Trigon Daze: (The Legend of Vanx Malic Book Five), page 5
Were these Trigon warriors fighting against their will?
In his mind, Vanx directed Poops, for the link between warlock and familiar was far greater than Thorn’s influence over the dog. Then, with the crystal in hand, Vanx spoke to Thorn.
“The Glaive is dispelling whatever daze has come over them, Thorn!”
“What?” came Streak’s booming reply.
“Not you!” Vanx yelled aloud and through the crystal. “Thorn, find a leader of them, or any that look to be in command, and try not to kill them.”
“Information.” Thorn grinned across the field of dead and dying Trigon and Zythian men.
“Exactly,” was Vanx’s reply, but then he saw one of the malformed flying wyrms swoop by and snatch the elf right off of Poops’s back. Another was right behind it and coming for Poops. Vanx didn’t think. He hurled his thousand-year-old family sword, blade over hilt over blade, to sink into the unsuspecting creature’s side.
Poops was clawed, but not terribly so, and Vanx saw Thorn falling sideways a few dozen feet, right into the upper benches lining the kanga racing pit. The wyrm he’d apparently just jabbed with the Glaive of Gladiolus was now un-tranced, just like the men were. The blue glow of the stunted dragon’s eyes faded, and as it hovered there trying to gather its wits, it was filled with Zythian arrow shafts. It fell in a tight spiral, only to disappear into the charging ranks of kanga rider trainees, who were moving in to help.
Vanx first went to Poops, casting the only healing spell he knew as he ran. When he got to his familiar’s side, the dog was raring to go find Thorn. Only after Vanx let the spell do its work did he and his four-legged knight start toward the area where Thorn should have landed. Luckily for Vanx, one of the other Zythians handed him the blade he’d just pulled from the flopping, downed wyrm.
The Zythian beheaded the small dragon, and Vanx wondered if this was a wyvern he was seeing, or some undeveloped newer form of dragon. He then charged up to where a score of other Zythians were holding the line. He gave Chelda a wide berth as she cleaved and chopped the invaders that came at her.
Two things happened then. First, a few of the Zythian mages began sending powerful, explosive balls of kinetic energy up at the aerial attack. Then came two separate blasts from above, detonating right before Chelda. This happened only a moment before a glassine shield caused several of the flying wyrms to stop hard and flatten against the nearly invisible field.
Chelda’s area was protected now, but Vanx couldn’t see her, and now Vanx was torn between finding Thorn and locating Chelda. Even though the creatures in the air couldn’t pass the barrier, those on foot were still coming. The gargan woman made the choice for him when she stood, throwing three of the attackers up and away from her, and began cleaving even deeper into their line. She was stepping into them so hard and fast that she was about to leave the protected area, but then a Zythian showed her where the shield ended.
Just before he turned to find Thorn, Vanx saw two more Trigon ships pass through the portal opening into the harbor, and with them came a larger wyrm, blacker than the others, but carrying a rider with a deep-blue, high-collared cloak. That one cast a spell that evaporated the Zythian shielding into silvery splinters of light. Within the span of a heartbeat, blood, rage, and the sound of powerful magic flying in all directions turned Flotsam Bay into a crimson-stained battlefield.
Chapter
Twelve
Old Master Wiggins,
was applauded for his dance.
But when he bowed, the crowd laughed loud,
for he split apart his pants.
– A Parydon street ditty
Vanx, with his sword in hand, spun and twisted out of the way of the oncoming kanga charge. He lopped the arm right off a Trigon fighter, and then pierced the brain of another, through the temple with his long, thin blade.
He saw where Thorn should have been, but couldn’t actually see the elf. Not knowing what else to do, he grabbed the Hoar Witch’s crystal and called for him.
