Locken still didn’t know whether to believe him or not but was thankful Theresa had sent word—both to him and to Endric.
Yet… there was something about him, an honesty, which compelled Locken to hear him out. He would at least offer him that.
Allay had asked to travel with him, to confront his father if necessary. He had granted the request, Locken’s treason not so far along that he wasn’t willing to find reconciliation with the rest of Gom Aaldia, if it were possible. Were it Theodror, Locken wasn’t sure he would have been willing to listen, but Allay was a different matter. The boy had made a name for himself, one nothing like his father’s. It would have pleased Locken at one time to seat him atop the throne. Times were different now. He’d gone too far with his rebellion.
Surprisingly, Allay had asked nothing of it. Instead, he had only asked about what his father was planning. Questions about his dead brother, the new advisor, and the plans to attack Thealon. Locken had answered all of them, and the man had seemed satisfied. He had seemed almost willing to side with him.
“The prince, sir,” Lonn reported, interrupting his reverie. “And his Salvat companion.” Lonn was at as much of a loss as he to explain that situation. Why would Allay have brought a servant with him, and one who acted nothing like a slave? From what he’d seen, they were more like partners.
“My lord,” Allay offered, tipping his head as they approached.
“Prince,” he returned. The man honestly had not been offended by the lack of a more formal title. He seemed almost insistent on addressing Locken with the title he assumed with their rebellion. “An army approaches.”
A nod of reply. “I know. It’s Robden’s men.”
Robden? Only Robden?
“How do you know?” Locken asked. “We can’t make out anything more than vague numbers through the haze from this vantage.”
Allay looked to his servant. “Mendi has ties to the Teachers. They claim Robden has been in communication with two who still serve you.”
“The Teachers? How would they get word?”
Allay shrugged. “Maybe there’s more to it. I rode down earlier this morning and saw his standard flying. None other was seen.”
Locken looked at him a moment and started laughing. Since pairing up with Allay in Thealon, the young prince had grown increasingly self-assured, as if he had struggled with some decision before and was now confident in what he had chosen.
“How can you be sure only one king lofts a standard?” Lonn asked.
“The other kings have far too much vanity and pride to not ride waving their banners. If others were with him, theirs would be seen,” Locken said. “Are you sure it was Robden’s banner you saw? We haven’t heard from our scouts yet.”
Allay nodded, turning his gaze to the sky. It was a clear day, cloudless, and the sun shined bright overhead. It didn’t make it any warmer, though. “Even if I hadn’t been forced to study politics and geography again in Vasha, I know King Robden’s banner.”
“Richard wouldn’t send only Robden. Something is amiss,” Lonn said.
“Robden is loyal to the throne. My father knows this and will take advantage of it. Robden was an easy choice.”
Lonn shook his head in reply. “No. Robden is loyal to the throne, but he is an honorable man. He will not attack.”
Locken wondered. Lonn’s advice was usually accurate, but he didn’t understand what it was to be king.
“It’s his honor my father expects.”
Allay was clever. He looked to Lonn and saw the man frowning.
“Richard sees us as traitors. He would have convinced the other kings that it must be so. It’s Robden sense of honor that Richard uses to bring us down. He knows Robden would not side with traitors, knows that Robden will work to end any rebellion.” He looked to his friend, his advisor, as he finished speaking.
“I understood what he meant.” Lonn looked to Allay. “But I’ve met King Robden. There is more to that man’s mind than unwavering loyalty to the High King’s throne.” Lonn turned back to Locken, catching his eye.
Always good advice. “So you would suggest that we…” He let his words trail off, his thought finished by Lonn.
“I don’t think he’s here for the reason Richard intended. We should meet with him and find out his true intentions.” Locken watched as Lonn turned back to Allay. “It is far easier to understand a situation when you know both sides.”
“We can meet with King Robden,” Allay replied. “But I doubt his intention is anything less than breaking your independence. My father will not tolerate Saeline being free for long.”
Locken knew that to be true. What was not clear was where Richard’s full attention lay now. Last he knew, the Tower and Thealon were too attractive a target. Richard seemed convinced he needed the appearance of power that the Tower provided.
The gods help the people of Thealon, he thought.
It had been a long time since they had listened, but he hoped they heard him now.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Alriyn stared at Jostephon, unable to shake his shock at the change in him. It was more than the tattoos and his strangely rigid posture, and more than his change in clothing, now dressed in the dark robes of the Deshmahne. The manehlin around him, the dark energy that he now possessed, was like a thick cloud.
Alriyn didn't have enough strength to draw away that much manehlin. Even if he did, he doubted he could hold it.
“Second Eldest?” Endric asked.
Alriyn kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, barely registering the hall around him. How many Denraen still stood? There were Magi, but they were in danger here now as well. Bodies lay scattered, defiling what had been the home of the Magi for a thousand years, a place of peace, and a place where the Urmahne should be honored. Jostephon changed that with his actions.
“Alriyn!” Endric said.
What could he say? What could he do with Jostephon coming at him with the power he now possessed? He’d gained too much strength for Alriyn to oppose.
When he glanced at the other Magi now with him, he knew there was nothing he could do that would keep them safe.
