Zeezle had them easing down a row of gated stalls so narrow that the animals couldn’t fall in heavy seas; there should have been a horse on each side of the center passage, which was wide enough to walk the horses in. Zeezle counted seventeen doors on each side, and his heart sank.
The first few stalls were full of bones; the next few had bones with grisly fly-covered decay on them. The farther they went, the less decayed the remains were, but in no instance was there meat, fur, or even guts to be seen.
Zeezle heard the horse in the farthest stall snort, and then the one next to it made a low whinny.
He started running then. He was so intent on getting Chelda and the Glaive’s healing power to the horses that he ran right past something terrible, and it was two full strides later that it registered in his mind what he’d seen.
He turned just in time to see Chelda jog up and stop. She was far enough back that she looked right into the stall.
Zeezle started to reach out for her, but it wasn’t to be.
A fat, toothy, froggish-looking thing with a deft tongue had already snatched her off her feet. Her back and head hit the wood so hard, she let go of the Glaive of Gladiolus, but oddly, not the hammer.
Chapter Seventeen
Momma never told me there’d be days like this,
when everything’s gone wrong, and it feels so bad inside.
Momma never said nothing about broken hearts or innocent lies.
But oh, my Momma tried. My Momma tried.
The sound of the creature croaking and grunting in anticipation filled the stunned silence. Then the sound of Chelda’s roar drowned out the beast.
Zeezle couldn’t see it, but he heard the deep thumping wallops of Chelda pounding it three times with heavy swings. It must have let go of her. When he reached the stall, Zeezle saw that it had hopped on her, pinning most of her body underneath it. Ronzon stepped in and stabbed the thing. It responded by leaping over him, pushing off of Chelda with violent force.
The creature nearly smashed Zeezle into the opposite wall of the stable deck.
Zeezle managed to avoid being crushed, and he stabbed it twice, but it didn’t look to be slowed by the wounds. It really was a jagged-toothed, giant sea toad. Its skin was dried in places. And black bloody gore was chapped around a terribly wide set of jaws.
It was the dead black eyes that were most chilling. This was a creature in a survival mindset. It would kill them all or die trying. There was no doubt the thing’s size was due to all the free meals it had been enjoying. So content on feeding was the toad, it looked like it had forgotten about the water altogether.
Now it looked like it was going to lurch his way, for Ronzon was on the other side of it. Zeezle started into an acrobatic routine with his sword, one he’d gone through most every day for fifty years. It was sinuous and just hypnotic enough that the massive sea toad watched him. He broke from the rhythm with violent speed and precision, and his blade would have sliced deeply into the creature’s neck had it not turned, just out of harm’s way, and grabbed hold of Ronzon with its tongue.
Ronzon screamed and did the stupidest thing he could do, which was drop his sword. Zeezle saw that the man had a dagger. He chanced a look at Chelda but yelled at the seaman. “Use your dagger! Cut the tongue!”
In that moment, he had to make a decision, for Chelda looked dead, her neck twisted at an impossible angle.
He’d told Ronzon to use his dagger, so he left the man to his fate and reached for the Glaive of Gladiolus. Before he stuck her with the magical elven blade, he straightened her head, for he didn’t want her to heal crooked. He used the tip of the blade to slide her chainmail shirt up and stabbed her pale rib flesh three quick times.
He held his breath and ignored Ronzon’s screams until he saw her cough. Then he kept the Glaive in his left hand and drew his family blade in his right. He ran out of the stall and saw that Ronzon was still alive but being savaged by teeth and saliva as he was pulled into the giant toad’s gullet.
Zeezle took an angle and ran, leaping onto the frame of one of the stall doors. He flipped over the beast and came down, slicing across its eyes.
When Zeezle landed, the toad looked to be choking on its meal.
Zeezle stabbed Ronzon’s leg with the Glaive and wondered if doing so would make the man have to feel the pain of his situation anew.
Zeezle really wanted to cast a spell, but with half of the now violently wiggling seaman inside the beast, he figured it would do more harm than good.
