The Lost City (The Lost Prophecy Book 5) Read online

  Was it all part of the impact of the Deshmahne?

  If so, that would be troubling, but really no different from what he’d noticed in the forest outside of Polle Pal.

  “Where are we going?” Salindra asked. She had taken on a slight stoop to her posture, to hopefully make it difficult to identify her as one of the Magi, but she was still taller than most in Paliis. There was tension at the corners of her eyes, and her gaze darted around, searching the streets for signs of danger. It was a measure of her composure that was all he noticed.

  If he had ever questioned Salindra’s bravery, the fact that she was willing to come to a place occupied by the Deshmahne answered it.

  Even Brohmin stood out, but mostly that was his dress. Few wore a cloak here, especially considering how warm these lands could get. And as he looked around, he realized that few men were armed, either. Some had small knives sheathed at their waists, but those were infrequent. Most were unarmed.

  They reached a corner, and in the distance, Brohmin noted five men clad in black, each wearing short-sleeved shirts, dark tattoos twining along their arms. He forced his gaze to slide past them, not wanting to focus on them for too long but kept getting drawn back to them.

  They weren’t as heavily tattooed as some of the Deshmahne he’d seen, but these were no simple soldiers, either.

  “I think we are going wherever they are not,” Brohmin said.

  They wanted answers, but he wanted to do it in a way that would not place them in any additional danger.

  He also wanted to know what the Lashiin priest was doing. If he was here, and if he was attempting to rescue children from Paliis, then they weren’t going to find the priest near the Deshmahne. He would be where the Deshmahne were not.

  Using his ahmaean was more dangerous here than outside of the city. Many of the Deshmahne had no ability with ahmaean, but some did, and they used a twisted version of it. He didn’t know whether they were able to track his use of it, but wouldn’t put it past them, especially considering what Raime knew about ahmaean, and about its use.

  “Why can’t you track him here?” Salindra asked.

  “I think I could track him, but I’m not sure that I should.”

  He nodded to the Deshmahne. They marched along the street, and the crowd created a bubble of space around them. Each of the men wore a long sword, and he realized with only a passing surprise that the swords appeared to be teralin. Most thought teralin found only in the mines beneath Vasha, but it was much more common than that. Salindra had experience with it near the mines of Rondalin, but even that wasn’t the only place it could be found. There were mines in the south, places where it was nearly as easy to reach as it was in Vasha, but that didn’t make it any less plentiful.

  “You fear that they’ll recognize what you do?”

  He glanced over at her. “How do you think they’ve managed to recognize Magi before?”

  He might not be Mageborn, but if he used his ahmaean, he would draw their attention no differently. He wasn’t quite ready for the Deshmahne to steal his power. He doubted it would kill him, though it might. The ahmaean had lengthened his life significantly.

  “The Magi haven’t come this far for years. They wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

  “Not here, but there are other places. Think of how easily they found you.”

  “I wasn’t exactly hiding. Rondalin is one of the few places that still requested a Magi advisor.”

  “Which is what drew them to Rondalin, I suppose.”

  Salindra watched the Deshmahne as they disappeared down the street before turning her attention back to Brohmin. “You think it was me and not the proximity to the northern mountains and the groeliin?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it was both. Either way, I am not convinced we could use our abilities undetected. Especially not in a place so filled with Deshmahne, and with their connection to the dark teralin.”

  Salindra frowned at him. “Teralin isn’t dark. It’s a silvery gray.”

  “Teralin can be charged both negatively and positively.”

  “I’ve never heard that about teralin.”

  “Because the Conclave has prevented that knowledge from getting out. We haven’t wanted others to be aware of how dangerous teralin can be. In its neutral form—in the form that it’s mined—it is little more than a warm metal. The right person can change that, and can influence the way that teralin is used.”

  Salindra was silent for a moment, then looked over at him. “If you’re not going to use your ahmaean”—Brohmin was pleased that she had taken to using that term. It had been difficult for her at first—“then how do you expect to find the Lashiin priest?”

  It wasn’t that he couldn’t use his ahmaean. He thought that he would need to somewhat, though he didn’t want to use it in such a way that he would draw the attention of the Deshmahne. It would have to be a subtler touch, one that allowed him to reach for the presence of the Lashiin priest, but little else.

  “We know what he plans. We just need to watch for places where he might be successful.”

  “You mean children.”

  Brohmin looked around the street. Most here were older, and he hadn’t seen anyone younger than twelve or thirteen. That didn’t necessarily mean that the youngest children had been taken.

  “I think that’s where we start. Find the children, find the priest, and then I would like to do what we can to support his work.”

  “That’s your grand plan? You never shared with me what you intended to do once we reached these lands, now that were here, you’re telling me your plan is to convince the children that they should convert to the Urmahne?”

  She said the last with a hushed voice, and he was thankful that she had the sense to keep from shouting it. In Paliis, it would be difficult to know who sided with the Deshmahne. Probably the majority, much more than what they’d ever encountered elsewhere.

