Progeny (The Children of the White Lions)

by Kaelin, R. T.

  As they walked, Nikalys glanced at his brother a number of times, worried. Jak was the jester of the family, even more so than their father had been. This dark, silent mood was unnatural. It was like watching a hawk trudge down a road. Hawks were supposed to fly.

  Hoping to start a conversation, Nikalys asked, “So, do you think the air in Hilltop will smell different?”

  Jak turned to regard Nikalys with haunted eyes.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Remember what Father used to say about Hilltop?” Imitating father’s voice as best he could, Nikalys said, “The air in Hilltop reeks of conceit.”

  A rueful, sad grin spread across Jak’s lips and he mumbled, “Yeah, I remember.”

  His gaze shifted forward, affixing itself to the empty wagon in front of them and the uncomfortable silence returned, broken only by creaking wagon wheels, thudding horse hooves, and mumbled chatter of cart drivers. Nikalys sighed and stared ahead, too.

  After a while, Jak broke the silence. “You truly loved Mother and Father, didn’t you?”

  Nikalys might have stopped in the middle of the road had there not been a moving horse cart behind them. “What kind of question is that? Of course I did. I still do.”

  He wondered what would have possessed his brother to ask such a brainless question.

  Jak nodded, his face filled with anguish. “Sure, I mean, I knew that. I just…” He trailed off and let out a deep sigh, running his hands through his hair. Reaching over, he out his hand on Nikalys’ shoulder and squeezed tight, so tight that Nikalys winced. “Hey, I’m sorry if I’ve been a little glum since last night.”

  Eyebrows raised, Nikalys gave his brother a lopsided smile. “A little glum?”

  “Yeah, I know,” sighed Jak. “I’m sorry.”

  “No matter,” said Nikalys, waving away the apology. “I’m just glad I don’t have to visit the Constables with a sour-faced grump.”

  Smiling, Jak said, “I promise to be full of joy, laughter, and boundless mirth from this point on.”

  Nikalys rolled his eyes. Jak was back.

  A few steps down the road later, Nikalys looked over and asked, “What exactly happened last night? You two were gone for a long time.”

  “Ah…Broedi just wanted to give me some hunting tips.”

  “Hunting tips? That’s the story you’re going with?”

  Jak stared to the north and the shining surface of Lake Hawthorne. “It’s not a story if it’s the truth.”

  Jak was a terrible liar. When they were younger, any time their parents had caught the brothers doing something mischievous, they would question Jak, knowing the quickest way to the truth was via Jak’s fibs.

  Eying his brother’s head, Nikalys said, “Come on, Jak. The truth. What did Broedi say to you to get you all upset?”

  Jak remained quiet, continuing to peer northward, staring at a pair of ships drifting closer to the Hilltop docks.

  “Jak! Answer me!”

  Jak mused, “How many ships do you think come here in a day?”

  Letting out frustrated sigh, Nikalys dropped the topic and faced forward. While it was clear that Jak was not going to tell him, the reason why was not. Yesterday, Jak did not trust Broedi. Today, he was seemingly choosing the hillman over his brother. It was baffling.

  They walked the rest of the way in silence.

  A short while later, the wagon ahead of them slowed to a stop. Peeking around the left side, they discovered they were in a line of halted traffic. Two men in red and black uniforms stood on opposite sides of the road, stopping everyone who was trying to enter the city.

  “Hells,” muttered Jak. “Broedi didn’t mention there would be guards.”

  “What should we tell them?”

  “How about the truth? We’re here to report what happened to Yellow Mud.”

  “No. They might hold us and we’d never make it to the Constables. We could be stuck here for who knows how long.”

  “Good point,” muttered Jak with a frown. After a moment’s pause, he asked, “Do we turn around?”

  “No. We need to report this.”

  “What do we say?”

  “I don’t know. Any ideas?”

  “No. But whatever we come up with, you get to do all the talking.”

  “Me?” asked Nikalys, looking over at Jak.

  “We both know it’s for the best. I’ll say three words and they’ll mark me as a liar.”

