by Brian Farrey
She waddled off and I returned to the mud hut I shared with Da. Lighting a candle, I waited for his return.
Oberax was right. The everember trees had been drained dry. There could be no more tributes. But that didn’t matter. If everything went well, the only thing Xerrus would find in Slagbog next month was an abandoned village.
We’d finally be long, long gone.
18
The Truth About Slagbog
“Luck is a fiendish lender, never a patron.”
—Ancient par-Goblin proverb
Our mud hut was a far cry from our two-story house in Vengekeep. Built for much smaller par-Goblins, the single, domed room was just barely enough space for Da and me. But as my great-great-aunt Lumira Grimjinx said, “A hovel’s a palace to a thief in flight.”
I’d almost finished brewing a pot of tea when the door opened and Da entered, bent over and smiling.
“Mite late, don’t you think?” I asked. “Oberax wasn’t happy you missed the tribute.”
“When is Oberax ever happy?” Da asked with a wink. Just behind him, two women squeezed their way through the door. The taller woman’s long hair, striped black and white, spilled down over her shoulders. The shorter woman clutched a shawl around her head and looked down. Neither seemed impressed with our abode.
“At least you had a good reason for being gone,” I said, nodding at our guests.
“Son, these are the Scalander sisters, Sarquin and Minss. Ladies, this is my son, Tyrius.”
I’d heard of them: two of the best pickpockets this side of the river Karre. I waved at the women, then poured two cups of tea. Each regarded her cup suspiciously.
“I told you,” Da said patiently, “you’re safe here. And in good company.”
The taller sister, Sarquin, downed the tea, only gagging on it slightly. Minss ignored the cup before her.
“You have relatives in Umbramore?” I asked.
Sarquin nodded once. “How did you know?”
I pointed to her sleeve. “Those scratch marks look like you narrowly escaped a bloodreaver. They’re using the blood you share with your relatives to sniff you out. But that tea will mask the scent.” I pushed Minss’s cup toward her. “You should drink.”
“My sister is very tired,” Sarquin said. “I’ll make sure she drinks it later.”
“Everybody here has relatives in Umbramore,” Da said. “That’s the point.”
Forgetting the swamp and the stench and the fact that the village was decrepit, Slagbog had proved to be an excellent hiding place. It was far from the town-states, where the Palatinate held the most power. It was of no real value to the Palatinate (except for its proximity to the everember trees). And, most important, it was half a day’s journey to Umbramore Tower, the prison where the Palatinate held their enemies.
Including Ma.
When the par-Goblins began abandoning the doomed village, Da quickly struck a deal with the mayoress. He would help her repopulate the village to keep it from dying if she turned a blind eye to how he was doing it. She agreed and part one of Da’s plan was complete.
Slagbog became a haven for thieves.
Everyone here was wanted by the Palatinate. Everyone here had relatives incarcerated in Umbramore. And everyone here was willing and ready to help with the second part of Da’s plan: the storming of Umbramore and the release of its prisoners.
So Da had spent the last six months tracking down thieves in hiding and bringing them here. Whenever we weren’t pretending to be an innocent village, we were gathering all the information we could about the prison and its defenses. Once we had our families back, anyone who wanted to was welcome to join us on a ship that would leave the Provinces forever.
“We don’t get a lot of news,” I said, trying to make conversation with Minss, the shorter sister. “Tell us, what’s the latest?”
Minss said nothing. She just kept looking at the ground.
“The news hasn’t changed in six months,” Sarquin answered. “The Palatinate’s rule is absolute. And now that the Provinces have fallen in line, the Palatinate is focusing their energy on one thing: finding the Grimjinxes.”
“No doubt,” Da said. “It’s a miracle that family has stayed hidden so well.”
Miracle was exactly right. After we fled Vesta, Callie, Luda, and I spent two weeks hiding in every forest, swamp, and mountain pass we could find. Long ago, my parents had taught Aubrin and me that if our family was ever separated by a disaster—for example, a mob of unruly villagers wielding pitchforks and torches—we would meet up in Slagbog. I knew that if Da and Aubrin had succeeded in rescuing the Dowager, that’s where they’d go.
