Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) (80 page)

Within minutes, the clearing was full of half-naked longlegs, chattering and exchanging clothes.

Nundle glanced over to find Kenders covering her eyes with her hand, her cheeks a deep, rosy red. Sabine was doing the same thing on the back of Jak’s horse while simultaneously trying to get Nikalys’ attention, pointing to Helene sitting in his lap.

“Nikalys! Could you please?”

The little girl was watching all of the activity with a confused look on her face.

“Nik-lys, why are all the soldiers taking their clothes off?”

Quickly covering her eyes with one hand, Nikalys answered, “Uh, it’s a hot day, dear. They’re going to go for a swim.”

Nathan dismounted, found a man that looked like he would be about the right size, and began to disrobe. With amusement, Nundle noticed the lack of insignias on the shoulders of the Southern Arms, indicating that Nathan was acquiring the uniform of a mere footman.

Nikalys apparently noticed as well, saying, “It looks like that Southlander just got a promotion.”

“So it does,” said Nundle with a smile. Glancing around the chaotic scene, he asked, “How many of the second group came along?”

“All of them,” answered Jak.

Nundle lifted an eyebrow.

“Truly?”

“Truly,” replied Jak. “Even the other Tracker came along.”

Nundle frowned at that, but supposed it was a good thing that nobody was running off to report them. Eyeing at the Sentinels, he said, “I think Nathan’s soldiers would follow him just about anywhere.”

Swiveling to face the group, Broedi rumbled, “They are following more than their sergeant
.
” His gazed drifted over to Kenders and Nikalys.

Even with covered eyes, Kenders caught Broedi’s implication and said with muted indignation, “Oh, please.”

Meeting Broedi’s stare, Nikalys said, “Having a White Lion around doesn’t hurt.”

Broedi shrugged and agreed, “I suppose not.”

“Don’t forget me,” added Jak with a smile. “I’m pretty sure that without me, this entire endeavor would fall apart.”

Everyone laughed, their mirth fueled by nervous relief that this audacious plan had seemed to work.

As the chuckling died down, Nikalys asked. “How long before the suggestion wears off?”

“A few days for some,” rumbled Broedi. “Which is all we need.” He stared at Kenders with narrowed, curious eyes. “Although, those that are under your Weave, uora
,
might march all the way to Redstone and kneel at the Sovereign’s Chair if we told them.” Broedi’s tone was an even mix of respect and reprimand. “You
must
learn how to control your power.”

“I know,” mumbled Kenders through a yawn.

“Do you?” replied Broedi. “Any capable Will mage within a day’s ride will have felt that. Again, I remind you, and
others
—” Nundle received another sharp look from Broedi “—that using your gift as you did exposes us.”

Nundle dropped his eyes, only a little bit sorry for what had happened. Had Kenders not done what she had, blood would have been spilt today.

Broedi was not done with his admonishment, scolding, “And one day you might not simply pass out from overextending yourself. Please, do not do that again! Am I clear?”

Kenders nodded in silence.

A few moments of quiet passed as the assembled group shifted in their saddles, suddenly uneasy. Sergeant Trell interrupted the uncomfortable mood as he walked up, wearing the blue and gold uniform of a Southern Arms footman. With his thick beard, he looked a Southlander.

Holding out his arms, he asked, “What do you think?”

Grateful for the change in topic, Nundle said, “The colors suit you.”

“It feels unnatural,” said the soldier. He pulled and tugged on his new uniform. “And a bit snug. I should have chosen a larger man.”

“I think you look fine,” replied Nikalys with a lopsided grin. “Footman Trell.”

Glancing at the shoulders of the uniform he now wore, Nathan frowned.

“Ah, I did not think about that. Fitting, though, as I’ve forfeited my rank after the recent decisions I’ve made.” Nathan rubbed his hands down his new uniform, staring as if he had a brand new torso and arms. “Good thing I’m doing the right thing or I might be bothered a lot more by that.”

With her hand still over her eyes, Sabine asked, “So my plan worked?”

“Looks like it,” said Jak. “It was a good idea,”

“Hells, it was a great idea,” muttered Nikalys. “We’d still be standing around, staring at one another if you hadn’t thought of it.”

The raven-haired beauty smiled wide.

“Thank you. Although, the truth is, Helene was my inspiration.”

