Racing With Dragons: The Mapmaker's Sons, Book 1

by V. L. Burgess

  Tom turned to see the old man climb into the seat of the goat cart and lift the reins.

  The boy hissed, “We have to go. He won’t wait.”

  Two members of The Watch moved to tie the man’s hands behind his back. Two others tore the little girl from her mother’s arms and lashed together the woman’s hands.

  Porter cut a glance toward the goat cart, then back to the scaffold. He gave a low growl and slammed his fist against the crates that hid them.

  The Watch forced the man and woman into a kneeling position facing the crowd. Carter’s sisters sobbed. Tom scanned the crowd. The faces he saw were tight and angry, but, as Porter had predicted, they made no move to stop what was about to happen.

  “No,” Porter muttered, so softly Tom wasn’t sure he’d heard him. Then he said it again. Firmly. Definitively. “No.” He grabbed a nearby branch from the ground and moved to stand, as though intending to launch a single-handed attack on The Watch.

  “Don’t.” Tom caught his arm to stop him. “Not like that.”

  Porter jerked away. “I can’t sit here and—”

  “Fine. Help them. Just don’t be stupid.” For once, Tom had the upper hand. Years of pulling pranks at the Lost Academy was about to pay off. If anyone knew the fastest and most effective way to create instant mayhem, it was him. He tilted his head toward the scaffold. “The rope. If I grab one end and you grab the other...”

  He waited a fraction of a second, just long enough for his meaning to sink in, then shoved the young boy toward the cart. “We need five minutes. That’s all. Free the goats, bribe the old man, do whatever it takes! Just make him wait!”

  The second the boy took off, Tom leapt up and sprinted at full speed toward the scaffold, Porter a heartbeat behind him. The structure was just under five feet high, built of roughly cut lumber supported by four corner pillars of stacked stone. Beside one of the pillars was a thick coil of rope, perhaps last put in use when the scaffold served as a gallows. That didn’t matter. What did matter was that Tom had noticed the platform shake under the weight of the people atop it.

  Which meant the structure was unstable—and with any luck, would be relatively easy to knock down. They raced toward it from behind, crouched down low so The Watch couldn’t see them, but the crowd could. Without slowing his stride, Tom reached down and grabbed one end of the rope while Porter grabbed the other. Tom coiled it around his wrist and slid under the scaffold stealing-home-style, while Porter ran opposite him, pulling the rope taut from the outside.

  Knocked sideways, the right rear pillar collapsed. The crudely constructed platform tilted crazily, then listed like a ship taking on water. Tom scooted clear of the structure a second before it gave way entirely. The Watch tumbled to the ground. Carter and his family tumbled after them.

  In that instant, the crowd surged forward, shouting and shoving. In the pandemonium that followed, one woman grabbed the youngest girl and took off at a run. Others grabbed the remaining family members, pulling them away from The Watch and spiriting them off to safety.

  Not wasting a second, Porter and Tom pivoted toward the traveling goat pen. They jumped in, slipped between the boy and the goats, then pulled the cart’s rear gate shut. The lower half of the pen was constructed of solid wood and matted with straw, the upper half, thin wooden slats through which the goats could poke their heads.

  Tom took a jagged breath and dove into the bed of straw. Above him, Old Raynard flicked the reins and set the cart in motion. The cart lurched forward and then began rolling at a steady, if bumpy, pace, leaving the chaotic square and the demolished scaffold behind them. Tom waited a few minutes, allowing the cart to lumber down the badly rutted road, then lifted his head, risking a glance at the scene they’d left. Only The Watch remained, angrily kicking through the debris. The crowd had vanished, taking the copper-headed boy and his family with them.

  He rolled onto his back and sent Porter a smile. “You did it. You saved them.”

  “Proof that you’re not the only one capable of behaving like a complete idiot.”

  Tom’s smile froze, splintered. “What are you talking about? He was your friend—his parents nearly died trying to help us! You had to do something! That was awesome!”

  “Awesome?” Porter, the tension radiating from him so great Tom could almost feel it, gave a curt shake of his head. “It was reckless. Unforgivably stupid.”

  “What choice did you have?”

  “I should have left them to die.”

