Tom obeyed, but not in time. A cloud of hot burning air filled his lungs. He heard Porter gasp and wheeze beside him. A pepper powder of some sort, he realized. His eyes watered and his vision blurred. The Alpha dog gave a yelp of pain and abruptly released the map, sending Tom flying.
He landed with a thud and scooted backward on his hands and feet, moving like a crab that had been flipped over. He bumped into Smudge, who was tucked in a tight ball, shrinking himself into as small a space as possible. Willa crouched down low beside him, her arm draped protectively over the boy. The dogs swarmed around them, pawing frantically at the roots, thrusting their snouts through the gaps.
“Do you have any more of that powder?” he shouted, his voice barely carrying over the din of the barking.
“No!”
Porter leaned forward. “Now what do we do?”
Tom’s gaze shot around their shelter. The root structure twisted away to his right and left, forming what appeared to be a tangled maze through the swamp. One cage connected to another, creating an above-ground tunnel of sorts.
The Alpha dog grabbed a root and cracked it in his massive jaws. He thrust his neck inside, lunging toward Smudge. The beast's rancid breath sprayed their faces. Tom’s heart stalled. Within a matter of minutes, with concentrated effort, the dogs would chew and claw their way into the cage. If they wanted to survive, they had to move.
“That way!” he shouted.
The cage ceiling was too low to allow them to stand and run upright. Even Smudge had to run crouched down in a half-crawl position, scrambling madly to get away from the dogs. The frenzied beasts kept pace on the outside of the root maze, furiously barking, testing for ways to wedge themselves inside.
They followed the twisting, turning course of the maze, racing blindly through the swamp. Eventually the ceiling of the tunnel grew higher, allowing them all to run standing upright. Tom moved faster than he ever had in his life. The dogs raced beside them on the outside of the tunnel. The beasts worked themselves into a fit of rabid fury, snapping and snarling through the gaps in the roots.
Tom wheeled blindly around a corner. He skidded to a stop, barely managing to avoid slamming into a solid rock wall. Porter, Willa, and Smudge barreled in behind, piling against him.
They’d reached a dead end.
A wall of solid rock cut off the root maze. The cliff stretched as far as Tom could see, blocking out the swamp completely.
He doubled over, dragging in painful gulps of air. His sides ached. His throat felt like it was on fire, but whether that was from Willa’s powder or the running, he couldn’t tell.
“Got to go back,” Porter managed. “Follow the tunnel the other way.”
“Can’t . . . run,” Willa wheezed, on her knees as she gasped for breath. Her face was pale and blotchy, her breath coming in ragged gulps. It occurred to Tom that she’d taken in far more of the pepper powder than either he or Porter had.
Tom opened his mouth to speak, then abruptly closed it. He became aware of two things at once: the look of horror on Smudge’s face, and the utter silence that surrounded them. The dogs were no longer barking and growling.
Following Smudge’s terrified gaze, he wheeled around. The dogs hadn’t given up and gone away. They’d reached the same dead end. But their solution was both awful and ingenious. The dogs were frantically digging. Their massive paws plowing aside the dirt, their muzzles poking up on the inside of the cage. Within minutes, perhaps seconds, they’d be in the cage with them.
Horror flooded Tom. They were about to be torn apart. Trapped inside a cage with a pack of savage dogs.
His gaze shot around the tunnel. A small gap between the roots that formed the ceiling caught his eye. That was it. They couldn’t outrun the dogs. They couldn’t outfight the dogs. But they could outclimb them.
“There!” he shouted. “Up! Now!”
Tom grabbed Smudge and half-shoved, half-lifted the boy toward Porter. Porter held him up until Smudge had grabbed the topmost root and squirmed through the opening. Tom gave Willa a knee up, sending her through after Smudge. They didn’t waste time arguing over who should go next. Tom cupped his hands and gave Porter a boost. Porter shinnied through the opening—tight, but he made it—then flipped over onto his belly and reached his hand through to pull Tom up.
Willa and Smudge had already begun their ascent up the face of the cliff. Tom grabbed a handhold and pulled himself up, Porter right beside him. They’d barely gained their footing when frantic barking rang out.
