The Lost Prophecy Boxset

by D. K. Holmberg

  Nearing the low wall, several of the warriors on patrol saw her, saw her sword unsheathed, and ran to join her.

  The effect was almost immediate. Warriors came running from all directions, Selton among them, all careful to mask the sounds of their footsteps as much as possible. It wasn’t long before they were nearly forty strong along the wall. Though they were larger in number, there were other areas to patrol, other duties that needed tending. Help would come if they needed it.

  “What do you see?” Selton asked her.

  “Nothing. Lendra smelled them,” she whispered. Stretching out with her enhance vision, she still saw nothing.

  They waited.

  With as many people as now hunkered with her near the wall, it was amazingly quiet. The occasional cricket chirped, and the fires from the hearths of houses they’d settled into crackled faintly, but otherwise the night was silent.

  They waited.

  It felt like time stood still.

  At the same time, it wasn’t a long wait. Rennen suddenly motioned with a quick flick of his head out into the night, and Roelle focused her eyes into the distance, searching for motion, before finally seeing it. Only about twenty feet away and coming in quickly.

  She couldn’t believe how quickly they moved or how difficult it was to see them. They were nothing more than an dark fog, flashes of form and little else.

  These thoughts passed through her mind in the short span between seeing them and when they reached the wall. They climbed it easily, their movements quick and silent. Claws helped them move up and over the wall as if it were nothing. Suddenly, they were upon them and moving almost faster than she could track.

  How did we only lose one the last time?

  The thought came suddenly and was gone. She slashed with her sword at the first sign of movement from the creatures.

  She felt the thud of impact as it jarred her arm and the rest of her body. The creature fell, materializing as it dropped to the ground in a mess of blood and gore. Roelle ignored it, moving onto the next target. She flowed from one creature to another, her sword a flurry of energy and movement as she attacked each creature she encountered.

  Roelle used the trick Endric had taught her, the one she had taught the others, about focusing their minds, opening them as if stretching toward their abilities. With it, there was a sense of slowing such that she could respond more quickly than she could otherwise. But even with her abilities, she struggled.

  They fought for what seemed hours. Her arms began to burn with the effort. She hacked at the creatures with her sword to penetrate their thick skin. The vile odor of their blood filled the night air as she hacked. She could almost taste it. The creatures and her sword were a blur in the night.

  One of the creatures reached too close and she was forced back. Without thinking what she did, she froze the air around it, and then struck the creature. She mouthed a quick prayer for strength even as she felt her energy waning.

  Then as suddenly as it had all begun, there didn’t seem to be another creature for her to attack. They had won.

  She looked around and counted about thirty of the creatures, gray skin as repulsive now as it had been that afternoon, lying dead or dying on the ground. Many missed limbs or bore gaping wounds across their abdomens. She looked at her troops. All looked exhausted and all stared at her. Her throat was too dry for words, so she said nothing.

  On the ground near the wall, one of the warriors lay motionless, back twisted at an impossible angle. Long, dark hair flowed from her head, a pool of blood forming around it.

  Emili.

  Nearby was another warrior, another woman, mouth frozen in a scream, her head detached from her body.

  Sessah.

  She wanted to vomit.

  It was an escape path. The creatures that had decided to run rather than die had fought their way out as much as they had fought their way in.

  She began to turn away when he heard a moan from near the wall. It was a deep sound, scarcely a breath.

  She ran over, dropping her sword as she ran. Matthew lay nearly motionless next to the wall, his chest barely rising. A huge tear opened his intestines to the night air, and the stink of them was overpowering up close. His mouth worked at words, air seeping from wounded lungs.

  “Help me.” She saw the words on Matthew’s lips more than she heard the sound from his voice. The cry tore at her.

  She closed her eyes and focused. She found the open part of her mind and stretched to fill it, knowing she would need every ounce of her skill to save him. Her hands ran over wounded flesh, closing it together. As her hands closed around the flesh, she reached out with her own energy probing into Matthew’s flesh. It was cold.

  She felt where his energy had left the flesh. Stretching, she tried to fill the void with her own energy, forcing as much as she could, and then more, and then more as she drew upon the manehlin. Still the flesh would not warm, would not retake its own energy. She tried to force more and more as she started screaming...

  …and found herself pulled backward.

  She looked up. Selton had grabbed her under the arms, pulling her back.

  “You can do nothing save kill yourself. He’s gone.”

  “I need to try.”

  Selton lifted her to her feet. “You can do nothing. I can do nothing.” The words were soft and bereft of any emotion. And coming from Selton, so gifted at healing, final.

  She stared up at the sky. The world was dark around them, the night silent again. After a while, she looked over at Selton. He shook his head.

  “Jianna is gone. And Torre. As are two of our guides.”

  “Killed?” she heard herself ask. It seemed so distant from where her mind was.

  “No. Gone,” Selton replied. “They were taken before they could join Lendra and the other Denraen back at the house. Jianna and Torre were injured in the fighting and have since disappeared, as have the guides.” His gaze shifted across their small battlefield. “They just disappeared in the battle.”

  This night was getting worse by the hour. She found her gaze following the dead warriors to the wall. Along the escape path.

