The Mapmaker's Sons

by V. L. Burgess

  “Ah. That.” The nobleman affected a look of sudden understanding. “I’m afraid we disappoint. My wife bore just one son.” He sent her a loving smile. “Though a fine, healthy son he is.”

  The midwife rose and gathered up the blankets, allowing Keegan a clear view of the new mother and her bed. “I’ll get you and the babe some fresh linens, m’lady.”

  Keegan frowned, left with no choice but to acknowledge the presence of only one infant. “It appears that your dramatic escape from my home was in vain.”

  “If we were rude to leave so abruptly, the blame is mine, not my husband’s,” the nobleman’s wife interjected meekly. “I was racked by dreams that I would die in childbed, and wholly convinced I needed my mother at my side. I was quite hysterical, really. Finally, at my urging, William relented and agreed to take me to her.”

  Keegan seemed to consider this, and finally to accept it. Dark displeasure flashed through his eyes. “I suggest in the future you take better care to control your wife,” he said to the nobleman. “All this tiresome drama, only to have your heir born in this dirty hovel, in a bed no better than a stable floor.”

  The dark-haired babe, miraculously silent until this point, shifted against Garth’s chest. Garth shot the nobleman a pointed look. They were both of the same mind. Though the child had been undetected, it was foolish to test their luck any further.

  “Yes,” the nobleman said, mulling over Keegan’s words as though seeing the cottage for the first time. Looking at Garth, he said, “Shepherd, my wife will need a few days’ rest before she and the babe can travel. There must be a village of some sort nearby. We require decent food, decent wine, fresh linens, all manner of things to make this hovel bearable for our company. Can you accomplish that?”

  “Yes, Sire. It would be my honor, Sire.” Garth agreed dutifully. He pocketed the coins the nobleman pressed into his hand, and made for the door.

  “Stop him.” Keegan’s voice rang across the room.

  The Watch stepped in front of the door, blocking Garth’s exit.

  “Come here, shepherd.”

  Garth slowly turned. His heart slammed against his chest, then began beating at twice its normal speed. A tight knot of fear lodged in his throat. He crossed the room to Keegan, stopping just before him. Keegan’s gaze moved slowly over his form. “Pull back your cloak.”

  “My cloak, Sire? I don’t underst—”

  “Do it!”

  With trembling fingers, Garth unfastened his cloak and drew it back. Keegan extended one long, talon-like finger and brushed it against Garth’s vest. He scooped the coins the nobleman had given Garth from the vest’s pocket and weighed them in his palm. “My cartographer is a trusting sort,” he said. “I, however, am not. Return with the goods he has requested or there will be painful consequences. Steal from him, you steal from me.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  Keegan studied him a moment longer, then waved him away. “Go then. The stench of you sickens me.”

  Garth moved to the door and opened it. Outside, the storm had reached its fury. Garth drew one hand protectively over the babe in his blanket cocoon, lowered his face against the lashing rain, and ran.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DOWN THE RAT HOLE

  “And then what happened?”

  Tom leaned forward, watching Umbrey intently. For a moment, Umbrey appeared not to have heard, so lost was he in his thoughts. Finally he said, “Unfortunately, the storm washed away the bridge that lay between the shepherd’s cottage and the tavern. Drenched and exhausted, Garth had no choice but to continue north, toward the city. Near dawn, the storm began to let up, and a merchant wheeled his cart down the road. Aware Keegan would grow suspicious if he didn’t return shortly, Garth traded the nobleman’s coins for supplies and entrusted the babe to the merchant’s temporary care.”

  Umbrey released a sigh and eased himself off the barrel. He stood with his back to Tom and Porter, gazing out the large, splintered window to the street below. “But the merchant, fool that he was, ignored the shepherd’s instructions for returning the babe to the tavern, choosing instead to deposit the child with his widowed sister and spend his newly found coin on a drunken binge.”

  “Wait,” Tom said. “How do you know all this? You were one of my father’s guards?”

  A rueful smile flickered across Umbrey’s face. “Aye, lad. Back then I stood on both my legs. I was there the night you came into this world, one of the few men your father trusted to keep you safe from Keegan. But I failed.”

