Tower of the Gods (The Lost Prophecy Book 3)

by D. K. Holmberg

  But why?

  Jostephon was a scholar—and a more learned one than he. He would have understood the implications of this choice. Unless Alriyn had this wrong. He prayed that he did, otherwise, everything was happening faster than he had expected.

  Without Jostephon, any hope of choosing the Uniter was lost before it even began.

  “What is this?” Jostephon demanded, pointing toward Rendrem who lay helpless on the ground. A small trickle of dark blood flowed from Rendrem’s nose.

  “Jostephon—these men are Deshmahne. And they’re in the palace.”

  Alriyn hoped Jostephon wouldn’t be involved. He couldn’t be involved—could he?

  “The Deshmahne are not what you believe, Alriyn.”

  He blinked. That wasn’t what he’d expected from his old friend. “Not what I believe?”

  “They are not priests, and this is not religion.” He took a step toward Alriyn and lowered his voice. “You’re a smart man, Alriyn. You should have learned that the gods are not gods. They were not placed above men to guide them. They did not Ascend as we have claimed. They were powerful beings, but their power has faded. It is our time now.”

  “What are you saying?” Alriyn asked. “You deny the gods now? With everything that is happening, we need to choose the nemah—”

  “Consider that there is another answer, one that we have not ever considered. There is a reason we have not seen the gods in centuries—they no longer exist! The Deshmahne know a different way to power, one that augments what the Magi already possess.”

  “You’re making a mistake. All of this is a mistake. The gods are real, Jostephon. I have seen one! She asked that I—”

  Power built from Jostephon. Alriyn could feel it as the subtle shifting of the manehlin, the small energy slowly vibrating with the power.

  Could Jostephon think to attack them?

  He glanced at the others with him. They all watched him, none able to speak.

  Alriyn had to act. He had no other choice.

  He took a deep breath. “Jostephon Ontain, I challenge your position as Eldest. I do this in accordance with the ancient laws passed down to us from our Founders. I do this—”

  “You don’t know what you’re doing, Alriyn.”

  Alriyn swallowed. His mind opened, welcoming the power flowing around him. “I challenge you, Jostephon. If you have sided with the Deshmahne and abandoned the gods, you are no longer fit to lead the Magi in a time when we must follow the ancient tradition and seek the Uniter.”

  “You think you can challenge me?” Jostephon asked. “You know so little, Alriyn Ral, if you think you are capable of challenging me.”

  With the words, Alriyn felt something akin to a blow to his head.

  It came quickly and unexpectedly. The shock of it forced him to release the energy he held, and it slipped back into the men. Rendrem moaned lightly.

  Alriyn gathered himself. “Jostephon Ontain, I challenge your position as Eldest. You will answer the challenge in accordance with the ancient laws, those of the Urmahne and the mahne before it—”

  Jostephon’s laughter interrupted him this time. “You challenge my position as Eldest? I warn you, I have learned enough that I am now much more than just the Eldest.”

  A flurry of sharp blows seemed to come from everywhere around him at once.

  Alriyn lost his focus and struggled to regain it. As he did, he forced his mind to relax. If he couldn’t, he would not be able to prevent this attack. Slowly, it opened wide—as wide as it had when he had dealt with Rendrem and the Deshmahne. It wasn’t enough.

  He strained, pushing again.

  Doing so was dangerous. Magi who had attempted it before had been left injured, but what choice did he have?

  He felt a tear, and he grunted. He pushed harder and suppressed a scream. He would need more strength than he had.

  He dared not look away from the Eldest, but he chanced a glance around him. Endric winced frequently, as if being whipped. A few of the Magi with him cried out. But it was Novan he was most interested in seeing. The historian’s face was tight, a frown upon his lips, and his eyes were unfocused as he seemed to concentrate upon something unseen.

  He is Deshmahne.

  It was the voice in his head, and it was strangely familiar. Could it be Novan’s voice?

