Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3

by Mark E. Cooper

  At the appointed time, the doors opened to admit Vivika’s captains and their seconds. Behind them came the squad leaders—those who commanded a hundred men—and their seconds. The doors boomed shut.

  The highest ranked member of the group took note of Methrym and his friends then dismissed them, but his eyes lingered upon the new guards stationed around the room. Methrym had supplied them all, with Keppel recommending two men from Lorenz’s squad. Keppel and Nisim had rode out late yesterday to take care of some business they evidently had. Whoever the poor soul was, he had been unable to discover and Nisim wouldn’t say. Whoever it was, he was a dead man, which went without saying.

  “I have called you all together to hear the plan devised by myself in consultation with War Leader Methrym,” Vivika said.

  Methrym sighed with relief. Vivika hadn’t changed the speech and consequently it had the desired effect. There was uproar from the higher ranked officers, though most of the seconds seemed unsure and were quiet. Not so their superiors.

  Captain Kian stalked forward angrily to the bottom of the dais. He ignored Methrym to his right who had turned in place to keep the man in sight and at sword’s length.

  “I will not follow a plan made by a Malai dog!”

  “…cursed right!”

  “He’s a fool if he thinks—”

  “He always was—”

  “You are refusing?” Vivika said licking his lips nervously.

  Methrym willed Vivika to hold to the plan, and when the lord said nothing further, he breathed a little easier.

  “You’re cursed right I—”

  “Methrym!” Vivika squeaked finally losing his hard won calm.

  Methrym drew sword and struck Kian’s head from his body in one blow. There was shock throughout the hall as Kian’s headless corpse fountained blood in all directions and fell to the floor. Vivika’s captains didn’t take long to recover. As one they started forward to attack, but Soren and Lorenz were instantly at his side with swords bared.

  “Guards!” Vivika shouted. “If these men move another step kill them all!”

  All round the hall weapons slid from scabbards. The outraged captains stumbled to a halt looking at more than two dozen bared blades. Methrym noted some grins from the seconds who had hung back from the stampede, but his eyes were locked upon the new leader of Vivika’s forces. Viator had been a strong supporter of Kian. Would he recognise the hopelessness of his position?

  He didn’t.

  Before Viator’s sword was halfway from its scabbard, he was dead and Soren was grinning with excitement.

  I really must have a talk with him about that.

  “Any more of you?” Vivika said calmly. “No? Well then, you are to remove yourselves from my presence, from my city, and from my lands!”

  Methrym tensed. Now would be the time, but the moment past. Anger was evident on all their faces, but thoughts of violence had faded. First one then two, then all at once the captains left the hall escorted by Vivika’s newly acquired guards. The seconds seemed unsure what was to be done, but finally Alaren stepped forward and bowed.

  “What are your orders, Lord?”

  “Each of you is promoted to command your former captain’s units. You will find able men from your commands and promote them to your seconds. I will not choose for you, but I will meet them at a future time so make good choices.”

  “I understand, my lord,” Alaren said. “And the Japurans?”

  “The plan stands. You will execute it to the utmost of your ability or receive Kian’s fate.”

  “Yes my lord,” Alaren said hardly able to keep his eyes from the two corpses. “It will be as you order.”

  “Good. You are dismissed. I will be seeing each of you separately over the next few candlemarks with specific orders.”

  The newly promoted captains bowed as one and marched out the door, followed by the squad leaders who were grinning fit to split their faces in two. As soon as they had departed, Vivika slumped in his seat sweating and shaking.

  “I did it,” he whispered.

  “Yes you did my lord,” Methrym said pleased for the man. Whether he could keep up the charade was another matter, but he had made a good start.

  * * *

  As Nisim rode toward another confrontation, he could not help thinking back to his last one. Leona had not taken his leaving well. She had simply stood before him silently weeping as he explained about Talitha and his feelings for her. Even now, the memory wrenched at his heart. He felt like crying himself as he thought back.

