Trigon Daze: (The Legend of Vanx Malic Book Five) Read online

  “I will,” Gallarael said, and then she leapt headlong onto her hands, which were no longer hands, but paws. Her body was long and sleek like a big panther, and she was gone from their sight in a matter of seconds.

  “Want to wake the pooch and go see about the bear?” Vanx asked Thorn.

  “There ain’t no bears up here,” the elf answered. “Not this time of year.”

  “Exactly.”

  After Poops and Thorn were off to see why a bear had strayed so close to the Deep, Vanx looked into the mirror again. When Gallarael left, he’d felt as if the future might have changed, and he watched on with hope in his heart.

  This time when he peered into his broken piece of the Mirror of Portent, he saw more than just Parydon Isle being assailed by the mysterious blue-eyed warriors. Flotsam Bay was being attacked, too.

  The men, or man-like fighters, were all covered in form-fitting, flat-black armor that might have been made from dragon skin, or more likely, the skin of the stunted, dragon-like beasts some of them rode. There was one warrior who was different, though. He wore a blue robe over shinier black armor, and he rode on the back of a larger, black-scaled dragon which was so dark as to almost seem purple. He also wore a lightly glowing metal skull cap, and bore a staff topped with a blue crystal. His eyes suddenly met Vanx’s, and the scene in the glass glimmered away.

  Pain shot up Vanx’s arm, for the edge of the glass had sliced him, and he was suddenly aware that something out there was now aware of him, of Saint Elm’s Deep.

  Vanx wanted Thorn and Poops back as soon as possible, for he was going to Zyth, one way or another. He wanted to take Chelda and Moonsy, too, but Chelda couldn’t leave the Shadowmane. Distraught and angry beyond measure over seeing the Zythians being slaughtered by some evil horde, he decided he would visit the Hoar Witch. The whole point behind him not questioning her was to avoid loosing the darker side of him, but seeing Zyth attacked demanded his darker side, and he wasted no time finding his way down into the dungeon to see her.

  Chapter

  Four

  I bought a shiny set of rings,

  to place on Mary’s hand,

  but when the honeymoon was done,

  she took my purse and ran.

  – Parydon Cobbles

  As he entered the cavernous chamber where the Hoar Witch was cocooned, hanging upside down like a hog for slaughter, the stench almost overwhelmed him. His sense of smell was keener than a human’s, just because he was half Zythian. Since he and Poops had bonded, he could now smell almost as well as the dog. With that thought, he reached out to his familiar and saw that Thorn was nervously communicating with an overly pregnant mountain cat, not a bear. It was seeking the protected area around the Heart Tree to have its litter, nothing more. Reaching to the crystal amulet that hung at his neck, Vanx said to Thorn, “Let it in.”

  The elf’s argument was ignored.

  Vanx fought back a heave when he saw how bloated and filled with poison and pus the Hoar Witch was, and he took a moment to beg his Goddess forgiveness for breaking his promise to her. Aserica Rime’s ancient, wrinkled skin was stretched so tight that she looked about to burst. Sissy would come suck all of the sickening fluids out of her soon, and then sting her again. It seemed cruel to keep her like that, but she had done the same to several others: some innocents, and some just for the sake of study.

  “Reeeelieve me, Vanxy,” she said, and then a length of foamy green goo vomited from her mouth like a turd, causing her to cough and choke through her nostrils for air on which her body no longer depended. She was no longer human, or even alive in any sense, but her mind was functioning, for Sissy needed it to keep the witch’s body naturally fighting her poisonous infection.

  “I may, and truly so.” Vanx spat the bile he hacked from the back of his throat at the floor. “But only if you tell me all I need to know.”

  “Foo—foo—fool, boy,” she gurgled. Her swollen head seemed like that of a talking hog. Vanx was trying to decide what it was he really wanted from her. His sense of urgency to find a way to warn Zeezle and the rest of the Zythians was nearly overwhelming.

