Saint Elm's Deep (The Legend of Vanx Malic) Read online

  “I’m sure it can be arranged.” She grinned. “But it will take more than one evening to hear them all.”

  *

  In high spirits, despite their injuries and the death of Smythe, they rode through the gates of Orendyn’s ice wall the next evening. Skog the skog sat proudly atop the shrew but had to lie flat against its thick fur to keep from being toppled off of the beast by the city gate’s archway. It was late, and most of the northern part of the city was asleep or bundled in for the night, but still a small crowd gathered and began following them through the streets. It wasn’t every day they got to behold one of the tundra’s fiercest predators.

  The companions stopped the monstrous thing right in front of the Iceberg Inn and Tavern. Vanx figured that Lem and Fannie wouldn’t mind. By morning there would be a score of local merchants and tavern men converging to make a bid on a share of the meat, and ten times as many thirsty gawkers hoping to hear about the kill and get a glimpse.

  Vanx followed Darbon through the door, holding Poops in his arms as if the dog were a newborn child. Despite the powerful urge he had to be elsewhere, he was happy to be back. Darbon had clearly never been more glad to be someplace in his life. Both of them were grinning, at least until they saw Gallarael Martin Oakarm, the Princess of Parydon, waiting expectantly by the hearth fire. The look on her face told them so much more than they wanted to know. That much grief could only mean one thing. Trevin was dead.

  Chapter Twelve

  Old Master Wiggins

  loved the Spring Fair dance.

  He twirled and spun so hard and fast,

  he came out of his pants.

  -- a Parydon street ditty

  When Gallarael saw Darbon’s face, she dropped her eyes. What little excitement she was showing scrunched back into anguish. Darbon stopped stock-still, and Vanx had to brush past him to get inside the tavern. For an awkward moment, he didn’t know what to do with Poops, but the dog began to squirm, so Vanx sat him on the floor. Poops gave Gallarael’s boot a curious sniff, then he hobbled off toward the kitchen looking for a treat.

  Vanx wrapped his arms around her and hugged her, kissing the top of her head like a father might when gathering in a troubled child.

  “He died, Vanx,” she sobbed into his shoulder. “He got the gut rot and died because of me. And look at Darbon’s scars. Oh gods, look what I’ve done.”

  “Quazar and the wizards couldn’t--”

  “They did all they could do.”

  Vanx didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. He looked around the common room as he held her close. At this hour, the tavern was empty. Most of the chairs had been turned upside down, and the floor had been swept. A pair of merchants were at the bar and had stopped their conversation to stare at the teary scene taking place by the fire.

  Vanx realized that Gallarael was alone; no handmaidens about, no retinue of armed soldiers to guard her.

  Chelda, Skog and a dozen curious townsfolk came streaming in. Chelda ran right into Darbon, who was still standing there like a statue.

  Lem, the owner, was trying to ignore Vanx and his terrible situation and motioned for the newcomers to come over to the bar and allow Vanx some space. Vanx nodded his appreciation.

  “I’ll buy the first round, if you tell us the tale, Chelda,” a man said jovially.

  “Hear, hear! And I’ll buy the second,” said another.

  Chelda agreed and whispered something to Darbon.

  Darbon blinked himself out of his shocked state and went to ask about Salma.

  Vanx could tell that the boy was troubled. He was sure Darbon understood that their friend was dead. He could only hope that seeing Gallarael wouldn’t send him back into his depression.

  Brody and the Skmoes came in, bringing with them a blast of cold air and another group of gawkers. Suddenly, the common room was bustling and alive with people.

  “Do you have a room?” Vanx asked, having to speak loudly and into her ear now to be heard.

  Gallarael nodded into his shoulder that she did.

  “Did you run away without telling anyone where you were going?”

  She nodded again. Then she pulled back enough to look into his eyes.

  “I didn’t know what to do,” she said. She took in the crowd and then wiped her nose self-consciously. Her eyes were red-rimmed and sunken into her pale face, and her nose was bright pink and raw.

