The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (96 page)

“Go,” said the sergeant. “See what it is.”

Zecus asked, “May—”

“Yes, you can go, too. Quickly, please.”

Spinning around, Jak strode to the inside wall with Zecus right behind. As he approached, he called out, “Move aside!”

Men turned and, seeing their black and white uniforms, parted to let them through. Upon reaching the wall, Jak placed his hands on the rough rock and leaned forward, peering down at the main thoroughfare. The fog was not as dense within the city, but it still obscured anything much beyond a hundred feet.

The lines of soldiers in the streets below were backpedalling slowly, pressing their backs against buildings in an effort to clear the flagstone way. To a man, they had their heads turned, staring into the center of the city.

Standing on Jak’s right, Zecus asked, “Do you think it’s Nikalys?”

Jak tried his best to see through the fog, but all he could make out were the glowing auras of the torches lining the street.

“Gods, I hope so.”

After leaving the duke’s dining hall last night with Nikalys, the pair had hurried through the halls, Jak intent on delivering the duchess’ order to Commander Aiden. At an intersection of passageways, when Jak had turned left, Nikalys went right. Jak had called after him, asking where he was going. With a wink and a smile, Nikalys answered, “To wake up Nundle.”

Shortly thereafter, a stableman had seen the pair, along with Wren surprisingly, step through a ‘rip in the world’ near the horse barns. Unfortunately, the stableman had a large mouth, and word of their disappearance spread like a Summer grassfire. Just when the soldiers had accepted the idea of mages and White Lions aiding them, rumors quickly spread that the heroes were abandoning Demetus. Jak had done his best to assuage the fears, but it was no easy task.

Jak had a good guess as to where his brother had run off. Eyeing the mist below, he said a quick prayer to Lamoth that he was right.

“Come on, Nik.”

Moments later, Nikalys emerged from the gloom with Nundle and Wren at his side, fog swirling about them as the trio walked down the street. Jak allowed himself a smile, happy to see his brother return.

“Now, let’s hope you brought some friends.”

Soft exclamations of disbelief slipped from nearby soldiers as a handful of strange figures stepped from the mist as well, trailing Nikalys, shuffling along the flagstone. Their limbs, covered with dark, bark-like skin, were more tree branch than arms or legs. Their hair, both the color and consistency of grass, sprang from the top of triangular-shaped heads, swishing about as the creatures stared at the buildings, their glossy black eyes reflecting the flickering torch light.

“Bless the Gods,” muttered Zecus. “Every time I think I have a grasp on my world…”

Jak nodded, silently agreeing with Zecus’ unfinished thought. Nikalys’ descriptions of the thorn had been thorough, but seeing the strange race for himself, marching through the streets of Demetus, was a surreal experience.

Counting the figures as they emerged from the fog, Jak had only reached ten when the line of thorn stopped. A frown spread over his lips. He had hoped for more.

As the thorn shuffled along, Zecus muttered, “Those are the great monsters?”

Jak had been thinking the same thing. After Nundle’s grand tales about the fearsome creature encountered on the beach, he had expected something different.

“They look like tree saplings,” murmured Jak. “I wonder if Nundle was…exaggerating…” He trailed off, his eyes opening wide as a number of seven-foot-tall figures stepped from the fog.

Twenty bald and tattooed hillmen and hillwomen marched together, looking around the city, expressions of curious wonder on their faces. They all wore drab robes that cut off at their calves, heavy leather boots, and carried wooden staves on their shoulders that were thicker than Jak’s forearm.

“They look intimidating,” muttered Zecus.

“They certainly do,” agreed Jak.

More hillmen followed the first twenty robed giants, but their dress was much different: simple cloth tunics and breeches with thick strips of leather armor strapped to their arms, legs, and chest. Half carried the largest bows Jak had ever seen, while the rest wielded long poles topped with a sweeping metal blade. The wicked weapons were a full foot taller than the hillmen.

Raising his voice a bit, Jak said, “A gold ducat to the first man who spars one of them and wins.” The quip elicited a healthy chuckle from the nearby Reed Men who heard it.

As the procession of hillmen continued, Jak’s gaze shifted back to his brother. Nikalys was scanning the walls and stopped the moment his eyes locked onto Jak and Zecus. Jak lifted a hand and waved. Nikalys returned the greeting before turning back to the city center.

