The Lost Prophecy Boxset

by D. K. Holmberg

  Allay sighed. “Good. He needs to know about the Deshmahne moving. The Denraen thought they planned something.” As did Mendi’s father, apparently, though he hadn’t known exactly what.

  “Then why are you here, Lansington? What do you propose?”

  Allay began to tell him, wondering whether it would be enough to convince Locken of his intentions and whether it would be enough to get him to side with him. What other choice did they have?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  As Alriyn made his way past the second terrace, exhaustion washing over him, he noted the gates to the barracks were spread open. That was unusual; the barracks were normally closed, the gates guarded by the Denraen.

  Had the Deshmahne attacks been successful even here?

  He glanced inside but saw no sign of activity.

  He couldn’t concern himself with the barracks for now. Even were he not exhausted, he didn’t think he could draw on the manehlin and use his abilities to defend himself. It had taken all of his energy to suppress the remaining fires he found throughout the first terrace, and to do so while trying to remain concealed. When he had come across another regiment of Denraen, he had hidden, fearful that they might have been converted to the Deshmahne. He would let Endric sort that out. Finding even one had been bad enough.

  As he continued to the first terrace, starting through a thick band of gray clouds, he feared what he would find and started to prepare himself for the worst.

  Would Endric have been fast enough to protect the palace? Part of him thought he should have been there so that he could’ve helped the Magi, but remaining on the first terrace had been equally necessary. Had he not helped those people, the entirety of that terrace might've burned. Protecting the first terrace protected Vasha.

  What if the Deshmahne had destroyed the palace? The stone wouldn't burn, not like the buildings on the first terrace had, but he suspected the Deshmahne had enough destructive energy to shake the foundations of the palace. If Endric hadn't been fast enough…

  Even if Endric had been fast enough, it was possible Alriyn would find Magi killed, and the palace destroyed.

  As he passed through the clouds, a spray of mist moistening his cloak, he took a deep breath, the warmth of the teralin gate surrounding the palace letting him know that he was near. The clouds thinned as he reached this level.

  Alriyn paused long enough to see that the palace looked intact.

  There was no sign of Endric and no sign of fighting.

  He hurried through the eastern gate. It was his preferred entrance when he left the palace, one that was not often used by others. Most Magi preferred to go through the formal entrance to the palace, but Alriyn enjoyed the anonymity of the eastern gate. He also enjoyed the sculptures on the teralin-forged doors that depicted the Founders in relief. He could almost imagine the Founders helping him when he saw that. He needed their help now.

  Alriyn swept inside, hurrying up the stairs. As he went, he listened for any sound of activity but heard and found nothing out of place. It wasn't until he reached the thirteenth floor when he first became aware of activity.

  Not just activity, but fighting.

  Alriyn stepped onto the landing. A brutal battle took place before him. Countless Deshmahne, each dressed in black, hooded cloaks, each tainted by dark manehlin, faced the Denraen. The Deshmahne had the Denraen outnumbered, and Alriyn counted far too many dead soldiers. Endric danced among them, his sword blazing as he did. With Endric’s grace and fluidity, he was nothing like the men fighting alongside him.

  The question suddenly came to him: could Endric be Mageborn?

  It would explain the power he possessed… but not Endric. He was honorable, and had proven it time and again.

  The Denraen were in trouble—the Deshmahne overpowering them. Even with Endric overwhelming those he fought, it was only a matter of time before they were defeated.

  He might be able to help a little, but Endric needed more help than that.

  With enough Magi, could they tilt this in their favor?

  Was he willing to bring them here, knowing what would be required of them?

  He had used his abilities and taken the lives of Deshmahne. For the most part, it had been accidental, but if he led them here, there would be nothing accidental about what they would be asked to do. They would have to fight.

  But… If they did, the Magi could help expel the Deshmahne from the palace.

  Hating that he did, Alriyn turned away, hurrying up the stairs.