  Joz had been kind to him, but it was obvious their friendship had failed the test. Joz was no more an enemy than Leona was, but he was no longer a friend either. Nisim mourned that closeness. They were the first friends he had made as a free man. Who were his friends now? He glanced at his companion. From outward appearances, Keppel looked like a Japuran lancer, a force leader no less. Nisim was also wearing armour. They had acquired it from a patrol they had dealt with not long ago. By no stretch of the imagination could Keppel be called a friend. He doubted the man had them at all, or if he did, the relationship must be fraught with peril.

  Keppel had praised him after the attack on the patrol saying he would have made a good assassin. Keppel hadn’t said the word assassin though, he said Dark Brother. Even as a slave in Talitha’s palace he had heard tales of the Dark Brotherhood. They were all assassins. The thought of his actions being likened to that of an assassin made him ill, but a part of him—a very small part—was proud that he was good at something even if it was killing. He wondered if Keppel was a Dark Brother. It seemed obvious that an assassin such as he would be one, but Keppel didn’t seem like the type to take orders willingly. Surprising when you realised that he served Vexin so faithfully. Perhaps he led the Brotherhood? That seemed more likely, but then if that were so why didn’t he just send some underling to do this?

  Keppel frightened him like no other man ever had, but he could not help but feel an attraction. Maybe fascination was a better word. Little wonder they called him the Snake. Keppel frightened everyone who knew him. He wouldn’t be surprised if the emperor he served was frightened of him as well. There was something admirable about a man who thought of his emperor first above all else—even his own life.

  Keppel slowed his horse and stopped. “We camp here,” he said and climbed down.

  Nisim studied the trees. There was nothing to recommend it as a good stopping place. “Here? Why here?”

  Keppel looked at him coldly.

  “Fine. Here is fine…”

  Keppel turned to lead his horse off the trail and into the trees. Nisim quickly dismounted and followed. A small clearing came into sight. Keppel was rummaging in his pack for a bite to eat when Nisim arrived.

  “No fire,” Keppel said.

  Nisim shook his head. Keppel said that every time they stopped. As if he would dare light a fire when the forest was infested with Japuran lancers! He dug out some food and water from his packs and sat down to eat. The assassin was always spare with his words and Nisim found himself following the example. If Keppel stopped, he stopped. If Keppel ate, he ate and so on. It had been annoying at first. His questions received no answers, and any conversation always fell into silence. In the end, he rode quietly as Keppel obviously wanted.

  He ate his hard bread and cheese and watched Keppel waiting for his next move. The assassin ate the same as he; he had no choice as bread and cheese was all they had. He stood and put his water bottle away then sat all in silence.

  He waited.

  “Tonight,” Keppel said shattering the silence.

  “Tonight?”

  “The Japuran camp has been set just outside of Aikinon.”

  “Aikinon?”

  “A small town… it used to be a small town. Your people burned it and the people in it to the ground a few days ago.”

  “They are no longer my—” he broke off in confusion as Keppel stared at him.

  He was a Japuran. Nisim hated
the law that made him a slave in his own land but it didn’t change the fact of his birth. He was Japuran, but he was also here to kill Japurans. What did that make him? A traitor came to mind, but when had his people shown any loyalty to him? Never was the answer, but did that make him right? He didn’t know. All he could do was his best and hope the God would understand his choices.

  “We wait for dark then enter the camp.”

  He nodded. “You still haven’t told me who we are trying for.”

  “Does it matter?”

  Nisim shrugged, he supposed not. His life had become a great deal easier since making the choice to help Methrym in his war. When asked to come on this mission, he had agreed immediately. He had needed to get away from Leona for a while and she needed time to forget him and find someone else. He still hoped friendship could be rekindled between them, he thought it might once she had time to think. He hoped Joz could find it within his heart to forgive him.

  “No,” he said finally. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Sleep,” Keppel said back to his earlier uncommunicative mood.

