Tower of the Gods (The Lost Prophecy Book 3)

by D. K. Holmberg

  He pulled upon the dark manehlin surrounding Jostephon. The fog faded, and now the energy that had been swirling between them, torn from Alriyn and into Jostephon, shifted, reversing course. Now Alriyn was the one to draw the manehlin toward him.

  Jostephon cried out, but Alriyn continued to pull, drawing more and more of the manehlin away from Jostephon. His old friend took a step back, but somehow, Denraen were there, preventing him from leaving.

  “You stole from the Magi,” Alriyn said.

  Jostephon gritted his teeth. “I have only taken what was necessary.”

  “You were willing to sacrifice your people in order to gain power. You have destroyed everything you believed in.”

  Alriyn pulled on more of the manehlin, feeling it swirl into him, into the staff. It was as if the staff served as a reservoir, both to help him reach greater potential, but also to help him store it as well.

  How had Novan created this?

  Jostephon took a step toward him. He had unsheathed a sword from somewhere beneath his robes. It had an inky black blade. The manehlin that surrounded Jostephon also surrounded the sword. Alriyn had little doubt that the sword served as something like Novan’s staff did for him. If he gave Jostephon a chance, he would overwhelm Alriyn.

  Alriyn swung the staff.

  As he did, he released some of the manehlin, sending it out, away from Jostephon. Alriyn drew more power into the staff as Jostephon swung his blade, colliding with the staff.

  Alriyn feared the staff might shatter, that the sharp blade would cut through it, but the veins of teralin seemed to protect it.

  He swung the staff once more, this time, catching Jostephon on his temple.

  He crumpled.

  Alriyn brought the staff up, ready to strike him again when someone grabbed his wrist. Alriyn spun, ready for an attack. Novan and Endric stood on behind him.

  The battle was over.

  Bodies littered the ground, both Denraen and Deshmahne. Alriyn thought he saw a pale cloak of one of the Magi and would need to see who had fallen. So much destruction. So much loss. And for what?

  “Easy, Alriyn,” Novan said.

  “But the Eldest—”

  “We'll take care of him,” Endric said.

  “But the manehlin he can control is more than I can suppress.”

  Novan's gaze narrowed. “I think I have a way we can confine him.”

  Alriyn took a step back, nodding. His mind struggled to understand what he'd been through, but he was at a loss. His gaze stopped again on the fallen Denraen and Magi. How could they recover from this? Would they ever recover? Would he?

  He had no choice. The Magi needed to recover, and for that, they needed him. He could work on unifying those that remained, and then they could restore the Magi to what they had once been. The Deshmahne were only part of the danger the world faced. Whatever Roelle faced was equally a part. For them to survive, they needed to find the Uniter.

  But he worried that it might be too late.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Richard looked behind him. His army stretched far in the distance, and he smiled. It was massive. He doubted that there was another army in the world that could match what he had amassed. Now, though, he was to the east of the body of his army, surveying the land for himself. Men of his Aaldian Dragons were nearby, but they knew to give him his distance as he looked. They feared him, he knew. The thought made him smile again.

  In the distance, far behind him, he could see the deep blue reflection of the massive River Rondall. It had taken them days to cross, slowing them considerably. They had been forced to create a makeshift bridge, tying together rafts until it spanned the width of the river. It had almost been more frustration than he could take.

  He winced as he thought about the river. Raime had not been pleased with their efforts and had not hesitated to express his anger to Richard. The man was gone now, and in his absence, Richard felt relief.

  Or is he gone?

  The question filled his mind. He could never be sure. The last time the man had left for several days, Richard had considered changing the orders of the High Priest. Raime had been gone for three days, and they neared the river’s edge. Raime had instructed him to reach the river and wait for his return. Instructed him! The High King!

  It shocked him that he let the man order him. In Raime’s absence, Richard issued new orders, commanding the troops to head north so they could cross in Riverbranch. As soon as he did, though, Raime returned. It was almost as if he had been watching him from a distance. His punishment had been severe.

  Richard didn’t let those thoughts creep across his mind for long. There were times when he could swear that Raime knew what he was thinking, knew it and acted accordingly. Part of him knew it was not possible, yet there had been a time when he would not have thought it possible for someone to issue him orders. The thought burned at him, and he forced himself to let it go.

  Richard turned around and faced the open plains before him. They were on the western edge of Thealon, and he was ready to head farther east, toward the city itself. What he could not seem to recall was why they attacked Thealon.

  The Tower. We must have the Tower.

  Certainly, the peace between their nations had been uneasy of late, yet he risked his people in this venture not just their support.

  Damn their support, he thought. I am the High King. They will obey.

  He turned farther east, looking far in the distance. Scouts had told him that Thealon troops were stationed not more than two days’ ride from here. Troops in such few number that his soldiers would sweep through and crush them easily. He would have smiled, but the thought left a sour taste in his mouth today. Beyond the few troops was the city Thealon.

  The Tower of the Gods was in the capital. Controlling the capital meant possession of the Tower. A long time ago, he had thought that would impress the gods. Now, he was not as certain. Now, he worried his attack would only serve to anger the gods, but if he didn’t attack, he would anger Raime. He feared him more than the gods.

