Devlin's Luck (51 page)
His parents had been cared for by other refugees until they reached Alvaren and found shelter with kin so distant that they could scarcely even be called far kin. And yet they had taken the children in, raised them, and in time found trades for them. But those who survived Ynnis had a special bond that kept them a closely knit community within the teeming capital city. Kameron and Talaith’s friendship had ripened into love, and they had married when they became adults. When it was time to apprentice their youngest son, it was natural that they turn to one of the other survivors of Ynnis.
“Master Roric was already a journeyman smith in Ynnis during the siege. He never spoke of how he managed to survive, or of what he had lost on that day. But he did have one reminder of the battle.”
“A sword,” Captain Drakken said.
“A sword,” Devlin agreed. “A sword so fine it was surely the work of a great master, made of steel that shimmered in the light, flexible and yet stronger than any blade I have seen before or since.”
Master Roric had kept the sword in a chest, for it was both an object of great value and one that seemed to hold painful memories. From time to time he would bring it forth and let the best of his students study it as an encouragement to them in their own craft.
“So you know where the sword is?” Lieutenant Didrik asked.
“No. But I know where it was,” Devlin answered.
After his uncanny revelations, the Chosen One had stalked off, and so plain was his anger that none dared follow. Captain Drakken exchanged a glance with Lieutenant Didrik, who raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
Only the minstrel Stephen seemed oblivious to the tension. His face was transfixed with wonder as he murmured, “The sword. The Sword of Light.”
“He has seen the sword,” Lieutenant Didrik echoed.
“But what does this mean?” Stephen said.
“It may mean nothing. Only that by some strange twist of fate, the Gods have sent us the man who can return the sword that was lost,” Captain Drakken said, trying to reassure herself as much as the others.
But Devlin had worn the look of a man faced with painful memories, and she did not think he would be able to banish them as swiftly as they had come. And she could not risk this new revelation damaging the frail alliances that they had begun to build in service of the Kingdom.
“Didrik, send word to the watch commanders. I want every guard to keep an eye out for Devlin and let me know when he is found. He may try to slip out of the city quietly, without telling anyone.”
“You think he will go after the sword?” Didrik asked.
“I do not know what he will do,” she answered honestly. “But I know he is angry now, and that may drive him to some foolish action, perhaps even leaving Kingsholm in the heat of his anger, ill-equipped and unprepared for a winter journey.”
It took the guards less than an hour to report back that Devlin was in the practice yard, methodically destroying one wooden target after another with his great axe.
Captain Drakken spent the rest of the day busy with her own duties, inspecting the watch at the city gates, meeting with a delegation of merchants from the great square who complained about an outbreak of petty thievery, and then approving the watch schedules that Lieutenant Embeth had drawn up. But even as she went about her tasks, a part of her mind kept returning to the Chosen One and the mystery of the Sword of Light. She realized that it was only a matter of time before Devlin would have to go after the sword, for the sake of the Kingdom.
And once his anger cooled, the same thought would occur to him as well.
She worked through the dinner hour and late into the night. Each time she heard footsteps outside her office, she looked up, expecting to see the Chosen One. But he did not come. Finally, in the middle of the night watch, she decided she had let him brood long enough.
Donning her cloak against the night chill, Captain Drakken left the Guard Hall and made her way across the great courtyard to the north tower. The guard on duty at the base of the tower saluted as he saw her approach.
“All quiet?” she asked, returning the salute.
“Yes, Captain. All is at peace,” the guard Behra said, in the traditional response.
Her eyes glanced upward to the battlements, and Behra’s glance followed hers. “He is still up there,” Behra said.
The guard opened the door to the tower, and Captain Drakken made her way inside, then up the narrow circular stairs that led to the battlements. As she opened the door at the top, she was struck by a chill blast of wind. The night air, cold enough in the protected courtyard, was positively glacial up here.
She walked the perimeter battlements until she found Devlin on the south side. He had chosen the most dangerous perch, for he sat on top of the narrow railing. She was reminded of that night over a year and a half ago, when she had sought out the new Chosen One and given him his first quest. Then Devlin had been a stranger to her, a tool that had yet to prove its value. His past had been of little interest to her, or to any other in the city.
Now they entrusted him with the safety of the Kingdom. And yet they still knew little of his people, or of his past. He had volunteered few details, and there had seemed no reason to be concerned. Until now.
His head turned as he heard her approach. In the flickering torchlight she saw that his eyes were bleak, and his face shuttered and unreadable.
“You must go after the sword,” she said, without preamble.
“I know,” Devlin said. “Even now, the Geas tugs at my will. Soon I will not be able to ignore its call.”
He turned his face away from her. There was a long moment of silence, then Devlin asked, “Do you believe in fate?”
“No,” she said firmly. “From the moment we are born, each of us makes our own path and our own luck.”
“So I once thought,” Devlin said. “Yet there are only a handful of folk who have seen the Sword of Light in the years since Ynnis. It passes all belief that my presence here as Chosen One is mere coincidence.”
There was nothing she could say to that.
“Perhaps they were right to name me kinslayer,” Devlin added, in tones so low she could scarcely hear him.
“What do you mean?”
Devlin leaned back, swung his legs around so they were on the inside ledge, then stood to face her. “If my family had not been killed, I would still be in Duncaer. I would never have become an exile, never have heard of the Chosen Ones, never been foolish and desperate enough to journey to this place. The Gods wanted a tool to return the Sword of Light.” He took a quick breath, his fists clenched by his sides. “Cerrie was killed because she loved me, and because I never would have left Duncaer were she still alive.”
“No,” Drakken said swiftly. “You must not think that. I do not believe the Gods would be so cruel.”
“Then you have more faith in the Gods than I,” he replied.
“So what will you do?”
He laughed mirthlessly, and the sound made her flesh crawl, for it was the sound of a man who stood again on the edge of madness. “I have no choice, have I? The Gods set my feet on this path, and now the Geas binds me to their will, regardless of what I think or feel. I will fetch the sword, as they command. But one day I will face Lord Haakon, and I will demand a reckoning.”
His eyes glittered darkly, and such was his intensity that she had no doubt that in time Devlin would demand such a reckoning, regardless of the consequences.
DEVLIN’S LUCK
A Bantam Spectra Book / May 2002
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Copyright © 2002 by Patricia Bray.
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