The Shadowhand Covenant Page 6

  A screech from behind announced that the queen was burrowing our way again. More shrieks followed, so loud that the tunnel shook, showering bits of earth down on us.

  “We don’t have time for this,” I said, snatching the eggs from Reena and Holm. “You two take Maloch to the surface. If the vessapedes follow you, find a way to block the exit so they can’t come back to the tunnels. But I don’t think they’ll follow you.”

  Reluctantly, Reena and Holm led Maloch down the left tunnel.

  “Why?” Maloch called back to me.

  I laid one egg down at the entrance of the right-hand tunnel. “Because they’ll be following me.” I tucked the remaining egg under my arm and scurried along the right-hand tunnel until the others were nothing more than faint silhouettes behind me. I called over my shoulder, “Get to the surface!”

  The tunnel curved and widened. I wiped sweat from my eyes as I kept running. The purple crystals embedded in the walls gave off fainter light until finally I was in near darkness. Farther back, I could hear the distant growl-cooing of the queen as she found the egg at the tunnel’s entrance. By now, the other two vessapedes would have caught up with her.

  I leaned against the wall, trying to figure out what to do next. I couldn’t outrun them. I couldn’t threaten the egg or I’d be faceless in under a minute. All I could really do was outsmart them, but even that didn’t seem like it would be enough. I closed my eyes to concentrate, hearing nothing but the queen’s growl-cooing far away.

  And that’s when the smell hit me. Wafting from just ahead on a gentle, subterranean breeze: a sharp odor, musty and familiar. I thought back six months ago to when Callie, Edilman, and I were trying to escape from Redvalor Castle. I had taken my flashballs and made them into a makeshift explosive to blow a hole in the perimeter wall. I’d never forget that burning, musk-like odor.

  I suddenly knew how I was going to get out of this.

  If I was lucky.

  A howl from behind me warned that the queen was on the warpath again. I moved back to where the tunnel was lined with purple crystals and gently rolled the egg around in the earth. Crystals clung to the shell, and soon the egg gave off its own glow. With a new source of light, I turned and ran toward that powerful odor. The question was: did the queen want her egg badly enough to follow?

  Of course, I already knew the answer.

  I pressed on, the stink in the darkness ahead guiding my way. To the rear, I heard the queen pause. Her shrieks quieted, and I knew she smelled what lay ahead too. Then I heard chattering. A metallic, clicking sound that I remembered from my time with the Dowager in the warrens. It was how the vessapedes communicated. First the queen clicked, then two distinct sets of clicks answered. It was clear they didn’t want to proceed.

  Come on, I thought. Crazy as it sounded, I needed them to follow me, if this was going to work. If they turned back now, they’d only finish off the Sarosans.

  Taking a deep breath, I ran back toward the warrens until I could just scarcely make out two of the queen’s mouths at the head of her body. I held the glowing egg over my head.

  “You’re probably wondering if you picked the right tunnel,” I shouted. “It’s your lucky day!”

  I turned and bolted into the darkness, managing to trip on my own feet only twice. The queen, ignoring the stink in the tunnel, shot forward. I’d forgotten exactly how fast they can move underground. I leaped over stone nubs, covering my mouth with one hand to fight off the pungent smell that threatened to gag me.

  I stopped just short of stepping on a tinderjack plant.

  I held up the glowing egg and found that I’d arrived in a large domed chamber, not unlike the one that housed the Sarosan camp. But instead of tents everywhere, I saw hundreds of tinderjack plants sprouting up from the ground. Part flower, part fungus, the tinderjack only grew underground. This crop was getting ready to bloom. A few had already blossomed, exposing three wide red-and-yellow petals on each plant. In the center of every set of petals, standing upright, was a leathery black pod. I swallowed, eyeing the exposed pods nervously. Gingerly, I moved between the plants and walked to the center of the room.

  A chorus of roars trumpeted behind me. I turned to find all three vessapedes slithering into the chamber. But they stopped immediately upon seeing the field of tinderjack. Their screeching faded, replaced with a cautious growl-hiss.

  I plugged my nose. “Oh good. I was hoping you knew what tinderjack is. Nasty stuff. Dangerous.”

