The Lost Prophecy Boxset

by D. K. Holmberg

  Allay noted a flickering of shadows, and hesitated.

  This was a mistake. He should turn around, maybe find Mendi or even one of the Denraen, and let them know what he’d seen. He wasn’t responsible for chasing down the brother of some delegates.

  Then he heard voices.

  They were soft, a faint murmuring that carried to him, and he moved forward before he was fully aware of what he did. The tunnel he was in ended, and he realized that the lantern light he saw came from another mineshaft working perpendicular to the one he’d entered. Other lanterns lined the wall, each spaced evenly, all lit.

  For a mine that was supposed to be inactive, there seemed more activity than he would have expected here.

  Where had he heard the voices?

  Standing at the intersection, they could be coming from anywhere in the mines. With the way the tunnels were arranged, the sound carried, enough that he worried his footsteps would give away his presence.

  Allay glanced back up the tunnel he’d come down. The light marking the opening to the mine was there, but appeared like a faint circle of grayish light.

  The voices seemed to be coming from a single direction and Allay started toward them. The ground began to slope upward, and at one point, he found stairs that he climbed. He had the vague sense that he was heading toward the third terrace, and toward the Magi.

  Why was he doing this? What did he hope to discover?

  He had a nagging worry about needing to get out and go report what he’d found to the Denraen, but what would he say? That he’d discovered the empty mines, and that maybe Michael Comity had entered them? Would that even matter to them?

  Probably not. With the Deshmahne in the city, they had other things they would be more concerned about.

  He came upon another tunnel intersection and paused.

  This time, the voices continued down the tunnel ahead of him, but off the branching tunnel, he noted even brighter light.

  Why would it be so well lit there?

  Allay scanned the tunnels, looking for signs of anyone, but found nothing. Which way should he go? If he followed the sounds of the voices, he would have to explain why he’d come here. If he went toward the light, he might see why others were in the tunnel.

  He chose the light.

  It grew brighter and brighter as he neared.

  Allay moved slowly as he approached, but heard no other voices, nothing to indicate that the voices he’d heard followed him in this direction.

  The tunnel opened into a wide chamber. The roof rose high overhead, but that wasn’t what drew his attention. Rather, it was rows of shelves, all holding what appeared to be sculptures of some sort, and all seemed to be made of the same strange warm metal that the gate at the entrance to the mine had been made of. A wheeled cart in the middle of the room had more of the sculptures.

  Whatever was stored here, they were taking it out of the mines.

  Allay started toward the sculptures, thinking to examine them, when he heard voices again, this time on the far side of the room.

  Was there another entrance to the room, or had others been here the entire time?

  Allay ducked back as shadows appeared, darting back toward the entrance to the chamber, hiding there. As the shapes came into view, he noted one man with dark tattoos writhing around his exposed arms and up onto his neck.

  Deshmahne.

  What were they doing here?

  This he could share with the Denraen.

  Now he had to get out without getting caught. Staying here any longer would be dangerous. The voices moved toward him, and he hurried back along the tunnels, his heart hammering in his chest.

  As had found his way back toward the entrance, moving slowly, listening for voices behind him, they were silent. Rushing toward the gate, his heart didn’t slow until he was back in the open air of the city, and racing down the street.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Raime rode atop a black stallion next to Richard, leaving the capital behind as they made their way to Bastiin, readying for the attack. The caravan stretched far in front of him. Thousands of his men, his best soldiers, his wolf banner waving in the air.

  Robden would come into line, much like the rest of the kings would. They would acquire all of Thealon, and then… then he would be able to demonstrate his strength to the gods. There would be no questioning his rule at that point.

  They had been riding for several hours, having departed the city to much fanfare and celebration. Richard could no longer remember if he had left appropriate counsel in charge of the city while he was gone.

  Of course you did. Raime saw that your rule would be maintained.

  Had he? Had Raime seen that the city would be safe while he was gone? Who had he left in his stead?

  There had been a time when Richard would've left it to the Teachers, but that was when he had still willingly allowed a Magi advisor. It had been many years since he had done so. Shortly after that—or was it before?—Raime had come to him.

  Richard's mind felt foggy, tired from the time in the saddle, growing weary of the ride north. Perhaps he would remain in Bastiin and let Raime command his troops.

  Raime? No… If anyone, it would be Locken, Richard affirmed in his mind. The man may not always agree with me, but he was the best fit to command.

  Locken is not fit to command. He challenges you.

  Yes… Locken did challenge him, but he also had wisdom.

  “I have seen to it that the threat to your rule in the city was removed,” Raime said.

  Richard glanced over at him. Had he been talking before then? “What threat?”

  “There was a growing rebellion. They thought to disrupt the good work you have been doing establishing order in the city. It will no longer present a challenge to you.”

  Richard nodded. “Theodror will see to it that we continue to rule in the city.”

  “Theodror… Unfortunately, my sources tell me that an attempt was made on the palace, and Theodror was lost.”

