Lendra grinned as Selton returned with Matthew. Roelle, Hester, and Lendra spurred their horses forward to join them, leaving Jhun in command of the rest of the Magi.
Roelle cast a glance back as they rode away, deciding that perhaps the term command might be a bit strong. They still didn't have much structure. Endric had tried working with them, getting them to form something of a Denraen organization, but so far, any organization they had was fortuitous more than intentional. The Magi worked together, but they didn't have the same cooperation that she had witnessed between the Denraen.
Was that something she could work on? Did it matter?
They approached the wall of the village. Snider. Lendra had proven adept in what she had known, sometimes surprisingly so. In that way, she was much like Novan. Only Roelle was determined to listen to her in ways that her uncle had been unwilling to listen to Novan. Why dismiss an opportunity, especially with someone who traveled with them willingly?
Inside the village, she expected to see other people, but she saw no sign of movement. No candlelight flickered in windows, and—though she hadn't seen it from the road—she hadn’t noticed until now that no smoke drifted from chimneys.
She raised her hand, calling them to a stop.
Hester looked over at her. “What is it?” he whispered.
“Look around. The village. It's empty.”
Hester frowned and started studying the buildings with a different intent.
“If it's empty, something happened here. This village has been here for hundreds of years,” Lendra said.
Roelle spurred her horse forward, making her way deeper into the village. At the center, there was an open space, a clearing that formed a central square. The remains of a fire were here; logs that were half burned had char marks. The air still had a hint of the char to it, some sort of stink that took away the familiarity of fall from the air.
Roelle started to say something, but caught herself.
She heard movement.
She jumped from her horse, unsheathing her sword. She’d not yet had the opportunity to use the blade Endric had given her, and the hilt felt unfamiliar in her hand.
“Mage?” Hester asked.
Roelle shot him a look. “I don’t know what it is. There’s something here, so be ready.”
Selton climbed down from his saddle and approached her, his sword unsheathed as well, his angular jaw clenched. “What do you see?”
“That's just it, I don't see anything. What I heard—”
Movement flickered around them, almost faster than she could react.
Roelle had seen something like this only one other time and knew immediately what it was: Deshmahne.
She backed toward her horse, toward Lendra, who had no way of protecting herself. Hester seemed to have recognized the movement and unsheathed his sword, moving out of the saddle more quickly than she would've expected him able to do given his limp. The last to join them was Matthew.
“Deshmahne,” she said.
It was the only thing she had to say, and she didn't have a chance to say more. Shadows flickered, darkness moving around her, and she strained to see through it.
Then the first attack came.
Roelle darted forward, moving through the forms Endric had taught her, and caught the first Deshmahne. He carried a large, dark-bladed sword, and it collided with hers, sending a muted ring into the air.
Roelle heard other sounds of the fighting near her, and realized that Selton, Matthew, and even Hester had been forced into an attack.
She danced forward, her mind going blank as Endric had taught her, moving through the catahs that she had been demonstrating to the others over the last few nights. She twisted, parrying, and then stabbed, catching the Deshmahne in the stomach. Blood spurted, spraying over her hand.
The sticky warmth almost tore her from the emptiness in her mind. Almost.
Roelle jumped forward, swinging her sword as she came at the next attacker.
This time, there were two. Both of whom stepped off to her side, flanking her. Both had the same dark-bladed swords.
Roelle swept up with her sword, anticipating that she would collide with the other attacker.
It missed, catching only empty air.
Roelle dropped and rolled, bringing her sword around as she heard a whistling in the air.
She managed to catch the attack.
The strength of the Deshmahne forced her sword down. Her arms shook with the effort of fighting him back.
Roelle took a different tact, sweeping her sword down and then flickering back around, severing his arm.
The Deshmahne screamed as he staggered back. It left her with only one of the warrior priests to face.
Roelle approached him, swinging her sword as she prepared to attack.
The Deshmahne darted forward, stabbing with his sword, before dropping back. A dark fog swirled around him before disappearing. She held herself ready, prepared to face him, but the attack never came.
When the fog cleared, the Deshmahne was gone.
Roelle looked for another attack, but it was over. The others with her all stood with sword in hand, all with blades bloodied. Lendra stared from atop her horse, eyes wide.
“That was—”
Roelle nodded. “Deshmahne. That was Deshmahne,” she panted.
Hester grunted and leaned to wipe his blade on the cloak of one of the attackers. When it was cleaned, he sheathed his sword. Roelle copied the movement.
“They shouldn't be here. Too far north,” Hester said as he searched through the man’s clothing. He moved on to the other four fallen Deshmahne. Roelle realized that she had taken down two while Hester had killed one, leaving one that Selton and Matthew had taken down together. Then there was the one that vanished.
“They were traveling the north pretty openly before,” she said.
“Not openly. They might have been traveling the north, but I think they were testing us. This… This is something different.”
“What happened to the villagers?” Selton asked.
