Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) (88 page)

Baffled as to how the beast was still upright, Zecus hefted the spiked club again and whirled around, driving the full force of his spin into the side of the oligurt’s right knee. Something gave way in the monster’s leg as it collapsed in a heap, crashing to the leaves and pine needles.

Without hesitation, Zecus raised the club, intending to smash the oligurt’s skull open. Loosing a vengeful scream, he brought the weapon down with all his might. Inexplicably, his blow stopped halfway. Surprised, he looked up to find Broedi holding the club’s midpoint.

Through ragged breaths, the hillman ordered, “Not yet.”

Zecus stared back down at the flattened grayskin, his heart pounding. With each beat, a lusting pulse to take this monster’s life thumped through his palms, urging him to crush the oligurt.

Looking back to the White Lion, Zecus demanded, “Why not?” These beasts were responsible for the destruction of his homeland.

“Because she cannot tell us what we need to know if she is dead!”

Zecus glared at the oligurt, only mildly surprised to learn he had been battling a female.

The monster stared up at him, sneering, “Kill me fleshling!” Black blood covered her tusks.

Shaking his head, Zecus muttered, “No.” He let the club slip from his hands. The great lion was right.

Broedi grabbed the massive club and tossed it into a nearby bush with ease.

“Thank you.”

Zecus took a few steps back and plopped down on the ground like a mushy sack of turn-old potatoes. The entire ordeal had been brief, but he felt exhausted. His beating heart began to slow. Some.

The sound of horses’ nervous nickering caused him to look up to find the two young women riding nearer. Kenders was openly gaping at the oligurt on the ground.

“Is that what I think it is?”

Nobody answered her. There was no point. The answer was clear.

A sharp contrast to Kenders’ shock, Sabine was a visage of calm. With cool, unemotional eyes, she stared at other oligurt, the one with whom Broedi had struggled. The gray beast was on its back with its arms splayed to its sides.

“Dead?”

“Yes,” rumbled Broedi. The hillman hovered over the living oligurt, his gaze alternating between the beast and the forest.

Sabine nodded once, muttering, “Good.”

Zecus turned his eyes upward to peer at the young woman. With a tiny sliver of awe slipping into his voice, he said, “I have never seen a finer shot with the bow. Thank you.”

Her gaze never left the bleeding oligurt as she replied in a steady, composed tone. “You are welcome.” She pulled another arrow from the quiver hanging from her saddle and held it at the ready. “I had a lot of spare time growing up.” This was not modesty. Rather, she was acting as if she done nothing more than bring him a mug of water when he had said he was thirsty.

Kenders, her eyes wider than even a moment ago, asked, “Zecus? Are you all right? You’re not hurt, are you?” The concern on her face and in her voice warmed his heart.

He gave her a kind smile, shook his head, and said, “No, beautiful one, I am fine.” As Kenders’ cheeks bloomed pink, he instantly regretted his words. They had been much too brazen.

An angry, pain-filled roar from the oligurt ripped his attention away from the women. Seeing the monster attempting to crawl away through leaves and underbrush, Zecus wondered where she thought she was going. She had a sliced-open thigh, crushed knee and foot, and three arrows sticking out of her chest. The fourth shaft that had struck her cheek was gone, but had left a nasty looking gash.

Unhurriedly, Broedi moved to Kenders’ horse, removed a length of rope tied to the saddle, and returned to the oligurt to begin securing her legs. Once bound, Broedi ripped out the arrow pinning the oligurt’s hand to her chest, prompting another roar of pain, and tied her wrists. The grayskin resisted, but stopped when Broedi drove his elbow across her jaw, grazing the arrow wound. The blow surprised Zecus. It was quite unlike the gentle giant.

As the echoing shouts of men drifted through the forest, getting ever closer, Zecus eyed Broedi and asked, “Why did you not become the great bear or cat? They could not have matched you.”

Glaring at the bound oligurt, Broedi rumbled, “These are advance scouts, sent to search for us.” He lifted his gaze to stare at the misty forest. “Which means our pursuers do not know exactly where we are. Any use of the Strands would have been a beacon to the right kind of mage.”

“Scouts?” repeated Zecus. “Then there are more coming?”

“I would assume many more, uori.”

Zecus exchanged a worried look with the two young women. Sabine nocked her arrow and lifted her bow a few inches, readying it.

