The Lost Prophecy Boxset

by D. K. Holmberg

  “You?”

  Brohmin smiled. “The Magi thought they failed, but they did not. I served and was given a gift for my service. When my time as the Uniter ended, the Conclave made me the Hunter, and I still serve.”

  Jakob shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  Brohmin rested a hand on his shoulder. “You will learn what it means,” he started. “It is a responsibility unlike any other, and one that I am sure Endric did not thrust upon you lightly. It was to have been him, but perhaps he knew better than all of us.” He paused, and his eyes met Jakob’s. “There is much about you I don’t understand. I’m sure the answers will come.”

  They sat in silence a moment. “Aruhn called me the Uniter of Men,” Jakob said.

  Brohmin sighed. “Perhaps. The Cala maah translate nemah differently, but many who speak the ancient language do the same. The result is the same: this person will establish peace. Perhaps the sword was the key all along.”

  Jakob thought about what Brohmin suggested. Even before Neamiin had awoken following his time in the Cala maah, he had experienced strangeness. There had been the visions and the strange waking dreams. There was his experience outside Rondalin when time had seemed to stop. And then again within the mountains when he had pulled the rocks down upon the groeliin. Then there was his rapid mastery of the sword when previously he had been average at best. Yet had any of it happened before he had held Neamiin?

  No, he decided. He had been positively normal before retrieving the sword from his father’s quarters and holding Neamiin for the first time.

  What was this sword turning him into? Could he be the nemah?

  “You’re not certain,” Brohmin suggested.

  Jakob nodded slowly, closing his eyes as memories of everything he had been through flashed through his mind. “I don’t know what’s happening, Brohmin. Could it all be related to the sword?”

  “I don’t claim to understand everything in the world around us. I’ve seen much, experienced much in my life, but I’ve never seen anything like I have seen around you. Does it mean you are the nemah?” he asked. Giving a shrug, he said, “Maybe not, but there is only one other I know of who may be able to explain what is happening to you.”

  “Alyta,” Jakob said.

  Brohmin nodded. “So either way, we must find her and save her. For her sake and yours.”

  The words hung heavily in the cool night air before Jakob nodded. There was a different level of urgency to their mission now.

  As Brohmin stood, he rested a comforting hand on Jakob’s shoulder, squeezing with surprising strength, before walking away. The man did not say anything as he left, now barely a hitch to his step. Brohmin made his way over to Salindra, who frowned as he approached. She reached to check him over, and he waved a hand at her half-heartedly which she ignored. There was a small smile on Brohmin’s face as she worried over him.

  Jakob sat, staring blankly at the crackling flames, enjoying the warmth the fire provided, and barely registered when Anda sat next to him.

  “He spoke to you of the nemah,” she said.

  Jakob looked over to her and was startled. Anda had done something to her features, creating a more human illusion. Her eyes slanted a little less. Eyebrows were filled in where before there had been none. And she had a full head of flowing golden hair, stretching down to fall to the middle of her back. She was stunning.

  Yet Jakob could see through the illusion if he tried. If he focused on the energy surrounding her, the ahmaean swirling densely around her, he saw her daneamiin features again. Blinking, he forced his mind back to the question she had asked. “Um,” he stuttered, finding it suddenly difficult to organize his thoughts, “he did.”

  Anda seemed to blush. Jakob was not certain, but it was almost as if her eyes flushed with color rather than her cheeks, but it passed quickly and was gone.

  “Will I pass?” she asked quietly, avoiding his gaze.

  He nodded. “You’re beautiful,” he said, catching himself. “You were beautiful before, though.” She touched his arm. It was a brief thing, but the peace she radiated filled him, and his fluttering heart slowed.

  “Thank you,” she said, almost flushing again. She reached up to her golden hair and twirled her fingers through it. “This is an easy veil to maintain, and should make our passage easier.”

