The Legend of Vanx Malic Books I-IV Bundle: To Kill a Witch Read online

  “Matty,” he said an urgent whisper. “Get out of there.”

  “Hmmm,” she sounded with a seductive giggle. “I knew you’d come to your senses sooner or later, pretty man.”

  “I’m not out here to dally with you, woman. There’s danger about and Darby has gone off in the dark to save you.”

  “Darbon?” She glanced around, attempting to cover her body with her arms. “Where are you, Vanx? What’s going on?”

  “I’m over…” Vanx was about to step into the open so that she could see him, but the strange beast darted out before he could take a step. Vanx decided that it was a Kobalt, a stunted sort of half-troll that was supposed to be semi-intelligent. The tales Vanx had heard said the creatures roamed in packs like wolves. This thought only served to increase his alarm, as Matty, who apparently thought the thing was him, went wading toward it.

  The Kobalt froze at the sight of her. Vanx decided then and there that very few creatures, sentient or not, could keep from pausing at the sight of a well-rounded woman bathing naked in the moonlight. Her scream came as Vanx realized that he had no weapon with him.

  “Matty!” Darbon’s voice called out from not far away. “Maaaaa-teeeee!” he yelled again. “Where are you?”

  The Kobalt looked toward the sound and hesitated. Vanx used the moment to make a move. With deft swiftness he took two strides, scooped up a club-sized piece of deadfall and hurled it end over end at the creature.

  Matty froze, trembling in knee-deep water, but when the chunk of dried oak hit the Kobalt and splintered, she screamed again. The Kobalt howled out too, as it pitched forward into the shallow water.

  “Maaaaaatt-eeeeeee!” Darbon yelled again.

  The Kobalt staggered to its feet.

  “Over here, Darby. Hurry!” Matty yelled as she pushed herself back into the waist-deep water.

  The Kobalt lurched away and disappeared into the trees. Vanx had concerns that it might rejoin its pack and come back for revenge, but in the late spring, a lone male of any species wandering around usually meant an alpha was culling out his pack.

  After the Kobalt was gone, Vanx spoke from his place in the shadows. “That boy is smitten with you, Matty,” Vanx told her in a severe whisper. “He came to save you like a knight would a princess.”

  Matty kept her arms over her breasts and moved to the shore where her clothes were piled. “Is he lost?” she asked, trying to cover herself.

  Vanx cocked his ear and could hear Darbon’s footfalls closing in on the pool. “Call him again, Matty. He’s close.”

  Before she did, she whispered a heartfelt thank you to Vanx. He heard her, but didn’t respond. He was already on his way back to camp to warn Trevin of what had happened.

  A short while later, Matty and Darbon came back into the camp arm in arm. Matty, with her head on the young man’s shoulder and Darbon with a huge, satisfied grin on his face. Neither seemed to notice the leaves and twigs that were stuck to their clothes and in their disheveled hair.

  “Get some sleep, Matty,” Vanx ordered. “You’ve got second watch with Trevin. Darbon, go get a bow.”

  Chapter Nine

  In a land across the sea

  far beyond Harthgar and more.

  There is a land of kings and queens

  with an unforgiving shore.

  – The Ballad of Ornspike

  The night passed uneventfully. Late the next day, as they hurried through the forest, Vanx felt as if there were eyes upon them. The day’s travel went well, even the crossing of a rough-flowing spring thaw river. The haulkattens, being feline, didn’t like getting wet, but Vanx and Darbon, along with Matty’s soothing voice, managed to coax them across.

  While they were at the river, Trevin spent the time trying to cool Gallarael’s body with strips of cloth soaked in the frigid water. It was there that he voiced his extreme concern over the band Vanx had tied around her bitten arm.

  “Vanx, I’m afraid,” Trevin said with tears pooling in his eyes. “What if taking it off of her makes it worse?”

  “There is no worse, Trev,” Vanx said calmly. “I’ll do it so you’ll not have to live with the guilt if it goes bad, but she will lose the arm if we don’t let it get some blood.” Already Gallarael’s limb was pale and purple-green. Though it wasn’t as swollen as it had been on the first day, it was still twice the size of her other arm.

