“Ravelyn and I are old friends. Aren’t we?” Godwinson said with a smile.
Ravelyn blinked. “Not that I recall. If I’m not mistaken you threatened to rip my head off the last time we met.”
“Ah yes! I remember that very well,” he said with a forced chuckle. “It was after you instructed one of the novices to kill me. Very good training. I’m sure you had my best interests at heart.”
“Of course. If you will all come with me?”
“Yes certainly, but my young companion here is in need of your good offices, Ravelyn. Felda found him running loose in Al’Hasa. I think you’ll find him an apt student. The name is Cenon.”
Godwinson pushed the reluctant boy forward, and watched Ravelyn scrutinise him. Watching the scene made him want to snatch the boy back to safety, but he didn’t dare give the impression that Cenon was in any way different from other novices. No telling what Ravelyn would do if he thought the boy was important to him.
“A fine lad,” Ravelyn said finally. “What can you do… and don’t lie to me.”
“I can light candles and make things float, my lord sorcerer,” he said exactly as he had been told on the journey.
“I said do not lie to me, boy. I class leaving things out as lying. I’ll not ask you again.”
“I can fly as well, but only a little,” Cenon said nervously.
“That’s better. Never think to fool me. I have lived for two hundred and sixteen years. In that time, I’ve seen and heard everything a boy could dream up. I always know when you lie. Do you believe me?”
Cenon was shaking. “Yes my lord sorcerer.”
“Stand where you are without moving until a sorcerer fetches you.”
Ravelyn walked into the castle with Godwinson and his friends following behind. Godwinson ignored the boy as he entered the castle but his thoughts were racing. Not only did Cenon believe Ravelyn, he did too! If Ravelyn truly could sense the truth, then he must know that Cenon had not been found in Al’Hasa. He had certainly known he was holding back, and yet he had done nothing. That was not like the evil bastard he remembered from his days in the halls. What was the man up to?
Ravelyn showed them to their rooms and left all in silence.
Godwinson didn’t bother with familiarising himself with the room. They were all the same and he had been here many times. He wished the others were in here with him, but that would seem a little odd. They would stay in their own rooms until he summoned them. He freshened up and changed into his best robe. It was the only one he owned that gave a hint to his position within the Protectorate. His everyday robes looked the same as the others wore, but this one sported intricate gold embroidery around the hood, cuffs and hem. Felda said it was a bad idea to wear something that made him stand out in a crowd and he agreed. He usually travelled with at least two members of the circle wearing the same as they. It made it harder for an assassin to target him.
With a ward up, he retrieved his daggers from his baggage and secreted them about his person. Beltran had taught him how to use them. Everyone expected a sorcerer to kill using magic; having a back up method might surprise an enemy. Beltran said the first rule of battle was to do the unexpected. Hence the daggers. Godwinson had enjoyed the lessons, but they were a last ditch defence. He would have to be truly desperate to rely upon them.
He dropped the ward and sat in a chair to wait. By his estimate Mortain would call for him in a half candlemark and then… and then he would live or he would die.
Either way would be a relief in some ways.
* * *
Mortain smiled as Beltran entered his rooms. Considerable time had gone by since he had sent his hound out into the world. Nearly two years ago his suspicions had been aroused when it came to his attention that Godwinson was recruiting powerful men to be his bodyguard and advisers. At the time the suspicion had been unformed and without true substance. All he knew then was that men who had been almost arrogantly independent had suddenly become subservient to his heir when approached by him. Since then, Mortain had received regular reports on Godwinson’s activities through Beltran. His fears had eased somewhat with the news that Godwinson was working tirelessly toward the goal of conquering Deva, but that had changed last winter when Beltran suddenly informed him of the betrayal.
“Have a seat, Beltran,” Mortain said and waved Marcail forward with wine.
Mortain studied the guardian as he sipped his wine. He frowned when the man barely pressed his goblet to his lips before placing it upon the desk. That showed distrust, but then he dismissed the thought. Beltran was Beltran after all. He was little more than an assassin really, though his task this time had not been to kill.
“So he came as I ordered,” Mortain began. “You said he would refuse.”
“I was wrong.”
“Wrong? Is that all you can say?”
Beltran shrugged. “What would you have me say? I was surprised that he followed your order.”
Mortain frowned, “Was?”
“I’m no longer surprised. He has decided it’s time to take your place,” Beltran said in a disinterested voice.
So, it had finally happened. Godwinson’s betrayal was hardly a surprise but it was still a shock to hear the day was here. What had triggered this? He could think of nothing—except perhaps sending Wotan to Camorin. The boy was doing well overall. So why now? He shrugged. It hardly mattered why he had chosen this particular time. All that mattered was that he fail.
“You will stay by me,” Mortain said and Beltran nodded. “I will summon him here in a moment. You will kill him the instant he tries anything against me.”
“I understand,” Beltran said coldly.
* * *
Godwinson composed himself and then knocked once. Marcail opened the door moments later and indicated he should enter. The first thing he saw was Beltran standing against the wall behind Mortain’s chair. The shock was complete.
“I see you know my good friend, Beltran,” Mortain said with a smile.
