The Lost Prophecy Boxset

by D. K. Holmberg

  Alriyn had to admit that it was possible.

  As the Deshmahne neared, Alriyn pulled on his manehlin, drawing the energy around him as well. He used it to fill that space within his mind, the space that now was so much vaster than what it had been before facing Jostephon. Filled with the manehlin as he was, he saw this same strange energy surrounding the three Deshmahne coming at him, only theirs was darker, and possibly more dangerous.

  This wasn’t the answer to stopping them.

  Alriyn released his connection to the manehlin he held.

  Instead, he reached for the manehlin surrounding the three Deshmahne.

  All three stiffened. The nearest one lunged for Alriyn, but Alriyn pulled with more force, drawing manehlin from him. It was much as he had done when facing Jostephon, only this was three at one time. Still, Alriyn could draw from them more easily than he had been able to from Jostephon.

  The lead Deshmahne neared him and started unsheathing a sword.

  Alriyn tore the manehlin from him.

  The man's eyes widened, and he fell. The other two fell as well.

  Alriyn held onto that power, afraid to even move.

  He waited, uncertain if they would rise, uncertain if they would attack, and afraid that they might. As he held the energy, none of the men moved. Soon even their breathing stopped. Alriyn continued to hold that energy, maintaining a connection to it until he could no longer hold it anymore.

  He released it, afraid that it would dissipate back into the Deshmahne, watching to make certain that it did not, and did not see any of the manehlin surrounding them when he released it. He stared at them, realizing that one of the men wore the dark gray uniform of the Denraen. He had to get word to Endric.

  What had he done?

  Had he used his ability to take the life of not one but now three more men? Was that why the gods had given him his abilities?

  Alriyn swallowed, unable to even take the time to worry about what he had done. Screams from further into the city drew his attention, demanding that he make his way down the street, leaving the fallen Deshmahne where they were. He prayed that he could help enough to make amends for what he’d done.

  Chapter Twenty

  The rain that had been coming down for the last few days finally lessened. Roelle was soaked and uncomfortable, yet still thankful for the respite. The rain had been cold, and though not heavy, it had been a constant irritant. What was left was a light drizzle that seemed to come from everywhere, leaving a growing fog around them.

  Since leaving the Deshmahne, travel had grown difficult. At first, it was due to the soft, soggy ground. They’d been forced to slow their horses so that none would get stuck or turn an ankle. The merahl still hunted, and their cries, muted in the rain, echoed around them. Every once in a while, they would see evidence of groeliin the merahl had brought down.

  There had been no sign of Deshmahne. Roelle tried not to think about what that might mean. Had Fenick failed to alert the captain? Had the captain not believed him? Even if he did, would he be able to send enough help to even matter? The dozen Deshmahne had been cut in half by three broods. What would happen were they to face the full onslaught of groeliin? How many Deshmahne would fall then?

  And would she care?

  Those questions plagued her as they moved east and gradually south, away from Rondalin and whatever help the Deshmahne might offer. Around them, the trees grew thicker until they were upon the forest. The fog and mist made travel even more dangerous, and they worried as much about trees jumping out at them as they did about the chasing groeliin. Something would have to give.

  The Antrilii remained separate, leading them. Since returning, Roelle hadn’t had the time to speak to Nahrsin and needed to find the man and ask about his plans for the groeliin. If they continued to move south, and if they didn’t get help from the Deshmahne, Roelle worried about how they would stop the creatures. How many people would be lost?

  But if the Deshmahne did help, how would that impact those faithful to the Urmahne? The Deshmahne would be able to claim the power of the gods and would be able to boast about how they had stopped this threat. How many more would convert when they did?

  Did those potential conversions matter if it meant people survived?

  Roelle knew that it didn’t.

  Worse, she didn’t know if her faith would survive. What if the Deshmahne had it right? What if the teachings of the Magi had been wrong all along? The Magi were endowed with abilities that gave them advantages with fighting. Why shouldn’t they use them?

