Tower of the Gods (The Lost Prophecy Book 3)

by D. K. Holmberg

  “The groeliin,” the woman said.

  “The groeliin,” Roelle agreed. “And they’re moving south.”

  “Does the Council know?” she asked.

  “We sent word to Alriyn. I don’t know if it reached him. I had hoped to hear something by now.”

  “How many remain?” the man asked.

  “Several thousand remain, Hunter,” Nahrsin answered.

  “The merahl?” the man asked.

  Nahrsin chuckled. “Aye,” he agreed.

  The man frowned. “Even with the merahl, how did you kill so many?”

  The exotic woman answered. “They used the forest.” There was something strange, musical almost, to her voice.

  “The merahl chase them into the forest, and then something traps them,” Roelle said. “The rest got past us.”

  “Where do they travel?” the Mage Elder asked.

  “We don’t know. South.”

  The Hunter squeezed his eyes shut. “That means Thealon.”

  “Why would they move on Thealon, Brohmin?” the Elder asked.

  The man she called Brohmin shook his head. “I have a suspicion but can’t know for sure.” He glanced at Nahrsin, and the Antrilii nodded once as he closed his eyes. A strangely sad expression flittered across his painted face before it was gone.

  “Nahrsin thinks they’re driven,” Roelle answered. They hadn’t talked about it for days, but that seemed the only explanation, but they still hadn’t determined what would be able to drive the groeliin. How could anything drive them south?

  Brohmin watched Nahrsin a moment. “They haven’t attempted this before.”

  “No, Hunter. They have not come in such numbers in hundreds of years. The Antrilii have held them back.”

  “Even a thousand would overwhelm most cities,” Brohmin said. “But several thousand?”

  “They avoided Rondalin,” Nahrsin said.

  “Why is that important?” Jakob asked.

  Brohmin answered for Nahrsin. “Because he fears a connection that we’ve never been able to prove.”

  “The Deshmahne?” she asked Nahrsin. When he nodded, she pressed, “But you agreed that we should see if they could help!”

  “It is possible that they do not control them. It is possible that it’s as you hoped, that they will use their strength to fight the groeliin.”

  Brohmin’s breath caught. “You went to the Deshmahne?”

  “We faced ten thousand groeliin. We need any advantage that we can get. If it means siding with those who seek power for the wrong reason—”

  “It’s not only that they seek it for the wrong reason,” Brohmin said. “It’s that the most powerful of the Deshmahne use the groeliin to acquire power.”

  “They what?” the Elder asked.

  Brohmin looked over to her, the corners of his eyes wrinkled. Something passed between them, and she glanced at her feet, her eyes widening.

  “That’s not possible,” Lendra said. “The Deshmahne have only recently come north. They’ve been in the south for years.”

  But it was possible. Roelle remembered what Fenick had said about the way the Deshmahne gained power. Most used animals as sacrifice. What if others used the groeliin?

  It would explain how they became so powerful.

  “They can’t reach Thealon,” Brohmin said.

  One of the merahl that had been sitting back by the Magi crept up and growled. Nahrsin looked over at the huge animal affectionately before reaching down and scratching its ears. He looked up at Brohmin and fixed him with a stern gaze. “We will not let the groeliin defile Shoren Aimielen.”

  The Elder looked from Nahrsin to Brohmin, a question plain upon her face. Brohmin did not meet her eyes, and the Elder looked away. “No. We cannot allow the groeliin to reach Thealon,” he said. “We will ride with you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Locken could feel the cold of the wind as it tore at his cloak. The days were getting colder now. Soon, snow would fall, making everyone’s travel more difficult. From his vantage atop the bluff, he could see much of the Saeline plains as they stretched out below. It allowed him to see far more than he wanted.

  The fields were hazy from dust. He knew the haze to be an anomaly. He even knew what caused the dusty haze. Thousands of men were marching on Saeline. An army, intent on crushing his uprising. What seemed strange, though, was that it did not seem to be the full thrust of Richard’s forces.

