The Shadowhand Covenant (21 page)

I sat on the edge of the bed, polishing the lenses of my glasses. “You've got good reason.”

Maloch stopped in his tracks. “What do you mean?”

“Dylis is the traitor,” I said plainly, “and I can prove it.”

“Anger the mage twice, the thief once, and the fool as often as you like.”

—Lorris Grimjinx, inventor of the rubyeye

M
a was right. I saw something that everyone else had missed.

Maloch sat next to me on the bed. “What do you mean?”

“Didn't you hear what she said?” I asked. “She said they returned to the Dagger with the four stolen items.
Four
. We know from the Dowager that
five
relics were stolen that night.”

Maloch's eyes lit up. “You're right. So maybe . . . maybe . . .”

It was funny to watch him try his hand at thinking. Every now and then, his eyes would soften, as if he was about to collide with an actual thought. Then they'd go dark again. I decided to help him along.

“So maybe,” I said, “whoever hired the Shadowhands gave a list of five relics to Dylis. But when she went back to the Shadowhands, she only mentioned four of them. Then she went and stole the fifth item for herself. When their employer dug up the chest and found one of the items missing, he assumed the Shadowhands had betrayed him. So he set out to eliminate them all and get his missing relic back.”

By now, Maloch was practically bursting with energy. He was up again, pacing furiously, pounding his fist into his hand. “Makes sense to me. Can you convince your parents?”

I shook my head. “Probably not. But then there's the matter of her arms. Have you noticed how she always keeps them in her robes? And how she winces whenever she moves them?” Maloch stared blankly at me, and I sighed. “You said anyone who betrays the Covenant contracts a magical illness. Well, Mardem's Blight is a magical disease that gives
you bleeding lesions up and down your arms.
That's
how we expose her. Well, that and—”

“What?”

“She mentioned burying the orb, the coronet, the gauntlets, and the scepter. That means the fifth relic—the Vanguard—is still missing. Did you see how quick she was to make sure I didn't touch her bag? Now what do you suppose is in there that's so valuable?”

Maloch pulled out his dagger. “Then we march in there and—”

“If we go into her room, weapons raised . . . She's a Shadowhand, Maloch. We'll both be dead before we can cry for help. We come from thieving stock, you and me. There are subtler ways to do this.”

By subtler ways, I meant for Maloch to sneak into Dylis's room and poke around. But he had other ideas.

“I'll stand guard,” he whispered, dagger brandished, as we stood outside Dylis's door. “You go in and find the Vanguard.”

“We don't even know what the Vanguard looks like,” I
said. “I doubt it's something mounted on a plaque that reads, ‘Hello, I'm the Vanguard, and don't I have a silly name?'”

“It's an ancient relic,” he said. “It's the thing in her bag of supplies and clothes and food that
looks like an ancient relic
.”

I placed my hand on the doorknob. “And remind me, why am
I
doing this? As you keep telling me over and over and over, I'm not the best thief in the world.”

He shrugged. “Remember when you let me believe the Sarosans were going to kill us and we nearly died of almaxa poisoning? Well, do this and we're even.”

What he really meant was “do this or I'll pound you.” And even though we'd have had a much better chance of succeeding if Maloch tried this, he wasn't a complete naff-nut. He wasn't about to risk accidentally waking a sleeping Shadowhand.

Taking a long, deep breath, I gave the lightweight door a gentle push. A faint green-blue light, spilling in through the window from the torches in the nursery outside, filled Dylis's room. I got down on all fours and crawled quietly inside.

The Satyran snored loudly, her horned head barely
peeking up out of the blankets. I crept across the floor to Dylis's bag in the far corner. As she emitted a rumbling snore, I reached out and gingerly pulled the bag toward me.

I opened the drawstring that cinched the top and felt around inside. The first thing I found was a loaf of moldy bread. I stuck out my tongue. Satyrans loved moldy food. The smell alone nearly made me retch. I set the bread aside and dove in again.

My search yielded a map, two changes of clothes, a whetstone that I guessed was for keeping her horns and hooves sharp, a tinderbox, a flagon, a set of burglar tools, and a small satchel filled with silvernibs. I felt around in the nearly empty bag and came across the last item. Pulling it out, I found a wad of soft cloth. Gripping tighter, I could feel something hard and round in the center. I moved to the window for as much light as I could get.

Palming the cloth, I peeled back the top layer, exposing a glint of polished light-brown metal: a large coin, the size of my palm. Raised symbols in par-Goblin dotted the exposed surface, and a sparkling green jewel sat embedded in the center.

It was a par-Goblin tingroat. The currency hadn't been used since the Great Uprisings, when the High Laird's silvernibs, copperbits, and bronzemerks came into use throughout the Five Provinces. While it couldn't be used to buy bread from the baker, it was valuable as an extremely rare artifact.

Could this be the mysterious Vanguard?

As I reached out to touch it, I was suddenly yanked backward, sending the tingroat to the floor with a thud. I cried out when a cold metal blade was pressed firmly against my throat.

“What do you think you're doing?” Dylis growled in my ear. Her left arm hooked around my shoulder, keeping me in place.

My cry alerted Maloch, who charged into the room, dagger drawn.

“Let him go!” he said with a snarl, pointing his weapon threateningly at Dylis.

