That question hadn't been asked in many years. The peace had been maintained for long enough that none had been forced to question what it would be like if it failed.
“You mean by the Deshmahne?” Allay asked.
Dougray answered. “The warrior priests have a certain sort of logic. Even if you don't necessarily agree with everything they teach.”
Danvayn started to grin, but her smile faded.
Allay wondered what they had witnessed. The Deshmahne had a presence in Gom Aaldia, but he didn't know much about them, other than the fact that they unsettled him. He had seen a few of their priests, and had found their preaching distasteful. They called for fighting, for war, and he valued the peace that Gom Aaldia had known for the last several decades. If that disappeared, many of his people would die.
“I'll admit when they first came to Lakeliis, I wasn't sure what to think. But they've demonstrated that they have something.”
“Something? Didn't you tell me your father witnessed one of their dedication ceremonies?” Danvayn said.
“What's a dedication ceremony?” Allay asked. They continued down the street, and Allay was tempted to peek inside the bakery they passed. The smells were amazing. Would the bakery be as amazing as the Denraen soldiers? Perhaps all the merchants along the street were the most amazing of the entire world. The idea of only the best existing in the Magi city seemed almost fitting in a way.
“It's a ceremony where they show how they honor the gods. In Coamdon, they used a small cat for the ceremony.”
“How did they use a cat?” Allay asked.
Dougray and Danvayn glanced at each other. “It doesn't go so well for the cat, at least it didn’t in Lakeliis,” Dougray said.
Danvayn grinned. “No, not in Coamdon either. They sacrifice it to the gods.”
“How does that impress the gods?” People from Gom Aaldia weren’t as religious as those from Thealon, but they lived close enough to the place of power that Allay had been raised in the Urmahne faith.
“It's not the actual sacrifice that impresses the gods, it's how they use the sacrifice.” Dougray shook his head. “You would have to see one of their ceremonies. What they do, their dedication to the gods, it's real. I've seen how it grants them strength.”
Allay looked at the terraces above him. On the third terrace, where the Magi palace loomed, with the same smooth stone that surrounded the city itself, he had no difficulty believing in the Magi strength, or their claim to speak to the gods.
Donovan tapped his arm. “Get your head out of the clouds. We’re not saying the Magi don't also have a connection to the gods. All we’re saying is that the Deshmahne have a way of demonstrating power as well. It's compelling.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Dougray asked. “Because anyone can reach it. They've shown how anyone can have the power of the gods, not just the Magi.”
Danvayn laughed. “Come on. Let's go get a pint of ale and forget about the Magi harassing us for the day.”
Allay let himself be led along. He was willing to work with these others, but they made a good point—and it troubled him.
How could the Magi compete with a religion that offered anyone a path to the gods?
The inside of the library was dark, and there was a musty quality to the air. There was something almost soothing about that heaviness, the weight, as if the knowledge of all the years stored here pressed upon him.
Alriyn scanned the shelves stretching from the floor to nearly five feet over his head. There was row upon row of shelves, each filled with books from the generations since the founding of Vasha, each written by a scholar or historian or Magi. Alriyn had studied these through much of his youth, and had absorbed the knowledge of the past, hoping to guide his people into the future.
He ignored these shelves. It was not where he needed to go.
Pulling on one of the shelves, it came away effortlessly, revealing a flat, blank section of wall. Here, the stone looked no different from anywhere else. Alriyn pressed his hand upon the wall, feeling the smoothness of the stone. Much like the rest of the palace and the walls around the city, the stone was seamless, as if the palace, and the city itself, had simply been drawn out of the rock. Magi who attempted similar creations had not been able to reproduce what the Founders had done.
Alriyn opened his mind, allowing himself to reach deep within to the place that connected him to the manehlin. As he reached it, he drew forth that power, letting it fill him. He pulled until the emptiness within him was no longer empty. He drew manehlin out of the air surrounding him, filling himself with the energy, and then released it through his hand and into the wall.
As he did, the section of wall opened, a crack appearing along its surface, forming a massive door that slid away.
There were few Magi capable of performing this trick. Those among the Council all could, and perhaps a few others, though they lacked the knowledge of the location within the library. It was in this way that the mahne was protected.
Alriyn stepped through the doorway and triggered it to close on the other side.
The room here was different from the library outside. There, rows and rows of massive shelves filled the library, towering from floor to ceiling, crowded with collections of books that only the librarians knew how to find easily. There was an organization to it all, but it was one that Alriyn only vaguely knew.
Within this space, there was a different feeling. The room was small, his head almost reaching the ceiling, the stone walls curving slowly upward until they reached a point a foot above his head in the center of the room. Much like the rest of the palace, the stone here was completely smooth, but it was not the same pure white as elsewhere. Here, it was streaked with veins of black that he knew to be teralin like was found deep within the mountain. Elsewhere throughout the palace—and the city, really—the teralin had been cleared, leaving the stone completely white.