  Roelle shook the thoughts away and looked over to Lendra. The dark-haired historian rode alongside her, a thoughtful look on her face. She kept the hood of her cloak pulled up over her head, and occasionally glanced around her, a curious expression in her eyes.

  “What is it?” Roelle asked her.

  She shrugged. “We enter the Great Forest, I think.”

  She looked over to her. The tone of her voice implied something more than mere observation. “It’s a forest. Why does it matter?”

  Lendra held her gaze with her deep blue eyes for a moment before looking around. “Novan says the Great Forest is a place of power,” she said.

  Roelle took a closer look as they entered the forest. The trees were taller here, sure, but there was little else about the forest that was different from any other forest. Yet if Novan felt there was something to this place, she wondered exactly what the historian knew. The man had obviously traveled with the Antrilii. He had probably read the mahne. And he did not fear the Magi.

  Lendra seemed to see the thoughts cross her face and laughed. It was a light sound and soft, so it did not carry far. “You understand why I studied with him,” she suggested.

  It was Roelle’s turn to shrug. “He has certain characteristics,” she said. “I can see why the Elders grew so frustrated with him.” Had he only given her a straightforward answer… But would it have changed anything for her if he had? She had needed to come north. She had needed to see for herself. In that, Novan was right to encourage her.

  Lendra closed her eyes. “He is maddening at times,” she agreed. “But his mind remembers everything he sees and reads.”

  “I think he’s more than a simple historian,” Selton said as he rode over.

  Lendra looked at her cousin for a long time, a question or a comment hanging on her lips, but she did not say it. Instead, she smiled brightly. It was a sharp contrast to the dreary day around them. “I don’t think we can call anything about Novan simple,” she agreed.

  Roelle waited for her to say something more, but she didn’t. “What else does he say about the forest?”

  “He mentioned it as a place of power, but not much else,” she said. “It’s what I have read that makes me wonder.” She paused, looking around at the trees. “There are certain texts that refer to the forest as home to the gods.”

  “Like the Tower?”

  “Different, I think.” She shrugged. “In the ancient language, the Tower is considered the seat of the gods. The forest is the home, a place where evil cannot survive.”

  Selton snorted. “We could use that now.”

  Roelle frowned. “How would you… You speak the ancient language,” she realized.

  Lendra hesitated before nodding.

  “Do you speak it well?”

  She laughed. “Few speak it well, Roelle. I know it well enough.”

  “How?”

  “Novan taught me,” she said simply.

  The question that came to her mind was lost when a sharp whistle pierced the air. The three of them looked toward the sound, and Roelle felt her heart pound briefly. The whistle was answered by an echoing chorus of howls from the merahl.

  They were under attack.

  The attack was swift and almost caught them off guard. The sound of growls and the roar and cry of the foul beasts was suddenly close. Roelle scanned the forest but could see little through the fog. Lendra gagged and then nearly fainted from her saddle be
fore she righted herself.

  “You can’t stay here,” Roelle said.

  Lendra was the only one remaining with them who was not Mageborn. The Denraen had returned to Vasha—at least, Roelle hoped they had made it—but Lendra had wanted to remain and observe. Without the ability to fight—or even see the groeliin—the Magi had to protect her.

  “Where will I go?” Lendra asked through clenched teeth. She vomited suddenly, unable to hold it back.

  Wherever the groeliin were, they were close. If nothing else, Lendra served as an alert to their presence, one that was nearly as useful as the hunting merahl and their howls.

  Where were the Deshmahne?

  As strange as it seemed to hope for their appearance, she needed them to come. They wouldn’t be able to withstand the full force of the groeliin attack without them. Even with them, she wasn’t sure they would be able to withstand it.

  Roelle leaped from her saddle, unsheathing her sword in the same motion, keeping Lendra between her and the other Magi with her.

  And then the beasts were upon them.

