The Shadowhand Covenant (19 page)

“Innocence is relative, but relatives are rarely innocent.”

—Thollin Grimjinx, mastermind of the Great Icesepulchre Plunder

M
aybe it was because the journey to and through the mountains had left us without food. Maybe it was because we'd used the last of our water fighting off the scythebeetles. Maybe it was because everything we'd been though had driven us completely naff-nut. Whatever the reason, when the next room appeared to be a kitchen with a well and a generous supply of food, it never occurred to me that everything might be laced with deadly doses of poison.

Actually, it
did
occur to me. But I was so hungry I didn't care.

As the others stepped gingerly around the room, poking stones that they thought might set off traps, I went through the tall wooden pantries and made myself a sandwich bigger than my head. The pantries sparkled with a faint golden light, indicating that the meats, vegetables, and breads inside were magically preserved from spoiling. I filled my flagon with well water, sat on a small stool, and shoved my face into the sandwich.

“You're going to die,” Maloch said as he followed the curve of the circular room, inspecting the wall for anything suspicious. “And when you do, I'll probably laugh.”

“He's got a point, Jaxter,” Reena said, trying to sound disapproving, though she was eyeing my sandwich enviously.

“And what reason do we have to think this is anything but what it appears to be: one big kitchen?” I said.

“You mean aside from the fact that we
know
every room is protected by traps?” Maloch said. “Gee, I don't know. Enjoy your last meal.”

“You said yourself the Dagger was designed as a bunker,” I said, and maybe a few chunks of sandwich fell out of my mouth as I said it. “And that in case of danger, the Shadowhands could hide here for months and be perfectly safe. It stands to reason they would keep a kitchen with magically preserved foods.”

“Maybe so,” Reena said, “but how can you be sure this is it? It could be another hardglamour.”

I took a torch from the wall and held it near my sandwich. It cast a long shadow on the equally long wooden table. “Hardglamours don't cast shadows.”

Reena and Holm looked at each other, then dove for the well, drinking until I thought they'd burst. Maloch remained unconvinced, jeering as the siblings raided the pantries and began feasting.

“It could still be poisoned,” Maloch said.

“Just shut up and eat,” I said. “You get cranky when you're hungry.”

Before Maloch could argue, Holm tossed him a blackdrupe, and Maloch grudgingly bit into it. We sat around the table, alternately eating and stuffing food into our packs
for the trip out of the mountains. We heated well water in giant cauldrons and took turns bathing to get the cadaverweed smell out. Clean again, we sat down to strategize.

There were two other doorways in the room besides the one we'd entered through. “So, any guesses on where we go from here?” I asked.

“We could split up,” Reena said. “Two pairs, each picking a different door. We'd cover more ground and find the Covenant faster.”

“And we'd be in twice as much danger,” Maloch said. “I think we should stick together.”

While Reena and Maloch argued, I considered our situation. As Maloch suggested, the kitchen
should
have been filled with traps. So why wasn't it? It didn't seem like the Shadowhands to provide an oasis for intruders.

“Maloch,” I said slowly, “what was that you said earlier? About Shadowhands getting safe passage through the Dagger?”

“The Dagger is linked to the Covenant,” he said. “The defenses automatically deactivate in the presence of anyone listed on the Covenant, any Shadowhand.”

I squinted at the wall past Maloch's shoulder. I could have sworn I saw the stone shimmer.

“Uh-huh,” I said, my eyes never leaving the wall. “Any idea how long before the defenses reactivate once a Shadowhand leaves the room?”

Maloch looked to Reena quizzically and shrugged. “No. I don't think it would be too long, because—”

He stopped. By now, everyone had noticed. The walls were shifting. The dark stone rippled and changed. Bricks turned into long metal spikes that slowly stretched across the length of the room.

Maloch and I, hitting on the same thought, looked at each other.

“A Shadowhand was in this room just before we got here,” he said.

“And the defenses are turning back on,” I concluded.

“Look!” Reena shouted. We watched as the pantries transformed into great, jagged, iron blades that started to spin, slicing the air with a high-pitched whine.

The two doors that led out were slowly disappearing, being filled in with hardglamour stones.

“Move!”

I grabbed a torch as we scooped up our packs and dove for the closest door. With the doorway collapsing, we fell to all fours and crawled through into the next corridor. The kitchen disappeared just as we pulled Holm through the small hole.

Gasping, we stood in the hall and looked back at where the door to the kitchen had once been.

“Is this enough of a fortress for you now, dolly girl?” Maloch asked.

“More than enough, thanks,” Reena said.

I caught Maloch's eye and he nodded. His hand slipped to his belt, and he drew his dagger.

Reena stiffened. “What is it?” she asked.

“The kitchen was safe because a Shadowhand had been there shortly before us,” Maloch said softly.

“Which means,” I said, “we're not alone here.”

The four of us sat there, staring at one another as the distant spinning blades hummed.

“But . . . ,” Reena said, “. . . but that's good, right? We came here hoping to find the Shadowhands. To prove the
Sarosans didn't steal from the High Laird.”

“We came here to find the
Covenant
,” Maloch said firmly, “because the Shadowhands were betrayed by one of their own. And if the Shadowhands are disappearing . . .”

Holm swallowed. “Here among the spiky walls, the traitor walks these very halls.”

“Uh . . . yeah,” I said.

Reena took the torch from me. “Even better. We don't need the Covenant. We just find the traitor, bring them to the High Laird—”

Maloch and I shared another look. Reena rolled her eyes.

“What?” she asked. “There are four of us. Holm and I have blowguns. This will be easy.”

“You really don't understand the Shadowhands,” Maloch said, shaking his head.

