The Familiars #3: Circle of Heroes Page 7

  “You can’t think like that,” said Gilbert. “Not every human is the same. Marianne, Jack, Dalton, Kalstaff, Queen Loranella, Sorceress Edna … they’re all good people.”

  “Don’t forget what we’re fighting for,” Banshee added. “For humans and animals to coexist peacefully.”

  “Peacefully, perhaps,” said Skylar. “But not equally. A human has sat on the throne in Bronzhaven for hundreds of years, and never have they sought the advice or counsel of animals. As unpleasant and immoral as her actions may be, Paksahara isn’t completely wrong.”

  The words sent a shiver down Aldwyn’s spine. For Skylar to even think of defending someone as merciless and brutal as the gray hare seemed inexcusable.

  “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from walking in the past,” said Simeon to Skylar, “it’s to think long and hard about the decisions you make in the present. We only get to make them once, and then we have to live with the consequences forever.”

  Skylar didn’t look convinced but made no further comment. Aldwyn could see that they had reached the Yennep Highlands, a long plateau at the top of a mountain. From this elevated position, Aldwyn felt like he was back on the rooftops of Bridgetower, looking down on the entire city, except here all of Vastia could be seen. There was a trail of smoke and destruction across the land, no doubt marking the path of the Dead Army’s march.

  “These are our stomping grounds,” said the stallion as they galloped across a vast alpine meadow, passing hundreds of lightmares who were grazing peacefully.

  “Untouched by any outsider,” the stallion continued. “No fences have ever been built. No trees cut down. If the grass is eaten, it will grow back. You are the first to visit, save for the birds, wind, and clouds.”

  “We are honored to be your guests,” said Aldwyn. “We seek the aid of one of your species, a lightmare to join us on our quest to restore peace to all of Vastia.”

  “You’ll need to speak with the tribe’s thunderhoof. I’ll take you to her now.”

  They were approaching the far side of the meadow, where a group of white stallions guarded the mouth of a cave. The stallions allowed the steed to walk up to the cavern’s entrance and let the familiars and descendants dismount.

  Aldwyn was first to enter the cave. It was as long and wide as the grand dining hall in the New Palace of Bronzhaven, but dimly lit. The far reaches were hard to make out from its mouth at first, but as the stallion led them deeper into the mountain, Aldwyn quickly realized just how special this place really was.

  The walls were covered in elaborate drawings of animals accomplishing great tasks. The images appeared to have been painted in the same style and perhaps even by the same hand that had decorated the Kailasa cave. Some of the drawings, like those of frogs sitting on thrones and telekinetic cats moving glyphstones, were identical to those at Kailasa. Others were different. One showed the image of woodpeckers carving a bracelet, the same bracelet that allowed Paksahara to control the Shifting Fortress. Another depicted lions, tigers, jaguars, and leopards wearing leather and chain mail armor, marching into battle against man centuries earlier on the Chordata Plains.

  There were more recent paintings as well, including one of Kalstaff and Zabulon, Loranella and Paksahara, and the Mountain Alchemist and Edan fighting the first zombie uprising. It was strange to see Paksahara standing alongside Loranella now that she had betrayed her loyal and vowed to rule all of Vastia. One drawing in particular left Aldwyn breathless: in it, a cat, a bird, and a frog were fighting a gray-haired witch and her octopot. It took him a moment to realize that he and Skylar and Gilbert and their battle with Agdaleen had been immortalized here.

  “Is that … us?” asked Aldwyn.

  “Yes,” replied Skylar. “We are part of Vastia’s history now.”

  “Are my eyes really that big?” Gilbert asked, wide-eyed.

  They continued farther and saw who had painted these magnificent walls, or more accurately, what had painted them: magical brushes that dipped themselves into jars of paint made from crushed pollen and vegetable juice, before gliding effortlessly across the smooth rock surface of the cave.

  Hundreds of tomes lay open on the ground, with quill pens that looked identical to Scribius writing pages of text. Scribius popped his nib out from Skylar’s satchel, then jumped down to the cave floor excitedly.

