by Joshua Khan
Text copyright © 2016 by Joshua Khan
Illustrations copyright © 2016 by Ben Hibon
Cover illustration © 2016 by Ben Hibon
Lettering by Russ Gray
Cover design by Marci Senders
All rights reserved. Published by Disney • Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney • Hyperion, 125 West End Avenue, New York, New York 10023.
ISBN 978-1-4847-3789-7
Visit www.DisneyBooks.com
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Map
Cast of Characters
Port Cutlass
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Castle Gloom
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Forty-Three
Forty-Four
Forty-Five
Forty-Six
Forty-Seven
The City of Silence
Forty-Eight
Forty-Nine
Fifty
Fifty-One
Fifty-Two
Fifty-Three
Fifty-Four
Fifty-Five
Fifty-Six
Fifty-Seven
Fifty-Eight
Fifty-Nine
Sixty
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have Immortal longings in me.
—From Antony and Cleopatra,
by William Shakespeare
PORT CUTLASS
Thorn, a runaway boy
Merrick, a wandering minstrel
Lukas, a slave master
CASTLE GLOOM
Lilith Shadow, ruler of Gehenna
Pandemonium Shadow, her uncle
Mary, a servant
Baron Sable, a nobleman
Rose, a servant
Wade, a squire
Old Colm, the weapons master
Tyburn, the executioner
PRISM PALACE
Duke Raphael Solar, ruler of Lumina
Gabriel Solar, his son and heir apparent
K’leef Djinn, a hostage
BEASTS
Custard, a puppy
Thunder, a warhorse
Hades, a monster…
“How much for this boy?” asked the man, prodding Thorn hard in the chest.
Thorn grimaced, but did nothing.
The slave master, Lukas, wiggled all his fingers.
The man frowned. “Ten? Captain Pike sells his boys for five.”
Lukas, born ogre-ugly but turned hideous by the large scar across his face, laughed. “Pike sells them half-starved and diseased.” He tugged Thorn forward by his manacles. “Have a good look at him, Master Shann,” he said. “Twelve summers and already taller than many men. Straight limbs and a sound chest. And look at these.” Lukas twisted Thorn’s wrist to turn his palm up. “Good old-fashioned farmer’s hands. I swear by the Six, you put him in the fields, and you’ll get ten years out of him. Maybe fifteen.”
Thorn pulled himself free. They talked as if he was some animal.
The customer, Master Shann, prodded him again. “Open your mouth, boy.”
Thorn clamped his mouth shut.
Lukas cuffed the back of his head. “Open your mouth.”
Thorn didn’t.
“Is he simpleminded?” asked Shann. “I have no use for simpleminded boys.”
Thorn should have punched him for that. Shann needed punching. He was big and round and squashy-faced, with a bulbous nose crowded with hairy warts. But hitting a customer would only earn him another beating—the third this week—so Thorn kept his fist clenched and by his side. It wasn’t easy.
“Or is he mute? Is that it? I have no use for mute boys, either. Speak, boy. Say something.”
Speak? All right.
“Fat. Stupid. Oaf,” said Thorn.
Shann blinked.
Thorn spoke some more. “Smelly. Foul. Toad.”
The beady, puffy eyes almost vanished into Shann’s doughy face. “I have even less use for surly boys.” He swept around and marched off.
The slave master grabbed Thorn’s hair and pulled him so they were face-to-face. “I’ll deal with you later.” Then he shoved him off his feet before chasing after his would-be customer. “Wait, Master Shann! Wait!”
He was in for a beating later tonight. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. Even Lukas knew that bruised slaves didn’t fetch the best prices.
A shadow crossed over him.
“That was unwise, my young friend.”
Thorn looked up to see Merrick, a minstrel the slavers had captured a week after him. Merrick folded his long, skinny legs and sat down beside Thorn.
“I don’t care. I ain’t no slave.”
Merrick shook the manacles around his own wrists. “These aren’t bracelets we wear.”
Seagulls squawked overhead, and limp green flags hung off the flagpoles. Fishermen sold their day’s catch from the quayside, farmers herded sheep and goats along the narrow alleys into pens, and bony dogs searched the rubbish. The air stank of unwashed animals, rotting fish, and too many sweating people, and the sea breeze did nothing to relieve it.
But the foulest smell came from the slaves. Disgorged from the ships’ hulls after weeks, sometimes months, of crowded travel, they were now lined up along the platforms. Men, women, and children.
Plenty of little ones. They didn’t run as fast, so were bagged first.
“It shouldn’t be allowed, stealing people from their homes.” Thorn looked down at the clutch of small children. Most had slumped into quiet despair; others still gazed around, searching the crowds, perhaps hoping their parents might appear and save them.
“It isn’t allowed,” answered Merrick. “The Great Houses certainly don’t have slavery. But we’re a long way from them and the protection they might offer.” He brushed dirt off his motley. The patched costume might have been bright once, but life on the road had faded the brilliant colors to a dull and lifeless gray. “I bet you never thought you’d end up here when you ran away from home.”