Sure enough, we found the three of them waiting for us. Da had recounted how he and Aubrin arrived in Vengekeep just before a legion of mages and monsters came to apprehend the Dowager. Her Provincial Guards had been killed during the escape. But clever old Da managed to smuggle her out of the city before Vengekeep was sealed.
Even as stories of the Lordcourt tracking down their enemies reached Slagbog, we remained safely hidden. The only time we heard from the Palatinate was when they came to collect the everember sap tribute or when Sentinels plastered the town with wanted posters bearing sketches of the Dowager and Aubrin. The High Laird, it was rumored, had fled the Provinces on a ship. That left the Dowager and Aubrin as the Palatinate’s greatest enemies.
“Those lucky Grimjinxes,” I said. “Clever folks, aren’t they? I’ve heard that boy, Jaxter, is as smart as they come.”
Although we had gathered the greatest collection of thieves, scoundrels, and rogues the Provinces had ever seen, we’d been careful not to let anyone know our true identities. Chances were good there wasn’t a thief here who wouldn’t turn us over to the Palatinate, thinking it would earn them a pardon.
Sarquin sniffed. “We also heard that the Palatinate discovered the location of the Shadowhands’ secret headquarters and destroyed it.”
“The Dagger?” I couldn’t hide my alarm and cast a look at Da. He stayed calm and shook his head sadly at this news.
We still had no idea where Maloch and the seers were. We’d assumed they were still hiding out in the hidden Shadowhand compound. Shortly after we first arrived in Slagbog, the Dowager sent Luda to retrieve Maloch and the seers. None of them had returned.
Maybe now we knew why.
“We live in curious times,” Da said. “It’s hard to know which rumors are true and which are things the Palatinate wants us to believe to make themselves seem more powerful.” He addressed Sarquin but he was really talking to me. He was saying: Don’t believe it quite yet.
“It’s getting late,” Da announced. “Let’s find you two a place to stay and tomorrow we’ll get you set up with some disguises.”
“They could move into the cheese shop,” I suggested.
“We don’t know how to make cheese,” Sarquin said.
“Well,” Da answered cheerily, “won’t it be fun to learn?”
Sarquin didn’t seem pleased. Minss, as always, said nothing. But clearly Da had explained that one of the conditions of being allowed to hide out in Slagbog was that everyone pitched in.
Da escorted the women from our hut while I washed the teacups. I couldn’t stop thinking about what Sarquin had said about the Dagger. Even if it explained what happened to Maloch and the seers—and I was really hoping it didn’t—what had happened to Luda?
Depressed, I blew out the candles and got ready for bed. Just as I kicked off my boots, the ground shook. One short, sharp jolt. A moment later, another shake, this one strong enough to rattle the walls. “What the zoc?”
Bits of mud fell from the roof and mugs on our only shelf tumbled to the ground, shattering. I’d been in earthquakes before and this didn’t feel like one.
Outside, a shrill howl, dissonant and powerful, filled the air. I plugged my ears. Another shake, more powerful than the rest. Whatever was making the noise and shaking the ground was getting closer.
19
The Braxilar
“Never let your fleeting foot be faster than your boot.”
—The Lymmaris Creed
I ran barefoot into the street, where I found most of the village waiting. Nearly everyone was in their nightclothes, looking around confused. The village’s collective murmur fell silent when another earsplitting shriek sounded, sending chills up and down my arms.
From somewhere deep in the moonlit swamp, a shadow passed over the village. It was hard to make out where it came from. The only thing for sure was that whatever was casting the shadow had a long, spiky neck.
Several people cried out in panic, ducking back into their mud huts. Da, returning from the cheese shop, put his hand on my arm to steady me. The ground shook twice more, we heard another howl, and far off, a plume of blue flames rose into the sky.
“That’s not good,” Da muttered.
“Home Guard!”
