The Legend of Vanx Malic: Book 02 - Dragon Isle (8 page)

“I’ve seen four of the creatures moving around out there,” Trevin said. “They’re low to the ground. I thought they were varmints at first, but they’re too big. They haven’t come any closer, but I hear them moving about.”

“There’s a lot more than four of them,” Zeezle said. He could see at least two dozen sets of eyes. “They aren’t braving the fire, and I can’t quite tell what they are.”

“They’re too low to the ground to be wolves, but that’s how they move,” Yandi commented.

“What does a seaman know about wolves?” Trevin asked.

“I was born to a shepherd in lower Harthgar,” Yandi informed them. “I know as much about wolves as I know about the sea.”

“Then why aren’t they attacking?” This came from Darbon in a whisper.

“Because our voices are scaring them, lad,” Yandi said loudly. “Quit whispering or they’ll attack us.”

“Oh, I understand!” Darbon yelled, causing a few of the creatures to blink and dart away. Yandi burst out laughing.

“They do move like wolves,” Zeezle agreed. “Or maybe wild dogs.”

“That would explain why they are so low to the ground,” Trevin agreed. “Probably wild dogs.”

“Give me some of that dried meat,” Zeezle ordered Darbon. The boy gave him a piece and he tossed it out of the fire’s light to a point that was still within the limits of his vision. Sure enough a dog slunk in and snatched up the morsel. “They are dogs,” Zeezle confirmed. “But they aren’t barking or frisking around, or doing what most dogs do.”

“Barking probably attracts the tree orcs,” Trevin said.

“Or the dragons,” added Darbon.

“Why is Vanx’s arse exposed like that?” Yandi asked again.

“Enough about Vanx,” Zeezle snapped. “I’ve heard about what you seamen do after you have been out for too long.”

“Ewww,” Darbon groaned.

“Well I’ve never done such a thing,” Yandi protested. “I just wanna know why he has his ass up in the air.”

“Then why are you still staring at it?” Trevin asked from the other side of the camp.

“I’m not.”

Only Vanx and Darbon could sleep after that. The others were kept awake by nervousness and Yandi’s continuous protests that he hadn’t been staring at Vanx’s arse.

Not long before dawn the curious sets of eyes slowly disappeared, and by sunrise the companions were alone in the small, rocky clearing.

“It’s been burned to blistering.” Zeezle shook his head.

“There’s some salve in one of the packs, Yandi,” said Trevin. “He might let you apply it.”

Vanx heard all of this in a half daze, and though his legs still burned with the exertion he’d put forth sloshing through the miles of knee-deep muck, and though he wanted to do nothing more than sleep the exhaustion away, the idea of Yandi touching his arse brought him fully awake. With all the energy he could muster he rolled over and covered himself with his blanket. He found Zeezle standing over him and the others looking at him curiously.

“You’re supposed to piss on a fire to put it out,” Zeezle deadpanned. “Not take a dump on it.”

This brought a deep laugh from Yandi and a giggle from Darbon. Trevin was ignoring the conversation and was already packing up the gear.

“Yandi’s been watching your bum,” Darbon said. “What happened to it?”

“I always heard that seamen can get a little too lonely.” Vanx glared at Yandi. Apparently the seaman was learning the futility of denial, so he just shook his head and walked away.

Pulling his britches up, Vanx winced and nearly let a tear fall when the rough fabric pressed against his burns. It hurt, but not as bad as he feared it would. As soon as he had his britches laced he said, “Sir Earlin is dead.”

Zeezle nodded and went to help Trevin pack the gear. “I thought I smelled dragon’s breath.”

Darbon and Yandi weren’t nearly as perceptive and they started asking questions at the same time.

“It doesn’t matter!” Trevin screamed over them. “We’ve a job to do, and we’d best be about it.”

Vanx saw the glimmer of the tear that escaped Trevin’s eye. He couldn’t tell if they were tears of anger, or of worry for his love. Either way, Vanx decided that Trevin was only half right.

“Yes, we have a task to complete here,” Vanx said in the silence. “But you’ll hear how Sir Earlin died, because knowing how he did might save one of you lumps on this lunatic quest.” Vanx’s tone lightened a bit as he went on. “Besides that, the man died saving my life and I’ll not cheapen the deed by keeping it to myself.”

A short time later the group was silent and following Zeezle up a slope full of boulders and shrubs. It steepened and grew more treacherous as they went. The scrub turned to patches of grass and lichenous growth, and the rocks turned to jagged outcroppings full of crags and cracks deep enough to keep them wary of each and every step.

A low cloud cover kept the sky dreary and gray, but didn’t obscure completely the occasional winged hunter overhead. The clouds didn’t hide the breathtaking view of the sea either. There were no trees to protect their passage now, but there were plenty of spaces to squeeze into if trouble came swooping down out of the sky.

Late in the morning they were approaching one such place, a scallop of a cavern, maybe twelve feet tall and as many deep. An evening fog had appeared and the humans were complaining that they couldn’t see more than a stone’s throw around them. Vanx could see a good deal farther than that, but Zeezle’s full-blooded Zythian vision could see as good as a human’s on a clear day. Zeezle, however, didn’t see the huge devil-horned goat coming bounding at the procession from out of nowhere. It hit Darbon full on, taking him off of his feet and sending him into a hard tumble over the edge of the outcropping on which they stood.

The ram was porcupined with arrows even before Darbon’s scream ended in its hard, breathy whoosh.

Vanx ran to the edge and looked over. The young man was sprawled and convulsing, struggling to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him. He was only maybe twenty feet down. He’d landed in a tumble of scree collected like a reservoir against a tangle of broken limbs and mud-caked rock.

