Roelle knew without asking what this man was.
Antrilii.
She had been sent to search for them, told they were wandering nomads, and had known that Endric once trained with them, but this was not what she had expected.
The man standing before her made Roelle uneasy in a way Endric never did, but he carried the same quiet confidence of the general. There was something exotic and feral about this man, and Roelle took a step back.
Roelle stared for a moment before gathering herself. “What is a merahl?” she asked. Other questions came to mind but she was unable to ask.
The tall Antrilii stared at her a moment before a wry smile cracked his face. “They are the hunters,” he answered.
“What do they hunt?” Roelle asked.
The Antrilii laughed. It was a throaty, guttural sound, and it echoed in the dark night. “They hunt the groeliin,” he said, waving his hand toward the dead creatures. “The same as you.”
Roelle turned the word over in her mouth and found it difficult to pronounce in the same way, even with her familiarity with the ancient language. The Antrilii spoke it quickly, and it rolled out, with a soft lilting accent making it difficult to reproduce. “We don’t hunt,” she answered. “We only scout.”
The man laughed again. “With the groeliin, it is hunt or be hunted,” he said. “You will see.” The Antrilii paused. “I am Nahrsin.”
The light of the moon was enough to easily see without the advantage their Magi sight gave, and she noted a confused expression on Selton’s face. She wondered what expression she must wear. “I am Roelle. You are Antrilii?”
Nahrsin laughed again. “I?” he asked. “We are Antrilii.” He motioned over his shoulder.
Just coming into view over the wall were hundreds of similarly dressed men, each wearing dark leathers and each with his face painted like Nahrsin. They moved silently and were quickly setting up a camp. Roelle was shocked that she had not heard them moving.
What should she say? Alriyn had sent them north, looking for signs of the Antrilii, looking for understanding of the creatures from the north, and here she was faced with both yet did not know what to do or say. These men appeared to be soldiers, and hardened ones at that, yet all the tales of the Antrilii had them as simple wanderers.
These men were more than simple wanderers.
And they hunted these creatures. So many questions flooded her mind.
“May the gods bless our meeting,” Roelle said.
“May they indeed,” Nahrsin spoke reverently. “Come, Roelle, join me at my fire.”
Roelle stared at the fire. Hester was on one side. The old Denraen had struggled with having been unable to fight the creatures during the attack on the village, but here, sitting at a fire with the Antrilii, he seemed nonplussed by their arrival, much less their hospitality. Selton was on the other side of her, sitting carefully with his back stiff. Roelle knew her friend was nervous. This wasn’t what they had expected to find. The Antrilii, yes, but warriors who could face these creatures? Not only face them, but hunt them.
Endric must have known, but why send her north to learn? If he knew what they faced in the north, what was it that Endric would have wanted them to learn?
She had to trust the Antrilii to be hospitable, but she didn’t know whether that was misplaced trust.
Nahrsin sat across from her, cross-legged on the ground and looking comfortable. Another Antrilii, Jinrain, sat near him and stared at the two Magi sitting across from them. Both Antrilii still wore their swords and leathers, and the paint on their faces seemed to move with the crackling flames, reminding Roelle uncomfortably of the Deshmahne.
Two of the huge cats curled up nearby, seeming to enjoy the warmth of the fire. They had tall, pointed ears and long jaws tipped with wicked teeth, yet it was their eyes that gave Roelle pause. There was a strange intelligence there, and they tilted their heads as if trying to listen. She shivered remembering what these animals had done to the creatures, knowing she wouldn’t want to anger these animals.
“You follow the groeliin?” Nahrsin said casually, handing her a cup of steaming liquid.
Roelle took note again of what he called the creatures, then slowly took a sip of her drink. A strange tea, nearly so bitter she spit it out. She took a deep breath of the cool night air to cleanse her palette and caught a scent of the smoke from the fire. The Antrilii continued to make camp and a few other fires dotted the night. Small tents sprouted from the ground, and Roelle was reminded of her travels with the Denraen.
