Progeny (The Children of the White Lions)

by Kaelin, R. T.

  He glared at her, silent, knowing that her threat was not an idle one. He had benefited too often from her talents in the past to doubt her effectiveness.

  Raela turned and retreated, heading through open double doors.

  “You better start praying, Everett.”

  He watched her moonlit figure sweep past his windows and down the passageway. Dropping his chin to his chest, he and stared at the marble floor.

  This was bad.

  If Tandyr were to blame Everett for Jhaell’s mistake, the god would no doubt rescind his promises. Everett frowned, guessing that would not be the end of Tandyr’s retribution, either. In a daze, he bent over, picked up the parchment, and began to return to his desk.

  “You sent for me, my Lord?”

  Turning around, he found the blonde serving girl from the dining hall standing in the doorway. She wore a coy smile and took a step onto the marble.

  He glared at her and muttered, “Get out.”

  She stopped short and stared at him, her brow knitted up in confusion.

  “But, my Lord. I thought—”

  Fury welled up inside him and a feral sneer raced over his lips. Pointing to the doorway, he screamed, “Get out!”

  The girl hesitated, but then turned and ran into the night, fleeing down the open-air passageway, her sandals beating on the sandstone as she fled.

  Walking to his desk, Everett collapsed in his chair, and rested his chin in his hand.

  “Blast it, Jhaell. You had better fix this.”

  Chapter 54: Swordsman

  2nd of the Turn of Thonda

  Lying on his back, Nikalys stared up at the billowy clouds marching across the sky, assigning familiar shapes to them in his head. With a sigh, he let his head fall to the side, checking on Kenders. She was still sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the goings on around her.

  Earlier, when he had first awakened, he had been alarmed to find Kenders unconscious beside him. Thankfully, Jak was there also and, after assuring him Kenders was all right, had filled him in on what she had done for the soldiers.

  Broedi came to check his shoulder wound and, after finding it nearly healed, pronounced him fit with a reserved frown. According to the hillman, he should have slept longer and his wound should not be as whole as it was. Broedi wondered aloud if the gift given to the White Lions by Sarphia, the goddess of Immortality, had slipped into Nikalys as well. Whatever the reason, Nikalys was grateful for his quick recovery.

  As the hillman was attending to him, a joyful, high-pitched scream had rung out over the prairie. Nikalys looked up just as Helene had tackled him, leaping into his arms, screaming with delight. Sabine had walked up after her sister, and while her greeting was much less enthusiastic than Helene’s was, the genuine warmth she displayed was unexpected yet welcome.

  After a short reunion, Broedi ushered everyone away, insisting Nikalys lie down again to ensure a full recovery. Nikalys protested that he felt fine, but the hillman would have none of it.

  Sabine pulled a reluctant Helene with her, announcing they were both going to take a short swim in the river, followed by a long nap. Jak left as well, promising to fill Nikalys in later, after he rested more. He had lain in the grass beside Kenders and tried to fall asleep, but, so far, he was unable to do so.

  Watching one last cloud drift past—it reminded him of a horse pulling a wagon—he decided he had enough of lying there. He was anxious to discover what was going on.

  Sitting up, Nikalys reached his arms high overhead and stretched, amazed that his shoulder did not hurt. Looking toward the camp that the Red Sentinels had set up, he shook his head with wonder.

  “So we run from them for weeks and now we’re suddenly friends?”

  Near the main grouping of tents, Jak stood with the bearded man who Nikalys guessed to be the Sentinels’ leader as well as the Borderlander from the fort. The trio had their backs to him, watching a dozen soldiers practicing their sword work. The clang of metal striking metal had been one of the reasons Nikalys had been unable to sleep.

  Since the soldiers seemed friendly, Nikalys wondered if he could get a quick lesson before Kenders awoke. He still had the Blade of Horum strapped to his hip, but he had no more idea what to do with it now than when he first pulled it from the scabbard.

  With one last look at his sister, he stood and began to walk to where Jak was. As he sauntered over, a puff of wind carried with it the now-familiar sweet scent of burning smoking-leaf. Looking up, he noticed Broedi with his bone pipe in hand, deep in conversation with the little redheaded tomble.

