The Vengekeep Prophecies Read online

  DEDICATION

  For my Ma and Da, who encouraged me to pursue what I loved

  • CONTENTS •

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  PART ONE:

  THE CON

  CHAPTER 1: The Festival and the Fire

  CHAPTER 2: The Tapestry

  CHAPTER 3: Apprentice Day

  CHAPTER 4: The Incident at Brassbell Promenade

  CHAPTER 5: Fateskein

  CHAPTER 6: No Escape

  CHAPTER 7: The Second Prophecy

  CHAPTER 8: Quarantine

  CHAPTER 9: Reclaiming Fate

  CHAPTER 10: Into the Catacombs

  PART TWO:

  THE QUEST

  CHAPTER 11: The Search Begins

  CHAPTER 12: Graywillow Market

  CHAPTER 13: An Unlikely Alliance

  CHAPTER 14: Darkraptor Hamlet

  CHAPTER 15: The Dowager

  CHAPTER 16: The Greenhouse

  CHAPTER 17: Escape from Redvalor Castle

  CHAPTER 18: Trouble in Cindervale

  CHAPTER 19: The Missing Mage

  CHAPTER 20: Double Cross

  PART THREE:

  THE PROPHECY

  CHAPTER 21: The Aircaves

  CHAPTER 22: Talian’s Trials

  CHAPTER 23: Xerrus

  CHAPTER 24: Battle at the Bestiary

  CHAPTER 25: Mooncrux

  CHAPTER 26: The Siege of Vengekeep

  CHAPTER 27: Doing What You Have to Do

  CHAPTER 28: The New Apprentice

  About the Author

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  PART ONE

  THE CON

  1

  The Festival and the Fire

  “The best truth is one you make yourself.”

  —The Lymmaris Creed

  Even weeks later, I heard rumors that I had ruined the Festival of the Twins. Which was complete rubbish. I was nowhere near the Festival grounds at the time.

  I was too busy escaping from a house fire. That I’d caused. Accidentally.

  All in all, the weeklong Festival that opened every new year had gotten off to a fantastic start. Four days and nights filled to bursting with merriment, all paling in comparison to the fifth, most jubilant evening of the whole Festival: the night of the Unveiling.

  The entire population of Vengekeep had turned out in Hogar Square to celebrate. Garlands and colored lanterns with magical green-blue flames decorated the tall, gray mordenstone walls surrounding the town-state. Everywhere you looked, people were lining up to compete in singemeat-pie-eating contests or to drink their weight in ashwine before the Unveiling ceremony at sundown.

  Everyone but me and my family. We had a job to do.

  Da and I were the last to arrive at the festivities. If the entire Grimjinx clan had shown up at once, it would have been far too conspicuous. Might have brought the entire Festival to an instant halt, with women clutching their purses and men tightening their money belts. So instead, we spaced out our arrivals to avoid panic. Then we bled into the crowd to make sure everyone knew we were there.

  The Lymmaris Creed, the code by which every thief in the Five Provinces lived, stated, “Let the eyes of another be your ironclad alibi, as your own tongue may only offer rust.” If people could say they’d seen us at the Festival, it would be harder for the stateguard to prove we were involved in anything illegal that might have happened at the same time. Because, after all, how could we be in two places at once?

  After thievery, being in two places at once was a Grimjinx specialty.

  “Look sharp, Son,” Da whispered with a smile as we strolled into the square. I followed his gaze and saw Aronas, captain of the stateguard, marching toward us with a frown I think he reserved just for our family. We saw it at least once a week.

  “Grimjinx,” Aronas said, sneering from Da to me. “I don’t want any trouble tonight.”

  Da gave an obedient nod. “You’ll get no trouble from us here at the Festival, Captain. Right, Jaxter?”

  I snapped to attention. “Absolutely, Da. No trouble at the Festival.”

  Outside the Festival? Well, that was another story.

