Lichgates: Book One of the Grimoire Saga (an Epic Fantasy Adventure) (42 page)

“Vagabonds always come back for their kind,” Trin said, disgust wrinkling his face. “Seal the doors! Move to the lower walls and for the Blood’s sake, spike this traitor!”

Braeden pushed himself to his feet as a soldier with a set of poisoned shackles ran toward him. His options were limited. The Lossian army far outnumbered him, so fighting his way back down the steps wouldn’t work. Tapping into his daru would expose him for what he truly was, which would mean certain death when he was overcome by the sheer number of soldiers at Frine’s command. He peered over the castle’s edge once more, his head dizzy from vertigo. His stomach churned as he estimated the distance to the courtyard below, uncertain as to which fate would be less painful: months in the spikes or a fall to the ground. Both would end about the same.

A rush of wind billowed over him in the otherwise still air, and a black streak sailed overhead, landing on the roof with the heavy crack of snapping shells. It was a black beast with three legs, vein-ridden wings, and a massive, spiked tail. Its long neck craned and came to a massive head, which was adorned with a thorny crest made of the same spiked bone as its tail. It moved like a lizard over a hot rock, darting to bits of the roof with the fewest soldiers and herding them into a huddle far away. The thing snapped its head toward Braeden and scuttled closer, flashing him a sharp grin. Its massive fangs had no lips to hide them.

“C’mon!”

He heard Kara’s voice, but shock froze his body for a second longer before he could glance to the creature’s back. There she was, hand outstretched. Her face was white.

“Hurry up!”

He jumped up behind her and wrapped his hands around her waist, but the added height of the Lossian form made him slouch over her head. The beast jumped and soared straight toward the circling sharks, its leathery wings beating so quickly that all Braeden could hear was the sharp snap of its skin hitting the air.

“Hold your breath!” Kara yelled over her shoulder.

He looked up as they broke through the dome and took a shallow breath seconds before the cold water bit every inch of his skin. Golden light stretched to cover the hole they made in the dome, and only a thin stream of water poured through, falling like a spot of rain down to the city below.

The gathering sharks were roaches in the light, scattering as the monster tore through their ranks. They regrouped, pulling into a militant formation to speed after them with sharp flicks of their tails. Their bodies rippled from the force. A blurring rush of water coursed over Braeden’s face, but he could still make out the Duke and his men reaching their arms upward, twisting and turning their own bodies in coordination with the makos and great whites. The predators weren’t just for display—they were a last defense as well.

Bleached rays of the dry world above refracted against the distant surface, too far away. Kara clung to the monster’s neck, pinned, and Braeden shielded her from the rush of water as best he could. Her eyes creased from the strain of keeping them closed, and her mouth moved, as if she was whispering. Bubbles rushed sidelong from her lips. He reached a hand over her mouth to preserve what oxygen she had, but as he touched her cheek, he thudded against dry land.

He threw himself on his forearms and heaved. Water spewed from his mouth and ears, splashing on the grass. His vision blurred from the lingering saltwater, but there was definitely dirt and solid ground beneath him. He curled his hands along the earth, relishing the dry tickle of the dead leaves crunching beneath his fingers. Kara retched nearby.

His eyes stung from the salt, and he blinked until he could see. His hands were smaller and olive again. He cursed under his breath—he’d retreated to his Hillsidian form without realizing it. That was a careless mistake to make. His only hope was that it had happened when he was too far away for the Lossians to see.

He looked around, trying to figure out where they were. Thick rows of trees spanned every which way and blocked out the sky with their leaves. There was no water in sight; he didn’t even hear a creek gurgle, but he couldn’t hear much of anything through the hollow echo of the water lodged in his eardrums. He rubbed more water from his eyes and did his best to flush it from his ears.

The black three-legged dragon sat in front of him, its wings tucked at its side like a giant, scab-covered dog waiting for a treat. It grinned again as he looked up. A sunbeam broke through the treetops and glinted off its teeth.

At the sunny touch, the dragon broke into a cloud of black ash. There was no wind, so it settled on the thick air, shimmering in the light. The trees eventually sighed in a soft breeze that carried the remnants of the monster away.

“Summoned him,” Kara said. “Apparently, the Grimoire has a pet store.”

She was curled over her stomach, still coughing up water. Her hair clung to her cheeks and she had a green tint to her face, but she smiled at him.

“How did we get here?” he asked. “We weren’t even close to the water’s surface.”

He knelt over her and lifted her neck so that she could better force the water from her lungs. She shifted her satchel over her back, but more water poured from it onto her already drenched clothes.

“I’m not sure. I got really dizzy there at the end, and I heard the Vagabond whisper something in my ear. I just repeated what he said over and over, knowing that it had to be a way out of that mess. Do you think it teleported us?”

“I have no idea what else could have happened. Do you remember what he told you?”

“No. I was panicking. He’s never done that before.” She shook her head and looked over to him, but started giggling.

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Braeden, but you look ridiculous.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.” He feigned a sarcastic curtsy.

His Lossian clothes clung to his body, constricting his chest and stomach, but the fabric was too long for his arms and slid back over his hands and feet every time he pulled it back.

He rubbed his neck with both hands and in a single, hot wave of air, he was dry. He repeated the technique on Kara so that she was comfortable and then ripped the too-long sleeves and pants until they fit with at least some comfort. He didn’t have his pack anymore, so he couldn’t change. He was just lucky that Frine hadn’t found the Lossian and Kirelm keys he’d hidden in a secret pocket of his shirt. That would’ve been a disaster.