  Tom sucked in a breath. “You could have done that?”

  “Of course.”

  Tom’s disgust must have shown on his face, for Porter’s eyes blazed. “You still don’t understand? After what you just saw? Then let me be very clear. Carter doesn’t matter, his family doesn’t matter, you don’t matter, I don’t matter—we matter—but only if both of us are together, alive, because that’s the only way we can find Hyster.” He drew back, his chest heaving. “You think what you just saw isn’t happening somewhere else this very moment? Yes, Carter’s family escaped, but now the entire village will be punished. Keegan rules through terror. It may be his only trick, but it’s a good one. Very effective.”

  Tom watched him for a long moment. “If that’s true, why didn’t our parents come for me sooner?”

  Porter gave a bitter laugh and shook his head.

  “Why?”

  He would have taken the question back if he could have. It revealed too much, made him sound too vulnerable. Yet he was aching to know. All those years wondering who he was, where he’d come from. He’d had a family the whole time, yet they just hadn’t wanted him. They’d given him to a stranger. Wouldn’t have returned for him at all if it hadn’t been absolutely necessary.

  He braced himself to be mocked, but the anger seemed to have drained out of Porter. A note of resignation crept into his voice. “We were as near to captives as we could be. Every move we made, every word we spoke, was monitored by The Watch. Our mother and father began to doubt, to fear. They were convinced the burden was too heavy to place on us, that the risk of failure was too great.”

  The boy, who’d been quiet until that point, spoke. “But you won’t fail! You can’t!”

  Porter sighed. “Is that so?”

  “Everyone’s heard of you.” He looked from Tom to Porter, his face eager. “The dark and the light. The mapmaker’s sons. Hero Twins, that’s what they call you—come to end Keegan’s rule!”

  With an effort, Porter shook off his somber mood. He let out a breath as a self-deprecating smile touched his lips. “That’s right. The Hero Twins, come to end Keegan's rule.” A goat shifted in the cart, shoving his hindquarters in Porter’s face. He gave the beast an impatient shove and stretched out his legs. “Unless, of course, we are killed in the attempt, a circumstance which seems to be growing increasingly likely with every passing moment.”

  The boy fixed a look of fierce determination on his young features. “If I were to die, I’d rather be killed fighting Keegan than any other way.”

  Porter looked at Tom. “Well, there you have it. We have little to fear. If all else fails and we fall into dire straits, we’ll have this one on our side. All forty pounds of him.”

  A heavy silence settled over them. A coarse linen sack, given to them by Raynard, sat beside the boy. The child opened it and withdrew the contents: a bottle of creamy white liquid, three pewter mugs, and assorted foodstuffs: biscuits, cheese, apples, and some sort of dried meat. While the boy and Porter dove into the meal, Tom ignored it.

  He removed the rolled parchment from his belt and opened his father’s map. In the fading twilight, the purples, blues, and greens blurred together. He rubbed his fingers over the map’s worn edges, hoping to feel some connection to a father he’d never known. Nothing. Nor did the map thrill him as it came alive the way it had had in Professor Lost’s office. Instead, a heaviness settled in his chest as his fingers traced the Five Kingdoms, for this time the map revealed slave shippers in Aquat.
Public executions in Divino. Forced labor camps in the mines of Incendia. And connecting them all, the crimson eye of Keegan’s Watch.

  “Keegan rules all the Five Kingdoms?” he asked.

  Porter shrugged. “Generally, yes. His minions run each kingdom in his stead. Warlords, mostly, no better than Keegan himself.”

  Tom silently absorbed that, then turned his attention to the section of the map marked The Beyond. It was there that Hyster had shown herself. A no man’s land, marked only by signs of death, danger, and despair.

  “This dragon we’re looking for . . .”

  Porter arched one blond brow. He took a deep drink, wiped the creamy white foam from his lip. “Hyster.”

  “Shouldn’t we just let her be?”

  “Let her be?”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard the expression, ‘let sleeping dragons lie’?”

  “What are you babbling about now?”

  “Babbling? I’m the only one here who’s making any sense.” Tom’s cheeks still stung where the monster had simply breathed on him. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to face the actual creature. “Most people—most sane people, anyway—run away from a monster when they see one, not toward it.”

