“It is nothing, Mage.”
“It doesn’t seem like it’s nothing.”
“The remaining warriors of this tribe have headed back south.”
“To face the groeliin with Nahrsin?”
“No. They weren’t willing to fight alongside Nahrsin in the south. They didn’t view that as the Antrilii’s responsibility.”
“Then what is it? What has you so disturbed?”
“It is where they have gone.”
“Where?”
There was something about his reluctance to share that set her heart palpitating. It did nothing to ease the sense of her power seeping away from her.
“The groeliin travel in broods.”
“That’s what you’ve shared with me,” Isandra said.
“Yes. I’ve shared it with you, and I will share it again. It is important because broods require a breeding female.”
“The queen?” Isandra asked.
Jassan made his way along the street, a determined stride to his step. Isandra followed, keeping up by practically racing alongside him. She didn’t see many people in the street, and saw no sign of the Antrilii they had come with. It seemed practically abandoned.
“The queen,” Jassan agreed. He glanced from side to side before fixing his gaze on Isandra. “Before the groeliin moved south over a year ago, we heard word that the breeding females were coming together. It doesn’t happen often, perhaps once every dozen or so years, something we call the Chisln.”
Isandra translated the word in the ancient language, noting that it essentially meant time of breeding. “Why did they come together?”
“They bring the broods together to breed. We’ve seen spikes in attacks after each Chisln. The Antrilii prepare, and we hope to root them out before they can fully establish. We have only disrupted a Chisln once, and that was with Endric’s help.”
Isandra added that to the list of things she needed to speak to the general about. Not only was he Antrilii, but he had kept his knowledge of the groeliin from the Council.
Would it have mattered? Was there anything that he could have done as general of the Denraen to slow the attacks?
It was unlikely that there was anything he could have done.
It made sense that he wouldn’t have shared the information with them. The Antrilii were fully capable of protecting the north—and had done so for centuries upon centuries. Whatever it was that had changed had required a different approach, one that she suspected Endric had recognized, and sent Roelle and the other Magi north to help.
“What does it matter that you see the spikes after the breeding?” Isandra asked.
“It matters because the last Chisln was a little over a year ago. After that, they moved south in numbers we haven’t seen in centuries.”
And if the last Chisln had been only a year ago, the fact that it happened again so soon meant something terrible was happening.
“What did you learn in there?” she asked, motioning toward the building they had come from. It was barely visible from the corner they had reached, and Isandra paused, realizing that the gray-haired woman stood in the doorway, looking down the street. Not just looking down the street, but looking at her.
“I learned the reason that the rest of the warriors didn’t meet us in the south as they should have.”
“And why was that?”
“Because another Chisln was discovered recently.”
“I thought you said they only occurred every dozen or so years.”
He nodded. “That has been the trend.”
“For how long?”
“For as long as we have hunted the groeliin.”
They reached the edge of the city. From here, there was open plains, nothing but a flat expanse until it reached the mountains in the south. To the north, she noted a few copses of trees, and in the distance, there was a building that jutted from the ground. Something about the building tugged at a memory, and was familiar, though Isandra wasn’t certain why that should be.
“What changed?” she asked.
Jassan glanced over at her. “I don’t know. And it worries me.”
Isandra shivered. If Jassan—a staggeringly powerful Antrilii warrior—was concerned, she needed to share that concern.
“Where you going now?”
“Now? Now I must see the leaders of all the tribes. I must see what they know, and see where our warriors have gone.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jassan led Isandra north, away from the city of Farsea, and even farther from the mountains. She didn’t question where he led, sensing from his stiff posture and the blank expression on his face that he wouldn’t answer even if she did ask. The air held a fragrance of some flowers she didn’t recognize, and it mixed with pine from the trees, which grew in clusters. The grasses added to the aroma and grew in tall stalks that created a flowing field all around the city. There was a sense of peacefulness that seemed to surround everything, something that came from what felt like a connection to nature that was different from what she experienced in Vasha.
“Why are we leaving Farsea?” she asked.
“Because we needed answers,” Jassan said. “I returned to find out why no other warriors joined us. And now, I’ve learned the answer. If the Chisln is taking place sooner than it should, then the Yahinv would have asked our warriors to remain and protect the Antrilii lands.”
“What is the Yahinv?”
“Each tribe has one female who leads. You just saw ours back in the city. They lead in times of peace.”
Isandra pictured the gray-haired woman watching them as they left the city.
“Leaving you to fight with so few? And what of what Nahrsin faced?”
Isandra couldn’t fathom the number of groeliin Jassan claimed there had been, and had a hard time understanding what it must’ve been like to confront so many. How could they have so willingly gone south, and so willingly faced the groeliin, even knowing they might not survive?
“As I said, not all believed. Nahrsin did not have the full support of all the tribes.”
“Is that uncommon?”
“It was not the first time the tribes were not unified when it came to facing the groeliin.”
