Progeny (The Children of the White Lions)

by Kaelin, R. T.

  Nikalys repelled their combined onslaught with ease. Even when two blows seemed to come at him at the same time, he somehow turned both aside. While Nikalys felt light and fast, it seemed the men were moving incredibly slowly, as though their limbs were stuck in giant vats of cold fish oil.

  Suddenly, something inside of Nikalys clicked. A force shifted deep in his soul. One moment, he had no idea how to control whatever was buried inside of him. The next, he understood with dazzling clarity.

  A smile slowly spread over his lips as he stared at the grass behind Wil—

  Shift.

  —reached out, and grabbed the man’s sword hand from behind. With a gentle twist, he disarmed the man, caught the sword as it slipped from Wil’s hand, and flung it away. As the freed sword climbed into the air, he spotted Hunsfin’s blade coming at his head and turned—

  Shift.

  —lashing out with the shimmering Blade of Horum. Nikalys sliced clean though Hunsfin’s sword, leaving only a hilt with a hand’s length of sheared metal sticking from the guard. He stared at a spot at the center of the three men—

  Shift.

  —gave a quick shove to Wil’s chest, spun, and did the same to Hunsfin. Both soldiers flew backwards in opposite directions just as Wil’s sword reached the apex of its arc, the metal blade glinting in the sunlight. Whirling around, he faced Sergeant Trell. The man was staring at him, mouth agape.

  Shift.

  Nikalys grabbed the sergeant around the neck with his left arm and spun the soldier around to face everyone. Holding very still, he gazed at his impromptu audience.

  Jak and Nundle were no longer struggling to break free. In fact, Jak, Nundle, Zecus, and most of the Red Sentinels stood as still as statues, their collective expression one of pure wonderment. Broedi was the only one showing a unique emotion, one of pride.

  As he stared at everyone, Wil’s tossed sword made a muted ringing sound as it struck the grasslands two hundred paces from where he stood.

  With his arm still around Sergeant Trell’s neck, Nikalys whispered diffidently into the man’s ears, “You are not going to take my sister.” Raising his voice, he shouted, “No one is touching her!”

  Breathing hard from exertion, Sergeant Trell choked out a response.

  “I had no real intention of doing so…”

  The man’s tone gave Nikalys pause. He sounded calm and collected. The venom from before was gone. Sergeant Trell dropped his sword to the ground with a soft metallic clatter and gripped Nikalys’ forearm with both hands, trying to free himself. Nikalys held fast without much trouble.

  Confused, Nikalys uttered, “Pardon?”

  Broedi began to stride toward Nikalys and his prisoner, calling out, “Let him go, uori! I believe the sergeant made his point!”

  Nikalys stared at the hillman blankly.

  “Point? What point?”

  Sergeant Trell frantically clapped at Nikalys’ arm and gasped, “Son? Could you let go? I can’t breathe.”

  Broedi reached them, placed a hand on Nikalys’ shoulder, and said gently, “Release him, uori. He is not your enemy.”

  A sneaking suspicion that he had been duped—much like how Broedi had tricked him back by the cliff—crept over him. Nikalys freed the wheezing man and Sergeant Trell slumped to the ground.

  Glaring at Broedi, Nikalys demanded, “Blast it! Did you put him up to this?”

  Shaking his head, the hillman said, “The sergeant did this on his own.”

  Straddled on his hands and knees, breathing hard and rubbing his neck, Sergeant Trell said in a ragged voice, “And if I’d had any idea you were that blasted fast and strong, I probably would have reconsidered my approach.”

  By now, the wary trio of Jak, Zecus, and Nundle had drawn closer. All three looked as confused as Nikalys felt. Nikalys scanned the area and saw the two soldiers he had been fighting were both sitting up, slightly stunned, but otherwise fine. The rest of the Red Sentinels were staring at him with wide eyes.

  Looking back to the sergeant, Nikalys said, “You said all of that just to get me angry, didn’t you?”

  With an apologetic shrug of his shoulders Sergeant Trell said, “I did. And I’m only a little sorry about it.”

  Nikalys gaped at the man for a moment.

  “But…why?”

  Sergeant Trell raised a hand from his half-prone position. “Help me up?”