  They were something like smoke, but the more she fought them, the easier they became to see. They were dark gray smudges with flashes of flesh visible, and harder to see in the fog. Roelle moved her sword quickly, using her abilities, stretching out her consciousness to focus her mind. It brought the beasts into focus.

  She took a deep breath, focusing herself, and then there was only her sword and the groeliin.

  She worked her way forward, her sword taking down all that came before her. She could not count the numbers she killed. She heard furious growls and roars as the merahl worked their way among the groeliin. Suddenly, a beast jumped from behind, striking her in the back.

  Staggering forward, she dropped her sword as she fell. She lay stunned for only a moment, her hand groping where she knew her sword to have fallen. She couldn’t feel it.

  Where?

  Her hand felt only soggy earth.

  She felt movement behind her. Rolling over, her back on fire, she saw one of the beasts clutching her blade. A smile covered its grotesque face, and her own sword flashed toward her. She watched, horror filling her mind.

  This is the end, she knew as a prayer formed on her lips.

  Then suddenly, the beast staggered and fell, dropping her sword.

  Nahrsin stood behind the fallen beast, smiling broadly. The Antrilii roared and kicked the sword to her.

  Roelle grabbed it and stood quickly. Her back ached where she had been hit. The area around her had been cleared of the beasts, and she could see a good number of them on the ground at her feet.

  “How many?” she asked the Antrilii.

  “Hard to tell in this fog,” he said. “The merahl estimate nearly a thousand.”

  She didn’t ask how the merahl were able to estimate the groeliin numbers, let alone communicate that to him. “How many broods?” she asked instead.

  Nahrsin scratched his chin. “A dozen, perhaps. Only the gods know.”

  Several groeliin moved in, and Nahrsin quickly killed them, moving faster than any man Roelle had even seen.

  “What about the rest?” she asked.

  The Antrilii grunted. “Moving south.”

  “They attack us in the fog.”

  Nahrsin grunted again. “Unusual,” he said.

  Roelle frowned. “What is?”

  “Logic from the groeliin.”

  There was a break in the line, and a dozen groeliin pressed through, effectively ending their conversation. She rushed forward again, into the battle, and reached another group of beasts battling with Zamell. Roelle’s hands were slippery with sweat and blood and the mist that filled the air.

  She was only allowed a brief pause to wipe away the moisture as dark, dagger-sharp claws flashed toward her. Quickly, she struck down four of the beasts, leaving Zamell open to advance further.

  She looked up again when the area around her cleared. They were nearly to the edge of the forest. To the south, her warriors had forced nearly one hundred of the beasts backward, and the groeliin moved as if to flee but hit something like an invisible wall that held them just at the edge of the forest.

  Nahrsin led a furious charge of Antrilii at the groeliin from the west, also caught between the charging Magi and the invisible wall. The creatures howled a horrible scream before falling. Several were killed by their own as they clawed away from the Antrilii only to meet the strange force holding them within the forest.

  To the north, the beasts fighting in front of her had been driven into the same invisible wall.

  It was the same all along the forest edge. There were strange, horrible screams, and a painful hissing sound as the groeliin hit the wall, and then silence. They were all dead. Slaughtered.

  “What is this?” Zamell asked, panting. The last of the groeliin had fallen silent.

  Roelle looked around. Tall trees stretched all around them, ending abruptly where the groeliin died. Had they been held within the forest?

  The question was edged with disappointment. The Deshmahne hadn’t come.

  She hadn’t known if they would and knew that she couldn’t count on them, but there was a part of her that had hoped, even knowing that their assistance likely wouldn’t change the ultimate outcome. How would they be able to stop ten thousand groeliin, even if they tripled their numbers with the Deshmahne?

  And would they even be able to trust the Deshmahne were they to show?

  Yet… now another possibility presented itself, but one that seemed impossible to believe, only what other answer was there?

