The Last Conclave (The Lost Prophecy Book 6)

by D. K. Holmberg

  Had Brohmin betrayed her? It seemed impossible to believe, but what other answer was there? “Brohmin?”

  He looked at her, holding her gaze, but saying nothing.

  It seemed answer enough.

  If only she could reach for her sword, she might be able to free herself. If she could reach her sword, she thought that she could give herself a fighting chance. That was all she wanted. She didn’t want to fall this way. She didn’t want Selton not to know what happened to her.

  The Deshmahne took a step toward her.

  The markings on his arms swirled, matching what happened to Brohmin’s.

  Selton had worried about her being forcibly converted, and somehow the Deshmahne had managed to convert Brohmin. She had thought him committed to the gods, but perhaps losing the goddess had caused something to snap in him.

  “You don’t need to do this,” Roelle said. Her mouth seemed to be the only thing that still worked.

  “On the contrary, I do. You’re the one who came to us.”

  “Because Brohmin suggested that you might be able to help.”

  Her eyes were growing heavy, and she fought against the fatigue that washed over her. Her head swam, and it made it difficult for her to concentrate. What had they been talking about?

  She looked to Brohmin, and he watched her, the intensity of his gaze that she had thought missing still there. How had she ever thought it missing?

  The Deshmahne took another step, and she swooned.

  She started to fall but managed to catch herself.

  The bead of sweat that formed on her brow now seemed to run throughout her entire body. Pain surged, and she started to fall again, before catching herself.

  She looked up and saw Brohmin watching her still. Had his expression changed?

  No. It had not. If anything, it was more intense.

  The Deshmahne stood across from her. He reached for something, and she thought it was a blade of metal. The metal hummed, pressing against her. Heat radiated off of it.

  She couldn’t see straight but knew that he had teralin.

  A branding. That was what this was.

  Brohmin had sacrificed her.

  Her mind spun, and she could not focus. This time when she fell, she had no strength to support herself, and no strength to right herself.

  As she fell, she called out, “Selton.”

  As s lost consciousness, she knew that he would not hear her.

  Chapter Thirty

  Jakob shifted, carrying them to Vasha. When they appeared, they stood upon the third terrace of the city, the Denraen barracks below buzzing with activity. Far beneath them, far enough that Jakob couldn’t easily see it, was the first terrace, and the main part of the city.

  What he needed was here, on the third terrace.

  He needed to find Alriyn and to learn what he could about where Jostephon had gone. Jakob should have paid more attention to this before and should have troubled himself about it, but he had chosen not to, thinking that Raime was more his concern.

  When he shifted from Salvat, he’d brought them to the Lashiin ruins, something about them seeming more welcoming to him, and made it easier for him to shift to this place. There was a familiarity to it that seemed to stem from his walking back along the fibers, and searching for answers there. Clouds surrounded this level of the city, wispy here, but growing much thicker as they rose overhead.

  “Why here?” Novan asked.

  “Because here is where Jostephon was last seen,” Jakob said.

  “That’s not entirely true,” Novan told him.

  “What?”

  “Before you came for me, there was word out of the north that Jostephon had been captured by the Antrilii. Alriyn led several Magi, including Haerlin, north with Endric. They went to see what they could do about containing him.”

  Containing might not be all they were interested in. Jakob feared what might happen if the Magi decided to take vengeance. Too many had been injured because of the Eldest, and too many had been lost because of his desire for power. Would the Magi be petty?

  He wouldn’t be surprised if they were. The Magi had not been hurt in that way before. Jostephon had injured them in ways that they had never experienced. It didn’t take a great leap of imagination to believe that they could wanted vengeance.

  Jakob glanced to Dendril. “How well do you know the north lands?”

  Dendril pinched one of his cheeks as he frowned. “It has been many years since I have been there. When I made the choice to serve the Denraen, I was choosing not to serve the Antrilii. There are some who never got past that choice.

  Finding the Antrilii wasn’t necessarily the hardest part, but finding someone there who could provide him with what he needed would be difficult. Somehow, he not only had to find the Antrilii, but he had to find what they knew.

  “Can you tell me who I could contact to find information if I go to the Antrilii?”

  “There is a place near Farsea. It is north of the mountains, and a place of study and scholarship for the Antrilii.”

  “What is this place?”

  “They call it the House of the Yahinv. It is a place for those who lead the Antrilii.”

  “You have some connection to ahmaean?”

  Jakob didn’t see it swirling around Dendril, not as he expected to. Dendril was Antrilii, much like Endric, which meant that both of them had ahmaean. They were connected to it, much like Novan was, and if they had that connection, then he should be able to see it.

  “Some. My connection has changed over the years.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I lent my strength to Endric when he assumed command of the Denraen.”

  “You can simply lend strength in such a way?”

  “There is nothing simple about doing so.”

  “Is teralin used in this way?”

  “It is. There is a ceremony the Denraen have used for generations. There is a particular item of power that the general possesses.”

  Jakob smiled. He had seen the item of power, but he hadn’t known what it was at the time.

  “The sword,” Jakob said.

  “Trill. Its name is Trill.”

