The Mapmaker's Sons

by V. L. Burgess

  “What happened to the other son?”

  Porter shrugged again. “Gregor? It was forbidden to speak his name. Some say he was slain by his brother; some say he sought refuge in the forests. The knights who remained loyal to him were hunted down and murdered. A few may have escaped. It’s almost impossible to know. This all took place hundreds of years ago.”

  Tom looked at his brother. “That’s how it ends?”

  “Not exactly. Roughly twenty years ago, a scribe working with ancient documents uncovered a prophecy linked to Marrick. A second set of twin sons. The light and the dark brought together to reclaim Salamaine’s sword and rid the kingdoms of evil once again.”

  “Ah. I’m guessing that’s where we come in.”

  Porter gave a curt nod. “Given that our father was a cartographer—one who had specialized in the study of ancient legends—it wasn’t difficult to link the prophecy to us.”

  “Except this time, maybe the pale-haired brother is the bad guy.”

  Porter almost smiled. “They say when the sword and the stones are reunited—”

  “Quiet!” Willa snapped, going still.

  They froze, listening. To nothing, Tom thought. And then it hit him. Nothing. Not a chirp or a rustle or a hiss or a slither. Silence. Then, in the distance, the low, purring rumble of what sounded like an engine. The hair stood up on the back of Tom’s neck as recognition kicked in. The mist had washed off Willa’s hideous salve. It wasn’t the rumble of an engine he heard.

  It was the growl of a dog.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  DOGS

  Six huge, hairless beasts strutted out from between a canopy of vines, carrying with them the stench of rot and decay. They were enormous—roughly the size of a child’s pony—with mottled skin in varying shades of gray, green, and brown. They strode forward with hackles raised, lips curled back in a vicious snarl. Thick streams of drool hung from the corners of their enormous jaws.

  Heads low, the dogs spread out. A deep rumbling growl issued from within their throats.

  Moving instinctively, Tom edged Mudge behind him, noting as he did that Porter and Willa tightened their circle as well. Together the four of them edged carefully backward. They moved with slow deliberation, hardly daring to breathe. Their eyes fixed on the dogs, they gathered themselves into a tight semicircle.

  If Tom’s heart was beating, he wasn’t aware of it. Every nerve and fiber in his body was stretched tight, his focus fixed entirely on the dogs. He knew enough not to run or scream. Any sudden sound or movement would only serve to spark a chase-capture-kill instinct among the beasts. He scanned his memory for additional knowledge of dogs, but his experience was limited to Bubbles, the chubby, sweet-tempered golden Lab the school librarian occasionally brought to work.

  Clearly there was no Bubbles here.

  The dogs swayed as one, their weight shifting from paw to paw, muscles rippling beneath their skin. One dog moved forward. The alpha male. At least two hundred pounds, Tom thought, taking a silent measure of the beast. His ears were pinned back against his skull, his sharp fangs glistened, and his eyes were dark and alert.

  Willa tightened her grip on her blade. Porter slowly reached for his own knife and removed it from its sheath. “I’ll take the leader,” he said under his breath. He held the knife out and away from his body, his knuckles white on the grip. “The rest of you run.”

  As though somehow understanding Porter’s intent, the alpha male locked eyes with him. The dog lowered his massive head and bared his fangs. A low, rumbling growl issued from his throat. He flexed his forelegs, ready to pounce.

  Willa drew in a sharp breath.

  Porter’s fingers tightened reflexively around the handle of his blade.

  Suicide, Tom thought. It would never work. The beast was too massive, too powerful. And even if Porter could hold one animal off with his knife, and Willa keep another at bay, they could never outrun the rest of the pack. He took a step backward, frantically scanning the ground for a weapon of his own. His heel bumped up against one of the enormous root structures they’d been climbing over as they moved through the swamp.

  Tom wasn’t aware of making a decision. But some part of his brain, fueled by adrenaline and the will to survive, made it for him. “The roots!” he shouted.