Thorn touched the carved acorn amulet hanging around his neck. “I didn’t run away.”
“No? So what was it, then?”
“It ain’t none of your business.”
The less Merrick knew about Thorn’s crime, the better. The minstrel couldn’t keep his mouth shut; after all, it was his job to tell stories.
And if any of them knew why he’d left home, they’d stretch his neck with a rope.
&nb
sp; “Did you commit some dastardly offense?” Merrick winked. “That’s it, isn’t it? You stole the heart of a fair-faced princess, but her evil father, the baron, had her promised to some weak-chinned son of an earl. She’s in her tower right now, pining for you.”
“Of course not!”
“What a shame. That would have made a good tale,” he said. “So, tell me, why are you here?”
“I don’t even know where ‘here’ is.”
“You are in Cutlass,” declared Merrick, sweeping out his arms. “The largest port along the Sword Coast. A place where you can buy anything, and I do mean anything. Home to slavers and pirates and gentlemen of little virtue.”
“Gentlemen of little virtue? Like you?”
Merrick raised an eyebrow. “Ah, so there is a wit under that thatch of straw you call hair.”
“I ain’t stupid.”
“I don’t know what you are, young Thorn. Shall we see?” He squeezed Thorn’s bicep.
“Hey!”
“You’re strong, but then, farmers’ boys usually are. You still have all your own teeth and that’s a bonus, but you’re utterly lacking in charm and, if you don’t mind me saying so, not particularly attractive. Can you sing? Dance? No? Come now, you must be good at something.”
“I’m good at lots of things,” said Thorn. Then he muttered to himself, “Just bad things.”
Yeah, like spilling blood.
Merrick shook his head. “If you’re not careful, Lukas will sell you to the mines. And you don’t want to end up there, believe me.”
“I ain’t going down no mine, and I ain’t going to be no slave. Dad said it’s better to be hungry and free than a fat slave.”
“Fathers, like most men, say stupid things.”
“Don’t you say that!” snapped Thorn. “You don’t know nothing about my dad!”
His dad was worth a hundred Merricks! All the minstrel could do was play the lute, sing badly, and tell stupid stories. Thorn’s dad could do anything. He’d taught Thorn how to—
No. Don’t think about that. That’s what got you here in the first place.
Merrick raised his hands in surrender. “I apologize, my young, irascible friend. I’m sure your father is a paragon of wisdom.”
Typical Merrick. An insult hidden in a compliment. His tongue was more twisted than a viper’s.
Other buyers walked along the line. One or two stopped to look at Thorn, but he glared back at them and they moved swiftly on. It looked like nobody wanted surly boys.
But one man wasn’t scared off.
A swordsman. Thorn recognized the sort; he’d met enough on the road. And he knew to keep well away from them.
The swordsman sat easy on his saddle, elbows resting on the pommel while his horse, a huge black stallion, pulled at weeds growing beside a trough.
He wasn’t rich, judging by the plain tunic, muddy cloak, and his worn boots. The sword didn’t look like anything special, but it did look well used.
And he had dark, dead eyes. Eyes that had seen too much.
The swordsman flicked his reins. The horse tugged the last of the weeds free, and rider and horse sank back into the crowd.
“What about you, Merrick? Ain’t you scared of ending up down a mine?”
Merrick waved his long fine fingers. “What barbarian would waste such talented digits on digging rocks? I, who have performed for each of the six Great Houses? I have danced in the mirrored chambers of the Prism Palace and sung in the grim halls of Castle Gloom to—”
“You’ve met the Shadows?” interrupted Thorn. “The lords of death?”
“I think they prefer the term ‘necromancer,’ but yes, I am acquainted with the rulers of Gehenna.”
Necromancer. Another one of Merrick’s fancy words. But fancy words didn’t make things any different. Everyone knew what the Shadows were. Dark sorcerers who raised the dead from their graves and had zombies for servants.
“And you came back alive?” Thorn checked Merrick’s neck. Was that a pair of bite marks or just eager fleas? “Did any of ’em drink your blood? Ain’t Lord Shadow a vampire?”
“Lord Iblis Shadow walked in the sun the last time I was there. Not that the country of Gehenna gets much sun.” Merrick rubbed his arms vigorously. “Give me the gardens of the south any day.”
How many nights had Thorn’s dad told him and his brothers and sisters tales about the Shadow family and Castle Gloom, their citadel without windows? How the living and dead danced together at their great balls and feasted on blood and corpses…
Thorn remembered the warning his parents had given them all. He must have heard it a thousand times: Be good or the Shadows will have you for dinner.
A child screamed.
“Who’s that?” Thorn turned toward the noise.
The second scream was louder and longer.
“The twins,” said Merrick.
