Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) (31 page)

Nundle decided to open the conversation with flattery. Most people enjoyed hearing how impressive they were. Looking around the room, he said, “You have a striking collection, sir. When growing up in Pyth, did you ever imagine rising to such heights?”

While Nundle knew the longleg was from the Oaken Duchies, he did not want to make the magistrate suspicious by heading straight into the subject. As Pyth was the region of the Arcane Republic where most longlegs lived, his fake assumption was both logical and understandable.

Shaking his head, the magistrate said, “I’m not from Pyth. I came to the republic as young man.” He glanced up. “I’m originally from the Oaken Duchies.”

“Truly?” gasped Nundle in feigned shock. “I heard mages are hunted for sport there.”

Still paying more attention to the gold than Nundle, the magistrate nodded. “Absolutely true. I was hunted for two turns. Barely escaped with my life.”

“My, oh my, sir,” replied Nundle, ladling on a healthy helping of awe. “That must have been terrifying. How did you escape?”

Looking up, the magistrate cocked a bushy eyebrow, and said, “Because I am smarter than those blasted Constables, that’s how! From the moment they showed up in Huntersfield, I outsmarted them.”

Nundle’s ears perked up. Huntersfield was relatively close to where he needed to go. “Huntersfield, sir?”

“My home. At least it was.”

Nundle wanted to smile, but he kept his joy buried. “They chased you from your home? How awful. What did you do?”

Happy to have an eager listener to his tale, the magistrate leaned forward, resting his meaty arms on the desk. “I fled south to the outskirts of Silver Falls, living off the land and my wits.”

Nundle could not believe his luck. Silver Falls was even closer.

“From there, I headed to the coast. I needed to find a ship to commandeer and take me away from the madmen that hunted me like I was a beast.”

With that change in direction, Nundle’s spectacular luck had run out. Nevertheless, Silver Falls was better than he could have hoped.

“When I reached Freehaven, I—”

“Excuse me, sir,” interjected Nundle. He did not care about the rest of the story. “Silver Falls? That name sounds familiar to me. Now, why would that be?” He stared at the floor, pretending to retrieve some memory he most certainly did not possess. “Could you describe the place to me, sir?”

Visibly perturbed that the story of his daring escape had been halted, the magistrate quickly found something else about which to brag.

“I should think so. I have the memory of a twenty-year-old! I hid in a grove of oaks atop a hill overlooking the town. Silver Falls seemed benign from afar—but I dared not go near it.” The magistrate’s eyes narrowed. “You see, the Constables had laid a trap for me.”

Nundle somehow doubted that. “Then it was wise of you to stay in the wilderness, sir.”

Dropping his voice to just above a hushed whisper, the magistrate said, “Dozens of Trackers were after me. I saw them coming across the bridge over the river. But I outsmarted them, I did.”

Pretending to be enthralled, Nundle said, “It sounds very exciting.”

“Oh, it was, Mr. Tweetlewood. Very exciting. And dangerous. Very dangerous, I tell you.”

“You had to have been very brave, sir.”

The magistrate shrugged, reminding Nundle of a shuddering pile of bread pudding. “I did what I had to do.”

Nundle struggled to keep from rolling his eyes. “You said there were dozens of Trackers, sir?”

“At least. Perhaps a hundred.”

“A hundred? Oh, my. How could you escape so many?”

“Skill, Mr. Tweetlewood. Skill and cunning.”

A chuckle threatened to burst from Nundle, but he swallowed it. “Excuse me, sir, but…I’m having a difficult time envisioning how you could escape so many. Perhaps you could take me there now and show me the hill? Rumor has it you know the Weave to create ports. Then you can tell me the whole exciting escape right where it all happened!”

The magistrate’s eyes went wide. “Gods, no! Are you mad? It’s not safe for any mage to go there.”

Nundle had hoped simply asking would work. Apparently, it would not. “Are you sure, sir?”

“Quite.”

Nundle closed his eyes, sighed, and steadied himself. Opening his eyes, he reached for the honey-gold Strands, watching the magistrate and praying the longleg was deaf to Will. Ketus was with Nundle. The magistrate ignored the Strands as Nundle knit a small pattern and directed it toward the longleg. “I think you should take us there now, sir.”

