The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy

by R. T. Kaelin

  “Hi. I’m Jak. And this stern-looking fellow beside me is Sergeant Trell.”

  Both Boah and Joshmuel eyed the pair. After a moment, Joshmuel asked, “You are Lady Vivienne’s guards, then?”

  Shaking his head, Jak said, “Gods, no! I’d rather be a fish in a boat. That was pure show.” He turned his eye to the retreating form of Lady Vivienne, striding between the rows of empty benches. “Convincing, wasn’t she?”

  As bewilderment filled Joshmuel and Boah’s faces, Sergeant Trell stepped forward and said, “Gentlemen, you, along with young Zecus, have unwillingly performed the lead roles in the most important play of the last two hundred years of the Oaken Duchies.”

  Joshmuel lifted an eyebrow.

  “Pardon?”

  “You have been played,” said Sergeant Trell, looking at the three Borderlanders. “All of you. They wished your reactions to be as authentic as possible for some of the council’s benefit.” Glancing down the hall, toward Lady Vivienne, he raised his voice and called, “Not everyone can tell a lie with such conviction.”

  Halfway to the doors, Lady Vivienne stopped in her tracks. She spun on her heels, stared directly at Sergeant Trell, and gave him a small, tart smile.

  “Judge if you like, Sergeant, I care not. Results matter, not how you achieve them.” Her gazed rested on the soldier a moment longer before taking them all in. “Now, please, let us go. Baron Tilas will attempt to gain some measure of revenge for us forcing him to show Vanson’s hand sooner than he wished. It would be unwise for any of you to be in the city past this evening.”

  She had already turned halfway around before Zecus called out.

  “My Lady!”

  Returning her gaze to him, she asked impatiently, “What is it?”

  “Do you mean for all of us to go?”

  He glanced at his father and Boah, both of whom were growing increasingly confused by the moment.

  “Of course,” replied the baroness. “They’d be dead inside a day if they stay here.” She spun on her heels and resumed her hurried pace to the double oaken doors.

  Joshmuel turned a critical eye toward Zecus.

  “Son? What is this all about?”

  Zecus stared at his father, unsure where to begin. The longest, most uncomfortable moment of his life slipped past before Sergeant Trell rescued him.

  The soldier stepped forward, put an arm around both Joshmuel and Boah, and said, “It would be my pleasure to explain as we go.” He began to lead them down the aisle. The two Borderlanders went along without protest. “First, Joshmuel, you should know your son is one of the bravest men I have ever met…” The sergeant’s voice trailed off as the three moved to the double doors.

  Zecus watched the trio of men move away, grateful that the talk with his father had been postponed, even if only for a short while.

  Jak said softly, “Once he knows everything, he’ll understand.”

  Unable to take his gaze from his father’s back, Zecus muttered, “I don’t know, Jak. I left our family.” He eyed his friend and sighed. “How do you expect him to understand that?”

  Jak stood silent for a second before murmuring, “I don’t know.” He offered a tiny smile. “Blame it on the Gods mucking with our lives.”

  “I don’t know if I believe that, Jak.”

  “Broedi would not have marched off to the Celestial Empire on a hunch, Zecus.”

  Zecus pressed his lips together. The White Lion was convinced some of the Gods and Goddesses were meddling in mortal affairs, trying to arrange things to their liking. If that were the case, it made Zecus angry.

  “I am not a peg upon a radigan board,” muttered Zecus. “Nor a placard in a hand of knuckles.”

  “Today you were,” said Jak gently. “Only it was nobles playing you, not the Gods.”

  Zecus grimaced, his eyes narrowing sharply.

  “That is not any better.”

  Clapping a hand to Zecus’ shoulder, Jak said, “Try to see the sweet of it, Zecus. Without what happened here today, the only force ready to stand against the God of Chaos would be the couple hundred men on Storm Island, some mages, and us. Now, we have the support of the Southern Arms, Reed Men, and Shore Guard.”

  Zecus nodded, admitting the outlook for the coming war seemed slightly more hopeful.

  “I suppose…”

  Jak smacked him hard on the back, saying, “Come on. Let’s go before Lady Vivienne leaves without us. Which, she very well might do.”

