The Warrior Mage (The Lost Prophecy Book 2)

by D. K. Holmberg

  “We moved to Coamdon, where both my mother and father served the Urmahne,” she went on. “They were determined to have me apprenticed. I became ill when I was eleven. I was near death before a healer my father knew came to me. The healer knew more than either of my parents, and I am forever in his debt. I truly would have died were it not for his skill.”

  She sat a moment. “I spent some time learning from him before he moved on. Then, once I was better, my father sent me to the historian of the city.” She met her eyes. “I learned much from him, and soon my interests parted from those of my parents.” She sat back a moment and laughed. “Father and mother wanted me to become a priest.” She shook her head in amusement. “I left that to others.”

  She sat quietly for a long time until finally Roelle found herself asking, “What did you study?”

  “Novan is a historian,” she began in answer. “He knows much of recent history, but it is the times long past that truly interest him. It rubbed off on me,” she said.

  “If only he and Alriyn were on better terms,” Roelle said, “they could learn much from each other.”

  Lendra crinkled her nose. “Novan respects your uncle, but that’s where it ends, I think. I’m not certain anything more will happen easily.”

  The historian had sent Lendra with them, and Roelle had wondered how much she would help. “What did Novan know about the north?” Roelle asked.

  Lendra considered for long moments. “There’s not much that’s known,” she said with a sigh. “I think you know as much as I, perhaps more. Rumors, but that’s all. If the change in the north is what Novan thinks, then they are what are known as the unseen. Others called them smoke beasts.” Lendra explained. “They are the creatures that preceded the founding of the Magi.”

  “If what Novan said is true,” Roelle admitted. How could their founding be tied to such destruction? Were they not gifted by the gods? The Urmahne taught peace, not war.

  The longer she traveled, the more she wondered if what they had been taught was nothing more than a lie? Could the Deshmahne have it right? Was that what Endric wanted her to find?

  For some reason, the last thought haunted her most of all.

  Locken rode his brown mare north. Alayna galloped alongside him on a gray mare with more skill and grace than he could ever manage. They surveyed the Saeline border together, looking out over the river valley that separated Saeline from the western edge of Thealon.

  “Are we really going to do this?” she asked her father.

  “Go for a ride?” he asked.

  Alayna shot him an annoyed look. She had the same deep brown hair as her mother, and the same expression Theresa managed when she was upset with him. She was a lovely girl, and old enough that it was time to begin thinking about her marriage, though he dreaded that day. At least their tradition was to marry for affection. It was the reason his sister had chosen Terrence. It was the reason he himself had chosen Theresa.

  “There were more raider attacks while you were gone.”

  “That's what I hear. Lonn made certain to get the report as we neared.”

  “There was one that passed through here on its way to Thealon. They attacked on the edge of the valley.”

  Locken had heard that rumor. It was the same rumor that had claimed the warrior priests had been with the raiders. He found that less likely.

  “I've always felt more a part of Thealon than of Gomald,” Alayna said.

  Locken looked around, relieved that none of his men were with them. What would they think hearing their princess speak so bluntly? Alayna had always been close to his heart, and he would do anything to protect her.

  “Mother won't tell you this, but David has been sick while you’ve been gone. The healers haven't been able to help him.”

  “She told me. They think it's confusion from an infection. They are treating him with all the medicines they have. When the infection clears, they expect his mind to return.”

  “Do you know there are rumors of similar afflictions elsewhere?” Alayna asked.

  He hadn’t, and tried to hide his concern. “How do you know this?”

  “Trevor tells me. He fears this is more than just an infection. He doesn't tell Mother about his fears, but I overheard him speaking to Idle.”

  Locken sighed. “We have access to some of the finest healers in the world. We will do everything we can to help your brother.”

  “I know, Father.”

  “I won't be gone for long. Just for the next few weeks. Your mother and Trevor will rule in my stead.”

  Shifting her weight, she turned to him, her horse seeming to know intuitively what she wanted of it. “You really intend to do this? You really intend to attack as you say?”

  “Consider this a lesson, my dear. We are a regional rule, and we must follow what King Richard asks of us. We may not always agree, but he is our king.”

  “Even though it goes against everything you believe?”

  He had hoped that she didn't know how difficult this was for him. “You've been spending too much time talking to your mother.”

  “Not to Mother. This is what you've taught me.”

  “And what is that?”

  “That doing what is right and doing what is easy are not the same thing.”

  Locken's gaze drifted toward the valley, the space between Thealon and Saeline. The landscape blended together, a better match than the harsh change between Saeline and the rest of Gom Aaldia. He shared Alayna’s sentiment. Saeline was a better match for Thealon.

  He let his gaze drift farther to the east, and could almost feel the pull of the Tower of the Gods. It was there, distantly, almost chastising him for what he contemplated. Did they dare risk the peace the gods required? If he played a part in it, what did that mean for him?

  “Father?”

  Locken turned back to his daughter, meeting her eyes. “I think, I think perhaps I have taught you too well.”

  She offered a tight smile. “You know that your people will support you.”

