“Grab the vines! Throw them as far into the water as you can!”
Porter was well ahead of him. Tom ditched his pack and dove in after him. He reached the center of the lake and swam beneath the surface. A dark shape loomed before him, thrashing and gasping. The girl. He swam toward her and caught her beneath her arms, trying to tug her up to the surface.
She was heavy. Ridiculously heavy for what appeared to be a slight girl. Struggling together, Tom inched her upward. It was a slow, painful process. His lungs burned. The edges of his vision began to blur.
He saw a motion on the surface above him. Looking up, he saw a long, twisting shadow. The vine. Releasing the girl, he started to swim toward it, only to have her grab his arm. Even within the murky depths the panic on her face was obvious. He locked his gaze on hers, attempting to communicate that he wasn’t abandoning her to drown. But the girl reached her own conclusion. Bravely accepting her fate, she released his arm.
There was nothing Tom could do but kick to the surface. He gulped a lungful of air, grabbed the vine and dove back under, pulling the vine with him as he went. The girl had gone limp. Painfully aware of every passing second, he tied the vine around her chest and then returned to the surface.
“Pull!” he shouted, his voice hoarse with fear and panic.
Porter had already managed to get the warrior boy, who was evidently a stronger swimmer, to the shore. Leaving the boy on his hands and knees, weak and gasping for air but otherwise unharmed, he grabbed the vine and tugged. Together with Willa and Smudge, they pulled the girl to the surface of the water.
She wasn’t breathing. Tom swam beside her, holding her head above water as they tugged her out of the lake. Finally, they reached the shallows. Throwing one of the girl’s arms over each of their shoulders, Tom and Porter dragged the unconscious girl out of the lake, supporting her weight between them.
They eased her down on the rocky shore. Rudimentary first aid surged to Tom’s mind. He rolled her over onto her side to get the water from her lungs. As he did, he understood what had prevented her from swimming. What had weighed her down, making it impossible for him to pull her to the surface.
Steel. He ran his hands down her ribs, his fingers brushing cold steel. The protective chest plate worn by the Djembe warriors, as bright and shiny as fish scales, was actually made of fine mesh steel. There was a name for that type of ancient armor…fine strands of steel knit together. This particular metal had been interwoven with reeds of grass, but it was essentially the same. Chainmail. The kind that knights used to wear.
The thought repeated itself, lighting up some dark recess of Tom’s mind: the kind that knights used to wear.
The warrior girl spat up water, coughed, and took a deep, ragged breath.
She moaned. Her eyes fluttered open. She studied the ceiling of the cave in confusion, then her gaze 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 chainmail. Once the girl was upright, he recognized a pattern within the tightly knit metal he hadn’t noticed 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. Chainmail. 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 Smudge. “Gregor’s lost knights will be found, when shimmering water replaces ground,” he said. “The prophecy. We found them.”
Porter's mouth dropped open. He looked at the two warriors. He looked at Tom. Before he could speak, a deep voice carried across the cave.
“An interesting choice. I assumed you would only save yourselves.”
Tom spun around. The warrior leader strode toward them. He looked every bit as powerful and uncompromising as he had when he’d sentenced them to die. Tall and muscular, with pale skin and piercing blue eyes, his pale hair tumbling over his shoulders in what appeared to be dreadlocks. The white and crimson birds, now reverted to the size of peacocks, strutted beside him. The man radiated absolute control, yet there was an iciness in his eyes that put Tom instantly on alert.
“Who are you?” Tom asked.
“Martin. Leader of Gregor’s knights. Guardian of this lake.”
His gaze fell on the two young Djembe warriors, bent and gasping, struggling to recover.
“It was a test, wasn’t it?” Willa gasped, her eyes flicking from the warrior leader to his dragon birds. “You wanted to see what we would do.”
Martin studied them, his expression as if carved in ice. “Those two were your enemy,” he said. “They threatened to kill you. When the weight of 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?”
Tom blinked at the unexpected question. Had he been attacked, he would have fought for his life. Fought to the death, if necessary. He would have battled just as fiercely to protect Willa, Smudge, or Porter. But fighting to defend himself was a far different thing from standing by and watching someone drown.
He looked from Porter to Willa to Smudge and saw the same answer in their eyes.
He said, “Because it was the right thing to do.”
Martin’s lips curved in a bitter smile. “You speak of right. As though you, any of you, could understand what that means. You were sent by Keegan. To bring the dragon to him. To ensure that Tyran’s evil reign continues unbroken.”
“No!” Porter shouted. “No. Just the opposite, we’re here to make sure he doesn’t get Hyster. Ever.”
“And how will you accomplish that?” A glimmer of what might have been hope sparked in his expression. “Have you found the next in line to Salamaine’s throne?”
“No,” Porter admitted. “Not yet.”
Martin’s eyes shuttered. “Yet you come for the dragon. You desire to awaken the great and terrible beast. Why? What do you intend to do with her?”
Porter hesitated. Tom could see him calculating, looking for an answer that might appease the great warrior. Unable to find one, he admitted, “Use her as a weapon. Destroy Keegan and The Watch while we have a chance.”
