“Well, Vanx,” Prince Russet said with a strange look about him. He seemed uncertain, even a bit angry. “Trevin here has finally told me the rest of it, and we have little time to dally. If he’d spoken sooner I think you’d agree that we shouldn’t have diverted our course.”
“What do you mean?” Vanx asked.
“We can only obtain our remedy…” Prince Russet met his eyes and was clearly trying to avoid mentioning that they had to take the blood of a fire wyrm to the suspicious crew. “According to Quazar’s calculations the stars will align with Aur only three nights from now. We must fill our vile on that night or our prize will not have the potency required to save Gallarael.”
Trevin started to say something but Prince Russet stopped him with a glare. After a sigh he pinched the bridge of his nose, then went on. “I know you love her, Trevin, and I’m not angry with you. If anything I’m angry at Quazar for not explaining this before we left Dyntalla. I’m even more angry with Duchess Gallarain and Duke Martin for setting all of this into motion. We are yet two days from Dragon Isle. Had we not stopped we could have been there on the morrow.”
Vanx blushed with embarrassment for not only had he brought them out of the way, he had a large part in starting this mess too.
“Prince Russet,” Captain Willie said in a voice still tinged with anger at his crew. He was on the steerage deck above them now, and it was obvious that he was trying hard to speak calmly. “Quazar calculated Aur’s alignment as taken from Dyntalla. I think we will see the stars of Aur in three nights, but on the fourth night we will see them too. Should be that we have two full nights to find our nugget.”
“The night of Aur is a night for demons,” Darbon ventured. “Isn’t this an omen?”
Vanx shook his head. He doubted this quest could seem any more impossible. “So if we leave here now, once we make Dragon Isle we will have what?… a full day’s worth of light to find our dragon?”
Prince Russet gave him a look that told him to limit the details that might scare the crew.
“We won’t be leaving until the morning tide rolls out, no matter what we wish for,” the captain stated. “There are no poles out in the sea for us to pull toward, and there is about as much chance of a wind catching our sails in here as there is a member of my crew stepping off this ship this evening.”
A chorus of muttered curses and groans came from those men who overheard. The captain ignored them. “But if it’ll make you feel better, I can have us anchored off of Dragon Isle by the midday bell, day after tomorrow. That will give you a half-day, a night, and another full day on the island before Aur’s stars dance around her, and they’ll dance for a second night and into the day way out here on the curve of the world.”
“Then I suggest we row our asses to yon dock and climb those stairs,” Prince Russet forced a smile at Vanx, then Trevin, and turned. “It’s highly unlikely we will find Vanx’s friend roaming around the Sea Hawk’s deck.”
***
Less than half an hour later they stepped out of the Sea Hawk’s longboat onto the planked-wood dock floating at the base of the long stone stair.
Captain Willie and Peg went about dealing with the harbor master and payment for their berth while Vanx, Trevin, Darbon, Prince Russet, and a sleepy-eyed Sir Earlin started the long climb up to town. The hungover knight had dawned his full suit of plate mail and didn’t mind letting them all, even the prince, know how much effort he was exerting. The others poked fun at him to pass the ascension, but by the time they reached the top the knight and Vanx were the only two of them who weren’t winded.
“It’s amazing, Sir Earlin,” Prince Russet said between deep breaths. “Remind me to commend your trainers… on your supreme… conditioning when we return… return to Parydon.”
“Commend that honey fire at the Treasure Chest’s tavern, Highness,” Sir Earlin patted Prince Russet on the back. “Gulping a few swigs of that will get you back to form a lot quicker than standing here gulping air.”
Chapter Three
The town the Zythians called Lavern was much like any human frontier town, save for the fact that most of the inhabitants had sun-drenched skin, light-colored hair, and wild yellow eyes. A road, a stripe of shell-packed mud, ran through its center. On either side of this main thoroughfare were various establishments. A busy smith’s forge filled the air with the smell of hot steel and the sound of pinging hammers. A general supply store with a pair of ox carts decorating its entry was busy enough to draw the eye.
A cargo wench lift was clacking in the distance underneath the hum drum of the day. The crank lift ran from the top of the plateau down to the flotilla of docks below. More than once as they were climbing the long flight of stairs upward, one or more of their group had commented about riding it instead of laboring up the stairs.
