“We must go,” said Trevin, pulling Darbon along by the sleeve. “Word of your escape from the dungeon has reached the city guard. They’ll be down here looking soon.”
“Goodbye, my Darbon,” Matty called. “Watch over him, Vanx Malic.”
After that, Vanx was scrambling up through a winding tunnel behind Darbon as Trevin led them to their destination. The whole way Matty’s talk of the Goddess, and her commands, and the way her goodbye had sounded so cryptic, filled his thoughts. Before he realized it, they emerged into another cavern. It was far less spectacular than the last one, but no less surprising. This cavern opened up onto the sea, and waiting for them in a fully manned longboat was Prince Russet and a crew of rowers.
“Hurry now,” the prince ordered. “We have to reach the
“The
“It’s the prince’s schooner.” He shrugged as if there were no way he could explain. “He’s taking us to Dragon’s Isle in it.”
“I usually show up in a place riding in the lap of luxury and leave in chains,” Vanx told the prince as he followed Darbon up the plank that had been set for them. “You’ll forgive me if I’m at a loss for words here.”
“Ha!” Russet Oakarm clapped Vanx on the back and booted the plank board away from the boat. “If you’d stop poking the wives of the lords in the lands you visit, you might leave those places as you came.”
Vanx chuckled but couldn’t say more because Darbon began questioning Trevin about what was going on, and what had transpired over the last few days.
While the seamen rowed them across the moonlit bay, Trevin answered as best as he could.
After reaching Dyntalla, Quazar had taken Gallarael into his tower. There he cast his staying spells on her, and some priests somewhat revived her. While that was going on, Trevin was introduced to Duke Ellmont, and then deposed by the Archbishop of Dyntalla and a flock of his scribes.
Trevin said that Duchess Gallarain had gotten word to Dyntalla through an Orphas. Trevin wasn’t sure if an Orphas was a person or something else. Either way, quite a few charges were being piled against Duke Martin. The duke still hadn’t figured out that he was an uncelled prisoner, now contained by the Dyntalla wall. Trevin had heard that some of the duke’s men were turning on him, and the prince added that his father might possibly be coming to Dyntalla to oversee the process of justice himself.
Matty and Vanx were still considered slaves, and would be until their tales came out and an unbiased ruling could be rendered. Just because the duke was cold-blooded and guilty of many a crime, it still didn’t change the status of those already judged.
“So whose slave am I?” Vanx asked.
“Lucky for you, I’m not married,” Prince Russet chuckled. “For that reason, you are considered to be in my service for the time being.”
“May I speak freely,
“I said the kingdom considers you in my service, Vanx. As far as I am concerned, you’re the man who saved half of my crew at the edge of the Wildwood.”
“What about me?” Darbon asked.
“You’ll be a free man once you’ve been questioned by the archbishop.”
“If you live to be questioned is what he means,” Vanx joked. “We have a stop to make on the way to Dragon’s Isle. There’s someone on Zyth that will be able to help us. It’s not out of the way.”
“Don’t fall for it, Highness,” one of the rowers said with conviction in his voice. “If it’s true, if he’s half heathen, he will just turn into a bird, or disappear once we dock.”
Vanx laughed at the absurdity of the sailor’s superstition, but his mirth was cut short by Trevin.
“Watch your tongue, man,” the young guardsman snapped. “This man has gone far and above the call of duty to a kingdom that isn’t even his own. He could have walked away a dozen times over, but hasn’t.”
“’Tis true,” Prince Russet agreed. “You’ll hold your tongues or I’ll cut them out and let the half-breed heathen cook them for his supper.”
Vanx met Prince Russet’s eyes for a heartbeat. In the silence of the moment, only the sound of the outspoken oarsman’s gulping swallow could be heard. That caused the whole boatload of men to burst out laughing.
“I left Highlake on my way to Parydon to get my smith’s badge,” Darbon commented. “Now, here I am on my way to an island full of dragons.”
“Just think, Darby,” Vanx said as he sat down beside his friend, “just last week, you were but a boy and none of us thought we’d make it through the Wildwood.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Across his sea we sail,
to Nepton we hold true.
For if you cross old Nepton,
his sea will swallow you.
By midday Dyntalla was but a brown smear on the horizon; otherwise, the sky was a blank canvas of bright blue save for one puffy cloud, which lazed seemingly in place even though the breeze was warm and brisk. A flock of gulls squawked and frolicked in the schooner’s wake and the bright sun glittered off the sea. The
“It will get better,” the deckhand nearest the two said with a three-toothed grin. “About the time we hit Zyth you’ll just be getting used to her.”
“How long is that?” Trevin managed to ask.
“About two days, if this wind holds.” The sailor grunted as he hauled up a bucketful of seawater on the end of a rope. “But that’s only iffen we can avoid the tempests.” He sloshed the seawater from his bucket onto the deck between Darbon and the rail, washing away the small puddle of bile the boy had recently heaved forth. “If the tempest gets us,” the deckhand went on, “then we’ll be tossed about mightily, and if lightning don’t get our boom, or set our sails afire, then maybe we’ll not drift too far off course; might make Zyth in a week or two.”
“Enough,” Captain Willington barked from somewhere. He was a barrel-chested, full-bearded seadog stuffed into the fancy uniform of a royal captain. “Quit scaring the poor landlubbers, Yandi, or I’ll let the heathen feed you to his kin when we get to Zyth.”
“Aye aye, Cap’n Willie,” the man responded over a snort and a few hoots of laughter from his mates.
“He was just sportin’ with them, Cappy,” another hand said from above. This one had all of his teeth, but was missing the lower half of his left leg. It was no surprise that everyone called him Peg. True to his name, there was a thick wooden dowel booted in rusty iron strapped to his left thigh so that he could walk about.
When he’d first seen the one-legged seaman, Trevin had wondered what good he’d be at sea. He couldn’t envision a man with a wooden leg being able to keep his balance on a continually moving vessel. He found out how wrong he was when they left Dyntalla Bay and Peg shot up into the rigging like a monkey. The man’s arms were powerful, and he went about pulling lines and unfurling sails better than any man in the rigging. Only moments after that, Trevin found the side rail. Now, several hours later, with Darbon still fatefully at his side, he was feeling no better at all. In fact, he was feeling worse. He couldn’t even manage to thank Captain Willie for calling the annoying deckhand away from them.
Darbon started to say something, but only groaned into another heave. This time, not even stomach fluids came out of him.
