The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (15 page)

Taking advantage of the quiet moment, Boah ripped free of Joshmuel’s grip, stepped forward, and called out, “Joshmuel is telling the truth! The last time we saw Zecus, he was in Demetus.” Zecus’ father reached his hand back out in an attempt to restrain Boah, but the brazen Borderlander yanked his arm away. Jabbing a finger at Lord Tilas, Boah barked, “Joshmuel and Zecus might be the most honest men I have ever known. I will
not
stand by while they are called liars, especially by a smug lout of a baron!”

Zecus grimaced.

Leaping from his chair, Lord Tilas rested his hand on the tabletop, leaned forward, and snapped, “Show me respect, you brainless goat-herder, else I will slice your—” Lord Treswell reached out quickly and grabbed Lord Tilas’ arm, interrupting him. The baron ceased his threat and stood motionless, his rage held in check yet still clearly simmering. After a moment, he took his seat and folded his hands, resting them on the table. His knuckles were white.

Duke Rholeb, resplendent in his green and white tunic, slid forward to the edge of his chair, his eyes on Zecus. “Young man, I’d be interested in hearing how you came to be in Demetus. Perhaps you could share that with us how you came to my capital?” Glancing at Lord Tilas, he added sharply, “As well its condition when you were there?”

With a respectful nod, Zecus replied, “Yes, my Lord. Our family was one of the first to head west, to leave the Borderlands.” He glanced at Joshmuel. “Father recognized the threat long before anyone in Drysa. I disagreed with him wanting to run, but now I realize it was the correct choice.”

Joshmuel gave him a small, kind smile.

After a short pause, Zecus faced Duke Rholeb and continued, “When we arrived in your city, my Lord, Father and Boah left, leaving me with my mother, two sisters, and brother. At first, I found your city to be tolerable.”

A flicker of a smile crossed the duke’s face.

Realizing he had insulted Duke Rholeb’s seat of his duchy, Zecus quickly added, “What I mean to say is that it was a good city, but…it was a strange land for us.”

Duke Rholeb gave a brief nod, indicating his understanding. “I take no offense, young man. I find the dust of the Borderlands ‘tolerable’ as well.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

“So,” said the duke. “You arrived in my ‘tolerable’ city. Then what?”

“We found a small room at an inn and stayed there for a short time. I found work and some coin as a day laborer, doing whatever people would pay me to do. Mother and Tiliah looked for work, but we were…out of place. Neither had skills worthy of the city. Jezra and Jerem were simply too young.”

“The little coin we had or made disappeared quickly, along with paying work as more people came from the west. Within weeks, a hunk of bread that had cost two coppers suddenly cost three silver. And it had maggots. In order to eat, we left the inn and moved outside of the city walls to live in the camps. We slept on the ground, without a roof. It was a hard life, my Lord.”

Zecus paused and hazarded a glance at his father. The man looked heartbroken to hear of his family’s suffering.

With a quiet, burning intensity, Duke Rholeb said, “I am very sorry for your hardship, young man. Please know that I did what I could to help your countrymen.” He shot a hard glare at Lord Tilas. “But we were simply
not
prepared for thousands to arrive at our walls.”

The baron stared straight ahead, refusing to meet the duke’s gaze.

Duchess Aleece said, “Where is your family, Zecus? Did you leave them in Demetus?”

Zecus winced inwardly at the question and nodded, saying, “I did, my Lady.”

Duchess Adnil, the sovereign of the Long Coast, lifted an eyebrow and asked, “You left them behind? Why?”

“I was angry, my Lady,” replied Zecus. “Angry about what had happened to my family. Angry at what had happened to my home.” He paused, took a deep breath, ashamed for what he was about to say. “And I was angry at my father for leaving on what I believed to be a fool’s errand. I wanted to
stand
against whatever the evil was. I did not want to run away.” He dropped his head to stare at his absurdly shiny boots. “So, I went home to fight.”

A heavy sort of quiet filled the room briefly before Lord Tilas, in a voice absent any sympathy, asked mockingly, “And at what point in your sad tale were you supposedly captured by the mythical oligurts roaming the Borderlands? Or would you like to retract your claim and save yourself a week in the stockade?”

Zecus’ shame fled in an instant. Snapping his head up, he glared at the baron, his eyes hot.

“You want the
whole
tale? You shall have it, my Lord.”

