Another sudden swirl of cold air ruffled the pages, and then the book was closed once again. Aldwyn jumped back. He knew the evil helmet had played a role in his troubling discovery, but there was no denying that the words had been written in Kalstaff’s hand. A sickly feeling crept over Aldwyn. Was the prophecy of the Three as false as the ones that Kalstaff had uncovered? His confidence had grown since he had learned that he did in fact possess magic powers, but were he and Gilbert and Skylar really powerful enough to save Vastia? He looked at his friends, wondering if he should share Kalstaff’s warning. But why, he thought. What good would it do to fill their heads with doubt?
Through the iron cellar doors, Aldwyn could hear the unmistakable chirping of dawn crickets announcing the arrival of the morning sun. Even though he needed no reminder, the sound spurred Aldwyn back to the mission at hand.
“Come on,” he said to his animal companions. “We should go.”
Skylar looked like she was on a shopping spree, filling her satchel with small spell scrolls and rare dried components. Dalton handed her Grimslade’s Olfax tracking snout, which he’d detached from the hunter’s belt, along with his small leather pouch.
“These aren’t going to do us a whole lot of good down here.”
Skylar opened up the bounty hunter’s bag and peered inside. “It’s a Mobius pouch!”
Aldwyn peered inside. Although small from the outside, it was enormous within, big enough to hold gear ten times its size. Aldwyn spotted a noose stick, dispeller chains, and some traps inside, similar to the one that had snared his tail when Grimslade first tried to catch him, back when he was an orphan cat in Bridgetower.
Skylar placed Grimslade’s pouch within her own just as Gilbert beckoned Shady out from his backpack.
“I’d love to take you along, boy,” Gilbert told Shady. “But I think Marianne, Dalton, and Jack might need you here, to help keep them safe.” Gilbert turned to Marianne. “He’s really easy to take care of. You just need to walk him, once around midnight and again a few hours before dawn. And he has to be hand-fed. Grubs are his favorite. But you have to chew them up for him first. Now, bathing him can be a little tricky. You know, maybe I should make a list.”
“I think we’ll be okay,” said Marianne, trying to reassure her familiar with a smile. “Be careful out there.”
Jack got down on one knee before Aldwyn.
“I feel like we’ve been saying good-bye a lot lately,” he said.
“When this is all over, you and I are finally going to go on an adventure together,” replied Aldwyn.
“Pinky swear?” asked Jack.
“If I had one, absolutely,” said Aldwyn, nuzzling up against Jack’s leg.
The boy gave him a final pet under the ear. Then Aldwyn headed for the stairwell that led out of the cellar. Dalton climbed to the top step and pushed open the iron doors.
“Send my regards to Galleon and Banshee,” he said.
“We will,” replied Skylar.
And with that, the three familiars left the underground chamber. Aldwyn looked back as Dalton began closing the cellar doors and caught a glimpse of Jack. In front of Aldwyn, the boy had put on a brave face, but now he appeared overcome with worry. Then the doors slammed shut, and Aldwyn heard the clang of the latch falling into place. Once again, it was down to the familiars to save the queendom from certain ruin—but what if, as Kalstaff had feared, prophecies didn’t always come true?
3
THE INN OF THE GOLDEN CHALICE
“We should arrive in Split River by nightfall,” said Skylar, who was leading the way across another long and monotonous stretch of the Aridifian Plains.
“Yes, if we journey by foot,” replied Aldwyn. “But we’ve made this trip much faster once before.”
“Oh, no,” said Gilbert. “There is no way I’m jumping on the back of a moving horse wagon again.”
“You’ll be fine,” said Aldwyn. “Besides, this way, we might get there in time for lunch with Galleon and Banshee.”
“Last time, my tongue nearly got ripped out of my mouth. And a frog without a tongue is like a bird without feathers, a cat without whiskers, or a mosquito sundae without slug cream.”
Fortunately, early on in their adventures, the trio had made a pact that majority ruled, so Gilbert didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. But there were no wagons in sight.