  Zecus nodded and the two headed down the aisle. After a few steps, Jak reached up, tugged at his collar, and mumbled, “I can’t wait to get these blasted clothes off.”

  Chapter 7: Heart

  Nikalys’ stomach rumbled. He did his best to ignore it, and concentrate on the words before him, but the emptiness gnawed at him. Lifting his gaze, he stared blankly at the stone wall of his room, wondering what might be in the kitchens to eat. There was only one way to find out.

  Gripping the blue canvas cover, he slammed the book shut, sending a muffled whump through his room. He pushed his chair back from the table and stood, shrugging off the wool blanket and letting it fall to the chair. Wriggling his cold toes to loosen them, he extended his arms outward, flexing his muscles and letting out a small exhalation of air. The breath formed a tiny cloud and drifted away from his face. Watching it dissipate, he shook his head in quiet wonder. He had yet to grow accustomed to seeing his own breath.

  A waft of cool air whispered past the back of Nikalys’ neck. He shivered, cursing the persistent draft in his room. The first two weeks here, he had not minded the breeze, but now that they were on the cusp of Winter, the chill was unwelcome. A particularly strong gust of wind blew, whistling more of its cursed iciness inside his room. He looked up, glared at the glass as if it were the window’s fault, and noticed the sky was growing darker. Another storm was on its way.

  After stretching, he took a few steps to his bed and picked up his blood father’s sword. He moved to the wooden door in the wall opposite the table, affixing the belt and scabbard around his waist. Halfway to the door, he stopped in the middle of the room, turned, and stared at the desk. The book sat there, taunting him.

  Nikalys had promised the commander he was going to have the entire tome completed three days ago, along with the author’s subsequent volume, but both books had sat on his desk for weeks, dusty and unopened. He had only started reading the first book this morning.

  Sighing, he hurried back to the table and retrieved it. Bracing the volume in the crux of his arm, he strode across the room and pulled the door open by the simple rope-ring handle. Stopping in the doorway, he peered over his shoulder, stared at the brightly glowing ball sitting on the desk and clearly enunciated, “Jah marel.” The words were ancient aicenai and had taken some practice to get correct.

  The light within the magical globe winked out, plunging the room into a gloom fit for dusk. A tiny blur danced before Nikalys’ eyes where he had stared directly at the yellow-white light, obscuring the sphere from his vision.

  Stepping into the torch-lit hall, Nikalys shut the door behind him, sending a hollow thud echoing down the stone hallway. As he strode toward the stairwell, he approached the only other door in the tower’s upper hall. Nikalys eyed Jak’s room as he passed, silently wishing his brother was around. Jak was always up for a quick trip to rummage through the larders. He, however, was in Freehaven, most likely having the time of his life.

  Upon reaching the stairwell, Nikalys shuffled down the stone steps, his legs limbering up as he went. He slowed at the landing leading to the floor below his and considered going down the hall to Kenders’ room but his guilt about needing to read urged him on without her. With a firm resolve, he plowed ahead, determined to get something to eat, sit in front of one of the fires, and read the entire book grasped in his hand.

  By the time he reached the ground floor of the stairway, the air seemed balmy compared to his room. As he neared the commons, the halls were no longer empty. He made i
t a point to look each person he saw in the eye and greet them, challenging himself to remember the names of everyone. It was one of the few tasks on which Commander Aiden had him working that Nikalys did not mind.

  Rounding a corner, Nikalys came across a thin, bearded man carrying a lumpy burlap sack. From the way the man was struggling, whatever the bag contained was heavy. As Nikalys met the man’s eyes, he smiled, trying to place the man’s name with his face. After a moment, he recognized him as a member of the kitchen staff, one of the head cook’s helpers.

  “Good days ahead, Gregor,” said Nikalys.

  The man’s eyes widened and he stumbled to a halt. With a notably nervous twinge to his voice, Gregor replied, “And good memories behind, Progeny.”

  Nikalys’ friendly grin faltered a bit. He loathed when people called him that.

