shadow puppy who had adopted Gilbert as his dad, let out a ferocious bark at Grimslade, his smoky snout and ears peeking out from the tree frog’s flower bud backpack.
“It’s OK,” Gilbert assured Shady and Scribius. “He’s with us now.”
Scribius cautiously reappeared from behind the frog, before moving over to the map. Following the bounty hunter’s instructions, the magic pen then began charting a course from the Gloom Hills to the Abyssmal Canyon.
“After we pick up a mongoose and king cobra in the crevices of Kailasa,” continued Grimslade, “we’ll let this do the rest.”
Grimslade held up a disembodied wolf’s nose that was attached to his belt. Aldwyn knew only too well what this was: an Olfax tracking snout, one of the black magic specialties of the cave shamans of Stalagmos, able to sniff out any prey. Grimslade had used this very snout to track Aldwyn through Vastia only a few short weeks ago. How ironic that now it would be used to aid the former alley cat and his companions, rather than hunt them.
“If I may make a suggestion, perhaps we should save the wolverines for last,” said Marianne. “They are allied with Paksahara. One won’t come without a fight.”
“No animal puts up a fight when it’s dead,” said Grimslade.
“We must not have made ourselves clear,” said Dalton. “All of the animals need to be brought in alive.”
“That’s going to cost you extra!” replied the bounty hunter.
Aldwyn heard a loud crack and looked up from the map to see that the rams had turned the small gaps in the eastern wall into bigger holes. The vanguard of the Dead Army began to squeeze their way through.
“I don’t need to look into a puddle to see that this is going to end badly,” said Gilbert, whose innate magical talent was seeing the future in pools of water.
Then, from across the city, the Sun Temple’s bell started to chime loudly. Aldwyn had heard it ring only peacefully, to announce the rising sun, but now it was clanging madly, sending a warning to the residents of Bridgetower. And the people heeded its call, running for the safety of their shops and houses.
“Come on,” said Grimslade. “We should get moving.”
Grimslade led their retreat, leaping feet first through the hatch on the roof and into the stairwell below. Loyals and familiars followed, and it was just a matter of seconds before they were back in the Tower Pub. Only the most committed ale swillers remained, the type of rogues content to die with drink in hand. Grimslade pulled a coin from the burlap bag he had been paid off with and flicked it on to the table where he had been sitting not long ago.
Two of Queen Loranella’s soldiers, who had chaperoned the young wizards and familiars from Bronzhaven, immediately took their places on either side of the group. Grimslade pushed through the pub doors and led them all down a twisty cobblestoned side street towards the major thoroughfare. As they made their way, Aldwyn could hear the sounds of windows being slammed shut and tables scraping across floors to barricade doors.
The group came to the main road: to the west, it led to the House of Trials, where the glyphstone stood; to the east, Bridgetower’s entrance gate. The gate was the only official way in or out of the city and certainly the quickest – that is, when there wasn’t an army of zombies laying siege to it. “I know another way to get out,” Aldwyn said to Jack. “Follow me.”
Jack related the message to the others, and Aldwyn took off in the lead. Not for the first time, he was thinking back to his days as an ordinary alley cat and the beginning of his adventure. Then, he’d been running away from Grimslade. Now they were running together, looking to leave the city before Paksahara’s zombie army made escape impossible!
From above, a terrifying cackling seemed to be coming closer and closer. Aldwyn glanced up over his shoulder. Two zombie chimpanzees were running along the canopies and tapestries that lined the outdoor markets. Loranella’s soldiers stopped and pulled out their swords.
“Keep going!” ordered one of them. “We’ll fight them off.”
The loyals, the familiars, and Grimslade continued to flee. With every step, Aldwyn could feel his father’s whisper-shell necklace – which he hadn’t taken off since the day he discovered it – brush against his fur. He turned back one last time to see the soldiers fighting valiantly against the vicious zombie chimp attack.
Aldwyn led his companions down a street lined with shops that sold copper pots, swords, and other metal goods. Candles in glass bowls atop waist-high lampposts had been lit, illuminating the darkness. They ducked down an alleyway filled with piles of junk and stopped so Jack and Marianne could catch their breath.
A skinny rat emerged from one of the piles.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” The rat recognised Aldwyn. “Every time you come through this alley, trouble’s not far behind.” Not a moment later, Grimslade appeared.
“Wh-wh-what’s he doing here?” the rat asked in a panic.
“It’s not what you think,” said Aldwyn, trying to sound reassuring. “He’s on our side.”
“Grimslade?”
Aldwyn nodded.
“Huh,” said the rat. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
Just then the alley wall shattered. A zombie bear pushed aside the rubble, oozing green stomach acid from a large hole in its ribcage. The beast looked ready to attack.
“Aldwyn, do me a favour. Find a different alley!”
With that, the rat scurried under a pile of debris, leaving the others to fend off the grizzly soldier of the Dead Army.
Jack grabbed a half-finished sword from the junk and charged at the bear. The lumbering beast quickly knocked him to the ground and raised a bony paw to strike.
Seeing his loyal in danger, Aldwyn responded quickly. He set his sights on the lamppost and telekinetically lifted the glass bowl off its metal stand. It hovered in the air for a moment before he gathered his focus to launch it down the alley and into the bear’s open ribcage. When the candle flame made contact with the bear’s stomach acid, the zombie exploded. Flecks of fur and flesh sprayed in every direction. Gilbert was covered head to toe in gooey remains.
Shady popped his head out from Gilbert’s backpack and licked the zombie slime off the tree frog’s arm.
“Shady!” cried Gilbert. “Even I wouldn’t eat that.”
Aldwyn climbed over the remnants of the alley wall and led the group down a darker street, where homeless driftfolk were lying about, drinking potions straight out of the bottle.
“Maybe we’re better off taking our chances with the zombies,” said Marianne, only half joking.
“If this cat intends to have us sneak out through the sewer markets, he might want to think again,” Grimslade said to Jack. He gestured to an iron door. “They don’t open the Undergate until after midnight.”
Aldwyn turned to Jack, “Tell him there’s a reason he was never able to catch me.”
He pushed a rotting bale of hay aside to reveal a secret trapdoor on the street. The familiars got through easily, but the three loyals had a tight squeeze, and Grimslade had to remove his cloak just to get his broad shoulders through. Once they had all dropped into the darkness, Aldwyn and Gilbert looked to Skylar for aid. She quickly summoned an illusionary torch. It burned with a dim but steady flame. Aldwyn realised just how much stronger his companion’s talent for summoning illusions had grown since their journey had begun.
Aldwyn’s eyes quickly adjusted to the semi-darkness. He and his companions had entered a long, hollow stone tunnel with a stream of slow-moving sewer water moving through it. With the black-and-white cat leading, the group ran through the ankle-deep sludge and down the sloping corridor towards a spot where the sewer expanded into a wide underground complex.