Trigon Daze: (The Legend of Vanx Malic Book Five), page 15
“While it happened, King Russet’s dazed father sat in the exposed throne, with his crown on, watching, with dull blue eyes.
“The teardrops it is torturing out of the dragons are making him—it, even more powerful. Pyra is none too pleased about it. The young blue it took came from her island.”
Vanx wasn’t sure how Ravier Oakarm’s entrancement would help the Paragon. With Russet alive to rally the kingdom folk, no one would listen to the bewitched old man, would they? Vanx had liked him, too, and he was Gal’s real father, which meant she might need him to keep it together.
In dragon form, if that is what you could call it, the Paragon Dracus was a huge, blue beast with twin rows of deadly sharp ivory spikes running down its length. It’s head was lionlike, and a little human, with a mane of smaller spikes and two larger ones spiraling out, just like a devil goat. It was just as big as Pyra, but Vanx supposed that since it could change into a human form, it could assume the form of anything it wanted. As a dragon, though, it could catch the smaller wyrms on the island with its claws, like a hawk catching a sparrow.
“After the wyrm’s teardrop finally fell—and this was amazing, Vanxy—it hardened and rattled around like a gemstone, just like the legends say. The Paragon grabbed it and swallowed it, as if it were fresh bread before a starving man.” Zeezle told Vanx the next part later, when they were alone and making preparations for the coming hunt. “After it ate the teardrop, the Paragon shifted forms, its wings became elongated arms, and it picked up its trident and jabbed the blue dragon with it. The dragon shivered and roared,” Zeezle went on, in hushed tones. “Its body shrank and twisted. Its outer skin, and its color, were burned away by the Paragon’s powerful magic. After that, it was docile.” Zeezle put his hand on Vanx’s shoulder for emphasis. “Then he gave the wyrm to King Oakarm, and ordered him and his remaining wizard to go find and kill his get.”
“Did you warn Russet?” Vanx asked, wondering why Zeezle hadn’t told him this stuff when he’d first arrived back from his reconnaissance mission.
“I did.” Zeezle nodded. “He and his men are still in Orendyn, about to travel to Zyth to gather forces. He told me not to tell you that part in front of his sister. The gargans, skmoes, and remaining Parydonian fighters are all on ships sailing to Dabbldwyn, which is still under human control.”
“So, if Russet has been warned, there is little we can do, other than begin our hunt,” Vanx finally decided.
“I agree,” said Chelda, as she and Gallarael regained the palace entry where Vanx, Poops, and Zeezle were going through their gear. An area off to one side had been doused with acidic spew from one of the black dragons. Pyra had cooked the muck into a hard, glass-like surface that the dragons were using to laze around on.
Three of the five sprites ordered to watch over Poops were hovering far enough above them as to not be intrusive, but Vanx knew nothing said here would remain private for long. Luckily, the most talkative of the little finger-sized, glassine-winged guardians was off duty, as Vanx had put them on a rotating shift that allowed them all to rest.
“So, my true father is one of them now?” Gallarael asked Zeezle, with more than a little contempt showing in her wicked gaze. “And who are you to keep news of one’s father from them? I am his get, too. Do you not think that matters?”
Zeezle looked at Vanx, then at Chelda’s angry stare. “I only kept that part from you because Russet asked it of me. I won’t keep anything from you again.” He shrugged. “He also said your mother is still alive, and holed up in her stronghold.”
“That part I wasn’t supposed to tell Vanxy, only you.” Zeezle grinned at Gal, and then at all of them. “Why is that, I wonder?”
Vanx almost laughed, but the anger in Pyra was finding him again, as was Sir Poopsalot’s angst.
Chelda and Zeezle loaded their gear onto their persons, for neither dragon would agree to being saddled. Vanx, however, threw a rope around the spinal plate that protruded from Pyra’s back, before the gap where he and Gallarael would sit. After tying it snug, he hung various packs and bundles from it, and then tied a padded leather cushion to it, in a way that left it sitting in perfect position for him and Gal to straddle.
“I was scouting Parydon Isle.” Zeezle shrugged at Chelda’s questioning look. “I didn’t have time to fashion us a rig. Besides, that is to keep mighty Pyra’s infernal heat from blistering their asses as we go. Kelse here is a much more comfortable ride.”
“Ya.” Chelda grinned at that, and they mounted the long, green wyrm.
Once Vanx had Gal situated, he slid down and knelt before his familiar. More than that, Poops was his pup, and his pup was worried about him badly. He wondered why Moonsy wasn’t saying goodbye to Chelda, but here she came, all dizzy-eyed and grinning.
He looked at Chelda and decided they’d been at it before Chelda returned. Moonsy was still love drunk, but she found Poops and hugged him as she blew Chelda a kiss and waved.
I will be back before you know it, Vanx told the dog while he scratched his ears in his favorite spot. I will be with you, on the inside, the whole time. Have fun with Moonsy and keep her from getting sad about Chelda. Can you do that?
