The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (86 page)

Jezra glanced over her shoulder, back to Ethan, and asked, “And he’s letting us go?”

Kenders shifted her gaze to the bald soldier.

“That’s exactly what he’s doing. Right, Ethan?”

The Reed Man nodded quickly.

“Of course, miss.”

Jezra looked back and forth between Kenders and the soldier, her eyes narrowing.

“Why?”

Kenders doubted saying “I used magic” would earn her the trust she needed right now.

“I reasoned with him, pointing out that for a crime so small, your punishment was unjust. And he agreed with me. Don’t you, Ethan?”

Ethan nodded emphatically.

“I do, miss. Terribly unfair, it was.”

Looking back to the young girl, Kenders said, “See? Now, come on. We should go.”

Kenders was getting anxious. She imagined a half-dozen Trackers pushing through the crowd outside, rushing toward the office. Jezra still did not move, however, and continued to stare at Kenders with a wary eye.

“And Tiliah and Mother are outside?”

With a touch of impatience slipping into her tone, Kenders said, “Yes. Let’s go, please.”

Jezra’s eyes narrowed further. They were almost slits now.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, I do,” said Jerem, stepping forward. “And even if I didn’t, she’s getting us out of here at least.”

A soft, metallic jingling filled the room as he moved through the break in the counter. As he emerged, Kenders saw why. Rusty metal shackles bound the boy’s wrist, a thick iron chain hanging between them. Moving to the counter, Kenders looked over and found Jezra wearing a matching pair.

Glowering at Ethan, Kenders asked, “Were those truly necessary?”

“All lawbreakers are required—”

Cutting him off, Kenders snapped, “They took a loaf of bread!”

Ethan stared at her, his face blank.

“Yes. And that makes them thieves.”

“They only wanted something to eat! They were starving!”

“That doesn’t give them the right to steal.”

Ethan had a point, but his response nonetheless infuriated her. She glared at the manacles around both children’s wrists. She wanted them gone.

Now.

An intricate, crisscrossing Weave of matte brown, gleaming silver, and lustrous white Strands appeared around the shackles. An instant later, the metal turned translucent. The manacles passed through the children’s wrists and fell through the air, solidifying just before striking the wooden floorboards with a resonant clang. A wave of fatigue washed over Kenders, one that was much stronger than before.

Everyone in the room—save the sleeping Mitus—stared at the shackles and chains, mouths open, Kenders included. She had no idea that was possible.

A few moments passed before Ethan mumbled the obvious.

“You’re a mage.”

Kenders looked up and found the Reed Man staring at her, wide-eyed. The soldier took two steps backwards, dropping his hand to his hilt. His eyes shot to the front door, then to the back.

“I...I must warn…I need to—”

Kenders interjected, pointing to the tables and chairs while finishing his sentence for him.

“Sit right there and wait until we’re gone. Quickly and quietly, please.”

The soldier clamped his mouth shut, practically sprinted to the nearest chair, and sat down, all the while staring at her, fear pouring from his eyes. Kenders almost wished he was ogling her again. Now, she felt like a monster.

Discounting the soldier, Kenders looked back to the children.

“Come. Now we truly must go.”

Instead of complying with her order, Jezra reached out, grabbed Jerem by his shoulders, and pulled him close.

“We're not going
anywhere
with you. He’s right. You're a mage!”

“Who cares if she's a mage?” asked Jerem. “She's freeing us!” He tried to pull away from Jezra’s grip, but the girl held tight and shook her head.

“I’d rather stay in the stockades than go with her.”

“We don’t have time for this,” said Kenders. “We need to go!”

Any Tracker within a mile capable of sensing Stone, Soul, or Air would have felt the pair of Weaves she had inadvertently used.

“No!” exclaimed Jezra, shaking her head. “You are trying to trick us!”

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know, but you are! Zecus and Tiliah can’t be here! They’re gone!”

Exasperated, Kenders began walking toward one of the windows, saying, “Come here if you don’t believe me. Tiliah and your mother are right across—” She cut off the moment she looked through the window’s dirty glass. Her stomach clenched tight and her heart began to race.