He heard Streak gasp, and then he saw strawberry-colored hair under a folded, child-sized body a few rows down in the kanga pit. Vanx’s heart fell to his stomach, and he ran that much faster toward his little friend. Poops was limping, more from the tightening of scabbed skin than from the injury itself. Vanx could feel the dog’s concern as if it were his own. Just before they reached their companion, a beam of dull blue power the size of a tree trunk exploded right beside them.
The concussion took Vanx’s breath, and he stumbled to a knee. He heard Poops let out a whimpering yip. Then Vanx felt nauseous, and found that there was slimy, phlegm-like goo splattered across the side of his body that had been facing the impact. Poops, being lower to the ground, didn’t get any of the stuff on him, which was good, because it was starting to sear away Vanx’s clothing and burn his skin.
Poops got to the elf first. The dog nudged the elf’s head back and licked his face. Thorn’s eyes fluttered open and then met Vanx’s. The elf’s eyes grew huge, and Vanx realized that they were looking beyond him. He spun and brought his sword up just in time to force one of the stunted wyrms to lift to avoid impaling itself on his weapon.
The creature’s rider let loose another pulse of blue stuff that hit Vanx full in the chest. He went stumbling backward, tripping over the row next to Thorn and Poops and banged his head on the seating terrace so hard he saw white.
When he opened his eyes, he instantly vomited, and then was splashed with hot water.
“What the fu—” he started.
“Stay still.” Thorn’s voice was stern.
When Vanx finally focused on the elf, the diminutive bastard was about to run him through with this sword. His mind couldn’t grasp what was happening, for Poops was there beside Thorn and not trying to protect him.
Another splash of hot water poured over him, rendering him unable to avoid Thorn’s sword, but then he suddenly felt wonderful. He looked down to see the Glaive of Gladiolus’s tip pulling away from his chest, but only a few seconds later he turned and vomited again. A third tub of even hotter water hit him full in the face, and he instinctively covered his eyes.
Safe, still. He felt Poops trying to convey these things to him. He looked up to see Thorn stab at him again, and realized the elf was trying to heal him with the weapon, not run him through.
“What in the he—hell—Urggppph,” Vanx spewed forth what had to be the last of the contents in his stomach, and even more hot water came. He was shivering, as if he were in the tundra naked, but here came another gout of puke, and scalding water as well. This time, a woman began undressing him and sponging his tender skin with even more hot liquid.
“Stay still, fool,” Thorn growled. “You were covered in that shit. Here.” The elf leaned forward and jabbed Vanx again with the Glaive. This time, Vanx felt its healing magic course through him. When he looked at his chest, he saw that his skin was bright red, blistered, and bleeding.
“Where is Chelda?” Vanx managed.
“Fighting with your kindred,” Thorn said. “Just like Sir Poopsalot and I will be doing as soon as we know you’ll survive.”
“He will survive,” a Zythian woman said, and then glared at Thorn. “You take that sword, elf, and you start healing ours. We have enough spell casters to hold this new shield for a good long while.”
“How long have I been—been—Urgghhhph.” Vanx let out another heave, but only bile came out this time.
He couldn’t remember ever feeling so out of control of his person. He started to vomit again, but this time the heaves kept coming, and he couldn’t draw breath.
Again, the elf jabbed him with the magical blade, and he was instantly filled with bliss. He sucked in precious air twice, and then vomited yet again, only this time nothing came up.
“Half a glass,” Thorn said, looking at the Zythian woman with something akin to indignant rage in his eyes. Vanx knew Thorn wanted to fight, but she was right. If there were Zythians that needed healing, the Glaive was the fastest way to get it done.
“Go, Thorn,” Vanx managed. “Heal as many as you can, but keep looking for that one we can turn.”
“I will.” The elf nodded and threw his little leg over Poops’s side. “I’ve seen him already, but getting to him will be no easy thing.”
“I’ll find you after I get my bearings back. I’ll be with you, too.” He nodded at Poops, indicating that he could use the dog’s full sensory range, if he chose.
“Aye.” Thorn nodded and heeled Poops off toward the rows of wounded, who were being dragged away from the battle along the shore.