The dogs had caught on. They scrambled up the roots and lunged for Tom’s ankles, missing his heel by mere inches. The dogs hurled themselves against the solid rock, their mouths foaming, tumbling over one another in a futile effort to scale the wall. Hands trembling, Tom forced himself to concentrate on the climb, putting one hand above the other and pulling himself up.
His body took over, climbing without conscious thought or effort. Then it hit him. He could do this. Years of scaling the rooftops at the Lost Academy had given him that. Climbing came naturally to him.
But that wasn’t true for anyone else. He glanced over at Willa, who was fixed to the rock-face of the cliff as though frozen there. Rather than looking up for her next handhold, her terrified gaze was locked on the pack of snarling dogs below.
“Don’t look at them.” Tom scaled across to her side. “Look at me, Willa.”
She gave a wild shake of her head. “Can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Look at me.” He waited a beat, then said it again, harsher this time. “Look at me, Willa!”
She dragged her eyes to his.
“Good. There you go. That’s better already, isn’t it?”
She gave a quick nod, her fear never leaving her face. He remembered her skill with her rope. Her confession that she was terrified of heights.
He softened his tone. “Okay. You’re doing great, but we’ve got to keep climbing—”
“I can’t move! I’m stuck! There’s nowhere for me to go!”
Tom surveyed her position and saw she had caught herself in a crevice that afforded no upward hold. “That’s all right,” he said. “No problem. You just need to climb down a bit—”
“No! The dogs!”
“The dogs can’t reach you, Willa. I promise. Watch, I’ll go down a bit and they won’t get me. See? You don’t even have to come that low. Just follow me.”
Step-by-step he walked her through the process of releasing and grabbing holds until she felt secure enough to climb on her own. He moved on next to Smudge, then Porter, finding the safest handholds, the sturdiest footholds. They paused to rest here and there, clinging to the rock wall like bugs flattened against a windshield. Their shadows lengthened. Inch-by-inch they dragged themselves up the cliff, each transfer of weight a struggle.
Finally they reached the top. Tom hurled himself over the cliff edge, grabbed Willa and pulled her up after him. He reached for Smudge’s hand to give him a tug up. Before he could reach him, he heard the sharp sound of ripping cloth. A silver object tumbled from Smudge’s pocket. The boy lunged to catch it. He grabbed it in his fist and gave a victorious smile, but his victory was short-lived. The rock beneath him cracked at his sudden motion, sending him skidding downward and crashing into Porter.
Knocked off-balance, Porter and Smudge tumbled down the face of the cliff, scraping jagged rock as they fell.
Unable to reach them, Tom watched, his mouth dry, his pulse roaring in his ears. Beside him, Willa released a horrified cry. Together they watched, helpless, as their friends slid down the cliff, plummeting toward the frenzied dogs below. Certain death—if the fall didn’t kill them first. Finally Porter found a hold. He lunged for Smudge and caught him by his collar, trapping him against the rock wall with his body. For a long moment they hugged the cliff, neither one moving.
Finally, apparently somewhat recovered, Porter began to climb. He sent Smudge ahead of him and followed the boy up the remainder of the cliff. Tom caught Smudge’s arm and pu
lled him up, then reached for Porter and gave him a hand.
They tumbled onto a grassy ledge and rolled flat on their backs, staring up at the sky. Tom’s breath came hard, his heart hammered in his chest. His fingertips bled. Every muscle in his body ached.
After a beat, Smudge rolled over onto his side. He smiled and waved his clenched fist. “I saved it,” he announced. “I didn’t lose it!”
Willa looked at the boy. “What?”
“This.” He opened his fist to display the oval piece of metal engraved with the letters STH. “It spilled out when my pocket tore, but I caught it.”
“That’s what you lunged for?” Porter, his forehead bruised and bleeding, rolled over to look at him. His expression darkened like the coming of a storm. “You nearly killed us both for that? That stupid, worthless piece of metal?”
“It’s not a stupid piece of metal!”
“Sebastian Tiny Hufflemoose?! Simon Troll Head?! That priceless bit of nonsense?”
