Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) (79 page)

Any resistance within the lieutenant melted away. The longleg nodded slowly and said in a hollow, distracted voice, “Yes, please explain to the men about the exercise. I will be in my tent.”

With that, Lieutenant Madric turned and strode to the lone tent. His men parted to let him pass, staring at him with befuddled expressions. Nundle breathed a tiny sigh of relief.

As the lieutenant disappeared into his tent, Goldbeard turned to face the trio, took a step forward, and demanded, “What in the Nine Hells is going on? What exercise are you talking about? Nobody ever said anything about any blasted exercise!”

With a patient tone, Broedi explained, “Duchess Aleece gave explicit orders that nothing be said to you until your command was approached by a special envoy. We are that envoy. She will be pleased to know that the lieutenant followed her orders so well. He must be an excellent officer.”

Goldbeard sniggered at the statement and sneered, “The man is a pompous fool who only got this command because he is some coastal nobleman’s brat.”

The open disdain displayed for the lieutenant surprised Nundle. He had become accustomed to the way the Sentinels venerated Nathan. From the grumbling emanating from the bulk of the soldiers, it was apparent the low opinion of the lieutenant was widely held. Nundle frowned, his nervousness increasing threefold in an instant.

Broedi drew himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders, seemingly growing a foot taller and wider. The confident smirk on Goldbeard’s face slipped a touch at the sight of the towering hillman. In his deep, thudding baritone, the hillman said, “That is a dangerous opinion to hold about one’s superior officer.”

Goldbeard huffed and stood as tall as he could.

“Madric knows how things work. We pretend to listen to what he says, but we mostly run ourselves.”

“This is disappointing,” said Broedi. Nundle expected that phrase had dual meanings. “I am sorry to say that I will need to include this in my report to the duchess. The exercise will proceed regardless.”

The grumbling amongst the soldiers grew louder. They did not believe the show. Broedi had hoped to explain the false exercise to the Arms, have their leader endorse it, and everyone would be on their way within an hour. That was not going to happen.

Nundle shot a quick glance at Kenders. Her eyes were round, her back straight as a wagon pole. She repeatedly wound and unwound her horse’s reins around her hands. Nundle shook his head. This was not a good idea.

His best guess was that he could hold sway over twenty, perhaps as many as twenty-five of the soldiers at once. Broedi admitted that his limit was something similar. Unfortunately, over a hundred upset soldiers surrounded them now.

Goldbeard stepped forward, pointed an accusing finger up at Broedi, and shouted, “Who are you truly?” Spittle flew from his mouth, catching on his thick, gold beard. “You expect us to believe that Duchess Aleece sent you? Why would she send a giant, a girl, and a tomble?”

It was an excellent question. And one Nundle had asked earlier, before they had left the safety of the Red Sentinels, as well as a few more times along the way.

Broedi stood still, his face a mask of calm stoicism.

“Are you questioning our—?”

“I’ll bet you’re
mages
!” spat Goldbeard. “You did something to Madric, didn’t you?!”

Nundle’s eyes widened a fraction. This soldier was as insightful as he was belligerent.

The Arms began to shout obscenities as they crowded closer to the trio.

Broedi hung his head and, with resignation in his voice, rumbled, “Nundle? Uora? Now, please.”

As fast as he could, Nundle began to pull together Strands of Will, stringing them into the familiar pattern. Considering the riled nature of the soldiers, Nundle erred on the side of caution and made each Weave a powerful one. Glancing over, he felt and saw Broedi also working with the honey-gold Strands. Alarmed, he noticed that Kenders had yet to begin.

He had ten completed, golden patterns ready to use before Kenders started her first. Her initial attempt fizzled and fell apart, the golden Strands fading away in an instant. She tried again and nearly had the design right but, at the last moment, twisted two of the Strands in the wrong direction. Nundle recognized the Weave as a valid pattern of Will, but one that would force the target to think he or she was covered with hundreds of tiny bugs. It would not do to have half of the Southern Arms lying on the ground, scratching themselves.

Risking the loss of his own Weaves by breaking concentration, Nundle reached out and pulled Kenders’ incorrect pattern apart. Glaring at a stunned Kenders, Nundle hissed through gritted teeth.

“Focus! You can do this!”

Visibly frustrated, she shot back, “No, I can’t!”

“Try!”

“I don’t know what I’m doing!”

