Alriyn turned a corner, then hesitated. A familiar face appeared, before disappearing inside the door, passing into a tavern.
Where had he seen that man before?
He scanned his memory, trying to think about where it had been. It took a moment, but he realized that he was probably a delegate.
No, this wasn't a delegate. He hadn't spent much time with the delegates but would recognize them when he saw them.
The face resembled one of the delegates. But why?
Alriyn started down the street, troubled by the thought, knowing that he had too much on his mind for him to think as clearly as he needed to.
When he was well past the tavern, it came to him. Not one of the delegates, but one of the delegate’s servants. As he started off once more, a soft wave of unsettlement drifted toward him.
Alriyn paused, frozen in place.
He had known the sensation before. It was what he had trained Roelle to recognize, what he had trained her to resist. He knew what it came from, but not where. That bothered him as much as anything.
The Deshmahne were in the city, but what were they after?
When they had come before, Tresten had revealed the Magi no longer needed the teralin to reach the gods, if they ever had. Alriyn hadn’t discovered what the Deshmahne had come for then, only that they had sought a relic they thought tied to the gods. If they returned for a similar reason, Endric needed to know. The Council needed to know.
He turned away, needing to return to the Council, but troubled by what he had sensed. It meant war was coming and Vasha would not be excluded. Was there time to prevent it?
The Council sat quietly, each waiting for the Eldest to arrive. Alriyn considered starting the meeting without him, but thought better of it. He glanced around the others in the room. Those among his council did not meet his gaze, but then again, those not among his council did not either. Each Mage sat pensively waiting. He wondered how many of them worried about the Deshmahne and how many, himself included, worried more about the events to the north. He would share what he’d observed as soon as the Eldest arrived.
The door to the hall opened suddenly and the Eldest strolled in, his dark cloak scarcely moving as he walked, and took his seat. As he did, the sleeve of his robe pulled back, revealing an angry red burn on his left arm. The Eldest pulled his sleeve down quickly to cover it and rubbed his arm carefully.
What’s he been doing?
Alriyn stared at the Eldest for a few long moments, but the Mage did not meet his gaze. Alriyn made a mental note to mention it the next time his council met, to see if any of the others had any ideas. They’d been meeting less frequently since Roelle had left the city. He was not certain when next they would convene.
“Where are the children?” the Eldest asked. His voice was hoarse, as if he had recently been yelling, and he cleared his throat carefully after speaking.
“There is no word,” Rendrem answered. He was the newest member of the Council, and Alriyn cared little for him, though he didn’t know if that came from the fact that he had replaced Tresten. “And Endric refuses to aid, stating it is a Magi matter.”
“A Magi matter?” the Eldest repeated. Slowly, he turned to Alriyn. “Where is your niece?”
Alriyn was careful not to look around the table. Now was a time for caution. “I know as much as the Council knows. Roelle did not confide in me in this.” Would they sense this as deception? He should have known.
“You do not know?” Gustiven asked.
Alriyn had often thought Gustiven preferred more direct leadership than others on the Council. As far as Alriyn was concerned, Gustiven could have it. Seeing how the younger Mage stared at him, he realized he would not be of use on his council. Someone else then, but he still did not know who he could ask.
“I do not,” Alriyn answered. “But I suspect she grew weary of discussion, choosing instead to act. She faced the Deshmahne when the delegates were brought to the city. Even Endric reports that they wouldn’t have survived had she not intervened.”
“Reckless youth!” Felkin muttered.
“Have they studied the meaning of the mahne,” Rendrem interjected, “do they know what they risk in doing this?”
“Do you understand the mahne?” Crayn asked Rendrem.
It was a question Alriyn should have asked. Rendrem was the newest Mage raised to the Council, raised after Tresten’s passing. Alriyn still mourned Tresten’s wisdom. The Mage had been Second Eldest prior to Alriyn taking the role, and had long been a friend when he had few. Now was a time when he wished for friends.
There had been a time when the Eldest had been a friend, a time when they both shared the same desire—to understand the mahne so they could serve the gods—but that had been years before. As his friend had risen in prominence on the Council, Jostephon had changed, leaving behind that curious mind Alriyn had prized. Could he renew that friendship? For the good of the Magi—and the Urmahne—he would do it. If any of the Magi would understand the need to find the Uniter, it would be Jostephon.
Debate raged through him as he wondered if he should share with Council the assignment Roelle had taken upon herself, how Endric had sent his niece in search of answers he had never managed to find.
He had promised her parents that he would watch over her, but was that what he did? Allowing her to become a soldier?
Not allowing—practically pushing her to become something else.
It had been his encouragement that had led her to take up the sword, though she might never realize it. Because of Alriyn, Roelle did know about the mahne, and she had learned more than any person not of the Council was ever allowed to know. Not only did she know of the mahne, but she now chased rumors, risking her safety as she did. Endric might have made the suggestion, but Alriyn had as much sent her away.
Rendrem shot Crayn an angry look but said nothing, turning instead to the Eldest for support. The Eldest did not answer, and finally Rendrem turned away.