  Perhaps he’s only come to rein me in, he mused.

  He knew it was not that simple. It was far more plausible to believe that Richard didn’t feel the need to send the full army at him.

  He turned away, back toward the city of Saeline. His own army was camped nearby. They were readied, though he wondered how he could ever truly ready the men to fight their own countrymen. Some had cousins or nephews in neighboring kingdoms, much like Locken’s sister lived in Gomald. It could be an ugly fight.

  Lonn stood away from the edge. He allowed Locken his own time.

  The man knows me well.

  He walked quickly over to him. Advice would be valuable this time.

  “The reports were true. An army approaches.” He spoke quickly, his voice hushed. They had known this day was coming. Had known since they declared their independence, making formal their treason. They had all hoped to put off the bloodshed in favor of a more peaceful solution.

  Lonn nodded. “And the size?” he asked.

  Locken would have smiled if the situation were lighter. Lonn seemed better informed than he, oftentimes. “It is not all of Richard’s army. Or even most from the looks of it.” He turned his head, craning behind him to see again. “I suppose he thought it more than enough to take care of us.”

  Lonn nodded. As he did, Locken saw movement down the road from them. A horse and rider. Two, he realized. The High King’s son and his servant, most likely. Strange companions, he thought.

  He still hadn’t decided what to make of Allay. When he’d come to him in Chrysia, Locken had been looking to forestall Thealon and to let Thealon know that he had no intention to attack. Allay had traveled with rebels of Salvat, claiming that he’d trained in Vasha. Locken had already received word of the dead Mage in Saeline, as well as the strange message he’d left for Theresa to send to Endric.

  Locken still didn’t know whether to believe him or not but was thankful Theresa had sent word—both to him and to Endric.

  Yet… there was something about him, an honesty, which compelled Locken to hear him out. He would at least offer him that.

  Allay had asked to travel with him, to confront his father if necessary. He had granted the request, Locken’s treason not so far along that he wasn’t willing to find reconciliation with the rest of Gom Aaldia, if it were possible. Were it Theodror, Locken wasn’t sure he would have been willing to listen, but Allay was a different matter. The boy had made a name for himself, one nothing like his father’s. It would have pleased Locken at one time to seat him atop the throne. Times were different now. He’d gone too far with his rebellion.

  Surprisingly, Allay had asked nothing of it. Instead, he had only asked about what his father was planning. Questions about his dead brother, the new advisor, and the plans to attack Thealon. Locken had answered all of them, and the man had seemed satisfied. He had seemed almost willing to side with him.

  “The prince, sir,” Lonn reported, interrupting his reverie. “And his Salvat companion.” Lonn was at as much of a loss as he to explain that situation. Why would Allay have brought a servant with him, and one who acted nothing like a slave? From what he’d seen, they were more like partners.

  “My lord,” Allay offered, tipping his head as they approached.

  “Prince,” he returned. The man honestly had not been offended by the lack of a more formal title. He seemed almost insistent on addressing Locken with the title he assumed with their rebellion. “An army approaches.”

  A nod of reply. “I know. It’s Robden’s men.”

&nbs
p; Robden? Only Robden?

  “How do you know?” Locken asked. “We can’t make out anything more than vague numbers through the haze from this vantage.”

  Allay looked to his servant. “Mendi has ties to the Teachers. They claim Robden has been in communication with two who still serve you.”

  “The Teachers? How would they get word?”

  Allay shrugged. “Maybe there’s more to it. I rode down earlier this morning and saw his standard flying. None other was seen.”

  Locken looked at him a moment and started laughing. Since pairing up with Allay in Thealon, the young prince had grown increasingly self-assured, as if he had struggled with some decision before and was now confident in what he had chosen.

  “How can you be sure only one king lofts a standard?” Lonn asked.

  “The other kings have far too much vanity and pride to not ride waving their banners. If others were with him, theirs would be seen,” Locken said. “Are you sure it was Robden’s banner you saw? We haven’t heard from our scouts yet.”

