Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (2 page)

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.