“What of the Deshmahne movements?” Haerlin asked. They had agreed that those among his council would raise the concerns. If Endric was concerned, then Alriyn knew they should be as well. “There are rumors they are in the city.”
“Then the Denraen will take care of it,” the Eldest replied.
How could the Denraen deal with Deshmahne in the city while also worrying about the north? Alriyn considered that they were possibly stretched too thin—and wondered if that might not be part of the reason Endric asked Roelle to go north.
“The south begins to show greater signs of unrest,” Isandra spoke. “They have been firmly Deshmahne for many years, but something there has begun to shift.”
Alriyn did not listen; they had discussed this at their last meeting. He stared at the Eldest, wondering. Jostephon had been distant, disappearing as he often did in his studies, and had frequently dismissed ideas that ran counter to his own. His position entitled him to it. Could Alriyn sway him?
“The delegates will reunite the south,” Rendrem said. “We can leverage that influence through the Magi we send with them. We will bring others here to train, and continue to exert our influence.”
That could work, he knew. Over time, they would have more and more delegates, each trained by the Magi, and each offering their counsel. Any other time, he would have thought it could work, but they didn’t have time. Not before what needed to be done.
“They might reunite the south,” Alriyn said, the skepticism in his voice making it clear how little he believed that likely, “but they can do nothing in the north.”
“The rumors—”
Alriyn leaned forward, resisting the rising agitation within him. “They are more than rumors. I have seen it.”
He shifted his gaze to the Eldest, watching for signs of reaction, but there weren’t any.
Rendrem frowned at him. “And yet you still allowed our Magi and their escort to venture north? Don’t you think that is dangerous, Alriyn?”
Alriyn held his gaze, ign
oring the strange crawling sensation in his mind. “I did not allow her to go, but think the apprentices leaving is no more dangerous than ignoring the threat entirely.”
He stared at Rendrem until he lowered his gaze.
Alriyn sighed, hopeful that Roelle would have greater luck. They needed answers, and soon, or not only the nations of the south would be divided, but the Magi was well.
Chapter Eight
Allay Lansington, second son to King Richard, second in line to the throne of Gom Aaldia, made his way through the massive courtyard of the third level of Vasha. His eyes darted around him as he surveyed everything, never resting, much as he’d never rested while in Gomald. At least here, he didn’t have to fear his father’s men watching him, following him, like back home. But he still struggled with understanding why he was here at all.
That the Magi had selected him of all people to join what they intended here surprised him. He hadn't even asked his father if he would give his approval for his son to join the Magi. If he had, Richard would have refused. His father hated the Magi, blaming them for the fact that Gomald was located too far to the south, too far away from the Tower of the Gods. For some reason, his father seemed to believe the Magi were at fault for the fact that Gomald was too far west. Then again, since his mother's death, Richard had become increasingly paranoid. Now that Richard had a new advisor, Allay thought it the best time to leave, to give his father enough space so that they wouldn't clash anymore.
In that way, it had been fortuitous that the Magi had come. Fortuitous and a little surprising. They claimed he would be able to help them with reestablishing peace, something Allay couldn't help but feel necessary. He'd witnessed firsthand the effect of the Deshmahne priests, seeing how they had gained influence in the city of Gomald.
“You don't have to walk behind me here in Vasha,” Allay said, glancing back at Mendi as she walked just off his left shoulder.
She was a woman of slight build and, though born a slave, had a certain confidence about her that he appreciated. Allay didn't treat her the way others in Gom Aaldia treated her kind. As someone from the island of Salvat, before Gom Aaldia claimed it, she could be nothing else. Yet to him, she was much more. He was thankful his father never saw how much freedom he gave Mendi.
“We have to keep up appearances, don't we, my prince?” she said as they entered the palace.
Allay chuckled. “I think we've always been beyond keeping up appearances, don't you?”
Mendi laughed. She had an easy-going nature, and her voice filled the hallway. Raven dark hair flowed, growing longer since they’d left Gomald. Were she not from Salvat, he might allow himself to find her appealing. Hell, even though she was from Salvat, he found her appealing. Maybe that was because he knew how much it would upset his father. He’d never acted on that attraction. Doing so would only have placed her in danger.
“What do you have planned for today?” Mendi asked.
Allay kept his eyes fixed straight in front of him. “They haven't told us.” Whatever it was, hopefully it was more interesting than what they'd been doing the last few days.
When they had first reached the city, Allay was as impressed as anyone else. Many made treks to Vasha, but reaching it was difficult unless you knew where you were going, and without the Denraen guides, he wasn’t sure they would have found it. From the first sight of the massive wall surrounding the lower terrace, he had been impressed. The wall was easily thirty feet high, much higher than the wall surrounding the palace in Gomald. Had his father seen this wall, Allay suspected he would have demanded his own be built even higher. Then again, Richard would never see this wall. He would never come to Vasha.
Instead, it was Allay who had been invited to the city. Not his older brother, not his father.
“Have you learned anything about the other delegates?” Mendi asked.
