The Wizard and the Warlord (The Wardstone Trilogy Book Three) (6 page)

Just then a loud splash erupted from behind them in the entry cavern. Both of them turned and started quickly back toward it. If it was the serpent then they were possibly trapped between it and all the little ones in the pool. As they ran, Phen gave the emerald to Oarly and fumbled for Loak’s ring. It was hard to get it back off of the medallion chain and onto his finger while holding the dagger. He almost dropped it. Finally he put the dagger between his teeth and slipped on the ring.

The opening of the big tunnel wasn’t blocked off yet, but they could see that the entry cavern was filled with the slithering green glow of the serpent.

“I’ll look,” Phen said.

“Extinguish your light, fool,” Oarly hissed. “It’ll see you, if it hasn’t already.”

“Oh.” Phen had forgotten about the light spell entirely.

Suddenly the place went dark save for the continuously moving glow that radiated off of the serpent. Phen eased down to the big cavern and looked. The serpent was in front of the smaller tunnel, intently flicking its tongue as far as it could reach. Phen felt the jewel on the medallion around his neck begin to tingle and knew instantly that the serpent would sense it.

“Out of the tunnel now, Oarly,” he yelled. “Stay against the wall. We can’t let it trap us inside.”

The great head of the serpent lunged at Phen’s fountaining jewel, its huge, toothy maw opening wide as it came. Phen realized then that being invisible before this sinuous monster did absolutely no good, but by the time the thought finished in his head, he was covered in a cloud of fresh fishy smell, and the serpent’s mouth was closing down over him.

“For Doooon!” he heard Oarly scream, but Phen was yanked off his feet and the world turned into a dark, spinning frenzy.

Telgra’s eyes fluttered open. The puffy clouds she saw in the sky weren’t twirling about crazily anymore. In a panic, she glanced around. There were no shiny-armored kings riding winged horses of flame. There were no talking statues trying to greet her. There was only Dostin and Corva and the open sea. She lay back for a moment and felt relief, but then the memory of the great spell, and the horrible sounds she’d heard, came flooding back into her mind like a torrent.

“Where is my father?” she yelled, trying to sit up again.

“Give her another sip please, Dostin,” Corva said. “I’d do it myself but—”

Telgra saw the nuances of the look on Corva’s elven face and the wounds on Dostin’s. She felt a deep ache in her shoulder. Not sure that she was ready to hear the answer to her question, she sipped from the flask Dostin offered. After a moment, she slipped back into a dreamy sleep.

When she woke, the starry sky wasn’t bobbing and weaving. She looked around and saw that she was in a camp. Waist-high grass teaming with noisy insects surrounded a trampled-down circle, blocking her view of what was beyond the immediate area. A pale blue flame flickered in the center of the encampment. It gave out little warmth, but its soft light was welcome.

A snore from a few feet away was coming from the plump, round-faced monk. Telgra stretched but immediately regretted it. Her shoulder was sore. She inspected it and found a trio of ugly purple scars that had recently been healed by elven magic. The way the ache still throbbed deep inside her body, she knew the wound had to have been healed more than once.

Inspecting the area, she found most of a single sail dinghy jutting up into the sky over the grass nearby. She vaguely remembered being at sea in it. By the way it swayed and rocked, she knew it was sitting in water. Her nose told her that the water around her was brackish. The whole area smelled musty, like half-rotted vegetation.

A loud splash exploded through the night. It came from not too far away. A grunting, huffing noise, like someone running, more splashing, and then the distinct sound of an elven bow loosing arrows quickly. Without knowing she’d done it, Telgra scooted herself precariously close to Dostin. She was tempted to wake him. A deep-rooted fear was taking hold of her. It wasn’t the fear of the moment. She was a capable mage and forester. She was more than able to defend herself against most any man or beast. It was the fear of what had happened to the fiery tree grove, to her father, Brevan, and the other elves. It was the fear of the reason she was sitting in a marsh camp that was far, far away from the Isle of Salaya.

Corva was approaching now, she could tell. He was dragging with him whatever it was he had killed.

“Don’t get it so close to the camp,” she said into the night.

“Yes m’lady.”