  As he did, he noted that Endric seemed to see him. He wished he could send him a message, something to let him know that he hadn't abandoned him, but what was there to say? Instead, Alriyn had to hope that Endric survived long enough for him to bring help.

  He reached the floor where he’d brought the injured. It felt ages ago now, long enough that not only had the danger changed, but he had changed. As he opened the door to the room, he had to duck when someone swung something at his head.

  “Karrin,” Alriyn said, raising his hands.

  Karrin lowered what looked like a table leg. The rest of the table was tilted to the ground behind her, resting at an odd angle. “Alriyn. Thank the gods.”

  Alriyn surveyed the room. There were nearly a dozen Magi present. Some were part of his small council, while others were those in positions of authority within the palace. All were powerful Magi.

  “This is all we’ve been able to find so far. Bothar went in search for others, but…”

  Bothar wasn't here. They needed as much of his council together as they could gather. For him to have legitimacy, he needed the majority of the Council of Elders. Already, he feared that they didn't have enough to formally override Jostephon. Alriyn had challenged him once and didn't know if he would survive a second, but the rest of the Magi needed the continuity of the Council.

  Yet none of that mattered while the Deshmahne remained in the palace.

  “Come with me. The Denraen need our help,” he said.

  Karrin's eyes widened. “The Denraen? Alriyn—you can’t expect us to help the Denraen fight the Deshmahne.”

  Alriyn could barely stand, but the fighting wasn't over, not yet. Not until they had expunged the Deshmahne from the palace. Even then, the fighting wouldn't be over. They had to find the Eldest, and then they had to expel him as well.

  “I've just spent the last few hours saving as much of the first terrace as I could. I've had to fight off Denraen who had converted to the Deshmahne. I've learned that Endric and the historian have abilities they've hidden from us. And I've come to recognize that we have abilities we need to utilize in this battle.”

  “Alriyn—” Karrin started.

  Alriyn scanned the Magi in the room. Each of them watched him. He wondered what he looked like, having not considered that as he'd return to the palace. After the fighting in the library, and after battling the blazes on the first terrace, did he look like the Second Eldest to them? Would they even recognize his authority?

  Alriyn decided it didn't matter.

  “We are tasked with maintaining the peace,” he began. “The peace of our palace is threatened. No longer can we leave it to the Denraen to protect it. To protect us. We must be a part.” He paused, looking for some response. None of the Magi gave any indication of how they would react. “Our Founders were soldiers. They were warriors. I'm not asking the Magi to return to that time”—he thought of Roelle and what she and the apprentices did, and how they were more like the Founders—“but I ask for us to use our abilities, perhaps in ways that we have not before, but in ways that will allow us to serve the gods still.

  “We need to restore the peace. We need to protect that peace. We must ensure the Magi survive this, because”—it was then that Alriyn realized that he still carried the mahne with him—“we still need to find a Uniter.” He pulled the mahne from his cloak pocket and held it out.

  Karrin gasped. “You shouldn't have removed that from the library.”

  Alriyn sighe
d. “It was either I remove it, or leave it for the Deshmahne to take. I would rather see that it's protected, that the records that we seek to protect remain safe. Would you have it otherwise?”

  The Elders stared at him. “Alriyn, you know what this means.”

  “I know what I’ve asked. And if we do nothing, the Deshmahne will defeat the Denraen. Endric will fall. And then they will come for all of us.” The image of Efrain lying injured in the library crept into his mind, the strange branding on his ankle. How did the Deshmahne use the Magi? “They intend to use us. I'm not sure how, but if we do nothing, if we do not oppose them, we will lose everything.”

  It wasn't much of a motivational speech, and Alriyn didn't know if he would sway anyone's heart, or convince them to go against centuries of tradition, but it was all he could do.

  “I'm going to return and help the Denraen. If I die, at least I will have died trying to help my people.”

  Alriyn turned and started toward the stairs.

  When he reached the top of the stairs, he realized that none followed him.

