until they could no longer see the square, then let go and landed on the roof of a building, clutching at the thatch.
“I need to find the Mapmaker before Gor does,” he said to Firepos. “Stay out of sight until I call you.”
The Beast spread her golden wings and took to the air.
Tanner lowered himself from the roof and dropped into the narrow alley. It was empty, and the houses on either side were quiet, although he suspected many were a refuge for the terrified Colweirians; they had to be hiding somewhere.
He knocked at the first door he came across. He heard someone moving behind it.
“I’m not the enemy,” Tanner hissed through the crack. “Please, I need your help.”
The door was flung open and before Tanner could move, something cold pressed into his neck. He stared into the eyes of a young woman, who gripped a gardening fork with white-knuckled hands. He winced as sharp prongs dug into his skin.
“What do you want?” she whispered aggressively.
Tanner put his hands in the air.
“The brute who attacked your town wants someone called the Mapmaker,” he said. “I need to find him first.”
“The Mapmaker’s gone,” she said. “He left long ago. His apprentice is still here, though.”
“Where can I find him?” asked Tanner.
The woman narrowed her eyes. “Why should I tell you anything?”
“He’s in terrible danger,” said Tanner. “Trust me, if these murderers wanted to find you, you’d want to be warned about it first.”
The woman lowered the fork. “All right. You look honest enough. The Mapmaker lived on the other side of town,” she said. “Follow this alley, then take the third turn on the right. Keep going until you find the butcher’s. It’s next door. There’s a sign.”
Nodding his thanks, Tanner sped off down the alley, sprinting across open roads, terrified that Gor’s soldiers would spot him. Lungs burning and brow slick with sweat, he peeked around a corner and saw the butcher’s a few buildings down.
Next door to the butcher’s was a building with a sign above it: M APMAKERS OF A VANTIA . Two of Gor’s soldiers stood on either side of the entrance. Tanner saw the door hanging on its hinges.
I’m too late! Tanner thought.
The body of the dark-haired boy who had led them to the Mapmaker lay spread-eagled on the ground, blood oozing from his slashed throat. Tanner darted out from the alley as quickly as he could and hid in the butcher’s doorway.
General Gor strode out from the Mapmaker’s. “Excellent,” he said. “We have what we need.”
Tanner peered out from his hiding place. Gor stood barely five steps away from him, tall and imposing. Squirming in his grasp was Geffen, the fair-haired boy from the market. In his other gauntlet he clutched a rolled-up parchment. Tanner stared at it. It’s a map!
“This map will show us where to find the other pieces of the mask,” Gor growled.
Tanner gripped his sword hilt, his skin prickling. He couldn’t let Gor get away with the map.
“Shall we kill the boy?” said one of the soldiers, drawing a dagger from his belt. Geffen whimpered.
Gor gripped Geffen’s collar and lifted him off the ground, regarding him coldly. “Not yet,” he said. “The Mapmaker may have gone, but his apprentice here may be useful. Besides, he might provide the varkules with some sport later on.”
The boy’s eyes widened in terror. Gor dropped him and looked around with distaste. “Let us leave this rat hole. The smell of peasant is making me feel sick.”
Tanner followed them back to the main square, keeping a safe distance, his mind whirling as he tried to decide what to do next. He could not attack, but he had to stop Gor from taking the map. The surviving defenders were still in their groups, surrounded by Gor’s men.
“Take him!” shouted Gor, thrusting the boy roughly toward one of the varkule riders. The boy skidded to a halt in front of the drooling varkule, pale with terror. The creature pulled back
“I need to find the Mapmaker before Gor does,” he said to Firepos. “Stay out of sight until I call you.”
The Beast spread her golden wings and took to the air.
Tanner lowered himself from the roof and dropped into the narrow alley. It was empty, and the houses on either side were quiet, although he suspected many were a refuge for the terrified Colweirians; they had to be hiding somewhere.
He knocked at the first door he came across. He heard someone moving behind it.
“I’m not the enemy,” Tanner hissed through the crack. “Please, I need your help.”
The door was flung open and before Tanner could move, something cold pressed into his neck. He stared into the eyes of a young woman, who gripped a gardening fork with white-knuckled hands. He winced as sharp prongs dug into his skin.
“What do you want?” she whispered aggressively.
Tanner put his hands in the air.
“The brute who attacked your town wants someone called the Mapmaker,” he said. “I need to find him first.”
“The Mapmaker’s gone,” she said. “He left long ago. His apprentice is still here, though.”
“Where can I find him?” asked Tanner.
The woman narrowed her eyes. “Why should I tell you anything?”
“He’s in terrible danger,” said Tanner. “Trust me, if these murderers wanted to find you, you’d want to be warned about it first.”
The woman lowered the fork. “All right. You look honest enough. The Mapmaker lived on the other side of town,” she said. “Follow this alley, then take the third turn on the right. Keep going until you find the butcher’s. It’s next door. There’s a sign.”
Nodding his thanks, Tanner sped off down the alley, sprinting across open roads, terrified that Gor’s soldiers would spot him. Lungs burning and brow slick with sweat, he peeked around a corner and saw the butcher’s a few buildings down.
Next door to the butcher’s was a building with a sign above it: M APMAKERS OF A VANTIA . Two of Gor’s soldiers stood on either side of the entrance. Tanner saw the door hanging on its hinges.
I’m too late! Tanner thought.
The body of the dark-haired boy who had led them to the Mapmaker lay spread-eagled on the ground, blood oozing from his slashed throat. Tanner darted out from the alley as quickly as he could and hid in the butcher’s doorway.
General Gor strode out from the Mapmaker’s. “Excellent,” he said. “We have what we need.”
Tanner peered out from his hiding place. Gor stood barely five steps away from him, tall and imposing. Squirming in his grasp was Geffen, the fair-haired boy from the market. In his other gauntlet he clutched a rolled-up parchment. Tanner stared at it. It’s a map!
“This map will show us where to find the other pieces of the mask,” Gor growled.
Tanner gripped his sword hilt, his skin prickling. He couldn’t let Gor get away with the map.
“Shall we kill the boy?” said one of the soldiers, drawing a dagger from his belt. Geffen whimpered.
Gor gripped Geffen’s collar and lifted him off the ground, regarding him coldly. “Not yet,” he said. “The Mapmaker may have gone, but his apprentice here may be useful. Besides, he might provide the varkules with some sport later on.”
The boy’s eyes widened in terror. Gor dropped him and looked around with distaste. “Let us leave this rat hole. The smell of peasant is making me feel sick.”
Tanner followed them back to the main square, keeping a safe distance, his mind whirling as he tried to decide what to do next. He could not attack, but he had to stop Gor from taking the map. The surviving defenders were still in their groups, surrounded by Gor’s men.
“Take him!” shouted Gor, thrusting the boy roughly toward one of the varkule riders. The boy skidded to a halt in front of the drooling varkule, pale with terror. The creature pulled back
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