The Warrior Mage
The Lost Prophecy
D.K. Holmberg
ASH Publishing
Contents
Map
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by D.K. Holmberg
Copyright © 2017 by D.K. Holmberg
Cover art by Rebecca Frank
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Map
Prologue
The Mage stepped quickly through the familiar central chamber. His years spent in Vasha, within the confines of this palace, had all but blinded him to his surroundings. He made his way down the seamless hallways, eyes neglecting the priceless tapestries that hung everywhere about the palace. His dark eyes were locked straight ahead while his thoughts were turned inward, knowing no one would dare stop to speak with him along the way.
His black robe hung almost motionless about him as he walked, hood pulled up over his head, hiding his face. His height, similar to that of other Mages, did not make him remarkable in any way. All Mages shared the features of the original Warrior Mages, from whom they all descended, the heroes of the battle with the Ancient Threat so long ago. In his mind, he could recite the names of the original hundred as well as those from the smaller brigades that joined them later, sixty-three more in number. Sometimes their history made him laugh.
Walking down the hall, he passed the room where the delegates were attending class. He smiled when he thought of them, still suspect of the role they were to play. He’d observed them without their knowing, influencing their training in ways they would not be able comprehend. Even the Magi who were teaching them did not yet know their true mission.
As he continued down the hallway, he felt a strange sensation. It was a quick, almost unnoticeable, feeling. Like a brush across his neck or a breath of wind blowing through his hair. But nothing shared the hallway with him, and the air was still. He stopped, and turned quickly, but saw only the darkness of the rest of the corridor.
His turned back again and started walking. After about five more steps, the feeling came again. It was more of a tickle along the base of his neck this time, followed by an almost whisper in his ear. His lean face jerked around, his black hood falling slightly from its perch atop his head, exposing a long, graying beard. He quickly pulled up the hood.
Dim light flickered the length of the hall with an unseen breeze. A steady sway could be seen to the soft glow of the torchlight. The Mage turned back around then starting off more quickly.
His robe swished quietly around him, his concentration broken so that it was no longer motionless. He turned quickly down the next hallway, his eyes no longer locked on the path ahead of him. Instead, they flicked from side to side in a nervous twitch. Each footstep lightly echoed, a sound like someone following him.
Suddenly, something seemed to grab at his mind. It felt almost like a hand dipped into his skull, before pulling out, taking pieces of his mind with it. He staggered, missing a step, before moving on. He swung his head almost fearfully from side to side as he walked, but he had never known fear. He didn’t know what was going on, but he was not above moving quickly enough to distance himself from whatever it was. He would send others out later to search for the source of the strangeness.
He finally reached the archway marking the entrance to the tower. He followed the hallway as it curled around until he reached the stairway. He took the steps two at a time, his long legs having no trouble with the movements, reaching his destination some fourteen flights later.
A door at the end of the hall leaned open just a crack, weak light streaming from within in a flickering dance. He reached the door quickly and tugged it open. It swung out slowly and he passed inside, closing the door tight behind him.
“Were you seen?” a harsh voice called quietly from a dark corner. The sound seemed to fill his mind. He struggled to see into the darkness.
He shook his head slowly and replied, “No.” Memories of the strange encounter along the hall flashed briefly through his mind before disappearing.
A figure emerged into the light. It seemed impossibly tall, even taller than he, and in all black. The Mage pushed the hood back off his head, his eyes searching for a face in the darkness. Pools of red glittered impossibly where the figure’s eyes should have been, but nothing else of a face could be seen. The Mage tried to compose himself, and for the first time in his life found the task difficult.
The voice came again, like steel scraping along stone. “Here is how you will use the delegates…”
The Mage nodded as he listened, the rough voice filling his head.
Chapter One
Roelle turned to study the massive mountain looming behind her with a bittersweet longing. It swept up toward the flat blue sky, only a few clouds visible. Atop the mountain, far too high now for her to see clearly, was the city Vasha. Her home. It was a place many men longed to see, a place that had for years been the seat of the Urmahne. The city was a place of scholarship, not only for the Magi, but men and women from all over the known lands came to the city hoping to learn from both the world’s greatest scholars and the Magi teachers. It was where she had long expected to serve when her training was complete.
Now she raced away from it.
She had seen it from this vantage only twice before: once with Elder Haerlin when they had departed to find one of the chosen delegates, and once when they had returned. Both times, she had taken in the view and felt a sense of awe at what their Founders had created, giving them a place for the Magi to exist, and for them to develop the Urmahne religion. The city had become so much more than what their Founders had expected, but lately, she wondered if in spite of all that they had built, and the knowledge the Magi possessed, the city had become something less as well. If they had become something less.
