The Grimjinx Rebellion

by Brian Farrey

  “Reena!”

  The dark-skinned girl winked at me as she completed the ritual. When she finished, I knelt to hug her and felt a poke.

  “The mages need a lesson learned. Look out, world, we have returned!”

  Reena’s younger brother, Holm, grinned at her side. They were exactly as I remembered them. Even Holm’s poetry was just as horrible.

  Maybe even worse.

  “I had a feeling the Sarosans wouldn’t pass up a chance to pay the Palatinate back for everything they did,” I told them.

  Reena rolled her eyes. “We’re lucky to be here. With Kolo gone, our father—Kendiloxinevlertal—took over as our leader.”

  “And for those of us who don’t understand Sarosan names, your father is called . . . ?”

  She giggled. “Kendil. Anyway, you can imagine how happy he was to find out his own daughter was using magic.” She opened her fist to show the pendant Maloch had given her so the two of them could stay in touch during the Sarosans’ exile. She’d kept it a secret all this time.

  But when Maloch sent Reena the message saying we needed the Sarosans to return and fight the Palatinate, she had to tell her father. I’m sure Kendil wasn’t at all pleased.

  “Hey,” I said, “where’s Maloch?”

  Holm nodded across the crowd of Sarosans toward their father. A short, thick rope linked Kendil’s wrist to Maloch’s. Whenever the Sarosan leader raised his hand to drink, Maloch’s hand rose involuntarily. Maloch didn’t look amused.

  “Father blames him for the magic,” Holm explained. “Tied to Mal, it’s all quite tragic.”

  The idea of Maloch being tied to Reena’s angry father for the past week made me smile.

  Reena and Holm led me over to their father. Reena eyed the rope binding her father to Maloch. “Father,” she said, “you promised that when we arrived . . .”

  Kendil growled. “He gave you magic.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, “he did. But if you let him go, I promise that his father will punish him severely.”

  Maloch’s eyes lit up. “My . . . father?”

  I nodded. Just then, Mr. Oxter appeared at the edge of the crowd of villagers. Frowning, Kendil untied the rope. Maloch ran to his father, stopped, and offered his hand. Mr. Oxter reached out and hugged his son.

  “Some punishment,” Kendil muttered.

  I gave him a pat on the back. “You spent a week tied to Maloch, sir. Don’t you think just being him is punishment enough?”

  He didn’t argue.

  Over the next few days, Blackvesper Abbey became a hive of activity. Within the hallowed walls, the assassin-monks trained villagers, Sarosans, and Shadowhands alike. Elsewhere, the Dowager devised attack plans. Despite her hesitance to assume the role of leader, the Dowager proved very effective at strategy, composing a list of targets that could cripple the Palatinate. Still, every day she hoped to hear from Talian. We needed inside help if our insurrection was to make an impact.

  Even with our little army coming together, I had a lot on my mind. Everyone was losing sight of one very important fact. And it felt like I was the only one who’d noticed.

  I went to the Dowager’s house, which had now been changed into a home for all the seers. Aubrin had begun working with the others, collecting prophecies in the hope that they might help us against the Palatinate. The seers were busy scribbling on parchment when I arrived.

  Aubrin saw immediately that I was upset. She took my hand and led me outside. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Have you learned anything?” I asked, nodding toward the seers. “About the Palatinate or . . . anything?”

  Aubrin frowned. “Nothing important. The Palatinate is planning something big, we know that. We’re just not sure what.” She rubbed my back. “But that’s not what you mean. Is it?”

  I sighed and shook my head. In the rush to get our army trained, no one else had noticed that not everyone had come back from their missions. I felt a knot in my stomach. I’d come up with the plan. I’d placed everyone in danger. And if anything had happened, I was to blame.

  I scanned the village as I did every day at this time. Hoping—praying—for a sign.

  “Where’s Callie?”

  30

  The Greater Loss

  “Danger past, Castellan forgotten.”

  —The Lymmaris Creed

  It was two days before Xerrus would return to claim the Palatinate’s tribute. Two days before we struck back and announced our plans to retake the Provinces. Two days until we knew for certain what our army was capable of.

