The Great Betrayal (The Lost Prophecy Book 8)

by D. K. Holmberg

  And Jakob realized that it no longer mattered.

  He’d spent most of his time trying to understand those who’d come before him. Now it was time to take what he’d learned and experienced and apply it toward establishing his future.

  For now, all that mattered was that Raime was defeated. All that mattered was that the long-standing plot to disrupt the damahne—to purify them—was over. And Jakob had been pivotal in stopping it.

  Shoren met his gaze and nodded. Ahmaean pushed away from him, and in a surge of light, Shoren disappeared. Jakob stared, feeling a pang of sadness, but also something else that was more difficult to understand. Could it be that he felt proud of what he had accomplished?

  Anda approached, making her way carefully to him. Aruhn stood a distance behind her, but he said nothing. On the far side of the clearing within the forest, Jakob noted Brohmin and Salindra. They were speaking quietly to themselves. There was an expression on Brohmin’s face that Jakob had never seen from the man. It was peace—and possibly happiness.

  “What will you do now, Jakob Nialsen?” Anda asked.

  What would he do? All he had wanted was to stop Raime, and now that he had, what was there for him? Could he find a measure of peace much as Brohmin seemed to have? He had another purpose, and it was one he understood even without Shoren asking it of him. But it didn’t seem to be enough. There had to be more for him than simply rebuilding the damahne.

  And there was, he realized. He was meant to maintain peace. That would be his role, and to do so, maybe there needed to be a Conclave. It couldn’t be nearly as restrictive as what had come before. It needed to be people from all different places coming together so that they could share knowledge gained. Perhaps he would even take them to Salvat, and a place that might actually be closer to the Maker. What better place was there for him?

  “I think… I think that there are many possibilities before me.”

  “Is it something that you have seen?”

  Jakob turned to Anda and took her hand, enveloping her with his ahmaean. She responded by doing the same, letting a wave of warmth flow over him.

  “It’s nothing that I have needed to see. Not anymore. For now, I might just be.”

  “That is more like a daneamiin philosophy.”

  “You don’t think I should learn from the daneamiin?”

  She smiled at him, and the wave of relaxation was different. It was more natural. “You should take all that you can from those who you might learn from, Jakob Nialsen.”

  Jakob looked around him one more time and decided that was what he would do. But for now, he would relax, and he would live within the moment, knowing that he had succeeded.

  Epilogue

  Vasha no longer felt like home. After everything Roelle had been through, she wasn’t certain what would feel like home. It wasn’t camping along the side of the road, and it wasn’t places like Paliis or even the north. The mountains might be the home of the Antrilii—and now of Isandra—but they were not her home.

  The city still smelled like home. There was something distinct to it—though she didn’t know whether it came from the teralin buried beneath the city or from the people here. It reminded her of her youth and of a time when she had been so naïve. A part of her longed to return to that time.

  The palace stretched high overhead, rising into thin white clouds as it sat on the third terrace. She sighed as they walked through the first terrace, and glanced over at Selton. She had thought he would be relieved returning, but she sensed no relief from him.

  “We didn’t have to return,” Selton said.

  Roelle glanced behind her at the two dozen warriors that remained. A hundred had left the city with her, and a quarter were all that remained. That was on her. As much as she wished it were otherwise, their safety had been her responsibility, and they had died because she had not protected them well enough.

  “You didn’t have to return, but I do,” Roelle said.

  “Why?”

  She smiled. “A promise.”

  She hadn’t expected to have survived, but then again, many things had occurred that she had not expected. The groeliin were no longer mindless creatures. That seemed the most impossible of all that had happened. There might be some remaining in the mountains, but Roelle now had faith that Isandra and the Antrilii would find them, and help as many as possible.

  She had to believe that had been Jakob’s plan, but she hadn’t seen her old friend since everything had settled down. She wasn’t certain when—or if—she would. He was a god, and she was not one to question the gods.

  As she started into the city, moving past buildings that had once been familiar, she saw a tall, gray-robed figure coming at her. Roelle squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. How had Alriyn known?

  As he approached, she nodded. “Uncle,” she said.

  “I heard that you were returning to the city.”

  She shook her head. “Not returning.” When Alriyn arched a brow at her, she smiled sadly, patting her sword. “How can we stay, Uncle? We aren’t Magi, not anymore.”

  Alriyn sighed. “I suppose you are not, but Endric told me about your return.”

  What was Endric playing at? What did he intend to do in having her return to Vasha? Did he think he could convince her to rejoin the Magi within the palace? If so, then he was mistaken. She had no intention of joining the Magi. That didn’t suit her, not anymore. She still didn’t know what would suit her, but it wasn’t that.

  “Where is Endric? I assume if he told you I would return, then he would have returned with you?”

  Alriyn motioned to the second terrace and the barracks. “He has returned. Endric is tired. Something changed in him during this battle.”

  “I imagine trying to keep the peace has worn on him,” she said.

  “That is the responsibility of the Denraen general.”