It wasn’t until a group of riders, three Zythians, saddled on two- legged striders called kangas, came tearing into town that the scene became exclusive to the Isle of Zyth. Darbon saw them and darted behind Sir Earlin. Trevin just stopped and stared open-mouthed. Sir Earlin, who had been to the Isle several times before, chuckled at them and then sneered at the strange uni-horned mounts. “Doesn’t seem natural,” he muttered.
“We were riding kangas here long before humans ever set foot on Parydon,” Vanx told him. “You would be, too, if they could travel by sea. Horses are smarter and far better to look at, but kangas are thrice as fast and give a much smoother ride, and in a pinch that horn does well to keep an enemy at bay.”
“I’ve ridden one,” Prince Russet commented as Sir Earlin pointed out the tavern and started that way. “I came with my father to attend a trade council at Flotsam a few years back. They had a herd of them there and a track full of obstacles where they raced and wagered on the outcome. The one I rode was as ill-tempered as any horse I’ve ever sat upon, but you’re right, the ride itself was like floating on air. I’d forgotten about them until just now.”
“Will we ride them to find your friend?” Darbon asked skeptically. He’d adopted an arrow shaft as a scratcher to ease the irritation of the slow healing ogre claw wound down his back. Vanx couldn’t help but laugh at him.
“Hopefully we won’t need to,” Vanx said as his eyes wandered to a cottage at the farthest edge of town.
A one-armed Zythian sea dog whose hair was as white as fresh snow sat alone at the row of stools that lined the bar of the Treasure Chest. Of the dozen tables that filled the cozy, naturally enhanced room, only one was occupied. The shutters were thrown wide and the door stood open letting the sun light the area. A net full of shells, old ship brass, and dried starfish hung from the ceiling. A group of Parydon merchant men dressed as such in their colorful hose and dizzying doublets sat with their Zythian counterpart, who was wearing the more practical garb of soft leather pants and matching vest over a balloon-sleeved blouse with the sleeves tied off at mid-forearm. That group didn’t so much as glance their way when Sir Earlin led the procession in and found a table large enough for their party.
A stout, olive-skinned Zythian woman with eyes the color of shiny copper coins and a pile of golden hair pinned atop her head scurried out to greet them. Her wild eyes met them all and only paused a beat on Vanx, whereupon her infectious smile widened considerably.
“What’ll it be?” she asked Sir Earlin, but Prince Russet answered the question before the knight could get out a word.
“One round of this honey fire I’ve heard so much about and a platter of hot meat and bread.” He slid a golden coin across the table top toward her. Her eyes flashed the exact color of the coin and she quickly made to snatch it up and start away, but Vanx caught her wrist.
“Am Hannalee?” he asked, but didn’t need to hear the answer for he already knew who she was. She owned the cottage at the edge of town Vanx and his mother stayed in a time or two on their trips here. The village of Malic was only a two-day walk inland, but Vanx’s mother sometimes liked to dally in the sea air for a day or two when they came.
“It’s been twelve, maybe thirteen years… I’m Va…”
“Vanx of Malic,” she smiled again and he let her put her coin away. “I could never forget those emeralds the Goddess blessed you with, dear.” She put her hands on her hips. “Never ever.”
He blushed a bit. Human women usually tumbled out of their clothes for him, but most Zythian girls said he was an eyesore. Besides that, Hannalee was easily two hundred years older than he. He wasn’t sure if she was flirting or not, but the simple fact that he wasn’t being shunned was surprising.
“I need to find Zeezle Croyle very, very quickly. Can you help?”
“We have plenty of coin to compensate you for your efforts,” Prince Russet added.
Vanx made a face that showed his distaste of being interrupted. Humans coveted coins of gold and jewels, but Zythians, for the most part, saw past the greed lust. What they desired were things crafted with skill and spirit. A knitted quilt of greffyn sheerings, or a hand-carved jade figurine, would go further than thrice their worth in gold.
“I’ve the set of scarves my ‘Ama crocheted in a chest at my sted,” Vanx said, still using the Parydon trade tongue to be polite. “I have no use for them, and they’re of a color that would complement your lovely glow.”
