The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy

by R. T. Kaelin

  Khin studied her for a long moment before a tired sigh escaped his thin lips. He closed his razor thin eyelids and murmured, “Go now. I must meditate. I suggest you do the same.”

  Kenders quickly uncrossed her legs and stood, ignoring the protests of her stiff muscles. Turning around, she strode to the only door, grasped the rope handle, and pulled hard. Fresh, cold air smacked her in the face, whipping her hair and dress back, into the room.

  Behind her, Khin said, “Leave the door open, please. It is warm in here.”

  She sighed, wondering yet again if the aicenai was coldblooded. Releasing the rope handle, she took a bracing breath and stepped from the room, moving past the old statue of a soldier that seemed to stand guard beside Khin’s door.

  The stiff wind blowing off the sea buffeted her as she hurried along the stone walkway. She did not dare look over the wall’s edges, knowing that even a quick glance would make her dizzy. The keep sat perched atop a tall bluff overlooking the Sea of Kings, the ocean whipped white by the late Harvest wind. The sound of waves crashing against the shore rushed from below, triggering visions of the jagged black rocks that jutted from the cliff’s base. Even after spending an entire turn here, the smell of the air, salty and somehow thick, remained odd to her nose.

  Halfway across the battlements, her eyes started to water from the stinging wind. Twisting her head so it did not blow into her eyes, she briefly glimpsed the tops of the forest to the west before her long hair whipped forward. Reaching up, she held it from her face, wishing she had braided it this morning. Able to see again, she spotted the last leaves of the year still clinging to bare branches. Two weeks ago, the trees had been a stunning mixture of reds, yellows, and oranges, but the interminable wind had robbed them of their beauty.

  She broke into a quick trot, rushing ahead to reach the northwest tower where the stairwell offered cover. As she reached the door, a muted clanging of metal striking metal pulled her attention to the courtyard below her. Dozens of men filled the open space, doing whatever soldiers did. Most of the time, Kenders was still with Khin when morning drills concluded.

  Bursting into the tower, she slammed the door shut behind her and breathed a sigh of relief. She hurried down the torch-lit stairwell to the ground floor and navigated the halls, intent on heading to the courtyard. As she swept through the passageways, she passed a dozen or so of the castle’s residents, all of whom greeted her warmly.

  Reaching a set of ebonwood doors, Kenders took a deep breath, readying herself for the wind again, and shoved the right-hand door. She took a step outside and stopped, surprised to find the air calm.

  Canvas tents on the far side of the yard were still taking a beating from the gusts, but where she stood, the air was as still as a Summer day in Yellow Mud. Sensing a slight crackling, she tilted her head back and spotted a dim net of faint, white Strands stretching across half of the courtyard. A quiet word of surprised awe slipped from her.

  “Huh.”

  She would have noticed the Weave earlier, but with the number of mages at Storm Island, she had grown accustomed to the soft, constant hum and crackling of people weaving.

  She glanced around the courtyard, curious who was responsible for the simple yet elegant Weave. Almost immediately, her eyes settled on a tall, barrel-chested, redheaded individual standing off to the side, watching the practicing soldiers. The man caught her eye, lifted a hand, and waved. Kenders smiled and returned the friendly gesture. She pointed upward, silently asking if he was holding the wind back. A wide smile spread over his face and he nodded.

  “Gamin,” muttered Kenders. “I should have known.”

  Meeting the head of the mages when they first arrived at Storm Island had been a pleasant, bittersweet experience for Kenders and her brothers. While he was a stranger to them, Gamin and his brother, Sevan, had been close friends with Thaddeus and Marie Isaac, her parents in all but blood. Since arriving, the three Isaac children had spent more than a few evenings with Gamin, enjoying the man’s stories about their parents when they were younger, stories Thaddeus and Marie had kept from them. Gamin swore that Sevan told them all better, but his older brother was away, somewhere in the Commonwealth of Cartu, seeking support—monetary and magical—for the Shadow Manes.

