The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy

by R. T. Kaelin

  “As I said, it does not matter.”

  Kenders shut her eyes tight, shook her head once, and reopened them.

  “Pardon?!”

  “We no longer need to hide because a short while ago, Duke Rholeb suspended enforcement on the ban on magic after a long chat with Duchess Aleece and I in his hall. While what you did here was unwise—for a very long list of reasons—it was no longer against the law.”

  Kenders stared at Broedi, her mouth slack. She did not know what to say. The Gray Cloak did however.

  “He cannot do that!” shouted the man as he scrambled to stand. His clothes wet and streaked with mud, he exclaimed, “The law is the law! One sovereign cannot abolish it on a whim!”

  Lifting an eyebrow, Wren said, “Oh, but he already did. And—you are truly going to enjoy this—the Southlands and Long Coast have done the same. Sorry to inform you, but the Constables' services are no longer required there.”

  The Gray Cloak’s eyes opened even wider.

  “But we are outside their authority! The law says as much!”

  “Perhaps so,” conceded Wren. “You know, you might want to take it up with the First Council.” Lifting an arm, he pointed east. “Freehaven is that way. I suggest you buy a horse before going. It’s a long walk.”

  The Gray Cloak glared at Wren, his face a deep reddish hue.

  “They have no right!”

  Shaking his head, Wren muttered, “Gods, I forgot how much I despised your kind.” He stepped past the group, striding toward the stockades fence. “You all deal with him.” He wandered away, towards the new trees.

  Broedi eyed the Gray Cloak and rumbled, “What Strands can you touch?”

  “I will not answer the questions of a mage!”

  Kenders answered for him.

  “Stone, Air, and Will at least. Considering he did not stop me with any of the other Weaves, I’m guessing that is all.

  As the Constable shifted his spiteful glare to her, Broedi said, “Good.” The hillman nodded at the Gray Cloak and added, “You will come with us, then. You can help when the Sudashians arrive.”

  “I will do nothing of the sort!” shouted the man. “You are lawbreakers! All of you! No matter what the duke has decreed!”

  Beyond the Gray Cloak, Kenders saw Wren suddenly spin around and begin advancing on the man as he continued his rant.

  “I do not care what conspiracy Duke Rholeb has entered into, I maintain my authority here! I will do what I must to apprehend the lot of—”

  The butt end of Wren’s spear cracked into the back of the man’s head. The Gray Cloak stumbled forward a step, reaching up to clasp his skull. He turned to face his attacker just as Wren brought the spear’s thick handle back in the other direction, catching the man in the right temple. The Gray Cloak went limp and collapsed to the ground.

  Kenders stared at the man’s crumpled form for a moment before looking up to gape at the ijul.

  “What’d you do that for?”

  Ignoring her entirely, Wren glanced at Broedi and said, “You get to carry him. He looks heavy.” The tijul turned and strode down the street, toward the Duke’s Hall. “Let’s go. We’re wasting time.”

  Kenders watched him walk a dozen paces before staring back to Broedi.

  “He’s a White Lion?”

  A slight frown rested on Broedi’s lips.

  “He is.”

  Stepping forward, Tobias added, “And as much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. We have a lot to do.”

  “Why?” asked Kenders, glancing between tomble and hillman. “What’s happening?”

  Turning his stoic gaze on her, Broedi rumbled, “The Shadow Manes are coming to Demetus as we speak, through a port in the Duke’s Hall. We are no longer in hiding.”

  Kenders’ eyes widened a fraction.

  “Now? But, why?”

  Broedi rumbled, “Much has happened in the turn since you left.” He bent over, lifted the unconscious Gray Cloak from the ground with ease, and said, “Come. I will explain on the way.” Without another word, he began to move off after Wren.

  Kenders gaped after him briefly before looking down to Tobias.

  “The Manes are coming here? Truly?”

  The tomble nodded, an amused smile on his face.

  “Truly.”

  With that, he moved off, hobbling after Broedi, his walking stick clacking against the stone street. After a few steps, he looked over his shoulder.

