And his son had been no better. Allay had offered nothing of rumor to him. The boy had only spoken of the Magi and Thealon. Urging him to stop the attack. It was something Richard would not do, could not do.
No, he could not turn back now, even if he did anger the gods.
He was more afraid of Raime than he was of the gods.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Jakob looked over the open plains spreading before them and felt the slow pulling of ahmaean on him or his sword; he couldn’t tell the difference between them and still wasn’t sure if he was meant to separate the two. He understood the source of the strange pull upon his senses, the ahmaean he saw swirling about everywhere he now looked, but not the why.
Brohmin thought it was the sword, that he could be the nemah, but Jakob was not sure what to believe.
What am I?
Something different from before, he knew, though not a Mage. When Roelle had joined them, he had still thought it possible that he might be, but seeing her, and comparing her abilities with Salindra’s, he realized that he didn’t possess the same.
Roelle’s arrival had brought back memories of their time together. Sparring. A time before his world began to turn upside down. Looking at her now, even battle weary, he still thought her lovely, the same as he had the very first time he’d seen her. And now she had changed, possibly as much as he had. She was a Mage warrior.
Jakob glanced behind him, to the remaining warriors Roelle had brought with her. They were a ragged group, yet all among them had determined looks on their faces. He wasn’t exactly sure what they had seen—could they really have faced ten thousand groeliin?—but they were hardened and nothing like the Magi he’d met before.
Then there were the Antrilii.
Brohmin had told him a little of the warrior people and how they fought the groeliin. The merahl loped alongside them, occasionally calling out with a deep braying cry as they ran ever ahead, hunting. They were huge creatures, large cats, and much like the nemerahl that he hadn’t seen since that time in the forest. Even then, he wasn’t sure what he had seen.
Anda rode next to him, as she had since the Magi had given them horses. Jakob found her presence peaceful, with a reassurance to it. He still had moments when he feared the madness was upon him, that all he had seen was nothing more than visions within his head, but then he would look over to Anda and sense the realness to her.
She smiled at him, as if sensing his thoughts.
With the smile, a hint of her glamour faded, and he saw the daneamiin features slip through, but it was brief. He smiled back and felt the tension leave him. As they rode onward, the question sat at the forefront of his mind: What was he?
Alyta will have answers.
He clung to the hope of it; it was all he had.
They climbed a gentle rise in the land, and a city emerged in the distance. He knew it, though he had never before visited. It was a city described to him by his father, one he had read about in many of Novan’s texts. The city was known by reputation to all who followed the Urmahne as the home of the gods.
No description had done it justice.
Thealon.
It was massive. A huge wall surrounded the entirety of the city, stone of an almost pure white interrupted by small turrets, stretching as far as his eye could see in either direction. A section near the south had blackened, as if damaged by an explosion, but was otherwise intact.
Thealon was larger than any other known city. It was the home of scholars, of historians, and of the priests. It was built upon the premise of the Urmahne, and a sense of peace radiated from it, a sense of security. Buildings crept above its height in orderly rows, spires and domes creating an impressive skyline. A small stream cut under the near wall and wound its way through the city, and Jakob followed its course in his mind. He could almost imagine that it moved through the city haphazardly, though the visible rooftops told him otherwise.
In the distance, atop a low hill, was a palace circled by its own low wall. There was an air of majesty about it. It was not quite a castle but was fortified as though it was, and even at this distance, Jakob could see the elegance to its decoration. His gaze lingered upon it. The palace of Thealon was home to the greatest priests of the Urmahne. It was where his father had dreamed to one day study.
Greater than anything else in the city was the Tower of the Gods.
The Tower rose from the city center, climbing higher than any other building in the city, higher than anything had a right to climb, and cast a shadow under the bright sun. It was awe-inspiring, even from this distance; white stone stretching up and up into the sky before the clouds masked its peak. There was a simple majesty to it that reminded him of the daneamiin city of his vision. The Tower was a fitting home to the gods.
As he stared, he realized that a thin haze clung to it. As he focused, he realized that the Tower held its own energy, its own ahmaean.
“Is it alive?” he whispered.
“There is only one way to create stonework like this,” Anda said, turning to gaze upon the Tower. “It must be imbued with its own energy, its own life force. A certain amount of ahmaean is left behind to do this. My people once moved stone much like this.”
Jakob thought of his vision, and the comment he’d overheard. “Like my sword?” he asked.
She shook her head, and her hair shook with the movement. He knew it an illusion, yet wondered still what it would feel like if he touched it. Would it feel as real as it appeared?
“Neamiin was crafted with a different method, a different intent,” she answered.
She did not elaborate, and he did not press her. Instead, he turned toward the Tower, felt its ahmaean, and sighed, releasing a bit of pent up tension. Alyta would be within the Tower. And have answers.
He turned to say something to Brohmin, but as he did, a rider approached and moved quickly up to Roelle.
“Roelle,” the Mage scout began. “There is an army to the west.”
