As before, Alriyn drew upon the manehlin, filling his mind, taking the energy out of the fire, shifting it so that the building no longer burned. He couldn't change the effect of the fire, could not change what happened to it, but healing, restoration, could come later.
With this fire out, he turned to the next.
Novan grabbed him by the shoulders. “You can't think to put out all of these fires by yourself, Alriyn.”
Alriyn met his eyes, noting that a pair of Denraen had joined Endric while he had been putting out the fires. How many more could he call to him? “Someone has to help these people. If I don't do this, the entire city burns.”
Endric grunted. “We are not going to lose Vasha under my watch.”
Alriyn met his gaze and nodded to the low clouds that hung over the city. Up there, above them, would be the barracks and the palace. “Take your men, General. Go save the palace from the Deshmahne. That's a fight you can wage. That is not for me.”
Novan smiled grimly at him. “That's a fight you could wage much like your Founders once fought.”
“The Founders may have been soldiers, but they didn't fight men. They fought—”
Novan nodded. “Groeliin. Yes. And Roelle went to face them.”
“I thought you said Roelle went to find the Antrilii.”
“And face the groeliin,” Novan said.
“You knew this? You allowed her to go with her band of a hundred Magi to face creatures out of a nightmare that our Founders barely survived?”
“I sent her to aid the Antrilii,” Endric said. “All reports indicate that the groeliin are moving with more force and more speed than they have ever moved before. Denraen can't face them alone. Men can't see them. That leaves the Magi. Your niece was as well-prepared as I could make her. Once there, I have faith the Antrilii will see that she is as prepared as she needs to be.”
Alriyn stared, but what was there to say?
Endric started to turn. “Good luck, Second Eldest. Help these people. I will take care of the Deshmahne. We will protect Vasha.”
As he started away, Alriyn prevented him from departing. “You said men couldn't see the groeliin. How can the Antrilii?”
“As I said before, that is not mine to share. Ask Roelle when she returns.”
Endric and Novan raced off, gathering Denraen as they went. By the time they disappeared from view, Endric had several dozen men with him. Alriyn hoped he had enough, and that the men were faithful to him.
He turned his attention to the city burning around him. He was fatigued from putting out the fires, but not nearly as much as he normally would be from that level of effort. Fighting Jostephon had changed him, and he wished he had the time to understand how. Why. Was it possible for other Magi to do the same? Had he pushed beyond what made the Magi, making him into something more?
They were questions for later.
Alriyn hurried to the next building. It was a series of three buildings, what appeared to be a lantern maker, a seamstress, and a sign burned to the point that it was unreadable. Alriyn focused on the fire, again drawing the manehlin from within it to himself. As he did, the fire slowly started to fade.
When the fire was nearly expunged and he was about ready to release the manehlin, something struck him in the back.
Alriyn staggered forward.
He turned to see a man behind him. He had the look of one of the old city miners, with the rugged, muscular build those men had, but then Alriyn noticed tattoos spreading up the man’s arms. Deshmahne. He carried a sword, and Alriyn was thankful that he hadn't stabbed him with it. Instead, he had kicked him in the back.
The Deshmahne grinned at him. “Looky here. I get to claim a Mage. Didn't think I’d get that lucky down in the city. Only our men on the upper levels were gonna get that chance.”
Alriyn stood, facing the Deshmahne. He still held the manehlin from the flame within his mind. “What do you mean by claiming a Mage?”
The Deshmahne took a sauntering step toward him, his sword of dark metal pointing at his chest.
Alriyn sensed heat from the sword and recognized it as teralin, very similar to Novan’s staff. Was there some connection between the teralin, the founding of the Magi, and the Deshmahne?
Was that a secret Endric kept from him?
“You won't get the chance to find out,” the Deshmahne said. He brought his sword up, intending to swing it.
Alriyn unleashed the manehlin within him. He sent it at the Deshmahne, directing it rather than simply releasing it.
