The Lost Prophecy Boxset

by D. K. Holmberg

  “I don't know what he believes.”

  “And does that not trouble you?”

  “It doesn't matter to me. My father is the king, not I.”

  “Do you not care for your people?”

  Allay was taken aback. “I care.”

  “Then you should care who advises your father.”

  “I’m second in line to the throne. My brother is older, stronger, and better favored than I. I might be interested in who advises my father, but there is very little I can do to intervene.”

  They reached a branch in the hallway, and Stohn took a right, going the opposite direction that Allay would've chosen. Allay let him lead, curious where Stohn would take him. Where did the man go in the palace?

  They reached a set of stairs and traveled down. At the bottom, they reached a narrow doorway and Stohn opened it, stepping out into a wide grassy lawn. Trees lined the lawn, growing vibrantly despite the cooler temperature in the rocky soil atop the mountain.

  “My father—he is On’shun. It is a position similar to your king. He rules, but he has always taught me that I need to understand how he rules so that I can be prepared if it becomes my turn.”

  “If that’s the case, then you’re closer to the throne than I am.”

  Stohn shrugged, making his way away from the palace. Allay realized that he was heading toward the shoulder-height wall that separated this terrace from the one below. When he stopped at it, he paused briefly before grabbing the lip, throwing himself up to the top, and sitting there. Allay climbed up more hesitantly than the other man.

  “It is the same. My father treats both my two sisters and me the same. They must be prepared to rule no differently than I. If something were to happen to me, they must be ready.”

  He looked over to Allay, fixing him with an intense gaze. “What would happen if something were to happen to your brother? Would you be ready, Allay Lansington?”

  Allay didn't have an answer. And perhaps that was the point.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Allay made his way through the first terrace within Vasha. Mendi trailed behind him, nearly a dozen steps behind, watching him. As a slave, she was an inconspicuous spy.

  He had asked her to keep an eye on him as he followed the other two delegates, curious where Danvayn and Dougray traveled. He’d not seen Stohn since that day after class when they’d spoken about their fathers and the training they had—or in Allay’s case, had not—received, and wondered about his absence.

  The two southern delegates turned a corner. He stopped and ducked around the corner of a nearby building, one that smelled like a bakery. The aromas drifted to his nose, making his mouth water. He still hadn't taken the time to explore the city proper. It felt a shame for him not to have done so. Almost as if coming to the city he had wasted an opportunity to discover more about the Magi.

  Instead, he had trained with the Magi, had learned that they simply wanted the delegates to learn to work together, and had hoped to restore the Urmahne faith to the faithless. That was shortsighted. Even Allay could see that. They seemed to overlook the fact that they had allowed those who followed the Deshmahne into the city.

  Did the Magi believe the southern delegates, those from areas where the Deshmahne had pressed the farthest, could be swayed by the opulence of the Magi city and be drawn back to the Urmahne faith through lessons given by the Magi themselves?

  He suspected that they did.

  There was a certain arrogance to the Magi, one that he understood, especially given their power, but it was not arrogance that would lead to their failing. If what they intended was for the Deshmahne influence to wane, he didn't think that would happen through their training. Unfortunately, it would require fighting, and he didn’t think the Magi were prepared for that.

  His gaze drifted to the second terrace. Were the Denraen prepared? He wondered if they would be ready to fight, or would they avoid bloodshed simply to avoid war? They’d been forced to fight on his journey to Vasha, but Allay had heard nothing of Denraen countering the Deshmahne, and he would have expected Mendi to share something about that if she had known.

  Maybe he needed to return to Gom Aaldia and convince his father to oppose the Deshmahne. If he did, would he listen?

  Mendi approached from behind and elbowed him as she joined him beside the bakery, pushing away his thoughts.

  He glanced over, noting the way she had her hair tucked back, a flower woven into strands of her hair, and tried to shake away the attraction he felt toward her. Since coming to Vasha, it had been increasingly difficult to do. When they were in Gomald, he had no choice but to see her as his servant, to see her as the slave.

  Allay couldn't help that he wished there could be more, but his father would never approve. Even his brother—Theodror, ever the obedient son—would not approve when he took the rule.

  “They’re meeting Comity in the tavern,” she said.

  “Thomasen remained in the palace,” he answered, turning to look at her.

  “Not Thomasen. His brother Michael.” Her brow wrinkled as she said his name, and there was a measure of disgust in her voice. He didn't know what had passed between them, but didn't think it had been pleasant.

  “You think the southern delegates are meeting with Michael Comity? Why would they do that?”

  Mendi shrugged a shoulder. “There's only one reason I can think of. The same one you’re here for.” She turned her attention back to the street.

  Allay arched a brow. “The Deshmahne haven't reached here. The Denraen and the Magi would keep them out.” Even as he said it, he wasn’t certain that were true.

  She looked back at him with a look that told him she thought him naive. “What have you heard out of Salvat? Have you heard the way the Deshmahne pressed through, forcing conversions? Have you heard the way they attacked my people? The entire island has changed.”

  “The Salvat are my people too.”

  “The Salvat are my people, Prince Lansington.”

