Twist of the Fibers (The Lost Prophecy Book 4)

by D. K. Holmberg

  “You’re not who you appear to be, are you?” the King asked.

  Brohmin shrugged. “I don’t claim to be anyone other than who I am.”

  “And who is that?”

  “I’ve been called many things over the years, though often, they have been less than kind.”

  “Then why should I answer your questions, Brohmin?”

  There is something to the way King Allay said his name that made Brohmin realize the young King had heard of him before. Over the years, he had taken to using his given name again, thinking that the five hundred years since he’d served the Magi had been long enough for people to forget him. Once again, he suspected he was even more unprepared for this meeting than he realized. How much had the King discovered? If he opposed the Deshmahne, maybe it was because of what he’d learned.

  Could it be that he was aware of the Conclave?

  No. More likely, the King had heard of Brohmin while serving in Vasha.

  Had the King known of the Conclave, Brohmin would’ve heard. The Conclave had served for over a thousand years, working toward peace, protecting the creation of the Maker, knowing the risks involved if they failed. Few other than the Conclave would even understand what he had done through the years—and what others like him had done through the years.

  King Allay didn’t know about the Conclave, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be useful.

  “I seek the same as you, King Allay,” Brohmin said. “We both work for peace. We both desire the removal of the Deshmahne threat. That is why I’ve come to you.”

  “The Deshmahne are no longer a threat in Gom Aaldia. I have my men sweeping these lands, pushing them out. There will be no more forced conversions here.”

  Brohmin studied the King. In the time since the Deshmahne had made their presence known, others had made similar claims. There were many others who believed they could eliminate the threat of the Deshmahne, and could prevent conversions, but they were never willing to take the steps necessary to fully protect their lands, and fully prevent the Deshmahne from fulfilling their mission. It was the reason Brohmin needed to move south, to complete his task. They would be destroyed. He would see to it.

  “One doesn’t simply ask the Deshmahne to leave.”

  The King studied him. “Given how few remain, I doubt there will be as many conversions as you believe.”

  “You might be surprised,” Brohmin said. “If any remain, they will begin attempting conversions once more. They are… insidious like that. All must be removed from this earth. Otherwise, they will return.”

  The King crossed his arms over his chest. “Comments like that are too much like what the Deshmahne preach. The gods teach that we must seek peace, that we must seek understanding with all peoples, regardless of whether they agree with us or not. Perhaps then most of all.”

  “You sound as if you would welcome the Magi as advisors once more,” Brohmin said. It was possible, especially with the rumors he’d heard out of Vasha, rumors that made it sound like the Magi had finally come to recognize the real threat from the Deshmahne and intended to try to do something about it. It might already be too late, but Brohmin would welcome their intervention.

  “It will take time for me to trust the Magi,” the King said.

  “You don’t trust them?” Brohmin asked.

  The woman standing at his shoulder seemed to tense a little bit as the King spoke. She knew something, even if she hadn’t spoken since Brohmin had arrived.

  “It is difficult to trust the Magi when you’ve seen them converted to the Deshmahne,” the King said.

  Brohmin’s breath caught. He hadn’t heard that. “You saw one of the Magi who had converted?”

  “Fought. Was forced to kill.” There was regret in his voice as he said both things.

  Brohmin considered King Allay. He was an interesting man. Not only did he seem troubled by the fact that a Mage had converted to the Deshmahne, he seemed troubled by the fact that he’d been forced to kill. When it came to the Deshmahne, many had been forced to kill over the years, and the King might be one of the few troubled by it.

  “Tell me what happened, if you don’t mind,” Brohmin said.

  The King smiled. “Now you try a more placating approach?”

  Brohmin shrugged. “I figure it can’t hurt.”

  The King leaned forward. Beneath a layer of fancy clothes, and the finely groomed appearance, his dark brown hair swept to the side in the style popular in Gomald, there was a depth of honesty. It was a trait Brohmin rarely saw these days, and one he could use. Not exploit—not like others who would attempt to take advantage of such honesty—but he could use him. The honesty reminded him of Jakob.

  “I don’t know whether to trust you or to exile you from Gom Aaldia,” King Allay said. “There’s something about you that reminds me of the Magi, but in other ways, you’re nothing like them. Even the sense of power around you is like that of the Magi.”

  Brohmin frowned, trying to keep his face neutral. Had he been careless in his use of power? He hadn’t thought so—especially as fatigued as he had been. The power was a gift from a dying damahne, one that had given him abilities he had never been born to, abilities like the Magi yet different enough that he was something else. In that way, he was more like Raime, a man who had stolen his abilities.

  Still, he hadn’t been powerful enough to stop Raime. Thankfully, Jakob had been something no one had anticipated.

  Perhaps that wasn’t entirely true. Brohmin still didn’t know whether Alyta had known what Jakob could be. He had missed the conversation the two had shared, needing to escape so that he could restore himself. Alyta had gifted him just enough of her remaining strength for him to escape.