  He looked back over his shoulder, toward his land, toward Gom Aaldia. Where was Robden in all of this? The man had been sent to dispatch Locken weeks before, and nothing had been heard from him since. Richard had thought that Locken would be swayed by the presence of an army at his doorstep, had thought that would be all it would take to convince him to give up his game. Perhaps he had not taken Locken seriously enough. Perhaps he had engaged Robden’s army.

  He tossed the thought aside. He would have heard news of it by now if that were the case. No, there was something else afoot. Something he needed to learn about before it was too late.

  Turning back toward the Thealon plains, he almost jumped at what he saw. Raime suddenly stood before him, still wearing his dark cloak and still with the hood pulled over his head.

  “Where is your man Robden?” Raime asked, his voice that of fire.

  “I don’t know,” Richard answered, trying to hide his fear. “There should have been some word by now.”

  Raime turned to look at him more squarely, and Richard could see the two red flames that danced where his eyes must be. “I will tell you where he is, King Richard,” Raime mocked. “He has joined with Locken.”

  Trying to step back from the man’s intimidating presence, he said, “I’ve heard nothing. Anything could have happened.”

  “Nothing has happened,” Raime answered. “But it is not important. There is little they can do to stop us now.”

  Richard said nothing. He feared upsetting the man, choosing silence instead.

  Raime turned to look over the plains before facing him again. “You were wise to follow the course I set before you,” he spoke. “The consequences will be greater the next time you do not.” The man turned his fiery eyes upon him once again. “I may be gone for a while. You will continue as planned.” He paused. “Do not think that because you cannot see me, I cannot see you.”

  Richard shivered at the warning. It e
choed too closely what he had been thinking. Then suddenly, Raime was gone. He seemed to disappear from his sight with a blink.

  That is not possible!

  Somehow, though, it was. There was much about him that seemed impossible. Terror rolled through him. Fear of the man.

  He is not a man, he thought. He is worse.

  Richard had never wanted to acknowledge that the man had power over him. Power greater than he could imagine. Beyond his understanding. But now, with this latest threat, and proof of his seemingly all-knowing presence, he knew that he would never cross Raime again.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The horse jostled him as he rode, his tailbone growing numb, and he winced. It had been a long time since Locken had ridden this much or this hard. He looked over at Lonn riding steadily next to him. The man seemed as if the ride did not bother him, which Locken supposed it did not.

  They’d left Gom Aaldia, and had entered Thealon, chasing Richard and his troops. Somehow, Richard had managed to get past them, and now he brought his troops in pursuit, aided by Robden, but also those of the Ur, soldiers from Chrysia.

  He surveyed the sheer size of his army in the distance. It was enormous now with Robden’s troops added. They camped on the huge slope on the other side of the Rondall River, small tents visible even from this distance. Robden’s decision to join had been a huge stroke of luck, though Locken knew he had nothing to do with the man’s choice.

  No, it had been Allay who had convinced the king from Bastiin to ride against his High King. Locken knew that for Robden, it had been the most difficult choice of his life. The man was more loyal to Gom Aaldia than any other, yet lately, his loyalty had been tested by Richard.

  I was loyal once as well.

  He had been loyal. To the throne though, not the King. The King had never earned his respect, and he would not give respect without the other deserving.

  Allay had spoken with Robden, explained what had happened, but more than that… had explained what happened in Gomald. There had been a rebellion, and they had removed the Deshmahne threat. He had spoken convincingly about the growing Deshmahne threat in the rest of Gom Aaldia. Even Locken had been swayed.

  “What purpose does this war serve?” Allay had asked Robden. “Our people face a different threat, one that we must be prepared to unite against if we want peace. And not only Gom Aaldia needs to unite, but all of the north.”

  Robden had shaken his head. “The High King commands.”

  Allay had smiled, and Locken had been uncertain then. “He commands, but what would you do?”

  A slight tilt of the head and Locken knew Robden was uncertain.

  “You are king of your people.”

  “Yes,” Robden answered.

  “Your charge is their welfare. They need you for protection.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do your people need this war?” Allay had asked.

  Locken smiled at that.

  “No,” Robden finally answered. He had thought a long time before answering.

  “Then why?”

  He had left with the question, knowing then that Robden would not fight. Not him, at least. The prince had learned persuasion from the Magi. Persuasion, and more. The peace he fostered was beyond what Locken could have hoped for.

  It was similar to what he had done with the Councilor of Chrysia. He seemed to know far more about the politics of the country than even Locken did. It had made bargaining with Lord Comity far easier, and he’d forged a trade agreement when there had not been one for years. Locken remembered his amazement at that, thinking that Allay would have made a powerful King, one he would have been proud to serve. Now, though, it was different.

  Now Locken led men to battle Allay’s father. There could be no turning back.

  They rode a little longer in silence, the edge of where they would camp drawing near. “You know what will happen when we reach Richard and his army,” Locken said, breaking the silence.

  He did not even see Lonn nod. The night was upon them.

  “There will be much bloodshed.”

