The Shadowhand Covenant Read online

I hit the ground, the air rushing from my lungs. Head spinning from the impact, I looked around to find Maloch sprawled out next to me, shaking his head.

  “What are you doing in the alley?” he asked.

  I looked up and noticed that my second-floor bedroom window was open.

  “What are you doing jumping out of windows?” I said back to him.

  Maloch crawled around on his hands and knees, retrieving the contents from his backpack, which had spilled all over the alley.

  “Should have known better than to trust a Grimjinx,” he growled, shoving a length of rope, a grappling hook, and a sextant into his pack. “If no one else will help me, I’ll find my da myself.” He tugged at his sleeve to conceal the small silver dagger in a sheath on his forearm.

  I leaped to my feet to block him from leaving the alley. Not that there was anything I could do if he chose to push past me. But I like to think it looked valiant.

  “Steady on, Maloch. It’s like Ma and Da said, we have no clue where he might be—”

  “I don’t give a zoc what your parents said!” Maloch said loudly. “They’ve got their way of searching, I’ve got mine.”

  He shoved me with his shoulder and stormed out into the streets as night fell on Vengekeep. The way I saw it, I had three choices. Choice One: continue with my original plan, track down my parents, and join them on their quest to warn the Shadowhands. Choice Two: find Nanni and hope that she could help me convince Maloch to stay and leave things to my parents. Either of these would have been safe, sane things to do.

  So why did I go with Choice Three: follow Maloch and try to stop him myself?

  I broke into a sprint to catch up with him. “This is completely naff-nut, Maloch. You have no idea where to start looking.”

  Maloch only walked faster to keep ahead. “Da was on his way to the village of Skona. I’ll start there.”

  “Yeah,” I said, practically running to keep up with him, “but you don’t even know if he made it to Skona. Look, Ma and Da are looking for the remaining Shadowhands. They’ve got more practice tracking people down than anyone. They’ll find your da.”

  “The only person I can rely on to find my da is me.”

  We turned to find a lamplighter touching her flaming pole to one of the oil lamps that dotted every street corner. When she looked our way, Maloch darted between two buildings. I leaped after him, crouched in total darkness. Once the lamplighter had moved on, Maloch slipped back onto the street and I followed.

  “Go home, Jaxter,” Maloch said. “You’re not coming with me.”

  I laughed. “I’m not planning on going anywhere with you, you garfluk. I wouldn’t if you asked me.”

  “Well, I’m not asking.”

  “Well, I’m not going. I’m trying to get you to be sensible and come back with me.”

  He chuckled. “Not a chance.”

  Suddenly, he stopped. Not watching where I was going, I ran into him and fell to the ground. “Not nice,” I said, picking myself up.

  He looked side to side, then took off walking again, faster than ever.

  I raced to catch up. “If you don’t slow down and listen, I can’t tell you all the great reasons to stay—”

  “We’re being followed,” he said, pulling me closer. I quickened my pace and searched for our pursuers. “Don’t look around, you idiot!”

  He was right. Looking around was conspicuous. Amateur mistake . . . and he didn’t make it. I did.

  Have I mentioned that I hated the idea he was a better thief than me?

  He bobbed his head to the left. “Two of ’em. In the shadows behind us.”

  I shot the quickest of glances, and sure enough, I spotted two hunched figures jumping from shadow to shadow, staying close.

  “This way,” Maloch said as he pulled us down another alley. The farther we went, the darker it got. We’d only made it about halfway down the alley when a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out ahead to block our exit. Whirling around, I saw that our two pursuers were now guarding the entrance.

  The shadows in the alley started to stir. Four . . . then five . . . soon, eight men had emerged from the darkness and formed a circle around us. It was a trap. They’d intentionally let Maloch know they were following and steered us down this alley on purpose.

  The idea that maybe Maloch wasn’t such a brilliant thief after all gave me little comfort as the eight men advanced slowly.

  I stepped away from the alley’s entrance until my back met Maloch’s. From the corner of my eye, I saw him raise his arms, so I threw up my own hands in surrender. I looked again to see that Maloch had his fists up. He wasn’t giving up. He wanted to fight.

