The Grimjinx Rebellion (23 page)

38

War from Within

“Steal with one hand, wish for wealth with the other. See which hand fills up first.”

—Baloras Grimjinx, architect of the First Aviard Nestvault Pillage

W
hen I burst through the door of the mill, I could still hear everyone arguing in the basement. They were trying to decide if they should join forces with the Palatinate against the Scourge or attempt to stop the monsters on their own. No one was giving any quarter.

I heard a familiar moan from above. I shot up the rickety staircase to the second floor. The area was filled with great vats where giant blades once ground singegrain into flour. I searched until I found Gobek in the corner, his arms cocooning his head. I gave him a gentle nudge.

“Gobek,” I whispered. “I need your help.”

The shape-shifter stirred and squinted at me in the near darkness. “Is coming here for sleep. Is arguing over?” he asked. The yelling from downstairs drifted up through the floorboards. “Is silly question.”

“Gobek,” I said, “when I asked what the Scourge was looking for, you said ‘death.' I thought you meant they were looking to
cause
death. But that's not right, is it? You meant the Scourge is looking to die.”

Gobek sat up, wincing as he did. I thought of him back in the Creche, always suffering.
Is being Gobek, is being in pain,
he'd said.

“Is not really death,” he rasped. “Gobek is making poor choice of words. Is problem with Gobek.”

I sat next to him on his blanket. “The Scourge is nothing more than magical energy given physical forms, right?”

Gobek nodded. “Is not meant to be. Is painful for something of one world to be forced into another world.”

“So, ever since it was created,” I said, “the Scourge has wanted nothing more than to be magical energy again. The monsters are looking for a way to destroy their bodies and return to their natural state.”

“Is very smart,” Gobek said, patting my knee. “Gobek is not belonging in this world, Scourge is not belonging in this world. Is forced by mages.”

The creature grimaced. This was why he was in constant pain. And since he was made of magic, death wouldn't come easily to Gobek.

“The Scourge is looking for the Sourcefire,” I said. “It's the only thing powerful enough to destroy it. That's why it was only attacking places where it sensed magic. And now that it's far enough south, it can sense the Sourcefire in Vengekeep.”

Gobek nodded. There was only one way to stop the Scourge: give it exactly what it wanted.

“Thanks, Gobek,” I said, shaking his hand. The shape-shifter smiled a pained smile and lay back down in his makeshift bed.

I raced downstairs and into the basement where the climate had changed dramatically. The room had divided neatly down the middle. The Dowager and the mages on one side, the Shadowhands and the Sarosans on the other. The few rebels without a clear allegiance to one side or the other seemed to shift back and forth as each side's arguments became more or less persuasive.

I found my parents and Nanni sitting atop a pile of crates in the corner, watching the whole thing with looks that ranged from mildly amused to utterly disgusted.

“This is why the Sarosans have always fought against the evils of magic!” Kendil pointed at Talian as his voice broke above the din. “We always knew it would come to this. Mages brought this upon us. We cannot use magic to solve the problem!”

“Right now,” the Dowager argued, “magic is the only way to stop—”

“The Sarosans have fought magic with natural means for years,” Reena said as she stood firmly at her father's side. “If everyone had just listened to us and had magic outlawed—”

“I don't agree with the Palatinate's methods,” Talian interrupted, “but there would be more order with a magical government in charge.”

This caused an all new outburst of anger that shook the timbers.

“Oh, that was a bad move,” Da whispered.

“Let's see him get out of this,” Ma said in return.

It only got more heated from there.

“Is that where this is headed?” Mr. Oxter said, turning to the Dowager. “Are we to defeat the Scourge, only to put mages back in charge?”

The Dowager rubbed her temples. “We're losing sight of the problem at hand. The Scourge will be here in days. We must decide if we're to take a stand against it here or try to forge an alliance with the Palatinate.”

The arguments swelled to the point where words were indistinguishable. It was all just noise.

“You're all wrong!”

How I managed to bellow loudly enough to be heard above all that, I'll never know. But there I was, standing on a crate, hands cupped around my mouth, and suddenly—finally—the room was silent.