  “I think I’d rather have a one-armed lover than a dead one with two.” Matty threw her two coppers in without being asked.

  “Her arm needs to have blood flowing,” Vanx said plainly to them all. “If it doesn’t, then it will start to rot and infect her whole body. If there is any poison left in her, I’m sure it’s lost its potency.” Then, as if to punctuate the certainty of his statement, he leaned down and yanked at the knot.

  “Ahhh!” Gallarael’s whole body shivered and she sighed loudly. After that she lay still, as still as stone. For a moment Vanx thought she’d died. In the silence, Trevin sniffled, and Darbon pulled Matty away before she could say something else inappropriate. In the few heartbeats of relative silence that followed, Vanx heard a branch snapping. The sound came from a distance, but it was on their side of the water flow. An icy tingle of alarm ran up his spine, but Gallarael muttered something, causing Trevin to rush close to her and start talking in comforting tones.

  Throughout the rest of the evening Gallarael seemed no better, yet no worse, than before. With every mile they traveled her arm seemed to improve, but Vanx found no relief in it. His keen Zythian senses were telling him that they were being followed, or maybe hunted. Finally, after a late-day rest break, he told Trevin and the others of his suspicions. Not sure whether to follow Vanx’s instinct, or call him worrisome; the two men followed his lead and took up bows and quivers from the pack.

  “I think you’re right,” Trevin whispered a short while later. “I thought I saw a flash of movement far off to the left.”

  “Probably just a bird,” Matty chuckled at them. “Or a big squirrel.”

  “Or another one of those peeping freaks we saw last night,” Darbon joked, causing Matty to harrumph to hide her fear.

  “If it’s one of those things, Kobalts, I think they are called,” Vanx said in a quiet voice, “there will be more than just one of them this time.”

  “What I saw was bigger and grey-colored,” said Trevin. “It was low to the ground like a big fox, or maybe a small wolf.”

  “Wolf?” Matty asked, her voice now a sharp whisper and her eyes wide with concern.

  “That’s what I said, woman,” Trevin shot back. Then to Vanx, “We should make camp soon so that there is enough daylight to set up some defenses.”

  “Aye,” Vanx agreed. “You’re the military man among us, take the lead and mark our place.”

  Trevin did so. He found a partial clearing that was barely big enough to contain their bedrolls. The animals were tethered and fed at the trail edge of the camp. Anyone following their tracks would come upon the animals before them.

  “We’ll make no fire this night,” Trevin said. “We need one set of eyes up in yon tree, and another on the ground.” He pointed up at the tree. “The rope we set will clang the cups together if something comes from that way, and I don’t reckon that even the inhabitants of this fargin place would try to come over that tangle of blood thorn over there.” He paused and looked at Vanx. “Is there any more of your brew left?”

  “I saved some of the last batch in a skin,” Vanx informed him. “There are enough of the herbs to brew another small pot. If we ration her intake, I think we can get her to Dyntalla alive.”

  Trevin nodded. “Give Matty the skin.” He glanced up at the darkening sky through a small opening in the foliage. Taking up his bow and arrows, he started for the tree. “Matty will watch and tend Gallarael while I look out from above. Rest, Vanx, you’ve barely had any sleep. I’ve only seen your eyes closed twice since we left Highlake a week ago.”

  “Aye,” Vanx agreed. He filled a cup fo
r Gallarael from the skin and gave it to Matty. “Don’t be dallying with Darbon this night. He needs his rest,” he told her.

  “I wore him out last night,” she said proudly and pointed at the young man’s bedroll. “Look.”

  Darbon was already sound asleep.

  Vanx gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder and found his own blankets. It took him only a few moments to find a deep, much-needed slumber.

  Vanx dreamt of the Duchess of Highlake. She was smooth and round and full of wicked desire, but when she threw her hair out of her face and met his eyes, it was Gallarael he saw. She wasn’t lusting and intense like her mother was. She was dazed, with a cloudy film over her eyes. She did manage to raise her head and face him, though. Her gaze was vacant, her skin a jaundiced shade.