  Porter, who’d been impatiently listening to the tale, filled in. “Weeks went by, and you were gone, lost. In the meantime, Keegan learned he’d been duped. His oracles assured him that twin sons had in fact been born.”

  “Eventually Garth and I found the wine merchant and traced him to you,” Umbrey said. “But by then it was too late.”

  “Too late?” Tom echoed. “What does that mean?”

  “Your parents couldn’t risk bringing you to them, not with Keegan watching night and day, so your father provided a map and instructions for me to take you out of Keegan’s reach. Somewhere you would be safe until he could come get you. It was only meant to be temporary.”

  “But he never came,” Tom said, unable to disguise the note of resentment that crept into his voice.

  “It was too dangerous, lad. For you, your brother, your parents—for everyone. He couldn’t risk it.”

  “And now?” Tom tilted his chin from Umbrey to Porter. “You’re here. He’s here. My parents? Where are they?”

  Porter raked his fingers through his hair. He stood and turned away, but not before Tom glimpsed the sadness on his face. “Illness swept the region last winter. They died of fever within days of each other.” He shook his head, and in a voice choked with emotion, continued, “They never knew you. They never knew us, together, what we might be. What we might do. They lived and died under Keegan’s rule, too afraid to test Father’s map and try to change things.”

  Umbrey surged to his feet in protest. “Too afraid of losing both of you if they did try,” he shot back. “You were safe; Tom was safe. Maybe that’s all they could dare hope for.”

  Porter’s eyes glittered with quiet rage. “Maybe safe wasn’t good enough.”

  Tom turned away from his brother’s brooding resentment, from Umbrey’s shrill outrage. He needed to digest everything he’d heard. Umbrey’s tale told him some of why he was there, but there were too many questions still unanswered. He needed time to sort through it all.

  But Umbrey, glancing out the window, suddenly stiffened. “We may have a problem, lads.”

  Tom and Porter shot to his side, their gazes locked on the scene unfolding below. Porter’s mount was in the hands of The Watch, his cloak hanging limply over the saddle. Two of Keegan’s men knifed through the leather straps Porter had tried so desperately to tug free. Digging inside, they lifted thick sheets of paper, bags of what looked like foodstuffs, and assorted equipment Tom couldn’t begin to identify.

  “Congratulations,” Porter bit out, glaring at Tom. “Now Keegan has no doubt I’ve gone after the sword. You’ve just signed my death warrant.”

  “Steady, lads. It’s not over yet. We still have the map.”

  “Which will do us no good at all without those Letters of Passage,” Porter retorted. “You think Keegan won’t station extra men to guard the gates now?”

  He began to say more but stopped abruptly, his face going pale. A lone man wearing a black fur cape wordlessly edged his mount into the circle of The Watch. Though Tom had never cast eyes on Keegan before, there was no question it was him. It was evident in the man’s air of cool authority, in the deferential way his men immediately passed him the papers they’d retrieved from Porter’s saddlebags. It could only be him.

  Keegan scanned the documents and then lifted his head, searching the rows of dilapidated buildings. Before Tom could step back from the window, Keegan’s gaze locked on his. Their eyes met and held. A shiver o
f dark foreboding shot through Tom, as though Keegan had just drawn one of his talon-like fingers down his spine.

  He stood frozen in place until Porter grabbed his arm and jerked him back. “Don’t let him see you.”

  He shook off Porter’s grip. “He already has.”

  “If he had, you’d be dead by now.”

  Confused, Tom risked another glance at the street below. Sure enough, Keegan had turned away from him, scattering his men into small search parties, beginning with the buildings on the other side of the street.

  “Not that it matters,” Porter continued grimly. “It’s over. We’re trapped.”

  “No, you’re not,” a small voice countered. “I know a way out. A way Keegan and his men don’t know about.”

  Tom pivoted around to see the small, scrawny boy he had saved from the butcher. The boy stood alone in a corner of the storeroom, his innocent features worked into an expression of bold defiance.

  “How’d you get in here, boy?” Umbrey demanded.

  The boy shrugged. “I can slip in most any place. Guess I’m too small for people to pay me any mind.”

  “What do you want?” This from Porter.

