The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy

by R. T. Kaelin

  He waited a moment before continuing, keeping a careful eye on the Strands of Stone, wondering if there would be some reaction now that the second Suštinata was nearby and free. There was not. He hoped that was a good thing and, looking up to Tobias to catch the tomble’s reaction, he snapped the lid shut with a sharp crack.

  Tobias asked, “Where’d they go?” The tomble was staring around him. “I don’t understand, I can’t even feel a hint—” He cut off, his gaze locking on the wooden box. “What is that thing?”

  Khin breathed a small sigh of relief. Perhaps it worked for them all.

  “This,” began Khin, “Is a chest my nine had crafted ages ago.” Opening the lid—again eliciting a sharp gasp from Tobias—he pointed to the hammered gold lining the chest’s interior. “Very early in our studies, we learned that gold masked the Strands emitted by the Suštinata na Kamen. Why that was, we never could determine. But it did not matter. It silenced not only the Strands of Stone, but the other properties of the Suštinata as well. Without this box, I am incapable of carrying the stone with me.”

  Holding up the nobleman’s pouch, he said, “When I saw this in the Marshlands, I wondered how it partially concealed the Suštinata na Ulos.” Turning it inside out, he revealed an interior lined with gold-laced thread. “An imperfect carrier, but certainly better than leaving it exposed.”

  Lady Vivienne’s voice shot through the air.

  “What in the Nine Hells are you doing?!”

  Looking below, Khin saw the baroness glaring up at them. The images rushing through her mind were expectedly unpleasant.

  Tobias said, “I’ll go talk to her.”

  “That might be best,” rumbled Broedi. As Tobias began to hobble across the battlements, the hillman looked back to Khin and asked, “You know what this means, yes?”

  Khin nodded slowly.

  “We need another chest.”

  Chapter 48: Tirnu

  Demetus was a city on the edge of a precipice, its citizenry ready to tumble into the abyss of panic at any moment. People milled all about Kenders, wandering the flagstone streets, their shoulders taut and fists clenched. Anxious eyes darted about beneath brows covered with more furrows than a freshly tilled garden. Every face—man, woman, and child—was drawn taut. Whether from worry or hunger, Kenders could not tell.

  The beds of the horse carts that rattled past her and the Alsher women were either a quarter-full or entirely empty. The few wagons with goods carried more armed men than crates or sacks, the hired guards eyeing the crowd warily with hands on hilts. A close examination of the crowd revealed nearly everyone carrying some type of weapon. A few had swords and scabbards hanging from their waist while others at least had a sheathed dagger on their belt or boot. Most people, however, lugged about any simple, blunt object, grasped in a white-knuckled hand or jammed in the crook of their arm. One thin Marshlander woman walked past Kenders while wielding a wooden candlestick as if it were a club.

  A steady, apprehensive hum of voices droned through the streets. The snippets of conversation she caught provided her a spotty, broken view of what was happening in and around the city. Rumors of the Sudashian invasion dominated the chatter. Twice, she heard someone mention recent sightings of oligurt scouts in the marshy forests west of the city. Both times, the information brought a frown to her face. If there were already scouts near, the bulk of the force could not be far away.

  The sprawling Marshlands’ capital dwarfed the only other cities Kenders had visited in her life, Fallsbottom and Fernsford. Unlike those two mazes, the streets here were long and straight, allowing Kenders to look left and right at every intersection. The mass of people in both directions amazed her.

  Demetus’ buildings—made of mud-bricks and evergreen logs—were shorter than she had expected. Most were three or four stories with flat roofs sitting well below the tops of the outer walls. Skinny, wood-railed bridges connected the rooftops, spanning the streets. The heavy odor of filth and waste filled the air, coating her tongue and throat with each breath.

  They had only just made it into the city, having tried to pass through three different gates. At each one, the green-and-white-clad Reed Men refused them entry. It seemed that Duke Rholeb had declared no one be permitted into the overcrowded city. After being turned away the third time, Kenders reluctantly used another few, small Weaves of Will to get past. Ever since, she had kept an anxious eye on the crowd, praying that she would not spot Constable gray.

