Progeny (The Children of the White Lions)

by Kaelin, R. T.

  Howling in fear, bullockboars began to scatter just as the charging Sentinels crashed into their flank. The northern section of the hill became a tangled mess of men, horse, oligurts, bullockboars, and two fibríaals of lightning.

  Sensing the orange of Fire, Kenders shifted her attention back west. Her eyes went round.

  A sphere of flame the size of her home in Yellow Mud was speeding through the air, charring trees it engulfed as it flew up the hill. Just before it reached the first line of fortifications, Kenders reached out, grabbed a number of the Strands within the globe, and unraveled the Weave. The fire dissipated in an instant, blasting the Sentinels with a blast of hot, dry air.

  Looking down the hill, she finally spotted Jhaell and the oligurt mages marching behind the rest of the host. As she glared at the ijul, the Sudashian mages crafted another colossal ball of fire and sent it flying up at her. Wearing a tiny smile, she immediately unwound the Weave. As the globe of flame disappeared with a great whoosh, she noticed something about arrangement of the Strands.

  Her smile grew a fraction. She said a silent prayer the Desert Fire mages would try again. They obliged by sending two burning spheres her way. The pair of fireballs sizzled, rolling through the air toward the Sentinels. Instead of instantly unraveling them though, she let the fire fly.

  Oligurts had breached the first line of fortifications on the southern side and were pouring through a gap. Only fifty paces of open ground stood between the Sentinels and dozens of grayskins.

  Kenders waited until the fireballs were above the breach, and then reached into the tangled Strands, twisted the pattern, and yanked. The two balls of fire changed course, dropping straight down on top of the oligurts, roasting dozens of the enemy on impact. The flames must have been especially hot as they managed to set the rain-soaked fortifications on fire. Thick, black spewed into the sky.

  The fireballs stopped after that.

  Scanning the hill, she spotted other sections of the branch-and-log barriers failing. Her stomach clenched when she saw some oligurts had already reached the northern section of Sentinels. Close quarters combat was underway, the soldiers’ bows and arrows discarded and replaced with swords and shields.

  Skirmishes quickly broke out all along the line. Sergeant Trell, no longer shouting orders, was with his men, fighting the oligurts himself, his sword flashing in the sunlight. Nikalys was dashing around the battlefield, slicing and stabbing as many oligurts and razorfiends as he could reach. Yet even with his skill and speed, he could not singlehandedly stave off the Sudashian assault. There were simply too many of them.

  Nundle had been reduced to using quick, simple bolts of Charge to repel some of the enemy, trying to strike down as many oligurts as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, most of his Weaves were being undone by the Desert Fire Mages before they struck their intended target.

  Whether or not an order had been given, the group of horsemen on her left charged headlong into the crowded mess of oligurts and razorfiends, punching a hole in their line briefly before the Sudashians swarmed the Sentinels.

  Mimicking the same Weave of Air that Nundle had used against the first wave of razorfiends, Kenders began to lift Sudashians into the air and toss their flailing bodies back down the hill. She had flung a dozen away before her Weaves stopped working. As soon as she would pick up a foe, the pattern fell apart, letting the monster drop straight back to the ground.

  The hopelessness of their situation set in.

  “We’re losing…”

  Oligurts bellowed, swinging their spiked clubs with abandon, smashing men to the ground. Razorfiends leapt about the hill, blades outstretched to slice any blue and gold clad soldier that they could reach. Urazûd, no longer leading the charge, stood on the hillside with a crooked, evil grin affixed on his face. Jhaell stood beside the demon-man, his long arms crossed, his expression one of joyful anticipation.

  She stared at him, the memory of hiding beneath the yellow-leafed bush and watching the ijul atop the bluff overlooking Yellow Mud washing over her. The remembered anger of that moment shoved aside her despair. A surge of resolve exploded inside of her.

  Kenders set her jaw. If she continued to remain cautious, she would die. They all would.

  Drawing her beltknife, she glared at Jhaell and—bypassing any attempt to weave the Strands properly—willed that the saeljul was standing with her.

  She wanted him here.

  Beside her.

  Now.

