Thorn was unconscious and sprawled in a horrific tangle of some scaly thing’s guts, but the Glaive of Gladiolus was still clutched in his white-knuckled grip. Something about the scene grabbed hold of Vanx’s mind, but it was long after he had cradled his four-legged friend’s head in his lap and gone into a fit of sobbing that it manifested into realization.
The damage to the black-scaled creature was impossible. Three steps farther down the stairway, a chunk of bloody gristle and long, stringy tissue connected to a pair of leathery wings. Formless puddles of scaly hide lay around an uncovered torso of raw, pink-glazed musculature. It was as if the creature had been blasted apart. Understanding of what he was actually seeing filled Vanx with hope. He laid Poops’ head back and forced Thorn’s clinched fingers off the hilt of the Glaive.
Vanx said a quick prayer to the Goddess for strength, for if this didn’t work he would have to spend every bit of his remaining energy to heal as many of Poops’ wounds as possible. Afterward he’d be spell-spent and useless for days.
Gently, he prodded Poops with the sharp tip of the Glaive. At once his heart sank, but then he was rewarded with a thunderous jolt that caused him to drop the dagger-sized weapon and nearly stumble down the stairs. When he recovered himself, he was pleased to see his familiar licking curiously at the long, well-closed scars that ran along his underside. The feeling of love and relief that washed over Vanx through the link he and Poops shared was almost enough to make him forget that the lives of both Chelda and Gallarael still hung in the balance. He just had to find a way to keep it from tipping out of control. He wanted to save his two mortal friends, but rid the world of the Hoar Witch and salvage as much of the Saint Elm’s Deep as possible.
The only question was how.
Another jolt from the Glaive as it punctured Thorn’s skin didn’t come as such a surprise, but the wild-eyed look the elf gave him as he sat up and peeled away the ropes of entrails that draped him was almost comedic. Vanx couldn’t find enough mirth to laugh, though.
“Why didn’t it rend apart that crazy cow-man down in the cavern?” the elf asked after Vanx explained what had happened.
“Because the minotaur wasn’t witchborn. It was real.” He’d known that as soon as he had figured out what had happened to the black-scaled beast whose separate parts were strung all about the stairway.
“She’s got Chelda,” Vanx said. “And, as we speak, the Heart Tree is being torn limb from limb, but I think I have an idea.”
A few moments later, Vanx led them all back up to the Hoar Witch’s lookout. A deep and confident masculine voice cut off as they stepped into the room.
“It’s too much, Puck,” the Hoar Witch snapped at the little flipper limbed devil that had been speaking. The thing radiated evil as it stood there dripping on the rim of her pool. “Keep the wench. What is she to me?” Aserica asked. “I’ll just save the last deed you own me for a few hundred years and let you think about it.”
A growl that could have come from a mammoth rumbled from the little thing. It’s deep voice grated when it replied.
“You won’t live forever, witch. The dark one has tolerated you too long already.”
The devil turned its head toward Vanx and its wide mouth split into an annoying grin. Both Poops and Thorn took a step back.
“You may be right, Aserica,” the slimy creature continued. “Let’s hold off on that last bargain, for if this young warlock manages to have his way, I will be free of you and still have the girl. He is the one who wants her so. I can see it in his eyes. You don’t even know who she is. If I can’t have my freedom, and the Tokaton for her, I’ll keep her and wait you out. She’s even more valuable than that old gem is.”
Pwca’s grin wavered, and his tiny, pinhead eyes seemed to reach into Vanx’s skull and command his complete focus on the image his next words evoked.
“She could easily be used to fantastic effect.”
Vanx saw in his mind’s eye the entire Parydonian host marching behind Gallarael’s father and his powerful order of wizards. King Oakarm would most likely end up submitting to the devil’s will to save Gallarael, but only after he ground his army away in an unwinnable battle.
The slimy little devil couldn’t be allowed such an opportunity.
