The Warrior Mage (The Lost Prophecy Book 2)

by D. K. Holmberg

  “Forgive me for forgetting how you get to spend time with the Magi, the hands of the gods. How tortured you are.” She cupped her tea to her nose and inhaled, hiding a smile.

  Allay grinned and took another swig of his ale. “I never said I was tortured. But you know, it's good you understand the sacrifices I'm making.”

  She nearly spit out her drink. “You should know there are rumors coming from the south. From Gom Aaldia and Gomald itself. “

  “What rumors from Gomald?”

  “I've heard your father has men mobilized.”

  Allay shrugged. “That could mean many different things. That doesn't necessarily mean they're readying for war.”

  “No, it doesn't. But it's troubling to me that they're moving to Bastiin.”

  That was Robden's land. Now he understood her concern. It was farther north of Gomald, and would require Robden to take a pivotal role in supplying and maintaining any men. It wasn't that Robden would be unwilling—he knew Robden to be an honorable man and if his father requested and required something of him, Robden would comply—it was more about what it meant for the rest of Gom Aaldia. Bringing troops to the north, to Bastiin, meant that what Mendi had heard was likely more than rumor.

  “How did you hear these rumors?”

  She took a sip of her tea. A hint of a smile played across her face, making her more lovely. A slight flush crept up her cheeks. “There's a slave network. Don't you know that?”

  Allay should know better than to pressure Mendi. “Fine. But if my father is moving troops, it won't be long before he demands I return.”

  “I suspect he’ll already be angry that you're gone.”

  She was likely right. Allay’s responsibility was to his nation, but if there was an attack, he would be expected to be present, able to serve.

  The door to the tavern opened and a couple of Denraen came in. Mendi flushed again. Allay wondered at that, what would give his friend such a reaction.

  She finished her tea hurriedly and nodded toward the door.

  “I think I'd like to see another part of the city.”

  Allay glanced at the Denraen before turning his attention back to Mendi. “Is that how you're finding out your information?”

  Her face clouded. “Not in the way that your mind has jumped to, Allay Lansington.”

  “I don't know where my mind has been jumping to.” He leaned forward lowering his voice. “The Denraen appear and all of a sudden you want us to leave. Seems to me there's a connection, that’s all. I… I just want you to be careful.”

  “Is that all?”

  Allay met her gaze, wishing he could tell her what she wanted to hear, what he wanted to tell her.

  When he didn’t, Mendi shrugged. “It's not nearly as exciting as you would like to believe.

  “No? Then what is it?”

  Before she could answer, the door to the tavern opened again, and two men he recognized entered. One was another of the delegates, a man named Tresh Longtree, the delegate out of Rondalin. Allay barely knew him. He rarely spoke to others, and he seemed almost disinterested in what the Magi had to teach. The other man with him was Thomasen Comity's brother. Why would they come together to a tavern?

  The Magi wanted the delegates to become friendlier, not necessarily the delegates’ servants—or brothers.

  Mendi lowered her head. Tresh noticed him and started toward his table. He nodded politely and made his way to pass the table without saying anything. The other man had a wide grin plastered across his face. He turned his gaze to Mendi, staring at her.

  Not staring, Allay realized. Leering.

  “I didn't know the Gom Aaldian prince socialized with his slave.”

  Allay stood and crossed his arms, blocking the man from Mendi. Something had happened between these two, and she hadn't shared it with him.

  “I'm afraid we haven't formally met. I am Allay—”

  The man brushed him off. “I know who you are.”

  “I'm afraid I don't have the same honor.”

  The man’s lip curled up into a sneer. “There is no honor in Gom Aaldia.”

  With that, he pushed past Allay, making no effort to hide his disdain.

  Were they in Gom Aaldia, such an insult would end with a man dead. The same freedoms that allowed him to sit openly in a tavern drinking ale with Mendi, allowed a man like that to insult him and simply walk away.

  Mendi grabbed his arm, pulling him back down. “It's not worth it.”

  “Worth what?”

  “I see the way you're looking at him. It's not worth it. He's not worth it.”

  She took another sip of her tea and stood, waiting for him to follow.

  As Allay stood, he turned his attention back to the man, watching how he sat with Tresh Longtree, both speaking softly to each other. As they walked out the door, the man looked up, watching Allay. The same hint of a smile remained on his face.

  Mendi grabbed his arm and pulled him from the tavern. Allay didn't take his attention off that man until the door closed behind him.

  Richard walked the halls of the castle, and his eyes searched the shadows, looking for evidence of Raime, but he saw no sign of the man. He had learned that Raime could hide, disappearing into the shadows. It made him uncomfortable, especially when he met with other people. He never knew if he was being observed or whether he was alone.

  The halls were emptier than they should be. Was that Raime’s doing as well?

  He didn't know, much as he no longer knew how tightly his control remained over the rule of the city.

  At least he knew the decision to attack Thealon was his. Once he did that, once he claimed the Tower, he would have no more need for Raime's advice. Then, he could marginalize his advisor.

  Richard stopped at the end of the hall. Was that footsteps that followed him?