  “I had already told you that I didn’t have a grand plan. I knew that we’d come up with something once we got here, but didn’t expect it to be—”

  “So simple?” Salindra laughed, a light and airy sound that faded before others making their way around them could hear it. “Don’t get me wrong, Brohmin. I do not disagree with what you intend. I think it’s necessary. It’s just… less than what I was expecting.”

  It might be less, and Brohmin didn’t even disagree that it was, but that didn’t change the fact that he felt it was right. There was something about the fact that they were working to undermine the Deshmahne, helping those most vulnerable, that suited him in a way that fighting the Deshmahne, simply destroying them, didn’t.

  Maybe that was a sign of his age, or maybe it had more to do with the fact that he had seen enough bloodshed and pain, and if there were anything that he could do to prevent that, he would.

  It wouldn’t be easy. There would be some children whose parents chose the Deshmahne for them and believed in their preachings. Could he violate that choice? If he stole them away from their parents, and everything they knew, how was he any different from the Deshmahne?

  No. It would have to be those who needed his help. Parents who had lost their children, and who didn’t agree with the choices the Deshmahne made.

  And it was a start.

  Defeating the Deshmahne wasn’t something that would happen easily, and perhaps not all of them needed to be defeated. Some simply wanted a way to reach their gods and believed that the Deshmahne offered that to them. That was no different from the Urmahne, and what the priests in places like Thealon and Chrysia taught.

  Another group of Deshmahne appeared in the street. Brohmin tapped Salindra’s hand, and they moved, not wanting to remain stationary for too long. Already, he feared that they were drawing attention.

  The Deshmahne passed, and as they did, he noted the markings on the lead man’s arms. They were thicker than even the last, and extended up onto his neck, beginning to reach his face. A powerful Deshmahne.

  Brohmin could
do more than one thing while in Paliis, couldn’t he? He could work to rescue the children who needed his help, but he could also seek to understand how many Deshmahne of power remained in these lands. That was information he could pass back to the Conclave, the kind of information the Hunter would be expected to obtain.

  There were other things he could do, and other ways that he could serve, but most involved killing. Brohmin had lived long enough that he no longer felt the same squeamishness that he once had about killing, but that didn’t mean he wanted to rush toward it. Ideally, he wouldn’t need to, but then again, he’d come to the south knowing that he would have to face the Deshmahne.

  “Brohmin?”

  He shook himself and looked over to Salindra.

  “You’ve been… losing yourself more often these days.”

  Had he? He didn’t think so, but then again, maybe he had. It became increasingly easy to get lost in his thoughts, losing himself in memories, and—if he were honest with himself—fears for the future. One would think that after all the time that he’d lived, all the years that he’d spent fighting, working toward the belief that peace must be maintained, he would be ready for it to end. Instead, he found himself flailing against it, struggling with the inevitable ending that loomed before for him, more quickly than it ever had, if what he suspected of his fading ahmaean was true.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to think about what to do next.”

  She pointed down the street. “How about we start there?”

  In the distance, Brohmin noted children playing in a fenced courtyard. How had he missed that before? They appeared younger than those he’d seen elsewhere in the city. There were dozens of children, enough that he suspected it some sort of school. It was good that Salindra had seen it, but he should have noticed it.

  Maybe he was losing himself.

  He forced a smile. “That’s a good place to start.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The valley into which they’d descended spread out in front of Isandra. Massive boulders seemed thrown all around, scattered as if by some mighty hand. Isandra studied them, fearing another rockslide that must have tossed these from the upper mountains.

  The Antrilii remained camped and risked a single campfire, enough light that stood out against the growing night, the flames crackling gently, and with just enough warmth. The air had begun to grow chilly the farther they climbed, making her thankful for the Antrilii cloak.

  There had been no additional attacks since the last.

  That should have comforted her, but Isandra knew better. The merahl continued to pace, and roamed off for increasingly long stretches of time, returning much later each day. Many times when they returned, their fur was stained with blood, and they groomed each other, cleaning it free. She had asked Jassan about that one time, and he explained that the groeliin would detect it if they did not.

  There was still no sign of Nahrsin.

  That seemed to trouble Jassan. He had expected the greater force of the Antrilii army by now. He didn’t speak of it—at least not to Isandra—but she had overheard him speaking in hushed tones to several of the other Antrilii.

  A howl split the growing night. It came from one of the merahl and was nearby.

  One of the Antrilii whistled, and all of a sudden the fire was kicked out.

  “Come,” Jassan said to her.

  She looked up at him, fear burning in her eyes. They hadn’t been attacked at night, and the fact that they had gone as long as they had without another attack had made her complacent. She might have continued to train and practice with Jassan, but there was a distinct difference between practice and the reality of fighting.

  “Groeliin are coming?”

  Another howl split the night, this one even closer. Two others answered it. There was a mournful tone to it, but something else—almost an urgency that she could feel within her. It was… something of a summons.

