The Lost Prophecy Boxset

by D. K. Holmberg

  What was taking place in the city?

  When the door finally opened, Allay did not expect anything more than another tray. He had grown tired of the same meal, tired of the lack of light, tired of the hard, damp ground, but didn't expect anything else.

  This time, the door opened all the way.

  Even when they came to reclaim his meal tray and chamber pot, they opened the door just enough to retrieve them, but never any wider than that.

  This time, a man stood framed in the doorway. Light streamed around him, enough that Allay could see that it was the same man who had caught him on the stairway, the same bearded man who had seemed so disappointed to see Mendi trying to free him. There was something familiar about him, but Allay couldn’t place it.

  “Stand.”

  “What does it matter if I stand? What does it matter if I—”

  “Stand.”

  He considered resisting, but what would that bring? Would they harm Mendi if he did?

  More than anything, that prompted him. As he stood, he realized how weak he had become from his time in the cell.

  How long had it been? Days? No… It was more than days. This had been at least a week, probably more. If he’d had a chance to check the markings on the wall, he might have been able to tell. As it was, he wasn't certain.

  “Come.”

  The man started out of the door, not waiting for Allay to follow.

  The door remained open, and Allay considered sinking back to the ground, letting himself wallow in the darkness, but he suspected they would just come for him once more.

  Not knowing what else to do, he made his way down the hall. There were no others here, only the man now standing at the far end of the hall, his sword sheathed at his side, waiting, watching Allay. He held a steely gaze on his prisoner, maybe waiting to see if Allay would attempt to run.

  It was something that he considered but dismissed. There was no place he could go. They'd already proven they could recapture him and that was when Mendi had been there to help. Without her, there was nothing he could do.

  Allay made his way down the hall until he reached the man. “What is it you want from me?” he asked.

  “Come with me. We'll talk as we go.”

  The change in the man’s tone was not lost on Allay. He frowned, noting that the man nursed a massive gash on the side of his face, and walked with a slight limp. They reached a wide stair that led downward. The man took the stairs two at a time, his long gait making it look easy.

  Allay followed, taking the stairs more carefully. In his weakened state from the days spent confined, he worried more about tripping and falling than about keeping pace with the large man.

  As Allay approached the next landing where the man waited, he asked, “Did you kill my brother?”

  For a moment, Allay saw an uncertain expression cross the man's face. Then it passed. Without answering, he continued down the stairs. When he reached a wide door, he again waited for Allay.

  “You're only being given this opportunity because of my daughter,” the man said, stepping through the door and into bright sunlight.

  Allay realized why the man had disappointment on his face when he'd seen Mendi with him. “Your daughter? Mendi is your daughter?” he asked, chasing after him.

  “Your father thought it would be amusing to have my family serve his.”

  Allay’s breath caught. He understood why he had recognized the man. He had been a servant in his father's household. He was one of the men who had been forced to work in the palace. “Did you kill Theodror?” he asked again

  “We had nothing to do with your brother’s death, but we used it as an opportunity to take power from those who mistakenly think to honor the gods through violence.”

  Allay licked his dry lips. “The Deshmahne?”

  The man nodded. “My daughter tells me you have some experience with them?”

  Allay nodded slowly. Things were coming together, but not as quickly as he needed. He didn't understand what was happening, or why he was suddenly freed.

  What did they intend for him?

  They crossed a courtyard, and Allay glanced back, noting that they had been in a well-built manor house. There were dozens like it along the coast of Gomald, often owned by rich merchants. With the ships coming in and out of Lakeliis and Coamdon, even some from Voiga, merchants in Gomald did well.

  His father had been lenient with taxes. He recalled a conversation with him when Richard had made it clear how the merchants were the lifeblood of Gomald. That had been a time long ago, a time before Richard had grown a strange fascination with Thealon. It had been a time when Allay had actually learned from his father.

  “Where are we?” Allay asked.

  Over the din of voices in the courtyard, that of men and women working, he heard the soft crashing of waves. He’d guessed right; he was still in Gomald. They hadn't taken him out of the city.

  “Where?” the man asked. “From the look on your face, I think you know where.”

  “What of Mendi?” he asked.

  Her father sighed. “My daughter is… fond of you. If she weren't—if you had treated her poorly—you would have met the same fate as your brother.”

  Allay tensed and glanced over at him. “I thought you didn't kill my brother.”

  “We didn't. But we would have no qualms about deposing of you.”

  “You realize that when my father catches wind of the rebellion, he’ll return.”

  Mendi's father nodded. “We’re aware. That's the other reason for your freedom.”

  “I don't understand.”

  Mendi’s father nodded and led them through a small doorway in the wall on the other side of the courtyard. A narrow dock stretched out into the sea, and a trading ship was tied to the dock. “Your father seeks to destroy, Prince Allay. He was willing to unleash those who would overthrow the gods.” The man studied Allay’s face, his eyes unreadable. “Mendi tells me that you recognize the violence in these men. That you recognize how they do not regard the gods as they should, and how they should not be in Urmahne lands.”

  “If you mean the Deshmahne, I've seen how they attack, and I've seen what they're willing to do.”