  The line was moving quickly. Nodding in agreement, Nikalys said, “Fine, I’ll talk. But about what?” Facing forward, he eyed the Red Sentinel guards, trying to come up with a credible story that would get them past without much trouble. “Hey, what was the name of that soldier who stopped you on the road? The nobleman’s son?”

  Jak thought a moment before answering. “Haynes, I think.”

  Nikalys nodded. “Good.” Only one wagon separated them from the guards. Lowering his voice, he murmured, “Agree with whatever I say. And look threatening.”

  Jak looked over, his eyes filled with uncertainty. “Look threatening? Why?”

  “Just do it,” mumbled Nikalys. “Pretend you’re like the men in The Brown Horse and Cart.” The inn had been where they stayed during their annual trip to Smithshill.

  Jak appeared doubtful, but nodded nonetheless. “Rude and crude. I suppose I can manage that.”

  They went quiet as the wagon in front of them reached the checkpoint. The driver showed a well-worn parchment to the guard on the left. The soldier barely looked at it before waving the wagon past.

  Nikalys and Jak shuffled behind and stopped when the Red Sentinel on the left told them to halt. The man was in his mid-twenties, with deep-set eyes and reddish-brown hair sticking out from under his silver domed helmet. He spoke, his tone emotionless and bored. “Passes, please.”

  Assuming the brutish attitude of a Fallsbottom tough, Nikalys said, “No passes.”

  The soldier looked them over, frowned, and said, “Well, then, you aren’t getting in. Get back to Fallsbottom and wallow in the mud.”

  This was not off to a good start.

  Committing to the show, Nikalys took a step closer to the soldier and said, “Look. I need to get into Hilltop.”

  Grimacing, the soldier said, “I hope to pay a visit to a bath house.”

  Ignoring the insult, Nikalys said, “No. We’re here to talk to someone. A Sentinel by the name of Haynes. You know him?”

  The soldier’s eyes narrowed a bit. “Perhaps.”

  “Yeah, well, he owes us some coin. And he hasn’t paid up.”

  “He owes you coin? How?”

  “He thinks he’s better at knuckles than he is.”

  A smirk spread over the soldier’s face. “That sounds like Haynes. He is—” He cut off quickly and then shook his head. “Not my problem, that’s what he is. Take your business to him.”

  The other guard was crossing the road, a curious expression on his face as he motioned the traffic behind the brothers to wait. The driver of the next horse-cart shouted something in response, which earned him hard looks from both soldiers. Shutting his mouth, the man settled lower in his seat while muttering to himself.

  The second soldier stopped beside the first and asked, “What’s this about?”

  The first guard pointed at Nikalys and Jak, saying, “They want to see Haynes. Says he owes them a gambling debt.”

  The new arrival beamed. “Does he now? I didn’t know the brat had the guts to gamble with Fallsbottom folk.”

  “He’s got the guts to think he doesn’t have to pay when he loses,” said Nikalys. “He’s had a turn to pay, and today we intend to collect.”

  The second soldier said, “Well, as much as we’d like to watch that, Haynes is on patrol. Come back in a few days. They’ll be back then.”

  “Not good enough,” said Nikalys with an emphatic shake of his head. “I told him that if he didn’t pay up by today, I was going to his father and demand the coin from him!”

  A grin
as wide as Lake Hawthorne spread over the second Red Sentinel’s face. “You want to go to the baron for his son’s gambling debt?”

  Nodding, Nikalys said, “I sure as the Nine Hells do.”

  The guards glanced at one another, chuckled, stepped aside. “Go right on in. Just stop by when you leave. I want to know how red the baron’s face turned.”

  “Agreed,” said Nikalys. He glanced at Jak and nodded at the city. “Let’s go.”

  With a grunt and a nod, Jak followed Nikalys past the amused Sentinels. Once they were out of the guards’ earshot, he looked over and muttered, “You’re a better actor than I.”

  Nikalys glanced over and smiled. “A cow is a better actor than you.” As Jak chuckled at the jest, Nikalys added, “Perhaps I should become a playman.”

  “Sour idea,” said Jak. “You wouldn’t be very successful.”

  “Why not?”

