Losing Endric would be almost as devastating a blow to them as losing Jostephon had been.
Alriyn pulled on the manehlin that surrounded the Deshmahne attacker.
There was darkness to it, and when he pulled it within himself, he felt a chill.
The Deshmahne stiffened, his movement suddenly stopping, and Endric spun, suddenly aware the man was there, and jabbed his sword up through his gut, pulling it up toward his head.
The Deshmahne collapsed to the ground.
Alriyn slowly released the man's manehlin, but it didn't leave him. The dark energy hovering around him, as if him holding onto it while the man died had changed something about Alriyn.
“We need to get going,” Endric said.
Novan tapped his staff on the ground. Color swirled along it for a moment before fading. As it did, Alriyn noted the way that color seemed to pull on the manehlin that he had absorbed from the Deshmahne. Novan tapped his staff once more, and the remainder of the dark energy was drawn out of Alriyn. He didn't resist, uncertain what would happen were he to hold onto it too tightly, and not wanting to have that energy within him. Doing so felt dirty.
“We need to check on Efrain,” Alriyn said.
As they started away, Novan pointed his staff at the section of the wall, light burst from its tip, and the wall slid closed once more. Much like opening the wall, closing it from this side shouldn't have been possible by anyone other than a Council member. Even strong Magi not of the Council didn't know how to close or open the door to this room. It had been a secret maintained by the Council for centuries, since the Founding.
Yet Endric and Novan both possessed knowledge of how to do so.
What did that mean?
Alriyn paused long enough to trigger the shelf to slide back into place, concealing the section of wall. It likely didn't matter now that the mahne had been removed, but doing so made him feel better about hiding it.
Endric led them forward, and Alriyn found Efrain, the old librarian, sprawled on the ground. Blood pooled around him. He had a strange marking on his ankles, something like jagged teeth that looked almost like it had been burned onto them, reminding him of the tattoos on the Deshmahne.
When they reached the door to the library, Endric pulled it open a crack and tipped his head forward, focused on the area outside of the door, before pushing the door closed once more.
“We won't be able to get out that way.”
“Deshmahne?” Novan asked.
Endric nodded. “And powerful.”
“Can't you fight your way out?” Alriyn asked. “You’ve faced twelve at one time!”
Endric shot him a harsh look. “I fought through twelve Deshmahne, but they were barely powered at all. Those waiting for us on the other side are more like the man you stopped in here. Even if we faced a dozen like them… I'm not sure all three of us could stop a dozen of them.”
“And how many are out there?” Alriyn asked.
“I counted almost twenty,” Endric said. “Even with the historian helping me, I don't think we would be able to pass them. We need to circle around, gather my Denraen, and then we can force the Deshmahne out of the palace.”
So many thoughts went through Alriyn’s mind. “How do you think we can get out of here? How can we circle around?”
Endric nodded at the door. “Place whatever barrier you can on there, Second Eldest. We’ll need you to not only buy us time, but we want to prevent the Deshmahne from gaining access to the library proper. More than just the mahne exists here.”
Endric forced the shelf to slide back again and quickly triggered the section on the wall to open, hurrying into the chamber that had housed the mahne for all those years.
Novan trailed after him, and once they were in the room, they glanced at Alriyn, waiting.
Alriyn's head was spinning.
There was something more taking place here than he understood.
But… He agreed with Endric that they needed to protect the library. This was a place of much learning. This was a place that Magi scholars over the generations had preserved information. He might have the mahne, but losing any of this—especially to the Deshmahne—would be devastating to the Magi.
Alriyn opened his mind, pulling on the manehlin, letting that power fill him. Once more, he was aware of the soft energy that surrounded Novan and Endric, energy that strangely enough rivaled what surrounded him. Alriyn tried not to think about what that meant.
