Tower of the Gods (The Lost Prophecy Book 3)

by D. K. Holmberg

  Inside the Council chamber in Chrysia, Allay met with Lord Comity. Soldiers had escorted him to the chamber, and they had watched him with uncertainty. He needed to find Locken, but he would start with the Chrysia Council. They needed to be warned of the Deshmahne threat, and somehow, he had to coax them to join the fight, if Locken hadn’t convinced them already.

  Lord Comity was an older man, dark hair with some gray in it. He was soft, a little on the pudgy side, and a thin beard covered his face. He wore flowing robes, more in the style of a priest than someone who ruled. Though of course, Allay wasn't surprised. Chrysia might be on the edge of Thealon, but there was a different devotion to the Urmahne faith in Thealon.

  “Lord Comity. I present myself before you seeking peace.” He had decided to start with honesty. He didn't want his father's plan to precede him.

  “Peace? As your father gathers troops near our border?”

  “I have nothing to do with what my father plans. But with your help, I will see that we prevent a greater catastrophe.”

  Allay looked around the room, and with sudden surprise, he realized that King Locken stood near the back wall. He hadn't realized it when he'd entered the Council chamber, having been escorted by soldiers of Chrysia. What did it mean that the Council allowed Locken to remain?

  Allay forced his attention back to Lord Comity. The man hadn’t spoken, and Allay realized he needed to say more. What could he say that would appease the man?

  Honesty. That was why he’d come.

  “I’m sorry about the loss of your sons,” Allay said.

  Lord Comity tensed. “You heard?”

  Allay nodded. “I knew your sons. Thomason had a bright mind. The Magi had hoped that we would be able to work together to bring peace. Even with their passing, I continue to hold onto that hope.”

  Lord Comity squeezed his eyes closed. “They rest with the gods now. And I am sorry about your brother,” he said as he opened his eyes.

  Allay tried to keep his face neutral. It was difficult, especially as he thought about Theodror. “There is no trade between our people now, yet trade has maintained peace for many years,” Allay said. “The gods call for peace, and through peace, we honor them.”

  “Through peace, we honor them,” Comity replied.

  “I would see peace restored. I would see trade resumed.” If he didn’t convince his father, all of this would be for nothing, but the display was as much for Locken as it was for Comity. “But for that—for all of that—I will need your help. I will need Thealon’s help.”

  Lord Comity’s gaze swept around the room, skimming past King Locken. When it returned to Allay, he nodded. “We aren’t equipped for much. The captain tells me our troops are strained, and we don’t have supplies for any sort of campaign, especially since our grain supply is low. We have barely enough to last through the winter.”

  “If I could offer assistance with grain? Gom Aaldia had a bountiful harvest.” He resisted the urge to look to Locken. It would be his lands that had the grain needed to secure this trade agreement.

  “We might be able to entertain your request,” Comity said.

  Allay nodded. “There can be more to trade than grain.”

  “Do you speak on behalf of the King?

  Was he willing to take this stand? To enable peace, he suspected he would have to.

  It meant deposing his father. He didn't know how he would, only that he needed to.

  “I will see to it personally.”

  Lord Comity looked at his Councilors, and slowly, they nodded.

  Only then did Allay turn to King Locken. He wondered what the man was thinking. Once a trade agreement was forged, he would seek him out privately to discuss it.

  Allay met Locken in the rooms he'd been given by the Chrysia Council. Locken was a strong man, someone Allay knew to be honorable, though he didn't know him very well. He wasn't sure how this meeting would go, whether Locken would listen or whether he would turn against him.

  Mendi was with him, as was Mosd, the Teacher who had been on the ship. He had served her family for years. They allowed Allay to lead, though he wasn't certain exactly what they expected of him.

  With Locken was a stout, older man, likely one of his senior soldiers. There were a few other soldiers with him as well. Allay doubted Locken was worried about him. Instead, this was a show of force.

  “You’re a long way from Gomald, Prince Lansington,” Locken said.

