Grim Vengeance, Book Two of the Antillian Scrolls

Foreword

In Book One

After beaching their yacht, the Sea-Eagle on a small island off the coast of Antillia, a war canoe of Gamollian reavers attacked. In the ensuing battle, Felic was left for dead, the yacht was burned and Felic’s love, Chessa, was kidnapped. Queen Gwenay, still blind, found Felic’s mangled body and nursed him back to health. Together they salvaged the remains of the yacht, hoping to make a raft to get them to the mainland. In the process, Gwenay recovered the Qalandor stone hidden in the burned hull.

Chapter One

With the ballast removed, the hulk floated off the bottom at high tide. Felic m’Lans was hopeful for the first time since he was cut down by the Gamollians. He was sure they could make it to the mainland before the winter storms, but more important to Felic was the vengeance that was crowding all other feelings from his heart.

Despite the terrible wounds inflicted by the Gamollian raiders, Felic was growing stronger every day. He stood on the rocky eastern shore of the island, studying the channel that separated them from the mainland of Antillia.

To Queen Gwenay, beside him, the scene was a vague blur of darks and lights. She clung to his arm, listening to the lapping of waves and the cries of the gulls. What are you thinking, Felic?

It will take at least two days to make the crossing, he surmised.

Is there much left to do before we can leave?

No, I’ll step the mast today and figure out how to rig that storm sail. We should be able to leave in the morning. Hopefully, the weather will favor us.

They worked side by side for the rest of the day. The heavy toil had sapped Felic’s returning strength and he was soon sound asleep on the sandy beach. He was unaware that Gwenay was nestled beside him.

In her dark world the feel of his muscled arms and torso gave her a feeling of comfort and security. Although she would have welcomed his love, she knew that Felic's heart belonged to Chessa. She thought of Stet-Arnak, the Dagran priest, who had cruelly blinded her with venom. He would pay, she promised herself.

We will get to Calix, she murmured to her sleeping idol, and when we do I will outfit you for a journey of revenge—all the provisions and weapons you desire.

They incurred no unlucky or unexpected incidents in their crossing to the mainland, nor on the trek to the Queen’s realm of Calix. Gwenay replaced the missing gem in the Qalandar of N’olla and used its power of renewal to restore her sight. She was once again the alluring beautiful woman that had enchanted Felic when they first met. But that was before Felic fell in love with Chessa. With mixed emotions she sent him away after a few days to seek his revenge.

I know you are anxious to find those who left you for dead, she said and eager to find or avenge Chessa. To help you in your quest I had Tword assemble provisions and fashion this special weapon.

She presented him with a two-handed, double edged sword of Calixian steel, tempered and honed by her skilled dwarves. He withdrew the weapon from its scabbard and admired it, awestruck by its beauty. Overcome by her generosity, he knelt and kissed her hand. This is a wonderful gift. Thank you. He strapped the scabbard across his broad shoulders and started to leave, then turned back. He placed his hands on Gwenay’s shoulders and faced her. Her beautiful eyes glittered with tears.

We may meet again, he said solemnly.

She only nodded, not trusting her voice.

Then he strode away, following the dwarf Tword to the tunnel exit of the caldera.

Felic knew the way to Gamollia led through the valley of Fernilin and across the River Varondel. He walked the downward path through the talus of the mountain slope, picking his way, head-down, lost in thought. He was caught up by an unexpected surge of sadness, the repressed sorrow for the loss at sea of Antelo, his best friend, and the capture of Chessa, the refugee princess from Dagra. He swore to himself that he would make the Gamollians pay a bitter price for her. He dared not hope that she might still be alive. It was likely that they took turns raping her and then threw her to the sharks.

His reverie was interrupted by a tiny drab bird hopping a few paces in advance, admonishing him in cheerful staccato chirps. She escorted him to the top of the next ridge, well away from her nest of chicks, before skimming away into the valley below.

He paused. Through the thin spread of morning haze he could see that the valley was tenanted. Fields, pastureland, vineyards and orchards flanked the river that meandered through the bottomland. A sparkling chain of waterfalls plummeted into a small lake at the head of the valley. The river, snaking down from the lake, eventually spread into a marshy estuary where it entered the sea. The valley looked peaceful, even deserted. Felic estimated it would take the entire day to cross it.

A curl of smoke from a thicket down the slope caught his eye. He proceeded toward it with caution, hoping to explore its source before being seen. Suddenly the air was filled with the jingling of small bells. He looked down at the cord caught on his foot and cursed himself for not seeing it.

He walked ahead boldly, knowing he was expected. A short way into the thicket he came to a clearing. It was more than an overnight camp; the shelter was sturdy with a daub and wattle wall and hide roof. Before the open doorway, a cooking fire, burning under a thin sheet of shale, was browning a quartet of batter cakes. But there was no one in sight.

The best of this fine day to you, Felic hailed, I come in peace.

There was no answer.

He tried again, You should come out and tend your cakes. I do not care to share a burned meal.