  Broedi eyed him and nodded, which Nikalys took to mean the hillman was granting approval that he be up and about. The tomble turned and looked at him, staring with wide eyes. After a few uncomfortable moments, Nikalys broke off the tomble’s gaze and continued to where his brother stood. Hearing his approach, Jak turned and smiled wide.

  “Did Broedi give you permission to get up?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” replied Nikalys with a grin. “I stood up and he didn’t tell me to lie back down.”

  The bearded soldier and Borderland both faced him as the men behind them continued their sword practice. Nikalys caught more than a few furtive glances in his direction.

  Pointing to the soldier, Jak said, “Nikalys, this is Sergeant Trell.”

  The sergeant scrutinized Nikalys so closely that he felt like a crate of olives being evaluated by the Smithshill inspectors.

  Nikalys shot a quick, inquisitive glance at his brother and received a nod back, indicating everything was fine. Shrugging, he looked at the soldier and said, “Good days ahead to you, Sergeant Trell.”

  “And good memories behind, young man.”

  Nodding to the dark-skinned Borderlander, Jak said, “And you remember the man we met in the fort, don’t you? This is Zecus, from the village Drysa.” He looked at the Borderlander. “I got that right, didn’t I?”

  The man inclined his head and said, “You did.” He faced Nikalys, bent at the waist slightly, and said respectfully, “My pleasure is to meet you in peace today, great warrior.”

  The Borderlander’s words sounded like a ritualistic greeting. Not knowing what the correct response was, Nikalys simply repeated the phrase back.

  “It is my pleasure to meet you in peace today, as well, Zecus.”

  For the first time, Nikalys truly studied the man. Last night in the ruined fort, it had been dark and Nikalys had been preoccupied. The Borderlander’s face was cut and bruised as though he had been in a tavern fight.

  Suddenly, the entirety of the Borderlander’s salutation registered.

  “Hold a moment. Great warrior?”

  “He’s been doing it all night,” said Jak with a wondering shake of his head. “‘The great warrior this, the great warrior that.’ A bit much in my opinion. So you bashed in the heads of a dozen spirit soldiers? They were made of moonlight.” He winked at Nikalys. “A cloud over the moons could have wiped them out just as easily.”

  A quiet chuckle slipped from Sergeant Trell at Jak’s good-natured jest. Even the Borderlander sported a small smile. Nikalys stared at the three men, bewildered. Everyone here seemed completely at ease with one another, even friendly.

  “I’m very confused right now.”

  “That is to be expected, uori.”

  Turning to his left, Nikalys was surprised to find Broedi standing next to him. For a man of his size and stature, the hillman could move with surprising stealth. Coming around Broedi’s left, the tomble stood in front of the hillman and stared up at Nikalys, his eyes still wide.

  Looking from face to face, Nikalys asked, “Would someone please tell me what is going on?”

  Everyone, even Broedi, smiled at his befuddlement. The hillman, at first alone, and later, with the help of the others, revealed what they had discussed last evening after Nikalys had passed out. The tales shared combined to form one of the most incredible sagas he had ever heard. Once they were finished, Nikalys stared at Broedi, w
holly incredulous.

  “All of this is true?”

  Nodding, Broedi rumbled, “Too much of what they say aligns with what we already knew.”

  Unable to help himself, Nikalys asked, “Truly? A massive army of oligurts and razorfiends—”

  “And perhaps mongrels,” interjected Nundle.

  “Fine. And mongrels. They’re all amassing in the Borderlands right now?”

  Zecus eyed Nikalys and said, “I can assure you, great warrior, they are. Most of the western villages have been destroyed or abandoned. When the demon showed me the map, he said we stood on the remains of Midiah. I believe he was truthful.” Zecus’ eyebrows drew together. “I am thankful that Drysa was mostly empty when I visited it again. I pray my neighbors are safe in the east.”

  The tomble looked up at Zecus in surprise.

  “You are from Drysa?”

  “I am, little mage.”

  A perplexed expression affixed itself to Nundle’s face.

  “I must have missed that last night.”

  “Things were confused last evening,” rumbled Broedi as he peered down at the tomble. “Does that mean something to you?”

