The Lost Prophecy Boxset

by D. K. Holmberg

As he opened his eyes, there was still nothing but blackness. Jakob tried to stand, staggering forward, only to fall again. Arms that would not answer were locked at his side. He landed on his face and smelled the earthy wholeness of the ground, yet one hand remained gripping his sword. It was vibrating slowly, and like it felt within his head.

  The nausea began to fade, and he struggled not to vomit. The blackness faded, and the Cala maah blurred back into his vision. The daneamiin in the room stared intently at him.

  What happened to me? Were these only dreams?

  The last few months had been filled with increasingly vivid dreams and strange visions, but never like this. This was a waking vision, as he’d had in the forest when he saw Alyta, but stronger than atop the mountain. It was as if he had blacked out while the dreams or visions came to him.

  What’s wrong with me?

  He looked out at the Cala maah. Their faces were unreadable. They seemed to expect something of him, had summoned him for some reason—a test, he remembered Brohmin saying—but here he had let the strangeness overwhelm him.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice was shaky.

  He looked at them expectantly, waiting for someone to speak, to tell him why they had brought him here, yet they did not. Jakob looked toward the back of the room, toward Anda. There was an unreadable expression on her face.

  Why am I here?

  The answer came back to him slowly. He knew what they sought, knew what Endric had been tasked with, the scene from the Turning Festival seeming so long ago.

  “I have delivered the trunk. Tasked to Endric, then to Rit, I saw it to Avaneam as was asked. And I saw Alyta. She was captured.”

  Aruhn nodded then, his neutral face revealing a hint of worry. “We know.”

  Jakob shook his head with frustration. He wasn’t sure if he was frustrated with the daneamiin who seemed unwilling or unable to give him answers, or with himself for what happened to him, or because he had no idea of how to help Alyta.

  “You know? How can we help her?” he asked, uncertain of how to address the Cala maah.

  Aruhn nodded to him slowly. “You must use the key, Uniter of Men. Only then can you save her.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The day was overcast, gray skies shouting of rain that had yet to come. Roelle’s heavy cloak fluttered in the cool northern breeze, which no longer carried the scent of the sea. She wrapped her cloak tightly around her, her sword sheathed outside of her cloak in readiness. She wouldn't be unprepared, especially given the attacks they had faced. None for several days, though. That bothered her for reasons she didn't quite understand.

  “This doesn't feel like the north I once knew,” Hester said.

  Roelle turned to him. They had been silent for a while, leaving her lost in her thoughts. “You knew the north?”

  Hester nodded. “My family comes from a town near the lowest foothills. It's a place called Fristin, closer to the Great Valley than the sea, but it's a place much like here.”

  Roelle surveyed the landscape. The lower hills climbed slowly ever northward, almost too slowly for Roelle’s liking.

  So far, they hadn't encountered the Deshmahne again. She worried about that, much as she worried about the mindsets of the Magi still riding with her. The two Deshmahne attacks had changed them, but Roelle wasn't sure that was a good thing. It had hardened many of them, but had they become brittle or stronger?

  They rode slowly. Though she felt a sense of urgency, and her horse seemed to notice it, as well, the rest of the Magi did not, much the opposite in fact. It was almost as if everyone dreaded the possibility of another attack.

  Hester wrinkled his nose. “What—”

  He didn’t finish. “What is it?” Roelle asked.

  They were crossing a rocky valley. He paused, looking up to the sloping boulders around him, and shook his head. “I'm not sure. I've never smelled anything quite this awful.”

  Roelle didn’t sense anything.

  She sniffed tentatively at the air, looking around at the Magi, but none of them seemed to notice either. Only the other two Denraen and Lendra seemed to notice it.

  “I don't smell it,” Roelle said.

  Hester grunted. “Magi eyesight might be good, but perhaps your nose isn't.” He tried to laugh but only ended up gagging.

  Hester took a roll of cloth out of his pack and wrapped it around his nose. The other Denraen did the same, and Lendra followed.

  They continued forward, but neither Roelle nor the other Magi noticed the smell.

  Lendra leaned off the side of her saddle and vomited violently. She sat up, wiping her eyes, shaking her head as she did. “I don't know what it is, but it's…”

  Roelle didn’t need Lendra to finish. They’d heard stories of something like this.

  Would they reach the threat of these creatures in the north before they reached the Antrilii? Were they ready?

  The landscape flattened out here before sloping upward once more. Roelle motioned to the Magi, indicating a change in their maneuvers. The Magi quickly formed up, and Selton guided them, taking on the role of second in command. The clearing here was large, large enough for every rider and horse to move into a ready position. A large bluff blocked their way north, marking the beginning of the upper hills. From there, a small, narrow path led farther up into the rocks. They would have to go that way, which meant dismounting and leading their horses. It meant walking single file. It would make them vulnerable.

  The clearing was silent. There was the occasional movement of hooves across rough stone, which echoed loudly off the huge bluff. One of the other Denraen vomited, and Roelle glanced over to see that it was Trenal. He was a solid and strong man, one who said little. For him to vomit meant that whatever was coming was terrible.

