The Vengekeep Prophecies (23 page)

“Don't mind if anyone stares,” she said matter-of-factly. “It's probably just the large, scabby gash on your forehead.”

“Swell,” I said. “I hope the rock that hit me at least split in two.”

Callie laughed. “I think the score stands: Exploding Wall, one, Jaxter Grimjinx, nil.”

We stopped at a fountain and Callie knelt to refill our flagons. “I have to say,” she muttered, “I was impressed with Edilman. After the wall exploded and you were thrown back, he had this look of panic on his face. I expected him to bolt and leave us both behind. But he didn't hesitate. He buried your hands in dirt to put out the fire, then slung you over his shoulder and led me through the smoke. He really came through for us, Jaxter. I was wrong about him.”

“He came through for us twice,” I reminded her. “If he hadn't known about the greenhouse at Redvalor, we'd still be plodding around the Provinces, trying to find everything.”

“So,” Callie said slowly, “are you going to miss the Dowager?”

I gnawed on my lower lip and looked down at my feet.

“Come on, Jaxter,” she said, “admit it. All that talking you two did … That wasn't just a con, was it?”

I hated being so transparent. “Sure, I enjoyed talking to her. I enjoyed talking about something other than how to break into a vault or the proper way to distract a mark for a change. So? Is it important?”

Callie hooked her arm around mine. “I dunno. You tell me. Is it?”

We walked on quietly. Mainly because I didn't have an answer. At least not one I was ready to admit.

We found the Wily Leathersmith along the northern border of the town. The innkeeper, a dour looking par-Goblin, stood on a stool behind the inn's registration desk. Half my height and plump, his moist green-gray skin glistened as he turned to look at us. The pointed tips of his hairy, slender ears reached up over his head, while the lobes drooped below his chin. Under his lower lip, he sported a pool of excess saliva, which his tongue occasionally flicked out to lap up.

He didn't so much as blink at two kids hiring three rooms, just as Edilman had predicted. We ran upstairs, stowed our stuff in our rooms, then headed out into the street to the pub next door.

Hundreds of antlers hung from the pub's ceiling, some sporting candles, but most just as thorny decorations. We made our way through the crowd to a small table in the corner from which we could keep an eye on the door. The only strange look we got was from the barmaid, who raised an eyebrow when we each ordered mangmilk. Apparently, she didn't get a lot of orders for mangmilk.

The patrons, a mix of burly men and rowdy women, fixed their attention on a small alcove near the window. A petite blond woman in a leather tunic and matching breeches strummed a niolyre and sang in one of the most gorgeous voices I'd ever heard. As Callie helped me drink my mangmilk, we listened to the bard tell stories of happenings from across the Provinces. We froze in place as her song turned somber and she sang of Vengekeep.

According to her song, two more disasters had recently struck our hometown: an infestation of vessapedes and a massive earthquake that had produced no magma men but had collapsed most of the buildings on the town's west side. When she finished the dirge, the crowd erupted in applause, showering her with copperbits and the occasional bronzemerk. Callie and I drank our mangmilk in silence, our thoughts far away with the families we'd left to deal with the aftermath.

I pulled out the Provinces map and showed Callie our location in relation to the aircaves. “We've got a week until mooncrux. It'll take us a day to get to the aircaves, get the spiderbat milk, and then a day back to here. Then we use the carriage Edilman's hiring for us to get back to Vengekeep.”

“Will we make it back in time?”

“It'll be close.”

Really, it would be
very
close. And we both knew it.

“Jaxter,” Callie whispered urgently. I looked up, following her wide-eyed gaze to the door. The patrons of the pub had fallen silent as a group of men wearing light armor and brandishing swords entered. Their patchwork leather armor suggested that they were members of the local constabulary. They surveyed the room before resting their eyes on us. I felt Callie's hand close on my forearm under the table as they surrounded us, weapons raised.

“You have been accused of fleeing the cursed town-state of Vengekeep,” one of the men barked at us. “You are under arrest!”

“Investing in luck squanders skill.”

—
Ancient par-Goblin proverb

I
actually found myself wishing for the gaol back in Vengekeep. Much cleaner, less stinky, and far more comfortable. The cell they threw Callie and me into stank of rotting hay and the ghostly odor of past, unbathed inmates. The only other occupant sat huddled in the corner, shrouded in layered black clothes. His or her shaggy head fell forward limply, and we weren't entirely convinced he or she wasn't dead.

As the door slammed shut behind us, my hand went to my belt and pouches. Which were no longer there, having been confiscated on the way in. It wouldn't have mattered. I'd used up nearly all my supplies making the explosive that freed us from the Dowager's compound. Escape would have to wait.

“I don't know how the law works here,” Callie shouted at the back of the departing constable, “but they don't lock up children where we come from!”

“Oh, yes, they do,” I corrected.

Callie paced. “How did they know? There's no way they could tell just by looking at us!”

I sat on a broken bench near the cell's third occupant. “Relax,” I said. “We won't be here long.”

Callie grabbed the closed door and gave it a good yank. “Unless you've got a key, I beg to differ.”

I sighed. “When Edilman can't find us at the pub, he'll follow standard protocol.”

Grumbling, Callie leaned her back against the bars. “And what's ‘standard protocol'?”

