Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (124 page)

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.