  Jakob understood. He had been surprised when he first saw the daneamiin. Others would be as well, and not all would harbor good will toward her. “It will work, though I think you’re still too tall.”

  She laughed. It was a sweet sound, and pure, and almost felt a part of the forest itself. “That is a more difficult veil to maintain,” she admitted. “So I will be tall.”

  “I’m sorry,” he told her.

  “Why?”

  “That you must wear this disguise,” he answered. “That you’re stuck here with us unable to return home.”

  She reached out and rested her hand lightly on his arm again. A wave of calm came with the touch and stayed with him. “I have many paths before me.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  She caught his eyes and smiled. “Only that I do not worry about such matters,” she answered. “I will end where I am meant to be.”

  Jakob surprised himself by laughing; it had been a long time since he had felt anything but nervousness and unease, yet it came easily with Anda. “I am glad of your company, Anda,” he told her.

  “And I yours, Jakob Nialsen.”

  She left her hand on his arm, and they sat staring at the fire, saying nothing more.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Roelle tensed in her saddle, uncomfortable with the proximity of the Deshmahne. Twelve Deshmahne, all with moderate markings, were mounted and rode in silence. She led them, listening for sounds of the merahl to guide them, having sent Lendra back to the Magi with word. Hopefully, the Magi and the Antrilii would follow Roelle and her new “recruits,” but not too closely. She didn't want to risk exposing the Magi to the Deshmahne. At least this way, she could keep them separate. For now.

  She wondered how long she could manage to keep the Deshmahne from finding and pursuing the Magi. Maybe when the Deshmahne saw what they faced, they would lose interest in the Magi.

  Trees ran along one side of the road, with rolling hills all around. The air had a bite to it, one that reminded her of the chill of the north. The sun hadn’t broken through the clouds, so the day was a drab gray. It fit her mood.

  “Tell me, Sergeant, where are you from? You don’t sound like you’re from Rondalin,” she said to the man leading the Deshmahne procession. He was a younger man with piercing blue eyes, a short shock of brown hair, and several days’ worth of growth on his face. He had a rugged handsomeness about him. The only thing marring it were the extensive Deshmahne markings starting on his arms and working up almost to his neck.

  Roelle wondered if he had similar tattoos on his chest and back. She sensed a certain power from him and wondered if he could detect her connection to the manehlin as well. Hopefully not, she decided.

  The sergeant stared straight ahead. Roelle had discovered his name was Fenick. It sounded like a northern name, and she wondered if he had come to Rondalin from one of the northern villages.

  “I'm from a place called Inasl.”

  For a moment, Roelle wished that Lendra were still with her. Having studied maps and geography, the historian had an understanding of such things that Roelle didn't possess. Would she have known where Inasl was? Would it matter?

  “I'm not familiar with Inasl,” she told Fenick. The procession made their way east, and gradually south. Occasionally in the distance, she would hear the sound of the merahl and wondered if the Deshmahne recognized the sound. Fenick didn't seem to.

  “Inasl is in the northwest, just beyond the upper foothills,” he said.

  “How did you end up here?” she asked. “The attacks?”

  He shrugged. “At least the rumors. Others come south, so I did too. Living in
the north, you begin to realize help isn’t going to come. You need to find your own way.”

  “What of the Denraen?”

  He turned to her. “Captain tells me you’re searching for an audition with the Denraen. They don't take auditions.”

  “By that, you mean you weren't chosen,” Selton said. He’d been riding nearby and had been mostly silent before now.

  Roelle thought the comment a bit harsh, but it was a good point. It was possible that Fenick's anger came from the fact that he hadn't been chosen by the Denraen.

  “Not chosen. Not offered a choosing. The Denraen haven't made their presence known in Inasl in a long time.”

  “That's why you converted?” she asked.

  Fenick nodded slowly. “The order demonstrates strength in the power of the gods. It's something I can see. Something I can feel.” His gaze drifted to the markings on his wrists that were visible. “The gods have given me strength, and they have given me the ability to help protect my people. That is more than the Denraen have ever done. More than even the Magi.”