Oberax waddled quickly down the main street, wearing a helmet and holding a spear twice her size. Da and an assortment of men and women of every race stepped forward. The Home Guard volunteers protected the village from rare monster attacks. The Palatinate had unleashed so many beasts into the world that they barely noticed when one shook off its control medallion and went on a rampage. There’d only been two attacks since we’d arrived—but they’d been scary.
“To the armory!” Oberax shouted, leading the Home Guard to a locked hut.
Another roar, closer than ever, sent a chorus of screams through the village. The Home Guard armed themselves and Da gave me one last nod as he marched off into the misty woods.
I entered the Dowager’s house without knocking. Her hut was slightly larger than ours and a bit nicer. Callie sat on a lopsided sofa, a comforting arm around Aubrin. The Dowager stood at a small table, cutting up strips of cloth to use as bandages. She’d made herself responsible for aiding any Guard members who came back injured.
I dipped into my pouches and started making a supply of burn ointment. If whatever was out there could belch blue flame, we might be treating a few scorch injuries.
Three quick jolts rippled the ground. Aubrin buried her face in Callie’s shoulder. “I think it’s almost here!” Aubrin said.
I suddenly realized the problem with sending the Home Guard out into the forest to track down the beast. It left the village undefended.
Seeing Aubrin cower, I knew what I had to do. Stomach clenched, I took one of the Dowager’s cloth strips and used it to tie a wooden serving fork to the top of a broomstick.
“What do you think?” I asked Callie, brandishing my weapon. “Does it say ‘mighty warrior’?”
She clicked her tongue. “With you holding it? It says ‘highly crazy person.’ What are you doing?”
I scooped up a wash bucket from the corner and put it on my head as a makeshift helmet. “Proving you right,” I said, and walked out the door before they could protest.
The village was still. Anyone who hadn’t gone with the Home Guard had retreated inside. I tread softly down the dirty street. I listened carefully, hoping to hear the Home Guard in the woods. Nothing. Were they quietly stalking the beast . . . or had it already choked them down as dinner? And was it now preparing to raid Slagbog for dessert?
I walked to the edge of the village and peered into the mist-filled forest. Cool tendrils of fog licked at my toes. “Da?” I whispered into the darkness. “Oberax?” I paused. “Hungry monster?”
I turned and cried out to find three silhouettes directly behind me. I fell back onto the ground. Like me, the Dowager wore a protective bucket on her head. In her right hand, she twirled one of her cloth bandages wrapped around a stone mug like a sling. Aubrin held a small stool over her head. Callie held her spellsphere. The iron marble was dark. She knew the Palatinate could trace her if she actually cast a spell, so she wouldn’t dare use it unless it was absolutely necessary.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Please,” Callie said. “Like we’d let you have all the fun.”
A howl from the monster, the closest yet, echoed through the village. Each of us raised our weapon. Another shadow slithered across the mud hut rooftops.
“Huh,” I said.
“What?” Aubrin asked.
“Is it just me or did the howl come from the left . . . and then the shadow came from the right?”
The Dowager looked around. “I . . . I think you’re right.”
“How could something as big as this move from one side of the village to the other in an instant?” I asked.
Near the village square, we heard stirring. The Dowager, Callie, and me crowded around Aubrin and approached cautiously. As we rounded a corner, a dark figure leaped out at us.
The Dowager reacted first. She swung the sling over her head and sent the stone mug flying. It struck the figure’s head, connecting with the thunk of stone meeting metal. The stranger’s head snapped back before he hit the ground. We quickly surrounded him, weapons at the ready.
The man at our feet was dressed head to toe in thick leather armor. Magnifying glasses of varying sizes hung from a chain of copper rings that dangled down his chest. Straggly gray hair poked out from under a patchwork metal helm. He held a rusty-bladed halberd in one hand and a small lantern in the other.
“That doesn’t look like a monster,” Aubrin said.
“But he doesn’t live here in Slagbog either,” I said.
The man sat up on one elbow and shook his head so hard his bushy mustache flittered. “Ga’zounds!” he said in a deep, grumbly voice. “What are you doing? I nearly had the beast!”
The four of us looked at one another. We stepped back as the odd man got to his feet.