Memories of what she'd heard of the destruction in the north, stories of empty villages, came to mind. Was this what had happened to them?
Hester reached the nearest house and turned the knob, before pushing open the door with the tip of his sword. “See anything inside?” Roelle asked.
She stopped next to him and peered into the darkness inside. Her Mage eyesight gave her an advantage that she could see through the darkness more easily. “It's empty.”
At least the outer rooms were empty. She hadn't gone any deeper and didn't want to risk going any further to see what else might be in there. Probably nothing. Hester went door-to-door, opening them, checking each house. Roelle, Selton, and Matthew all went with him.
They found no evidence of villagers. Roelle began to think that they had either been slaughtered, or had run off, much like the rumors that were coming out of the north said many had done. Then they reached a larger squat building. It was twice the size of most of the homes, and had a second story, reminding her of the inns found on the first terrace within Vasha.
Inside, they found nearly a hundred villagers, all clustered together.
Roelle came in, raising her hand, and pulled on the empty part of her mind, the part that gave her the Mage abilities, using the small elements in the air that her people called manehlin, drawing them together so that a flame hovered over her hand.
“The gods!” someone cried out.
“It's okay. We’re here to help. You can come out,” Roelle said, stepping back and motioning for the people to follow.
They complied, but did so slowly, stepping into the fading daylight, staring at Roelle then Selton, then Matthew before their eyes settled on Hester. As each of them came across the fallen Deshmahne, they gasped again and made a point of moving away, veering around the bodies, staying far away from the fallen warrior priests.
“Was this what it was like when you fought them before?” Selton whi
spered to her.
“We didn't save any villagers. It was just us and the Denraen,” Roelle said. “And the delegates,” she added.
“What would they have done with the villagers?” Matthew asked.
“In the south, when the Deshmahne came, they would oftentimes capture villages like this.” It was Lendra who answered. She watched the villagers, studying them.
All faces turned to her. One of the village leaders seemed to take control again and started motioning people back to their homes. Hester helped, creating something of a physical barricade in front of the fallen Deshmahne.
“They would come, and they would claim villages. Many suffered, much like this village seems to have suffered,” Lendra said. “Most of the time, they forced conversions.”
“How can you force a conversion?” Matthew asked. “You either believe in the plan the gods have for us, or you do not.”
Lendra looked down at the fallen Deshmahne. “It's more than just forcing the belief, though rumors have said they can do that as well. What we have seen in the south is something more. They demonstrate power, and those who choose it, those who are willing to pursue it, are given the chance to demonstrate it.”
“How?” Matthew asked.
“We've seen several different ways. Some have been asked to demonstrate on friends and family. Others have been asked to serve the priests, given the opportunity to gain the strength the warrior priests claim they possess and serve as soldiers for them. Others… Others are given a darker task. Many are not heard from again.”
Roelle shivered. She had known that Lendra came from the south, and knew that she claimed to come back to see her family, but began to suspect a different reason had driven her north. It was something she would need to talk with Lendra about when she had a chance.
Hester returned to them. Roelle noted he had piled Deshmahne bodies near a circle of logs and had started a fire, burning the bodies. Normally, such a fate was not imposed on a body. The gods preferred that a body be returned to the earth upon its death, so that life could be nourished from death. Burning was an act of destruction.
Roelle thought the fate was appropriate for the Deshmahne.
Hester nodded at them. “We should go. There is no word of the Antrilii here. These people are scared and will need to grieve.”
“What if the Deshmahne return?” Selton asked.
“We can't prevent that. We've done what we should've and could've. They're free.”
“For now,” Selton said.
They turned to Selton, and Roelle suspected they all thought the same. How could they feel comfortable leaving these people when they knew how they had suffered? How could they leave them when they had experienced such devastation? How could they leave them when they couldn't guarantee the Deshmahne wouldn't return?
“Roelle?” Selton asked.
No answers came to her, but this wasn’t the reason they had come. “We move on. We’ve stopped the Deshmahne here and need to keep moving north.”
As she climbed atop her horse, spurring it from the village, she couldn't help but feel as though she was abandoning these people.
Chapter Seven
Alriyn made his way across the grassy lawn outside of the palace. The air had the strange, persistent warmth that it always had within Vasha, the warmth that came from the veins of teralin that flowed deep within the mountain. The mines of teralin had been the reason for the last Deshmahne infiltration into the city, one that had occurred over a quarter century ago when they sought to acquire the ancient items of power the Magi possessed. The attack had been kept mostly quiet, so that few of the Magi remembered that time, thinking it nothing more than a miner rebellion. Alriyn remembered. One of his closest friends had died shortly afterward, and he still felt his absence.
He paused at the gate, resting his hand on the silver teralin, looking out over the rest of the city. From this vantage, he could see the Denraen practicing in the barracks, though not quite as clearly as he would prefer. The Denraen managed to construct buildings within the second terrace that blocked the Magi from seeing their movements and the formations.
