The Lost Prophecy Boxset

by D. K. Holmberg

  “How did he feel him?” Alriyn asked. He knew what the historian meant; most among the Magi did, but would not have expected the historian to know of it.

  There was a slight glimmer to Novan’s eyes. “That, too, I don’t know, though his father was a priest. There is no mistaking what he felt. ‘I felt fear, hopelessness,’ he said to me.”

  “That’s one of their dark powers. Could the High Priest not simply have been radiating it intentionally?”

  Novan shook his head. “No one else was affected.”

  That was surprising. The Deshmahne were suspected of using emotional attacks, pressing dark emotions upon others, but it was indiscriminate, affecting everyone around them. That anyone other than an Urmahne priest or a Magi sensed the Deshmahne without an attack was a surprise. They trained to be attuned to it.

  “It is strange,” Novan went on. “That the High Priest would be sensed once is surprising enough, but letting himself be sensed a second time is much more so. I still don’t know why he was in the raider camp.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “It’s said that he’s not been seen outside the Deshmahne temple in over ten years,” Novan answered. “And now twice by the same man.”

  “Their influence pushes north,” Alriyn said. “We’ve fought to keep the Deshmahne from Thealon and Gom Aaldia.”

  A slight smile played at the corners of Novan’s mouth. “An interesting choice of words.”

  “Do not mock me, historian. We do what we can. We protect the Urmahne.”

  “The priests protect the Urmahne. The Denraen protect the Urmahne.”

  “And we guide the priests,” Alriyn argued.

  “There was a time when you could claim that to be true.” He looked at Alriyn with hard eyes. “If you still led the Urmahne, would there be a need for the Deshmahne? Had you not retreated from the world, would they have gained power?”

  It was a question others had asked. The Deshmahne had first appeared over a hundred years ago, claiming the Urmahne was weak, that the gods demanded a new religion. They preached a different message from the mahne, where the gods looked favorably upon those with power, with strength. It was nothing like the peace the Urmahne preached, the balance the mahne required.

  The Deshmahne had quickly demonstrated their strength in the south, pushing the Urmahne out of Coamdon and Lakeliis before the Ur could react. The Deshmahne priests had been the difference then, their strange speed and strength overmatching the common soldiers. The Urmahne priests and the Ur called upon the Magi for help, but the Council had chosen to observe, to let men handle their own affairs, as they had ever since their last failure.

  Endric had guided the Denraen how he had felt fit, but by the time the Denraen had become involved, it was too late. They had been able to keep the Deshmahne to the south until now. The Deshmahne had been known to attack Urmahne priests but had never attacked the Magi before now. Something was changing.

  “Why now?” Alriyn asked.

  “That... is an excellent question. I have yet to find an answer.”

  “The timing of this and the happenings in the north has me uncomfortable,” Alriyn admitted.

  “As it should.”

  “Is there a connection?”

  “I don’t know,” the historian answered.

  Alriyn heard the hesitation in the historian’s voice. “You suspect one, don’t you?”

  Novan nodded. “As should you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Alriyn stepped along the corridor, replaying the conversation with the historian in his head. It had not gone as he had expected. What more does he know?

  For so long, he’d believed Endric could manage the Deshmahne if it came to that. After what he’d seen in the north, he had to wonder if the Denraen could survive an attack by the Deshmahne. They’d lost countless men in the small skirmishes just returning the Magi to the city, which was why he’d encourage Roelle to use her knew skills to protect Vasha. If the Deshmahne turned this into a full-blown war...

  Could the Urmahne survive a full-scale attack? They had been pushed to near irrelevance in the south, Coamdon and Liispal among the first to go, and now Gom Aaldia was weakening. Thealon would remain, but the Urmahne would be forever changed. What would that mean for the land? Certainly not the peace they’d known for the last thousand years.

  The balance would be gone.

  Alriyn knew what the mahne said about that and worried.

  Would they return to what it had been like before? Information was limited. Most records of that time had been destroyed, all but fragments now lost to them. All records agree that violence and bloodshed had been more common then. True peace was brought by the Urmahne, by the discovery of the mahne. The Deshmahne would change all that.

  Still, he couldn’t ignore the north. Not if what they suspected was true. What he needed was to understand more, but where could he get more information? The historian had mentioned rumors, stories. And the Antrilii.

  Alriyn shook his head, smiling. The Antrilii could not be the answer. They were simple nomads, warriors without a war.

  But Novan seemed to know something more about them.

  I need to find Endric.

  He walked quickly through the palace and soon found himself outside. The day was overcast, the familiar low-lying clouds that surrounded the city shrouding everything in a light mist. Alriyn took a deep breath, savoring the distinct flavor of the air, before starting off. He took a circuitous route, choosing not to walk through the heart of the city on his way to the general, taking a roundabout way to the second terrace within the city. It would lead to fewer questions if he were not so easily seen seeking Endric.

  His path toward the barracks led past the practice yard, and he paused. The clacking sound of wooden staves echoed dully to his ears, and he turned to look, wondering if Roelle was practicing. Scanning the yard, he saw several Denraen working together, and he looked past them, settling on the small group of taller Magi working together. They were clustered tightly in pairs, facing against each other, and Alriyn smiled at the sight.

