The Lost Prophecy Boxset

by D. K. Holmberg

  Ships with Coamdon and Liispal flags moored in the docks. Gomald was a center of trade, bringing in ships from both the north and the south. This was something even Thealon couldn't claim, even with the Tower of the Gods. It was something all of Gom Aaldia should be proud of; they should not feel like they had to prove anything. And yet, Richard still resented Thealon’s influence on the Urmahne.

  “You should've notified me that you were coming out here alone.”

  Locken looked over to see Lonn. His closest advisor—and oldest friend—was stout, solid muscle, but had an even stronger mind.

  “I needed to clear my mind.”

  “What troubles you?”

  “This,” he said, waving toward the ships. “All of this. Our trade. Prosperity. It depends on peace. What happens with what Richard has asked of us?”

  “Considering the activity I've seen throughout the city, I imagine he intends military action.”

  Locken nodded. “Military action. An attack. He intends for us to claim Thealon.”

  Lonn started laughing until he realized that Locken didn’t join in. “Can I ask why?”

  Locken shrugged. “We can always ask why. It doesn't mean he’ll provide an answer.”

  “What does he ask of Saeline?”

  Locken shook his head. Already, he was thinking of the troops he would have to gather, the supplies they would have to bring together, all of the steps needed to satisfy Richard's demand. “Right now? I think all he needs is me. He intends me to lead.”

  “You are his most capable general.”

  Locken turned away from the shores, motioning to his friend to join him as they made their way back into the city. “Am I? We've been so rarely challenged over the years. Fighting raiders, even massive collections of raiders like we have in Saeline, isn't the same as handling prolonged military action.”

  “I think you sell yourself short. There's a reason Richard wants your involvement. Probably much of it is related to your training. Were you not king, you would have been Chosen.”

  Locken smiled. There were times when he thought serving the Denraen would have been easier, but it was not for him. He had trained with them, had traveled to Vasha and served under Endric to learn, but had been summoned home after his father’s death.

  “Not only that, but you have proven yourself adept at suppressing raider attacks along your border.”

  “My border?”

  Lonn shrugged. “Fine, our border.” Lonn glanced over at him. “When will this begin?”

  “I'm not entirely certain. He made a point of calling me out. I have been too… hesitant for him in the past.”

  “Gods! It's not like you don't have a kingdom to rule.”

  “It's more than that, and I think Richard recognizes my reluctance.”

  They continued through the city, neither speaking. As they turned and the massive palace came into view, Lonn said, “You know that I will support you.”

  Locken nodded curtly. “I know you will.”

  It still was good for him to hear it. Knowing that Lonn was on his side would help with any decision he had to make. Locken wasn't certain what decision that would be, but he had a troubled sense that whatever he decided would have broader implications than he realized.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The inside of the tavern was boisterous. Back in Gomald, Allay rarely spent much time in taverns because doing so only put a target on him. He could be protected, surrounded by his father's soldiers, but that only isolated him.

  There was something freeing about sitting in the tavern, holding a mug of ale, sitting across from Mendi, and not fearing what others might say—or do. Here in Vasha, he was just Allay, delegate to the Magi. Here, he could sit next to Mendi, enjoy her company, and maybe… Allay pushed the thought away with a smile.

  “What are you grinning about?” Mendi asked.

  “I don't think I'm grinning about anything.”

  Mendi took a long drink from her mug. He didn't think she was drinking ale. He'd never seen her drinking anything other than tea, the preferred drink of those from Salvat. “You’re grinning. You’re thinking about something.”

  He flushed and changed topics. “I met the delegate from El’arash.”

  “I would've expected you to have met him when you first came to the city. Gods, even I've met Stohn.”

  Allay arched a brow and leaned forward, taking another drink. Even the ale here was lighter and tastier than any in Gomald. “You have? How many of the delegates have you met?”

  Mendi shrugged. “A few,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “Stohn isn’t particularly concerned about appearances. He explores the city more than you.” There was a hint of an accusation in the comment.

  A slight flush crept into his cheeks. That freedom had been one thing he'd enjoyed about the time here. The delegates all spent long hours in classrooms, learning from the Magi. They were taught geography and politics and teachings of faith, but they combined that with many evenings of freedom.

  “Have you been watching him?” Allay asked, taking another drink of ale.

  “It's hard not to watch him. He travels many of the same places that I do.”

  He’d asked Mendi to follow the servants of the other delegates, to try to get to know them. He wouldn't pressure her about how she managed to do so.

  “Have you heard the rumors?” she asked.

  “What rumors? I've been stuck in these sessions with the Magi, learning nothing more than what they want to teach about geography and politics.” He was surprised they had not spent much time talking about the Deshmahne. That seemed an oversight, especially considering he thought they were the reason the delegates were here.

  “Forgive me for forgetting how you get to spend time with the Magi, the hands of the gods. How tortured you are.” She cupped her tea to her nose and inhaled, hiding a smile.

  Allay grinned and took another swig of his ale. “I never said I was tortured. But you know, it's good you understand the sacrifices I'm making.”

