They found Lendra in the hall outside her rooms. She was not alone. A familiar figure stood nearby, covered in a long, flowing cloak and speaking quietly to her in hushed tones that didn’t carry down the hall as they approached. Tall, nearly as tall as any Mage, and thin, the historian still cut an imposing figure.
Lendra, though, was something else. She was of average height and slender, though it was not her height that caught Roelle’s attention. Her eyes were impossibly blue-green. A ring of yellow rimmed them, like petals on a flower. Her skin was a light brown, only a hint of a tan tickling it, bringing forth a few freckles. She was gowned in a simple white dress that glowed in the light of the afternoon.
She smiled at Selton as they approached and gave Roelle a smile nearly as wide. “Selton?” she said, and ran to him. She hugged him and laughed. The sound filled the corridor, echoing off the stone walls. “I’ve not seen you for...”
Selton returned her hug and her smile. “It’s been too long, hasn’t it?” He stepped to the side and motioned to Roelle. “This is my friend Roelle.”
She turned to Roelle and grasped her hand. Hers was smooth, soft silk, and warm. “Well met, Lendra,” she said. She turned to Novan. “Historian. I hope you’re settling well in the palace?”
Lendra gave a quick glance to Novan. “You know Novan?”
It was Novan who answered. “Mage Roelle was one of my escorts to the city. One of the more capable ones, I might add.”
Roelle smiled tightly. “The gods returned us safely.”
Novan grunted in reply and said nothing more.
“So you met my replacement?” Lendra asked Roelle.
She looked at her strangely. “Did I?”
She laughed again. She seemed to do so easily, and it put Roelle at ease. “I studied with Novan in Coamdon, before he moved on,” she said as she looked back at Novan. The historian smiled at her.
It was more emotion from him than Roelle had seen before. “I met the apprentice historian,” Roelle said, beginning to understand. “An interesting man. And excellent swordsman. I still would like to know why he left us.” She left off asking if Novan had heard about the Denraen that had been found slaughtered. That was for another, quieter time. And she tried to shield Selton from the heat that rose in her cheeks thinking of Jakob. It had to be his ability with the sword that appealed to her, didn’t it?
The historian’s face was unreadable. It was frustrating, but Roelle knew she would get nothing from him if he did not choose to divulge it—this was a man unafraid to bully even a Mage Elder. “I think you had a shared interest, don’t you?” Novan asked.
Roelle flushed, and avoided Selton’s gaze.
“Lendra,” Selton said with a grin, “we’d like to speak with you when you have a few moments.”
“What is it?” she asked.
Selton looked to Novan before glancing at Roelle. Roelle shrugged. The historian may be able to help them if he was willing.
“Can we step out of the hall?” Roelle asked, motioning to her room.
Lendra frowned at her. The historian gave her a strange glance, as well, but said nothing. She led them quickly into her room. It was simple and plainly appointed, a guest room and little more. There was a small bed tucked in the far corner and a sturdy desk along the back wall. Dozens of books were stacked atop the desk, several propped open, and Roelle knew they had come to the right person.
“What is it, Selton?” she asked as she closed the door.
Roelle raised a hand for a pause, stretching out her senses as she did. She heard nothing. Opening her mind, she pulled on the manehlin and created what little barrier she could. It was an early lesson learned from her uncle Alriyn and wouldn’t stop a determined listener, but would provide some warning. Selton arched an eyebrow at her, a half-smile curling his lips.
“A precaution,” Roelle answered.
“Selton?” Lendra asked again.
“What do you know of our Founders?” Selton asked.
“The Great Mother? The same as you, likely. Why?”
Roelle shook her head. “Not just the Great Mother. There’s supposed to be something more to the Founding, something other than just the Great Mother.”
It was Novan who finally answered, pulling a book from beneath his cloak. “The question should truly be, what do you know about your Founders?” The historian peered up from his book, looking over at Roelle and Selton with piercing eyes. They seemed to see into Roelle, and it made her feel unsettled, understanding how Haerlin had been intimidated.
Roelle ran a hand through her hair, struggling with how to answer. How much did she tell them? The historian had been with them through the Deshmahne attacks, so he would understand some of Roelle’s concern, but how much did she trust the historian? Then there was the matter of Selton’s cousin. In any other circumstance, she wouldn’t hesitate to trust her friend’s family, but Lendra’s ties were to the historian—she could see it in the way the woman looked at him.
“I know little enough. I’ve spoken to Alriyn and gotten nowhere. I’ve spoken with Endric and gotten little farther.”
The tall man was silent. He pressed a long finger to his lips thoughtfully for a moment before speaking, choosing his words carefully. “The Second?” he mumbled to himself, considering. “Why do you seek this knowledge?”
Roelle folded her hands in front of her. “I faced the Deshmahne. An open attack upon the Magi. That has never happened before. So I know what we face with them. They’re... horrible. Dangerous. In spite of that, Alriyn fears what’s happening in the north as much as the Deshmahne threat.”
“You ask about the north, yet you question your Founders?” Novan said.
“Endric,” she explained, and Novan nodded. “It was all he would give me.”
