The Legend of Vanx Malic Books I-IV Bundle: To Kill a Witch

by M. R. Mathias

  A glance ahead of him at Commander Aldean’s back brought back his contempt a hundredfold. There was another whose chances of surviving the Wildwood were less than slim. He found that he didn’t care. He was certain that as long as he killed the man who had tarnished his honor, the man who now held his only loved one as a hostage, the man who had repeatedly bedded his wife, that he could die feeling avenged.

  Early the next day the duke’s group came upon Captain Moyle’s body in a trampled area. The captain’s corpse had been ravaged by scavengers. It was a grisly scene. Duke Martin was thankful that the morning fog lingered among the tangle trees and the clinging undergrowth. For a long while, as Bearfang inspected the scene, he felt fearful and empty. He was afraid that at any moment the tracker or Commander Aldean would call out that they had found Gallarael’s body.

  Bearfang Karcher told him that the three parties had converged here, and that one of the people now traveling as a group had been bitten by the fang-flower they’d found severed. It did little to settle his nerves. He had no way of knowing which member of the group had been bitten, but one look at the fleshy, pink-colored thing the commander retrieved from the scrub made him know in his heart that it was his daughter. He couldn’t imagine any other member of the caravan even noticing, much less trying to get close to the exotic-looking bloom.

  Who was to say that Gallarael hadn’t been ravished by the bandits or eaten by the trolls too? The petite footprints they were following could be that whore’s just as easily as they could be his daughter’s.

  He drew in a deep breath and the smell of Moyle’s decaying corpse filled his lungs. He started to dry heave, but caught a glimpse of Commander Aldean. That craven bastard was watching him. Swallowing back his bile, he let his contempt toward the commander steady his guts.

  “We better get out the bows,” the duke said in a tone that brooked no argument. “Unless we want to end up like the captain.”

  Bearfang laughed and unhooked his crossbow from his belt. The man actually looked excited at the prospect of tracking the other group deeper into the Wildwood.

  Coll spoke a few quick words and an arm-length rod of intricate wood flickered to existence in his hand. He held it as one might hold a sword.

  Commander Aldean strung his bow and hung a quiver of arrows from his saddle horn. He had a grim look on his face, as if he were no longer afraid. Duke Martin clipped a quiver to his hip and strung his great hunting bow. His sword he strapped across his back so that the hilt jutted up over his left shoulder.

  He decided that Gallarael was most likely lost to him; dead and gone from his life. Revenge was his motivator now. He decided that they were no longer searching for his daughter, but instead hunting the man who had brought so much shame upon him, the man who had caused all of this.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The wizard saw the king and the wizard did laugh

  “You need me king, and the power of my staff.”

  “Tis true,” said the king, my enemy has arrived.

  “What might it take to have you fight from my side?”

  – The Weary Wizard

  The moment Darbon’s cupful of stream water splashed across his hairy face, the old wizard came awake. It was comical the way the bewildered mage sputtered and slapped at his mug, then began to defend himself by rolling into a brawler’s crouch. He even started to cast a spell.

  “Hold there!” Vanx called through his mirth. To Vanx’s surprise, the skinny old man wasn’t injured, only disheveled. The wizard’s silver-grey hair was sticking out in all directions, and grass and twigs were caught up in the tangle. Darbon was crouched behind Vanx, apparently as afraid of the glowing purple orb as he was of the wild-looking man he had just awakened inside of it.

  “Who are you?” the wizard asked with a nervous glance around the area beyond his protective shield. He patted at something under his robe to see if it was still there; a medallion, or a necklace maybe. “Did Garner send you?” He glanced at his outstretched arm and narrowed his owlish brows in irritation. As Vanx began to speak, the wizard gave the object hanging under his robe a squeeze. With a harrumph of satisfaction he then set to scratching his body like a flea-infested hound.

  “My name is Vanx Malic,” Vanx chuckled. “Scratching that rash will only make it worse.”