  Never before when she’d heard the merahl had she thought that there was a distinct sound to their howls, but this time, and the way the creature called, she felt certain that there was something more to it.

  Isandra quickly grabbed her pack and slung it over her shoulder. She had grown accustomed to the weight, as she had grown accustomed to everything else about the journey. She checked her sword, the blade much shorter than the one Jassan carried, and made certain that it remained strapped to her waist. She tightened her cloak around her, cinching it against the cool of the night.

  Then she followed Jassan into the darkness. She was prepared for anything. Mostly, she was prepared for an attack. It was what she expected, especially with the sounds the merahl had made. Why else would they summon them? Why else would the merahl call to them with their soft, mournful cries?

  “How much farther?” Isandra asked.

  “We’re close.”

  He spoke in a hushed tone that was different from the way he normally spoke. He was on edge. It was something she was not accustomed to with him. Jassan was a confident man, who had faced many battles and risked death on a regular basis. For him to be on edge meant that she needed to be ready for anything.

  “Are we near the breeding grounds?”

  “I don’t know. It has become more difficult to tell.”

  He shrugged and motioned for her to stay close. They followed the merahl, moving at a rapid pace, and soon were climbing up the slope of a rock. She couldn’t tell if this was the same rock they had come down, or if he led them up another slope. If it was the same rock, she didn’t remember taking this way. If it was another way, she wondered how Jassan navigated so well in the darkness.

  Even her eyesight wasn’t strong enough to see clearly in this darkness.

  There came another cry from the merahl.

  Each time she heard it, tension rose within her. This time, she practically heard the summons within the howl. It was as if the merahl spoke to her, calling out to her.

  Jassan looked over, watching her for a moment. “You hear it, don’t you?”

  “What is it that I hear?”

  “You hear the merahl.”

  “I hear their call. Is that what you mean?”

  “You hear more than their call. You hear what they’re saying.”

  Another cry rang out, this one more distant. There was pain in it, and a call for help.

  “How is it that I hear it now?” She looked around, searching for the merahl that she knew had to be nearby, but saw no sign of the creature. “Is it because I’ve traveled with them as long as I have?”

  “There are Antrilii who live their entire lives around the merahl who never understand them.”

  “Then how am I starting to?”

  “Perhaps because you attempted to help them. Maybe there’s something else. It is the merahl who choose, not the other way around.”

  “How can they choose?”

  “They are descendants of a noble race. They carry much of that wisdom and much of that power. The merahl recognize something in the person they name.”

  “Name?”

  Jassan grunted. “You will have a name, Isandra. One that the merahl choose for you, and not one you have ever been called before. It will be a name that suits you, much as their names suits them.” He fell silent, climbing the rocks as he went. In the distance, one of the merahl finally came into view. “You should feel honored that you were chosen. As I said, many Antrilii never are chosen by the merahl.”

  He reached the creature and whispered something into its ears, and the merahl howled softly. Isandra listened and heard… something. She wasn’t certain what it was, only that she now understood how it was that Jassan seemed to know what the merahl said. It was because he did.

  How could the creature speak in a way that they could understand?

  She had seen that they were intelligent, but the same could be said about dogs or wolves. Yet there was a greater intelligence to the merahl. She had seen that from the very beginning.

  Jassan stood and motioned
for them to follow him. “We must hurry.”

  “Why? Where are we heading?” she asked. Other Antrilii joined them, following as he led them along the mountain trail.

  “We’re needed.”

  He took a pace that was faster than what they had been climbing through the mountains. Her breathing was difficult, and her heart hammered, though whether that was fear or from the effort, she did not know.

  After what seemed like nearly an hour, with moonlight now shining from above, he halted them, looking out over a clearing, staring down at a valley that stretched far below.

  “What is it?” Isandra said as she approached.

  “I can’t tell.”

  “Groeliin?”

  Others of the Antrilii joined them, standing nearby. All carried much of the same tension that Isandra felt that seemed palpable in the air. Two merahl nearby, hackles raised, occasionally let out a soft howl that sent her forward with a hint of urgency.

  “Not groeliin.”

  It surprised her that Jassan would head off into the night with only the merahl and their calls to lead him, but it shouldn’t. The merahl were their hunting companions, and they had proven themselves time and again. For Jassan, the merahl were as much a part of what he did as the Antrilii themselves.

  “What is—”

  Another howl split the night, this time with less of the urgency, and more of a call for help.

  Jassan tipped his head to the side. A frown crossed his face, and he reached for his sword, saying nothing as he did. He stared for a moment, looking down at the valley for long moments, before letting out a shrill whistle.

  With that, the merahl bounded down the slope.

  Jassan raised his hand and made a sharp motion with his wrist.

  Isandra had never seen him make such movements before. What was it that he detected? It had to have been something the merahl had revealed, but what was it? What could he detect from the merahl that she was not able to?