Progeny (The Children of the White Lions)

by Kaelin, R. T.

  “The skin of those they have killed,” answered Broedi. “Tanned and strung together.”

  “Skin?” Fighting back the bubble of bile that rose in his throat, Nikalys asked, “Of people?”

  “Mostly,” rumbled Broedi in his deep baritone. “Nascepel, kur-surus, and even other oligurts, too, though. They do not discriminate.”

  Nikalys—and Sergeant Trell—looked to the hillman, baffled by the odd words.

  Sensing his stare, Broedi explained, “The names ‘razorfiends’ and ‘mongrels’ call themselves. Your terms are considered slurs.”

  “And why do they have torches with them?” asked Nikalys.

  “The flames make it easier for them to weave with Fire. However, I do not feel—” His eyes narrowed sharply as he called out, “Be ready, uora!”

  A sizzling, crackling sound washed over them, prompting Nikalys to stare upward, looking for lightning again. The sky was clear.

  Confused, he dropped his head, peered back at the oligurt mages, and spotted dozens of fist-sized orbs of fire and lightning flying through the air. He watched as one crackling yellow ball pierced the trunk of a tree, blasting through the other side in a shower of splinters, and leave behind only a blackened, smoking hole. The cascade of spheres rushed up the hill, toward the soldiers. Yet before he could panic, the balls began to disappear, each one giving a soft, fizzing pop as it did.

  Nikalys glanced over to Broedi and found the hillman staring down hill, his face lined deep in concentration. A look back to Kenders and Nundle revealed the same. The trio were tearing the balls of fire and lighting apart.

  At first, it seemed that they were holding back the magical assault, but after a time, the balls began to get closer before dissipating. Nikalys stared downhill at the bare-chested oligurts. He needed to do something.

  “Broedi, let me go down—”

  “Go!” interrupted Broedi through gritted teeth. He must have had the same idea. “Move quickly. Jhaell will only be surprised for so long.”

  With the Blade of Horum still in his hand, Nikalys scurried down the hill, moving to the edge of the fortifications. He felt Jhaell’s gaze track him as he hurried. He stopped beside Wil and drew a deep breath, steadying himself.

  “Ketus be with you,” murmured Wil. Like Broedi, his tutor—and new friend—also had guessed what Nikalys was planning.

  “Thanks, Wil.”

  Nikalys looked toward the mage on the far left—

  Shift.

  —and sliced open the back of the beast towering over him, easily cutting through the monster’s flesh, the glimmering white blade bouncing along bone as black blood gushed forth. Roaring in pain, the oligurt dropped its torch and clawed at its back. Before the burning flame or a single drop of the thick, oily blood hit the ground, Nikalys looked to the next oligurt—

  Shift.

  —leaped into the air, and whipped the sword around, severing the creature’s head from its shoulders. The cut was so swift and clean that the head remained in place briefly, before it slipped from the oligurt’s neck. The monster remained upright a moment, almost as if the body did not realize it should collapse now that it was absent its head.

  Nikalys turned his gaze to the next in the line—

  Shift.

  —and stabbed the oligurt’s back, twisted and jerked up, ripping the beast’s insides, and then withdrew the sword. It remained white and gleaming, not a drop of blood on its sharp blade.

  He looked to the next oligurt—

  Shift.

  —spun and severed the oligurt’s torch arm at the shoulder, slicing through ligaments and arteries as easily as an over-stewed potato.

  To the next enemy.

  Shift.

  Without thought, driven by instinct and his gift, Nikalys moved from oligurt to oligurt, felling them with swift and lethal strokes. Six of Desert Fire mages lay dead or dying before the others began to react to his presence. As Nikalys sliced the seventh’s neck open, he looked to the next in line. The beast’s black eyes were wide and fixed on him. The element of surprise was gone.

  Nikalys knew he should return to the Sentinels’ line, but instead, he eyed the ground behind the eighth beast—

  Shift.

  —and again sliced an oligurt’s head from its shoulders. Unlike the last, however, this one collapsed immediately, its eyes remaining wide open as the bald head rolled down the hill.

  Readying himself for the next one, Nikalys whirled around and was surprised to find the last two oligurts gone. Nothing but several dozen paces of open forest separated him from Jhaell Myrr. The saeljul stared at him, a wide smile of anticipation on his face.

