Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) (84 page)

Staring hard at Zecus, Broedi said, “Do
not
call me that. Especially here.” He glanced up and down the dirt alley. For the moment, they were alone.

Bowing his head, Zecus said, “I beg your forgiveness.”

Kenders felt a flash of sympathy for the Borderlander. He had simply wanted to help.

“I do not need help at the moment,” said Broedi. “I
need
you to do as I say. Go inside, sit down, and wait until I return.”

If Kenders had learned anything in her time with the White Lion, it was that arguing with him was like climbing a tree covered with poison yergold. It was possible, but infinitely more trouble than it was worth.

They dismounted and tied their horses’ reins to the post outside the tavern’s entrance. Jak muttered something about finally getting a good meal, strode to the door, gripped the handle, and pulled. The door rattled but did not open.

“Seems they’re closed, Broedi.”

With a slight smile, Broedi said, “Push, uori.”

Jak shoved the door gently and it cracked open, setting off the tinny ring of a small bell. Looking back, he gave a sheepish grin.

“My mistake.”

Nikalys—carrying Helene in his arms—reached up and smacked Jak lightly on the back of the head. The brothers chuckled as they stepped into the building together with Zecus and Sabine following them through the entryway. Kenders paused at the door and looked back to find the hillman watching them. She did not want Broedi to go.

“You will be fine, uora. I will return shortly.”

Nodding slowly, she turned and ducked into the dark interior of the tavern. As she closed the door, she looked out to see Broedi already striding down the alley, back in the direction from where they had come. Sighing, she shut the door and faced the dark room. She blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted to the dimness.

A meager amount of sunlight streamed through two windows to her left combining with the light of a half-dozen torches lining the back wall. She counted eight rickety tables in the dingy room, all but one of them empty. The lone, occupied table had a single man with his head resting on his arms that were draped over the tabletop. In the quiet of the room, his loud snoring was clear.

The sound of wood dragging against wood drew her attention to her right. Looking over, she found everyone around one of the tables, in the midst of pulling out chairs to sit down. She turned and headed for one of the empty chairs. As she arrived, Zecus reached for the back of her chosen chair and pulled it out for her. Surprised, she paused a moment, stared at the man, and gave him a tiny smile.

“Thank you.”

He nodded, waiting for her to sit before gently sliding the chair forward for her. Once she was seated, he moved around the table and sat in an empty chair beside Jak, who was to Kenders’ immediate left. Nikalys sat directly across from her, Sabine to her right. Helene had her own chair—a coup for the smiling child—between Nikalys and Sabine.

As everyone settled, Sabine glanced at Kenders and winked, wordlessly commenting on Zecus’ act of kindness. Kenders was relieved she had the decency to remain silent. Jak, however, was apparently absent of grace. He leaned close and spoke in a low—but not low enough—voice.

“That was nice of Zecus.”

She glared at him.

“Quiet.”

He gave her a teasing smile and whispered, “I would have pulled it out from under you.”

Kenders hissed, “And then I would have picked it up and cracked it over your head.”

Jak leaned back, a wide grin on his face. Kenders stole a quick glance at Zecus, but he seemed unaware of her quick conversation with Jak. The Borderlander was running his hand over the table, staring in wonder at the wooden top.

Nikalys leaned forward, elbows on the table and said, “Where do you think Broedi—” He cut off as a door that led to a back room creaked open. A bald man with a thick, black beard stuck his head into the room, looked around, and started when he saw them. Pushing the door open completely, he stepped into the room and strode straight to their table. He wore a simple tan tunic, dark cloth breeches, and a greasy stained burlap apron that hung from his neck.

Stopping before the table, he eyed them all—pausing an extra moment on Zecus—before giving them a wide smile. Kenders noted he was missing more teeth than he still had.

“Welcome to the Curate and Black Doe. My name is Manique. Good days ahead to you all.”

The man’s accent was odd. His ‘oh’ sounded like ‘eww’ and each ‘r’ was drawn out. Kenders thought it sounded as if he had food stuffed in his cheeks.

Once the table completed the traditional greeting, Manique asked, “How might I serve you today?”

Jak said, “We’d like something to drink and eat, if that’s possible.”

