The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (84 page)

“If you expected you were being manipulated, why did you still come?” asked Tobias.

“I was curious.”

The tomble’s eyebrows lifted high.

“You…were curious?”

“My order values knowledge above all else. I needed to know what was to happen next. So, I hid the Suštinata again, and came to Storm Island. Only many years later, when I was confident of your mission here, did I smuggle the box into the enclave.”

The White Lions went silent and returned to staring at the box.

In a quiet, somewhat skeptical voice, Tobias asked, “And the Suštinata of Stone is inside?” He glanced around the battlements. “Does that mean there are Strands of Stone all over right now?”

“Not yet,” answered Khin, bending to a knee to place the small chest on the battlements. Looking up to the pair, he added, “But that is the reason I asked you here.”

Unlatching the lid’s hook, he opened the box for the first time in fifty-eight years. Inside the box’s hammered gold interior rested a speckled stone, its surface flecked with every shade of brown and tan imaginable. All around him, countless thick, robust Strands filled the air, their color matching those of the specks on the Suštinata. There were so many of them hovering about the battlements that the wind seemed to stop as if blocked by the magic strings’ presence. Khin had experienced this countless times before, yet still the power within the Suštinata staggered him.

Somewhere to the northeast, he felt a mind consumed by sudden panic. It was like a beacon of light on a dark night, a beacon with which Khin was familiar. Lady Vivienne was alarmed, visions of the enclave under attack dancing through her mind. In moments, she was up and rushing closer, thinking through protocols for responses to assaults.

“We should hurry,” said Khin, lifting his gaze to Broedi. “Remove the stone for me, please. It is much heavier than it looks.” As Broedi knelt to the ground and reached toward the box, Khin added, “And remember: a portion of the God of Fear is contained within. Contact can be unpleasant.”

Broedi paused a moment, glanced between Khin’s face and the stone, and then resumed reaching for the Suštinata. His finger barely grazed its surface when an expression of pure terror washed over his face. With a sharp, un-Broedi-like curse, he withdrew his hand and glared at the brown rock.

Khin had expected some unease from the typically stoic hillman, but nothing as intense as this. The Sustinata’s aura was growing stronger, then. And that worried Khin.

“Do you think you can try again?”

Broedi stared at him, reluctance in his eyes, and rumbled, “I will try.” With a determined grunt, he attempted the maneuver again and wrapped his large fingers around the stone. Gripping the Suštinata
,
he—with great effort—managed to lift the small stone and place it on the battlements. The moment he released it, he let out a relieved sigh.

Holding out his hand, Khin asked, “Give me the other Suštinata.”

Broedi reached into his pocket, withdrew the rich leather pouch containing the stone, and handed it to Khin.

Tobias said, “You said to never open that again.”

“I will be brief.”

Positioning the pouch over the box, Khin turned it upside down and—being careful not to touch the stone—shook the Suštinata free. The glossy black stone slipped from the sack and tumbled into the box, rattling around the gold plating inside.

A small gasp slipped from Tobias. Somewhere to the north, still within the bounds of the enclave, Khin felt another burst of panic as another mind reeled in shock. Khin assumed it was Nundle, also surprised by the surge of Void.

He waited a moment before continuing, keeping a careful eye on the Strands of Stone, wondering if there would be some reaction now that the second Suštinata was nearby and free. There was not. He hoped that was a good thing and, looking up to Tobias to catch the tomble’s reaction, he snapped the lid shut with a sharp crack.

Tobias asked, “Where’d they go?” The tomble was staring around him. “I don’t understand, I can’t even feel a hint—” He cut off, his gaze locking on the wooden box. “What is that thing?”

Khin breathed a small sigh of relief. Perhaps it worked for them all.

“This,” began Khin, “Is a chest my nine had crafted ages ago.” Opening the lid—again eliciting a sharp gasp from Tobias—he pointed to the hammered gold lining the chest’s interior. “Very early in our studies, we learned that gold masked the Strands emitted by the Suštinata na Kamen. Why that was, we never could determine. But it did not matter. It silenced not only the Strands of Stone, but the other properties of the Suštinata as well. Without this box, I am incapable of carrying the stone with me.”

