He said, “But, what happened to you?”
“I was too young to work. My grandfather was too old. So they left us behind.”
“Keegan ordered that?”
She released a bitter breath. “Of course. Who else? Keegan takes whatever he wants. Including—” She stopped abruptly. Turned to look at him. “You’ve truly never heard of the Five Kingdoms.”
Tom guessed she was referring to the places he’d seen on the map. Aquat, an island chain surrounded by raging seas. Incendia, a city ringed by fiery volcanoes. Sahra, a barren land of dry, wasted desert. Ventus, a snowy mountain range beset by frosty winds. Terrum, a nation hidden within thick jungles. And in the center of it all, Divino, Keegan’s domain.
“Well, I saw them on the map, but I don’t know the history or anything.” At their astonished stares, he said, “This might be a good time to fill me in.”
“I’ll tell you about it!” Smudge volunteered, skipping up. “Once there was a boy who became a mighty king—”
“That’s not where the story begins,” Porter interrupted. “If you’re going to tell the tale, tell it properly, from the beginning. The way my father told it.”
Our father, Tom corrected silently. But he held his tongue, because he was as hungry for the story as Smudge was. Smudge pleaded to hear it and Porter finally relented—likely just to shut the boy up.
“Very well,” Porter said. “The tale begins a thousand years ago…”
Chapter Fourteen
THE FIVE KINGDOMS
“A thousand years ago,” Porter said, “dragons roamed the earth in packs. Horrible, vicious creatures, they were. They would burn crops, raze villages, gobble up livestock, attack travelers who strayed from safe passages.”
“It was common to threaten to feed a child to the dragons if he didn’t finish his chores in time,” Willa remarked.
Geez. And Tom thought Lost was harsh if he grounded him for the weekend.
Porter continued, “Those were the dark days. In this time there lived a wizard named Varrick. He roamed the woods with his fellow wizards, testing spells, amassing power, increasing his magic until it was superior to any the world had ever known.
“It is said that every great wizard has a weakness, and this was true of Varrick. His was perhaps the greatest weakness of all. Man. Unlike other wizards, who had no interest in human affairs, Varrick was fascinated by mankind. Disguised as a lowly beggar, he would wander from village to village. In some places he was greeted with contempt and cruelty. In others, strangers brought him into their homes, fed him and cared for him, asking nothing in return.
“It was this kindness that was his undoing. He came to believe in the power of good. A dangerous belief for any wizard, but especially one with Varrick’s abilities. Before the wizards left the land, Varrick decided he wanted to leave mankind a gift. Something to repay the kindness he’d received.”
“What kind of gift?” Tom asked.
“He wanted to stop the dragons from preying on humans. Stop them from razing our crops, burning our villages, and generally making our lives miserable.”
“So what’d he do?”
“He created a magical sword.”
“A what?”
“The Sword of Five Kingdoms,” Smudge interrupted eagerly.
“But it wasn’t called that yet,” Porter corrected. “In any event, it was a sword of tremendous power. Maybe too much power. For you see, whoever ruled the sword would hold the power to rule over all men and all creatures of this earth.”
“Especially dragons!” Smudge sang out.
“Varrick was well aware of the danger if the sword fell into the wrong hands,” Willa said, joining her voice to the story. “So he searched for the right person to claim it. Someone of sterling character. Someone so pure of heart, brave of spirit, and bright of mind they would never be tempted to use the sword for evil.”
“Years passed as he travelled the world looking for the right person.” Porter picked up the story and continued it, the tale obviously as familiar and cherished to the three of them as any fairy tale Tom had ever heard. “But none had a pure heart. Wars raged and famines plagued our lands. Dragons continued to wreak havoc on people throughout the world.”
Porter paused to cut his way through a heavy clump of moss.
“Until one day…” Smudge prompted, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Porter swung around to frown at the boy. “I know how the story goes.”
“Then tell it!”
Porter put away his knife and continued, “Until one day he spotted a young boy nursing an abandoned dragon chickling. For you see, dragons were as cruel to their own kind as they were to humans. That chickling had been born blind, so the mother dragon pushed it from the nest, leaving it to perish.”