  Hot, blistering rage surged from deep within Nikalys, burning his veins and searing his soul. “You will answer for what you did!”

  The ijul’s smile grew even wider. “Come for me, then.” He lifted his elongated arms out to his side, spreading them as though he were hawk taking flight, and taunted, “I am certainly within your reach.”

  If Jhaell wanted to die, he would happily grant the monster’s wish.

  Squeezing his sword’s hilt so tight that he thought the metal might give way, he fixed his eyes on a spot to the left of the ijul and noticed the air before Jhaell flutter, like waves of shimmering heat rising from sunbaked dirt on a hot day. A vertical, black slit split the air before him.

  Suddenly, a twisting whirlwind of air surrounded him, lifted him from the ground, and whisked him away from Jhaell. He flew through the air, spinning, unable to see where he was going. It was all he could do to hold onto his sword.

  A few stomach-lurching moments later, he crashed to the ground, slamming into mud and leaves. He scrambled to his feet immediately, but was unsteady, the world continuing to circle around him even though he had ceased moving. He shook his head, attempting to clear the dizziness, and found Nundle and Kenders standing before him, both staring past him and down the hill.

  “What just happened?”

  Nundle said, “You were about to go somewhere I didn’t think you’d want to go.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Pointing downhill, Nundle said, “Look.”

  Nikalys twisted around. While the attacks with the fire and lightning were still ongoing, the balls of fire and lighting were vanishing almost the moment they appeared. The bodies of the eight oligurts he had attacked lay in crumpled heaps on the left, while the remaining two from that side were nowhere to be seen. In their place was the same strange shimmering he had noted near Jhaell. It looked as if the forest was painted on a piece of canvas that had been sliced down the middle with both sides flapping in the wind.

  “What is that?”

  “That’s a port,” explained Nundle. A few evenings ago, the tomble had explained the concept of ports after Nikalys had remarked about how long it was taking to reach Storm Island. “The last two oligurts ran straight into it. I doubt they knew it was there.”

  Nikalys eyed Jhaell. The saeljul stood a few paces from the disturbance, glaring up the hill at them, an expression of pure hatred gripping his face.

  “Where’s the other side?” asked Nikalys.

  “Only the preceptor knows,” said Nundle. “But as it was meant for you, I’m guessing nowhere pleasant. And as I have no idea how to unravel the Weave and Kenders and Broedi were busy, I decided to get you out of there.”

  Nikalys regarded the little man and gave a grateful nod. “Thank you, Nundle. Truly.”

  “You’re most welcome.”

  Nikalys looked back down the hill to find the assault of fire and lighting orbs had stopped. Curls of black smoke drifted from dozens of holes in the trunks of trees. The forest was silent again.

  “Are they done?”

  Nundle murmured, “With that tactic? I’d say yes. With only ten of them, we can undo them faster than they can craft them.” He stared up at Nikalys. “Your sister is very talented.”

  Nikalys glanced back at Kenders and found her still staring intently down the hill.r />
  “You all right?”

  “Perfectly fine,” replied Kenders. She spared a quick glance at Nikalys. “You?”

  Nodding, he said, “Thanks to Nundle.”

  “Good. Then get back with Broedi. It’s not over yet.”

  “Be careful, sis.”

  “You, too.”

  He gave another quick thanks to Nundle and hurried down to where Broedi and Sergeant Trell stood. As he arrived, the hillman looked over.

  “Well done, uori.”

  “To a point. Jhaell tried to lure me into a trap and I almost sprung it.”

  “I saw. He failed, though.”

  “Only because Nundle saved me.”

  Arching a lone eyebrow, the hillman rumbled, “How fortunate he is here today, then.”

  “I’m glad I let Nundle come along,” muttered Sergeant Trell.

  “Me, too,” huffed Nikalys. “Even more so, I’d say.” Turning his gaze to Broedi, he asked, “So, what’s next?”

  Broedi nodded at Jhaell and rumbled, “That is a question for him.”

  Nikalys again locked eyes with the saeljul and tried to mirror Broedi’s calm stoicism. It was harder than it looked.

