Lost in thought, their steps had carried them quickly to the door of his private chambers. Pausing, he glanced up the hall again, his dark eyes squinting carefully into the shadows. Had he seen movement? The hall was empty and silent. Crayn gave him a curious look, and Alriyn nodded slightly before pulling the door open.
His room was arranged the same as it had been for the last few months. Two small candles seemed to be burning, though appeared to have been lit on air. Neither wick burning nor wax melting could be seen from these candles. A crackling fire burned in the corner of the room, its warmth comforting. The dim light was enough for him to glance quickly at the four faces around the table. Karrin and Bothar sat against the far wall, silent, while Haerlin sat with his back to them. Isandra sat next to him and leaned across the table to Karrin, whispering something quietly to her. They all turned toward the door as Alriyn entered.
“Before we talk about the reason we’re all here, I would like to know what you’ve seen of the delegates.” In some ways, convincing the rest of the Council to make this choice would be easier if the delegates failed, but Alriyn didn’t want them to fail. If the delegates could begin the process of regaining trust in the Magi, then they would be useful.
Haerlin sat upright, tapping his finger on his chin. “I have seen some darkness among them.”
Bothar blinked. “You have observed or seen?”
Haerlin frowned. “Partly, it is observation. I traveled with Comity—not our first choice of delegate. The priest we intended to choose was killed in the temple explosion. What I have observed of him is disinterest. Those in the south worry me more. They have already experienced the Deshmahne and think nothing of them.”
Karrin nodded. “That is the way of the south these days. Many have converted.”
“Have you seen anything?” Alriyn asked Haerlin.
He took a deep breath. “There’s nothing clear. Occasionally, when I stare long enough, there’s an aura around them. Some more strongly than others.” He shook his head and smoothed his robes. “I don’t know what it means other than that we need to continue to watch them.”
“If the delegates won’t serve as we intend, what else do we know?” Karrin asked.
“I hear rumors out of the university. Teachers have returned from the south, fearing how unsettled it has become,” Bothar said.
“And they already move north,” Karrin said. “I received word that Gom Aaldia prepares for war. Rumor has it they will soon ride on Thealon.”
Alriyn frowned. Endric had mentioned the same. “They gain strength in Gom Aaldia,” Alriyn agreed. Faces turned to look at him. “I spoke to Endric,” he explained. “It’s often less difficult to argue with a Mage than it is to talk with that man. He’s vague, knowing there’s trouble with the Deshmahe, but won’t commit to his plan. He shared with me what he knows of the north. It’s enough that we must convince the others on the Council to—”
The door to the room pushed open, and two figures slipped in, hastily closing the door behind them.
Alriyn stared at the shapes by the door, unable to see who was there, and excited the manehlin so that the wall glowed brightly.
“Endric. Novan.” How had they known he was here? And why had they come?
The general smiled, unaffected by what would have scared any other man to soil himself. “Second Eldest,” he replied, before looking to the others. “Councilors,” he nodded to each. “Is the Council divided?”
“Not divided, Endric. Discussing what you shared.”
“You intend to choose again, don’t you?” Novan asked.
Alriyn glared at him. Damn the historian! “How did you come to this room, General?” Alriyn asked.
“I walked, Second. I suspect you all do the same? In fact, I have observed a few among you walking today, spending time with the delegates when you should be searching the city for Deshmahne.”
“I have asked Roelle to help with the Deshmahne,” Alriyn said.
He felt the others look to him. He hadn’t shared that yet. He might have been too impetuous, but with her Magi skill and newfound skill with the sword, she was best suited.
“Alriyn?” Karrin asked.
“Is that why you allow the apprentices to train?” Haerlin asked.
Endric raised his hand, silencing them. “Roelle has the heart of a leader. She would make a fine Denraen.”
Strangely, the comment gave Alriyn a flash of pride. “She is an excellent Mage,” Alriyn agreed.
“There would be other ways you could use her,” Endric suggested. “She could be of use in the north—”
Alriyn shook his head vigorously. “No! I have seen what happened in the north. If what you’ve said about the north is real, then there is nothing the Magi could do.”
“I think you do a disservice to your people—and to Roelle—in saying that,” Endric said.
“She and the others will search the city for Deshmahne. That is how they will serve. Besides, what would she find in the north but these creatures and the Antrilii?”
Karrin whispered the word “Antrilii” but Alriyn ignored her.
“Answers,” Novan said.
“Who’s?” Alriyn asked.
“Everyone’s.”
Alriyn sat back, considering. If Roelle left the city—and these creatures were real—she would be faced with a nightmare. No. Better that they unify the Council, find the Uniter—the nemah—who could bring peace.
“We will deal with Deshmahne first,” Alriyn said. “And the Council will make other decisions.”
Endric stared a moment before nodding. “Do what you must and know that I will do what I feel is necessary.”
With that, Endric turned and left. Novan lingered, his gaze skimming over the collected Councilors before he turned and followed Endric from the room.
Alriyn sighed, and turned back to the others. “It seems we will be forced to make a decision sooner than I expected,” he said.