  At least eighty men were scattered about the center of the yard, practicing with their swords, sparring in groups of two or three. Five high-backed wooden benches lined the southwestern wall of the courtyard, all of them empty except for one. A lone, sandy-haired young man wearing a light gray tunic and dark gray pants reclined, resting comfortably, his right, black-leather-booted leg crossed over his left knee.

  She set off across the courtyard, aiming for Nikalys. As she neared, it struck her how different he was from a few turns past. He was only weeks past his eighteenth yearday—a small celebration had been held for him here at the enclave—but recent events had more to do with his entrance into manhood than any date on the calendar.

  Nikalys did not look up as she approached, his gaze locked on two soldiers dueling. His eyes danced about as he actively watched the pair, but they were the only part of him exerting any effort.

  Kenders collapsed to the bench beside Nikalys. She glanced at her brother, trying to catch his eye. He ignored her, keeping his gaze focused on the swordwork.

  “Can’t you rest a moment?”

  “I stop when they do,” responded Nikalys, nodding to the courtyard. “Wil’s been working with a man from the Marshlands for a couple of weeks. He’s trying to teach Sergeant Trell the style now. Look at the swords they’re using.”

  Kenders looked and noticed that instead of normal longswords, the men were using shorter blades, their edges curved on one side and ending in a hooked tip.

  Nikalys explained, “There are certain things you can do with a sword like that that you can’t with a straight—”

  “Nik?” interrupted Kenders firmly. “I don’t care about swords.”

  He glanced over at her for a moment before returning his gaze back to the duel.

  “So…you’re done early.”

  Kenders shrugged her shoulders and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to untangle the knots caused by the wind.

  “And?”

  He looked over briefly again.

  “What happened?”

  Yanking at a knot, she said, “Not much. When I got there, Khin told me to sit down and be quiet. So I did. I sat. I was quiet.” She paused before adding, “For the entire blasted morning.” Sarcasm dripped from every word. “It was a wondrous time. I learned so much.”

  “Why did he have you do that?” asked Nikalys, his eyes still on the soldiers.

  “I have no idea,” grumbled Kenders.

  Wrinkling his nose, Nikalys said, “Try not to take this the wrong way, sis…but you reek.”

  Kenders eyed her brother.

  “Pardon?”

  Without looking over, he pointed at her dress.

  “You smell like that herb shop in Claw.”

  Kenders lifted an arm and sniffed her sleeve. The musky-sweet smell of Yutian incense lingered. Perhaps she should go stand on the battlements for a while and let the wind strip the scent from her.

  “So, after sitting there for hours, all of a sudden, he whispers—” she changed her voice, trying to mimic the aicenai’s breathless tone. “‘—Stone fibríaal first. Then Air. Begin.’” She shook her head, a frown on her lips. “He expected me to Weave instantly. No warning—nothing! With the incense, the cold, and the blasted waiting, I swear, it was almost as if he were purposely trying to…distract…”

  She trailed off as the true point of today’s lesson dawned on her. She sat quiet for a long moment before muttering, “He did that all on purpose, didn’t he?” Turning to her brother, she found him wearing a small grin.

  “Khin does everything on purpose.”

  She drew in a deep breath, held it a moment, and then exhaled. “I wish Gamin was my teacher.”

  She glanced over to w
here the tall redheaded mage stood, arms crossed, idly watching practice. Grunts of exertion and the clang of swords filled the yard.

  “Or that Broedi and Nundle were still here. I think I learned more from them in that one afternoon on the hilltop than I have in four weeks here.”

  “You are lucky to have Khin,” counseled Nikalys. “He has more experience than Broedi, Gamin, and Nundle put together. Try to learn what you can from him.”

  Kenders frowned and did not respond. Nikalys was right. And that only further irritated her.

  After a few moments, Kenders spoke.

  “At least I didn’t cheat today.”

  Raising his eyebrows, Nikalys said, “See? You are learning.”

  Every mage in the history of Terrene other than her blood mother, Eliza Kap, needed to know the pattern of a particular Weave in order to craft it. Kenders, however, could simply envision the result, and the correct Weave would pop into existence, fully complete. Unfortunately, the physical and mental drain required to use the Strands in such a manner made it a highly inadvisable approach for any feat of significant magnitude. In the short time since discovering her ability, she had passed out multiple times when she overextended herself, remaining unconscious up to a day. Broedi warned her that such foolishness could even result in death.

