Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) (72 page)

Raela’s ice-blue eyes burned with the intensity of a fully stoked blacksmith’s forge. He could almost feel the rage radiating from her, much like the heat from the sandstone on the veranda. There was nothing beautiful about the erijul now. Then again, she was not truly an erijul. She was the god of Deception incarnate.

Her eyes bored into him.

“Why did you not contact us?”

His eyes opened a fraction, surprised at the question.

“And how would I do that exactly?” Pointing to the parchment on the floor, he said, “The one person I can contact has ignored me for two weeks!”

Raela took a step forward, her eyes glinting in the moonlight.

“Are you claiming innocence in the matter?”

“Of course I am! Jhaell is the one who did not follow instructions! Jhaell is the one who flooded a village in my duchy.
My
duchy! Jhaell lost the Progeny, not me! This is not my fault!”

“Alpert is
your
man.
You
made him the regent of Smithshill.
You
brought him to Tandyr’s service. And as he was the one to give Jhaell the opportunity to continue his mistake, this—all of this—is
your
fault.”

Everett glared at Raela.

“You can’t possibly think that!”

“I can think whatever I want! And I can guarantee that Tandyr will think as I do once I’m done explaining your and Alpert’s foul-ups to him.”

A burst of panic exploded in Everett’s chest.

“Raela, please!”

She gave a disgusted shake of her head, turned, and strode away, her bare feet slapping against the polished marble as she walked.

“Raela!”

She ignored his repeated pleas until she reached the entranceway where she stopped. Looking back at him, she said, “You had better hope the Progeny are dead or soon will be, Everett. Otherwise, all of this will come crashing down around you. I helped put you here and I can take it all away.” Lifting one of her long arms, she pointed out to Redstone and said, “One whispered rumor is all it would take. One lie, one falsehood fed to the sheep out there. Tell me, Everett, do you have enough soldiers to stop every peasant out there?”

He glared at her, silent, knowing that her threat was not an idle one. He had benefited too often from her talents in the past to doubt her effectiveness.

Raela turned and retreated, heading through open double doors.

“You better start praying, Everett.”

He watched her moonlit figure sweep past his windows and down the passageway. Dropping his chin to his chest, he and stared at the marble floor.

This was bad.

If Tandyr were to blame Everett for Jhaell’s mistake, the god would no doubt rescind his promises. Everett frowned, guessing that would not be the end of Tandyr’s retribution, either. In a daze, he bent over, picked up the parchment, and began to return to his desk.

“You sent for me, my Lord?”

Turning around, he found the blonde serving girl from the dining hall standing in the doorway. She wore a coy smile and took a step onto the marble.

He glared at her and muttered, “Get out.”

She stopped short and stared at him, her brow knitted up in confusion.

“But, my Lord. I thought—”

Fury welled up inside him and a feral sneer raced over his lips. Pointing to the doorway, he screamed, “Get out!”

The girl hesitated, but then turned and ran into the night, fleeing down the open-air passageway, her sandals beating on the sandstone as she fled.

Walking to his desk, Everett collapsed in his chair, and rested his chin in his hand.

“Blast it, Jhaell. You had better fix this.”

2
^nd
of the Turn of Thonda

Lying on his back, Nikalys stared up at the billowy clouds marching across the sky, assigning familiar shapes to them in his head. With a sigh, he let his head fall to the side, checking on Kenders. She was still sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the goings on around her.

Earlier, when he had first awakened, he had been alarmed to find Kenders unconscious beside him. Thankfully, Jak was there also and, after assuring him Kenders was all right, had filled him in on what she had done for the soldiers.

Broedi came to check his shoulder wound and, after finding it nearly healed, pronounced him fit with a reserved frown. According to the hillman, he should have slept longer and his wound should not be as whole as it was. Broedi wondered aloud if the gift given to the White Lions by Sarphia, the goddess of Immortality, had slipped into Nikalys as well. Whatever the reason, Nikalys was grateful for his quick recovery.

As the hillman was attending to him, a joyful, high-pitched scream had rung out over the prairie. Nikalys looked up just as Helene had tackled him, leaping into his arms, screaming with delight. Sabine had walked up after her sister, and while her greeting was much less enthusiastic than Helene’s was, the genuine warmth she displayed was unexpected yet welcome.

