In her life, Amakra challenged ancient customs and pushed the boundaries of the old ways at every chance she had. They warned her that her mixed-blood child would be stillborn, just as dozens of others had been in the past. They said her heart would break when she outlived her lover and was forced to watch him die. They said the Goddess would shun her for breaking so many traditions and that she could be considered Zythian only because of her blood.
Vanx’s birth changed all of that. He wasn’t stillborn, and his father died at sea on a merchant ship taken by pirates off the coast of Harthgar. He never had the chance to grow old before her eyes. The Goddess smiled upon her brightly enough so that she lived to see her son mature.
Some said her death was a punishment for the life she lived, but she told Vanx, from her deathbed, that her life had been a great and wondrous happening. She’d known love; she’d turned heads and raised eyebrows. She had given birth to an impossible child who was touched by the Goddess herself. She said her life had been full of joy and triumph.
“Remember who and what you are, Vanx,” she’d whispered. By then, only her smile and the light shining in her eyes marked her as his mother. The rest of her was shriveled and discolored. “The humans will envy you for being part Zythian, and the Zythians for being part human. You must rise above them, for what other people think of you matters very little. It’s what you think of yourself that matters.”
Those words echoed in Vanx’s ears now as he let his eyes focus back onto the dark sea before him. He took a few moments to blink away the tears brought on by his mother’s memory and evaluate what he truly thought of himself. He’d thought about abandoning Gallarael’s cause, but hadn’t. He was here, and he found himself willing to face the dangers that lay ahead in the hope of saving Gallarael and her unborn child. He felt that he was doing the right thing. It was a dangerous, possibly even foolish, quest they were on, but he wouldn’t be able to think well of himself if he abandoned a girl who was poisoned while trying to help him escape the chains of slavery.
Vanx was glad they decided to land somewhere besides Flotsam Bay. His coming there, especially on a royal Parydonian ship with the prince of the human realm, would cause too much of a stir. Unlike his mother, Vanx didn’t enjoy the attention of turning heads and rising eyebrows.
“Follow your heart,” his mother had told him as she passed away. Now, his heart told him that Zeezle would be at his family’s farmstead outside of Sama, or near there.
The small fishing port of Little Haven was about a half-day’s walk to Sama. Little Haven was also due south of Dragon Isle, making the next leg of their journey an easy one. More than that, though, the Zythian folk there were of the simpler sort: the fishermen, the croppers, and the traders. Vanx’s heart told him that Little Haven would be a safer and less conspicuous place to land the Sea Hawk. As he confirmed those feelings with his mind, he saw a star twinkle in the sky. It oddly reminded him of the twinkle in his mother’s eyes. The warm feeling that came over him then was as welcome as it was reassuring. For the first time in his life he knew that he was exactly where he was supposed to be, doing what he was supposed to be doing.
“Don’t fall over them wings,” a gruff voice said sharply from not too far away and above him. It was Peg, and he was grinning like a child with the frosting spoon in his hand. “If you go overboard in the dark we might not be able to find ya. Besides that, I’m not sure Captain Willie would heave the old Sea Hawk around for a man-eater.”
Vanx started to respond, but the look in the seaman’s eyes showed that he wasn’t trying to be offensive. He said, “If I fell overboard I might make it to Little Haven before you and your mates.”
Peg laughed. “Well, well,” he said. “At least one of you has some spunk about you. The others couldn’t keep their guts down.”
“I don’t think either of them has been out into the deep sea before,” Vanx replied. He pulled himself from the wing-formed rail of the bow and strode to a place under where Peg was hanging in the rigging like a three-legged spider. “Probably not even in a bay.”
“Aye,” Peg agreed. “I could take off my stub and hop this deck in a tempest better than either of them could walk it in this calm.”
“How’d you lose the leg?” Vanx asked.
“That’s not a question you ask a man,” Peg snapped, and even as the words came out of him his demeanor softened. “Since you’re a half-blooded heathen, I’ll let it pass.”