  “And you’re a long way from Bastiin.”

  Locken smiled. “I understand you came through Saeline.”

  How much had Locken heard? How much did he know of what Allay been through in Saeline? Did he know about Rosahd? Would he think Allay responsible for his death? That meant that he was in communication with the Teachers. If that were the case, what more did Locken know?

  “Rumor has it that you studied with the Magi.” Locken stood with one hand near the hilt of his sword. The man was skilled with the sword, if stories were to be believed, and had trained with the Denraen. Other rumors claimed the general had suggested Locken take up the Denraen gray. That he hadn't taken the general up on his offer had been a boon for Gom Aaldia. But that he had spent time with the Denraen had been what Allay had counted on.

  “It seems you know as much as I do.”

  “I think there are some gaps you could fill in,” Locken said. “Such as what happened to the Magi traveling with you.”

  “He turned out to be Deshmahne.”

  Locken made no show of surprise. “And the Deshmahne bother you?”

  “My assignment is to help reestablish peace.” Allay wasn't sure whether that would sway Locken or whether he simply didn't want to face his father. Either way, it didn't change what Allay needed to do. “I believe that requires that we unite against the threat of the Deshmahne. That means both Gom Aaldia and Thealon.”

  “Your father intends to attack Thealon. I'm not willing to be a part of that.”

  “Nor am I.” He hesitated. “Did Queen Theresa find the message I left?” He hoped that she had, and hoped that she had sent word to Endric.

  Locken looked at him, a question on his face. “My wife saw your note and sent the few men we could spare to Endric.”

  Allay sighed. “Good. He needs to know about the Deshmahne moving. The Denraen thought they planned something.” As did Mendi’s father, apparently, though he hadn’t known exactly what.

  “Then why are you here, Lansington? What do you propose?”

  Allay began to tell him, wondering whether it would be enough to convince Locken of his intentions and whether it would be enough to get him to side with him. What other choice did they have?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  As Alriyn made his way past the second terrace, exhaustion washing over him, he noted the gates to the barracks were spread open. That was unusual; the barracks were normally closed, the gates guarded by the Denraen.

  Had the Deshmahne attacks been successful even here?

  He glanced inside but saw no sign of activity.

  He couldn’t concern himself with the barracks for now. Even were he not exhausted, he didn’t think he could draw on the manehlin and use his abilities to defend himself. It had taken all of his energy to suppress the remaining fires he found throughout the first terrace, and to do so while trying to remain concealed. When he had come across another regiment of Denraen, he had hidden, fearful that they might have been converted to the Deshmahne. He would let Endric sort that out. Finding even one had been bad enough.

  As he continued to the first terrace, starting through a thick band of gray clouds, he feared what he would find and started to prepare himself for the worst.

  Would Endric have been fast enough to protect the palace? Part of him thought he should have been there so that he could’ve helped the Magi, but remaining on the first terrace had been equally necessary. Had he not helped those people, the entirety of that terrace might've burned. Protecting the first terrace protected Vasha.

>   What if the Deshmahne had destroyed the palace? The stone wouldn't burn, not like the buildings on the first terrace had, but he suspected the Deshmahne had enough destructive energy to shake the foundations of the palace. If Endric hadn't been fast enough…

  Even if Endric had been fast enough, it was possible Alriyn would find Magi killed, and the palace destroyed.

  As he passed through the clouds, a spray of mist moistening his cloak, he took a deep breath, the warmth of the teralin gate surrounding the palace letting him know that he was near. The clouds thinned as he reached this level.

  Alriyn paused long enough to see that the palace looked intact.

  There was no sign of Endric and no sign of fighting.

  He hurried through the eastern gate. It was his preferred entrance when he left the palace, one that was not often used by others. Most Magi preferred to go through the formal entrance to the palace, but Alriyn enjoyed the anonymity of the eastern gate. He also enjoyed the sculptures on the teralin-forged doors that depicted the Founders in relief. He could almost imagine the Founders helping him when he saw that. He needed their help now.