While waiting for a response, he grabbed a few Air Strands, knitted another quick Weave, and looked back to the door. A small puff of air flipped the door’s latch shut. Magistrate Ulius might not be able to feel Will, but odds were at least one of the attendants or other magistrates outside could.

Magistrate Ulius raised an eyebrow at the small display of Air magic, but seemed more focused on Nundle’s suggestion. Seeing him struggling with the decision, Nundle reached for more golden strings, wove a larger pattern, and directed it over the magistrate. “I would like to see that hillside, sir. Now if you can manage it.”

The magistrate stood, slammed the desk with an open palm, and exclaimed, “By the gods! I’ll do it! Let’s go, Mr. Tweetlewood!” He walked around the desk and began to head toward the door. Shouts were echoing in the chamber outside now.

“Uh, sir? Where are you going?”

Magistrate Ulius answered without stopping. “I must tell Marcus where I am going, of course.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Of course it is. I always tell him when I’m leaving.”

Nundle groaned and reached for a large number of Strands this time, knowing he had just lit a beacon to any Will mage within a half of a mile. Upon completing the Weave, he directed it to the longleg and said, “Take me to the hill overlooking Silver Falls now.
Without
telling anyone.”

The magistrate halted in the middle of his office as black and white Strands popped into view, quickly arranging themselves into an intricate pattern. Nundle tried to pay attention to the design, but the longleg wove much too rapidly. With the sound of shredding parchment, a jagged tear appeared two paces from the magistrate.

Nundle had read descriptions of ports, but this was the first he had ever seen. It was rather disconcerting to watch the room flutter as if it were a painting on a sliced canvas on either side of the ink-black slit.

Without uttering a word, the longleg took two steps forward, lifted back a flap of reality, and stepped through, a glazed expression on his face. Nundle suspected he had been a little too heavy-handed with the number of Strands he had used.

The shouting in the hall was growing louder. Scurrying around the desk, Nundle scraped the gold coins he had given to the magistrate back into his bag. There was no point in leaving them behind.

Someone began to pound on the door now, screaming for the magistrate.

Nundle rushed to the port and stopped before it, hesitant to jump into the utter blackness. He reached out a tentative hand and touched one of the flaps. A cool, tingling sensation ran up his arm.

With a boom and burst of flame, the office door flew across the room, crashing into a pair of bronze stands. Deaf to Fire, Nundle had had no idea that was coming.

Smoke poured through the doorway, providing cover for a moment. Taking a deep breath, Nundle lifted a flap back and stepped through, expecting something similar to the initial tingling feeling. Instead, there was nothing. He stepped from the stone floor of the magistrate’s office and put his foot down on rocky soil, emerging from the port beside the trunk of an oak tree.

He turned his head in all directions, seeking the magistrate. The longleg stood a few paces away, glassy-eyed. Nundle scurried over, grabbed the magistrate’s arm, and shook it.

“Magistrate! The Constables are coming for you through that port! Close it!”

Panic flooded the magistrate’s eyes. He spun around and stared at the tear. The flap disappeared with a slight ‘pop.’

Nundle stared at the empty air, relief coursing through him. His knees felt weak enough that he gripped a nearby tree trunk so he would not collapse. “I cannot believe that worked…”

After a few steadying breaths, he turned in place, surveying the area. They were atop a small hill among a grove of oak trees. Below him, to the north, a long dirt road led to a gray stone bridge spanning a slate blue river. Nestled on the opposite bank was a small city of flat-topped, wooden buildings. Nundle hoped that was Silver Falls.

He turned to examine the dazed magistrate, wondering what he was going to do with him. Nundle felt bad having tricked the longleg, but it had been necessary.

“Magistrate, I think you deserve a very long break from the rigors imposed on you by the duties of your office. Don’t you?”

Nodding, the longleg said, “That would be nice.”

“Tell me, of all the places you have been, which has been your favorite? The farther from the Arcane Republic, the better.”

His tone subdued, he said, “I suppose the enclave—” His eyes lit up. “No! I know! There is this village in the mountains of Halawala. It was so peaceful there. No one ever asking me for anything.” An expression of pure tranquility filled his face. “They made the most amazing root stew.”

