The Vengekeep Prophecies

by Brian Farrey

  I nodded, pulling my hand back. After the spiderbat milk, that acid was the key to destroying the fateskein.

  The Dowager had taken a small watering can from near the door and gave the wraithweed a healthy drink. “This may be one of the last remaining wraithweed plants. They used to grow plentifully in Jarron Province. Now they’re dying out. A lot of magic-resistant plants have been dying out in recent years. I tried to tell my brother about it, hoping he would look into it and perhaps act to preserve what was left of them. But he’s too busy with affairs of state and other meaningless jabber....”

  Guilty as I felt about betraying the Dowager, I had to think of Vengekeep’s plight. I steeled my jaw, feeling for the first time in a long while that we might be able to pull this off. We could save Vengekeep.

  “Tyrius,” the Dowager said, shaking me from my reverie. I turned to see that sad, serious look back on her face. “I want you to consider what I’ve told you tonight. We’re cut from the same cloth, you and I. If you accept, I would ask you to leave your studies with Professor Wenderkin and move into Redvalor Castle to apprentice under me.”

  As much as it pained me, I gave her a smile and said, “I—I’d like to think about it. May I?” The idea was tempting. But I was a Grimjinx. A thief. And even if I wanted to study with her, saving Vengekeep meant betraying the Dowager. There could be no turning back.

  She smiled warmly. “Of course. It’s a big decision, I understand.”

  We said good night and when I returned to my room, my head spinning from all that she’d said, I found Callie and Edilman waiting for me.

  “Look, Edilman,” Callie said with a playful smirk, “he remembered we exist!”

  “And he wants to talk to us,” Edilman said, playing along. “I can only hope we’re worthy.”

  “Very funny,” I said, and they laughed. If nothing else, all my time with the Dowager had allowed the two of them to bond. I wasn’t sure I liked that.

  After making sure the door was secure, I told them everything the Dowager had said.

  “Intellectual heir?” Callie asked. “What’s that?”

  “She wants me to carry on her research,” I said. “I’d become her apprentice.”

  Edilman cleared his throat. “I think we’ve enjoyed the Dowager’s hospitality for long enough. It’s time we do what we came here to do. Tomorrow night, we strike.”

  We reviewed our plan. Callie would get the plants from the greenhouse. Edilman would pillage the vaults. And I’d keep the Dowager busy.

  They left. I changed into my nightshirt and lay awake for much of the night. I focused on everything my parents had ever told me about pulling off a successful con. For years, I’d lived these lessons and, my clumsiness aside, helped them complete some of the greatest scams imaginable. That night, surrounded by the warmth of the down-stuffed blankets, I found it harder than ever to ignore perhaps the smartest par-Goblin saying I knew.

  Think twice about the con, not the mark.

  17

  Escape from Redvalor Castle

  “Proof should be as solid as a ripple in a pond.”

  —The Lymmaris Creed

  The first sign that the day would end in disaster came at breakfast. As Callie, Edilman, and I sat at the dining room table, we couldn’t help but notice the Dowager’s absence. The grumbling mushrooms brought us plates of eggs and singebacon as Oxric entered.

  “The Dowager sends her regrets and will not be joining you today,” he announced. “She invites you to enjoy her continued hospitality and hopes that she’ll be able to rejoin you tomorrow.”

  We nodded respectfully and hunched over our food once he left.

  “What do you suppose that’s all about?” I asked, shoveling a forkful of eggs into my mouth.

  “You don’t suppose she’s onto us?” Callie asked. “Maybe she’s sending word to the High Laird so he can arrest us.”

  Edilman shook his head. “She’s got plenty of Provincial Guards staked out around the manor. If she wanted us arrested, she’d have them do it. She’s probably just under the weather. Focus on what’s good. We’ve got free rein today. Callie, I suggest you check out the greenhouse and find where all the plants you need are located. Will save you time searching for them later tonight.”

  I handed Callie the parchment with our list of ingredients. “Everything in the greenhouse is clearly labeled. Be careful near the wraithweed.”