Something hummed. He glanced over to see the heavy Grimoire resting in Kara’s hands and shook his head. The stupid book was more trouble than it was worth.

“Griffin, old buddy,” she said to the open pages. “Get us out of here.”

It took a few hours for the chill of their close call to fade away. Braeden wanted nothing more than to be in Hillside again, but after a few hours of flying, Kara insisted on taking a break. The griffin descended into the forest and knelt for them to dismount.

They landed in a small clearing and walked to its edge to stay out of sight. Braeden scanned the woods with short twists of his head, ready for another fight and unable to relax.

Kara touched his arm, frowning. He flinched and forced himself to take a deep breath.

“I think we can calm down a bit, Braeden.”

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “That’s two out of five kingdoms that tried to kidnap you, Kara. And they had spikes—” His voice shook.

“We’re safe.” She forced a smile, but it fell short. Her eyes didn’t wrinkle with relief like they should have.

“You don’t believe that.”

“No, not really. I was just trying to make you feel better.”

“Don’t console me. I’m supposed to protect you, not the other way around. We can take a break, but we need to leave soon.”

She didn’t answer, just sat on a log and opened her satchel. The two blue map pieces fell from the bag into her lap. They pressed into her skin, pinning her clothes against her legs as she slid the fourth piece into the empty corner.

A brilliant white light blazed along the map’s edges, shattering the clearing with a blinding flare. Braeden squinted and shielded his eyes as the air buzzed. The glare sputtered and faded away, and when he could see again, flecks of gold glittered in the air above the map.

If it really was a map, it was unlike any he’d ever seen. There were no landmarks or directions on it, and its primary décor was a large oval indent that consumed most of the stone. Small carved flowers and tangled vines framed the map in a thick border, and in its center was a small carving the exact size and shape of the clover pendant. Aside from those few details, it was just a polished square slab of lapis lazuli.

Kara took off the clover necklace, and her fingers brushed the golden locket around her neck as she did. He noticed that she paused, hand shaking, and took a deep breath before she shoved the clover into the map until the cartilage in her thumb joints cracked. The pendant shifted beneath her hands. The metal clicked against the stone as it snapped into place.

A ripple of air radiated from the space beneath her thumbs. The blue stone bent and stretched like the disturbed surface of a pond, and its golden flecks blazed with their own light, shining brighter until their glow engulfed the blue stone completely.

“Is it supposed to do that?” he asked.

“I think so. Come over here. It looks like it’s drawing something.”

A thin black line appeared on the now-golden map, moving as if drawn by an invisible pen. It sloped and curved, first drawing the crude slope of a mountain. A forest appeared beneath the summit and a stream appeared below that. A lichgate drew itself by the river, its roof sloping to a sharp point against the mountainside. A jagged line broke through the center of the mountain.

Braeden’s heart skipped a beat. He groaned, rubbing his eyes out of frustration. He knew that mountain, and it was near the last place in Ourea he wanted to go.

“Where—?” Kara asked.

“It’s a mountain just outside the Stele,” he answered. “It has to be, because I’ve never seen another mountain range with a crack like that.”

“Awesome.” Kara rolled her eyes. He guessed she was hardly eager to return, either.

The map drew more scenes in an ever-moving stream of black ink, sketching and then shifting away from what it had just drawn. The image revolved, zooming into the crack until it opened out onto a tunnel. Rocks fell from the walls, caving in and blocking the way ahead. The view turned sharply to the left and followed another tunnel until it spun and stopped at a door.

The Stele’s coat of arms adorned the stone entryway, its thorn-covered vines twisted into a crude square. Silver daggers broke the shape in each of the symbol’s four corners.

When the sketch paused its movement, the door in the drawing swung open to reveal a small room. At the far end, a pedestal held a large oval amulet. The dark stone was set in silver, and the eight prongs that kept the stone in its setting dug into its large black jewel with sharp tips that bent like claws. Its silver chain dangled over the back of the pillar, swinging in the otherwise still room.

“No,” Braeden said, seething.

“What is that thing?”

“That’s supposed to be lost forever, not hidden in the Stele! I won’t go back. I can’t.” He stood and paced the clearing, resting his hands on the back of his head.

“Why would the first Vagabond want us to get some necklace?”

She stared at the map, the creases in her forehead illuminated by its glow as it replayed everything. The sketch was already zooming through the cracked mountain again, moving toward the sunken tunnel.

Braeden frowned. “According to legend, that amulet shows you where you belong.”

Her eyes snapped into focus as it all clicked for her. Her shoulders drooped, and Braeden paused long enough to let her understand why she’d been asked to find it. If she was truly worthy of being the Vagabond, the amulet would show her the way to the village. Otherwise, the abandoned village would stay hidden.

“You don’t have to come with me,” she said. “I know it’s hard for you to be near Carden, or the Stele—”

“No, it’s not just hard, Kara. If he ordered me to stop breathing, my lungs would obey him and stop working. Hard is climbing a steep trail. Resisting a direct command from my Blood when he’s near me is impossible.”

“Fair enough. That’s why I said you don’t have to come. In fact, maybe it’s best you don’t come with me. But to play devil’s advocate here, sometimes ‘impossible’ just means you have to try harder,” she said, eyes locked with his.