The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (71 page)

16
^th
of the Turn of Maeana, 4999

Sunlight sifted through the canopy overhead, covering the forest floor with a lattice of light. The pattern was ever shifting as a gentle breeze teased the uppermost boughs, the towering trees groaning and creaking as they swayed. The pines once dwarfed by the palm trees near the beach had steadily increased in both height and number as Nikalys and the expedition had moved inland. Now, the evergreens dominated the forest, the pungent fragrance of their sap filling the air. After weeks on the salty sea, Nikalys welcomed the fresh scent.

Since leaving the beach four days past, the group from the Sapphire had climbed a gradual upward slope through the forest. Talulot and Fingard led them, setting a steady pace and never seeming to tire. Nikalys and Broedi managed to keep up without issue, but the rest of their group labored through the constant uphill slog.

Nundle had the worst of it by far. Midway through day two of their journey, Nikalys offered to carry the tomble on his shoulders for a time. An unusually testy Nundle warned him that should he attempt to do so, he could expect a nice jolt of Charge in exchange. Nikalys—and everyone else—left him alone after that.

Talulot and Fingard wove a meandering path through the trunks, following an invisible path only they knew. Nikalys wondered how they knew where they were going. To him, every tree, bush, and hill looked the same as the last and the next.

He was walking past yet another one of the bushes now—a monstrous, twisted exaggeration of the fingerprick bushes like near home—when, a shorter, less lethal-looking bush on his left shuddered, its leaves rustling quietly. An instant later, a creature crashed forth from the undergrowth, dashing straight toward Nikalys.

Shift.

Standing ten paces back from where he was an instant before, Nikalys was at the ready, the shining, white-metal Blade of Horum drawn and ready to strike. An animal no bigger than an oversized barn cat stood before him, staring, seemingly shocked by his sudden movement. A dark brown fur covered the creature’s face and front half of the body while long, soft quills draped over its back, their ends striped with thin white bands. Whiskers sagged from its wide, squished nose, twitching anxiously beneath a pair of black and beady eyes.

A gruff voice overflowing with amusement muttered, “Careful there. He looks ferocious.”

Nikalys looked up to find Captain Scrag standing behind him, grinning ear-to-ear. Broedi stood next to the sailor, his gaze on the creature.

The captain nodded at the animal and said, “Don’t get too close, it might nuzzle you to death.”

Nikalys protested, “It startled me.” His ears felt warm.

“Did it now?” mused the captain. “Well that was terribly rude.” The man’s sarcasm was thicker than the skin atop a cookpot of unstirred stew.

Broedi turned to eye the captain with a single, raised eyebrow.

“I seem to recall a time when you were likewise startled by a hive of briar-wasps. You moved as fast as Nikalys did. Faster, perhaps.”

While the white-haired captain lost his grin, Nikalys gained one.

“Those blasted wasps hurt something fierce when they sting!”

“How would you know?” rumbled Broedi. “You ran so swiftly, they had no hope of catching you.”

Captain Scrag’s scowl deepened. Looking back to the animal still staring at them, he protested, “Briar-wasps are thrice a thousand times more dangerous than that lovesome creature.”

“Are they?” replied Broedi, a sly smile on his lips.

The hillman approached Nikalys, stopped beside him, and dropped into a low crouch. Staring at the woodland creature, Broedi let out a low, lupine growl. The white-banded quills on the animal’s back sprang to attention, jutting out in all directions. The creature let out a low hiss, spun around, and crashed off through the bushes, its quills catching on leaves and stems as it ran away.

Standing, Broedi stared back at Captain Scrag and said, “Quillhogs can hurt, too. Trust me, I once got a number of their needles stuck in my nose when I was sniffing where I should not have been.” With a friendly wink at Nikalys, he turned and resumed his march forward, heading up the hill to where Talulot and Fingard had stopped to wait.

Captain Scrag stared at Nikalys for a moment, shrugged his shoulders, and said with a smile, “Good job staying alert.” With that, the old man tromped off after Broedi, patting Nikalys on the back as he passed.

Nikalys watched the captain march away and shook his head. He had spent almost five weeks with the man and Nikalys had yet to figure him out.

“He’s just having a bit of fun with you, son.”

