“It's because there's too many people here,” Jhun said. “How could they mark all of these people? It's probably easier in some of those villages.”
Roelle turned, not commenting, and they started toward the guard station, as somber as the people they saw in the streets around them. As they passed a few small groups of Deshmahne soldiers, she realized many had markings that were fresh. When they’d faced the Deshmahne on the road, the freshly marked ones were the least powerful.
Even knowing that, she worried. Did they endanger themselves too much? If something went wrong, if the Deshmahne realized they were Magi, would they attack? Would there be anything she could do to get them free?
Probably not. They would either face capture or execution.
“One of the delegates came from here,” Selton said. “I wonder if the Council is finished with them. Maybe he’s returned home.”
“He wouldn't have been able to return to Rondalin this quickly,” Roelle said.
“Why not? We spent most of our time heading straight north.”
“We were searching for the Antrilii, not looking for the city,” Roelle said.
“My point exactly,” he said. “The delegate could have come directly here.”
The idea gave her a little hope. If one of the delegates had returned, and if they had brought the Mage advisor as her uncle had intended, perhaps the dynamics in the city had shifted. Maybe that was part of the reason they had not been forcibly converting others in the city. It seemed almost too much to ask for.
As she watched, she realized something else. There were more than groups of two and three Deshmahne. She saw dozens of Deshmahne marching along the street, moving out of the city.
“They’re readying for something,” she noted.
“Maybe it’s the groeliin,” Selton said.
Roelle frowned, noting the collection of soldiers, and of weapons. Others pushed carts with supplies. This was battle preparations.
Had they come only to find the Deshmahne readied for the same attack? Or was this something else?
Roelle took a deep breath, gathering her wits. Either way, she had to go inside and find out what the Deshmahne knew. This was something they needed to do. If it was successful, this could be the key to getting enough help.
Maybe more than enough help. If she was successful, they could stave off the threat of the groeliin.
“We’re with you,” Lendra said.
Roelle forced a smile. Lendra was with her, and she knew Selton and Jhun were. Why did she still feel so unsettled? Why did she sense there was something she hadn't accounted for?
Taking another breath, Roelle made her way into the guard station.
Chapter Six
Saeline took its name from the rolling flatland of grasses. Saeline stretched for leagues in all directions, massive, chest-high swaths of thick grass that grew as far as Allay could see, now turning to brown in the late season. The horses rustled up dust beneath their hooves, a mixture of dry soil and the dried grasses.
Allay looked over to Mendi—as he had been doing increasingly often the farther south they traveled—wondering what was on her mind. Did she worry about what was beyond Saeline? Did she worry about Gomald?
Rosahd led them, his map unrolled across the saddle, guiding them south. Walden and Yongar rode in the front of the caravan, with three more riding behind them. They’d seen fewer Deshmahne as they made their way south. Allay didn’t know if it was because they had moved north, or whether the proximity to Saeline and Locken’s soldiers prevented them from gaining much of a foothold.
They followed the narrow road as it cut through the grasses making their way south on their way toward the capital of Saeline. Allay had visited all the kingdoms within his father's rule several times during his youth, one of the few things his father had suggested that Allay had agreed with. Leaving had been an excuse to get out of Gomald, and out from underneath his father's thumb, but recently, it had been away for Mendi and him not to have to fear their friendship.
Up until now, that was all it had been. Friendship. Perhaps that was all it still could be.
What would happen when they did reach Saeline? What would they find?
Having heard rumors from various sources, the information they gathered about Locken was consistent. The region’s king had ridden south with his troops. Had he joined up with Richard, or had he taken a different tact and chosen to move against the King? There were other possibilities, especially with the number of Deshmahne they’d seen along the road. It was possible that Locken had been keeping his lands clear of the dark soldiers.
Allay had to know what Locken planned. From there, he would continue south, making his way to Gomald, where he would find out the truth or falsehood of this rebellion. If his role were to help encourage peace, he would take it seriously and serve as the Magi intended, even if he was the only one of the delegates to do so. Even if doing so meant organizing his people against the Deshmahne.
“We’re only a few hours out,” Rosahd said. “You must be ready to meet with King Locken's council, and if you can, convince them to abide by the Magi recommendations.”
Allay glanced at Rosahd, frowning. “If things are as you say, if things are as we suspect, then Locken will have no reason to listen to me. In fact, he might have me jailed.” He hoped for a different outcome, but mostly, he hoped that Locken was in Saeline. If he was, Allay thought he might be able to convince him to help encourage peace.
“Prince Lansington, do not make light of your responsibility,” Rosahd said.
“I'm not making light of it. In fact, I am quite certain that I understand it better than you.”
He noted Yongar suppressing a smile and wondered why. The Denraen had mostly ignored the Mage during their journey south. They had protected him when the Deshmahne had attacked, but they didn’t speak to him—or to Allay that much. There had been a time when he thought the Denraen served the Magi, but he no longer thought that was the case.
