The Grimjinx Rebellion

by Brian Farrey

  “Dowager,” I said, “I think I might know how. . . .”

  The Abbey came to rest on the outskirts of a desert. The mesas provided the perfect camouflage, and the combination of searing heat and sandstorms meant the chance of being discovered was slim.

  That same weather also made the Abbey unbearably hot.

  Tempers flared as people gathered in the abbot’s chambers to discuss the information from Talian.

  “This means nothing!” Kendil said, pointing to Talian’s parchment on the table near the Dowager.

  “That’s not true,” the Dowager said calmly. “It’s a map. We just don’t know what it means yet.”

  Ma joined the Dowager at the table. “This details a route that goes from the Palatinate Palace north to Vesta.”

  The Dowager’s finger traced numbers spread out along the route. “These are dates. Milestones, maybe?”

  I peered at the map and the date next to the Palatinate Palace. “That’s the day Bennock and I freed the shimmerhex prisoners. The same day we saw that caravan leave the palace.”

  Suddenly, the room got very quiet. Kendil and Mr. Oxter, who seemed the most agitated, became quickly interested.

  “So,” the Dowager said, “I think we can assume this map is the route the caravan is taking. The question is: what are they transporting?”

  Everyone threw out theories. Weapons, prisoners . . . no one could agree on what it all meant. The discussion got heated and people started shouting. I closed my eyes and blocked it all out. I thought about what I knew. I kept coming back to one question: Why a caravan? Why not just use magic to get to Vesta?

  What if they couldn’t use magic?

  “It’s the Sourcefire.”

  It came out a little louder than I’d planned. But it was loud enough to cut through the bickering. Everyone froze and looked at me. I explained how the Sourcefire was used to protect the palace from attack.

  “It would be the last thing they’d remove,” I concluded. “And now they need to move it to Vesta to use its power to protect their new headquarters.”

  “Why use a caravan?” Edilman asked.

  I thought back to the day Maloch and I tried to steal it. “Because they can’t use magic to transport it.”

  “That’s right,” Reena said, jumping to her feet. “One of the mages tried to take the Sourcefire from Jaxter using magic and that Nalia woman told him magic couldn’t be used on it.”

  “Technically,” the Dowager said, “the sigils carved on the box that contains the Sourcefire protect it from magical transportation. To keep rogue mages from stealing it.”

  We all had the same idea. While the Sourcefire was being transported, the Palatinate was vulnerable.

  “Then we strike in Vesta now!” Luda boomed. “Without the Sourcefire, the High Laird’s palace is defenseless. We take down the Lordcourt.”

  “We’d be just as outnumbered there as we were in Slagbog,” Da pointed out. “Even without the Sourcefire, the mages can defend themselves.”

  “Then we go for a smaller target.” The Dowager’s soft voice filled the room. “Talian’s told us how to take the Sourcefire. According to this, they’ll be traveling through Obsidian Canyon tomorrow night. A perfect place for an ambush.”

  Ma’s eyes grew big. “If we had the Sourcefire, we could bargain with them. We could get Aubrin back.”

  “I suspect we could bargain for more,” the Dowager said. “Like an end to all hostilities. Jaxter’s right: they need the Sourcefire. If we capture it . . . their reign is over.”

  Everyone looked around. We’d just survived a humiliating defeat . . . but suddenly, the possibility of success seemed very, very real.

  “What are the caravan’s defenses?” Kendil asked me.

  “No more than nine mages and a handful of monsters,” I said. “This is supposed to be a secret. They don’t want to draw a lot of attention to how weak they are until the Sourcefire reaches Vesta. They’ve got just enough to defend it from marauders . . .”

  “. . . but not enough from our army!” the Dowager finished. “Abbot, start rounding up anyone who can still fight. We don’t have much time.”

  “No!”

  I don’t think I’d ever shouted at my parents before. But then, I don’t think I’d ever been this angry at them before.

  As the residents in the Abbey prepared to sleep, Ma and Da pulled me aside into the monks’ library.

  “There’s no arguing, son,” Da said.