Vanx understood that Pwca was only fueling his desire to kill Aserica Rime, but now he knew that if he did, he would have to make a deal with the devil to save Gallarael, and that sort of consorting with the powers of the dark was exactly what his Goddess had warned him about. When he glanced at the confused—and now raging—Hoar Witch, the little tadpole devil made a mock imitation of the Hoar Witch’s cackle, plopped into the pool and was gone.
Chapter Twenty
On an old barrel keg,
in the shade I sat.
With my pint of watered ale,
and that skinny old cat.
– Parydon Cobbles
The fact that the Hoar Witch hadn’t made her deal with Pwca put a damper on Vanx’s simple plan. He’d hoped to get both Chelda and Gallarael together, and under the guard of the wolfen pack before he made his move. He didn’t want to deal with the devil at all, but it seemed he wouldn’t have a choice. His signal for Thorn and Poops to act had been set already and he could imagine no way to immediately change the plan.
As if she was reading his mind, the Hoar Witch indicated one of the two oval, beveled mirrors that hung on the wall adjacent to each other. The faintest trace of a dockside scene appeared deep in one of them, but it was the other one she was pointing at now. “That mirror will let you see the possible futures that await this land if Pwca gets control of the Tokaton.”
He still didn’t know if she knew who Gallarael was, and he gave her nothing but a jaw-clenched glare of fury and unease. Reluctantly, he moved to stand before the mirror. The Hoar Witch spoke a few words of witchy portent and made a quick gesture with her hand. Vanx was close enough to kill her, but once again the images she set to life captured his attention. A whirl of blurred motion assaulted his senses, but it all played out in his mind at a comprehensible pace.
Pwca took the fist-sized gem, which Vanx assumed was the Tokaton, and hurried back into the upper planes of hell with it. From there he worked all sorts of evil mischief, but that wasn’t what Aserica Rime wanted him to see. Ships came to Oryndyn loaded, not with precious wood and trade items, but with platoons of Trigon soldiers, all bearing blue-glowing, spell-forged blades. They cut through the good folk of the frozen city like scythes through wheat, and then split off into smaller groups to run down the Skmoe clans and gargan trading caravans. More ships came, and soon they were turning their aggressive affections to Parydon and eventually Zyth.
“See, my little warlock,” Aserica said, with rejuvenated confidence in her tone. “Try again. This time imagine you didn’t kill me and I made the exchange with Pwca for the changeling girl.”
Vanx did so, and saw that ultimately, the results were the same, save that he saw himself wielding great witchborn power against the Trigon forces, but only to keep Saint Elm’s Deep safe from them.
With an eyebrow raised in prospective intrigue, Vanx turned to her. “In this future you teach me your powers, not kill me.”
“Some of my powers, Vanxy.” A hopeful light flickered in her eyes. “It would take a few hundred years to teach you all of it.”
“And what of the fae?”
“Look,” she prompted.
In that future the Heart Tree didn’t die, but took on a dark, gnarled form. Its leaves turned such a deep red that they almost appeared to be black. The fairy folk were there, but there was little joy in them. Their lives were being lived out in service to the Heart Tree’s needs, which looked to be many. The once protective and glorious vigor it exuded was gone and only the raw, tainted power it fed to the Hoar Witch remained.
“Why would one such as you concern yourself with the wellbeing of a mere human barbarian and the changeling? They will pass before your eyes and you will live on as if t
hey never existed.” As she spoke she moved back to the pool, but before she gave the image showing on its surface her attention, she invited Vanx to continue his questioning of futures, for she knew there were none that would satisfy all of his hopes.
Either he or one of the girls would die if they didn’t give the Tokaton to Pwca, and even if they did, the Trigon would return to reclaim its foothold on the continent just to sustain its ever-growing consumption.
Vanx decided to imagine a future where he killed the Hoar Witch but didn’t give Pwca the Tokaton in exchange for Gallarael.
First he was hopeful because the Trigon didn’t come racing across the sea to spill blood by the bucket. But then Parydonian ships sailed, led by the king’s own vessel. They took the war to the Trigon and thousands upon thousands of lives were lost on the continent of Harthgar, where the Trigon’s hold was strongest.