  But King Allay shouldn’t be able to detect Brohmin using his power. None other than someone with the ability to see ahmaean should be able to detect that. There were few with that ability on this side of the Valley. Even the Magi couldn’t see the ahmaean. They could use it—that was the key to their power—but none had demonstrated an ability to see that force, the aura that swirled around everything. Brohmin could only see it when he focused, which made discovering that Jakob could easily see it even more striking.

  He should have known the boy had more potential than he had realized.

  King Allay watched him, waiting for his answer. Brohmin realized he had been silent for too long. “I don’t know much about the Magi. Clearly not what you do. I have experience with them, enough to know that your distrust can be dangerous.”

  “Dangerous for who? My people need peace and stability. If the Magi have converted to the Deshmahne, I intend to exclude them from Gom Aaldia.”

  Brohmin thought about all the things he could say to the King, but nothing seemed like it would provide the man the answers he needed. Worse, Brohmin didn’t know enough about what he’d been through, and what he’d seen, or even what he’d been asked to do as a delegate, to understand what else might be needed. He understood the reticence the King had, and recognized the King’s hesitation to trust the Magi—and Brohmin.

  But simply removing the Deshmahne threat from Gomald wasn’t going to be enough. The creatures remained in the south, and until they corralled them there, there wouldn’t be a chance for real—and lasting—peace. As one of the few remaining members of the Conclave, Brohmin needed to strive for that peace.

  “You haven’t told me why you came to me, Brohmin.”

  “Thank you for your willingness to meet with me. Mostly, I was concerned that you might have been corrupted as well. Now that I can see you haven’t, I can—”

  “You can what? Why would you care if I was corrupted? What would you intend to do?”

  Brohmin smiled. “Perhaps nothing. But after having faced the Deshmahne more times than I care, I needed to know. Rest assured that Thealon will appreciate working with Gom Aaldia once again. They will welcome your trade.”

  “How did you—”

  Brohmin started to leave. There was nothing more to g
ain from the King. It was better to leave him questioning what mysteries there were to Brohmin. Brohmin was still weakened, and he didn’t think he’d be able to protect himself if there was an attack he had not anticipated. Besides, he knew where he needed to go next.

  Salindra met him in the hall outside of the King’s chamber. She was dressed simply, in plain furs and a long cloak, using them to conceal her Mage identity. She even slouched slightly, to make it less noticeable that she had Magi height. Her dark hair was cut short, much like the slave girl’s had been. In that way, she looked nothing like the woman he had first encountered in the tavern south of Rondalin.

  Much had changed for her in that time, just as much had changed for him. Not the least of which was the affection he felt toward her. She had offered him a certain protection, and he wondered whether she even understood what it was that she did. Did she recognize the calming influence she had on him? Could she have noticed that she soothed him in ways he didn’t realize he even needed?

  Maybe that was the reason the daneamiin had healed her. He wouldn’t put it past Aruhn to know that Brohmin needed her, and that she needed him just as much.

  “What did you learn?” she asked.

  “You could’ve come with me,” Brohmin said.

  Salindra shook her head and glanced toward the door. “The last time I stood before a king, I…” She trailed off as her gaze drifted to her ankles. The brands were gone, but Brohmin doubted the memory of them would ever fully disappear. She had been injured, severely enough that a part of her had changed. The daneamiin restoration might’ve brought her powers back, but it hadn’t brought everything about her back.

  “The King says Magi were converted,” Brohmin said as they strode through the corridors of the Gomald palace. That they had been allowed to meet with the King at all had been a surprise. Brohmin had been forced to claim a connection to Thealon, and though there was one, it was faint, one that would not give him any authority to bargain on their behalf. The King had seen through it from the very beginning.

  “They wouldn’t have been able to convert the Magi.” Salindra glanced at him, her voice hushed, but an edge to it.

  “I wouldn’t have thought so, either, but I have no reason to not believe him.”

  “We are talking about the Magi, Brohmin. We’re trained to follow the Urmahne faith. We are brought up in it. We wouldn’t abandon that—”

  “Not even for a greater power?” Brohmin asked. “There are many things I wouldn’t have thought possible, but I’ve seen too much recently for me to think anything is impossible.”

  “But the Magi have defended the Urmahne for the last thousand years.”

  “And the Magi have not fought for the last thousand years. If that can change, what else do you think could change?”

  “Our Founders were soldiers, Brohmin.”

  He smiled at her. “Your Founders were soldiers. Some of your Founders sought power as well. It’s possible—however unlikely you believe it to be—that there are those alive today who seek that same power.”

  Salindra turned her gaze ahead of them. Their footsteps were quiet along the stone, and they passed a few servants hurrying by, as well as others dressed more formally. Brohmin didn’t know if these were nobles, or if there were others coming to meet with the King.

  “I intend to travel south. I understand if you need to return to Vasha to understand what happened.”

  Salindra looked over at him. “No… I can’t go back.”

  “You’ve been healed. You can go back.”

  Salindra’s hand found his. “I’ll go with you. I will search for the Deshmahne with you. That is my purpose now.”

  Brohmin squeezed her hand, hoping that he didn’t lead her to her death.