  * * *

  Prince Ranen walked through the camp content with his preparations. The Tanjuners were in complete disarray. This town, he did not know its name, had fallen easily and without losses on his part. He had given the order to burn it to the ground as soon as it became apparent that his forces had control. Devastation followed his army. After seeing the ruins of Talayan, he had made it his policy to wreak similar destruction on every village, town, and city he came across. No mercy was his order, and his men were eager to carry it out.

  “Prince Ranen,” a voice called from out of the darkness.

  Ranen turned trying to see who had spoken. Two men approached him with firelight at their backs. Their faces were in shadow but he thought he recognised the voice.

  “Bevyn? What can I do for you?”

  Prince Bevyn smiled. “Nothing right now,” he said clasping Ranen’s hand. “Nothing you’re not already doing. I just came in from my patrol and thought you would wish to see this as soon as possible.”

  Ranen took the message and tried to read it in the meagre firelight but he could only make out a few words. It was from Talitha and she wasn’t writing as the Matriarch.

  “The messenger?” Ranen asked nodding at Bevyn’s companion.

  Bevyn nodded.

  “You will wait for my reply. Find food for yourself. I’ll call when I need you.”

  “Yes my prince,” the messenger said with a bow.

  “I thank you for this, Bevyn,” Ranen said waving the scroll. “If you’ll excuse me I wish to read it as soon as possible.”

  Bevyn bowed with a smile then withdrew leaving Ranen to his reading.

  Ranen made straight for his tent. He tried not to show unseemly haste as he made his way through the camp, but he wanted to read Talitha’s words so badly he was nearly trotting by the time he reach the tent. Turning up the lamp, he sat at his tiny folding table to read.

  My dearest husband,

  As I write this, I find my heart reaching out to you so far away. How I miss you and wish you were by my side. Jarek told me what love would mean, but I did not truly believe him. Now I know his words pale next to the reality. It hurts that you are so far from me, hurts more than I could believe possible, but I would not be rid of it. My love and life are yours. Everything is yours.

  Ranen’s heart was full to bursting. “Everything that I am is yours my love,” he whispered.

  I have both good and bad news my dearest, but first the bad news. Wakiza has finally met with defeat at the hands of the Tanjuners. He lost upwards of two thirds of his men when he tried to kill our hated enemy Methrym himself. He who destroyed our precious Talayan has again wounded us grievously, and I have no choice but to order my poor Wakiza to retreat so he might meet with reinforcements at the ruins of Talayan. I have ordered him to protect your left as soon as he can again advance.

  Methrym again! That bastard had cost his beloved the greater part of her forces. The men could be replaced, and would be as Talitha had written, but the experience embodied in those men was lost forever. Wakiza was the best strike leader Japura had, but his effectiveness was now drastically reduced. His men had been highly trained by him over the years; to lose them now was a heavy blow indeed.

  Now the good news. I can hardly believe it myself my love, but I am with child! Wanikiya advised I not write you before now, but I have missed two moon times and there is no doubt any longer! Just think my love. Our daughter is coming!

  Ranen grinned. He was to be a father! He could hardly believe it. His daughter would be strong and beautiful like her mother, and he would see her rule a Japura whole and stronger than ever. Tanjung would fall soon, and he could hand things over to Bevyn. Yes, he would do that so that he might be by Talitha’s side when his daughter came into the world.

  What do you think of Armina as a name? The first Matriarch was named Armina.

  It was a fitting name; a strong name, conjuring as it did images of that long ago time when the Japuran people moved through the world without the guidance of the Matriarch. A new Japura was coming, a stronger Japura that would encompass all that the evil Vexin held dear. It was more than fitting that a Matriarch Armina rule it all.

  I love you more than life, my love. Come home to me soon. Come home victorious to your daughter.

  Your loving wife,

  Talitha.

  “I will,” Ranen whispered.

  He pulled parchment and pen toward him and began his reply. He had so much to say that he filled a sheet and began a second. He expressed his love for Talitha and his great delight in her news. He agreed that the name Armina was perfect for their daughter. He had just finished suggesting that Wakiza rendezvous with him at Tanjung Malim when he heard someone enter behind him. He smiled; Bevyn always came for a late drink.