I glanced at our cell mate, who had not moved. From time to time, gaolers left snitches disguised as prisoners in cells, hoping to get information. I looked for signs that this person was a mite too eager to hear our conversation. Seeing none—in fact, seeing no sign that this person was alive—I continued.

“It's in the Lymmaris Creed,” I said simply. “When someone you're supposed to meet up with goes missing, first thing you do is check out the local gaol. Edilman's probably on his way here now.”

“How's he going to get us out?” she asked. “They think we're cursed. The constable probably plans on shipping us right back to Vengekeep.”

“Vengekeep?”

The gravelly voice came from the dark figure sitting in the corner. He shifted and, for a moment, I worried we had an informant on our hands after all. He raised his head, peering out through curly black bangs that masked his eyes.

“Did you say you came from Vengekeep?” he asked.

Callie and I looked at each other. When the guards arrested us, we'd denied up and down that we had anything to do with our hometown. We claimed to be tourists from Tarana Province, just back from an expedition to the aircaves. Our lack of spelunking equipment must have given us away because they escorted us directly here. If this was an informant, it wouldn't do us any good to admit anything.

Then Callie's eyes narrowed, staring at our cell mate. She knelt down and her face brightened slightly. “Talian?”

The young man reached up and parted the curtain of hair in front of his face. A memory flashed in my mind. I'd seen Talian, Lotha's apprentice, around Vengekeep. He was bright-eyed, friendly. But the person in front of us was sallow skinned with a haunted face, looking much older than his eighteen years.

Talian cocked his head and peered back. “Callie?” The two cousins met in the middle of the cell and hugged.

“The town's been worried to death about you,” Callie said, pulling back and smiling. “You were expected in Vengekeep weeks ago.” She looked him up and down. His sooty, ragged clothes hardly befit a newly appointed town mage. “Last we heard, you'd completed the Trials and were being sent to help us with our little … problem.”

Talian looked away, clasping his hands behind his back. “Yes. Well. I got … diverted.”

A thought occurred to me. “This is bangers!” I told Callie, jerking my thumb at Talian. “We've got a mage on our side. Even if Edilman can't find us, Talian can get us out of here.”

Callie reached out and gripped her cousin's arm. “Jaxter's right. You can help us. We have to go to the aircaves and then return to Vengekeep.”

Talian scoffed. “Haven't you heard? The High Laird's quarantined the whole town-state. No one gets in or out.”

“We got out,” I said. “And we can get back in.”

Talian regarded us both. Then he quietly returned to his corner and sank down, bowing his head again. “Well, good luck to you. I won't be going.”

Callie looked to me, then at her cousin. “But … why, Talian? Vengekeep's been without a mage for months. You're not worried about the ‘curse,' are you? Because, there's not really—”

Talian laughed grimly. “Curse? Hardly. There's no curse on Vengekeep.”

I folded my arms. “How do you know that?”

Talian grinned up at us cynically. “Curses are strong, potent magic. Hard to break. But they're localized. You can curse a person; you can curse an object. The most powerful curse on record occupied a small house. There's no way to muster the energy to curse an entire town. Anyone at the Palatinate will tell you that.”

Callie sat next to me on the bench. “But then why would the Palatinate tell the High Laird it was a curse?”

Talian shook his head. “They didn't. Not really, anyway. The Lordcourt danced around an explanation when the High Laird asked for one. They let him
infer
it was a curse without actually saying it.”

“That doesn't answer the question,” I noted. “Why would they do that? Why let the High Laird send most of his troops to keep Vengekeep sequestered?” To surround the whole of Vengekeep must have taken nearly the whole Provincial Guard. Much of the Five Provinces was unprotected because of what the High Laird believed.

Talian shrugged. “The Lordcourt doesn't take the High Laird seriously. Most of them see him as a buffoon. They enjoy watching the High Laird stumble over himself.”

Outraged, Callie was on her feet again. “This is a joke to them? Curse or not, Vengekeep is in danger. The Palatinate could put an end to it. Instead, they're tucked away in their palace, laughing at the High Laird? People could die.”

Talian wrapped his arms around his chest and hugged himself. “Well. Strictly speaking, the Palatinate
did
try to put an end to it.”

“How?” Callie demanded.

Talian pointed to his own chest. “They sent me. I finished the Trials and they said, ‘By the way, some sort of magic is attacking Vengekeep. Go look into that, would you?' Gave me a mang and sent me on my way.”

The three of us sat there silently. Callie stared hard at the floor, her fists tightening. I knew she didn't want to ask the next logical question, so I made it easy on her and asked myself.

“So what happened?” I whispered.

Again, Talian offered his haunted grin. “I was halfway to Vengekeep, thinking of everything I'd heard about the terrible things happening there, and I said to myself, ‘What are you doing?' The Palatinate wasn't even willing to send a more accomplished mage with me to investigate. If they didn't care what was happening in Vengekeep, why should I?”

Callie clapped a hand to her mouth, her eyes brimming with tears.

Talian leaned back. “So I came to Cindervale instead. Got myself a job working at the docks, repairing boats. Things were going pretty well until the Palatinate figured out I'd abandoned my duty. They covered the Provinces in wanted posters. Somebody recognized me and the constable showed up at my door. Right now, a messenger is on her way to report me. Within minutes of delivering her message, the Lordcourt will retrieve me and then I'll be facing Palatinate justice.”