The Legend of Vanx Malic: Book 02 - Dragon Isle (16 page)

Vanx stood and looked into her purple gaze. A rush of loving adoration for this heavenly form filled his soul to brimming. “I know not of such a curse, Ama,” Vanx said, trying to keep the tremors out of his voice. “But for the chance to live, I am eternally grateful.”

“After you’ve spent an eternity wandering the world, your feelings will surely change,” she murmured, but then spoke to him more clearly. “I am no manifestation of the Wightwood, Vanx. I came to warn you against the temptations it is trying to force upon you. Do not take of its fruit. No matter what transpires, you cannot, for each of the wisp nuts represents the life of a wispwight yet to be born. If you kill one of its children, the tree will cocoon you with its roots and take your life in turn.”

“What should I do?” Vanx asked. “Have the others really left me behind?”

“They haven’t yet,” she said sadly. “But the tree cannot lie. It can speak to you from a near future. They will leave you, Vanx.” The smile that spread across her face seemed forced. “You must stay here until the wightwood tires of trying you. Then you must make a bargain with the fire queen. You already have something she will covet. You can use it to gain her aid.”

The vision started to fade and the mist swirled about the base of the tree again.

“Remember, no matter how tempted you may be, do not succumb to temptation.” Her form was gone but Vanx could still hear her angelic voice whispering over and over again. “Do not take of the fruit.”

Vanx woke from what seemed like a dream. He was hungry, as hungry as he had ever been. He looked at his arms and saw that they were bone-thin. He felt his normally muscled thighs and found them narrow and bony as well. He looked up at the branches of the tree he sat under and saw the lush scarlet brightness of the apples dangling there. They were fat and seemed to be bursting with juices. His stomach clenched and he had to fight his body back from plucking one. He knew he had to master himself. He knew he had to obey his goddess, no matter how powerful the temptation became, even if he was trapped there forever.

Ootlin, driven by a soft, persuasive voice whispering in his head, ventured out into the world on the second night of Aur’s dance. He made his way through the forest and over the rocks to a place where the half-eaten carcass of a blue dragon lay sprawled across the earth. It wasn’t there that he stopped, but a few dozen paces beyond. He came to an area of crumbled rock that had been drenched in blood. One of the stones was bowl-shaped and half filled with the stuff. He drained the waterskin at his hip and then filled it. Without fear or caution, he traversed the island back into the shaft from which he’d emerged, all the way being directed by the voice inside his head. Only when he was back in the safety of the Unzurra did he understand what he had just done. Unsure of why he had done it, he was compelled to find Olden Pak and tell him.

The elder Zwarvy listened and considered the skin full of dragon’s blood while looking into the Skelatra at Vanx’s statuesque form. The mannish had been sitting there in the same position, his head and shoulders just above the water, for a very long time. He didn’t know what to make of it.

The pall of smoke hanging over Dyntalla Stronghold was darker and thicker than any they had ever seen before. It wasn’t until Captain Willie had the
Sea Hawk
well in the harbor that they figured out the stronghold was under attack. Peg shouted down what he saw from the lookout, and then Zeezle took a turn and filled the report in with vivid detail. Ogres had breached the huge outer wall and were attacking the area between it and the other, smaller, wall that surrounded the coastal city. Rubble and flames were everywhere where homes and businesses used to be, and gangs of club-wielding ogres ranged the streets, destroying everything they came across. It was total mayhem, and Zeezle Croyle said he wanted no part of it.

“You can stay on the ship,” Prince Russet assured him. “One way or another we will get you back to Zyth unharmed.”

“Look!” Peg exclaimed from above, pointing excitedly to another royal ship. This one was flying the king’s banner from its mast. They’d all been so intent on the burning city that none of them had noticed the vessel.

“Take us to her!” Captain Willie roared. “Bring us up alongside.”

“Let me take the rowboat to shore, my prince,” Trevin begged. “Every moment we wait might be her last.”

“I’ll row with him,” Darbon added. He was still black and blue and coughing up blood, but he was determined not to let that stop him.

“Not yet, Trev,” the prince said, and gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. “You don’t know how to find the cave way in, nor do you know the state of things inside the stronghold. What if they’ve moved her?”

Trevin ground his teeth tight, but nodded his understanding of the decision. Prince Russet’s reasoning made sense. If Dyntalla was under attack, then Quazar might have spirited Gallarael away. Maybe even out onto the king’s ship. And the king or his crew would be able to describe the state of things on shore if she wasn’t there.

Only a skeletal crew remained on the vessel, but the captain, a short, serious-looking man who sneered with disdain at Captain Willie as they conferred, told them what they wanted to know.

