Off to the other side, he could see another table, empty, and surrounded by three men in chairs. He sighed as he neared. There should be four sitting.
As he approached, the lesser kings rose quickly. Each gave a hurried bow. Richard nodded to his advisor. Raime wore his all too familiar black cloak, the painfully familiar etching along the collar. The man did not nod back. It had been that way for several days.
Richard looked each king in the eyes before taking his seat. There was something different about the way they looked at him now. He couldn’t quite place what it was, but was sure he didn’t like it.
“It has been a week,” he began. The three kings nodded. “One week and nothing of Locken. We can wait no longer.”
“My lord,” Robden began. He was the only man with a full head of gray hair, and always strove to be the voice of reason. Once again, it seemed he would not disappoint. “Locken has the longest journey to make, all the way from Saeline.”
One of the other kings nodded, but Richard threw a glare his way and he stopped.
Robden went on, ignorant. Or ignoring. He briefly wondered which.
“He even needs to travel around Lake Gomald. It is a week’s journey itself!”
Richard paused. What Robden said rang true. It could be simply that the journey was a long one, and that he had been delayed along the way.
He sensed a light brushing along his ear, and then it felt as if something grabbed at his head and tore into his mind.
Richard wanted to scream but couldn’t, frozen in place. His muscles would not respond, and his body seemed to betray him. He now knew that Raime did something to his mind, but didn’t know what he could do to stop the pain.
As suddenly as it came on, it left.
“There will be no reprieve for Locken.” It was a whispered command, almost a voice in his mind.
Had the other kings seen or suspected anything?
Looking at them, the three stared at him expectedly.
“No. Locken has had ample time to make an appearance,” Richard said.
Robden opened his mouth but seemed to catch himself.
“Ample time. If he has been delayed, there has been time to send a messenger ahead. We have heard nothing.” He turned a hard gaze on each of the kings. Each turned away as he stared. “We will depart the day after next. Have your troops make the necessary preparations.” Jeslen and Paylig nodded. Robden was slower with his response, but finally it came. “We will head north and east around Lake Gomald, toward Saeline. We will find what keeps Locken. He will answer.”
Jeslen smiled. It was comforting to know he had an ally there, though they should all be allies. Paylig always went with the strength; he would follow Richard. Robden… Robden’s allegiance was to the throne. The man respected the authority and tradition of the High King.
“If we see Locken or his men along the way, we will consider them our enemy,” he added.
Robden shook his head almost angrily. “We should give the man a chance to explain. He has done nothing before this to warrant such action.”
“Silence!” Richard roared, his deep voice filling the tent. He would not have his authority questioned. The volume of his voice surprised even him.
It had the desired effect, though. Robden stepped back, eyes turning down in fear. Perhaps they would all remember to fear him again.
“My lord,” Robden whispered quietly.
Richard let the silence build. It hung heavy in the air. Thick. Almost palpable. “We will leave the morning after next. Ready your men,” he reiterated. A wave of his hand, and the kings were kneeling quickly before they hurried toward the door to the tent.
Turning to Raime, he wished for time to himself. Raime was some sort of wizard—nothing like a Mage—and wielded too great a power. He knew the little tricks Raime played on mind were just a taste of that power, and Richard had no idea how to fight against it. Worse, he feared how to stop him from whatever he planned.
Raime stepped closer. The sweet stench Richard had always smelled on him from the first time they’d met no longer was evident. He wasn’t sure what that meant.
“Very good, my lord. It is good to have your men fear you.” His voice seemed to echo, and a strange accent played with the words, making them hard to understand at times.
Richard imagined Raime smiling at him. He couldn’t see it, though. He had never seen his face.
“We will move into Thealon once we move past Locken. It will be an easy battle.” Raime said.
“War is never easy.” Raime laughed in reply. Richard no longer expected anything else. “I worry what message Locken sends me.”
The hood of Raime’s cloak shook in response. “His absence? It means what it seems.”
Richard waited. Raime’s answer would come.
“Treason.” The word hung in the air. Seeming to float around him, pulling him in with twisted arms before spinning him away. “No matter, though.” An arm waved in the air dismissively. “Thealon will be an easy target. The attacks in the north grow worse. Thealon knows it must protect its northern border and its precious people. While they move north, the west grows weak. We attack at the flank. When our other allies join us…”
“Allies?”
“I have taken the liberty to arrange an allegiance with the Deshmahne. They are more than eager to gain a foothold in the north. They will be valuable against Thealon as we claim the Tower and demonstrate your strength to the gods.”
It made sense. Raime’s wisdom always seemed to make sense. That worried him at times. “It will still not be easy. The Ur are formidable. They have thwarted us in the past.”
A dark, full-throated laughter seemed to rumble up from Raime’s chest. “It will be easy. I have assurances that we will find less resistance than you think.”
“Assurances? What sort of assurances? You think you can wait to tell me these things?” Richard grew angry. He tried to soothe himself. He knew it was not wise to show anger at Raime.
