Through the Wildwood (27 page)

Chapter Five

The group watched on in stunned silence as the
Sea Hawk
pulled her anchor and sped away from the island by way of a powerful magical gust of wind. Dragons had circled at first and then swooped on the ship, but when the summoned wind snapped the sails taut, the winged beasts darted away from her. Their attention quickly returned to the beached long boat and the foot trails pounded into the sand between it and the tree line. One of the dragons, a mid-sized black wyrm, as dark as onyx with a glittery sheen, and a bright pink maw full of dagger-long teeth, landed near the small boat.

The black dragon strutted on hind legs, with outstretched wings, as it came down. It took three slowing strides then fell forward on all four of its wicked clawed legs. With wings folded back its upraised neck shot forward like a striking snake. At the same time its long tail extended backwards for balance.

The wyrm was easily forty paces from head to tail and its elongated form left no doubt as to why earlier generations had nicknamed the creatures wyrms.

A long forked tongue shot forth tasting the air around the long boat. Vanx was amazed at how pink the tongue was until the creatures head turned, its gaze following the trail. Its luminous amber eyes met Vanx’s and all his curiosity melted away like a snow ball in a forest fire. He only knew one thing in that moment, one emotion overcame him so completely that he nearly lost control of his bodily functions. The fear was so complete and intense that a weaker mind might not have been able to recover from it.

Dark vertical slits scanned the tree line and then shiny black lids shot up from the bottom of those narrowed orbs as the dragon blinked. The slits turned to slivers as it found and focused on the group. Its head was wide like a viper, but long and snouted like that of a horse. Bony platelets formed brows and cheeks. It had no ears that Vanx could see, but a pair of sharp horns jutted up and back in their place. A few tendrils of thick ropy hair dangled from its chin like a beard and a row of sharp triangular protrusions ran down its spine.

Vanx felt a sensation a kin to that of being in close proximity of working magic. Oddly, it was a clean sort of magic, similar to Quazar’s, all natural and pure. Vanx sniffed searching for that ozonish quality that usually accompanies the hair raising sensation and regretted it immediately. Apparently one or more of the men with them had lost control of their bowls. A long hissing intake of breath from the dragon showed that it smelled the stench too.

Before Vanx could even think the dragon started forward like a scrabbling mongoose. It was fast, as fast as lightening as it came across the beach its body was too big for it to charge all the way into the trees, but that realization didn’t stop a few of the men from pushing away from the trunks they were hiding behind in order to flee. There was a gasping chorus from the men when the dragons head struck into the forest like a snake. Then came a muffled scream.

Vanx wanted to look away but couldn’t. The dragon took a step back from the tree line raised up its long neck, and chugged down a good portion of one of the seamen it had snatched. He couldn’t help but gawk at the steadily shrinking lump that moved down the dragons neck toward its body.

The wyrm leapt forward then like a frisky hound, unfurling its wings as it went. By the second leap it was in the air and a series of deep thumps carried it away from sight. As Vanx watched it go, he shuttered when he realized it was only one of the score of wyrms circling like buzzards in the sky.

“You’ve my apologies for ever doubting your word, Zeezle,” Sir Earlin said after a long silence. “Never in all my life have I seen a thing of such size and power.”

“Where’s the other sailor gone?” Zeezle asked Yandi who was still bear hugging the trunk of the tree between him and the beach.

“You didn’t see what happened?” this was from Trevin and in a voice that seemed fairly steady considering what had just taken place.

“Not that one,” Zeezle said as he peered back into the swampy jungle. “One of them ran past me into the marsh.” For a long moment no one even tried to respond.

“We’ve no time to waste on absconders.” Trevin said harshly. “What supplies do we have among us?”

“We have enough food and most of the weapons,” Sir Earlin said from the pile of gear he was going through. “My good armor and the climbing gear is still on the long boat though.”

“Are they gonna come back?” Darbon asked.

“The dragons never left lad,” Sir Earlin said. “There still out there circling so we have to move.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Darbon shook his head. He was pale and trembling, but otherwise recovering from his fear. “The ship, Prince Russet, are they coming back? Or are we stranded here?”