The street was completely empty. When she had entered the stockades office, the flagstone way had been full. Now, there was not a single person, cart, or horse to be seen. It looked as if the city was abandoned.

“Hells.”

“What is it?” asked Jerem.

Ignoring him, Kenders took a quick step back from the window, moving out of the light. The boy managed to break free of his sister's grasp, hurried to Kenders’ side, and peered out the window.

“Where is everybody?”

Kenders stepped into the shadows, pressed herself against the wall, and looked out the window again, trying to see up the street.

“I don’t know.”

“What are you going to do?”

Looking down, Kenders met Jerem’s inquisitive stare yet remained silent.

She briefly considered opening a port to anywhere not in the city. However, as she still did not know the Weave very well, she would need to rely on her ability to will it into existence. And if she did that, she might faint as she had in the forest outside Claw. She thought about using a Weave of Air to hide them, but if a Tracker could sense Air, they would be as easy to spot as a lone duck on a still pond. One idea after another flashed through her head and as she discounted them all, Kenders realized that fleeing was not an option.

Taking in a quick breath, she stepped back from the window, looked between both children and said, “I want you both to stay here, stay back, and stay quiet. Understand?”

Jezra and Jerem both nodded their silent agreement, although she suspected for different reasons. Jerem seemed to trust her, but Jezra certainly did not.

Shooting a quick glance at Ethan, she said, “You, don’t move or speak.” As the soldier nodded, she moved to the door, placed her hand on the wood handle, and paused. Taking a deep breath, she muttered, “Broedi’s going to kill me.”

Lifting the handle, she gently pushed the door. The moment light slipped into the room, she felt a sudden crackling of brown and white.

Alarmed, she shoved the handle, throwing the door open, and stepped from the office into the open air. As she brought a hand up to shade her eyes against the sudden brightness, the pine-paneled door banged hard against the wall, sending forth a sharp crack that echoed throughout the empty street. She looked left and right, searching for the mage responsible for the Strands. Down the way to her right, she spotted a line of Reed Men stretching across the street. To the left, there was nothing but empty flagstone. No mage. No Weave.

Confused, she focused on the feeling of the crackling colors.

Up.

Throwing her head back, she stared into the bright blue sky and spotted a Weave hovering high overhead. She recognized the pattern in an instant, said a silent thank you for Khin's lessons, and reached out to pluck a few Strands from the Weave’s center. The entire thing fell apart in an instant.

Hearing a soft, angry curse behind her, Kenders whirled around and spotted a man dressed in Constables’ gray peeking around the left corner of the stockade's office. Taller than most Marshlander men, his dark black hair and olive complexion reminded her of Cero, the ex-Tracker, and marked the mage as a Northlander. Yet his clothes—gray breeches, gray shirt, even a gray cape—were Constable’s garb.

Her heart—already beating fast—thudded even harder. This man was no Tracker.

“Oh, Hells.”

Weeks after arriving at the enclave, Kenders and Jak had been at a table in the commons one evening, playing radigan. Cero wandered up and asked if he could play the winner. They invited the man to sit with them and wait, talking as they played. At some point, the conversation turned to the Constables. Curious, Kenders asked Cero a question that had been bothering her for some time. After seeing the talent of the Storm Island mages and knowing of what she herself was capable, she did not understand how the Constables were able to enforce the ban on magic. A single proficient mage could handle two dozen heavily armed men with ease.

With a rueful grin, Cero revealed that the few mages the Constables actually found were often raw and untrained. In most cases, a rag doused with harot’s oil and placed over the mage’s face as they slept was sufficient to subdue them. Sometimes, however, when the rare individual was able to thwart such methods, the Constables sent a Gray Cloak, a small, somewhat secretive sect within the organization rumored to be fully trained mages themselves.

Apparently, it was no rumor.

Staring at the man hiding behind the corner, Kenders asked, “You're a Gray Cloak, aren’t you?”

Stepping from the shadows and into the sunlight, the man ignored her questions and ordered, “Stand down, mage.”

Kenders shot a quick look up and down the street, checking all the corners and alleyways, wondering if he was the only one here.

