The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (49 page)

As the mongrel collapsed to the ground, Rhohn tried to yank his sword free but found it stuck. He stumbled forward, holding onto the hilt as the beast crumpled over to land beside Tiliah. Rhohn stepped on its chest and, with both arms, ripped the sword free.

Whirling around, he watched Okollu take another bite from the horse’s neck. The mare—no longer whinnying—took two last, unsteady steps before its legs buckled. Collapsing to the ground, the horse rolled to its side. She was not dead yet, but soon would be.

Okollu turned to face him, standing upright, the dagger from before jammed into a leather harness around the mongrel’s waist. The beast’s yellow eyes locked onto Rhohn and it spoke in a low, gruff voice.

“I will end the two males. The female is yours.”

As Rhohn stared blankly at Okollu, baffled as to what was happening, the mongrel drew back its lips, bared its teeth, and began growling. The ferocious snarl sounded sincere, but the threat in Okollu’s voice never reached the mongrel’s eyes.

His gaze shot back to the remaining three mongrels. Two approached from the left—one gray and the other brown like Okollu but without the white markings. Rich auburn fur covered the third monster’s body, a black patch on its face. Rhohn repeatedly glanced between the three, trying to mark which one was female. They all looked the same to him.

As they neared, the three mongrels joined Okollu’s growl. The auburn one stopped by the dying horse—ten paces to Okollu’s left—bent down, and sniffed. The other pair halted on Okollu’s right, further away. All three stared between Rhohn and the corpse of the dead mongrel, unadulterated hate filling their eyes. It took him a moment to realize that the mare must have blocked Okollu’s attack from their view. They blamed Rhohn for the gray mongrel’s death.

Okollu, eyes flaring wide, barked, “You have something that does not belong to you!”

Other than his sword and his clothes, the only thing Rhohn had in his possession was the pouch with the stone. Glancing down at the bag tucked into his belt, he pulled the bag free.

“This?”

Okollu sniffed the air twice and tossed his muzzle toward the pair of mongrels to his right, Rhohn’s left.

“Toss it there, smooth-face.”

Rhohn hesitated, trying to figure out what mongrels would want with a gemstone.

“The bag!” growled Okollu. “Now!”

A light moan drifted from the grass by his feet. Glancing down, he saw Tiliah stir, her hand rubbing the back of her head.

“The bag, smooth-face, or we kill the female.”

Rhohn glared at Okollu. He had no doubt the mongrel would follow through on the threat.

“If I give you the—”

“Now!” barked Okollu. Its eyes flashed wide, pleading with Rhohn to comply.

Wondering if he was mad for putting his faith in an animal, Rhohn tossed the bag toward the two mongrels to his left. The sack struck the ground with a solid thud.

Okollu turned to the pair and snapped, “Alege sus si avedea ce nauntru.”

The brown mongrel stepped forward and bent down to sniff the pouch.

Feeling a light tapping on his leg, Rhohn glanced down. Tiliah was sitting up now, staring at the four beasts before them. Without looking away from them, she spoke in a hushed whisper.

“What do we do?”

Okollu’s gaze snapped back to them.

“Silence!”

Tiliah complied, keeping her hand on Rhohn’s leg, her fingers digging into his injured calf. Rhohn squeezed the hilt of his sword just as tightly.

The mongrel inspecting the sack lifted its head, looked to Okollu, and growled, “Ese pitra.”

“Bring it here,” growled Okollu. The nostrils on its black nose flared. “Lussa, you stay there.” Eyeing Rhohn, it gave an almost imperceptible nod in the direction of the auburn mongrel, its hand slipping down to the dagger jammed in the harness.

Rhohn studied the lone beast to his right and guessed it was the female. Which meant the pair to his left were the males. Hoping that he understood Okollu’s intent, Rhohn offered a silent prayer to Ketus, the God of Luck.

The brown mongrel grabbed the bag in his hand, stood tall, and strode to Okollu. As he stretched out his arm to hand over the bag, Okollu grabbed his wrist and twisted, spinning the mongrel around and eliciting a sharp, surprised grunt from the creature. The remaining mongrels turned their heads, their ears pointed.

Releasing the male’s wrist, Okollu gripped a fistful of fur atop the mongrel’s head, yanked the mongrel’s head back, and drew the dagger fast and deep across the exposed neck. A plume of crimson squirted to the grass. Okollu shoved him aside, dropped to all fours, and rushed the gray male. A monstrous howl erupted from his throat.