It consumed the man, holding him in place. The man shuddered, and then fell forward, whatever Alriyn had done to him taking his life.
Alriyn didn't have a chance to feel remorse. Another trio of Deshmahne came at him from down the street.
Alriyn started away from the Deshmahne but slowed. He might escape, but it would do nothing to stop the attack on this tier of Vasha. If they were here, if they were starting fires and destroying the city, his leaving would only give them a greater opportunity to continue their attacks.
He should have asked Endric to keep some of the Denraen here, but it was better that Endric used his soldiers to clear the Deshmahne presence from the palace. Once he succeeded there, he could clear the Deshmahne from the barracks. He needed to attack terrace by terrace, working his way back down the mountain.
But Alriyn was here. Wasn’t this his responsibility?
As they approached, his mind raced, struggling with what he considered. The gods had demanded peace, had demanded that his people enforce that peace. After failing with the Uniter, the Magi had withdrawn from that mandate, stepped back from the responsibilities placed upon them by the gods, and had allowed the Deshmahne to grow in strength. Had the Magi done what was necessary, would any of this have happened? Would Vasha burn?
More than that, Alriyn had already made a choice. He hadn’t objected when Roelle left the city to fight. As the Second Eldest, he could have stopped her—she would have no choice but to listen—but he’d allowed her to go. For that matter, he’d practically encouraged her to go. How did that sit with the Urmahne ideals of what the gods wanted?
Yet… If what Novan and Endric told him was true, the gods weren't gods at all, only beings of great power. He thought he’d seen one of the goddesses, but could it be possible that she was nothing more than a powerful being?
Alriyn had to admit that it was possible.
As the Deshmahne neared, Alriyn pulled on his manehlin, drawing the energy around him as well. He used it to fill that space within his mind, the space that now was so much vaster than what it had been before facing Jostephon. Filled with the manehlin as he was, he saw this same strange energy surrounding the three Deshmahne coming at him, only theirs was darker, and possibly more dangerous.
This wasn’t the answer to stopping them.
Alriyn released his connection to the manehlin he held.
Instead, he reached for the manehlin surrounding the three Deshmahne.
All three stiffened. The nearest one lunged for Alriyn, but Alriyn pulled with more force, drawing manehlin from him. It was much as he had done when facing Jostephon, only this was three at one time. Still, Alriyn could draw from them more easily than he had been able to from Jostephon.
The lead Deshmahne neared him and started unsheathing a sword.
Alriyn tore the manehlin from him.
The man's eyes widened, and he fell. The other two fell as well.
Alriyn held onto that power, afraid to even move.
He waited, uncertain if they would rise, uncertain if they would attack, and afraid that they might. As he held the energy, none of the men moved. Soon even their breathing stopped. Alriyn continued to hold that energy, maintaining a connection to it until he could no longer hold it anymore.
He released it, afraid that it would dissipate back into the Deshmahne, watching to make certain that it did not, and did not see any of the manehlin surrounding them when he released it. He stared at them, realizing
that one of the men wore the dark gray uniform of the Denraen. He had to get word to Endric.
What had he done?
Had he used his ability to take the life of not one but now three more men? Was that why the gods had given him his abilities?
Alriyn swallowed, unable to even take the time to worry about what he had done. Screams from further into the city drew his attention, demanding that he make his way down the street, leaving the fallen Deshmahne where they were. He prayed that he could help enough to make amends for what he’d done.
Chapter Twenty
The rain that had been coming down for the last few days finally lessened. Roelle was soaked and uncomfortable, yet still thankful for the respite. The rain had been cold, and though not heavy, it had been a constant irritant. What was left was a light drizzle that seemed to come from everywhere, leaving a growing fog around them.
Since leaving the Deshmahne, travel had grown difficult. At first, it was due to the soft, soggy ground. They’d been forced to slow their horses so that none would get stuck or turn an ankle. The merahl still hunted, and their cries, muted in the rain, echoed around them. Every once in a while, they would see evidence of groeliin the merahl had brought down.