As the Three continued their trek, the clouds suddenly began to churn above them. Aldwyn looked to the west, where the disturbance was coming from. He could make out Bridgetower’s tallest spires and just beyond them, a column of gray ash that funneled into the sky.
“What is that?” he asked.
“It’s the essence of magic soaring to the Heavens,” said Skylar. “The first glyphstone has been destroyed.”
Aldwyn felt something in the pit of his stomach: a sense of growing dread.
The familiars soon caught up with a dirt road twisting into the distance, and although there was little traffic on it, they spotted a caravan of mule-drawn wagons, covered in fabric that was beautifully decorated with driftfolk ornaments. It was no surprise driftfolk were on the move in spite of Paksahara’s Dead Army. They knew the roads better than anybody else and could easily find escape routes if they were attacked by the zombies roaming the land.
“All right, Gilbert, let’s hitch us a ride,” said Aldwyn, getting a running start down the hill toward the caravan. “Remember, it’s all in the knees.”
“A frog getting jumping advice from a cat,” said Gilbert. “That’s just embarrassing.”
The two chased after the wagons as Skylar flapped her wings above them. Aldwyn made it look easy, bounding through the air and landing on the back of the rear wagon. Gilbert wasn’t nearly as graceful leaping aboard, tumbling past Aldwyn into a crate of planters.
“Wow, that knee thing really worked,” said Gilbert as he was peeling his face up off the floorboards.
A butter newt looked over at the familiars from a nearby bed of fungus.
“Whoa-oh-oh!” exclaimed the butter newt. “A cat, a bird, and a frog?! Am I in the company of the Prophesized Three?”
Skylar held her head high.
“Yes, you are,” she said proudly.
“Let me shake your paw and webbed hand and wing,” said the newt, gushing. “I’ve heard so much about you. I mean, the Three are famous!”
He flung his hand out toward Gilbert, who was about to give it a shake when he realized his webbed fingers were covered in dirt from the planters. The butter newt gripped them anyway, shaking vigorously.
“I didn’t even know if you were real,” continued the butter newt. “But here you are. In the flesh.” The newt hardly took a breath. “You’re going to save Vastia, aren’t you?”
“So it has been foretold by the stars,” said Skylar.
Just because it is written in the stars does not make it so. Aldwyn almost said it out loud. Yet here this butter newt stood, like so many other Vastians, believing that these familiars—the chosen ones—would rid the land of evil, counting on them because of a prophecy that might not even be true.
“Our caravan was in Bridgetower when the wall crumbled,” said the butter newt. “But I fear it’s just the first of many cities the zombie hordes will overtake. Even before the glyphstone there fell, many had split off, diving into the Ebs and walking across its bottom until they emerged on the other side.”
“They must be heading toward the second glyphstone,” said Skylar. “The one among the ruins of the lost city of Jabal Tur.”
“Well, I just feel better knowing that the three of you are out here protecting us,” said the butter newt. “Do you think I could ask you a favor? I hope it’s not too much of an imposition, but would you mind giving me your autographs?” He spun around and whipped his tail directly before the trio. “You can sign right there on my tail. Make it out to Nigel.”
“Scribius,” called Skylar. “A little help here.”
Scribius popped out from
Skylar’s satchel and glided over to inscribe the three familiars’ names on Nigel’s tail.
“So, where are you headed?” asked Nigel. “Or is it top secret?”
“Split River,” replied Gilbert, who seemed eager to impress his first fan.
“We’re going to visit a wizard,” added Skylar. “His name is Galleon. Perhaps you’ve heard of him. He graduated with high wizard ranking and has gone on to be something of a town hero. He vanquished a river dragon with a single strangle spell and dispatched a pack of werewasps with a ring of silver arrows.”
“Never heard of him,” said Nigel.
“He’s staying as a distinguished guest at the Inn of the Golden Chalice,” continued Skylar.
“Sounds fancy,” said the butter newt.
“Yes, well, for someone of Galleon’s esteem, no luxury is too great.”
“In that case, the three of you should be staying there, too,” said Nigel. “Crowned with jewels and bathed in dewdrops.”
