He glanced down at the sword at his side, other thoughts floating through his mind.
You must use the key, Uniter of Men.
Aruhn had told him he must use the key.
“My sword,” he whispered, the realization came to him, a cold sense of unease sweeping through him as it did. It had been slowly vibrating since he had left the Cala maah. Jakob had ignored it, concerned with other things.
Forged by those who have never used a weapon.
What is this blade?
Jakob looked to Anda and thought that he understood.
She looked back at him with her exotic eyes. “They gave of themselves willingly for its creation,” she said.
Brohmin looked at them, his eyes widening. “The sword?”
“Why?” Jakob asked Anda, ignoring Brohmin’s question.
“There was no other way.”
Jakob pulled his sword from its sheath and truly looked at it. The slow vibrating intensified, and he nearly dropped it, but his hand held firm. Turning the blade over, he noticed something he had not seen before. The brightness it held on one side, what he had always thought reflected light, had a familiar appearance. Hazy.
Ahmaean.
The ahmaean radiated from the blade only to be pulled back by the other side, the darker side. He squeezed the hilt, felt the carvings underneath the wrapping, and knew without removing it what was carved there. Three daneamiin were engraved along the hilt, arms linked and blank faces looking out. He had seen them but had not known, seen them in his vision, his dream.
“Who were they?” he asked Anda.
“They are Neamiin,” she answered.
His sword. The key.
How?
Another question came to him: how had his family inherited this blade?
“How will the sword help us find her? How is the sword the key?” he asked Anda.
Her face was blank, unreadable. “Only Aruhn could say.”
“I have never known Aruhn to give simple explanations,” Brohmin said.
Anda smiled at that. “It is not his way,” she agreed. “Answers must be found within.”
“You sound like him,” Brohmin teased.
Elin actually laughed then. “She should. She is his daughter.”
Brohmin eyed her appraisingly before turning to Jakob again. “The sword… Could it really be so simple? Why come here? What did Alyta need for us to understand?” He looked up to Jakob. “What else did you see?”
Jakob thought for a moment. Until he understood them better himself, he wasn’t sure sharing the actual visions would do any good. But there was one he would share. “Niall…”
“You saw Niall Tinmril?” Brohmin stared at him, realization creeping across his face. He started pacing, and Jakob could see the wheels in the man’s head begin to turn. “Of course. You’re descended from him.”
“How do you know?” Is this the story of the sword his father knew?
“One often sees visions of their forefathers in the Cala maah,” Elin answered.
Forefathers? But he’d seen gods and daneamiin grandchildren…
Anda watched him, a strange expression on her face.
“Who was Niall Tinmril?” he asked, ignoring his line of thinking. The name sounded familiar to him, and he suddenly realized why. He’d had another vision, one where Sharna had spoken to Niall. But why? What was he meant to learn?
Brohmin answered. “A Uniter, and believed to have been the last. It was said he was one of the greatest, and some thought he might be the prophesied Uniter, one called the nemah.” Brohmin shook his head. “Alyta did not think he was, though.”
“Niall is remembered by our people as a great man,” Elin said. “We still sing of him.”
“I should have suspected,” Brohmin said. “I don’t know why I did not think of it sooner.” He paused. “The sword,” he began, looking at the blade held firmly in Jakob’s hands. “I have heard its description and still didn’t know.”
“What does that have to do with any of this? How will that help us find Alyta?” Salindra asked. She had been looking around at the daneamiin, at Jakob, at Brohmin, unable to speak.
“Neamiin is the key,” he answered. “It’s a word with many meanings in the ancient language.”
“I only know of one,” Salindra said.
Brohmin nodded. “The ancient language is complex, and I have translated Neamiin as ‘weapon,’ but it could also be ‘key’ or—”
“Or guide,” Salindra said.
Jakob stared at his sword. “There is something different about it now. The sword has its own ahmaean.”