  “We managed to suppress the Deshmahne in Gomald. We have lost much, but the city is free. That is why I’ve come to you.”

  “Suppress?” Was that the explosions that Allay had heard? Had he heard the sounds of the fighting in the city? He had thought the rebellion was waged against his father, but what if it was against the Deshmahne?

  “As I said, we lost many, but the dark priests have left the city. Too many remain in the north, which is where you come in.”

  “I don't understand.”

  “No? I believe you were sent with an assignment by the Magi? From what Mendi tells me, you’ve seen the Deshmahne numbers? We believe they intend something more.”

  Allay looked over to the ship, wondering what Mendi’s father intended.

  But hadn’t he come to the city thinking to control the rebellion? But now that he understood that it was nothing like what he'd thought, nothing like what he would have believed, what would he do?

  It was clear now that there were others who didn't support the Deshmahne. That was valuable to know. After spending time in Vasha with Dougray and Danvayn, he’d begun to wonder. They had made it seem almost natural to accept the Deshmahne. They seemed to believe that there was nothing wrong with allowing the warrior priests to assume control.

  Allay hadn't felt the same way, but he hadn't known what he could do.

  Could Mendi's father be the key?

  “What is it that you want me to do?”

  “We want you to find a way to complete the task you were assigned. The Deshmahne pose a greater threat than most realize. The south is lost—for now—but we can’t lose the north, not with what else is coming.”

  “What is coming?”

  “That is not our fight. The Deshmahne are.”

  “What does this
have to do with me?”

  “You need to unify Gom Aaldia. You will have to work with Thealon. Only if the two work together can we stop the Deshmahne.”

  “And the ship?”

  Mendi's father shrugged. “Mendi tells me you are looking for King Locken. I happen to know where you will find him.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Alriyn emerged from the mines through a gate that opened into the first terrace of the city. Endric motioned to one of his two Denraen soldiers guarding the gate, and he ran off. The air had a smoky, almost a gritty quality to it, and thick clouds obscured part of the city, as they occasionally did. Usually, this level was spared, clouds shrouding the upper levels of the city, primarily shrouding the third terrace and the palace of the Magi.

  “Something's not right,” Endric said.

  “I sense it as well,” Novan agreed.

  They hurried into the city, leaving the single Denraen guard to stand watch in front of the entrance to the mines. Had Alriyn not known it was there, he doubted he would've been able to find it again. It was well hidden, away from the city center, behind boulders at the base of the wall below the second terrace. Still, there were scratches to the rock, some that appeared fresh, that made him wonder whether there had been a battle here recently. Could the Deshmahne have found this place?

  Alriyn hurried after them onto the street that ran through most of this level of the city. He stopped suddenly, now understanding the source of the odor in the air.

  Vasha burned.

  “What happened? Alriyn asked.

  “The Deshmahne have attacked.” Endric unsheathed his sword, and a determined expression came to his face, one that was both frightening and reassuring.

  As they hurried through the streets, they found Denraen working with people of the city, attempting to put out fires, but getting water was difficult in the city. Most was collected in reservoirs, coming from the rain and snowmelt, but there was no steady supply, no stream for them to utilize. The fires would soon claim the entire city.

  At the first burning building—a tavern, Alriyn realized—he stopped. Drawing upon his Magi ability, he opened his mind, stretching it, filling the void that was there. Energies swirled around him, but also around Endric and Novan as he had seen previously. Once again, he ignored that energy. Around the city, there were others with hints of it, but not with the same intensity.

  He turned his attention to the tavern. Stretching out with his manehlin, he reached for the energy of the fire. There were several ways to approach fire. One was to simply excite the energy in the air, surging more into it, so that it began to glow. The reverse was also true. He could pull the manehlin, drawing it back, slowing it.

  Alriyn hoped that this was enough to quench the fire.

  As he focused his energy, the fire began to fade. Shouts of excitement came from the men fighting the fire, and Alriyn continued, pulling the manehlin from the flames and to himself.

  He could only hold so much, and there was a limit to how long he could hold it.

  Always before, his limit had been very clear to him. Now, since fighting Jostephon, that limit had changed. Now he pulled in the entirety of the energy creating the fire. He held it, squeezing it within his mind until the flames faded completely. Once that was done, he released it, the manehlin seeping back out, moving on to wherever it went.

  Where it went was something the Magi had never fully determined, though they studied it frequently. Manehlin seemed a constant, unable to be used up. The Magi could draw on it, change it, temporarily hold onto what they borrowed from other sources, but when they released it back, they didn’t know where it went.

  Alriyn turned to a neighboring building that rose several stories. Windows lined the building, and flames crackled and leapt from them. Likely an inn. How many were trapped inside? How many suffered because of this attack?

  As before, Alriyn drew upon the manehlin, filling his mind, taking the energy out of the fire, shifting it so that the building no longer burned. He couldn't change the effect of the fire, could not change what happened to it, but healing, restoration, could come later.

  With this fire out, he turned to the next.

  Novan grabbed him by the shoulders. “You can't think to put out all of these fires by yourself, Alriyn.”