  She nearly spit out her drink. “You should know there are rumors coming from the south. From Gom Aaldia and Gomald itself. “

  “What rumors from Gomald?”

  “I've heard your father has men mobilized.”

  Allay shrugged. “That could mean many different things. That doesn't necessarily mean they're readying for war.”

  “No, it doesn't. But it's troubling to me that they're moving to Bastiin.”

  That was Robden's land. Now he understood her concern. It was farther north of Gomald, and would require Robden to take a pivotal role in supplying and maintaining any men. It wasn't that Robden would be unwilling—he knew Robden to be an honorable man and if his father requested and required something of him, Robden would comply—it was more about what it meant for the rest of Gom Aaldia. Bringing troops to the north, to Bastiin, meant that what Mendi had heard was likely more than rumor.

  “How did you hear these rumors?”

  She took a sip of her tea. A hint of a smile played across her face, making her more lovely. A slight flush crept up her cheeks. “There's a slave network. Don't you know that?”

  Allay should know better than to pressure Mendi. “Fine. But if my father is moving troops, it won't be long before he demands I return.”

  “I suspect he’ll already be angry that you're gone.”

  She was likely right. Allay’s responsibility was to his nation, but if there was an attack, he would be expected to be present, able to serve.

  The door to the tavern opened and a couple of Denraen came in. Mendi flushed again. Allay wondered at that, what would give his friend such a reaction.

  She finished her tea hurriedly and nodded toward the door.

  “I think I'd like to see another part of the city.”

  Allay glanced at the Denraen before turning his attention back to Mendi. “Is that how you're finding out your information?”

  Her face clouded. “Not in the way that your mind has
jumped to, Allay Lansington.”

  “I don't know where my mind has been jumping to.” He leaned forward lowering his voice. “The Denraen appear and all of a sudden you want us to leave. Seems to me there's a connection, that’s all. I… I just want you to be careful.”

  “Is that all?”

  Allay met her gaze, wishing he could tell her what she wanted to hear, what he wanted to tell her.

  When he didn’t, Mendi shrugged. “It's not nearly as exciting as you would like to believe.

  “No? Then what is it?”

  Before she could answer, the door to the tavern opened again, and two men he recognized entered. One was another of the delegates, a man named Tresh Longtree, the delegate out of Rondalin. Allay barely knew him. He rarely spoke to others, and he seemed almost disinterested in what the Magi had to teach. The other man with him was Thomasen Comity's brother. Why would they come together to a tavern?

  The Magi wanted the delegates to become friendlier, not necessarily the delegates’ servants—or brothers.

  Mendi lowered her head. Tresh noticed him and started toward his table. He nodded politely and made his way to pass the table without saying anything. The other man had a wide grin plastered across his face. He turned his gaze to Mendi, staring at her.

  Not staring, Allay realized. Leering.

  “I didn't know the Gom Aaldian prince socialized with his slave.”

  Allay stood and crossed his arms, blocking the man from Mendi. Something had happened between these two, and she hadn't shared it with him.

  “I'm afraid we haven't formally met. I am Allay—”

  The man brushed him off. “I know who you are.”

  “I'm afraid I don't have the same honor.”

  The man’s lip curled up into a sneer. “There is no honor in Gom Aaldia.”

  With that, he pushed past Allay, making no effort to hide his disdain.

  Were they in Gom Aaldia, such an insult would end with a man dead. The same freedoms that allowed him to sit openly in a tavern drinking ale with Mendi, allowed a man like that to insult him and simply walk away.

  Mendi grabbed his arm, pulling him back down. “It's not worth it.”

  “Worth what?”

  “I see the way you're looking at him. It's not worth it. He's not worth it.”

  She took another sip of her tea and stood, waiting for him to follow.

  As Allay stood, he turned his attention back to the man, watching how he sat with Tresh Longtree, both speaking softly to each other. As they walked out the door, the man looked up, watching Allay. The same hint of a smile remained on his face.

  Mendi grabbed his arm and pulled him from the tavern. Allay didn't take his attention off that man until the door closed behind him.

  Richard walked the halls of the castle, and his eyes searched the shadows, looking for evidence of Raime, but he saw no sign of the man. He had learned that Raime could hide, disappearing into the shadows. It made him uncomfortable, especially when he met with other people. He never knew if he was being observed or whether he was alone.

  The halls were emptier than they should be. Was that Raime’s doing as well?

  He didn't know, much as he no longer knew how tightly his control remained over the rule of the city.

  At least he knew the decision to attack Thealon was his. Once he did that, once he claimed the Tower, he would have no more need for Raime's advice. Then, he could marginalize his advisor.

  Richard stopped at the end of the hall. Was that footsteps that followed him?

  The longer he listened, the more convinced he became that someone followed him.

  Richard turned his attention back to his search and made his way along the hall, his feet clattering off the stone. Two Deathguard, ostensibly keeping him safe, followed a step behind.

