Roelle noted a thick dark ring on one of his fingers, and something about it triggered a memory before it was lost. “We were sent to find what you know.”
The Antrilii tilted his head and frowned. “Who would send you to seek us?”
“Endric.”
Nahrsin laughed, and it rang out into the night. The merahl tilted their ears, and the largest shifted forward on its feet a bit and growled a low rumble. “Sent you to find us, did he?” the Antrilii asked. “Why?”
She glanced over to Hester, who remained stone faced. “To learn of the groeliin,” Roelle answered. That could not be the only reason Endric and Novan had sent them to find the Antrilii. There must be something more, but she couldn’t tell Nahrsin that. “He told me the story was for you to share.”
Jinrain chuckled. “Our story would take more time than you have to spare, Mage,” the man said as he turned his gaze from the fire and reached a hand out to scratch one of the huge cats behind the ears.
“Novan spoke of a text,” Lendra whispered quietly to Roelle.
“Novan?” Jinrain said, overhearing her, turning quickly to face them. “The historian?”
The two merahl sat up and shifted their intent focus upon them. Roelle chose her next words carefully. “Novan spoke of an Antrilii text but would say no more,” she said as she cast her eyes to Selton. They hadn’t worried about it before, but could they escape if it came to it?
Nahrsin sat stone faced and silent. For long moments, the only sound was the crackling of the fire, and then he laughed again. The merahl settled back down but did not shift their attention away. “The historian,” he said, shaking his head. “What trouble does he get us in now?” He looked searchingly up to the sky and mumbled a few quiet words in the ancient language Roelle didn’t understand. Slowly, Nahrsin looked back at them. “So Endric and Novan sent you to find us.”
Roelle nodded.
“To learn of the groeliin?”
Another nod.
“You have learned all you need of the groeliin,” Nahrsin replied, then laughed again. “You battle well. It is enough.”
Roelle looked from Nahrsin to Jinrain. Jinrain did not look in their direction, and Nahrsin appeared to stare everywhere. That couldn’t be all that they were to learn from the Antrilii. Endric would not send them on such a journey for only this.
She looked to Selton again, and her friend shrugged.
“What are they?” Lendra asked.
Jinrain squinted at her a moment before answering. “They are creatures of destruction and death,” he said, turning back to face them. His voice was hard and cold. “They do not hesitate to kill.” There was a quiet venom to his voice, and it was clear that, for this Antrilii, the work was personal. “They stand against everything the gods stand for. They are evil.”
Nahrsin nodded, serious again. “They are the groeliin.”
“And you hunt them?” Roelle asked.
The Antrilii nodded.
“Why?” Not how, though that question lingered. The guides and Lendra could not see the creatures until they were dead, incapacitated by an odor she only vaguely sensed. How, then, could the Antrilii face these groeliin?
That had to be the secret, the reason that Novan and Endric had sent them to seek the Antrilii.
“Why do the birds fly? Why does the grass grow? Why does the moon rise and fall each night?” Nahrsin asked. “It is what we do. It is who we are. We have hunted the groeliin for a thousand years, and still they come. We have provided protection to the world so that others do not suffer. That is our purpose. That is our vow.”
Roelle sat back, stunned. A thousand years? If Nahrsin spoke truly, it meant they had been fighting the groeliin since the Magi were founded. How was it possible that the Magi did not know this? The connection could not be mere coincidence. What did that mean for the Antrilii?
“How can you see them?” Selton asked.
Her friend did not look over to meet her gaze, but Roelle saw the uncertainty plain on his face. Both knew where this line of questioning would lead. Were the Magi and the Antrilii connected somehow?
“How is it that you can?” Nahrsin asked before laughing again. “It is our gift from the gods.” He paused, and the words fell loud into the night, a dangerous proclamation. “For many years, we have wandered the northern lands, always we seek the groeliin. Many times, we have chased them far to the south, and only once have they attacked beyond the foothills. We have held them,” he said proudly.
“Is that why we have not heard of the groeliin before now?” Lendra asked. She spoke the word fluently, a familiarity with the ancient language.
Nahrsin nodded. “The groeliin are our charge. The gods have entrusted this to us.”
“What changed?” Lendra asked.
Jinrain shook his head, and Nahrsin settled a comforting hand on his arm as he answered. “This time, there are too many and we are too few,” he said. “We chase a brood of ten thousand, and I suspect there remain twice that many in the north.”
Ten thousand? And more remain.
Roelle looked around the camp and figured there could be no more than several hundred Antrilii. How could these men hope to fight ten thousand of these creatures?
How can we hope to survive if they don’t?
“How can you kill that many?” Selton asked.
“I do not question the will of the gods,” Nahrsin answered. There was a complete sincerity in his words. It was one of faith in the gods mixed with something else.
“Where do they travel?” Lendra asked.
“South,” Nahrsin answered. “And we follow. The gods brought you to us to help.” He smiled showing his teeth, and it was a savage contrast to his jovial laugh. “It will be enough.”
“To help?” Selton asked, a smile of his own starting to form at the corners of his mouth.