  We tried to step around him, but the captain moved to block us. He seemed angry. I think it was because, in all the years we’d lived in Vengekeep, he’d never once been able to have us convicted of any crimes. And it wasn’t for lack of trying.

  “I don’t trust you,” Aronas said.

  Da smiled meekly and shrugged. “Enk vessara, enk talmin.”

  Aronas snarled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing,” Da said innocently. “Bit of par-Goblin wisdom.”

  The par-Goblins’ thievery skills were legendary. Thieves everywhere had adopted their dying language as their own. It gave thieves a special way to communicate without being caught in anything they shouldn’t be doing.

  Enk vessara, enk talmin, roughly translated, means: “You can’t convict what you can’t confirm.” It had unofficially become our family motto. A reminder that the only thing harder than pulling off a good bit of thievery was ensuring no one could prove a thing.

  Aronas peered down at my waist. “What are those?”

  Twelve forest green pouches, each cinched tight with a drawstring, dangled from my belt. I leaned in and peered at Aronas over the top of my silver-framed glasses and hit him with my sauciest stare. “Are you a mite jealous, Captain? I can see why. They’re very handy for carrying this and that around. My mother made these for me. I bet if you asked her nicely, she’d make you a set too.”

  Aronas ground his teeth and gave us each another stony look before turning back and storming through the crowd. Da tossed him a smile and a nod as he left. Then Da leaned to me and said quietly, “You know what to do.”

  Da made his way to the hammer toss competition while I moved closer to the stage in the center of the square. As the sun set in the distance, the stateguard were busy lighting dozens of torches. From atop the stage, Castellan Jorn—the town-state’s chief magistrate—barked orders. A rotund man with fleshy pancakes for cheeks, Jorn had been Castellan of Vengekeep since before I was born, a position that answered only to the High Laird of the Five Provinces himself. He loved his power almost as much as he loved his wealth. With a bit of luck, I’d be relieving him of a bit of the latter tonight.

  Next to Jorn stood a tall, thin man in burgundy and black robes, designating him a mage. Tradition stated that Vengekeep’s town-state mage presided over the Unveiling with the Castellan. Sadly, Lotha, our mage, had passed away recently. His apprentice, a young man named Talian, was currently off in Tarana Province taking the Trials that would allow him to serve as the new town-state mage. In the meantime, the Palatinate—the order of mages who worked for the High Laird to govern and police the use of magic—had sent a member of their Lordcourt to assist Jorn. I gave the mage a wave. He offered a puzzled grimace in return.

  As Jorn yelled at his workers, he froze when he saw me grinning up from the edge of the stage. I curtsied. He scowled and turned away, taking his frustration out on an unlucky stateguard standing nearby. I felt bad for the soldier Jorn was yelling at. But it wasn’t my fault that Jorn, like Aronas, couldn’t prove the Grimjinx clan responsible for any of the burglaries, swindles, or thefts that had plagued Vengekeep for years. Oh, he knew we’d committed every last one but …

  Enk vessara, enk talmin.

  My job was done: Jorn knew we were here. I looked around until I spotted Ma at her assigned station near the drinking well. She was playing with the ebony braid that spilled down over the front of her shoulder, smiling a patient smile while listening to the widow
Bellatin ramble on about who knew what. Ma glanced at me only briefly. I touched my finger to my temple and she casually did the same.

  Turning, I spotted Nanni near the food area. My silver-haired grandmother hunched over a boiling kettle, where she sold bread bowls filled with singemeat stew to the Festival-goers. When she looked my way, we both touched our temples and went about our business.

  I felt a tug at my sleeve. Looking down, I found the bright eyes and gap-toothed smile of my ten-year-old sister, Aubrin. She winked, tossing back the thick red hair she’d inherited from Da. I winked too. She pulled her apron pocket open, revealing a treasure trove of fob watches, purses, and bracelets. Crowds of shoulder-to-shoulder people like this were the very lifeblood of pickpockets. Just two years younger than me, Aubrin was proving to be the best pickpocket in our family.

