“No, my lord. I want you to go about your business or I will have to report this.”
“You will have to…” Duke Martin’s protest was cut off by the screeching of the steel-hinged door behind him.
“Humbrick, if you go back there I will lock you in and keep you down here until the king arrives.”
Duke Martin knew Duke Elmont’s voice and scrunched his face up in annoyance. “What is going on here, Elly? Am I a common prisoner now?”
“You’ve been a prisoner since you came to Dyntalla, you old fool,” Duke Elmont snapped. “I received a bird from your wife saying, among other things, that you’d gone off to find your daughter, yet you’re here and you haven’t even mentioned her once. Atop that you haven’t bothered to try to comfort her mother by sending a message. Your commander was poisoned and that advisor who follows you around has gone missing. Do you think those facts wouldn’t raise suspicions? By the gods, man, you’re accused of conspiring to murder an entire caravan of innocent people over a single man’s actions. Now I learn that Gallarael was among those travelers. Where is she, Humbrick? Did you find her in the Wildwood? Lady Martin would certainly like to know what has become of her only daughter.”
“It was that slaver!” Humbrick Martin turned, his face flushed bright with rage and indignation. “That fargin slave killed her in the Wildwood. She wouldn’t have even been with the caravan if my horrible wife wasn’t still trying to buy the adulterous bastard’s freedom. As for the bandits who attacked them, I had no part in it. That lovestruck fool Aldine, another of Lady Gallarain’s lovers, did. I think if you round up a few of those hill pirates and put them to question you’ll find that he did.”
Only when Duke Martin realized what Duke Elmont had said about Coll going missing did he try to make his wits force back his anger. A sudden surge of panic was sweeping through him. It was the shock of realization, like an icy wave slamming into fevered flesh. The result confounded him for a beat or two, during which he felt his peer’s pitying gaze cutting through his skull. Finally he managed to speak again.
“What happened to Coll?” he asked. “What have you done with him?”
Duke Elmont shook his head sadly. “You don’t even care about Gallarael, do you? Your own daughter lies half-dead and you don’t even know or care where.”
Only then did it occur to Duke Martin that Gallarael was here. It was a surprise, but what was not surprising to him was that his first inclination was to kill her, too.
In the willow’s shadow
she took my coins away.
But oh what Molly gave me
left a smile upon my face.
– Parydon Cobbles
Vanx remembered impacting the rocks, but after that there was a span of blackness. The next conscious thought was that his back was breaking. He was roughly jerked into the moment by a rising surge of his middle body. It was so hard that it yanked his feet and head downward. He opened his eyes and at first thought that maybe Zeezle had gotten the rope fixed around him. After another, smoother yank, Vanx realized that the sparkling blue scales he saw above him were not from Zeezle’s jacket. These scales were stretched over the body of a living dragon, a dragon that had him clutched tightly in a single claw.
A moment later Vanx was tossed onto a rough, rocky floor where he rolled forward up against the long-decayed carcass of some beast. The dragon was right there between him and the small cavern’s opening, but the creature paid him no attention. On the ground before the huge wyrm was a crunched devil goat and the slight remains of a large dog that might have been brown and black before it had been stripped of its meaty sections and soaked in its own blood.
The dragon moved sluggishly as it tore loose an arm-sized strip of meat from the devil goat. It chewed slowly, letting the noxious fumes of its crackling breath saturate the morsel.
Vanx knew where he was now. His senses were slowly coming back to him. He was in the feeding niche he’d seen earlier when his companions had lowered him down. He was relieved that he didn’t see any human remains, though the bulk of the dragon’s body could be concealing some from his eyes.