  By any measure, what she was doing was foolish. She knew she should turn around, return to the camp, and wait for the others. If her brothers were here, they most likely would be dragging her from the city, chastising her all the way back to Storm Island.

  However, they were not here. She was. And she was not leaving until what remained of Zecus’ family was with her.

  Kenders peered to her left where Tiliah and Debrah were riding Goshen. Tiliah’s worried expression matched that of the crowds, but Debrah looked happy, newly buoyed by a little cheese, some fresh water, and a lot of hope.

  Catching their eye, Kenders asked, “So, where are the stockades exactly?”

  Debrah lifted her arm and pointed to the southwest.

  “That way. In Tirnu’s District.”

  Kenders looked in the direction indicated. Rising over the nearby buildings was a skinny, sienna-red tower, thrice as tall as any other structure.

  “Tirnu’s District? Why is it called that?”

  “Each of the eight districts is named after a God or Goddess,” said Debrah. “Duryn’s District has the tradesmen and crafters. Chalchalu’s District has the great markets and wealthy merchants. At least it did when we arrived. Most of the markets are closed now.”

  Kenders’ eyebrows drew together in sudden concern. Duryn was the Great Artisan, the God of Industry and Crafters. Chalchalu was the Filler of Purses, the God of Commerce and wealth. She hoped that was coincidence.

  Turning to Debrah, she asked, “What else might be in Tirnu’s District? Besides the stockades?”

  Tiliah answered, giving her a level stare while saying, “Exactly what you would expect for something named after Tirnu.”

  Kenders heart sunk.

  “Such as?”

  “The Marshal House,” answered Debrah.

  “And the Reed Steeple,” added Tiliah.

  “Reed Steeple?”

  Tiliah nodded to the southwest and said, “The giant tower there?”

  Kenders turned to eye the spire, a frown upon her face. She recognized what a Marshal house was, a place where criminals were tried before a panel of three marshals. Without a doubt, the building would be surrounded with guards and soldiers. The Reed Steeple was a mystery to her, even though she had a good guess what it was.

  “And what exactly is at the Reed Steeple?”

  Tiliah answered, “The Reed Men’s command post and training grounds.”

  Kenders shut her eyes tight and drew in a long, deep breath. Apparently, anything to do with law and order was there, in the district named after Tirnu, the Ruler of Rules. Exhaling, she opened her eyes and kept staring to the southwest. She did not want to make eye contact with the Alshers.

  “Tiliah, might Tirnu’s District also be where the people Tobias was concerned about have their office?”

  She did not want to say ‘Constables’ aloud. Tiliah, however, knew exactly what she meant.

  “Two streets east of the stockades, next to the Marshal House.”

  Sighing, Kenders turned to stare back at Tiliah.

  “Truly?”

  Tiliah nodded once, her springy black hair bouncing.

  “Will that be a problem?”

  Kenders shook her head, muttering, “No. Not at all.” Her voice lacked conviction and she knew it.

  Debrah, who had been following their conversation closely with an ever increasing confused expression on her face, asked, “Who is Tobias?”

  Kenders glanced at Tiliah and shook her head. Now was not the time. Instead
of giving an answer, Kenders said, “This way,” and directed Smoke down a less crowded alley, heading toward the Reed Steeple. Smoke’s hooves stopped clopping as they moved from flagstone to dirt.

  As Tiliah turned Goshen to follow, Kenders heard her say, “Don’t worry, Mother. We’ll explain everything later.”

  Kenders stared down the alleyway, a frown on her face. She had leapt without looking again. Reaching up, she rubbed her eyes, wondering if she should turn around and wait for Tobias this evening. Dropping her hand back to the reins, she looked ahead and saw a wide street awaiting them. The Reed Steeple loomed over them, ahead and to the left. If she was going to turn around, now was the time.

  From behind, Debrah asked, “What exactly is your plan?”

  Kenders winced and remained quiet. She could not share her plan because she did not have one.

