The Deshmahne cocked his head and sniffed the air a moment. “A Mage?” he hissed, frowning as he eyed the sword in Roelle’s hand.
Roelle didn’t answer, instead darting forward, nearly a blur, and slashing at the Deshmahne, quickly severing his head. A surprised look was frozen on the dark priest’s face as he died.
She heard a gasp from Haerlin nearby. She couldn’t let it slow her or others would die. Roelle wouldn’t allow that to happen while she was capable of doing something. Too often, her people stood idly by, waving the Urmahne beliefs as a blanket defense of inaction while others suffered. Her parents had died because of it.
A shout of alarm cried out from behind her, and she turned to see two raiders trying to sneak up on her. They were not Deshmahne, and they fell quickly. She didn’t stop or rest, turning to the sound of wood clacking and splintering nearby. The historian sat atop his horse, barely keeping another attacker at bay with a staff, protecting the delegate Comity. He spun it well and smoothly, but the attacker was Deshmahne, and the historian was not fast enough.
Roelle put herself between the dark priest and the historian. This Deshmahne was more heavily tattooed than the other, and she wondered what that meant. The tattoos crept up bare arms, onto his face and bald head. Shadows seemed to shimmer and swirl around the Deshmahne, distinct from the overcast night. Hatred radiated from the man.
A wave of emotions oozed toward her, similar to the last attack, and she deflected it nearly instantly. It was easier this time, or perhaps she was simply better prepared. Either way, the strange attack didn’t hit her quite the same way.
The Deshmahne smiled darkly, and Roelle barely saw the sword.
The Deshmahne moved unlike anyone she’d seen.
She was lucky to block the attack. It felt more like her sword got in the way rather than her placing it properly. Was she skilled enough to defeat the priest?
Another attack came, and again, she was barely fast enough. Roelle followed her training, taking slow shallow breaths to find her focus, and moved from defense to an attack. The Deshmahne blocked it easily.
I cannot defeat him like this.
The dark priest seemed to sense her thoughts and smiled again, more a sneer this time. A blanket of emotion swept toward her again, and she felt it slam into her focus, nearly unsettling her.
The Deshmahne were rumored to convert those they captured, many by force. Would she be forced to convert? What would Alriyn think? He’d been more than an uncle to her, almost a father figure, and Roelle knew he’d be devastated and disappointed by this failure. It was probably best that her parents weren’t alive to see this happen to her. No family should see such failure.
Her arm sagged, and her sword drooped while fatigue settled into her and with it, an urge to surrender. She couldn’t win. Best to let the Deshmahne finish her quickly.
These are not my thoughts!
Roelle shook her head as she recognized the foreign influence for what it was.
This Deshmahne was dangerous and had almost succeeded. The dark priest flashed forward in a lightning attack too quick for her to stop with a sword.
Roelle acted without thinking.
She opened herself to her Magi abilities and used the manehlin surrounding him to freeze the Deshmahne in place. It happened faster than thought, faster than the priest could move.
Roelle flicked her sword forward in a quick attack that left the Deshmahne bleeding heavily from two wounds, dark blood pumping from them, until Roelle released him and he fell noisily to the ground. The dark priest spasmed briefly before falling still, and even then, the tattoos on his arms and face seemed to shimmer.
Around her, other small battles raged. Roelle moved in to attack. There were no other Deshmahne, only raiders, and they fell almost too easily for her. Then there were no more attackers, and as quickly as it had started, the attack ended.
Roelle looked up into the night and saw that the moon had come back out from behind the clouds. She tried to catch her breath and slow her racing mind, though was not sure she was ready to process what had just happened. The dying sounds of battle echoed around her, and the pungent metallic odor of blood was strong in the crisp night air. There were occasional cries of pain, but on the whole, the night grew silent.
Roelle looked to see who still stood. How many raiders had attacked? How many Deshmahne?
After her confrontations with the two dark priests, she had a new respect for Endric and worried how many Denraen survived the attack. The historian sat atop his horse nearby, staring at her strangely. The delegate remained near Haerlin, an unused sword in his hand. Haerlin would not meet her gaze.
Roelle knew why.
She was Magi. And she had killed.
She wasn’t sure she was ready for the consequences. There would be many. To the Magi, violence went against the core of the Urmahne tradition, and she had just violated the most central tenet of her people’s faith by taking another’s life. And more than one man’s life.
Roelle wiped the sweat from her brow with a sigh as she looked around, taking count. She owed it to those whose lives she ended. Scattered on the ground were nearly a dozen men, raiders and Deshmahne both, lying dead or dying in awkward positions. The pale light of the moon cast strange shadows such that the night flickered around her, and she shivered before turning away. She wasn’t sure she could stare upon what she’d done.
Had there been a choice? The attack had come quickly and silently. The raiders had been upon them with little notice, and if Roelle hadn’t acted, Haerlin at least would have died. Likely the historian, too, though the man had managed reasonably well with his staff.
It wasn’t the fact that she’d killed that bothered her, though it did bother her. That had been instilled within her as a child of the Urmahne. Rather, it was the unsettling ease with which she had done it. The sword had felt an extension of her arm. She had barely needed to use her Magi abilities during the battle, and then only when facing one of the dark Deshmahne.
