The Familiars #4: Palace of Dreams (13 page)

“You’re safer here,” Aldwyn said. “Believe me, I’d love your company, but I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you.”

“Let me guess. When this is all over you’ll come back for me. I’ve heard that before.”

“This time I will,” Aldwyn assured her.

The two nuzzled ear to ear.

They stayed that way for a good while, until Skylar began flapping her wings.

“Good as new,” she said, flying back up into the air.

Seeing her, Gilbert bounced back over.

“What’s the fastest way across the Enaj?” Aldwyn asked Tammy.

“If you don’t mind getting your paws wet, there’s a shallow spot about a mile south. The current is slow and there are rocks to stop on for a rest. You should be able to swim to the other side without too much trouble.”

“As long as it’s not too much,” Aldwyn replied. “A little I can handle.”

He stared at Tammy. This was the second time he’d have to say good-bye to her like this.

“You think next time we can try and do this while you’re not a wanted cat?” Tammy asked.

“Now what fun would that be?” Aldwyn replied.

The two rubbed whiskers and parted once more. When the familiars hit the street, the sun had already risen and the outpost town was crowded with merchants.

“All right, Skylar, let’s blend in,” Gilbert said.

The blue jay raised her wing, and the three animals appeared to look just like one of the potbellied pigs from the barn. Except instead of a head it had a second rear end.

“Sorry, clearly I’m not back at full strength yet,” Skylar said.

She lowered her wing and the illusion disappeared. They’d have to make a run for it as themselves. Luckily, no one gave them a second look as they headed for the river.

A
school of minnows was swimming circles around Aldwyn as he paddled across the relatively calm portion of the Enaj. Skylar was already sitting on the far bank, patiently waiting. And Gilbert had put his days as a waterlogged tadpole to good use, cruising to the other side.

There was a reason cats hated the water. It was cold and wet and made their fur itch. If Aldwyn could have gotten across faster he would have, but without flippers and fins, he was stuck flailing desperately. He took a break on one of the rocks, and Gilbert called out to him.

“Almost there, buddy. You’re doing great.”

“No I’m not. I feel like a dishrag with paws.”

“Remember: paddle, paddle, splashy kicks,” Gilbert said.

Aldwyn restrained a grimace, then noticed something.

“What happened to your locavating map?” he asked.

“I got it,” Gilbert replied. “It’s right here on my back.”

“Actually it’s not,” Aldwyn said. “If it was, I wouldn’t be asking.”

Gilbert reached a webbed hand across his shoulder. He started to feel around in a panic. Then spun his head around.

“What? That’s impossible. Where did it go?”

“You must have lost it in the river,” Skylar said.

“Maybe I should start giving
you
advice on how to swim,” Aldwyn said.

“Great.” Gilbert sighed. “Not that my locavating was doing us much good anyway.”

Aldwyn slid off the rock, back into the water, and kicked his way across the remainder of the channel until he reached his companions on dry land. He shook off the wetness and, with fur matted to his skin, looked about half his normal size.

“We’ll cut through there,” Skylar said, pointing to the long plains that stretched northeast toward the Yennep Mountains.

“And when we arrive at Turnbuckle Academy?” Gilbert asked. “Either of you given much thought to what we do then?”

“There are five hundred students and just as many familiars there,” Skylar said. “Once we get inside those walls, we’ll have to blend in and steer clear of Dalton, Marianne, and Jack. At least long enough so we can get to Kalstaff’s journals.”

“How will we make it through?” Gilbert asked.

“Illusion, disguise, and a lot of tiptoeing,” Skylar replied.

The familiars left the banks of the Enaj and started heading inland. At the top of a hill they looked down on an enormous valley with thousands of stone chairs in rows of concentric circles, all surrounding a giant gravel pit. Grass had filled most of it in, but there were still crater-size indentations of black rock remaining. A ten-foot-tall sword was buried tip deep in the earth.

“Who would have been big enough to wield a sword like that?” Gilbert asked.

