Progeny (The Children of the White Lions)

by Kaelin, R. T.

  Nikalys listened to the story, but his gaze kept returning to the soldiers’ sword practice. Wil was now practicing against two men at once, using different tactics and form from when he was facing a single opponent.

  “We moved as the whim struck us,” rumbled Broedi. “Other than the odd looks I would receive for being aki-mahet, we were treated as nothing more than traveling strangers passing through. At some point, we came across the road that leads to Storm Island. After some discussion, the three of us headed out to the isle, hoping to find an old friend.”

  With excitement in his voice, Nundle interrupted, saying, “You were looking for another of the White Lions, weren’t you? The Shadow of Ketus? Miriel Syncent?”

  Broedi peered down at the tomble in front of him, admiration in his eyes.

  “For one so small, you hold a great wealth of knowledge.”

  The tomble gave a slight smile and shrugged. A touch of pink bloomed in his cheeks.

  “Thank you.”

  Broedi rumbled, “May I ask how you know that, little one?”

  Nodding, Nundle answered, “The history I read had some details on a handful of the White Lions. It said Ketus’ champion was from the ‘isle of whipping wind and thrashing seas.’ A bit flowery, if you ask me. The author could have just said, ‘Miriel was from Storm Island.’”

  “Regardless, you are correct. Once Eliza’s close friend, she and Miriel had a falling out some years before the outlawing of magic. Eliza desired to put the past behind them. She missed their friendship.” Shaking his head, he let out a long sigh. “Aryn and I argued it was a waste of time. Even if Miriel had returned to her homeland, we doubted we would find her.”

  “Why is that?” asked Sergeant Trell.

  “Ketus’ gift to Miriel,” rumbled Broedi. “She could hide in plain sight in an open field on a sunny day. During the Demonic War, she would walk straight into the thick of battle unnoticed and emerge unscathed. She was the best scout and the luckiest soul Terrene has ever seen.”

  “I bet she was a lot of fun to play placards or dice with,” said Jak with a smile.

  The jest brought a grimace to Broedi’s face.

  “She was not. Many a merchant and nobleman lost tidy sums to her over the years.”

  Pulling his attention from the practicing soldiers for a moment, Nikalys said, “It doesn’t seem to be a very honorable thing for a White Lion to do. Use your gift from a god to win at gambling?”

  Broedi turned a steady eye to him and asked, “Have you lived your life without fault, uori?”

  Confused by the question, Nikalys nonetheless answered honestly.

  “No…”

  “Neither have I,” rumbled the hillman. “We all have flaws. Even the White Lions.” He paused before quietly adding, “Especially the White Lions.”

  Nikalys stared at Broedi in open surprise, realizing he had made a bad assumption. The White Lions may have been grand heroes who had stopped the god of Chaos, but beneath the power and mantle of responsibility, they were simply people.

  The insistent ringing of sword meeting sword pulled Nikalys’ attention back to the soldiers. As he looked back to the men, he caught Sergeant Trell staring at him, eyes intent. Sergeant Trell held his stare for half a heartbeat, then looked to Broedi and asked, “So, did you find her? The other White Lion?”

  “No,” rumbled Broedi. “We found no sign of her, much to Eliza’s disappointment. We did, however, find something unexpected.” A slight smile spread over his lips. “Rather, the unexpected found us. We were spending an evening in small village when a man approached us, named us for whom we truly were, and said he was with an organization that both needed our help and was willing to offer theirs: the Shadow Manes.”

  Nikalys muttered, “The Shadow Manes?” He turned to look at Broedi and stopped, noticing that the sergeant was staring at him again. The man’s gaze was unnerving. It felt like the man was taking him apart piece-by-piece, examining how he worked. Looking away from the soldier, Nikalys peered at Broedi. “What are the Shadow Manes?”

  “At that time, they were a small group of men and women—other races as well—dedicated to keeping the true memory of the White Lions alive. Imagine our surprise when we learned their founder was Miriel, some thirty year prior.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t find her,” mentioned Jak.

  Shaking his head, Broedi said, “We did not. Shortly after the creation of the organization, Miriel disappeared and has never returned. It has been over two hundred years.”

