Progeny (The Children of the White Lions)

by Kaelin, R. T.

  Broedi grunted, “Uelag garok Ohraeg—” He cut off, tilted his head to the side, and then turned to stare into the mist. After a moment, he released the oligurt and stood, peering over Zecus’ head and into the trees.

  Zecus swiveled around to stare into fog. He saw nothing. He was about to ask Broedi what he was looking at when he heard a mix of growls and snarls emanating from the trees. Nikalys entered the clearing, pulling the reins of an uncooperative bullockboar. The hideous beast dwarfed the soldiers’ shying horses, yanking and jerking its head in all directions in a futile attempt to free itself from Nikalys’ iron grip. The great warrior held tight, however.

  “I found this thing tied to a tree a little ways off,” Nikalys said through gritted teeth. Even with the strength granted by a god, it strained him to hold this massive beast in place.

  Broedi ordered, “Hold it there, uori!” Nikalys nodded and stopped at the edge of the clearing. Looking back down at the oligurt, the White Lion rumbled, “Kuurag ugruthil yurgh hurgard?”

  Her eyelids drooping, the oligurt sneered, “Thargh, tuhka kotiv-aki!” Her gray skin had turned pallid. She did not look well.

  Broedi sighed, moved to Kenders, and asked, “May I have your beltknife?”

  Kenders drew the dagger from its sheath and handed it to Broedi, her eyes brimming with unspoken questions.

  Instead of turning back to the oligurt as Zecus expected, Broedi began to march toward the bullockboar purposefully, beltknife in hand.

  “Hold its head to the ground, uori!”

  Nikalys wrapped the leather straps around his forearm, shortening the length of the reins, and kneeled low, effectively pinning the snarling bullockboar’s head to the forest floor. As Broedi reached the creature, he lifted the blade up, preparing to sink it into the pink and black skin on the neck.

  The oligurt shouted, “Shurr hurgard rog!”

  Zecus—everyone, truthfully—jumped, startled by the outburst. Broedi halted his strike. Knife still raised, he looked back across to where the oligurt lay.

  “You will answer my questions, she-gurt. In Argot. Or your hurgard dies now.”

  Zecus looked back to the oligurt. Fear filled her eyes and she stared at her mount.

  “Agreed.”

  Broedi lowered the knife to his side, whispered something to Nikalys, and then returned. After handing the knife back to Kenders, he crouched beside the oligurt again.

  “Your clan is shamed, she-gurt. You dropped your eyes, yet you do not submit to me.”

  “You are not one of us,” snarled the oligurt. “I owe you nothing.” Her words were slurred and muddled. Zecus wondered if it was due to the arrow-gash in her cheek or the loss of blood.

  “You owe me answers. And you will give them else I will slice open your hurgard and force you to watch it bleed before you pass to Maeana’s arena.”

  “What do you know of the great arena, tuhka kotiv-aki?” growled the oligurt.

  “You are mistaken,” rumbled Broedi. “I am not tuhka kotiv-aki. I am without a tribe. I choose my own path. You, however, do not.” He paused before asking, “Am I wrong?”

  The oligurt glared at the White Lion, remaining silent.

  Zecus spared a glance at Kenders and Sabine and found them as absorbed by what was happening as he was. Beyond the young women, Zecus saw that Sergeant Trell and the tomble had arrived to stand with the rest of the soldiers some distance. Everyone seemed content to let Broedi handle this situation as he seemed to know great deal more about oligurts than anyone else here.

  “Is Urazûd your Ohraeg?” asked Broedi, shifting his weight. “Your ruler?”

  “Yes,” growled the oligurt, her tone weaker than before. “The danurgalak leads us.” The rush of oncoming death had robbed the oligurt’s voice of its strength. Only Broedi, Zecus, Sabine, and Kenders could hear her speak.

  Frowning, Broedi rumbled, “Why does your clan follow a danurgalak?”

  With an angry, bitter sneer, the oligurt growled, “Because we must.”

  “Why must you?”

  The oligurt dropped her head to the needles and leaves. “The choice…is not ours…” Her eyes fluttered shut. She was not long for the mortal world.

  Clearly recognizing that, Broedi asked the most important question of the moment.

