The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (99 page)

Nundle spun around to stare at the hillmen behind, tilting his head back to meet their eyes. He could not see past the first few rows, but he knew four hundred stood before him. All of whom were watching him, waiting for direction.

Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, in as authoritative tone he could manage, he shouted, “Listen! I need you to follow me!” His voice cracked, an event that might have embarrassed him had his words carried beyond the first dozen hillmen. The battle outside and the remnant thudding drowned out his high-pitched voice.

He was about to try again when one of the bald hillmen standing before him faced the group and boomed, “Kutojataka, otelu jopa olen ryhmisa!” He had red tattoos on his cheeks that reminded Nundle of a deer. As he shouted, it almost looked like the deer was leaping through the air.

In awe of the hillman’s thunderous voice, Nundle stared upward.

“What did you say?”

Looking down to him, the hillman rumbled, “That we are to follow the words of the tiny man. Tell me what must be done.”

Grateful for the help, Nundle nodded and said, “All of you are to follow me—” he spun around and pointed to the dark entryway at the base of a nearby tower “—through there. The mages first, followed by the warriors. When we get to the top, the mages are to spread out to the towers—one to each—introduce themselves to the people dressed in black, and tell them how to counter the thorn’s—ah, the buhanik’s attack!”

“Understood, tiny man,” rumbled the red-tattooed hillman. He began to turn when Nundle held up a hand, stopping him.

“My name is Nundle.”

A slight smile graced the hillman’s lips.

“I am Ranoteemu Petrikallio.”

“Well met, Rano…tea…” He trailed off, shook his head once, and said, “Rano will have to do.” He nodded to the group of hillmen. “Tell them now. Oh, and stay beside me. I might need your voice again.”

Rano nodded, turned, and relayed Nundle’s orders in his native tongue. In an attempt to get a head start, Nundle began walking to the bastion tower. Halfway there, he glanced over his shoulder to see the hillmen warriors and mages following, their long legs quickly making up ground on him.

Ducking into the darkened doorway, he ran up the stairs as fast as he could but had only made it a half-dozen steps when Rano scooped him up with one arm. Nundle was about to protest being ported like a sack of tubers when the alternative flashed through his mind. Four-hundred, heavy hillmen were rushing up the stairwell, their large, booted feet pounding against the same steps upon which he had just been standing. His objection died on his lips.

As they reached the first landing, Nundle peered up the stairwell and at the two doorways above. The sounds of battle roared louder with each jarring step Rano took. Bouncing along, tucked tightly under Rano’s arm, Nundle pointed in the direction of the southernmost door of the bastion. The hillman followed his instructions and burst from the dark tower, rushing straight into organized chaos.

All along the wall, longlegs were shouting, pointing and firing arrows. From below, oligurts chanted, mongrels howled.

Nundle watched a volley of arrows fly from the walls to soar high into the air and froze, his eyes going wide. Dozens of boulders were hurtling toward the walls, one the size of his home in Deepwell. The enormous rock tumbled through the air, heading straight for the stretch of wall where Rano stood. Still clasped under the hillman’s arm, Nundle reached out for as many Strands of Air as he could, hoping he might somehow cushion the blow. He had only managed to grasp a handful when the massive stone halted its advance and toppled to the ground, surely crushing a number of Sudashians in the process.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Nundle muttered, “Oh, thank the Gods…” He should be thanking whichever mage knocked the boulder from the sky, but a quiet word of gratitude to the Gods and Goddesses would have to suffice for now.

Staring back to the other rocks careening toward the city, a frustrated frown spread over his face. Weaves of Stone were surely responsible, but Nundle was deaf to the brown Strands.

Rano and Nundle moved further onto the battlements, allowing the trailing hillmen to pour from the tower. A great cheer arose from the back lines of soldiers.

Twisting around, Nundle shouted, “You can put me down now!”

Rano complied, lowering him to the stone.

The moment his feet touched the ramparts Nundle spun around, stared up at the hillman, and screamed, “Half of the mages go south—” he pointed down the wall—“and half to the north!” He pointed behind the crowd of hillmen, back to the doorway from which they had emerged. “They are to focus on undoing the Sudashians’ magic. Defend, not attack! And to be ready for Broedi’s signal!”

Rano nodded, turned, and bellowed, “Pulet magian kattaja menna pohiseen, poli etelaan! Polustaa! Al rahd!”

