Progeny (The Children of the White Lions)

by Kaelin, R. T.

  Jak’s gaze slipped to the scabbard hanging from Nikalys’ hip. Nikalys had taken to wearing the sword once they left the road, although Jak wished he would not. He was a danger to himself and everyone else with the blade. One night, he had drawn the weapon as if to practice with it and had nearly skewered his horse.

  Lifting a hand to shade his eyes from the setting sun, Jak repeated Nikalys’ original question with a dry chuckle, saying, “How’s she doing? Well, let’s see. She nearly set the grasslands afire twice already, she almost burned off my shirt, and I’ve had to chase down Hal twice and Goshen once after a few small explosions. Other than that, she’s doing great.”

  Wearing a slight grin, Nikalys asked, “So, better than normal, then?”

  Jak smiled back.

  “Much.”

  Letting out a heavy sigh, Nikalys plopped down beside him.

  “So, then. Salted rockeye tonight?” asked Jak.

  “Afraid so. Unless you can convince Broedi to turn into the lynx and catch something.”

  Jak sighed. That had not happened in quite some time. The hillman had explained that magic necessary to shift into an animal was more than he felt comfortable using right now.

  Arranging the scabbard on his hip and settling in the grass, Nikalys muttered, “Did she fight him tonight?”

  “Not too much,” said Jak with a small shake of his head. He glanced at Nikalys. “Truthfully, I think she was a little anxious to start this time.”

  When Broedi had first started the nightly lessons, Kenders had refused to work with him, too worried she might accidently do something wrong. Broedi had been patient and, for the first two nights, had Kenders sit across from him and watch while he did small feats with Water and Air. On the third night, Kenders had finally tried herself.

  At the moment, Broedi was speaking softly to her across the fire, quiet enough that neither brother could hear his words. Kenders was nodding quickly, a frustrated scowl on her face, as though he was telling her something that she had already heard from him multiple times.

  Jak shook his head and frowned. He had seen that look a hundred times while growing up in Yellow Mud. Now that she was no longer a reluctant pupil, Kenders’ natural stubbornness was beginning to assert itself.

  Broedi sat back and, a moment later, the fire flared and rose up. Flames shot up from the logs and molded into the shape of the bird again. Spreading its wings of fire, the bird circled the heads of the two mages once before melting away in midair.

  “Him or her?” mumbled Nikalys.

  “Based on how things have been going? Him. The last time he did the bird, she tried and—” A burst of fire flew out a few paces in all directions, interrupting Jak and causing Kenders and Broedi to both scamper back. Jak finished his original thought, sighing, “That happened.”

  Nikalys chuckled as Kenders cursed—none too quietly—to herself. Broedi was up and walking around the campsite, stamping out a few patches of smoking grass.

  Turning to Nikalys, Jak asked, “What about you? Getting any better with your…whatever it is?”

  Nikalys’ expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he muttered, “Not at all.”

  The look on Nikalys’ face reminded Jak of when their father had tried to teach Nikalys how to pick grapes from the vine without bursting any. For a week, Nikalys had ended each day with sticky hands and a scowl. On the day he finally managed to pluck bunches without squishing a single grape, he wore a giant smile all evening.

  Shaking his head, Nikalys said, “Blast it, Jak. Nothing I try is working. Nothing. It’s like trying to grab a handful of smoke.”

  Broedi had been spending time with Nikalys, doing what he could to help, which was little more than tell stories about Nikalys’ blood father. According to the hillman, Aryn had been a master swordsman, using Horum’s gift of speed and strength to move about a battlefield like a frenzied firefly on a dark night. Broedi claimed to have seen Aryn single-handedly cut down a hundred enemies before they had any idea what was happening to them. Those stories, while enjoyable to hear, were not helping Nikalys learn how control the gift.

  Nikalys began gesturing with his hands, trying to illustrate something that made sense only to him.

  “When I get it to work, it’s so easy…I want to be over there and like that—” he snapped his fingers “—I’m there. I almost can feel myself moving, but then again, I can’t.” He glanced at Jak. “Does that make any sense?”

