Paragon Dracus: The Legend of Vanx Malic Book Six Page 2
Then a spear, thrown by Russet’s father, shafted a man and his kanga clean through, leaving him and his mount half crumpled, but floundering at the stake. Russet shoved his sword into the man’s throat, while a Zythian ended the kanga’s suffering.
“He’s got two more stickers to throw,” one of the men said.
“Hold your walls of force,” the eldest Zythian in the group, a bronze-haired wizard named Master Kruuga, commanded his Zyths.
“Ready your arrows,” Russet told the other men. He then charged away from the group and started waving his sword around.
With his eyes, and some strange, yet fluid, hand motions, Master Kruuga followed Russet’s every movement. He was maintaining the shield the Zyths had picked up from the pixies. The whole idea of it all was maddening, but knowing the strength of Master Kruuga’s power gave Russet the confidence he needed to do what he was about to do.
“Come, kill me, Father!” Russet couldn’t keep his eyes from filling with tears as he yelled. He pointed his blade accusingly, but his father’s gaze was already locked on him, which was the point. “Come, kill your only son!”
Russet didn’t hesitate a moment. He jabbed his sword into the lane before him and unshouldered his bow. He pulled an arrow tipped with a Heart Tree leaf dipped in silver from over his shoulder. Drawing it and sighting down the shaft, he saw that his father’s spear was already raised high and ready to be launched. The dragon he was riding was snarling menacingly, and looked as determined to kill him as his father did.
The two let go at the same time, and though Russet knew his arrow would miss his sire’s heart and only graze him, the dazed thing in the old king’s body had thrown his spear true. This only saddened Russet further, and he pushed his chest out, ready to feel the steel his father had launched at him, as it pierced his already shattered heart.
Chapter Four
I picked a special flower
to make my Molly purr
but right after she kissed me
she said two coppers sir.
- Parydon Cobbles
The Octron was taller and thinner than Vanx had expected. On the map he’d seen most of his life, it looked more like a small mountain peak, but it had been described to him a few times, inadequately. This was a needle-like spire. It was as black as anything he’d ever seen. There was a small, man-sized, flattened area near the top. That area kept drawing his attention until he thought he saw a door in a well-hidden recessed landing. None of this could have ever been seen looking up from a ship. Thus no one ever knew about the door.
The door!
He kept his revelation to himself. The idea it was built this way so someone on dragonback could dismount at the top was foremost in his mind. Then he remembered that many a spellcaster could levitate from the deck of a ship or even teleport up there from a great distance.
He decided he would ask Pyra more, when they were able to speak alone; maybe he could even persuade her to bring him back.
Unlike the dragon, Vanx couldn’t send his thoughts to the wyrm, as she did him. The only one he could intentionally share his mind with was Poops. Of course, now and then, Pyra read his every thought, but that was only when they were battling and needed to act in unison with Zeezle and Kelse.
Seawater had a strange effect on magic, he remembered. When he was at sea, on a ship at least, Vanx got a sickly feeling. He figured it was because his father was in those depths somewhere with Nepton. He wasn’t feeling ill now, but the phenomenon taking place where the water met the spire, was odd.
All around the ancient structure, the sea rolled and chopped and swelled, but for a span of what would be twenty long strides, the water was calm, with just the slightest sign of frantic ripples radiating steadily from the Octron. It was only then that Vanx realized the spire was vibrating.
“Seen enough?” Zeezle called.
“Let’s get to yon business,” Chelda added, a bit of agitation showing in her voice. “You can come back and draw a picture, after we’re done.”
Vanx knew Chelda missed Moonsy and hated having to leave her behind, but since Thorn was dead, and the king of the fae was just a babe, the new elven general was duty bound to stay. Chelda would be like this until the deed was done. Vanx decided that instead of arguing, he should let that emotion fuel the gargan woman’s anger.
