The Mapmaker's Sons (15 page)

“It is said that every great wizard has a weakness, and that was true of Marrick. His was perhaps the greatest weakness of all. Man. Unlike other wizards, who had no interest in human affairs, Marrick was fascinated by mankind. Disguised as a lowly beggar, he would wander from village to village. In some places, he was greeted with contempt and cruelty; in others, strangers brought him into their homes, fed him, and cared for him, asking nothing in return. It was this kindness that was his undoing. He came to believe in the power of good. A dangerous belief for any wizard, but especially one with Marrick's abilities.

“Marrick decided he wanted to give mankind a gift. Something to repay the kindness he'd received. Something that would rid the world of evil and cruelty. A gift that would bring light and goodness, justice and order. He created a sword.”

“The Sword of Five Kingdoms,” Mudge interrupted eagerly.

“But it wasn't called that yet,” Porter corrected. “In any
event, it was a sword of tremendous power. A sword capable of destroying entire armies, entire cities, with a single blast.”

“Marrick was well aware of the danger to mankind if the sword fell into the wrong hands,” Willa said, joining her voice to the story, “so he hid the sword and threw out a challenge: Whosoever could find his sword would possess all the power it contained and become king of the land. But there was one catch. The sword could only be found by a man of sterling character. A man so pure of heart and bright of mind he would never be tempted to use the sword for evil. Only that man would have the ability to locate the sword.”

“For years, men traveled the world, hunting for Marrick's sword.” Porter picked up the story and continued it, the tale obviously as familiar and cherished to the three of them as any fairy tale Tom had ever been told. “But none had a pure heart. The sword remained lost. Years passed, and people went on with their lives, forgetting about the great wizard's challenge.

“One day a jousting tournament was held. Competing in this tournament was a knight. He'd brought his servant with him, a lowly orphan boy who received nothing but cruelty at the knight's hands. The boy was so inconsequential that the knight hadn't even bothered to give him a name.

“The morning of the tournament arrived. As the knights prepared to present themselves for battle, the boy made a horrible discovery. In his exhaustion, he'd forgotten to pack his master's sword. Terrified, knowing his mistake would cost him a brutal beating, he took off at a run, hoping to get to his master's home and back before his mistake was discovered.

“The boy took a shortcut through a dark forest—fearing he'd never make it back in time—when a ray of brilliant sunlight nearly blinded him. He skidded to a stop. There, buried deep within the recesses of a half-hidden cave, was the glistening shaft of a mighty sword. Now, the boy had never been told the tale of the sword, never even heard of Marrick. But that didn't matter.

“He looked at the sword. He looked around the forest. He made a decision. He would
borrow
the sword. Just for
that morning's events. Obviously no one was using it, or they wouldn't have put it in so silly a place. As long as he supplied his knight with a sword, he might be able to put off his daily beating until that evening, when he would surely do something else to displease his master.

“He climbed the rocks leading to the cave. He gained his footing and wrapped his hands around the hilt of the sword.”

“But something happened when he touched it, didn't it?” Mudge said, clearly caught up in the tale.

“It did,” Porter affirmed. “The moment the boy touched that sword, he felt something shift inside him. He knew that with that single touch, the world,
his
world, had forever changed.”

Mudge looked up at Tom, his face beaming with pleasure. “It's a good tale, isn't it?”

Tom nodded. Much of it was familiar, of course. The powerful wizard, the hidden sword, the boy king. Common themes. Yet wasn't that true of all legends that lasted the test of time?

Porter quit speaking. Tom looked up, puzzled. “That's it? What happened to the boy, the sword?”

Porter shrugged. “For a while, Marrick's gift brought only good. The boy grew to be a fine king, Salamaine by name. He united all the warring lands. Each of the five kingdoms took a piece of stone from the cave in which the sword had been hidden, and embedded it in the shaft of the sword, pledging their unity to Salamaine. That's how the Sword of Five Kingdoms was created.

“Though it had tremendous power, it was never used as a weapon. Salamaine's reign was one of peace and prosperity, the greatest era the world has ever known. There was no hunger, no war, no plagues. All men were given equal voice, regardless of their wealth or birthright. It was said to be a golden time.”

Willa sighed. “But it didn't last.”

“Salamaine had two sons,” Porter continued. “Twins. One born with a twisted heart of pure evil; the other as bright and pure as Salamaine himself. They fought bitterly for control
of the kingdom. Ultimately Draydor, the dark son, took the throne. Salamaine, of course, had the power to use the Sword of Five Kingdoms to kill Draydor, but he could not slay his own child. Nor could he risk Draydor gaining the sword himself. Brokenhearted, he left his shattered kingdom and took to the woods of his childhood, hiding the sword from those who would use it for evil.”

“What happened to the other son?”

Porter shrugged again. “Gregor? It was forbidden to speak his name. Some say he was slain by his brother; some say he sought refuge in the forests. The knights who remained loyal to him were hunted down and murdered. A few may have escaped. It's almost impossible to know. This all took place hundreds of years ago.”

Tom looked at his brother. “That's how it ends?”

“Not exactly. Roughly twenty years ago, a scribe working with ancient documents uncovered a prophecy linked to Marrick. A second set of twin sons. The light and the dark brought together to reclaim Salamaine's sword and rid the kingdoms of evil once again.”

“Ah. I'm guessing that's where we come in.”

Porter gave a curt nod. “Given that our father was a cartographer—one who had specialized in the study of ancient legends—it wasn't difficult to link the prophecy to us.”

“Except this time, maybe the pale-haired brother is the bad guy.”

Porter almost smiled. “They say when the sword and the stones are reunited—”

“Quiet!” Willa snapped, going still.

