Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) (96 page)

Arrows filled the air.

Kenders scanned the surging Sudashians, looking for Jhaell and the oligurt mages, but they were not among the crowd.

A different sort of snorting howl pulled Kenders attention to the northwestern side of the hill. A few dozen oligurts mounted atop the horrid bullockboars had crested the rise and were thundering toward the Sentinel flank.

Sergeant Trell spun around and shouted, “Right horse! Charge!”

The order was almost unnecessary as the northern group of horsemen were already inching forward. Corporal Holb pointed his sword at the bullockboars and shouted something. Men and horse launched forward. Kenders shook her head, watching as the two groups converged.

“No…”

This was going to be a massacre. The Red Sentinel horsemen were outnumbered three-to-one. Those fifteen soldiers were rushing to their deaths. Kenders did not know whether to help them or direct her attention elsewhere. The battle scene before her was pure chaos. Men shouting, oligurts roaring, horses whinnying.

A surge of green, yellow, and white pulled her gaze down the hill. Nundle was facing the charging bullockboars whilst knitting a pattern she had never seen. Guessing it was helpful, she did her best to mimic the Weave, twisting her Strands to look like his. It was terribly difficult—she had never combined three different types of Strands before—yet, somehow, she remained but a step behind him, intertwining dozens of the magical strings into an intricate design. When Nundle finished, he flung the completed Weave at the charging bullockboars. Kenders did the same with hers a heartbeat later, having no idea what to expect.

A pair of explosions, one right after the other, sent two quick, brilliant spark-fueled flashes over the hillside. Blinking against the remnant flares, Kenders spotted two creatures, twice as tall as a man and made of pure lightning rushing towards the oligurts and their hulking, snarling mounts. Despite her heightened anxiety, Kenders could not help but feel a flicker of awe at what she had crafted as the beings lashed wildly at the Sudashians. The moment a sizzling limb touched an oligurt or bullockboar, the victim would go rigid, crash to the ground, and go sliding through the mucky hillside with smoke curling from their charred wounds.

Howling in fear, bullockboars began to scatter just as the charging Sentinels crashed into their flank. The northern section of the hill became a tangled mess of men, horse, oligurts, bullockboars, and two fibríaals of lightning.

Sensing the orange of Fire, Kenders shifted her attention back west. Her eyes went round.

A sphere of flame the size of her home in Yellow Mud was speeding through the air, charring trees it engulfed as it flew up the hill. Just before it reached the first line of fortifications, Kenders reached out, grabbed a number of the Strands within the globe, and unraveled the Weave. The fire dissipated in an instant, blasting the Sentinels with a blast of hot, dry air.

Looking down the hill, she finally spotted Jhaell and the oligurt mages marching behind the rest of the host. As she glared at the ijul, the Sudashian mages crafted another colossal ball of fire and sent it flying up at her. Wearing a tiny smile, she immediately unwound the Weave. As the globe of flame disappeared with a great whoosh, she noticed something about arrangement of the Strands.

Her smile grew a fraction. She said a silent prayer the Desert Fire mages would try again. They obliged by sending two burning spheres her way. The pair of fireballs sizzled, rolling through the air toward the Sentinels. Instead of instantly unraveling them though, she let the fire fly.

Oligurts had breached the first line of fortifications on the southern side and were pouring through a gap. Only fifty paces of open ground stood between the Sentinels and dozens of grayskins.

Kenders waited until the fireballs were above the breach, and then reached into the tangled Strands, twisted the pattern, and yanked. The two balls of fire changed course, dropping straight down on top of the oligurts, roasting dozens of the enemy on impact. The flames must have been especially hot as they managed to set the rain-soaked fortifications on fire. Thick, black spewed into the sky.

The fireballs stopped after that.

Scanning the hill, she spotted other sections of the branch-and-log barriers failing. Her stomach clenched when she saw some oligurts had already reached the northern section of Sentinels. Close quarters combat was underway, the soldiers’ bows and arrows discarded and replaced with swords and shields.

Skirmishes quickly broke out all along the line. Sergeant Trell, no longer shouting orders, was with his men, fighting the oligurts himself, his sword flashing in the sunlight. Nikalys was dashing around the battlefield, slicing and stabbing as many oligurts and razorfiends as he could reach. Yet even with his skill and speed, he could not singlehandedly stave off the Sudashian assault. There were simply too many of them.

