He struggled to hold the slow flow of the manehlin as Alriyn leached it from him. Jostephon staggered briefly before catching himself, screaming again. His face contorted in pain, his robe no longer hanging limp.
The painful onslaught of blows attacked Alriyn more rapidly. Lances of pain came at him from all sides, stabbing through him and nearly dropping him. It was all he could do to maintain his focus.
And he pulled harder.
Suddenly, several hands wrapped around him, grabbing him and pulling him back. He feared releasing his grasp of the manehlin, feared the strength it would give the Eldest. He was barely fending him off now.
He looked behind him and saw the other Magi Councilors, each unconscious and slung over the shoulder of one of the Denraen. Somehow Endric had escaped and gotten help. The grizzled general winced occasionally, and he knew the man felt the same as he. It was a testament to the general’s strength.
Novan still stood as well, and backed up slowly, his lips moving, but no sound coming from them.
As Alriyn was being carried away, he turned back to the Eldest and saw Jostephon slip to the floor. But Alriyn could still feel the sharp lances at his skin and jabs to his mind. He pulled back harder, squeezing at the energy as tightly as he could. It did not stop the Mage’s assault on him.
Hold it, the voice urged.
As they rounded a corner and the Eldest was out of sight, Alriyn clung frantically to the manehlin. His mind was in agony from the effort.
“He was defeated!” he cried to Endric. “Let me finish this!”
“No,” Endric grunted.
“He was defeated. I must go back!” His head ached. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold his mind open as he did.
“No!” Endric roared the answer this time. The sound of it shocked Alriyn, and he stopped fighting. Endric released him. “Do you see what he has done to the others?” he asked, pointing to the Councilors who were still unconscious. “They may be lost, yet you worry you didn’t fully destroy one Deshmahne?”
Alriyn looked at the limp forms of the Magi. They needed help, healing that only a few could provide. What was he doing? What had he done?
“There will be another time,” Endric said.
There might be, but would he have the strength? He had nearly torn his mind apart with what he did. Could he go through the same again?
He would have to find the strength for the Council.
They would need to act on the Deshmahne in Vasha, but then they would have to find the Uniter. No longer could he deny that the ancient tradition needed to be followed.
Chapter Two
Allay approached the small village along the border of Gomald, a cluster of stone buildings made up of mostly homes. A low wall surrounded it, much like those of the other villages they had passed, and nothing like the massive wall that rose around his home city of Gomald. Smoke rose from chimneys within the village, giving it a homey feeling that did nothing to lessen his sense of growing unease.
Each mile they traveled, each time they crested a hill, Allay felt increasingly uncomfortable. Mostly, it stemmed from the fact that they neared his home. It should be pleasant returning home, especially since he'd been away for as long as he had, but much had changed in the time that he'd been gone. He had changed.
“You don't have to be so silent,” Mendi said.
Allay shifted in the saddle to see her riding behind him. She was lovely today, though truth be told, most days she was lovely, even when she wasn't trying to be. Her raven-black hair brushing her shoulders, longer now than when they had left Gomald. In Gomald, she’d been forced to wear it short as befitting a slave. Growing it longer was one aspect of her defiance while in Vasha, and one he hadn’t opposed. It suited her growing confidence as well.
“I’m not.”
“You’ve said nothing the last few miles. I think even Rosahd has noticed.”
He breathed out a deep sigh. What should he tell her? Both had acknowledged their feelings, but they were heading back to Gomald to where she was little more than a slave, and he was now heir to the throne. Until he took the throne, they could be nothing more than master and servant.
Allay still couldn't believe that Theodror was gone. His brother, always so strong, always so confident, was dead. He didn't know what happened to him, other than the farther south they went, the more he began to hear of rumors of a rebellion within Gomald. Could that have been what happened? Could his brother have been caught in something like that?
Mendi waited silently for him to speak. She could be defiant in that way, and it would be nothing to her to force him to speak first.
“Rosahd thinks we have another few days until we reach Saeline,” he finally said. “I think the Denraen are ready for the safety of their castle.”
Yongar at least, appeared as if he was ready. They’d come across a few other groups of Deshmahne—patrols, from what Walden had said—and so far, hadn’t lost anyone, but he could tell from the way both Walden and Yongar acted that they feared another encounter when they might lose one of their group to the Deshmahne.
“I’m ready for a bed,” she said.
“Is that an offer?” he asked.
She shot him a hard look. “I didn’t think you were willing to take such a risk.” When he started to open his mouth to object, she cut him off by raising her hand. “I’m not sure I’m willing to either.”
“If only things were different,” he said.
Mendi stared at him, saying nothing for a moment before shaking her head. “You realize that as the heir, you can change whatever you choose.”
Allay had considered that. He was the heir now, which meant that he would rule Gom Aaldia. If he could be patient—if he could wait—he could change things for them. But Richard was not an old man. Nearly fifty, he had ruled for the last ten years and showed no signs of ill health. And it wasn't that Allay wanted anything unfortunate to happen to his father. Were it up to him, his father would remain in good health, but hopefully, come to understand that he had a mistaken view of things.