  There was a fluidity to their movements, a gracefulness different from even the Denraen, and he knew he’d been right to encourage Roelle. No longer could he doubt their physical abilities, no longer would he wonder. Were that he was younger and could stand among them, but it was not to be. Roelle must serve instead.

  Alriyn had known his niece since she was barely months old and wondered if he would be able to let her do what needed to be done. Could he really think to let her face the Deshmahne in the city?

  If I could do it...

  Yet, he too must serve as the Urmahne intended.

  The thought stayed with him as he passed the practice yard and neared the barracks where Endric’s office was located. Alriyn found Endric standing outside the barracks, and the general gave him a wry look before nodding and leading him to his office, saying nothing until the thick door closed behind them.

  “Second Eldest,” he said finally, motioning to a seat.

  Alriyn preferred to stand for now. “What have you heard of the Deshmahne?”

  Endric looked up at Alriyn casually. “I presented what I knew to the Council.”

  Alriyn shot him a hard stare. “You presented little more than you had to,” he countered. “You rarely do.” Alriyn thought for a moment before he continued. “The Council is unsettled with these attacks. Most are afraid to act.”

  “So I have observed,” Endric replied.

  He should have expected Endric to know already. “Some see the Deshmahne as the only threat we face, others worry about other rumors.”

  Endric motioned to the chair in front of his desk and waited until Alriyn sat. “The Deshmahne have not fallen completely silent. Were that it was so simple. It appears they regroup in Gom Aaldia, gathering their strength, spreading their message.”

  “Adding followers,” Alriyn mused.

  Endric nodded. “They gain strength. Word is that Rich
ard will convert.”

  Alriyn pondered that comment. If the High King converted, the Deshmahne would hold great strength in Gom Aaldia, perhaps to the point of forcing the conversion of the other kings. “With what I heard out of Rondalin, that leaves Thealon isolated,” Alriyn said.

  “It does,” Endric agreed.

  “The Ur will protect Thealon.”

  Endric shook his head. “The Ur will protect the Tower. The Ur defend the Urmahne and her priests.”

  “The priests are Thealon,” Alriyn said.

  “And you are the Urmahne.”

  Alriyn sighed. The argument felt circular, but Endric was right. For too long, the priests had been left alone. There had been a time when the Magi guided the priests, teaching the mahne, shaping the Urmahne. That was when the Magi didn’t merely hide in the city. The change had been gradual, but they no longer served as they once had. If they did, would the Deshmahne have grown so powerful?

  “What will happen to Thealon if the Deshmahne come. Will you send Denraen for support?”

  “The Deshmahne haven’t moved against Thealon. It’s almost as if they’re waiting.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I have my suspicions, but I do not know.” Endric looked at Alriyn, considering a moment. “You know they infiltrated the Denraen.”

  Alriyn returned the look, gray eyes weighing the general. “That should not be possible.” He did not need to say that the Magi should have sensed a Deshmahne presence.

  “Should not, but a recruit from Chrysia slipped through.”

  “You know this with certainty?”

  Endric nodded.

  “And where is he now?”

  “Deserted. Left with the attacks.”

  “Is that why you suffered such a loss?” The other attacks had lost Denraen, but the one on Endric, the attack Roelle survived, had been the bloodiest.

  Endric shook his head. “I think it the twenty Deshmahne we faced.”

  Twenty? Alriyn had not known it had been so many. “Was the High Priest among them?”

  Endric shook his head again. “I think not.”

  “Did you see him?”

  “No. The historian’s apprentice was the only one who can make that claim.”

  “You would take his word?” Alriyn wished he could have met this apprentice and could have questioned him.

  “I would take his word.”

  “Novan tells me he went north on your orders.”

  “Not my orders,” Endric said. “But he went north.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s not mine for the telling,” Endric said.

  They fell silent, and Alriyn glanced around the office, taking in the stacks of books, the strange carvings set throughout the room, almost purposefully placed, and a large map of the known lands with pins marking various locations. There were pins marking the city, some for Thealon, others for other cities, yet why the markings to the northwest?

  “Tell me of the Antrilii,” Alriyn said suddenly. Stories said that Endric, once exiled by his father, had lived among the Antrilii. It was said that he mastered the sword while living amongst them.

  “That, too, is not mine for the telling,” Endric answered again.

  Alriyn’s eyes darted to the chart. “What do you know of the groeliin?” Did Novan speak the truth? Could such creatures exist?

  Endric placed his hands upon his desk and eyed Alriyn carefully. Alriyn resisted the urge to look away. “You have spoken with Novan.”

  Alriyn nodded.

  “Then know that the historian doesn’t lie. The threat is real, and if word reaches this far south, then it is greater than it has been in many generations.”

  “They are real?”

  “You don’t really doubt this. You visited the north yourself.” The general smiled at him with a tight-lipped expression. “But there are those among your Council afraid to see this for themselves.”

  Alriyn no longer doubted, but the confirmation was what he wanted, what he needed. And more. Were these really the creatures his ancestors had faced?

  If so, what did that mean of their teachings?

