The Lost Prophecy Boxset

by D. K. Holmberg

  He tossed the thought aside. He would have heard news of it by now if that were the case. No, there was something else afoot. Something he needed to learn about before it was too late.

  Turning back toward the Thealon plains, he almost jumped at what he saw. Raime suddenly stood before him, still wearing his dark cloak and still with the hood pulled over his head.

  “Where is your man Robden?” Raime asked, his voice that of fire.

  “I don’t know,” Richard answered, trying to hide his fear. “There should have been some word by now.”

  Raime turned to look at him more squarely, and Richard could see the two red flames that danced where his eyes must be. “I will tell you where he is, King Richard,” Raime mocked. “He has joined with Locken.”

  Trying to step back from the man’s intimidating presence, he said, “I’ve heard nothing. Anything could have happened.”

  “Nothing has happened,” Raime answered. “But it is not important. There is little they can do to stop us now.”

  Richard said nothing. He feared upsetting the man, choosing silence instead.

  Raime turned to look over the plains before facing him again. “You were wise to follow the course I set before you,” he spoke. “The consequences will be greater the next time you do not.” The man turned his fiery eyes upon him once again. “I may be gone for a while. You will continue as planned.” He paused. “Do not think that because you cannot see me, I cannot see you.”

  Richard shivered at the warning. It echoed too closely what he had been thinking. Then suddenly, Raime was gone. He seemed to disappear from his sight with a blink.

  That is not possible!

  Somehow, though, it was. There was much about him that seemed impossible. Terror rolled through him. Fear of the man.

  He is not a man, he thought. He is worse.

  Richard had never wanted to acknowledge that the man had power over him. Power greater than he could imagine. Beyond his understanding. But now, with this latest threat, and proof of his seemingly all-knowing presence, he knew that he would never cross Raime again.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The horse jostled him as he rode, his tailbone growing numb, and he winced. It had been a long time since Locken had ridden this much or this hard. He looked over at Lonn riding steadily next to him. The man seemed as if the ride did not bother him, which Locken supposed it did not.

  They’d left Gom Aaldia, and had entered Thealon, chasing Richard and his troops. Somehow, Richard had managed to get past them, and now he brought his troops in pursuit, aided by Robden, but also those of the Ur, soldiers from Chrysia.

  He surveyed the sheer size of his army in the distance. It was enormous now with Robden’s troops added. They camped on the huge slope on the other side of the Rondall River, small tents visible even from this distance. Robden’s decision to join had been a huge stroke of luck, though Locken knew he had nothing to do with the man’s choice.

  No, it had been Allay who had convinced the king from Bastiin to ride against his High King. Locken knew that for Robden, it had been the most difficult choice of his life. The man was more loyal to Gom Aaldia than any other, yet lately, his loyalty had been tested by Richard.

  I was loyal once as well.

  He had been loyal. To the throne though, not the King. The King had never earned his respect, and he would not give respect without the other deserving.

  Allay had spoken with Robden, explained what had happened, but more than that… had explained what happened in Gomald. There had been a rebellion, and they had removed the Deshmahne threat. He had spoken convincingly about the growing Deshmahne threat in the rest of Gom Aaldia. Even Locken had been swayed.

  “What purpose does this war serve?” Allay had asked Robden. “Our people face a different threat, one that we must be prepared to unite against if we want peace. And not only Gom Aaldia needs to unite, but all of the north.”

  Robden had shaken his head. “The High King commands.”

  Allay had smiled, and Locken had been uncertain then. “He commands, but what would you do?”

  A slight tilt of the head and Locken knew Robden was uncertain.

  “You are king of your people.”

  “Yes,” Robden answered.

  “Your charge is their welfare. They need you for protection.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do your people need this war?” Allay had asked.

  Locken smiled at that.

  “No,” Robden finally answered. He had thought a long time before answering.

  “Then why?”

  He had left with the question, knowing then that Robden would not fight. Not him, at least. The prince had learned persuasion from the Magi. Persuasion, and more. The peace he fostered was beyond what Locken could have hoped for.

  It was similar to what he had done with the Councilor of Chrysia. He seemed to know far more about the politics of the country than even Locken did. It had made bargaining with Lord Comity far easier, and he’d forged a trade agreement when there had not been one for years. Locken remembered his amazement at that, thinking that Allay would have made a powerful King, one he would have been proud to serve. Now, though, it was different.

  Now Locken led men to battle Allay’s father. There could be no turning back.

  They rode a little longer in silence, the edge of where they would camp drawing near. “You know what will happen when we reach Richard and his army,” Locken said, breaking the silence.

  He did not even see Lonn nod. The night was upon them.

  “There will be much bloodshed.”

  “We have seen it before,” Lonn reminded him.

  He looked over to his friend. “Not like this. This time,” he started but didn’t finish. It was different somehow this time. It seemed wrong. His countrymen. Their hand had been forced, yet it did not make it easier.

  “I know,” Lonn answered the unfinished statement.