Godwinson was still standing in the doorway. He took control of himself and stepped fully inside so that Marcail could close the door. He reached for the web and felt a little better when he tasted Beltran’s emotions. He found complete calm. If Beltran was still calm after being summoned to meet with Mortain, the situation must be other than they had thought. Beltran would surely have warned him by now if anything was wrong.
“Yes of course. Beltran and I are good friends.”
Mortain smiled. “Take a seat.”
“I prefer to stand my lord sorcerer.”
“As you wish. I summoned you to answer a few questions. Why did you send all of my new recruits to Camorin?”
He sighed in relief. It was as he had thought. “Navarien’s campaign in Camorin is critical to our success, my lord. It became obvious he would fail without reinforcements and resupply. On my authority as Godwinson I sent the fleet with every man I could find so that Navarien’s success would be assured.”
“I see. And it never occurred to you that I had plans for those men?”
Godwinson frowned. “I have no knowledge of any such plans.”
“I am not answerable to you!” Mortain roared. “You should have asked me about those men. Athione is all but unprotected and I have nothing to send because you did not ask!”
Godwinson blinked in dismay. Mortain was forcing a confrontation and he didn’t understand why. He looked to Beltran again, but received nothing in exchange. The web still indicated he was deadly calm; he wasn’t in the least upset about this meeting.
“I did not—”
“Don’t bother,” Mortain snarled and grasped his magic. “It seems I made a mistake in choosing my heir. Lucky for me it’s not too late to fix it!”
Godwinson threw himself to the floor as fire roared through where he had been standing. As he landed he erected his strongest ward. He rose to his feet readying an attack of his own just in time to feel Beltran’s calm shatter. The man howled like one insane
and blasted Mortain in the back. Godwinson gaped as Mortain was literally ripped limb from limb.
“Bastard,” Beltran howled. “You bastard!” he screamed and then laughed like one demented.
Godwinson stared at the remains of Mortain in shock. A noise to one side had him spinning to the attack, but he held off when he found Marcail grinning. The poor man tried to say something but all that came out were meaningless grunts. He let his magic go when he realised that Marcail was not a threat to him, on the contrary, he seemed pleased to see Mortain dead.
“Beltran?” Godwinson said.
“—bastard, bastard,” Beltran was still ranting.
“Beltran!” he roared. “Snap out of it man, we have things to see to before it all blows up in our faces.”
Beltran blinked at him, but then he seemed to come back to himself. “Yes,” Beltran whispered. “Yes, you’re right my lord sorcerer.”
Godwinson straightened at that. “I’m Mortain,” he whispered, but then he frowned. “But for how long?”
“The circle will make it a very long time my lor… my friend.”
“Yes the circle. Contact them for me and ask them to come straight here would you?”
“And the other thing?” Beltran said as he used magic to reach the others.
Mortain bent to examine his predecessor but he was unable to find what he was looking for. Where by the God did he keep it? Marcail came forward, looked upon his dead master, and grunted something. Mortain didn’t understand what he wanted, but Marcail was insistent. He moved aside and allowed Marcail to search the body. Almost straight away, he stood with the key outstretched upon his palm.
“I thank you Marcail.”
“The others are on their way. Have you decided?” Beltran said.
“I think we have no choice but to go ahead with it, I need to check something first.”
He unlocked the top drawer in Mortain’s… in his desk. He felt the magical traps disengage as the key turned. Two full turns of the key unlocked the drawer, but he didn’t open it. What he needed was not in the empty drawer. It was in the lower one. He withdrew the key and dropped it casually on the desk before reaching into the lower drawer which had been unlocked by the deactivation of the traps. Inside was a thick journal in which was written the name, description, known talents, and current orders of every sorcerer living. The first thing he did was look for guardians. Beltran pulled the corpse to one side so that he could sit to read. Marcail poured wine for each of them and when the others arrived, he did the same for them.
“He attacked you?” Felda said looking at the remains.
“He tried. Beltran was ready for him though. Thanks again my friend. You saved my life.”
Beltran nodded but his eyes kept darting to the journal. “I… have a confession to make to you all.”
Eban sat next to Pendaran with a look of polite interest upon his face. Kontar took a guard position by the door, and of course. Molan would be annoyed to have missed the excitement, but they hadn’t been able to wait for him to return from Camorin.
“A confession?” Mortain said pushing the book aside. “What kind of confession?”
“You will find me in that book.”
“Well of course! We are all in—”
“No,” Beltran said impatiently. “I mean you’ll find me listed near the top of the guardians.”
Felda snatched at his magic while the others were still gaping in surprise, but before he could strike, Mortain’s voice cracked out.
“Stop! He saved me, Felda. If he wanted to kill me, he could have done it then. Come to that he could have done it many times.”
Felda hesitated, but he did not strike. He did not release his magic either. “I’m listening.”
“Yes, we’re all listening, Beltran.”
“There’s not much to say,” Beltran said as he paced. He stepped over the corpse of his former master without seeming to notice. “You know what goes on in the halls; you’ve all been through it. Mortain made me a guardian and sent me out into the world to do his bidding. I was loyal and didn’t question my orders—ever.”