Broedi ignored them both, distracted by both his task and trying to look as intimidating as possible to stave off the angry Southern Arms.

Nundle could hear the soft sounds of metal sliding against leather as swords were drawn. There was no time for Kenders to do this the correct way.

“Forget the weaving!” exclaimed Nundle. “Just do it the way you did in the fort!”

She shook her head, clearly reticent, and glanced at Broedi.

“But I—”

“The result!” shouted Nundle. “Focus on the result!”

Shouts of alarm pierced the air. Some of the Arms had spotted the Sentinels approaching through the trees. Kenders and Nundle spun around in their saddles and stared westward. If these Southlands longlegs were not subdued shortly, bad things would happen.

“Now, Kenders! We don’t have time!”

The hesitation on her face fled, replaced by firm determination. With a quick nod, she turned around and took a deep breath.

He watched her, muttering, “Please don’t pass out…please, please, please…”

A moment later, an impossible surge of gold swelled around the clearing. Nundle nearly lost his own completed Weaves, gasping in wonder as thousands of dancing, gold strings popped into existence around him. Nundle had never seen so many Strands of Will in one place.

“Bless the gods…”

Dozens upon dozens of the correct pattern strung together simultaneously, all within a single, quick breath. Close to eighty Weaves of Will had appeared in an instant, each of them perfect. Glancing at the young girl, he found that she was still sitting upright in the saddle, drawing breath and conscious.

“Oh, thank the gods.”

Broedi tilted his head back, eyed the Weaves, and then glared at Kenders. With a deep frown on his face, he ordered, “Now.” His voice was firm, calm, and entirely out of place in midst of the chaotic scene.

Broedi directed his Weaves of Will first, placing them on the soldiers nearest him. He then began crafting the second pattern needed for their secondary plan to work, a simple one of shining white Air.

Nundle waited to see where Broedi’s Weaves went, then moved his to another set of longlegs. Once he had chosen his targets, he said, “Your turn, Kenders.”

Her face taut with concentration, the young woman sent sixty, perfect Weaves of honey-gold Will descending on every remaining Southern Arms soldier in sight. She wisely held the extra twenty in reserve—hovering over the unaware soldiers’ head—should any of the Arms resist. Nundle nodded his approval.

Once every soldier in the area had been wrapped with his personal Weave, Broedi spoke.

“All of you need to calm down.”

His voice reverberated through the clearing, clearly heard by every soldier due to the Air Weave he was using. Anyone within a few hundred paces would hear Broedi as if he were standing beside them. Preceptors at the Strand Academies had often used the pattern when giving a lecture to a large body of acolytes.

At once, nearly every soldier went silent. The handful who continued to mutter quietly were those under Nundle or Broedi’s control. Every single Southern Arm on whom Kenders had placed a Weave stood still as a statue, relaxed and at peace.

Calling over the thudding of the approaching Sentinels’ horses, Broedi said, “Those of you with swords out, please take this opportunity to sheath them.” Without protest, the Arms slid their swords into their scabbards. “In a few moments, Red Sentinels will be arriving. You will do nothing. Remain silent, please.”

Left waiting for the Sentinels to show, Nundle turned his full attention on Kenders. She appeared quite woozy, but at least she was awake.

“Are you all right?”

She gave a lazy nod and muttered, “I’m a little tired.” She sounded exhausted.

“Try to hold on until he tells them everything they need to do.”

She nodded again, quiet.

He gave her an encouraging smile and said, “You did great, Kenders. Truly.”

With half-closed, droopy eyes looking back at him, she returned his grin with a tired one of her own.

“Thanks.”

Sentinels began to emerge from the trees. Nundle swiveled in his saddle to watch, curious. He, Broedi, and Kenders had left before Nathan had received all of the new arrivals’ decisions and he was eager to know how many had elected to stay. He tried to count the unfamiliar faces as the red and black clad soldiers filed into the clearing, but with everyone moving about, it was impossible to keep an accurate tally of new versus old soldiers. After realizing he had counted the same blonde longleg three times, he gave up.

Spotting Nikalys and Jak riding alongside Nathan—Nikalys with Helene in his lap, and Jak with Sabine behind him—Nundle lifted a hand and waved. The Isaac brothers rode straight for Kenders, one moving to either side of her. Nathan pulled op on Nundle’s left, frowning as he surveyed the blank stares of the Southern Arms.

