. “Wrong!”

“But you have to!” she said in outrage. “I’ve asked you—you’re a chief, so you have to do it.”

“No I don’t. You’re not clan. You have no rights in my eyes. If it weren’t for Kadar, you would be gone. When I lead my warriors north, you and your people are going south.”

She stared at him in disbelief. She looked to the other chiefs, but none would look her in the eye. She had two days. What could she do in two days?

She couldn’t think of a thing.

* * *

16 ~ Legion

Demophon couldn’t believe it! The others, his so-called brothers, were happy with the situation as it stood. Happy with it! Wotan had turned the world on its head and they were content to let him. Never had sorcerers taken orders from non-mages, but here they not only did take orders, they took them happily from mere sergeants and captains! The legions served sorcerers; they did not order them!

Demophon found Odelyn in his tent doggedly eating some bread and cheese. He glanced around at the mess then cleared a space to sit on the ground opposite his friend.

“So, what are you doing hiding in here?”

“My captain,” Odelyn said with a sneer. “My captain has given me a candlemark to rest. He said I must be tired because I wasn’t pulling my weight.”

He covered his grin by coughing into his fist.

“That sounds nasty my friend, have a cup of wine,” Odelyn said in concern. “Not surprising you’re health is suffering in these conditions.”

What an idiot.

He was careful not to let his contempt show. He erected a ward against scrying. What he had to speak of could be called treason by certain unenlightened people.

“Have you talked to the others?”

Odelyn nodded. “They’re all behind us—far behind if you take my meaning. Those serving Captains Meran, Bannan, and Nissus will back us, but they won’t help in the actual removal.”

That was something at least. Odelyn had fared better than he. Demophon had tried those serving in Turner’s, Corbin’s, and Tikva’s battalions, but every one of them was happy with the situation as is. That just left those assigned to Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth battalions. He hadn’t spoken with them as yet, but he had little hope that they would help.

“Cowards the lot of them,” Demophon growled.

Odelyn nodded in agreement. “Yes cowards all, but that means we two will have to do it.”

Not me… you.

“That can be arranged and it will,” he said. “You say the others will back us once the deed is done?”

“Absolutely,” Odelyn said eagerly. “No one is completely happy with Wotan running things even though he seems to be doing a reasonable job. The strongest must lead. It has always been that way. I will lead with you as my second as tradition dictates.”

Second? I don’t think so you incompetent lush!

“I will arrange to meet Wotan privately,” Demophon said. “You’ll have to arrange something to distract Magar for a while.”

“That should not be difficult. Once he’s out of the way, I’ll come to your meeting and we can take care of Wotan together.”

“I can take him alone, there’s no need—”

“I said… we will take him together!” Odelyn said coldly. “You must remember your place my friend. I am stronger; you will do as I say.”

“I will comply with your orders of course,” Demophon said trying to keep his laughter from breaking free and ruining everything.

“Good. Once Wotan and Magar are taken care of, I will arrange something for Navarien and that bastard captain. Death by fire is too good for them.”

Imbecile!

“Navarien is too well liked by his men. We need him to win this little war for us. Afterwards you can remove him, but I strongly suggest not before.”

“Perhaps you’re right. Just Meran then.”

“Under captains are nothing,” he agreed. “Navarien is an able soldier by all accounts. He will win this war for you, and Mortain will reward you greatly.”

“I won’t forget your help, Demophon. I promise you that. I will see to it that Mortain learns of your efforts on his behalf.”

“I thank you my lord sorcerer.”

Odelyn laughed. “Lord Sorcerer. It sounds good doesn’t it? Better be careful though, you know what will happen if Wotan hears.”

He nodded. As Lewin would say: what a dick-head!

* * *

The stench of death hung heavy upon the early morning air. Navarien viewed the scene with some disgust, but was careful to project only mild interest on his face. It was something he was well used to doing, this covering of thoughts and emotions. At home, not that anywhere was home really, but at home, he had to cover his true thoughts as a matter of course. It was survival.

“It seems a shame,” Wotan murmured.

“Hmmm,” he replied noncommittally.

It was a shame, but necessary. Thirty thousand soldiers needed a great deal of food. Fortunately, or unfortunately if you were a bison, there was a great deal of food wandering loose on the hoof.

“How many now?”

He shrugged and tried to estimate the number by the heaps of bones that lay scattered across the plain. There were so many that his men had to continually move to fresh ground hoping to avoid tripping over the offal of slaughtered bison. He watched another wave of javelins as they felled hundreds of the huge animals. It was good practise for the men as well.

“Sixty thousand?” Navarien said uncertainly.

“That should be enough don’t you think?”

“Probably. I want every one of them though.”

The ever present Magar grunted. “It had better be enough.”

Navarien remembered the journey to Calvados very well. So did his men. He wouldn’t be caught short again if he could help it. The meat of sixty thousand bison was more than enough for his men’s needs, but why not have seventy thousand while he had the animals on hand? No reason except sentiment not to, and good reasons to go ahead and finish this herd. Besides, sentiment would not fill his men’s bellies. The campaign would go a lot easier if they didn’t have to worry about where their next meal was coming from. Usually food and other supplies were transported with the baggage, but this time things would be just a little different. Curing the meat would ensure they had food enough to last through the war. The baggage train was so big it could almost be called a legion in itself, but by curing the meat into strips, he could supply each man with enough to last him two tendays without weighing them down too much. With supply no longer a concern, they could roam the plain at will just as the clans did.

He had roughly twenty eight thousand men, of which three oversize battalions—nine thousand men—were mounted. The cavalry would be deployed forward of the main body sweeping an arc encompassing the forward half of a circle, which would use the baggage and infantry as its centre. He would arrange his deployments so that each battalion could return for resupply at staggered intervals. In this way his infantry would be screened at all times, thereby keeping any clan warriors at a distance until he deemed the time advantageous for battle.

“Any problems I should be aware of?” Wotan said as they turned away from the slaughter.

Navarien walked slowly by Wotan’s side with his hands clasped behind him and thought about the changes his legion had undergone. Magar of course followed a step behind both of them. Captains Duer, Tikva, and Bannan were still at Calvados overseeing the last days of their battalion’s training. He had given each captain a core of veteran legionnaires to stiffen their commands, which would provide a strong example to the new men. The march south would toughen them he had no doubt. He had sent Cragson along with Turner to procure something that might well prove decisive in this war. Under cover of darkness and warded against scrying, Cragson would equip the men with long pikes. Hidden in the long grass they could prove devastating to the clan warriors when they charged his seemingly vulnerable infantry. He could hardly wait to see how it worked!

Wotan had been as good as his word and the sorcerers were now an integral part of the legion. Each mage knew his job and his place within his battalion. So far, no one seemed discontented with the situation, which was a marvel. He had even heard some of the sorcerers boasting about the prowess of their captain or their sergeant in the training.

Legionnaires were tough, but they did not like surprises. The ruinous battle against Dragon Clan had proven a blessing in disguise. It had shown how badly the men needed to train with the sorcerers in the new ways. It had become his policy to train the men as if they were in a real battle. No fire or other lethal magic was used of course, but the men had now become thoroughly accustomed to wards appearing and disappearing around them as they attacked. An important part of the training was having the men learn to move with the wards. It was no good having them outrun or lag behind them as Wotan ordered them forward. It was a strange experience for everyone, but also a challenge. Navarien felt the allure of that challenge strongly. He knew he was a good General, but no one had ever commanded the force he had at his disposal here. Devising a way to use all his advantages at the same time as minimising his disadvantages had taken all his attention to date, but now they were ready to put it all together and try it out.

“Everything’s proceeding without a hitch.”

“I confess to some surprise,” Wotan said. “When things go this well it makes me think I should look harder for trouble. Do you know what I mean?”

He laughed. “There’s an old saying in the legions. Don’t look for trouble, it will find you!”

Wotan laughed as they reached the centre of camp. The only thing that distinguished it was the single folding table set under an awning. His map of Camorin was prominently displayed with the battalion standards in position. The clans were depicted in a single group at a place called Denpasser far to the south. Denpasser was perhaps five leagues from the border with Deva, and roughly twelve leagues to fortress Malcor. Wotan had shown him Denpasser and the clans in detail using his mirror, so he understood the reason for the gathering. He could see the attraction of joining forces and understood why the clans felt it necessary, but it was still a stupid move on their part. What they should have done was deployed along the legion’s line of march and harassed him as Horse Clan had done last year. He was grateful they hadn’t, but even if they had done so, they would have failed this time. Deterring such harassing attacks was another reason he was using the cavalry screen. He was sure Corbin and the others could dissuade the clan warriors from any foolishness.

“When do we start?” Wotan said eagerly.

Navarien smiled. “The others will reach us late tomorrow. The slaughter will be complete by then. Most of the curing is done. I would guess another few days will see us on our way.”

“Good. The march will be a long one.”

“Not so long as all that,” Navarien with a grin for the sour expression on Wotan’s face. Wotan’s fondness for boats did not extend to horses. “The march along the coast was longer I believe.”

“What worries me is Julia,” Wotan said. “She didn’t leave with Lord Malcor and seems determined to help the clans oppose us even when most of them hate her.”

“They don’t hate her. The clans consider all outclanners beneath them and not worth heeding. Lucky for us Julia was not born into a clan.”

“Lucky for us now, but two years ago Athione would have fallen and we would not be going through this.”

The legion had suffered two third losses at Athione and Julia had been instrumental in that. She could be a serious difficulty in this campaign, which was why Wotan had given specific orders where she was concerned. Her removal was paramount, even when doing so might cost men. As their commanding officer, Navarien hated the idea of sacrificing men, but even he agreed with those orders wholeheartedly. Wotan had confided something to him that would see Julia taken out of the picture for good and all just a short time ago. He hadn’t known something like that was even possible, but he wasn’t a sorcerer. Wotan had assured him that not only was it possible, it would be done.

Days later, everything was ready and they began the march south.

Navarien deployed fifth, seventh, and tenth battalions as the cavalry screen well forward of the main body. Nine thousand men, almost a standard legion, used as a screening force would have seemed incomprehensible to him a few years ago, but here it was essential. He had chosen those particular battalions with care.

Duer was a deep thinker, a hero in every sense of the word as he proved last year. The man had saved his siege tower outside of Durena at the cost of serious injury. He still limped on that leg and would for the rest of his life. Giving command of the left screen to fifth battalion was a kindness Duer thoroughly deserved. Marching was painful for him now, though Navarien was sure the captain thought no one had noticed. Duer would be promoted to over captain after this campaign, of that Navarien had no doubt.

Corbin was in the centre commanding seventh battalion, which was the strongest of the three cavalry units. Corbin had managed to keep most of his original battalion intact last year even when fighting many times his own numbers. He was the perfect cavalry captain, dashing and daring were what came to mind when thinking of him, but unfortunately so did his lack of strategic planning skills. Corbin would always be a captain best suited to front line actions planned in advance. He was good at turning a preconceived plan into reality, but he was unable to design a decent plan himself.

Finally, there was Bannan and tenth battalion covering the right. Bannan was an old hand. Older than most of the other captains, he was a reliable man and quick witted.

It was a novel way to run a campaign, he mused as he rode along. Without the need for couriers, he could order his captains to move further out or pull in. He could even tell the left and right screens to ride in support of the centre. All this was possible using Wotan’s mages, which linked every battalion under his command. Instant communication was a tool that could well win this war for him; it would certainly make things easier and save lives.

Wotan’s mages were riding alongside their respective battalions while Wotan and his bodyguard rode next to him so that he could give his orders and receive reports quickly. Navarien had chosen to ride at the head of first battalion next to Cragson who was officially in command of it these days. Wotan was unused to riding such long distances, but had confessed he preferred it to marching at the pace the legions took for granted. Navarien, Cragson, and the mages were the only ones riding among the main body. The wagon drivers in the baggage column were rotated to prevent hard feelings among the men.

At the end of a day’s marching, he insisted upon a proper camp with earthen ramparts on all four sides. The men grumbled at first, but the story of last year’s battle outside Calvados quieted them and they were soon digging with a will. Nineteen thousand men quickly had adequate walls built and tents erected; it wasn’t long before the men could dig a standard legion camp in their sleep, and he had no doubt many even had dreams of digging at night. They did so much of it.

The days fled and the legion marched onward leaving a string of dirt forts behind them. He had thought to fill the ditches back in at first, but had decided against it. The camp took two candlemarks to make, and would take a similar time to unmake. Besides, he might need them to fall back upon in the unlikely event that the clans finally reacted to his presence.

A tenday into the march Wotan informed him that Bannan had engaged and defeated a small group of clan warriors.

“How many and where?” Navarien asked with interest. This was the first response they had encountered.

“Five leagues to the southwest. It was a small group only. Bannan reports them to be remnants of Dragon Clan fleeing south.”

“Any casualties?”

“A few wounded, but none seriously. He isn’t happy though.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Nothing serious, General. Apparently Anius destroyed the group with fire, but Bannan wanted a prisoner.”

“I see,” he said in a neutral voice.

Wotan smiled not fooled by the his tone. “I have reprimanded Anius, and told him to be more careful in future.”

“A prisoner might have helped in understanding the clans.”

“I think we understand them well enough. The books I showed you should give you that surely?

“In a way. They certainly help, but don’t forget sorcerers wrote them. Their words are filtered through their own perceptions.”

“The authors lived among the clans for years. They blended in, literally became clan themselves.”

Navarien shook his head. “Only someone born clan would understand them completely, but as I said the books are useful. I’m about halfway through those you lent me.”

The books were more than useful. They had told him how to destroy the clans forever.

* * *

17 ~ The Malim

Lord Vivika of House Malim was far from a happy man. Fear was the most evident emotion upon his face. Methrym could understand that, Keppel affected him the same way.

“…understand me?” Keppel said in his deadliest voice.

“Yes but—” the Malim said.

“Do you understand?” Keppel said hammering each word home.

“Yes,” Vivika said meekly.

Methrym was uncomfortable witnessing Vivika’s humiliation. No lord of Tanjung, no matter how foolish, should be treated with so little respect.

“Everything will be fine my lord,” he said trying to put respect he didn’t really feel into his voice.

Vivika looked at him with gratitude. “Truly?”

He nodded. “Truly my lord. I won’t lie to you, there is danger, but it is small compared with letting Ranen’s army continue unopposed. Your city is in peril whether we use it or not. At least this way we control the situation.”

“Yes,” Vivika said and nodded. “Yes I can see that. Very well Methrym, what can I do to help?”

He glanced at Keppel and received a slight nod. He took that as a sign to continue. “Well my lord, there are a few things we need to address. I know Keppel has business to attend to. Perhaps you would excuse him so that we might retire to your study?”

Vivika’s eyes flickered at the mention of Keppel’s business. He nodded toward the assassin. “Certainly you may be excused, Keppel. You should have said you had business to attend.”

Vivika spoilt his show of bravado just a little by swallowing nervously at the end, but Keppel took no notice. He bowed and left the hall.

Vivika sighed in relief and climbed down from the dais. “I thank you from the heart, Methrym. I thought he would kill me on the spot when I questioned him. I swear I did.”

Methrym followed the lord to his private rooms. “I know how you feel my lord. Not long ago I had a similar thing happen to me.”

“Ghastly man, but effective I should think.”

“Very,” he said dryly.

The silence between them drew out until they entered a comfortable room furnished like Bothmar’s office. Methrym had spoken to Bothmar many times, but only once in his office. As with this room, the centre of attention was the large desk in front of a set of balcony windows. To one side two armchairs and a comfortable looking couch sat near to a cold fireplace. The room was bright enough without a fire in any case.

“Here we are. Sit there while I pour the wine,” Vivika said indicating the couch. “My beloved wife would have done a better job of welcome I’m afraid, but we do the best we can.”

He seated himself. “Your wife is indisposed?”

“Dead.”

“Ah, I hadn’t heard. An illness?”

Vivika handed him a glass and sat in the armchair. “No, she was murdered by her lover. It will sound strange to you I know, but we had a wonderful life together. My father arranged the marriage, and things worked out splendidly. It’s embarrassing to admit, but she would have made a far better lord than I.”

Methrym coughed and covered his mouth trying not to spray wine everywhere. Vivika handed him a piece of lace to mop himself.

“You don’t mind listening to this do you?” Vivika said.

“Ah… no. Not if you wish to speak of it.”

“I have wanted to talk about it for some time now. I was an only child you see. My father realised early on that I needed help to keep Malim strong for the next lord.”

“Your son?” Methrym said.

“He is too young yet. I could never speak of this to my servants, of course. She and I were partners, you see. She was clever and would plan things; I had the title and authority to carry her ideas out. I didn’t mind if she took the occasional lover, but she chose the wrong man at the last. He was a criminal—though I’m sure she didn’t know that.”

Methrym wasn’t so sure. He seemed to recall a rumour regarding Vivika’s consort. Something about bedding anything that moved.

“…stealing. She must have tried to stop him and he killed her. My guards killed him trying to escape the grounds, or so I’m told.”

“I see. And you’re telling me because…?”

“Because I need your advice,” Vivika said.

“I’m not sure I understand my lord. I am of House Malai and a soldier not a lord. I hate politics.”

Vivika snorted. “Everyone hates politics. I don’t need you for that. The Japurans will be here any day now; I need advice on how to fight them.”

He nodded but his thoughts were racing. Malim was a great house, its forces would make a valuable addition to his own, but then he looked at Vivika’s worried face and could not do it.

“You have captains surely?”

“Yes but… they won’t help,” the abashed lord said quietly.

“Won’t help,” he said in disbelief. “You are their lord! Command them. If they don’t obey, execute them!”

“I couldn’t do that!” Vivika said wringing his hands in worry. “They followed my father and—” he broke off in misery.

Methrym didn’t need this! By the God, didn’t he have enough to do with half the empire lost to Japura? Looking at the very young and very pathetic lord he felt… he felt… sorry for him! Vivika was one of the most powerful men in Tanjung and he felt sorry for him.

“All right,” he said and sighed. “I’ll help, but you’ll have to at least try to rule. Pretend to be your father and do things the way you think he would have.”

Vivika looked hopeful at last. “I think I can do that.”

“No. Don’t think you can, know you can,” he said in a hard voice. “When you give an order, whether it is right or wrong, give it firmly as if you have no doubts. Be strong in public, even if a quivering wreck inside. Develop a public face. Vexin uses stern and unforgiving. Perhaps you could try hard but fair.”

“My father was a hard man, but he was always fair,” Vivika said looking hopeful.

“There you see. Practice looking as if nothing upsets you and soon nothing will. What goes on in private is your own affair, but in public act strong.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It is easy my lord,” Methrym said. “No man can read what is in your heart. He must judge by what you do and say. Hide your doubts, and people will believe you have none. It’s that simple.”

“I’ll do it!”

Methrym watched Vivika pace in excitement. He knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as he made it seem, but the lord had no self-confidence. At least this way Vivika believed he could fake it. Who knows, one day he might find it was no longer a sham.

“My lord?”

Vivika stopped pacing. “Yes?”

“We have to discuss the plans.”

“Oh yes the war!”

Methrym nearly laughed. Vivika must be the only lord truly not worried about the Japuran threat.

“What do you need?” Vivika said sitting down again.

“Have you a map of your city?”

Vivika jumped up again and started searching through a large cabinet. “I know there is one. Where is it? Ah!” He turned with a large scroll in hand. “Will this do?”

Methrym joined the lord as he unrolled a highly detailed map of Tanjung Malim. It was perfect. “This is exquisite work my lord,” he said and it was.

Every street was not only drawn to scale with all the buildings and curtain wall, but they were named in tiny but legible script as well. Everything he needed was clearly defined.

“Father commissioned it. He said it was good to know where everyone was so he could lay hands on them when he needed to reach them quickly.”

It seemed to Methrym that the previous Lord Malim was not someone to be treated lightly. He felt sure Vivika’s father had laid hands on more than one person over the years of his rule.

“What I need is this…” he began and detailed the plan.

Vivika listened intently and his eyes widened as the full scope of the plan was realised—and the dangers.

“Then I hit them from here,” Methrym indicated the river. “The bridge will be dropped to prevent them turning, and the Borderers will chop up their lead elements.”

“What of my men?” Vivika said thoughtfully.

“I’m glad you asked that my lord. We need to give the impression that your forces miscalculated the threat.”

Vivika laughed and clapped his hands. “That will show them!”

By the God, Methrym hoped so, but he didn’t let his unease show. Vivika needed to believe in the plan badly; it would undermine everything if he lost confidence in his new adviser so soon.

The next day, Vivika put his new confidence to the test. Methrym had discussed what was to happen with him, but was still unsure if the young lord could pull it off. He was sitting upon his high seat as if in judgment which was pretty close to the truth, looking stern and confident. Methrym stood a few paces from the dais occasionally looking around at the portraits and tapestries as if bored. Soren and Lorenz were nearby ready to lend their support. All was ready.

At the appointed time, the doors opened to admit Vivika’s captains and their seconds. Behind them came the squad leaders—those who commanded a hundred men—and their seconds. The doors boomed shut.

The highest ranked member of the group took note of Methrym and his friends then dismissed them, but his eyes lingered upon the new guards stationed around the room. Methrym had supplied them all, with Keppel recommending two men from Lorenz’s squad. Keppel and Nisim had rode out late yesterday to take care of some business they evidently had. Whoever the poor soul was, he had been unable to discover and Nisim wouldn’t say. Whoever it was, he was a dead man, which went without saying.

“I have called you all together to hear the plan devised by myself in consultation with War Leader Methrym,” Vivika said.

Methrym sighed with relief. Vivika hadn’t changed the speech and consequently it had the desired effect. There was uproar from the higher ranked officers, though most of the seconds seemed unsure and were quiet. Not so their superiors.

Captain Kian stalked forward angrily to the bottom of the dais. He ignored Methrym to his right who had turned in place to keep the man in sight and at sword’s length.

“I will not follow a plan made by a Malai dog!”

“…cursed right!”

“He’s a fool if he thinks—”

“He always was—”

“You are refusing?” Vivika said licking his lips nervously.

Methrym willed Vivika to hold to the plan, and when the lord said nothing further, he breathed a little easier.

“You’re cursed right I—”

“Methrym!” Vivika squeaked finally losing his hard won calm.

Methrym drew sword and struck Kian’s head from his body in one blow. There was shock throughout the hall as Kian’s headless corpse fountained blood in all directions and fell to the floor. Vivika’s captains didn’t take long to recover. As one they started forward to attack, but Soren and Lorenz were instantly at his side with swords bared.

“Guards!” Vivika shouted. “If these men move another step kill them all!”

All round the hall weapons slid from scabbards. The outraged captains stumbled to a halt looking at more than two dozen bared blades. Methrym noted some grins from the seconds who had hung back from the stampede, but his eyes were locked upon the new leader of Vivika’s forces. Viator had been a strong supporter of Kian. Would he recognise the hopelessness of his position?

He didn’t.

Before Viator’s sword was halfway from its scabbard, he was dead and Soren was grinning with excitement.

I really must have a talk with him about that.

“Any more of you?” Vivika said calmly. “No? Well then, you are to remove yourselves from my presence, from my city, and from my lands!”

Methrym tensed. Now would be the time, but the moment past. Anger was evident on all their faces, but thoughts of violence had faded. First one then two, then all at once the captains left the hall escorted by Vivika’s newly acquired guards. The seconds seemed unsure what was to be done, but finally Alaren stepped forward and bowed.

“What are your orders, Lord?”

“Each of you is promoted to command your former captain’s units. You will find able men from your commands and promote them to your seconds. I will not choose for you, but I will meet them at a future time so make good choices.”

“I understand, my lord,” Alaren said. “And the Japurans?”

“The plan stands. You will execute it to the utmost of your ability or receive Kian’s fate.”

“Yes my lord,” Alaren said hardly able to keep his eyes from the two corpses. “It will be as you order.”

“Good. You are dismissed. I will be seeing each of you separately over the next few candlemarks with specific orders.”

The newly promoted captains bowed as one and marched out the door, followed by the squad leaders who were grinning fit to split their faces in two. As soon as they had departed, Vivika slumped in his seat sweating and shaking.

“I did it,” he whispered.

“Yes you did my lord,” Methrym said pleased for the man. Whether he could keep up the charade was another matter, but he had made a good start.

* * *

As Nisim rode toward another confrontation, he could not help thinking back to his last one. Leona had not taken his leaving well. She had simply stood before him silently weeping as he explained about Talitha and his feelings for her. Even now, the memory wrenched at his heart. He felt like crying himself as he thought back.

Joz had been kind to him, but it was obvious their friendship had failed the test. Joz was no more an enemy than Leona was, but he was no longer a friend either. Nisim mourned that closeness. They were the first friends he had made as a free man. Who were his friends now? He glanced at his companion. From outward appearances, Keppel looked like a Japuran lancer, a force leader no less. Nisim was also wearing armour. They had acquired it from a patrol they had dealt with not long ago. By no stretch of the imagination could Keppel be called a friend. He doubted the man had them at all, or if he did, the relationship must be fraught with peril.

Keppel had praised him after the attack on the patrol saying he would have made a good assassin. Keppel hadn’t said the word assassin though, he said Dark Brother. Even as a slave in Talitha’s palace he had heard tales of the Dark Brotherhood. They were all assassins. The thought of his actions being likened to that of an assassin made him ill, but a part of him—a very small part—was proud that he was good at something even if it was killing. He wondered if Keppel was a Dark Brother. It seemed obvious that an assassin such as he would be one, but Keppel didn’t seem like the type to take orders willingly. Surprising when you realised that he served Vexin so faithfully. Perhaps he led the Brotherhood? That seemed more likely, but then if that were so why didn’t he just send some underling to do this?

Keppel frightened him like no other man ever had, but he could not help but feel an attraction. Maybe fascination was a better word. Little wonder they called him the Snake. Keppel frightened everyone who knew him. He wouldn’t be surprised if the emperor he served was frightened of him as well. There was something admirable about a man who thought of his emperor first above all else—even his own life.

Keppel slowed his horse and stopped. “We camp here,” he said and climbed down.

Nisim studied the trees. There was nothing to recommend it as a good stopping place. “Here? Why here?”

Keppel looked at him coldly.

“Fine. Here is fine…”

Keppel turned to lead his horse off the trail and into the trees. Nisim quickly dismounted and followed. A small clearing came into sight. Keppel was rummaging in his pack for a bite to eat when Nisim arrived.

“No fire,” Keppel said.

Nisim shook his head. Keppel said that every time they stopped. As if he would dare light a fire when the forest was infested with Japuran lancers! He dug out some food and water from his packs and sat down to eat. The assassin was always spare with his words and Nisim found himself following the example. If Keppel stopped, he stopped. If Keppel ate, he ate and so on. It had been annoying at first. His questions received no answers, and any conversation always fell into silence. In the end, he rode quietly as Keppel obviously wanted.

He ate his hard bread and cheese and watched Keppel waiting for his next move. The assassin ate the same as he; he had no choice as bread and cheese was all they had. He stood and put his water bottle away then sat all in silence.

He waited.

“Tonight,” Keppel said shattering the silence.

“Tonight?”

“The Japuran camp has been set just outside of Aikinon.”

“Aikinon?”

“A small town… it used to be a small town. Your people burned it and the people in it to the ground a few days ago.”

“They are no longer my—” he broke off in confusion as Keppel stared at him.

He was a Japuran. Nisim hated the law that made him a slave in his own land but it didn’t change the fact of his birth. He was Japuran, but he was also here to kill Japurans. What did that make him? A traitor came to mind, but when had his people shown any loyalty to him? Never was the answer, but did that make him right? He didn’t know. All he could do was his best and hope the God would understand his choices.

“We wait for dark then enter the camp.”

He nodded. “You still haven’t told me who we are trying for.”

“Does it matter?”

Nisim shrugged, he supposed not. His life had become a great deal easier since making the choice to help Methrym in his war. When asked to come on this mission, he had agreed immediately. He had needed to get away from Leona for a while and she needed time to forget him and find someone else. He still hoped friendship could be rekindled between them, he thought it might once she had time to think. He hoped Joz could find it within his heart to forgive him.

“No,” he said finally. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Sleep,” Keppel said back to his earlier uncommunicative mood.

* * *

Prince Ranen walked through the camp content with his preparations. The Tanjuners were in complete disarray. This town, he did not know its name, had fallen easily and without losses on his part. He had given the order to burn it to the ground as soon as it became apparent that his forces had control. Devastation followed his army. After seeing the ruins of Talayan, he had made it his policy to wreak similar destruction on every village, town, and city he came across. No mercy was his order, and his men were eager to carry it out.

“Prince Ranen,” a voice called from out of the darkness.

Ranen turned trying to see who had spoken. Two men approached him with firelight at their backs. Their faces were in shadow but he thought he recognised the voice.

“Bevyn? What can I do for you?”

Prince Bevyn smiled. “Nothing right now,” he said clasping Ranen’s hand. “Nothing you’re not already doing. I just came in from my patrol and thought you would wish to see this as soon as possible.”

Ranen took the message and tried to read it in the meagre firelight but he could only make out a few words. It was from Talitha and she wasn’t writing as the Matriarch.

“The messenger?” Ranen asked nodding at Bevyn’s companion.

Bevyn nodded.

“You will wait for my reply. Find food for yourself. I’ll call when I need you.”

“Yes my prince,” the messenger said with a bow.

“I thank you for this, Bevyn,” Ranen said waving the scroll. “If you’ll excuse me I wish to read it as soon as possible.”

Bevyn bowed with a smile then withdrew leaving Ranen to his reading.

Ranen made straight for his tent. He tried not to show unseemly haste as he made his way through the camp, but he wanted to read Talitha’s words so badly he was nearly trotting by the time he reach the tent. Turning up the lamp, he sat at his tiny folding table to read.

My dearest husband,

As I write this, I find my heart reaching out to you so far away. How I miss you and wish you were by my side. Jarek told me what love would mean, but I did not truly believe him. Now I know his words pale next to the reality. It hurts that you are so far from me, hurts more than I could believe possible, but I would not be rid of it. My love and life are yours. Everything is yours.

Ranen’s heart was full to bursting. “Everything that I am is yours my love,” he whispered.

I have both good and bad news my dearest, but first the bad news. Wakiza has finally met with defeat at the hands of the Tanjuners. He lost upwards of two thirds of his men when he tried to kill our hated enemy Methrym himself. He who destroyed our precious Talayan has again wounded us grievously, and I have no choice but to order my poor Wakiza to retreat so he might meet with reinforcements at the ruins of Talayan. I have ordered him to protect your left as soon as he can again advance.

Methrym again! That bastard had cost his beloved the greater part of her forces. The men could be replaced, and would be as Talitha had written, but the experience embodied in those men was lost forever. Wakiza was the best strike leader Japura had, but his effectiveness was now drastically reduced. His men had been highly trained by him over the years; to lose them now was a heavy blow indeed.

Now the good news. I can hardly believe it myself my love, but I am with child! Wanikiya advised I not write you before now, but I have missed two moon times and there is no doubt any longer! Just think my love. Our daughter is coming!

Ranen grinned. He was to be a father! He could hardly believe it. His daughter would be strong and beautiful like her mother, and he would see her rule a Japura whole and stronger than ever. Tanjung would fall soon, and he could hand things over to Bevyn. Yes, he would do that so that he might be by Talitha’s side when his daughter came into the world.

What do you think of Armina as a name? The first Matriarch was named Armina.

It was a fitting name; a strong name, conjuring as it did images of that long ago time when the Japuran people moved through the world without the guidance of the Matriarch. A new Japura was coming, a stronger Japura that would encompass all that the evil Vexin held dear. It was more than fitting that a Matriarch Armina rule it all.

I love you more than life, my love. Come home to me soon. Come home victorious to your daughter.

Your loving wife,

Talitha.

“I will,” Ranen whispered.

He pulled parchment and pen toward him and began his reply. He had so much to say that he filled a sheet and began a second. He expressed his love for Talitha and his great delight in her news. He agreed that the name Armina was perfect for their daughter. He had just finished suggesting that Wakiza rendezvous with him at Tanjung Malim when he heard someone enter behind him. He smiled; Bevyn always came for a late drink.

“I’m to be a father my friend,” he said with a grin as he turned toward the tent flap.

“Congratulations,” a voice grated.

Ranen stared in befuddlement at the dagger in his chest. There was no pain, just a burning sensation as he tried to pull it free. His strength drained away and his hands fell to his sides. He couldn’t breathe. The last thing he saw as he slumped back into his seat was a distraught and appalled face turning away and following another man out of the tent.

Talitha…

* * *

Nisim was close to tears as he left the tent. He should never have come. He had killed prince Ranen—killed him as if he had been the one wielding the dagger! Anger quickly overwhelmed guilt, but he didn’t dare confront Keppel while still within the camp. He walked at Keppel’s left hand just a step behind. Keppel acknowledged salutes from the men as if he belonged in Japuran armour. He was completely cool. Nisim was far from cool, he was furious. When Talitha found out…

She must never find out!

He sent a prayer winging its way to the God for Ranen’s soul, but it did no good. Of all the people he had killed in Talayan and since, Ranen was the only one he felt guilty for. One was enough. Talitha was with child, Ranen’s child… oh God, he had killed the father of Talitha’s daughter! She would hate him forever. He hated himself.

He started guiltily when a cry of alarm was raised. Keppel snarled at him to be calm, and he tried to say something back but panic was closing his throat. They reached the horse lines soon after that, but the nightmare wasn’t over.

“Sorry, sir,” a guard said. “I can’t let you ride out. Did you not hear the alarm?”

Keppel did not answer but continued forward. Before Nisim could think to stop him, Keppel had moved. It took no more than an eye blink. One moment he was walking forward, the next his hand shot forward to hit the man in the face. There was a crunch as the guard’s nose flattened under the blow. The man collapsed instantly. He was dead before he hit the ground. The assassin continued forward without changing pace, the second guard managed to draw sword but he fell to a dagger that Keppel produced from an arm sheath. Before Nisim could register surprise—he hadn’t known that Keppel had more than one knife—he was attacked as well.

He was by no means as proficient as Keppel, but he knew how to fight. Terriss had gone to great lengths to teach all his people how to fight as a borderer—dirty!

He spun and kicked the guard’s knee. He could not help wincing as the leg bowed back and snapped. Stomping on the man’s neck silenced the shrill scream almost instantly. Keppel cursed him for making a noise but it was too late. Japurans ran toward them and Keppel exploded into a kicking punching maniac. Men flew away from him as if thrown by magic, but the only magic here was Keppel himself. Nisim had time to wonder how and where such a man was created before attackers mobbed him. He killed the first two by taking one man’s sword and using it on him and his companion. He jumped onto a horse and kicked a man in the face when he grabbed his leg. He didn’t wait to see if Keppel would escape. He shouted and slapped his horse into a gallop. He ducked low as branches whipped by threatening to unseat him. Riding without a saddle was unbelievably hard, he clung on with his knees, but his thighs were already cramping.

“Left!”

Nisim turned his horse before he thought to question the shout. He looked to his right and found Keppel riding fast and keeping low by hugging his horse’s neck. Nisim took Keppel’s example and did likewise. They crashed through underbrush and through gaps in trees barely making it through in some cases. Behind them, the chase was gaining momentum and it seemed only a matter of time before they were run to ground. Keppel however had other plans.

“Dismount!”

Was the man crazy?

Keppel leapt free of his horse and rolled back to his feet.

Nisim was slower but he did as he was bid and slapped his horse to make her run. He saw Keppel dodge into the trees and he pursued at an all out run. It didn’t seem to matter how fast he ran as Keppel stayed ahead and even began to outdistance him. Suddenly the man disappeared. Nisim barely had time to register why when he fell. The splash of entering the river knocked the breath out of him. As he struggled to reach the surface, he fumbled at the buckles on his armour but Keppel’s grasping hands prevented him from undoing them. He was drowning! He struggled trying to break the man’s grip but his flailing arms succeeded only in making him swallow even more river water.

“Be still you fool!” Keppel hissed as Nisim’s head broached the surface.

“I’ll kill you, you bastard!” he hissed in fury trying to throw off Keppel’s grip.

“Shut up!” Keppel snarled dragging him close to the bank unaffected by his struggles.

Nisim went still at the sound of galloping horses passing close by. They pressed themselves flat and waited for their pursuers to find them. He prayed he might survive long enough to make Keppel pay, but he was fooling himself. Keppel was Keppel. The man could kill anything that moved just by glaring at it! Nisim couldn’t get the fight at the camp out of his head. One touch had been enough for Keppel to put a man down; he had made it look easy! No, he had no chance against him, but if he survived he could make sure their paths never crossed again.

