Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) (61 page)

After a moment, Sabine glanced back at him—her face expressionless—then turned back to Kenders and said something in response.

Jak squeezed his eyes tight.

“Oh…wondrous.”

His stomach hurt now and it had nothing to do with the arrow wound.

Kenders and Sabine had been getting along well since leaving the farm. Most nights, after Helene was sleeping, the pair would sit together and talk in hushed tones. Whenever Jak asked Kenders what they discussed, she told him it did not concern him. Once, he reminded her not to say anything about the prophecy or the White Lions and Kenders, in turn, glared at him and reminded him that in order to walk, he must put one foot in front of the other. Jak supposed he deserved that.

They moved east by southeast through the afternoon, hugging the slow-moving river. Broedi named it the Erona and said that should they follow it to its end, they would be standing on the Southlands’ eastern coast near a town named Masons Bay and staring at the Sea of Kings.

Jak had listened, somewhat incredulous, as Broedi described the vast, cold sea, insisting it was tens of thousands of times larger than Lake Hawthorne. When Kenders asked if the plan was to follow the river to the coast, Broedi had offered a curt “No,” and gone quiet again. Even though the hillman had shared their ultimate destination with them, he had yet to reveal any more details. Getting information from Broedi was like trying to squeeze water from a rock.

For the hundredth time today, Jak reached around to his backside and scratched. The moist cloth chafing his damp skin had long ago passed being an irritant. Modesty alone kept him from taking his clothes off and letting them air dry as they traveled. He wished there was some way to squeeze every drop of water possible from shirt and breeches.

“Hold a moment…”

He looked up to where Broedi walked, leading the spare horse, twenty paces ahead of Kenders and Sabine. A slight smile spread over his lips as he kicked Hal in the sides, urging the horse into a trot. As he approached Nikalys and Helene, he said, “Hey, Nik? Are your clothes still wet?”

Nikalys looked over as Jak drew alongside and nodded.

“Gods, yes. Quite uncomfortable.”

The miniature version of Sabine leaned forward and gave Jak a wide grin. Her black hair whipped freely in the breeze, straight into Nikalys’ face, forcing him to spit out the strands that made their way into his mouth.

“Hi, Jak!”

Smiling back at the little girl, Jak said, “Good days, Helene. Are you having fun with Nikalys?”

She nodded her head up and down, sending more hair into Nikalys’ face.

“Uh-huh. He’s very smart.”

Nikalys looked at Jak, gave a sheepish smile, and shrugged his shoulders.

“Is he?” said Jak. “He certainly had me fooled.”

Nikalys’ expression soured.

“Nik-lys answers everything I ask him,” said Helene. A pouty frown spread over face. “Sabine always tells me to stop asking silly questions.”

As one, Jak and Nikalys swiveled their heads to look forward and found Sabine staring back at them, the ever-present frown on her face.

“Then perhaps I should just let the boys answer all of your questions from now on, shouldn’t I?”

Jak and Nikalys responded at the same time, talking over one another.

“Hey—he’s the one making up—”

“Boy? I’ll have you know I’m—”

They both stopped at the same time and glanced at each other. A moment later, they turned back toward Sabine and resumed talking, again at the same time.

“It’s not Jak’s fault that—”

“Nik is just having some—”

The brothers halted again and turned to one another. Jak stared at Nikalys, waiting for him to resume speaking while Nikalys was apparently doing the same, waiting for Jak. After a few heartbeats, a distinctive, familiar chortling drifted through the air. Facing forward, Jak found Kenders twisted around in her saddle, peering back at them, and laughing. Sabine’s frown faded, her expression shifting into one of minor amusement before facing east.

“You two are funny,” said Helene. The little girl was also laughing at the two of them, her smile wide.

Shaking his head, Nikalys murmured, “Girls are odd.”

“I agree,” muttered Jak.

Helene insisted, “No we aren’t!” Her grin was gone, replaced by a wounded frown.

Looking down at her, Nikalys smiled and said, “I don’t mean you, Helene. You are perfect. Not odd at all.” He gave her a little squeeze.

Leaning over, Jak said, “We’re only talking about older girls.”

“Oh,” said Helene, the hurt washing away quicker than a bucket of water would rinse away a day’s worth of field dust. She tilted her head and, after a moment’s consideration, said loudly, “You’re right. Sabine
is
odd.”

