It came with the emptiness that she had to sink into when sparring. She remembered the first time she had worked with Endric, the way he had taught her how to open her mind, expand that sense of consciousness, and immerse herself into it. He described it as finding her center, the core part of her. He had promised that when she could do that, she would be a capable fighter. He claimed that any man could reach that state, and that any man could develop such skill, but few could truly reach the center, the core, and maintain it. Some found it from time to time but couldn’t stay deep within it. That was what prevented them from reaching something greater than themselves.
When Roelle practiced, lifting the wooden stave, she always managed to find that peace. What did it mean that the sense of peace came to her so similarly to the way she had to use her Magi abilities? It couldn't be that they were connected, could it?
Strange that Endric would be able to demonstrate it for her, sinking into that as well.
Roelle glanced at the line of soldiers pulling up and waited. They were four across now, ready to split off if needed, prepared for a single hand gesture on her part for them to do so.
Without needing much prompting, Selton, Matthew, and Jhun once more rode forward. Like before, Lendra and Hester came along. They searched the village, moving quickly. Much like the last village, this one was empty. Unlike the last village, it appeared as if these people had departed more hastily.
Some of the doors weren't fully closed. Rain that had seeped in left floors damp. In one house, a meal remained on the table, the food long since gone stale or rotten, a stool tipped over out of the way. One house had been partially destroyed by fire, and Roelle could almost imagine the people having to quickly escape their home before abandoning their village.
What would make them run away like this?
Again, this was too far north. Where were the Denraen who should have provided protection? How were the Deshmahne eluding them?
Lendra’s nose wrinkled as it had at the last village. “I don't think this is the Deshmahne. This is something else.”
Roelle nodded. Maybe not even an attack. There was no sign of violence other than the hasty departure. Something had chased these people away. This was different from what she’d seen of the Deshmahne attacks.
“This is what Endric warned of,” Hester said. “I don’t think he expected Deshmahne as far north as we’ve faced them, but he said places were abandoned. Didn’t expect to see it quite like this.”
For the first time, Roelle began to have a sense of the rumors they heard from the north. This was what Alriyn said he’d seen. People abandoning their homes. Villages empty. But where would they have gone? They'd seen no sign of travelers in there two weeks on the road. Nothing other than two empty villages and the one village that had been attacked by the Deshmahne.
Hester made a mark of the Urmahne across his chest, a gesture intended to summon the gods’ favor. How many of the Denraen were as devout as it appeared Hester was?
“We should go,” Hester said. “I don't know what happened here, but we need to keep moving. Whatever this is, I think we’re heading in the right direction.”
“This isn't what we're looking for. We’re searching for the Antrilii,” Matthew said.
Hester nodded. “I’m beginning to think that when you find the Antrilii, you’ll understand why the north needed roving warriors, don't you?”
Roelle watched him. He knew more than he let on. He had to, which was why Endric had sent him. But why had he sent her? Was it only the Deshmahne? Did he know that they would encounter them as often as they had? Had Endric expected the Magi to help deal with the threat? If so, why not simply tell her?
“They're nomads. Nothing more than that,” Jhun said.
Hester faced her with an amused expression. “Is that what you really think? Why would the north have roving warriors?”
“What do you know that you aren’t telling us?” Selton asked.
Hester shrugged. “I know as much about the Antrilii as you do. Endric doesn’t speak of them, and keeps the Denraen from pressing this far north.” His mouth tightened into a grim smile. “We need to ask questions. And I think that’s why he sent us here.”
They searched the village a little more, but found no other evidence that would help them understand what had happened. They rejoined the others, and a sense of dread began rising within Roelle.
As they rode away from the village, she couldn't help but glance back for one last look at the village before it disappeared behind the rise of the hill. How many more villages would they find? How many more places would they come across empty and deserted like this? What did it mean that so many had already been abandoned?
None of them spoke as they met up with the others, a different sort of pall hanging over them this time.
Alriyn awoke, but not really. He looked around. He was in his room, noting the dresser and the tapestries hanging on the wall that he’d collected long ago, and the plush, brown carpet covering the floor, but everything looked as though a haze covered it, almost like thick smoke. Standing from his bed, he turned and walked toward his office. A sound, a heavy grunt, startled him and he turned. Was he not alone?
There was a shape on his bed, and he walked over to it.
“You are asleep,” a voice behind him said.
Alriyn spun, his heart fluttering in his chest. What was happening?
“You are asleep,” the voice said again. It was soft, high pitched, and the haze obscured the owner. “I have summoned you.”
“Who are you?” Alriyn asked. His voice was steady and it surprised him. He stretched, trying to open his mind to reach for his abilities, and found that he could not.
“You are asleep,” the voice said again.
A shape became visible in the haze. She was tall, willowy thin. As she moved forward, long hair became visible. Yet she was like nothing he had ever seen before. As impossibly beautiful as she was tall, Alriyn suddenly knew what he was seeing.
A goddess.
