“Thank you,” Vanx said, not sure what destroying a gemstone could do to help his friends.
Poops allowed the wizard to scratch his ears, and then gave him a lick when he bent down to say goodbye.
This reassured Vanx that the wizard was good at heart, for Poops could tell these things with just a sniff.
“Well, be off, then.” The wizard handed Vanx a full skin that reeked of liquor.
He waved a hand in front of his face, as if to shoo away a distracting memory. “It will be crowded in the citadel, so as soon as you appear, be moving and searching for the equipment house of which I told you. They will ask no questions about those coins in your boot being golden falcons, instead of Trigonminted.”
And with that, he made another slight flinging gesture, and Vanx and Poops went whirling away from the Zwarven underground into a deep-sounding whooosh.
Chapter Ten
I sat upon the edge of the word,
trying to figure it out.
But the sands of time just sifted away,
of that there was no doubt.
Vanx and Poops appeared in a crowd, that was true, but the people were all fixated on a sight above them, so Vanx followed their gazes as he weaved away from those who had just seen them appear.
Poops was disoriented by all the new things he could smell, especially the underlying brimstone scent of the dragon-fired bricks from which most everything was built.
Stay by my side and DO NOT STRAY, Poops, Vanx communicated to his familiar. Not here.
The dog brushed against his side to let him know he was close.
Above, the stunted wyrms carrying the two slime-covered dragons and his friends in their giant nets were just now arriving in the city. Many of the people turned away dejectedly. Others, the ones with that dull blue twinkle in their eyes, kept watching, as if transfixed by the scene.
It wasn’t a jovial place, though the architecture of the citadel and its three towers was wondrously grim. Vanx’s kin, who had traveled here, had detailed the citadel in their accounts. He’d read some of those tales, and even memorized some of the ballads he’d heard, but the words didn’t do the place justice.
Not for the first time in his life, Vanx Malic felt small, but it had taken the enormity of the sea to do such a thing any other time. Now, he and Poops were a long way from home, practically surrounded by the dazed, and Vanx was wondering why he hadn’t gone back to Saint Elm’s Deep, through the tower, and gotten some help.
Because he’ll sense you returning and be waiting, just like before, a voice reminded in the back of his mind.
Three towers, constructed of more charred, dragon-fired blocks, rose up out of a central triangular area. It might have seemed like a massive park, Vanx thought as he wandered about, had there not been three distinct circles of vermin-infested gore-stain on the cobbles. There was one underneath each of the twenty-paces-across circular, iron birdcage-like prisons that cantilevered out of each tower into the air over the center of the space. These dangled a hundred feet off the ground from chains connected to the tips of giant decorative spears.
Vanx imagined that it created a sense of powerlessness among the people. It was a terrible eyesore amid an otherwise clean and visually stimulating place.
Between the circles of excrement and decay, but far enough inward that nothing thrown from above could possibly make it all the way there, rose a central platform. On it was an altar, around which were the skulls and decaying corpses of giants, great lizards, dragons, humans, and even an ogre or two.
The outer edge of the giant triangular bailey was a good distance back from the altar and the cages. It was just far enough away that the disgusting areas could be ignored, and the bulk of the people there did just that as they went about their daily tasks. Between the tower bases along the three walls ran uniform canopies. Under them was a lively three-sided market, where all sorts of hawkers and carters were trying to earn a coin. Despite the distant death cries of something in one of the cages above, and the gore of the altar and under the cages in the distant center, the atmosphere, and the mood of the people here, seemed pleasant.
Out away from the stench, along the market areas, no one looked oppressed or impoverished, as Vanx would have expected. These people, going about their lives, looked happy.
Vanx watched as the stunted wyrms took his friends over the disguised wall that rose up behind the market area like a crenelated cliff face. The top of the wall was lined with a double row of dazed men wearing high quality armor. The canopies kept the people in the market from seeing them when they looked up, for the most part, but Vanx saw, and wondered if that was by design.
