Through the Wildwood (23 page)

“’Tis true,” Prince Russet agreed. “You’ll hold your tongues or I’ll cut them out and let the half-breed heathen cook them for his supper.”

Vanx met Prince Russet’s eyes for a heartbeat. In the silence of the moment, only the sound of the outspoken oarsman’s gulping swallow could be heard. That caused the whole boatload of men to burst out laughing.

“I left Highlake on my way to Parydon to get my smith’s badge,” Darbon commented. “Now, here I am on my way to an island full of dragons.”

“Just think, Darby,” Vanx said as he sat down beside his friend, “just last week, you were but a boy and none of us thought we’d make it through the Wildwood.”

Across his sea we sail,

to Nepton we hold true.

For if you cross old Nepton,

his sea will swallow you.

— A sailor’s song

B
y midday Dyntalla was but a brown smear on the horizon; otherwise, the sky was a blank canvas of bright blue save for one puffy cloud, which lazed seemingly in place even though the breeze was warm and brisk. A flock of gulls squawked and frolicked in the schooner’s wake and the bright sun glittered off the sea. The
Sea Hawk
slid over the slow-rolling swells and down through the valley-like troughs with grace and agility. The water was a deep cobalt blue, and all morning long, both Trevin and Darbon had been vomiting over the side rail.

“It will get better,” the deckhand nearest the two said with a three-toothed grin. “About the time we hit Zyth you’ll just be getting used to her.”

“How long is that?” Trevin managed to ask.

“About two days, if this wind holds.” The sailor grunted as he hauled up a bucketful of seawater on the end of a rope. “But that’s only iffen we can avoid the tempests.” He sloshed the seawater from his bucket onto the deck between Darbon and the rail, washing away the small puddle of bile the boy had recently heaved forth. “If the tempest gets us,” the deckhand went on, “then we’ll be tossed about mightily, and if lightning don’t get our boom, or set our sails afire, then maybe we’ll not drift too far off course; might make Zyth in a week or two.”

“Enough,” Captain Willington barked from somewhere. He was a barrel-chested, full-bearded seadog stuffed into the fancy uniform of a royal captain. “Quit scaring the poor landlubbers, Yandi, or I’ll let the heathen feed you to his kin when we get to Zyth.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n Willie,” the man responded over a snort and a few hoots of laughter from his mates.

“He was just sportin’ with them, Cappy,” another hand said from above. This one had all of his teeth, but was missing the lower half of his left leg. It was no surprise that everyone called him Peg. True to his name, there was a thick wooden dowel booted in rusty iron strapped to his left thigh so that he could walk about.

When he’d first seen the one-legged seaman, Trevin had wondered what good he’d be at sea. He couldn’t envision a man with a wooden leg being able to keep his balance on a continually moving vessel. He found out how wrong he was when they left Dyntalla Bay and Peg shot up into the rigging like a monkey. The man’s arms were powerful, and he went about pulling lines and unfurling sails better than any man in the rigging. Only moments after that, Trevin found the side rail. Now, several hours later, with Darbon still fatefully at his side, he was feeling no better at all. In fact, he was feeling worse. He couldn’t even manage to thank Captain Willie for calling the annoying deckhand away from them.

Darbon started to say something, but only groaned into another heave. This time, not even stomach fluids came out of him.

“Thank old Nepton himself,” Yandi said, trying desperately to contain his mirth. “The lad’s finally empty. The other emptied out half a bell ago.”

“That means your shift of swabbin’s over, Yan.” The captain looked to be fighting his grin. “Take your bucket and brush down and clean out the prince’s privy. One of these two lost it there before making it to the rail.”

Yandi let out a grumble of displeasure over his new order, but all that escaped his mouth as he tossed the bucket back overboard was, “Aye aye, Cap’n.”

The captain leaned over the rail of his slightly elevated steerage deck and looked down at the two seasick men. “Let yourselves heave a time or two more to make sure you’re really out of juice, and then make your way down to your cabin. I’ll have Cookie draw you a cup of stout to help you sleep. When you wake up from that, the misery will be behind you.”

Trevin tried to thank the captain but only managed to raise his head before the ship lurched. The bow went down sharply and sideways. Trevin gasped and went instantly into another fit of heaving. This time Captain Willie’s laugh wasn’t containable, nor were the hoots from the rigging.

Below deck, in Prince Russet’s royal cabin, Vanx, Prince Russet, and Sir Earlin were discussing several subjects while sipping fine wine.

“A dragon killed his brother when we were boys,” Vanx was saying about Zeezle Croyle. “Since then, the study of wyrms has been his passion. He is the only person I know who has ventured to Dragon’s Isle.” Vanx shrugged. “He might be able to help us. I doubt we’ll be able to just walk up and prick a vile of blood from a mature fire wyrm. But you never know, this might not be as hard a quest as it seems.”

“Good, Vanx,” Prince Russet nodded.

“I’ll tell you where the big dragons sleep,” Sir Earlin said jovially. He was more than a little drunk. The other two waited, but it became clear that the knight wanted to be prompted before finishing. Finally Prince Russet asked, “Where do those big dragons sleep, then?”

“Why anywhere they fargin’ well please!” The knight slapped his knee and bellowed out a deep, contagious laugh.

“Sir Earlin, is this really the time for such jests?” Prince Russet asked after his fit had subsided. “My half-sister’s life hangs in the balance of this endeavor.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” The knight’s smile faded. “But if ever there is a time to make light of life, it’s when you are on the way to an island full of dragons.”

“Or an island full of man-eating heathens,” Vanx added dryly.

Prince Russet caught his eye and smiled. “Sorry about that. I was trying to scare the oarsmen.” He shrugged. “I meant no offense.”