  Alriyn met his eyes, noting that a pair of Denraen had joined Endric while he had been putting out the fires. How many more could he call to him? “Someone has to help these people. If I don't do this, the entire city burns.”

  Endric grunted. “We are not going to lose Vasha under my watch.”

  Alriyn met his gaze and nodded to the low clouds that hung over the city. Up there, above them, would be the barracks and the palace. “Take your men, General. Go save the palace from the Deshmahne. That's a fight you can wage. That is not for me.”

  Novan smiled grimly at him. “That's a fight you could wage much like your Founders once fought.”

  “The Founders may have been soldiers, but they didn't fight men. They fought—”

  Novan nodded. “Groeliin. Yes. And Roelle went to face them.”

  “I thought you said Roelle went to find the Antrilii.”

  “And face the groeliin,” Novan said.

  “You knew this? You allowed her to go with her band of a hundred Magi to face creatures out of a nightmare that our Founders barely survived?”

  “I sent her to aid the Antrilii,” Endric said. “All reports indicate that the groeliin are moving with more force and more speed than they have ever moved before. Denraen can't face them alone. Men can't see them. That leaves the Magi. Your niece was as well-prepared as I could make her. Once there, I have faith the Antrilii will see that she is as prepared as she needs to be.”

  Alriyn stared, but what was there to say?

  Endric started to turn. “Good luck, Second Eldest. Help these people. I will take care of the Deshmahne. We will protect Vasha.”

  As he started away, Alriyn prevented him from departing. “You said men couldn't see the groeliin. How can the Antrilii?”

  “As I said before, that is not mine to share. Ask Roelle when she returns.”

  Endric and Novan raced off, gathering Denraen as they went. By the time they disappeared from view, Endric had several dozen men with him. Alriyn hoped he had enough, and that the men were faithful to him.

  He turned his attention to the city burning around him. He was fatigued from putting out the fires, but not nearly as much as he normally would be from that level of effort. Fighting Jostephon had changed him, and he wished he had the time to understand how. Why. Was it possible for other Magi to do the same? Had he pushed beyond what made the Magi, making him into something more?

  They were questions for later.

  Alriyn hurried to the next building. It was a series of three buildings, what appeared to be a lantern maker, a seamstress, and a sign burned to the point that it was unreadable. Alriyn focused on the fire, again drawing the manehlin from within it to himself. As he did, the fire slowly started to fade.

  When the fire was nearly expunged and he was about ready to release the manehlin, something struck him in the back.

  Alriyn staggered forward.

  He turned to see a man behind him. He had the look of one of the old city miners, with the rugged, muscular build those men had, but then Alriyn noticed tattoos spreading up the man’s arms. Deshmahne. He carried a sword, and Alriyn was thankful that he hadn't stabbed him with it. Instead, he had kicked him in the back.

  The Deshmahne grinned at him. “Looky here. I get to claim a Mage. Didn't think I’d get that lucky down in the city. Only our men on the upper levels were gonna get that chance.”

  Alriyn stood, facing the Deshmahne. He still held the manehlin from the flame within his mind. “What do you mean by claiming a Mage?”

  The Deshmahne took a sauntering step toward him, his sword of dark metal pointing at his chest.

  Alriyn sensed heat from the sword and recognized it as teralin, very
similar to Novan’s staff. Was there some connection between the teralin, the founding of the Magi, and the Deshmahne?

  Was that a secret Endric kept from him?

  “You won't get the chance to find out,” the Deshmahne said. He brought his sword up, intending to swing it.

  Alriyn unleashed the manehlin within him. He sent it at the Deshmahne, directing it rather than simply releasing it.

  It consumed the man, holding him in place. The man shuddered, and then fell forward, whatever Alriyn had done to him taking his life.

  Alriyn didn't have a chance to feel remorse. Another trio of Deshmahne came at him from down the street.

  Alriyn started away from the Deshmahne but slowed. He might escape, but it would do nothing to stop the attack on this tier of Vasha. If they were here, if they were starting fires and destroying the city, his leaving would only give them a greater opportunity to continue their attacks.

  He should have asked Endric to keep some of the Denraen here, but it was better that Endric used his soldiers to clear the Deshmahne presence from the palace. Once he succeeded there, he could clear the Deshmahne from the barracks. He needed to attack terrace by terrace, working his way back down the mountain.

  But Alriyn was here. Wasn’t this his responsibility?

  As they approached, his mind raced, struggling with what he considered. The gods had demanded peace, had demanded that his people enforce that peace. After failing with the Uniter, the Magi had withdrawn from that mandate, stepped back from the responsibilities placed upon them by the gods, and had allowed the Deshmahne to grow in strength. Had the Magi done what was necessary, would any of this have happened? Would Vasha burn?

  More than that, Alriyn had already made a choice. He hadn’t objected when Roelle left the city to fight. As the Second Eldest, he could have stopped her—she would have no choice but to listen—but he’d allowed her to go. For that matter, he’d practically encouraged her to go. How did that sit with the Urmahne ideals of what the gods wanted?

  Yet… If what Novan and Endric told him was true, the gods weren't gods at all, only beings of great power. He thought he’d seen one of the goddesses, but could it be possible that she was nothing more than a powerful being?