  Nikalys took his hand, pulled the man to his feet, and muttered, “I don’t understand.”

  The sergeant brushed some stray blades of grass from his uniform while studying Nikalys. The animosity from just a few minutes ago was gone. In fact, the glint in the soldier’s eyes reminded Nikalys a bit of the way his father would look at him sometimes.

  “Your soul is good. Your heart, stout. You have a talent that is literally god-given. But you also have a problem. Do you know what that is?”

  Nikalys blinked in surprise. The tip of his sword drooped.

  “Pardon?”

  “Doubt,” said the Sergeant Trell. “You doubt who you are. You doubt your place in the world. You doubt that you can do what is expected of you, despite having no idea what that is.” His eyebrows drew together. “You lack the one thing that can let you be who you need to be, young Nikalys. Confidence.”

  He took a step closer and, lowering his voice, said gently, “I know all of this is a lot to take in. You and your sister have been thrust into an unimaginable position. It must feel like the world is on your shoulders. But know that you are not alone. Son, when I watched what your sister did last night for my men—” he shook his head “—I knew in an instant that I would do whatever it took to help you both.” A tiny smile touched his lips. “Even if that means taking a beating from you to help you realize you are more than you think.”

  Nikalys stared at the sergeant, a blank expression on his face. He did not know what to say.

  Nundle spoke up, his voice quiet and reserved. “While I’m certainly glad you did not go mad, Nathan—and I was worried there for a moment—you knew the boy had never practiced with a sword before. How could you know that he would be able to do that?” Without giving the sergeant the opportunity to respond, the tomble turned to Nikalys and exclaimed, “How did you do that?”

  “Yeah, Nik,” muttered Jak. “That was amazing. You were a blur.”

  Nikalys shrugged his shoulders and was honest. “I have no idea.” He dropped his head to stare at his sword. “None whatsoever.”

  “Because you are Aryn’s son,” rumbled Broedi. “He could observe a style of fighting, and with a trivial amount of practice, replicate every move perfectly. It was part of Horum’s gift.” He paused a moment, smiled, and added, “It would seem you are more like your father than we could have hoped.”

  “Hold a moment,” said Jak. “You’re saying Nik learned how to use a sword by what? Simply watching the Sentinels?”

  “I am,” replied Broedi, a watchful eye on Nikalys. “However, unlike his father, he needed no practice. That is…new.” He turned his gaze on Sergeant Trell. “Like Nundle, I am curious how you could have known he would respond to your attack as he did.”

  “He might have been a novice when he walked over, but it did not take long until he was studying them with the critical eye of a swordmaster. Granted, I could not be sure, but I had a hunch. And more often than not, my hunches turn out right.” He lifted a lone eyebrow. “I’m just glad I had the men practicing defensive drills today.”

  Nikalys asked, “How could you be sure I wouldn’t hurt someone?”

  “I judge you to be a man who would not hurt another unless there was no sweeter option. Am I wrong?”

  Nikalys responded in an instant. “No.”

  “See?” said the sergeant with a nod. “Another correct hunch.”

  Broedi said, “It was a very dangerous gamble, Sergeant.”

  “Perhaps,” conceded Sergeant Trell. “But one I could take with you and Nundle here to help if any of us were injured.”

 
Nundle said, “Unlike the girl, Nathan, I cannot make limbs grow back. What she did is most unusual.”

  The sergeant shot a searching look to Broedi. The hillman in turn shook his head side-to-side.

  “Nor can I. Had he taken your head from your shoulders, it would have been the end of your command, Sergeant.”

  Sergeant Trell turned a shade paler than a moment ago. Offering a weak smile, he said, “Good thing that did not happen, then.”

  The man’s tentative bravado brought a slight grin to Nikalys’ face. He held the Blade of Horum out, arm’s length from his body, twisting the sword in the air, staring at its brilliance. Using the sword in the manner for which it had been forged had been exhilarating.

  “Can you show me more, Sergeant?”

  “I can and I will,” said the soldier. He took a step closer and crossed his arms over his chest. “But there’s a small matter I need to discuss with you first.”

  Nikalys dropped his sword to his side.

  “Go on.”