Manique nodded, saying, “Your thirst I can satisfy. As for your stomach, I’m afraid all I have is morningbread, cheese, and last night’s smoked fish. Nothing fresh yet. We normally do not have visitors until later in the day. Other than old Vone over there.” He threw a thumb in the direction of the sleeping man. “Then again, Vone isn’t much of a visitor. He more or less lives here.” He gave them a wide, toothless grin, chuckling at his own jest.

Helene stood on her chair, peered across the room, and asked, “Does he always sleep on the table like that?”

Manique winked and said, “Only when he is not sleeping on the floor, little miss.”

Helene peered closely at the tavern owner with narrowed eyes.

“Are you fibbing? Sabine says it’s not right to fib.”

With an amused smile, Manique said, “Perhaps I am a bit. I apologize.”

“Sit down,” urged Sabine, her eyes on Helene. “You’ll fall.” The little girl complied with a pouty frown.

Glancing around the table, Jak said, “Unless anyone objects, I suppose bring us whatever you have.” He reached into the front pocket of his breeches, pulled out the last of the Isaac family’s ducats, and placed them on the table. “And the weakest morningmeal wine you have, please.”

When no one raised a voice of protest, Manique scooped up the coins and hurried away, disappearing back through the doorway.

The man had not been gone for a half a breath when Nikalys leaned forward and asked, “Now where do you think Broedi’s off to?”

Kenders sighed, wondering what the point was of asking a question no one could answer. He might as well have asked, ‘Why does the sun shine?’

Zecus sat forward and asked, “May I speak, please?”

Nikalys stared at the Borderlander.

“Are you asking permission to speak?”

“I am.”

With furrowed brow, Nikalys muttered, “Why?”

Zecus replied as if the answer were obvious.

“Honor requires it, great warrior.”

“I told you,” said Nikalys. “Call me ‘Nikalys.’ Nothing more.”

Kenders added, “And please, call me ‘Kenders.’” As he did with Nikalys and Broedi, the Borderlander always avoided calling her by name.

Zecus eyed them both, frowned for some reason, and said, “You both honor me. Thank you.” He paused a moment and then asked, “Now, may I speak?”

Letting loose and exasperated sigh, Nikalys mumbled, “Bless the gods…you don’t need—”

Interjecting, Jak said, “It’s a Borderlands thing, Nik.” Looking to Zecus, he said, “Go ahead. Say what you wish.”

Zecus nodded his appreciation, saying, “Something mystifies me about the—” he lowered his voice “—great lion.”

“Only one thing?” asked Jak.

The Borderlander smiled. “No. There are many for sure, but one in particular.” Glancing around the table, he asked, “Why does he hold so tightly to his secrets?”

Kenders chuckled at the question, which seemed to startle the Borderlander. His eyebrows drew together and he sat a little straighter in his chair.

“I am sorry if my question was ignorant.”

Kenders leaned forward, shaking her head.

“No, you misunderstand. I am not laughing at your question. You merely ask something none of us can answer.”

Zecus’ expression softened.

“I do apologize for my rush to judgment.”

She gave him a wide smile.

“You have to be the politest person I have ever met.”

Inclining his head, Zecus said, “I do not deserve your kind words, but I thank you for them nonetheless.” He gave her a tiny, sweet smile.

Kenders held his gaze for heartbeat or two. His cuts and scrapes were mending nicely, revealing what a pleasant face he had.

Jak ruined the moment by saying, “Zecus, I have a question for you.”

“Ask it,” said the Borderlander, reluctantly pulling his gaze from Kenders.

“Have you ever tried squeezing water from a rock?”

A blank expression filled Zecus’ face.

“Pardon?”

“It’s a saying these three use,” said Sabine. “An attempt to be clever to indicate how difficult it is to get Broedi to share information.”

Zecus’ eyes widened in understanding. Nodding his head, he said, “It is appropriate.” He glanced around the table. “Yet why is he like that?”

The room went quiet. A few moments passed before Jak broke the silence.

“Because you cannot be forced to share that which you do not know.”

His eyebrows drawing together, Zecus said, “I do not understand. Who would force us to tell?”

Nikalys murmured, “We’ll be happy to talk about this later.” He nodded his head in Helene’s direction.

There were certain things of which they did not speak in front of Helene. This was one of them. Sabine had confided in Kenders the little girl already had difficulty sleeping. She did not need something else about which to be scared.

