Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) (23 page)

Jak spun around to find Broedi leaning against an oak tree at the edge of the clearing, watching the three of them. He did not have any rabbits or quail with him.

Dropping the case to his side, Jak asked, “How long have you been standing there?”

Broedi stood tall and strode into camp, straight for them. He stopped before Jak and studied him for a moment before looking to the bundle Jak held. “May I see that, uori?”

Jak slid the case behind him. “No. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Please?”

Jak glared at Broedi. “
No
.”

Broedi was not family. Broedi was not a friend. He was something to keep the wolves away at night.

The hillman fixed Jak with an appraising stare. After a moment, he sighed, put his arm around Jak’s shoulders, and rumbled, “Come, I would like it if you would hunt with me tonight.” He began to march back to the edge of the forest, dragging Jak with him.

After a few stunned steps, Jak pulled away. “No!”

The hillman turned and glared. His voice dropped low as he growled, “I am asking nicely, uori.”

Jak took a step backwards and shook his head. “I don’t want to go.”

Broedi’s gaze flicked back to Nikalys and Kenders. He remained that way for a moment, intense and pensive. Pressing his lips together, he strode closer to Jak. Stopping a pace a way, he leaned down and whispered so only Jak could hear, “I need to speak to you. Alone.”

Confused, Jak peered at the hillman. “Why?”

“Because they are not ready.”

“Ready for what?”

From behind, Nikalys asked, “Jak? Is everything alright?”

Broedi looked over Jak’s shoulder and said, “One moment, uori.” Shifting his stare back to Jak, he whispered, “I can tell you what is inside the case. But I need you to come with me.” His eyes flashed wide, insistent. “
Now
.”

“How could you know what is—?”

“Now, uori.”

Frustrated, Jak hissed, “Just tell us all—”

With an urgent, passionate earnestness, Broedi muttered, “Trust me.
Please
.”

Jak glanced over his shoulder to Nikalys and Kenders. They were staring at Broedi with an appropriate amount of apprehension. Looking back to the hillman, he set his jaw and shook his head. “No.”

Broedi’s deep brown eyes turned hard. “Come with me now and learn the truth, or you will
never
leave this clearing. I will
not
let you impede what must be done.”

While the hillman’s threat triggered a certain sense of panic, Jak found himself intrigued. “What does that mean? ‘What must be done?’”

Broedi’s stony expression softened a fraction, from granite to sandstone. “Come with me and I will tell you.”

Jak eyed the hillman for a long moment. Broedi was offering answers. Whether or not they were legitimate or the mad imaginings of a Shapechanger mage, Jak decided that he had to risk it. “Fine.”

Relief flooded Broedi’s face. “Thank you.”

Standing tall, the giant peered over Jak’s head and said, “Uora, uori, we will return in a while. Please stay here. Do not worry, we will not go far.” With that, he turned and began to move toward the northern edge of the clearing.

Kenders asked, “Can we come?”

Without slowing, Broedi rumbled, “No.”

Jak looked back to his brother and sister, summoned a smile, and then turned to follow the hillman. After a few steps, Nikalys called out, “Jak, you forgot a sling!”

Broedi, already standing at the clearing’s edge, said, “He will not need it.” He peered at Jak. “Come, uori.”

As Jak reached the hillman, Broedi put a hand on his shoulder and led him into the forest.

Nundle glanced west while adjusting the canvas sack slung over his shoulder. The setting sun was enormous, a glorious half-circle falling into the ocean, painting sky and sea alike with layers of orange, red, and soft lavender.

Frowning, Nundle increased his pace, hoping some ships were not yet moored for the night. He would have taken the stone steps to the docks two at a time had that not likely resulted in him rolling down the stairs.

Three wooden piers jutted out into the academy’s harbor, lined with over two dozen ships, most of which were the style favored by Arcane Republic longlegs—sweeping curves, triangular sails, and figureheads of animals. Longlegs manned nearly every ship in the nation. Few saeljul or divina sailed.

As he stepped onto the docks, he noted with disappointment that the decks of all but a few ships were empty. Hurrying to the first ship with sailors still aboard, he chatted with the longlegs, asking them to point out the fastest ship in Immylla Harbor. Their answer was quick and unanimous. A cutter,
Morning’s Mist
, held the title.