The Magi had kept up the belief that they still spoke with the unseen gods, but as far as Alriyn knew, no one had actually spoken to one of the gods for centuries, in spite of different attempts to do so. For years, the Magi believed the teralin mined in Vasha the key to reaching them, but that had done nothing, and the practice had been abandoned. Alriyn had never spoken to the gods directly, never anything like this. He’d had the vision when he was much younger, but it wasn’t anything like this. This… this was real.
This was a goddess standing in front of him. Speaking to him.
And he was unprepared.
“You summoned me?” He looked over his shoulder and saw where he was lying on the bed.
The woman nodded. “I did,” she said. “You are needed again.”
“Again?”
The woman stepped closer and Alriyn saw that she was smiling. “The last time we spoke, you listened.”
“The last time?” he repeated. “It was you,” he said as a wave of realization swept through him and the memory became complete. “You’re why I focused on the Founding, why I study what I do.”
She nodded. “You listened.” There was a musical quality to her voice, and she smelled of flowers as she stepped closer to him. “And you are needed again.”
Alriyn composed himself before answering. “Of course. How can I serve the gods?”
She smiled again. “You must leave the north to the young.”
“But the rumors—”
“The Magi must remain in the north,” the goddess repeated.
“Endric sent them to find the Antrilii.”
“That is good.” She was not fully formed, not real, and the smoky haze seemed a part of her, floating and drifting through the room. “Protect your city. There are those who would destroy what you have protected.” She paused. “Do not let him have a presence here.”
“Who?” Alriyn asked, but realized he already knew. The High Priest. The smoke was thinning, and as i
t did, the goddess drifted away.
“Protect the mahne. Protect your Founding. It is what he seeks,” she said. “I do not yet know what use it will be to him, but he must not have it.” Her voice came from farther away this time, and Alriyn knew she was leaving. “Protect it. You are needed.”
“I will,” Alriyn answered, unaware that he was nodding. The room was nearly free of the haze now, and he felt himself pulled back toward his bed.
“Now awaken,” she whispered and was gone.
Chapter Seventeen
Allay slowly climbed the face of the smooth rock wall surrounding the second terrace. Most of it was difficult to climb because there was nothing to grab onto. Maybe those who built it had never intended that anyone climb from terrace to terrace. Which, the more he thought of it, the more likely that was the case.
Despite that, there still seemed to be sections of the wall that were easier to climb because vines crept up the wall providing natural handholds. He squeezed onto the vines, holding them tightly as he made his way up. At one point, he slipped, his hand missing the next place to grab, and he started slipping down the face of the smooth wall.
Allay cursed under his breath, but cut it off. This close to the gods, would his swearing anger them? Then again, this was just what he needed: Dying while trying to sneak in for a view of someplace he was not meant to be.
As he reached higher, his hand got snarled in a section of vine. It twisted around his hand and he again lost his footing, swinging away from the wall before slamming into it again, finally coming to a stop. Allay allowed himself to take a few slow breaths.
Gods! If he had fallen all the way from here, he would have… He didn’t know what would have happened. As he glanced down, noting the ground at the base of the wall far below, he shivered.
Allay repositioned himself and began climbing up the rock again. He moved more carefully, sliding his hands from grip to grip, working his way toward the top of the wall. Once there, he grabbed onto the lip, and pulled himself up stretched out atop the wall, his breathing labored and his heart hammering in his chest, sending something akin to a vibration through him.
After a while, he sat up. The sounds of practice, that of men hollering, swords clanging, wood cracking, drifted up to him. Now that he had reached the top of the wall, seeing the Denraen practicing was his reward. Allay had made the climb, curious about the Denraen, wanting to watch the soldiers as they trained. The few times he’d seen them, it was clear how they practiced with intensity and with a brutal sort of efficiency. Gom Aaldian soldiers were skilled, but these men, when he’d seen them in battle, were more than simply skilled.
Allay looked out into the yard. There was movement near him, almost directly below, and he looked down. He counted nearly one hundred Denraen soldiers, all marching together, splitting off into various formations before coming back together. At a single gesture, they parted, stepping aside, before merging back together.
Not far down the yard, he observed several pairs of soldiers engaged in mock combat, using their swords as they struck, back and forth, a deadly sort of dance.
“They are impressive, are they not?”
Allay spun, and nearly toppled off the wall.
His heart surged anew in his chest, and he swallowed back a lump that had formed in his throat. He glanced up and saw the strange, dark-skinned man from the El’arash. Stohn. He had been silent in their lessons for the most part. Stohn had watched the Magi, not with the same sort of amused level of suspicion, bordering on distrust, that he'd seen from Dougray or Danvayn, or Simion, the other delegate from the south, but more with the expression of a man who hadn't come to a decision.
“They are.” Allay didn't know what else to say.
Stohn settled onto the wall next to him. He wore maroon leather breaches that went to his midcalf. And a silky white shirt that hung open, revealing much of his chest. He crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging. Allay wondered whether Stohn was a soldier where he came from. Was that the reason for his interest, or was it similar to Allay’s?
“I have been coming here to observe the last few days. I do not think they mind.”