Nundle had been reduced to using quick, simple bolts of Charge to repel some of the enemy, trying to strike down as many oligurts as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, most of his Weaves were being undone by the Desert Fire Mages before they struck their intended target.

Whether or not an order had been given, the group of horsemen on her left charged headlong into the crowded mess of oligurts and razorfiends, punching a hole in their line briefly before the Sudashians swarmed the Sentinels.

Mimicking the same Weave of Air that Nundle had used against the first wave of razorfiends, Kenders began to lift Sudashians into the air and toss their flailing bodies back down the hill. She had flung a dozen away before her Weaves stopped working. As soon as she would pick up a foe, the pattern fell apart, letting the monster drop straight back to the ground.

The hopelessness of their situation set in.

“We’re losing…”

Oligurts bellowed, swinging their spiked clubs with abandon, smashing men to the ground. Razorfiends leapt about the hill, blades outstretched to slice any blue and gold clad soldier that they could reach. Urazûd, no longer leading the charge, stood on the hillside with a crooked, evil grin affixed on his face. Jhaell stood beside the demon-man, his long arms crossed, his expression one of joyful anticipation.

She stared at him, the memory of hiding beneath the yellow-leafed bush and watching the ijul atop the bluff overlooking Yellow Mud washing over her. The remembered anger of that moment shoved aside her despair. A surge of resolve exploded inside of her.

Kenders set her jaw. If she continued to remain cautious, she would die. They all would.

Drawing her beltknife, she glared at Jhaell and—bypassing any attempt to weave the Strands properly—willed that the saeljul was standing with her.

She wanted him here.

Beside her.

Now.

Strands popped into existence around her—thick, pure black mixed with brilliant, glowing silver—fully arranged in an incredibly complex pattern. She tottered on the hillside as a wave of bone-weary fatigue rushed through her. Her eyelids drooped shut against her will. She wanted to lie down and sleep for a week. Her knees began to buckle when a whispered word of angry determination slipped from her lips.

“
No
.”

She refused to faint and compelled her eyes to open. Jhaell Myrr stood a few paces from her, glancing around with his wide ijulan eyes.

“How did you do that? That Weave is imposs—”

He cut off as his gaze locked on the knife in her hand. His eyes narrowed and he took a few quick steps backwards. Puffs of acrid black smoke from the burning fortifications below drifted between them.

Afraid that if she used the Strands again, she would pass out, Kenders advanced toward him, lifting the knife up despite having no idea what she was doing with it. She took two steps, stumbled, and almost fell.

Noticing her wooziness, Jhaell smiled a wicked, wide grin. “You are not as strong as you appear, are you?”

She hissed, “I’m strong enough!”

“You weren’t strong enough to save your village.”

Rage saturated Kenders’ soul, overwhelming any rational thought.

“Ahhhh!”

She rushed the ijul, lifting the beltknife over her head when she felt the crackling of Water and Air. Blinded by fury, Kenders did not react quickly enough to repel the blue and white Weave he tossed at her.

Suddenly, inexplicably, her mouth was full of water. She tried to spit it out, but could not. Panicking, she stumbled to a stop, dropped the knife, and instinctively grasped her throat. Her eyes went wide as she realized the water sloshing in her mouth filled her throat and lungs, too. She fell to the ground, collapsing to her hands and knees. She sensed a Weave of Air covering her nose and mouth, but could not focus enough to unravel it. Her chest burned inside. She was drowning, only moments from passing out and dying.

Her braid fell to the side of her head and draped before her. Through tear-blurred eyes, she stared at the crimson cord binding her hair as it danced back and forth with each jolting, silent hack.

A single, whispered word slipped from Jhaell.

“Syra…”

The barrier over her lips disappeared. Jets of water exploded from her mouth and nose. Deep, hacking coughs wracked her chest.

A soon as she could, Kenders lifted her head, wondering why Jhaell had released the Weave. The ijul was staring at her, his eyes vacant. The maliciousness was gone from his face. He almost looked sad.