  He nodded. It was the same thing Lonn had told him. He just hoped he did right by them.

  He turned his mare away from the valley, and Alayna followed. They rode back in silence. It was as if Alayna knew that he needed that silence to contemplate, and prepare.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Allay wondered what he was thinking. He knew he shouldn’t be following Michael Comity, but he wanted to know where the man was going, especially if he decided to say something to the Magi. He hadn’t decided what he wanted to say, only that he knew he needed to say something, especially now that he knew the Deshmahne had a presence in Vasha.

  Comity hurried through the streets, past the rows of houses near the outer edge of the first terrace, and made his way toward the sloped walls leading up to the second terrace, though Allay didn’t think there was any way he could reach it. Not from here, at least.

  Some of the buildings here appeared of newer construction, and he wondered if there had been damage to the city some time recently. He’d never experienced one, but he’d heard stories of earthquakes, and imagined the entire mountain shaking. How safe were they really this high on the mountain?

  Safer than many others. His gaze drifted briefly to the third terrace and to the massive palace on that level. Clouds hung low, like a fog hovering over the city, leaving a gray cast and a hint of rain. Since coming to Vasha, Allay had noticed that many days were the same. How did the Magi deal with the dreariness of these days? How could they tolerate this day in and day out? Did the sameness allow them the chance to focus on reaching the gods?

  Michael turned a corner, and Allay hurried forward, determined not to lose him. He’d left the tavern alone. Dougray and Danvayn had remained back at the tavern, sitting with Thomasen Comity. Allay should try to socialize, especially if he were somehow to work with them in the future, but it had become clear to him that most of the other delegates had already become entrenched in the Deshmahne mindset. The only one who hadn�
�t was Stohn, and the man had been distant and reserved.

  Rain began falling, dripping down his face.

  Allay wiped it away, and almost missed it as Michael circled around a pile of boulders near the cliff wall.

  What was he doing here on this terrace? Mendi had followed him other times, and he probably should leave this to her, but he worried that doing so would lead her into danger. It was bad enough that he knew how she used the Denraen for information on his behalf. He didn’t want her risking danger from Michael Comity as well, not given the way the man looked at her.

  Allay still tried to work out how he felt about Mendi. If there was a time to discuss the fact that he wanted something more—and to find out if she shared it—it was now, before they returned to Gomald. Perhaps they could even use the excuse of the Magi request of him as a way to remain together.

  Allay pushed the thoughts away. Those were for another time. For now, he needed to see where Michael went.

  Why did he come back here?

  Behind the boulders, shear rock rose up until it reached the second level and the Denraen barracks. From there, the rock sloped in, rising to the next level. There would be no way of climbing the rock—not without getting noticed. Allay couldn’t think of any other reason to come back here.

  Unless Michael had come to meet with someone.

  There was little doubt that Deshmahne were in the city. Mendi claimed to have seen the Denraen trying to clear them discreetly—and by that, Allay knew they were either killing them or forcing them from the city—but that didn’t mean there weren’t others. Was that who Michael had come to meet?

  He weaved around the pile of boulders, staying low as he did, not wanting to be seen.

  When he reached the other side of the rock, he stopped.

  An iron gate blocked an opening in the rock.

  Not iron, he realized. The metal looked something like iron, but was warm. Heat radiated off of it, and he could feel it from here. A warm breeze drifted from the mouth of the cave.

  The mines. That’s what Michael had found.

  Why would he have come here?

  Allay grabbed at the gate and pulled. The metal was almost painfully warm, and the gate opened easily.

  He shouldn’t follow Comity into the tunnel, but curiosity drove him forward. He wanted to know what Michael was after. More than that, he wanted to know what the Magi hid in the tunnels. Why had they closed the mines? He’d heard only rumors, and most of them had come from Mendi, and she hadn’t been able to find out any more for him.

  Maybe that was why Michael had come here as well. Had he heard the same rumors, and decided to learn what had caused the Magi to close the mines? Could he have heard more than what Mendi had discovered?

  Allay crept forward, entering the mine.

  Heat surrounded him as he did.

  The change was drastic, and his breath caught. Was this the reason the city always felt warmer than it should? When they’d ridden up the mountainside, taking the switchback road as it wound ever higher, Allay had felt a growing chill. The trees had changed the higher they climbed, and there were places where snow still clung to the mountain, even though it was early fall. Once they had reached the city, Allay had expected it to still be cold, but the city itself had a strange warmth. He’d never really understood why—and had assumed it was some Mage trick. Could it be because of the strange metal they mined here?

  Light filtered in from the tunnel entrance, but it was becoming darker the further in he went. Allay knew he wouldn’t be able to go much farther before having to turn back. Likely, Michael Comity had a lantern with him. Now that Allay knew how to find the tunnel, he could leave, and come back another time—with a lantern. There was no need for him to be here like this, no need for him to risk the darkness—and the unknown—of the tunnels.

  The light faded and Allay paused.

  Farther down the tunnel, he noted a soft glowing orange light.

  The ground sloped down, and he followed the distant light, moving carefully, listening for any noises he might encounter. There were none.

