Dragon Isle (The Legend of Vanx Malic Book 2) Read online

  Vanx knew why Captain Willie bit his tongue. Throughout the years, several of his own folk had assumed that his mother was a sailor’s whore, so the notion wasn’t new to him.

  “She wasn’t,” Vanx said, glad that he could say so without it being a lie. “She met him in Parydon proper and sailed with him on his galley, Foamfollower, at least until I was conceived. It was during my father’s first run from Flotsam to Coldport without her aboard that an icy storm weighed them down and laid her over.” Vanx shrugged and decided that he would take a small amount of time for himself and throw a wreath for his father in his mother’s name. “At least that’s the story I was told.”

  Captain Willie was shocked, for he’d heard of Marin Saint Elm, the captain of the infamous Foamfollower. As he remembered the stories his grandfather told him, he knew the young maverick had kept a young heathen woman aboard with him. They’d called her the ship witch.

  Several of the Foamfollower’s crew, half-frozen and nearly starved, had made it to Coldport in a longboat. They told the harbor master there that Captain Saint Elm could have joined them, but chose to honor those of his crew who had drowned by leading them through Nepton’s deep himself.

  “I forgot how long-lived your folk are,” Captain Willie said after a few moments. “I’ve heard the tale of the Foamfollower and I reckon that makes you a bit older than me. I would have never guessed as much. They say Captain Saint Elm was a true sea mage. My gran said he was born of a witch himself.”

  Just then the Sea Hawk banged into the unforgiving mooring pillar with a deep thump and the captain’s eyes flared with rage.

  “By the fargin barnacles clinging to my arse, you saggy-titted niddies are going to scrub the deck down to the splinters for that. Yandi, Peg, what in the name of…?”

  Vanx grinned as the old sea dog laid into his men. He wanted to hear more of Captain Willie’s tales of his father, but there would be time for that later. The bump of the hull against the pillar must have drawn the attention of Trevin and Darbon, for both of them came poking their heads out of the portal like curious prairie dogs. The prince came up behind the two peeping men and forced them out on the deck. Captain Willie’s curses were still causing the crew members to duck their heads.

  “Well, Vanx,” Prince Russet said with a strange look about him. He seemed uncertain, even a bit angry. “Trevin here has finally told me the rest of it, and we have little time to dally. If he’d spoken sooner I think you’d agree that we shouldn’t have diverted our course.”

  “What do you mean?” Vanx asked.

  “We can only obtain our remedy…” Prince Russet met his eyes and was clearly trying to avoid mentioning to the suspicious crew that they had to take the blood of a fire wyrm. “According to Quazar’s calculations, the stars will align with Aur only three nights from now. We must fill our vial on that night or our prize will not have the potency required to save Gallarael.”

  Trevin started to say something but Prince Russet stopped him with a glare. After a sigh he pinched the bridge of his nose and then went on. “I know you love her, Trevin, and I’m not angry with you. If anything, I’m angry at Quazar for not explaining this before we left Dyntalla. I’m even more angry with Duchess Gallarain and Duke Martin for setting all of this into motion. We are yet two days from Dragon Isle. Had we not stopped we could have been there on the morrow.”

  Vanx blushed with embarrassment for not only had he brought them out of the way, he had a large part in starting this mess, too.

  “Prince Russet,” Captain Willie said in a voice still tinged with anger at his crew. He was on the steerage deck above them now. It was obvious that he was trying hard to speak calmly. “Quazar calculated Aur’s alignment as taken from Dyntalla. I think we will see the stars of Aur in three nights, but on the fourth night we will see them too. Should be that we have two full nights to find our nugget.”

  “The night of Aur is a night for demons,” Darbon ventured. “Isn’t this an omen?”

  Vanx shook his head. He doubted if this quest could seem any more impossible. “So if we leave here now, once we make Dragon Isle we will have what, a full day’s worth of light to find our dragon?”

  Prince Russet gave him a look that told him to limit the details that might scare the crew.

  “We won’t be leaving until the morning tide rolls out, no matter what we wish for,” the captain stated. “There are no poles out in the sea for us to pull toward, and there is about as much chance of a wind catching our sails in here as there is of a member of my crew stepping off this ship this evening.”