  Richard stopped at a room. Inside, he saw Theodror speaking with someone, but the person was just out of sight behind the door. He considered going inside, but his son didn't need his involvement. He was first in line to the throne and had proven himself to be both a competent leader and devoted son.

  Not like Allay.

  No… Allay had proven to be something different. His son had abandoned Gom Aaldia, leaving with the Magi on some mission, leaving their people. When he saw Allay the next time… he would have something to say to him.

  When Theodror moved toward the fireplace, his visitor followed, and Richard could now see that he met with Raime.

  His breath caught. Why would Raime meet with Theodror? Maybe sensing his father’s presence, Theodror looked toward the door.

  Richard froze in the doorway, the strange crawling sensation drifting in the back of his mind.

  Go in. You still are the king.

  “Theodror. Have you heard anything from your brother?”

  That wasn't why he had come, but seeing Theodror and Raime together, he felt almost compelled to say something.

  Theodror thinks to undermine you. That's why he's meeting with Raime.

  “Father. I was just discussing your plans for the attack. As I was telling Raime, I think it would behoove us to take a little more time to plan.”

  Did Theodror think to disrupt his rule? Was he now questioning his authority?

  “You didn't answer the question,” Richard thundered.

  Theodror took a step back. He looked from Richard to Raime, as if searching for answers.

  Richard was unwilling to satisfy him. No, his son needed to obey, not question.

  “That wasn't my intent, father. I thought that I would only offer my suggestion. As heir—”

  “Heir? You think of what you will inherit? Is that why you challenge me?”

  Theodore shook his head. “Father, I—”

  Dismiss him. He needs to know that you still rule.

  “Go. I need to speak with Raime.”

  Theodror glanced from Richard to Raime and then nodded. “I will go. It's time for my visit with the priests anyway.”

  When Theodror left, Richard turned to Raime. The damned man still had his hood pulled up over his head, obscuring his eyes. Why would he not reveal his face? Had he ever seen his face?

  Of course you have. You would never have trusted a man unwilling to show himself. Now you're just second-guessing everything.

  That must be it. It was bad enough that he felt like he was losing control of the city, now he was losing control of his son. It was enough to make him question every decision he made.

  “Your son seeks the solace of the gods.”

  Richard glanced toward the doorway and waved his hand. “My boys have always been as devout as their mother.”

  “And you?” Raime asked. “Do you share their devotion?”

  His mind raced. He was no longer able to share anything with his wife, not since she'd been taken from him. The gods were to blame for that. And now they had taken his second child, the Magi claiming Allay.

  No, his devotion was not the same as his sons’.

  “Why are you here now, Raime? Do you think to tell me of more executions?”

  Richard imagined he saw him smile beneath the hood. It had to be imagined, much as he imagined the flashes of red in Raime's eyes. His mind grew foggy, as it often seemed to when he was around the man.

  “The people appreciate a strong rule. They appreciate the fact that you have made the city safer. Much as you will make your nation safer when you destroy the threat of Thealon.”

  Threat?

  Yes. Thealon is a threat to our beliefs. The Magi are a threat to our way of life. We need to claim the Tower to claim the strength the gods expect of us.

  “Good. I trust you will continue making the decisions necessary to show the people the strength of our rule.”

  Our rule? No… He hadn't meant to say that at all. It was his rule.

  He could almost hear Raime laughing. “There are some who still question. Some who think to challenge the authority of the King. I am certain you will deal with them appropriately,” Raime said.


  Richard nodded. Of course he would deal with those who challenged his rule. Why would Raime even bring that up?

  He sighed and waved Raime away. “Leave me. I need to rest.”

  “Of course, my lord. You rest, I will take care of the issues in the city.”

  Raime left him, and Richard settled into a chair in front of the fire, feeling exhausted. It was always that way when he met with Raime. Or maybe… maybe something was wrong with him, much as it had been with his beloved Julianne.

  As his eyes drifted closed, he swore he heard laughter once more, but it was faint and in a distant part of his mind.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Locken considered returning straightaway to Saeline, but needed to visit with his sister before he departed. Bryana would be angry if he left without saying goodbye, and he really did want to see her before leaving the capital. If they went to war, he didn’t know when he might see her again.

  When he stopped at her estate, he found both her and her husband Terrence at home.

  “You're leaving already?” Bryana asked.

  Locken nodded. “Richard has made a request. It's one that I must fulfill.”

  Bryana glanced at her husband, but neither of them spoke as she motioned him in. Once inside, she closed and locked the door. His ears popped briefly before it passed.

  She motioned for him to follow, waving away the servants who rushed to come in and take his coat, or offer him a glass of wine.

  “Bryana?”

  She shook her head, warning him to silence.

  Locken followed, not saying anything more, uncertain what his sister was doing. This was unlike her.

  She reached a set of stairs leading down and hurried down them. Terrence followed her, leaving Locken little choice but to follow as well. At the bottom of the stairs, she stopped in front of a solid oak door. When she pulled it open, he followed her in and saw rows of bottles of wine on the other side.