The Threat of Madness (The Lost Prophecy Book 1)

by D. K. Holmberg

They rode a long time and harder than he would have thought Brohmin capable. Brohmin and Salindra rode ahead of him, occasional chatter between them. Their course led them more or less north until they came upon a simple dirt road.

  “This is the Elasiin path,” Brohmin said as they turned onto the road. “I don’t know all that we may find along it, so be prepared.” He said nothing more as he spurred his horse onto the dirt road.

  Salindra nodded and followed. Jakob needed little prompting. This is what he’d been looking for, the only hope he had of finding Novan and Endric and turning over the trunk. Rumors about the Elasiin path had frightened even the Denraen, and then there was the emptiness of Fristin. With a sigh, he knew their only choice was to either confront the rumors or the Deshmahne chasing them. He preferred the rumors.

  As they rode ever onward, the sun bright in his face as it rose, he noted that Brohmin didn’t ride back as he had on previous days to check on their pursuers. They had no idea how far back the Deshmahne were, though Jakob felt a certainty they still followed. He wasn’t sure what Brohmin had faced last night but doubted it had been the thirteen Deshmahne.

  At about midday, they stopped to eat. After a near silent meal, the only words a quick prayer of thanks to the gods offered by Salindra, they began north again. The forest had given way to a rolling grassy plain by early evening, and by the time they camped for the night, it was little more than a dark blur in the background.

  Brohmin didn’t allow a fire. Jakob shivered and tried to cover himself. With the coming of the night, a chill had settled over the land and ate through his clothes. From this point on, they would rarely know warmth, and he worried that he didn’t have the clothing to face winter.

  Brohmin didn’t search for wild game, so they ate what meager provisions they carried in their packs, after which the man moved to sit across from Jakob. At one point, Salindra came over to check on something on Brohmin’s shoulder. Jakob watched, but Brohmin didn’t meet his gaze, so Jakob didn’t ask. The man had faded as the day had gone on, becoming more and more withdrawn.

  Brohmin’s injury had an effect on Salindra as well. She was quieter, and her eyes constantly darted side to side, looking for signs of attack. She stood frequently and paced around the campsite. Her nervousness was contagious, and Jakob found himself looking around nervously as well.

  It was late when he finally fell asleep that night. For the first night in many, he had a dreamless sleep. It was a heavy sleep, a welcome change, and he woke the next morning feeling more refreshed than he had in many days. Salindra seemed more at ease too. Brohmin was still asleep when both he and Salindra woke, and they decided to let him sleep. Jakob tended to the horses, brushing them lightly. They, too, seemed more relaxed.

  Brohmin woke not long after, though the sun was already beginning to climb at that time. He moved more quickly and stepped more lightly than the day before. In many ways, he seemed revitalized, younger than the haggard man Jakob had seen the morning before.

  They rode that day across grassy plains. Brohmin began riding off again throughout the day, leaving Jakob and Salindra alone. They didn’t talk.

  “The Deshmahne are still behind us,” Brohmin offered once upon his return.

  “How far?” Salindra asked.

  “Several hours at least. They’re not moving as quickly as before.”

  “How many?” Jakob asked.

  “Their number remains the same,” Brohmin answered.

  Pausing around midday to eat, lunch, which was two fresh gray squirrels Brohmin somehow managed to gather, passed in silence. They ate the remainder that night when they stopped for the evening.

  The next day was cloudy. Brohmin continued to ride off and return. They stopped again at midday, though it was more difficult to tell with the sun obscured. Brohmin left again to catch something, and when he did, Salindra walked over to Jakob, surprising him. She hadn’t spoken to him directly in many days.

  “Tell me about the Magi you rode with,” she said.

  What was there to tell? “There was Mage Haerlin, an Elder.” Salindra nodded. “You remind me of him.”

  Salindra smiled at the comment and Jakob relaxed. “I should. He’s my uncle.”

  Jakob could see the resemblance. There was a certain demeanor both carried, a confidence, though that could be simply the Magi. “With Haerlin was Roelle. She was”—he searched for the right word, but how would he describe Roelle?—“kind to me.”