  The farther he went, the brighter the light became. The walls of the tunnel widened, and the top of the tunnel began to rise high over his head, high enough that he couldn’t reach it even if he were to jump. Why would the miners need such tall mines?

  Allay noted a flickering of shadows, and hesitated.

  This was a mistake. He should turn around, maybe find Mendi or even one of the Denraen, and let them know what he’d seen. He wasn’t responsible for chasing down the brother of some delegates.

  Then he heard voices.

  They were soft, a faint murmuring that carried to him, and he moved forward before he was fully aware of what he did. The tunnel he was in ended, and he realized that the lantern light he saw came from another mineshaft working perpendicular to the one he’d entered. Other lanterns lined the wall, each spaced evenly, all lit.

  For a mine that was supposed to be inactive, there seemed more activity than he would have expected here.

  Where had he heard the voices?

  Standing at the intersection, they could be coming from anywhere in the mines. With the way the tunnels were arranged, the sound carried, enough that he worried his footsteps would give away his presence.

  Allay glanced back up the tunnel he’d come down. The light marking the opening to the mine was there, but appeared like a faint circle of grayish light.

  The voices seemed to be coming from a single direction and Allay started toward them. The ground began to slope upward, and at one point, he found stairs that he climbed. He had the vague sense that he was heading toward the third terrace, and toward the Magi.

  Why was he doing this? What did he hope to discover?

  He had a nagging worry about needing to get out and go report what he’d found to the Denraen, but what would he say? That he’d discovered the empty mines, and that maybe Michael Comity had entered them? Would that even matter to them?

  Probably not. With the Deshmahne in the city, they had other things they would be more concerned about.

  He came upon another tunnel intersection and paused.

  This time, the voices continued down the tunnel ahead of him, but off the branching tunnel, he noted even brighter light.

  Why would it be so well lit there?

  Allay scanned the tunnels, looking for signs of anyone, but found nothing. Which way should he go? If he followed the sounds of the voices, he would have to explain why he’d come here. If he went toward the light, he might see why others were in the tunnel.

  He chose the light.

  It grew brighter and brighter as he neared.

  Allay moved slowly as he approached, but heard no other voices, nothing to indicate that the voices he’d heard followed him in this direction.

  The tunnel opened into a wide chamber. The roof rose high overhead, but that wasn’t what drew his attention. Rather, it was rows of shelves, all holding what appeared to be sculptures of some sort, and all seemed to be made of the same strange warm metal that the gate at the entrance to the mine had been made of. A wheeled cart in the middle of the room had more of the sculptures.

  Whatever was stored here, they were taking it out of the mines.

  Allay started toward the sculptures, thinking to examine them, when he heard voices again, this time on the far side of the room.

  Was there another entrance to the room, or had others been here the entire time?

  Allay ducked back as shadows appeared, darting back toward the entrance to the chamber, hiding there. As the shapes came into view, he noted one man with dark tattoos writhing around his exposed arms and up onto his neck.

  Deshmahne.

  What were they doing here?

  This he could share with the Denraen.

  Now he had to get out without getting caught. Staying here any longer would be dangerous. The voices moved toward him, and he hurried back along the tunnels, his heart hammering in his chest.

&nb
sp; As had found his way back toward the entrance, moving slowly, listening for voices behind him, they were silent. Rushing toward the gate, his heart didn’t slow until he was back in the open air of the city, and racing down the street.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The green plains below him were covered with tents. Far to his left, Richard could see Bastiin, its great walls easily visible even here, and beyond that the blue of the sea. The tents were arranged in orderly rows. Neatly. Perfectly, as his army should be. Richard expected nothing short of excellence from his troops.

  The tents were small, only large enough to cover one man as he slept, but Richard gave a tent to each soldier as a sign of the importance he placed on his army. There were four separate camps, though there should be five, and each seemed to be running smoothly. He knew who commanded each of the four camps, and knew who to call when it was time to move. Each was headed by one of the lower kings, all but the fourth. The fourth were the elite warriors, the Aaldian Dragons. That he commanded. At least in name.

  It had been a week they had waited. A week, and still no sign of Locken. He should have heard some word from the commander, at least from the scouts he had sent forth. So far, none had come back. He worried what it meant.

  He worried about his throne. Theodror had died too suddenly.

  And of what?

  An attack. Rebellion. Richard could hardly believe it, but Raime had sources that told him what had happened.

  Theodror’s death left Allay as next in line.

  If I get him back from those bedamned Mages! The throne must be protected.

  A huge canvas tent had been prepared for him. It stood taller and larger than all the others. He walked to it. The two guards standing to each side of the door, each garbed in the distinctive armor of the Aaldian Dragons, saluted him as he passed. Neither bothered to look at him otherwise. It was as it should be. They trained to see attackers, not their king.

  Inside, a fire blazed high, casting flickering shadows around the tent. The air was filled with the heavy smoke of the burning hickory as it rose toward the great opening in the roof. To one side, he saw a table with a large map spread across. It was, or had been, his planning map. Raime used it now, and stood leaning over it as Richard entered.