“I have agreed that we will travel to Gomald,” Rosahd said. “I still think you should consider traveling to Bastiin, and to your father.”
“I’ve considered it, but dismissed it,” Allay said. “My father won’t listen to me any more than you do.”
Mendi shot him a look, one that warned him about antagonizing one of the Magi. Yet Allay didn't see it as antagonizing the Mage, rather it was a questioning. Given all that he had been asked to do—and all that he had seen in his time in Vasha—he thought it only fair to question.
He would serve the Urmahne because serving them meant peace. Given the rumors he’d heard and come to believe, as well as what he’d seen in Vasha, he thought his people needed peace more than ever.
Allay strolled through the castle, feeling less certain now than when he first arrived. Walden and Yongar went with him, but he was separated from Mendi, and nearly a dozen Saeline soldiers trailed after him. He tried not to think about what it meant that Queen Theresa was insistent that they accompany him. Doing so only made him more fearful of what had already happened in Saeline. What choice had Locken made?
He worried about what might happen to Mendi. She was resourceful, and he wanted to believe that, as his presumed servant, she would be safe—especially in one of his father's kingdoms—but if Locken had betrayed his father, neither of them was safe.
Rosahd had abandoned him as well. Allay was less concerned about Rosahd's disappearance than he was about losing Mendi, and unconcerned about his safety. Rosahd possessed the innate protections of the Magi. Additionally, he had two of the Denraen with him. Allay requested the remaining Denraen soldier stay with Mendi.
Ostensibly, he was being led to a meeting with Queen Theresa, yet he had seen little evidence of any of the other ruling family since arriving at the castle. He would've expected a better greeting than this, though wasn't certain he deserved one. If they had betrayed Gomald, would they treat the crown prince well?
Allay kept his eyes open, scanning everythi
ng as they made their way through the castle. The walls were a stark gray, stacked stone with thick mortar. Lanterns were bolted to the walls and crackled with the soft, yellow flame. The castle was so different from the palace in Vasha, and perhaps Allay had grown comfortable with that formality. Even his father’s palace in Gomald wasn’t nearly as exquisite as what he had lived in the last two months while in Vasha.
Could it have been almost two months? Two months since he had left his home of Gomald, two months during which he had been able to be with Mendi, two months during which they had the freedom to not worry about talking quietly, or standing too close, or even—the gods forbid—holding hands?
Allay had begun to think that perhaps he was the only one of the two who wanted something more, but hadn’t she told him during their journey that she cared about him? That was a first. Yet she had continued to act reserved the farther south they went, so he couldn’t help wondering whether there was another reason for her reticence.
Allay stopped in front of a wide set of double doors, and the guard escorting him pushed them open, nodding to two soldiers standing on either side of the doors. Allay couldn't help but notice how militarized the castle was. It stood in stark contrast to his last visit here. That was probably answer enough as to what choice King Locken had made.
What kind of welcome would he receive when he went through these doors? What would Queen Theresa do?
The questions left him as he entered the room.
The door opened into a simple throne room. It was nothing quite as ornate or as formal as the throne room in Gomald, but there was still a quiet majesty to it. That sense came from the plain, yet well-crafted, chandelier hanging above the lacquered table that took up most of the space. A tall chair at the opposite end of the table faced the door, two armrests carved with the face of a giant cat. Queen Theresa sat upon that chair—essentially, the throne.
She was a stately woman with fine features. He suspected she had been quite beautiful in her younger days. She watched him with a cool, barely neutral expression. Sitting on either side of Theresa were two elderly men, both with features that reminded him of the Magi. He didn't recall Locken having Magi advisors, but many of the Teachers shared features with the Magi, having descended from them without their particular abilities.
If Allay had any question about how he'd be received, it was answered when none of them stood.
The door closed behind him. He glanced over to note the two Denraen on either side of him. Behind them stood six Saeline soldiers, those that had accompanied him through the castle began to disperse around the throne room, putting themselves into positions from which they could act quickly were he to do something impulsive.
Allay smiled inwardly. Yes, if he had any questions, they were answered now.
He bowed at the waist, trying to show something of deference to Theresa. According to ranks of the kingdoms, he did outrank her, especially now that he was the crown prince, yet he would not force that upon her. Neither would he enforce the expectation that she would stand before him. He wanted their cooperation. He didn't want to anger them.
“Queen Theresa,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “I come before you for information, and seek your assistance in finding your husband.”
The queen tipped her head. Her hands were steepled on the table, and she looked at him with an almost sour expression on her face. “Prince Allay. My condolences on the passing of your brother. I'm sure you mourn him well.”
Allay nodded. “My brother sits with the gods. He has always been a faithful Urmahne servant. The gods called him home to sit beside them where he can be exalted.”
He had made a point of adding the comments about the Urmahne for her benefit, not sure if the Deshmahne influence had reached all the way to Saeline. If it had, he wanted her to know where he stood, that he would not convert to the Deshmahne. And, more important, he needed to know where she stood.