Willa said, “At that time, our laws demanded that any dragon chicks or eggs be instantly destroyed. Men who slayed dragons were hailed as heroes and richly rewarded.”
“But this lowly, half-starved boy didn’t want to be a hero,” Porter said. “He didn’t want the reward he would be given if he slaughtered the chick. He simply wanted to help the defenseless creature. And so he did.”
“He fed it, found it shelter, and played with it so it wouldn’t be lonely,” Smudge said.
“When the villagers discovered what the boy was doing,” Willa continued, “they were furious. They assembled an angry mob and set out to beat the boy and kill the dragon.”
“But Varrick wouldn’t let them!” Smudge gave a happy bounce.
“No, he wouldn’t,” Porter said. “The great wizard threatened to strike any man dead who raised a hand to the boy or the dragon. For that was the boy Varrick chose to receive the sword. He saw kindness in the boy’s heart, compassion and strength. All the qualities he’d been searching for. The boy grew to be a fine king. They crowned him Salamaine, which means Man of Peace. He united all the warring lands. But most importantly, he tamed the dragons. Not by force or terror, but by showing them patience and respect.
“In gratitude, each of the five kingdoms took a gemstone from their lands and added it to the hilt of the sword, thereby pledging their eternal unity to Salamaine. It made the power of the sword even stronger. That’s how the Five Kingdoms were created.”
“In time, dragons were no longer to be feared,” Willa remarked. “Instead they lived side-by-side with men. As did all creatures of the earth. It was said to be a golden age.”
Porter nodded. “Salamaine’s reign was one of peace and prosperity, as were the generations that followed. There was no hunger, no war, no plagues.”
“Sounds pretty good,” Tom said.
He thought about the story. It was familiar, of course. Even in his world, as different as it was from this, he’d heard tales of kindly wizards and noble-hearted boys. He’d also heard tales of brave men who slayed deadly dragons. But he’d given those stories no more thought than he had the ancient, fantastical maps he’d seen. In other words, he hadn’t believed any of it was real. Why would he?
Willa’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “But the peace didn’t last.”
“No,” Smudge sighed. “It didn’t.”
Tom asked, “What happened?”
“More than three hundred years passed,” Porter said. “Salamaine the Seventh ruled the land. A kind, beloved king, just as his ancestors had been. One night his wife retired to her chamber, ready to give birth. She was tended by a maid who had given birth to a son of her own just days earlier. Now, the queen considered this maid a true and trusted friend, for the maid carefully hid the evilness that was in her heart.
“Moments after the queen gave birth, the maid smothered her, intending to replace her own son with the son the queen had borne. But King Salamaine the Seventh entered the room before the maid could kill the babe. A cunning woman, the maid told the heartbroken king his wife had borne him two sons. Twins. One light, one dark. And so it was that the maid’s son, which she claimed was firstborn, became Prince o
f the Five Kingdoms.”
“Brutal,” Tom said, now as wrapped up in the story as Smudge.
“The boys grew older. The maid’s son, Tyran, had a twisted heart of pure evil. The true heir, Gregor, was as bright and pure as Salamaine himself. Despite their differences, they were raised as brothers, even when Tyran’s true nature became apparent. Salamaine, of course, had the power to order his men to kill Tyran, but he could not slay a child he believed to be his own.
“Shortly before his death, Salamaine came to learn of the maid’s deceit. He urged Gregor the Good to wrest control from Tyran, but by then it was too late. The evil deed was done. Tyran had amassed a loyal army and was firmly in possession of the throne. Worst of all, he’d trained the dragons to attack any who dared to confront him.”
Tom asked, “So what happened?”
“The dragons, now trained to kill, set upon any person or place that wasn’t marked by Tyran’s symbol of power—a glowing red eye.”
Smudge shivered and said, “The same symbol Keegan uses.”
Tom said, “So Keegan is a descendant of this Tyran guy.”