Roelle knew another comment was coming so she silenced him with a hand on his arm. Her friend turned to her with the question plain on his face.
How to answer?
And how did she not answer? If there were as many groeliin as the Antrilii claimed, there was no way they would be able to stop them, not alone.
Endric had to have known. She glanced to Hester for confirmation, but the man stared straight ahead, avoiding her gaze.
She had wondered why Endric would have sent them, why he wanted them to find the Antrilii, and now she began to understand. The Denraen couldn’t see the groeliin to fight—couldn’t stand the stench of them long enough to fight. And the Antrilii were outnumbered.
Had Endric intended for them to fight with the Antrilii?
But could they? The Magi she’d brought with her might have developed into something of soldiers, but they were nothing like the Antrilii.
Could they leave ten thousand groeliin to push farther and farther south, destroying everything as they did, leaving the Antrilii to fight alone? They had all seen the destruction left in the wake of these creatures. They could not allow the groeliin to roam the lands unchallenged. Roelle knew she could not. The Magi were the Urmahne. They could not leave their people to suffer.
“We will send word,” she said quietly to Selton. “Alriyn must know of the Antrilii, and he must know how many groeliin we face. We will need help.” She looked over to Nahrsin. “They will need help,” she said. Selton stared at her for a long moment as he considered. Finally, he nodded and Roelle sighed. She could not do this without Selton.
“Who do we send?” Selton whispered.
“Our weakest,” Roelle answered.
Selton nodded. “I will send myself.”
Roelle chuckled. “That is who I would send,” she told her muscular friend.
Selton’s eyes hardened. “Ronad and Inraith.”
Roelle thought for a moment. Inraith was one of her oldest friends and had joined her and Selton as soon as they had suggested learning the sword, joining without question, yet of them, his skill was the weakest. Roelle could trust him and did not doubt he wo
uld reach Alriyn.
“Send proof,” Roelle said. “The head. And they must speak to Alriyn first.”
Selton frowned before nodding.
Turning back toward Nahrsin, she said, “We will help.”
The Antrilii laughed as he nodded. “Of course,” he said. “It is the gods’ will.”
Back in the Magi camp, Roelle pulled Hester aside. A dozen or so small flames crackled softly, and the Magi had made quick work of establishing their camp, but there was a somberness to the night air.
“I need you to return to Vasha,” she said to Hester. “I’d have you take Lendra with you, but I don’t think she’d listen.”
The old Denraen looked up at her. “Endric assigned me to help you.”
Roelle forced a smile. “You’ve helped me as much as you can. I think if you remain—”
“That I’ll be more of a hindrance?” Hester asked.
She nodded, hating that it was the truth. “You can’t fight these creatures, and I can’t promise I’ll be able to keep you safe.”
“I’m a soldier. There’s never been a promise of safety.”
“If we face these creatures again, I can’t have the Magi distracted trying to protect the Denraen.”
Hester studied her, his eyes dark but reflecting the firelight nearby. “I’d argue, but I don’t think I’d win.”
“Hester—”
He chuckled softly. “Not that it would be right. This isn’t the Denraen’s fight. We can face the Deshmahne, but this…” He straightened his back. “We will see to it that your two Magi make it safely back to the city with the proof. I will provide word to Endric that the Deshmahne move.”
“They might think to attack the groeliin as well,” Roelle said, putting voice to her suspicions. “They might use it as a way to demonstrate their strength to the gods.”
Hester frowned. “That would be… troubling.”
“We will do what we must,” she said.
“As will I, Roelle.”
“Thank you, Hester.”
“You fight well, Mage. You lead better.”
“Do you think Endric knew what he was doing sending us north?” she asked.
“I think Endric has prepared for more than even the Magi know. This,” he said, his gaze turning toward the Antrilii camp, “makes me believe that even more.”
“Ride quickly. It’s possible the man you sent back never made it with news of what we were facing. We’ll need the Council’s help..” Was that even true? Roelle wasn’t certain what help the Council could offer.
“It will be as you command,” Hester said. Before turning away, he saluted her.
Roelle watched him leave, praying that they would return safely.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The green plains below him were covered with tents. Far to his left, Richard could see Bastiin, its great walls easily visible even here, and beyond that the blue of the sea. The tents were arranged in orderly rows. Neatly. Perfectly, as his army should be. Richard expected nothing short of excellence from his troops.
The tents were small, only large enough to cover one man as he slept, but Richard gave a tent to each soldier as a sign of the importance he placed on his army. There were four separate camps, though there should be five, and each seemed to be running smoothly. He knew who commanded each of the four camps, and knew who to call when it was time to move. Each was headed by one of the lower kings, all but the fourth. The fourth were the elite warriors, the Aaldian Dragons. That he commanded. At least in name.
It had been a week they had waited. A week, and still no sign of Locken. He should have heard some word from the commander, at least from the scouts he had sent forth. So far, none had come back. He worried what it meant.
He worried about his throne. Theodror had died too suddenly.
And of what?
An attack. Rebellion. Richard could hardly believe it, but Raime had sources that told him what had happened.
Theodror’s death left Allay as next in line.
If I get him back from those bedamned Mages! The throne must be protected.