  “Thirteen is old enough to enlist in the Provincial Guard,” I argued. “I want to fight.”

  I didn’t want to fight. I was scared to death of fighting. But everyone I loved was going to be in the middle of the battle. I couldn’t just sit here while my sister was the Palatinate’s prisoner.

  “We’ve already discussed this with Kendil and Mr. Oxter. You’ll be staying behind with everyone who’s underage,” Ma said.

  “Bennock is fighting with the monks,” I pointed out.

  “Edilman is the closest Bennock has to a father and he’s allowing it,” Da said. “That’s his choice. If it were up to me, Bennock would be joining you.”

  Ma pushed my glasses up from the tip of my nose where they’d fallen. “You have an important job to do but it won’t be in the middle of a combat zone.”

  “You want me healing the wounded?” I asked. It was insulting. Raising the army had been my idea. How could they exclude me now?

  “The monks will be busy fighting,” Da said. “After them, you’re our best healer.”

  I continued to protest but their minds were made up. I wouldn’t be anywhere near the fighting. “Get some sleep,” Ma said, kissing my forehead before she and Da retired.

  But I couldn’t sleep. I was angry. I was frustrated. Fists clenched, I stomped off down the Abbey’s corridors. I wandered for hours, shouting out the occasional curse word.

  I was all but exhausted when I rounded a corner and found Edilman leaning against the wall. I got the idea he’d been waiting for me. He pulled the mask from his face and sighed.

  “Feel better?” he asked.

  “Talk to them, Edilman,” I said. “Tell them I should be part of the fight.”

  Edilman shook his head. “I agree with them. You’re more valuable to us tending the wounded.”

  Scowling, I pushed past him.

  “Jaxter.”

  I stopped but wouldn’t look at him. “What?”

  “Sister Andris finished translating the message.”

  I drew a deep, long breath. The message meant for the mysterious Eaj. The message Aubrin had been sure would save the day. The message she’d told me to translate and then leave the Provinces.

  I started to walk away but Edilman persisted. “Jaxter, do you really not know what it says?”

  I spun around. “No, and don’t you dare tell me. Aubrin said that once I knew what the message says, I’d have to leave the Provinces to save my life. But I’m not leaving. Not while she’s still a prisoner. So, as long as I don’t know what it says—”

  “I don’t think it works that way.” Edilman looked down at his feet. He was trying to be gentle.

  “I don’t care!” I snapped. “I don’t care about the message. I don’t care what you think.”

  Edilman flinched. My words drew a line between us. But I meant it. I didn’t care.

  “I just want my sister back,” I said. “Unless the message tells me how to do that . . .”

  He shook his head. “It doesn’t.”

  “Then we’re done here.” I stormed away, angrier than ever. Returning to the dining hall, I threw myself down on my cot. Arms crossed, I glared at the ceiling. It was going to be a long night.

  32

  Betrayed Again

  “Where trust sows, vengeance reaps.”

  —Ancient par-Goblin proverb

  The next day, the Abbey materialized in a valley just south of Obsidian Canyon. We found an abandoned flour mill near a stream about an hour from the canyon’s
entrance. This became our home base. Nanni and everyone underage would remain safe in the mill, mixing healing salves and preparing to tend to our wounded when the battle was done.

  The mill wasn’t much. The huge waterwheel on the side creaked and shook as it turned in the lazy stream. All the windows were shattered. And a coat of grime a thumb’s- length thick covered everything. But with the Abbey needed for the battle, it was the best shelter we had.

  Ma and Da hugged me tight before they left. They told us to listen to Nanni and promised they’d be back soon. I nodded.

  When the army marched north to set up the ambush, we prepared the mill. Nanni and a handful of children swept out the rooms and made up cots. Reena and Holm huddled over a small bowl filled with viscous poison. They were teaching the seers how to soak the tips of wooden needles in the poison before carefully inserting the needles into their blowguns. The seers were enjoying it a mite too much.

  Maloch and I sat quietly at the kitchen table, using the herbs from my pouches to make burn ointment. Every so often, Nanni poked her head in and leered at us.