  Strands popped into existence around her—thick, pure black mixed with brilliant, glowing silver—fully arranged in an incredibly complex pattern. She tottered on the hillside as a wave of bone-weary fatigue rushed through her. Her eyelids drooped shut against her will. She wanted to lie down and sleep for a week. Her knees began to buckle when a whispered word of angry determination slipped from her lips.

  “No.”

  She refused to faint and compelled her eyes to open. Jhaell Myrr stood a few paces from her, glancing around with his wide ijulan eyes.

  “How did you do that? That Weave is imposs—”

  He cut off as his gaze locked on the knife in her hand. His eyes narrowed and he took a few quick steps backwards. Puffs of acrid black smoke from the burning fortifications below drifted between them.

  Afraid that if she used the Strands again, she would pass out, Kenders advanced toward him, lifting the knife up despite having no idea what she was doing with it. She took two steps, stumbled, and almost fell.

  Noticing her wooziness, Jhaell smiled a wicked, wide grin. “You are not as strong as you appear, are you?”

  She hissed, “I’m strong enough!”

  “You weren’t strong enough to save your village.”

  Rage saturated Kenders’ soul, overwhelming any rational thought.

  “Ahhhh!”

  She rushed the ijul, lifting the beltknife over her head when she felt the crackling of Water and Air. Blinded by fury, Kenders did not react quickly enough to repel the blue and white Weave he tossed at her.

  Suddenly, inexplicably, her mouth was full of water. She tried to spit it out, but could not. Panicking, she stumbled to a stop, dropped the knife, and instinctively grasped her throat. Her eyes went wide as she realized the water sloshing in her mouth filled her throat and lungs, too. She fell to the ground, collapsing to her hands and knees. She sensed a Weave of Air covering her nose and mouth, but could not focus enough to unravel it. Her chest burned inside. She was drowning, only moments from passing out and dying.

  Her braid fell to the side of her head and draped before her. Through tear-blurred eyes, she stared at the crimson cord binding her hair as it danced back and forth with each jolting, silent hack.

  A single, whispered word slipped from Jhaell.

  “Syra…”

  The barrier over her lips disappeared. Jets of water exploded from her mouth and nose. Deep, hacking coughs wracked her chest.

  A soon as she could, Kenders lifted her head, wondering why Jhaell had released the Weave. The ijul was staring at her, his eyes vacant. The maliciousness was gone from his face. He almost looked sad.

  She did not understand the sudden shift in attitude, nor did she care. She reached for Charge, swiftly knitted a simple Weave, and lashed out with it. A hissing bolt of lightning leapt toward Jhaell and struck the saeljul in the left shoulder, spinning him around and tossing him to the ground.

  As Kenders continued to choke up water while keeping an eye on Jhaell, Nikalys’ panicked voice rose over the din of battle.

  “Jak! No!”

  Kenders whipped her head around and peered down the slope.

  Jak rode at the head of twenty horsemen thundering across the hill, his sword over his head and mouth opened wide in a battle cry. Zecus was at his side, sword out and screaming as well. Kenders’ gaze shot across the hill to rest upon their apparent target, the demon-man. Seeing the charge, Urazûd turned toward the horsemen, lifted his massive sword, and loosed a roar of challenge that filled the hillsid
e, his voice echoing with a strange, throbbing power that she felt more than heard.

  “Gods, Jak, no!”

  She was about to watch her brother die.

  Without warning, a wall of solid air slammed into her, lifting her from the mud, and tossing her back a dozen paces. As she crashed to the ground, the back of her head sunk into the mushy mud, but ricocheted when it struck the solid rock just below the surface. She let out a short, sharp cry of pain.

  Lying on her back, she cracked her eyes open. Everything was blurry. Tasting blood in her mouth, she ran her tongue around and found a gash on the inside of her cheek. She slowly lifted her head from the mud, blinking, trying to clear the webs choking her thoughts.

  Jhaell was upright and was moving toward her, clasping his shoulder with his long, thin fingers. Bloody, charred flesh peeked out from beneath his smoking shirt. The hateful glint in his eye was back.

