That Frigid Fargin Witch (The Legend of Vanx Malic Book 4)

by M. R. Mathias

  Copyright © 2013 by Michael Robb Mathias Jr.

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1494208407

  ISBN 13: 9781494208400

  I would like to say thank you to Josh Frioux for typing this while I read my longhand scrawl to him, Kristi for the edit, and my awesome crew of proofreaders. I’d also like to say thank you to Anton Kokarev, who has done all of the Vanx Malic covers to date.

  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

  One

  Look far and near, look all around,

  and you might find a fairy mound.

  But if you do, then have a care,

  for there’s many things you must beware.

  – A Zythian song

  “Vanx!” Chelda hissed urgently. “Wake up, Vanx. There’s something on the roof. Poops is out there with it.”

  The last words brought Vanx up and fully alert. They were in a rim rider lodge that sat near the edge of the Lurr Forest and hearing that his dog was outside with something brooked his concern. “What’s happening?” he asked.

  He could hear Poops outside barking insistently but was feeling no urgent warning signs through the link he and his four-legged companion shared.

  Xavian answered for Chelda, for she was peeping through the barely cracked door of the cabin they were holed up in, with an arrow nocked and drawn in her bow.

  “She let him out to do his thing,” the mage said.

  Xavian didn’t look so well. Vanx hoped it was because he’d been casting spells to heal Kegger’s leg and not from some internal wound he took when he slammed into the cliff wall the day before. “There was a scratching sound, like something skittering across the roof. Then Poops went off and hasn’t stopped.”

  Vanx strained his ears and listened while studying the grey-blue quality of the light outside the cabin door. It was too bright to be full night. Had he slept till dawn? The question faded when his keen ears picked up a slow, repetitive wheezing sound coming from above them.

  It was impossible to determine the origin of the strange sound because there was a thick layer of snow and ice caked over the shake roof, not to mention Chelda’s heavy breathing close by and Poops carrying on outside.

  Mentally, Vanx reached for Poops then, for the familial link he’d been sharing with the dog. He’d never done such a thing before, at least not intentionally, but at that moment, it seemed like the perfectly natural thing to do. To his great surprise, he slipped right into the dog’s consciousness. Even more strange was that Poops didn’t seem to be aware of the intrusion. One moment, Vanx was seeing through his own eyes, the next he was in Poops’ head, feeling the dog’s agitation over the thing he had just seen and could still smell and hear. Whatever it was, it was definitely on the cabin’s roof.

  Two separate odors dominated the scent-scape, for this was the sense the dog was relying on most at the moment. One was fresh, coppery blood, and not the blood of the foul wolf-beasts’ carcasses lying out in the trees. The smell was separate. This blood was new—warm even. Besides the blood, the other scent he detected was as out of place as the blood was on a rooftop, but for an entirely different reason. This smell, Vanx recognized from the island home of his youth. Daffodils, or marigolds maybe, but springtime flowers for certain. The smell brought back a mental image of his mother: her long, golden hair windblown, her loving smile and kind amber eyes set in a face smudged with dark, wholesome earth. All around her were her flower gardens, the myriad colored petals—red, pink, yellow, lime, turquoise and blue, all alive—hosting an entire world of their own—a world full of butterflies, bees and intoxicating fragrances.

  Vanx slipped out of the moment of reverie because Poops had stopped barking. Both dog and Zythian looked up at the cabin roof through Poops’ eyes. What they were waiting for, Vanx wasn’t certain, but when a head the size of a grapefruit, hooded in silver fur, popped up over the peak, Vanx only had a fleeting moment to see that the creature’s eyes were as golden as any Zyth’s. They were full of more pain and fear than anything. He wasn’t sure, for Poops started barking and moving around again, startling it away, but he thought it might have been an elf.

  Vanx let himself slide out of Poops’ consciousness. It was as easy as slipping into it had been.

  “Put the bow away, Chelda,” Vanx said. “Stay here. It’s all right. I’ll go out and get him.”