  Had he come all this way, only for none of the Magi to come with him? Could he really have made his argument so ineffectively that none were willing to fight alongside him? He had abandoned Endric, leaving him to continue facing the superior numbers of the Deshmahne, while he sought to get the assistance of the Magi. But he’d failed.

  Alriyn made his way down the stairs, taking a deep breath as he did, trying to ready his mind. He would have to find a way to push through the fatigue he felt. He would have to find a way to expand his mind and use the manehlin. He would have to find a way to draw upon that energy.

  If he couldn't, not only would he fall, but the city and those he cared about within it would fall as well. And Alriyn was determined to not go down without a fight.

  Ignoring his disappointment that none of the other Magi had elected to come with him, he raced to rejoin Endric and the Denraen. The Magi needed to come around in their own time. He knew that, but it was still difficult when so much of who they were and what they stood for was at stake.

  Even knowing what was at stake, he struggled with what he would need to do. They were the Magi. They were the epitome of the Urmahne. They served the gods. Yet… What choice did they have?

  On a landing, he saw one of the Magi sprawled across the ground.

  Alriyn raced to him, recognizing Noram and fearing the man dead. Noram coughed as Alriyn approached.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  Noram blinked. “Second Eldest?”

  “It’s me,” Alriyn said. “What happened to you?”

  Noram coughed and reach for his leg. Alriyn glanced and noted the same markings that he’d seen on Efrain. “Deshmahne. They steal from us, Second Eldest.”

  Alriyn blinked. Was that what the Deshmahne had meant? Was that why he had wanted Alriyn?

  How was it possible?

  “We will get you help,” he said.

  “Not help. Stop them,” Noram said.

  Alriyn nodded. “I intend to.”

  “Go. I will hide until this is over,” Noram said.

  Alriyn left him. Though he knew he had to focus on the bigger fight, it didn’t make abandoning the wounded Mage any easier.

  When he reached the thirteenth level, the fighting continued.

  Now it was even starker. More Denraen had been lost. Alriyn didn’t recognize those that remained, and though they fought valiantly, they were no match for the Deshmahne. He saw Endric alone surrounded by Deshmahne. He fought bravely, but he was one man, facing well over a dozen of the warrior priests.

  Not priests.

  He would not allow them to claim service to the gods. He wasn't certain what they were, but they were both something less, and something more.

  There might be little that he would be able to do to sway the battle one way or another, but if he did nothing, the Denraen would fall. Then, as he had said, the Deshmahne would come for the Magi. He didn't know what they would do, but having seen Efrain and Noram, and seeing the dark excitement from the Deshmahne in the first terrace, he feared what they intended.

  What choice did he have?

  He looked off to the side and saw Novan. Had he been there when Alriyn had passed through before? The historian tapped his staff, and the sound rang out through the entire floor. It was a sharp sound that was filled with power, but that made no sense. How could a sound have that? The staff glowed, the teralin lines upon it practically glowing with power.

  Alriyn couldn't help but stare. The way the man moved resembled Endric, though Novan attacked with a different kind of grace, his staff dancing, swinging out from him before withdrawing. No Deshmahne could get within more than a few feet of him.

  The attack was more than that, though. The energy that Alriyn saw around the Deshmahne, the dark manehlin, was countered by a light sort of energy surrounding the staff, as well as around Novan. Novan fought with the staff, but he also attacked with that light manehlin.

  How was it possible?

  He felt something approach him, and he spun.

  A heavily tattooed Deshmahne approached, and a grin spread across his face. “Mage. I will claim you.” The Deshmahne’s dark energy began to swirl.

  Alriyn took a deep breath, opening his mind, preparing. Pain throbbed in his head as he did, but he managed to force his mind open. It came slowly, as if it didn't want to open. As it did, there was a throbbing, almost a pulsating, within him. He felt the reverberation of the manehlin coming from the Deshmahne.

  He reached for it and pulled that manehlin into himself much as he had when he had faced the three Deshmahne on the first terrace.

  The man stumbled. The dark manehlin that surrounded him now streamed toward Alriyn, controlled by Alriyn. He held onto it until the Deshmahne collapsed.

