The Legend of Vanx Malic: Book 02 - Dragon Isle

by M. R. Mathias

  “Ah, mighty Dragon Bait himself, and before the sun’s fully set, no less!” Hannalee snarled as she approached the table. “You’ll have to forgive these lumps, Zeezle, they’ve been tiltin’ the stout stuff all afternoon while waiting on you!”

  Sir Earlin was glaring at Zeezle with his hand gripping white-knuckled on his sword hilt. A threat to the Prince of Parydon, even the subtly suggested one that had been spoken, was enough for him to bloody his steel over. Only Prince Russet’s hand, forcing his arm still, had kept the knight’s blade from sliding free of its sheath. None of this was lost on Zeezle, but it didn’t seem to faze or frighten him in the least.

  “Vanx is most likely tossing tearblooms to Nepton to honor his Da.” Zeezle pulled a chair away from another table, one that was occupied by a pair of ancient-looking seamen. Neither of them met Zeezle’s hard, ochre eyes. He sat in the chair backward, his long legs splayed wide around its back as he faced them.

  “That or he’s in the Shrine Garden. I doubt very seriously he’s trudging up the road to his ghostly hut in Malic. It’s about as boring a place as ever existed.”

  “You must be Zeezle Croyle?” Trevin ventured. The sparkly glittering of Zeezle’s gaudy jacket was distracting. It was hard not to stare at the fascinating prismatic sensation it created.

  “You’re the loyal one, and you?” Zeezle indicated Trevin and then Darbon, with a nod of his head. His voice broke the trance into which his wardrobe had drawn them. “You spoke up for Vanx. So it’s the two of you I’ll ask why I was sent for.” Zeezle looked over his shoulder as if suddenly remembering something. He motioned for a young preteen boy who had been peeking in the doorway to come over. “You,” Zeezle spoke to Prince Russet with only a slight smirk for Sir Earlin on his face. “You owe this boy some coins, I think.” Then dismissing the Crown Prince as if he were a beggar, Zeezle Croyle returned his gaze to Trevin and waited for an answer.

  In the Shrine Garden, Vanx sought a state of peace and called out to the Goddess. The tears he cried earlier, after tossing the wreath into the sea, had dried on his cheeks and he could still feel them there. He was pleased to hear the sound of the crickets brushing through the grass, and the faint ruffle of a nearby owl’s feathers rustling as it preened itself with its beak. The numbing of his senses that occurred while he’d been at sea was gone. When he looked into the sky he found that he could still see the love of his mother’s eyes twinkling in the faint stars. The scent of each particular bloom in the Shrine Garden found his nose, and he was so reassured by his emotions that he found he didn’t need to seek advice or ask the Goddess for direction.

  He was following his heart, and she had already blessed him with plenty.

  It’d be wiser to jump ship

  than to pull him from the helm.

  A witch’s get, he knows the deep

  don’t cross Captain Saint Elm.

  – Saint Elm’s Deep

  The voyage to Dragon Isle passed swiftly. Captain Willington used a variation of the wind summoning spell that Vanx had used to blow away Coll’s poisonous fog, and kept their sails full the entire way. When Vanx asked him about the added potency his casting blew forth, the captain somberly chuckled. “A day of a captain’s life is worth thrice, if not more, than a day of a regular man’s, but a few days off the end of either is worth far less than a day of a young girl’s life every time.”

  Vanx spent the morning of the first day of the voyage reminiscing with Zeezle, but after a few hours of exchanging stories, they ran out of things to say. Thirty-plus years of familiarity rendered normal conversation unnecessary. The two of them had been close friends growing up, and became even closer after Zeezle’s brother, Dorlan, had been killed.

