Free The Mapmaker's Sons by V. L. Burgess

impatiently listening to the tale, filled in. “Weeks went by, and you were gone, lost. In the meantime, Keegan learned he’d been duped. His oracles assured him that twin sons had in fact been born.”
    â€œEventually Garth and I found the wine merchant and traced him to you,” Umbrey said. “But by then it was too late.”
    â€œToo late?” Tom echoed. “What does that mean?”
    â€œYour parents couldn’t risk bringing you to them, not with Keegan watching night and day, so your father provided a map and instructions for me to take you out of Keegan’s reach. Somewhere you would be safe until he could come get you. It was only meant to be temporary.”
    â€œBut he never came,” Tom said, unable to disguise the note of resentment that crept into his voice.
    â€œIt was too dangerous, lad. For you, your brother, your parents—for everyone. He couldn’t risk it.”
    â€œAnd now?” Tom tilted his chin from Umbrey to Porter. “You’re here. He’s here. My parents? Where are they?”
    Porter raked his fingers through his hair. He stood and turned away, but not before Tom glimpsed the sadness on his face. “Illness swept the region last winter. They died of fever within days of each other.” He shook his head, and in a voice choked with emotion, continued, “They never knew you. They never knew us, together, what we might be. What we might do. They lived and died under Keegan’s rule, too afraid to test Father’s map and try to change things.”
    Umbrey surged to his feet in protest. “Too afraid of losing both of you if they did try,” he shot back. “You were safe; Tom was safe. Maybe that’s all they could dare hope for.”
    Porter’s eyes glittered with quiet rage. “Maybe
safe
wasn’t good enough.”
    Tom turned away from his brother’s brooding resentment,from Umbrey’s shrill outrage. He needed to digest everything he’d heard. Umbrey’s tale told him some of why he was there, but there were too many questions still unanswered. He needed time to sort through it all.
    But Umbrey, glancing out the window, suddenly stiffened. “We may have a problem, lads.”
    Tom and Porter shot to his side, their gazes locked on the scene unfolding below. Porter’s mount was in the hands of The Watch, his cloak hanging limply over the saddle. Two of Keegan’s men knifed through the leather straps Porter had tried so desperately to tug free. Digging inside, they lifted thick sheets of paper, bags of what looked like foodstuffs, and assorted equipment Tom couldn’t begin to identify.
    â€œCongratulations,” Porter bit out, glaring at Tom. “Now Keegan has no doubt I’ve gone after the sword. You’ve just signed my death warrant.”
    â€œSteady, lads. It’s not over yet. We still have the map.”
    â€œWhich will do us no good at all without those Letters of Passage,” Porter retorted. “You think Keegan won’t station extra men to guard the gates now?”
    He began to say more but stopped abruptly, his face going pale. A lone man wearing a black fur cape wordlessly edged his mount into the circle of The Watch. Though Tom had never cast eyes on Keegan before, there was no question it was him. It was evident in the man’s air of cool authority, in the deferential way his men immediately passed him the papers they’d retrieved from Porter’s saddlebags. It could only be him.
    Keegan scanned the documents and then lifted his head, searching the rows of dilapidated buildings. Before Tom could step back from the window, Keegan’s gaze locked on his. Their eyes met and held. A shiver of dark foreboding shot through Tom, as though Keegan had just drawn one of his talon-like fingers down his spine.
    He stood frozen in place until Porter grabbed his arm and jerked him back. “Don’t let him see you.”
    He