  The longer he listened, the more convinced he became that someone followed him.

  Richard turned his attention back to his search and made his way along the hall, his feet clattering off the stone. Two Deathguard, ostensibly keeping him safe, followed a step behind.

  Richard stopped at a room. Inside, he saw Theodror speaking with someone, but the person was just out of sight behind the door. He considered going inside, but his son didn't need his involvement. He was first in line to the throne and had proven himself to be both a competent leader and devoted son.

  Not like Allay.

  No… Allay had proven to be something different. His son had abandoned Gom Aaldia, leaving with the Magi on some mission, leaving their people. When he saw Allay the next time… he would have something to say to him.

  When Theodror moved toward the fireplace, his visitor followed, and Richard could now see that he met with Raime.

  His breath caught. Why would Raime meet with Theodror? Maybe sensing his father’s presence, Theodror looked toward the door.

  Richard froze in the doorway, the strange crawling sensation drifting in the back of his mind.

  Go in. You still are the king.

  “Theodror. Have you heard anything from your brother?”

  That wasn't why he had come, but seeing Theodror and Raime together, he felt almost compelled to say something.

  Theodror thinks to undermine you. That's why he's meeting with Raime.

  “Father. I was just discussing your plans for the attack. As I was telling Raime, I think it would behoove us to take a little more time to plan.”

  Did Theodror think to disrupt his rule? Was he now questioning his authority?

  “You didn't answer the question,” Richard thundered.

  Theodror took a step back. He looked from Richard to Raime, as if searching for answers.

  Richard was unwilling to satisfy him. No, his son needed to obey, not question.

  “That wasn't my intent, father. I thought that I would only offer my suggestion. As heir—”

  “Heir? You think of what you will inherit? Is that why you challenge me?”

  Theodore shook his
head. “Father, I—”

  Dismiss him. He needs to know that you still rule.

  “Go. I need to speak with Raime.”

  Theodror glanced from Richard to Raime and then nodded. “I will go. It's time for my visit with the priests anyway.”

  When Theodror left, Richard turned to Raime. The damned man still had his hood pulled up over his head, obscuring his eyes. Why would he not reveal his face? Had he ever seen his face?

  Of course you have. You would never have trusted a man unwilling to show himself. Now you're just second-guessing everything.

  That must be it. It was bad enough that he felt like he was losing control of the city, now he was losing control of his son. It was enough to make him question every decision he made.

  “Your son seeks the solace of the gods.”

  Richard glanced toward the doorway and waved his hand. “My boys have always been as devout as their mother.”

  “And you?” Raime asked. “Do you share their devotion?”

  His mind raced. He was no longer able to share anything with his wife, not since she'd been taken from him. The gods were to blame for that. And now they had taken his second child, the Magi claiming Allay.

  No, his devotion was not the same as his sons’.

  “Why are you here now, Raime? Do you think to tell me of more executions?”

  Richard imagined he saw him smile beneath the hood. It had to be imagined, much as he imagined the flashes of red in Raime's eyes. His mind grew foggy, as it often seemed to when he was around the man.

  “The people appreciate a strong rule. They appreciate the fact that you have made the city safer. Much as you will make your nation safer when you destroy the threat of Thealon.”

  Threat?

  Yes. Thealon is a threat to our beliefs. The Magi are a threat to our way of life. We need to claim the Tower to claim the strength the gods expect of us.

  “Good. I trust you will continue making the decisions necessary to show the people the strength of our rule.”

  Our rule? No… He hadn't meant to say that at all. It was his rule.

  He could almost hear Raime laughing. “There are some who still question. Some who think to challenge the authority of the King. I am certain you will deal with them appropriately,” Raime said.

  Richard nodded. Of course he would deal with those who challenged his rule. Why would Raime even bring that up?

  He sighed and waved Raime away. “Leave me. I need to rest.”

  “Of course, my lord. You rest, I will take care of the issues in the city.”

  Raime left him, and Richard settled into a chair in front of the fire, feeling exhausted. It was always that way when he met with Raime. Or maybe… maybe something was wrong with him, much as it had been with his beloved Julianne.

  As his eyes drifted closed, he swore he heard laughter once more, but it was faint and in a distant part of his mind.

  Locken pushed open the door to Saeline Castle. It had been his home since he was a child, a place that he now protected, a place that had served the people of Saeline for generations. There was always a sort of warmth within the castle, one that carried with it the familiar humidity of the air, none of the salt air that Gomald possessed, but a heavy humidity, making even the lightest of clothing uncomfortable. Despite that, Locken loved the castle. It was home.

  The journey back to Saeline had been uneventful other than his troubled thoughts. He could not stop thinking about what he’d witnessed in the square, as well as other stories Terrence had told of similar events taking place on the order of their king. This was the man he was pledged to support. This was a war he was pledged to join. He was not certain he could serve the king, much less be a part of such an overt action against the peace any more.

  Lonn joined him as he made his way down the hall. Neither man spoke much; there wasn't much more to say. They needed to speak to his council who had ruled in his stead. Theresa had remained in control of the castle for him.

