Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) (66 page)

Broedi looked back at them and motioned for everyone to head inside.

“Quickly, please. Before night falls completely.”

Despite everyone’s clear hesitation, they all strode through the arch. The moment Kenders set foot inside the walls, the strange sensation of muted silver Strands bubbled again, only this time it was thrice as strong and accompanied by a surge of black.

“Broedi, what is—?”

“Later, uora. Keep going.”

Putting her trust in the hillman, Kenders approached the dark-skinned man standing in the overgrown courtyard. As she neared, she realized the staff he held was actually a farmer’s hoe. Glancing at his horse, she spotted shears for cutting wool from a sheep strapped to his saddle. This man’s presence was making less sense by the moment.

As they reached the man, Broedi looked at Nikalys—who still held his sword at his side—and said, “Please put that away. And keep it sheathed no matter what you see in here. I do not want you accidently hurting anyone.”

It took Nikalys three tries, but he managed to slip the shimmering blade back into its scabbard.

The Borderlander stared at Nikalys with narrowed eyes.

“You said he was a master swordsman.”

“I lied,” rumbled Broedi. Looking around, he stepped into a deep shadow beside the ruins of some sort of building, stared at them, and said, “Gather close, please.”

Sounding bitter, the dark-skinned man demanded, “What’s going on?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Jak said, “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Speaking in a rushed yet quiet voice, all the while staring up at the walls, Broedi said, “When the Imperials built these forts, they had mages fold great Weaves into the stones.” Looking to the dark-skinned Borderlander, he asked, “As dusk fell, have you begun to see things?”

The man’s gaze danced around the courtyard, eventually resting on the battlements above. With some hesitation, he said, “Yes, but I thought it was just the shadows playing tricks.”

Shaking his head, Broedi said, “We should be so lucky. The souls of the soldiers who died defending this fort still patrol at night.” He shifted his gaze to Kenders. “
That
, uora
,
is what you are feeling, although I am astounded you can. Those Weaves, those Strands have been stretched thin by the centuries.” He stared at walls again, muttering, “When it is truly night, when no light of day remains, the souls of the soldiers come forth and repel any intruders.”

“They’ll attack us?” asked Nikalys. “Why?”

“Because that is what they do.”

“But we mean them no harm,” said the Borderlander. He glanced around at Kenders’ group, adding, “At least I do not.”

“Intentions are meaningless,” rumbled Broedi. “They fight. They do not think. There is no reasoning with them.”

Helene began to whimper, which prompted Sabine to start rocking her.

Jak muttered, “Now I
truly
wish we could wait until morning.”

Shaking his head, Nikalys asked, “So our only options are to stay out there—” he motioned to the entrance “—and face whoever is following us, or stay in here and fight off what? Spirits? Souls?”

“Hopefully, neither,” said Broedi. “I can knit a small Weave of protection that should keep us hidden from the spirits. Pray that our pursuers follow the trail to the river.”

Kenders could feel the silver and black Strands strengthening, thickening. Worried, she muttered, “Broedi? It’s getting stronger.”

“I know, uora,” rumbled Broedi. “I can feel the Strands of Soul now.” He glanced up at the sky again. “Everyone, please stand close and
remain quiet
, I will begin the Weave.”

The Borderlander asked, “What is a weave?”

“Magic,” muttered Jak.

The man’s eyes widened as he took a step back from Broedi.

“Magic? But that’s—”

“Hush, man,” hissed Sabine. “Either get close or get out.”

The man stared out the archway, frowned, and then moved closer to their group, pulling his horse with him. Everyone else stood close together, shoulder to shoulder.

Kenders both felt and saw bright, shining silver Strands seemingly emerge from thin air. Broedi quickly, skillfully arranged them in a netlike pattern. Helene' stopped crying, pulled her head from Sabine’s chest, and stared up at the Weave, her eyes full of wonderment. When Broedi was finished, the net expanded and began to drift over the group.

The Borderlander stood perfectly still, looking around expectantly. Turning to Jak, he murmured, “Will it hurt?”

Jak whispered, “Only at first, then it tickles.”