Zecus relayed everything that happened once leaving Demetus. His journey home to find Drysa nearly deserted, his search for the rumored resistance, how they had found him instead, and the attack by Sudashians mere hours later. How he was knocked cold by the glancing blow of an oligurt’s club, woke up in a dark tent, and carried through an encampment filled with countless oligurts and razorfiends. He included every detail he could to legitimize his story. The pennants flying over the tents. The earthen burrows of the razorfiends. The rotten-sweet smell of men roasting over bonfires.

He took careful time to describe the Sudashians’ leader, a demon-man with horns, blood red eyes, and the unusual scent of wildflowers that wafted from the monster. He told them about the saeljul mage interrupting his interrogation to speak with the demon and the fight that fortuitously broke out a short while later. The demon-man rushed out to put an end to it, at which point the saeljul mage called forth a magical black doorway that he stepped through, disappearing from the tent. Zecus could still remember the desperation he had felt.

“My feet were bound, yet I hopped across the tent, and leapt straight through the flap. I could not know what lay on the other side, but I was willing to take a chance. It was better than what faced me if I remained.”

He glanced along the table to find every lord and lady staring intently at him. Whether or not they believed him, they certainly were intrigued by his tale.

“One moment, I was in the demon’s pavilion, the next I crashed into a wooden beam and collapsed in a pile of straw. I—”

“Enough!” bellowed Lord Tilas. Everyone in the room turned to stare at the wide-eyed baron. “This man is wasting all of our time! Demon-men? Mages with magical doorways to—”

“Quiet!” shouted Duchess Aleece. Her eyes burning as she glared at the man, she said, “
Baron
Tilas, you will hold your tongue until Zecus is finished with his tale else I will see to it that you are the one visiting the stockades for a few days!”

The man stared daggers at the duchess but kept his mouth shut regardless. When it was clear he was going to comply with her order, Duchess Aleece looked back to Zecus.

“Continue, young man.”

Before Zecus could do so, however, Lady Vivienne stepped forward and said, “Actually, my Lady, I might be better able to explain what happened next. It seems the blow to his head was severe enough that he was knocked unconscious. One of my servants found him—bound and injured—in the stables of my estates in Argolles. He was brought to the servants’ quarters where he slept for days on end. Once he awoke and recounted his story, my steward sent a dispatch to me here in Freehaven that included this seemingly outrageous story. It only arrived the day before last turn’s public petitioning and was the reason I requested the hold when I heard their tale.”

She turned and nodded toward Zecus’ father and Boah.

“Their shared name and similar claims seemed implausible. So, I sent for the young man to come to Freehaven as soon as he was able to travel, escorted by my personal guard. They arrived this morning at my city villa as I was preparing to come here today.”

Zecus, along with Jak and Sergeant Trell, gaped at the baroness. Lady Vivienne was lying outright, every word an utter falsehood. Ignoring their stares, the noblewoman pressed on with her yarn.

“I had no time to warn Duchess Aleece, even though she most certainly should have had this information before today’s public hearing. Had the timing been better, perhaps we all could have avoided today’s embarrassment. I apologize to the First Council for my part in the young man’s outburst.”

The baroness delivered the account with such conviction, that had Zecus not lived a different path, he would have believed every word. He was beyond impressed. Her story explained his presence in the Southlands without revealing anything of the Progeny, the Shadow Manes, or the prophecy of Indrida.

A few quiet moments passed before Duchess Adnil offered, “That is quite a tale.” Her eyes locked on Zecus. “Disturbing, if it’s true.” Her concern sounded genuine.

Sitting back in his chair, Lord Tilas crossed his arms and asked, “Are you finished, young man?” He shot a quick frown at Duchess Aleece.

Zecus nodded.

“I am.”

“Good,” said Lord Tilas with a nod. “An excellent story, I admit. Were we at festival, and you a playman, I would award you first prize, but, honestly…oligurts? Razorfiends? Demons? The level of preposterousness is obscene. Not to mention the unsanctioned magic, by an ijul no less! Truly?! You expect us to believe this tale?!”

A voice, nasal and thin, wafted through the chamber.

“I do.”

Zecus’ eyes flicked to Lord Lucius, an olive-skinned man with shaggy, black hair and bushy mustache. The representative of the Foothills Duchy sat forward, leaning his elbow on the table.

“The detail in his story is too rich to be false.”