  “I don’t want to die,” she croaked through cracked lips. “But if I do, take Trevin and run for your lives.” Her brows narrowed as if she were growing angry. “Promise me this, Zythian!” The skin of her face shrunk around her skull as if she were in a baker’s oven. Her cheeks and chin split open and sizzling flesh curled away from the bone. Her hair went up in a burst of flame and her eyes bulged, finally popping into dark, bloody spills of fluid. Through it all her jaw continued to move and her voice stayed firm. “Promise me Zythian, promise me you’ll take Trevin and run.”

  Her visage was that of a red-eyed, gore-covered skull now, but the voice was still hers. “I died saving you! Promise me. You owe me as much. I saved you; you save Trevin.”

  “I promise,” Vanx blurted out with a start. Trevin was shaking him awake.

  “Shhh,” Trevin hissed in a whisper. “Wake up, man, but by the gods, be quiet about it.”

  “Is Gallarael—” Vanx didn’t finish the question. He rolled to his hands and knees and crawled over to Gallarael’s side. To his great relief she was still alive, and for the first time since she was bitten, her skin was cool to the touch.

  “She’s better,” Trevin grinned. “But we may not be.”

  “What is it?”

  “Those eyes of yours seem to see better in the night than mine, but I swear I can see a small fire a few miles behind us.” Trevin gave Vanx a look of deep concern, and then his eyes fell on Gallarael. “Matty said her fever broke a short while ago.”

  “Appears so.” Vanx grabbed the bow and quiver from Trevin. He took a moment to clench his eyes shut and shivered off the ill feelings the dream had left him with. He looked up, and through the trees he saw the moon was already long past its zenith. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”

  “The fire only appeared a short while ago, or maybe I only noticed it then. It’s a good ways off and I thought you needed the rest.”

  Vanx nodded his thanks. “Let me go piss, and then we can go get a better look at what’s riled you.”

  While Vanx relieved himself, the eerie memory of Gallarael’s dream voice crept back into his skull. Had she reached to him across the empty space? While many Zythians were clairvoyant to a small degree, very few, if any, humans could manage to project their thoughts without the aid of magic. He remembered eating some bread covered with spoiled butter once. The fever dreams had plagued him for two days and nights. His stomach roiled and he vomited profusely after eating it. Gallarael’s dream image was burning up. Did it represent her feeling her own fever breaking? She’d called him a Zythian too. Did she know? Did her mother suspect?

  Lacing his britches up, he sensed more than heard movement in the darkness. His eyes sought the sensation, and then found for the briefest of moments a sight that stopped his heart cold. A wolf, poised to bound away - but it was no ordinary wolf. This wolf was saddled like a horse and one of the dark-skinned Kobalts sat in the rig glaring at him. Reflexively, he blinked and the image was gone. There wasn’t a wavering limb, or even a rustling leaf, to indicate if he had imagined the sight or not.

  Trying not to alarm Trevin and the others, he eased toward the lookout tree. He stopped and grabbed a second quiver of arrows. Trevin was hunched over Gallarael and Matty was rousting Darbon for his turn. Vanx hurried his pace, and with no concern over his companions seeing his true Zythian grace in action, he literally ran up the tree trunk like a scrabbling squirrel. In less than a heartbeat he settled himself in the branches and started to scan the distance in search of the fire. What he saw, though, nearly caused him to tumble out of the tree.

  Trevin’s fire was there, just where he estimated it to be, flickering like a tiny jewel in the night. What had Vanx grasping for reason was the three score other twinkles of firelight he could see. They were all around them, and just out of the range of human sight.

  They were surrounded. Knowing this gave credence to his vision of the wolf-riding Kobalt. Vanx was certain that if they were aggressive, they would have attacked already. What wolf-riding Kobalts would do to a peaceful group of travelers was the question now. Be it good or bad, he had no doubt they would soon find the answer.

  Chapter Ten

  The king saw the wizard and the wizard did speak

  “You might be a king, but your kingdom is weak.”

  Wrong said the king, for I’ve a wizard too

  now out of my castle with the sorry likes of you.

