The Mapmaker's Sons

by V. L. Burgess

  The warrior girl spat up water, coughed, and took a deep, ragged breath.

  She moaned, and opened her eyes. She studied the ceiling of the cave in confusion, and then her eyes flew to Tom, as though stunned she was still alive.

  He sent her a small, reassuring smile and carefully eased her to a sitting position. As he did so, his focus returned to her chain mail. Once the girl was upright, he recognized a pattern within the tightly knit metal that he hadn’t seen before. The letter G in the center of her chest. A quick check of the boy’s armament revealed the same pattern.

  The pieces rushed at him like a puzzle suddenly taking shape. Chain mail. The vast army of warriors with their lances. Gregor’s lost knights.

  He stood, his gaze moving from the two warriors to Porter, Willa, and Mudge. “Gregor’s lost knights will be found, when water replaces ground,” he said. “The prophecy. We found them.”

  Porter’s mouth dropped open. He looked at the two warriors. Before he could speak, a voice carried softly across the cave.

  “Very good, Tom. I assumed one of you would eventually figure that out.”

  Tom spun around. A woman strode toward them. She wore a long gown of shimmering blues and greens; her chestnut-brown hair cascaded down her back. Flanking her on the right and left, like a pair of royal pets, were the crimson and white dragons, reduced to perfect miniatures of themselves. The woman radiated an almost unearthly beauty, yet there was a coldness in her eyes that put Tom instantly on alert.

  “Such a touching scene,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “Who are you?” Tom asked.

  “Vivienne. Friend of Marrick. Guardian of this lake.”

  She moved toward them as though gliding on air. A sound like the ringing of ancient chimes echoed around her. Her gaze fell on the two Djembe warriors, who were bent over and gasping, struggling to recover.

  “They were your enemy,” she said to Tom flatly. “They threatened to kill you. When their armor weighed them down, all you had to do was watch them die. Yet you chose instead to risk your own lives to save theirs. Why?”

  He blinked at the unexpected question. Had he been attacked, Tom would have fought for his life. Fought to the death, if necessary. He would have battled just as fiercely to protect Willa, Mudge, or Porter. But fighting to defend himself was a far different thing from standing by and watching someone drown in front of him.

  He looked from Porter to Willa to Mudge and saw the same answer in their eyes.

  “Because it was the right thing to do.”

  Vivienne’s lips curved in a bitter smile. “You speak of right. As though you, any of you, could understand what that means. Salamaine. The great king. So noble. And yet look how his reign ended. Brother slaying brother; father rising against son. Men cannot control their passions. Better to trust an animal than a man.”

  Willa shook her head. “This was a test, wasn’t it? You didn’t believe we would save them. You thought we would watch them drown.”

  Vivienne looked at her, her expression as if carved in ice. She raised a delicate arm and pointed to the water. “You may call the sword. If it answers, take it and be gone. Those are Marrick’s rules. But know this: the lake is mine. I have rules of my own. If you fail, there is a price.”

  “What price?” Tom asked.

  “If you fail, the lake will swallow you all and wash your bodies out to sea.”

  Tom arched a brow and shot a glance at Porter. “That’s fair.”

  Porter let out a sharp breath. He looked at Tom. “We haven’t failed yet.”

  Their eyes met and held. There was no decision to make. They’d come too far to turn back now.

  “Wait!” Willa said, stepping toward Vivienne. “If we succeed, you’ll let us go?”

  A cold smile touched the woman’s lips. The chimes echoed around her. “Of course.”

  Tom and Porter waded out into the lake. Water lapped Tom’s shins. He glanced at Porter, exchanging a tight, barely perceptible nod. “Sword of Five Kingdoms!” they called together.

  Nothing happened. A solemn stillness hung over the lake.

  “Sword of Five Kingdoms!” they repeated.

  Vivienne sighed. “No need to shout. When the rightful owner calls, the sword will appear.”

  They called a third time. Still nothing.

  The water abruptly surged, lapping Tom’s thighs.

  A cold, cruel smile curved Vivienne’s lips. She stroked the head of the crimson beast beside her. “I do believe the tide is coming in. Such a shame.”