  “I know that,” the wizard snapped. “But I can’t help myself, it itches horribly.” Suddenly the old man rolled to his back, brought his legs up and began scratching at them. “I need some — what are they called?”

  “Bramble berries,” Vanx offered. “As soon as the sun comes up I’ll fetch you some.” Vanx knew he could have found a bramble bush relatively quickly, even in the dark. He’d spotted several of them earlier while he trekked through the forest, but he wanted a bit of leverage over the wizard for the moment.

  “A member of our party,” Vanx stepped aside leaving the huddled form of Darbon awash in lavender light. “… needs your assistance badly. She was bitten by a flower beast and its bite has rendered her unconscious and extremely fevered.”

  “Ah.” The wizard kept scratching absently. “The venom of a fang flower will do that.” He stopped scratching long enough to pull at his beard while he contemplated something. “Nothing I can do to save her, lad.” He went back to scratching. “Vanx Malic, you say? That’s a strange name for a man. You’re not Parydonian, I assume. Now where’s Garner?”

  “I don’t know a Garner,” Vanx said a little more harshly than he intended to. “If you want me to get those bramble berries for you, then you’ll at least have a look at Gallarael. I’ve found your pack of components, and I know exactly what you are.”

  Darbon took a step back.

  Vanx continued. “It’s obvious you’re a stranger to the forest or you would have already found some. Now what will it be?”

  Just then, Darbon stumbled backward into the charred form of the ogre, creating a small swirling cloud of ash. In the lavender light thrown by the wizard’s orb, with Darbon swatting at the stuff, it looked like a swarm of flies had attacked the young man.

  Vanx couldn’t help but guffaw at Darbon’s confusion.

  “You said Gallarael,” the wizard finally spoke. His tone had grown serious and it brought Vanx’s attention back to bear.

  “Yes,” Vanx answered. “Gallarael Martin, the daughter of Gallarain and the Duke of Highlake.”

  “By all the gods of man and beast, what’s going on here?” the wizard said. “What is she doing in the Wildwood? Why didn’t you say it was her?” He stumbled to his feet and, with the snap of his fingers, dispelled the translucent shield from around him then created a small orb of harsh white light which appeared in one of his open palms.

  “You’ll save her then?” Vanx asked as a wash of hope cascaded over him.

  “There’s nothing I can do to save her, man,” the wizard repeated. “But maybe she can still be saved.”

  “Who are you?” Darbon, who had recovered from his mishap, asked in open awe of the magic he was witnessing.

  Vanx could tell that the wizard wanted to laugh when he saw the soot-blackened boy blinking curiously at his bright orb of illumination. The way the old man’s irritated expression softened, and the way the mirthful glow he’d almost felt faded away from him told Vanx just how dire Gallarael’s situation really was.

  “My name is Quazar. I am of the Royal Order.” The wizard forced a smile. He started to say more but went into a fit of scratching that caused both Vanx and Darbon to grimace with sympathy.

  With a glance around the now brightly illuminated area, Vanx spotted the telltale blue flowers of a bramble bush. He didn’t hesitate to traipse through the trees and break off a branch that held a dozen of the yellow and green berries. Their juice negated the effects of the itch-weed.

  The fact that Quazar was of the Royal Order meant that he served the nobility of Parydon dutifully. Vanx decided he was no threat to the group. Even though the wizard would treat him differently as soon as he knew Vanx
was considered a slave, he didn’t feel right letting the old man suffer a moment longer. He crushed some of the berries in his palms and showed the rash-covered man how to smear the juice and then rub in the pulp. He then led Quazar to the river where Gallarael lay half-in, half-out of the frigid water.

  The next day Gallarael lay on her bedroll with her head cradled in Trevin’s lap, her fever held at bay by a spell. The sobbing young guardsman had held her throughout the night. After hearing Quazar’s proclamation he clearly didn’t want to let her go.