Zecus looked to the toddler, nodded, and said, “Ah, I see. Of course. Later, then.”

Helene spoke up, startling them all.

“I know someone is chasing us.”

They all turned as one to stare at the little girl. A few quiet moments passed, filled with worried glances exchanged between everyone but Helene. Eventually, Sabine leaned close to her sister and asked, “What was that, dear?”

“Someone is chasing us,” murmured Helene.

Trying to reassure the little girl, Sabine smiled and shook her head.

“No, dear. No one is chasing us.”

Helene glared at Sabine. “Yes, someone
is
.” She looked around the table, an expression of absolute certitude on her face. “Someone who is wrong inside.”

Everyone here had been extremely careful to keep the truth from Helene. They never spoke of the prophecy, Jhaell, or the god of Chaos around her.

Leaning forward, Kenders asked, “Who told you that, Helene?”

“No one.”

Reaching over to pat her back, Nikalys asked, “Then what makes you think someone is following us?”

Helene’s gaze returned to the center of the table. For a long moment, she sat in silence, looking tiny in her large, wooden chair. Finally, she muttered, “I don’t know.” The evasive note in her voice prompted Sabine to press her.

“Truly, Helene. You can tell us.”

Helene gave a feeble shrug of her shoulders.

“I don’t want to.”

Jak tried next.

“Why don’t you—”

Helene’s head snapped up.

“I don’t
want
to!”

Kenders felt a flicker of orange crackling. He head snapped up as three Strands of Fire popped into existence. The torches along the back wall flared suddenly, sizzling. Zecus and Jak turned their heads at the sudden sound.

Eyes widening, Kenders stood from her chair, nearly knocking it over.

“It’s all right, Helene.”

Sweeping around Sabine’s chair, she dropped to a knee beside the girl and wrapped her arms around the toddler.

“You don’t have to tell us anything if you don’t want to…”

Helene flung her arms around Kenders and squeezed tight. The orange crackling winked from existence like a candle’s flickering flame extinguished by a sudden draft.

As she consoled the little girl, everyone at the table stared at her curiously. Looking to Nikalys, she mouthed the word, “Magic.”

Nikalys stared at her, confused for a moment before his eyes widened. He glanced at the back of Helene’s head, frowned, and then nodded. Looking around the table, he said, “Let’s talk about something else, yes?”

Marking the cue, Jak said, “You know, Helene, I saw a baker on the way here and was sure I smelled sweet cakes. Perhaps Broedi will let us stop and get one when we leave.”

Helene pulled her head from Kenders’ embrace and looked at Jak.

“What’s a sweet cake?”

Jak’s eyes widened in mock astonishment.

“What’s a sweet cake? Oh, my, Helene. You are in for a treat.”

As Jak explained the concept, successfully brightening the little girl’s mood, Manique returned with the food and wine. They all picked at the meal and sipped the weak wine. Throughout, Sabine’s worried gaze never left her sister.

Kenders, on the other hand, never stopped watching the door, fervently praying that when it opened, Broedi would be on the other side and not Constables.

9
^th
of the Turn of Thonda

Roasting in the midday sun, Jhaell stood in the midst of a confused land.

Flat plains of grass lay to the east, waving in the breeze, while the thinning edges of an oak and ash forest stood to the north. Hulking foothills rose on the western horizon, signifying the beginnings of the dry, rolling lands of dead grass and struggling bulboa trees. Yet if one trekked south for a day, the edges of the soupy mush that gave the Marshlands its name would hazard any traveler.

However, all Jhaell saw for the moment was the dirt road beneath his feet. His golden-white hair hung in his face, swaying in the easterly breeze. A soft, nearly silent curse slipped from his lips.

“
Zilrya eilamengil.
”

There had been no sign of the Progeny. None at all. He had not sensed even a flicker of a rogue Strand on his journey west. None of his contacts had seen or heard anything.

He did not know what to do.

Yesterday afternoon he received a message on the parchment whose mate resided with Alpert in Smithshill. However, after reading the first sentence, he grimaced, realizing the author was not the regent, but rather Raela, the incarnation of the god of Deception. Jhaell immediately shredded the parchment, severing any connection he had with Smithshill, and spent the rest of the day on his horse wondering what Tandyr must think.