The Last Conclave (The Lost Prophecy Book 6)

by D. K. Holmberg

“Are you gods?”

  The nemerahl chuckled, and it was a weak sound and full of pain. Jakob could see energy swirling off of the nemerahl, twirling away, drawing back toward the fibers themselves. Was that the injury that the nemerahl experienced? Did it pull him back into the fibers?

  “We are no gods, but we are something close to the Maker, something that is much different from the damahne.”

  Jakob thought of the power the damahne possessed, and the way that he was able to reach into the fibers. But even with his connection, he didn’t draw strength from them. His came from ahmaean, and from the power of the world itself.

  As he stood there, focused on the nemerahl, he realized that this creature’s connection came from the fibers themselves, as the nemerahl had claimed. It was more than simply power. A relation existed between them, one that made the nemerahl as connected to the fibers as Jakob was to the ahmaean.

  “I need your help,” Jakob said. “If there are more groeliin like those we just faced, if there are creatures that powerful, I can’t face them without others able to counter them.”

  The nemerahl turned to him and seemed comprised entirely of energy. The more that Jakob watched, the more he realized that the nemerahl was being drawn back into the fibers. It was almost as if the fibers were attempting to reclaim the nemerahl.

  Power surged around the creature, but his physical presence had faded in the time that they’d been there. The nemerahl was becoming less, and very soon, he would disappear completely.

  “All that you need already exists, damahne.”

  “It doesn’t exist. All that I need is not there. There is too much strength to those groeliin for me to lead the Magi—or the Antrilii—against them.”

  Jakob could easily imagine what would happen if he were to attempt to bring either Roelle and her warriors or the Antrilii against those groeliin. They might be skilled with the sword, and fearsome warriors, but with the creatures’ control over their own ahmaean, they would quickly destroy any and all who opposed them.

  The only person who rivaled what he had seen from the groeliin had been Raime, and that had been when he had been at the height of his powers, and had somehow been able to control those creatures.

  He frowned to himself.

  If Raime had been controlling them, and if he had forced them to do his will, what would happen now that he no longer had the same strength? Who controlled the groeliin now?

  Jakob hadn’t thought of the consequences of what would happen when he removed Raime as a threat. He hadn’t expected that there would be something worse that existed, something that could be even more terrifying Raime, but if the High Priest had been controlling those groeliin, and now he was gone…

  There was a sense of energy that touched him. It was the nemerahl.

  “You possess all that you need. You will grow stronger, and you will learn more about what you’re capable of doing, and in time, you will begin to anticipate what it is that you will need to do.”

  The nemerahl’s voice grew fainter.

  Jakob tried holding on to him and tried to keep that connection, but he could sense that the nemerahl did not want him to, that the nemerahl wanted to return to the fibers.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

  The nemerahl laughed. It was more of a soft, gentle sound. It came from everywhere, and seemingly from every time, as well. “You have done more than you realize.”

  “I couldn’t leave you there.”

  “No. You have returned me to the fibers.”

  The brightness that was the nemerahl continued to fade. Jakob could feel the pulling from the fibers and sensed that they wanted to push him back outside, back into the rest of the world. And he needed to return. He needed to come up with his next plan, and the next, and now that he had learned of these dangerous groeliin, he had to come up with some way to stop them, especially as he wondered whether Raime was even capable of doing so any longer.

  “I will miss having a nemerahl as my companion,” Jakob said. It seemed unfair that he would not have the companionship of the nemerahl that many of the damahne had enjoyed during their time. Even Alyta had connection to her nemerahl that gave her strength and support. Jakob would not have that same advantage.

  “You will have more advantage than you realize. In time, you will understand.

  “How do you know?”

  The nemerahl chuckled. “As I told you, the nemerahl are part of the fibers. We are all times, and all places. You will come to understand.”

  The translucent light that surrounded the nemerahl continued to increase, leaving him as little more than a blur. The fibers were reclaiming him.

  Jakob bathed in the light of the fibers, feeling a warmth that radiated from it. There came a surge, a final blast from the fibers, and not only from the fibers but from the nemerahl—at least what remained of him.

  As the light washed over Jakob, almost penetrating him, he had a sense of peace.

  Possibilities opened up before him, and he saw the fibers as they unfurled front of him.

  It was a gift. Perhaps the final parting gift from the nemerahl, but a gift, nonetheless.

  Understanding of the fibers, and how he was connected to them, came to him with more certainty than he had known before. He could see along the fibers, and could finally see what he needed to do.

  “Thank you.”

  A trail of light within the fibers pulsed. It extended along them for as far as Jakob could see. The nemerahl’s connection was massive and greater than he could have imagined.

  Then again, as the nemerahl had said, the creatures were a part of the fibers and a part of the fabric of time.

  Jakob pulled on his ahmaean and stepped back out of the fibers, alone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The night was blessedly cool, and Roelle did nothing to warm herself. She wore the same clothing she wore day in and day out, with her cloak hanging over her sword, concealing it. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself, but she also didn’t want to be unprepared. She would be ready.

