and familiars were struck speechless. It was impossible to see anything below the murky surface. Suddenly, Grimslade burst through the water, gasping for air. Right behind him was a zombie crocodile bigger than the whole boat, with shreds of Grimslade’s cloak in its teeth. Dalton grabbed the crossbow and pointed it at the zombie, firing a bolt into the rotting reptile’s corpse. Unaffected, the crocodile dove back under, pulling Grimslade with him. The stray hunter disappeared again.
Aldwyn bravely stuck his head and paw into the sludge, but it was in vain. There was no sign of Grimslade or the undead creature. Then, just as he was about to come back up for air, Aldwyn heard Grimslade’s voice. It was both far away and yet as clear as if Grimslade was speaking right into his ear.
This is not how I’m going to the Tomorrowlife.
Aldwyn darted his head to the left and then to the right, but he couldn’t see where the voice was coming from. Then he was pulled back out of the water by Jack.
“There’s nothing we can do,” said Jack. “Come on.”
“We can’t just leave him,” said Aldwyn.
With a roaring splash, the rotting head of the zombie crocodile emerged once more. It lunged viciously towards them again, taking a bite out of the wooden stern. Dalton, Jack, and Marianne paddled with all their strength through the tunnel and didn’t stop until they reached a small opening in the city wall, which took them out of the sewers and into a moat that stretched across the northern side of Bridgetower. Aldwyn looked back into the darkness and was surprised to feel a pang of loss for Grimslade, who had once been his biggest enemy.
Now out of the city, the group came ashore safely on the far side of the moat, near a dense tangle of trees. Dalton grabbed Grimslade’s belt and leather pouch in one hand and his crossbow in the other, then climbed out of the boat with Skylar on his shoulder. The others followed him, running for the cover of the nearby woods.
Once under the tall trees, Aldwyn, Skylar, Gilbert, and their three loyals decided to stop and catch their breath, resting on fallen logs and mossy rocks.
But their short-lived break was interrupted by a thunderous crash. Aldwyn turned towards the source of the noise and watched as the walls of Bridgetower crumbled. Bricks were trampled underfoot as Paksahara’s Dead Army flooded into the city.
“There will be no stopping them now,” said Dalton.
Aldwyn looked to the town centre, where the glyphstone was being guarded, and wondered just how long it would remain standing.
“We’ll have to avoid the main road,” said Dalton, who had flattened Scribius’s map out before them and was tracing a path with his finger from Bridgetower to Split River.
Aldwyn could see out of the corner of his eye that Skylar was shaking her head and ruffling her feathers.
“Dalton’s right,” said Marianne. “We can follow the Ebs all the way. According to Galleon’s letters, he and Banshee reside in a place called the Inn of the Golden Chalice.”
Skylar couldn’t hold her beak any longer.
“No,” she said. “It’s too far and too dangerous. Without magic, you three cannot join us on this mission. Queen Loranella said it herself. She only allowed you to come to Bridgetower with us because you were under the protection of her guards.”
“We can take care of ourselves,” said Dalton.
“Did you see what happened to those soldiers?” asked Skylar.
“And Grimslade?” added Aldwyn.
“Are you suggesting we return to Bronzhaven?” asked Dalton.
“No,” said Skylar. “You’d never make it that far.”
“I can hold my own,” Dalton insisted. “Even without magic.”
Skylar eyed the blood-soaked tourniquet wrapped around Dalton’s calf. Her loyal winced but remained stoic.
“Stone Runlet is less than a half day’s trip from here,” said Skylar. “You can hide out in Kalstaff’s cellar. The alabaster walls will be able to ward off any attackers.”
As usual, Skylar’s logic was hard to argue with, and eventually Dalton relented. It was decided that the familiars would accompany their loyals back to Stone Runlet. Then the familiars would set off to find the seven descendants of the First Phylum on their own.
The group made their way through the Aridifian Plains. Aldwyn looked up at the night sky and was reminded of the three stars that had danced and twisted above the treetops, prophesising that three from Stone Runlet would save Vastia from danger. Although at first he had found it impossible to believe that he, a simple alley cat, was supposed to be one of the Three, he had come to accept the prophecy as true and put complete faith in its magical certainty.
As Aldwyn and Jack walked side by side, Aldwyn’s tail brushed up against the boy’s leg. He always felt secure and easy when he was next to his loyal. There were moments when he was tempted to ask to be lifted into Jack’s arms, yearning to be even closer to him, but he knew that he was no longer the one who needed looking after. Their roles had been reversed, and now it was Aldwyn who needed to comfort Jack.
“Don’t worry,” he told his loyal, who was clearly still shaken from the dangerous escape through Bridgetower’s sewers. “Soon this will all be over, and we’ll be back to wand flight racing.”
“We were getting pretty good at that.” A smile played over Jack’s face. “If we get a little more practice in, we might even be able to compete on the Warlock Trail.”
“If nothing else, a rematch against Gilbert and Marianne,” said Aldwyn.
Skylar led them forward, flying above a dry expanse of scorched plains. Thousands of tiny anthills dotted the ground, each spitting out bits of red lava. This was the work of volcano ants, and while Skylar had the luxury of soaring over them, Aldwyn, Gilbert, and the three loyals had to be careful to avoid the scalding rivulets of magma. It was hard not to torch the bottoms of their feet.
They had made it halfway across the burning sands when they saw a flock of winged eyeballs flapping in their direction.
Paksahara’s spyballs!
At Skylar’s signal, they stopped walking and huddled close, while the blue jay cast an illusion. A thorny bush appeared around them, hiding them from sight. Unexpectedly, the spyballs dove in for a landing. But instead of heading for the bush, they began sucking up volcano ants and kicking up plumes of sand.
The six remained still within the illusion, watching as the eyes feasted on red ants. Aldwyn held his breath. He became so quiet he could hear whispers coming from the shells dangling from his father’s necklace. But his attention was quickly diverted when one spyball got within paw’s reach of the bush. Aldwyn had never seen one so close before. He stared directly into the winged eyeball’s pupil. To his surprise, he could see Paksahara standing in a cold, square room at the very top of the Shifting Fortress. She was pouring a black powder into a summoning
