Seeds of Rebellion

by Brandon Mull

“You returned tonight?”

  “Shortly before you three came blundering through the courtyard.”

  “Blundering?” Ferrin repeated, mildly offended.

  “Noisily and sloppily. Mostly the big one, subtle as a church bell rolling down a stairway. You didn’t appear imperial, so I allowed you to find me.”

  “And your backup plan was to leap from the tower window?” Aram asked.

  “Maybe,” Ned said, one eye twitching.

  “He wouldn’t have fallen,” Jason said. “He can climb like a spider. Ned, do you think the Blind King was captured?”

  “I hope not. Sightless or not, he’s sly. He always has an escape planned. Those who assaulted Fortaim probably paid sorely for the lives they claimed. The crooked tower was rigged to collapse, and he maintained an impressive stockpile of orantium.”

  “We noticed the damage,” Aram said. “That much orantium would have been worth a fortune.”

  “Irreplaceable,” Ned agreed.

  “Do you know where he might be, Ned?” Jason asked.

  “I prefer to be called ‘Nedwin.’ It evokes happier times.” Nedwin motioned Jason toward him. “A private word?”

  Jason glanced at Ferrin and Aram. They shrugged.

  Jason walked over to Nedwin, who leaned in close and whispered softly, “You’re really with these two?”

  “Yeah,” Jason whispered back.

  “If you’re in trouble, I can get us out of here.”

  “I’m good.”

  “All right. If you’re sure.” Nedwin straightened up to his full height, nearly half a head taller than Jason, though unimpressive when measured against Aram. “This room is smaller than it should be,” he announced.

  “What?” Jason asked.

  Nedwin turned, gesturing. “After viewing the tower from without, the observer would expect more space over here. Instead we have a premature wall.”

  “Secret passage?” Ferrin asked.

  Nedwin was already running his palms over the snugly mortared blocks. Behind a tapestry, he found a trigger that opened a small door constructed to blend with the masonry of the wall. “This way.”

  Nedwin turned and dragged Jugard’s body into the secret space, leaving him on his back against the far wall. The others followed Nedwin into a cramped hall almost too low and narrow for Aram. Nedwin closed the hidden door and then removed the glowing seaweed from his shirt. He led the way, and Aram brought up the rear, moving in an awkward, sideways crouch. Curving around the perimeter of the round room, the claustrophobic hall became a narrow stairway that spiraled down directly below the regular stairwell.

  They descended until emerging into musty tunnels in the bowels of the castle. Jason heard rats chittering and scampering beyond the violet glow of the seaweed. Nedwin navigated down several passageways, doubling back from empty rooms, dead ends, and collapsed corridors. At last they reached a cluttered storeroom.

  “Ah,” Nedwin said. “Feel the draft?”

  “Now that you mention it,” Aram said, licking a finger and holding it up.

  Nedwin’s freckled hand glided over the surface of a bare wall. Before long he tripped a mechanism that revealed a secret closet. On the floor of the closet awaited a trapdoor. Nedwin crouched and opened it.

  “Who trespasses here?” inquired a gruff voice from the darkness below.

  “Nedwin and Lord Jason,” Nedwin answered. “Accompanied by two friends.”

  “You may pass.” The dark hole filled with light. Jason judged that it was a twenty-foot drop. Buttressed by heavy beams, the dirt walls and floor beyond the trapdoor lacked the masonry of the finished corridors above.

  Nedwin signaled for Jason to descend a rope ladder. Jason had some trouble getting started, backing hesitantly through the trapdoor, but climbed down easily once his hands and feet found purchase. Ferrin and Aram came after, and finally Nedwin, who closed the trapdoor and sped down the ladder, dropping the final eight feet.

  The voice down the hole had belonged to the gatekeeper who had first admitted Jason to the ruined castle of the Blind King. Laying aside a crossbow and a halberd, he greeted Jason heartily, then turned a wary eye to Ferrin and Aram.

  “Who are these two?”

  “Ferrin and Aram,” Jason answered. “My friends. I wouldn’t be alive without their help.”

  “I’m Vernon,” the gatekeeper said.

