“The Denraen should have no trouble with raiders,” Salindra said.
Jakob could sense disdain from her and knew he needed caution. She was a Mage, perhaps an Elder, and was to be respected. “They were more than simple raiders. There was an attack one night, and one man made it all the way to our general, Endric, before capture. He was Deshmahne.”
“How did you know?” Brohmin asked.
“Their arms were marked. The general said it gave them strength, speed.”
Brohmin merely nodded, prodding Jakob along.
“Another night, we discovered the raider camp. The High Priest was among them—”
“High Priest?” Brohmin interjected, frowning. “He rarely leaves the south.”
“That may have been, but he’s here now. Endric escorted the Magi and our delegate to Vasha and Novan sent me with a raegan of Denraen Endric sent north on a separate mission with a package.”
Jakob paused. The retelling made it all more vivid, more real. He had become fearful that his mind created the entire story, but he remembered the sounds, the smells. This was not the madness.
But how was he to know? Certainly, there had been much strangeness around him and dreams too vivid to shake. He could still see the goddess Sharna if he closed his eyes, could remember what she said. Was not that the madness?
“What of the Denraen then?” Brohmin asked.
“They’re dead. I’m the only one who survived.” He felt his eyes misting. “We were chased and attacked by the raiders. There was at least one Deshmahne.”
“How is it that you survived this attack?” Brohmin asked, his tone softening.
“I don’t know.”
“You alone out of a dozen Denraen survived?” Salindra repeated. “You must be an impressive swordsman.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him disbelieving.
He wouldn’t let her goad him, not if they were willing to help. “Not always, but lately I’ve improved.”
“Lately?” Brohmin repeated.
Jakob nodded and said nothing more.
Brohmin considered him before speaking again. “What of this package? What is it?”
Jakob looked between Brohmin and Salindra. This was the choice he wasn’t sure he could make. Salindra was obviously a Mage, but her distrust of him was plain. Brohmin was different. He didn’t strike Jakob as Deshmahne but carried himself in a way that reminded him of Endric. Still, there was something strange about him.
“I’m not Deshmahne, son,” Brohmin said, reading the question in Jakob’s eyes. “If you travel for the Magi, perhaps we can help.” His tone was reassuring, helpful, and Jakob wanted to believe. Long moments stretched before Brohmin suddenly pulled off his shirt and walked to the light of the campfire. “See? No markings.”
Finally, Jakob relented. He limped over to the trunk and picked it up. The weight had become familiar over the last week, and it no longer seemed as cumbersome as it once had. He carried it back to the firelight and presented it to Brohmin who took it carefully.
Brohmin stared at it silently, and his finger traced over the engravings, working around the edges before settling on the lock. He twisted at the piece of metal stuck inside but couldn’t move it. Brohmin set his hand atop the box and mumbled a few words before looking back at the lock. Nothing had changed. He seemed somewhat surprised but hid it well.
“Who sent you with this package?”
“Endric.”
“Endric’s duty is to the Magi,” Salindra said. “He wouldn’t send men away if the Magi were in danger.”
Jakob looked at her and saw anger flash in her eyes before it was suppressed. Had he been wrong to tell them of the trunk? “I know he agonized over it. It was something he intended to carry north himself.”
“Endric intended to bring this himself?” Brohmin asked, surprised.
Jakob nodded. He didn’t elaborate on what he had overheard the night of the Turning Festival, unsure if he could explain it in such a way that would make sense. Then there was the business of the Conclave, and Jakob didn’t know enough to answer questions about it.
Brohmin held the trunk in front of him. “What’s in here?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure even Endric knew, only that it was important.”
Brohmin took a step back to stand next to Salindra. She had been silently watching, and now her jaw was clenched tightly and her arms crossed in front of her. Brohmin settled her to the ground, almost carefully, before turning to Jakob. “We should sleep. Tomorrow we can talk on this more.”