The auburn female answered an instant later with a fury-filled growl of her own and sprinted after Okollu. Rhohn was already running forward and intercepted the female as she leapt over the bloody male. He thrust his blade at her exposed side, hoping to land a quick blow. The mongrel, incredibly agile, dodged the attack, coiling her body around the stab in mid-air. She landed, skidding in the mud, and whirled to face Rhohn, her jaws snapping at him, forcing him to backpedal.

With nostrils flaring and ears pinned back, she stalked closer, her yellow-eyed gaze dancing between his face and his sword. As she approached, she stood upright, her fists clenched at her side, a constant growl rumbling from her throat.

Rhohn lifted his sword, readying himself to fight even though he knew he had no chance to defeat the stronger, more agile mongrel. He was tired, hungry, and nursing an injured calf. This was not going to end well.

Continuing to backpedal, he turned his head to the side and shouted, “Run, Tiliah!”

“No!”

“Blast it, Tiliah! Get up and—”

“Hawk’s wing!” shouted Tiliah. “Red, back two!”

Rhohn’s step faltered. Her words were so unexpected that he nearly turned his back on the mongrel to stare at her. For the briefest of moments, he was back in the training yards in Gobas, lined up with fellow Dust Men, sword in hand, listening to a sergeant call out orders to teach the new soldiers proper fighting positions. “Hawk’s wing” meant to draw back his sword arm, putting his hand at his hip. “Red, back two” told him to place his left foot two paces behind his right. How Tiliah knew any of that was beyond him.

“Blast it, Rhohn!” screamed Tiliah. “Hawk’s wing, red, back two!”

The female mongrel was mere paces from him, lowering herself into a crouch, ready to pounce.

Putting his faith in Tiliah, he arranged his body to her shouted orders, sword on hip, one foot before the other. The moment he assumed the correct position, a high-pitched whistle cut the air. The auburn mongrel, ears perked up, stopped her advance and looked past Rhohn to where Tiliah lay on the ground. Taking advantage of the distraction, Rhohn stepped forward, swiveled his hips, and drove his sword forward with all the force he could, piercing the mongrel’s body where chest met neck. The blade sunk into flesh, ricocheted off the spine, and exited at the base of her skull.

Loosing a sharp yelp of pain, the mongrel grabbed the sword with her hands as Rhohn drew the blade back, twisting as he did. The edge bit deep into the beast’s palms, slicing them open and sending blood down her arms. When the blade stopped, catching on something in the mongrel’s throat, Rhohn yanked hard. The mongrel’s cries cut off instantly.

Rhohn ripped the sword free and hopped back a few steps, waiting for a counterattack that would never come. The mongrel stumbled backward, her mangled hands clasped around her throat and panic in her eyes. She worked her jaws, perhaps trying to speak, but all that came out was a sickening mix of choking, gasping, and gurgling. She collapsed to all fours, hunched over and gagging, suffocating on her own blood.

Rhohn almost felt sympathy for her. Almost.

Okollu rushed toward the female, a flash of brown and white fur. Upon reaching her, Okollu grabbed her shoulder, flipped her on her back, and plunged the dagger straight into her chest. He—Rhohn had decided Okollu was male—immediately pulled the blade free and jammed it back down again, a few inches to the side of the first thrust. Her body went limp in an instant. The second stab had ended her.

The world was suddenly quiet, filled only by the thudding of his heart and the light rustle of the grass in the breeze.

Okollu was kneeling beside the dead mongrel, his back to Rhohn. The Dust Man stared at him, tense and ready, wondering what to expect next. Chancing a quick look to where Okollu had fought the other male, Rhohn found a scene eerily reminiscent of the one in the house in Ebel. The gray mongrel’s throat was gone.

Looking back to Okollu, Rhohn waited for the mongrel to do something. Instead, Okollu remained in place, hunched over the dead female and unmoving. Keeping his eyes on Okollu, Rhohn stepped backwards until he reached where Tiliah was still sitting in the grass.

“Are you hurt?”

“My shoulder’s sore, but I’ll be fine,”

Nodding once, Rhohn said, “Good.”

“Rhohn?”

“Yes?”

“What in the Nine Hells is going on? That thing just saved us.” She glanced up at him. “Why?”

Rhohn was unsure how to respond. The truth would take longer to explain than he might have right now. He wondered if he should claim complete ignorance. Perhaps Okollu would let him and Tiliah walk away.

“Rhohn…? What aren’t you telling me?”

He stared down at her.

“What do you—?”