“An army?” Roelle asked. “The Deshmahne?”
The scout shook his head. “Not Deshmahne,” he answered. “But huge. The groeliin move directly toward it.”
“There is another army of men to the south,” Anda said. “It, too, is very large.”
Roelle turned to Anda. “How can you see that?”
Brohmin cut in. “Roelle,” Brohmin started. “You’re needed for this. We have something else we must do. You chase the groeliin while we chase another sort of evil. May the gods be with you.”
Roelle’s eyes narrowed, and she turned to Salindra. “You could fight with us. We could use another Mage. If you can see them, you can fight them.”
“I cannot claim to approve, but lately, I have seen much I can’t explain, much the Council must learn. What you do makes our ancestors proud,” she admitted.
Roelle looked in the distance, toward the army, before turning her attention to the woman riding near her. “Lendra, you should go with them. If we face the groeliin, I can’t guarantee your safety. Or mine.”
The woman glanced from Roelle to Brohmin before nodding.
“Come,” Brohmin said to Jakob. “Let’s go rescue a goddess.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Locken surveyed the field. In the distance, he could see the enormity of Richard’s army. The size of it worried him. He looked around at his own army, both his men and Robden’s, and wondered if they would be enough. Somehow, they had to be.
“We do this, then?” Robden asked.
Locken looked to the older man. Robden had faced many battles, had himself fought and killed, so he knew the man wasn’t scared. But the idea of fighting his own countrymen likely gnawed at him, as it did Locken. “Yes,” Locken replied. “If only we weren’t forced to this.”
Allay nodded.
Locken had sent a messenger to Richard when they could first see the army. The man had not come back. There would be no reprieve. War would be waged, and it would be bloody.
At least the Deshmah
ne that Allay had reported camped with him were reported to have departed, though he didn’t know why. Why had they been there in the first place? Where had they gone?
There were no answers.
“The key will be to capture my father,” Allay told him.
At least Allay understood. Since returning from visiting Richard, there had been something different about him. It was something Locken felt, a sense of despondency. None wanted this war. “I know.”
“How do we accomplish that?” Robden asked.
Difficult choices would be made today. “We must open a hole and drive in,” he began. “We capture Richard and call an end to this.”
Suddenly, he could see a black cloud above moving slowly toward them like a horde of insects. Arrows. He watched as they arced over the plains toward his men. It had begun.
He heard screams from his men as they fell, the painful sound of death. He watched and heard his lead archer signal, calling for the return fire. The arrows streaked the opposite direction across the plain, toward Richard’s men.
My countrymen, he thought. He could not think that way today. It would hinder his decision making.
His men’s arrows found targets, and he heard moans from Richard’s men. His archers began to draw back, readying another round of arrows, but he expected Richard’s archers to send a volley his way first. When they didn’t come, and his own men had fired again, he wondered. Why hadn’t Richard fired again?
He waited and soon heard his arrows strike home again. The screams were louder this time, filling the plains with their horrible cry. Locken still expected return fire, but it didn’t come.
“Ground!” he called and heard his order called down the line.
Soon his pikemen marched forward. As they did, he saw a change occur in Richard’s line. It was apparent even at his distance.
What in the name of the gods…?
A huge gap had opened on the eastern side of Richard’s line, and he yelled for his men to move toward it.
A trap? Even if it was, they had to test it anyway.
Victory would not come easily today.
Something is not right.
The thought came, and he knew it true. There was something else. He just couldn’t tell what it was.
He watched the men of Richard’s army simply fall to the ground, as if something had struck them all down.
What was this? It seemed too easy.
With the thought, he smelled something. It was thick, disgusting, and burned at his nose. His stomach turned, threatening to bring its contents back toward his mouth.
No, he thought, something is definitely not right.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Alriyn waited at the edge of the third terrace, looking out over the city. The warm bars of the teralin fence surrounding the terrace pressed upon the palms of his hands. There had been a time many years ago when he was not able to tolerate the warmth of the teralin. That had been a time before Tresten had done something with the teralin, though Alriyn still didn’t know what he had done.
It was times like this that he missed his mentor and friend. Tresten had been greater than all of them. He was a Mage of much power, one who could do things many of the Magi could not. He could use the manehlin in ways that others could not even imagine. And still, he had passed, no differently than anyone else.
Novan stood next to him. The historian leaned his staff on the teralin fence, the metal on it no longer glowing as it had when he had faced the Deshmahne. Alriyn considered what he had seen, thinking about the way Novan had been the one to demonstrate what he was able to do. How was it that a historian had been the one to help him see the extent of his abilities? How was it that it had been Novan who had shown him what they needed to do?
“What now, historian?” he asked.
Novan took a step forward, closing the book he had been looking through. The mahne, Alriyn noted. He no longer felt the same need to protect it as he had. There was much they didn't understand, and keeping that ancient knowledge from the rest of the Magi, even from the rest of the scholars throughout the city, seemed foolish. How much had they mistaken because they thought they needed to protect it? All that had done was cut them off from the rest of the world. The remaining Elders had already begun preparing, knowing they would need to search for the one who would establish peace. Alriyn prayed they weren’t too late.