After a short reunion, Broedi ushered everyone away, insisting Nikalys lie down again to ensure a full recovery. Nikalys protested that he felt fine, but the hillman would have none of it.

Sabine pulled a reluctant Helene with her, announcing they were both going to take a short swim in the river, followed by a long nap. Jak left as well, promising to fill Nikalys in later, after he rested more. He had lain in the grass beside Kenders and tried to fall asleep, but, so far, he was unable to do so.

Watching one last cloud drift past—it reminded him of a horse pulling a wagon—he decided he had enough of lying there. He was anxious to discover what was going on.

Sitting up, Nikalys reached his arms high overhead and stretched, amazed that his shoulder did not hurt. Looking toward the camp that the Red Sentinels had set up, he shook his head with wonder.

“So we run from them for weeks and now we’re suddenly friends?”

Near the main grouping of tents, Jak stood with the bearded man who Nikalys guessed to be the Sentinels’ leader as well as the Borderlander from the fort. The trio had their backs to him, watching a dozen soldiers practicing their sword work. The clang of metal striking metal had been one of the reasons Nikalys had been unable to sleep.

Since the soldiers seemed friendly, Nikalys wondered if he could get a quick lesson before Kenders awoke. He still had the Blade of Horum strapped to his hip, but he had no more idea what to do with it now than when he first pulled it from the scabbard.

With one last look at his sister, he stood and began to walk to where Jak was. As he sauntered over, a puff of wind carried with it the now-familiar sweet scent of burning smoking-leaf. Looking up, he noticed Broedi with his bone pipe in hand, deep in conversation with the little redheaded tomble.

Broedi eyed him and nodded, which Nikalys took to mean the hillman was granting approval that he be up and about. The tomble turned and looked at him, staring with wide eyes. After a few uncomfortable moments, Nikalys broke off the tomble’s gaze and continued to where his brother stood. Hearing his approach, Jak turned and smiled wide.

“Did Broedi give you permission to get up?”

“In a manner of speaking,” replied Nikalys with a grin. “I stood up and he didn’t tell me to lie back down.”

The bearded soldier and Borderland both faced him as the men behind them continued their sword practice. Nikalys caught more than a few furtive glances in his direction.

Pointing to the soldier, Jak said, “Nikalys, this is Sergeant Trell.”

The sergeant scrutinized Nikalys so closely that he felt like a crate of olives being evaluated by the Smithshill inspectors.

Nikalys shot a quick, inquisitive glance at his brother and received a nod back, indicating everything was fine. Shrugging, he looked at the soldier and said, “Good days ahead to you, Sergeant Trell.”

“And good memories behind, young man.”

Nodding to the dark-skinned Borderlander, Jak said, “And you remember the man we met in the fort, don’t you? This is Zecus, from the village Drysa.” He looked at the Borderlander. “I got that right, didn’t I?”

The man inclined his head and said, “You did.” He faced Nikalys, bent at the waist slightly, and said respectfully, “My pleasure is to meet you in peace today, great warrior.”

The Borderlander’s words sounded like a ritualistic greeting. Not knowing what the correct response was, Nikalys simply repeated the phrase back.

“It is my pleasure to meet you in peace today, as well, Zecus.”

For the first time, Nikalys truly studied the man. Last night in the ruined fort, it had been dark and Nikalys had been preoccupied. The Borderlander’s face was cut and bruised as though he had been in a tavern fight.

Suddenly, the entirety of the Borderlander’s salutation registered.

“Hold a moment. Great warrior?”

“He’s been doing it all night,” said Jak with a wondering shake of his head. “‘The great warrior this, the great warrior that.’ A bit much in my opinion. So you bashed in the heads of a dozen spirit soldiers? They were made of moonlight.” He winked at Nikalys. “A cloud over the moons could have wiped them out just as easily.”

A quiet chuckle slipped from Sergeant Trell at Jak’s good-natured jest. Even the Borderlander sported a small smile. Nikalys stared at the three men, bewildered. Everyone here seemed completely at ease with one another, even friendly.

“I’m very confused right now.”

“That is to be expected, uori
.
”

Turning to his left, Nikalys was surprised to find Broedi standing next to him. For a man of his size and stature, the hillman could move with surprising stealth. Coming around Broedi’s left, the tomble stood in front of the hillman and stared up at Nikalys, his eyes still wide.

