Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) (92 page)

Nathan winced and covered his ears in a futile attempt to shut out the terror-stricken screech. It took a moment to realize the wraith was saying something and not simply screaming.

The Soulwraith abruptly went silent, its silver eyes snapping to stare back west. An instant later, it sprinted away, loping down the hill, entirely unhampered by the slippery mud and leaves. Within moments, it was gone, nothing but a series of shadowy black streaks dashing through the tree trunks.

Cero muttered, “Was that…was that Latius?” He sounded ill.

Nathan whispered, “I think so.”

“What was he—” Cero stopped and corrected himself. “What was it saying?”

Nathan suppressed a shudder.

“I believe it said…‘Run.’” 

Nundle stared down the tree-strewn slope, a deep frown affixed on his face. While he had been looking forward to an adventure when he had left his home in Deepwell, this was not what he had envisioned.

Hundreds of oligurt voices roared in unison, grunting and chanting. Unintelligible phrases in the choppy, barbaric tongue joined to form a wild, thunderous cacophony that reverberated through the forest. The atonal song would swell, rising in both pitch and volume, hover at a feverish plateau for a moment, and then drop down into low, rugged grumbles and snorts before beginning anew. The cycle reminded Nundle of waves repeatedly crashing upon the shore.

Two hours ago, during their rushed Fire and Charge lessons with Kenders, Broedi had lifted his head, stared west, and rumbled, “They will be here soon.”

A while later, the rest of the company heard the first echoes of the rhythmic chanting. Since then, the roars had steadily increased in volume as the Sudashians drew close. When it sounded as though the thundering voices had stopped advancing, Nathan had sent Hunsfin down the hill. The longleg returned to report that the Sudashians had indeed stopped their march even though their grunting continued unabated.

“Not very subtle, are they?” asked Kenders.

Nundle peered up and to his right. He and Kenders stood apart from the others on the slope. The girl wore her now-ragged, green riding dress and had her harvest-straw hair pulled into a simple, long braid bound by the new, bright crimson cord he had bought for her in Fernsford. A few curly wisps had escaped and hung free, tickling her ear in the light breeze. As she reached up to tuck them away, she glanced down at him and gave him a brave smile.

Nundle respected the attempt, but he could see the fear and uncertainty lurking beneath the grin’s surface. He searched for something to say that might calm her. When nothing worthy came to mind, he sighed and stared back down the hill.

Fifty Sentinels stood a hundred paces in front of them, strung out in a long line across the hillside. Each soldier had a bow in hand and arrows stuck in the soft ground before him, ready to be plucked and fired. The trio of Broedi, Nikalys, and Nathan stood together between Nundle and the line of fifty soldiers, watching and waiting like everyone else.

Two hundred paces to Nundle’s left and right—standing even with him and Kenders—were two sets of horsemen. Nathan’s plan called for holding the mounted longlegs in reserve and using them to ride into any gaps that might open up. However, with only fifteen longlegs in a group, Nundle could not imagine how the small forces could be effective at plugging holes in the line. Truthfully, the entire line had more holes than soldiers.

To Nundle’s far left, Jak and Zecus hid in the oak grove on the southern section of the ridge with another twenty, mounted soldiers. If an opportunity presented itself to charge the flank of the Sudashians, Jak was to lead it.

Sabine and Helene were huddled on the far eastern edge of the hill, near the cliff and the remainder of the staked horses. Sabine had begged to fight, but Nikalys and Jak had convinced her to stay with Helene.

Nundle had checked on the pair before coming to stand with Kenders, and found Sabine singing softly to the terrified girl. As he had left them, Broedi approached the sisters and crouched down. From afar, Nundle watched the hillmen speak to Sabine while pointing eastward. Strangely, a flicker of hope had dashed over her face.

When the White Lion had passed Nundle on his way to join Nikalys and Nathan, the tomble asked what he had said to Sabine. Broedi glanced at him, said nothing, and walked past him, down the hill.

Still finding the exchange odd, Nundle turned to stare back at the Moiléne sisters. Sabine was standing at the edge of the ridge now, cradling Helene in her arms, and staring east. The little girl had her eyes shut tight and hands pressed to her ears. Nundle had half a mind to go ask Sabine what the hillman had said, but he needed to remain at Kenders’ side to guide her as much as he could through the coming battle.