Praying the ship was not tied for the night, Nundle rushed to the where the
Morning’s Mist
was moored. The ship was long and narrow with tall, spindly masts—smaller than Nundle had expected—and had a massive, carved wooden goat’s head mounted at its front. He wondered what a goat had to do with morning mist.

Longleg sailors moved about the deck, talking loudly as they tied ropes, pushed crates around, and did whatever else it was that seamen did on boats.

He stood on the jetty for a moment, eyeing the ship, a frown on his face. Greya, goddess of Fate, certainly had a cruel sense of humor. Stepping to the edge of the knot-holed wooden dock, Nundle called out in his high-pitched voice. “Pardon me!”

A blond longleg with long, thick sideburns stared over the railing at him. Surprise flashed over his face. “Can I help you, little acolyte?”

Nundle’s gray robes had given him away. With a smile, he called, “I don’t suppose I might come aboard?” He reached up to hold his hair from his eyes. The breeze blowing through the harbor was strong. He had lost his favorite hat while in Veduin during a harrowing experience when a classmate lost control a Weave of pure Fire.

The sailor stared at him for a moment, shrugged his shoulders, and said, “I don’t see why not.” He lifted an arm and pointed down the dock. “Plank’s down there.”

Nundle nodded, hurried down the dock and up the ribbed wooden board leading to the ship’s deck. Nearby sailors who noticed Nundle’s arrival stared at him with open curiosity. He wondered if any of them had ever seen a tomble.

The blond sailor with the sideburns met him at the top of the plank, dressed in tan breeches and sleeveless shirt, although with the grime and dirt covering his arms, Nundle almost did not notice.

“How can I help you?” asked the sailor.

“This is the
Morning’s Mist?
” inquired Nundle, looking at the rigging and sails.

“She is. Why do you ask?”

Nundle shrugged and lied, “I am a lover of the sea and ships. I find sailing absolutely fascinating.”

Smiling, the longleg asked, “Are you here to mark your name for a haul, then?”

Nundle stared at the man and tried not to look terrified at the idea. He would rather swim naked in a vat of leeches.

“Ah…Perhaps I will do so after my studies are complete, mister…?” He trailed off, hoping the man would give his name. The sailor complied.

“Abiv. Just Abiv. No ‘mister.’”

“A pleasure to meet you, Abiv.”

Smiling, he glanced around the ship again with fake admiration. “I was hoping you might be able to give me a quick tour of the second fastest ship in Immylla.”

A number of nearby sailors slowed whatever activity on which they were working and looked up.

“Second fastest?” repeated Abiv.

Nundle nodded, saying, “That’s what everyone says in the meal hall.” Nobody had ever mentioned a word about ships in the meal hall.

One of the other sailors—another longleg with sideburns—said, “You must have heard wrong, mainlander. The Mist is easily the swiftest ship in the harbor.”

“This ship?” asked Nundle. He looked around again, shaking his head. “I don’t see how. It looks as if a stiff wind would sink it.”

Every sailor within earshot stopped what he was doing. Any chatter died. The whistling of the cool sea wind whipped exposed canvas and shook the rigging.

Nundle swallowed the lump that had popped into his throat. Perhaps this was the wrong approach.

Abiv grumbled, “Were you a sailor, you would have just earned yourself a knife in the back. Or at least a swim in the sea.” His eyebrows drew together. “However, as you are an acolyte, I will grant you a pardon. But watch your tongue and do not speak ill of the Mist. She
is
the fastest ship.”

Nundle held the man’s glare and said with more gumption than he felt, “Prove it, then.”

The longlegs all stared at one another.

After a moment, Abiv said curiously, “Prove it how?”

Nundle turned and pointed to the distant mouth of the harbor to the west, straight into the sun.

“If you can sail to the rocks and back before dark, I will give each of you a gold arcan.”

The offer did not have the intended effect. Nundle jumped, startled, when the entire deck of longlegs erupted into laughter. Spinning around, he stared at the sailors, confused.

Abiv stepped close to him and said with a wide grin, “That was an excellent jest. Who put you up to this? Was it Enes? Or Randa?”

Nundle shook his head. “I don’t understand. Is one gold not enough?”