Vanx used his familiar’s consciousness to try and see the damage that had been done to his people. It seemed like the amount of gooey, snot-like plasma that got on a person determined how sick they became. Some Zythians were still working to drag those wounded by blades, stopping to empty their stomachs as they went about it. Then he saw Chelda being dragged by two Zythians, and he began to panic, until another bout of dry heaves came over him.
Chapter
Thirteen
In the end, I guess it’s all the same,
I’ve nothing left to lose, and no one left to blame.
Can’t drink enough to drown away the pain.
So I’m drunk, and horseless, stumbling through the rain.
– The Knight who Loved and Lost
Gallarael was in her feline form as she ran from the cottage to the palace to fetch Vanx’s spell book. From what Streak had tried to convey about the situation, she thought the Isle of Zyth was being overtaken, just as her homeland had been. She didn’t hear what Vanx had said through the crystal, but Moonsy and her troops did. By their reactions, Gal felt speed was of the utmost importance.
Once in the palace, she didn’t bother to change back to her natural form, thus her senses were that much keener. As she bounded down the spiral steps that led to the lookout, she felt there might be another presence there. The feeling only grew stronger as she marked the page of the book with its ribbon, and then clenched the spine of the text in her jaws.
She knew Vanx needed her, and the spell book. She would have Moonsy send some elves to come back with her to search out the place and see if anyone was there. Maybe something had wandered in while no one was around. It had happened before, when one of Vrooch’s pack had chased a pair of mongooses inside. Poops had chased them right back out, but a few tables were tossed, and an artifact that Vanx said might have been extremely powerful was rendered useless in the process.
When she topped the steps that led to the palace’s entrance, she was startled so badly that she dropped the spell book and let out a hiss. Her back was arched, and she knew the hackles were standing along her spine.
“What’s this?” asked a female as voluptuous as any Gallarael had ever seen.
The woman, if that is what she was, was hovering a handspan above the floor and wearing a gown of sheer material that left nothing to the imagination. Melon-sized breasts with nipples that protruded enough to do more than dimple the fabric accentuated a flat stomach and legs as long as a girl could have. Gallarael was sure that if she weren’t so shocked, and in her human form, she would have been wet between the legs. There was no doubt she was jealous, for even as beautiful as she was in her natural form, she couldn’t compare to this.
“Where is Vanxy?” the woman asked, as if her presence shouldn’t surprise anyone.
“Who—What are you?” Gallarael managed. She wanted to change back into her natural form, if only to show this transfixing creature that she was more than one of the palace’s many freakish creatures.
“I am a wood nymph, dear.” The woman smiled. “And you must be Gallarael, the princess of the human lands across the sea to the south.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Vanx once compared me to your mother,” the wood nymph continued. “I had no idea she really was almost as beautiful as I.”
“What?” Gallarael realized she was in her human form now, but she hadn’t done the transforming. The wood nymph had.
“If she bore a creature as fine as you, my dear, she had to be a vision to behold.”
“How do you know about me? How did you change me? And what do you want with Vanx Malic?” Gallarael realized a touch of anger was in her tone, and she was glad for it.
“Forgive me. My name is Ptelea,” the nymph said. “Vanx and I have seen each other a few times, and I was looking for some companionship, if you know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t know what you mean.” Gallarael couldn’t believe that she was jealous, but that was the emotion she was feeling.
“Well, if Vanxy isn’t here,” Ptelea cooed and glided close enough to stroke Gallarael’s cheek, “I can show you.”
Gallarael was almost lost in that magical touch, and she could see Vanx and this beautiful creature coupling. Her insides began to burn, and she was tempted to lean forward and kiss Ptelea. The jealousy left her mind and she saw herself joining this nymph and Vanx in a bedroom full of nothing short of sexual bliss, but her toe touched the spell book on the floor and she remembered what she was doing there in the first place.
“Vanx is on the Isle of Zyth, and they are under attack from the Trigon.”