This room was the only one where the ore had not been mined away. It gave the room a sense of warmth, one that was fitting, but that also made it feel somewhat oppressive. The closeness of the walls and the low height to the ceiling added to that.
The only piece of furniture was in the center of the room. It was a simple pedestal, constructed of finely crafted metal, with decorative shapes depicting the gods worked into each leg, until they reached the slightly curved surface. The ancient tome of the mahne rested on the surface. The book was closed, as it always was, and Alriyn could feel the power radiating around it. It was a protective barrier placed by Magi over the years, one that preserved the text.
The text was the founding of all their people. It held the history of those from whom they had all descended. That text was the gift given to them by the gods themselves, the one that put forth the need to maintain the peace. The warnings written inside, scrawled in the ancient language, had provided a warning for his people to follow.
Peace must be maintained. If it was not, the gods could not return.
Alriyn stood in front of the book, looking down at the thick binding. It was made of something like dense parchment, dyed a royal blue that had faded only slightly over time. A single symbol was placed on the cover, that of a series of interlocking triangles surrounded by a circle. As he often did when looking at the symbol, Alriyn could almost imagine the shape of the palace, the series of towers surrounded by the circular wall. That had been the inspiration for the construction.
It'd been months since he had come to this room and stood before the mahne. This was a place of power, a place of reflection, a place that only those who served as Elders ever truly understood.
Alriyn reached through the protective barrier shielding the mahne, touching the book’s cover, and flipped it open.
A thrill ran through him that came from knowing that by touching these pages, by running his fingers along the lines of text, he connected somehow to the past, to those who came before him. Doing so connected him to his people, and connected him to a greater knowledge th
an he possessed.
His eyes scanned the page, taking in the words. He had long ago memorized each page. When he had first been raised to the Council, when he had first become one of the Elders and had been shown this room, he had spent days here, immersing himself in this text. Alriyn had long enjoyed scholarship, and this… This book was the epitome of his people's studies.
His eyes skimmed across the words, taking in each one, recognizing the warnings that were written there. The Founders had taken these words and turned them into what had become the Urmahne faith. The Book of Urmahne was given to each priest, occupied each temple, including the half-dozen within Vasha, and all were derived from this one work.
And still, it was incomplete.
Sections of the mahne were missing. As Alriyn flipped to the back, he found the damaged fragments. His gaze stopped at the interrupted words. Many had tried to puzzle together the missing pieces, had tried to understand what the gods might have wanted them to know, but there was no way of really knowing.
As he stepped back and closed the book, he wished he knew what had been on those pages. His mentor claimed it was only fitting that his people not know exactly what it was that they needed to do to serve the gods, but it was a sentiment he didn’t always share. If they knew, wouldn’t they be better able to serve?
A soft shuffling near him disrupted his thoughts.
He turned and saw the Eldest watching him.
Jostephon nodded. “What brings you here today, Alriyn?”
Back when they had first been raised to the Council and simply served as Elders, they both thought they could raise the Magi influence, return it to what it had been centuries before, but in the last few decades, the Eldest had stopped including Alriyn in his decisions, and Alriyn had not pressed. His interests had never really been about leading; rather he preferred to study, to search. He had spent the greatest part of his time among the Council studying the mahne, seeking greater understanding, and few understood it as well as he did.
Only the Eldest could claim the same level of knowledge. They had once studied together, discovering aspects of that prophecy that drove them both, learning that the Magi had once been more than Magi. And now, the Eldest seemed to have abandoned what they knew.
“Troubled thoughts, Jostephon.” Formality disappeared within this room. Here, they were all nothing more than Magi standing before the wisdom of the gods.
“Do you still question what we do with the delegates?” Jostephon asked.
“I'm not sure that the delegates will achieve the level of influence we think they will.”
“They will have an easier time of it than the Magi.”
Alriyn nodded. “Perhaps. It's possible that they'll have an easier time, but what do we expect of them? What do you really think they'll be able to accomplish?”
Jostephon nodded toward the mahne. “We seek to return knowledge to the people. Is that not what the Founders would've wanted from us?”
“If that's what we truly are after, I question whether we have chosen the right pathway.”
Jostephon stepped next to him and reached his hand through the barrier to the mahne. As he did, he scratched his arm, pulling his sleeves down. He flipped open the mahne, running his finger across the page quickly. “We are led to believe this is the wisdom of the gods.”
“You don't think the gods provided us this wisdom?”
Jostephon shrugged. “Who's to say? What we call the gods, others view as something else.”
Alriyn frowned. Had Jostephon discovered something in his studies? It was not uncommon for him to disappear for months at a time, traveling, searching for some new piece of information. It was a practice that Alriyn himself had modeled. There was a reason he had gone north. Few of the rest of the Council followed their lead, but few of the rest of the Council had the same interests.
“What else would they be other than gods?”
Jostephon closed the book and rested his hands on it. “What else indeed? Most believe the Magi still speak to the gods.”
Alriyn had only once spoken to one of the gods, and that had come in a dream. It had been a vision, one that had instructed him to chase knowledge, to search for answers. It had been that vision, that dream, that had started him on his pathway toward learning. Had Jostephon had a similar vision?