  The sky overhead darkened, though she thought it only her imagination. The wind whistled through the clearing, catching off the stone, almost a moan of sorts. Roelle shivered.

  She smelled nothing, but the look upon the Denraen’s faces told her everything she needed to know.

  “What do you think is causing this?” Jhun asked.

  Roelle scanned the rock. “The stories that came from the north all mentioned a sort of sickening smell. The mother of that family on the road mentioned the same thing.”

  “Why don't we smell it?” Jhun asked.

  Roelle didn't have an answer.

  She slapped her hand against her thigh, unable to suppress a nervous energy she felt. Others turned their heads, chasing the unseen shadows. The movement did little to ease the gnawing at the pit of her stomach that told her something was amiss.

  She suspected the others had thoughts much like hers. Nervousness. Anxiety. Fear.

  It was normal, but her eyes darted restlessly, unable to let it go.

  Even Hester was cramped over, barely able to hold onto his reins, vomiting every few moments. Lendra was the same, her face almost green.

  Roelle moved into the center of the clearing.

  “Is this the Deshmahne?” Selton asked.

  “This isn't—”

  Roelle cut off short.

  There was a slight shifting of color among the rocks, and it was all her eyes detected as creatures crept down to the small path leading toward the upper hills. When she saw them, she knew instantly what they were. There was a vague shape to them, that of a dark ring faintly seen beneath an amorphous cloud of dust and dirt, and hints of a gray hide that became clearer as they approached.

  How had the woman from the north even seen them? Roelle recalled her description: a trail of dust like a fog.

  She raised an arm in a silent command, motioning toward the creatures.

  The watchers took note and sent on the command. She was thankful they’d trained as hard as they had under the Denraen. She felt a sense of pride as she watched her people.

  She didn't have time for much thought beyond that. The shapes came quickly when they realized they'd been seen.

  The Magi nearest the trail were
the first into the attack. They had already unsheathed their swords, and their blades flashed, a steady thud of steel landing on something hard, but no metal on metal sound, nothing like when they faced the Deshmahne.

  No weapons?

  Someone screamed. It was a horrible sound, a female voice.

  Roelle offered a silent prayer to the gods for safety and protection, but what they needed was strength to fight through and use their training.

  She kicked her horse forward, spurring it toward the battle.

  Hester managed to grab her reins. “Let them fight, Mage. You lead.” With that, he sank back onto his saddle, still in significant distress.

  Unable to do anything, Roelle just stared at what unfolded before her. Could she only command and organize the other Magi? She had to. Endric had taught her that confusion was as much an enemy as any attacker.

  Sixty or so of the other Magi warriors sat as helpless as she, waiting out the battle, unable to get any closer. Many stood in their stirrups watching while others were on alert, eyes darting from side to side, looking for another attack.

  Thankfully, none came.

  The sound of the dull thuds came over and over again filling the valley. A scream rang out every so often, and sometimes a determined shout.

  Each echoed loudly off the rocks, filling the clearing with the sound of the battle.

  Glancing back, Roelle saw that Hester was the only Denraen who remained in his saddle. The other two lay on the ground, vomiting and convulsing. There was nothing she could do to help them.

  The Magi line attacking the creatures started to bulge.

  Roelle motioned to several of the Magi. As they hurried forward, she indicated the Denraen. They moved toward the Denraen and lifted their heads from the pools of vomit and rolled them onto their backs. It wouldn't do for her guides to drown in their own bile.

  Lendra leaned against her horse. She had a determined set to her jaw, her throat clenched tightly trying to hold down her stomach contents. Roelle wished there was something she could do—anything—to take away the suffering of the Denraen and Lendra.

  The sounds of the battle died off, and Roelle looked up. An almost eerie silence came over the valley.

  As Roelle made her way toward the front line, she saw three horses without riders.

  Only three? She'd heard more screams than that.

  Of the three that were fallen, two were injured.

  Dustin had leapt from his horse to attack at a lower level, and was cleaning and sheathing his blade before climbing back onto his horse.

  A jagged tear was all that remained of Indrosea's arm. She’d chosen to fight with her staff. Selton had already reached her and was wrapping her, stopping the bleeding. They would do more for it later.

  Nothing could be done for Sean, though. He was missing a leg, and his forehead was caved in, dark blood pooling around his head. Roelle turned from the gore only to see the man's missing leg a few feet away.

  Four of the creatures lay strewn around Sean. She could see them more clearly in death. Grey skinned and with upper bodies covered with hair, the creatures seemed much shorter than a man and wider besides. Some were clad only in a dark wrapping that covered their genitals. Others wore ragged and dirtied breeches. Some had what appeared to be breasts.

  Each had a club lying now useless nearby, though only one of them had any sort of blood on it. Long, bloodied claws extended from thick fingers and toes, and she noted many of the Magi warriors had long cuts and scratches. Some of the wounds appeared deep, and she wondered if the creatures were poisonous. She would have to ensure they all cleaned their wounds especially well to ensure their safety.

  Had her mind already started going toward planning?

  What other choice did they have?

  Roelle studied the nearest body of a fallen creature. They were grotesque, and horrible, and she understood why people ran from the north. But how had they not heard of these creatures before?