Looking around, Vanx decided to equip himself where the wizard suggested. Maybe he could find some answers there, like where they’d just taken his friends, and how fast he could get there.
The shop wasn’t that hard to find. It was in the corner of the triangle, closest to where they’d appeared, and the racks of skins and the barrel of old iron blades sitting out front were nearly impossible to miss. He found the owner and slipped him a gold piece before he even said anything. The man looked at the coin and nodded. He could tell that it was a lot of unexpected money for the shop owner to suddenly have in his hand. Vanx started asking him questions, but the young woman tending the till wouldn’t stop staring at him, which was clearly annoying the man as he tried to respond.
It was a fatherly sort of annoyance, and with a thought, Vanx sent Poops over to keep the lass occupied, while he learned that there were several ways through the wall. The easiest was when the market closed each day and everyone left to go back to their homes. They all lived outside the citadel, beyond what the man called a brick apron. The people all left through one of three gates in the evening, after the tower guards’ evening shift bell tolled.
Learning this made Vanx feel a bit silly. Of course all of those people didn’t sleep inside the triangular market park. In fact, he learned that none of them did.
“There are patrols of dazers.” The girl’s interest in the dog staved off her father’s irritation as he opened up. “They will supposedly kill anything moving about after the gates roll shut at sunset. A few men have been caught after the gates closed, and made it through a night by hiding well. A few others were caught and killed, or thrown into the cages. One man would have slept through the night and been just fine, had his snoring not gotten him found. That one hollered and pleaded and cursed the Trigon for the better part of two weeks before he finally died up there in one of them coops.”
“If you follow the rules, this is a wonderful place,” the girl said.
“If you don’t follow them, there is nothing nice about it.” The man scribbled a crude map on a piece of parchment, his anger over his daughter’s adoration clearly fueling his inner fire. “Here is where they will be unloading the new prisoners, even as we speak.”
The man gave Vanx a look and squeezed the gold coin he’d gotten in his hands. “Follow this line here, and act as if you are supposed to be there, as you pass the gates, and you’ll likely not be stopped, unless the dog draws attention to himself.”
“Thank you,” Vanx shook his hand and then gave the girl a look that made her quiver. “Come on, Sir Poopsalot. We have business to attend. Had we not, we’d gladly stay around and enjoy the company.” The last was said where only the girl could hear him, and purely out of his mock-chivalrous bardic habit. The girl was easily of age, and a beauty. It was tempting. He doubted he could get Gallarael’s death out of his head long enough to pay attention to anything other than the task at hand, though, which might prove impossible. He didn’t want to anger this girl’s father, either, for he may need him, or more equipment, before this was over.
When he made his way along the market wall, he noticed that a few more women were eyeing him. He hoped it didn’t turn out to be a problem. Eventually, he ran his hand atop a sign that had been hanging for some time, and smeared the dusty stuff across his face, then ruffled his hair.
Even this didn’t stop some of the passing women from staring blatantly. But it helped, and Poops thought it was funny when his keen nose identified that the bulk of the soot Vanx had rubbed all over his mug was dried pigeon shit.
Chapter Eleven
If you try to take me on,
you will surely fall.
For I was born of grit and pain,
and I am made of awe.
Zeezle and Chelda were nearly crushed by the bulk of the two dragons when the net was set down and let loose to fall open. All the slippery blue goo actually saved them from it, for they slid out of harm’s way, like fish being dumped from a netter’s haul. Zeezle felt sick, but he wasn’t vomiting. Chelda was, and the stuff was turning her lightly-complected skin an angry shade of pink.
Zeezle stole the moment, while everything seemed still, and cast a pair of spells that went far toward cleansing the stuff from the gargan woman. He hoped he eased her feeling of sickness, too. Chelda did have a Heart Tree clipping wrapped around her left wrist, which made it that much easier to overcome the foul goop. The pixie that had been riding in her hair was dead, and this saddened him. Zeezle knew she’d eventually recover, if they lived that long. But right now, he was just trying to keep her conscious and able to defend herself.