“When was the last time?” They followed a trail that led between a cluster of trees, and Isandra glanced up at them, noting their enormous size. They reminded her of trees she’d seen near the Great Forest, though those were deciduous trees, and their enormous leaves would fall in the winter.
“Many years ago, long before I was a full warrior.”
“What happened then?”
“The groeliin pressed south. They weren’t in significant numbers, but enough that they moved past of the scouting party. Nahrsin’s father, Dentoun, took a group of Antrilii from his tribe south. They contained them, but…”
“But what?”
“Dentoun was lost.”
“What happened?”
“Dentoun helped fight the groeliin along with others of his clan, but Nahrsin risked himself helping the Magi before returning to our lands. There are some who felt he went too far in doing that. Even after all these years, some have not forgiven him.”
Isandra frowned as her gaze drifted along the trees, turning to the grasses and then, looking farther, noting that Jassan led her toward the building that stood all by itself in the distance, one that, the closer they came, she realized resembled the Tower of the Gods in Thealon.
The groeliin had pushed south before, and Jassan was implying that the Antrilii had hunted them—but not only that, they had somehow needed to help the Magi?
She knew that there was an attack long ago. Knowledge of that had been restricted to the Council, and it had somehow been tied to the Deshmahne. It was the first time the Council realized the true threat of the Deshmahne, the first time they realized the extent to which the dark priests would go. They had attacked the city—and the palace. She didn’t know much else other than that, and doubted that any of the Magi alive did
. Mage Tresten had been the one who had seemed the most knowledgeable, and he had died long ago, so discovering the answer to it was nigh upon impossible.
“When was that?”
“You would have to ask General Endric. It happened before he took command of the Denraen.”
Isandra tried thinking about when that had been. When had Endric assumed the leadership of the Denraen over his father Dendril?
It’d been more than twenty years.
Could that have been about the same time that teralin was no longer considered necessary for the Magi to reach the gods?
At that time, Isandra had only recently been raised from the role of apprentice, and remembered thinking of how grateful she was that they didn’t need teralin, especially given how difficult it was to handle. The metal was hot and unpleasant to work with. Tresten had claimed he had some insight gleaned from his studies that proved it was not necessary for reaching the gods, and none of the Magi had objected. For that matter, it seemed that most were thankful. Much as she had been thankful.
“Why wouldn’t the Antrilii believe Nahrsin?” she asked.
“Nahrsin is felt to be too connected to Endric. They are cousins, after all.”
“Why does that matter?”
“Know that it does.”
The building loomed in front of them, and Isandra felt a sense of pressure from it, something of a power that seemed to radiate from the building, one that reminded her of the Tower when she had been in Thealon each time before.
“Is it because Endric has remained with the Denraen?”
“It has less to do with Endric than it does with Nahrsin’s father. More than a few were disappointed that Dentoun chose to remain with the Magi.”
Isandra chuckled. “I think the Antrilii misunderstand. The Denraen might remain in Vasha, and they might offer cursory protection to the Magi and serve the same ideals as us, but they do not serve us.”
Jassan glanced over at her. “The Denraen don’t serve the Magi?”
She shrugged. “Perhaps those not on the Council might think otherwise, but the Denraen serve their own purpose. It is to maintain peace, and in that, Endric is almost single-minded. He is an efficient—and highly skilled—general. He takes his oath seriously. He has committed to protect peace, to preserve the mahne.”
Jassan nodded. “Nahrsin said the same. Not all believed him.”
“But you went with him.”
Jassan stared straight ahead, his face blank. “I did.”
“Why?”
“If the groeliin had truly left the north in the numbers Nahrsin had speculated, then the Antrilii were needed. Not only a single tribe, but all Antrilii. Keeping ourselves separate, thinking that we must protect only the north, abandons our oath. I am no oath breaker.”
There was something about the way he said it that made her realize that whatever oath the Antrilii took meant more than she could completely understand. They took their duty to protect the north from the groeliin seriously.
“What oath did you take?”
He glanced over at her, considering her for a moment. There was a heaviness to his gaze, one that reminded her of General Endric when he had visited the Council in the past. She resisted the urge to shrink back from it.
“We took an oath to protect the north from the threat of the groeliin. That was our responsibility, one given to us by the gods, and one that we will not abandon until the groeliin no longer attack and the north is safe.”
“What happens then?”
“Then we may lay down our swords, and we may find peace. Until then, we fight.”
He led her past another copse of trees before reaching the tall tower. He paused at the door and nodded toward it. “This is the House of the Yahinv. This is a place of power to the Antrilii. A sacred place. Few outsiders have ever visited the House of the Yahinv. Know that by bringing you here, you are being granted access that others are not.”
“Few outsiders?”
“Endric has been here. He may be Antrilii, but he is also an outsider.”
“Who else?”
“None.”
Jassan rapped on the door. There was a pattern to his knocking, one that came in a staccato sort of burst, and he stood back, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited.
Isandra glanced from Jassan to the door, waiting to see what would happen. She expected it to open, and expected to find an explosion of power, something, but nothing happened.