These men are soldiers, not wanderers, she told herself again. Whatever else she took back to her uncle, that piece was important.
Why would Endric not share that with them? That was the mystery. Staring at their leathers and painted faces did make her wonder how the Antrilii were so rarely seen. They were not easily forgotten.
“We found the groeliin,” she answered, speaking the word without the accent the Antrilii had, the lilting inflection that could only be the ancient language. More questions, there. “But we sought the Antrilii.”
Nahrsin nodded. “You have found us. Now tell me why?” He placed his large hands on his knees as he leaned forward.
Roelle noted a thick dark ring on one of his fingers, and something about it triggered a memory before it was lost. “We were sent to find what you know.”
The Antrilii tilted his head and frowned. “Who would send you to seek us?”
“Endric.”
Nahrsin laughed, and it rang out into the night. The merahl tilted their ears, and the largest shifted forward on its feet a bit and growled a low rumble. “Sent you to find us, did he?” the Antrilii asked. “Why?”
She glanced over to Hester, who remained stone faced. “To learn of the groeliin,” Roelle answered. That could not be the only reason Endric and Novan had sent them to find the Antrilii. There must be something more, but she couldn’t tell Nahrsin that. “He told me the story was for you to share.”
Jinrain chuckled. “Our story would take more time than you have to spare, Mage,” the man said as he turned his gaze from the fire and reached a hand out to scratch one of the huge cats behind the ears.
“Novan spoke of a text,” Lendra whispered quietly to Roelle.
“Novan?” Jinrain said, overhearing her, turning quickly to face them. “The historian?”
The two merahl sat up and shifted their intent focus upon them. Roelle chose her next words carefully. “Novan spoke of an Antrilii text but would say no more,” she said as she cast her eyes to Selton. They hadn’t worried about it before, but could they escape if it came to it?
Nahrsin sat stone faced and silent. For long moments, the only sound was the crackling of the fire, and then he laughed again. The merahl settled back down but did not shift their attention away. “The historian,” he said, shaking his head. “What trouble does he get us in now?” He looked searchingly up to the sky and mumbled a few quiet words in the ancient language Roelle didn’t understand. Slowly, Nahrsin looked back at them. “So Endric and Novan sent you to find us.”
Roelle nodded.
“To learn of the groeliin?”
Another nod.
“You have learned all you need of the groeliin,” Nahrsin replied, then laughed again. “You battle well. It is enough.”
Roelle looked from Nahrsin to Jinrain. Jinrain did not look in their direction, and Nahrsin appeared to stare everywhere. That couldn’t be all that they were to learn from the Antrilii. Endric would not send them on such a journey for only this.
She looked to Selton again, and her friend shrugged.
“What are they?” Lendra asked.
Jinrain squinted at her a moment before answering. “They are creatures of destruction and death,” he said, turning back to face them. His voice was hard and cold. “They do not hesitate to kill.” There was a quiet venom to his voice, and it was clear that, for this Antrilii, the work was personal. “They stand against everything the gods stand for. They are evi
l.”
Nahrsin nodded, serious again. “They are the groeliin.”
“And you hunt them?” Roelle asked.
The Antrilii nodded.
“Why?” Not how, though that question lingered. The guides and Lendra could not see the creatures until they were dead, incapacitated by an odor she only vaguely sensed. How, then, could the Antrilii face these groeliin?
That had to be the secret, the reason that Novan and Endric had sent them to seek the Antrilii.
“Why do the birds fly? Why does the grass grow? Why does the moon rise and fall each night?” Nahrsin asked. “It is what we do. It is who we are. We have hunted the groeliin for a thousand years, and still they come. We have provided protection to the world so that others do not suffer. That is our purpose. That is our vow.”
