Tower of the Gods (The Lost Prophecy Book 3)

by D. K. Holmberg

  “I shouldn’t have attempted it. I know it’s dangerous,” he started.

  “Not just dangerous,” Karrin said. “You could tear yourself apart!”

  Alriyn knew it to be true, knew he would have thought the same had they told him. He returned their stares for a while before Karrin spoke.

  “What do we do now?” she asked.

  “The Deshmahne infiltration is much worse than we had thought. We knew they were in the city, but I hadn’t imagined they would reach the palace.” He stopped, his head throbbing and making his thoughts difficult. “We must find them all.”

  “We will,” Endric said.

  Alriyn looked at where Haerlin lay before nodding. “Watch him,” he said to Karrin. “And search for as many others as you can. We need to protect those who have not converted.” She nodded, and he turned to Endric. “I need you to come with me. We will secure the mahne. Then we will root out the Deshmahne.”

  Endric nodded, and Novan stepped forward, watching Alriyn. The historian might be of use, so he motioned for him to follow as well.

  Where had the other Elders gone? They needed to find those of his council to keep Jostephon from attacking them as well.

  Chapter Five

  Isandra looked back, her horse racing beneath her as they sped across the flat plain, the mountains of Vasha now nothing but a memory behind them. In the distance, there was the faint outline of trees and the start of the forest. Where was the city? They had to be close, if only they would make it.

  They'd been riding hard for the last hour. Only three of the five Denraen still lived. Stephen had almost sacrificed himself during the last attack by the Deshmahne but had managed to escape. His fighting had helped buy her time.

  The Denraen seemed unconcerned about their own safety, more concerned about hers. Isandra had always known the Denraen considered themselves protectors of the Magi, but seeing firsthand the lengths they had gone through to see her to safety only reinforced how little she had really understood. Her time in the city, time spent studying, learning about her abilities, even studying the history of her people, hadn't fully prepared her for what she faced. This was brutality.

  Isandra had considered herself a worldly woman. She, unlike so many Magi, had spent time out of Vasha, visiting the nations to the south. It was what made her a natural fit to go north, travel to Rondalin, and see if there was anything she could learn about what happened to their delegate. She had believed they would be able to prevent war, but it was too late for that, and possibly too late for much of anything.

  She had considered returning to Vasha, thinking that doing so might get them to safety, but the Deshmahne had effectively surrounded her and forced her north. The longer they rode north, the more they were chased, and the more she wondered whether there was something else she had missed or something else she had misunderstood.

  Stephen leaned forward in his saddle. He didn't say it, but he was more injured than he let on. His tunic was stained with blood, and occasionally, he would slump forward before catching himself and forcing himself upright. Isandra had offered to help him, but he had rejected that.

  He was dying, and there was little she could do to stop it. When she’d attempted to probe using the manehlin, she had discovered that there was little she could do even to slow it, even were he to agree to her help. Much longer, and he would perish.

  What would happen to her then?

  She didn’t want to think about that. She couldn’t, not with Rondalin in the distance, but would they reach it in time?

  Isandra chose to believe they would.

  Stephen started to sag in his saddle.

  Isandra slowed, reaching for his reins, but he shook her off. “Keep going, Mage. We’re here to protect you.”

  “You can't protect me if you're dead.”

  He looked up, his eyes as clear as she had seen them in hours. “We can protect you through our deaths.”

  Isandra met his gaze, a shiver working through her. She didn’t deserve that level of dedication. She wasn't certain she deserved his sacrifice.

  They topped a rise, and in the distance, she caught sight of a massive city spilling outward from an enormous gray stone wall. A huge makeshift shantytown surrounded the wall. She couldn't see anything behind the wall.

  This must be Rondalin.

  Isandra didn't know Rondalin well. She had visited once long ago, back when she had first been raised to full Mage. Rondalin had had a Mage advisor until recently, but they hadn't heard from Salindra in many months. None knew what had happened to her, though all assumed she’d been exiled by the Rondalin king like the Magi advisors had been in the south. What other explanation made sense?