“My, your ‘Ama taught you well,” Hannalee said with a rosy-cheeked smile as broad and sincere as any ever given. “But, I’ll not need your ‘Ama’s scarves to help you Vanx, nor do I want his coin.” She pointed to Prince Russet. “But It’ll take some coin to get the striders properly motivated. They might even have to go on to Malic to track him down.” She put out her open palm to the prince. “Three or four will get them going and the same should be offered to the one who gets him here.” She turned back to Vanx then, leaving her hand exactly where it had been waiting for the coins. “What shall I have them tell young Dragon Bait that’ll get him out of his texts?”
Vanx tilted his head and grinned at the new nickname, contemplating the answer. “Have them tell him that the beating I gave him and Dorlan at the Fairy Fest was nothing compared to the one he’ll get if he’s not here by morning.”
“Ooooh!” she giggled. “I heard about that. That’ll get him here by sunset I’d wager.”
A few moments after she disappeared into the kitchen, a serving girl, a silvery-haired Zyth with eyes of luminous amber and full breasts that seemed far too big for her skinny body, brought them a platter of freshly baked bread, steaming chunks of white mackerel, mussels, and bright red boiled shell fish. The food was followed by several pitchers of honey fire brandy. The sweet, fiery drink easily lived up to its reputation and Vanx had to force himself not to drink too deeply of the stuff, for while they waited for Zeezle he still wanted to send Nepton a wreath for his ‘Ama and Da. He waited until the Sea Hawk’s captain arrived, all red-faced and heaving for air, then excused himself.
He went to the herbalist’s cottage that his mother always frequented and after several unanswered knocks at the door, he ventured around to the back of the place. He found the herbalist inside the transparent crystal-roofed room where she was growing some more exotic species of plants. She greeted Vanx with dirty hands and an ancient smile behind milky tangerine orbs that seemed to see further into him than was comfortable.
“You’re a few cycles early, Vanx,” she said curiously. “Or have you come for something to attract yourself a woman?”
“I’ve had my fill of women for the moment, ‘Am,” he answered while trying to avoid her penetrating gaze. “The endeavor I’m about to undertake holds many a peril. This may be my last chance to make an offering to Nepton for my ‘Ama and Da.”
“I see it now,” she said softly. “This endeavor, as you call it, is for a woman, yes?”
“It is,” he turned away now and started to reach for an azure cluster of blooms, then remembering what happened to Gallarael, how she had been bitten by the flower beast, he drew his hand back quickly. “But she’s not an acquaintance of the romantic sort. She tried to help me, and in the act of doing so she came to harm. I’m trying to help her in return and nothing more.”
“Oh, there’s more, Vanx,” she chuckled as she spoke. “There is always more. This one will find you again, if you can save her that is.”
She brushed past him and started out of the sun house toward the cottage. “Come,” she called back over her shoulder. “I’ll prepare a wreath for you. You might seek the advice of the Goddess before you walk into the jaws of death, though. It’s plain for all who truly see that she favors you. Might be she can enlighten your addled young brain and point your life in a more proper direction.” With that she laughed again and swept up the three wooden steps that led into the back of her abode.
***
“Ya think he’s absconded, then?” Sir Earlin asked Captain Willington over their fifth or maybe sixth mug of honey fire.
“I’ll wager not!” The captain said confidently.
“As will I!” Trevin said before realizing he had no coin to his name to wager.
Darbon slapped a small pouch of silvers down on the table with a clinking thud. “I’ll put all I’ve got to my name that he’s not run off!”
There was a long bit of silence then, each man eyeing the other in turn. No one, it seemed, was willing to put their money up that Vanx had abandoned the quest.
“He’s visiting a friend perhaps, or gathering information,” Prince Russet said with only the slightest bit of doubt in his voice. “We all saw that the barmaid knew him by name.”
“That’s what’s got my hackles up!” the captain slurred. “He’s got old Nepton’s blood in his veins, so he’s apt to be as slippery as a ribbon eel, mind you. He’s got the dark blood of the Northmen and this heathen blood in him too.”
