by Brian Farrey
I pored over the parchments, hardly knowing where to start. I selected a page with the heading Mang Sweat: Experiment Number 010.
Although unpleasant to procure, mang sweat
offers a variety of uses. Mixed with erris root,
the sweat becomes a cologne that Satyrans find
attractive. Boiled with the bark of a mokka tree,
mang sweat makes a sour tea that can cure headaches.
Well, that was disgusting.
The entry was unfinished, suggesting Kolo had still been searching for other uses for mang sweat. I felt sick, wondering if any of the tea he’d served me had been . . .
I decided to pretend I’d never read that particular passage and set it aside. I chose another parchment.
ICECLOVERS—Very rare. Only bloom after a fresh
snowfall. Remarkable at reducing pain. Can be made
into tincture that eases symptoms of Joldar’s syndrome,
Mardem’s Blight, firerickets, and an outbreak of silla warts.
Note: Try infusing mang sweat with iceclovers.
I was beginning to suspect my hero spent way too much time around sweaty mangs.
I’d read over a few more pages when the Dowager joined me. Her arms were loaded down with papers, which she dropped onto the table with a thud before searching through the stacks.
When she thought I wasn’t looking, she sent a rueful gaze my way. “It must have been harrowing,” she said under her breath, tossing unwanted parchments aside. “Can you ever forgive me, Jaxter, for assuming the ransom letter was a joke?”
“It’s okay,” I said, assuring her for the fifth time. If she felt this bad now, I couldn’t imagine what she’d have been like if she’d opened a parcel and found my little finger inside.
She stopped and tilted her head with a sad smile. “I’m glad to have you back. I admit I was worried that you were giving up your apprenticeship. I know things have been . . . strained between us. I’d really like to put all that behind us and talk about how we can make things better.”
I focused on the edge of the table, unable to meet her eye. Since we’d left the Sarosan camp, I kept thinking about what things would be like if I could clear the Sarosans, free Kolo, and become his apprentice. The Dowager was smart, but most of her knowledge came from Kolo’s Formulary. Studying with him would be so much easier.
“Something on your mind?” she asked.
“Hmm?” I asked, looking up sharply from Kolo’s papers. “Erm, no. Not really.”
I found myself wishing the Dowager would yell at me for disappearing. Then I wouldn’t have felt so guilty that I was thinking about quitting as her apprentice.
The Dowager cried triumphantly and produced a parchment bearing the High Laird’s wax seal. She laid it out in front of me.
“This is the most recent report my brother sent, the one I was so upset about when we were in Vengekeep.” She pointed to a paragraph halfway down the page. “A number of relics were stolen from five royal vaults—one in each Province—in what is being described as a calculated attack.”
I browsed the passage she’d indicated.
THE SCEPTER OF ARDRAM
—Onyx shaft with gold rings
—3 rubies near head
—Protective glyphs along shaft
—Head of glass and emerald
—Taken from Vault #1 in Tarana Province
THE GAUNTLETS OF HERROX
—Iron back plates
—Gold palms
—Pointed onyx fingertips
—Protective glyphs along fingers
—Taken from Vault #2 in Jarron Province
THE CORONET OF AELLIOS
—Gold band
—Six points encrusted with onyx
—Protective glyphs engraved between points
—Taken from Vault #3 in Yonick Province
THE ORB OF GOLLOS
—Silver sphere with four gold bands
—Onyx discs embedded at the top and bottom
—Protective glyphs along each gold band
—Taken from Vault #4 in Urik Province
Those four items were listed near the top of the page. Set apart, just below, the parchment read:
RELIC #5—THE VANGUARD
—Taken from Vault #5 in Korrin Province
I read the list over and over, looking for a clue that suggested the relics were unusual in some way. Or maybe had value beyond their apparent worth.
“Was there anything special about these things?” I asked. “Were they family heirlooms?” The vaults must be bursting with riches and wealth, piles and piles of precious coins and gems. “Why steal only these five things? And while we’re at it, what is ‘Relic Number Five—the Vanguard’?”