  “And so you know, the lightning was my favorite part! Quite impressive!”

  Kenders stared after the trio of White Lions a moment before turning back to the Alshers. All four were staring at her and the others with expressions of open wonder, the pair of horses beside them drinking water from the puddles in the street.

  With a tiny shrug of her shoulders, Kenders said, “Let’s go meet the duke, I suppose.” A bittersweet smile graced her lips as she added, “Better yet, let’s go see Zecus.”

  Chapter 50: Parting

  19th of the Turn of Maeana, 4999

  A frown rested upon Tiliah’s lips as she neared the Reed Men grounds. She eyed the five soldiers guarding the grand archway and shook her head.

  “They are not going to let me in. Not now.”

  Zecus glanced at her and asked, “Why do you say that?”

  “With all of this?” She waved a hand all around, indicating the crowded street and the city in general. Shaking her head, she added, “They are not going to bother with me.”

  Zecus offered an encouraging smile.

  “We will see about that.”

  His confident tone gave her a touch more hope than a moment ago. Then again, a moment ago, she had none. She sighed and gave a resigned shrug of her shoulders.

  “If you say so.”

  They stepped from the crowded street and moved down the wide flagstone walkway leading to the courtyard gate. Massive columns lined the way, each one thirty feet tall and topped with statues of one ancient noble or another. Tiliah eyed the carvings, wondering how many people actually knew the names of each.

  She took a deep breath, relieved to be free of the crowd. The journey from the eastern gate had been slow going as she and Zecus had moved against the flow. The city’s evacuation was well underway. Borderlands refugees and Demetus citizens alike were heading east to the safety of the Southlands. Tiliah had been with one of the first groups through the magical ports, escorting her mother and younger siblings from this wretched place and to a world that astounded them all.

  Lush, green prairies running to every horizon.

  More fresh water than one could imagine rippling down the Erona River.

  Strange animals bounding through the grass.

  It was almost too much for her to take in.

  For Borderlanders, the exodus was a joyous one. Tiliah remained even-tempered, however. Life might be easier than in the camps of Demetus, but by no means would it be without hardship. There would be no homes, no livelihoods awaiting them, only a bit more safety than here.

  The Marshland citizens who were forced to go, however, fought the duke’s order like whiney children told they could not have another hunk of bread. They still did not grasp—or fully believe—the danger facing the city.

  Boah Rasus and his wife were helping organize things in the east. Her father’s friend had not wanted the task, but the story of his and Joshmuel’s journey to Freehaven had spread quickly amongst the refugees. Much to Boah’s chagrin, he was now seen as something of a hero. Overwhelmed by his new responsibilities, Boah had come to Debrah and Tiliah, asking for aid in any manner they could offer it. Tiliah initially volunteered to organize the treatment of the sick and injured, but quickly ended up supporting Boah at every turn.

  Two days into the evacuation and things were moving much slower than everyone would have liked. Three mages—Tobias, another redheaded tomble, and an overweight man rumored to be from a nation of mages—were capable of keeping the magical doors open for only so long before needing to stop a
nd rest. At last count, only thirty-five hundred people were through and getting situated in the grasslands. Rumors were that the duke was considering sending only those healthy enough to make the journey on foot overland.

  When Zecus had visited the Southlands this morning, he had confirmed the rumors were true. In fact, Duke Rholeb’s wife, Duchess Beluna, had volunteered to lead the expedition. Soon, the ports were going to be reserved for the injured, the ill, and the too young or old. Tiliah had pulled Zecus aside and asked that she be allowed to return to Demetus briefly. To her surprise, he agreed without protest.

  Now, as the Alshers neared the archway, Tiliah steeled herself, convinced the guards would bar her entry. After this, she was going to the Southlands for good. Zecus, the stubborn soul that he was, was staying behind, insisting that he was going to fight the Sudashians when they came. Tiliah glanced over and eyed his new uniform, a tiny frown on her face. In her mind, Zecus would never be a soldier, but she was forced to admit that he certainly looked the part.