  Salindra stared at Jakob a long while, her dark eyes softening for the first time. “You say she worked with Endric?” There was little of the suspicion from before in her tone.

  Jakob nodded. “I sensed this wasn’t pleasing to Haerlin.”

  Salindra chuckled lightly. “It wouldn’t be. Haerlin is a traditional mind. This would upset him. Yet permission must have been granted if Endric participated.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what to think. I’ve been gone from our city a long time. I find it hard to believe this much has changed.”

  Brohmin returned as she spoke. “Much is changing, Salindra. You’ve seen it.”

  “The Deshmahne alone are change enough to worry.”

  Brohmin looked at her sharply, and she didn’t continue. Jakob wondered what it was they were not saying, but neither elaborated, choosing silence before their meal. It was rabbit again this time. Jakob didn’t mind. It was better than not eating.

  That night, they camped in a thicket of trees. Not far in the distance, the lower edge of the mountains stretched wide to either side. White peaks were mere specks from this distance, one of which would be Siirvil’s Peak. They had been following a thin dirt path for the last few days.

  The Elasiin path. And then Avaneam.

  There was still no sign of Endric or Novan.

  What was he to do once they reached Avaneam if Endric didn’t appear? He didn’t know, nor did he think Rit had known. They had expected Endric to meet them. What would he do if he didn’t?

  There was little else in the north. Mining towns, and those few enough, and he knew the Great Valley must be somewhere near here, something he never would have thought to see.

  The night was cold, and he didn’t sleep well. Strange visions danced just at the edge of his mind, hazy smoke keeping him from seeing clearly. He knew nervousness, but couldn’t understand why. He awoke many times, his breathing labored, and he wondered if the air was thinner.

  The next day, Brohmin roused them early and announced that they would be reaching the lower hills sometime in the early afternoon. “We need to ride hard today. We’re followed closely now.”

  Salindra visibly tightened at the comment.

  Jakob looked back, as if the Deshmahne would be seen riding down on them at that moment. Behind him were the grassy hills they’d ridden over the last day and nothing more. Nothing else moved in the cool morning air. He still felt the strange itch in the back of his head telling him he was watched, yet on the open grassy plains, there was no place to hide.

  The morning ride was chilly. A cold wind whipped across the plains and tore through his light cloak. He gripped it tightly and bent low to his horse for extra warmth. It helped little. They rode more quickly, and progressed closer and closer to the foothills of the mountains.

  They reached the rocky lower hills just before midday, stopping only briefly this time to eat a meager helping of leftover hare. Brohmin seemed in a hurry to get them moving, not letting them dally.

  Jakob looked back, south, the way they had come. They were higher up here, the rocky hills giving some vantage to see from. In the far distance, he could just make out movement. He looked over to Brohmin, who nodded.

  “They’re not far off. Did Endric tell you where he was to take this trunk?”

  “Avaneam. I don’t know how much farther it is down the path.”

  Brohmin stared up the mountain face. “Avaneam?” The word flowed from his tongue, spoken familiarly. “Why?”

  “I don’t really know. Endric was to take it there.
”

  “Endric wouldn’t have wanted that burden,” he said softly.

  “I don’t think he did,” Jakob answered, remembering his comments from the Turning Festival.

  “Yet he entrusted you with this.”

  Jakob shook his head. “Not me. Rit and his raegan.”

  “It’s possible Endric intended this task for you. He’s nothing if not sly.”

  Jakob remembered Novan telling him that Endric had requested he travel with Rit, and now wondered if this was Endric’s intent. “What is this trunk?”

  Brohmin sighed. “The one who meets us in Avaneam can tell you when we reach it.”

  “Endric?”

  “Not him. Not in Avaneam.”

  “What is Avaneam?” Salindra finally asked. “I’ve not heard of it.”

  Brohmin’s mouth pulled in a frown. “No one has.” He looked at Jakob with eyes rimmed with a new emotion.

  Concern? Uncertainty? Fear?

  Brohmin stared silently toward the north. The white peaks of the mountains stretched high above them. “We have farther to go than I realized,” he said finally.