“Endric, gather your men. Be ready to defend what you can.”
Jostephon shook his head. Through the fog, it was difficult to see the motion, but Alriyn practically felt it. There was a malevolence to him.
“There will be no gathering of men. There will be no escape. The Magi will either join with me—”
“The Magi will not join with you,” Alriyn said, his anger boiling up into his words. How could Jostephon have done this? How could he have used the Magi like this? “You have perverted what we stand for.”
“What we stand for? What we stand for is power. It was given to us as a gift, and we have held ourselves apart for too long.”
“And that I agree with.”
Alriyn took a deep breath. As he let it out, he pushed, once more trying to widen his mind. Unlike the last two times, there was a limit to how far he could push. He felt a small fracture within his mind, but this time, there was no resulting increase in what he could draw upon.
“Stop the Deshmahne,” Alriyn said to Endric without looking over to the general.
Alriyn took a step forward. As he did, his hand went into the pocket of his cloak, and he gripped mahne. It was reassuring to hold the book his people had followed for centuries. It carried the weight of their needs, and he would not defy them now.
He reached for the manehlin that surrounded Jostephon, pulling it to himself.
The thick haze of fog started to dissipate. Unlike when he had fought the other Deshmahne, he was unable to draw a significant amount to him. His capacity was quickly overwhelmed.
Jostephon smiled. Alriyn could see his face clearly and saw anger flashing in his eyes that didn’t match the dark smile on his face.
“You surprised me, Alriyn. You, who once thought to be my equal. Now, now you'll be nothing more than a memory.”
Jostephon atta
cked.
It came as a series of painful lashes that struck him from all over. Pain worked inward, as if Jostephon reached inside of Alriyn, drawing on his manehlin, attempting to pull it away from him. Attempting to tear it away from him.
Alriyn screamed.
Jostephon's attack was every bit as painful as when he had attempted to open his mind. It was overwhelming, filling him. There was a distinct sense that there was nothing he could do, no way that he could fight back. Alriyn was small compared to the power Jostephon commanded.
The Second Eldest staggered, falling.
As he sank to the ground, he felt the manehlin that surrounded him, the energy that he had never seen before tearing his mind open, swirling away from him, drawn toward the Eldest. Alriyn fought, trying to maintain control of it, fearing what would happen were that energy to leave him, knowing what had happened to the Deshmahne when he had taken their energy.
Even as he fought, he recognized that he was not strong enough. The energy he could reach was not enough. He was not enough.
Fighting was futile. His life was futile. Everything he cared about was futile.
Why would he feel such a thing?
He slowly recognized—possibly too slowly—the influence from the Deshmahne. This was their emotional attack, their way of defeating him without even fighting.
Alriyn had to fight. If he didn't, they would win.
He struggled to stand, pushing aside the thoughts plaguing him.
As he stood, Alriyn was forced back. He wasn't strong enough to withstand the attack, but at least he no longer felt the horrible wave of uselessness. He might lose his manehlin, the energy might be stolen from him, but he would preserve his mind.
Alriyn fought as Jostephon pressed forward, drawing his energy.
Something was pushed into his hand, and he looked up and realized that Novan had shoved his staff into his hand.
“Use it,” Novan demanded.
Alriyn kept his attention on Jostephon. The Eldest stalked toward him, moving more carefully now. “I don't know how.”
“Draw through it. Use the power you can find in it. Your people thought the teralin the key to reaching the gods. They were wrong about that, but it can help and can make you stronger.”
Novan spun away from him, turning to face Deshmahne. Without his staff, Alriyn worried that the historian would fall quickly. The historian surprised him by withdrawing a short sword from beneath his cloak.
Alriyn gripped the staff and tipped it toward Jostephon. The Eldest hesitated, studying the staff. Alriyn risked a glance and noted that the teralin worked through it no longer glowed.
How could he use this? What was the key?
The historian had somehow activated the teralin along the staff. Alriyn had seen it glowing. Could he do something similar?
He shifted his focus from trying to maintain his connection to the manehlin to forcing a connection through the staff.
The veins of teralin within it began to glow.
As they did, Alriyn felt something strange.
There was a stretching within his mind, one that was much like what he'd felt when he had forced his mind open, but this… This was softer, more natural. Alriyn could tell it was augmented by the staff, somehow the historian’s staff allowed him to reach for greater potential of manehlin that he could otherwise.
The pain from Jostephon’s attack nearly toppled Alriyn. He leaned on the staff, determined to continue pushing through it.
It felt as if his mind opened like a yawning cavern.
Energy swirled all around him. He could see it. He could feel it.
He stopped Jostephon from drawing his manehlin away from him.
Jostephon’s eyes narrowed.
Inhaling deeply, Alriyn stood, clutching the staff as he pointed it toward Jostephon.
He pulled upon the dark manehlin surrounding Jostephon. The fog faded, and now the energy that had been swirling between them, torn from Alriyn and into Jostephon, shifted, reversing course. Now Alriyn was the one to draw the manehlin toward him.