  Near the edge of the chamber, one of the plants shook. As the colorful petals fell open, it belched a short plume of flame up into the air. I gritted my teeth and the vessapedes squealed. The newly blossomed tinderjack’s petals curved back, exposing the pod within.

  “Oh, yeah,” I said, grinning. “Vessapedes aren’t really fond of fire. You’re smart. You knew enough to keep your distance from the tinderjack. We both know how volatile those pods are, right?”

  I leaned forward to a plant that had blossomed, threatening to touch the pod within. The vessapedes fell silent and cowered.

  “That’s right. One wrong move and ka-boom.” I pulled my hand back, and the vessapedes resumed their growl-hiss.

  A burst of flame in the corner announced the blossoming of another plant. I eyed it nervously. “See, guys, the thing is: tinderjack isn’t very stable. You never see this much of it so close together. Because when they bloom, the fire could ignite the entire field.”

  So exactly why was there so much tinderjack? Tinderjack was fairly rare, and nature made sure two plants didn’t blossom near each other or they could both be destroyed during the bloom. This couldn’t have occurred naturally.

  Concentrate, Jaxter. You’re facing down three vessapedes and standing in the biggest field of explosives in the Five Provinces. Now is not the time for scientific curiosity.

  I looked around. A few more plants, some right in the thick of the field, were shaking, getting ready to bloom. It was only a matter of time before a fire burst ignited one of those pods, which would detonate everything around it and then . . .

  “How does this sound?” I said, laying the egg gently down in an exposed spot near my feet. “Why don’t I just put your egg right here? And you could maybe move away from the exit? Then we can all just walk—or slither, whatever you like—away and nobody has to get blown up. Deal?”

  With exaggerated, careful steps, I moved sideways away from the egg. I trod carefully between plants, putting as much space between me and the egg as possible. Soon, I was up against the wall with nowhere to go.

  The vessapedes looked to one another, clicking with their metallic teeth. Slowly, they moved to a small clearing opposite the wall where I stood. They each reared up and stretched their spiky tendrils out over the tinderjack field toward the egg.

  My back to the wall, I walked along the edge toward the cave entrance. I gasped as a tinderjack bloomed at my feet, sending a jet of flame up past my face. Realizing there was little to stop the vessapedes from coming after me once they had their egg, I came up with a plan. Bending over, I gripped the newly exposed pod at the center of the flower firmly in both hands and gave it a quick, sharp tug.

  It came loose from the stamen easily, and a trail of light-gray powder started to trickle from the hole at the pod’s base. I continued my slow march to the entrance, letting the pod leave a trail of powder in my wake.

  The vessapedes didn’t know where to keep their multiple eyes: on me or their efforts to retrieve the egg. As I reached the mouth of the tunnel, I gave them a small salute. The queen had just managed to wrap a tendril around her egg when her two companions suddenly shot their own tendrils in my direction. With a yell, I slammed the nearly empty pod down at my feet. It erupted in a small ball of fire that raced along the trail of powder and back into the field of tinderjack.

  I dashed down the tunnel as a deafening explosion rent the air and sent me flying. Flames shot from the tinderjack cavern. The vessapedes screamed. One by one, the plants detonated, shaking
the tunnel until the entrance to the tinderjack chamber collapsed.

  The ceiling quaked, sending more rocks and dirt on top of me. Soon, it would cave in. I picked myself up and plunged into the dark tunnel, running hard and not bothering to look back.

  I emerged into the tunnel where the paths split off in three directions. There I found Reena and Holm standing guard over Maloch, who was once again tied with his arms behind his back. Reena waved her dagger and I fell in next to Maloch, hands raised. With a shove, the Sarosans led us back to their camp.

  The effort to rebuild had already begun. Tents were being resurrected, debris was being recycled, and the wounded were being treated. But everything froze when Reena and Holm proudly offered up their hostages.

  Throngs of Sarosans gathered around us. Warras, the feathers on his head matted down with blood, pushed through to the head of the crowd. I held up my hand.

  “We just saved you,” I said. “You owe us an explanation. We want to talk to your leader.”

