The little elven warrior dove forward, past the beast’s maw, and then rolled under its belly. A guttural canine sound, a squealing howl, cut across the evening, finding its way into the witch’s chamber. The pixie queen saw that the Hoar Witch felt the death Moonsy had just dealt.
Like one of her monsters, Aserica Rime let out a savage, mourning howl which was as full of anger as it was pain. But the Hoar Witch recovered quickly and put her rage into the slow mutilation of her subject. It was a wasted effort though, for even before the skunk wolf’s death-call had died away, Nandina Corydalis, the pixie queen of the Lurr Forest fae, was dead.
Gallarael had been regretting the transformation ever since she shifted back into her human form. The scratches, bruises and cuts of her other self’s body were bearable, but now they were deep, throbbing aches and bone-grinding pains. When she moved, it felt like coarse sand, the kind Trevin used to use to work the rust from his chain mail, had been thrown into her knee and shoulder joints. It felt as if each effort to grasp the skittish gargan’s wine skin was grinding away her sockets. When she’d hobbled into the darkness of the cavern to relieve herself, she had nearly crumpled into a ball and given up. Her feet had been strapped into those metal-frame cleats and had been torqued and torn and forced out around them when she shifted, but even worse was the throbbing in her head.
She’d watched a parade once back in Highlake when King Oakarm had come to visit. Duke Martin had held her on his shoulders for a time, but when he had to go make his appearances, he would set her down right by the marching orchestra. The huge belly drums thundered when the king came by and the trumpets were so loud that she’d screamed at the top of her lungs for her mother, but hadn’t even been able to hear her own voice. That is what her head felt like now: like that entire troupe of cymbal-crashing, kettle-hammering, horn-blowing minstrels was in her head, and each of them playing a different song than the other.
The sour taste of Darl’s watered wine hadn’t helped, but she had to admit that after a few sips of it she was able to ease back into sleep for a time.
“So what happens now?’ she asked. “If I change back, I might be able to make it back up to the cabin.”
“I just as soon ye not be changin’ back,” Darl’s words only slurred a little bit. “Once I’m up to the top I can haul you up easy enough.”
“You don’t have to be scared of me,” she said with a hint of shame in her voice. His aversion to her condition, the way he tried to hide his fear, was very similar to the way her father, her brother Russet, and the wizards at court had acted toward her after they knew. It was part of the very reason she’d left Parydon. She didn’t want to be around people who were afraid of her, but she had to admit she understood why they should be.
She smiled a thin little smile and nodded her understanding. She couldn’t blame him for his fear of shapeshifters; after all, his people lived close to this place where ill-formed beasts were far more than just fireside tales.
She was comfortable around Vanx and Chelda, for like her, they were treated differently. Every time Vanx revealed his half Zythian heritage, and Chelda was either accepted or shunned for her taste in bed partners, gave them insight. Her own father was embarrassed by her condition—No, Gallarael stopped that thought. It wasn’t a condition. It was who she was now. She was a shapeshifter and she was resolved to embrace that.
“How long will it take you to get up there?” she finally asked.
“If I started now, I could be at the top by midday.” He gave her a worried look. There was a true concern in his eyes that caused Gallarael to smile again. As afraid as he was of her, he cared about what happened to her.
“Go on up,” she told him. “I’ll be fine down here. I’ve got the harness belt. I’d rather be up there in a cabin by fire than down here tonight.”
“Well, let’s get that harness on and tie it up now,” he nodded, and seemed somewhat relieved.
She grimaced as she took the wine skin and a cloth-wrapped bundle of food from him. Just leaning up to get the items was brutally painful. No doubt a slow, jerking ride being hauled up the cliff face would be excruciating.
She hid her pain as best as she could. Darl rigged her belt and buckled it around her, then put on his own harness. After a few moments he was moving up the rock face.
She waited until he was a good forty feet up the ledge, then shed her tattered boots and shifted into her changeling form.
Immediately her wounds felt better. Her mind, though still completely her own, took on a different sort of perception of herself. In this form she was a predator, not prey.
