Читать книгу The Familiars: Circle of Heroes - Adam Epstein - Страница 7

“We should arrive in Split River by nightfall,” said Skylar, who was leading the way across another long and monotonous stretch of the Aridifian Plains.

“Yes, if we journey by foot,” replied Aldwyn. “But we’ve made this trip much faster once before.”

“Oh, no,” said Gilbert. “There is no way I’m jumping on the back of a moving horse wagon again.”

“You’ll be fine,” said Aldwyn. “Besides, this way, we might get there in time for lunch with Galleon and Banshee.”

“Last time, my tongue nearly got ripped out of my mouth. And a frog without a tongue is like a bird without feathers, a cat without whiskers, or a mosquito sundae without slug cream.”

Fortunately, early on in their adventures, the trio had made a pact that majority ruled, so Gilbert didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. But there were no wagons in sight.

As the Three continued their trek, the clouds suddenly began to churn above them. Aldwyn looked to the west, where the disturbance was coming from. He could make out Bridgetower’s tallest spires and just beyond them, a column of grey ash that funnelled into the sky.

“What is that?” he asked.

“It’s the essence of magic soaring to the Heavens,” said Skylar. “The first glyphstone has been destroyed.”

Aldwyn felt something in the pit of his stomach – a sense of growing dread.

The familiars soon caught up with a dirt road twisting into the distance, and although there was little traffic on it, they spotted a caravan of mule-drawn wagons, covered in fabric that was beautifully decorated with driftfolk ornaments. It was no surprise driftfolk were on the move in spite of Paksahara’s Dead Army. They knew the roads better than anybody else and could easily find escape routes if they were attacked by the zombies roaming the land.

“All right, Gilbert, let’s hitch us a ride,” said Aldwyn, getting a running start down the hill towards the caravan. “Remember, it’s all in the knees.”

“A frog getting jumping advice from a cat,” said Gilbert. “That’s just embarrassing.”

The two chased after the wagons as Skylar flapped her wings above them. Aldwyn made it look easy, bounding through the air and landing on the back of the rear wagon. Gilbert wasn’t nearly as graceful leaping aboard, tumbling past Aldwyn into a crate of planters.

“Wow, that knee thing really worked,” said Gilbert as he was peeling his face up off the floorboards.

A butter newt looked over at the familiars from a nearby bed of fungus.

“Whoa-oh-oh!” exclaimed the butter newt. “A cat, a bird, and a frog?! Am I in the company of the Prophesised Three?”

Skylar held her head high.

“Yes, you are,” she said proudly.

“Let me shake your paw and webbed hand and wing,” said the newt, gushing. “I’ve heard so much about you. I mean, the Three are famous!”

He flung his hand out towards Gilbert, who was about to give it a shake when he realised his webbed fingers were covered in dirt from the planters. The butter newt gripped them anyway, shaking vigorously.

“I didn’t even know if you were real,” continued the butter newt. “But here you are. In the flesh.” The newt hardly took a breath. “You’re going to save Vastia, aren’t you?”

“So it has been foretold by the stars,” said Skylar.

Just because it is written in the stars does not make it so. Aldwyn almost said it out loud. Yet here this butter newt stood, like so many other Vastians, believing that these familiars – the chosen ones – would rid the land of evil, counting on them because of a prophecy that might not even be true.

“Our caravan was in Bridgetower when the wall crumbled,” said the butter newt. “But I fear it’s just the first of many cities the zombie hordes will overtake. Even before the glyphstone there fell, many had split off, diving into the Ebs and walking across its bottom until they emerged on the other side.”

“They must be heading towards the second glyphstone,” said Skylar. “The one among the ruins of the lost city of Jabal Tur.”

“Well, I just feel better knowing that the three of you are out here protecting us,” said the butter newt. “Do you think I could ask you a favour? I hope it’s not too much of an imposition, but would you mind giving me your autographs?” He spun around and whipped his tail directly before the trio. “You can sign right there on my tail. Make it out to Nigel.”

“Scribius,” called Skylar. “A little help here.”

Scribius popped out from Skylar’s satchel and glided over to inscribe the three familiars’ names on Nigel’s tail.

“So, where are you headed?” asked Nigel. “Or is it top secret?”

“Split River,” replied Gilbert, who seemed eager to impress his first fan.

“We’re going to visit a wizard,” added Skylar. “His name is Galleon. Perhaps you’ve heard of him. He graduated with high wizard ranking and has gone on to be something of a town hero. He vanquished a river dragon with a single strangle spell and dispatched a pack of werewasps with a ring of silver arrows.”

“Never heard of him,” said Nigel.

“He’s staying as a distinguished guest at the Inn of the Golden Chalice,” continued Skylar.

“Sounds fancy,” said the butter newt.

“Yes, well, for someone of Galleon’s esteem, no luxury is too great.”

“In that case, the three of you should be staying there, too,” said Nigel. “Crowned with jewels and bathed in dewdrops.”

Aldwyn just didn’t feel right giving this innocent drifter false hope. He politely excused himself and curled up in a comfortable spot on a stack of rugs. The last thing Aldwyn heard before he fell asleep was Nigel saying to Skylar and Gilbert, “Vastia is in good hands. The stars are never wrong about these things.”

