The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (32 page)

Tobias did not speak for a time, visibly mulling over Nundle’s recitation.

Nundle did his best to mimic the pair’s calm disposition, but found it nerve-wracking to appear as tranquil as they did. He tapped his hands lightly against his thighs, anxious.

Without looking up, Tobias muttered, “Repeat it, please.”

Nundle glanced at Broedi, received a nod, and recited Indrida’s prophecy again. When he was done, Tobias drew in a long, deep breath, held it a moment, and then exhaled.

“I wonder which of the ‘ones’ I am.”

Nundle burst out, “The ‘One who will be lost’ is my guess. It makes the most sense according to your history.”

Tobias’ gaze shifted to regard Nundle, his eyes narrowing sharply.

“What do you know of my history?”

Nundle wilted a bit under the stare of the White Lion, not truly understanding the sharp tone or glare. He shrugged his shoulders, mumbling, “Nothing much.” When Tobias did not look away, he added, “Honest.”

Frowning, Tobias huffed and dropped his gaze to the pouch of smoking-leaf. Reaching down, he began packing the bowl of his pipe. After a few quiet moments, he glanced up to Broedi and said, “So Norasim is back?”

Broedi pulled the bone pipe from his mouth and exhaled a long plume of white smoke.

“He—or she for all we know—is back. We do not know form or name.”

“Wondrous,” muttered Tobias. “And these Progeny? Who are they?”

Broedi rumbled softly, “Aryn and Eliza’s children.”

Tobias nearly dropped the pipe to the ground. Looking up quickly, he gaped at Broedi.

“Pardon?!”

“A lot has happened since we last saw each other, Tobias.”

“Aryn and Eliza?” repeated Tobias. “They…they had children?!” He gawked as though Broedi had claimed that White Moon was actually made of cheese.

“Two of them. A boy, who just turned eighteen, and a girl who will complete her seventeenth year shortly.”

Bafflement fled from Tobias’ face in an instant. He tilted his head to the side, was quiet a moment, and then murmured, “Ah…well, that certainly clears the smoke.”

Curious, Nundle asked, “What smoke is that?”

Tobias shot Nundle a sharp glance and asked, “Exactly how does any of this concern a Boroughs bred?”

Broedi rumbled, “Tobias! Your issue with the Boroughs is your own! Nundle played no part and does not deserve to be treated as such. He has been invaluable in the events leading to now, assuming great personal risk in order to help. I would ask that you treat him with the respect he deserves.”

Nundle looked back and forth between the pair, bewildered. He had no idea what was happening.

Tobias eyed Nundle with a slight frown for a moment before staring back to the hillman and saying, “Now I want the long version, Broedi. Every last word.”

With a slight, satisfied smile, Broedi said, “As you desire.”

Broedi told Tobias everything, starting with his time spent traveling Terrene with Aryn Atticus and Eliza Kap. He explained how the three of them encountered the Shadow Manes centuries prior and how another White Lion, Miriel Syncent, had founded the organization shortly after the outlawing of magic in the duchies. He told of the love that blossomed between Aryn and Eliza, the birth of Nikalys and Kenders at Storm Island, and how the Progeny had been hidden away for fifteen years in Yellow Mud to be raised by foster parents.

Tobias listened, clearly fascinated by the tale. Nundle knew the story intimately by now, but Broedi’s wonderful storytelling kept his attention throughout. At one point, he glanced to the sky and was surprised to find that it was past sundown. The sky clung to a bit of leftover daylight, but in a short while, night would reign.

When Broedi recounted the cruel, heartless attack on Yellow Mud only a few turns past, Tobias closed his eyes, shook his head, and interrupted.

In a quiet, sad voice, he asked, “It’s starting again, isn’t it?”

“It is,” replied Broedi solemnly. “And it gets worse. My story is not near complete.”

He shared the tale of his time spent with the Isaac siblings. At one point, Broedi turned to Nundle and asked the tomble to share his role in their story. Nundle complied, covering everything from his time as an acolyte at the Strand Academies to his chance meetings with the Red Sentinels in the Southlands of the Oaken Duchies.

By the time they finished the telling of the Battle of Shorn Rise, the sun was a distant memory. Both moons had crested the hills, bathing the path in a soft, bluish-white light providing plenty of illumination to see Tobias’ sober expression. The White Lions’ pipes had both burnt out long ago, but they both continued to hold onto them, occasionally placing the bits and absentmindedly gnawing on them.