  Allay nodded, turning his gaze to the sky. It was a clear day, cloudless, and the sun shined bright overhead. It didn’t make it any warmer, though. “Even if I hadn’t been forced to study politics and geography again in Vasha, I know King Robden’s banner.”

  “Richard wouldn’t send only Robden. Something is amiss,” Lonn said.

  “Robden is loyal to the throne. My father knows this and will take advantage of it. Robden was an easy choice.”

  Lonn shook his head in reply. “No. Robden is loyal to the throne, but he is an honorable man. He will not attack.”

  Locken wondered. Lonn’s advice was usually accurate, but he didn’t understand what it was to be king.

  “It’s his honor my father expects.”

  Allay was clever. He looked to Lonn and saw the man frowning.

  “Richard sees us as traitors. He would have convinced the other kings that it must be so. It’s Robden sense of honor that Richard uses to bring us down. He knows Robden would not side with traitors, knows that Robden will work to end any rebellion.” He looked to his friend, his advisor, as he finished speaking.

  “I understood what he meant.” Lonn looked to Allay. “But I’ve met King Robden. There is more to that man’s mind than unwavering loyalty to the High King’s throne.” Lonn turned back to Locken, catching his eye.

  Always good advice. “So you would suggest that we…” He let his words trail off, his thought finished by Lonn.

  “I don’t think he’s here for the reason Richard intended. We should meet with him and find out his true intentions.” Locken watched as Lonn turned back to Allay. “It is far easier to understand a situation when you know both sides.”

  “We can meet with King Robden,” Allay replied. “But I doubt his intention is anything less than breaking your independence. My father will not tolerate Saeline being free for long.”

  Locken knew that to be true. What was not clear was where Richard’s full attention lay now. Last he knew, the Tower and Thealon were too attractive a target. Richard seemed convinced he needed the appearance of power that the Tower provided.

  The gods help the people of Thealon, he thought.

  It had been a long time since they had listened, but he hoped they heard him now.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Alriyn stared at Jostephon, unable to shake his shock at the change in him. It was more than the tattoos and his strangely rigid posture, and more than his change in clothing, now dressed in the dark robes of the Deshmahne. The manehlin around him, the dark energy that he now possessed, was like a thick cloud.

  Alriyn didn't have enough strength to draw away that much manehlin. Even if he did, he doubted he could hold it.

  “Second Eldest?” Endric asked.

  Alriyn kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, barely registering the hall around him. How many Denraen still stood? There were Magi, but they were in danger here now as well. Bodies lay scattered, defiling what had been the home of the Magi for a thousand years, a place of peace, and a place where the Urmahne should be honored. Jostephon changed that with his actions.

  “Alriyn!” Endric said.

  What could he say? What could he do with Jostephon coming at him with the power he now possessed? He’d gained too much strength for Alriyn to oppose.

  When he glanced at the other Magi now with him, he knew there was nothing he could do that would keep them safe.

  “Endric, gather your men. Be ready to defend what you can.”

  Jostephon shook his head. Through the fog, it was difficult to see the motion, but Alriyn practically felt it. There was a malevolence to him.

  “There will be no gathering of men. There will be no escape. The Magi will either join with me—”

  “The Magi will not join with you,” Alriyn said, his anger boiling up into his words. How could Jostephon have done this? How could he have used the Magi like this? “You have perverted what we stand for.”

  “What we stand for? What we stand for is power. It was given to us as a gift, and we have held ourselves apart for too long.”

  “And that I agree with.”

  Alriyn took a deep breath. As he let it out, he pushed, once more trying to widen his mind. Unlike the last two times, there was a limit to how far he could push. He felt a small fracture within his mind, but this time, there was no resulting increase in what he could draw upon.

  “Stop the Deshmahne,” Alriyn said to Endric without looking over to the general.