  Alriyn swept inside, hurrying up the stairs. As he went, he listened for any sound of activity but heard and found nothing out of place. It wasn't until he reached the thirteenth floor when he first became aware of activity.

  Not just activity, but fighting.

  Alriyn stepped onto the landing. A brutal battle took place before him. Countless Deshmahne, each dressed in black, hooded cloaks, each tainted by dark manehlin, faced the Denraen. The Deshmahne had the Denraen outnumbered, and Alriyn counted far too many dead soldiers. Endric danced among them, his sword blazing as he did. With Endric’s grace and fluidity, he was nothing like the men fighting alongside him.

  The question suddenly came to him: could Endric be Mageborn?

  It would explain the power he possessed… but not Endric. He was honorable, and had proven it time and again.

  The Denraen were in trouble—the Deshmahne overpowering them. Even with Endric overwhelming those he fought, it was only a matter of time before they were defeated.

  He might be able to help a little, but Endric needed more help than that.

  With enough Magi, could they tilt this in their favor?

  Was he willing to bring them here, knowing what would be required of them?

  He had used his abilities and taken the lives of Deshmahne. For the most part, it had been accidental, but if he led them here, there would be nothing accidental about what they would be asked to do. They would have to fight.

  But… If they did, the Magi could help expel the Deshmahne from the palace.

  Hating that he did, Alriyn turned away, hurrying up the stairs.

  As he did, he noted that Endric seemed to see him. He wished he could send him a message, something to let him know that he hadn't abandoned him, but what was there to say? Instead, Alriyn had to hope that Endric survived long enough for him to bring help.

  He reached the floor where he’d brought the injured. It felt ages ago now, long enough that not only had the danger changed, but he had changed. As he opened the door to the room, he had to duck when someone swung something at his head.

  “Karrin,” Alriyn said, raising his hands.

  Karrin lowered what looked like a table leg. The rest of the table was tilted to the ground behind her, resting at an odd angle. “Alriyn. Thank the gods.”

  Alriyn surveyed the room. There were nearly a dozen Magi present. Some were part of his small council, while others were those in positions of authority within the palace. All were powerful Magi.

  “This is all we’ve been able to find so far. Bothar went in search for others, but…”

  Bothar wasn't here. They needed as much of his council together as they could gather. For him to have legitimacy, he needed the majority of the Council of Elders. Already, he feared that they didn't have enough to formally override Jostephon. Alriyn had challenged him once and didn't know if he would survive a second, but the rest of the Magi needed the continuity of the Council.

  Yet none of that mattered while the Deshmahne remained in the palace.

  “Come with me. The Denraen need our help,” he said.

  Karrin's eyes widened. “The Denraen? Alriyn—you can’t expect us to help the Denraen fight the Deshmahne.”

  Alriyn could barely stand, but the fighting wasn't over, not yet. Not until they had expunged the Deshmahne from the palace. Even then, the fighting wouldn't be over. They had to find the Eldest, and then they had to expel him as well.

  “I've just spent the last few hours saving as much of the first terrace as I could. I've had to fight off Denraen who had converted to the Deshmahne. I've learned that Endric and the historian have abilities they've hidden from us. And I've come to recognize that we have abilities we need to utilize in this battle.”

  “Alriyn—” Karrin started.

  Alriyn scanned the Magi in the room. Each of them watched him. He wondered what he looked like, having not considered that as he'd return to the palace. After the fighting in the library, and after battling the blazes on the first terrace, did he look like the Second Eldest to them? Would they even recognize his authority?

  Alriyn decided it didn't matter.

  “We are tasked with maintaining the peace,” he began. “The peace of our palace is threatened. No longer can we leave it to the Denraen to protect it. To protect us. We must be a part.” He paused, looking for some response. None of the Magi gave any indication of how they would react. “Our Founders were soldiers. They were warriors. I'm not asking the Magi to return to that time”—he thought of Roelle and what she and the apprentices did, and how they were more like the Founders—“but I ask for us to use our abilities, perhaps in ways that we have not before, but in ways that will allow us to serve the gods still.