  A chorus of muttered curses and groans came from those men who overheard. The captain ignored them. “But if it’ll make you feel better, I can have us anchored off Dragon Isle by the midday bell, day after tomorrow. That will give you a half-day, a night, and another full day on the island before Aur’s stars dance around her, and they’ll dance for a second night and into the day way out here on the curve of the world.”

  “Then I suggest we row our asses to yon dock and climb those stairs.” Prince Russet forced a smile at Vanx, then at Trevin, and then turned. “It’s highly unlikely we will find Vanx’s friend roaming around the Sea Hawk’s deck.”

  Less than half an hour later they stepped out of the Sea Hawk’s longboat onto the planked-wood dock floating at the base of the immense stone stair.

  Captain Willie and Peg went about dealing with the harbor master and payment for their berth while Vanx, Trevin, Darbon, Prince Russet, and a sleepy-eyed Sir Earlin started the long climb up to town. The hungover knight had donned his full suit of plate mail and didn’t mind letting them all, even the prince, know how much effort he was exerting. The others poked fun at him to pass the ascent, but by the time they reached the top, the knight and Vanx were the only two of them who weren’t winded.

  “It’s amazing, Sir Earlin,” Prince Russet said between deep breaths. “Remind me to commend your trainers… on your supreme… conditioning… when we return… return to Parydon.”

  “Commend that honey fire at the Treasure Chest tavern, Highness.” Sir Earlin patted Prince Russet on the back. “Gulping a few swigs of that will get you back to form a lot quicker than standing here gulping air.”

  They’ve eyes like cats and skin that sheds

  and golden hair upon their heads.

  They live forever, that’s a fact

  and they’ll eat your flesh just like that.

  – A sailor’s song

  The town the Zythians called Lavern was much like any human frontier town, save for the fact that most of the inhabitants had sun-drenched skin, light-colored hair, and wild yellow eyes. A road, a stripe of shell-packed mud, ran through its center. On either side of this main thoroughfare were various establishments. A busy smith’s forge filled the air with the smell of hot steel and the sound of pinging hammers. A general supply store with a pair of ox carts decorating its entry was busy enough to draw the eye.

  A cargo winch was clacking in the distance underneath the humdrum of the day. The crank lift ran from the top of the plateau down to the docks floating below. More than once as they were climbing the long flight of stairs upward, one of the group had commented about riding it instead of laboring up the steps.

  It wasn’t until a group of riders, three Zythians, saddled on two-legged striders called kangas, came tearing into town that the scene became exclusive to the Isle of Zyth. Darbon saw them and darted behind Sir Earlin. Trevin just stopped and stared open-mouthed. Sir Earlin, who had been to the isle several times before, chuckled at them and then sneered at the strange uni-horned mounts. “Doesn’t seem natural,” he muttered.

  “We were riding kangas here long before humans ever set foot on Parydon,” Vanx told him. “You would be, too, if they could travel by sea. Horses are smarter and far better to look at, but kangas are thrice as fast and give a much smoother ride, and in a pinch that horn does well to keep an enemy at bay.”

  “I’ve ridden one,” Prince Russet said
as Sir Earlin pointed out the tavern and started that way. “I came with my father to attend a trade council at Flotsam a few years back. They had a herd of them there and a track full of obstacles where they raced and wagered on the outcome. The one I rode was as ill-tempered as any horse I’ve ever sat upon, but you’re right, the ride itself was like floating on air. I’d forgotten about them until just now.”

  “Will we ride them to find your friend?” Darbon asked skeptically. He’d adopted an arrow shaft as a scratcher to ease the irritation of the slow-healing ogre claw wound down his back. Vanx couldn’t help but laugh at him.

  “Hopefully we won’t need to,” Vanx said as his eyes wandered to a cottage at the farthest edge of town.

  A one-armed Zythian sea dog, whose hair was as white as fresh snow, sat alone at the row of stools that lined the bar of the Treasure Chest. Of the dozen tables that filled the cozy room, only one was occupied. The shutters were thrown wide and the door stood open, letting the sun light the area. A net full of shells, old ship brass, and dried starfish hung from the ceiling. A group of Parydon merchants dressed as such in their colorful hose and dizzying doublets sat with their Zythian counterpart, who was wearing the more practical garb of soft leather pants and matching vest over a balloon-sleeved blouse with the sleeves tied off at mid-forearm. That group didn’t so much as glance their way when Sir Earlin led them in and found a table large enough for their party.