There had been no sign of Deshmahne. Roelle tried not to think about what that might mean. Had Fenick failed to alert the captain? Had the captain not believed him? Even if he did, would he be able to send enough help to even matter? The dozen Deshmahne had been cut in half by three broods. What would happen were they to face the full onslaught of groeliin? How many Deshmahne would fall then?
And would she care?
Those questions plagued her as they moved east and gradually south, away from Rondalin and whatever help the Deshmahne might offer. Around them, the trees grew thicker until they were upon the forest. The fog and mist made travel even more dangerous, and they worried as much about trees jumping out at them as they did about the chasing groeliin. Something would have to give.
The Antrilii remained separate, leading them. Since returning, Roelle hadn’t had the time to speak to Nahrsin and needed to find the man and ask about his plans for the groeliin. If they continued to move south, and if they didn’t get help from the Deshmahne, Roelle worried about how they would stop the creatures. How many people would be lost?
But if the Deshmahne did help, how would that impact those faithful to the Urmahne? The Deshmahne would be able to claim the power of the gods and would be able to boast about how they had stopped this threat. How many more would convert when they did?
Did those potential conversions matter if it meant people survived?
Roelle knew that it didn’t.
Worse, she didn’t know if her faith would survive. What if the Deshmahne had it right? What if the teachings of the Magi had been wrong all along? The Magi were endowed with abilities that gave them advantages with fighting. Why shouldn’t they use them?
Roelle shook the thoughts away and looked over to Lendra. The dark-haired historian rode alongside her, a thoughtful look on her face. She kept the hood of her cloak pulled up over her head, and occasionally glanced around her, a curious expression in her eyes.
“What is it?” Roelle asked her.
She shrugged. “We enter the Great Forest, I think.”
She looked over to her. The tone of her voice implied something more than mere observation. “It’s a forest. Why does it matter?”
Lendra held her gaze with her deep blue eyes for a moment before looking around. “Novan says the Great Forest is a place of power,” she said.
Roelle took a closer look as they entered the forest. The trees were taller here, sure, but there was little else about the forest that was different from any other forest. Yet if Novan felt there was something to this place, she wondered exactly what the historian knew. The man had obviously traveled with the Antrilii. He had probably read the mahne. And he did not fear the Magi.
Lendra seemed to see the thoughts cross her face and laughed. It was a light sound and soft, so it did not carry far. “You understand why I studied with him,” she suggested.
It was Roelle’s turn to shrug. “He has certain characteristics,” she said. “I can see why the Elders grew so frustrated with him.” Had he only given her a straightforward answer… But would it have changed anything for her if he had? She had needed to come north. She had needed to see for herself. In that, Novan was right to encourage her.
Lendra closed her eyes. “He is maddening at times,” she agreed. “But his mind remembers everything he sees and reads.”
“I think he’s more than a simple historian,” Selton said as he rode over.
Lendra looked at her cousin for a long time, a question or a comment hanging on her lips, but she did not say it. Instead, she smiled brightly. It was a sharp contrast to the dreary day around them. “I don’t think we can call anything about Novan simple,” she agreed.
Roelle waited for her to say something more, but she didn’t. “What else does he say about the forest?”
“He mentioned it as a place of power, but not much else,” she said. “It’s what I have read that makes me wonder.” She paused, looking around at the trees. “There are certain texts that refer to the forest as home to the gods.”
“Like the Tower?”
“Different, I think.” She shrugged. “In the ancient language, the Tower is considered the seat of the gods. The forest is the home, a place where evil cannot survive.”
Selton snorted. “We could use that now.”
Roelle frowned. “How would you… You speak the ancient language,” she realized.
Lendra hesitated before nodding.
“Do you speak it well?”