Novan smiled, but it was not meant for Roelle. “Endric,” he mused. “He’s a clever one.” Novan motioned for Roelle and Selton to sit.
Selton looked to Roelle, shrugged, and sat atop Lendra’s bed. Lendra sat next to him. Roelle stood a moment more, and Novan again waved her to sit, so finally she did. Novan took a deep breath, pulling himself upright, suddenly taller, and began pacing. The pose he struck reminded Roelle of every teacher she had known.
“To understand your Founders, is to understand the past,” he said, a smile crossing his face. “Long ago, so long ago it is no longer remembered and barely recorded, there was a war. The details are few. It is clear that it was a bloody war and one that had raged for many years. Some reports suggest it was fought against strangely dressed warriors.” Novan paused, considering. “Some said that men battled creatures of nightmare and fear. I don’t know the truth of the reports, only that the foe was powerful and destructive.
“One thing is repeated in each of the tales. One fact alike,” Novan continued. “There were certain warriors, physically gifted, that were better able to defeat these creatures. There’s something, one fragment of text found, that said only these warriors could see the creatures. They called it their gift from the gods.”
Roelle realized the similarities to the Antrilii story Endric had mentioned. “What do you think they fought?”
“There is something about the different accounts that speaks of more than mere men, something more.”
“You think these creatures were real?” Selton asked.
“Were?” he asked, shaking his head. “You know the rumors about the north. What do you think caused these rumors?”
“Deshmahne, most likely,” Roelle answered, but then she knew better. Alriyn had been convinced there was something else at play in the north, something other than the Deshmahne. Something fearsome enough that he was able to dismiss the Deshmahne threat.
Novan eyed her and shook his head. “You know better than that. No, there’s something else there, something the world has been protected from for over a thousand years. The question is, why has that protection failed?”
“And these warriors with the gift?” Selton asked.
&nb
sp; “You think they were the Founders,” Roelle asked. The historian gave her a slow nod. “But how? The Great Mother gathered together those early Magi.”
“And so she did,” Novan agreed, scratching his ear with a long finger. “And so she did. The war was long and bloody. Men without this gift were slaughtered. Many hid. Those with the gift were more fortunate, but barely, and they were all that stood between this threat and the rest of mankind. It was a near total destruction.” He stopped to consider them. “This is why, I think, that records before your Founding over one thousand years ago are scarce. A handful of these warriors, little more than a dozen, survived. Your Great Mother gathered these survivors together and came here,” he said, sweeping his hand around him.
“But the Magi have always been peaceful servants of the gods and of the Urmahne!” Lendra said.
Novan looked at her softly, affection in his gaze. “They gave up their swords with the Founding and became the Urmahne, choosing to study their abilities. The Great Mother told them this was what the gods wanted.”
They sat silent for a long moment before Roelle spoke. “How do you know this?”
Novan smiled again, this time with a hint of mischief. “How do you not?” He let his point sink in before continuing. “I learned it in your library.”
Selton perked with the comment. “Where?”
There was a strange glitter to Novan’s eyes, brief, and then it was gone. “It is there if you are persistent in your search.”
Lendra purposefully turned her head away, a slight grin on her face.
Selton suddenly laughed, nudging his cousin. “If you hadn’t left the city, you would have been thrown out!”
She shrugged.
Roelle stared instead intently at Novan. “So our Founders...”
“Were more like you than perhaps any other Mage in the city.” Novan gave her a long look. “I have provided information for you. Now I would ask something of you. Help me see the Second.”
“Why?” Roelle tried thinking through what Novan might want with her uncle, but couldn’t come up with anything. From the way Haerlin reacted to Novan, she could only imagine how her uncle would react.
Novan smiled tightly. “I have something he may need, and he’s been unwilling to grant me an audience.”
“I can try. I make no guarantees.”
“There never are,” Novan said.
Roelle thought about the north, about what may be wandering there. What did her uncle know? What did he suspect of the north? Endric had sent men north, and all had been killed, though she had the sense they had died at the hand of Deshmahne.
What did it mean for Jakob? He’d been sent with them to the north. He might be a skilled swordsman, but if what Novan said was even partly true, he didn’t have the necessary skills to survive.
“You sent your apprentice to the north.”
Novan nodded carefully. “He was needed to observe.”
Roelle eyed him a moment. “Observe. But if these creatures are real—”
“Don’t worry about Jakob.”
“Don’t worry? How can I not after what we’ve learned? Have you even spoken to Endric?”
“I heard what happened.”
“Jakob wasn’t found.”
“Your friend will be safe,” Novan tried to assure her.
“Safe?” Roelle asked. “How can you be so certain?” She failed to keep the heat from her question and felt Selton’s eyes on her.
Novan crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I have faith.”
Roelle frowned, some of her frustration fading. “I thought you were agnostic.”
“My beliefs are not so easily corralled. But that’s not why I have faith. A different protection has been arranged for Jakob. He’ll be safe.”
“What do mean?” she asked.
“It means you need to convince your uncle to meet.”
Novan flashed a tight smile and motioned to Lendra before turning and walking to the door. Lendra stood and waved to them before following the historian out the door.
