Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (15 page)

“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?”