The Warrior Mage (The Lost Prophecy Book 2)

by D. K. Holmberg

  “I’m second in line to the throne. My brother is older, stronger, and better favored than I. I might be interested in who advises my father, but there is very little I can do to intervene.”

  They reached a branch in the hallway, and Stohn took a right, going the opposite direction that Allay would've chosen. Allay let him lead, curious where Stohn would take him. Where did the man go in the palace?

  They reached a set of stairs and traveled down. At the bottom, they reached a narrow doorway and Stohn opened it, stepping out into a wide grassy lawn. Trees lined the lawn, growing vibrantly despite the cooler temperature in the rocky soil atop the mountain.

  “My father—he is On’shun. It is a position similar to your king. He rules, but he has always taught me that I need to understand how he rules so that I can be prepared if it becomes my turn.”

  “If that’s the case, then you’re closer to the throne than I am.”

  Stohn shrugged, making his way away from the palace. Allay realized that he was heading toward the shoulder-height wall that separated this terrace from the one below. When he stopped at it, he paused briefly before grabbing the lip, throwing himself up to the top, and sitting there. Allay climbed up more hesitantly than the other man.

  “It is the same. My father treats both my two sisters and me the same. They must be prepared to rule no differently than I. If something were to happen to me, they must be ready.”

  He looked over to Allay, fixing him with an intense gaze. “What would happen if something were to happen to your brother? Would you be ready, Allay Lansington?”

  Allay didn't have an answer. And perhaps that was the point.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jakob sat in the middle of the massive clearing, the large central building looming nearby. It was early morning, and he had rested well, a dreamless sleep, and awoke hungry. Anda had greeted him and informed him that they would eat, leading him to the clearing.

  Salindra sat next to him, saying little. Since joining them this morning, she had said very little. Brohmin spoke with one of the daneamiin who had escorted them to the city. He spoke quietly, but there was an agitated energy to him. Jakob wondered why that would be.

  “What do you think he's talking about?” Jakob asked Salindra.

  Salindra stared at Brohmin, her hands smoothing down her long cloak so that it covered her ankles, but Jakob didn't need to see the skin to remember the wound there. It seemed impossible to believe that Magi abilities could be stolen by the High Priest, but he couldn't deny the fact that Salindra seemed weaker, lessened in some ways, than the other Magi he had interacted with.

  “We shouldn't be here,” Salindra said softly. “We’re not meant to visit these lands. What was Brohmin thinking?”

  She said the last under her breath, but Jakob felt similar, thinking that they needed to get back to the other side of the valley, that whatever they needed from the trunk could be taken to where Novan and his Conclave could utilize it. That was the reason they were here. The reason they had made the journey had been all about bringing the trunk to Avaneam, but why? What was it about the trunk that needed to reach this place, and these people?

  Brohmin finished whatever he was discussing with the daneamiin and joined them. He took a seat next to Salindra, touching her lightly on the wrist. As he did, Jakob noted the swirling energy around him shifting, curling toward Salindra's ankles where it created something almost like a barrier. A bandage of energy, he realized. As he placed it, Salindra's energy shifted, becoming more distinct.

  Brohmin seem to notice Jakob watching and looked up with a sly smile on his face. “I find it interesting that you can see the ahmaean now.”

  “I see… something like energy around you. I see it everywhere.” He waved his hand, motioning toward the trees, to the daneamiin, and then to Brohmin and Salindra. The energy surrounded everyone here.

  Why should Jakob see this? What had changed for him that would allow him to suddenly be able to see this? He tried not to think about it too much, knowing that if he did, it would only bother him, make him realize that perhaps there was something wrong with him.

  He had changed in the time since leaving Chrysia. Not only had he become more skilled with the sword—which was strange enough, especially given his previous level of skill—but he’d also started having visions, some that were so real that he thought he lived them.

