The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (95 page)

Sabine’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

“What are you saying?”

Broedi said, “That Helene was stillborn. Lifeless at birth. And that Jeanne used her gift to follow Helene’s soul and…” He trailed off and shook his head. “To be honest, I do not know what happened then.” He shifted his gaze over to Helene. “Something did, though. Something brought Helene back.”

Sabine peered over at her little sister, a small lump beneath the blankets. The last stone in her wall of denial fell away. Too much fit.

Turning back to Broedi and Tobias, Sabine muttered, “My mother was a White Lion.”

The pair nodded slowly.

Sabine took a deep breath and let out a long, heavy sigh.

“So what does this mean?”

With a shake of his head, Broedi said, “I am not sure. This is unexpected.”

“Not exactly,” muttered Tobias. “Her death was foretold in Indrida’s prophecy, yes? ‘One will perish?’”

“That is true,” rumbled Broedi.

Staring into the hearth’s fire, Tobias said, “Something bothers me about all this, though.” He tilted his head back to look at the hillman. “Why would Nelnora not tell you?” His eyes narrowed. “Unless she did?”

Broedi shook his head.

“For the final time, I am no longer carrying secrets about my meeting with Nelnora. If she knew of Jeanne’s passing, she did not speak of it to me.”

“So she either knows less than she purports,” muttered the tomble. “Or she knew and did not tell you on purpose. I would bet a thousand gold ducats on the latter.” He returned to staring into the fire, a bitter scowl on his face.

Broedi dropped his chin to his chest and rumbled, “I grow weary of her games.” Both White Lions remained quiet. Sabine was about to say something when Broedi lifted his head, stared at Sabine, and said, “I need you to come with us. Back to Demetus.”

Sabine’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Pardon?”

“He’s right,” said Tobias. “‘The Progeny must rise to lead the fight’ and all.”

“I’m sorry, but what does that have to do with—”

She stopped short as she realized what it meant to be the child of a White Lion.

“I’m one of—”

She cut off again and turned to stare at Helene.

“We’re both…”

She trailed off, unable to say the word aloud. Broedi did for her.

“The Progeny?” rumbled the hillman. “Yes, you are. ‘Hidden, then found, Willingly come around.’ Indrida’s words fit you as well.”

Sabine dropped her head to stare at the floor, as her mind grappled with the revelation. After a few moments, she looked back up and asked, “But what can I do? Nikalys and Kenders have their parents’ gifts. Apparently, Helene has Mother’s. But me? I have none of their talents. I can make a fire flare or a pitcher of water cold, but…that’s all. What can I contribute?”

“Do not underestimate yourself, Sabine. You proved yourself many times over during our journey here.”

A disturbing thought occurred to her. Holding Broedi’s gaze, she asked, “Do you intend to bring Helene as well? Because that will
not
be happening.”

“No,” said Broedi. “Prophecy or not, she remains here. I will not put one so young so close to danger.”

“So you are asking me to not only go, but to leave my sister behind? Alone?”

“She will not be alone. I will ask Lady Vivienne to provide a caretaker. Any number of people in Claw would be happy to volunteer.”

“But you want me to leave her?

“Yes,” rumbled Broedi. “That is the way of things. I would like you in Demetus.”

“Why? So I can ‘lead the fight?’ I’m the daughter of a
farmer
, Broedi.”

“And a White Lion.”

“Do you truly believe I am that necessary?”

“Indrida does.”

“I don’t understand. From what Jak and Nikalys shared, you all have a serious deficit of trust when it comes to the Gods and Goddesses. Why are you are putting so much faith in the mutterings of one?”

“Because she has been right so far,” rumbled Broedi.

“According to who? You? Yesterday, you thought Nikalys and Kenders alone were the Progeny.”

“Then don’t come,” said Tobias with a touch of exasperation. “If you want to stay, then do so. I know this is all a shock to you, but we do not have time to stand here and wait for you to grow accustomed to things. There’s an army on its way to Demetus and Broedi and I need to be there to meet it.” He glanced up at Broedi. “Let’s go.” He turned and began to hobble to the door.

He had only taken two steps when she said, “Wait.”

Tobias halted and looked back.

“What?”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t coming.”

“So you are, then?”

Sabine hesitated.

“I don’t know.”

