Through the Wildwood (The Legend of Vanx Malic Book 1)

by M. R. Mathias

  Darbon didn’t get blinded by the wizard’s magic because he was racing away from it. He saw what it did to Vanx, though. The slave-turned-friend was looking around aimlessly and fighting not to touch his burned orbs. Darbon felt hot blood running down his back though.

  Darbon hurled his rock into the back of the arm-wielding ogre’s head. The ogre reached to the wound, staggered a step, and then fell to its knees. Retrieving another rock from the underbrush, Darbon slammed the ogre’s head again. This time it fell in a sprawl and lay still, its skull a concave mush.

  Darbon looked around and saw Trevin cleave the head from the only ogre left that he could see. He realized, as the last beast crumbled to the ground, that they were alone again. The ogres, the tree beast that had saved him and Matty, even the wolf-riding Kobalts, had fled. He’d seen the bright flash reflecting off the trees when it happened. Now he saw the ogre’s husk of a body; a toppled statue of ash, just like the one he had fallen into the night before, was all that remained of the beast that had touched the wizard’s shield.

  Darbon turned as Trevin fell to his knees. The soldier’s chest was heaving as he gasped for air. Darbon counted five, no, six dead ogres around him. The camp was littered with green-fleshed bodies and thick with the stench of ozone and molten copper. Already insects were buzzing about, searching for their share of the free meal.

  “Darby?” Matty called. “Darbon, I can’t see.”

  “I’m here, Matty,” Darbon replied. He saw that she was curled in a fetal ball, lying in the scrub brush. “Just stay where you are.”

  “I can’t see, either,” Vanx said. “If someone can tell me, I’d like to know what’s happening.”

  “They’re all gone,” Darbon told him in a tone that inferred that he had no idea why. “There’s another charred ogre by Quazar’s orb; the flash might have scared them away.”

  “What of Trevin?” Vanx sat up and rubbed at his eyes furiously. Still, all that he could see was splotches and blurs.

  “I am here,” Trevin said between heaving breaths. “Is everyone all right?”

  “Other than being bright blinded, I am,” said Vanx.

  “Darby is not all right,” Matty said, her voice a little more steady than before. “He’s been clawed across the back.”

  Turning in a circle like a dog chasing his tail, the still naked young man twisted as if he might get an angle to see his own back.

  “Help Vanx over here, and we’ll see if we can get that cleaned out,” Trevin ordered. “With those filthy trolls it’s the infection you have to worry about, not so much the wound itself.”

  Trevin got to his feet and examined his arms and thighs. “We’ll need some cold water too, to wake up that fargin wizard.”

  “They’re after his pack!” Matty said. “That’s what they came for.”

  “What makes you say so?” Vanx asked as Darbon helped him stumble closer to her. He couldn’t figure why the Kobalts, much less an ancient enta would help defend them. He was still trying to figure out why the Kobalts had led them to Quazar.

  “It reached for the pack,” Matty said. “I saw it plain. It wasn’t reaching for the sorcerer or Gallarael.”

  After Darbon set Vanx down close to her, he gave Matty a hug. She seemed to forget herself and let out a long sob of relief.

  “Must be a secret pocket in there for gold,” Matty mumbled. “I only saw the stuff for spells when I looked.”

  “Components,” Vanx corrected. He’d seen some stones when he’d explored the contents of Quazar’s pack. Everything else in there was typical, as far as spell- working goes. The ogres weren’t after those. It had to be the stones. But why? What were they for?

  “You’re a greedy, ignorant woman, Matty,” Trevin said in a kindly, almost sweet voice. “What by all the fargin’ gods would a bunch of fargin’ ogres want with some fargin’ gold?”

  “I may not be very smart, you bastard.” She wiped a tear from her face and seemed to grow a little angry. “I don’t know what sorcerers and wizards hide in their packs, nor what those nasty beasts are after, but I am not greedy.” She spat in his direction. She then reached out and felt until she could put a hand on Vanx’s arm. “Go help Darbon clean his wound, Trevin,” she snarled. “And if you’re so fargin’ smart, you tell me what those things are after, because they didn’t get it and they’ll probably be back sooner than later.”

