The Lost Prophecy Boxset

by D. K. Holmberg

  Endric grunted. “I think it's a shared responsibility.”

  “When the city is secure, I will make certain the Magi work with the Denraen, to help eliminate the threat of the Deshmahne before we choose—”

  The ground heaved, throwing Endric to the side.

  Alriyn turned and saw a blur of power coming toward him. For a moment, he thought it was the High Priest of the Deshmahne, but that wasn't who it was.

  “Jostephon.”

  The Eldest smiled. “Do you still wish to challenge me, old friend?”

  Jostephon wasn’t alone. Over a dozen Deshmahne were arrayed behind him. All were heavily tattooed, something he understood gave them more power than those who were not, power that was stolen from the Magi. Perhaps others, he decided, glancing at Novan and Endric. Even Jostephon had more tattoos than the last time.

  Which meant he had been stealing power from the Magi.

  Anger surged within him. “I challenge you, Jostephon Ontain. The Magi will not go without a fight.”

  Jostephon laughed. As he strode toward him, his dark manehlin swirled, and Alriyn wondered if he had made a mistake.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The next day passed quickly for Jakob. The rain returned and became a soft drizzle that left them cold and miserable. They moved toward the south, Brohmin finding speed, forcing himself. Salindra watched him, a worried expression on her face as she did, but she said nothing. Every so often, Jakob noted the way she used energy, how it swirled from her toward Brohmin, before retreating.

  He searched the trees as they walked, looking for a sign of the nemerahl, but saw none. Did the creature still follow them?

  As they walked, Jakob felt the same unease he’d felt before. This time, he could see how it dragged upon him, pulling on the ahmaean around him. As the day progressed, this sensation became stronger.

  It left him with more questions. Was he feeling the pulling on himself, or was it pulling upon his sword? That was truly the question, he knew. Was it him or was it the sword?

  They continued to hear the same horrible screams, but not as frequently. Each time they heard them, each of them stopped and turned toward the sound. Anda seemed unconcerned, though Brohmin’s wearied face looked worried.

  “How much further to the forest’s edge?” Salindra asked, breaking the silence among them.

  Grey light filtered in through the treetops, easily now that the leaves had begun to fall, yet Jakob still did not know what time it was. It was hard for him to gauge, and he had given up trying, knowing only what his stomach and his body told him. His legs had grown tired, and his head throbbed, pounding differently than the pulsations he had come to know, but his stomach was still silent. Not yet time to eat, then.

  Brohmin didn’t stop to answer. “We’re making better time than I had thought.” He seemed to consider for a moment, then continued. “I think perhaps tonight we will reach the edge of the forest.”

  The statement was a surprise. The last time Jakob had been within the forest, it had taken days to pass through, and that was on horseback. Of course, there had been a diversion within that—his capture by the Deshmahne—but this time, they dealt with injury and still managed to move at a decent pace.

  They continued onward in relative silence. Lunch was a brief stop, and they ate more of the daneamiin bread.

  The day passed, and soon the forest thinned. “How much longer tonight?” Salindra asked.

  “As long as we can,” Brohmin said.

  “You push too hard,” she said.

  “I push because I have to,” he said.

  She said nothing more. They finished the meal in silence before starting off. Brohmin’s pace lagged the longer they went, until finally, Salindra grabbed Brohmin’s arm, slowing him as she had the other nights, stopping them near a small stream at the edge of the forest, much like Brohmin had promised.

  They sat, Salindra starting a fire and seeing to Brohmin, while Jakob and Anda made a circuit of the clearing.

  As they did, Anda suddenly stiffened and looked up, staring into the distance. “There is a group of riders nearing,” she said. She stared a moment longer. “They are Magi, I think, and they are armed.” She paused again as she looked. “Swords and bows, mostly.”

  Salindra had looked up at Anda’s comment. She joined them, peering out of the trees and toward the distant plains. “Not Mageborn, then,” Salindra said.

  “They are Magi, like you,” Anda said, nodding to Salindra.

