The Warrior Mage (The Lost Prophecy Book 2) Page 10

  He barked out a few orders, and the men marched off, leaving the yard empty once more.

  “In my land, we know of General Endric. He is considered the finest swordsman to have ever lived,” Stohn said. “When the Denraen come for their Choosing, all eligible men willingly offer themselves. All would take the opportunity to learn from the general.”

  “I've often wondered why they take the best from each land. It weakens them. Some of my father’s men have come to train, and Endric has chosen the best of them.”

  Stohn glanced over at him. “Does it? I like to think that by choosing the best from each land, they are strengthening the defenses for all of us.”

  With that comment, Stohn stood and walked along the wall, leaving Allay sitting by himself. When he reached the sheer rock wall of the third terrace, he grabbed what Allay suspected was the rope and quickly scaled it, reaching the top easily before disappearing back into the third terrace.

  Allay continued to stare, wondering about the strange man. He hadn't bothered to get to know him well before now. He was interesting, perhaps more interesting than any of the other delegates Allay had met. The others were mostly amused by what they as delegates did here, but Stohn seemed to take his task seriously.

  Allay wasn't certain he knew how seriously to take this assignment.

  He considered following Stohn back up the rope to the third terrace, but decided against it. Instead, he would risk himself going down the way he came up. He hoped the gods favored him and kept him from tumbling to his death.

  Locken walked the streets of Gomald. It was busy today, with people throughout the city bustling along, making their way to merchant shops, some pushing carts, others riding or carrying baskets. He still couldn't shake the strange sensation that had been creeping through his mind when he’d been with Richard.

  Two of his guards trailed him. They did so quietly, not drawing attention to their presence, but there in case he were to need them. Locken didn't anticipate needing their support, but they had been trained to protect their king. And to them, he was their king, not Richard.

  He stopped at an intersection, glancing toward the ocean, noticing the distant movement of ships coming in and out of the port. Gomald was situated far to the south, the capital removed from much of the rest of the land, founded atop the bones of a more ancient—and greater—city. Remnants of that place remained, though hidden. Locken had learned to look for them, as they could be found throughout Gomald.

  The distance from the rest of the country was the reason he struggled so much with Richard's influence upon Saeline. All he wanted was for his people to be left alone, to prosper in peace. Once, his ancestors had ruled the people of Saeline as a separate kingdom, but over a hundred years ago, they were united—or conquered—under the Lansington banner. It was one many of his people still chafed under.

  Locken had never particularly struggled with it. It was all he’d ever known, but then, Richard had always remained out of the affairs of the surrounding kingdoms, offering suggestions, enjoying the levies he placed on the kingdoms, but never truly interfering. What did it mean that he chose to intervene now?

  Something had changed.

  Locken reached the shore and paused, studying the ships. Saeline was landlocked, and he had little experience on ships, not like those of the Royal Navy. Robden knew the seas, had served as captain on one of Gom Aaldia’s ships, but Locken’s strength was on land. He knew how to use cavalry and archers, and knew tactics, but was thankful they had rarely been needed. The only times he needed them now were to slow the raiders thinking to pilfer from his people.

  Ships with Coamdon and Liispal flags moored in the docks. Gomald was a center of trade, bringing in ships from both the north and the south. This was something even Thealon couldn't claim, even with the Tower of the Gods. It was something all of Gom Aaldia should be proud of; they should not feel like they had to prove anything. And yet, Richard still resented Thealon’s influence on the Urmahne.

  “You should've notified me that you were coming out here alone.”

  Locken looked over to see Lonn. His closest advisor—and oldest friend—was stout, solid muscle, but had an even stronger mind.

  “I needed to clear my mind.”

  “What troubles you?”

  “This,” he said, waving toward the ships. “All of this. Our trade. Prosperity. It depends on peace. What happens with what Richard has asked of us?”

  “Considering the activity I've seen throughout the city, I imagine he intends military action.”

  Locken nodded. “Military action. An attack. He intends for us to claim Thealon.”

  Lonn started laughing until he realized that Locken didn’t join in. “Can I ask why?”

  Locken shrugged. “We can always ask why. It doesn't mean he’ll provide an answer.”

  “What does he ask of Saeline?”

  Locken shook his head. Already, he was thinking of the troops he would have to gather, the supplies they would have to bring together, all of the steps needed to satisfy Richard's demand. “Right now? I think all he needs is me. He intends me to lead.”

  “You are his most capable general.”

  Locken turned away from the shores, motioning to his friend to join him as they made their way back into the city. “Am I? We've been so rarely challenged over the years. Fighting raiders, even massive collections of raiders like we have in Saeline, isn't the same as handling prolonged military action.”

  “I think you sell yourself short. There's a reason Richard wants your involvement. Probably much of it is related to your training. Were you not king, you would have been Chosen.”

  Locken smiled. There were times when he thought serving the Denraen would have been easier, but it was not for him. He had trained with them, had traveled to Vasha and served under Endric to learn, but had been summoned home after his father’s death.

  “Not only that, but you have proven yourself adept at suppressing raider attacks along your border.”