Nikalys looked down at the little girl in his lap and gave her a hug while saying, “Well, then, you did a very good job, Helene.” The hug turned into a tickle, and the little girl giggled.

Eyeing the two groups of soldiers, Nundle noticed a problem.

“Nathan?”

“Yes?”

“Well, while you look every bit a Southlander, many of your soldiers don’t. Their faces are too bare.”

Sergeant Trell glanced around the camp and said, “That’s an excellent point.”

Jak added, “And the new ‘Sentinels’ look a little odd with their beards.”

Broedi rumbled, “Perhaps one last order for them before we send them on their way?”

Nodding, Nathan smiled and said, “I wonder how many of my men can even grow a beard.” He moved off and talked with both sets of longlegs getting the original Sentinels to hand over their straight razors to the Arms.

The exchange was drawing to conclusion when Nundle happened to look upon the lone tent in the clearing. Lieutenant Madric had yet to emerge. Catching Broedi’s attention, he pointed to the tent and slid from his horse. He and the hillman walked to the tent to see what the officer was doing.

Broedi reached the tent first, opened the flap, and stuck his head inside. A half a heartbeat later, he withdrew it and stood tall. Looking to Nundle, he smiled and said, “I believe the lieutenant could use a little more guidance.”

Nundle arched an eyebrow.

Stepping aside, Broedi rumbled, “See for yourself.”

Nundle moved to the tent, grasped the canvas, and lifted back a flap. Sunlight poured into the darkened interior, fully illuminating the lanky form of a nearly naked Lieutenant Madric. The man stood in his underbreeches only, holding his uniform in outstretched arms.

With glassy eyes, the soldier mumbled, “I am ready for the exercise to begin.”

Nundle blinked twice, stepped back, and let the flap fall shut.

Peering up at Broedi, he said, “Sorry. Not my size.”

The hillman smiled at him as he walked away, back to his horse.

Horses’ hooves clopped and cracked on the hard limestone of the bridge, the irregular staccato impossible to ignore after weeks of muted thuds on dirt and grass. The children rode far ahead of Cero, near the front of the column with Sergeant Trell, the White Lion, and the tomble. He was at the rear and more than content to be here. It was easier to suppress the dangerous thoughts when the children were further away.

Cero lifted his chin from his chest and gazed ahead at the girl’s harvest-straw locks. In an instant, the dark, confusing urges returned, surging through him. Quicker than ever, his hand shot to his hip but did not find his beltknife. In an earlier moment of clarity, he had packed the blade at the bottom of his saddlebags. He grabbed his thigh, dug his fingers into the meat of his leg, and muttered, “Gods, I’m going mad.”

He turned his head to his right and stared at the brilliant sunset, wishing Mu’s orb would burn this terrible compulsion out of him. The sun had almost reached the horizon, a heavy globule of burning red and orange hovering above distant treetops. Long, ribbon-thin clouds lined the sky, their pink and red streaks marking the day’s passing. The muddy Erona River snaked from the west, swelling to fill the nearby landscape.

As Cero stared at the river, the icy darkness inside him swelled again. He never had learned to swim. If he leapt from the bridge right now, he would quickly sink in the unclear water. Drowning was as effective as a knife to his throat.

Shoving away the coldness, Cero shook his head and glared at the mane of his horse, hissing, “Hells!”

The suicidal thoughts came with greater frequency now. Everywhere he looked, he saw ways to end his life.

“Are you all right?”

Latius’ voice pierced his study of the coarse hair draping his horse’s neck.

Afraid to look up and see something else that might prompt another intrusive thought. Cero kept his eyes down.

“I’m fine.”

Cero could feel Latius peering at him. Staring hard. Watching him. Unable to take the scrutiny, Cero finally looked to his left and snapped, “What?!”

Latius held his gaze for a long moment before turning to stare straight ahead.

“Nothing.”

Cero dropped his head and shut his eyes, focusing solely on the sound of the horses’ hooves racking against the bridge. Latius did not have the good sense to keep quiet, speaking up only a few horse strides later.

“I’ve noticed you’re a bit on edge, Cero. Did something happen with the—” he dropped his voice to a whisper “—lawbreakers before I showed up? Did they do something to you?”

Cero shot a dubious look at Latius and asked, “What do you mean, ‘Did they do something to me?’”