Vanx tried again and again. In the depths of all of these visions, a ghoulish, empty-eyed form seemed to loom over it all. The dark one. Vanx sensed that this malignant entity was pleased, for in every future he could conceive, war and suffering prevailed.
There was a possibility out there that wouldn’t suit evil–there had to be–but Vanx couldn’t figure out what it was. He noticed that the Hoar Witch was busy now, studying what she saw in her reflecting pool. And now she clenched the crystal at her neck and appeared to be barking commands under her breath. He knew that if he was going to kill her, the time to do it was right now.
Follow your heart, Vanx. That’s all you can ever do. Vanx heard the goddess’s voice echoing in his mind. A reassuring surge up his spine affirmed the thought, and though it pained him deeply to do what his heart told him to do, that is what he did.
The sound of Vanx’s sword ringing as it clattered to the floor drew the Hoar Witch’s attention from her pool.
“Will you teach me all of it?”
He fell to his knees and pleaded.
“I want to have the power to bind and create beasts and control them. I want to live for thousands of years, Grandmother. I want – I want to serve–”
Aserica Rime stepped closer, her eyes wide and hopeful. She began to cackle softly with delight.
“I want to serve you, Grandmother.” He looked up and met her eyes. “I want to serve you.”
“You do?” she looked at him and he felt her probing him. He nodded and she smiled.
“I want to serve you to that giant fargin thing down in your dungeon and watch you squirm.”
The Hoar Witch’s mirth choked off as his words sank in. Her eyes locked on his hand. Vanx saw Poops and Thorn creeping out from the shadows. The dropping of his sword had been the signal. He was reaching for the weapon now and she began mouthing the words to a spell as she followed his hand with her eyes. He latched onto the hilt and tried to bring the blade up and around, but he wasn’t fast enough.
Luckily Thorn and Poops were ready.
The elf leapt to the top of the pool’s retaining wall and Poops cut around it. Thorn leapt again and came flying through the air, only to land on the Hoar Witch’s back. He wrapped his free hand in her hair and slid the Glaive of Gladiolus swiftly across the back of her neck.
Poops latched his teeth into her buttocks at the same time and yanked her sharply backward. This caused the blast of frosty blue ice that shot out of her fingers toward Vanx to go high and shatter the mirror he had just been standing before. She landed hard on her arse with her legs extended. Poops had barely managed to get himself clear of the impact and was now tugging at one of her hands so she couldn’t use it to gesture a spell.
Vanx rolled away as soon as he saw that Thorn had done what he needed to do, then brought his sword down across the Hoar Witch’s ankles. Steel sliced through flesh and bone and gave him a jarring jolt when it hit the stone floor.
Thorn grasped the leather cord holding Aserica Rime’s crystal. She was clutching it with her free hand and speaking as quickly as she could. The tug of war ended when the pool in the middle of the room geysered upward and soaked them all in the foul-smelling liquid.
A giant serpent came up out of the hole and immediately snapped out at Thorn.
Vanx was shocked. The creature was missing an eye, and Vanx discerned that it was the same beast that threw Gallarael off of the ledge. His plan had been to get the crystal and take control of the Hoar Witch’s beasts, but now the shard was sliding across the floor.
Thorn called out in pain. Poops ran, leapt up on the pool’s retaining wall and launched himself at the snake. His attack was perfectly executed save for he couldn’t get anything in his teeth and simply fell away.
Vanx rolled and came up into a crouch. He had to duck and roll again to avoid the twisting, writhing snake as it came around. It was shaking the elf in its jaws like a terrier might shake a rat. Then he saw that the Hoar Witch was reaching for the crystal and charged that way. He didn’t think twice when he brought his sword down across her wrist. Again his blade cleaved clean through.
He had to duck the snake again, but this time he stabbed it three quick times and then grabbed the crystal from the floor. He hoped he wasn’t too late as he squeezed the shard and urged it to flee.
For a few long moments the serpent went still, then it reluctantly, obeyed, dropping Thorn to the floor and sliding back down into the pool.
Vanx took a breath then, and sent out a command to his familiar.