  Edilman turned to me. “I’ll watch the grounds, figure out the guards’ patrol schedule. Jaxter, you’ve got the most important job. Keep an eye out, in case the Dowager decides to put in an appearance.”

  And that’s how we spent the day. Callie took a walk through the greenhouse, locating the position of each plant on our list. Edilman tracked the Provincial Guards, noting when they patrolled the perimeter. I spent my time wandering the halls, hoping for a sign of the Dowager.

  But by sundown, we still hadn’t seen her. After dinner, Callie, Edilman, and I met in my room. Edilman paced, clearly upset.

  “We have to know where she is,” he muttered. “We can’t make a move unless we’re sure her attention is elsewhere.”

  I balanced an unlit candle on the terrace railing outside my window. I looked down and found a perfect line of sight to the greenhouse. My lighting the candle later that night would signal Callie to leave the greenhouse and sneak over to our meeting place near the perimeter wall.

  “I’ll go find her,” I said, turning to them. “I’ll make sure things are clear for you to do your jobs.”

  Callie left for the greenhouse and Edilman made his way to the vaults. I ventured upstairs to the third floor and the Dowager’s bedroom chambers. Taking a deep breath, I rapped on the door.

  “Dowager?” I called softly. “Dowager Soranna? It’s Ja—Tyrius. I wanted to see if you were all right. We’re all worried about you. Are you in there, Dowager?”

  Silence. Just as I was about to descend the stairs, I heard the faint sound of music coming from the ballroom. I arrived to find the ballroom door ajar. Stepping inside, I spotted the Dowager sitting at a small table next to a mound of sludge. A large music box on the table, its lid open, played a haunting waltz. A glass and a half-empty bottle of ashwine sat near the Dowager. Her right hand swayed gently in time to the music, and as I got closer I noticed her face was stained with tears.

  “Dowager?” I approached gingerly.

  She made no sign that she’d seen me, just kept listening to the sad music. I knelt at her side and took her limp left hand in my own.

  “We used to come here in the summer,” she croaked in a voice much heavier than her usual airy tone. “My father—the real High Laird—brought us here. He taught me to dance in this room. I stood on his feet as a little girl. This music box would play and we’d dance.”

  As the crank on the music box slowed, so did the music. The notes sounded far and few between. It was eerie. “I was meant to be High Laird, you know,” she said, looking at me finally. This was the first time since our arrival that her usually manic eyes, glancing scattershot across the room, stayed focused on a single point. “I was the eldest child, and Father spent most of his life grooming me to succeed him. He indulged my need to know about the world, believing it would help me be a better High Laird, but he never took my studies seriously.”

  “What did you do?” I asked.

  She reached over and closed the music box. “Oh, I thought about it. I thought about succeeding my father and starting a benevolent new regime, dedicated to education and inspiring others to learn. But then I realized that I’d be bogged down in the administration of it all. Others would be doing the research. Not me. I couldn’t let that happen.

  “So I went to my father on my eighteenth birthday and said, ‘This isn’t something that I want to do, but it’s something I have to do.’ He argued with me, right up until the day he died. And when that happened, I stepped aside and allowed my brother to become High Laird. To this day, I wonder how disappointed my father was. That
I didn’t follow in his footsteps.”

  That’s when it hit me. The real reason I couldn’t accept the Dowager’s offer. It wasn’t because I was a thief. It hurt to admit, but I was a terrible thief. I couldn’t become the Dowager’s apprentice because I was sure it would disappoint my family.

  The Dowager squeezed my hand. “I don’t regret it, Tyrius. I still believe there are things that you have to do, even if you don’t want to. I didn’t think I’d find someone like you. Other professors brought their students. I suspected some of them were frauds, merely posing as professors and students to gain the stipend I promised for a qualifying school.”

  I bit my lip.

  “But you’re the real thing,” she said with a sigh, leaning back in her chair. “I hope you’ll consider my offer, Tyrius. We’re a rare breed, you and I. We’re so much alike.”