Holding up the nobleman’s pouch, he said, “When I saw this in the Marshlands, I wondered how it partially concealed the Suštinata na Ulos.” Turning it inside out, he revealed an interior lined with gold-laced thread. “An imperfect carrier, but certainly better than leaving it exposed.”

Lady Vivienne’s voice shot through the air.

“What in the Nine Hells are you doing?!”

Looking below, Khin saw the baroness glaring up at them. The images rushing through her mind were expectedly unpleasant.

Tobias said, “I’ll go talk to her.”

“That might be best,” rumbled Broedi. As Tobias began to hobble across the battlements, the hillman looked back to Khin and asked, “You know what this means, yes?”

Khin nodded slowly.

“We need another chest.”

Demetus was a city on the edge of a precipice, its citizenry ready to tumble into the abyss of panic at any moment. People milled all about Kenders, wandering the flagstone streets, their shoulders taut and fists clenched. Anxious eyes darted about beneath brows covered with more furrows than a freshly tilled garden. Every face—man, woman, and child—was drawn taut. Whether from worry or hunger, Kenders could not tell.

The beds of the horse carts that rattled past her and the Alsher women were either a quarter-full or entirely empty. The few wagons with goods carried more armed men than crates or sacks, the hired guards eyeing the crowd warily with hands on hilts. A close examination of the crowd revealed nearly everyone carrying some type of weapon. A few had swords and scabbards hanging from their waist while others at least had a sheathed dagger on their belt or boot. Most people, however, lugged about any simple, blunt object, grasped in a white-knuckled hand or jammed in the crook of their arm. One thin Marshlander woman walked past Kenders while wielding a wooden candlestick as if it were a club.

A steady, apprehensive hum of voices droned through the streets. The snippets of conversation she caught provided her a spotty, broken view of what was happening in and around the city. Rumors of the Sudashian invasion dominated the chatter. Twice, she heard someone mention recent sightings of oligurt scouts in the marshy forests west of the city. Both times, the information brought a frown to her face. If there were already scouts near, the bulk of the force could not be far away.

The sprawling Marshlands’ capital dwarfed the only other cities Kenders had visited in her life, Fallsbottom and Fernsford. Unlike those two mazes, the streets here were long and straight, allowing Kenders to look left and right at every intersection. The mass of people in both directions amazed her.

Demetus’ buildings—made of mud-bricks and evergreen logs—were shorter than she had expected. Most were three or four stories with flat roofs sitting well below the tops of the outer walls. Skinny, wood-railed bridges connected the rooftops, spanning the streets. The heavy odor of filth and waste filled the air, coating her tongue and throat with each breath.

They had only just made it into the city, having tried to pass through three different gates. At each one, the green-and-white-clad Reed Men refused them entry. It seemed that Duke Rholeb had declared no one be permitted into the overcrowded city. After being turned away the third time, Kenders reluctantly used another few, small Weaves of Will to get past. Ever since, she had kept an anxious eye on the crowd, praying that she would not spot Constable gray.

By any measure, what she was doing was foolish. She knew she should turn around, return to the camp, and wait for the others. If her brothers were here, they most likely would be dragging her from the city, chastising her all the way back to Storm Island.

However, they were not here. She was. And she was not leaving until what remained of Zecus’ family was with her.

Kenders peered to her left where Tiliah and Debrah were riding Goshen. Tiliah’s worried expression matched that of the crowds, but Debrah looked happy, newly buoyed by a little cheese, some fresh water, and a lot of hope.

Catching their eye, Kenders asked, “So, where are the stockades exactly?”

Debrah lifted her arm and pointed to the southwest.

“That way. In Tirnu’s District.”

Kenders looked in the direction indicated. Rising over the nearby buildings was a skinny, sienna-red tower, thrice as tall as any other structure.

“Tirnu’s District? Why is it called that?”

“Each of the eight districts is named after a God or Goddess,” said Debrah. “Duryn’s District has the tradesmen and crafters. Chalchalu’s District has the great markets and wealthy merchants. At least it did when we arrived. Most of the markets are closed now.”

Kenders’ eyebrows drew together in sudden concern. Duryn was the Great Artisan, the God of Industry and Crafters. Chalchalu was the Filler of Purses, the God of Commerce and wealth. She hoped that was coincidence.

