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

  “I doubt that,” she said.

  “At least watch. I know how much you enjoy watching a skilled swordsman.”

  Roelle flushed and turned away from Selton before starting toward the sectioned-off area between four tents, a small square where the young Magi could work and practice with swords or staff. It was much like what Endric had set up each night as he'd given everyone the chance to work with him. She had taken that opportunity every night, and had developed her skills. The others had practiced with the Denraen, but few—other than Jakob—had practiced as often as she had with Endric. That time had given her an advantage in skill the others didn’t yet share.

  Wasn’t it her responsibility to help them now? She owed it to those with her to help them develop, much like Endric had helped her develop. Wasn't that what the old general had taught her?

  Selton and Lendra followed her to the practice area. All of them watched as two of the Magi, Matthew, and Donovan, worked. Both were skilled with the sword, attacking and moving through catahs in ways that some of the seasoned Denraen would've struggled against. There was fluidity to Magi movements Roelle never saw when she watched men practice. Considering the Magi need for peace, why had the gods gifted them with this skill?

  The men finished, Matthew getting the upper hand, and then stepped apart. The trio of other Magi watching from the sideline clapped in appreciation as the two men rejoined them.

  “See?” Selton asked. “I knew you’d enjoy watching.”

  Roelle elbowed him. “I don’t see you out there.”

  He tipped his head toward the clearing. “I was waiting for you.”

  Selton outmuscled her, but she was quicker, and she had worked with Endric far more than Selton had. Practicing might clear her head. Unlike the others, she hadn’t taken the time to practice since leaving the city. There had always been something to check on in the camp. Maybe her friend was right.

  She offered a half-smile. “Are you really certain you want to do this?”

  “If you're afraid…”

  “I just don't want to embarrass you in front of your cousin.”

  Selton laughed. “I don't think you want your new friend to see how badly you get beat.”

  Roelle headed into the center of the practice area and grabbed one of the wooden practice staves. It had a smooth handle and was weighted to resemble a sword, though wasn't anything like the sword Endric had given her. The blunt sides still hurt when they struck flesh. Roelle had developed plenty of bruises when she'd practiced with Endric during their travels. Plenty even when she'd practiced with Jakob.

  Selton grabbed a practice stave and joined her.

  She stepped into her ready stance. Selton mirrored her. With a nod, they began.

  The forms came easily to her. She sank into an emptiness within her mind, trained by Endric to find it, and opened herself to her Magi abilities, but made a point of not using them. In some way, that felt like more of a violation of the gods’ gift than simply taking advantage of her innate physical prowess. She tried not to think about how she had been forced to use those abilities when she had faced the Deshmahne. Better to practice and develop her skill pretending she didn't have those abilities.

  She darted forward, using a technique Endric had taught her, going through the full movement as she did before dancing back. She struck Selton three times in the single catah. He managed to block two others, but she was quicker than he was.

  Selton grinned and attempted an attack.

  Roelle noted the movements, recognizing the form he used, and blocked. She lunged forward and attacked again, this time using the same catah she had the last. It was the way Endric had taught her.

  Selton's face screwed up in tight concentration. He managed to block an extra attack but still was struck twice.

  Roelle stepped back and waited. This time, Selton attacked with the same form she had just demonstrated. She smiled, moving through the blocks, demonstrating the defense as Endric had demonstrated to her.

  A look of understanding crossed Selton's face.

  They continued through the movements, Roelle continuing to demonstrate techniques Selton didn't know. After a while, long enough that the sun had descended below the horizon leaving them with only the light of the campfire, Selton lowered his practice stave and rubbed his arms where she’d struck him.

  “I think I've had enough for tonight.”

  She laughed softly as she replaced the practice stave. “See? I told you that you didn't want to get embarrassed in front of your cousin.”

  Selton looked around. Nearly twenty of the Magi watched. Roelle hadn't realized so many had come to see them practice. “You might not be the only one who enjoys watching a skilled swordsman,” he said with a smile. “And I think you're going to have to deal with more than me.”

  The Magi were laughing; some of them were making jokes. All seemed to be enjoying watching Selton get beaten by the much smaller Roelle.

  Selton started away and another of the Magi, a young woman by the name of Cara, took up a stave and joined Roelle.

  She shook her head as she approached. “I don't think I'll give you quite as much of a challenge as Selton, but I want to learn.”

  Roelle nodded, but was unable to shake the sense that they relied on her to learn, as she had relied on Endric.

  It didn't seem a fair trade.

  Chapter Two

  Alriyn made his way across the grassy lawn outside of the palace. The air had the strange, persistent warmth that it always had within Vasha, the warmth that came from the veins of teralin that flowed deep within the mountain. The mines of teralin had been the reason for the last Deshmahne infiltration into the city, one that had occurred over a quarter century ago when they sought to acquire the ancient items of power the Magi possessed. The attack had been kept mostly quiet, so that few of the Magi remembered that time, thinking it nothing more than a miner rebellion. Alriyn remembered. One of his closest friends had died shortly afterward, and he still felt his absence.