Porter nodded grimly. “Salamaine’s final act as king was to smuggle the sword from the castle grounds. He plucked the stones free and returned them to the kingdoms from which they’d come, thereby releasing them of their pledge of loyalty. He had hoped the kingdoms would mass together to unseat Tryan. Return Gregor to his rightful throne. But it didn’t work that way. A great war came, causing death and destruction on a scale Varrick would have been horrified to see.
“What happened to Gregor, the rightful heir?”
Porter shrugged. “No one knows. It was forbidden to speak his name. Some say he was slain by Tyran, some say he sought refuge in the forests. The knights who remained loyal to him were hunted down and murdered. A few may have escaped. It’s almost impossible to know. All this took place hundreds of years ago.”
“And the dragons?”
The three exchanged a grim glance. Porter said, “Once Tryan had control of his lands, he no longer needed the dragons to fight his battles. So he kept them chained and caged, starving them, only using them for sport. He built great coliseums and pitted one dragon against another in brutal death matches, until there were no more dragons left to fight. For years it was believed the creatures had become extinct.”
Porter stopped walking and reached for his water. He brought the leather bag to his lips and took a generous gulp. After he’d swallowed, he passed it to Tom. Tom drank as well. The heat in the swamp continued to build. Like trudging through a sauna, fully dressed and packing gear. Sweat drenched his back.
Willa and Smudge came to a stop beside them. By unspoken agreement, they paused for a short rest. Tom eased down onto a fallen log, using it as a seat. Willa opened her pack and began to poke through the contents. Smudge kicked a clump of moss. Porter toyed with his knife.
After a minute, Smudge looked up at Tom. “It’s a good tale, isn’t it?”
Tom looked around the group. “A good tale? That’s horrible. That can’t be how the story ends.”
Porter tucked away his weapon. “Pretty much. Until we came along. Roughly twenty years ago, a scribe working with ancient documents uncovered a prophecy linked to Varrick. A prophecy that promised a set of genuine twin sons. Light and dark brought together again, this time to reclaim the Sword of Five Kingdoms and find the great and deadly Hyster, ruler of fire and fury. Beast of vengeance. Guardian of the meek and mild. With Hyster by our side, Keegan would finally be defeated. Given that our father was a cartographer—one who had specialized in the study of ancient legends—it wasn’t difficult to link the prophecy to us.”
“But... Wait a minute...” Tom shook his head, at a loss for words. Although his face still burned where Hyster’s breath had singed it, he’d been somewhat okay with helping his brother locate the creature. He figured, one and done. But this new list? Reclaim the Sword of Five Kingdoms, find the dragon, and defeat Keegan? That was waaaay more than he bargained for.
“How are we supposed to do that?” he demanded of Porter.
“The prophecy doesn’t say how, just that we will.”
“Oh, really. That’s great.” His frustration mounting, he came to his feet and dragged a hand through his hair. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe the prophecy is wrong?”
Porter blinked, as though surprised by the question. “Wrong?”
“Hero Twins? Really. You and me. Are you out of your mind? Look at us. I mean, maybe you’re alright with that knife. Maybe what we can do with the map is cool. But I’m no hero anything. I’m lucky if I get my homework turned in on time.”
Porter’s expression resumed its customary sneer. “You think I haven’t noticed your lack of—”
“Would you give it a break? This isn’t about—”
“Quiet!” Willa snapped, going still.
They froze, listening. To nothing, Tom thought. And then it hit him. Nothing. Not a chirp or a rustle or a hiss or a slither. For the first time since they’d set foot in the swamp, they were met with total silence. Then, in the distance, the low, purring rumble of what sounded like an engine.
An engine? Here? In the middle of a swamp? It couldn’t be.
The hair stood up on the back of Tom’s neck as recognition kicked in. A combination of mist and their own sweat had washed off Willa’s hideous salve.
It wasn’t the rumble of an engine he heard.
It was the growl of a dog.
