Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) (69 page)

Other than the fact that the Red Sentinels were well over a week’s journey into the Southlands, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. They moved about the prairie, staking horses and erecting tents, their actions efficient and focused. Considering what they had just been through, Broedi thought the soldiers were handling themselves well.

Tuning his full attention back to the bearded sergeant, he watched as the man moved about the camp. The soldier was seeking out each of the previously injured men, ensuring they were fine. It was obvious he cared for his men. Broedi approved.

Each Sentinel waved the sergeant away, insisting he was fine. From the way they hurried about the camp, they definitely looked it.

With a slow, frustrated shake of his head, Broedi peered down at Kenders. She had been extremely lucky.

The energy it took to summon and control Strands of Life was much greater than other types of Strands, although none knew why. When a Life mage aided someone, the accepted approach was to allow Weave to help the person’s body heal itself. A small Life Weave and a full day’s rest could do the same thing that an enormous amount of Life energy could do all at once.

What Kenders had done was beyond astounding. The tomble had been correct in his assessment: it should have been impossible. Broedi doubted that even Eliza could have accomplished what her daughter had. Kenders was strong with the Strands. Stronger than he could have imagined.

Yet, despite her prodigious capabilities, her understanding of the Strands was in its infancy. He hoped there would be sufficient time to let her grow and learn. For, as of this moment, she was unprepared for what was surely coming. They all were.

He reached up to scratch his chin as he stared at her, wondering how to handle what seemed to be the next challenge with the young girl. Nikalys and Jak had alluded to Kenders’ impetuous nature—and Broedi had seen flashes of it—but impulsivity paired with her gift made for a sour mixture. A weary sigh slipped from his lips. Dropping his head, he rubbed his eyes. He was tired. Very tired.

Eliza and Aryn’s children would be sleeping for a long time, Kenders perhaps more than a day after her foolishness. The truth was he had no idea how long it would take her to recover, but he knew it would be a while. And that meant he would need to deal with the new problem facing him now.

Lowering his hand, Broedi blinked a few times and peered back to the soldiers. His gaze fell upon the Borderlander whom they had found inside of the ancient fort. The young man was standing off to the side by himself, wearing a perplexed expression. He had a ragged look to him and the old injuries on his face spoke to confrontations prior to the one in the fort. He was staring at the soldiers, seemingly caught between trying to decide if he should stay in place or run off into the night.

Tilting his head in Jak’s direction, Broedi rumbled, “Uori?”

Jak still stood beside him, quiet, lost in his own thoughts. He looked up at Broedi.

“Yes?”

Nodding to where the stranger stood by himself, Broedi said, “I would like you to speak with the Borderlander. Find out who he is and why he was in the fort, please. His presence here is unusual.”

“More unusual than fifty Red Sentinels, a tomble, and a Tracker?”

A slight smile crossed Broedi’s face.

“Perhaps not, but it is close.”

Nodding, Jak said, “I need to thank him, anyway. He saved Kenders. Twice.” He strode away, aiming for where the Borderlander stood looking lost and very alone.

Broedi turned his gaze onto the other mismatched man in the camp, the gray-clad Tracker and found the Constable already staring back at him. He held Broedi’s gaze for a long moment, glaring without flinching, before shifting to peer at Nikalys and Kenders. With a tiny shudder, the man turned and hurried away quickly, into the hubbub of the soldier’s camp. Broedi’s eyes followed the man until he disappeared among the picketed horses. Thonda’s Strand twitched. Something about the man made Broedi very uneasy.

Frowning, Broedi looked back to the tomble and found him conferring with the sergeant some distance away. He tried to hear what they said, but the din of the camp drowned out their conversation. Instead, he simply watched the pair, observing. The tomble repeatedly glanced over at him with nervous eyes, clearly aware that Broedi was scrutinizing them. After the fifth time looking over, the tomble nodded to Broedi while saying something to the sergeant. The man turned, said something in response to the tomble, and the two began to move in his direction.

Broedi waited.

When they reached where he stood guard over the Progeny, the sergeant spoke without preamble.

“Are you ready, Shapechanger?”

Broedi nodded.

“I am.”

“Good,” replied the soldier. “Should we speak here or…?” The sergeant trailed off and glanced at Sabine. The moment Helene had fallen asleep, the young woman had returned to sit beside Nikalys and Kenders. Helene was softly snoring in her lap.