Candlemarks seemed to pass but still the soldiers searched. Keppel was intent upon his view through the rushes. Nisim thought he might escape by floating down river. Before he could move Keppel’s hand became a clamp upon his arm.

“Do that and I will kill you,” Keppel hissed.

“Do what?”

Keppel looked him in the eyes then away again.

The man could read his mind! He rubbed circulation back into his arm and glared trying to pretend he wasn’t scared. Finally, there was silence from the forest and Nisim thought they would move on, but Keppel stayed still. He was freezing and his teeth chattered, but at another glare from Keppel he bit a knuckle to stop the sound betraying them. What were they were waiting for?

They lay silently watching and listening to the night. An owl hooted startling him, but the assassin took no notice. He was one with the night.

Nisim drowsed. Trying to stop himself was pointless. The images that came to him made his sleep far from restful. Talitha came to him, but far from his usual fantasies, he was harrowed with her weeping and screaming at him that he had killed her love. He heard again Ranen’s words that he was to be a father, and then the dumbfounded look at the dagger in his chest.

“Hsst! Wake Nisim.”

He jerked awake. Keppel pointed downriver. At first he was unable to see what Keppel was worried about, but then he heard it. The cavalry was coming back. Nisim nodded and hunkered down to wait. It was a good thing he hadn’t tried to float down river earlier. He would probably have been dead by now. In a way, he owed Keppel his life, but he didn’t like the thought and dismissed it almost as soon as it occurred to him.

The soldiers charged by faster than before. They were obviously no longer searching but were instead returning to camp empty handed. Keppel signalled for silence and pointed to Nisim once then twice. He nodded and moved silently to his right while Keppel did likewise to the left. Nisim stopped when he found a good place and waited. He could just see Keppel and would go when he did. He would have gone any number of times but each time Keppel stayed still and more soldiers filed by. Three times Nisim was on the verge of going and only held back at the last because of Keppel’s lack of movement. When the time finally did come, he was almost taken by surprise.

A small group of cavalry, six in number rode along the riverbank. Perhaps stragglers or perhaps they were scouts of some sort. Whatever the reason for their late passage, it became obvious that this was what Keppel had been waiting for. He jumped up and killed two men with thrown daggers before the rest reacted. Nisim burst from cover startling the horses. They reared and dumped their riders. He broke the neck of one man as he struggled to rise and then killed the other after a short exchange of thrust and parry. As Nisim’s second man fell, Keppel was finishing his fourth and final adversary.

“Drag them into the river.”

He did as he was bid. He rolled three men over the edge and watched the bodies sink with the weight of their armour. Keppel was doing likewise and it wasn’t long before they were riding away with spare horses trailing behind them. They rode directly away from the Japuran camp for perhaps a full candlemark before turning towards Malim. They needed to get to the city before Ranen’s army under some new leader attacked it and cut them off.

“Why am I here?” he asked when he was sure that it was safe.

“Don’t you think it’s a little late for this?” Keppel said eyeing him sideways.

“No. I want to know why you chose me to come with you when I did nothing to help.”

“You weren’t with me to help. I brought you here so I could be sure.”

“Sure?” Nisim said in confusion. “Sure of what?”

“Sure that you were not a threat of course.”

“A threat! That’s ridiculous!”

“Not at all,” Keppel said coldly. “You may say that your friend Joz is the leader of your people, but you’re not fooling anybody by saying so. I’ve been watching you and those around you.”

“And?”

“And I see a popular leader who says one thing and does another. You say you do not lead, but everyone does what you say. You say Joz leads, yet he comes to you before making a decision. Even Terriss speaks to you before doing anything that affects your half of his people—not Joz, you. Popular leaders are dangerous. I wanted to be sure you do not threaten Vexin or his chances to win this war.”

He shook his head in amazed silence. Yes, people did come to him, but he didn’t order them to do anything. All he did was listen to them and help them to decide what they had already halfway decided to do anyway. And Joz was the true leader—he was! So what if Joz came to ask advice? Friends do that all the time!

“And then there is the matter of your birth,” Keppel went on. “You’re Japuran in your heart still. Don’t try to deny it. I saw that your loyalties were uncertain—split between Japura and your Borderer friends. That’s no longer of concern; you helped me kill Matriarch Talitha’s consort. You can never go back to Japura. Never.”

Keppel was right, but then he had always known he would never go back. He was a free man now. He would rather die than be a slave again.

“What are you going to do with me?”

“You’re still breathing are you not?”

Nisim sighed in relief. There was that wasn’t there?

* * *

18 ~ Unlikely Soldier

“How do I look?” Lord Vivika asked.

Methrym had never seen such an unlikely looking soldier in his life. Vivika had taken his new confidence to extremes this time. The lord of Malim was wearing full armour complete with sword on his hip and shield upon his arm. It wasn’t that Vivika was a slight man, he wasn’t, it was just that Methrym had never seen him wearing armour before and knew he did not know how to use a sword.

“You look very… soldierly?” he said lamely.

“I do don’t I?” Vivika said grinning. “You know, I think I’ll learn how to use this,” he said patting the sword. “It was my father’s you know. It was handed down through my family all the way back to the first Malim emperor.”

“May I ask why you’re wearing armour?”

“Why… I thought that was obvious. I’ll be leading my men through the gates tomorrow.”

An inexperienced man like Vivika could screw the plan so thoroughly that nothing would save it! “I don’t think… and then there’s… you did say you didn’t know… You can’t!” he babbled.

Vivika laughed. “Certainly I can. Oh don’t worry about me, my friend. It’s good of you to show such concern but I’ll be fine. My captain’s know the plan as well as I do. When we see the Japurans all I have to do is say: By the God where did all that lot come from! Then all I do is gallop back inside. See?”

He grinned weakly. “Ah, yes I suppose… so.”

The next day Methrym was cursing himself for letting the lord do it. What if he screwed up? There was nothing to do but wait and watch, but he could not get the thought out of his head that he had made a mistake. He should have locked Vivika in his room rather than let him do this.

The Japurans were on the way to destroy Tanjung Malim, or so they thought. Terriss and his people including the whores were hidden throughout the city just waiting to take what the Japurans owed in blood. Lorenz and Soren were to the east and west hidden in the forest with a third of the army each, and lastly Methrym had the final third waiting to close the trap once the Japurans crossed the river and its bridge. He couldn’t fault his planning, which made him look even harder, but he still thought it would work. Soren and Lorenz both agreed but he couldn’t help wondering.

Keppel and Nisim had returned a few days ago. Neither man would speak about what had gone on between them but it was obvious Nisim was upset. Perhaps Keppel had killed someone he knew or perhaps it was something completely different. Whatever it was, Keppel had gone back to Tanjor to report to Vexin, and Nisim… well he was in the city somewhere. Whether he would fight no one knew. There was an anger in that boy that was frightening. It wasn’t aimed at the Japurans, and anger aimed at Keppel was pointless of course. If he was to guess, he would say Nisim was angry with himself more than anything.

The first indication Methrym had that the enemy was near was the sighting of mounted scouts. He watched from his concealment praying that they would not become suspicious. The city was quiet. Maybe too quiet? No, the scouts were coming on. He was pleased when all they did was send one of their number back to report. It indicated their lack of concern. If they had ridden close enough to the river to see the bridge they might not have been so happy. He hoped none of his men were ever as lax as these scouts, if he found any they would wish they had never been born.

“Get ready,” he whispered and heard the order relayed down the line.

He was freezing. The water of the river even in spring was cold and he’d been lying in it with just his head showing for candlemarks. He prayed to the God yet again that Vivika would follow the plan, but then it was too late for worry as Japuran cavalry reinforced the scouts. They couldn’t be as good as Wakiza’s men he reassured himself. They were lancers drawn from the limited manpower each prince had at his disposal. Domain lords would follow the cavalry with their far more numerous infantry. Numerous they might be, but they had never fought against Borderers with their blood up. He couldn’t wait to see their faces when the city rose up before them!

The cavalry came on and crossed the bridge before arraying itself for battle. They couldn’t know that Vivika would open the gate and invite them in, but they weren’t taking chances. They sat their horses ready for anything—anything but what they would actually receive. Methrym hoped so at least.

He ducked under the water as the infantry began to cross. This was the most dangerous stage. Men on foot had less to occupy their attention and might well spot something they shouldn’t. Methrym had told his men this morning that if drowning was the only other choice they had to alerting the Japurans, they had better drown! The sound of the Japuran’s passage over the bridge was muted by the water, and he was beginning to wonder if he would be here all day when he felt a tap upon his boot.

Upon surfacing, he surveyed the bridge. It was empty. “Pull out the last few pins then light the oil. If they do try to run before it burns it should still collapse.”

“Right.”

Where was Vivika? He should have ridden out by now and—here he came now. Methrym watched in admiration as Vivika rode out and formed his men as if to charge the enemy. It looked perfect, totally real as if—no! The fool was charging! He watched in horror as a thousand heavy cavalry with Vivika in the forefront charged and slammed into twenty times their number. The gates behind Vivika were still open, but most of his attention was on the one sided fight. Prince Ranen it seemed was contemptuous of the threat. He assumed the figure was Ranen, who else would it be? Ranen waved only a tenth part of his cavalry forward to destroy Vivika, but even as he did, Lord Malim shouted to his men to flee. As one, Vivika’s cavalry wheeled on the spot and charged back through the gates with Japuran lancers in pursuit. Whether Ranen had ordered it, or whether his men had seen an opportunity and grasped it, Methrym would never know. He watched as the Japuran cavalry broke ranks and charged into the seemingly vulnerable city.

“I don’t believe it. The bastard actually did it!”

“The bridge is done for sir.”

“Good, get the men ready. As soon as Soren and Lorenz attack, I want our lot to hit the princes—just there see it?” Methrym pointed to a group of men on horseback that he thought were Ranen’s captains.

Unlike Tanjung, Japuran nobles seldom fought. They were the type to lead from the rear. With the bridge gone Methrym had made sure they would pay as much as their men this time. If it worked, Japura would be without the cream of its nobles from now on. That should hinder Talitha’s efforts against Vexin and no mistake.

Methrym could hear the roar of battle coming from the city even from here. Soren and Lorenz finally saw the smoke coming from the bridge and attacked the infantry on its open and vulnerable sides. Already the Japurans were reeling in confusion as the infantry tried to change front to meet the attacks. Some formations were better than others, but thank the God they were few. The majority were being rolled up and compacted into the centre.

“It’s time,” he said as he struggled up the riverbank.

* * *

Nisim sat slumped in silence thinking about his life. Outside the small house he heard the galloping of horses and the clash of swords. It did not matter. They didn’t need him for this fight; no one needed him except perhaps Leona, but he could not give her what she deserved.

One thing about freedom he had not anticipated was time to think. Leona would say time to waste. She had the proper attitude for a slave and had not lost it since gaining her freedom. She lived in the now, lived the best she could for as long as she could and did not concern herself with tomorrow. As a slave, tomorrow might bring literally anything. It might be good, but it was more likely to be bad. A slave might live all his life owned by one man, a merchant let’s say, then a day like any other arrives and suddenly everything changes and he is sold to the palace. Time to think had been in short supply. Back then the only time he had spare was for sleeping. Living in the palace had been so different from working in the warehouses that he had actually been grateful to Jarek for buying him. Grateful to be a slave! Sometimes he still felt that being a slave was better, but better or not it was certainly easier. No making decisions back then. All he need do was stand where he was told when he was told and do only what he was told. Decisions were the worst part about being free—like deciding to help Keppel. His luck at making decisions was terrible.

He closed his eyes in anguish and tried to will away all thought, but the smell of smoke brought that night in Talayan back. He had gone over that night many times. It had seemed right to kill Mireya for what she had done, but that had led directly to his escape and later to his murder of prince Ranen. How many had he killed now? Dozens. It was at least dozens. He wasn’t what Keppel said he was, he wasn’t an assassin and he wasn’t a leader. He wasn’t even a soldier! He knew what he wasn’t, but what was he? Squeezing his eyes shut he tried to eradicate the memory of Ranen dying before his eyes. I am to be a father my friend, Ranen had said, and Nisim had killed him. He hadn’t held the weapon, but he was still responsible. He should have tried to stop Keppel; he should have tried!

“The God made the Matriarch perfect. She rules us by his will,” Nisim whispered.

I killed the Matriarch’s chosen consort!

A scream made him jump up and draw his dagger. He was panting with fright, but gradually his breathing slowed and he took control of himself. He took a deep breath then quietly made his way to the window and looked outside. A dead Japuran lancer lay upon the ground. Further along the street were a great many more lancers fighting for their lives. They were fighting against a group of Borderers. Nisim bit his lip in indecision. He could not go back to Japura even if there was a way to hide his brand and blend in—not after everything he had done, but did that mean he had to be a Borderer and kill his own people? There were other places. Deva for one, and they didn’t have slavery. That was very attractive right now. But these people had befriended him. He couldn’t let them down.

He drew his sword and ran up behind the line of cavalry. At the last moment he jumped and swung his sword to take the man on his right out of the saddle. As Terriss had trained him to do, he finished the job with a dagger-thrust at the base of the skull before defending himself from one of the man’s comrades. He was soon lost in the madness of battle and only came back to himself when he ran out of targets.

“I’ve never seen a better man in a fight!” Dreng said in wonder. “You should lead us now you’re here, Nisim. We’re supposed to be closing the route to the south gate. Will you lead?”

He groaned. He had made the wrong choice again, every decision he made led to another, each one worse than the last. The God must be laughing at him, or guiding him?

“I will lead you,” Nisim said in defeat. “Let us go.”

A goodly portion of the city was burning, but unlike Talayan it was not by any means out of control. Terriss had arranged some of the fires to hem in the enemy so they would be unable to retreat once attacked. Other fires were probably the result of over enthusiastic lancers. They had not realised that setting fires before the battle was won was a bad idea. Now as the city burned, many of the lancers did also, trapped by their own stupidity.

“Dreng, take a third part of our force down that alley, and hit them from behind,” Nisim said and Dreng waved a group of people to follow him. Nisim’s eyes fell on a familiar Japuran face. “Nerina, can you do the same on the right?”

Nerina had been a whore like him, but unlike him she had taken to the soldier’s life with glee. She was a strong fighter and he was sure she would do her part. She grinned fiercely and waved her group to the right and down the alley.

He estimated both group’s progress and when he judged them nearly there he led his reduced force on down the street. As he rounded the corner he encountered domain infantry making their way nervously forward. From the wounds some of them had, he assumed they had already met and defeated one of the Borderer groups. The thought that Joz and Leona might be dead enraged him, and suddenly he was running toward the enemy. Everything seemed to slow and have a clarity to it he had never seen before. He laughed as a man tried to impale him. He sidestepped and took the man’s arm off at the shoulder. It was so easy! The sword had always seemed easy to use, his strength made up for his lack of skill, or so he thought. Terriss had tried to tell him that he was good at this, and Keppel had been sure he would make a fine assassin, but he had denied his skill. He didn’t want to be good at killing people. Why couldn’t he be good at painting or sculpture instead?

He killed and killed again before the rest of his people arrived. He had time to look up and see Dreng and Nerina emerge from the alleys and hit the Japurans from behind, but a burning sensation along his ribs shook him enough to bring his attention back to his own fight. A man wearing the plume of a force leader had managed to lunge and get by his guard. The cut was burning and bleeding profusely, but it did not seem serious. Rather than back away, Nisim moved forward and grappled the man close. His dagger found the gap in the force leader’s armour and he thrust it into the man’s armpit.

“Slave…” the force leader said in shock as he fell.

“Not any more,” he snarled and pulled the dagger free.

* * *

“No I said!” Methrym said in a rage.

“But they’re throwing down their weapons!” Lorenz yelled over the roar of the flames.

“What is it about the word no you don’t understand? We don’t let any escape, and we can’t hold them here! How would we guard and feed them? Haven’t thought of that have you?”

“This is murder!”

He shook his head in frustration. “If it is, I’m to blame not you. I order you to kill them all before we lose the rest of the city! No mercy!”

Lorenz shook his head. “I don’t know you any more! This is madness and I want no part of it!”

Methrym went cold. “You are refusing?”

“Cursed right I am!”

He thought fast. The penalty for refusing his order could only be death but he couldn’t do that. Lorenz was his best friend. Lorenz would come to his senses about this later, he was sure.

“I’m assigning you to the south. I have reports of lancers making their way down river. They’re probably going for the ford now the bridge is gone. Stop them. Is that clear?”

“Yes Sir!” Lorenz saluted and climbed into the saddle.

He watched his friend lead his men out the gate. Lorenz hadn’t even looked at him as he rode out.

“He’s soft,” Soren said scornfully. “Can’t expect anything more from House Calida.”

Methrym rounded on Soren. “Lorenz is a good man and an excellent soldier! He will do his duty. You heard the order. I want this city cleared of Japurans.”

“I heard. No mercy it is,” Soren said with relish and ran off to collect his men.

Methrym watched him go. “You would do better by emulating Lorenz cousin,” he said quietly.

Lorenz was right, the fight was already won, but he hadn’t lied to his friend when he said taking prisoners was out of the question. For one thing there were too many. It would take a city the size of Calida to house them properly. He would need another army to guard them!

He turned on the spot. Wherever he looked he found dead men. The Japurans had rushed in to occupy Malim exactly as planned, and also exactly as planned they had been prevented from leaving. Fighting in narrow streets was a nightmare for cavalry, but the Borderers loved it. The streets had turned into abattoirs as tightly packed cavalry ran headlong into barricades set up and manned by Terriss’ bowman. Borderers were deadly with most weapons, but the bow was a particular favourite as it was so useful from hiding. They usually hid among the trees, but rooftops and barricades had worked out just fine.

The war wasn’t to be a clean and honourable affair. If there was such a thing as a clean war. Methrym tended to doubt such a thing existed. Talitha had lost big here. Vexin would certainly consider pushing into Japura when he heard about this battle. If Talitha was wise she would sue for peace. Reparations would have to be huge to cover the damage done to Tanjung, but Japura was rich and could afford it. Would Vexin accept a treaty? He might. He just might. Vexin was different to previous emperors. He had been planning to put a stop to Japuran raids along the border just before the war began. He was not at all happy with the way the nobles defied him whenever they felt they could get away with it either. He wanted loyalty from his nobles like a Devan King received from his lords, and he wanted Tanjung prosperous like Japura was. By taking what he perceived as the best from his neighbours, Vexin had proposed to stabilise the Empire as never before. The problem was that Japura was at his mercy now. That might not be so later. Should he push ahead and perhaps prevent future strife, or should he accept a treaty that might break down at any time? It was a hard decision, one Methrym was glad he didn’t have to make. Vexin was best equipped to deal with the question of policy, and he with carrying it out. Talking of carrying it out, he supposed he should get back to the war.

He mounted his horse and made his way toward Vivika’s palace followed by a squad of a hundred men. He felt safe enough travelling with so few. Most of the surviving Japurans were fighting to the north well away from his current route. Roughly a quarter of Tanjung Malim was burning or had already been burned, but with a good water supply nearby he felt confident that the city would survive. Lines of bucket wielding peasants were even now fighting to ensure that. He wondered what Vivika thought about it.

That was answered soon after entering the palace. Vivika was still in his bloodied armour directing his men toward the fighting. Every man was being sent to finish the Japurans—even his bodyguard it seemed. Methrym stood aside as the last of Vivika’s men ran out.

“We have done it my friend!”

“Nearly,” Methrym temporised.

“Oh come now! The last resistance is being crushed as we speak. Did you see me? I charged the enemy just like father.”

He smiled. He could afford one now. “He would have been very proud my lord,” he said solemnly.

“Do you think so?” Vivika said hopefully.

“I do my lord. I am sorry about the damage, but—”

Vivika waved that away as soon as Methrym began his apology. “Buildings can be replaced, do not concern yourself. What is important is that most of my people survived. Evacuating the city and filling it with Borderers worked splendidly did it not?” Vivika didn’t wait for his answer. “I must admit to being very impressed with them. Don’t tell Terriss, but I was concerned about their reliability you know? One hears such ghastly things about Borderers. All sorts of ungodly things going on, but they seem like excellent people to me! I can’t see what all the fuss was about. They’re very good fighters.”

Methrym smiled. Vivika would know what all the fuss was about if he had ever tried to trade with them, or take something they considered theirs. Even if the thing wasn’t theirs it was better to let them have it! The God only knew how much of the city they were likely to carry away with them!

“What’s next, Methrym? Do we go after Wakiza now?”

We?

“Ah well… we have to finish up here and… don’t you want to stay to rebuild… and of course we have to wait for Vexin’s orders, and… you can’t come!”

Vivika laughed at Methrym’s stuttering. “Of course I can! Vexin has already rallied the lords to his cause. Where did you think they were going? No doubt they’re already on their way here with your orders. As for the city, I have very good people who look after details for me. My beloved insisted we have the best,” Vivika said sadly. He perked up again almost instantly. “Besides, it will take some time for the lords to reach us. We can make plans while we wait!”

Methrym stared at Vivika in horror. He would be saddled with the man forever!

Oh by the God, now what do I do?

* * *

19 ~ Mirror Mirror

Tears ran freely over Julia’s cheeks at the sight of Emma and Amara as they entered Kadar’s tent wearing their new tunics and leggings. The girls were beaming fit to break hearts as they marched boldly to where Kadar sat. Upon their backs, newly embroidered by their own hands, was the swirling pattern of the Night Wind Clan. At their waists they wore long knives proudly proclaiming they had chosen to train as warriors of the clan.

“We are gathered here to welcome Emma and Amara of Calvados into the clan,” Kadar began. “At a time when war is trying to tear us apart, it is even more fitting that we as a people hold to the traditions handed down through the centuries. One such is adoption.”

She watched the ceremony raptly as gifts were given and received then listened in excitement as Kadar asked the question everyone was waiting to hear.

“Emma of Calvados, Amara of Calvados, have you chosen who will be your father?”

“We have,” they said together.

“Is whom you choose within this tent?” Kadar said smiling. He knew full well he was.

The girls grinned. “He is.”

“Point him out so that he might come forth.”

As one the girls pointed to Shelim who was sitting quietly looking on. The relief on his face was comic. As if they would choose someone else after he saved them from certain death. Julia shook her head at Shelim’s foolishness. It was obvious that he’d thought right until the last moment they would choose other than him.

“Shelim, shaman of the Night Wind, stand forth,” Kadar ordered.

Shelim stood and stepping carefully between sitting clanners he approached Kadar. He was wearing his best tunic and leggings, the one with orange flames running down his arms and legs. He was dazzling… and noisy! The beads rattled at his every move.

“Is it your wish to accept responsibility for these children?”

“It is,” Shelim said with an arm around each.

Kadar nodded. “I am Clan Chief of the Night Wind Clan. I say that Shelim is father to Emma of the Night Wind and Amara of the Night Wind from this moment.”

Everyone stood and shouted their welcome and hugged the girls at the same time as pounding Shelim roughly on the shoulders and back.

“Congratulations you three, I know you’ll be happy together,” Julia said drying her eyes. She always cried at weddings, and the adoption was just like one.

“We will!” said Amara.

“That’s right!” Emma added.

Julia moved aside to let the others reach the happy trio, and found Kadar talking to Keverin in a corner.

“—without us!” Keverin said urgently.

Kadar shook his head. “There’s nothing I can do. Tobiah is chief of chiefs.”

“There is something,” she said as an idea formed. It was outrageous, but it might work.

“I don’t see what,” Kadar sighed.

“You do believe me when I say that without shamen the clans will be defeated?”

Kadar grimaced, he was not entirely happy admitting it. “Maybe not defeat…” he sighed. “Yes, many will die without them. We will probably be defeated.”

Probably was close enough, Julia decided. “Then I want to be adopted into the Night Wind along with Keverin and all the others.”

Kadar’s eyes bugged at the audacity and he spluttered, “Tobiah will never stand for it!”

“Is Tobiah chief of the Night Wind or are you?” Keverin ground out between clenched teeth. He wanted Demophon dead so bad he could taste it.

Kadar’s hand reached for his long knife but Keverin clamped the hand upon the hilt like a vice. Kadar’s eyes widened as he found himself unable to draw the weapon. He struggled briefly but it was no good.

“I am chief here not Tobiah!”

“Then act like it!” she hissed under her breath. “Think of your people, not your pride. Tobiah will lead us all to ruin!”

“Tobiah is chief of chiefs—”

Keverin overrode the chief. “But only in matters of the war!” he said in frustration, and then more calmly, “True?”

Keverin released Kadar and he flexed his hand trying to regain feeling. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Tobiah will not like it at all,” he said with a twisted smile that grew as Julia watched.

Keverin grinned. “Tobiah will have a seizure when he hears.”

“Julia of the Night Wind,” she murmured. “It has a nice ring to it.”

All three of them laughed.

Kadar left then to speak with Shelim and congratulate him. Julia and Keverin stood aside watching the exchange of gifts. Julia felt inside her medicine pouch and stroked the torque she had made for Keverin’s nameday. She felt the spell tingling against her palm and smiled. Lucius was a genius, though she would never tell him. He might get a swelled head! She was glad she had asked him to help her now. She had a feeling Keverin might need the torque in this war.

Tobiah was a fool. Worse than that, he was a dangerous fool. At every turn he had opposed the inclusion of shamen in this war and that could only lead to disaster. She wished she could make a torque for all of Kev’s men and she felt guilty about that sometimes, but there wasn’t time and Keverin was more important to her than anyone. The shield spell should stop a magical attack, but Keverin was not a mage; he could not invoke the shield himself. Lucius had foreseen the problem and had created a spell to activate the instant an magic was detected. It was not perfect, it would not stop a sword or any other mundane attack, but it was better than nothing. Maybe now would be a good time to give it to him. Tobiah had chosen Kev’s nameday to move north and Julia could already foresee it would be hectic.

Come the day, she was proven right.

Julia mounted her horse next to Keverin who was sporting his nameday present. Tobiah hadn’t liked it, as she knew he wouldn’t, but Kev loved it. It was different to a chief’s torque in that she had carved pictures on it rather than geometric patterns. She was quite proud of it. In the centre under his chin, she had carved the crossed fists of Athione. On each side of that was a panel with the citadel depicted in relief against the mountains. There were six panels in all, each with a little picture. Iden had taught her how to do it, but she had done the actual work herself.

Ignoring Tobiah’s glare of hatred, Keverin mounted Cavell, and behind him Brian and his men climbed into their saddles.

“What are you doing? I forbid it!” Tobiah said angrily.

“You do not forbid me,” Keverin rumbled angrily. “Nor my lady either.”

All around the Night Wind encampment people watched as the scene unfolded. They were wondering what was to happen. If all went well nothing was. As of last night, Julia was Julia of the Night Wind, and her adopted father was of course Kerrion. Kerrion couldn’t adopt Keverin of course—she didn’t want Keverin as her brother. Other warriors and shaman, older ones mostly, had adopted him and the others, but it was comical seeing Lucius adopted by a warrior half his age.

“We are Night Wind not Wolf!” Julia said loudly so that all might hear. “You might be chief of chiefs, but I’m no chief and you can’t order me. I will do what Kadar orders not you.”

There was a rumble of agreement from the onlookers. Tobiah looked around in fury, but Kadar was not to be found. “I will deal with you later. This will not stand!” he shouted and stormed off.

“Oh yes it will,” she whispered as they began to ride out of Denpasser.

Wherever Julia looked, warriors were mounting and riding out of camp. Keverin’s men were the only ones in armour and riding in column of twos. The clansmen did not believe in what they saw as foolishness. They rode in their usual haphazard manner. Groups of warriors talked among themselves here, groups laughed there and trotted away on their own course, still others formed and broke apart only to reform elsewhere. It looked chaotic and was, but Keverin had assured her that the warriors knew what to do. When the time came they would do it with flair. Flair wasn’t enough she knew, not against the legions. Discipline was important in war. Disciplined troops could defeat many times their own numbers if they fought as one and followed orders—Jihan said so and Kev agreed.

“Where is Kadar, do you know?” Keverin asked looking around as the Night Wind warriors began to bunch up around his column.

“He rode out early to avoid Tobiah. He thinks delaying the inevitable may help the situation.”

Kadar had absented himself on purpose knowing Tobiah would attempt to reverse last night’s decision. He had spoken with the other chiefs privately last night urging them to bring the shamen with them. He told them that even if the shamen weren’t needed, it didn’t hurt to have them along, for healing if nothing else. According to Kerrion, every shaman was seen packing this morning.

Keverin looked worried, Julia assumed it was Tobiah’s doing, but when she asked he shook his head.

“This war is badly planned. If Jihan were here, he would call me a fool and worse than a fool for riding to meet Navarien head on like this.

“I know you think that, but with magic on our side we should stand an even chance.”

“That’s what I mean. An even chance isn’t good enough. Jihan always says never fight unless you know you will win, and he’s right. Sometimes you have absolutely no other choice and so you fight with damage limitation in mind. You should never do anything that doesn’t lead to victory. Easy to say I know, but it’s true just the same. Fighting to contest ground is usually pointless. We should only fight when we have the advantage.”

“I can see that, but if you retreat all the time because you’re waiting for the advantage we might be fighting in Devarr come summer!”

Keverin laughed. “That’s the problem any lord faces when leading men into battle. He has to commit to a battle at some point, the hard part is deciding whether he should strike now, or wait and hope for a better opportunity later.”

Julia wished Jihan had stayed with them. Oh, she knew Tobiah would not listen to him, or anyone else for that matter, but it would make her feel better. Keverin was a strong and wonderful lord, but Jihan was simply the best soldier she knew of—the best general Deva had despite his age. Everyone agreed on that. Keverin said he was a natural.

Julia looked around. Even riding to war like this the clans stayed roughly separated by clan affiliation. Although chaotic by Deva’s standard, the warriors were only mingling within their own clan. The only ones who seemed to have cast aside that reserve were shamen. Lucius and Mathius were riding within that group, and she decided to amble over and have a word.

“I’ll be over there with Lucius, Kev,” she said.

“Ask him what Navarien is doing about water while you’re there.”

“Okay,” she said and at Keverin’s frown she added, “That means all right.”

“Why say the other thing then?”

Julia smiled and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Keverin grumbled good-naturedly as she urged her horse between groups of warriors toward Kerrion. Mathius was talking to him, but when Julia arrived he broke off.

“Telling tales again, Mathius?”

“He asked,” Mathius said with a guilty shrug.

“I was joking. I know how nosy Kerrion is; it’s all right.”

The shamen burst out laughing at Kerrion’s splutters.

“You should have more respect for your father girl!” Kerrion grumped trying not to laugh with the others.

“I suppose I should,” she said grinning. “Especially when he’s of such an advanced age. Are you sure you can manage?”

That set off a new round of laughter and increased spluttering from Kerrion.

“I can still show you youngsters a thing or three,” Kerrion said mock glaring at her.

“I know you can father,” she said contritely. “Shelim told me about the time you set the tent on fire. Why did you do that by the way?”

Everyone howled with laughter. Shelim raised his hands and shook his head as if to say Julia had forced it from him. Kerrion gave up and laughed.

“Seriously now,” she said when the laughter died away. “Keverin was wondering what Navarien is doing about water.”

“The legions normally use water wagons,” Mathius said thoughtfully. “But this time he has the equivalent of three legions under his command. He’ll need to stay close to a river.”

“Exactly my thought,” Julia said.

“That won’t help us,” Shelim put in. “The plain has many rivers and streams.”

Damn! She had hoped to use Navarien’s reliance on the river against him. There wouldn’t be a quick fix this time around.

“Kadar has yet to show his face,” Mathius mused. “Does anyone here think Tobiah will win the argument?”

Julia looked to the Wolf Clan shamen especially. They knew their chief best. It must be very uncomfortable for them. On the one side, they believed their presence was necessary to win against Navarien, on the other they had to ignore Tobiah’s wishes to do so. Kerrion was the eldest and could order his shamen to do what he wanted; however, he always preferred persuasion to confrontation. All shamen were agreed that their presence was necessary, but not all were comfortable thwarting Tobiah.

“I think no matter what happens between Tobiah and Kadar, there will be trouble between Wolf and Night Wind over this,” Kemen said. He was Wolf Clan. “Never has an outclanner been adopted into a clan, let alone a thousand of them!”

Kerrion and the others nodded glumly, but again they knew Julia’s presence was necessary. They knew she would leave if her friends were sent away.

“Mazel understands as no other chief can,” Shelim said. “He has seen the dead piled high in Dragon Clan camps, and has fled before a sorcerer’s fire. He and his warriors have been teaching those who wish to know what to expect, but the number is low. Thankfully, not all the warriors are as bad as Tobiah—some are happy that we are here with them for healing if nothing else.”

That was true, but unfortunately the greater number was against the shamen attending. Julia was sure that their opinion would change when they faced magic upon the battlefield. All she could do was hope it wouldn’t be too late then.

She rode along for a while listening to the warriors nearby discuss the situation. Most seemed of the opinion that Navarien would attack head on and keep pushing until he broke the clans. Of course, they all said that would never happen. No one thought Navarien would divide his forces and go around them, and that worried her. How many times had she thought things were going well and then found her expectations dashed at the last moment?

Too many to count.

To hear the clansmen talking as if the war would be over in a mere handful of days was unbelievable. They really thought that nine clans united would win easily. It was the numbers involved. Navarien had almost thirty thousand men; the clans had three times that many warriors. What they failed to realise was that many of their number were untried boys all of which had been pushed through their ceremonies early. Navarien on the other hand had men full grown and trained to fight in disciplined ranks. Did fifteen years of life growing up in a warrior tradition outweigh the legion’s veteran fighters? Julia hoped so.

The clansmen were making good use of the time to put some distance between them and Denpasser. They rode for two candlemarks then dismounted and jogged to rest the horses. Julia was unused to this kind of travel, but she was strong and had kept herself as close to her peak as she could. She had no trouble keeping up. Lucius however was soon out of breath.

“I’ll be all right,” he puffed as they jogged along. “Too much sitting at the mirror I expect.”

Julia grasped her magic and examined him, but found only tiredness. She used her healing magic and his breathing eased. She decided to keep an eye on him for the next few days just in case she had missed something.

“Do you think Gideon will reach Jihan today?”

Lucius nodded. “Today or tomorrow I should think.”

“Will it work?”

“It should.”

“I can’t wait to see their faces.”

Lucius smiled. “It should be something to see all right.”

* * *

Jihan watched stony faced as his men ran forward to the attack. Everywhere he looked men were busy training to become something they weren’t, but already he saw improvement. Firstly there was attitude.

Most, if not all, of them had come from backgrounds very dissimilar from a guardsman’s life. Many were farm hands, some were failed apprentices, others had been street toughs in Devarr. They had come to Malcor from every walk of Devan life hoping to turn a dream into reality. It went without saying that none of them had known what they were getting into. But that had changed. They most certainly did know now, and wonder of wonders, they liked it. Motivation had been a concern, especially when considering the pace required to train them in only two years. That worry had been replaced by other concerns.

Fourth and fifth battalions had been formed a maniple at a time as the recruits arrived; consequently they were the furthest behind. Surprisingly this had led to a greater sense of unity within those two units. The recruits with the most training had helped the newer ones so they would not fall too far behind the others. Competition between the battalions was high as they struggled to best each other.

Jihan walked toward a forest of wooden posts. The area was used for sword practice and was evidenced by the badly hacked posts and piles of wood chips at their bases. First battalion was practising here today. Yesterday they had cavalry manoeuvres, and tomorrow it would be bow practice. The sword drills always held a particular fascination for him, although he was expert in many differing weapons, the sword was his favourite.

He watched the men in each maniple pair off and begin a thrust and parry drill. Designed to be used while afoot, it represented the quickest way to kill the enemy. Later the sergeants would introduce other variations, but not until the men became proficient with this drill. He walked among the sweating men giving a word of encouragement here, a critique of posture there. He stopped a pair of men at random and taking the wooden sword in hand, he demonstrated the correct manner to accomplish a parry without opening himself to the enemy.

“Do you see it?” he asked the men.

“You stopped the move before going too wide?”

“That’s it exactly. Keep your moves economical and while your enemy is still bringing his weapon back toward you, lunge forward and thrust the sword into his centre. Always try for the centre. If you’re off slightly you will still wound him badly.”

Jihan handed the blade to the recruit and stepped back to watch. Both men would be dead the instant they attacked anyone for real, but that wouldn’t always be so. There was a decided improvement and the concentration on both their faces said they were trying hard. With time and practise, the sword would become second nature to them.

