Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) (58 page)

He held his breath and did not move, listening carefully, praying that the clang had not alerted anyone to his presence. The world was quiet other the soft chirping of birds outside and another inquisitive nicker from a horse behind him.

Looking over his shoulder, he found a few more horses had poked their heads out of their rooms and were staring at him. He counted seven horses in total, spread among eight rooms. Hurrying to the eighth, horseless room and found it packed with oddly designed saddles, bridles, ropes, and tacking equipment. He had never seen saddles with looped, leather straps hanging from the sides, but he dismissed the oddity, grabbed the nearest one, and rushed from the room, taking a bridle and a pair of saddlebags on his way out.

Hurrying down the walkway, Zecus headed toward the first horse he had seen after arriving through the magical flap, the yellowish tan one with the white striped nose. The beast had been both alert and quiet, qualities he valued in a mount. Unlatching the door, he slid it open, went inside, and saddled the horse once he figured out the unfamiliar straps and buckles. The horse remained motionless, patiently waiting, sometimes even looking back at him as if inquiring what was taking so long.

After leading the horse from the straw-filled room, he moved to the wall with the hanging tools and examined them, trying to decide if any of them were suitable to use as a weapon as he had no idea what dangers he might face wherever he was. He selected the double bladed metal tool he had used to cut his ropes and slid the bladed tool into a loop on the saddle. He also chose a long wooden staff with a flat metal head on one end and, resting it on his shoulder, led his horse to the set of doors opposite where he had seen the ijul. He was not proud that he was stealing, but he had no choice.

Reaching the doors, he slid one open just wide enough to get the horse out, and moved into the open air. He shut the door—very carefully to avoid any more clanging—and stepped back to stare up at the building. A dark blue coating covered the wooden structure with some panels colored a bright white. Why someone would waste so much precious wood on a home for horses was beyond Zecus. Glancing at the towering trees all around him, he muttered, “Perhaps we’d do the same thing with all this.”

He pulled himself up into the saddle, laid the staff across his lap, and directed his mount down the path. He kept the pace slow and quiet until he was some distance away from the building, and then urged the horse to a canter. As the leather straps on the saddle banged into his feet, Zecus realized their purpose and slipped his boots into them both.

He followed the winding path through the green paradise in a state of constant amazement. All sorts of strange plants surrounded him, some covered with big red flowers with black centers, some with delicate blue ones hanging upside down from their stems. A slight breeze blew from the west, carrying with it wispy, white puffs with tiny seeds attached.

In short order, the dirt path led to a larger roadway that ran north and south, judging by the evening sun shining straight into his eyes. The northern stretch of road ran arrow-straight up a gentle slope through trees and brush, giving him a clear view of the mud-brown path. Spotting a handful of horses with riders heading in his direction, Zecus turned left and headed south. Until he knew more about where he was, he did not want to talk to anyone.

Keeping his horse at a steady trot, Zecus tried to puzzle out what had happened. The ijul was obviously a mage and responsible for the slit that had brought Zecus to this wondrous, green land. While he was more than grateful to be free of the demon-man, Zecus now had to figure a way to get back home. Perhaps some of what he had seen could be useful in repelling the invaders.

Spotting movement ahead of him, Zecus looked up and found find a pair of men on horseback riding around a bend directly ahead of him. He could hardly leap off the road without drawing undue attention to himself, so he kept his pace and rode ahead, hoping to ride casually past the men. As the two light-skinned men approached, they stared at him with quizzical expressions on their faces. As they passed, both men smiled and offered a pleasant “Good evening.” He hastily wished them good evening as well while wondering at their odd accent.

After the bend, the countryside opened up. The road sloped down a hill, leading to a gray stone bridge that spanned a wide, sparkling surface that reflected the light of the setting sun. With a start, Zecus realized that the shining surface was water. He pulled his horse’s reins and stopped in the middle of the road.

“Bless the gods…”

Gawking at the sight below, he shook his head in disbelief. The Borderlands had nothing like this. Much like ijuli, ‘rivers’ existed only in the stories told by playmen. During his time in Demetus and journeys through the western Marshlands, he had seen plenty of water—more than ever before—but it was all dank and stagnant.