  Trudging along the foothills, they occasionally needed to dismount and lead their horses around steep obstacles. By early evening, they finally reached the lower slopes of the mountains. Huge white-capped peaks stretched as far as he could see, up into the clouds, and higher than he could fathom. He wondered how much farther they had.

  They rode as much as they could, searching easy valleys to pass through and trying to keep to the lower areas. They rode that way for several hours, first climbing up and then switch-backing down, staying mostly within valleys. After a while, it no longer worked, and they were forced to climb higher.

  “We’ll need to dismount,” Brohmin announced in the early evening. The sun hung low in the western horizon, bright in his eyes.

  Jakob climbed down and noticed that Salindra followed suit with a resigned look on her face. He grabbed the reins of his horse and followed the path Brohmin took. Jakob began to feel a chill creep through him. It was dark, almost a presence, and he walked on, trying to ignore the feeling, but it would not go away.

  It pressed on him, and as it did, something about it tickled a memory, something he should know. He had felt this before, but when? His chest tightened as he walked, his throat closing. Jakob strained to get a full breath, struggled against the pressure, but it didn’t stop, instead growing worse as they moved onward.

  Are we getting too high?

  When did the air begin to thin? It didn’t seem as if they had climbed high enough to make it this difficult to breathe. Breaths whistled as he strained to keep climbing.

  They reached a small peak and began a slow descent into the next valley. The loose rock made the footing treacherous, and his labored breathing distracted him even more. He was wheezing loudly now, each breath a struggle, as if someone sat upon his chest.

  At the lower edge of the valley, he was forced to stop. His breathing was too difficult, and he couldn’t get enough air to keep moving. Brohmin looked back, eyes concerned, but Jakob couldn’t focus on the man. Forced to lean over, he rested his hands on his thighs as he tried to take slow breaths. A bead of sweat rolled down his face, catching in his mouth, and he spat it out.

  What was happening?

  “What’s wrong?” Brohmin asked.

  Salindra hadn’t moved. A look of fear was plain upon her face.

  Jakob shook his head, opening his mouth to try and speak. “I... don’t... know.” The words were hoarse, a near whisper, and took more energy than he had to spare. He took another ragged breath and his lungs burned with the effort.

  Brohmin reached for him, and Jakob shook him off. A look of surprise flashed across Brohmin’s face briefly before worry returned. “At least hand me your reins.”

  Jakob tossed them at Brohmin, not bothering to see if they even reached the man, and resumed his bent position, panting. Supporting his weight with his arms again, his left hand slipped off his thigh, and he fell forward. He landed on his belly, his sword beneath him. Rolling himself over, he moved his sword out of the way, and a humming flared in the blade before coursing through him. A strange tingling sensation raced through his arms. It roared through him, and he cried out, the last of his breath leaving him.

  The pulsing overwhelmed him, the same strange sense he had when using the sword, and as the vibration filled him, the weight on his chest lessened.

  His breaths came more easily, and he managed to crawl to his knees. Brohmin leaned him back so that his face looked toward the sky. “I’m better,” he managed, taking a slow breath, filling his chest with the sweet air.

  “What was it?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. I couldn’t breathe. Maybe we’ve climbed too high too fast for me.”

  Brohmin frowned. “Maybe. Rest a moment.” He wiped a finger along Jakob’s brow, feeling the moisture. “You look like you need it.”

  Sitting there, he breathed slowly and deeply. The pulsing remained, and he held on to it. He had not realized it until now, but it’d been many days since he’d known it. Taking deep breaths, the air was cool in his lungs, and he savored it.

  As he did, he noted dark tendrils of fog stretch around the rocks of the valley, and nearly inky black. He’d seen something like this before but couldn’t remember where.

  The fog shifted, thickening, and seemed to quest almost as if alive.

  “What are you staring at?” Salindra asked.

  He turned his head quickly to her, and she started to repeat the question. Out of the corner of one eye, he saw a finger of the fog moving toward them, as if it had heard her question. Raising a finger to his lips, he shushed her. She frowned at him sternly and turned to Brohmin.