  Naturally, that’s when everything fell apart.

  To take my mind off Callie, I threw myself into a task from Oberax. Just as we’d gotten the housing and food situation figured out, a new dilemma cropped up: Slagbog’s other other new residents.

  As Talian had told us, there were those in the Provinces eager to fight the Palatinate. As word spread underground, more and more of these people arrived, looking to help. We started with fifty thieves trying to save a simple village. Now we were four hundred strong and the headquarters of the rebellion.

  The trick was figuring out which of our new residents could be trusted and which might be spies for the Palatinate. Oberax suggested we create a roster of new arrivals. So, with the noon sun high overhead, I took to the streets to catalog everyone. I had just started when Bennock, looking haggard, joined me.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be training in the Abbey?” I asked.

  “Friar Polik told me I should take a break,” he said.

  “Who did you injure?”

  “Your friend Maloch. I hope he heals fast.”

  We went from door to door. Bennock, in his calm, soothing voice, talked to people, asking for their names and how they’d heard about Slagbog. I watched their body language to determine if anyone was lying. An hour in and everyone’s stories had checked out. So far.

  We were passing by the cheese shop when the door flew open and Sarquin, followed by her sister, ran out. Bennock and I collided with Sarquin, sending all three of us to the ground. The sack Sarquin carried flew, scattering an assortment of parchments.

  “I’m so sorry,” Bennock said. He scrambled about on his knees, gathering the papers.

  Sarquin didn’t hear him. A glint on the dirty street had caught her eye. I followed her gaze to find that the Vanguard had fallen from my pouch. I quickly snatched it.

  “We’ll get this picked up for you,” I said quickly. No one knew we had the Vanguard . . . or even what the Vanguard was. But Sarquin looked a little too interested.

  I crawled around, helping Bennock collect the papers, and smiled up at Minss. The silent sister stood near Sarquin’s shadow, unmoving. And that’s when I noticed.

  Minss wasn’t casting a shadow.

  Bennock squinted at one of the papers in his hand. “Are you working with the Dowager?” he asked Sarquin. “These look like our attack plans. . . .”

  I slowly rose. Sarquin smiled. She knew what I’d discovered. Minss was a hardglamour. She didn’t really exist.

  “Well, now you’ve gone and ruined my surprise,” Sarquin said, reaching into her pocket. “But I guess it was only a matter of time.”

  She pulled out a spellsphere and barked in the magical tongue. Minss melted into a pool of light that seeped into the ground. At the same time, a glowing patina around Sarquin twinkled and the image of the taller Scalander sister bled away. In its place stood Nalia.

  “I’ve been waiting patiently,” she said, “watching you assemble your little army. It’s been very entertaining. And now my patience has paid off. Everything I need is here. The Dowager. The augur. And the Vanguard.”

  Thunder shook the streets of Slagbog as three quickjump rings appeared overhead. Masked Sentinels, accompanied by a regiment of monsters, fell from the portals and started laying siege to the village.

  One by one, mud huts ignited as the Sentinels launched their magical assault. Some villagers resisted, grabbing whatever
they could find—rakes, pitchforks—and using them to fend off the attack. But many were mauled as the monsters rampaging through the village proved stronger.

  “Give it to me,” Nalia ordered, “and I’ll let you live.”

  I reached out, Vanguard in hand. But as she went to take it, I swung my arm and touched the pyramid to her spellsphere. A flash threw Nalia back. Her spellsphere fell to the ground, broken in two. Bennock took my hand and we ran.

  “To the Abbey!” Bennock called out to the scrambling crowds. Word spread and everyone raced east toward the distant tower. We darted through the chaos. I prayed that my family was already in the Abbey and safe.

  A stampede of skaiths—with deadly tusks and spiky tails—lay waste to building after building, reducing them to rubble. The Sentinels walked calmly amid the pandemonium, capturing those who cowered and killing anyone who resisted.

  We tried sneaking through alleys to avoid the masses. But just when it looked like we’d found a way out, a bolt of magic struck Bennock from the side, sending the acolyte flying into a mound of hay. Before I could turn to help him, I was tackled and pinned to the ground. I pushed back against the Sentinel on top of me.