They froze, listening. To nothing, Tom thought. And then it hit him.
Nothing.
Not a chirp or a rustle or a hiss or a slither. Silence. Then, in the distance, the low, purring rumble of what sounded like an engine. The hair stood up on the back of Tom's neck as recognition kicked in. The mist had washed off Willa's hideous salve. It wasn't the rumble of an engine he heard.

It was the growl of a dog.

S
ix huge, hairless beasts strutted out from between a canopy of vines, carrying with them the stench of rot and decay. They were enormous—roughly the size of a child's pony—with mottled skin in varying shades of gray, green, and brown. They strode forward with hackles raised, lips curled back in a vicious snarl. Thick streams of drool hung from the corners of their enormous jaws.

Heads low, the dogs spread out. A deep rumbling growl issued from within their throats.

Moving instinctively, Tom edged Mudge behind him, noting as he did that Porter and Willa tightened their circle as well. Together the four of them edged carefully backward. They moved with slow deliberation, hardly daring to breathe. Their eyes fixed on the dogs, they gathered themselves into a tight semicircle.

If Tom's heart was beating, he wasn't aware of it. Every nerve and fiber in his body was stretched tight, his focus fixed entirely on the dogs. He knew enough not to run or scream. Any sudden sound or movement would only serve to spark a chase-capture-kill instinct among the beasts. He scanned his memory for additional knowledge of dogs, but his experience
was limited to Bubbles, the chubby, sweet-tempered golden Lab the school librarian occasionally brought to work.

Clearly there was no Bubbles here.

The dogs swayed as one, their weight shifting from paw to paw, muscles rippling beneath their skin. One dog moved forward. The alpha male. At least two hundred pounds, Tom thought, taking a silent measure of the beast. His ears were pinned back against his skull, his sharp fangs glistened, and his eyes were dark and alert.

Willa tightened her grip on her blade. Porter slowly reached for his own knife and removed it from its sheath. “I'll take the leader,” he said under his breath. He held the knife out and away from his body, his knuckles white on the grip. “The rest of you run.”

As though somehow understanding Porter's intent, the alpha male locked eyes with him. The dog lowered his massive head and bared his fangs. A low, rumbling growl issued from his throat. He flexed his forelegs, ready to pounce.

Willa drew in a sharp breath.

Porter's fingers tightened reflexively around the handle of his blade.

Suicide,
Tom thought. It would never work. The beast was too massive, too powerful. And even if Porter could hold one animal off with his knife, and Willa keep another at bay, they could never outrun the rest of the pack. He took a step backward, frantically scanning the ground for a weapon of his own. His heel bumped up against one of the enormous root structures they'd been climbing over as they moved through the swamp.

Tom wasn't aware of making a decision. But some part of his brain, fueled by adrenaline and the will to survive, made it for him. “The roots!” he shouted.

He twisted sideways and shoved Mudge through a gap in the root cage. The boy slipped easily into the hollow web of tangled roots. Willa turned, and after a moment's confusion, comprehension made it through the fog of terror that held her
frozen in place. She leaped through an opening in the twisted roots. Porter hesitated, his mind apparently primed for fight over flight, but a shove from Tom helped him change direction.

Tom and Porter dove headfirst into the temporary shelter, barely managing to pull themselves inside before the dogs were upon them.

The beasts could fit their heads through the gaps, but not much more. Their prey escaping, they erupted in an explosion of raw fury. Barking, growling, snarling, shoving their muzzles through the openings in the roots, the animals were all teeth and fangs and flying strings of slobber. The dogs came at them from the top and the sides, ripping the air with their frenzied, earsplitting barking.

As Tom lurched backward, the map snagged on a root and was knocked off his shoulder. The alpha dog caught it in his teeth, his fangs sinking through the parchment. Tom grabbed on to the other end, caught in a brutal game of tug-of-war. Not releasing his hold, the dog bared his teeth and issued a savage growl. A blast of the beast's noxious breath sprayed Tom's face.

“The map!” Porter shouted as he shouldered his way beside him. “Hold on to it!”

“I'm trying!”

The dog's thick slobber caused the map to grow slick in Tom's grasp. He dug his fingers in, but was no match against the animal's vice-like grip.

The alpha dog gave a tug, and the animal-skin sheath holding the parchment inched from Tom's grip. Porter thrust his knife through the roots, but he couldn't get the blade close enough to strike.

Suddenly Willa was there. She shoved past Tom and Porter, a small leather pouch in her hand. “Close your eyes!” she shouted. “Don't breathe!”

Tom obeyed, but not in time. A cloud of hot burning air filled his lungs. He heard Porter gasp and wheeze beside him. A pepper powder of some sort, he realized. His eyes watered and his vision blurred. The alpha dog gave a yelp of pain and
abruptly released the map, sending Tom flying.

He landed with a thud and scooted backward on his hands and feet, moving like a crab that had been flipped over. He bumped into Mudge, who was tucked in a tight ball, shrinking himself into as small a space as possible. Willa crouched down low beside him. The dogs swarmed around them, pawing frantically at the roots, thrusting their snouts through the gaps.

“Do you have any more of that powder?” he shouted, his voice barely carrying over the din of the barking.

“Not enough!”

Porter leaned forward. “What do we do?”

Tom looked quickly around their shelter. The root structure twisted away to his right and left, forming what appeared to be a tangled maze through the swamp. One cage connected to another, creating an above-ground tunnel of sorts.

The alpha dog grabbed a root and cracked it in his massive jaws. He thrust his neck inside, lunging toward Mudge. The beast's rancid breath sprayed their faces. Tom's heart slammed against his chest. Within a matter of minutes, with concentrated effort, the dogs would chew and claw their way into the cage. There was no time for Tom to think or plan. If they wanted to survive, they had to move.