“A weapon.” Martin spat. “Just as Tyran did centuries ago. And in doing so, possibly kill a creature my people have spent lifetimes protecting. You’re no better than the men you fight.”
“We don’t have a choice! Without Hyster fighting by our side, The Watch is unstoppable.”
“What makes you think Hyster will not turn on you? Burn your flesh to cinders and pulverize your bones?”
Actually, Tom had been wondering the same thing himself.
“She won’t,” Porter said.
“You would risk your lives on that?”
“Well, er... Not exactly. I mean, we don’t have to. The prophecy has been right so far. I’m sure once we return with Hyster we’ll find Salamaine’s true heir and—”
“Enough.”
Martin raised one heavily tattooed arm and pointed to the water.
“I will waste no more time on this foolishness. You have earned the right to call Hyster. If she answers, you may take her. But know this: the lake is mine. I have rules of my own. If you fail, you will pay.”
“Pay how?” 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.”
Ignoring his sarcasm, Porter said, “My father—our father—hasn’t failed us yet.”
Their eyes met and held. Hard to argue that. The map their father had created had led them here. To this place, in this moment. They’d come too far to turn back now.
Tom’s gaze moved from Porter to Willa and Smudge, each of whom reluctantly nodded back at him. He turned to face Martin.
“We accept your terms,” he said.
A low mu
rmur of approval filled the cavernous cave. Tom looked up to see that hundreds of warriors had filed in after Martin. They filled the ledges that had been carved into the stone. Spectators come to witness a battle that was limited to two outcomes: victory or death.
Martin slammed his staff against the ground, apparently signalling their deal had been struck. “Step into the water and call Hyster. If you are the prophecy’s chosen, the dragon will rise to meet you. If you are thieves, the waters will rise to drown you.”
All around them the warriors shouted in excitement, rapping their lances against the rock formation. When the noise reached a crescendo, Martin once again held up his right arm. Silence rang through the cavernous space.
“Go,” the warrior said.
Tom and Porter cast a quick look at Willa and Smudge for encouragement, then waded into the lake. Once the water lapped Tom’s thighs, he glanced at Porter. They exchanged a tight, barely perceptible nod.
“Hyster!” they called together.
Nothing happened. A solemn stillness hung over the lake.
“Hyster!” they repeated. “Dragon Hyster!”
Martin frowned. “No need to shout. When the chosen one calls, the dragon will appear.”
They called a third time. Still nothing.
The water abruptly surged, lapping Tom’s waist.
A cold, cruel smile curved Martin’s lips. He stroked the head of the crimson bird beside him. “You have failed. The tide is coming in.”
All around them, the warriors began to murmur excitedly and beat their lances.
The water rose higher.
“Wait!” shouted Willa. “Wait!”
“Enough, girl! The prophecy’s chosen is not here!”
“No—they forgot the map! There must be some connection!”
She ran to where Tom had tossed his pack, retrieved the map and passed it to Smudge. “Quickly! Take it to them!”
Smudge 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.
He and Porter were meant to do this. Salamaine’s reign had come to an inglorious end, but the wizard Varrick had not given up on mankind. The prophecy was clear. He could feel it. The battle between light and dark was not over yet.
Even Smudge seemed to feel it. In a small voice that fell somewhere between a whisper and a prayer, he joined his voice with theirs.
“Hyster!”
A tremor shook the cave. 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 depths, shooting upward like an underwater explosion.
Then, abruptly, the water began to recede. The lake emptied at an incredible speed, as though an enormous unseen plug had been pulled. Soon the water that had lapped their waists was nothing more than a puddle around their ankles.
Tom’s gaze shot to a singular feature that the water had hidden. A black boulder the size of a small hut. It was shiny, slick, and full of lumpy bumps and ragged angles everywhere. It stank, too. It stank of mold and mildew and something sharp and unpleasant, as though a stink bomb had exploded in the cave.
Then the boulder began to move. And Tom wasn’t focused any longer on the smell. He was just trying to remember to breathe.
He watched as the boulder cracked, emitting a hiss of steam. A long black beak poked through the hole. A sharp crack, then a ragged seam split the shell. The thing trembled and shook. Then the casing split open wide, revealing what appeared to be a slimy, gooey, baby chick.
Except it wasn’t.
The creature stretched, unfurling an enormous pair of bat-like wings and a long serpentine neck. Slowly, clumsily, it wobbled to its feet. It had an engorged belly, stubby legs, clawed toes, and a thick horned skull. A powerful tail that was tipped with a weapon of sorts: a pointed, double-edged appendage that looked razor sharp. A face only a mother could love—full of bumps and warts, dark ruby slits for eyes, and a long, narrow jaw packed with razor-sharp fangs. A tremor seized the creature, revealing glistening scales as black as the darkest recess of the cave, scales with a fiery red underside which glimmered when they shook.
Standing, it was perhaps as tall as a giraffe, with a wingspan twice its height. Magnificent, Tom thought. And prehistoric, and evil, and terrifying.
Hyster.
“She’s beautiful,” Smudge breathed.
Beautiful? Hardly. More like watching a tiny T-Rex come to life.
