Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) (64 page)

A smile entered Nathan’s voice as he replied, “Oh, I think not.”

Nundle listened to the sergeant’s boots scrape against the ground as he moved between the two trees, leaving Nundle to wonder what he had meant by his last statement. Looking around him, Nundle tested the cloth’s effectiveness at blocking his sight. He realized if he strained, he could still make out basic shapes through the blindfold, but no details. He had reached up to scratch his nose—the burlap itched quite a bit—when Cero called out to him.

“Once this nonsense is over, mage, I intend to place you under arrest!”

Facing the direction of Cero’s voice, Nundle called, “I’m not even a citizen of the duchies! I fail to see how your misguided laws apply to me.”

“Any magic in the duchies is forbidden!”

“Tell, me something, Cero! How old were you when you first discovered you could do magic?”

Silence, filled only by the whisper of prairie grass and oak leaves teased by a gentle wind. When Cero finally responded, his tone was short and terse.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Oh, come now,” retorted Nundle. “It’s how you track, isn’t it? You feel magic when it’s used! What kind can you touch, I wonder? Will? Soul? Fire? Life?”

“Quiet!” shouted Cero, his tone was hot and defensive. “You are the lawbreaker! Nothing you can say will change that!”

Nathan interrupted their conversation, shouting, “Both of you be quiet! I’m sending the first soldier now!”

Nundle bit his tongue and waited, nervous with anticipation.

He heard a faint rustling in Cero’s direction, followed by a clink as a soldier dropped his pouch into Cero’s helmet. Nundle could clearly envision the satisfied smirk on the Tracker’s face. The soldier moved past Nundle—pausing briefly as though to give the illusion he was dropping his pouch into Nundle’s helm—continued around the tree, and back toward the Sentinels. Nundle was disappointed by the start, but rationalized it was but one vote.

The next soldier approached Nundle first. After rounding the tree, the longleg stopped for a moment and then moved to Cero. Nundle’s heart sank as a rock dropped in a pond when he heard a second clink for Cero.

The next three longlegs also chose Cero’s side, each muffled clink dashing Nundle’s hopes even further. Finally, the sixth soldier dropped his pouch into Nundle’s helmet. After the longleg passed, Nundle reached in to the metal helm, removed the pouch, and placed it in the leather satchel next to him.

The soldiers passed quicker now, one arriving almost immediately after the previous had left.

It did not take long before Nundle stopped worrying about the outcome of the vote. While the first five sided with Cero, the next forty-two soldiers all dropped their pouch into Nundle’s helm. Once the majority was secured, Nundle sat back, relaxed, and marveled at what was happening.

Once the forty-seventh and final soldier left, Nathan called out, “Cero! Nundle! Hold while I come to tally!”

Moments later, Nundle heard the steady stride of boots in the grass. As the footsteps drew near, Nundle reached up and pulled the blindfold off his head. Nathan approached and dropped to a knee, a slight smile on his face.

“Forty-one or forty-two?”

With open surprise, Nundle answered, “Forty-two. But…how did you…” He trailed off, eyes narrowing. “You
knew
how they were going to vote?”

Nathan’s smile turned sly. “Not all of them. Hunsfin is a tough man to read at times.” He picked up the bag with the pouches of flint and steel and gave Nundle a hand up.

As Nundle brushed bits of grass and dirt off his clothes, he asked, “If you knew how this would turn out, why did you do it?”

“Because whatever happens from this point forward, their choice led them to it. They have a stake in things now. Infinitely more so than had I ordered them to follow my lead.”

With that, he turned and began to walk toward where Cero sat.

Nundle stared at Nathan’s back a moment, thinking over the soldier’s words, before following. As he passed between the two trees, he looked over at the soldiers waiting patiently beside their horses. Hurrying to catch up, Nundle and Nathan reached Cero at the same time. The Tracker sat, slumped over, the burlap strip still tied around his eyes.

Stopping a few paces away, Nathan said, “You can take off the blindfold yourself, Cero.”

The Tracker reached up, yanked the brown cloth off, and glared up at the sergeant.

“This charade does not absolve you of your crime, Sergeant Trell. This vote has no standing in duchy law!”

“I wonder,” mused Nathan. “Would you have said the same thing if you had won?”

Cero remained silent but continued to glower.