Jak and Nikalys both began to chuckle. Helene joined them, laughing simply because they were as small children are wont to do. Jak was peering at the little girl’s happy face when Nikalys’ mirth suddenly ceased. Glancing at his brother, he followed Nikalys’ gaze forward. Kenders and Sabine were looking back, glowering at them both.

Jak stopped snickering and swallowed his final chuckle.

When, after a long moment, Kenders and Sabine both faced forward, the brothers looked at one another. Restrained, silent grins returned to their faces.

Remembering why he rode up here in the first place, Jak said, “I’m going to go ask Broedi something before we get in more trouble.”

“You sure you want to ride past them?”

Jak smiled. “I’ll manage.” Looking to Helene, he added, “I’ll see you later.”

“Good mem-ries, Jak!” sang the little girl.

He was about to ride away when he stopped and looked back to the toddler.

“Helene? Why don’t you ask Nikalys about the time we went swimming and a fish swam into his breeches?”

The siblings had been swimming with friends at Lake Hawthorne when Nikalys had run from the water, screaming. He danced about the lakeshore for a few moments, kicking his legs before stripping naked and pulling a halock from his pants. To this day, Nikalys loathed the retelling of the story.

Clapping her hands excitedly, Helene tilted her head back to stare up at Nikalys.

“Tell me the fish story, Nik-lys!”

As Jak rode away, chuckling, he could feel Nikalys’ gaze boring into his back. His lightheartedness quickly faded as he realized the friends who had been swimming with them that day were all dead now. He shoved the memory away, wishing he had never brought it up.

He took a wide berth around the girls, keeping his eyes straight ahead to avoid their gaze.

He was still a half dozen paces from Broedi and the spare horse when the hillman—without turning around—rumbled, “Hello, uori.”

Slowing Hal to a walk beside Broedi, Jak looked over and asked, “How did you know it was me?”

“It could have been you or your kaveli. Perhaps I merely guessed correctly?”

“Did you?”

A slight smile touched the corners of Broedi’s mouth.

“No. I did not. Part of Thonda’s gift is very good hearing.”

“I see,” muttered Jak. He eyed the hillman closely. “And how much did you hear?”

Broedi’s smile grew wider than normal.

“You will rarely make a good impression on a young woman by calling them ‘odd.’”

“Nik said that, not me.”

“You agreed.”

Frowning, Jak admitted, “True.”

Looking over, Broedi rumbled, “Now, what question did you wish to ask?”

“Well, I hoping you could perhaps use the Strands to wring the rest of the water from my clothes? They’re damp, uncomfortable, and itchy. It would seem you could…just…” He trailed off and stopped. Broedi did not look like he much cared for the suggestion.

“Uori, the Strands are not for doing laundry.”

Jak let out a tiny sigh and muttered, “No, I suppose not.”

Facing forward, he stared east and spotted a break in the horizon where a dark shape jutted up from the soft green. Squinting, he tried to make sense of what he was seeing, but he was still too far away. Forgetting about his wet clothes, he pointed in the direction of the dark lump.

“What is that?”

Answering without looking first, Broedi rumbled, “The ancient ruins of an Imperial fort. Castrum Viridis Ager.” Anticipating Jak’s next question, he added, “Fort of the Greenfields.”

The fort had to be massive for him to be able to make it out from this distance.

“How old is ‘ancient?’”

“A good question. And one I cannot answer. At least a thousand years, I would say.”

Intrigued, Jak asked, “Are we going to pass it?”

“Yes. It sits near the river.”

“Can we stop and look at it?”

Broedi glanced to the sky and said, “Perhaps. But not tonight.”

Jak looked at the late-afternoon sun and judged they had plenty of time in which to reach the fort before nightfall.

“Why not? We’ll get—”

Broedi but him off, saying in a firm tone, “We wait until morning.”

“Why?”

“It will be safer, then.”

Curious, Jak asked, “Safer?”

“That is what I said.”

Jak’s eyes narrowed a fraction.

“And exactly
why
is it safer, Broedi?”

Peering over at him, the hillman rumbled, “Because it is.”

Jak sighed. It truly was like squeezing water from a rock.

“But we can look tomorrow?”

“In the morning, yes.”