  The water rose higher.

  “Wait!” shouted Willa. “Wait!”

  “Enough, girl! Marrick’s chosen is not here!”

  “No—they forgot the map! There must be some connection!”

  She ran to where Tom had tossed his pack on the shore, and passed the map to Mudge. “Quickly! Take it to them!”

  Mudge splashed to Tom’s side, water lapping his chest, and passed him the map. Tom’s fingers curled tightly around the parchment. Porter grabbed the other end. And as before, when they both laid hands on the ancient parchment, something happened. Tom felt a shift inside him, a strengthening of purpose and intent. Certainty stole over him.

  Marrick’s certainty. Salamaine’s reign had come to an inglorious end, but the old wizard made himself clear. He had not given up on mankind. There was still time. The battle between light and dark was not over yet.

  Even Mudge felt it. In a small voice that fell somewhere between a whisper and a prayer, he joined his voice with theirs.

  “Sword!”

  A tremor shook the body of water, and a small ripple spread from the center of the lake. The water began to churn and bubble. A frothy foam erupted from deep within the lake, shooting upward like an underwater explosion.

  The water parted to reveal the gleaming tip of a blade. It rose from the center of the lake until the entire sword was revealed. The Sword of Five Kingdoms hovered above the water, the glistening metal casting a shimmering, silver-white brilliance over the dim interior of the cave.

  They’d found the sword.

  Porter moved forward and waded into the lake until the water was chest high, his right hand outstretched. The sword hung suspended in midair, quivering like a hummingbird in flight. Then it moved toward him. The Sword of Five Kingdoms skimmed over the water until it found Porter’s hand. Porter wrapped his fingers around the grip, his knuckles whitening as he held it steady. He took a deep breath, then slowly turned, holding the blade aloft. Victory gleamed in his eyes.

  “We’ve done it,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion.

  Tom nodded. He looked from Porter to Willa to Mudge. They’d found the sword.

  Now it was time to get the stones.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  STORMING THE GATES

  Vivienne’s lake did in fact wash them all out to sea. But not in the way she had envisioned. According to the map, the lake emptied into a river that ran through the Miserable Forest, carrying them east toward the sea—and Divino. Tom rode with Porter, Willa, and Mudge in the hollowed-out trunk of an enormous tree. Drifting on dozens of boats behind them was the entire Djembe army: Gregor’s lost knights. A flotilla, it was called, if Tom remembered his naval history correctly.

  The warrior boy and warrior girl sat in the position of honor in the lead Djembe boat. A ruby on a silver chain now hung from the boy’s neck. The girl was adorned with a similar necklace, from which hung a huge, glittering pearl. In homage to the dragons that had led them to the sword, Tom supposed. Each boat was manned with long, broad-tipped oars, but there was no need to use them. The current was strong. The Miserable Forest sped past as the river coursed beneath them, carrying them toward the walled gates of Keegan’s domain.

  The sun slowly dipped below the horizon. Its final rays glinted off the metal blade resting on the wooden bench between Tom and Porter. The Sword of Five Kingdoms. Tom, who had yet to feel the sword, touched it experimentally. Cold. Biting co
ld. Like ice to his hand, absorbing none of the sun’s last rays. His fingers moved to the hilt of the sword, brushing the five slick depressions into which the stones would be fitted.

  Once they had the stones, of course, assuming they would somehow be able to wrest the stones from Keegan’s control. Which was another problem entirely.

  He looked at Porter. His brother, once again divining his thoughts, nodded. “We can do it. We have a plan.”

  True. They definitely had a plan. Tom just wished they’d been able to come up with a good one.

  Blunt force. That was the thrust of it. Now that they had an army at their disposal, Porter intended to use it. Attack The Watch, raid Keegan’s quarters, seize the stones. Bloody and brutal, but with any luck, effective.

  “We never did find Salamaine’s true heir,” he reminded Porter.

  “One battle at a time. Depending on what happens with The Watch, we may not live long enough to get the stones.”