  “How many of you are here?”

  The oligurt began to shake. For a moment, Zecus thought she was going into her death throes before he realized the beast was chuckling. The laughing morphed into choking as frothy blood bubbled from her lips, spurting into the air with each hack.

  “How many…?” repeated the oligurt. Through the gagging, she managed to lift her head, open her eyes, and grin over her blood-smeared yellow tusks. “More than you.”

  His voice turning harsh, Broedi demanded, “How many, she-gurt?”

  A touch of defiance returned to the oligurt’s eyes as a cruel sneer spread over her lips.

  “Rolgluth.”

  The muscles in the oligurt’s face twitched a few times. She muttered the strange word again.

  “Rolgluth.”

  Her head fell back to the ground and she drew her last breath. The previously fierce, black eyes went vacant. Air wheezed from her throat as Maeana claimed her.

  A few quiet moments passed before anyone spoke.

  “Broedi?” mumbled Kenders. “What does ‘rolgluth’ mean?”

  Broedi remained crouched, unmoving.

  In a louder, more insistent voice, Kenders said, “Broedi! What does ‘rolgluth’ mean?”

  The hillman peered up to her, his eyes haunted. He sighed before quietly murmuring, “Hundreds.”

  The great lion stared north.

  “It means hundreds, uora.”

  Chapter 63: Night

  Broedi stood as still as a statue, peering into night’s blackness, watching. The air had cooled enough that regular harvest mist had begun to form, making an already difficult task nearly impossible. Sergeant Trell had suggested a cold camp this evening and Broedi had agreed. Fires were a sour idea this night.

  Tiny spots of bluish light dotted the faint vapor blanketing the forest floor. Both moons surely hung in the sky above the ebonwood trees, but branches and foliage blocked all but a few rays of moonlight able to wedge through the thick treetop canopy. The soldiers currently keeping watch with Broedi were lucky if they could see five paces in front of them. Even Broedi could see but twenty-five in the gloom.

  Mostly, he listened, wishing he could shift into the kisa and take advantage of the cat’s heightened senses. However, he did not dare do so. Jhaell Myrr could weave Soul and Will, and Broedi needed both to take any animal form.

  Outwardly, he appeared a picture of calm. On the inside, however, he was a boiling pot of worry. Very little of this journey had gone as he had wished with one difficulty after another presenting itself. Yet he, the Progeny, and this unexpected collection of good souls had overcome every challenge laid before them. He prayed that string of success would continue.

  It would seem the Soulwraith from the Tracker had served its purpose, finding Jhaell and relaying what it knew. And now, a great host of oligurts was traveling through the Southlands, on their trail, and led by the demon-man Urazûd. There was a chance a contingent of Southern Arms might intercept and defeat their pursuers, but Broedi was not counting on it. Typically, oligurt scouts rode within a day’s journey of the main host, meaning the Sudashians had made it to the cover of the Blackbark Forest unchallenged.

  A frown spread over his lips. Logic told him that Urazûd, Jhaell, and the Sudashians were near. His extra sense from Thonda confirmed it.

  After the second scout died, he had spoken with the group. As was typical, their questions outnumbered his answers.

  Sergeant Trell wanted a more accurate count of their enemies’ number.

  Nundle worried if oligurt mages were with them.

  Zecus asked if there were razorfiends as well. Or mongrels.

  Sabine wanted to know if they could mak
e it to Storm Island before they were found.

  Nundle wondered if a limit existed to the number that Jhaell could move in a port.

  Sergeant Trell wanted to know what type of tactics he could expect from oligurts.

  They lobbed question after question at him, all of which he would have happily answered if he could.

  Throughout the firestorm of questioning, the three Isaac siblings had remained solemn and quiet. He suspected knowing that the person responsible for the destruction of Yellow Mud—and their previous life—was so near had caused a fresh surge of emotions.

  While they debated the best course of action, Broedi had the Sentinels slay the oligurt’s hurgard—or bullockboar, as Zecus had called it. He loathed killing any beast, but the hurgard would be a terror to the people of the Blackbark Forest if freed. Hunsfin and Blainwood reported that they, along with a handful of other soldiers, had already encountered the other scout’s mount tied to a tree and had disposed of it.