  “Bangers, Jinxface!” I said approvingly. She’d been trained well: only target people with copper or silver braiding on their clothes. They were the ones who could afford to lose a watch or coin purse.

  Aubrin giggled at my nickname for her, touched her temple, then darted into the crowd to see what else she could score. I looked up in time to see Da and Ma making their way to the entrance of Prender Alley, which separated the bakery from the funeral parlor. Ducking between people, I joined them.

  Ma licked her palm and ran it over my head to smooth out the wild cowlicks. “Are you excited, Jaxter?” she asked, beaming with pride.

  I nodded, fearing that if I said anything, I’d throw up and betray how terrified I actually was. I’d assisted Da on dozens of burglaries, but tonight … tonight, I was going solo. Oh, Da would be there if I got in a pinch, but the hard work was all on me.

  “Citizens of Vengekeep!” Jorn’s growly voice rang out over the din of the Festival. The Castellan spoke into a mammoth cone atop a stand on the stage. “The Unveiling ceremony will begin in one half hour.” Cheers went up from all around.

  “That’s our cue,” Da said, kissing Ma playfully on the cheek. “Do tell us if anything interesting happens.”

  Ma grinned a grin that told me she knew more than she was letting on. “Oh, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Ma melted back into the crowd as Da and I ducked into the alley. We wove through the deserted side streets of Vengekeep, sticking to the shadows to avoid the occasional stateguard on patrol. As the noise of the Festival became a distant buzz, we emerged into the plaza outside the town-state hall. Across the way stood the Castellan’s house, a beautiful two-story mansion where no expense had been spared to let anyone who looked at it know that an important man lived there.

  We nipped around to the back, which faced the fortified wall on Vengekeep’s east side. Night had fully set in, cloaking us in darkness. Taking a deep breath, I knelt at the back door and squinted at the lock, barely visible in the light from both moons above.

  “I really want to light a candle,” I muttered, fumbling with my belt.

  Da shook his head. “Too risky. You know that.”

  Yes, I knew that. Didn’t stop me from wanting to light a candle.

  I pulled a small leather pouch from the underside of my belt and opened it to reveal a shiny set of lockpicks, a gift from Ma and Da a few months ago on my twelfth birthday. I carefully selected three pins, but when I went to insert them into the lock, Da stopped me.

  “Ah,” he said with a smile, “what are we forgetting? What do we know about Jorn?”

  Where most parents taught their children the alphabet at a young age, some of my earliest memories were of Ma and Da teaching me to observe people. From weeks of watching Jorn in preparation for tonight, I could deduce how far he’d go to protect himself from being robbed. It was one thieving skill I excelled at.

  I closed my eyes and summoned all I knew about him. Well, Jorn was a blowhard. He was self-important. He was moderately wealthy. And he was deeply suspicious. Which made him an excellent candidate to have …

  I touched the copper trim of the lock. It vibrated slightly, just enough to tickle my fingertip.

  “Magically sealed,” I announced.

  “Well, then, we picked the right man for this job, didn’t we?” Da nudged me with his elbow.

  Smiling, I pulled a tattered leather book, the size of my palm, from where I kept it tucked in my belt. The weathered letters on the cover said The Kolohendriseenax Formulary. I thumbed to the first of many dog-eared pages and squinted to read the text in the scant moonlight.

  “Right,” I said. Following the Formulary’s instructions, I opened two of the pouches on my belt. From the first, I pulled two pinches of amberberry pollen, which I cupped into the palm of my left hand. From the other pouch, I took a small vial filled with oskaflower honey, which I added drop by drop to the pollen. I mixed the ingredients together with my finger until they became a thick, blue paste, which I quickly spread on the outside of the lock. Using my picks, I pressed some paste into the lock and waited. When I touched it again, the lock was still. I smiled.

  “Bangers!” Da whispered.