  “Are you sure?” Xavian asked. “It’s not one of those things that did this, is it?” The mage was staring at the scabby pink wound that covered Kegger’s lower leg.

  “No.” Vanx shook his head. He was glad to see that Xavian had indeed been tending to the gargan’s wounds.

  “I think it’s a bit of help that Poops has scared into hiding.”

  As he pulled on his shrew-fur coat, both Chelda and Xavian looked at him curiously, but neither of them questioned him as he went out.

  “Hush,” Vanx told the dog. He had to say it a second time, and in a more commanding tone, for his voice to register through the dog’s irritation. Poops grew excited when he saw Vanx, though, and waggled his rear end. He sent an odd feeling of curious playfulness up Vanx’s spine. Then he barked and pointed his nose at the roof several times. Vanx knew he would have to take the time to learn all of the subtle canine signals and postures that formed his friend’s communication, but he had a good idea of what Poops would be saying, if he could talk.

  The sun’s rays weren’t yet touching any part of the heights, but it had broken the horizon beyond the peaks, and the sky was the color of a bright day at sea. With his keen vision, he could see as plainly as if it were midday.

  “You on the roof,” he called out, in as pleasant a voice as he could manage. “Are you injured? Do you need help?”

  For a long while, there was no response. Then a hesitant little head covered in hair the color of fresh strawberries peeked up to the nose over the roof. The silver-furred hood was pushed back now, revealing elven features.

  “You are him,” it said in a high-pitched, squeaky, yet still masculine voice. The golden eyes went wide and hopeful. Then, a wincing grin split the little man’s face as he rose up. When Vanx didn’t immediately respond, the head inched back down so that only its eyes were peeking over the roof again.

  “You’re him, aren’t ya?” the elf asked again.

  “I am me, yes,” Vanx answered, not sure what the proper response to such a question might be.

  He knew he had a stupid grin on his face, but he couldn’t suppress it if he’d wanted to. He was actually talking to an elf, something only the luckiest of the Zythians ever had a chance to do.

  “Are you injured?” he asked again. “My friend here smells fresh blood.”

  “I’m a bit clawed up,” the elf admitted. “The blood that mighty beast smells is from the witch’s sneak that I killed up on your roof.”

  “What?” Vanx was suddenly alarmed. “The witch’s sneak?”

  “Come around and help me down, th
en.” The little man was growing bolder by the moment. “I’ll show you what I mean.”

  Vanx did so, with an excited Poops right on his heels. He came around to the back of the cabin just in time to see a snow-white, furry thing roll off the roof and half sink into the snow. As he came closer he saw that it was some sort of malformed weasel.

  “She be havin’ eyes everywhere, that evil bitch,” the elf said. He came limping down the slope of the roof, holding his right thigh and grimacing with every step. He looked like some enchanted doll, or a master puppeteer’s marionette come to life, as he eased his two-and-a-half-foot-tall body down the slick grade as carefully as you please. “Just yesterday morn, her great cow-man stormed the tree and took our queen.” He paused a few feet from the eaves, put his hand on his hip, and took a few labored breaths. “Queen Corydalis entrusted some of us with the knowledge of your coming.” He took a few more steps down and sat; letting his little legs dangle from the roof’s edge. “But that was at least two full moons past. We’ve been waiting a long time.”

  “I came as soon as I first started to feel her.” Vanx shook his head. “No, I came once I was ready. Until I saw your queen in a vision last night, I knew not who or what call it was I was following.”

  “You’ve seen her?” The elf’s golden yellow eyes went wide again. “How does she fare?”

  “Not well I’m afraid, if my vision was true.”

  The silver-furred cloak the elf was wearing was stunningly beautiful, and Vanx knew instinctually that the creature it had come from lived its full life before lending this elf its pelt.

  Poops let out an excited bark, causing the elf to cringe. “Call off yon beast,” the elf squeaked.

