The Threat of Madness (The Lost Prophecy Book 1) Read online

  “Visiting or staying?” the guard to his left asked. The man rested a firm hand atop his sword as he asked. The way he held himself said he knew how to use it as well.

  “Visiting,” he lied.

  “For the day or overnight?” the other guard asked.

  “The day,” he lied again. “Just here for supplies.”

  A single flick of the wrist passed them through. It was not until they were well beyond hearing that he looked over to Salindra. “What was that?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure,” she replied.

  He looked around. The streets were thick with people, crowded more than he had ever seen the city. “Crowded,” he mused. “All coming south for the protection of the city,” he thought. And nothing was being done about it.

  Salindra nodded. He thought she looked nervous. He understood. He would keep her from harm. Nothing would happen to her while in Rondalin.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “We wait,” he answered.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The dust around Jakob no longer settled. The dirt of the road was now dry and floated about him. Each step filled his nose with it, caking his skin and turning to paste with his sweat. It had been many days since the last rain. Many days of enduring the discomfort of wandering alone, with no shelter. Many days since he’d felt clean.

  It was cold, the autumn now threatening to change fully into winter. Jakob had been thankful for his cloak, but still it hadn’t been enough to keep him warm. Mostly it’d been clear weather with only one day of rain. He didn’t know if he should be thankful for that. Today’s sky was clear again, and he could hear the sounds of the nearby forest as he walked. They were the sounds of crickets chirping, leather bugs humming, and the occasional caw of a crow overhead.

  The path before him was empty, as was the path behind. He long ago gave up the hope of finding someone else along the road, companionship, or food. His belly called to him. The small roadside berries had not been satisfying, and he’d had little water to drink. He had tried hunting, but luck was not with him. It was a long way from the road to any stream. The one time he’d gone searching, it had taken him hours to make his way back.

  The road had headed straight west. Jakob had followed it much of the first day, his injured back and leg not allowing much speed. Camping along the roadside, he slept soundly the first night, but awoke in a fit of panic, certain the Deshmahne had found him. The itching in his head he’d known while traveling with the Denraen had returned, but he no longer cared.

  Worse, he feared for his sanity.

  The strange dreams that had haunted him for the last few weeks had stopped, and there had been nothing like the strange waking dream he had experienced before ending up along this road, but he couldn’t shake that last one. It had been more than a dream, something so real he could have lived it.

  Jakob staggered onward. The weight of the trunk was a constant reminder of his mission, but worry rose within him that he’d be too late to find Endric. Would Novan then think him dead?

  He needed to find another horse, somehow, so he could reach Avaneam and meet the Denraen.

  As he walked, he decided that living the life of Jarren Gildeun might not have been as exciting as he’d hoped.

  He had abandoned his saddlebags early on. His few belongings were now tucked into his heavier cloak and the rest discarded. There had been a moment of surprise, then sorrow, when he had discovered the books he had taken from his father’s room. Those he tucked carefully into an inner pocket of his cloak. Novan’s book of the ancient language went next to them. He had little else to call his own.

  During the second day of travel, he’d taken a break and sat down, pulling out his father’s books. One was smaller than the others, and something about it looked different. Leaning against a rock to read and rest, he discovered another surprise. The book was similar to the one Novan had given him, written in stretches of the ancient language. A small stone ring had tumbled out of it, dark black and without any adornment. Jakob knew it was different from the jewelry the priests wore. There was something familiar about it, but he couldn’t place what.

  Memories of his father and his now lost family had overwhelmed him, and tears streaked his dusty face. Finally, he had taken a deep breath and, on impulse, had put his father’s ring upon his middle finger. Its weight was a pleasant reminder of him.

  Jakob read the book for an hour before pressing on. At each stop, he pulled it out and read from it again. It was slow, but the words came more easily each time he opened its pages. This was more of a historical text describing Thealon over a thousand years ago. Though dry, something about it was fascinating.

  On the third day, he came upon an intersecting road. It led north and south while the one he was on continued west. Jakob went north. The trunk almost pulled him forward, and he continued onward for several more days.

  And now, his legs ached. He figured he’d been walking nearly a week and couldn’t travel much farther without food, or water, or shelter. But the road was well worn and had about it the look and feel of something serviceable, so he prayed he’d find a city at some point. A city meant supplies and another step closer to Endric.

  Another hill loomed before him, climbing high above. It had been like this for several days. Hill after hill, each one was higher than the last. He looked up, saw the sun approaching its midday peak, and knew that he’d been walking for several hours already. He had no choice but to keep on. He raised a hand to his forehead and wiped a bit of the sweat off, leaving his arm smeared with the grime that coated him.

  Topping the hill, an enormous city appeared far in the distance. Jakob could make out huge walls surrounding the sprawling city, but little else from his vantage. Elation welled in him, and he considered running before deciding against it. From the size of the city, he gauged the distance still a long way off. His pace still quickened, and he found the day passing. He didn’t bother to stop and rest, leaving the strange books tucked in his cloak for the first time in since he’d begun reading them. With nothing left to eat or drink, there was no other point in stopping.

