The Familiars: Secrets of the Crown (5 page)

Skylar placed map and pen in her satchel. Gilbert and Aldwyn stood on either side of her. Queen Loranella faced them.

“Find the Crown and bring it back to the palace,” she said. “We’ll assemble an army, and when the Fortress is summoned, animals and humans together will reclaim it.”

The trio nodded.

“Familiars, for hundreds of years the safety of Vastia has rested on the shoulders of wizards,” continued the queen. “Now its future rests on yours.”

Aldwyn, Skylar and Gilbert stood before the grand bronze portcullis for which Bronzhaven had been named. It took the strength of twelve horses to lift the heavy gate into the air, now that the queen’s feather spells could no longer lighten the load. As the familiars passed beneath its shining bars, Aldwyn looked back to see Jack waving from the royal cleric’s room. It was too far to shout, so Aldwyn lifted a paw instead, and loyal and familiar shared one last unspoken goodbye. With the gleaming parapets of the palace behind them, the trio headed down Bronzhaven’s main artery, a thoroughfare paved with gold and silver taken from the Lilic Mines at the base of Kailasa. Unlike Aldwyn’s former stomping grounds of Bridgetower, with its gritty back alleys and underground sewer markets, Vastia’s capital city was befitting a queen, perfectly groomed and immaculate in every way. As a result of the council’s recommendation to stay indoors, few citizens remained on the streets, but those who did stepped out of the familiars’ way. Aldwyn assumed it was because they recognised him and his fellow companions as the prophesised ones.

“I’m still not used to this,” said Gilbert. “When I see strangers staring at me like that, I always think I have food stuck in my teeth.”

“Once word got out that a cat, bird and frog were going to be the saviours of Vastia, what did you expect?” asked Aldwyn.

“I don’t know,” replied Gilbert. “Maybe a story written about us in the historical scrolls.”

“Those aren’t looks of reverence,” said Skylar. “They’re nervous that we’re not capable of meeting such an insurmountable challenge.”

Aldwyn glanced back at the people and immediately realised that her observation was on point. The citizens were watching them doubtfully, and Aldwyn, trying to see it through their eyes, could imagine feeling the same way. If he had been told that three animals an eighth of his size were all that stood between him and certain death, he wouldn’t believe it, either.

Once they had reached the edge of the city, where the gold- and silver-flecked street turned to dirt, they turned west and headed down the fence-lined road that would lead them through the outer villages of the western plains. It was fast going, save for Gilbert, who Aldwyn noticed was hopping about rather strangely.

“Why the waddle in your step?” asked Aldwyn.

Gilbert hemmed and hawed a little. “This is how I always walk.”

Aldwyn looked at the tree frog sceptically. They had travelled many miles together, and this was definitely a new gait for him.

“OK, the truth is I’ve been practising some of the spells in Marianne’s pocket scrolls,” said Gilbert. “And it turns out I don’t have much of a knack for this whole magic thing.”

“What does that have to do with your funny walk?” asked Aldwyn.

“Have either of you counted the toes on my right foot lately?”

Aldwyn and Skylar glanced down at Gilbert’s webbed foot. And sure enough, where there should have been four toes, there were seven!

“Gilbert,” exclaimed Skylar, “how did you do that?”

“I tried to conjure a trio of enchanted bows. Apparently my b’s sound more like t’s when I’m chanting. I’m just lucky I didn’t try to transform myself into a bird.”

His two companions tried to keep from laughing.

“Did I ever tell you about the first time I tried to conjure a flame fairy?” asked Skylar. “It didn’t go according to plan, either. Her hue was more yellow than orange.”

“And then what happened?” said Gilbert.

“That’s it. They’re supposed to be orange. It was very embarrassing.”

Gilbert shook his head. “Remind me not to have you cheer me up in the future.”

“I haven’t exactly mastered my telekinesis yet, either,” said Aldwyn.

“Well I, for one, feel far more prepared this time,” said Skylar. “This month of study and training has sharpened my spellcasting abilities considerably.” Then, noticing her companion’s looks, she added, “You’re right. I’m not so good at the whole cheering-up thing, am I?”