  With the magical seal neutralized, I slipped my pins into the lock and went to work on the tumblers inside. My hands shook the entire time. Someone who didn’t know me would have assumed I was nervous. But the truth behind my trembling was something far more ominous. A thief’s worst nightmare.

  The Grimjinx clan was one of the oldest thieving families in the Five Provinces, if not the oldest. Two of the revered Seven master thieves who wrote the Lymmaris Creed were my ancestors. My great-great grandfather plundered the onyx sepulchre of Mithos. My father and mother were, respectively, the greatest living burglar and forger. Generations of cunning, guile, and agility should have distilled into me, making me the perfect thief.

  Instead, I was a complete klutz.

  This, a simple Class 1 Armbruster house lock, would have taken Da less than five seconds to trip. Me, I was still fumbling with it ten minutes later. But Da never once got impatient. He stood aside to make sure I had as much moonlight as possible.

  “Zoc!” I muttered as the picks slipped from my fingers for the fourth time.

  Da tsked. “Don’t let your ma hear you use that kind of language. Concentrate. Try again.”

  I retrieved my picks and maneuvered them inside the barrel of the lock. When the door finally clicked to let me know I’d succeeded, Da clapped me on the back.

  “Excellent, Son,” he said. “We can, er, work on your timing later. After you.”

  We entered and stood for several moments to get our bearings. The silhouettes of the furniture seemed almost indistinguishable from the rest of the darkness. We made our way down a narrow hall to the staircase at the center of the house.

  “We need to be especially careful,” Da said, eyes darting everywhere. “Jorn can afford enchanted protections, more powerful than the spell on the back door. Be on the lookout for yellstops or any other traps.”

  I nodded. My right hand hovered close to the Formulary, ready for trouble.

  “Okay, what next?” Da asked. This was my burglary. I’d been planning it for weeks, watching Jorn and trying to deduce where he might hide his valuables.

  “For this,” I said slowly, “we start in his bedroom. He’d want to keep it close by at all times.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Da said. “Lead the way.”

  We trod carefully up the stairs until we located Jorn’s bedroom at the end of another long hall. Inside, we found a huge four-poster bed with thick, silk curtains on all sides, an antique writing desk, and a bureau that nearly reached the ceiling.

  “Next?” Da asked, smiling to show his complete faith in me.

  My mind raced. There was probably a safe behind the painting on the far wall. But that was most likely for cash. No, what we were looking for would be closer to Jorn....

  I knelt at the bedside and thrust my arm between the mattresses, feeling around until my fingers found something cool and hard. I pulled out a long, thin box made of dark wood. Da’s eyes lit up.

  “That m
ust be it,” he said as we moved to the moonlight near the window.

  I went to work on the box’s lock and, again, it took several minutes when it should have taken mere seconds. But finally, the lid popped open, revealing a bronze, jewel-encrusted flute within. Jorn had been bragging for months to anyone who’d listen about how he’d purchased the flute that had once belonged to the great musician-sculptor Anara Hamwith. Worth thousands of silvernibs, he boasted. And as my second cousin twice removed, Vellinda Grimjinx, always said, “Boasters reap a harvest of loss.”

  In other words, loudmouths deserve to have their pretty flutes stolen.

  Da retrieved a cloth hidden under his shirt. From inside, he pulled another flute and held the two up to the scant moonlight. Absolutely identical in every way. Ma’s skills as a forger were second to none. This one was especially impressive. She’d made it based solely on sketches in old books. But she’d gotten every detail perfect. It would fool Jorn long enough for us to sell the real flute far from town.

  Outside, we heard a distant cry and applause. “That’ll be the Unveiling ceremony starting,” Da noted with a sniff. “Which means we have a bit of time.” He tucked the real flute under his shirt while I placed the box—now containing the fake—between the mattresses.

  “Might as well see what else we can get away with while we’re here,” he said with a wink. “Find yourself a souvenir of your first solo heist. Oh, your ma and Nanni will be so proud. You check around here, I’ll nip across to the library for a look-see.”