“Are they gonna come back?” Darbon asked.
“The dragons never left, lad,” Sir Earlin said. “They’re 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 harm’s way.”
“Oh,” Darbon managed and 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 longboat,” 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 waterskins 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 longboat.”
“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 frugal.”
“So be it.” Zeezle nodded his agreement. “I guess we should sort this gear out 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 seaman’s name was.
“We’re moving inland, Bernald. You’re to stay here and watch the longboat. Don’t go near it, save for at 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 if you aren’t 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’s 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 dragon’s 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’ll 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 longboat.”
“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 will have passed out drunk on those wineskins 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. “If 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 filling 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 short, wide 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 longbow, 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 longbow over the crossbow’s power. He knew he could release three arrows by the time 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 formidable 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; 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 were tinted to hues of green by the sun’s rays. It all seemed to blend together in a blur. Even with his keener vision, Vanx knew something 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.
No matter how many venture
no matter how hard they try
the Wildwood swallows everyone
who goes too far inside.
– A song from Dyntalla
“It’s a larger clan this time, my lord. Even their women and children are out there,” the fidgety messenger said to Duke Elmont. “Thirty, maybe forty, of the naked green bastards, and another group coming up not far behind ‘em.”
“By the gods,” the duke shook his head in exasperation, “do they think they can actually breach the wall?”
“Captain Tafton says that they don’t think much at all,” the messenger answered and got a glare from the duke for his unwanted comment.
“There’s food and drink in the antechamber,” the duke barked. “Andel, take him and make him comfortable. I’ll have a set of orders ready for him to carry back to the wall shortly.”
“Yes, my lord.” The rider backed away, searching for Andel, the castellan, to help him make a speedy exit.
“It’s because of the Blood Stone, my lord,” Quazar said with an indictable glance at the half-empty court of merchants and petitioners. He spied who he was looking for and was pleased to see that Coll was listening intently.
“They want it back, no matter how they have to get it. It’s far more powerful than we first thought.”
“But it’s with…”
“My lord!” Quazar cut his liege off bravely and with narrow brows. “This is no subject for open court.”
The duke was about to snap back but managed to stop himself. He was clearly uptight. Since early the previous day, th
e wall and the western gate had been under attack. No one could understand why, because the Blood Stone was at sea with Prince Russet.
“Very well, Master Quazar,” the duke snarled. He turned to his scribes. “Someone find Commander Perin and get him to the solarium. Court is adjourned.” Looking back at Quazar he barked, “I’ll see you there for an explanation presently.”
Quazar bowed himself away from the throne. A quick glance up showed him that Coll was leaving as well. Duke Martin was right on his heels.
“What was that all about, Master Wizard?” the duke asked as he closed the door behind himself. They were in an opulent open room with a balcony looking over the western quarter of the city. In the distance, beyond the stronghold proper, a rooster tail of dust rose up from the road that led out toward the western gate. Quazar understood that it was a caravan of troops and supplies traveling out to fortify and relieve those who had been repelling the ogres’ attack thus far. By all reports, the beasts were no more than a novel threat. They weren’t hammering at the gate with a battering ram or trying to scale the wall; they were throwing rocks at the barrier and howling out wildly while those who ventured too close were shafted by the archers on the wall top. They had, however, savaged most of the people and property unfortunate enough to have remained outside the barrier.
“I apologize for being so rude in open court, my lord,” Quazar spoke sincerely. “Had it not been completely necessary, I wouldn’t have spoken over you so.”
“Very well, very well.” The ruler of Dyntalla waived his hand dismissively. “Just tell me why you cut me off. Was it because I was about to reveal where the Blood Stone actually is?”
“Very perceptive.”
“Enough of that, Quazar. I’ll have you flogged for insolence if you keep up the mockery.” The duke joined Quazar at the balcony rail. “Is this to do with Duke Martin?”
“Again, very perceptive,” Quazar smiled sarcastically. The duke’s brows furrowed, but only for a beat or two. A smile split through his trimmed gray beard then and he chuckled. The two had been serving King Ravier Oakarm for a handful of years or more and they were familiar enough with each other to drop the pretense of rank and station every now and again.
“I’d not like to be in his boots when Ravier arrives,” the duke said.
“Nor I,” Quazar agreed. “But it’s not Humbrick I’m interested in at the moment. That advisor who never leaves his side—Coll is his name—he he concerns me.”
“The one you saw poison Commander Aldean?”
Quazar nodded. “He’s a Darkean if I’ve ever met one. But I’m not sure he’s about much.”
“It’s a pity you couldn’t save Aldean. You can’t testify to anything you saw while spying on a Parydon noble.”
“The black-souled wretch must have suspected a spy or he wouldn’t have misnamed his poison so purposefully.” Quazar didn’t like being duped, and was sure it showed in his expression.
“What should we do?” Duke Elmont finally asked.
“Obviously, he is curious about the Blood Stone. I think a trap might be in order.”
“Speaking of that fargin rock, why are those beasts still after it if it’s on the way to Dragon Isle?” The duke looked miffed as he continued. “A good score or more of our hardest-working men, not to mention several whole families of herders, were left outside the walls to fend for themselves. No doubt they met their end in a most heinous fashion.”
“That’s what I meant when I said the stone was more powerful than I first thought,” Quazar explained. “It has left a residual trail. Not a faint trail, either. A lingering path for them to follow.” The wizard shrugged. “I’d guess the beasts would run straight into the sea to follow it, but who’s to say. The ocean’s salinity does strange and unpredictable things to all that is magic.”