  With a wink, Jak said, “Every playman I’ve seen is handsome.”

  Nikalys grinned and slapped his brother, heading into Hilltop proper for the first time. Two dozen steps in and Nikalys felt like a duckling in a nest of redbirds.

  The men bustling about Hilltop wore dark, loose-fitting pants, shiny leather boots, and brightly colored shirts that were billowy at the shoulder and pinched at the elbow, making the upper arms puffy and exceedingly impractical. The women walked about in long, lightweight dresses, the sashes around their waists a contrasting color to the dress they wore: yellow on cobalt, sky blue on ruby red. The vivid colors were thrice as garish against the bright whiteness of the limestone buildings.

  Jak tilted his head close and muttered, “Quite colorful, aren’t they?”

  Nikalys chuckled.

  They drew stares and a few sneers as they walked the stone-paved street, something neither of them had ever seen. Every road they had traveled was dirt.

  Most buildings were single story with large, multi-paned glass windows and signs hanging over bronze-handled doors. Nikalys eyed the signs as he passed.

  Tena’s Herbalist Shoppe.

  Bredon and Sons Bronze

  Pep’s Clothiers.

  Yellow Mud had never needed signs. People always knew where to go for something.

  Peering down the smaller streets that intersected with the one they walked down, Nikalys spotted taller stone structures, two and sometimes three stories high. While topped with flat plank roofs like the rest, these larger buildings had gaudy, ornate windows and double doors.

  Farther along the main street, they came across the largest building Nikalys had seen in his life. Standing at least six stories high, the edifice had five towering, white square columns propping up a domed roof. Stairs that ran the length of the building’s front led up to a fifteen-foot-tall set of stone doors carved to resemble bookshelves holding giant books.

  The brothers paused to stare at the monstrosity.

  “It looks like it should fall in on itself,” muttered Jak.

  “Do you think that’s the Constable’s Office?”

  “Gods, I hope not. I don’t want to get near that thing.”

  Men and women sat on the steps or strolled around a small plaza, all wearing the same flowing light yellow robe. Every man was bald while the women had their hair cut close.

  “Temple?” suggested Nikalys.

  “Probably,” replied Jak. He smacked Nikalys’ arm. “Come on. Let’s go find the Constables.”

  They strode down the main street, following it north toward the lake, away from the cliff’s edge. A short time later, they stepped onto a sprawling plaza filled with a teeming throng of people. It was the busiest, finest marketplace Nikalys had ever seen.

  A gentle wind drifted from the north, bringing with it the aroma of roasting meats and herbs along with the sweet, intoxicating fragrance of fresh flowers. A white stone fountain of a woman cradling a wolf pup stood in the middle of the plaza, water flowing from the animal’s mouth. Dozens of stands filled the space, each with a colorful cloth awning. Street performers and playmen entertained the crowd, juggling, dancing, reciting poetry, singing songs, and playing instruments.

  A few individuals in the crowd stood out from the others. Nikalys spotted three ijuli standing together, their long arms, spider-leg-like fingers, and elongated faces impossible to miss. He felt a quick flash of anger, thinking of the saeljul from the lake, but he realized these ijuli were of a darker complexions.

  Getting Jak’s attention, Nikalys whispered, “Look. Tijuli.”

  Jak glanced over. “So they are.” Shrugging his shoulders, he said, “Interesting, but not why we’re here. Let’s ask where the Constables are.”

  Nodding, Nikalys looked to the nearest stalls and noticed he and Jak had drawn the watchful eye of the vendors. Picking the least-unfriendly looking peddler, he suggested, “How about him?”

  Jak looked to where Nikalys was staring. “As good as any, I guess.”

  The brothers approached the man’s stand and asked for directions. The rotund man—who was selling fresh-cut, blue honeybells and white tumbleshoots—gave them a queer look, but answered them nonetheless. With a quick word of thanks, they left.

  As they walked away from the flower stall, Jak leaned close to Nikalys. “Flowers? Truly? What a waste of coin.”

  Nikalys shrugged. Some people had more coin than they needed and found pointless things on which to spend it.