“Now we must restore the balance. The Deshmahne here were stopped, but there are others. The Magi have been withdrawn for far too long. It's time that changes, I believe,” Novan said.
Alriyn turned to him. “I don't understand you. You’ve wandered the world, studying, meddling, and now you remain here, as if you belong. Why have you stayed so long?” Alriyn asked. “This wasn't your fight. You could have left this to the Denraen, to Endric, and to the Magi, returning to your studies. Don't you even worry about your apprentice?”
“I worry about him every day,” Novan said. His face clouded slightly, and the hint of a struggle played along his lips. “And yet I know that he is safe. I have seen to his protection.”
“How? You came with Endric to the city? How is it that you saw to his safety?”
“There are others in the world more capable than I. He is with one. If everything went as I had hoped, he has delivered something of great importance to a place that thought to separate itself from the world.”
“Now you speak in riddles, historian.”
Novan smiled at him. “There are riddles, and there are things we are meant to know. You, Alriyn, need to rejoin the world, even if you plan to choose the one your mahne prophesies.” He tapped the book. “It is time for the Magi to return their influence, to restore what had been. You are touched by a greater power, and it is time that you no longer sit apart from the rest of the world.”
Alriyn studied Novan for a moment before turning away. The historian spoke the truth. Alriyn had sought knowledge, but he had not used that knowledge. The Magi had kept what they knew away from the world, and that separation had allowed another power to emerge, one that was dangerous and had nearly destroyed everything they were. “I will do what I can to have the Magi return to positions they once held.”
“It's more than simply serving as advisors, Alriyn. This must be about restoring a balance. Balance cannot be maintained by hiding from the world. Power must be used by those who have it, for others will seek to claim it from them. You've seen that with the Deshmahne, and we've seen that with the creatures in the north.”
“What of the north?” He had heard nothing from Roelle. Was she safe? Did she still even live? “Do you think Roelle found the Antrilii?”
Novan closed his eyes, gripping the teralin rail. He made no sign that it bothered him. “I can only hope that she did.”
“Endric sent her away. Why?”
“Because there is something only the Magi—and the Antrilii—can do.”
Alriyn shot him an angry stare. “Would you stop being so obtuse? What is it? Why did Endric see that my niece would be sent north? Why is it that she abandoned her people when she could have been such an asset with the Deshmahne?”
“Because she could be even more important in the north.” Novan released the railing, grabbing his staff, and stepped away.
As he did, Alriyn became aware of energy swirling around him, the same energy that he had seen when they fought the Deshmahne. He was no longer certain it was the manehlin he saw, though Alriyn didn't know what else it could be. Why did it surround Novan so strongly? And Endric. What did it mean about those two men?
“Novan!” Alriyn called after him.
The historian turned, a hint of a smile on his face. “What is it, Eldest?”
Alriyn blinked. Now that Jostephon was deposed, he supposed that did make him the Eldest. He had never wanted to lead the Council of Elders, but if he did not, who would?
“How is it that you have such power?” Alriyn asked.
Novan leaned on his staff, and the lines of teralin seemed to
glow even more. The hint of a smile spread. “That, Eldest, is something for another time.” With that, Novan tapped his staff, the teralin flaring for a moment, energy swirling around it that was practically visible.
Alriyn chuckled to himself, wishing that Novan would be more forthcoming, but perhaps it was good there were still some secrets. Was there really any harm in him keeping that from him?
Alriyn watched as Novan returned to the palace. His posture was erect, though Alriyn saw him appear stooped on occasion. On this day, as he was standing more upright, Alriyn noted that he was tall compared to most men, though not tall for a Mage…
No, Alriyn shook his head. That couldn't be.
But as he watched Novan slip away, he wondered if it were possible. He did have power that surrounded him, and now that Alriyn could see it, he recognized it as power that resembled that of the Magi.
Perhaps Novan was right, perhaps that was a story for another time.
For now, Alriyn had to make plans. He had to come up with a way to coax the Magi from the city. They had to be those he trusted, and they had to be those who could not be swayed by the Deshmahne. And they would have to go with the Denraen. The Deshmahne needed to be stopped. The north must be understood. A Uniter must be chosen—even if he—or she—failed yet again.
As much as it pained him, Novan might be right in this. It might be time for the Magi to have a greater presence in the world. It meant conflict—and possibly fighting—but hiding in Vasha, keeping themselves withdrawn from the rest of the world, had not prevented that either.
Alriyn turned back to the railing, gripping it tightly. So much had changed, so much that he didn't understand, in spite of years spent studying and trying to learn their histories. It seemed almost as though he had wasted that time, that he didn't know nearly what he needed to help keep his people safe. But he would do what was required. He would find a way to restore the peace—the balance—that was necessary. And he would learn what happened to his niece.
The Lost Prophecy Boxset Page 93