  “I see that you are accompanied by one of the ink dancers,” said the steed. “They were created by the lightmares long ago to write down the past in detail, so there would be at least one definitive record of Vastia’s history, no matter who attempted to rewrite it. You are lucky to have one among you.”

  Scribius straightened his tip and held his feather high.

  In the back of the cavern, Aldwyn could make out a female horse, her white coat shimmering. She was reading from an old book. The steed stopped before her and bowed.

  “Galatea,” he said, “I have brought the Prophesized Three, along with two of their companions.”

  “On stormy nights, the lightmares travel down to the flatlands, when our hooves can go undetected,” Galatea said in a voice that was strong and gentle at the same time. “During our last visit, we heard about your calling.”

  “Then you know how urgent our quest is,” said Aldwyn.

  “We have remained out of such affairs for many years,” said Galatea, “acting as mere observers. But as more pictures have been drawn on the cave walls and history has been recorded in the tomes, I have come to realize that humans and animals can live together peacefully. Lightmares have cut ourselves off from people for too long. We are no longer a part of the history of our land. This needs to be corrected. We will help you to fulfill your quest, and the fastest, strongest, most noble steed of the highlands will join you. There will be a race to determine who among our band is worthy of standing at your side.”

  Without a further word, Galatea strode toward the exit of the cave. Aldwyn looked to his companions and couldn’t help but wonder if any of them were worthy of being on this mission, especially a former alley cat from Bridgetower.

  7

  THE SCORCH PATH

  Aldwyn, Skylar, Gilbert, Banshee, and Simeon stood with Galatea in a far corner of the highlands, where one of the enchanted paintbrushes was drawing a long, red line across the ground.

  “So, which horses will be racing?” asked Gilbert.

  “Only the very best,” replied the thunderhoof.

  Galatea blew air through her teeth, letting out a whistle that was loud enough to echo through the morning wind.

  About eighty lightmares galloped toward them, each sheer white beast more impressive than the last. All shared the same youthful vibrancy.

  “Where are all the elder horses?” asked Skylar.

  “They run alongside the young,” replied Galatea. “It is hard to tell the difference. I myself am over four hundred years old.”

  “That’s impossible,” said Simeon.

  “The fields we graze on are filled with life-seed,” said Galatea. “It has prevented the horses of Yennep from suffering the ill effects of aging.”

  Once all of the lightmares had gathered behind the line, Galatea stood before them.

  “Lightmares,” she said. “As you know, Vastia is in trouble. One from our herd is needed to help these familiars by standing in the circle of heroes that will call forth the Shifting Fortress. Wilhemina, Orion, and Thisby shall run the Scorch Path.”

  The horses all murmured excitedly.

  “The last time that course was raced upon, it led to broken legs and cracked hooves,” said a lightmare who limped out from the crowd. “I should know. I’ve never been the same since.”

  “I know the Path leaves a toll on those who face it, but the dangers awaiting its victor will be far more severe,” replied the thunderhoof. “We must be certain that the one we choose is the most capable of us all.”

  While the injured stallion seemed no less concerned, he stepped back into line, allowing the proceedings to resume.


  “The first to complete the run will represent us on this mission,” continued Galatea. “Now, before they begin, each will choose one of the Three to carry on their backs to prove they can keep them safe from danger.”

  Aldwyn was caught off guard, and by the looks on Skylar’s and Gilbert’s faces, they were, too.

  “Thisby, go ahead.”

  The lightmare she had addressed, a formidable stallion with small speckles of black on his neck, directed his snout at Gilbert.

  “You, little green one, hop on,” he said.

  Gilbert whimpered nervously.

  “I’m much heavier than I look,” he said. “And I just ate.”

  Thisby lowered his head, ignoring him. Gilbert nervously mounted the majestic stallion.

  Orion, with coal-gray legs and a proud, rigid jaw, was next, and he looked at Aldwyn.

  “What do you say, cat?” he called. “How would you like to be my squire?”

  Aldwyn nodded and pounced onto the lightmare’s back, but not before stealing a glance at the injured stallion.

  “Don’t worry,” said Orion. “No harm will befall you. Although I can’t promise the same for your long-tongued friend.”

  “Wait, what?!” Gilbert croaked, having overheard him from the neighboring horse.