  “We need to restore the peace. We need to protect that peace. We must ensure the Magi survive this, because”—it was then that Alriyn realized that he still carried the mahne with him—“we still need to find a Uniter.” He pulled the mahne from his cloak pocket and held it out.

  Karrin gasped. “You shouldn't have removed that from the library.”

  Alriyn sighed. “It was either I remove it, or leave it for the Deshmahne to take. I would rather see that it's protected, that the records that we seek to protect remain safe. Would you have it otherwise?”

  The Elders stared at him. “Alriyn, you know what this means.”

  “I know what I’ve asked. And if we do nothing, the Deshmahne will defeat the Denraen. Endric will fall. And then they will come for all of us.” The image of Efrain lying injured in the library crept into his mind, the strange branding on his ankle. How did the Deshmahne use the Magi? “They intend to use us. I'm not sure how, but if we do nothing, if we do not oppose them, we will lose everything.”

  It wasn't much of a motivational speech, and Alriyn didn't know if he would sway anyone's heart, or convince them to go against centuries of tradition, but it was all he could do.

  “I'm going to return and help the Denraen. If I die, at least I will have died trying to help my people.”

  Alriyn turned and started toward the stairs.

  When he reached the top of the stairs, he realized that none followed him.

  Had he come all this way, only for none of the Magi to come with him? Could he really have made his argument so ineffectively that none were willing to fight alongside him? He had abandoned Endric, leaving him to continue facing the superior numbers of the Deshmahne, while he sought to get the assistance of the Magi. But he’d failed.

  Alriyn made his way down the stairs, taking a deep breath as he did, trying to ready his mind. He would have to find a way to push through the fatigue he felt. He would have to find a way to expand his mind and use the manehlin. He would have to find a way to draw upon that energy.

  If he couldn't, not only would he fall, but the city and those he cared about within it would fall as well. And Alriyn wa
s determined to not go down without a fight.

  Ignoring his disappointment that none of the other Magi had elected to come with him, he raced to rejoin Endric and the Denraen. The Magi needed to come around in their own time. He knew that, but it was still difficult when so much of who they were and what they stood for was at stake.

  Even knowing what was at stake, he struggled with what he would need to do. They were the Magi. They were the epitome of the Urmahne. They served the gods. Yet… What choice did they have?

  On a landing, he saw one of the Magi sprawled across the ground.

  Alriyn raced to him, recognizing Noram and fearing the man dead. Noram coughed as Alriyn approached.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  Noram blinked. “Second Eldest?”

  “It’s me,” Alriyn said. “What happened to you?”

  Noram coughed and reach for his leg. Alriyn glanced and noted the same markings that he’d seen on Efrain. “Deshmahne. They steal from us, Second Eldest.”

  Alriyn blinked. Was that what the Deshmahne had meant? Was that why he had wanted Alriyn?

  How was it possible?

  “We will get you help,” he said.

  “Not help. Stop them,” Noram said.

  Alriyn nodded. “I intend to.”

  “Go. I will hide until this is over,” Noram said.

  Alriyn left him. Though he knew he had to focus on the bigger fight, it didn’t make abandoning the wounded Mage any easier.

  When he reached the thirteenth level, the fighting continued.

  Now it was even starker. More Denraen had been lost. Alriyn didn’t recognize those that remained, and though they fought valiantly, they were no match for the Deshmahne. He saw Endric alone surrounded by Deshmahne. He fought bravely, but he was one man, facing well over a dozen of the warrior priests.

  Not priests.

  He would not allow them to claim service to the gods. He wasn't certain what they were, but they were both something less, and something more.

  There might be little that he would be able to do to sway the battle one way or another, but if he did nothing, the Denraen would fall. Then, as he had said, the Deshmahne would come for the Magi. He didn't know what they would do, but having seen Efrain and Noram, and seeing the dark excitement from the Deshmahne in the first terrace, he feared what they intended.