  “We must consult with His Majesty,” Nedwin said.

  “Follow me,” Vernon said, leading them along the subterranean passage.

  “Is Tark here?” Aram asked.

  “Yes,” Vernon said. “Would you like to see him?”

  “A superb idea,” Nedwin interjected. “Vernon, see that Ferrin and Aram get to greet Tark after you deliver us to the king.”

  Vernon stopped at a sturdy door built into a crudely excavated wall of natural dirt and stone. As he lifted a fist to knock, the portal opened. There stood the Blind King, his hair and beard long and gray, a dingy rag binding his eyes, a grimy robe hanging from his broad shoulders.

  Before Jason had last met the Blind King, he had never heard the name Galloran. As a newcomer to Lyrian, he’d failed to grasp the significance of the grubby king’s secret identity. He hadn’t known how many still reverenced him as the greatest hero in Lyrian. Without any flashy pretense, here stood the true heir to Trensicourt, the strongest human kingdom not directly controlled by Maldor. Jason felt honored and relieved to be back in his presence.

  “Did I hear Nedwin?” Galloran rasped with his damaged voice.

  “And Lord Jason,” Nedwin said.

  The king’s mouth spread into a wide grin, forming deep creases in the whiskerless skin around his eyes and cheeks. “Is that so?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Jason said. “Along with two new friends.”

  “Wonderful, come inside.” Galloran backed away from the door.

  “You may want to first talk with Jason and me in private,” Nedwin suggested. “His friends are anxious to greet Tark.”

  “By all means, go find him,” the king grated.

  Jason shared a glance with Ferrin. He could sense that the displacer resented Nedwin not wanting him in the room. Vernon closed the door, leaving Jason and Nedwin with Galloran.

  Dorsio, a slender man with a shiny scar down the side of his face, sat unobtrusively in one corner. Jason knew that Dorsio, unable to speak, communicated with Galloran through touch and a system of snaps and claps.

  The underground chamber was more storage room than sitting room, but had a cot, a wooden bench, a table, and a couple of chairs. The rest of the space was taken up by stacked barrels, crates, and sacks. Galloran sat on the cot, motioning for the others to sit on the bench.

  “You two are well?” Galloran asked.

  “Yes,” they both responded.

  “What of Jugard?” Galloran asked.

  “I found his corpse,” Nedwin replied. “He was stabbed to death no more than a day before my arrival.” Jason noticed that Nedwin suddenly seemed calmer and more coherent.

  Galloran pounded a fist against his palm. “I feared as much. Jason unraveled the deception, and word of the false quest is now spreading, so Maldor is retaliating with violence. Did you have to slip past soldiers to get in here?”

  “No,” Nedwin said. “They’ve abandoned Fortaim.”

  “Then it was recently,” Galloran said. “They’ve been scouring the area for the past two days, trying to figure out how we slipped away. The time to act is upon us. Perhaps we can still save some of the other guardians: Trivett, Malar, the Pythoness and …” The king paused, unable to continue.

  “Corinne,” Nedwin supplied.

  Galloran nodded silently, his chin briefly trembling with emotion. “How could I have forgotten her for so long?” he rasped softly.

  “What matters is that you have remembered.”

  “You have your memories back?” Jason asked.

  “Many of them, thanks to Nedwin.”

  “I’ve been
giving him small doses of a peculiar variety of snake venom,” Nedwin explained. “Comes from a canopy cobra, a furtive species found high in the trees. I’ve spent the last few years collecting rare specimens from the southern jungle. Too solitary and dangerous a job for most, but perfect for a man with keen senses and a defective personality. The right plant extract or spider poison can fetch a princely sum.”

  “The cobra venom is sometimes employed by Maldor to extract information,” Galloran added.

  “They used it on me!” Jason said. “Blue and purple snake?”

  Nedwin bobbed his head. “That’s the one. I routinely kept some of the more interesting samples I gathered.” He patted the pouches at his belt. “I recalled how the canopy cobras were used inside of Felrook. When I captured one in the jungle, I milked a vial for my own use.”