He glanced over and noted her gray jacket worn over tight, brown leather pants that hugged her hips. He reminded himself she was a slave. He could do nothing. Mendi was his friend. She had been his friend since the day she had been assigned to him, likely as some sort of joke from his father, given to him as a slave, even though his father knew how he felt about them.
“Not really. There is one from the far west, a man named Stohn…”
Allay knew his geography—his father had demanded that he understand geography— and couldn't believe the man had come as far as he had. He’d never expected to meet someone from El’arash. The man was friendly enough, if not stoic. He had dark brown skin, and with his head shaved, had an imposing appearance. It made the fact that he carried a flower with him wherever he went in the palace all the more amusing. If Allay ever got to know this man better, he hoped to learn why he had chosen to bring a flower with him.
“Have you heard anything through your network?” Allay asked.
Mendi glanced over to him, a half smile on her lips. “My network? You mean the servants?”
Other delegates had each been allowed to bring a servant with them. Allay had met Comity and his brother on his journey to Vasha, surprised that Michael Comity came in place of a servant. Allay had insisted Mendi come with him, mostly because he feared what might happen to her had she remained behind, and he’d wanted the familiarity of having her with him.
That was the only reason.
Allay pulled his gaze away. What would Mendi think if she realized the thoughts that tore through him? They were friends, nothing more. That was it and all they could be. He was second in line to the throne, and she… she hardly had any rights in his city.
“Fine. What have you heard from the servants?”
Mendi laughed softly and clasped her hands behind her back. He tried not to notice how it thrust her chest forward.
“The servants say little. You know that I'm not the only servant with the delegates?”
“I know, though some aren’t really servants.”
Mendi's face clouded. “Yes. He’s not.”
“What is it?”
“You’ve met the man. He's almost as cruel as your father.”
Allay’s jaw dropped before he remembered that he wasn't in Gomald and there was no punishment for her speaking that way. In Gomald, he protected her as much as he could, though there were limits to even his influence.
“He was quiet on the journey here.”
“He’s not in Vasha.”
“I still haven't figured out what we’re doing here.” Allay said.
Mendi studied his face for a minute. “You are here to serve as a delegate to the Magi, which means you represent the Urmahne. I suspect they intend for you to be their voice—reassert their influence back home. They made the mistake of allowing that to wane for too long, and during that time, the Deshmahne became far too powerful.”
Her insight was part of the reason he found her so valuable. Only part of the reason. “It has to be about more than that, don't you think.”
Allay looked around, staring at the walls of the massive palace around them. The smooth stone had impressed him the very first moment he entered the halls. It was almost like the palace itself had been carved from the rock of the mountain and sat atop. He didn't think that possible, but how else could he explain the seamless walls?
The wall surrounding the city had been similar. It wasn't made of individual bricks like those in Gomald. He had wondered if it was some trick the Magi used, smoothing the stone, a way of demonstrating their strength. Either way, it impressed him. That was probably the point.
“That is enough, I think. The Deshmahne would upset the Magi, but the Council should take the blame for allowing them to grow as strong as they have.”
Allay arched a brow at her. She really enjoyed speaking freely in Vasha.
“How long do you think you can be gone before your father gets angry?” Mendi asked.
His father had been distracted lately, though in reality, he had never been anything but distracted. There had been some activity with the soldiers, which possibly meant h
e planned something… or not. “My father is mostly concerned about his throne,” he said.
“Lately, your father has been concerned about other things.”
“Such as?”
“He takes advice from one who does not seem to have the best interest of Gom Aaldia.”
Allay didn't know his father's new advisor, other than the fact that he had one. It was unusual enough. His father rarely listened to anyone, especially since his mother's death. When she was alive, the queen had been a calming influence, taking an edge off of his father. But since her demise, lost to the strange wasting disease, her mind gone in those last few days, he had not been the same.
“I need to take this opportunity to learn as much as I can, forge whatever connections we can make, to keep Gom Aaldia from—”
“From what? Do you think that what the Magi will teach you will keep your father from attacking if he gets that in his head?”
“My father wouldn't attack.”
“Are you certain? The rumors in Gomald before we left were that he was readying for war.”
If true, if his father was readying for war, it made his absence even more significant. Allay was expected to lead one arm of the army, and with him missing, his father would have more reason to be angry with the Magi.
But… If Allay could return with the Magi support, if he could return with knowledge given to him by the Magi, perhaps his father would recognize his value to the kingdom.
Allay had to hope that would be the case.
“See what you can find—”
He didn't get a chance to finish. Michael Comity stepped into the hallway and appeared to take note of Mendi. A sneer twisted his lips. Allay looked past him and saw his brother Thomasen, the delegate from Thealon. Why would Michael look at Mendi that way?
As they approached, Allay nodded politely. “Delegate Comity,” he said.
Comity nodded carefully. “Prince Lansington.” He pushed past him and hurried down the hallway. Allay followed them with his eyes, noting how Thomasen's brother looked back and watched both him and Mendi.
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