  “Oh, zoc,” I swore, bringing my hands down to chest level and making the most pathetic fists ever. “You know, there’s no shame in screaming like babies for help.”

  “No way,” Maloch said, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

  Our attackers appeared weaponless. They were tall and lean, dressed in tattered clothes, long hair pulled back into tails. “Who are they?”

  “If someone’s after Shadowhands,” Maloch said, “they might be going after the families too.”

  Oh. So they were here for Maloch. My Grimjinx survival instinct kicked in. But before I could even step aside and say, “He’s all yours,” the men charged at us.

  My right hand dove into a pouch on my hip. I pulled out a handful of powdered roxpepper seeds and threw it in the face of the man closest to me. His head pitched back as he howled in pain. I couldn’t blame him. His eyes would sting for a week. You don’t mess with roxpepper.

  Before I could grab more from my pouch, two sets of hands squeezed my arms and yanked me forward. I struggled, thrashing around and trying to stomp on their bare feet. But I weighed next to nothing, and keeping me subdued wasn’t a problem.

  Maloch, however, was another story. As an apprentice to the stateguard, he’d been trained in kioro, the ancient Satyran fighting art, and it showed. Maloch whirled and spun, throwing fists and kicks in every direction, most of them landing with more force than I imagine these guys thought a twelve-year-old could muster. It was actually kind of impressive. Not that I’d tell him that.

  Maloch managed to hold his own until five of them attacked him all at once. They wrestled him to the ground, and Maloch went down fighting. I opened my mouth to try plan B—the screaming-like-a-baby idea—but someone clamped a wet rag over my face. The earthy smell of camma bark infused in seris oil overwhelmed me, and I gasped in panic. According to the Formulary, the combination made a powerful sleeping draught. Gasping was a mistake. The heady aroma sent my head spinning. I was out cold a moment later.

  5

  Underground

  “The friendlier the smile, the deeper the cut.”

  —Ancient par-Goblin proverb

  When I awoke, I drew a deep breath in through my nose and found my nostrils filled with dirt. My head throbbed. I pushed my glasses, which were dangling from the tip of my nose, as far up as they could go. It took a moment for my vision to clear. My mouth was completely dry. I knew to expect this after waking from a camma bark and seris oil infusion. Even so, I chose to blame Maloch for how awful I felt. It seemed right.

  Sitting up, I dug what dirt I could out of my nose and looked around. The round room was made entirely of earth. Underground, I thought. The black ceiling, walls, and floor glimmered with an eerie purple glow as pinpricks of light burned like tiny stars all around.

  Not a good sign.

  When I stood, a rush of dizziness nearly sent me to my knees. I reached out and touched the wall, which felt soft and moist. Pulling back my hand, I sniffed my fingertips. They smelled vaguely of warm mangmilk.

  Definitely not a good sign. The sooner I got out of here—wherever here was—the better.

  I took two steps and tripped. For once, it wasn’t my fault. In the dim light, I’d failed to notice Maloch in a lump next to me.

  Thick rope bound his wrists to his ankles. A dirty rag had be
en shoved into his mouth. He didn’t look comfortable. I guessed that from the way he was wincing.

  “Sorry, did I kick you when I tripped?” I asked, pushing myself up to all fours. “Well, might not be so bad if I did. I owe you a kick or two for everything you’ve done to me over the years. Maybe three.” I surveyed the scene. Just a few steps away, an opening led from the chamber to a tunnel where more purple light, embedded in the walls, sparkled. This appeared to be the only way out. “How long have you been awake?”

  Maloch began squirming. He was muttering, which I guessed was really cursing. I listened for evidence we were being guarded. I heard nothing.

  “No guard. No door to block our escape. Too easy, wouldn’t you say, Maloch?” I took a cautious step toward the entrance, scooped up a handful of purple sparkling dirt, and tossed it over the threshold. Nothing happened. “Still could be booby-trapped, I suppose. What do you think?”

  Maloch had stopped thrashing around and was now screaming full volume into his gag.

