Prophecy's Deception

by AS Hamilton

  'Indeed, Torahn. The may-en-ghi surround the Chosen with an attitude of absolute reverence, for he returns to me my perspective and I can see he sits before me in the sand. He wears only black pants and a belt.' Toormeena smiled. 'Much like you wear now.'

  Brynn found himself subconsciously fidgeting with his belt, realising it, he made himself still and returned his full attention to the seer.

  'The sword, I spoke of, the one the female elvan was holding, now lies across his knees. His arms are scarred.' As she spoke, Toormeena's hand moved over Brynn's sleeve to rest on his shoulder. 'Long, jagged, red marks cover his shoulders and arms.' Toormeena's hand glided along his arm to his wrist. 'Somehow I know that a may-en-ghi has gripped him with her claws, clinging for life to those shoulders until he was able to draw her to safety. He selflessly gave to one of them, and they repay this gift as a community.'

  Toormeena paused to ask, 'Have you saved her yet, Torahn?'

  Brynn dipped his head. 'Fifteen turns ago. As you say, she needed to hold on to me so I could save her from death.'

  His response received a short nod of satisfaction from the seer. 'You know, the Chosen visited them, too. He gave the may-en-ghi a vision. For the may-en-ghi, such an act is highly respected, for not many elvan have visited a vision upon them.'

  That was surprising, for the may-en-ghi had never mentioned such a vision to him. But if he was not supposed to know of his role in The Prophecy until he saw Toormeena, it made sense that the may-en-ghi would hold back this information.

  'I know, then,' Toormeena said, 'that he is a leader, and no ordinary one, for I can see the bloodline of the House of Brynn-a-kai in his features. In his face I can trace the ancestry of Caradon and Diannra, though he is not a direct son.'

  'My grandfather,' Brynn whispered.

  Toormeena gave a contented murmur, 'Indeed. At this point in the vision, I dare to ask the Chosen a question, for I am young and overwhelmed.

  '"Why have you come to me, Torahn?" I ask, for he wears the circlet of the Crown, the silhouette of the twin golden dragons resting upon his head.

  'The Chosen's eyes are filled with regret and he says to me, "I am so sorry to place such a burden on you, inalla, yet the survival on our nation depends on you."

  '"Torahn," I say as I kneel before him, "ever am I in your service."

  'For he is beautiful and not just to look upon. His aura envelopes me in a feeling of complete tranquillity. I can feel his spirit and am… enchanted. In his presence, there is a vibrant joy, an elation, I cannot explain. Others wish to claim my heart, but I will not give it over fully. Not until my service to the Chosen is done.

  '"I need you to do two things, inalla," he says. "I need you to give our people hope when they are convinced there is no hope left," he tells me, his blue eyes gazing steadily into mine, "and when I come to you, I need you to tell me all that I relate to you now. I cannot appear with my soul-kin, for the child I will be when I come to you cannot know her face yet, it will endanger her. Tell me that she exists, just as my prophecy says. But she is not what everyone tells me she is. She is not even what I perceive at that time. She is not whole, she has been fractured by war and it is through Eirra-ghi that the connections of kinship will be discovered and lead to her restoration.

  '"There is one thing more that I need to understand. She is the power, I am the control." His gaze sharpens, and the Chosen becomes very intense. "I must understand this," he says very firmly.

  '"I will, Torahn," I promise, "I will tell the child you; she is the power, you are the control."

  'This is not all the Chosen has to say. "Tell our people that The Prophecy of Desolation will not just result in the loss of our nation, but much more than that. Imagine a world with no elvan. All talent lost with the disintegration of our race. This will be, one day, if this path is seen to its end without the great change Fate requires of us all."

  'Then the Chosen shows me visions of what was my future then. He shows me a world without may-en-ghi. Without elvan. Without ellermore.'

  Brynn reflected that the ellermore were very close to that extinction even now. An elvan-like race of child-sized people with a lifespan of just sixty turns, they were a delicate, fragile race, and Keldon's invasion had devastated their population.