“Fjord Guards,” Skylar replied. “This must have been one of Brannfalk’s battle arenas. They were built all across Vastia to entertain the people during his reign. Warriors of all sizes competed within the rings, testing their skills for the amusement of the audience. Wizards and giants, dragons and elves. The victors would be rewarded with the adulation of the crowds. And the losers . . . well, they were given proper burials. Such sport remained popular throughout the land, until Queen Loranella outlawed it once she took rule.”

Skylar’s story left little doubt where the crater-size indentations had come from.

They continued their journey onward, passing the valley and approaching a long field of grasslands. They spied a traveling market that had been temporarily set up there. Even from this distance Aldwyn could see that driftfolk were selling their usual array of goods from the backs of their mule-drawn wagons. Smoke was rising up from a fire, and the smell of homemade stew was being carried on the morning breeze.

“What do you say we help ourselves to a little breakfast?” Aldwyn asked. “It’s going to be a long trip to Turnbuckle.”

Skylar and Gilbert agreed, and they headed straight for the makeshift bazaar. Aldwyn wasn’t sure if others were just passing through like them, or if this was their destination, but people were in lines behind each wagon, waiting to trade for supplies.

Once they arrived, Aldwyn, Skylar, and Gilbert found a hiding spot near a wood fire set up beside the caravan. Aldwyn eyed an open sack of nuts and vegetables. A tattooed old man stoked the flames with a stick, his back turned to the stew ingredients. Aldwyn telekinetically dragged the bag toward them. The three animals dug in, noshing on cashews and celery. Aldwyn was about to bite down on a pawful of crushed corn when he heard a thunderous clopping coming from down the road. He spun around, expecting to see another driftfolk wagon approaching, but instead saw the horses of the Nightfall Battalion charging toward the caravan.

“Skylar, Gilbert—” he started to say, but they had already seen it, too.

“We’ll never escape on foot,” Gilbert said.

“And I’m too weak to cast and maintain an illusion,” Skylar said.

Aldwyn glanced at one of the caravan’s wagons. Two mules were standing up front, still harnessed to the covered cart.

“Gilbert, go talk to the mules,” Aldwyn said. “Tell them they’re going to need to move a lot faster than they’re used to.”

Gilbert hopped ahead.

Aldwyn looked to see that the Battalion was getting closer now. The lemur was once again on the horse up front, scanning the countryside for the familiars. Navid and Marati rode right behind.

Aldwyn moved to the back of the wagon and spotted a female merchant with bags under her eyes and stringy, unwashed hair. She was selling enchanted trinkets of questionable value and common household wares. He knew things would get awfully complicated if they stole the cart with her still inside. So he used his mind to send a half-dozen balls of alpaca yarn rolling from her display. The merchant huffed as she jumped down to the ground to go chasing after them.

Aldwyn leaped aboard the wagon, meeting Gilbert and Skylar inside. Gilbert gave a snap of the reins and the mules sprinted ahead. Customers scattered as the wagon was tugged forward. The haggard woman watched as her mobile storefront ran off without her.

“Liberty, King, get back here!” she shouted to the mules.

But Gilbert urged the mules forward, and they sped ahead.

The Nightfall Battalion rode through the driftfolk market, stopping to speak with the angry merchant. She was pointing at the runaway wagon.

“We’re going to need a place to hide,” Aldwyn said. “I don’t think these mules are going to be fast enough.”

“The Smuggler’s Trail is too far from here,” Skylar said.

As the Nightfall Battalion got closer, Aldwyn went on the defensive. He took inventory of the items filling the wagon, and assessed which ones might be helpful. A crate of crystal balls seemed like a good place to start. He mentally lifted them up and flung them. The glass balls hit the ground, rolling like oversized marbles into the path of the pursuing soldiers. The first horse’s hoof came down awkwardly on top of one, and the horse tumbled nose first into the dirt, somersaulting forward and crushing the lemur beneath its weight. Navid and Marati steered their horse clear, but another behind couldn’t avoid the fray, sending one of the human warriors to the ground as well.

The wagon rattled with such force, Aldwyn wondered if its wooden frame would crack. And even with two of its horses fallen, the Nightfall Battalion was hardly deterred, coming after them with more vigor than before.

