The Warrior Mage (The Lost Prophecy Book 2)

by D. K. Holmberg

  “You will wait to attack when Thealon is distracted by movement in the north. And you will not question me again.” The words carried a hint of a threat.

  His head ached at the sound.

  Trust Raime! the voice screamed.

  He looked to his advisor, a new light in his eyes.

  Richard still swooned with the dizzying motion before him, but he nodded as Raime spoke. Something in the words frightened him in a way that he had not been frightened before. He wondered again who the man in front of him was.

  Raime! He should be exalted.

  “How do you know news from the north will distract Thealon?” he managed to ask.

  Echoes of laughter pealed off the wall. The stone seemed to shake and the floor seemed to ripple. Richard knew it was the dizziness that made him feel what he did. It had to be.

  His heart raced. There was something all too knowing in the laugh that he dared not question.

  He shivered slightly, trying to look around the room, but the movement made him sick. Then the feeling passed and the room was normal.

  His gaze shifted to Raime, and he looked up at him with a different expression: true fear. Raime had somehow caused the sickness.

  Who was the man standing before him?

  He thought he heard a faint laugh.

  Silence stretched through the room until Raime broke it. “You have five convicted criminals, two murderers and three thieves, who wish to appeal their sentences this morning. Will you see them?”

  Richard sat thoughtful for a moment before asking, “Who tried them?” He knew the answer as he spoke the question.

  “I did.”

  “And their sentences?”

  “Death.”

  He paused, unsure what to say. Finally, he asked, “From who are the three thieves convicted of stealing?” Again, he knew the answer as he spoke.

  The voice laughed within him.

  Richard wanted to scream.

  “Why, my lord the High King, of course.” Richard thought he felt the laughter again as Raime continued. “Two were caught in the royal pastures, paying too close attention to your majesty’s horses. The other…” He paused, almost bearing down on Richard. “The other was a servant caught stealing food from the kitchens.”

  Death? For those three? The servant deserved little more than exile from the palace. And the other two? He doubted the other two were anywhere near his horse stock. “And the murderers?”

  “One man was guilty of slaying a traveler outside the city, a young woman who hasn’t been identified. Brutally torn apart, insides strewn from her body so that only the animals and the insects would have at her…”

  “Enough!” Richard shouted. He did not need the details. He didn’t think his stomach could handle them. Not now.

  There was more laughter.

  It had to be the gods laughing, but why would the gods laugh at him?

  Raime nodded slightly, “As you wish, my lord.”

  Richard tried to harden his gaze. He doubted its success.

  “Regardless, they each seek an appeal from your majesty.”

  Richard doubted they sought appeal on their own. Raime was testing him. What were the consequences if he failed? The dizziness and nausea faded, but the memory of what he’d felt remained.

  “When are the sentences to be carried out?” He tried to keep his voice light, but a slight squeak of his words at the end of the sentence betrayed him.

  “This afternoon. Public hangings, all of them. And we will open the bodies of the two murderers following their deaths.”

  Hanging for theft was not unheard of, but three in one day? The brutal sentence for the murderers was also uncommon. The bodies would not be allowed their final rest. It almost bothered him, and little ever had.

  What would the gods think?

  Nothing! the voice answered.

  Five hangings would upset the people even more than usual, and he was already little loved by them. If he heard the appeals, he would likely fail Raime’s test.

  “No. Their sentences shall serve as an example to the city.” He tried to sound more authoritative.

  Yes! Authority! the voice laughed.

  A silence filled the room again before Raime responded. Richard thought he could almost feel a smile crossing the man’s lips, and knew it to be a satisfied smile.

  “They shall. The people need a firm rule.”

  Richard nodded.

  “There are other matters that need your opinion,” Raime started.

  With a shudder, Richard doubted that. He suspected more tests.

  Chapter Eight

  Roelle watched the Magi as Hester guided them in their formation, directing them as they marched. They moved more crisply than they had before, almost following his commands as the Denraen soldiers would have. Each day, they improved.

  When he realized she watched, Hester came over to her. Beads of sweat gleamed on his forehead. “They're coming along. They'll understand how to move in formation soon.”

  They were more coordinated than they had been just the day before. They were now three days past the Deshmahne attack. Three days into the Magi seeing the danger that even a few Deshmahne would pose. Now, the others understood a little more of the potential threat they faced.

  Some of the joviality had waned. When before, they had laughed and joked in the evenings, now there was more intensity. Hearing from Matthew and Selton what they had faced drove home the risks. It still wasn't the same as facing it themselves. Roelle knew that, just as she knew that she wanted to protect them from the need to face it. Better to experience it secondhand. But, if nothing else, it encouraged them to work more efficiently.

  There was an interest now to learn tactics that had not been there before. The Magi now shared a willingness to study with Hester and the other Denraen soldiers. Not only learning the sword and the staff, they had an interest in learning how the Denraen moved, to march the way the Denraen did. Roelle hated that it was necessary. They were Magi, not soldiers.

  But they gained skill quickly, natural warriors.

  She refused to think about what that meant.