Brohmin turned from him and began to settle himself by the fire, sitting upright and staring out into the night. Jakob moved away from the fire and stretched out his cloak along the ground before lying upon it. As he settled in to sleep, the familiar itch of being watched chased him to dreams of men with fiery eyes and someone trapped behind tall walls. His sleep was fitful but at least it was sleep.
Jakob woke to dawn colors streaking the sky. A faint light filtered through the treetop canopy to reach them, and he glanced around as he opened his eyes. The fire had long since died. He glanced across the pile of burned ash that had been the fire, and saw the Mage woman still asleep. The cut to her short hair seemed even more severe in the early morning light. She lay covered with a dark-colored cloak, a deep brown he could barely tell wasn’t black.
Brohmin was already up, his pack already strapped alongside his horse.
Jakob stretched slowly, carefully working out his leg. There was no pain. He stretched less carefully and still no pain.
His hand wandered to where the arrow had hit. The skin was smooth and intact. Only a slight indentation the only evidence he’d had an injury.
How?
He looked to the sleeping Mage and then to Brohmin with the question on his lips, but it went unasked as Brohmin caught his eyes and whispered, “Good, you’re up. You can help.”
He sat himself up and moved to where Brohmin worked, digging into the ground to bury the remains of their night, and his mind reluctantly let go of how he’d healed. He grabbed a stout stick lying nearby and began digging next to Brohmin. His short jabs at the hard packed dirt were less effective than those Brohmin made. They dug for a while, the hole growing quickly, and then shoved the ash and remains of the fire into the pit. Brohmin covered it carefully, practiced hands pushing the dirt down gently. When he was done, Jakob couldn’t even tell there had been a fire.
Brohmin tossed Jakob a hunk of hard bread and a flask of water before nodding toward their horses, and Jakob understood. As he ate, he walked over to the animals, untying the one that had been his, and led it away from the others. While doing this, he watched Brohmin gently nudge Salindra awake. They talked softly for a time, and Brohmin glanced quickly to the woman’s feet before helping her to stand.
She dusted herself off, wiping the dirt and leaves from the cloak she had covered herself in, and then moved quickly to her own mount. She was ready to leave only moments after she had wakened. It seemed to Jakob a practiced event.
Brohmin mounted and motioned him to follow. “We’re chased. We’ll ride hard today.”
“How did they find us?” Jakob asked, though he had enough experience with the Deshmahne to know they could find him again.
“They have trackers who know these lands better than most,” Brohmin answered.
“How will we keep ahead of them?”
Brohmin laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Because I, too, know these lands. Come.”
They rode as fast as they could in the ever-thickening forest, slowing considerably several times as they waded through swampy areas. Twice, they led the horses down steep embankments on foot. Brohmin seemed to be taking a direct route, wherever he was going, choosing to ride through rather than around any challenges.
The silent ride allowed Jakob a chance to consider his new companions. Brohmin was more than he seemed, and he wondered about Salindra as well. Something about the Mage was odd. Why did she travel with Brohmi
n? Why was she not in the Mage city?
Occasionally, faint lines of the sun shone through the tops of the trees, though it wasn’t common. From the position of the sun in the sky, he guessed they were heading north and east. The strange feeling in the back of his mind was still with him, and as they rode silently, his awareness of it increased, like a slowly building fire. Glancing around, he saw nothing. Brohmin saw his movement and looked as well but remained quiet.
About midday, at least from what he could tell, they stopped as the forest opened briefly near a stream. Salindra motioned for him to stop while Brohmin dismounted and tossed his reins to her before starting off on foot into the thick of the forest.
“You do want to eat don’t you?” Salindra asked. “Let the horses drink.”
He walked with the three horses over to the stream and felt a slight twinge in his leg, though it was nothing like the pain he should have. The horses leaned down immediately and lapped at the cool water. He let them have their fill, then took his turn, lowering his face to the slow moving water and dipping his cupped hand in, drinking deeply. It tasted cool, and coppery. A slightly sweet taste was left in his mouth after swallowing.