  Could it be possible? “I know a Mage who would,” he said quietly.

  But what would Roelle be doing here?

  They had been fighting for most of the day, and Roelle was tired, yet still she was filled with a strange sort of sleepless elation. Many groeliin had fallen today.

  Lendra had agreed with her. The Great Forest had some kind of strange power, and the creatures were unable to escape once they were within the trees. The Magi had used the merahl to harry the groeliin toward the forest in waves, and once within its confines, the Magi warriors and the Antrilii set upon them.

  They had their losses as well, and Roelle felt each one, memorizing their names as she did with each person that fell under her command. Still, nearly fifty Magi remained, and at least three times that many of the Antrilii. Roelle allowed herself a moment of cautious optimism, the hope that they might succeed.

  The Deshmahne had not appeared.

  She’d held onto the hope that they would, but there had been no sign of Fenick or any of the dark soldiers. She told herself that they went north, but knew that unlikely, not with what she’d seen while in Rondalin. They had prepared to depart, though she didn’t know where they would go.

  It was late in the day when they neared a stream.

  They had been chasing the remaining groeliin at the edge of the forest, using it as cover, and tracking south and east. The day was still overcast, and the fog that had been covering everything for the last few days was now lifting. At least the rain and the mist stopped. Roelle was not sure she would ever dry completely.

  There came a quick whistle in warning, and she turned, expecting an attack, except there was no echoing cry from the merahl.

  Not groeliin.

  Selton rode off but turned back quickly as Zamell rode up to them. She was dirtied from the last few days and had taken a deep gash to her face, but Selton still eyed her with interest. Roelle no longer felt annoyed by it. Why had she ever been? Selton was her friend, and she wanted him to be happy. If he found that with Zamell—who had proven to be a fearsome warrior—she wouldn’t deny him that.

  “Roelle,” she saluted as she approached. She waved back at her. “There are men along the stream. Should we stop?”

  Roelle turned her horse and rode forward a bit for a better view. A small group, covered in dirt and as wet as they were, stood watching. As she did, she swore she heard her name yelled from one of the men along the stream.

  “Do I hear things, Selton?” she asked, turning toward his friend.

  Selton shook his head. “No. I think someone there knows you. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You are a famous Mage warrior now,” he said.

  Roelle blinked and noted Selton smiling. The victories over the last few days—though hard earned—had put everyone in better spirits. There was hope. It was something she hadn’t realized they had lost.

  She signaled a stop. “Selton, Zamell, Lendra,” she called out. “Come with me.”

  “I will also come,” Nahrsin offered, riding up to them. Two merahl stood at each side. He said something in the ancient language, and the merahl sat, waiting. Their eyes watched him carefully.

  Roelle nodded. She didn’t order the Antrilii, yet she suspected Nahrsin wouldn’t have followed had Roelle objected. Over the last few days, she’d given up feeling overwhelmed by the role she now played, not having the luxury to question. She led the Magi, and they listened.

  Nahrsin seemed to acknowledge her lead with the Magi and had worked with her. Sh
e had appreciated his presence, thankful the Antrilii sacrificed what they did to save people they would never know.

  They rode forward quickly. As they neared, she noted a Mage among the group, as well as three others. One, a gray-haired man, had the same build and dangerous stance as Endric. And Nahrsin, for that matter. Another was covered by a cloak but looked tall enough to be Mageborn as well. The last man seemed familiar, as tall as the others.

  A light beard covered his face, and he had a muscular build. Dark brown hair was brushed back and still damp from the rain earlier in the day. Light from the overcast day caught in his deep blue eyes. A long sword hung from his waist, and he wore it as if he knew well how to use it.

  And then she realized who it was.

  “Jakob?” Endric had told her the Denraen who had traveled with him were all dead, and Novan claimed to have found alternative protection for him, but she hadn’t actually expected to see him alive. And here of all places?

  “Roelle!” Jakob said. “Is that you?”