  He twisted sideways and shoved Mudge through a gap in the root cage. The boy slipped easily into the hollow web of tangled roots. Willa turned, and after a moment’s confusion, comprehension made it through the fog of terror that held her frozen in place. She leaped through an opening in the twisted roots. Porter hesitated, his mind apparently primed for fight over flight, but a shove from Tom helped him change direction.

  Tom and Porter dove headfirst into the temporary shelter, barely managing to pull themselves inside before the dogs were upon them.

  The beasts could fit their heads through the gaps, but not much more. Their prey escaping, they erupted in an explosion of raw fury. Barking, growling, snarling, shoving their muzzles through the openings in the roots, the animals were all teeth and fangs and flying strings of slobber. The dogs came at them from the top and the sides, ripping the air with their frenzied, earsplitting barking.

  As Tom lurched backward, the map snagged on a root and was knocked off his shoulder. The alpha dog caught it in his teeth, his fangs sinking through the parchment. Tom grabbed on to the other end, caught in a brutal game of tug-of-war. Not releasing his hold, the dog bared his teeth and issued a savage growl. A blast of the beast’s noxious breath sprayed Tom’s face.

  “The map!” Porter shouted as he shouldered his way beside him. “Hold on to it!”

  “I’m trying!”

  The dog’s thick slobber caused the map to grow slick in Tom’s grasp. He dug his fingers in, but was no match against the animal’s vice-like grip.

  The alpha dog gave a tug, and the animal-skin sheath holding the parchment inched from Tom’s grip. Porter thrust his knife through the roots, but he couldn’t get the blade close enough to strike.

  Suddenly Willa was there. She shoved past Tom and Porter, a small leather pouch in her hand. “Close your eyes!” she shouted. “Don’t breathe!”

  Tom obeyed, but not in time. A cloud of hot burning air filled his lungs. He heard Porter gasp and wheeze beside him. A pepper powder of some sort, he realized. His eyes watered and his vision blurred. The alpha dog gave a yelp of pain and abruptly released the map, sending Tom flying.

  He landed with a thud and scooted backward on his hands and feet, moving like a crab that had been flipped over. He bumped into Mudge, who was tucked in a tight ball, shrinking himself into as small a space as possible. Willa crouched down low beside him. The dogs swarmed around them, pawing frantically at the roots, thrusting their snouts through the gaps.

  “Do you have any more of that powder?” he shouted, his voice barely carrying over the din of the barking.

  “Not enough!”

  Porter leaned forward. “What do we do?”

  Tom looked quickly around their shelter. The root structure twisted away to his right and left, forming what appeared to be a tangled maze through the swamp. One cage connected to another, creating an above-ground tunnel of sorts.

  The alpha dog grabbed a root and cracked it in his massive jaws. He thrust his neck inside, lunging toward Mudge. The beast’s rancid breath sprayed their faces. Tom’s heart slammed against his chest. Within a matter of minutes, with concentrated effort, the dogs would chew and claw their way into the cage. There was no time for Tom to think or plan. If they wanted to survive, they had to move.

  “That way!” he shouted.

  The cage ceiling was too low to allow them to stand and run upright. Even Mudge had to run crouched down in a halfcrawl position, scrambling madly to get away from the dogs. But the frenzied beasts kept pace on the outside of the root maze, barking furiously and testing the roots for ways to wedge themselves inside.

  Tom moved faster than he ever had in his life. They followed the twisti
ng, turning course of the maze, racing blindly through the swamp. Eventually the ceiling of the tunnel grew higher, allowing them all to run standing upright. The dogs raced beside them on the outside of the tunnel. The beasts worked themselves into a fit of rabid fury, snapping and snarling through the gaps in the roots.

  Tom wheeled blindly around a corner and skidded to a stop, barely managing to avoid slamming into a solid rock wall. Porter, Willa, and Mudge barreled in behind, piling against him.

  They’d reached a dead end.

  A wall of solid rock cut off the root maze. The cliff stretched as far as Tom could see, blocking out the swamp completely.

  He doubled over, dragging in painful gulps of air. His sides ached. His throat felt like it was on fire, but whether that was from Willa’s powder or the running, he couldn’t tell.