  “My border?”

  Lonn shrugged. “Fine, our border.” Lonn glanced over at him. “When will this begin?”

  “I'm not entirely certain. He made a point of calling me out. I have been too… hesitant for him in the past.”

  “Gods! It's not like you don't have a kingdom to rule.”

  “It's more than that, and I think Richard recognizes my reluctance.”

  They continued through the city, neither speaking. As they turned and the massive palace came into view, Lonn said, “You know that I will support you.”

  Locken nodded curtly. “I know you will.”

  It still was good for him to hear it. Knowing that Lonn was on his side would help with any decision he had to make. Locken wasn't certain what decision that would be, but he had a troubled sense that whatever he decided would have broader implications than he realized.

  Chapter Eleven

  Roelle guided her brown mare down the road at the head of the Magi caravan. They were making good time, the horses refreshed after resting. The riders did not have the same energy. The last empty village had affected everyone, and there was a subdued energy hanging over them as they began to understand there was more at stake than they had realized before. That it had taken this long should not have surprised her, but it did.

  “How much farther do you think it is before we reach the northern foothills?” she asked Hester as he rode next to her.

  “Probably still a few more days. Once we reach the true foothills, it will be more difficult going. We may have to lead the horses in places.”

  “You worry about something more than that, though, don't you?” Roelle asked.

  Hester stared straight ahead. His jaw clenched, and as it did, one of the scars on his face twitched. It reminded her of Endric. “Aye. I worry about more than that.”

  “What is it?”

  Hester glanced over at her, then his gaze drifted back toward the caravan of Magi. “You have prepared well, Roelle. I think this
is what Endric intended for you.”

  She laughed softly. “You think Endric intended for me to find empty villages?”

  “We knew the villages would be empty. It's the why that we care about,” Hester said.

  They crested a rise and started downward. The road skirted a wide, sloping hillside. Occasional mounds of dirt appeared out of place, rocks strewn as if they had been tossed aside. As they neared, the rocks took on a shapes, a stacked appearance, some almost resembling fallen buildings. In a way, it reminded her of the Lashiin ruins found within Vasha, and she wondered if they were similar. Unlikely, she decided. The ruins in Vasha had been left by her Founders. This was too far north for the Founders to have been here.

  As they passed the rocks, a tingling eased over her skin. Roelle let out a soft sigh.

  Hester nodded slowly as she did. “You feel it?”

  “Feel what?”

  “There are places of power still scattered throughout the land. The Lashiin ruins within Vasha is one such place, but there are others that are similar. This is another, I suspect.”

  Roelle studied Hester for a while before turning to look back at the fallen rocks. Could they be related? What's more, how were they related? What sort of power did this place possess?

  “When you patrol, you get to see things like this.” Hester patted the side of his dappled brown stallion, and checked his sword strapped to his waist. “It's not only places like your city, or like the Tower, there are dozens of places. Most are found within the north, many throughout these lands and even down into Gomald, but there are a fair number across the sea in places like Liispal and Coamdon. Enough that it makes me realize that there was a time when we were much more interconnected than we are now.”

  “The gods once had a greater presence. It is not surprising we should recognize that,” Selton said, riding up.

  Roelle hadn't realized he'd been listening. He remained distant, the friendly comfort they once had shared had changed. It saddened her that it would. That comfort had come from years spent as friends growing up together and learning side by side, and ultimately both taking up the sword as they challenged old traditions. She had thought Selton had joined her on this mission because of a shared interest, but what if that wasn’t it? What if he'd only joined her as a distraction?

  Although, were she honest with herself, even her interest in learning the Denraen way had initially been only a distraction. It was once she’d traveled with the Denraen and realized the extent of the Deshmahne influence that she had taken a more active role, and realized the extent that her Magi abilities would allow her, and the other Magi, to be more than what they had been.

  Yet… that still troubled her. It bothered her that they should be so skilled with using sword and staff, weapons that her people had not held for centuries. The Founders had once been soldiers, but that had been a time of great destruction. It made sense for them to have been soldiers. But they had embraced the peace of the Urmahne faith. More than that, they were the Urmahne.

  “The gods were present,” Hester said. “When you travel in patrol, you get to see the extent of the influence they once possessed, even over the land. It's subtle, such as in the contours in places like Maron, or the flow of the river north of Gomald. Even when you reach the Great Valley, you see the depth and strength of the gods. These places,” he said, waving his hand back toward the fallen rocks, “these are another sort of reminder, one that we don't fully understand, but…” He smiled as he trailed off.

  “But what?” Roelle asked.

  “Some think these were places the gods once called home,” Lendra offered. She'd been riding near them, close enough to listen, but had not spoken. Every so often, she made a note in the small notebook she carried with her. In that, she was much like Novan when Roelle had traveled with him. Jakob, as well, had made notes in his small notebook.

  Thinking of Jakob, she wondered what had become of him. He had been sent north with Endric's men, and most of them had been lost. Before leaving Vasha, she’d had no word of what had happened to him. Would they encounter him in the north, or had he been lost to the Deshmahne? That bothered her more than it should.