  It seemed unfathomable, especially considering the way the Denraen were incapacitated. Veteran soldiers, all of them, had dropped from their saddles with nausea, and were unable even to stand to fight. Then there was the difficulty they had even seeing the creatures.

  This was worse than any Deshmahne.

  As she looked up, another question came to her, one without an answer: Was this what the Deshmahne planned? Were they trying to train soldiers to protect the north?

  A worried fear ate at her stomach. What if they had it wrong? What if the Deshmahne were the strength they needed to stop these creatures?

  What if the Deshmahne were their only hope?

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Roelle looked around the village. The small thatch-covered house to her left seemed much brighter since some of the Magi warriors had begun using it. To her right, a similar house was brightly lit as well. Everyone was glad for the night in a town, brief though it would be.

  Though small, a low wall encircled the whole of it. She saw the rough stone outline from where she stood, dark shadows covering much of it. It reached the height of her chest, low enough that she could still see over, and high enough that a normal-sized man would be able to find cover behind it. It would serve its purpose.

  Her feet thumped lightly along the stone road as she walked, the sound muffled by her soft leather soles, and her gaze darted quickly about her. She never let her eyes rest for long. There was much to see. Much to watch for. A large part of her was afraid to let her guard down, afraid that they might miss an attack. They had almost missed today’s.

  Soft footsteps broke through her reverie and the night’s silence. Roelle turned quickly to see who was following. Lendra.

  “Are you feeling better?” she asked.

  Lendra nodded. “As soon as we left the valley, it started going away. I’ve been feeling normal since about nightfall.” Her voice was a soft whisper, her breath visible in the cool night air. “How is Indrosea?” she asked.

  She had gotten worse on the two-hour ride from the valley.

  “The same. We can’t seem to wake her, and healing has done little. Selton is with her now.” She nodded in reply. “He is among the most skilled of us. He will do what he can.”

  “What will you do now?” she asked.

  Roelle looked around at the small town, their protection for the night. “We need to send proof to the Council,” she answered. They had thought to take back a body, covering it with a tarp, but the guides had been unable to stand the stench, so they had left it behind. They had taken a head, though, coating it in oil and wrapping it in enough coverings that the guides had been able to tolerate traveling with it.

  “You will go back?” she asked.

  Roelle looked at her, then looked at the empty houses of the village. The story of the woman who had lost her son and husband stuck with her. “I must,” she said, and it pained her. “The Deshmahne remain a threat and we’re too few…”

  “The Denraen said their soldiers would not have been able to help,” Lendra said, clearly changing tact. “The guides speak of you and the other Magi as soldiers now, and I hear respect.”

  Most had done little so far to earn respect, yet they were soldiers. It was still a difficult transition for her to feel like anything other than a Mage, but she knew she must.

  Lendra smiled at her, and Roelle felt herself relax. “You move in a way they cannot,” she said. “It must be something of your abilities.”

  “Alriyn thought so,” she said quietly. None had ever learned if the Magi had physical abilities; they had focused on their mental gifts for centuries. Yet they now knew the Magi did have physical abilities as well. They were quick to learn, Roelle had noted. Their movements were more fluid, more natural, than the men they learned from. It had not taken long for their abilities to surpass their instructors.

  Except Endric.

  None had beaten Endric. And Jakob—she didn’t think about him as often anymore, but she hadn’t beaten him either. If only she’d had m
ore time to get to know him. He was… intriguing. It surprised her that she would travel as far as she had to find someone who appealed to her the way he did.

  She shook Jakob from her thoughts. It would not do to spend time thinking about someone she wouldn’t see again soon, even if he had been sent north. Hers was a different mission.

  “Will the Council help?” Lendra asked.

  “I don’t know,” she answered. She wasn’t sure they could help even if they wanted to. Most had lived decades or longer with their Urmahne training. Roelle had not even reached twenty, and still she struggled with these new ideas that went against what she had been taught.

  They stood in silence for a moment and stared at the sky. After a while, she lowered her gaze to the wall and the warriors who patrolled its perimeter. Magi eyesight gave an them advantage, but Roelle worried about how they would see at night what was difficult to see in the full light of day.

  Lendra gagged suddenly, and Roelle turned to her. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. The smell…”

  Smell. That had been all the notice they had earlier. “Where?” She heard the urgency in her own voice. She’d need to be more careful with her tone.

  Lendra stretched out her hand, pointing to the wall to her left. “There I think.” She paused, sniffing the air. “Yes, definitely there. But there’s something more. I can’t quite put my finger on it.” She grimaced as she started to pale.

  “Lendra. Run to the center of the village and sound the alarm. Then stay inside the house with Hester and the Denraen.”

  She nodded, gave Roelle’s arm a squeeze, and took off running.

  Roelle turned her attention back to the wall and sprinted to where Lendra had pointed. As she ran, she pulled her sword from its sheath. It felt heavier than usual. Probably heavy with the knowledge it would soon be used for more than mere yard play. She would fight again and she would kill. She knew it was necessary, knew that it was right, yet still worried that she would hesitate. Would the Urmahne education overwhelm her knowledge of what she needed to do, or would she be able to fight, as she knew she must?