  Their company had not taken the trouble to try to bury or hide the bodies of the oligurts or their mounts. Any capable scout—and oligurt scouts were very good—would have been able to find the evidence of the fight anyway. The time would be better spent putting as much distance as possible between themselves and their pursuers. Sergeant Trell had ordered a much tighter formation for the soldiers, and the company had set off at a quick pace.

  Throughout the day, every branch that cracked sent a ripple of alarm through the group. Soldiers rode with bows in one hand and arrows in the other.

  Broedi reached up to rub his eyes and allowed himself a quiet sigh.

  Storm Island was still a week away. No amount of hurried marching would get them to the enclave before their pursuers caught them. Unfortunately, Broedi had no means by which to contact the enclave for help. As the day went on, try as he might, he could not come up with a plan that would enable them to evade Jhaell Myrr.

  The ijul was coming, and coming fast. He would find Broedi’s group and try to kill the Progeny. After which, the god of Chaos and the Cabal could do as they pleased.

  When Broedi had quietly shared his gloomy conclusion with Sergeant Trell, the soldier had agreed with his assessment. The sergeant had then aggressively questioned Broedi on the terrain of the Blackbark Forest, looking for any place that might offer a tactical advantage against an opponent with greater number of soldiers. Broedi did not know this area of the forest well, but he did know of a lone, large hill about a day’s ride due east. The mount loomed over the road that ran south from Masons Bay to the land bridge leading to Storm Island.

  The pair reluctantly agreed that it was as good a place to make a stand as any.

  Unable to reach the hill by nightfall and not wanting to stumble about in the dark, they had stopped for the evening with the camp under orders to remain dark, silent, and alert. The Red Sentinels had obeyed without question. Broedi had barely heard a whisper since darkness gripped the forest.

  A soft rustling of leaves and pine needles behind him sparked a flash of alarm before a familiar scent wafted over him. Admonishing himself for letting his mind drift, he forced himself to relax. Everyone was on edge, including himself. No matter what, though, he could not let any of them see how nervous he was. Especially the children.

  “It’s me, Broedi,” whispered Kenders.

  Keeping his tone quiet and calm, he rumbled, “I know, uora.”

  He listened as Kenders moved closer, each hesitant footstep crunching against the forest floor. Forcing his tone to remain light, he whispered, “You make as much noise as a wounded horse walking on crushed sea shells.”

  In an annoyed, hushed whisper, she said, “If I could see, I might pick my way better.” She slipped around to stand on his right and faced the same direction as he was. He doubted she could see much more than a few paces in front of her.

  Without looking over, he rumbled, “I am surprised you found me.”

  “It was not easy,” murmured Kenders. “Gods, but I wish there were a Weave to help me see in the dark.”

  “There is,” replied Broedi softly. “’Are, actually. Especially for a gifted mage like yourself . You could use Fire—or Charge—to create a ball of light. It could hover with you, or you could bind it to a stick or pole. A more complex Weave of Life, Soul, and Charge could grant the ability to see in the dark. Much like a cat.”

  “Is that how it works for you, Broedi? When you’re the lynx?”

  Only after he shook his head did he realize there was a good chance she might not see it.

  “No, uora.”

  “How is it you have such tremendous eyesight, then? And hearing?”

  “And smell. My sense of smell is much better than yours.”

  “Is that something that all hillman have? Nundle said tombles’ eyesight is better all of ours—except yours, apparently. Although, even he needs some light to see by.” She paused and giggled quietly before adding, “When I stumbled upon him, he was looking in the wrong direction. Should we be attacked by our own camp, Nundle will be ready.”

  Broedi smiled at the thought and rumbled, “My senses are something I gained once I became Thonda’s champion. I believe the part of him inside of me is responsible.”

  Kenders was quiet for a long moment before asking, “A part of Thonda is inside you?”

  “Perhaps. I do not know for sure. But I do not know how else to describe what I feel. It is…” He trailed off, searching for the correct word. It was not the first time he had struggled to put a name to the sensation. “‘Vomakasti elosa’ is how I would describe it in my native tongue. ‘Fiercely alive’ is as close as I can get in Argot. I have always thought of it as Thonda’s Strand. Before the Assembly, it was not there. After, it was.”

