by R. T. Kaelin
Shaking his head, Rhohn muttered, “How is it you are so trusting?”
Khin turned his icy, blue-eyed gaze to Rhohn and said, “Trust has nothing to do with it.”
Without warning, Okollu collapsed to the ground. He instantly leapt up—pine needles stuck in his fur—and advanced on Khin, a low growl rumbling from his throat.
“Name yourselves before I rip your skinny throats from your necks.”
Seeming wholly unconcerned by the mongrel’s threat, the aicenai said, “I am called Khin Khastnargad and he—” he turned to the tomble “—is Tobias Donngord.” He looked back to Rhohn, adding with purpose, “Tobias is one of the White Lions.”
Rhohn stared down at the tomble, blinking in surprise. The tale of the heroes turned outlaws was one he had not heard told in over a decade.
“That’s impossible. They are a myth.”
Khin said quietly, “I stand before you, and you quibble about what is myth?”
His brow drawing together, Rhohn shook his head and said, “But their tale was from ages ago, back when—”
He stopped in midsentence, his eyes opening wide. The message he carried suddenly made sense. Two words slipped breathlessly from his lips.
“Miriel Syncent.”
Shooting a sharp stare at Rhohn, Tobias asked, “What did you say?”
Rhohn finally realized why the name had sounded so familiar. His gaze locked onto Tobias.
“You truly are one of the great lions?”
Tobias nodded slowly, eyeing Rhohn cautiously.
“I am.”
Taking a chance, Rhohn asked, “Do you know who the Shadow Manes are?”
Tobias’ eyebrows nearly lifted to his hairline.
“Pardon?”
Okollu let a snort of wet air escape from his nose.
“What are you doing, smooth-face?”
Rhohn lifted a hand to hold off Okollu’s question, stared at Tobias, and asked again, “Do you know who the Shadow Manes are?”
Khin answered instead of Tobias, saying, “We are a part of the organization.”
Nodding, Rhohn said, “In that case, we have a message for you.”
“A message?” asked Tobias. His eyes bored into Rhohn. “What sort of message?”
Rhohn cleared his throat and began reciting the passage.
“Indrida’s prophecy is upon us. The Eternal Anarchist is a saeljul who goes by the name Tandyr. The Borderlands have fallen, the Marshlands are next. Vanson and Everett are in his palm for reasons I still do not understand. Time grows short. The Shadow Manes must rise.”
As Tobias and Khin remained quiet for a long moment, Okollu turned to regard Rhohn. No longer tense and agitated, the mongrel now appeared confused.
After a few heartbeats, Tobias took a deep breath, stared at Rhohn and Okollu, and said, “We apparently have much to talk about, but first—” he pointed to the leather sack “—I need you to give me whatever is inside there. I am more interested than ever to learn what you are carrying.”
Rhohn pulled the pouch free and quickly undid the drawstring, planning to dump the onyx gemstone into his hand. As he tipped the pouch upside down, Khin lifted a hand.
“Wait!”
The stone tumbled from the nobleman’s pouch to land in Rhohn’s palm.
The moment the glossy stone touched skin, an icy numbness swelled in Rhohn’s chest. He felt hollow and cold, as if his insides had been scraped out and replaced with chilled water. Unsteady and dizzy, he swayed in place, forced to widen his stance so he did not topple over. Horses nickered and pawed at the ground. A pitiful whimper escaped from Okollu as he shied away from the stone like a stray village dog beaten once too often.
Tobias uttered a soft, stunned, “Bless the Gods.”
Looking up, Rhohn found the tomble staring at the air surrounding them.
Behind Rhohn, Kenders called, “Tobias!” Her voice was full of alarm.
The tomble shouted, “Don’t do anything!”
Khin stepped forward, ordering, “Put that away. Now.” The urgency in his voice was unsettling.
Rhohn looked at the lump of obsidian and quickly complied, sliding the stone back into the golden-thread interior of the pouch and drawing the string. He frowned at the pouch, wondering what had just happened.
Khin asked, ““What did you sense?” Looking up, Rhohn found the aicenai staring at Tobias.