Jassan frowned. He stepped forward and rapped again, knocking on the door in the same pattern.
He took a step back, keeping his arms at his sides and his gaze fixed on the door.
Nothing happened.
Isandra prepared to comment on the lack of activity when the door cracked open.
Dim, white light spilled out from inside. A face appeared, that of a wrinkled old woman, with gray hair pulled back into a tight bun. She reminded Isandra of the woman back in Farsea.
As she stared at her, she realized why that was. There seemed to be the same power coming from the woman, the same sense of energy. She’d not felt such power from anyone outside of Vasha before. It was almost the same as the Mage power, the same sort of energy she could detect when she was in Vasha.
Few Magi were able to detect it. It was one of the reasons she was raised to the Council, and given a seat of authority. Isandra had a connection others did not. Why should she feel that here? More importantly, how could she feel that when her connection to her Mageborn abilities had been stolen from her?
“Jassan Hitaly. Why have you come here?”
“You know why we have come here, Rebecca.”
“You have abandoned the Antrilii.”
“No. The Antrilii fought—and died—facing groeliin. That is our oath. That is our purpose. We have abandoned no one.”
“And now? Why have you returned?”
“Nahrsin sent me. He wanted to know why help was never sent.”
Rebecca’s gaze drifted past him, flicking toward the mountains—and toward Farsea. “If you came through the city, you know the reason.”
“I understand the groeliin are breeding again.”
“The time is wrong.”
“Much about the groeliin is wrong. We faced ten thousand groeliin.”
“How is it that you survived?”
“The Magi joined us. And we had the help of the gods.”
She arched a brow. “The gods have not assisted the Antrilii in our fight against the groeliin. They would not have intervened, even with such numbers as you describe.”
“Not directly, but they gave us their power. We drove the groeliin into the Great Forest of the south lands, and the creatures were trapped there. Once trapped, we were able to slaughter them easily. The merahl hunted and brought down countless broods.”
Her brow knitted into a tight line, and she stared at him, as if trying to decide whether to believe him, or whether she needed to send him away for making up stories.
Isandra could understand what the woman was feeling. What Jassan claimed seemed impossible. Had she not trusted the man, had she not seen for herself his competence facing the groeliin, she doubted that she would have believed him, either. How could one believe that the gods would push back the groeliin? How could one believe that the Forest had the power to stop creatures like that?
“Why are you here?” she asked again.
“Where is the breeding ground?”
“The remaining warriors went in search of it. We don’t know.” Rebecca glanced past him, seemingly seeing Isandra for the first time. Her gaze took her in, starting at her head and working down to her toes, the frown on her face deepening. “You have brought a Mage to Farsea? You have brought a Mage to the House of the Yahinv?”
“She is injured. She was attacked by the Deshmahne in the city of Rondalin.”
Isandra wasn’t certain how much Jassan had known about her injury. She had shared that she was injured, and that she needed to return to Vasha, but had she sh
ared the extent—and nature—of her injury?
She didn’t think that she had.
How was it that he seemed to know? How was it that he seemed able to recognize that she was unable to use her Mageborn ability?
“I can tell that she is injured,” Rebecca said.
“I couldn’t leave her to be attacked by the remaining groeliin. The Antrilii continued to cleanse the rest of the south, but between them and the Deshmahne she was in danger.”
“What happened?”
It took Isandra a moment to realize she was talking to her. She shook her head, not wanting to talk about it. She hadn’t wanted to talk about it since the injury—really, the branding—had happened. For that matter, she hadn’t wanted to talk about anything about that time. All she wanted was to return to Vasha, see if any on the Council could heal her, and bring back the person she had been before.
“How can we help if we don’t know what happened?” Rebecca asked.
“How can you help at all?”
Rebecca took her by the wrist, and pulled her into the House of the Yahinv, leaving Jassan standing at the door. As Rebecca dragged her into the building, the door closed, almost of its own accord.
Isandra glanced back, feeling a longing to return to Jassan. She didn’t care for the idea of being separated from him. He was the only person she knew in the Antrilii lands, and the only person she trusted.
Yet she had been a Mage Elder. She sat upon the Council of Elders. There was no reason for her to fear this woman or this place.
“Where are you taking me?” Isandra asked.
Rebecca ignored her question and continued pulling her in.
The entrance was something like what she imagined the inside of the Tower of the Gods in Thealon would be. Massive stone walls rose all around, and ornate torches were set into them, burning with a soft, strangely white light. Exquisite paintings hung on the walls, even more detailed than had been in that room in Farsea. Benches were arranged in rows near one end of the room, all angled toward a raised platform.
Was this some sort of place for performance?
Rebecca continued to pull her, not pausing in this room, leading her out toward a wide set of stairs that rose on the far side. Isandra barely had a chance to examine the room, barely had a chance to understand why this was a sacred place to the Antrilii, when she was dragged up the stairs. All the while, Rebecca remained silent, saying nothing to her as she hurried up the stairs.
Twist of the Fibers (The Lost Prophecy Book 4) Page 18