He drifted off again, more slowly this time. He awoke later to the strange noises, closer this time, and he wasn’t sure how long he’d been sleeping since last he had heard the sounds. The smells of old rot drifted at the edge of his awareness, hidden by the thick dust covering everything in the room. The feeling of the weight upon his chest was gone.
Jakob saw the door crack open slightly. Brohmin slipped out into the dark night, closing the door behind him. As he lay there staring at the door, he thought he’d see the man slip back in shortly after, but so much time passed by that he drifted back to sleep.
He woke again to a different sound. A light shuffle, as if something dragged across the floor, was barely audible. It sounded close, within the hall, and he stared intently into the darkness trying to make out a shape. He couldn’t see anything in the blackness.
The sound neared, and his heart raced.
It took every ounce of his will to keep from bolting toward the door, toward the light of the moon so he could see this assailant.
Still, it came closer. The hairs on his arms rose as the sound neared, and he could hear his heart loud in his ears. Likely, whoever or whatever was there could hear his heart nearly as easily as he could.
Finally, the sound stopped.
He lay still, listening. After a while, his heart still racing and thundering in his ears, he heard a new sound. He heard whispering. Brohmin and Salindra.
He couldn’t make out what they were saying, and for a moment struggled to hear. Brohmin whispered something about his shoulder, then Salindra muttered something about wrappings.
“You should have taken the boy and his sword. The two of you would have been a more even match.” The words were spoken so quietly, he wasn’t even sure he’d heard them right.
But he did hear Brohmin’s reply. He was sure of it. “He wouldn’t even be able to see them. Besides, it was a small band, and I was more than a match for them.”
“Barely,” Salindra replied.
What was out there?
Was this Deshmahne... or something else?
What would cause entire towns to desert?
The conversation troubled him as he lay there, his pounding heart gradually slowing and the tightness in his muscles easing. The whispering either stopped or became so quiet he couldn’t hear it anymore, and after a while, he felt himself drifting toward sleep again. He welcomed it in his exhaustion.
If he dreamed, he did not remember it.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The long hall was nearly silent. Even the echoes from their footsteps seemed muted as they walked quickly along the stone corridor. As they passed each intersecting hall, Alriyn darted his eyes suspiciously down the length of the hall before turning them ahead once again. To his left, Crayn did the same. They saw nothing.
Alriyn didn’t need to look closely at Crayn to see that the man was nervous. He’d been at this long enough that it no longer affected him in the same way. A small bead of sweat worked at the corner of the man’s right eye. Creases worked across his forehead, and Alriyn would occasionally catch the man working his hand along his black robe, clenching fingers into a white-knuckled fist before releasing.
Crayn’s eyes seemed too deeply set, almost hollowed out of his face, yet more so today than usual. It was a distinctive feature Alriyn had always associated with him. A face he could always recognize. He was average height for one Mageborn, and his hair was a well-aged gray. Much the same color as his own. He was of slight build, seemingly willow thin, but the man’s real strength was his mind. It was a strength they would need now more than ever.
Crayn had always been someone whose opinion Alriyn trusted. It seemed strange that it had taken them this long to bring the man into the private council, though he had done what he’d thought best. When they moved their cause forward, everyone would be forced to make a choice. That choice would come to define their people, especially if they failed.
After speaking with Endric, he felt even more strongly they needed to choose the Uniter. Doing so meant convincing enough of the Council, but would he have enough numbers? Could they convince Jostephon as well? If they didn’t their cause would fail.
Lost in thought, their steps had carried them quickly to the door of his private chambers. Pausing, he glanced up the hall again, his dark eyes squinting carefully into the shadows. Had he seen movement? The hall was empty and silent. Crayn gave him a curious look, and Alriyn nodded slightly before pulling the door open.
His room was arranged the same as it had been for the last few months. Two small candles seemed to be burning, though appeared to have been lit on air. Neither wick burning nor wax melting could be seen from these candles. A crackling fire burned in the corner of the room, its warmth comforting. The dim light was enough for him to glance quickly at the four faces around the table. Karrin and Bothar sat against the far wall, silent, while Haerlin sat with his back to them. Isandra sat next to him and leaned across the table to Karrin, whispering something quietly to her. They all turned toward the door as Alriyn entered.
“Before we talk about the reason we’re all here, I would like to know what you’ve seen of the delegates.” In some ways, convincing the rest of the Council to make this choice would be easier if the delegates failed, but Alriyn didn’t want them to fail. If the delegates could begin the process of regaining trust in the Magi, then they would be useful.
Haerlin sat upright, tapping his finger on his chin. “I have seen some darkness among them.”
Bothar blinked. “You have observed or seen?”
Haerlin frowned. “Partly, it is observation. I traveled with Comity—not our first choice of delegate. The priest we intended to choose was killed in the temple explosion. What I have observed of him is disinterest. Those in the south worry me more. They have already experienced the Deshmahne and think nothing of them.”
Karrin nodded. “That is the way of the south these days. Many have converted.”