Poops barked and licked Vanx’s face. Vanx hugged him back and then stood and gave General Gloryvine Moonseed a nod. He didn’t look back as he gracefully climbed up behind Gallarael to his place on Pyra’s back.
“Where to start our hunt?” asked Zeezle. “I hope you have a plan.”
“Plan?” Vanx looked around. The edge he’d been hoping for hadn’t come with Zeezle, but he did have an idea what they could do to catch that thing.
“We lay a trap for him on Dragon Isle, where he thinks he is the alpha hunter,” said Vanx, knowing it is what Thorn would have done. “That is the plan.”
“Ya,” Chelda snorted out her agreement. “Smart plan.” And with that, they took to the sky.
The hunt for the Paragon Dracus had begun.
Chapter Two
Since they’d slept together, Vanx’s and Gal’s friendship was awkward. But as they flew, she had no problem wriggling her ass against him, causing his body to respond, whether he wanted it to or not. She was nervous at first, but the world, as seen from dragonback, was clearly exhilarating to her. Her body was showing it.
Vanx doubted Zeezle was getting the same treat. In fact, Chelda had made him sit in front of her, which, due to her larger size, and his glittery hair, looked strange from across the night sky.
Pyra’s movements were slow and steady. She gently lifted up and down in a steady rhythm. The smoothness of her wing strokes, and the warmth of both her and Gallarael, made it easy for Vanx to relax.
Vanx knew deep down that he was catering to the darker part of his nature, the part the Hoar Witch and the Goddess had both warned him about. He was hunting the Paragon Dracus to avenge his friend Thorn, not for any sort of justice. The thing had come and destroyed a third or more of Saint Elm’s Deep, and forced him to douse the Heart Tree with molten silver, thus making it impervious to the Paragon’s power. Besides that, something so cruel and powerful just needed to be ended.
Revenge was a poor motive, but it was strong fuel to an already roaring fire. Vanx was only worried that, if all the Paragon needed to grow more powerful was dragons to torment, then they might be in trouble. Pyra’s island was infested with them.
He thought about these things after Gallarael finally fell asleep. They were over the sea now, the glossy water reflecting the moonlit clouds back up at them, bathing them all in a golden-hued light.
With Foxwise Posey-Thorn dead, the world, or at least Saint Elm’s Deep, had lost its charm. The last thing Vanx would ever want to do was replace the Hoar Witch as some sort of power in the north. And the secret of the Heart Tree was out. So many Zythians and men had seen it, coming and going from the sward, that expecting it and its wondrous inhabitants to remain a secret was foolish.
Vanx supposed he would have to help with that before he started back into his journey through the world. There were so many places he wanted to see, and he loved to catch fish—he still hoped to catch one of the great fish up at Highlake—but he supposed that might be impossible, unless someone lured Gallarael’s mother away for a time.
Thinking of places he longed to see, he remembered something.
“Pyra,” Vanx said aloud.
Yesss, came the dragon’s response, as much in his head as in his ears.
“Can you take us by the Sea Spire?” Vanx asked. “It isn’t out of the way, is it?”
It is called an Octron, Pyra hissed. I cansss take you.
“What is an Octron?” Vanx asked.
There are sssix of them, the dragon began. Long ago, the greatessst wizardsss used them to bind and travel the world.
“How does it work?”
Thatss I can not ssay.
“Why are they called Octrons, if there are only six of them?” Vanx’s question had been rhetorical, and he wasn’t expecting an answer, especially the one he got.
If you envisionsss a plane between each of the towerss, they portion this world into eight equal octrantsss.
Vanx thought about it as they flew on, banking slightly south to accommodate his request. The six Octrons were probably spaced evenly around the globe. He remembered a lecture about them from his youth, and some diagram showing their bases extending all the way into the globe’s core, but it was vague. The Zythian lesson masters called it the Sea Spire, and had no idea what purpose it had.
The idea that great wizards once used them intrigued Vanx. He was glad when dawn broke the golden night into morning and he saw the Sea Spire, or Octron, in the distance.
“Why are we coming here?” Zeezle called over.
“I just want to look around,” Vanx called back.
“Me, too,” Gallarael agreed. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“I’ve never even heard of such a thing,” Chelda said, and Vanx heard Zeezle go into the lecture he couldn’t remember. His Zythian friend was probably reciting the old professor’s lesson word for word.
Vanx ignored them and watched the tall, black, needle-like structure grow as they neared it. To him, the most amazing thing was the way the waves crashed against it. The fact that it had been there longer than Zythians had been recording history was baffling, and it made him wonder just how old Pyra was to know of it and its users.
Chapter Three
The Zythian wizard at King Russet Oakarm’s side had cast a shielding over him. He was glad for the help, but was wishing Quazar was still alive. There were more Wizards of the Royal Order coming, and some of them young and sharp, but until then, Vanx’s people were proving to be an ally that was both reliable and resourceful.