  His hand went to his shoulder where the spear had pierced him. That had been a vision, but that had been something more than imagined. In that vision, he had seemed to travel to another place, possibly even another time, where he was… he didn’t know what. Someone else, he thought. In that place and that time, he had powers. He had controlled the rocks, using them to destroy the groeliin, nearly getting impaled in the process.

  What did those visions mean for him?

  He no longer worried about the madness, not as he once had. He didn't think that he was going mad, though something was happening to him. Whatever it was seemed to have been triggered when he first left Chrysia with Novan. Had it been traveling with the Magi, had that changed him? Had that awoken something within him?

  Thinking like that would only lead him back toward the path of believing in the madness.

  Jakob pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, his sword—Neamiin—resting awkwardly next to him. “I've seen it since we've come to these lands. There's something powerful about this place.”

  Brohmin smiled. “There is indeed something very powerful about these lands. It's a place that has been hidden from mankind for centuries.”

  Salindra looked over to Brohmin. “Men have never known these lands.”

  Brohmin arched an eyebrow. “No? Are you so certain? Do you truly believe that this place has never been explored in all the years of our world?”

  “We have no—”

  Brohmin rested his hand on Salindra's arm. “Just because something seems difficult, does not make it impossible.”

  Salindra's gaze drifted to the brands on her ankles, and Jakob could see the question forming behind her eyes, but it was one she never asked.

  How was it possible that Brohmin could heal her? How was it that he kept her from losing all her strength entirely? What other secrets did he hide?

  “Why are we here, Brohmin?” Jakob asked. “You know something you haven’t shared. You knew I was sent with the trunk.”

  Brohmin nodded. “Novan sent word. He asked for my help.”

  “Why? What’s in the trunk? How can the daneamiin help with it?”

  Brohmin studied Jakob before nodding toward the daneamiin. “You were sent with an important item. Endric was to have brought it, as Endric was thought to have been the one most likely able to benefit from its use.”

  “What you mean?” Jakob asked.

  “Only that the Conclave thought Endric would play a greater role. But… Endric handed that task off to you. Interesting that he would, don't you think?”

  Jakob looked from Brohmin to the daneamiin. “I don't know enough about why we’re here, what is in that trunk, or even them,” he said, motioning toward the daneamiin, “for me to know how to answer that.”

  Salindra frowned. “Why was Endric supposed to come here?”

  Instead of answering, Brohmin smiled.

  A steady drumming began, seeming to come from everywhere all at once. It took Jakob a moment to realize that it came from deep beneath him, the drumming seeming to come from the earth itself.

  Salindra tensed, and the energy surrounding her shimmered before fading. Jakob wondered if she attempted to use her Magi abilities and failed.

  “Brohmin?” Jakob asked. “Why was Endric supposed to bring the trunk here?”

  “Endric was thought to be the key to bringing an end to a battle that has waged for centuries. Alyta has been trying to end it for years, but now that her time comes to an end, there is a renewed urgency. She has seen something…” Brohmin shook his head. “I cannot say what she saw, not with certain
ty, only that she fears our failure.”

  “This war—is it with the High Priest or the Deshmahne?” Salindra asked.

  Brohmin took a deep breath. “Are they different?” he asked. “There are those who seek knowledge for the sake of knowledge. There are those who seek power for the sake of power. There are those who would abuse both. Endric has been the most capable soldier in generations. Many on the Conclave thought that granted him a particular chance at accomplishing what the rest of us had not.”

  “What does that even mean?” Salindra asked.

  “The Conclave seeks to maintain a certain order. There is danger to the world—real danger—if that balance is disrupted.”

  “You mean the Urmahne faith. That is why they founded it, to teach it.”

  “Not entirely. Your people follow a text from generations ago, from the first Conclave. It is a text that contains wisdom gathered by people before civilization nearly collapsed. It is a text that understood the need for peace, recognizing the need for balance, but what you are missing is what might happen if that balance is not maintained.”