  “I think Endric would tell you that the Magi don’t get to tell him how to serve.”

  Alriyn chuckled. “Yes, I suppose that he would. Endric has always been a skilled Denraen general.” Alriyn studied her for a moment. “What do you intend to do? If you don’t plan on remaining in the city, where will you go?”

  Roelle hadn’t given it much thought. She needed to complete her promise, and then she would figure out what she would do next. The groeliin were no longer a threat. As far as she knew, the High Priest was defeated. And the gods had returned. What more was there for her to do?

  “I will see Endric,” she said.

  Alriyn’s gaze lingered on her and then he nodded. “Please find me before you depart.”

  She looked at him and saw a mixture of emotions on his face. She recognized the fatigue—she’d seen those lines around his eyes often enough—and the sadness, but was there also pride? “I will try, Uncle.”

  Alriyn stepped aside and let Roelle make her way up the sloping walkway to the second terrace. When she reached it, she paused at the gate, nodding briefly to the Denraen standing guard. She recognized neither of them, though hadn’t expected to.

  “I’m here to see Endric.”

  The nearest man, a slender youth with a neatly shaved head, nodded to her. “The general sent word that you would be coming, Mage.”

  Roelle shook her head. “I’m not a Mage.”

  The boy frowned but said nothing. The two Denraen allowed her and the other warriors to pass, stepping into the barracks yard. Roelle had been here several times, but it had been a while. She made her way toward Endric’s office, expecting to find him there. At the door to his office, she was greeted by a familiar Denraen.

  “I’m looking for Endric, Pendin.”

  “He’s expecting you. He’s in the practice yard.”

  “Do you know anything about why he wanted me to find him here?”

  A strange smile curled Pendin’s mouth. He was nearly the same age as Endric, and still solid muscle. He was shorter than Roelle, and she had not seen him fight, but heard he was nearly Endric’s rival.
r />   “Just find him, Roelle. Let him share with you his reasoning. I learned long ago not to question Endric.”

  “How long have you known him?”

  Pendin grunted. “Nearly the entire time I have served as Denraen.”

  Roelle took a deep breath. She was tired, but not exhausted as she had been when fighting. This was a different kind of fatigue, and it was the kind that came from travel rather than the effort of fighting.

  She turned away from Endric’s office and started back to the barracks practice yard. As she went, she glanced over at Selton. “You don’t have to follow me. This is a promise I made to Endric.”

  “I’m curious.”

  She laughed. “I’m curious also.”

  The warriors with her trailed after her as she entered the barracks practice yard. There had been a time, when they were still learning to fight with the sword, that two dozen Magi following her in formation would have been an uncommon sight in the barracks yard, but they were soldiers now, too, and as such, at home here.

  She found Endric working with one of the Denraen. The general patiently led the soldier through a series of catahs, and then demonstrated the defense. There had been a time when she thought learning catahs would make her uncreative with her attacks, but that was not the case at all. Learning and understanding the catahs had been a way for her to be more creative and anticipate her opponent’s moves.

  A few other soldiers waited their turn, standing patiently to have a chance to face Endric. When the general finished with the Denraen he was working with, he shook his head, and the remaining soldiers dispersed.

  He turned toward Roelle. “You returned.”

  “You made me promise to often enough that I figured I had better.”

  Endric smiled broadly. “I hear you had some hand in helping Isandra with the groeliin?”

  Roelle grunted. Had she had a hand in it? Or had she simply kept the groeliin from reaching Isandra sooner? The thousand groeliin that Roelle and the Deshmahne had killed might have been saved. She tried not to let that bother her, but there were times when it did. How many more could she have helped had she learned that the groeliin could be saved?

  “I found Isandra if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “I never doubted that you would.”

  “I found her. Fought alongside the groeliin.”

  Endric smiled sadly. “A fight I wish I could have participated in, but it was not one for the Denraen.”

  Roelle suspected that was true. What would the Denraen have been able to do? Likely nothing, not against the groeliin or the others with power. “What did you want from me, Endric? Why did you ask me to come here?”

  Endric smiled, though it never reached his eyes. He tapped the ground with his practice sword. “You have become less patient than you once were.”

  Roelle shrugged. “I don’t always have time for patience.”

  “Perhaps not. I was the same way when I began leading.” He considered her a moment, and then his gaze flicked over the remaining warriors. “What would you do now? Have you given it any thought?”

  “I have given it thought, but I don’t know.”

  “I could offer you an opportunity.”

  Roelle stared at him. “I’m not sure that I like the sound of that.”

  Endric chuckled. “I suppose not.”

  “What do you want of me?”

  “You seem in a hurry for someone who doesn’t seem to have much planned.”

  “Just because I don’t have anything planned doesn’t mean that I want to remain in Vasha.”

  “Why is that? What do you resent about Vasha?”

  “It’s not a matter of resenting anything. It’s that I don’t belong here anymore.”

  Endric studied her for a moment. As he did, the scar along his cheek twitched as it often did. She wondered how he had come to have that scar. What had happened to Endric to have injured him in such a way? They were stories she likely would never hear.