  “Aye.” Vanx nodded. He was starting to be able to pick out shapes and shadows again. “She’s right, Trev. Hurry, and don’t forget to bring back some cold water. I want to wake that wizard up and find out what’s in that pack.”

  Across the land he flew

  on a brilliant flaming steed.

  Brandishing old Ornspike

  in the kingdom’s time of need.

  – The Ballad of Ornspike

  Again Quazar came up into a brawler’s crouch with a sputtering yelp, but it was Trevin who splashed him this time.

  “Quazar the cowardly wizard, we should call you from now on,” said Trevin with a disgusted snarl on his face. “You’d let us die at the hands of beasts that were coming after YOU?” Trevin spat a wad of cottony saliva at the point where Quazar’s translucent shield met the earth. “What is worse is that instead of helping us with your magic, you hid in your shell like a frightened turtle.”

  “They’re gone then?” Quazar asked with a nervous glance around the corpse-strewn campsite. His voice held little remorse and even less sympathy for Trevin’s anger. After heaving a sigh of apparent relief he looked the guardsman in the eye.

  “Stand back, sir, or I will use my magic to defend myself. You cannot conceive the importance of the artifact I carry on my person. Did you not see the very Wildwood come alive to defend us? The ogres must not get the Blood Stone back. They should have never had it in the first place. But beyond that, I saved Princess Gallarael from further harm. You should be thankful for that alone. Now step back, I say. Back! Back!”

  “Trev,” Vanx called. He still couldn’t see well, but he could hear just fine. “Give the wizard some room.”

  Vanx wasn’t sure what this Blood Stone was about, but the idea of any powerful artifact in the possession of some half-feral, half-sentient creatures was unnerving at best. Ignorance and magic didn’t mix very well, nor did magic and flesh-hungry instinct.

  “Listen to your Zythian friend, Trevin,” Quazar said. “Give me some room.”

  “Zythian?” Trevin asked as he took two steps backward and turned to look at Vanx. “You’re not Zythian, are you Vanx? You don’t look Zythian.”

  “Oooh, I should have seen it before now,” Matty said in a gossipy tone. “Only the blue eyes of a Northlander mixed with the yellow of a Zyth could make eyes that color of green.” She rubbed her own eyes wishing she could see. “I’d bet he’s half and half. I bet he is.”

  “I am,” Vanx said defensively. “What of it? It doesn’t change who I am or how I feel, or how I think.”

  “Can you—can you really turn into a bird—a bird and fly?” asked Darbon. He was feeling the pain of his wounds now. He looked as pale as the river wash.

  “Blah! Blah!” Trevin blurted. “I was wondering how you were able to see so fargin well at night.” He scowled down at Vanx who could see well enough now to register Trevin’s expression of disapproval. “It changes something all right.”

  This is it, Vanx thought. Either I’ll be shunned as a strangeling or put back into chains. He decided that he should have listened to his elders. They’d all warned that the human condition didn’t allow for much tolerance. I should have never hoped that these people, as kind and honorable as they can be, would be able to see past my race. They—

  “What it changes is the fargin subject, wizard,” Trevin continued, surprising Vanx completely. The guardsman stalked back over to Quazar, who’d just dispelled his protective orb. “You’ll not trick me so easily, old man. Now quit trying to turn us against each other and start convincing me not to shorten you by a head.” />
  Quazar found Trevin’s still bloody sword point resting at his collar. Even if he tried to cast a quick spell, Vanx knew that all it would take was a flick of Trevin’s wrist to open the wizard’s neck.

  “If you kill me, Gallarael dies for certain,” said Quazar as he plopped down cross-legged right out from under the danger. Before anyone could blink an eye he started into his tale.

  “Firstly, I don’t mean to collapse when I cast the shielding spell. It is a powerful conjuring and it seems that I am not yet strong enough to cast it and remain conscious. As for being cowardly and not helping you defend yourselves, let me make one thing clear.” He crossed his boney arms over his chest like a defiant child. “I am sworn to protect the kingdom and the nobility of Parydon. That is exactly what I did. The Blood Stone and Gallarael were completely safe inside my protective shield.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” Vanx said. “You said yourself that she must be taken to Dyntalla and saturated with potions and whatnot before the venom liquefies her insides. How can that be accomplished if she is stuck in a magical orb with an unconscious wizard?”