  He paused at the gate, resting his hand on the silver teralin, looking out over the rest of the city. From this vantage, he could see the Denraen practicing in the barracks, though not quite as clearly as he would prefer. The Denraen managed to construct buildings within the second terrace that blocked the Magi from seeing their movements and the formations.

  Situated as they were, the second terrace directly below and the first terrace below that, it was easy for the Magi to imagine they were above all things, and all people. Alriyn knew that wasn’t the case, especially with Endric. He served in a different way, one that was nearly the equal of the Magi, and had secrets he had not fully shared with the rest of the Magi Council, including why he had sent Roelle from the city.

  The Denraen worked with their weapons, the steady clatter of practice mixing with the shouts that indicated men moved into formations. There was even the occasional sound of laughter. The activity on the second terrace showed increased intensity that came from concern over the growing presence of the Deshmahne.

  Far below the third terrace, the first terrace was almost easy to ignore. From here, Alriyn could see wispy clouds that moved in like a fog, practically obscuring much of the lower terraces from his view. They made it seem like the palace terrace floated atop the mountain, as if the Magi were like the gods themselves prior to their Ascension. It was an illusion, one that far too many allowed themselves to believe. Alriyn knew that the real activity happened below, with the people they were meant to serve and protect, the reason that gods had given them their abilities.

  Alriyn passed through the gate and made his way down the wide sloping ramp leading from the third terrace to the second. He paused at the entrance to the main barracks. It was heavily fortified here, several guards standing watch at the gate, with more hiding along the wall. He didn't need to see them to know they were there. He could feel them, the connection to his Magi abilities allowing him to detect their presence. Using the term of the Founders, they ca
lled it manehlin, a name that descended from the ancient language that came from the first Magi. All things were comprised of manehlin, the small energy that connected everything. The Magi were able to reach it, could feel the faint energy. None but the gods could see it.

  Alriyn turned away from the Denraen barracks and made his way down the ramp and into the first level. He didn't come down here often, certainly not as often as he once did. There was a time when he visited the first terrace frequently, wandering the streets and admiring the taverns and bakeries and other shops. It was a time before he had been raised to the Council, before he was the Second Eldest, a time when he was simply Alriyn Ral. That had been many years ago, before the Deshmahne had made their presence so well known, when he had thought to serve as Teacher in the university. It had been a time of peace, but one that had come at a price.

  Only a few remembered that time, because few lived long enough to remember. The Magi lived long lives, and those among the Council were among the oldest of the Magi. Alriyn remembered previous attempts to choose a Uniter according to the ancient custom. He remembered all too well the Magi failure. It was the reason those among the Council were so cautious, the reason they didn't want to risk repeating the same mistakes. They couldn't afford that kind of mistake this time, not with the Deshmahne moving as they did. Alriyn began to wonder if they would have to choose. Would the rest of the Council see it that way?

  A line of troops made its way along the streets, and Alriyn paused and turned to the side, letting the Denraen pass. They marched three across, hands on swords, eyes fixed straight ahead, the training implemented by Endric so ingrained within them. It truly was a beautiful thing to watch.

  He understood Roelle's fascination with it and why she had sought to learn the sword. He was thankful she had. Who would've known—who could have known—that her ability, and that of the other Magi who trained with her, would become so crucial?

  Alriyn still couldn't believe that she had been forced to face the Deshmahne, but hearing accounts from both Novan and Endric, it would seem that she was a natural warrior. A part of him wished he could have seen that, and he wondered if she had made the Founders proud.

  And now Endric had sent her away.

  He felt only sadness that he hadn’t done what he could to prepare her better. She should not have been sent by the Denraen general. Alriyn should have seen the need as well.

  What would she discover? What hid in the north?

  When he had visited the north, he had seen nothing but empty towns. And that had been deep within the upper foothills. That emptiness actually reassured him. Endric hadn’t sent her into danger; he had sent her for information. Alriyn had yet to learn what he intended her to learn or how it tied to the Antrilii.

  Knowing Endric, there was some deeper plan in place, and he wondered if it had something to do with Deshmahne movements he hadn't shared. Even though his sources were not what they once had been, Alriyn still heard the rumors that the Deshmahne had moved farther north than the Council had expected. They were a threat that needed to be curtailed, yet… How could they when he and his small council had yet to discover how deep the Deshmahne infiltration went within Vasha?

  Alriyn shook his head. The Denraen patrol had passed, and he waited along the street, the hood of his cloak pulled up over his head, keeping him concealed. He couldn't conceal his height, but it was not uncommon for Magi to come to the first terrace, only for the Elders.

  Many of the Magi taught at the university. The University of Vasha was considered one of the greatest places of learning, and only allowed a select few into their ranks each year. It had long been a desired place to come for those seeking scholarship, mostly because of the Magi. Alriyn hated to admit it, but even that had waned over the last few years, leaving the university somewhat less prestigious than it once had been. The University of Masetohl had become more prominent, and located well into the Deshmahne zone.