  'Many species die out,' Toormeena continued. 'Felahar, the avian descendants of the dragons; the elaanra deer, the unicorn, the inchanu, beseral — all gone. The islu-dyri, small though the meadow dwellers are, die for the sake of their feathered head-dress, the jagrery hunted for their coats and the great golden stag for their horns. The lands become over-populated, over-worked, over-cleared. There is no balance, no harmony at all. Talent begins to diminish with the loss of nature to support it.

  'I will not walk you through every event he showed me, but the knowledge is yours now, a part of your memory as it is a part of mine, from the moment our own councils fail to stand against Hasdeen when she refuses to relinquish power when her rahn dies to the moment the heirs to the Crown betray their people to Abbarane.'

  Toormeena paused and squeezed Brynn's hand. 'You have already started your path, Torahn. Some of the destruction the Chosen showed me has come about. My role is not to show you how you succeed, for that is not the key to fulfilling a prophecy. If too much effort is put into replicating a vision, mistakes are made and the future is lost.'

  'Not lost, Toormeena, changed,' Brynn reminded her.

  'Indeed, it is as you say. But my duty is to ensure you understand two key messages. The first being that: she is the power, and you the control.

  'The second message the Chosen entrusted me with was to emphasise that you are the one who gave me this vision, you are a part of The Prophecy. And, indeed, one day you will be Torahn, which is to say you will form one half of a ruling crown. However, young Brynn-a-kai, the Chosen needed you to know this, he said all hinged on your understanding that…

  '…you are not the prophecised one.'

  Chapter 9

  Day 6 – Night

  Denas

  Colnba let the heat of the water ease the knots in his muscles. He was lounging in the sunken bath so that his chin rested just above the water. He could feel the blue-green salts taking effect, causing a pleasant, effervescent sensation against his skin. The steam rising from the surface created a warm mist that enveloped the mage, whose head was cradled by a soft headrest.

  The Saviour was, indeed, in Sal-Cirus.

  Despite being in Denas, he could still alert the mages there and have them apprehend him, but Colnba had no intention of stopping the Saviour, not yet. Nisari agreed. Any move right now would be pre-emptive. What they regretted was not being able to intercept the vision Toormeena was surely passing to him. This was due to the interference of the damnably-vigilant House of Toorian and their cursed guardians. The thought caused him to huff out a breath of frustration, which made the water ripple in front of his mouth.

  He had only ever seen part of the path Toormeena had witnessed all those turns ago. Not being a natural seer, Colnba had earned the skill through turns of arduous training. As it turned out, the ability to 'see' was not all he needed to access the path of The Prophecy. Each century since the young girl of the House of Toorian had seen it, one of their line stepped down from being a seer to become a planes-guardian. They learned to be deadly on the planes and then guarded the path of The Prophecy with their lives. Colnba knew this was more than a tale, for he had killed the one guarding it forty turns ago. To his misfortune, House of Toorian were diligent in their duty, appointing an apprentice as well. After wearing himself down defeating the guardian, a second opponent was too much, and he had only seen part of the vision. If only Nisari had not still been recovering back then, together they might have managed it. Now, House of Toorian had eight guardians. Too many for the pair of them, even once Nisari was recovered because she was no longer whole. The injuries Liacoren had inflicted on his rahn had a cost that his rahn suffered from even now, for Liacoren had taken a part of Ni
sari's spirit — that was how Keldon had gained their cooperation. Finding where Keldon had hidden that piece of spirit was as important as thwarting the Saviour, indeed one may lead to the other. Colnba shifted, stretching out his back before letting himself relax again into the curve of the seat sculpted into the bath. If only they could make some progress on either one of the tasks, he thought, trying not to let his frustration build.

  The problem was that he was stretched too thin and it was diminishing his effectiveness as a mage. With Malithorn always pushing for intelligence on The Prophecy or the rebels, as well as having his own supporters monitored, the pressure rarely lifted. Malithorn just would not accept that an elvan could be intelligent. Devious, weak, deceitful? Yes. Bold, innovative, skillful? No.