He moved on trying to spread a little encouragement and knowledge at the same time. He was still undecided whether to teach them the lance. True, it was an outdated weapon, but it could still be deadly in the charge. The problem though was accuracy. The lance took years to learn well, and until then, a man was more likely to injure himself or his horse than the enemy. He didn’t know why he was debating really. His decision had been made for him when Gylaren stated a two year deadline for training. Time was something he had little of, and he was determined to use it wisely. The lance was out, but to be on even terms with the legions the javelin had to be in.

Second battalion was trying, and so far failing, to impress him with its expertise with the javelin. As with most things, some were better than others. A row of rings representing an enemy formation was set up one hundred yards away. The drill consisted of every man in a maniple running in a line and casting javelins aimed to land inside the circles. After the cast was complete, they peeled off to each side and the next maniple ran in and cast its javelins. Jihan had ordered the men to wear their armour and weapons so they would become accustomed to the weight. Throwing a javelin was hard to do encumbered by armour. It was well that they became used to it now.

Third battalion was practising horsemanship with the usual results. Utter chaos. The captains and sergeants were screaming imprecations and almost frothing at the mouth. When they realised their lord had seen them they became red faced with embarrassment. He made no move toward them to their evident relief. He knew it would take time.

Fourth battalion was training with the bow. The legions did not have permanent bowmen. They relied on javelins for range, and swords for close in. Jihan had learned from Shelim and others that Navarien had been experimenting with clan bows, but whether he used them or not, the Devan army would. Jihan had given a great deal of thought to the composition of this army. Sword, shield, and javelin were the basic tools necessary to fight the legions, but parity was not acceptable. He wanted the army to win its battles handily, and not by the skin of its teeth. The God forbid it should lose altogether.

Magic was the problem.

Deva had few mages as did Tanjung, and Japura had none at all. Conversely, the Protectorate had them in abundance. He had wrestled with the problem long into the night trying to see a way to beat the legion’s winning combination without success. As far as he could see, the only way to stop the legions without magic was to make their losses so high that taking Deva became prohibitively expensive. With that in mind, he set about training every man to use the bow. He wasn’t looking to make them all marksmen, but he would see to it they could at least hit what they aimed at most of the time. Ten thousand arrows in the air at one time should give the legions something to think about.

Lastly, there was Fifth Battalion. Fighting unarmed seemed a strange thing to be teaching men who would be up against the Protectorate in a few years, but Jihan felt the exercise was worth it for all of that. Besides, he didn’t have enough horses or bows to teach the fifth those things just yet. The battalion would have to wait its turn. In the meantime, they were learning the best way for an unarmed man to defend against an armed opponent in various situations. He thought the idea of unarmed combat a good one. The clans had given him the idea when he saw a boy practising with his father. War had been a stranger to the clans—well mostly anyway. Feuds and raids were common, but nothing that came close in scale to real war. Clan warriors liked fighting, and they often contested with each other. The victor gained honour while the vanquished gained valuable lessons and a good story. Contests between clans were a little more serious. Challenges could lead to blood or even death, but with shamen on hand to heal injuries deaths were rare.

“They’re looking good my lord.”

Jihan nodded absently and turned to see Captain Echion watching the sword work.

“Better than I had hoped certainly, but they have a long way to go.”

“I have a message from lady Ahnao, my lord. She said you should come at once.”

“The babe!” Jihan said already trotting to his horse.

“No! I’m sorry my lord. I should have said. The lady is well. We have visitors at the fortress.”

Jihan throttled the anger that suddenly blazed up at Echion. He was angrier with himself for losing control than he was with Echion. He never lost control. Being impassive was useful to a lord; it was something he had needed badly as a child. His perceived lack of emotion had set back more than one would-be tormentor.

“Visitors?” he said taking Jezy’s reins from one of his recruits.

“Bishop Gideon with escort, my lord. He insisted he speak with you and lady Ahnao.”

“I see.”

It would be good to speak with Gideon again, but where was the urgency? Surely Gideon could wait until this evening? Whatever the reason he had better see to it.

“Stay here and take charge,” Jihan said pulling himself into the saddle. “Third battalion needs watching. Their horsemanship is atrocious.”

Echion grinned and nodded.

Jihan turned and rode through the gate. The fortress wasn’t far so he contented himself with a canter. No need to gallop, and besides it would give the impression he was worried. Thinking about worrying seemed to conjure it forth. What if Keverin was in trouble and needed him? His duty was clear; the King had given him a commission to train his armies. To fail in that would be dishonourable and therefore unacceptable, but Keverin was his friend. Maybe he should send Echion with a strong contingent of cavalry. Yes, he could do that. Malcor’s resources were stretched thinner than usual—he had guardsmen training the recruits, and strong patrols further out than normal keeping prying eyes away from the camp, but he could still send two thousand. Yes, two thousand fully equipped guardsmen would see Keverin safely out of Camorin.

Upon entering the fortress, he found Athione guardsmen caring for their mounts. All came to attention when he entered the courtyard until their sergeant ordered them back to work. It was obvious they had orders to continue on their way. None had yet washed the dust off themselves.

Jihan dismounted and handed his reins to one of his men. He recognised many of Kev’s men, but the sergeant wasn’t one he knew. The man was perhaps fifty if he was any judge. Wide in the shoulders yet short with it, he still managed to lead men twice his height and half his age. A good man to have around was the thought that went through his mind as the sergeant came forward to report.

“I hear you delivered Bishop Gideon to me,” Jihan said. “Is anything amiss, sergeant?”

The sergeant looked as if he wanted to spit but he restrained himself. “I’m Mikkel, m’lord. I was ordered to say that all is going well, and you’re not to be worrying.”

“Ah? And what is the truth of the matter?”

The sergeant grinned weakly. “The truth is that m’lord Keverin is worried. The chiefs plan to attack head on and they won’t see our side.”

By our side, Mikkel meant attacking using tactics such as night assaults on the legion camp by stealth, or any number of other things that smacked of sneaking and subterfuge—anything but head on.

“Have the clans engaged yet?”

“Not before I was ordered out my lord, but it will be any day now.”

Jihan nodded. If not today, it would be soon he had no doubt. Mikkel would not have been sent if things weren’t about to come to a head. “From your preparations, I assume you’re headed back out. Where to?”

“To Athione, m’lord. I have orders for Captain Marcus and some packages to deliver. Gideon has a present for him and a few others.” Mikkel grinned, “There’s one for you from the Lady as well m’lord.”

“Oh?”

“I can’t tell you, m’lord, it’s a secret.”

A secret? Trust Julia to swear the man to secrecy. It was probably a new bow.

“Carry on then,” he said and made his way into the citadel.

Jihan thought he should change before anything else so he made his way to his rooms. As he walked, he absently wondered what his present was. Clan bows were rare away from the plains. They were the perfect weapon to use from a charging horse, which is how the clans used it more often than not. He remembered that grim night in Brai almost three years ago. That night had been full of blood and pain. If he had owned a clan bow, he might have come out lighter than he did. He was struck twice by arrows and nearly died. Then again, if he hadn’t been injured so seriously he might not have come to know Ahnao. Pain was a small price to pay for his lady and child.

Thoughts of Ahnao and the babe had him smiling as he strode through the citadel. He didn’t notice, but the guardsmen reacted to that smile with one of their own as he walked by. They knew their lord in all of his moods; many had known him as a child when he had haunted the citadel like a thunderstorm waiting to happen. His smiling was good to see, especially so considering its rarity.

Jihan threw off his armour and shirt to bathe. He hurried as he could, but it wouldn’t do to greet any visitor filthy from the parade ground let alone a priest of the God. When he was done he pulled on a blue silk shirt, Ahnao liked him in blue, and then checked himself in the mirror. Everything was fine. He hurried to the women’s quarter where he was sure he would find Ahnao entertaining Gideon. He knocked upon the door separating the women’s quarter from the rest of the citadel and it opened immediately to reveal Aleeza. She smiled at him and stepped back to let him in.

Jihan inclined his head. “I thank you Lady.”

Aleeza smiled her thanks of the courtesy and closed the door. He knew the fortress intimately including the women’s quarter, but he waited for her to lock the door and escort him. As expected, she showed him to Ahnao’s rooms. He entered to find Gideon seated opposite his consort by the windows. The sunlight streamed in to dazzle Jihan, but then Ahnao always dazzled him.

“Welcome to Malcor, my Lord Bishop,” Jihan said as he crossed the room.

Gideon climbed to his feet and made the sign of the God—the circle drawn in the air representing the cycle of birth to rebirth. “Bless you and your home my lord.”

Jihan inclined his head in thanks for the blessing and after kissing Ahnao chastely on the cheek, he followed Gideon’s example by seating himself.

“I was just saying that this war in the north might very well spill over into Deva. Perhaps your lady would be safer at Athione.”

“We have discussed that very thing,” Jihan said. “If things go badly, which they very well might, Ahnao has agreed to visit Purcell at Elvissa. Didn’t you my love?”

“Yes my husband,” Ahnao said demurely, but the look she gave him said there would be repercussions for bringing her agreement up again.

Jihan continued. “I think Elvissa is the more prudent destination, especially when considering who and what we are fighting.”

Gideon raised an eyebrow. “You think Athione would fall, even though it has bested the Protectorate once before?”

“Julia is the reason—the only reason—that Athione still stands. If Navarien reaches here then in my opinion she will already be dead. Without her aid, Deva must succumb. It will take a year, more probably two, before the lords are brought to heel but it will happen.”

“What of the new army?”

“As to that, I believe they will inflict heavy casualties on the Hasians and perhaps even slow them, but stop them? No. The kingdom has been ill led for too long to be able to withstand the might of the Protectorate. Had Pergann done twenty years ago what Keverin did with his library seven years ago, we might have had enough mages to hold the sorcerers off. As things stand today, we will need a miracle.”

“I will pray for one,” Gideon said seriously.

“Pray hard. Pray very hard, and hope that Julia survives.”

“Well,” Ahnao said breaking the sombre mood they had all fallen into. “Tell us all your news, Gideon. You said something about a man named Demophon?”

Jihan started at that name. Demophon was a sorcerer, the very one who had kidnapped Julia in fact, but he died at Mathius’ hands in Devarr last year.

“Yes Demophon,” Gideon in a musing tone. “It was quite a shock learning that he was alive. As a man of the God I must decry violence in any form, but I admit to some unworthy thoughts where that man is concerned. Mathius was particularly upset, and of course the others heard and well, the obvious happened.”

“Please go on with your story father,” Ahnao said eagerly. “Was Julia very angry? I wager she was.”

“No…” Gideon said thoughtfully. “No she wasn’t. She was afraid if anything.”

Ahnao gasped in disbelief. “Julia’s not afraid of anything!”

“That is where you are wrong, my child. Everyone fears something, whether it’s a person, or the loss of someone close to them, there’s always something. Julia has many things in her past that she feared, but each time she overcame them despite it. If you asked her, I’m sure she would deny her courage, but that does not change the fact she has it.”

“What was the cause of the fear in this instance?” Jihan said bringing Gideon back to the original question.

“When Mathius was told Demophon lived he was enraged and swore an oath. When my lord Keverin heard it, he swore also and Lucius with him. Julia fears for her lord and friend’s lives.”

“The oath?”

“Demophon dies or I do. Or something like that,” Gideon said with distaste. “Julia tried to reason with them. Demophon is one sorcerer among hundreds and all are protected by Navarien’s legion which is triple the strength of any legion that has gone before it, but they would not be moved.”

“Sergeant Mikkel said he believed the clans would be engaging the Hasians soon,” Jihan said imagining the scene. Magic clashing in counterpoint to swords; horses neighing and rearing. Men shouting and dying, others shouting and slaying. A grand spectacle was war, and a cursed waste. “I hope they don’t forget the greater threat while pursuing vengeance against this one man.”

“That doesn’t seem likely. Keverin is no man’s fool.”

“I know that, but hatred warps good judgment.”

Gideon accepted that with a nod. “Tobiah was intent on leaving the shamen behind when I was last there. I do not know if they persuaded him to relent or not. Brian was of the opinion that Tobiah or no Tobiah Julia would be going. I find myself agreeing.”

So did Jihan. Julia was not born Devan, but she had embraced Deva and its ways fully. She owed a debt to Kerrion and his people; he had no doubt she intended to pay it with her magic.

“Julia had me bring you a present my lord,” Gideon said producing a package from beside his chair. “I have one of these for each of the fortresses plus one for the palace in Devarr.”

Jihan took the package from Gideon carefully. The priest had handled it with exquisite care so he did the same as he unwrapped it. Ahnao came to sit next to him on the couch so that she might share the surprise.

Finally, it was revealed.

A mirror? There was no frame with it and apart from some engraving on the glass in the corners it was just a plain mirror. Jihan recognised the engraving of course. At the top right hand corner was the crescent moon of Deva. Diagonally opposite was the mountain representing Elvissa. At the top left the crossed fists of Athione, and diagonally opposite at the bottom right was the Eagle of Meilan. Nowhere was the keep and hammers of Malcor shown.

“It’s—” Jihan shrugged and looked to Ahnao for help.

“Nice?” she said unhelpfully.

Gideon clapped his hands and laughed.

“What?”

Gideon couldn’t stop the laughter, every time he tried he saw Jihan’s puzzled face and away he went again. Jihan looked at Ahnao and shrugged helplessly, he had no idea what had come over the man. Finally, the laughing died away to chuckling and then to snorts and head shaking.

“Forgive me, I beg you my lord, but your faces,” Gideon chuckled again but this time he subsided quickly. “A mirror seems a poor gift I know, but in reality it’s worth—” Gideon frowned, “I don’t know what it’s worth actually. There are only five like this in existence anywhere. It’s priceless!”

He looked at the mirror again. The engraving was excellent, the workmanship better than he had ever seen in fact but priceless? The glass of the mirror was no different to hundreds of others; all glass was expensive but not as much as Gideon seemed to think.

“Is there something I’m missing?” Jihan said turning the mirror over.

On the back was another engraving this time of five interconnected rings? Jihan had no idea what it meant.

“Ah I see you found it my lord. Lucius and Mathius made the mirrors for each of the fortresses, but Julia wanted a way to reach you while in Camorin. Your mirror is the only one with a fifth engraving.”

“This is a scrying mirror?” Jihan said in wonder. “But I have no magic.”

“I was told that no magic is necessary my lord. The mirror will take care of it. If you wish to contact someone all you need do is touch the correct engraving. The other mirrors are to be taken to the fortresses and one to the King, but Julia has her own little mirror with her at all times so that you might speak with her.”

“Touch it, that’s all?”

“That was what I was told my lord. Lucius tried to explain it to me, but I must confess he lost me after the words touch it and,” Gideon said with a smile.

Jihan laughed for politeness sake and laid his hand upon the circles. They warmed at his touch and a chime sounded. The reflection of his startled face disappeared to show a hand seemingly covering the view in the mirror. The picture was very dark but he heard Julia’s voice clearly as it emanated from thin air as the chime had done.

“It works, Lucius!”

“So it would seem. Perhaps you should see who is calling?”

“Oh!”

Jihan smiled as the picture lightened to reveal Julia looking at him with concern.

“Sorry Jihan, I had the mirror in my pouch. You can hear me can’t you?”

“I can see and hear you perfectly. This is a wondrous gift, and not just for me. You do realise what this could mean for Deva?”

“Absolutely!” she said grinning with her excitement. “On my old world we take it for granted that we can talk to people on the other side of the world just by dialling a number.”

Jihan didn’t understand what numbers had to do with anything but refrained from asking.

“—will never be like my old world and that’s a good thing in my opinion,” she was saying.

“Why? I should think being able to talk to people would make strife less likely between them.”

“You would think so wouldn’t you? But it doesn’t seem to be that way. Wars on my world are hard to describe Jihan, but let me just say this. Our weapons could destroy the world. Not just a city, we have done that, not just a country, but every country.”

Her world must be terrible indeed. Thank the God she was here now and such things did not exist. Even magic, powerful as it was, could not do what Julia said was done on her old world. He thanked the God for it. Mortain would be unstoppable with such weapons. While he was thinking these thoughts, Ahnao was chatting with Julia. Gideon was sitting quietly occasionally sipping his wine content to listen.

“…every day. I could hardly keep anything down,” Ahnao was saying.

“Sounds like morning sickness,” Julia said frowning. “Stupid name really. A lot of women have sensitive stomachs all through pregnancy and not just in the mornings. How is it now?”

“Better, but not completely well. Helsa said not to worry about it, but she still gives me a tonic in the mornings. It tastes horrid but it does work.”

“That’s good. I wish I was there with you, Ahnao, but I can’t leave here. Tobiah’s determined to drive Navarien back with his warriors alone, but Keverin says that won’t work. He’s really worried. He says we shouldn’t attack unless we know we’ll win.”

“He’s right,” Jihan said breaking in. “Never do anything that does not lead to victory. Head on against the legions is a bad idea at any time, but the plain has little to recommend it for battle. The terrain does not lend itself to creative tactics. Tobiah is only doing what has always worked for the clans in the past. They have never had to fight anything like a legion before. Tobiah has no idea what he’s getting into.”

“I know,” Julia said worriedly. She looked away for a moment and nodded to someone out of view. “Take a look at this, Jihan,” she said and the view shifted crazily as she turned the mirror through a rough circle.

Jihan’s stomach shifted uneasily as the view moved. It was a very strange sensation. He was concentrating on the image so hard it felt as if he was moving and not the image. What he saw made his stomach worse. The clans were riding haphazardly northward. They looked as if they were enjoying a pleasant ride to the fair! By the God, didn’t these people realise what would happen if they hit Navarien like that? They must. Maybe Tobiah was trying to give the sorcerers a false impression. He hoped so. Finally, the mirror steadied again but this time Keverin was looking at him.

“I wish you were here, Jihan.”

“So do I,” he said with feeling. “I could send Echion with two thousand—” he broke off at Keverin’s head-shake.

“Don’t do that. The clans wouldn’t like it but that’s not the reason. I think you might need those men very soon.”

Jihan’s heart sank. “I thought this might happen. Come home Keverin. Forget Demophon, and come back! If we add Athione to Malcor’s guardsmen we may have a chance to stop them at the border.”

Keverin shook his head. “I swore an oath.”

“Forget him I say!” Jihan cried in frustration.

“I swore an oath,” Keverin said with finality.

Jihan knew Keverin would not be moved now. In truth, had he been the one to swear the oath instead of Keverin, he would have answered the same. Knowing that did not make it any easier to hear.

“Mikkel has orders for Marcus,” Keverin went on quietly. “Marcus will take his orders from you, Jihan. If you think my guardsmen should march to reinforce your border you have only to use the mirror and Marcus will bring them. I trust you my friend. My home is in your hands now.”

Jihan looked silently at his friend then nodded slowly. “I understand. Good hunting.”

The mirror went dark.

* * *

Interlude IV

Talitha listened absently to her new chamberlain in the comfort of her solarium. She lay back on one of the many couches placed throughout the glass room. The sun beamed down heating the glass and air within. She loved the heat and spent a lot of her time here. Through the bay windows, she could see her garden bursting with colour and tended by her slaves. She smiled as her thoughts turned to her beloved. How she wished Ranen could be here with her but that was not to be. He had a war to fight. The messenger should have reached him by now. She could hardly wait for his return letter.

“…of Deva,” Nekane finished saying.

Talitha frowned as work intruded upon her thoughts. It was time that Deva began trading again. Japura had always been far seeing and peaceful within its borders. Deva on the other hand prospered and declined in cycles that seemed to follow such vagaries as which particular king sat upon the throne, or which lords served him. Her servants in the lower palace were the Matriarchy’s secret she knew. The Matriarch was perfect and ruled by the will of the God, but it was the lower palace that ran Japura for her. The Matriarch made a decision, and the lower palace implemented it. That was how Armina had decreed it should be, and for thousands of years it had been.

“This new Devan King… what is his name?”

“He is called Gylaren. King Pergann died without an heir, Matriarch. Gylaren—then Lord Meilan—was crowned King after a vote was taken among the lords.”

Talitha shook her head. How could they expect their kingdom to prosper when they chose a king in such a haphazard manner? She shook her head in pity. How did voting prove who was the best person for the position? It didn’t of course. She felt somewhat sorry for the Devans. They had struggled to build a kingdom from nothing and had succeeded in such a short time, only to have it decay and fall through bad decisions and leadership. Deva had only a short history—merely a thousand years. It was barely out of infancy compared with Japura, and yet it was already failing.

“What is his proposal?”

Nekane fumbled with his pile of parchment searching for the answer.

She sighed. How she wished Jarek were here. He never needed to search for answers; he knew what she wanted to know without needing to be asked, but he was very frail now and spent his days reading and sleeping. Wanikiya said he might live for another few years if he rested and did not exert himself, so that is what Talitha had ordered him to do. He spent his days in bed half buried under piles of reports from the lower palace now. He seemed happy enough delving into the archives looking for answers about Tindebrai, and that was all that mattered. She would visit him later, she decided.

“King Gylaren requests swords from us, Matriarch,” Nekane said finally.

“Of course he does; everyone wants our steel,” Talitha said in annoyance. “What is his proposal?”

Nekane flushed. “In exchange for twenty thousand good quality steel blades, he proposes the sale of certain holdings in Deva. Two mines in the Elvissian Mountains. One is an iron mine, but there is also a small copper mine.”

Hmmm, the copper would be useful. The glass-makers were always complaining about the price of it. They used it in some manner to make green glass. The offer was a good one. Those mines had once belonged to Japura before Deva was founded. They were ceded in exchange for a spell to ensure the Matriarch’s fertility. That spell was still doing its job today—the Matriarch was never barren and all her children were daughters. It was a good offer, but there were difficulties with accepting the proposal.

“Send a counter proposal. Instead of ownership, propose a partnership. I do not want to become involved in reopening those mines, or in the actual managing of them day to day. It would be too costly, especially when they do not use slaves.”

Nekane nodded and wrote something down. “I will suggest our percentage be paid in ore. That way we should receive more in the long term. We don’t have the swords on hand, Matriarch. I will offer half now and half to follow at the end of the year.”

“Good Nekane, very good.”

Perhaps he would work out after all. Nekane gathered his notes and scrolls then bowed to her before leaving. Talitha lay quietly thinking of the babe and Ranen. Behind her, she heard the door open and admit someone. She looked to find a worried looking Wanikiya approaching. Talitha swung her legs down and stood to see what was wrong.

“Jarek has made a turn for the worse. I think you should come, Matriarch.”

Talitha’s face froze and she nodded. Together with Wani and her guard, she made her way toward Jarek’s apartments. She knew this time must come, but now that it was here, she couldn’t imagine a life without Jarek. What would she do when she just wanted to talk? Nekane was learning Jarek’s duties, but he was no replacement for the father of her heart. Ranen was far away, without Jarek she had no one to talk to. He was father and friend, the only one she had.

Talitha did not class her servants as friends of course, and slaves were beneath notice. Wanikiya was close, but she was a healer first and spent most of her time in the city. She could order Wani to stay within the palace, but that would cause her more problems than it solved. Wani was stubborn, she might refuse to stay and then Talitha would have no choice but to execute her for disobedience; it would be just like Wani to push her to it.

Force Leader Tymek entered Jarek’s room first then Talitha followed. The old man was in bed as she had expected, but he was still working! She rushed to his side and snatched the scroll out of his hand.

“I haven’t finished with that!” Jarek said querulously before he realised to whom he talking to.

“I told you not to work so hard!” she scolded as she sat on the side of the bed.

“Matriarch, forgive me!” he said trying to rise. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Stay there!” she ordered and Jarek fell back. “Wani said you took a turn for the worse.”

“Wani has a big mouth! I’m perfectly fine, Talitha. I can resume my duties any time.”

Talitha bit her lip. He wasn’t fine; he was grey faced with exhaustion from trying to rise. Wani was right, he was worse.

“Nekane is taking care of that. I need you to be well, father of my heart.”

Jarek patted her hand. He was trying to comfort her! “I will have to try harder then won’t I?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “What have you found out about the empire?” she said trying to pretend all was well.

“I assume you mean Tindebrai and not Tanjung,” he said and at her nod continued. “I have found many things, many things. The most important is from a treatise on dragons written by Matriarch Kachina eleven hundred years ago. She wrote it during the period that dragons left what is now Deva—you might say they migrated. Like birds in winter. Yes, that’s a good analogy is it not?”

Talitha summoned a smile and nodded. “Yes it’s very good.”

“They migrated. They don’t like sorcerers you know? The dragons I mean. There was a battle and the dragons lost, or so Kachina says. I would have thought such a thing impossible, but history tells us it did happen. I have it here somewhere,” Jarek began pushing scrolls aside and discarding others.

Talitha put out a hand and captured his. “I’ll read them later.”

“Hmmm? Oh yes, yes, forgive me Matriarch. What was I saying… ah I remember. The dragons went east you know, yes east they went and were never seen again.”

“What about the empire?”

“The empire? Oh yes! The empire in the east! That was what I was looking for wasn’t it? Yes, the empire is very secretive, very secretive, but I’ve found them out! The empire never lets our traders enter their country. Many have tried and disappeared. The only city open to us is the City of Merchants. Silly name, but that’s what they call it.”

“So what are they hiding?”

“I thought I said, did I not say?” Jarek blinked in confusion.

“No, you said they are secretive.”

“And they are!” Jarek exclaimed almost bouncing in his bed. Wanikiya came forward and fussed around him. She told him to calm down. “Intolerable woman,” Jarek said in a whisper that made Talitha laugh. “She’s always fussing!”

“Perhaps she has her eye on you,” Talitha whispered back.

The horrified look on Jarek’s face made Talitha laugh even harder. She hugged him and he patted her back not knowing what the hug was for. Talitha sat up again and told him to continue with his news.

“The empire is very secretive indeed, but I found them out. It’s the dragons you know; it has to be the dragons.”

“What about them?”

“Well they flew east you see, and the empire is in the east, simple!” Jarek said as if that explained everything.

“So they flew east… to the empire?”

“No, no, no!” Jarek said testily. “The empire is young, Talitha. You know that from your lessons. Like Deva, the empire is only a little over a thousand years old. No, the dragons went east and founded the empire!”

Talitha frowned. “Founded it? I thought dragons were animals.”

“No not animals—well yes and no. They’re intelligent animals, big intelligent animals.”

Talitha shook her head doubtfully and glanced at Wanikiya. Wani shrugged slightly and shook her head; it was the illness.

“Why did they do that?”

“Well, I don’t really know,” Jarek said frowning. “They just wanted to I suppose.”

Talitha forced a smile. “You’ll find the answer I’m sure.”

Jarek blinked in confusion. “What was I saying?”

“It doesn’t matter. I just came to see how you’re feeling.”

“Oh that was good of you Matriarch, but there’s nothing wrong with me. I can take up my duties again any time!” Jarek said and then lent forward to whisper. “If I can escape that intolerable woman that is!”

Talitha stayed with Jarek talking of the past for a candlemark before reluctantly leaving him dozing. He tired easily. She had watched him sleep for half of her visit. Talitha felt sad and decided to change out of her red silks into her black. Black suited her mood. As Talitha stood nude surrounded by her girls, she wondered if perhaps Jarek was right; surely not. Wani thought his condition had led to his fancies, but what if he was right?

“Tymek?”

“Matriarch?” Tymek came forward.

Talitha ignored his wandering eyes. He couldn’t help it; he was just a man like any other. Besides, he had been with her since childhood and had seen her naked many times.

“What do you think of Jarek’s idea?”

Tymek thought for a moment. “I like it, but whether it’s true I don’t know. The dragons certainly existed, history and other stories prove that, and they did leave to the east, but why would they build cities and an empire to rule them, when throughout their history they have lived without such things?”

“Good question,” Talitha said and then frowned at the silks in her slave’s hands. “No Irena, I want the black.”

“Sorry mistress, I thought you meant just the kamiz.”

“No. I feel all black today.”

“Yes mistress,” Irena rushed off to find the rest of the outfit.

Irena returned quickly with the shalwar and bent to help her dress. Talitha stepped into the legs of the shalwar and Irena pulled them up. The Kamiz was next and the pearl buttons finished her dressing. Talitha frowned at the fit of the Kamiz; it was a little tight around her middle, but not enough to be uncomfortable.

“I think it might be time to call Marlena,” Talitha said thoughtfully turning to the side and looking at her profile.

“I will tell her mistress,” Irena said.

“No hurry,” Talitha said.

Her pregnancy wasn’t showing much as yet, but her choice of tight clothing was working against her today. Her waist was bigger if only a little; it would get larger. Marlena would be pleased; she always wanted to make other styles for her.

She turned away from the mirror and looked outside. There was nothing in the gardens to help her, but an idea did make its presence felt. She would invite Verner to the palace. He was the closest thing to an Imperial spy she had close by. Unlike the empress, Talitha did not restrict trade to one city. Merchants from Tindebrai roamed freely, but Verner had made his home in Pura for years. He had many interests in Waipara, which were threatened by the war. He might know something useful about the empire that could help the situation here. It was worth a try.

“Send for Nekane,” Talitha said.

Verner took Talitha’s hand warily. To touch the Matriarch was a serious crime, but nothing befell him when he kissed it. He let it go rather hastily though, she thought in amusement.

“You honour me with this invitation, Matriarch.”

“Yes I know,” Talitha said and smiled. “But I have my reasons. No other of your people has ever come to visit, so I thought I would invite one. Nekane and Jarek both know and speak highly of you. You were my choice.”

“I… I don’t know what to say. I thank you for inviting me, and them for their recommendation but—”

“But why are you here?” she finished for him and smiled.

“Well… yes,”

“Please sit,” she said and sat opposite him after he obeyed.

She was wearing a gold shalwar and kamiz today. Marlena had finished it only this morning. It did look good, she admitted, but she still preferred a tighter fitting. With the babe on the way, she would have to become used to looser styles she supposed. She was pleased to see that she was having the desired effect on Verner, but it was time to get to the point.

“You have contacts within the empire do you not?” she asked and continued without waiting for a reply. “I know you do. Far from being just a merchant, you’re an Imperial spy.”

Verner made to refute that, but didn’t have time.

“Don’t bother to deny it. We both know it’s true of all Imperial merchants.”

“I wouldn’t dream of calling you a liar,” Verner began.

“Of course not,” she smiled at the thought. If he did call her a liar, he would be dead.

“As it happens I do have contacts—trading partners you know.”

“Trading partners? Tell me Verner; do your partners deal in information by any chance?”

“I do not—”

“You see if they did,” she said before he replied negatively. “I would be interested in buying some.”

“Matriarch, I trade in silk. Sometimes a little glass if it’s very special, but I know nothing of which you would be interested.”

“Don’t be modest. You are an intelligent man, a worldly man. All I want is information of a general nature. Simple things that any of your people would know. Nothing secret.”

“Not secret?” Verner said uncertainly.

“That’s right. I would be very grateful.”

He looked around the room as if expecting Imperial soldiers to descend on him. Talitha was amused. He was already thinking about talking. If he had been one of her people, she would have had him executed for even thinking about it, but he wasn’t one of hers.

“How grateful?”

Talitha nodded at Tymek and he opened her door to bring in Verner’s present. “How about this to start?” she said as a pair of slaves walked in.

Verner circled the two girls and examined them appreciatively. “They are magnificent, Matriarch. Sisters?”

Talitha shrugged. There was a marked resemblance, but she did not concern herself with the origins of slaves. She had ordered them to learn what she wanted to know. That was all that mattered.

“Ask them.”

Verner did, and they were. “You are giving them to me?”

“That’s right.”

He obviously wanted them, but he was still unsure what was being asked. Talitha told him, and he was still puzzled.

“Is that all?” Verner said frowning.

“For now,” she agreed.

Verner frowned in thought and then shrugged. “Yes Matriarch. Your chamberlain has the right of it.”

“The dragons are real?”

“Yes.”

So, they were real. What did that mean to her and Japura? Nothing yet, but she wanted to know more. “You have seen them?”

“Yes, flying over the city. They do not speak to anyone but the Empress in Amudai.”

Amudai? The Empress’s city obviously. Talitha had already learned more about the empire than any before her. She needed to write all this down for the archives. Who knew what she might learn to pass on to her daughter? Jarek was right about them. Dragons were more than animals if they could speak.

“I thank you for confirming these things, Verner,” she said rising to take his arm. “Come, let us walk through the gardens. It’s too nice a day to be cooped up inside.”

“Ah yes, of course Matriarch,” Verner said in confusion at her sudden change of mood. “I would be delighted—”

Talitha ignored his attempt at converse. She would cultivate the man she decided, and when the time came, she would drop her next question.

* * *

20 ~ Black Isle, Black Heart

The Black Isle at last.

Godwinson studied the island as he sailed closer. It had been a long journey. By the God, he wished there was a better way to travel the land than on horseback. The time it took to move through the Protectorate was not only wasteful it was cursed boring after twenty years. He grinned. Living in the castle, as Mortain did, would be worse he supposed, but it would be restful for a time. At least the ship was less wearing on his backside!

The sails were full as the ship raced toward her homeport. He grinned and leaned forward into the wind. Leaning far out over the bows, he watched a sailfish jump and splash daringly close to disaster as the ship cut through the chop. They were charming creatures, even intelligent in their fashion. There were stories of sailfish protecting sailors who fell overboard. Grateful sailors had reported families of them, including little ones, protecting them against dagger fish and pulling them to shore.

He had tried to talk to them more than once with his magic but he always failed. There was something there. He knew there was, but it was… diffuse. As if being so different from them did not allow meaningful communication. Still, they were beautiful and playful. No sailor, be it a hand aboard a fleet warship or a mere fisherman, would see a sailfish come to harm and that was a good thing. There was enough death and violence in this world without bringing even more of the God’s creatures into the fray.

He stood straight again and glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone had seen his silliness. No one seemed to be taking notice. The deck was canted at what must be a thirty degree angle with sailors scampering about unimpeded by its slickness. The passengers were less happy. Eban and the others looked decidedly green. Beltran was the only one who appeared unaffected by seasickness, but he was also unhappy. Beltran had looked that way since receiving the summons to return to Castle Black. In truth, Godwinson didn’t blame him for looking sick. He felt a little that way himself.

He watched the island easing closer. The westerly breeze was strong today; its gusts were whipping his robes against his legs and occasionally sending them playfully up around his head. He didn’t mind. He had other concerns to worry about. Concerns more dire than playful robes. He was sure Mortain knew about the circle, but did he know the rest? They hadn’t tried to hide their recruiting efforts reasoning that Mortain would feel challenged by such secrecy. Recruiting in the open should have relieved the man’s concerns. A group of sorcerers chosen as future advisers was not in any way unusual. Any Godwinson would do the same. Rather, they would do the same as he appeared to be doing.

The Japurans used the word government for what he had in mind. Using magic, he had created the web, which gave the concept of government a useful twist. Through the web, he and the circle would govern thereby removing the tiresome and time wasting need to roam the land rectifying problems. There was little doubt that the governors would be unhappy with him at first. Subordinating themselves to sorcerers was always hard from their point of view, but that was how the Protectorate would be ruled when he was Mortain. The web would ensure instant communication between him and a sorcerer anywhere within the Protectorate. At the same time, it would guard against the misuse of power. Corruption had ever been a problem among Mortain’s governors and officials. Sorcerers connected to one another via the web would lance the problem once and for all.

The sails were reefed as they entered the harbour mouth and he retired briefly to his cabin to change into a clean robe and shave the stubble from his chin. Not for the first time, he wondered if perhaps there was a spell to prevent his beard growing—nasty itchy things beards.

“Make fast the bowline!” Master Indrani roared.

Godwinson climbed the ladder and stepped back on deck as Indrani snugged his ship into her berth.

“The Black Ship, or do we ride on?” Felda asked as he came on deck.

“There’s no way you are getting me in the saddle this late in the day. The Black Ship it is.”

The Black Ship was a popular inn at the centre of town. Sorcerers used it more or less exclusively as they travelled from the castle to the mainland and back. It was a place to be oneself in a private setting, but first he needed to be Godwinson for a little longer.

“Master Indrani, a speedy passage as usual,” he said with a smile for the man.

“I thank you my lord sorcerer,” Indrani said grinning with plenty of teeth. “If I find any more speed from this old lady she’ll grow wings and fly!”

He laughed and slapped the man on the shoulder. “That would be something to see my friend.”

Godwinson made his way down the plank. At the bottom, a ceremony awaited him. Firstly, an honour guard chosen from the best the first legion could provide awaited his inspection. Most of the men were old hands that had excelled over their years in the legion. They had been given this position of honour as a final post before retiring to their farms or whatever else they had chosen to do with their twilight years. He walked along the lines smiling at familiar faces. He stopped to have a word with a friend he had known from way back before he became Godwinson.

“Still here, Sergeant?”