Aldwyn’s eyes opened to find Gilbert’s webbed fingers poking him.

“We’re here,” said the tree frog.

The caravan had pulled to a stop and Aldwyn glanced around to get his bearings. Up ahead a swinging sign read Split River Harbour with an arrow pointing towards a small bridge. Beyond the bridge stood a town blanketed in thick fog.

“Farewell, destined ones,” said Nigel, who remained perched on the bed of fungus.

Aldwyn and Gilbert said their goodbyes and hopped off the wagon. Skylar was already flying over the small footbridge leading to the stone-and-mortar walkways of the riverside town.

The familiars headed in the direction of the harbour, taking in their new surroundings. Through the fog, it appeared to Aldwyn that all of Split River was as grimy and dirty as the rat’s alley in Bridgetower.

“Clearly the Inn of the Golden Chalice is nowhere around here.” Skylar made no effort to hide her disgust at the unappealing streets. “The inn must be in the wealthy part of town.”

As they got further into the heart of the town, it became evident that Split River didn’t get any better. In fact, it looked like the whole harbour had been destroyed. A large sailing vessel was half submerged, its bow buried in the water and its aft sticking up into the sky. The gold paint of the ship’s name was flaking off from rot.

“For a ship called The Happiness, it doesn’t look very happy,” observed Gilbert.

“Looks like Paksahara’s Dead Army has already been here,” said Aldwyn.

A dinghy slid up to the muddy banks and a posse of men stepped ashore. That is, they would have been men but for the fact that they were only three feet tall. Barefoot, scarred, and dressed in dried sharkskin trousers and shirts, they looked threatening despite their size.

“Elvin pirates,” said Skylar. “Waist-high plunderers of the sea. What they lack in stature they make up for in temper. Forbidden to serve in the Vastian Army due to their inability to meet the height requirement, they took to the open waters, cutting all ties to country, queen, and even each other. Now they’ll sink a ship just to see the bubbles.”

The disreputable swashbucklers marched from the river’s edge, across the street, and into a ramshackle tavern. Above the door dangled a rusty goblet with the words ‘Inn of the Golden Chalice’ carved on to it.

“There must be some mistake,” said Skylar once she had read the sign. “Galleon wouldn’t be caught dead in such a place.”

“I don’t think it’s a mistake,” replied Aldwyn.

As he took his first steps into the Inn of the Golden Chalice, he immediately felt his paws sticking to the cider-stained floor. Aldwyn moved between muddy boots and dirty bare feet and over peanut shells and shards of broken clay. As he glanced up he could see concealed daggers shoved into the undersides of tabletops and playing cards hidden up the sleeves of gambling patrons. With its lunchtime crowd of drunkards, pirates, and otherwise bad folk, this was no place for a wizard, let alone a town hero. And save for a ferret curled up on the bar top and the mice collecting scraps from the floor, it wasn’t a place for animals, either.

“I don’t see Galleon,” said Skylar, flying above the crowd for a look around. “Maybe this isn’t the only Inn of the Golden Chalice in Split River. Maybe there’s another one.”

Aldwyn didn’t have time to respond, because the inn’s most unladylike barkeeper was bashing a fork against a glass. She shouted in a husky voice, “Paksahara may win, and our days may be numbered, but if this is indeed the end, there’s no reason not to have a little entertainment first. Please give a warm welcome to our house magician, celebrating three years performing here on the Golden Chalice stage. Galleon the Magnificent!”

“We found him!” exclaimed Gilbert, relief in his voice.

But Aldwyn was wondering why a wizard as skilled and powerful as Galleon was supposed to be would be performing in an establishment as seedy as this one.

Then the purple velvet curtain opened and a young man emerged. Unshaven and with shoulder-length hair, he was wearing a rainbow-coloured robe and comically crooked hat. He held a wooden stick with pine needles in the shape of a star glued to the top. Aldwyn thought he looked more like a befuddled court jester than a heroic wizard. He stole a glance at Skylar. Her crushed expression made it clear that this was indeed Kalstaff’s former apprentice standing before them.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am Galleon the Magnificent, conjurer of things unknown.” The so-called magician pulled a bouquet of paper flowers from his sleeve. It was a poor sleight of hand even for this drunken crowd. The pirates let out a chorus of boos.

“He must be undercover, posing as the village idiot,” said Gilbert to the others. “He’s probably trying to root out some vagabonds.”

Aldwyn didn’t have the heart to tell Gilbert the truth.

“Now, friends,” continued Galleon, his voice barely audible above the din of the tavern, “let me introduce you to my wondrous familiar, whose talent will leave you in awe. The faint of heart should sit down. Presenting Edgar, the mind-reading chipmunk!”

An overweight chipmunk emerged from behind the purple curtain, dressed in a robe that matched Galleon’s.

“Chipmunk?” Gilbert’s bulging eyes grew even wider. “Where’s Banshee?”

Galleon leaned down towards Edgar, as if listening to something being whispered in his ear. Then he turned to a burly man sitting in the front row.

“According to Edgar, you, sir, are hungry for another bowl of peanuts.”