He drew the manehlin into him, pulling it from the air, from the stone worked within the palace, and from deep beneath them from a source he couldn't see though could feel. Once done, he released that energy, placing it into a barrier around the entirety of the library, holding it tight. There were ways to maintain barriers, much like what they had done to the mahne over the years, and Alriyn sealed this one tightly.
Alriyn's head throbbed, worse than it had before. Was this the result of having opened his mind more than he’d ever done before? Would he be tormented from this point forward every time he reached for the manehlin? If so, would it prove to have been worth it?
Yes. Preserving the mahne was worth his suffering.
He joined Novan and Endric in the chamber, pausing to trigger the door closed. The two men were talking, and Alriyn overheard Novan saying something that caught his attention.
“What will be a bloody affair?” Alriyn asked.
Endric sighed. “Whatever it will take to push back the Deshmahne from the palace. We continue to face increasingly powerful men. That tells me that they have come in full force, there is something they want.”
“It's Jostephon. They come to protect him.”
Endric frowned. “That may be. It might be something else. Either way, I will be forced to sacrifice many men to push the Deshmahne out of the palace.”
Alriyn was thankful that those of the Council were tucked away on one of the upper floors, hidden, but how long would they be safe? How long would he be able to hold off the Deshmahne?
If they couldn’t, then those he had recruited from the Council, those who had come with him, would end up facing the Deshmahne anyway. They would run the risk of danger once more.
“How do you intend to get us free? There's no way out of this chamber other than that door.”
In answer, Endric tapped along one of the legs of the pedestal that had held the mahne. As he did, he seemed to press out with the energy that swirled around him.
Alriyn had to believe that Endric knew what he was doing and that he had control over that energy, but how?
Likely the same way that Novan seemed to have control over the energy that swirled around him.
Both men possessed more power than what they should. Both men hid something from him. Alriyn would determine what it was.
When Endric finished, the pedestal started sliding out of the ground, rising into the air.
Alriyn gasped. “How did you—”
The pedestal had never done that before. As far as Alriyn knew, the pedestal had been secure, practically built into the floor of the chamber since the palace was constructed.
But Endric had known.
The pedestal continued to climb, rising out of the ground, but more than that, a section of the floor started rising as well. As Alriyn watched, the pedestal rose nearly to the peak of the ceiling. A dark opening appeared below it, one that led down into the floor.
Alriyn looked from Endric to Novan. Neither man seemed surprised by this.
“How long has this been here?” he asked. At least now he understood why Endric seemed unsurprised by the mahne, and seemed to know its contents, though he should not.
“Long enough,” Endric said.
“Where does this lead?” Alriyn asked.
As he did, he could feel where it led. Heat billowed out of the opening in the floor. It was a dry heat, one that was born of the mines deep beneath the city, and of the metal that ran through the mountain. With certainty, Alriyn knew this led deep beneath the palace, down i
nto the tunnels that had long been closed.
Why would there be tunnels that led directly into the palace? Why would there be such access to the most important work the Magi possessed?
“Come with me, Second Eldest, and you will learn more of your Founders.” With that, Endric ducked underneath the pedestal, and down into the darkness. Novan quickly followed.
Alriyn stood before it, hesitating. Then, holding onto the connection to his manehlin, he followed them into the heat, beneath the city.
Chapter Thirteen
Jakob awoke from the dream, separating himself from it slowly.
Like the others, it had been vivid. Real. He had been there—had been Aimielen. What did that mean? And what did it mean that he’d seen the beginning of the daneamiin? He’d had visions before, some so real that he felt he’d been there, and but this was less him watching like an outsider and more that he’d been living it.
Was the power of the Great Forest so much that he would have those visions?
Stranger still, Aimielen had recognized his presence, going so far as to silence him.
What was happening to him?
Those thoughts plagued him as they made their way through the Great Forest. Traveling on foot made the trip much harder than when they had been on horseback the last time he’d been in the forest. They had to avoid roots attempting to grab at their feet, skirt around prickly bushes, and occasionally jump across streams. Jakob wondered how Brohmin even managed a sense of direction.
