The Warrior Mage (The Lost Prophecy Book 2)

by D. K. Holmberg

  “I haven't heard. Listen, I'm sorry…”

  She touched his hand, and it lingered for a moment. In spite of the tension between them, Allay wished it could remain there. When she pulled her hand away, he almost sighed.

  “You asked me to watch the other delegates. You asked me to watch their servants. Most of the servants are boring, more interested in exploring the city, discovering secrets of the Magi. Then there is Michael Comity. He has been somewhat purposeful where he travels.”

  “What do you mean purposeful?”

  “Only that he has been monitoring the Denraen. He's been watching their movements, watching patrols coming in and out of the city, and visiting the various temples throughout the first terrace.”

  Allay stared at the door to the tavern, thinking of entering. The Magi wanted them to work together. For them to work together, that meant finding a way to look past differences. That might even mean looking past the differences between the Deshmahne and Urmahne. So far, Gom Aaldia had been protected from the conversions, but the Deshmahne had begun moving into his country. Their dark priests had been proselytizing throughout coastal cities, even in the city of Gomald itself, and people he'd been friendly with throughout his life had taken to listening to them.

  Theodror did not. Theodror had the same Urmahne faith that their mother did. Allay wondered if his father had taken to listening to the Deshmahne. It was the type of religion he could imagine his father supporting.

  “I need to try and find a way to work with them,” he told her.

  “Work with them all you want; I'm just warning you. There's something not right here.”

  She stared at the door to the tavern, her brow furrowed as she did, and Allay wondered what it was she suspected.

  He started toward the tavern when a pair of muscular men passed him on the street. One of them elbowed him, almost accidentally. Allay was thrown backward, and slammed into the wall.

  He started forward, but Mendi grabbed his arm.

  “That's what you need to watch for,” she said.

  “What, huge miners attacking me in the street?”

  “They closed the mines here years ago. There haven't been active mines in Vasha in probably twenty-five years.”

  “Why?”

  “I haven't discovered that yet. There's something to it, some rumor the people won't speak of. I think if I have more time, I can find the answer. But, regardless, that wasn't a miner.”

  Allay watched them enter the tavern, and caught a flash of darkness along the nearest man's neck as he scanned the street before heading into the tavern. His gaze lingering on Allay for a moment.

  Allay shrunk back against the wall, his heart throbbing in his chest.

  He'd seen markings like that before when they’d been attacked on the journey north.

  Deshmahne.

  “That's what you wanted me to see, isn't it?” he asked.

  Mendi nodded slowly. “I started seeing evidence of them several weeks ago. They keep themselves covered for the most part, but there seem to be more and more of them.”

  “Shouldn't the Denraen be able to eliminate the Deshmahne from the city? I mean, this is Vasha!”

  Mendi let out a deep breath. “The Denraen allowed the Deshmahne to take over the south, Allay.”

  He allowed himself a smile. “Allay this time? Not Prince Lansington?”

  She elbowed him in the side, but her eyes didn't show any hint of amusement. “I haven't seen any sign of the Deshmahne on the second terrace,” she said. “But I worry they may have made it there as well.”

  Allay’s gaze drifted up toward the massive wall that surrounded the Denraen barracks. “The Deshmahne wouldn't be able to infiltrate the Denraen.”

  “Wouldn't they? From what I've heard, they were infiltrated following the Choosing in Chrysia. If they can be infiltrated there, what makes you think they wouldn't be equally vulnerable here?”

  “Mendi, how is it that you—”

  Mendi cut him off with a shake of her head. “It doesn't matter. If they can infiltrate the Denraen, what if they can infiltrate even the third terrace?”

  Allay stared up at the Magi palace. He didn't think it possible, but what if she was right?

  He pushed the thought from his mind. The Magi were the Urmahne.

  It was clear that the Deshmahne had infiltrated the first terrace. Allay decided that it was his responsibility to notify one of the Mage about this, and to alert their leadership that the Deshmahne might have reached the barracks as well. Maybe if he got word to one of the Magi instructors, they could send word to Endric.

  Allay leaned back against the building, his mind churning. Had it been a waste for him to come here? He had not forged any useful connections, and he had not learned anything of much value. All he had learned was the extent of the Deshmahne influence, and that influence didn't seem to be all that disruptive to those who lived in the south. With word of his father planning something, he felt as if he were needed, but not in Vasha.

  Allay turned to see Mendi staring at the door to the tavern. Something bothered her. Allay wished he knew, and wished that she would share.

  She touched his hand, seeming to recognize that he had been thinking of her.

  If nothing else, coming to the city had brought them closer. Maybe that had been the real purpose of his time here. If only he could remain, and if only they could maintain the closeness they had finally managed to have.

  The corners of her eyes tightened in something of sadness, almost as if she knew what they had here couldn't last.

  Allay stood on the street, holding Mendi's hand, and wished she was wrong, but there would come a time when he would complete his training with the Magi, when he would be sent back to Gomald, where Mendi would once more serve as his slave.