Vanx narrowed his brows and rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to let the old stubble-faced sea dog intimidate him. “Tell me or not, what do I care?”
Peg chuckled at that too. “You have really got some spunk about you, there’s no doubt.” He swung down through the rigging on arms as thick as tree limbs and landed before Vanx with a hard thump on the deck.
“Call me Vanx.”
“It’s Peg, then, if you didn’t already guess. Though my name is Leory.” He offered his hand for Vanx to shake. Vanx took it and winced at the strength of his grip. Peg clanked over to the rail. “Shark,” he said softly.
Vanx hurried over and looked down into the glossy black water. “Where?”
“No, man!” Peg barked out a laugh. “A shark took my leg. Well, not really took it off or nothing, but it could have.” He held his arms out in a big empty bear hug. “Its mouth was this big, and it clamped down on me and pulled me. It held me under ‘til I nearly drowned, but then, just like that, it let me go. Them teeth ripped the meat to the bone, and poisoned my blood with the green rot. They ought to call me Lucky, not Peg.” He grinned, and in the orange light of the deck lantern, Vanx realized the man’s teeth weren’t teeth at all, but painted wood.
“I was nearly eaten, then drowned, then bled out by that cursed sea beast. Old Nepton himself was on my side, though, and Cap’n Willie pulled me out, tied me off, and rowed me to Hellton with his own arms.”
“How did you end up in the water in the first place?” Vanx asked.
Peg licked his lips at that and gave a nervous glance around.
“Go on, tell him, Peg.” Yandi showed two of his three teeth as he walked up. “Tell him about the Mother Earl.”
“Yes, Peg, tell him.” Prince Russet’s wild-haired silhouette blocked most of the lighted rectangle of the portal that led below deck. “I love the story, even though I’ve heard it told a dozen times.” The prince gave Vanx a nod of respect and then clasped Peg on the shoulder. “The only thing is, the way you and our over-esteemed captain tell it, you two weren’t trying to take the Mother Earl, you were trying to save her from pirates.”
“We weren’t trying to take her,” Peg insisted.
“Captain Willington and Leory here used to be pirates,” the prince told Vanx. “Go on back to your work Leory, I’d hate to have to pike your head on the mast pole for lying to me.”
Peg’s roughspun demeanor vanished as he nodded several times, and then darted back up into the rigging. Yandi crept away before the prince had the chance to notice his presence. “The captain of Mother Earl sank their ship, and only two longboats made it to shore; one with four men, the other with only our Captain Willie and about three-fourths of Leory.”
“Isn’t it a human tradition that a ship’s captain goes down with his vessel?” Vanx asked.
“I wasn’t a captain then,” Captain Willie boomed jovially.
Another lantern was lit and Vanx saw that not only had the captain been in earshot, but at least half a dozen other men were hanging from the rigging or lingering around. It occurred to him then that his keener sense of hearing and vision were somehow dulled out here at sea. Before he could think about it further, Captain Willie continued speaking.
“I was High Picaroon.” The captain must have seen Vanx’s look of confusion at the term. “That’s what the leader of the boarding marauders is called. We was trying to take that fat-bellied merchant ship for a prize, and I’m proud to say it.”
“Had she been a Parydon ship, you’d have been beheaded,” Prin
ce Russet said with a boyish grin. “But she was out of Harthgar and you managed to cripple her so that she drifted all the way to Oradyn.”
The prince turned to Vanx then, the excitement of the story showing vividly on his lamplit face. “Father had to hunt the captain down, but it wasn’t hard. Rumors of Peg’s injuries had spread and the king’s guard rounded them up.”
“Aye,” Captain Willie grinned through his huge beard. “Saved Peg’s life, that stint in the royal dungeons did. Your father found the tale as intriguing as you do, my prince. The fact that Harthgarians were smuggling untaxed Parydon goods out of the kingdom through Coldport gave the king just enough reason to confiscate all that booty.”
“The captain here smooth-talked my father into giving him a position on a ship, and after he took over the Royal Falcon in a typhoon when Captain Morgan was swept overboard, he was given the Sea Hawk to command.”