She laughed. “Few speak it well, Roelle. I know it well enough.”
“How?”
“Novan taught me,” she said simply.
The question that came to her mind was lost when a sharp whistle pierced the air. The three of them looked toward the sound, and Roelle felt her heart pound briefly. The whistle was answered by an echoing chorus of howls from the merahl.
They were under attack.
The attack was swift and almost caught them off guard. The sound of growls and the roar and cry of the foul beasts was suddenly close. Roelle scanned the forest but could see little through the fog. Lendra gagged and then nearly fainted from her saddle before she righted herself.
“You can’t stay here,” Roelle said.
Lendra was the only one remaining with them who was not Mageborn. The Denraen had returned to Vasha—at least, Roelle hoped they had made it—but Lendra had wanted to remain and observe. Without the ability to fight—or even see the groeliin—the Magi had to protect her.
“Where will I go?” Lendra asked through clenched teeth. She vomited suddenly, unable to hold it back.
Wherever the groeliin were, they were close. If nothing else, Lendra served as an alert to their presence, one that was nearly as useful as the hunting merahl and their howls.
Where were the Deshmahne?
As strange as it seemed to hope for their appearance, she needed them to come. They wouldn’t be able to withstand the full force of the groeliin attack without them. Even with them, she wasn’t sure they would be able to withstand it.
Roelle leaped from her saddle, unsheathing her sword in the same motion, keeping Lendra between her and the other Magi with her.
And then the beasts were upon them.
They were something like smoke, but the more she fought them, the easier they became to see. They were dark gray smudges with flashes of flesh visible, and harder to see in the fog. Roelle moved her sword quickly, using her abilities, stretching out her consciousness to focus her mind. It brought the beasts into focus.
She took a deep breath, focusing herself, and then there was only her sword and the groeliin.
She worked her way forward, her sword taking down all that came before her. She could not count the numbers she killed. She heard furious growls and roars as the merah
l worked their way among the groeliin. Suddenly, a beast jumped from behind, striking her in the back.
Staggering forward, she dropped her sword as she fell. She lay stunned for only a moment, her hand groping where she knew her sword to have fallen. She couldn’t feel it.
Where?
Her hand felt only soggy earth.
She felt movement behind her. Rolling over, her back on fire, she saw one of the beasts clutching her blade. A smile covered its grotesque face, and her own sword flashed toward her. She watched, horror filling her mind.
This is the end, she knew as a prayer formed on her lips.
Then suddenly, the beast staggered and fell, dropping her sword.
Nahrsin stood behind the fallen beast, smiling broadly. The Antrilii roared and kicked the sword to her.
Roelle grabbed it and stood quickly. Her back ached where she had been hit. The area around her had been cleared of the beasts, and she could see a good number of them on the ground at her feet.
“How many?” she asked the Antrilii.
“Hard to tell in this fog,” he said. “The merahl estimate nearly a thousand.”
She didn’t ask how the merahl were able to estimate the groeliin numbers, let alone communicate that to him. “How many broods?” she asked instead.
Nahrsin scratched his chin. “A dozen, perhaps. Only the gods know.”
Several groeliin moved in, and Nahrsin quickly killed them, moving faster than any man Roelle had even seen.
“What about the rest?” she asked.
The Antrilii grunted. “Moving south.”
“They attack us in the fog.”
Nahrsin grunted again. “Unusual,” he said.
Roelle frowned. “What is?”
“Logic from the groeliin.”
There was a break in the line, and a dozen groeliin pressed through, effectively ending their conversation. She rushed forward again, into the battle, and reached another group of beasts battling with Zamell. Roelle’s hands were slippery with sweat and blood and the mist that filled the air.
She was only allowed a brief pause to wipe away the moisture as dark, dagger-sharp claws flashed toward her. Quickly, she struck down four of the beasts, leaving Zamell open to advance further.
Tower of the Gods (The Lost Prophecy Book 3) Page 16