  Richard pulled his horse to a halt and sat unmoving. “When did you learn of this?”

  “Last evening. I didn't think to burden you with the news until I knew for certain.”

  “And now you do?”

  “One of my informants brought word,” he said, handing over a sheet of parchment.

  Richard unfurled it and saw a simple line: Theodror dead. Attack thwarted. Resistance destroyed.

  “How?”

  “I do not know the how. All I know is that this resistance intended to take advantage of your absence from the palace. Your forces”—Richard realized that Raime actually meant his forces—“managed to push them back. The identification of one of the resistance organizers is somewhat troubling to me.”

  Richard looked up. “Why is that?”

  “Because of connections to King Locken. I fear that we must be more careful with him. He poses more danger than you realize.”

  Why didn’t Raime tell him of the connection? Did it matter? “Locken will obey. He is nothing if not faithful to the throne.” After a moment of silence between them, he said, “I should return to the city and mourn Theodror.”

  Raime shook his head. The cloak moved, and the reflected light within his eyes seemed to flicker. “No. If you return, it shows weakness. The troops will believe you are not committed to this plan. And the resistance will think they have succeeded. By drawing you back, you would appear to abandon the plan to attack Thealon. The attack must continue.”

  Richard opened his mouth, wanting to object, but pain shot through his head. He grabbed it. Raime touched his arm, and the pain surged for a moment and then faded.

  “Another headache, sire?”

  Richard nodded. They had been coming more frequently. His healers hadn't been able to help. Raime had helped some, but even his healing touch had been limited.

  “What was I saying?” Richard asked. Raime pointed in the direction of the procession. “You were telling me that we needed to make haste
. You wanted to ensure the attack took place as planned.”

  Richard nodded, a memory of the pain flickering in his mind before disappearing. Was that what he had been saying? It seemed that there had been something else, but he no longer recalled what it might be. He also felt there had been something more important, but… Even that slipped from his mind.

  Richard sighed, relieved at the absence of the headaches. Yes. They would make their way north. They would continue their planned attack. And they would ensure that he got the gods’ attention as they claimed the Tower.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Locken pushed open the door to Saeline Castle. It had been his home since he was a child, a place that he now protected, a place that had served the people of Saeline for generations. There was always a sort of warmth within the castle, one that carried with it the familiar humidity of the air, none of the salt air that Gomald possessed, but a heavy humidity, making even the lightest of clothing uncomfortable. Despite that, Locken loved the castle. It was home.

  The journey back to Saeline had been uneventful other than his troubled thoughts. He could not stop thinking about what he’d witnessed in the square, as well as other stories Terrence had told of similar events taking place on the order of their king. This was the man he was pledged to support. This was a war he was pledged to join. He was not certain he could serve the king, much less be a part of such an overt action against the peace any more.

  Lonn joined him as he made his way down the hall. Neither man spoke much; there wasn't much more to say. They needed to speak to his council who had ruled in his stead. Theresa had remained in control of the castle for him.

  “The council should be gathered by now,” Lonn said as they approached the meeting hall.

  “Theresa sent word as well.”

  “I hope you'll forgive me, but I did send ahead Richard’s request so that the council could begin considering preparations.”

  Locken said nothing, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead of him. He still didn't know how to react to the request. Richard needed him to gather his men. He could summon some twenty thousand soldiers from Saeline. It was more than any other region but Robden’s could muster.

  Theirs was the largest land holding, the most populous, other than the capital of Gomald, and the capital consisted mostly of merchants and traders, men and women who were not fit for military duty. Locken's men, on the other hand, had all served in his army at some point, many having trained with the Denraen as well. Now they served to protect his realm, but it was their training and experience holding and using a sword that gave them their advantage. That, as much as anything, was what Richard wanted.

  Theresa sat on the great throne of the Saeline meeting hall, looking as lovely as ever, her chestnut hair pulled into an elegant bun; her exquisite face carrying a worrisome expression. She understood the dilemma he faced.

  He'd sent an encrypted note ahead to her, warning of what his sister and Terrence had shown him. Their daughter, Alayna, sat in a chair to her mother's right, in many ways looking much like her mother.

  The councilors were all seated at the table.

  Two were Teachers, men descended from the Magi, neither born with the Mage abilities but still connected to them. Trevor was the older of the two, a man with thinning gray hair and a sharply sloped forehead, with a long hooked nose. His back was stooped from his years, and he wore thick glasses that rested near the end of his nose. A large sheet of parchment was spread out in front of him. Despite appearances, Trevor was one of the sharpest minds Locken had. The second Teacher, Idle was also descended from the Magi. They had long served in Saeline, and had long provided him counsel. They were as much a part of his family as Lonn.

  Then there was Gresham. He was a retired general, the man who had preceded Lonn. The man had served Saeline well, and Locken had made certain to keep him on his council. He had served Locken's father as well before his untimely death.