  Jakob was different. There had been a boyish quality to him even as he developed into a skilled swordsman. That was gone, now. He seemed aged, matured, and definitely different. His dark blue eyes were harder, and the hesitancy about him was gone. She’d felt an attraction to him before, but now she felt drawn to him even more than before.

  “What is this?” Jakob asked, looking past her and toward the collected Magi. What would he think about the Magi and Antrilii? Yet he had barely taken notice of Nahrsin.

  The Antrilii had not come forward. Roelle eyed him carefully, wondering what he feared.

  “Damahne,” Nahrsin whispered.

  The cloaked figure turned to Nahrsin and appeared to stare, though Roelle couldn’t be certain. There was something exotic about her. Roelle looked at Nahrsin. “What is it?” she asked.

  The Antrilii shook his head.

  She turned away, nodding to the Mage. “Elder.” She wasn’t concerned with how the Elder would react to seeing her Magi, not any longer. When they’d left Vasha, it had been under cover of night, and with Endric’s encouragement. None could deny the need for what they had done.

  The Elder stared at her for a long moment. “You wear a sword.”

  Roelle expected a rebuke and suppressed the irritation she felt. “As did our Founders,” she answered carefully.

  The Elder considered the comment a long moment before nodding. “You wear it well.”

  The older man interrupted, speaking softly, calmly. “You ride with the Antrilii,” he stated, nodding toward Nahrsin. The Antrilii warrior nodded back. “Nahrsin,” the man said.

  Suddenly Nahrsin laughed, breaking the strange tension that hung over them. “Hunter?” he asked, staring for a moment. “It is you, old man! I had heard you were dead.”

  “The gods have not claimed me yet,” the man answered and turned to Roelle. “Groeliin?” he asked, and Roelle nodded, shock preventing her from answering. “How many of them have you killed?” The voice was rougher than Endric’s but similar.

  Roelle looked to Selton, considering. The man spoke the ancient language and recognized Nahrsin. Was he the protection Novan had arranged for Jakob?

  “Several thousand all told,” Selton said. “We’ve lost count.”

  “How many broods?” the man asked.

  Roelle stared in mild surprise. There was definitely more to this man than it appeared. How did he know about the groeliin? Could he even see them?

  Nahrsin chuckled. “More than fifty. Less now.”

  The man stared at Nahrsin a moment, and something passed between them.

  “How many left the city with you?” the Elder asked Roelle.

  “One hundred, to start,” she answered. “Endric encouraged us to find the Antrilii. We found something much worse.”

  “The groeliin,” the woman said.

  “The groeliin,” Roelle agreed. “And they’re moving south.”

  “Does the Council know?” she asked.

  “We sent word to Alriyn. I don’t know if it reached him. I had hoped to hear something by now.”

  “How many remain?” the man asked.

  “Several thousand remain, Hunter,” Nahrsin answered.

  “The merahl?” the man asked.

  Nahrsin chuckled. “Aye,” he agreed.

  The man frowned. “Even with the merahl, how did you kill so many?”

  The exotic woman answered. “They used the forest.” There was something strange, musical almost, to her voice.

  “The merahl chase them into the forest, and then something traps them,” Roelle said. “The rest got past us.”

  “Where do they travel?” the Mage Elder asked.

  “We don’t know. South.”

  The Hunter squeezed his eyes shut. “That means Thealon.”

  “Why would they move on Thealon, Brohmin?” the Elder asked.

  The man she called Brohmin shook his head. “I have a suspicion but can’t know for sure.” He glanced at Nahrsin, and the Antrilii nodded once as he closed his eyes. A strangely sad expression flittered across his painted face before it was gone.

  “Nahrsin thinks they’re driven,” Roelle answered. They hadn’t talked about it for days, but that seemed the only explanation, but they still hadn’t determined what would be able to drive the groeliin. How could anything drive them south?

  Brohmin watched Nahrsin a moment. “They haven’t attempted this before.”

  “No, Hunter. They have not come in such numbers in hundreds of years. The Antrilii have held them back.”