  “They think my name is Galra.” She nodded toward where Lem and Fannie were hustling to fill some mugs. “I told them that I am the sister of a friend of yours who died.” Tears still streaked her cheeks, but a genuine, if slight, smile crept across her beautiful face. “Salma is nice. She’s smitten with Dar.”

  “How long have you been here?” Vanx took in her new look. Her once long, wheat-golden hair was cropped short and black as pitch. “What did you do to your hair? Did you dye it?”

  “Three days.” She let out a deep sigh as she went on. “And it’s not dye. I’ve changed inside Vanx. I’m not—not--” She paused to brush away a tear. “I’m not normal anymore. The remedy you brought back saved me from death, but I still change sometimes.” She started crying again and leaned into Vanx. “When I get angry,” she sobbed, “the darkness, it just…it just takes me over.”

  Vanx held her but couldn’t help shuddering at the thought. He remembered all too clearly Gallarael’s razor claws, her snarling, furrowed face and wild, cherry eyes when he’d seen her huddled over Trevin’s body. Her skin had been dark, as if she’d been dipped in tar. Her eyes had been shot with blood and her mouth full of sharp teeth. She’d been vicious in that state, so much so that she had unintentionally thrashed her lover, Trevin, as well as Darbon’s face.

  She must have felt him stiffen, for she pushed herself away from him again and met his eyes. “It’s not like before.” Her voice was defensive but sure and steady. “I have control over my actions. And sometimes I have control over when I change. When the darkness is on me now, I don’t feel terrified. I have accepted that part of me. I’m not prim little Princess Gallarael.”

  She seemed to be proud of these things, and Vanx didn’t presume to judge her. He, if anyone, knew what it was like to be different.

  “Well, don’t go changing around here.” Vanx forced a smile. “Not unless you can grow a good pelt. It’s cold outside. And I doubt Lem would want you to scare this crowd away.”

  Vanx kissed the top of her head again. “It will be all right, Gallarael—I mean Galra.”

  “Just call me Gal,” she told him. “And go tell Darbon, so he doesn’t give me up as the Princess of Parydon. I don’t want my father’s men over here searching for me.”

  “Your mother is probably beside herself with worry.”

  “She probably hasn’t noticed I’m gone yet.”

  Vanx had to wait for a good long while for Salma to pull her lips away from Darbon’s. He was certain that anything he said to the boy would just flow into one ear and out the other.

  Seeing Vanx watching them, Salma let Darbon loose and moved to give Vanx a hug.

  “I’m so sorry about your friend Trevin,” she said solemnly. “And I’m glad you brought Darbon back in one piece. Galra told me a little about the two of you.” She looked at Darbon with glowing eyes. “A lot about one of you.”

  Vanx cut Darbon off before he could say anything. “I know you don’t want to turn loose of your man just yet—” he smiled kindly at his friend, “—but I have a bit of news to share with him. You can have him all to yourself when I’m done.”

  Salma nodded, and tears of compassion spilled down her rosy cheeks. She kissed Darbon then hurried off to help tend the late-night customers.

  “What was that all about?” Darbon asked. “I know Trevin didn’t make it. I can see it in Princess Gallar—”

  “Shhh,” Vanx shushed him. “That’s just it. They think she was Trevin’s sister,” Vanx said, only as loud as he had to. “She ran away from home and wishes to remain anonymous, for the time bei
ng.”

  “Well, that explains why Salma was calling her Galra.” Darbon dropped his eyes. “How is she taking it?”

  “Not well, and there’s more to it, but it can wait until the morrow.” Vanx gave him a pat on the back. “Trevin died for what he believed in. Never forget that, and don’t let any of this ruin your homecoming.”

  “It does feel like a homecoming, Vanx.” Darbon’s look grew serious and his tone heartfelt. “I think that’s exactly what this place is for me: home.”

  “I know, Dar.” Vanx smiled. “And I’m glad for you and Salma. Now come over and say hello to Gal. Just, whatever you do, don’t get her angry. She needs us to cheer her up.”

  Darbon nodded. “I’ll be over as soon as I get us a round of those free mugs.”

