The Familiars (22 page)

“S
o, is your name even Aldwyn?” asked Gilbert.

“Of course it is,” he answered, glad that somebody was talking to him.

It was the third day’s late afternoon, and the familiars were now trekking northward toward the Torentia Falls, a slippery, treacherous, and, worst of all, time-consuming detour—one that Aldwyn felt more than a little guilty about.

“If you’re not from Maidenmere, where are you from?” continued Gilbert.

“I’m an alley cat from Bridgetower.”

“Well, should we be forced to rummage through garbage, you’ll be the first we ask for help,” said Skylar, acknowledging him for the first time since they’d left Maidenmere.

“Okay, I deserved that,” Aldwyn said. “But my lowly upbringing has gotten us out of quite a bit of trouble on this journey.”

“We would have been just fine without you,” replied Skylar, holding her beak high stubbornly.

“Really? Who thought of hitching that ride on the horse cart? Or throwing the three-leaf clover in the octopot? Or getting us past the Mountain Alchemist’s invisible wall?”

“But none of that changes the fact you’re not a familiar,” said Skylar simply. “You can’t do anything magical.”

“I can make fish disappear,” said Aldwyn, trying to lighten the mood.

Gilbert giggled, unable to stay angry at his friend. That didn’t seem to be a problem for Skylar, though.

“Well, the good news is it won’t be difficult for you to find your way back home,” said Skylar.

“Why’s that?” asked Aldwyn.

“Because this is the Ebs,” she said, gesturing to the top of the waterfall. “It loops all the way back around the Peaks of Kailasa, straight past the Turn, and down to the walls of Bridgetower.”

It looked as if Aldwyn would not be changing Skylar’s mind after all: she and Gilbert would be continuing on to the Sunken Palace, while he would be setting off in the opposite direction on his own. Perhaps he would return to Bridgetower to scavenge the streets he knew so well, or maybe he’d explore a new city along the way, one where food might be easier to come by. Tammy would probably welcome him for as long as he cared to stay at the inn. But then he thought of Jack, and his tail curled involuntarily, the same way it did the very first time his loyal touched him. The boy’s life was still in danger, and Aldwyn knew that there was no way he would be able to go back to his old life. He had promised to take care of Jack, and he would be true to his promise, magic or no magic.

While Aldwyn was thinking about the best way to talk Skylar into letting him continue with
them, the animals had come to the rocky bank of the rapids. A series of slick boulders and fallen trees made a path to the other side. Farther down the river, they could hear the sound of the Ebs rushing over the edge of the falls and crashing to the unseen rocks below.

“We’re lucky the rains have been so light,” said Skylar. “Otherwise this would not be crossable.”

She flew ahead as Gilbert and Aldwyn hopped from stone to log. Splashes of cold water landed on Aldwyn’s fur. The crossing would have been smooth if Gilbert had only looked down to see the small patch of algae covering his stepping-stone. Unfortunately his eyes were already measuring the distance to the next rock, and his webbed foot slipped. As Gilbert’s belly hit the stone, Jack’s pouch jostled around his neck, flipping upside down, which wouldn’t have been a problem had it not been for the hole Agdaleen had punctured through its top with the fire poker. Aldwyn watched as the vial of sleeping powder slid through the opening. The glass tube bounced off the rock before plunking into the water.

“Gilbert, the sleeping powder!” shouted
Aldwyn over the sound of the fast-flowing water.

Skylar heard Aldwyn and caught sight of the glass tube as it was drifting rapidly downstream.

Aldwyn began jumping from rock to rock, attempting to catch up to it. Skylar swooped low, but the bobbing vial remained just out of her reach.

Gilbert was back on all fours and frantically chasing the powder in order to make up for his clumsiness.

“It’s moving too fast,” shouted Skylar, swooping down again and again as the vial gathered speed and headed straight for the falls. The water was roaring now, white with foam, and it was almost impossible to keep track of the precious container.
Aldwyn had leaped down the river all the way to the last slippery rock before the falls. He was just a few tail lengths away from the giant drop. Then he saw the vial.