Smudge, who’d withstood the battle with The Watch, the attack of the swamp dogs, and scaling a sheer cliff wall, suddenly looked near collapse. “My father left it for me! He said it was important! That I wasn’t to lose it! He said this is who I was!”
Willa moved to the boy’s side and draped her arm over his shoulder. She glared at Porter. “Don’t you yell at him!”
Porter’s pale brows shot upward. “Me?! Yell at him? I just saved his ungrateful little life. All because he wouldn’t lose a worthless scrap of tin. I suppose this is how you thank me.”
“Thank you?! If you hadn’t insisted we—”
“Hey! That’s enough,” Tom said, coming between them. “We made it. All of us. We’re alive. That’s all that matters.” His words seemed to sink in, for Willa and Porter gave a curt nod and backed up a step.
Uneasy silence settled between them. Tom’s thoughts reverted back to the argument that the dogs had interrupted. The awful discovery that his purpose here wasn’t just to find Hyster, but to reclaim the Sword of Five Kingdoms and defeat Keegan. A big ask. Possible with a ferocious dragon fighting their battle, but still. He wondered what other information his brother had withheld. Then his thoughts stumbled onto something Umbrey had said.
“We’ve got until our thirteenth birthday to find the dragon. That’s what Umbrey told me. Why? What’s with the time cut-off?”
“As a safety measure, the portal you passed through won’t last long. It will be permanently sealed once our thirteenth birthday passes.”
In other words, in less than forty-eight hours, Tom would be trapped there forever. Which meant they had no time to argue over what he’d been told. Or more to the point—what he hadn’t been told. If he held any hope at all of getting home, they had to keep moving.
He pulled out the map and unrolled it. Aside from a few rips in one corner from the Alpha dog’s fangs, stains from goat droppings, and smears from a dip in the gator pit, it was miraculously intact. He scanned their surroundings. The cliff was to their left; a dark wood loomed to their right.
“If we followed the route we planned at Willa’s, we’d be in a meadow right now. Obviously we’ve gone off course. Let’s figure out where we are and plot the quickest way forward.”
His brother nodded. Tom placed his bloody fingertips on one edge of the map. Porter did the same. The sun was setting, giving them precious little time and light. Fortunately, it didn’t take long. As the map came to life, a twisted path through a dark wood glowed on the parchment, eerily beckoning them forward. Their location was immediately apparent. They’d scaled the Cliffs of No Return.
The only way to reach Hyster now was to travel directly through the Miserable Forest.
Heart of Djembe territory.
Incredibly, after all they’d been through, the worst was yet to come.
Chapter Sixteen
UMBREY EARNS HIS COIN
Keegan strode from his private chamber onto the broad marble balcony which adjoined his room. Moonlight flooded the grounds beneath him. Ignoring the sergeant-at-arms who had been waiting for over an hour to speak to him, he rested his hands on the cool marble rail and studied the group training in the courtyard below.
Fifty men. Aside from his own personal squad, this was the most elite force The Watch had ever produced. They moved through their drills with brutal efficiency, their tall black boots slapping the cobblestones, black capes whooshing through the air. The all-seeing red eyes, clasped at the shoulder of each cape, pierced the moonlight.
He glanced over his shoulder, nodding at a valet who waited in the shadows. The valet, a darkly beautiful woman draped in a long black gown, stepped forward carrying a silver tray, upon which rested a pair of crystal goblets and a bottle of wine. She filled a glass with Keegan’s private vintage and silently passed it to him. He nodded his approval and took the bottle, then indicated that the woman should leave.
He sipped his wine and watched the men drill. He said, “The Watch will be ready tomorrow night?”
“Yes, Sire.” The sergeant stepped forward slightly, then hesitated. “But, Sire, perhaps we should prepare for other contingencies. After all, the dragon has been missing for hundreds of years. Might I suggest we—”
“You might suggest nothing.”