  Jak gave him a look as though Nikalys had just asked if he knew what it felt like to fly through the sky like a bird. He would have liked to help, but he was not really qualified to do so. Instead, he offered a weak, “Keep trying, I guess?”

  Nikalys sighed and nodded.

  “That’s about all I can do.”

  By now, Broedi had extinguished the small fires, returned to his spot across from Kenders, and now was urging her to try again. Even from where they sat, Jak could see the angry, determined look on her face as she stared into the empty air above the fire.

  Nikalys muttered, “I have a bad feeling about this…”

  The campfire’s flames flared as a small bird of fire appeared above it. As the bird took a few beats of its wings, Kenders happily exclaimed, “I did it!”

  The moment she shouted, the firebird rapidly expanded into a ball of flame and exploded, causing both Jak and Nikalys to jump even though they were at a safe distance. The staked horses threw up their heads, whinnying. Both Hal and Goshen’s eyes rolled up, going white. Smoke merely danced sideways a few steps before stopping; the mare was made of stronger stuff.

  The gentle breeze blowing east across the plains quickly carried away the smoke, revealing a stern Broedi speaking to an abashed Kenders.

  Nikalys muttered, “I prefer the Air lessons.”

  Jak grinned wide.

  “Me, too.”

  “Uori!”

  Broedi was waving them over. They stood, brushed themselves off, and strolled to where Kenders and the hillman waited.

  As they approached, Nikalys held his hands up in front of his face, palms outward.

  “Is it safe to come close?”

  Kenders glared at him, grumbling, “If you aren’t careful, I’ll burn your eyebrows off.”

  Nikalys raised said eyebrows.

  “You could try, but with your aim, you might roast Jak instead. I heard you tried once already.”

  Kenders shifted her angry gaze to Jak.

  “What have you been telling him?”

  Jak held up his hands, shook his head, and said, “Hey. Keep me out of this.”

  Frowning, Kenders stared back to Nikalys and asked, “So, great hunter, what did you find for us tonight?” Sarcasm coated her words like ants on a squished grape.

  Nikalys’ mood changed in an instant, his tone turning terse. “Grass, Kenders. Lots of grass. The horses like it so I thought you might, too.” He enjoyed teasing their sister, but rarely handled it well when she did it back.

  “Wondrous!” shot back Kenders. “Perhaps I can stuff some in your mouth to keep it occupied!”

  Jak rolled his eyes. He had witnessed—and participated in—enough of these minor arguments to know this would not end well.

  Sitting in the grass beside his leather bag, packing his pipe full of smoking-leaf, Broedi rumbled, “Uori. Uora. That is enough.” The admonishment was gentle yet firm.

  While Nikalys and Kenders both shut their mouths, they continued to glare at one another. Their sharp moods were simply born of frustration. Given a few moments of quiet, Jak figured they would both realize it and relax.

  Eyebrows raised, Broedi peered at Jak and asked, “Have they always been like this?”

  “That was mild.”

  Broedi’s familiar, slight smile returned as he lit his pipe with a quick, magic flame.

  Nikalys sat down, reached into his own traveling pack, and pulled out the well-worn package of salted fish purchased in Fallsbottom. He took a long, hard, wrinkly piece from it and tossed t
he package to Jak. Catching the package, Jak sniffed it, wrinkled his nose, and tossed it back.

  “I’ll pass, thank you.”

  Staring at his piece of fish, but not taking a bite, Nikalys said, “Broedi, I have a question.”

  “Does the rooster announce his plans to crow when he sees the day’s first sunbeam?”

  Nikalys stared at the hillman, his brow furrowed.

  “Pardon?”

  “Do not announce you have a question, uori. Simply ask it.”

  Wearing a slight frown, Nikalys said. “Fine, then. Why is it I can’t I control my ‘gift?’ Or Aryn’s ‘gift,’ I suppose?”

  With smoke curling from his nose and lips, Broedi sighed, “I do not know. Perhaps because you are young? Or that Horum’s gift was passed to you through blood and not given directly? I do not have an answer. Your father had some trouble at first, as well. We all did, truthfully.”