Aldwyn just didn’t feel right giving this innocent drifter false hope. He politely excused himself and curled up in a comfortable spot on a stack of rugs. The last thing Aldwyn heard before he fell asleep was Nigel saying to Skylar and Gilbert, “Vastia is in good hands. The stars are never wrong about these things.”
Aldwyn’s eyes opened to find Gilbert’s webbed fingers poking him.
“We’re here,” said the tree frog.
The caravan had pulled to a stop and Aldwyn glanced around to get his bearings. Up ahead a swinging sign read SPLIT RIVER HARBOR with an arrow pointing toward a small bridge. Beyond the bridge stood a town blanketed in thick fog.
“Farewell, destined ones,” said Nigel, who remained perched on the bed of fungus.
Aldwyn and Gilbert said their good-byes and hopped off the wagon. Skylar was already flying over the small footbridge leading to the stone-and-mortar walkways of the riverside town.
The familiars headed in the direction of the harbor, taking in their new surroundings. Through the fog, it appeared to Aldwyn that all of Split River was as grimy and dirty as the rat’s alley in Bridgetower.
“Clearly the Inn of the Golden Chalice is nowhere around here.” Skylar made no effort to hide her disgust at the unappealing streets. “The inn must be in the wealthy part of town.”
As they got farther into the heart of the town, it became evident that Split River didn’t get any better. In fact, it looked like the whole harbor had been destroyed. A large sailing vessel was half submerged, its bow buried in the water and its aft sticking up into the sky. The gold paint of the ship’s name was flaking off from rot.
“For a ship called The Happiness, it doesn’t look very happy,” observed Gilbert.
“Looks like Paksahara’s Dead Army has already been here,” said Aldwyn.
A dinghy slid up to the muddy banks and a posse of men stepped ashore. That is, they would have been men but for the fact that they were only three feet tall. Barefoot, scarred, and dressed in dried sharkskin pants and shirts, they looked threatening despite their size.
“Elvin pirates,” said Skylar. “Waist-high plunderers of the sea. What they lack in stature they make up for in temper. Forbidden to serve in the Vastian Army due to their inability to meet the height requirement, they took to the open waters, cutting all ties to country, queen, and even each other. Now they’ll sink a ship just to see the bubbles.”
The disreputable swashbucklers marched from the river’s edge, across the street, and into a ramshackle tavern. Above the door dangled a rusty goblet with the words “Inn of the Golden Chalice” carved onto it.
“There must be some mistake,” said Skylar once she had read the sign. “Galleon wouldn’t be caught dead in such a place.”
“I don’t think it’s a mistake,” replied Aldwyn.
As he took his first steps into the Inn of the Golden Chalice, he immediately felt his paws sticking to the cider-stained floor. Aldwyn moved between muddy boots and dirty bare feet and over peanut shells and shards of broken clay. As he glanced up he could see concealed daggers shoved into the undersides of tabletops and playing cards hidden up the sleeves of gambling patrons. With its lunchtime crowd of drunkards, pirates, and otherwise bad folk, this was no place for a wizard, let alone a town hero. And save for a ferret curled up on the bar top and the mice collecting scraps from the floor, it wasn’t a place for animals, either.
“I don’t see Galleon,” said Skylar, flying above the crowd for a look around. “Maybe this isn’t the only Inn of the Golden Chalice in Split River. Maybe there’s another one.”
Aldwyn didn’t have time to respond, because the inn’s most unladylike barkeep was bashing a fork against a glass. She shouted in a husky voice: “Paksahara may win, and our days may be numbered, but if this is indeed the end, there’s no reason not to have a little entertainment first. Please give a warm welcome to our house magician, celebrating three years performing here on the Golden Chalice stage. Galleon the Magnificent!”
“We found him!” exclaimed Gilbert, relief in his voice.
But Aldwyn was wondering why a wizard as skilled and powerful as Galleon was supposed to be would be performing in an establishment as seedy as this one.
