The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (16 page)

“I do not think Adnil is suggesting such a thing, Duke Kyle,” responded Duchess Aleece.

A furrow appeared in the man’s brow, providing a nice channel for the sweat to follow on its way down his nose.

“Then what are you proposing?”

Shifting her gaze to Zecus and the others standing with him, the duchess of the Southlands said, “I believe we have ample evidence that something is happening in the Borderlands. And that Vanson is hiding something.”

Lord Tilas immediately spit, “Again, you have no proof but the—”

Swiveling her head to glare at the baron, Duchess Aleece raised her voice, saying firmly and crisply, “Bless the Gods, Tilas! Shut your mouth and let me finish!”

The baron complied with the duchess’ order, but sat back in his chair, festering.

After a moment, Duchess Aleece continued, her tone tranquil yet again, saying, “Vanson has every right to refuse entry to whomever he wants. I will not dispute that accord.” A smug expression filled Lord Tilas face. “However, the same law also permits any one of us to grant access to the other. Therefore, I propose those of us of like mind reach an agreement.”

Almost immediately, Duchess Adnil asked, “What are your terms, Aleece?”

With a nod to the older duchess, the Southlands sovereign responded, “I will open my borders to the armies of anyone who pledges to fight against what I believe is to be a massive Sudashian army—complete with demons who were once men—openly marching through the Borderlands, unchecked and perhaps even aided by Duke Vanson. A second Demonic War could very well be at our threshold, and unlike our predecessors, I hope to be prepared for whatever is coming.”

Without pause, Duke Rholeb spoke, saying, “Consider the Marshlands open to the Southlands, Aleece.” He glared at Lord Tilas. “I will
not
allow my lands to be overrun by whatever marches east.”

In the time it had taken for a dozen heartbeats to pass, two duchies had apparently formed an alliance against two others. Considering the brevity with which it had happened, Zecus suspected that had been the plan all along.

Duke Kyle looked along the table and declared, “There has not been armed conflict between the duchies in centuries. Please, be reasonable!”

“I believe Aleece has been extremely reasonable, Kyle,” said Duchess Adnil. “So much so, that I formally pledge my support to you both. The Long Coast Duchy will join with the Marshlands and Southlands.”

Duke Kyle stared at Duchess Adnil in shock.

“You cannot be serious, my Lady!”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that Kyle,” replied Duchess Adnil sharply. “I am not advocating that we attack anyone. I simply am of the opinion that Aleece’s wish to be prepared is wise.”

“May the Gods save us,” muttered Duke Kyle. Sweating even more profusely now, the nobleman patted the excess moisture from his head and glanced up and down the length of the table. “Where do the rest of you stand?”

Both Lord Lucius and Lord Osvanni stated their own personal support for the Duchess Aleece proposal, but professed that any formal decision would have to be made by Duke Eli of the Foothills and Duchess Catherine of the Colonial Duchy. Lord Hader insisted the Northlands would refuse to take sides in the dispute while Lady Jonda said she would need more information before she could recommend anything to Duke Thomas.

Zecus listened in quiet awe, the fate of countless lives resting on these proceedings. History was unfolding before him. Glancing at those on his side of the table, he found that Jak, Boah, and Joshmuel looked as worried as he felt. Both Sergeant Trell and Lady Vivienne were stone-faced, their expressions utterly blank.

Once every noble but the Freelands’ duke had voiced his or her intentions, Duchess Adnil asked, “And you, Kyle? What say you? Where do the Freelands fall?” Her tone and frown indicated she already knew what the man’s answer was going to be.

Duke Kyle looked ill. With a quick shake of his head, he muttered, “I refuse to commit Freelands soldiers or resources to prepare for war against another duchy.” Shooting an uneasy glance between the others at the table, he added, “The Freelands remains neutral in this dispute while I personally pray that sanity will prevail and you all come to your blasted senses.”

Zecus frowned. He doubted that would happen. The God of Chaos would not let it.

Lord Tilas rose from his chair and announced formally, “If that is the case, you will all excuse me. I must contact Duke Vanson to warn him of the treachery perpetrated here this morning. Good day, council.”

After one last sneering glare toward Zecus and his companions, the baron strode to the doorway behind the council table, grabbed the handle, and yanked hard. He stepped through the exit, letting the oaken door crash against the stone wall, its crack reverberating through the chamber.