  Vanx laughed out loud. The elf glared at him but didn’t even try to hide his fear of the dog. “The queen of the fae is in the clutches of the Hoar Witch, and here you are laughing like a loon.” The little elf harrumphed and crossed his arms across his thin chest.

  “Some said she was foolish to believe that a champion would come. Others said that, if you did, you wouldn’t be worthy. I had hoped they were wrong. You humans have never been good for much.”

  “Now listen, you,” Vanx said. “I didn’t have to come here at all, and some of my dearest friends have died along the way. Besides that, I’m only part human, and not a very large part, since my father was quickened in the Hoar Witch’s kettle and birthed from the womb of a fairy. My mother wa—”

  “The ship witch from Zyth,” the elf spoke over him with his tiny little voice. “Queen Corydalis told us all of this, but you look human to me.” He glanced at Poops again. “And, your beast looks mean and hungry.”

  “It’s not some beast; it’s a dog,” Vanx said. “He’s my friend and I suppose he is my familiar. He won’t hurt you. He is just curious. Uh... What’s your name, anyway? Mine is Vanx Saint Elm, and my beast is Sir Poopsalot Maximus.”

  “Foxwise Posy-Thorn, at your service,” the elf said grudgingly. “But only because my queen asked it of me. I see not the salvation of the fae in your emerald eyes.”

  “Well, I never claimed to be the salvation of anything, but I am here now, and I mean to kill that frigid fargin witch, and I guess I could use some help. Her twisted beasts are picking my friends off at will.”

  “Well, one less pair of spying eyes on you won’t hurt your cause.” The elf seemed to be feeling a little better after hearing the conviction in Vanx’s murderous declaration. “My friends call me Thorn.” He shrugged. “I suppose you can, too, for now.” Thorn winced as he rose. “Help me to your fire.”

  “You seem a little more than just scratched,” Vanx said, noticing the thick blood on Thorn’s ratskin—or maybe squirrel—trousers. When Vanx reached up and helped him from the roof, he was amazed at how light Thorn was. He started to pull the elf to his chest like one might handle a child, but Thorn grew angry at the idea of it and began to thrash and wriggle.

  “I’m no lass for you to cuddle, Vanx Saint Elm,” he growled in his high-pitched voice. “I’d rather face Sir Poopsalot in battle than be toted like a child.”

  “I’m sorry, Thorn,” said Vanx. “Honestly, I meant no offense. Here, your leg is hurt, just grab onto his fur and hold on.”

  Before the elf could protest, he was sat astraddle Poops’ back. He looked to need all his focus to hang on as the dog followed Vanx back to the cabin.

  “Just call me Vanx, and call him Poops.”

  Out of curiosity, Vanx chanced a look over at the tree where he thought Darl had last been seen. Nothing seemed any different than it had the night before. “You weren’t up on the roof for the battle with the wolf beasts, were you?” he asked hopefully.

  “I was hiding in the forest when they fled,” said Thorn. “I didn’t want that sneak to know that you were in league with the fae just yet, so I snuck up there and killed it. I just hope there are no other witchy eyes about, or Queen Corydalis might suffer for our collusion.”

  “If my vision of her last night was true,” Vanx sighed, “which I’m certain now that it was. I’m sorry to say, your queen is most likely beyond suffering.”

  “No!” Thorn said. “We would feel it.” He heaved a sigh of his own. “You can never underestimate the Hoar Witch’s ability to make one suffer. She has spent several centuries perfecting the art on us.”

  Thorn spat out his distaste for the evil witch as they found the cabin door. “Just so you’ll have an idea of what you are up against,” Thorn added, “you should know that death is no relief from her tortures.”

  Vanx couldn’t help but shiver when he heard the words.

  Chapter

  Two

  I bought a ring for Molly,

  and asked her for her hand.

  She took the ring and told me,

  for one night you’ll be my man.

  – Parydon Cobbles

  “I understand yon giant is your friend, but there is a witch to capture and a queen to rescue,” Thorn said as he gingerly paced the floor.

