by Adam Blade
“Gwen thought she saw someone, back at the cave,” Tanner said, ignoring Castor’s remark.
Castor squinted. “Well, I can’t see anything!”
Rufus shrugged. “Me neither.”
Would Derthsin really send scouts to track them, when he had whole armies at his disposal? It didn’t seem likely, but Tanner trusted Gwen more than anyone.
“We shouldn’t take any risks,” he said. “Let’s encircle the camp and close in.”
Rufus and Gwen nodded, and Castor sighed. “If we must. But we’re never going to get anywhere if we don’t push on.”
They mounted their Beasts again. “I’ll come from the rear,” said Tanner. “Gwen, take the front approach; Castor and Rufus, come from the sides.”
“How come Gwen gets the direct attack?” said Castor.
“It’s not an attack,” said Tanner, “until we know it’s an enemy.” He wouldn’t share his fears with the others yet.
He tugged on Firepos’s feathers, and the flame bird lifted off the rocks, swooping low over the trees with her wing tips rustling the leaves; no one at ground level would see her coming. Tanner checked back to see Falkor slicing through the undergrowth and Nera padding silently, fanning out in opposite directions. Gulkien, with his wings folded into his sides, took long strides on his massive paws.
Tanner guided Firepos wide of the campsite, then looped around the back. With one hand on his Beast’s feathers, Tanner let his other drop to the hilt of his sword. Firepos thrust out her talons and landed above the cave entrance. From the rustle of the trees on both sides, Tanner knew that Falkor and Nera must be closing in, too.
A cry split the air from the forest behind him. It was Gwen.
Falkor and Nera burst from the trees on either side of Tanner, who pointed in the direction of the cry. “Find Gwen!” he called to Rufus and Castor. “Hurry!”
Tanner squeezed with his thighs and Firepos jumped into the air, gliding down toward the forest. His stomach twisted with anxiety. I shouldn’t have split us up, he thought. If something’s happened to her …
As the flame bird neared the ground, Tanner slipped from her side, landing neatly and rolling to his feet. Barely breaking stride, he plunged into the trees, drawing his sword.
“Gwen!” he called. “Where are you?”
“I can see Gulkien!” shouted Castor’s voice somewhere to his right.
Tanner stumbled over a tree root and caught sight of movement ahead. A large, hooded man clutched Gwen around the middle and hoisted her off the ground.
“Let go of her!” he shouted.
Gwen twisted, eyes wide. Tanner sprinted at them, raising his sword ready to strike. He heard a snarl, and Gulkien pounced into view. With a flick of his leathery wing, he sent Tanner sprawling across the mossy ground. The wolf stood over him. As Tanner climbed to his feet, Gwen half turned. Instead of anguish or terror, Tanner caught the curl of a smile.
Tanner looked between Gwen and her attacker. “I don’t understand,” he said.
“That’s enough, Gulkien,” Gwen whispered, slipping from the man’s arms. “Tanner wasn’t to know.”
“What …? Who …?” Tanner began.
The man stepped beside Gwen. He wore a filthy cloak over his broad shoulders, stained and torn, with sections of different material stitched over old rips and holes. He pulled back his brown hood to reveal weather-beaten features, tanned and weary. It was difficult to tell how old he was, so deep were the furrows etched into his brow. The lower half of his face was covered in a shaggy yellow beard. His hair was gray and thinning on top, but as he turned to Gwen and put his arm around her, Tanner saw he had tied the long strands of hair back and threaded them with beads. Like my grandmother, Tanner thought. Despite his haggard appearance, the old man’s brown eyes shone.
“I’m Jonas,” he said in a deep voice.
The name set off a spark in Tanner’s brain. Jonas? “The mapmaker!” he gasped.
With her dying words, Esme had sent Tanner looking for Jonas, but when he’d arrived in the mapmaker’s town, the man was long gone, leaving behind the twins he’d rescued and raised as children: Gwen and Geffen.
“Is it really you?” asked Gwen, taking Jonas’s hand. “I … I can’t believe it.”
At that moment, Nera pounced into the clearing, teeth bared, and from the opposite side, Rufus ducked under a branch on Falkor’s back. The man shrank away.
