The Warrior Mage (The Lost Prophecy Book 2)

by D. K. Holmberg

  It had been nearly a month since they’d begun their mission. Still they had no sign of the Antrilii. She had a growing sense from the rest of the Magi that they wanted nothing more than to find the Antrilii so they could turn around and return to their city. It was a feeling that Roelle shared.

  They had seen enough and fought enough. Only… they still didn't know what had happened here. It bothered her as much as why Endric had sent them to find the Antrilii, as much as why Alriyn had returned from the north without answers.

  Unless she was not meant to find them. Could the Antrilii be key to understanding it all?

  What did they know? What had happened to these people?

  They followed a narrow road, one that wound up and over the hills. Roelle rode exclusively now, never walking. This far north, the days were longer, and though they were tired, and she had a growing fear that she might need all the energy she could muster, they pressed onward, each day traveling well past sunset.

  The Magi stayed in their daecka as they rode. They managed to maintain their positions, holding on to the training Roelle, Hester, and the other Denraen soldiers had provided. She suspected that came from the traditional Magi training, that which taught focus so they could access their abilities, making them better equipped to maintain the focus necessary to hold these positions. Maybe Endric had expected that as well.

  Topping a rise, Roelle saw movement on the road up ahead.

  She tensed and glanced over to Selton. “Do you see that?”

  Selton stared into the distance, studying the road before nodding slowly. “If you mean the family in the distance, then I see them.”

  Roelle hadn't considered that it might be a family. Not Deshmahne then. That was what she’d feared when she first saw them. She saw at least three people, but as they continued to draw closer, she noted more than three. This was the first time they had encountered anyone else along the road since coming upon the first village where they freed the villagers from the Deshmahne.

  She spurred her horse, with Selton following, wanting a closer view of these people. She now counted five. Her hand went to the hilt of her sword, and she hated that it did, but she could not take any chances. They came from the north, after all.

  As they approached, Selton raised his hand in a traditional Urmahne greeting.

  Two children, probably not older than ten, traveled with a woman and an elderly couple. All wore dirty clothing, tattered, and patched in places. The children carried small packs on their backs, while the woman pulled a cart piled with clothes. The elderly couple seemed to struggle to just remain standing.

  The children flicked their gaze from Roelle to her sword and then to the water pouch at her side. She noted their dry lips, cracked and wind burned, and the way their eyes appeared hollow and sunken. She pulled the water skin off her shoulder and tossed it to the children. They opened it and drank quickly, passing it back and forth as they did, careful not to spill even a drop.

  Selton did the same, handing his pouch to the woman, who drank her fill before handing it to the elderly couple.

  When all were finished, they handed the water skins back to Roelle and Selton, and Selton slung his back over his shoulder. Roelle noted that hers was not empty.

  “May the gods bless your travels,” Selton said.

  The woman looked up, meeting his face, and a flicker of emotion crossed her face. Was it anger? Was it something else?

  “The gods?” she asked. “There are no gods.”

  “Marna!” chided the elder woman.

  “Would the gods have allowed Juslin and Danik to be taken from us in such a way?” she asked, heat rising in her words.

  The children stared at the ground as she spoke, and she corralled them to her, whispering quiet words to them. The elderly pair looked up at the Magi, but said nothing else.

  “What happened?” Roelle asked.

  The woman turned her attention back to them, sighing softly. “You have been generous with your water, but I fear that is all you can provide for us.”

  “What happened?” Roelle asked again. “We’re Magi searching for answers. We offer what help we can give.”

  Marna considered them before pushing the children toward the elderly couple and stepping forward, lowering her voice. “They do not need to relive it,” she explained. “Magi, I don't know how to answer your question. Juslin, my husband, was with our son in the field. It was mealtime, the same time I call them in from the field every day. It's harvest, you see…”

  She looked off in the distance, tears welling up in her eyes. The haunted look Roelle had seen on the faces of the children, she now saw on their mother’s face as well. Whatever had happened here had been terrible.

  “Did soldiers attack?” Selton asked.

  Roelle suspected that was probably the easiest way to explain the Deshmahne. How else to describe warrior priests to someone who may not have ever seen them.

  The woman shook her head. “Not soldiers. I… I don't know what it was. There was a horrible stench that arose around us like a fog. I've never sensed anything like it before. I hollered to them, calling them in, and…” She paused, seeming to relive it in her mind’s eye. “Juslin and Danik were coming back to the house. Juslin was holding his nose, clutching it, then suddenly blood erupted.”

  Roelle blinked. “Blood erupted from his nose?”

  The woman nodded. “Not his nose. I can’t explain what happened. Both of them were there one moment, and the next, there was nothing left of them but blood. Through it all, there was the horrible smell, and a trail of dust like a fog.” She glanced back to the children. “I took the two younger ones with me and hid. We found my parents. There were strange sounds. Horrible screams. We didn't see anything… there was nothing. Nothing but the smell.”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she hurried to wipe it away, as if trying to hide her tears from the children.

  “Was it some sort of animal attack?” Selton asked.