  Alriyn rarely went to the university these days, though he once had taught there. He wondered what the chancellor thought of their waning influence, or whether they even noticed. Could the university leaders be as blind as the rest of the Magi had been about the decline?

  Alriyn turned a corner, then hesitated. A familiar face appeared, before disappearing inside the door, passing into a tavern.

  Where had he seen that man before?

  He scanned his memory, trying to think about where it had been. It took a moment, but he realized that he was probably a delegate.

  No, this wasn't a delegate. He hadn't spent much time with the delegates but would recognize them when he saw them.

  The face resembled one of the delegates. But why?

  Alriyn started down the street, troubled by the thought, knowing that he had too much on his mind for him to think as clearly as he needed to.

  When he was well past the tavern, it came to him. Not one of the delegates, but one of the delegate’s servants. As he started off once more, a soft wave of unsettlement drifted toward him.

  Alriyn paused, frozen in place.

  He had known the sensation before. It was what he had trained Roelle to recognize, what he had trained her to resist. He knew what it came from, but not where. That bothered him as much as anything.

  The Deshmahne were in the city, but what were they after?

  When they had come before, Tresten had revealed the Magi no longer needed the teralin to reach the gods, if they ever had. Alriyn hadn’t discovered what the Deshmahne had come for then, only that they had sought a relic they thought tied to the gods. If they returned for a similar reason, Endric needed to know. The Council needed to know.

  He turned away, needing to return to the Council, but troubled by what he had sensed. It meant war was coming and Vasha would not be excluded. Was there time to prevent it?

  The Council sat quietly, each waiting for the Eldest to arrive. Alriyn considered starting the meeting without him, but thought better of it. He glanced around the others in the room. Those among his council did not meet his gaze, but then again, those not among his council did not either. Each Mage sat pensively waiting. He wondered how many of them worried about the Deshmahne and how many, himself included, worried more about the events to the north. He would share what he’d observed as soon as the Eldest arrived.

  The door to the hall opened suddenly and the Eldest strolled in, his dark cloak scarcely moving as he walked, and took his seat. As he did, the sleeve of his robe pulled back, revealing an angry red burn on his left arm. The Eldest pulled his sleeve down quickly to cover it and rubbed his arm carefully.

  What’s he been doing?

  Alriyn stared at the Eldest for a few long moments, but the Mage did not meet his gaze. Alriyn made a mental note to mention it the next time his council met, to see if any of the others had any ideas. They’d been meeting less frequently since Roelle had left the city. He was not certain when next they would convene.

  “Where are the children?” the Eldest asked. His voice was hoarse, as if he had recently been yelling, and he cleared his throat carefully after speaking.

  “There is no word,” Rendrem answered. He was the newest member of the Council, and Alriyn cared little for him, though he didn’t know if that came from the fact that he had replaced Tresten. “And Endric refuses to aid, stating it is a Magi matter.”

  “A Magi matter?” the Eldest repeated. Slowly, he turned to Alriyn. “Where is your niece?”

  Alriyn was careful not to look around the table. Now was a time for caution. “I know as much as the Council knows. Roelle did not confide in me in this.” Would they sense this as deception? He should have known.

  “You do not know?” Gustiven asked.

  Alriyn had often thought Gustiven preferred more direct leadership than others on the Council. As far as Alriyn was concerned, Gustiven could have it. Seeing how the younger Mage stared at him, he realized he would not be of use on his council. Someone else then, but he still did not know who he could ask.

 
“I do not,” Alriyn answered. “But I suspect she grew weary of discussion, choosing instead to act. She faced the Deshmahne when the delegates were brought to the city. Even Endric reports that they wouldn’t have survived had she not intervened.”

  “Reckless youth!” Felkin muttered.

  “Have the studied the meaning of the mahne,” Rendrem interjected, “do they know what they risk in doing this?”

  “Do you understand the mahne?” Crayn asked Rendrem.

  It was a question Alriyn should have asked. Rendrem was the newest Mage raised to the Council, raised after Tresten’s passing. Alriyn still mourned Tresten’s wisdom. The Mage had been Second Eldest prior to Alriyn taking the role, and had long been a friend when he had few. Now was a time when he wished for friends.

  There had been a time when the Eldest had been a friend, a time when they both shared the same desire—to understand the mahne so they could serve the gods—but that had been years before. As his friend had risen in prominence on the Council, Jostephon had changed, leaving behind that curious mind Alriyn had prized. Could he renew that friendship? For the good of the Magi—and the Urmahne—he would do it. If any of the Magi would understand the need to find the Uniter, it would be Jostephon.

  Debate raged through him as he wondered if he should share with Council the assignment Roelle had taken upon herself, how Endric had sent his niece in search of answers he had never managed to find.

  He had promised her parents that he would watch over her, but was that what he did? Allowing her to become a soldier?

  Not allowing—practically pushing her to become something else.