  “Just this morning,” she said in a low rumble, “the two of you were fighting tooth and nail to join the battle. Why are you suddenly so helpful?”

  “Just doing our part,” I said cheerfully.

  As night fell, Nanni took the seers and the other children upstairs to tuck them in. Reena and I turned our ears toward the staircase.

  “Can you tell us a story?” we heard Pressia, the youngest of the seers, ask Nanni. My grandmother gave an exaggerated sigh, then launched into a par-Goblin fairy tale about the naughty children who woke the Grundilus from his slumber and paid for it with their lives.

  “She did it!” Reena whispered. Earlier, when we’d asked Pressia to help, the young girl was happy to be part of a secret plan. She’d promised to keep Nanni busy just long enough.

  “All right,” I said, nodding to the others. Maloch blew out the candles. Reena and Holm brandished their blowguns. Together, the four of us left the mill and headed north.

  Our parents said we couldn’t fight. They didn’t say we couldn’t watch.

  Moonlight shone on the entrance to Obsidian Canyon. The four of us knelt behind a cluster of rocky spires. If all had gone according to plan, our army was already deep in the canyon, waiting to ambush the caravan when it arrived.

  We waited. Moments later, eerie white light flickered to our left. Two mages, walking single file, came into view. A tether of wispy white light rose from their spellspheres to a massive globe of throbbing energy that illuminated their path. They were soon followed by the Palatinate caravan, which disappeared into the canyon. Once we could no longer see them, we crept out and followed at a safe distance.

  The walls of the canyon narrowed. The caravan gathered in tightly as the party ventured into the bottleneck. Maloch ushered us all to a nook, a safe place to watch. I held my breath as everything got quiet.

  “Come on, Garax,” I whispered under my breath.

  As if my uncle had heard me, a loud thud echoed off the canyon walls. The earth shook. Another thud, then another, each louder and closer. Suddenly, the air was rent with the tortured cry of a braxilar. Not one but three distinct howls filled the bottleneck.

  Just as we’d hoped, the caravan came to a halt. The mages spoke among themselves, trying to pinpoint where the sounds were coming from. The door at the back of the covered wagon flew open, and the mage in charge jumped out.

  “Why have we stopped?” he demanded. A new volley of braxilar screams issued a response. Farther down the bottleneck, a flash of blue fire gave the appearance that the creatures were on their way.

  “Lord Aztan,” one of the mages said to the man in charge, “that village we stopped in last night . . . they said there were stories of wild braxilar near the canyon.”

  I smiled. We’d planted that rumor. All part of the plan.

  Aztan spat on the ground. “You idiot. We created the braxilar. There’s no such thing as a wild one. There’s only braxilar that need to be brought back under our control. Go take care of it.”

  Three mages nodded and slunk down the bottleneck toward the continued howling. The creatures protecting the wagon shifted restlessly, as if responding to the feral cries. Aztan shouted a word in the magical tongue. The control medallion around his neck glistened with golden light. The matching amulets worn by the creatures responded with a similar glow and the monsters immediately fell silent.

  Aztan moved to the head of the caravan and shouted down the bottleneck. “What do you see?”

  The answer came as three pained human screams. More bursts of blue fire lit the air. With a wave of his hand, Aztan ordered two more mages to assist the first three. Reluctantly, the pair ran down the bottleneck toward their screaming comrades.

  Zzzzisssh!

  A flaming arrow seared the air just over our heads and buried itself in the ground at Aztan’s feet. Before the mage had a chance to move, our army of rebels charged, leaping from their hiding places.

  Aztan and the three remaining mages took out their spellspheres and responded with a spectacular display of power, firing bolts of pure energy into the throngs of attackers. Within seconds, the caravan was masked in a cloud of smoke.

  The creatures with wings took to the air, swooping down to attack the rebels. A platoon of Sarosans, hidden on a ledge halfway up the canyon wall, drove the monsters back with their crossbows.

  The battle grew quieter; it seemed like it was almost over. The blasts of magical energy became far and few between. The smoke slowly started to lift. The caravan had been vastly outnumbered. From the darkness of the bottleneck, Uncle Garax and a group of assassin-monks came forth, training their weapons on the unarmed mages who’d gone to investigate the braxilar.

