Progeny (The Children of the White Lions)

by Kaelin, R. T.

  Zecus was the only one standing. Furthest from the fire and with his back to Nikalys, the Borderlander was staring westward into the night, as if he were keeping watch, waiting for one last charge from the Sudashians.

  Between Zecus and the roaring fire, Nundle lay on his back with his eyes closed, more than likely sleeping. What with his constant feats of magic during the battle and then his tending to the injured, he had to be exhausted.

  Sabine sat on the ground with Helene sleeping in her lap, stroking the little girl’s black hair while softly singing. As Nikalys stared at toddler, he felt a tiny smile touch his lips. Helene was a sweet, funny, and inquisitive little girl for whom Nikalys would give his life. He wondered if this was how a father feels about a daughter or son.

  He lifted his gaze to Sabine’s face and the smile slipped away as a set of confusing emotions swelled inside him. Sabine was clever, brave, and fiercely protective of her sister, all qualities he admired. And her beauty was undeniable. Nevertheless, at times he felt uneasy around her, the image of her slicing the unconscious bandit’s neck flashing through his mind unbidden. As wondrous as Sabine was, something inside her chilled him.

  Sabine met his gaze and gave him a wide, brilliant smile, obviously happy to see him. The grin, like Sabine herself, both pulled him in and pushed him away. He looked away from her quickly without returning her smile.

  His brother and sister were resting near Nundle, Jak sitting upright, his back against an oak trunk and eyes closed while Kenders lie beside him, her head resting on his leg as if it were a pillow. She, too, had her eyes shut, yet her face was taut, tense. Nikalys wondered what was going through her mind.

  Nikalys had yet to say much to either of them since the battle. Jak and Zecus had ridden off with Broedi and the Shadow Manes to hunt down the scattered oligurts and razorfiends while Kenders had been helping Nundle tend to the soldiers. By the time Jak had returned and Kenders was done, Nikalys had already taken up his position before the funeral pyre. Kenders had left him alone entirely, but Jak stopped by once, gave him a silent hug, and then walked away.

  As Broedi and Nikalys stepped into the circle of firelight, Jak opened his eyes a crack and gave the pair a tired smile. “Good, you got him to stop staring at that pile of dead things.”

  Jak’s careless tone bothered Nikalys, his earlier thoughts about the lives he had taken still resonated within him. He almost said something, but stopped short. Such a comment could start an argument. Now was not the time for that. He was too tired. Everyone was.

  Eyeing his brother, Nikalys said, “I’m here now…”

  “Good. I’m glad.”

  Kenders pushed herself from the ground to settle into a sitting position and gave him a tiny, weary smile. “Me, too.”

  Nikalys strode over to an exposed, flat rock between Kenders and Nundle with the intention of sitting on the stone. As he approached, the tomble—apparently not sleeping—murmured, “Please don’t sit on me.” Nundle’s eyes remained closed, his hands folded on his chest. He had removed his hat and was resting his mass of bright red hair on it.

  Glancing down, Nikalys said, “Why not? You’re about the right size for a stool.”

  A tiny smile crept across the tired mage’s lips. “Oh, come now. That’s not very nice.”

  “I’m only jesting,” said Nikalys as he settled on the stone.

  “Of course, my Lord Progeny.”

  Nikalys smiled at the return jab.

  “I deserved that, I suppose.”

  Broedi retrieved his leather satchel and moved to sit on the ground between Jak and Sabine. The camp remained quiet as the hillman reached into the pack, pulled out his bone pipe, and began to pack it with smoking-leaf.

  Nikalys watched him for a few moments before asking, “How do you still have any of that left, Broedi?”

  The hillman smiled his slight grin. “I purchased some more in Fernsford. It is not anywhere near as good as Five Boroughs’ Sweetbush cut, but it will suffice.”

  With eyes still closed, Nundle mumbled, “Everything about the Boroughs is better, you know.”

  “Is it, now?” rumbled Broedi. “How so?”

  “For one, I was never chased across the countryside by demons, oligurts, and razorfiends intent upon killing me. See? Better.”

