Saint Elm's Deep (The Legend of Vanx Malic) (14 page)

“Now wait a moment,” Brody started in.

Chelda put her hand on his forearm firmly. “She is in.” Chelda’s voice was flat. “Just trust me on the matter for now.”

“But she’s, she’s…” Brody made an exaggerated gesture.

Just then, Xavian came into the inn. Like Brody, he had been living in Orendyn for a while before Vanx and Darbon had arrived. He’d chosen to stay at his old apartment instead of at the Iceberg with the others.

“Ahh, our esteemed practitioner of the arts arcane.” Brody gave a sarcastic bow.

“I like that.” Xavian smiled. He took an empty chair from one of the other tables and slid in next to Chelda. His old black leather skullcap had been replaced by a shiny one made of polished silver, or maybe from extremely fine steel. Vanx couldn’t tell. His long goatee and mustache looked to have been neatly trimmed since last evening. He sat an oilcloth sack on the table and slid its bulk over to Vanx.

“There is every book that has significant information on Rimeho—”

Chelda elbowed him before he could finish the word.

“I mean our destination,” the mage continued. “It’s not much, but—what happened to your eye?”

“A stray alley cat got him,” Brody said. “Right after it jumped up into Galra’s second floor window last night. It seems the three of them had a time of it up there. Half the inn was complaining about the yelling this morning.”

“We are half of the inn’s custom,” Chelda said. “I think there’s only one other guest. Now what do the books say, Xavian?”

Xavian looked a bit confused by the exchange. He eyed Gallarael then Vanx in turn and shrugged, as if to say it wasn’t his mess to worry about.

“There’s not much that will help us in there, other than an account taken by a priest of Nepton over a hundred years ago. It seems a man claimed to have survived the Lurr forest and did return to tell about it.”

“So much for never coming back out,” Gallarael said. “They said that about the Wildwood, too.”

“You slept through the Wildwood, Gal.” Darbon chuckled.

“How did he get out?” Brody asked Xavian.

“He claims that his torch’s fire kept the tree-beasts away from him, but he didn’t go it alone. Five others were never heard from again.” Xavian picked a sausage from one of the plates, bit off half of it, and gestured with the other half as he went on. “It’s all very cryptic. There are references to venomous thorns and flesh-eating trees, all in a green forest hidden in a deep valley in the heart of the frozen mountains. And get this, Vanx: they called that forest Saint Elm’s Deep.”

Vanx saw Gallarael shudder at the mention of venomous thorns. He found himself angry. “If you’re going, then you can load your own pack,” he said. “I’m not going to pamper you.”

“Fine.” Gallarael’s voice was loud as she rose. “I’ll be about it, then. I can sense that we are leaving on the morrow. Would you at least bring Darbon’s coat for me when you pick up your own?” She didn’t wait for a response. She whirled and stalked up the stairs to her room.

“By the gods, Vanx, that was rude,” Brody said. “What am I missing here?”

He was looking at Vanx and expecting an explanation.

“Leave it, Bro,” said Chelda. “Like I said, I’ll explain it later. Vanx can enlighten Xavian of the situation as he sees fit. I’ll just say this: she’s a lot more formidable than she seems.”

“Who is going to bring the haulkats back?” Darbon asked.

“So, we are riding, then?” Xavian asked, clearly pleased by the prospect. “Is it decided?”

“Only until we get into gargan territory. From there, we’re sending the haulkats back.” Vanx was in no mood to argue anymore. He was ready to leave. “I will find us a couple of katten handlers and a sled man. We can stick to the caravan routes most of the way there, so it won’t be a problem.” He slid his chair back and gestured for Xavian to come with him. “Dar, would you put these texts up in our room? I’ll read them later.” Then to Brody, he said, “After Chelda explains Galra’s situation to you, would you see to purchasing the rest of the items on our list? Darbon will give you the coin and help get it loaded.” Vanx paused, looking at the books as Darbon grabbed them up. “And add a few bundles of good pitch torches to the tally, while you’re about it.”

“I assume Galra was correct, then?” Brody gave a curt nod of respect. It was clear that he liked it when things started getting a sense of order and purpose. “We’re leaving on the morrow?”

“Yup.” Vanx smiled at the table, as warm and genuine of a smile as his troubled countenance would allow. “If I were you, Chelda, I’d have the healer look at your arm, and get a few potions stockpiled for the pain. We may not be leaving at first light, but as soon as we can.”

Vanx pulled his seal fur cloak from the back of the chair and donned it. About halfway to the door, he stopped and turned back to them. “Chelda, can you discreetly see that Galra doesn’t forget anything that she may need?”

“Like what?” Chelda snorted loudly. “A cage?”

Darbon laughed, but the others just looked at each other blankly.

Vanx couldn’t help but crack a smile.

Chapter Fifteen

The king saw the wizard
and the wizard did laugh.
Then the wizard killed him
with the power of his staff.
-- The Weary Wizard

The sledsman was a burly, heavy-bearded man with a barrel-keg chest covered in naught but a steaming flannel shirt, as he stood out in the cold negotiating. His helpers, two bundles of dirty gray wool, seemed to work well with the haulkats in the stable, but the man only had two sleds and four cats.

Vanx explained he needed more and they soon came to an arrangement. The man would borrow three cats from one of his brothers so that they’d have seven. They would hook two to one sled, which would mainly be used to haul fishmeal, leaving five to be saddled and ridden. The two handlers would take their turns in the saddles, but the sledsman decided he was riding in the sled the whole way.