“Do not worry about them now.” The words were a command. “Your worry is with your people, your kings.” He spoke the title mockingly. “Robden must be watched. He has a soft spot for Locken.”
Richard knew the man too well and knew what Raime could not. “He will not challenge me. He respects the authority that placed him in power. He would not risk losing that.” It reassured him to know something Raime did not.
“I am not so sure. You will watch.”
This conversation with Raime had drained him. He grew tired of trying to fight the man, grew tired of struggling to keep his authority. He lost a foothold with every meeting. Worse, though, was that he couldn’t even remember why he wanted to attack Thealon, or why he wanted the Tower. It had seemed so important once, so logical, when Raime had first come to him offering his services. The balance was much different now.
His head hurt thinking of it, and he turned toward other matters as Raime left. No longer an advisor, now he rarely bothered letting Richard make decisions. A part of him knew he needed to be free of him, but could he? What power did Raime now wield?
Smoke from the fire drifted lazily toward the top of the tent, and he struggled to keep his mind clear. His head was as hazy as the smoke, making him wonder how Raime influenced him even here, but soon he forgot what he had feared.
Allay followed Mendi up the wide ramp leading from the first terrace to the second. She’d found him as he had raced back into the city from the mines, and asked him to follow, claiming that she had something for him to see, but had been unwilling to share what. No matter how hard he pressed, he wasn't able to get Mendi to reveal anything more than she had. Her answer remained the same: Wait.
When they stopped at the gate into the second terrace, the only entrance along the terrace’s massive wall, he could only stare. It was the first time he had approached the Denraen level from this direction, and convenient that he was coming now, especially after what he’d seen in the mines beneath the city. The Denraen needed to know. It w
as strange that it took this timely incident for him to actually visit the second terrace, rather than observe it from atop the terrace wall. His visits on the wall with Stohn seemed ages ago now.
Allay had struggled to even get Stohn to talk with him since their last conversation after class, when they’d spoken of their fathers. Had Allay said—or done—something to offend him?
Mendi said something to the guard, who nodded, opened the gate, and waved them in.
Once inside, Allay looked around. Reaching the barracks was almost as much a challenge as getting into the Magi palace. From above, he’d seen the way the practice yard stretched throughout most of this level, leaving rows of buildings tucked along the stone face. All he saw from here was the row of barracks.
Mendi hurried along a road set between the buildings. She seemed to know where she was going.
“Have you been here before?”
“Don't worry about it, Allay.”
“You said this was how you discovered your sources. I just didn't expect you to have come into the barracks itself.”
Mendi glanced back at him. “The Denraen only allow certain people into the barracks. You should feel honored that they are allowing you.”
For some reason, Allay didn't feel particularly honored. He felt more concerned than anything. What was Mendi bringing him into?
They turned a corner and reached another building, no more distinct than any of the others around it. Mendi stopped in front of the door and rapped her fist against the deeply stained wood. She clasped her hands behind her back as she waited.
“What is this?” Allay asked.
Mendi shook her head.
He didn't get the chance to ask her again. The door opened, and a scarred face peeked out.
Allay gasped. It was General Endric.
He had seen the general during the latter half of their travels to the city, after the Deshmahne attack. That had been after they had joined Thomasen and the others from Chrysia. Since coming to the city, he hadn't seen the general, other than from above. At least he could share with Endric what he’d seen.
“General Endric?”
The general stood with the door open, waving him in.
Allay glanced to Mendi, but she made a point of not meeting his gaze.
What was he missing here? There was something going on that he didn't understand, but what was it? Why bring him to Endric… and why would Endric be willing to meet with him?
The door closed behind them, and Endric made his way to a desk that was more utilitarian than anything else, stacks of paper and books covering its surface. Before sitting, he tried to clear some space and motioned for Allay and Mendi to sit in the chairs opposite. A massive map was mounted on the wall behind him. Pins were placed throughout both the north and the south. Allay suspected they represented locations of Denraen troops. He was not surprised to learn the Denraen patrolled throughout all the known lands. He was surprised to note a set of pins even in Gomald. They rarely saw the Denraen there.
“What is this? Why have you brought me here?”
“Prince Lansington. Thank you for taking the time out of your training to meet with me.”
Allay glanced from General Endric to Mendi. “The timing is fortuitous. I saw Deshmahne—”
“We know the Deshmahne are in the city.”
“It’s not only the city. I followed”—he cut off, wondering what Mendi would think of the fact that he’d followed Michael Comity into the tunnels—“Michael Comity into the old mines. I saw Deshmahne there.” Allay ignored Mendi’s piercing stare.
“Deshmahne in the mines?”
Allay nodded. “There was some sort of storeroom. I thought the Denraen should investigate.”
Endric sighed. “Is that their play?” He asked it mostly to himself. “Dangerous, especially after the last time.” With a shake, he looked from Allay to Mendi. “I’ll have the Denraen investigate. The mines should have been protected.”
“Why were they closed?”