“A gold arcan?!” exclaimed the longleg. His bushy eyebrows lifted so high they might as well be sails on the mizzenmast. “Hells, I’d sell my mother to the Pirate Lords for a gold arcan.”

It dawned on Nundle that they must think he could not satisfy the proposed bet. “How many of you sail this ship?”

“Eleven. Why?”

Looking down to his beltpurse, Nundle pulled the string, reached inside and pulled out eleven gold coins. Extending his arm, he opened his palm and said, “You’re losing daylight.”

They were underway within minutes.

Now, as they approached the harbor mouth, Nundle glanced over his shoulder to stare at the academy’s stone walls and towers, bathed in dusk’s light. He hoped they were far enough away for what he was going to try next.

Abiv began to call out commands and the longleg sailors scurried about the deck, preparing to turn the ship about and race to the docks. Noticing the blond longleg repeatedly looking back to shore, Nundle strode over him.

“Worried you will not make it?”

The sailor glanced at him, shook his head, and said, “Oh, we’ll make it. I’m just hoping the captain doesn’t come out before we do.”

Nundle’s already nervous stomach soured further. “You aren’t the captain?”

“Me?” replied Abiv. He shook his head vigorously. “Gods, no.”

Nundle looked around the deck and counted the men. Besides Abiv, there were only nine others. He had made a poor assumption. Sighing heavily, he asked, “So where is the captain?”

“His sister studies here,” said Abiv with a nod of his head back to shore. “He went to visit this evening.”

Nundle stared at the planks of the deck. This was going make things difficult. Too deep into the hole already, Nundle had no choice but to keep digging.

Reaching for more golden Strands than he had anticipated needing, Nundle knit the same, small Weave he had used countless times during his time as a merchant. He held it in place, looked to the longleg, and asked, “What’s the fastest a ship could get to the City of the Strands from here?”

“With decent wind?” asked Abiv.

“With conditions as they are now,” answered Nundle.

The sailor scratched his right sideburn, staring at the sky and thinking. “I’d say two and a half days.”

Nundle directed the Weave over the man, waited a moment for it to take effect, and then said, “If you can bring her into port in under two, each of you gets two gold arcans.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Abiv said, “Done.”

A nearby sailor’s head snapped up. Staring at Abiv, he hissed, “Are you mad?”

Abiv pointed at Nundle. “The mainlander is offering you two gold arcans, Itan! He’s the mad one, not me.”

“Dead sailors can’t spend coin,” growled Itan. “The captain will murder us all if we take the Mist to the capital!”

The argument quickly escalated, Abiv versus everyone else.

Sighing, Nundle began to knit nine additional Weaves, one after another. He kept them small, hoping that the allure of coin was a motivation nearly as great as their fear of their captain. He did not want to get them into trouble, but he had little choice. He needed to get to the Oaken Duchies as quickly as he could, and this was his best path for doing so. He should be able to find someone in the capital who both knew the Weave for a port and had also been to the distant nation.

After directing the Weaves atop the sailors, he said, “Pardon me? Could you all listen for a moment?”

The sailors did not hear him over their shouting and continued to argue. Two men began to shove one another.

Clearing his throat, he shouted, “Quiet!”

The chatter died down in an instant.

When all of the sailors were staring at him, Nundle said, “Stop the arguing and get sailing. To the City of Strands, please. As quickly as you can manage.”

To a longleg, the sailors returned to their duties. A few conversations started up about what they were going to do with all of their gold.

Nundle shut his eyes and allowed himself a tiny smile of relief. Facing east, he opened his eyes and stared at the academy. His smile grew. He had made it. He was free.

A moment later, he thought of Preceptor Myrr returning to his office and discovering the missing parchment. His smile fell away. “Gods, I hope he doesn’t figure out it was me.”

15th of the Turn of Sutri

Kenders sat on the ground, waiting.

The light from a waning White Moon filtered through the oak boughs, trying to illuminate the forest floor but struggling to get past the rustling leaves. Blue Moon was only a sliver, its soft glow unable to assist.

Broedi and Jak had been gone for a long time.

A very long time.

So long that her stomach had given up growling.

When Broedi had more or less dragged Jak into the forest, Nikalys had wanted to go after them, afraid the hillman was going to hurt their brother. Kenders pointed out that Broedi had been nothing but helpful to this point, that he deserved more trust than he and Jak were allowing him.