Vanx nodded and gave the landing, and the possible door, one last look, trying to take it all in. He wanted so badly to go look, but understood that they were on a hunt, not some expedition of fancy. He was coming back here, though. For the first time in a long time, he was actually intrigued. He also wanted to go look at Three Tower Island, where Foxwise had gone all those years ago to retrieve some shard for Queen Corydalis.
Vanx and his group had once passed the eerie place on their way into gargan lands. He’d sworn to return to explore the place even then, before he knew anything about Thorn, or about what had transpired there because of him. Looking back, another reality struck him. Nearly every member of that great and costly adventure was gone now.
One skmoe, Xavian, Brody, Quazar, Thorn…all dead. There were more, but Vanx was pulled from his brooding thoughts by a change in the wind.
Pyra banked them away and back on course for her island. They could make it by nightfall, if they didn’t dally. Maybe the big blue paragon bastard would come this night, and they could get this over with.
Vanx tried to get his mind back on task with hopeful thoughts, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be easy. He imagined if they somehow surprised the paragon in Pyra’s territory, a hundred or more of the fire queen’s kin would swarm the thing and bathe it in dragon fire until it fell from the sky to join the many carcasses that decorated the wicked place. He was smart enough to know that was just wishful thinking. The thing they were trying to kill was ancient and powerful, and certainly not foolish or careless.
Surprise, and shafts tipped with Heart Tree leaves were the only advantages they had, and as the island came into view on the distant horizon, he remembered one of the many ditties he used to sing in the taverns, back when he was just a carefree bard:
Ogres are full of menace;
Ogres are full of rage.
Once a man was fool enough,
To put one in a cage.
Their prey was no ogre, but they were still not fool enough to try to trap the thing. The point of the lyric was underestimating an unknown creature. He hoped they weren't underestimating the Paragon Dracus. He also hoped King Russet was getting the scattered people of Parydon to understand that his father was no longer a man, much less their king.
Chapter Five
Far to the east they trace their blood
from Harthgar and Dakahn.
They’ve pinkened skin and dullard eyes,
But their will is iron hard.
- Balladamned (A Zythian song)
King Russet actually expected to be shafted by his father’s spear, but it shattered into splinters and sparks before his squinted eyes just a few feet before it hit its mark. Not even the fragments found his skin. It was amazing.
Russet glanced at Master Kruuga, and gave the Zythian spellcaster a nod of thanks. He then looked back up at his undazed father and felt nothing but relief as his sire and his dazed wyrm were porcupined with silver-tipped arrows.
They flew right over Russet’s head, his father blinking stupidly as the dragon crashed. Russet pulled his sword from the earth and stalked, then sprinted, toward the heap of broken limbs and wings that resulted. His heart felt as if it were lodged in his neck when he pushed his sword through his sire’s throat and watched the dull light remaining in those eyes fade away.
He left his sword there, reached down and drew his father’s blade and hefted its weight. It was to be his when he ascended the throne, and as sick and sad an occasion as it was, it had just officially happened.
Russet found that all but the Zythians were down on one knee now, sword hilts extended. “There is no time for formalities, men.” He mot
ioned for them to rise. “I need his scabbard, and please can one of you remove that blade and see to laying him out for proper burial later?”
Russet didn’t care about the tears sliding down his cheeks. He’d just slain his own father to defend himself, and he didn’t regret it. Partly because he understood he’d just released his father’s soul from something worse than death, but also because he didn’t have to worry about his father finding and killing his sister, too.
What he didn’t expect was that the Paragon’s other wizard was right there among them. The power of the fist of kinetic energy that hit Russet from seemingly nowhere was only slightly lessened by the Zythian shielding around him.
Two of the men and one Zythian were pummeled, or maybe pulped, into the ground. Those under the shielding were just instantly pinned and held still for a moment, though one of them had a leg snap the wrong way. He was screaming, and everyone was scrambling around looking for who or what had just nearly ended them all.
Master Kruuga saw him first, and the energy of his lightning-quick pulse of power clearly surprised the Paragon’s last wizard. Russet was ushered behind the two Zythians still holding up shielding spells while Master Kruuga stepped toward the approaching wizard. The black dragon the Trigon spellcaster was riding spat forth its acidic spew right at the old Zyth, but the Zythian was busy casting an attack of his own.