  The sun was high and it was warm, almost hot. Vanx wasn’t sweating yet, but he was at that point. An insistent dragonfly kept stopping to hover just out of reach of where he sat. It would dart away when he would reach out for it. He wasn’t threatening with his motion, and he extended a finger, hoping to get the curious insect to land there.

  “If we could get her to Dyntalla before the venom finishes liquefying her insides, then maybe the healers and I can put her under a spell that will restabulate her for a time,” the old man said after examining her. “If it works we might could hold her in a metaphysicated stabulation, but only for a time.”

  After hearing what the poison was doing to his lover’s body, Trevin broke down. Vanx only half understood what he’d heard, but he wanted to know more. “What could be done for her after she is restabulated?” he asked, searching the old man for any sign that there was real hope for her. If the situation had been any less dire, Vanx might have laughed at the wizard. The bramble berry juice had stained his skin a jaundiced yellow. In the morning light Quazar looked worse than Gallarael.

  As Quazar continued the shy dragonfly did land on Vanx’s finger, but only for a fleeting second. Then it was gone, zipping haphazardly off into the forest greenery.

  “There is a substance, a rare and exotic liquid, that can yield an antidote for the fang flower venom.” Quazar spoke in a hushed tone, trying to keep the words from Trevin’s despairing ears. It seemed to Vanx that the wizard didn’t think the substance could be obtained in time to save her. Then Quazar made a rounding gesture over his abdomen and nodded toward Trevin. Vanx quickly checked that Trevin didn’t see. He was relieved that the young man’s head was buried in Gallarael’s hair. He was glad for it. He didn’t think Trevin needed to know that his lover was pregnant. He gestured with an index finger sliding across his throat and hoped the wizard understood that he meant for him to kill that line of conversation.

  Quazar nodded so slightly that someone else might not have caught it. “This liquid cannot be obtained easily, and it must be extracted from its host on one of the two nights the moon of Aur and her star maidens align. That is the only way the essence of the dracatode can be maintained.”

  “Then we can find this stuff if we can find the host? It will save her?” Vanx surmised loud enough for Trevin to hear. He knew his friend had been listening and was glad to give him a bit of hope.

  “Finding the host isn’t the problem,” Quazar offered. “I’d wager I could tell you where dozens of them are dwelling this very moment.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” This came from Matty, who was tending a pot of rabbit stew.

  Darbon was asleep in a bundle of blankets. His clothes hung stiff and dried on the rack by the fire. Apparently the one-handed woman had helped the young apprentice wash the soot off his body and clothes. The satisfied smile on the bit of Darbon’s sleepy face that was visible told Vanx that all that washing had led to something else. He was thankful he’d slept through it.

  “The parasitic dracatode is only found in the blood of one species. Surviving an encounter with one of these beasts has proven to be next to impossible.” Quazar shrugged at Matty and then at Vanx. “That is the problem.”

  In unison, Vanx and Trevin asked the same question. “What is this beast?”

  As if for dramatic effect, Quazar drew in a long, deep breath and sighed.

  “I’m speaking of the great fire wyrm. There are dozens of them laired on Dragon Isle, but you’ll have to get the blood of a mature wyrm. The younger ones have no potency. One dragon there reigns over the rest. It’s a vial of that wyrm’s blood we’ll need to save her.”

  “The blood of the great fire wyrm taken on one of the two nights of Aur? Is that all that will help her?” Trevin’s voice sounded incredulous.

  Quasar nodded and the silence that followed was only broken when Matty half chuckled under her breath. “This should make you a grand ballad to sing, Vanxy.”

  A few heartbeats later the forest came to life. Out of the shadows a bark-covered, tree-trunk leg stepped into the clearing. The trees seemed to part for the limbs and bulk of the terrifying tree-like beast’s form. From the other side of the camp a deep, bellowing sound erupted. Vanx knew that it was an ogre’s battle call. Another ogre yelled, then another, and another.