  “You know, Maloch, I like you this way: quiet. Well, not exactly quiet. But ‘nonverbal’ is definitely an improvement.” If he could have, he’d have murdered me with his eyes. His grunting became a steady, low, dangerous roar. I sighed. “Still, as much as I hate to say this, we’re sort of stuck together here, and we won’t get very far if we can’t talk.”

  I yanked the rag from his mouth. He sucked in a massive breath, then spent a few moments heaving and coughing.

  “I’m going . . . to pound you . . . you little zochead . . . ,” he sputtered, his voice hoarse from all the restrained screaming.

  I shook my head and tsked. “Not a persuasive argument for me to untie you.”

  “Why did they tie me up and not you?” he asked.

  I held up my hands and ticked off the reasons. “You’re disagreeable, you kicked several of them in the head, you’re ornery, you called some of their mothers terrible names, you smell funny—that might not be a reason for tying you up, but I thought it worth mentioning—and, if your theory is right, you’re the son of a Shadowhand and very valuable to them.”

  “Then untie me before they check in on us.”

  I examined the ropes. “Every time you move, you make the knots tighter. I need something to cut through them.” I kicked around in the dirt, hoping to find a sharp-edged stone.

  Maloch smacked his lips. “Do you see any water? I’m thirsty.”

  “That’ll be the aftereffects of the sleeping draught. I’m thirsty too. And hungry.” I reached for my copy of The Kolohendriseenax Formulary, which I kept on my belt with my pouches, only to discover that all three—belt, book, and pouches—were missing. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to recall what the book said about camma bark/seris oil infusion. “It’s a pretty potent sleeping draught. My guess is we could have been out for as long as a day. Maybe a little longer.”

  “Yeah, that’s fascinating. Now untie me!”

  I’ll admit: I was taking my time. Maloch had spent two years tormenting me. I didn’t mind seeing him helpless for a change. But truthfully, the purple, twinkling glow all around us worried me far more than I’d let on. We needed to leave quickly.

  I knelt over him and wormed my fingers into the knots. “Listen, we have to be careful. The thing about these caves is—”

  From behind, in the direction of our only exit, I heard voices. Our captors were coming. I tugged as hard as I could at the ropes, but the knots wouldn’t budge.

  “Move away from him or I’ll cut out your liver!”

  I turned slowly, hands in the air. Two figures stepped into the cave. They were dressed like the men who’d attacked us: ragged vests and tattered pants that cut off at the knees. The taller, a girl about my age, held out a serrated dagger at arm’s length. Her hair was short and spiky, and her dark skin glistened with sweat. Her fierce stare told me that if I so much as looked at Maloch’s ropes, she’d follow through on the threat she’d just made.

  I smiled. “Happy to. That way, your knife can stay clean, my innards can stay . . . in, where they belong. Everyone wins.”

  Based on the strong resemblance, I guessed that the small boy with her, who looked to be around Aubrin’s age, was her brother. His hair gathered in curls that gripped his head tightly. His eyes, big and wide, didn’t blink. It was very creepy.

  Instead of a weapon, the boy held a large clay bowl filled with clear liquid. At a nod from his sister, he stepped forward and laid the bowl at my feet, then scooped up a small cup full of the liquid and handed it to me.

  “Now is not the time to think, now it is the time to drink!” he said in a remarkably low voice.

  “Uh . . . right,” I said, taking the cup. I swirled the liquid around and gave it a sniff. It certainly seemed like water. I tried to forget everything the Lymmaris Creed—the ancient code by which all thieves lived—said about drinking with your enemies. It said a lot and none of it good. But why poison me if they could have killed me in my sleep? So I gulped it down. The water had a hint of sweetness.

  Before I could thank him, the boy snatched the cup away, filled it up again, and knelt near Maloch.

  My ex-friend sneered. “You’re a complete naff-nut if you think I’m drinking even a drop of that!”

  The girl rushed forward and stood directly over Maloch. “Everyone drinks at First Rise. It’s our way. You will not insult our way.” She poked the side of his head with the tip of her dagger, making Maloch yelp.

