The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (109 page)

“Gamin?” prompted Broedi. “What does this have to do with what Kenders saw on the tower?”

“Everything,” said the mage. “Absolutely everything.” Folding his hands in his lap, he took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and looked between the three siblings. “Do you remember why your parents left Fernsford?”

Kenders nodded, saying, “A fire destroyed the smithy.”

“And half the market district,” added Nikalys.

“Both true,” replied Gamin. “Did they tell you that we fled the city as Fernsford burned? The very night of the fire?”

“You ‘fled?’” asked Jak.

“Absolutely,” said Gamin. “As fast as we could, we ran into the night.” The skin around his eyes twitched. “You could see the fire’s glow from miles away.”

“Why were you running?” asked Kenders.

“Because I caused the fire,” said Gamin.

Broedi’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. This was the first he had heard of this.

“
You
caused the Great Fire of Fernsford?” asked the duchess.

“I could argue the Constables are to blame,” sighed Gamin. “But, yes. When they came to take me away, I called the Strands that set the city ablaze. I am sorry, my Lady.”

“For what are you apologizing?” asked Duchess Aleece in surprise.

“For firing a quarter of Fernsford. We had no idea of the extent of the damage until word reached us many turns later.”

“That was decades ago, Gamin, long before I sat in the Sovereign’s Chair. I vaguely remember my father having to deal with the aftermath, but I hold no ill will toward you if it happened as you say it did.”

Relief flooded Gamin’s face.

“You are very gracious, my Lady.”

“Gamin?” rumbled Broedi. “Why are you telling us this now? What exactly happened in Fernsford?”

The mage eyed Broedi and gave a short nod.

“In the Summer of my fourteenth year, I discovered I could touch Strands of Fire. Then Charge a short time later. Air, a couple of years later. I was terrified at first, but then a little curious. Soon, I was taking every chance I could to experiment with them.”

“Weren’t you afraid of being discovered?” asked Kenders.

“Gods, yes,” said Gamin. “But wisdom comes with age and I was quite young. The choices I made were poor ones. Eventually, the Constables became aware there was a mage in the city. About the same time, I noticed that Marie and Thaddeus started to look at me differently. Turns out, they knew my secret and kept it for me. They protected me because I was their friend.” His expression darkened. “Even when the Trackers came to take me away.”

Again, Gamin went quiet for a few moments. When he resumed his tale, his voice was husky and thick with emotion.

“I do not wish to relive much of that icy night. Suffice it to say your parents attempted to sacrifice themselves for me. The Tracker threatened my family if I did not cooperate. He threatened Thaddeus, Marie, and Master Claude. He…made me angry.”

He leaned forward, dropped his head in hands, and pressed his fingers against his temples.

“A short time later, Constables and soldiers were dead in the street, along with…along with Master Claude. He was trying to help me and got struck down by a soldier…”

He stopped a moment, gathering himself.

“My…actions had set alight the thatchers’ roof beside our bakery. Straw burns quickly. It was windy…” He trailed off and shrugged. “The fire was spreading fast. Thaddeus and Marie knew we needed to run. So we did. We ran, leaving our old lives behind. Thaddeus, a promising life as a blacksmith. Sevan and I, our parents. Marie, the same.”

His eyes glistened in the evening’s torchlight.

“
Hundreds
that night died because of me.”

“You were right earlier,” rumbled Broedi “The blame lies at the threshold of the Constables, not you. If you had not been persecuted, perhaps none of that would have happened.”

The mage shook his head slowly while reaching up to wipe away the wetness from his eyes.

“Ifs and perhaps cannot undo what’s been done, Broedi. People died because of me.”

Seeing little chance of convincing the man otherwise, Broedi rumbled softly, “So you fled, then?”

Gamin glanced up and nodded.

“South. Into the Blackbark Forest. For two turns, we meandered about, never staying in one place more than a day or two. We were afraid the authorities might find us. Soldiers, perhaps Constables. Every morning I awoke thinking that would be the day we were going to be caught. We never were, though.”

“One bitterly cold night, I used a minor Weave of Fire to light a campfire. A short time later, a man stepped from the woods into the glow of the fire. He said he was a local trapper, but in actuality, he was a mage.
And
a member of the Manes. He joined our camp for the night and, unbeknownst to us at the time, used a few Weaves of Will to extract our story. The next morning, he invited us to come with him. As he promised protection from the Constables, we went, of course.