  Kenders needed to do something, but the blow to her head and the image of Jak rushing to his doom made it difficult for her to concentrate. Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back into the mud as despair returned with vengeance. Jak must be dead by now.

  As she lay there, listening to Jhaell grunting in pain as he shuffled closer, a wholly unexpected sound filled the air, mixing with the clamor of the yelling, screaming, and fighting.

  Cheering.

  Joyous, relieved cheering.

  She listened, thoroughly confused. The voices fueling the jubilation were not oligurts or razorfiends. It was the Sentinels. She clearly heard Sergeant Trell’s voice among the shouts.

  A hawk’s piercing cry sliced through the air.

  When she opened her eyes to look at the sky, she found Jhaell standing over her yet staring downhill, an angry scowl spread across his face. Peering down at her, he said with disdain, “They’re too late to save you.” He bent down and started to reach for Kenders face.

  Smacking his hand away, she growled, “Don’t touch me!”

  Jhaell’s sneer turned vicious. She felt a flicker of white and suddenly both arms were pinned flat to the ground. As she gathered her wits to try to unravel the Weave of Air, Jhaell bent down again with his long fingers outstretched.

  “Leave me alone!” she screamed, watching as he reached for her hair. He grabbed her braid, ripped the crimson cord from it, and tossed it aside.

  Managing to gather her thoughts, she reached out and unraveled the Weave of Air holding her to the ground. As the pattern fell apart, she felt Jhaell reaching for Void and Air. It took her a moment to recognize the black and white pattern as the one he had tried to use earlier against Nikalys. He was weaving a port.

  She lifted a leg and tried to kick him, but she had no strength. Jhaell grabbed her foot and shoved it to the side. She tried to sweep his legs from under him, cracking her shin into his ankle. He stumbled yet kept his balance, although the blow broke his concentration as the Weave fell apart.

  “Beelvra!” He glared at her, growling, “Hold still and die!” He dropped suddenly, driving a knee into her stomach.

  Her eyes went wide as every bit of air in her lungs burst from her lips. She lay there gasping, trying to breathe, as Jhaell rose to his feet and began to weave again. Weak, weary, and wheezing, it was all she could do to bat aside the Strands as he pulled them to the pattern. They struggled, tugging the strings in opposite directions. Jhaell was an accomplished mage, however, and was able to knit the Weave faster than she could unravel it. She had no way to measure how long she fought against him. Time was flowing incredibly fast or had slowed to a halt.

  As Jhaell neared completion of the Weave, he stared down at her, triumphant. He was going to win today, and everyone on this hill was going to die. Herself included. It did not matter that she was the Progeny, that Indrida had foreseen her leading the charge against the god of Chaos. This was Kenders’ fate. The words of the prophecy were simply that. Words.

  The throb of despair turned into a soul-aching misery. A scream of anger and anguish shot from the deepest depths of her soul, tearing at her throat as it burst forth.

  “Aaaaaahhh!”

  She was determined to fight until the moment Maeana claimed her soul. She clawed at the Strands, ripping at them, yanking them from Jhaell. She would not quit. She refused to quit.

  Suddenly, Jhaell stopped weaving. The Strands stopped coming.

  Lying in the mud on the hillside, Kenders reached into the unfinished pattern and pulled at the center of the Weave. The tangle of Strands fell apart and the Void and Air faded.

  Shifting her gaze to Jhaell, she found the ijul’s eyes impossibly wide, his lips parted in a silent scream. Sticking from his chest was the shimmering Blade of Horum. Blood swelled from the wound, the crimson blooming over Jhaell’s tan shirt like a spring flower.

  Jhaell dipped his chin and stared down at the tip of the white blade. He reached down, wrapped his long fingers around the sword, and tugged at it as though he could somehow pull it free. Instead, the clean, white metal retreated slowly, back into his chest, slicing open his hands and fingers as it went.

  After the blade disappeared, a stumbling Jhaell turned to face his attacker.

  Nikalys stood there, pointing the sword’s tip at Jhaell’s torso.

  “Don’t move.”

  Kenders barely recognized her brother. The hard glint in his eye. His readied and tense posture. The twitching muscles in his jawline.