Brohmin stared at it, squinting as if unable to see it, before looking up to Jakob. Salindra just stared at the sword. “You see it?”
Jakob nodded. “Now.”
“Before?”
Jakob shrugged. Had he seen it before? He had not known what ahmaean was, was still unsure how he saw it, but did not think he had seen it before. “I don’t know,” he answered, but knew he had not. The constant vibrating was new too. It had hummed with him in battle, vibrating with the energy and strange sensation he knew when he fought, but he kept that to himself, unsure what it meant.
Anda answered for him. “Neamiin is again awake.”
Jakob looked at the sword, stared at the ahmaean swirling around the blade, and finally decided to sheathe it. It was dizzying watching the blade, and he worried about his sanity as he stared at it. “What now?”
“We leave,” Brohmin answered. “We will use the sword to find Alyta, find the last, before Raime can.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
“This is a mistake.”
Roelle looked to Selton and shrugged before nodding agreement. It probably was a mistake bringing nigh upon three hundred troops so close to a human city, but it could not be helped. The groeliin moved south and they chased.
Rondalin could be hardly discerned in the far distance, its bold wall and stout tower just coming into view above the sweeping hillside. The terrain had grown increasingly contoured during their last few days of travel, the flat grassy plains giving way to the rolling hills. Trees were thicker here, and though not quite forested, there was the hint of the neighboring forests.
Everything around them was brown. The heavy tall grass of the plains had long since lost its green, and in the rolling Rondalin valley, the shorter grasses were drying as well. In the north, there had been many pine trees, a bit of color dotting the plains, but as they moved south the pines grew less frequent, and the deciduous trees were now bereft of their leaves. A gloomy overcast had settled in, even managing to steel into her heart.
The merahl still hunted.
Nahrsin had said something to them so that their braying was quieter, and they did not range nearly as far, returning to the Antrilii more frequently, almost as with messages. Roelle would not have believed it had she not seen it herself. The creatures were more intelligent than she could imagine any animal being, and she began to wonder just how much they comprehended, adding to the growing list of questions she had about the Antrilii.
“What choice do we have?” she answered.
Selton shook his head as he smiled. “Are you taking Nahrsin’s view now?”
Roelle laughed. The Antrilii viewed everything as the will of the gods. Roelle did not think everything she did was preordained. Life could not be lived without choices, otherwise what was the point?
“No,” she said. “Only that I see little hope for these people if we veer away.” She shrugged. “Though they may not know it, we are their only hope.”
“And if they send soldiers out?”
Roelle sighed. “I don’t know what we’ll do then.”
It was not much of an answer, but it was honest and all that she had for now. To a soldier or villager, the Magi would only be viewed as warriors—potential enemies—now, and the Antrilii looked fearsome enough at night, let alone broad daylight.
A commotion nearby startled her as a rider neared.
Zamell rode up to her and waved a quick salute. Roelle waved it off. Selton had started saluting her as more of a joke, but it had taken hold and now all the Magi saluted her. The gesture made her uncomfortable at first, and now, she merely tolerated it.
“Zamell,” she said, nodding.
Selton eyed the young woman casually and said nothing. There was an expression to his face that Roelle recognized. Zamell was lovely, though had so far ignored Selton’s advances. She tried to push back the fluttering of jealousy. Now was not the time.
“Antrilii scouts bring word that the groeliin change direction.”
Roelle grunted. The creatures had been moving southeast, but if they headed more south, they would run straight into the heart of the city. There were not enough of them to battle the mass of groeliin, even if they attacked in broods.
“Selton?” she asked, not needing to form the question.
Her large friend nodded quickly. “I will see,” Selton answered. “Care to join me on a ride, Zamell?”
She followed, leaving Roelle leading the remaining Magi as they rode forward. She often liked to ride separate and at the vanguard, it helped her organize her thoughts and plans. Slowly, she crested a hill, and Rondalin came into better view.
