Prophecy's Deception: Book 1: Andarean Realms Prophecies Series

by AS Hamilton

  At some point, Ana's exhaustion won out and she found herself leaning on the back of the elvan female in front of her, again, her eyes drifting close. She had a smile on her lips.

  Day 3 – Night

  Mehani Woods

  (near Dyri Meadows – south-western end)

  Andrew leaned against the tree and looked up at the moon as clouds drifted in front of it, diminishing the bright glow. He'd been so relieved to finally lie down. Being new to the mercenary group, he got all the rotten jobs; collecting wood, digging in the fire and caring for the horses. But then Grant settled next to him; not only did the man incessantly gripe, he smelled like mouldy cheese. So Andrew wrapped his blanket around his shoulders, a lot of the men did that when it was cold, and wandered away from camp as if he was going to relieve himself. He'd just wait here a few minutes and then find a new sleeping place. Maybe he'd settle next to Jador. The elderly tracker looked frail with his fine grey hair, neat little beard and more wrinkles than even his Gran, but he always pulled his weight and he spoke to Andrew like he mattered. With respect, his mother would say.

  It had been horrible this afternoon. Jador had been deeply upset by it too. They'd stopped at a farmhouse to question the residents. When it became clear that the farmer's wife and his daughter were the only ones there… Andrew closed his eyes.

  They'd laughed at him when he said he'd join Jador and watch the horses. He was supposed to be a tracker. He had learned from his dad and he was pretty skilled at it. Daniel had assured him, back when he'd been grouped with the Wulfguard men for this new patrol, that he wouldn't have to fight. Daniel'd said that the patrol leader, Calwell, knew that him and Jador would just do tracking and it'd be fine that he wasn't an actual mercenary. After what he had heard this afternoon, he didn't ever want to be a mercenary. He'd cried. He'd hid his head in a horse's mane and kept himself quiet, but he couldn't help it. Jador had been kind, telling him it was natural to be upset, and that Daniel would not condone this. He'd said that when he reported this to Daniel, that Sentinel and Wulfguard would definitely be parting ways, no matter what the Thane of Ancoulan wanted. It was a relief to hear the certainty in Jador's tone, because it would never be the same, looking at these men who were supposed to be his colleagues and knowing the kind of senseless violence they were capable of committing. Not on other soldiers, but innocent people, simple farming folk with no way to defend themselves.

  A whisper of sound caught Andrew's attention. Peering into the darkness; he saw shadows flicker against the pale grass. A chill of fear seeped into him, settling icily in his stomach. Dropping his blanket, Andrew ran. He didn't know what from, he just knew he was scared; too scared to stay put.

  Drawing in rapid, panicked breaths, he sprinted blindly through the night. Suddenly, he found himself hurtling forward as he tripped on uneven ground. As he landed, the air whooshed out of him and for a moment his whole body was encased in agony. As the pain subsided, he rolled to his side. He couldn't hear anything chasing him. Shakily, he pushed himself to his feet. If only the clouds would unveil the moon, he might be able to see.

  As if Mother Nature heard his plea, the wind picked up, rustling the long grasses and leaves. The clouds shifted and then he saw — Andrew didn't know what it was, but those eyes... A low, deep growl vibrated through the air.

  Oh, no, he was going to die. It was going to kill him!

  'Go, Andrew. Go home to your mother. This is not the life for you.'

  The words echoed through his mind.

  'I didn't want to stay, not after I saw what they did. I thought we were trackers, not... not killers. I-I-I just... I don't know how to leave.'

  He was surprised at how thin, how small his voice sounded.

  The golden eyes glowed eerily in the shadows. 'You do, now. Walk away, child. Go home. No harm will come to you.'

  For a long moment, he didn't move. He was too afraid. A strange calm enveloped him then, and the same instinct that had made him run told him he would be alright, as long as he listened to the voice. Pushing himself to his feet, he took a few hesitant steps back, then Andrew made himself turn. His stumbling walk turned into a jog. With the moon out, he could see far enough ahead to safely run, and that, Andrew decided, was precisely what he'd do, as long as the moonlight lasted.