“Perhaps the gods are truly gone for good. Perhaps there is another answer.” Jostephon took a step back, and for a moment, Alriyn thought he might take the mahne with him. Instead, he left it, sliding it slightly on the top of the pedestal. Alriyn resisted the urge to reach through the barrier and slide it back into place. It seemed disrespectful to leave it disrupted like that. Yet, he knew that was just his imagination. It was only a book. One of power and knowledge, but still only words.
“Have you spent much time with the delegates?” Alriyn asked.
Jostephon shook his head. “Others will do a better job than I can. My strength was never with instruction.”
Alriyn chuckled softly. “I think you underestimate yourself, old friend.”
Jostephon closed his eyes tightly. “Perhaps.”
“If our plan with the delegates is going to work, this will need to be only the first wave of many,” Alriyn said, sharing a suggestion Karrin had made. “We could continue bringing delegates to the city, continue to train them.”
Jostephon said nothing.
The sliver of hope that he had begun to have, thinking that perhaps these delegates might help them deal with the Deshmahne, faded slightly. Whatever his small council did, they would ultimately need the Eldest's approval. Right now, working covertly with his small group felt deceptive.
“When will your niece return?” Jostephon asked.
Alriyn blinked. Had Jostephon just been reading his thoughts? “Hopefully soon. From what I understand, they went to see if the Deshmahne proved a danger in the north.” He considered sharing more with Jostephon but something held him back.
There was a strange crawling sensation in the back of his mind, almost an itch, that Alriyn chose to ignore.
Jostephon smiled. “Deshmahne? They think they can do more than the Denraen?”
Alriyn shrugged. “Roelle saw more than I can claim on her return journey to the city. The others… They think—”
“They think to play at being soldiers as well?”
“Our Founders were soldiers,” Alriyn reminded.
“The Founders laid down their weapons as they founded the Urmahne. Does Roelle now seek to abandon our beliefs?”
Alriyn had to choose his words carefully. He didn't want to risk Roelle’s safety and needed to keep Jostephon as an ally, especially if they were to find a way to eliminate the Deshmahne threat in the city.
“She does not abandon the Urmahne.” Alriyn turned to Jostephon. “Let the apprentices have this. They will return soon.”
“One can only hope they return intact. There are dangerous rumors out of the north.”
Alriyn nodded, resisting the urge to ask Jostephon what rumors he might have heard. It was bad enough that he had sent Roelle, that he had allowed her to go, without knowing more.
Without saying another word, Jostephon turned and swept out of the chamber, disappearing back into the library, leaving Alriyn standing alone.
Before leaving, he reached through the barrier and move the mahne back into place.
When he withdrew his hands, he added another layer to the barrier.
Chapter Seven
The room echoed with the sound of Locken’s footsteps. Each heavy step was answered by a call that rang from the walls and weighed heavily on his heart. A shadow seemed to envelop the room, sucking the light from the fire and candles. Almost as if there were a presence within the room. Locken shuddered silently to himself and forced the dark thoughts from his mind.
His blue eyes darted quickly along the walls searching for hidden figures. The Deathguard must be hiding somewhere. They never left the king, so they must be here. He gave up as he realized he
was unable to see deep enough into the darkness.
A tickling at his mind came quickly and was gone again, but another shudder coursed through him, leaving a trail of goose pimples along his arms. He briskly rubbed his large hands, rough and callused from his years of hard work, along his bared skin as he walked, little warmth gained but a distraction from his thoughts nonetheless.
His head turned slowly to face forward again, and his eyes caught on the dim shape of the large chair near the end of the room. A tall figure sat lazily within the confines of the huge throne. Three other figures stood at a careful distance from the chair. He knew they waited for his arrival, but hadn’t known he would be the last to arrive. The echoes along the walls increased their pace as he hastened his steps. It would not be good to approach the High King too casually.
As he neared the throne, a strange smell came to his nostrils. It felt heavy, cloying, and he could almost taste the fumes. There was something about it that was sweet, but sickly sweet as if covering something worse. What it covered, he could only guess. The undertones were of something pungent.
His stomach turned slightly at the smell, and he glanced about quickly for its source but was unsuccessful. The strange dimness of the room did not allow for prying eyes.
He stopped near the other men and dropped quickly to one knee, his hand squeezing the hilt of his sword, his knuckles whitening, as he lowered his head. “May the gods welcome us this day, my lord.” The required greeting came out quietly, his words seemingly hushed by the heaviness in the room.
“May they grant their protection once again,” came a deep voice with the chanted reply.
His gaze turned up. He saw the lean face of the High King nod to him, the man’s short, graying hair parted slightly to the side. He stood slowly and stepped back into line with the other three kings. As he took a step backward, he thought he saw the shape of a cloaked figure standing behind the High King, but it was quickly gone. Did the darkness fool him, or was it simply one of the Deathguard?
The Warrior Mage (The Lost Prophecy Book 2) Page 6