  Isandra followed the caravan as the Antrilii left Farsea and began their journey south. She’d gone north with them, seeking help—and seeking healing—and had found neither. Perhaps she’d found help, but how much—and what kind—remained to be seen.

  Isandra was saddled in a new horse; this one sleeker and quicker than the one Jassan had given her to ride on the way to the Antrilii lands.

  As they started out, she questioned her decision to join them. But she knew it was the only choice she had. She could have stayed in Farsea; she could have used the time to study the Antrilii, and she knew there was value in that, but even more important was to gain an understanding of what was taking place here, understanding the groeliin threat, and learning about the time of breeding. It was something even the Antrilii didn’t fully understand, and they had been studying the groeliin for as long as they’ve existed.

  “You don’t have to—”

  She cut Jassan off, knowing what he was going to say. He had been protective of her since she had come to Farsea, and had not only answered questions for her, but also looked out for her when others seemed intent to keep her suppressed from learning what she needed to know.

  “I think I do have to do this,” she said.

  “This is not the Magi’s fight,” he said.

  “Perhaps it has not been, but that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be. I think we’ve been mistaken all these years ignoring the north.”

  “The Antrilii have kept the north safe.”

  “A different perspective will help.” He seemed as if he wanted to object, the muscles in his cheek working, though he said nothing. “I am an Elder on the Magi Council. There are things I know that might answer questions for you.”

  “Where we go will be dangerous,” Jassan said. They had reached the lower hills, and the mountains on this side looked much like those on the southern side. From here, the ground sloped rapidly upward, reaching snowcapped peaks that she could barely fathom. When they had come north, they had followed a trail through the mountains, a pass set between peaks. Would they do that now, or was there another way—perhaps a more dangerous one—that would lead them to the groeliin?

  “I think…” She lowered her voice, looking at the rest of the Antrilii. There were several dozen, as many as could be found from the remaining warriors. Jassan had seemed disappointed by the number of Antrilii that remained, but he had willingly offered himself to lead. Now, they traveled through the mountains and toward what was bound to be a dangerous gambit. “I think this is something I need to do. If there is any hope to heal me, then I need to be here.”

  “We don’t know that there is a way to heal you,” Jassan said.

  “No, we don’t. But if there is…”

  Jassan nodded.

  The sky was a hazy mix of clouds and fog, streaks of orange and red managed to drift through, giving it something of a mystical quality. It felt foreboding heading out under such a sky. Wind gusted out of the north, warm for now, but she knew the farther they went, it would shift, becoming cold—and bitter. She could tolerate a bitter wind for a while, and now that she was dressed in the Antrilii cloak, she suspected she would be better equipped for their travels—and certainly better equipped than she had been leaving Rondalin.

  Not for the first time, she wondered why had she chosen to do this. Had her need to find purpose overridden her Urmahne beliefs? Her common sense? She’d agreed to learn the sword! There was nothing for her to prove, nothing that she could prove, even if she tried. This was something else. Was it a journey of understanding? It didn’t feel quite like that, but she wasn’t entirely sure. The only thing she knew was that she needed to go. Of that, she felt certain, and felt it deep within her.

  “Will we encounter groeliin as we head south?” she asked Jassan. She carried a short sword, a gift from the Yahinv. It didn’t entirely suit her, but then again, she thought it might, especially in time. She would never be the warrior that she heard Roelle described as, but she could be something else. She could be useful in some way.

  More than faith in just her own ability to defend herself—however limited it might be—she had faith in the Antrilii. And the merahl.

  “Not near Farsea. We keep the cities clear of groeliin, and
they have learned over the years that attacking too close to our cities is dangerous to them.”

  “That’s not the only reason, is it?”

  Jassan stared straight ahead, and they topped a rise, their horses following the trail before taking them back down the slope. She wondered how much longer they would be able to remain mounted. There had to come a time when the horses wouldn’t be able to follow the trail, a time when they would need to veer off, and climb down without them. What would they do with the horses then?

  “No. That’s not the only reason. The breeding… During the breeding season, we know the groeliin will remain deep in the mountains.”

  “Why deep in the mountains?”

  “Because that is where the teralin is.”

  Isandra glanced over, her frown deepening. “The teralin? What does this have to do with teralin?”

  “With the groeliin, unfortunately, it has everything to do with them.”

  The Lost Prophecy continues with book 5: The Lost City

  Brohmin heads south to understand how he can stop the Deshmahne before they attempt another attack where he encounters a new ally on a surprising mission. As he tries to learn more, he discovers not all is as it seems, and is forced to work for an enemy to save someone he deeply cares for.

  Isandra searches for the groeliin breeding grounds with the Antrilii, needing to learn skills she never imagined while still struggling with the loss of her Magi abilities. She must come to terms with who she is to help her companions and a surprising enemy.

  The fibers are restored, and Raime stopped once more, but Jakob knows he must push onward so that he can defeat Raime before he finds power again. Doing so takes him from his brother, now healed from the madness. He searches for his purpose along the fibers but finds only more questions. Somehow he must find the answers he seeks, but doing so means he needs to understand what he has become—and the power he now possesses—before Raime steals it from him.