Copyright 2016 M. R. Mathias
All Rights Reserved
ISBN 10: 153094094X
ISBN 13: 9781530940943
For Allyson
A special thanks to Jack Hoyle of www.t-rexstudios.com for the amazing cover art
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Sword and the Dragon
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter One
When the sky darkens
and the wild winds start to blow,
you turn that ship right at the storm
and hunker down below.
Vanx Malic stood at the rail above the ugly, battered, bare-breasted woman who formed the Adventurer’s masthead. Her blocky arms were thrown back so that they ran above the water line, and her hair formed a red, rising sun over her head.
She reminded Vanx of the Mysticas of legend: pale-fleshed women with blood-red hair. They were rare and feared, able to control dragons with their minds. They had been the most powerful users of any sort of magic, for their will alone could create monstrosities, but the elves hunted them all down and ended them eons ago. Or so it was said.
To passersby it must have looked like the masthead woman was doing the breaststroke. Painted stark white, with horrible facial features, the ugly, ill-carved thing was life-sized. It looked sort of like a pale, bloated, woman had been lashed to the small ship. This caused a few sailors and dockhands to turn their heads and stare when the group was easing out of Port Harthgar.
The ship was not bloated and ugly, though. The Adventurer was long and sleek. Its single mast was thick and tall and made from a single piece of unspliced tree trunk. The entire height of the mast—and every single beam, stringer, and rib below—was covered with powerful symbols that had been burned into the wood to bind it all. The ship had been more or less given to Vanx by the crazy old wizard whose familiar Vanx had let free when he destroyed the Paragon Dracus and the Trigon regime, but it was his ship, for the elmwood name board from his father’s ship Foamfollower had been used to patch the transom.
A new coat of paint and the Adventurer would be as good as new, but even filthy and unused for decades, it cut the ocean soundly and didn’t creak and groan like many ships do when they get underway.
They were sailing under sea mage Castavonti’s power, for they were just now getting the sails unfurled, and testing the knots in the rigging and all the new fittings. But it wasn’t the wind and sails that had them moving. The sea mage and his ability to use the Wardstone to create thrust had them cutting a respectable wake as they went snaking out of the bay into the open sea.
Vanx was the captain, for it was his ship. He’d given Castavonti the wheel, though, and told him to figure out which deckhand would make the best second, for Vanx wasn’t planning on taking command unless there was a need for it.
The Adventurer was only sixty feet from bow to transom, but she was sturdy, and every fiber of her hull was filled with magic. The longer Vanx was on board, the more attuned to her he became.
Ronzon and Zirk, the two seamen they’d picked up, were both as competent as they’d boasted. Chelda and Master Ruuk leaned against the rail watching them, knowing that they would have to do those same duties sooner or later. Vanx had decided the newcomers would be loyal as long as they were paid fairly and treated well. That sort of thing went far with these kind of men. It would take longer for them to learn to respect Chelda, and the older Zythian, than the other way around.
Vanx and Zeezle would work circles around them, with ease, and put them in their place that way, but Chelda was as clumsy on deck as she was green. She was simply too big for the boat.
Master Ruuk felt any form of physical labor was below his station, which, by Zythian cultural standards, it was. But he agreed to pull his weight. After all, the true captain of this ship was only half-Zythian, so Ruuk wasn’t as happy as he wanted to be. Had Vanx been full Zythian, he would have been obliged to cut Ruuk some slack.
Chelda fought seasickness and managed to keep her bile down. Zeezle was clearly hoping one of the seamen would say something about her and get walloped. Vanx kind of hoped so too, but they were wise enough to keep their mouths shut. She was a foot, or more, taller and a full grain sack heavier than either of the skinny sea dogs, and the hammer hanging at her hip was still caked in dried blood and gore from their recent battles.
“I’m serious,” Vanx said sincerely to his childhood friend. “I bought a flinging rod and a reeler.”
“Then toss it out, and let’s see if anything is hungry.” Zeezle followed Poops, who followed Vanx to the opening under the wheelhouse. It turned into a spiral stair as soon as one was inside it. Poops went down one cautious step at a time, which was just as well, for Vanx was handing the gear up to Zeezle to lay on the deck.
Vanx produced a wooden lure, painted a garish purple, with a blue-and yellow-feathered tail. It had a sharpened iron hook, as thick as a nail, strung through it. Poops had a hard time getting up the narrow stairs, Vanx saw, so by the time the dog made it back on deck, Vanx and Zeezle were letting thin woven line out from the back of the ship. Vanx was speculating what they might catch using this method. They were moving pretty quickly, so only a speedy predator had a chance. He also eyed one of the new guys—Zirk, he remembered, the skinnier of the two—watching him rig his line.
Vanx waited for the man to give him some sort of advice, but none came. Before long, though, Zirk was up in the rigging, watching from above, as the plug danced along the surface of the bright-blue, sun-drenched sea behind them.
