The Familiars #4: Palace of Dreams (7 page)

Aldwyn, Skylar, and Gilbert cleared the outer wall of the castle and were soaring over the city. A searing white blast shot past Aldwyn’s head. If he hadn’t already had a chunk missing from his ear, he would have now. Aldwyn glanced back to see the last two Nightfall Battalion members charging, both with wands outstretched, one’s tip still smoking. Skylar and Gilbert joined Aldwyn as he dipped down a busy street, the buildings towering like canyon walls on either side. They were zipping underneath canopies. Vendors stared up at the strange sight of a cat, frog, and blue jay flying through the air.

Another bolt of lightning came close to frying Gilbert. Aldwyn focused his mind as he passed over the next building, telekinetically pulling shingles from the slanted wooden rooftop and flinging them backward like diamond throwing stars. The barrage of projectiles hit the last two Nightfall Battalion soldiers, knocking their wands from their hands. They instantly began to plummet, heading straight for the pavement. But before they made impact, Aldwyn glanced down and moved a vendor’s hay cart with his mind, setting it directly in their path.

Escape seemed within reach. That’s when Aldwyn saw a furry black-and-white feather drift from his back. Then another. And another. He was losing his wings. The Icari weed was wearing off. He looked over to Gilbert and saw that his slimy bat wings were beginning to break apart as well.

“Skylar,” Aldwyn called out. “You have any more of that Icari weed in your satchel?”

“That was all of it,” she replied.

Aldwyn surveyed the cityscape before them. The outer ring of Bronzhaven was filled with modest residential houses and small parks with well-trimmed lawns and absolutely nowhere to hide. Farther ahead was an orchard of trees and thick bushes.

“Over there,” Skylar said, pointing to the orchard. “It will cushion your fall.”

It seemed as good a plan as any, except Gilbert was never going to make it. One of his wings had fallen off and he was spiraling downward. He was trying his best to stay afloat, but it was only resulting in an awkward nosedive.

Gilbert’s touchdown was bumpy to say the least, but it didn’t seem to leave any permanent damage. Aldwyn dropped to the grass feet first, as cats have a tendency to do. Skylar hovered above them.

“More of the Nightfall Battalion will be coming,” Skylar said.

“We should go to Turnbuckle Academy and find our loyals,” Gilbert said. “They’ll be able to help us.”

“No,” Skylar was quick to respond. “We can’t put them at risk. If they appear to be accomplices, they’ll be in as much trouble as we are. Besides, our first priority is saving Queen Loranella.”

“And how exactly do we plan on doing that?” Aldwyn asked.

“There are only a few in Vastia who know how to cure a parasitic poison,” Skylar replied. “But just one is far enough removed from the politics of the palace to be trusted. The Mountain Alchemist in Kailasa.”

“He wasn’t exactly welcoming the last time we went to him for help,” Gilbert croaked.

“He did come through for us, though,” Skylar countered.

“Yeah, after he nearly killed us!” Gilbert exclaimed. “And I seem to remember him telling us never to come back to see him again.”

“I don’t know what other choice we have,” Skylar replied. “If we head south, to the forest surrounding the Smuggler’s Trail, its magic will keep us hidden from anyone who comes looking for us. Then we can continue on to Kailasa.”

Aldwyn turned back and took one last look at the palace. He knew they wouldn’t be able to return until they had cleared their names.

I
n the morning sunlight, sheep grazed peacefully across the plains east of the Smuggler’s Trail. They were of little interest to the spyballs flying above. Which is precisely why Aldwyn, Gilbert, and Skylar had spent the last few hours hidden among them, disguised beneath one of Skylar’s illusions. And although this gave them safe cover, it also slowed them down.

“All they eat is grass?” Gilbert asked. “That’s it. Every meal. Grass!”

“You pretty much just eat bugs,” Aldwyn said.

“But there are so many different varieties. Caterbeetles for the hearty meat lover. The delicate sweetness of a mosquitoette. Or the earthy zest of a dung roach. I could go on.”

“That’s okay,” Aldwyn said.