  Chapter 5

  Day 4 – Dawn

  North Kenar Woods

  (at the slaver camp)

  Fala looked away as Jeran pulled the opening of the tent back. It mattered not how long she had been a rebel, she could never get used to seeing the lifeless. She recognised Sariah's preciseness, which meant, thank Fate, they probably never woke.

  'We can see to this, Fala,' Jeran told her. 'Do you think you can handle hitching the horses to the wagons?' As always, her voice was full of gentleness when she addressed the healer.

  Fala gave her a grateful look. 'Be careful of your shoulder, Jeran, the muscles are not ready to take too much strain,' she cautioned.

  'Have I ever disregarded your advice?' Jeran retorted, the mischievous lilt in her voice reflected in the emerald-green of her eyes.

  Rewarding Jeran with a soft laugh, Fala went to retrieve a horse, which she led over to the front wagon and started to buckle in place. A flickering shadow caused her to start, and then she realised it was just Hanya, who was patrolling the area. Normally, he would not have let the breaking sun cast his silhouette; he had done it on purpose, so she knew he was near.

  They had already checked the perimeter; they were alone. Yet Jeran would take no chances and assigned Hanya to keep watch. They were fortunate to have Jeran for a leader. Even though her talents did not qualify her to be a mage, she was organised and thought every detail through. They knew, whatever assignment they were given, Jeran had thought about how to get in, how to get out, whose skills would suit each task and the kinds of contingencies she should include in the plan. She always considered Fala, keeping the healer away from confrontation and assigning her tasks that were less likely to involve actual conflict. It was something she appreciated deeply. The first time she had taken life she had been devastated, unable to function, unable to sleep. Only through the counselling of an empath had she recovered. The empath, Hanya's cousin, Sarre, had introduced Hanya to the division to assist Fala in returning to the field. He was her assurance that she would be protected. Now, Hanya was a regular part of the group, but he always travelled by her side.

  Hanya was one of a small number of Kanya-beyen that remained in Andarea once the war began. He had the golden-brown skin and mahogany and burgundy-gold hair and burgundy-gold eyes that were exclusive to his people, who mostly resided on a group of islands bearing the same name. His hair was kept at shoulder length, but his braids reached all the way to his waist. His cousin would joke that were it not for Hanya, he would be considered the best looking elvan in the lands. It always made Hanya blush, with a rosy pink very distinctly colouring the golden-brown of his cheeks.

  Fala finished with the first horse and started on the second. She moved swiftly, nudging the horse into the traces and pulling straps through buckles. As she led a third horse around to the second wagon, she came to an abrupt halt. Sadness welled within her at the sight of the sentry lying against a tree. With his eyes closed, only the small red stain on his tunic indicated the permanency of his sleep.

  Fala returned her focus to her task, but a soft moan brought her back about. Cautiously, she approached the sentry. Fala realised she was holding her breath and let it out in a ragged exhalation. Kneeling by him, she hesitantly reached out for the man's wrist. Twice she almost lost her nerve. She chastised herself. This was unlike her, both the fear and the hesitation. Fala gently grasped the man's wrist. She knew immediately from the warmth of his body that his spirit remained. Twisting, she fumbled for her satchel; by Fate's whim she just might save him!

  Without warning, a hand closed tightly over her throat, causing the healer to gasp in fright and pain. She darted panicked eyes downwards and met brown-eyes fu
ll of furious hatred. She seized his wrist with both hands and tried to pull it back, to loosen the grip enough so she could breathe.

  'P-p-please,' she gasped.

  Fala could see his wound pumping blood with his exertions. By Fate's hand! Did he realise he would kill himself to injure her? She wore garb any inhabitant of these lands would recognise as a healer; royal-blue robes trimmed in green and edged in the intricate gold script of her vocation. Even her satchel bore the marks of a healer. He should know she meant no harm. In conflicts, Abbarane soldiers were ordered to preserve the healers.