  Selton patrolled with her. Roelle tried not to think about what that implied, and the fact that he likely doubted her ability to remain alert long enough to be effective, but reading into Selton’s motivation was never good. They had known each other too long, and they had been close for too long, for her to think that he had any sort of ulterior motive.

  They were near the temple, the dark symbol of the Deshmahne might rising high overhead. This close to it, she had a sense of power pressing off of it, and that, more than anything else, nearly made her shiver.

  They had seen nothing out of the ordinary. They searched for signs of the Lashiin priests, and so far, had not come upon any. Other than the night in the tavern, an incident that had been more happenstance than anything else, she had seen no evidence of the priests.

  Rumors of their presence still spread throughout the city.

  Roelle trailed after a pair of darkly dressed Deshmahne priests. She did so with as much of a casual interest as she could feign, though was prepared to reveal herself if need be. In the occasional lamplight along the streets, she had noted the dark tattoos twining along both men’s arms.

  Trailing after these Deshmahne reminded her of when she had gone to the Deshmahne in Rondalin in hope of finding answers, and the hope the Deshmahne would join them in their fight against the groeliin. When they had not, Roelle felt betrayed, and more than a little disappointed. The Deshmahne she had traveled with—and fought alongside—had seemingly understood the danger of these creatures. Why would they not have agreed to work with them?

  “You’ve been quiet,” Selton said as they made their way along the street. He spoke in a hushed whisper, and it was loud enough that she could easily hear him, but not so loud as to draw attention from the Deshmahne they trailed.

  “Out of necessity,” she said.

  “I don’t mean just tonight.”

  “That’s out of necessity, as well,” Roelle said.
>
  “What necessity? The Magi need you. We need your leadership.”

  The Deshmahne turned a corner, making their way closer toward the temple. How much farther was she willing to track them? How long until the Deshmahne realized that they were behind them, following closely?

  So far, the Deshmahne hadn’t seemed to realize that they were even there. Roelle hoped to keep it that way. She wanted to see what they might be up to, but if she and Selton were discovered, she wasn’t certain how the Deshmahne would react.

  “You’ve proven yourself more than a competent leader,” Roelle told Selton.

  “When I had to. The others follow you, Roelle. When you were sick, everyone was willing to do whatever it took to find a way to get you the healing you needed. If that involved heading back to Vasha, or even trying to find a way around the Great Valley, all of us were willing to do it.”

  She thought it interesting that Selton mentioned the Great Valley. She and Selton both had suspicions that Brohmin and the Mage Elder had traveled to the Unknown Lands. She didn’t know how that was possible, but she believed it after everything they had seen.

  “They follow me because they think they have to, but when I was incapacitated, they followed you just as well.”

  She needed for Selton to believe he could be their leader. The Magi warriors were soldiers now. They were no longer the apprentices that had departed Vasha. As soldiers, they needed a chain of command, which meant establishing a strong second-in-command, in the event something were to happen to Roelle.

  “You discount the role you play in leading the Magi,” Selton said. “When you were injured, everyone worried for you. Everyone wanted you to recover as quickly as possible. Not only for your own sake but because we know we have the best chance of success when you’re leading us.”

  She glanced over to him, trying to think of what to say. There didn’t seem to be anything she could say. Did Selton recognize the struggle she’d gone through since Jakob healed her? Did he know that her continued weakness left her questioning whether she still had a role with the Magi warriors?

  Knowing Selton as she did, and having fought alongside him during this mission, it was likely that he understood all too well, and recognized that her struggle came mainly from concern that she would not be able to serve in the way that she had. Had Roelle never become a warrior, if she had simply been a Mage as Vasha had trained for the last century and had never experienced what it was like to fight, and to overcome, she wasn’t certain she would feel the same.

  “If you would pay attention more often, you might be better equipped to help defend as well,” she said, smiling.

  Selton touched her arm. “I see how much you work. I know how hard this has been on you. At the same time, you need to know and believe that we need you. We need the Roelle who studied tactics and learned from Endric. We need your mind as much as we need your skill with the sword.”

  She took a deep breath, enjoying the cool night breeze. “There are times when I wish it were easier. There are times when I wish all it required of me were to fight, to do as Endric trained me to do.”

  “Are you so certain he hasn’t trained you for this?”

  She stared at the two Deshmahne walking ahead of them. Endric had taught her sword techniques, drilling her on catahs until she became more than proficient, she became deadly with them. Now that those skills were beyond her reach, now that she was no longer the soldier she had been, she needed to find another way to serve.

  Maybe Selton was right. Maybe it was her mind the Magi needed.

  Hadn’t Endric trained her for that, as well? He had provided her books on tactics and had ensured that she had men like Hester to provide additional guidance when he wasn’t able to be there. Without Hester, would she have understood exactly what Endric had wanted from her? If nothing else, she recognized that Endric was always supremely prepared. He would have something in mind for her even now.

  All she had to do was discover what that was.

  The two Deshmahne they were following stopped and turned in her direction.

