Champions of the Fox

Description

In this conclusion to the thrilling Thieves of Shadow series, bestselling author Kevin Sands delivers a jaw-dropping heist that sees five young thieves masterminding a prison break from the empire’s most impenetrable island fortress. Fans of The False Prince and Ocean’s Eleven will be mesmerized by this page-turning series filled with twists and turns.

“Follow my instructions, and when our task is done, I will release you.”

Commanded by the magical artifact known as the Dragon’s Eye, junior con artist Callan and his friends are eagerly reaching the end of the epic quest that will finally free him from the Eye’s sinister hold. But their final task is their most ambitious: sneaking into the emperor’s private island prison and rescuing a man from a jail cell that has been locked tight for a hundred years. This impossible heist will strain the gang’s unique abilities to thieve and deceive everyone from the guards, the city elite, the warden, and even the nefarious local crime boss who warns them to stay away.

As the friends plan out their last and most difficult con job, Callan begins to question what they’re helping the Eye to achieve. Aided by magical hints and fitful dreams, Callan slowly uncovers the Eye’s true desires. To his horror, he realizes that he may be the one being conned all this time . . . and his mistake could cost the world’s entire existence.PRAISE FOR THE THIEVES OF SHADOW SERIES

NPR Best Book of the Year
Amazon Best Book of the Month

★ ”In a sharp-witted series opener, Sands crafts an adventure with mythological undertones and a heist framework.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)

“Kevin Sands brings mystery, magic and a pretty major con-job to his first fantasy novel, a story where things are never quite as they seem. Be prepared for an exciting read.” 
—NPR

“This high-energy thriller is perfect for younger fans of Six of Crows, the movie Ocean’s Eleven, and other inside-job narratives. Readers will be sure to delight in narrator Callan’s sharp wit and snappy voice as they are introduced to the rest of the crew and their unusual skills. Cryptic messages, creepy characters, and unexpected but endearing friendships abound.”
—Booklist

“Sands has created a rip-roaring story full of frantic twists and turns that leave readers questioning what is real and what is not. The magic is believable, and the world is easy to imagine. And one cannot help but root for these young protagonists whose lives have been so difficult and yet who manage to hope for a better future. A fabulous choice.”
—School Library Journal