Turning to Debrah, she asked, “What else might be in Tirnu’s District? Besides the stockades?”

Tiliah answered, giving her a level stare while saying, “Exactly what you would expect for something named after Tirnu.”

Kenders heart sunk.

“Such as?”

“The Marshal House,” answered Debrah.

“And the Reed Steeple,” added Tiliah.

“Reed Steeple?”

Tiliah nodded to the southwest and said, “The giant tower there?”

Kenders turned to eye the spire, a frown upon her face. She recognized what a Marshal house was, a place where criminals were tried before a panel of three marshals. Without a doubt, the building would be surrounded with guards and soldiers. The Reed Steeple was a mystery to her, even though she had a good guess what it was.

“And what exactly is at the Reed Steeple?”

Tiliah answered, “The Reed Men’s command post and training grounds.”

Kenders shut her eyes tight and drew in a long, deep breath. Apparently, anything to do with law and order was there, in the district named after Tirnu, the Ruler of Rules. Exhaling, she opened her eyes and kept staring to the southwest. She did not want to make eye contact with the Alshers.

“Tiliah, might Tirnu’s District also be where the people Tobias was concerned about have their office?”

She did not want to say ‘Constables’ aloud. Tiliah, however, knew exactly what she meant.

“Two streets east of the stockades, next to the Marshal House.”

Sighing, Kenders turned to stare back at Tiliah.

“Truly?”

Tiliah nodded once, her springy black hair bouncing.

“Will that be a problem?”

Kenders shook her head, muttering, “No. Not at all.” Her voice lacked conviction and she knew it.

Debrah, who had been following their conversation closely with an ever increasing confused expression on her face, asked, “Who is Tobias?”

Kenders glanced at Tiliah and shook her head. Now was not the time. Instead of giving an answer, Kenders said, “This way,” and directed Smoke down a less crowded alley, heading toward the Reed Steeple. Smoke’s hooves stopped clopping as they moved from flagstone to dirt.

As Tiliah turned Goshen to follow, Kenders heard her say, “Don’t worry, Mother. We’ll explain everything later.”

Kenders stared down the alleyway, a frown on her face. She had leapt without looking again. Reaching up, she rubbed her eyes, wondering if she should turn around and wait for Tobias this evening. Dropping her hand back to the reins, she looked ahead and saw a wide street awaiting them. The Reed Steeple loomed over them, ahead and to the left. If she was going to turn around, now was the time.

From behind, Debrah asked, “What exactly is your plan?”

Kenders winced and remained quiet. She could not share her plan because she did not have one.

Tiliah suggested quietly, “Perhaps we should just wait for everyone to come back later?”

Kenders started to turn around and was about to agree with Tiliah when she caught Debrah’s hopeful stare. In an instant, Kenders made a complete reversal and said, “No. We are too close to turn back. We are getting Jerem and Jezra out of the stockades.”

Tiliah gave her a look that reminded her of Zecus.

“If you aren’t careful, Kenders, you might be joining them in there.”

Kenders eyes narrowed.

“That is one thing that will
not
happen.”

The three women rode beneath the final wooden bridge and exited the alleyway onto another main street. The horses’ hooves clacked on flagstone briefly before Kenders pulled Smoke’s reins to halt the horse.

Tiliah stopped Goshen beside her, lifted an arm, and pointed across the crowded street to their left.

“There.”

A twenty-five-foot-tall fence of pine tree trunks lined the street for two-hundred paces. Bored-looking soldiers stood along it, one every twenty steps or so. A three-story, mud-brick building rested at the midpoint of the fence, cattycorner from her. The Reed Steeple was further down the street, the pyramid-topped sienna tower reaching high into the late afternoon sky. A large, rectangular building, filled with sweeping arched windows and doors, sat beside it. Many dozens more Reed Men stood outside.

“Move, outlanders!”

Looking down, Kenders found an impatient-looking woman glaring up at her and the Alshers. An empty reed basket sat atop her head, held in place with one arm. Using the other, the woman pointed at the alley behind them.

“You and your horses are blocking the way,” said the woman. “Move!”

Kenders looked over her shoulder and realized that they were indeed blocking the alleyway. Facing forward, she laid the reins against Smoke’s neck to direct the horse to the left.