“End the show. I can see it on your face.”

“Now is not the—”

“Tell me, Rhohn!” demanded Tiliah.

Rhohn hesitated and glanced back to Okollu. The mongrel had yet to move. After hesitating a moment longer, Rhohn let out a long sigh and said, “It…he, I suppose—he and I…we’ve met before.”

The volume of Tiliah’s voice increased tenfold.

“You’ve
met
it?”

Okollu’s ears twitched and his head turned to the side ever so slightly.

“I am thinking Okollu is more ‘he’ than ‘it.”

Her eyebrows drew together.

“Okollu?”

Rhohn paused a moment.

“That’s his name.”

“You
know its name
?”

Rhohn pressed his lips together and stared back down to Tiliah.

“It is not how it seems. He and I…made an arrangement of sorts.”

Tiliah remained silent for several heartbeats, her deep brown eyes locked on his face and swelling with sudden distrust. Suspicion hung heavy in her voice as she asked, “What kind of arrangement?”

“On my honor, Tiliah, I promise to share everything—
everything
—with you.” He paused and glanced at Okollu. “As soon as we’re safe.”

She looked back to Okollu and asked, “Are you on his side? Or is he on yours?”

Rhohn considered the astute question briefly before answering.

“He’s on his, I’m on mine.”

“Then what happened here?”

“I just think our sides are overlapping right now.”

“Why?”

Rhohn shrugged.

“I said we have an arrangement, not an understanding. Please, I need you to trust me.”

A frown on her face, Tiliah eyed the surrounding carnage, turned to peer east a moment, and then looked back up to Rhohn.

“For now, Mud Man.”

Rhohn gave her a tiny smile.

“Thank you.”

She nodded once and stared back to Okollu, her brow furrowing.

“I think he’s going to pass out.”

Rhohn shifted his gaze to the mongrel’s back and found Okollu listing to the left. A moment later, the mongrel abruptly toppled over, tumbling to the ground.

Tiliah asked, “Is it—is he dead?”

“I don’t know,” muttered Rhohn. He studied Okollu’s prone form for a moment before saying, “I’m going to go check. Stay here.”

As he went to step toward the mongrel, Tiliah quickly rose from the ground.

“No. I’m coming.”

“Tiliah. It’s not safe for—”

Her eyes flaring hot, she interrupted him, saying, “You tell me you are conspiring with a mongrel and then expect me to let you go confer with him? Alone? Unless you stab me with that sword, Mud Man, I am coming with you!”

He held her determined gaze and sighed. There was no point in arguing with her. Turning toward Okollu, he murmured, “Fine. But stay behind me, at least.”

They moved through the grass, approaching Okollu slowly. As they neared, Rhohn spotted a gaping, bloody wound on the mongrel’s right shoulder. Okollu’s breathing was shallow and ragged.

“Well,” whispered Tiliah. “He’s not dead.”

Ending the mongrel now would be easy. Okollu was in no shape to fight back. Mongrels were Rhohn’s enemy, the beasts having already killed thousands of men, women, and children. Borderlanders. Rhohn’s countrymen. This particular one, lying at his feet, had murdered a friend of his. His heart thudding in his chest, he lifted his sword, readying to plunge it into the beast’s chest.

Okollu turned his head, turning his yellow eyes on Rhohn. Man and mongrel locked gazes and Rhohn stayed his hand. This mongrel had saved his life twice now. Rhohn wanted to know why. He needed to know why.

He lowered his sword, pointing the tip to the soft earth.

“Tiliah? Get the rope from the horse. And find the bag. We’ll need it for bandages.”

“Bandages?” repeated Tiliah. “For who? And don’t say him.”

Rhohn looked over at her.

“You need to bind his wounds.”

Her eyes went round.

“I need to do
what
?!”

He took a deep breath, wiped his blade on his pants leg—both sides—and slid his sword into his scabbard.

“We need him alive. For now, at least.”

Clearly agitated, Tiliah exclaimed, “Are you mad? Why?”

“I have some questions for him,” said Rhohn, turning his eyes back to Okollu. “The last time we met, there wasn’t time to ask them. Now, there is.”

“What sort of questions?” prompted Tiliah. “What exactly is this ‘arrangement’ you two have?”

“Blast it, Tiliah!” snapped Rhohn. “He’s bleeding out! Bind him and you can hear the questions when I ask them!”

She glowered at him, her eyes narrowed to mere slits. He was thinking she might refuse to help when she gave a short, decisive nod and spat a single word.