  Jakob wasn’t surprised that Endric would have a named sword, as well. What did surprise him was that the Denraen had handed power down over generations. Doing so was similar to what the damahne had done. It would explain why Endric had grown so strong, and why he was so difficult to defeat. It would explain why Endric was even able to defeat Roelle, as skilled as she had become.

  “I will need you to think about the House of the Yahinv,” Jakob said.

  “Why?” Dendril asked.

  “You are going to guide our next step.”

  Dendril studied him before turning and looking down at the barracks. “It has been… many years since I have seen this place. Endric has kept it well.”

  “Endric is a skilled soldier, and has led the Denraen well,” Novan said. “Did you expect anything less from him?”

  Dendril sniffed. “There was a time when I wasn’t certain.”

  “Andril would have served equally well,” Novan said.

  “Would he? I think Andril would have been too rigid in his thinking. He was a faithful soldier, and perhaps even more skilled with the sword than Endric, but he was inflexible at times.”

  “What happened to him?” Jakob asked.

  Dendril sighed. “We were betrayed by one of our own.”

  “Not just one of your own,” Novan said.

  Dendril frowned. “Fine. He was both historian and Denraen. A combination that I thought would serve us well.”

  “Had he not done what he did, would we have learned about the Deshmahne threat when we did?” Novan asked.

  “There would’ve been another way. There is always another way.”

  “Urik didn’t see it that way.”

  “No. He did not. And because of it, many suffered.”

  “Is this the attack on the city that I’ve heard of?”
Jakob asked.

  There had been a Deshmahne attack on Vasha before, though Jakob had not learned much about it. He had gathered that Endric was involved, but hadn’t known much more than that.

  “Yes. The Deshmahne attempted a dark ceremony in the city that was meant to destabilize the Magi influence.” Dendril stared at the palace, his eyes going distant.

  “The attack was not meant to destabilize the Magi influence,” Novan said. “The attack was for a different reason entirely.”

  “They would never have managed to reach them,” Dendril said.

  “We thought not, but Raime continued his attempts, and eventually—”

  Dendril grunted. “Storing those artifacts here had always been a risk, especially with what they were capable of doing.”

  Jakob glanced at the two men. It seemed that this was an old argument for them, one that they’d had many times before. Could they have prevented Raime’s attack long ago?

  “If Jostephon was captured by the Antrilii, then we need to depart, we need to reach the Antrilii lands,” Jakob said.

  “He is captured. There is no urgency. Let me look upon my old command for one moment longer,” Dendril said.

  Jakob took a deep breath and stepped to the side, watching Dendril. The old general approach the teralin wall that lined the third terrace, and leaned against it, staring down at the barracks. What thoughts must be going through his head? What types of things did he think about as he saw the Denraen and saw what Endric had done? Everything Jakob had heard about Dendril told him that he had been an extremely capable and successful general. Only Endric had exceeded his ability.

  Novan whispered something to Dendril, but Jakob didn’t attempt to overhear. There was value in giving them a chance to speak privately to each other, and rather than interrupting, he wanted Dendril to have that time, to have a moment of peace.

  Finally, Dendril turned back to him. “I’m ready.”

  “I’ll need you to fix this place in your mind. When you do it, then we can use it, and I can shift us to it.”

  “I think that I can do this.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve been to Farsea?” Novan asked.

  “Years.”

  “Perhaps I should be the one to guide us, then.”

  “Farsea was once my home. I think that I know the way, don’t you?”

  Novan tipped his head.

  Dendril began to manipulate his ahmaean, and Jakob saw it as a faint haze swirling around him. There was no real intention to it, but Jakob sensed from the way that he used it, that Dendril was attempting to focus on where he wanted to take them. With a soft tug at his mind, they shifted.

  When they reappeared, they were in a grassy field. Wind blew all around them, and strange trees dotted the landscape. In the distance, there was a squat tower that resembled many of the Urmahne temples as well as the Tower of the Gods.

  “I take it that is the House of Yahinv?” Jakob asked.

  Dendril nodded. “That is the Yahinv. The women there guide the Antrilii. If Jostephon has been captured and kept here by the Antrilii, then this is where he would have been taken.”

  Novan studied the building with a bemused expression. “They don’t particularly care for me here.”

  Dendril grunted. “There aren’t many who do, historian.”

  “What did you do here?” Jakob asked.

  “I challenged the Antrilii to study the groeliin. They have hunted them for generations, but—as you now know—there was much more that we could’ve learned if they would have agreed to attempt to learn from them.”

  “The Antrilii would not want to study them. Their mission has always been to destroy them. These are creatures we have hunted for generations.”

  Jakob nodded. “The hunters.”

  Dendril looked at him sharply. “You say that as if it has some meaning.”

  Jakob shrugged. “The damahne referred to the Antrilii as hunters. They thought I would know what it meant since I’m damahne, but I do not know the ancient language well. I was told I should find out what it meant.”

  Dendril eyes narrowed. “That is a secret of the Antrilii.”