The tomble’s gaze remained fixed on the nobleman’s pouch as he shook his head slowly, mumbling, “Pure, complete Void. Thousands upon thousands of black Strands, all around us.” He glanced up at the aicenai. “Hells, Khin. The blasted world went dark.”
“I saw nothing,” huffed Okollu.
“You would not unless you were a Void mage,” said Tobias.
“A what?” growled the mongrel.
“Never mind,” muttered the tomble, his gaze returning to the pouch.
Khin stared at Okollu and asked, “You sensed something, did you not?”
Okollu eyed the pouch warily and growled, “A wrongness. It is like what I feel—” He stopped and turned his gaze to Khin. “Tandyr has another one like this. Wrong inside, too. It is silver.”
The thin skin on the aicenai’s face flinched.
“You are sure?”
A low, guttural growl rumbled from Okollu’s throat.
“There is no doubt, old one.”
Khin’s already thin lips grew thinner as they stretched into a frown. He dropped his chin to his chest to stare at the ground.
“That is disturbing to learn.”
Tobias shifted his gaze upward to Khin, his expression one of open curiosity.
“Do you know what this is?”
The aicenai stared at the White Lion for a long moment. Without ever answering the question, he peered back to Okollu and Rhohn.
“Please tell me of your journeys. Do not pass over any moment.”
As one, man and mongrel turned back to stare at Tiliah. She and the easterner were talking quietly again. After sharing a quick look with Okollu, Rhohn faced the aicenai and said, “We would prefer to wait for Tiliah.”
“You will do no such thing,” said Tobias. “Do you have any idea—”
“We wait, little man,” growled Okollu. The mongrel’s eyes were as hard as the edge in his voice.
The tomble stared between the pair. “Well. Aren’t you two determined?” With a scowl and a sigh, he said, “Fine. We have the day, anyway.” Glancing up to Khin, he said, “We should return back to our camp, though. If any Trackers attuned to Void are in Demetus, they will surely be headed here. That stone is a blasted beacon.”
Khin nodded.
“Agreed.”
Tobias eyed Rhohn and said, “Gather your things. As soon as they—” he nodded to Tiliah and Kenders “—are ready to go, we move, understand?”
Rhohn nodded silently. Okollu did, as well.
Appearing satisfied, the tomble stared up to the aicenai and said, “Khin? A word, if you please.” His eyes narrowed. “Now.” He turned around and began hobbling back to their horses.
Rhohn watched the tomble shuffle away for a moment before looking back to the aicenai. Khin was still staring at the leather pouch.
“Never remove that again,” said the aicenai. His blue eyes flicked up to peer straight into Rhohn. “Never.”
Rhohn had already come to a similar decision on his own. Nevertheless, he nodded, glanced down at the pouch, and pulled the strings to ensure they were tight.
The aicenai remained a moment longer before following Tobias towards the horses. Once they were far enough away, Okollu spoke, growling in a low voice.
“They are a strange pair.”
Were it not for the somber mood dominating the tree grove for the moment, Rhohn might have smiled at the irony in Okollu’s statement. Instead, he simply nodded and agreed, “Yes, they are.”
Tomble and aicenai stopped by the horses and fell into a quiet conversation. Khin appeared to be doing most of the talking wh
ile Tobias seemed surprised—and worried—by what he was hearing.
Okollu’s thick and wet voice interrupted Rhohn’s careful study of the pair.
“Smooth-face?”
“Yes?”
“What is a white lion?”
“Remember what you told us of Rodam Upris?”
“Yes.”
Rhohn nodded in Tobias’ direction and said, “Well, it seems your legends are not the only ones that have come to life.”
Chapter 41: City
16th of the Turn of Maeana, 4999
Sunlight sifted through the canopy overhead, covering the forest floor with a lattice of light. The pattern was ever shifting as a gentle breeze teased the uppermost boughs, the towering trees groaning and creaking as they swayed. The pines once dwarfed by the palm trees near the beach had steadily increased in both height and number as Nikalys and the expedition had moved inland. Now, the evergreens dominated the forest, the pungent fragrance of their sap filling the air. After weeks on the salty sea, Nikalys welcomed the fresh scent.
Since leaving the beach four days past, the group from the Sapphire had climbed a gradual upward slope through the forest. Talulot and Fingard led them, setting a steady pace and never seeming to tire. Nikalys and Broedi managed to keep up without issue, but the rest of their group labored through the constant uphill slog.