“Have you seen anything?” Alriyn asked Haerlin.
He took a deep breath. “There’s nothing clear. Occasionally, when I stare long enough, there’s an aura around them. Some more strongly than others.” He shook his head and smoothed his robes. “I don’t know what it means other than that we need to continue to watch them.”
“If the delegates won’t serve as we intend, what else do we know?” Karrin asked.
“I hear rumors out of the university. Teachers have returned from the south, fearing how unsettled it has become,” Bothar said.
“And they already move north,” Karrin said. “I received word that Gom Aaldia prepares for war. Rumor has it they will soon ride on Thealon.”
Alriyn frowned. Endric had mentioned the same. “They gain strength in Gom Aaldia,” Alriyn agreed. Faces turned to look at him. “I spoke to Endric,” he explained. “It’s often less difficult to argue with a Mage than it is to talk with that man. He’s vague, knowing there’s trouble with the Deshmahe, but won’t commit to his plan. He shared with me what he knows of the north. It’s enough that we must convince the others on the Council to—”
The door to the room pushed open, and two figures slipped in, hastily closing the door behind them.
Alriyn stared at the shapes by the door, unable to see who was there, and excited the manehlin so that the wall glowed brightly.
“Endric. Novan.” How had they known he was here? And why had they come?
The general smiled, unaffected by what would have scared any other man to soil himself. “Second Eldest,” he replied, before looking to the others. “Councilors,” he nodded to each. “Is the Council divided?”
“Not divided, Endric. Discussing what you shared.”
“You intend to choose again, don’t you?” Novan asked.
Alriyn glared at him. Damn the historian! “How did you come to this room, General?” Alriyn asked.
“I walked, Second. I suspect you all do the same? In fact, I have observed a few among you walking today, spending tim
e with the delegates when you should be searching the city for Deshmahne.”
“I have asked Roelle to help with the Deshmahne,” Alriyn said.
He felt the others look to him. He hadn’t shared that yet. He might have been too impetuous, but with her Magi skill and newfound skill with the sword, she was best suited.
“Alriyn?” Karrin asked.
“Is that why you allow the apprentices to train?” Haerlin asked.
Endric raised his hand, silencing them. “Roelle has the heart of a leader. She would make a fine Denraen.”
Strangely, the comment gave Alriyn a flash of pride. “She is an excellent Mage,” Alriyn agreed.
“There would be other ways you could use her,” Endric suggested. “She could be of use in the north—”
Alriyn shook his head vigorously. “No! I have seen what happened in the north. If what you’ve said about the north is real, then there is nothing the Magi could do.”
“I think you do a disservice to your people—and to Roelle—in saying that,” Endric said.
“She and the others will search the city for Deshmahne. That is how they will serve. Besides, what would she find in the north but these creatures and the Antrilii?”
Karrin whispered the word “Antrilii” but Alriyn ignored her.
“Answers,” Novan said.
“Who’s?” Alriyn asked.
“Everyone’s.”
Alriyn sat back, considering. If Roelle left the city—and these creatures were real—she would be faced with a nightmare. No. Better that they unify the Council, find the Uniter—the nemah—who could bring peace.
“We will deal with Deshmahne first,” Alriyn said. “And the Council will make other decisions.”
Endric stared a moment before nodding. “Do what you must and know that I will do what I feel is necessary.”
With that, Endric turned and left. Novan lingered, his gaze skimming over the collected Councilors before he turned and followed Endric from the room.
Alriyn sighed, and turned back to the others. “It seems we will be forced to make a decision sooner than I expected,” he said.
“What decision?” Crayn asked.
“Whether to choose the Uniter. Endric is right about that threat. The Council needs to act. If we don’t, the peace required of the mahne might fail.”
“And if we do, we might fail,” Haerlin said.
Alriyn looked at the others, holding their gaze. “With the growing threat of the Deshmahne, isn’t that a risk we have to take?”
Roelle sat in Endric’s office again, having actually been summoned by Endric after one of her practice sessions with the Denraen. Sweat dripped from her brow, and she wiped it away, scanning the room. The stacks of paper were as unorganized as before. He even risked a candle, as if unmindful of the danger to his pages. The map behind him seemed changed, the pins having moved. She waited for him to speak, growing impatient.
“I hear your uncle has a plan for you,” Endric said.
“A plan, yes,” she began. What would Endric think of the plan? “He—and I—think my Magi can be useful to you here with the Deshmahne.”
Endric stared at her, his hard-eyed gaze intense. “I don’t need you for the Deshmahne.”
“I saw how hard they were to defeat, general. You need the Magi.” Alriyn had asked for her help with them. Why would the general deny her this?
“Really? How many do you think you have?”
Roelle looked at the old general. His shrewd eyes saw through her, and Roelle forced herself to hold the gaze. “We have at least one hundred.”
Endric leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, and nodded slowly. “One hundred. I have thousands of Denraen, Roelle. No. You aren’t needed here.”