Roelle sat back, stunned. A thousand years? If Nahrsin spoke truly, it meant they had been fighting the groeliin since the Magi were founded. How was it possible that the Magi did not know this? The connection could not be mere coincidence. What did that mean for the Antrilii?
“How can you see them?” Selton asked.
Her friend did not look over to meet her gaze, but Roelle saw the uncertainty plain on his face. Both knew where this line of questioning would lead. Were the Magi and the Antrilii connected somehow?
“How is it that you can?” Nahrsin asked before laughing again. “It is our gift from the gods.” He paused, and the words fell loud into the night, a dangerous proclamation. “For many years, we have wandered the northern lands, always we seek the groeliin. Many times, we have chased them far to the south, and only once have they attacked beyond the foothills. We have held them,” he said proudly.
“Is that why we have not heard of the groeliin before now?” Lendra asked. She spoke the word fluently, a familiarity with the ancient language.
Nahrsin nodded. “The groeliin are our charge. The gods have entrusted this to us.”
“What changed?” Lendra asked.
Jinrain shook his head, and Nahrsin settled a comforting hand on his arm as he answered. “This time, there are too many and we are too few,” he said. “We chase a brood of ten thousand, and I suspect there remain twice that many in the north.”
Ten thousand? And more remain.
Roelle looked around the camp and figured there could be no more than several hundred Antrilii. How could these men hope to fight ten thousand of these creatures?
How can we hope to survive if they don’t?
“How can you kill that many?” Selton asked.
“I do not question the will of the gods,” Nahrsin answered. There was a complete sincerity in his words. It was one of faith in the gods mixed with something else.
“Where do they travel?” Lendra asked.
“South,” Nahrsin answered. “And we follow. The gods brought you to us to help.” He smiled showing his teeth, and it was a savage contrast to his jovial laugh. “It will be enough.”
“To help?” Selton asked, a smile of his own starting to form at the corners of his mouth.
Roelle knew another comment was coming so she silenced him with a hand on his arm. Her friend turned to her with the question plain on his face.
How to answer?
And how did she not answer? If there were as many groeliin as the Antrilii claimed, there was no way they would be able to stop them, not alone.
Endric had to have known. She glanced to Hester for confirmation, but the man stared straight ahead, avoiding her gaze.
She had wondered why Endric would have sent them, why he wanted them to find the Antrilii, and now she began to understand. The Denraen couldn’t see the groeliin to fight—couldn’t stand the stench of them long enough to fight. And the Antrilii were outnumbered.
Had Endric intended for them to fight with the Antrilii?
But could they? The Magi she’d brought with her might have developed into something of soldiers, but they were nothing like the Antrilii.
Could they leave ten thousand groeliin to push farther and farther south, destroying everything as they did, leaving the Antrilii to fight alone? They had all seen the destruction left in the wake of these creatures. They could not allow the groeliin to roam the lands unchallenged. Roelle knew she could not. The Magi were the Urmahne. They could not leave their people to suffer.
“We will send word,” she said quietly to Selton. “Alriyn must know of the Antrilii, and he must know how many groeliin we face. We will need help.” She looked over to Nahrsin. “They will need help,” she said. Selton stared at her for a long moment as he considered. Finally, he nodded and Roelle sighed. She could not do this without Selton.
“Who do we send?” Selton whispered.
“Our weakest,” Roelle answered.
Selton nodded. “I will send myself.”
Roelle chuckled. “That is who I would send,” she told her muscular friend.
Selton’s eyes hardened. “Ronad and Inraith.”
Roelle thought for a moment. Inraith was one of her oldest friends and had joined her and Selton as soon as they had suggested learning the sword, joining without question, yet of them, his skill was the weakest. Roelle could trust him and did not doubt he would reach Alriyn.
“Send proof,” Roelle said. “The head. And they must speak to Alriyn first.”
Selton frowned before nodding.
Turning back toward Nahrsin, she said, “We will help.”