“I thought the Sea Hawk was your ship?” Vanx asked the prince curiously. He glanced at Captain Willie and then up at Peg in the lines above and had no trouble picturing them as pirates. In fact, they seemed more like pirates now than any sort of royal sailors.
“I get to decide where we are going and sometimes who comes along,” Prince Russet said. “But make no mistake, when we are at sea the captain here is in command. Even over me.”
“Who’s going to be in command when we venture onto Dragon Isle?” Vanx asked, and immediately regretted the question. A murmur of unease and even a groan of despair came from those who heard it.
“Well, that cat’s out of the sack now.” The captain shook his head. “All you eavesdroppers heard it right. After we leave Zyth we’re headed to Dragon Isle. Once we are there, about a third of the crew will go ashore with these men. What we are after is the only thing that can save Gallarael Martin, the Princess of Highlake.”
The crew erupted all at once.
“I’ll not set foot…”
“I hope I don’t get the short straw.”
“That island is cursed—plumb full of dragons, too.”
It was Prince Russet’s voice that rose over them. Another, even the captain’s, might not have been enough to silence them. “I will be going ashore with those of you who come. There will be healthy compensation if we succeed in this. I’m certain Vanx will lead us well; he’s half Zythian. Zyths have a way with the dragons, or so I’ve read.”
Vanx gave the prince a look of shocked disbelief. Did he just say that Zythians have a way with dragons? The grin on Prince Russet’s face was devilish and full of delight. When he caught Vanx’s glare, he only shrugged, reached out and gave him a confident pat on the back.
That night Vanx dreamt of a cavern full of molten rock and a red-scaled beast with sword-slitted eyes the size of wagon wheels: a creature whose only desire was to char him with its fiery breath before consuming him in its hungry maw. In his dream he was terrified of such a thing, and even when he woke, that feeling didn’t change.
Chapter Two
Vanx had never seen Little Haven from the sea. The enormity of the steep, jagged bluffs that met the ocean was staggering. From horizon to horizon, cold gray stone rose up out of the water like a fortress wall. Vanx remembered standing at the top of the wall as a boy. He’d been with his mother as she tossed wreaths of petal hearts and tear blooms to Nepton each year on the day of his father’s death. From that vantage the cliffs seemed like a sheer free-fall to the sea and nothing more. He peered over the edge on his first visit and remembered the dizziness that came over him. As he grew older, the view became less and less daunting. He would have guessed the drop to be about forty or fifty paces down from the windblown scrub plain above. Looking up from the swift-rolling surface of the water, it seemed like thrice that height. Perspective, he decided, was something to be always considered.
Lavern, as this place was called in the Zythian tongue, meant “breach” or “break.” Over the years the name was distorted by humans and the quills of the mapmakers. Lil’ Lavern was now known across the realm as Little Haven. In truth, beyond the narrow gap in the cliff wall was a haven from the brunt of the open sea, so the mistake was understandable. The Zythian name, however, described the hidden bay more properly. It was a breach in the rockface that cut back into the island. On the maps it looked like a crooked finger poked into the land, but from the sea it was all but undetectable.
As the Sea Hawk slid down a trough into the opening, the stony cliff sides engulfed them. Sheer, jagged walls rose up on either side of the spectacular cut. The opening wasn’t wide—barely five hundred feet across—and it narrowed gradually. Horizontal lines rich with coral growth rimmed the water’s surface and marked the seasonal tide lines. Farther up, thick bands of coppery-colored sediment and sparkling gray granite uniformly striped the faces of the cliffs.
From a previously hidden perch, high overhead, a red-and-black banner began waving on a pole and a horn blew three short blasts of welcome. A plethora of squawking gulls and long-beaked divers were startled from their haunts. In a wheeling cacophony, they circled around for a curious look, and then lazily landed again.
Captain Willie ordered the plain Parydon banner run up the mast and Yandi gave a long, slow, bellowing return blast, followed by five short blasts. Vanx was told that their response signaled that they wished to dock and would pay with hard coin for the space.
