The Shadowhand Covenant
Read The Shadowhand Covenant Online
Authors: Brian Farrey
For Benji, an honorary Grimjinx
CHAPTER
1:
  Â
Good-Bye to Nanni
CHAPTER
3:
  Â
The Shadowhands
CHAPTER
6:
  Â
Attack of the Vessapedes
CHAPTER
8:
  Â
The Sarosan Plight
CHAPTER
9:
  Â
A Sinister Message
CHAPTER
16:
The Horror in the Walls
CHAPTER
24:
The Palatinate Palace
CHAPTER
25:
An Impossible Menagerie
CHAPTER
27:
The Labyrinth of Glass
SHADOWHANDS
Good-Bye to Nanni
“Whenever things seem to be exactly as they should, lay down money that they're not.”
âAncient par-Goblin proverb
I
t was exactly the funeral Nanni always wanted.
The morning sun glistened off the fresh sheen of snow across the hillside. The nip in the winter air, crisp and clean, chilled without being too cold. Huddled together for warmth, the crowd of mourners stood around the freshly dug grave in the cemetery just outside Vengekeep as a hemmon chirped in the nearby trees.
I brushed snow from the lenses of my silver-framed glasses and gave my sister Aubrin's gloved hand a squeeze.
She looked up, eyes swollen with tears, and returned a fragile smile. To my right stood Da, wearing the traditional burgundy shawl of mourning, staring down at his feet as though looking at the grave would be too much. Ma's arm reached around his shoulders from the other side, comforting the bereaved son.
While we were never what you might call religious, we still thought it proper to hire a vicarman to say a few words about my grandmother, whom we called Nanni. He stood near the casket, talking about all the lives she'd touched and how much she meant to us, the Grimjinx family. When he spoke of how much Nanni loved making singemeat stew, Da released a loud, heaving sob. I put my free hand on his forearm as Ma whispered loudly, “Be brave, love.”
Talian Strom, Vengekeep's town-state mage, uttered a single word. His spellsphere sparkled, and the heavy casket descended into the frozen earth. Nearby, the widow Bellatin tugged on the strings of an oxina and played a plaintive song. Da stepped forward, scooped up a handful of dirt, and said in staggered breaths, “Ma . . . Nanni . . . you'll be missed. Always.” He tossed the soil into the grave, then returned to Ma's waiting arms, where he broke down crying.
The mournersâdozens and dozens of our neighbors in Vengekeepâwaited in line to pay their respects. We hardly knew them. Many were among the wealthiest people in the town-state, no doubt hoping to impress Daâthe town Protectorateâby simply showing up.
We stood at the edge of the cemetery, receiving the well-wishers one by one. Aubrin was the bravest of all. She looked everyone in the eye and thanked them sincerely for coming. Ma spoke for Da, who eventually had to withdraw when his sobbing overtook him. He murmured excuses, then walked back toward the town-state gates and home.
I shook hands and accepted condolences with a stoic face. As the line of mourners thinned, I found my best friend, Callie Strom, in a modest crimson dress. Teary-eyed, she pulled me into a tight hug.
“She was a lovely woman, Jaxter,” she said, her voice broken. “I can't believe she's gone. I keep thinking we'll see her again.”
I coughed and gave Callie a look. She lifted a handkerchief to her eyes and moved on to Ma. Once the receiving line was finished, Aubrin tugged at my sleeve.
“Can we go home yet? Everyone here looks so grave.”
I groaned. She hadn't spoken a word for the first ten years of her life, and now that she was talking, she couldn't stop making bad jokes. “Why don't you head back to the house and help Da? Ma can finish up here.”
Aubrin raised an eyebrow. “What about you?”
I looked up toward the rim of the valley that surrounded Vengekeep. “I have a quick stop to make and then I'll be along.”
I hugged Aubrin, then trudged up the valley slope through the snow. I glanced back at Vengekeep. I hadn't seen my hometown for nearly six months. I couldn't have guessed the reason that had finally brought me back.
At the top of the hill, a large, gray, copper-trimmed carriage drawn by four silver-maned mang waited near the edge of the forest. On my approach, the footman, who'd been hugging himself to stay warm, leaped off his perch.
“Oya, Tren,” I said to him with a wink. Tren winked back. I stood beside the carriage and took a deep breath. More than a little nervous, I nodded at Tren, who opened the carriage door. I climbed inside.
Red velvet lined the carriage's interior. I sank down in the rounded bench at the fore, my back to the mang out front.
Sitting across from me, the Dowager Annestra Soranna, wrapped in a thick fur serape, inspected an unruly stack of parchments on her lap. She leafed through the pages, frowning at what she saw and clicking her tongue with disapproval.
I studied her quietly. Silence between us had been the norm recently. Right now, I couldn't tell if she was still upset with me or just busy. In training me to be a thief, my parents had taught me how to read people's thoughts and emotions based solely on their body language. But when the Dowager worked on official state business, she was inscrutable.
“How did it go?” she asked absently, absorbed in her reading.
“A beautiful service from start to finish,” I reported. “Callie sang a lovely dirge. Something about ladygills blossoming in the spring. Or was it autumn? Not sure. Wasn't really paying attention. Anyway, there was quite a turnout. I wish Nanni could have seen it. She'd have loved it.”
The Dowager nodded, but I wasn't sure she'd heard me. Shortly before we'd left Redvalor Castle three days ago, she'd received an urgent message. A herald from her brother, the High Laird who ruled all the Five Provinces, had arrived and delivered the parcel of parchment now before her. The
entire trip, the Dowager had pored over the papers and grown increasingly distressed with what she read.
I said, “Don't tell me. The High Laird has decided to give up his post for a life as a novelist.”
The Dowager snorted. When she looked up, I finally saw the warmhearted woman to whom I'd been apprenticed these last six months. She had a slight, odd smile on her lips, eyes that flittered about, and a gentle sway to her head. Even with the tension between us, it felt good to make her laugh.
“Not exactly,” she said. “Although maybe I'll recommend it to him. Honestly, Jaxter, I moved into Redvalor Castle so I wouldn't have to deal with things like this. Missing artifacts, suspicious thefts . . . And he's got no one to blame but himself. If he'd listened to my advice . . .”
Her voice trailed off as she turned another page of the High Laird's report. Since moving to Redvalor Castle to do research with the Dowager, I'd learned that frenzied missives from her brother seeking advice were commonplace. She, not he, had been groomed by their father to be High Laird. Sometimes it showed in her brother's hasty decisions. He spent a lot of time consulting her, often
after
he'd made terrible mistakes.