“What decision?” Crayn asked.
“Whether to choose the Uniter. Endric is right about that threat. The Council needs to act. If we don’t, the peace required of the mahne might fail.”
“And if we do, we might fail,” Haerlin said.
Alriyn looked at the others, holding their gaze. “With the growing threat of the Deshmahne, isn’t that a risk we have to take?”
Roelle sat in Endric’s office again, having actually been summoned by Endric after one of her practice sessions with the Denraen. Sweat dripped from her brow, and she wiped it away, scanning the room. The stacks of paper were as unorganized as before. He even risked a candle, as if unmindful of the danger to his pages. The map behind him seemed changed, the pins having moved. She waited for him to speak, growing impatient.
“I hear your uncle has a plan for you,” Endric said.
“A plan, yes,” she began. What would Endric think of the plan? “He—and I—think my Magi can be useful to you here with the Deshmahne.”
Endric stared at her, his hard-eyed gaze intense. “I don’t need you for the Deshmahne.”
“I saw how hard they were to defeat, general. You need the Magi.” Alriyn had asked for her help with them. Why would the general deny her this?
“Really? How many do you think you have?”
Roelle looked at the old general. His shrewd eyes saw through her, and Roelle forced herself to hold the gaze. “We have at least one hundred.”
Endric leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, and nodded slowly. “One hundred. I have thousands of Denraen, Roelle. No. You aren’t needed here.”
Roelle sat back in the chair, feeling defeated. She’d thought that Endric would welcome her help—why else summon her here?—but if he wasn’t interested, then what would she do? She couldn’t sit back and remain in her classes, not after what she’d seen.
“Did you learn of your Founders?” he asked.
She blinked at the sudden change in topic. “I learned they fought something terrible, and that Novan t
hinks it still exists. My uncle isn’t certain.”
Endric offered a half-smile. “You don’t believe?”
“The rumors from the north are probably Deshmahne.”
“Is that what you really think?”
She didn’t know what she believed. Novan seemed to think there was something else, but the record he would have referenced would have to be centuries old. They couldn’t be accurate.
“Leave the Deshmahne to the Denraen. There is something else that you can do.”
“What?”
“Take your Magi and visit the north. Learn for yourselves what is there.”
“I don’t think Alriyn will allow us to leave the city, not with the attacks taking place.”
“Trust me when I tell you that this is something you should consider. Besides, you’re better prepared than the Second would be. Your Magi training may help, but it’s the other training that will matter.”
Roelle sat, twisting her hands together. “Why do you ask this of me?”
“Your Founders survived something most don’t even understand. There are times I wish we could have their guidance, but we do not.” Endric sighed quietly before straightening himself. “But you are better prepared than they had been in so many ways.”
“How do you figure?” she asked. Would Endric offer a straight answer?
Endric grunted. “Different training. They were soldiers first. You are Magi first.”
“Does that matter?”
Endric shrugged. “I don’t know. I have asked the Second, but he worries more about the Deshmahne.”
“And you don’t?”
“The Deshmahne are the Denraen’s responsibility. What is taking place in the north… that is for the Magi. You need to prove it to the Council. You might be the only one who can.”
Could they do this? There were nearly one hundred young Magi who had learned sword and staff over the last year. All had followed Roelle and Selton, thinking, as Roelle had at first, a fun game to play at soldier. The battle with the Deshmahne had changed that.
Now there was something more at stake, and they were the only Magi prepared to face it. Even were they to remain in the city as Alriyn wanted, she didn’t know if the young Magi understood fully what they were getting themselves into. Would they fight if attacked?
That was the question. Most had regularly been practicing, and all had grown quite skilled. Their Magi abilities granted them a certain physical prowess. But skill with a weapon and skill in actual combat were very different. Roelle had nearly frozen in her first encounter. How many others would face the same?
But going north might be even worse. Or nothing.
“You have heard the stories of the north?” Endric asked.
She nodded. “Alriyn tells me of the north, the desolation, the fear, the crowds of people moving south for safety, and I wonder what happens if there is no safety.”
“The rumors are true, Roelle. There are few who can face the threat of the north.”
“Why us?”
Endric glanced over his shoulder at the wall. “Consider it scouting only. Bring information back for your council. It will force the Magi to act.”
“If we do this—”
“Your Council will think it the rash action of youth. Much like when you first came, looking to learn the sword and staff.” The general tilted his head and considered her for a moment before flashing his teeth. “Not much surprises me, Mage, but you have managed.”
“We’re only apprentices,” Roelle said. Could she really be considering his suggestion?
Could they really afford for her not to?
“Apprentices who are more like your Founders than any Mage in generations. You would have my guidance, as much as could be, and”—he handed Roelle a thin leather-bound book—“the wisdom of those who came before you can help you along your way.”
Roelle stared at the cover. Tactics and Strategy, written by none other than Endric’s father, Dendril. It was a prized possession, and only two copies were known to exist. One was in her hands now. The other was hidden in the Mage library where only the Elders had access.