  Despite his unease with the honorific, he did not correct the man. Commander Aiden insisted that Nikalys allow the Shadow Manes to call him ‘Progeny’ or ‘sir’ or whatever they wanted, saying “it helps morale, something we will need plenty of in the days to come.” Nevertheless, Nikalys did not like being treated as if he were someone important. Even if he was.

  The man resumed his walk down the hall, struggling with the large sack.

  Nikalys offered, “If you need help with that, Gregor, I could carry it to wherever you are headed.” He eyed the bag, knowing he could carry it easily with one arm.

  Gregor’s eyes widened and he immediately shook his head back and forth.

  “Oh, no, sir! Goodness, no! I would not dream of it. They are just potatoes. I brought the wrong type from the pantry for the cooks’ stew. I can manage, sir.”

  Nikalys sighed. The man was fifteen years older than him, and calling him ‘sir.’

  Stepping aside to give the man room to pass, he said, “Okay, then. Be careful, Gregor. They look heavy.”

  Gregor nodded as he labored past, grunting, “Yes, sir, I will. Thank you, sir.”

  Nikalys watched as the man grappled with the burlap sack, wobbling down the hall. After letting out a heavy sigh, he resumed his walk to the kitchen, a slight frown on his face. He knew he was different from everybody else here, yet he wished people did not treat him so. The heart of a simple farmer still beat in his chest.

  When he reached the spacious commons, he was relieved to see that nearly all of the long tables and benches sat empty. Still, a handful of tables had groups of two or three people sitting at them who were catching a late midday meal or just enjoying the pleasant warmth of the room. Nikalys smiled as he spotted the three massive hearths, one on each wall other than the one from where he had just marched. A giant fire roared in each stone cavity. The sweet, yeasty smell of something baking filled his nose.

  Nikalys had taken a few steps to the back wall to seek out a kitchen worker when a loud, happy shriek ricocheted throughout the stone room, startling him along with most others in the quiet room.

  “Nik-lys!”

  A smile split his face immediately as he scanned the room, trying to find the origin of the voice. His gaze settled on the corner to his right and his grin widened.

  A small girl was clambering over the top of a table, ignoring the protests of the two young women sitting with her. Raven-black hair hung past her shoulders, her dark brown eyes were wide and staring, and a brilliant smile radiated from her slightly plump cheeks. As she scurried over the tabletop, kicking wooden plates as she went, Nikalys’ gaze shifted to the other pair at the table.

  His sister, sitting on the table’s far side, caught his eye and flashed him a smile. Nikalys nodded back a silent greeting, his attention mostly focused on the other woman as she helped the young girl climb over the table while chastising her to behave properly. Upon lowering the child to the ground, she swiveled her head around and stared at Nikalys.

  As happened every other time he saw Sabine, his throat caught.

  Like the younger girl, the woman had the same intense, deep brown eyes and black hair, longer of course, pulled back and bound, reaching the middle of her back. Unlike her sister, however, her face was sharper, edged with high cheekbones and a perfectly lined nose sitting over flawless, lush lips that were currently parted to reveal a brilliant, flattering smile that shot into Nikalys’ soul.

  A second shout from the little girl shattered the moment.

  “Nik-lys!”

  Helene’s exclamation was more insistent this time, demanding that he pay attention to her. Shifting to watch the little girl run toward him, he tossed the book he was carrying on a nearby table and dropped to a knee. Extending his arms, he said with a genuine smile, “Come here, Helene!”

  The girl launched herself into his outstretched arms and he stood up, cradling her and giving her a hug. With affection matching the cozy warmth of the fire-heated room, he said, “It’s good to see you, Helene. I missed you.”

  Helene wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed.

  “I missed you, too, Nik-lys.”

  She had yet to learn how to pronounce his name correctly. He loved the way she said it and hoped she would never stop.

  Pulling back, Helene stared at him with sparkling eyes.

  “Did you know that I can eat five potatoes?”

  Nikalys smiled wide at the randomness of the question and gave Helene another hug, patting her back gently.

  “I did not know that, Helene. I don’t think even I can eat that many.”

  “Sabine told me not to. She said I would get sick.” Shaking her head side-to-side vigorously, she added, “But I didn’t. I ate all five!”