  “Not any animal I've ever seen. We've lived in Drestin for nearly twenty years. We've dealt with wolves and we've dealt with fox and we've dealt with thearn, but we’ve never known anything like this. No animal attacks like what happened there. When we came out, there wasn't anything left but their bodies. There was a stench, something almost too much to bear. I threw up twice while burying them, but I forced myself through it.”

  “Why?” Selton asked.

  The woman looked up at them, seeming to see their height, then their features, for the first time. She made a small gesture of the Urmahne. “I did it because I didn't want to anger the gods any further.”

  Roelle looked over to Selton and knew that they couldn't leave these five alone, not after what they’d been through.

  Roelle turned toward the woman, “If you would like, you can travel with us a while. We could provide some protection.”

  The woman looked at her children, then to the older couple. “Where are you traveling?”

  Roelle nodded toward the northern mountains. “North. We seek the Antrilii.”

  The woman’s eyes widened as she turned back toward where they’d come from. “That way is death. No one's going north anymore. Haven't you heard?”

  “We—”

  The woman shook her head. “No, we’re heading south, toward Rondalin, maybe to Thealon if we can make it that far. There will be safety there. That's what everyone we've met tells us. But if you’re determined to find the Antrilii, you’ll find them in the north.”

  Roelle and Selton exchanged glances. She opened her mouth to say something to the woman, but Selton cut her off.

  “How many others have you met on the road?” Selton asked.

  “Not many others. We don't move very quickly. With my parents, and the children, we can only go so fast as their legs take them. We will reach Rondalin, but…”

  “Take two of our horses,” Roelle said.

  They couldn't afford to give up two of the horses, but she didn't feel right leaving
these five wandering by themselves. “The two children can ride with you. The horse will be able to handle that burden. And the other couple can ride together. That will get you to Rondalin faster.”

  The woman didn't seem to know what to say. Roelle motioned toward the line, making a hand gesture. Three riders broke off from the rest of the caravan. When they appeared, Roelle told them what she intended. Two Magi quickly dismounted, handing the reins over to the woman.

  “We can provide some food as well.”

  “Why? Why would you do this?”

  “Because the gods want us to protect you,” Selton said.

  Tears streamed from the woman's eyes. She took the horses, helped her children and her parents climb onto their backs, and accepted the offered food. As they rode slowly away, heading east and south, Roelle wondered if they sacrificed too much allowing the woman to take two horses.

  “Do you think we did the right thing?” she asked Selton.

  Selton nodded. “If nothing else, we helped her find her faith again. Is that not worth it?”

  Roelle glanced back, thinking that perhaps Selton was right. Helping the mother find her face once more was worth the sacrifice.

  If only Roelle could know what it was she was meant to do.

  “What she described…” she started.

  Selton nodded. “That sounds nothing like what we’ve faced.”

  That was what she thought as well. The Deshmahne were men, and could be seen. What had this woman described? “Some of it sounds like what my uncle was describing.”

  “Yes. I fear we won't find the Antrilii fast enough.”

  Roelle sighed. She agreed with Selton. They needed to find the Antrilii, and soon, so that they could return to Vasha. Once they did, she suspected they would need to help the Denraen with the Deshmahne attack. After what they’d experienced, she doubted the others would challenge that.

  They rejoined the procession and continued their journey north, leaving behind the only people they had seen along the way. Roelle felt unsettled, and knew she was not alone in that sensation. The others with her shared it, and no one needed to speak, as the silence that stretched around them said all they needed.

  Allay was bored. It had now been three weeks since he'd come to the city. Each day had passed much like the one before. Each day spent sitting in classrooms. He discovered the Magi apprentices also spent their days much in the same way. It should have comforted him, but instead, it only annoyed him. Worse, Mendi seemed to be spending her days wandering the city, exploring it much more thoroughly than he had been given the opportunity to do. He wished he had the chance to see what she was seeing. For that matter, he wished he had the chance to see her.

  He sat near the back of the room. They were given wooden desks and instructed to sit while one of the Magi, today a man by the name of Rendrem, lectured to them. Today was another history lesson, detailing previous wars. He wasn't surprised to discover that they'd chosen to focus on the Slavers’ War. It wasn't Gom Aaldia's finest hour.

  “I bet you didn't get a lecture from this perspective back home,” Dougray said, nudging him from across the aisle.

  Allay avoided looking over at him. Dougray meant well, but there was an edge to him.

  Danvayn chuckled softly at the comment. Allay had seen the two of them sneaking off one evening and followed them. He wondered if the Magi had anticipated the delegates connecting in the way that Dougray and Danvayn had. Probably not, he suspected.

  “What did the gods say about this war?” a voice asked from the front of the room.

  Allay didn't have to look to know that it came from Tresh Longtree. The man had a nasally voice that matched his soft, pudgy body.

  Allay still hadn't discovered whether he was some sort of royalty within his own city. He knew little about the ruling of Rondalin. There was a king, but other than that, Allay didn't know. What did the king really rule, given the fact that Rondalin was essentially a city-state?