Castor jumped down from Nera’s fur and drew his dagger. “Get away from her!” he shouted, running at the man.
“No!” Gwen said, slapping the dagger away. “Jonas is my … He looked after Geffen and me when we were young.”
“Well, what’s he doing here?” asked Castor.
“Don’t be so rude!” snapped Gwen.
Castor ignored her. “Well?” he demanded, frowning at the mapmaker.
They stood in a circle, gazing at each other, as swallows darted overhead. What was this man doing here? Tanner had seen too many attacks on villages and innocent deaths to believe in coincidence anymore. Everything happened in Avantia for a reason — and usually that reason was evil.
“It’s a long story,” Jonas said eventually.
“Not good enough,” Castor snapped.
For once, Tanner thought that Castor was right. It was only the hurt in Gwen’s eyes that stopped him from flinging his own questions at the mapmaker. A message throbbed through the air to him from Firepos. Stay calm. Move slowly. The truth will reveal itself.
“The morning’s almost over already,” said Rufus, turning his back on Jonas to address his friends. His face was mottled with red patches of agitation. “We should be halfway to the volcano by now!”
Gwen gently pushed Rufus away. “Give me a moment,” she said. Her eyes pleaded with them. “There’s something I must say.”
She knelt at the mapmaker’s feet and pulled him down to sit on a stone. She grasped his gnarled hands in hers, and Tanner’s heart ached to see that his fingers were twisted with age. He probably couldn’t even hold a quill now, much less make maps.
“It’s Geffen,” she said, gazing up into the man’s face. Silver crescents of tears brimmed in her eyes. “He’s …” She lowered her face to the ground, her voice thick with emotion.
Pain creased the old man’s face. “I know,” he said softly.
Alarm darted through Tanner’s body.
“How do you know?” he demanded. The words were out before he could stop them, and Gwen threw him a furious glance.
“I move from town to village, sleeping where I can,” Jonas said, his eyes narrowing. “You’d be surprised at how much I hear and the pain it can cause.” His eyes welled with tears, but he brushed them away. He turned back to Gwen. “I’ve been looking for you since I heard Colweir was in trouble,” said Jonas. “But I was always one step behind. It’s hard when you have these magnificent creatures and I’m on foot.”
“All this time you were near us,” Gwen said. “I felt it, I’m sure.”
Tanner pulled her aside. “Something doesn’t feel right,” he whispered. “Jonas left you years ago. Why’s he turned up now, when we’ve got some of the mask? Have you asked yourself why? Are you thinking straight, Gwen?”
Gwen swallowed, and a cloud of pain crossed over her face. “That’s a horrible thing to say,” she hissed, but not quietly enough — the mapmaker glanced over at them. There was something hungry in his gaze. Then his lips set in a thin line.
“You should have listened to me, Beast Riders. Now you will pay the price!”
He lifted his hands to the edges of the hood, and Tanner noticed that ink no longer stained his fingers. Instead, they had grown longer, with knobbled joints and sickly yellowing skin. His nails were sharp. And as he pulled back his hood, it wasn’t Jonas who stood before them.
“Vendrake!” Tanner gasped. He’d disguised himself as the person closest to Gwen after her brother, just to get near to them and try to get the mask back.
Derthsin’s servan
t grinned crookedly. The scar that snaked across his pale skin bloomed an angry red, and he threw off the cloak to reveal tight-fitting black leather armor.
“My master sends his regards,” he said.
“Send him this back!” said Castor, drawing his sword. Gwen had moved a short distance away.
“I’d think very carefully before you do anything foolish,” hissed Vendrake, his eyes darting from one to the other. “Jonas died a slow and painful death because he would not bow to Derthsin’s will. Do not make the same mistake.”
A shape appeared in the sky behind Vendrake, growing bigger as it approached. A vulture, almost as huge as Firepos, dragged a flying chariot by creaking harnesses. The bird’s black eyes glittered in its bald, mottled head. The matted feathers of its wings had been torn away in places, leaving bare, wrinkled flesh.
