The Warrior Mage (The Lost Prophecy Book 2)

by D. K. Holmberg

  As the first dark shadow appeared, Roelle had already jumped from her saddle. The Magi moved the horses toward the middle, wanting to protect them as they fought. If they lost them, they would have a harder time chasing the groeliin, and a harder time returning to Vasha.

  She was better on foot with her sword anyway.

  As more dark shadows appeared, a flash of brown fur raced through, a snarl roaring across the plain.

  Roelle struggled to comprehend how the merahl attacked. It was a flash of teeth and claws leading to a spray of blood. It tore through the shadows, bringing down the entire groeliin attack.

  Another merahl howled. This time, it was from the west.

  Her attention shifted, and she watched as the Antrilii, riding to their north, suddenly formed lines, looking much like the Denraen soldiers as they did. From a distance, she could easily see how they fought, holding back groeliin, attacking with speed and precision. Even from here, she could see Nahrsin as he fought, reminding her of Endric.

  “How can we face this?” Selton asked softly.

  “What choice do we have?” Roelle asked. “Endric wanted us to come north. I think he knew what we’d find. I think he knew the Antrilii fought these creatures, and I think he anticipated us joining with them.”

  “Did he know how many moved?”

  Roelle wished she had Endric with her and not just his guidance. She had to pray that he knew what he was doing sending her, and the Magi, into battle like this.

  They weren’t warriors, or at least had not been prior to heading north. She didn't know what they were now. Maybe warriors, maybe something less. But she they couldn't simply leave this attack to the Antrilii. None of the Magi had been willing to leave the attack to the Antrilii.

  She prayed her uncle would send help. She prayed the Council would listen.

  One of the merahl howled again. With each passing moment, she worried help would not come soon enough.

  Alriyn threw the bag on the small table and the head rolled out. It was a bit more dramatic than he had intended. The Magi of his small council sitting around the table all leapt up, nearly in unison. Someone gagged, and in the dim lighting, he was not certain who it was.

  “This is what our ancestors faced,” he announced.

  “W-what is it?”

  Alriyn looked to see who had spoken. It was Bothar. The Mage was nervous and Alriyn understood why. His son was among those who had traveled north with Roelle. “They are called groeliin,” he answered, speaking it as it would have been said in the old tongue. “This is what Roelle sends us.”

  All eyes turned quickly from the head upon the table to Alriyn. He paused for a moment to place the grotesque head back into the bag. He could not bear to stare at it. What must Roelle feel? He pushed the thought from his mind, knowing it would do no good.

  “Inraith returned bringing this and word that the Antrilii had been found. He died before he could tell me more.”

  “Inraith?” Karrin said.

  The boy was distantly related, Alriyn knew. Most of the Magi were related if they traced their lineage far enough. “And Ronad. Both gone.” He paused, meeting their eyes. “Yet they brought this message. I think it clear enough to bring to the Council.”

  “What do you think the Council will do, Alriyn?” Crayn asked.

  Alriyn noted the loss of formality and nodded. “We must send help. We must choose the Uniter.”

  Haerlin shook his head. “The rest of the Council—”

  “Must be convinced,” Alriyn said. “And Roelle needs our help. She cannot face this alone.”

  “We have not been trained as soldiers,” Haerlin said softly. “They are better equipped than us.”

  Karrin and Isandra nodded agreement. Alriyn sank into his chair, feeling impotent. What had he expected the Council to do? He was not sure what the Council could do about the groeliin, but he knew what must be done about the Deshmahne.

  “We must do something,” Alriyn said quietly. “The Deshmahne and now this.”

  Silence answered him.

  “I intend to propose that the Council choose according to the mahne,” Alriyn said, his mind made up. There was no choice but for them to do so. War was coming, and they could no longer deny it. “We might not be able to do much about that,” he said, motioning to the head, “but we can face the Deshmahne.”

  “How?” Bothar asked.

  “We support the Denraen. We choose the Uniter. We—”

  “We investigate the rumors about the delegates,” Crayn suggested.