“Do they think us dazed?” she asked, between heaves, her question obviously redundant.
Looking around, Zeezle saw the multitude of blue-eyed foot soldiers closing in. Behind them, there were a few dark, fire-brick structures, and a huge wall that separated the massive city’s outlying sections from the triangular park he’d seen while dangling from the net. Beyond the approaching forces, there were nothing but one and two-story structures, crammed together, as far as his eyes could see.
There were bigger buildings, too, kept separated from the labyrinth of humanity-filled roads and alleyways by guarded walls. These surrounded greener spaces that were most likely the properties of the wealthiest families.
The farther from the park and three towers, the more colorful everything became, but it went on and on, into the horizon.
They’d been dropped in the large, empty span between the wall and the populated area, out in the open, like mice.
They were surrounded. Most of the dazed men, now easing closer, carried the same pitchfork-like weapons with which they’d herded the people of Parydon, but a few had swords that glowed a dull blue, or drawn bows with blue-tipped arrows.
Hovering above them were at least three dozen stunted wyrms with riders that looked to be spellcasters. These were the same ones that had saturated them with the debilitating stuff when they came through the tower portal. Zeezle had to wonder how the Paragon had known just when they were coming through, and he was starting to think Vanx and Poops might be dead, for there'd been no sign of them near the tower.
Between Chelda and him, though, they had enough Heart Tree arrows to take the daze out of about half the ones he could see. Then the earth shook, and he involuntarily dropped to the ground, overcome with terror.
Pyra’s roar was ear-shattering. Many of the dazed turned and ran, and those in the sky were either cooked or backed away just in time to avoid her fiery blast of breath. Oddly, she was aiming her flames at some wounds she’d taken from the net, as much as at any of the enemy’s force.
Kelse wasn’t taking the sickening stuff so easily, and was having a hard time regaining her clawed feet, but Zeezle used the spell the fae had taught him to turn the foul blue stuff into powder. After that, the dragon shook like a dog shedding water, and turned a half circle, blasting those coming up behind them with her misty, green spew. Any of the dazed that breathed the stuff fell dead in their tracks, and several of the Paragon’s pruned dragons dropped from their hover right into the foot soldiers, flopping and flailing as the poisonous dragon breath ended their lives.
Another sound erupted then, a beastly, yet mannish roar. Zeezle saw what Chelda was looking at.
The Paragon Dracus, in some massive semi-human form, pounded his blue chest and then sat in a throne on an elevated platform that Zeezle knew hadn’t been there before.
Zeezle thought that, for such a powerful son of a bitch, his expression looked pained, and he remembered the twenty-pace-long piece of the Paragon’s tail they’d found floating near the Sea Spire.
One, two, and then three smaller, but still very loud, roars returned the Paragon’s animalistic call, and the dazed soldiers around the half-recovered group were suddenly running away.
“What the fargin’ hell are those?” Chelda asked, pointing at two twenty-foot-tall, half-dressed forms. Zeezle’s eyes were drawn to the size of their clubs, and understood why the other dazed had fled.
“Those are Harthgarian hill giants.” Zeezle let out a sigh of frustration. “They look to be dazed.” He turned to see what was coming up behind them, and found a third of the Paragon’s big bashers easing closer to Pyra, while Kelse tried to position herself better.
Getsss low, Kelse said into Zeezle’s mind. Getss her low, too.
Zeezle didn’t wait. He ran the three strides it took to reach Chelda and tackled her. He didn’t even bother to answer her cursing questions; he just put a hand over her eyes and fought her to keep it there.
The green dragon let loose a spell of lightning from her claws. It streaked over the ground, almost all the way to the two giants. Then it forked, a bolt leaping into each of them. The flash of it all caused Zeezle to have to squeeze his eyes shut. When he opened them, the two giants were still coming toward them, but smoldering and a little off-kilter.
“Just tell me to close my eyes next time, Zeezle,” Chelda snapped. “I can barely see a fargin’ thing now.”
“They’re still coming,” he said.