  Nodding, Nundle said, “I met two men from Drysa while in Lakeborough.” His gaze shifted to Zecus. “They were on their way to Freehaven to petition the First Council about the Sudashians. Joshmuel and Boah. Nice enough fellows. Spent the—”

  With wide eyes, Zecus interrupted, saying, “Joshmuel Alsher and Boah Rasus?”

  Nundle stared at the Borderlander. A moment skipped past before he said, “How could—” The tomble’s eyes grew round. “Hold a moment! Zecus! That was the name of Joshmuel’s son!”

  “That is me,” muttered the Borderlander. “I am Zecus Alsher, son of Joshmuel.”

  Everyone glanced at one another, clearly surprised by the chance occurrence. Everyone except Broedi, that is. Nikalys noticed the hillman staring between Nundle and Zecus, a pensive frown affixed to his lips. He looked concerned more than anything.

  Nikalys almost asked him what he was thinking, but learning that there was an army of oligurts, razorfiends, and mongrels marching on the duchies demanded his attention for the moment. Staring around the group, he asked, “So why is the Borderlands’ duke not fighting back?”

  Pointing to Zecus, Nundle said, “That’s the same question I asked his father.”

  Broedi offered, “Perhaps it is in the duke’s best interests to turn a blind eye. We have evidence of one duke already involved in a conspiracy.” With a deeper frown than typically graced his face, he added, “It would seem the Cabal has begun their quest, whatever that may be. I had hoped for more time.” He looked to Zecus. “Are you sure you can’t tell us nothing else? You cannot remember any names or places? Anything?”

  “I am sorry, great lion,” said Zecus with a slow shake of his head. “The demon’s name was Urazûd, the ijul’s was Jhaell. He was supposed to be searching for something.” He bowed his head. “I offer my deepest remorse that I cannot tell you more.”

  “You have been more than helpful,” rumbled the hillman. “Do not apologize.” After a brief pause, he added quietly, “And please stop calling me ‘great lion.’ Broedi will do.”

  Zecus lifted his head but did not respond.

  Jak said, “So, then. The god of Chaos is ‘searching for something.’” He frowned and said with a healthy amount of sarcasm, “That wondrously ambiguous.”

  “Believe it or not, uori, it is more than we knew during the last war. Norasim’s intentions were never clear.”

  Scratching his beard, Sergeant Trell eyed Broedi and said, “As you are the lone soul here who has dealt with him before, what do you think he—or she, I suppose—is doing?”

  “I do not know. Yet I expect things will go worse for us than last time.”

  “Worse?” scoffed Nikalys. “What could be worse than a demon army led by one of the Cabal running over the land?”

  “An army led by four of the Cabal running over the land,” rumbled Broedi.

  “Pardon?” asked Jak.

  Frowning, Nundle said, “According to Indrida’s prophecy, when Chaos returns, he or she will have the help of Strife, Pain, and Deception. Four evil gods, working together.”

  “Nundle is right,” said Broedi. “Their goal, whatever it is, must be important to bring them together. Trust and cooperation among the Cabal is rare.”

  Jak ran a hand through his hair, muttering, “Nine Hells…”

  A dry smile spread over Sergeant Trell’s face.

  “Actually, only four of them, son.”

  The four men, tomble, and White Lion all went silent, each of them trapped within their thoughts. Nikalys almost wished he had stayed with Kenders in the grass. Letting out a heavy sigh, he reached up and rubbed his eyes. The gentle plains breeze had dried them out as he had watched the soldiers practicing with the swords throughout the long conversation

  Dropping his hands, he returned his attention to a particular pair of men. One soldier—not much older than Nikalys—was clearly the most talented of the bunch, even to Nikalys’ untrained eye. Every move the young man made appeared effortless, crisp, and half a breath faster than his opponent’s.

  Breaking the group’s silence, Nikalys muttered, “Sergeant?”

  The bearded soldier glanced up.

  “Yes?”

  Pointing to the young swordsman, Nikalys asked, “Who’s that?”

  Sergeant Trell turned his head to see whom Nikalys meant.

  “His name’s Wil Eadding. A footman. Why?”

  “Do you think I could get a lesson from him?”

  Facing Nikalys, the sergeant said, “You have a good eye. Wil is by far my best swordsman.”

