The Familiars: Circle of Heroes

Dedication

For Bernie, Roselle, Phyllis, and Jack, my grandparents. Whether here or in the Tomorrowlife, you are my circle of heroes.

A. J. E.

For Ryder, my son. You are my greatest adventure.

A. J.

Contents

Title Page

Dedication

One - Escape

Two - Beyond the Alabaster Wall

Three - The Inn of the Golden Chalice

Four - Up the Spiralwood

Five - Gloom Hills

Six - The Obsidian Cloud

Seven - The Scorch Path

Eight - A Cunning Capture

Nine - Lothar

Ten - Standoff at Jabal Tur

Eleven - Into the Abyss

Twelve - Poison Darts and Pocket Dragons

Thirteen - A Stroke of Luck

Fourteen - Twice Betrayed

Fifteen - Sleight of Hand

Sixteen - A Destiny Made

Seventeen - Battle at Bronzhaven

Eighteen - The Shifting Fortress

Nineteen - A New Vastia

Have you read?

Copyright

About the Publisher

Aldwyn cringed from the foul stench gusting in over the eastern wall of Bridgetower. The full moon cast a glow on the macabre parade of approaching zombies, bathing every skull, ribcage, hoof, and paw in a harsh yellow light. Dead animals of all sizes, from great elephants down to swarms of vermin, were ready to attack.

Such a fearsome sight would have caused a lesser familiar to tremble, but Aldwyn’s paws remained steady. He stood firm on the Tower Pub rooftop, exchanging glances with his equally stalwart animal companion, Skylar the blue jay. The third member of their heroic trio, Gilbert the tree frog, appeared far less bold.

“Go to your happy place, go to your happy place,” Gilbert chanted to keep from panicking. “I’m picturing a bug-infested lily pad.”

“An undead army never tires, never grows hungry, and never knows fear,” said Skylar, a bit ominously.

“How do you kill something when it’s already dead?” asked Aldwyn. His question hung in the air.

“If I still had my magic, I’d blast them back to the Tomorrowlife,” said Aldwyn’s loyal, Jack.

“Well, thanks to Paksahara’s dispeller curse, we don’t,” said Marianne to her younger brother. “No human does. Not even Queen Loranella.”

Aldwyn looked back out at the dead animal army to see a line of skeletal rams bashing their horns against the outer city wall. Decomposing corpses of bears slammed their claws into the battlements, trying to rip open holes large enough to force their way through.

“It won’t be long before they reach the glyphstone,” said Dalton, the eldest of the three apprentice wizards.

Aldwyn turned his attention from the outer wall. At the centre of the city, a large stone pillar covered in runic symbols stood outside Bridgetower’s House of Trials, guarded by the queen’s soldiers. This pillar was one of Vastia’s three glyphstones. These ancient monoliths had the magical power to summon the Shifting Fortress, but a glyphstone alone could not bring the Fortress forth. It needed to be surrounded by seven animals. And not just any animals. Magical animals. Descendants of the seven species that formed the First Phylum.

These were the animals that Aldwyn and his companions were going to search for, and the reason why they had enlisted the help of Grimslade, Vastia’s most notorious animal tracker.

Despite the rams’ continued charge, the strong stone barrier resisted crumbling, but it did not escape damage entirely: a few small gaps began to form in the wall.

“So long as Paksahara remains hidden away in the Shifting Fortress, she’ll continue to command her Dead Army without fear of retaliation,” said Dalton. “Skylar, the map.”

The blue jay reached a talon into her leather satchel and removed a rolled-up piece of parchment. She set the map down on the rooftop and smoothed it out with her wing.

“We need you to find some animals,” Jack told Grimslade.

“A mongoose, golden toad, wolverine, howler monkey, king cobra, bloodhound, and lightmare,” said Skylar.

“We know where a few of them are, but most are a mystery to us,” said Jack.

Dalton continued, “We already know a howler monkey who lives in Split River and a bloodhound who lingers in the Gloom Hills. But we’ll need your help with the other five.”

“What’s a howler monkey doing in Split River?” asked Grimslade. “Last time I checked, most of them spent their days banging their drums high up in the Forest Under the Trees.”

“She’s a familiar to one of our mentor’s former wizard apprentices,” answered Marianne. “They’ve been protecting Split River for years now.”

Aldwyn had heard many stories about Banshee and Galleon from Skylar and Gilbert. He even remembered seeing some of the letters that Galleon had sent to Stone Runlet, bragging about his adventures.

“If we pick up the howler monkey and bloodhound first, I suggest we then head north to the Abyssmal Canyon,” said Grimslade. “That’s where the mongooses and king cobras reside, deep within the broken crevices of the Kailasa mountains. I’ve tracked them once before with my Olfax snout. Give me that pen of yours.”

The bounty hunter reached for Skylar’s satchel and tried to grab Scribius. But before he could tighten his grip, the frightened pen leaped from his hand, glided across the map, and ducked behind Gilbert. Shady, the 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.