“Here,” rumbled Broedi. As he lowered himself to the grass, he caught a quick, grateful look from Sabine but did not acknowledge it. He kept his gaze fixed firmly on the tomble and the soldier.

The sergeant sat opposite Broedi, the tomble on the soldier’s right, facing Sabine. Laid out between them were Nikalys and Kenders, asleep and oblivious. Broedi considered retrieving his pipe, but his bag was where the injured soldiers had been and he did not want to leave the children alone.

Once settled, the sergeant cleared his throat and asked, “Are we waiting for Jak and your other companion?”

Broedi supposed that, from their point of view, the Borderlander was a part of their group. After all, when the soldiers had arrived, the dark-skinned man and his horse had been standing with them.

Shaking her head, Sabine said, “No, the Border—”

Interrupting her, Broedi said, “They will join us shortly.” The tomble and sergeant already seemed to know quite a bit, there was no need to clarify what they did not. At least not until Broedi got more from them. Sabine stared at him with questions in her eyes, but he ignored her again.

With a resolute nod, the Red Sentinel sergeant said, “Fine. First, proper introductions. My name is Nathan Trell, Master Sergeant with the Red Sentinels out of Smithshill.” With a knowing glint in his eyes, he asked, “I believe you recently passed though there, yes?”

Broedi remained quiet while keeping his face clear of reaction.

After a few moments, Sergeant Trell pressed his lips together and turned to his companion. The tomble sat, gawking at Broedi. Realizing that everyone was waiting for him to introduce himself, his eyes went wide

“Pardon me. I…ah…I am Nundle Babblebrook of the Thimbletoe Principal in the Five Boroughs. A former merchant out of Deepwell, a former student of the Strand Academies, and now…well, I don’t have much of a position with anyone anywhere.”

Considering what they knew about the attack on Yellow Mud, the mention of the Strand Academies made Broedi instantly suspicious. Managing to keep his tone even, he rumbled, “A
former
student of the Academies, you say?”

“Ah, yes. You see, I was studying there when I found this letter in Preceptor Myrr’s office. After that, I went to the docks to find a boat—”

Sergeant Trell cut in, saying, “Nundle? In order, please, else we’ll all be very confused.”

With an apologetic look, Nundle said, “You’re right, Nathan. Sorry.”

Nodding, the sergeant turned to Broedi, leaned forward a bit, and said, “You have our names now. Would you care to share yours?” When Broedi did not answer, he shifted his gaze to Sabine. “What about you, miss?”

Sabine looked up at Broedi with uncertainty, awaiting guidance from him. Seeing no harm in sharing the farm girls’ names, Broedi nodded.

Sabine eyed the sergeant and said without hesitation, “Sabine Moiléne.” Nodding to her sister, she added, “And this is Helene.”

Offering a polite smile of greeting, the sergeant said, “Your names betray you as Southlanders. Might I assume you two are from the farm by the river?”

Broedi’s eyes narrowed. They knew quite a bit.

After a long, quiet moment, Sabine nodded, muttering, “We are.”

“I see,” said Sergeant Trell quietly. With some hesitation, he asked, “And…and was it your husband you buried?” He glanced at Helene. “Her father?”

With a quick shake of her head, Sabine replied, “Gods, no. It was…” She paused, took a deep breath, and said. “It was our father. Helene is my sister.”

Expressions of deep compassion filled both strangers’ faces. The tomble leaned forward to murmur, “Oh, my. I’m…I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” replied Sabine. “Your words are kind.”

Broedi eyed tomble and soldier. Their sympathy was honest, a good mark for them.

With his gaze still on Sabine, Sergeant Trell nodded to Broedi and the sleeping children while asking, “Am I right in assuming that they interrupted an attack there?”

Broedi’s unease grew. He wondered what these two did not know.

Sabine nodded, saying, “They saved us both.”

With a hint of relief, the sergeant said, “That is what we gathered. Good to know we were right.” He shifted his gaze to Broedi. “And you? What is your name? Or will you suffer me calling you ‘Shapechanger?’”

Mildly surprised, Broedi looked to Nundle.

“How is it that you know of me, little one, but he does not?”

With a small shrug, Nundle said, “Because I have not told him who you are yet.”

The sergeant twisted to stare at the tomble with narrow, curious eyes.