The Antrilii laughed as he nodded. “Of course,” he said. “It is the gods’ will.”
Back in the Magi camp, Roelle pulled Hester aside. A dozen or so small flames crackled softly, and the Magi had made quick work of establishing their camp, but there was a somberness to the night air.
“I need you to return to Vasha,” she said to Hester. “I’d have you take Lendra with you, but I don’t think she’d listen.”
The old Denraen looked up at her. “Endric assigned me to help you.”
Roelle forced a smile. “You’ve helped me as much as you can. I think if you remain—”
“That I’ll be more of a hindrance?” Hester asked.
She nodded, hating that it was the truth. “You can’t fight these creatures, and I can’t promise I’ll be able to keep you safe.”
“I’m a soldier. There’s never been a promise of safety.”
“If we face these creatures again, I can’t have the Magi distracted trying to protect the Denraen.”
Hester studied her, his eyes dark but reflecting the firelight nearby. “I’d argue, but I don’t think I’d win.”
“Hester—”
He chuckled softly. “Not that it would be right. This isn’t the Denraen’s fight. We can face the Deshmahne, but this…” He straightened his back. “We will see to it that your two Magi make it safely back to the city with the proof. I will provide word to Endric that the Deshmahne move.”
“They might think to attack the groeliin as well,” Roelle said, putting voice to her suspicions. “They might use it as a way to demonstrate their strength to the gods.”
Hester frowned. “That would be… troubling.”
“We will do what we must,” she said.
“As will I, Roelle.”
“Thank you, Hester.”
“You fight well, Mage. You lead better.”
“Do you think Endric knew what he was doing sending us north?” she asked.
“I think Endric has prepared for more than even the Magi know. This,” he said, his gaze turning toward the Antrilii camp, “makes me believe that even more.”
“Ride quickly. It’s possible the man you sent back never made it with news of what we were facing. We’ll need the Council’s help..” Was that even true? Roelle wasn’t certain what help the Council could offer.
“It will be as you command,” Hester said. Before turning away, he saluted her.
Roelle watched him leave, praying that they would return safely.
Chapter Thirty
As Allay turned a corner within the palace,
searching for someone to discuss what had happened to his brother, he saw one of the Magi coming toward him. It was an older man with longer gray hair, and a dark gray cloak that hung to the ground. Allay had not seen this man before. He moved through the hallway as though he had a purpose. Allay stepped to the side, willing to give him space.
The Mage stopped in front of Allay.
He studied Allay, his brow knitted slightly, mouth pressed in a tight frown. His eyes had an intensity to them, as he weighed and measured Allay, before releasing him.
“You are Prince Lansington.”
Allay could only nod.
“Good. You will come with me.”
The Mage strode down the hall, and Allay had no choice but to follow. How could you refuse one of the Magi?
At the end of the hall, the Mage stepped into a doorway, and Allay followed him, glancing back. Were there others delegates similarly summoned? Or had they learned of Theodror and understood that he had to leave the city? That made the most sense of anything.
The Mage led him down a series of steps, down another hall, and then, finally, up another flight of stairs. Allay was thoroughly confused. He was impressed by the tapestries hanging along walls, the decoration of it all, and the depiction of the gods he never saw in Gom Aaldia.
The Mage stopped in front of a door and pushed it open. He waited, and Allay realized he intended him to follow.
Entering the room, Allay hesitated, looking around. The room was well appointed. A massive desk took up one wall. Chairs were arranged as if a meeting had been taking place. There was a hearth, but no fire burned. Rows of books lined a shelf. A thick plush rug took up the rest of the room. Even here, the smooth walls drew his attention, and he was again impressed with the skill the Magi had once used to construct the palace.
The door closed behind them and the Mage turned to him. “Sit,” he said.
“You should know I need to leave Vasha.”
The Mage studied him. “You heard of your brother, then.”
The Warrior Mage (The Lost Prophecy Book 2) Page 26