  – The Weary Wizard

  “She’s alive, my lady, but barely,” Orphas, the spiritual advisor to Duchess Gallarain, told her. He was hunched over a melon-sized sphere that formed a flawless crystal, at a small, three-legged table in the middle of a dark, candlelit cellar. The room seemed like a cavern to Gallarain, and it smelled like hot steel. The amber glow of the crystal before Orphas shone upward onto his elderly face, giving him a sinister look. The sharp widow’s peak of his polished silver skull cap and his high-collared crimson robe lent to the eerie image. In truth, he was no spiritual advisor at all; he was a wizard, and so far, one of the most honorable men Gallarain Martin had ever met. She conveniently overlooked the fact that he dishonestly paraded around as her spiritual advisor and had been sent there by King Oakarm himself to spy on her husband. To her, those particulars made him seem even more wise and mysterious, like some scholarly well-traveled uncle figure. Why he had revealed his true identity was a mystery to her, but she was sure that it had a great deal to do with the fact that Gallarael was King Oakarm’s illegitimate daughter.

  “Barely alive?” Gallarain gasped. “What do you mean?”

  “She’s not conscious, my lady, but alive.” Orphas looked at her with sympathetic eyes. “Apparently she is in good hands, for her spirit is calm and at peace.”

  Orphas took a deep breath and sighed. With a flick of his hand a pair of lanterns hanging from wall hooks flared to life. The room was crowded with tables loaded with vials, racks, and beakers, some containing colorful liquids, some with stoppers wired tightly shut. There were sagging shelves full of books and unthinkable things floating in jars of liquid. Only the wall with the old iron-banded door set in one side of it was empty, but it was scorched black with a dizzying set of arcane symbols drawn into the soot by a fingertip. A crude, man-sized archway had been drawn there among the ruins.

  To Duchess Gallarain, the blackness looked impossibly darker inside the archway, as if it led into the sky of a moonless, starless night.

  “Tell me what you overheard,” Orphas commanded in a soft voice. “And try not to worry. Trevin is surely with her, keeping her safe. If he weren’t, her spirit would be uneasy at best.” His confident tone and steady gaze settled her enough that she could remember what he wanted to know.

  She pulled up a stool, gave a look of distaste at the thick coating of dust on its surface, but sat down anyway. With a groan of frustration she started speaking in a quick, furious clip.

  “He had the caravan attacked to kill Vanx Malic. The man who returned somehow survived the ordeal and is accusing some men he recognized. He said trolls came down on them all and only a few survived.” She paused, but only long enough to draw a breath. “Now he’s sending his commander to make sure that the tale of his murderous plot stay
s secret. I—I — I was behind that old tapestry, the one hiding the narrow passage that opens up on that little cubby in the linen pantry. He didn’t know I overheard.” She looked down at hands that were wringing of their own accord. “It was all I could do to keep from storming out of my hiding place to tell him that he had killed his own daughter.”

  “But she’s not his daughter,” Orphas said quietly. The look on his face was curious and distant. It was as if he were seeing something in his mind, or with his vacant eyes, that no one else could see.

  His appearance distracted Gallarain to a moment of confused silence.

  “Is there any possible way the duke might have learned that Gallarael wasn’t of his loins?” Orphas finally asked, as his eyes refocused.

  “None!” Gallarain answered defensively. “The night I spent with Ravier Oakarm was the night before I married Humbrick. Humbrick was too eager to consummate our union to even notice that he wasn’t my first.”

  “But her eyes, my lady, and her features? The duke’s lineage favors dark hair and dark eyes on the women’s side. Gallarael has neither, nor is she thin and willowy.”

  “There’s no doubt she favors the women of my ancestry, but there’s nothing about her that resembles the king, or his sisters. The worst part is that Humbrick has designs to marry her to Prince Russet. They are brother and sister, Orphas; it cannot happen.”

  “No, it can’t,” Orphas nodded his agreement. “But they, the king’s mother and sisters, all know that she is the king’s daughter. They would never allow it to happen. I doubt they would ever put her in jeopardy by letting the cat out of the sack, so to speak.”

  “Father Orphas, Humbrick didn’t know that I sent her on my errand, I’m sure of it.” She was wringing her hands again. “He may be a monster and a fool, but he loves Gal.” She frowned. “It’s the only good quality he has.”