The Mapmaker's Sons (20 page)

“Pull!” he shouted, his voice hoarse with fear and panic.

Porter had already managed to get the warrior boy, who was evidently a stronger swimmer, to the shore. Leaving the boy on his hands and knees, weak and gasping for air but otherwise unharmed, he grabbed the vine and tugged. Together with Willa and Mudge, they pulled the girl to the surface of the water.

She wasn't breathing. Tom swam beside her, holding her head above water as they tugged her out of the lake. Finally they reached the shallows. Throwing one of the girl's arms over each of their shoulders, Tom and Porter dragged the unconscious girl out of the lake, supporting her weight between them.

They eased her down on the rocky shore. Rudimentary first aid surged to Tom's mind. He rolled her over onto her side to get the water from her lungs. As he did, he understood what had prevented her from swimming. What had weighed her down, making it impossible for him to pull her to the surface.

Steel. He ran his hands down her ribs, his fingers brushing cold steel. The protective chest plate worn by the Djembe warriors, as bright and shiny as fish scales, was actually made of fine mesh steel. There was a name for that type of ancient armor, for strands of steel knit together. Chain mail. The kind that knights used to wear. The thought repeated itself, lighting
up some dark recess of Tom's mind: the kind that knights used to wear.

The warrior girl spat up water, coughed, and took a deep, ragged breath.

She moaned, and opened her eyes. She studied the ceiling of the cave in confusion, and then her eyes flew to Tom, as though stunned she was still alive.

He sent her a small, reassuring smile and carefully eased her to a sitting position. As he did so, his focus returned to her chain mail. Once the girl was upright, he recognized a pattern within the tightly knit metal that he hadn't seen before. The letter
G
in the center of her chest. A quick check of the boy's armament revealed the same pattern.

The pieces rushed at him like a puzzle suddenly taking shape. Chain mail. The vast army of warriors with their lances. Gregor's lost knights.

He stood, his gaze moving from the two warriors to Porter, Willa, and Mudge.
“Gregor's lost knights will be found, when water replaces ground,”
he said. “The prophecy. We found them.”

Porter's mouth dropped open. He looked at the two warriors. Before he could speak, a voice carried softly across the cave.

“Very good, Tom. I assumed one of you would eventually figure that out.”

Tom spun around. A woman strode toward them. She wore a long gown of shimmering blues and greens; her chestnut-brown hair cascaded down her back. Flanking her on the right and left, like a pair of royal pets, were the crimson and white dragons, reduced to perfect miniatures of themselves. The woman radiated an almost unearthly beauty, yet there was a coldness in her eyes that put Tom instantly on alert.

“Such a touching scene,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Who are you?” Tom asked.

“Vivienne. Friend of Marrick. Guardian of this lake.”

She moved toward them as though gliding on air. A sound like the ringing of ancient chimes echoed around her. Her gaze fell on the two Djembe warriors, who were bent over and gasping, struggling to recover.

“They were your enemy,” she said to Tom flatly. “They threatened to kill you. When their armor weighed them down, all you had to do was watch them die. Yet you chose instead to risk your own lives to save theirs. Why?”

He blinked at the unexpected question. Had he been attacked, Tom would have fought for his life. Fought to the death, if necessary. He would have battled just as fiercely to protect Willa, Mudge, or Porter. But fighting to defend himself was a far different thing from standing by and watching someone drown in front of him.

He looked from Porter to Willa to Mudge and saw the same answer in their eyes.

“Because it was the right thing to do.”

Vivienne's lips curved in a bitter smile. “You speak of right. As though you, any of you, could understand what that means. Salamaine. The great king. So noble. And yet look how his reign ended. Brother slaying brother; father rising against son. Men cannot control their passions. Better to trust an animal than a man.”

Willa shook her head. “This was a test, wasn't it? You didn't believe we would save them. You thought we would watch them drown.”

Vivienne looked at her, her expression as if carved in ice. She raised a delicate arm and pointed to the water. “You may call the sword. If it answers, take it and be gone. Those are Marrick's rules. But know this: the lake is mine. I have rules of my own. If you fail, there is a price.”

“What price?” Tom asked.

“If you fail, the lake will swallow you all and wash your bodies out to sea.”

Tom arched a brow and shot a glance at Porter. “That's fair.”

Porter let out a sharp breath. He looked at Tom. “We haven't failed yet.”

Their eyes met and held. There was no decision to make. They'd come too far to turn back now.