  Tiliah suggested quietly, “Perhaps we should just wait for everyone to come back later?”

  Kenders started to turn around and was about to agree with Tiliah when she caught Debrah’s hopeful stare. In an instant, Kenders made a complete reversal and said, “No. We are too close to turn back. We are getting Jerem and Jezra out of the stockades.”

  Tiliah gave her a look that reminded her of Zecus.

  “If you aren’t careful, Kenders, you might be joining them in there.”

  Kenders eyes narrowed.

  “That is one thing that will not happen.”

  The three women rode beneath the final wooden bridge and exited the alleyway onto another main street. The horses’ hooves clacked on flagstone briefly before Kenders pulled Smoke’s reins to halt the horse.

  Tiliah stopped Goshen beside her, lifted an arm, and pointed across the crowded street to their left.

  “There.”

  A twenty-five-foot-tall fence of pine tree trunks lined the street for two-hundred paces. Bored-looking soldiers stood along it, one every twenty steps or so. A three-story, mud-brick building rested at the midpoint of the fence, cattycorner from her. The Reed Steeple was further down the street, the pyramid-topped sienna tower reaching high into the late afternoon sky. A large, rectangular building, filled with sweeping arched windows and doors, sat beside it. Many dozens more Reed Men stood outside.

  “Move, outlanders!”

  Looking down, Kenders found an impatient-looking woman glaring up at her and the Alshers. An empty reed basket sat atop her head, held in place with one arm. Using the other, the woman pointed at the alley behind them.

  “You and your horses are blocking the way,” said the woman. “Move!”

  Kenders looked over her shoulder and realized that they were indeed blocking the alleyway. Facing forward, she laid the reins against Smoke’s neck to direct the horse to the left.

  “I’m sorry. I did not…realize…”

  She trailed off, her apology left unfinished as the woman strode past while shooting Kenders and the Alshers a look of open disgust as she disappeared down the way. Kenders shared a glance with Tiliah and Debrah, both of whom shrugged their shoulders at the woman’s rudeness.

  Moving Smoke completely clear of the entranceway, she stopped again, and ran her gaze over the building beside them. A faded red sign with white script letters proclaimed the location to be Thanon’s Arms for Let. The door was shut and wide-planked boards covered the windows. Looking up and down the street, she noted that most of the building here were in similar condition.

  As Tiliah directed Goshen to stand between her and the mercenaries’ office, Kenders turned back to eye the stockades office and offered a quick prayer to Ashana, looking for a bit of inspiration. She was still absent a plan.

  Debrah asked, “How exactly is this going to work?”

  Kenders looked over and found the Alsher matriarch staring across the crowded street at the stockade walls. The hope in her eyes was fading fast, the leftover void filling quickly with doubt and worry. Tiliah, too, eyed the stockades, although more with anger than anything else.

  “Three weeks,” muttered Tiliah. “For three blasted weeks they’ve been in there, housed with murderers and thieves.”

  Kenders did not want to leave the children in there a moment longer, plan or not. Swinging her leg over Smoke’s rear, she dismounted, moved to the front of her horse, and reached up, handing the reins to Tiliah.

  “Hold these. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Tiliah stared down at her but did not take the reins.

  “You are going alone?”

  Kenders paused a moment before saying, “Yes. I am. Now, hold these.”

  Still, Tiliah did not take the leather straps.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “First, I’m going to ask them nicely to let Jerem and Jezra out.”

  Debrah stared at her as if she was mad.

  With a deep frown etched on her face, Tiliah asked pointedly, “Are you going to ask them like you asked the guards to let us into the city?”

  “Let’s hope I don’t have to,” answered Kenders. “But I will if I must.” Shoving the reins against Tiliah’s leg, she added, “Will you please take the reins?”

  Ignoring them still, Tiliah’s tone turned even sharper as she asked, “I appreciate what you are trying to do, but you are risking much. Much more than you should.”

  Debrah leaned to the side to stare at her daughter.

  “What does that mean?”

  Both young women ignored her question.

  “We can still go back, Kenders,” said Tiliah quietly.