  Quasar made a quizzical expression as if he were pondering the validity of Vanx’s words. After a moment he spoke again. “The well-being of the entire Dyntalla settlement outweighs the life of a duke’s daughter. I did what I did, and I will stand by my actions before the High Wizard and the king himself if need be. A man named Garner broke away from our original party when we were attacked. I’m certain he’s gone back to Dyntalla to gather a rescue party. Even if he didn’t make it, Gallarael and I wouldn’t have been alone out here forever.”

  “Fair enough,” Vanx replied, and then to Darbon he said, “No, I can’t turn into a bird. We need to put out some fishmeal to draw the haulkats back in. We should probably be on our way.”

  “I will,” Darbon replied. “And I’ll see if I can find that horse too.”

  “Don’t bother.” Trevin’s tone was grim. “I saw it go down over there.” He pointed. “Your back looks terrible, though. You should rest.” Trevin seated himself beside Gallarael’s unconscious body. “I’ll take care of it when the wizard’s done with his tale.”

  “My back’s not so bad,” Darbon told them. But the way his breath caught when he tried to heft up one of the bags of fishmeal said otherwise. He was soon back beside Matty, a few shades paler than before.

  “What is this Blood Stone?” Vanx asked.

  Quazar shrugged. “I’m not really sure. There’s no doubt that it’s powerful, but until I can research its qualities I cannot say for certain. The Kobalts seem to think it binds the ogres to the area. They say that the ogres have slowly turned from typical wild beasts into deliberate, even evil, creatures. They have set fire to mountain glades and have dumped the rotting corpses of their kills into the streams that feed the forest and lakes below. They have begun slaughtering for pleasure, not just for food. All of this since they came into possession of the Blood Stone. You’ve heard the expression, ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’?”

  Vanx and Trevin both nodded in unison that they had.

  “The Kobalts, who are far more clever than we ever expected, captured a Dyntalla ranging party and, with some difficulty, conveyed that together we could rid the area of the overpopulating beasts. The ogres have grown so populous in the southern mountains that the Kobalts have been forced out of their ancestral domain. They want to go back. They want to restore what the ogres have destroyed. In return for aiding us, they only ask that we leave the Wildwood to them. It seems this forest is one of their sacred hunting grounds.”

  “Of course, Duke Ellmont couldn’t agree to the terms. So word was sent to Parydon proper and King Oakarm made a ruling. He sent Prince Russet with his decision. King Oakarm agreed that all the lands between the Waterdon flow and the Kimber River would be left unmolested by the kingdom save for a protected road running from Dyntalla to the upper Waterdon outpost. He—” Quazar hushed and turned quickly as the sound of crunching undergrowth came from just outside the camp.

  Amden Gore’s old haulkatten came creeping back like a skulking cur. It bypassed the busted sack of fishmeal that Darbon had dropped and went straight to Matty. The animal nuzzled her and when she began cooing to it, it let out a low, rumbling purr.

  Vanx said, “The other one is not very far away. I can hear him.” The odd look Darbon and Trevin both gave him as they strained to hear wasn’t lost on him. Nor was the fact that neither of their expressions held any of the contempt for his race that his people often spoke of.

  “She returns your feelings then?” Quazar asked Trevin, seeing the way the guardsman was running his fingers through Gallarael’s hair.

  “If she loves me only half as much as I love her, then I am as lucky as a man could be,” Trevin said. “I’ll do anything to save her.”

  “Even prick a fire wyrm to get a drop of its blood?” Matty snorted, causing the old haulkatten to skitter away. Immediately, she groped for the creature and began speaking to it soothingly.

  “Gallarael does love him,” Vanx said. “Gallarain told me as much. Her mother knows of the affair as well. The duke, though, is another matter. And I will go with Trevin to Dragon’s Isle to save her, if it must be done.”