  “Got to go back,” Porter managed. “Follow the tunnel the other way.”

  “Can’t … run,” Willa wheezed, on her knees as she gasped for breath. Her face was pale and blotchy, her breath coming in ragged gulps. It occurred to Tom that she’d taken in far more of the pepper powder than either he or Porter had.

  Tom opened his mouth to speak, then abruptly closed it. He became aware of two things at once: the look of horror on Mudge’s face, and the utter silence that surrounded them. The dogs were no longer barking and growling.

  Following Mudge’s terrified gaze, he wheeled around. The dogs hadn’t given up and gone away. They’d reached the same dead end. But their solution was both awful and ingenious. The dogs were frantically digging. Their massive paws were plowing aside the dirt, their muzzles poking up on the inside of the cage. Within minutes, perhaps seconds, the dogs would be in the cage with them.

  Horror flooded through Tom. They were about to be torn apart. Trapped inside a cage with a pack of savage dogs.

  Tom scanned the tunnel. A small gap between the roots that formed the ceiling caught his eye. That was it. They couldn’t outrun the dogs, they couldn’t outfight them, but they could outclimb them.

  “There!” he shouted. “Up! Now!”

  Tom grabbed Mudge and half-shoved, half-lifted the boy toward Porter. Porter held him up until Mudge had grabbed the topmost root and squirmed through the opening. Tom gave Willa a knee up, sending her through after Mudge. They didn’t waste time arguing over who should go next. Tom cupped his hands and gave Porter a boost. Porter shinnied through the opening—tight, but he made it—then flipped over onto his belly and reached his hand through to pull Tom up.

  Willa and Mudge had already begun their ascent up the face of the cliff. Tom grabbed a handhold and pulled himself up, Porter right beside him. They’d barely gained their footing when frantic barking rang out.

  The dogs had caught on. They scrambled up the roots and lunged for Tom’s ankles, missing his heel by mere inches. Their mouths foaming, the dogs hurled themselves against the solid rock, tumbling over one another in a futile effort to scale the sheer wall. Hands trembling, Tom forced himself to concentrate on the climb, putting one hand above the other and pulling himself up.

  His body took over, climbing without conscious thought or effort. Then it hit him. He could do this. Years of scaling the rooftops at the Lost Academy had given him that. Climbing came naturally to him.

  But that wasn’t true for anyone else. He glanced over at Willa, who was fixed to the face of the cliff as though frozen there. Rather than looking up for her next handhold, her terrified eyes were locked on the pack of snarling dogs below.

  Tom scaled across to her side. “Look at me, Willa.”

  She gave a wild shake of her head. “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. Look at me.” He waited a beat, then said it again, harsher this time. “Look at me, Willa!”

  She dragged her eyes to his.

  “Good. There you go. That’s better already, isn’t it?”

  She gave a quick nod, the terror never leaving her face.

  ”Okay. You’re doing great, but we’ve got to keep climbing—”

  “I can’t move! I’m stuck! There’s nowhere for me to go!”

  Tom surveyed her position and saw that she had caught herself in a crevice that afforded no upward hold. “That’s all right,” he said. “No problem. You just need to climb down a bit—”

  “No! The dogs!”

  “The dogs can’t reach you, Willa. I promise. Watch, I’ll go down a bit and they won’t get me. See? You don’t even have to come that low. Just follow me.”

  Step by step, he walked her through the process of releasing and grabbing holds until she felt secure enough to climb on her own. He moved on next to Mudge, then Porter, finding the safest handholds, the sturdiest footholds. They paused to rest here and there, clinging to the rock wall like bugs flattened against a windshield. Their shadows lengthened. Inch by inch, they dragged themselves up the cliff, each transfer of weight a struggle.

  Finally they reached the top. Tom hurled himself over the cliff edge, grabbed Willa, and pulled her up after him. He reached for Mudge’s hand and gave a tug. As he did, he heard the sharp sound of ripping cloth. A silver object tumbled from Mudge’s pocket. Before Tom could shout a warning, the boy lunged to catch it. He grabbed it in his fist and gave a victorious smile, but his victory was short-lived. The rock beneath him cracked at his sudden motion, sending him skidding downward and crashing into Porter.