Then the purple velvet curtain opened and a young man emerged. Unshaven and with shoulder-length hair, he was wearing a rainbow-colored robe and comically crooked hat. He held a wooden stick with pine needles in the shape of a star glued to the top. Aldwyn thought he looked more like a befuddled court jester than a heroic wizard. He stole a glance at Skylar. Her crushed expression made it clear that this was indeed Kalstaff’s former apprentice standing before them.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am Galleon the Magnificent, conjurer of things unknown.” The so-called magician pulled a bouquet of paper flowers from his sleeve. It was a poor sleight of hand even for this drunken crowd. The pirates let out a chorus of boos.
“He must be undercover, posing as the village idiot,” said Gilbert to the others. “He’s probably trying to root out some vagabonds.”
Aldwyn didn’t have the heart to tell Gilbert the truth.
“Now, friends,” continued Galleon, his voice barely audible above the din of the tavern, “let me introduce you to my wondrous familiar, whose talent will leave you in awe. The faint of heart should sit down. Presenting Edgar, the mind-reading chipmunk!”
An overweight chipmunk emerged from behind the purple curtain, dressed in a robe that matched Galleon’s.
“Chipmunk?” Gilbert’s bulging eyes grew even wider. “Where’s Banshee?”
Galleon leaned down toward Edgar, as if listening to something being whispered in his ear. Then he turned to a burly man sitting in the front row.
“According to Edgar, you, sir, are hungry for another bowl of peanuts.”
“It doesn’t take a mind reader to tell me that!” bellowed the angry patron.
“On to my next trick,” said Galleon. “Who would like to feast their eyes on the floating balls of Astraloch? And if you like what you see, please drop a coin in the mug. Remember, your money won’t do you any good once Paksahara has laid waste to all of Vastia.” Galleon pulled two crudely painted wooden spheres, one with stars and one with moons, out from beneath his robe. “Edgar, make the balls dance in the air.”
Edgar stared at the two spheres, concentrating, and suddenly they began to rise into the air. But it was obvious to everyone in the tavern that they were both dangling from clear strings tied to Galleon’s wrists.
“Let’s head backstage and wait for Galleon there,” said Skylar. “Maybe he can tell us what happened to Banshee. Besides, I can’t bear to watch this anymore.”
She flapped away, with Aldwyn right behind her. Gilbert reluctantly followed, eyes glued to the stage. The Three darted behind the curtain and found themselves in a broom closet, where they could still hear Galleon trying to amaze the audience.
“Now the balls will float away, perhaps never to be seen again.”
The curtain parted slight
ly and the balls moved through with strings still attached. From the tavern, Aldwyn could hear more boos and hisses.
“Tough crowd,” said Gilbert. “I thought that was pretty neat.”
Edgar scurried backstage, huffing and puffing. Naturally, he was surprised to see three animals standing in the closet.
“This is an exclusive dressing room back here,” he said. “The only ones allowed are entertainers and kitchen staff.”
“We’re old acquaintances of Galleon,” explained Skylar. “What’s happened to him? I know human magic was recently dispelled from the land, but he couldn’t have hit rock bottom that fast.”
“Ha!” Edgar laughed. “Galleon hasn’t had magic in years.”
“You’re wrong,” said Gilbert. “He sent letters, about slaying river dragons and battling sea trolls.”
The chipmunk shook his head. “I don’t know what tall tales you’ve been hearing, but Galleon fell on hard times way before Paksahara started causing trouble.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, where’s Banshee?” asked Skylar.
“She left town years ago,” said Edgar.
“Without Galleon? Impossible,” said Skylar. “A familiar and loyal stay together for life.”
“Not this time,” said Edgar. “When Galleon first arrived in town, he was coming to replace an elder sorcerer who had protected Split River for half a century. The city was thriving, safe from ravaging monsters and plunderers. But then Galleon fell in love with a girl named Delilah, the daughter of the richest shipping baron on all of the Ebs. Problem was she had already been betrothed to a wizard named Coriander born to a spice fortune. He challenged Galleon to a disenchantment duel, and if you know Galleon, you know that he never backed down from a challenge.”
The Familiars #3: Circle of Heroes Page 3