Lord Treswell stood and said in a polite, almost embarrassed, tone, “Excuse me, but my duties require me to inform Duke Everett. Good day to you all.” With a short bow, he turned and hurried out the door as well.

Once the baron was gone, Duke Kyle said, “I suppose this means council is adjourned. If you will excuse me, I must go speak with my advisors.” Looking up to Zecus and the others standing opposite him, he said, “I hope you are pleased with what you have wrought here today.”

Zecus glared at the man, irritated. War was coming one way or the other. This was not his fault.

As the duke pushed his bulky figure from the table, stood, and exited the chamber, Zecus heard Lady Vivienne whisper, “You weak-willed, short-sighted fool of—”

The screech of the wooden chair legs scraping against the marble floor swallowed the remainder of her comment as the rest of the First Council stood and left through the back door. Some went alone, others in pairs with their heads tilted close together, whispering. Duchess Aleece glanced in their direction and gave a short nod before turning and leaving with Duchess Adnil by her side.

Lady Vivienne immediately took three quick, dress-swishing steps forward and turned to face them.

“We will now head back to my villa. There you will wait for me while I attend to a number of things. Understood?”

A frustrated Boah crossed his arms.

“I’m not going anywhere until someone explains to me what in the Nine Hells is going on. What just happened here?”

Unconcealed annoyance flashed across Lady Vivienne’s angled face. “I do not have time for this.” She swept past them, striding toward the double doors at the rear of the chamber. “If you have questions, Boah Rasus, ask the sergeant. Or Jak. They seemed to have figured things out.”

Boah glanced over at Sergeant Trell and Jak with a raised eyebrow. With a lopsided grin, Jak inclined his head.

“Hi. I’m Jak. And this stern-looking fellow beside me is Sergeant Trell.”

Both Boah and Joshmuel eyed the pair. After a moment, Joshmuel asked, “You are Lady Vivienne’s guards, then?”

Shaking his head, Jak said, “Gods, no! I’d rather be a fish in a boat. That was pure show.” He turned his eye to the retreating form of Lady Vivienne, striding between the rows of empty benches. “Convincing, wasn’t she?”

As bewilderment filled Joshmuel and Boah’s faces, Sergeant Trell stepped forward and said, “Gentlemen, you, along with young Zecus, have unwillingly performed the lead roles in the most important play of the last two hundred years of the Oaken Duchies.”

Joshmuel lifted an eyebrow.

“Pardon?”

“You have been played,” said Sergeant Trell, looking at the three Borderlanders. “All of you. They wished your reactions to be as authentic as possible for some of the council’s benefit.” Glancing down the hall, toward Lady Vivienne, he raised his voice and called, “Not everyone can tell a lie with such conviction.”

Halfway to the doors, Lady Vivienne stopped in her tracks. She spun on her heels, stared directly at Sergeant Trell, and gave him a small, tart smile.

“Judge if you like, Sergeant, I care not. Results matter, not how you achieve them.” Her gazed rested on the soldier a moment longer before taking them all in. “Now, please, let us go. Baron Tilas will attempt to gain some measure of revenge for us forcing him to show Vanson’s hand sooner than he wished. It would be unwise for any of you to be in the city past this evening.”

She had already turned halfway around before Zecus called out.

“My Lady!”

Returning her gaze to him, she asked impatiently, “What is it?”

“Do you mean for all of us to go?”

He glanced at his father and Boah, both of whom were growing increasingly confused by the moment.

“Of course,” replied the baroness. “They’d be dead inside a day if they stay here.” She spun on her heels and resumed her hurried pace to the double oaken doors.

Joshmuel turned a critical eye toward Zecus.

“Son? What is this all about?”

Zecus stared at his father, unsure where to begin. The longest, most uncomfortable moment of his life slipped past before Sergeant Trell rescued him.

The soldier stepped forward, put an arm around both Joshmuel and Boah, and said, “It would be my pleasure to explain as we go.” He began to lead them down the aisle. The two Borderlanders went along without protest. “First, Joshmuel, you should know your son is one of the bravest men I have ever met…” The sergeant’s voice trailed off as the three moved to the double doors.

Zecus watched the trio of men move away, grateful that the talk with his father had been postponed, even if only for a short while.

Jak said softly, “Once he knows everything, he’ll understand.”

Unable to take his gaze from his father’s back, Zecus muttered, “I don’t know, Jak. I left our family.” He eyed his friend and sighed. “How do you expect him to understand that?”