  Nikalys took a bite of the salty fish and began chewing. Remembering the taste, Jak’s own upper lip turned up, joining his brother’s grimace. The rockeye was truly awful.

  “What about Eliza?” asked Kenders, “Did she have trouble?

  “Yes and no. She had worked with a few types of the Strands before Gaena called her. But her talents required much practice afterwards.”

  “I thought you said she was a servant,” said Nikalys, swallowing his bite of fish and making a face.

  Broedi nodded, puffing on his pipe.

  “She was. To a baron who had the wisdom to keep a court mage on hand.” The hillman turned his head and stared north, continuing to speak. “He found her at a small school for mages in the Colonial Duchy.”

  Jak exchanged a quick look with Nikalys. Broedi had done it again. Despite the hillman’s reassurances that they were free of pursuit, the brief glances to the north had not ceased. If anything, they had increased in recent days.

  Kenders marked the look, too, voicing the question they were all thinking,

  “We’re still not safe, are we, Broedi?”

  He looked back to her, remained quiet for a moment, and then asked, “What do you mean?”

  “The constant looks north?” said Kenders.

  Nikalys said, “I’ve noticed them, too.”

  “We all have,” added Jak.

  Glancing from face to face, Broedi asked, “Have I been that obvious?”

  “Yes, you have,” said Jak with a smile.

  Broedi eyed him, let out a quiet sigh, and nodded.

  “To answer your question, uora, I do not know if we are safe. I would think we should be after so many days. Yet…I cannot help but feel we are being followed.”

  “Perhaps you just need more sleep?” suggested Kenders.

  Jak agreed. Broedi was awake when they went to sleep and the one to shake them from their slumber in the morning.

  “A week of sleep would not shake this, uora. It is a part of Thonda’s gift, a sense that animals have that men and most other races do not. It is what makes a cat’s fur rise for no apparent reason. Or why a dog growls while staring at empty air.” He stared at her. “My worry does not come from lack of sleep. It is why I cannot sleep.”

  “Is it the Trackers, then?” asked Kenders. “Are they still following us?”

  Broedi shook his head.

  “I do not know.”

  “What about the saeljul?” muttered Nikalys. “Perhaps he is still after us?”

  A pensive frown marred Broedi’s stoic expression.

  “I do not know, uori. Perhaps.”

  Jak asked, “Who is he, anyway?”

  Broedi sighed again, heavier this time, and closed his eyes.

  “I do not know.”

  Kenders leaned forward.

  “Do you think he might be one of the Cabal?”

  Broedi’s endless tolerance cracked. Opening his eyes, he glared at Kenders and snapped, “I do not know! I wish I did, but I do not. Every question you are asking, I have asked myself a thousand times. In many ways, I am as blind to this as the three of you are.”

  The edge in Broedi’s voice shocked all three siblings quiet.

  After a few moments filled only with the quiet rustle of the breeze tickling the prairie grass, Broedi closed his eyes and took a deep breath. After he let it back out, he rumbled, “I am sorry, uora.” He opened his eyes and looked to Jak and Nikalys. “You as well, uori. My words were sharp.”

  “Actually,” began Kenders, “I appreciate you being honest with us for once.”

  The hillman’s slight smile returned to its rightful place.

  “I can understand that.”

  Standing with arms crossed, Nikalys said, “You know, if something or someone is following us, I say we just face them and fight. Now.” He waved at the grass. “Here.”

  Both Jak and Kenders turned to gape at him.

  “Are you mad?” asked Kenders, eyebrows raised.

  Pointing to Broedi, Nikalys said, “According to him, we are supposed to stop something bad, right? Let’s just face what’s coming and get it over with.”

  Jak shook his head.

  “Nik, don’t be a fool.”

  “How am I being a fool? I just want—”

  “Stop,” rumbled Broedi, his tone firm and unyielding. “The only thing you will be facing is south on the back of your horse.”

  Glaring at the hillman, Nikalys demanded, “Why? Why not fight now?”

  “Because if it is the Cabal on our heels, they will kill you, your kaveli, and your iskoa, all before you could draw breath to beg for your life. You are not ready to face anything! You are a sapling! To face the Cabal, you must be thousand strong oaks.”