She stretched her muscles and rotated her joints. She was pleased to feel that most of the gritty feeling was gone. Then she started up the cliff without a rope or harness at all.
When Darl finally pulled himself over the edge, she was sitting at the base of the tree to which his rope was anchored. She was in human form, sipping from Darl’s skin and rubbing at her raw, throbbing feet. She had barely beaten him to the top, but she didn’t want him to know that. If he wanted to be afraid of her, she would let him.
“What took you so long?” she asked, startling him severely. The only thing that kept him from tumbling backward into the gorge was that he was locked onto the rope with his climbing rig.
Chapter
Six
Across his sea ail,
to Nepton we hold true.
For if you cross old Nepton,
his sea will swallow you.
– A sailor’s song
Vanx wasn’t sure how long they’d been traveling through the featureless tunnel. It could have been hours, but it felt like days. Since they’d been in the Underland he’d felt an odd tingle at his breast. It was faint at first, like a ripe pimple, or an itch, but as they moved farther into the underground realm of the fae, the feeling became more substantial. Now it was more like a freshly popped blister, or a hornet sting.
While listening to Thorn tell them how the roots of the Heart Tree radiated the powerful magic that held together this particular part of the Underland, Vanx finally found the source of his irritation. It was the white gold leaf pendant that the Goddess had given him through Nepton’s priest back in Oryndyn. It was glowing a deep cherry color, like fire-forged iron, but it wasn’t hot, only uncomfortable to the touch. Once he let it lay on the outside of the elk-hide vest he wore over his woolen underclothes, it ceased to bother him. Its glow, however, mingled with the soft yellow radiance of the floor to create a brighter illumination.
“It looks like a leaf from the Heart Tree,” Thorn said, once he saw the thing. “It’s been dipped in pure white gold. It must be powerful, very powerful. Where did you come across such a thing?”
“It was a gift from the one who watches over me,” Vanx replied.
“How long is this blasted tunnel?” Chelda asked in a disgruntled groan. “And what are we going to do when we get to the end?”
Thorn spoke as they started moving again. “We came into the Underland at one of its farthest reaches. If we were traveling above, in the physical realm, we would have to go over bitter, windy ridges and deep, snow-filled valleys. We would have to circumvent melts, fall-throughs, and the wrath of the Lanch. Down here though, we...”
“Don’t tell me about the world I can no longer go back into,” Chelda snapped. “Tell me about this back-breaking place I’m stuck in for the rest of my life, and where in mighty Bone’s arse we’re headed.”
“Chelda Flar, I am sorry to the bottom of my heart,” Thorn whined.
Poops waggled back toward them from where he’d ranged up ahead. Eventually he fell into place trotting besides Vanx.
“There are places where the ceiling is not so low,” Thorn said. “There are grand caverns full of interesting folk: sprites, gnomes and pixies mostly. They’re much like the fairies and elves that live in the forest above, but they hardly go above ground. There are orchards, villages and even a clear-water lake down here, but we are headed to the nexus, the heart of t
he forest, where the Heart Tree’s roots have the strongest grasp, and where Queen Corydalis holds court when she’s not the prisoner of that foul witchy hag.”
“Slow down!” Chelda yelled. “This isn’t easy going for us. It’s... it’s...” She bit off her words as a wild, jolting sensation exploded over them all.
“Oh no,” Thorn fell to his knees and clutched his heart. “By Macha, and Morgana, please, no.” His chin fell to his chest and he sniveled. “Oh no, my queen. Please, no.”
Chelda had fallen to her knees as well. She was staring vacantly down the shaft ahead of them, as if she could see some apparition. Vanx, standing in a fighting crouch, with his hand on the hilt of his sword, had only felt a strange vibration through his link with Poops. Poops let out a strange yip, then Vanx heard some firm yet softly spoken words, the source of which he recognized immediately as that of the pixie queen.
“Don’t ever give up. None of you ever give up,” it said.
Chelda moaned, and Thorn keened out a mournful wail. Vanx concluded that there was some part of what was happening that he wasn’t picking up. Thorn and Chelda were another matter. He could tell that Thorn was sobbing, but the gargan girl was staring blank-faced. Her mouth was a perfect “O” and a single tear trailed down one of her pale cheeks.