Looking from face to face, Nikalys asked, “Would someone please tell me what is going on?”

Everyone, even Broedi, smiled at his befuddlement. The hillman, at first alone, and later, with the help of the others, revealed what they had discussed last evening after Nikalys had passed out. The tales shared combined to form one of the most incredible sagas he had ever heard. Once they were finished, Nikalys stared at Broedi, wholly incredulous.

“All of this is true?”

Nodding, Broedi rumbled, “Too much of what they say aligns with what we already knew.”

Unable to help himself, Nikalys asked, “Truly? A massive army of oligurts and razorfiends—”

“And perhaps mongrels,” interjected Nundle.

“Fine. And mongrels. They’re all amassing in the Borderlands right now?”

Zecus eyed Nikalys and said, “I can assure you, great warrior, they are. Most of the western villages have been destroyed or abandoned. When the demon showed me the map, he said we stood on the remains of Midiah. I believe he was truthful.” Zecus’ eyebrows drew together. “I am thankful that Drysa was mostly empty when I visited it again. I pray my neighbors are safe in the east.”

The tomble looked up at Zecus in surprise.

“You are from Drysa?”

“I am, little mage.”

A perplexed expression affixed itself to Nundle’s face.

“I must have missed that last night.”

“Things were confused last evening,” rumbled Broedi as he peered down at the tomble. “Does that mean something to you?”

Nodding, Nundle said, “I met two men from Drysa while in Lakeborough.” His gaze shifted to Zecus. “They were on their way to Freehaven to petition the First Council about the Sudashians. Joshmuel and Boah. Nice enough fellows. Spent the—”

With wide eyes, Zecus interrupted, saying, “Joshmuel Alsher and Boah Rasus?”

Nundle stared at the Borderlander. A moment skipped past before he said, “How could—” The tomble’s eyes grew round. “Hold a moment! Zecus! That was the name of Joshmuel’s son!”

“That is me,” muttered the Borderlander. “I am Zecus Alsher, son of Joshmuel.”

Everyone glanced at one another, clearly surprised by the chance occurrence. Everyone except Broedi, that is. Nikalys noticed the hillman staring between Nundle and Zecus, a pensive frown affixed to his lips. He looked concerned more than anything.

Nikalys almost asked him what he was thinking, but learning that there was an army of oligurts, razorfiends, and mongrels marching on the duchies demanded his attention for the moment. Staring around the group, he asked, “So why is the Borderlands’ duke not fighting back?”

Pointing to Zecus, Nundle said, “That’s the same question I asked his father.”

Broedi offered, “Perhaps it is in the duke’s best interests to turn a blind eye. We have evidence of one duke already involved in a conspiracy.” With a deeper frown than typically graced his face, he added, “It would seem the Cabal has begun their quest, whatever that may be. I had hoped for more time.” He looked to Zecus. “Are you sure you can’t tell us nothing else? You cannot remember any names or places? Anything?”

“I am sorry, great lion,” said Zecus with a slow shake of his head. “The demon’s name was Urazûd, the ijul’s was Jhaell. He was supposed to be searching for something.” He bowed his head. “I offer my deepest remorse that I cannot tell you more.”

“You have been more than helpful,” rumbled the hillman. “Do not apologize.” After a brief pause, he added quietly, “And please stop calling me ‘great lion.’ Broedi will do.”

Zecus lifted his head but did not respond.

Jak said, “So, then. The god of Chaos is ‘searching for something.’” He frowned and said with a healthy amount of sarcasm, “That wondrously ambiguous.”

“Believe it or not, uori, it is more than we knew during the last war. Norasim’s intentions were never clear.”

Scratching his beard, Sergeant Trell eyed Broedi and said, “As you are the lone soul here who has dealt with him before, what do you think he—or she, I suppose—is doing?”

“I do not know. Yet I expect things will go worse for us than last time.”

“Worse?” scoffed Nikalys. “What could be worse than a demon army led by one of the Cabal running over the land?”

“An army led by four of the Cabal running over the land,” rumbled Broedi.

“Pardon?” asked Jak.

Frowning, Nundle said, “According to Indrida’s prophecy, when Chaos returns, he or she will have the help of Strife, Pain,
and
Deception. Four evil gods, working together.”