“They’re coming back, Darby,” Vanx forced a laugh. “They just had to clear away from the shore.”

“If the beasts fired the sails or killed the crew, then we would be trapped here,” Trevin said. “They just moved out of harms way.”

“Oh,” Darbon managed then reached for a bow. After he strung it, he took two quivers of arrows and hooked them to his belt. Then he grabbed a dirk and a short sword as well.

“Our tents, and the vat of poison are still on the long boat,” Trevin said from Sir Earlin’s side. “But we’ve a bundle of torches here, two lanterns, and a flask of lantern oil.”

“We’ve no water skins here, and only two of the watered wine,” Sir Earlin gave the tally.

“There’s fresh, clean water available on our way,” said Zeezle. “At dusk I will venture out and get us some more bladder skins from the long boat.

“We’re not waiting here until dark Zeezle,” Vanx said flatly. “I have a flask and I know the sailors do as well, those and the two skins will keep our thirst quenched if we are frugle.”

“So be it,” Zeezle nodded his agreement. “I guess we should get this gear sorted and get moving then.” He looked up, judging the position of the sun through the almost solid canopy overhead. “We can get across and out of the mire before full dark.”

“This doesn’t look much like a swamp,” Darbon told Yandi who had recovered from his terror enough to begin loading a shoulder pack to carry. The other remaining crewmen joined him.

“That’s because we’re not in the marshes just yet. The tide is out,” Zeezle explained. Then he cupped his hands to his mouth and started to yell. He stopped himself long enough to ask Yandi what the fled seamen’s name was.

“We’re moving inland, Bernald. You’re to stay here and watch the long boat. Don’t go near it, save for dusk and dawn.”

“Don’t be thinking about creeping out of here without us either,” Yandi managed to yell without his voice faltering. “Them dragons will pluck you right off the sea iffen you aint got no heathens aboard to repel them.”

Vanx looked at Yandi and nodded with a grin of approval showing on his face. He knew there was nothing in the world as superstitious and suspicious as a seaman. If Bernald thought that it was Vanx or Zeezle’s presence that had kept the dragons at bay as they rode to shore earlier, all the better. It wouldn’t do to risk their lives on the island to get the dragons blood only to return and find an empty beach.

“I’ll not be going out of this forest.” Bernald called from some distance. “With or without ye, sand will never take the print of my boot again.”

“We’ll leave you some food,” Sir Earlin barked. “But if you want a drink you’ll have to go get one of those skins from the long boat.”

“I’ll drink me own piss before I go out yonder.” Bernald’s voice returned, it hadn’t grown any closer.

“That’s up to you man,” Sir Earlin replied more to himself than anyone else.

“I have three to one odds that he’s passed out drunk on those wine skins that are still out there when we get back, Reen,” Yandi said to his man.

“I’ll put a silver on that,” Reen said shakily. “Iffen he saw what happened to Oskey he’ll not leave the forest like he said.”

“It’s a bet then,” Yandi handed him the pack he’d been loading and started loading another. “Let’s just hope we live to settle it.”

“Come on,” Zeezle ordered. He slung the pack Trevin offered him over his shoulder and started inland, swinging a wide short blade before him to clear a path. Taking loaded crossbows and hip quivers as they passed Sir Earlin, the seamen followed him. Darbon had the long bow so he didn’t take the more powerful, but less accurate weapon the knight offered him, but Trevin took one. Trevin also took the huge two-handed sword they had brought along. Vanx helped him get the over-the-shoulder scabbard rig on and indicated that he’d take up the rear. Vanx had selected a long narrow bladed sword earlier and it was already strapped at his waist. Like Darbon, he preferred the accuracy and range of the long bow over the crossbows power. He knew he could loose three arrows faster than a crossbow could be cocked and reloaded.