Sighing, he faced downhill and waited.

As they stared down the hill, Nikalys turned around, looked back at them, and gave them an encouraging smile. Like his sister, Nikalys was attempting to appear brave, but Nundle could see the mettle did not reach the boy’s eyes. Kenders offered a short wave back.

As Nikalys turned back around, Kenders muttered, “I’ve never seen him so afraid.”

Nundle stared up at her and frowned. For them to have a chance at surviving today, Kenders needed to be cool, collected, and focused. Fortifying his voice with grit he did not feel, he said, “Of course he’s afraid, dear. He’d be a fool to not be.”

She turned to look at him. “Pardon?” She sounded surprised.

Glaring hard at her, peering out from beneath the brim of his hat, he said over the din of the oligurt chants, “Dear, if you are waiting for me to tell you that everything is going to be perfectly all right, you shall be disappointed. Things will
not
be all right. Maeana will be busy today.”

Visibly startled by his directness, Kenders only stared at him, her lips slightly parted.

Pointing down the hill to the line of bowman, he said, “Many of those soldiers—perhaps all of them—will suffer a terrible death today. They know this, yet they are
still
willing to fight for you, your brother, and the hope you offer. They accept their fate, whatever it might be.
You
must accept it, as well.”

“I don’t want more people to die because of me.”

“Fate does not care what you want, dear."

Kenders lifted her head and stared at the line of soldiers before drifting to the mounted horsemen, then to where Jak and the others hid in the oak grove. Nundle had heard her pleading with him not to ride with the Sentinels.

“Everyone on this hill has made their decision,” said Nundle. “
Everyone.
Respect that. Honor that. And do your blasted best to help keep as many of them alive as possible.”

She peered back down at him. The nervous uncertainty that he had seen in her hazel eyes only moments ago was gone. By no means was fear absent, but it was at least no longer the dominant emotion.

“I understand, Nundle.” She reached over, patted his head, and said gratefully, “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” As her gentle tapping continued atop his wide-brimmed hat, he added gently, “Please stop. I am not a cat.”

She pulled her hand back as the corners of her mouth curled up into a tiny, wistful smile.

Nundle was about to ask the reason behind the slight grin when, suddenly, the oligurt chanting ceased. He and Kenders turned as one to stare down the hill.

A too-quiet moment later, Kenders muttered, “Why’d they stop?”

“I have no idea.”

After listening to the persistent, strident roar for so long, the instant silence was unsettling. The forest was too still.

In a voice just loud enough to be heard across the hill, Nathan called, “Everyone, remain quiet.”

A distant, low rumble of thunder rolled over their hill and slowly faded. The storm that had threatened earlier had never come, instead drifting south and leaving heavy gray skies behind. The air was so moist, so thick that Nundle felt as if he could reach out and grab a handful of it.

After a long, agonizing period of quiet, Broedi tilted his head and pointed to the northwestern set of fortifications. Nundle scanned the slope but did not see anything.

Nathan called in a quiet, calm voice, “Bows, arc twelve. Hold fire.”

All fifty soldiers of the line turned, facing the direction that Broedi had pointed while readying an arrow on their bowstring.

They waited.

The only things that broke the silence were the soft, wet squish of mud when someone shifted their weight. After a while, Nathan turned to stare at Broedi, eyebrows raised. The White Lion ignored him, his eyes never leaving the area he which had indicated.

Nundle leaned towards Kenders and whispered, “What do you think—?”

A muffled chittering suddenly surged from the area, reminding Nundle of the sound rocks made when grinding against one another.

Kenders whispered, “Gods, what is that?”

Nundle shook his head. “I don’t—” He cut off as the ground near where Broedi had pointed rose a bit, lifting like the thick skin atop a long-cooking stew when pressed with a bubble of air. A moment later, the ground came alive as dozens of creatures emerged from the ground, on this side of the first line of sticks and brush, flinging mud as they climbed from new holes. Sharp, pointed quills covered the monsters from head to toe.

Nundle muttered, “Razorfiends…”

The monsters in Zecus’ tale had been a variety of iridescent colors mixed with glossy black, but these were a matte brown, the mud coating them obscured any shine.

