The Lost Prophecy Boxset

by D. K. Holmberg

  The text was the founding of all their people. It held the history of those from whom they had all descended. That text was the gift given to them by the gods themselves, the one that put forth the need to maintain the peace. The warnings written inside, scrawled in the ancient language, had provided a warning for his people to follow.

  Peace must be maintained. If it was not, the gods could not return.

  Alriyn stood in front of the book, looking down at the thick binding. It was made of something like dense parchment, dyed a royal blue that had faded only slightly over time. A single symbol was placed on the cover, that of a series of interlocking triangles surrounded by a circle. As he often did when looking at the symbol, Alriyn could almost imagine the shape of the palace, the series of towers surrounded by the circular wall. That had been the inspiration for the construction.

  It'd been months since he had come to this room and stood before the mahne. This was a place of power, a place of reflection, a place that only those who served as Elders ever truly understood.

  Alriyn reached through the protective barrier shielding the mahne, touching the book’s cover, and flipped it open.

  A thrill ran through him that came from knowing that by touching these pages, by running his fingers along the lines of text, he connected somehow to the past, to those who came before him. Doing so connected him to his people, and connected him to a greater knowledge than he possessed.

  His eyes scanned the page, taking in the words. He had long ago memorized each page. When he had first been raised to the Council, when he had first become one of the Elders and had been shown this room, he had spent days here, immersing himself in this text. Alriyn had long enjoyed scholarship, and this… This book was the epitome of his people's studies.

  His eyes skimmed across the words, taking in each one, recognizing the warnings that were written there. The Founders had taken these words and turned them into what had become the Urmahne faith. The Book of Urmahne was given to each priest, occupied each temple, including the half-dozen within Vasha, and all were derived from this one work.

  And still, it was incomplete.

  Sections of the mahne were missing. As Alriyn flipped to the back, he found the damaged fragments. His gaze stopped at the interrupted words. Many had tried to puzzle together the missing pieces, had tried to understand what the gods might have wanted them to know, but there was no way of really knowing.

  As he stepped back and closed the book, he wished he knew what had been on those pages. His mentor claimed it was only fitting that his people not know exactly what it was that they needed to do to serve the gods, but it was a sentiment he didn’t always share. If they knew, wouldn’t they be better able to serve?

  A soft shuffling near him disrupted his thoughts.

  He turned and saw the Eldest watching him.

  Jostephon nodded. “What brings you here today, Alriyn?”

  Back when they had first been raised to the Council and simply served as Elders, they both thought they could raise the Magi influence, return it to what it had been centuries before, but in the last few decades, the Eldest had stopped including Alriyn in his decisions, and Alriyn had not pressed. His interests had never really been about leading; rather he preferred to study, to search. He had spent the greatest part of his time among the Council studying the mahne, seeking greater understanding, and few understood it as well as he did.

  Only the Eldest could claim the same level of knowledge. They had once studied together, discovering aspects of that prophecy that drove them both, learning that the Magi had once been more than Magi. And now, the Eldest seemed to have abandoned what they knew.

  “Troubled thoughts, Jostephon.” Formality disappeared within this room. Here, they were all nothing more than Magi standing before the wisdom of the gods.

  “Do you still question what we do with the delegates?” Jostephon asked.

  “I'm not sure that the delegates will achieve the level of influence we think they will.”

  “They will have an easier time of it than the Magi.”

  Alriyn nodded. “Perhaps. It's possible that they'll have an easier time, but what do we expect of them? What do you really think they'll be able to accomplish?”

  Jostephon nodded toward the mahne. “We seek to return knowledge to the people. Is that not what the Founders would've wanted from us?”

  “If that's what we truly are after, I question whether we have chosen the right pathway.”

  Jostephon stepped next to him and reached his hand through the barrier to the mahne. As he did, he scratched his arm, pulling his sleeves down. He flipped open the mahne, running his finger across the page quickly. “We are led to believe this is the wisdom of the gods.”

  “You don't think the gods provided us this wisdom?”

  Jostephon shrugged. “Who's to say? What we call the gods, others view as something else.”

  Alriyn frowned. Had Jostephon discovered something in his studies? It was not uncommon for him to disappear for months at a time, traveling, searching for some new piece of information. It was a practice that Alriyn himself had modeled. There was a reason he had gone north. Few of the rest of the Council followed their lead, but few of the rest of the Council had the same interests.

  “What else would they be other than gods?”

  Jostephon closed the book and rested his hands on it. “What else indeed? Most believe the Magi still speak to the gods.”

  Alriyn had only once spoken to one of the gods, and that had come in a dream. It had been a vision, one that had instructed him to chase knowledge, to search for answers. It had been that vision, that dream, that had started him on his pathway toward learning. Had Jostephon had a similar vision?

  “Perhaps the gods are truly gone for good. Perhaps there is another answer.” Jostephon took a step back, and for a moment, Alriyn thought he might take the mahne with him. Instead, he left it, sliding it slightly on the top of the pedestal. Alriyn resisted the urge to reach through the barrier and slide it back into place. It seemed disrespectful to leave it disrupted like that. Yet, he knew that was just his imagination. It was only a book. One of power and knowledge, but still only words.