It baffled her as to why males always felt the urge to display their kills. In the elven towns of the Evermore Forest the hunters felt obligated to show off the prey they had tracked and killed. Maybe it was to impress their mates, or to feel superior, or maybe it was just to let people know who had supplied the food. Corva would have brought the carcass right into camp, she knew, but this was no village in the Evermore. The scent of fresh blood and gore might attract something they couldn’t handle. Besides, she would rather not know what she ate out here.

A few moments later Corva returned, carrying a fat, bloody chunk of meat. He gave Telgra a forced smile, and then with a wave of his hand caused the soft blue flames of the fire to flare yellow and red. He carefully cut strips of the flesh and arranged them on the rocks around the flames. Within moments the savory smell of roasting meat filled the air.

“What happened?” Telgra asked. She hugged her knees to her chest, readying herself for the answer.

“Like you, lady,” Corva started, looking at her sadly, “I was overwhelmed by Brevan’s great spell. When I came to my senses, they were—they were…” he looked away.

“I’m no sapling that needs sheltering, Corva,” she said. “Out with it.”

“We were set upon by those dark things. Wyvern I think, by the way the bodies were corroded.” He looked at her, unashamed of the tears that were trailing down his cheeks. “A larger creature, a Choska maybe, grabbed hold of you. Your father, Brevan, and most of the monks that were outside were killed.” He looked at Dostin sleeping soundly beside them. “Dostin found you. You’d fallen a good distance and were in bad shape. He prayed over you for a very long time, keeping you alive. After he brought you back to the monastery, it took several attempts to stabilize your body.”

Tears streamed freely down his face now, and had she not been drawn up into such a tight ball, Telgra’s trembling might have been violent.

“Why are we out here?” she asked.

“The King of Salaya sent men up the mountain, many men, to investigate the attack and to protect the monastery. We managed to—” he sobbed and looked grateful when Telgra uncurled herself and moved to his side. “We were not to be seen by the kingdom folk. Those were our orders. So I helped the monks quickly bury them.”

He hugged her close, trying not to get any of the sticky blood from his hands on her. She sobbed and shuddered into his chest as he continued.

“The monks gave us the little craft,” he said. “Dostin, I think, came without his brothers’ permission, but he did so because of his loyalty to you.”

For a long while they were silent, then the wind kicked up and sent a whiff of the now charring meat into their faces. Telgra relaxed her grip around Corva and let him tend the food. While he was turning the meat she asked, “What of the fiery trees?”

“Those that were inside the spell circle are alive and thriving.” He dropped his head. “The rest of them withered to their deaths.”

“We have to get home and organize a party to do something.” She sniffled and tried to gather herself.

“I wish it were that easy,” he said. “The Queen Mother will not allow us to interfere or interact with the kingdom people. She will say that this is a human problem, and that the humans should deal with it.”

“The fiery trees, and those dark things that killed our people…neither are humans,” she replied.

“I agree,” Corva said. “But I don’t think the Queen Mother will. You know her heart better than any other. She may listen to her daughter, but we still have to get ourselves all the way back to the Evermore before we can even begin to try to convince her.”

“That may take too long, I fear,” she said, standing. She took in a deep breath. “I will have to go to this High King Mikahl for help.”

“We cannot disobey the Queen Mother,” Corva argued. “We are not to meddle with the humans at all.”

“Dostin is a human,” she said. “And I’m ordering you to do this, so the responsibility of it falls on me. I’ll deal with my mother.”

“Yes, m’lady.” Corva handed her an arrow with a piece of cooked meat speared on its tip. She saw that his gaze was full of respect. But deeper in his eyes she saw a want for vengeance. The feeling that the decision she had just made might determine his fate made her uneasy, but she didn’t let it stifle her resolve.

The next morning they set out for the human city of O’Dakahn. The port there was the closest to Oktin, where the High King was supposedly having his new palace built. Princess Telgra, heiress to the ruling seat of the entire race of elves, had made up her mind.

Late that afternoon, while they were skirting the marsh delta of the eastern branch of the Leif Greyn River, the sky began to darken. Within minutes the wind had gone from slightly breezy to a savage, blasting gust. The boat was forced away from the marshes and soon darkness overcame them. All sight of land was lost. Wild, jagged lightning bolts split the sky and thunder exploded as rain began to pour down. The waves grew from three- and four-foot rollers into huge, breaking beasts that threatened to crush the boat with every swell. The sky was so black that even the elves’ keen eyes couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead of them.