  She looked back, ready to tell the Denraen that they would reach the city, and saw a familiar flicker signaling the Deshmahne. They had seen it too many times over the last few days, enough that Isandra recognized it easily. It was a sight she had come to hate.

  She slowed her horse, nodding to Stephen and their remaining two Denraen. Both were seasoned soldiers. Thinking of the two they’d lost, and of her original thought that Endric had gone overboard with her security, she again was thankful for the general’s foresight but also wondered about it.

  How much had Endric expected?

  Or—she wondered—how much had he feared? Had he known that the Deshmahne had made it this far north?

  “Ride for the city,” Tolan said to her. He had a baritone voice that had a musical quality to it. In their quieter moments during the trip, when they’d had time for conversation, she had imagined him as part of a choir, singing during the worship service of the Urmahne. She never did get a chance to ask him if he’d ever used his beautiful voice in such a way.

  “We'll all ride,” she said.

  Stephen turned in the saddle, steeling himself. Strength she hadn't seen from him in hours was evident in his stiffened spine, granting him the strength to unsheathe his sword as he turned the horse to face the oncoming Deshmahne. “Reach the city, Mage. See this through.”

  “If they've already reached this far, how do you know they haven't reached Rondalin?” Isandra asked.

  “I don't. Keep your eyes open. Be prepared for anything that might come. Look for markings. You remember what those are?”

  Isandra nodded.

  “Good. Find your delegate. Help him if you can. Know that we fight for the good in the world. We fight so that you don't have to.”

  He spurred his horse forward, and the other two Denraen followed him. She watched for as long as she could, fearing that she would not see them again.

  Roelle kept the hood of her cloak up as she walked along the road into Rondalin. Selton and Jhun had come along, both skilled with the sword, both willing to take this risk with her. Lendra had come as well, determined to observe. She was the only one without her hood pulled up to cover her face. The rest of the Magi stayed back at the camp with Zamell in command.

  Roelle had stopped to visit with Nahrsin before leaving, and the Antrilii had understood what Roelle intended, though he didn't believe she would be successful. For that matter, Roelle didn't think that she would be successful, but they needed to try.

  There had to be some way to either appeal to the Deshmahne or draw them out and force them into the war. If it was about appealing to them, she thought that would be easy. She could share proof that this attack was coming and share what it meant. Hopefully, the Deshmahne would assist.

  If that didn't work, Roelle had a backup plan in mind. She could draw the Deshmahne out of Rondalin. If they were only interested in attacking the Magi, she could provide a target. That was the least desirable outcome for her, but to make this work, the plan was one she was willing to attempt. Once the Deshmahne were out of the city and faced the groeliin, they wouldn’t have a choice but to fight the horrific creatures.

  Making her way down the road, trying not to think of the sack Nahrsin had sent with her in case she needed it, Roelle was overcome by the sheer number of peopl
e here. Could the northern villages and mining towns have held so many? Why wouldn't Rondalin welcome them in? The city was clearly large enough. With the massive wall surrounding it, it might even be enough to help keep these people safe from the groeliin.

  “These people shouldn't be here,” Selton said.

  “Where should they be?” Jhun asked.

  Selton shrugged. Like the other two, he had the hood of his cloak up. It was cold enough now that they weren't out of place, with plenty of the transient residents around them dressed much the same, though the quality of the Magi’s cloaks was much nicer than anything she saw here. Most were dirty and torn. Fires that blazed for warmth seemed too close to the buildings that spilled over each other.

  The homes had the look of temporary permanence, but also reflected a sense of urgency to them. The way they pressed together was depressing to her. These people once had homes, places they had been proud of. She'd seen that pride in the way they had cared for their homes and villages, the way they had maintained them, keeping them from falling into disrepair. Now . . . now they were little more than reminders of where they had been, the people they once were.