He stood and turned from the stream, and watched Brohmin stride back into the small clearing carrying two dead hares. The man didn’t appear to have any weapon save the sword strapped to his back, and he doubted he’d caught the hares with that. The bow he’d used the night before was still slung on his saddle. The mystery around Brohmin deepened.
The thought of hot food started churning his stomach, and Brohmin built a quick fire again. Salindra spitted the hares and began to roast what would be his first meal in weeks. Brohmin came to him as he watched the rabbits roasting.
“It’ll be a while as Salindra cooks,” he told him. Salindra nodded curtly. “Tell me, boy, you wear that sword well. Where did you learn the steel?”
Salindra’s head cocked slightly at the question. He looked to the sword sheathed at his waist before looking up.
“First, my brother. He was one of the Ur. When he tried to teach me...” He shook his head. Brohmin didn’t need to know how Jakob had never really learned from Scottan. “Recently, it was Endric, though I practiced with Mage Roelle as well.”
Salindra smiled, almost to herself, and shook her head.
“The Magi do not use weapons,” Brohmin said. “You’d better come up with a better story.”
“I can’t speak of any Mage save Roelle, and she worked with Endric nearly as often as I did. The few times I saw them spar, she was nearly Endric’s equal.” He flushed as he mentioned Roelle.
Salindra had stopped cooking, choosing instead to listen, her attention more direct now.
Jakob looked from Brohmin to Salindra. “I did get the impression the other Mage was not pleased about it.”
Brohmin stared at Jakob, as if weighing what he said. “You say you traveled with the Magi.”
Jakob nodded. “I traveled with Mage Haerlin and Roelle after they chose a delegate. We were to meet another on the way to Vasha.”
“Haerlin?” Salindra said. She looked to Brohmin before turning a disbelieving eye on Jakob. “An Elder traveled outside of the city?”
“I know little of your customs, Mage Salindra, and can speak only of what I saw.” He was more direct than he would have been weeks before.
Salindra laughed then. “You’re quite the storyman.”
Jakob smiled at the compliment. If only this had been nothing more than a story, a tale of Jarren Gildeun on one of his incredible journeys. At least Jarren survived his stories. Yet Jakob was nothing like Jarren, a man without fear, a man who traveled to impossible places. “Not a storyman. I’ve told you what I’ve seen.”
Brohmin stared at Jakob with an unreadable expression before turning to Salindra.
“You know this cannot be true, Brohmin,” she said. “Ask him why the Deshmahne seek him, ask why the reward. We need to know the truth.”
The truth. Jakob didn’t know the truth of the reward or why he was worth fifty gold clips. He now knew Rondalin was controlled by Deshmahne, though, and knew he couldn’t return there.
“Too much is wrong. Haerlin leaving the city? And the Elders would never allow a Mage to learn the sword, and they would certainly not do this other.”
Brohmin smiled slightly. “It rings of another practice I know.”
Salindra shook her head. “Not like this. They would not change it!”
Brohmin arched an eyebrow. “I am not as certain,” he told her before turning to Jakob. “There’s one way I know of to find the truth.”
He suddenly unsheathed his sword and swung it toward Jakob.
Jakob reacted without thought, ducking and rolling, before unsheathing his sword and facing Brohmin. Brohmin smiled as Jakob faltered with the weight of his sword. It was a smile of compassion. Jakob paused, uncertainty invading his thoughts.
These people saved my life.
Brohmin didn’t want to hurt him. Instead, he offered a test.
I need to prove myself.
Their doubt must end. If he was to travel with them, it must end.
Salindra saw how he had faltered with his sword, and a smile of almost satisfaction crossed her face. She mouthed the words, “Now we shall see.”
“I’ll go easy on you, boy,” Brohmin told him softly.
“Endric never did,” Jakob answered, his words hard, almost not his own.
He turned toward Brohmin and brought his sword up. One side blazed with the light while the other seemed to suck light from around him. Jakob knew a moment of hesitation as Brohmin paused to look upon the sword, but the pause was brief. Then the man moved to attack.