“I see it!” he exclaimed. “I think I can catch it.” He stretched out his paw to snag the glass tube, but it proved as difficult as fishing an ant out of a bowl of milk. It was at moments like this that he wished he had fingers and thumbs. The vial bounced off his paw, briefly slowed, changed direction, drifted on—and was caught by the branch of a drooping tree.

“Oh, thank goodness,” cried Skylar. She soared down, and Aldwyn watched her land on the branch. But before she could bend over and grip the vial with her beak, the wood snapped, sending Skylar splashing into the water. Aldwyn reached out to grab the blue jay, but it was too late: both Skylar and the vial went tumbling over the falls. In his last-ditch attempt to help Skylar, Aldwyn’s hind legs slipped and he went sliding toward the churning waters. Gilbert tried to catch him before he fell, but instead went tumbling in with Aldwyn. Both were swept over the edge of the waterfall.

Aldwyn was spinning through the air in free fall, seeing the mist below and Gilbert just above him. He seemed to fall for an eternity before he hit the water hard and went deep into the pool. When his head came up from the water, he could see a limp Skylar bobbing slowly downstream. Gilbert surfaced just a moment after Aldwyn did.

“The vial!” exclaimed Gilbert as if it were a miracle. “I see it.”

“I’m going to get Skylar,” said Aldwyn over the roar of the water behind them. “You go after the sleeping powder.”

Aldwyn paddled toward Skylar, who was struggling to keep her head from going under once more. When he got close enough, Aldwyn reached out and clamped down on her neck with his mouth, firm enough to get a good grip but gentle enough so as not to hurt her. With Skylar held between his teeth, Aldwyn let himself drift against the shore, where he dragged her onto dry land.

“Skylar, are you okay?” he asked.

She coughed up some water.

“Where’s Gilbert?” she asked. “What happened to the sleeping powder?”

“I got it. It’s right here,” wheezed Gilbert, hopping to their side and collapsing to the ground, completely out of breath.

Skylar winced in pain as she sat up. “Ow, my wing. I think it’s broken.”

“Try not to move it,” said Aldwyn.

“This is terrible,” she said. “I won’t be able to fly, and since you lied about your magical talent, we’ll have no way of getting the powder into the hydra’s eyes.” Skylar shook her head, looking defeated for the first time.

“You know,” said Aldwyn after a minute of silence, “I might not have telekinesis, but I’m pretty good at climbing things.”

“Living things?” asked Skylar.

“I jumped on the back of a butcher once,” said Aldwyn.

“Living things with seven heads that will try to kill you?” asked Skylar again.

“That would be new for me.”

Gilbert looked to the blue jay with pleading eyes.

“Come on, admit it,” he said. “We can’t do this alone. We need Aldwyn’s help.”

“Fine,” Skylar said after a short pause. “I don’t really see any other option.”

Skylar got to her feet and hobbled forward. Gilbert hopped along with her. Aldwyn just stood there—had he heard her correctly?

“Well?” asked Skylar, turning back. “What are you waiting for?”

Aldwyn immediately ran up beside them. He had been accepted back into the fellowship. And this time, he would not have to pretend to have skills he didn’t have. He only hoped that the talents he had acquired on the streets of Bridgetower would not fail him.

The land had taken on a golden glow, and the sun was nearing the horizon as the familiars hurried to beat the approaching sunset. Aldwyn was certain that Queen Loranella was watching the sun, too, waiting patiently for the last rays of light to disappear.

16

THE SUNKEN PALACE

N
ever before had a quick pace been of greater importance on their journey, and yet the familiars were moving slower than ever. Skylar had made a makeshift sling for her broken wing out of her satchel strap. Her injury forced the normally swift-flying bird to travel on foot. Aldwyn and Gilbert had considered racing ahead without her, but even though she was handicapped, they knew Skylar’s illusions could mean the difference between victory and defeat in their battle against the hydra.