The acid displaced around the Zythian’s shielding, and the three pulses of raw force Master Kruuga sent impacted the wizard this time. Their power crackled into streaks of sparkling lime and then turned to black ash.
It was enough to cause the wizard to urge his dragon away from the area, and since they’d already bought the messengers time to get away from the populace, it was time to regroup.
Three of eleven dead, and one wounded so badly that nothing shy of the Glaive of Gladiolus would heal him well enough to walk again. King Russet knew he must rethink his approach. Ordering those not under the Trigon Daze to safety had been the priority. Now that was done, they needed a new plan.
“Hell,” Russet swore under his breath. “I’m not even sure what my objective is, beyond the obvious.”
“Gather in,” Master Kruuga said. “Let’s take this one to General Moonsy and see what the spies have to report.”
This gave Russet hope. Since the communication spell the sprite Streak and Vanx had developed was now perfected, there were tiny finger-sized fae in every main port and city sending back information. There were Zythians back at Vanx’s palace, or what was left of it, trying to make sense of all they were learning.
Suddenly, the world around them whirred for an instant, and they were then standing back in the sward, near the silver-coated Heart Tree. It was quite a bit cooler here; even though it wasn’t cold, the change was striking.
Russet learned that Vanx and Zeezle were off hunting the Paragon Dracus with his sister and the elf-loving gargan, but he doubted they’d have any luck. He was angry that Vanx would take Gallarael to such a dangerous place as Dragon Isle. Or maybe he was just angry because he knew Vanx had been sleeping with his little sister.
As irked as he was, Russet still held hope. He’d already learned to never underestimate Vanx Malic. There was no sense in stopping now. Worrying about Gallarael was his duty as a brother, but as a king, her well-being came far behind that of Parydon. He decided to meet with the spies and see just how many of his people had gotten out, and if there were any that might need a bit of help.
Chapter Six
I picked a special flower
to make my Molly sing
and right after she kissed me
she said I want a ring.
- Parydon Cobbles
Vanx sat on Pyra’s back, his arms loosely wrapped around Gallarael. She was sleeping, and had been for some time. They’d been flying over the sea since they left. The only excitement was the short time they had circled the ancient black spike. After that, there was nothing, save for a great expanse of sloshing cobalt and the glittery reflection of the bright sun.
Vanx spent his time brooding over the loss of Thorn, mainly the way the elf had just run up and taken Moonsy’s death for her. He’d known he was giving his life to spare hers, and Vanx still wasn’t sure if Moonsy had told him of the portent she’d seen, or if Thorn had overheard him telling her about when he’d seen it. Hell, Vanx mentally shrugged, the elven general could have picked up the mirror when Vanx wasn’t around and seen it for himself.
General Foxwise Posey-Thorn showed no sign of being prepared to die that morning. He hadn’t been strange or solemn; in fact, Vanx remembered Thorn joking about sex between elven and gargan women being the cause for many a delay, when Moonsy wasn’t among them earlier that day.
Whatever his reasoning, however he knew, just like that, Thorn was gone, melted into a bloody pool of gore by one of the Paragon’s dazed bastards.
For a long time, Vanx was sad and angry; then he looked up, and the raw power of nature forced him to smile.
Gallarael had slept most of the journey, but the view Vanx was seeing, he felt, should be shared.
The sky was pink and orange, smeared with bright streaks of blue, and Dragon Isle was there, no longer a speck in the distance, but growing closer and closer as the dragons lowered themselves nearer to it. There were smaller wyrms hunting the shoreline, and larger ones hunting the inland from the sky, but as Pyra neared, they veered away, and more or less disappeared from view.
Vanx noticed that creatures, both winged and not, were fleeing Pyra’s approach. Moments before, the sky above the island had been specked with winged hunters searching the shorelines for prey, but now they were gone. Even Kelse, Zeezle and Chelda’s green-scaled mount, was holding back, waiting to follow the fire queen’s lead.