  Before he knew it, the sun was setting behind him, and stars blinked on in the night sky. Up ahead, around the city, other lights flickered on, candles in the night. As he neared the city, he saw that tents and makeshift houses had been built and the road led through them. People gradually joined him on the road as he walked, traveling toward the city gates.

  The houses and tents all appeared hastily thrown up without any sort of order to the manner in which they were arranged. Simple wooden houses that seemed frail enough to fall over in a brisk wind had tents of all kinds surrounding them. The tents were made of all sorts of fabrics and furs, some propped up with many wooden shafts while others had a single pole at the center.

  It was like this as far as he could see. Small openings between each dwelling allowed access further off the road, but the spaces were narrow, and he wouldn’t want to wander blindly through there in the dark. People had used whatever they could to build themselves a shelter. Lights scattered throughout lit up the night.

  Ahead, the wall to the city proper was still nearly a mile off. The makeshift houses and tents squeezed in tighter closer to the walls. Eventually, there was no room between them, many simply butting up against the next.

  He couldn’t imagine living this way. He noticed that between the rows of dwellings, small streets had popped up. They were a necessity this close to the walls of the city because of how tightly packed the dwellings had become. Without the streets, there would be no access to any.

  He nudged around others on the road. Some stared around, while others were hawkers who had set up carts trying to sell goods. The main street was the only place this could be done as carts would not fit well on the narrow side streets. As Jakob slowly neared the walls, the road seemed busy for nighttime. Then he overheard some conversation and understood.

  “I hear they’ve got the best a
le at the Rotted Prine,” one man told another in front of him. It seemed some things were not offered outside the city walls.

  Finally, huge iron gates barred the way before him. On either side of the gate, standing atop the wall, stood a guard dressed in heavy armor and brandishing a crossbow. He checked through his cloak and felt Tian’s crossbow and fell into the line that had formed, some fifty people deep, awaiting access to the city.

  Two men in front of him still discussed drinking locales. They were thin men, unshaven, and both looked to be as covered in grime as he felt. Their shirts and breeches were stained and torn a little.

  “Strange,” one of the men said to the other.

  “Aye,” the other replied nodding. “There’s not been a line like this before.”

  “Too many come south,” the other answered.

  “Maybe Thealon would be safer. At least there, the gods offer protection.”

  “If they ever come out of that damn Tower!” the other laughed. His friend laughed with him.

  Not much farther in front of him stooped an old woman with her gray hair pulled back tightly into a bun. She wore a dark shawl wrapped around her shoulders. At her side stood a young girl who looked to Jakob barely seven or eight years old. She clung to the old woman’s arm, her head down. Her cheeks were sunken, and in the lamplight, the tone of her skin was ashen.

  “Keep her away from us! We don’t need to catch it!”

  The old woman looked around in disgust. She couldn’t seem to find the person who had yelled. “I can’t help it there’s a line.” Her voice was weak and crackly. “We go to see a healer!”

  “Wait until no one else is around!” someone else shouted. “There are too many sick as it is.” A stone came flying toward the woman from out in the line. It missed, but he turned his head in disgust.

  “A nice sword you have there, boy.”

  He spun to see who spoke. It was an old man behind him in the line. His back hunched, and he leaned on a wooden cane. The naked flesh of his chest was pale and sunken, and the man stank. He wore little more than badly torn breaches; his shoes nothing more than patches of leather tied to his feet.

  Jakob turned back around, hoping to avoid the stench. He had almost forgotten about his sword. He had grown used to its weight, and as he looked around, he realized no one else wore steel.

  They came for protection. I come with protection.

  He resisted the urge to feel for the hidden crossbow.

  “Where might one such as you acquire such a sword?” The man’s voice was high pitched and gravely. His breath stunk of rotten teeth. The remaining teeth were yellowed and broken.

  “My family.” Jakob said over his shoulder, keeping his gaze facing forward, hoping only to ignore the man.

  Dark eyes peered curiously at him, taking in the dirt that coated his ragged clothes. “Oh?”

  Jakob found himself crowding near to the two men in line in front of him. He moved away from the stench of the old man, to get away from his leering eyes. A gruff glance back by one of the men halted him from pushing too close.

  Up ahead, the line inched forward. He heard someone mention that the guards were waiting until someone left before another was allowed in because the city was too crowded. Jakob grew impatient with his thirst and hunger.

  In front of him, the men had moved on to a different conversation. He heard little of it, though, and strained to hear more. As he did, he felt the pulsing in his head increase, and the men’s voices became clearer. “They say they’re looking for someone. Maybe that’s why the line takes so long.”

  The other nodded in agreement. “Wonder who they’re looking for.”

  “We’ll know soon enough,” the man replied, nodding to the shortening line. “I wonder what they did.”

  The line continued to advance, and he was close enough to see the two guards. Both were garbed in lightweight chain mail, with simple leather helmets covering their heads and short swords sheathed at their sides. Heavy leather boots covered their feet. They stood to either side of the gate, blocking entrance to those in the line. Another man stood behind them, hidden by shadow.

  Another guard? Jakob couldn’t see clearly and would have to wait until he got closer. As one person left the city, the guard farthest from the line would nod to the nearer, and who would quickly look the person over before letting them into the city. For each person, it was the same.