The entire chamber had an eerie glow caused by the light of dozens of wax candles flickering against algae-covered walls. Planks tethered together floated in the sewer waters, forming crude bridges that connected the stone islands populated by cave shamans and cloaked merchants. Some vendors refused to heed the Sun Temple bell’s warning call, barely audible down below, stubbornly standing their ground, while others urgently packed up their forbidden wares as they prepared to evacuate.

A cave shaman selling large hairy arachnids and smaller needle-legged ones brandished a dagger in his hand when he spotted the familiars and their human companions approaching.

Grimslade stepped forward, showing his hands. “We’re just passing through.”

The merchant cautiously lowered his weapon, just as Gilbert came into the light, still covered in bear entrails.

“Zombie frog! Keep away,” shouted the spider salesman. He flashed his knife. “My dagger is venom tipped.”

The cave shaman threw the poisonous knife at the tree frog. It was just about to stab Gilbert when Aldwyn stopped it short with his telekinesis. The blade dropped into the sludge.

By the time Aldwyn turned back, the shaman had shoved all his merchandise into a burlap sack and pushed off on a small raft.

“The narrow tunnel to the north leads to the outer moat,” said Aldwyn.

Suddenly, a scream came from a hooded female merchant packing up her wares. A zombie snake had coiled around her neck. Aldwyn quickly discovered where the snake had come from, as he watched countless more drop from narrow slits in the ceiling above. Whether they landed directly atop merchants or merely beside them, they didn’t wait long to attack.

Almost instantly, the sewer market transformed into a battlefield, as the cave shamans began to use their black market goods to defend themselves. The snakes were pouring in through cracks in the walls as well, while the familiars, their loyals, and Grimslade ran across the floating planks, trying to escape.

Up ahead, Aldwyn spotted one of the cloaked merchants sucking down a vial of yellow liquid. Once the glass beaker was emptied, every hair on the merchant’s body stood on end, and sparks crackled from his fingernails.

He grabbed a zombie snake, frying it instantly. He kicked another one, zapping it backwards.

“Storm berry juice can have powerful results,” said Skylar, “but crippling side effects.”

The words had barely escaped her beak when the man’s stomach boomed like there was thunder inside him.

“Now that’s a storm I don’t want to stick around for,” said Aldwyn.

“The same thing happens to me when I eat milkweed bugs,” said Gilbert.

As the group sprinted for a dock at the entrance to the north tunnel, Dalton slipped on a scum-coated log and fell. Skylar’s loyal dragged himself to his knees, but before he could bring himself back to his feet, one of the undead snakes sank its sharp teeth into his calf. A mighty kick from Grimslade’s bronze-tipped boot stopped the snake from taking a chunk out of the loyal’s stomach as well.

Marianne gave Dalton’s arm a tug to pull him up and resume their run past the battling sewer vendors. One of the vendors was throwing deadly contraptions rigged with whirling blades at the bony reptiles, dicing their skulls and vertebrae into marrow.

For the moment, the living seemed to be holding their own against the dead, but as more of Paksahara’s army flooded in through the ceiling and walls, Aldwyn knew time was running out.

When they reached the dock, Skylar flew down and began pecking away at the ropes tethering a large boat. Dalton gave her a hand, unfastening the last of the lines as the rest of the party loaded in. Grimslade spun back and fired off a trio of arrows at the skeletal snakes charging towards them.

The wooden vessel took off down the northern tunnel, leaving the carnage caused by the undead behind. Now out of immediate danger, the companions were able to breathe easier, but it was slow going through the sewer tunnel. The thick muck was hard to paddle through and the only source of light was Skylar’s illusionary torch, which floated in front of them.

“How long do you think it will be before the beasts topple the first of the glyphstones?” asked Jack.

“The queen’s soldiers are brave,” answered Dalton, who had torn off a piece of his sleeve and was using it as a tourniquet on his injured leg. “But courage gives little advantage in a battle like this.”

Then several glass jars floated out of the darkness. As they bobbed in the water, Aldwyn could see that each had a different spider corked inside. There was little doubt in his mind that they had belonged to the merchant who had paddled off when they first arrived. And Aldwyn suspected the man would not have let his precious arachnids go unless something horrible had befallen him.

Gilbert shot his tongue out over the edge of their skiff and scooped up one of the jars, which held a prickly rose-coloured spider.

“Really, Gilbert?” asked Aldwyn.

“What? I could get hungry later,” replied the tree frog.

The boat stopped moving as the hull ground up against something hidden in the murk. Despite their attempts to paddle past it, they were unsuccessful: the boat was stuck.

“What is it?” asked Jack.

“There’s only one way to find out.” Begrudgingly, Grimslade slipped off his jacket, belt, and crossbow.

He swung his legs into the water and found himself standing in muck up to his waist. He used all his might to push the boat free. It started drifting forward again and Grimslade was about to pull himself back in when to everyone’s surprise, he was tugged under.

Loyals 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.

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