Five Titan Tribe mages immediately rushed past Nundle, lumbering south with surprising swiftness. The remaining five began pushing back through the warriors, making their way north. Nundle watched them for a brief moment, wishing them silent luck, and then motioned to Rano.

“Follow me!”

He turned and hurried south, stealing quick glances west as he ran, looking through the gaps in the battlements. Occasionally, he spotted a boulder or two flying toward the wall. He hoped none would breach their defenses. Or already had.

Nundle’s detachment passed through another tower, prompting more cheers from duchy soldiers. Apparently the sight of four hundred hillmen warriors wielding massive, bladed weapons provided a boost to morale. Peering down the length of the wall, Nundle spotted Commander Aiden halfway to the next bastion, standing still as a statue, his arms crossed over his Shadow Mane’s tunic and his eyes fixed westward.

Sprinting the remaining distance, Nundle scampered to the older longleg, calling out, “Commander!
Commander
!”

It was not until Nundle was a dozen paces away that Commander Aiden heard the cries and swiveled his head toward them, his steely gaze running over Nundle and the long line of hillmen trailing him. Without batting an eye, the commander turned toward them. If he was surprised to see four-hundred hillmen on Demetus’ walls, he did not show it.

“I’ll take them from here!” Shifting his gaze to Rano, he barked, “Name?”

“Ranoteemu Petrikallio.”

Nodding once, Commander Aiden said, “Right. Rano it is.” His gaze shifted to the massive glaive gripped in Rano’s hand. “You good with that?”

Rano rumbled, “I can take the head off a karju in one stroke.” He nodded to the warriors behind him. “We all can.”

As Commander Aiden’s gaze flicked to the other hillmen, the soldier said, “I have no idea what a karju is.”

“It is like a boar,” said Rano. “But four times the size. And with five tusks.”

“Sounds ugly,” said the commander. “Now, I want your group to stretch out in—” He stopped and glanced down at Nundle. “Why are you still here?” He pointed south. “Nathan is two towers over and a mage short! Go!”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Nundle rushed away, leaving the commander and hillmen behind. Staring ahead, he saw two Shadow Mane mages standing atop the next tower, their black uniforms like a pair of silhouettes against the pinkish-gray, dawn sky. One of the Titan Tribe mages was with them already, the trio all facing outward, intent on turning back the flurry of magical attacks.

Too short to see over the western wall, Nundle had yet to glimpse the enemy. Curious, rather than run though the tower, he hurried up its exterior steps. Upon cresting the stairs, he turned around and got his first clear look at the battlefield. His eyes went wide.

“Bless the Gods…”

The marshy slopes below were swarming with thousands of oligurts, all running straight at the walls and bellowing their war chants. To the north and south, other groups like the one below, oligurt and mongrel alike, were charging Demetus. The tactic baffled Nundle.

“What are they going to do?” he muttered to himself. “Climb the walls?”

The only figures not moving were quartets of oligurts staggered up and down the wall. Two of the four were bare-chested, their bald heads covered in brown mud or paint. While they were unfamiliar to him, he recognized the others in an instant. The tattoos, flaming torches, and patched-together skin skirts marked them as Desert Fire mages. During the Battle of Shorn Rise, ten of the sect had battled Nundle, the Progeny, and the Red Sentinels.

As he eyed the oligurt mages, his confusion deepened.

Desert Fire mages were masters of Charge and Fire, yet he did not sense the faintest flicker of yellow. And even though he might be deaf to Fire, there was no evidence of the Strand’s use. As he stood there, wondering why they were not attacking, movement on the horizon pulled his gaze west, over the marshes and forests.

His eyes opened wide again, growing as round as the moons.

A long, dark line filled the western horizon. More Sudashians.

“Gods…”

A sudden, wall-shaking boom jarred him from his gaping. Losing his footing, Nundle nearly tumbled down the stairs, but managed to steady himself against the tower’s side. Recovering quickly, he scurried across the tower’s top, reached the southern stairs, and stared down at the next section of walls. A boulder had made it past the Shadow Mane mages and struck the mud-brick ramparts. The battlements had held against the blow, but large chunks of brick and mortar were tumbling from the face of the wall. A massive boulder lay on the ground below.