There was a hissing sound and the vulture had to jerk clumsily to one side as an ax sliced through the air. A small distance away from Tanner, Gwen was already reaching for another ax from her belt, sending it arcing toward the bird. There was a squawk of pain and blood spattered down toward them. Even from this distance, Tanner could see the red streaks staining the vulture’s feathers.
“You’ll pay for that, little girl!” shouted Vendrake. He lunged toward her, but Tanner drew his sword and leaped between them, the point of his weapon trained on Vendrake’s heart. Derthsin’s servant hesitated before stalking off toward the chariot. They watched him leave, but Tanner knew things were only going to get worse.
“He came here for a reason,” he said as Gwen and Castor drew near. Rufus was staring after the vulture, his fingers twitching as he murmured to himself. “Rufus! Is there anything you can do?” Tanner demanded.
The vulture had landed on the ground. Vendrake was smoothing a hand over the bird’s wounds and the evil bird ruffled its feathers, visibly improved. What evil magic had Vendrake used to cure the vulture?
“Rufus!” Tanner called again, his patience running out. Their friend took a deep breath and sent bolts of light shooting out from his fingers toward where the vulture had landed. Instantly, the chariot caught alight, flames flickering around the edges of the varnished wood. Vendrake glanced back at them, snarling. He used his cloak to pat out the flames before leaping into the chariot through clouds of smoke. His curses carried through the air toward them.
“You don’t understand what you’re dealing with!” he shouted.
“This isn’t working,” Tanner cried. “We’re just making him more angry.”
“I can finish him,” Castor said, his hand going to his sword as he marched forward. But even as he spoke, the vulture heaved the chariot into the air with Vendrake in it. It circled once, then descended sharply toward them. Tanner and Castor leaped aside, but it was only as Tanner rolled behind a rock that he heard Gwen’s scream.
“No!” Tanner ran out from behind the boulder, but it was too late. Gwen’s legs dangled in the air as the vulture held her arm in its beak, then — with a vicious swing of its head — threw her into the chariot. Vendrake laughed loudly.
“The game is on!” he called down. Tanner could hear the blood pumping in his ears, his heart almost bursting through his chest as fury tore through him.
Channel it, came Firepos’s wise words. Don’t lose control of your anger. Use it to get Gwen back.
Derthsin’s minion had already stolen Geffen away once, dragging him through the Avantian skies to General Gor. Was he going to do the same to Gwen? But even as these thoughts swirled around Tanner’s head, the chariot lunged down between the trees, heading toward something hidden. What have they spotted?
Tanner leaped from boulder to boulder and darted into the forest.
“Wait for us!” called Castor.
Tanner heard his friends crashing through the forest behind him but didn’t stop. A harsh squawk tore the air as the vulture-drawn chariot emerged from the trees, sailing overhead. Vendrake was laughing now, and Gwen clung to the edge of the chariot, blood scoring her arm from where the vulture had grabbed her.
Tanner stumbled over a tree root and sprawled headlong onto the mossy ground. Picking himself up, he heard a terrifying sound: Gulkien yowling in pain.
“Help!” screamed Gwen from the chariot. “Gulkien!”
Tanner emerged into a clearing and his blood froze in his veins. Gulkien lay on his side with a deep gouge matting his gray fur with blood. He tried to stand and sagged back down.
The vulture swooped through the air, its talons reaching for Rufus next. Tanner pushed the other boy aside and threw himself at the chariot as it rose above him, catching the rim of one wheel from below. His arms were almost ripped from their sockets as the vulture jerked higher on its ragged wings. The trees fell away beneath them.
“Get off me!” he heard Gwen say.
“You’re Derthsin’s now!” shouted Vendrake. Tanner heard a heavy thump and Gwen groaned.
The vulture wheeled in the air, and wind blasted through Tanner’s clothes. He saw Firepos’s blazing wings spread below as the Beast took off in pursuit.
I’m coming, she called to Tanner.
Beneath her, Castor and Rufus darted between the trees, their eyes fixed on the sky. Nera and Falkor stayed close to their sides, but Tanner realized there was little the Beasts could do.
It’s up to me now, he thought.
The air turned icy, and Tanner could hardly feel his fingers. Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself up and reached for the edge of the chariot. He heaved his body over it and tumbled inside.