  Salindra chuckled. “You think we would anger the gods if the peace is not maintained? I never took you for the faithful type, Brohmin. In the time that I've traveled with you, you seem to be more of the do-it-as-you-see-fit type.”

  Brohmin laughed. “Many of your people shared the same assessment of me over the years. Everything I’ve done has been—and continues to be—in service to the Conclave. When I was Chosen”—he ignored the pointed look Salindra gave him—“the Conclave brought me in and showed me how I could best serve. The Conclave recognizes what would happen if this balance fails.”

  Salindra leaned toward him. “And what is that?”

  “An unmaking.”

  The words hung in the air.

  Salindra seemed like she wanted to ask more, but she didn't have the chance.

  The steady drumming, which had subsided for a time, began again, building slowly with a soft crescendo, deep within the earth. The daneamiin formed a circle, and then a circle around the circle, moving steadily in opposite directions. Jakob, Salindra, and Brohmin sat outside of the two rings of circles.

  Energy swirled around the daneamiin, a powerful dark and light mixture. Power built and built, reaching a crescendo, before settling, fading once more. As it did, it extinguished in a soft wave that washed over Jakob and Salindra, rolling past Brohmin, and drifting out and into the rest of the forest. The trees themselves seem to sigh, almost a giving of thanks.

  The elder daneamiin who’d spoken to them earlier approached, his white robe flowing around him. His bright eyes seemed to weigh them, before focusing on Jakob. The daneamiin who had traveled with them from the edge of the forest stood next to him. Three other daneamiin stood on the other side. As Jakob watched, he noted energy swirling between them, connecting, touching, before receding. It reminded him of what he’d seen of the gods in his vision from the Great Forest.

  Brohmin stood and motioned for Jakob and Salindra to follow.

  “Today, we will feast,” the elder daneamiin said. Jakob concluded he was clearly their leader. “The Maker has welcomed you to our home. We will provide warmth, comfort, and peace.”

  “Aruhn, there is a reason for our visit more than the comfort of your meal, in the comfort of your company,” Brohmin explained. “We were entrusted with transporting an item of great value here.” He motioned to Jakob who lifted the trunk and held it out to the daneamiin.

  Aruhn took the trunk. “Indeed, you were entrusted. It was a gift given long ago, one that was meant to provide protection.”

  “What is it?” Jakob asked.

  Aruhn’s strange, exotic eyes blinked. The fading daylight reflected off them, practically seeming to dance. Jakob was reminded briefly of the High Priest, and the way that fire seemed to dance in his eyes, but this was less frightening. There was no malevolence in Aruhn.

  “It is a key, one that has been lost for many years.”

  A key? A memory of the first night he’d seen the trunk came to him. There had been mention of a key then. “How has it been lost?”

  Salindra shot him a look, and Jakob ignored it. He had taken the trunk from Endric, he had brought it north, and dozens of Denraen had died protecting it, helping him so that he could reach Avaneam only for Avaneam to not really be their destination.

  Aruhn smiled. “It was an item given to men, a gift given so that peace may live on. Now that it has been returned, an ancient tradition will follow.”

  Brohmin's eyes widened slightly. “Aruhn—”

  The daneamiin held out the trunk, and his energy swirled around him, before seeming to press on the trunk. It opened with a soft snap.

  Within the trunk, there sat three small sculptures. The inside of the case was lined with a soft, velvety maroon fabric. The sculptures were made of a dark silvery metal, reminding him of his sword. Jakob was surprised to note the strange energy that he'd seen since coming to these lands swirling around the figurines as well. It seemed even more intense than what he’d seen around the building itself, more powerful.

  “I have not seen them in…” Brohmin shook his head without finishing.

  Aruhn nodded in the strange way of the daneamiin. “We will once again serve as asked. For now, we eat.”

  The daneamiin turned away, leading them toward the center of the clearing.

  Jakob and Salindra both looked to Brohmin for answers, but he stood silently, a troubled expression on his face.

  “Brohmin?” Salindra asked.