  “That would be me.”

  A wizened, gaunt man stepped out from behind Warras. The long white hair that spilled down his back also framed his wrinkled and careworn face. Unlike the other Sarosans, he wore flowing robes that covered his arms and legs. Every move he made was slow and deliberate. He stood directly before me, and we stared at each other for several moments. Then he gently took Reena’s dagger and slashed Maloch’s bonds.

  “That’s not any way to treat our heroes, Reena,” the leader said.

  Reena scowled and Holm looked ashamed. I was a little stunned he was being so rational.

  “That’s right,” I said. “Heroes. And heroes get rewards, right? So does that mean we’re free to go?”

  The leader clasped his hands together and smiled.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

  Zoc. So much for being rational.

  8

  The Sarosan Plight

  “Those who choose to see coincidence fail to see conspiracy.”

  —Ancient par-Goblin proverb

  “These caves are no longer safe!” the leader declared to his people. “We must leave at once.”

  Without question, the Sarosans began salvaging what they could and packing their meager belongings into wagons. I almost told him about how the vessapedes were dead so the tunnels really were safe. But it occurred to me that if the Sarosans were on the move and taking us with them, Maloch and I stood a better chance at escaping if we weren’t underground. So I kept quiet.

  As everyone worked, the leader pulled Warras aside and whispered in the Aviard’s ear. Warras nodded, gripped the glass tube with the message for the Dowager, and exited through the tunnel. I didn’t like that the Sarosans were manipulating her, but I knew the Dowager would do whatever it took to free me.

  At least, I assumed so.

  The leader guided Maloch and me through the carnage to one of the few tents untouched in the vessapede attack. The inside looked much like the place where Warras and his friend had taken my hair. A cot stood against one wall. A table with small bowls holding an assortment of herbs, spices, and plants I couldn’t identify sat in the room’s center.

  I noticed for the first time just how tall the leader was. His head nearly touched the top of the tent. As old as he looked—and he looked old—his eyes danced, young and active. He moved slowly, wincing as his arms swayed at his sides. When he spoke, his voice was low and gravelly.

  “Please make yourselves comfortable while I pack,” he said, pointing to a couple of stools. I sat. Maloch remained standing. As the leader began to wrap the bowls from the table in swaths of burlap, he watched Maloch carefully. “You have something you’d like to say.”

  “I have lots I’d like to say,” Maloch said, bobbing from foot to foot like he was ready for a fight. “Like: who are you? Why did you take us? Who are those naff-nut kids who keep attacking us?”

  “You’ll have to forgive Reena and Holm for behaving brusquely,” the leader said with a sigh. “Their parents were among the first arrested when the High Laird declared the Sarosans outlaws. The rest of our tribe has been taking turns caring for Reena and Holm. But sometimes, Reena decides she can take care of herself.”

  So I was right about their parents.

  “Otherwise, have you been treated well?” the man asked.

  I shrugged. “Well—and remember that this is coming from a Grimjinx—as far as gaols go, this cave is one of the best I’ve seen. No bars, no locks. Almost like you didn’t expect us to try to escape.”

  “Not all prisons have bars, Jaxter. Sometimes, the hardest prisons to escape are the ones we carry inside.” He gave a single, soft laugh, as though he’d just said something funny.

  I spotted Maloch’s pack next to mine on the ground near the table. My belt and pouches sat on top of the packs. The man scooped up the small book tucked between the folds of my belt and handed it to me with a smile. “I believe this belongs to you.”

  I thumbed through my worn copy of the Formulary. The Sarosans hardly needed the book. They were the ones who’d made it in the first place.

  “Forgive me,” he said, “but I looked through your pouches. I see you carry the twelve essentials of nature.”

  I held up the Formulary. “I guess I should thank the Sarosans. This book has changed my life.”

  His eyebrows went up and his smile widened. “Very glad to hear that. Well, Jaxter, your friend is right. If we’re to talk, I should introduce myself. My name is Kolohendriseenax.”

  “You Sarosans are fond of the alphabet,” I said, reeling at yet another lengthy name.