  He fell silent again, and Roelle didn't want to push the issue. Besides, he spoke the truth. The Magi hadn't done anything to help protect the people of this part of the world. They may have offered kings Magi advisors, but they never did anything more than that. For years, they hadn’t even tried to exert their influence in any meaningful way. Choosing the delegates had been the first time the Magi had attempted to intervene in as long as Roelle had lived.

  “I thought you said these creatures were coming out of the north.”

  Roelle nodded. “They’re out of the north. They seem to be moving somewhat east.”

  “And will miss Rondalin?” Fenick asked.

  “I don't know. We suspect there are more than what we’ve been able to track. If that's the case, some might miss Rondalin, but others… Others might attempt to destroy it.”

  Fenick’s face darkened, but he said nothing, and they rode on in silence.

  As they rode, the day grew long. Selton and Jhun remained quiet, but she detected their tension, both uncomfortable with the proximity to the Deshmahne. The Deshmahne, for their part, were silent. They were nothing like the violent aggressors the Magi had encountered before.

  There was a difference—there had to be—though she didn’t know what it was. Maybe Fenick could help her.

  “Tell me about the Deshmahne,” she said.

  Fenick looked over. With his deep blue eyes, he was almost disarming. “If you are faithful to the Urmahne, you will find the ideals of the order difficult.”

  Roelle almost sighed. “I'm not certain how faithful I am to the Urmahne,” she said. As she did, she realized that it was truer than she realized. She'd been raised to believe that the Urmahne meant peace, that they were the way to reach the gods, but what she had seen and had been forced to do felt nothing like that.

  She didn't want to become like the Deshmahne, and didn't believe that violence and exerting force upon the world was the way to the gods, but she had begun to question. Maybe Fenick could provide her with some of the answers she sought.

  “What would you like to know? The priests can tell you all you wish to know about the faith if that's what you would prefer. The order welcomes all who are willing to listen.”

  “And you? What's your role?” Roelle asked.

  “I'm a soldier. I thought you recognized that.”

  “How do you serve the priests?” Selton asked, leaning toward Roelle. His hand remained close to the hilt of his sword, and Roelle suspected he was ready to unsheathe and attack if it became necessary. Would they be able to stop twelve Deshmahne if it came to that?

  The more they got to know Fenick, would they be able to attack him?

  There was danger in allowing themselves to get too close, danger that came from familiarity. From what she'd seen of the Deshmahne, they wouldn't hesitate to attack her for being one of the Magi. She needed to be ready to match their intensity and be ready to fight if need be.

  “Most converted to the order are soldiers. We organize like soldiers, we fight like soldiers, and we train like soldiers.”

  “Most?” Roelle asked.

  Fenick glanced over. “Some join the priests. The priests are responsible for finding people to convert.”

  “They're the ones who roam the countryside?” When Fenick's eyes narrowed, Roelle hurriedly finished. “We've heard stories of men coming through villages. I thought that were Deshmahne soldiers, but…”

  “Those would be the priests. They have a different organization. I'm not familiar with it. The Desh are the ones closest to the High Priest. They’re given even greater power. I'm just a soldier. That's enough for me.”

  As they continued north and east, the occasional sound of the merahl near her, Roelle noticed the shadows stretching. She grew weary and wanted nothing more than to simply sink into a bed, something she hadn't had the luxury of in far too long. All she had known had been the discomfort of the ground, blankets beneath her, but rarely even the warmth of a fire at night. She always remained cold in her blankets, shivering against the night’s chill, much like now.

  The shadows shifted, and Roelle sat up alertly in her saddle. Those weren't shadows.

  “Groeliin,” she hissed.

  Roelle unsheathed her sword, turning to Selton and Jhun. They had followed her lead without hesitation. What of the Deshmahne? What would they do?