“Perfect. Port yourself there this very moment and take some time to rest—a few weeks, perhaps? That sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

With a faraway smile, the large longleg nodded. “It certainly does.”

Strands of Void and Air swirled about the trees. Again, Nundle eyed the pattern, but it was much too complicated to memorize. He frowned. When he had time, he would need to find someone to teach him how to do this.

Magistrate Ulius began to walk to the hole when Nundle stopped him. Reaching into his travel pack, he pulled out a handful of gold, larger than the original bribe, and gave it to the magistrate. If Nundle was sending the longleg on an extended trip, he should at least have some coin with him. “Thank you, sir. You’ve been a great help. You can go, now.”

The longleg walked to the tear, lifted the flap, and stepped through. A few moments later, the rip disappeared, again with a soft pop. Nundle hoped the magistrate would stay away for a few weeks, but chances were he would return to the City of the Strands within days, a week or so at the most.

Moving to survey the town again, his foot scraped against something on the ground. Looking down, he saw the parchment he had swiped from Preceptor Myrr’s office. It must have fallen out when he pulled out the gold.

He bent over, picked it up, and read it one more time.

Jhaell—

A merchant arrived in Redstone this morning and reported to the Office of the Constables some type of disaster in Yellow Mud. He claimed a giant flood had destroyed the town, killing everyone except a man he had met on the road to Smithshill. Before it was brought to my attention, the merchant had gone on to blab the story to three taverns worth of people.

Considering the timing of your visit here, I would venture to guess this was your doing. I hope you had truly found the Progeny before causing such an obvious commotion. I have sent word to our friend in Smithshill to be vigilant for the man who apparently escaped.

Fix this.

—Everett

Nundle folded the letter, placed it back into his bag, and headed down the hill to the road below. He needed directions to Smithshill.

Nikalys pulled his mother’s necklace from his shirt and looked at his brother. “What do you think?”

Jak turned in a circle, staring in all directions. Nikalys did the same, paying particular attention to the northern and southern paths of the road. Taking advantage of the break in travel, Hal drifted to the side of the road and started munching on grass.

After a few moments, Jak shrugged his shoulders. “Looks clear. Try it.”

With the teardrop pendant grasped in his hands, Nikalys closed his eyes and visualized Kenders’ face. A feeling of calm settled over him. “She’s unharmed.”

“Good.”

Keeping his eyes shut, Nikalys rotated in place, trying to find in which direction the echoing bell was the loudest.

Jak murmured, “You look rather silly doing that.” Nikalys could hear the smile on Jak’s face.

Grinning himself, he asked, “Perhaps you’d like to do it, then?”

“Oh, no. You’re doing wondrous, Nik.”

“Quiet. I can’t concentrate.”

“Anything for my champion.”

Chuckling, Nikalys said, “Seriously, Jak. Be quiet.”

Apparently, Jak had left his sullenness back in Smithshill.

Deciding that he was facing where the ringing was loudest, Nikalys opened his eyes and found himself staring at the rocky cliff to the west. Picking out a boulder that reminded him of a fish standing on its fin, he turned to Jak. “They’re up that way. At least Kenders is.”

“That way it is,” said Jak, pulling Hal’s head up from the grass patch. The horse resisted, not done with his meal. Jak tugged harder and the horse came away after ripping up one last mouthful of grass.

Moving through the forest’s undergrowth was hard going. The cooler temperature of the river valley, along with the shade provided by the cliff, allowed plants that would have withered near Yellow Mud to thrive here. Brambles, thorns, and branches constantly scratching his arms and face put Nikalys into an increasingly foul mood. Based on Jak’s mutterings behind him, his brother was not enjoying himself, either.

Feeling a sharp pinch on his arm, Nikalys slapped one of the red iridescent beetles plaguing man and horse. He pulled away his hand to look at the mushy red mess and grimaced, wondering what was blood and what was beetle.

Nikalys spotted a break in the trees and headed for it, intending to find the fish rock and get his bearings. He resisted using the necklace again, unsure if he trusted Broedi’s information on its traceability. Pulling Smoke along behind him, he stepped from the forest and found himself standing at the base of the cliff. He tilted his head back to look for his fish-rock marker, when he stopped short, surprised. “Huh.”