Nikalys glanced over his shoulder to find Sergeant Trell approaching, his steps heavy and slow. Nundle was at his side looking worse than a horse that had been ridden at full gallop for a week.

Eyeing the sergeant, Nikalys said, “I’ve yet to decide if he likes me or hates me.”

Smiling, Sergeant Trell said, “I stopped trying to figure him out weeks ago.” Soldier and tomble stopped beside Nikalys. Nundle was breathing heavily. The sergeant nodded up to the captain, adding, “He’s the most unreadable soul I’ve ever met.”

Nundle cocked an eyebrow and asked, “You have met Broedi, haven’t you?”

Broedi rumbled, “I heard that, little one.” His voice bounded through the forest.

Turning back around, Nikalys spotted the hillman tromping through the trees, his back to them.

Nundle muttered, “Him and his blasted hearing.” The tomble’s surly tone was so atypical that it was akin to hearing a duck oink.

Sheathing his blood father’s sword, Nikalys studied Nundle. The tomble appeared he might collapse at any moment. Nundle glanced up and caught his gaze. The tomble’s eyes narrowed in an instant.

“I know what you’re thinking and stop it. I will not be lugged about like some playman’s journeybag. When I made my way to the Academies, I walked up
and
down the mountains of Jularrn, through the deserts of Yut, for turns upon turns. I can manage a four-day hike through a—” He cut off when a loud gurgling sound rumbled from his midsection. His stern expression fled, replaced by one of embarrassment. Glancing between Nikalys and Sergeant Trell, he muttered, “What? I’m hungry.”

Nikalys sympathized. Broedi had forbidden them to hunt here, which meant more of the same dried, salted boar they had eaten the last half of their voyage. The pears had run out two weeks ago. Nikalys had almost resorted to the fish stew.

With a huffy, “Move, please,” Nundle pushed past Nikalys and resumed his march up the slope.

Sergeant Trell watched the tomble for a few moments before calling out, “How much of a head start shall I give you this time, Nundle?”

Without turning back, the tomble raised an arm in disgust and waved it.

“Go chew a boot!”

Looking to Sergeant Trell, Nikalys asked quietly, “Why upset him? He’s already miserable.”

“If he’s angry at me, he won’t dwell on how tired he is. And, it might make him move a little quicker.”

Raising his eyebrows, Nikalys asked, “And you think that will work?”

Nodding toward Nundle, Sergeant Trell said, “See for yourself.”

Nikalys stared up the slope and noticed the tomble’s pace appeared a bit quicker than it had been.

“Huh. Look at that.”

“Something every good leader must learn is how to get people to do what they must. By any means necessary. Call it an old soldier’s wisdom.”

Smiling, Nikalys turned back to the sergeant.

“You’re not
that
old.”

“I’m old enough,” sighed the sergeant as he rubbed his eyes.

Sergeant Trell was putting on a brave face, but Nikalys could see the muddled exhaustion underneath the mask. Glancing past him, Nikalys watched the other Shadow Mane soldiers trudging up the hill and said, “It’s been a long journey hasn’t it?”

Letting his weariness slip into his voice, the sergeant agreed, “That it has.”

Broedi’s deep voice boomed through the forest, “Please do not stop now!”

Turning around, Nikalys saw Talulot and both hillmen waiting for them atop the rise. Captain Scrag and Nundle were still several dozen paces away from the trio.

Sergeant Trell nodded up the hill.

“Get going. I’ll be right behind you.”

Turning, Nikalys sprinted effortlessly up the hill, rushing to where Broedi and the others waited. Slowing his pace when he reached Nundle, he walked the few remaining steps with the tomble.

Nundle glanced up, frowned, and said, “Must you flaunt your—” He cut off and halted in place, his eyes staring straight ahead, his brow furrowed. “Where are the trees?”

Nikalys looked up to where the thorn, the hillmen, and now Captain Scrag stood and noticed that just beyond them, the forest appeared to stop.

“I don’t know.”

Nundle reacted first, finding a hidden reserve of energy and scurrying up the rest of the slope. Nikalys was but a step behind him, scrambling through bushes and around one last massive tree trunk before skidding to a stop. His mouth fell open.