“Who are you?” I asked, gripping my broom spear.
“Azborah Bleakhex,” the man said, with a slight bow at his waist.
I studied his face. The name sounded familiar to me. Had I seen it on a wanted poster? I couldn’t remember.
We all jumped as the beast in the woods screamed again. Bleakhex hoisted his halberd to a ready position. “I’ve been tracking this braxilar for days. Finally cornered the wily beast in these woods.”
Bleakhex crouched and moved toward the edge of the village on tiptoes. The rest of us followed in similar manner.
“Excuse me,” the Dowager said, adjusting the bucket on her head so she could see better, “but did you say you’ve been tracking this beast?”
“Indeed, madam,” Bleakhex said. “That’s my job. I track down creatures that stray from the Palatinate’s control. Don’t you kind folks worry. I won’t let the beast harm anyone here.”
The others were listening to everything he was saying with rapt attention. I rolled my eyes. Something didn’t seem quite right. And I knew I’d heard the name before.
But a braxilar was serious business. A fire-breathing monster from par-Dwarf mythology. If this man was here to help, we’d take it.
The ground shook so hard we nearly fell over. Then a roar, strangely distant. Surely, the beast had to be right on top of us. Why did it sound so far away? Then, just ahead, a plume of blue flame seared through the orange fog.
“Prepare to die, foul beast!” Bleakhex shouted. Leveling his halberd, he charged into the forest.
The Dowager held on to Callie and Aubrin. “We should let him do his job.”
But I stepped around and ran after Bleakhex as the others called after me. I disappeared into the swamp, running farther and farther from the village until I tripped on the uneven ground. Rising, I found myself standing in a colossal footprint: as wide as I was tall and twice as long. The braxilar was very close.
Suddenly, the Home Guard burst from hiding. They ran directly toward the last fire burst, weapons raised. Disoriented, Bleakhex stumbled into the Guard’s path and collided with Da, sending both of them to the ground. The Home Guard continued running toward the unseen beast.
I ran to help Da as the braxilar howled again in the night, this time far behind us. Da pushed hims
elf up to his knees, shaking his head in a daze. We both looked over to Bleakhex. His fake mustache drooped perpendicular to his mouth. His helmet had fallen off and with it, the shaggy gray wig he wore. Without the wig, he was nearly bald, with tufts of wiry white hair just over his ears.
Da leaned forward. “Garax?”
“Ona?” the monster hunter asked.
I groaned. Of course. My uncle—Da’s brother—Garax Grimjinx.
As the braxilar roared to our right, Uncle Garax groped frantically at his belt. He grabbed a small bone horn, raised it to his lips, and blew. The horn’s cry bounced off the everember trees in three short bursts. With the exception of the Home Guard, sallying wildly forth, the forest grew quiet. All sounds of the braxilar vanished.
Uncle Garax lowered the horn and gave us a sheepish look. “Well,” he said, “that about does it for the braxilar. So, how have you been?”
20
Ghostfire
“Don’t spend your bronzemerk until you nick the silvernib.”
—Rannox Grimjinx, warrior-bard of Merriton
We lay low, keeping a watchful eye on the Home Guard as they patrolled the forest. When the “braxilar” failed to show itself, they gave up and returned to the village. Alone again, the three of us rose and Uncle Garax led us deeper into the swamp, lighting our path with his lantern.
“Imagine running into you here,” Garax said jovially. “By the Seven! What are the odds? The Palatinate has all its resources aimed at tracking you down and it’s little ole me who finds you.”
“Indeed,” Da said.
Uncle Garax poked me in the ribs. “Look at you, little Jaxter. Zoc, it’s been how long since I’ve seen you? You were just a wee thing. I didn’t recognize you. Hey, you’re one of them brainy kids, right? You’ll appreciate the modifications I’ve made on the old homestead.”
We came to a dip in the terrain. A tall, moss-covered rock, as big as a house, sat at the bottom of the slope. Over the last four months, I’d spent days prowling the woods around Slagbog, collecting herbs to replenish my pouches. I knew the area well. This rock had never been here before.