  With a bitter, angry sneer affixed on his face, Jhaell spun around and strode down the slope with the remaining oligurt mages in tow.

  The wait began anew.

  Chapter 70: Saeljul

  Kenders kept her gaze locked on Jhaell’s back as he swept down the slope to disappear into the cover of the trees. Once he was gone, she exhaled, releasing a breath she had been unaware she was holding.

  She had wondered what she would feel once faced with the ijul, anticipating some combination of fear and anger, but oddly enough, her initial reaction had been one of quiet surprise. Excusing the fact that he was an ijul, Jhaell had looked rather ordinary. For a brief moment, she wondered if it was the same soul. However, as soon as he had locked his gaze on her, all doubt fled. His eyes burned with a clear, unadorned desire to see her dead.

  When Jhaell had directed the coursing ball of water up the hill, Kenders had hesitated for only a moment before reaching into the Weave and unraveling it with ease. Yet rather than feeling elation at what she had done, a paralyzing mixture of regret, sorrow, and guilt washed over her. She stared at the muddy water rushing down the hill, wondering if she could have done the same thing to the massive water fibríaal that had destroyed Yellow Mud.

  She had little time to feel sorry for herself, however, as the crackling returned and the balls of Charge and Fire flew up the slope. Holding back the barrage had been difficult. Unraveling the Weaves was easy, but tracking such a large number of them at once took immense concentration. She felt Nundle and Broedi helping, but knew the orbs of fire and lighting were getting ever closer.

  When the oligurt mages started to scream, she spared a quick glance downhill and saw Nikalys cutting through their line, a blur of man and sword. A surge of black and white surprised her as did a second burst of pure white as Nikalys came rushing up the hill in a twister of air. When Nundle had explained what Jhaell’s Weave was, she felt sick. She had no idea the danger in which her brother had been.

  Now that all was quiet once again, Kenders glanced at the tomble beside her. He was staring downhill, his red hair peeking out from under his hat.

  “Nundle?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Thank you.”

  Nundle looked up, smiled, and said, “You’re most welcome.” He did not ask the reason for her gratitude. He knew.

  Without another word, they both turned their gaze to the trees below and waited.

  By now, the oligurts pinned beneath the rocks had gone silent, the monsters either dead or passed out. She stared at the twisted, broken bodies, frowning. She had thought taking a life might bother her more, but strangely, it did not. Either she died, or they did. The choice was easy.

  Letting out a tiny sigh, Kenders glanced at the sky. The clouds were breaking up, allowing a few rogue rays of sunlight to stream through the gray to light up the forest’s canopy as countless water drops sparkled and glistened. She would have enjoyed the striking vista were it not possible she might still die today.

  Hearing hurried footsteps behind her, she looked back to find Sabine rushing down the hill with Helene cradled in her arms. Spinning to face them, she said, “It’s not safe up here.” She glanced at Helene. “She shouldn’t be up here.”

  “I know,” replied Sabine. “But she didn’t want me to leave her again.”

  Helene stared at Kenders with wide, brown eyes. “Hello, Kenders.”

  Summoning a smile, Kenders said, “Hello, Helene.”

  Nundle turned and asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Broedi told me to come and tell him if we saw anything in the woods to the east.” She paused, looked at Kenders, and added, “Well, we did. Actually, Helene did. I was too busy watching the fire and lightning.”

  “What?” asked Kenders, worried. “More oligurts?”

  Sabine shook her head. “I don’t know. All I could see through the branches was movement.” A frown spread over her lips. “A lot of movement.”

  Kenders stared down at Nundle. The concerned frown that rested on the tomble’s face surely matched her own. She started to turn, preparing to call out to Broedi, but stopped short. The hillman already halfway up to them, his strides long and quick. Kenders caught an almost hopeful glint in his eyes.

  When he was still a few paces from them, the White Lion rumbled, “Nundle, go down with the Sergeant, please.”

  “Why? What—”

  “Now, Nundle.”

  The clearly curious tomble miraculously swallowed his questions and scampered down the hill to where Nikalys and Sergeant Trell stood, repeatedly looking back as he did.

  Studying the hillman’s intense expression, Kenders asked, “What is going on?” Her gaze shot to the eastern ridge. “What’s down there?”

