The Ice Gate of Spyre
Read The Ice Gate of Spyre Online
Authors: Allan Frewin Jones
Contents
About the Author and Illustrator
T
he legends say that once—long, long ago—there was a single round world, like a ball floating in space, and that it was ruled over by six wise badgers. The legends also tell of a tremendous explosion, an explosion so huge that it shattered the round world into a thousand fragments, a vast archipelago of islands adrift in the sky. As time passed, the survivors of the explosion thrived and prospered and gave their scattered island homes a name—and that name was the Sundered Lands.
That’s what the legends say.
But who believes in legends nowadays?
Well … Esmeralda Lightfoot, the Princess in Darkness, does, for one. According to Esmeralda, the truth of the ancient legends was revealed to her in a reading of the magical and ancient Badger Blocks—a set of prophetic wooden tokens from the old times. And her companions are beginning to believe it as well: reluctant hero Trundle Boldoak, lighthearted minstrel Jack Nimble, and the loopy ex-pirate Ishmael March have all joined in the quest, and they’ve already found three of the crowns.
But there is a problem. Someone else is also hunting for the six crowns. His name is Captain Grizzletusk, and he’s the meanest, bloodthirstiest, wickedest pirate ever to sail the skies of the Sundered Lands. And just to make matters even worse, Grizzletusk and his murderous pirate band are being helped by none other than Millie Rose Thorne—Esmeralda’s very own aunty!
For the moment, our heroes have outrun their pursuers—but if they think their problems are over, they’re about to find out they have another think coming!
“C
an I wear the crown again yet?” asked Ishmael, twisting his ears between his paws and looking at his three companions with big, mournful eyes.
“No,” Esmeralda replied, for the tenth time. “The Crown of Fire is staying safe and sound in its biscuit tin.”
Trundle gazed sympathetically at the loony ship’s cook. Ishmael seemed so sad, sitting there forlornly in the narrow prow of the
Thief in the Night
.
“Never you mind, old pal,” said Jack, perching on the skyboat’s rail at Ishmael’s side and lightly running his bow across the strings of his rebec. “Let me cheer you up with a merry ditty.”
“Rattle me bones and strain me gravy,” Ishmael sighed, his long head between his paws. “Even an oyster has his wheelbarrow, and that’s a fact!”
Trundle did feel sorry for the poor old chap. It wasn’t so very long ago that the loopy hare had been strutting around in the ruins of the phoenix nest, the beautiful fiery crown jammed onto his head, spouting out clues for the next stage of their quest.
“This clue you have found in the phoenix bird’s fire:
You must seek for the Crown of Ice in the land of Spyre!”
Trundle had never heard of Spyre, but Jack had a pretty good idea of how to get there. The carefree musician had been everywhere and seen everything. Sometimes Trundle felt quite inadequate, remembering his quiet, dull little life on the windswept flats of Shiverstones, with its acres and acres of dismal, depressing cabbages. Although his life had hardly lacked for excitement since he had met up with Esmeralda!
“Here’s a little song I’ve written about our adventures,” said Jack as he stroked his bow across a block of rosin so it would play smoothly. “I call it ‘A Quester’s Life.’ I hope you like it.” He cleared his throat, attacked the strings with the bow, and began to sing.
“Oh, a quester’s life is a jolly life, although it may be short
.
We’re on the run; it’s lots of fun, with a foe in every port
.
Even dear old Aunt Millie makes our life quite fraught
.
And we’ll hang on high ’neath the starry sky, if by pirates we are caught!
Ohhhhh, we’ll hang on high and must say goodbye, if by pirates we are caught!”
“I’m sorry,” interrupted Trundle. “Is that supposed to cheer us up? Because if it is, then you’ve seriously misjudged your audience.”
Jack frowned at him, his bow falling still. “Everyone’s a critic these days.” He sighed.
Trundle got up and made his way to the stern of the skyboat, where Esmeralda was busy at the tiller. It was a bonny, breezy day, and the skies of the Sundered Lands were full of fluffy white clouds. Dotted above and below and behind and in front were scores of distant floating islands. Some were mountainous, others flat and barren; some sported large towns and cities, shining like jewels; others were all farmland and rolling hills, or deep forests and tumbling silvery waterfalls.
Occasionally a windship would pass close by, and Trundle would wave at the sailors in the rigging—and sometimes they would wave back as they went on their way. At such times, he would shiver with the delight of being out here in the wide worlds, experiencing all the remarkable wonders of the Sundered Lands. And then sometimes he would think of the pirates who were chasing them, and of Esmeralda’s treacherous aunt Millie—and his hand would stray to the hilt of his newfound sword and he would wish he were back home again, with a stout oak door between him and all their troubles.
“How far to Spyre now?” he asked Esmeralda.
“A hop and a skip,” she declared. “We’ll be there before nightfall, if the skycharts are accurate.”
“They have been so far,” Trundle said, leaning over to look at the unrolled chart that was spread out at her feet. “I just wish they could tell us a bit more about the place we’re going to.” He frowned, turning to the great heap of provisions and gear that filled the rear of the skyboat. “There’s a whole bunch of papers and documents in there. Shall I go and see if any of them mention Spyre?”
“By all means, if it’ll make you happy,” chirruped Esmeralda.
Trundle smiled. “You’re in a very good mood today.”
“And why not?” Esmeralda replied. “We’ve seen no sign of Captain Grizzletusk for days on end, we’ve outfoxed my wicked aunty, plus we’ve already found three of the six crowns to boot. I think we can feel pretty proud of ourselves, Trundle, my lad!”
She had a point. Half the crowns had been discovered. The first two—the Crowns of Crystal and Iron—were now in the ancient city of Widdershins, in the keeping of their friend the Herald Pursuivant, while the third—the Crown of Fire—was safely stowed away in an old biscuit tin under Esmeralda’s seat.
Yes, all in all, she had good reason to be feeling cheerful. Things were going marvelously well. Trundle wrinkled his forehead. Oh, dear. That was just the kind of thinking that could jinx the whole quest! He cleared his head of overconfident thoughts and busied himself rummaging among their provisions. Surely there would be
something
useful among all this stuff?
“Aha!” he crowed, pulling a rolled-up scroll from the pile and brandishing it in the air.
Written in an ornate style on the outside of the scroll were the words:
The Ingenious and Instructive Guide For
Pleasant Relaxings and Spiritual Illuminatings
on the Pilgrim Island of Spyre
“What have you found?” asked Jack.
Trundle sat down and unrolled the scroll. “It’s some kind of guide,” he said. Across the top of the scroll was written the following, in large, decorated letters:
Spyre! The perfection of pilgrimage destinations—whether your seekings are enlightenment or relaxation or just plain good timings.
There was something very odd about the way this guide had been written—and it only got stranger as more of the script was revealed.