  He thanked the gods for his friend. This trip would not be possible without his advice. He let the silence fill around them, choosing instead to look at the sky and the stars. His mind looked for the formations he knew from childhood, but his heart was not in it, and he soon gave up. This was a different sky from that of his childhood, a different place.

  Why do I face my countrymen on foreign ground?

  Lonn interrupted his thoughts with a question. “What will happen if we don’t stop Richard?” he asked. “If he takes the city?”

  Locken had not thought much about the possibility, other than wondering why.

  It gives him more land, but at what cost? Would he not just be expanding the territory he was responsible for defending? What of the Deshmahne? They had not seen evidence of the Deshmahne sweeping across the north, but he didn’t doubt Allay’s reports, not any longer.

  “I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

  “What will become of the Tower?” Lonn asked.

  The gods had not been seen in a long time. Would they care?

  The silence of the night stretched around them.

  “Will the gods be angered?” Lonn questioned.

  He felt his heart skip. It echoed his thoughts. What reaction would the gods have to war in their city, near their Tower?

  They reached the campsite not long after. Many small fires lit the night, and he rode quickly to his tent at the center, tossing the reins of his horse to the stable boy who was in charge this night. Line boy, I suppose, he thought. There were few stables in war.

  Inside his tent, he lit a small candle. He sat at the table that had been set up for him, looking at his maps once again. He prayed they had enough time to catch Richard before he reached the city. Prayed he could stop the man.

  A light cough came from outside his door. He looked up from his table to see Robden enter. The man looked tired, his eyes dark and face unshaven. “What can I do for you, Robden?” he asked him, standing to greet him, showing appropriate king-to-king respect.

  Robden stepped farther
into the room. His eyes darted nervously before he spoke. “I hear that the prince has left us?” he asked, his voice full of concern.

  Locken smiled. “Sit,” he said, motioning to a chair toward the back of the tent. As Robden sat, he lowered himself into his chair again. “It is true.”

  “Did he say why?” Robden asked.

  “He thinks to bargain with Richard.” Locken was sure it would do no good, not from what Allay had told him, but he didn’t command Allay. And there remained a chance—however slight—that he might succeed. They needed every chance they could get.

  Robden looked down, his face worried.

  “What is it?” Locken asked. Since they’d joined forces, he and Robden hadn’t shared much time. Once, the two of them had been closer, which is why he knew what an honorable man he was.

  Robden looked up at him then and stared, seeming to examine him, weighing him. “Why do you do this, Locken? This war,” Robden said, motioning with his hands. “All of this. Why did you start this?” He looked to Locken again before going on. “Was it the power? The freedom? Would you do this to your people for power or freedom?”

  Robden had not asked him why before, having been swayed more by Allay’s words than any relationship with Locken. “It is neither,” he answered softly, easily. “I have never needed either of those things and yet have had them given to me.” He looked long and hard at Robden, holding the man’s gaze. “You would think that I would do all this for more power or freedom?” he asked. “I had all that I needed and more. No,” he went on, slowly. “Richard went too far with this attack. Much too far. He cares more about stealing the Tower from Thealon than about protecting our lands from the Deshmahne.”

  “Before seeing the prince, I was not going to make myself a traitor to the throne. I remain… unsettled.”

  “This needs to stop, Robden. Otherwise, where will this end?” he asked. After a while, he asked, “Why you, Robden?”

  The words seemed to hang in the air before Robden answered. “Allay.” The answer was simple. “He will be King, better than his father.” He paused, then spoke again. “Though I may live to regret this, you have my support.”

  They shook arms then, a more formal agreement than that which the prince had forged. Locken hoped it would not end in their failure.

  Allay’s mind raced as fast as the horse he rode, thundering across the plains where he’d heard the army had camped, now beyond the Thealon border. What was he thinking heading to his father like this? If he miscalculated, and if his father wasn’t willing to listen—or worse, if his father’s new advisor was there in spite of word that he was not—Allay doubted that his plan would work.

  Mendi rode next to him, her face neutral, but he knew she was as nervous as he. Neither of them knew how his father would react, not only to Allay but also to the presence of Mendi. If he’d heard about the rebellion, would he know the role those of Salvat had in it?

  In the distance, he saw signs of the camp of his father’s army.

  Allay slowed his horse, not wanting to ride too hard into the camp and risk attack by some of his father’s men. Hopefully, he’d not been away so long that they didn’t recognize him. Allay counted on the fact that they would recognize him.

  Near the camp—much nearer than he would have expected—they were stopped by a pair of soldiers. At first, they met him with swords drawn, but one of the men’s eyes widened, and he sheathed it quickly.

  “Prince Lansington,” he said. He was a stout man, with a high forehead and a long nose. “We had no word that you were coming.” His gaze drifted to Mendi before settling back on Allay.

  Allay tipped his head. “Nor should you. I need to see my father.”

  The man nodded and led Allay through the camp. It was well organized, the rows of tents likely arranged by region. He noted the deep maroon of Gomald, and a few deep blue of Salvat, but saw none of the Bastiin green or the orange of Saeline. How much did that bother his father?