  Drawing himself up to his full height, Sergeant Trell said, “My men and I are currently in violation of the oath we took when we joined the Sentinels. In the eyes of duchy law, we are every bit the criminal you are. We cannot return home. Which, knowing what I know now, I would not do anyway. Instead, I ask to accompany you.”

  Nikalys’ eyebrows arched high.

  “You what?”

  “I wish to do what I can to help,” said the soldier. He paused as Eadding and Hunsfin approached, stopping to stand behind him. “And while I will not speak for my men, I would guess that almost all of them will offer their services as well.”

  Nikalys did not know what to say. This was unexpected. After a few moments of quiet, the sergeant turned to Broedi.

  “You will need all the help you can find for the coming war. From what Zecus described, it sounds an invasion force is headed this way. Why Duke Everett is in league with the Cabal remains a mystery to me, but I do not need to understand why water is wet to know that it is so.”

  Wil stepped forward and, his eyes on Nikalys, said, “My Lord? I, too, would be honored to accompany you. To fight beside you.”

  Sergeant Trell looked over at the young man and nodded his approval.

  Nikalys was staring at Wil when Hunsfin also stepped forward and said, “As will I, my Lord.” His gravelly voice matched his rough face.

  Next, Zecus moved closer, bowed at the waist, and said, “I give you my blood bond as well, great warrior. You and your sister will lead my lands to freedom, and I will be honored to stand by your side.”

  Nikalys stared from face to face, quietly stunned. These four men were offering to forsake everything they knew in order to follow and fight with him against the Cabal. The complete, unwavering determination in their eyes was as inspiring as it was surprising. A glance at the assembled Red Sentinels revealed similar expressions throughout the ranks.

  Looking back to Sergeant Trell, Nikalys asked, “What about your families? Wives? Children? You’d leave them behind?”

  With a small shake of his head, the sergeant said, “The Red Sentinels do not accept family men into our ranks. Should a soldier join in union, he must leave the army. We have had the luxury of peace for so long that we can afford to have rules like these.”

  Nikalys protested, “Do you not have mothers or fathers? Brothers and sisters?”

  “Of course,” said Sergeant Trell. His eyes narrowed. “But, son, if this evil is not stopped, they—our mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, all of them—will perish. Either we help you, or we go home and die with them.”

  From below, near waist level, Nundle piped, “I also offer my help.”

  Nikalys stared down, into the tombles bright green eyes.

  “Truly?”

  Nodding, Nundle said, “Perhaps I can aid in your sister’s training? I’m quite skilled with Strands of Will—excellent, in fact, if you ask me. I can also touch Charge, Life, a bit of Air, and Void, as well—although I only recently discovered my talent with Void. Honestly, I could use some help with that myself.” Turning around to face Broedi, he asked, “Do you think some of the mages at the enclave could help me with—”

  “Nundle?” interrupted Sergeant Trell. “You’re not to mention that place.”

  Nundle glanced at the sergeant, then to Hunsfin and Will, frowned, and mumbled, “Sorry.” Looking back at Nikalys, he said, “What I mean to say is that I would like to help as well, my, uh…Lord Progeny?” He spoke as if he were testing the title. Nikalys thought it sounded absurd.

  Nikalys looked to Broedi, wondering what he thought of their offers. He was more than surprised when the hillman nodded his agreement.

  “We should accept, uori. We will need every good soul we can find.”

  Jak slid over to stand beside Nikalys, leaned close, and whispered, “I agree. And I think Kenders would, too.”

  Nikalys looked between Broedi and Jak for a moment. A few heartbeats later, he came to the same conclusion as them. They were going to need all the help they could get. Turning back to the men—and tomble—before him, he said, “I will accept on three conditions.”

  “Name them,” said Sergeant Trell.

  “One, you and Wil give me as many lessons as you can between here and Storm Island.”

  Jak leaned over again and muttered, “Me, too.”

  “Jak, too, then. And Zecus if he’s coming with us.” The Borderlander gave him a grateful nod. “Plus he’ll need a proper sword to call his own and not the hoe he was using last night.”

  The sergeant glanced at Wil.

  “Wil?”

  The footman nodded and said, “I would be honored to do so.”

