The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (31 page)

A tomble White Lion.

The shock and excitement of the discovery still tickled inside.

A perpetually silent Broedi led their group along the path, moving at an absurdly slow pace. For weeks, the hillman had insisted they move quickly, intent upon reaching their destination as soon as possible, yet now he seemed content to crawl as a snail. Eyeing Tobias’ bent leg, Nundle frowned. At this rate, they might reach the Celestial Empire sometime next Harvest.

The sun had dropped to the treetops when Tobias peered over his shoulder, locked eyes with Nundle, and abruptly asked, “Getting tired, yet?”

Nundle’s heart started to pound. The White Lion, the tomble White Lion, was directly addressing him.

“Me? What? No…no! I’m quite full of energy, sir. I can go as long as you can—longer, I would think, considering your leg.”

As Tobias raised a crooked eyebrow at the comment, Nundle’s eyes widened.

“Oh, Gods! No! What I meant to say is that I’m not getting tired at all moving this slowly.”

Tobias’ eyebrow lifted higher, prompting Nundle to protest louder.

“Not that I mind going slow! Because I don’t! I certainly understand your need to go slow. Because of your leg and all.”

Tobias stopped in the middle of the path and half-turned to face him, his brow furrowing, staring at Nundle as one would at a three-headed sheep.

Nundle dropped his head, his gaze fixing on a random stone in the dirt path. After a few uncomfortable moments, he heard Tobias speak.

“Gods, Broedi. Where did you find him?”

Faint amusement colored his words, giving Nundle hope that he had not taken the unintentional insults too seriously.

“Actually, he found me.”

“Did he now?” muttered the tomble in surprise.

Broedi stopped in the path, turned to face the pair, and said, “Only a few turns ago, in fact.” Staring intently at Tobias, he added, “He tracked me down shortly after I found the Progeny.”

Tobias halted, leaned on his walking stick, and peered up at the hillman.

“You say that as though it’s important.”

“It is,” rumbled the hillman.

“Ah,” muttered Tobias. “I see.” He paused a moment. “No, I don’t. What in the Nine Hells is ‘the progeny’?”

Stunned, Nundle blurted out, “They’re the Progeny!”

Tobias glanced over his shoulder and said, “Shouting will not help me understand what you are talking about!”

Nundle shut his mouth quickly. Tobias was right. He looked to Broedi and found the hillman with a slight frown on his face.

Broedi rumbled, “I was afraid of this.” He stared past Nundle, up the road that lead back toward Tinfiddle. “Can we expect to be left alone for a time?”

With an angry huff, Tobias replied, “After your stunt? Absolutely. You could have marched into town with a dozen heralds carrying the blasted white lion banner and have been less conspicuous.”

Broedi raised an eyebrow.

“You are exaggerating.”

“Did you truly have to crash through the front door?” demanded Tobias. “That was a nice door. I just painted it last turn.”

Broedi moved to the left side of the road, sat on one of the gray granite boulders, and asked, “Had I knocked politely, you would have opened a port to go elsewhere, yes?”

Tobias shrugged.

“Most likely.”

“Then you have your answer,” replied Broedi, lifting his pack over his head and dropping it to the ground. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared at Tobias. The White Lion tomble held Broedi’s gaze.

Nundle stood in the middle of the wide path, a dozen paces behind Tobias, unsure what to do. His horse took advantage of the pause in travel to wander to the side of the road and begin nibbling on a patch of grass.

After a few long moments of quiet, Nundle asked uneasily, “So, ah, are we stopping here?”

Without taking his eyes from Tobias, Broedi rumbled, “For now, yes.”

Nundle nodded and began scanning the forest floor on both sides of the path, offering, “Well, then I’ll gather some wood for a fire, perhaps see if there is creek—”

Interrupting him, Broedi rumbled firmly, yet quietly, “Remain here, please.”

Nundle peered back to the hillman.

“But it will be dark, soon. We should—”

“Here, Nundle” insisted Broedi.

Tobias said, “He wants you around should I decide to run again.”

Nundle glanced to Broedi, looking for confirmation. The hillman nodded.

“Correct.”

“Oh,” muttered Nundle. “Understood, then.” He went quiet and stood at the ready, waiting for any flicker of black or white.

Tobias remained stationary in the middle of the path, leaning on his walking stick. After a few more quiet moments had passed, he said, “Let’s go, Broedi. Out with it. Why is our task not yet complete? And explain these Progeny to me. Quickly, please.”