As they started to share the story of their arrival at Storm Island, Tobias held up his hand and announced, “That’s enough. I don’t need to hear any more.”

Nundle protested, “But we haven’t told you anything about the enclave. It’s—”

Fixing his eyes on Nundle, Tobias interrupted, “It’s an ancient stone castle perched atop a steep bluff overlooking the Sea of Kings? With a quaint, little town outside its walls and a giant, open gravel courtyard inside them?”

Broedi and Nundle exchanged a quick glance. Nundle murmured, “Yes, but—”

“And a cozy commons room with three roaring fires,” continued Tobias. “Along with a large kitchen staff that—at times—serves roasted Southlands boar, yes? And some sort of spiced sweet cakes seem to be popular.”

Nundle was staring at the tomble White Lion, flabbergasted, when something suddenly clicked, like the tumblers in a lock falling into place. His eyes narrowed.

“Your vision was of the enclave, wasn’t it?”

“You are a sharp one, Nundle Babblebrook of Deepwell,” said Tobias with a thin smile. “And a better—and braver—tomble than I gave you credit. I am sorry for my earlier rudeness. Broedi was right. You did not deserve the treatment.”

Nundle nodded quickly, accepting the unexpected apology. He was glad it was dark out, else Tobias might see him blushing from the compliment.

“Thank you, sir.”

Tobias’ grin twitched a bit, shrinking a fraction.

“But I was not jesting earlier. Don’t call me that. And no ‘Mister Donngord,’ either. Just Tobias. If you ‘sir’ me one more time, I’ll smack you with my walking stick. Understood?”

Nundle nodded quickly.

“I understand.”

Broedi rumbled softly, “Be patient, Tobias. Nundle was quite excited to discover a tomble was one of the White Lions.”

Tobias twisted to stare up to the hillman and asked, “You did not tell him of me?”

Broedi shook his head and said, “I said nothing, Tobias.” He stared hard at the tomble. “
Nothing.
”

“Truly?” asked Tobias in surprise.

“Truly, old friend. Your story is your own.”

The White Lion pair stared at one another for a long moment, something silent but understood passing between them.

Tobias gave a quick, single nod and said softly, “Thank you. You did not need to do that.”

Nundle could not have felt more lost if he had suddenly appeared in the middle of Freehaven and was asked for directions to the nearest fish market.

“Now, is Nundle correct?” asked Broedi. “Your vision was of the enclave?”

Tobias nodded in the moonlight.

“You tell me. Is my description correct?”

“Disturbingly so,” rumbled the hillman. “Miriel’s Weave that protects the enclave from prying eyes apparently does not extend to your gift.” Leaning forward, he asked, “What exactly did you see?”

Tobias sighed and shifted in place. He had been sitting in once place for a long time.

“Well, I walked through the town, through the open gate, and into the courtyard. Seeing a set of doors, I went through them and followed some people through the hallways—they all seemed to be headed to one place. We entered a large room full of people, eating. I turned to my right and spotted a table in the corner with three men, two young women, and a little girl.” Quiet awe slipped into his voice as he said, “Gods, for a brief moment, I swore I was staring at an Eliza years younger than I remembered her.”

“Kenders,” said Broedi softly. “She is every bit her mother, in temper and in power. You would like her.” He paused a moment, then prompted, “The men at the table. Can you describe them?”

“Two young, one older with a black beard. His hair was pulled back in a bunch. One of the young men was clearly Aryn’s son. Add some years and weight to his face, and he would be Aryn’s twin.”

“Nikalys,” said Broedi with a slight smile. “He and his father are quite similar, as well.”

“From the sullen look on his face,” said Tobias. “I do not doubt it.”

With a quiet sigh, Broedi mused, “I wonder what is bothering him now.”

“If I had to guess,” began Tobias, “It had something to do with the striking young longleg at the end of the table. A fair young thing, her hair blacker than a one-moon night.”

“Sabine, then,” said Broedi softly. “Nikalys has feelings for her.”

“Yet pretends he does not,” added Nundle. “Although he is fooling no one.”

Tobias chuckled softly.

“Well, from the way the young lady was smiling at the strapping, black-haired longleg across from her, she has interest in someone else.”

Nundle said uneasily, “Curly black hair? Brown eyes?”

“Yes,” replied Tobias.

“And that would be Jak,” sighed Broedi.