  The jest earned at least a light chuckle from everyone around the fire, including Nikalys. Smiling felt good. Broedi eyed him across the flames and gave a silent nod. The hillman had been right. This was better than staring at burning bodies.

  The soft laughter slowly faded as a comfortable silence fell over the group.

  Kenders put her head on Nikalys’ shoulder and he wrapped his right arm around her. After a time, Zecus walked over and offered to get the ‘great warrior’ something to eat, but Nikalys turned him away, thanking him without bothering to correct the silly title. He was not hungry. The remembered smell of the burning bodies was still thick in his nose despite the fire nearby.

  For a time, the only sound in the grove was the crackling of the fire, Sabine’s soft humming, and the sounds of digging down the slope. While Nikalys had dozens of things he wanted to ask Broedi, right now, he was content to be silent—and alive—with his friends and family.

  His restful quiet was doomed, however. Too many questions begged asking. As soon as he heard Sabine stop humming, Nikalys knew the respite was over.

  Speaking in a soft, quiet voice, almost as if she were ashamed to be the one to break the tranquility, Sabine murmured, “Broedi…?”

  Nikalys opened his eyes—he did not remember closing them—and regarded the raven-haired woman. Her brown eyes shone bright with the fire’s flickering light.

  Keeping his gaze locked on the flames, Broedi pulled his bone pipe from his mouth. “Please. Ask your question.”

  Sabine sat a little taller, shifting Helene in her lap, and asked, “How do you know I want to ask a question?”

  One side of Broedi’s mouth turned up ever so slightly. “So you do not wish to ask a question?”

  “Well…yes. I do.”

  “Then ask.”

  Sabine’s eyes narrowed a bit. “Fine, then. How exactly did the Shadow Manes find us? Not that I’m complaining they did, but I don’t understand how.”

  “I have one, too,” mumbled Nundle. “How did you know they were coming?”

  Nikalys felt Kenders shift her head on his shoulder as she asked, “And why didn’t you tell us?”

  Nikalys stared at the White Lion and waited. All three questions had drifted though his mind a number of times when standing before the bonfire.

  Without looking away from fire, Broedi let a slow stream of smoke drift from his parted lips before saying, “To be clear, I did not know they were coming.”

  “Pardon?” said Jak He sounded surprised.

  Broedi’s gaze shifted to Jak briefly before returning to the fire. “I did not know they were coming. I thought the chance was good they might, though.”

  Nikalys was no longer restful upon hearing that. He had assumed Broedi had reasons for not telling them the Manes were coming and was content to leave it at that. However, to learn that their arrival had not been assured was more than disconcerting.

  “They weren’t coming to find us?” asked Jak. Now he sounded surprised and disturbed.

  Shaking his head, Broedi rumbled, “No, they were not.”

  Incredulous, Nikalys asked, “We won today because of luck?”

  “Luck?” replied Broedi, lifting a lone eyebrow. He gave a short shake of his head. “No. Luck had nothing to do with what happened today. Or any of the past few weeks.” He placed his pipe back between his lips and took a long draw as everyone else stared at one another in clear confusion.

  Jak said, “I don’t suppose you’d care to explain what you mean by that?”

  With little curls of smoke drifting from his mouth, Broedi said, “Luck is happenstance. Luck is random. Luck dances through life, helping fate to play out its intended course.” He
paused a moment. “The Manes are not here because of luck.”

  Nikalys asked, “Then how did they just happen to be out there at the perfect moment when we needed them? You said the enclave is a week away.”

  “It is.”

  From behind Nikalys, Zecus said, “Then I am confused, great lion.” A tiny frown crossed Broedi’s lips. “How is it they were here to aid us?”

  Broedi pulled his bone pipe from his mouth and stared at it while answering. “I suspect they are here today thanks to a few helpful nudges by someone.” He tilted his head to the side, pondering. “Or rather something. I have never decided how to name them.”

  Kenders sat tall and shook her head. Sounding perturbed, she said, “Broedi, you are making even less sense than usual.”

  “I have to agree,” said Nundle. The tomble had propped himself up on his elbows and was eyeing the hillman with suspicion. “What are saying?”