  As she walked through the streets, she saw evidence of a fire that had raged through this ramshackle part of the city. Scorch marks had been left along some of the buildings where flames had been hastily expunged; the buildings rebuilt even more hastily than the others around it. How devastating would it have been for this entire outer city to fall to flames?

  Jhun and Selton remained mostly silent. Lendra stayed close to Roelle, her eyes scanning everything.

  As they passed a group of Deshmahne while approaching the wall, Lendra started shaking her head. “I'm not sure this is right, Roelle,” she whispered. “I have a bad feeling about all of this. Think of what we’ve witnessed of the Deshmahne!”

  “What other option do we have? If we’re to find a way to stop the groeliin, we're going to have to make difficult choices.” Roelle turned to Lendra. “When you dealt with the Deshmahne in the south, did you get the sense that they were unwilling to help the people? Wouldn't this be the ideal way for them to prove how powerful they are, and what that means for the people?”

  “Roelle—”

  Roelle cut Lendra off. “I can’t be so concerned about preserving the role of the Magi and preserving the role of the Urmahne. None of that matters if this city is destroyed and these people lost.”

  “Then draw them out, use their animosity toward the Magi against them,” Lendra suggested.

  Roelle lowered her voice, looking to Selton and then to Jhun. Both had been hesitant to come with her, both coming mostly because they wanted to support her. She had the sense that they didn’t truly believe in her strategy. “That’s my plan if this fails. But if we can have partners, instead of enemies…” She looked at the scene around them then back to Lendra. “We've seen what these creatures can do. If Novan is right, these are the same creatures that caused the great destruction thousands of years ago.” The words hung in the air. “We need all the help we can get to survive this.

  Neither of the other Magi with her said anything as they reached the outer gate of Rondalin. Roelle paused, noting the two soldiers stationed there. Both were clearly Deshmahne, heavily tattooed.

  As they approached the wall, Roelle began having the same uncertainty that Lendra expressed. It all seemed like such a good idea when she had suggested coming to Rondalin, seeing if there was some way to plead for the Deshmahne’s help, but now that she was here, she wondered if she’d made a mistake.

  Turning back would be easier. They could draw out the Deshmahne.

  But risk them attacking the Magi.

  Both sides would lose then.

  “We could turn back,” Lendra suggested.

  Roelle swallowed. She thought about the Antrilii and imagined that she could almost hear the merahl calling from here, as they ranged in the woods nearby, hunting for the groeliin, trying to destroy as many as they could.

  Could she leave the attack to the Antrilii alone? Her Magi—the ones that remained of the one hundred apprentices that had come with her—could only do so much. They were skilled with the sword, but there were ten thousand of the groeliin, enough that she doubted that even Nahrsin and the Antrilii would be able to do anything to stop them. If they didn't, all knew what they would face.

  Roelle moved forward, stopping in front of the Deshmahne. Pushing the hood of her cloak back, she met the Deshmahne's eyes, trying to do so without too much defiance. “I seek an audience with the king.”

  The man eyed her from head to toe, his gaze lingering on her sword before flickering up to her face. “The king doesn't take an audience with just anyone. Especially not some random northern soldier sauntering up to the gate.”

  Roelle smiled inwardly. Better to be some random soldier than someone the king might need to fear. Maybe this was how they could play it. They wouldn't expect the Magi to come wearing swords, or being soldiers. Perhaps in this instance, their past might actually protect them.

  Roelle’s mind raced through how to approach this. What would convince them?

  Lendra stepped forward before Roelle had a chance to come up with an answer, tilting her hips slightly and protruding her chest out. The silent Deshmahne leered at her. “What news have you of the attacks in the north?” Lendra asked.

  The man licked his lips, his gaze lingering on Lendra’s hips. “Why don't you find me after my shift, and I can tell you all about what I’ve heard.”

  Lendra shrugged slightly. Somehow, she made it appear almost seductive. “I'm just trying to determine whether we should keep going north to find help or if we should head toward Fristin.”