  Quazar stroked his beard and eyed Vanx. “You’ll need more than a drop of it. Why are a venom-riddled princess, her lover, a one-handed—uh—woman, and an apprentice smith traveling the Wildwood with a half-Zythian miscreant such as yourself?” He held up a hand to forestall Vanx’s response to being labeled a miscreant. “This is a tale I want to hear fully told, so I think we should wait until we are on the move again to hear it.”

  “It’s a tale all right,” said Trevin. “A tale Duke Ellmont and Prince Russet should hear as well.”

  “How, by all the gods, can you tell I’m a smith’s apprentice?” Darbon asked through a painful grimace. “Did you spell me?”

  Quazar chuckled. It was a kind of heartfelt laugh that seemed to lift the spirits of the others. “It’s no trick lad. Your right arm is half again bigger than your left from swinging that hammer all day every day. That’s how I know. The fact that you’ve only three whiskers on your chin is how I know you’re an apprentice. Now let me see if I can help that wound of yours.”

  Darbon looked from one arm to the other, and back again several times. Matty, who was apparently still struggling to see, made her way over to him. “Never mind that old coot, your arms is hardly noticeable.”

  The other haulkatten came pacing back into the camp then. Its chest was puffed out proudly and its muzzle and forepaws were dark with ogre blood. It didn’t hesitate to go straight to the fishmeal. Only after it had eaten its fill did the older creature try to eat.

  While Trevin and the others reloaded the two animals, Vanx spoke to Quazar.

  “So the king agreed to leave the Wildwood for the Kobalts? How did you get the Blood Stone? Why didn’t the Kobalts just keep it for themselves?”

  “The answer, my curious friend, is simple if you think about it.” Quazar patted Vanx on the shoulder. “Ships. Our simple ability to take the Blood Stone from this land completely is why. The Kobalts fear magic almost as much as they fear the sea. They think, and I’m finding they are correct, that the ogres are drawn to the Blood Stone. If they kept it to themselves, the ogres would keep coming to it. Part of the agreement is for us to take the stone from this land to another.”

  “How did you get it?” Vanx asked.

  “An explorer named Garner was the leader of our party. We negotiated the king’s conditions for a road through the Wildwood with the Kobalts, and then the strange little beasts just handed it over.” Quazar pulled a pouch from his shirt collar. It hung on a leather cord around his neck. In his open palm, he dumped out a smooth, opaque river stone the size of a man’s big toe. It was the deep, rich color of fresh blood. “This was the third time we’ve—well, I’ve been set upon by the big nasties since I’ve had it.”

  “The third time?” Vanx
was surprised. “How big was the original party?”

  “A score of hardened fighters and myself.” Quazar’s voice grew somber remembering the recent deaths for which the stone was responsible. “Their sacrifice wasn’t wasted,” he mumbled as he put the stone into the pouch and pushed it back into his robe. “The ogres come across the plains outside Dyntalla in packs. They thwart our every attempt to farm the land.” The old wizard shook with the hatred he felt for the creatures. “They scatter the herds that have to graze out there and they kill the animals and their tenders with reckless abandon. They don’t even eat the meat. Well they eat some of it, but they leave more than they consume. They just kill, kill, kill. We need them gone or thousands will go hungry. This is a great step toward that end.”

  The intense conviction of Quazar’s belief showed in his voice, but Vanx found that he could understand the ogre’s lack of willingness to have their land overrun by the humans.

  As if he could see Vanx’s thoughts, Quazar went on. “They must go back across the mountains, Vanx; their numbers have tripled since the kingdom has had a settlement here. They must be thinned out. They are like a plague, a huge menacing plague that will deplete the entire land of its resources if they are not stopped, or at least slowed.

  “Answer me this. Have you seen a deer, or a fox, or even an owl since you’ve been in the Wildwood?”

  Vanx couldn’t remember seeing anything, only carrion birds.

  Quazar put his hands on his hips and nodded as his point sank in. “The ogres have killed them, or scared them away. They have tainted the water with rotting carcasses and have burned the land. They have created an imbalance which cannot be allowed to continue.”