  “Take this,” the Sentinel whispered. I recognized his voice. It was Talian.

  He thrust a large piece of parchment into my hand. “Use it well,” he said. Looking past Talian, I saw Nalia weaving her way among the monsters, her monocle flickering in the explosions all around. A Sentinel handed her a new spellsphere, which she quickly used to kill people who ran from her.

  “They’re not even fighting her!” I said.

  Talian nodded at her. “They were about to. The monocle lets her see five seconds into the future. She can respond before an attack. I’ll distract her but I can’t be seen acting against them. Go!”

  Talian let me up, then ran to join the fray. I helped a dazed Bennock to his feet and we made for the Abbey.

  As we passed through the square, we spotted the Ghostfire house. I thought for sure Garax would have taken off at the first hint of trouble. Instead, he was sprawled out near the house’s front door, holding his leg and wincing.

  “I twisted my ankle!” he moaned. “I can’t move.”

  Behind us, a mud hut collapsed as a magravore stomped it into bits of broken clay. The horde was nearly here. We had to go. Carrying Garax would slow us down. We only had one choice.

  “Bennock, help Uncle Garax into the house,” I said. As Bennock did so, I jumped into the driver’s seat and gripped the steering levers. Grinding my teeth, I pushed at the pedals below me. Gears churned and the mammoth house rolled forward.

  I’d never driven a house before. I didn’t do so badly. Sure, I destroyed the village well, leveled the bakery, and mangled a few chimneys. But that’s to be expected for a first time, I think.

  I pedaled as hard as I could, but the house wasn’t built for speed. The fleeing villagers and rebels were outpacing us, charging around the house in a desperate attempt to make it to the Abbey. I spotted a vortakaar that had backed a villager up against a wall. I yanked on the steering levers. The house banked right and bucked in the air as we crushed the vortakaar under our wheel, giving the villager the chance to bolt.

  We cleared the edge of the village and aimed for the Abbey. The house’s wheels kicked up a massive wave as we plunged through the weed-ridden bog. No matter how hard we rocked left and right, I concentrated on the large doors at the Abbey’s entrance. I figured they were just big enough to fit the entire house inside. Just.

  Behind me, a window looking into the house opened and Bennock stuck his head out.

  “Not to worry you,” he said, “but Slagbog is pretty much destroyed and now all the monsters and Sentinels are chasing us. Oh, and they’re catching up.”

  With a grunt, I tried to pedal faster. But the house wasn’t having it. “We’re too heavy,” I said. “Unless we can drop some weight, we’ll— What’s that?”

  I pointed straight ahead. In the distance, mages riding flying beasts swarmed the Abbey, firing bolts of magic from their spellspheres. But I was more concerned about the glowing blue mist swirling at the base of the octagonal tower. It slowly spiraled its way up the Abbey’s side.

  “Automatic defense,” Bennock said. “When the Abbey’s under attack, it moves to protect everyone inside. We don’t have much time. Once the doors close, it’ll be gone.”

  We needed to pick up speed now.

  “Switch places with me,” I said.

  Bennock crawled out the window and squeezed into the driver’s seat as I gripped the side of the house and scaled it to the thatch roof. “Keep pedaling!” I shouted down to him. “Aim for the Abbey.”

  The house lurched side to side. I crawled along the roof on all fours. Taking the dagger from my boot, I sliced the ropes that held the burlap camouflage around the edge of the house. It fell away and we picked up a little speed.

  It wasn’t enough. As I made it to the back of the house, I saw what Bennock was talking about. Slagbog was a smoldering black stain. A wall of monsters ran straight for us, their snarls drowning out the house’s grinding wheels. They’d overtake us before we could reach the Abbey.

  I crawled to the wooden crane at the very back. Wrapping my arms and legs around it, I shimmied out to the boulder Garax used to simulate a rampaging braxilar. Just below, a pair of zellix—gelatinous spheres with teeth on every surface—rolled closer and closer to the base of the house. One lashed out, eating a chunk of the back wall in a mighty gulp.

  I sawed at the rope suspending the boulder. Below, the second zellix bounced upward, chomping at the air just inches below my dangling legs. As it fell back down, the rope snapped and the boulder plummeted, flattening the zellix with a loud squish.