“The band of thieves navigates through their world’s lost history and mythology on a quest that will take them diving to reach a shipwreck and ends with a major heist. The climax even delights in genre conventions, cutting from the action to flashbacks of the planning and scheming. A fun heist is a reward for expository worldbuilding.”
—Kirkus ReviewsSince escaping from university with a pair of degrees in theoretical physics, Kevin Sands has worked as a researcher, a business consultant, a teacher, and a professional poker player. He lives in Ontario, Canada. He is the author of the Thieves of Shadow series, which includes Children of the Fox and Seekers of the Fox, as well as the bestselling Blackthorn Key series.Chapter 1
Was I dreaming?
I was standing alone in the woods. Trees stretched high above me, their trunks overgrown with moss. The light was dim, the only illumination coming from our twin moons shining through the leaves. A forest, much like any other.
Except I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten here.
The last thing I recalled was Gareth. It was bedtime, and with little space at the inn, he, Lachlan, and I had piled into one room while Meriel and Foxtail took the other. As usual, Lachlan had asked Gareth to read him a story from the Fox and Bear book I’d given him. Gareth had obliged, telling the tale of the Fox, the Bear, and the Whistling Wind from his blanket cocoon on the floor as Lachlan nestled into his pillow.
I hadn’t really been listening. I’d heard the story a hundred times before, told to me by the Old Man—­the gaffer who’d raised me, taught me how to cheat people, then abandoned me after we’d had one too many fights. So as Gareth read, I just closed my eyes, letting his soft, low voice drift me to sleep.
Then my mind filled with strange images.
First I stood between giant creatures, reptilian things, lumbering beneath an orange sky streaked with clouds tinted green. As the beasts walked, they stretched impossibly long necks up to strip the bark from spiny trees, lowing with contentment as they chewed.
Then I was in a cellar, the creaking shelves around me smelling of mildew.
Then I was on a boat, and my hand was on fire.
Then I was . . . I don’t know where I was. In pitch black. Someone was laughing in the darkness.
Dreams, surely dreams. Bizarre, half-­remembered things, already fading from memory.
But now I was here, among these trees. And this didn’t feel like a dream. It was too real, too alive. The rustling of the leaves as the wind blew. The peaty scent of moss. The stink of wet, rotting log. And something else. Something below that, hot and coppery.
Blood.
I could smell it. It was coming from the other side of a crooked old oak. Where the ground was dug up, the earth strewn about.
Cautious—­and still confused—­I approached the hole. There were tracks pressed into the dirt, three-­toed, with claws. Each print was twice the span of my hand.
What kind of creature could make these?
The smell got stronger the closer I got. Not just blood anymore, but the reek of decay. Inside the scar in the ground were the ravaged bodies of the animals that had lived in this den.
They were foxes. Whatever had dug up the earth had torn apart the little ones. On the other side of the hole lay the broken body of their mother, killed defending her young.
I backed away, skin crawling. My heel caught on a root, sending me sprawling into the dirt—­where I found myself face-­to-­face with a pair of eyes staring from under the brush. Orange, with vertical slits for pupils.
Alarmed, I shouted—­and the hidden creature squeaked back in fright. It bolted from its hiding place, little paws scrabbling in the earth as it tried to escape.
It was one of the foxes. The only one that had survived. She was small, not a cub anymore, but clearly still a juvenile, with gangly legs and a narrower-­than-­adult body. She scrambled halfway around the nearest tree before looking back in fear.
Her eyes met mine. Strangely, she stopped. She stared.
Then she ran toward me with a piteous squeal.
I lay there, stunned, as the young fox sprang into my arms. She leaped away, then back onto my chest, her tiny claws poking through my shirt. She whimpered, licking my face, crying in sorrow at the death of her family—­but also, I thought, in relief at seeing me.
Did this fox know me? I would have sworn the look in her eyes was recognition. Except I didn’t know any foxes. Other than—­
I blinked.
Was this . . . Shuna? Back when she was young?
I didn’t think so. This fox smelled musky; Shuna had never had any scent I could detect. And though it was hard to make out colors in the moonlight, this fox’s fur looked more brown to me than Shuna’s vivid red. She didn’t have a patch of white fur on her belly, either, like I’d seen on the Spirit. 
She licked my face in desperation, ears out, tail swishing. She clawed against me as I stood, trying to stay in my arms. Still confused, I held her close. That seemed to calm her, and she looked up at me with sad but friendly eyes.
Then she froze. Her ears went flat, her tail tucked into me.
And a low growl rumbled through the forest.
I didn’t even think about it. I ran. Panic fueled my legs, feet thudding against the ground, stomach churning. The fox clung to me, her head nestled in the crook of my neck, mute with fear.
I sprinted, the trees a blur, until I couldn’t run anymore. I stopped, back pressed against a giant trunk, listening for that growl, but my heart pounded so hard it was like a drumbeat drowning out any other sound. The fox looked around, alert, but she didn’t seem to hear anything, either. As she relaxed, I did, too. A bit.
“What was that thing?” I whispered when I could breathe again.
The young fox gave a soft squeak and stared at me with those catlike eyes. Feeling safe again, her ears went wide once more, bushy tail brushing against me as she licked the corner of my mouth. She definitely knew me; I was sure of it. And even more strange, I was starting to feel like I knew her, too.
I put her down. She sniffed the air around her, returning to the smells of the forest, unconcerned. Maybe this was a dream after all, then. The fox’s change in mood was certainly dreamlike—­swinging from sheer terror to total peace without any logic—­yet nothing else felt like I was asleep. I tried listening once more for that growl, but it was gone. Though there was something else now beyond the rustle of the fox’s nose in the leaves.
thwock-­thwock-­thwock-­whop
I strained to hear it. It sounded like something hitting wood.
A woodsman? With an ax? No, the beat was too fast. “What is that?” I asked the fox.
She looked confused, like she didn’t understand what I was on about.
thwock-­thwock-­thwock-­whop
“Can’t you hear that?” I said.
The fox cocked her head and chirped at me, puzzled.
Was this sound only for me? Oddly, it did feel as if it was calling to me, like I needed to find out what it was. There was something afterward, too. Mumbling? Someone said something.
I stood there, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from.
thwock-­thwock-­thwock-­whop
“Again.”
There. A voice. A man’s. I didn’t recognize it. But he’d definitely said—­
thwock-­thwock-­thwock-­whop
“Again.”
Why couldn’t I find it? This is important, I thought, though I didn’t understand why.
thwock-­thwock-­thwock-­whop
“Again.”
thwock-­thwock-­thwock-­whop
“Again.”
Where on earth is that coming from? I thought.
Then I heard a girl scream.US

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