  A stout, olive-skinned Zythian woman with eyes the color of shiny copper coins and a pile of golden hair pinned atop her head scurried out to greet them. Her wild eyes met them all and only paused a beat on Vanx, whereupon her infectious smile widened considerably.

  “What’ll it be?” she asked Sir Earlin, but Prince Russet answered the question before the knight could get out a word.

  “One round of this honey fire I’ve heard so much about and a platter of hot meat and bread.” He slid a golden coin across the table top toward her. Her eyes flashed the exact color of the coin and she quickly made to snatch it up and start away, but Vanx caught her wrist.

  “Am Hannalee?” he asked, but didn’t need to hear the answer, for he already knew who she was. She owned the cottage at the edge of town where Vanx and his mother had stayed a time or two on their trips here. The village of Malic was only a two-day walk inland, but Vanx’s mother sometimes liked to dally in the sea air for a day or two when they came. “It’s been twelve, maybe thirteen years… I’m Va…”

  “Vanx of Malic,” she smiled again, and he let her put her coin away. “I could never forget those emeralds the Goddess blessed you with, dear.” She put her hands on her hips. “Never ever.”

  He blushed a bit. Human women usually tumbled out of their clothes for him, but most Zythian girls said he was an eyesore. Besides that, Hannalee was easily two hundred years older than him. He wasn’t sure if she was flirting or not, but the simple fact that he wasn’t being shunned was surprising.

  “I need to find Zeezle Croyle very, very quickly. Can you help?”

  “We have plenty of coin to compensate you for your efforts,” Prince Russet added.

  Vanx made a face that showed his distaste of being interrupted. Humans coveted coins of gold and jewels, but Zythians, for the most part, saw past the greed lust. What they desired were things crafted with skill and spirit. A knitted quilt of greffyn shearings, or a hand-carved jade figurine, would go further than thrice their worth in gold.

  “I’ve the set of scarves my ‘Ama crocheted in a chest at home,” Vanx said, still using the Parydon trade tongue to be polite. “I have no use for them, and they’re of a color that would complement your lovely glow.”

  “My, your ‘Ama taught you well,” Hannalee said with a rosy-cheeked smile as broad and sincere as any ever given. “But, I’ll not need your ‘Ama’s scarves to help you Vanx, nor do I want his coin.” She pointed to Prince Russet. “But it’ll take some coin to get the striders properly motivated. They might even have to go on to Malic or Croyle to track him down.” She put out her open palm to the prince. “Three or four will get them going and the same should be offered to the one who gets him here.” She turned back to Vanx then, leaving her hand exactly where it had been waiting for the coins. “What shall I have them tell young Dragon Bait that’ll get him out of his texts?”

  Vanx tilted his head and grinned at the new nickname, contemplating the answer. “Have them tell him that the beating I gave him and Dorlan at the Fairy Fest was nothing compared to the one he’ll get if he’s not here by morning.”

  “Ooooh!” she giggled. “I heard about that. That’ll get him here by sunset, I’d wager.”

  A few moments after she disappeared into the kitchen, a serving girl, a silvery-haired Zyth with eyes of luminous amber and full breasts that seemed far too big for her skinny body, brought them a platter of freshly baked bread, steaming chunks of white mackerel, mussels, and bright red boiled shell fish. The food was followed by several pitchers of honey fire brandy. The sweet, fiery drink easily lived up to its reputation and Vanx had to force himself not to drink too deeply of the stuff, for while they waited for Zeezle he still wanted to send Nepton a wreath for his ‘Ama and Da. He waited until the Sea Hawk’s captain arrived, all red-faced and heaving for air, and then excused himself.

  He went to the herbalist’s cottage that his mother always frequented and after several unanswered knocks at the door, he ventured around to the back of the place. He found the herbalist inside the transparent crystal-roofed room where she was growing some more exotic species of plants. She greeted Vanx with dirty hands and an ancient smile behind milky tangerine orbs that seemed to see further into him than was comfortable.

