The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy

by R. T. Kaelin

  Keeping his voice low, Nundle whispered, “How can we expect to reach the Celestial Empire in a reasonable amount of time now? It will be next Summer at the rate he walks.”

  The corners of Broedi’s lips curled up slightly. “We will figure something out.” Glancing up from his pipe, he added, “And there is no need to whisper, Nundle. He cannot hear you in that state.”

  From the base of the ash tree, Tobias said, ““But I can certainly hear you when I’m not.”

  Nundle spun around to find Tobias alert and looking around, his brow furrowed.

  “How did I get here?”

  Broedi said, “I did not want you to be uncomfortable.”

  Glancing up at Broedi, Tobias gave a short nod of thanks. “Ah. Well, that was kind of—” He cut off as his gaze flicked to the pipe in Broedi’s hands. His eyes widened a fraction as he asked, “I don’t suppose that’s some of the Sweetbush cut you favored so much? They never could get the strain quite right here. I think it’s the soil.”

  Broedi shook his head, rumbling, “I am sorry, old friend, but I grew short of Sweetbush a while ago.” He held up the pouch. “This is from the Lagis coast and is serviceable.”

  Tobias cocked an eyebrow and said, “Northlands leaf?”

  Nodding, Broedi said, “You are welcome to some if you would like.”

  Tobias turned to eye Nundle and said, “Well, if your Boroughs’ friend would give me back my pack so I can retrieve my pipe, I will take you up on your offer.”

  Looking down, Nundle realized he was still grasping Tobias’ travelling satchel. Dropping the reins to his horse, he hurried over to Tobias and said, “Here you go, sir. I was just holding it for you. I didn’t look inside.” He paused a moment, wondering why he had said that. “Not that you would think I might. I merely wanted to assure you that I would never do such a thing. To anyone, of course, but especially to someone as important as you, sir. That would be wrong, and I try to do what’s right. Well, most of the time, I do. Like when at the Academies, sir. You see—”

  Broedi gently interrupted him.

  “Nundle?”

  Glancing over to the hillman, he frowned and said, “Ah, yes. Sorry about that.” He had a tendency to babble when he got excited. He looked back to Tobias. “Sorry.”

  The White Lion was staring up at him as though Nundle were a touch off. After a moment, Tobias shook his head, reached up, and took his pack.

  “Thank you.”

  His gaze shifted to Nundle’s other hand.

  “My stick, too?”

  Nundle held the smooth walking stick out quickly.

  “Here you go, sir.”

  Tobias accepted the stick and muttered, “Stop calling me that.”

  “Yes, s—ah…yes, mister Donngord.”

  Tobias peered up at Nundle, shook his head again, and began to root about his pack. After a moment, he pulled out a pipe of familiar tomble design, wooden with a deep, sweeping curve and wide oval bowl. After tossing his pack aside, he looked up at Broedi.

  “Toss me the leaf, Broedi. And tell me what’s going on.”

  “What did you see in your vision?” asked the hillman.

  Tobias glared at Broedi and said, “I’ll tell you what I saw after you tell me what is happening. Now, toss me the leaf.”

  Broedi waited a moment before giving a short nod and softly lobbing the pouch to Tobias.

  “Would you like the long version of my tale, or the short?”

  Tobias rested his pipe on his lap and began to open the pouch.

  “Short if that’s possible for you.”

  Broedi nodded and rumbled, “Did you know that after the Assembly called us to service, Indrida issued a prophecy? One about us?”

  Tobias looked up quickly.

  “And by us, you mean…?”

  “The White Lions.”

  After a short pause, Tobias frowned and replied, “No. I did not know that.”

  “At the time, few did. Only she and Nelnora.”

  Tobias’ eyes tightened at the mention of the Goddess of Civilization.

  “What were her words?” asked Tobias. “What did it say?”

  Broedi looked to Nundle and prompted, “The prophecy if you will.”

  Nundle’s eyebrows rose to a sharp peak as he softly exclaimed, “Me?” This certainly seemed like a discussion for the two White Lions to have.

  “If you do not mind,” answered Broedi. “I must light my pipe.”