Would I have survived otherwise?
It was difficult to admit, but she didn’t know.
How many Denraen would have died had Roelle not acted? Those men had needed her skills today, however she’d come by them.
The Magi had long known they had certain physical abilities—innate reflexes, quick healing, long life—and Roelle had learned there was something more to them as she acquired skill with the sword. This was still more than she had expected. Did any of the Elders know how easily they could kill? Was this the reason Haerlin wouldn’t meet her eyes?
A hand upon her shoulder startled her, and she spun quickly, flashing her sword up before her. It collided with another blade, and the clang reverberated into the growing silence of the night.
“Easy,” the general said, lowering his sword.
Roelle brought hers down to her side and shook her head. What would have happened had any other than the general come up to her then? “I’m sorry.”
Endric reached his hand back out and settled it on her shoulder, giving it a long squeeze before releasing. With it, a bit of the tension went out of her, and she sighed again before sheathing her sword.
“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” the general said. A small gash oozed blood down his face. He cast his dark eyes around the ground, quickly taking count of the men Roelle had killed. “Your Elder would have died without you. The historian too. And many more of my men.”
“I know.” It didn’t make the consequences of what she had done any easier.
Endric seemed to understand, and for that, Roelle felt another sense of relief. “The gods will not look upon you less favorably. I follow the Urmahne, and I am Denraen. They are not exclusive.” The general paused, giving the words a chance to be heard. “It’s a shame what the Magi apprentices fail to learn,” he said quietly. “Consider this one of your lessons, one that you will someday understand all too well.”
Another joined them, slinking in from the darkness, tall and darkly cl
oaked. The historian was slender yet carried himself with confidence. Roelle had not heard him dismount. The man moved like a thief. There was an air of mystery about him that Roelle found intriguing, not the least of which was his utter lack of fear before Haerlin. It was not often that a man would challenge a Mage Elder.
“How many?” the historian asked.
Endric shrugged. “Enough.” The look in his eyes said that he had a complete count. Roelle wondered briefly why he did not share it.
Novan smiled tightly, but there was no malice to the expression, merely a barely hidden amusement. He tilted his head and scratched at one ear. “How many Denraen were lost?”
Endric narrowed his eyes, and Novan took a slight step back. “Enough.”
Roelle wasn’t sure if it was an answer or a warning. Probably both.
“Were they successful?” the historian asked.
Endric frowned and looked out into the night before shaking his head. “I sent the trunk north in time.”
“Are you certain?”
Endric frowned. “I don’t know.”
“But you have an idea.”
He nodded. “Possibly.” He looked around then shook his head. “I hope so.”
“What was this about?” Roelle asked. The loss of life that both sides had experienced was more than she had ever seen, and the general thought it all for only a warning? If so, it was a warning well received. Would she have believed the danger the Deshmahne posed if she had not seen it?
“Testing a diversion,” Novan said. “But not only that.”
Endric looked to him a moment before shaking his head. “No.”
Roelle looked between the two men. “What?”
“The High Priest had another goal in mind, I think. This was only a feint,” Endric said.
“What goal?”
Roelle turned to see Haerlin come walking up to them, Elder Bothar at his side. Those of the other camp had joined just before the battle started. It had added another element of confusion to the attack. Bothar looked from Novan to Endric to Roelle. Haerlin almost purposefully avoided her gaze, staring at Endric as if intent not to look elsewhere.
The historian seemed to take it all in and chuckled lightly. In the night air, the sound carried, and Haerlin turned to face him. “What goal?” Haerlin repeated.
“The same goal the High Priest has elsewhere, I suppose, but one he can more easily accomplish if Endric is not in the city.” Novan paused, glancing to Endric. “I think he delayed us enough to get past us so that he could reach the capital first.”
Haerlin arched his eyebrows and frowned. It was Bothar who spoke. “You mean—”
“The Deshmahne will do what they’ve done in the south, and what they have done in Gom Aaldia, and have now attempted in Thealon. There is only one way for them to take what I suspect they are after. I fear they seek to infiltrate your city.”
Chapter Sixteen
Alriyn, Second Eldest on the Council of Magi, barely heard the knock at the door. It was little more than a soft tap. He stood quickly and opened it a crack. Karrin stood in the dark hallway on the other side with the shadows of the hall masking her expression. He ushered her in quickly before closing the door again.
She smiled at him slightly, tilting her head as she looked around before taking a seat on one of the hard wooden chairs that lined the walls. Little about his study was not hard. Books stacked about made it seem cluttered as well.
“You sent for me?” she asked, her voice soft.
He looked at her a moment before answering. Her dark hair hung unkempt at her shoulders, no attempt made to style it. She was not one for such frivolousness. Her gray eyes probed him, waiting for answers.
“The delegates travel to the city now,” he told her.
She nodded.
He had expected she would know as much. Counted on it, really. “Nobles, all,” he continued, shaking his head. The idea still worried him. Would it be enough?
“They were chosen by those on the Council, Alriyn,” Karrin soothed.