“I will tell you everything,” rumbled the hillman. “And after I am done, I will ask you to do something for me.” He paused a moment before adding confidently, “And you will do it.”

A short, haughty laugh burst from Tobias.

“Hah! Will I?”

Broedi regarded Tobias with a steady gaze.

“Most likely.”

Tobias took a number of quick, lurching movements toward Broedi, leaning on his walking stick with each hurried step.

“If you think you can get me to just nod and go along with whatever scheme you—”

Nundle was bracing himself for what seemed to be a certain tongue-lashing when Tobias suddenly cut off and halted his advance on Broedi. For a brief moment, Nundle thought the tomble was so irritated that he did not know what to say. After a few heartbeats of silence passed, he realized that was not the case. Curious, he glanced toward Broedi. The hillman was leaning forward, a slight frown on his face. Sitting tall, he raised a hand and waved for Nundle to come closer.

“Nelnora’s gift is upon him,” replied Broedi. “We might as well get comfortable.”

Tugging the reins of his horse, Nundle hurried forward. He moved around to Tobias’ front and stared at the White Lion’s face. Tobias’ eyelids drooped halfway shut and his mouth hung slack.

“He looks dead.”

“In one sense, he is,” rumbled Broedi. “His soul is elsewhere at the moment.”

Nundle continued to stare at Tobias. He almost reached out to shut Tobias’ mouth before the tomble started to drool.

“How long will it last?”

Broedi shrugged.

“I do not know. At times, he would fade away for mere moments. Others, he would be gone for an entire morning or afternoon.” He frowned and shook his head. “The timing of this vision is rather inopportune, however.”

Nundle eyed Tobias and asked, “How does he not fall over?”

“That is a question which none of us ever could answer,” rumbled the hillman. “Although, if he remains like that for a time, he will be quite stiff when he returns.”

Pushing himself off the rock, Broedi moved to where Tobias stood. He bent down, gently removed the tomble’s pack and walking stick, handing both to Nundle. Bending over, the hillman lifted Tobias in his arms, moved to the side of the path, and carefully placed the tomble in a sitting position against the trunk of an ash tree. Once he had seen to Tobias’s comfort, Broedi stood tall, but remained hovering over the little tomble.

Still standing in the road, Nundle asked softly, “You count him a true friend, don’t you?”

“I do,” replied the hillman. “I wish I had not needed to cut short his life in Tinfiddle, but…” He trailed off, allowing a heavy silence to grip the little pathway in the woods.

After a few moments, Nundle said, “I didn’t mean to offend him earlier—about his leg.”

Broedi returned to the rock, sat, and retrieved his pack from the ground. Reaching inside the leather satchel, he pulled out his long, bone pipe and pouch of smoking-leaf. Glancing up, he said, “Do not worry. I know Tobias well. Words alone do not hurt him. The trials of his past have granted him skin of stone.”

“What sort of trials?”

Broedi held Nundle’s inquisitive gaze a moment before dropping it to his pipe.

“Is not my tale to tell.”

Nundle recognized the tone in Broedi’s voice and the look in his eyes. No amount of prodding would get more from him. Frowning, he eyed Tobias, wondering exactly what Broedi meant. He stood there for a time, trying to make sense of everything, alternating staring at Tobias, Broedi, and the dusk sky. Glancing at Tobias’ crooked leg, he muttered, “I have a question.”

“Then ask it.”

Keeping his voice low, Nundle whispered, “How can we expect to reach the Celestial Empire in a reasonable amount of time now? It will be next Summer at the rate he walks.”

The corners of Broedi’s lips curled up slightly. “We will figure something out.” Glancing up from his pipe, he added, “And there is no need to whisper, Nundle. He cannot hear you in that state.”

From the base of the ash tree, Tobias said, ““But I can certainly hear you when I’m not.”

Nundle spun around to find Tobias alert and looking around, his brow furrowed.

“How did I get here?”

Broedi said, “I did not want you to be uncomfortable.”

Glancing up at Broedi, Tobias gave a short nod of thanks. “Ah. Well, that was kind of—” He cut off as his gaze flicked to the pipe in Broedi’s hands. His eyes widened a fraction as he asked, “I don’t suppose that’s some of the Sweetbush cut you favored so much? They never could get the strain quite right here. I think it’s the soil.”