  The Saviour knew he could be tracked by talent, so he resisted using it. When he did succumb, he shifted planes, muddying his trail, so to speak. He also disguised his talent as something or someone else. None of these feats were the acts of a mere apprentice. They were working him hard to have him walk his path so soon, fitting a hundred turns of training into thirty. Colnba used his will to turn the hot water tap on and add more heat to the bath. The young mage had probably spent more time on the planes than in his body.

  Speaking of his hard-to-track quarry, the Saviour switched planes, disappearing from Colnba's spirit-sight. The mage growled softly, but was used to the frustration. He was getting better at it though; tracking the Saviour. He was starting to get a sense of the patterns the Saviour used when switching planes and this made it possible to intuit where he would turn up. Patterns or habits could be dangerous things when you were prey. And Colnba had been hunting this prey long before he was born. He was confident the child was of the House of Brynn-a-kai bloodline. Nisari shared this view, which meant a lot considering her natural abilities as a seer. It was also a valuable lead, for it narrowed down their search criteria to one house. Colnba turned off the tap, relishing the almost-too-hot temperature of the water as it eased the tension in his muscles.

  Caradon had been House of Brynn-a-kai, Colnba remembered. Colnba frowned, the house had once resided near Ancoulan, but just before the war they had relocated. They had not disclosed where, citing the war as the reason for keeping it confidential, but it could be worth looking into. It was possible if the Saviour was House of Brynn-a-kai, that there was a way to track him to or from where ever it was House of Brynn-a-kai had set up their new base.

  Colnba dipped his head beneath the water and brought it up with a small splash. The act made him feel more alert, which was good — he had more work to do on the planes.

  Day 6 – Night

  Sal-Cirus

  It was not all that great an inconvenience, having the elvan female there, Gareth allowed. A bit unsettling, but his work was such that he was easily absorbed by the physicality of it. Pulling all-nighters to finish a commission was not uncommon for the smith, either. It was how he afforded three apprentices at varying levels. Sure, they couldn't be trusted with this work on their own, but they could handle the minor work that generally came in through the day while he caught up on his sleep.

  These swords were for a merchant who supplied the Abbarane military; a cause Gareth was happy to support. Merchants often paid a bonus to have the work done quickly — the scoundrels always said they'd deliver earlier than their competitors — so it made the late nights worth his while. What riled Gareth about the elvan female was that she was obviously a rebel. That was not a cause he was willing to support. You'd hafta be bloody demented to elevate elvan to the equal of humans. They were a notch above animals — look at those incisors, for instance! However, profiting from the pair of rebels before he turned 'em in… that appealed to him greatly.

  Gareth tossed the polishing cloth onto the workbench. It was almost dawn and he was finally done. He had just started to wonder how long the male elvan was going to keep him from his bed, when he realised the vermin had returned, causing him to grunt in surprise. How long he had been watching him, Gareth could not say. And why was he wearing a black scarf on his head?

  He glared at the male. 'You'll be going now?'

  'Indeed, we will.'

  The elvan fixed Gareth with an intense stare. For a moment the world seemed to fog and then he shook himself. He was more than ready for his bed. The smith started to prepare to lock up. As he did, he decided to see if he could persuade them to give him more money, after all, they would be anxious to get going now, they might give him an extra payment to stop him from making a fuss that would delay them. 'What happens if they work it out?' he asked referring to the Abbarane authorities. 'I'll likely hafta bribe them.'

  'Why would they even have reason to suspect?' the elvan retorted.

  His tone sounded casual, but Gareth sensed there was something deadly hiding beneath it, his eyes looked positively feral. Perhaps it was a shade foolish to try blackmailing the rebel pair. And there'd be no risk selling the information to the guards, they'd be very interested in this evening's events. None-the-less, Gareth thought, perhaps one more small prod…

  'Their mages,' Gareth replied. 'They know things, is all. They might think I was willing.'

  'In the unlikely circumstance they suspect anything, you can tell them the truth when you say we held you here. Just be sure your mind does not turn to the payment and you will be fine. You have been compensated well, Master Blacksmith, keep this in mind, also,' the elvan reminded him.