“Do not worry, uora
.
I doubt their larger force is close. It is not their way.” The hillman stared down at the oligurt. “What concerns me at the moment is that they typically scout in threes. We have but two.”

The oligurt on the ground glared at Broedi with hate in her black eyes.

Scanning the forest, Zecus asked, “Where’s the third?”

Frowning, Broedi said, “I expect riding back with details on our whereabouts.”

“Riding to whom?” asked Kenders.

“Is that a question that needs to be asked, uora?”

Kenders sighed, muttering, “I suppose not…”

Broedi stared back down at the oligurt and demanded, “Who is your
Ohraeg
?” The last word carried the guttural twist of the oligurt language.

The grayskin turned her eyes away, ignoring him.

“How did you get here?” pressed Broedi.

The oligurt glared at him, sneered, and spat. Black, bloody spittle shot from her mouth and splattered on the dirt. Zecus winced. The action looked painful considering the open wound in the side of her cheek.

Kenders said doubtfully, “I don’t think he’s going to answer you.”

“Yes, she will,” rumbled Broedi.

“She?” said Kenders, eyebrows arched.

“Yes, uora,” answered Broedi, looking past the pair of young women as soldiers began to emerge from the forest mist. “This is a she-gurt.”

Zecus twisted around to scan the ranks of the Sentinels, looking for Kenders’ brothers, Sergeant Trell, or the tomble. Not seeing any of them, he prayed there had not been another attack somewhere else.

When the soldiers saw the oligurts, they pulled up short and stared. Zecus knew that this was the first time any of the men had seen one, which meant that besides Broedi, he was the most experienced of the group when it came to oligurts. It was not a comforting thought.

Broedi crouched beside the oligurt and stared at her. For a long time, the White Lion simply stared at the sneering creature, saying nothing at all.

Zecus noted that the wound on the oligurt’s thigh was oozing copious amounts of black blood. A pool had already gathered on the needles and leaves underneath her leg. If Broedi wished to learn anything, he would have to hurry.

Finally, with a short, disgusted growl, the oligurt dropped her eyes. Broedi spoke an instant later.

“Falld ograg imshadok gol vrong illuth ruaukk
?”

To an inexperienced ear, it might sound as though the hillman were clearing his throat in the form of a question. However, Zecus’ short time in the Sudashian camp helped him recognize the grunting as the oligurt language. He was quite impressed that the White Lion could speak the tongue.

The oligurt looked at Broedi, turned her head, and spit more blood out along with a low, spiteful word. “
Thargh
!”

Broedi lashed out with his huge right hand, grabbed the oligurt’s chin, and directed the beast’s gaze to his face.

“
Imshadok gol vrong illuth ruaukk? Uelag garok
Ohraeg
Urazûd? Uelag garok
Jhaell Myrr?”

The oligurt’s eyes widened at the mention of the demon’s name, yet she remained silent.

Broedi grunted, “
Uelag garok
Ohraeg
—” He cut off, tilted his head to the side, and then turned to stare into the mist. After a moment, he released the oligurt and stood, peering over Zecus’ head and into the trees.

Zecus swiveled around to stare into fog. He saw nothing. He was about to ask Broedi what he was looking at when he heard a mix of growls and snarls emanating from the trees. Nikalys entered the clearing, pulling the reins of an uncooperative bullockboar. The hideous beast dwarfed the soldiers’ shying horses, yanking and jerking its head in all directions in a futile attempt to free itself from Nikalys’ iron grip. The great warrior held tight, however.

“I found this thing tied to a tree a little ways off,” Nikalys said through gritted teeth. Even with the strength granted by a god, it strained him to hold this massive beast in place.

Broedi ordered, “Hold it there, uori!” Nikalys nodded and stopped at the edge of the clearing. Looking back down at the oligurt, the White Lion rumbled, “
Kuurag ugruthil yurgh hurgard
?”

Her eyelids drooping, the oligurt sneered, “
Thargh, tuhka kotiv-aki
!” Her gray skin had turned pallid. She did not look well.

Broedi sighed, moved to Kenders, and asked, “May I have your beltknife?”

Kenders drew the dagger from its sheath and handed it to Broedi, her eyes brimming with unspoken questions.

Instead of turning back to the oligurt as Zecus expected, Broedi began to march toward the bullockboar purposefully, beltknife in hand.

“Hold its head to the ground, uori!”