I pointed to Kendil. “The Sarosans have spent years trying to get everyone to believe like they do, saying that magic is evil.” When I saw Talian nod out of the corner of my eye, I whirled on him. “And mages staged a revolt because they wanted to impose their beliefs on everyone. Both sides have been fighting to get people on their side but neither stopped to ask everyone what
they
wanted.

“You can't force people to believe what you believe. You can't take something and force it to be something it's not. That's what the Palatinate tried to do. They created monsters from magical energy, something it was never meant to be. And now we're all paying for it. Haven't either of you learned anything? There's not just one way—your way. We need to use everything we've got—everyone's skills—or we're going to die.”

No one moved or spoke. Also, no one looked particularly happy that I'd spoken in the first place. Except the Dowager. She looked proud.

“Now, listen,” I said more quietly, “I've figured out what we need to do.”

“Are we really going to sit here,” Kendil said, turning his back to me so he could face the rest of the room, “and listen to a boy who's nothing more than a second-rate
cutpurse
?”

As one, my family stood. We weren't about to take that kind of slur. I expected the Shadowhands, fellow thieves to whom such an insult should have been unforgivable, to speak up in our defense. They didn't. I looked at Reena, Holm, and Maloch. They stood by their respective fathers in silence.

“Enough!” the Dowager said. “Every minute we spend fighting among ourselves, we . . . Jaxter?”

Ma and Da led the way, followed by Nanni, and I brought up the rear as we went upstairs. Once we were gone, the arguing below started up again.

The four of us went down by the stream. Nanni skipped rocks against the current as Da paced back and forth.

“Everything we've done,” he spat, “and they just see us as cut—as cut—as
that word
.”

“Jaxter,” Ma said, “what were you about to tell everyone?”

I told them everything. Meeting Edilman in the woods, Aubrin's journal, how the Sourcefire was hidden in Vengekeep, and how the Scourge monsters wanted the Sourcefire to rid themselves of their bodies. All three of them listened to me closely.

“You're right, son,” Da said. “We could end this if we give the Scourge what it wants.”

“Can't wait to see the look on old Nalia's face when she learns the Sourcefire has been under her nose this whole time,” Ma said.

“But the Palatinate isn't going to help,” Nanni pointed out. “If we tell them where the Sourcefire is, they'll only use it to enslave the Scourge again. Then we're right back where we started.”

“It's simple,” I said. “We go to Vengekeep, rescue Aubrin, and get the Sourcefire.”

Da pointed to the mill with his thumb. “They can't agree on anything. They won't help.”

“Not them, just us,” I said. “You heard Talian. The Palatinate has made Vengekeep impenetrable. They've got enough defenses to fight off a siege for days, weeks maybe. But they're expecting an attack from the Scourge. . . .”

I pulled the Vanguard from Da's pocket and held it up in the moonlight.

“They're not expecting the Grimjinxes.”

39

The Prisoner

“The insult not well endured should be well avenged.”

—The Lymmaris Creed

W
e'd tried.

Ask any of the 127 Satyran deities and they'd all swear by the Omnipantheon that we Grimjinxes had
tried our hardest
. We'd played within the system. Some of us had taken jobs as Protectorates. Some of us had worked in phydollotry shops. Some of us had tried to raise armies. What did that get us? A status as refugees, caught between power-hungry mages and the bloodthirsty monsters they'd created.

There was only one way to finish this. And it wasn't by playing within the rules. It wasn't by listening to our allies fight among themselves. It was by striking out on our own and smashing every rule, law, and edict into a million pieces.

In other words: being our true selves.

I lay on my stomach near Vengekeep's southern perimeter wall where the trees were thickest. As the moons peeked out from behind the thick cloud cover, I raised my spyglass and watched the pair of Sentinels who paraded along the top of the wall. Each held a glowing spellsphere, ready for action.

Nearby, Nanni ducked to hide in the shadows. She walked slowly toward me, drawing a line in the sand with a long stick. Occasionally, sparks flew when the stick touched the invisible magical barrier Nanni was outlining. As she finished, Nanni joined me on the ground.

“Anything interesting?” she asked.

I nodded. “Couple gaolglobes near the tree,” I reported. “Few other traps. Nothing we can't handle.”

A faint rustling in the tree above told us Ma was on her way down. She dropped next to us as the Sentinels on the wall pivoted and turned their gaze in our direction. Seeing nothing, they continued their patrol.