“What is it, Chel?” Vanx nudged her. “What’s going on?”
Chelda blinked a few times, then turned to face him. Thorn was folded over to the floor in some sort of bow. He had his face in his hands, and was crying like a babe.
“You didn’t feel that?” Chelda seemed amazed. “You didn’t hear her?”
“I heard her, but I felt nothing.” Vanx crouched down beside her. Poops nudged her with his muzzle in a comforting manner and accepted it when she began scratching his ears.
“I think she’s dead,” Chelda wiped the tear away. “I’m sure of it. The pixie queen, I mean. She sent her life force into an elven warrior. I felt it. I felt it all. We have to kill the Hoar Witch. She is vile.” Chelda’s face looked stricken, but oddly calm and accepting. “She is attacking the Heart Tree in force this moment, and I am trapped down here in this empty Underland. The queen will never be able to undo what’s been done to me.”
Vanx wiped away her next tear for her and then fought back his own. The shock of Gallarael’s death hadn’t even had time to wear off, and now this. “There is bound to be another way, Chel,” Vanx reassured her. “You’ll not be trapped here forever.”
“No, after feeling all the goodness and love she felt for this place, that’s not what troubles me now.” She reached over and put a hand on Thorn’s back and patted the elf consolingly. “There probably is another way for me to get out, but until we figure it out, I can’t go up there and defend the Heart Tree. That is my pain.”
Thorn raised his head then and wiped his face on the sleeve of his silver-furred cloak. “If you really wish to defend the Heart Tree then you can, Lady Chelda.” His normally bright yellow eyes seemed cloudy and horribly sad. “The Shadowmane is considered part of the Underland.”
“Shadowmane?”
“You can tread on any ground that’s been touched by the Heart Tree’s shadow. That is its Shadowmane.”
“Take me there,” Chelda demanded. “Since I’ll not be able to go with you two to Rimehold, I’ll fight where I can.” She turned to face Vanx then. “It’s all the same battle. If the Hoar Witch gains the power of the Heart Tree, then you’ll never be able to kill her. Her rot will spread all across the world. Her beasts seem to fear my blade, and I can help Moonsy keep them from the tree.”
Vanx nodded, not really sure how Chelda understood all of this, or who Moonsy was. He was glad she wasn’t feeling hopeless and bitter. Maybe she and Thorn had a vision or something?
“We’re going to the nexus anyway,” Thorn said, as he regained his feet. “But we’ve still a good ways to go.” He wiped at his face again, the anguish slowly turning into determination. “We will soon come to Edric-Outs, a small village of mostly gnomes and sprites, but it is on the Tinker’s Way, so the passage beyond there is a lot bigger.” He squeezed Chelda’s hand.
“From there, Lady Chelda, you’ll no longer have to stoop.”
Only the reflexive skill, garnered from working with sometimes violently disagreeable animals, saved Darl from the sizzling crimson ray of energy that shattered the cabin door and sent its pieces hurling out onto the snowy ground. He and Gallarael had startled Xavian. The prepared mage nearly sent them to their deaths for it.
“What’s wrong with you?” Gallarael called from where she’d just dove out of harm’s way. “It’s me, Galra.”
“I don’t believe you,” Xavian called back. “You’re dead. Darl is dead too. Prove that you are not the witch’s beasts come to take us.”
“Someday you’ll do just fine with those suspicious old coots of my father’s Royal Order,” Gal told him. “It’s me, Xavian. Gallarael Martin Oakarm, the Princess of Parydon.”
“Tell me something the witch couldn’t know,” Xavian shot back.
“I just did.”
“You’re the Princess of Parydon?” Darl asked from the other side of the blasted entryway.
“Hush,” she hissed. “Like what, Xavian? I’m injured and tired. Where are Vanx and Poops? Where is Chelda?”
“Answer my question, and I’ll tell you the answers to yours.”
“Well hurry and ask it.”