  “Nedwin talks to me about my past while administering doses of varying strengths,” Galloran said. “After the effect of the venom wanes, he reminds me of all we discussed, adding details that he personally recalls. In a matter of weeks, most of my mental barriers have been torn down.”

  “You mentioned Corinne,” Jason prompted.

  “Yes.” Anxiety colored his words. “You must have met her.”

  “I did,” Jason said. “I can’t remember her directly. The weird round mushrooms in her tree blocked our memories. But she was alive. The Pythoness was Corinne’s mother, right?”

  “The Pythoness was her great-aunt,” Galloran said. “Inside the tree, she raised Corinne as her own. Outside of the tree, Corinne understood the reality of the relationship.”

  “We promised Corinne we’d return if we found the Word.”

  “It may be too late,” Galloran said, striving to sound detached. “Jugard’s death proves that Maldor is moving against the syllable guardians. Thanks to protective spells woven into their sanctuaries, the emperor can’t use magic against them, nor can he send wizardborn races like displacers or manglers. But I’m not sure much besides secrecy ever guarded them from simple human assassins. The thought of Maldor sending troops to harm her …” Veins stood out on the back of his fists.

  “It sounds like you know Corinne well,” Jason said, trying to fill the silence.

  “She is my daughter,” Galloran answered, his voice hollow. “My last living child.”

  “What?” Jason exclaimed.

  “Maldor went to great lengths to target the royal family of Trensicourt. He slew my brothers, my son, my wife. In her youth, I hid Corinne with her great-aunt for her protection. After all these years, that decision may have fatally exposed her.”

  “We’ll rescue her,” Nedwin vowed. “We’ll hurriedly recover all the remaining guardians.”

  “We needn’t fret for the Prophetess of Mianamon,” Galloran said. “She has enough protection until Maldor triumphs in the east. And I do not expect Maldor would target the loremaster Bridonus, given his attitude and connections.”

  “He’s Copernum’s father,” Jason remembered.

  “And Damak’s son,” Nedwin added.

  “Damak?” Jason said. “The torture guy?”

  “Bridonus lacks their ruthlessness, but he is essentially a puppet of the emperor,” Galloran said. “The three other remaining guardians must be rescued.”

  “I’ll see to it,” Nedwin said.

  Galloran nodded slowly, placing his palms together at his lips. “Trivett on the Isle of Weir will be the hardest to reach. Perhaps we’ll dispatch Vernon.”

  “Have you heard anything about Rachel?” Jason asked, internally crossing his fingers.

  “Tark related how he left her with Drake,” Galloran said. “He is a seedman of no small reputation, though by my day he had already withdrawn from the rebellion against Maldor. I have heard no tidings regarding Rachel, but if Drake meant to disappear with her into the wilderness, the lack of information is encouraging.”

  “I have to find her,” Jason said.

  “We’ll make every effort,” Galloran promised. “Nedwin, have you anything else to report?”

  “Not at present, sire. You’ll want to interview the men Jason brought.”

  “Naturally. Begin preparations for us to depart in the morning. We will all require horses. I wish to converse with Lord Jason in private.”

  “Certainly, sire.” Nedwin rose and exited the room.

  “I never expected to see Ned again,” Jason said once the door had closed. “When I first met him, he took my knife and threatened me.”

  “He related your first encounter,” Galloran said. “Nedwin is doing his best to cope with deep scars.”

  “He used to be your servant?” Jason asked.

  “My squire. When I was blinded and captured by the conscriptor Grollis, Nedwin was apprehended as well. He was a bright, sensitive young man with enormous potential. That was about fourteen years ago. After six years of torture I was released—a blind, enfeebled mockery of my former self. During the first few years of my incarceration, I was near Nedwin on occasion. He had an unconquerable will and remained fiercely loyal to me even after I was reduced to a babbling wretch. Because of his strength, the tormentors pushed the limits with Nedwin, experimenting with untried toxins and procedures.

  “After I was released, I assumed Nedwin had perished. His fate remained a mystery until he located me by following your trail. I’ve learned that he remained imprisoned more than five years longer than I, enduring excruciating reconditioning the entire time. When he first arrived here, wearing only a coarse sack and a glove, he seemed beyond the brink of madness. But in a short while he has come a long way. Once he was the clever and articulate younger brother of the Earl of Geer. Maldor’s tormentors shattered him, deformed his mind, but he is battling his way back toward sanity. Never have I witnessed a more valiant spirit.”