Broedi shook his head, rumbling, “I am sorry, old friend, but I grew short of Sweetbush a while ago.” He held up the pouch. “This is from the Lagis coast and is serviceable.”

Tobias cocked an eyebrow and said, “Northlands leaf?”

Nodding, Broedi said, “You are welcome to some if you would like.”

Tobias turned to eye Nundle and said, “Well, if your Boroughs’ friend would give me back my pack so I can retrieve my pipe, I will take you up on your offer.”

Looking down, Nundle realized he was still grasping Tobias’ travelling satchel. Dropping the reins to his horse, he hurried over to Tobias and said, “Here you go, sir. I was just holding it for you. I didn’t look inside.” He paused a moment, wondering why he had said that. “Not that you would think I might. I merely wanted to assure you that I would never do such a thing. To anyone, of course, but especially to someone as important as you, sir. That would be wrong, and I try to do what’s right. Well, most of the time, I do. Like when at the Academies, sir. You see—”

Broedi gently interrupted him.

“Nundle?”

Glancing over to the hillman, he frowned and said, “Ah, yes. Sorry about that.” He had a tendency to babble when he got excited. He looked back to Tobias. “Sorry.”

The White Lion was staring up at him as though Nundle were a touch off. After a moment, Tobias shook his head, reached up, and took his pack.

“Thank you.”

His gaze shifted to Nundle’s other hand.

“My stick, too?”

Nundle held the smooth walking stick out quickly.

“Here you go, sir.”

Tobias accepted the stick and muttered, “Stop calling me that.”

“Yes, s—ah…yes, mister Donngord.”

Tobias peered up at Nundle, shook his head again, and began to root about his pack. After a moment, he pulled out a pipe of familiar tomble design, wooden with a deep, sweeping curve and wide oval bowl. After tossing his pack aside, he looked up at Broedi.

“Toss me the leaf, Broedi. And tell me what’s going on.”

“What did you see in your vision?” asked the hillman.

Tobias glared at Broedi and said, “I’ll tell you what I saw after you tell me what is happening. Now, toss me the leaf.”

Broedi waited a moment before giving a short nod and softly lobbing the pouch to Tobias.

“Would you like the long version of my tale, or the short?”

Tobias rested his pipe on his lap and began to open the pouch.

“Short if that’s possible for you.”

Broedi nodded and rumbled, “Did you know that after the Assembly called us to service, Indrida issued a prophecy? One about us?”

Tobias looked up quickly.

“And by us, you mean…?”

“The White Lions.”

After a short pause, Tobias frowned and replied, “No. I did not know that.”

“At the time, few did. Only she and Nelnora.”

Tobias’ eyes tightened at the mention of the Goddess of Civilization.

“What were her words?” asked Tobias. “What did it say?”

Broedi looked to Nundle and prompted, “The prophecy if you will.”

Nundle’s eyebrows rose to a sharp peak as he softly exclaimed, “Me?” This certainly seemed like a discussion for the two White Lions to have.

“If you do not mind,” answered Broedi. “I must light my pipe.”

Nundle glanced at Tobias to find the tomble staring at him, a doubtful expression fixed upon his face. Swallowing nervously, Nundle cleared his throat and began to recite.

The roar of the Lions will drive back the spawn,

And the lines of men, strong once again, will be redrawn.

Yet that which drives man’s soul will fray at the seams,

While the strength of the Lions will fade as do last night’s dreams.

Torn apart by deceit and distrust,

One will perish and One will be lost.

One will leave, while Another will stay.

And Two shall find each Other one day.

Against his will, one must fight,

While it falls upon the Half-man to unite.

Chaos will rise again, unraveling what has been made,

With Strife, Pain, and Deception in tow, lending aid.

Hidden, then found,

Willingly come around,

The Progeny must rise to lead the fight,

Along with new and old, seek to make it right.

Tobias listened attentively, his gaze never leaving Nundle’s face. Once Nundle finished, Tobias dropped his head, stared at his lap, and remained silent, his pipe still empty and the smoking-leaf pouch half opened.

Nundle looked back to Broedi and found the large hillman smoking his pipe, curls of white smoke drifting up from the small bowl. A sweet and pungent aroma filled the air. Broedi caught Nundle’s eye, nodded a silent thank you, and turned his full attention to Tobias. Then, he waited.