The Lost Prophecy Boxset

by D. K. Holmberg

  Alriyn released the railing and turned back to the palace. Before he did anything else, he would return to a space beneath the palace, to the mines that they had closed so long ago. There, he would question Jostephon.

  This time, his old friend would answer.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Locken stood slowly from the ground. He didn’t know what had come over him, could not explain what had happened. He’d suddenly gotten sick. He could still taste the acid flavor in his mouth, could still feel the nausea that had riled his stomach. He spat on the ground next to him, trying to rid himself of the taste.

  Last he remembered, he had been staring at his pikemen as they marched across the plains, marching toward Richard’s troops. He remembered seeing the hole open in Richard’s line, an opening to the east, and remembered directing his troops there.

  Then suddenly, something had happened. His men had been all but decimated, almost all of his troops slaughtered before his eyes. And he had not even known what had happened.

  When he had seen Richard’s men fall, he had thought perhaps divine intervention. But then his own men had fallen, torn apart before his eyes.

  After standing, he helped Lonn up. The man thanked him with a wry smile. Looking around, he saw Robden and the prince get to their feet as shakily as he had gotten to his.

  “What happened?” Robden asked, wiping a bit of vomit from the corner of his mouth. There was a different smell to the air now, but it churned his stomach just the same.

  Locken didn’t know. Looking around, he saw those of his men who’d survived begin to stand. To the east was where something had torn through his men like it had torn through Richard’s. A huge hole in his line mirrored what he had seen in Richard’s.

  He looked across the plains, staring toward the opposing army. Richard’s men still looked to be recovering from whatever it was that had happened, looked to be pulling themselves up from the ground, cleaning the sickness from themselves. What could have caused this?

  “I don’t know what has happened here,” he began, “but I fear we may not have much time before Richard attacks again…”

  A man came running toward him through the line of troops. “Sire!” the man called, breathless. He was short, brown hair thinning, and his eyes almost too closely set. He was clad in the tan leather of his forward scouts, leather now streaked with green to camouflage them on the plains.

  He nodded. “What is it?”

  The man breathed heavily; he had obviously run far or fast. “Richard is…” he began, panting. The man’s eyes seemed to catch on the prince a moment and widened before going on. “Richard is dead!”

  “Dead? How?” Locken asked.

  “I don’t know,” he answered. “It was said that he watched the battle—” The man glanced quickly to the prince again before continuing. “He watched from there.”

  Locken followed the direction of the man’s pointed finger. It was directed toward the huge opening in the line of the other army.

  The scout nodded. “He was there,” he answered, “as were kings Jeslen and Paylig.”

  It was too much. “Jeslen and Paylig are gone too? How?”

  He looked over the plains and saw how the men he had lost had been torn apart, almost dismembered. He knew then that it was not the gods. They were not that cruel, even at their meanest. This was something else, something far more frightening.

  He turned to Allay and saw the prince staring toward Richard’s troops. His now, he knew. Allay was prince no longer.

  “What will you do, King Allay?” he asked, his voice careful.

  Allay turned to Locken. It seemed impossible that his father was gone, impossible that he was now High King. Mendi watched him, her eyes neutral, but he suspected hope filled her; hope that came from the death of the kings who ruled in Salvat for far longer than they should have.

  Locken’s eyes were fierce. A strong man. A good man too. He would need him. His mind raced with what to say, the right words, those that would ease Locken and Robden’s doubts. He needed to bring all the kingdoms back together. He knew it essential but knew too that the path toward that peace must make it a lasting one.

  This was what the Magi had wanted. They needed peace.

  Gom Aaldia and Thealon would unite against the Deshmahne.

  He turned and looked out over the grassy plains, his eyes catching first at the magnificence of the huge expanse of the rolling plains. He saw then the men, lying bleeding and dead on the ground. Further, he could see the men of his father’s army.

  No, he said to himself. It is mine now.

  “This ends,” he answered, hoping his voice was strong.

  He turned back to Locken. His position was the question, Allay knew. Robden was easy, he knew the man to be his. Locken had made a choice, had declared his independence.

  Locken paused a long moment before answering. “It ends.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The wall of the city loomed before them, pale white and stretching some twenty or more feet over their heads. Stretching higher, impossibly higher at this proximity, was the Tower. Dark stone climbed up and up, obscuring even the sun from view, piercing the clouds. The nearer he came to it, the more impossible it became.

  The Tower was the seat of the gods, the visible reminder of their power, their earthly home abandoned and awaiting their return. It was one thing to read about it, to hear it described. It was quite another to finally see it. There was no way to describe the enormity of it, no way he would ever have been able to imagine what now rose before him. Every temple that had been constructed in its image had been but the palest reflection of the Tower.

  “How can something like this exist?” he asked.

  “The damahne were powerful,” Anda said to him.

  They might not have been gods, but to build something like this, they were near enough.

  The ahmaean pulling on his senses had grown stronger.

  It was almost a humming now, a vibration that his body tingled with, and he stared as sudden understanding washed through him. Jakob saw his ahmaean, and it stretched away from him, toward the Tower. Could Anda see it as well?