Sergeant Manaba smiled through the gaps in his teeth; they were supposedly knocked out of his mouth in the war, but Godwinson knew different. Manaba had been brawling in a tavern somewhere when he met a chair leg with some considerable force wielded by the owner.

“They’re throwing me out next season,” Manaba said downcast. “I wanted to stay, but they say no.”

“Who says no?”

Manaba shrugged uncomfortably glancing quickly at his stiff-faced captain. He was unwilling to say—a common thing among legionnaires.

“I’m waiting for an answer, Sergeant. I order you to tell me.”

Manaba looked worse if anything. “Captain Hedda says he was ordered to drop all of us.”

“Oh?” he said turning to the now glaring Hedda.

“General Menelaus ordered me to disband the honour guard, my lord sorcerer. I am to report for new duties with the Legion in a matter of tendays.”

Hedda wanted to go back into the field. It was hardly surprising really. He was a young man with many years ahead of him. He wanted to fight and gain rank at his chosen profession. Godwinson could understand that, but the honour guard was a tradition that went back centuries. Disbanding a unit with such history behind it would set a bad precedent.

“Captain Hedda, you are dismissed as commanding officer of the honour guard. At the earliest opportunity you will board ship and rejoin your legion.”

Captain Hedda bowed stiffly and stomped away.

He shook his head. The fool didn’t realise he had just been given what he most wanted. Godwinson turned back to the uneasy looking legionnaires. They were unsure of themselves now that their captain was gone. He decided to fix that while he was here.

“Manaba stand forth.”

The sergeant did not hesitate and stopped a pace before him.

“You are hereby promoted to the rank of Under Captain. Further, you will take command of the honour guard and ensure its current high standards are maintained. The honour guard will not be disbanded.”

Manaba saluted and stepped into his place at Godwinson’s elbow to finish the inspection. All the men were turned out to perfection, as he would expect. No other formation had so many years of service embodied within it. All these men were capable of leading, but unfortunately they needed only one captain. Manaba was it.

“Well, Captain. You and your men have reinforced my opinion that the honour guard is the best unit we have. Keep up the tradition my friend.”

“We will my lord sorcerer. I thank you on behalf of my men.”

Godwinson smiled at Manaba’s exquisite courtesy, he had probably used up his store for an entire year on that little speech.

Now that the inspection was over, Manaba dismissed the greater portion of his men. Together with two others, he escorted Godwinson and his friends to the Black Ship. There was no need for an escort. Mahaan was a peaceful little town really; the only trouble that Manaba would ever have to deal with was an occasional drunken sailor.

Manaba saluted and left them at the door of the inn. Godwinson preferred the fuss be kept to a minimum and he had known that.

Felda led the way inside and the others followed him. The inn was exactly as he remembered it. The Black Ship was unlike most inns. Stepping inside was more like entering a friend’s home than a common room of an inn. The owner was a personal friend of most sorcerers passing through Mahaan.

The common room was like a comfortable lounging room at the castle. The light was low and lent an air of privacy. There were strange plants and flowers from far off places, and quiet music supplied by musicians in their own little nook out of sight. There was no bar or counter, instead servants trained to remember everything the inn had to offer walked silently to and fro taking orders and delivering food and drink just like the servants at the castle. One could be fooled into thinking it was an expensive eatery and not an inn at all, but that was not so. Stairs in one corner led to comfortable rooms on the second and third floors all with access to bathing rooms. The Black Ship was a big place, built a short time after the Founding; it represented the oldest building barring the castle on the Black Isle.

Godwinson noted with pleasure the lack of interest he was shown by the other black robed men. Notoriety could be wearying, but then he noticed Beltran’s frown.

“What is it?”

Beltran was scanning faces faster and faster. The expression upon his face turned from a frown to worry. “I don’t like this,” he rumbled with his eyes still roving the crowd.

“What’s not to like?” Eban said trying to see what had agitated their friend.

“These men,” Beltran gestured at the sorcerers nearby. “Every one of them is stronger than I am. If Mortain ordered them all here, he is planning something.”

Godwinson frowned and scanned the room for familiar faces. He found them. Although he did not know every name here, he did know them by sight. Beltran was right. Something was going on. He turned to Kontar and beckoned him forward.

“Once we’re settled, I want you to find out what’s happening here. Make it seem as if you’re tired of my company and try to weasel out Mortain’s reasoning for having this much power in one place at one time.”

“With pleasure. I haven’t had a chance to chat with our brothers since Banswara.”

He nodded and moved further into the room. As soon as he did so, Santo came forward to greet him.

“Ah it is good to see you again my lord sorcerer,” Santo said with a smile of welcome and arms out to hug him. “It’s been far too long.”

Godwinson was surprised at the treatment. Felda was alarmed and twitched as if about to blast the man, but Godwinson hurriedly signalled his people to calm down.

“I need to speak with you, but not here,” Santo whispered in Godwinson’s ear before breaking the embrace. “What can I get you?” Santo went on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

He scrambled to catch up. “Ah… seven rooms for the night, my friend, and a meal. How about your…” he rattled off something but for the life of him he could not remember what it was a moment later.

What was going on? Did Mortain know? That was a question he had asked himself many times, and every time the answer appeared to be that he didn’t, but did he? Everything was in place now; he could set everything in motion with a word, but was it necessary even yet? Things weren’t proceeding perfectly to plan, but then what did? Navarien had lost too many men last year, but the objective had been attained even if the plan had to be subsequently altered. Was Mortain planning to remove him? That was the question.

Santo seated them at a table and waved his people over to take orders for food and wine. Godwinson wasn’t hungry. In truth, he felt uneasy surrounded by so many powerful and unfamiliar sorcerers. Any or all of these men could have been ordered by Mortain to kill him and he would not know until too late, but surely he would be more circumspect than that. He would most likely do the deed himself. With that realisation, he began to relax and eat his dinner.

Santo appeared after the meal and led them personally to their rooms. Felda of course refused to leave his side and Godwinson had no problem with that tonight. Santo looked meaningfully at him then left. If he was correct, he was to expect a late night visit from Santo.

“What was that about?” Felda said faintly annoyed.

He grasped his magic and raised a ward against scrying. “Santo wants to talk to me, but he’s worried about being seen or overheard.”

Felda’s eyebrows shot up. “You got that from one glance?”

Godwinson laughed. “No, he whispered it when he hugged me downstairs.”

“Good thinking with Kontar. He’ll find out what’s happening.”

“True, but I’m Godwinson—I should know already! If Mortain isn’t working against me I should know it, but I don’t. Therefore he is working against me. Does that make sense?”

“Normally I’d say no, but now? Who can say?”

“Kontar and Santo I hope.”

“I’ll stay here tonight.”

Godwinson glanced at the candle on the side table. It was eighth mark. He had a while to wait for his answers. He sat in a comfortable looking chair and promptly fell asleep.

“Godwinson? Wake, I have news,” a voice said intruding upon his dream.

He shook off the dream of his beloved wife on the day they met. He missed her deeply, but the wandering life was not for her. He visited as much as he could but it was not enough by a long way. How he wished she was here. He sat up with difficulty holding in a groan as his back twinged. Sleeping in a chair had not been a good idea. He squinted at the candle and found it was much lower. It was after eleventh mark, well on the way to midnight. Santo stood looking down at him in concern until he wiped his face and yawned.

“I’m awake,” Godwinson said blinking.

Felda he saw was sitting on a hard stool with his back against the door. The stool ensured he did not sleep. Santo was less jovial now. Felda rose and lit more candles to brighten the room.

“What did you want to discuss?”

“I am loyal to Mortain and the Protectorate my lord, you must believe that,” Santo said wringing his hands in worry.

That was a bad start. Felda grasped his magic in readiness. Godwinson had him wait with a gesture.

“We are all loyal to the Protectorate,” Godwinson said. “We want what is best for our people do we not?”

“Yes, yes that’s right! I have lived here all my life. All know Santo is loyal. I know many sorcerers and like most of them. I like to think of you as a friend, my lord sorcerer.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. Not many people liked sorcerers. He was a sorcerer himself and he didn’t like most of them! What had liking them have to do with anything?

“Go on.”

“The Black Ship serves sorcerers and few others. Some people, even some living in Mahaan don’t understand, but I’m not one of those. With sorcerers arriving and leaving all the time, I… well, I hear things you see?”

“Things? What things?”

“Bad things—”

Felda had heard enough. “Spit it out man!”

Santo cringed.

Godwinson glared Felda back to his self-assigned post. “Have a seat Santo and calm yourself. I am your friend—Felda is too, but he gets testy when people don’t come to the point.”

Santo fumbled for a chair all the while watching Felda over his shoulder.

“Santo?” Godwinson said.

Santo turned back to him.

“The point?”

“The point… the point is I hear things and I think you need to know, but… I’m sorry my lord. I truly am your friend—truly. I need help my lord. If it was just me I would tell you, but my sister… will you help?”

Godwinson didn’t want to be upset with the man more than he was already, but this was going nowhere fast. “I will help you.”

“Do you swear?” Santo said with his voice full of hope.

Felda’s eyes were bugging at the temerity of asking a sorcerer for an oath.

Godwinson felt his face beginning to heat as his own anger built, but he fought it and spoke calmly. “I Godwinson, heir to Mortain voice of the God on earth, do swear to help you,” he said slowly. Then the dam burst and he roared, “Now tell me!”

Santo flinched at the roar and nearly fainted in shock. “My sister’s boy can do things—”

“Things? Magic things?”

Santo nodded weakly.

Finally, all was becoming clear. He had thought the fool had heard Mortain was going to kill him or something! Phew, what a relief! It was almost overpowering. He slumped back into his seat and thanked the God it wasn’t what he had thought.

“So he can do magic things. Such as?”

“He can float a little my lord, and candles light by themselves! There are a few other things, but he’s a sensitive lad. He won’t survive the halls!”

That made Godwinson sit up straight and not just the fact Santo knew things he shouldn’t know. A boy who could float… as in flying type float? He glanced at Felda and saw a similar expression of surprise. The circle had to have this boy, and before Mortain found him!

“…disappear!” Santo wailed. “I am loyal, truly my lord! I don’t want to die; my sister doesn’t want to die. Please my lord, you swore to help. Save my sister if you cannot save me.”

It had been Mortain’s policy to remove the gifted from their families since… since forever! A sorcerer had to be loyal, obedient, and disciplined, but loyal above all. The policy was justified it was said because a sorcerer would be biased toward family ties. A sorcerer must be free of corruption, a sorcerer must rule impartially. In Godwinson’s opinion, killing their families made them worse not better sorcerers. What went on in the halls was wasteful, and as for the families, it was nothing short of murder, but he was not Mortain yet. He could not change anything until it was his turn. Worse, he was unsure what to change it to! The system had worked for centuries, who was he to change it? What if he cleaned up the halls only to have a rebellion a few years down the road? Rebellions among sorcerers never happened, but what if his tinkering changed that?

“The boy’s father?” Godwinson asked already guessing.

“He ran off my lord. He said he couldn’t stand things floating around the kitchens.”

He snorted. More likely he was afraid of disappearing. It was amazing the secret had lasted this long. He supposed it was inevitable that a place like The Black Ship would be the first to discover it.

“This is a thorny problem indeed,” he said in a musing tone. “You have the boy in hiding?”

Santo nodded.

That at least was good. “How old is he?”

“Fourteen my lord. He’ll be fifteen in the fall.”

Hmmm. Thirteen was the average, but boys with the gift had been discovered both older and younger. He was lucky the boy was old enough to understand what was at stake.

“Bring him to me tonight,” Godwinson said.

“But!” Santo yelped.

“Bring him to me tonight!”

He was done with being Santo’s friendly customer for the evening. Santo had pushed him as far as he was willing to be pushed! Friend Santo might be, but he was Godwinson not some servant!

“Yes my lord sorcerer, but he will die in the halls.”

“Only Mortain can change what goes on there, but I can at least prepare the boy. He must pretend to be an orphan child that was found in Al’Hasa by… let us say Felda found him running loose. If they find out he is your nephew you know what will happen.”

“But you will be Mortain!” Santo wailed.

“Not for years.”

Santo mumbled something.

“What? Speak up man!”

“I said you will be Mortain sooner than that or you’ll be dead!” Santo said with heat.

Godwinson blinked at Santo in surprise. “What do you mean by that?”

“I told you I hear things. Things such as why there are suddenly so many powerful men here.”

Godwinson went cold. “And just why are there so many?”

“Rumour has it that Mortain ordered them here so that he could replace you…” Santo broke off at the looks directed at him.

“What else do you know?”

“It’s said you surpassed your authority while in Bandar and that’s why you’re being replaced,” Santo said.

“I see. Anything else?”

Santo shook his head and looked down.

“Probably just a rumour,” Felda said breaking the silence that had fallen over the room.

A rumour? Possibly it was, but did he dare take the chance? He sighed. He had no choice but to visit Mortain and hope for the best. If he survived, he would see what could be done for Santo and others, if he did not, he need not worry about it.

“Remember, do exactly what you’re told,” Godwinson said as they approached Castle Black’s gates. “It doesn’t matter if it’s a trivial thing, or something that might maim you—you do it! If you don’t, you’ll receive far worse than maiming.”

“Yes, my lord sorcerer,” Cenon said goggle-eyed.

He nodded, but he knew the boy did not truly understand. He had gone through similar pains with his son. Wotan had not believed him either, not until he actually entered the halls and saw for himself. Luckily, Wotan had quickly realised that absolute obedience was necessary to survive and had made it through the halls relatively unscathed. Cenon seemed an intelligent lad. If he was, then he should survive.

Santo’s rumour regarding his replacement was based upon the supposed overstepping of his authority in Bandar. At least he knew what he needed to refute. It had been within his authority as Godwinson to increase the numbers sent to Camorin, but as with anything he did, it was subject to Mortain’s approval. He had known at the time that the maniac wouldn’t appreciate him sending every available man to Camorin, but it had been necessary to see Navarien victorious. That had to be the position to take, he realised. Mortain knew, as he did, how important Navarien’s campaign was to the goal of ruling Waipara. If he could be brought to see that the task was impossible without the manpower currently dedicated to the task, all should be well. If he insisted on not seeing the obvious, then he knew they were in trouble. Of course, Beltran insisted they were already in trouble. He had recommended giving the word to their people across the length and breadth of the land to strike.

Beltran had become an invaluable member of the circle, but he was prone to acting before thinking. That quality was useful for the usual tasks he was given to perform. Killing inconvenient people or just easing the way for one of the other circle members was what he did best, but in this instance, caution should be his watch word. Once put into motion, the plan could not be stopped.

Godwinson rode through the gates to be met by a familiar and thoroughly disliked sorcerer. Ravelyn was officially first sorcerer of Castle Black, which meant he ran the castle day to day reporting only to Mortain. He was directly responsible for the halls below the castle and was universally hated. It would be a pleasure to blast Ravelyn off the face of the island, but it would be inappropriate for him to do so. He shook hands with the man and made introductions, though of course that was redundant. Ravelyn was old and had trained every one of the mages in the circle as well as most others currently alive. If Beltran was correct, many of those Ravelyn had trained worked directly for him as guardians.

“Welcome to Castle Black,” Ravelyn said omitting the honorific.

“You forget yourself,” Beltran growled ominously.

Felda shifted his stance ready for a confrontation but Godwinson waved a hand in dismissal.

“Ravelyn and I are old friends. Aren’t we?” Godwinson said with a smile.

Ravelyn blinked. “Not that I recall. If I’m not mistaken you threatened to rip my head off the last time we met.”

“Ah yes! I remember that very well,” he said with a forced chuckle. “It was after you instructed one of the novices to kill me. Very good training. I’m sure you had my best interests at heart.”

“Of course. If you will all come with me?”

“Yes certainly, but my young companion here is in need of your good offices, Ravelyn. Felda found him running loose in Al’Hasa. I think you’ll find him an apt student. The name is Cenon.”

Godwinson pushed the reluctant boy forward, and watched Ravelyn scrutinise him. Watching the scene made him want to snatch the boy back to safety, but he didn’t dare give the impression that Cenon was in any way different from other novices. No telling what Ravelyn would do if he thought the boy was important to him.

“A fine lad,” Ravelyn said finally. “What can you do… and don’t lie to me.”

“I can light candles and make things float, my lord sorcerer,” he said exactly as he had been told on the journey.

“I said do not lie to me, boy. I class leaving things out as lying. I’ll not ask you again.”

“I can fly as well, but only a little,” Cenon said nervously.

“That’s better. Never think to fool me. I have lived for two hundred and sixteen years. In that time, I’ve seen and heard everything a boy could dream up. I always know when you lie. Do you believe me?”

Cenon was shaking. “Yes my lord sorcerer.”

“Stand where you are without moving until a sorcerer fetches you.”

Ravelyn walked into the castle with Godwinson and his friends following behind. Godwinson ignored the boy as he entered the castle but his thoughts were racing. Not only did Cenon believe Ravelyn, he did too! If Ravelyn truly could sense the truth, then he must know that Cenon had not been found in Al’Hasa. He had certainly known he was holding back, and yet he had done nothing. That was not like the evil bastard he remembered from his days in the halls. What was the man up to?

Ravelyn showed them to their rooms and left all in silence.

Godwinson didn’t bother with familiarising himself with the room. They were all the same and he had been here many times. He wished the others were in here with him, but that would seem a little odd. They would stay in their own rooms until he summoned them. He freshened up and changed into his best robe. It was the only one he owned that gave a hint to his position within the Protectorate. His everyday robes looked the same as the others wore, but this one sported intricate gold embroidery around the hood, cuffs and hem. Felda said it was a bad idea to wear something that made him stand out in a crowd and he agreed. He usually travelled with at least two members of the circle wearing the same as they. It made it harder for an assassin to target him.

With a ward up, he retrieved his daggers from his baggage and secreted them about his person. Beltran had taught him how to use them. Everyone expected a sorcerer to kill using magic; having a back up method might surprise an enemy. Beltran said the first rule of battle was to do the unexpected. Hence the daggers. Godwinson had enjoyed the lessons, but they were a last ditch defence. He would have to be truly desperate to rely upon them.

He dropped the ward and sat in a chair to wait. By his estimate Mortain would call for him in a half candlemark and then… and then he would live or he would die.

Either way would be a relief in some ways.

* * *

Mortain smiled as Beltran entered his rooms. Considerable time had gone by since he had sent his hound out into the world. Nearly two years ago his suspicions had been aroused when it came to his attention that Godwinson was recruiting powerful men to be his bodyguard and advisers. At the time the suspicion had been unformed and without true substance. All he knew then was that men who had been almost arrogantly independent had suddenly become subservient to his heir when approached by him. Since then, Mortain had received regular reports on Godwinson’s activities through Beltran. His fears had eased somewhat with the news that Godwinson was working tirelessly toward the goal of conquering Deva, but that had changed last winter when Beltran suddenly informed him of the betrayal.

“Have a seat, Beltran,” Mortain said and waved Marcail forward with wine.

Mortain studied the guardian as he sipped his wine. He frowned when the man barely pressed his goblet to his lips before placing it upon the desk. That showed distrust, but then he dismissed the thought. Beltran was Beltran after all. He was little more than an assassin really, though his task this time had not been to kill.

“So he came as I ordered,” Mortain began. “You said he would refuse.”

“I was wrong.”

“Wrong? Is that all you can say?”

Beltran shrugged. “What would you have me say? I was surprised that he followed your order.”

Mortain frowned, “Was?”

“I’m no longer surprised. He has decided it’s time to take your place,” Beltran said in a disinterested voice.

So, it had finally happened. Godwinson’s betrayal was hardly a surprise but it was still a shock to hear the day was here. What had triggered this? He could think of nothing—except perhaps sending Wotan to Camorin. The boy was doing well overall. So why now? He shrugged. It hardly mattered why he had chosen this particular time. All that mattered was that he fail.

“You will stay by me,” Mortain said and Beltran nodded. “I will summon him here in a moment. You will kill him the instant he tries anything against me.”

“I understand,” Beltran said coldly.

* * *

Godwinson composed himself and then knocked once. Marcail opened the door moments later and indicated he should enter. The first thing he saw was Beltran standing against the wall behind Mortain’s chair. The shock was complete.

“I see you know my good friend, Beltran,” Mortain said with a smile.

Godwinson was still standing in the doorway. He took control of himself and stepped fully inside so that Marcail could close the door. He reached for the web and felt a little better when he tasted Beltran’s emotions. He found complete calm. If Beltran was still calm after being summoned to meet with Mortain, the situation must be other than they had thought. Beltran would surely have warned him by now if anything was wrong.

“Yes of course. Beltran and I are good friends.”

Mortain smiled. “Take a seat.”

“I prefer to stand my lord sorcerer.”

“As you wish. I summoned you to answer a few questions. Why did you send all of my new recruits to Camorin?”

He sighed in relief. It was as he had thought. “Navarien’s campaign in Camorin is critical to our success, my lord. It became obvious he would fail without reinforcements and resupply. On my authority as Godwinson I sent the fleet with every man I could find so that Navarien’s success would be assured.”

“I see. And it never occurred to you that I had plans for those men?”

Godwinson frowned. “I have no knowledge of any such plans.”

“I am not answerable to you!” Mortain roared. “You should have asked me about those men. Athione is all but unprotected and I have nothing to send because you did not ask!”

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.

Wotan frowned at Navarien’s fingertip and estimated the distance. He turned to give the order.

“Order Corbin and Bannan to retreat slowly and lead the clans to Duer,” he went on. “Duer’s mages are to set wards either side but leave the forward section facing the clans open.”

Wotan nodded and did that. “You think to hit the clans as they arrive with javelins?”

Navarien nodded. “And arrows. If your sorcerers are willing, some lightning might not go amiss. No more fire, please. We all remember what happened to Fourth Legion last year.”

“Good point,” Wotan said and ordered the fires extinguished.

He watched the image and blinked in surprise as the fires died. This was truly a weird experience. He could just wish for something and it would be done. It was intoxicating, and he reprimanded himself for the thought. He had to remember what the real world was like or his men would become nothing but game pieces. He wouldn’t allow that to happen.

Duer’s battalion reached his chosen battleground first and arranged itself in battle formation ready to receive the enemy in short order. Navarien turned his attention to Corbin.

“Order Corbin to retreat in haste as if fleeing,” he said.

Wotan grinned and gave the order.

Corbin would not like it, but the captain had learned his lesson about following unpalatable orders last year. He would do what he was ordered to do, hating it every minute no doubt, but he would obey.

“Move in on Corbin would you?”

Wotan smiled. “You’re being cruel, General. Isn’t it bad enough that you order our illustrious Seventh Battalion to retreat?”

He laughed at Wotan’s tone and watched as Corbin appeared in the mirror. The captain was racing over the plain in a headlong charge. The excitement on his face was plain to see. Navarien winced as Corbin ran down a clansman and chopped him from the saddle with one blow. The view was too narrow to see the rest of Seventh Battalion, but Corbin was obviously too busy for new orders just yet.

“Could you widen the view again?”

Wotan nodded and the picture obligingly altered.

Yes, it was as he had thought. Corbin and his men were chopping up the clansmen. Again, he was outnumbered but you wouldn’t think it by the havoc he was causing. Corbin reached a point of decision and the cornets blared. As one, the men of the Seventh wheeled and charged away. The manoeuvre was executed flawlessly.

“You have to admire his precision,” he said shaking his head in admiration.

Wotan was also impressed. “Yes, but he didn’t use magic at all. Surely he suffered some casualties through this charge of his?”

“Must have. Still, it does no harm to remind the clans we can fight. That will be useful later.”

Navarien watched as Corbin’s men raced back and regrouped. Some of the clan warriors were trying to copy the charge but with one difference. They charged within bow shot, loosed their arrows, and then turned and raced away again. Some warriors fell to hastily thrown javelins but not many. All was well however, Corbin’s sorcerers had closed a ward over the battalion as soon as the javelins flew. It was perfect, just like in training.

Corbin was speaking with a sorcerer when the mirror found him. “You’re sure he said as if fleeing?” Corbin questioned watching the clan regroup.

“It’s definitely some kind of ruse, Captain. He wants us to pull the enemy toward Captain Duer.”

“Fine then. We’ll charge one more time, but this time when we turn we keep running.”

The sorcerer nodded and gave the order to raise the wards.

Navarien smiled. The boy was learning. He watched Corbin slam into the warriors and race away as he said, just as if they were fleeing. The clansmen whooped, hollered, and gave chase.

“Fools,” Navarien said. “Don’t they have anyone who knows what he’s doing?”

“I certainly hope not!” Wotan laughed.

He chuckled and asked to see Bannan again. The mirror cleared and he tensed. Bannan’s battalion was surrounded. He relaxed a little when he saw the wards flaring and crackling. Bannan and his men were safe inside, but for how long?

“That’s not what I had in mind.”

Wotan centred the image in his mirror on Bannan who was discussing the situation with his sergeants.

“I don’t care how slow it will be! You will do it!” Bannan snarled and glared at his sergeants. “Magic isn’t a be all and end all. The wards have to stay up.”

“But we could break out easily if they hit the bastids with fire!” Sergeant Ferrol said.

Bannan shook his head. “The General said no fire, so there’s no fire! Do you want to explain to him why we burned half the plains just to retreat two leagues?”

Ferrol looked down sheepishly.

“I didn’t think so,” Bannan said. “Remember what happened last year lads. No fire—right?”

“…damn straight!”

“My mama didn’t have no stupid sons!”

“Yeah, but Ferrol’s did!”

There was laughter among the sergeants and Ferrol’s glare dissolved into a weak grin that turned to laughter as he was shoved jokingly from all sides.

“Right then,” Bannan went on. “I want double time and no banging into the wards. Remember your training and we’ll be in fine shape. Now go!”

Navarien nodded. That was the only sensible thing to do. Fire would have cleared up this little mess, but the risk to Tenth Battalion was too extreme for Bannan to choose disobeying his no fire order. He watched the battalion move with the wards and the clansmen had to give way before it. One enterprising sorcerer saw a way to hurt the enemy and altered his ward so it became hot to the touch. No fires resulted but suddenly the going was much easier. Clansmen howled in pain and moved out of its way. Other sorcerers took note and did likewise and soon Bannan was moving freely. He was still surrounded, but it was obvious that the warriors were at a loss. They had no idea what to do.

“Good, good,” Navarien said. “Bannan will reach Duer about the same time as Corbin I would judge.”

Wotan nodded.

As usual, Corbin had been much further out than he strictly should have been. The orders were to keep an even pace and spacing, but he was always eager to fight the enemy and had infected his men with his eagerness. Corbin’s battalion was the best cavalry unit he had bar none. He put that down to Corbin’s way of inspiring the best from his men.

“What of Julia?” Navarien asked.

“I can’t find her—can’t find the shamen either,” Wotan said scratching his head. “They’re not with these,” he said nodding at the mirrors. “If they were, the clans would be using magic.”

Navarien didn’t like that, not one bit! Where by the God was she? “Cragson!”

“Sir?”

“I want sentries taken out of the digging. Have them patrol the perimeter. Julia is missing.”

Cragson nodded worriedly and trotted off barking orders.

“You don’t think she would sneak in do you?” Wotan said looking worriedly around the camp.

“I wouldn’t be surprised, but in this instance I think not. Lord Athione would surely refuse to allow that. I wouldn’t like to be him!”

Wotan chuckled but it wasn’t funny. Julia was impulsive. If she decided to attack on her own, not many people could stop her.

“You’re ready for her… just in case?”

“We’re ready,” Wotan agreed. “But we have to find her first.”

“She’ll turn up,” he said. Of that he had no doubt, but in the mean time he had a war to fight.

Duer was ready. Corbin and Bannan were on their way. All looked good. It was time to add a little infantry to the mix. Navarien considered sending Tikva who was his best and brightest under captain, but decided on Captain Meran instead. Meran didn’t have the experience of other captains he could send, but he had been an excellent sergeant and he knew infantry inside and out. Meran knew it from eighteen years in the legions; more importantly, he knew it from the perspective of the individual legionnaire because he had been one.

“Cragson!”

“Sir!”

“Find Meran and have him assemble his battalion. I have a task for him and I want your little surprises sent along. Have him see me before he goes.”

Cragson grinned and went to find Meran.

“It’s a little soon for that surely?” Wotan said.

“Hmmm, yes and no. It is early I grant you, but we can’t expect to surprise the clans more than once. With Julia and the shamen all unaccounted for I think it best that we use it now before they find out what we have. Besides, there are a goodly number right here. If I can destroy them completely it will make our task easier later.”

“I see,” Wotan said. “I’ll order my brothers to attack all out. They can handle any fires as they go.”

“If you’re sure?”

“Positive. They all know what happened last year.”

“Fine,” Navarien said, but if they had all known about the danger why had it taken an order from Wotan to put out the fires earlier?

“You wanted to see me, Sir?”

Navarien turned toward his newest captain. “Yes Meran. I’m sending you out to reinforce Duer. He’s roughly a league to the south of us. I want you there double quick and set up to take a charge with the pikes. You’ll likely only have one chance. Can you do it?”

“No problem, Sir. I could do it in my sleep,” Meran said with a grin.

“You had better not! If I catch you napping you’ll be for it,” he said with a grin. “On your way and come back safe.”

Meran saluted and his General returned it.

Meran trotted off and moments later his battalion left using a ground eating lope that was double time for the legions. Sorcerers rode on each side in single file ready to link their magic and protect Meran’s men, which was their main task. Their second task was to kill the enemy as fast as possible.

Navarien turned back to the mirrors but nothing had changed. “Can you get me Duer?”

“Duer himself?” Wotan asked turning to the appropriate man.

“If you would. I need to advise him of Meran’s arrival.”

Navarien waited a short time for Duer to be found and come to the mirror. “I have Fourth Battalion on its way to you, Captain. I suggest you use it in the centre.”

“Is Meran bringing—?”

“Yes. Make your deployment with that in mind, and don’t forget Corbin and Bannan. I suggest you put them on the wings, but you’re in command there not me. With luck the clansmen will charge Meran and you can collapse the wings in to pin them.”

Duer nodded. “Sounds good, Sir. Will you inform Corbin that I have command?”

He grinned. Bannan would see that Duer, being already set, should command, but Corbin would need orders. “I’ll see to it. Good luck.”

“Thank you Sir.”

The mirror went dark to be replaced by the sorcerer who owned it. Wotan gave his orders regarding the coming battle and then dismissed the man. Navarien asked Wotan to inform Corbin and Bannan of the chain of command for this battle and then turned his attention to the camp again. Cragson had things well in hand. The ditches were complete and he could see sentries standing at intervals on the walls. Tents were being erected and food was cooking. He could smell bacon and was glad that Cragson had ordered something other than bison meat cooked. It was the eve of battle after all.

* * *

22 ~ Field of Sorrows

“Don’t go!” Julia wailed clasping Keverin close. “Please… please don’t. Please, please, please!” she cried as her tears ran down her cheeks and dripped to the rugs.

“Julia, stop this!” Keverin said breaking free and holding her at arm’s length. “What’s the matter with you? Be strong my love; I’ll be fine.”

“No,” she whispered. “You’ll die and leave me.”

“I shan’t,” Keverin whispered hugging her close. “You and I will be married, and we will have many children together, you’ll see. Navarien is not the God, he can be beaten.”

“But not by the clans. You know I’m right. Look how many Tobiah has lost through his foolishness. We should have gone home with Adrik and Gideon. We still can! Navarien will kill you and I’ll be all alone. The shamen sit here and say they must do as Tobiah says even when they know he’s wrong! What will you do when someone throws fire at you?”

“Duck I expect!”

She pushed angrily away and dried her tears. The damn things hadn’t worked. She knew they wouldn’t, but she had tried everything else.

“Fine, I’ll come with you.”

“Oh no you don’t!” Keverin said quickly. “You will stay here Julia. I… I order you to stay!”

She smiled sweetly. “I’ve told you before that you can’t order me.”

“But I can,” Kadar said as he entered the tent. “I’m your chief, Julia. You will stay!”

“Humph! As if you could stop me, I’m coming,” she said grumpily.

“I can stop you. I can cast you out—” Kadar held up a hand to silence her incipient protest. “I can cast you out and make sure you leave. You will be a renegade. Kerrion and the others won’t like it but they can make you leave. Is that what you want?”

The others could make her leave, but would they? Julia didn’t think they would, but then she hadn’t thought that they would sit back and do nothing while Tobiah destroyed the clans either.

“All right,” she said with her thoughts racing. All she needed was her horse. “I’ll stay behind.”

Keverin looked at her suspiciously, but finally he nodded. “I’ll be fine,” he whispered then.

Kadar stood watching her for a long moment before ducking through the tent flap. Julia clenched a fist and followed him outside. She was in time to see Keverin mount Cavell at the head of his men. Brian was at his side. He smiled at her as she stepped out of her tent. Keverin swept a hand forward and the column moved out.

She watched them leave even smiling at Alvin and Burke as they went by, but all the while she was thinking about her horse and Tobiah. This was his fault. If it hadn’t been for Tobiah, none of this would have happened. She wished the bastard would have a stroke and die! With Tobiah dead, everything would be all right again. Mazel, or Kadar, or one of the others could lead; it didn’t matter whom as long as it wasn’t Tobiah!

She spun on her heel and went to find a horse. No one was guarding the Night Wind’s herd. All the warriors were with Tobiah fighting. She quickly singled out a pure white mare and threw her saddle blanket over its back followed by the saddle. She would ride fast but by a different route, she decided. She dared not be seen.

“What are you doing?” Kerrion said from behind her.

Julia thumped the horse to make her stop holding her breath, and pulled the girth strap tight to buckle it. “Don’t try to talk me out of this Kerrion. Nothing is more important to me than Keverin. Tobiah is not going to kill him as he’s killing the clans. I won’t allow it.”

Kerrion sighed. “Tobiah is doing his best.”

“His best isn’t good enough!” she snarled. She pulled herself into the saddle and looked down at the old man coldly. “It’s time to choose. Will you allow the clans to die led by a fool, or will you stand up for yourself and fight?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She kicked her horse into a gallop.

“But the wards!” Kerrion shouted.

Julia grasped her magic at the reminder and raised a ward against scrying. It would not do for Demophon to see her coming. No, she hadn’t forgotten what that pig had done to poor Moriz and Halbert. When she found him, he was going to pay with his life. She wouldn’t torture him as he had done to her friends; that would hurt her more than him in the end. No, a quick death would do for him, but death all the same.

She knew Navarien was digging in and that Wolf, Eagle, and Bear Clans had attacked his cavalry. She did not know the details but Kadar and the other chiefs had been told they weren’t needed for this attack. Kadar had other ideas. He had protested that he would come if it looked necessary. Well it was necessary. Far from being overwhelmed by the number of warriors attacking them, Navarien’s cavalry had taken them in stride and had already done serious damage in return.

Julia agreed with Tobiah that it was necessary to destroy the cavalry first. After all, those nine thousand horses were all Navarien had, but without shamen to take down the legion’s wards there was little likelihood of that happening. She had pleaded with them to get off their collective backsides and do something, but that seemed a forlorn hope now. When she had started teaching the shamen, she had believed in them. She had truly thought they would disregard Tobiah in the end and fight for their people. Instead, they were waiting to heal the injured back in camp because Tobiah had told them to. The man was living in the past! Using tactics that worked in a clan raid would not work against the Hasians, but he wouldn’t hear that.

Julia pulled her mirror from her pouch and called an image of Keverin. He was riding at the trot with Brian by his side. She widened the view and found clan warriors riding haphazardly toward the north—and to destruction if Navarien had his way. Well she wasn’t going to let him kill Kev, and while she was here, she had a good mind to sort General bloody Navarien out for once and all!

Her mirror showed a large group of legionnaires on foot as they trotted into position. A battalion it seemed like, though it was much larger than those she had destroyed two years ago. She watched them arrange themselves with another battalion, this time all cavalry, which had been waiting to receive them. They didn’t do anything and she wondered what they were waiting for. She widened the view, then again, and the legion fort came into view along the top edge of her mirror. There was nothing to see there except a lot of men setting up tents. She moved the view south and hit the jackpot.

“There you are,” she said to herself. “I bet I know where you lot are going.”

Julia shook her head as she watched the clan warriors try to penetrate wards built by—twenty it looked like—built by twenty sorcerers. The second cavalry battalion was in a full retreat, that at least was good, but she knew where they were heading. Tobiah’s warriors were going to be fighting four battalions before long and Keverin would be in the middle of it.