  A tough-spun black tabard trimmed with silver thread and emblazoned with a large, stylized head of a white lion hung from his shoulders. His pants were black as was his tunic. Black leather greaves and boots completed the uniform, along with a silver scabbard that held a newly forged longsword.

  As they neared the gate, the Reed Man standing in the center of the line of five soldiers, made eye contact with Zecus, turned his head, and called, “Step aside!”

  The other four soldiers, all dressed in Marshlands’ green and white, moved to let Zecus and Tiliah pass through the arched gateway unimpeded. All five Reed Men eyed Zecus as he strode by, respect and a bit of awe in their stares.

  Ten steps into the crowded courtyard, Zecus said, “I told you I could get you in.”

  Tiliah turned to her brother and spotted a slight, almost smug smile resting on his lips.

  “Oh, please. An oligurt could have walked right in if he was wearing that fancy uniform of yours.”

  Zecus’ grin grew again. Nodding across the yard, he said, “Come, they should be that way.” He shifted direction, heading for a large, stone archway. Tiliah followed.

  Soldiers of all sorts moved about, some in groups, others alone, but all moved with purpose. While most were clad in green and white, other uniforms were visible as well.

  They passed a group of three light-skinned men standing together, studying a parchment, and speaking in low tones. Two were dressed in Southland’s blue and gold and the third in silver and maroon. Tiliah glimpsed the parchment’s surface and saw what appeared to be a map of Demetus. Once past them, Tiliah looked at Zecus.

  “Who are they?”

  Zecus peered over his shoulder before answering. “Two Southern Arms captains and a knight-general of the Shore Guard.” He looked back to Tiliah and added, “The officers are here to meet with Commander Aiden and coordinate Demetus’ defense.”

  Nodding slowly, Tiliah scanned the other groups. She did not spot any brown and tan uniforms.

  “And the Dust Men? Where are they?”

  Zecus glanced over, smiled slightly, and pointed to the archway to which they were headed.

  “Most likely drilling in that yard.”

  Tiliah offered her brother a grateful smile.

  “I am sure you have other things you should be doing instead of this.”

  He eyed her, the Marshlands sun beating down on his brow, and said, “I do. But this is important.”

  Tiliah reached up patted her brother’s shoulder.

  “Thank you, Zecus.”

  Moving through the archway, the pair stepped into another open yard. Two long buildings lined the area to Tiliah’s right, each with several dozen horses standing outside and hitched to wooden posts. The roof of each building extended far over its walls, providing plenty of shade for the animals.

  Pointing to the unusual structures, she asked, “What are those?”

  Zecus glanced over.

  “They are called ‘barns.’ Easterners keep their horses inside them.”

  Tiliah eyed him, wondering if he was mocking her.

  “They build…houses for horses?”

  Zecus shrugged his shoulders and said with a smile, “The forests east of here are grand, Tiliah. There is enough wood to build every animal their own home.”

  Tiliah waited for his grin to widen, indicating that he was indeed jesting. It did not.

  “You are telling the truth?”

  “I am.”

  With a slow, wondering shake of her head, she said, “When this is over, Zecus, I want your stories.”

  “And you shall have them. Although I expect you will not believe most. I barely do and they happened to me.”

  Turning a corner, they moved into the shadow cast by the Duke’s Hall and passed a large stonework trough. Men stood around the fountain, drinking from long, wooden ladles. Fresh water streamed from a pipe jutting from the wall, replenishing the supply. Tiliah was eyeing the pipe, wondering how such a thing was possible when Zecus pointed to the east.

  “There they are.”

  Staring ahead, Tiliah spotted a small contingent of Borderlanders two hundred paces away, dressed in a collection of mismatched clothes and armor, their weapons as disparate as their garb.

  Keeping her voice low, Tiliah whispered, “Those are Dust Men?”

  “Yes.”

  There were at most forty, perhaps fifty men ahead. She had expected more.

  “Why so few?”

  “These are the only ones willing—and able—to fight. Twice as many came from the camps and volunteered, but Commander Aiden sent them east with the others.”

  Tiliah glared at her brother.

  “They wanted to fight and were turned away?”

  Nodding, Zecus said, “That is what I said.”