  Looking back to Nikalys, Sergeant Trell said, “As long as you promise not to destroy any more of our blades, you can have your lessons.”

  “I’ll try not to,” said Nikalys, a slight smile on his face. “As for the second condition: each of your men must choose for himself if he wishes to help. If any want to leave, they must do so by sundown. Should they learn of our destination, however, they must remain.”

  “A fair offer,” said Sergeant Trell. “And the final condition?”

  Looking around the assembled group, Nikalys said, “No one is to call me ‘my Lord,’ ‘great warrior,’ or—” he glanced down at the tomble “—‘Lord Progeny.’ It sounds absurd. ‘Nikalys’ will do. Or simply ‘Nik.’”

  Everyone nodded their agreement with smiles on their faces. Only Hunsfin did not grin. Nikalys wondered if he could.

  After a moment or two, Sergeant Trell said, “I actually have one condition of my own.”

  “Name it,” replied Nikalys.

  “When Nundle explained what was happening—or what he thought was happening—I sent three of my men to find the other half of my company, those that Fenidar—Jhaell—had sent east. I would like to meet up with them if possible and allow them the same choice you have given us here.”

  “I am sorry, Sergeant,” rumbled Broedi. “But we do not have time to search for your men.”

  “You won’t have to,” replied the soldier. “Their orders are to head to the Fernsford Bridge and wait for us there. Which, unless I’m mistaken, is the direction we are headed?”

  With a curious glint in his eyes, Broedi he asked, “Why did you send them there?”

  Nikalys thought the fortuitous order was odd as well.

  Letting out a quick sigh, Sergeant Trell said, “Honestly, I don’t know. The idea came to me, it felt right, and so I went with it.”

  The hillman continued staring at the soldier with a pensive expression. After a moment, he nodded and said, “You are correct. We must cross there anyway. And it would not do to have a group of Red Sentinels camped out in the Southlands indefinitely. I doubt Duchess Aleece would be amused.”

  Nikalys agreed and turned to the sergeant.

  “Up to this point, Broedi’s made an effort to travel without drawing attention to ourselves.”

  “Which is not goi
ng so well,” interjected Jak.

  “No, I suppose not,” said Nikalys. “And I’m not sure how having a hundred soldiers along with us will help, but we will figure something out.”

  With a nod of gratitude, Sergeant Trell said, “Then, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I must speak with the men about all of this. They have another choice to make.” He glanced at the Borderlander. “Zecus, if you’d like to come with me, we’ll see about finding you a sword.”

  A smile crept over Zecus’ face and he strode off with Sergeant Trell, Wil, and Hunsfin, walking over the trampled grass toward the field tents and soldiers. Most of the men were already standing and waiting, having watched the fight between Nikalys, their sergeant, and fellow Sentinels. They began to gather in a circle as Sergeant Trell approached.

  Nikalys eyed the group as the sergeant spoke to the men, anxious for what their answers would be. While he intended to keep his word to let any of the men leave if they would like, he hoped none would. Sergeant Trell was right. They would need every good sword arm they could muster. Staring at the Sentinels, Nikalys realized with a start that he had made this decision more or less on his own. Broedi had not challenged him at all. He turned to the hillman, wondering why, and found Broedi staring at the Sentinels as well.

  “How is it going?” asked Jak, his voice low.

  Nikalys looked over at his brother, unsure what Jak was asking, and found him staring at Broedi.

  “Quite well, uori,” murmured the hillman. “Some have questions, but the sergeant is answering them satisfactorily.”

  Recalling Broedi’s excellent hearing, Nikalys muttered, “I keep forgetting about that.”

  “Me, too,” said Jak with a smile. “It only occurred to me now because I was wishing I could hear what they were saying, and I remembered I knew someone who could.”

  The tomble stared up at the trio, a confused expression on his face. “I don’t understand.” Looking around him, he said, “I’m not overly proficient with Air, but if you were using a Weave to listen, I’m sure I would have noticed.”

  “It is not a Weave, little one.”

  Jak said, “He has ears like a cat and eyes like a hawk.”

  “Truly?” asked Nundle, eyebrows arched. “How interesting.” He tilted his head back to stare up at the towering hillman. “Is it a part of Thonda’s gift to his champion?”