  A number of frustratingly silent moments passed with a silent Broedi staring at his pipe when Jak muttered, “Water from a blasted rock.”

  The comment drew Broedi’s gaze. “You will have your water, Jak. This rock is merely trying to decide the best manner in which to share it.”

  Jak was quiet for a moment before saying, “So you know about our little saying, do you?”

  “Of course, I do.” He pointed to his ear. “Remember. Good hearing.”

  An embarrassed grimace spread over Jak’s face. “Sorry, Broedi.”

  “Do not be. You are not the first to feel that way about me.”

  Kenders sat forward and said, “Wondrous! While I’m glad—very glad—you plan to tell us, could you speak plainly when you do for once? I’m tired and don’t want puzzle out riddles and half-answers.”

  Nikalys smothered a smile. The impatient, demanding outburst reminded him of the old Kenders.

  The White Lion smiled slightly and nodded. “If you so desire.” His gaze unexpectedly shifted to Nikalys’ left. “Do you not find it incredibly fortuitous you are here, Nundle?”

  “Well, of course.” The tomble pushed himself up further until he was sitting with legs crossed. “I mean, I thought for sure that we were about to be overrun by the Sudashians. We all did, I think.”

  Everyone nodded their heads. Defeat had seemed imminent.

  Broedi gave a short, dismissive wave of his hand. “You misunderstood the breadth of my question. What I mean is: do you not find the sequence of events that brought you, an acolyte of the Strand Academies in the Arcane Republic all the way to this hilltop tonight rather unusual?”

  “I suppose so,” muttered Nundle, a frown on his face. A moment later, he continued with more conviction, saying, “Now that you mention it, it all does seem a little improbable.”

  “A little improbable?” rumbled Broedi. “That is like saying water is a little wet. You happened to be in Jhaell’s office at the right moment to find that letter. You find your way to the duchies where you happen to stumble upon Jhaell and the Sentinels. Then, the sergeant happens to decide to look—”

  Putting his hands up to stop Broedi, Nundle said, “Yes, fine. I see your point. The list of coincidences is long.”

  Lifting a single eyebrow, Broedi asked, “Ah…but what if they are not coincidences?”

  “You promised to speak plainly,” said Jak.

  “But I am. Do you remember the story of the White Lions I shared with you? The true tale?”

  Nodding, Jak asked, “What of it?”

  “The Assembly of the Nine involved themselves in mortal affairs because the threat posed to order and balance was too great to ignore. Yet once the Demonic War was over and Norasim defeated, the Assembly retreated to their seats and temples, leaving us mortals to our own devices. All of us. Including the White Lions.”

  Sabine, keeping her voice quiet, said, “I fail to see how that has anything to do with the Shadow Manes being here at the perfect time.”

  Staring at Sabine, Broedi asked, “No?”

  The elder Moiléne sister shook her head firmly. “No.”

  Broedi looked around the fire, peering from face to face. “I believe some of the Celystiela have deemed our current situation worthy of their involvement again. I think they have been subtly arranging things to aid us as we have made our way south. With their guidance, we were brought together to stand on this hill today. All of us, including the Manes.”

  “Hold a moment,” said Nikalys. “You’re saying the gods brought us here?”

  “More or less,” rumbled Broedi. “Perhaps more for some, less for others.”

  Nundle asked, “Are you saying the choices I made were not mine to make?” He sounded rather disturbed by the notion. Nikalys sympathized.

  “Not at all,” said Broedi. “The choices were yours. All I am suggesting is that you might have suffered a bit of inspiration at opportune moments, gentle nudges to ensure that you were in the right place at the right time.”

  The tomble’s face bunched up. “I don’t know…I mean, how would that even work?”

  Jak mumbled, “The barrel.” Nikalys, along with everyone, turned to look at him. He was staring into the fire, eyes distant. “The barrel I jumped in during the attack on Yellow Mud.” He looked up, his voice gaining strength. “I had given up. I had accepted my fate. Then the idea of hopping in an empty barrel just popped into my head. I remember thinking where in the Nine Hells that had come from.”