  Nundle glanced at Tobias to find the tomble staring at him, a doubtful expression fixed upon his face. Swallowing nervously, Nundle cleared his throat and began to recite.

  The roar of the Lions will drive back the spawn,

  And the lines of men, strong once again, will be redrawn.

  Yet that which drives man’s soul will fray at the seams,

  While the strength of the Lions will fade as do last night’s dreams.

  Torn apart by deceit and distrust,

  One will perish and One will be lost.

  One will leave, while Another will stay.

  And Two shall find each Other one day.

  Against his will, one must fight,

  While it falls upon the Half-man to unite.

  Chaos will rise again, unraveling what has been made,

  With Strife, Pain, and Deception in tow, lending aid.

  Hidden, then found,

  Willingly come around,

  The Progeny must rise to lead the fight,

  Along with new and old, seek to make it right.

  Tobias listened attentively, his gaze never leaving Nundle’s face. Once Nundle finished, Tobias dropped his head, stared at his lap, and remained silent, his pipe still empty and the smoking-leaf pouch half opened.

  Nundle looked back to Broedi and found the large hillman smoking his pipe, curls of white smoke drifting up from the small bowl. A sweet and pungent aroma filled the air. Broedi caught Nundle’s eye, nodded a silent thank you, and turned his full attention to Tobias. Then, he waited.

  Tobias did not speak for a time, visibly mulling over Nundle’s recitation.

  Nundle did his best to mimic the pair’s calm disposition, but found it nerve-wracking to appear as tranquil as they did. He tapped his hands lightly against his thighs, anxious.

  Without looking up, Tobias muttered, “Repeat it, please.”

  Nundle glanced at Broedi, received a nod, and recited Indrida’s prophecy again. When he was done, Tobias drew in a long, deep breath, held it a moment, and then exhaled.

  “I wonder which of the ‘ones’ I am.”

  Nundle burst out, “The ‘One who will be lost’ is my guess. It makes the most sense according to your history.”

  Tobias’ gaze shifted to regard Nundle, his eyes narrowing sharply.

  “What do you know of my history?”

  Nundle wilted a bit under the stare of the White Lion, not truly understanding the sharp tone or glare. He shrugged his shoulders, mumbling, “Nothing much.” When Tobias did not look away, he added, “Honest.”

  Frowning, Tobias huffed and dropped his gaze to the pouch of smoking-leaf. Reaching down, he began packing the bowl of his pipe. After a few quiet moments, he glanced up to Broedi and said, “So Norasim is back?”

  Broedi pulled the bone pipe from his mouth and exhaled a long plume of white smoke.

  “He—or she for all we know—is back. We do not know form or name.”

  “Wondrous,” muttered Tobias. “And these Progeny? Who are they?”

  Broedi rumbled softly, “Aryn and Eliza’s children.”

  Tobias nearly dropped the pipe to the ground. Looking up quickly, he gaped at Broedi.

  “Pardon?!”

  “A lot has happened since we last saw each other, Tobias.”

  “Aryn and Eliza?” repeated Tobias. “They…they had children?!” He gawked as though Broedi had claimed that White Moon was actually made of cheese.

  “Two of them. A boy, who just turned eighteen, and a girl who will complete h
er seventeenth year shortly.”

  Bafflement fled from Tobias’ face in an instant. He tilted his head to the side, was quiet a moment, and then murmured, “Ah…well, that certainly clears the smoke.”

  Curious, Nundle asked, “What smoke is that?”

  Tobias shot Nundle a sharp glance and asked, “Exactly how does any of this concern a Boroughs bred?”

  Broedi rumbled, “Tobias! Your issue with the Boroughs is your own! Nundle played no part and does not deserve to be treated as such. He has been invaluable in the events leading to now, assuming great personal risk in order to help. I would ask that you treat him with the respect he deserves.”

  Nundle looked back and forth between the pair, bewildered. He had no idea what was happening.

  Tobias eyed Nundle with a slight frown for a moment before staring back to the hillman and saying, “Now I want the long version, Broedi. Every last word.”

  With a slight, satisfied smile, Broedi said, “As you desire.”