Situated as they were, the second terrace directly below and the first terrace below that, it was easy for the Magi to imagine they were above all things, and all people. Alriyn knew that wasn’t the case, especially with Endric. He served in a different way, one that was nearly the equal of the Magi, and had secrets he had not fully shared with the rest of the Magi Council, including why he had sent Roelle from the city.
The Denraen worked with their weapons, the steady clatter of practice mixing with the shouts that indicated men moved into formations. There was even the occasional sound of laughter. The activity on the second terrace showed increased intensity that came from concern over the growing presence of the Deshmahne.
Far below the third terrace, the first terrace was almost easy to ignore. From here, Alriyn could see wispy clouds that moved in like a fog, practically obscuring much of the lower terraces from his view. They made it seem like the palace terrace floated atop the mountain, as if the Magi were like the gods themselves prior to their Ascension. It was an illusion, one that far too many allowed themselves to believe. Alriyn knew that the real activity happened below, with the people they were meant to serve and protect, the reason that gods had given them their abilities.
Alriyn passed through the gate and made his way down the wide sloping ramp leading from the third terrace to the second. He paused at the entrance to the main barracks. It was heavily fortified here, several guards standing watch at the gate, with more hiding along the wall. He didn't need to see them to know they were there. He could feel them, the connection to his Magi abilities allowing him to detect their presence. Using the term of the Founders, they called it manehlin, a name that descended from the ancient language that came from the first Magi. All things were comprised of manehlin, the small energy that connected everything. The Magi were able to reach it, could feel the faint energy. None but the gods could see it.
Alriyn turned away from the Denraen barracks and made his way down the ramp and into the first level. He didn't come down here often, certainly not as often as he once did. There was a time when he visited the first terrace frequently, wandering the streets and admiring the taverns and bakeries and other shops. It was a time before he had been raised to the Council, before he was the Second Eldest, a time when he was simply Alriyn Ral. That had been many years ago, before the Deshmahne had made their presence so well known, when he had thought to serve as Teacher in the university. It had been a time of peace, but one that had come at a price.
Only a few remembered that time, because few lived long enough to remember. The Magi lived long lives, and those among the Council were among the oldest of the Magi. Alriyn remembered previous attempts to choose a Uniter according to the ancient custom. He remembered all too well the Magi failure. It was the reason those among the Council were so cautious, the reason they didn't want to risk repeating the same mistakes. They couldn't afford that kind of mistake this time, not with the Deshmahne moving as they did. Alriyn began to wonder if they would have to choose. Would the rest of the Council see it that way?
A line of troops made its way along the streets, and Alriyn paused and turned to the side, letting the Denraen pass. They marched three across, hands on swords, eyes fixed straight ahead, the training implemented by Endric so ingrained within them. It truly was a beautiful thing to watch.
He understood Roelle's fascination with it and why she had sought to learn the sword. He was thankful she had. Who would've known—who could have known—that her ability, and that of the other Magi who trained with her, would become so crucial?
Alriyn still couldn't believe that she had been forced to face the Deshmahne, but hearing accounts from both Novan and Endric, it would seem that she was a natural warrior. A part of him wished he could have seen that, and he wondered if she had made the Founders proud.
And now Endric had sent her away.
/>
He felt only sadness that he hadn’t done what he could to prepare her better. She should not have been sent by the Denraen general. Alriyn should have seen the need as well.
What would she discover? What hid in the north?
When he had visited the north, he had seen nothing but empty towns. And that had been deep within the upper foothills. That emptiness actually reassured him. Endric hadn’t sent her into danger; he had sent her for information. Alriyn had yet to learn what he intended her to learn or how it tied to the Antrilii.
Knowing Endric, there was some deeper plan in place, and he wondered if it had something to do with Deshmahne movements he hadn't shared. Even though his sources were not what they once had been, Alriyn still heard the rumors that the Deshmahne had moved farther north than the Council had expected. They were a threat that needed to be curtailed, yet… How could they when he and his small council had yet to discover how deep the Deshmahne infiltration went within Vasha?
Alriyn shook his head. The Denraen patrol had passed, and he waited along the street, the hood of his cloak pulled up over his head, keeping him concealed. He couldn't conceal his height, but it was not uncommon for Magi to come to the first terrace, only for the Elders.
Many of the Magi taught at the university. The University of Vasha was considered one of the greatest places of learning, and only allowed a select few into their ranks each year. It had long been a desired place to come for those seeking scholarship, mostly because of the Magi. Alriyn hated to admit it, but even that had waned over the last few years, leaving the university somewhat less prestigious than it once had been. The University of Masetohl had become more prominent, and located well into the Deshmahne zone.
Alriyn rarely went to the university these days, though he once had taught there. He wondered what the chancellor thought of their waning influence, or whether they even noticed. Could the university leaders be as blind as the rest of the Magi had been about the decline?
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