  Kenders shook her head and said, “No. Someone once told me that I have good instincts. That if I follow them, trust myself, and do what comes natural, things will work out. I think I’ll do that.”

  Both Tiliah and Debrah’s expressions changed in an instant. Apparently, they both recognized Joshmuel’s words of wisdom. Before either of them could protest, she took Tiliah’s hand, placed Smoke’s reins in them and said, “Hold my horse, please.”

  She started to turn toward the street but stopped short. With a short sigh, she looked back.

  “Should things…not work out, though. Head back to camp and wait for Zecus and the others. Tell him what I did and where I am.”

  Tiliah nodded slowly.

  “Be careful. Think before doing anything in there.”

  With a single nod, Kenders turned away and stepped into the crowd. Two steps in, she mumbled to herself, “Don’t I always?”

  Chapter 49: Cloak

  Kenders stepped inside the stockades office and skidded to a stop. The cramped room smelled like a horse stall that should have been mucked out two turns back. Saying a silent farewell to the relatively cleaner air outside, she closed the door behind her. The room darkened considerably, lit now only by the diffused light coming through four small, square windows along the front wall.

  On the other side of the room, two light-skinned Reed Men stood behind a wooden counter, slouched over a parchment and ogling her, the lopsided grins on their faces owning a certain leering quality that she did not appreciate.

  She suppressed a grimace and approached the counter, studying the room as she walked. Two rickety wooden tables and seven chairs were jammed against the wall to her left, while, to her right, eight rusty metal shackles were bolted into the wood, four up high, four down low. It was easy to imagine two souls clamped within.

  As she looked back to the men, the overweight soldier on her right elbowed his companion, a short a man with thinning brown hair and jagged scar across his forehead. The scarred man smiled wide.

  “Good days ahead, my lovely.”

  Stopping at the counter and seeing no special markings on the soldier’s uniform, she said, “And good days behind, Footman…?” She trailed off, hoping he would offer his name. He did.

  “Rias,” replied the man quickly. “Footman Ethan Rias.” He stood a bit taller before boasting, “Although, in short order, I’ll be a corporal.”

  Sensing an opportunity, Kenders steeled herself, gave Footman Rias a sweet, syrupy sm
ile, and swooned, “A corporal? Oh, my.”

  The overweight soldier stared at Ethan, a gap-toothed grin covering most of his face, and laughed, “Corporal Rias? Hah! When the marshes turn to sand!” He shifted his gaze to Kenders, letting it drift from her face, to her waist, and back up again. “My name is Mitus. How can I help you?”

  Suppressing another shudder, she said, “Well, I was hoping you could do something for me.” Glancing at the parchment on the counter, she saw a long list of what appeared to be names. Taking a chance, she asked, “Might that be a list of the prisoners?”

  Short and bald Ethan leaned in front of Mitus and said, “Yes, my lovely, it is.” Mitus glared at him from behind.

  “Wondrous!” said Kenders. “Could you tell me if you are housing a young boy and girl here? Two young Borderlanders named Alsher?”

  The guards looked at one another briefly before Mitus turned back to her, a touch of suspicion in his eyes.

  “That’s an odd thing to ask. Might I ask why you want to know?”

  Kenders hesitated, trying to think of a plausible reason, before saying, “Yesterday, I spotted two young refugees stealing from my father’s cooling window. When Father reported it to a Reed Man today, the soldier told us to check here. He recalled you having already hooked a pair of bread thieves.”

  Mitus’ eyes narrowed.

  “Why did he send you here and not the Marshal House?”

  Kenders stared at the man, a blank expression on her face.

  “I don’t know why. He just said to come here.”

  Ethan folded his arms over his chest and frowned.

  “When did you see this crime occur again?”

  “Yesterday?” offered Kenders. She did not know if the room was hot or not, but she was suddenly sweating.

  “How did you know their names?” asked Mitus.

  “And what did they take?” followed Ethan.

  Kenders’ gaze danced between the pair as she wondered which question to answer. She chose the easier of the two.