Alriyn said nothing more and guided her to the door. Roelle knew better than to press. As she stepped past her uncle, he touched her shoulder. “I’m glad you returned safely, Roelle. May the gods grant it lasts.”
Roelle walked back down the hall and wondered what could possibly be worse than the Deshmahne. A shiver passed through her with the thought, and she prayed Endric would have answers. Someone needed to have them.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The meeting chamber was well lit once again, and fires along each of the walls crackled with the heat of roasting logs stacked inside. Shadows blended with the dark stone but were still visible to Alriyn’s wandering eyes. They fit his mood. The other members of the Council seemed either lost in thoughts of their own or listened carefully as Daguin spoke.
Alriyn himself had long since lost track of the man’s words. His eyes traced along the edge of the table before stopping on the Eldest. His gaze was brief, but he noted Jostephon concentrated as little on the meeting as he. What distracted him?
A comment caught his attention, and Alriyn focused again on the conversation around him.
“The Rondalin general took his troops north. Tales speak of his disgust at the stream of travelers coming to the city each day, bearing stories of family and children lost to this unstoppable, unseen enemy. Disgust led to what is now called his treason for taking those he did from the city to attack. His army only numbered two hundred men, but the men were all veterans of the Rondalin army, and each was a highly decorated soldier.
“Needless to say, the king was not pleased with the sudden loss of so many healthy fighting men, especially with conditions as they were in the city. Many had died throughout the city, sickness rampant within the close quarters, and the army kept control in the streets. The king ordered a squadron of men after the general—to bring him back or to aid him and speed his return, it is not known. What is known is that the king allowed his advisor to pick the men sent north. Rumor says the king wanted the general brought back to face charges. Other rumors speak of different tales. It is difficult to sort out the truth from fiction.”
There was something to it all that sparked a faded memory, though Alriyn couldn’t place what it might be.
“The men sent after the general were gone barely a month when they stumbled back into town. Every man returned alive, albeit wounded and barely able to go on. None were able to tell what it was that had injured them. They had not found the general or any of his men and had not even seen traces of the general once they reached the northern mountains. Almost as if a trail they followed vanished. It has been a month or so since the men returned, and there is still no sign of the general’s return.”
Daguin went silent. Alriyn thought he had heard all the stories from the north, but somehow the story of this general had escaped his ears. The implications of the tale were even more numbing to him.
Bothar spoke up. “If what you’re saying is true, then most of the towns in the far north are empty.”
Daguin nodded. “Scared and panicked people leave family homes and head south. This trend is sweeping quickly southward. Strongholds that have stood for generations deserted and mining villages with mines still heavy with wealth have been left for the perceived safety of the south. Worse is that the cities these people run to, places such as Rondalin and Riverbranch, quickly fill beyond capacity. People have been turned away in some places.”
Fear. The Deshmahne thrived on creating fear. Fear and strength were how they believed they curried favor with the gods. Could this be the Deshmahne influence as well? Rondalin was farther north than he would have expected, but what other explanation was there for this? Unless this was more of what Alriyn had witnessed.
It was moving too fast. The south was in complete upheaval, and now it was starting in the north. Gom Aaldia was only the first, and now Rondalin. How much longer until Thealon fell to it? Worse, there had been grumblings of Gom Aaldia readying an army. Given the old strain between Gom Aaldia and Thealon, what was next? Even with their prior experience, could they have underestimated the Deshmahne and their reach?
Would the Council agree to choose a Uniter? They all feared failing, but if the balance became unsettled, what did it matter if they failed?
Alriyn noticed Jostephon staring in his direction, dark eyes unreadable but somehow captivating as he casually scratched his arm. Alriyn felt his mind begin to wander, and the shadows of the room grew hazier. He concentrated, forcing his mind into focus. Feeling his thoughts lurch forward again, he knew now wasn’t the time to be careless in his decisions. Any suspicions he felt must be well founded before he acted.
There was a knock on the chamber door. Before anyone could answer, Endric strolled in. He had a slow grace to his movements, and the sword at his hip hung menacingly. “Council,” he greeted. His voice was hoarse, yet thundered. It was a voice of authority.
Everyone turned to look. “You were not summoned,” Jostephon said.
Endric frowned. “Must I be summoned to present to the Council? The Denraen have always been granted more courtesy than that.”
Jostephon waved his hand. “Of course, Endric. It’s only the worrisome reports we’ve been hearing. Tell me that you have something better to share.”
Endric eyed the Eldest then surveyed the others on the Council. His gaze settled briefly on Alriyn before returning to the Eldest. “None really. The Deshmahne are quiet. I sent nearly four hundred men, and there are no reports of Deshmahne. Raiders only.”
“None?” Karrin asked.
Endric eyed her carefully before answering. “None. It’s as if they’ve returned to the south. The north is unsettled, and men I sent to investigate were killed.”
Alriyn noted a troubled expression on Endric’s face.
“Deshmahne, I suspect. Raiders as well. By all accounts, it was the last of them.”
“The last? There were four attacks!” Haerlin said.
