Poops hadn’t gotten sick, either, but the dog had only been clawed, not stabbed or cut by a blade or blasted with the strange goo.

  Vanx was still shivering, and felt like he had no fluid left in him at all, but he managed to give Chelda a smile.

  “You look like you’ve been skinned and boiled,” she said as she sat near him, still heaving in great breaths of air. “I killed at least a hundred of the bastards for you. Can you have one of these strange kinsmen of yours find me some food? I feel like I haven’t eaten in weeks.”

  “You haven’t,” said Vanx.

  “Follow me,” said the Zythian woman who had been attending Vanx and a few others. “If this shielding holds until the eastern tribes arrive, we will repel this evil foe.” She touched Chelda’s wound and studied it for a moment. “You are a brave one, and we owe you and your companions many lives.” Then, looking down at where Vanx was laid out on a blanket, she added, “We owe you.”

  Vanx smiled, but he heard Streak calling and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the faint sound. Apparently, the shielding the Zythian wizards had erected was interfering with the sprite’s ability to call out to him.

  As Chelda followed the woman away to find food, Vanx reached for the crystal at his neck. To his grave disappointment, it was no longer there.

  Trying not to panic, he reached out for Poops again and directed the dog back his way. When Poops’s hot breath found his face and licked him, he forced a smile and patted the pooch on the head.

  “By root and leaf, Vanx, you look bad,” said Thorn.

  “Thank you,” Vanx managed. “At least I’m not dead.”

  “Might be better off that way.”

  The elf’s honesty was laced with a bit of humor, but what Vanx told him wiped the grin off Thorn’s little face.

  “The witch’s crystal is missing. I doubt the stuff that has eaten my skin ruined it, but the cord must have been dissolved away.”

  “We will find it.” Thorn clearly understood that they needed the crystal to communicate with the inhabitants of the Deep.

  “Look for a bit, but eat, and make sure Sir Poopsalot eats, too,” Vanx commanded. “Even without the crystal, we can survive this, but not if we fall to hunger.”

  “Did you see their leader?” Thorn asked, ignoring Vanx for the moment. “The one with the real dragon? He is one of the three, I think. I’d hate to battle all of them together.” Thorn looked up at the sky full of frustrated wyrm-riding combatants, who couldn’t get at them through the shield. “If they get reinforcements, your island will be theirs.”

  “Then we must stop them.” Vanx tried to sit up, but his raw skin wouldn’t allow it. “Find the crystal and fill your belly, friend. Poops is hungry enough to eat an elf. I can sense it.”

  As if to agree, the dog barked and bounded away toward the kanga pit where they’d been attacked earlier.

  Vanx heard Streak again, but couldn’t respond. The sprite’s voice was so distant and faint, it was almost inaudible. Clearly, Thorn hadn’t heard it at all, and he should have.

  Exhaustion finally overcame Vanx then, and he drifted off to the sound of screaming Zythians and ringing steel.

  Chapter

  Fifteen

  Dragons are hardly friendly.

  Nor are dragons nice.

  They say the fear they fill us with,

  comes from the hunger in their eyes.

  – Dragon’s song

  Inda, or maybe it was Anda, came across the falls alone and asked what was taking so long. Gallarael ended the questioning with a snarl, and the skmoe found a place outside the cabin where he could see both the elven troop and the beautiful creature hovering about them. He didn’t pass out like the two shipmen had, and he clearly thought it was funny that they had been that transfixed by her.

  “She be a dryad,” he told his employer. “No good to mate, but plenty good to look at.”

  “I can’t disagree,” Russet Oakarm said, causing Gallarael to give her brother a sneer.

  It was strange standing around the old cabin with people from different parts of her life. Gallarael was worried about Vanx as much as Moonsy was about Chelda. All of the elves showed their concern over not hearing from the group; Foxwise Posy-Thorn was their greatest hero. What surprised Gallarael most, though, was Ptelea’s interest in Vanx. Vanx had been her mother’s lover for a time, back before Gallarael’s whole world had been turned upside down in the Wildwood. If she dwelled on the wood nymph for too long, however, she found herself entertaining thoughts of coupling with her.

