Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) (67 page)

The Borderlander tumbled to the ground with his hoe. He had barely touched the ground before he leapt up to stand ready. Kenders pushed herself off the ground and turned in a circle, surveying the situation.

All across the courtyard, dozens of ghostly, bluish-white soldiers moved toward the group. Broedi—as the massive golden bear—roared about, smacking back any spirit that got too close. Nikalys was popping about Sabine and Helene, holding a rock, appearing next to a soldier long enough to bash one in the head before moving to the next closest figure. Jak stood off to the side of the Moiléne sisters, drawing arrows from the quiver on his hip and firing them.

With horror, she watched a soldier materialized behind Jak and quickly draw in enough of the surrounding moonlight to turn solid. The spirits were forming quicker.

She was focusing on the white figure, trying to remember exactly how she had pulled the other apart when, suddenly, the figure dissipated. Confused, she looked about the courtyard and saw that the little redheaded man was charging into the fortress atop his horse, his gaze locked on Jak. Her eyes widened as the Red Sentinels followed the little man through the archway, screaming their own battle cries to match the spirits’. Some carried torches, some carried shields with the Great Lakes’ crest, but every one of them held long, gleaming metal swords.

Panic gripped her for an instant before she realized that the Red Sentinels were attacking the moonlight army. Whatever the reason, they were helping. Two sets of soldiers, one from the present and one from centuries past, were soon locked in mortal combat.
Over the din of the fighting and screaming, a voice of absolute authority bellowed, “Get to the plains!”

Spinning around, she saw the bearded man screaming and motioning for to them to move. The mounted duchy soldiers were forming two lines running from the entryway, creating a hollow column leading to the door.

Jak’s voice joined in with the Red Sentinel leader.

“You heard him! Get out of here!”

He grabbed Sabine’s shoulder and began dragging her toward the doorway. Sabine held Helene tight in both arms, shielding her screaming sister as she ran. Nikalys followed behind, slowly backing his way toward the door, smashing any soldier that got too close in the head with his rock. Kenders scampered past him and Broedi, rushing for the doorway.

Upon reaching the arch, she spun around and began shifting her attention from one moonlight soldier to the next, unraveling as many as she could, as quickly as she could. Yet it seemed for every glowing soldier she made disappear, another formed elsewhere in the courtyard.

The Borderlander broke through the line of Smithshill soldiers, carrying a bleeding Red Sentinel on his shoulders, and sprinted for the entryway. He rushed past her to join Jak and Sabine already standing in the open plains.

The bearded soldier called, “To the grasslands!”

The two columns of Red Sentinels began to collapse back to the archway. Kenders stood beneath the arch’s peak, unraveling spirits as the duchy soldiers streamed past her on both sides. Soon, only Nikalys and Broedi remained inside the courtyard, fighting nearly a dozen glowing, bluish-white men all at the same time. Dark gashes covered Broedi’s fur. Nikalys had a large wound on his right shoulder, blood dripping to the ground, glistening in the moonlight.

Kenders eyes went wide.

“Nikalys!”

To her left, a high-pitched voice shouted over the sounds of battle, “I’ll get the boy, you get the White Lion.”

Turning quickly, she found the small red-haired man standing beside her, no longer on his horse.

“How’d you know that?”

He ignored her, his gaze fixed on empty air. A moment later, the white crinkling of Air Strands mixed with the golden of Will filled her, and she watched the little man knit a pattern she had never seen. Hoping that he was helping, she tried to mimic the Weave, but had an impossible difficult time following along. She had yet to work on combining different types of Strands.

By the time the little man flung his completed Weave at Nikalys, Kenders’ feeble attempt had fallen apart. She started again, but had no idea of what she was doing. She screamed in frustration, cursing her inexperience.

A great rush of air whooshed from above the fort as a twisting mass of dust and debris swept into the courtyard. It lifted Nikalys from the ground and, spinning him around, sped toward the door, leaving Broedi alone in the moonlit courtyard, surrounded by over two dozen spirit soldiers.

She stared at the twister, wanting the exact same thing for Broedi.

She needed it.

Now.

A second, fully complete Weave of white and gold popped into existence as a wave of exhaustion rushed over her. She stumbled forward, almost collapsing to the grass yet somehow managing to remain upright.