Misinterpreting her intent, the Gray Cloak called, “There is no way out. Every alley and street is blocked.” He began to advance on her slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. In a crisp, clear tone, he called, “In accordance with the law of the First Council, you are hereby placed under arrest!”

Kenders struggled to keep her face expressionless while she tried to think of something to do. The man continued his advance.

“Will you submit to the Constable’s authority?”

With a firm shake of her head, Kenders said, “No.” She might not know what to do, but she was certainly not surrendering.

“I am permitted to do whatever is required to subdue you,” retorted the man. While his voice was even and steady, a clear, threatening undertone was present. “I will give you one last chance to submit.”

Remaining quiet, pretending as if she were considering the offer, Kenders instead reached for a few dozen Strands of Will and quickly knit them together, hoping to use the same Weave she had on Ethan. Perhaps she could simply tell the Gray Cloak to let her go. She was only halfway finished when she both felt and watched the Weave suddenly fall apart. Looking back to the man, she found him staring at her, a tiny smile resting on his lips.

“I am quite proficient in Will, mage.”

Kenders considered simply willing the Gray Cloak away, perhaps sending him off to a tavern in Fernsford, but knew better than to do so. Such an effort would cause her to pass out. Wondering if she could reason with him, she spoke in a soft, subdued voice.

“Would you believe that I’m not a threat to you?”

The Gray Cloak shook his head once.

“Not for a moment.”

“I'm actually here to help."

“Help?” chuckled the man. “Help with what?”

“When the Sudashians get here, you will need—”

“The Sudashians!?” repeated the Gray Cloak. An abrupt bark of a laugh escaped from him. “Don’t tell me you’ve bought some rumormonger’s babbling?”

“They aren’t rumors.”

“Duke Rholeb would like you, girl. He’s been insisting for weeks that Sudash filth is coming.”

“He’s right,” said Kenders somberly.

“And how would you know?”

Kenders opened her mouth to answer but shut it a moment later. Even if she could tell him the truth, she doubted he would believe her.

The Gray Cloak’s gaze broke from her, briefly shifting to focus on something behind her. Looking over her shoulder, Kenders spotted three Reed Men but a hundred feet away, creeping toward her along the empty street, swords drawn. Without hesitation, she reached for some Strands of Fire, wove a simple but large orange pattern, and stretched it across the street, halfway between her and the soldiers. A wall of fire leapt from the flagstones and stretched high into the air, the tips of the sudden flames reaching the pinnacle of the stockades’ fence. A blast of hot air flew past her, whipping her hair and ruffling her dress. The Reed Men not only stopped their advance, but also scrambled back several dozen paces, their eyes wide.

Turning on her heel, she faced the Gray Cloak. He was staring at the wall of flames, his mouth hanging open.

“Please,” said Kenders. “All I want to do is leave.”

The Gray Cloak continued gaping at the fire for a few moments before shifting his gaze back to her. There was a strange twinkle in his eyes.

“Perhaps you and I could come to an understanding?”

Hoping that he might be considering letting her go, she said, “Explain.”

Taking a few, halting steps closer, he said, “The Constables are always looking for upstanding citizens capable of helping us in our duties. You have more control than most lawbreakers I find. Tell me, my dear, do you like the color gray?”

Kenders could not believe what she was hearing.

“You want me to
join
the Constables?”

The man’s gaze ran over her travel-worn clothes, mussed hair, and dirt-streaked face.

“You never need worry about food again. Or a place to sleep.”

“You must be jesting.”

“Now, for bringing someone as talented as you into the fold, I would get a hefty reward. Perhaps I could even share a portion with you? How does ten gold ducats sound?”

Kenders glared at the man. This was preposterous.

“You’re mad.”

Frowning, the man said, “Fine. Twenty. But not a single—”

“No!” shouted Kenders. “Bless the Gods! I’m not negotiating with you, you fool! Don’t you understand? There is an army of oligurts, razorfiends, mongrels, and
demon-men
marching on Demetus!”

A dark, angry shadow crossed the Gray Cloak’s face as he hissed, “I
won’t
make the offer again.”

“Good! That way I won't waste breath refusing it again!”

A sneer darted across his lips.

“So you'd rather sit in a cell for the rest of your life?”