  Raime rode atop a black stallion next to Richard, leaving the capital behind as they made their way to Bastiin, readying for the attack. The caravan stretched far in front of him. Thousands of his men, his best soldiers, his wolf banner waving in the air.

  Robden would come into line, much like the rest of the kings would. They would acquire all of Thealon, and then… then he would be able to demonstrate his strength to the gods. There would be no questioning his rule at that point.

  They had been riding for several hours, having departed the city to much fanfare and celebration. Richard could no longer remember if he had left appropriate counsel in charge of the city while he was gone.

  Of course you did. Raime saw that your rule would be maintained.

  Had he? Had Raime seen that the city would be safe while he was gone? Who had he left in his stead?

  There had been a time when Richard would've left it to the Teachers, but that was when he had still willingly allowed a Magi advisor. It had been many years since he had done so. Shortly after that—or was it before?—Raime had come to him.

  Richard's mind felt foggy, tired from the time in the saddle, growing weary of the ride north. Perhaps he would remain in Bastiin and let Raime command his troops.

  Raime? No… If anyone, it would be Locken, Richard affirmed in his mind. The man may not always agree with me, but he was the best fit to command.

  Locken is not fit to command. He challenges you.

  Yes… Locken did challenge him, but he also had wisdom.

  “I have seen to it that the threat to your rule in the city was removed,” Raime said.

  Richard glanced over at him. Had he been talking before then? “What threat?”

  “There was a growing rebellion. They thought to disrupt the good work you have been doing establishing order in the city. It will no longer present a challenge to you.”

  Richard nodded. “Theodror will see to it that we continue to rule in the city.”

  “Theodror… Unfortunately, my sources tell me that an attempt was made on the palace, and Theodror was lost.”

  Richard pulled his horse to a halt and sat unmoving. “When did you learn of this?”

  “L
ast evening. I didn't think to burden you with the news until I knew for certain.”

  “And now you do?”

  “One of my informants brought word,” he said, handing over a sheet of parchment.

  Richard unfurled it and saw a simple line: Theodror dead. Attack thwarted. Resistance destroyed.

  “How?”

  “I do not know the how. All I know is that this resistance intended to take advantage of your absence from the palace. Your forces”—Richard realized that Raime actually meant his forces—“managed to push them back. The identification of one of the resistance organizers is somewhat troubling to me.”

  Richard looked up. “Why is that?”

  “Because of connections to King Locken. I fear that we must be more careful with him. He poses more danger than you realize.”

  Why didn’t Raime tell him of the connection? Did it matter? “Locken will obey. He is nothing if not faithful to the throne.” After a moment of silence between them, he said, “I should return to the city and mourn Theodror.”

  Raime shook his head. The cloak moved, and the reflected light within his eyes seemed to flicker. “No. If you return, it shows weakness. The troops will believe you are not committed to this plan. And the resistance will think they have succeeded. By drawing you back, you would appear to abandon the plan to attack Thealon. The attack must continue.”

  Richard opened his mouth, wanting to object, but pain shot through his head. He grabbed it. Raime touched his arm, and the pain surged for a moment and then faded.

  “Another headache, sire?”

  Richard nodded. They had been coming more frequently. His healers hadn't been able to help. Raime had helped some, but even his healing touch had been limited.

  “What was I saying?” Richard asked. Raime pointed in the direction of the procession. “You were telling me that we needed to make haste. You wanted to ensure the attack took place as planned.”

  Richard nodded, a memory of the pain flickering in his mind before disappearing. Was that what he had been saying? It seemed that there had been something else, but he no longer recalled what it might be. He also felt there had been something more important, but… Even that slipped from his mind.

  Richard sighed, relieved at the absence of the headaches. Yes. They would make their way north. They would continue their planned attack. And they would ensure that he got the gods’ attention as they claimed the Tower.

  Chapter Twenty

  The light of the fire was all they needed. That they dared a fire at all was enough for Roelle, especially after the second Deshmahne attack. Several Magi now stood watch each night, and none took the responsibility lightly. It had been two days since the last attack, but everyone remained on edge.

  Different stories had started circulating today, not the same rumors they had been hearing for the last week. After meeting that first family on the road, they had encountered others, people with experiences that told her what they faced was indeed different from the Deshmahne.

  They had to be close, yet they had seen no sign of the Antrilii. Roelle was beginning to worry about how— or if—they would find them. Empty villages and the Deshmahne were all they had encountered so far, neither of which had been their reason for coming north.

  The camp was quiet tonight. It had been quiet the last few nights since the new stories had first reached them. The laughter of the first few nights was no more.

  “Another day, maybe less,” Hester said. “The foothills are not far. If the rumors are right, we should find the Antrilii soon.”

  She turned her attention back to the group. She needed to be a part of this conversation. “The family from the other day,” she started. “They were from Drestin. How far was that?”

  Hester shrugged. “Three days, maybe four. It’s a small village. I don’t know it well.”