  Broedi told Tobias everything, starting with his time spent traveling Terrene with Aryn Atticus and Eliza Kap. He explained how the three of them encountered the Shadow Manes centuries prior and how another White Lion, Miriel Syncent, had founded the organization shortly after the outlawing of magic in the duchies. He told of the love that blossomed between Aryn and Eliza, the birth of Nikalys and Kenders at Storm Island, and how the Progeny had been hidden away for fifteen years in Yellow Mud to be raised by foster parents.

  Tobias listened, clearly fascinated by the tale. Nundle knew the story intimately by now, but Broedi’s wonderful storytelling kept his attention throughout. At one point, he glanced to the sky and was surprised to find that it was past sundown. The sky clung to a bit of leftover daylight, but in a short while, night would reign.

  When Broedi recounted the cruel, heartless attack on Yellow Mud only a few turns past, Tobias closed his eyes, shook his head, and interrupted.

  In a quiet, sad voice, he asked, “It’s starting again, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” replied Broedi solemnly. “And it gets worse. My story is not near complete.”

  He shared the tale of his time spent with the Isaac siblings. At one point, Broedi turned to Nundle and asked the tomble to share his role in their story. Nundle complied, covering everything from his time as an acolyte at the Strand Academies to his chance meetings with the Red Sentinels in the Southlands of the Oaken Duchies.

  By the time they finished the telling of the Battle of Shorn Rise, the sun was a distant memory. Both moons had crested the hills, bathing the path in a soft, bluish-white light providing plenty of illumination to see Tobias’ sober expression. The White Lions’ pipes had both burnt out long ago, but they both continued to hold onto them, occasionally placing the bits and absentmindedly gnawing on them.

  As they started to share the story of their arrival at Storm Island, Tobias held up his hand and announced, “That’s enough. I don’t need to hear any more.”

  Nundle protested, “But we haven’t told you anything about the enclave. It’s—”

  Fixing his eyes on Nundle, Tobias interrupted, “It’s an ancient stone castle perched atop a steep bluff overlooking the Sea of Kings? With a quaint, little town outside its walls and a giant, open gravel courtyard inside them?”

  Broedi and Nundle exchanged a quick glance. Nundle murmured, “Yes, but—”

  “And a cozy commons room with three roaring fires,” continued Tobias. “Along with a large kitchen staff that—at times—serves roasted Southlands boar, yes? And some sort of spiced sweet cakes seem to be popular.”

  Nundle was staring at the tomble White Lion, flabbergasted, when something suddenly clicked, like the tumblers in a lock falling into place. His eyes narrowed.

  “Your vision was of the enclave, wasn’t it?”

  “You are a sharp one, Nundle Babblebrook of Deepwell,” said Tobias with a thin smile. “And a better—and braver—tomble than I gave you credit. I am sorry for my earlier rudeness. Broedi was right. You did not deserve the treatment.”

  Nundle nodded quickly, accepting the unexpected apology. He was glad it was dark out, else Tobias might see him blushing from the compliment.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Tobias’ grin twitched a bit, shrinking a fraction.

  “But I was not jesting earlier. Don’t call me that. And no ‘Mister Donngord,’ either. Just Tobias. If you ‘sir’ me one more time, I’ll smack you with my walking stick. Understood?”

  Nundle nodded quickly.

  “I understand.”

  Broedi rumbled softly, “Be patient, Tobias. Nundle was quite excited to discover a tomble was one of the White Lions.”

  Tobias twisted to stare up to the hillman and asked, “You did not tell him of me?”

  Broedi shook his head and said, “I said nothing, Tobias.” He stared hard at the tomble. “Nothing.”

  “Truly?” asked Tobias in surprise.

  “Truly, old friend. Your story is your own.”

  The White Lion pair stared at one another for a long moment, something silent but understood passing between them.

  Tobias gave a quick, single nod and said softly, “Thank you. You did not need to do that.”

  Nundle could not have felt more lost if he had suddenly appeared in the middle of Freehaven and was asked for directions to the nearest fish market.

  “Now, is Nundle correct?” asked Broedi. “Your vision was of the enclave?”

  Tobias nodded in the moonlight.

  “You tell me. Is my description correct?”