  “Even a thousand would overwhelm most cities,” Brohmin said. “But several thousand?”

  “They avoided Rondalin,” Nahrsin said.

  “Why is that important?” Jakob asked.

  Brohmin answered for Nahrsin. “Because he fears a connection that we’ve never been able to prove.”

  “The Deshmahne?” she asked Nahrsin. When he nodded, she pressed, “But you agreed that we should see if they could help!”

  “It is possible that they do not control them. It is possible that it’s as you hoped, that they will use their strength to fight the groeliin.”

  Brohmin’s breath caught. “You went to the Deshmahne?”

  “We faced ten thousand groeliin. We need any advantage that we can get. If it means siding with those who seek power for the wrong reason—”

  “It’s not only that they seek it for the wrong reason,” Brohmin said. “It’s that the most powerful of the Deshmahne use the groeliin to acquire power.”

  “They what?” the Elder asked.

  Brohmin looked over to her, the corners of his eyes wrinkled. Something passed between them, and she glanced at her feet, her eyes widening.

  “That’s not possible,” Lendra said. “The Deshmahne have only recently come north. They’ve been in the south for years.”

  But it was possible. Roelle remembered what Fenick had said about the way the Deshmahne gained power. Most used animals as sacrifice. What if others used the groeliin?

  It would explain how they became so powerful.

  “They can’t reach Thealon,” Brohmin said.

  One of the merahl that had been sitting back by the Magi crept up and growled. Nahrsin looked over at the huge animal affectionately before reaching down and scratching its ears. He looked up at Brohmin and fixed him with a stern gaze. “We will not let the groeliin defile Shoren Aimielen.”

  The Elder looked from Nahrsin to Brohmin, a question plain upon her face. Brohmin did not meet her eyes, and the Elder looked away. “No. We cannot allow the groeliin to reach Thealon,” he said. “We will ride with you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Locken could feel the cold of the wind as it tore at his cloak. The days were getting colder now. Soon, snow would fall, making everyone’s travel more difficult. From his vantage atop the bluff, he could see much of the Saeline plains as they stretched out below. It allowed him to see far more than he wanted.

  The fields were haz
y from dust. He knew the haze to be an anomaly. He even knew what caused the dusty haze. Thousands of men were marching on Saeline. An army, intent on crushing his uprising. What seemed strange, though, was that it did not seem to be the full thrust of Richard’s forces.

  Perhaps he’s only come to rein me in, he mused.

  He knew it was not that simple. It was far more plausible to believe that Richard didn’t feel the need to send the full army at him.

  He turned away, back toward the city of Saeline. His own army was camped nearby. They were readied, though he wondered how he could ever truly ready the men to fight their own countrymen. Some had cousins or nephews in neighboring kingdoms, much like Locken’s sister lived in Gomald. It could be an ugly fight.

  Lonn stood away from the edge. He allowed Locken his own time.

  The man knows me well.

  He walked quickly over to him. Advice would be valuable this time.

  “The reports were true. An army approaches.” He spoke quickly, his voice hushed. They had known this day was coming. Had known since they declared their independence, making formal their treason. They had all hoped to put off the bloodshed in favor of a more peaceful solution.

  Lonn nodded. “And the size?” he asked.

  Locken would have smiled if the situation were lighter. Lonn seemed better informed than he, oftentimes. “It is not all of Richard’s army. Or even most from the looks of it.” He turned his head, craning behind him to see again. “I suppose he thought it more than enough to take care of us.”

  Lonn nodded. As he did, Locken saw movement down the road from them. A horse and rider. Two, he realized. The High King’s son and his servant, most likely. Strange companions, he thought.

  He still hadn’t decided what to make of Allay. When he’d come to him in Chrysia, Locken had been looking to forestall Thealon and to let Thealon know that he had no intention to attack. Allay had traveled with rebels of Salvat, claiming that he’d trained in Vasha. Locken had already received word of the dead Mage in Saeline, as well as the strange message he’d left for Theresa to send to Endric.