  She struggled, alarmed by the strength the man possessed as his nails dug into the soft skin of her throat. Her heart was racing impossibly fast and her lungs strained to get in a proper breath. Fala realised that if she did not strike at the man, he would kill her. Her eyes darted to the only defence she thought might be effective; the wound in his upper chest. As she let go of his wrist with one hand, he took the chance to renew his grip. Fala struggled wildly as she felt her windpipe being crushed. The light started flashing and the world faded...

  The sentry jerked sharply and his grip on Fala's throat loosened long enough for her to gulp in a breath and retain consciousness. She had little hope of staying that way if she did not get free very, very quickly.

  A moment later the sentry jerked again, another brief breath.

  Then he jolted a third time, and finally, his hand went limp.

  Fala slumped to her side, by Fate's curse, it hurt to breathe! It felt like dragging something sharp and icy over her throat, yet she drew in each breath thankfully.

  Footsteps were thumping towards her. Someone dropped to their knees at her side and something clattered to the ground. Gentle hands scooped her close to a warm chest.

  'Fala! Fala, you were only out of my sight but a few moments.'

  Fala allowed herself to crumple against Hanya, feeling the silk of his hair and comforted by his soothing voice. When she opened her eyes she could see three of Hanya's arrows in the sentry, one in his wrist. She met Hanya's burgundy-gold eyes and saw such fear there, his heart was galloping with it, too. Turning her head, she buried her face in Hanya's chest. She could not understand the words he whispered, but absorbed their comfort as he lifted her and carried her away.

  Day 4 – Dawn

  Outside Sal-Cirus

  (near Bria-ghel Strait)

  The forests and mountains followed the waterways almost entirely along the northern border of Andarea. Long stretches of sand-coloured cliffs also trailed along the lake edge, river and coastline, however, they were not made by nature, but by elvan mages. Linuk knew that this was the reason Keldon Abbarane had invaded Sourik, Feyenruna and Delnaren before bringing his forces close to the jewel in the link of the chain of nations he had conquered.

  The cliffs also had a series of tunnels, created in secret by the Crown of Andarea in the time before their eventual defeat. They contained storage areas, living spaces and a means of concealed transit between Venshui, Denas and Sal-Cirus. All of it useless to the rebels once it became known that the heirs to the Crown, Colnba and Nisari, were aiding Keldon. But not this time.

  Linuk shook back gold hair highlighted with shades of blue. The House of Dai-tur matriarch was older than almost ninety percent of her people — what remained of them. Unlike mage-houses like Debanikay, Dai-tur only took students on a one-on-one basis and only trained students that would become mages. House of Debanikay provided both specific mage-level training and general training, as well as developing talent-based skills useful in vocations such as architecture, farming and construction.

  Linuk had only escaped capture because Tooriana had advised her early on in the invasion that it was integral to The Prophecy that she, Linuk, withdraw from Andarea until after Keldon achieved his victory. Tooriana, her father Toorimus and Toormeena were the only members of House of Toorian to bear witness to The Prophecy, so Linuk had not questioned the instruction. She had travelled first to the dwarven nation in the south to investigate the likelihood the dwarven would take up arms against Keldon and then, to the only place protection was guaranteed: Eirra-kaan. While Eirra-kaan was not acknowledged as an independent country, none crossed the Eldakaan Ranges unless they had specific reason because the ranges were not a forgiving environment. Secluded in the midst of the ranges was the Temple of Eirra-kaan, a monastery of sorts. Any who sought sanctuary were welcome, but, being so isolated, her appearance had quite surprised the temple's head cleric. Aside from villagers from little township an hour's walk from the temple, the cleric rarely encountered visitors from 'outside'. Linuk had found the temple's library essential to escape boredom. Although the head cleric said he did not reside in the temple alone, she never encountered any of the other temple residents. When she asked the head cleric about the other residents, his answers were always vague. He was not evasive though, indeed, he gave Linuk the impression, that he considered it temple business, sacred and private in the sense that he considered his religion sacred and private. So she respected that and had not pressed him to be specific. She had not been openly restricted from going anywhere in the temple, either, but encountered plenty of locked doors. Aside from the head cleric, who ate with her at each meal, there was no companionship. Eirra-kaan's village had been a deeply appreciated relief, although how the villagers survived the severe weather, was beyond her imagination. Just making the hour-long walk had proved challenging. The village had been established in a little flat-bottomed valley that was downhill from the temple, which seemed to grow out of the very crags of the mountain. Getting there was the easy part, but returning up the steep inclines with the icy wind whipping into her face, was a miserable affair. She was always thankful when her skin numbed from the cold and she could not feel the bite of the icy wind as much. Had Tooriana not warned her that the warded sanctuary of the temple was the only place she could be guaranteed safety from Abbarane mages, Linuk would have stayed in the village. She had been very grateful to leave. Aside from missing the resources of the temple's library. Full of ancient texts, Linuk had found to her surprise hundreds of elvan-related subjects. An entire corner of the library had been dedicated to talent and, even more valuable to Linuk, there were several texts written by actual planes-walkers.