“Oh shit,” was her only response, but then she put her sword between her thighs and rubbed at her eyes, blinking them, over and over again.
Directly behind them, Pyra let loose her fiery breath.
Zeezle didn’t see it, but he felt the intensity of the heat. He also heard the cry of agony that came from the giant, and the grunt of pain that came from Pyra when the giant’s club thumped into her.
He dodged a club the size of a tree trunk himself, and then a foot big enough to cripple him. He heard Pyra speaking to Kelse in the ether, and heard Chelda screaming, too.
I’m going after Vanx, the queen dragon said. I’ve felt his presence.
“Cut its heel cord, fool!” Chelda screamed. “I’ve undazed it.”
Zeezle realized the giant before him wasn’t attacking anymore, and then he saw a Heart Tree arrow sticking from the thing’s thigh. Before it could wander away, he hacked a deep gash just above its heel. It lifted its foot to its hands and hopped. It fell then, and let out a terrible howl as it went.
Yes, go get Vanx, Zeezle told Pyra. He realized that they still had some bit of an edge here. Just like the foot soldiers, the creatures in the sky immediately above them had cleared when Pyra started blasting her flames. We will flee another direction, if we can get away.
We cansss, if you hurrysss. This came from Kelse.
“Get on Kelse’s back, Chelda!” Zeezle yelled, running to do the same. As he went, he cast the shielding spell the Zythian masters and the fae had created, to keep the blue stuff from affecting them. Pyra looked to have done the same. As soon as Zeezle and Chelda were situated, Kelse leapt into the air. The green dragon reached down deep and pumped her wings extra hard to get them flying before the closing soldiers were within range with their arrows. She managed to take them clear and started banking into a climb, but was overcome by some spell or another, which caused her to veer sharply back toward the ground.
Zeezle saw Pyra. Even with the hitch in her wingbeats, she was outflying all of her pursuers. He then leapt, with the big gargan woman wrapped in his arms, and cast a spell that would ease the brunt of their impact.
Zeezle could only hope Pyra had truely sensed Vanx, for he hadn’t, and the ground was coming up at them far faste
r than he’d figured.
Chapter Twelve
All alone in this world of madness,
this heart of stone can feel no sadness.
Vanx could see the commotion in the distance. He and Poops were moving toward it as swiftly as they could, without drawing unwanted attention to themselves. It wasn’t easy. There were a lot of dazed, many just dullard worker bees, but some with uniforms and weapons, who looked more alert. Luckily, they were all drawn to the spectacle, too, and now more of the people were trying to get closer.
Then, one of the shriveled dragons dropped down right in front of them. Poops had to make a hard circle back to regain Vanx’s side. Vanx was already loosing Zwarvy arrows as quickly as he could. They were shorter than he was used to, and the bow smaller, with more pull needed than he’d prefer. He was still accurate, but he didn’t waste the three Heart Tree-tipped arrows he had. Those he was saving for the Paragon’s heart, if it still had one.
He decided he shouldn’t use a spell here, unless he had to. Using his magic would draw more Trigon forces right to the scene.
Beyond his own battle, in the distance, he saw Kelse leap into flight. She was carrying two riders. This filled Vanx with hope. He was forced to dodge the arrow-struck rider’s blast of blue phlegmy stuff, but he managed it. Poops did, too, but now Kelse was falling, and Vanx’s next arrow missed its mark, because he couldn’t draw his eyes away.
The green wyrm and her two riders crashed. Into what, who could say? It was too far away. They hadn’t been moving with much speed, though, so Vanx didn’t lose hope. He rolled to the side, where Poops was about to dart past the dazer in front of them, and came up drawing a shaft.
He loosed it light, but true, and the silver tip barely sunk into the wyrm. Poops barked and darted ahead. Vanx ran cautiously, leaping off of an abandoned cart bed. He jumped up as he passed under the confused, undazed wyrm hovering there, and plucked his silver-tipped arrow back, and kept going.
The Far Side of Creation (The Legend of Vanx Malic Book 7) Page 5