  In that moment, I almost told her everything. My real name, the truth about why we were there. Everything. I reasoned she’d forgive our intent to rob her because she’d be more excited about the challenge of defeating the fateskein. I imagined us working side by side in Vengekeep, experimenting to find the precise combination of ingredients for the solvent. I could picture us celebrating our success. And I would have told her everything—I’d even opened my mouth to speak—if it hadn’t been for the howling.

  The noise started low and ominous, like sick cattle. Then it rose in pitch to a mighty bellow that echoed down the corridors and across the foyer. The howling warbled, and I clenched my teeth to ward off the painful noise. In an instant, I knew what it was. A warncharm. Very powerful magic that acted as an alarm. Its tremulous volume could incapacitate would-be prowlers until help arrived.

  I knew that Edilman had failed.

  The Dowager was on her feet, her eyes going wild as she went to the door. “The warncharm. That’s—that’s coming from my vaults.”

  I stood as she turned to me. Looking past her at the mirrored wall, I saw the concern on my face, the doubt, the guilt. The Dowager took one look at me and instantly knew what was going on. Her face hardened, lined with betrayal. She backed away from me.

  “Dowager,” I pleaded, “I can explain—”

  “Guards!” she screamed, running from the room. “Guards!” Once the door opened, the howls of the warncharm swallowed the Dowager’s screams.

  “Zoc!” I cried, bolting from the room. The Dowager had already disappeared down the stairs. I ran to my room on the second floor. Grabbing my pack, I paused only to light the candle in the window, and then went off in search of Edilman.

  Dashing as fast as I could, I arrived at the entrance to the vault corridor. A wave of nausea came over me and I shoved my fingers in my ears to ward off the sound. The dim corridor lanterns flickered. I peered down and saw the vault door wide-open. A moment later, Edilman, his arms wrapped around a small wooden box pressed to his chest, charged from the vault.

  As he passed the first pair of stone statues, an incandescent flash filled the corridor. Slowly, the statues moved, their heads turning to watch Edilman run away. Granite swords in hand, the statues stepped down from their plinths and lumbered after him.

  Flash! Edilman passed the next pair of statues and they, too, stirred from their slumber, leaping to the ground, weapons raised. As Edilman passed each statue, another flash brought it to life until he had a small stone army in pursuit, silent except for the scraping of rock on marble.

  As Edilman emerged from the corridor, a stone arrow whizzed past his head and sank deep into the banister along the landing. “Move!” he ordered, and we took off for the stairs. Down in the foyer, the front doors to the mansion flew open and a half-dozen members of the Provincial Guard stormed in, swords at the ready. We paused. To our right, the statues were closing in. The guards looked up, spotted us, and charged the stairs.

  “Come on!” I shouted over the howling, tugging Edilman’s arm and pulling him into my bedroom. Slamming the door, we threw our shoulders into moving the enormous bureau so it blocked the entry. A moment later, wood splintered as a mighty stone fist slammed into our barricade.

  Edilman thrust the box he’d stolen into my arms and pulled two ropes and a large metal hook from his pack. Hastily, he wove one rope around me, tying the heavy box to my back. As a combination of living and stone warriors chopped at the door and bureau, he lashed the other rope and hook to the terrace railing and dropped it to the ground below.

  I looked down. “Are you naff-nut? Edilman, I can’t take two steps without tripping. You expect me to—”

  A stone ax broke through the bureau, creating a hole through which stone arrows zipped. I ducked as Edilman grabbed the rope and jumped over the side. “It’s do or die, Jaxter,” he called, scaling down the side of the mansion.

  “Why can’t it ever be ‘do and live’?” I muttered.

  Certain I was about to die, I grabbed the rope, stepped over the terrace, and followed Edilman down. I teetered with the weight of the box pulling at my back. I slipped, the rope burning into my palms. Concentrating, I closed my eyes and continued down, hand over hand. I heard Edilman touch down, then cry, “Jaxter, look out!”

  I looked up to see a stone archer statue on the balcony, taking aim at my head. I tried wiggling but couldn’t fling myself out of the way. Just then, the statue with the stone ax brought his weapon down on the rope, severing it.