After a moment, he noticed two men standing at the bridge’s edge, staring up at him. The pair wore matching uniforms, reminding Zecus of the Dust Men of the Borderlands, only the colors of the clothes below were blue and gold, not white and brown.

He studied the men, thinking. Perhaps the soldiers could help him. They would certainly be able to tell him where he was. Then again, asking such questions as “where am I?” might lead down paths he did not want to travel.

Spinning his horse around, Zecus rode back around the bend. As soon as the soldiers were out of sight, he veered off the road and into the thick grass and tall trees, making his way west. After a while, he aimed south a bit, intending to make his way to the river yet ensuring he would be far enough west to remain out of sight of the soldiers.

By the time he made it to the riverbank, Mu’s orb had dipped below the horizon, the sky a layered mix of pinks and oranges. Slipping off his horse, he collapsed to the river’s shore and gulped from the river, drinking as much as he could. The water was not clear—in fact, it was rather gritty—but it soothed his parched throat. His stolen horse came and drank beside him, finishing long before he did.

Once his thirst was slaked, he scooped water and splashed it in his face, rubbing his hands over his head for the first time since the oligurt had struck him during the ambush. A giant lump stuck out from his forehead, incredibly tender to the touch and scabbed over with dried blood and bits of grass. Scratches and scrapes covered his face.

It suddenly occurred to him why the two strangers in the road had gaped at him. He thought what he must have looked like to them and laughed aloud. It was a good thing he had chosen not to speak to the soldiers. He could imagine the questions they would have had for him.

Zecus inspected his clothes and found them covered with dirt, grime, and his blood. He stripped off everything and stepped into the water to clean himself, gingerly washing the open wounds on his temple and face, wincing each time he touched the bruised knot. Then he cleaned his clothes as best he could, rubbing out most of the dirt but giving up on the blood stains.

When he was done, he put on just his underclothes and boots, mounted his horse, and hung his shirt and breeches on his stolen staff to dry. By now, the sun had disappeared below the western horizon and the sky had turned to deep reds and dark purples. Tall cliffs of clouds lined the southern horizon with distant, jagged flashes of lightning dancing between sky and ground.

Zecus shook his head in wonderment.

“Giant trees, rivers,
and
rain?”

This was a blessed land.

He decided to continue heading west, staying along the river for no other reason than the clean water it provided. Perhaps he would come across a village or town where he could bargain for food. Realizing he had nothing to trade, he frowned. He might have to beg.

Off in the distance, thunder rumbled.

Sutri’s Leisure Day

Nathan stared over the glistening plain and almost smiled. Beads of water from last evening’s rain clung to the grass, sparkling in the morning sun. The vista almost made him forget where he was and what he was doing: riding uninvited through the Southlands with a tomble mage by his side, tracking people supposedly destined to thwart the evil gods of the Cabal.

He shook his head and sighed. It was all a bit overwhelming.

He rode lead with Nundle at his side and his fifty Red Sentinels fanned out behind them. After his discussion with Nundle by the oak, the pair had decided to continue searching for the Progeny by heading south, hoping they were going in the right direction. Yesterday, when they came across a path of recently trampled grass, Nathan had sent three scouts ahead to follow the path with instructions for one to return should they find something important. The rest of the Sentinels had been following the path since.

Nathan looked to his right, glancing at the tomble that had both solved some mysteries yet foisted new ones upon him. Nundle was riding his small chestnut horse, a bittersweet smile fixed on his face as he gazed at the glittering, sun-soaked plain.

“You look melancholy, little one.”

Nundle glanced over, arched an eyebrow, and said, “I’m not permitted to call you by your name in front of your soldiers, but you can call me ‘little one?’” His tone was one of gentle teasing.

With a quiet chuckle, Nathan said, “I do apologize,
Nundle
.”

Nundle bowed his head graciously.

“And I accept, of course.”

“Nevertheless, you are a touch somber this morning, are you not?”

Nodding, Nundle waved an arm, gesturing toward the grassy plains. “This reminds me of home. Granted, there is no place in the Boroughs where grass grows this high—if there were, we’d lose one another in it—but the way the sun shines on it...” He trailed off, the wistful smile returning. “It looks a bit like the winter wheat fields outside of Deepwell.”