  The boy held up his hand, as if to calm his sister. He closed his eyes and said, “Let the weapon go today, he will drink another way.” With that, he stomped on Maloch’s foot. Maloch yowled in pain. In that moment, the boy shoved the cup forward and poured the water into Maloch’s mouth.

  Maloch gagged and coughed. I caught the serious-faced girl smirking for just a moment. Then her face went hard again, and she started waving the dagger around.

  I held up my hands. “So, yeah, thanks for the drink. It really hit the spot. I feel much better. I’m sure I’d feel better still if you put the dagger away and maybe told us what’s going on.”

  “You’re our prisoners,” the girl said, signaling for her brother to step back.

  “We know that!” Maloch said, seething. “Now go get someone we can deal with.”

  The girl put a hand on her hip. “You’ll deal with whoever you’re sent, and this morning, that’s us. If that’s a problem, you won’t see another drop of water or a lick of food until tomorrow morning. Got it?”

  “Right, right,” I said. “We’re happy to deal with you. It might be easier, though, if you told us your names.”

  The boy looked up at his sister, who frowned uncertainly. Then she said, “I’m Reenakarutysor. And this is my brother, Holminjarlamaxin.”

  Maloch scoffed. “Those aren’t names. Those are medications.”

  The girl’s nostrils flared, but it was the boy who responded. “This is not a foolish game, you shall not insult my name!” With that, he kicked Maloch in the stomach, eliciting another squeal of pain.

  “Does he,” I said to the sister, “know that he speaks in rhyme?”

  The girl’s jaw hardened. “Of course he does!”

  I blinked. “And . . . no one finds that odd?”

  “If you must know, he’s training to be a warrior-bard.”

  I blinked again. There hadn’t been any warrior-bards for over a hundred years. The vocation had been quite popular in its day. Problem was: they were easily killed in battle. Given the choice between composing a rhyming couplet and parrying a lethal blow, too few chose to parry.

  “Okay,” I said. “Great. Erm, could I have your names again?”

  The girl folded her arms. “Call me Reena. And he’s Holm.”

  “Reena.” I nodded, then smiled at her brother. “Holm. The warrior-bard. Got it. So, any chance you can explain why we’re here?”

  Holm picked up his bowl as Reena pointed her knife right at my chest. “Not for us to explain. We’re taking you and Mighty Boy h
ere to someone who can.”

  I held my hands up. “Okay. Let’s go do some talking. Lead the way.”

  Reena shook her head. “No. After you.”

  I shuffled out of the chamber. Reena shoved the rag back in Maloch’s mouth. Together with Holm, they each grabbed an end of Maloch and carried him behind me.

  I considered bolting. If Maloch’s theory was right, and it was him they wanted, they’d be more concerned with keeping him secure. I could get away and bring help back. But there was something about Reena that told me she could bury that dagger in my spine before I could run three steps. So, that most honorable Grimjinx tradition—running—was out.

  When we came to an intersection, Reena barked directions. She guided me through an elaborate network of tunnels, glowing with the same unearthly purple light.

  “Not that I’m, you know, objecting to violence against Maloch—sometimes it seems necessary, in fact—but I have to say that it’s out of character for the Sarosans.”

  Holm gasped. Reena froze in place.

  “Sorry, was I not supposed to know?” I smiled weakly. “You sort of gave yourselves away. Drinking at First Rise? That’s a Sarosan custom, isn’t it? To honor the world by taking a drink first thing in the morning.”

  Holm started to speak, but Reena shushed him.

  “He’d have found out eventually,” she said. Then she narrowed her eyes at me. “Move.”

  I continued forward. “It’s okay, you know. I’m sympathetic. I know a lot of people who are upset about what the High Laird is doing to you.”

  Before I realized what was happening, Reena had dropped Maloch and forced me up against the wall. The cold point of her dagger touched the underside of my chin.

  “What do you know about it?” Reena said angrily. “Do you know what it’s like to have your family arrested without a reason? Do you know what it’s like to be regarded with suspicion wherever you go?”

  Well, yes, I knew a lot about all that.

  But I got the feeling it was all new and scary to her. And by family, I don’t think she meant the Sarosans. Had Reena and Holm’s parents been among those arrested?