To Vanx’s disappointment, after at least a full turn of the hourglass, there were no fish, not even a bite.
This time when Zirk climbed down, he fumbled through his belt pouch and produced a lure similar to Vanx’s, but this one had no fancy feather or paint. It was just a skinny, cylindrical piece of wood, with an iron head and a rusty hook. Vanx would have disregarded the offer had the lure not had several sets of bite marks on it.
Vanx eyed it until Zirk offered it again, then he reluctantly began turning the wooden crank that retrieved his bait.
Chapter Two
If you stand atop an earthy hill
and look into the breeze,
don’t stand too long in that one place,
or you’ll root in like the trees.
“Fish on!” came the call from the rigging. “Fish on the line!”
Vanx was suddenly fumbling with the wooden crank handle of the reeler. The rod was bending so much it felt as if it would splinter apart. It was quite a battle, as the ship was under sail and couldn’
t just stop. Castavonti did slow the craft a little, and after several attempts with the gaff, Ronzon dropped down beside Zeezle and took the tool from him. Vanx pulled the long, silvery mackerel alongside the boat again, and this time, with one deft heave, up came the fish, the gaff’s hook piercing cleanly through the meat directly behind its eye.
Ronzon dropped the flopping thing on the deck, and Poops darted in to attack it. It was all the seaman could do to clear the gaff and get the sharp hook out of the fish’s maw so the dog didn’t get himself hooked.
“Well, there’s supper,” Zirk said with a jagged, gap-toothed grin. “That one always works in a clear sea.” He indicated the plain wooden lure Vanx was holding. “I’d give it to you, but it was my pap’s. You can scrape all the color off of yours, and I suspect it’ll do the same sort of thing. I mean those fancy feathered ones are great when the water’s murky and all, but way out here, cedar is the way to go.”
Vanx was thankful for the fishing advice. He untied the lure and gave it back to Zirk.
Ronzon cleaned the fresh catch right there on the deck, letting Poops have the guts. Then he used a bucket with a rope and hauled up water to rinse the remaining entrails, head, and skin out a scupper and over the side.
When he took the meat down into the galley, no one stopped him, and soon the whole ship smelled savory. The smeared tangerine sunset was amazing to behold, and Vanx couldn’t remember a sea journey starting any better.
By this time, the harbor was far behind them, and there was no land in sight, which meant there was nothing man-made to hinder the spectacle’s purity. The deaths of the dragons he and Zeezle had come to know so well hung in the air like a fog, but even that sticky gloom couldn’t steal the beauty away from the horizon.
They ate fried chunks of mackerel with their fingers from a bowl that was passed around until it was empty. Then it was filled again, nearly emptied, and finally cleaned by Poops, who got the last few cooked bites, as well as the grease, from the tin dish.
The sun was disappearing, so lanterns were lit fore and aft, and all but the crew went below into one of three compact cabins to rest. Soon, Vanx would relieve the sea mage. Chelda and Zirk would work the sails for Vanx while the others rested, but with no ill weather ahead, and no obstacles, it would be clear sailing.
While they waited their turn, Vanx looked over the maps and charts that the dockmaster had placed on board. He was searching for one that showed the island on the map the strange old wizard had given him before they left. Even though he couldn’t find the landmass, he found where it should have been and drew it in himself from memory, all the while feeling the ship easing them off their current course to Orendyn toward the destination he was contemplating.
When Vanx finally took the ship’s wheel, he didn’t fight the vessel’s slight change of direction. The island on the wizard’s map wasn’t that far out of the way, a day or two at worst, and since the ship was leading them in the right direction, Vanx decided he would explain it all in the morning.
There is no use fighting your destiny, he heard Foxwise Posey-Thorn’s voice say in the back of his head. He hadn’t known Thorn all that long, but the selfless elf had made such an impact on his life that he knew he would never forget his friend or the way he died for Moonsy.
He wondered where the resemblance between Foxwise and General Moonseed stemmed from. A cousin? Thorn hadn’t had any daughters, had he?
Then his thoughts shifted to Gallarael, and he wondered if he really loved her, or if her supposed death had caused those feelings to grow out of proportion in his heart. Thinking she was dead, he’d loved her wholeheartedly. Now that he knew she was alive, the feeling was still there, but it was not nearly as urgent or strong. Just knowing he would eventually be able to see her and speak to her again was enough to stir that longing, though, and he wished he was going directly to her.
“We’re heading to that place on the map, aren’t we?” Zeezle, who was supposed to be resting below, said, giving Vanx a start.
“How’d you know?”
“I felt the course change, Vanxy.” Zeezle slapped him on the back, as if the decision was just fine with him. “Now go down and clean that ripe pile of dog shit off my cabin floor, my brother.”
“Bad?”
“I wouldn’t let him eat raw fish again. Not like he did last night.”
“S’posed to be good for his fur,” Vanx grumbled while he located a bucket and a scrub brush.
“It probably is, and out on the trail, we’d never notice.” Zeezle laughed. “But he has no place to go on a ship.”