“You remember what—” again with the lowered whisper “—Fenidar said, right? They are
not
to be trusted!”

Cero rolled his eyes and shook his head, muttering, “I don’t care much about what Fenidar said. The ijul lied to us. He’s a blasted mage himself. Why won’t you just accept that?”

Latius frowned and shook his head.

“Lies, Cero. Lies spread by—”

Interrupting his fellow Tracker, Cero jabbed a finger in the direction of the group at the head of the column, growling quietly, “Lawbreakers or not, they are
not
dangerous!” He glared at Latius. “Everything I’ve seen screams it!”

Latius’ eyes narrowed and his scowl deepened.

“You’d better not start with that again.”

This was not the first time Cero had broached the subject with Latius. When they had reunited, he had tried to convince his fellow Tracker that there was much more going on than they had been led to believe. Latius had not wanted to listen. He was of the opinion they should return and report on their findings at once.

In a firm, quiet voice, Cero insisted, “Believe what you want, Latius. I’ll do the same.”

“You’re considering going with them, aren’t you?” asked Latius. “All the way south?”

Word had spread of their destination, even if the reason for it being so had not.

Casting a sidelong glance at his fellow Tracker, Cero said, “I don’t know. Perhaps. It’s just…” He trailed off, conflicted. Something was pulling at him, straining against the instinct that told him the children were worthy of his help. “How do you not see what this is, Latius? That’s a blasted White Lion walking up there!”

“Even more reason to go back now and report,” muttered Latius. “If we were to truly catch one of the White Lions and bring him to justice, we’d be heroes.”

Irked by the man’s single-minded focus, Cero hissed, “Have you heard a blasted word I’ve said since we met up? The story you know about the Lions is a lie!
They
were heroes!”

Unrestrained rage flashed over Latius’ face, his eyes flaring hot, his lips curling into a wicked sneer. The fury-filled expression did not fit the Tracker. Latius had always been a meek soul.

Through clenched teeth, Latius said, “You remember what our orders were, don’t you? Find them, discover where they’re going, and then report.”

Cero nodded impatiently.

“I know.”

“Well, we’ve found them, we know where they’re going. Now I intend to go report,” growled Latius. “And I’m leaving tonight.”

Glancing up, Cero asked, “Tonight? Why so soon?”

“Soon?” huffed Latius. “I’ve already wasted nearly an entire day. You’ve wasted four! What in the Nine Hells are you waiting for? You saw what they did to the Southern Arms! Think what these mages could do with an entire army in their thrall! So, yes. Tonight, I’m leaving and heading north. Either come with me or be an outlaw like the rest of them. It’s your choice,
Tracker
.”

The sound of the horses’ hooves softened abruptly. Cero looked up to see that they had reached the southern shore and were back on dirt road again.

The soldiers were already fanning out west along the banks of the Erona. A few near the head of the column were dismounting in preparation to make camp. The group was heading through Fernsford tomorrow, and Sergeant Trell had announced his intention to start before dawn in order to arrive while markets were still open. Supplies were running low, and the company needed to restock.

Latius murmured, “I’m leaving shortly after both moons are up. You’d better be with me.” With a snap of his reins, he moved off the road and headed down towards the camp.

Cero pulled his horse up, stopping at the end of the bridge, and looked over the company below. He sighed, looked back over his shoulder, and stared at the water rushing under the bridge. It was not too late to go back and toss himself into the river. Shutting his eyes, he willed the dark urge to go away.

Torn between wanting to help and wanting to end his life, Cero was a tortured soul.

* * *

The nighttime campfires of the soldiers dotted the riverbank, peeking through the trunks and branches of the trees, spilling their light out onto the rippling river. All alone, Cero leaned against the bridge’s stone wall, watching the few soldiers that were moving about the camp. Most were already sleeping.

A night of rest was the furthest thing from Cero’s mind. He had been standing here for some time now, but he had yet to see any sign of Latius. He was beginning to worry that the man had sneaked away before Cero began his wait.

After the two Trackers had separated, Cero spent a long time sitting on the outskirts of camp, thinking about what he wanted to do. He never even unpacked his tent. Soldiers stared at him oddly as he sat alone on the slope, head in hands. The tomble repeatedly glanced in his direction, frowning. Cero ignored them all.