  This angered her and intrigued her, but more troublesome at the moment was that deep in her gut she felt something bad might have happened to her friends.

  “I feel like they abandoned me,” Moonsy told her after the campfires were lit and Russet’s men were holed up in the cabin. “Chelda let them leave me, and it just hurts. I’d rather die with her than never know.”

  “I don’t think they’re dead.” Gallarael said the words with as much hope as she could muster. She didn’t think they were dead, but without hearing a response to Streak’s seventh or eighth call, her hope was beginning to dwindle.

  “If you’ll let me see Aserica Rime, I may be able to find a way to learn if they are—” The strange wood nymph let the offer trail off instead of stating the worst.

  “Why do you care?” Gallarael snapped, but instantly regretted it. She gave Moonsy a look, and the pretty elven warrior nodded that she agreed it was worth a try. Gallarael shivered, for in her human form, which she’d changed back into for the sake of her brother, she wasn’t warm at all.

  “As long as you swear not to kill her,” Gallarael finally agreed. “Moonsy, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  It was dark, and the moon was hidden behind the clouds. Two men in the cabin were managing to keep time with their snoring, and her brother was inside, brooding by the hearth fire.

  Gallarael stepped into the shadows and shifted into her feline form. “Come,” she managed, before bounding off into the darkness toward the crystal palace. She didn’t bother to see if the wood nymph was following her, for she decided she may be able to torture the same sort of information out of the Hoar Witch herself.

  Vanx had set the lanterns in the entryway to ignite when someone or something approached, mainly because when he was there, so was Poops, and the dog started barking at the first sign of intrusion. It was silent this eve, at least until they were near the observatory. From there, they could hear Aserica Rime howling out in terrible pain. To Gallarael, who’d lost a few friends due to the nasty witch and her twisted creatures, it was a sweet sound. She noticed the wood nymph wince with a bit of distaste, though, as they started down.

  “Do you ever walk?” Gallarael asked. “Your feet haven’t touched the ground since I met you.”

  “I am not a creature of the earth,” Ptelea answered. “I am a wood nymph, an elm nymph to be exact, and I’d hate to take root anywhere.”

  “You’d root into the ground if you touched it?” Gallarael couldn’t believe it.

  “Only if I stay still too long,” Ptelea smiled, and Gallarael was saved from getting lost in her lovely eyes when the Hoar Witch cried out again.

  “You promised me, Van—Vanx cuggggh!” Aserica Rime seemed to choke on her plea.

  “You’re doomed to this fate for all eternity, unless you tell us how to reach out and see if he still lives,” Gallarael raged as she came down the stairs into the dungeon cavern where the Hoar Witch was cocooned.

  Unlike the last time she’d seen the witch, Aserica wasn’t bloated and full of pus and venom. She was so thin and hollow-looking that it was clear Sissy had recently been feeding.

  “Gallarael,” Ptelea glided past her, “let me.”

  “I can ease your suffering, dear.” The wood nymph’s tone was soothing, and the Hoar Witch must have recognized her voice, for her pale, prune-like head turned sharply, and milky white eyes opened. What might have been a look of hope came over her.

  Gallarael decided that she had better keep an eye on Ptelea; for all she knew the wood nymph might try to let the old bag loose, or kill her before they could find out anything.

  “KILL ME!” The witch’s scream seemed pathetic. “Or I’ll tell you nothing.”

  “Here.” Ptelea reached out and touched a place where Aserica Rime’s putrid flesh was exposed due to Sissy’s fangs puncturing the cocoon. “See how nice that is.”

  “Ahhh.” The Hoar Witch sighed, a sound that was still sad to hear, but a complete contrast to her normal sputtering and wailing. “Again, again, again.”

  “Not until you tell the shapeshifter what she wants to hear.”

  “Whack ack ack whaas it now? Where has Vanx gone?”

  “Is there a way to see if he still lives?” Gallarael asked harshly.

  “Oh, pleeeease, no.” Aserica Rime’s howl was pitiful. “He promick ick ised me he would kill me.”