  The boy pointed to Tom. “I saw the butcher was after him, and I had to make sure he was all right. He helped me, so I help him. I don’t turn my back on my friends.”

  The fact that Tom had made a friend was news to him. But he certainly wasn’t going to turn away help when it was offered.

  Neither, it seemed, was Umbrey. “You say there’s another way out, boy?”

  The boy nodded. “Willa knows a way. She goes into the Dismal Swamp at least once a month for herbs and such. She says if you go far enough, you’ll reach The Beyond.”

  Porter gave a harsh laugh. “The thief lies. No one who goes into the Dismal Swamp ever comes out again.”

  The boy puffed out his scrawny chest. “I don’t lie! And I’m not a thief! I was hungry, that’s all!”

  “Quiet, both of you!” Umbrey snapped. He pulled off his peg leg and removed the map, spreading it open over the barrel top. The Five Kingdoms were all there, drawn in lush detail, as well as the dark expanse of land that made up The Beyond. ”The Dismal Swamp, you say?” Umbrey traced his finger along the rough parchment, his lips moving silently as though making calculations. His face suddenly brightened. “Porter, Tom! Come look!”

  He drilled his finger into the map. “There, you see? The boy’s correct. The swamp borders the southeast corner of The Beyond, through Terrum. Not the route we had planned, but it might just work.”

  “And if the sword lies in the north?” Porter countered.

  Umbrey leaned back. He smiled. “An excellent question, lad. And I know of only one way to answer it.” He turned toward Tom and nodded. “Touch the map.”

  Tom hesitated, feeling suddenly self-conscious under the weight of Porter’s stare. Adopting an attitude of cool nonchalance, as though he did that sort of thing every day, he drew his hand over the map. It came to life, just as it had in Lost’s office. The action drew a sharp gasp of wonder from the boy, and a heated glare from Porter. He lowered his hand.

  “Good,” Umbrey said. “Your turn, Porter.”

  Porter repeated the action, with the same result.

  “Excellent.” Umbrey brought his hands together with a sharp clap. “The map speaks to you both. But we already knew that much, didn’t we? Now here’s where it gets interesting. According to legend, the map will only reveal its treasure when the Hero Twins—”

  “Hero twins?” Tom interrupted.

  “Twin sons, one light, one dark—that’s you lads—lay their hands on it together.” A brief silence ensued as they studied the parchment. Umbrey looked from Porter to Tom. “Well? If you could kindly tell me, what in blazes are you waiting for?”

  Porter started as though jarred from some deep reverie, and stationed himself at one end of the map. Tom took the opposite side.

  Tom chewed his lip. “What if it doesn’t work?”

  “It will,” Porter said. “My father swore it would once the two of us were together.”

  Tom frowned. There was a sharp edge to Porter’s tone, an underlying tension that was impossible to miss. My father. As though Tom were an interloper to some private, personal ritual. Clearly for Porter, the map wasn’t just a guide to an ancient sword. It was a physical testament to the years he’d spent with their father. Tom pictured Porter at their father’s side as he sketched the map, telling stories, sharing secrets, teaching the art of cartography. Always Porter. The son he’d wanted. The son he’d kept.

  The injustice of it welled up within him. He placed his fingers lightly against the edge of the map, watching as Porter did the same. He glared across the table at his brother and was stunned to see the same bitter resentment reflected back at him. But there was no time to consider it.

  The parchment came alive beneath their touch. This was nothing like the spark that had shocked him back in Professor Lost’s office, that light, hand-tingling buzz. This was an electric current jolting through his body, tapping some inner well deep within him and connecting him to Porter. For a brief, blinding moment, they were as one.

  The map began to glow, bathing them in its warmth. As they watched, two bright sparks shot from the parchment near the southern half of The Beyond. The sparks grew until they became a pair of soaring birds, one deep crimson, the other brilliant pearl. The birds wove circles around each other, diving low to disappear into a thick forest. Within the forest, a deep blue lake shimmered through a layer of gossamer mist. The water gently stirred, then parted. From within the lake’s crystalline depths rose a gleaming silver sword. It hovered in midair, emitting a brilliant white light all its own. Then, abruptly, the map flickered and dimmed, extinguishing itself like a candle in a breeze. The sword was gone, leaving the four of them blinking in its absence.