  Alriyn looked at him a moment. “What rumors?”

  Most of the delegates had been sent from the city, and there hadn’t been much clamoring to recruit additional delegates. For its part, the Council feared the Delegates had been a failure, and Alriyn was inclined to believe that. How could they have been anything else, especially those who came from the south where the Deshmahne had gained such a presence? Endric hoped to use the northern delegates to band together, to prevent war, but Alriyn wasn’t certain they would be enough.

  Crayn looked at each around the small table. “You have not heard?” he asked. “No, it appears you have not,” he said. “Longtree, the northern delegate, has disappeared.”

  What did it mean that Alriyn hadn’t heard? He should have heard about the disappearance.

  “And his attendant?” Haerlin asked.

  “I have heard nothing,” Crayn replied. “Worse is what I hear about Comity.” All eyes were on him waiting for him to continue. “It is said that he has joined the Deshmahne. They have breached Thealon.”

  “Why?” Karrin asked.

  “Two of the seven lost?” Bothar said. “One to Deshmahne? What of the others?”

  “If Longtree has gone missing, we must assume the Deshmahne there as well,” Alriyn said. Rondalin was surely too far north for the Deshmahne to have reached, but what other answer was there?

  “Could they really have reached that far north?” Bothar asked.

  Alriyn had no answer. But if the Deshmahne could penetrate Vasha, then Thealon would not pose a problem, and if Thealon, it followed they could reach Rondalin.

  “What other answer is there?” Crayn answered. “And much like with the Rondalin advisor, I’ve heard strange stories about the Gom Aaldia king’s advisor. Much suggests he is Deshmahne, perhaps highly ranked as well.”

  “And Gom Aaldia marches,” Haerlin said.

  War. Endric was right. Could the delegates help?

  Not if they’d been turned.

  If war came, then the balance would be lost. The goddess had warned of this. Protect the mahne.

  Increasingly, he felt that this would mean attacking the Deshmahne—only Alriyn was not certain he could. “The other delegates?”

  “They are silent,” Crayn answered. “My reach is not long enough,” he admitted.

  “We must know more,” Haerlin said. “It is worrisome that we lose our delegates so quickly. How do the Deshmahne know about them?”

  “Endric tells of having killed Deshmahne in the city. If true, then we have been infiltrated,” Alriyn said. “We must be cautious as we proceed. We must act as if anyone could be Deshmahne.”

  “I will go,” Isandra offered. Karrin looked at her intently, a concerned expression flashing across her face before fading. “I’ll see what we can learn of the delegates.”

  Alriyn squeezed his eyes shut, thinking. Losing Isandra from the council would pose challenges, but perhaps she could save them, use Longtree to join forces with Thealon. Alriyn hoped his conversation with Lansington had been enough. “Rondalin,” he said.

  “Why there and not Thealon?” Isandra asked. “I could stop the conversion—”

  “Because if you go north, I would see if you could find Roelle,” Alriyn said, clearing his throat and feeling a little stronger. “There was something about the Antrilii that Inraith was unable to tell. Find out what it was. See if Endric will send an escort.” She nodded, and he let out a soft sigh. Would
it work? Would it be enough to stop war from coming to the north? “Move carefully, but return quickly. I fear the Deshmahne will not grant us much time.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Roelle paused to wipe the sweat and dirt from her brow. It was cold and the wind bit at her, whipping through her layers of clothes, yet she was warm with the heat of her labor. A pack was slung to her back, weighing her heavily, though she ignored it as best she could while she walked, leading the rest of the Magi.

  The train of warriors snaked its way behind her in a column four horses wide. It was not a long column. She sighed. Even the horses looked tired this day. She couldn’t blame them. They had been driven hard the last few days. The men and women riding them did not look much better. Bitter thoughts filled her as she wondered how much longer until they heard back from the Council, and if they would have the strength to push forward.