“Are you broken anywhere?” Vanx asked. He waited patiently for Darbon to get air back into his lungs. When the boy was breathing he calmed enough to check his extremities.

“My side, I think.” Darbon winced as he said it. He tried to get to his feet but the bed of rubble he was on shifted suddenly.

Vanx’s heart sank. Darbon looked to be running in place for a moment as the ground beneath his feet began to spill away like sand. Then the boy fell forward with a yelp, and like a leaf going over a waterfall he flowed out of view.

They brag and kill and waste.

They call the earth their own.

Never here, Oh never will they

call our island home.

– Balladamned (A Zythian song)

“R
ope!” Vanx yelled. “Give me an end and lower me.” He looked around frantically to make sure the others had heard him. They had. Zeezle was tearing through the pack strapped on Yandi’s back. Trevin was kicking at a projection of stone, testing its value as a hold fast. In a matter of seconds a length of rope had been thrown around the rock so that Zeezle, Trevin, and Yandi could use it as a pull point to lower Vanx over the edge.

Vanx tied his end around his waist and waited only until the others snugged the slack before going over like some four-legged spider. They gently let him down. The descent was constant and smooth. The mouth of a good-sized cavern opened up before him, revealing the decayed carcasses of some small animals. Vanx hoped that whatever had consumed the creatures wouldn’t return anytime soon. The stiff-looking leathery hides and lack of any insect activity around the remains told him that it had been a good while since anything was killed or eaten there. Then the bottom of the opening was over his head and a moment later his feet found some loose, shifting rubble.

“Darby!” he called out, but not too loudly. He had a feeling that nearby there might be dozens of niches like the one he had just seen. Logically he knew that many of them wouldn’t be empty, so with extreme caution he proceeded.

“Can you hear me?” Vanx called again as he slid feet first in a semi-controlled manner down to the point where he had last seen his friend.

He heard Darbon moan just as he saw the bottom of the young man’s boot. The boot was pointed straight up and wedged into a water-worn crack. It appeared to be the only thing holding the boy from a deadly headfirst fall. Vanx eased himself out to the edge and looked over. Darbon was head down, facing out toward the sea and trying to look back up at him.

“Help me,” he managed to say before his bloody head fell back in a limp dangle.

Using his dagger, Vanx cut a length of rope from the mainline and tied himself off to a dubious-looking cluster of roots. He made a slip noose out of the main rope’s end, and after a few tosses, managed to get it around Darbon’s free leg. He gave the line two short tugs and called out just loud enough for Zeezle’s Zythian ears to hear. “Pull him up, and then drop the rope back down for me. Take it slow. He’s upside down.”

“Pulling,” came Zeezle’s response. It was louder than Vanx would have liked, but there was nothing he could do about it. He had to get his friend’s boot unwedged and couldn’t worry about anything else until it was done. Already the half-conscious young man’s body was moving upward in slow, rhythmic surges.

It turned out that Darbon’s boot was barely holding him up. It came loose in a surprising crumble. The seemingly solid rock fell apart so easily that Vanx grew nervous and began inching his way in as close to the cliff face as he could get. His concern shifted back to his friend when Darbon’s head came up into view. It was a mess. Long, thin strands of thickening blood trailed out of the young man’s hair. A pair of white slits opened on the bloody face and Darbon mouthed two words before shutting his eyes again. Since he was upside down it was hard to determine exactly what Darbon said, but Vanx was certain it was, “Thank you.”

Vanx started to say something to him but realized that Darbon had slipped back into unconsciousness. Up and up he watched his friend go. He had to move himself more than once to get out from under the steady stream of blood that was dripping down. Soon, though, Darbon was up and being dragged over the point where the rocks had initially given way. Vanx could no longer see him.

Vanx realized then that the rope couldn’t be lowered all the way to him. If Zeezle and the others just let it back down it would catch and coil up on the ledge. He decided that if they tied a rock to one end and then threw it well out from the cliff face it might clear all of that and make it down, but it would have to be a good throw and he might have to move horizontally one way or the other to get to it. He was contemplating this and using his keen eyes to spy out possible handholds and footholds when he heard a dragon’s roar. It froze him in place and he had a hard time even getting his eyes to move to study the misty sky beyond the cliff. He didn’t see anything and didn’t dare make a sound. He thought that lying there on the beach, just under the stream of dragon’s breath, had been unnerving enough, but this was worse. He was exposed and helpless. His weapons, save for his dagger, were all in a pile above and he couldn’t flee if he had to. He could barely move a few feet in either direction.

A span of time passed; a moment, the turn of an hourglass? He couldn’t say. He listened for the voices of his companions above, the sound of the rope sliding against the pull point, something, anything, but all he heard was silence.

The next roar came from far too close. It nearly startled him over the same edge from where he’d found Darbon dangling. A dark shape whooshed by out in the mist, blue or black, he guessed, and fairly large. He heard the faint sound of a fracturing rock, and then a storm of pebbles and stones, none bigger than a man’s fist, came raining down over him. He found he was holding his breath and had been for too long. Just before the rushing of his blood filled his ears, he heard flesh being stripped from bone in long, wet tears. It was followed by more smacking and chewing noises. He waited for the next rip of meat and let out his air. Using the sound he was hearing to cover his heavy breathing, he tried to settle himself. He hoped that it wasn’t Darbon up there being eaten. He had no idea if the others had the time to get the boy up to where they were, but he knew they would have most likely heard the beast and fled. They had a task to complete. After telling them of Sir Earlin’s sacrifice, he doubted whether any of them, even Zeezle, who cared very little for human affairs, would abandon the quest. He could only hope they’d gotten the boy up.