“Six, by my count,” Endric countered, turning his attention from the Eldest. “But the point is the same. Their attention is elsewhere. Still, my men will search.” Shifting focus to get more information, he asked, “What of the north? I imagine you’ve heard much the same as I have.”
“We gather information,” the Eldest answered.
Endric eyed him warily before nodding. Something passed between them. “I fear too much delay, as you know.” There was a hint of irritation, nearly imagined.
Alriyn wondered what Endric had shared with the Eldest. He would need to find out more. The stories coming out of the north were too frequent now. They must gain understanding to decide a course of action, yet the Urmahne tradition did not allow for quick action. Could that even change?
Jostephon nodded. “We proceed the same as before.”
The general grunted. “The Deshmahne are not the only concern I have.”
“It is what you have been tasked with,” the Eldest answered.
Endric’s mouth cocked in a half smile. “I decide what the Denraen are tasked with.”
“You protect the Magi,” Rendrem said, irritation entering his voice.
The general turned to the newest member of the Council. “We protect the mahne, not the Magi. As do you. You would do well to remember that.” His voice was firm, and he chastised the Mage as he would a soldier under his command.
Rendrem said nothing. Silence filled the room, nearly a weight upon them, and palpable.
Finally, Alriyn chose to break it. “The mahne is our shared concern. Your service to it has never been questioned. We, of course, appreciate your suggestions.”
The general looked at him and nodded slightly. Alriyn hoped his comment would make Endric more sympathetic at least to listen to Roelle. His knowledge and experience would be crucial.
“My suggestion remains unchanged. We need men. The Deshmahne have grown too strong in the south. The danger in the north is—”
“You said they departed,” the Eldest countered.
“Departed in
the numbers we’d seen, but my concern remains unchanged. I worry they’ve already infiltrated our city, as they have dozens of others before. Their preferred attack is not through open battle, but through subversion. Yet that is not the threat I fear the most. If they reach beneath—”
Jostephon cut him off with a shake of his head. “The city must remain safe.”
Endric stared at him. “I will see that it does.”
“Do what you must.”
Endric turned and left, and the chamber was silent. Alriyn wondered what Endric knew. Jostephon remained focused on the Deshmahne, and on the role the delegates would play, but Alriyn feared rumors in the north.
He didn’t know what they faced but knew they couldn’t do nothing. If they acted too late, there might not be time to choose a Uniter.
He prayed to the nameless gods Roelle could learn what Endric knew.
Roelle stood on the second terrace of the city, and the Denraen barracks opened up around her. A massive wall surrounded them, and it was an area that few outside of the Denraen ever saw. Being built into the mountain, Vasha was set into three terraces that divided the city into distinct parts. On the third terrace, appearing to loom over everything, was the palace. As a Mage, Roelle had spent most of her life on the third terrace, looking down upon the rest of the city. Ever since coming to work with the Denraen, she had grown accustomed to seeing a different perspective. The rest of the city was confined to the third terrace, including the University of Vasha, and the only place most who visited the city ever saw.
Selton panted next to her. He leaned over his staff, shaking his head. “You got better in your time away.”
Roelle laughed. It felt good to laugh. Since returning to the city, laughter had not come as easily. A part of her wondered if she deserved such mirth. She needed to find Endric as Alriyn had asked, but getting a visit with him while in the city proved difficult. She gripped the staff a little tighter; she needed answers. Not only for her uncle, but for herself.
“I didn’t work with the staff at all while I was gone. Most of my time was spent working with the sword. It was pretty much all Endric was willing to show.”
“Well, I’m happy to practice the sword with you.”
“I wouldn’t want to beat you too easily. I have to worry about that fragile confidence of yours.”
Selton laughed and wiped the sweat off his brow as he nodded toward the cluster of Magi apprentices training with the Denraen nearby. Today, there were nearly a dozen. Now that Roelle was back, most would return to training in the practice yard. Before she’d left, there had been more, but fewer came to practice while she had been gone.
“You need to share with them what you saw,” Selton said. “They need to understand why they’re doing this.”
“They’re not doing this to face the Deshmahne.”
“They’re not.”
“I wasn’t doing it to face them. We started this as—”
“I know why we started this. But it’s something else now. Your uncle said so himself. We do this to keep the peace.”
The peace. Her uncle had shared with her more than he should have, which was why it troubled her. There were times when she was able to overlook what she’d done, and others... others when she’d struggled with what it meant that she had taken a life. What did it mean that she had found killing so easy?
The Magi had taught the importance of peace since their Founding. All Magi lived by that tenet, and now... now she was the one to violate it. She wouldn’t be the reason that others followed her example.
Selton watched her, seeming to understand her struggles. He had known her a long time, nearly her entire life. “They need to understand, Roelle. There’s a reason we have these abilities. It’s more than what the Council ever let on. More than what any of us ever understood. We need to share that with them.”
“And then what? What does that change? We become soldiers, some sort of warrior Magi. Is that what we are meant to be?”