  With that, she shot a proud look over to her sister, claiming victory in a debate that was apparently very important to the four-year-old. Nikalys followed Helene’s gaze and locked eyes with Sabine again. His grin faltered a bit.

  Helene began tugging at Nikalys’ collar. Turning her big brown eyes on him, she begged, “Come sit with us!”

  Nikalys hesitated.

  “I don’t know, Helene. I have reading I should be doing.”

  His reluctance had nothing to do with the book on the table. For reasons he could not name, something about the young raven-haired beauty at the table gave Nikalys pause.

  While traveling though the Southlands, the Isaac siblings and Broedi had interrupted a brigands’ attack on the Moiléne farm. They disposed of all but one of the bandits, saving Helene and Sabine from a horrible fate, but were too late to save their father. Upon learning that one brigand was still alive and unconscious, Sabine had slit the man’s throat without hesitation.

  To this day, the image of her standing over the man, bloody knife in hand, still haunted Nikalys. Despite everything about Sabine that called to Nikalys, the cold callousness she displayed that day repelled him. He felt pushed and pulled at the same time.

  Shortly after the Battle of Shorn Rise, he had discovered that Jak harbored feelings for her as well. Ever since, Nikalys avoided Sabine whenever possible. For the most part, his strategy worked. He had managed not to speak with Sabine since everyone said farewell to Broedi and Nundle.

  Now, as he stared at the beauty, he tried to think of a way to wriggle free yet again.

  Helene pulled his tunic again, pleading, “Please sit with us, Nik-lys?”

  Powerless against the adorable four-year-old, Nikalys smiled.

  “Sure. I can sit for a little while.”

  Helene’s face lit up with pure joy.

  “You can sit with me!”

  Nikalys prayed the girl’s exuberance would help him get through what was sure to be an uncomfortable few minutes.

  Carrying Helene in his arms, he walked to where Kenders and Sabine sat. His sister shot him a quick, sympathetic look as he neared, knowing the quiet turmoil he felt over Sabine. He had made her promise to never say a word to Jak or Sabine and, so far, it seemed as if she had kept her word.

  As he approached, Sabine affixed an innocent smile on her face and said politely, “Good days ahead, sir. I do not believe we have met. My name
is Sabine Moiléne.” While her words—spoken with a lilting, musical tone unique to her—were kind and courteous, she wielded them like a sharply pointed dagger.

  Nikalys cringed. He supposed he deserved that.

  Stopping beside her bench, he offered, “Good memories, Sabine. I apologize for my absence as of late. I have been very busy.”

  Sabine cocked an eyebrow.

  “Busy? Doing what?”

  Nikalys paused a moment before answering, “Training?” Somehow his response came out as a question. He wondered if the excuse sounded as pathetic to her as it did him.

  Sabine’s other eyebrow joined the first.

  “You consider sitting around, watching others practice ‘training?’”

  He forced a small grin.

  “In a manner of speaking, yes. I still have to watch.”

  Helene pointed to a spot on the bench next to Sabine and demanded, “Nik-lys, you sit here.” He wavered for a moment, long enough that he saw that Sabine noticed. The smile on her face twitched, shrinking the tiniest of margins.

  With an internal, silent groan, Nikalys lifted one leg over the bench and sat, straddling the bench. Helene settled herself on the bench, trying to sit as Nikalys did, but her tan dress got in the way. She shimmied side-to-side, freeing her legs from the cloth to let them dangle in the air.

  Nikalys made a show of adjusting Helene on the bench while trying to think of something to say. He wished more than ever that he had stayed in his chilly room.

  Thankfully, Helene broke the awkward silence, saying, “See, Nik-lys? That’s my plate. There were six potatoes. Now there is only one.”

  Glad to have something to focus on besides Sabine, Nikalys stared at the wooden platter as if it were the most interesting thing he had ever seen. Sure enough, there was a single small red potato drenched in a pool of butter and herbs along with two long, untouched carrots.

  “What about the carrots, Helene?”

  The little girl tilted her head up to stare at him, squishing her face together in an expression that revealed she did not hold a high opinion of the vegetable. Her answer was firm.