  Within minutes, the mages were relieved of their spellspheres and bound. The Dowager limped over to Aztan, Ma and Da at her side.

  “Surrender,” she demanded, “and your lives will be spared.”

  Aztan’s face spread into a maniacal grin. “But the fight’s hardly begun.”

  That’s when I saw it: a pinprick of light in the shadows. Then another. And another. One by one, a constellation of lights appeared up and down on both sides of the bottleneck walls. As one, the rebels craned their necks. Spellspheres. The meaning quickly sunk in.

  They were surrounded.

  The canyon exploded. Each dot of light shot a torrent of raw energy at the caravan. The rebels scattered as fire and earth flew through the air. The detonations sent people falling to the ground. The captured mages quickly broke free and ran to the shadows, where scores of masked Sentinels stepped from the darkness.

  With expert precision, the Sentinels advanced, spellspheres afire. The assassin-monks pulled out the smoke pellets I’d given them and created another camouflage cloud. But it took only a few words of magic before the smoke had vanished, leaving the mages with a clear shot at the rebel troops.

  I lost sight of Ma, Da, and the Dowager. The battle, which had seemed like a victory for the rebellion, quickly changed. Swords melted as magical energy sliced through the ranks. Crossbows ignited, disintegrating into glowing embers.

  Next to me, Maloch pulled a dagger from his belt.

  “You can’t go in there,” I told him. But Reena and Holm also had their blowguns at the ready.

  “They need all the help they can get,” Maloch said.

  I took the dagger from my belt, preparing to go with them. But a sound from above—an earsplitting squeal that pierced through the sounds of battle—changed everything. I looked up to see a black cloud descend into the canyon. As it got closer, I realized it wasn’t a cloud.

  It was a flock of spiderbats.

  The flying creatures swept over the combatants, dousing the Sentinels in their anti-magic webbing. Before long, the spiderbats were everywhere: crawling on the canyon walls, landing on the monsters, defending the rebels.

  “Woooo!”

  A new sound from overhead. Six sp
iderbats, webbing dangling from their backsides, had woven a basket. Callie, with two assassin-monks, stood triumphantly in the basket, fist high in the air. The six spiderbats gently lowered the basket to the ground near us. The assassin-monks at Callie’s side joined the fight.

  “Sorry we’re late,” Callie said, running to our sides. “The trip from the aircaves took forever and it was hard to find you after Slagbog was destroyed.”

  I threw my arms around her. “I thought you were . . .”

  She grinned. “Takes more than that to get rid of me.”

  The tide of the battle shifted a third time as the spiderbats returned the advantage to the rebels. Sentinels fought to free themselves from the webbing that prevented them from casting spells.

  As the fighting continued, Aztan stumbled away from the center of the battle, took out his spellsphere, and spoke an incantation. Crack! A quickjump ring opened in the air above, sending the flying spiderbats scurrying away. As the glowing ring widened, a steady current of monsters fell into the combat zone.

  I scanned the scene, looking for something—anything—to help. That’s when I noticed: the fighting had moved closer to the bottleneck. The wagon was defenseless. And we had a direct line to it.

  I could end this all by capturing the Sourcefire.

  “Who’s ready to do something that’s really stupid and maybe a little brave?” I asked. Everyone nodded.

  “Reena and Holm, distract Aztan so the quickjump closes.” I pointed at the mage. “Maloch and Callie, cover me. I’m going for the wagon.”

  We moved as one. Reena and Holm charged at Aztan, firing poison darts with every step. The distraction forced him to close the quickjump while he fought his new attackers. Meanwhile, I ran for the wagon. Maloch scooped up a fallen sword and fought off anyone who got too close. Callie cast spell after spell to fend off the approaching monsters. Soon, all my friends were engaged in their own battles, leaving me alone.

  Wild bolts of magic homed in and exploded harmlessly, the Vanguard in my pocket protecting me. I got to the wagon and climbed into the back. The only light inside came from the far end where a crystal box held a churning ball of multicolored flame. The Sourcefire.