“Hold on,” Corva yelled as a wave broke over them with terrible force. It felt like the boat was under a great waterfall for a moment, but then the sensation passed.

“Princess Telgra, Dostin,” Corva yelled. “Bail out the water. Another wave is—” He bit back his words as lightning struck a few feet away. In its brilliant flash he saw that Dostin was no longer in the boat. Telgra saw too and immediately began scanning the water.

“Broaaash!” the monk bellowed as he broke the surface and gasped for air. “Haaaaalp meee!”

“Give me the end of that rope,” Telgra ordered.

Corva froze. He wasn’t about to let his princess risk her life for a human monk. He would do it. He reached down to grab the line at his feet, but found it already uncoiling. He looked up just in time to see Telgra leaping over the side into the stormy sea. A few moments passed before another flash of lightning revealed her paddling deftly beside the flailing monk.

She tied the rope around Dostin then waved back at the boat. “Pull!” she yelled. “Corva! Pull us in!”

Another wave crashed over the craft. The rope slipped from Corva’s hands and he was forced to cling to the sides or be thrown overboard. When the boat smacked back down into the sea he was battered about the hull, but managed to grab the rope again. With all his might he hauled them in, heave after heave, until finally he saw Dostin’s terrified eyes through the darkness. It took all the strength Corva had left in him to drag the monk up into the boat. Though about to give out, he turned back to pull Telgra in, but was overcome with dread. She wasn’t there. A distant lightning flash confirmed it. Nowhere could she be seen.

“Telgra!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. He turned to the other side of the boat and yelled again, “Princess Telgra!”

When the next lightning struck he peered into the night as far as his keen vision could see. He cast a light spell but the storm suffocated its illumination like a shroud. For long hours, and to no avail, Corva fought the storm and called for his princess, while all around the boat the storm raged relentlessly.

***

Phen felt like he was being rolled down a rocky hill inside a barrel keg. Luckily his hard skin kept the serpent’s teeth from piercing into him. Through his terror, he was worried that one of his legs might be broken off as they were hanging out of the creature’s maw. With all the determination he had, he used Oarly’s dagger to stab at the inside of the serpent’s mouth. Already he was coated in slimy blood. It was the awful fishy smell of the creature’s breath that threatened to render him helpless, though. He had to fight not to be consumed by a fit of gagging heaves, something he wasn’t sure his body could handle. He hoped Oarly would hurry and save him. The idea that the half-drunken dwarf couldn’t manage the task never even crossed his mind.

***

Oarly’s battle cry echoed around the chamber as the serpent reared its head up and tried to chug Phen down its throat. Oarly, inebriated or not, wasn’t about to let that happen. He was far too fond of the lad to allow it. He darted out from the wall and ran right up under the serpent, then took a massive hacking swing at the beast’s neck. He felt the axe bite deep and had to roll back against his momentum to pull the blade free.

The monster hissed through its half-open maw, spraying blood in a mist across the cavern wall. Oarly shuddered, hoping it wasn’t Phen’s blood. With a roar, he brought the axe back around and finished his chop. A piece of the serpent’s neck, a chunk shaped like a wedge of fruit, fell to the floor. Oarly had to run under the creature’s head as it turned to attack him. He saw Phen’s legs hanging out of its mouth. They were drenched in blood. He went into a rage at the sight and tore into the serpent’s side with a berserker’s frenzy. His axe went back and forth, slicing deep gouges into the foul-smelling monster. Suddenly the thing lurched and sprayed a gout of blood across the cavern. Then it wormed sideways and pressed Oarly tight against the wall with its side. In a fury of its own it dropped Phen into the sea pool with a plop then turned its attention on its attacker.

Oarly froze in wide-eyed terror as the beast held its big viper-like head up over him. A long, flickering, black tongue preceded the rank fishy spray of slimy, bloody breath.

“Bah, your breath smells like a fish-house trash barrel,” Oarly spat through his fear. Then he closed his eyes and said a prayer. “Doon save me from this foul creature. I uh, uh, uh...”