For most of the morning, the three animals continued through the Bronzhaven Plains. Being autumn, the weather was brisk, even more so given the disappearance of the queen’s weather-binding spells. The outer villages were surrounded by squares of tall wheat, and if Aldwyn hadn’t seen the portcullis at the palace’s entrance, he might have thought the name Bronzhaven came from the brownish-gold colour of the high stalks.

By the time high sun had arrived, the familiars were rounding a bend where they were treated to a kaleidoscopic rainbow of colours. There before them, to the right and left, was a patchwork of vibrant flowers – shimmering reds, electric blues and tiny golden bulbs that sparkled as bright as any coin.

“A Xylem garden,” explained Skylar, as usual never one to miss an opportunity to show off her abundant knowledge of all things. “Every flower, herb, or spice a wizard would ever need is grown in these hills. Kalstaff often said if he hadn’t become a teacher he would have tended one of these component nurseries.”

Aldwyn, even though he hadn’t been a familiar for long, could already recognise a few of the more popular varieties. There were orange mint leaves, cumin and patches of grey rigour weed alongside pink-petalled flowers that looked like butterflies and bushes with white berries that jangled like bells in the breeze.

As they walked through the garden, the animals were careful not to step on any of the blossoming buds. But Aldwyn found himself undeniably drawn to a leafy green herb. Hypnotised by it, he stepped over some tendrils lying on the ground and reached out his paw. “Aldwyn!” called Skylar. “Don’t touch that.”

He was just about to grab the herb when he felt something brushing up against his ankle. He looked down and saw that constrictor vines were twisting round his ankles. He backed away from the plant and the vines recoiled.

“I don’t know what happened,” said Aldwyn, hurrying away.

“Catnip,” replied Skylar. “It’s irresistible to you felines, but one should never steal it from a Xylem garden. Or anything else for that matter.”

“Wish you had mentioned that before,” said Gilbert, sounding strangely constricted.

Aldwyn and Skylar spun round to see the tree frog held tight in the grip of more constrictor vines. His webbed hands were covered in purple, and he had berry juice on his mouth and chin.

The vines began pulling Gilbert towards the undergrowth. Aldwyn’s attention homed in on a rusty rake lying in a dirt patch of the garden. He lifted it telekinetically, swinging it through the air and causing its five metal pricks to impale the green tendrils. They let Gilbert go, and the tree frog made a giant leap and landed between Aldwyn and Skylar.

“Can we at least try to make it to the Ebs before getting killed?” asked Skylar wryly.

The trio continued on. With the capital city far behind them, the roads became eerily calm. It seemed as if few humans were willing to risk all but the most necessary journeys during such uncertain times, preferring to lock their doors and keep their windows shuttered. Aldwyn couldn’t help but wonder how useful that tactic would be if Paksahara decided to come knocking.

Aldwyn and Skylar had set a swift pace, but having seven toes on one foot didn’t help Gilbert keep up. He complained incessantly about tiny pebbles getting stuck between his extra digits. It wasn’t until Aldwyn suggested the tree frog hitch a ride on his back that they began to make up for lost time. Aldwyn didn’t mind the additional weight; hearing Gilbert’s haikus about lily pads and lost loves recited directly into his ear was a different story.

Later, with the afternoon sun no longer hanging as high in the sky, the Ebs appeared before the familiars, a thick wide swathe of bluish green water that cut the land in two. Beyond it, Aldwyn could see the tall trees of the Hinterwoods, and towering over them the snow-peaked Kailasa mountains. The smell of the great river – a mix of fish and damp earth – reminded Aldwyn of his days spent in Bridgetower, whose western wall hugged the Ebs itself.

As they got closer, they could see that the river was littered with debris – capsized boats torn to shreds and wooden planks with giant bite marks in them. The familiars had ferried across this river once before, only this time on their crossing, it looked like the mighty Ebs would be inhabited by much more treacherous scaled creatures than river flounder.

The road that the familiars had been following led them to a small dock, or what little was left of it, where a half-dozen floating rafts were tethered. A soldier armed with bow and arrow was ushering travellers aboard one of them, while a second ferry – empty save for a single oarsman – was preparing for departure as well. The animal trio was stopped at the foot of the dock by a second soldier, this one holding a sword.