  Nundle asked, “What sort of help did they need?”

  “And offer?” added Jak.

  “Good questions,” rumbled Broedi. “Both of them.” Looking to Jak and Nikalys, he said, “You recall when I told you how we first came to be aware of Indrida’s prophecy? It was the Manes who shared it with us. Shortly after Miriel disappeared, they stumbled upon it and recognized that the fight against Chaos had not ended with the Demonic War. They sought mages as ardently as the Constables did, except their intent was to bring them to Storm Island to teach them the Strands as well as the true history of the duchies, preparing for when Chaos would rise again.”

  With evident skepticism, Sergeant Trell muttered, “I cannot believe that I have never heard of such a group.”

  Wearing a wry smile, Nundle said, “It would not be much of a secret organization if you had, Nathan.”

  “That’s true, I suppose,” muttered the soldier.

  Looking at Nikalys, Broedi said, “Your parents and I had a purpose again. We helped the Manes in any manner we could, scouring Terrene, looking for evidence that Chaos had resumed his or her plans, whatever they might be. Each time we returned, we would find the society larger than when we had left. A town sprouted around the enclave, filled with secret supporters of the Manes. To this day, they go about their lives as normal, remaining ever vigilant for signs of the prophecy, waiting for when they must rise and fight. A little over eighteen years ago, preparations were begun in earnest to gather people of different talents. A child was on the way. The time of the Progeny had come.”

  Nikalys stared at Broedi, realizing what the hillman was saying.

  “Is that where I was born, then?”

  “Yes, uori. Eliza gave birth to both you and your iskoa in the keep.”

  Nikalys supposed he was grateful to have a bit more of his true history.

  “I thought you said when I was a baby, you were discovered and attacked.”

  “We were. Agents of the Nine Hells attacked the enclave shortly before your iskoa was born, somehow breaking through the Weave that keeps the location hidden. Many good people died defending you that day, uori, believing their sacrifice would lead to a better day to come.”

  Nikalys did not know what to say to that. The number of people who had died because of him was not limited to friends and neighbors of Yellow Mud. People he had never met had given their lives for him based on nothing more than the ancient words of a goddess.

  “Shortly thereafter, your parents decided to leave the enclave. They did not want to put the people who had become our friends in any additional danger. While I did not agree with them, I understood their need to go.” Broedi frowned. “Many were upset with me when they discovered I knew of their intent to leave but did not stop them. To this day, some remain so.”

  Jak spoke up, asking, “Do they have an army at the enclave?” A crooked smile spread over his lips. “Because that would be nice considering what Zecus has told us.”

  “No, uori. There is no army. We have but two hundred fighting men at the most.” Turning his gaze to Nikalys, he continued, “But there are people waiting to teach you what I cannot. As time passed, and Aryn and Eliza did not return with you, preparations shifted. The Manes believed you would eventually return as Indrida’s prophecy said you must. They strove to find master mages, experts in the martial arts, teachers of history, literature, philosophy, military tactics, logic, and strategy. Truly, if it were not a secret, it would
be one of the greatest centers of learning in the world.”

  “But it’s not a secret anymore, is it?” asked Nikalys. “The Cabal found it already.”

  “They did,” acknowledged Broedi. “We waited for another attack after the first, but it never came. As I said before, trust among the Cabal is rare. We concluded that those who attacked us had not shared the enclave’s location with others.”

  Shifting his gaze back to the swordsmen, Nikalys asked, “So, now what?” He felt even more overwhelmed. “I’m supposed to go there and what? Study?”

  Broedi let out a heavy sigh and said, “That was the hope, yes. However, based on what we now know is occurring in the Borderlands, we might not have the time. Nevertheless, we will head to the enclave as quickly as we can and try. You should at least be safe there for a time while we discover Chaos’ true plan.”

  With frustration creeping into his voice, Nikalys asked, “And what then? What in the Nine Hells are we supposed to do then?”

  Broedi stared at him and said with complete confidence, “You and your iskoa will become the champions Terrene needs you to be.”