Nathan squatted down, looked the Tracker in the eye, and said, “This is my offer, Cero. You and the five men who voted with you can leave. Now. Ride away to the regent or Fenidar—or whatever the blasted ijul’s name is—and tell them you haven’t the slightest idea where the people you were sent to find are. Other than ‘in the eastern Southlands.’ I doubt they’ll be happy.”

Cero’s face twisted with frustration. He did not seem to like that option much.

“Or,” began Nathan, “You can come along quietly and see for yourself what is truly going on. If you still feel the need to run and report after we catch up with these ‘outlaws,’ I will let you—and anyone else who wants to—ride away, untouched. You have my word.”

Eyeing the sergeant, Nundle said, “Are you sure that’s a wise idea? I mean—”

Nathan held a hand, interrupting him.

“I’m sure, Nundle.”

The Tracker and the soldier eyed each other for a number of heartbeats. Eventually, Cero said through gritted teeth, “I will come.”

“A wise choice,” muttered Nathan, rising from his crouch. “Now, we will go over and tell the men the results. You will both agree the vote was fair and never mention the total.
Never
. Is that clear?”

When both Cero and Nundle nodded their agreement, Nathan took Cero’s bag of flint and steel, emptied it into Nundle’s nearly full bag, and said, “Let’s go hand these out and get moving.”

Cero stood and began walking back to the soldiers, leaving Nundle and Nathan behind.

As Nundle watched the Tracker scurry away, he murmured, “Are you sure about this? He is trouble. The preceptor did something to him.”

“I know,” said Nathan. He slung the bag over his shoulder and began to walk away from the tree, back to the soldiers. Nundle followed. After a few steps, the sergeant looked over. “Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘Fools surround themselves with friends, wise men surround themselves with enemies?’”

“No,” said Nundle. “Doesn’t seem to make much sense.”

“If Cero is here, then he’s not causing problems elsewhere.”

“I see. Well, have you ever heard the saying, ‘Be wary of the tame snake; he bites when you least expect?’”

“No, I have not.” A pensive frown crossed his Nathan’s face. “I see your point, though.” Looking down to Nundle, he asked, “Is that a bit of Boroughs’ wisdom?”

Wearing a slight smile, Nundle shook his head.

“Actually, I just made it up.”

Even though the pair chuckled over the jest, Nundle could not shake the feeling that keeping Cero around was a bad idea.

Kenders sat astride Smoke, shaking her head in awe as she peered at the ancient fort. She could not fathom why something this massive stood isolated in the middle of the plains. All of Yellow Mud would have fit inside, twice over.

The ruins were still a quarter-mile away, but Broedi had called for their halt here. Nobody had spoken a word since stopping. Nikalys finally broke the quiet, echoing her own thoughts.

“Why in the Nine Hells would someone build this monstrous thing here?”

Broedi rumbled, “Ages ago, small city-states covered much of what is now the duchies. When L’antico Impero arrived on the eastern shores, they marched west, warring as they went, building forts to ensure their dominance of areas once they were conquered.” He nodded at the towering walls. “This is one of them.”

Kenders asked, “How long ago was this built?”

“I am not sure, uora. Before the birth of the Oaken Kingdom and that was eight centuries ago.”

Kenders shook her head in quiet wonderment. Last year seemed a long time ago to her. Eight hundred years was an impossible span of time to consider.

Jak asked, “Are you sure we can’t just go take a closer look now?”

“We wait,” rumbled the hillman. “It will be safer in the morning.”

Jak turned to Broedi and, with a slight grin on his face, asked, “Safer how?” He was daring the hillman to answer.

Broedi remained quiet for a moment before saying, “Let us make camp.” Tugging reins of the spare horse, he strode forward, away from the group.

As the hillman walked away, Jak mumbled, “Like water from a rock…”

Kenders looked over at him, wondering what he meant by that. While she was also curious why they must wait until morning to go inside the fort, she had chosen not ask the question. If Broedi wanted to share something, he would. If he did not, no amount of begging would get him to divulge his secrets. The exercise was pointless.

Realizing what Jak’s mumbled phrase meant, she muttered, “Clever.”

Jak was in the midst of sliding from his saddle. Landing on the ground, he looked up at her.

“Pardon?”

She tossed her chin at Broedi and lifted an eyebrow.

“Water from a rock?”

Smiling wide, Jak asked, “Am I wrong?”

Kenders shook her head, a smile to match Jak’s spreading over her face.