  Following the flower vendor’s directions, they crossed the plaza and moved down the flat-stone road on the other side. A short time later, they came to another limestone building, three stories tall with a sun-faded black sign proclaiming “Office of the Constables” in painted white letters. The brothers strode to the single oak door and opened it. As they stepped through the entrance, Nikalys checked that his mother’s necklace was tucked inside his shirt, praying Broedi was right about its magic not being detectable.

  Inside, they found a sweltering, well-lit room. Windows along the building’s front were propped open to let in air, but it was they were not helping. The furnishings were sparse. Six simple wooden chairs, a few of which were occupied, lined the wall to Nikalys’ right. Across the room, on the opposite wall, sat a single table on which a blue vase full of white tumbleshoots rested. Nikalys caught Jak eyeing the flowers, while shaking his head.

  Two men in gray tunics stood behind the counter that ran the length of the room, each one speaking with a separate group of people. Behind the men was a stone wall with two open, wood-framed doorways. Nikalys hoped the sweet odor of incense and fresh flowers hanging in the air would cover up his own unique “traveling in the wilderness for days without a wash” scent.

  As the brothers walked to the counter, one of the men in gray glanced up, eyeing them with obvious distaste. Without saying a word, he pointed to the chairs placed against the wall. Taking the man’s meaning, they moved over and sat next to an older woman in a yellow dress with a light green sash. Nikalys offered her a friendly smile as he collapsed in his seat and received a huffy frown in return.

  A short while later, one of the men behind the counter finished with the man and woman with whom he was talking. As the couple left the counter, the now-free man in gray called, “Next, please.”

  The old woman in the yellow dress, her white hair pulled tight atop her head, stood and strode to the counter, stopping before the balding man.

  The Constable gave the woman a polite smile and asked, “How can we help you today, Lady Uberts?”

  In a voice as crisp and firm as a perfectly ripe grape, the woman announced, “I am here to report the dastardly use of magic near my home last evening.”

  Nikalys’ ears perked up. Sitting taller, he exchanged a worried look with Jak.

  Oddly enough, the man behind the counter did not seem to share their concern. In an almost bored tone, the man asked, “And what happened this time, my Lady?”

  “Well. Yesterday afternoon, I was supervising my seedsman in the garden as he attended to my shortbud roses—that man’s hands are like a
horse’s hooves—when Lady Therrbur wandered by and commented that my roses seemed to be wilting. I was quite polite to her, I assure you, but that woman was born sour. She is still jealous of my roses besting hers in last festival’s show.”

  Nikalys wondered what this had to do with dastardly magic use.

  “This morning, when I went to check on my roses, I found every bud withered and brown!”

  “I see, my Lady,” said the Constable. “And how does this concern us?”

  “It concerns you because Lady Therrbur came by in the cover of blackness and, using magic, withered my roses! I demand you detain her and investigate!”

  Nikalys bit his lip in order to stifle a laugh. Jak tried to hold in his amusement, too, but when he saw his brother struggling against a smile, a small chortle escaped. In the quiet office, Jak’s outburst was as noticeable as if someone had dropped a clay pot.

  Both Lady Uberts and the man in gray turned to stare at them. Jak covered his mouth with a hand and stared out one of the windows. Contrite, Nikalys raised a hand in apology and tried to stop smiling.

  Looking back to Lady Uberts, the Constable said, “Thank you for bringing this to our attention, my Lady. I will record your account and provide it to one of the Trackers.” He pulled out a small piece of parchment and began to scrawl on it. “They will follow up with you.”

  Glancing at the paper on which the man was scribing, Lady Uberts asked, “Do you need my place of residence?”

  The man glanced up. “We have it from you other reports, thank you.” Looking back down, the Constable continued to write—especially slowly, it seemed to Nikalys—while Lady Uberts watched every word he scribbled. After a moment, he looked back up. “I believe I have everything I need.”

  “Hmm?” muttered the noblewoman. “Ah, well. Yes. Of course. See to it that something is done this time.”

  With a curt nod, Lady Uberts spun around and left the office, giving Nikalys and Jak one last disdainful look before walking out. The quick burst of fresh air when the door opened was welcome.