to be called to duty.
“I trust you know the way to the Hinterwoods,” said the queen.
Scribius was already drawing a map on a piece of parchment.
“Does anyone else find it curious that every magic item in the land has ceased to function, yet Scribius continues to write?” asked Edna.
“Perhaps the spell that enchants him predates human magic,” speculated Dalton.
“He was an heirloom in Kalstaff’s family from centuries ago,” said Loranella. “His origin is a mystery.”
With a final stroke of his quill, Scribius completed the route to the dogwood tree, a full day’s trip through the western Bronzhaven Plains to the Ebs, and then across its waters to the northern tip of the Hinterwoods.
Skylar placed map and pen in her satchel. Gilbert and Aldwyn stood on either side of her. Queen Loranella faced them.
“Find the Crown and bring it back to the palace,” she said. “We’ll assemble an army, and when the Fortress is summoned, animals and humans together will reclaim it.”
The trio nodded.
“Familiars, for hundreds of years the safety of Vastia has rested on the shoulders of wizards,” continued the queen. “Now its future rests on yours.”
Aldwyn, Skylar and Gilbert stood before the grand bronze portcullis for which Bronzhaven had been named. It took the strength of twelve horses to lift the heavy gate into the air, now that the queen’s feather spells could no longer lighten the load. As the familiars passed beneath its shining bars, Aldwyn looked back to see Jack waving from the royal cleric’s room. It was too far to shout, so Aldwyn lifted a paw instead, and loyal and familiar shared one last unspoken goodbye. With the gleaming parapets of the palace behind them, the trio headed down Bronzhaven’s main artery, a thoroughfare paved with gold and silver taken from the Lilic Mines at the base of Kailasa. Unlike Aldwyn’s former stomping grounds of Bridgetower, with its gritty back alleys and underground sewer markets, Vastia’s capital city was befitting a queen, perfectly groomed and immaculate in every way. As a result of the council’s recommendation to stay indoors, few citizens remained on the streets, but those who did stepped out of the familiars’ way. Aldwyn assumed it was because they recognised him and his fellow companions as the prophesised ones.
“I’m still not used to this,” said Gilbert. “When I see strangers staring at me like that, I always think I have food stuck in my teeth.”
“Once word got out that a cat, bird and frog were going to be the saviours of Vastia, what did you expect?” asked Aldwyn.
“I don’t know,” replied Gilbert. “Maybe a story written about us in the historical scrolls.”
“Those aren’t looks of reverence,” said Skylar. “They’re nervous that we’re not capable of meeting such an insurmountable challenge.”
Aldwyn glanced back at the people and immediately realised that her observation was on point. The citizens were watching them doubtfully, and Aldwyn, trying to see it through their eyes, could imagine feeling the same way. If he had been told that three animals an eighth of his size were all that stood between him and certain death, he wouldn’t believe it, either.
Once they had reached the edge of the city, where the gold- and silver-flecked street turned to dirt, they turned west and headed down the fence-lined road that would lead them through the outer villages of the western plains. It was fast going, save for Gilbert, who Aldwyn noticed was hopping about rather strangely.
“Why the waddle in your step?” asked Aldwyn.
Gilbert hemmed and hawed a little. “This is how I always walk.”
Aldwyn looked at the tree frog sceptically. They had travelled many miles together, and this was definitely a new gait for him.
“OK, the truth is I’ve been practising some of the spells in Marianne’s pocket scrolls,” said Gilbert. “And it turns out I don’t have much of a knack for this whole magic thing.”
“What does that have to do with your funny walk?” asked Aldwyn.
“Have either of you counted the toes on my right foot lately?”
Aldwyn and Skylar glanced down at Gilbert’s webbed foot. And sure enough, where there should have been four toes, there were seven!
“Gilbert,” exclaimed Skylar, “how did you do that?”
“I tried to conjure a trio of enchanted bows. Apparently my b’s sound more like t’s when I’m chanting. I’m just lucky I didn’t try to transform myself into a bird.”
His two companions tried to keep from laughing.
“Did I ever tell you about the first time I tried to conjure a flame fairy?” asked Skylar. “It didn’t go according to plan, either. Her hue was more yellow than orange.”
“And then what happened?” said Gilbert.
“That’s it. They’re supposed to be orange. It was very embarrassing.”
Gilbert shook his head. “Remind me not to have you cheer me up in the future.”
“I haven’t exactly mastered my telekinesis yet, either,” said Aldwyn.
“Well I, for one, feel far more prepared this time,” said Skylar. “This month of study and training has sharpened my spellcasting abilities considerably.” Then, noticing her companion’s looks, she added, “You’re right. I’m not so good at the whole cheering-up thing, am I?”
For most of the morning, the three animals continued through the Bronzhaven Plains. Being autumn, the weather was brisk, even more so given the disappearance of the queen’s weather-binding spells. The outer villages were surrounded by squares of tall wheat, and if Aldwyn hadn’t seen the portcullis at the palace’s entrance, he might have thought the name Bronzhaven came from the brownish-gold colour of the high stalks.
By the time high sun had arrived, the familiars were rounding a bend where they were treated to a kaleidoscopic rainbow of colours. There before them, to the right and left, was a patchwork of vibrant flowers – shimmering reds, electric blues and tiny golden bulbs that sparkled as bright as any coin.
“A Xylem garden,” explained Skylar, as usual never one to miss an opportunity to show off her abundant knowledge of all things. “Every flower, herb, or spice a wizard would ever need is grown in these hills. Kalstaff often said if he hadn’t become a teacher he would have tended one of these component nurseries.”
Aldwyn, even though he hadn’t been a familiar for long, could already recognise a few of the more popular varieties. There were orange mint leaves, cumin and patches of grey rigour weed alongside pink-petalled flowers that looked like butterflies and bushes with white berries that jangled like bells in the breeze.
As they walked through the garden, the animals were careful not to step on any of the blossoming buds. But Aldwyn found himself undeniably drawn to a leafy green herb. Hypnotised by it, he stepped over some tendrils lying on the ground and reached out his paw. “Aldwyn!” called Skylar. “Don’t touch that.”
He was just about to grab the herb when he felt something brushing up against his ankle. He looked down and saw that constrictor vines were twisting round his ankles. He backed away from the plant and the vines recoiled.
“I don’t know what happened,” said Aldwyn, hurrying away.
“Catnip,” replied Skylar. “It’s irresistible to you felines, but one should never steal it from a Xylem garden. Or anything else for that matter.”
“Wish