  “Is that a yes, then?”

  Sergeant Trell nodded and said with a slight smile, “I believe that can be arranged.”

  “Thank you,” replied Nikalys, turning back to watch the pair spar. “I’d appreciate it.”

  Wil advanced on his opponent, thrusting his blade. The other Sentinel tried to parry, but Nikalys noticed his footing was all wrong. Wil easily got past the man’s guard, halting before seriously hurting his fellow soldier, but eliciting a disappointed curse from the other man nonetheless.

  Nikalys shook his head. Wil’s opponent had set his feet wrong. Had he used the correct positioning, he would have easily been able to turn the blow aside.

  Nikalys froze, blinking in surprise. He was more than confident in his assessment even though there was no possible way he could have known that.

  Jak said, “You said you wanted more time, Broedi. Time for what?”

  The question was a good one, good enough to draw Nikalys’ attention away from his confusion. Looking over to Broedi, he found the hillman staring straight at him, a thoughtful frown on his face that remained throughout his answer to Jak’s question.

  “Your kaveli is not ready to face a challenge like the one that approaches. Neither is your iskoa.” Motioning toward where Kenders lay, he rumbled, “She is incredibly powerful, yes. But she is inconsistent, untrained, and rash. A danger to herself and those around her.” Gesturing at Nikalys, he continued, “And you may carry Aryn’s blade, uori, but when forced to fight you use a rock like any farmer would.”

  “Hells, Broedi, I am a farmer.”

  Displaying an unusual amount of agitation, Broedi said, “No, uori. You are not. Circumstance has merely permitted you to pretend you are a farmer for fifteen years.”

  “And who created that circumstance? My blood parents—your friends!—put me there and ran off!”

  “They were following the fate Greya laid out for them.”

  “Blast Greya and blast fate! They chose to leave me, to leave us! Fate had nothing to do with this.” The passion with which he spoke surprised him. He had thought he had come to terms with all of this.

  The hillman folded his arms over his massive chest.

  “Fate has everything to do with this, uori. You cannot escape it.”


  “I can try.”

  “No,” rumbled Broedi. “You cannot. This—” he motioned to the soldiers, Kenders, Jak, the tomble, and the sergeant “—this is your fate. The sooner you accept it, the better.”

  Nikalys shook his head. He no longer recognized his life. And each day that passed only twisted it further. Lowering his voice, he mumbled, “I just want everything back the way it used to be.”

  Broedi’s eyes burned. Muscles rippled along his jawline.

  “What you want does not matter.”

  Nikalys scowled at the hillman for a few breaths before saying, “And neither does what you want, apparently. Because you’re right, Broedi. You’re right. I’m not ready. For any of this.”

  He took a few steps forward and turned his full attention to the practicing soldiers. He felt the gaze of the others fixed on his back but he ignored them. Let them stare.

  For a few moments, the prairie was quiet, other than the clanging of the Sentinel swords. As Nikalys watched, he noticed Wil’s opponent turn his wrist too late on a parry. A moment sooner and he would have been in the perfect position to strike back.

  Jak finally broke the uneasy quiet.

  “What exactly is at Storm Island, Broedi?”

  Without looking back, Nikalys mumbled, “You’re wasting your time, Jak.”

  Undeterred, Jak asked, “You aren’t just looking to keep them safe and hidden, are you?”

  “No,” rumbled the hillman. “We are not.”

  Curious, Nikalys turned to look at the hillman.

  “We? Who is ‘we?’”

  Broedi remained silent, his gaze shifting from face to face.

  “What I am about to tell you must not leave this circle. Is that understood?”

  Nikalys glanced around him. The practicing soldiers were a couple dozen paces away. Other than the six people here, no one would be able to hear Broedi’s words unless he shouted.

  After securing quiet agreement from them all, Broedi eyed Nikalys and began to speak.

  “After the magic was outlawed, your parents and I spent some fifty years away from the Oaken Duchies. When we returned, we came to the Southlands and lived along the coast for a time. Aryn and I were somewhat worried about being discovered for who and what we were, but Eliza was brazen. She would have walked into Old Royal Square in Freehaven had we let her. She was still quite upset with the First Council.”