Another spiral of dust coiled around the bear, picked him up, and rushed to the archway. The little man grabbed her and pulled her to the side as Nikalys and Broedi flew from the fort and into the plain. Pulling her arm free from the small mage, she turned and stumbled after her brother and the hillman. Nikalys fell to the ground as the Weave around him dissipated. Staring at her own Weave, she willed it to stop. Broedi the bear thudded to the ground and skidded through the grass.

Seeing the Red Sentinels in a long ling, facing the fort with swords at the ready, she glanced back over her shoulder. The moonlight soldiers stood at the archway’s threshold, staring out at them. Turning around, she sprinted to where Nikalys lie in the grass. Dropping to her knees, she flipped him over and gasped. The wound on his shoulder was deep. She saw white and assumed it was bone.

“Oh, gods…Nikalys…”

She wished she had practiced more with Life. In fact, she wished she had practiced more, period. She was wondering if she could do with Nikalys’ wound what she had just done with the twister of air when Broedi’s voice thundered over the plains.

“Uora!”

Glancing over, she found the hillman—no longer the bear—sitting on the ground, glaring at her. His legs, arms, and chest were wet with blood.

“Do
not
try to help him!” ordered Broedi. “Do you understand? It is much too dangerous for you to try.”

Standing a few paces away, the little redheaded man said, “I can help.”

Broedi shifted his gaze to the little man.

“You are a Life mage?”

With wide eyes, the redheaded man nodded.

“Yes.”

Pointing to Nikalys’ wound, the hillman asked, “Can you tend that?”

Nodding again, the stranger said, “I can.”

“Then do so,” rumbled Broedi. “I will see to the injured soldiers.”

“What about you?” asked Kenders. “You’re hurt, too!”

“I will be fine.” His brown eyes bored into her as he rose from the ground. “Let the tomble help your kaveli.”

Staring at the small man as he approached, she blinked twice, muttering, “Tomble?”

Upon reaching her, the little man—no, tomble—tried to gently push her to the side, saying, “If you could scoot over just a bit?” His gaze was on Nikalys, his eyes full of worry.

Looking down, she saw that Nikalys looked a shade or two paler than only a moment ago.

In a kind, calm voice, the tomble said, “I promise I will only help him.”

Reluctantly, she moved back, letting the little mage crouch down and examine Nikalys’ shoulder. Feeling a hand on her shoulder, she looked up to find Jak standing beside her, staring down at Nikalys, his eyes brimming with concern. She reached up to grab his hand and squeezed. Sabine stood distance away, holding Helene, rocking her and singing quietly while staring in their direction.

A lustrous, green crackling filled her. She watched the tomble weave dozens of Strands of Life together, knitting them into her brother’s injured shoulder. She marveled at the complexity of the design.

Shaking her head, she muttered, “Gods, I have so much to learn.”

Since that moment on the shores of Lake Hawthorne, when she stared out at the water creature rising from the lake’s surface, to now, she had been terrified of what she was.

Ashamed.

Embarrassed.

Fearful.

Despite knowing her heritage, despite everything, she had been unable to shake the feeling she was doing something wrong every time she reached for even a single Strand.

In an instant, every bit of reservation, worry, and fear fled.

Magic was a tool, a tool that—at this moment—was helping save her brother’s life. And it killed her she was not the one wielding it.

A few moments later, the tomble stood, faced her and Jak, and said with a smile, “He’ll sleep the night while he heals, but he’ll be fine. Cheer up.” He moved past them both quickly, heading back to the soldiers.

Nikalys indeed looked slightly less pale than moments ago, his breathing was steady and regular. Jak squeezed her hand tight as she slumped down into the grass, closed her eyes, and sighed.

“Thanks the gods.”

Kneeling there with eyes closed, she noticed she could still feel the constant crackling of magic. Opening her eyes, she turned to look at the soldiers. Most were standing, but a group of injured men was lying on the ground. Broedi was crouched over one while the tomble was rushing to another.

One man had a long gash across his face, directly over his right eye. Kenders cringed, guessing that the man’s eye was gone, but could not tell for sure as he had his hands clasped over the wound while screaming. Blood oozed from his fingers. Another soldier was rocking back and forth, cradling his left arm. In all, she counted nine men with grievous wounds.

