The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (108 page)

Twenty paces from the Sovereign’s Chair, Gamin halted and gave a short bow. “My Lord.” He angled to face Duchess Aleece, sitting in what traditionally was the chair reserved for Rholeb’s wife. “My Lady.”

After both sovereigns returned the greeting, the duchess turned to the duke and asked, “May I speak first, Rholeb?”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, the duke said, “Speak whenever you like, Aleece. I have little use for formality—” He cut off as the tone of the Drept’s howls shifted.

The cries of Grif Rol took on a new harmony, haunting and discordant. Those in the hall stared to the windows and listened quietly. While Broedi thought the strange chorus uniquely beautiful, most in the room wore uneasy frowns.

Seeing their discomfort, Broedi reached for Strands of Air, knitted them into a quick Weave, and directed it toward one of the windows. Before the pattern had settled over an open pane, Khin was duplicating his effort. Realizing what they were doing, Nundle helped seal the openings as well. Wren, while wholly capable of touching Air, sat and watched. Kenders did not aid either. She did not even lift her gaze from the floor.

Within moments, the kur-surus’ howls cut off. The gentle evening breeze still wafted through the windows, but the Weaves prevented any sound from passing into the Duke’s Hall.

Duke Rholeb stared to the north wall.

“Are they done?”

“No, my Lord,” rumbled Broedi. He sat upright, his chair groaning in protest at the shift in weight. “Some of us simply put measures in place to quiet their calls. I hope you do not mind the liberty we took.”

“Mind?” asked Duke Rholeb. His eyebrows arched high. “I am wondering why in the Nine Hells you didn’t do that earlier.”

Broedi started to smile when he heard a soft click at the back of the hall. Turning in his chair, he watched the massive, dual pinewood doors swing open. The evening breeze, now offered a new outlet, picked up, tickling the room’s torches. The wind’s direction outside must have shifted, for the surge of air rushing through the windows brought with it the funeral pyres’ stench. The thousands of oligurt corpses had been stacked in enormous piles west of the city and were now alight. They had been burning for over a day now, their morbid glow lighting up the marshes at night.

Glancing about the room, Broedi spotted a few queasy expressions and considered modifying the Weaves to keep the air out, but he restrained himself. They should get used to the odor.

Looking back to the doors, Broedi was surprised to see two figures moving through the entryway. While he had only requested the presence of one, he saw no harm in both being here.

Alumon, the only member of the four Mataan to come to Demetus’ aid, shuffled into the hall, studying the room with its strange, reflective, black eyes, the draft blowing through the door rustling its grassy hair. Accompanying the buhanik
was Fingard, Talulot’s former aki-mahet slave. While the pair strode through the hall side-by-side as equals, a servant stepped inside and shut the doors.

Halting beside Gamin, Fingard and Alumon faced the two nobles.

“Greetings, friend of Light-From-The-West,” whistled the buhanik. “I am called Alumon. May the sun shine on your children.”

This was the first time either noble had met with the buhanik. The chaos both during and after the Battle of the Sandwalls—as people were already calling it—had prevented any sort of formal introductions. Both the duke and duchess conducted themselves with appropriate aplomb, yet Broedi detected a hint of childlike awe in their expressions. Duke Rholeb rose from his chair, stepped forward, and offered a formal bow.

“Welcome to my hall, Alumon. I am in your debt for the aid you and your kind lent. Please accept my condolences for your losses.”

Four of the ten buhanik—including their guide, Talulot—had perished in the battle, suffering irreparable harm from the Desert Fire mages’ flames and lightning.

Alumon gently swayed side to side, its bark-like skin creaking quietly.

“Those who wilted knew the danger of facing the great shadow.”

“And their sacrifice will not be forgotten,” said Duke Rholeb. He shifted his gaze to Fingard. “Nor will those made by your tribe. Their deeds will live forever in song and word. Thank you.”

Fingard raised his hands, clasped them before his chest, and dipped his head.

“Your lordship is most gracious.”

Duke Rholeb turned to his left and said, “May I present Duchess Aleece?”

As the duchess rose from her seat also to thank Fingard and Alumon, Broedi looked over to Khin. The aicenai’s gaze was quickly shifting between the two new arrivals and Gamin. Broedi would have liked to know what he was seeing.