“A few weeks later, we arrived at Storm Island and were quickly accepted by the community. Marie was an accomplished tailor. And even as a journeyman, Thaddeus was the best blacksmith Claw had seen in decades. I studied with the mages, learning how to control what I was. And Sevan—” he smiled slightly “—well, Sevan was born with a golden tongue. He could talk his way past a pack of feral wolves if he wanted to.”

Feeling a touch impatient with the man’s tale, Broedi rumbled, “I still fail to see how any of this pertains to Indrida.”

The mage peered over at him.

“For you to understand the destination, I needed to take you on the journey.”

“Might the destination be coming soon?” asked Wren.

“We are close,” said Gamin, nodding slowly. “Something happened during our last night in Fernsford. Something
I
did not learn of until we had been living at the enclave for a time.”

Hopeful, Broedi prompted, “And what might that be?”

“Five years after we arrived, Thaddeus and I were sitting alone in a tavern in Claw. It was Rintira’s Leisure Day and the town had celebrated appropriately. Claiming exhaustion, Marie had excused herself early—” he glanced at Jak “—she was carrying you at the time. After one or six cups too many, Sevan had left as well. I don’t remember how, but somehow Thad and I got to talking about our escape of Fernsford. I asked him—jovially, mind you—if Marie and he had second thoughts about helping me escape.”

A harsh chuckle slipped from the mage.

“His demeanor changed quicker than the weather at Storm Island. One moment, he was smiling and jesting, and the next, he was deadly quiet. He stares at me across the table and says, ‘Can you keep a secret?’ I claimed I could and he proceeded to tell a story that, until two days ago, I thought was nothing but the ramblings of a wine-addled friend.”

“You are talking about our father, yes?” asked Nikalys. “He never drank more than a cup of wine at any festival.”

Gamin looked over at the young man.

“Perhaps he learned his lesson. Too much of the stuff loosens the tongue. He certainly would not have shared the tale he did otherwise. He sought me out the next day—bleary-eyed, mind you—and made a point to laugh off his story as a playman’s tale.”

“What did he share?” asked Broedi.

Looking up to him, Gamin said, “That when he returned to his room in the smithy, he found a strange woman there. A woman ‘draped in a dress that had been dipped in a rainbow.’ That she ‘shimmered in light as though she stood on a mountain’s peak at midday.”

His subdued announcement was met with stunned silence. Even Broedi was taken aback a bit. He had suspected Gamin was harboring some sort of knowledge of Indrida’s involvement, but nothing like this.

Gamin continued, saying, “He said the woman—Hells, I might as well name her for who she was, shouldn’t I? He said that Indrida ordered him and Marie to leave Fernsford that night. She told them they were ‘important.’” He turned his gaze to Nikalys and Kenders. “We all know why, now, don’t we?”

The pair, along with Jak, remained quiet, clearly taken aback by Gamin’s revelation.

An amused chuckle slipped from Wren, as unexpected as a seagull’s cry in the middle of the Borderlands.

“Based on those faces, might I assume your foster parents never shared this with you?”

Kenders, Jak, and Nikalys all shook their heads slowly, almost in unison.

“No,” mumbled Jak. “This was one story Father never told us.”

Nundle chimed in quietly, “So Indrida has inserted herself into…whatever is happening three times, then?”

“Three times of which we are aware,” rumbled Broedi.

“Oh,” muttered the tomble. “Good point.”

Everyone in the room went quiet as they tried to sort out this new information. After a few moments, Nikalys sat tall in his chair, cleared his throat and announced, “Well, that settles things, then.”

Broedi, along with everyone else, turned to stare at the young man. Nikalys pushed himself from his chair and stood tall, placing his hands on his hips.

“We have two tasks laid before us.”

The confidence with which he spoke surprised Broedi. He himself had yet to come to any sort of conclusion as to what their next move should be.

“And what might those be?”

“First, we need to find out where the bulk of Tandyr’s army truly is. We all agree now that Demetus was merely a ruse to keep us occupied, yes?”

Heads around the room bobbed up and down.

