Racing With Dragons: The Mapmaker's Sons, Book 1

by V. L. Burgess

  His wife shrank back, her eyes wild. She clutched the swaddled babes tightly against her chest, her eyes swimming with tears. “No, William,” she choked out. “No. You can’t. Please.”

  “I don’t have a choice.” His voice caught. “If there was anything else we could do—”

  “No! Please, I beg you. There must be some other way—”

  “I’m sorry, Helene.” The nobleman hesitated, caught in an agony of indecision, then gently removed the tiny, dark-haired infant from his wife’s arms. He motioned to one of his men. “Take the child and ride to Markum—”

  “It’s too late for that,” Garth said. He shook off the horror that had silenced his tongue and stepped forward. “Your horses are exhausted. Keegan will overtake your man in no time.”

  Hoof beats echoed outside, drawing ever closer.

  A sob rose from the bed. “William! Quickly! Do something!”

  “The child, Sire.” The guard held out his arms, his expression dark. “Keegan will have to kill me before he gets the babe.”

  A brave declaration, but foolhardy. If they killed the guard, surely they would kill the babe as well. The situation demanded stealth, not brawn. The nobleman must have sensed that as well, for he hesitated.

  They couldn’t remain within and fight it out, nor could they outrun Keegan and his men. There was only one solution. Garth moved to the nobleman’s side. “Give me the babe,” he said. “I know this shire better than any man here. There’s a tavern down the road apiece. The couple who runs it has four children, plus another babe just last month. They’re kind people; for a few coins the wife will nurse your son until I’m able to bring him to you. For a few coins more they’ll ask no questions.”

  The shouts of Keegan and his men echoed closer.

  “Sire! They come!” The guards drew their daggers.

  The nobleman looked at Garth as though truly seeing him for the first time since entering the cottage. Their eyes met and locked as the nobleman took his measure. Satisfied with what he saw, he gave a brief nod.

  The midwife immediately rose. She stripped Garth of his outer garments, then improvised a sling from soft blankets. As she strapped it tightly across Garth’s chest, the nobleman spoke in an urgent whisper. “Do you know who I am?”

  Garth nodded. “I saw the crest on your coach.”

  “Then you know where to find me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Bring the babe in two weeks' time. I should have everything arranged by then.”

  The nobleman pressed a kiss against his son’s forehead, then tucked the infant securely inside the blanket’s soft folds. The babe accepted his new lodgings without complaint. Garth shrugged on his shirt, vest, and coat. The midwife threw his cloak about his shoulders and fastened it. Between Garth’s own natural bulk and the layers of clothing, the sling would work as long as the babe remained silent.

  The cottage door slammed open, hinges rattling as it crashed against the wall. The fair-haired babe let out a wail of protest at the harsh noise. Garth reflexively pressed a hand to the tiny bundle swaddled against his chest, ready to stifle his cries, but to his relief the dark-haired babe remained silent.

  A solitary figure crossed the threshold. Keegan, Garth presumed, though it took a moment to reconcile the actual man with his reputation. He possessed none of the attributes normally associated with evil: no horns sprouting from his skull, no sadistic leer, no bullying swagger. Instead, Garth saw a man of average height and build, graced with a darkly handsome face. He wore a black fur cape and a black leather hat trimmed in matching fur; finely crafted riding boots reached to just below his knees. Aside from the obvious extravagance of his clothing, Garth noted nothing remarkable about the man until he drew off his gloves. His fingernails were impossibly long, so long they curved inward, and were as thick and yellow as a hawk’s talons.

  Keegan surveyed the room, his gaze narrowing on the new mother and the wailing infant in her arms. “Ah. I see the blessed event has already occurred. My congratulations.”

  He glanced over his shoulder and made a brief motion with his head. Two of his men slid past him. The Watch. Garth’s stomach tightened in revulsion at their presence in his home. Mindful of the babe tucked against him, he held his tongue as they ransacked the room, opening cupboards, rummaging through linens, poking their long swords through food stores and knocking over neatly stacked kindling.

  Pointedly ignoring the soldiers, the nobleman greeted Keegan with a small but deferential bow. “My lord. What an astonishment. I’d hardly expect to find you out on a night like this.”

  “Indeed. Imagine my dismay when I was alerted that you and your wife had fled in the middle of the night without so much as a word of parting.”

  “Fled?” the nobleman parried lightly. “You make it sound as though we were captives, rather than invited guests.”

  “Do I?” Keegan toyed with his fingers, rhythmically clicking his nails together, producing a noise that sounded to Garth like the scurrying of a dozen hungry cockroaches. “Captives,” he repeated. “What a fascinating turn of phrase.”

  A heavy silence hung over the room. Having accomplished their search of the premises and uncovered nothing, one of Keegan’s men moved to the bed where the nobleman’s wife lay.

  “Touch my wife and you die.”

  The guard froze, Garth caught his breath, and Keegan’s men tightened their grip on their daggers.

  Keegan arched one dark brow. “My, my. How very gallant.” He gave a careless wave of his hand, indicating his man should remove himself from the bed. Then he fixed a cool stare on the nobleman.

  “Where is the other?”

  “Other what?”

  “Come, now. Do you truly believe the rumors escaped me? The prophecy? The other babe?” A conspiratorial smile played about his lips. He lowered his voice to a soft hush. “I know it’s a secret, for it’s whispered everywhere.”

  “Ah. That.” The nobleman affected a look of sudden understanding. “I’m afraid we disappoint you. 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 blood-stained 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.” She paused and lovingly stroked the pale downy head of the infant resting in the crook of her arm. “Though as you see, our son was born before we reached Markum.”

  Keegan seemed to consider, and finally, accept this. Dark displeasure flashed through his eyes. “I suggest in the future you take better care to control your wife. 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, good 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 voi
ce 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, standing 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 him from Garth’s vest 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, hanging on Umbrey’s every word. 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 of the large, splintered window to the street below. “But the merchant, fool that he was, ignored the shepherd’s instructions to immediately convey the babe to the tavern, choosing instead to deposit the child with his widowed sister while he spent his new 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 them 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 sorrow 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 us, together, what we might be. What we might do. They lived and died under Keegan's rule, too afraid to test our father's map and try to change things.”

  Umbrey surged to his feet in protest. “None of that, now. Not while I’m standing here. What if they did try and Keegan killed you both?” 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 locking 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’m going after Hyster. 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 who he was. It was evident in the man’s air of cool authority, the deferential way his men immediately passed him the papers they’d retrieved from Porter’s saddlebags.

  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 swept past his. A shiver of dark foreboding shot through Tom, as though Keegan had just drawn one of his long, talon-like fingers down his spine. The moment, lasting only a fraction of a second, seemed to stretch into a dark, timeless void.

  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. Map or no, we’ll never make it to The Beyond now. We’re trapped.”

  “No, you’re not,” a small voice countered. “I know a way there. 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, 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 pu
ffed 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 comprised The Beyond. “The Dismal Swamp, you say?” Umbrey traced his finger along the rough parchment surface, his lips moving silently as though making calculations. His face brightened.

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

  “And if Hyster 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 open palm over the map. It came to life beneath his hand, just as it had in Lost’s office. A vine sprouted to life and curled across the page, a chimp screeched. The action drew a sharp gasp of wonder from the boy, and a heated glare from Porter. Tom lowered his hand.

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

  Porter repeated the motion. The jungle thickened. From somewhere within came the trumpet of an elephant. Porter shot Tom a cocky look, as though it had been a competition and he’d just won.

  “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. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Twin sons, one light, one dark—that’s you lads—lay their hands on it together.”

  Porter brought up his chin, eyeing Tom with clear disdain.