  “Good.” Vanx turned back to the table, where Galra awaited him. He was glad beyond measure to see that Darbon had gotten over Matty and that this new troubling news hadn’t sent him tumbling back down into his grief.

  The three of them, with Salma stopping by to sit with them every chance she could manage, listened to Chelda tell the exaggerated tale of how they baited and killed the fearsome saber shrew.

  Brody laughed heartily at the embellishments and threw in his own two coppers’ worth when she let him. Xavian blushed, but stood and bowed when his deeds were spoken of. The Skmoes nodded a lot, and drank even more. And they slapped each other across the chest every time their part in the hunt was brought up.

  But Skog took the cake. He had impaled the shrew with his long pike, and then again with Chelda’s newfound sword. He spent the evening puffing out his formidable chest, as if he were the king of the world.

  And the mugs of free drink kept coming.

  Endell drank, too, and he spent a good bit of time putting words in all the right ears. He stopped by and introduced himself to Galra, offered his condolences, and then told Vanx that the morrow would be a very busy and profitable day for them. Already, two of the wealthiest houses and several merchants had sent runners up to inquire about meat, pelt and teeth.

  It wasn’t until Vanx finally stood up and made a toast that the rest of the room got a sense of the sorrow that was hovering around his table.

  Vanx made the toast to Smythe, who gave his life on the hunt, and to Trevin Lispan, who ultimately gave his life saving the girl he loved. “I can say that they both died well, and that is all any of us can ever hope to do.”

  The people all toasted the loss, but the crowd slowly petered away after that.

  Vanx didn’t wait for them to go. He escorted Galra to her room, then found Sir Poopsalot in the kitchen and retired himself. He chose not to dwell on the sorrows and losses of the past, nor the glory of the day. He went to sleep looking forward to what tomorrow might bring and knew that if Trevin were looking down at him from any sort of heaven, his friend would respect that the most.

  But the hopeful outlook fled him in sleep. He spent the night tossing and turning to wild nightmares about a dark, living force and red-glowing eyes out in the rubble that never seemed to let him out of their sight.

  When he woke, the urge to be somewhere else was overwhelming.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A battle they did wage,

  By the thousands they did die;

  against dragons and demons,

  across the land and sky.

  -- The Ballad of Ornspike

  For Vanx, the next few days went by in a blur. The Skmoes had taken their meat, hide and claws and disappeared happily, leaving the others to worry over the rest of the shrew. Vanx was continually bargaining, bickering, and parceling out portions of the meat from the massive beast.

  He had help. Darbon and Skog did most of the skinning, and Chelda helped cut and weigh the meat, on a scale they borrowed. But it had fallen on Vanx to handle most of the negotiating. The tanners they’d commissioned had agreed to ready the hide, and the tailors to cut and sew the coats Vanx wanted made. They did all of this in exchange for small swatches of the fur and generous portions of meat. Even after all of that, there was still a good deal of hide to sell, and several claws. Vanx let Brody auction it off to the highest bidder, right in the street, and spent the evenings sitting around the Iceberg Inn counting coins.

  Xavian found an apothecary who wanted to buy the beast’s bones, skull and brain. Apparently they had some sort of medicinal value. Vanx didn’t care, because they offered a surprising sum. By the time the mighty saber shrew was reduced to naught but a bloody stain in the snow, there were nearly eight hundred pieces of gold to divide amongst them.

  After all the expenses were taken out, and a decent burial plot and priest provided to bury Smythe’s leg, they had just more than a hundred each.

  On the fifth evening after their return from the hunt, Vanx was counting out their shares in the great room of the Iceberg. Skog and Brody were there, and both of them heavily armed. Xavian, who was now looked upon by the city folk as some sort of powerful sorcerer, stood behind Vanx, guarding over the table full of growing stacks like a hovering hawk. Darbon and Salma were up in their room, probably enjoying Vanx’s absence.

  Even though she wasn’t owed a share of the gold, Chelda was there. She’d taken the four huge saber fangs in payment and was certain she had gotten a far better deal than the others. She was standing watch, though, and Vanx noticed she was subtly taking in Gallarael.