  “It is a summons,” Anda whispered, reaching over to rest her hand on his arm. “You’re unharmed by it. She summons all of us.”

  Jakob realized that it wasn’t only his ahmaean that stretched away from him, but that of Anda, Brohmin, and even Salindra. They were all summoned.

  The huge gates of the city were swinging closed as they approached.

  “We should hurry,” Brohmin said. “If we don’t get inside before they close the gate, there won’t be any way to save her.”

  They rode quickly and squeezed through just before the massive doors were shut.

  Within, hundreds of soldiers lined the road leading from the gate into the city. Those nearest glanced at them strangely as they entered, eyeing the weapons they held. Several reached for their own swords.

  “Halt!” The nearest Ur shouted the command, raising his hand as those around him unsheathed.

  Salindra drew herself upright in the saddle, sitting tall and proud. Suspicion upon the commander’s face turned to something else—worry.

  “You would delay one of the Magi on her duty?” Authority had returned to her voice since leaving the Cala maah, and her voice boomed.

  It was the same tone Jakob had heard from Haerlin. There was something else he noticed about her since leaving the Cala maah, something he was certain he had not seen before. The ahmaean surrounding her, though it pulsed with uncertainty at the moment as she faced the Ur, looked different from what he’d seen from Roelle and the other Magi. He was not sure what it meant.

  “My lady,” the Ur said, bowing his head slightly. “I mean no disrespect. We were not told to expect any of the Magi, not with Gom Aaldia bringing war to Thealon’s doorstep.” There was a note of challenge in his tone.

  “No,” Salindra agreed. “I expect you didn’t. Yet I am here.” She paused, meeting
the man’s eye and his unstated challenge. The pale energy around her solidified. “I will see the High Priest of the Urmahne,” she demanded.

  The Ur commander tilted his head. “As you wish,” he said, raising his fist and motioning toward the Ur nearest him. “Take your men and escort the Mage to the High Priest.”

  The man nodded before turning and making a small hand gesture to the soldiers near him. Four Ur separated from those lining the road and moved to surround them. Each kept a ready hand upon his hilt and moved with a fluid grace.

  These men would be swordmasters. Jakob flicked his eyes to Brohmin in question, and the man shook his head once. The answer was clear: They would follow for now.

  Salindra narrowed her eyes, but the Ur commander only tipped his head in a nod. They had little choice but to follow. They were led along the cobbled street lined with Ur toward the palace in the center of the city. The road ran straight, taking them a direct route toward the palace.

  After they had moved a little distance from the gate, Salindra cleared her throat. “Such an escort is unnecessary. I have been to the palace and can find my way.”

  The soldier looked back briefly before turning away. “Perhaps once it was unnecessary.”

  Salindra glanced over at Brohmin and arched an eyebrow. “What does this mean?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know.” He stared at the Ur lining the streets. “This is unusual in many regards. The city has never been closed.”

  “Never?” Jakob asked.

  “I’ve known Thealon for many years,” he started, ignoring the intense stare from Salindra, “and I’ve never seen the gates closed. They’re meant to be open, symbolizing the Urmahne openness. The Ur have not left the city to defend it, instead staying behind. I don’t know what this means.”

  Jakob glanced over to Anda and saw her frowning at the soldiers. Her pale, golden hair hung motionless around her, and her cloak was pulled tight around her neck.

  He reached over to her and rested a hand on her arm, hoping to return the favor of peace she had often offered him but unsure how much he would be able to reassure her.

  She turned to him and tilted her head before smiling.

  As he withdrew his hand, he glanced around the street. The city was enormous, yet they moved through it unobstructed. It was cleaner than Chrysia, with the storefronts looking freshly painted, and the streets cleared of refuse. A city fitting of the gods. Yet the shops that lined the street had no customers. Most shops had windows shuttered. There were no merchants. Only the Ur. Above everything hung a sense of anxiety.

  “Something’s wrong,” he murmured.

  “You feel it?” Anda asked. Her voice was barely more than a whisper of wind, but it rang clearly in his ears.

  “I feel it too,” Lendra said.

  Jakob glanced to her before turning back to Anda. “There’s the pulling upon my ahmaean,” he whispered. “That hasn’t left. I feel something else, an unease.”

  Brohmin glanced back at him and frowned but said nothing.

  Jakob looked over at Anda. “What does it mean?”

  The daneamiin shook her head. “I cannot answer with certainty,” she said. “Though I think it is something Alyta does. I do not know why.”

  “Protection,” Brohmin said quietly without looking back at them. “She allows the Ur to sense the groeliin. They are foul creatures, and he sends them toward the Tower,” he spat. “If not for the Magi warriors and the Antrilii, this would be much worse. Ten thousand groeliin would decimate Thealon.”

  Salindra shot him a harsh look, an admonishment coming to her lips. The Ur seemed not to notice, leading them forward.

  The shops lining the streets slowly turned to larger and larger buildings, most of a pale white stone that served to make the city nearly glow, and as they neared the heart of the city, still no one other than the Ur moved along the streets. It was an eerie sight for such a magnificent city.

