Salamaine's Curse (7 page)

Tom shook his head. “Tell me.”

Porter dragged a hand through his hair. “It'll take too long to explain—”

“Then skip the explanations. Just give me the facts.”

Tom could almost feel his brother's impatience. But instead of arguing the point, Porter gave a curt nod and collected his thoughts. “When Salamaine was king, he made a mistake. A bad mistake. As a result, hundreds of innocents lost their lives.” He stopped, shook his head, and corrected himself. “Or rather,
almost
lost their lives. For they didn't die, not completely. They came back from the dead to hunt Salamaine, seeking revenge for their deaths.”

They came back from the dead?
Tom's mind shot to the creature he'd seen on the dark map in the boathouse. “Scavengers,” he said, as though testing the word aloud. “I saw one. It came to life on the map of the Cursed Souls Sea.”

Porter nodded again. “For centuries the scavengers were trapped in that sea. But not anymore. We fought off the first wave, but more are on their way here—hordes of them.”

“It's my fault,” Mudge said. He ran his fingers lightly along the hilt of the Sword of Five Kingdoms, which he wore tucked into his belt. “When I woke Salamaine's blade, I woke the scavengers. They want to avenge their deaths. That's why they come.”

“Until we stop them,” Umbrey interjected, placing a reassuring hand on Mudge's shoulder.

“How do we do that?” Tom asked.

“The Black Book of Pernicus.” Umbrey withdrew the map from the inner pocket of his coat rapping the scroll of parchment against his palm. “It's the only way.”

Tom's confusion must have been obvious, for Willa added, “Pernicus created the scavengers. It's said the answer to destroying the creatures lies within the pages of his book.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Tom said. “If we have the map, let's go.”

Willa shifted uncomfortably, her gaze sliding from Umbrey to Porter.

Porter cleared his throat. “Technically,” he said, “the map doesn't belong to us. It will only reveal the book if the map's owner wants us to find it.”

Tom frowned. “Who owns it?”

Another heavy pause, this one broken by Umbrey. “He's waiting below,” he replied gruffly. He gave the map another sharp rap. “All right, then. Enough talk. Let's get this done.”

He ushered them toward a set of stone steps that led to a lower level. A basement dungeon of some sort. The rock walls felt dank and damp, wet to the touch. There were no windows. The only light in the room was provided by flickering torches, encased in wrought iron sconces on the walls.

The room had been designed to hold prisoners before trial, Tom guessed. Rather than partitioning the space into a series of small cells, the jail encompassed the entire basement. It was one huge, open cell. Stone walls on three sides, stone floors, iron bars across the front. It could easily house dozens of men. Likely, it normally did. But at the moment, it held only one prisoner.

Keegan.

T
he door to Keegan's cell was open. Tom hesitated on the threshold, feeling as if he were about to enter the lair of some lethal, predatory animal. Though Keegan did nothing to acknowledge them, Tom was certain he was alert to their every move. He hung back for a moment, cautiously taking the man in.

Keegan wore dark wool pants, a brocade vest, plum shirt, and expensive black boots. A fur cape was dramatically draped over his shoulders, and his hair and goatee were immaculately groomed. If not for the overwhelming threat of menace he exuded, some might have considered him darkly handsome. At the very least, he looked like a rich, powerful nobleman.

Tom tore his gaze away from Keegan to sweep the rest of the room. It was unlike any jail cell he'd ever seen. Gilt mirrors, thick animal skin rugs, finely crafted table and chairs, shelves of books, and an enormous four poster bed with a rich silk coverlet. The opulence was unnerving. The only indication he could find that Keegan was a prisoner, rather than an illustrious guest, was the iron chain that looped from his ankle to a peg in the wall.

Despite the lateness of the hour, Keegan sat at a candlelit table laden with fine china and crystal goblets. A bloody slab of meat filled his plate. He slowly sliced and chewed his food, dabbing his mouth with a napkin, sipping his wine. He seemed perfectly indifferent to their presence, a rich aristocrat not to be bothered with the petty comings and goings of his jailors.

“Careful you don't choke on that,” Umbrey said. “What an unseemly end to your reign. The mighty Keegan died in jail choking on a bone.”

Keegan looked up. His lips curled into in a small smile. “Ah. My good friend, Umbrey. So nice of you to visit.” He set his knife and fork aside and pushed back his plate. “I always did appreciate your humor. I must remember to make certain you're smiling when I post your head on a pike outside the gates of my new palace.”