Perhaps you would share your blood. I have an arrow aimed at the small of your back. The voice, flat and emotionless, came from close behind.

Felic hesitated, resisting the impulse to react to the challenge. He laughed instead. Surely, my friend, you have no reason to kill me. I am but a stranger. Just passing by...a little hungry, perhaps.

I am not your friend, the voice replied.

There was a long moment of silence while Felic waited for a surge of anger to subside. He took a deep whiff of the pancake aroma, then he spoke slowly and evenly with veiled impatience. All right. I have silver. I would like to buy a couple of your cakes.

The foliage rustled behind him and a slim young man walked around to confront him. His clothing was in garish contrast to the rustic setting, and he held out a bouquet of mountain flowers. A paying guest is a welcome guest, he said, bowing extravagantly and waggling the proffered flowers. Felic reached to accept them, but they turned suddenly into a white dove which fluttered up into the branches.

Felic gasped, What sorcery is this?

The young fellow displayed a carefully rehearsed enigmatic smile and waved Felic to a seat by the fire. A mere divertissement. All included in the price of a meal.

And your threatening arrow...a poor joke for one only half awake.

Oh, the arrow. It's real enough. He reached up and picked an arrow out of the air. It seemed to materialize in his hand. He tossed it to Felic.

Felic studied it, dumbfounded. Who are you? he asked. What is this magic you command?

The young man's eyes twinkled. His manner was poised; his speech elegant; his self-introduction a performance: My name is Mystigan...Mystigan the Marvelous, Demon of Deception, of Imposture, of Illusion...Magical Master of Manipulative Legerdemain, and Grand Wizard to the Court of Her Nasty Fat Majesty, Queen Linifern.

Felic blinked. He took the liberty of turning Mystigan's cakes which were about to burn, then gave the magician a long stare of disbelief.

You doubt me? the young man questioned.

Felic took in the mystic symbols on his robe. I accept your introduction...but, ah...why? Why would the grand wizard of any court practice such skillful deception in such rude surroundings? Why aren’t you entertaining the court?

My health. My dear health demanded that I seek solitude away from the mad gaiety of the court. So here I am.

You appear healthy.

True. But I wouldn't be if I had stayed at the palace. He gave a conspiratorial wink for emphasis.

You lost the queen's favor?

Exactly. And the next step was the indelicate cut...the subordinating slash. He arched his brows. The loss of my manly jewels by royal edict. He plopped one cake on to the other and, balancing them on the point of his knife, held them out to Felic.

Felic juggled them from hand to hand while they cooled. Is that usual with Queen What's-her-name?

Queen Linifern.

Yes...does she always use that particular punishment? Felic continued, Or did it fit the offense, whatever that might have been?

Mystigan smiled and sighed. Most fitting, I'm afraid. I was caught outright. Right in the featherbed of her daughter, the Princess Vayda. He sighed again. Such a lovely dumpling she is! Ah...sweet, sweet! My blood rushes in steaming rivers at the thought of her!

Felic let that go by and attacked the steaming batter cakes.

Mystigan rambled on, discoursing on the beauty of Vayda, but Felic's attention was divided. The rhapsodizing had turned his mind to thoughts of another beauty—Chessa, who had conquered his heart.

...and perhaps you would care to tell me something of yourself.

The young wizard's words brought Felic back to the present.

For a beginning, he continued, Who are you, and where does your journey lead?

My name is Felic m'Lans.

Mystigan's eyes widened. You don't mean to say... He paused. Oh, I see. You were named in honor of the great warrior.

Felic didn't answer immediately. He studied his batter cakes critically, then looked up. No, he answered, his voice low, I alone carry that name.

Mystigan was nonplussed, and he avoided Felic's eyes while he composed himself. I beg you--excuse my stupidity. I merely thought it very unlikely that one of your fame would have business in this humble valley. His nervous glance took in the premature lines of sorrow and fresh scars that aged Felic's face.

Unconsciously, Felic squared his shoulders. The magician's aplomb was pierced again by an encounter with the steely gray eyes.

I have no business in your valley, Felic continued. I repeat myself. I am just passing through.

Yes, of course... just passing through. And your destination is ...?

Their dialogue was interrupted by sudden shouts from around the clearing and a whir of sound from above. As they jumped up, a great swirling net wrapped around them and took them tumbling off-balance. Instantly, Felic's dirk was in his hand. He slashed at the cords that tangled about him. Mystigan's rump had landed in the fire; he howled and swore and struggled to move away from it. His frenzied efforts pulled the net this way and that, hampering Felic's knife work.

And then the tittering started. As the two men cursed and tugged, it grew into a chorus of feminine giggles and musical laughter. When Felic cut his head and shoulders free of the net, he found a circle of spear points ready to impale him. They were surrounded by a troop of young women, all uniformed as warriors, with casques and greaves of burnished bronze. They wore short leather tunics armored with rivets, and their eyes were painted