Julia rode away from the fighting toward what she assumed would be the ambush site. It wasn’t much of an ambush. The plain was too flat to hide this many men, but she could not see what else they were waiting for. She dismounted well before reaching the enemy. She didn’t want to be seen and felt she hadn’t been as yet. Her ward prevented the sorcerers from seeing her using their mirrors, but she was still visible to the naked eye. As she crawled through the long grass she wondered if there was a way to make herself invisible. That would be really useful. Perhaps some kind of camouflage spell or an illusion would work, but that would have to wait for another time.

Julia peered through the grass at the legionnaires and tried to think of a plan. They were completely still, waiting for their friends to arrive and the battle to begin. Would it be better to strike before Tobiah arrived, or should she wait until there was fighting? If she attacked now and was somehow balked, she would be on her own against forty or more sorcerers. If she waited, she would have Lucius and Mathius along with Keverin to help her.

“Decisions, decisions,” she muttered.

There didn’t appear to be a ward to stop her, but there most certainly would be when Keverin and the others arrived. She was about to attack when she noticed something strange. Where she was lying the grass was being whipped about by the wind, but closer to the Hasian soldiers it wasn’t moving—why? She invoked her mage sight and saw the answer.

“You sneaky—” she hissed.

The sorcerers were using some kind of illusion spell. It wasn’t fair! She had only just thought of that and here the sorcerers were already using it! The give away was the lack of movement. The grass was still and so were the men. Julia stared in fascination at a campfire with smoke hovering above it unaffected by the breeze. Was there even a camp there? This could all be an illusion and she wouldn’t know… or would she? She wished Lucius was here. Even after two years, she still knew so little of magic. She knew how to kill people and make mirrors, but she had never cast an illusion and didn’t know how to detect one.

Perhaps the mirror again?

She pulled out her mirror and viewed the scene from above. Thank God! The enemy was there just ahead of her position. The sorcerers were only using their trick to cover the fact they had wards to each side. Julia watched a man moving along the lines of infantry making sure his men were ready. He must be their captain then. The front of their formation was unprotected by wards, but that was all. Should she attack from overhead? She certainly wasn’t going round the front. There would be thousands of horses thundering through there very soon.

Hers indecision cost her the choice.

A battalion of cavalry came thundering toward her. No, they were rendezvousing with their friends she saw. She couldn’t help admiring their horsemanship. The battalion thundered through the gaps in the legion’s lines then wheeled their mounts to take position on the left wing. In the mirror, Julia watched two men slap shoulders in greeting and discuss something. She moved in closer but the picture dissolved into mist.

“Bloody sorcerers,” she grumbled.

They had a ward preventing her from hearing what they had to say. She could only see them as long as she viewed from a distance. That was a peculiarity of a sorcerer’s ward. Her wards prevented scrying no matter how far she was viewed from and a good thing too! She didn’t need the sorcerers finding her at an awkward moment—like now for instance. She watched as more men rode into sight. It was the fourth and last battalion of Hasians surrounded by impotent Wolf Clan warriors.

“Oh God this is going to be ugly,” Julia said as she watched from her hiding place.

The clansmen finally realised what had happened and broke off from their pointless confrontation in confusion. The legionnaires continued blithely on and joined their friends on the right wing this time. A preplanned manoeuvre obviously. They had succeeded in engaging then leading three clans worth of warriors to a place of their choosing. Julia supposed the next step would be an attack, but she was wrong. The legionnaires did precisely nothing.

“What are you waiting for?” she whispered, and then she knew as Tobiah launched an attack of his own.

She readied herself to fight but was shocked when the sorcerers did nothing to prevent Tobiah’s charge. She watched as every man Tobiah had with him charged the infantry. Keverin hadn’t moved and neither had Kadar. They were arguing fiercely with Mavra and Allard about something—the charge obviously. What were they waiting for, an invitation?

Julia gasped in horror as Tobiah and his men slammed into the Hasian infantry. She had expected the screams of trampled men of course, but the reality was far worse than her imaginings. Screams rose above the battle, but that wasn’t the reason for her sudden heaving and puking. Wherever she looked, men and horses had been impaled on long sticks. Spears—very long spears. Where had they come from? The charge disintegrated with men and horses screaming so loud she feared she would go deaf. She covered her ears and watched the legion cavalry swing wide and slam together on the remnants of the charge.

Tobiah’s wolves disintegrated into knots of struggling and unhorsed warriors. Julia couldn’t see the chief anywhere and she assumed him dead. Others she knew were fighting desperately for their lives. She saw Kornel fall and with him his son Haldis. Where were Bear and Eagle Clans? Damn them where were they? Kadar—Kadar and Keverin were charging. Oh God, it was going to happen again, but no, Kadar swung to one side and Keverin to the other and they struck the legion cavalry in the flank totally ignoring the more tempting infantry.

Julia was numb with shock and sick to her stomach. All she wanted to do was blast the legions into ash, but the ward… she grasped her magic and floated above that ocean of fire that always awaited her. She gathered all her hate and anger and drove it at the ward.

BOOOM!

The ward flashed blue fire and a sound like thunder echoed over the plains. Julia was smashed flat as the ward shuddered under an impact big enough to turn a mountain to rubble. The ward bowed and buckled, but unbelievably it held and the crash as it flexed back to rigidity shook the heavens.

Julia lay on her back panting from the effort. She was drained and blinking the blue afterimage away. She might as well be blind. All she could see was neon blue flames flaring in her face. She rolled over and came back to her knees rubbing her eyes. The fighting continued between the wards but she was unable to breach them. The sorcerers must be linked, it had to be that, or she would have wiped them off the face of the plain with that strike.

She had to get around the front.

She ran away from the fighting and found her horse with its eyes wide and rolling in panic. It backed away from her. She made a grab for the reins and held on as it tried to escape. She was lifted into the air as the fool beast threw its head up and backed away trying to throw her off, but she clung on. Finally, the mare calmed enough for her to mount. She galloped to a place that might give her a chance to do some good.

Bear and Eagle Clans had joined the fighting. Why they had held off earlier she couldn’t fathom, but they were making up for their earlier cowardice now. She couldn’t see Keverin. All she could do was hope he was all right. She saw Burke and Alvin working together to hack down the Hasians, and Brian—Brian was hurt! She bit her lip trying not to cry out as he slid slowly out of his saddle. She had to be strong.

She grasped her magic and choosing her targets with care began picking men off with controlled bolts of lightning. There was fire off to one side—Lucius and Mathius killing the enemy. They stood unhorsed, but didn’t appear injured. They were working together and protecting each other.

Julia’s ward flared blue as a stray fireball struck it but she took no notice. Her horse though had other ideas. It neighed and reared throwing her to the ground.

“Ooof!” she gasped as she hit the ground and lost her hold on the magic.

Her horse ran away south in panic and she wished she could do the same. Fires were roaring nearby and she thought to put them out. She didn’t want another firestorm. Just as she was about to do something about them, they died.

“Someone has a brain in his head,” she muttered as she resumed her attack.

She raised her ward in time to catch another fireball, but it was just another stray. The sorcerers were concentrating upon the warriors, not her. She threw lightning right and left. The ground erupted with a roar and debris rained down on her; she kept moving and struck back. Legionnaires flew into the air as she blasted a crater in the plain. She had taken her revenge, but there were too many soldiers for her to deal with. Her lightning was too slow! She was killing dozens, but there was more than twelve thousand legionnaires that needed killing.

She found the sorcerers sitting safely behind their wards. She struck at that immaterial wall and two sorcerers fell dead, but there were at least eighty or more still fighting. She struck again, but this time a more powerful ward snapped into place and her strike wasted itself upon it.

Julia called to Lucius. *I’m here with you, but there are too many.*

*I saw your lightning. Keverin is going to kill you for disobeying him. You do know that don’t you?*

*If I survive, I suppose he will. Talking of surviving, how are we going to?* Julia blasted a man intent on killing a clansman from behind.

*Beats me,* Lucius said. *Tobiah is dead by the way.*

*Serves the bastard right!*

*I don’t think so. He was doing things the way he knew how. The wrong way as it turns out, but he tried his best.*

A legionnaire hacked repeatedly at Julia’s ward in a frenzy of determination. His blade bounced off with a flare of blue light and smell of ozone each time. She flicked a whip of magic at him and his sword melted in his hand. She snarled and let him scream as a lesson to the others.

*I told Kerrion his best wasn’t good enough,* Julia said. *Now it seems my best isn’t either.*

*You and me both. If the sorcerers turn their attentions on us, we’re dead.*

Mathius broke in. *Do you want to try linking?*

*Might as well,* she said. *I’m coming over there but my horse ran off.*

*Ours did too, we’ll meet you half way.*

*Fine,* Julia said and began making her way toward Lucius. *Where is Lorcan?*

*He’s all right,* Mathius said. *I saw him sneaking around the edges just a while ago.*

She smiled grimly. Lorcan couldn’t do much with his magic yet, but he had always been good with his daggers. Telling him to stay out of trouble and expecting him to stay in camp was foolish. He would have taken no notice. He would always do what he thought was right regardless of consequences.

Julia reached her two friends without too much trouble. The fighting was fierce now with more than half the men on both sides unhorsed and fighting hand to hand. The Devan guardsmen were still fighting as a unit, but their numbers were dwindling. Of Keverin, there was no sign. She thrust the worry to the back of her mind, but it kept sneaking back in.

Please God, don’t let him be dead!

Lucius looked hurriedly around for the enemy. “We have to drop our wards, Julia. One, two, three!”

Julia dropped her ward and linked with Lucius and Mathius. The first thing she did was raise a new ward to cover all three of them. It was much stronger than normal. She could easily see why her earlier strike at the Legion had failed. With that many sorcerers linking their magic, she had no chance of breaching their ward. Thinking to separate friend from foe, she built another ward and tried to thrust it between the combatants.

“Won’t work,” Mathius said. “They’re too closely packed.”

“It has to!” she said, but it was obvious as soon as she tried that it wouldn’t work. “Now what?”

“Attack the sorcerers and hope they run?” Mathius said doubtfully.

“They won’t,” Lucius said. “They won’t pull out without orders unless they’re close to defeat.”

“We need a miracle!” Mathius shouted over the roar of Julia’s fire.

* * *

Lorcan’s dagger punched through the legionnaire’s armour with ease. It was lucky for him that the armour was thinnest at the back. He always preferred attacking from behind. It came of his time on the streets of Devarr. He ducked another man’s swing and came up with a dagger in each fist leading the way. The legionnaire parried one blade, but the other slid home in his armpit with hardly a pause. Lorcan spun aside and kicked another man in the knee before whirling away. An Eagle Clan warrior took advantage of the distraction to gut the outclanner before he too was felled from behind.

All was chaos.

Lorcan had never been afraid like he was afraid today, but his fear was not for himself. Keverin was here somewhere, and Mathius. The Lady was too—lightning stabbing out of a cloudless sky attested to that. He had many friends among the warriors struggling to survive Tobiah’s foolishness. The Lady was right about that. He had known it from the first, but Keverin hadn’t let him do anything. Now things were out of control and it was all Tobiah’s fault.

A riderless horse reared in his path narrowly missing his face with its hooves. He made a grab for the reins and managed to drag himself into the saddle. A man in armour reached for him, but a kick in the face sent him packing. He took a tiny moment to get his bearings before kicking his new horse toward what remained of the Athione cavalry. There weren’t many left, he saw—maybe half were dead or missing. Keverin was whirling his blade in the air trying to extricate his men from the battle. Lorcan tried to charge to his lord’s side, but he had to detour around a large contingent of mounted Hasians. There were too many for him to fight, but he did manage to knock the Hasian captain out of his saddle with a weak blast of magic.

By the time Lorcan had detoured around the enemy, Keverin was again charging to the attack. The crunch of nearly six hundred heavy cavalry hitting twice its number of legionnaires was catastrophic. Men screamed for their mothers as they were hacked from the saddle. Horses screamed as they stumbled over mounds of bodies. Legs snapped and horses screamed. Heads were cleaved from necks in fountains of gore. Arms fell from shoulders…

Lorcan wanted to cry for his mother and be sick at the same time. The only thing he could think of was reaching Keverin. Everything would be all right if he could only reach his lord. He jumped his horse over a mound of corpses. They were nailed to the ground with huge spears. The Hasians were sneaky to think of that. The nearest forest was leagues away. No one had thought to wonder why the Hasians had sat waiting to be attacked. Keverin had been suspicious, he remembered, but even such a great lord had been unable to guess what Navarien had up his sleeve. Now they knew, but the knowing had cost them dear.

“Come on! What are you waiting for? Kill me then!”

The voice made him haul hard on the reins. “Darlinia!”

He savagely yanked his horse’s head around and spurred toward his friend. She was hurt! She stood amidst a pile of legion dead waiting to die. All around her were legionnaires. She was completely cut off from her people. Her left arm hung limply at her side pouring blood onto the grass.

“Yeahhhh!” Lorcan screamed. “Yeahhhh!”

The man in his path dove aside at the last moment and Lorcan’s dagger sailed through empty air. He cursed the loss, but he had plenty of daggers. Friends were far more precious. He leaned out for the saddle and took Darlinia’s arm as he galloped by.

“AEiii!” she screamed as she was yanked off her feet and dragged by the side of Lorcan’s horse by her broken arm. She bit through her lip against the pain, but it was far too great and she screamed again. “AEiiiiiiiiii!”

Lorcan blotted the noise from his thoughts as he tried to navigate a way through the knot of struggling and dying men all about him. He held tight and even managed to drag her still screaming in pain over his saddle in front of him. Screams were good. It meant she was still alive to feel the pain.

The Hasians were closing ranks as Keverin’s attack bit hard. Lorcan was fast running out of options. He turned his horse once more and made a run for the last gap as it began to close. He was still too far away when the fireball arrived. He felt the searing heat flash over him as the fireball bounced back into the air and came down somewhere behind him. Another flew over and then another on their way to killing legionnaires or sorcerers. He didn’t care which it was as long as they were not aimed at him.

Suddenly he was airborne.

He flew over his horse’s head with his arms waving vainly in the air like a swimmer desperate to reach shore. He tried to tuck his head and roll with the fall, but there were too many bodies lying strewn over the ground. He crashed face first into the bloody pile. He climbed shakily to his feet when as he realised he was still alive and found Darlinia crawling dazed and bloody back toward the Hasians.

“Not that way!” he hissed and hoisted her back to her feet.

She wobbled as Lorcan half dragged half marched her away from the site of her clan’s defeat. Already it was obvious they had lost this battle. He needed to get her to a shamen. She was losing a lot of blood where the bone of her arm poked through her flesh. Lorcan took a moment to rip a strip from the hem of his tunic and bind the arm above the wound. With satisfaction he watched the blood slow.

“Did we win?” Darlinia mumbled drunkenly.

He looked back to find Keverin fighting for his life. Even as he turned to go back, the lord fell under a tide of legionnaires and with him his banner.

“No,” Lorcan whispered as tears streamed over his cheeks. “We lost.”

* * *

“What are you waiting for you fool?” Wotan spat quietly watching the battle in his mirror. “By the God strike her!”

The mirror clearly showed the battle disintegrating into a dangerous mess, but worse than that was Julia. She had picked off two of his sorcerers before they thought to link and ward themselves. That was bad enough, but they hadn’t struck back!

“Get me Odelyn,” he snarled at Magar. Magar understood his anger and did as he was bid without a word. “Sorry. I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“Odelyn is a dangerous fool, Wotan. You should have killed him aboard ship.”

“I know, but he hadn’t done anything wrong then. He was just annoying. I can’t kill everyone who annoys me. No one would tell me the truth if I did.”

Magar shrugged and handed the mirror over.

“I’m a little busy at the moment, Wotan,” Odelyn said condescendingly. “I have a battle to fight you know.”

Wotan’s lip curled. “Yes I do know, and if you don’t get on with it you’ll wish you were never born!”

“Whatever do you mean?”

Wotan calmed and in a deadly voice told Odelyn exactly what he meant and how he would die. “Don’t test me, Odelyn. Just don’t! If you don’t follow my orders to the letter I will kill you an inch at a time. You think me weak? I will show you what I am! Kill her now, or I will kill you!”

“I’m lead mage for this battle,” Odelyn said angrily.

Wotan heard the words not said. Odelyn thought he should be lead mage of the entire campaign. The fool had always felt cheated. Being younger and weaker than him, Wotan could hardly blame the man for that feeling, but that didn’t change things. He was lead mage, not Odelyn and whether Odelyn liked it or not he would obey or die!

“I am ordering you to strike Julia now! You all know my orders concerning her. If you don’t do it and survive her wrath, I swear by the God you won’t survive mine!” he roared and broke the connection.

Magar silently picked up the mirror and handed it back to its owner who quickly contacted his opposite number at the battle.

Wotan pulled his own mirror close and studied the battlefield. Nothing had changed. Julia had joined her two friends now and seemed to be discussing what to do. What could they do? Nothing Wotan was sure—almost sure. Julia had a way of upsetting plans without half trying, but when she did try… he couldn’t afford to lose eighty sorcerers! He only had two hundred altogether. She didn’t have anything close to the power needed to win against that many of his people. He didn’t think she did. No, it wasn’t possible. Only the God could have that kind of power. She could be beaten and would be when Odelyn got off his backside and acted.

* * *

“We need a chief,” Julia said. “We need a chief to order a retreat. This battle will see the end of us all if we don’t back off!”

Mathius nodded. “What’s to stop them advancing as we flee?”

“I’ll think of something.”

Mathius and Lucius were sceptical but they had nothing better to offer.

“I saw Kornel go down,” she continued. “Tobiah is dead. What of Mavra and Allard?”

“Haven’t seen them since this started,” Mathius said. “We could walk in there and tell them to retreat.”

“Will they listen?”

“I doubt it, but what else is there?”

What else indeed? Julia nodded and they began walking into the chaos of sword wielding men. This was almost like old times for her and Mathius. They had walked into danger like this once before. Of course the gap had kept the Hasians away from them, but it felt similar.

“I was on the receiving end that time,” Lucius mused as he blasted the legionnaires with fire.

Julia kept up a constant attack as did Mathius but the damage they did was minuscule in the grand scheme of things. “This must be hard on you Lucius,” she said as she killed a sergeant in the legions who had attempted to breach the ward.

“You might say so,” Lucius agreed with a grimace, but he did not stop his attacks. “These are my people. They follow Mortain because that is the way things are. None of these men deserves death, but then neither do the clan warriors. Ironic is it not?”

Ironic? Sickening more like. They found Mavra of Bear Clan first. He was very dead. They moved on and found Kornel and Haldis next. Haldis was dead with a dagger in the back, but Kornel was alive—barely. Julia quickly lifted the ward and dropped it over the chief so she might try to heal him. She grimaced at the white of bone showing where a sword cut had all but severed his leg. How he had survived such an injury she did not know or care. All that mattered now was that he live to order the retreat. She healed what she could but the leg was almost severed. Would it be best to sever it all the way or try to heal the damage? She questioned Lucius but he didn’t know and was too busy killing legionnaires to think about it. She pushed the limb into place grimacing at the dead feel of it. She made sure the ends of the bone were touching and that the leather of his leggings was clear. She prayed that it would work then set about healing the limb. Straight away there was resistance. The leg was not completely dead yet, but it had been well on its way. No blood to the cells meant death and decay, but at least it wasn’t completely severed. She tried harder and it responded slowly, she watched in excitement as the wound healed and the bone knit.

“Done,” Julia said and tried to wake Kornel.

“It worked?” Lucius said in surprise.

“Whether he’ll be able to use it I don’t know. It resisted the healing, but it’s still alive—we’ll see.”

Kornel opened his eyes and cried out. He had seen his son’s dead eyes looking at him.

“Kornel!” Julia shouted over his keening. “For the love of God man there’s no time for that!”

“Oh my boy, my boy!”

“I know, but more boys are dying. Get up and do something. Tobiah is dead, so are the other chiefs. You have to call retreat before we lose everything!”

“Retreat…” he glared around at the piles of dead. “Never! I’ll kill them all!”

Julia couldn’t help herself. She punched him as hard as she could. The pain in her hand was excruciating, but her fury overrode it a moment later. Kornel was holding his jaw in shock. Julia shook her hand; it was already swelling and she thought one of the knuckles was broken. It hurt like crazy.

“Look around you fool! We are losing! Look at what your precious Tobiah has done, just look!” she screamed into his face and pointed at Haldis and then at another clansmen then another and another.

Kornel hid his eyes from the sight, but then he looked at his son again. He reached to touch his boy, but even that was denied him when his fingers encountered the ward. He climbed to his feet but one step later and he was down again.

“My leg, I can’t feel my leg,” Kornel hissed hammering the useless thing with a fist.

“That will do no good, it’s not asleep. It was almost severed and I reattached it. What you have is the best you will get.”

“I can’t stand?”

“Try, try hard!” Julia said.

Kornel climbed to his feet and found if he favoured the leg he could stand and even walk a little. “A horse, get me to a horse. I can still be a man in the saddle.”

She nodded and blasted a huge hole in the ranks of legionnaires pushing at the ward. She grimly moved forward into the space she had created while Lucius and Mathius kept up a constant barrage with fire. Twice more she blasted her way through until finally encountering cavalry again. She reached out with her magic and plucked a man out of the saddle so that Kornel might mount.

“Tobiah is dead!” Kornel yelled as he struggled up onto the horse. “Retreat! Tobiah is dead! Retreat!”

A great cry of despair arose as the retreat was ordered, but Julia felt the difference immediately. The struggle eased as warriors disengaged and pulled back.

“Julia, up behind me woman!” Kornel said reaching for her but she stepped back.

“Lead the clans out of here, Kornel.”

Kornel looked to Mathius and Lucius but received nothing from them but hard eyed stares. He nodded and urged his horse out of the press chopping at legionnaires as he went.

“Julia?”

She looked at Mathius sadly. “I saw Brian go down. I want to find him and Keverin.”

“You don’t know—”

“Either way,” she said cutting Mathius off before he could say it.

As the clans pulled back the cornets blared among the legions. The response was immediate. Legionnaires hefted wounded comrades and ran back to their own lines leaving the heaps of dead in their wake. Julia and her three friends stood exposed in the middle of the slaughter. Lucius mumbled that now would be the time, but again the sorcerers seemed uninterested in attacking.

The ward hummed and crackled as they moved among the bodies searching for friends that still lived. Julia’s thoughts were far away from battle now as she used magic to toss legionnaires out of her way to find clansmen alive but buried under the bodies. She healed those she could and they stumbled away to find Kornel with tears running down their faces.

The field of sorrows.

A fitting name for this place. She stopped and looked around at the piles of meat that had been her friends not long ago. The clans had lost this battle; there could be no doubt. Less than a quarter of the dead were legionnaires—their armour had saved them, but the clans did not have armour and had paid dearly for the lack. Looked at one way it was amazing the warriors had killed as many as they had, looked at another it was a complete disaster. Wolf Clan had gone the way of Dragon Clan here today. Less than three in ten had survived. Bear and Eagle Clans had come out lightest with their late entry into the battle. Tobiah’s Wolves had taken the brunt, but Julia saw the familiar swirling pattern on the backs of all too many dead warriors and knew her clan had been hurt badly.

They found Brian eventually. He didn’t appear injured at all! She looked at him with her mage sight and groaned, he was alive but he had been hit upon his helmet. Head injuries were serious; many times she had tried and failed to heal this kind of thing.

“I won’t fail this time!” Julia growled as she attacked the purple stain in his aura.

Being linked had its advantages. The purple was wiped out instantly and Brian blazed up white as she cleaned the yellow away, but he did not wake. Her tears ran and dripped onto to his dear face as she wept for her friend… all her friends.

“He won’t wake up, Lucius. He’s like Renard.”

“Not so,” Mathius said sadly. “Renard was burned out. He wasn’t in one of your comas.”

It wasn’t her coma, but Julia knew what he meant. She had taught Lucius and Mathius all she could about healing, and what she knew from her old world. She knew quite a lot, common sense and general knowledge she supposed it was really, about medicine and healing. Simple things like sepsis, blood transfusions, and appendicitis, but coma wasn’t a simple thing in any world.

“I’ll carry him back,” she said in defeat. She wasn’t willing to leave him in all this mess and misery.

Lucius nodded as she hefted Brian with magic and all three began walking back to Denpasser. She prayed for her friend as she walked amongst the dead, it was all she had to offer now. She prayed for him to wake, she prayed for her dead friends, but most of all she prayed that Keverin lived.

* * *

Shelim dismounted and ran with Nyx trailing behind. All the shamen did the same without needing to be told. They had to reach the battle before it was too late.

Julia’s words did have the desired effect on Kerrion. Immediately after her argument with him, he had called a meeting and told them he was going to war. Larn had immediately stood in support and every other shaman had roared in approval. The rush to the horses had the women and children running in alarm to see what was happening but there hadn’t been time for questions. As a result he was afraid many of those left behind feared the worse, but better that than the worst actually happening.

Shelim stopped and studied his mirror again. They had to turn to the east slightly. He waved in that direction then mounted Nyx and pushed her to a gallop. He knew this area intimately. He had lived at Denpasser for four seasons during his training, and had ridden this far many times in his circuit around Denpasser. He had no qualms about pushing Nyx to her limit. Darnath was sticking to his side, and even Kerrion had not fallen back. Kerrion was over a hundred years old. Shelim hoped he was as good at sixty as Kerrion was at a hundred!

“How far?” Darnath shouted into the wind of their passage.

“Two leagues at most!” Shelim shouted. “We should see it any time!”

“We are too late my boy!” Kerrion said. “We would have been too late leaving with Julia. She was right all along. Tobiah will destroy us all with his foolishness!”

Shelim agreed. He should have counselled Mazel to challenge Tobiah, but at the time unity seemed more important. How he cursed himself for not going the other route. The one he had taken now seemed worse than folly; it seemed to him the coward’s way. He groaned when the battlefield came into sight. They were too late! Thousands of dead warriors and outclanners lay in tumbled heaps upon the ground.

“We have lost,” Kerrion whispered in shock. He had feared it, but had not truly believed until now.

“Not yet,” Darnath said as they rode to join the survivors. “We can hit them and—”

“He doesn’t mean that,” he said. “There were three clans here. Now there is less than one. I see Kornel, but where are his warriors?”

All three looked at the piles of dead and knew. The Wolves were destroyed.

“Who’s that?” Darnath said shading his eyes. “It’s Julia!”

“What’s she doing?” Shelim said as he pulled up and dismounted.

“Healing the injured. I’ll go help.”

“Wait Darnath, we’ll all go, but let me talk to Kornel first,” Shelim said not noticing Kerrion’s small smile as he took charge.

Shelim pushed his way through the warriors ignoring their questions and came to Kornel’s horse. The chief was stony faced as he looked upon the death of his honour. With his warriors gone he was chief of women and children now, not warriors.

“What are you waiting for?” Shelim said and ignored the anger beating at him from the crowds.

“For Julia to find her man. When she’s done with that, Kadar will lead you all home and I will attack,” Kornel said in a dead voice.

“Fool!” Shelim spat imitating Kerrion at his worst.

“…get away with that—”

“…talking to a chief not his apprentice!”

“…cut him down—”

“Fool I said!” he shouted over the angry voices. “This is one battle not the entire war! Do you give up a feud after one raid? No! You attack again and again until you win!”

“We can’t win here,” Kornel said looking down at him.

“Not here. You need all the clans and every shaman to beat these outclanners. I say we should—” Shelim broke off as Darnath burst through the crowd.

“They’re killing Julia!”

* * *

When the attack finally came it was a shock for all of them. Something hit the ward and went straight through to strike Julia squarely. The magic in her grasp increased by a colossal amount and she screamed in agony as burnout threatened. An instant later she was down, screaming and banging her head upon the ground as every muscle in her body jerked her this way and that spasmodically. She tried to release the link even as Lucius and Mathius fell to mimic her.

All three were screaming now as the pain reached a height undreamed of. Julia was taking the strike, but the link was feeding her friends as well. If it hadn’t been there, she would have died instantly, but now it threatened all three of them. She had to break it. She struggled but it was no use. The medallion representing her link to the magic was welded in her grasp.

She couldn’t let it go!

* * *

“Noooo,” Shelim gasped.

He ran through the crowd toward the battlefield throwing fire for all he was worth. He saw the fireballs strike all along the outclanners ward but not one penetrated. He kept raining his fire upon the enemy as he reached his screaming friends. A line of white fire was going through Julia’s ward and hitting her.

“Tell me what to do!” he cried but she just looked at him with tears running from her eyes and screamed.

The other shamen were slower than him, but soon they were all raining lightning and fire on the enemy. Two hundred shamen were giving everything they had but it wasn’t enough to breach that stupendous ward.

Ward? His shield!

Shelim concentrated and raised his shield over himself and his screaming friends. Instantly Julia collapsed into unconsciousness with Mathius and Lucius closely following. He didn’t have time to think about that. Whatever the white fire was, his shield had intercepted it right enough, but already the cursed thing was full and trying to escape his grasp. Remembering a time similar to this he gritted his teeth and discharged it back at the enemy.

A solid bar of magic crackled and roared toward the outclanners. Almost instantly it smashed into the ward covering them. The deafening roar drowned out Kerrion’s gasp of shock. Shelim could hear the teeth grinding in his head as he struggled to prevent the bar from swinging sideways. It was the same as that day when in a blizzard he had tried to punish the monster’s men for killing a Dragon tribe. That time seemed so long ago now, but his cursed shield’s antics brought it all back. The shield was trying to spin like a wheel on its axle. Again he envisioned himself as the axle and tried to clamp the cursed thing solid. As before it worked, but unlike last time, his attack upon the ward succeeded. The sorcerer’s ward howled and shattered with a crashing roar as his magic punched through the line of outclanners. Those directly in its path died instantly turned to sparkling motes of dust, but his weapon ran out of magic almost as the men died when the enemy shaman gave up their attack. His shield was depleted in that moment, but Kerrion was ready.

“Everyone link!” Kerrion shouted.

Shelim reached out to Kerrion and Darnath as Julia had taught him, and suddenly he felt like a giant! He was one of many now as each link group turned its attention upon the outclanners and attacked.

He was leading his group of ten. He pulled on the magic and threw a stupendous fireball. It impacted with others of similar proportions upon the outclanners, but again a humming and crackling ward covered them. He tried again and again but he was getting nowhere. He had penetrated a ward stronger than this but only because his shield had been overloaded by the outclanners. If he tried to draw that much he would be burned to a cinder even linked as he was.

It was useless.

*Stalemate,* Shelim said even as he tried to rain destruction on the enemy. It was all to no avail.

*Yes my boy,* Kerrion said. *Without Julia we cannot win this war.*

*How is she?*

*Older,* Kerrion said sadly.

Shelim nodded unsurprised. *The others?*

*They seem all right. Julia was their target not her friends.*

*What do we do?*

*I don’t know my boy,* Kerrion said looking down at Julia. *I just don’t know.*

* * *

23 ~ Chief of Chiefs

Navarien nodded as he listened to Cragson’s report. They were walking the ramparts in a slow and casual circuit of the camp. The battle earlier in the day had not gone precisely to plan, but the outcome was close enough for him to call it a victory. Not an unqualified one maybe, but a victory nonetheless.

“And Julia?” Navarien asked.

“No sign of her, Sir.”

“Hmmm. Hardly surprising is it?”

Cragson shrugged in the gloom. It was a movement barely seen against the backdrop of the stars. “They had her. They had her and let her get away!”

Navarien squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “Peace. We can hardly crow about our dealings with her can we? Wotan will deal with Odelyn. I have his word on it.”

“Well… well. If Wotan says he’ll deal with the matter, I’ll say no more about it.”

He smiled. Everyone had great respect for Wotan and not because of the robes he wore. He was a young man and inexperienced in some ways because of that, but he learned quickly and did not ask the same questions twice. Everyone liked him for his easy manner.

“I think it’s time to retire. We have—” Navarien broke off as Cragson drew his attention to the south. “Good. The last of them are coming in.”

“Seems like.”

They made their way along the rampart toward the gate to watch. The gate was a makeshift affair. It was simply a row of trestles with two pikes across it lying butt to butt. The gate would not keep anyone out. The ditch and plank bridge took care of that little detail.

“There are wounded with them,” Cragson said squinting into the gloom. “I make it two score or thereabouts.”

“I don’t think so. At least I don’t think they’re ours.”

Navarien had ordered the wounded evacuated back to camp first with the able bodied holding the line and protecting them against clan attacks. As it turned out, the clans were more interested in finding their own wounded than they were in attacking.

“Let’s go down and see what we have.”

“Yes Sir,” Cragson said automatically following him down the slope.

Navarien heard the commotion well before reaching its cause. Meran’s men were guarding the prisoners—Devan every one of them. There was some fuss in the centre. A burly man in the armour of Athione was screaming the place down and trying to accost anyone who would listen. His eyes were looking around frantically for something, a way to escape perhaps, but then they locked on Navarien and widened.

“General!” the man roared and attempted to break out of his imprisonment. Meran’s men closed in and it looked bad for the man.

“Hold!” Navarien roared before the man could be cut down. “Bring that man to me.”

“Yes Sir!” a voice in the dark said.

“Get off me!” the Devan growled. “General Navarien! Get off me!” the man shouted and struggled as he was brought forward.

“Your name?”

“Burke… Sergeant Burke is my name. I recognise you from the war, General. I need help.”

“I would say so,” he smirked. “You are my prisoner Sergeant—”

“Not for me!” Burke howled in frustration. “It’s m’lord! He’s dying—you have to help me!”

“Athione is here? Where?”

“Back there, in the centre,” Burke said trying to go that way. His guards held his arms and prevented the movement. “He needs magic right quick.”

“Show me.”

Navarien approached the prisoners but he was blocked by the hostile guardsmen. He gestured and the prisoners were dragged aside to reveal Keverin of Athione lying on the ground unconscious. He knelt to examine his nemesis of two years back and took note of the man’s wounds. He was still alive—barely.

“Cragson!”

“Sir!”

“Fetch Wotan—no. Fetch me one of the others—Anius. Hurry, there’s not much time.”

* * *

Anius frowned at the man. The sergeant was close to death but he was unsure what to do about it. Should he heal the man so he might live to be a cripple the rest of his life, or should he let him pass peacefully away? He hesitated, but stood and walked away. The God would receive him into his care, and perhaps send him back as other than a soldier next time.

This day had seen some of the worst fighting Anius had ever witnessed. He had heard tell of the battles in the cities last year, but nothing had prepared him for the sheer horror of war against the clans. The warriors would not quit. They simply charged in even knowing they were hopelessly outnumbered. That was not courage. It was idiocy!

He had never wanted to be a legion mage, but his magic was limited. He had always struggled to do what the others found so easy, but his wards were something special. It seemed that the God wanted him here in all this mess and misery. He couldn’t think why he would want that, or what he was supposed to be learning by it, but he had little choice. He was here now and the only way home was southward. The legion was strong, but its general was stronger. They marched at his order, and it was certain Navarien would order south. Under no circumstances would they turn aside and that was as it should be. Mortain—may he live forever—was the God’s voice on this Earth, and he wanted the clans crushed.

Anius sighed and bent to heal another man.

“AEiiiiiiiiii!” the injured man keened without breath as he applied his magic to a gaping wound in the man’s stomach.

He cringed as the man shrieked his throat raw, but he didn’t stop forcing the magic into him. The legionnaire would die without it. His sight revealed to him the complex matrix of his spell as it wove around the soldier; rather it showed him the spell weaving around nothingness. The patterns enveloped the empty space that he knew was occupied by a legionnaire in the real world and began its work. The realm of power was a strange place he often thought. People and other solid objects were simply not here, but if he used his magic in the right way, he could heal a man’s body in the real world without ever seeing it here. The process was extremely painful—extremely, but was death preferable?

Anius did not think so.

The man’s cries ceased abruptly and the spell’s matrix winked out. Anius let his magic go and regarded the panting man. Only a faint and jagged scar remained where moments before a gaping wound had been. It looked years old.

“Thank you, my lord sorcerer,” the man gasped weakly. “I’m grateful.”

“Grateful for pain?”

The soldier rolled his head in the negative. “My wife needs my pay. If I die she will starve.”

Anius grimaced and nodded at the man’s logic. “What a world.”

The legionnaire smiled and slipped into a restful sleep.

Anius climbed to his feet and went back to his previous patient; letting him die might be best for him, but what of his family? When he reached the man, Anius found he was too late. He had died without waking.

“My lord sorcerer?” Cragson said approaching out of the darkness. “The General needs you urgently.”

He nodded still staring at the dead man at his feet. “Do you know if this man has a family?”

Cragson shook his head. “Merick was a loner. He is—was not married.”

He nodded. “Where is the General?”

“I will show you.”