  “I’m to be a father my friend,” he said with a grin as he turned toward the tent flap.

  “Congratulations,” a voice grated.

  Ranen stared in befuddlement at the dagger in his chest. There was no pain, just a burning sensation as he tried to pull it free. His strength drained away and his hands fell to his sides. He couldn’t breathe. The last thing he saw as he slumped back into his seat was a distraught and appalled face turning away and following another man out of the tent.

  Talitha…

  * * *

  Nisim was close to tears as he left the tent. He should never have come. He had killed prince Ranen—killed him as if he had been the one wielding the dagger! Anger quickly overwhelmed guilt, but he didn’t dare confront Keppel while still within the camp. He walked at Keppel’s left hand just a step behind. Keppel acknowledged salutes from the men as if he belonged in Japuran armour. He was completely cool. Nisim was far from cool, he was furious. When Talitha found out…

  She must never find out!

  He sent a prayer winging its way to the God for Ranen’s soul, but it did no good. Of all the people he had killed in Talayan and since, Ranen was the only one he felt guilty for. One was enough. Talitha was with child, Ranen’s child… oh God, he had killed the father of Talitha’s daughter! She would hate him forever. He hated himself.

  He started guiltily when a cry of alarm was raised. Keppel snarled at him to be calm, and he tried to say something back but panic was closing his throat. They reached the horse lines soon after that, but the nightmare wasn’t over.

  “Sorry, sir,” a guard said. “I can’t let you ride out. Did you not hear the alarm?”

  Keppel did not answer but continued forward. Before Nisim could think to stop him, Keppel had moved. It took no more than an eye blink. One moment he was walking forward, the next his hand shot forward to hit the man in the face. There was a crunch as the guard’s nose flattened under the blow. The man collapsed instantly. He was dead before he hit the ground. The assassin continued forward without changing pace, the second guard managed to draw sword but he fell to a dagger that Keppel pr
oduced from an arm sheath. Before Nisim could register surprise—he hadn’t known that Keppel had more than one knife—he was attacked as well.

  He was by no means as proficient as Keppel, but he knew how to fight. Terriss had gone to great lengths to teach all his people how to fight as a borderer—dirty!

  He spun and kicked the guard’s knee. He could not help wincing as the leg bowed back and snapped. Stomping on the man’s neck silenced the shrill scream almost instantly. Keppel cursed him for making a noise but it was too late. Japurans ran toward them and Keppel exploded into a kicking punching maniac. Men flew away from him as if thrown by magic, but the only magic here was Keppel himself. Nisim had time to wonder how and where such a man was created before attackers mobbed him. He killed the first two by taking one man’s sword and using it on him and his companion. He jumped onto a horse and kicked a man in the face when he grabbed his leg. He didn’t wait to see if Keppel would escape. He shouted and slapped his horse into a gallop. He ducked low as branches whipped by threatening to unseat him. Riding without a saddle was unbelievably hard, he clung on with his knees, but his thighs were already cramping.

  “Left!”

  Nisim turned his horse before he thought to question the shout. He looked to his right and found Keppel riding fast and keeping low by hugging his horse’s neck. Nisim took Keppel’s example and did likewise. They crashed through underbrush and through gaps in trees barely making it through in some cases. Behind them, the chase was gaining momentum and it seemed only a matter of time before they were run to ground. Keppel however had other plans.

  “Dismount!”

  Was the man crazy?

  Keppel leapt free of his horse and rolled back to his feet.

  Nisim was slower but he did as he was bid and slapped his horse to make her run. He saw Keppel dodge into the trees and he pursued at an all out run. It didn’t seem to matter how fast he ran as Keppel stayed ahead and even began to outdistance him. Suddenly the man disappeared. Nisim barely had time to register why when he fell. The splash of entering the river knocked the breath out of him. As he struggled to reach the surface, he fumbled at the buckles on his armour but Keppel’s grasping hands prevented him from undoing them. He was drowning! He struggled trying to break the man’s grip but his flailing arms succeeded only in making him swallow even more river water.