Kenders reached over, smacked Jak’s arm, and muttered, “No jests, now, Jak!” Looking to the Borderlander, she muttered, “No, it won’t hurt.” The Weave, now settled over the group, slowly faded from Kenders’ sight. “In fact, he’s done.”

Helene whispered, “That was pretty.”

Looking around the courtyard, the Borderlands man asked, “What was?”

“Quiet!” ordered Broedi, his deep voice hushed. “The Weave will keep us hidden from the spirits’ view, but it will not mask our sound. And any noise you make—
any—
will awaken them.”

Not another word was spoken.

Kenders remained motionless, scanning the courtyard.

White Moon asserted its dominance of the night sky. Blue Moon crested the northwestern wall, adding its pale blue rays to the courtyard. Together, the moons cast odd, mismatched shadows. Flickers in the dark would catch her attention, but after staring into the murky darkness, she would realize it was simply the grass rippling in the breeze as it whistled through cracks in the walls.

So focused was she on what was happening in the interior of the fort that she did not notice the rumbling of galloping horses until it was so loud that it could no longer be ignored. A shout from outside drifted into the fort and the host of horses ceased their thudding. Everyone remained silent and impossibly still. Even Helene managed to stay quiet, her eyes shut tight and head buried in Sabine’s neck.

After a time, a few distant, unintelligible shouts filled the night. Kenders was not sure, but they seemed to be coming from the direction of river. She offered a prayer to Ketus, hoping the men would take the bait.

She glanced at the others and found them to be as anxious as she was. Even Broedi appeared worried. Her brothers flanked Sabine and Helene, Nikalys his hand on his sword hilt, Jak with a bow he had managed to string without Kenders noticing. Kenders eyed the arrow already nocked on the string, wondering if you could shoot a spirit.

Looking to her left, she stared at the Borderlander. His eyes were wide and alert, but absent even a hint of panic. She noticed for the first time that his face was badly injured. The man had been beaten. He held his hoe as one would a weapon, prepared to fight. She was impressed. Most people in this situation would have run from the fort, screaming.

The thudding of horses’ hooves resumed and approached the fort, albeit at a less frantic pace than earlier. Kenders stared through the tall, arched entranceway and watched as several dozen flickering torches appeared on the flat plains. A couple hundred paces from the fort, they all stopped. Kenders hoped night’s shadow was sufficiently obscuring her group so the horsemen could not see them.

The men and their torches began to creep toward the fort. Kenders tried to get Broedi’s attention, wondering what he wanted them to do, but the hillman was peering out the archway,. The anxiousness from before was still there, but so was a small amount of surprise.

Nikalys whispered, “What do we—”

A quick, hard look from Broedi cut him off.

Kenders felt the Strands about the fort swirl, spinning in a frenzy. She flashed Nikalys a distraught glance and put a finger up to her lips, urging him to be quiet. He held up his hands in apology. After a few moments, the silver and black Stands calmed, returning to their normal pattern of drifting about the fort.

The men on horseback drew close enough that she could see they wore uniforms. So, they were not bandits. Moments later, she was astonished when she recognized the livery as belonging to the soldiers of the Great Lakes Duchy. She could not imagine what Red Sentinels were doing this far south.

So stunned was she by the realization, Kenders nearly missed the small figure that rode at the head of the column beside a tall, bearded man. Based on stature alone, she would have sworn it was a child. The tiny individual lifted up an arm, pointed straight at the group standing in the shadows, and leaned over to say something to a bearded man.

Kenders stomach dropped. They had been spotted.

She flashed a desperate look at Broedi. The hillman was staring out the archway, frowning. Glancing around the group, she found nearly everyone staring at him, waiting for guidance. Nikalys, with his hand on the hilt of the sword he was not to draw. Sabine, with her arms wrapped around her sister. The Borderlander, gripping his hoe.

Jak was the exception. He alone was staring out the entranceway, wearing an expression of complete and total surprise.

After a few moments, Broedi motioned for them to move forward and out of the shadows. At first, no one moved. The hillman glared at them all, waved his hand forward again, and stepped forward, clearly expecting they comply with his order. This time, they did as everyone scooted into the moonlight.

The reaction of the soldiers varied, but most exhibited some combination of surprise, fear, and determined resolve. The redheaded little man—Kenders had decided it was most definitely not a child—wore a smile on his face, almost as if he was happy to see them. The bearded soldier appeared a bit more wary, but he also seemed pleased.