  When Brohmin turned to face them, he wore a forced smile. “It seems that we are to eat. And then tomorrow…”

  He never finished.

  Instead, Brohmin turned and started toward the daneamiin, leaving Jakob and Salindra standing without answers.

  It was the first time since awakening in these lands that Jakob felt unsettled.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Allay Lansington made his way through the first terrace within Vasha. Mendi trailed behind him, nearly a dozen steps behind, watching him. As a slave, she was an inconspicuous spy.

  He had asked her to keep an eye on him as he followed the other two delegates, curious where Danvayn and Dougray traveled. He’d not seen Stohn since that day after class when they’d spoken about their fathers and the training they had—or in Allay’s case, had not—received, and wondered about his absence.

  The two southern delegates turned a corner. He stopped and ducked around the corner of a nearby building, one that smelled like a bakery. The aromas drifted to his nose, making his mouth water. He still hadn't taken the time to explore the city proper. It felt a shame for him not to have done so. Almost as if coming to the city he had wasted an opportunity to discover more about the Magi.

  Instead, he had trained with the Magi, had learned that they simply wanted the delegates to learn to work together, and had hoped to restore the Urmahne faith to the faithless. That was shortsighted. Even Allay could see that. They seemed to overlook the fact that they had allowed those who followed the Deshmahne into the city.

  Did the Magi believe the southern delegates, those from areas where the Deshmahne had pressed the farthest, could be swayed by the opulence of the Magi city and be drawn back to the Urmahne faith through lessons given by the Magi themselves?

  He suspected that they did.

  There was a certain arrogance to the Magi, one that he understood, especially given their power, but it was not arrogance that would lead to their failing. If what they intended was for the Deshmahne influence to wane, he didn't think that would happen through their training. Unfortunately, it would require fighting, and he didn’t think the Magi were prepared for that.

  His gaze drifted to the second terrace. Were the Denraen prepared? He wondered if they would be ready to fight, or would they avoid bloodshed simply to avoid war? They’d been forced to fight on his journey to Vasha, but Allay had heard nothing of Denraen countering the Deshmahne, and he would have expec
ted Mendi to share something about that if she had known.

  Maybe he needed to return to Gom Aaldia and convince his father to oppose the Deshmahne. If he did, would he listen?

  Mendi approached from behind and elbowed him as she joined him beside the bakery, pushing away his thoughts.

  He glanced over, noting the way she had her hair tucked back, a flower woven into strands of her hair, and tried to shake away the attraction he felt toward her. Since coming to Vasha, it had been increasingly difficult to do. When they were in Gomald, he had no choice but to see her as his servant, to see her as the slave.

  Allay couldn't help that he wished there could be more, but his father would never approve. Even his brother—Theodror, ever the obedient son—would not approve when he took the rule.

  “They’re meeting Comity in the tavern,” she said.

  “Thomasen remained in the palace,” he answered, turning to look at her.

  “Not Thomasen. His brother Michael.” Her brow wrinkled as she said his name, and there was a measure of disgust in her voice. He didn't know what had passed between them, but didn't think it had been pleasant.

  “You think the southern delegates are meeting with Michael Comity? Why would they do that?”

  Mendi shrugged a shoulder. “There's only one reason I can think of. The same one you’re here for.” She turned her attention back to the street.

  Allay arched a brow. “The Deshmahne haven't reached here. The Denraen and the Magi would keep them out.” Even as he said it, he wasn’t certain that were true.

  She looked back at him with a look that told him she thought him naive. “What have you heard out of Salvat? Have you heard the way the Deshmahne pressed through, forcing conversions? Have you heard the way they attacked my people? The entire island has changed.”

  “The Salvat are my people too.”

  “The Salvat are my people, Prince Lansington.”

  She said his name something like a taunt, and he understood the anger she felt from suffering under the rule of his father and his grandfather. Salvat had not been a part of Gomald for long, and her people had not been enslaved for much more than the last half-century.