  Again, Kenders was quiet for a few heartbeats before finally responding.

  “Truly?”

  Broedi knew it sounded odd. It had taken him time to get used to the idea himself.

  “Yes, uora.”

  Kenders remained silent, this time, for a much longer period. When she spoke, her voice was strong yet full of curiosity.

  “Does that mean I have a piece of a god in me? I mean, if you have one, I’m assuming my mother did from Gaena. And my father from Horum. Did they pass it to Nik and me? Could they?”

  Broedi looked over and down at Kenders, able to see her profile clearly in the dark.

  “I do not know. The two of you are…unique. Only the Celystiela know the answer to that question.” He looked back into the dark, misty forest and sighed. “And truthfully? I wonder if even they know.”

  Silence stretched out between them. A soft fluttering of wings overhead drew his attention upward. He listened for a moment and concluded it was a small bat, no bigger than his fist.

  Kenders muttered, “You haven’t seen Nikalys or Jak recently, have you?”

  “Actually, I have.”

  The two young men had stumbled past earlier, announcing their well-meaning intention to keep watch. Broedi had thanked them for their diligence and then sent the pair in a direction to keep them away from the camp’s perimeter.

  “How long ago?” pressed Kenders. “They missed eveningmeal.”

  Hearing the worry in her voice, Broedi smiled. “Not long. I am sure they are safe.” He hoped he was right

  “Oh. Well…good, then.”

  “Was that the only reason for your visit, uora?”

  “More or less.”

  Another round of oppressive silence filled the forest. A squirrel ran up a tree a few dozen paces to the east.

  “Broedi?”

  He glanced over at Kenders. She seemed reluctant to go.

  “Yes?”

  “Have you given any more thought to what Helene did in Fernsford?”

  Frowning, Broedi rumbled, “Some, uora.”

  The truth was that he had thought about the little girl often. They had been very lucky that the little girl had not exposed them all. Should they escape Jhaell and reach the enclave’s safety, he
would need to speak with Helene. Now was not the time for that, though.

  Kenders muttered, “I’m worried about her, Broedi.”

  The hillman turned to stare at her. “Why is that, uora?”

  “I don’t know,” whispered Kenders. “I just am.”

  Broedi eyed her for a few moments before turning away. Were he not concerned about an imminent attack, he might probe more. For now, he must pay attention to the fog and forest.

  “She has a good soul. She will be fine.”

  “If you say so,” murmured Kenders, shivering.

  “Are you cold, uora?”

  “A bit,” admitted the young woman.

  Broedi reached out his arm and put it around her. There was no need for her to be cold.

  Kenders whispered, “Thank you.”

  They stood in silence again, listening to the muted sounds of the nighttime forest.

  “Broedi?”

  “Yes?”

  “Will they kill us if they catch us?”

  He was unsure how to best respond to the question. After a long pause, he chose the truth.

  “They will try.”

  He felt her take a deep breath and expected her to say something. However, she exhaled and remained silent. Broedi patted her shoulder and stared into the forest.

  Chapter 64: Apples

  “Jak?”

  Sabine made sure to keep her voice low as she stepped through the dark forest, arms outstretched before her. She had already walked headfirst into one tree.

  “Nikalys?”

  The soldier named Bedwin had seen the brothers in this direction, but all she had found to this point was bushes, trees, and fog.

  She kept her back facing the camp as she moved through the forest, knowing that if she veered even the slightest, she might never find her way back in the blackness. Should she get lost, her only true option would be to sit down and wait until morning’s light to find her way back. Sergeant Trell had made it clear they were to be silent.

  She shook her head, muttering, “Why am I doing this?”

  Shortly after making camp this evening, the Isaac brothers announced their intentions to help the Sentinels keep watch. Kenders and Sabine argued they should stay, but they did not listen, moving off to look for Broedi. Kenders remained, sitting with Zecus and Sabine as they attempted to keep Helene distracted from the tension that filled the camp. Hushed conversation during eveningmeal—a cold meal of dried boar meat and fresh apples bought from the Fernsford market—centered on happy moments from their pasts rather than the uncertainty facing them over the next few days.