  Alriyn took a step forward. As he did, his hand went into the pocket of his cloak, and he gripped mahne. It was reassuring to hold the book his people had followed for centuries. It carried the weight of their needs, and he would not defy them now.

  He reached for the manehlin that surrounded Jostephon, pulling it to himself.

  The thick haze of fog started to dissipate. Unlike when he had fought the other Deshmahne, he was unable to draw a significant amount to him. His capacity was quickly overwhelmed.

  Jostephon smiled. Alriyn could see his face clearly and saw anger flashing in his eyes that didn’t match the dark smile on his face.

  “You surprised me, Alriyn. You, who once thought to be my equal. Now, now you'll be nothing more than a memory.”

  Jostephon attacked.

  It came as a series of painful lashes that struck him from all over. Pain worked inward, as if Jostephon reached inside of Alriyn, drawing on his manehlin, attempting to pull it away from him. Attempting to tear it away from him.

  Alriyn screamed.

  Jostephon's attack was every bit as painful as when he had attempted to open his mind. It was overwhelming, filling him. There was a distinct sense that there was nothing he could do, no way that he could fight back. Alriyn was small compared to the power Jostephon commanded.

  The Second Eldest staggered, falling.

  As he sank to the ground, he felt the manehlin that surrounded him, the energy that he had never seen before tearing his mind open, swirling away from him, drawn toward the Eldest. Alriyn fought, trying to maintain control of it, fearing what would happen were that energy to leave him, knowing what had happened to the Deshmahne when he had taken their energy.

  Even as he fought, he recognized that he was not strong enough. The energy he could reach was not enough. He was not enough.

  Fighting was futile. His life was futile. Everything he cared about was futile.

  Why would he feel such a thing?

  He slowly recognized—possibly too slowly—the influence from the Deshmahne. This was their emotional attack, their way of defeating him without even fighting.

  Alriyn had to fight. If he didn't, they would win.

  He struggled to stand, pushing aside the thoughts plaguing him.

  As he stood, Alriyn was forced back. He wasn't strong enough to withstand the attack, but at least he no longer felt the horrible wave of uselessness. He might lose his manehlin, the energy might be stolen from him, but he would preserve his mind.r />
  Alriyn fought as Jostephon pressed forward, drawing his energy.

  Something was pushed into his hand, and he looked up and realized that Novan had shoved his staff into his hand.

  “Use it,” Novan demanded.

  Alriyn kept his attention on Jostephon. The Eldest stalked toward him, moving more carefully now. “I don't know how.”

  “Draw through it. Use the power you can find in it. Your people thought the teralin the key to reaching the gods. They were wrong about that, but it can help and can make you stronger.”

  Novan spun away from him, turning to face Deshmahne. Without his staff, Alriyn worried that the historian would fall quickly. The historian surprised him by withdrawing a short sword from beneath his cloak.

  Alriyn gripped the staff and tipped it toward Jostephon. The Eldest hesitated, studying the staff. Alriyn risked a glance and noted that the teralin worked through it no longer glowed.

  How could he use this? What was the key?

  The historian had somehow activated the teralin along the staff. Alriyn had seen it glowing. Could he do something similar?

  He shifted his focus from trying to maintain his connection to the manehlin to forcing a connection through the staff.

  The veins of teralin within it began to glow.

  As they did, Alriyn felt something strange.

  There was a stretching within his mind, one that was much like what he'd felt when he had forced his mind open, but this… This was softer, more natural. Alriyn could tell it was augmented by the staff, somehow the historian’s staff allowed him to reach for greater potential of manehlin that he could otherwise.

  The pain from Jostephon’s attack nearly toppled Alriyn. He leaned on the staff, determined to continue pushing through it.

  It felt as if his mind opened like a yawning cavern.

  Energy swirled all around him. He could see it. He could feel it.

  He stopped Jostephon from drawing his manehlin away from him.

  Jostephon’s eyes narrowed.

  Inhaling deeply, Alriyn stood, clutching the staff as he pointed it toward Jostephon.