He was fast, almost too fast, but Jakob caught the movement and turned his own sword around to block. A loud clang reverberated throughout the forest. He turned his block into a quick attack, three quick turns of his wrist. Brohmin countered each.
Brohmin stepped into a catah. It was one he knew. He moved quickly, knowing the weakness of the movement, and caught the man in mid swing. Jakob stepped into a quick attack, but Brohmin broke his in mid movement as well. The man smiled slightly.
The slight limp slowed Jakob and frustration pounded through him. He flashed through a series of catahs, flowing from one to the next, his sword a blur. But each step was blocked by Brohmin’s steel. Something was different.
When he had faced the Deshmahne, his sword had seemed to lead him, and something within him always responded. Without it, he’d have no chance. Brohmin was good.
Jakob had known that from the start but soon realized the man was much better than he’d expected. Possibly as good as Endric. Brohmin was able to block every motion, stop every attack, and turn them against him. He found himself answering but realized he may not be a match for the man.
What happens if I lose?
The thought filtered through his awareness. Would they turn him in for the reward? He couldn’t allow that, too much at stake and too much already lost. The trunk must continue north.
With the thought came a feeling he had known before.
The slow pulsing began in his head.
Jakob welcomed it and felt it roll through him and into his sword. He pulled through the sword, differently than he had ever tried before.
Everything seemed to shift as he did, becoming suddenly sharper, clearer. The pulsing overwhelmed him, filling him and everything slowed. He saw every movement Brohmin made in near slow motion. The man brought his sword around, blade flashing toward Jakob’s face, and he brought his own sword up to block. It was an easy movement.
Jakob attacked several times quickly, almost too quickly, and thought he had Brohmin caught. Somehow, the man was able to catch his blade each time. He brought his sword around again, four quick slices, and again each was somehow blocked.
He moved harder, faster, and again felt a raw tearing of his mind.
Again everything slowed.
Two quick turns of his blade. Neither close
enough to harm the man, only enough to scare him. Brohmin had no chance to block either of them. The man would have been dead if he’d not held back. Brohmin’s eyes widened, and he stepped back, raising his hands and lowering his sword.
Jakob sheathed his sword and breathed deeply as the pulsing faded. His mind seemed to click, and time jerked forward again. His arm still hummed. Sweat rolled down his face, his back, and he panted, tired from the exertion. He looked at Brohmin, hoping the man would believe him now.
Brohmin shook his head slowly. His eyes were wide, surprise perhaps, before turning to Salindra. Jakob turned his own gaze to her. Her mouth hung open.
“He’s worked with Endric,” Brohmin said finally. Relief flowed through Jakob. “There are catahs only Endric and I know. And now you.” He looked at Jakob, a question in his eyes. “I don’t know how that was possible. Something else too. I’ve seen it only once before.” He shook his head, mumbling something under his breath. He looked Jakob in the eyes. “You’re a strange one, boy, but you don’t lie.”
Jakob was tired. What was happening to him? Why was he able to fight this way, with such skill now when he’d never had it before?
This was something other than the madness. It had to be.
He looked to Salindra who still appeared shocked. Brohmin walked over to her and whispered. Jakob heard what they said with the slow pulsing in his head.
Salindra seemed near tears, her voice trembling. “I thought... I thought you were dead.”
The words were a whisper but seemed loud in his ears.
“A real fight, I might have been.” Brohmin’s voice had a slight tremor.
She looked up then and saw Jakob looking, and lowered her voice. It didn’t matter. “How could he move so fast? His body was a blur.”
“The boy is a mystery. They said he was important. There is more to him than there seems. I hope we find out soon.”
They looked up, realizing he was still staring at them, and Brohmin motioned him to join them. He walked over to them, their stares almost accusations and their eyes filled with questions.
“What do you mean ‘they said he was important’?”
The Lost Prophecy Boxset Page 27