Here in the channel the sea still rose and fell with a rhythmic, yet unpredictable, force. But as they turned the crook in the finger, the waters calmed to a stillness that was such a contrast to the swells behind them that he had to reconsider which name described the harbor best. If this place was anything, it was a little haven from the sea.
The sun was still high overhead and most of the fishing vessels were out filling their nets; the harbor was mostly empty. A small longboat, manned by several young yellow-haired, golden-eyed boys, towed a rope out to the ship. The end of it was hauled aboard and as the men pulled it taut, Vanx saw that it was connected to a mooring post that was separated from the bulk of the docks by a corner of stone which, judging by its coppery color, appeared to have fallen from the wall above. Only a portion of the stone rose above the surface, but Vanx could tell that it was massive. Seeing it caused him to look up and try to locate any suspect overhangs or fractures above them.
“It fell a few hundred years ago,” Captain Willie chuckled, seeing Vanx’s distress. “You come from this land; you should know as much.”
“Maybe I should.” Vanx grinned at his own foolishness. “I’ve been here—well, up there,” he pointed to the top of the long switchback stairway carved into the cliff, “at least twenty times, but I’ve never been down here. My father died at sea and…” Why he stopped speaking, why he had even said that much about his private life, he didn’t know.
“You’ve the salt of Nepton in your blood, it’s plain,” the captain observed. Captain Willie turned away suddenly and shouted. “Pull! Pull, you fargin maidens! We’ll be trying to moor while the fishermen are laughing at us from their cups at this rate!”
“Heave,” Peg called out. “Heave.” Gradually a rhythm set in to the crew’s efforts so that the Sea Hawk began a slow but steady course toward the mooring pillar.
“We are too small a ship for an oar deck, and there’s no wind in here,” Captain Willie explained before changing the subject completely.
“They have the best honey fire a man’s ever drunk up at the Treasure Chest Inn, and the girls…” He stopped.
Vanx knew why Captain Willie bit his tongue. Throughout the years, several of his own folk had assumed that his mother was a sailor’s whore, so the notion wasn’t new to him.
“She wasn’t,” Vanx said, glad that he could say so without it being a lie. “She met him in Parydon proper and sailed with him on his galley, Foamfollower, at least until I was conceived. It was during my father’s first run from Flotsam to Coldport without her aboard that an icy storm weighed them down and laid her over.” Vanx shrugged and decided that he would ta
ke a small amount of time for himself and throw a wreath for his father in his mother’s name. “At least that’s the story I was told.”
***
Captain Willie was shocked, for he’d heard of Marin Saint Elm, the captain of the infamous Foamfollower. As he remembered the stories his grandfather told him, he knew the young maverick had kept a young heathen woman aboard with him. They’d called her the ship witch.
Several of the Foamfollower’s crew, half-frozen and nearly starved, had made it to Coldport in a longboat. They told the harbor master there that Captain Saint Elm could have joined them, but chose to honor those of his crew who had drowned by leading them through Nepton’s deep himself.
“I forgot how long-lived your folk are,” Captain Willie said after a few moments. “I’ve heard the tale of the Foamfollower and I reckon that makes you a bit older than me. I would have never guessed as much. They say Captain Saint Elm was a true sea mage. My gran said he was born of a witch himself.”
Just then the Sea Hawk banged into the unforgiving mooring pillar with a deep thump and the captain’s eyes flared with rage.
“By the fargin barnacles clinging to my arse, you saggy-titted niddies are going to scrub the deck down to the splinters for that. Yandi, Peg, what in the name of…?”
***
Vanx grinned as the old sea dog laid into his men. He wanted to hear more of Captain Willie’s tales of his father, but there would be time for that later. The bump of the hull against the pillar must have drawn the attention of Trevin and Darbon, for both of them came poking their heads out of the portal like curious prairie dogs. The prince came up behind the two peeping men and forced them out on the deck. Captain Willie’s curses were still causing the crew members to duck their heads.
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