  Nikalys held Broedi’s ardent gaze for a moment before dropping his head to stare at the trampled grass. “I just…” He trailed off, sighed, and looked back up. “If it is the ijul following us, I want him to answer for what he did. That’s all.”

  Jak said, “Hells, Nik. Don’t you think we all feel that way? Broedi’s right, though. The other night, you nearly sliced open Goshen and—” he pointed at Kenders “—she doing her best to set the prairie on fire! You’re not ready!”

  Muscles rippled along Nikalys’ jaw. He looked like he wanted to argue but all he did was mutter, “I know.”

  After a quiet, tense moment skipped past, Kenders turned to Broedi.

  “If it is the Cabal following us, could they truly find us out here? In the middle of nowhere?”

  Chewing on the bit of his pipe as he stared into the campfire, Broedi sighed and shook his head.

  “Yet another question I cannot answer.”

  Nikalys asked, “Could they know where we’re headed?”

  “We must hope they do not.”

  “Care sharing that information with us?” asked Nikalys.

  Broedi pulled his gaze from the fire and peered up at Nikalys through a cloud of pipe smoke, but did not respond.

  “There’s no point in asking,” said Jak. “He’s not going to tell us.”

  Their destination was still a mystery. Each time they asked, Broedi shrugged off the question.

  “I figured that,” said Nikalys, his gaze still on the hillman. “Even though I don’t understand why not.”

  When Broedi continued to remain silent on the subject, Jak said what seemed obvious to him.

  “If we don’t know where we’re going, we can’t tell anyone should we be caught.”

  The hillman’s intense gaze shifted to him.

  “He’s right,” mused Kenders. Looking to Broedi, she asked, “Isn’t he?”

  After a moment, Broedi stood and turned his back to them, looking out over the prairie. Waves of grass lit by the setting sun rippled in the light breeze, reminding Jak of a reddish-gold blanket. They waited for Broedi to answer. He never did. When he did finally speak, it was to relay instructions.

  “Tonight, we keep watch throughout the night. I will go first while the three of you sleep. In order of birth, you three will each take a turn. Go to sleep, please. We move at
dawn.”

  Still quite hungry, Jak nonetheless prepared to sleep for the evening. They all did, mostly in silence. As he lay in the grass, eyes closed, listening to the rustling of the grass, he at first wondered how long it would be before Broedi shook him awake for his turn. As sleep began to claim him, he wondered if hillman would wake him at all.

  Chapter 37: Shadow

  25th of the Turn of Sutri

  Nundle lay on his belly, staring at the soldier’s camp splayed out below him, praying the brush and fading twilight were enough to hide him. The forest had begun to thin out today, leaving few precious trees for him to hide behind. He wondered what he was going to do once all the trees were gone.

  Some type of large, wiggling thing squirmed beneath his shirt where his chest pressed to the dirt. Resisting the urge to jump up and shake the crawly critter from his person, Nundle instead pressed his body down hard until he heard a crunching sound. The moving stopped and Nundle grimaced.

  The road the soldiers and he had been following split below. From Nundle’s perch, he could make out two branches going in opposite directions in the moonlight, both lined with the same thinning forest in which Nundle now hid. He had been laying here since sunset, hoping to glean some idea which direction the group was heading. By the time Nundle reached this fork tomorrow on his horse, the preceptor and soldiers would be long gone in one direction or the other.

  Tents with red and black pennants flapping over them were on the eastern side of the road, outnumbering the tents with the blue and gold flags on the western side by two to one. The two groups of soldiers were working together, yet there did not seem to be much camaraderie between them. Nundle would have made a large bet that even during the day, red and black rarely rode beside blue and gold.

  Cookpots hung suspended over a dozen flickering fires, the light of the flames responsible for the shadows dancing against the canvas tents. Staked horses stood in double rows away from the road, already fed and rubbed down from the day’s ride. Soldiers milled throughout the camp, doing all sorts of things with which Nundle was unfamiliar—soldier tasks, he supposed—following the same routine they had every other night.