  Porter was paraphrasing Umbrey. And though Tom matched his grim smile with one of his own, the expression was forced. Battle, blood, and betrayal, said Marrick’s prophecy. Betrayal of whom? Was Keegan expecting them, and if so, what were they walking into? Try as he might to put his fears into perspective, Tom couldn’t shake the feeling of dark foreboding that hung over him. He rubbed his palm, still sore from the thick splinter. Something was wrong, but he just couldn’t see it.

  He glanced at his brother. Since gaining the sword, Porter had been strangely quiet. Yet the energy pulsing through him was almost palpable. It was only natural, Tom supposed. After fulfilling a prophecy that had been thrust upon them since birth, maybe they should both be a little edgy.

  Suddenly something struck him that he hadn’t considered before. “Umbrey,” he said slowly, feeling around the edges of an idea. “Was it at all strange that he happened to find me at the exact moment The Watch appeared?”

  Porter frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s just odd. The passage between worlds had been shut for years, then the three of them show up at nearly the same moment …”

  They rounded a bend in the river, and Porter motioned him to silence. A single light appeared on the horizon. The evening’s first star, Tom thought, and then quickly corrected himself. No. Not a star. The light from the tower guarding Keegan’s gates. They’d reached the portal to the city. Just as the map had shown them.

  The Djembe silently guided the boats to the river’s edge and banked them there. They gathered their weapons and disembarked, their movements as low and still as the gentle lapping of the current. The army was ready. Now it was Tom’s turn.

  He stepped from the boat and stationed himself between Porter and Willa. Ahead of him loomed an enormous wooden gate, a medieval-style protection against invaders. Flanking the gates were miles of sheer rock walls that encircled the heart of Divino, Keegan’s central domain. A guarded tower at the top of the structure controlled the opening and closing of the gate. During daylight hours, Letters of Passage permitted select citizens to pass through the gates. At night, all traffic was forbidden.

  Tom surveyed the tower. Roughly three stories tall, but manageable. Enough footholds for him to gain the top without any trouble. It wasn’t the climb that worried him, but what he would find inside: Keegan’s Watch. The question was, how many would he face?

  Porter removed his dagger. He hesitated before passing it to Tom. “I’ll come with you.”

  Tom gave a quick shake of his head and tucked his brother’s dagger into his belt. It made no sense for Porter to go. Tom was a much faster climber than Porter, and if something did happen to Tom and he wasn’t able to open the gates, Porter and the Djembe army would have no choice but to take Keegan’s guard by force. It would be up to Porter to lead that charge.

  Next came the Sword of Five Kingdoms. Porter tucked the sword into the animal-skin sheath that held the map and passed it to Tom. Tom slipped it on, adjusting the straps until it hung comfortably across his back.

  “Remember the plan,” Porter said. “Open the gates and then come back to the boat. Handle the guard as best you can, then wait for us here. No matter what happens, stay with the boat. The Djembe warriors will do the fighting. We’ll meet you back here with the stones.”

  “Yes. We’ve been over it.”

  Porter glanced over his shoulder, then leaned closer to Tom. “If we don’t make it back, take the sword and flee to the Other Side. Do whatever it takes to keep the sword out of Keegan’s reach.”

  Perfect. There were only a million things that could go wrong. Maybe more.

  He moved to go, but Willa stopped him. Standing on tiptoe, she pressed a small kiss against his cheek. “Good luck.”

  Tom’s heart knocked against his chest, then began beating at three times its normal rate—whether from the unexpected kiss or the reality of what he was about to undertake, he couldn’t say. He gave a quick nod, ruffled Mudge’s hair, and was off.

  The moon hung full and heavy in the sky. Bright. Almost too bright. Crouching low, he raced from the cover of trees until he was nearly at the tower base. A strong gust of wind whipped past him. He waited a beat until the next breeze blew a cloud over the surface of the moon. Then, temporarily cloaked by blackness, he darted to the tower wall.

  He moved straight upward, faster than he’d ever climbed, scaling the tower without difficulty. Once at the top, he peered through an open slit in the rock wall and looked into the guardroom. Three shadowy forms moved within, their tall black boots clicking against the cold stone floor; the red eyes clasped at the shoulders of their capes floated eerily in the darkness. The Watch.