  Tom’s gaze shot across the map. His eyes met and held Porter’s. The simmering hostility he’d seen earlier was gone, replaced by the same shock and reverence he felt within himself. Then he understood. Umbrey was wrong. It had never been a place he’d been looking for all those long nights at the Lost Academy. It hadn’t even been a person. It was this. The feel of ancient parchment coming alive beneath his touch. That waswhat he was meant to do. What Porter was meant to do. Their destiny had been sealed the moment they were born.

  They were the mapmaker’s sons.

  “By God, it works!” Umbrey said, giving a shout of laughter. “And the sword lies to the south, no less! That settles it; we go through Terrum, then the Dismal Swamp.”

  Porter nodded thoughtfully, his pale brows drawn together. “That’ll land us in the center of Djembe territory.”

  “One battle at a time, lad,” Umbrey replied, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. He rolled up the map, shoved it in his hollow limb, and strapped the wooden appendage to his thigh. He gave his peg leg a loving pat. “As long as we have the map and the two of you—and now this bright lad—we’ll do just fine.”

  A door slammed in the room below. The shouts of Umbrey’s men, coupled with the clamor of crashing swords, echoed up the stairs.

  “Quickly, lads!” Umbrey shoved them toward the rear stairs. “This way!”

  The Watch stormed into the room, blocking their exit.

  As a group, they skidded to a stop and did a one-eighty. “That way!” Umbrey shouted, reversing direction. “The front stair!” They raced across the room to the stairwell on the opposite side. Suddenly Umbrey jerked to a stop and lurched forward, nearly bent over double. Tom whirled around to see him hobbling in a wide circle, flapping his arms like great, useless wings.

  Umbrey’s wooden leg was caught in a knothole in the floor. He jerked up and down, spinning in a queer half-circle, but no amount of tugging or swearing would free the limb.

  “Umbrey!” Tom called.

  “Go! Run, lad! Get out while you can!”

  “Not without you!”

  Porter skidded to a stop besid
e Tom. “Or the map!”

  The Watch poured into the room. Umbrey’s men raced in from the opposite side. They clashed in the center of the room like a breaking wave. As the battle raged around them, Tom and Porter raced to Umbrey, each draping one of Umbrey’s arms over his shoulder to support the man between them. Umbrey tugged at his leg, but it seemed the harder he tugged, the more firmly the peg tip planted itself in the knothole.

  A knife clattered to the floor. Tom lunged to the ground and scooped it up. He spun around and, with a quick jerk, severed the leather straps that bound Umbrey’s wooden leg to his knee. Free from that constraint, Umbrey threw himself into the battle, swinging his sword and dodging and weaving on his one good leg.

  “Get it, lad! Get the map!” Umbrey bellowed—to him, Tom presumed, as Porter had somehow managed to procure a sword of his own and was attacking The Watch with barely controlled fury.

  Before he could reach it, however, the small thief dove between battling swordsmen. He threw himself at the leg, reached inside, and jerked the map free. Clenching the rolled parchment in his fist, he tossed it to Tom, his small face lit up in a smile of victory. Tom caught the map and tucked it into his belt as one of Keegan’s men spun around, swinging his sword at the young boy.

  The boy scrambled right, missing the blade by mere inches.

  Fury at the sheer brutality of the blow—a blow meant to kill the child—shot through Tom. He surged forward, shoving the boy behind him. “Tom!” He heard Porter call his name and turned in time to see his brother, now fighting with a sword in each hand, toss one blade to him.

  Somehow Tom managed to catch the weapon. He gripped the shaft with both hands and brought up the sword, trying his best to pretend two things simultaneously: that he wasn’t afraid, and that he’d handled swords all his life. Apparently the act wasn’t as convincing as he hoped. The guard brought his sword around, slamming it against Tom’s blade with a sharp clang! that sent a tremor through Tom’s body. The sword went flying from his hand.

  The guardsman kept swinging. Tom ducked and twisted, retreating, his eyes darting around the room for another weapon. From the corner of his eye he saw a flash of movement as the boy scrambled away, shinnying up a rope and out of the battle. Good. At least he had the sense to flee while he could.