Vanx froze in place, hoping the beast would keep to its current meal and leave him alone. At first the dragon seemed to hold him with its narrow, dagger-like pupils, but slowly, like a leaf flittering to the ground from a high branch, its upper lids slid down to meet the upraising lower ones. The dragon caught itself before slumber completely overtook it. It snorted out a crackling yellow spew as it jerked its head back toward the meal it had been eating. Vanx didn’t dare move. Even his breathing was slowed to an imperceptible exchange of good air for bad. The dragon started to take another bite of the devil goat, but didn’t quite make it. Its movements had become lethargic, as if it were trapped in honey, or molasses. Ever so slowly its head drooped to the floor, and this time when its eyes closed they stayed that way. By the time Vanx could force his fingers to move over his throbbing body to check himself for injuries, the beast was snoring in a long, rhythmic rumble.
The sky beyond the dragon’s bulky form, what little of it Vanx could see, hadn’t darkened all that much. However long he had been out of it, it hadn’t been long enough for the sun to disappear from the sky. The idea that he’d been unconscious for more than a whole day caused him to worry, but only until he glanced around again and took in all the carcasses. Seeing them assured him that this was the same day.
He found several tender spots along his hips and ribs, and the section of his spine between the shoulder blades felt as though there was a hot steel pressed against it, but otherwise he was intact. No major gashes, no broken limbs.
Using his keen Zythian vision, he searched the area of the cavern between him and the opening. Not only did he see nothing that might help, but he saw that he couldn’t get past the dragon without it awaking. It was just too big and the opening too small.
Slowly, so as to avoid disturbing the huge monster’s slumber, he rolled over and faced the other way. Old hides and the skeletal remains of something that might have once been a sizable beast were there, blocking his view. As quietly as he could, he scooted past them. To his surprise, the cavern extended back a good distance, growing shorter and narrower as it went. Vanx’s first thought was that if he could wedge himself into the slight crack the rock eventually formed then he might be able to outlast the dragon’s patience. It was a good thought, but an impractical one. The dragon’s sinuous neck could probably reach back there and snatch him up any time it wanted to.
Vanx’s spine was still throbbing in fiery protest as he eased his way back to explore the few dark places his vision couldn’t penetrate. A gust of hot air brushed across his face so suddenly that he thought it was the breath of another dragon for a heartbeat. Feeling it before seeing it sent a chill through his body that only served to aggravate the fiery rage burning between his shoulders. This airflow was a constant stream, not dragon breath. The shaft that was venting the air angled outward and away at a slightly skewed angle to the cliff face behind him. The hard edges and the jagged rocks that should have been sharp here were worn smooth, as if the passage had been well used. The fact that the bottom was relatively flat, and that it was shaped like a rough corridor, gave Vanx hope.
He had to crawl at first, but after a dozen feet the shaft opened a little. It wasn’t very tall, though. Vanx fought the urge to scream out about the aches and pains that assailed him as he stood. Silence won the battle, but barely. He found it next to impossible to travel the tunnel, for a tunnel is what he deemed the passage to be now. His agonizing spine wouldn’t let him stoop over, so he had to lay his head to the side. The position he was moving in reminded him of the child’s game “Duck Hop” that he had played in his youth. He hadn’t liked the squatting motion then, and liked it even less now.
The passage eventually spread into a cavernous area that seemed like a giant monster’s maw with all its pointed teeth intact. A few of the man-sized formations rising and falling had met in the middle to for
m actual columns. Vanx noted that the bone-white stone from which they were formed gave off a soft green glow. The steady plop of several drips reverberated around the vast area and formed a tattoo that lulled and then surged in turn. Vanx wondered how many similarly fantastical places existed on the island.
He explored the space. There was a continuation of the tunnel that was easy to spot. The path between where he entered the cavern and the opening were worn smooth, where the rest of the floor was pocked and spattered with mineral deposits.
When he saw a fallen stalactite which had obviously been used as a place to rest, he wondered who had traversed this passage enough to wear it smooth, and why. He understood that the kind of wear he could see in the floor and the obvious handholds he’d seen along the way had to have been formed by countless passings, but by whom? None of the Zythian histories spoke of people living on Dragon Isle, and Zythian history went back thousands and thousands of years. Vanx knew that there were underground-dwelling dwarves. He had met a few of them back in Parydon proper, but those dwarves were part of a troop of tumbling mummers. He had played for some of the little buggers in Highlake before all of this mess was started. The underground kingdoms he knew of were in Harthgar and in the far north. Nothing in the histories mentioned any of them settling in this part of the world.