Thorn jumped up, but Merrick gripped his arm. “This is not our affair,” the minstrel warned.
Master Shann began dragging Tam away. The boy was six, the same age as Thorn’s youngest brother. Tam was crying and reaching desperately for his sister, Annie. The girl sat crumpled in the mud, her own face screwed up in misery.
Thorn’s blood boiled as he watched Lukas laughing at Tam’s feeble attempts to break free. Thorn had looked after the twins since the day they’d all been caught; he felt responsible for them now.
“Do not get involved.” Merrick tightened his hold. “You’ll only get in more trouble.”
For a second, just a second, Thorn stopped. There’d been nothing but trouble since the day he’d left home. Maybe Merrick was right. He should sit this out. Let Shann drag the boy off. Leave the sister sobbing in the dirt. That’s what some would do.
Yeah, some. Not me.
Thorn wrenched himself free and leaped smack onto Lukas’s back, knocking him face-first into the mud. Both tumbled over, punching and kicking. Lukas tried to grab him, but Thorn bashed the slaver’s head against the ground.
A boot slapped down beside him, and that was warning enough. Thorn rolled away just as a guard swung his cudgel at him. The knobbly stick cracked the side of Lukas’s skull instead.
Thorn scrambled up and rammed his head into the guard’s guts. The man went down with a grunt as Thorn skidded beside the girl.
Annie stared at him, openmouthed.
“What are you waiting for? Run!” he said.
“What…what?”
Thorn hauled her up and pushed her off. “Run!”
Tam saw his chance and bit Shann’s wrist. Shann screamed and let the young boy go. Tam took his sister’s hand, and seconds later, the pair had vanished into the busy market.
“After them!” spluttered Lukas. He stumbled toward Thorn, blood dripping from his head, and drew a long, curved knife from his belt. “You’re going to pay for this.”
This is real bad.
Thorn stepped back, but there was nowhere to run. The guards had just lost two slaves; no way were they going to lose a third.
Why’d I do something that stupid? Risking it all for a couple of skinny kids?
The six guards surrounded him. Each was big, armed with a heavy club, and eager to give out a beating after a long, boring day.
Lukas leered, weaving his blade through the air between them. “It’s the mines for you, boy. But first, I’m going to take out those green eyes of yours. You won’t need eyes down in the mines.”
“I won’t need no eyes to beat you, neither. I’ll just follow the stink,” said Thorn.
He balled up his fists. He was going down, but not without a fight.
A horse snorted.
“Ten sovereigns for the boy.”
A black stallion pushed past the guards and stopped in front of Thorn. He gazed up. Past the stirrup, the well-worn boots, and the sword hanging from the rider’s hip, into a pair of cold black eyes.
It was the swordsman who’d been watching him earlier. He dangled a small leather purse. “Ten
.”
What was going on? Bewilderment and wild hope fought in Thorn’s chest. There was a chance: a small, mad chance he might survive this. Might.
“Get out of here,” snarled Lukas. “And take that mangy donkey with you.”
“Ten.”
“Are you thick or something? He’s not for sale.” Lukas gestured to the guards. “Maybe I should have my lads knock some sense into you, just so you understand.”
Thorn’s hopes faded. It was seven against one. The swordsman didn’t stand a chance.
“Excuse me! Hello! Hello, there!”
It was Merrick, waving at them.
What was the foolish minstrel up to now?
Merrick performed a wild bow, arms flapping everywhere, and bending so low his nose almost touched his knees. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance again.”
The swordsman nodded. “Merrick, isn’t it? It’s a shame to see you in chains. Though not much of a surprise.”
Merrick beamed. “I am flattered you remember me, Master Tyburn.”
The name hit the guards like a battering ram. A couple of them retreated, and Lukas’s face turned ashen. “Ty-Tyburn?”
They’re scared of him.
Tyburn tossed the bag to the ground. “Have the boy cleaned up and brought to the Mermaid Inn, tonight. And shave his head. I can see the lice dancing from here.”
“Hey! I ain’t got no lice!” Thorn shouted. He’d only washed his hair last month!
“The boy needs to be made an example of. He needs to be punished,” said Lukas, scowling.
Tyburn leaned forward, his fingers casually brushing his sword hilt. “Did you say something?”
Lukas gulped and shook his head.
They ain’t scared; they’re terrified.
Merrick cleared his throat. Loudly.
“I’ll take the minstrel, too,” added Tyburn. He fished out another coin. “Here’s a crown.”
Just a crown? A crown don’t buy you a skinny pig.
But the slave master didn’t complain. “Unchain the minstrel,” he muttered.
The guard blinked, confused.
“Do it!”
Thorn couldn’t believe it. He was free. Just like that.
Or was he?
No one paid ten sovereigns without wanting something in return.
“Think you’ve got off lightly, don’t you?” said the slave master as he undid Thorn’s manacles. “You have no idea.”