The man was injured and limped through the thick underbrush at a careful pace, but one that seemed to pick up speed as the day went on, seeming to know exactly which direction to head. Salindra had done what she could now that her abilities had returned, but had said he would need time for his body to do the rest. Brohmin pushed himself, and a strained expression stayed locked on his face as he walked.
Jakob felt a slow throbbing in his arm and an irritating itch that he struggled not to scratch. It would do no good anyway. His injury was minor; at least, Salindra had told him it was. There had been no major damage to the tissues, but as it was, his arm felt weak, and he wasn’t sure how he would do if he needed to use it in another fight. He held onto a slim hope that he would not need to.
It was not the only thing that bothered him.
Since they had returned to the Great Forest, he had felt a sense of unease. At first, he had thought it due to the Deshmahne, but after they had been destroyed, the feeling remained. The sensation pulled at him, almost a physical force, a strange nagging sensation that made him anxious and his stomach queasy.
“I don’t think you should hurry, Brohmin,” Salindra said, finally breaking the silence that had grown up around them. “You need to recover.”
Jakob was glad for the distraction. His attention had been fixated on the unease that he felt, trying to determine its source but unable. Salindra stood tall, her confidence restored, and a level of authority to her voice that dared a challenge. Her statement carried a tone that demanded a response.
Brohmin slowed and turned to face them. He adjusted his sword belt and grimaced as a lance of pain moved through him with the gesture. The man steeled his face, and the expression faded, replaced by simple determination. “I told you Alyta was the last,” he said quietly.
Salindra nodded. “If she’s captured, you’ll need your strength. And what makes you think we’ll even reach her in time?”
“I can’t explain it fully,” Brohmin began. “I have an… uneasy feeling. It’s growing the more we travel. I think she calls me.”
Jakob thought he understood the source of his unease. “Her time is short,” he said, not meaning to speak it aloud.
Brohmin’s eyes hung with an unasked question of whether Jakob could feel it too. Instead, he said, “She’s old, and was weakening even before she was captured. She was nearing an end and knew it. Just not this end. Not this way. Raime can’t claim her as he has claimed so many others.”
“That one’s history stretches back farther than most,” Anda added. “She has lived a long time, seen much.” Anda’s voice became distant as she spoke. “We lose much more than Alyta when she is gone.” She spoke the name with a musical accent, the hint of the ancient language to it.
“How?” Salindra asked. “She is a goddess. How can she die?”
“She is still mortal,” Brohmin said. “And there are limits to what she can do. Even in her prime, there were limits. If Raime has captured her, I’m not sure what she is capable of doing. If anything.”
“Can we stop him?” Jakob asked.
“We have to,” Brohmin said. “With what’s coming, we still need her.”
“I’ve seen this man, Brohmin. I felt his awful power. How can we stop him?” Salindra asked. The confidence that had returned to her voice faded as she spoke of Raime.
“We must free Alyta. Only she can truly stop him. We must hope she has enough strength remaining to do so. Otherwise, I don’t know what we will do.”
“How, if she was overpowered by him already?” Salindra asked.
Brohmin sighed. “Alyta must have known we would find the key,” he said slowly. “Neamiin was a unique creation,” he started, looking at Jakob, at the sword strapped to his side. “With that, she can use it and stop him. We need to get to her and do what we can. It will be enough.” He fell silent. After a while, he whispered, “I must believe it will be enough.”
He turned away from them then and started off again, Salindra quickly on his tail with a quiet question on her lips. Jakob watched Brohmin’s back as he limped onward, chewing his lip as he thought about what the man said. Would the sword be enough? There was something special about Neamiin, he knew that every time he touched the hilt and felt it faintly buzzing with energy, but would it be enough to help the trapped goddess?
“You are troubled.”