  Alriyn realized that the voice was right. Jostephon was more than the Eldest. He had been converted in full, otherwise he would not be able to do what he did to him now.

  The Eldest laughed again, and the sound filled the hall. “You made a grave mistake, Alriyn. You should have allowed Rendrem to escort you to me. We could have ruled together.”

  Alriyn turned his attention back to Jostephon. He would need every ounce of concentration. “Jostephon Ontain, I challenge you!”

  He pressed power into that open part of his mind, stretching to his limits, and pushing beyond them with a scream. It felt as if his mind split in half.

  Sudden awareness and power flooded him, but it did so painfully. He focused, straining to access his ability.

  A sense of manehlin filled him. It was everywhere, practically glowing. Alriyn could see it in ways that he never had managed before.

  It surrounded him, a bright glow, and surrounded everyone with him.

  Including Jostephon.

  Alriyn reached for that manehlin, trying to reach inside the Eldest. There was resistance, as if a hard shell surrounded the Mage.

  The Eldest laughed again. The fury of blows hit him harder, punishing him. The intense pain forced him to fight to keep his focus, to keep his mind open.

  “You have made a mistake in challenging me,” the Eldest said.

  Protect the mahne!

  It was as if the goddess’s words rang out in his mind, a bell clearing from it the pain and fear he felt about what he faced.

  Alriyn roared, pushing at his mind, straining to open it even wider.

  There would be consequences. No one had ever tried what he was attempting now.

  He reached beyond what he should be capable of doing and pushed through the barrier around the Eldest. He seemed to squeeze through.

  It was slow, like moving through mud, but he penetrated the barrier and tore at the manehlin that filled the Eldest, pulling it back toward him.

  Jostephon screamed this time, a harsh cry that filled the hall with his anger.

  He struggled to hold the slow flow of the manehlin as Alriyn leached it from him. Jostephon staggered briefly before catching himself, screaming again. His face contorted in pain, his robe no longer hanging limp.

  The painful onslaught of blows attacked Alriyn more rapidly. Lances of pain came at him from all sides, stabbing through him and nearly dropping him. It was all he could do to maintain his focus.

  And he pulled harder.

  Suddenly, several hands wrapped around him, grabbing him and pulling him back. He feared releasing his grasp of the manehlin, feared the strength it would give the Eldest. He was barely fending him off now.

  He looked behind him and saw the other Magi Councilors, each unconscious and slung over the shoulder of one of the Denraen. Somehow Endric had escaped and gotten help. The grizzled general winced occasionally, and he knew the man felt the same as he. It was a testament to the general’s strength.

  Novan still stood as well, and backed up slowly, his lips moving, but no sound coming from them.

  As Alriyn was being carried away, he turned back to the Eldest and saw Jostephon slip to the floor. But Alriyn could still feel the sharp lances at his skin and jabs to his mind. He pulled back harder, squeezing at the energy as tightly as he could. It did not stop the Mage’s assault on him.

  Hold it, the voice urged.

  As they rounded a corner and the Eldest was out of sight, Alriyn clung frantically to the manehlin. His mind was in agony from the effort.

  “He was defeated!” he cried to Endric. “Let me finish this!”

  “No,” Endric grunted.

  “He was d
efeated. I must go back!” His head ached. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold his mind open as he did.

  “No!” Endric roared the answer this time. The sound of it shocked Alriyn, and he stopped fighting. Endric released him. “Do you see what he has done to the others?” he asked, pointing to the Councilors who were still unconscious. “They may be lost, yet you worry you didn’t fully destroy one Deshmahne?”

  Alriyn looked at the limp forms of the Magi. They needed help, healing that only a few could provide. What was he doing? What had he done?

  “There will be another time,” Endric said.

  There might be, but would he have the strength? He had nearly torn his mind apart with what he did. Could he go through the same again?

  He would have to find the strength for the Council.

  They would need to act on the Deshmahne in Vasha, but then they would have to find the Uniter. No longer could he deny that the ancient tradition needed to be followed.