Skylar reached her beak into her satchel and pulled out Queen Loranella’s letter. She held it out for the soldier, who unfolded the parchment. It took him but a moment to read it.

“My apologies, noble familiars,” he said and bowed deeply.

He returned the queen’s letter and stepped aside, allowing Aldwyn, Skylar and Gilbert to pass.

“Now this I could get used to,” said Gilbert.

They hurried towards the passengerless raft, but before they got there, the sword-wielding soldier called out, “I wouldn’t recommend taking that vessel if I were you. I’d stick to the other one.”

Aldwyn wasn’t sure why they were sending out a ferry with just a helmsman, but he and his companions would heed the soldier’s warning. They headed for the crowded platform.

“I don’t feel so good,” said Gilbert as they were waiting in line to step on to the raft.

“Gilbert, we’re not even on the ferry yet,” said Skylar.

“It’s the anticipation.”

“You got any better ideas?” asked Aldwyn.

“How long would it take to get to the bridge in Split River?” responded Gilbert.

“Three days,” said Skylar. “And three days to get back here. By that estimation, we’d have just a few hours left to find the Crown and defeat Paksahara.”

“So I’m guessing that’s out of the question,” replied the tree frog queasily.

The single-manned raft left first, heading towards the other side, where the Hinterwoods rose up behind the riverbank. Aldwyn watched curiously as the vessel gathered speed. Then he noticed a massive bed of floating seaweed approaching the raft.

“Now!” hollered the armed soldier to the oarsman of the ferry still waiting at the docks. “Go! Go!”

Lurching forward, they began their trip across the Ebs. Aldwyn’s eyes returned to the moving algae following the other raft. With sudden and alarming speed, the mass of floating vegetation lifted out of the water, and Aldwyn saw what it was clinging to – the dripping-wet head of a river dragon!

Nobody needed to tell the oarsman of their own vessel to paddle faster. He was already rowing furiously, as if their lives depended on it. Which, thought Aldwyn, they probably did.

The purpose of the other, empty, raft was now clear – it was a decoy. As the river dragon rose up in the air, Aldwyn got a good look at the beast’s fish scales and gills, and the barnacles stuck to the underside of its neck. The dragon bared its teeth, but just before its ten rows of sharp incisors bit down on the wooden planks, the helmsman took a flying leap off the empty raft, which splintered instantly and disappeared below the water. The helmsman came up for air thirty feet away and began swimming frantically towards the shoreline. By the time the river dragon realised there was no flesh to pepper the bland taste of varnished pine, the ferry the familiars were atop was already two-thirds of the way across and the helmsman had made it safely to the other side.

The vessel docked soon after, leaving the river dragon to trawl the deeper waters. Once they were safely on dry land again and Gilbert’s face had more or less returned to its usual colour, Skylar pulled out Scribius’s map and orientated herself.

“We continue southwest from here, deep into the heart of the Hinterwoods,” she said. “If this dogwood we’re looking for truly reaches to the clouds, it will be impossible to miss.”

Skylar flapped towards the centre of the forest, with Aldwyn and Gilbert trying to keep up with her. A cool, dry, pine-scented air filled Aldwyn’s nostrils, and in that calming moment he thought back on how quickly and completely his life had changed since that day in the curious pet shop in Bridgetower. As they travelled through the woods, speeding as fast as they could towards their uncertain destination, all the trees started to look the same. It had already been a long day, and legs and wings were growing tired. But the trio was keen to get there before they lost the day’s sunlight.

Sunset was near when, through the mass of brown and green, Aldwyn could make out a towering trunk of white that stretched vertically into the air. He didn’t need to be told that this was the mighty dogwood tree.

The three animals came to a stop all at the same time. It was impossible not to be in awe of this massive, thousand-year-old natural wonder, with its pearly base as wide as ten cave trolls standing in a circle. Every other tree in its presence looked like a mere blade of grass in comparison. Its branches were filled with leaves that had seen many seasons and with birds’ nests that were long abandoned but that had withstood the trials of time in the tree’s protective boughs.