  “You’re a few cycles early, Vanx,” she said curiously. “Or have you come for something to attract a woman?”

  “I’ve had my fill of women for the moment, ‘Am,” he answered while trying to avoid her penetrating gaze. “The endeavor I’m about to undertake holds many a peril. This may be my last chance to make an offering to Nepton for my ‘Ama and Da.”

  “I see it now,” she said softly. “This endeavor, as you call it, is for a woman, yes?”

  “It is.” He turned away and started to reach for an azure cluster of blooms, but when he remembered what happened to Gallarael—how she had been bitten by the flower beast—he drew his hand back quickly. “But she’s not an acquaintance of the romantic sort. She tried to help me, and in the act of doing so she came to harm. I’m trying to help her in return and nothing more.”

  “Oh, there’s more, Vanx,” she chuckled as she spoke. “There is always more. This one will find you again, if you can save her, that is.”

  She brushed past him and started out of the sun house toward the cottage. “Come,” she called back over her shoulder. “I’ll prepare a wreath for you. You might seek the advice of the Goddess before you walk into the jaws of death, though. It’s plain for all who truly see that she favors you. Might be she can enlighten your addled young brain and point your life in a more proper direction.” With that she laughed again and swept up the three wooden steps that led into the back of her abode.

  The Zythian whore riding Prince Russet’s cock was as beautiful a creature as he had ever seen, save for her eyes, which she was keeping closed now because of his discomfort. Her satiny blouse was splayed open and her apple-sized breasts jiggled instead of bounced. Coin-sized areola with jutting strawberry-colored nipples made his mouth salivate for the taste of her. She was long and fit and her skin was like hot silk. She leaned back and squeezed his ankles and he felt her body squeezing his manhood too. A soft moan of pleasure escaped her, and when she bucked and licked her lips he couldn’t contain his seed any longer. He exploded inside her.

  The prince owed Sir Earlin one now; that was certain. The knight had insisted he sample the true delicacies of the island. Since they might soon be part of a pile of dragon shit, his argument hadn’t been all that strong. Now as he approached the table where the others sat he felt himself flush
ing with embarrassment and more than a little masculine pride as well.

  “Ya think he’s absconded, then?” Sir Earlin asked Captain Willington over their fifth or maybe sixth mug of honey fire.

  “I’ll wager not!” the captain said confidently.

  “As will I!” Trevin said before realizing he had no coin to his name to wager.

  Darbon slapped a small pouch of silvers down on the table with a clinking thud. “I’ll put all I’ve got to my name that he’s not run off!”

  There was a long silence then, each man eyeing the other in turn. No one, it seemed, was willing to put their money up that Vanx had abandoned the quest.

  “He’s visiting a friend, perhaps, or gathering information,” Prince Russet said with only the slightest bit of doubt in his voice. He resumed his seat and drank deeply from the goblet in front of him. “We all saw that the barmaid knew him by name.”

  “That’s what’s got my hackles up!” the captain slurred. “He’s got old Nepton’s blood in his veins, so he’s apt to be as slippery as a ribbon eel, mind you. He’s got the dark blood of the Northmen and this heathen blood in him, too.”

  This got a cross look from several of the Zythian fisherfolk who had wandered in throughout the course of the afternoon.

  “He’ll be along soon enough!” Trevin snapped at the table. “He didn’t have to come as far as he has on this, and you’ve no right, none of you, to doubt him now. Even if he’s walked away, he has earned the right!” Trevin’s eyes bored bravely into Prince Russet’s for a beat or two. “Parydon chains mean nothing here!”

  “If Vanx Malic wanted to deceive you lumps in any way, you’d be deceived!” This came from a tall Zythian with long, golden hair wearing the well-worn doeskin pants and hard boots of a seasoned wanderer. His arms and upper body were covered by an open jacket that looked like a sparkly sapphire jester’s top. A coiled black leather whip was at one hip and a narrow dirk, nearly as big as a sword, hung at the other. Strapped directly to his back were a bow case and quiver as tall as any of the men at the table had ever seen. “In fact,” the Zythian continued after plucking a crimson morsel from the platter at the table and crunching it, shell and all, with his pearly teeth, “if Vanx wanted you all to just vanish from existence it would have already transpired.”