  “You are to—too late.” Her cackle broke through the fluid in her esophagus, and her voice became clearer. “You need fa—fa—far more than I can give you now, and after las—last night with that hor—horrible bitch poking me with her sticker, I am res—resigned to be ended, no matter the cos—cost.“The blue-eyed warriors are attacking Zyth,” he said flatly. “At least in the mirror, they are. Tell me everything, or I’ll forget you are down here and forbid even Gallarael to come visit.”

  “For all of my evil, through all of my days, boy,”—the Hoar Witch suddenly gained enough of herself to put menace in her tone—“I am the only reason the Trigon hasn’t taken to this side of the world all along. By ending me, you doomed Parydon and Zyth, for he has already started the Trigon attack. He will destroy you all.”

  “Who? What is he?” Vanx asked, feeling like she was misdirecting the conversation purposely.

  “He, it—It is the dark force behind the Trigon. It is a god, maybe. So powerfu—fu—fu—” The bloated witch began coughing and gurgling again, and after another lump of foamy green, foul-smelling gore evacuated her mouth, she growled. “He wields dark magic, of the dragon’s sort, and is thrice as old as I.”

  “You’ve helped me naught.” Vanx started back up the stairs. “Sissy will be back soon. I don’t want to be around for her feeding.”

  “No, boy,” the Hoar Witch called up at him from where her head hung just above the floor. “I’ll tell you som—something to show you I’m ready to pass it all on.”

  “Tell me, then.” Vanx doubted there was anything she could say that would make him think she was going to divulge anything pertinent. What she said shocked him, though, for she answered one of the questions he’d wanted to ask, without him even asking it.

  “I’ll tell you how to free that gargan wench from the curse of the Sha Sha—Shadowmane.”

  “Tell me.” Vanx was suddenly on his knees beside the Hoar Witch, listening intently.

  Chelda was bound to stay inside the part of the Deep where the shadow of the Heart Tree had touched. If she left that area, she would die. She could come and go into the Underland, but it was Vanx’s fault she’d gotten trapped by the protective enchantment in the first place. He would do just about anything to end it, even put his cheek in the foul witch’s vomit so that he could hear her.

  “Like the sprouting leaf your Goddess once ga—gave you, you need to dip a sma—small, stringy branch of the heart Treeree in pure molten sil—silver, cool it quickly, then bend the hardened result into a circlet. As long as she wears such an enchantment, she will be able to travel anywhere.”

  “Thank you.” Vanx had never felt so much relief in all his days. Being responsible for another’s imprisonment was a burden he didn’t like bearing. This didn’t sound like a permanent solution to Chelda’s real problem, but if it worked, then she could leave and try to patch things up with her father, or visit the falls with Moonsy. Vanx started up to build a fire and get a pot of silver melted, but the Hoar Witch stopped him.

  “Pleeeease, boy” she wailed.“Swear you’ll kill me. And I will tell you where all my secrets are kept.” She tried to turn her stretched and swollen head, as if to look into the deeper cavern. “Sissy is coming. Swear it, and I’ll tell you.”

  “I swear it,” Vanx said, feeling for the first time the vibrations of the webbing caused by the approaching spider-like being.

  “In my pantry, in the lookout, under a loose floorboard, is a chest with my best recipes, and my spell book, the one thing you need more than any,” the witch divulged.

  Just then, Sissy fell out of the darkness, right on top of Aserica Rime, and sank its sucking fangs into her.

  Vanx backed slowly away as a hundred eyes followed his movements from a malformed arachnoid head.

  “You—you—promisggghhhllller urp.” The words became sickening sounds of pleading and pain, and Vanx found he was glad the idea of her situation still sickened him. He wasn’t evil, or even dark-natured, no matter what she’d implied in the past. He hadn’t kept his word and killed her, but she had begged him not to kill her once, and in order to keep the promise he’d made back then, he couldn’t kill her now, could he?

  At this point, he didn’t really care.

  He was about to help Chelda and then scour the witch’s book to find the spell he’d been pondering earlier: the spell that could take him and a small group directly to Zyth to warn his kindred.

  Chapter

  Five

  One day something will come along,

  and there’ll be no place for man to run.

  When its time, a son of Zyth will rise,

  and a hero he’ll become.