  A brief expression of loathing passed over Gareth's features and the elvan's expression also darkened. Gareth looked away uneasily. It was said that some elvan could hear your thoughts. He shook off the feeling and started to whistle. No, they had lost that ages ago. The Great Lord Keldon had seen to that. These two wouldn't make it to the city gates, he would see to that.

  Brynn turned from the smith as he adjusted the black scarf Toormeena had bid him tie about his head to conceal his hair until he got out of the city. He felt like a brigand... with tassels! Fortunately, he had been able to fold the material so the tassels were concealed, but it did not make the most comfortable of headgear.

  His mind shifted to the planes, scanning for mages. It was hard to focus, Toormeena had given him a lot to take in. And also a task...

  Schooling his concentration, he located each Abbarane mage to determine if they were still undetected. In truth, he was more concerned by what he perceived of Gareth's intentions. This expedition was the first time he would have to take risks that could place him in immediate danger of being captured. The smith's greed and hate were swiftly exceeding his common sense.

  Brynn's hand brushed the amulet Toormeena had given him. He had not asked her how she retrieved it from the crest in the Abbarane throne room, no doubt the seer had her ways, and contacts too. He found it interesting that Nathan's suspicions about the gem had proved true. A thin strip of leather secured it about his neck and it radiated a gentle warmth. Toormeena said there was information stored within it much like co-toor were used to store everything from journals to maps. The seer said the gem was one third of the whole. The second part rested in the sword from the vision. The third, she said, would unravel the reason an elvan had handed their nation to Keldon Abbarane.

  He knew, now, where he needed to turn his journey.

  A brief glance through the astral plane showed him dawn was close, mayhap an hour. That should be enough time collect the horses and then inconspicuously work their way over to the eastern gate just as they opened for the day. However, Gareth needed to be dealt with...

  Brynn caught Kaydyr's attention with a slight raise of his chin.

  'We leave?' Sariah sent through Kaydyr.

  In reply, Brynn inclined his head almost imperceptibly.

  Sariah gestured towards Gareth by raising her own chin. 'Him?'

  Brynn did not quite shake his head, but his expression was answer enough. The smith would require some rough handling before they were done with him. The hard lines of Brynn's face did not change as he lifted his sle
eve and opened the crossbow. The arms of the bow soundlessly sprang out as he raised his arm and aimed for a good, clean shot.

  Originally, he had intended to tie Gareth up. Yet, no matter how Brynn positioned himself, the smith would not allow the elvan to get within reach. The paths did not bode well, either, with Gareth reaching Abbarane authorities before either Brynn or Sariah could stop him. After his experience with Toormeena, he was feeling shaken and anxious. What he wanted most was somewhere quiet to think. Instead, he must ground the smith long enough to catch him and dose him with a sleeping draught. Brynn judged that a glancing shot to Gareth's upper arm would push the smith away from the cover of the work station, giving Brynn a chance to fire a second bolt into the meaty area on the side of Gareth's upper thigh. Thus hindered, Brynn could use a sleeping scent to keep the smith in bed for several hours. Healing the two simple wounds would require only a few minutes. On this path, there was a good chance that, upon waking, Gareth would decide not to go to the authorities, embarrassed that he had been out-witted by a pair of elvan.

  Just then, Gareth glanced up nervously and saw Brynn was aiming at him. He swore as he ducked and scrambled along the floor towards the back exit, pausing behind a bench. Brynn cursed vehemently as Gareth moved a mere fraction of a second before he fired. The bolt ended up, grazing the smith across the bridge of his nose.

  Keeping his eye on where the man was crouching out of sight behind the end workbench, he sent, 'Get the stray bolt and the horses and meet me just outside the stable.'

  Even so, Sariah did not move. She would wait until Brynn got Gareth or the chase ensued. To move now might cover the tell-tale sound of Gareth's location.

  Brynn wrinkled his nose. They were at a stalemate. As long as Gareth remained hidden, there was no chance to aim another bolt. He sprang to the top of a workbench with graceful ease and stalked silently along its length searching the floors with a quick, assessing gaze. As he stepped onto the next table he heard a door banging in the back corner of the room. Brynn raced off in pursuit.