  “Where is David?” He didn't see his son present in the council room. He was young, no more than eleven, but he needed to be included. It was the way his father had taught him, the way they had taught Alayna, and now Locken would teach his son the same.

  “He is… not feeling well.”

  Locken frown. “Stomach?”

  She shook her head but didn't offer any further answer.

  Locken took his seat next to his wife, reached for her hand, and gave it a firm squeeze. Were they not in front of the council, he would throw his arms around her and pull her close to him. He had been too long away from his wife, and missed the softness of her embrace, but he missed her company as well. “Thank you for gathering so quickly.”

  Trevor leaned forward and pushed the glasses up on his nose. “Is it true? Does Richard intend to attack Thealon? Decades of peace and he wants to abandon it on a whim?”

  Locken met each person’s eyes. He held his wife’s gaze the longest before turning to Alayna, then Trevor and Idle, and Gresham. He sighed. “We have been asked to gather our troops. We are to meet in Bastiin. Robden will be supporting the offensive.”

  “Bastiin? That is to the south. Then he wants you to march north?” Trevor asked.

  Locken nodded.

  “Does he not hear the same rumors we hear out of the far north?” Idle asked.

  “What rumors are those?”

  “Rumors of desertion in the north. Mining villages abandoned. My reports from the Denraen tell me they patrol the north now, but there is little they can do.”

  Locken pinched his chin, trying to think about what Richard had said. There was something about Thealon and a distraction. Did Richard know something?

  “Between these rumors and Richard making a point of letting me know that he grew weary of my delays, I doubt we can hold out for too long. We can make our preparations, and we can hope he changes his mind—”

  “Which he has in the past,” Gresham reminded.

  Locken nodded. Richard had changed his mind in the past about similar attacks, but then he’d been advised by the Magi. His current advisor didn't seem as interested in maintaining peace as the Magi would have been.

  “We can take our time, gather our men, but ultimately, we will need to make our way toward Bastiin.” He turned to Lonn and then to Gresham. “I will need your help determining how many men we will send.”

  Trevor leaned forward. “You don't intend to send all available troops?”

  Locken sighed. That hadn't been the request. But it would be his decision alone to determine how many he was willing to part with, and how many he would leave behind protect Saeline. If there was anything coming from the north, whatever Trevor and Idle had heard of, whatever the Denraen protected and patrolled for, he didn't want to leave his people unprotected. His gut told him to worry about something he might be missing, and he’d learned to trust it over the years.

  “Perhaps we take half of the available troops,” Lonn suggested.

  “Which half?” Gresham asked.

  Locken glanced at them. “I will leave it to the two of you to determine how to split our men. Let's plan our preparations, but we will not leave Saeline unprotected.”

  Locken rode his brown mare north. Alayna galloped alongside him on a gray mare with more skill and grace than he could ever manage. They surveyed the Saeline border together, looking out over the river valley that separated Saeline from the western edge of Thealon.

  “Are we really going to do this?” she asked her father.

  “Go for a ride?” he asked.

  Alayna shot him an annoyed look. She had the same deep brown hair as her mother, and the same expression Theresa managed when she was upset with him. She was a lovely girl, and old enough that it was time to begin thinking about her marriage, though he dreaded that day. At least their tradition was to marry for affection. It was the reason his sister had chosen Terrence. It was the reason he himself had chosen Theresa.

  “There were more raider attacks while you were gone.”

  “Tha
t's what I hear. Lonn made certain to get the report as we neared.”

  “There was one that passed through here on its way to Thealon. They attacked on the edge of the valley.”

  Locken had heard that rumor. It was the same rumor that had claimed the warrior priests had been with the raiders. He found that less likely.

  “I've always felt more a part of Thealon than of Gomald,” Alayna said.

  Locken looked around, relieved that none of his men were with them. What would they think hearing their princess speak so bluntly? Alayna had always been close to his heart, and he would do anything to protect her.

  “Mother won't tell you this, but David has been sick while you’ve been gone. The healers haven't been able to help him.”

  “She told me. They think it's confusion from an infection. They are treating him with all the medicines they have. When the infection clears, they expect his mind to return.”

  “Do you know there are rumors of similar afflictions elsewhere?” Alayna asked.

  He hadn’t, and tried to hide his concern. “How do you know this?”

  “Trevor tells me. He fears this is more than just an infection. He doesn't tell Mother about his fears, but I overheard him speaking to Idle.”

  Locken sighed. “We have access to some of the finest healers in the world. We will do everything we can to help your brother.”

  “I know, Father.”

  “I won't be gone for long. Just for the next few weeks. Your mother and Trevor will rule in my stead.”

  Shifting her weight, she turned to him, her horse seeming to know intuitively what she wanted of it. “You really intend to do this? You really intend to attack as you say?”

  “Consider this a lesson, my dear. We are a regional rule, and we must follow what King Richard asks of us. We may not always agree, but he is our king.”