“Of course. My apologies. Given the importance of the creature, I was only concerned—”
“Given the importance of the creature, do you truly believe I would let its fate rest in the hands of the incompetent fools who surround me?” Keegan tightened his fingers around the stem of his goblet. “I have made the necessary arrangements. There will be no failure. The dragon will be delivered to me by this time tomorrow night.”
“Your faith in me is truly touching,” said a voice from across the balcony. A lone man stepped from the shadows and moved toward them. “Good evening, gentlemen.”
Keegan turned, eyeing him coolly. “You’re late. I trust everything is going according to plan?”
“Of course. Exactly as you desired.”
The man stepped forward, his peg leg rapping softly against Keegan’s carpet.
“The mapmaker’s sons suspect nothing?”
“How could they? I’ve been the model of care and concern. Appearing in the bell tower in the nick of time to save Tom, and then ensuring he and Porter escape the evil clutches of you and your men in the warehouse.” Umbrey paused, giving Keegan a small bow. “With all due respect, Sire.”
“You should have gone with them.”
Umbrey shook his head. He reached for a goblet and poured himself a generous serving of wine. He drank deeply. “I would have only slowed them down. I’ll be here to receive them when they return. That’s all that matters.”
Keegan frowned and looked out into the dark night. “You’re certain they will find the creature?”
“If the prophecy is to be believed, they are the two to find it.”
The prevarication was not lost on Keegan. “You don’t believe the dragon exists.”
“On the contrary.” Umbrey reached to refill his glass, but Keegan removed the bottle from his grasp. Umbrey gave a deferential nod and continued. “I believe Hyster will firmly settle the question of who is the rightful ruler of the Five Kingdoms.”
Indeed. Of late, Keegan’s men had been bothered by pesky uprisings, outcroppings of resistance to his iron rule. Naturally The Watch had quashed such rebellions, and yet they continued to grow. Like a simmering pot whose flame he could not control. It was shocking. Outrageous. But it would end soon. With Hyster at his bidding, those who defied him would be punished, as would their families and their entire villages. Dark days were at hand, but they’d brought it upon themselves. No mercy would be shown.
He reached inside his pocket and removed a small silk pouch. For weeks he’d kept the stones locked in his desk drawer. But of late he hadn’t been able to resist the temptation of carrying them with him at all times.
“Five simple stones,” he said, spreading them carefully over a highly polished t
able. “Some men look at them and think they are worthless.” He removed a golden sword from his belt and carefully placed each stone in its place on the hilt. When the last stone was fit in, the sword took on an unearthly glow. Keegan held it up to be admired, watching it glint in the torchlight. “Other men—those who know the legend of Varrick’s sword—see the power to rule the world. What do you see, my one-legged friend?”
“I, Sire, am a practical man. I do not see stones at all. Nor a sword. I see opportunity. I did not ask for a pair of mewling babes to be born in my presence, but since they were, why should I not benefit from the situation? As I hope to grow old one day, why not make that age a vastly more comfortable one?”
A cynical smile touched Keegan’s lips. “You see money.”
“That was our bargain, was it not?”
“All those years you pretended to be a trusted friend to the mapmaker, yet now you betray his sons.”
“Some opportunities don’t allow for sentimentality.” Umbrey released a dramatic sigh. “A shame, but who am I to question the way fate works?”
Keegan studied him for a long moment, then nodded to the sergeant, who removed a velvet pouch from his vest pocket and tossed it on the table. Heavy gold coins spilled across its surface.
Umbrey reached for the money, but Keegan covered the coins with his hand. His long, talon-like nails scraped the table. “You understand what will happen if you fail to deliver.”
A look of mock horror filled Umbrey’s features. “May I be stripped naked before a crowd of thousands and roasted alive over a bed of burning coals.”
“A colorful fantasy, but one I’m afraid I won’t be able to indulge. Too much trouble. Should you fail, I’ll simply have my men slit your throat. Slowly. Perhaps I’ll have them use this very sword to perform the task.”
Umbrey inclined his head. “There will be no need for that. The brothers trust me. Everything is going exactly as planned. They will do whatever I tell them. The mapmaker’s sons will personally deliver Hyster to you.”
Racing With Dragons: The Mapmaker's Sons, Book 1 Page 13