Jostephon cried out, but Alriyn continued to pull, drawing more and more of the manehlin away from Jostephon. His old friend took a step back, but somehow, Denraen were there, preventing him from leaving.
“You stole from the Magi,” Alriyn said.
Jostephon gritted his teeth. “I have only taken what was necessary.”
“You were willing to sacrifice your people in order to gain power. You have destroyed everything you believed in.”
Alriyn pulled on more of the manehlin, feeling it swirl into him, into the staff. It was as if the staff served as a reservoir, both to help him reach greater potential, but also to help him store it as well.
How had Novan created this?
Jostephon took a step toward him. He had unsheathed a sword from somewhere beneath his robes. It had an inky black blade. The manehlin that surrounded Jostephon also surrounded the sword. Alriyn had little doubt that the sword served as something like Novan’s staff did for him. If he gave Jostephon a chance, he would overwhelm Alriyn.
Alriyn swung the staff.
As he did, he released some of the manehlin, sending it out, away from Jostephon. Alriyn drew more power into the staff as Jostephon swung his blade, colliding with the staff.
Alriyn feared the staff might shatter, that the sharp blade would cut through it, but the veins of teralin seemed to protect it.
He swung the staff once more, this time, catching Jostephon on his temple.
He crumpled.
Alriyn brought the staff up, ready to strike him again when someone grabbed his wrist. Alriyn spun, ready for an attack. Novan and Endric stood on behind him.
The battle was over.
Bodies littered the ground, both Denraen and Deshmahne. Alriyn thought he saw a pale cloak of one of the Magi and would need to see who had fallen. So much destruction. So much loss. And for what?
“Easy, Alriyn,” Novan said.
“But the Eldest—”
“We'll take care of him,” Endric said.
“But the manehlin he can control is more than I can suppress.”
Novan's gaze narrowed. “I think I have a way we can confine him.”
Alriyn took a step back, nodding. His mind struggled to understand what he'd been through, but he was at a loss. His gaze stopped again on the fallen Denraen and Magi. How could they recover from this? Would they ever recover? Would he?
He had no choice. The Magi needed to recover, and for that, they needed him. He could work on unifying those that remained, and then they could restore the Magi to what they had once been. The Deshmahne were only part of the danger the world faced. Whatever Roelle faced was equally a part. For them to survive, they needed to find the Uniter.
But he worried that it might be too late.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Richard looked behind him. His army stretched far in the distance, and he smiled. It was massive. He doubted that there was another army in the world that could match what he had amassed. Now, though, he was to the east of the body of his army, surveying the land for himself. Men of his Aaldian Dragons were nearby, but they knew to give him his distance as he looked. They feared him, he knew. The thought made him smile again.
In the distance, far behind him, he could see the deep blue reflection of the massive River Rondall. It had taken them days to cross, slowing them considerably. They had been forced to create a makeshift bridge, tying together rafts until it spanned the width of the river. It had almost been more frustration than he could take.
He winced as he thought about the river. Raime had not been pleased with their efforts and had not hesitated to express his anger to Richard. The man was gone now, and in his absence, Richard felt relief.
Or is he gone?
The question filled his mind. He could never be sure. The last time the man had left for several days, Richard had considered changing the orders of the High Priest. Raime had been gone for three days, and the
y neared the river’s edge. Raime had instructed him to reach the river and wait for his return. Instructed him! The High King!
It shocked him that he let the man order him. In Raime’s absence, Richard issued new orders, commanding the troops to head north so they could cross in Riverbranch. As soon as he did, though, Raime returned. It was almost as if he had been watching him from a distance. His punishment had been severe.
Richard didn’t let those thoughts creep across his mind for long. There were times when he could swear that Raime knew what he was thinking, knew it and acted accordingly. Part of him knew it was not possible, yet there had been a time when he would not have thought it possible for someone to issue him orders. The thought burned at him, and he forced himself to let it go.
Richard turned around and faced the open plains before him. They were on the western edge of Thealon, and he was ready to head farther east, toward the city itself. What he could not seem to recall was why they attacked Thealon.
The Tower. We must have the Tower.
Certainly, the peace between their nations had been uneasy of late, yet he risked his people in this venture not just their support.
Damn their support, he thought. I am the High King. They will obey.
He turned farther east, looking far in the distance. Scouts had told him that Thealon troops were stationed not more than two days’ ride from here. Troops in such few number that his soldiers would sweep through and crush them easily. He would have smiled, but the thought left a sour taste in his mouth today. Beyond the few troops was the city Thealon.
The Tower of the Gods was in the capital. Controlling the capital meant possession of the Tower. A long time ago, he had thought that would impress the gods. Now, he was not as certain. Now, he worried his attack would only serve to anger the gods, but if he didn’t attack, he would anger Raime. He feared him more than the gods.
He looked back over his shoulder, toward his land, toward Gom Aaldia. Where was Robden in all of this? The man had been sent to dispatch Locken weeks before, and nothing had been heard from him since. Richard had thought that Locken would be swayed by the presence of an army at his doorstep, had thought that would be all it would take to convince him to give up his game. Perhaps he had not taken Locken seriously enough. Perhaps he had engaged Robden’s army.
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