  The old woman and the sick girl made it to the head of the line. Disgust lined one of the guard’s faces as he looked upon the girl. The man shook his head at the old woman. Finally, he heard the woman plead.

  “I’m taking her to a healer. Please, she may not live without!”

  The guard was unmoved. He shook his head and raised his arm, pointing her away. Several people in line jeered at the woman.

  “Please?” the woman begged.

  The sick girl reached out toward the guard, and the man shrank back from her touch. A gloved hand came up and drew back to strike. Jakob didn’t want to watch but could not stop himself. The hand came down. At the last second, the man standing behind the guards caught it and waved the woman and her child through. A glare passed between the two guards, but they didn’t say anything.

  He moved closer and heard mumbling farther in front of him. A description. “They say he’s tall and plain looking. Say he has brownish hair and deep blue eyes.”

  “What’d he do?” someone asked near the head of the line.

  It was one of the guards who answered. “He killed a priest.”

  A few people sucked in a breath in surprise. Someone in the back of the line yelled out, “I killed me a man too!” followed by a burst of laughter among those who heard him.

  Jakob didn’t laugh. They could’ve been describing him.

  He focused his gaze on the man standing behind the guards, staring hard as he tried to see past the shadows. The slow pulsing in his head intensified, and his vision cleared so that he could see through the darkness. The man wore a cloak with a hood covering his head, but Jakob saw the markings around his eyes and knew the man wore them on his arms as well.

  A Deshmahne.

  Jakob needed to get away.

  The guard spoke again, ignoring the comment. “He’s a thief too. Snuck away with the priest’s sword. A valuable bauble.”

  One of the men in front of him glanced back at him again. His eyes widened as he saw first Jakob’s height, then his hair, eyes, and finally the sword. The man nudged his friend who looked back curiously, and his breath caught.

  Without warning, he felt a hard whack across his calves. The old man behind him brandished his cane and cocked an arm back for a second strike. From behind him now, one of the men yelled, “Here! The killer is here!”

  Jakob panicked, trying to move, but the mass of people blocked him.

  He vaguely heard someone farther back in line joke, “No, I’m back here you dolt!”

  At the front of the line, he heard the sound of swords being unsheathed, followed by the terse shout, “Hold him!” and “Stay where you are!”

  The old man started to bring his cane down, arcing from high overhead and swinging toward Jakob’s skull. He ducked from the blow and turned. One of the men in front of him grabbed at him. He twisted and broke free of clawing fingers and ran.

  At first, he ran back down the main road he had come in on. But the further out he got, the more people seemed intent on stopping him. Reaching arms forced a sudden left on a nearby street. It was narrow, almost too narrow, and he had to slow down to slink past others along the street. He was comforted knowing his pursuers would have to do the same.

  Fear raced through him as he ran. The Deshmahne were in the city.

  Where was he that Deshmahne would be openly in the city? But not just in the city. It appeared they controlled the city and the guards.

  As he ran, the fatigue of the last week threatened to overwhelm him. He pushed through it, hoping to get far enough away that he could hide.

&
nbsp; He noted people huddled near small fires for warmth. A few people were cooking as he ran, and his empty stomach ached and his mouth watering. It had been a long time since he had eaten.

  Those he saw were dirty, unable to clean themselves. Fear in their eyes changed to relief when they saw it was not them being chased.

  What could make them scared like this?

  People almost cowered. The fear he saw, the suffering, their defeat almost made him give up. It reminded him of the feeling he had during the Turning Festival. If the Deshmahne were here, would they always feel hopeless?

  With the question, a slow helpless feeling crept through him and settled. His steps slowed, and he nearly stopped. Jakob felt hollow and useless.

  Why bother? I’ll be captured eventually.

  The thought came unbidden, and Jakob felt its truth. He faltered again, heard the sounds of his pursuers nearby and readied his surrender.

  Avaneam, came another thought. The general.

  Jakob felt the weight of the trunk as it hung from his belt, and his mind snapped back into focus as he remembered that too much had already been lost to lose the trunk now. So he ran.

  He took corners, side streets each smaller than the last, until he was panting. His breath was loud in his ears. His empty stomach churned, crying for food. Slowing his pace, he looked around. It looked the same as any other place in this outer city, with ramshackle houses and makeshift tents that had sprung up almost haphazardly. There was no one around him and, for a moment, he thought himself safe.

  Reaching an intersection of sorts, he paused to get his bearings and saw that he’d come almost half way around the city. Catching his breath, he took in the streets around him. Suddenly, he saw two men running toward him dressed in simple shirts with heavily tattooed arms exposed. Each carried a long, curved sword.

  Deshmahne.

  Could he face two? Jakob wasn’t sure. He’d barely survived the last two times he faced the Deshmahne. Now he was exhausted and starved.

  Jakob adjusted his sword and ran. The pulsing in his head hummed and became a steady throbbing. He looked across the street, then back to his left. If he went straight, the street narrowed so that it would slow him. Being slower risked being caught. If he went left, he’d be forced away from the city.