Roelle looked to Selton and their eyes locked. There was little need for discussion; Roelle knew without asking what Selton would say. They needed to find out if what Novan said was true, and she could think of only one place to go.
It was time to visit her uncle again.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Roelle sat in front of Alriyn while Selton sat quietly to her left; her friend had never quite grown comfortable in front of the Second Eldest in spite of their years of friendship. Few among the Magi claimed much of a relationship with those on the Council, and it created a distinction between the Councilors and the rest of the Magi. For Roelle, Alriyn had always been her uncle first and foremost.
Roelle waited for Alriyn to turn and face them. He sat quietly at his desk, writing quickly, the pen scratching at the surface of the parchment with such a grating quality that Roelle shifted in her seat. There were other chairs placed around hers, enough that Roelle suspected her uncle had been holding a meeting not long before she arrived. Again. What could he have been discussing? It was not like her uncle to hold private counsel, and now this appeared to be at least the second time he had.
Finally, Alriyn turned and leveled his gaze on the two of them in turn. Selton was first, and her muscular friend shrank from the stern eyes of the Second. Roelle didn’t shrink from the gaze, though the warmth it had carried in her childhood was gone from it, and his face bore the serious expression of his office. Alriyn then looked to the door and paused. She knew he sealed their conversation.
Roelle and Selton looked at each other with that realization. Something was amiss.
“You spoke with Endric,” Alriyn said.
Roelle nodded. “It was little help. That man is purposefully vague,” she said, letting her frustration seep into her voice.
“How so?” Alriyn asked, turning briefly to the parchment in front of him and scribbling again. One ear was cocked to listen, though, so Roelle didn’t wait.
“He tells me of nightmares and suggests I learn of the Founders,” Roelle answered.
Alriyn stopped writing and looked up. “Whose?”
“Ours.”
Alriyn set his pen down. He sighed, and it seemed a weight pressed down on him, his proud shoulders sagging briefly before he caught himself. Roelle had seen it though. Alriyn had a great burden upon him.
“Endric suggested you learn of the Founders?”
Roelle nodded.
“And have you?” Alriyn asked.
“I thought I knew of our Founding. We’re taught about the Great Mother and her role in our Founding, nothing more. Endric dismissed that, instructing me to search out the Founders.”
“There is more. Few know it.”
Roelle and Selton glanced at each other. They hadn’t been sure if they should believe the historian. His version seemed too fantastical. But now would Alriyn confirm it?
Alriyn stood and pulled himself to his full height. “There were thirteen, all told,” he began, his tone implying a lesson. “The Great Mother but one of them. She gathered them together, the few remaining who shared a gift, the ability given to them by the gods, and they founded the city.”
“I know the story, uncle.”
“You know what the Council has taught.”
“Then who were they?” Roelle asked.
“Theirs was a time of war—the time of the destruction—and they were warriors, special somehow, gifted in ways others were not.” Alriyn paused. “Truth be told, we know little of them. Many have tried. I have spent much of my working life studying the Founding and know little more than what is taught.”
Alriyn looked around the contents of his room before fixing his gaze upon Roelle. “We know that they alone fought a war that others could not. A countless many were sent forth to save mankind, and those thirteen were all that survived.”
“What did they fight?” Roelle asked.
“There are no surviving descriptions. Frag
ments and less all that remain. A nightmare is perhaps as good an explanation as any.” He paused again, looking briefly to the stacks of paper on his desk. “Years of searching has yielded little more than these barest remnants. What I have found refers to a darkness and an attack so foul that men cannot stand before them. The attack came in such numbers, as if in waves, never seen before and never seen since. And our ancestors...”
“How did they defeat such a thing?” Selton asked, surprise at Alriyn’s answer etched in his hard features.
“I’m not sure they did. From what I can tell, hundreds, perhaps thousands, were sent forth to fight. Only thirteen survived to forge this city. To these thirteen, we owe our existence.”
“Then how was it stopped?” Roelle asked. “Novan claims we’ve been protected from this for a thousand years. What has changed?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps the Founders saved us, perhaps something else. So little is known of that time.” Alriyn looked over to them again, seeming to consider them. “What I am about to tell you, few know. There is one thing that survived from that time. A document known only to the council. I have read and reread it so many times that I could recite it in my sleep.”
“What does it say?” Roelle asked, intrigued.
Alriyn smiled tightly. “A prophecy. And perhaps the first.”
Roelle sat back, stunned. She was well aware that prophecy was a rare gift among the Magi, with Haerlin the only one to have shown even the slightest ability in hundreds of years. Most among the Magi could count the Mage prophets on their hands, could name them as easily as they named their families. The first prophet, Lureen, lived two hundred years after the Founding. There had been four great prophets since Lureen and seven minor prophets, including Haerlin.
Roelle leaned forward. “What does it say?”
Alriyn closed his eyes. “The prophecy is complex, but translated, it says ‘I have seen that there will come a time when we must rise again, seek the nemah, and restore the balance. One will come to lead the way. I fear we will grow complacent so heed this warning: they will come again. This I have seen.’”
The Threat of Madness (The Lost Prophecy Book 1) Page 28