  They should follow. And lose more? How could they not try to save them?

  She shook her head, clearing it. The cause was what was important. They were to find the Antrilii and report back to the Council. Did they really need to find the Antrilii now that they had found proof of these creatures? Their numbers were too few as it was, and she knew they could not face many more attacks like this. Now they only had Hester and one guide remaining.

  She looked up again at the black night and the stars, sending out another prayer to the gods for help and for strength.

  “What now?” Selton asked.

  She didn’t get a chance to answer. Lendra came running up to them, her eyes widening as she saw the mess of the creatures lying strewn about the wall. Her face must have carried a strange expression because the first words she said to Roelle were, “I know you told me to stay inside the house”—her eyes darted about again before resting on her—“but your Mage, Inraith, sent me to find you.”

  Roelle nodded, encouraging her to go on.

  “There was another attack on the other side of the camp. Stronger than this one.” She shook her head, disbelieving. “He asked you to bring some warriors with you to help.”

  Irritation rose within her. Roelle should have anticipated and planned for simultaneous attacks.

  Motioning to some of the nearest Magi, they passed the message on to others. She began running, Selton and Lendra beside her, and about ten other Magi following. It was going to be a long night.

  “Stay with Hester this time, Lendra.” She tried to make her tone soft, but was sure that it came off more harshly than she’d intended.

  The town was not large, so running from one side to the other didn’t take long. Her ears brought the scene to her before her eyes could. It was the sound of battle, a few screams, but it seemed fewer defenders than attackers
. She wasn’t sure if she and her ten would be enough to make a difference.

  When she finally saw the battle, her heart dropped. There were nearly six dozen of the creatures and only twenty of her warriors already fighting alongside Inraith. More of the creatures crawled over the wall as she watched. A few already lay dying on the hard ground, and she saw one of the Magi down as well. She couldn’t make out features in the darkness. She didn’t know which of her friends she’d already lost, and she didn’t have time to wait.

  Roelle moved in. She didn’t pause to gesture a command, simply attacked with the image of the dead Mage warrior implanted in her mind, rage granting her strength. She forgot about the burning in her shoulders, ignored the jarring that came again with each thrust and swipe of her sword. She focused only on the creature in front of her. When the creature she was fighting fell or moved, she turned to another creature, to another attack. Her movements flowed. Always, she pushed at her abilities. It gave her clarity, and she felt her movements quicken but her strength would not last long by doing it. The sword felt a part of her like it had never felt before as she moved in a deadly dance.

  She felt every jolt as her sword found grotesque flesh, felt the rush of warm blood spray over her hand more times than she could count. A clearing opened around her, and as she looked at what unfolded around her, she realized the creatures still had them outnumbered.

  Too many!

  A moment of hopelessness overcame her, but a sound in the night, distinct from that of their battle, startled her from those desperate thoughts.

  A braying sound, that of dogs or wolves, howled and rang in the darkness.

  She shivered at the sound, feeling a different fear. At the same time, the ferocity of the attack increased, and she had to focus more intently on the three creatures suddenly before her. A hard mental push, forcing her focus into the open part of her mind where her abilities resided, left her with a stabbing headache and increased focus and let her dispatch those three quickly.

  Another chorus of howls broke through the din of the battle.

  Hair stood up on her neck. These were closer. And louder. The cries were urgent and braying, and her heart pounded harder each time she heard them.

  “What is that?” someone yelled.

  She didn’t know. Could it be that these creatures had some evil companions? From the sounds of the cries, there was more than one.

  Roelle took down two more of the creatures and paused long enough to look around. There were still too many around them and more kept coming over the wall. How many were there? Could they hold?

  Not if they had to face something else as well.

  “Push!” she hollered, trying to strengthen those fighting.

  It seemed to work. The creatures were slowly pushed back, inch by inch, and the inky clambering over the wall seemed to slow. Gray corpses were everywhere, and somehow the warriors fought on.

  The haunting howl grew closer, and the creatures seemed to fight with an increased, furious energy, baring their teeth, claws flailing.

  Suddenly, flashes of dark fur flew through the air, leaping over the wall and landing among the clouds of dust, clearly having no issue seeing the creatures. Nearly ten in all, these beasts were the size of a small horse, with the frame of a panther or lion, ferocious intensity in their eyes. The largest of them roared, a terrifying sound, and they all moved gracefully, stalking the groeliin before attacking and tearing at them with a manic intensity.

  “They fight with us!” Selton hollered.

  The warriors’ apparent allies quickly took out twice their number of groeliin. The Magi pushed forward, attacking as well, and between them and the cats, the creatures were brought down.

  Roelle looked around, amazed.

  There were more dead creatures than she could easily count. She saw a few of her Magi injured or dead among them, but none of the cats were injured.

  How?

  A loud whistle cut through the night, and the largest cat roared again before leaping off, the others quickly following.

  The night fell into silence. Only Roelle’s heavy breathing broke the silence. Around her the others stood stunned and exhausted. No one spoke.

  “What were those?” she asked aloud, not expecting an answer. Her voice was breathy and barely more than a croak. Somehow, it echoed in the night.