  Wil and Sergeant Trell paused in their duel, dropping the tips of their curved swords for a moment to catch their breath. The older sergeant turned to glance at Nikalys on the bench and, upon seeing Kenders, gave a friendly smile and nod. The younger soldier did the same, although his smile had a nervous twitch to it.

  Nikalys whispered, “Wil is saying hello.” There was an unmistakable teasing note in his tone. “You should be polite and wave back.”

  Kenders lashed out with her left hand, intending to smack Nikalys in the chest. Before she was anywhere near him, he caught her arm. One instant, he had been sitting comfortably, totally at ease with arms crossed. The next, he was gently gripping her arm.

  “Too slow.”

  As Kenders had inherited her gift from their blood mother, Nikalys possessed the same extraordinary skills as their blood father, Aryn Atticus. Besides incredible speed and strength, he could observe any type of martial activity and execute it himself perfectly, without practice. In the lone turn here, he had become an expert in three different styles of swordwork, spear and staff fighting, and certain kinds of hand-to-hand combat, simply by sitting on this bench and watching.

  Glaring at him, she said, “Let go, Nik.”

  He smiled and released her arm.

  “What’s the matter, Kenders? Does Wil not catch your eye? The young women in Claw have taken a liking to him.”

  With a roll of her eyes, Kenders huffed, “They are just excited to have sixty new young men show up.” She shook her head firmly. “I do not have eyes for Wil.” Unwillingly, her gaze flicked to another pair of men on the far side of the courtyard.

  One of the men was her brother in all but blood. A younger version of his father, Jak had thick, curly black hair, a sturdy build, and strong arms. As of late, he had been attempting to grow a beard to match the fashion of the Southlands. It was not going well.

  The other man garnered most of her attention. His dark skin and close-cropped, pitch-black hair made him stand out from the other soldiers in the yard. While he was a few inches shorter than Jak and of slighter build, he was not letting his larger opponent intimidate him.

  Nikalys leaned over and whispered, “Zecus is looking handsome today, don’t you think?”

  Pretending to ignore the comment, Kenders sighed and leaned back. She reached out her left arm as if to rest it on the bench back, slipped it behind Nikalys’ head, and smacked the back of his neck.

  “Ouch!”

  Nikalys glared at her, his teasing grin gone. He reached up and rubbed where she had slapped him.

  “Blast it! That hurt!”

  Smiling contentedly, Kenders said, “Tougher to stop when you can’t see it coming, isn’t it?”

  As he glared at her, and she grinned at him, a voice called out, “I think you’ve finally met your match, son.”

  Brother and sister looked up as one to find Sergeant Trell striding toward them, the unusual, curved sword with hooked tip still gripped in his hand. Steam rose from the man’s sweaty brow, drifting away in the cold air. A glance to where he had been practicing with Wil revealed the young swordsman walking among the other pairs, observing and offering tips. Wil was a natural with the sword.

  Still rubbing his neck, Nikalys said, “It would seem that is the case, Sergeant.”

  Kenders sighed.

  “Oh, please, Nik. I barely hit you.”

  Nodding to the bench, Sergeant Trell asked, “Do you mind if I sit down? I’m a touch weary.”

  Nikalys gestured to the open bench beside him.

  “Please. Sit.”

  The soldier collapsed on the bench and let out a long sigh.

  Pointing to the Marshland sword, Nikalys said, “You looked good out there with that.”

  Sergeant Trell eyed Nikalys, smiled, and said, “You, son, are quite kind. And a liar.”

  Nikalys shook his head quickly.

  “No, truly, Sergeant. You are one of the better swordsmen here. Sentinels and Manes included.”

  Laying his sword against the bench seat, Sergeant Trell said, “Most of these men are fifteen years younger than me. They’re quicker, faster—” he gave another tired sigh as he mopped his brow “—and they have much more endurance.”

  Kenders leaned forward to look past Nikalys.

  “But you have years of experience they cannot claim. They are lucky to have you to learn from.”