“We’re getting closer to the answer,” Aldwyn called back to Navid and Marati. “You have to let us go and finish this. It’s the only way Loranella will survive.”

“Tell us what it is you think you know,” Marati replied. “I promise you we’ll follow up on any leads that might save the queen. But the three of you have to stop this before more people get hurt. Let the laws of the land, the laws that Loranella and Galatea put in place, work.”

“Someone inside the palace set us up,” Skylar said. “How can we be sure that anything that happens within those walls will be fair to us?”

There would be no simple compromise. The familiars weren’t going to surrender, and the Nightfall Battalion wasn’t going to let them go.

Aldwyn took mental grasp of a cauldron and chucked it out of the back of the wagon. Navid was prepared for the assault this time, and sent a blast of venom to intercept the heavy iron projectile flying their way. The cauldron was melted on contact, turning it into a pool of hot black ooze.

Marati countered with an attack of her own. A pair of astral claws reached out in the direction of Aldwyn, Skylar, and Gilbert. But the animals weren’t the targets. The sharp blue claws slashed at one of the wheels on the cart, slicing back and forth at the spokes. The wheel splintered, breaking in half, causing the cart to wobble. Even the slightest shift in the mules’ direction made the wagon teeter on the verge of collapse.

Marati’s claws moved to the other back wheel, but before they could do the same damage, Aldwyn eyed a heavy burlap bag filled with flour. He used his teeth to tear it open and his mind to flip it over. A smokescreen of white powder blanketed the air, blinding Marati and forcing her to retract her claws.

A hot, dry breeze blew across the land, causing the flour to swallow up everything in its midst, including the mule-drawn wagon.

“I can’t see anything!” Gilbert cried.

“Just keep ’em steady,” Aldwyn said.

The winds picked up, sweeping the lingering powder out of their way. Visibility had returned and with it a most unpleasant sight: a giant lizard moving swiftly and silently across the ground. The creature seemed to be made entirely of sand, which constantly spilled from its back down to its legs. It licked up flecks of flour spread across the dirt with its long, leathery tongue.

“What is that thing?” Gilbert asked.

“A sandtaur,” replied Skylar. “One of the wandering creatures from the Living Desert in the Beyond. The queen’s border spells must have weakened since she fell into the Wander.”

The beast was on a rampage to confront the wagon head-on, and the spooked mules were panicking.

“Turn!” Skylar shouted.

“But not too fast,” Aldwyn added.

Unfortunately Gilbert had already given the reins a sharp pull, and the mules were changing direction. They lurched to the left, putting all of the wagon’s weight on the side where the rear wheel was missing. The pressure was too much, and the cart toppled, breaking into pieces. Aldwyn, Skylar, and Gilbert were tossed to the dusty ground.

The Nightfall Battalion was just coming out of the cloud of flour, unaware that they were riding directly into the sandtaur’s path. The creature’s leathery tongue lashed out and knocked one of the warriors from his horse. The warrior landed hard on the ground, not far from Aldwyn. The beast swiped a foot out at the horse with Navid and Marati atop it and wrapped its pebbly claws around Navid, clutching him. Marati leaped off the back of the horse and grabbed hold of Navid’s tail. But rather than pulling her cohort free, she was left dangling in midair, too. A pair of aqua-blue phantom claws materialized before the sandtaur and began slashing at its leg. Grains of sand went flying in every direction, and the creature released its grip.

Navid and Marati went falling through the air. Just before they made impact with the rocky ground, Aldwyn telekinetically dragged a second burlap bag of flour from the mule cart and slid it right below them. The two made a safe landing, then rolled out of the way of the stomping sandtaur toward Aldwyn, Skylar, and Gilbert.

“We stand together for this fight alone,” Marati said. “Afterward, we’re taking you in.” Her steely demeanor softened for a brief moment. “Thanks, by the way.”

Aldwyn acknowledged her, but with the sandtaur bearing down on them again, there was little time for anything else.

The other members of the Nightfall Battalion had come up behind them.

“We all strike together,” Marati ordered. “Except you, Navid. Wait for my signal.”

The soldiers fired bolts from their wands in unison, blowing holes through the creature’s body.