  I fell the rest of the way into Edilman’s arms and we tumbled to the ground together. Up on the balcony, we saw the statues regroup and bolt back into the room. On our feet, Edilman and I turned and ran across the grounds, hiding behind trees and hedges as best we could. The warncharm continued howling in the distance, growing fainter the farther we got from the mansion. Finally, we found ourselves at the perimeter wall near a giant glenoak, where Callie was waiting for us, torch in hand.

  “I heard the howling before I saw the candle,” she whispered. “What happened?”

  “Slight complication,” Edilman said breathlessly, staring up at the wall that stood between us and freedom.

  “Did you get everything?” I asked, casting a glance back to the mansion. The Provincial Guards were searching the grounds.

  Callie nodded. “Every ingredient. I could only fit two wraithweed pods in here. I hope it’ll be enough.” I hoped so too.

  “At this point,” Edilman said, “I’ll entertain suggestions on what to do next.”

  Callie whirled on him. “What do you mean? You said you had rope we could use to scale the wall.”

  Edilman pointed to the balcony we’d just descended from. “We had to use it to escape. The hook’s back there.”

  “Oh, great!” Callie growled, throwing her arms up. The sound of hedges being hacked to bits alerted us to the approach of the statues. I could only guess the living guards weren’t far behind.

  I ground my teeth. I had a way out, but it wouldn’t be pretty. I handed the heavy box to Callie and gave her torch to Edilman. I took my belt off and emptied the contents of several pouches into a mound of powder and sap on the ground. I kneaded it all together with my hands.

  “Those Sarosans really know their stuff,” I muttered. “The Kolohendriseenax Formulary lists twelve magic-resistant plants. Did you know that there are four thousand and ninety-five ways to combine those twelve plants? Each combination does something different.”

  “Yeah, that’s great,” Edilman muttered. “Any chance that you’re doing one of them to help us?”

  “Grass, Callie,” I whispered. “I need a tall blade of grass.” As Callie searched, I emptied my entire pouch full of flashballs into the gooey mess on the ground, mixing them in to give it all a lumpy texture. Then I gathered up the slime I’d created and smeared it in a large circle on the wall. “As a matter of fact, Edilman, yes!”

  Callie returned with a medium-sized blade of grass—shorter than I wanted but it would have to do. I buried half of it into the goo, bending it upright so it stood perpendicular to the wall.

  “Stand back,” I warned, grabbing
the torch from Edilman, who took Callie by the arm and led her a safe distance away. I cast a final glance over my shoulder to Redvalor Castle.

  My eyes went directly to the observatory. There, silhouetted in the dome opening, I saw the Dowager’s outline against the telescope. I forced myself to think about the danger my family was in. “I’m sorry,” I whispered to no one.

  In my head, it all made sense and worked brilliantly. I meant for the blade of grass to act as a fuse. I’d light it, head for cover, there’d be a massive explosion, and we’d run through the resulting hole. That’s what would have happened if anyone else had tried this. Me? I reached forward to light the grass and touched the flames directly to my explosive goo by mistake.

  The last thing I remembered was a deafening roar and a flash.

  18

  Trouble in Cindervale

  “May your ironclad alibi never know the corrosion of trust.”

  —Ancient par-Goblin proverb

  My hands hurt. They hurt to move, flex, touch. My head was in no better shape. When I dared open my eyes, pain shot through my temples at the first sight of the soft morning light. I lay there, afraid that any other movement would be similarly punished. My only clues as to my location came from staring straight up into a thick cover of trees and from the rich aroma of roast gekbeak. We were in the forest.

  I could hear a fire crackling and someone—Edilman, I guessed—humming to himself. I wanted to just lie there motionless and mostly pain free. But I had to move sooner or later. So, pushing back gently with my elbows, I raised myself up.

  I could now see that I was in a sunken grove, thick with wide-bodied trees. Perrin, his head against his chest, slept on a tree branch above. My movement caught Edilman’s attention. He crouched over a small fire, turning a slowly browning gekbeak on a makeshift spit. Smiling, he crawled to my side.

  “Welcome back,” he whispered, slipping my glasses up my nose. “Just in time for breakfast.”

  “Morning,” I grumbled, and then winced. Even talking hurt. “Any sign of the guards?”