“When that flock of spyballs soars past, I say we make a break for the edge of the forest,” Skylar said.

They waited until the winged eyeballs completed their flyover and disappeared into a low cloud bank. Once they were gone, Aldwyn—with Skylar and Gilbert sitting atop his back—split off from the herd, eager to slip under the thick brush of leaves and branches.

Inside the woods it was cool and quiet, and it took only a few steps to feel like the fields behind them were miles away. Now safely hidden, Skylar dispelled the illusion.

“If we keep moving in this direction, we should come across the Smuggler’s Trail,” Skylar said.

“We still haven’t talked about what was written on the floor of our dungeon cell,” Aldwyn said as the group continued onward. “What if it was a clue?”

“Spuowbip wjots sby udpjbm uosdwoyt,” Skylar recited from memory.

“How do you
do
that?” Gilbert asked, impressed even though he had seen Skylar’s perfect recall on display many times before.

“I’m not sure what the words mean,” Skylar continued. “Could be elvish. It also sounds like the ancient tongue of the driftfolk.”

“I don’t think I mentioned it before, but when the words formed, they were written backward, from right to left,” Aldwyn said.

“That’s how the elvish script their sentences,” Skylar said. “Perhaps along the way to Kailasa we can find someone to help us translate it. Or maybe the Alchemist can do it himself.”

As the familiars walked deeper into the forest, Aldwyn could sense that they were not alone. But each time he turned, all he heard was the faint rustling of leaves. He remembered the last time he had traveled here and how this enchanted place hid things right before its visitors’ very eyes.

Skylar led them farther still, until they came to a well-worn dirt path. This was the Smuggler’s Trail. Hoof marks and dry leaves covered the road.

“Let’s lie low for a few hours,” Skylar said. “Like I said, whoever comes looking for us won’t be able to find us here.”

She gestured to an oak tree that provided ample cover. The Three walked beneath it and started to settle in. But just before Aldwyn got comfortable, he spied a gathering beyond the oak, one he hadn’t seen before. Humans, animals, and magical creatures of every kind crowded the grounds. Wooden shelters built into the tree trunks and tents made from old linens and tapestries encircled a campfire. Trolls and fairies sat side by side before the flames. A pair of tiny hippopotamuses were bartering with a slithering mound of moss.

Skylar and Gilbert were now standing beside Aldwyn, staring at the sight.

One of the fairies, who was broad-shouldered and bearded, flitted over and landed on a twig near Aldwyn’s face.

“Welcome,” he said. “If you can see us, then you must be hiding from something as well. The Smuggler’s Den only reveals itself to those who wish not to be found. No one will ask you any questions about what you’re running away from here. And as long as you mean no harm to the others, you can stay as long as you like.”

“We won’t be long,” Skylar said.

“Well, if you’re hungry, we were just putting some coconut meat over the fire,” the fairy said.

“We do have a big day ahead of us,” Skylar said.

“Of course, you’ll have to contribute something in return,” the fairy said.

“And what exactly did you have in mind?” Skylar asked.

The familiars, with bellies filled, scrubbed a stack of pots and pans that stretched halfway up a tree, using wet rags and sticks to clean the grimy cookware. It seemed a fair trade-off, especially since they didn’t know where their next full meal was going to come from.

Nearby a gold-backed baboon with a shackle still dangling from one of its wrists tended to the campfire, ensuring that the cooking flames would continue to burn until their next meal. He glanced over to Aldwyn, Skylar, and Gilbert.

“Some of these people have been here so long they don’t recognize you,” the baboon said. “Not me. I’ve seen the statues they erected in Split River. I know it’s impolite to ask, but what are the Prophesized Three doing here?”

“It’s just a big misunderstanding actually,” Skylar said.

“Whatever it is, it must be pretty bad for you to be here,” the baboon replied.

“No matter,” Skylar said. “It will all be righted soon.”

“Righted, perhaps,” the baboon said. “But not forgotten. Accusations, whether they be true or false, are not washed out so easily. It takes more than truth to clean the stains that are left behind.”

It was as if the baboon knew Aldwyn’s worst fear.