“So I take it the first plan did not go well?”

Nundle huffed, “You could say that.”

His brow furrowed with worry, Nikalys eyed Kenders said, “You look a little ill.”

“I’m fine. Although, I’d like a nap.”

Jak reached out and grabbed Kenders’ hand. Sabine stretched over to pat her back, murmuring congratulations. She gave them both a weary smile.

Nikalys turned his concerned stare onto Nundle and said, “I’m getting tired of having to ask this, but is she going to be all right?”

Nodding, Nundle said, “She’ll be fine after a short sleep. But we truly need to get her some better teachers.” With a glance in Broedi’s direction he added, “No offense, Broedi.”

Preoccupied with keeping careful watch on the Southern Arms, the hillman did not look over as he responded, “None taken, little one.”

Knowing the window for heavy suggestion was closing quickly, Nundle said, “We should get this going. Nathan, are you ready?”

The sergeant nodded and asked with a hint of unease, “How exactly will this work, again?”

“Simple. Broedi will tell them to listen to every word you say, and then you tell them exactly what they need to hear.”

With a frown, Nathan asked, “And they will do whatever I tell them?” The disbelief in his tone and eyes was clear. Despite having been the target of Preceptor Myrr’s Weave at the fork in the road, the sergeant remained dubious this would work.

“Within reason, yes,” replied Nundle. “For instance, you cannot order someone to cut off his own hand. However, if you explain that what we want them to do is part of a soldier exercise, they most likely will accept everything you tell them.

With raised eyebrows, Nathan asked, “Most likely?”

Nundle shrugged and said with some hesitation, “Well…yes. There’s always a chance that a few may resist.” He looked at the remaining twenty Weaves of Will overhead. “But Kenders can help if need be.”

Nathan, along with the others stared into the air.

“More…Weaves are up there?” asked Sabine.

Nundle nodded.

“Quite a few,” answered Nundle. “We should start, Nathan. Quickly.”

Nodding, the sergeant said, “Let’s try this, then. I’m ready whenever, Broedi.”

A moment later, the White Lion’s voice reverberated through the camp, “Soldiers of the Southern Arms! Master Sergeant Trell of the Red Sentinels is here to explain the details of the exercise. Listen to him carefully and trust that he speaks with the direct authority of your sovereign, Duchess Aleece.”

Without consulting anyone, Nundle did a quick weave of Air to duplicate the sound projection effect that Broedi was using for himself and directed it to Nathan just as the soldier began to shout.

“Soldiers of the—”

He cut off as everyone in the clearing covered his or her ears, wincing. The sergeant had effectively yelled in every soul’s ears.

Looking over, Nundle said, “You needn’t shout, Nathan. Just talking will…do…” He trailed off, wilting under Nathan’s glare. “Sorry. I should have warned you.”

A quieter, no less firm voice of the sergeant filled the area a moment later.

“Soldiers of the Southlands, you are here because our sovereigns wish to test one another. My company was chosen along with yours to attempt to infiltrate our respective duchies. We Sentinels are to continue into the Southlands in order to ascertain the effectiveness of the rest of the Arms in rooting out spies. You, gentlemen, are to do the same, but into the Great Lakes Duchy.”

A few of the soldiers began to mutter. Nundle frowned. This situation still had the potential to go very wrong.

“Consider it a competition of sorts,” continued Nathan “The group that remains undiscovered the longest will be able to claim that their fellow soldiers are the more vigilant ones.”

One of the Southern Arms in the crowd shouted, “How is that supposed to work, Sergeant? The moment we set foot north of the border, we’ll be discovered.” The longleg pointed at his blue and gold uniform. “We’ll stick out like an apple in a mushroom barrel.”

“Not if you’re wearing the red and black of the Great Lakes, soldier.”

A few of the sharper longlegs in the crowd began to nod. One called, “You want us to switch uniforms?”

“Those are your Duchess’ orders,” said Sergeant Trell.

After a few additional, innocuous questions, the Southern Arms soldiers seemed to accept the story. A pleasantly surprised Nathan ordered his Sentinels forward, instructing Corporal Holb to organize the uniform exchange. The corporal began matching Southern Arms with Red Sentinels, trying to get men of the same height and build paired together. Once a match was made, the two would strip off their tabards and breeches and trade them. Anything red and black was given to the Southern Arms while anything blue and gold was handed over to the Sentinel soldier.