He nodded in response. He knew they had. He trusted the motives of those sent, though not all agreed with him. “After what I saw, I still think we need to send the Magi—”
“We have tried. Not all are interested in leaving the city like you.””
“With the Deshmahne moving in the south, and these rumors to the north—”
“Rumors only,” Karrin said.
He cast his gaze around his small study, looking over the piles of books and fragments of texts. “You didn’t see what I saw,” he said, not looking at her. “You didn’t see the fear in the people’s eyes.” He shook his head sadly. “The towns were empty. Mining towns, still with wealth to find.”
“We don’t know for sure...” Karrin began.
“Do you know that I’ve spent my life searching for answers? I’ve wanted to know what we overlooked in the mahne. There has to be something we’ve missed, something more to the prophecy.” Their most precious text, what they referred to as the mahne, was clear in the prophecy and the need to maintain peace, but less clear on many other things—such as the process of choosing the Uniter. “With everything now taking place, I don’t disagree with Jostephon that we must exert more influence, but what if this requires more?”
That had been what bothered him the most. Not the idea of the delegates. He recognized the truth in Jostephon’s plan, and the need to begin reasserting their influence would take time. But he worried that they would need more than delegates. Perhaps more than the Magi. What if they needed to find the answer to the prophecy?
Karrin looked at him a long time before speaking. “Why did you ask me here today, Alriyn?”
“What if this is wrong? What if we delay—”
“The Eldest knows the mahne better than anyone,” she said.
“Jostephon does, but he hasn’t been outside the city. He hasn’t seen.” Alriyn wouldn’t have gone either were it not for rumor of a specific text he could find. He hadn’t found the book he’d sought, but what he’d seen had worried him even more. “Sometimes I think he forgets what happened when the Deshmahne last attacked our home.”
“The Denraen stopped that attack.”
Alriyn nodded. “They did. And this horror in the north? What if it is something like the ancient threat?”
“Only the gods helped us the last time,” Karrin spoke.
Alriyn knew the truth in that. His people all believed their ancestors had stopped the ancient threat. It was a time when the land had been ravaged, most destroyed, though none really understood how. Or why. All they knew was that his ancestors, the Founders of the Magi, had been key to the survival. And even then, he suspected they had done little but slow the tide
But someone had helped. Someone only referenced in the mahne as the nemah, the ancient word for Uniter. They had learned little about the Uniter since the ancient threat and the Founding, most of the records lost in the destruction, but had learned he was somehow chosen to bring peace when it was needed. He knew this person had helped during the threat, had slowed the progression. What if they needed such a person now?
“We failed the last time we tried,” Karrin said again, as if reading his thoughts.
It was true. His people had tried several times to choose a Uniter when war called for such a person. None had been successful.
He shook his head. “The mahne is explicit,” he began. “The Uniter is the key when the balance of peace begins to fail.”
“We have failed,” Karrin said again.
“Should we let our failures keep us from trying again?” he asked.
She shook her head slowly. “What do you propose?”
He looked into her gray eyes for a long time, hoping to see something he knew he would need. He could not move forward without it. “Nothing yet,” he answered. “A council only.”
“But the Council has already decided...”
“Not the Council,” he interrupted. “A council. Fewer.” He looked aw
ay, thoughtfully, before continuing. “Myself, you, a few others. We study only, prepare for what might come.”
Her eyes narrowed at the idea.
“Haerlin, Bothar,” he stated.
“Isandra,” she offered.
He nodded. He had wondered about Isandra.
“Why did you bring this to me?” Karrin asked him, her eyes almost begging for the answer.
He waited a long while before answering. “A feeling,” he answered truthfully. He had never been very close to Karrin, and he knew it strange to trust her with this. He just felt he could.
A slow nod was her only response.
“We must wait until the others return with their delegates,” he spoke. “It’s possible Jostephon was right and that they can be used.”
She nodded again, quiet. “We should trust the Eldest.”
“I trust him. He knows more than any Mage alive about our past.”
“Which is why we should listen to his recommendations. What do you fear?”
Alriyn sighed. Jostephon might be the most knowledgeable scholar alive, but Alriyn had studied under another Mage, one who had warned him of something like this, almost as if he had a prophecy, though Tresten didn’t possess that ability. “It’s not what I fear, it’s what Tresten feared.”
Karrin’s eyes narrowed. “You know how the Eldest felt about Tresten.”
“I know. Which is why I won’t include him until we are certain. When we know more, we can pull Jostephon in.”
“You know where this could lead, Alriyn.” It was a statement. She caught on quickly.
“Yes,” he answered. If he were wrong with this plan, it could lead to another Magi failure, and if that happened, would the Deshmahne use that as an opportunity to eliminate the Magi influence for good?
Chapter Seventeen
Jakob awoke slowly. As he opened his eyes, he had to squint against light filtering through the trees overhead. His head still pounded, but it was a different sensation. This throbbing was a traditional headache, almost as if he’d been drinking too much. An awareness of the pain in his chest and leg came to him, and a sudden memory of the battle came with it.
The Threat of Madness (The Lost Prophecy Book 1) Page 18