  Zeezle did get interested when Vanx began the tale of how he ended up in his present dilemma. Vanx switched from Azaryth to the Parydon trade tongue that he had been using for the past two years because Trevin, Darbon, Prince Russet, and a good third of the Sea Hawk’s crew, including Captain Willie, had eased within ear shot. By then all of them had heard the rumors of Vanx’s relationship with Duchess Gallarain and how Duke Martin had tried to have him killed, but only Trevin and Darbon had heard the story firsthand. When Vanx was finished, Zeezle went into the story he’d been telling everyone about how he had killed the young blue dragon whose scales he now wore as a jacket. It was an exaggeration, Vanx knew. Zeezle had just told him the truth, that the young blue had gotten wounded in a scrap with a fire breather and had crashed into the rocks. Zeezle had killed the beast—at least that part of the story was true—but out of mercy and with no resistance whatsoever. Zeezle had also told Vanx that he knew where they would find the dragon they were after.

  That was good to hear; the bad part was that it would take most of the time they had before the first moon of Aur to get to the location. They would have to traverse a swampy section of jungle, and then climb a rocky ridge where every nook, cranny, and cave was either home to a dragon or one of the various beasts upon which the great wyrms fed. The valley beyond that ridge was where they would find their great fire wyrm. One end of it, Zeezle said, was open and rank, devoid of all but the hardiest of plant life. Half-digested skeletons of devil-horned ram, the partially crunched exoskeletons of huge basal beetles, and the indigestible scales of a plethora of sea creatures who swam too close to the surface decorated the decaying piles there. Some of the dung heaps were as big as cottages. Zeezle had said, “For at the other end of the valley lay the hole from which mighty Pyra crawls from her lair to do her business every other day or so.” Zeezle hadn’t gone into detail about who Pyra was just yet, but Vanx knew that she had to be a formidable dragon and a fire breather by the nickname his friend had given her. Zeezle’s voice betrayed the respect and fear he held for the wyrm, too.

  It was later that night, the night before they dropped anchor, that Zeezle, in the prince’s overcrowded cabin, told them all about Pyra and her valley.

  “She’s the queen of the island,” Zeezle said. “A hundred strides from tip to tail at the very least, with a wingspan as big as her attitude.” Zeezle held his arms out wide to demonstrate. “All the dragons use the valley to defecate… the sizable ones, anyway. It’s something to do with the scent of the waste. That’s where we will have a chance to bleed her. Pyra, though, is the only one whose lair opens on the place. None of the other dragons will dare feed in her territory, but they drop their scent there, especially the males, each with hopes of catching her attention with the strength of their stench.” Zeezle caught Vanx’s eyes and laughed nonchalantly, but Vanx knew by the look that his friend wasn’t exaggerating this time. He was speaking the truth.

  “Once we’re in the valley we shouldn’t have to worry about being attacked so much,” Zeezle continued. “But let me tell ya, between the beach and the valley we might face half a dozen beasts, from limb lizards to hornets the size of cucumbers, to spiders and possibly even a tree orc or two.” Zeezle stopped to let that all sink in and nodded approval at the silent intensity on the faces before him. “I’ve made the trek twice now and I know the way, but I was alone, and it’s easier to stay hidden when you’re…,” he looked at Vanx again, “…well, when you’re Zythian and alone.”

  “We can be quiet,” Sir Earlin said, showing only a slight bit of his unease, and maybe a sliver of dislike for the Zythian.

  Zeezle chuckled openly at that, causing the knight’s face to bloom brightly. “I assure you, sir, in your full armor you couldn’t stand still and remain quiet to my Zythian ears, and a dragon hears far better than I do.”

  Sir Earlin started to reply but Prince Russet stopped him with an upraised hand. “He’s right, Sir Earlin,” the prince said, nodding. “Listen to him and try to keep personal feelings out of this. It’s not about you or the uncanny abilities of our friends from the Isle of Zyth. This is about saving Gallarael and nothing else.”

  “Yes, Highness,” Sir Earlin said, dropping his chin, somewhat stone-faced. “I apologize, Sir Dragon Bait. Ple
ase continue.”

  “It might be better if I go to Pyra’s valley alone,” Zeezle said after a pause. “I can get in and out and save you all a lot of trouble.”

  “If we weren’t so pressed for time, Zee, I would agree. But suppose something happened to you?” Vanx asked. “None of us know the way. We’d lose the edge your knowledge gives us.”