Vanx sat on the well-worn bench formed of the fallen formation. His body ached, and his back was beginning to feel as if it were broken. He needed to rest and gather his wits. Maybe when he was recuperated the dragon would be gone. Then he could find a way down the cliff face and wait for his friends with the sailors at the beach. If not, he could explore this passage. Maybe it led somewhere. At the moment, though, his body was throbbing and aching and all he wanted to do was lie back and rest.
As he slipped away, the idea started to form in his head that his sudden drowsiness was caused by something in the venting air; then he heard a sound that let him know he wasn’t alone in the cavern. He could do nothing about these things, though, because unconsciousness was already overtaking him.
The king saw the wizard and the wizard looked tired
“You might be a king, but you’re not so admired.”
“True,” said the king. “But that is why you’ve come.”
“They’ll love me by your magic, or I’ll feed you to my wyrm.”
– The Weary Wizard
“How much farther?” Trevin asked in a soft, breathless whisper. “The moon is coming up as we speak.” He pointed toward the east where the faint silvery eye of Aur was gaining form a handbreadth above the deep blue horizon.
“We will be atop the ridge before it’s over our heads,” answered Zeezle. “But we have to keep moving. We’re running out of dusk light. Soon Aur’s glow will be enough to make us look like a meal.”
“Will they be all right there?” Trevin asked as he started back up the steep, narrow ledge behind the Zythian. The “they” he was referring to was Yandi and Darbon. The seaman had volunteered to stay behind and watch over the injured boy.
Darbon had tried to keep up at first. It was a noble effort, but the blow to his head affected his balance to the point where he was a danger to himself and the others. Yandi had been happy to stay with him in the small crevice they chose. Zeezle and Trevin piled up brush and scree in front of the hiding hole before leaving.
Trevin hoped that Zeezle didn’t go the way of Sir Earlin and Vanx. Without the Zythian, he might not ever find Darbon or the skittish seaman ever again.
He reminded himself that Darbon and Yandi could wait until daylight and easily kick away the pile that concealed them. They could make their own way back down to the rowboat. Still, the idea of them being buried, as if they were dead, was unsettling.
Trevin tried to push away the growing sensations of doubt that were taking root in his guts. The thought of not succeeding here, of losing Gallarael because he failed to attain the dragon’s blood, was unbearable. Already it had cost his friend and the prince’s man their lives. He suspected that, even if he succeeded, he might not ever recover from the guilt. This endeavor was exacting a price from his soul that he might not be able to repay. He couldn’t give up hope, though. To do so, as Vanx had put it in telling the story of Sir Earlin’s gruesome death, would cheapen the sacrifice of those who had chosen to come on this quest. The hope for success and the desire to justify the deaths of the others began to take over. Then all thoughts were wiped away as a damp, musty stench hit him full in the face.
By the time Trevin realized what was going on around him, Zeezle was urging him into a crouch. They were at the top of a ridge now. The moon wasn’t quite above them yet, but it was a bright, silvery disk that eclipsed most of the stars in the darkened sky. The sounds of insects and night creatures filled the air, and the occasional low, throaty bellow of some larger animal cut through the cacophony every now and again.
Below them opened a valley. It was long and narrow, but like no valley Trevin had ever seen before. It was rotten, dark, and corrupt, right out of some spooky bard’s tale. To the right, and near the valley’s end, the huge black maw of a cavern could be seen. Four-hundred paces out from the opening there was nothing but what looked to be dark, thorny bushes growing in the blackened soil. The few thin and twisted trees that reached up looked like grasping skeletal hands. Further out, in a vast field of haystack-sized piles of dung, clumps of trees, all stunted and mangled, formed into a foreboding forest that made the Wildwood’s tangle of growth seem like a flower garden.
At the edge of this infected tree line a dragon squatted with its long, snaking tail curled up over its body like a scorpion. The beast was huge, easily the size of Prince Russet’s ship. Its head was held up high, as if it were howling at Aur. With a grunting growl it squeezed out a giant pile of foul muck from it arse.