  She said his name something like a taunt, and he understood the anger she felt from suffering under the rule of his father and his grandfather. Salvat had not been a part of Gomald for long, and her people had not been enslaved for much more than the last half-century.

  “I haven't heard. Listen, I'm sorry…”

  She touched his hand, and it lingered for a moment. In spite of the tension between them, Allay wished it could remain there. When she pulled her hand away, he almost sighed.

  “You asked me to watch the other delegates. You asked me to watch their servants. Most of the servants are boring, more interested in exploring the city, discovering secrets of the Magi. Then there is Michael Comity. He has been somewhat purposeful where he travels.”

  “What do you mean purposeful?”

  “Only that he has been monitoring the Denraen. He's been watching their movements, watching patrols coming in and out of the city, and visiting the various temples throughout the first terrace.”

  Allay stared at the door to the tavern, thinking of entering. The Magi wanted them to work together. For them to work together, that meant finding a way to look past differences. That might even mean looking past the differences between the Deshmahne and Urmahne. So far, Gom Aaldia had been protected from the conversions, but the Deshmahne had begun moving into his country. Their dark priests had been proselytizing throughout coastal cities, even in the city of Gomald itself, and people he'd been friendly with throughout his life had taken to listening to them.

  Theodror did not. Theodror had the same Urmahne faith that their mother did. Allay wondered if his father had taken to listening to the Deshmahne. It was the type of religion he could imagine his father supporting.

  “I need to try and find a way to work with them,” he told her.

  “Work with them all you want; I'm just warning you. There's something not right here.”

  She stared at the door to the tavern, her brow furrowed as she did, and Allay wondered what it was she suspected.<
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  He started toward the tavern when a pair of muscular men passed him on the street. One of them elbowed him, almost accidentally. Allay was thrown backward, and slammed into the wall.

  He started forward, but Mendi grabbed his arm.

  “That's what you need to watch for,” she said.

  “What, huge miners attacking me in the street?”

  “They closed the mines here years ago. There haven't been active mines in Vasha in probably twenty-five years.”

  “Why?”

  “I haven't discovered that yet. There's something to it, some rumor the people won't speak of. I think if I have more time, I can find the answer. But, regardless, that wasn't a miner.”

  Allay watched them enter the tavern, and caught a flash of darkness along the nearest man's neck as he scanned the street before heading into the tavern. His gaze lingering on Allay for a moment.

  Allay shrunk back against the wall, his heart throbbing in his chest.

  He'd seen markings like that before when they’d been attacked on the journey north.

  Deshmahne.

  “That's what you wanted me to see, isn't it?” he asked.

  Mendi nodded slowly. “I started seeing evidence of them several weeks ago. They keep themselves covered for the most part, but there seem to be more and more of them.”

  “Shouldn't the Denraen be able to eliminate the Deshmahne from the city? I mean, this is Vasha!”

  Mendi let out a deep breath. “The Denraen allowed the Deshmahne to take over the south, Allay.”

  He allowed himself a smile. “Allay this time? Not Prince Lansington?”

  She elbowed him in the side, but her eyes didn't show any hint of amusement. “I haven't seen any sign of the Deshmahne on the second terrace,” she said. “But I worry they may have made it there as well.”

  Allay’s gaze drifted up toward the massive wall that surrounded the Denraen barracks. “The Deshmahne wouldn't be able to infiltrate the Denraen.”

  “Wouldn't they? From what I've heard, they were infiltrated following the Choosing in Chrysia. If they can be infiltrated there, what makes you think they wouldn't be equally vulnerable here?”

  “Mendi, how is it that you—”

  Mendi cut him off with a shake of her head. “It doesn't matter. If they can infiltrate the Denraen, what if they can infiltrate even the third terrace?”

  Allay stared up at the Magi palace. He didn't think it possible, but what if she was right?

  He pushed the thought from his mind. The Magi were the Urmahne.

  It was clear that the Deshmahne had infiltrated the first terrace. Allay decided that it was his responsibility to notify one of the Mage about this, and to alert their leadership that the Deshmahne might have reached the barracks as well. Maybe if he got word to one of the Magi instructors, they could send word to Endric.

  Allay leaned back against the building, his mind churning. Had it been a waste for him to come here? He had not forged any useful connections, and he had not learned anything of much value. All he had learned was the extent of the Deshmahne influence, and that influence didn't seem to be all that disruptive to those who lived in the south. With word of his father planning something, he felt as if he were needed, but not in Vasha.

  Allay turned to see Mendi staring at the door to the tavern. Something bothered her. Allay wished he knew, and wished that she would share.

  She touched his hand, seeming to recognize that he had been thinking of her.

  If nothing else, coming to the city had brought them closer. Maybe that had been the real purpose of his time here. If only he could remain, and if only they could maintain the closeness they had finally managed to have.

  The corners of her eyes tightened in something of sadness, almost as if she knew what they had here couldn't last.