  The Antrilii traveled to their north. They rode separately, always apart, though Nahrsin frequently rode over to speak. The man was always laughing when not fighting. The merahl ran ahead, hunting, howling, and they followed their lead. The Antrilii said it was how they hunted best.

  The haunting call of the strange cats came frequently. The sound tore at her each time he heard it ringing out in the air, a clarion bell lancing into her soul. It took constant effort to ignore it.

  Selton rode alongside her and did not look nearly as tired as Roelle felt. The man was an ox. “We need to rest soon, Roelle,” Selton told her, breaking the silence.

  She nodded. She knew they would need to stop soon. She did not know what the Antrilii planned. Roelle had hoped they would make it a little further south this day, but their travel had been slower than she had expected. It was unavoidable. Many were injured. Some had been lost. It was the reason she’d sent Hester back to Vasha, not wanting to lose him as well. Endric could use his skill in the days to come. She hoped he had managed to get Inraith and Ronad back to Vasha safely.

  She could name each of the warriors lost. Their names started to roll through her head. It required conscious thought to bring her mind back to task. She supposed that was normal, figuring even Endric did the same, and that thought reassured her. It was hard not to take all the responsibility upon herself.

  Roelle had asked Nahrsin about it one evening. “I struggle with those I’ve lost,” she told the man.

  Nahrsin nodded. “It is normal.”

  “Does it get easier?”

  Nahrsin laughed. “If it did, you would not be a good leader, Mage,” he answered, a strange inflection to his word. The light of the fire crackled and reflected off of his eyes.

  “I’m not sure I am,” Roelle answered honestly.

  Another laugh. “I have seen you,” Nahrsin said. “Your people respect you and follow you. It is enough.”

  Roelle had thought about the comment for a while. “Why do you do this?” she asked Nahrsin. It was the first time the two had sat alone and spoken since they met.

  The Antrilii turned to face her. “I do not do this, Mage,” he said. “I follow my vows and the will of the gods. It is their hand that guides me and their will that drives the Antrilii.”

  “You protect men who do not even know what you do for them,” Roelle countered. “You lose friends for people who do not know you exist.”

  Nahrsin snorted. “Not all are gifted by the gods, Mage,” he said. “It is their will that keeps us here and makes us strong. It is by their will we fight.” He paused before staring at the crackling fire. “It is enough that we know what we do.”

  “Does it ever end?”

  Nahrsin looked up to the sky, savoring the clear night. “The Antrilii have a prophecy that drives us,” he said, a longing inflection coming to his voice as he spoke to the stars. “It is ancient, older than memory, and it says that one day, we will lay down our swords and follow a peaceful path.” He looked over at Roelle. “I pray for that day like all my people,” he admitted. “But until that day, we hunt the groeliin. We do what the gods demand.”

  Roelle had fallen silent at the comment. There was something familiar to it, something that struck a chord within her, but she could not place it.

  She pushed the memory of that night away, looking over to Selton.

  The sound of a merahl’s cry in the distance brought her back from her thoughts. “The merahl still have the scent,” she told Selton, though she did not truly need to say the words. All heard their hunting cries.

  “I know,” Selton replied.

  “What else do you know?” Roelle asked, laughing. It was another thing Nahrsin had told her. Laugh or you will cry. It was a challenging lesson for her, and she struggled with it but tried daily to take it to heart.

  “Actually, there is good news. The report ahead says that we come soon to a small town,” Selton said. The weeks of beard growth on his face made him more grizzled and all the more intimidating.

  It was good news, Roelle knew, and they needed some good after what they had seen today. A small army of men, at least two hundred in all, slaughtered. Some looked like they had been killed by the groeliin, but others had different wounds as if made by men. Roelle did not recognize the banners they’d carried, but Lendra did. Rondalin troops.

  Why were they here? What did they seek?

  “How far off?” she asked.

  “Not far,” Selton replied. “An hour, maybe a little more.”

  She nodded, turning to the sky. They still had a few hours of light. That would help. “They still move east,” she commented.

  Selton nodded knowingly. “They do.”