By the time Vanx finished cleaning up Poops’s respectable-sized pile of shit, he had an idea, which he hoped would ease any tension that erupted when he told the others in the morning that they were heading to an island on a map some crazy old wizard had given him. An island that wasn’t on any other chart or map at all.
The location was in Vanx’s head, though, exactly where he had seen it represented on the giant, glowing globe the wizard had shown him back on Harthgar.
Chapter Three
We fishermen, we catch our prey
and then our bounty cook.
But in the end, it’s we who are caught,
for the fishing has us hooked.
“You mean we are going to this island to get some dirt and grass to fill the box you described us building, so the dog’ll have a place to squat?” Sea Mage Castavonti asked dubiously.
It was morning, and though there was no land in sight, the turquoise sky and the smooth sea were speckled with sea birds chasing schools of baitfish. “Or are we going so you can follow your treasure map?”
“Well,”—Vanx shrugged honestly—“both. But I never said ‘treasure map’; it is just a map.”
“But there might be treasure,” Chelda said to help keep the crew in agreement. “If there is, I say we give the ship a share and split the rest between us all.”
“Aye,” Zirk agreed, watching Chelda’s tits bounce under her blouse, with her hopping, half-faked glee. Even though she was putting on a show, Vanx could tell she was interested in the island, too, and she would do anything for Poops.
“She’s good,” Castavonti said to Vanx and Zeezle a little later. “I want two full shares.”
“If you get them to agree, that is fine.” Vanx shrugged.
“Just give him my share.” Zeezle grinned. “I don’t need it, and it avoids an issue. But if there is only a single prize the wizard left for you, we will have a problem.”
“Aye.” Vanx agreed. “Nothing a stop by Pyra’s place won’t fix. It’s on the way to Orendyn, too.”
“So we are guaranteed payment even if there is just a single item you claim?” the sea mage asked.
“You’ll get paid extra shares, within reason, if there isn’t even that much.” Zeezle gave the man a piercing look, as if to say the discussion was over.
Ronzon had replaced Zirk in the rigging, for Zirk had been falling asleep in the ropes. With full dawn directly ahead of them, it was Vanx and Chelda’s turn to rest.
Vanx wasn’t in the hard bunk with his eyes closed for more than half a glass when he sensed some commotion from above. Something had Zeezle and Master Ruuk excited, and now the ship lurched ahead, as if a new wind had found them; only Vanx knew it wasn’t wind, and he was up and running. His head had just poked up, out the doorway, when he heard the call.
“’Tis as big as the ship, Capt’n,” Ronzon yelled down. “Swimming just under the surface.”
“What is?” Vanx asked Zeezle, who had one of the looking glasses out and was standing beside Castavonti, looking behind them.
“Something is following us,” Zeezle said, not pulling his concentration away from what he was seeing.
“Hunting us is more likely,” the sea mage said. “These waters are known for leviathan.”
“Why didn’t you tell us that,” Zeezle asked, “when we were talking about changing courses? Is it going to attack?”
“If w
e slow enough, it will,” the sea mage said. “We would have passed through this territory either route.” Then he looked at Vanx. “I know you are full of raw power, Zythian, but try asking us the next time you change the plan. We could have skirted this area entirely if you’d have told it true from the start.”
“Can we skirt it now?” Zeezle asked, offering the looking glass to Vanx and pointing at the shadow swimming along behind them.
“We are in the heart of their breeding grounds as we speak,” Castavonti grumbled. “It’s about the same distance out in any direction.”
“It’s diving,” came the call from the rigging. “Should I wake Zirk and the woman?”
“I think we are going too fast for it to attack,” the sea mage said, but his look betrayed his fear. “I will see if I can get us going any faster.”
Vanx never found the shadow of the thing in the looking glass, and after a full turn of the glass, everyone was starting to relax. Nothing had shown itself behind them again, and Castavonti had the ship moving faster than the wind. If they went any faster, the sails would catch the wind the wrong way and slow them.
Vanx knew a few ship captain’s spells. He knew one that would help them go even faster if the need came. He began reciting the words to that one, but then Ronzon called out from above. This time when they looked up at him, he was pointing in front of the ship, not behind it.
Vanx turned and met the glory of the morning. Bright blue sky, deep blue water, rolling and dipping with the huge, slow-moving swells.
As they topped a wave, Vanx saw what Ronzon was pointing at. Up ahead, the sea was boiling in an isolated area the ship was headed right toward.
“Leviathan!” he heard Ronzon scream as he half fell, half climbed down from above.
“Don’t just stand there!” Castavonti yelled. “Grab a harpoon!”
Poops appeared on the deck, barking at the sight before them. Then came Chelda, her blond hair a tangled mess, but her expression that of a woken bear. Zirk came up behind them and went straight to a compartment near the front of the ship.
The Long Journey Home (The Legend of Vanx Malic Book 8) Page 1