The sledsman didn’t like the idea of leaving the protected route toward the end of the journey, but Vanx showed him on a well-made trade map where he wanted to go. After seeing that the diversion wasn’t going to take him and his animals across any open tundra, the coin won out. The man said he’d make a camp at the edge of the protected northwest caravan passage and make his hands ride up into the foothills with Vanx and the crew. The two handlers could bring the cats back to him, while he sat protected by a fire.

Once that was taken care of, Vanx and Xavian started down toward the docks. It was still early in the day, and Vanx was hoping to find Skully. The old sea dog might have a tale in him about the Hoar Witch or the strange hidden forest called Saint Elm’s deep. It was still a bit early for drinking and Skully wasn’t about, but Vanx also wanted to visit the old Temple of Nepton and it was never too early to do that.

“You’re supposed to enlighten me on Galra’s situation,” Xavian said, as they walked along through the bustling snow-packed streets.

This close to the docks, the smell of brine was stronger in the air. The scent mingled with Vanx’s blood and filled him with a great sense of unease.

Above them, the sky was clear and blue. Only a single cottony cloud was high overhead. It was still bitter cold, though. Breathy steam roiled out of the mouths of hawkers selling everything from healing salve; to matching elk-skin caps and gloves; to stupefying dopor and even Wildermont steel blades shipped all the way from the other side of the world.

These latter items Vanx paused to inspect. He eventually planned to explore Wildermont, Westland and Highwander, the fabled kingdoms that lay beyond Harthgar. He would explore Harthgar, too, but only if he survived Rimehold.

“This here’s a man who knows his steel. For you, only four silvers for the hip daggers,” the hawker offered. “Three for the boot blades. Tell you what, I’ll give you every blade you see for a single golden galleon.”

“If you want a new blade, Vanx,” Xavian said in perfect earshot of the hawker, “I’ll show you a better place. These are not true Wildermont steel.” Xavian gave the man a glare that stilled his tongue.

Around them, men and women called out the quality of their wares with exuberant indifference. Silver charms, ice twisters, kegs full of varying types of nuts, seeds and kaffee beans all could be had; fresh white fish, lavender soap, spiced bread or Parydonian peaches fresh off the boat. It was a seemingly unorganized cacophony of mercantile delight.

“A boot dagger made from Wildermont steel would cost about as much as all this shoddy dinnerware put together,” Xavian growled.

“Ha.” Vanx grinned at the frustrated-looking hawker and shrugged. Once they were away from the cart, he spoke. “I was just searching for the words to explain about Gallarael. Let me try a bag of the kaffee beans.”

“Galra, you mean?”

“Gal will do for now.” Vanx stopped at the bean and nut merchant and indicated what he wanted. “Do you believe in changelings?”

“What, like werewolves and the frog prince?”

“Sort of.” Vanx chuckled. “In this case, it’s more like a poison-induced, wild, feline sort of princess, instead of a frog prince.”

“She’s the one who scarred Darbon’s face?”

Vanx took a roughspun sack the size of a loaf of bread from the merchant and gave him two coppers. “How’d you guess?”

Xavian blushed and started them back down the lane. “After we first met, and you were trying to convince me about your Parydonian connections, well, I didn’t believe you. I cast a spell of knowing on Darbon.” Xavian paused and was clearly relieved that Vanx was showing no hint of anger over the matter.

“I tried spelling you, but your Zythian blood fractured my magic. Of course, I didn’t know that was why my spell didn’t work on you at the time, but I understand now.” He shrugged guiltily. “Anyway, after you went off with the tailor, Darbon and I continued talking in more detail about the wizards of the Royal Order and other things. He’d already told me that Princess Gallarael had put the scars on his face, and I knew he wasn’t lying.” He let out a sigh and seemed relieved to have gotten so much off his chest at once.

“In all this time, you haven’t told anyone else about what you know, or speculated?” Vanx’s tone was serious now.

“No one. Why?”

Vanx stopped again and held Xavian’s gaze. He was searching for any hint of deceit. He didn’t see any, so he resumed their gait.

“She is who she is,” Vanx said simply. “People, powerful people, have no doubt sent men looking for her. The thing is, none of them—save for maybe a few members of the Royal Order of Wizards—know what she can turn into. And beyond that, she doesn’t want be found.”

“Well, I am so intrigued by the lot of you that I’ve changed my mind. I’d rather hang around and see what happens next than sail off to Parydon and learn out of books from a bunch of stodgy old men.”

“Life itself is the greatest teacher of all,” Vanx spouted off the saying that one of his many Zythian masters had hammered into his brain. “But some lessons are always better learned from a distance.”

“Interesting,” Xavian mused, before he burst out laughing.

“What’s funny?” Vanx asked.

“Chelda screaming last night, and her remark about a cage, all just made sense now. I still can’t figure how you got the black eye, though.”

“All I’ll say about it is this: don’t laugh at Chelda when she’s angry.” As he said it, Vanx couldn’t help but smile again.

Skully was still passed out in his small room above the Mighty Mackerel, so Vanx gave the barman a message and a silver to keep the old sea dog at the bar after he woke. Vanx then excused himself from Xavian, saying that he wanted to say a prayer for his father and would meet him back there in a while. Xavian understood, saying that he wanted to visit a gypsy herbalist who wasn’t too far down dock-row, and they parted ways.

Vanx did want to say a prayer to his father’s god, but what he really wanted was to call upon his patron goddess. He felt that he could find the silence and solitude needed to do just that in the sanctuary of his father’s sea-god. He didn’t need such a place, but it helped. With Poops, Darbon, and a hundred other distractions back at the Iceberg, he could never seem to vacate his mind well enough to reach her. At least he liked to think that was the reason she didn’t respond to his prayers as of late.