He watched Queen Theresa's face, searching for any sign that might betray her feelings, but she gave none. He should not have been surprised that she was a skilled politician. Likely Locken was as well.
“Why have you come to Saeline, Prince Lansington?” she asked.
Allay smiled. He was almost pleased that she dispensed with any pretense of trying to play some political game. He'd seen it frequently in Gomald. Too often, men came to his father wanting something but danced around their intent. Far better to simply ask for what they needed than to play games and dance around their true intent. He didn't remember Queen Theresa well from his visits, but already he liked her.
The two Teachers on either side of her watched him, deep frowns on their faces, eyes locked in such a way that told him they found him distasteful. Allay almost couldn't blame them. How could he, when his father had triggered this war?
“Your father has made alliances,” Theresa said. “Are you aware of these?”
“I have been gone from Gom Aaldia for several months. If there are alliances, I have not been privy to them. I’ve seen the presence of soldiers on my travels to Saeline, and in numbers that worry me. If you will allow me to introduce you to my Mage escort—”
One of the Teachers leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “If you think having a Mage advisor will bring you greater credibility, you are wrong.”
Allay wondered how he was expected to do anything to sway these people. The Magi had intended for him and the other delegates to serve in some way, but they hadn’t told him how. He didn't have the influence needed to convince his father to abandon his attack, and he didn't have the authority to do anything else. He suspected the Magi had intended they all work together, but even that had been idea had been hampered by the fact that the other delegates had returned to their homelands. Without having any way to contact them, and without having any way to influence them, what could he do?
Allay still believed in the need to reestablish peace, he just wasn't sure there was anything he could do to accomplish it, especially given the number of Deshmahne they had encountered. How could he do anything here that would make a difference?
He had come seeking information, to discover what was taking place. Now that he saw that Locken was gone and had taken his men with him—presumably heading toward Bastiin to join with Richard’s men—he should move on. He could return to Gomald, get an understanding of the rebellion. That seemed as if it might serve a purpose.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Queen Theresa. I won't be staying long. I intend to return to Gomald.” He hesitated, before adding, “You should know that I don't feel my father's plan is well founded.”
Theresa watched him, eyes unreadable. Allay hoped she wouldn't decide to have him held, and wished he had Mendi with him. She often saw things that he did not. She could go places that he could not. That would be valuable now.
“You will be granted the warmth of our hearth for the night. You will be granted food at our table. Saeline has ever been faithful to the throne, and to the Urmahne.”
Was that her admission that Locken had not gone to Bastiin at all, and instead had been working to clear out the threat of Deshmahne from his land?
He watched Theresa for answers but saw none. Allay tipped his head in a nod, one that was almost a bow, and turned to the door. There was some relief in what he had managed to discover: Saeline had not converted—not yet. How much longer would they be safe?
As he left, his gaze skimmed over the soldiers lined up around the room, and he noted their relative age. These were older men, not the usual fighting men. Had Locken left soldiers to protect Saeline, or had he taken all of his fighting men with him?
They were questions he had to ask Mendi when he returned to her.
He hated that everything was so unsettled, just as he hated that he was now crown prince with all that entailed. His role for the Magi would've been easier had he not been the heir. It would've been easier for him when he was only Allay Lansington. It seemed the gods chose to test him, but he didn’t yet know why.
Alriyn hurried through the palace, his mind racing. Tapestries along the wall blurred past, and where he would normally pause to study them, hoping for a hint of something known in the past, he did not dare. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to anyway. His head still pounded from what he’d done to it when facing Jostephon, as well as his efforts to heal Haerlin—a constant throbbing that clouded his thinking, enough that he wondered whether he really had done what he imagined. It should not have been possible, and still—somehow—he had.
He shouldn't have been able to expand his mind the way he did. Such a thing had been studied, but none had ever attempted it. Why would they, when Mage scholars claimed that something terrible would happen if they did?
Through the years, there had been many attempts to increase potency, but none had ever succeeded. Some had attempted to expand their minds the way he had, but none had succeeded. Maybe they’d never pushed far enough for fear of losing themselves. Had he not had the need, he would not have, either.
His mind ached, but at least he hadn’t lost his abilities. He still had that connection to the gods. That much remained. Alriyn hoped there were no other long-term consequences.
It still shocked him that Jostephon had been compromised by the Deshmahne. Not only compromised but converted, and he had progressed far enough with them that the Deshmahne had placed their tattoos upon him. What would have convinced him such a thing was necessary?
Jostephon had been a scholar, a man of belief, and one who was fully aware of the importance of understanding the past. He had never known Jostephon to seek power, not like the man he had seen in the hall. That was not the man Alriyn had once known. Jostephon had even refused the title of Eldest until he no longer had a choice.
Tower of the Gods (The Lost Prophecy Book 3) Page 5