Tobias sighed and leveled a steady, direct stare at her.

“Make your choice, Sabine. Quickly, please. Fate is waiting.”

Sabine looked back and forth between the pair, the urgency of the moment so tangible that it felt as if a weight were hanging around her neck. This was not fair. Nikalys and Kenders had weeks to become acclimated to their new reality. She had the next few heartbeats.

They were asking her to make an impossible choice. Stay with her sister, remain safe, and leave everyone one else she cared about to face the Cabal alone. Or chase a prophecy and go to Demetus, knowing there was a good chance she might die there and leave Helene without family.

She sat there, wavering, when the levelheaded calmness upon which she prided herself surged from deep within her soul, sweeping through her in an instant and washing away her doubts as quickly as a jump in the cool Erona River chased away the Summer heat.

Rising from her chair, she announced her decision, her voice firm and steady.

“I will come, but on one condition.”

Tobias appeared surprised. Whether by her decision or her tone, she did not know.

“What is it?”

“I go wherever you or Nundle do. If things go poorly, I want a port back here
immediately
. No questions asked. No speeches. A port back to this room, right away. I will fight the Cabal—somehow—but Helene comes first. I will not leave her alone in this world.”

“An entirely reasonable request,” said Tobias, looking about the room, studying it closely. “And if you’re half the shot with a bow as Kenders says, I’ll be lucky to have you as my shadow.”

“You are sure of this?” rumbled Broedi.

“I am,” declared Sabine, turning to face the oaken dresser. “Just give me a moment to get a few things together.” She began to hurry across the room, wondering what exactly one packed for a battle, when her gaze fell on Helene. The little girl’s mouth hung half open, a few stray hair strands draped haphazardly over her face.

“I need to tell her I’m leaving.”

Behind her, she heard Broedi and Tobias move to the door.

“Tell her what you will,” rumbled Broedi. “But do not take too long. We will be in Lady Vivienne’s offices.”

Sabine nodded.

“I’ll be there shortly.”

The pair exited the room quickly and quietly, shutting the door behind them. Sabine stood in place, listening to the sharp clack of Tobias’ walking stick retreat down the hall. Before the sound completely faded, she took a deep breath and moved bedside.

This was not going to be easy.

23
^rd
of the Turn of Maeana, 4999

The western sky was a colorless gray, yet undisturbed by Mu’s orb.

Most of the lesser stars had faded, leaving only the brightest to hold to the night. Hundreds of torches lined Demetus’ walls, obliterating the dark but powerless against the fog. The low-lying mist swirling below swallowed the torchlight a mere dozen feet below the battlements. Jak peered into the murkiness, his hands cupped to the sides of his face to shield his eyes from the torches’ flames so as not to be blinded by them.

“I can’t see a blasted thing down there.”

Sergeant Trell said quietly, “If anything is down there, Broedi will see it.” The soldier stood on Jak’s right, staring into the fog as well.

“Unless he can see through walls, he’s as useless as I am. That fog is thick.”

Zecus muttered, “Then perhaps he is listening instead?”

“Now that’s more likely,” conceded Jak, looking to his left.

Zecus was leaning on a stout, four-foot wooden staff, having wisely foregone the longsword. A torch burned brightly just beyond the Borderlander and Jak momentarily glanced at its flame. He turned away quickly, peering back into the night, but he was effectively blind now. With a sigh, he dropped his hands to his sides. There was nothing to see anyway.

As a long, ominous silence stretched out—interrupted by a soldier’s quiet cough here and there—Jak muttered, “Armies make a lot of noise when they march, yes?”

Zecus and Sergeant Trell both smiled at his nervous question.

“Do not worry,” murmured Zecus. “Even if they were silent, I am sure we would smell them.”

Jak and Sergeant Trell chuckled softly at the jest, drawing a few curious looks from the Reed Men nearby. As he dropped his chin to chest so as to hide his smile, Jak’s gaze fell upon the one thing that made Zecus’ Shadow Mane uniform different from his own. Wrapped tightly around Zecus’ right arm, just above his elbow, was Joshmuel’s white headband. As his gaze lingered on the cloth strip, his smile faded.

Hearing of Joshmuel’s death had been like getting kicked in the gut by a horse, for a number of reasons. The first night in Demetus, the Isaac sibling reunion had been a morose one with Jak and Nikalys spending the evening trying to console their sister. At first, she insisted that she was fine, but soon thereafter, the tears began to fall.