Duchess Aleece was in the midst of offering her condolences when Alumon abruptly swiveled away from her, turning to stare at Kenders and Sabine. The duchess trailed off as Alumon peered at the pair, its dry grassy hair rustling in the breeze. After a long, drawn out moment, he whistled, “You are like Light-From-The-West, are you not?”

Broedi sat forward. This was one of the reasons he had asked Alumon to come today.

Nodding, Kenders said, “I am his sister.”

The buhanik
tilted its head, shifting its gaze to Sabine.

“I was speaking of you both.”

Sabine held the buhanik’s steady, inquisitive gaze and remained quiet.

Alumon studied the pair in complete silence, its glossy black eyes fixed on them both. After several moments, Kenders shifted nervously in her chair. Duke Rholeb cleared his throat as though he was preparing to speak, but Broedi lifted a quick hand, indicating that the duke remain quiet. Finally, as Broedi had hoped, Alumon raised its left, branch-like hand and closed its eyes.

Everyone remained impossibly quiet as Alumon swayed side-to-side, its arm outstretched. Eventually, the buhanik stopped moving, dropped its arm, and opened its eyes. With its stare fixed squarely on Kenders, it whistled, “You shine bright. As bright as Light-From-The-West.” It twisted around to face Nikalys. “Yet whereas he glows like a thousand suns—” it turned back to Kenders “—you shine like a thousand rainbows after the storm.”

Kenders stared up at the buhanik with a look of deep bewilderment. For his part, Broedi was intrigued.

Turning its gaze to Sabine, Alumon whistled, “Your light is faint. Like a half moon on a foggy night.” It paused, tilted its head, and added, “Noteworthy.”

Broedi allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. Sabine’s heritage was confirmed in his mind.

Kenders glanced at Sabine before leaning forward in her chair.

“I don’t understand. I…shine?”

“You do, Colors-From-The-West,” whistled Alumon. “Brightly. Our lore only speaks of Light-From-The-West. You and Moon-In-The-Clouds are unexpected. The Enlightened Oracle never spoke of you.”

Duchess Aleece spoke up, saying, “And that brings us to why we are here this evening.” She moved to her chair, sat down, and turned her gaze upon Broedi. Her eyes alight with curiosity, she said, “The hall is yours, Broedi.”

Chairs creaked as everyone shifted to stare at him.

When he had pulled the duchess aside earlier and asked that she arrange this assembly, she had of course inquired as to its purpose. All he had shared was it had something to do with the Goddess Indrida.

With a polite nod, Broedi rumbled, “Thank you, my Lady.” Pushing himself from his chair, he looked to those still standing and said, “Those of you who can, please, sit. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Duke Rholeb returned to resting in the Sovereign’s Chair while both Fingard and Gamin selected an empty seat. Alumon remained standing, as did Khin.

Wanting a clear view of the room, Broedi moved to stand beside Nikalys. Khin was against the opposite wall, watching in more ways than one. Crossing his thick arms over his chest, Broedi fixed his gaze on the youngest Isaac sibling.

“Kenders, share with us what happened when you stopped the fibríaal, please.”

Kenders blinked, obviously surprised by the request. She glanced around the room, her gaze lingering on Gamin, the new arrivals, and the duke.

“Are you sure?”

She was wary and rightfully so. Not everyone here knew of Indrida’s involvement.

Broedi nodded once, rumbling, “I am.”

Kenders hesitated a moment before saying, “If you think it best.”

Sitting a little taller in her chair, she began to recount everything that had occurred the moment she set her foot upon the tower stairs. When she reached her encounter with the unusual woman, Broedi looked to Khin and waited. The aicenai’s gaze was locked on Gamin and remained so as Kenders described the woman’s appearance. A moment after she mentioned the woman’s colorful dress, Khin looked to Broedi and shook his head once.

A slight frown spread over Broedi’s face. He had hoped for more. Shifting his stare to Gamin, he nibbled on the inside of his lip while waiting for Kenders to complete her story.

“Honestly,” said Kenders. “I have started to wonder if I imagined it. Perhaps I passed out for a moment and dreamed her.”

“She was not imagined,” rumbled Broedi, finally pulling his gaze from Gamin. “Nor did she come from a dream.”

Looking to him, Kenders said, “How can you be sure? Broedi, I’m the
only
one who saw her.”

“Two days ago, atop that tower, yes,” said the hillman. “But others have seen her before then.”

“Who?” asked Jak.