  Nikalys turned his head to stare at her, one eyebrow cocked.

  “My, but that sounds familiar…”

  She blinked, confused by his words and tone. After a moment, she realized that her counsel to the sergeant was effectively the same as what Nikalys had offered her regarding Khin’s value as a teacher. Her eyes narrowed.

  “Don’t puff your feathers too much, Nik. You might get a few plucked.”

  Nikalys nodded and ducked his head, trying to keep his amused grin to himself.

  “Yes, Kenders.”

  Sergeant Trell glanced between brother and sister a few times before his gaze settled on Kenders.

  “Might this have something to do with your lessons?”

  With a resigned sigh, Kenders said, “Perhaps…”

  He raised a single eyebrow and nodded, saying, “I have spent a few late nights in the commons with Khin, speaking on all manner of subjects. Nikalys is right. Learn what you can from him. He is a walking library. More so than Nundle, even.” A tiny frown touched his lips. “And he is an incredible knuckles player.”

  Kenders looked up, surprised.

  “Khin plays placards? He gambles with you?”

  The quality did not fit the quiet, reserved teacher.

  A soft chuckle slipped from the sergeant.

  “More like he steals from me. I have won only two or three hands against him. And those I think he let me win because he felt pity for me.”

  Kenders tried to envision her teacher sitting in the darkened commons, huddled over a table, playing knuckles with the sergeant. She had an easier time imagining a school of fish flying in the sky.

  Nikalys nodded his chin in the direction of the soldiers and said to the sergeant, “Jak’s getting better. He’s much more fluid than even a week ago.”

  Sergeant Trell shifted his gaze to where Jak and Zecus were practicing and nodded, saying, “He’s a fast learner.” Smiling, he glanced at Nikalys. “Excluding you, he’s our quickest study.”

  Kenders eyed her brother sparring with Zecus. Even to her unpracticed eye, it was plain to see he had improved much over the past turn. Zecus, however, appeared to be no better than when they had arrived at Storm Island.

  She asked, “And Zecus?”

  As the question slipped from her lips, Jak pressed an a
ttack against the Borderlander. It was all Zecus could do to turn aside each blow while backpedalling quickly, kicking up gravel.

  Frowning, she turned to Sergeant Trell to wait for his evaluation.

  The sergeant shared a quick look with Nikalys before saying diplomatically, “Learning the blade is a difficult task and Zecus is a hard worker. If he keeps at it, someday he will be able to turn aside most simple attacks.”

  Kenders was disappointed. She wished the sergeant was wrong, but knew he was not.

  Sergeant Trell sat forward and said, “Now, give the man a staff or spear, and he’s one of the best here. And with a properly weighted dagger, he can hit an acorn from twenty-five paces away.”

  Kenders gave Sergeant Trell a quick, grateful smile. The man had a gift for reading people.

  “That’s kind of you to say, Sergeant.”

  The three sat quietly, watching the men duel and enjoying the crisp day. Without the wind, she did not mind the nippy air as much. Kenders took a moment to enjoy the quiet and stared out at the courtyard, watching the men to whom she owed her life.

  Two hundred Shadow Manes, most of them soldiers, had stumbled upon the Progeny at Shorn Rise, and helped them to repel the last of Jhaell Myrr’s attack. After taking a night to dispose of the oligurt and razorfiend corpses, their troop continued to Storm Island. Over a week later, they reached the small land bridge that led to the enclave. Apparently, the island was not a true island, at least not all of the time. Tidal shifts covered the strip of land four times every turn. Broedi said it had something to do with the phases of Terrene’s two moons.

  After crossing the muddy land bridge, their party passed through an oak forest, leaving the towering ebonwood trees of the mainland. The leaves of the oaks were just beginning to change at the time, turning the landscape a myriad of reds, oranges, and bright yellows.

  A half day later, they emerged from the forest and were greeted by a long, dark, flat line that filled the eastern horizon. Kenders, her siblings, all of the Red Sentinels, and the two farm girls they had rescued from bandits—Sabine and her younger sister, Helene—openly gaped at the vast Sea of Kings. None of them had ever seen the ocean.