Nikalys wrapped the leather straps around his forearm, shortening the length of the reins, and kneeled low, effectively pinning the snarling bullockboar’s head to the forest floor. As Broedi reached the creature, he lifted the blade up, preparing to sink it into the pink and black skin on the neck.

The oligurt shouted, “
Shurr hurgard rog
!”

Zecus—everyone, truthfully—jumped, startled by the outburst. Broedi halted his strike. Knife still raised, he looked back across to where the oligurt lay.

“You will answer my questions, she-gurt. In Argot. Or your
hurgard
dies now.”

Zecus looked back to the oligurt. Fear filled her eyes and she stared at her mount.

“Agreed.”

Broedi lowered the knife to his side, whispered something to Nikalys, and then returned. After handing the knife back to Kenders, he crouched beside the oligurt again.

“Your clan is shamed, she-gurt. You dropped your eyes, yet you do not submit to me.”

“You are not one of us,” snarled the oligurt. “I owe you
nothing
.” Her words were slurred and muddled. Zecus wondered if it was due to the arrow-gash in her cheek or the loss of blood.

“You owe me answers. And you will give them else I will slice open your
hurgard
and force you to watch it bleed before you pass to Maeana’s arena.”

“What do you know of the great arena, tuhka kotiv-aki?” growled the oligurt.

“You are mistaken,” rumbled Broedi. “I am not tuhka kotiv-aki. I am without a tribe. I choose my own path. You, however, do not.” He paused before asking, “Am I wrong?”

The oligurt glared at the White Lion, remaining silent.

Zecus spared a glance at Kenders and Sabine and found them as absorbed by what was happening as he was. Beyond the young women, Zecus saw that Sergeant Trell and the tomble had arrived to stand with the rest of the soldiers some distance. Everyone seemed content to let Broedi handle this situation as he seemed to know great deal more about oligurts than anyone else here.

“Is Urazûd your
Ohraeg
?” asked Broedi, shifting his weight. “Your ruler?”

“Yes,” growled the oligurt, her tone weaker than before. “The
danurgalak
leads us.” The rush of oncoming death had robbed the oligurt’s voice of its strength. Only Broedi, Zecus, Sabine, and Kenders could hear her speak.

Frowning, Broedi rumbled, “Why does your clan follow a
danurgalak
?”

With an angry, bitter sneer, the oligurt growled, “Because we must.”

“Why must you?”

The oligurt dropped her head to the needles and leaves. “The choice…is not ours…” Her eyes fluttered shut. She was not long for the mortal world.

Clearly recognizing that, Broedi asked the most important question of the moment.

“How many of you are here?”

The oligurt began to shake. For a moment, Zecus thought she was going into her death throes before he realized the beast was chuckling. The laughing morphed into choking as frothy blood bubbled from her lips, spurting into the air with each hack.

“How many…?” repeated the oligurt. Through the gagging, she managed to lift her head, open her eyes, and grin over her blood-smeared yellow tusks. “More than you.”

His voice turning harsh, Broedi demanded, “How many, she-gurt?”

A touch of defiance returned to the oligurt’s eyes as a cruel sneer spread over her lips.

“
Rolgluth
.”

The muscles in the oligurt’s face twitched a few times. She muttered the strange word again.

“
Rolgluth
.”

Her head fell back to the ground and she drew her last breath. The previously fierce, black eyes went vacant. Air wheezed from her throat as Maeana claimed her.

A few quiet moments passed before anyone spoke.

“Broedi?” mumbled Kenders. “What does ‘
rolgluth’
mean?”

Broedi remained crouched, unmoving.

In a louder, more insistent voice, Kenders said, “Broedi! What does ‘
rolgluth’
mean?”

The hillman peered up to her, his eyes haunted. He sighed before quietly murmuring, “Hundreds.”

The great lion stared north.

“It means hundreds, uora
.
”

Broedi stood as still as a statue, peering into night’s blackness, watching. The air had cooled enough that regular harvest mist had begun to form, making an already difficult task nearly impossible. Sergeant Trell had suggested a cold camp this evening and Broedi had agreed. Fires were a sour idea this night.

Tiny spots of bluish light dotted the faint vapor blanketing the forest floor. Both moons surely hung in the sky above the ebonwood trees, but branches and foliage blocked all but a few rays of moonlight able to wedge through the thick treetop canopy. The soldiers currently keeping watch with Broedi were lucky if they could see five paces in front of them. Even Broedi could see but twenty-five in the gloom.