Roelle tore her gaze away, focusing on the camp at the base of the mountain. They stopped tonight off the wide road switchbacking up the side of the mountain, nearly two days from their home. Troubled thoughts plagued her.
Endric had suggested that they make this journey, and she had left without the Council’s permission, but Roelle still wasn't sure whether this was the right plan. Some of the other yo
ung Magi were concerned about the rumors out of the north, about creatures that roam about terrorizing villagers. But Roelle had faced the Deshmahne in battle and feared another attack from them more than rumored creatures. How did having her and the Magi apprentices traveling north help them prevent another Deshmahne attack? Was this journey a mistake? Did they leave the city vulnerable?
The Denraen would manage the Deshmahne—that was what Endric had told her—but they had barely survived the last, and that was only against a few of the warrior priests. What would happen if they came in numbers? Would the Denraen be able to oppose them?
“Something bothers you. Is it leaving?” Selton asked. “We’re only a few days out, so if you think we should return…”
Roelle turned to her muscular friend. Selton had dirty-blonde hair, an angular jaw, and wore a long cloak to protect him from the cold they knew would be coming the farther north they traveled. All of the Magi wore similar cloaks, their preparations guided by Endric. He had guided the planning for much of this journey. A long sword gifted to Selton by the general hung sheathed at his waist. Roelle wore a similar sword, though hers was somewhat more ornate, made of teralin—a metal no longer mined beneath Vasha as it once had been—and she had not gotten an answer about whether there was a reason for the decorative sword. Had Endric intended her to have a fancier blade for some reason?
“It’s the Deshmahne,” she started, turning her gaze back toward the mountain. “I know Endric thinks the Denraen can handle them—”
“You don’t think they can?”
“I’ve seen what the Deshmahne can do, Selton. I can't help but think we’ll be needed in the city if they attack.” As much as it would pain the Magi to engage in battle to defend their city. They were taught to respect peace, and now, Roelle thought she understood why. An ancient text that her uncle Alriyn possessed, one he thought had been given to the Founders by the gods themselves, warned the Magi against disrupting the balance—the peace, and now the fighting in the north—and the Deshmahne—threatened that peace.
“The Council will take care of the city,” Selton said.
Roelle turned away from the road leading up into the city. There were nearly one hundred Magi apprentices camped with her, all trained by the Denraen. These apprentice Magi acquired skill with the sword and staff quickly—almost too quickly. How did that fit with what the gods wanted of them?
“It won't be up to the Council. Regardless of what Alriyn claims, if the Deshmahne attack, it will be the Denraen who protect the city,” she said. Had they remained, Roelle had little doubt that she and the other apprentices would have been involved as well.
Selton chuckled. “Even more reason for us not to worry, then. We’re not soldiers.”
Roelle looked around the men and women gathered with her. Not apprentices anymore, at least not here. Here, they were something else. She wasn’t sure what to call them yet, but not apprentices.
Tents were arranged in neat lines. A large central campfire was lit and crackled brightly in the fading daylight. Two of the soldiers Endric sent with them worked at roasting venison that had been caught. Distantly, she could hear practice staves being used, the study clacking of wood on wood, the same sound she'd heard when traveling with Endric back to the city.
“What are we, if not soldiers?” she asked.
His chuckle subsided, and a troubled expression wrinkled the corners of his eyes. “Roelle… we’re not soldiers. We may have learned to use the sword or the staff, but the Denraen are something more. Endric sent us north for information only.”
Roelle nodded. She felt differently than Selton, likely because she had seen what they had faced. She had witnessed the violence of the Deshmahne. The Denraen had barely survived the attack. If the Magi chose to do nothing if they attacked again, they would not survive.
“Endric wanted us to scout only, so we will find information, and we will bring it back to him.” She worried that they would be required to do more, that perhaps Endric expected them to do more. The Deshmahne weren’t confined to the south, not as she had been led to believe. If they attacked, the Magi would have no choice but to respond. As she surveyed the apprentices with her, she wondered if they would be ready.
Other questions troubled her as well. Would they be able to find the Antrilii? The Antrilii were nomads, wanderers of the north. What would they gain from searching for them? Both Endric and Novan the historian felt they needed to reach them. She still wasn't sure what they would learn from them, or even why Endric hadn’t simply told them about the Antrilii—he claimed there was something they had to learn firsthand—but what would they need to learn that he couldn’t simply share? Why send them like this? Whatever the Antrilii knew, they claimed the Magi could only learn experiencing it themselves.
