The Vengekeep Prophecies

by Brian Farrey

  Edilman cocked his head. “No, I imagine they’ve given up trying to find us by now.”

  I tried to chuckle, but it came out as a cough. “Not very persistent, giving up after a night.”

  Edilman rubbed his chin, a look of uncertainty crossing his face. “Jaxter, you’ve been unconscious for nearly four days.”

  Stunned, my hands dropped, hitting the ground. Pain shot up my arms and made me see white for a moment. I looked down. From my wrists to my fingertips, my hands were wrapped in tattered strips of cloth. I knew immediately what had happened. I’d used my hands to smear the explosive goo on the wall and when the wall exploded, the residual gunk on my hands must have caught fire.

  I looked around for my belt and pouches, hoping to make a burn ointment to relieve the pain. I spotted the pouches, empty, near the fire. I remembered using nearly everything I had to blow an exit hole in the wall. I didn’t have what I needed for the ointment. Groaning, I examined the improvised bandages closer: a pale tan weave with red and blue accents. It took me a moment to realize they were torn from Callie’s dress.

  “Callie!” I ignored the pain as my head spun. I searched for a sign of her, afraid she’d also been injured in the explosion. Edilman laid a calming hand on my shoulder.

  “She’s fine,” he assured me. “There’s a small village not far from here called Cindervale. We wanted to lie low for a few days or we would have taken you to a healer. We’ve been taking turns nipping into town and swiping medicine from the apothecary. She should be back soon.”

  I smacked my dry lips. Edilman helped me drink from my flagon, then unscrolled my map of the Five Provinces and indicated Cindervale. “Quiet little town. Often a haven for thieves. Now that you’re awake, we can get rooms at the inn, blend in quietly, and I can sell a few of these.” He pointed to the box he’d stolen from the vaults, now open to reveal a mound of assorted jewels that sparkled in the morning sun. “I can get more than enough to hire us two coaches.”

  “Two?” I asked.

  He nodded. “One to take you and Callie back to Vengekeep, the other to take me to Port Scaldhaven, where my boat is waiting. A deal’s a deal.”

  I studied the map. Cindervale was on the border of Yonick Province. Just over the border were the aircaves, home of the spiderbats. Provided everything in Callie’s pack had survived the explosion, we had all the components for the solvent. Except the essential spiderbat’s milk. We were now closer than ever to succeeding.

  Edilman added twigs to his dwindling fire. “You know, Jaxter,” he said, “I’ve stuck to the Creed and I haven’t pushed you about what you and Callie are doing out here, scavenging for strange plants, so far from Vengekeep. What you need those plants for is your business, but I’m guessing it’s not for a school project. You know you don’t have to say anything, but since I’ll be leaving the Provinces soon, I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me what this little adventure was all about?”

  I leaned forward and shifted to a kneeling position. Edilman had done exactly what he’d promised: he’d helped us get everything on our list. He’d earned the right to know exactly what was going on. So, taking a deep breath, I told him the whole story: fateskein, quarantine, and all. I explained my plan to make a solvent and how the plants we’d taken from the Dowager would help.

  It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him about the spiderbat’s milk, but I stopped. I guessed that he’d insist on accompanying us to the aircaves to acquire the milk. But this wasn’t his fight. It was mine. Callie and I had to see this through, and the longer he stayed in the Provinces, the more danger he was in. I wasn’t ready to risk that. It was better to let him catch his boat while Callie and I finished what we’d started.

  He listened to my story with rapt attention and bowed his head humbly when I was done. “I’m honored that you chose to trust me. And I’m proud of you, taking on this challenge by yourselves. Are you sure I can’t come with you to Vengekeep to make sure you get back safe—?”

  “No!” I said. “You’ve done more than enough already, Edilman. It’s too risky to come to Vengekeep. Callie and I will be fine.”

  He sighed and clicked his tongue. Perrin woke instantly and came to his master’s shoulder. Edilman fed the bird a stickworm he’d plucked from the ground. “Quite a team you two make. Reminds me of me and your da. I only wish I could see the hero’s welcome that awaits when you return to Vengekeep.”

  “Oya!”

  Before I could react, Callie bounded through the forest, threw herself down next to me, and wrapped her arms around my neck. I gritted my teeth to keep from screaming in pain.

  When she pulled back, she was scowling. “Four days, you naff-nut! Four days of forcing soup down your throat. I thought you were dead!”

  I smiled weakly. “The way I feel, I kind of wish I was.”

  She shook her head. “That’s nothing compared to how you look. Dr. Callie prescribes no mirrors for you for a few more days.”

  How kind.

  She pulled her pack off her shoulder, dug around inside, and pulled out a small glass jar filled with a viscous, yellow slime. The label read “Essence of Yaiobean.”

  “Compliments of Cindervale’s apothecary. Let’s see those hands.” She gently unwrapped my bandages.

  Underneath, my palms were charred and red. The cool morning air stung the raw flesh, and I took in a quick breath to ease the pain. Callie did her best to be careful, but tears ran down my face as she applied the soothing salve. Edilman served up his gekbeak for breakfast as Callie removed what remained of her dress from her pack and tore it into long strips to make fresh bandages.

  “You wanted to know why I brought a dress,” she said, her eyebrows raised mischievously. “Because I hate this ugly thing and this is exactly what I hoped we’d use it for.”

  They took turns—Callie feeding me a forkful of gekbeak, Edilman holding the flagon for me as I drank—and with a little food in my belly, we were ready to break camp. They led me out of the grove to a winding dirt road, where we headed north.

  Trudging along, I took my mind off the pain in my hands by trying to calculate the right amount of each of the ingredients. Although we had almost everything we needed, making the solvent would still be difficult. My mind flashed to the Dowager. I bet together we would have come up with exactly the right formula.

  As we rounded a bend in the road and saw the edge of town, Edilman handed what little money we had left to Callie.

  “Staying together helped us in the past,” he said, “but it’s too dangerous now. If the Dowager sent out a warning, they’ll be looking for a man with two kids. Best split up and regroup later. There’s a small inn on the north side of town called the Wily Leathersmith. Kind of a shady place. They won’t think anything of two kids showing up and booking three rooms. Get us set up there.”

  “Where are you going?” Callie asked.

  “I’m going to find the livery stable and hire the coaches we need to go our separate ways,” he said, flashing a handful of jewels. “Go on now. I’ll meet you in the pub next to the Leathersmith in a while.”

  Callie shook Edilman’s hand, and together she and I headed down the path toward town. Cindervale was so small I was afraid two strangers would attract attention, especially one who—according to reports—looked very much the victim of an explosion. But no one paid us any mind as we wandered the streets. We kept watch for those wanted posters with our poorly drawn faces but saw none. Everyone was going about their business.

  “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 th
is 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!”

  19

  The Missing Mage

  “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.”