  “I had no idea,” Jason said.

  Galloran rubbed the side of his cot. “I know firsthand how thoroughly the tormentors can annihilate a person. Even disregarding my eyes, I do not yet feel like the man I was. It has been an arduous process of long, anonymous years, gradually overcoming fears and frailties to reassemble my identity. My memories regarding the Word were the hardest to recapture, though I’ve finally enjoyed major breakthroughs of late.” Galloran sniffed, adjusting his blindfold. “The time to reconstruct myself has now passed. The hour to act has arrived. Do you intend to continue with us in this cause?”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  Galloran sighed. “Difficult times have befallen us. You’ve already endured many hardships.”

  “I’m lucky to be alive.”

  “Luck only carries any of us so far. You’ve achieved much more than mere luck would allow. You’ve made smart choices, forged strategic relationships. Tell me about when you used the Word. Are you certain you said it to Maldor in person?”

  “Yes,” Jason said. “He didn’t know I had the whole thing, so he admitted me to his throne room with a big crowd there. The Word vanished from my mind when I spoke it, but it didn’t bother Maldor. He later explained that it was actually the Word to destroy some other wizard named Orruck.”

  “Orruck?” Galloran repeated, stroking his beard. “Intriguing.”

  “Maldor told me that years ago you spoke the Word to him in person. Since you were blind, he pretended you were talking to a decoy.”

  Galloran steepled his fingers. “I only recently remembered that episode with help from Nedwin. So I was actually in the presence of the emperor.” A small, sad smile appeared on his lips. “He is a truly gifted liar. Thank you for the vital knowledge that the Word itself is fraudulent. It sickens me to consider how much time and effort has been misdirected. The knowledge you sent with Tark taught me that I remain capable of outrage. As soon as I learned of the elaborate deception, I sent Nedwin to retrieve Jugard from his pointless guardianship, and then I began concocting a plan.”

  “Can you tell me?”

  “It continues to evolve, but centers on uniting all who continue to oppose Maldor in
a desperate gambit. It was a course of action I considered long ago, but Kadara still imagined itself untouchable, and too many kingdoms denied the urgency of the situation, preferring to pretend they could somehow appease Maldor and avoid war, so I elected to hunt the Word instead. Hopefully, it is not too late to atone for my folly.”

  “I’ll help if I can,” Jason said.

  “That would be most appreciated,” Galloran said. “Tark told me that you escaped from Felrook. How did you manage such a feat?”

  “A displacer rescued me and then forced me to return to the Beyond.”

  “A displacer?”

  “Yeah. When I first arrived here, I had no idea that displacers served Maldor. A displacer befriended me and Rachel to observe our actions, but we sent him away once we learned he worked for the emperor. He must have taken some genuine interest in me, because he smuggled me out of Felrook after the Word failed against Maldor and I was captured.”

  “He returned you to the Beyond?”

  “Yes, using a gateway near Felrook. He only released me from Felrook on the condition that I would go directly home. Despite my promise, I tried to escape, so I could warn you that the Word is a fraud. But he overpowered me and sent me away.”

  “And you came back to Lyrian?” Galloran said in disbelief.

  “Believe it or not, I came through the same hippopotamus that brought me here the first time. Jumped into the tank on purpose. I wanted to keep others from wasting their time pursuing the Word. And I couldn’t just ditch Rachel.”

  Galloran smiled. “Truly, you are possessed by that species of madness that begets heroism. You have performed an invaluable service. Tell me about your new companions.”

  “One is a mercenary named Aram.”

  “Aram the smuggler? A mountainous man?”

  “Yes.”

  “I know of him. He has never displayed any willingness to resist the emperor. How did you retain his services?”

  “Tark recommended him to me, then I got in good with his mother, and she convinced him. I’m not sure whether he’s fully committed yet. He’s getting there. You should see him fight!”

  “That might prove difficult.”

  “Whoops, I meant—”