The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (56 page)

“Wil!”

The creature to which Wil clung began to change shape. The nose shrunk, retreating into the face while the eyes shifted forward, rotating around to the front of the head. A chin formed from underneath the mouth and thick, brown hair sprung from the top of its head. The area between head and body thinned out to become a man’s neck with wide, muscular shoulders to either side. Within moments, the strange sea animal was gone, replaced with the familiar and very welcome shape of a hillman.

“Broedi!”

The White Lion whipped around to grab Wil before he slipped beneath the surface. Treading water while holding onto the young soldier, Broedi turned to glare at Nikalys.

“What do you think you are doing!? That was utterly, stupidly reckless!”

Nikalys was so happy, he did not care that Broedi had chastised him.

“How did you—”

“Not now!” shouted the hillman. “Take Will and hold onto my fin after I change. We need to catch the ship before it is gone!”

Nikalys reached out and took Wil, ensuring he kept the man’s head above water.

Broedi bellowed, “Do you see the ship?”

Nikalys scanned the sea.

“No!”

At this point, he had no idea in which direction the Sapphire lay.

“Then I will have to listen for it!” shouted Broedi.

Nikalys was about to ask how he could hear anything in the storm’s rage when a brilliant yellow glow lit up the night. At first, Nikalys thought it was another bolt of lightning, yet when the light did not fade, both Broedi and he turned to find a giant orb of light rising and falling on distant waves.

Nikalys let out a shout of joy.

“Thank you, Nundle!”

Broedi glanced at Nikalys, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

Smiling wide, Nikalys said, “I told the captain to get Nundle to light up a way back!”

The anger in Broedi’s eyes faded slightly, replaced with a hint of admiration.

“You were still rash!”

“Yell at me later!” cried Nikalys. He nodded to an unconscious Wil. “We need to get him back to the ship.”

Broedi nodded and, almost immediately, his head and shoulders shifted, merging into one. His face elongated, the long snout with a rounded point returning. Within a couple of heartbeats, Broedi was the sea creature again.

The animal dipped below the water and surfaced a second later beside Nikalys. With his left arm holding onto Wil, cradling his body in such a way to ensure his head was free of the sea, Nikalys gripped Broedi’s fin.

“Go!”

Broedi began to swim, the muscles along the creature’s back rippling with each beat of what felt like a tail smacking Nikalys’ legs. It was a struggle to keep Wil’s head above the waves as they cut through the water toward the ship. As they neared, Nikalys saw an enormous yellow light bound to the bow’s figurehead. Excited shouts of men cut through the storm. They had been spotted.

Sailors tossed a half-dozen ropes into the water. Once Broedi swam to the nearest pair, Nikalys felt the creature’s fin slipping from his hand. The White Lion was shifting back to his hillman self. Letting go of Broedi, Nikalys grabbed a rope in one hand while gripping Wil in the other. Glancing at the young soldier’s face, he could not tell if he was still breathing.

Once Broedi completed the shift, he shouted, “Tie the rope around him!”

Nikalys did so and then stared up the side of the ship, yelling, “Pull him up!”

The seamen began to heft the injured soldier up to the deck. Holding onto a second rope, Nikalys watched, tense, as the shifting seas caused Wil’s body to sway back and forth.

Once Wil disappeared over the side of the ship, Nikalys and Broedi climbed the second rope. Upon reaching the railing, sailors and soldiers alike helped pull the pair over. Nikalys collapsed on the deck, grateful to be on something solid. Nundle’s bright light suddenly winked out, briefly plunging the ship into darkness before the smaller amber globes began to pop back into existence.

Lifting his head, Nikalys saw a group gathered around what he assumed was Wil, Nundle and Broedi at the center. Nikalys began to scramble up, intending to go check on his friend, when a firm hand pressed down on his chest. Looking up, Nikalys found Sergeant Trell kneeling beside him.

“Relax, Nikalys.” His tone was firm. “You’ve done what you can. Lie down and let them do what they do.” The words, “that’s an order” were all but spoken.

Sergeant Trell was right. Nundle and Broedi were both Life Mages. Wil was safe as long as he still drew breath.

Looking to the sergeant, Nikalys asked, “Is he alive?”

Sergeant Trell nodded.