She signaled for a stop and sent word to Nahrsin to do the same. After a while, the large Antrilii rode over to meet her. His face was painted in red and black today, smeared on, and Roelle wondered again if the markings held any meaning.
“We near Rondalin.”
Nahrsin nodded. “Aye.”
She frowned at Nahrsin. “How far south have you traveled?”
Nahrsin looked around before shrugging. “There is a test we Antrilii have, a rite of passage into adulthood, where we travel the countryside. Usually we move at night.”
“You understand that you can be a bit intimidating?” she asked dryly.
Nahrsin laughed. “That is the intent, Mage.”
“They are changing course,” Roelle commented.
The Antrilii nodded. “We are prepared. We have ridden hard.”
Roelle knew she needed to prepare to protect the city. If everyone reacted like the Denraen guides and Lendra when exposed to the groeliin, the city would be destroyed easily. No army of man could defend against such destruction.
The Antrilii had not disagreed, and they had ridden hard to block the groeliin should they move upon Rondalin. None were sure it would work.
The merahl had helped. The huge cats had harried the groeliin, slowing their advance as the Magi warriors and Antrilii traveled to reach the great northern city. Roelle was still uncertain what they had to gain from their efforts, other than their own deaths. There remained too many groeliin for their small band of warriors.
The two of them fell silent as they stared down at Rondalin. It was a goodly sized city with a thick wall surrounding the city proper. An outer city had formed, recently from the looks of it, circling the city itself. A mass of tents and shacks flowed out with little thought of pattern or sanitation, and even at a distance, she could detect a faint pungent odor of human waste and filth.
Small roads wound through the outer city toward the main city gate. Roelle noted people milling about the outer city, smudged dark with dirt and wearing clothing long since ragged. Soldiers marched along the roads in patrol, most with dulled armor long, and each paired with another unarmed man. Roelle sucked in her breath as she realized what she saw.
Nahrsin looked over to her and frowned. “You see something, Mage?”
“I can’t be certain,” she admitted. The distance was still great, even for the enhanced Magi eyesight. She looked again and knew she had seen truly. “Deshmahne,” she grunted. Her sword hand flexed involuntarily.
Nahrsin eyed her carefully. “You fear these men?” he asked with a hint of surprise in the tone of his voice.
Roelle focused on the city. “I have faced them and have been forced to kill.” She did not meet his eyes. “That act violates the Urmahne principles my people were founded upon, and yet I had no choice.”
“Too many think the Urmahne demands strict peace,” he started slowly. “Misunderstood,” he continued, shaking his head. His dark, braided hair swung with the motion. “The path to peace is sometimes darkened by the blood it takes to achieve. The gods understand this.”
Hearing his words, Roelle turned to Nahrsin. “You follow the Urmahne?”
The large man laughed again, as he did so easily. “We follow the mahne. It is enough.”
“How do you know of the mahne?” she asked, unable to conceal her surprise. She had only learned of it when Alriyn admitted its existence, claiming its words were meant for the Council only. How did the Antrilii know of it?
“All men should know the mahne, Mage,” Nahrsin said. “The Urmahne priests teach it though they know it not.”
“Our Council shares nothing of the mahne,” she admitted. “I know only what my uncle told me of the text. He mentioned a balance that must be maintained that was the core of the Urmahne.”
Nahrsin sniffed contemptuously. “Oversimplified, but true enough,” he grumbled but did not elaborate.
Roelle turned back toward Rondalin, finding it difficult to comprehend what she had just learned. It was another fact of the Antrilii that she was determined to understand. How much of these people did Endric know? Novan?
Certainly, both knew there was more to the Antrilii than simple nomads when they sent her from the city to find the Antrilii. Could they have known the extent of the mystery surrounding the Antrilii?
She was interrupted from her thoughts as a rider approached. Selton gave a slight nod to Nahrsin, before stopping. Sweat covered him.
“The groeliin now move east,” he said in lieu of greeting.