Allay blinked. “The last few days? How is it that you get up here?” Maybe Stohn had an easier way of climbing the rock wall than what Allay had chosen. If he did, it might make the view almost worthwhile. Almost.
Stohn pointed back toward the sheer rock leading up to the third terrace. “I climbed down.”
Allay studied the wall, trying to find a way to actually climb down. The drop from the third to the second was even higher than what he’d climbed, making it seem more difficult than scaling the wall. Not just difficult, but practically impossible. The wall was equally smooth, and probably stretched another fifty feet, a staggering height for someone to climb down. And then, it required him to balance on the narrow width of the wall. It meant he had to perfectly time his descent.
“Where did you climb down from?”
Stohn turned back and motioned toward the wall at the base of the rock. “There. There was a rope, so I don't think I was the first to do this.”
Interesting. Who would've left a rope descending from the third terrace down to the Denraen practice yard?
“What have you seen, if you've come here the last few days?”
“The Denraen prepare for an attack.”
Allay chuckled. “I think they prepare for an attack constantly. Whether one comes is a different matter.”
“This is something different. In my land, we have many soldiers. I have witnessed such movements in the past. When they come, it can mean only one thing.”
“What one thing?”
“War is coming.”
Allay almost started laughing, but saw that Stohn wore a serious expression. This was not a man accustomed to making a joke.
“The Magi wouldn't allow anything to get to that point. The primary purpose of the Denraen is to keep the peace,” he said
“Perhaps that is their intent. As I said, I have seen men preparing like these men do now. Perhaps the Denraen always prepare that way. Perhaps they are always ready for war.”
They sat quietly on the wall, neither of them saying anything, both simply observing as the Denraen moved in formation, making a few more quick movements before coming back together in the center of the yard. When they did, Allay noted a smaller man, one he recognized even from here. He had seen him during their travels. General Endric had been imposing even then. He was not particularly impressive up close, that is, until Allay had seen him practicing with his sword. Allay had the sense that Endric alone would be able to stop most battles.
He barked out a few orders, and the men marched off, leaving the yard empty once more.
“In my land, we know of General Endric. He is considered the finest swordsman to have ever lived,” Stohn said. “When the Denraen come for their Choosing, all eligible men willingly offer themselves. All would take the opportunity to learn from the general.”
“I've often wondered why they take the best from each land. It weakens them. Some of my father’s men have come to train, and Endric has chosen the best of them.”
Stohn glanced over at him. “Does it? I like to think that by choosing the best from each land, they are strengthening the defenses for all of us.”
With that comment, Stohn stood and walked along the wall, leaving Allay sitting by himself. When he reached the sheer rock wall of the third terrace, he grabbed what Allay suspected was the rope and quickly scaled it, reaching the top easily before disappearing back into the third terrace.
Allay continued to stare, wondering about the strange man. He hadn't bothered to get to know him well before now. He was interesting, perhaps more interesting than any of the other delegates Allay had met. The others were mostly amused by what they as delegates did here, but Stohn seemed to take his task seriously.
Allay wasn't certain he knew how seriously to take this assignment.
He considered following Stohn ba
ck up the rope to the third terrace, but decided against it. Instead, he would risk himself going down the way he came up. He hoped the gods favored him and kept him from tumbling to his death.
Locken walked the streets of Gomald. It was busy today, with people throughout the city bustling along, making their way to merchant shops, some pushing carts, others riding or carrying baskets. He still couldn't shake the strange sensation that had been creeping through his mind when he’d been with Richard.
Two of his guards trailed him. They did so quietly, not drawing attention to their presence, but there in case he were to need them. Locken didn't anticipate needing their support, but they had been trained to protect their king. And to them, he was their king, not Richard.
He stopped at an intersection, glancing toward the ocean, noticing the distant movement of ships coming in and out of the port. Gomald was situated far to the south, the capital removed from much of the rest of the land, founded atop the bones of a more ancient—and greater—city. Remnants of that place remained, though hidden. Locken had learned to look for them, as they could be found throughout Gomald.
The distance from the rest of the country was the reason he struggled so much with Richard's influence upon Saeline. All he wanted was for his people to be left alone, to prosper in peace. Once, his ancestors had ruled the people of Saeline as a separate kingdom, but over a hundred years ago, they were united—or conquered—under the Lansington banner. It was one many of his people still chafed under.
Locken had never particularly struggled with it. It was all he’d ever known, but then, Richard had always remained out of the affairs of the surrounding kingdoms, offering suggestions, enjoying the levies he placed on the kingdoms, but never truly interfering. What did it mean that he chose to intervene now?
Something had changed.
Locken reached the shore and paused, studying the ships. Saeline was landlocked, and he had little experience on ships, not like those of the Royal Navy. Robden knew the seas, had served as captain on one of Gom Aaldia’s ships, but Locken’s strength was on land. He knew how to use cavalry and archers, and knew tactics, but was thankful they had rarely been needed. The only times he needed them now were to slow the raiders thinking to pilfer from his people.
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