Satisfied with that, Jak asked, “Can I tell the others?”

“If you desire.”

“Then I shall,” said Jak, already turning Hal back around, a smile spreading over his face. He was excited to visit the ruins.

1
^st
of the Turn of Thonda

Each growl of Zecus’ stomach was more insistent than the last. He had tried to satisfy his hunger by drinking as much water as he could, but it had not helped. He needed to eat.

Yesterday, he had come across a field of waist-high, thorny bushes covered with oval, orange fruits the size of his thumb. Breaking them open revealed a mushy red pulp that carried the faint scent of a freshly sharpened knife. He placed a bit of the pulp on his tongue and was surprised to find that the fruit was a mix of sweet and tart flavors. His hunger drove him to pick and eat a large number of fruits in a short period of time. That had turned out to be a poor decision.

Not long after, he became violently ill and, until he rid his stomach of the fruits, he alternated between heaving while on his hands and knees and lying on the ground, curled up in a ball. His stolen horse—which he had named Simiah—stood next to him, watching, seemingly admonishing him for being so foolish as to eat strange berries.

As Zecus had moved northwest with the river, the trees thinned, leaving more and more open space filled with tall grass. It almost reminded him of home, save for the fact that everything was much too green.

He still had no idea where he was. He had expected to come across a settlement or farm by now, but the soldiers on the bridge were the last souls he had seen. While absent of people, the land was full of life. Small, furry animals with long ears hopped through the grass, but bounded away anytime he tried to approach one. Yesterday, he spotted a tusk-less wild pig running through the prairie, twice as large as the ones in the Borderlands. All Zecus could do was sit on his horse and watch helplessly as weeks of food charged away.

He knew that as long as he had water, he would be fine for a time. Granted, he was sluggish from the lack of food, but it did not take much energy to sit in a saddle all day. He reached down and patted Simiah on the neck.

“It is a good thing I found you.”

The horse blew a puff of air through his lips.

Zecus had to remind himself that he had not actually found Simiah. He promised he would make up for his thievery later.

He had been alternating riding along the riverbank with periods where he rode atop the sloped hill that accompanied the river. Currently, he was in what he thought of as a ‘valley,’ even though it was more of a gentle depression. He directed Simiah to the river’s edge, dismounted, and tried to trick his stomach again by gulping mouthful after mouthful of water.

Simiah did not drink. He simply stared at Zecus.

Wiping his mouth, Zecus eyed the horse and muttered, “I know. More water.”

Simiah lowered his head, sniffed at the grass, and ripped some from the ground. Zecus watched the horse chew, wondering if perhaps he should try a few blades. Simiah certainly seemed to enjoy it.

After drinking his fill, Zecus looked upriver, and was surprised to find that it took a sharp bend to the north, cutting off his view a half mile ahead. He blinked.

“Where’d that come from?”

Besides the physical weakness due to lack of food, his mental alertness was another casualty. He had not noticed the bend until now.

“Time to head back up the hill, Simiah.” He wanted to see what was around the bend. Staring at his horse, he asked, “Are you sure you don’t want some water?”

Simiah ignored him, intent on eating grass.

Shrugging his shoulders, Zecus said, “You had your chance.”

He remounted using the leather loops hanging from the saddle and, with his staff set across his lap in the saddle, urged Simiah up the hill. Halfway up, one of the long-eared furry animals burst from a short bush and dashed away, disappearing into the tall grass. As Zecus listened to the animal scamper away, he frowned. It was as if they were taunting him.

As man and horse crested the top of the slope, Zecus pulled Simiah’s reins tight, stopping the horse. He stared with wide eyes, shocked by what stood in front of him.

“Bless the gods.”

A thousand paces away, the remnants of towering, gray stone walls—wide at the base and thinner at the top—rose from the plain, thrice as high as the surrounding trees. Some sections had gaping holes where stone had crumbled away and lay in massive piles on the ground. Towers stood at the edifice’s corners, the pinnacles of which bulged outward like angular mushroom heads.

Zecus remained motionless and quiet, staring through the gaps in the walls, watching for any sign of movement within the ruins. Other than the grass gently waving in the cool, prairie breeze, there was nothing. Listening, all he heard was the soft swishing of the grass paired with the quiet rustle of leaves in the tress.