Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 by Mark E. Cooper Page B

coming from the great hall as he approached. The doors were opened by two of his father’s cronies just as he reached them. He did not acknowledge the courtesy as he strode through. He stopped just inside the doors to survey the hall. He saw nothing to make this judgement in any way unusual. Behind him the doors clicked shut.
    The noise quieted as Jihan moved to take his place upon the dais. Heads turned in his direction and elbows nudged causing more heads to turn. Athlone sat in his chair glaring. He was in a bad humour, but when wasn’t he? Standing upon the second step of the dais was Vadin. He was holding a sheaf of parchment with the names of the petitioners and their requests if known. Jihan ignored Vadin and climbed the dais. He turned and stood at his father’s right hand. He would have preferred to be somewhere else.
    Anywhere else!
    “You’re late, boy,” Athlone grated.
    Jihan didn’t answer.
    “Where were you?”
    “Practising with the bow,” Jihan said keeping his words to a minimum.
    If he hadn’t answered, Athlone would likely have set some kind of petty punishment—cleaning the stalls was an old favourite for insolence. Not that Jihan was bothered one way or the other about that, but it did waste what little time he was allowed for himself.
    “You don’t need it,” Athlone grunted.
    They both knew he was a master of the weapon, but practise was the only way to keep his skill. Besides, he enjoyed it. Jihan was skilled in many weapons. His teachers had been masters in their chosen fields. After teaching him the basics of each, they had demanded that he choose just one. He had said sword, dagger, bow, lance, fists, feet… and on until he finished their list. His instructors hadn’t been amused with his rebellion, but Jihan would not be forced. They worked him hard trying to make him choose one weapon—they even tried to bribe him with promises of reducing the level of work and pain they put him through. Yannis and Cowan were the only ones among his instructors who understood this side of him, but even they failed to realise where his determination came from. Although Jihan did enjoy weapon practise, he had wanted to be the best with every weapon so that he might one day kill them all. Jihan suspected that they had learned his motivations just before leaving Malcor. He was the reason for their sudden departure. Nowadays, if asked his preference he said sword, bow, and dagger in that order, but secretly he always chose the weapon best suited for the task. That, in his opinion, was just common sense.
    Vadin called for quiet and the judgement commenced. Jihan absently listened to the proceedings. The usual things came before Athlone. Things such as so and so the farmer was said to have allowed his cattle to stray into another’s fields causing this or that amount of silvers in damage. Athlone ordered the cattle butchered and the resulting money given to the aggrieved party. It was a harsh judgement. Without cattle, the man would lose the farm, but it was Athlone’s standard penalty for such cases. The owner should have ensured proper fencing, but Jihan thought that half the money should go to the owner. He would have ordered it so if he were lord.
    Petty cases came and went, but near the end, Jihan snapped to attention as a man was brought forward in chains.
    “This man, one Celek by name and a farm labourer by trade, is accused of the murder of a girl named Nerina late of Bluefield village,” Vadin announced.
    Bluefield was roughly two days easy riding to the south. It was named Bluefield because its main industry was linen. The flax plant had blue flowers, and fields of the stuff were needed to produce sufficient fibre to make the linen. The fields looked as if a blue tapestry had been laid upon the ground.
    “Who speaks for this man?” Athlone said in a bored voice.
    A man in clothing that had seen hard use stepped forward and made his bow. “I do m’lord. I am Kelda m’lord. Celek has