  Jhaell lurched forward a bit, no longer graceful, and reached out to Nikalys. “You don’t understand.” He reached to his hip, grabbed a dagger’s handle, and pulled it free. Nikalys did not see the knife as his eyes, burning with red-hot hatred, remained locked on the ijul’s face.

  As Jhaell began to bring his arm up to plunge the dagger into Nikalys’ gut, Kenders shouted, “Nikalys!”

  She had already had lost one brother today. She would not lose another.

  She stared at the dagger and wanted it gone, anywhere but in Jhaell’s hand. A small Weave pure black and white popped into existence, surrounded the dagger, and, with a soft pop, the knife disappeared. The expected tiredness filled her but she did not care.

  Jhaell’s empty hand struck Nikalys’ stomach and bounced off. He dropped his head to stare down at his bloody palm just as Nikalys plunged the Blade of Horum into his chest. The shining white blade ripped through the ijul’s back, paused briefly, and then retreated, twisting as it went.

  The saeljul staggered a few steps down the hill before collapsing to the mud and leaves. He landed with a soft squish, his head turned toward Kenders. His eyes were vacant, still, lifeless.

  From somewhere in the woods came the piercing shriek of the Soulwraith, carrying with it a tone of relief. As the cry faded away, she looked up to find Nikalys standing over her, the Blade of Horum at his side. He was staring into the western woods, listening to the final echoes of the Soulwraith’s call of deliverance.

  As he turned to stare down at her, fear and concern filled his eyes. Crouching beside her, he asked, “Are you hurt?”

  Her head throbbed, her stomach hurt, and she had yet to catch her breath, but she was alive. “I’m fine.” Blinking repeatedly, she stared into the heavens above. The clouds had completely broken up and were colored rose by early dusk. Rolling her head to the side, she looked at the lifeless body of Jhaell.

  “You did it, Nik.”

  “We did it.”

  Beyond Jhaell’s corpse, further down the slope, she spotted the Sentinels’ blue and gold uninforms and tried to stand. Jhaell was dead, but there was still a battle going on. The Desert Fire mages were still out there somewhere and she needed to make sure they did not hurt anyone.

  Nikalys placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, restraining her. “Relax. It’s over.”

  “Over? What do you mean it’s over?” As he helped her to a sitting position, her eyes shot open. “Jak!” Pushing Nikalys aside, she scrambled to her feet. The moment she stood, her head felt thick and heavy, the forest began twirling around her. She shut her eye
s and grabbed Nikalys’ shoulder for support. Her stomach lurched.

  “The brave fool’s fine,” said Nikalys. “Zecus, too. They’re out there somewhere with Broedi.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Along with—if I had to guess—some of the Shadow Manes.”

  After taking a steadying breath, Kenders opened her eyes and scanned the western slope. At least two hundred men and women on horseback filled the hillside, all in mismatched clothes and armor. A few of the Sentinels rode with the new arrivals, across the battlefield and down the hill, chasing down the fleeing oligurts and razorfiends.

  Kenders watched the scene for a few heartbeats before muttering, “I’m a little confused, Nik.” Her gaze settled on a one body in particular that lay on the hill. Two spiraling, black horns rose from the corpse’s head. Urazûd was dead. “Make that very confused.”

  “Me, too,” said Nikalys as he stood.

  “How did this happen? How did they find us?”

  “I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. We’re alive and the Sudashians are on the run.” He stared at her. “Are you sure you’re feeling fine?”

  “I said I am.”

  “Well, if that’s the case…” He trailed off, his expression darkening as he peered downhill again. “Do you think you can help Nundle?”

  Kenders looked down the hill again and spotted Nundle kneeling beside a blue and gold clad body amidst what was a pile of razorfiends, oligurts, and men. Injured soldiers up and down the line were crying out in pain. With the fog beginning to clear from her head, she realized that she could feel and see the verdant Strands of Life hovering near the tomble. Without saying a word, Kenders pushed away from Nikalys and scampered down the slope as quickly as her pounding head would allow.

  The army of the White Lions needed her help.