“I like that fucker,” Chelda said, as she pushed by Zeezle and dropped to a knee so her war hammer didn’t hit the beams over head as she brought it down. The sound was felt, as much as heard, and the toad stayed still after the sickening crunch of bone and brain.
Zeezle helped get Ronzon out of the thing and saw that half the healing he’d preformed was already undone. He didn’t hesitate to use the Glaive on him again, and he even tore off his shirt and used it to get the foul digestive fluids off of Ronzon’s head and upper torso.
Only two horses were alive. A third looked to have died in the middle of the battle; it stirred after the Glaive bit its flesh, but it never regained its life. The other two responded better, but they needed real sustenance.
After helping Ronzon to a water barrel and waving the “all clear” to Vanx and Master Ruuk, Zeezle found the feed locker and was glad the stuff was dry and didn’t appear to be infested with anything.
The two horses had to be rationed lest they ate too much. If they did, they might bloat and burst their guts. Chelda stayed right there with them and had no problem butchering the six dead ones into pieces that could be hauled out and thrown overboard.
This disturbed Zeezle, and he saw that it disturbed Vanx, too. She was immune to battle gore, so much so that it was common to her. When they’d been trapped in the cages over the citadel it was brutal, Zeezle, knew. Well, he didn’t know, he decided. He was only in his containment for a moment or two, but Chelda’s face had been covered in blood, as if she’d been eating the other women in her cage, when Zeezle and Kelse had gotten her out of there.
The thought of losing Kelse and Pyra sucked the joy out of being back underway—so much so that he ended up high above them all in the rigging of the Ada Rosamond, just to avoid conversation. For a long time, he watched the heavy rope that connected the two vessels, then he helped Ronzon take down the tattered sails. They were heading toward another storm, and he didn’t want the flapping material to pull the Ada Rosamond off course.
Chapter Eighteen
Momma never told me there’d be days like this,
when everything’s just right, and it feels so good inside.
Momma never said nothing about living large or flying this high.
But oh, my Momma tried. My Momma tried.
Vanx was glad when Zeezle came down. Chelda and Ronzon had recounted the battle with the beast several times now, and Vanx still hadn’t figured out which part of the mess had his friend so upset.
He made sure they shared the first watch, and when they were alone, he asked Zeezle what was the matter.
“Losing the dragons, losing Dorlan, losing that magical feel of flying through the sky.” Zeezle shrugged. “The Paragon Dracus lost the battle, but he destroyed something inside me when he used me to make Kelse shed her tears.”
Zeezle looked at Vanx then, his yellowish Zythian eyes swelling with tears. “A dragon cried for me, Vanx. A dragon died for me.” He turned and strode away, probably wishing there was a lot more room on the Adventurer.
Vanx had no idea what to say, so he said nothing. A dragon had died for him, too. The loss of a dragon was no small emotion to quell. But to have lost a brother to a dragon and then come full circle was no small thing, for there was a time Zeezle wanted to kill them all.
After his brother was killed, Zeezle went to Dragon Isle to kill wyrms, but something changed when he got there. He’d met a dying dragon on a hillside and started studying the great wyrms
. He was their champion, and he’d loved Kelse as dearly as he’d loved his brother.
Vanx stared across the dark cobalt expanse, wondering if they would catch the storm that was looming earlier or if it would blow itself right out of his ship’s way. The night sky was filled with dark clouds that often glowed like gold chased steel, lit from the moon’s light behind them. The sudden bursts of distant lightning reflected across the choppy swells. It was a sight that could only be seen from a ship. And since wearing the silver-dipped, Heart Tree wrist wrap counteracted that old lessening of power that traveling over the sea used to cause, he decided he liked sailing almost as much as riding on dragon back. Well, no, not even close, but it was a similar feeling.
The Adventurer was determined to haul the bigger prize, but Vanx knew they were heading for Dragon Isle, not Orendyn, even though the latter was where his heart wanted him to go and where the others thought they were heading. His mind, on the other hand, had become consumed with the idea of cracking his seed. For that is what he thought the amber jewel he’d gotten from the disappeared island was: a seed.