  “But Hyster’s different,” the boy put in. He leaned toward Tom, his eyes glistening with excitement. “She has more power, more fury, than anything the world’s ever seen. And if we can find her, if we can tame her, and if we can bring her back to fight Keegan, then we can finally beat him.”

  Tom let out a harsh laugh. Way too many ifs in that sentence for his liking. He brushed his fingers over the parchment document he’d been toying with. “Where I come from, things like this . . . dragons, magic, maps that come alive. None of it exists. None of it can exist. No one believes any of that’s real.”

  Porter studied him for a long moment in silence. “Then you were raised among fools.”

  Tom bristled. “At least we’re not afraid to fight. From what I’ve seen, you outnumber this Keegan guy. So put together an army and take out Keegan and The Watch once and for all.”

  “There are small pockets of rebellion now.”

  “So what’s the problem? Finish him off and put in a leader everyone likes.”

  “And how are we to do that? Gather a group of starving villagers and arm them with sticks and stones? No. That would be madness. You saw that yourself. But with Hyster fighting by our side…”

  And off he went, reciting what to Tom sounded like nothing more than a crazy fantasy he’d nourished for years. An army led by a vicious dragon. Hyster, ruler of fire and fury. Beast of vengeance. Guardian of the meek and mild. Resounding defeat of Keegan and his men. A new leader of the Five Kingdoms installed in his place. Glorious victory followed by a long reign of peace and prosperity.

  Tom tuned him out until he heard the boy ask, “What if Keegan finds Hyster first?”

  Porter said, “We can’t let that happen, can we? That’s why—”

  “Wait a minute,” Tom interrupted. “Finds her first? No one told me… You mean, The Watch is after Hyster, too? This is a race to see who can find her first?”

  Porter’s lips tightened. Then he said, “A race we must win.”

  His eyes met those of the young thief. They shared a brief, silent glance of dismal understanding. Abruptly recalling his meal, Porter bit into a biscuit, then tapped the boy’s thigh with the toe of his boot. “Enough of Keegan. Tell us about you, boy. You have a name?”

  “People call me Smudge.”

  “Smudge? What kind of name is Smudge?”

  “Dunno. Guess ‘cause I’m not very big.” He fished in his pocket and retrieved an oval-shaped piece of metal roughly the size of his palm and passed it to Tom. The letters STH, finely etched but worn with age, were carved upon the metal surface. “My father said never to lose that, for that’s who I am. I suppose those are my initials. Could be I had a proper name at one time. Don’t know how people came to call me Smudge.”

  “I’d lose it if I were you,” Porter said.

  “Lose it?” the boy said. “Why?”

  “Could be you were given an awful name. That’s why they reduced it to initials. Stanley True Heart. Sullivan Twinkle Hinder. Sylvester Thick Head.”

  Horror showed on the young thief’s face. He thought for a moment, considering the alternatives. “Guess I don’t mind Smudge, really.”

  Tom handed the metal piece to Porter. “What is it?”

  His brother gave it a cursory glance and shrugged. “Old,” he answered shortly. “Not worth much. Probably a plate to identify a saddle or a trunk.” He tossed it back to the boy. “Where’s your father now?”

  “He died when I was young. His name was John.”

  Porter nodded and brushed the crumbs from his lap. “And what did he do, this father named John?”

  “He worked in a forge repairing metals. Sometimes he brought things home to show me. Rings, crests, shields, mostly.”

  Porter nodded, though it was clear his attention had drifted. “And Willa? The one who braves The Beyond. Who is she?”

  “A friend. She took me in after my father died.” An expression of intense pride filled Smudge’s eyes. “She’s very talented with herbs and banes. People from all around come to buy her potions.”

  Porter rolled his eyes, his disgust evident. “Very good. Now we’re to depend on a soft-hearted old hag who sells potions.”

  “She’s not an old hag!” Smudge shot back. “She’s not soft-hearted either. She’ll take you through the swamp only if she wants to—and only if the price is right.”

  “Excellent.” Porter pitched his apple core into a bush. “A greedy hag. Even better. We truly are doomed.” He leaned back against a hay bale and began to pat down the straw, settling it to his liking.