The group settled into the evening routine of making camp, retrieving supplies from the saddlebags, and pulling the saddles from the horses. Feeling the need to wash up, Kenders volunteered to head to the river to replenish their waterskins. After moving all of the skins to Smoke, she peered at Sabine. The raven-haired beauty stood with her back to the men, facing Kenders.

“Sabine, would you like to come to the river with me?”

Nodding, Sabine said, “Gods, yes. I could use a bath.”

Both Nikalys and Jak looked up, stared at Sabine for a brief moment, and then simultaneously broke off their gazes an instant later. Kenders expected their suddenly rosy cheeks had little to do with the evening sky.

Looking to Helene, Kenders asked, “Would you like to come, dear? Just us girls?” The toddler was following Nikalys about the camp, stomping down grass to clear an area for tonight’s fire.

Helene shook her head.

“I don’t like baths.”

Kenders looked to Sabine who gave a small shrug of her shoulders.

“Perhaps tomorrow,” said Kenders. “Promise to stay close to Nikalys.”

“I will!”

Kenders and Sabine wandered down the slope leading to the river, the sunset-filled sky on their right and the fort on their left. As they ambled down the hill, shooing away the iridescent green beetles that hummed over the prairie grass, Kenders found her gaze continuously returning to the fort’s crumbling battlements and towers. She tried to imagine what the fortress had looked like when it had been in use.

“It is impressive, isn’t it?” asked Sabine.

Nodding, Kenders muttered, “Yes, it is.” She paused, picturing soldiers walking along on the walls, staring out at the lands below them, keeping watch for enemies. “To think, this was built before the duchies even existed.”

“Must have been a wondrous time. No duchies means no ridiculous laws outlawing magic.”

Looking over at her new friend, Kenders said, “Did you know it wasn’t always that way? In the duchies, I mean. Magic used to be accepted. Celebrated, even.”

Sabine peered at her, a dubious expression filling her face.

“Truly?”

Kenders nodded.

“Truly.”

Lifting her eyebrows, Sabine mumbled, “No, I didn’t know that.” Her eyes narrowed. “How is it that you do?”

Pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, Kenders replied, “Broedi told us all about it when he told us the story of our—” She stopped, catching herself before mentioning her blood parents. “When he told us some history of the duchies.”

“I see,” said Sabine, her tone rightly skeptical. “The history of the duchies.”

For a few moments, they walked in silence, filled only by Smoke’s hooves clopping and the buzz of beetles whipping past. Kenders prayed Sabine would let the topic slide. Her prayer went unanswered.

Sabine turned to stare at her and asked, “Kenders, do you think I am brainless?”

“Of course not.”

“Then stop treating me like I am.”

Shaking her head, Kenders protested, “I don’t know—”

“Don’t, Kenders,” interjected Sabine. “You aren’t brainless, either, so don’t pretend you are. Just be quiet a moment and listen.”

Worried where this was going, Kenders nonetheless nodded.

“Go on.”

“I know you four have a secret. One bigger than you being a mage. Now, I understand secrets, I’ve lived with them my whole life. You are more than welcome to keep yours.”

Kenders was surprised. She had not expected the conversation to go in this direction.

“Truly?”

Nodding, Sabine said, “Not only did you save me and Helene from the brigands, but you offered me something I cannot give Helene on my own. The promise of safety. So, yes. Keep your secrets. I don’t need to know.”

Kenders eyed, unsure what to say in response.

Sabine watched her for a few moments and then stared back to the river, a slight smile on her face. With a hint of sarcasm, she said, “Considering my limited options at the moment, I would follow you even if you were one of the Cabal.” It was an attempt to lighten the mood, yet it failed miserably. “Let’s see, Broedi would be the god of Deception because there is
so
much more to him then he lets on. Nikalys could be—”

“Stop it!” hissed Kenders, the words slipping out hard and quick. “Do
not
jest about the blasted Cabal! My parents are dead because of them!”

Sabine halted in place, reached out, and grabbed hold of Kenders’ shoulder.

“
What
did you say?”

Kenders dropped her head, angry with herself for letting such an important detail slip. Broedi was not going to be happy. Or Jak or Nikalys. Both brothers had been reminding her to say nothing with Sabine. Shaking her head, she said, “Nothing. Forget I said anything” She tried to pull free of Sabine’s grip. “Let’s go get the water.”