Kneeling amongst the infirm was the bearded man, consoling the men as best he could. Soldiers scrambled about, using traditional, non-magic means to aid the injured that the tomble and Broedi were not treating.

Kenders mumbled, “This is our fault.”

Bending over, Jak asked, “Pardon?”

She did repeat herself. Rising from the grass, she pulled her hand free of Jak’s grip and began to walk to the soldiers. Behind her, she heard Jak call after her.

“Kenders?”

She moved to where the injured men lay. While each man’s face bore the torment of his wounds, most looked up at her approach. Instead of resentment or anger, she saw satisfaction and pride on their faces. She did not know why these men had helped her, her family, her new friends, but that did not matter. She knew she could help these men.

Positioning herself at the center of the line of injured men, she took a deep, steadying breath, stared at them, and willed them to be better.

She wanted these men to be whole again.

Now.

An incredible, impossible surge of Life filled the air around her. To her eyes, the world glowed green.

“Uora, no!”

Weaves began to pop into existence all around her, one right after another. With each one, a hammer-stroke of exhaustion slammed into her like a horse’s kick to the gut. Broedi continued to yell for her to stop, but she did not listen. The tomble stood nearby, staring wide-eyed into the air with open wonderment. Struggling to stay on her feet, Kenders directed the Weaves over the wounds of the men on the ground.

Those tending the injured gasped, watching as lacerations sealed in front of their eyes. The man with the sword cut across his right eye pulled his hands away, wiped the blood from his face, and began to blink both eyes in amazement. The soldier with the severed hand pulled his arm from the rag wrapped around it and wiggled fingers on a hand that had not been there moments before.

Within moments, all nine men were healed. Fully. None had even a scratch.

Smiling, Kenders collapsed to the ground, bone tired, and shut her eyes. Someone rushed to her side.

“Bless the Gods, Kenders.”

She did not need to open her eyes to know it was Jak. The awe in his voice embarrassed her a little. Unable to fight the exhaustion, she gave herself over to sleep.

Holding Kenders in his arms, Jak looked up as Broedi approached. Anxious, he asked, “Will she be all right?”

The disappointment on Broedi’s face was clear. The little redheaded man—a tomble if Broedi was to be believed—trailed the hillman by a few paces, staring at Kenders with wide eyes. Broedi knelt beside Kenders, placed his hand on her head, then her neck. After a moment, he said in a tone a frustrated parent uses with a misbehaving child, “She will sleep for a long while, I expect. Which is good. As long as she is asleep, she will not do anything foolish.”

“But she’ll be all right?” asked Jak.

Broedi’s harsh expression softened.

“Yes, uori, she will be fine.”

“Good.”

He slid his arms under his sister, picked her up, and left Broedi behind, moving to where Nikalys already lay asleep in the grass. Sabine was sitting at Nikalys’ side, holding Helene in her lap.

“Hi, Jak,” murmured Helene. “Be quiet. Nik-lys is sleeping.” She looked at Kenders and, with worry in her eyes, asked, “Is Kenders sleeping, too?”

Giving the best smile he was able to muster, he said, “Yes, dear. She’s very tired.”

Sabine peered at him, over Helene’s head, her expression one of concern.

“Truly,” said Jak. “Broedi said she’ll be fine.”

A tiny, relieved smile spread over Sabine’s lips.

Bending down, he laid his sister beside Nikalys, resting her head on the grass and brushing her hair from her eyes.

“Jak?” muttered Sabine.

Looking up, he said, “Yes?”

Nodding to the now-whole soldiers, she asked, “Did Kenders do that?”

Jak remained quiet for a moment before nodding slowly.

“Yes. Yes, she did.”

“How?”

The truth—my sister is the daughter of the White Lion who is the champion of Gaena, the goddess of magic—sounded unbelievable to Jak even though he knew it to be true. Jak was almost relieved that he could not share it with her. Therefore, he did the only thing he could do. He lied.

“I don’t know.”

He stood without meeting Sabine’s eyes, turned, and looked around the moonlit prairie. Broedi and the tomble were facing one another in the midst of a quiet conversation. Jak noted you could put two of the redheaded tomble on top of one another and Broedi might still be taller. Looking past them, he saw the man he recognized as Master Sergeant Trell checking on the previously injured men.