“Are you sure?” Roelle asked.
Her friend smiled and pointed to his sweat-covered face. “I have seen. East about five leagues.”
“They will bypass the city,” Roelle said. “This after they’ve torn through two villages.”
Nahrsin frowned at the comment.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I am not sure,” he said, seeming troubled. “All we have witnessed of the creatures’ behavior of late has been unusual, but this seems the strangest.” He paused, looking down again at Rondalin. “The groeliin crave destruction almost as if they feed upon it. They have been known to move toward towns by scent, leaving every last person dead or dying. Never have I seen the groeliin turn away from such an opportunity.”
Roelle knew what Nahrsin meant. They had seen towns decimated by what these creatures could do, and this did seem unusual. It was almost as if they did not have time to be slowed by destroying Rondalin.
She cast another glance down at the city. Too many Deshmahne wandered there. Was there another reason the groeliin did not attack? And if there was, could they use it?
“You thought they were being directed before. This would make that a more plausible scenario,” Selton said.
Nahrsin eyed him a moment. “That is what I fear,” the large Antrilii rumbled.
Roelle had seen the worry lines on Nahrsin’s face and knew the man did not discuss all that concerned him. The Magi were not acting with all the available information and that fact bothered her.
Nahrsin would answer, she decided. “Why?”
The Antrilii shook his head. “No matter. They move and we follow.”
Roelle hardened her tone, and faced him. “It does matter, Nahrsin. We must know what we are facing. Who do you think directs the groeliin?”
Nahrsin stared at the line of Antrilii troops, his people, for a long moment, before turning back and choosing to answer. “We have spoken of the groeliin much, Mage,” he said, looking at Roelle and Selton equally. “We face the hunters. They are fast and strong, and have numbers, but we kill them easily.”
Roelle looked at Selton and they both nodded. Easily would be an overstatement, but the creatures died regardless.
“I
have mentioned the large warrior groeliin, the one we killed many years ago, marked with a symbol of many different broods.”
They nodded again, and Roelle began to worry where Nahrsin was leading them.
“There is probably a third groeliin,” he continued. “Never seen but oft suspected. We think there are but a few of this type and born of a certain power. We think these groeliin make the markings upon the others.” He paused before meeting Roelle’s eyes. “We talk of symbols and what might direct the groeliin, and so I answer. There is likely a groeliin with fearsome power, power enough to direct the groeliin.”
She looked to Selton and felt a different fluttering in her chest. Could the groeliin have their own dark gifts?
Selton had been staring down at Rondalin while Nahrsin spoke and looked back with the words. “Acting alone or with another?” he asked. His eyes flicked back to the city.
Roelle shivered and followed Selton’s gaze, his eyes seeming to level on the Deshmahne down among the city. She feared the connection for more reasons than she could put words to, but the Deshmahne came from the south and moved north. There had to be a connection. They had to intend to attack—almost as if they knew the groeliin moved south.
Once more, she wondered if they could use them. She turned when Nahrsin set a calloused hand on her arm, and met the Antrilii warrior’s intense gaze.
“Hear me, Mage. What I say to you now is important. You cannot question what you feel in your heart,” he said, thumping his own chest. “The Deshmahne, like the groeliin, twist the mahne and seek to unmake that which it protects. I have seen you in battle.” He paused and offered her a smile. It was a warm expression, almost fatherly. “You serve the gods and the mahne by what you do. Fight with the Antrilii. We will be enough.”
With those words, Nahrsin rode toward the Antrilii, leaving Roelle staring after him.
“What was that?” Selton asked.
She shook her head.
“Roelle?”
“He thinks we can stop the groeliin,” she started, “but there are too many. If the broods begin working together—if there is a powerful groeliin that controls them—then we will be overwhelmed. Everyone in these lands will be overwhelmed.”
The Warrior Mage (The Lost Prophecy Book 2) Page 30