“You should work with them,” Selton suggested. He nodded in the direction of the Magi working with the practice staves.
“The Denraen work with them.”
“They would learn more from you.” Selton watched her, clenching his jaw in the way that he always had since they were children, the way that told her of his frustration.
What bothered him today?
Roelle sighed. “I don’t know that they will. As you said, I’m no soldier.”
“No, but you’ve faced the Deshmahne. They respect that, even if they don’t really know what it means.” He turned to stare into the distance, his eyes glazing as he looked toward the north. She imagined that he used his Magi ability, though she couldn’t detect it. “Besides, someone has to lead us.”
Roelle laughed as he wandered away, checking on the roasting meat before joining the others practicing. A leader. It wasn’t a responsibility she wanted, but she almost had to be the one. She wasn’t even certain she was fit for the job. Had she made a mistake coming here?
They had been gone for two days. Long enough for them to make their way down the mountain's face, and now begin their journey north, leaving their home in the distance, the flat-topped mountain something of a taunt. Long enough for her to begin questioning, each step leaving her more unsettled. Selton’s suggestion that she should work with the others made her feel… she wasn’t quite certain how it made her feel. Almost as if she were playing a role she didn’t deserve.
As it often did, her attention turned back to the mountain her people called the Peak of Ascension. From there, the gods were said to have left the earth and gone into the heavens where they would watch over everyone. It was why the Founders had chosen that mountain to build upon. At times, she wondered if they really could see her and what she intended? Did they know her troubled heart? Did they see Vasha the way she could not?
From here, she could no longer see the terraces, forced to imagine them as they rose from above the great wall surrounding the city. For so many years, the city and the terraces were all she had known. The third terrace, surrounded by a fence of the strangely warm metal teralin mined from deep within the mountain, contained not only the palace, but the outer buildings were many of the Magi families lived. The second terrace consisted of the Denraen, the soldiers keeping the barracks and all the buildings on that level. Thousands of soldiers trained and lived there until they were sent out on patrol to maintain the peace. Then there was the first terrace. It was the majority of the city, most of the shops and other buildings that were required to run a city the size of theirs, but also the University of Vasha, an unrivaled place of learning.
“You shouldn't keep staring up at the clouds.”
Roelle turned to see Lendra approaching. She was an interesting woman, and had trained with Novan in the south before he had made his move toward Chrysia. She was the student who had studied with him prior to his working with Jakob, the man who still occasionally occupied her thoughts, despite being away from him for as long as she had. Whenever she practiced with her sword, she found her thoughts going to him, thinking of how skilled he had been, and thinking of…
Roelle sighed and shook away those thoughts. “Not in
the clouds, just contemplating.”
Lendra laughed softly. “You don't have to explain yourself. I think most of us understand that what we do is potentially dangerous.”
“You might be the only one who feels that way, Lendra. I don't think most understand what we’re getting into. The gods know that I'm not even sure I understand what we’re getting in to.”
Lendra tipped her head to the side, and ran her hand through blonde hair that was so similar to Selton. His cousin shared a similar angular jaw and the same deep blue eyes. Roelle understood why so many of the men looked at Lendra the way they did, the same way women often looked at Selton. Both were strikingly beautiful.
“There are rumors. Even in the south, I heard the rumors. I think most did. Even with those rumors, I don't think anyone understands the dangers.”
“We didn't hear them in Vasha. The first I heard of rumors out of the north was when I traveled south with Endric. And I began to realize there was something else taking place.”
“Was that when you were attacked by the Deshmahne?”
Roelle nodded slowly. Had rumors of the attack spread so far that even Lendra would have heard? It was bad enough what she had been forced to do, bad enough that she struggled with what it meant for her. She was Magi. She was Urmahne. She was supposed to protect the peace; she was not supposed to be a soldier, and definitely not a warrior. But that was what she had become that day.
“Endric believes that what we face in the north is worse than the Deshmahne.”
“We don't really know what we face. Rumors,” Lendra said.
“Antrilii. That's what we search for. For some reason, they will have the answers to our rumors,” Selton said as he rejoined them.
Lendra smiled at her cousin. “Is that all you think this is about? Do you think we come to see the horse warriors?”
Selton frowned. “What else would it be? Isn't that why Endric sent us to the north? There’s something they know that will help us understand.” He shrugged as he studied Roelle. “Whatever it is, at least we’re getting out of the city. I think everyone is excited about that.” The sound of the clacking came louder as others of the Magi joined in practice. He grinned as she turned her attention to it, and tapped her on the arm. “Working with them might clear your mind.”
The Warrior Mage (The Lost Prophecy Book 2) Page 1