  Unable to reach them, Tom watched them fall, his mouth dry and his pulse roaring in his ears.

  Knocked off-balance, Porter slid downward, scraping jagged rock as he fell. Finally he found a hold. He lunged for Mudge and caught him by his collar, trapping him against the rock wall with his body. For a long moment they pressed themselves against the cliff, neither one moving.

  Finally, apparently somewhat recovered, Porter began to climb. He sent Mudge ahead of him and followed the boy up the remainder of the cliff. Tom caught Mudge’s arm and pulled him up, then reached for Porter and gave him a hand.

  They tumbled onto a grassy ledge and rolled flat on their backs, staring up at the sky. Tom’s breath came hard, and his heart hammered in his chest. His fingertips bled. Every muscle in his body ached.

  Mudge rolled over onto his side. He smiled and waved his clenched fist. “I saved it,” he announced. “I didn’t lose it!”

  Willa looked at the boy. “What?” “This.” He opened his fist to display the oval piece of metal engraved with the letters STH. “It spilled out when my pocket tore, but I caught it.”

  “That’s what you lunged for?” Porter, his forehead bruised and bleeding, rolled over to look at him. He gave a choked laugh, his expression darkening like the coming of a storm. “You nearly killed us both for that? That stupid, worthless piece of metal?”

  “It’s not a stupid piece of metal!” Mudge, who’d withstood the battle with The Watch, the swamp, the dogs, and scaling a sheer cliff wall, suddenly looked to be near tears. “My father left it for me! He said it was important! That I wasn’t to lose it! He said this is who I am!”

  Willa moved to the boy’s side and draped her arm over his shoulder. She glared at Porter. “Don’t yell at him!”

  Porter’s pale brows shot upward. “Me? Yell at him? I just saved his ungrateful little life. I suppose this is how you thank me.”

  “Thank you? If you hadn’t insisted we—”

  “Hey! That’s enough,” Tom said, coming between them. “We made it. All of us. We’re alive.” His words seemed to sink in, for Willa and Porter both gave a curt nod and backed up a step.

  “All right,” Tom continued, pulling out the map, which, aside from a few rips in one corner from the alpha dog’s fangs, was miraculously intact. He scanned their surroundings. The cliff was to their left; a dark wood loomed to their right. “If we’d followed the route we planned at Willa’s, we’d be in a meadow right now. Obviously we’ve gone off course. Let’s figure out where we are and plot the quickest way to the sword.”

  They unrolled the parchment. Tom placed his bloody fingertips
on the edge. Porter did the same. The sun was setting, giving them precious little time and light. Fortunately, it didn’t take long. The sword rose and shimmered. A twisted path through a dark wood glowed beneath it, eerily beckoning them forward. Their location was immediately apparent. They’d scaled the Cliffs of No Return.

  The only way to reach the sword now was to travel directly through the Miserable Forest.

  Heart of Djembe territory.

  Incredibly, after all they’d been through, the worst was yet to come.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BETRAYAL

  Keegan strode from his private chamber onto the broad marble balcony that adjoined his room. Moonlight flooded the grounds beneath him. Ignoring the sergeant-at-arms who had been waiting for over an hour to speak to him, he rested his hands on the cool marble rail and studied the group training in the courtyard below.

  Fifty men. Aside from his own personal squad, this was the most elite force The Watch had ever produced. They moved through their drills with brutal efficiency, their tall black boots slapping the cobblestones, their black capes whooshing through the air. The all-seeing red eyes, clasped at the shoulder of each cape, pierced the moonlight like the hungry gaze of a vicious beast.

  He glanced over his shoulder, nodding at a servant who waited in the shadows. A darkly beautiful woman draped in a long black gown, stepped forward, carrying a silver tray upon which rested a pair of crystal goblets and a bottle of wine. She filled a glass with Keegan’s private vintage and silently passed it to him. He nodded his approval and took the bottle, then indicated that the woman should leave.