The Dowager shook her head. “Unfortunately, the vault records have no description of the Vanguard. All that’s known for sure is that it’s one of the very oldest artifacts in the vaults, stored long before they kept detailed records. In fact, everything that was stolen was kept in the farthest reaches of the vaults. They’ve been undisturbed for centuries, locked with some of the most powerful enchantments the Palatinate could devise. But somehow, the thieves got past all that.”
I pointed to the list. “They’re all made of gold and onyx.” Gold and onyx were the two most magical substances in the Provinces. “If these were magical items, could we be looking for a rogue mage? Only a mage could use a magical item.”
The Dowager considered. “Possibly. Or someone who thought they could sell the relics to a rogue mage.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” I said. It would have been easier—and more profitable—to steal chests full of silvernibs. If you tried to sell ancient relics on the black market, they’d attract unwanted attention. I reread the High Laird’s missive. “Now that’s interesting. . . .”
The Dowager leaned in. “What?”
I pointed to the start of the paragraph. “The Provincial Guard believes that all five vaults were hit simultaneously—the same day and time. All about eight months ago . . .”
“So?”
I looked up. “It was eight months ago when the High Laird quarantined Vengekeep. He sent thousands of troops from all over the Provinces to surround the town-state. And when he did that, he weakened the defenses around the royal vaults.”
The Dowager shook with frustration. “Oh, I told my brother that was a mistake! He should never have listened to his advisers. He’s only got himself to blame for these thefts. It’s like we left the door wide open for the thieves.”
Yes. It was exactly like that. And the Shadowhands had pounced the moment the defenses were down. Almost as if they had known it was going to happen.
Reena returned from her visit to the greenhouse and sat sullenly next to me. I got the impression that she hated herself for enjoying the warmth of the magically created summer day.
The Dowager was oblivious to Reena’s distress. “Did you see anything interesting in the greenhouse?” she asked cheerily.
Reena smiled weakly. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” She turned to me. “Listen, Jaxter, I’ve been thinking. I appreciate that you’re trying to help. But I think Holm and I should turn ourselves in to the Provincial Guard.”
I started to protest, but she cut me off. “You and Maloch are only in danger because of us. If the High Laird has all the Sarosans, the Palatinate will have to call off the bloodreavers. Maybe they’ll send us to Umbramore Tower. We can see our parents again.”
The Dowager straightened her back. Even in her work clothes, she could still project the very essence of regality. “Young lady,” she said firmly, “do you realize that just by allowing you into my home, I am harboring an enemy of the state? An infraction compounded, not eased, by the fact that I am the High Laird’s sister. The High Laird has declared that anyone assisting fugitive Sarosans will share in their punishment. And I don’t risk going to Umbramore Tower for just anyone.”
I could see Reena fighting not to blow up, as she mi
ght have if anyone else had spoken to her like that. She said evenly, “But you won’t need to risk going to prison if Holm and I just leave.”
“What the Dowager’s trying to say, Reena,” I said softly, “is that she believes the Sarosans are being treated unfairly and she wants to take a stand. If you surrender, she can’t do that.”
Reena’s dark skin flushed, and she looked away. “Oh.”
Sweaty and breathing heavily, Maloch and Holm joined us at the table, each grabbing a quaich of water to quench their thirsts. “Your brother’s a tough little guy,” Maloch said to Reena, who forgot she was angry and smiled to see Holm so happy.
Maloch looked at the Dowager’s paperwork. “Got anything?”
“Not much,” I said. “Five relics, possibly magical, but no idea why they’re important.”
“And we have no idea why the Shadowhands are disappearing,” Maloch said, sinking into a chair next to Reena.
“Sure we do.”
We all turned to Reena, who looked as if she didn’t realize she was the one who’d spoken. She sat up straight.
“It’s obvious. When you hire someone to secretly steal mysterious relics from the depths of the High Laird’s vaults, you don’t want any witnesses. So you remove the only people who might be able to identify you.”