Vanx understood that Pyra was sending and receiving primal messages that only dragonkind could understand. Vanx felt her body temperature rise with her anger, and he felt her ready herself to fight, if she needed to do so.
“Please, mighty Pyra,” Gallarael spoke with a hint of her changeling growl in her tone. “You’re cooking the inside of my thighs.”
Oddly, Vanx felt the dragon relax a little bit, as if she now knew there was no imminent threat. Then Gallarael scooted her arse back against Vanx’s manhood, and with subtle twitches and wiggles forced his body to react. Vanx tried ignoring her, but after a daylong dragon ride, with her doing the very same thing several times already, he had a mind to find a place in the woods after they landed and quell her need to arouse him, the old-fashioned way. They’d been sexual twice, and the issue he’d had over previously being attracted to Gallarael’s mother was forgotten when Zeezle reminded him that the two females were human, and both old enough to make decisions for themselves. They wouldn’t live as long as he, nor would they ever be able to bear a child of Zythian blood. As far as anyone in the world knew, Vanx was the only human-Zythian half-breed that had ever survived birth.
Gallarael was a one-of-a-kind creature, too, though, turned into whatever she was by the very potion that saved her from death: a potion concocted from dragon blood gathered from this very island by Zeezle while Vanx was deep below, in the realm of the Zwarvy.
Just the thought of the Zwarvy drew the blood from Vanx’s manhood back into his core, and he almost chuckled when Gallarael noticed and let out a frustrated huff. They were landing then, and the strong scent of dragon shit hit his keen nostrils a few seconds before Gal smelled it and retched away her arousal.
Vanx looked over to see how Chelda was handling the foul smell, but found that both she and Zeezle had their noses stuffed with cotton weed, or maybe dried moss. Vanx had some cottony fluff for starting fires, and managed to get some out of his tinderbox for Gal. He suffered the reeking air, for enough of Poops’s abilities lingered with him, and he could tell things from scent, just like the dog could. He was glad when Pyra landed them on a part of the island he had never seen before, and not at the back entrance to her lair, where Zeezle said all the dragons
tried to impress their queen with their piles.
Vanx almost shit himself when the huge fire wyrm banked them right into a hole in the hillside and flew in deep before letting her wings out to slow them and land.
Chapter Seven
Old Master Wiggins
danced a fancy jig.
He tossed his hat out to the crowd
but found he’d lost his wig.
- a Parydon street ditty
“It’s sweltering in here,” said Gal as she slid with feline grace from the dragon’s back all the way to floor. She landed on her feet and started taking in Pyra’s lair. She looked silly, all serious and wide-eyed, but with tufts of dried moss plugging her nostrils.
“That it is,” Vanx agreed, remembering a chamber on the other side of the mountain island, full of lava flows and terror.
He’d introduced himself to Pyra there. He knew he would never be that afraid again, ever. Oddly, that was a comforting thought.
Even with his natural half-Zythian agility, he didn’t dismount as smoothly as Gal had, but when his feet were on the ground, he took a moment to look at the fire queen’s magnificent abode.
Pyra was climbing the wall like a lizard up to a perch, where she curled around herself, and let her long neck ease her head down to a position a few dozen paces above them.
The walls were hard stone with veins of precious metal and layers of glittery gemstones curving around them. A long sparkling row of exposed ruby shards captured most of the meager light and gave the place an ominous red glow. On the far side, a wide belt of shimmering gold looked as if it had been smeared by a dreamers paintbrush along the wall, winding higher as it went. There were patches of emerald, and sapphire, as well as diamonds, and streaks of silver lining the cavern. It looked as if some great force had summoned all the earth’s wealth to this space, in one great twisting pull.
Beneath one sparkling layer was a pile of fallen rock. It was all fist-sized chunks of raw diamond, Vanx knew. All Zythians studied rocks and ore in their youth. Vanx also knew there was possibly more wealth visible in this cavern than existed in the entire world beyond it.