  “Taken by itself, I may say inspiration,” rumbled Broedi. “Or perhaps your own cleverness. Each and every event that has brought us together might seem a chance happening, but line them up, one after another?” He shook his head. “Coincidence only goes so far.”

  “What are you saying?” asked Kenders.

  “The Celystiela meddled with countless lives during the Demonic War. I believe they are doing so again. I have thought so ever since the night in the fort.”

  Zecus took a step forward and asked, “Are you suggesting I am here at the god’s urging?” He wore a troubled expression.

  Broedi glanced up at the Borderlander. “I am. In fact, with you, I am convinced of it, Zecus.” He paused and draped his arms over his knees. “What made you leave your family in Demetus?”

  Zecus’ expression turned hard. “I wanted to stop the invaders.”

  Staring intently at the dark-skinned man, Broedi asked, “Yet in the Borderlands, nothing is more honorable than protecting one’s family, is it? Nothing. Why did you leave your mother, brother, and sisters alone? With no money and their safety in doubt?”

  “I am not proud of that.”

  “Of course not. You have a good heart. Learning the kind of man you are has convinced me the Celystiela are interfering again. Would you have ever thought to leave them on your own?”

  Zecus glared at Broedi for a long, quiet moment before answering. “Unlikely.” He looked and sounded angry.

  Nikalys glanced at Kenders and found her peering back at the Borderlander with sympathetic eyes. A second, closer look revealed there was more than simple compassion in her gaze.

  “What about me?” murmured Sabine. “And Helene? Did my father die because the gods meddled?”

  Broedi’s face clouded. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Your fate might simply have crossed paths with ours. I do not pretend to know everything.”

  Sabine’s expression hardened. Nikalys’ uneasy feeling returned as he stared at her.

  Kenders asked, “So, the gods and goddesses are involving themselves. Is this a sweet thing? Or sour?”

  Broedi tilted his head, pondering the question. “Both, I believe.”

  “That’s a half-answer, Broedi,” said Kenders. “Or a riddle. Regardless, you promised.”

  Broedi held up his hand. “Let me explain. The sweet is that we may be able to turn to them for aid. The sour is that their interest means that the Cabal’s threat is imminent.”

  Jak murmured, “Sounds mostly sour to me.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” said Nikalys.

  B
roedi tilted his head and sat tall. “If you require further proof the Celystiela are inserting themselves in mortal affairs, let us talk with them.”

  “Talk with them?” asked Nikalys, confused. “The gods?”

  “No,” rumbled Broedi. He pointed north. “Them.”

  Nikalys stared into the night beyond the campfire’s glow and found a man and woman walking with purpose toward them. While standing by the funeral pyre, he had spotted the pair speaking with Broedi earlier. Both were members of the Shadow Manes and, from the little that he had observed, they were in charge.

  The man looked to be a couple decades older than Sergeant Trell was with short, gray hair, a few days’ stubble, and eyes sunk deep in their sockets. Based on the way he carried himself, his hand always resting on his sword’s hilt, Nikalys marked him a soldier.

  The woman was younger, perhaps in her mid-forties, with straight, blonde hair that hung to her shoulders. Her features were sharp and pristine: green eyes, an angular nose with a perfect, rounded tip, and a pair of full lips currently pressed together in a thin, straight line. She would be attractive if she smiled, but something about her made Nikalys think such an occasion was rare. She seemed suited to wear the fashionable dresses of a noblewoman, but currently had on a light blue shirt, tan breeches, and brown leather boots. As she strode near, an aura of power and expectation moved with her.

  The pair moved into the glow of the camp and stopped before Broedi. As one, they bowed to the hillman and said in unison, “Great honor to you, White Lion.”

  Broedi grimaced, clearly uneasy with the greeting. “Please do not do that. I am already trying to break him—” he pointed at Zecus “—of the habit.” While the man cracked a slight smile at Broedi’s minor admonishment, the woman’s pressed lips grew ever thinner. Turning his gaze to the woman, Broedi said, “And I believe that might be the first time in ten years you’ve bowed to me, my Lady.”