Turning to face Duke Rholeb, Nikalys said, “My Lord, send messengers to every town and city in the Marshlands, seeking
any
word of the Sudashians’ passage. Rumors, whispers, whatever. Also, I would like as many scouts as you can spare to your northern border. Duke Everett has thrown his lot in with the Cabal. Perhaps Tandyr has gone there with intentions to invade the northern duchies.”

“What are you basing this on?” asked the duke. “Logic or intuition?”

“Both,” said Nikalys. “More of the latter than the former, though.”

Duke Rholeb’s eyebrows rose high.

“You’re asking me to take a lot of definitive action based on a guess, young man.”

“Yes, I am,” agreed Nikalys. “But we cannot wait around, hoping Miriel Syncent will smuggle us another message about Tandyr’s plan. We need information and we won’t get it by sitting here. Send the messengers and scouts, my Lord.”

Duke Rholeb sat in silence for a moment, rubbing his fingers over his moustache, before nodding once.

“Agreed.”

“Good,” said Nikalys. Turning to Broedi, he added, “Secondly, we need to know what Nelnora’s true intentions are. To my eye, she is putting the outcome of this struggle in jeopardy. Although, to be honest, I am starting to wonder if that might not be her goal.”

Broedi frowned slightly. Nikalys had just given voice to one of his own concerns.

Sabine asked, “Why would she do that?”

“Don’t forget who we’re dealing with,” said Tobias. “Nelnora’s dominion is balance and order. She strives for equilibrium. Too much good in the world is as abhorrent to her as too much evil.”

Jak muttered, “I would say evil’s got the better hand at the moment.”

“Agreed,” conceded Broedi. “Yet Nikalys is correct. We must try to determine what her intentions are.”

Reaching up to scratch his chin, Tobias asked, “I suppose that means you think we should go back to the Seat of Nelnora, then?”

“I do,” said Nikalys. “I’m tired of the Gods and Goddesses playing with our lives like we’re some blasted peg on a radigan board.
My
fate should be decided by one person alone:
me
.” Looking around the room, he added, “I’m not the only one who feels that way, am I?”

As most everyone nodded in agreement, Broedi shared a look with Tobias and Wren, silently inquiring what they thought of Nikalys’ plan. Both nodded.

“Agreed, then,” said Broedi.

“And what if she won’t tell us the truth?” asked Jak. “Or worse, what if she does and tells us the Gods aren’t going to help. What then?”

As Nikalys turned to his brother, his face moved from a shadow into the light. A set of deep lines spanned his forehead. The muscles in his jaw rippled.

“Then we fight the blasted Cabal ourselves.”

The skin around his eyes twitched.

“
Alone
.”

Year’s End, 4999

A tiny vibration ran through the cold, damp stone floor.

The lone figure in the darkened cell opened his eyes and looked to the dim rectangle on the far wall. Stubborn bits of light fought their way through the crevices of the door he knew was there. Lying on his side with his bearded cheek pressed on stone, he stared and waited, wondering if he had imagined the sensation, hoping he had.

He could not judge how long it had been since her last visit, whether it had been days or weeks. The gloom of his windowless cell was constant. There was no day here. No night. The only way to mark the passage of time was counting the number of putrid breaths he drew, and he had ceased doing that a long time past. Years ago. Decades perhaps.

As he stared at the dim edges of the doorway, waiting, a broken part of him rose up inside, silently pleading the door to open, yearning for a break to his life’s maddening monotony. He shoved that part of him away, knowing what was to follow should she be coming.

A deep thud filled the hall outside, followed by a hollow, echoing clang. Dread—and a bit of relief—washed over him.

He tried to push himself up from the cold stone, determined to meet his visitor on his own two feet, but his first effort was a futile one. His captor fed him enough food to keep him alive, nothing more. The trough in his cell was full of water that was so dirty and rank that he only drank when he had to. The dark, crawly things living in it seemed to like it fine, but he did not.

Grunting, he tried again to rise from the floor. He failed to stand, yet managed to shift into a sitting position. The effort left him panting and exhausted. He reached up to pull back his long hair and smooth his matted beard as best he could. He slowed his breathing, composing himself for what was to come.

In a cracked, dry as dust voice, he whispered, “Stay strong.”