  Roelle hesitated. Had they been following too closely? She hadn’t wanted to draw their attention and had wanted only to see where they would go. Was it only about returning to the temple, or had they been searching for something?

  Selton placed a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back into the dark shadows. He raised a finger to his lips, nodding toward the Deshmahne. “They know we’re here.”

  “Then it doesn’t make any sense to remain hidden,” she said.

  “We don’t know what they might do.”

  “You traveled with the Deshmahne from Rondalin and learned the same as I did,” she said. “Most of them wanted nothing more than to have a sense of the gods.”

  “And use that power to attack and destroy,” he said.

  She sighed. There was more to it than that, but they didn’t know the Deshmahne well enough to understand what it was. “They didn’t think they were destroying. Most of the Deshmahne believed they were protecting their people. That’s no different from what you and I intend.”

  One of the Deshmahne waved his hand toward the temple, and the other man hesitated, but then turned and left. The remaining man began advancing toward them. Selton reached for his sword, and she stayed his hand, placing hers on top of his arm.

  She shook her head. “Wait.”

  Drawing on her connection to the manehlin, she stepped forward, approaching the Deshmahne, leaving Selton in shadow. She debated what to say to him, not certain there was anything that she could say, but wanting to keep his attention only on her. Roelle kept her hand off her sword, not wanting to pose an intimidating threat.

  “Greetings,” she said, approaching with her palms held out. She didn’t want him to think that she approached with any weapons. It was dark enough, and late enough, that the Deshmahne might simply attack, though if their intention had been to attack, he’d not have let his companion leave.

  “Why are you following us?” the Deshmahne asked.

  “I’m not following,” she said.

  “No? You haven’t been trailing us since the center of the city, making every move that we make? Did you think we wouldn’t notice?”

  “I was hoping you would notice,” Roelle said.

  “If you’re looking for a fight, know that it’s one you will not win,” the Deshmahne said.

  She cocked her head, studying the Deshmahne. He had a few markings along his arms, but none around the base of his neck, and none on his face. This would be a moderately powerful man, but nothing like some she had faced.

  “I’m not looking for a fight,” she said.

  “If not a fight, then what are you looking for?”

  “Understanding.”

  The Deshmahne considered her for a moment before dismissing her with a turn. “Don’t attempt to follow me again.”

  As he started away, Roelle took a step toward him. “You don’t even want to know why one of the Magi is in Paliis?”

  He paused and turned back toward her, his jaw clenched. “Where have you seen Magi?”

  Roelle flashed a smile. “There’s one standing in front of you.”

  His gaze drifted from her face to her cloak, noting the sword concealed beneath it. “Magi? No Mage wears a sword.”

  “Are you so certain?”

  The Deshmahne reached for his sword, and Roelle shook her head, raising her hands.

  “I didn’t tell you that so you would attack,” she said. “I told you so that you would understand who is in your city.”

  He frowned at her. “Why would you tell us this?”

  “Because there are others in the city, as well. I think I understand what the Deshmahne intend, but these others… I have no idea what their intentions are. So far, I’ve seen them attack three men, leaving them convulsing on the ground.”

  She watched his face as she said it, and noted from the way his eyes twitched that this was something that the Deshmahne were familiar
with.

  “Where did you see this?”

  She shrugged. “A tavern on the edge of town. I followed them…”

  “The Deshmahne will take care of them.”

  “Do you realize they claim allegiance to the Urmahne?”

  He grunted. “The Urmahne would not attack. They are too afraid. They know nothing about appealing to the gods.”

  “If you believe them too afraid, they already have you beaten. They have shown a willingness to attack. I believe the same men, people we have taken to calling priests of the Lashiin, have been abducting children from the city.” His jaw clenched again. “Now I see I have your attention. There is a man I know who has worked on behalf of the Deshmahne. He helped save several of your children.”

  Would this Deshmahne know what Brohmin had done? She took a risk in sharing this, but it was a risk she thought she must take.

  “How do you know of this?”

  “As I told you, a man I know helped the Deshmahne.”

  The Deshmahne glanced up the street before turning his attention back to her. Was the other Deshmahne still there, waiting, possibly hidden or ready to attack?

  “What’s this man’s name?”

  She debated whether to answer. Did she tell the Deshmahne about Brohmin? It was possible that he already knew.

  “His name is Brohmin,” she said. She watched the Deshmahne, uncertain how he would react. Would there be any sign of recognition with the name?

  “You know the Hunter?”

  That was a title she hadn’t heard before, though she didn’t know Brohmin that well to begin with. All she knew was what Jakob had said about him, and that Jakob trusted him. She gathered there was more to Brohmin than she had seen, especially with the way he fought, though she didn’t know—or necessarily care—what secrets he hid.

  “I know him,” she said. She resisted the urge to glance back at Selton.

  The Deshmahne made that easy for her. “What about him?” he asked, nodding over her shoulder and motioning toward Selton.

  “What about him?” she asked.

  “Does he know the Hunter?”

  She turned carefully and considered Selton. He leaned against one of the nearby buildings—one that had a sign signaling a seamstress. His hand remained near his sword, hovering there.