If it was to be the seed of another Heart Tree, then where would he release its power? Near Saint Elm’s Deep? Or there was that forgotten valley next to the Hoar Witch’s palace. There was also the Wildwood, which he thought might be a perfect location. King Russet Oakarm’s father had made a decree that no man would bother the creatures of the Wildwood when passing through on the new trade road.
He thought about Ptella then. She was a true elmwood nymph. She would know the proper place. Thoughts of her and her magical sexuality were quickly snuffed out by thoughts of Gallarael. The woman he loved. He was trying to get back to Gal, but at every turn there seemed to be something to distract their travels. They were moving at half speed, hauling a huge ship now. It seemed like everything was working against him getting back to see her.
Then two things popped into his mind at the same time, and he put his face in his hands and squeezed the bridge of his nose.
Dragon Isle is where he would break his seed. The island’s reputation would keep everyone away, and it held all the wealth of the world in Pyra’s old lair. It was a place that would suit Gallarael, too, for she could be who, or whatever, she was. She could shift shapes at will and hunt on all fours or with him as a woman. Or womanish, he decided, with a fond memory of making love to her lithe body.
He had to admit, his feelings were not as strong as they had been when he’d thought her dead. Learning she’d survived, but not the baby, made him think she would be needing him, too. He knew she was. He did love her, and for a moment the Adventurer seemed unsure of its course.
“Something wrong?” Castavonti asked, poking his head out from below.
“Nah.” Vanx faked a smile. “I’m just trying to understand her.” All Vanx could do was shrug; he didn’t know if he meant the ship or Gallarael. “It looks like we will miss the storm.”
“It does.” The sea mage nodded. “It is time to change the watch.”
Castavonti rang a bell. A few moments later, a deeper, louder bell sounded from the Ada Rosamond, indicating that either Ronzon or Chelda was awake, and about to climb up into the crow’s nest of the taller ship.
Vanx went to his bunk. His other idea had been that they were close enough to the Heart Tree for him to use the power of the Hoar Witch’s crystal to communicate with the Troika Sven, and maybe even Moonsy, directly.
He cleared his mind, and when the dog joined him in the bunk, he scratched Poops behind the ears for a while. Only after his head was empty of thought did he grasp the crystal and squeeze, reaching for the Heart Tree and the enchanted Nexus formed by its roots.
It wasn’t the fae he saw in his mind’s eye but the stunning form of the Goddess. She was beauty incarnate. She had a perfectly formed figure, breasts the size of melons, with dark cherry nipples and curves that had Vanx as hard as the wooden bunk he was lying on.
She reached out and pulled him close. He expected her kiss as her lips came near, but, teasingly, her mouth went to his ear.
Have you forgotten me? she asked accusingly. Have you so easily forgotten?
Vanx instinctively pushed her away and saw that the Goddess who had allowed his unnatural life to be lived was angry with him. Very angry.
Chapter Nineteen
You never know for whom it is
the death bell tolls.
You have to keep on fighting
and try to keep hold of your soul.
Vanx woke feeling chilled and afraid. He hadn’t thought of his goddess in months. Guilt would have riddled him, but Poops started barking. Immediately after the dog erupted, they heard the bell from the Ada Rosamond ring out violently.
Were they being punished for his insolence?
He felt the Adventurer let go of its tow and start speeding off to the starboard. It was circling back to get behind the Ada Rosamond, so Vanx didn’t dally getting his britches on and climbing back up to the deck.
“What is it?” he asked Sea Mage Castavonti, who looked disheveled, as if he’d been sleeping at his post.
The shrug of response Vanx got told him enough.
“I can send you over,” Master Ruuk offered from the stair. He sounded perturbed at being awakened by the alarm. “I’m not sure letting go of that ship and circling back is the greatest idea. We should just keep going.”
Vanx looked at both men in turn.
“It wasn’t my idea,” Castavonti said, patting the center of the ship’s wheel that was, even now, turning in precise increments on its own.
“Why?” asked Vanx.