“How long have you been away from home?”

Looking over, Nundle asked, “What day is it?”

“Sutri’s Leisure Day,” answered Nathan. As he had been keeping a record of their trip, he knew the exact day without doubt.

“Let’s see, then,” sighed Nundle, his face twisting up in thought. “It’s been five years, three turns, and…twelve days.”

Nathan’s eyes narrowed. He had expected an estimation of time, not an exact count.

Noting his confusion, Nundle smiled and explained, “I left home the day after my sixty-seventh yearday. Rather easy for me to remember.”

“Ah,” murmured Nathan, nodding his understanding. “Did you leave family behind?”

“You could say that,” said Nundle with a quiet chuckle. “Three older brothers: Mather, Coblin, Filmar. And two younger sisters: Jolsi and Rillo. My mother, father, twelve aunts and uncles, fifty-seven first-cousins, and only the gods know how many seconds and thirds.”

Nathan smiled wide.

“With a family that big, do you think they’ve noticed you’re gone?”

“Without a doubt. I sort of made a deal about things when I left.” He shook his head, frowning. “That last evening was truly unpleasant, telling my family I was leaving, but not telling them why or where.”

“Why couldn’t you tell them?”

“They didn’t—still don’t, I hope—know what I am. You see, in the Boroughs, mages are not outlaws like here, but we are looked down upon. Shunned by ‘proper’ society.” His frown grew into a full scowl. “Something I am guilty of doing myself. Before I discovered the Strands and learned I was a mage, too.” His voice dropped to just above a whisper. “It’s
not
a time of my life I am particularly proud of. I hurt people I cared about.”

Hoping to raise tomble’s spirits, Nathan said, “You know, you could always visit the tomble villages in the Foothills Duchy. Perhaps it will feel a bit like home.”

Looking up at the sergeant, Nundle asked, “What do you know about those?”

“Very little, truthfully. Legend says that the tombles who fought in the Demonic War founded them.”

Nundle’s eyes opened wide.

“Say that again?”

Confused, Nathan nonetheless repeated himself, saying, “Legend says that the tombles who fought in the Demonic War founded them.”

Nundle remained quiet for a moment, an astonished look on his face, before saying, “That’s what I thought you said.” Shaking his head in disbelief, he said, “You’re saying tombles, actual
tombles
fought in the Demonic War?”

“Why is that so shocking?”

“For a number of reasons. First, no mention of them was ever made in any of the histories I read.”

“Books often leave details out,” noted Nathan. “They’re but one person’s view of events.”

“True, but even if that were the case here, tombles do not war.
Ever
.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what I just said. Tombles do not war. We never have.”

It was Nathan’s turn to be surprised.

“Never?”

“Never. Aggression of any sort is dealt with severely in the Boroughs. Going to war is simply
not
done.”

“Are your neighbors equally as peaceful?”

“Yes. The ijuli in Jularrn have always had a good relationship with the Five Boroughs. And Cartu—well, if you know anything about Cartu, you know they are too busy with themselves to bother much with us.”

“Let us say I know nothing about Cartu.”

Nundle looked over at Nathan.

“Truly?”

“Truly. I know the Great Lakes very well and a bit about the surrounding duchies, but that is all.”

Nundle stared at him for a long moment before asking, “Have you never been curious about Terrene? It’s a big world, you know.”

“I am as curious as anyone, I suppose. But my duty leaves little time for me to satisfy it.”

“Well, then, Sergeant. As we have nothing but time while we ride, would you like me to share a bit of what I have learned?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Nathan said, “Why not? It will fill the day.”

Over the rest of the morning, Nathan’s understanding of the world expanded. Quickly.

Nundle began with Cartu, telling him how over eight hundred years ago, a mountain exploded in fire and ash on the western coast of Mantioch, wiping out most of the region. The countryside remained desolate for a century before a myriad of races—men, saeljul, tijul, erijul, dirgmour, atarkas, and even divina—settled the deserted lands. They formed a new nation—the Commonwealth of Cartu—that, today, rivaled the Oaken Duchies in size. Its system of rule was much different from the duchies, with common people making decisions by consensus. Yet with so many different races and cultures, achieving agreement on anything was nigh impossible.