“Judging from the bucketful of water he’s coughed up already, I’d say yes.”

Nikalys loosed a long sigh and slumped to the deck.

“Thank the Gods…”

The ship rose and fell beneath him, sliding him this way and that. The wind continued to blow, stripping the little heat he still had in his body. He shivered uncontrollably, colder now than he had ever been.

Sergeant Trell called, “Cero! Go get some blankets!”

“Yes, Sergeant!”

As Nikalys listened to the thudding of Cero’s boots on deck, the sergeant stared back down at him and shook his head.

“That was an incredibly brave thing you just did.”

His teeth chattering, Nikalys said, “I could not leave him—”

“Brave?” shouted a gruff voice.

Nikalys tilted his head back to find Captain Scrag hovering over him, Nikalys’ sword gripped in his hand.

“Brave?! Blast the Hells! That was foolish! Brainless! The maddest of the mad would have better sense than do what you did! You are denser than a hunk of white iron! What in the Nine Hells were you thinking?”

“Well, I—”

Eyes widening further, Captain Scrag screamed, “Blast it! I don’t want an actual answer!”

Pushing himself up on his elbows, Nikalys began to protest, “But you—”

Captain Scrag bent over, yelling, “The next time you want to do something foolhardy like that, tell me first and I’ll throw you in myself!” He shoved the Blade of Horum into Sergeant Trell’s hands and turned around, stomping off, back to the aft deck.

Stunned, Nikalys watched the man walk away. Broedi’s deep voice cut into his shock.

“Believe it or not, he actually likes you.”

Nikalys peered over, finding the hillman standing on his right.

“He has an odd way of showing it.”

Broedi bent down, opposite of Sergeant Trell, and fixed Nikalys with a hard stare.

“He is right, though. Your actions were careless.”

“But Wil was going to drown,” protested Nikalys. “I couldn’t let him die.”

“You could have and you should have,” rumbled Broedi. “Wil is
not
one of the Progeny. You must put the fate of the world before that of a friend.”

Nikalys turned to Sergeant Trell, hoping to find support from the soldier. The sergeant’s face was sympathetic, but his words were not.

“Broedi’s right. A leader must make decisions that are callous by any mark.” His expression turned grim as he added, “It is not an easy mantle to carry.”

Nikalys wanted to shout at them both, to assail them for their heartlessness. However, he did not. Deep down, he knew they were right.

After a moment, Broedi said, “I must go attend to Wil for a time.”

Looking up, Nikalys asked, “Will he be alright?”

“With some sleep, yes,” rumbled the hillman. He stood, began to turn away, but stopped and looked back down. “Aryn would be proud of what you did here.”

Nikalys blinked in surprise. Broedi’s comment had caught him off guard.

Broedi held his gaze a moment longer before turning and walking away, heading to where two men were carrying Wil to the stairs that headed below deck. Nikalys stared after him, shivering against the rain and wind.

Sergeant Trell roused him with a pat on the shoulder.

“Come on. Let’s get you some dry clothes. I’m cold just looking at you.”

Nikalys nodded and let the sergeant help him up from the wet deck. Cero arrived with two thick, dry blankets and draped them over his shoulders. As the two men helped him to the stairs, Broedi’s words echoed in his head, fueling a longing for a father Nikalys had never known.

8
^st
of the Turn of Maeana, 4999

Jak strode inside from the blustery cold, leaving the courtyard door to crash against the inside wall. Stomping his feet on the stone floor, trying to rid his boots of the slush clinging to them, he left the door open and moved down the hall. One of the other soldiers would close it. Reaching up with his gloved hand, he rubbed the little bits of frozen water stuck to his fledgling beard. Icy drops of water ran down his neck.

“Blasted snow.”

Growing up in Yellow Mud, Thaddeus had told stories about snow to Jak and his siblings, but the trio was never sure if they could believe the tales. Father enjoyed telling stories that were not necessarily true.

Yesterday afternoon, Jak had been in his room, lying on his bed sulking, when he spotted the white flakes floating past his window. He leapt from his bed and stood before his window, gaping at the strange sight. Forgetting his bad mood for a time, he rushed down the stairs, through the halls, and burst into the courtyard. A number of former Red Sentinels were already there, gazing around in wonder, watching the fluffy whiteness envelop the enclave. His instinct was to run off, find Nikalys and Kenders, and share the moment with them. Then dismal reality reasserted itself and his foul temper snapped back into place.