Movement to her right made her turn. Jak was gesturing with his hands, trying to communicate something to Broedi without speaking. He was repeatedly pointing out the entranceway, stroking his cheeks, and then jabbing a finger into his own chest. Confused, Kenders looked out the archway.

The bearded man kicked his horse and rode closer, stopping only a dozen paces on the other side of the entryway. In a clear, deep voice, he called out, “I recognize you, as well, Jak Isaac of Yellow Mud.”

Kenders gasped and spun to look at Jak.

Nikalys did the same, uttering, “Hells, Jak!”

Exasperated, Jak exclaimed, “That’s what I was trying to tell you!”

Kenders felt the swirling silver and black Strands surge. The intensity of the crackling was staggering.

From outside, a high-pitched voice called out, “Nathan! Something’s happening!”

No longer able to hold her fear in, Helene began to cry and Sabine began to sing, trying to calm her.

All around the courtyard, clumps of white mist began to form, swirling in the air. On the tops of the walls. In the shadows. From the piles of rubble. One moment there was nothing, a blink of an eye later, a white fog had coalesced. Silver and black Strands popped into view and rushed into the mists, knitting themselves together into shapes that resembled men.

A large, strong hand grabbed her shoulder. Whirling around, she looked up into Broedi’s dark eyes. They were wide and wild.

“Unweave them if you can, uora!”

He released her and jumped back. Gold, silver, and green Strands popped into existence, twisted together into a quick, complex pattern, and sank into Broedi. A moment later, he began to take the shape of an animal.

To her left, an unearthly, hollow voice screamed, “Vallo per vestri ago!” The cry echoed, but as though it was in a small room and not here in the open courtyard.

Whirling, she saw the figure of a man several dozen paces away, composed of what could only be described as mist and moonlight, softly glowing in the night’s gloom. He held a stubby sword in one hand and a round shield in the other, his armor reminding her of a tortoise shell. The transparent, insubstantial man began to move toward her, quickly breaking into a run, his eyes wide and fixed directly on her.

As he rushed through the mixed light of the two moons, he appeared to soak up the light around him, drawing it into his shape and turning opaque. By the time the ancient soldier was a dozen paces from her, he looked as solid as any of them, even though he was still the color of the moon, a soft bluish-white light.

Kenders surprised herself by reaching for the bright white Strands of Air on instinct alone. She knit them faster than she ever had and directed the Weave at the man, expecting it to lift the charging soldier off the ground. She watched in silent horror as the pale figure passed right through her pattern. He lifted his sword, readying to strike at her.

Backing away, she threw her arms up to protect herself, tripped over a chunk of stone, and fell. As she tumbled to the ground, she glimpsed a long wooden staff swing over her and catch the charging spirit square in the forehead with a decidedly solid thud. The soldier collapsed like any normal man would, but before he hit the ground, the bonds holding him together came apart and the pale, shining figure melted back into the moonlight on the ground.

Looking up, she found the strange Borderlander standing over her, holding his hoe in two hands, staring at where the soldier had been only a moment before. Shaking his head, he released one hand from the hoe, reached down, grabbed Kenders’ forearm, and lifted her up to her feet.

Staring into his dark eyes, she said, “Thank you for—”

His eyes went wide. He shoved her back to the ground, gripped the hoe, and spun around in a circle to strike another moonlight soldier that had come at her from behind. She landed on her back just as the end of the hoe connected with the soldier’s gut. Unlike the first spirit, this one did not disappear when struck. Rather, the ghostly soldier grabbed the pole and pulled the Borderlander to him. The dark-skinned man let stumbled over Kenders, only moments from impaling himself on the spirit’s outstretched sword.

Looking back, Kenders focused on the ghostly figure, frantically searching for the pattern inside the man. Her first lesson on unraveling a Weave had been yesterday and it had been on a simple, single-Strand Weave of Air.

Taking a chance, she plucked a single Strand of silver and another of the black and pulled. Just as the Borderlander was about to fall on the stubby sword, the spirit winked from existence. Light poured from the spirit like water rushing from an overturned bucket, splashing back into the courtyard.