Holding up both arms, Nikalys called for the group to halt. As the thorn and Titan Tribe members came to a stop, a subdued cheer arose from the soldiers watching, both in the streets and on the walls. The ten thorn stared about them, their glossy, black eyes opened wide. The sound appeared to baffle them.

As the quiet cheer was fading, Jak spotted Broedi pushing through the throng of soldiers, aiming for where Nikalys, Nundle, and Wren stood. A series of nods and whispers rippled through the assembled hillmen the moment they saw him. Broedi, surely aware of the response, ignored it and upon reaching Nikalys, leaned down to speak quietly with him. After a moment, Nikalys pulled back from Broedi, a curious expression on his face, and turned back to peer up at Jak.

A quiet sigh slipped from Jak. This would not be an easy talk. Without taking his eyes from Nikalys, he murmured, “What do you think he’ll say?”

Glancing over, Zecus said, “That you are either mad or a liar. Perhaps both.”

“My coin is on a long series of blank stares paired with stuttering.”

Zecus smiled slightly.

“Was that your reaction?”

“At first, yes.
Then
came the accusations of madness.”

In the streets below, Broedi was speaking with Wren and Nundle now. After a few moments, Broedi called out for the thorn and hillmen to follow him, turned north, and hurried along the base of the walls. Wren and Nundle went with him, leaving Nikalys alone to stare up at Jak again. When Jak pointed to the southern tower, Nikalys nodded and began to make his way there.

With a sigh and a shove, Jak pushed himself away from the inner wall, stood tall, and called out, “To your positions! The show is over!”

The soldiers closest to him turned from the scene below and began relaying his order up and down the line, to the north and south. Jak kept his expression blank despite the wonder he felt watching hundreds of men obey him. Six turns ago, he was trimming olive trees. Now, he was giving orders to soldiers, many of whom were five to ten years his senior. And they were listening.

With Zecus in tow, he strode back across the battlements, returning to his spot beside Sergeant Trell. The sergeant glanced over, his face as calm as a pond on a windless day.

“Nikalys?”

Nodding, Jak said, “Yes.”

“Good. And buhanik?”

Jak stared back, confused.

“Pardon?”

“Thorn, Jak,” replied the sergeant with a small grin. “Did he bring back thorn?”

“Ah,” said Jak. “Yes, he did. Only ten, though.”

“Ten?” said Sergeant Trell, his eyes widening a fraction. His smile grew. “Excellent.”

Jak shared a quick, doubtful look with Zecus before looking back to the sergeant.

“Sergeant? They look like a stiff breeze could blow them over.”

The man chuckled quietly and stared back west, into the gloom and fog.

“Remember you said that, son.”

Nikalys’ voice rang out over the walls.

“Jak!”

Looking to his left, Jak saw his brother stepping from the darkened doorway of the southern tower. Jak lifted a hand, indicating that he should wait where he was. With a nod, Nikalys halted.

“Sergeant? May I—”

“Go,” replied the solider. He leaned back, peered down the bulwark to the waiting Nikalys, and gave a nod of greeting. “And Ketus with you, Jak.”

“Thank you.”

Patting Zecus on the back as he passed, Jak hurried down the torch-lit wall. Glancing east, he noticed the sky had lightened a shade or two. Dawn was near.

Halfway to his waiting brother, Jak reached up to stifle a yawn. While opportunities for sleep had been few of late, even when he managed to lie down for a bit, he rarely awoke refreshed. Ever since his injury, nightmares plagued his sleep. He would awake, his heart pounding, an overwhelming sense of dread filling his chest. He would sit there shivering, an icy chill radiating from deep inside his soul, trying to remember the dream and failing every time. The images faded like pipe smoke on the wind the moment he opened his eyes.

Nikalys was leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed and head down. Jak guessed the constant, furtive glances shot at him by the men on the walls were making him uneasy. As Jak reached the tower’s entryway, Nikalys glanced up, a flicker of relief dashing over his face.

Nikalys nodded and said in a rather formal tone, “Good days ahead, Corporal Isaac.”

Amused by the greeting’s propriety, Jak stopped a few paces away, fixed Nikalys with a steady gaze, and gave a deep bow.

“And good memories behind, sir.”

Standing tall, he added a wink, prompting a tiny smile from Nikalys, one tinted with a healthy amount of brotherly annoyance. Nikalys shook his head, turned, and slipped into the cover of the tower. Jak followed, chuckling to himself.