  “What do the Antrilii know?”

  “As I said, that’s not mine for the telling. Nor Novan’s.” He stared at Alriyn for a long moment. “Other than to know that the groeliin should not have pressed as far south as they have.” He sighed. “Regardless, I hope to learn more soon.”

  “How?”

  Endric shrugged.

  “I have asked Roelle to aid with the Deshmahne in the city,” Alriyn said.

  “I have heard.”

  “She and the others could be of help to the Denraen.”

  “They could. As could the Council,” Endric said before standing.

  It was a dismissal. Alriyn was unaccustomed to such actions, yet he didn’t think of protesting—it would serve no purpose. No, he had other concerns.

  Why so secretive about the Antrilii? What else did they know?

  Perhaps there was more to the north than these creatures.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The wind felt cool against Jakob’s face. He stared ahead, eyes locked on the colors of the forest as they rode, ignoring the irritation at the back of his head. There remained much green to these trees for this time of year, the leaves not yet turning. The trees grew shorter the longer they rode, and he suspected they had camped the night before in the heart of the Great Forest. They rode north and east now.

  “How far from the Elasiin path are we?” he asked.

  “Not far. If that’s the way you intend to take us, you should know the Elasiin is dangerous,” Brohmin said.

  Salindra’s mouth curled in a worried frown.

  Novan and Rit had said the same. Jakob had heard enough stories about the north that he wasn’t sure whether he really wanted to follow the path. Would there be more Deshmahne there?

  How else to Avaneam?

  He didn’t know. Without following the path, he might not meet Novan or Endric. The trunk had to be delivered, and he wasn’t sure he could do it without them.

  “It’s the only way I know to find Endric or Novan,” Jakob said.

  Brohmin nodded. “We may need your sword.”

  If they followed the Elasiin path toward Siirvil’s Peak, he would find Avaneam. That was enough. He hoped he’d find Endric and Novan before it mattered, before they came upon any danger, but how long would they wait for him? Could Brohmin pass on word to the Conclave that he’d been captured? Jakob was unclear how the Conclave operated, but somehow, Novan had arranged for Brohmin’s help. Did that mean Novan and Endric were no longer coming?

  The sun overhead didn’t generate much warmth as the day stretched on, and Jakob was thankful for his cloak. There was an earthy scent to the air, the smell of rotting leaves mixing with the crispness to the air that hung in his nose. He had noticed it more strongly this morning when they had camped at the heart of the forest, but it continued. There was something comforting about it, though he couldn’t say what.

  Brohmin rode off occasionally, disappearing several times during the day only to return, looking more harried each time. “They gain on us,” he overheard Brohmin tell Salindra once.

  “How many?” she asked.

  “They come from the west and the south, almost too many to keep track. They’re riding hard.”

  “What do you see?” Jakob asked.

  Brohmin leveled his gray eyes on Jakob, sharp and piercing. “There are several Deshmahne.”

  Jakob felt a sudden sickness in the pit of his stomach. “How many?” Could they even survive another Deshmahne attack?

  “I counted thirteen. It worries me.”

  Thirteen. He and Brohmin wouldn’t stand a chance against so many. “Is the priest with them?”

  Brohmin nodded once.

  Jakob felt his heart sink. He didn’t think he could face the large Deshmahne again.

  “Why does that number worry you?” Salindra asked.

&n
bsp; “Little is known about how the Deshmahne are organized,” Brohmin started. “They’re secretive. None have become Deshmahne and left, yet this number strikes me as intentional. Unlucky. There were three with you when you were captured?” Brohmin asked Jakob.

  He nodded.

  Brohmin considered a moment before speaking. “How many the other times?”

  Jakob thought about the attack on the camp but didn’t know how many men were Deshmahne and how many simple raiders. The attack on Rit’s party was at least one Deshmahne, perhaps two if he counted Tolsin. Most recently, the three Deshmahne had first chased him and then captured him. “At least one the first time, three the next,” he said. “I don’t know how many were in Rondalin when I ran from there.”

  “One then three,” Brohmin repeated. “And now thirteen.” He fell silent before letting out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know what it means.” His dark eyes fell on Salindra, but she didn’t meet them, keeping her own eyes locked forward. “We should ride faster.”

  “What of the north?” Salindra asked, her usually stern voice tight.

  “We’ll face that as it comes.”

  Brohmin spurred the horses forward. They rode hard through the late morning and into the afternoon. Jakob found his thoughts returning to the slow itch at the back of his mind, the gentle vibration that would not leave him, and the strange dream from the night before.

  As he did, he couldn’t shake the memory of how the madness had started with Scottan. First had been strange voices. Then there were things only he could see. And now... now he was more mad than sane.

  There was no use denying it any more. This was how the madness would take him. The only question he had remaining was whether he would have enough time to get the trunk to Avaneam safely—or at least to Endric.

  After a while, Brohmin slowed his horse. “You’re troubled. You’ve been quiet.”

  Jakob swallowed, wondering how much to share. Didn’t Brohmin deserve some trust? “The dream last night. It’s... it’s enough to make me think I’m going mad.” Let them know about his fears. “I’ve seen it happen before. My brother suffered from it.”