Using the speedy uni-horned kangas, arrow tips made from Heart Tree leaves dipped in silver, and teleportation spells, Russet’s small group had managed to retake a portion of Andwyn and undaze a few hundred of the Trigon’s fighters in the process. Keeping the undazed from becoming a nuisance would have been a problem, if the citizens of Parydon didn’t understand that their loved ones no longer resided in the empty-minded bodies left after the Paragon’s spell was broken. There was a good number of good folk following the group at a distance, and they seemed to be killing any of the ones Russet’s crew missed.
Learning that his father had been turned, and that he was giving orders from the back of one of those twisted wyrms, filled Russet’s heart with sadness. Knowing his sire was coming for him, and that he would be forced to undaze and then kill his mind-washed father, made him angry.
He’d culled seven of the best men in Orendyn to come with him, and the four Zythian spell casters at his command.
The men he had were no expert riders, but that had been one of the criteria for his culling, and a few of the seasoned soldiers had taken leave in Flotsam before and were able to stay seated and still manage a bow.
They were gathering men from the outlying farms and fortifying the three strongholds they’d retaken, when Russet’s father came streaking by overhead. His dragon mount sprayed them with its blue, gooey spew, but the Zythian shielding kept it from reaching them by turning the stuff to a light, ashy powder that never even reached them.
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 one of the Zythians 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 pixed had found a way to dry the muck as it flew. 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 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 drew from over his shoulder an arrow tipped with a Heart Tree leaf dipped in silver, and as he sighted down the shaft, he saw that his father’s spear was already raised high in his hand 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.
Look for The Legend of Vanx Malic Book Six – Paragon Dracus
as early as summer 2015.
Bonus Content: Please enjoy the complete short story,
The Legend of Vanx Malic
The Legend of Foxwise Posy-Thorn
Copyright © 2013 by Michael Robb Mathias Jr.
All Rights Reserved
Chapter One
General Foxwise Posy-Thorn, “Thorn” to his friends, had never been as nervous as he was now, standing before Queen Corydalis and her council of elders in the nexus. She was beautiful, and her huge, lavender eyes sparkled with the same fractal sheen as her glassine wings. The cherry blossom scent of her breath and the vibrating tingle of the Heart Tree’s magic had him shivering.
Thorn was the elven delegate of the pixie queen’s court, as well as the leader of her Honor Guard, and General of Defenses. He was around the queen often and somewhat used to all the pomp and ceremony, but the way this evening had unfolded, he knew he was about to be given a task of great importance. The glorious pixie queen had called him and two other elves into the field generated by the root clusters of the Heart Tree. Inside the shimmering energy of the nexus, they could speak without the scores of sprites, brownies, gnomes and skorks milling around in the great central cavern hearing them. Thorn was trying to read her expression, but he found his nervousness wouldn’t allow him the concentration he needed. Then she started speaking, her musical voice full of great sadness and dire warning.
“Thorn, Bristle and Barb, of all my ranks, you are my most loyal, my fiercest, and my sharpest of wit.” She nodded at strawberry-haired Thorn; his lieutenant, stubble-headed Bristle; and the girlish, blue-haired spellcaster, Barb, who could tell you something about everything.
“You need not know why, other than this: the Heart Tree and the future of the Lurr Forest fae is at stake. The three of you must cross the Ice Falls and travel to a lake near where men dwell. There you will find Three Tower Island.”
Thorn tried to concentrate, but the silky, metallic flow of the pixie queen’s hair threatened his ability to listen. Apparently she noticed this, for she placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed him so hard that it hurt.
“Under the towers there is a series of hidden tunnels and rooms. You must find them and follow them to Falriggin’s hidey-hole. There should be a small chest there with an assortment of valuable coins, gems, and artifacts.”
“What do we need with those?” Bristle asked.
Thorn made to command the insubordinate elf, but the pixie queen smiled at the ornery oaf and dispelled the tension.
“We don’t want those things, Bristle,” she said as she looked deep into Thorn’s eyes. “We want Falriggin’s shard. It is a milky crystal about the size and shape of a carrot. Dire times are coming and there is naught we can do but cast forth a beckoning, and hope that a champion answers the call.”
“I will be your champion,” Thorn said proudly.
Barb chuckled and earned a sneer from Thorn, but he didn’t say a word. She was of the same rank as he, but of a different order. He would speak with her in private, though, that was certain.
“You are my champion, Thorn. That is why you will take this, and lead these two to Three Tower Island to retrieve the shard.”
She handed him a cloth-wrapped bundle that he immediately understood to be a sword. It was the Glaive of Gladiolus, also known as Witch Bane, he saw when he let the wrapping fall away. He quickly buckled it around his waist and stood that much taller when he was done.
“Pardon, my queen, but why are you sending three and the Glaive?” Barb asked with deep intelligence twinkling in her bright blue eyes. Thorn only sensed the slightest bit of jealousy from her. “Sounds like a simple task. Are there wards, or guardians, watching over our prize?”
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