“You can do a thousand good acts, but they’ll remember you for the one bad. Even if it’s just rumor and innuendo.”

“That doesn’t seem fair, does it?” Aldwyn asked.

“No, I suppose not,” the baboon replied.

Aldwyn reflected on everything he and his friends had already been through. He wasn’t going to let one false accusation wipe away all the good they had done.

“What about you?” Gilbert asked. “What’s with the shackle?”

The baboon stoked the flames again.

“I was taken from my family and sold into the service of the Cyrus Brothers Traveling Animal Show,” he said angrily. Aldwyn knew how hard it was to be separated from family. That’s why he was so eager to find Yeardley—once all this was over, of course. “They chained me up pretty tight, too. They wanted me to dance for peanuts. But I learned a few tricks from the troop’s master escapist, a land octopus who goes by the name Torgo. Thought I’d hide here for a few months.”

The fairy returned when the washup was done.

“Same deal goes for lunch,” he said.

Aldwyn, Skylar, and Gilbert set down their dishrags and sticks. They’d started back for the tree they planned to lie low beneath when they heard cheers and curses coming from a motley crew of ruffians gathered nearby. Curious, the Three stopped to look closer.

A bull’s-eye had been nailed to a tree, and each player stood about ten feet away, throwing their own uniquely striped slug at the target.

“Is that darts?” Gilbert asked.

“Those don’t look like darts to me,” Aldwyn replied.

Unlike the traditional version of the game, the slugs moved after they made contact, sometimes inching closer to the center, sometimes squirming farther away. If one of the slugs got too close to the other, they would fight until one was swallowed. Once everyone had taken their turn, the player with the slug nearest to the bull’s-eye was declared the victor.

“I win,” a long-armed sloth exclaimed.

She collected the pile of loot that had been wagered. The others appeared downright livid.

“Look,” Skylar said quietly to Aldwyn and Gilbert. “A pair of elvin pirates.”

“We’ll definitely want to steer clear of them,” Gilbert said.

“No,” Skylar replied. “They speak elvish. And they’ll be able to read elvish.”

“And you’re going where with this?” Gilbert asked.

“The clue on the dungeon floor,” Aldwyn said, jumping in.

“Ah. Yes. The clue.” Gilbert nodded.

Skylar and Aldwyn shared an exasperated look.

“Let’s see if we can’t ask for their help,” Skylar said.

The familiars approached the two elvin pirates, one of whom was covering a slug in his own spit.

“I said lightly drooled, Scoot. Too much saliva makes them wobble.”

“Brinn, if you don’t like the way I spittle your sluggot, do it yourself.”

“Excuse us,” Skylar said. “We were wondering if we might ask you a favor?”

“Pirates aren’t in the business of doing favors,” Brinn replied. “We do things for gold and cider.”

“Well, we have nothing to offer,” Skylar said.

“Then take your wings and beak and flap off,” he said.

“We’d be willing to make you a wager,” Aldwyn said.

The pirates’ eyes lit up. Now Aldwyn had their attention.

“You want to challenge us to a game of sluggots?” Scoot asked. “Did you hear that, Brinn? Sounds like a bet.”

“It sure does,” Brinn replied with a grin. “So, what exactly are we playing for?”

“If we win, information,” Aldwyn said.

“And if I win?” Brinn asked.

Aldwyn clearly hadn’t thought that far in advance. He looked over to the oak tree and spotted Skylar’s leather satchel.

“We’ve got a satchel filled with rare components from Horteus Ebekenezer’s lost Xylem garden,” Aldwyn said. “You can take your pick of one.”

“I want the whole bag,” Brinn said. “And the frog, too.”

Gilbert croaked. “Guess we’ll need a new plan—”

“Deal,” Aldwyn said.

Skylar seemed just as surprised as Gilbert.

“Who’s throwing for you?” Scoot asked.

Skylar held up her wings.

“I won’t be a very good shot with these feathers.”

“And my paws will fare no better,” Aldwyn said.

They both looked to Gilbert.

“Me?” he asked. “I’m nervous enough as it is.”