Despite an entire evening spent grieving with his siblings, Jak had actually said very little to Zecus about Joshmuel’s passing. He had wanted to, but life was busy now. War was literally at the gates.

Zecus glanced over and caught him eyeing the headband. A shadow darker than the gloom of the Marshland’s night fell over his face. He looked up to Jak and, for a long moment, the two held one another’s gaze.

“I am sorry, Zecus. Truly.”

Zecus gave a lone, solemn nod, and in a voice that barely rose above the pre-dawn quiet, he murmured, “Thank you, Jak.” He immediately turned to face the foggy morning, his profile backlit by the flickering light of the torches. “We will honor his memory today.”

Jak nodded.

“Yes. We will.”

He studied his friend a moment longer before facing the blanket of mist. Out of the corner of his eye, Jak noticed Sergeant Trell staring at him. A glance over earned him a silent nod of approval from the soldier. Looking past the sergeant, Jak’s gaze traveled the line of green-and-white-clad soldiers standing on the battlements, all of whom were staring westward, their expressions universally sober. A few quiet, subdued conversations dotted the ranks, but most individuals were silent, lost in their thoughts.

Compared to the castle at Storm Island, the mud-brick ramparts of Demetus were spacious, nearly ten feet wide from outer to inner wall, enough to form three lines of men. One stood at the battlements while the other two waited against the back wall with standing orders to ‘fill any gap that occurs.’ When Commander Aiden had uttered the words, Jak’s insides had gone cold.

While the walls were wide and thick, they were also short, their pinnacles a mere thirty-five feet from the ground. Every two hundred feet, a tower rose from the main parapet. Jak was unsure if the structure deserved the designation ‘tower’ as it was only ten feet taller than the rest of the wall, but it was what people called them. At eveningmeal two nights past, Jak had asked why the walls were no higher and Duke Rholeb explained the loamy soil prevented them from doing so. Anything bigger or heavier would sink.

When Jak had first arrived in the city, catapults had been atop the towers. Now, bowmen alone crowded the pinnacles. During one evening strategy session, Wren repeatedly pointed out—much to the annoyance of Duke Rholeb—how ineffective the catapults would be against an army with Stone or Air mages. The next morning, the giant war machines had been dismantled and removed.

Nearly every soldier on this section of wall was a Reed Man, each one wearing a pointed metal helm polished to shine. A good distance down the way, before the next tower, Jak spotted a group of Southern Arms, their beards and blue and gold uniforms sticking out amongst the sea of clean-shaven, green-and-white-clad men. Here and there, Shadow Mane black dotted the ranks. Somewhere on these walls was the lone Dust Man unit, led by the corporal who had rescued Zecus’ sister from slavers. The Shore Guard was absent from the walls, the entire Long Coast contingent being held in reserve within the city, ready to respond wherever they might be needed.

This was the new Army of the White Lions. Men with backgrounds as varied as the selection of spirits once kept at The Lout and The Witch. Yet despite their many differences, they all had two things in common. The first was obvious: they were all here to fight the Cabal. The second was something most every soldier was trying to hide, some better than others. The men were afraid.

Someone to the north sneezed. Half the men within earshot started, their heads whipping around to face the offender’s direction. A few moments later, they began to look back west, sharing a nervous grin with their neighbors. Jak sighed.

Over the past few days, one of his primary duties—and that of every Shadow Mane here—had been to spread calm and confidence among the ranks while still conveying the sincerity of the threat they faced. At first, most doubted the claims that the God of Chaos was driving a massive army of demon-led Sudashians toward them. Yet public speeches by Duke Rholeb and Duchess Aleece paired with the ever-increasing oligurt sightings convinced a large majority of the soldiers while unfortunately replacing everyone’s doubt with restrained panic. A few demonstrations by Nikalys, Kenders, and the White Lions eased their worries enough that there was not widespread desertion. The reality was that they were being asked not only to stand against Tandyr’s wave of aggression, but also to break it.

Hearing the quiet murmuring of voices behind him, Jak glanced over his shoulder and found the back two lines of soldiers staring into the city. He shot a quick look to Sergeant Trell, but before he could ask leave to go, it was granted.