  Xavian had cleansed the claw wound on the elf’s thigh but hadn’t had the strength to help its healing along with spells. By the look in Thorn’s eyes, it was clear the slice was tender. Ever since they had cleaned and tied it closed, he’d been pacing in an attempt to keep it from getting stiff. Vanx didn’t envy him and wished that he would sit still, for the squeaking and creaking of tiny boots on the wood floor was maddening.

  After the wide-eyed novelty of Thorn’s size wore off, Chelda had unabashedly stripped down to nothing but a long shirt and curled up by the fire. Xavian sat in a half-lidded daze and watched over Kegger’s unconscious form. He was only half listening, if he was at all.

  “I understand your urgency, Thorn,” Vanx said, “but Chelda and Xavian need rest before either can continue. And we still haven’t figured out what to do with Kegger when we go. He won’t be able to walk.” Vanx threw up his arms in exasperation. “What do you want us to do? Just leave him to fend for himself?”

  “Nay, Vanx. I want the two of us, and the girl, to go save Queen Corydalis.” He spun on his injured leg and nearly crumpled to the floor from the sudden jolt of pain.

  “You’re in need of rest, Thorn. You spent the whole of last night injured and huddled in the cold.”

  “Bah.” Thorn looked about the room in agitation. His luminous yellow eyes lingered on Chelda’s ample, and lightly-covered, bosom for a few moments too long. Then he went over and sat down next to her. He lay back, let his head sink into her breasts and sighed. “If you knew all that I—all that we went through.” He was whispering now in an attempt to keep from waking his living pillows. “If you knew the sacrifices that were made just to get the crystal shard Queen Corydalis needed to send out her beckoning to you, then you’d know that this scratch means very little to me. My own life,” Thorn stifled a yawn and wiggled himself deeper into Chelda’s cleavage, “means very little to me. It’s the tree that must—” He yawned again. “The tree that must be kept.”

  To Vanx’s gr
eat surprise, Chelda giggled in her sleep and gently laid her huge arm across Thorn’s tiny body. Both of them were fast asleep, and the elf looked like a favorite doll a big girl was clutching to her chest.

  For a while, Vanx stayed lost in the overwhelming wonder of it all. He’d been responding to Queen Corydalis’ beckoning all this time, not some blood calling. He could feel a connection, though, not only to the taint of the nearby forest, but to the desperate fae. When Thorn had referred to his emerald eyes, and then later called him their champion, his heart had stopped. Those were the words his Goddess often used when they spoke. He was her emerald-eyed champion. She told him that she’d quickened the improbable seed of his life so that he might only follow his heart, but that’s not what champions did is it? Did they follow their hearts? Vanx was sure that she had a hand in all of this. Hadn’t she warned him about the Hoar Witch’s evil before he left Orendyn?

  He felt the leafy charm at his neck tingle, then. The feeling reassured him, but only until he thought about Gallarael.

  He couldn’t believe Gallarael was dead. How was he going to explain all of this to King Oakarm and Prince Russet, or worse, Duchess Gallarain? Vanx had faced down a dragon and at least a dozen ogres to save Gallarael from the fang-flower venom that had once infected her. Now she lay dead at the bottom of a frozen gulch. The horn-snouted serpent that slung her there would meet its end before this was done, too, Vanx told himself, but why Gallarael?

  It should have been him.

  The Hoar Witch should have been trying to kill him. No, she’d said she had other plans for him. He tried, but couldn’t remember her threats. The image of the violated pixie queen trying to cover her pubis kept coming to him, and thoughts of deep regret over letting Gallarael come along assailed his consciousness. He would have to go retrieve her body before they went on. Beyond avenging her death, it was the least he could do.

  Those thoughts inspired Vanx into action. It was midmorning and everyone, save for him, was sound asleep. Poops was dozing, but Vanx knew the dog would be glad to have something to do for a while.