He followed Cragson to a tent surrounded on all sides by guards. He raised an eyebrow at that, but the reason for the guards became apparent as soon as he entered the tent.

“Anius,” Navarien said gesturing to him. “This man needs your services.”

“A prisoner?” Anius said looking at the man in question. “What is so important about this man?”

“He is Lord Athione.”

That explained it then. The other Devans had only minor injuries he saw. He would deal with them later. Each man was sitting sullenly regarding him. Their hands were tied tightly behind them he noted, and he made a note to do something about that as well. They looked uncomfortable.

“I will see what can be done,” he said and examined Keverin.

The Lord of Athione had a smashing bruise on the left side of his face. It was livid purple and extended into his hair. The shape told him that a horse had most likely kicked him in the head. That was worrying. Head wounds were always troublesome. The most obvious wound other than Keverin’s head was to his right arm. It ended in a bloody and bandaged stump that no amount of magic could repair. The wrist and hand were long gone, food for the crows most likely. The rough and dirty bandage would need to come off, and he did that first. The moment he removed it blood spurted and he hastily clamped his hand over the wound.

“Damnation!” he muttered as blood puddled on the grass for a moment before soaking into the thirsty ground. He grasped his magic intending to seal the wound with fire if he had to, but the moment he did a ward flashed in his face and hurled him away with a cry of surprise.

“Anius!” Navarien yelled in alarm over the sound of shouting men.

Anius lay face up blinking at the canvas roof. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and stared in dumbfounded amazement at the crackling ward that enveloped the Lord of Athione.

“Amazing,” he said as Navarien bent to help him to his feet.

He took no notice of the guards bursting in and clubbing the Devans to the ground as they tried to go their lord. Keverin’s men were becoming a flaming nuisance as they tried vainly to go to Keverin’s aid. As if they could help the dying man—only magic could breach that mysterious ward.

“Do something for him!” one man cried as he shielded his head from the blows raining upon him. He went to his knees still yelling. “For the God’s sake! He’s bleeding to death!”

The man was right. Blood was pumping out of Keverin’s arm with each beat of his heart. Anius approached within touching distance of the lord and studied the ward. How it worked was a puzzle that fascinated him. Keverin was unconscious, and besides that he was not a mage. How then had the lord raised a ward? He pursed his lips trying to concentrate on the ward matrix as it crackled in his face when it suddenly vanished.

“Well done, Anius!” Navarien said and quickly went to one knee to bind the still pumping wound.

“I did nothing,” he said watching as the blood slowed to a trickle once more. “I believe Lady Julia left me a present,” he mused and flicked a finger at the golden torque encircling Keverin’s throat.

Navarien raised an eyebrow. “This? This ornament caused that ward?”

Anius nodded studying the torque where it blazed with light in the realm of power. That it was visible here was amazing. He had never seen anything quite like it. Nothing existed here but magic—ah! That is precisely what it was he suddenly realised. He was not seeing the actual torque; he was seeing the magic held within it.

“Take it off for me.”

“You thief!” Burke yelled and was silenced by a kick from one of the guards. “You’ll be sorry when the Lady comes!”

Anius smiled. “You expect a very great deal of your lady. There are two hundred of my brothers here. I think I’ll take the risk.”

Navarien nodded and fumbled at the cunningly crafted catch. “Beautiful work this.”

“In many ways,” Anius added and stepped hastily back as Navarien offered it to him. “No!” he yelled and shielded his face, but nothing happened.

“It seems spent, my lord sorcerer.”

“It is far from spent,” Anius said examining the torque from a distance. “I thought it activated by my touch, but I was mistaken. It is activated by my magic. Keep it for me.”

Navarien nodded. “As you wish.”

Anius turned his attention to Keverin. The bruise disappeared as his magic enveloped the lord, but that was a mere side effect of his healing. Anius was concentrating hard on the stump of Keverin’s arm. The blood stopped seeping as the wound slowly closed.

“Nooo,” Keverin mumbled in pain as the magic worked on him. “Arghhh!” he cried as the pain woke him from his stupor. He tried to scramble away, but Anius held him down easily.

“You bastards!” Burke shouted. “You’re killing him!”

“Quiet!” a voice said punctuated by the sound of a blow.

Anius ignored the commotion. He had to finish his work. The wound closed and the inflamed flesh slowly returned to normal. Anius released his magic to regard the pale and sweating man. Keverin was staring into the distance in apparent confusion and didn’t seem to be aware of his surroundings. The stump of his arm was healed but heavily scarred. Keverin’s eyes worried Anius the most. They were wandering the tent in confusion.

“That is the best I can do I’m afraid,” Anius said.

“What’s amiss?”

“He was kicked in the head, General. He may recover, but I have done all I can.”

Navarien frowned and offered the torque. “May I ask one thing more of you my lord sorcerer?”

“What is it?” he said absently playing with the torque’s ingenious catch. The tiny lock was extremely delicate and cunningly made.

“I do not want Julia to know he lives—not yet. She may give herself up for his release. We will see. Can you ward the tent against scrying?”

The spell’s matrix reminded Anius of something. Where had he seen work like this before? Had he seen it before? He nodded to himself when he remembered a long ago discussion with a friend of his. What was surprising about that was who the friend was. He didn’t have many friends and hardly any were sorcerers, but he accounted Lucius as one of them. This design strongly reminded him of his friend. He suspected Lucius had taught Julia a great deal in his time in exile.

“My lord sorcerer?”

“Hmmm?” he said and looked to find Navarien waiting impatiently for him. “I’m sorry, General. I was studying this most excellent torque. What were you saying?”

“I asked whether you could ward the tent to prevent Julia finding him.”

“Ah yes! I can do that, but there really is no need. Wotan has ensured the entire camp is warded.” He looked down at the torque and smiled as a thought came to him. “You know, this pretty little thing might be—” he stopped when he remembered where he was and who was listening. “Walk with me, General.”

Navarien nodded and followed him out of the tent. “You were saying?”

“This thing has possibilities. I must confess to being curious if it will work. It should, the spell matrix will be similar to what Julia has already used. You see what I will do is—”

“Please, my lord sorcerer,” Navarien said in a pained voice. “You’ve lost me. How will this help us?”

“You were concerned about Julia finding Lord Athione,” Anius said. “I could devise a spell to make him disappear from her sight using this pretty bauble. Perhaps you could have the ward over the camp dropped so she might see the other prisoners. I’m sure you can think of something.”

Navarien smile wryly. “You are a devious man, Anius.”

“Not at all. It is simply that I enjoy using my magic in new ways. I have no real interest in how you use what I make.”

Navarien pursed his lips at that, but he smiled and they parted ways. Anius went straight to his tent to work on his new project. He wanted to give Keverin his present back as soon as possible.

* * *

Julia awoke to pitch darkness. “Kev?”

Silence.

She tried not to think as she crawled out of the tent. It was night outside and the camp was silent. She was relieved to find it was a clan camp and not legion. Some of the warriors must have survived. There was only a sliver of moon shining down upon the tents, but the sky was clear and starlight blazed in the heavens. Julia stood looking up at the splendour trying to make herself move, but she already knew in her heart that Keverin was gone. He had promised not to leave her… but he was gone. She should have stopped him by force if necessary, but she hadn’t wanted to lose his love. Now he was dead, and she was alone.

Nothing stirred. The campfires blazed close by and far away alike. There were so many it seemed as if the plain was reflecting the stars above. She knew Wolf Clan was all but gone, and the Night Wind was hurt; but what of the other clans? Dragon and Wolf accounted for two out of ten clans destroyed. Had she been unconscious long? Whatever the white fire had been, she had been unable to shield herself against it. The pain had been worse than anything she had ever felt. Even Tancred poisoning paled beside it. Was Shelim alive, was Kerrion? Had they found a way to shield her against the white fire? They must have. That meant they were alive too. She should go find them and… Julia’s shoulders slumped. She felt emptied of emotion. She knew that she should be making plans, but she couldn’t seem to make herself move. What was she doing here? What was the point of staying? Without Kev nothing meant anything anymore, but she couldn’t just walk away. There was Brian to consider, and… Had Lucius and Mathius survived?

She walked aimlessly through the camp. She recognised Kerrion’s tent by the sigils, but no one was home. At least she knew where she was now. She orientated herself and struck toward the Athione camp.

Nothing had been disturbed. The men’s meagre possessions waited for owners who would never come for them. She ducked into her own tent and found Keverin’s cloak lying where he had left it. She picked it up and breathed in his scent; leather and horse and that indefinable thing that was Keverin himself. Her tears were quickly absorbed into the material. She wasn’t much good for tears anymore. She had lost so many friends since coming to Waipara that she must have cried an ocean of tears by now. She didn’t have many left for the one she wished most to cry for.

She retrieved her mirror and called Keverin’s image, but the mirror remained blank. She tried again but still there was nothing. She tried to find Mavra who she knew was dead… nothing appeared—just like Kev. What if her magic was gone? What if the white fire had taken her magic? Kev might be alive. Please God, let him be alive. Let it be her magic that was gone and not him. Trembling with tears running freely over her cheeks she tried to call Shelim’s image. The mirror brightened instantly to show him sitting with others near a roaring fire.

“Oh God…”

Kev was dead. That was why the mirror would not show him. Her magic was unharmed and Kev was dead. Dead! Oh it hurt. God it hurt so much! Why did God hate her? He had taken her parents and He had taken Keverin. All their dreams, all their plans…

“Oh God… no…”

She held the pain in. She rocked back and forth clutching her stomach remembering all the times he had smiled at her. All the times he had whispered he loved her. All the times they had laughed together and planned their future—and she remembered the last time they had spoken together.

“You promised!” she wailed. “You promised you would come back!” she howled and the tears flooded out of her.

Shaking her head and beating her fists on the ground, she howled like one of the damned. She could hardly breathe, the pain was bad. She remembered Keverin riding out of camp beside Brian, riding away from her never to return. He had been strong and beautiful and he had promised to come back. Gone now. He was gone forever.

Julia came back to herself still clutching Kev’s cloak. She buried her face into its folds. Kev was dead and nothing could bring him back, but there was still something she could do for him. Her face hardened with resolve, and she dried her tears on the cloak. Kev was dead, but Navarien was still out there. She needed a plan. Tobiah was dead and Mavra also. She knew Kornel had lost most of his warriors and would not be chief of chiefs. Who would the clans choose? Cadell. It would be Cadell she was sure. Her eyes narrowed and a snarl appeared on her lips. How could she take the clans from him? Kill him? No, that wouldn’t work. The chiefs would challenge her until none were left alive. Maybe advising him would be enough, but what should she tell him to do?

“Jihan will know.”

Julia dragged the mirror into her lap and touched the five circles in the order she had chosen. A chime sounded from thin air and the mirror brightened a moment before steadying down to show a view of a dim room. There was no one there. It was night outside. Of course no one was there. The mirror continued its useless chiming.

“Please Jihan… I need you… pleeeease!”

Julia sat slumped in defeat with the useless mirror in her lap. Jihan and Ahnao must be asleep. No one would hear the mirror. No one would come. She let the chiming continue, she couldn’t think what else to do. She couldn’t think… at all.

“Julia?”

Julia stared at the brooch on Kev’s cloak. The crossed fists of Athione were displayed proudly upon it. She smiled when she remembered Kev telling her—

“Julia?”

She blinked and looked down at the mirror. A brightly lit room had replaced the earlier view. Jihan was looking worriedly at her.

“Oh Jihan…” she cried and more tears fell to splash upon the mirror.

* * *

“I told him. I told him to come home!” Jihan cried.

Ahnao came in then with a shirt for him. He had been in such a hurry that he had pulled on his breeches and rushed bare foot to answer the call of the mirror. He thanked her and pulled the shirt on over his head. He did not bother to tuck it in.

“—so sorry,” Ahnao was saying. “You must come home now, Julia. Promise me you will come home.”

“I can’t.”

“Don’t be a fool!” Jihan snapped. “Kev is gone. I don’t want to lose you too! I’ll come fetch you!”

“No!” Julia snapped with her eyes blazing. “I’ll not leave here until Navarien lies dead at my feet! He killed him. He killed Kev! I will see the entire plain burn before I’ll let him go!”

Jihan glanced at Ahnao’s shocked face then back at Julia. Her eyes were red from crying—so much was expected, but now they shone with madness. He had no doubt she meant what she said.

“If you’re determined to be a fool,” Jihan said icily calm to offset Julia’s heat. “I cannot prevent you. What will you have of me?”

“Advice.”

“Come home—”

“Soldierly advice!” she snapped with her eyes blazing. “How can I destroy Navarien and his legion?”

“You cannot.”

“I won’t hear that. I won’t hear that, Jihan. You are the best soldier I know. Kev always says—” she broke off with a deep groan, pain radiating from her, but then her face stiffened into a mask again. “He said you’re the best. Tell me how to do it.”

Jihan sighed and stepped behind his desk. In the drawer was a leather tube and inside that were his maps. He pulled them out and studied the border. His finger followed the river and tapped a location about ten leagues north of Denpasser. That was where Navarien had set his camp. He knew because that was where he would set a camp if he had to face the clans. Water was available at need and the river forked just there. It provided a barrier on two sides of the camp. The current was fast and crossing would be difficult.

Jihan traced the quickest route to Denpasser and then further south until the hill country was under his tapping finger. It was the only place, but would it work? He didn’t hold out much hope, but if pushed into action against Navarien, he would choose the hills over the plain any day.

Jihan took the map back to the mirror with him and showed it to Julia. “Go here,” he said tapping the hills. “You can use them to split Navarien’s formations. Break the legion into groups that are more manageable. Bring your full weight to bear on the smaller groups and destroy them utterly if you can. Let none escape to report back.”

“Good,” Julia said with her eyes roving over the map where Jihan held it up. “This is good. I can… we can… good, we can do this.

“It will not be easy,” Jihan warned. “I don’t know if you can win, but the hills will give you the best chance. Navarien will realise this. He will attempt to infiltrate the hills and deny you their use. Let him. When he takes these three,” he circled the highest hills and made certain Julia knew where they were. “When he has them, allow yourself to be seen. Navarien should send a strong force to attack you. When he does, you should have your warriors attack him from all sides and destroy that force to the last man. If you can repeat that enough times, you may weaken him. When the time is right, fall on his main force and attempt to pin it in place. Use the river and back him against it. Take to the heights and rain fire and arrows on him. Try to break his wards and split his formations. The legions are strongest when they fight in formation. Their discipline is their greatest strength.”

“Thank you,” Julia said and the mirror went black.

“Do you want to tell Jessica, or should I?” Ahnao said bleakly.

Oh by the God.

“I had better do it. Will you stay by me?”

“Always,” Ahnao said and turned back to the mirror.

Jihan reached out and stroked the engraving of the crossed fists. The chime sounded and the mirror began to change.

* * *

Julia looked around the tent, but there was nothing here she needed. She ducked out of the tent still carrying the cloak. Where would Lucius be? The council tent most likely. She turned toward the centre of camp and went to see who had lived and who had died.

As she walked she threw the cloak over her shoulders and fastened the broach. She stroked the crossed fists of Athione. Who would be lord now that Kev was gone? Did it matter? Not to her any longer, she supposed, but her friends at the fortress deserved a good lord. She remembered that Keverin had once chosen lord Niklaus as his heir, but Niklaus was lord of Meilan now. Perhaps she should ask Gylaren to install his youngest at Athione. By all accounts Gydrid was a good man. Keverin always says—said that he was the most intelligent man he knew.

Julia stopped in amazement well outside the firelight that stretched for what seemed a league but couldn’t have been. The council tent was nowhere to be seen. It had been replaced by a huge bonfire surrounded by thousands upon thousands of silent warriors sitting cross-legged listening to some kind of debate or council. Julia recognised those in the centre as chiefs. Kerrion and Shelim sat nearby nodding in agreement with what Mazel was saying. Julia listened for a short time. What he was saying made good sense, but it wouldn’t work. She took a deep breath and walked carefully between the sitting men ignoring the whispering warriors. Mazel broke off when he noticed her approach. Shelim rose to his feet to greet her.

“Your friends are fine, Julia. They’re sleeping in my tent,” Shelim said quietly.

Julia nodded and turned to Mazel. “You are chief of chiefs?”

Mazel nodded. “Cadell gave it to me.”

That was surprising. Clansmen thought honour was the be all and all of life. For Cadell to give away leadership of the clans said to her that he had finally realised what was at stake. Better late than never she supposed.

“May I say something?”

“You may speak,” Mazel said and sat down to listen.

Julia stroked her broach as she studied the group of shaman sitting close by. Many of them would not meet her eyes and looked down or away. She dismissed them with a glance. She found warriors that she knew watching her and those she did not. Finally she turned back to the chiefs. Kornel sat at one end still white faced from his loss. He sat alone almost willing himself away from things. He looked halfway toward being outcast already. There was nothing Julia could do about that, but Petya and others were now ready to fight to the death to kill Navarien. She would need them all. She would use them.

“Those that were there know what went right and what went wrong,” Julia said, “but all know we are up against something even three clans could not handle. We are eight clans now. Eight clans against thirty thousand legionnaires. I know you don’t want to hear this, but Keverin says—said that you have no chance against that many if you attack head on like—” she broke off and turned to Mazel. “Was it yesterday?”

Mazel nodded.

“As you did yesterday. Lord Jihan is a great warrior, do you agree?”

“Yes,” Mazel said.

“Never seen better with a blade—”

“Petya’s boy did well to hold him as long as he did—”

Julia raised her voice to be heard. “I have spoken with Jihan and he says the plain is no place to fight the legions. We need to fight together, every one of us. Swords are no use against magic, but shamen are. Shamen should fight the sorcerers, and warriors should fight the legionnaires, but not here.”

Pandemonium!

Warriors were shouting and denouncing her as an outclanner. Others were shouting that they would never leave the plains. The more that was said the more her anger built. She grasped her magic and a peal of thunder shook the sky.

Silent and fearful faces regarded her.

“Do you want to die here?” she snarled. “Do you? What of your families? Is it not better to fight elsewhere and win so you might return in peace?”

“Yes… yes it is better, but where will we go?” Mazel said.

“South. We collect everyone at Denpasser and make toward Deva. The hills will give us more chance to fight the legion and win. I destroyed one in those hills last year. Why not do it again?”

She sat down while the chiefs discussed the situation. It wouldn’t be as easy as she had made it seem; Jihan had made that all too plain, but at least the hills would give them some cover. There was one other advantage; she would be closer to Malcor. Jihan might even bring the new army to fight on the clan’s side. She could hope. Either way, she would make Navarien pay.

* * *

24 ~ Infiltration

Lorcan put away his shielded mirror and eased back from the legion camp. The cursed thing was well designed and guarded, but there was one place less secure. The jakes. He could smell the pits even from here. It was little wonder the sentries avoided it. Lord Keverin would have shouted the place down if his men had been so lax as to leave a hole in the defences like this.

He held absolutely still as he silently counted the sentries and their paces along the wall. It was as he had thought. As soon as the legionnaires caught a whiff of the jakes, they cut short their patrol and retraced their steps. He double and triple checked but every time was the same within a pace or two. By the God, he hoped the wind didn’t shift!

He pulled a dagger from his boot sheath. He had blackened his hands and face with soot from the campfire and had stolen a set of clothes from Darlinia. She was roughly his size. Rattling beads was something he did not need on a raid like this. He was sure she wouldn’t mind him taking them. They were her leathers, not that he had asked or anything, but she was nice. She would understand.

With blackened dagger in hand, he crawled silently toward the camp until he reached the ditch. A good idea this, he thought as he lowered himself carefully down. There was no way a horse would charge a ditch and wall studded with sharpened stakes like this, but they proved no obstacle to a single man alone. He reached the bottom careful not to knock against the wood. Any sound on a night like this would carry a long way and see the end of him and his self assigned mission.

Climbing the earthwork was both harder and easier than the ditch had been. Easier in that the wall was sloping even if only a little, harder in that he had to stop and flatten to the ground periodically when the sentries approached. Each time he held his breath and released it when they turned away again. He continued up the slope wondering how he was going to cross the open space inside the camp.

He would worry about that when the time came.

Lorcan halted again when he reached the top. Now was the time for someone to see him. As soon as he left the slope he would be vulnerable. There was just a sliver of moon, but someone might still see his silhouette. He counted the paces of the sentries and at fifty rolled across the top and partway down the other side. At sixty, he stopped and flattened this time on the shallower inside slope. He prayed to the God, to his dead parents, he even prayed to the Lady that he hadn’t been seen. He listened intently for an alarm or outcry, but none came. He raised his head in time to see the sentries turning away to continue their useless patrol. He grinned then shut his mouth in case someone saw the flash of his teeth in the starlight. His paranoia had never been so great. Not even stalking a target in the streets of Devarr had heightened his awareness of danger like this. Even thoughts of magic were probably dangerous with this many sorcerers around!

He slid the rest of the way down the slope trying not to breath. He took shallow lungfuls of the disgusting stink and wanted to vomit, but a noise froze the bile in his throat. By the God, someone was in the tent right now! He hesitated but this might prove a boon not a bane. He edged closer trying not to imagine what the man was doing just the other side of the canvas. He glanced quickly around but saw no one nearby. Gently he slit the tent and looked inside. Gah! The man was right in front of him with his trousers down! He slit the tent further, and then with a prayer he lunged forward to stab the man in the kidney.

“Ahh!”

Lorcan winced at the noise. He withdrew the dagger and plunged it into the legionnaire’s windpipe. The whistling and gurgling noises were quiet compared with the earlier outcry. He stepped over the dying man and peeked through the gap in the tent flap. There was another legionnaire standing a short distance away and looking in the direction of the tent.

“You all right, Sergeant?”

Lorcan thought fast and grunted a reply.

“Nevin?” the legionnaire looked both ways and approached the tent.

Lorcan stepped to the side and waited.

The instant the man’s head appeared, Lorcan struck. This time no outcry sounded as his dagger found its way into the man’s throat. He staggered as the full weight of the armoured man fell into the tent. He struggled to guide the corpse fully inside the tent listening frantically for others nearby. He succeeded in dropping the man next to his sergeant and again checked outside. He breathed easier when he saw a quiet nighttime camp.

No one stirred.

Now was the moment he had tried not to think about. Yes it was dark, and yes no one was near, but if he walked out there the sentries would have him before he could do anything. He scanned his surroundings but saw nothing to help. Directly ahead were thousands of tents housing sleeping legionnaires and in the centre of that area, again surrounded by open space, were the sorcerers. All the tents were a long way from his location. Not a surprise when considering the stench emanating from the pits. To the right he could see what must be the baggage. There were a great many carts sitting in ranks hub to hub, but again they were too far away across open ground. Sorcerers and legionnaires were the only people able to walk freely out there, and he wasn’t one!

Lorcan looked back at his guests. What if he were a legionnaire? He grinned and stripped the smaller man. Both legionnaires were bigger men than he, but in the dark he hoped he might go unremarked. He shoved the bodies into the stinking pits and vomited over the side as the most horrendous stench erupted with the impact. He watched the bodies float for a moment before they turned over and sank beneath the filth.

He tried to duck out of the tent as if he belonged in the camp. He nearly ruined the effect he was trying to create when he tripped over his scabbard. His hand clasped the hilt of his sword instinctively, and straight away he felt easier. The weapon was reassuring in his grasp, but guiding the scabbard clear of his scissoring legs was the main reason for his sense of ease.

He made directly toward the tents, keeping his eyes darting all over looking for danger. He could feel magic ahead but he kept his stride even and unhurried. Sorcerers were what he had come for. Well, one sorcerer really. Demophon was the cause of all this. The cause of the Lady’s grief and his. If Demophon hadn’t kidnapped her they would all be living happily at Athione now. Instead, the Lord was dead and the Lady wished she was. The wonderful future Lorcan had thought would be his when Julia found him was lost to him now. All he had left was revenge. Julia had been full of life and love for the Lord, but now she was full of hate and grief. It was time the God received Demophon back, and Lorcan had decided he was the man to send him.

Two men stepped out of a tent directly ahead. Without hesitation Lorcan ducked into the nearest tent. There were snores all around. He tried not to breathe as his eyes flicked to the men lying at his feet. There were at least ten legionnaires crammed in the tent. He listened to the men outside discuss something as they walked.

“—for trying Anius, but he seemed worse. Wotan is too busy—I wouldn’t feel comfortable asking him to heal prisoners.”

Prisoners? What prisoners? Shelim hadn’t said anything about that. Were there clansmen here? If there were, he realised he might be able to use them for a diversion by freeing them.

“Not at all, General. You may have noticed my attitude is somewhat different to other sorcerers I could name.”

“Now that you mention it, I have noticed,” Navarien said dryly.

“Lucius was a good friend of mine, General. You knew him did you not?”

By the God! If he could kill the General, the war would be over! He peeked out through the tent flap but hastily dropped it again when the black robed sorcerer frowned and looked around suspiciously.

“What is it?” Navarien said.

“I’m not sure. I thought I felt—no, it’s gone. As I was saying, Lucius and I were friends during our training. We were both assigned to Second Legion while you fought in Bandar. I never met you, but I understand you and Lucius had dealings.”

“I was a captain then,” Navarien said. “Lucius spoke up for me when I argued against an order. He used his mirror to scry the Bandarians and found that I was correct. That led directly to my first command as General.”

“I know…”

Lorcan did not dare take the chance. He was here for Demophon, not this man, but the temptation was almost overwhelming. He breathed a sigh of relief as the two men started on their way again. When the voices were no longer audible, he stepped outside and continued on toward his target. He was shaking with fear and excitement as he made his way toward the sorcerer’s tents. Demophon’s was the fourth from the right he remembered, but what if he wasn’t in there? He grinned as fear almost overwhelmed him. He would wait for eternity if he had to. There was no way Demophon was getting away with killing his lord! Should he see to these prisoners first or wait until it was time to flee? There were good reasons not to free them yet, if he did they might be caught and cause an alarm before he could deal with Demophon.

He stopped and cursed the General for telling him about the prisoners. He had to free them first in case he was caught before he had the chance. It was not fair to leave them when there was a chance for escape. He turned aside from the sorcerer’s tents and instead ducked into the one the General had come from. He looked up to see dozens of snarling faces, but the one in the centre had him gasping in shock.

* * *

Wotan shook his head at the image in the mirror. “Everything is fine here, but what of you?”

His father smiled. “The loss of Ravelyn has angered Beltran something fierce, but he won’t get far. Other than that, I’m well enough my son. Felda will see to it no harm befalls Mortain while the purge continues.”

“That will take some getting used to. I think I will call you father as usual if that’s all right?”

Mortain grinned and nodded that it was. “Have you discovered any guardians in your command?”

“No, none. The only man even remotely like a guardian is Odelyn.”

“Odelyn?” Mortain said and looked down for a moment. “This is what it says about him: A man who will sacrifice anything and anyone to gain his goal; a fine sorcerer, but not to be trusted.”

“That’s him,” Wotan agreed.

“His failure to deal with Lady Julia deserves death. Why have you not dealt with him?”

“You know my feelings regarding that—”

“Feelings have no place in leadership,” Mortain said. “Remember what I said before you embarked ship last year?”

“Force has its place, and I agree with that, but not here. I only have so many sorcerers. I can little afford to kill those I have.”

“A campaign has never had as many as you command, Wotan. You have more than enough to complete the task.—Julia or no Julia. I order you to kill Odelyn for his failure. Further, you will inform your brothers that any who repeat his failure will suffer the same fate.” Mortain took a breath and proceeded more calmly. “I know it’s harsh my son, but there is nothing more important to the Protectorate at this moment than Julia’s death.”

“As you command my lord sorcerer,” Wotan said coldly. The mirror turned black then cleared to show its normal reflection once more. “Well, what do you think of that?”

“He’s under pressure,” Magar said from where he was sitting upon the bed. “It’s not you, Wotan. It’s the responsibility. He’s Mortain now and—”

“Who is?” Demophon said as he entered.

Magar shot to his feet and blocked Demophon’s path. “I did not hear you ask entrance.”

“I apologise,” Demophon said to Wotan ignoring Magar.

“It’s all right, let him in.”

Magar gave Demophon one last glare before stepping aside. Demophon came fully inside and sat in the chair indicated by Wotan. Magar stood at the entrance of the tent within a pace of Demophon’s back glaring all the while.

“To what do I owe this visit?” Wotan said with a polite smile, but then he frowned. It was obvious Demophon was ill at ease about something, but what it was he could not imagine.

“I crave your indulgence, Wotan. Did I overhear that your father is now Mortain?”

“As a matter of fact you did,” Wotan said even more puzzled as Demophon paled. “Mortain died rather suddenly—an accident, or so I was told. My father was summoned to the Black Isle. He is our new Mortain.”

Demophon was quiet.

Wotan looked at Magar in puzzlement, but Magar shook his head. He didn’t understand what was going on either.

“I will inform Navarien of the news first of course. Tomorrow I will tell our brothers. Our orders are unchanged in any case.”

“I see,” Demophon said wiping sweat from his brow. “I see. I came to tell you Wotan… to warn you that…”

“Go on my friend. You came to warn me?”

Demophon glanced behind him but not at Magar. He was trying to see outside. “Ah… yes, forgive me. This is hard for me. Odelyn is somewhat of a friend of mine you see, and it’s hard betraying that. I have talked to him—I have tried to dissuade him but he is very angry about… things.”

“I know what he is angry about” Wotan said grimly. “Are you saying he has threatened me?”

“I’m sure he did not mean—” Demophon broke off then nodded. “Yes I’m afraid so,” he said glancing worriedly over his shoulder.

“Who are you looking for? Is he coming now?” Wotan said and nodded to Magar to take a look.

“I’m not sure,” Demophon said. “I left him talking with Anius.”

Magar stepped back inside and shook his head.

Wotan thought for a moment. “Find him. You know what to do.”

Magar nodded and left.

“He’s going to kill him?”

Wotan nodded. “Mortain ordered it for his failure to kill Julia. I should have killed him aboard ship before we arrived.”

Demophon was quiet.

“I’m sorry for your friend, Demophon, but I cannot allow him to attack me or impede what I’m trying to do here.”

“I understand my lord sorcerer. I wish he had listened to me.”

“As do I.”

“I think I’ll go for a walk, my lord sorcerer. Clear my head as it were.”

Wotan nodded and took Demophon’s hand. “I thank you for the warning. We should talk more often my friend.”

Demophon smiled weakly and left in a hurry.

* * *

“You don’t… make a very… convincing legionnaire,” said a weak voice.

Lorcan gaped then spun to check outside. Everything was quiet but the plan had changed—drastically! He turned back and moved to untie his lord’s bonds but there weren’t any!

“Magic lad,” Burke growled. “They tied all of us hand and foot with their cursed magic.”

“How many… how many… of you are there?” a white faced Keverin whispered.

“Are you injured my—” Lorcan began then saw the stump. “I’m sorry m’lord.”

“I’ll live. Maybe I will. If Julia were here I would have no doubt, but the sorcerers… sorcerers do things… differently.”

The guardsmen spat at the mention of the sorcerer’s so-called healing. “It hurts something awful lad,” Burke whispered. “Alvin nearly screamed the tent down, and he only had a scratch!”

“A scratch!” Alvin whispered in outrage. “I was nearly dead!”

Lorcan ignored the whispers as he grasped his magic and used his sight to study their bonds. Would the sorcerers have done anything tricky, or would they have used a simple magic rope? It looked simple, which was lucky as anything too complex would be beyond him. He sent a prayer winging its way to the God and one to the Lady then applied his magic to the glowing matrix; it died instantly.

Thank the God!

“Thanks,” Burke said and drew the sword hanging at Lorcan’s waist.

Burke went to the tent flap to keep watch while Lorcan released everyone. He was worried about Keverin. The lord had not moved from his position against the centre post. His face was white, completely devoid of colour and he was sweating profusely.

“What’s wrong with the Lord?” he whispered to Burke as he joined him at the tent flap. “He doesn’t look good.”

“I don’t know for sure. He’s been like that since the battle. The General called a sorcerer to see to him, but the healing only fixed the stump. I think he was kicked in the head when Cavell went down. I didn’t see it, but I know what it’s like.”

“Will he be all right?”

Burke shrugged. “About as much as the rest of us I’m thinking. There’s only you. I’m right aren’t I?”

He nodded. “Julia thinks him dead. She’s leading the clans away south. She’s different now Burke. She’s cold and hard and doesn’t care what happens as long as she can kill sorcerers.”

“Don’t tell him, lad. It will only make things worse. Have you a plan?”

“I came in through the jakes. If I can get some armour for you we could pretend to take him there.”

“Can you do it?”

“I can try,” Lorcan said grimly. “I will.”

Burke handed the sword back and Lorcan sheathed it. He took one last look around and stepped into the night. Behind him as he made for the tent he had earlier ducked into, Burke pulled the tent flap closed leaving a tiny gap to keep watch.

Lorcan stopped outside the tent and looked around. The other tents shielded him very well but he did not hang about. He ducked into the tent and quietly went to work with a dagger. After silently killing all ten of the legionnaires, he gathered up two sets of armour. They were heavy and he struggled to carry it all. Now was the time to get caught, he thought, but again the God was on his side and he was not seen.

“Well done lad!” Burke said clapping Lorcan so hard on the shoulder that he nearly fell. “Alvin, put this on. I’ll take the other set.”

Burke quickly pulled on the armour and waited impatiently for Alvin. Lorcan meanwhile was examining Keverin. He didn’t know what it meant, but one of Keverin’s pupils was larger than the other—by a lot. He seemed able to see all right, and he was speaking all be it haltingly, but he was worried.

“There’s another eight if you want them,” he said over his shoulder.

“You killed ten?” Burke said.

“Twelve. The other two are in the pits.”

Burke just stared at him.

“Are you ready to try this?” he said uncomfortable with the stare.

Burke hesitated. “I don’t want to stay any longer than I must, but the armour—no, we go now.”

“You’re Sergeant Nevin if anyone asks.”

Burke nodded without asking questions though it was obvious he wanted to. Lorcan led the group as confidently as he could with Burke by his side. The men pretended to have their hands tied behind them and walked holding Keverin on his feet in the centre. Alvin walked behind with his sword in hand hoping to look like a rear guard. Lorcan thought the whole thing screamed of an escape attempt, but as he got closer and closer to the jakes his hopes rose.

“Stop!” a voice commanded from out of the darkness.

Lorcan turned to see who was there. His heart sank as he recognised the man’s clothes. This was a sorcerer.

“Where are you taking these men?”

Lorcan thought fast. “To the latrine, my lord sorcerer.”

The dark figure nodded. “Carry on.”

“Yes my lord sorcerer. You heard him Sergeant.”

Burke saluted in the legion fashion and moved on.

“Stop!” the sorcerer said again and moved into the meagre light.

Lorcan stared in disbelief. It was Demophon and he was coming within reach, but then he remembered that the sorcerer would recognise him. He didn’t know what to do for the best. Magic was out; Demophon was too powerful.

“You called this man sergeant. Where is his rank insignia?”

“I—”

“That voice… where do I know you from?”

“I don’t… you don’t know me, my lord sorcerer,” Lorcan said moving close enough to strike. It was all he could think of.

“I’m sure I know that voice,” Demophon said and then he gasped in recognition. “You!”

Lorcan could see the shock in the man’s eyes even as he made his dagger drop from his sleeve. The smooth handle of his best blade dropped comfortingly into his cupped palm without the sorcerer seeing it, but then the sky lit up with an explosion. Demophon spun to see a tremendous column of fire reaching for the sky and Lorcan lunged.

“Ooof!” Demophon said as he sailed back with Lorcan on top of him.

“This is for Julia,” he growled and plunged the dagger to the hilt in the sorcerer’s black heart.

“Gahhh!” the sound exploded from Demophon and his eyes widened in shock. “Odelyn you bast—” he gurgled as he died.

Lorcan stared into the dead eyes and wondered who Odelyn was. Burke was staring at the fire and the others had stopped to gape. Lorcan cursed viciously. Did he have to do everything?

“Move, move, move!”

Burke jumped and everyone ran. Keverin ended up over the shoulder of one of his men as they ran through the camp. Thousands of legionnaires erupted out of their tents yelling questions and gaping at the column of fire. No one stopped them, though some did try. Lorcan and Burke shoved them aside and in a couple of instances stabbed them with their daggers.

“What’s going on?” a sentry shouted from his place on the wall.

Lorcan didn’t have time for a chat. He threw his dagger and killed the man. Burke dragged Keverin over the wall and killed the other sentry as he tried to give the alarm. Another explosion lit the sky and camp both, and then plunged it into darkness just as quickly. Lorcan blinked his dazzled eyes and cursed. His night vision was ruined!

