A glance ahead of him at Commander Aldean’s back brought back his contempt a hundredfold. There was another whose chances of surviving the Wildwood were less than slim. He found that he didn’t care. He was certain that as long as he killed the man who had tarnished his honor, the man who now held his only loved one as a hostage, the man who had repeatedly bedded his wife, that he could die feeling avenged.
Early the next day the duke’s group came upon Captain Moyle’s body in a trampled area. The captain’s corpse had been ravaged by scavengers. It was a grisly scene. Duke Martin was thankful that the morning fog lingered among the tangle trees and the clinging undergrowth. For a long while, as Bear-fang inspected the scene, he felt fearful and empty. He was afraid that at any moment the tracker or Commander Aldean would call out that they had found Gallarael’s body.
Bear-fang Karcher told him that the three parties had converged here, and that one of the people now traveling as a group had been bitten by the fang-flower they’d found severed. It did little to settle his nerves. He had no way of knowing which member of the group had been bitten, but one look at the fleshy, pink-colored thing the commander retrieved from the scrub made him know in his heart that it was his daughter. He couldn’t imagine any other member of the caravan even noticing, much less trying to get close to the exotic-looking bloom.
Who was to say that Gallarael hadn’t been ravished by the bandits or eaten by the trolls too? The petite footprints they were following could be that whore’s just as easily as they could be his daughter’s.
He drew in a deep breath and the smell of Moyle’s decaying corpse filled his lungs. He started to dry heave, but caught a glimpse of Commander Aldean. That craven bastard was watching him. Swallowing back his bile, he let his contempt toward the commander steady his guts.
“We better get out the bows,” the duke said in a tone that brooked no argument. “Unless we want to end up like the captain.”
Bear-fang laughed and unhooked his crossbow from his belt. The man actually looked excited at the prospect of tracking the other group deeper into the Wildwood.
Coll spoke a few quick words and an arm-length rod of intricate wood flickered to existence in his hand. He held it as one might hold a sword.
Commander Aldean strung his bow and hung a quiver of arrows from his saddle horn. He had a grim look on his face, as if he were no longer afraid. Duke Martin clipped a quiver to his hip and strung his great hunting bow. His sword he strapped across his back so that the hilt jutted up over his left shoulder.
He decided that Gallarael was most likely lost to him; dead and gone from his life. Revenge was his motivator now. He decided that they were no longer searching for his daughter, but instead hunting the man who had brought so much shame upon him, the man who had caused all of this.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The wizard saw the king and the wizard did laugh
“You need me king, and the power of my staff.”
“Tis true,” said the king, my enemy has arrived.
“What might it take to have you fight from my side?”
The moment Darbon’s cupful of stream water splashed across his hairy face, the old wizard came awake. It was comical the way the bewildered mage sputtered and slapped at his mug, then began to defend himself by rolling into a brawler’s crouch. He even started to cast a spell.
“Hold there!” Vanx called through his mirth. To Vanx’s surprise, the skinny old man wasn’t injured, only disheveled. The wizard’s silver-grey hair was sticking out in all directions, and grass and twigs were caught up in the tangle. Darbon was crouched behind Vanx, apparently as afraid of the glowing purple orb as he was of the wild-looking man he had just awakened inside of it.
“Who are you?” the wizard asked with a nervous glance around the area beyond his protective shield. He patted at something under his robe to see if it was still there; a medallion, or a necklace maybe. “Did Garner send you?” He glanced at his outstretched arm and narrowed his owlish brows in irritation. As Vanx began to speak, the wizard gave the object hanging under his robe a squeeze. With a harrumph of satisfaction he then set to scratching his body like a flea-infested hound.
“My name is Vanx Malic,” Vanx chuckled. “Scratching that rash will only make it worse.”
“I know that,” the wizard snapped. “But I can’t help myself, it itches horribly.” Suddenly the old man rolled to his back, brought his legs up and began scratching at them. “I need some — what are they called?”
“Bramble berries,” Vanx offered. “As soon as the sun comes up I’ll fetch you some.” Vanx knew he could have found a bramble bush relatively quickly, even in the dark. He’d spotted several of them earlier while he trekked through the forest, but he wanted a bit of leverage over the wizard for the moment.
“A member of our party,” Vanx stepped aside leaving the huddled form of Darbon awash in lavender light. “… needs your assistance badly. She was bitten by a flower beast and its bite has rendered her unconscious and extremely fevered.”
“Ah.” The wizard kept scratching absently. “The venom of a fang flower will do that.” He stopped scratching long enough to pull at his beard while he contemplated something. “Nothing I can do to save her, lad.” He went back to scratching. “Vanx Malic, you say? That’s a strange name for a man. You’re not Parydonian, I assume. Now where’s Garner?”
“I don’t know a Garner,” Vanx said a little more harshly than he intended to. “If you want me to get those bramble berries for you, then you’ll at least have a look at Gallarael. I’ve found your pack of components, and I know exactly what you are.”
Darbon took a step back.
Vanx continued. “It’s obvious you’re a stranger to the forest or you would have already found some. Now what will it be?”
Just then, Darbon stumbled backward into the charred form of the ogre, creating a small swirling cloud of ash. In the lavender light thrown by the wizard’s orb, with Darbon swatting at the stuff, it looked like a swarm of flies had attacked the young man.
Vanx couldn’t help but guffaw at Darbon’s confusion.
“You said Gallarael,” the wizard finally spoke. His tone had grown serious and it brought Vanx’s attention back to bear.
“Yes,” Vanx answered. “Gallarael Martin, the daughter of Gallarain and the Duke of Highlake.”
“By all the gods of man and beast, what’s going on here?” the wizard said. “What is she doing in the Wildwood? Why didn’t you say it was her?” He stumbled to his feet and, with the snap of his fingers, dispelled the translucent shield from around him then created a small orb of harsh white light which appeared in one of his open palms.