  “The council should be gathered by now,” Lonn said as they approached the meeting hall.

  “Theresa sent word as well.”

  “I hope you'll forgive me, but I did send ahead Richard’s request so that the council could begin considering preparations.”

  Locken said nothing, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead of him. He still didn't know how to react to the request. Richard needed him to gather his men. He could summon some twenty thousand soldiers from Saeline. It was more than any other region but Robden’s could muster.

  Theirs was the largest land holding, the most populous, other than the capital of Gomald, and the capital consisted mostly of merchants and traders, men and women who were not fit for military duty. Locken's men, on the other hand, had all served in his army at some point, many having trained with the Denraen as well. Now they served to protect his realm, but it was their training and experience holding and using a sword that gave them their advantage. That, as much as anything, was what Richard wanted.

  Theresa sat on the great throne of the Saeline meeting hall, looking as lovely as ever, her chestnut hair pulled into an elegant bun; her exquisite face carrying a worrisome expression. She understood the dilemma he faced.

  He'd sent an encrypted note ahead to her, warning of what his sister and Terrence had shown him. Their daughter, Alayna, sat in a chair to her mother's right, looking much like her mother.

  The councilors were all seated at the table.

  Two were Teachers, men descended from the Magi, neither born with the Mage abilities but still connected to them. Trevor was the older of the two, a man with thinning gray hair and a sharply sloped forehead, with a long hooked nose. His back was stooped from his years, and he wore thick glasses that rested near the end of his nose. A large sheet of parchment was spread out in front of him. Despite appearances, Trevor was one of the sharpest minds Locken had. The second Teacher, Idle was also descended from the Magi. They had long served in Saeline, and had long provided him counsel. They were as much a part of his family as Lonn.

  Then there was Gresham. He was a retired general, the man who had preceded Lonn. The man had served Saeline well, and Locken had made certain to keep him on his council. He had served Locken's father as well before his untimely death.

  “Where is David?” He didn't see his son present in the council room. He was young, no more than eleven, but he needed to be included. It was the way his father had taught him, the way they had taught Alayna, and now Locken would teach his son the same.

  “He is… not feeling well.”

  Locken frown. “Stomach?”

  She shook her head but didn't offer any further answer.

  Locken took his seat next to his wife, reached for her hand, and gave it a firm squeeze. Were they not in front of the council, he would throw his arms around her and pull her close to him. He had been too long away from his wife, and missed the softness of her embrace, but he missed her company as well. “Thank you for gathering so quickly.”

  Trevor leaned forward and pushed the glasses up on his nose. “Is it true? Does Richard intend to attack Thealon? Decades of peace and he wants to abandon it on a whim?”

  Locken met each person’s eyes. He held his wife’s gaze the longest before turning to Alayna, then Trevor and Idle, and Gresham. He sighed. “We have been asked to gather our troops. We are to meet in Bastiin. Robden will be supporting the offensive.”

  “Bastiin? That is to the south. Then he wants you to march north?” Trevor asked.

  Locken nodded.

  “Does he not hear the same rumors we hear out of the far north?” Idle asked.

  “What rumors are those?”

  “Rumors of desertion in the north. Mining villages abandoned. My reports from the Denraen tell me they patrol the north now, but there is little they can do.”

  Locken pinched his chin, trying to think about what Richard had said. There was something about Thealon and a distraction. Did Richard know something?

  “Between the
se rumors and Richard making a point of letting me know that he grew weary of my delays, I doubt we can hold out for too long. We can make our preparations, and we can hope he changes his mind—”

  “Which he has in the past,” Gresham reminded.

  Locken nodded. Richard had changed his mind in the past about similar attacks, but then he’d been advised by the Magi. His current advisor didn't seem as interested in maintaining peace as the Magi would have been.

  “We can take our time, gather our men, but ultimately, we will need to make our way toward Bastiin.” He turned to Lonn and then to Gresham. “I will need your help determining how many men we will send.”

  Trevor leaned forward. “You don't intend to send all available troops?”

  Locken sighed. That hadn't been the request. But it would be his decision alone to determine how many he was willing to part with, and how many he would leave behind protect Saeline. If there was anything coming from the north, whatever Trevor and Idle had heard of, whatever the Denraen protected and patrolled for, he didn't want to leave his people unprotected. His gut told him to worry about something he might be missing, and he’d learned to trust it over the years.

  “Perhaps we take half of the available troops,” Lonn suggested.

  “Which half?” Gresham asked.

  Locken glanced at them. “I will leave it to the two of you to determine how to split our men. Let's plan our preparations, but we will not leave Saeline unprotected.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Everything was quiet. They traveled more easterly now, having reached the start of the lower hills. No one wanted to speak, and it seemed fitting to remain silent, the quiet suiting the mood they found in the north.

  They had passed one other village, that one empty as well. There had been no further Deshmahne attacks, or even sign of the Deshmahne. Multiple empty villages, but no villagers found traveling the roads, and no attackers. That seemed a disconnect, one that worried her. What else might they be missing?