“The Vanguard! The Vanguard!” I squealed, pointing to where the tarnished coin had fallen near the edge of the bed. Dylis's grip on me tightened, and her blade dug into my neck.

Maloch dove for the coin, but before he reached it, a blur flew into the room and tackled him. When the pair rolled into the light, I found Da pinning Maloch's arms down at his side.

“Don't touch it!” Da said.

A moment later, Ma, Reena, and Holm stood in the doorway, Reena holding the small lantern from her pack. The room filled with warm yellow light.

“Dylis,” Ma said, sounding tired, “let Jaxter go.”

The Satyran pulled the blade away from my neck but held me tight. “He was trying to steal from me.”

Ma rolled her eyes. “I raised my boy right, Dylis. He knows better than to try to steal from a Shadowhand. Don't you, Jaxter?”

I grinned with a more-than-slightly-guilty look on my face.

Da stood, pulled Maloch to his feet, and guided him over to Ma. Then he took the cloth from my hand and gently picked up the tingroat. With great care, he folded it back up into the cloth until it was completely covered.

With a rough shove, Dylis sent me across the room toward my parents. Her left arm hung out of her robes.
Despite being a bit furry, there wasn't a single lesion or wound to be found.

“I should have let him touch it,” the Satyran said, sheathing her dirk. “It's a lesson he'd never forget.”

Ma's hands went to her hips, and she looked disapprovingly at Maloch and me. “Explain.”

Maloch and I took turns, and somehow we managed to get the whole story out. My theory about Dylis's arms. The Vanguard.

I could see rage building behind the Shadowhand's eyes as all the details of our foiled heist unfolded. “I made the deal with our employer myself!” she said. “There were
four
relics on the list and only four.” She reached into a side pocket on her bag, produced a piece of parchment, and tossed it at me. I unfolded it to find a detailed description of the orb, the gauntlets, the scepter, and the coronet, along with diagrams of the vaults and instructions on how to get past a variety of magical defenses that guarded them. There was no mention of the Vanguard.

“This is what I got from our employer,” Dylis continued. “You're lying about a fifth relic.”

“They're not.” It was Reena who interjected. “The
Dowager showed us the report from the High Laird. Five vaults were broken into that night. Not just four.”

We all sat silently for a moment. The Shadowhands had been hired to steal only four relics. So what happened to the fifth?

“If you don't have Mardem's Blight,” Maloch said, glaring at Dylis, “why do you hide your arms?”

Dylis drew herself up to her full height, towering over Maloch. She waved her left arm, which was already fully exposed. Then, with great effort, she pulled back her right sleeve.

Reena gasped. Holm gaped. Maloch groaned. From her fingertips to just past her elbow, Dylis's right arm was made of clear, sparkling glass.

Da held up the tingroat, shrouded in cloth. “This is how whoever is hunting the Shadowhands got them all. Each was sent a package containing a tingroat cursed with a shimmerhex. One touch and they were turned to glass. This vallix-skin cloth is the only thing protecting me from the curse.” Vallix skin was the only known material that could protect from a curse. “We're thinking if we study the tingroat, we might learn who sent it.”

Dylis pulled her right sleeve back down, covering the glass arm again. “I suspected something was strange and didn't touch the coin when it arrived. But in trying to wrap it up, I just barely grazed the tingroat's edge with my finger and . . .” She looked down sadly. “And yes, it's quite painful where the glass meets flesh.”

Maloch leaned against the wall. “I—I remember the day a package was delivered to our house. I think Da must have already figured out that the Shadowhands were disappearing at that point. He took the package with him when he went to look for the remaining Shadowhands. Just before he vanished.”

Ma let out a long sigh. “All right, then. Do we finally believe there are no traitors among us? We're all friends now, yes?” Maloch and Dylis cast each other a final suspicious look before nodding to Ma. “Wonderful. Then let's get some sleep. Someone is still searching for us in the Dagger. We need to be alert to make it to the Covenant chamber before they find us. Right? Back to bed, everyone.”

We all went back to our rooms. Maloch and I lay side by side on the canopy bed. “So . . . we're even now. Right?” I asked sleepily.

Eyes closed, Maloch said, “Even. Well. Almost.”

With a shove of his beefy arm, I flew from the bed onto the floor. He wrapped himself up in all the blankets and turned away. “G'night, Jaxter.”

I climbed back onto the side of the bed without any blankets. “Yeah. Good night.”

“Honor bought is honor owned.”

—Corenus Grimjinx, founder of the Grimjinx clan

T
he next morning, we had a hearty breakfast, gathered our stuff, and exited the house. Little had changed overnight. The killer toys surrounded the table, as if daring us to escape. Dylis led us to the edge of the tabletop.

“And how,” I asked, looking around at the gigantic nursery, “do we break the curse?”

Da waved his hand. “The shrinking curse is part of the Dagger's defenses. And Shadowhands can activate and deactivate the defenses at will. Dylis?”

The Satyran cleared her throat and raised her left arm.
“Shedekk!”
she cried in par-Goblin.

The walls and toys of the nursery began to melt into shimmering streams of light that spun into a whirlpool at the room's center, like water down a drain. The dollhouse and table vanished, but before we could fall, a flash of blue sparks restored us to our normal size. When the magical light show subsided, we found ourselves in a room filled with beds and bureaus.