Roelle sat back in the chair, feeling defeated. She’d thought that Endric would welcome her help—why else summon her here?—but if he wasn’t interested, then what would she do? She couldn’t sit back and remain in her classes, not after what she’d seen.
“Did you learn of your Founders?” he asked.
She blinked at the sudden change in topic. “I learned they fought something terrible, and that Novan thinks it still exists. My uncle isn’t certain.”
Endric offered a half-smile. “You don’t believe?”
“The rumors from the north are probably Deshmahne.”
“Is that what you really think?”
She didn’t know what she believed. Novan seemed to think there was something else, but the record he would have referenced would have to be centuries old. They couldn’t be accurate.
“Leave the Deshmahne to the Denraen. There is something else that you can do.”
“What?”
“Take your Magi and visit the north. Learn for yourselves what is there.”
“I don’t think Alriyn will allow us to leave the city, not with the attacks taking place.”
“Trust me when I tell you that this is something you should consider. Besides, you’re better prepared than the Second would be. Your Magi training may help, but it’s the other training that will matter.”
Roelle sat, twisting her hands together. “Why do you ask this of me?”
“Your Founders survived something most don’t even understand. There are times I wish we could have their guidance, but we do not.” Endric sighed quietly before straightening himself. “But you are better prepared than they had been in so many ways.”
“How do you figure?” she asked. Would Endric offer a straight answer?
Endric grunted. “Different training. They were soldiers first. You are Magi first.”
“Does that matter?”
Endric shrugged. “I don’t know. I have asked the Second, but he worries more about the Deshmahne.”
“And you don’t?”
“The Deshmahne are the Denraen’s responsibility. What is taking place in the north… that is for the Magi. You need to prove it to the Council. You might be the only one who can.”
Could they do this? There were nearly one hundred young Magi who had learned sword and staff over the last year. All had followed Roelle and Selton, thinking, as Roelle had at first, a fun game to play at soldier. The battle with the Deshmahne had changed that.
Now there was something more at stake, and they were the only Magi prepared to face it. Even were they to remain in the city as Alriyn wanted, she didn’t know if the young Magi understood fully what they were getting themselves into. Would they fight if attacked?
That was the question. Most had regularly been practicing, and all had grown quite skilled. Their Magi abilities granted them a certain physical prowess. But skill with a weapon and skill in actual combat were very different. Roelle had nearly frozen in her first encounter. How many others would face the same?
But going north might be even worse. Or nothing.
“You have heard the stories of the north?” Endric asked.
She nodded. “Alriyn tells me of the north, the desolation, the fear, the crowds of people moving south for safety, and I wonder what happens if there is no safety.”
“The rumors are true, Roelle. There are few who can face the threat of the north.”
“Why us?”
Endric glanced over his shoulder at the wall. “Consider it scouting only. Bring information back for your council. It will force the Magi to act.”
“If we do this—”
“Your Council will think it the rash action of youth. Much like when you first came, looking to learn the sword and staff.” The general tilted his head and considered her for a moment before flashing his teeth. “Not much surprises me, Mage, but you have managed.”
“We’re only apprentices,” Roelle said. Could she really be considering his suggestion?
Could they really afford for her not to?
“Apprentices who are more like your Founders than any Mage in generations. You would have my guidance, as much as could be, and”—he handed Roelle a thin leather-bound book—“the wisdom of those who
came before you can help you along your way.”
Roelle stared at the cover. Tactics and Strategy, written by none other than Endric’s father, Dendril. It was a prized possession, and only two copies were known to exist. One was in her hands now. The other was hidden in the Mage library where only the Elders had access.
“It’s a quick read, but a lifetime study,” Endric said.
Roelle had no answer. Endric offered her the wisdom of his father. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll make your Founders proud. Say you’ll travel as the gods guide you. Say you’ll honor what you have just said to me,” Endric replied. “It will be enough.”
How could she refuse?
What would she say to Alriyn?
There could be nothing she could say that would explain her reasoning. Besides, if he had seen the north, he would already understand.
Roelle nodded in agreement.
“Good. There are other ways I can help. First, you’ll work with me daily until you leave,” Endric decided.
Roelle frowned and felt a moment of surprise. Training with Endric had been a given along the road—it was a tradition the Denraen honored—but within the city, he had many pulls upon his time. It was a generous offer, and she doubted it was lightly made.
“Choose a handful you trust. They will work with my Raen, learn to lead others. And I will send guides.”
“Guides?” Roelle asked, letting the other offer slide past with merely a nod of acceptance.
“How much have you traveled outside your city?”
“If the rumors are true, they’ll be of little help,” she told Endric.
“They could help more than you know. And you must seek the Antrilii first.”
“Why the Antrilii?”
“Because you will find your answers there.”
Roelle smiled, leaning forward. “You could tell me the answers.”
“There are things you must witness to understand, Roelle. It is much the same for your Council. If you do this, you will see what I mean. You will gain more insight than you could have ever expected.”
She waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. “And what of you? You’re not going to return north as you said you would? You’re not going after Jakob?”
The Lost Prophecy Boxset Page 35