Hyster sniffed the air and emitted three quick puffs of steam through her nostrils. She sneezed. Then she peered around the cavern, her nostrils twitching. Apparently she didn’t like what she saw, for she emitted a loud bellow. Fire spewed from her jaw.
Tom hit the ground hard, taking Smudge down with him. Though the creature hadn’t been aiming its deadly rage at them, the heat from the blast singed his hair.
He’d referred to the birds that trotted beside Martin as dragons. Not even close. That was like comparing a kindergartner’s bike—one with training wheels, a white basket, and a dinky little bell on the handlebars—to a Harley Davidson. Martin’s pets were vaguely dragon-like. Some kind of genetic off-shoot. Hyster was the real thing.
They’d done it. Found Hyster. Freed the ancient beast.
Funny thing was, he didn’t feel like celebrating.
Tom cast a glance at Porter, who lay prone beside him. Worry was etched on his brother’s face as well. Now it was Tom’s turn to use his twin-radar to read his brother’s mind. Turns out, it wasn’t very hard to do. Because it looked like Porter was thinking the same thing Tom was.
They’d unleashed a deadly, vicious, fire-breathing dragon. A monster. One they couldn’t control, and who appeared entirely content to kill them all.
Now what?
Chapter Twenty
THE GREAT AND
deADLY HYSTER
As it turned out, they got lucky. Hyster didn’t kill them. At least, she hadn’t yet. Maybe she was planning to. Maybe she just wanted to get out of her cave and stretch her wings first. Test her flame-throwing velocity. Then, when she was ready, she’d rain balls of fire from the sky and pick them off one-by-one as they attempted to flee. Like some killer version of monster dodgeball. Which had never been Tom’s favorite sport anyway—he’d taken too many balls to the head to ever enjoy it. The gym variety, that is. Not the death-by-dragon version of the game (which he was pretty sure wouldn’t be a lot of fun either.)
But she hadn’t killed them yet. He, Porter, Willa, and Smudge managed to scurry out of the cave without being toasted like marshmallows. Hyster escaped, too. No telling where Martin and his warriors had fled. Probably some underground bunker where they were safe and warm.
Tom couldn’t blame them for hiding. At the moment the newly freed dragon was flying above them, testing her wings, letting the air currents carry her up, up, up, and then plummeting earthbound, whipping up a great wind and spewing fire as she went, as though intent on crashing like a meteorite and burning everything and everyone around her to the ground. Although at the last second she pulled out and course-corrected, it was beyond nerve-wracking.
“What’s she doing?” Tom shouted over the noise.
“I don’t know,” Porter shouted back, “but I wish she’d stop.”
Tom wasn’t so sure. The way he saw it, the more time the dragon spent testing her abilities, the less time she spent trying to kill them. Until she decided she was ready to do exactly that. Then...well, then they’d be in trouble.
They needed to do something, fast. He took a second to go over the ground rules. He said to Porter, “We need Hyster on our side in order to defeat Keegan and The Watch, right?”
“Yes.”
“But Salamaine’s true heir,” he said. “Only he can truly control her, right?”
/> “In theory, yeah.”
“So maybe now’s a good idea to find him. While we’re still alive, that is.”
Porter nodded his agreement. Tom removed the slim case he wore strapped across his chest—amazing it hadn’t slipped off by now—and retrieved the map from within. The parchment was a mess. Soggy and smelly, strewn with lake slime and goat hair, one corner ripped by gators another chewed by swamp dogs. But somehow the ink hadn’t smeared too badly. It was mostly legible.
“Any idea where Martin and his tribe went?” Tom asked as he spread the map across the ground.
“Nope. But I’d like to be gone before they show up again.”
No kidding. He glanced up at Porter. “Okay. So now what? We just ask the map where we can find Salamaine’s heir?”
Uncertainty crossed Porter’s face. “I guess. I mean, I sort of thought we’d find him with Hyster.”
Exactly. A package deal. Because what use was a fire-breathing monster they couldn’t control?
Kneeling on one side of the parchment, Porter on the other, they touched their fingers to the edge of the ancient map. Tom felt an electric buzz shoot up his arms. A tingling sensation shot down his spine. The air in his lungs suddenly felt lighter, while at the same time the weight of the map kept him firmly grounded to the earth. He felt plugged in, like a video game connected to its power source. The sensation never failed to amaze him.
Tom lifted his gaze to his brother’s. “Salamaine’s heir,” they said together. “Show us where to find you.”
The map emitted a warm golden glow. As Tom watched, towering trees sprouted to life on the canvas. Rocky cliffs rose from the ancient parchment and a river flowed. Birds fluttered overhead. The howls and screeches of animals living within the forest filled the air.
Tom peered closer. “Wait a minute. See that rock? Behind you! It’s right there.”
Porter spun around. Recognition lit up his features. “Does that mean—”
He stopped as a tiny, iridescent bubble drifted through the air, as though falling from the sky, and settled over the map. It hung there, motionless. Tom waited. He looked at Porter. He looked at the bubble. Waited some more. Nothing happened. He poked the bubble with his finger, causing it to promptly burst.
Racing With Dragons: The Mapmaker's Sons, Book 1 Page 16