Reena was right. It was obvious. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it. Like my ancestor Lorris Grimjinx once said, “Slashing your own throat and sharing a secret produce the same results.” In other words, it’s only really a secret if you’re the only one who knows.
But Maloch remained unconvinced. “You’re suggesting that whoever hired the Shadowhands is now eliminating them? That’s not possible. The Shadowhands work in complete anonymity. There’s no way whoever hired them could possibly find out their identities, unless . . .”
Maloch suddenly stopped as reality sank in for all of us. It was the Dowager who finally said it aloud.
“Unless one of the Shadowhands was a traitor.”
14
Finding the Traitor
“One man’s treachery is another man’s monthly wage.”
—Minaeris Grimjinx, founder of the Tarana Thieves Alliance
On the trip from the Sarosan camp to Redvalor Castle, I’d dreamed of sleeping peacefully in my own bed again. The previous night had been bliss. But this bliss was short-lived. Curled up in my nightclothes, under thick quilts, with warm embers glowing in the fireplace nearby . . . I should have been fast asleep but wasn’t.
It may have had something to do with the crazy guy in my room.
At the foot of my bed, Maloch was pacing the floor, throwing his arms up in the air and having a very loud argument with himself.
“This is completely naff-nut!” he said, shaking with rage. “The Shadowhands don’t let just anyone join. They screen all candidates. If there’s even a hint that you might turn on the Shadowhands, you’ll never get in. It’s impossible that there’s a traitor. Impossible!”
Then he spun on his heel. “But that’s the only explanation. Whoever hired the Shadowhands is trying to eliminate them. And the only way their employer could have learned the Shadowhands’ true identities is if someone from within sold them out. That must be what my da figured out. He maybe even knew who the traitor was . . . and they got to him.”
“Why are you even here?” I asked, snuggling up to my quilts. “You’ve got your own room. Go stomp and shake your fist in there. I’m trying to sleep.”
“Jaxter!” Maloch said, whirling on me. “You should be just as worried as me. Your parents are trying to track down the remaining Shadowhands. I think whoever’s hunting the Shadowhands will be just as happy to get anyone who’s trying to warn them. Or even go after former Shadowhands as well.”
I groaned and pulled the quilts up over my head. I just wanted to sleep. By my calculations, I needed at least a full week of restful nights to make up for all the sleep I’d lost in the Sarosan camp and on the trip here. But I clearly wasn’t going to get any tonight.
Maloch had a point.
And I hated him for it.
A traitor who could reveal the identity of the Shadowhands probably also knew of any former Shadowhands. Ma was in just as much danger as the people she was trying to warn.
Maloch pulled the quilt back, exposing my face. “We have to find the traitor.”
“I agree,” I said, propping myself up on one elbow. “But we have no clue how to do that. Right now, we should focus on helping Reena and Holm and the Sarosans. You want to help Reena, right?”
That caught him off guard. He stared at me blankly for a long time. Then he lifted his jaw. “If we find the traitor, we are helping the Sarosans. The traitor can lead us to whoever hired the Shadowhands. We can turn that person in to the High Laird, and he’ll be forced to let the Sarosans go.”
My stomach churned. Why was it that I got physically ill whenever Maloch made sense?
“Okay, fine,” I said, “but that brings us back to the simple fact that we have no idea how to find the traitor.”
Maloch got down on all fours and pulled my backpack from under the bed. “We do know how to find the traitor. In fact, the Shadowhands are going to lead us right to them.”
“What are you doing?” I asked as he dropped the backpack on my bed.
“Start packing,” he said, “and get dressed. We’ve got a long trip ahead of us, and we leave tonight.”
Before I could ask him what he meant, he ran from the room. Reluctantly, I started packing. How was I going to explain to the Dowager that we were leaving again so soon? I had a feeling the idea wouldn’t sit well with her.
Once I was ready, I met Maloch outside his room. He had his own pack and was ready to go.