Poops trotted over, picked up the Hoar Witch’s still clasping and unclasping hand, and carried it to the reflecting pool. He put his forepaws up on the low stone wall, and dropped the hand into it. Vanx hurried over to look at the image. He was so delighted at what he saw that he began to laugh.
“Why didn’t you run her through like we planned?” Thorn asked from where he’d landed. He handed his sword to Vanx hilt first. Vanx took it and jabbed the elf in the leg, and tried not to let the powerful jolt unsettle him. Poops returned and dropped one of Aserica Rime’s severed feet into the liquid, too. Vanx gave Thorn his sword back and watched as it fell tumbling into the Shadowmane to land amongst the Hoar Witch’s wolf pack and the giant writhing snake that had just come down over them.
“Give her the Glaive,” Vanx said over Aserica Rime’s howling pain. “Stick her good and let’s see what happens.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yup,” Vanx said with confidence, but picked up her other booted foot and dropped it into the pool just to be sure. He then wrapped his fist tightly around the crystal and ordered the beasts to vacate the Heart Tree immediately.
There was a deep, static pop when Thorn jabbed the Glaive into the Hoar Witch’s skin, and immediately the sound of her anguish subsided. Vanx was slightly surprised that she didn’t explode into horrific pieces at the healing, for he guessed that she’d been using the same binding magic she used on her beasts to keep herself alive all these centuries. It wasn’t the case, but he was pleased with the results. He watched her reach a stubbled forearm to her throat to grab at her crystal with a hand she didn’t yet realize was no longer there. She mouthed the words to a spell as she used her good hand to push herself up onto her feet, but being that the feet were no longer there, she collapsed back to the floor. Panic quickly wiped away the anger that had been blooming in her expression.
A glance in the pool showed Vanx that only Vrooch hadn’t heeded his command. The trollamonks, the shrieking bloodbeaks, and all the other flying and slithering creatures of Aserica’s horde had all disappeared.
Vanx understood that the hulking pack leader was confused by the new voice that was commanding him. Vanx didn’t care. He squeezed the crystal tight in his hand and blasted out the order again, putting all the aggressive force he could muster into the compelling thought.
This time Vrooch yelped and bolted off like a startled cur.
When Vanx was certain that Chelda and the Heart Tree were safe, he dangled the crystal from its cord for Aserica Rime to see.
“You doom the lands to war to save a human wench?” she as
ked incredulously, her voice turning meek. “You’d kill your kin?”
“I would say that ruthlessness runs in the family, Grandmother. But I don’t think that it’s true.” Vanx bent down and gave Poops a loving scratch behind the ears and continued. “I don’t think I’ll kill you, but I’ve got a feeling you’ll wish I had.”
Just then a bone-chilling moo of pain came echoing up from the stairway.
Vanx laughed, the sound of his forced mirth eerily resembling the Hoar Witch’s cackle. “Your minotaur already wishes he was dead.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The choices that we make,
are on what our fate depends.
But of all the things that we decide,
we can’t chose who is are friend.
– A Zythian song
Vanx didn’t enter into a bargain with Pwca hastily. He weighed his options carefully and even prayed to his goddess for guidance.
Follow your heart, was the only reply he ever received, and each time he heard it, it was more in his voice than in hers.
He tried using the other mirror to see forward, but only managed to learn why he had traveled all this way in the first place from the past. Images of his mother and father as friends and lovers at sea and at port brought painful tears of peace and understanding to his soul. He now understood that gleam of pride that flared in his mother’s eyes when she spoke of his father, and why she so fiercely defended her love for what the elders thought was a mere human man. One but had to see the way he looked at her, and she at him, to know that their love was far deeper than the seas upon which they adventured.
Vanx also saw several instances where his mother’s Zythian looks and magic had served to reinforce her reputation as the ship witch. Would-be pirate boarders found their own ships aflame when they came too close, and the wind seemed to always be most favorable for the ship, especially when she stood on its bowsprit and sang.
The Legend of Vanx Malic Books I-IV Bundle: To Kill a Witch Page 63