“Whatever it is that has alarmed them, is behind them.” The Zythian wizard wiped at the corner of his eyes. “We are heading to intercept it now.”
Vanx submerged himself in Poops’s senses then. The dog was up, sniffing at the rail and looking intently at the other ship in the distance.
“Leviathans,” the dog’s keen ears heard Chelda yell. “Two of them.”
Vanx took in the words and then was assailed by a vision of the Goddess’s face glaring at him. He also sensed that Poops was not just smelling leviathans, but the exact scent of the one that had attacked them before.
You must convince me that you have not lost the true nature of who you are meant to be, Vanx of Malic, the goddess spoke into his mind. She was so beautiful he ached to please her. Knowing he had made her angry made him feel like a betrayer. It was she who had given him life, after all. He was her emerald-eyed champion.
Or at least he used to be.
Battling the Hoar Witch’s rotten evil, and the Paragon Dracus’s nearly insurmountable power had left Vanx jaded. He hadn’t thought about anything other than his selfish desire to get back to Gallarael and forget the rest of the world.
Vanx saw them when the clouds broke and the reflection of the moon on the glossy ever-moving ocean revealed a pair of slight, but wide, wakes.
The Adventurer slowed then and started turning to take up a course beside the creatures, but far enough away that they couldn’t just lunge at the ship.
Vanx supposed if the creatures dove, they could come up underneath either craft, and the Adventurer responded by easing just a little closer to them. Either the two giant sea beasts were unconcerned that they’d been detected, or they were just obliviously following the other vessel, which was slowing now, its momentum lost because it was no longer under tow.
Vanx saw that Chelda and Ronzon were getting a harpoon launcher ready on the open deck of the Ada Rosamond.
“What are we doing?” Master Ruuk asked.
“I’d like to know, too,” Zeezle said, having joined them on deck.
“My goddess is testing me,” Vanx told his friend.
Only Zeezle knew of Vanx’s goddess and that he was supposed to serve as her champion. Zeezle indicated he’d never really understood such a notion, but he hadn’t made fun of Vanx. In fact, Zeezle had confided once that he sometimes wished his life had such a purpose.
; “You’re sure?” Zeezle asked, shooing the sea mage and the Zythian wizard away from the conversation.
“I am.” Vanx gave him a look. “Can you go over there and keep those two from shafting the creatures? I mean, unless it becomes necessary. I’d like to avoid a confrontation here altogether.”
“I can.” Zeezle nodded and then motioned for Master Ruuk to come cast the spell. “What are you going to do?”
Vanx shrugged and pulled off his shirt. Then he took down his britches so that he was in naught but his small clothes.
“Going to scare it off with your sea monster, are you?” Zeezle asked jokingly.
“You are one to talk.” Zeezle had recently been chased across three leagues of turf while completely naked. It was an image Vanx was still trying to shake from his mind. He met Zeezle’s eyes then. “I’m going for a swim.”
He had decided the goddess wouldn’t want him to just kill the two leviathans, so he climbed up onto the rail and balanced there. The Adventurer held herself as steady as the sea would allow.
“He is serious?” Master Ruuk asked.
“He’s one of a kind.” Zeezle shrugged. “Send me over.”
Vanx dove into the water. He then reached for the crystal hanging at his neck and gave the creatures a warning.
Leave us be, Vanx said. Leave us be for your own sake. I can kill you as I please, but that is not what I wish to do.
Chapter Twenty
Some days it is easy.
Some days it is hard.
Some days the luck
just isn’t in the cards.
Saint Elm’s Deep had been boring since Chelda and Vanx had disappeared through the tower. Moonsy spent her time drilling with King Longroot’s personal guard, keeping them sharp and ready for when the baby king eventually grew into his boots.
She missed her Chelda and wondered if she was safe nearly every moment of the day. One afternoon, when a pair of sprites approached her, fluttering around her head like butterflies, she tried to duck away. Then she heard their chirpy message, and her heart flooded with hope.
The Long Journey Home (The Legend of Vanx Malic Book 8) Page 6