Endric’s eyes narrowed. “Another attack, one from long ago and tied to a betrayal.” Endric sighed. “They won’t find what they seek there. I have ensured that much.”
“The city has been attacked before?”
“There have been other attacks on Vasha. People view it as nearly as close to the gods as Thealon, and for good reason.”
“The Deshmahne?” Allay asked.
Endric nodded. “They had help, but their attempt failed. Don’t worry about the Deshmahne succeeding. I have plans in motion to stop them.”
Allay couldn’t help but notice that Endric appeared troubled. “I could help—”
“You are a delegate. And a prince. You are not here to fight the Deshmahne, and that’s not why I asked you to come.”
Allay should feel relieved that Endric would investigate, but he still felt uncomfortable about what he had seen. “Why then?”
“What do you know of your father's plans from before you left Gomald?”
Allay shot Mendi a hard look. Then he turned his attention to the general. “I'm sorry, General Endric, but you know that I can't answer that. Doing so would be a betrayal of my people.”
Endric gave him a withering look, and Allay resisted the urge to shrink back from it.
“Let me tell you what I know,” the general said, leaning forward on his elbows. “Your father has begun moving troops to Bastiin. He has each of the regional kings supplying him with troops. Were you aware that he intended war?”
Allay made a point of not looking over to Mendi. She had told him much the same, and if he hadn’t known before how she had acquired her information, he did now.
“I don't know what my father plans, if that's what you're after. My father and I aren't particularly close. Most of the time, I think he would be perfectly satisfied if I disappeared.”
Endric chuckled and leaned back in his chair. He glanced behind him, as if searching for locations on the map for confirmation, before turning his attention back to Allay. “I often felt the same way about my father.”
“Did it ever change?” Allay asked.
He laughed again. “In a sense.”
“What changed it?”
“When I defeated him. It’s when I became general.”
Allay started to smile but realized the general wasn't making a joke. “I don't think there will be a transition in leadership based on me defeating my father.”
Endric met his gaze for a moment. “No, I suppose not. As much as that might make it easier for us.”
“That can't be the only reason you've summoned me here, can it? Why did you have Mendi bring me here?”
Endric sighed and shuffled through some of the papers on his desk. When he reached one that he searched for, he studied it for a moment before sliding it over to Allay. “I'm sorry.”
Allay frowned, but took the proffered page and scanned the contents. It seemed to be a report out of Gom Aaldia. While he wasn't entirely surprised that Endric would have such detailed report of the movements within Gom Aaldia, he was surprised Endric shared that intelligence with him.
Was that what he wanted Allay to know? Did Endric seek to show him how much he knew about Gom Aaldia?
A name on the report caught his attention, and all the worry about what the Deshmahne were after in the mines and beneath the city disappeared.
Theodror.
He and his brother weren't close. His brother was next in line to the throne, and Allay was never meant to do anything other than serve the kingdom. But they were close enough for him to care about his brother, to want to see him succeed.
Tears welled in his eyes and he swallowed.
Allay looked up from the page and shook his head.
Mendi looked at him with compassion gleaming in her eyes.
“This can't be right,” he said.
“I'm afraid it is, Prince Lansington. I'm sorry you must learn this way, but I wasn’t sure when the Magi would learn this news. My sources are a bit more reliable th
an theirs, especially in Gomald.”
“When? How?”
“I don't have answers to either of those questions. The details are sparse. All I know is that there was some sort of incursion on the palace. Your brother was left behind when your father started north. He was attacked and killed.”
Allay turned and stared at the page. “This means—”
“It means you are next in line,” Mendi said.
Allay blinked and looked up at his friend, uncertain what to say.
That was exactly what it meant.
He didn't want to be next in line to rule, had never planned on it, but if his brother was gone…
“I need to return.”
“I think the Magi intend for all of the delegates to return home. When you do, you will travel with an advisor. I would know what you intend.” Endric leaned forward, fixing him with the same intense gaze that he’d worn when Allay first arrived. “What is your plan with the Deshmahne?”
“The Deshmahne?” he asked dumbly.
“They have grown in strength—and in numbers. They intend to attack. If they coordinate with Gom Aaldia, we could be facing a war unlike anything we have faced in generations.”
“I…” Allay struggled with the words. All he could see were the two that mattered now. Theodror dead.
“More than ever, we need to maintain the peace. The south will pose more of a challenge, but we can still hold the north. Can you work with the Thealon and Rondalin delegates?”
Allay didn't know what else to say. He stared at the page again, his mind numb. Theodror was gone. Allay was next in line for the throne. And his father readied for war.
Mendi reached over and grabbed his hand.
Allay took her fingers and entwined them in his, nodding in response to Endric’s question. They would have to return, and he would find a way to work with Comity—and Longtree, if he could. For now, he would sit with Mendi, hold her hand, and feel connected to her.
At least here, there would be no shame in his holding a slave's hand.
The Warrior Mage (The Lost Prophecy Book 2) Page 20