  – A Zythian Song

  The big snow lion’s belly dragged the powdery stuff through which it was trudging. Thorn was staying back a bit, partly because he wanted to, but mostly because Poops wouldn’t get any closer. Vanx told them to let it pass into the Deep, and to mark where it decided to hole in to have its litter. Moonsy was supposed to come meet him and help.

  As if thinking about her were a sign, here she came, striding three times to every one of Chelda’s long-legged steps. The snow was only shin-deep to the big gargan, but to Moonsy, who was an elf, like Thorn, it was waist-deep. They eased in at Poops’s pace alongside Thorn and marveled at the pregnant feline up ahead.

  “She’s close, ya?” Chelda asked with a huge, childish grin on her face.

  “She is,” Moonsy replied with a grin. “We are close, too! Close to the limits of the Mane.” Moonsy showed her concern for Chelda. “There! There she goes, up under that deadfall leaning against the fir.”

  “She’s a smart one,” Thorn said. Then to Moonsy, “Major, I want a full perimeter set up around her litter. Just little ones with good eyes and enough sense not to wander too close.”

  “Why would you spy on her?” Chelda asked.

  “Mainly, so none of us disturbs her.” Thorn shook his head. He was a general, and not used to being questioned, but Chelda wasn’t of the Underland; well she was, but she was not bound by its chain of command, only its magic. He’d flirted with her a bit when they first met, but could see plainly now how she and Moonsy cared for each other.

  On the other hand, Moonsy was directly under his command. There wasn’t a more dedicated elf alive. She was already reaching out to her ranks, and scribbling on a parchment she’d produced from somewhere.

  “If that mother lion gets hungry, our villages may start to look like a place for an easy meal,” Thorn explained. “Only fools wouldn’t at least try to keep track of her.”

  “Makes sense,” Chelda agreed, looking down at him with the same silly grin still on her face. “What’s Vanx up to?”

  “That is why we came, remember?” Moonsy said. “To fetch Thorn and take him to the warlock.”

  “Oh yeah.” Chelda shrugged.

  They waited until two sprites arrived to start the watch. After that, they headed back down into the warmer valley, to the crystal palace, which sat just at the fringes of the Heart Tree’s extended Shadowmane.

  Vanx was anxious, and Thorn felt it through Poops. It was no surprise to Thorn that the half-Zythian, witchborn warlock was pacing just inside the palace gates when they arrived.

  Chelda stopped a few feet from the entrance. She couldn’t go any farther for fear of death.

  Vanx realized why she had stopped, and even though he was worried and nearly frantic, he smiled at her. “I have found a way for you to leave the Shadowmane.” He paused, looked at Thorn’s and Moonsy’s disbelief, and then went on. “Chelda, I need you to bring me three thin branches cut directly from one of the Heart Tree’s healthiest limbs.”

  There was a gasp from Moonsy, and Thorn thought he might have let out a sound, too, but Chelda was looking at Vanx blankly. Did she not want to leave? Or was it her love for Moonsy that gave her pause? Either way, the huge gargan girl gave Vanx a curt nod and charged back toward the Heart Tree.

  “You’d better not lift her with hope and disappoint her,” Moonsy said sharply.

  “You’ll hold your tongue, Major Moonsy.” Thorn’s voice was stern. “Vanx might be a mess, but he is no liar.”

  To his great aggravation, Vanx waved off Thorn and took a knee in front of Moonsy. “I’d not do such a thing. There is a chance it won’t work, but I have a feeling that it will.”

  Vanx scratched Poops’s head and stood, looking down at Thorn. Thorn thought he might be seeing regret in Vanx’s eyes, but there was more.

  “Parydon is coming under attack. Soon my homeland of Zyth will be, too,” Vanx looked at the two elves in turn. “What I am about to ask of you is enormously important to me, but if you decide to decline, I understand fully. It isn’t your battle to fight, though the Trigon will come here, too, sooner or later. Either way, I must go warn my people and fight with them.”

  “I’ll fight with you,” Thorn said over Poops’s yip of agreement.

  Then all eyes fell on Moonsy.

  “So you are asking if we will trek to the coast and travel to Zyth with you?” Moonsy asked. “Won’t it be too late by then?”