“If that’s what the gods—”
Roelle shook her head. “I’m not sure what fate the gods have in mind for us.” If only Haerlin could see that. It might be useful.
Selton rested his hand on her shoulder. There was a warmth and a strength about him, something comforting just having her friend back with her. Had he been with her when they were outside of the city... But he hadn’t. She had done what she needed to at the time. Even he didn’t really understand what they faced.
“You still need to talk to them. Share with them what you saw. They need to understand what’s out there. The Council keeps us isolated.”
Roelle swept her gaze around the city. Snow capped mountain peaks rose in the distance. The city itself, terraced both above and below her, spread around her. “I think the city isolates us as much as anything.”
“Which is why we need to share with the others. They need to understand what’s happening. They need to understand why the Council is nervous. They need to understand the rumors out of the north. If there’s anything to them, anything that we could do...”
Roelle nodded. She knew he was right. She didn’t understand the stories coming out of the north, but Alriyn certainly did. And the historian knew something. Then there was Jakob and the fact that he had been sent north. She worried about him. He was capable, but he was one man, and the more she learned from her uncle, the more she began to fear for her friend.
Roelle looked over at the young apprentice Magi practicing. She let out a long sigh. Perhaps Selton was right. Perhaps she did need to share with the others what she experienced. They certainly had come to her often enough looking for answers. She’d put them off, telling them that she would answer questions later. So far she had not. Instead, she had chosen to work with them, using the staff rather than the sword, but it was the sword that she had killed with.
Selton watched her, a hint of a smile tugging at his face.
“Fine. I’ll do as you ask. I can’t promise I have anything insightful to add.”
“I never said you would. I’ve known you too long to believe you would have any real insight.”
Roelle swept her staff around and smacked Selton on the shoulder.
He winced as he laughed. “What should we do next?” Selton asked.
Roelle looked up at the palace, thinking of not only her uncle, but of the historian and the general. She had a role in this. As much as she might not want to, she had a place. All she had to do was find what that place might be. What did the gods want of her?
Her gaze drifted toward soldiers working with practice swords and she wondered: could it be the gods had given her a role as more than a simple Mage?
Chapter Twenty-Five
The office was smaller than she expected a man of such station to occupy and filled with the musty smell of aging books and oiled leather. It was a strange mixture, and startling at first.
The room was well lit for the mid afternoon; a large window pulled open on the far wall let in plenty of light. Candles were set almost haphazardly around the room, but she suspected there was some sort of method to the chaos. None were lit. A fireplace adorned one wall, obviously not used in many years as stacks of papers filled its opening, turning it into a bookshelf of sorts. A stout desk, the stain long since worn away on its most trafficked areas, was hidden under piles of papers in front of the window. A small workable clearing had been made, though the paper from neighboring piles already threatened to invade. A large map was somehow nailed to the wall opposite the fireplace, showing what Roelle knew to be much of the known lands. Pins were stuck throughout different areas of the land.
Troop locations? Or something else?
Scattered throughout the room were books of all sorts, some propped up towering piles of papers, hard spines supporting the leaning structures, while others rested atop piles, obviously recently read. It wasn’t merely the number of books that surprised her; Endric was old and had probably collected many books over the years. Rather it was the variety tha
t surprised her the most. She saw anything from Modern Tactics written by the man’s father Dendril so many years ago to other books on warfare, some so old they made Roelle curious. Then she saw others, books on philosophy written by Mage scholars, as well as books on history. She wondered if Endric was as educated as these books made him seem. She had never thought of him in that way.
Roelle looked back at the open door to the room. She thought she heard sounds from the hall, but perhaps it was only her anxious mind trying to convince herself she’d be seen soon. She hated this waiting. Above the door, barely noticed before, hung a strangely curved greatsword. Well-polished steel shone with reflected light. She could almost make out faded inscriptions along the pommel and the blade itself, but from her distance, the lettering was too small. She wanted a better look, but didn’t think it proper to be found peering closely at the general’s belongings.
Roelle turned to face the desk again, her curiosity satiated temporarily as she thought through what she would say to the general when she saw him. She couldn’t quite organize her thoughts.
Suddenly, it didn’t matter. A sound came from the hall again, and she turned to see Endric stride quickly into the room, staring intently at a piece of parchment held in his grizzled hands. The old general didn’t even look up at her and didn’t bother even a grunt of acknowledgment of her presence. He simply went to a chair on the opposite side of the desk and took a seat. All the while, never taking his eyes off the paper.
Another man followed Endric into the room. He wasn’t as old as the general, but his short hair was peppered with gray, and his face had several scars along each cheek. His was not a frame that appeared heavily muscled, but he moved with a quiet grace. He seemed sure-footed in a casual way and carried himself as one who knew very well how to handle the short sword hung at his waist. Something about him seemed nearly as dangerous as the old general.
“Sir,” came a voice so ragged it seemed only a whisper, “the others are waiting to meet with you.” The man glanced quickly at Roelle before dismissing her and moving on. “They say they’ve carried out your orders and have been waiting as instructed.”
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