  At night, wooden practice staves collided with a certain energy. Even Selton trained with more earnestness than he had before. He still hadn't spoken to her about the Deshmahne, or pressed her about what they faced in the north. It was as if facing the Deshmahne had shown him the necessity of what they did.

  Hester grabbed her arm. “You should get some rest. I can see how this is straining you.”

  “I need to understand these techniques the same as they do.”

  Hester chuckled. He released her arm. “I think you've got most of it down. You've already demonstrated how much you know. One might believe you've studied tactics the same as Endric.”

  Roelle reached into a pocket beneath her cloak. As they continued to move farther north, the heavy for cloak had become more necessary. The air had a bite to it, cold where before it had been comfortable. She held up the slender book that Endric had given her.

  “He gave me this to study.”

  Hester took it from her, eyes scanning the title before slightly widening. “You know what this is?” When she nodded, he shook his head. “I can't believe he would give this to anyone, let alone one of the Magi.”

  “He said his father wrote it.”

  “Aye. The man is widely regarded as the second best general the Denraen have ever had.”

  “Second best?”

  Hester shrugged. “We all think Endric is the best general. Because of him, we've known a different kind of peace in these lands than has been known for a long time.

  “Peace?” She frowned. “Other than the Deshmahne—and those attacks have been recent—we haven't had fighting for hundreds of years.”

  “Not here. But the south… That's where the Deshmahne have taken hold. The people in those provinces have seen bloody fighting that even the Denraen haven't been able to corral. Endric has sent Denraen to the south, but all
they’ve been able to do is limit the extent of the Deshmahne reach.”

  Roelle watched the Magi get out of line little bit, and stepped forward. “No. Stay together as you move. Like this,” she said demonstrating the movement to the Magi.

  It wasn't that she knew it herself, but she had seen it from the Denraen when traveling with them. And not just from the Denraen, she realized, but she’d also read about this maneuver in the book Endric had given her.

  When she had demonstrated to the others, they acknowledged and began practicing again.

  Roelle stepped back, and Hester laughed softly. “See? You don't need to practice. You're the one teaching the others.” He returned to the Magi, demonstrating another maneuver.

  She watched Hester work with the Magi for a while longer, then headed over to the weapons practice area. Once there, she saw three of the Magi, Jhun, Stan, and Beckah all facing off against each other.

  Roelle stood back and watched, observing the movements, admiring the grace with which the Magi were able to move. It was undeniable that they had a specific physical ability. Were they somehow destined to use the ability the gods’ gifted them with to fight? As she did every time she watched the Magi, she wondered: Why would the gods want them to use their abilities to fight and then teach them to maintain the peace?

  “You look troubled.”

  Roelle turned to see Lendra approaching. She wore a heavy leather cloak with a fur-lined hood. Unlike the Magi, Lendra was dressed in winter riding pants and a similarly thick shirt. Both were simply made, but looked to be of warm spun wool. Roelle wore something similar but beneath her Magi robe, which was covered by the cloak she wore. They hadn't abandoned wearing their traditional garb, remaining dressed like they were still in the city.

  “Not troubled, just thinking.”

  “You asked me earlier what I think we will find in the north,” Lendra said.

  “And you didn’t answer,” Roelle said. “I didn't think you wanted to offer your opinion.”

  Lendra shrugged. “I'm not quite like Novan. But I don't know what he knows. I haven't heard the same rumors out of the north. My time was spent in Lakeliis, far removed from those rumors.”

  “You spoke of your experience with the Deshmahne. Are they the reason you came north?”

  Lendra met her gaze. She had deep blue eyes, and there was an intensity behind them, a deep intelligence that reminded Roelle of looking into Novan’s eyes. Novan had a similar expression, one of deep knowledge, a wisdom that could only be gained by seeing the world. It was the kind of wisdom the Elders on the Council were lacking.

  Had her uncle felt the same way? Was that why he had ventured out of Vasha and into the north? These days, it was unusual for any of the Magi not assigned as advisors to leave the city, and there were fewer and fewer advisors.

  “The Deshmahne came to my city several years ago. At first, nothing seemed to change. They came in, offered a different method of reaching the gods, preaching at various places throughout the city. They built a temple and offered those interested to travel there to learn. Some took them up on it, but not as many as did in other places.”

  “You said, ‘At first.’”

  Lendra nodded. “That was what happened at first. Over time, they began having confrontations with the Urmahne priests. In the beginning, it was nothing more than skirmishes. They would argue with them, claiming they had a better way of reaching the gods. The priests, as you know, were not confrontational. They had no interest in fighting the Deshmahne. They taught as they always had, too proud to realize that the Deshmahne had gained influence. They thought no one would see the value of the Deshmahne teachings. They couldn't fathom how any would turn to the Deshmahne way of serving the gods.”

  The practice battle in front of them continued, Jhun forcing Beckah back. Stan attacked, driving both of them back with a flourish. Then, with a nod, the other two joined forces and drove Stan back. They caught him on each arm, and he dropped his practice stave. This time, Jhun stayed close, leaving her sword up against his neck.