  The soldiers shared a glance, and the first Deshmahne, the one standing casually with his arms crossed over his chest and something of a glare to his face, shook his head. “Not much left in Fristin. You'll find all who are left in the outer rim here.”

  The implication was clear. Fristin was empty, and the soldiers knew it.

  “What is the king doing about the attacks in the north?” Roelle asked.

  “There's not much for Rondalin to do about them. They haven't come this far south. They stay in the mountains.”

  “You’re not worried they will reach Rondalin?” Roelle asked.

  “Rondalin's range doesn't go quite that far, so we don’t worry about rumors.”

  Roelle took a burlap sack from beneath her cloak. Nahrsin might have been right sending this with her. He figured it would be the only way to offer proof. Roelle had hoped to talk her way through, not wanting to scare these men.

  She handed the sack to the nearest Deshmahne.

  “What is this?” the man asked.

  Roelle gave a slight shrug. “Take a look. Tell me if you think this is something we need to worry about.”

  The man pulled the bag open, and his breath caught. Lendra's nose started to wrinkle. Roelle knew the stench from the bag was probably overwhelming to her. Even dead, the creatures had a foul odor, though not quite as nasty as when they were alive. Roelle didn't understand why the stench was so much worse when they lived, only that the Denraen soldiers and Lendra had not been able to tolerate it.

  The other man leaned in to see the contents of the sack, his eyes going wide. “We need to find the captain—”

  The first man frowned. “Send them through.”

  “The captain—”

  “Send them through,” the Deshmahne said again. He handed the sack back to Roelle who took it and slipped it back onto her belt, letting her cloak fall around it. She hated being so close to the groeliin’s head, but Nahrsin had been right that it was the only way to convince the Deshmahne that there was a real threat.

  The two Deshmahne moved aside, letting the Magi and Lendra in. They made their way into the city, and Roelle realized the living conditions weren't that much better inside the city walls than outside in the makeshift town.

  Crowds of people moved through the streets, filling
them completely. Suddenly, the decision to not allow everyone into the city and behind the wall made a certain sort of sense. Did the guards help by keeping people in or restricting access? With the number of people outside the wall, either would make sense.

  “Go straight ahead. You'll find the guard station there. Ask for Captain Bannon,” the Deshmahne said.

  Roelle felt almost numb as she nodded. They made their way along the street, having to push their way through in places. There was a stench here, as foul as what she imagined from the groeliin, one that came from bodies pressed together. Piles of refuse were pushed into alleys, but it seemed more than that.

  She saw clothing from all sorts of different peoples, all different kinds of dress. Most were in a somewhat better state of repair than she'd seen on those outside of the city wall. The people weren't any cleaner, though. The faces of everyone around her were somber, almost with a look of sadness in their eyes that mixed with a look she could only call fear.

  Roelle wished she could take a moment to talk to these people, to ask what they'd been through, what they'd seen and experienced. Had they survived the groeliin, or had they come south simply because of the threat of the groeliin?

  If Rondalin was like this, what were other cities like? This couldn’t be the only place people traveled. Others would have made their way further south, she was certain. They would have sought safety, even if it were a false sense of security from being close to the large city.

  Roelle caught sight of the promised guard station in the distance. It was a large building, one that reminded her of the barracks in Vasha. She stopped long enough to watch, curious how many other Deshmahne came through. If the Deshmahne had already reached a position where they guarded the gates to the city itself, they would have to be present throughout the city.

  “Why haven't they converted here?” Selton asked as he took in the crowds, looking for visible tattoos that would identify converted Deshmahne.

  “In the larger cities, they attempt their conversions, but there's only so much they can do,” Lendra explained. “Even in those places, conversions are limited. They seek to draw people toward their faith, toward their beliefs, but they don't give the markings to just anyone. That is reserved for those with the highest faith, and those with the highest potential.”