“This way!” Alvin shouted and Lorcan followed the voice.

Lorcan barely escaped impaling as he fell into the ditch. From the screams nearby someone else wasn’t as lucky. The screams died away into sobbing gurgles, which quickly ceased only to be replaced by the grunts of climbing men. Lorcan rolled over the top of the ditch and located Keverin. The lord was stumbling away from the camp, but he was going the wrong way. Lorcan dashed ahead of Alvin and snagged the wayward lord.

Keverin swung on him and he ducked. “For the God’s sake don’t do that!” he snarled into his lord’s blinking eyes.

“I can’t see. My… my eyes… I’m blind.”

“No you’re not. The fire ruined your night vision—mine too.”

Lorcan was panting with more than tiredness when Burke and the others finally caught up and surrounded their lord. Alvin took Keverin’s other arm and Valin took over from Lorcan. Lorcan stopped to stare back at the camp as more fire lit the sky followed by a lightning bolt that stabbed down into the centre of camp. The sorcerers were fighting amongst themselves; he hoped they all killed each other.

“Where to?” Burke shouted.

“River first,” he said panting. “My horse is there. I don’t have another, but we can put the Lord in the saddle at least.

“You mount up and take him to the Lady.”

“What of you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Burke said grimly.

“No,” Keverin whispered. “No. Together or none—”

“Take no notice, he’s out of his head. The General will have a patrol after us any time now. As soon as it’s light, the cursed sorcerers will be using mirrors to find us. You have to go, and go quickly!”

Burke was right, but it was hard. These men were his friends and he didn’t want to leave them. It was a sure thing his magic wasn’t strong enough to deter the Hasians, but what if…

“Listen. I’ll take him with me, the rest of you swim across the river. They won’t bother crossing after you.”

“No,” Burke said. “We’ll fight to slow them down.”

“Don’t be a cursed fool! We only have three swords! Cross the river and you’ll all be safe. I can outrun them I swear!” he said putting as much sincerity into his words as he could. Of course, he was only hoping, but there was a chance at least.

“Order you…” Keverin mumbled. “…order you to cross.”

As the horse came into sight near the riverbank, Burke turned to his men. “Into the water lads, you heard the lord.”

Lorcan caught the reins and held his horse as Alvin and Burke shoved Keverin into the saddle. Behind them Lorcan heard curses as men dumped their armour and jumped into the frigid water. Keverin was lying across the horse’s neck, but he was clinging on.

“Up you go lad,” Burke said.

Lorcan climbed into the saddle as Alvin jumped into the river with his sword in hand. It was awkward mounting like this, but with Burke’s help he finally managed to get comfortable.

“Don’t stop for nothing lad. Denpasser—that’s where you need to go.”

Lorcan nodded and kicked the horse into a trot. Behind him, a lone man dropped his armour and jumped into the river.

* * *

25 ~ Retreat

“Absolutely not captain!” Navarien said. “You will wait until Bannan and Duer reach you. Is that understood?”

“Yes Sir, but I can see the place is deserted even from here. There’s only one building. Admittedly it’s big, but not big enough to hide enough warriors to inconvenience me.”

“Hmmm, you are positive?”

“No doubt at all Sir!”

Navarien looked at Wotan in question, but the sorcerer ceded the decision to him with a shrug and a shake of the head.

He nodded after a moment. “Move in and hold Denpasser, Captain. Push out scouts from there but do not advance until your reinforcements arrive. Clear?”

“Yes Sir!” Corbin saluted with a grin. The mirror cleared and Corbin’s image was replaced by that of a sorcerer.

He handed the mirror back to its owner with thanks, and turned to study his maps. “If Denpasser truly is deserted we can move forward and use it as our next camp.”

“That was a good idea someone had. I wouldn’t have thought of it,” Wotan said in admiration.

Navarien nodded in agreement. Denpasser was completely shrouded in a ward preventing it being seen by mirror. He had thought, wrongly it turned out, that the clans were using it to shield some kind of trap, but with Corbin’s latest communication he was beginning to think the clans were trying to be too clever.

“They used it to slow us down,” he said sweeping his hands forward on the map. “They knew that being unable to see would make us cautious and slow our advance.”

“But now we know what they’re up to we can quicken the pace,” Wotan said with a glance at Magar.

Before Navarien could refute that, Magar did it for him. “Not so. We could be wrong, or worse we could be right and become over confident.”

Navarien nodded in approval. “Yes exactly. When we scry ahead and find a ward, it is natural to hold back and be wary. Do that a few times and we’ll be jumping at shadows, but if we don’t do it we could fall into a trap.”

“I see. When we don’t detect a ward we still have to be wary lest the clans have something tricky hidden in the grass.”

“Exactly so. Corbin will find Denpasser empty I have no doubt. What I do doubt is that the clans will allow us to advance uncontested.”

A short while later Navarien again spoke with Corbin and had his supposition confirmed. Denpasser was indeed abandoned. Navarien immediately resumed the march with the intention of consolidating his forces at Denpasser before proceeding on.

As he rode he absently wondered if Lord Athione had survived and secretly hoped that he had. He admired the man. Anyone who could aspire to have the bitch sorceress for his consort deserved respect! Seriously though, he doubted the lord was a threat any longer. Without Keverin by her side Julia might become completely uncontrollable. It was better that Keverin, crippled or not, was returned to her.

The night of Keverin’s escape was still very fresh in his memory. The overwhelming image that came to him was of fire climbing into the sky as Magar deflected Odelyn’s strike upward, followed quickly by his lightning. Seeing the lightning stabbing down had brought his campaign against Athione surging back to him. He had thought Julia had come to take her revenge upon him. He had gone straight away to retrieve Keverin for use as a hostage. Not very honourable he now thought, but if it saved his men from Julia’s wrath, so be it. Only it hadn’t happened that way. He had found the prisoner’s tent empty and a trail of corpses, including Demophon’s, leading over the east wall and away across the plain. With so much confusion it had seemed inadvisable to order a search, especially when the darkness could have hidden every clansmen on the plain with ease. Wotan had since offered to search with the mirror but Navarien knew that Keverin’s torque would prevent that. Rather than explain his now aborted plan for Keverin, he had declined the offer.

It was noon the following day when they arrived at Denpasser. Corbin and the others were waiting for him. As soon as he had a moment to spare, he listened to their reports.

“The patrols are still out, Sir,” Bannan began and the other two captains nodded. “Reports so far seem to agree that the clans are heading straight south.”

“Any encounters with their warriors?” Navarien questioned.

“None Sir. The tracks are the only reason we know we’re not alone out here.”

So, it was true. Curse them!

He needed a battle and a decisive victory to bring this campaign to a happy resolution. Without that, he would be chasing the clans all over the plain for years to come. Unfortunately, someone had taken steps to deny him the encounter he needed.

“Follow me to the maps gentleman,” he said and led the way.

The now common sight of an awning covered table was set not far from the ruined building. It was unfortunate the roof was no longer intact; it would have made a fine map room. By the time he reached the table, all of his captains and sorcerers were assembled. He was coming to think of these men as a command staff. With the good offices of the sorcerers here present, he could order any battalion to move and could therefore control the battlefield—in theory at least, and that was what he needed to discuss.

“I think we can all agree that the clans are not simply running,” he said. “That being the case, what are they doing?”

“Planning an ambush?” Corbin said.

Bannan shook his head. “It’s more likely they’re trying to manoeuvre and get behind us.”

Navarien listened to various schemes that the clans might be hatching, some had merit; others were outlandish. Tikva was the only one not taking part.

“What is your opinion, Captain?” Navarien said expecting he already knew.

Tikva looked at the map and began pointing out various features of the land. The plain was for the most part flat and well drained grassland. There were patches of trees too small to call forests dotted around, but by far and away flat grassland prevailed. Not so the lands along the Devan border.

“I believe they intend to use these hills, Sir,” Tikva said. “The clansmen are used to fighting in the open, but we all know the tales of warriors being able to hide behind a blade of grass.”

“Cursed little we’ve seen of it,” Nissus said.

“Not so,” Navarien interjected. “What of the march to Calvados? I doubt anyone here could forget that march so soon.”

The captains winced at the reminder of that time and nodded grimly. They remembered very well and were not eager for a repeat performance.

“As I was saying,” Tikva continued. “These hills represent the only decent terrain for leagues around. One could say they represent the only terrain. The plain does not lend itself to creative tactics.”

“I agree,” Navarien said. He was pleased that Tikva saw it as he did. “They will use the hills in an effort to split our formations—”

“And they will succeed,” Tikva said finishing the sentence.

“Precisely. They cannot help but succeed when I dare not allow them to get behind me. I need a battle gentleman. I cannot win without one. The clans however do not need to fight to beat us; all they need do is make us chase them. Lucky for us, they do not seem to know that. I have no doubt the clans will fight to the death rather than be pushed into Deva, which is fine by me.”

Everyone chuckled; even the sorcerers were amused. Wotan had forged his people into an integral part of the legion just as he had promised. The ease with which his men now mingled with them was a good indication of how successful he had been.

“Suggestions?” Navarien said.

Corbin was first. “Flush them out with cavalry.”

Tikva and the others disagreed and so did Navarien. The obvious reason was that eight thousand cavalry would find themselves overwhelmed in short order by the full weight of the clans.

“Magic,” Wotan said once the others ran out of ideas.

“Magic will play an important part,” Navarien agreed. “Warding the men and bombarding the enemy when the chance arises will be important in the hills. Just as the clans will try to break us up, we must do the same to them. This will primarily be an infantry battle gentleman. It has to be that way. The hills will tend to obscure the battlefield, and charging into the unknown is not my idea of fun.”

Corbin didn’t agree. “I like charging!”

Everyone laughed.

“So do I, but only when I know what I’m charging at, and that I will win.”

“Agreed,” Tikva said and the others nodded.

“If you will all turn your attention to the map?” Navarien said doing the same. “These hills, of which there are hundreds, vary in height widely. Some are little more than mounds; others are decent sized hills even by legion standards. There is no way to be certain short of the engagement just how the clans expect to stop us, but regardless of what they intend to do, I want these hills here,” Navarien circled an area with a finger near the centre of the hilly area. “And here,” another hill south of the first was circled, “Under our control.”

Tikva nodded. “These are the highest I assume,” he said and without waiting for confirmation, he went on. “They will control much of the surrounding terrain.”

“Not only that, they will give us advanced warning of clan movements. They do have effective wards, but assuming we successfully take and hold these hills, scrying will not be necessary to find them.”

There were appreciative murmurs, but Tikva had reservations. “Holding these areas will tie up men Sir. The clans still outnumber us and—”

Navarien broke in. “Not too many. Once taken, each outpost will be left with two maniples and a strong contingent of mages. At the first sign of attack they will call us so that we can hit the warriors even as they attack the outpost.”

“Hmmm. Bait as well as observation post? I like it!” Tikva said with enthusiasm.

Pointing to the map Navarien continued his planning. “The river here will bear watching. It’s the only convenient water supply for the clans, but it could also provide them with cover if they try to move between our observation points. I want some of your fastest scouts patrolling along its course with orders to run at the first sign of trouble. Reporting is more important than killing a few warriors.”

“I have some good men in mind Sir,” Corbin said.

“Fine. That just leaves the final disposition of the men to discuss. I won’t jog your elbows regarding your tactics in battle. You’ve all been with me long enough to know what I like and don’t like, but don’t forget we have Deva to deal with once this is done. Our men are precious. There certainly won’t be any more where they came from. Not for a long time to come.”

That was an understatement. Wotan had explained the reason for the greenness of the recruits at Calvados. The bulk of them had been recruited as Third Legion’s replacements. Every spare man had been assembled and shipped to Calvados including the sergeants tasked with training them. That meant back home there were no more recruits and no one to train them even if there had been! Mortain had made sure that this campaign did not fail as the Protectorate had failed last year. It was just one sign of how important he considered this war.

“I would like to add something to that if I may?”

“Of course Wotan, go right ahead.”

“I just wanted to say that I agree with your words and that my sorcerers will be on hand to help. They will ensure losses are light.”

“I thank you for that Wotan, but that may prove difficult. We of the legions know only too well how easily circumstances can change for the worse. Doing your best is all we expect, but knowing you as I do I’m sure it will be enough.”

A rumble of agreement swept around the table. Wotan nodded pleased with all the support.

“Now then,” Navarien began. “I want Captains Corbin, Bannan, and Duer to take and hold—”

As he gave his orders, his thoughts reached out to the battle to come. It was more likely to be battles than a single confrontation. In his mind’s eye, he saw clan warriors attempting to flank him, but being spotted by the observation posts atop the hills. Sorcerers spoke into mirrors, and a battalion split away to chase down the warriors and deal with them before casually rejoining the main body ready for the next fight.

Navarien smiled. Fifth Legion was about to march into history as the first Protectorate legion to enter Deva.

* * *

Interlude V

Talitha sat slumped in a chair staring at nothing. The parchment lay discarded on the floor and she was alone. The Matriarch was never alone, but she had screamed in rage and ordered Tymek and his men out of the room. They had obeyed in fear for their lives.

Ranen was dead.

They had been married less than a year and he was dead. She hated him! No she didn’t. She loved him and that was worse. It felt like she had died with him. When the letters arrived, she had sat here to read them full of a strange excitement. Ranen had been overwhelmed with her news. He loved her more than life—

Talitha closed her eyes as the tears welled up and spilled over again. He thought the name Armina was perfect for their daughter, a daughter without a father now! The letter was like him, full of excitement, but it had just stopped in mid-sentence. Then she had opened the second scroll from Prince Bevyn and her world ended. A cowardly assassin had killed her love, killed her heart, and taken away the most important thing in her life.

At the knock on the door, she looked up to see Nekane standing white faced in the doorway.

“Get out,” she snarled.

Nekane shook his head wordlessly.

If Tymek had been here, Nekane would have been thrown out by now but Talitha had sent everyone away yesterday. “Get out or I’ll—” she sighed and left it at that. She had no energy to reprimand him let alone order his execution.

“Matriarch, I’m so sorry but the army—”

“Which army?” she said with little interest. She stared at the letters lying at her feet.

“Bevyn’s army… it’s destroyed,” Nekane whispered.

“Oh,” she said. It was all she could say.

The door clicked shut leaving her alone in the dark. She had to be strong as never before. Her daughter would need her to be strong, so that is what she must be. Japura needed her to be strong; her people needed her. Nothing had changed about that, but it felt different. All their plans had meant nothing in the end. Wakiza defeated, Bevyn defeated, and now Ranen dead. Perhaps she was meant to be the last Matriarch. Nothing lasts forever. Perhaps it was just Japura’s time.

No! Her daughter must rule in her turn. That was the way it had been for thousands of years. That was how it was meant to be, and how it would be, but how? Yes, that is what she had to think about. How was Armina to rule a defeated Japura? Sue for peace and hope the evil Vexin accepted?

Never!

She would never make peace with the man who killed Ranen, but what else was there? There was not enough time to train another army. If she ordered every man to take up arms regardless of age and training she could field an army of stupendous proportions, but any army needed horses, and food, and swords, and armour. Where was she to get all that? It was said that Deva was building an army. Maybe Gylaren would come to her aid. No, he had the Hasians to worry about.

She needed allies. The Hasians were treacherous and the Devans could not help. That left only Tindebrai. Even after meeting with Verner a dozen times, she still knew so little about the Empire, but did that really matter now? She knew it was large. Waipara as a whole could fit within Marzina’s borders with ease. That meant the Empress needed a strong army to hold what she had.

She needed a go between, Talitha decided. She needed Verner.

* * *

26 ~ Illusion

“How did she know?” Mazel whispered.

Shelim kept utterly motionless as he watched the outclanners move warily by his hiding place. Behind them, they had left a warded camp on a hilltop to keep watch.

“You know how she is now,” Shelim said. “She does not explain. She doesn’t seem to care whether we do what she says or not.”

“Seem?”

“Ah well. Kerrion says she does care; cares very much. He says she is holding her feelings in, because if she let them out she would destroy us all. I don’t know about that, but if she could destroy these outclanners I wouldn’t complain.”

Mazel shook his head. “Outclanners are strange people…” he raised a hand to stop his protest. “I know of the farce you and Kerrion concocted and it doesn’t matter to me. If you wish to call her a Night Wind shaman that is your affair and Kadar’s, not mine.”

“It’s not a farce. She is Julia of the Night Wind now. Kadar thinks highly of her and so do you. Why else are we here?”

Mazel shifted uncomfortably at the reminder. He was chief of chiefs, but more often than not he did what Julia said. A few days ago, he had followed her advice to come here and fight in the hills, but now it felt as if he did nothing without first asking her advice. He did not like it, but the people were more important than his pride.

Shelim knew what Mazel was feeling; it impressed him that a warrior such as he could put aside both his pride and feelings for the good of all. Not many warriors would do the same. Certainly Tobiah had not.

“It doesn’t matter whether she guessed or knew in some other way,” Shelim went on. “All that matters is that she continues to be right.”

Mazel agreed with a nod. “Maybe she was a warrior in her previous life. The warrior within her told her these things.”

He stifled a laugh. “Perhaps she was a Horse Clan chief.”

Mazel’s humour faded as he watched the arrogant outclanners file by without realising how close to death they had come. “Perhaps she was,” he said seriously.

Shelim eyed him suspiciously, but Mazel was intent upon watching the enemy. He shielded his mirror from the meagre light of the dawning sky and called the image to the glass. Mazel moved in closer and together they watched the sorcerers atop the hill.

“I make it two hundred warriors,” Mazel said.

Shelim nodded. “And ten sorcerers.”

“We could kill them all easily,” Mazel said hungrily.

“Not easily, but we could do it.”

“I know, I know. We must follow the plan—Julia’s plan.”

“I know it’s hard, but she does know what she’s doing.”

“So far,” Mazel agreed.

Shelim changed the image and found the second Hasian camp. Again it was atop a hill giving them a good all round view of the land.

“This one is further south,” he said. “Both together?”

“That would be best,” Mazel agreed. “Today we plan this battle, tomorrow we kill.”

“Tomorrow,” he agreed taking one last look at the outclanners before fading back and following Mazel.

Shelim edged back until he was well clear of the outclanner scouts before running hunched over on Mazel’s trail. The chief ran silently, as he did, and it wasn’t long before they reached the others.

“Was she right?” Allard asked eagerly. The chief had recovered well from his wounds and wanted to avenge himself upon the outclanners for the loss of his friends.

“Mazel nodded. We follow her plan.”

“Showing ourselves goes against tradition,” Petya said.

“We have all seen how successful tradition is against these outclanners,” Mazel said quickly forestalling a debate.

“That wasn’t what I was going to say,” Petya said to the other chiefs. “I was going to say that it goes against tradition, but that will work for us here. Everyone knows how we fight. By changing now we gain surprise.”

“Yes, the monster will be surprised I think,” Shelim agreed. “Whether he will catch on I don’t know.”

“I do,” Mazel said regaining the chief’s attention. “This man is good. Julia knows him, and many of the Lost have seen his men fighting in the cities. He will realise what we are doing, but not for a day or so.”

“That is all I need,” Kornel said.

“No,” Mazel disagreed. “But it’s all we will have. After that this war is going to become ugly.”

“All war is ugly Mazel,” Shelim pointed out.

“Before this time, before the End Times I would not have agreed, but now…” Mazel shrugged. “There is no honour to be found here, only life for our people… or death.”

There were grim faces and nods of agreement all round.

“Each troop will take enough shamen to ensure victory. I want no arguments! We destroy the outclanners as Julia has said then move on. We need to be fast. We cannot afford to be pinned in place. Strike and move, strike and move until there are none left.”

“We know the plan,” Petya said. “Let us hope the monster does not know it.”

“He doesn’t,” Shelim said, but he had to qualify that. “Not yet at least.”

With those parting words, the chiefs clasped hands with friends they might not see again and left to return to their warriors. Shelim took Mazel’s hand last of all and faded into the grass to wait for Kadar. As soon as Kadar had satisfied himself with the lay of the land hereabouts, they returned to camp together.

As soon as he reached the camp, Shelim knew Julia was missing. Keverin’s horse was not where she had been, neither were the mounts of her two friends. He hurried to find Kerrion hoping nothing was wrong, and found him talking with Darnath and the other Night Wind shamen.

Shelim sat cross-legged opposite his mentor. “Where is Julia?” Grim looks answered him. “Kerrion?” he said looking to his mentor to explain.

“She’s gone looking for trouble,” Kerrion sighed. “She won’t listen to me.”

“Looking for trouble?”

“She went to fight the outclanners, mentor,” Darnath said from his place next to Kerrion. “She said there was no harm starting early, and then she just left.”

“Mathius and Lucius galloped after her when they heard,” Gian said.

Shelim made to rise, but Kerrion clamped a hand upon his knee. “Don’t go, my boy. This is something she has to do. She will not thank her friends for interfering, nor you if you go.”

“But she’s in danger!”

Kerrion laughed. “We are all in danger.”

“But she’s—” Shelim broke off at the sound of thunder, but the sky was clear. “Thunder?”

Kerrion looked at the sky as the others were doing. “No, I think—”

Lightning stabbed down from the clear summer sky and grounded with a roar. Another bolt and another slammed into the hills in an unceasing cacophony of sound. The smell of ozone was strong in the air as silence finally returned.

“Two leagues north,” Shelim said. “Roughly two.”

They glanced at each other. “Julia,” they said together.

Again, the distant sound came to him as Julia fought her battle. What terrible rage was contained in that woman? To lose a love so great that death seemed preferable to living on alone must be the worst thing in the world. He hoped he never loved someone that much. It was more like an obsession than love. To turn away from life, was to waste that which the God had given her… It was wrong.

The next few candlemarks were split every now and then by the sound of Julia’s rage. No one called her to the mirror, or even reached out with their minds. None of them wanted to intrude upon her or her vengeance. Shelim sat quietly listening to the others, but each time Julia’s lightning hammered down everyone fell silent and looked to the sky wondering if this was the final time. The sky quieted once again and they resumed their conversations, but Shelim noticed the agitation among the warriors. He stood and went to see what was amiss.

“Nothing,” Kadar said.

“Something is bothering them,” Shelim said.

“Nothing to be done about it I meant. Julia is fighting while we sit and wait. That’s what’s bothering them.”

“And they want to join in?”

Kadar nodded. “So do I, but Mazel has ordered different. Tomorrow we fight and not before.”

Shelim wandered back to Kerrion. He was pleased that Kadar was doing as he should, but he did not blame the man for wanting to do differently; he felt the same. Julia should not have gone; she wasn’t following her own plan, yet she expected the clans to follow it.

Lightning hammered down again. Bolt after bolt grounding to the northwest this time. Shelim judged she was close to the river. After a moment his brothers ignored the noise and continued discussing the new magic they had learned from Lucius.

* * *

Julia ignored the shouts and screams of battle going on just ahead. A large contingent of cavalry had entered her hills yesterday and secured, or so they thought, two hills. By coincidence, the taller of the two was where she had hidden before annihilating a Hasian legion last year. The fight was coming to a close now with the clans the winner again. As Jihan had thought, the legion was at a disadvantage here and the clan warriors were using the land to wreak havoc.

“How many?” she asked coldly.

Mathius used his mirror for a moment before replying. “Less than two hundred. They look like the ones who escaped yesterday.”

“They didn’t escape today.”

“No, but they took twice their number with them!”

“It doesn’t matter. As long as they kill legionnaires they’re dying for a purpose.”

“Whose purpose, yours?” Mathius snarled angrily.

Julia stood up from her concealment and made her way down from her hill. At the bottom, Cavell stood with a horse for Mathius. She patted Cavell sadly then struggled into the saddle. The warhorse was much larger than the horses she was used to, but as with Kev’s cloak, his horse made her feel closer to him. Cavell was Keverin’s horse, first last and always, but when Cavell trotted into Denpasser alone she had allowed herself to be mounted by Julia. No other could ride her. She found Cavell a gentle beast, warhorse, or no warhorse.

Julia rode to the site of the battle taking note of the dead sorcerers. There wasn’t much left to count, but she thought there was at least ten; shame it hadn’t been more, but there was still time. Petya was grinning and waiting for her to arrive. Although he had lost a good many warriors, he was clearly pleased with the result of his battle. That was good, because so was she.

“They’re all dead?” she asked hoping for a prisoner.

Petya nodded, “All.”

“A pity,” she said as she looked at the corpses lying scattered all over the battlefield. “Have you wounded?”

“Around forty… could you?” Petya said hopefully.

She glanced at Mathius. The sun indicated the day was barely begun. She had time she decided and dismounted. Petya sighed in relief and led her to the wounded men. As she worked, she noted that most of the lightly wounded men were wearing bits and pieces of legion armour they had pilfered from the bodies of the slain legionnaires. She smiled in approval when Petya directed his warriors to do the same here. She quickly finished her work leaving Mathius to tend the last couple of injured warriors; they did not appear badly wounded and should not present him with a problem.

“You are right to take the armour,” Julia said to the chief. “But wrong in what you are doing with it.”

Petya glared at her so she shrugged and climbed into the saddle without continuing.

“Wait!” Petya said as she began to ride on. “What am I doing wrong?”

She stopped and looked down at him then at the warriors who were strapping pieces of armour on. “Armour should be worn as a set, not in pieces. Have your strongest warriors wear it and use them in front of your unarmoured men. When you have enough, march them like legionnaires to fool the outclanners and you might strike at their heart.”

Julia rode away west not bothering to find out what he thought of the idea. She did not care.

Mathius was quiet as they made their way through the hills; just as well, she had nothing to say. She absently wondered whether Brian had awoken, probably not she decided. Shelim had tried to heal him in the off chance that his magic was in some way different. It hadn’t been.

The first she knew that she was close to her goal was when a scout popped up from his hiding place. She nodded to the Horse Clan warrior and asked if everything was ready.

“Mazel said to say that the scouts have definitely been seen, and that the legionnaires are moving this way.”

“Good.”

The scout nodded and faded back.

She motioned Mathius on and they rode to their next hiding place. Leaving Cavell with reins hanging to hobble her at the base of the hill, She climbed quickly and flattened herself to the ground when she reached the top. She could see the ward clearly with her mage sight, but with her unaided eyes she saw only what appeared to be a small clan camp. The illusion was perfect.

Remembering another illusion she had seen, she had suggested to Lucius that he construct this one to show some warriors moving around. Lucius hadn’t thought it possible, but with a little thought and a few suggestions from her, he had created a set of illusions each with a view a fraction different to the next. Each picture was like a frame of film and was animated by magic. Even using her mage sight, Julia couldn’t see the joins. She supposed she should to be excited about inventing a magical version of moving pictures, but all she cared about was killing Hasians.

“It looks good.”

Mathius nodded. “We’re killing the legionnaires,” he admitted. “But we’re losing too many warriors ourselves.”

“Don’t start that again! This is a war Mathius. People die in war.”

“But not to no purpose!” Mathius said angrily.

“Tell Mazel there’s no purpose in opposing the Hasians. Tell anyone, and they will tell you what purpose there is. They are fighting for their land and their families.”

“I didn’t mean that and you know it!” Mathius said hotly. “The clans should go around! Their land is empty and—”

“And what of Deva?”

“You’re using them,” Mathius said sadly.

“And if I am, are you the one to tell me I’m wrong?”

Mathius was silent and he wouldn’t look at her.

“Besides, I’m not using them,” she said frowning at the fake camp. “They want the Hasians dead as much as we do, as much as I do anyway.”

“I want them stopped, not dead!”

“You can’t have one without the other, Mathius, and anyway, stopping them won’t do. What would happen if Navarien stopped here?”

“The war would be over.”

“Wrong! The clans won’t accept outclanners on their land; especially not after what happened to Dragon and Wolf Clans. Jihan isn’t too thrilled having Navarien camped on his border either. You know Mortain won’t give up Mathius, this is for the best.”

Mathius sullenly contemplated the empty hills—what looked like empty hills. The silence was deceiving. The fake camp was just that—fake. No clansman would die when the legion attacked it. Instead, seeded through the hills were Kerrion’s shamen waiting to attack in turn. Once the legion wards were neutralised Mazel would attack with every warrior he had in an effort to overwhelm the legion quickly. Speed was essential in this battle, as it was in all battles against Navarien. The General was too good to allow him time to think. They must win with hit and run tactics. Admittedly, this fight was on a larger scale than clan raids usually were, but mind-speech would see to it that everyone attacked at the same time.

“How far away are they?” Julia asked.

She already knew the answer, but Mathius needed something to do. He was prone to brooding and needed the distraction of work. He was like she used to be. She smiled affectionately at his bowed head. He was checking his mirror for the legion and didn’t see her smile.

Had she changed that much?

Yes she had. Her smile wilted as she thought back to the innocent she had been. Two and more years ago, she had been a shallow person she knew; she had matured enough now to know that about herself. Her entire world had been gymnastics and winning gold. Nothing else had mattered to her. She had been all me, me, me back then. Keverin had recognised the selfishness in her and had pulled her up short many times. She had hated him for it.

Keverin! Oh God, why did you leave me?

God was punishing her for her misdeeds, that was why he had taken Kev. Julia squeezed her eyes shut and pushed the grief away. Keverin had been the one most responsible for the changes in her. Most were good, some were bad she now thought, but he was her life and she wouldn’t change it even if she could. She had been self-centred, but not evil before Darius had stolen her away. Now she didn’t even know what evil was. The lines seemed to have blurred. She had been moving through the shadows more and more of late. All was darkness and she had lost the way back; she didn’t even want to find it. In the beginning she had killed people for Kev because she had seen the utter dedication to Deva and his people in him. He would have given everything he was for his people and the kingdom he served, but in the end he had lost his life for simple revenge. It was her fault! If she hadn’t been so distracted in Devarr that day she wouldn’t have been taken. More, Moriz and Halbert would still be alive and so would Keverin.

How many had she killed, not on purpose but by accident and inattention? Dozens of friends gone now and Kev… AND KEV!

Hundreds of would-be friends were dead at the battle of Athione before she had come to the realisation that she had the power to save them, but since then she had lost more through simple inattention! If only God would give her a second chance, she would do better.

I would, I swear!

There was no sense in thinking that way; God didn’t give second chances on this or any other world. Her parents had found that out when a sleepy driver had murdered them. Udall was gone to the God because of her stupid stunt in the hospital had left her tired and distracted when he needed her. Renard was gone, sort of, because of her ignorance. Moriz and Halbert gone because she had allowed her fear of the dark to distract her; fear of the dark! What more stupid reason was there for allowing her friends to die? None, there could be no excuse.

When would she learn that this world killed the unwary—would she ever?

Maybe she should go home, but back to Athione first. Without Keverin she had no home now. Jessica would hate her for letting this happen, but perhaps she would let her keep Cavell and lend her some money for old time’s sake. Jessica was a good person, a generous person. She would help. Jihan would offer her a place at Malcor as a healer perhaps, but living in a fortress other than Athione seemed wrong somehow, as if she was meant to live in the mountains or nowhere. Was that the answer then? Darius’ book was still in the vault. She might be able to breach the ward and find a way back to Earth, but there was nothing there for her. She was old in spirit now if not quite in body.

“How old am I?” she murmured.

“What?” Mathius said puzzled.

“How old do I look now?”

Mathius shifted uncomfortably. “You’re beautiful, Julia, don’t do this to yourself—please!” Mathius seemed close to tears.

She patted his hand giving comfort helped her own feelings, as if she could bury her pain under his. “Tell me. I just want to know what you see.” Mathius offered his mirror, but she shook her head. “I want to know what you see.”

“I see a woman who is my sister in everything but birth. I see a woman in pain trying to kill herself for something she imagines she is guilty of!”

“Nice try Mathius, but I’ll not be so easily distracted.”

Mathius sighed. “You look around twenty-five. Certainly no more than that!”

She frowned, that didn’t gibe with what she saw in the mirror each morning. “Twenty-five. You’re sure?”

“Yes. Definitely no more than twenty six or seven—at the most!”

Twenty seven now? Julia smiled at Mathius and let him off the spot she was putting him on. It didn’t matter; nothing did but Navarien’s death.

“Thank you. Thank you for being with me, and for being my brother.”

* * *

“Hold it down for the God’s sake!” Captain Nissus screamed in panic over the explosions.

“We’re trying!” snarled a black robed man with a pale and sweating face. “How long before they get here!”

“Too long!” Nissus shouted and ducked as a fireball skidded under the ward and ploughed into his men. A maniple of legionnaires screamed and died.

“Sergeant!” Nissus shouted.

“Sir?” Timin replied and ducked as an earth-shattering roar threw mud and debris over him.

Nissus shook his head at the smoking crater in the ground. It was deeper than he was tall. “Pull the men away from the ward! Have what’s left reform in the centre!”

“Yes Sir,” Timin yelled over the noise and coughed the dust clear.

“Try to contact the General again,” Nissus said turning back to his sorcerer.

“We can’t!” Trella snarled. “It’s taking everything we have to hold the ward down!”

Nissus shook his head and turned away. He couldn’t fight while the ward stayed up and he couldn’t order it dropped. If he did, they would all die. Fire was raining down on him from all sides but that wasn’t the worst part. The sorcerers were giving everything they had to keep the ward strong, but they were fighting an unknown number of shamen who were trying to raise it off the ground! Already hundreds of his men were dead from fireballs skimming under it. The men were keeping low in the centre of the warded area while the sorcerers struggled to save them. It was all anyone could do. Nissus ducked as two fireballs squeezed under the ward and rebounded high into the air after hitting the lip of an old crater; he threw himself aside as the cursed things came back down and splashed fire in all directions.

“AEiii!” Nissus screamed as his face was branded with sorcerous heat, but he was one of the lucky ones.

The fire quickly dispersed. Through his one remaining eye he saw dead sorcerers lying in all directions. Gritting his teeth against the agony of his injury he struggled to knees. His head snapped to one side in time to see the ward shudder under repeated impacts and then buckle. Half the sorcerers were dead, the rest were not strong enough to hold the defences. He scrambled to his feet as the inevitable happened and drew his sword.

“Form square!” Nissus screamed.

* * *

Julia gritted her teeth and drew harder. The magic was eating her alive, but she wouldn’t let the tears come. She heaved with all her might and imagined the Hasian ward rising. The downward pressure increased as the sorcerers tried to clamp it to the ground again. She succeeded in raising it about a yard struggling all the while.

“For God’s sake Mathius—” Julia panted. “Do it, do it now!”

Mathius didn’t answer. He drew on his magic and aimed at the gap he saw with his mage sight.

Vrooosh!

Two fireballs flew at a shallow angle toward the ward. One made it through and ploughed through the Hasian legionnaires. The second one wasted itself upon the ward merely burning the grass. The fires winked out as a sorcerer sucked the heat out of them.

“I’ll try again,” Mathius said.

She watched as fire rained from all sides upon the warded Hasians. As with everything else these days the plan had not worked. The fake camp had fooled the Hasians and they had attacked as they had hoped, but when the ward fell under the sorcerer’s bombardment, the illusion’s matrix had been damaged. The Hasian captain had aborted his charge when the fake camp disappeared and the sorcerers immediately erected a ward to cover them. Since then, the clansmen in the surrounding hills had repositioned themselves to encircle the new battlefield while shamen kept the sorcerers busy with fire and lightning. They could do nothing more until the ward fell and time was short.

Vrooosh!

Mathius sent two more fireballs skimming the ground so close they left a trail of fire in their wake.

Julia watched in amazement as they climbed into the air after rebounding from the ward. The impact could be heard leagues away and the ground shivered in sympathy.

“Yes!” she screamed in triumph as the ward dimmed, but it didn’t go down altogether. “Bastards,” she hissed and hammered the ward with fire over and over again. Mathius did likewise and moments later, the ward buckled.

“It’s going!” Mathius screamed over the crash.

Julia’s eyes blazed. She pulled on her magic and struck with lightning. Dirt and bodies flew in all directions. She did it again. Fire, she threw fireballs by the score and watched in glee as men were turned to torches. Fire was better than lightning she thought. They had to pay for Kev and lightning was too quick. She threw another fireball but Mathius threw up a ward almost in her face. The huge ball of roaring fire overwhelmed his pitiful attempt to stop it, but it was deflected. She watched it wobble and tumble drunkenly away to impact an empty hill. Fire splashed in all directions and trees flashed into flame.

“What the hell are you doing!” she screamed in his face; she was so angry that she might have struck at him, but sanity returned in time.

“You would have killed our own warriors!” Mathius snarled and grabbed her shoulders. He turned her roughly toward the battle. “Look!”

Julia looked.

Mazel had charged the remnants of the Hasian square and was in the process of obliterating it. If her fire had landed she would have killed hundreds. She closed her eyes against the sight and took a shuddering breath trying calm her racing heart.