  Nikalys stared at the hillman, shaking his head. He did not care what Indrida’s prophecy said. This was madness. Apparently, he was not the only one to think so.

  “He no champion,” grumbled Sergeant Trell, his voice carried an acerbic edge. The soldier was standing rigid, glaring at Nikalys with critical, disbelieving eyes. “He is a child. They both are.”

  Nundle said quietly, “Nathan, try to understand. This must be a lot for a boy to—”

  “Exactly, Nundle,” snapped Sergeant Trell. “A boy. I don’t care that his parents were White Lions. If this is who we must rely on, then Maeana’s hall will soon be brimming with souls.”

  “Now, hold a moment!” shot back Jak, leaping to his defense. “You don’t know anything about Nikalys!”

  “I know enough, Jak,” barked the soldier. “I know that a turn ago, he was tending olive trees and grapevines. I know that last night, he needed our help to get out of that fort. If not for us, you would be dead. All of you.”

  Nikalys glared at the sergeant. While the man’s statement was true, his tone was unnecessarily malicious.

  Nundle muttered, “What’s gotten into you, Nathan?” The tomble appeared baffled.

  “What’s gotten into me?! For weeks, I’ve followed these people, putting my men in danger simply by being in the Southlands.” Pointing at Nundle, he growled, “Then you put these ideas into my head about a blasted prophecy and how I need to forsake everything to help them. And when we catch these ‘almighty’ Progeny, we end up saving them!” He turned back to Nikalys and shook his head with disgust. “By the gods, does Greya ever have a cruel sense of humor! The fate of the blasted world rests on the shoulders of children!”

  The sergeant’s outburst had brought sword practice to a halt. The soldiers stood still, staring at their leader, weapons hanging at their sides. To a man, they appeared shocked.

  Nundle said angrily, “Remember what one of those children did for your men last night, Nathan!”

  “A fine trick, for sure, but look what happened to her.” He pointed to the prone form of Kenders in the grass. “She helps a few men and then passes out. I wonder if the god of Chaos will let us schedule naps for her during battle? She’s more useless than he his.” He jabbed a finger at Nikalys.

  Sergeant Trell’s harsh, ungrateful words directed at Kenders were too much for Nikalys to take. Glaring at the man, he growled, “Watch your tongue, Sergeant.”

  The sergeant ignored him, shook his head, and said, “I’m done with this! All of it!” Twisting around, he called over his shoulder, “Eadding! Hunsfin!”

  The gifted swordsman Nikalys had been watching stepped forward, accompanied by a man whose face resembled a rocky cliff. The pair hurried over and stood in front of Sergeant Trell, swords in hand and sweaty from practice.

  Sergeant Trell muttered, “Come with me.” With that, he turned and began to stride toward Kenders. Hunsfin followed instantly, while Wil hesitated a moment before hurrying after the sergeant.

  Nundle called, “Nathan! What are you doing?”

  “What I should have done all along!” shouted Sergeant Trell over his shoulder. “Arrest the outlaws and take them back home. I’ll let the Constables sort this out.”

  Incensed, Nikalys glared at spot just beyond the sergeant and his men—

  Shift.

  —and stood before the three soldiers, blocking their path to Kenders.

  “You will not touch her.”

  While the two footmen appeared shocked by his sudden appearance, the sergeant did not. Sergeant Trell took an immediate step another step forward and, lowering his voice, threatened, “Get out of our way.”

  Nikalys placed his right hand on the silver and gold hilt of the Blade of Horum, his fingers brushing the white stone carving of the lion’s head on the pommel. He set his feet into a ready position and prepared to draw the sword.

  “How about all of you get on your horses instead? And ride away. Now.”

  Sergeant Trell gave a loud bark of a laugh and exclaimed, “Or what?” He pointed at Nikalys’ sword. “You don’t know what to do with that. If you did, you would have used it last night instead of a rock.” With a quick flourish, he unsheathed his own sword and leveled the tip toward Nikalys. “Move aside, Progeny.” He twisted the name into an insult.