  “Well, Lem, I guess you get one of these two odd coins,” Vanx called over to the nervous inn owner. “Though we’ve brought you enough custom to earn ourselves a year of free room and board, I think.”

  “As you say, Vanx,” Lem replied with a jovial grin. “And I thank you for it, but if you don’t get all that gold off of the table soon, I’ll clout you on your head. I don’t want no bandits, nor pirates, storming in and tearing up my place.”

  “Who gets the other coin?” Chelda asked curiously over some chuckles at Lem’s boldness.

  “We will let the richest dog in all of the realm decide it,” Vanx announced.

  Poops had been divvied out a full share of the coin. It was Vanx and Darbon’s profit for organizing the expedition. The others gave no argument.

  Vanx took the single gold coin and wrapped it up in a cloth. He gave it to Poops and the dog took it in his mouth. To everyone’s delight, the pup cocked his head sideways, as if expectantly awaiting instructions.

  “Who should get the extra gold, Poops?” Vanx asked, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Take it to whoever you think deserves it the most.”

  Vanx didn’t expect it, so the hot thread of tingly fire that fused its way up his spine made him gasp. Suddenly, Xavian was whispering something in his ear. The wizard had felt it, too. It had come from Poops.

  Sir Poopsalot had grown in celebrity among the regulars of the Iceberg, and several people began calling out his name, whistling, and slapping their thighs, trying to get him to come give them the gold piece. Poops paid them no mind. He turned from Vanx and trotted quickly into the kitchen. A moment later, over the boos and playful jeers of the small crowd, Fannie’s gleeful yell rang out.

  “One hundred thirteen golden galleons each,” Vanx finally announced. “That’s not a fortune, friends, but it’s a good start.” He pushed a stack each to Brody, Skog, and an inebriated Endell. He left a stack for Xavian and then pushed the other three--his, Darbon’s, and Poops’s--into a drawstring bull-scrotum pouch. After tying it off and making it disappear into his shirt, he stood. He was amazed by the feeling the dog had given him but was as tired as he’d been in a good while.

  “Drinks are on Darbon and me,” he called out. “One round of your best, Lem, for everyone here.”

  A smattering of thanks and cheers followed, and the rest of the evening was spent enjoying the great hearth fire and the now, absurdly exaggerated, tale of their hunt. Vanx downed his mug and had another. He was enjoying the fact that the shrew was gone and no longer an issue with which he had to concern himself. He had so much more on his mind and was now glad to
be able to think about it all.

  After a while, Gallarael sat down close to him. She’d waited until he was the only one who could hear her before she spoke. “Why does Chelda keep trying to get me up to her room?” she asked. “And why is Molly the barmaid glaring at me?”

  Molly, Vanx now knew, was the name of the barmaid that worked when Salma was busy elsewhere, which she was now, with Darbon. Molly was the woman he’d seen sneaking down the stairs with Chelda the morning before Springfest.

  “Molly used to be Chelda’s lover.” Vanx laughed at Gallarael’s expression. “You can figure the rest out, I think.”

  “Oh my.” Gallarael giggled. She blushed and tried her hardest not to look at either of the other women, but Vanx could tell she was having a time of it. A few moments passed before Gallarael spoke again, and the question caught Vanx off guard.

  “When are we going to find the witch’s palace?”

  He looked at her closely.

  She’d said “we.” He could see that she was serious, too. She really wanted to go off into the Bitterpeaks instead of staying here where it was warm, with Darbon and Salma, until she could face her problems back in Parydon.

  “You shouldn’t go,” he said.

  “Well at least you didn’t say I couldn’t.” She forced a smile. “That’s a start.”

  “Look, Gal, it’s cold out there. It’s cold like you’ve never imagined before. There are dangerous creatures and there’s treacherous terrain to traverse, not to mention a whole lot of time doing nothing but riding, climbing and walking. It might not be what you’re expecting it to be. You might—” and Vanx tried his hardest to not be condescending, “—you might not take it too well.”

  Gallarael sneered and looked around the room, searching something out. When she found what she was after, she rose from her chair, strolled across the common room, and grabbed up Salma’s leaper-fur coat from its hook by the bar.