  They were led to the small wall that circled the palace grounds and stopped briefly at the gate before being ushered through. On the other side of the wall was an immense garden with late-season flowers still in bloom. Trees were planted almost geometrically, though in a pattern he could not recognize from where he stood. For the benefit of the gods, he reasoned. Stretches of autumn flowers, of more colors than he could name, filled the spaces between the trees. The smell was amazing. Small shrubs were allowed to grow only so tall before they were cut and sculpted into scenes of glory for the gods.

  The road stretched up a modest incline as it led to the palace proper. The garden flowed up to the palace walls and, in sections, up the walls themselves with fingers of neatly trimmed creeping ivy. The building was immense. Two wings spread from a central gold-capped dome, angled out toward the Tower that rose within the palace grounds.

  For all the beauty the palace possessed, it paled in comparison to Tower. It rose from the center of the grounds, its huge base impossibly wide, and stretched up and up into the sky. Looking up, he could not make out its peak. The pull upon his ahmaean was more apparent, as if their proximity made a difference. Jakob realized that he could not only see the ahmaean of the Tower, but he could also feel it as well, a distinct sense from what he had been feeling since the forest.

  The Ur led them toward the palace, but Jakob was pulled toward the Tower.

  His horse turned almost as if sensing his thoughts, trying to take him across the garden toward the Tower. One of the rear guards grabbed his reins and forced him back into line with the others. He glanced briefly at Anda, anxiety now settling into him and unseating other emotions. Though Brohmin had told him it was Alyta who instilled the feeling, he couldn’t stop it from wearing at him.

  The daneamiin nodded, as if understanding, and reached over to touch him lightly, sending a small surge of peace through him. It was enough to calm him a little.

  “Brohmin?” he asked quietly.

  The man looked back at him, taking in the Ur with hands upon Jakob’s reins, the anxiety and helplessness upon Jakob’s face, then turned to Salindra.

  “Can you do this?” Brohmin asked her.

  She frowned a moment before nodding. There was a strange tingling to the air as she gathered her focus, and Jakob saw the pale ahmaean around her solidify briefly before it pulsed outward and sluiced through the Ur that accompanied them.

  The men fell forward, suddenly unconscious.

  “They’re asleep, nothing more,” Salindra said, heading off Jakob’s question. “They will awaken in time. Hurry and do what you must.”

  Brohmin took the lead, across the garden and toward the Tower, with Salindra and Lendra following close behind. Jakob lingered, staring down at the Ur, wondering if they really were only asleep.

  “They’re unharmed,” Anda assured him. “It is,” she paused, struggling to find her words, “interesting how she accomplished this.” She watched Salindra a moment before turning to Jakob. “Come. We must save Alyta.”

  As they approached the Tower, he was overcome with a deep sense of awe. The rock was smooth, as if cut from a single block of stone, and of such a size that he felt dizzy just looking up at it. This close, he felt the pull on him even more strongly, as if it wanted to pull him into its walls. The slow vibration of the Tower’s ahmaean pushed upon him as well, steady and as heavy as an ocean wave.

  “What now?” he asked as they all dismounted. They needed to get within the Tower itself—that must be where Alyta was held. “How do we break down the walls?”

  “That cannot be done,” Salindra spoke. “Every Mage who has tried has failed.”

  “There must be a doorway,” Jakob said.

  “Many have studied the Tower and tried to find a way inside to learn the secrets of the gods. None have succeeded.”

  “None have succeeded,” Brohmin agreed, “but none have had the need that we have. Anda?”

  “This is different from crossing the Valley.”

  “There has to be something you can do,” Brohmin urged
.

  Jakob realized Brohmin was speaking to him. “I can’t do anything.”

  Brohmin gripped his shoulders. It was a hard squeeze, from strong hands. He looked into Jakob’s eyes. “I know you’re scared. I know you don’t know what is happening to you. Neither do I, but I think you’re the only one who can do this. Alyta must have known, which was why you were chosen.”

  Brohmin didn’t know what he asked of him. “I wasn’t chosen. I fell into it, nothing more than an accident.” Anda took his hand, and he was once again, thankful for her calming touch.

  Salindra had been ignoring them while studying the wall. “I can try. My ability is different since I was healed, so I don’t know what I can do.”

  Jakob felt a brief moment of relief.

  As he did, his chest tightened a little, his breaths becoming more difficult. He struggled for air, fighting the growing tightness within his chest. With each breath, it grew worse.

  He gasped.

  “What is it?” Lendra asked.

  It felt as if some sort of weight pressed down upon his chest, crushing him, and kept him from breathing. He dropped to his knees and fought to breathe. Terror roared through him.

  I’m dying.

  Jakob tilted his head back frantically and struggled to take a breath. Nothing moved. There was no sound, no breath, not even a whistle of air. It was as if his airway had sealed shut. Tears streamed down his face, blurring his vision, and he did nothing to wipe them away.

  Anda kneeled down and touched his shoulder gently, squeezing it. “You must fight it,” she whispered.

  “What is it?” he mouthed. No words came out.

  “Fight, Jakob Nialsen. Do not let them beat you this way!”

  Brohmin caught the tail end of what she said. “What is it?”

  “He feels the groeliin,” Anda said.

  “They’re here?” Brohmin asked.