“Wait!” Willa said, stepping toward Vivienne. “If we succeed, you'll let us go?”

A cold smile touched the woman's lips. The chimes echoed around her. “Of course.”

Tom and Porter waded out into the lake. Water lapped Tom's shins. He glanced at Porter, exchanging a tight, barely perceptible nod.
“Sword of Five Kingdoms!”
they called together.

Nothing happened. A solemn stillness hung over the lake.

“Sword of Five Kingdoms!”
they repeated.

Vivienne sighed. “No need to shout. When the rightful owner calls, the sword will appear.”

They called a third time. Still nothing.

The water abruptly surged, lapping Tom's thighs.

A cold, cruel smile curved Vivienne's lips. She stroked the head of the crimson beast beside her. “I do believe the tide is coming in. Such a shame.”

The water rose higher.

“Wait!” shouted Willa. “Wait!”

“Enough, girl! Marrick's chosen is not here!”

“No—they forgot the map! There must be some connection!”

She ran to where Tom had tossed his pack on the shore, and passed the map to Mudge. “Quickly! Take it to them!”

Mudge splashed to Tom's side, water lapping his chest, and passed him the map. Tom's fingers curled tightly around the parchment. Porter grabbed the other end. And as before, when
they both laid hands on the ancient parchment, something happened. Tom felt a shift inside him, a strengthening of purpose and intent. Certainty stole over him.

Marrick's certainty. Salamaine's reign had come to an inglorious end, but the old wizard made himself clear. He had not given up on mankind. There was still time. The battle between light and dark was not over yet.

Even Mudge felt it. In a small voice that fell somewhere between a whisper and a prayer, he joined his voice with theirs.

“Sword!”

A tremor shook the body of water, and a small ripple spread from the center of the lake. The water began to churn and bubble. A frothy foam erupted from deep within the lake, shooting upward like an underwater explosion.

The water parted to reveal the gleaming tip of a blade. It rose from the center of the lake until the entire sword was revealed. The Sword of Five Kingdoms hovered above the water, the glistening metal casting a shimmering, silver-white brilliance over the dim interior of the cave.

They'd found the sword.

Porter moved forward and waded into the lake until the water was chest high, his right hand outstretched. The sword hung suspended in midair, quivering like a hummingbird in flight. Then it moved toward him. The Sword of Five Kingdoms skimmed over the water until it found Porter's hand. Porter wrapped his fingers around the grip, his knuckles whitening as he held it steady. He took a deep breath, then slowly turned, holding the blade aloft. Victory gleamed in his eyes.

“We've done it,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion.

Tom nodded. He looked from Porter to Willa to Mudge. They'd found the sword.

Now it was time to get the stones.

V
ivienne's lake did in fact wash them all out to sea. But not in the way she had envisioned. According to the map, the lake emptied into a river that ran through the Miserable Forest, carrying them east toward the sea—and Divino. Tom rode with Porter, Willa, and Mudge in the hollowed-out trunk of an enormous tree. Drifting on dozens of boats behind them was the entire Djembe army: Gregor's lost knights. A flotilla, it was called, if Tom remembered his naval history correctly.

The warrior boy and warrior girl sat in the position of honor in the lead Djembe boat. A ruby on a silver chain now hung from the boy's neck. The girl was adorned with a similar necklace, from which hung a huge, glittering pearl. In homage to the dragons that had led them to the sword, Tom supposed. Each boat was manned with long, broad-tipped oars, but there was no need to use them. The current was strong. The Miserable Forest sped past as the river coursed beneath them, carrying them toward the walled gates of Keegan's domain.

The sun slowly dipped below the horizon. Its final rays glinted off the metal blade resting on the wooden bench between Tom and Porter. The Sword of Five Kingdoms. Tom, who had yet to feel the sword, touched it experimentally. Cold. Biting
cold. Like ice to his hand, absorbing none of the sun's last rays. His fingers moved to the hilt of the sword, brushing the five slick depressions into which the stones would be fitted.

Once they had the stones, of course, assuming they would somehow be able to wrest the stones from Keegan's control. Which was another problem entirely.

He looked at Porter. His brother, once again divining his thoughts, nodded. “We can do it. We have a plan.”

True. They definitely had a plan. Tom just wished they'd been able to come up with a good one.

Blunt force. That was the thrust of it. Now that they had an army at their disposal, Porter intended to use it. Attack The Watch, raid Keegan's quarters, seize the stones. Bloody and brutal, but with any luck, effective.