Chapter Fifteen
SWAMP DOGS
Six huge, hairless beasts strutted out from between a canopy of vines, carrying with them the stench of rot and decay. They were enormous—roughly the size of a child’s pony—with mottled skin in varying shades of gray, green, and brown. They strode forward with hackles raised, lips curled back in a vicious snarl. Yellow eyes narrowed into slits. Thick streams of drool hung from the corners of their enormous jaws.
Heads low, the pack spread out. A deep rumbling growl issued from within their throats.
Moving instinctively, Tom edged Smudge behind him, noting as he did that Porter and Willa tightened their circle as well. Together the four of them edged carefully backward. They moved with slow deliberation, hardly daring to breathe. Their eyes fixed on the dogs, they gathered themselves into a tight semicircle.
If Tom's heart was beating, he wasn't aware of it. Every nerve and fiber in his body was stretched tight, his focus centered entirely on the dogs. He knew enough not to run or scream. Any sudden sound or movement would only serve to spark a chase-capture-kill instinct among the beasts. He scanned his memory for additional knowledge of dogs, but his experience was limited to the groundskeeper’s sweet-tempered yellow lab. Clearly there was no Bubbles here.
The pack swayed together, their weight shifting from paw to paw, muscles rippling beneath their skin. One dog moved forward. The Alpha male. At least two hundred pounds, Tom thought, taking a silent measure of the beast. His ears were pinned back against his skull, his fangs glistened, his eyes were dark and alert.
Willa tucked Smudge behind her. Porter slowly reached for his dagger and removed it from its sheath. “I’ll take the leader,” he said under his breath. He held the knife out and away from his body, his knuckles white on the grip. “The rest of you run.”
As though somehow understanding Porter’s intent, the Alpha male locked eyes with Porter. He lowered his massive head and bared his fangs. A low, rumbling growl issued from his throat. He flexed his forelegs, ready to pounce.
Willa drew in a sharp breath.
Porter’s fingers tightened around the shaft of his blade.
No, Tom thought. It would never work. The beast was too massive, too powerful. And even if Porter could hold one animal off with his knife, they could never outrun the remaining five members of the pack. He took a step backward, frantically scanning the ground for a weapon of his own. His heel bumped up against one of the enormous root structures they’d been climbing over as they moved through t
he swamp.
Tom wasn’t aware of making a decision. But some part of his brain, fueled by adrenaline and the will to survive, made it for him.
“The roots!” he shouted.
He twisted sideways and shoved Smudge through a gap in the root cage. The boy slipped easily into the hollow web of tangled roots. Willa turned, and after a moment’s confusion, comprehension made it through the fog of terror that held her frozen in place. She leaped through an opening in the twisted roots. Porter hesitated, his mind apparently primed for fight over flight, but a shove from Tom helped him change his mental direction.
Tom and Porter dove head-first into the shelter of twisted roots, barely managing to pull themselves inside when the dogs were upon them.
The beasts could fit their heads through the gaps, but not their massive chests. Their prey escaping, they erupted in an explosion of raw fury. Barking, growling, snarling, shoving their muzzles through the openings in the roots, all teeth and fangs and flying strings of slobber. The dogs came at them from the top and the sides, ripping the air with their frenzied, earsplitting barking.
As Tom lurched backward, the map snagged on a root and was knocked off his shoulder. The Alpha dog caught it in his teeth, his fangs sinking through the parchment. Tom grabbed onto the other end, caught in a brutal game of tug-of-war. About to lose his grip, he swung his leg around to deliver a harsh kick. The dog snapped and nearly bit off his foot.
“The map!” Porter shouted as he shouldered his way beside him. “Don’t let him eat it!”
“I’m trying!” Tom shouted back.
“Try harder!”
The dog gave a tug and the leather parchment inched from Tom’s grip. Porter thrust his knife through the roots, but he couldn’t get the blade close enough to strike.
Suddenly Willa was there. She shoved past Tom and Porter, a small leather pouch in her hand. “Close your eyes!” she shouted. “Don’t breathe!”
Racing With Dragons: The Mapmaker's Sons, Book 1 Page 12