  “Wilhemina, that leaves you with the bird,” said Galatea.

  Skylar flitted over and landed atop the leaner, spritely horse’s back.

  Thisby, Orion, and Wilhemina trotted up to the red line and waited there.

  “If you would please send them off with the beating of your drum,” Galatea said to Banshee.

  As Banshee’s hands lifted above her drum, the three lightmares became still, their ears perking up. Each wanted to be the first to take off at the monkey’s signal.

  Banshee struck the drum.

  Bah-boom.

  Aldwyn was nearly jolted off Orion’s back as the stallion began to run. The three horses sprinted for the edge of the rocky plateau and started galloping down a steep slope. Even though the rocks beneath them were rolling and tumbling under their weight, the lightmares kept their footing.

  Aldwyn looked to his left and saw Gilbert holding on to Thisby for dear life with his eyes closed and Skylar perched confidently on Wilhemina’s mane. When Aldwyn turned back, he noticed they were heading for a pitch-black tunnel, which they then entered with alarming speed.

  The only light came sparking up from the tunnel’s stone floor, which was being pounded by the horses’ hooves. Wilhemina pulled ahead, but it seemed to Aldwyn as if Orion was holding back. It took him a moment to realize that this was a clever strategy, as the mare was lighting the path ahead. They continued through the narrow tunnel, running up alongside the walls to dodge boulders blocking their way. The only sounds that could be heard besides the thundering hooves were periodic screams from Gilbert.

  The sparks that had been guiding Orion suddenly disappeared, and for a moment Aldwyn could no longer see anything. Then he and Orion burst out of the tunnel and into a dimly lit, vast cavern filled by a frozen lake. Wilhemina was already galloping across it. Suddenly Orion sped up and Aldwyn quickly realized why: the heat from Wilhemina’s hooves was cracking the ice in front of them. Orion had to leap from one floating island of ice to the next, until he was neck and neck with Wilhemina. Aldwyn heard a splintering sound and spun around to see the frozen lake give way beneath Thisby, sending both stallion and tree frog tumbling into the icy water. Just before Orion sped out of the cavern, Aldwyn spotted a shivering Gilbert pulling himself onto dry land.

  It was a short run back into daylight, and Aldwyn was surprised to find that their journey underground had led them far up the mountain. Orion and Wilhemina were now racing across the high peaks of the Yennep. Orion’s long strides pulled them into the lead, and the stallion was running straight toward a precipice. Aldwyn could see that there was another cliff across the chasm, but he was certainly hoping that Orion didn’t plan to jump the gorge. Because unless the lightmare sprouted wings, it seemed impossible.

  “Hold tight, Whiskers,” Orion shouted. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  Aldwyn didn’t have time to protest; all he could do was dig in his claws, since Orion wasn’t slowing down. The stallion made a running jump, soaring over the forty-foot gap.

  Miraculously, Orion landed safely, and a moment later Wilhemina did, too. Orion quickened his pace to a charging sprint as Wilhemina raced past him. She was taking long, leaping strides as she aimed for the red finish line that had come into view. Although Aldwyn knew that it didn’t matter whether Wilhemina or Orion joined the familiars on their quest, he was rooting for his own steed to be the victor.

  Orion lowered his head and yet again ran faster. If the stallion had been holding back before, he certainly wasn’t now. Seeing the red line up ahead, the two lightmares found themselves nose to nose. Aldwyn looked out and saw Banshee and Simeon and a crowd of horses cheering. They stomped in place, creating an earth-rattling welcome to the Scorch Path champion: Orion, who thrust forward, crossing the line first, almost defying the limits of his own legs’ speed.

  Wilhemina followed just inches behind. She came to a stop, catching her breath. Galatea approached Orion.

  “Congratulations,” she said. “You have earned the right to represent our band on this quest.”

  Orion bent down and allowed Aldwyn to hop to the ground. Wilhemina did the same for Skylar, and the two familiars rejoined Banshee and Simeon. Orion stood before the four animals.

  “However far this journey takes us, you will have my back to ride upon,” he said.