She did not understand the sudden shift in attitude, nor did she care. She reached for Charge, swiftly knitted a simple Weave, and lashed out with it. A hissing bolt of lightning leapt toward Jhaell and struck the saeljul in the left shoulder, spinning him around and tossing him to the ground.

As Kenders continued to choke up water while keeping an eye on Jhaell, Nikalys’ panicked voice rose over the din of battle.

“Jak! No!”

Kenders whipped her head around and peered down the slope.

Jak rode at the head of twenty horsemen thundering across the hill, his sword over his head and mouth opened wide in a battle cry. Zecus was at his side, sword out and screaming as well. Kenders’ gaze shot across the hill to rest upon their apparent target, the demon-man. Seeing the charge, Urazûd turned toward the horsemen, lifted his massive sword, and loosed a roar of challenge that filled the hillside, his voice echoing with a strange, throbbing power that she felt more than heard.

“Gods, Jak, no!”

She was about to watch her brother die.

Without warning, a wall of solid air slammed into her, lifting her from the mud, and tossing her back a dozen paces. As she crashed to the ground, the back of her head sunk into the mushy mud, but ricocheted when it struck the solid rock just below the surface. She let out a short, sharp cry of pain.

Lying on her back, she cracked her eyes open. Everything was blurry. Tasting blood in her mouth, she ran her tongue around and found a gash on the inside of her cheek. She slowly lifted her head from the mud, blinking, trying to clear the webs choking her thoughts.

Jhaell was upright and was moving toward her, clasping his shoulder with his long, thin fingers. Bloody, charred flesh peeked out from beneath his smoking shirt. The hateful glint in his eye was back.

Kenders needed to do something, but the blow to her head and the image of Jak rushing to his doom made it difficult for her to concentrate. Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back into the mud as despair returned with vengeance. Jak must be dead by now.

As she lay there, listening to Jhaell grunting in pain as he shuffled closer, a wholly unexpected sound filled the air, mixing with the clamor of the yelling, screaming, and fighting.

Cheering.

Joyous, relieved cheering.

She listened, thoroughly confused. The voices fueling the jubilation were not oligurts or razorfiends. It was the Sentinels. She clearly heard Sergeant Trell’s voice among the shouts.

A hawk’s piercing cry sliced through the air.

When she opened her eyes to look at the sky, she found Jhaell standing over her yet staring downhill, an angry scowl spread across his face. Peering down at her, he said with disdain, “They’re too late to save you.” He bent down and started to reach for Kenders face.

Smacking his hand away, she growled, “Don’t touch me!”

Jhaell’s sneer turned vicious. She felt a flicker of white and suddenly both arms were pinned flat to the ground. As she gathered her wits to try to unravel the Weave of Air, Jhaell bent down again with his long fingers outstretched.

“Leave me alone!” she screamed, watching as he reached for her hair. He grabbed her braid, ripped the crimson cord from it, and tossed it aside.

Managing to gather her thoughts, she reached out and unraveled the Weave of Air holding her to the ground. As the pattern fell apart, she felt Jhaell reaching for Void and Air. It took her a moment to recognize the black and white pattern as the one he had tried to use earlier against Nikalys. He was weaving a port.

She lifted a leg and tried to kick him, but she had no strength. Jhaell grabbed her foot and shoved it to the side. She tried to sweep his legs from under him, cracking her shin into his ankle. He stumbled yet kept his balance, although the blow broke his concentration as the Weave fell apart.

“
Beelvra
!” He glared at her, growling, “Hold still and die!” He dropped suddenly, driving a knee into her stomach.

Her eyes went wide as every bit of air in her lungs burst from her lips. She lay there gasping, trying to breathe, as Jhaell rose to his feet and began to weave again. Weak, weary, and wheezing, it was all she could do to bat aside the Strands as he pulled them to the pattern. They struggled, tugging the strings in opposite directions. Jhaell was an accomplished mage, however, and was able to knit the Weave faster than she could unravel it. She had no way to measure how long she fought against him. Time was flowing incredibly fast or had slowed to a halt.

As Jhaell neared completion of the Weave, he stared down at her, triumphant. He was going to win today, and everyone on this hill was going to die. Herself included. It did not matter that she was the Progeny, that Indrida had foreseen her leading the charge against the god of Chaos. This was Kenders’ fate. The words of the prophecy were simply that. Words.