“What’s this?” shouted Vendrake. “Another passenger! My master will be pleased.”
Tanner gripped the side of the chariot to steady himself and faced Derthsin’s servant. The chariot tipped dangerously to one side, almost unfooting Tanner. Vendrake stood perfectly balanced, and behind his legs Gwen lay passed out on the floor, her cloak fallen back to reveal her throwing axes. Blood streaked her arm. Tanner’s stomach curled into a ball of fury.
“You’ll regret letting your vulture hurt her!” he said, as he drew his sword.
“My vulture and I do as my master wishes,” Vendrake replied.
There was a screeching sound as a panel in the floor of the chariot slid open. Tanner glanced down to see snakes writhing out of a hidden compartment, their fangs bared. He leaped to one side, but already the cold scales of a vicious-looking viper curled around his ankle. He leaned against the side of the chariot and tried to kick it off, but the coils only tightened. More snakes were moving over the prone body of Gwen, and Vendrake sat at the helm of the chariot with his arms folded, laughing.
“There’s nothing you can do,” goaded Derthsin’s servant, the scar on his jaw puckering around his crooked smile. “Either you go over the side and plunge to your death, or you stay here and have the life squeezed out of you. What’s it to be?”
Tanner didn’t answer. Instead, he began hacking madly at the snakes around him. Lengths of muscular flesh sent blood spurting as he cut heads from bodies, bringing his blade dangerously near his own limbs as he freed himself. A final slice of the sword and the viper around his ankles fell to the floor, the white of its spine chillingly stark against the stain of blood on its scales.
Tanner threw himself toward Gwen and tore at the snakes writhing over her, flinging them out of the chariot. One of the snakes opened its mouth wide, pulling its head back, fangs ready to fill his veins with poison. Tanner brought his sword around in a low arc and cut the snake in two so that the pieces of its body fell beside his knees.
Vendrake had stopped laughing.
“You have a surprising power,” he murmured, watching Tanner closely. “It’s true what they say. A Beast’s blood really does bring strength.” So Vendrake knows, Tanner thought.
A screech pierced Tanner’s ears. Firepos was catching up to them with strong wing beats, flames licking over her feathers. Vendrake laughed.
“Your Beast is useless,” he said. “She can’t attack without killing you, too.”
<
br /> Tanner knew he was right. If Firepos used one of her fireballs, the whole chariot would be burned to ashes. But as it wobbled, setting the harnesses clanking and the snakes slithering across the floor, another idea flashed in his mind.
He sent a message to Firepos: Fly below the chariot, quickly.
The freezing gale whipped around Tanner and snatched at Vendrake’s dark cloak. As it did so, Tanner glimpsed the hideous scar covering Vendrake’s flesh. It spread across the lower part of his jaw and trailed in shining ridges down onto his neck, where it disappeared beneath the leather tunic.
“Admiring my beauty, are you?” snarled his foe.
“It’s no less than you deserve,” snapped Tanner.
He’d discovered that Vendrake had been captured and tortured by Derthsin long ago; now he was his faithful servant, bound to the evil that his master spread.
Vendrake sneered bitterly and reached inside the cloak to his hip. The snakes slipped back into the hidden cavity in the floor of the chariot and the panel clicked into place above them. What was happening now? Tanner’s grip tightened on his sword hilt as his enemy drew out a wooden baton connected to several snaking lengths of knotted leather. A cat-o’-nine-tails.
Vendrake gave him a smile. “If the snakes don’t work against you, then the cat will have to.” He gazed at the dangling thongs. “When he’d finished with me, Derthsin left this by my side — in a pool of my own blood.” He began to swirl the handle, spinning the knotted cords, and spoke in a low, lilting chant:
“A knotted rope around your neck
Is all it takes to kill,
Derthsin’s wish is spelled in blood
For his servants to fulfill.”
The notes cut through the air like ice. Grandmother Esme had sung Tanner a lullaby to the same tune when he was a young boy.
Vendrake smiled, and the vulture turned its scraggy neck, letting out an excited squawk. Its eyes glittered with greed.