  “Then you should help Lady Gallarael find him,” Ptelea said, touching the witch’s festering wound more quickly this time.

  This time, the pleasure, or whatever it was the wood nymph’s touch gave her, seemed only to provide a fraction of the relief Aserica was expecting.

  “If you don’t, I’ll spend all my days pestering you with pokes and prods.” Gallarael growled a truly animalistic growl.

  “Ptelea, soothe me onck onck once more, and I’ll tell her.”

  “Tell me first.” Gallarael used one of her hind legs to kick the dangling cocoon violently. “Or I’ll get the stick and play our game.”

  “Okay, you evil creature,” Aserica said through clenched jaws full of rotten teeth. “Use the well in the lookout. It won’t reveal the future, but if you can focus on the present hard enough, it will be displayed. The fairy dust is in a scrotum pouch right there. Put a pinch on the waters surface, and a pinch on your tongue, and choke on it. Now, touch me again, Ptelea, pleeeease.”

  “I think I’ll touch the shapeshifter instead, dear,” the wood nymph said, giving Gallarael a conspiratorial grin. “How dare you call anyone evil? You are the worst.”

  Gallarael started to protest, but then Ptelea’s fingers grazed lightly across her shoulder. She felt herself orgasm as deeply as she had ever imagined. In fact, she sat on the second step, unintentionally turning back into her human form. Her legs slightly spread, her inner thighs soaked with her musky sex.

  “Noooooo!” Aserica Rime screamed. “No! No. Nock ack ack ack ughhh…”

  It took a few minutes for Gallarael to gather herself, but as she used the wall to steady her climb back up to the lookout, she decided she fully comprehended why Vanx got along with such a stimulating creature.

  It wasn’t until she tasted the stuff in the pouch that the rushing tingle in her abdomen subsided, but the sudden absence of the feeling allowed her to find her thoughts and concentrate on Vanx Malic. To her great surprise, when she looked into the still water of the well, she saw him, all blistered and retching.

  She understood completely the gasp of horror that escaped Ptelea’s mouth, for Vanx looked to have been skinned and boiled. Worse for Gallarael, there was no sign of Chelda, General Thorn, or even Sir Poopsalot.

  “What am I going to tell Moonsy and the elves?” she asked aloud.

  She was glad Ptelea didn’t answer, for she hadn’t intended to share her thoughts. What the wood nymph said, though, gave her a little hope. For that, she was thankful.

  “Patience, dear,” said Ptelea. “This is an instant. Look again in a while; maybe what you see will be different.”

  Chapter

  Sixteen

  Old Master Wiggins,

  finally met his end.

  He twirled, and spun, on Summers Eve,

  Right into the mulching bin.

  – A Parydon street ditty

  “See how he stays back and uses those sweeping motions to guide the fighters?” A Zythian named Volan, who was also injured and laid out nearby, was speaking to Vanx and Thorn.

  Thorn wasn’t lying down like the other two, so he had to crane his head back to look up at what they were seeing. The elf seemed to be more concerned with Chelda, who was back in the lines, swinging her huge sword. Vanx could judge what she was doing by watching Thorn’s expression. So far, she must have been as successful as before, because his look was one of admiration more than concern.

  “Is that one of the three who make the Trigon?” Vanx asked. He’d noticed that the blue-cloaked dragon rider spent more time focusing on Chelda’s area than any other. Maybe it was because she was one of the most deadly defenders out there, or maybe it was her gargan blood the Trigon leader sensed. More likely, Vanx was beginning to think, it was the Heart Tree wrappings she was wearing that drew the attention of him and his minions.

  “I’d wager he is,” Volan answered. “He evaporated our first shield as if it were nothing.”

  “I think so, too,” added Thorn. “I’d hate to face them all at once. The way this one uses those men shows he is waiting for something, or…” The elf let his thoughts trail off.

  “I think he is taking our measure,” offered Volan. “Or he thought we would fold like the pathetic humans did.”

  “Vanx is half human, friend.” Thorn gave the Zythian a hard stare that might have looked silly in any other circumstance. “You’d better hope they gather themselves, or this island will fall, and your whole race will vanish. That dragon rider up there killing your kindred in droves is just a pathetic human himself.”