The ogres had only breached the outer wall. They’d tried to scale the stronghold wall in several places where the buildings on either side afforded them good handholds, but they’d been thwarted thus far. The bigger of the beasts had come out of the mountains to join the raid, Captain Rosthuf told them. He’d heard firsthand reports from the King’s Guard that some of them were nearly twenty feet tall. He gave them some other news that set the crew to lowering a longboat before even being ordered to do so.

“Gallarael, the king’s illegitimate daughter,” Captain Rosthuf said in a mock hushed tone, “she’s on her deathbed. The old wizard can’t even help the troops defend the stronghold because all his attention’s tied into keeping her alive.” The way he said the words showed his distaste for the whole affair.

“You’re a blunt bastard, Rosthuf,” Captain Willie said as Darbon, Trevin, Yandi, and the prince went over the side rail to get into the longboat. “That is your prince’s sister you speak of. Should watch your tongue.”

Captain Rosthuf flushed with what was obviously a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “You’re one to talk,” he shot back. “There was a day, not so long ago, when you’d have raped her yourself had she been on your ship. Royalty or no.”

Captain Willington nodded, feeling a rush of shame color his face. “And you’d have been right to walk me off the board for it, too, but you never had the wits or skill to catch me, you self-righteous sea-slug.”

Captain Willie turned before the other could reply. “Get us away from this scalawag, Peg!” He yelled the order. “Hurry, before our guts turn to custard as it happened to these bay-bound curs. Once we’ve a distance, drop the anchor and the other longboat so that we can go defend our king and kingdom like men.”

An aura of jaundiced light radiated weakly from Gallarael. Quazar was in a trance-like state of concentration, using all his focus and will to hold her in life. He would have let her die hours ago had the tower lookouts not spotted the
Sea Hawk
coming into the bay. Over the last few days his initial spell’s ability to stall the course of the fang-flower venom had gradually given way. Now, all that was keeping the poison from finishing her off was Quazar’s will.

Matty had been confined to the wizard’s tower after nearly castrating Duke Martin. Quazar had been carefully instructing her how to mix the dragon’s blood with the concoction he’d been brewing. In his wisdom the old wizard had prepared for every contingency he could imagine. It was a good thing, too, because he couldn’t let his concentration wander to do these things himself or Gallarael would die.

When Trevin burst in, offering the bull scrotum-covered vial of dragon’s blood, Matty went about the business of finishing the recipe. She followed every detail of the old wizard’s instructions to the letter, and then gave Gallarael the exact dose Quazar had recommended.

Darbon couldn’t climb the tower stairs or he would have been there, and Prince Russet was duty bound to report to his father for orders. Trevin, the wizard, and Matty, however, all watched on hopefully. The optimism on their faces soon turned to concern and then to downright fear as Gallarael’s skin began turning greasy and black. She let out the most horrendous of screams. The chilling sound cut through the stronghold like a saber. Then she went into a fit and Quazar collapsed into a heap on the floor.

What was happening to her, Trevin couldn’t say, but he knew it was bad. The thing on the table had no resemblance to Gallarael at all. Then Matty wrapped him in a hug and began sobbing into his chest.

The wizard saw the king and the both of them knew

“You need me now king, to keep them loving you.”

“Tis true,” said the king, “but you need me as well.

Unless you’ve found a way to break that witch’s spell.”

– The Weary Wizard

“H
ow long have I been in there?” Vanx asked Olden Pak sharply as he sloshed his way out of the Skelatra’s confines. He held one of the tree’s fruits cradled in his arms and when Pak saw this he seemed so overwrought with bewilderment that he couldn’t find any words with which to respond.

“I asked you how long I have been in there?” Vanx’s voice was more forceful this time. Murmurs arose from a crowd that was gathering nearby, and Vanx realized that he couldn’t just bully his way out of there. Still, he was no less angry at being led into the Earth Bone Tree’s embrace when time was a most critical issue for Gallarael.

“You said your people would aid me when I returned, Olden Pak,” Vanx said as he came up on the confused old Zwarvy. “Are you an honorable people, or just a bunch of roaches who crawl out of the dark and feed on dragon scraps?”

Olden Pak blinked several times and arched his brows as the insult sank in, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of the still glowing object that Vanx held.

“We collected… well, Ootlin collected…” the old Zwarvy stammered before clearing his throat and starting again. “By some divine influence Ootlin was led to a fresh pool of the dragon’s blood you came here for. It is here.” Olden Pak extended a slightly trembling hand, which was holding a heavy waterskin. “We will help you, as I promised, but there’s naught much we can do now. You have been with the Skelatra for six full turns of the moon.” Olden Pak dropped his eyes with an expression that might have been shame. “Your companions sailed away from here days ago.”