Ma held up my fob watch. “I like punctual guards,” she said, “and those two are
very
punctual. Move like clockwork.” She kept an eye on the watch's second hand as the Sentinels marched past. “And . . . turn.”

On Ma's cue, the Sentinels spun around on their heels and began walking back in the other direction. “We've got a six-second window,” Ma said, “where neither of them will be looking in this direction.”

“Six seconds?”

Da had just joined us, crawling over fallen logs and bushes from where he'd been spying.

“Six whole seconds?” he repeated. “That's very generous of them! It's like they're
begging
us to break in.” He held up Ma's rubyeye, which he'd been using to spot magical traps between us and the wall.

“Everyone know what to do?” Ma asked, pulling a black cowl over her head.

Nanni picked up the tinderjack pod filled with explosive powder. “Is this thing safe?”

“Not at all,” I said.

Nanni tucked it under her arm. “Oh, bangers. Well, good luck!” She touched her finger to her temple, then scurried off into the dark of the woods.

We kept an eye on the Sentinels marching back and forth. Ma nodded her head in time with the watch's second hand. “Ready?” she asked. “Go!”

Atop the wall, the Sentinels looked away. I jumped to my feet and brought my toes right up to the line Nanni had drawn. Reaching out, I touched the tip of the Vanguard to the invisible barrier. The air rippled, a cascade of sparks fell to the ground, and the magical shield dissolved. We belly crawled forward until we reached the base of a giant mokka tree just a few feet from the wall.

Hidden behind the mokka, Da dug his fingers into the tree's trunk. As he pulled, a curved section of bark hinged open like a door, revealing a ladder inside the hollow tree. Ma produced a small lantern and led us down the secret passage.

We came to a horizontal tunnel that took us under the perimeter wall. Ma looked admiringly at the walls.

“This takes me back, Ona,” she said to Da with a wistful sigh. “Remember those late nights digging this out?”

Da grinned. “How could I forget?”

The long tunnel ended in a ladder leading up. Da climbed first. He pressed on a square stone overhead. The trapdoor swung up on a hinge and Da disappeared into the ceiling. Ma and I followed him, emerging into a very familiar room. Iron bars, rickety furniture, smelly hay bales. The Grimjinx summer home.

Also known as the Vengekeep gaol.

I pushed the trapdoor shut with a thud.

“Who's there?” a voice hissed in the darkness behind us. Ma held her lantern at arm's length. There, huddled in the corner, was a man wearing rags. He held a hand up to his face to shield his eyes from the light.

“Castellan Jorn?”

Jorn had looked better. He'd lost a lot of weight and was almost unrecognizable. His skin was pale and his eyes had sunken deeper into his head. One look at us and he collapsed to his knees.

“Wasn't my life bad enough?” he moaned. “Why did
you
people have to come back?”

“Castellan, what are you doing here?” Ma asked.

“The Palatinate arrested anyone who remained loyal to the House of Soranna!” he spat. “That woman—that
Nalia
—moved into my house.”

“With the rest of the Lordcourt?” Da asked.

Jorn shook his head. “She's the only member of the Lordcourt still alive. She leads the Palatinate from
my house
. Can you believe it?”

“And are you?” I asked.

The Castellan stammered. “A-am I what?”

“Loyal to the House of Soranna?”

I'd never liked Jorn much. None of us had. We thought he was slimy and only out for self-glory. But he gained our respect that day when he held his flabby chin up and said, “Now and always.”

“Splendid!” Da said. “Then you won't mind us giving the Palatinate what for, I take it?”

The Castellan, purely out of habit, started to object. But he changed his mind when he realized that, for once, we were all on the same side. “How can I help?”

I held up a sketch of the relics. “The Palatinate stole these four magic relics. They use them to control the Sourcefire.”

The Castellan nodded. “Yes, but I heard they lost the Sourcefire. The relics are useless now.”

“But do they still have the relics?” Ma asked.

“Of course. Nalia keeps them in a safe in my house. . . . Wait a minute. . . .” The Castellan studied the floor. “How did you get in here?”

“The tunnel, of course,” Ma said. “It comes out just past the perimeter wall.”