“When we reach Saeline, what do you intend to ask Locken?” Mendi asked.
Allay noted her omission of title when referring to the regional king. Like many from her island home of Salvat, she didn’t recognize the divisions within Gom Aaldia, or even its right to rule Salvat. “I need to know if he’s joining the war, or if he would be willing to work toward peace. I’ll need something if I am to coordinate with the other delegates. Locken has shown an unwillingness to simply go along with my father and this terrible plan he has to attack Thealon, when there’s another issue we need to address.” Seeing all the Deshmahne soldiers patrolling—soldiers, not priests, whatever they might call themselves—Allay realized that the Deshmahne were a greater threat to the safety of Gom Aaldia than they’d realized. The threat was not Thealon. “But I’m not sure Locken is even there.”
If Locken had abided by the summons, he would've ridden for Bastiin by now. Everything Allay had heard made it sound like he was unwilling to do that.
“I still think you need to return to Gomald. If there is anything to this rebellion, they'll need you. They'll need their prince. Gom Aaldia needs to be coordinated in their response to the Deshmahne invasion.”
“Even if I was sure this represented an invasion”—and Allay wasn’t, not entirely. It was possible his father had allowed the Deshmahne presence—“I think it's dangerous to return to Gomald. My father's advisor—”
“Has gone with your father. He wouldn't remain in the city without him. Which is why we need to return to Gomald. There are things you could do there that others couldn’t.”
Rosahd started back toward them with Walden riding alongside him, having returned from the nearby village. Their packs were heavier, filled with supplies. Allay found it interesting that Rosahd, a Mage who had not left Vasha in years, had become so skilled at trade, guided by the Denraen. Or perhaps he should not have been surprised. From what he’d seen of the Mage
assigned to him, Rosahd had a bright mind. He was inquisitive and seemed to realize that his presence was as pivotal as Allay’s role as delegate.
“I don't think there’s much I can do.”
He turned his attention to Mendi, and she watched him, those dark brown eyes of hers practically swallowing him. Allay shook those thoughts away. He couldn't allow himself to think like that, especially not now when they were so close to Gomald. When they reached the capital city, he had to force the attraction away. She was a slave, and he was a prince. It was the kind of romance stories were written about. But as much as he might want it, that could not be his story.
“Everything starts in the city, Allay. If you can settle the city, then you can work outward. Gomald connects the north and the south. You need Gomald to be strong to prevent a full on invasion.” She lowered her voice and leaned toward him. He was acutely aware of the heady scent of the floral soap she used and breathed it in. “I doubt Rosahd has listened to the Denraen, but I have. They’re surprised by how many Deshmahne we’ve seen.”
War. That was what Yongar had said to him. From what he’d seen, the movements they’d experienced as they made their way south, he found it easy to believe that it was war—even without his father starting another. The people of Gom Aaldia couldn’t sustain an attack on Thealon and a battle with the Deshmahne.
“I could go to my father—”
“Your know as well as I that your father won’t listen. That’s why you need to go to Gomald.”
He stared at her, noting the intensity in her eyes. “Why are you so concerned about Gomald, anyway? We could return to Gomald after I meet with my father.”
“I care about you, you fool,” she answered.
Allay started to smile. “It's more than that, though.”
Mendi nodded slowly. “I doubt your father will allow your return to Gomald once we find him. Whatever he’s doing—”
She cut off as Rosahd joined them. Since leaving Vasha, Mendi had hidden the connection between them from the Mage. Allay wasn’t certain why, but they had practice hiding, so he had fallen back into that role with just as much ease. Perhaps that was why returning troubled him. For now, even Rosahd didn’t know the connection they shared.
Mendi flashed a smile and spurred her horse expertly off to the side. Allay wondered if Rosahd realized how skilled Mendi was on horseback, skill that had come from years of practice serving him. There were probably many things Rosahd didn’t know about Mendi.
“We should keep on. Saeline is nearby, and from there we will go to—”
Allay glanced to Mendi and saw the worry in her eyes. How could he do anything that would upset her? “Gomald. We travel to Gomald.”
Rosahd shook his head. “I was to deliver you to your father. Your influence with him will settle this foolish skirmish. That was why you were named delegate. If he is in Bastiin, that is where we must go. You’ve seen what we’ve faced along the way.”
Walden watched Allay, a curious expression on his face. The other Denraen remained behind him, silent.
“That might be why I was named delegate, but Bastiin isn’t where I’m needed. My people need me to return to Gomald.” And so did Mendi, though he didn’t quite know why.
Chapter Three
The city of Rondalin spread out before Roelle. There was a distinct sprawl to what she saw, the ramshackle village that had sprung up outside the walls of the city made Rondalin nearly twice the size it had been before. She imagined the people inside the village—all having traveled south for the protection of Rondalin, but now, they were about to be in just as much of harm's way as they had been before. Coming south had not protected them.
The dappled-brown mare danced beneath her. Roelle patted the horse’s side, trying to soothe her. The horse had seen more battle than Roelle had expected when she had first traveled north. Then again, Roelle hadn't expected to see any battle. She had come seeking answers and had found allies. Finding the Antrilii had been the goal. Finding the Deshmahne had been a possibility. Finding these creatures—the groeliin—had been a nightmare.