  The current generations of elvan, those who lived during Hasdeen's rule and the subsequent tyranny of the Abbaranes, thought that to master the talents was to achieve the rank of Mage. To older elvan, like herself, achieving mage-hood was just the beginning. It had taken her a further century and a half to become a Master Mage. That was just before Hasdeen had taken rule. Her ambition, ever since Hasdeen had her mother executed, was to become a planes-walker. To be a planes-walker was akin to being Fate's master. Planes-walkers were beyond death. Time, too, was no restriction. The first, and most well-known planes-walkers were Vey-ghel-arai, head of House of Brynn-a-kai and her rahn, Hahn, whose name was synonymous with 'war'. Silver-haired and silver-eyed, Hahn had been unique among the elvan. Yet there was more to his distinctiveness than his looks. Born a natural planes-walker, control of Hahn had caused a war in the homeland and lead to the pair founding Andarea. In the temple library Linuk had found co-toor recorded by the pair describing how they came to achieve their remarkable skills. One even talked of Hahn's early life, about how he had not known he was born a planes-walker and how finding his rahn had been the key to controlling his power. That was how she knew The Prophecy spoke of a natural-born planes-walker, one that needed a rahn to help control such power, to help them achieve balance. The time at Eirra-kaan had also given her the opportunity of exploring techniques in the use of talent rarely investigated by her generation.

  Linuk pulled Ghella to a halt, the dwarven charger snorted softly and then dipped her head to graze. They had been riding for several hours before they got here, and now they circled the area watching out for the arrival of Nisari. The horse was tired, Linuk knew, but Ghella did not complain. She knew that Linuk's mission was of vital importance to the
rebellion and would do everything she could to help Linuk achieve her ends. That was why she took the opportunity to graze, while Linuk surveyed their surroundings, as it might be the only opportunity Ghella had to eat for a while.

  The ability to manipulate time was not a skill she expected to master quickly, but one which was about to be of great help, as there were few ways to take the partnership of Nisari and Colnba by surprise.

  She would attempt Leyhera's rescue alone as it was too dangerous to involve others. Colnba and Nisari strongly believed their path was the best course in dethroning Abbarane. To their credit, they tried to capture their opponents rather than kill them and they also turned Keldon's mind away from killing all elvan, suggesting slavery in place of annihilation. Linuk knew Nisari had convinced Malithorn not to kill Riqumorgia when they caught him. She was also certain that although she appreciated Nisari's mastery, Nisari did not appreciate Linuk using the opportunity to rescue Riqumorgia. Yet, when there was no other option, Linuk had no doubts about the pair's preparedness to kill.

  The memory reminded Linuk of Sarre, for he, too, had helped her extract Riqumorgia and was one of the reasons she worked alone now. Canny little mischief-maker; Sarre encompassed all the stereotypes of his race. He was bold, a shameless flirt, the epitome of contradiction in his annoying arrogant confidence and his utter likeability and, of course, he was selflessly courageous. That night he had sacrificed his freedom in order ensure theirs, making himself the easy target while Linuk and Riqumorgia escaped.