  Now would be the deciding moment. With their dark power, she thought the Deshmahne wouldn’t be affected the same way as Lendra and the Denraen—those without any abilities—especially given their particular strengths and skills, but she hadn't known, not with any certainty.

  “You found these creatures?” Fenick asked.

  Roelle pointed with the tip of her sword. They were moving in the distance, possibly two hundred yards away, but following parallel to them. They weren't moving toward them—not yet.

  Roelle's experience with the groeliin had taught her that as soon as they realized they had been seen, they would attack. “Do you see them?” she asked, praying silently to the gods—Deshmahne even, if it required that to stop the groeliin—that he would be able to see the creatures. If he could, her ill-fated plan might work.

  Fenick stared into the distance, his eyes squinted. After staring for a long while, his breath caught, and he reached for his sword.

  She allowed herself to relax, but only a little.

  “I see them,” he said. “How is it that you saw them first?”

  With the groeliin following as they did, she had a chance to count them. This wasn't as large a brood as others they’d encountered, possibly only fifty. With just the three Magi, she doubted she would be able to do much other than get overrun. But if the Deshmahne were able to face them, they might have a chance.

  “See?” Roelle asked. “See how close they have come to Rondalin?”

  Fenick nodded. “This is enough for me to report back to the captain. We can shift some patrols—”

  He didn't get a chance to finish. The groeliin noticed them.

  The creatures raced toward them, swarming over the ground, covering the two hundred yards in several heartbeats. Roelle, Selton, and Jhun all jumped from their saddles, all more comfortable fighting on foot. The Deshmahne stayed mounted and moved into a tactical position, one she recognized from Endric's book, but it was a basic maneuver. She hoped it would suffice. This was not her group to command.

  At least they would fight.

  Roelle met the groeliin, slashing with her sword, the blade blurring with her movements. She hacked, drawing on the strength of her ancestors, pulling upon that part of her mind that gave her the Magi abilities, opening herself to them and using that to wrap around these creatures, slowing them enough to make them mortal.

  Even that was barely enough to slow them.

  She hacked, cutting groeliin after groeliin, spinning through them. Her mind was blank, focused only on the forms, on the sword, and the next creature that appe
ared.

  Distantly, she was aware of Selton fighting alongside her, his movements perhaps a half second slower than hers, but still fast enough, still strong enough, to cut through the groeliin. Jhun fought equally well. She could sense the Deshmahne engaging as well, but couldn’t turn her attention to see how they were faring.

  Even with the additional forces, she feared there were too many.

  With fifty in this brood, she didn't know whether they would be able to withstand the attack. She had probably brought down a half-dozen herself, enough that she had diminished their numbers, with Selton and Jhun cutting down another couple. But the creatures kept coming. They were relentless, all claws and teeth and clubs. She had no idea how many the Deshmahne were taking down.

  Fatigue started to get to her. There was only so much fighting she could do. She had fought for days and knew she would have to fight more, but the numbers here were too great.

  Finally, she turned to see how the Deshmahne were doing.

  Their horses were seasoned warhorses. Somehow they had trained them to battle, though they probably had not seen any. The horses kicked at the groeliin, fighting nearly as ferociously as the merahl. Deshmahne swung their swords from above, raining blows down upon the groeliin, cutting them into pieces.

  They fought quickly, and several of the Deshmahne fell. A distant part of her mind told her that with only fifteen against fifty, some were bound to fall, but it still stung.

  As quickly as the battle had begun, it was over. The groeliin were slaughtered. The brood destroyed.

  Roelle paused to catch her breath, moving to wipe her blade clean on the ground. They had survived. And more, the Deshmahne had seen the threat—the real threat—the groeliin posed.

  Would it be enough to coax them into joining them?

  Fenick glanced from the fallen groeliin to her, the perpetual frown on his face deepening. He stood that way for a long moment without saying anything. He looked at Roelle, a question in his eyes, one she knew she would have to answer, but she wasn't sure how he would respond.