  “It seems that there are many secrets,” Jakob said. “There are the secrets the Conclave keeps. There are those the Magi have kept. Even the damahne have their own secrets. Why can’t there be a sharing of knowledge? We’ve lost too much because of this isolation.”

  “Knowledge can be dangerous,” Novan said.

  “Knowledge can be freeing,” Jakob said.

  “It depends on what knowledge we’re referring to,” Novan said. “Think of what you know of the damahne. There has been value in keeping the sense of the gods, a belief in a higher being, one that allows us to maintain peace. Without that, how much chaos would we have suffered? How much destruction would there have been?”

  “Wars have been fought over the damahne,” Jakob said.

  “They have,” Novan said. “A war of faiths. It happened so long ago that few even know of it, but those on the Conclave know. That is the knowledge that we keep, the kind of knowledge that we recognize needs to be protected. Imagine what would happen if the damahne were revealed for what they were now?”

  “Wouldn’t it be enough for people to know about the Maker?”

  Novan smiled sadly. “Do you believe in the Maker?”

  Jakob frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Novan shrugged. “Only that when you and I first met, Jakob, you struggled with your faith. I seem to recall traveling with you and having discussions about your belief and how the gods had abandoned you. I got the sense that it started when your mother was lost. And then when your father fell to the Deshmahne attack, your belief was shattered. Have you found faith once more?”

  Jakob hadn’t given it much thought. The members of the Conclave all had a faith in a higher being, claiming that the Maker existed, and had placed the damahne into the world as a way of maintaining a balance. Jakob hadn’t been damahne long enough to know what he believed. Did he share in those beliefs? Was he willing to agree that he served a higher power?

  Perhaps that was the greatest question for him. Maybe once he came to terms with what he was, and what he was meant to do, he would be better equipped to know how to stop Raime.

  “Does it matter what I believe if I do what is right?” Jakob asked.

  Dendril chuckled, and Novan shot him a hard look. “Does it, historian? Does it matter what one believes if he does what must be done?” Dendril looked over at Jakob. “When I was leading the Denraen, I would rather have had one man who fought for what he believed was right than a dozen men who fought because of blind belief.”

  “What do you believe?” Jakob asked him.

  Dendril smiled again. “I am not so certain that it matters what I believe. Like you, I intend to do what is right. If that means that we need to go to the House of the Yahinv and violate centuries of tradition with the Antrilii, then so be it.”

  “Why would that violate tradition?”

  “Because to go to the House of Yahinv, one must be led there by an Antrilii. As none of us is Antrilii, it would be violating these traditions.”

  “I thought you were Antrilii,” Jakob said.

  “I gave up any right to claiming Antrilii heritage when I left and led the Denraen. Endric attempted to restore that, but there is only so much that can be done.”

  “The Antrilii would welcome you back,” Novan said. “Nahrsin reveres you.”

  “Nahrsin reveres me because I’m his uncle. And it’s not Nahrsin who must be convinced.”

  Dendril nodded to the tower in the distance. “Will you shift us there?”

  Jakob used his ahmaean, and a tug within his mind shifted them forward, appearing in front of the tower. There was a hint of ahmaean around it, just the faintest amount that gave him a sense of the similarity to the Tower of the Gods, but there were significant differences as well. This tower was not nearly as tall and had not been pulle
d out of the earth using ahmaean. Stones were stacked, and mortar was placed between them, producing a well-made structure, but one that obviously had been made by man.

  A stout wooden door was the only entrance. Dendril stared at it for a long moment, before nodding to himself and stepping forward. He knocked loudly on the wood and then stepped back, waiting.

  There was no response for long moments, and then the door opened. When it did, the face on the other side was familiar, and a surprise to Jakob.

  “Haerlin?” Jakob asked.

  The older Mage glanced from Jakob to Novan, before his gaze settled on Dendril. His eyes widened a moment. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

  Dendril shrugged and stepped into the building. “And you’re not supposed to be here. I guess neither of us knows what’s going on.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The inside of the House of the Yahinv was comfortable. Jakob sat in a plush chair facing the hearth along the far wall. Shelves lined one of the walls, with books stacked in them, a library of Antrilii knowledge. The air smelled of spice and cut flowers, and a crackling fire pressed back the chill.

  Jakob watched Alriyn. He had not been surprised when they appeared, though had not said much since their arrival. Haerlin stood near the wall, and another Mage—who was introduced as Karrin—remained near Alriyn. Surprisingly, the university chancellor was there, as well, and she seemed to hover near Alriyn.

  The other woman in the room drew Jacob’s eye the most. She had a stern countenance and dark brown eyes that seemed to take in everything. Dendril had fidgeted when he’d caught sight of her, and Jakob realized that she was the one he was most nervous about seeing.

  “You should not have returned,” the woman said.

  “I would not have, if I’d had any other choice, Rebecca.”

  She glared at him, and Jakob would have chuckled under other circumstances. Dendril was a hard man—Jakob could see that about him—but he physically took a step back to keep his distance from Rebecca.

  “You’ve always had a choice, and you’ve always made it clear what your preference was.”

  “Preference? My preference has always been to serve. I could not do what I was asked to do here.”