“An impressive threat for a man with a chain around his leg.”

Keegan gave a royal shrug. The chain rattled across the stone floor as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Do forgive the noise. My latest accessory. Meant to keep me humble, I suppose. Wallow in my disgrace and all that.” He made a bored motion with his hand, then idly drew one long, yellow, talon-like nail along the rim of his goblet. “I see you've brought your little friends with you. What a rare treat.”

Porter stepped forward. “You know why we're here.”

Keegan leveled Porter with a long, silent gaze. “You know why we're here,
sire
,” he corrected.

Porter didn't speak, but only continued to glare at him.

Keegan released a forlorn sigh. “Youth today. No respect.” He shook his head, then continued, “Of course I know why you came. Even in here I can feel it bubbling and brewing outside— such glorious tension and anxiety, such utter terror.” His dark eyes shimmered. “Scavengers. They're on their way.”

“Unless we stop them,” Porter said.

“With
my
map,” Keegan countered. His lips twisted in a smile of dark satisfaction. “My people need me.”

“Your people despise you,” retorted Willa.

“Are you so certain of that?”

Willa brought up her chin. “Yes.”

Keegan shook his head. “How painfully naïve. Permit me to enlighten you as to the way the world works. The good people of Divino may cringe in their homes as my army marches triumphantly through the streets, but they allow it. Why? Because everyone has food on the table and the wagons run on time. They
need
me.”

A map of the Five Kingdoms filled one entire wall of his cell. Keegan rose and moved to stand beside it, his chain dragging behind him. Divino was at the heart of the map. The remaining four lands were equidistant from the center, spread out like the jagged claws of a crab: Aquat, an island chain bordering the Cursed Souls Sea; Incendia, a land ringed by fiery volcanoes; Terrum, a dense, jungle-like expanse of thick forests; and finally, Ventus, an icy mountain range beset by frosty winds.

“What did you think would happen?” Keegan asked. “You'd put a child on the throne, ask everyone to play nice, and all the problems in the Five Kingdoms would magically disappear? I'm afraid it doesn't work that way.” He drew his hand across the map. “Five kingdoms. Each with its own self-interest. I maintained
order.
There is a delicate balance to it all, of which you know nothing.”

“Then I will learn,” Mudge replied, his voice small but defiant.

“Will you? Tell me then, what makes a good ruler?”

“Courage, honor, integrity, loyalty.”

Keegan gave a harsh laugh. He brought his fingers against his thumb in what was apparently the international symbol for
yak-yak-yak.

“No. That is precisely wrong. There are only two kinds of people in the world. Those who inflict pain, and those who suffer it. Allow me to demonstrate.”

He returned to his seat at the table and leaned back, assuming a posture of cool elegance. It was just an ordinary chair, but something about Keegan's pose made it seem regal, as though he was sitting on a throne. He turned his focus to the outer guard. A dark, simmering heat burned in his eyes. The guard stiffened, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

“Why is my glass empty?” Keegan said.

The guard sprang to action. He rushed to refill Keegan's glass, apologizing profusely for the delay. He bowed and retreated up the stone staircase and out of the room.

Satisfied, Keegan took a sip of wine. He turned to Tom and his friends. “Fear. Fear is how one controls.”

Tom shook his head. “Temporarily, maybe. But not for long.”

“Is that so?” Returning his attention to the table, he reached for a plate of tiny, decadent cakes, drenched in what looked like chocolate glaze, and popped one into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed, then took his time licking the rich glaze from his fingers.

“Why do you think the citizens of Divino allow me to live in such luxury?” he asked, gesturing around his cell. “Because they dare not displease me, that's why. I am temporarily inconvenienced, not vanquished. They know it.”

“Your own men have deserted you,” Porter answered flatly. “The Watch has fled.”

“No. They have not fled. They simply await my command.” He leaned back in his chair, staring in satisfaction at Tom and Porter. “Just as
the mapmaker's sons
have come to serve me.”

Tom looked at Umbrey, then shifted his gaze to Porter, Willa, and Mudge. They all looked pale, tense. Defenseless against Keegan. This wasn't right. They had
defeated
him.

But they still needed him. The bitterness of it lodged in his throat.

A cruel smile played about Keegan's lips. “Ironic, isn't it? You thought the battle was over when you gained that pretty sword, yet it's only just begun.” Thoroughly enjoying himself, he leaned forward, saying in a dramatic whisper, “A cursed sword. Such a shame. If only you'd known.”