  Roelle couldn't decide whether she should be proud that Jhun had remembered the lesson and taken it to heart, or ashamed that Jhun had attacked another and mimicked killing him. The answer wasn't easy.

  She pulled her gaze away and back to Lendra. “What happened with the Deshmahne over time?”

  “I witnessed how they changed their approach. First, arguing with the priests. But when that proved ineffective, they began fighting them. It started in secret, nothing more than rumors about attacks, and then more openly. They would capture them, brand them, and demand that they convert.”

  “The priests would not comply with such demands to convert,” Roelle said.

  “No, they did not comply.”

  “So what happened?”

  “To demonstrate their strength, to show how they could reach the gods, the Deshmahne killed Urmahne priests. They claimed this was their way to power.”

  Roelle shivered. She believed the Deshmahne capable of doing that. She had seen it herself in the way they had attacked and destroyed the temple in Chrysia. Had that been an attempt to convert? Had the Deshmahne failed, which was why they had destroyed it?

  Why risk coming openly into what were known Urmahne strongholds? Roelle's gaze drifted toward Hester. Could the Denraen have done something that would have stopped the attacks?

  Lendra followed the direction of her gaze. “The Denraen tried. By the time they came, by the time patrols reached us, the Deshmahne had taken over, and there was no further fighting.”

  Roelle closed her eyes and sighed. She could imagine what had happened. Without an actual attack, without any reason to engage with the Deshmahne, the Denraen would have let peace remain, in accordance with Urmahne beliefs. It was unfortunate, but it made a sort of sense that they would do so.

  “Is that why you left?”

  “I think there is much that we could learn from the Deshmahne. I would've stayed, but they began to chase out those who sought learning. The teachers first, and then they came after the historians.”

  “There can't be that many historians to come after.”

  “Not as there once were. There was a time when the guild was quite large, with representatives throughout the land. Like the Magi, their influence has faded.”

  Roelle sighed at the comment. It was bad enough knowing the Magi influence was not what it once was, but having Lendra comment on it made it somehow worse. “Are you a member of the guild?”

  “I’m not. You have to be named to the guild by a member,” she said, frustration seeping into her voice. She waved her hands in the air. “It's all very complicated.”

  Roelle couldn't help but smile. She imagined the order of historians as some sort of nebulous group, but that probably wasn't it at all. They were probably more like the scholars within the university in Vasha, educators, but nothing more. Well, other than Novan. “What role did Novan have with the order before coming to Chrysia?”

  “Novan was always a little different from other historians,” Lendra said.

  Roelle chuckled. “Different how? I haven't met any other historians who really know what to expect.”

  “Most of the other historians are of the philosophy that they should simply watch and be neutral observers. Novan… Well…”

  Roelle laughed again. “I've seen him. I traveled with him. Neutral doesn't really fit your historian, does it?”

  Lendra grinned. “No, I suppose it doesn't. Still, Novan is quite respected within the order. Few are quite as well-known as he, and there aren't many who are as… well, I suppose respected is about the only way I can describe it.”

  “Why did Novan leave Coamdon? That’s where you worked with him, wasn’t it?”

  “Novan keeps his own counsel. There aren’t many he respects enough to share his thoughts with. Endric is one. Your uncle would be another.”

  Roelle shot her an amused look. “Are you sure about that? Alriyn didn't seem that fond of Novan.”


  “You didn't hear some of the comments Novan made about your uncle. It was clear he respected him. I think he respects you as well. He wouldn't have encouraged me to come otherwise, and he wouldn't have shared with me what he revealed to you otherwise.”

  “Novan didn't reveal anything to me. All I know is that we're heading north, searching for the Antrilii.”

  “Is that all we’re searching for?” Lendra asked. “Don't you think we’re looking for something more than just Antrilii? Why else would your uncle be concerned about what was taking place in the north? Why else would they tell you to search out your Founders?” She nodded toward the Magi practicing and then tipped her head toward where Hester worked with another group. “Why else would the general have been so willing to work with you, teaching you his techniques? A violation of everything your people have taught for so many years.”

  Roelle had thought it was related to the fact that she had impressed him, but maybe it was more than that. Maybe it was something that Endric himself feared. If that was true, what might it be? What would the general be worried about, and why would he not have shared that with her?

  She glanced at Lendra. “Whatever it is, he's more worried more about it than he is about the Deshmahne.”

  Lendra nodded. “And you’ve faced the Deshmahne more than once now. So you know that whatever it is that we might face is something worse.”

  Roelle sighed. What could be worse than the Deshmahne? That was the question that troubled her. It was the question she still had no answer to.

  Chapter Nine

  Roelle marched alongside her horse, leading the mare today instead of riding her. She was a dappled gray, a friendly horse named Betty, a strange name for a horse, at least in her opinion. Endric had promised the horse would be battle hardened, and that she wouldn't have to worry about how the mare would handle an attack. Considering that the horse hadn't bolted when they faced the Deshmahne attack, she suspected he knew exactly what she was getting.