  “Have you spent much time with the delegates?” Alriyn asked.

  Jostephon shook his head. “Others will do a better job than I can. My strength was never with instruction.”

  Alriyn chuckled softly. “I think you underestimate yourself, old friend.”

  Jostephon closed his eyes tightly. “Perhaps.”

  “If our plan with the delegates is going to work, this will need to be only the first wave of many,” Alriyn said, sharing a suggestion Karrin had made. “We could continue bringing delegates to the city, continue to train them.”

  Jostephon said nothing.

  The sliver of hope that he had begun to have, thinking that perhaps these delegates might help them deal with the Deshmahne, faded slightly. Whatever his small council did, they would ultimately need the Eldest's approval. Right now, working covertly with his small group felt deceptive.

  “When will your niece return?” Jostephon asked.

  Alriyn blinked. Had Jostephon just been reading his thoughts? “Hopefully soon. From what I understand, they went to see if the Deshmahne proved a danger in the north.” He considered sharing more with Jostephon but something held him back.

  There was a strange crawling sensation in the back of his mind, almost an itch, that Alriyn chose to ignore.

  Jostephon smiled. “Deshmahne? They think they can do more than the Denraen?”

  Alriyn shrugged. “Roelle saw more than I can claim on her return journey to the city. The others… They think—”

  “They think to play at being soldiers as well?”

  “Our Founders were soldiers,” Alriyn reminded.

  “The Founders laid down their weapons as they founded the Urmahne. Does Roelle now seek to abandon our beliefs?”

  Alriyn had to choose his words carefully. He didn't want
to risk Roelle’s safety and needed to keep Jostephon as an ally, especially if they were to find a way to eliminate the Deshmahne threat in the city.

  “She does not abandon the Urmahne.” Alriyn turned to Jostephon. “Let the apprentices have this. They will return soon.”

  “One can only hope they return intact. There are dangerous rumors out of the north.”

  Alriyn nodded, resisting the urge to ask Jostephon what rumors he might have heard. It was bad enough that he had sent Roelle, that he had allowed her to go, without knowing more.

  Without saying another word, Jostephon turned and swept out of the chamber, disappearing back into the library, leaving Alriyn standing alone.

  Before leaving, he reached through the barrier and move the mahne back into place.

  When he withdrew his hands, he added another layer to the barrier.

  Chapter Ten

  The room echoed with the sound of Locken’s footsteps. Each heavy step was answered by a call that rang from the walls and weighed heavily on his heart. A shadow seemed to envelop the room, sucking the light from the fire and candles. Almost as if there were a presence within the room. Locken shuddered silently to himself and forced the dark thoughts from his mind.

  His blue eyes darted quickly along the walls searching for hidden figures. The Deathguard must be hiding somewhere. They never left the king, so they must be here. He gave up as he realized he was unable to see deep enough into the darkness.

  A tickling at his mind came quickly and was gone again, but another shudder coursed through him, leaving a trail of goose pimples along his arms. He briskly rubbed his large hands, rough and callused from his years of hard work, along his bared skin as he walked, little warmth gained but a distraction from his thoughts nonetheless.

  His head turned slowly to face forward again, and his eyes caught on the dim shape of the large chair near the end of the room. A tall figure sat lazily within the confines of the huge throne. Three other figures stood at a careful distance from the chair. He knew they waited for his arrival, but hadn’t known he would be the last to arrive. The echoes along the walls increased their pace as he hastened his steps. It would not be good to approach the High King too casually.

  As he neared the throne, a strange smell came to his nostrils. It felt heavy, cloying, and he could almost taste the fumes. There was something about it that was sweet, but sickly sweet as if covering something worse. What it covered, he could only guess. The undertones were of something pungent.

  His stomach turned slightly at the smell, and he glanced about quickly for its source but was unsuccessful. The strange dimness of the room did not allow for prying eyes.

  He stopped near the other men and dropped quickly to one knee, his hand squeezing the hilt of his sword, his knuckles whitening, as he lowered his head. “May the gods welcome us this day, my lord.” The required greeting came out quietly, his words seemingly hushed by the heaviness in the room.

  “May they grant their protection once again,” came a deep voice with the chanted reply.

  His gaze turned up. He saw the lean face of the High King nod to him, the man’s short, graying hair parted slightly to the side. He stood slowly and stepped back into line with the other three kings. As he took a step backward, he thought he saw the shape of a cloaked figure standing behind the High King, but it was quickly gone. Did the darkness fool him, or was it simply one of the Deathguard?

  “It’s good you could make it, Locken. We have much to discuss.” The High King’s words seemed unusually loud within the large throne room.

  He nodded a curt reply, unsure if the comment carried tones of sarcasm. Recently, Richard always seemed to speak in tones of dark sarcasm. It made it difficult to decide what could be ignored.

  “You were all asked to begin preparations, as have begun here. I trust everything has gone as ordered?”

  Locken looked quickly to his sides and saw the other kings nod quickly. His own nod came more slowly.