Jakob was startled from his thoughts and looked over and saw Anda staring at him strangely. “I don’t know, Anda,” he said, flicking his eyes toward Brohmin. “Alyta is powerful, but the High Priest still captured her. I worry that even with Neamiin, she won’t be able to stop him.”
She touched his arm. A wave of peace slipped through him as she did and he sighed, finally relaxing and letting the worry about the goddess fade. With it faded the strange pull upon his senses and the hint of anxiety that came with it.
“Come,” she said, leading him after Brohmin. “We can do nothing until we reach her.”
He followed, watching her exotic face, the long eyelashes, her strangely slanted eyelids, and hairless head. She was unlike anyone he had ever known. A peace and serenity emanated from her, granting him the sort of peace he had not known for years. It was something he had not realized had been missing until now.
“Will the sword be enough to save her?” Jakob asked Anda.
Anda smiled again. “I do not see along the fibers the same way as the damahne, but I think you were meant to wield it,” she answered.
“Damahne?”
“The damahne are—were—what men called gods. Alyta is damahne. You must save her and the sword…” She paused as she considered her next words. “When you were facing that man”—she said the word with a hard emphasis—“you did something I have not seen before. You pulled upon the ahmaean of the forest.” She said the last softly, and it did not carry to Brohmin or Salindra. “I do not know what that means. Perhaps it has something to do with Neamiin. Perhaps it is something more.”
She didn’t offer anything more on the subject, but he had used the ahmaean of the forest. To stop the Deshmahne, he’d pulled on all the power that he could find around him. His mind had shattered—he still felt a throbbing pain from what he’d done—and something had changed.
What did that mean? What did that make him?
Anda looked over at him and smiled again, and the question disappeared. He felt a distant irritation in the back of his mind, different from what he had felt in the past, but remembered the sensation. “What is a nemerahl?” h
e asked Anda.
The daneamiin’s smile turned into something different. A hint of surprise? “Have you seen one here?” she asked.
“Not here, but in the Cala maah, I saw a vision of a great creature, a huge cat. In the vision, I had known that it was a nemerahl.” Then there had been the eyes barely seen as they left the forest with the daneamiin, and with it, the strange chuckling in his head.
Yet… that wasn’t the only time. Then there had been the huge cat that had killed the Deshmahne what seemed like so long ago. Had that been a nemerahl or something else?
“The nemerahl are ancient creatures, sometimes known as the watchers. Once, they allowed themselves to be seen. That was long ago, during a time when those like Alyta were common. Now, they remain hidden, ghosts among the trees.” She looked at him with the strange, curious expression again. “They are known in my lands, but I do not think they come to these lands. It is too dangerous.” She watched him, studying him a moment. “You seem disappointed.”
He flushed. “When I was first attacked by the Deshmahne, I thought a huge creature saved me.”
“Perhaps one did,” she said.
“But you said the nemerahl aren’t found in these lands.”
“Not the nemerahl, but their descendants, creatures men call merahl. They share much of the same traits as the nemerahl. Perhaps that was what saved you.”
Brohmin had mentioned the merahl before and mentioned that they were found in the forest. Perhaps that was all there was to it.
He expected Anda to say more, but she didn’t.
They paused for rest at a stream. Anda did not appear to need one. Brohmin appeared as if he needed a few days to recover, but he didn’t allow himself that luxury. Jakob was forced to keep pushing himself after them. Water was drunk while walking, and Anda passed around a delicious flatbread that was strangely filling. Each ate what they could. Progress felt agonizingly slow.
It was late in the afternoon when they heard the sound for the first time.
Rain had started hours before, a slow, gentle drizzle that filtered through the trees leaving them wet, dirty, and miserable. A horrible sound echoed from the west and filled the air with its cry. They all stopped when they heard it, and listened. Harsh and shrill, it rang painfully in the air for long moments. Then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.
Tower of the Gods (The Lost Prophecy Book 3) Page 10