This got a cross look from several of the Zythian fisher folk who had wondered in throughout the course of the afternoon.
“He’ll be along soon enough!” Trevin snapped at the table. “He didn’t have to come as far as he has on this, and you’ve no right, none of you, to doubt him now. Even if he’s walked away, he has earned the right!” Trevin’s eyes bored bravely into Prince Russet’s for a beat or two. “Parydon chains mean nothing here!”
“If Vanx Malic wanted to deceive you lumps in any way, you’d be deceived!” This came from a tall Zythian with long, golden hair wearing the well-worn doe-skin pants and hard boots of a seasoned wanderer. His arms and upper body were covered by an open jacket that looked like a sparkly sapphire jester’s top. A coiled black leather whip was at one hip and a narrow dirk, nearly as long as a sword, hung at the other. Strapped directly to his back was a bow case and quiver as long as any of the men at the table had ever seen. “In fact,” the Zythian continued after plucking a crimson morsel from the platter at the table and crunching it, shell and all, with his pearly teeth, “if Vanx wanted you all to just vanish from existence it would have already transpired.”
“Ah, mighty Dragon Bait himself, and before the sun’s fully set, no less!” Hannalee snarled out as she approached the table. “You’ll have to forgive these lumps Zeezle, they’ve been tiltin’ the stout stuff all afternoon while waiting on you!”
Sir Earlin was glaring at Zeezle with his hand gripped white-knuckled on his sword hilt. A threat to the Prince of Parydon, even the subtly suggested one that had been spoken, was enough for him to bloody his steel over. Only Prince Russet’s hand forcing his arm still had kept the knight’s blade from sliding free of its sheath. None of this was lost on Zeezle, but it didn’t seem to faze or frighten him in the least.
“Vanx is most likely tossing tearblooms to Nepton to honor his Da.” Zeezle pulled a chair away from another table, one that was occupied by a pair of ancient looking seamen. Neither of them met Zeezle’s hard ochre eyes. He sat in the chair backward, his long legs splayed wide around its back as he faced them.
“That or he’s in the shrine garden. I doubt very seriously he’s trudging up the road to his ghostly sted in Malic. It’s about as boring of a place
that ever existed.”
“You must be Zeezle Croyle,” Trevin ventured. The sparkly glittering of Zeezle’s gaudy jacket was distracting . It was hard not to stare at the fascinating prismatic sensation it created.
“You’re the loyal one, and you?” Zeezle indicated Trevin, then Darbon, with a nod of his head. His voice broke the trance into which his wardrobe had drawn them. “You spoke up for Vanx. So it’s the two of you I’ll ask why I was sent for.” Zeezle looked over his shoulder as if suddenly remembering something. He motioned for a young preteen boy who had been peeking in the doorway to come over. “You,” Zeezle spoke to Prince Russet with only a slight smirk for Sir Earlin on his face. “You owe this boy some coins I think.” Then dismissing the Crown Prince as if he were a beggar, Zeezle Croyle returned his gaze to Trevin and waited for an answer.
***
In the Shrine Garden, Vanx sought out a state of peace and called out to the Goddess. The tears he cried earlier, after tossing the wreath into the sea, had dried on his cheeks. He was pleased to hear the sound of the crickets brushing through the grass, and the faint ruffle of a nearby owl’s feathers rustling as it preened itself with its beak. When he looked into the sky he found that he could see the love of his mother’s eyes twinkling in the stars. The numbing of his senses that occurred while he’d been at sea was gone. The scent of each particular bloom in the Shrine Garden found his nose. He was so reassured by his emotions that he found he didn’t need to seek advice or ask the Goddess for direction.
He was following his heart, and she had already blessed him with plenty.
Chapter Four
The voyage to Dragon Isle passed swiftly. Captain Willington used a variation of the wind summoning spell that Vanx had used to blow away Coll’s poisonous fog, and kept their sails full the entire way. When Vanx asked him about the added potency that the captain’s variation blew forth the captain somberly chuckled saying that a day of a Captain’s life was worth thrice, if not more than a day off of a regular man’s, but a few days off the end of either was worth far less than a day of a young girls life every time.
Through the Wildwood Page 17