  He didn’t like Richard’s sudden interference in his kingdom. He and the others had been left to their separate rule for years with little direction from the High King. Those dictums that did come were usually nothing of import, and he used his own judgment to carry out what he felt prudent. Few were.

  Lately though, Richard had been calling for him and the other kings to carry out certain laws that seemed strange to him. First, Richard had demanded that trade with Thealon be cut off, trade that was a vital part of the Saeline economy. King Robden had been required to halt all movement in and out of his harbor. The other kings had similar requirements, all closing Gom Aaldia off from neighboring nations.

  Worse though, was that Richard had changed laws Locken had known his whole life, imposing new punishments and demanding they be enforced. And for the first time, he sent advisors to ensure that they were. It had become increasingly difficult for him to justify some of the High King’s requirements. He wondered how much longer his people would have to suffer through Richard’s new eccentricities, and he was sure it was the same for the other kings.

  It irritated him because many of the king’s orders seemed strange, and he had struggled to enforce them. He supposed he had grown too accustomed to the freedom of rule, but it did not change the fact that there were some things he would not put his people through.

  “You seem uncertain, Locken.” Piercing eyes pulled him from his reverie. “You have begun preparations as ordered?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed heads of the other kings turned in his direction. A smile turned on the lips of the man standing farthest from him, but he ignored it for now. Jeslen had always been jealous at the size of his holdings, and the fact that he was on the mainland.

  His reply came quicker this time; a nod that staved off further questioning. He had begun the preparations ordered, but only barely. He needed to maintain the image of obedience. My people deserve better than this king.

  “Good.” The deep bass voice seemed somewhat limp in the strange dimness of the room. “I suppose you all would like to know what we prepare for.”

  Locken noticed nods from the other kings, slow and dignified, yet eager all the same. His own nod was careful.

  “Many of you have heard the tales of strange happenings in the north.”

  More nods. The tales were hard to ignore, frightening as they were. Cities north of Rondalin were empty. His own holdings had taken on many immigrants, more than he had ever seen. Considering how many likely went to Thealon, the numbers moving south must be enormous. Had he not been forced to deal with Richard’s strange requirements, he would have been better informed. As it was, his attention needed to be focused internally.

  “Many of you worry for the day rumor will come to your ears that the threat in the north is pushing southward.” More nods. The High King smiled. It seemed darker than necessary. “But rumors are simply that. Rumors.”

  “Why prepare then?” King Robden interrupted. “To aid the northerners in defense if these rumors turn out to be true?” Locken knew him to be an honorable man, the oldest of the four regional kings and wise with his years. He had lived during the reign of three different high kings and Locken suspected Richard was the least favored of them.

  A smile escaped Richard’s lips. “Help them?” he asked. “No.” A shake of the head and a light laugh. “We will attack Thealon while their attention is to the north. They closely watch their northern borders. While they are distracted by these rumors, we’ll make our move. With the city and the Tower under my rule, we will have no reason to worry even if these rumors are true.” His words stopped momentarily, and his fingers gripped the sides of the throne. His hands pushed against the arms of the chair as Richard brought himself up. “The gods will be on our side once again when we stand before their tower!”

  Locken tensed. How much of this rhetoric was coming from the damned warrior priests he’d heard were moving through the southern realms? They sought violence, and claimed strength through battle, but his
own holding had known nothing but peace for generations. As they shared a border with Thealon, Locken had nearly as much in common with them as he did with the rest of Gom Aaldia.

  Worse, if their preparations were not to aid the northerners, they should at least remain at home ready to defend their own lands, not run off to conquer Thealon. “Should we not be concerned with the protection of our own holdings, sire? What if this threat in the north is real? We will not be here for our own people when needed.” As he finished, he knew he had spoken more than he should. A dark glint came to the High King’s face. It was usually a sign of bad portents.

  “You question my command, King Locken?” The words dripped sarcasm. It wasn’t the tone he had expected.

  “I would never question, sire.” He feigned obedience and forced himself to meet the High King’s gaze, refusing to give him the fear Richard wanted. “Only offer my advice. I know the High King is a busy man. I wanted to ensure everything has been examined thoroughly.”

  “You question my thoroughness now?”

  This was not going as Locken had hoped. He had never sat very high in Richard’s favor, but this was something else.

  “Or is it my devotion to the people you doubt?”

  Locken shook his head quickly, and refrained from voicing his true opinion on the matter. “No, sire, merely worried about the fate of your nation and the people you protect.”

  Richard smiled, much darker this time. “Let me worry about my nation and my people. You should worry about carrying out my orders promptly.”

  Ice flowed through him. Richard was aware of his delays. “Of course, sire.” He paused a moment, reflecting on Richard’s expression. He wasn’t sure what should follow. What assurances does he need? “My obedience has been and always will be to the throne.” A careful pronouncement of his fealty, but the most he was willing to offer at the moment.

  A slow nod, slight, came from the High King as he sat thoughtfully on the throne. A finger pursed lightly on his lips and an occasional nod of his head made him appear to be listening to something.