  Beneath his anger, Nikalys was baffled. When Jak had shared the tale of his meeting with the sergeant on the Southern Road, he had sworn the man to be kind and respectful. Nikalys glanced at the rest of the group. Broedi was restraining the tomble, while Zecus was struggling to hold back Jak. He could not understand why they were not helping him.

  Looking back to the sergeant and his two men, Nikalys said through gritted teeth, “You are not taking my sister from me.” The absolute conviction in his voice, hard as the white steel of his blade, surprised him.

  “Yes,” said Sergeant Trell, his voice firm. “We will.”

  The soldiers on either side of the sergeant began to slide away to the side, giving each of them room to work.

  As Nikalys drew the Blade of Horum from the ornate leather scabbard, the shining white blade flashed in the sunlight, the metal seemingly twisting while still keeping its sharp edges. All three soldiers—even the self-assured Sergeant Trell—gaped at the sword.

  “I will not let you,” growled Nikalys.

  The sergeant pulled his gaze from the sword, glared at Nikalys, and said, “Fine. Have it your way, son. Eadding? Hunsfin? Take him.”

  The older, jagged-faced man on Nikalys’ right rushed immediately, his sword raised high over his head. Hunsfin bellowed as he swung his blade down, throwing his whole body into the attack. Nikalys calmly raised his own sword up in his right hand, blocking the blow and redirecting it to the side where it sailed downward to strike the grassy ground with a soft thunk.

  Nikalys stared, shocked twice over. He had no idea how he had parried the blow or how he had done it with one arm. Hunsfin’s vicious attack should have shattered his bones.

  Hunsfin quickly recovered from the deflection and brought his blade back off the ground, quickly whipping it through the air, aiming at Nikalys’ exposed side.

  Somehow, Nikalys knew the attack was coming and easily dodged it with a quick hop backwards. After the blade passed him by, he stepped forward and reached out with his left hand to shove the man in the chest, intending to knock the soldier off-balance. To his surprise, Hunsfin flew back through the air nearly a dozen paces to land in the prairie grass.

  A slight whistling of air warned him of an attack from his left. Ducking forward, bending at the waist, he sensed a blade fly over his head. Anticipating a reverse follow-up attack, he stuck his shining sword into the air, leading his rise from the impromptu bow, and was rewarded with a solid clang of metal on metal. The gifted swordsman’s blade was right where Nikalys had expected it. Shoving the man’s blade aside, Ni
kalys spun around to face his attacker.

  Wil was already coming at him again, his sword upraised. Nikalys bent his knees, pulled his sword closer to his hip, and easily parried the man’s driving assault.

  Wil withdrew and began to circle to his left. Nikalys remained in place while continuing to face him, entirely aware that he was being drawn into a position to allow the sergeant to flank his rear. He shifted his stance again, holding his blade vertical with the hilt low and centered to his body. It was a better defensive position, although he had no idea why.

  Once Wil had Nikalys between him and Sergeant Trell, he advanced, attacking with a dizzying combination of thrusts, stabs, and cuts.

  Nikalys, in awe of himself, turned each aside with ease.

  Seeing an opening in Wil’s assault, Nikalys reached out, grabbed Wil’s shirt, and spun around, easily dragging the man with him as if he were a half-full sack of flour. As he turned, he spotted Sergeant Trell moving toward him, preparing to strike. He shoved Wil away, causing the man to stumble, backpedaling wildly before he fell to the ground.

  With a yell, Sergeant Trell attacked.

  Nikalys repelled the sergeant’s persistent attacks, flipping the older man’s sword aside effortlessly. Without intentional thought, Nikalys began to advance on Sergeant Trell, using short, swift probing strokes meant to keep the soldier occupied. Despite the sergeant wanting to take his sister, Nikalys did not want to injure anyone unless it was a last resort. He did not want to kill again.

  As he pressed the attack with astounding ease, he marveled how he was doing any of this.

  Two separate shouts cut the air, and at the edge of his vision, he saw Hunsfin rushing him on his right and Wil charging on the left. Nikalys stepped back from the sergeant, set his feet properly, and waited.

  All three men attacked at once, raining blows on him.

  Stabbing and thrusting.

  Slashing and bashing.