“No wonder you could sniff out guardians. You already knew who they were!” Pendaran said in outrage.
“Partly. I knew many guardians but not all. Only Mortain knew them all and Ravelyn of course. Ravelyn is directly responsible for all that goes on in the halls including the training of guardians. Ravelyn did what he did to me because of this—”
Mortain flinched as Beltran kicked the corpse so hard that it rolled over and stared at him. For a moment he feared it was still alive, but no, nothing could live in so many pieces.
“So you never questioned orders,” Felda said. “That’s as it should be. What changed?”
“You,” Beltran nodded at Mortain. “You started recruiting powerful men. This piece of offal,” he kicked the corpse again, “Was afraid. He knew you all as independent men and didn’t like it that you became servants of his heir. He sent me to join you and report back to him anything of note, which I did. You were nothing to me then, just a task my lord had given me. You understand?”
“You were to kill me when he decided it was time,” Mortain said.
Beltran nodded. “But he didn’t know about the spell or the web it created. I only knew your group was exceptional. You seemed to be the best of friends and worked together without needing to be told what was needed. When you made me a part of the circle I was a mess.”
“I remember. You were confused and having trouble separating yourself from the web.”
“Not really,” Beltran disagreed. “At that time there was no me, just Mortain’s will walking around in my body. I had no life but what he gave me, no purpose but the task he gave me. Then there was the circle and the spell filling a place I never knew existed. I was confused—preoccupied you see? I watched and listened to what you all did and said, but at the same time I used the web to find the lies.”
“Only there were no lies,” Mortain said in sympathy.
“Yes! I was sent to find the truth and report. I was to serve you but not in anything that endangered him. But I couldn’t do that anymore! You understand?”
“You came to see the vision as the rest of us do, but it conflicted with your orders from Mortain—the old one I mean.”
“Exactly! If I had reported to him with everything I now knew, he would have ordered me to kill you all. You were too dangerous to live, but I could not allow that. I believe in what the circle represents, but I knew Mortain would neither believe nor allow it to continue. The only solution was to accelerate the plan, but you were reluctant and wouldn’t listen to me.”
“I was not sure it was necessary,” Mortain said.
“It was always necessary!” Beltran snarled. He glared around at his friends. “The only thing in doubt was timing. Too early and the plan would fail, too late and Mortain would become suspicious of me and send one of the others. I had to act. I reported to him that you were ready to move against him. That is why he ordered us here.”
“I see. You took it upon yourself to set the plan in motion without consulting us,” Mortain said coldly.
“I had to! If Mortain sent one of the others I would have died protecting you, but he could have sent hundreds! Waipara depends on you and the circle. I couldn’t take the chance that you would refuse to act.”
Mortain was angry, but it was a little late for recriminations. The old Mortain was dead, and now he had to take the Protectorate into the future of his vision. He knew what could happen, but not what would. He had to avoid the mistakes of his vision and save Waipara. To do that, he had to rule it absolutely. It was the only way to make every able-bodied man fight the ancient enemy.
Mortain nodded to Felda to release his magic. “That’s all in the past. We have a future to create and a world to protect. Felda, you are my second as always, but I want to change your traditional role. With the web there is less need for a Godwinson to ride all over the place.”
“
My backside thanks you,” Felda said dryly and everyone laughed. “You plan to abolish the title?”
Mortain nodded. “You know I have never liked assassination. It’s barbaric how Mortains of the past murdered their way into power. It stops here.”
Felda nodded. They had spoken of this many times.
“Beltran,” Mortain went on. “You’re the best man to deal with the guardians. Order the strike.” He turned to Eban and Pendaran. “Eban, I want you to take over the halls with Pendaran. Clean that cesspit up. Make sure Cenon is all right. That boy is something special.”
The circle acknowledged their orders with grunts of agreement or just a nod.
“What of Ravelyn?” Eban said.
“Do you think you can work with him?” he said doubting it even as he asked.
“No,” Eban said.
Mortain looked to the others and received head shakes all around.
“Kill him.”
* * *
21 ~ Eve of Battle
“Captain Bannan has taken casualties I’m afraid,” Wotan said.
Navarien turned to Cragson. “Halt the column here and set the camp as fast as you can. It seems we’re not going any further without a fight.”
Cragson nodded once and things started happening.
Navarien had discussed what was to happen with his captains at this point. The camp would provide a secure fortification to protect the supplies, which was obviously essential. Cragson would ensure the thing was dug properly, and with fresh water in the form of a river nearby, sanitation and drinking water was not a concern. Navarien had no intention of sitting on his hands in the fort of course, but it did give him a base for his operations. As long as he kept his men within reasonable distance of it, he could fight and retreat for resupply at will.
The cavalry screen had performed its task admirably. All three battalions had been engaged numerous times by small groups of clan warriors fleeing before it, but the legion had won handily each time. Bannan was now holding the right wing and fighting a larger concentration of warriors than he had so far encountered. According to Wotan’s sorcerers, this skirmish was the beginning of the clan’s resistance to their progress south.
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