  The living tree brought its other leg over the camp, nearly kicking Matty in the head. It was huge, thirty feet tall, and its legs were as big around as barrel kegs. Brightly colored leaves shivered and shook as the creature stopped, drew itself in, then opened up a knothole maw and returned the ogre’s call with an ear-grating shriek of its own.

  Vanx rolled to his pack and snatched up his bow. Luckily it was still strung from his rabbit hunting foray early in the morning. He noticed that one of the haulkattens had pulled its tether and was bounding away. The other big katten had its hackles ruffled and was growling at something unseen in the forest. Vanx loosed the horse, giving it a slap on the rump. It went tearing away from the madness that was unfolding around him.

  Vanx turned to see Quazar standing over Gallarael. He was clutching his pack tightly to his body with one arm, and with a kick of his boot he shoved Trevin away. After a few wild hand gestures that left his pack falling to his feet, a pristine lavender orb encapsulated them as it came sizzling into existence. The wizard fell to a collapsed heap next to the girl, but both of them, and the wizard’s components, were within the protective bounds of the magical field.

  Darbon, who was as naked as his name day, was fighting to get free from a tangle of blankets. Matty stood over him looking as fierce as could be with a dagger in her hand, waving her stump arm around threateningly.

  Trevin scrambled for a pack and came up with his longsword as a handful of the wolf-riding Kobalts bounded into the camp.

  At first it wasn’t clear to any of the companions what was going on, but when one of the ogres came thrashing through the trees right at Matty it became clearer.

  A trio of Kobalt arrows sprouted out of the ogre’s chest, but they did little to slow its momentum. With its fangs bared, and its filthy jagged claws reared back, the ten-foot-tall green beast dove for the woman just as Darbon gained his feet beside her.

  Vanx could do nothing for them. It didn’t appear that Trevin could either, for another of the huge grey-green flesh-eaters was attacking the young guardsman before he could bring his sword to bear against it.

  Vanx leapt to the back of the young haulkat. He had half a mind to just ride away and leave the humans to their fate. He was half Zythian after all, and these people had made him a slave. He owed them nothing.

  He loosed an arrow at the ogre attacking Trevin. The young haulkatten nearly toppled Vanx from his seat when it charged at another ogre, and opened its guts with a razor claw. Holding on as best as he could with his legs, Vanx loosed arrow after arrow into the violent chaos. When he was down to the last shaft, he held it and let the haulkatten do the fighting. It was all Vanx could do at that point just to hold on.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ogres are full of menace,

  ogres are full of rage.

  Once a man was fool enough

  to put one in a cage.

  – a song from Dyntalla

  Vanx let his last arrow fly at the howling ogre closing on him from the right. It was no easy shot. The young haulkat beneath him was tearing into the green-skinned hulk directly before them with a ferocious intensity. Still, Vanx’s arrow found its mar
k. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a massive arm-like limb of the tree beast swing down and bat the ogre attacking Matty and Darbon away from them. With a dagger raised high, Matty rushed in and attacked the bewildered ogre as soon as it hit the ground. Darbon threw Vanx a half-full quiver and then, snatching up a heavy stone, he joined her.

  Vanx felt sorry for the boy. He’d had to fight naked himself once before behind an inn in Andwyn, after he’d leapt from his lover’s window. He’d won the skirmish, but would never forget how vulnerable he felt with his manhood exposed and at risk. It occurred to him, as he shifted to compensate for the haulkatten’s next lunge, that he always had these odd thoughts while he was in a fix. Here he was with an outraged, arrow-riddled ogre charging at him from one side, and another still fighting his mount. There was a third ogre now, loping toward him with nothing less than hungry murder in its dark eyes, but all he could think about was how silly Darbon looked fighting naked and one-handed. He turned toward the approaching ogre and let a pair of arrows loose. One caught the edge of a tree trunk and exploded in a shower of splinters and chipped bark. The other, though, found its mark and stuck deep into the ogre’s abdomen. The feral creature had no idea that it was wounded and it charged onward, never even breaking stride.