  “The gods demand peace from all of us.” The Magi stopped in the center of the room and swung his gaze over the class. He had dark eyes, almost a gray black, with dark hair to match. Many of the Magi instructors had been welcoming, almost warm, but this man had seemed put out by the fact that they were here. Allay refused to let it bother him, mostly because he still didn’t know why they were here either.

  “If they demand peace, then why do the Magi stand by and do nothing about the Deshmahne threat?”

  All eyes swung toward Stohn. He sat almost alone, in a row by himself, dressed the same as the last time Allay had seen him. His back was straight, his arms crossed over his chest. He stood as though he wanted to intimidate the Mage.

  “Do not presume to know what the Magi intend.”

  “It seems the Denraen are the only ones who prepare. They have grown in power over but the Magi have done nothing, not as they once would have. Is this gathering of delegates your attempt to curtail the threat of the Deshmahne?” Stohn asked.

  Allay suppressed a smile. He couldn't believe Stohn pressured one of the Magi, especially this one who had seemed so dour and irritable. It was amusing that he would, but he worried doing so would only antagonize him.

  “The Denraen are the keepers of the peace. That is the purpose the gods have given them. The gods have given the Magi another purpose.” The hard glare in the Mage's eyes dared Stohn to question him again. “You will be tasked with working with the Magi. That is what you agreed to prior to your selection. If you have changed your mind…”

  Stohn fell silent, simply meeting the Mage’s gaze.

  “If that is all, I think we are finished for the day.”

  The Mage turned and strode from the room, not giving anyone else a chance to ask additional questions.

  Allay stood, and the others with him did as well.

  “That was… interesting,” Dougray said.

  Danvayn nodded. “Interesting? The fool almost had the Mage snapping at him.”

  “Don't you think it's a valid question?” Allay asked.

  The two of them shook their heads. “It's not like that. You don't understand the Deshmahne. They may be different from the Magi, and the Urmahne, but that doesn't mean they’re worse.” Dougray leaned against the desk, half smile on his face. “You haven't had much experience with them in Gom Aaldia, but trust me, they speak sense. When the warrior priests come…”

  Allay could only nod. He didn't expect he would convince them otherwise. Worse, though, was that he didn't know whether there was anything to worry about with the Deshmahne.

  What was there to fear from the warrior priests? They had come to Gom Aaldia, but they hadn't spent much time there. They were simply an alternative at this point to the Urmahne. But would that change? Would there come a time when they were a threat?

  The delegates started filing out of the room, and he noted that Tresh Longtree and Thomasen Comity went out together, speaking softly. Dougray and Danvayn went out together as well. The few others filed out, and Allay waited, lagging behind and waiting for Stohn.

  When the others had departed, he approached Stohn who still stood in the back of the room. “Have the Deshmahne not come to El’arash?”

  Stohn smiled tightly. “Prince Lansington. It is good to speak with you off the wall.”

  “Have you returned to watching the Denraen?”

  “I watch them daily. They fascinate me.” He turned and picked up a notebook off his desk and tucked it inside the pocket of his jacket. “As to your question, my people remain faithful to the Urmahne. The warrior priests have attempted to convert us, but they have failed.”

  “It seems they’ve not failed in many places.”

  Stohn dipped his head to the side. “They have not. Much of the south has converted. They have… changed.” His jaw clenched almost angrily. “And Gom Aaldia? Do they remain faithful?”

  “For now. We’re near enough to Thealon and the Tower of the Gods that it's easy to remember to honor them.”

  “T
hese others think to honor them as well. They just happened to do so in a different manner.”

  “You seem to know quite a bit about them.”

  Stohn started out of the room and Allay kept up. “Not by choice. They came to El’arash, but we remain faithful. The Magi know this. That is why they came for us. That is why the Denraen had a Choosing.”

  “I'm not sure how the Magi selected their delegates, but it doesn't seem to be based on who has the most faith.”

  Stohn’s brow furrowed. “No. Perhaps you are right. It does not seem to be how they were selected. It is… troubling.”

  “What do you think they intend for us to do. They teach us about politics and geography, but nothing that will be any more useful than the positions we already possess within our nations.” And nothing more than he could have learned in Gomald.

  “It seems they would have us provide influence. Though the Magi have never lost influence in El’arash.”

  Allay grunted softly. “There had been a time when a Mage served as an advisor to our king, but it’s been many years.” Mostly because he exiled the last Mage.

  “The Magi once advised all nations,” Stohn said.

  Allay nodded. “And now my father has gained a different kind of advisor.”

  “You do not care for this man?”

  Allay shrugged. “I'm not sure that it matters whether I care for him or not. He is who he is.”

  “Does he serve the Urmahne?”

  Allay thought about what he knew of his father's new advisor, Raime. The man had appeared from nowhere and quickly gained support from his father. That alone was unusual, particularly for his father, a man who prided himself on keeping his own counsel. What did it mean that he now took on outside counsel, and a man who did not appear to have come from within the borders of Gomald?

  “I don't know what he believes.”

  “And does that not trouble you?”

  “It doesn't matter to me. My father is the king, not I.”

  “Do you not care for your people?”

  Allay was taken aback. “I care.”

  “Then you should care who advises your father.”