Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (5 page)

“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.