  “And what if you did belong? Would you stay, then?”

  She frowned. “I can’t serve as a Mage. That’s not who I am.”

  “Perhaps not anymore, but you are something else.”

  She grunted. “That’s the problem. I am something else. You made certain of that, didn’t you?”

  “I only encouraged a natural inclination. You would have made the same decision had I encouraged you or not.”

  “I don’t know that I would have. I don’t know that the Council would have allowed me to pursue studying the sword had you not been the one to teach.”

  Endric flashed a grin. “Perhaps, then, I am complicit. You have become more than I ever imagined possible. I knew that you had potential, and I knew that you could one day be a great Mage, but even in my wildest dreams, I didn’t expect you to become the leader are now.” He glanced over her shoulder to the Magi waiting. They remained with her, unmoving. They would remain until she left.

  “You called me here to compliment me? I’ll admit that I don’t mind the occasional compliment—what woman would?—but that doesn’t really seem your style, Endric.”

  He turned back to the practice staves and grabbed a pair from the rack, tossing one to her. “How about a spar?”

  “Endric—”

  Endric smiled. “You should humor an old man. I don’t have opportunities to spar with very many who challenge me these days.”

  Roelle looked down at the wooden practice stave. From the very first time she had held one, she had felt as if she should have been learning to use it her entire life. There was something comforting—reassuring—about the practice staves in the movements that she learned when she danced with them. She had wondered in the days since last working with Endric how she would fare. Why wouldn’t she take the opportunity to practice with him?

  “You and the others don’t need to stay here,” she said to Selton.

  Selton glanced back at the other Magi, grinning. “Oh, I know we don’t have to. I don’t think any of us would pass up this opportunity.”

  “And what opportunity is that?”

  Selton’s grin widened. “The opportunity to see the great Roelle finally get beaten.”

  She grunted, turning away from Selton. “Endric has beaten me plenty of times.”

  “But none recently,” Selton said.

  She took a deep breath, circling around the old general, and swung her practice stave in a steady arc. She worked with a certain smoothness, flowing from movement to movement, drawing upon her manehlin without realizing that she did. It connected to the tattoo, and she had discovered how to balance that power.

  Endric remained patiently waiting. He held his practice stave up at the ready.

  She would be the challenger, so she would be given the opportunity to attack first.

  She smiled and sliced forward.

  Endric parried, blocking her easily.

  Roelle slipped from catah to catah, dancing with the stave. She moved through them with a familiarity, and Endric countered each attack. When he turned, attempting to attack, she resisted, using the defense that he had taught her.

  When she pulled upon her manehlin, trying to strengthen herself, she realized that Endric did the same. He was more powerful than she had realized. Ever since forcing her connection to the Deshmahne tattoo, she had a greater connection to her manehlin. Somehow, Endric shared a significant connection, as well.

  The general stepped back, smiling. “You have grown quite skilled.”

  “I still can’t beat you.”

  He didn’t seem to be breathing hard. She didn’t know whether to be impressed or offended that she could barely challenge Endric.

  “You have faced countless groeliin, and you think that you can’t do anything more than that?”

  Roelle grunted. “What do you want from me?”

  “I want you to give your best effort. I want to see the Mage you have become. Are you trying to tell me that you have grown no more skilled than what you have already
demonstrated? Is that the Mage these others have followed?”

  Roelle clenched her jaw. She wouldn’t have Endric questioning her. Not after everything she had been through. She no longer needed his approval.

  She darted forward, sweeping her stave through a flurry of movements. As she did, she realized she incorporated part of Safran’s attack, that of the desert warrior, as well as some of the groeliin’s attack methods. Endric was forced back, but able to block each blow. Roelle could see that he struggled. If she pushed a little harder, if she forced herself forward just a little more…

  And then she struck him.

  When she did, she gasped, but surged forward, striking him twice more. Had they fought with the sword, it would have been a killing blow.

  She stepped back, holding her stave high. Endric lowered his, letting the tip of the practice stave touch the earth. He still wasn’t breathing as heavily as she would have expected.

  She had done it. She had beaten Endric.

  She looked up at the general, worried that he might be angry that she had bested him. Instead, she found him smiling.

  “That is the Mage I was hoping to see.”

  Roelle took a deep breath, resisting the urge to look back at the others with her. She could feel their eyes on her back. “What was this about, Endric? Did you only want me to show you what I’ve learned?”

  He nodded toward her practice stave and took it when she offered it. He replaced them on the rack before turning back to her. “There is a tradition among the Denraen.”

  “The Denraen have many traditions.”

  He bowed his head. “Yes, but this might be one of the most important traditions.”

  “And what tradition is this?”

  He looked past her, and this time, Roelle did follow the direction of his gaze. She noted Pendin as well as several of the other Denraen watching both her and Endric. There was a strange tension to them.

  “Have you heard the story about how I assumed control of the Denraen?”

  Roelle frowned. “You took it from your father who led the Denraen before you.”