“It doesn’t take a mind reader to tell me that!” bellowed the angry patron.

“On to my next trick,” said Galleon. “Who would like to feast their eyes on the floating balls of Astraloch? And if you like what you see, please drop a coin in the mug. Remember, your money won’t do you any good once Paksahara has laid waste to all of Vastia.” Galleon pulled two crudely painted wooden spheres, one with stars and one with moons, out from beneath his robe. “Edgar, make the balls dance in the air.”

Edgar stared at the two spheres, concentrating, and suddenly they began to rise into the air. But it was obvious to everyone in the tavern that they were both dangling from clear strings tied to Galleon’s wrists.

“Let’s head backstage and wait for Galleon there,” said Skylar. “Maybe he can tell us what happened to Banshee. Besides, I can’t bear to watch this anymore.”

She flapped away, with Aldwyn right behind her. Gilbert reluctantly followed, eyes glued to the stage. The Three darted behind the curtain and found themselves in a broom closet, where they could still hear Galleon trying to amaze the audience.

“Now the balls will float away, perhaps never to be seen again.”

The curtain parted slightly and the balls moved through with strings still attached. From the tavern, Aldwyn could hear more boos and hisses.

“Tough crowd,” said Gilbert. “I thought that was pretty neat.”

Edgar scurried backstage, huffing and puffing. Naturally, he was surprised to see three animals standing in the closet.

“This is an exclusive dressing room back here,” he said. “The only ones allowed are entertainers and kitchen staff.”

“We’re old acquaintances of Galleon,” explained Skylar. “What’s happened to him? I know human magic was recently dispelled from the land, but he couldn’t have hit rock bottom that fast.”

“Ha!” Edgar laughed. “Galleon hasn’t had magic in years.”

“You’re wrong,” said Gilbert. “He sent letters, about slaying river dragons and battling sea trolls.”

The chipmunk shook his head. “I don’t know what tall tales you’ve been hearing, but Galleon fell on hard times way before Paksahara started causing trouble.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, where’s Banshee?” asked Skylar.

“She left town years ago,” said Edgar.

“Without Galleon? Impossible,” said Skylar. “A familiar and loyal stay together for life.”

“Not this time,” said Edgar. “When Galleon first arrived in town, he was coming to replace an elder sorcerer who had protected Split River for half a century. The city was thriving, safe from ravaging monsters and plunderers. But then Galleon fell in love with a girl named Delilah, the daughter of the richest shipping baron on all of the Ebs. Problem was she had already been betrothed to a wizard named Coriander, born to a spice fortune. He challenged Galleon to a disenchantment duel, and if you know Galleon, you know that he never backed down from a challenge.”

Gilbert and Skylar nodded.

“They fought the battle right here on the banks of the river.” Edgar took off his robe and began changing into his next costume. “Hundreds came to watch. Galleon threw everything he had at Coriander, but he never stood a chance. I’m sure black magic had something to do with it. Coriander seemed to have the spellcasting might of three magicians that day, and he had Galleon on his knees when it was over. Galleon’s powers were stripped from him and funnelled into a glass vial. Coriander wears it on a chain around his neck as a trophy. And to add to the bitter sting of it all, Coriander forced Delilah, Galleon’s true love, to marry him. He keeps her trapped on a lavish yacht and Galleon is powerless to save her.”

“That’s terrible,” said Gilbert, his voice sounding even croakier than usual.

“Soon after, Galleon got a job here in exchange for room and board. He performs twice a day and washes dishes and cleans chamber pots in between.”

“And Banshee?” asked Skylar.

“They had a fight years ago and she returned to her monkey village,” said Edgar. “As for me, winters can get pretty cold around here. When I heard about this gig, I jumped at it.”

“Like Grimslade said, the howler monkeys live in the Forest Under the Trees, high up in the canopies,” Skylar reminded Aldwyn and Gilbert, her voice filled with concern. “I was hoping we could avoid a trip into those dangerous treetops.”

From beyond the velvet divide, a heckler could be heard shouting, “I got an idea. Why don’t you make yourself disappear?!”

“Sir, could you at least stand up when you insult me,” Galleon snapped back. “Oh, you are standing up.”

The next thing Aldwyn knew, a bar stool was flying through the curtain and over his head.

“You might want to head for the exit,” advised Edgar. “This could be messy.”

The familiars pushed aside the velvet curtain and re-emerged into the cider hall. A pint-sized elvin pirate now had Galleon in a headlock.

“Nobody ridicules me without paying dearly for it,” squealed the elf as he tried to squeeze the air out of the magician, who was three times his size.

Galleon manoeuvred himself out of the elf’s stranglehold, but now the short roughneck’s accomplice was lunging towards him with a rusty knife in his hand.

Aldwyn used telekinesis to pull the knife from the accomplice’s hand and smacked him over the head with it, knocking him out cold. Then he, Gilbert, and Skylar made a run for the front door, dashing by belligerent patrons rising from their seats, all too eager to brawl.

More pirates swarmed in, but the familiars battled past them, bursting out on to the pavement. Skylar turned back to the inn one last time. “Galleon had such promise,” she said.