The word ‘family’ made Aldwyn snuggle closer to Jack. It was perhaps the thing he longed for more than any other.
“We defeated you once,” shouted Skylar, her voice bold and trumpeting. “Don’t think we won’t come after you again.”
Gilbert cowered inside Marianne’s shirt pocket. “Speak for yourself,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.
The pink panes that formed Paksahara’s stained-glass eyes turned to the three familiars in the back row.
“Such animosity,” said the hare, “when we’re on the same side. If you were smart, you’d leave your loyals behind and join me. Many animals already have.”
“We’re the Prophesised Three.” Aldwyn jumped in. “It’s our destiny to stop you.”
“Prophesies are made to be broken,” said Paksahara. “I won’t underestimate you this time. I even considered disenchanting animal magicians, just to eliminate you as a threat. But that would have left me in a bit of a pickle.”
Queen Loranella spoke up again, and this time her voice sounded fierce.
“Why do you choose to show yourself like this?” she enquired of her former trusted companion. “What is it you want?”
Paksahara turned her glass face back to the queen. “For all on two feet to bow down before me. For you to relinquish your throne and pledge your allegiance to the original rulers of Vastia. For you to let me enslave you, the way you did me – you called me familiar, but in reality I was nothing more than your servant.”
“I was your loyal and you my companion. We were a team,” said the queen. “I will never bow down to you.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. I’m quite looking forward to hearing you beg for mercy.” The sunlight gleamed through Paksahara’s stained-glass visage – it was strange for something so terrifying to be so beautiful too. “Upon the arrival of the next full moon, a new Dead Army will rise, one comprising animals, and it will not stop marching and conquering until every human has surrendered to it.”
The glass panes began to shake once more, but this time, instead of reforming into their original picture, the window shattered. Triangles of coloured glass, sharp as knives, rained down upon the queen and her councillors. Elders ducked beneath the table, while the gathered townsfolk covered their heads with their arms. With no magic to protect them, the shattered glass impaled itself in flesh and fur. It was only after the last shards had settled that humans and animals came out from their hiding spots. But they did so cautiously, fearing that Paksahara could return at any moment. A quick survey told Aldwyn that, fortunately, no one was badly hurt from the blast; as far as he could see, there were just cuts and grazes. Queen Loranella signalled everyone to return to their seats.
“Let’s not panic,” she said, trying to bring a sense of peace back to the grand hall.
“If we are to have any hope at all of regaining our magic, we must find the Shifting Fortress,” said Sorceress Edna, rising to her feet. “It is the only way to stop Paksahara’s plot.”
One of the council elders, wearing a blue scarf on her head, spoke up. “We can put together a team of trackers and a volunteer citizen army. Try to have eyes everywhere at once.”
“No, Vastia is too big,” responded Queen Loranella thoughtfully. “We have only eight days until the full moon rises. Without the bracelet, finding the Fortress is a hopeless task.”
A hush descended on the hall, and there was a silence that seemed to go on for ever, until the elder from the Estovian province, recognisable by his black gown, spoke up. “There might be another way,” he offered. He had grey, lifeless skin and eyes sunk back deep into his sockets. Only patches of long stringy hair remained on his scalp, as if the rest had fallen out in clumps.
“If you hold truths, speak now, Feynam,” said the queen.
“I have no knowledge of the Shifting Fortress’s secrets. But if I still had my magic, there’s someone I would talk to – the famed architect Agorus, the man who built the Fortress itself. Of course, given the circumstances, I’m unable to commune with the dead.”
“Then why did you even bring it up?” shouted a voice from the crowd. “You’re just wasting our time.”
“We need another plan,” said a different citizen.
Out of the corner of his eye, Aldwyn saw Skylar whisper something into Dalton’s ear. Then he watched as the fourteen-year-old boy slowly began to nod. Dalton stood up and cleared his voice. A familiar could communicate with their loyal and any master wizard, one who had the many years of training needed to become adept at comprehending animal tongue. But common man and lesser wizards were unable to understand the words that animals spoke.
“My familiar can do it,” Dalton told everyone. “Skylar has become versed in more schools of magic than the one her kind is born with. She has studied necromancy. She believes she can speak to the non-living.”
Aldwyn knew his fellow familiar had experimented with dangerous magic. He had watched her try to bring a beetle back from the dead, with hair-raising results. He also suspected there was more to the mysterious bejewelled anklet she wore than she had yet revealed. But as every single head in the hall turned towards Skylar, he wondered whether the blue jay would really be able to do what she had just claimed she could.
“She is a blue jay,” said Feynam. “Her talent is illusions. No animal has ever been known to commune with the dead. Why should she be different?”
“She strives for more,” said Dalton, defending his familiar.
“Such conjuring is forbidden for non-humans,” said another member of the council. “Look what happened to Paksahara!”
“Things are changing,” said Queen Loranella. “And with our own magic gone, we have to put faith in our animal friends.”
The queen left her spot behind the table and walked down the aisle towards Skylar, who remained perched on Dalton’s shoulder.
“You familiars are just full of surprises, aren’t you?” she said, a note of hope coming through in her words. “Perhaps this is the next step in your journey to fulfil the prophecy.”
By mid-morning the next day, the queen’s royal carriage was rolling south, across the Brannfalk Pass and towards the rolling hills that hugged the east bank of the Enaj. Without the aid of Loranella’s swift-step spell, the horses pulling the coach could only travel as fast as their own hooves could gallop. The queen had decided to leave at dawn, concerned they wouldn’t be able to find what they were looking for by moonlight alone.
From inside the gold-trimmed carriage, Aldwyn stared out at the lush green slopes and flocks of sheep, whose wool had taken on the same emerald hue as the grass they ate. He sat on Jack’s lap; his loyal looked eagerly out of the window as well, for as little of this land as Aldwyn had seen, Jack had glimpsed even less. Dalton and Marianne were seated beside them, along with Skylar and Gilbert. Marianne had dozed off, her head slumped on Dalton’s shoulder. Skylar studied a pocket scroll on necromancy, reading the words silently to herself as she prepared for the task ahead.
“Even muttering Wyvern and Skull’s chants in your head comes at a price,” warned Feynam. He stretched his arms out from beneath his black robe, revealing dark, twisted veins on his hairless arms. “I’ve read from those scrolls too often.”
The elder was sitting on the bench opposite the young wizards, next to Queen Loranella, Sorceress Edna and Stolix, who had dozed off round Edna’s neck. Feynam had been invited along to lead them to the location where the Shifting Fortress had been originally built – the same spot from which it was believed Agorus could be summoned from the Tomorrowlife. Aldwyn hoped Feynam’s expertise in necromancy would be useful, but right now the elder was just giving him the creeps.
Gilbert had his attention fixed on the charcoal-coloured