  Alriyn stood watching until the man's breathing slowed, and then stopped completely.

  It was strange, but he felt little remorse.

  Alriyn looked up and saw Karrin standing at the base of the stairs. Her eyes were wide. “You just—”

  “I just withdrew his power. It was stolen anyway.”

  “Stolen?”

  Alriyn glanced to the Deshmahne. “That's how they gain their ability. They steal it.”

  Karrin said nothing for a long moment, seeming confused and likely afraid of what he said. Alriyn had hoped that others would have come with her and that he wouldn't be facing the Deshmahne alone. But then, he wasn't facing them alone. He would face them with the Denraen.

  Alriyn turned away from Karrin, toward the fighting. “Will you fight with me?”

  “Fight? Alriyn, what you're asking us to do… It goes against everything that we are.”

  Alriyn turned to her. “It goes against everything that we have been. I was wrong, Karrin. Our people—our Founders—were warriors.”

  “Will this honor the gods? How will this protect the mahne? How will this help us choose the nemah?”

  Alriyn patted his pocket, feeling the text there. They had been fools. The Magi had believed they had power, that they had ability, that they were gifted by the gods, and that it was their destiny to use those gifts. Alriyn himself had studied in a search for understanding but had failed to see the truth. Perhaps that was why Jostephon had converted to the Deshmahne. He had learned the truth.

  Yet Jostephon still was wrong.

  The Deshmahne were not a way to power. The power they wielded was stolen, and as such, they destroyed something in the process. Maybe that was why the manehlin around them was so dark.

  Feeling a sudden certainty about what he needed to do, Alriyn strode forward, into the battle, leaving Karrin watching him.

  As he did, he felt his mind shift, the way that it had when he first was learning to use his abilities, and he pulled on that connection. Five Deshmahne surrounded him, and Alriyn pushed his mind open wider.

  There was a tearing sensation—and pain—but not as severe as when he’d attempted this before. H
e knew his mind would survive it. Perhaps that knowledge gave him strength.

  With the tearing, the manehlin surrounding the Deshmahne became even more clear. Alriyn reached for it, drawing all of it to him. The manehlin filled him, dark and cold. He held it but did not make it a part of himself. He had the sense that he could, were he only to choose.

  The Deshmahne fell.

  As they collapsed, Alriyn moved on, holding that manehlin until he was certain they stopped moving entirely. He reached the group of Deshmahne surrounding Endric. Alriyn raised his hands, drawing the Deshmahne manehlin away from them. Knowing that it had been stolen from the Magi made this easier. It gave him strength. He pulled, drawing that energy into himself. He held it, and the Deshmahne slowed.

  Endric made quick work of them.

  Alriyn released the manehlin. He started toward Novan’s fight, and as before, he pulled on the manehlin surrounding the Deshmahne, drawing it into himself. He held it, holding that dark energy as Endric and Novan, finished the Deshmahne off.

  There was only a handful remaining.

  He turned, noting that Karrin as well Haerlin fought alongside him.

  Alriyn nodded to them with a grim determination. As the Magi withdrew the energy from the Deshmahne, the Denraen finished them.

  Alriyn turned, looking for more Deshmahne to face. But there were none.

  “Did you protect the first terrace?” Endric asked.

  Alriyn almost smiled at the fact that Endric didn't comment on the fact that he had helped him in this battle. His concern was for the city, and for the people within it. It was the same concern Alriyn should have shared, the same concern that should have driven him to understand his abilities sooner, to realize what he was capable of.

  But he had been a fool.

  “The city no longer burns. There are Denraen who have converted.”

  “You saw them?

  Alriyn nodded. “One. Saw him and was forced to kill him.”

  Endric arched brow. “Magi, fighting and killing?”

  “I don't presume to understand everything that's happened, but I see that we've been mistaken in withholding our abilities from the world. It has been the Magi, not the Denraen, who've allowed the Deshmahne to take a greater role.”