  As they made their way through the camp, Allay noted soldiers making quiet preparations, none speaking loudly. Few bothered to look up as he passed. There was a sense of unease through the camp, one that seemed to come from more than the approaching war.

  Mendi seemed to notice it as well, and he could practically feel her body tensing near him. What was taking place in the camp?

  As they reached the massive tent in the center of the camp, no answers came.

  A pair of soldiers stood on either side of the door, blocking access. When they saw Allay, they turned slightly, allowing him to enter. The soldier who had met them on the road into the camp turned and hurried off.

  “I’ll wait here,” Mendi said.

  Allay looked up to the two guards and then surveyed the camp before shaking his head. “I think it’s better if you come with me.”

  “Your father—”

  “Will not harm my servant,” he whispered.

  Mendi met his gaze and nodded.

  They entered the tent.

  Like so many other things with his father, the interior of his tent was ornately decorated. A table set in the middle of the room, with a large mattress nearby. Not near the walls of the tent, Allay noted. Was his father so paranoid about his safety that he wouldn’t sleep near the sides of the tent? A plush carpet had been rolled over the ground, giving a strange warmth to the room. Three lanterns glowed with a sickly orange light.

  His father looked up from his seat at the table when he entered.

  Allay almost took a step back. His father’s eyes had a haunted appearance, the sockets deepened and dark. He’d cut his hair close during the time that Allay had been gone, leaving him looking gaunt. The dark robe hanging from his shoulders appeared overly large on him now.

  “Father,” Allay said, nodding to him. He remained near the doorway to the tent, and Mendi stood behind him, almost as if she were afraid to come too close. It was possible that she was.

  “You finally return?” Even his father’s voice had changed, coming out thready. His eyes flicked around the room, as if he searched for something in the shadows that only he could see.

  “The Magi—”

  His father slammed his hands down on the table and stood, leaning over it. “Don’t defile my presence by speaking of them!”

  Allay blinked. Since joining Locken, he’d heard the rumors about his father. Most of them had come from Robden, word of his father’s strange advisor, and of the influence that he had on the King. But he hadn’t expected his father to react so angrily to mention of the Magi.

  His father turned his head, and if Allay didn’t know better, he would have thought his father listened to something that wasn’t there.

  It had been that way with his mother, especially near the end. A strange madness had claimed her, as it had claimed others in Gomald, though not quite as many as were rumored to have been affected in Thealon. She’d wasted away, eventually dying from an inability to eat. Allay had tried to keep those thoughts out of his mind, not wanting to think of his mother like that, but seeing his father now made it impossible not to remember.

  Even at her worst, she had never had the wild stare with which his father now looked at him.

  His father made his way around the table and stopped, his gaze drifting past Allay. “And you dare bring your slave with you after what has happened in Gomald?”

  “What happened in Gomald?” he asked. There had been a time when he would have believed his father knew everything that took place in his kingdom, but the man before him didn’t leave Allay with that same confidence. Something had changed, and whether it was the madness or some other sickness, Allay didn’t know. And maybe it didn’t matter.

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know. The damn rebellion thinks to claim my throne. They’ll find I have assets they didn’t account for.”

  “Father?” he asked.

  His father blinked. For a moment, the strange darkness within his eyes faded, but then it returned, just as forceful as it had been before.
“Are you with them, Allay? Is that why you’ve come?”

  “I’m not with the rebellion. The Magi tasked me with establishing peace.”

  “Magi? They would interfere when I’m so close?”

  “So close to what? What do you intend with this war?”

  His father’s gaze darted around the tent before returning to look at Allay. “Intend? I intend to demonstrate power to the gods, Allay. I will claim the Tower.” There was a quiet menace to the words and a conviction that startled Allay.

  “What of your kings? How do they feel about this plan?”

  “My kings follow my command.”

  “Does Locken?”

  His father drew himself up and took a threatening step toward Allay. “Is that why you’ve come? Have you sided with the traitor?”

  The question hit too close to the reason Allay had come. Whatever affected his father was different from the madness that had claimed his mother. With that, there had not been the clarity of thought that his father seemed to possess, even if it was fleeting.

  “I’ve come to warn you against moving your troops out of Gom Aaldia, Father. Another army moves through our lands—”

  “Yes. Locken thinks he can threaten my army.”

  “Not Locken. This is Deshmahne.”

  His father blinked. “Deshmahne?” He turned and stared toward one of the lanterns, his gaze drifting a moment. “No, they are no threat. The Deshmahne are priests, nothing more.”

  “They’re more than priests, Father. I’ve seen them.”

  His father turned and looked at Allay with an angry gaze. “They are priests, nothing more. They serve as I command.” He seemed to dare Allay to refute him.

  When Allay said nothing, his father returned to his chair at the table and leaned over it, staring at it. Every so often, he would look up, as if startled, and glance around the room, searching for something that Allay could not see before returning to whatever he worked on.