  Chapter Two

  Allay approached the small village along the border of Gomald, a cluster of stone buildings made up of mostly homes. A low wall surrounded it, much like those of the other villages they had passed, and nothing like the massive wall that rose around his home city of Gomald. Smoke rose from chimneys within the village, giving it a homey feeling that did nothing to lessen his sense of growing unease.

  Each mile they traveled, each time they crested a hill, Allay felt increasingly uncomfortable. Mostly, it stemmed from the fact that they neared his home. It should be pleasant returning home, especially since he'd been away for as long as he had, but much had changed in the time that he'd been gone. He had changed.

  “You don't have to be so silent,” Mendi said.

  Allay shifted in the saddle to see her riding behind him. She was lovely today, though truth be told, most days she was lovely, even when she wasn't trying to be. Her raven-black hair brushing her shoulders, longer now than when they had left Gomald. In Gomald, she’d been forced to wear it short as befitting a slave. Growing it longer was one aspect of her defiance while in Vasha, and one he hadn’t opposed. It suited her growing confidence as well.

  “I’m not.”

  “You’ve said nothing the last few miles. I think even Rosahd has noticed.”

  He breathed out a deep sigh. What should he tell her? Both had acknowledged their feelings, but they were heading back to Gomald to where she was little more than a slave, and he was now heir to the throne. Until he took the throne, they could be nothing more than master and servant.

  Allay still couldn't believe that Theodror was gone. His brother, always so strong, always so confident, was dead. He didn't know what happened to him, other than the farther south they went, the more he began to hear of rumors of a rebellion within Gomald. Could that have been what happened? Could his brother have been caught in something like that?

  Mendi waited silently for him to speak. She could be defiant in that way, and it would be nothing to her to force him to speak first.

  “Rosahd thinks we have another few days until we reach Saeline,” he finally said. “I think the Denraen are ready for the safety of their castle.”

  Yongar at least, appeared as if he was ready. They’d come across a few other groups of Deshmahne—patrols, from what Walden had said—and so far, hadn’t lost anyone, but he could tell from the way both Walden and Yongar acted that they feared another encounter when they might lose one of their group to the Deshmahne.

  “I’m ready for a bed,” she said.

  “Is that an offer?” he asked.

  She shot him a hard look. “I didn’t think you were willing to take such a risk.” When he started to open his mouth to object, she cut him off by raising her hand. “I’m not sure I’m willing to either.”

  “If only things were different,” he said.

  Mendi stared at him, saying nothing for a moment before shaking her head. “You realize that as the heir, you can change whatever you choose.”

  Allay had considered that. He was the heir now, which meant that he would rule Gom Aaldia. If he could be patient—if he could wait—he could change things for them. But Richard was not an old man. Nearly fifty, he had ruled for the last ten years and showed no signs of ill health. And it wasn't that Allay wanted anything unfortunate to happen to his father. Were it up to him, his father would remain in good health, but hopefully, come to understand that he had a mistaken view of things.

  “When we reach Saeline, what do you intend to ask Locken?” Mendi asked.

  Allay noted her omission of title when referring to the regional king. Like many from her island home of Salvat, she didn’t recognize the divisions within Gom Aaldia, or even its right to rule Salvat. “I need to know if he’s joining the war, or if he would be willing to work toward peace. I’ll need something if I am to coordinate with the other delegates. Locken has shown an unwillingness to simply go along with my father and this terrible plan he has to attack Thealon, when there’s another issue we need to address.” Seeing all the Deshmahne soldiers patrolling—soldiers, not priests, whatever they might call themselves—Allay realized that the Deshmahne were a greater threat to the safety of Gom Aaldia than they’d realized. The threat was not Thealon. “But I’m not sure Locken is even there.”

  If Locken had abided by the summons, he would've ridden for Bastiin by now. Everything Allay had heard made it sound like he was unwilling to do that.