  “Disturbingly so,” rumbled the hillman. “Miriel’s Weave that protects the enclave from prying eyes apparently does not extend to your gift.” Leaning forward, he asked, “What exactly did you see?”

  Tobias sighed and shifted in place. He had been sitting in once place for a long time.

  “Well, I walked through the town, through the open gate, and into the courtyard. Seeing a set of doors, I went through them and followed some people through the hallways—they all seemed to be headed to one place. We entered a large room full of people, eating. I turned to my right and spotted a table in the corner with three men, two young women, and a little girl.” Quiet awe slipped into his voice as he said, “Gods, for a brief moment, I swore I was staring at an Eliza years younger than I remembered her.”

  “Kenders,” said Broedi softly. “She is every bit her mother, in temper and in power. You would like her.” He paused a moment, then prompted, “The men at the table. Can you describe them?”

  “Two young, one older with a black beard. His hair was pulled back in a bunch. One of the young men was clearly Aryn’s son. Add some years and weight to his face, and he would be Aryn’s twin.”

  “Nikalys,” said Broedi with a slight smile. “He and his father are quite similar, as well.”

  “From the sullen look on his face,” said Tobias. “I do not doubt it.”

  With a quiet sigh, Broedi mused, “I wonder what is bothering him now.”

  “If I had to guess,” began Tobias, “It had something to do with the striking young longleg at the end of the table. A fair young thing, her hair blacker than a one-moon night.”

  “Sabine, then,” said Broedi softly. “Nikalys has feelings for her.”

  “Yet pretends he does not,” added Nundle. “Although he is fooling no one.”

  Tobias chuckled softly.

  “Well, from the way the young lady was smiling at the strapping, black-haired longleg across from her, she has interest in someone else.”

  Nundle said uneasily, “Curly black hair? Brown eyes?”

  “Yes,” replied Tobias.

  “And that would be Jak,” sighed Broedi.

  “The foster brother?” asked Tobias with a raised eyebrow. “Well, that must be awkward.”

  A slight frown resting upon his lips, Broedi said softly, “It would seem there have been new developments since we left.”

  Nundle prayed the brothers would be able to foc
us on the task at hand. Sabine’s affections were not important presently.

  After a moment, Broedi asked, “What were they all doing?”

  Tobias shrugged and said, “Eating and talking from the looks of it. I was going to walk over and listen, but the vision faded before I could.” He peered up from the ground. “Broedi, something is bothering me about this. About your tale. About you stumbling over me today. About all of it, truly.”

  Nundle glanced at Broedi, guessing what Tobias was going to say. The hillman did not meet his gaze, however, keeping his eyes on Tobias.

  “What is that?” rumbled the hillman.

  Tobias leaned forward, draped his arms over his legs, and said, “It’s too perfect.” He shook his head. “It’s all too blasted perfect.”

  Broedi nodded, but rather than openly agree, he prodded Tobias, asking, “What do you mean by that?”

  Tobias began to list off the long list of coincidences that had brought everyone together. Nundle from the Arcane Republic. Zecus from the Borderlands. The Sentinels to the fort in the Southlands. The Shadow Manes finding them on Shorn Rise. Broedi and Nundle nodded along with each point, silently agreeing.

  Once Tobias was done, he stared up and said, “Ketus himself is not so lucky.”

  “I agree,” rumbled Broedi. “And what does that say to you?”

  The tomble frowned in the moonlight.

  “That some of the Assembly have finally deemed us lowly mortals worthy of their attention again.”

  “I have come to a similar conclusion,” said Broedi. “Which is why Nundle and I are headed to the Seat of Nelnora. I have some questions for her.”

  “The Seat of Nelnora, huh?” asked Tobias.

  Broedi nodded.

  “Yes.”

  The White Lion tomble frowned and let out short sigh. Tilting his head back, he rested it on the rough bark of his tree. A bit of shaggy, brown hair fell before his eyes. He remained in that relaxed position for a short while, sitting quietly and staring up into the night sky, lost in thought. Broedi rested, watching Tobias carefully. They were both so quiet for so long, Nundle wondered if he had time to lie down and take a nap.

  Finally—while still peering into the moonlit sky—Tobias said, “She might not see you. Even now.”