The three animals had left the banks of the Ebs behind and were now crossing a wasteland enshrouded in the mists churned up from the crashing waters of the Torentia Falls. The rays of the sinking sun created ever-changing patterns of light wherever one looked. The entire region seemed haunted. Aldwyn had the anxious feeling he used to get whenever he took a shortcut through Bridgetower’s lone cemetery. The air was still, and a terrible sadness seemed to cling to every blade of grass. They were following the remains of an ancient road, a two-cart-wide path of mud and pebbles, with wagon wheel tracks petrified in the ground like fossils.

As the sun crept closer to the horizon, the road suddenly ended. Ahead of them, the earth had been overturned, as if it had been tilled by a gigantic farmer. The thick mist over the land hid from view whatever lay beyond.

“This must be the edge of Mukrete,” said Skylar, “the city in which the Old Palace of Vastia once stood. Before the curse.”

“Not another curse,” said Gilbert nervously.

“I’m afraid so. This one sank the Old Palace
and all of Mukrete with it.” Skylar picked up the pace again, and they walked onto the ravaged land and deeper into the mist.

“Nearly two centuries ago,” continued Skylar, “King Brannfalk, the grandfather of Loranella’s grandfather, ruled Vastia. According to the historical scrolls, he was hot tempered, prideful, and a lover of dragons. In fact, he kept seven of them in the Old Palace stables. He was so protective of his prized pets that he demanded they be guarded day and night, a job which fell to a one-eyed ogre, a creature said to have traded his second eye for the ability to cast magic.

“One morning the King came to check on the dragons and found that they were all missing. When questioned, the ogre insisted that he had locked the stables the night before and all seven had been safely inside. As nobody else had a key to the stables, the ogre was accused of stealing and eating them, an understandable claim, given the never-ending appetite of most ogres. Besides, when his sleeping quarters were inspected, a dragon’s foot was discovered beneath his bed. Only the bones remained, the meat having been
scraped clean off.

“The ogre pleaded his innocence to no avail: he was sentenced to death, but to the very end claimed that he had been framed. Just before the executioner’s axe fell, the ogre used the magic he traded his eye for to place a curse on the King’s palace and all that surrounded it.

“At the moment his head was severed from his body, the ground opened up, swallowing castle and town alike. Some escaped, but many were buried alive.”

Aldwyn stepped more cautiously, aware that far beneath his paws lay a buried city, its buildings and streets encased in mud and dirt.

“Well, was the ogre innocent?” asked Gilbert.

“I’m getting there,” said Skylar. “I haven’t finished the story yet. Brannfalk was one of the survivors; he managed to escape the sinking castle by jumping off the balcony of the palace’s highest tower. So did the palace wizard, who in his own desperate getaway dragged a chest containing his most precious research up the tower with him. But in his haste, it broke and spilled open, revealing severed dragon body parts: eyes, teeth,
and talons. He was the one guilty of the dragon slayings, not the ogre whom he had framed.

“The palace wizard had experimented on the dragons in the hope of engineering an undefeatable dragon, obedient only to him, that would become his familiar. But his forbidden necromancy had been unsuccessful. In an attempt to hide his dark experiments, he poured the contents of his failed spells down the dungeon well. Little could he know that what he was unable to achieve over those few terrible nights, nature with its infinite patience would accomplish over the span of a hundred years. For there, in that well, the stew of all seven of the King’s dragons eventually grew into the perfect dragon: the creature that we know today as the Hydra of Mukrete.”

“Wait a second,” said Gilbert, “you mean—?”

“That’s right,” replied Skylar. “It’s the very dragon that has been guarding the Sunken Palace ever since.”

Aldwyn’s mind was racing. He remembered his alley days, when he was often outsized and out-matched. He had always found a way to turn the odds in his favor, whether it was by his lightning-
quick reflexes, clever thinking, or just sheer guts. But would those skills be enough when fighting a seven-headed monster?