  Sir Earlin raised a hand, hoping to speak again, but didn’t open his mouth until Prince Russet gave him a nod. “We’ve got battalions worth of weapons and gear and the six of us and as many more of the ship’s crew to go ashore. We have armor, crossbow bolts tipped in poison, and blades. I don’t see how…”

  The shaking of Zeezle’s golden hair stopped the knight mid-sentence.

  “No, Sir Earlin, you don’t see,” Zeezle said, trying hard not to provoke the man again. “If we are set upon by a dragon, one, a young blue for instance, a beast no longer than ten paces tip to tail… if that happens, maybe two of our well-armed dozen might survive, and those two would be myself and Vanx, because of our extraordinary senses.”

  “Surely a dozen men can kill a thirty-foot dragon,” Trevin spoke up.

  “The black ones spew corrosive saliva that would eat through your steel armor, and then your flesh, before you could take aim at the beast,” the Zythian told them, his wild eyes almost luminous in the dim cabin. “The blue wyrms spit lightning, and the green species blast at you with a hot, steamy fog that’ll drop you dead in your tracks. The red-scaled beasts, such as the one we are after, will char you to ash as they fly by overhead. You’ll die before you know they are even there.”

  Darbon shuddered at that, remembering the ashy form of the ogre he had fallen into back in the Wildwood. He then came out with a chuckle. “Sort of makes the Wildwood seem like an orchard.”

  “It does,” Vanx sniggered back. There was no real humor in their laughs though, only tension and concern.

  “The dragons can fly, sir,” Zeezle went on, stressing his point to the knight. “One moment you are trudging along trying to keep your feet from sticking in the swampy muck; the next, three men behind you are nothing but half-formed puddles of muck. You don’t often hear them coming. You’re the field mouse on this island full of hawks and falcons, and the birds here breathe fire, poison, and vaporized lightning.”

  Sir Earlin was quiet for a beat, his expression neutral. Then he gave a slight respectful nod of understanding toward Zeezle.

  “I’m sorry, my prince, but I must invoke Liege Law on this venture,” the knight said. “My oath is to the king of the realm and it is to protect you at all costs. You’ll not set foot on Dragon Isle.”

  Prince Russet’s eyes grew large and he started to protest, but Sir Earlin set his jaw and shook his head in a way that brooked no argument.

  “It’s better this way,” Vanx said. “Zee can scribe up a map. He and I can go after the remedy, and if something happens and we don’t return, another attempt can be made.”

  “I’m going, Vanx.” Trevin stood and nearly split his skull on the cabin’s low ceiling. The knock to his head seemed to only sharpen his resolve. “You’ll have to kill me to stop me!”

  “You’ll need a good archer, and Trevin’s sword, if we run into orcs, or them spider-eating snakes he told us of,” Darbon added. “And if something happens to one of us out there, the rest of us can continue on.”

  “Sir Earlin will accompany you,” Prince Russet said in a voice that showed his disappointment, and something else that was a little more than heartfelt. “There’s something that Quazar didn’t tell Trevin because of his relationship with Gallarael. I…”

  “What is it?” Trevin snapped.

  “Mind your tongue when addressing the prince of the realm,” Sir Earlin scolded.

  “No, it’s all right,” the prince said. “He loves her and I understand. She is with child, though. Even if you get the blood and we sail with Nepton’s full blessing behind us, the whole way back, it might not be soon enough to save them.”

  Trevin was as pale as a freshly scrubbed sheet.

  “Quazar also told me that his staying spell barely took and that he couldn’t risk re-casting it for fear that the poison would take her in the time between.” The prince sighed and rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. It wasn’t clear whether it was a move to hide a tear or just to release some of the emotion he was feeling. “She’s barely alive. They’re barely alive, and we’ve one chance to get this right. I suggest that you all listen to the Zythian and then figure out the approach which will yield the absolute best chance of success.”

  Vanx regarded the prince for a long moment. Russet would be a good, if not a great, king one day. It made Vanx feel proud to be half-human, a feeling that he’d never felt before in his whole life.

  “If that’s the case, then the knight may be right,” Zeezle said. “A large, well-armed group could get us to the valley quickly and safely. Once there we can see what challenges the Goddess presents us with and deal with them as they come.”