“It’s a quick read, but a lifetime study,” Endric said.
Roelle had no answer. Endric offered her the wisdom of his father. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll make your Founders proud. Say you’ll travel as the gods guide you. Say you’ll honor what you have just said to me,” Endric replied. “It will be enough.”
How could she refuse?
What would she say to Alriyn?
There could be nothing she could say that would explain her reasoning. Besides, if he had seen the north, he would already understand.
Roelle nodded in agreement.
“Good. There are other ways I can help. First, you’ll work with me daily until you leave,” Endric decided.
Roelle frowned and felt a moment of surprise. Training with Endric had been a given along the road—it was a tradition the Denraen honored—but within the city, he had many pulls upon his time. It was a generous offer, and she doubted it was lightly made.
“Choose a handful you trust. They will work with my Raen, learn to lead others. And I will send guides.”
“Guides?” Roelle asked, letting the other offer slide past with merely a nod of acceptance.
“How much have you traveled outside your city?”
“If the rumors are true, they’ll be of little help,” she told Endric.
“They could help more than you know. And you must seek the Antrilii first.”
“Why the Antrilii?”
“Because you will find your answers there.”
Roelle smiled, leaning forward. “You could tell me the answers.”
“There are things you must witness to understand, Roelle. It is much the same for your Council. If you do this, you will see what I mean. You will gain more insight than you could have ever expected.”
She waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. “And what of you? You’re not going to return north as you said you would? You’re not going after Jakob?”
Endric eyed her. “That was my intent. The historian presses me to leave soon, but there’s something here I must take care of first. If you reach Jakob first...”
She nodded. “He can come with us.”
Endric shook his head. “No. He has another purpose. Send my encouragement instead. I hope one day I will have a chance to know him better.”
“Me too,” she whispered, a flush working through her cheeks.
They were silent for a time, and Roelle prepared to leave. “There are rumors you worked with the Antrilii.”
Endric nodded.
“What are they like?”
He laughed softly. “You fear them?” She nodded. “There are many misunderstandings about the Antrilii. If you find them, you will see that you have more in common than you think. Now. Make your preparations, and I will make mine.”
As she stood, she wondered if she had made a mistake in agreeing to go north, but she had the sense that were she to remain in Vasha, Endric wouldn’t have allowed her to fight. At least this way, she and the other Magi could be useful, and that was all she really wanted.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The sound of quiet conversation stirred Jakob from sleep. The doors to the hall were thrown open, and the light of the early morning trickled in, casting a small amount of light throughout the hall. A single stout table was the only furnishing in the room. Brohmin and Salindra leaned against the far edge of the fireplace, locked in quiet conversation.
He stood and stretched, knots in his back aching and a slight headache coming with the slow pulsing within his skull. Jakob tried to ignore both but found he couldn’t ignore the pain in his back. Brohmin noticed him and stood slowly, somewhat haltingly, and limped toward him. There was something wrong with his left leg; it moved stiffly, dragging slightly across the floor as he walked, and his face looked haggard. Lines crossed his already wrinkled face, and hi
s eyes were duller than they’d ever seemed before. He looked very old this morning.
“Are you all right, Brohmin?” What had he missed last night?
Brohmin stared at him dazedly for a long moment before finally replying, “Yes.” It was all the answer he would give. “We ride soon. Gather your things.” Brohmin hobbled toward the door, disappearing into the early morning light.
Salindra prepared to leave. She didn’t have any more than he did, and was soon out the door, following Brohmin. Jakob gathered his belongings, the trunk and a cloak, and followed. Brohmin was already atop his horse, and Salindra climbed lithely into her own saddle. They both spurred their horses back along the town road toward the low wall before Jakob had even made it atop his horse.
He followed down the road. The heat from the early sun warmed his neck. He rearranged his cloak so the sun could warm his back, preferring the warmth of the sun to the warmth of the scratchy wool along his neck. The days grew colder as they traveled farther north, and they would get colder still before long. They were well past the Turning now, and winter fast approached. He didn’t have the clothes with him for a long northern journey.
How far back were the Deshmahne? Brohmin was in no shape to fight today, and Jakob worried what would happen if they were attacked. Had the man fought them alone while Jakob and Salindra slept? Jakob watched Brohmin’s slumped shoulders as they rode, worry creeping through him.
They rode quickly through the town, passing the houses and shops he’d seen the night before. A window was open at a blacksmith shop, but no sound emerged. The doorway of a bakery was thrown open, the painted sign of a loaf of bread and basket fading. Nothing inside moved, and nothing smelled the way it should. The silence was eerie. Farther from the small town’s center were the few houses they’d passed on the way in. No one stirred.
The town was dead. He shivered with the thought. It was a shiver even the warmest sun would not suppress.
As he passed through the northwest gate again and turned north, a sigh of relief escaped him. Brohmin and Salindra both looked back. A smile touched the corners of Salindra’s mouth. She must have felt the same thing.
The Threat of Madness (The Lost Prophecy Book 1) Page 35