  “Not only will Orion carry you and protect you,” said Galatea, “but he will act as a traveling historian, too. He’ll gather artifacts to chronicle your mission. Future generations of Vastians will never forget you, as earlier ones did our ancestors.”

  One of the other lightmares trotted up alongside Orion and slipped a saddlebag over his neck.

  “I will make sure it is filled with great relics before I return,” said Orion. He knelt down. Banshee, Skylar, and Aldwyn climbed atop him, while Simeon remained on the ground.

  “These legs might be old, but they’ll keep up,” said the bloodhound.

  “Where are we journeying first?” asked Orion.

  “To the Abyssmal Canyon,” said Skylar. “Home to the king cobras and mongooses.”

  “But not without Gilbert,” said Aldwyn, suddenly remembering his missing friend.

  The words had barely left his mouth when Thisby, covered in icicles, rode up with Gilbert on his back. “I c-c-can’t f-f-feel my t-t-toes,” said the tree frog, who looked more blue than green. “Could I have a hot cup of tea?”

  “Gilbert, since when do you drink tea?” asked Skylar.

  “Not to drink,” said Gilbert. “To put my feet in.”

  Banshee reached over, lifted Gilbert off Thisby, and set him down beside his companions on Orion.

  “We’re ready to go,” said Aldwyn, wrapping his tail around Gilbert to help warm up his friend.

  Orion didn’t need to be told twice. The lightmare took off across the highlands, heading for the mountain trail. The pounding of his hooves against the ground was loud, but it couldn’t rival the noisy chattering of Gilbert’s teeth right beside Aldwyn’s ear.

  8

  A CUNNING CAPTURE

  “Blue sky, fluffy clouds,

  My mind with wandering thoughts,

  Of you and loves lost.”

  Gilbert was staring off into the yonder, reciting one of his haikus.

  “The frostbite must be making him delusional,” Banshee whispered.

  “No,” said Skylar. “That’s just Gilbert.”

  “Actually, I thought that was one of his better poems,” added Aldwyn. “It didn’t contain a single reference to food.”

  Orion had quickly reached the bottom of the Yennep Mountains and was now racing across the northern portion of the Chordata Plains. Upturned dirt and footprints were the only
evidence that hundreds of skeletal great cats had recently risen from the dead here before traveling to the Enaj. Skylar unrolled Scribius’s map on Orion’s back and studied it as the horse ran. She looked up and pointed her wing due west.

  “If we head toward those hills, our path will intersect the Brannfalk Pass,” she said, referencing the road named after the long-deceased king of Vastia, Loranella’s great-great-grandfather. “From there, we follow it northwest, until we meet the Ebs.”

  “It is true that your directions would lead us to where we’re going,” said Orion. “But I know a faster way.”

  The stallion was already adjusting their course, steering beyond the hills, toward a dense forest.

  “Are you sure it’s wise to stray from the map?” asked Skylar, her voice rising an octave, the way it did whenever someone failed to follow her plans.

  “You needn’t worry, young blue jay,” Orion said. “I know these lands better than any map can show. I intend to use that wisdom to give us every advantage I can.”

  “From here, I defer to you,” said Skylar, but her high voice betrayed her true feelings. She rolled up the map and put it back in her satchel.

  Aldwyn looked to his fellow travelers: first his two trusted companions, then the three of the seven descendants needed to summon the Shifting Fortress. For the first time since he had read about the failed prophecies in Kalstaff’s diary, Aldwyn was feeling confident again. They were quite a team.

  Orion reached the edge of the forest and soon they were galloping along a well-trodden path that twisted through trees filled with yellow and red leaves. The lightmare left burning twigs in his wake, his sparking hooves igniting small flames. Without slowing down, he bent his neck to the ground and retrieved a bronze shard of metal from the path with his teeth. Still moving swiftly, he dropped it into the saddlebag slung over his back.

  “What was that?” asked Banshee.

  “A fragment of a shadow shield,” said Orion. “In the time of Brannfalk, those on two legs who profited from trading illegal weapons and components used this road to go undetected by the king’s soldiers. It became known as the Smuggler’s Trail. Some say this whole forest is enchanted, hiding things that don’t wish to be found.”