  A voice from the other side of the wall startled Roelle.

  “Those,” a deep voice said, “are the merahl.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  When Roelle turned to identify where the voice had come from, a man stepped into view. He was dressed in red and black leathers, and his face was painted in the same colors. Long dark hair was pulled back and braided. He leapt over the low wall and casually stalked toward the Magi. A tall man, he was easily as tall as Roelle and nearly twice as wide and well-muscled. A long sword hung at his side. The light of the moon reflected off a scarred face.

  Roelle knew without asking what this man was.

  Antrilii.

  She had been sent to search for them, told they were wandering nomads, and had known that Endric once trained with them, but this was not what she had expected.

  The man standing before her made Roelle uneasy in a way Endric never did, but he carried the same quiet confidence of the general. There was something exotic and feral about this man, and Roelle took a step back.

  Roelle stared for a moment before gathering herself. “What is a merahl?” she asked. Other questions came to mind but she was unable to ask.

  The tall Antrilii stared at her a moment before a wry smile cracked his face. “They are the hunters,” he answered.

  “What do they hunt?” Roelle asked.

  The Antrilii laughed. It was a throaty, guttural sound, and it echoed in the dark night. “They hunt the groeliin,” he said, waving his hand toward the dead creatures. “The same as you.”

  Roelle turned the word over in her mouth and found it difficult to pronounce in the same way, even with her familiarity with the ancient language. The Antrilii spoke it quickly, and it rolled out, with a soft lilting accent making it difficult to reproduce. “We don’t hunt,” she answered. “We only scout.”

  The man laughed again. “With the groeliin, it is hunt or be hunted,” he said. “You will see.” The Antrilii paused. “I am Nahrsin.”

  The light of the moon was enough to easily see without the advantage their Magi sight gave, and she noted a confused expression on Selton’s face. She wondered what expression she must wear. “I am Roelle. You are Antrilii?”

  Nahrsin laughed again. “I?” he asked. “We are Antrilii.” He motioned over his shoulder.

  Just coming into view over the wall were hundreds of similarly dressed men, each wearing dark leathers and each with his face painted like Nahrsin. They moved silently and were quickly setting up a camp. Roelle was shocked that she had not heard them moving.

  What should she say? Alriyn had sent them north, looking for signs of the Antrilii, looking for understanding of the creatures from the north, and here she was faced with both yet did not know what to do or say. These men appeared to be soldiers, and hardened ones at that, yet all the tales of the Antrilii had them as simple wanderers.

  These men were more than simple wanderers.

  And they hunted these creatures. So many questions flooded her mind.

  “May the gods bless our meeting,” Roelle said.

  “May they indeed,” Nahrsin spoke reverently. “Come, Roelle, join me at my fire.”

  Roelle stared at the fire. Hester was on one side. The old Denraen had struggled with having been unable to fight the creatures during the attack on the village, but here, sitting at a fire with the Antrilii, he seemed nonplussed by their arrival, much less their hospitality. Selton was on the other side of her, sitting carefully with his back stiff. Roelle knew her friend was nervous. This wasn’t what they had expected to find. The Antrilii, yes, but warriors who could face these creatures? Not only face them, but hunt them.<
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  Endric must have known, but why send her north to learn? If he knew what they faced in the north, what was it that Endric would have wanted them to learn?

  She had to trust the Antrilii to be hospitable, but she didn’t know whether that was misplaced trust.

  Nahrsin sat across from her, cross-legged on the ground and looking comfortable. Another Antrilii, Jinrain, sat near him and stared at the two Magi sitting across from them. Both Antrilii still wore their swords and leathers, and the paint on their faces seemed to move with the crackling flames, reminding Roelle uncomfortably of the Deshmahne.

  Two of the huge cats curled up nearby, seeming to enjoy the warmth of the fire. They had tall, pointed ears and long jaws tipped with wicked teeth, yet it was their eyes that gave Roelle pause. There was a strange intelligence there, and they tilted their heads as if trying to listen. She shivered remembering what these animals had done to the creatures, knowing she wouldn’t want to anger these animals.

  “You follow the groeliin?” Nahrsin said casually, handing her a cup of steaming liquid.

  Roelle took note again of what he called the creatures, then slowly took a sip of her drink. A strange tea, nearly so bitter she spit it out. She took a deep breath of the cool night air to cleanse her palette and caught a scent of the smoke from the fire. The Antrilii continued to make camp and a few other fires dotted the night. Small tents sprouted from the ground, and Roelle was reminded of her travels with the Denraen.

  These men are soldiers, not wanderers, she told herself again. Whatever else she took back to her uncle, that piece was important.

  Why would Endric not share that with them? That was the mystery. Staring at their leathers and painted faces did make her wonder how the Antrilii were so rarely seen. They were not easily forgotten.

  “We found the groeliin,” she answered, speaking the word without the accent the Antrilii had, the lilting inflection that could only be the ancient language. More questions, there. “But we sought the Antrilii.”

  Nahrsin nodded. “You have found us. Now tell me why?” He placed his large hands on his knees as he leaned forward.