  Allay stood on the street, holding Mendi's hand, and wished she was wrong, but there would come a time when he would complete his training with the Magi, when he would be sent back to Gomald, where Mendi would once more serve as his slave.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Allay wondered what he was thinking. He knew he shouldn’t be following Michael Comity, but he wanted to know where the man was going, especially if he decided to say something to the Magi. He hadn’t decided what he wanted to say, only that he knew he needed to say something, especially now that he knew the Deshmahne had a presence in Vasha.

  Comity hurried through the streets, past the rows of houses near the outer edge of the first terrace, and made his way toward the sloped walls leading up to the second terrace, though Allay didn’t think there was any way he could reach it. Not from here, at least.

  Some of the buildings here appeared of newer construction, and he wondered if there had been damage to the city some time recently. He’d never experienced one, but he’d heard stories of earthquakes, and imagined the entire mountain shaking. How safe were they really this high on the mountain?

  Safer than many others. His gaze drifted briefly to the third terrace and to the massive palace on that level. Clouds hung low, like a fog hovering over the city, leaving a gray cast and a hint of rain. Since coming to Vasha, Allay had noticed that many days were the same. How did the Magi deal with the dreariness of these days? How could they tolerate this day in and day out? Did the sameness allow them the chance to focus on reaching the gods?

  Michael turned a corner, and Allay hurried forward, determined not to lose him. He’d left the tavern alone. Dougray and Danvayn had remained back at the tavern, sitting with Thomasen Comity. Allay should try to socialize, especially if he were somehow to work with them in the future, but it had become clear to him that most of the other delegates had already become entrenched in the Deshmahne mindset. The only one who hadn’t was Stohn, and the man had been distant and reserved.

  Rain began falling, dripping down his face.

  Allay wiped it away, and almost missed it as Michael circled around a pile of boulders near the cliff wall.

  What was he doing here on this terrace? Mendi had followed him other times, and he probably should leave this to her, but he worried that doing so would lead her into danger. It was bad enough that he knew how she used the Denraen for information on his behalf. He didn’t want her risking danger from Michael Comity as well, not given the way the man looked at her.

  Allay still tried to work out how he felt about Mendi. If there was a time to discuss the fact that he wanted something more—and to find out if she shared it—it was now, before they returned to Gomald. Perhaps they could even use the excuse of the Magi request of him as a way to remain together.

  Allay pushed the thoughts away. Those were for another time. For now, he needed to see where Michael went.

  Why did he come back here?

  Behind the boulders, shear rock rose up until it reached the second level and the Denraen barracks. From there, the rock sloped in, rising to the next level. There would be no way of climbing the rock—not without getting noticed. Allay couldn’t think of any other reason to come back here.

  Unless Michael had come to meet with someone.

  There was little doubt that Deshmahne were in the city. Mendi claimed to have seen the Denraen trying to clear them discreetly—and by that, Allay knew they were either killing them or forcing them from the city—but that didn’t mean there weren’t others. Was that who Michael had come to meet?

  He weaved around the pile of boulders, staying low as he did, not wanting to be seen.

  When he reached the other side of the rock, he stopped.

  An iron gate blocked an opening in the rock.

  Not iron, he realized. The metal looked something like iron, but was warm. Heat radiated off of it, and he could feel it from here. A warm breeze drifted from the mouth of the cave.

  The mines. That’s what Michael had found.

  Why would he have come here?

  Allay grabbed at the gate and pulled. The metal was almost painfully warm, and the gate opened easily.

  He
shouldn’t follow Comity into the tunnel, but curiosity drove him forward. He wanted to know what Michael was after. More than that, he wanted to know what the Magi hid in the tunnels. Why had they closed the mines? He’d heard only rumors, and most of them had come from Mendi, and she hadn’t been able to find out any more for him.

  Maybe that was why Michael had come here as well. Had he heard the same rumors, and decided to learn what had caused the Magi to close the mines? Could he have heard more than what Mendi had discovered?

  Allay crept forward, entering the mine.

  Heat surrounded him as he did.

  The change was drastic, and his breath caught. Was this the reason the city always felt warmer than it should? When they’d ridden up the mountainside, taking the switchback road as it wound ever higher, Allay had felt a growing chill. The trees had changed the higher they climbed, and there were places where snow still clung to the mountain, even though it was early fall. Once they had reached the city, Allay had expected it to still be cold, but the city itself had a strange warmth. He’d never really understood why—and had assumed it was some Mage trick. Could it be because of the strange metal they mined here?

  Light filtered in from the tunnel entrance, but it was becoming darker the further in he went. Allay knew he wouldn’t be able to go much farther before having to turn back. Likely, Michael Comity had a lantern with him. Now that Allay knew how to find the tunnel, he could leave, and come back another time—with a lantern. There was no need for him to be here like this, no need for him to risk the darkness—and the unknown—of the tunnels.

  The light faded and Allay paused.

  Farther down the tunnel, he noted a soft glowing orange light.

  The ground sloped down, and he followed the distant light, moving carefully, listening for any noises he might encounter. There were none.

  The farther he went, the brighter the light became. The walls of the tunnel widened, and the top of the tunnel began to rise high over his head, high enough that he couldn’t reach it even if he were to jump. Why would the miners need such tall mines?