“We're not exaggerating when we say they're the best of the best,” I said. “They are masters at hiding, stalking, and taking out their adversaries. I heard they were trained by the assassin-monks of Blackvesper Abbey.”

“We have the advantage, that is clear,” Holm said, “if they do not know we're here.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But hear that?” I pointed to where the kitchen door had been. The sound of the whirling blades continued. “I bet our Shadowhand friend can hear it, too. They know that a trap has been sprung. They could be looking for us right this very minute.”

I'd been raised on stories of the Shadowhands. Their tracking skills were as legendary as their distaste for mercy toward intruders. “If they find us before we find them,” I said, “we won't get out of here alive.”

“The greater the guilt, the richer the reward.”

—The Lymmaris Creed

R
eena, who'd been deprived of a thief's upbringing filled with stories of the Shadowhands' prowess and cunning, seemed unimpressed. She turned and continued down the hall to the open doorway at the far end. “We need to keep moving. Come on.”

We all followed, Maloch and I watching the rear. The hall led to another perfectly circular room. This time, the walls were pink. On the far side, a giant toy chest sat in the corner. A colossal stuffed Satyran doll with crocheted wool horns on
its head and fuzzy hooves at the end of its overstuffed legs lay slumped on the floor. A jack-in-the-box that came up to my chin stood just inside the doorway, so that we had to bend over to go under the massive crank on its side.

“I'm guessing,” Reena said, “the Shadowhands don't really need a nursery in their bunker.”

Maloch scrutinized the walls. “Another hardglamour. It's hiding the way to the next chamber. Find the exit but be careful.”

We spread out, stepping gingerly around the life-size toys that littered the floor. I stopped, standing over a rag doll that looked like a little girl. It was as big as Aubrin. One of its button eyes was missing, replaced with an X stitch of twine. It grinned up at me with a jagged smile.

Holm made his way to the center of the room, where a gorgeously decorated table displayed a tall and beautiful dollhouse. It was the only toy in the room that wasn't oversized. Which made it suspect.

Holm seemed fascinated by the minihouse. He circled the table, eyeing the house from every angle. Reena came up next to me and whispered.

“Holm's always wanted to live in a real house,” she said.
“We've only ever lived in tents.”

The boy leaned in and peeked through the tiny windows. Suddenly, his eyes grew wide. He reached out.

“Holm, no!” I said. But it was too late. The second he touched the house, a shower of blue sparks exploded around him, and Holm was gone.

The three of us ran toward the house.

“Where is he?” Reena cried, looking around frantically.

“Down there.” Maloch pointed to the main door of the house. Standing next to the door was a miniaturized Holm, no bigger than my thumb—the perfect size to go into the dollhouse.

“Ah,” I said, “so this dollhouse makes its own dolls. Clever.”

“Holm, are you okay?” Reena asked.

We leaned in as close we could. It looked like he was talking, but we couldn't hear him. He kept pointing to the house and waving his arms.

Maloch chuckled. “I'm pretty sure there's a minimum height requirement for warrior-bards.” He reached out to give the diminutive Holm a poke.

“Maloch!” I said. A flash of blue sparks later, a tiny
Maloch stood next to Holm at the dollhouse's front door. Holm gave Maloch a kick in the shins.

“The house is cursed,” I said to them. “And curses are contagious. Holm got it when he touched the house, you got it when you touched Holm, you naff-nut.”

“How do we help them?” Reena said, nudging me in the ribs. “Can't you do something with your pouches?”

Unfortunately, curses were too powerful to be counteracted by the magic-resistant plants in my pouches. Maloch and Holm could be stuck that way a long, long time.

Reena bent over and squinted at our small friends. They were waving their arms over their heads and pointing behind us.

“Oh, that can't be good,” I said as Reena and I slowly turned around.

The stuffed Satyran doll loomed over us, its woolen hooves making no sound as it stomped across the floor.

“Somebody wants to play,” I said. Silently, the doll raised an arm and swung.

Reena and I each dove in a different direction. As I hit the ground, I saw the other toys in the room stirring. The one-eyed rag doll pulled itself to its feet. The crank on the
jack-in-the-box churned sluggishly, and an eerie, dirgelike tune rose up out of the box. The toy chest lid creaked open, and a legion of marionettes painted like harlequins crawled up over the edge, dragging their thin strings behind.

“When Holm touched the house, it set off the trap,” I said, backing away from the Satyran, which had bent over to attack Reena with its crocheted horns.

“Yeah,” she said, “I got that.” She rolled out of the doll's way, then spun and hit it with the torch. The Satyran ignited but didn't slow down. Its flaming arms flailed, trying to hit whichever of us was closer.

“I think you made it mad,” I said as we regrouped under the table that held the dollhouse.

The other toys, much slower than the Satyran, were crawling or walking toward us, arms outstretched. Suddenly, the rag doll sprang, wrapping its cloth arms around Reena's leg. Reena cried out as the arms squeezed tighter and tighter. I pulled a dirk from my boot and swung it at the rag doll. That's when the harlequin marionettes leaped forward, darting all around and wrapping me in their thin but powerful strings.

Reena thrust the torch forward, but a toy par-Goblin
hobbled across the floor and snatched it from her hand. I twisted and turned to free myself. But every time I jerked, my limbs were pulled in tighter to my body, and soon it was hard to breathe. The marionettes cackled.

Shhk!

I looked around to see a thin dart sticking out of the nearest marionette's painted face.
Shhk! Shhk!
Two more darts in two more marionettes. Reena had managed to grab her blowgun and was sending out poisoned darts everywhere she could. The poison had no effect, but the toys were clearly not expecting the assault.