“The foster brother?” asked Tobias with a raised eyebrow. “Well, that must be awkward.”

A slight frown resting upon his lips, Broedi said softly, “It would seem there have been new developments since we left.”

Nundle prayed the brothers would be able to focus on the task at hand. Sabine’s affections were not important presently.

After a moment, Broedi asked, “What were they all doing?”

Tobias shrugged and said, “Eating and talking from the looks of it. I was going to walk over and listen, but the vision faded before I could.” He peered up from the ground. “Broedi, something is bothering me about this. About your tale. About you stumbling over me today. About all of it, truly.”

Nundle glanced at Broedi, guessing what Tobias was going to say. The hillman did not meet his gaze, however, keeping his eyes on Tobias.

“What is that?” rumbled the hillman.

Tobias leaned forward, draped his arms over his legs, and said, “It’s too perfect.” He shook his head. “It’s all too blasted perfect.”

Broedi nodded, but rather than openly agree, he prodded Tobias, asking, “What do you mean by that?”

Tobias began to list off the long list of coincidences that had brought everyone together. Nundle from the Arcane Republic. Zecus from the Borderlands. The Sentinels to the fort in the Southlands. The Shadow Manes finding them on Shorn Rise. Broedi and Nundle nodded along with each point, silently agreeing.

Once Tobias was done, he stared up and said, “Ketus himself is not so lucky.”

“I agree,” rumbled Broedi. “And what does that say to you?”

The tomble frowned in the moonlight.

“That some of the Assembly have finally deemed us lowly mortals worthy of their attention again.”

“I have come to a similar conclusion,” said Broedi. “Which is why Nundle and I are headed to the Seat of Nelnora. I have some questions for her.”

“The Seat of Nelnora, huh?” asked Tobias.

Broedi nodded.

“Yes.”

The White Lion tomble frowned and let out short sigh. Tilting his head back, he rested it on the rough bark of his tree. A bit of shaggy, brown hair fell before his eyes. He remained in that relaxed position for a short while, sitting quietly and staring up into the night sky, lost in thought. Broedi rested, watching Tobias carefully. They were both so quiet for so long, Nundle wondered if he had time to lie down and take a nap.

Finally—while still peering into the moonlit sky—Tobias said, “She might not see you. Even now.”

Nundle was terrified of exactly that. The Gods and Goddesses had ignored Broedi in the past.

“True,” rumbled the hillman. “But it is a chance we must take.”

Keeping his eyes fixed on the star-littered sky, Tobias muttered, “You were right earlier, you know.” A slight smile crossed his lips.

“Was I?” mused Broedi, a coy glint to his eyes.

Tobias’ grin widened a bit.

“It gets old, you know? You always being right.”

“I am not
always
right,” rumbled Broedi. “You forget the tijuli negotiations near Torarik.”

Tobias dipped his chin to his chest, chuckled gently, and said “Ah, yes. You were
very
wrong then. I forgot.”

Nundle was lost again.

Tobias tapped the side of his pipe against his hand, releasing the cold, spent smoking-leaf ashes from his pipe-bowl. The black residue dispersed and drifted down, reflecting bits of moonlight as they fell. Looking up, he asked, “Now, then, I suppose?”

With a respectful nod, Broedi said, “Please. If you do not mind. No point in wasting more time.” The hillman placed his own cold pipe in his satchel, stood from the boulder, and lifted his pack over his shoulder. “Let me help you up.”

“Thank you,” said Tobias as Broedi outstretched his hand.

Nundle glanced between the two White Lions a few times, blinking and wondering if he had blacked out for a minute and missed something important.

“Are we leaving?
Now
?”

Traveling the night would be dangerous. The road was uneven and the shadows cast by the moon would make their journey treacherous.

Broedi did not answer him and instead moved off to where Nundle’s horse had wandered off the path, following the trail of grass into the trunks of the forest.

Suddenly, Nundle felt the crinkling and crackling of the Strands. Staring into the air above the road, he saw white and black Strands pop into existence. In a few moments, the telltale pattern for a port had begun to form.

Panicking, Nundle shouted, “Broedi!” and reached out to pluck at a number of the Strands in the Weave. After ripping only a few Strands free, the entire pattern fell away. Tobias had not even fought him.

In a voice brimming with amusement, Tobias said, “That’s rather impressive, Nundle.” Looking over to Broedi, he called, “He’s a true natural.”