They stood atop a cliff, nothing like the gentle grade they had been climbing for days. A great depression lay before him, as if the land was a hunk of bread dough and a thumb the size of Fernsford had pressed deep into it. The trees had not disappeared, as it had seemed, they were simply not as tall as the hole was deep. Great, sweeping wood and rope bridges stretched between the thick trunks, connecting the hundreds of circular, wooden buildings built amongst the branches of the pines.

Looking to his left, Nikalys’ gaze followed the ridge and found that it fully encompassed the valley. Three-quarters of the way around—on the southernmost side of the ridge—a river rushed from the trees, launching itself into the chasm below. The waterfall drifted down to the valley floor where the river continued, curling through the tree city’s floor before disappearing into a yawning, black cave.

Talulot whistled, “Welcome to Buhaylunsod.”

For a few moments, no one said anything. They all simply stared.

Eventually, Nikalys said quietly, “Your words never did it justice, Broedi.”

The hillman stepped perilously close to the edge of the cliff and stared down.

“Had I ever been
here
, I would have been clearer with my description. This buhanik city is the most striking I have seen.”

Their small group went quiet again. The scene even held the typically vociferous captain in check. The old sailor was gaping with open wonderment, his white moustache twitching in the swirling wind. Nikalys heard the soldiers behind them call out to one another to hurry, apparently realizing that something awaited them atop the ridge.

Nundle asked, “Talulot, why did you not mention that we were getting close?”

Nikalys stared at the thorn. It was a good question.

Talulot tilted its head, its grassy hair swishing softly, and whistled, “Should I have done so?”

In a somewhat testy tone, Nundle said, “Well, it would have made this morning’s hike slightly more bearable.”

Talulot tilted its head in the opposite direction and paused a moment before saying, “Noteworthy.” Its glassy black eyes locked onto Nundle. “If the distance of traveling remained constant, how does knowing if we are near our destination affect the energy necessary to reach it?”

A deep frown spread over Nundle’s face. Looking back to the city, he muttered, “Never mind.”

Sergeant Trell and the Shadow Mane soldiers ran up, reached the ridgeline, and joined the rest of the expedition in staring. One quiet exclamation of surprise after another drifted from the men.

Sergeant Trell let out a low whistle before murmuring, “Now,
that
is impressive.” He shot a glance at Broedi and added, “And if you tell me there are places more striking than this, Broedi, I
will
call you a liar.”

Nikalys smiled, the sergeant’s comment reminding him of the moment when they had first beheld the towering Blackbark Forest. At the time, Broedi had insisted the trees of the Primal Provinces were even more stunning, as were the cities built amongst their branches. As was most often the case, he was right.

With a slight smile on his lips, Broedi rumbled, “Well, then. As I have no desire to be named a teller of tales, I suppose I will say nothing of the underground cities in the Mourlok caverns. How buildings are carved from the stone walls rather than built from it. How the lamps that line the streets glow green from light cast by a unique moss. How the tiny windows, filled with firelight, flicker like a thousand stars in the nighttime sky.”

Leather armor creaked as twenty soldiers leaned forward to gaze at the hillman.

Cero asked, “Are you mocking us?”

Broedi shook his head.

“I do not mock.”

“An underground city?” asked Talulot, its voice whistling with an agitated edge. “Where there is no sun?” The thorn began to sway side-to-side, its grassy hair fluttering so fast, it was almost vibrating. It was obviously upset and Nikalys believed he understood why.

During their journey inland, Talulot never took a bite of food nor drank a sip of water, the path it chose seemed wholly dependent on where the most sunlight shone on the forest floor, and whenever the group stopped at a creek or stream to refill their waterskins, Talulot stood in the water itself. It seemed thorns had more in common with plants than just their appearance.

Eyeing Talulot, Broedi said in a calm and gentle tone, “Do not worry. Such places are very far from here.”

The thorn’s frenzied swaying quickly faded. Turning toward Broedi, it said, “Your words give me comfort. Now, if you are ready to go, we—”

“Talulot?” interjected Fingard. “May I speak?”

Curious, Nikalys glanced at the hillman. Fingard might have said two dozen words since leaving the beach.

The thorn swiveled his torso and head to face the tattooed hillman.

“Say what you will.”

With a scowl on his face, Fingard muttered, “I would be remiss in my duties if I do not say—for a final time—that we should not bring them into the city. The Mataan will not be pleased.”

Talulot whistled, “Are you of the Mataan?”