Nundle had the worst of it by far. Midway through day two of their journey, Nikalys offered to carry the tomble on his shoulders for a time. An unusually testy Nundle warned him that should he attempt to do so, he could expect a nice jolt of Charge in exchange. Nikalys—and everyone else—left him alone after that.
Talulot and Fingard wove a meandering path through the trunks, following an invisible path only they knew. Nikalys wondered how they knew where they were going. To him, every tree, bush, and hill looked the same as the last and the next.
He was walking past yet another one of the bushes now—a monstrous, twisted exaggeration of the fingerprick bushes like near home—when, a shorter, less lethal-looking bush on his left shuddered, its leaves rustling quietly. An instant later, a creature crashed forth from the undergrowth, dashing straight toward Nikalys.
Shift.
Standing ten paces back from where he was an instant before, Nikalys was at the ready, the shining, white-metal Blade of Horum drawn and ready to strike. An animal no bigger than an oversized barn cat stood before him, staring, seemingly shocked by his sudden movement. A dark brown fur covered the creature’s face and front half of the body while long, soft quills draped over its back, their ends striped with thin white bands. Whiskers sagged from its wide, squished nose, twitching anxiously beneath a pair of black and beady eyes.
A gruff voice overflowing with amusement muttered, “Careful there. He looks ferocious.”
Nikalys looked up to find Captain Scrag standing behind him, grinning ear-to-ear. Broedi stood next to the sailor, his gaze on the creature.
The captain nodded at the animal and said, “Don’t get too close, it might nuzzle you to death.”
Nikalys protested, “It startled me.” His ears felt warm.
“Did it now?” mused the captain. “Well that was terribly rude.” The man’s sarcasm was thicker than the skin atop a cookpot of unstirred stew.
Broedi turned to eye the captain with a single, raised eyebrow.
“I seem to recall a time when you were likewise startled by a hive of briar-wasps. You moved as fast as Nikalys did. Faster, perhaps.”
While the white-haired captain lost his grin, Nikalys gained one.
“Those blasted wasps hurt something fierce when they sting!”
“How would you know?” rumbled Broedi. “You ran so swiftly, they had no hope of catching you.”
Captain Scrag’s scowl deepened. Looking back to the animal still staring at them, he protested, “Briar-wasps are thrice a thousand times more dangerous than that lovesome creature.”
“Are they?” replied Broedi, a sly smile on his lips.
The hillman approached Nikalys, stopped beside him, and dropped into a low crouch. Staring at the woodland creature, Broedi let out a low, lupine growl. The white-banded quills on the animal’s back sprang to attention, jutting out in all directions. The creature let out a low hiss, spun around, and crashed off through the bushes, its quills catching on leaves and stems as it ran away.
Standing, Broedi stared back at Captain Scrag and said, “Quillhogs can hurt, too. Trust me, I once got a number of their needles stuck in my nose when I was sniffing where I should not have been.” With a friendly wink at Nikalys, he turned and resumed his march forward, heading up the hill to where Talulot and Fingard had stopped to wait.
Captain Scrag stared at Nikalys for a moment, shrugged his shoulders, and said with a smile, “Good job staying alert.” With that, the old man tromped off after Broedi, patting Nikalys on the back as he passed.
Nikalys watched the captain march away and shook his head. He had spent almost five weeks with the man and Nikalys had yet to figure him out.
“He’s just having a bit of fun with you, son.”
Nikalys glanced over his shoulder to find Sergeant Trell approaching, his steps heavy and slow. Nundle was at his side looking worse than a horse that had been ridden at full gallop for a week.
Eyeing the sergeant, Nikalys said, “I’ve yet to decide if he likes me or hates me.”
Smiling, Sergeant Trell said, “I stopped trying to figure him out weeks ago.” Soldier and tomble stopped beside Nikalys. Nundle was breathing heavily. The sergeant nodded up to the captain, adding, “He’s the most unreadable soul I’ve ever met.”
Nundle cocked an eyebrow and asked, “You have met Broedi, haven’t you?”
Broedi rumbled, “I heard that, little one.” His voice bounded through the forest.