  Not great odds, but he could have faced worse. He scanned the room. His gaze fell on a long wooden lever projecting from an opening in the floor—the mechanism used to open the gates. He moved quickly, before he could reconsider. Gripping Porter’s dagger between his teeth, he thrust himself feet first through the opening in the wall and slammed his body into the back of the nearest guard. The guard’s head hit the wall with an audible crack. He collapsed to the floor, his black cape puddled around him.

  Tom tucked the dagger into his belt and shot across the room while the element of surprise was still in his favor. He lunged for the wooden lever. But the guards were too seasoned to be idle for long. One guard spun around, bringing up his arm and smashing it against Tom’s chest. The blow caught him midstride, knocking his feet out from under him and sending him slamming to the floor. The Sword of Five Kingdoms, sheathed against his back, bit into his spine.

  As the guard brought down his boot, intending to drive it into Tom’s face, Tom rolled right. He caught the boot on his shoulder blade rather than his cheek. Stumbling to his feet, he drew Porter’s dagger. The guard didn’t hesitate. He swung his sword, knocking the weapon from Tom’s hand and sending it skittering away.

  Tom backed up a step, his gaze darting from the two remaining guards to the wooden lever. One flying leap. He might have a chance to reach it.

  He thrust his hand into his jeans pocket as though to withdraw a weapon, hoping the feint would buy him a second or two, when his fingers came upon a small, soft pouch. A plan, bred of pure desperation, took root in his mind. He waited a beat, his back against the wall, as the two guards converged upon him. Then, when he could almost feel their breath upon his cheek, he sprayed the pouch’s fine, powdery contents directly in their faces.

  The guards howled and stumbled backward, careening blindly away from him, just as the swamp dogs had done when they’d received their dose of pepper powder.

  Tom shoved past them and dove on the wooden lever. He leaned on the release, tugging it toward the floor with all his might. Slowly the lever moved. Outside, the enormous wooden gates groaned open.

  The Djembe battle roar filled the night air. Aiy-aiy-aiy-aiy! Hundreds of warriors chanted together as they flooded through the gates and poured into the market square. Their iridescent armor glistened in the moonlight, giving them the fearsome ap
pearance of an army of wrathful ghosts.

  Tom spun around, intending to scale down the tower before the guards recovered, but a solitary figure blocked his way.

  “Thought you might be in a bit of a spot here, lad. But it looks like you’ve learned how to take care of yourself.”

  Umbrey.

  Tom blinked. “How’d you get in here? Where’s your grappling hook?”

  “My grappling hook?” Umbrey studied him in confusion, and then a slow smile of comprehension broke across his face. “While I do love a dramatic entrance, I thought it’d be easier if I took the stairs this time.” He slid back a plank in the floor to reveal a circular metal staircase, similar to the kind found in lighthouses.

  Of course. It hadn’t occurred to Tom to consider how Keegan’s guards made it to the top of the tower.

  “I figured you and Porter would be coming through these gates,” Umbrey continued, “and I thought you might need a hand.” The Djembe’s battle cries echoed off the stone walls. Turning away, Umbrey moved to an opening in the wall and shot a glance at the scene below. “Friends of yours?”

  Tom nodded, silent. Although Umbrey’s face was hidden in shadow, something about his tone wasn’t right. Apprehension knotted Tom’s gut. Through battle, blood, and betrayal. The words of the prophecy suddenly echoed through his mind. His palm throbbed as he looked at Umbrey. “What’s going on? Is everything all right?”

  Umbrey answered the question with one of his own. “The sword?”

  “I have it.”

  “Where?”

  Tom brought around the animal-skin sheath he’d been wearing across his back, holding it up for Umbrey to see. “Here. With the map.”

  “Then everything’s fine. Excellent, in fact. You’ve done well, lad. Better than I could have hoped.”

  The roar of clashing armies filled the night air. Tom joined Umbrey at the window and looked at the square below. The Watch and the Djembe surged against each other like two swirling tides, swords clashing and lances thrusting in deadly hand-to-hand combat.