“Do you know a way to get rid of this lingering—whatever it is?” The duke’s tone was serious now. “If the new reports are true, there will be a formidable number of the stupid bastards piling up outside the wall soon, and if they figure out that they’re big and strong enough to bust it down, they’ll probably try.”
“Are they?” Quazar asked. The idea that the ogres might be able to actually breach the gate had never occurred to him.
“I’m not foolish enough to tell you no. If the history of warfare has taught me anything, it is that the unbreachable eventually gets breached, and the unstoppable gets stopped.”
“That’s not what I mean,” the wizard said, shaking his head. “Do you think that here and now those ogres can breach the western gate? That is what I am asking you.”
“It’s doubtful. They aren’t organized. I don’t think they’re intelligent enough to make a battering ram or scaling ladder, but if they keep getting shafted under the wall like they are, the pile will surely grow into a ramp.” The last was said jokingly, but neither of them found it funny.
“I’ll go to the gate on the morrow to see what I can do to deter the beasts,” Quazar said, but his eyes narrowed and his grin widened into a sinister leer. “Tonight, though, my lord, we have a trap to bait. Since our cold-hearted duke doesn’t seem to know how deep in it he is, you should invite him and his advisor to dinner tonight to discuss the ogre attacks. Any of your other advisors and trusted friends with a military qualification should attend as well.” Quazar patted the duke on the shoulder. “At dinner you should hint that the Blood Stone is being kept on an upper floor in the armory tower, not under lock and key, mind you, but under armed guard and a protective blanket of my wizardry.”
“What should I tell those guards?” the duke asked skeptically.
“Tell them that they are guarding the Blood Stone, of course, but warn them that an attempt will most likely be made to take it. I’d hate one of them getting caught unawares.”
“If one gets caught unawares while guarding something for their king, or for their duke for that matter, they deserve what they get.”
Quazar picked up one of the heavy pewter goblets from the wicker table and drained it. He then tested its weight. It was a bit lighter than the actual Blood Stone was, but who would know that?
Duke Elmont watched, a curious unease showing on his face, as Quazar mumbled the words to a spell and then crumbled the goblet into a malleable form and worked it down to the size and shape of the Blood Stone.
Quazar knew that the working of magic made the duke uneasy, so he took his time and showed a devious grin when he handed the warm creation to the man.
Reluctantly, the duke took the offering. “If this is what it looked like, it sure didn’t look like much,” he said, trying to hide his unease.
“That’s the trouble with the arcane and its practitioners,” Quazar nodded back, his grin widening. “Nothing, and sometimes no one, it what it seems to be. That is exactly why this Coll concerns me.”
The next morning Quazar donned the formal red-trimmed, black robe of his station, complete with a soft, pointed black leather hat that sported crimson sequins shaped like crescents and stars. He felt silly in the outfit, but the soldiers on the wall would recognize him clearly and make way for him.
Last evening’s dinner had gone extremely well. The trap was baited and Duke Martin was comfortable in his false sense of invulnerability. It irked Quazar to no end that the man hadn’t even asked about his daughter. He hadn’t mentioned her at all. It was obvious that Humbrick assumed the girl was dead somewhere in the Wildwood, but he showed no grief for her. All that he offered were subtle and calculated suggestions that Commander Aldean had somehow caused the unfortunate mess that happened with the caravan.
The one thing that did surprise Quazar was the look in Duke Martin’s eyes when he asked one of the captains about Matty. She was up in Quazar’s tower tending to Gallarael, but if the duke decided to go down to the cells to try to find her, there might be a problem. Matty had already voiced her desire to stay in a cell and wait for him. Quazar couldn’t let her geld him, though, at least not until King Oakarm stripped t
he duke of his title. Until that happened, Quazar was honor sworn to protect the man, even if he didn’t like it.
Arriving at the western gate, Quazar stepped down out of his carriage, placed his silly hat on his head, and just for fun slowly levitated himself up onto the wall. The soldiers had no issue giving him the room he needed to deal with the mass of savage ogres gathering at the edge of bow range outside the wall, and he went about his business with a purpose.
The witch is cold and evil
her heart is black and hard.
Hair like snakes and fangs for teeth
her claws are frozen shards.
– Frosted Soul
Sir Earlin let out a roar and the dark, hairy shape of his attacker went stumbling backward into a tangle of vines and leaves. It looked somewhat like the gorill that Vanx had seen in a cage at a tumblers spectacular on Parydon Island last year. It had a black-skinned face and somewhat human eyes, but from what Vanx could tell it was pure beast. The thing didn’t dance around and bang on its chest as Vanx thought it might. This creature was all claws and teeth and hunger.
“Tree orc!” Zeezle shouted. “Usually more than one.”
Sir Earlin roared out again. This time Vanx heard the pain in the bellow. Vanx saw that what he thought were brains were actually teeth and a wad of bloody mucus. The man was hurt, and by the sound of it, he was hurt badly, but he wasn’t brained.
Already the sailors and Darbon had loosed arrows at the creature. At such a close range Vanx didn’t think they could have missed. Darbon was drawing back another arrow, though, and the sailors were fumbling to ratchet back their crossbows.
Vanx rolled to his side, shedding his bow from his shoulder as he went. Oddly, the second tree orc went straight for the fallen knight, too. Vanx put an arrow deep into its chest, right where the heart would be if it were a man. He was relieved that the creature clutched at the arrow as it pitched forward into a sprawl across Sir Earlin’s body.
The Legend of Vanx Malic: Book 02 - Dragon Isle Page 4