“I took no offense, Majesty, or Highness, or whatever it is I’m supposed to call you.” Vanx returned the somber grin. “The look you put on his face was worth it.”

“You can call me Russ if the setting is casual, for you are not from Parydon. But in public, Prince, or Prince Russet will suffice.”

“Do you treat all your slaves with this much consideration?”

“You’re the first slave who’s ever been in my service, Vanx.” The prince took a sip of wine. “If it were up to me, sir, you would be knighted for the way you selflessly braved into that horde of ogres so that my men might have a chance to break away. And the simple fact that you had no idea that I was the Crown Prince at that time makes the deed all the more extraordinary. Not very many men,” he shook his head apologetically, “or Zythians for that matter, would have done half as much.”

“Most folk not sworn to protect a liege would have flat-out bolted away,” Sir Earlin said with a look of deep respect. “Only a lunatic or a baresark, or maybe a half-crazed man-eating heathen would have waded in so deep with not a scrap of armor to protect his body.”

Prince Russet raised his heavy pewter goblet in toast. “To man-eating heathens.”

“Aye, and to dragon’s blood easily obtained,” Sir Earlin added.

Vanx touched cups with them and found himself feeling a little more pride.

He’d considered leaving this tangled human melodrama behind him back in the Wildwood. He’d survived the slave shackles twice now, and had somehow gotten through the treacherous, ogre-filled forest. Though he could find a hundred reasons to abandon this affair, he hadn’t. He was proud of that, too.

His moment of self-congratulations was blunted when Prince Russet returned to the table and unrolled an old sheepskin map of the area. The map was centered on the strange spire that Vanx still longed to see. To the far north, the tip of the bitter lands dipped down into the picture. To the west, the Isle of Parydon sat next to the coast of the huge continent the humans had claimed. The northern half of Zyth could be seen at the bottom of the page, but what drew the eye was the ferocious-looking dragon drawn over the landmass east of the spire. Below the artist’s menacing sketch were the words, “Dragons Be Here”, and reading them caused Vanx to reconsider the idea that going there for any reason might be a mistake. Sir Earlin had just described his actions on the edge of the Wildwood as something done by a lunatic. Vanx was starting to wonder if the old knight wasn’t right.

The Legend of Vanx Malic continues with: Book II – Dragon Isle

Enjoy this sneak preview of what’s to come.

The Legend of Vanx Malic

Book Two – Dragon Isle

(( Five Chapter Sneak Preview ))

Copyright 2012 © by Michael Robb Mathias Jr.

All rights reserved

Chapter One

Amakra Malic passed when Vanx was thirty-six years old. She was taken by a merciless wasting disease that was exclusive to those of Zythian blood. It was a sudden thing. One year, she was glowing and full of life; the next she was a withered husk, empty of all but love for her only son. She was young by Zythian standards. Barely a hundred years old. Her life had caused a hurricane of emotion to assail the hearts and minds of the Zythian elders, and not just because of her choice of a human mate.

In her life, Amakra challenged ancient customs and pushed the boundaries of the old ways every chance she had. They warned her that her mixed-blood child would be stillborn, just as dozens of others had been in the past. They said her heart would break when she outlived her lover and was forced to watch him die. They said the Goddess would shun her for breaking so many other traditions that she could only be considered Zythian because of her blood.

Vanx’s birth changed all of that. He wasn’t stillborn, and his father died at sea on a merchant ship taken by pirates off the coast of Harthgar. He never had the chance to grow old before her eyes. The Goddess smiled upon her brightly enough that she lived to see her son become a man.

Some said her death was a punishment for the life she lived, but she told Vanx from her deathbed that her life had been a great and wondrous happening. She’d known love; she’d turned heads and raised eyebrows. She had given birth to an impossible child who was touched by the Goddess herself. She said her life had been full of joy and triumph.

“Remember who and what you are, Vanx,” she’d whispered. By then, only her smile and the light shining in her eyes marked her as his mother. The rest of her was shriveled and discolored. “The humans will envy you for being part Zythian, and the Zythians for being part human. You must rise above them, for what other people think of you matters very little. It’s what you think of yourself that matters.”

Those words echoed in Vanx’s ears now as he let his eyes focus back onto the dark sea before him. He took a few moments to blink away the tears of his mother’s memory and evaluate what he truly thought of himself. He thought about abandoning Gallarael’s cause, but hadn’t. He was here, and he found himself willing to face the dangers that lay ahead in hopes of saving Gallarael and her unborn child. He felt that he was doing the right thing. It was a dangerous, possibly foolish, quest they were on, but he wouldn’t be able to think well of himself if he abandoned a girl who was poisoned while trying to help him escape the chains of slavery.

Vanx was glad they decided to land somewhere besides Flotsam Bay. His coming there, especially on a royal Parydonian ship with the prince of the human realm, would cause too much of a stir. Unlike his mother, Vanx didn’t enjoy the attention of turning heads and raising eyebrows.

“Follow your heart,” his mother had told him as she passed. Now, his heart told him that Zeezle would be at his family’s farmstead outside of Sama or near there.

The small fishing port of Little Haven was about a half-day’s walk to Sama. Little Haven was also due south of Dragon Isle, making the next leg of their journey an easy one. More than that though, the Zythian folk there were of the simpler sort: the fishermen, the croppers, and the traders. Vanx’s heart told him that Little Haven would be a safer and less conspicuous place to land the
Sea Hawk
. As he confirmed those feelings with his mind, he saw a star twinkle in the sky. It oddly reminded him of the twinkle in his mother’s eyes. The warm feeling that came over him then was as welcome as it was reassuring. For the first time in his life he knew that he was exactly where he was supposed to be, doing what he was supposed to be doing.