The Magi with her were exhausted. Each had ridden hard over the last few weeks, and they had fought only one other battle with the groeliin. For the most part, the Antrilii took care of them. The Antrilii were amazing fighters, better than most of the Denraen she had trained with, even more skilled than General Endric in some ways.
More impressive than the Antrilii were the merahl. They were amazing creatures. She heard their braying, that long, haunting howl that split both day and night. More than even the Antrilii, the merahl guided them.
“The city lies in the path of these creatures,” Selton said.
Roelle turned in the saddle, facing her muscular friend. He had grown increasingly more somber the longer they had ridden, the shock of facing the Deshmahne replaced by horror of the groeliin. He had come north out of Vasha thinking to find adventure, perhaps explore some of the north. What they had encountered had been nothing like what any of them had expected.
“The merahl seem to be leading us east, which means that’s where the groeliin are going. That would be away from the city.”
Jhun rode on her other side and strained to see the city clearly. “It makes no sense. Why would the groeliin be heading away from the city? We’ve seen them destroy two villages already, moving straight through them.”
“They were empty,” Selton reminded her.
“Empty or not, does that matter to these creatures?” Jhun asked. “We’ve seen their disregard for pretty much everything in their path. Why would they care about avoiding Rondalin?”
Roelle looked for signs of the Deshmahne. She had seen them initially, thinking that they were in the city. The more they saw of the groeliin, the more Roelle began to wonder whether the Deshmahne sought to gain power and strength in the south because they knew about the growing threat in the north. The strength they possessed made the Deshmahne better equipped than most to handle the potential threat. Once again, her thoughts wandered to the notion of somehow partnering with them.
Roelle pushed the thought away. Partnering with the Deshmahne was not only out of the question, she doubted they would make effective partners. They were like the groeliin. They attacked the Magi. They sought destruction.
Only… what choice did they have?
Roelle bit back a hint of a smile. Could she really be thinking about trying to coax the Deshmahne into partnering with them? After everything they’d experienced, after all the fighting with the Deshmahne, did she dare?
“You have an idea?” Selton said.
Roelle breathed out a sigh. “Not a good one.”
“But an idea?”
Roelle looked back at the Magi with her. They waited in formation, all seated stiffly, ready to attack if needed. They had become soldiers. She wondered whether that would make her Founders proud or whether that would anger them.
“We’re outnumbered. Even with the Antrilii and the merahl, the groeliin far outnumber us. We’ll need help if we intend to stop the onslaught of ten thousand groeliin. If they reach farther south, all the people here will be in danger. Everyone will be slaughtered.” She turned to Selton and then Jhun. Both watched her, saying nothing. “We've seen what happened in the north when these creatures attacked. We've seen how they annihilate everything.”
“Roelle, are you actually thinking of convincing the Deshmahne to help us?” Selton asked.
She took a deep breath. “I’m beginning to think we have to.”
The only problem was, she didn't know how.
Isandra led the small caravan north. The chill mountain air whipped at her cloak, and the horse she rode tossed her from side to side uncomfortably. It had been years since she’d spent this much time in the saddle, and that had been a time when she’d frequently traveled outside of the city. Her body had begun to ache not long after leaving Vasha, and she wished she were already at their destination. Rondalin.
What was she thinking? She was
already regretting that she’d agreed to travel to Rondalin. But there was no turning back; she had to continue, though she missed the comfort of Vasha with every passing hour.
When she looked back, she noted the mountains rising ever higher behind her, reminding her of the home she was leaving behind.
She had volunteered to make the trip to investigate what might've happened to their missing delegates. The Magi Council needed to preserve that connection after all they’d gone through to set the plan in motion. But she’d not fully considered the journey itself. Magi no longer left the city unless kings from other regions requested advisors. That had been a decision of the Council all those years ago when they had failed to follow the prophecy and choose a Uniter. But now, few kingdoms were even willing to use them as advisors, claiming the Magi had refused to intervene when they were asked. These thoughts led her to believe volunteering for this mission may not have been the best idea.
But who else was going to do it? Alriyn had left the city before, traveling north in pursuit of his studies. She could've put it on him to go—and had considered doing so—but if she were honest with herself, the real reason she had volunteered was because she wanted to see for herself what might be happening. To see if there was any truth to the rumors Alriyn claimed. If there was, then Alriyn’s push to choose a Uniter had even more merit than the others believed. They might be able to convince the Council to select another Uniter.
The other reason she chose to come north was one that Alriyn didn’t know. Inraith, the young Mage who had returned to Vasha to alert Endric and Alriyn of what they had encountered in the north—and had died from his injuries shortly thereafter—was a relative of hers. Isandra and Karrin had agreed that they needed to find out what was happening up north. If creatures the likes of what Alriyn had shown them were attacking the villages, they had to do something about it. And they had to find Roelle and the other Magi and return them to safety. She would return to Vasha with what she learned and hope that Endric would send his troops north.
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