“Is that Pyra?” Trevin asked in an almost inaudible whisper.
“Pyra is red, and she could bite that dragon in half,” Zeezle returned. “Now be still and quiet or we will end up in the next shit pile.”
Trevin strained his eyes to try to determine the color of the dragon’s scales. They were green, he decided, or maybe a deep shade of blue. It was hard to say because Aur’s light had bathed the valley in a monochrome-tinted hue that made depth and color hard for his meager human eyes to determine.
Trevin tried to imagine a dragon big enough to bite that one in half and only managed to unnerve himself further. The stench of the place had roiled his stomach and he could taste a foul presence inside his mouth. It was disgusting.
The dragon finally finished defecating, and then after scratching at the earth like a haughty cat, it made two leaping strides that carried it into the air. Its wingspan was so vast and its huge, bulky body so wide that at one point it completely eclipsed the light of the moon. After it was gone, Trevin found that he had been holding his breath for way too long.
“Come,” Zeezle whispered and took Trevin by the sleeve, pulling him out of his awe-inspired trance. “We have a steep descent ahead of…” The Zythian froze as a deep, hissing roar came from the cavern mouth below them.
Trevin caught the subtle change in the blackness of the opening, a slight orange flicker, as if a procession of torches was marching somewhere deep in its belly.
“Move,” Zeezle hissed and yanked Trevin in the direction he was already scrabbling.
Trevin followed, moving swiftly on all fours just as the Zythian was. Zeezle led them to a ledge where they could lie flat and peer out over the valley below through the cracks and washouts cut into the rocky surface.
“It’s her,” Zeezle whispered excitedly. “Be very quiet, she can…” His words were cut off again, this time by another, closer hiss. The orange glow that accompanied the bone-chilling sound was bright enough to throw the shadow of the lip back over them for a heartbeat or two. Trevin had to fight his instinct to get up and flee to the far side of the ridge.
“She can hear a mouse’s heartbeat and smell a fish’s fart,” Zeezle said w
ith a wide-eyed, almost manic-looking grin on his face. “We all fear dragons and giants and trolls. Those beasts, however, fear Pyra.” He glanced down at the valley and put a finger to his lips. “The bitch is coming out, so be perfectly still. Hopefully she will pay us no heed.”
The only problem Trevin found with being perfectly still was the fact that he was trembling all over. He could smell the fear on himself, which was amazing considering the foul aroma of the valley below. He just knew Pyra would smell it, too. He hoped the stench of this place would mask his presence, but if she could hear a mouse’s heartbeat then his heart would sound like a pounding drum to her.
Another gout of flame erupted from the cavern mouth, accompanied by an earth-shaking roar. He saw her then, just her head, but it was enough to make him glad he relieved himself earlier, for if he hadn’t he would have soiled his britches.
The dragon’s cavernous nostrils, at the end of her snout, were the size of gate portals; gray smoke, tinted orange by the light of her flames, trailed up from them like orange-gold ribbons. Huge eyes, glowing like backlit amber moons, blinked into view. The sharp, vertical slits splitting them were as long as a man’s height. Pyra’s horns curved back from gnarled, plated brows like windblown ivory palm trees.
Zeezle hadn’t exaggerated in the least. She could have snapped the other dragon in half with ease.
It was a terrifying, awesome sight, watching her slither out of her hole. Her bulky body seemed too large for the opening, but with her foreclaws she pulled and shimmied her way out anyway. Stone broke away and vegetation was uprooted or crushed as she came. With most of her tail still snaking down the cavern, she stretched her big head up into the sky and spread her wings. She let loose a blast of flames as tall as a castle tower along with a painfully ear-piercing roar.
She was announcing her presence to any and every living thing within a dozen miles of the island, Trevin decided. A few seconds later he slipped into blackness because, again, he had forgotten to breathe.
Dragon Isle (The Legend of Vanx Malic Book 2) Page 7