  Without stopping, Broedi rumbled, “I do not have time to explain.” Taking Sabine by the shoulder, he headed up the hill to the cliff’s edge. “Tell me what you both saw and where. Quickly, please.”

  Sabine tossed Kenders a curious look as Broedi half-dragged her back to the ridge. Helene peered over Sabine’s shoulder and gave Kenders a tiny smile and wave. Kenders lifted her hand and waved back, muttering to herself, “What is going on?”

  Putting aside her irrational fear that he was abandoning them, she twisted back around to check down the hill. As she turned, she glanced at the grove where Jak was hiding and froze. Earlier, she had been able to see the rear ends of a few horses sticking from the blind. Now, there was nothing. She held very still, hoping to be able to see some movement in the grove, but there was none. Jak and the twenty soldiers were gone.

  “Blast it, Jak. Where did—”

  A burst of silver, green, and gold Strands surged behind her. Recognizing the combination, she looked over her shoulder, expecting to see the familiar lynx or bear. Her eyes went wide as an enormous, golden-brown hawk leapt from the cliff’s edge and spread its wings, unfurling an impossible fifty-foot wingspan.

  Mouth agape, Kenders muttered, “Bless the gods…”

  Giant, sharp talons hung from the bird’s belly as the hawk swooped down, dipping below the hill’s summit to disappear from view. Sabine stood at the ridge’s edge, clutching Helene and staring into the forest below them.

  At that exact moment, the oligurts’ war chants resumed.

  Spinning around, Kenders stared down the slope, listening as the shrill hisses and clicks of the razorfiends joined the oligurt roars and rolled up the hill. It took only a moment for her to realize the thunderous sound was growing louder. And quickly.

  “Here they come!” shouted Sergeant Trell. ”Hold fast!”

  A shiver ran up Kenders’ spine. Based on sound alone, the entire Sudashian force was coming.

  The demon-man emerged from the tree trunks with hundreds of oligurts and razorfiends on his heels, every one of them runn
ing up the hill, charging the soldiers. The Sentinel line looked pitiful compared to the onrushing horde.

  “Bows! Steady fire!” bellowed Sergeant Trell. “And fire fast, blast it!”

  Arrows filled the air.

  Kenders scanned the surging Sudashians, looking for Jhaell and the oligurt mages, but they were not among the crowd.

  A different sort of snorting howl pulled Kenders attention to the northwestern side of the hill. A few dozen oligurts mounted atop the horrid bullockboars had crested the rise and were thundering toward the Sentinel flank.

  Sergeant Trell spun around and shouted, “Right horse! Charge!”

  The order was almost unnecessary as the northern group of horsemen were already inching forward. Corporal Holb pointed his sword at the bullockboars and shouted something. Men and horse launched forward. Kenders shook her head, watching as the two groups converged.

  “No…”

  This was going to be a massacre. The Red Sentinel horsemen were outnumbered three-to-one. Those fifteen soldiers were rushing to their deaths. Kenders did not know whether to help them or direct her attention elsewhere. The battle scene before her was pure chaos. Men shouting, oligurts roaring, horses whinnying.

  A surge of green, yellow, and white pulled her gaze down the hill. Nundle was facing the charging bullockboars whilst knitting a pattern she had never seen. Guessing it was helpful, she did her best to mimic the Weave, twisting her Strands to look like his. It was terribly difficult—she had never combined three different types of Strands before—yet, somehow, she remained but a step behind him, intertwining dozens of the magical strings into an intricate design. When Nundle finished, he flung the completed Weave at the charging bullockboars. Kenders did the same with hers a heartbeat later, having no idea what to expect.

  A pair of explosions, one right after the other, sent two quick, brilliant spark-fueled flashes over the hillside. Blinking against the remnant flares, Kenders spotted two creatures, twice as tall as a man and made of pure lightning rushing towards the oligurts and their hulking, snarling mounts. Despite her heightened anxiety, Kenders could not help but feel a flicker of awe at what she had crafted as the beings lashed wildly at the Sudashians. The moment a sizzling limb touched an oligurt or bullockboar, the victim would go rigid, crash to the ground, and go sliding through the mucky hillside with smoke curling from their charred wounds.