  “That is not how we will get there.”

  “How, then?” Thorn asked, but Moonsy started speaking at the same time.

  “If Chelda goes, I will go, too. I have elves with enough skill and integrity to watch over the Underland and the Deep while we are gone, but if Chelda stays, then so will I.”

  Thorn noticed that Vanx was nodding at her response, so he nodded, too. Leaving Moonsy behind to watch over everything was one thing. Leaving anyone else was a different matter altogether.

  “How will you release Chelda from her binding?” Moonsy finally asked.

  Thorn looked at her and nodded again, indicating that it was the question that needed to be answered first.

  “She won’t be leaving the Heart Tree.” Vanx shrugged. “She will be taking some of it with her.”

  “Won’t the cuttings die?” Moonsy asked worriedly, her eyes narrowing into some sort of scowl. Vanx’s idea was clearly not the permanent solution for which she’d hoped, but after serving the fairy queen for seven hundred years or more, Thorn knew a thing or two about magic.

  “Not if they are dipped in pure silver, they won’t.” Thorn heeled Poops off toward the Heart Tree, and the dog responded by running as fast as he could.

  “Wait,” Moonsy called after them. “Where are you going?”

  “To find Pixen Ruderal and Mar Boxthane and have them open the vaults in the Nexus. I’m going to fetch the Glaive of Gladiolus, and that silver bust of King Morkland,” Thorn called back.

  “Yes,” Moonsy agreed. She started trotting after them. Looking back at Vanx, she said, “Morkland’s statue is crafted of the purest silver that there ever was.”

  Chapter

  Six

  Old Master Wiggins,

  was a dancer to admire.

  But his luck was low, when he stubbed his toe,

  and twirled his partner through the fire.

  – A Parydon street ditty

  “They’ve started into gargan territory,” Streak told Gallarael, who had been in her sleek, black-furred form since they’d left Saint Elm’s Deep the day before.

  Darbon and Salma were with the determined travelers, and so was Quazar of the Royal Order, the old wizard who’d helped save her from the fang flower venom. Though they were all bundled in furs, those three were clearly traveling against their will. Inda and Anda were leading Prince Russet’s six-man escort, bringing the size of the whole party to a dozen. The prince looked the part, riding an ornately-armored haulkatten, and covered in fine fur.

  It was no surprise to the skmoes leading them, or to Gallarael, when an entire Ramma Rabble eased out of the trees and surrounded the group.

  Gallarael knew her brother was an unparalleled swordsman. Only Vanx Malic was better; but next on the list of those she’d seen were the Ramma Riders, or maybe Chelda. The gargans all trained endlessly, and they had the advantage of being a head taller, and far stronger, with far more reach, than a human man. Vanx had basically embarrassed one of the best of these hearty guardians of the gargan realm once. He’d won a Sore-Thatch for the deed.

  Gallarael had that prize in her pack, and just showing it would allow them all passage through these lands unquestioned. She could end what was about to happen at any moment, but being that she was still in feline form, and angry at Russet Oakarm, as much for being her brother as she was over him bullying Darbon and Salma, she decided she’d rather watch.

  Besides that, not even her history with the gargans, as the peaceful human Galra, could keep them from burning her at the stake if they caught her in the form she was in now. The gargans hated shapeshifters. They didn’t know that the Hoar Witch was dead, or that those malformed creatures they feared so much served Vanx Malic now.

  “What will we do?” Streak asked softly, as he landed behind her ear. Gallarael’s form was a cross between a human and a panther, not some normal looking forest cat, so she would have to keep her distance; but she wouldn’t intervene, unless her brother started to lose. Maybe not even then, but she had an idea forming in the back of her head already.

  “We will watch and see where this goes.” She wanted to see if Russet was worthy, and maybe he would get his pretty blond locks roughed up like he’d done to Salma. His hair was just as Gallarael’s had been, like a golden mane. This angered her even more, for hers was black and shorter now, and not because she wanted it that way. It would serve him right if he got a wallop or two. If he didn’t, she was going to give him a few herself. Either way, she wanted to see this.