  Why east? she wondered. Nahrsin had no answer, only mentioning the will of the gods. Roelle was less certain. The creatures had moved south, and moved quickly, almost directed. And now east.

  They still hadn’t encountered the Deshmahne again. After learning of their plan for the north, Roelle had to believe they intended to attack the groeliin. Increasingly, she wondered if they might be able to help.

  Why east now, after moving south? She could understand why they had traveled south, hunted by the Antrilii, but east was a different matter. There were ten thousand of them that they hunted. If they failed?

  She knew the answer. Men would die. Cities would be destroyed. And none would know who had delivered them to their deaths.

  Worse, if Nahrsin was to be believed—and Roelle had no reason not to believe him—many more remained in the mountains.

  “Why do you think they go east?” she asked Selton.

  Selton gave a shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve wondered at that.” He turned to Roelle. “We’ve faced them several times and survived, but each time, it’s only been small numbers. We’ve yet to face a true attack.”

  “There’s something we’re missing,” she said.

  “These are creatures not seen—except by the Antrilii—for over a thousand years,” he said. “And now they push south. With the numbers Nahrsin describes, I don’t think we can win this,” he said quietly, careful not to let his words carry.

  “Nahrsin says that it is the will of the gods for the Antrilii to fight.” She ran her fingers through her tangled hair. “We started this for different reasons, came searching for Antrilii, but I think this is why Endric sent us.” She fell silent for long moments. “I’ve wondered why we seem as skilled as we are learning the sword, and at fighting, but what if this is what we were meant to do? What if the gods mean for us to find the Antrilii and fight alongside them?”

  Or not even the gods, but Endric. Did he not serve the gods?

  Selton furrowed his brow. “That is the closest to understanding the Urmahne I have ever heard from you,” he said in mock seriousness.

  Roelle was forced to laugh. “I feel a purpose,” she answered simply. “Useful.”

  Her friend nodded. “I feel it too,” he answered quietly.

  “I cannot explain why, though,” Roelle said.

  “I can,” Selton said, looking toward his cousin.

  Lendra turned then and cau
ght them staring and veered her horse over. She smiled as she approached, and it traced up into her eyes, leaving no part of her face unchanged. Having seen the effect the groeliin had on her, the overwhelming nausea she and the Denraen had experienced, she was amazed that Lendra managed to smile as much as she did.

  “You look tired, Roelle,” she said, looking down at her from atop her mount.

  “We’re all tired,” she said.

  Lendra laughed, and the sound softened the tension in her shoulders she’d been carrying all day, a tension that tightened with each cry from the merahl. “And when will we rest?”

  Roelle shrugged. “An hour, maybe more.”

  “There is a small town nearby,” Selton told her.

  Lendra arched an eyebrow. “Which?”

  Roelle shook her head. “I don’t know. The creatures move more east today than south, though we still don’t know why the groeliin move south.”

  “There is not a why with the groeliin,” a hard voice said from behind them.

  They all turned to see Nahrsin ride quietly up from behind. The man was enormous and his horse was equally stout, yet still managed to move at a dangerous trot. Nahrsin’s painted face was smeared with sweat, but his body was erect and his eyes alert. Fatigue had not found him yet.

  “There must be a why, Nahrsin,” Roelle said. “There has to be for them to move in these numbers.”

  “I wonder if a better question isn’t where?” Lendra suggested.

  Nahrsin laughed, and the loud sound startled Selton’s horse. He tapped his forehead and smiled. “Aye,” he agreed. “That is the question.”

  Roelle frowned at the large Antrilii. Her mind moved slowly today from the weariness earned after days of battle and too little sleep. Even the strange bitter tea the Antrilii preferred had not helped. What was she missing that the others seemed to grasp?

  “In the last several centuries, the groeliin have only once traveled farther south than the foothills.” He smiled as if remembering. “And that was because they were chased,” he continued before laughing at a joke none of the others understood. Slowly, his expression turned serious. “This is something different. This time, they are not chased, not at first. This is not the behavior of the groeliin.”