  “I still think you need to return to Gomald. If there is anything to this rebellion, they'll need you. They'll need their prince. Gom Aaldia needs to be coordinated in their response to the Deshmahne invasion.”

  “Even if I was sure this represented an invasion”—and Allay wasn’t, not entirely. It was possible his father had allowed the Deshmahne presence—“I think it's dangerous to return to Gomald. My father's advisor—”

  “Has gone with your father. He wouldn't remain in the city without him. Which is why we need to return to Gomald. There are things you could do there that others couldn’t.”

  Rosahd started back toward them with Walden riding alongside him, having returned from the nearby village. Their packs were heavier, filled with supplies. Allay found it interesting that Rosahd, a Mage who had not left Vasha in years, had become so skilled at trade, guided by the Denraen. Or perhaps he should not have been surprised. From what he’d seen of the Mage assigned to him, Rosahd had a bright mind. He was inquisitive and seemed to realize that his presence was as pivotal as Allay’s role as delegate.

  “I don't think there’s much I can do.”

  He turned his attention to Mendi, and she watched him, those dark brown eyes of hers practically swallowing him. Allay shook those thoughts away. He couldn't allow himself to think like that, especially not now when they were so close to Gomald. When they reached the capital city, he had to force the attraction away. She was a slave, and he was a prince. It was the kind of romance stories were written about. But as much as he might want it, that could not be his story.

  “Everything starts in the city, Allay. If you can settle the city, then you can work outward. Gomald connects the north and the south. You need Gomald to be strong to prevent a full on invasion.” She lowered her voice and leaned toward him. He was acutely aware of the heady scent of the floral soap she used and breathed it in. “I doubt Rosahd has listened to the Denraen, but I have. They’re surprised by how many Deshmahne we’ve seen.”

  War. That was what Yongar had said to him. From what he’d seen, the movements they’d experienced as they made their way south, he found it easy to believe that it was war—even without his father starting another. The people of Gom Aaldia couldn’t sustain an attack on Thealon and a battle with the Deshmahne.

  “I could go to my father—”

  “Your know as well as I that your father won’t listen. That’s why you need to go to Gomald.”

  He stared at her, noting the intensity in her eyes. “Why are you so concerned about Gomald, anyway? We could return to Gomal
d after I meet with my father.”

  “I care about you, you fool,” she answered.

  Allay started to smile. “It's more than that, though.”

  Mendi nodded slowly. “I doubt your father will allow your return to Gomald once we find him. Whatever he’s doing—”

  She cut off as Rosahd joined them. Since leaving Vasha, Mendi had hidden the connection between them from the Mage. Allay wasn’t certain why, but they had practice hiding, so he had fallen back into that role with just as much ease. Perhaps that was why returning troubled him. For now, even Rosahd didn’t know the connection they shared.

  Mendi flashed a smile and spurred her horse expertly off to the side. Allay wondered if Rosahd realized how skilled Mendi was on horseback, skill that had come from years of practice serving him. There were probably many things Rosahd didn’t know about Mendi.

  “We should keep on. Saeline is nearby, and from there we will go to—”

  Allay glanced to Mendi and saw the worry in her eyes. How could he do anything that would upset her? “Gomald. We travel to Gomald.”

  Rosahd shook his head. “I was to deliver you to your father. Your influence with him will settle this foolish skirmish. That was why you were named delegate. If he is in Bastiin, that is where we must go. You’ve seen what we’ve faced along the way.”

  Walden watched Allay, a curious expression on his face. The other Denraen remained behind him, silent.

  “That might be why I was named delegate, but Bastiin isn’t where I’m needed. My people need me to return to Gomald.” And so did Mendi, though he didn’t quite know why.

  Chapter Three

  The city of Rondalin spread out before Roelle. There was a distinct sprawl to what she saw, the ramshackle village that had sprung up outside the walls of the city made Rondalin nearly twice the size it had been before. She imagined the people inside the village—all having traveled south for the protection of Rondalin, but now, they were about to be in just as much of harm's way as they had been before. Coming south had not protected them.