  Roelle leaned back from the fire, remembering the family. Three days, maybe four until they reached where that family had experienced violence. There had been no further sign of the Deshmahne, only travelers making their way south, all with the same story. They saw nothing, but knew of destruction.

  Roelle had been advised to search near the mountains, and they were nearly there, but where were the Antrilii? Forward scouts had been searching for signs of them yet had found nothing.

  Her thoughts turned to her uncle. Would he get the same message Hester sent to Endric? Did the messenger Hester sent back to Vasha even get there? And what would it change? Her uncle thought there was something other than Deshmahne to worry about in the north. What they’d heard made it likely, but they needed more than rumor for the Council.

  “Let’s leave at sunrise,” she said. “We must be ready for possible encounters from now on.”

  Hester nodded agreement, then stood and started away.

  Selton watched him leave. “We have supplies for another two weeks or so,” he began. “That is, if we keep hunting each evening to keep us stocked.”

  Roelle had figured as much. Neither quite knew what they would do if the supplies dried up. The Denraen seemed to believe they would find a town where they could stock the things they could not gather. Roelle wasn’t as sure.

  “Roelle,” Selton began hesitantly. It was not like her friend to be hesitant in anything. “Roelle… I know I’ve been distant, but I’m beginning to think this is more important than any of us realized. I’m… I’m sorry.”

  She rested a hand on his arm, feeling the strength within him. “I understand. I felt the same emotions after we encountered the Deshmahne heading back to Vasha.”

  He smiled tightly. “The others admire you. They follow your command. You’ve done well training them. If you hadn’t…”

  She nodded. They hadn’t lost anyone. Yet. If they came across the Deshmahne again—and in greater numbers—would they be able to make the same claim?

  “Whatever we encounter might be worse than what we’ve faced. They plan something,” she said, thinking of the dark satisfaction the Deshmahne had when sharing that with her.

  “We’ve proven capable fighters, Roelle.”

  “With the Deshmahne. We don’t know what will happen when we get deeper into the north.”

  “After facing the Deshmahne, I think everyone among us now knows what might happen and what might be asked of us. Like I said, we’ll be ready.”

  She had done her best, reading through the book on tactics Endric had lent her and quickly grasping several of the key points. Before departing, Lendra had found several other texts from the library, and Roelle had read those as well. It was one thing to read of warfare and quite another to live it.

  They sat quietly for a while, Roelle lost in thought as she listened to the crackle of the fire. Lendra stared at her from across the fire, her blue-green eyes seeming to study her.

  Finally, she broke the silence. “Tell me about your family, Roelle.” The words were light in the heavy blanket of night. “I know all about Selton, but little about you.”

  Selton shot Lendra a warning glance and she frowned.

  “It’s fine,” Roelle said to her friend. “There’s not much to say. My parents were born without the gift, a generation removed from being Mageborn. I was their first born, and they knew the tradition.”

  She didn’t need to explain to Lendra the tradition she referred to. Those descended from the Magi were all tested for abilities. When manifested, they were brought to the city for training and education.

  “They were happy for me, though I wasn’t,” she said, remembering too well the day they’d informed her she would leave them to live in a strange city with only a great uncle she didn’t know as family. “I think it was something they would have chosen for themselves if given a chance.”

  Lendra nodded, and Roelle tried to ignore the tears that welled in her eyes. It was a sore spot for many not born with abilities, as if the gods had abandoned them. Her own parents had tried to shelter her from their feelings about it, but had not completely managed.

 
“You had your uncle. He’s family,” she said.

  Roelle nodded slowly. “Great uncle, really. And he was the only one of his parents’ children Mageborn. He’s treated me like a daughter, and I love him like a father, but I would still have liked to have known my parents better.” She shifted on the ground to find a more comfortable position. “I used to get letters from them regularly,” she said sighing, settling back on her elbows and looking up to the sky. Looking up at the stars and the moon with a hint of a blue rim around it, felt peaceful. “There were annual visits, so I was able to meet my younger brother one year. But I never got to know him.”

  Selton touched her hand gently, and there was a warmth to his touch. It made her realize that it had been a while since they had shared a connection.

  “Why not?” Lendra asked.

  She cleared her throat. “One day, the letters stopped coming and they no longer visited. It was two years before I learned they had all been killed.” She cleared her throat again. It still pained her, even after all these years. “It was much later that I learned how.”

  She did not say more, and Lendra didn’t press, letting the stillness of the night surround them. Selton continued to hold her hand softly. The touch of his skin, the smoothness of it, relaxed her somehow. His presence was soothing.

  “Both of my parents were Mageborn,” Lendra began breaking the silence. “Both had the gift, as did my older brother. When I came, they continued to live in the palace, because had I been Mageborn, it would have been the best for my training. When I was not, they kept me in the palace as long as possible. I knew family then. Happiness.”

  “You were trouble then,” Selton said, trying to add some levity.

  Lendra gave a soft laugh. Roelle suspected what would come next.

  “When I turned ten, they decided they should take me out of the city.” She paused. “It wasn’t that I was asked to leave, really, more that no one would teach me there. My parents were determined that I be educated.”