  “My point—” Volan didn’t complete his thought.

  “Not now, Thorn.” Vanx smiled at his elven friend. “He didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Maybe I did,” Volan said. “But I was wrong for it, friend.” The last was said to Vanx in a sincerely apologetic tone.

  “They—he—it—wasn’t expecting our sort of magic.” Vanx changed the subject. “Stab me with the Glaive again, Thorn. I think Poops may have found the crystal. He doesn’t want to put it in his mouth, or can’t get to it or something.”

  “I’ll go.” Thorn turned and looked down at Vanx. “You’re in no shape to—”

  “Just stick me with the damn Glaive, Thorn.” Vanx’s growl wasn’t one of anger, but determination. “Stick Volan, too. He’s not nearly as bad off as I am.”

  Volan looked confused until the tip of Thorn’s ancient elven blade pierced his forearm. His eyes rolled up, and he grinned. Then Thorn stuck Vanx, a little harder than the last few times, as if the force of the jab would cause more of the sword’s healing magic to transfer to the half Zythian.

  “Ahhhh.” Volan let out a sigh of relief. “Healed by a sword. The irony is delicious.”

  “Where I come from, there are few enemies that are natural. They are all mismatched creations, born of foul magic and evil. The Glaive of Gladiolus renders them apart, for they are formed of many things, and to heal them, is to destroy the whole of the creation.”

  “Just like the fighters you cut.” Vanx peeled what remained of his shirt off as he slowly got to his feet.

  He was still raw, blistered, and in pain, but he had ideas forming in his head. He was worried that soon the Trigon leader circling above would tire of this and take his army to Orendyn, where they knew nothing about this sort of defensive arcanery and would fall like wheat. “They are fighting because they are entranced, or dazed into doing so. I saw one fall. The trance left him as soon as the Glaive bit into his flesh.”

  “The Trigon Daze.” Volan nodded, as he, too, stood. “I’ve heard that before, when I trekked across Harthgar. They’ve a lot of them there.”

  “Thorn, can you do me one more favor?” asked Vanx.

  “Anything, Master Warlock.”

  “Drag Chelda back long enough to cut a piece of one of her Heart Tree wrappings, about this long, and bring it to me.” He held his thumb and index finger as far apart as he could.

  “Is that why she didn’t fall ill?” Thorn asked, but he must have known the answer, for he nodded and ran toward the battle on his child-sized legs.

  “You know of a Heart Tree? A true one?” Volan seemed astonished.

  “Yup.” Vanx nodded. “I have the fabled Hoar Witch strung up like a pet in her own crystal palace, too.” He gave Volan his hardest stare, and bore into his eyes. “Not bad for a pathetic human.”

  “Pathetic half human,” Volan broke the tension with a devilish grin. Then his look turned serious. “I said I was wrong.”

  “I want you to mean it the next time you say it, friend.” Vanx used the Zythian’s shoulder to steady himself. “Now, I need you to help me fetch a crystal before that lunatic up there figures out how to shatter our shield, or takes his army somewhere less fortunate.”

  Chapter

  Seventeen

  You know its spring in Saint Elm’s Deep,

  when you can hear the wisp wights sing.

  But underground you know its spring,

  when the gnome farts start to stink of cheese.

  – A fae festival song

  Poops waggled all around Vanx when he and Volan came limping up to the area the dog had been guarding. Poops had found the crystal, but it was covered in the same stuff that Vanx had been covered in. What was once a glob of blue translucent gel was now thicker and grey, like putty. Using a piece of one of the broken seats nearby, Volan managed to get it loose.

  Vanx used the shirt he’d removed earlier to grab the crystal. Squeezing it through the material, he tried to call out to those in the Deep, but nothing happened. Gallarael would be worried about him, but he wanted more than anything for Moonsy to know that Chelda was still alive. He needed to have Gal read him the passages about the sand and the teleportal spell again, because he—they—couldn’t afford to lose days at a time, especially if they had to leave in a hurry.

 

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