“What?” Ptelea slid back. “The Trigon? Are you sure?”
“They took my homeland, and my father’s kingdom,” Gallarael said as she gathered herself and picked up the spell book. “I must be off; Vanx is waiting for this.”
“After you, dear,” Ptelea said, and Gallarael found herself back in her feline form.
Gallarael ran out of the palace toward the cabin as fast as she could go. She didn’t have time to worry about the fact that Ptelea was gliding along through the trees above her. The branches and limbs parted for the wood nymph, and she slid head before feet, parallel to the ground, through the forest canopy as if she were some ghostly bird.
The only thing that surprised Gallarael when she finally arrived at the cabin was that Moonsy and her troop were not surprised at all by the wood nymph.
“Hello, Ptelea,” Moonsy greeted her as if they’d known each other for a very long time.
In fact, Gallarael sensed that Moonsy knew her on another level, the same way Vanx did. This made Gallarael angry for Chelda. Chelda was Moonsy’s lover now. But Moonsy showed no inclination toward the wood nymph. Instead, she grabbed the spell book and took it straight to Streak, who unstoppered the little nut vial Vanx had given him, and took the tiniest of sips of the contents.
“We’ve got the spell book,” the sprite said, causing everyone in the area to grab at their ears and cringe, save for Gallarael and the humans.
“That blasted stuff is far too potent,” swore one of Moonsy’s elves.
After a few long moments with no reply, Streak repeated that they had the spell book, but Vanx didn’t respond.
Gallarael’s brother came out of the cabin, bringing with him the strong smell of fire smoke. His two men stepped out as well, both instantly transfixed by Ptelea’s presence—or her nipples. Gallarael wasn’t sure.
When Vanx didn’t respond the third time, Gallarael turned back into her natural form and plopped down cross-legged right on the snowy forest floor.
“Oh, dear,” said Ptelea.
Gallarael was certain the wood nymph’s concern wasn’t for Russet’s two men, who’d just fainted behind him. It was that Russet wasn’t drawn to Ptelea even slightly, which showed the true depth of his sorrow and rage.
Chapter
Fourteen
Underneath a gray veiled moon,
surrounded by the waves,
I wonder just how many souls,
are buried in this grave.
– a sailors song
Poops saw Chelda, too. The dog ran toward her, and Thorn’s little arm came into Vanx’s view from above, and it thrust the Glaive at her. In a matter of seconds, the gargan was struggling against those who had her.
Apparently, the blue-glowing blades and arrows the Trigon fighters were using had a similar effect to the sludge the wyrm-mounted warriors had been sending down from above, because the cut on her side was barely a scratch.
Vanx had to admit it was a potent way to debilitate an enemy. Each strike, even so much as a scratch, left the Trigon’s target weakened and ill. He could only imagine how easy taking the humans on Parydon Isle had been.
The Zythians had far better constitutions, and were really a different species of biped than humans. Most thought them elvish, but they were not. Vanx also noticed that the full-blooded Zyths who’d just been splattered were not nearly as enfeebled as he was. Maybe he was so sick because he took a direct pulse right in the chest, or maybe it was because he was half human. But knowing he’d taken a full blast, and was still there alive, gave him some confidence. He was raw, blistered, and woozy, but he was still alive.
Chelda was alive, too, and not very pleased about being dragged out of the battle. Nonetheless, she was stalking toward Vanx now, her expression turning from one of rage to one of concern as she took him in. Before long, she was running to him. She stopped to heave, but her moment of sickness was just that: a moment. By the time she reached him, not only did she look as healthy as ever, but the slice on her side had healed completely.
For a long minute, Vanx thought her gargan blood might have had something to do with her natural defense against the Trigon’s power. But then the sun glinted off of the silver at her wrist, and he remembered that she had Heart Tree wrappings; and that the power of the Hoar Witch and something she’d done to the Heart Tree had been what kept the Trigon away from this part of the world for so long.
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