“Nundle?”

“I am sorry, Nathan. Truly, I am. When your scouts mentioned a seven-foot tall man, I hoped it was him…but we had just finished talking about too many assumptions…so…” He stared at Broedi and shook his head in wonder. “The scorch marks by the campsite—that was you, wasn’t it? Teaching them? But why don’t they—”

“Nundle!” The sergeant’s interruption was firm. “Mind answering the question for me? How do you know him?

Nundle turned to stare at the soldier, a tightly wrapped bundle of energy ready to split open.

“Do you truly not know who this is, Nathan?”

Sergeant Trell eyed Broedi. In a slow, hesitant voice, he muttered, “Should I?”

“Think, Nathan.”

The sergeant’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Broedi. Shaking his head, he said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t—”

“His necklace, Nathan!” exclaimed the tomble. “Look at his necklace!”

Sergeant Trell glanced at the lion’s head attached to the leather cord hanging around Broedi’s neck. His eyes widened, recognition flooding his face. Lifting his gaze to Broedi, he muttered, “Bless the gods. You’re one of the White Lions, aren’t you?”

Broedi had watched the entire exchange with growing unease. He considered trying to deny the fact, but he doubted the tomble would accept his claim. He could only hope for everyone’s sake that their intentions were good.

After letting out a long sigh, a solemn Broedi answered, “I am.”

An excited squeal burst forth from Nundle as he clapped his hands. Sabine stared at the small man as if he had three heads.

Smiling wide, Nundle recited, “‘While it falls to the Half-man to unite?’ That must be what the line means, am I correct?’”

The words were from Indrida’s prophecy. Broedi’s nervousness swelled.

With wide eyes, Nundle said, “I’ve read all about the Assembly and the Demonic War and everything. Well, at least what I could find. Some of the details about the White Lions are sketchy.” He went quiet a moment, staring at Broedi, and then said, “It is truly an honor to meet you.”

Broedi nodded, acknowledging the comment, unsure what else to do. None of this was expected.

Taking advantage of quiet moment, Sabine leaned forward and asked, “Pardon me? But what’s a ‘White Lion?’”

In unison, the hillman, tomble, and soldier turned to stare at her. Had her question not reeked of innocent sincerity, they all might have had some sort of quiet exclamation for such an odd question. Almost everyone in the duchies had at least heard the legend of the White Lions, even if most had the details wrong. Broedi found it extraordinary that Sabine knew nothing. He was surprised her parents had never shared the tale with her.

With three pairs of eyes staring at her, Sabine shrugged and said, “What? It’s an honest question. What’s a ‘White Lion?’”

Broedi opened his mouth to begin to explain, but was a moment too late. Nundle beat him, leaping into the tale, starting with the Assembly, explaining the Demonic War, the scourging of the Carinius coast, and ending with the outlawing of magic. The tomble’s telling of the story was impossibly, disturbingly accurate. An improbable fluke of fate might explain away the soldiers’ presence. Yet to find a tomble—a former Academy acolyte at that—who knew as much as this one did was unfeasible.

Broedi’s worry deepened, but this time, it had nothing to do with the soldiers, the tomble, or even the Tracker. Impossible occurrences such as this had happened frequently during the Demonic War. His eyes narrowed. Someone was twisting fate.

Throughout Nundle’s telling, Sabine stared at Broedi, her mouth parted. When the tomble had finished, she was quiet a moment before muttering, “That’s quite a tale.” Her expression betrayed obvious reluctance to accept any of as real.

“Surprisingly, most of what he said is true,” rumbled Broedi. He looked back to the tomble. “While I wonder how it is that you know so much, that is less important than
why
you are following us.” His eyes narrowed. “And how you found us.”

Nundle opened his mouth to answer when the sergeant put his hand up. “My turn, Nundle.” As Nundle bowed his head, Sergeant Trell turned his gaze to Broedi and said, “I will tell you what I know, White Lion, starting with when I was ordered to find you, up until I met Nundle. Stop me when I get something wrong.”

Broedi nodded.

“Go on.”

“Two days after a magical disturbance south of Smithshill—you I am assuming?” He paused, waiting for Broedi to correct him.

Broedi considered denying it, but instead, he simply remained quiet.

Nodding, Sergeant Trell continued, saying, “Fine, then. You listen, I’ll talk.”