Turning around, he had marched back to his room and remained there through the night, skipping eveningmeal. When morning arrived, he awoke, dressed warmly, and headed straight to the courtyard for drills, skipping morningmeal as well. He would have preferred staying in his room, but his new duties precluded him from doing that. A week ago, Commander Aiden had assigned twenty-five men to him and named him a corporal.

Upon reaching the courtyard doors, he opened them and stopped in his tracks. The world had turned white, a thick mantle of snow covering the yard, topping the battlements, and blanketing the woodpiles and benches. As he stepped from the hallway, he sunk into the cold stuff, stunned to find that the snow reached his calves. He trudged toward the other soldiers already in the yard, amazed at how hard it was to walk in the white powder. The typical Storm Island wind blew hard, swirling about the courtyard, whipping up clouds of snow, and blowing it into his eyes.

For the next two hours, the soldiers attempted to go through their progression of drills while slipping and sliding all over the yard. Steady footing was nigh impossible. While most of the men kept a good humor about the situation, Jak had not.

When yet another pair of his men slipped, falling upon one another and then chuckling about it, Jak’s temper broke and he unleashed a long tirade of curses on his entire detachment. He only stopped his rant when he realized everyone in the courtyard was staring at him. Catching Commander Aiden’s disappointed stare, Jak shut his mouth. He knew he had let his bitterness get the better of him, but did not much care.

For the past three weeks, on the direct orders of Lady Vivienne and Duchess Aleece, he had been acting as though Kenders was still somewhere within the enclave, holed up with Khin and Tobias, focusing on her studies. The sudden absence of Zecus, Joshmuel, and Boah had been explained away with a falsehood that the Borderlanders had requested to return home and the baroness had granted their wish.

At first, people had accepted the lies. Yet when nobody had seen Kenders, Tobias, or Khin for over a week, rumors started. Jak tried to dissuade the gossip, but it was like trying to swim up a waterfall. Rather than face constant questioning, he retreated to his room whenever he was not performing his duties as a soldier and stewed over Kenders’ rashness. He had read the letter she had slipped under his door at least a dozen times now and grew angrier each time.

Pulling his gloves from his hands and jamming them in his overcoat’s pocket, Jak turned down the hallway leading to the commons. If he hurried, he could grab something to eat before anyone else made it to the kitchens and then retreat to his room.

“Corporal Isaac!”

The shouted words came from behind and echoed in the empty hall. Jak pressed his lips together and let loose a soft curse.

“Hells.”

Halting in place, Jak took a deep breath, trying to let the acrimony bubbling within him to drain away. As the commander approached him, his boots clomping against the stone floor, Jak turned to face the head of the Shadow Mane soldiers.

“Yes, Commander?”

With a scowl on his face, the former Knight-Lieutenant of the Southern Arms strode down the long, torch-lit hallway and stopped before Jak. The old soldier stood quiet, hands fixed on his hips, and stared. After a few moments, he spoke in a firm, yet gentle tone.

“You know, I heard the blacksmith is looking for an apprentice.”

Jak blinked, confused.

“Pardon, sir?”

“I’d bet you’d make a fine smith. Your father was the best Claw ever had in the years I’ve been here. Shall I speak to Master Washor about securing you the position?”

This was not the conversation Jak was expecting to have.

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand. Smithing?”

Crossing his arms, Commander Aiden said, “Yes. I thought you might want to give it a try as it seems soldiering no longer holds your interest.”

“That’s not true, sir. I—”

“So you
do
want to be a soldier?”

“Yes, sir. I do.”

Commander Aiden leaned forward and, his voice turning colder than the Winter wind, he said, “Then start acting like it! Your behavior this morning was unacceptable! You should be ashamed of yourself!”

Jak flinched and dropped his gaze. The words had an amazing effect on his anger, melting it away much as the warmer air of the hall was thawing the snow now dripping from his clothes and boots.

“Ah,” muttered the commander. “So then you do feel bad?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you embarrassed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Humiliated?”