The fiends paused briefly to shake off muck and leaves before rushing toward the line of shocked soldiers, hissing and clicking as they ran, the quills on their feet digging into the slippery mud.

“Hold!” shouted Nathan. “Wait until they are closer!”

The soldiers fidgeted, clearly nervous, but followed their sergeant’s order nonetheless.

Nundle shot Kenders a quick glance. Her wide eyes were fixed on the shrieking fiends.

“Are you ready?”

Nodding quickly, she mumbled, “I am.”

“Just like we practiced,” said Nundle. “Keep calm.” He took a deep breath, reached for Strands of Air, and began to weave them together. Kenders, as went Broedi’s plan, did nothing. Her task was to wait.

The razorfiends rushed closer, brandishing their bladed arms like the weapons they were. When they were but a few dozen feet from the stacks of branches, Nathan’s voice boomed across the hilltop.

“Bows! Steady fire!”

Fifty arrows launched across the fortifications and into the charging razorfiends. Some shafts sunk deep into the softer, fleshy sections of the creatures: their stomachs, upper legs, and pinched faces. Yet any arrow that struck a quill simply bounced off and fell to the ground. The soldiers grabbed a second arrow and were able to get another volley off before the fiends reached the fortifications and leapt into the air, trying to jump the walls of brush.

Nundle directed the Weaves of Air he had crafted down the hill, grabbing a dozen razorfiends in midair and holding them in place. Broedi aided him in the effort, which was a blessing as Air was not one of Nundle’s strengths.

Throughout, Kenders remained motionless, her head tilted back as she stared into the sky.

The razorfiends suspended in midair met a quick death as soldiers stabbed them with hand-held arrows, piercing the fiends in their soft, vulnerable places. Not one of the creatures made it over the second row of fortifications.

As Nundle watched one of the longlegs rip a bloody arrow from a fiend’s stomach, he felt a massive surge of bright yellow crackling. He looked to Kenders and shouted, “Here it comes!”

A brilliant flash exploded overhead, paired with a deafening clap of thunder. A second, third, and fourth bolt of lightning chased the first in quick succession. None reached the ground however as the searing bolts came apart a few dozen feet above the treetops, exploding in dazzlingly bright, jagged, spider-webbed patterns. The worst part of the assault was the teeth-rattling boom that came with each flash.

Additional lightning attacks followed the first barrage, but every bolt was turned aside. After a handful more of the failed strikes, the lightning stopped. Nundle studied the sky, waiting, searching for more Strands of Charge, but he did not feel or see any. Smiling, he peered up at Kenders. He was ecstatic to see her completely alert.

“Wondrous job, dear.”

“Thank you,” she said while wearing a tiny, satisfied grin. “It’s much easier when I know what I’m doing.”

“Do not get overconfident. Broedi expected this from the oligurt mages. They will not remain predictable forever.”

From below them, Nikalys shouted, “Good job, sis!”

More than a few soldiers were staring back at her with expressions of open wonderment on their faces. Beyond the longlegs, on the other side of the brush wall, dozens of dead razorfiends littered the ground. As far as Nundle could tell, not a single Sentinel was injured. After doing a quick count of the dead or dying fiends, he muttered, “They lost forty of their force in that attack.

“And have nothing to show for it,” said Kenders.

Shaking his head, he muttered, “I don’t see how this could have started better.”

“Don’t get overconfident, Nundle.” He heard the smile in her voice.

“Oh, I’m not. Trust me, I’m not.”

He was well aware that the line between confidence and arrogance was thin.

Everyone remained alert, expecting an immediate follow-up attack. Soldiers held their bows by their side, arrows nocked. Nundle strained, searching for any flicker of gold, yellow, green, white, or black. There was nothing.

After a while, the company relaxed somewhat and resumed their patient waiting. The Sudashians were certainly not going to go away.

Kenders asked, “Why did they stop?”

“Perhaps they are reassessing the situation?”

“Not what I meant.” She pointed to the disturbed earth to the northeast. “The razorfiends. Why did they stop there? If they can burrow like that, why not go under all the defenses and come up behind us?”

A pensive frown spread over Nundle’s face.