Turning to Alumon, Broedi rumbled, “In the lore of the Mataan, how is Indrida described?”

“‘A creature, woman and yet not, bathed in the light of a thousand suns, draped in the colors of a thousand flowers.’”

Broedi let the buhanik’s words settle, wondering how long it would take before someone made the connection. He did not have to wait long.

“Hold a moment,” mumbled Kenders. With a look of complete incredulity, she asked, “Are you saying it was
Indrida
on the tower?”

Broedi nodded.

“I believe so.”

A moment of quiet filled the room.

“So…” muttered Jak. “Does that mean the Gods are helping us now?”

“Only if an Assembly has been formed,” said Tobias. “And if that had happened, I would have expected they might notify us somehow.”

“A note would have been nice,” muttered Wren. “Something simple, like ‘To those of you trying to stop the God of Chaos from ripping apart the world, we have decided to lend aid.’”

“I agree,” rumbled Broedi. “Had an Assembly been formed, we would have known it. The Celystiela involved would not need to meet in secret atop a tower in the midst of a battle. They would be able to aid openly.”

“Then, if there’s no Assembly,” began Jak. “How do you explain Indrida? Both on the tower, and her visit to the thorn all those years ago? Did Nelnora lie to you? Again?”

A long sigh slipped from Broedi’s lips.

“It is possible. Likely, even. But I do not know for sure.”

Sabine said, “None of that matters. Assembly or not, Indrida was on that tower. Which leads to the only question we should be asking: Why? Indrida has now inserted herself twice to help shape events to her liking. Why?”

Broedi withheld a slight smile. It was an excellent question.

The room remained silent as everyone waited for someone else to offer a prospective answer. Broedi would be surprised if any of them could. He had been trying since leaving Buhaylunsod and had yet to come to a sensible conclusion. What he needed was more information. Turning to the man he hoped could provide it, he rumbled, “Gamin?”

The mage was sitting in his chair, his head tilted down with chin in hand, gazing at the floor.

“Yes?”

“When Kenders shared what she saw on the tower, what did you say to her?”

Gamin dropped his hand into his lap and looked up. His gaze darted to Kenders, back to Broedi, and then—oddly enough—to Jak.

“Ah…I do not remember.”

Sitting forward in her chair, Kenders twisted around to face the man.

“I do. You said you believed me.”

Gamin stared at the young woman, a slight frown on his face.

“I don’t recall saying that.”

“Then let me refresh your memory,” said Tobias. “Khin said, ‘I believe you.’ Then you—with a rather strange look in your eye, I might add—said, ‘As do I.’”

Gamin’s gaze shot to Tobias before returning—again—to Jak.

Sitting forward in her chair, Duchess Aleece spoke, her tone crisp and direct.

“Gamin, is there something you are not sharing with us?”

The mage’s posture was rigid, the small muscles in his cheeks twitching as he worked his jaw.

“Perhaps.”

“Either there is or there is not,” replied the duchess.

Gamin stared at the noblewoman and, after a moment, nodded once, mumbling, “There is.” His tense countenance cracked and his shoulders slumped. “I am sorry, but…” He trailed off, shifted his gaze to Jak, and asked, “Your father enjoyed telling some good stories, did he not?”

While the mage’s question took them all by surprise, Broedi sensed there was a point to it.

It took Jak a moment or two before he responded with a bewildered, “Pardon?”

“Thad’s tales. They were grand, weren’t they? I told him a number of times that he should leave Claw and be a playman. He would have made good coin at it. I doubt Marie would have much enjoyed the life, though.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Jak.

Gamin paused a moment, glancing between the three Isaac siblings.

“You know your parents met in Fernsford, yes?”

“Of course,” said Kenders. “Father was a smith’s apprentice. Mother was a tailor.”

Nodding, Gamin said, “Yes, and when they married, they lived across the way from my family’s bakery, in the smithy with Master Claude.”

“Who?” asked Jak.

“The blacksmith who apprenticed Thad,” said Gamin. “Your parent’s never mentioned him?”

“Not to me,” said Jak. He glanced at his siblings for confirmation and received quick shakes of the head from both. Nikalys had finally stopped staring at the floor, his gaze now locked on their parent’s friend.

A sorrowful expression took root on Gamin’s face as he muttered, “After what happened, I’m not surprised…” He trailed off and went silent, his eyes glazing over.