LITMIR.BIZ

      “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 horn. A crystal urn that reached from floor to ceiling stood beside her, filled with wisps of different-coloured smoke. Aldwyn could see that the traitorous grey hare was chanting something aloud to herself. As long as the Shifting Fortress remained hidden, Paksahara would be undefeatable. Aldwyn knew they couldn’t let that happen: they had to bring the seven descendants of the First Phylum together in a circle around one of the glyphstones to summon the Fortress. Only then could they attack the evil hare and strip her of her powers.

      Aldwyn turned back to his companions and saw that some of the sand kicked up by the spyballs had gotten into Gilbert’s eyes and nose. The tree frog’s eyes bulged as he struggled not to sneeze. Aldwyn put a paw up to his friend’s mouth, and Skylar threw a wing over his nose. Gilbert’s chest puffed up and his eyes watered as they continued to muffle him. Luckily, before Gilbert lost all control, the eyeballs took to the air. Aldwyn and Skylar waited until the winged spies had disappeared over the horizon. As soon as they removed paw and wing, Gilbert let out a thunderous sneeze.

      “You know, they say holding back a sneeze can be very dangerous,” said Gilbert. “It can make the veins in your head pop.”

      “You know what else can be very dangerous?” asked Skylar. “Having Paksahara hunt you down and kill you.”

      “True,” said Gilbert. “I’m just saying that spontaneous brain explosion would not be a fun way to go.”

      “I saw Paksahara,” interrupted Aldwyn.

      “What?” asked a panicked Gilbert. “Where?” He spun around on high alert, as if the grey hare might sneak up on him at any moment.

      “Through the spyball,” said Aldwyn. “She was in the Shifting Fortress, pouring a black powder into a summoning horn.”

      “She must have been raising more animals from their graves to fight in her army of the dead,” said Skylar.

      The blue jay dispelled her illusion before turning to the loyals.

      “We need to get you to that cellar,” she said. “Paksahara’s army is growing stronger.”

      Passing through a field of sweet-smelling berries, Aldwyn knew they were getting close to Stone Runlet. The tiny stream that gave the place its name came into view, and soon afterwards, they spotted what had once been Kalstaff’s cottage. Aldwyn looked on it with a heavy heart. He’d lived in the old wizard’s peaceful home for magical learning and study before it was reduced to rubble during a battle between Kalstaff and Paksahara. On that fateful night, Paksahara had arrived in the guise of Queen Loranella to kidnap the three loyals. Kalstaff tried to stop her, but Paksahara was too powerful, sending him to the Tomorrowlife with a deadly blow.

      “When my magic returns, I’m going to rebuild this cottage,” said Marianne, choking up.

      Dalton took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.

      “We’ve got to get you down to the cellar,” said Skylar. “We’ve been lucky so far, but who knows when another flock of spyballs will pass overhead.”

      They hurried through the tall grass towards the pair of iron doors that

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