  The demon’s horde was many

  while the heroes left were few.

  But the wizard and his mighty wyrm

  made the demon pay his due.

  – The Ballad of Orn Spike

  The group watched on in stunned silence as the Sea Hawk pulled her anchor and sped away from the island by way of a powerful magical gust of wind. Dragons had circled at first and then swooped on the ship, but when the summoned wind snapped the sails taut, the winged beasts darted away from her. Their attention quickly returned to the beached longboat and the foot trails pounded into the sand between it and the tree line. One of the dragons, a mid-sized black wyrm, as dark as onyx with a glittery sheen, and a bright pink maw full of dagger-long teeth, landed near the small boat.

  The black dragon strutted on hind legs, with outstretched wings, as it came down. It took three slowing strides and then fell forward on all four of its wicked clawed legs. It folded its wings back and its upraised neck shot forward like a striking snake. At the same time, its long tail extended backward for balance.

  The wyrm was easily forty paces from head to tail, and its elongated form left no doubt as to why earlier generations had nicknamed the creatures wyrms.

  A long, forked tongue flickered forth, tasting the air around the longboat. Vanx was amazed at how pink the tongue was until the creature’s head turned, its gaze following the trail. Its luminous amber eyes met Vanx’s and all his curiosity melted away like a snowball in a forest fire. He only knew one thing in that moment; one emotion overcame him so completely that he nearly lost control of his bodily functions. The fear was so intense that a weaker mind might not have been able to recover from it.

  Dark, vertical slits scanned the tree line and then shiny black lids shot up from the bottom of those narrowed orbs as the dragon blinked. The slits turned to slivers as it found and focused on the group. Its head was wide like a viper’s, but long and snouted like that of a horse. Bony platelets formed brows and cheeks. It had no ears that Vanx could see, but a pair of sharp horns jutted up and back in their place. A few tendrils of thick, ropy hair dangled from its chin like a beard, and a row of sharp, triangular protrusions ran down its spine.

  Vanx felt a sensation akin to that of being in close proximity of working magic. Oddly, it was a clean sort of magic, similar to Quazar’s, all natural and pure. Vanx sniffed, searching for that ozone-like quality that usually accompanied the hair-raising sensation, and regretted it immediately. Apparently, one or more of the men with them had lost control of their bowels. A long, hissing intake of breath from the dragon showed that it smelled the stench, too.

  Before Vanx could even think, the dragon started forward like a scrabbling mongoose. It was fast, as fast as lightning, as it came across the beach. Its body was too big for it to charge all the way into the trees, but that realization didn’t stop a few of the men from pushing away from the trunks they were hiding behind in order to flee. There was a gasping chorus from the men when the dr
agon’s head struck into the forest like a snake. Then came a muffled scream.

  Vanx wanted to look away but couldn’t. The dragon took a step back from the tree line, raised up its long neck, and chugged down a good portion of one of the seamen it had snatched. He couldn’t help but gawk at the steadily shrinking lump that moved down the dragon’s neck toward its body.

  The wyrm leapt forward then like a frisky hound, unfurling its wings as it went. By the second leap it was in the air and a series of deep thumps carried it away from sight. As Vanx watched it go, he shuddered when he realized it was only one of the score of wyrms circling like buzzards in the sky.

  “You’ve my apologies for ever doubting your word, Zeezle,” Sir Earlin said after a long silence. “Never in all my life have I seen a thing of such size and power.”

  “Where’s the other sailor gone?” Zeezle asked Yandi, who was still bear-hugging the trunk of the tree between the beach and him.

  “You didn’t see what happened?” This was from Trevin and in a voice that seemed fairly steady considering what had just taken place.

  “Not that one,” Zeezle said as he peered back into the swampy jungle. “One of them ran past me into the marsh.” For a long moment no one even tried to respond.

  “We’ve no time to waste on absconders,” Trevin said. “What supplies do we have among us?”

  “We have enough food and most of the weapons,” Sir Earlin said from the pile of gear through which he was going. “My good armor and the climbing gear are still on the longboat, though.”