  “Why?”

  “Would you want someone who has not seen a decent meal for three turns guarding my back? A man who can barely lift a sword, let alone swing it?”

  Tiliah was quiet a moment before saying, “I suppose you have a point.”

  As they neared the remnant Dust Men, some noticed their approach and gently elbowed the others. In short order, most of the soldiers had turned to face them, their gazes resting on Zecus. Like Boah, he had become something of a legend among the refugees, the sole Borderlander amongst the Shadow Manes. He had even earned a title of sorts: Zecus Alsher, the Guardian of the Borderlands.

  When it was apparent that Tiliah and Zecus were striding toward them, the Dust Men fanned out and revealed Tiliah’s reason for coming back to Demetus.

  Rhohn stood at the group’s center, no longer dressed in the rags she had become accustomed to seeing him wear. Rather, his new garb made him look like a true soldier: brown breeches, a tan shirt, and an actual Dust Man tabard draped over his shoulders. His sword and scabbard hung from his belt.

  As their eyes met, a smile spread over her lips, accompanied by an unexpected flutter in her stomach. Rhohn glanced to the man on his left, said something, and then strode from the group. The man immediately turned to the Dust Men, shouted an order, and the soldiers began to arrange themselves into rows. On their way here, Zecus had shared that Rhohn had been given command over the Dust Men unit. Tiliah thought it a wise choice, whoever had made it.

  Rhohn met Zecus and Tiliah two dozen paces from the soldiers, stopped, and gave a slight bow.

  “My pleasure is to meet you in peace today.”

  Returning the bow, Zecus replied, “And may peace bless our parting.”

  Both men eyed Tiliah, apparently waiting for her to offer her portion of the traditional greeting. A sly smile spread over her face.

  “I like your new clothes, Mud Man.”

  While Zecus frowned at her casual dismissal of custom, Rhohn actually chuckled and said with a smile, “There’s a war going on. Who has time for customs?”

  Grinning in return, she said, “That’s what I say.”

  Nodding at the group of Dust Men, Zecus asked, “How goes i
t with them?”

  “As well as can be expected,” said Rhohn with a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s a mixed stew, for sure. A few are veterans of Gobas who somehow escaped, but most are from eastern posts who have never seen a Sudashian. I have two corporals, a lieutenant, and the rest are footmen.”

  “And how does the lieutenant enjoy taking orders from a corporal?” asked Zecus.

  “I don’t know,” said Rhohn with a slight grin. He lowered his voice. “Commander Aiden told them I was a captain. He said there’d be less arguing that way.”

  They shared a small chuckle at the falsehood, but their quiet laughter quickly faded. When none of them elected to fill the silence that followed, Zecus cleared his throat and announced, “It seems my throat is rather dry. Perhaps I shall go get a ladle of water.” He turned to Tiliah and said with purpose, “I’ll only be a moment. Stay here if you like.”

  With a grateful nod, she said, “I think I will.”

  Zecus glanced at Rhohn briefly before turning to walk away, his boots crunching on dry gravel. Tiliah watched him slowly amble back to the water trough by the Duke’s Hall.

  “I am surprised to see you here,” said Rhohn. She turned to face him as he added, “I had heard you were in the Southlands already.”

  “I was,” said Tiliah. “But I came back.”

  “Why, then?” asked Rhohn. The left corner of his mouth turned up a fraction. “Did you miss the marsh and its wondrous smell?”

  “No,” answered Tiliah with a shake of her head. “I came to say thank you.”

  His eyes widened a bit.

  “Pardon?”

  “I never did say it to you. Not once. And I wanted to come back and tell you before…well, before whatever in the Nine Hells is going to happen here.”

  “A massive, horrible, bloody fight, most likely.”

  Tiliah nodded.

  “Right. I needed to tell you before that.”

  Stepping away from her, Rhohn moved to the mud-brick wall of the Duke’s Hall and leaned against it.

  “There is no need to thank me, Tiliah. You helped me as much as I helped you. Without you, I would still have an arrow in my leg. Or be dead from wound rot.”