Xavian must not have had a question ready, for it took him a few moments. “What is the name of Darbon’s first love?”
“Matty, damn you.” She cautiously braved her way to the door. Seeing that she didn’t get blasted, she moved closer.
“Where are Vanx and Chelda?” Gallarael hobbled over to the fire, her expression none too pleased.
Xavian’s face was pallid. “You are alive? They said you fell to the bottom of the canyon.” Then he looked at Darl. “They thought your roped was chewed through, that you also fell.”
“I felt Kegger’s warning tugs and secured myself. When the end of the pull line came snaking over and down, I crawled down to a ledge.” He paused to look at the mangled but healing wound that covered most of Kegger’s lower leg.
“I didn’t know what sort of beast was attacking up here so I cut a piece of the rope and hauled the lady, uh, the princess, up into a cave I found on my way down.”
“She was still alive?” Xavian asked, looking now at Gallarael, was toasting her bloody feet by the fire.
“You’re still alive?”
“No Xavian, I’m dead, just like you’re going to be if you don’t tell me where Vanx is.”
Hesitantly he told them, and as he did, he fed them stew from the pot he and Kegger had been nursing. Vanx had left some healing herbs he’d gathered from the forest, and had killed several rabbits and a small doe before they’d gone. They threw the herbs in the pot.
He told them of the elf, Thorn, and the wolfen attack; Kegger joined in the telling for a little while, but only to validate what Xavian said. The parts about the waist-tall, pointy-eared man with strawberry hair came out sounding far-fetched. Kegger’s assurances that it was all true, quelled any doubts that Darl might have held. Gallarael would have believed anything they told her. In her lifetime she’d survived the Wildwood, while full of fang-flower venom. She’d seen wolf-riding Kobals, and huge, angry, green-skinned ogres through her poisoned haze. She’d even seen a dragon. So the idea of elves and wild creatures didn’t surprise her all that much.
When Xavian was done with the telling, Darl rummaged through Kegger’s bag and came back with a drawstring sack. He hung it just outside the blasted door of the cabin and then went about stretching a flapped blanket over the hole. Before he was finished, a skittish ramma came in from the woods and started sniffing at Darl’s sack. A short while later a few more came, but that was it. Most likely, the witch’s wolfen beasts had gotten hold of the others.
When Gallarael announced that in the morning she was going after Vanx and
Chelda, Xavian nodded that he would go with her. Darl objected, because Kegger was in no condition to travel, but the big gargan ranger, using a tree branch for a crutch, made his way to the room’s table board, where he sat stiff-legged. He insisted that he could take care of himself there in the cabin. All he needed was for them to hunt some more meat. He figured that in a day or two he would be well enough to move around, set snares and start feeding himself.
Darl agreed that he would lead the others into the Lurr and wait for them at its fringes. He would do this, but only if they hunted Kegger an ample amount of food before they left. He pointed out that having three rammas to ride would make up the extra day it would take them to hunt, and reluctantly Gallarael agreed, because a day of rest would go a long way toward easing the pain in her broken feet.
Chapter
Seven
Off beside the river
far away from everything
the fishes keep me company
while I close my eyes and dream.
– Parydon Cobbles
The air in the Underland tunnel grew so warm that Vanx and Chelda were forced to shed their coats. Vanx removed Poops’ vest, too. He then carefully rolled up the coats and stored them in the pack he was carrying. Thorn pulled his arms from the sleeves of his silver coat, and then fastened them around his neck. His coat had become a cloak that he could keep swept behind him as he continued on. The Underland air also took on a quality of which both Vanx and Poops grew particularly aware. It wasn’t horrible, but it was no pleasant smell either. It reminded Vanx of the Kanga barns of his youth, or the haulkatten stables in Dyntalla. It was an earthy, animal stink: the smell of livestock.
There was a sweeter quality to the smell as they went farther in, and Poops was growing anxious to explore the source of this odd combination of scents. Vanx had the feeling that they would soon come upon some long-rotted carcass or another equally gruesome sight.
That Frigid Fargin Witch (The Legend of Vanx Malic Book 4) Page 4
