The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy by R. T. Kaelin Page A

soldier’s intense gaze on his face. He gave a quick, sharp shake of his head and spoke in a low, hushed tone.
    “Let things play out. Remain quiet.”
    Lady Vivienne was staring hard at him as well, her sharp green eyes silently pleading he comply. Had the baroness alone asked, Jak would have demanded to know what was going on right now. Yet as the request had come from Sergeant Trell, he swallowed his question and nodded.
    Sergeant Trell released his leg and Jak stole a quick look back at Zecus. His friend was still staring wide-eyed at the pair of Borderlanders on the chamber floor. Frowning, Jak looked down as well.
    The men stopped twenty paces from the council table and waited in silence. The thin man appeared calm and relaxed considering the situation while the larger man was actively bouncing on the balls of feet.
    Duke Kyle leaned forward and called, “Please state your names for the record, citizens.”
    The taller man bowed slightly, and said, “My name is Joshmuel Alsher and he is Boah Rasus. We are of the village Drysa. My pleasure is to meet you in peace today, great Lord.”
    Now Jak’s eyes went wide. He whipped his head to his left to gape at an unresponsive Zecus.
    “That’s your—”
    Again, Jak felt Sergeant Trell’s hand grip his leg, thrice as strong this time. Jak winced and shut his mouth. The sergeant wanted him to remain quiet.
    Turning to stare at the soldier, Jak tried to make sense of things. If Lady Vivienne had been the one to postpone this petition, she had known about Joshmuel for well over a full turn. And if Lady Vivienne knew, then so did Broedi, as did Sergeant Trell.
    Jak’s eyes narrowed as he glared to his right. Sergeant Trell should have told them that Zecus’ own father had been sitting in Freehaven for a full turn.
    Sergeant Trell stared back, an expression of true regret on his face. He even appeared slightly ashamed. Jak shook his head and gave a disappointed sigh. He was getting tired of all the secrets everyone around him was keeping.
    Duke Kyle called out, “And for the record, as well as the benefit of those that were not here last turn, Joshmuel Alsher of Drysa, can you please restate your petition for the council?”
    Joshmuel bowed, saying, “Yes, great Lord.” He took a breath, composing himself, and then began speaking, his voice loud, clear, and touched with the same strange accent that Zecus himself exhibited.
    “For generations upon generations, we on the western edge of the Borderlands have lived with the constant threat that oligurts, mongrels, and razorfiends might raid our lands and homes. Years would pass without any sign of the Sudashians, but eventually some chieftain or pack leader would crave glory and conquest and raid the duchy. Villages burned, people died, and the duke would respond, sending the Dust Men forth to repel the invaders.”
    From the measured and deliberate way he spoke, it was apparent this was a rehearsed speech.
    “Our ancestors would honor the dead by rebuilding the villages, refusing to allow the tribes of Sudash to chase us from our lands. Of course, the raiders would come again. So, we would rebuild. And the raiders would come again. Such is the life of a Borderlander.”
    Joshmuel paused and drew a long breath.
    “A year ago, however, the cycle changed. Men, women, and families who lived closer to the border than we—” he indicated himself and Boah “—began to come east. Raiders had come again. Only now, there were thousands of oligurts, mongrels, razorfiends, and even men all banded together. They fought as one.” He paused and eyed the table of nobles. “My Lords and Ladies, such cooperation is unheard of. Sudashian infighting has been the one thing that has kept us in the west safe. If the fell races unite, the Borderlands fall.”
    Jak pulled his eyes away from Joshmuel and glanced at Lord Tilas, the Borderlands’ representative. The man sat as still as a carved marble statue.
    Joshmuel continued his tale,