“We should get Reena and Holm,” I said, “and stop by the kitchen for some food. Oh, and I need to tell the Dowager—”
Maloch shook his head. “No. Just you and me. We’re not Shadowhands, but right now, we’re the next best thing. We don’t get anyone else involved. It’s too dangerous.”
I wasn’t convinced. Was this about being the sons of Shadowhands . . . or keeping Reena out of danger?
“C’mon,” he said, tugging my elbow and leading me down the hall. When we got to the stairs, we found Reena and Holm, also packed and dressed for a long journey.
“My room shares a wall with you,” Holm said, pointing at me. “I heard what Maloch wants to do.”
“If you can clear our family’s name,” Reena said, turning to Maloch, “then we’re coming with you. And don’t even try to argue.”
Maloch shot me a look. “Fine. But we’re not telling the Dowager. She’ll only try to stop us.”
“Indeed, Mr. Oxter.”
We turned to find the Dowager standing behind us, arms folded and looking very unhappy.
“For two sons of Shadowhands,” I said under my breath, “we’re really lousy at sneaking out.”
“As Jaxter’s mentor,” the Dowager said, the singsong in her voice replaced with real authority, “I am responsible for his safety. I cannot claim that about the rest of you. But I promise that if any of you try to leave before we’ve discussed all options, you’ll see just how much power the sister of the High Laird wields.”
It sounded impressive, but I knew she was bluffing.
At least, I hoped she was bluffing.
We sat in the Dowager’s study. Oxric served singetea all around. Maloch stood near the tall, slender windows that overlooked the moonlit garden. He hadn’t said a word since the Dowager caught us trying to sneak out. He just did what Maloch did best: glared.
Reena and Holm shared a chair so large Holm’s feet didn’t even reach the floor. I sat across from them and watched Reena steal glimpses at Maloch. Holm noticed too. He gave a careful nod at his sister, then at Maloch, then rolled his eyes. I laughed.
The Dowager, who had been stoking the fire, turned sharply. “Did I do something funny, Jaxter?” I really hated it when she became all adultlike.
/> “Sorry,” I said, looking down.
The Dowager strode over to the window near Maloch. “I gather you weren’t just rallying your troops here to run off into the night without a purpose, Mr. Oxter. Perhaps you’d like to tell me what you were planning.”
Maloch’s lips fused shut. He leaned against the window frame and didn’t say a word, stubborn as always.
So I volunteered. “Maloch thinks he knows a way to figure out who the Shadowhand traitor is.”
Maloch didn’t even bother trying to kill me with a look. His hand, curled into a fist at his hip, grew deep red and trembled the tighter he squeezed it. A message that I was going to pay for talking once he got me alone.
The Dowager gently took Maloch’s shoulders and turned him to face her. The serious, stern Dowager gave way to the kind, gentle one I knew best. “Maloch,” she said softly, “I know you’re concerned about your father. There’s a very real chance that he’s still out there, hiding from whoever is hunting the Shadowhands. You have no idea where he is, and putting yourself in danger won’t—”
“If he was in trouble, he would have gone to the Dagger!” Maloch blurted out, pulling away from the Dowager.
“The what?” I asked.
Maloch turned to look out the window again. He was silent for a long time. Then, he finally gave in and spoke.
“The Shadowhands have a hidden compound called the Dagger. It’s where they meet to plan their heists. It also doubles as a bunker they can hide in if things ever get too hot. I can’t prove it, but I think my da was on his way there when he disappeared.”
“But,” I said carefully, “you don’t know if he made it there.”
He fell silent again. I pulled the Dowager aside. “Listen,” I whispered, “I think Maloch knows more than he’s saying. But he won’t talk while you’re here. He’s afraid he’ll betray the Shadowhands. Maybe if you left me to talk to him . . .”
The Dowager scanned the room. The windows were too narrow for us to fit through. The only way out of the study was through one door. She knew we couldn’t leave. “I’ll be right outside,” she said.