Sir Earlin, clad in gauntlets, steel shinned boots, and a knee-length shirt of chainmail took up one of the two huge battle axes. He already had a formable array of weapons strapped to him. Apparently the knight had no use for a bow. Vanx figured that in full armor it was next to impossible to manage one. As an afterthought, as he took up the rear behind the jangling knight, he snatched up the last quiver of arrows. Unlike a sword or an axe, a bow could become no more than a stick if the fighting got heavy and arrows ran short.

The further inland they went, the more hostile the environment became. Insects buzzed and whirred about them in great insistent clouds. More than once a fat reddish-brown spider the size of a man’s hand dropped out of the branches overhead at them. Zeezle said that the spiders were only mildly poisonous, that it was the green scaled snakes that fed on them that you really had to worry about.

The terrain grew denser. If Vanx couldn’t catch the occasional flash of sparkling blue from Zeezle’s gaudy jacket, or the silvery glint of Sir Earlin’s chainmail in front of him, he might have gone mad. The muted browns and tans of the rest of the companions garb was tinted to greenish hues by the suns rays. It all seemed to blend together in a blur. Even with his keener vision, Vanx knew something formable could be hiding right in front of him and he wouldn’t even know it. As if that thought were a warning from the Goddess herself, a roaring screech, like that of a wounded destrier erupted just to his right.

Vanx dove to the soft decaying mulch of the jungle floor just in time. Sir Earlin wasn’t as lucky though. A dark furred beast, roughly the shape and size of a large man swung down from the trees next to them and clubbed his head soundly. By the deep cracking thump of the impact and the way the leafy ground around him was splattered with bloody-gray goo, Vanx had no doubt that the thing had just brained the knight.

Look for:

The Legend of Vanx Malic

Book Two – Dragon Isle

Sometime Before Christmas 2012

Learn more at
www.mrmathias.com

While you wait on The Legend of Vanx Malic – Book Two enjoy this short story from The Wardstone Trilogy

ROAR

A Wardstone Short

Copyright 2012 by Michael Robb Mathias Jr.

All rights reserved

The map of the Mainland Kingdoms can be viewed at
www.mrmathias.com

Loudin Drake’s horse huffed and pawed at the side of the hard packed dirt road he was lingering beside. He was on the Wildermont side of the Leif Greyn River. It was almost Summer’s Day and the festival grounds, two days to the north, were populating quickly. There were scores and scores of travelers coming through Wildermont’s magnificent capital. People from Dakahn, Westland, and Valleya flooded Castlemont on their way to the annual competition and trade event. Loudin didn’t mind. The roads outside of Castlemont were ripe with opportunity all summer long. He didn’t have to try and find a mark, because there was a line of them slowly trundling past. He did have to keep an eye out for a certain Dakaneese Overlord that was undoubtedly going to be coming through to attend the festival, though.

“Debts unpaid, add up to naught but sleepless nights,” Loudin repeated the saying that one of his ship captains used to spout off to the men.

It was the truth.

This was Loudin’s third Summer’s Day Festival in a row. After several years of marching in Seaward, and a few hundred sea voyages, on a score of different ships, he’d tried to make a go as a gambler in the huge port city of O’Dakahn. He was skilled enough to keep from going hungry. And his tattoos, which covered his whole upper torso, including reaching over his bald head to form the sharp beak of a fierce predator bird at his brow, kept most all of the unsavory gamers at a distance. Tattoo covered Seawardsmen weren’t rare, but all of them, to a man, were fit, trained, and willing to fight. He was suited for a gambler’s life, but the crowded city just didn’t agree with his demeanor.

Even when Loudin won twenty pieces of gold from a merchant in the slave fighting pits, enough to live healthy for half a year, he found he couldn’t stand the crowds and the filth. He’d been squatting at a hidden camp in the Reyhall Forest, just across the river, since the snow melted. He’d been hunting bark skin lizards around the Swell and trading their prized skins in Lokar, and Castlemont, but he’d just been warned that some Westland Lord, or Warden, called Fairchild, had started looking for poachers over there. He wasn’t too concerned about it, but it was one more thing for him to worry about. He didn’t plan on staying in the Reyhall forever, just until after this year’s annual Brawl.