  It had been Novan who sent him north, asking him to accompany Endric’s men on their mission, though she didn’t know what that mission had been. Had he sent him to Rondalin? Or some other northern city? Novan had not been free with the answers, and it was times like this that Roelle wondered—and worried—about Jakob.

  Hester stared at the rocks. “When you get near enough to these places, and feel that sensation of power, it’s not hard to believe that the gods once lived here.”

  They followed the road around the curve, and in the distance, they caught sight of another village. Roelle raised her hand, a gesture that was sent down the line of Magi. A soft murmuring followed those riding with her. What would they find this time? Would it be empty as the other had been? Would there be—

  A flicker of darkness appeared near the ruins.

  Roelle jerked her head around, looking toward the rocks.

  “They’re impressive—”

  Roelle brushed Selton off with a quick shake of her head. She nudged her horse forward toward the darkness. As she did, Selton and Hester followed.

  “What did you see, Mage?” Hester asked.

  They couldn't be this far north, could they? They’d seen the empty villages, but they had seen no sign of the Deshmahne. Was it possible that they could have reached this far?

  Her mare Betty danced around the road, suddenly nervous.

  “Gods!” someone swore behind her.

  Roelle spun, and noted nearly a dozen Deshmahne attacking the Magi.

  How had they appeared, and so silently at that? It was as if they had come from nowhere.

  She barely had to say anything, and her Magi formed lines as Hester and the other Denraen had been instructing the last few nights. She watched with a grim expression as her Magi were forced to fight, the same way she had once been forced to fight.

  Steel rang against steel, the muted sound of the Deshmahne blades hardly carrying. There were occasional cries, and Roelle started forward, looking to help, when another cluster of Deshmahne appeared in front of her.

  She had little a chance to think, to wonder where they had come from.

  Roelle jumped from her saddle, unaccustomed to fighting from atop her horse, unsheathing her sword in one swift movement. She cut down the first Deshmahne, her body whipping through one of the catahs she had learned long ago from Endric. She lost herself in the movements, fighting Deshmahne after Deshmahne.

  Distantly, she was aware of Selton and Hester fighting near her. She worried for Lendra’s safety, and hoped the other Magi managed to guide her into the center, keeping her away from the Deshmahne.

  Blood covered her hands, and her mind was an empty slate. She flowed through movements, the blade an extension of her arm.

  And then there were no more attackers.

  Roelle stepped back, breathing heavily. She looked around, searching for others to fight, but there were none.

  “How many?” she asked Selton.

  “I counted ten that we faced. Maybe another dozen.”

  “Not how many Deshmahne. How many did we lose?”

  That was what scared her more than anything. Endric had taught her what it was like to fight, and she had seen firsthand the brutality of the Deshmahne, but she also knew that with battle came death and loss. They had been spared so far. The Magi lived long lives, longer than most men, and to fall in this fashion, to warrior priests, seemed an even greater insult than their defiance of the Urmahne ideal of peace.

  “I'll check.”

  Roelle took a moment to look at the bodies. Tattoos marked arms and necks, much like they had with the other Deshmahne she had faced. These were fewer, and some still had pink edges to them, making her think the tattoos were recent.

  Her mind went back to what she had heard Lendra say. The Deshmahne converted those in the vi
llages they visited. Was that what had happened here?

  But why would these people abandon the Urmahne?

  The answer came all too easily.

  Could these people feel abandoned by the Urmahne? The Magi no longer had the presence in the world they once had, and because of it, the Deshmahne were allowed to take on a greater role. To become strong. To destroy.

  To some extent, this was the fault of the Magi.

  Roelle sighed to herself. What would Alriyn think of her now?

  Selton came riding back and shook his head.

  “How many lost?” she asked again.

  “None. A few injuries, most minor, but the Magi held up.”

  Jhun had ridden up next to her. “We were lucky.”

  “I don't think this was luck.”

  Selton looked at her askance. “Why? You've seen it yourself, we’re well trained, and we continue to improve.”

  Roelle motioned toward the fallen Deshmahne nearest her. “Think of what we faced in that first village. Those few Deshmahne were almost more than we could manage. We might have had them outnumbered, but this…” She shook her head. “This was too easy.”

  Hester pulled her aside and whispered in her ear. “Let them have this victory, Roelle. They need it. If you're right, and if we do face an even greater threat of Deshmahne, we’ll need them to feel confident. And it needs to come from you. You’re their leader now.”

  Could that be true?

  Roelle noted the distraught expression on not only Selton’s face, but on Jhun and several of the other nearby Magi.

  Hester was right. It did no good bringing them down after their victory. They already struggled with what they had done, why should she add to it?

  She turned to Jhun. “Pass on word that we fought well. Praise the rest of the Magi. Let them know I’m proud of them.”

  Once more, she was thankful for Endric, and the wisdom he provided even from afar through Hester’s counsel.

  The night following the Deshmahne attack, the Magi were awoken by a shout from one of their night watch. It came as a shrill call, loud enough to get everyone moving.