A huge canvas tent had been prepared for him. It stood taller and larger than all the others. He walked to it. The two guards standing to each side of the door, each garbed in the distinctive armor of the Aaldian Dragons, saluted him as he passed. Neither bothered to look at him otherwise. It was as it should be. They trained to see attackers, not their king.
Inside, a fire blazed high, casting flickering shadows around the tent. The air was filled with the heavy smoke of the burning hickory as it rose toward the great opening in the roof. To one side, he saw a table with a large map spread across. It was, or had been, his planning map. Raime used it now, and stood leaning over it as Richard entered.
Off to the other side, he could see another table, empty, and surrounded by three men in chairs. He sighed as he neared. There should be four sitting.
As he approached, the lesser kings rose quickly. Each gave a hurried bow. Richard nodded to his advisor. Raime wore his all too familiar black cloak, the painfully familiar etching along the collar. The man did not nod back. It had been that way for several days.
Richard looked each king in the eyes before taking his seat. There was something different about the way they looked at him now. He couldn’t quite place what it was, but was sure he didn’t like it.
“It has been a week,” he began. The three kings nodded. “One week and nothing of Locken. We can wait no longer.”
“My lord,” Robden began. He was the only man with a full head of gray hair, and always strove to be the voice of reason. Once again, it seemed he would not disappoint. “Locken has the longest journey to make, all the way from Saeline.”
One of the other kings nodded, but Richard threw a glare his way and he stopped.
Robden went on, ignorant. Or ignoring. He briefly wondered which.
“He even needs to travel around Lake Gomald. It is a week’s journey itself!”
Richard paused. What Robden said rang true. It could be simply that the journey was a long one, and that he had been delayed along the way.
He sensed a light brushing along his ear, and then it felt as if something grabbed at his head and tore into his mind.
Richard wanted to scream but couldn’t, frozen in place. His muscles would not respond, and his body seemed to betray him. He now knew that Raime did something to his mind, but didn’t know what he could do to stop the pain.
As suddenly as it came on, it left.
“There will be no reprieve for Locken.” It was a whispered command, almost a voice in his mind.
Had the other kings seen or suspected anything?
Looking at them, the three stared at him expectedly.
“No. Locken has had ample time to make an appearance,” Richard said.
Robden opened his mouth but seemed to catch himself.
“Ample time. If he has been delayed, there has been time to send a messenger ahead. We have heard nothing.” He turned a hard gaze on each of the kings. Each turned away as he stared. “We will depart the day after next. Have your troops make the necessary preparations.” Jeslen and Paylig nodded. Robden was slower with his response, but finally it came. “We will head north and east around Lake Gomald, toward Saeline. We will find what keeps Locken. He will answer.”
Jeslen smiled. It was comforting to know he had an ally there, though they should all be allies. Paylig always went with the strength; he would follow Richard. Robden… Robden’s allegiance was to the throne. The man respected the authority and tradition of the High King.
“If we see Locken or his men along the way, we will consider them our enemy,” he added.
Robden shook his head almost angrily. “We should give the man a chance to explain. He has done nothing before this to warrant such action.”
“Silence!” Richard roared, his deep voice filling the tent. He would not have his authority questioned. The volume of his voice surprised even him.
It
had the desired effect, though. Robden stepped back, eyes turning down in fear. Perhaps they would all remember to fear him again.
“My lord,” Robden whispered quietly.
Richard let the silence build. It hung heavy in the air. Thick. Almost palpable. “We will leave the morning after next. Ready your men,” he reiterated. A wave of his hand, and the kings were kneeling quickly before they hurried toward the door to the tent.
Turning to Raime, he wished for time to himself. Raime was some sort of wizard—nothing like a Mage—and wielded too great a power. He knew the little tricks Raime played on mind were just a taste of that power, and Richard had no idea how to fight against it. Worse, he feared how to stop him from whatever he planned.
Raime stepped closer. The sweet stench Richard had always smelled on him from the first time they’d met no longer was evident. He wasn’t sure what that meant.
“Very good, my lord. It is good to have your men fear you.” His voice seemed to echo, and a strange accent played with the words, making them hard to understand at times.
Richard imagined Raime smiling at him. He couldn’t see it, though. He had never seen his face.
“We will move into Thealon once we move past Locken. It will be an easy battle.” Raime said.
“War is never easy.” Raime laughed in reply. Richard no longer expected anything else. “I worry what message Locken sends me.”
The hood of Raime’s cloak shook in response. “His absence? It means what it seems.”
Richard waited. Raime’s answer would come.
“Treason.” The word hung in the air. Seeming to float around him, pulling him in with twisted arms before spinning him away. “No matter, though.” An arm waved in the air dismissively. “Thealon will be an easy target. The attacks in the north grow worse. Thealon knows it must protect its northern border and its precious people. While they move north, the west grows weak. We attack at the flank. When our other allies join us…”
“Allies?”
“I have taken the liberty to arrange an allegiance with the Deshmahne. They are more than eager to gain a foothold in the north. They will be valuable against Thealon as we claim the Tower and demonstrate your strength to the gods.”
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