  He laughed. “Call me Kolo, if you wish. Everyone does.”

  “Okay, Kolo. You obviously know who I am, and Warras said you need me to—” I froze. A bell went off in my brain. “Hang on. . . .” I glanced at the cover of the book in my hands. The Kolohendriseenax Formulary.

  “You’re that Kolohendriseenax?” I asked, hardly able to breathe.

  Kolo beamed. “The one and only.”

  I looked the gaunt man up and down. The book was so old, I’d always assumed the author was long dead. But if he really was the author . . . I scanned the room, my eyes coming to rest on a battered leather satchel, its shoulder strap slung over the edge of the cot. I couldn’t help it. I gasped.

  It was Tree Bag.

  The Kolohendriseenax Formulary was much more than a collection of research on how to use the natural world to cure illness and negate magical energy. It was also a journal of Kolo’s travels. It documented the years he’d spent wandering the Five Provinces, studying plant and animal life. The one constant during that time was the reliable satchel he took everywhere. He called it Tree Bag because of the giant whisperoak embroidered on the side. He spoke so fondly of the satchel that it almost became a character in the Formulary.

  I know that sounds strange. But trust me, you couldn’t read the Formulary without getting emotionally attached to Tree Bag.

  I grinned like a demented gekbeak. “You have no idea what your book has done for me!” I gushed. “I didn’t think I’d ever fit in with my family, but then your anti-magic paste showed me how to help my da pick magical locks. And Ma made some of her best document forgeries because the Formulary explained how to make everember parchment.”

  Kolo tilted his head. “It certainly sounds like you’ve put my research to . . . creative use. I’m glad I could help in some small way.”

  I had a thousand questions. How did you discover the formula for the anti-magic paste? Did you ever figure out what combining waller root, presiberry juice, and oskahoney does? I couldn’t wait to tell the Dowager. She’d curse her luck to have missed the opportunity to meet the author of the book we’d spent hours dissecting.

  Maloch tore the book from my hands and threw it against the tent wall. “I don’t care about your zocing book. Every minute we’re their prisoners is a minute I could be trying to find my father!”

  I hated to admit it, but Maloch had a point. As much as I admired Kol
o’s work, he’d kidnapped us. And getting free had to be our first priority.

  Kolo’s brow furrowed with concern. “I’m sorry to hear your father is missing. What happened?”

  “It’s a long story,” I said. “Maloch’s da is . . . in danger.” No one knew Mr. Oxter was a Shadowhand, and I was bound by the Lymmaris Creed to keep the secret. “We were on our way to find him when your people . . . You know.”

  Kolo shook his head, clearly troubled by this. “My apologies, Maloch. It’s clear our timing could have been better.”

  I wanted to say, It’s clear you shouldn’t kidnap people, but I didn’t.

  The Sarosan leader continued to pack the few belongings in the tent. “Perhaps it would help if I explained. I assume you have some idea of what’s been happening to my people.”

  “The High Laird ordered all Sarosans arrested.”

  “And do you know why?”

  “No clue,” I said.

  Kolo rubbed his chin. “Neither did we. We sent emissaries to the High Laird under a flag of truce, asking why we were being persecuted. Our emissaries were arrested without explanation. The remainder of us fled across the Provinces to avoid capture. Then we intercepted a message from the High Laird to the Palatinate that suggested we had stolen several ancient relics from the royal vaults.”

  Theft? The Sarosans weren’t thieves. They chose to live simple lives. They had no reason to steal. And even if they had turned to a life of crime, trying to steal from the High Laird was a lousy first heist. The royal vaults were impregnable, a combination of locks, traps, and spells so dangerous the only one who’d ever attempt to steal from them would be—

  “Then give back what you stole,” Maloch said, breaking my chain of thought, “and let us go.”

  Kolo shook his head. “We are, I can proudly say, innocent.”

  “Innocent of theft,” I said, “but guilty of kidnapping.”

  To his credit, Kolo looked genuinely ashamed. “We heard rumors that the Dowager was sympathetic to our cause. We considered seeking an audience with her, but when we tried the same thing with her brother . . . Well, we couldn’t risk the rumors being false.”