Jak stood silent for a second before murmuring, “I don’t know.” He offered a tiny smile. “Blame it on the Gods mucking with our lives.”

“I don’t know if I believe that, Jak.”

“Broedi would not have marched off to the Celestial Empire on a hunch, Zecus.”

Zecus pressed his lips together. The White Lion was convinced some of the Gods and Goddesses were meddling in mortal affairs, trying to arrange things to their liking. If that were the case, it made Zecus angry.

“I am not a peg upon a radigan board,” muttered Zecus. “Nor a placard in a hand of knuckles.”

“Today you were,” said Jak gently. “Only it was nobles playing you, not the Gods.”

Zecus grimaced, his eyes narrowing sharply.

“That is not any better.”

Clapping a hand to Zecus’ shoulder, Jak said, “Try to see the sweet of it, Zecus. Without what happened here today, the only force ready to stand against the God of Chaos would be the couple hundred men on Storm Island, some mages, and us. Now, we have the support of the Southern Arms, Reed Men,
and
Shore Guard.”

Zecus nodded, admitting the outlook for the coming war seemed slightly more hopeful.

“I suppose…”

Jak smacked him hard on the back, saying, “Come on. Let’s go before Lady Vivienne leaves without us. Which, she very well might do.”

Zecus nodded and the two headed down the aisle. After a few steps, Jak reached up, tugged at his collar, and mumbled, “I can’t wait to get these blasted clothes off.”

Nikalys’ stomach rumbled. He did his best to ignore it, and concentrate on the words before him, but the emptiness gnawed at him. Lifting his gaze, he stared blankly at the stone wall of his room, wondering what might be in the kitchens to eat. There was only one way to find out.

Gripping the blue canvas cover, he slammed the book shut, sending a muffled whump through his room. He pushed his chair back from the table and stood, shrugging off the wool blanket and letting it fall to the chair. Wriggling his cold toes to loosen them, he extended his arms outward, flexing his muscles and letting out a small exhalation of air. The breath formed a tiny cloud and drifted away from his face. Watching it dissipate, he shook his head in quiet wonder. He had yet to grow accustomed to seeing his own breath.

A waft of cool air whispered past the back of Nikalys’ neck. He shivered, cursing the persistent draft in his room. The first two weeks here, he had not minded the breeze, but now that they were on the cusp of Winter, the chill was unwelcome. A particularly strong gust of wind blew, whistling more of its cursed iciness inside his room. He looked up, glared at the glass as if it were the window’s fault, and noticed the sky was growing darker. Another storm was on its way.

After stretching, he took a few steps to his bed and picked up his blood father’s sword. He moved to the wooden door in the wall opposite the table, affixing the belt and scabbard around his waist. Halfway to the door, he stopped in the middle of the room, turned, and stared at the desk. The book sat there, taunting him.

Nikalys had promised the commander he was going to have the entire tome completed three days ago, along with the author’s subsequent volume, but both books had sat on his desk for weeks, dusty and unopened. He had only started reading the first book this morning.

Sighing, he hurried back to the table and retrieved it. Bracing the volume in the crux of his arm, he strode across the room and pulled the door open by the simple rope-ring handle. Stopping in the doorway, he peered over his shoulder, stared at the brightly glowing ball sitting on the desk and clearly enunciated, “Jah marel.” The words were ancient aicenai and had taken some practice to get correct.

The light within the magical globe winked out, plunging the room into a gloom fit for dusk. A tiny blur danced before Nikalys’ eyes where he had stared directly at the yellow-white light, obscuring the sphere from his vision.

Stepping into the torch-lit hall, Nikalys shut the door behind him, sending a hollow thud echoing down the stone hallway. As he strode toward the stairwell, he approached the only other door in the tower’s upper hall. Nikalys eyed Jak’s room as he passed, silently wishing his brother was around. Jak was always up for a quick trip to rummage through the larders. He, however, was in Freehaven, most likely having the time of his life.

Upon reaching the stairwell, Nikalys shuffled down the stone steps, his legs limbering up as he went. He slowed at the landing leading to the floor below his and considered going down the hall to Kenders’ room but his guilt about needing to read urged him on without her. With a firm resolve, he plowed ahead, determined to get something to eat, sit in front of one of the fires, and read the entire book grasped in his hand.