  The Ghostfire house shot forward with a burst of newfound speed. I cried out as the dagger fell from my hands. Teetering, I quickly hooked my knees around the crane and hung upside down.

  “Don’t go faster!” I yelled.

  Bennock called out, “Go faster? Okay!”

  “No!”

  The house accelerated. I flailed like a doll in the wind. Soon, our pursuers were far behind. The house became enshrouded in the glowing blue mist. A moment later, we skidded to a stop as the house drove between the Abbey’s massive main doors and into the entryway.

  I released my grip on the crane and fell to the stone floor with a thud. Before I could stand, Aubrin plowed into me, hugging me close.

  “You’re safe!” I said, squeezing her back. “Ma? Da?”

  “Everyone’s here,” she said, “except the Dowager. We can’t find her.”

  We heard a cry outside. Peering into the swamp, I spotted the Dowager crawling on all fours just beyond the blue mist.

  I darted outside, Aubrin close behind, and threw myself at my mentor’s feet.

  “I can’t stand,” the Dowager said, pointing to a bloody gash on her right leg.

  Just then, a low moan filled the air. The Abbey doors started to swing shut slowly. Inside, Bennock was shouting for us to come back.

  I cradled the Dowager in my arms and Aubrin helped me to my feet. My legs shook as I struggled to carry the injured royal back to the Abbey. Aubrin and I ran as fast as we could. The Abbey was just steps away. . . .

  Behind us, we heard a pop and a bloodreaver’s screech. Aubrin’s small hands pressed against my shoulders and shoved. The Dowager and I flew forward, just barely making it through the crack of the closing doors. Whirling around, I watched in horror as the bloodreaver wrapped its arms around Aubrin. They disappeared together in a cloud of black smoke.

  “No!”

  The tower entrance slammed shut. The Abbey shuddered. Everything blurred. My wailing protests disappeared with all other sound as the Abbey moved.

  31

  Battle Plans

  “The thief who steals poorly, ends poorly.”

  —Irinas Grimjinx, thief-bard of Jarron Province

  “Edilman Archalon Jaxter, turn this Abbey aroun
d right now!”

  Warriors used swords. Mages used magic. Mothers used middle names. And it was no contest which weapon was the greatest.

  Of both my parents, Ma was the least likely to crumble under pressure. When she unleashed someone’s middle name, however, it typically meant she was in a blind panic.

  She, Da, and I followed Edilman through the Abbey’s dining hall, which had become a triage room. Everywhere, assassin-monks tended to the wounded. There were almost too many injuries to deal with.

  Contrary to Ma, Edilman was the picture of calm. He stopped at a cot where the Dowager reclined. Kneeling, he carefully applied a bandage to her leg. “The Palatinate will have taken Aubrin somewhere else.”

  “We can’t just sit here while my little girl—”

  “Allia,” the Dowager said, “the Palatinate needs Aubrin’s abilities. They won’t hurt her. We need time to come up with a plan.”

  Ma seethed but said nothing else. Da took Ma’s hand and led her from the dining hall. I sat on the edge of the Dowager’s cot.

  “It’s not your fault,” she said.

  “I didn’t say anything,” I told her glumly.

  “I know you, Jaxter,” the Dowager said softly. “You blame yourself for losing Aubrin.”

  Of course I did. I blamed myself for Aubrin. I blamed myself for not noticing that Minss was a hardglamour sooner. I blamed myself for letting Nalia live among us, gathering our secrets even as she pretended to support us. I blamed myself for Callie still being missing. I’d failed as a thief, as an apprentice . . . and now as my sister’s protector.

  As if she could read my thoughts, the Dowager shook her finger at me. “This isn’t over, Jaxter Ona Grimjinx.”

  Oh, by the Seven. Now she was using middle names.

  “We’ll find your sister. And we’ll use our army to turn the tide.”

  “How?”

  She sighed, her eyes glazing over with a wistful look. “I don’t know yet.”

  I plunged my hands into my pockets. There, I found the parchment that Talian had handed to me during the raid on Slagbog. I pulled it out and looked it over.