  There was something sinister about the black fog.

  Brohmin stared at him, a puzzled expression to his eyes.

  “We need to move,” he urged Brohmin. His words were quiet, barely even a whisper. He hoped the man could read his lips. He turned to look at the tendrils of fog; several of the fingers probed around the boulders.

  “Why?” Brohmin copied his whispered tone.

  Jakob nodded toward the northern edge of the valley, where the fog was thickest. It oozed down the mountain face, slowly rolling toward them. Jakob didn’t know how they’d avoid it as it filled the space around them.

  Brohmin looked in the direction Jakob indicated, but shook his head. He couldn’t see it.

  It was then that Jakob remembered where he had seen the dark fog before.

  It had been a dream.

  It was darker then, and as he remembered, he saw the tendrils of the fog thicken. They grew darker. There were creatures in the dream, and if the fog was real, then the creatures couldn’t be far behind.

  He remembered the creatures, and though he had seen them only from a distance, the evil to them was apparent. Hairless heads and eyes like a rat’s. He didn’t want to see one. Fear surged through him. Jakob gripped the hilt of his sword reflexively.

  Is this the danger of the Elasiin path, what Brohmin faced the night in Fristin?

  Or was this even real? Had the madness claimed him fully?

  With the thought, a hairless head popped over the top of the northern ridge. The dark eyes were as he remembered them, black and soulless. The creature saw him as he saw it. A mouth full of sharp teeth opened up, and a hideous sound echoed across the valley.

  He leaped to his feet. “We need to go!”

  Salindra followed his gaze up the valley slope, and her jaw dropped. Brohmin followed her gaze before turning back to Jakob, a look of surprise in his eyes, before calmly unsheathing his sword.

  “If you can see them, you can defeat them,” Brohmin said.

  Jakob shook his head. Fear froze him, more paralyzing than any he had known facing the Deshmahne.

  “I’ve seen you with that sword, Jakob. Unsheathe it and join me!” The words were a roar.

  Turning again to face the black aura
s, he watched the creatures as they wound their way down the edge of the valley. They moved quickly toward them, surefooted on the loose rock. He watched Brohmin ready himself to face them.

  I must be strong. I can face this.

  He counted a dozen or more of the creatures. Too many for the three of them. Two, he corrected himself. Salindra couldn’t fight and had no weapon save Brohmin’s bow.

  Slowly, he unsheathed his sword, and the pounding in his head suddenly threatened to shake his body. He shifted the sword in his hand as he surveyed the ground, looking for the best place to make a stand. There were too many of them, and he’d need to hold off and defeat as many as he could.

  Panic set in. In the past, the sword seemed to almost vibrate in sync with what he felt within his head. Would it respond now?

  He remembered feeling the same panic when chased by the three Deshmahne, the same feeling he had known when running through Rondalin. His heart roared in his chest, pounding with the beating in his head. Waves of nervous nausea filled him. His horse anxiously tramped its feet with the trunk still strapped to his saddle.

  How much farther to Avaneam? They were close now, but there was still no sign of Endric or Novan. What would happen in the trunk was lost?

  That cannot happen!

  He felt a sudden shifting in his head followed by a spinning as he had in his dream. He pulled on it, the way he had in his dream.

  Waves of nausea slammed through him, and he closed his eyes to slow it.

  When he opened his eyes, it was darker. The moon was up and bright, and the wind whistled through the mountains. It howled against his cloak.

  He looked around wondering how it got dark so suddenly. And cold.

  Though it was dark, he could see easily. To his eyes, it was almost light, yet he knew it was not. He didn’t have time to wonder as a sudden stream of black auras moved lithely down the mountain face. He knew the shape, knew the source.

  There must be more than thirty! he realized. I’d only counted a dozen. How can we stop thirty?

  He reached to his side grabbing for his sword, but it was missing.

  The shapes had seen him and moved toward him quickly, almost too fast to see. He ducked, hiding behind a large rock filling the path in front of him. This was no place for a confrontation. And he had no weapon. He couldn’t face thirty of these creatures.