  “We have seen it before,” Lonn reminded him.

  He looked over to his friend. “Not like this. This time,” he started but didn’t finish. It was different somehow this time. It seemed wrong. His countrymen. Their hand had been forced, yet it did not make it easier.

  “I know,” Lonn answered the unfinished statement.

  He thanked the gods for his friend. This trip would not be possible without his advice. He let the silence fill around them, choosing instead to look at the sky and the stars. His mind looked for the formations he knew from childhood, but his heart was not in it, and he soon gave up. This was a different sky from that of his childhood, a different place.

  Why do I face my countrymen on foreign ground?

  Lonn interrupted his thoughts with a question. “What will happen if we don’t stop Richard?” he asked. “If he takes the city?”

  Locken had not thought much about the possibility, other than wondering why.

  It gives him more land, but at what cost? Would he not just be expanding the territory he was responsible for defending? What of the Deshmahne? They had not seen evidence of the Deshmahne sweeping across the north, but he didn’t doubt Allay’s reports, not any longer.

  “I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

  “What will become of the Tower?” Lonn asked.

  The gods had not been seen in a long time. Would they care?

  The silence of the night stretched around them.

  “Will the gods be angered?” Lonn questioned.

  He felt his heart skip. It echoed his thoughts. What reaction would the gods have to war in their city, near their Tower?

  They reached the campsite not long after. Many small fires lit the night, and he rode quickly to his tent at the center, tossing the reins of his horse to the stable boy who was in charge this night. Line boy, I suppose, he thought. There were few stables in war.

  Inside his tent, he lit a small candle. He sat at the table that had been set up for him, looking at his maps once again. He prayed they had enough time to catch Richard before he reached the city. Prayed he could stop the man.

  A light cough came from outside his door. He looked up from his table to see Robden enter. The man looked tired, his eyes dark and face unshaven. “What can I do for you, Robden?” he asked him, standing to greet him, showing appropriate king-to-king respect.

  Robden stepped farther into the room. His eyes darted nervously before he spoke. “I hear that the prince has left us?” he asked, his voice full of concern.

  Locken smiled. “Sit,” he said, motioning to a chair toward the back of the tent. As Robden sat, he lowered himself into his chair again. “It is true.”

  “Did he say why?” Robden asked.

  “He thinks to bargain with Richard.” Locken was sure it would do no good, not from what Allay had told him, but he didn’t command Allay. And there remained a chance—however slight—that he might succeed. They needed every chance they could get.

  Robden looked down, his face worried.

  “What is it?” Locken asked. Since they’d joined forces, he and Robden hadn’t shared much time. Once, the two of them had been closer, which is why he knew what an honorable man he was.

  Robden looked up at him then and stared, seeming to examine him, weighing him. “Why do you do this, Locken? This war,” Robden said, motioning with his hands. “All of this. Why did you start this?” He looked to Locken again before going on. “Was it the power? The freedom? Would you do this to your people for power or freedom?”

  Robden had not asked him why before, having been swayed more by Allay’s words than any relationship with Locken. “It is neither,” he answered softly, easily. “I have never needed either of those things and yet have had them given to me.” He looked long and hard at Robden, holding the man’s gaze. “You would think that I would do all this for more power or freedom?” he asked. “I had all that I n
eeded and more. No,” he went on, slowly. “Richard went too far with this attack. Much too far. He cares more about stealing the Tower from Thealon than about protecting our lands from the Deshmahne.”

  “Before seeing the prince, I was not going to make myself a traitor to the throne. I remain… unsettled.”

  “This needs to stop, Robden. Otherwise, where will this end?” he asked. After a while, he asked, “Why you, Robden?”

  The words seemed to hang in the air before Robden answered. “Allay.” The answer was simple. “He will be King, better than his father.” He paused, then spoke again. “Though I may live to regret this, you have my support.”

  They shook arms then, a more formal agreement than that which the prince had forged. Locken hoped it would not end in their failure.

  Allay’s mind raced as fast as the horse he rode, thundering across the plains where he’d heard the army had camped, now beyond the Thealon border. What was he thinking heading to his father like this? If he miscalculated, and if his father wasn’t willing to listen—or worse, if his father’s new advisor was there in spite of word that he was not—Allay doubted that his plan would work.

  Mendi rode next to him, her face neutral, but he knew she was as nervous as he. Neither of them knew how his father would react, not only to Allay but also to the presence of Mendi. If he’d heard about the rebellion, would he know the role those of Salvat had in it?

  In the distance, he saw signs of the camp of his father’s army.

  Allay slowed his horse, not wanting to ride too hard into the camp and risk attack by some of his father’s men. Hopefully, he’d not been away so long that they didn’t recognize him. Allay counted on the fact that they would recognize him.

  Near the camp—much nearer than he would have expected—they were stopped by a pair of soldiers. At first, they met him with swords drawn, but one of the men’s eyes widened, and he sheathed it quickly.

  “Prince Lansington,” he said. He was a stout man, with a high forehead and a long nose. “We had no word that you were coming.” His gaze drifted to Mendi before settling back on Allay.