“Cook the stew long enough and even the toughest meat will be tender,” retorted Lord Tilas. “He’s had turns to concoct his tale!”

Lord Lucius shook his head, his eyes on Zecus, studying him as one would an onion, peeling back the layers one-by-one, looking for any hint of rottenness. After a moment or two, the baron said, “He spoke with such passion earlier. And just now, when he spoke of the Sudashians’ camp…” He trailed off, sat back in his chair with a heavy sigh, and said, “I am sorry, Tilas, but I believe him. Fully.”

“As do I,” agreed Lord Osvanni, the representative of the Colonial Duchy. He turned to glare at Lord Tilas. “Which means I
don’t
believe you, Tilas.”

Zecus scanned the rest of the council, hoping to find more support. Duchess Aleece and Duchess Adnil both appeared quite pleased with the announcements made by the two barons. A quick glance at Duke Rholeb confirmed that he, too, seemed quite satisfied. Duke Kyle, however, looked very nervous, a thin sheen of sweat clearly visible on his brow.

The Freeland’s duke reached up to wipe his forehead and asked, “Hader? Jonda? What say you?”

The black-and-gold-clad Baron Hader waved a dismissive hand.

“I will take the word of a nobleman over that of any citizen. I am tired of wasting time on this. Borderlands issues affect the Northlands not.”

Zecus frowned.

“And you baroness?” asked Duke Kyle, turning to stare at the Red Peaks’ representative.

Lady Jonda sat still for a long moment, her hand caressing her chin as she stared hard at Zecus. After a few moments, she said, “I do not know, my Lord. I was inclined to believe Tilas before, but I am not so sure now. Talk of demons is of particular concern to the Red Peaks.”

“Oh, please,” snapped Lord Tilas. “I would bet coin they only added that falsehood to sway you, Jonda!” The man sounded desperate.

With a shrug of her shoulders, Lady Jonda conceded, “Perhaps, but the risk is too substantial to dismiss outright.”

Tossing his hands up in frustration, Lord Tilas exclaimed, “This is madness!”

Duke Kyle gently suggested, “Perhaps Vanson would consider an investigation into the claims? A small joint force by a few of—”

Lord Tilas slammed the table with his fist, sending a rattling boom throughout the chamber.

“No! He will not accept such an intrusion! You have no right! Our lands are as sovereign as yours!”

“Are you afraid of what might be found?” asked Duchess Aleece innocently.

Lord Tilas glared at her, stewing like a covered pot resting over a roaring fire.

“Let me be
perfectly
clear: should a single soldier of
any
duchy—any!—cross into the Borderlands, Duke Vanson will declare war on the offending lord or lady!”

He immediately shifted his gaze to a visibly uncomfortable Lord Treswell. The pair’s eyes met for only a moment before the Great Lake’s representative sighed and said reluctantly, “I have been instructed by Duke Everett that should there be such a conflict, then he will side with Duke Vanson.”

Zecus shot a quick glance to Jak and Sergeant Trell, both of whom were from the Great Lakes Duchy. The pair wore bitter, angry expressions.

Other than the muffled sounds of a bustling city outside, the council chamber was deathly silent.

Duke Kyle broke the quiet, saying softly, “Such an action would mean civil war, Tilas. Are you sure you are speaking with Vanson’s authority?”

“I most assuredly am, my Lord,” replied Lord Tilas confidently. “He was incensed to hear of the accusations from last turn. He is prepared to withdraw the Borderlands from the Oaken Duchies if need be.” Lord Tilas glared at Lord Treswell, whipping the man with his eyes alone. “I believe Duke Everett has said the same, am I correct, Treswell?”

The baron nodded, muttering, “My liege lord’s loyalty lies with his friend and neighbor, Duke Vanson.” The words were spoken in a wooden, emotionless manner, as if he were reciting something from memory.

Again, a tense, suffocating quiet swelled within the chamber. Zecus shook his head. The nation was falling apart before his eyes.

Duchess Aleece’s clear voice cut through the silence.

“It would seem that we are at an impasse, then. We have two petitioners standing before us, requesting the help of the council. Yet the ruling lord of the duchy in question insists help is not necessary. What to do?”

As if on cue, Duchess Adnil answered, “According to First Council procedure, we must rule on the petition one way or another.” Glancing up and down the table, she asked, “What say everyone?”

Duke Kyle nervously interjected, “We cannot provoke a civil war, my Lady.”