You'd think the Castellan would have been more grateful, seeing as we'd just rescued him. But he couldn't let it go. “There's a tunnel that leads from the gaol to just outside Vengekeep's walls? How long has that been there?”

Da beamed. “We dug it out right around Jaxter's first birthday.”

The Castellan's cheeks puffed up in rage. “You mean that every time I had you locked in here, you could have gotten out?”

“Yes, but we didn't,” Ma said sweetly, as if that made everything okay. “We only built it as a precaution. Thankfully, you were never very good at making charges stick.”

The Castellan burbled a bit. When he calmed down, he said, “Then let's take your tunnel and leave—”

“Can't do that,” Ma said. “We didn't break into gaol for fun . . . although it was sort of fun. No, we've got something to do.”

Ma pulled a perfect replica of the gaol cell key from her tunic pocket. Reaching through the bars, she unlocked the door from within.

“A key?” The Castellan's breathy whisper was nearly as loud as his shouting voice. “You've got a key too?”

“Of course we do,” Ma said. “One of my finest forgeries.”

His fists clenched, the Castellan shook with silent fury.

As the cell door swung open, we crept out and toward the stairs that led up into the Protectorate's office.

“You can't go there!” Jorn said. “The Sentinels use this as headquarters.”

“That
is
a concern,” Da said.

“We'll just have to go out the other way,” Ma said. She walked over to the far wall and pressed a discolored brick at waist height. Click. Ma shoved the wall forward, revealing a dark passage. Jorn stood there, dumbfounded.

“You had
another
way out of gaol?” he asked.

“Comes out near the bakery,” I said.

“I hate you people,” Jorn muttered, shaking his head. “I
really
hate you people.”

“Now, Castellan,” Ma said, hooking her arm around Jorn's and leading him into the passage, “I know you've been down here a long time but I'm sure you hear things. So tell us . . . where is Aubrin?”

We descended the stairs into the catacombs below the town-state hall. A familiar, dank smell met my nose. My last trip down here hadn't been much fun. I didn't imagine this one would be any better.

“Why would they keep her down here?” I asked, looking around. The walls were still lined with racks holding glass tubes that contained hundreds of prophetic tapestries. The room we were in was the first of many identical rooms. There was no telling where Aubrin was.

“It's like Jorn said,” Da reminded me. “The Palatinate figures this is the safest place in the event the Scourge attacks. They need to keep Aubrin safe.”

“Speaking of Jorn, do you think he'll be okay? Should we have left him with—?”

“He's a grown man, Jaxter. He'll be fine.”

Ma nodded to a pile of crates and barrels, labeled as food and water. The pile went all the way up to the ceiling. “My guess is the Palatinate plans to hide down here when the Scourge comes.”

“Hiding won't do any good.”

The small voice pierced my heart. Aubrin stood in the doorway to the next chamber. Shackles bound her wrists to the wall and she looked like she hadn't slept in a week.

Ma ran to her. “Are you okay?”

Aubrin pointed to the tubes containing prophecies. “Of course. Since I've been down here, I've made a
fortune.
”

Prophecies. Fortunes. If Aubrin was making bad jokes, she was fine.

As Ma picked the lock on Aubrin's shackles, my sister sighed. “It's been fun lying to the Palatinate about the prophecies I've had. I told them the only way to defeat the Scourge was for everyone in Vengekeep to dance the Aviard two-step. I don't think they believed me.”

Da patted her on the shoulder. “That's my girl. You don't tell those bad mages anything.”

Aubrin took my hand. “Jaxter, listen, I have to tell you about the vision I had yesterday. It's very important—”

“Yes, please do. I'm all ears.”

I stiffened, instantly recognizing the voice behind us. Nalia stepped into the room from the staircase, her spellsphere aglow.

“How did you know we were here?” Ma asked.

Nalia chuckled, a magical shimmer roiling across her monocle. “The infamous Grimjinx clan. Your heists are legendary. I suppose it was only a matter of time before you came up with a plan that wasn't totally foolproof . . . or rather a plan where someone realized it was more valuable to turn you in.”

Footsteps sounded behind Nalia. The shadowy figure that stepped into the room hung his head low. He shuffled as he moved to Nalia's side.

It was Uncle Garax.