  There seemed to be nothing more to say. The cart’s wooden wheels rumbled beneath them, carrying them farther into the deepening twilight. Realizing he hadn’t eaten all day, Tom reached for the pewter cup and took a tentative sip. Goat’s milk. The taste was strange to him, thick and heavy in his mouth, but it settled nicely in his stomach. He took another deep swallow and then spread a bit of the creamy cheese on a biscuit. Goat’s cheese, naturally. He ate it all, then eyed the dried meat. Not hard to guess its origin. He lifted a strip and took a cautious sniff.

  “Eat it,” Smudge urged, taking a generous bite himself. “It’s good.”

  A goat shifted toward Tom. It was a black-coated beast with curved horns, scruffy beard, and slanted yellow pupils. The goat’s eyes locked on Tom’s, as though conveying a message.

  Tom looked at the meat, then looked at the goat. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” Smudge asked.

  “I think it’s someone he knew.”

  Smudge stopped chewing. He choked on the meat in his mouth, swallowed hard, then threw back his head and howled with laughter. Porter released a breath of utter disdain and turned his back to Tom, curving his body against a hay bale as though to sleep. After a bit, Smudge packed away the remains of their dinner and did the same.

  The sinking sun took the day’s meager warmth with it. Cold air bit through his clothing and stung his cheeks. Tom thought longingly of the wool cloak Porter had tried to give him, left folded on the bed in the hut. Absent that, he drew fistfuls of hay up to his chin and leaned against the cart’s side wall. Soon Smudge’s soft snores drifted back to him. Tom sighed. He was exhausted, but not sleepy. His fingers traced the edges of the map curled in his lap. Although he could no longer see it, he recalled the names written upon the section marked The Beyond.

  The Great Dismal Swamp. The Cliffs of No Return. Bloody Passage. Miserable Forest. The Lost Lake, which drained into the Wretched River and the Cursed Souls Sea. And finally, the Desert of Thirst and Starvation. Either their father had a morbid sense of humor, or they were in for a difficult journey.

  Father. Mother. His thoughts skidded to a stop as he considered the words. Words as foreign to his tongue as the
taste of goat’s milk. And then there was Porter. His brother. No, not just brother. Twin brother. With whom he seemed to share only two things: an unnerving destiny, and an intense mutual dislike of the other.

  Parents who hadn’t wanted him. A brother who resented him. Yet here he was. The only ones who didn’t seem to mind his company were the goats with whom they traveled.

  He tilted his head and stared heavenward. The air was cold but clear, the sky studded with stars. The constellations were the same ones he’d viewed from the rooftops of the Lost Academy, he noted with surprise. Same moon, same stars, same night sky.

  Different world.

  Porter’s voice broke through the stillness of the night. “Do you want the first or second watch?”

  “What?”

  “You don’t think Keegan’s men are going to let us slip away, do you? They’ll come after us, sure as day follows night. I’d like a little warning before one of their blades slices my throat, that’s all.”

  “Oh. Right.” Tom was suddenly glad for the cover of darkness. Glad his embarrassment didn’t show. Of course Porter was right. “Uh, first watch I guess.”

  A glint of steel shone in the moonlight.

  “You know how to use this?”

  Tom reached for the dagger Porter thrust his way. He wrapped his fingers around the leather grip. “I’m pretty sure I can figure it out.”

  “The pointed end goes into the belly of Keegan’s men. Not yours. And definitely not mine. Got it?”

  Tom didn’t reply.

  “Hopefully you’ll do a little better this time than you did back at the grain storeroom. I’ve seen little girls put up a better fight.”

  Tom glared, but remained silent. He didn’t have the energy for another fight.

  Neither, it seemed, did Porter. His brother sighed, settled back into the straw, and closed his eyes. The cart rocked and bounced as it crossed a dry ravine. Old man Raynard, who hadn’t said a word to them since they’d climbed aboard the cart, hummed softly to himself, adding to the steady drone of the bleating goats and the clatter of the cart’s wheels. Suddenly anxious, Tom strained his ears for the sound of marching boots. Peered into the shadows that surrounded them for the telltale floating red eyes of The Watch.