Regaining a sense of urgency, Nundle sprinted down the stairs and continued south, leaping over a foot-wide crack in the wall, running as fast as his short legs could carry him while dodging Reed Men and Southern Arms alike. Upon reaching the next tower, he ran through the doorways, emerging on the other side. Immediately, he spotted Nikalys standing a hundred paces away, arms crossed over his chest, much like Commander Aiden had been. Nathan was at his side, pointing to the marshes below and talking with the young long leg. Jak and Zecus were a few paces beyond the pair, bows in hand and firing upon the onrushing horde.

Nundle sprinted down the walls and was only moments away from reaching the four when he heard the sharp screech of a hawk overhead. Staring upward, he saw a massive, golden-brown hawk high in the sky, flying south to north. The hawk screeched again. This time, it was three, quick bursts. A heartbeat later, Nundle felt a tremendous surge of Strands to the south, vibrant green and honey-gold.

Nundle gaped at the hawk, murmuring, “Already?” Broedi had not wasted time. Scrambling the final few paces to Nathan’s side, he stopped and stared into the air.

The sergeant glanced down and called, “Nice of you to join us!”

Nundle did not bother with a reply as all his attention was focused on summoning as many Strands of Air as he could. All along the walls, he felt pockets of white pop into existence as Shadow Mane and Titan Tribe mages alike were doing the same. He hoped all the towers had been warned in time, but doubted that to be the case. Broedi had given them too little time to spread the word.

Nundle was aware that Nathan had said something else to him, but he was so intent on his Weave of Air he did not hear the words. He stretched the pattern north and south, trying to get its edges to those of the Weaves being crafted at the two nearest towers. It was impossible to protect the walls fully, even with the aid of the Titan Tribe mages, but they were going to try.

Holding tight to the Weave, Nundle stepped closer to the wall, wanting to ensure he did not accidently shield the Sudashians. He stood on his toes and tried to peer over the break in the battlements, but found he was too short. Swallowing his pride, he tapped Nikalys on the leg. The young longleg glanced down, surprise flashing over his face.

“When’d you get here?”

“Just now,” called Nundle. Pointing to the wall, he asked, “Would you mind lifting me up? I need to see down there.”

Nikalys nodded and jammed his knee against the edge of the wall, creating a makeshift platform. He reached down, slipped his hands under Nundle’s arms, and placed the tomble on his leg, perilously close to the edge of the wall. Leaning forward, he called, “Better?”

Staring wide-eyed at the oligurts and mongrels below, Nundle called out, “As long as you don’t let go!” Turning his attention back to the Weave, he made few minor adjustments, pulling the bottom edge of the pattern higher, over the heads of the oligurts.

Nikalys asked, “So they’ve started?”

Nundle ignored the question, too intent on the Weave. He twisted to stare north and was forced to extend his pattern a little further. It seemed the mages on the tower to his right were even less talented with Air than he.

“Nundle!” called Nikalys. “Have—”

“I’m a bit busy right now!”

“Too busy to say yes or no?!”

“Yes!” shouted Nundle, a touch exasperated. “Yes, they started!”

“How long—”

Nearby shouts of surprise cut Nikalys’ question short. Stealing a quick glance south, Nundle spotted five massive, terrifying creatures lumbering from the walls and into the thick of the Sudashian army.

Nikalys shouted, “Everyone! Cover your—”

The thorn’s shrill, ear-piercing shriek filled the air, drowning out the rest of Nikalys’ warning as it rushed over battlefield and city alike. Wincing, Nundle clapped his hands over his ears in an attempt to shut out the screech, grateful that Nikalys did not do the same. Soldiers up and down the wall covered their ears. Some dropped to their knees, their wide-open mouths screaming shouts of pain nobody could hear. The hail of arrows flying from the walls slowed to a trickle.

Nundle held tightly onto his Weave, knowing that without the magical dampening protection, the shriek would be thrice as bad. Through half-shut eyes, he peered below to see how the Sudashians were faring.

Nearly every mongrel was on the ground, pawing at their ears, dragging their heads through the marsh and mud. Oligurts were bumping into one another, knocking each other down, staggered by the auditory assault. The enemy’s vicious charge had slowed to a pitiful crawl.

The five thorn stomped through the incapacitated Sudashians, swinging their woody limbs about, bashing any oligurt within reach. As the thorn marched deeper into the helpless throng, decimating the Sudashians as they went, Nundle’s gaze rested on the lead monster. To his great surprise, he recognized the creature as Talulot, their escort to Buhaylunsod.