Turning back around, Nikalys spotted the hillman tromping through the trees, his back to them.
Nundle muttered, “Him and his blasted hearing.” The tomble’s surly tone was so atypical that it was akin to hearing a duck oink.
Sheathing his blood father’s sword, Nikalys studied Nundle. The tomble appeared he might collapse at any moment. Nundle glanced up and caught his gaze. The tomble’s eyes narrowed in an instant.
“I know what you’re thinking and stop it. I will not be lugged about like some playman’s journeybag. When I made my way to the Academies, I walked up and down the mountains of Jularrn, through the deserts of Yut, for turns upon turns. I can manage a four-day hike through a—” He cut off when a loud gurgling sound rumbled from his midsection. His stern expression fled, replaced by one of embarrassment. Glancing between Nikalys and Sergeant Trell, he muttered, “What? I’m hungry.”
Nikalys sympathized. Broedi had forbidden them to hunt here, which meant more of the same dried, salted boar they had eaten the last half of their voyage. The pears had run out two weeks ago. Nikalys had almost resorted to the fish stew.
With a huffy, “Move, please,” Nundle pushed past Nikalys and resumed his march up the slope.
Sergeant Trell watched the tomble for a few moments before calling out, “How much of a head start shall I give you this time, Nundle?”
Without turning back, the tomble raised an arm in disgust and waved it.
“Go chew a boot!”
Looking to Sergeant Trell, Nikalys asked quietly, “Why upset him? He’s already miserable.”
“If he’s angry at me, he won’t dwell on how tired he is. And, it might make him move a little quicker.”
Raising his eyebrows, Nikalys asked, “And you think that will work?”
Nodding toward Nundle, Sergeant Trell said, “See for yourself.”
Nikalys stared up the slope and noticed the tomble’s pace appeared a bit quicker than it had been.
“Huh. Look at that.”
“Something every good leader must learn is how to get people to do what they must. By any means necessary. Call it an old soldier’s wisdom.”
Smiling, Nikalys turned b
ack to the sergeant.
“You’re not that old.”
“I’m old enough,” sighed the sergeant as he rubbed his eyes.
Sergeant Trell was putting on a brave face, but Nikalys could see the muddled exhaustion underneath the mask. Glancing past him, Nikalys watched the other Shadow Mane soldiers trudging up the hill and said, “It’s been a long journey hasn’t it?”
Letting his weariness slip into his voice, the sergeant agreed, “That it has.”
Broedi’s deep voice boomed through the forest, “Please do not stop now!”
Turning around, Nikalys saw Talulot and both hillmen waiting for them atop the rise. Captain Scrag and Nundle were still several dozen paces away from the trio.
Sergeant Trell nodded up the hill.
“Get going. I’ll be right behind you.”
Turning, Nikalys sprinted effortlessly up the hill, rushing to where Broedi and the others waited. Slowing his pace when he reached Nundle, he walked the few remaining steps with the tomble.
Nundle glanced up, frowned, and said, “Must you flaunt your—” He cut off and halted in place, his eyes staring straight ahead, his brow furrowed. “Where are the trees?”
Nikalys looked up to where the thorn, the hillmen, and now Captain Scrag stood and noticed that just beyond them, the forest appeared to stop.
“I don’t know.”
Nundle reacted first, finding a hidden reserve of energy and scurrying up the rest of the slope. Nikalys was but a step behind him, scrambling through bushes and around one last massive tree trunk before skidding to a stop. His mouth fell open.
They stood atop a cliff, nothing like the gentle grade they had been climbing for days. A great depression lay before him, as if the land was a hunk of bread dough and a thumb the size of Fernsford had pressed deep into it. The trees had not disappeared, as it had seemed, they were simply not as tall as the hole was deep. Great, sweeping wood and rope bridges stretched between the thick trunks, connecting the hundreds of circular, wooden buildings built amongst the branches of the pines.
Looking to his left, Nikalys’ gaze followed the ridge and found that it fully encompassed the valley. Three-quarters of the way around—on the southernmost side of the ridge—a river rushed from the trees, launching itself into the chasm below. The waterfall drifted down to the valley floor where the river continued, curling through the tree city’s floor before disappearing into a yawning, black cave.