The tower’s interior was dark, the only light inside coming from the torches outside and through the two open archways. Looking through the southern opening, Jak saw the long line of Reed Men continuing along the wall, all the way to the next tower over. Facing his brother, he found Nikalys slumped against the western wall.

“Hey, Nik.”

Glancing up, Nikalys said, “Hey, Jak.”

Overly formal just a moment ago, both now spoke as if they were sitting in the Isaac family kitchen after a long day in the groves.

Jak stopped a step or two in the doorway and studied his brother. Even in the low light, he could clearly see the bags under Nikalys’ eyes.

“No offense, but you look terrible.”

A tired, lopsided grin slipped over Nikalys’ mouth.

“Negotiating an acceptable agreement between the buhanik and the Titan Tribe was harder than I thought it was going to be.”

“Why?”

“Why?” repeated Nikalys, sounding rather annoyed. “Well, to begin with, one race enslaved the other for a century. So that took some time to overcome.”

Any other time and place, Jak would have had a quick retort for Nikalys’ overly testy response. However, this time, he kept quiet. He needed Nikalys calm and collected, not upset.

After a moment, Nikalys shook his head and reached to rub his eyes.

“Hells, Jak. Sorry. I’m just tired.”

“I understand,” replied Jak. “We all are.”

Nikalys nodded, his fingers still kneading his eyes.

“That we are.”

“At least you got them here. That’s what matters.”

Nikalys sighed, dropped his hand from his face, and said, “Actually, Wren deserves more credit than me. He understands the way thorn think.”

Surprised, Jak said, “So then he behaved himself?”

Nikalys shook his head.

“Gods, no. He was still incredibly rude and obnoxious, but the results speak for themselves. Ten thorn, twenty mages, and almost four hundred warriors.”

Jak tried not to show his disappointment at the small number.

“Only four hundred?”

“Word is still spreading through the Provinces about their new-found freedom. The four hundred here are those who had reached Buhaylunsod before we were ready to leave.”

“Are more coming?”

Nikalys gave a tiny shake of his head.

“Not today.”

With a quick sigh, Jak muttered, “Well, then…”

They still had no idea what sort of numbers they would be facing. The counts brought by scouts varied wildly, estimating the Sudashian force to be between six and seventy thousand. Jak did not understand how there could be such a large discrepancy and prayed the lower numbers were the correct ones. Only twelve thousand soldiers stood on Demetus’ walls.

Nikalys asked, “Any movement out there?”

Shaking his head, Jak said, “No, nothing.” He paused a moment before clarifying, “Well, we haven’t seen anything. That fog is like cheese soup.”

“Heard anything?

“I certainly haven’t,” answered Jak. “And so far, neither has the mongrel.”

Nikalys’ eyebrows drew together.

“Okollu?”

Nodding, Jak said, “Rhohn convinced it to leave those blasted stones and help keep watch through the night. Surprisingly, Broedi agreed to let it out.” Nodding toward the northern doorway, he added. “It’s a few towers that way.”

“‘He,’ Jak,” corrected Nikalys. “Okollu is a ‘he,’ not an ‘it.’ And they are called kur-surus, not mongrels.”

For reasons Jak did not fully understand, Nikalys had treated Okollu with complete respect the moment he met the mongrel.

“Regardless,
he
is to alert us if
he
hears anything.”

Nodding his approval, Nikalys said, “A good plan.”

“Are you sure about that? Gods, Nik. We’re putting our fate in the hands—or is it paws?—of a blasted mongrel!”

Nikalys looked over, his eyebrows arched in disapproval.

Shaking his head, Jak said, “Pardon me. ‘Kur-surus.’ Whatever name I call him by does not change the fact we’re relying on him.”

“Do you believe his story?”

Jak hesitated a moment before answering somewhat reluctantly.

“Well…yes.”

“As do I,” said Nikalys, his voice resolute. “And in this fight, we need any and every ally we can find. Even the ones covered in fur and with jaws like a smith’s vice. Try to set aside your prejudice, Jak, and offer a prayer of thanks that Okollu is not only on our side, but that he’s up on that wall, listening for our
enemy.”

Jak blinked twice, stunned by the short speech and suddenly seeing his brother in a new light. Nikalys was no longer the boy he used to chase through the streets of Yellow Mud or dunk in Lake Hawthorne. Jak shook his head in quiet awe, suddenly very proud of his little brother.