“I would have seen them in time,” she whispered trying to convince herself, and then more firmly. “I would have seen them, Mathius. Don’t ever do that that again.”

“Or what?” Mathius snarled. “You’ll kill me?”

“No of course—”

“Get hold of yourself!” Mathius said shaking her. “I’m sorry he’s dead, Julia. Keverin is dead, but you’re not! He would want you to go on, not throw your life away.”

She was angry, so very angry she could hardly think, but then an instant later she was coldly calm. “I know,” she whispered. “I know he’s gone.” Then the fury overwhelmed her again. “And it’s their fault!”

“The Hasians killed him. Not the clans.”

Julia blinked. Yes, that’s right. It was the Hasians. She mustn’t kill the warriors; she needed them to fight Navarien. She had to be careful as Keverin always wanted. She had to live long enough to see Navarien and all his men dead.

“You’re right. You are right, Mathius. Let us go down and see what we can do to help before more of Navarien’s men arrive.”

Mathius followed her down to the horses. It was a matter of moments before they reached the battlefield but the fight was coming to a close. Julia was disappointed, but Mazel and his warriors had as much right to their revenge as she did.

“Let them finish this, Julia. You don’t need to see this.”

“I—” she broke off seeing a warrior she knew lying upon the ground. Her mage sight showed that she still lived. Julia made to dismount, but the girl died just then and her soul fled. “I need to—” she found another familiar face and another.

Wherever she looked she found dead men and women. Some she knew, others she didn’t, but Hasians were by far the majority. She closed her eyes and forced herself not to care. She needed to be hard or she’d fall apart. She jumped down and searched for those still alive, but found none nearby. The fight had been fierce here with the Hasian phalanx giving them a strong defence. It hadn’t saved them, but it had lasted long enough to kill many of her friends.

She moved on searching for those who deserved her help, for those who deserved life. Whenever she found wounded Hasians she tossed them aside with her magic and left them for chance to decide their fate, but wounded clansmen were few. Her hands were shaking as she turned over a legionnaire who was still alive to find a dead clan warrior beneath him. The warrior was little more than a boy.

“You killed him,” she snarled in disgust.

The legionnaire blinked his one remaining eye and spat blood. He grinned weakly up at her. “All men die. We killed… killed… each other…”

She would have blasted him then, but he was already dead. She pushed the corpse away in disgust and stood to look around. Mathius had stayed mounted and was using his mirror to talk to someone. That reminded Julia of the time constraint. She quickly scanned her surroundings looking for Mazel. She found him being tended by Larn.

“How bad is it?” Julia said looking for Lucius and not finding him.

“I’ll live,” Mazel said. “More than can be said for the outclanners.”

“You’ve done well, but time is short. Order your people to collect the armour and weapons quickly. Mathius is keeping an eye on the legion but we cannot stay here.”

Mazel nodded but waited for Larn to finish healing his wounds before carrying out her order.

“What of the wounded?” Larn said straightening up once he was done.

Mazel stood and strode away without uttering a word of thanks. He was shouting orders to collect the armour and see to the wounded as he went.

“Collect them up. We’ll ride double and heal them later.”

“Many will die,” Larn said. It wasn’t a complaint just a statement of the facts.

“I know, but even more will die if we stay.”

Larn nodded and rushed away hoping to heal some more warriors before his time ran out.

Julia made her way back to Cavell and remounted. “How long do we have?”

“Not long,” Mathius said. “If we don’t move in the next half candlemark he’ll have us.”

“That won’t happen,” Julia said looking around and estimating her losses. Three hundred—three hundred at the most had died here, but Navarien had lost an entire battalion in exchange. She doubted Larn would find many warriors to heal. “Mazel is already rounding everyone up.”

“Good.”

“Have you seen Lucius?”

Mathius twitched his head towards a gathering of shaman to the right. She nodded and edged Cavell that way. She could hear a discussion going on, but as she neared the gathering, it quieted.

“What’s wrong?” Julia asked but everyone looked away. “Lucius?”

“Nothing,” Lucius said and changed the subject. “Are you ready to leave?”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Kerrion and Shelim weren’t with this group; they were to the north somewhere. “Is something amiss?” Julia asked Hastin.

The Bear Clan shaman shook his head.

“You’re sure?” Julia said but received only another head shake for a reply. “What about you Canis?”

“Nothing is wrong,” the Snake Clan shaman said. “If you want to know, we were discussing the next step.”

Julia did not believe him, but she didn’t call him on it. “I see. What about it?”

“We think you need to rest… just for a few days mind,” he added quickly and the others nodded.

“You do. You are challenging my right to be here?”

At the word challenge, everyone went still. “No…” Canis said white faced at the thought. He was backed by the others who shook their heads vigorously and muttered various things that amounted to saying of course not. “We just feel you have been through enough and need some time to rest.”

“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.

She back lay upon the grass and closed her eyes remembering a happier time. She stood atop the highest tower of Athione with the huge banners just above her head snapping and cracking in the wind. Arms encircled her from behind and she leaned back revelling in his strength…

“Do you see it my love?” Keverin said.

“Hmmm.”

The feel of his muscled arms holding her safe was all her world. His deep voice rumbling at her back and passing through her body making her shiver with a strange delight.

“The archer that one is called.”

“What about that one?” she said pointing.

Keverin crouched and sighted along her arm. “The Great Dragon. See the tail?”

“A dragon? It looks more like a horse to me!” she said and laughed.

“No, no!” he cried and laughed along with her. “A strange horse that would be. Dragons have wings, not horses.”

She turned within the circle of his arms and held him tight. Looking up at his shadowed face and on toward the crescent moon banner, she saw another pattern.

“What of that one?”

Keverin looked up. “Some say that one should be two separate patterns, the King and the Queen, but I like the old name for them.”

“Tell me,” she whispered into the wind.

Keverin looked down into her eyes. “The Eternal Lovers.”

Julia woke from her dream with tears scolding her eyes. She sat up and looked around but none could see her. She wiped the tears away as she looked up at the stars high overhead. She was glad they were called the eternal lovers, glad that he had told her. In her dreams she could pretend that when she died they would be together again. Dared she hope… eternally?

The lovers were just a pattern in the sky, she thought sadly. Everything in the world had a unique pattern that made it different from every other thing. She knew that for absolute truth. She grasped her magic and invoked her mage sight to reveal what was true. The random energy roaring around her seemed to change and coalesce into new patterns that were far from random. Each intricate matrix of energy was a particular thing in the so-called real world. Sometimes she thought the realms were the true world, and the place where people thought they lived was only an illusion pulled over their eyes. The river flowed gently where she sat, but in this realm, it raged at its confinement between earthen banks. The power contained was incredible, yet it was just a river, not even a particularly violent one. What must the sea be like in this place, or a storm?

Blades and stalks of grass were tiny miracles all around her; every one similar but subtly different as snowflakes were, yet still recognisably the same. Each had its own pattern; one among an infinite number of patterns that God had decreed was grass. She looked deeper and found rock through soil, which was so complicated that it dizzied her. It was amazing how complicated a simple thing like soil was. So many different patterns linked together—apart they might be recognisable—but together they linked like a group of shamen into a greater pattern that in this case was soil.

Patterns. The pattern dictated the thing. Change the pattern and… what? Change the thing perhaps, though she had never heard it said that was even remotely possible. Patterns simply were. They were what dictated the nature of the thing. Change the pattern held within a blade of grass to that of a stone, and a blade of grass made of stone should result—at least that seemed the logical result of her conjecture. But if that were true a mage could do anything, and make anything she wished. It could not be that easy surely? If it were, mages would already be doing it. Maybe changing a pattern was not sufficient. Perhaps there was more to it—understanding how a thing worked for instance. Understanding was important when contemplating a new spell or when making something. That was true whether it be mundane or magical in nature. If a mage with no understanding of masonry tried to build something like Athione with its vaulted halls, the ceilings would likely come crashing down. Without the knowledge that only masons had, the weight of stone ceilings and floors could not be supported.

Magic could do amazing things, but a fortress built and supported by magic would quickly fall to magical attack. Any mage worth the name would seek out those supporting spells and destroy them and thus the fortress. Understanding how things worked was important in creating anything, but what about destruction? Did she need to know what she was doing for that? Could she not use these patterns in some way, patterns that only she seemed to be interested in, to kill Navarien?

Julia stared into the distance thinking about all that she had lost. Keverin was gone, and Brian still had not awoken. He might never wake. So many of those she loved were dead, with many more to follow if General Navarien had his way.

She sat quietly contemplating her death. Would it be so terrible? Would it be so bad if the Hasians ruled Deva? Keverin had always thought so. His opinion would guide her. She studied the patterns all around her and imagined a special pattern all of her own. Built with all her spite and hatred, she would craft a spell to end this war. It must be strong, it must leave nothing to chance—it must be one that when unleashed upon the world, nothing and no one would stand before it. She imagined the plain engulfed in flame with Navarien writhing at its centre. Above it all, she watched a column of smoke and debris climbing higher and higher until it almost seemed to touch the stars.

She smiled.

* * *

Brian opened his eyes and stared at the roof of his tent. What he had seen, what he had been shown, was a heavy burden. Renard had warned him that he would walk a perilous road. For the sake of the world it was one he must walk, but only now was the enormity of his peril dawning on him. If he failed, more than his lord and lady would die. Entire kingdoms would die and ultimately entire worlds.

He sat up quickly, finding himself whole. He hungered, but he had everything the God gave him still attached and working. He had seen men wither away to nothing after a blow like the one he had taken, but he was whole. He thanked the God and the Lady for it. The image of a one handed man wandering the plain in a daze went through his mind and his throat clogged with grief for his lord. He wanted to rush to Keverin’s aid, but that would spell disaster. He pushed himself angrily to his feet determined to do what must be done.

He scouted around the tent and found his clothes and armour. He dressed quickly and felt much better for the familiar weight. His sword had rusted. He sheathed it as it was. There was no time to lose. He had to be inside Athione’s walls on a certain date or all was lost.

It was night outside. Somewhere out there the Lady sat crying upon the riverbank. Renard had been brutal with his visions. He knew what had happened to her since Keverin fell. The temptation to go to her almost overpowered him, but Renard’s warnings were as strong. He whispered an apology that she would never hear and turned away to find a horse.

He avoided the guards and stole a fine horse and saddle. They probably belonged to one of the chiefs—Kadar most likely. The swirling pattern of the Night Wind clan was prominent on the saddle. He led his mount away into the darkness.

He did not mount until he was well away from the camp.

* * *

2 ~ Survivors

Lorcan stumbled and cursed his luck. The plain might look flat, but it wasn’t. The long grass hid all manner of holes and depressions seemingly designed to turn the unwary ankle.

“Are you all right?” Keverin said.

“I’m all… Lord! Are you well?” he said and scrambled to his feet in excitement, but the moment he saw Keverin’s eyes, he knew that he had not yet recovered his wits.

“Where is Julia? She was here but a moment ago,” Keverin said blinking around in confusion.

“She’s all right, m’lord. Come with me. We can’t stop yet.”

“But where is she?”

He sighed. He was tired of answering the same questions day after day, but it was not Keverin’s fault. He had been kicked in the head by a warhorse when he fell in battle and had yet to regain his sense of things.

“She is waiting for us, m’lord. Come, we must go to her.”

Keverin nodded eagerly and followed a pace behind.

They had been travelling east for many days. Lorcan had not realised it would take them so long to reach Elvissa, but he should have. They had to stay close to a source of water. The river they were following meandered its way from the eastern mountains to the North Sea—it was very far from a straight course. Realising that backtracking the river’s twists and turns southward would double or even triple the length of their journey, he had decided not to follow it too closely. Instead, he had set a straight course that only vaguely followed the river while keeping it within reach.

Lorcan licked dry and cracked lips. He tasted salty blood. He was desperate for another sip of water, but when he weighed his only waterbag, he reluctantly left the plug alone. A candlemark, in another candlemark they would drink and not before. They were between bends in the river; he dare not use all their water before closing upon its bank again. He stumbled, but this time he did not waste energy in cursing. He was too tired to do anything but plant one foot in front of the other.

His life certainly had changed. Who would have thought that a year on from starving on the streets in Devarr, he would be crossing the Camorin plain leading a one armed lord to his salvation. He could hardly credit it himself, and he had lived it! Things certainly had changed.

His stomach rumbled loudly.

Some things remained the same.

He had been dying by inches in Devarr. Everyone had. He had gone from day to day living off what he could steal or kill for, until the Lady came to set Gylaren on the throne. Now here he was, starving again!

He stumbled on his weary way, barely aware of anything but putting one foot in front of the other. The sun shone down baking his head and making him squint tired eyes. He saw nothing but tinder dry grass and earth parched of moisture. Spring had yet to give way to summer, but it had a good head start on the plain. By the God it was hot!

He staggered to a swaying halt and pulled the plug from his waterbag. He had to drink. He just had to, but first the lord. “Dri...” he coughed and tried again. “Drink... this... lord,” he croaked. His tongue felt swollen.

Keverin seized the water bag and drank eagerly. Lorcan watched the lord’s throat working and took the bag back after three swallows. He allowed himself only a single mouthful of the precious liquid and held it in his mouth until he had to swallow. It felt as if he tongue had soaked up the water. There didn’t seem to be much left to swallow. Keverin’s eyes followed his movements as he securely plugged the bag once again. He shook it, trying to guess how long he had before it ran dry.

“Later, m’lord. You can drink again later.”

They walked on and didn’t stop until well after dark. The evening was cooler than the day; he reasoned it made sense to keep going. Keverin made no complaint, even his ramblings about Julia and how his hand hurt quieted. Neither of them had the energy to do more than put one foot in front of the other. Lorcan judged midnight had come when he could go no further. He stopped following the star he had picked and swayed to a halt. Here was a good a place as any.

He collapsed, asleep before he hit the ground.

The next day dawned, and Lorcan found it almost impossible to find the energy to rise. His body was a mass of aches and pains, but finally he managed to stagger erect and weave his way toward the rising sun. He did not remember much of that day except that the waterbag ran dry. The day fled by in the flicker of an eye, and suddenly he was lying down again. It was dark with the sky ablaze with stars.

He wished he had asked Mathius how to make it rain.

* * *

Keverin, Lord of Athione and Lord Protector of the west, was lost. He was lost in dream and memory. His only reference in a world where he fought old battles anew was the form of a young boy wearily slogging through long grass ahead of him. He was sure he should know the lad, sure he would remember why he should know him, but the reason and the boy’s name continued to elude him.

It did not matter.

Only one name was important to him, though again he could not seem to recall why. A beautiful face drifted before his eyes, one he very much wanted to see again, but like smoke it drifted beyond his reach and was gone. Only the stumbling boy remained.

“Julia?” Keverin croaked. “What’s happening?”

“It’s all right, lord,” the boy croaked through cracked and bleeding lips. “She will be all right.”

“Julia?” Keverin said again.

The face rose before him again, but this time she was different. Her eyes flashed in anger and harsh words poured from her rosebud lips. She was angry with him, but her words were lost with his wits—a memory, or perhaps even a fantasy. He hoped so, he didn’t want her angry with him. He stumbled and went down but immediately climbed to his feet. He couldn’t seem to find his balance. The boy doubled then tripled in his sight. He made to rub his eyes but ended the movement staring at an ugly stump where his hand had been. He hissed at the memory of pain and remembered where it had happened. He had been attacking... someone. An armoured figure snarling in hate rose up in his memory; he stumbled back in shock, the memory felt so real. The man had been Hasian! Yes, that’s right. He had fought the Hasians and fell from his horse... was that right?

“Lord, we can’t stop here,” the boy said.

Yes, he fell from his horse when... Keverin shook his head, trying to remember. He had parried the blow, but the legionnaire had been a wily fighter and had pulled his strike at the last moment, striking at a different angle. He remembered his sword spinning away with his right hand still gripping the hilt—

“Come, lord. We have to find water,” the boy croaked and took his hand to lead him on.

—to fall, lost amidst the chaos of battle. The pain had been slow to come, but when it did, he had shrieked his throat roar. Another blow landed—on his helm this time—and he fell from the saddle. The last thing he remembered was rolling away from the stamping hooves of battling warhorses, desperately trying to stop the blood pumping from his severed wrist. Yes! That was the way it had happened. He remembered now. It was coming back to him. Slowly perhaps, but it was coming back.

The boy led him on through that day and into the next. Flashes of memory came upon him more as time went on and he forget less each time. Still the name Julia haunted him; beautiful and smiling one moment, beautiful and angry the next, but always beautiful... except on one occasion when he remembered her lying close to death on a blackened hill. He tried to blot out that memory, but it was a strong image. It would not go.

He followed the boy that he had no name for and thirsted. He could not remember when he last drank something, but then he could not remember much of anything—not reliably anyway. He didn’t worry about it. He staggered along, sometimes seeing long grass under his feet, other times seeing a mountain pass with a huge fortress brooding over it. None of it was real, at least, he thought not.

They travelled through each day and rested at night. That was the way of it for many days and Keverin did not question their course. He travelled with the sun in his face. It made his headaches worse, but there didn’t seem any way to avoid it. The boy gave him dry biscuits to chew and sometimes a piece of cheese with a sip of precious water when they had some. The cheese came rarely until one day there was none left. That was when he realised the boy was not eating and had not for more than a few days. It seemed wrong of him, and he tried to tell the boy, but he would not listen. A day came when the boy failed to rise. Keverin spent that day watching and waiting for him to wake. He waited a long time, but the lad did not stir. He dozed for a time and awoke to the sound of moaning—the boy burned with fever.

Keverin reached for the waterbag at the boy’s side, but it was empty. “Lorcan...” he croaked and blinked in surprise. The boy’s name was Lorcan! Just like that the boy’s face had clicked in his memory. He was determined not to forget again. “Lorcan, be easy, boy. I’ll get us water.”

He gathered up the waterbag and looked around for a likely looking direction. He realised that finding water might not be as easy as he first thought. What direction had they been travelling? He turned away from the sun and nodded at what he found. Their back trail was easy to make out. A trail of bent and broken stalks of grass led north and west.

“Camorin... I’m on the plain.”

So much was now obvious to him. Knowing he was on the plain and heading roughly eastward gave him something of his situation but not enough. Would Lorcan be travelling east to reach Julia? No, that did not seem right. The Hasians were north, so that meant Julia was…

“South,” he said to himself and frowned that way.

Lorcan had been leading him this way for days. Did that mean anything? Did the boy know something of Julia and her whereabouts that he, in his daze, had missed? His memory of events felt vague, his grip on events tenuous, but Lorcan must have had a reason for heading this way.

He shielded his eyes against the sun trying to find something worth noting, but he saw nothing. Turning to look south, he found…

“Clouds?”

No, not clouds. Hills! Seeing them so close, he suddenly knew where Lorcan had been going, and he thanked the God for him. He knew these hills. He knew where he was!

He checked the boy once more before stumbling toward those inviting hills. Lorcan needed water and food, but water first. A friend of his, a shaman named Shelim, had once told him that the plains had many rivers. He didn’t know about that. He had seen precious little water on his journey—unless he had and did not recall. He frowned and probed his hair for an injury but he couldn’t find anything. Except for his hand, he was uninjured. The stump had healed, and by the look of the scars, healed with magic.

“Julia…” he stumbled to a swaying halt as her name came unbidden to his lips.

Was she all right? He groaned as he realised she must think him dead. He turned to the west, aching to go that way, but Lorcan needed him. Julia would be all right. She was strong.

“Water. We need water,” he said firmly and half-trotted half-staggered toward the hills.

A rumbling sound made him pause, looking everywhere for the source of the noise. He frowned when the sound died away. He was about to move on when he heard it again. This time he found the source, and what a sight it was! A herd of bison was on the move. There must have been hundreds of the huge beasts rumbling toward him—no, not toward him, toward a river! That must be it. They were heading for water; he could feel it. Without hesitation, he turned to follow. The herd seemed huge to him, but he felt sure Shelim would scoff at the notion. Bison were a common sight to the clans; they could not live without them, and now neither could he. If he’d had the means, he would have killed one and butchered it for a meal. It would have been the first meal he’d had in… he did not know how long, but it felt like a long time.

The herd soon outdistanced him, but he had the direction now. He moved roughly southwest. How far was the river? He didn’t want to leave Lorcan longer than need be, but he could not return empty handed. He continued on his weary way and fretted about the time it took.

The river wasn’t much as rivers go; narrow and gentle. In Deva he would have called it a stream. He could swim across with ease. With a glad cry, he threw himself down and drank his fill of the dirty brown water. It was wonderful. With Lorcan constantly on his mind, he filled the water bag and retraced his path.

Lorcan was burning with fever when he reached the boy. “Here you go, lad, drink this.” He poured a little water into the boy’s mouth. Lorcan swallowed greedily and sank back in a doze.

Keverin ripped the sleeve off his shirt and soaked the rag to wash the boy’s face. Lorcan’s skin felt hot and dry, his lips cracked and bleeding. He winced as he dabbed some of the precious liquid over the boy’s forehead and nose. He was badly sunburned and his skin had peeled leaving the flesh raw. No doubt he looked little better than Lorcan did, but with luck and the God’s blessing they would make it. Lorcan had done the hard part by freeing him from the Hasians. Now it was his turn to get them the rest of the way home.

Lorcan’s fever ran its course, and a few days later he awoke tired but chatty. He insisted he could travel, but Keverin thought him overly optimistic. He did not say that of course; the boy’s pride would be hurt. Instead, he made an excuse.

“Forgive me, but I’m not strong enough yet. We’ll turn south at first light tomorrow.”

“Yes, m’lord.” Lorcan relaxed, obviously trying to hide his relief. “Do you think the others are all right?”

Keverin silently considered the question. His time in captivity was hazy to say the least, and his memory seemed unlikely to improve any time soon. He had a vague recollection of a sorcerer healing him and of seeing Lorcan in legion armour sneaking into a tent, but other than that he could not have said who or how many were captive with him.

“Who led the others?”

“Burke, m’lord.”

“Burke you say? He’s a good man. Tell me again what you saw at the camp.”

“I had to sneak in during the night, m’lord. The guards walked the rampart, but when they came close to the jakes they turned back.”

He shook his head. “Fools.”

“Yes, m’lord.” Lorcan grinned. “I was real thankful! I made it over the wall and into the jakes, but found someone inside. I killed him and stuffed him into the pits. His friend outside joined him, but then I was stuck. I didn’t know how to cross the camp without being seen, m’lord!”

“The armour?”

The boy grinned again. “That’s it, m’lord, but it took me a bit of worrying to figure it out. Anyways, I put the smallest set on over my clothes and took a chance. That’s when I saw the General. He was talking with a sorcerer about prisoners. I didn’t know there were prisoners! I came to kill Demophon for what he did to the Lady and you.”

“I thank you for that my friend, my very good friend, but I’m happy enough that you freed me. Demophon will get his later.”

Lorcan beamed happily, proud to be called his lord’s friend. Apart from Darnath and Adrik, the boy had none at all as far as Keverin knew. He had no living family. He would have died alone and mourned by none on the streets of Devarr if not for Julia’s intervention in his life. Keverin was glad to call him his man, more, he was proud to call him friend.

“Demophon is dead, m’lord!” Lorcan said. “I killed him for you!”

Keverin gaped; not because of the ease Lorcan had for killing—he knew the boy had killed to survive many times. No, it was that he had killed Demophon himself. Demophon was, or had been, a sorcerer. Killing one of them was very hard to do—very!

“How by the God did you manage that?”

“I did have a little help, m’lord. I pretended to be a legionnaire taking you and the prisoners to the jakes, but Demophon stopped us. I was certain we were done for, but then there came this big fire in the sky. I think one of the sorcerers made it. It distracted him from what I was doing. I killed him with this, m’lord.” Lorcan made a dagger appear and disappear as if by magic. “I killed him for you.”

Keverin nodded, feeling somewhat disappointed. “I had hoped to kill him myself for what he put Julia through.”

Lorcan’s face fell. “Yes, m’lord, sorry m’lord.”

“Don’t apologise, lad. By killing him when I was unable to, you performed a very great service for me. I owe you a great debt; I’ll not forget.”

“It was nothing really…”

“No false modesty now. What would Gideon say?”

“False modesty is for fools?”

“Pride filled fools,” Keverin agreed. “There are no fools here, pride filled or otherwise. Am I right?”

“Yes, m’lord!”

“So, Demophon is dead. That is one less thing to worry over. You freed me and the others, but then you split up?”

“Yes, m’lord. Burke led the others across the river that same night. I only had the one horse you see.”

“I understand. So they’re on this side then?”

“Unless they swam back.”

“No reason they should.”

“They might have tried to reach the Lady.” Lorcan frowned as something occurred to him. “I should tell you about the Lady, m’lord. She thinks you’re dead—we all thought it. Our magic failed to find you—”

Keverin frowned at that. Lorcan was too new in the mysteries of magic to be able to scry, but that did not apply to Lucius, Mathius, and Julia. If they had looked for him in their mirrors and failed, and by Lorcan’s account they had indeed searched for him, then it was a sorcerer’s doing. Keverin did not know how they had blocked his friend’s efforts to find him—he was not a mage—but he didn’t doubt they had done something.

“—she was angry, so very angry, m’lord. She leads the clans now.”

“Julia is leading the clans?”

Lorcan nodded sombrely. “Mathius said she was ready to kill Shelim and the other shamen for not disobeying Tobiah.”

“They had no choice. Tobiah was their chief, just as I am your lord. They had to obey him, right or wrong.”

“The Lady doesn’t see it that way, m’lord. She was ready to kill them all, but Tobiah was already dead and—”

“Tobiah is dead?” shock heaped upon shock. Was nothing as it had been?

“Yes, m’lord, and most of Wolf Clan—the warriors are anyway. Everyone thought Cadell would be chief of chiefs, but he said Mazel should lead because Horse Clan has more warriors.”

Keverin pursed his lips and reordered his thoughts. Much had changed while he had been gone. Mazel was chief of Horse Clan, and now chief of chiefs too. He was a capable man.

“Mazel listens to Julia?”

“Everyone, m’lord. She tells Mazel what to do, and he tells everyone else, but they all know who really leads.”

Keverin could hardly conceive of clansmen listening to an outclanner and doing what she said, but Lorcan said it was happening nonetheless. He ached to go to her, but he was old and wise enough not to be so impulsive—barely. They were in no shape to return. It was a long way and Elvissa was closer. He turned toward the hills and estimated their distance. Two days he decided, and then another two to pass through them to reach the first of Purcell’s villages. Once there, and with a few good meals inside him, he could take to horse and be back with Julia in no time.

“I know where we are, Lorcan. Two days will see us into those hills, and another two after that we should reach a village. As soon as I can, I will return to Julia.”

Lorcan nodded. “The Lady will be very happy, m’lord.”

“So will I lad, so will I.”

Keverin rubbed his stump gently. He wasn’t looking forward to what she would say when she saw it, but he would brave her anger to be with her again. It would pass.

“Try to get some sleep, lad, you’re still weak. We have a long march ahead.”

“Yes, m’lord.” Lorcan lay back. “Good night, lord.”

“Good night, Lorcan.”

Keverin rose to his feet and stared toward the hills wondering if perhaps Burke and the others were ahead of him. It didn’t matter he supposed, but he almost hoped they weren’t. If they had crossed the river to go back to Julia, she would know he was alive by now. That should make him happy, but she would try to come to him, which would be a disaster for the clans. They needed her magic. It was that simple. The General had hundreds of sorcerers, and the shamen were not being heeded by the warriors. Only Julia, it seemed, had the power and the authority to make a difference.

The journey through the hills proved a long and hungry one, but Keverin comforted himself with the knowledge that he would not starve. No one could starve to death in a single tenday. It took much longer than that as Lorcan had pointed out.

“How did you survive?” he asked as they made their way through the hills. Their course was by necessity a meandering one. They chose their direction by the simple expedient of letting the grade lead them around the hills.

“I’m a street thief, m’lord. I stole to buy food, but during the Hungry the only food to be had was carried by someone like me. I killed those I could find, took whatever they had on them, and tried not to let them do the same to me.”

“I’m sorry you had to do that.”

Lorcan shrugged. “I’m used to it. I lived on the streets for almost five years.”

Keverin could easily imagine the boy sneaking around the streets of Devarr in fear for his life. What must have gone through his head? Had he been more afraid of other desperate people or more of starving? He remembered being attacked by a gang in Devarr last year. They had banded together like a troop of brigands for safety and had terrorised the city for years. They were gone now, many of them had joined Jihan’s new legion and were being trained at Malcor to oppose the Protectorate. It was not Lorcan’s fault that he had to kill to survive. It was King Pergann’s fault for failing in his duty.

“If the King had done what he should you wouldn’t have needed to steal. It was Pergann’s failure not yours.”

Lorcan shrugged the matter away. “I remember thinking about you back then. Well, the Lord Protectors I suppose.”

“Oh?”

Lorcan nodded. “I knew it was probably dishonourable to live the way I was doing back then. I was thinking of leaving Devarr, but I didn’t know anything about living outside the city so I stayed.”

“I’m glad you did, my friend. Had you not been there, Julia could have died on the street that day.”

“Not the Lady,” Lorcan said firmly. “Brian might have, but not her. She’s fast, m’lord. She killed them as quick as quick. If I hadn’t been there to kill those two, she would have used her magic to do it.”

Keverin knew how quick to kill Julia was and it saddened him. He remembered the tear-streaked face of the scared young woman she had been before she lost her innocence to the war. It was sad, but the fact remained it was necessary for her to be hard to survive. War changed a person. You either changed or you didn’t survive.

It was dark when they wearily stumbled upon the single roomed farmhouse. A cheery looking light shone out of the window and Keverin could hear voices singing—a family enjoying the evening.

He grinned. “We’re home, Lorcan. This is Deva.”

“This?” Lorcan stared at him, incredulous. “This is nothing but a farm, m’lord. Athione is home.”

“True, but this is a start.”

They climbed the rough fence and crossed the yard toward the house, but before they could move more than a few yards, a voice shouted out of the darkness.

“Don’t you come no closer! There’s nothing for you here but an arrow in the belly!”

“Do you see him?” he whispered.

Lorcan held a dagger in each fist. “The roof, m’lord. He’s on the roof next to the chimney.”

Keverin couldn’t make out anything in the dark, but Lorcan had a young man’s eyes. “We mean you no harm!” he shouted and the light went out within the house. Nothing stirred. “I am Keverin, Lord of Athione. I need—”

Laughter came from the unseen man. “Well, m’lord,” he said and laughed mockingly. “You seem to have fallen on hard times.”

He ignored the jibe. “I have indeed. We could use some food and a place to sleep. I will see you amply repaid for the kindness.”

“Don’t you take me for a fool, clansman. I ain’t been living on the border for nigh on thirty years without picking up a few things. I know what that torque means, and I ain’t never seen a Devan wearing clan leathers neither. Be off!”

Lorcan wore the leathers, not him, but Keverin took the point. He should have approached alone with his torque hidden, but it was too late for that.

“Just the food then!” he said.

Thump!

Keverin stared at the quivering arrow standing up from the ground. It was less than an inch from his boot. The door of the house opened and another figure appeared with a drawn bow. It was a young man, probably the farmer’s son.

“I’ll not come closer,” Keverin said. “I’m no threat to you, but we need food—some bread at least. You could bring some out.”

“He ain’t going to do it, m’lord,” Lorcan whispered. “We should go. I can sneak back later.”

“No. These people are innocents. We’re the invaders here.”

“Stop your whispering and get out of here before I drop you where you stand!”

“Wait pa!” the newcomer called. “The torque, it’s gold!”

“We must go! Now, m’lord!” Lorcan hissed and backed a step.

Keverin agreed. He didn’t like the way this was going. He backed away watching the one bowman he could see all the while feeling the other man about to loose his shaft.

“Down!” Lorcan shouted, diving aside as both bowmen fired together.

He grunted as the boy tackled him around the legs and they both fell to the ground. The arrows missed them by mere inches. Keverin was snarling in rage at the audacity of these peasants, but it was Lorcan who was in control of the situation.

“This way, and keep low,” Lorcan hissed scuttling rapidly toward the safety of a woodpile.

Keverin followed and breathed easier when the bulk of the wood was between him and more arrows. Lorcan meanwhile had disappeared into the darkness. Keverin hunted high and low for the boy. He was beginning to think the lad had run off when he heard a howl of anger.

“Fire! The bastards torched the barn!” the farmer screamed in rage.

Keverin grinned. Lorcan had taken steps to create a diversion as well as enact his revenge. The farmer and his son threw down their weapons and ran to fetch buckets. Keverin saw a flash of teeth in the darkness—Lorcan grinning madly. Moments later the two of them were running into the night while behind them the darkness was lit by a huge bonfire.

* * *

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About The Author | Copyright | Other titles by this author

Other titles by this author
http://www.impulsebooks.co.uk

The Devan Chronicles:

The God Decrees

The Power That Binds

The Warrior Within

Dragon Dawn

Destiny’s Pawn*

The Merkiaari Wars:

Hard Duty

What Price Honour

Operation Oracle

Operation Breakout

Incursion!*

Countermeasures*

No Mercy*

The Shifter Legacies:

Way of the Wolf

Wolf’s Revenge

Wolf’s Justice*

Rune Gate Cycle:

Rune Gate

Chosen

* Forthcoming from Impulse Books UK

About The Author
http://www.impulsebooks.co.uk

Mark E. Cooper lives in a small town in the south of England, where he writes most mornings and evenings. His background is in mechanical engineering where he spent over thirty years working for Ford. He loves reading science fiction, epic fantasy, or urban fantasy and particularly likes strong female characters overcoming dire situations and tough obstacles. He can often be found laughing to himself as he listens to an audiobook on his iPod while typing like a fiend.

His hobbies include Shelby Cobras—he built a Dax replica of the famous car with his best friend in the early 90s—reading, and maintaining his blog. He is now the author of over ten titles written in the genres he loves to read.

To keep in contact with Mark:

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Copyright

First published by Impulse Books UK October 2013

PUBLISHER’S NOTE:

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Cover illustrations by Mark Brooks

Box Design by darkdawncreations.com

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

A CIP Catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN: 978-1-905380-60-2

Printed and bound in Great Britain

Impulse Books UK

Acknowledgements

Special thanks go to Bobby Wells and Martin Davin for listening to my ideas. To Bob Smith for helping me believe that I could do it, and of course my father for putting up with my cries of woe when things went wrong.

Thanks everyone.

Index

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A word on language and pronunciation

The God Decrees

1 ~ Scorched Earth

2 ~ Summoning

3 ~ New World

4 ~ Attacked

Interlude I

5 ~ The Candle

6 ~ When the Towers Fall

7 ~ Heretic!

8 ~ East Town

Interlude II

9 ~ News from the Capital

10 ~ Burnout

11 ~ Battle of the Gap

Interlude III

12 ~ Bad News

13 ~ Fortress Malcor

14 ~ Fortress Elvissa

15 ~ Lord of Malcor

16 ~ A World of Dreams

The Power That Binds

Prologue

1 ~ Morton

2 ~ Shaman

3 ~ A Long Journey

4 ~ Herstal Keep

Interlude I

5 ~ Holy Isle

6 ~ The Pestilence

7 ~ Conquest

8 ~ Lost Ones

Interlude II

9 ~ Conspiracies

10 ~ Towering Inferno

11 ~ The Book

12 ~ Militia

Interlude III

13 ~ Calvados

14 ~ Final Battle

15 ~ Poor Robsort

16 ~ Party

Interlude IV

17 ~ Pretty Boys

18 ~ King

19 ~ Escape

20 ~ Dream World

21 ~ Dragons

The Warrior Within

Prologue

1 ~ Blademaster

2 ~ Reunited

3 ~ Exodus

4 ~ Storm

5 ~ Lord Sorcerer

Interlude I

6 ~ Dissension

7 ~ Decision Time

8 ~ New Orders

Interlude II

9 ~ War

10 ~ Practise

11 ~ Oaths

12 ~ War Leader

13 ~ Royalty

Interlude III

14 ~ The Snake

15 ~ Breakthrough

16 ~ Legion

17 ~ The Malim

18 ~ Unlikely Soldier

19 ~ Mirror Mirror

Interlude IV

20 ~ Black Isle, Black Heart

21 ~ Eve of Battle

22 ~ Field of Sorrows

23 ~ Chief of Chiefs

24 ~ Infiltration

25 ~ Retreat

Interlude V

26 ~ Illusion

Epilogue

Extras ~ Sneak Peek

Other titles by this author

About The Author

Copyright

Acknowledgements

Index