  Roelle found Selton. He was bloodied, but none of it appeared his. She noted three dead groeliin near him. His jaw was set in a frown. How long had it been since he’d smiled? How long had it been since her friend had been the man she remembered? Would they all change so much because of what they face?

  “I need Lendra,” she told Selton.

  “Why?”

  “Lendra mentioned that the forest was the home of the gods. What if the gods are actually helping us?”

  And if they were, how could they use this to their advantage?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  As they made their way through the Great Forest, Jakob had the unsettling sensation that something was watching him. It was the same sensation he'd had on the other side of the Great Valley, when he'd been in the forest over there. He remembered the visions that had come to him, giving him memories of a past that could not have been his, and of creatures that seemed far too knowing. Now, he had a sense that there was something else watching. Something more.

  Was it the nemerahl?

  Anda said the creatures weren’t on this side of the Valley, but what if it had followed them? If it had, why would it have followed them?

  His arm throbbed where he’d been injured. The Deshmahne sword had not been poisoned—thankfully—but he felt as if he healed slowly. But he knew he had no reason to complain. Brohmin had been injured more severely, and though healed by Salindra, he moved slowly.

  Jakob still hadn't fully recovered from the most recent dream—vision—he’d experienced. He didn't understand what it meant and didn't understand what it tried to show him, but he had little doubt there was something to it.

  He’d wanted to talk to Anda about it but wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. Could even the gods have viewed the daneamiin negatively?

  They covered even less distance today, the dense underbrush slowing most of them. Anda had an ability to move through the forest seemingly unencumbered by the undergrowth. It seemed almost as if the trees and the branches, some with sharp thorns and brambles, pulled away from her giving her freedom to move. There were times Jakob wished he had such freedom.

  He found himself watching her, amazed by the grace she had shown, comforted by her presence. Ahmaean surrounded her and surrounded the trees and plants and the life around him.

  What did it mean for him that he could see it so clearly now? What was he becoming?
/>   When the visions had first begun, when he first felt that sense that they were followed, he had thought that perhaps he was going mad. His brother had changed so much when it started to happen to him—having visions and hallucinations—that Jakob now wondered if there was more to that. Could there be more to the madness than he knew?

  It was a question neither he nor Brohmin had an answer for. Jakob held out hope that when they reached the goddess, he could ask her for help with his brother. And not only Scottan but others like him. Many others suffered from the same illness. Was it coincidence, or was there some connection?

  They found a small clearing with a stream burbling through. The trees created a gentle canopy overhead, letting some light through, enough to see a blue sky overhead. A soft wind tugged at the upper branches of the trees but wasn’t felt near the ground.

  Salindra took Brohmin’s arm, forcing him to sit. “I know you think you’ve recovered, and you heal faster than most, but you’ve slowed down as the day has gone on, Brohmin,” she said to him softly. “You pushed yourself too hard yesterday.”

  “We need to reach her. I feel her urgency.”

  “And we will, but if you push so hard that you can’t go on? How will that help her?” Brohmin slumped to the forest floor, and Salindra went to get him water. She filled a few flasks and brought them to Brohmin, who drank them thirstily.

  She turned and shot Jakob a similarly withering look. “And you. You should rest as well. I saw how restlessly you slept the other night. It was as if you didn't sleep at all.”

  He turned away, not wanting to admit what had happened to him. He’d kept the secret of his most recent vision from the others. There was no purpose in sharing anyway. All it would do was raise questions, and they were questions he didn't have any answers to. Besides, he couldn't help the fact that his dreams had been something more than dreams, especially in the heart of the forest.

  Anda guided Jakob toward the trees, away from Brohmin and Salindra. With her hand on his arm, the now familiar waves of relaxation washed through him. Jakob shivered, thinking back to his vision, thinking back to what happened when Aimielen had one of the daneamiin touch her arm. She had a similar wave of relaxation. Jakob imagined it almost as if he had been there, as if the dreams had been real.