Sword and Sorcery, a Novel

8

He'd rather have faced giant spiders or dripping cave slime than his sorceress mother in a foul mood, but Lerendar kept his word. Tracked mum down in less than two candle-marks by searching all of her usual haunts.

Found her at last in the bubble; a perfectly spherical chamber set high in the eastern wall. There were two means of access. One, a magical lifting disk set into the passage, below. The second, a winding tunnel that curved its way down from the roof garden. He hadn't slid down that passage for literal ages, being too broad in the shoulders and chest to slip through. Also, just… he hated tunnels. Would go anywhere in the world except underground.

For that reason, Lerendar took the lift, into a very familiar space. The bubble's east side was translucently thin but extremely hard; shielding its occupants while making them seem to float high in the air. You could make out the village and lake from this vantage, along with part of the Huntwood and sacred grove.

Just the right size for giants, the chamber had required a great deal of re-tooling to suit its new tenants. Lerendar stepped off the magical lift at the nadir of a great open space, sensing his mother, but not at first seeing her. Too many floating paths, drifting platforms and spell-bordered ponds in the way.

Turned out that Lady Elisindara was very near the bubble's apex, on a gently circling garden patch. Lerendar craned his head upward, sighed, and then started along those looping trails and cascading stones. (It was exercise, at least. Bea was forever after him about staying in shape while home from patrol. Of course, he had his own ideas about ways to burn off the latest banquet, but there was only so much time you could spend in the bedroom.)

When he'd finally climbed to Mum's level, Lerendar had to wait for a filmy bridge to manifest, forming a path of glittering motes from his platform to hers. The hundred-fifty-foot drop beneath him wasn't overly troubling, because Starloft protected those of true blood. He would not be permitted to plunge to his death. Just, you know, collapse from exhaustion.

On reaching her flowery perch, Lerendar bowed. Would have spoken, but she beat him to it.

"If you would practice your levitation," sniped his mother, "You would not need to creep along like an insect or servant."

The young elf-lord colored slightly.

"I've tried, Mum. You know that," he objected, not quite meeting her impatient gaze. "I do not have your gift for magic… or Valerian's, either."

"A short stay in the fey wild would soon alter that…but I see that you'd prefer to remain helpless and numb," she said. Sitting beside her, his father Keldaran said nothing at all.

Lerendar shook his blond head, still not meeting her gaze.

"I'm a warrior, Mum. Magic just doesn't work the same way for me. I've tried."

His mother made a small, frustrated noise, but let the matter drop. She was seated on a bench of carved jade, surrounded by twining roses and fluttering birds. Snowy hair loose, robe unbelted, less pregnant than she had been by three months, at least. Whatever she'd done… whatever spell she'd cast on his brother… had come at a cost to her baby. Keldaran stared into space, meanwhile, seeming completely entranced.

"Magic not being your strength, I assume that you've come at someone else's behest. True?" she prodded.

Lerendar nodded once, growing concerned. He had stood sentry at the protection sigil's northern point, warding off hungering spirits; keeping them out of his brother's wife and newly born child. Not one of those swirling, skull-faced horrors had gotten past him. But, what if…

"Yes, Milady," he responded, retreating into formality. There was no softness in Mother today. "Lord Galadin…" Commands? Orders? Requests? "Bans further magic on your part, until after the baby's arrival."

Her jewel-blue eyes narrowed, but Lady Elisindara nodded, saying,

"I expected as much. Very well. The eavesdropping tyrant shall have his own way." Then, a little speculatively, she tilted her head to one side. Changing subject and mood, Elisindara mused, "You are not much at all like your brother, whom I have gotten to know rather well. A pity you've so little magic. Your father, either… but what cannot be helped must be dealt with, I suppose."

…what if something had crept into Mother, instead?

"Ah. The coin drops into the cup, at last," she mocked. "Be at ease, little elf. You will not remember this conversation, nor will your mother or grandfather. I have not the strength for great deeds. Not after so long… but here, time is my ally, as is your people's utter complacency. Go, now. Tell your lord exactly what he most longs to hear. Spin a tale of my deep, abject sorrow… and keep your brother and that filthy druid away, or lose all that you love, in the cruelest way possible."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Quite how he left Mum's retreat, he didn't know, but shortly afterward, Lerendar found himself striding along the great frost bridge of the Main Gallery. He was headed home, having (he supposed) already spoken to Granddad. Having told Galadin… something.

The vine-covered walls and tiled roof of his compound lay off to the right, down a path of floating rocks that Zara and Bea had painted with bright cartoon flowers. Only the family could see them, or turn off the bridge there, as the worried high-elf did now.

Two guardian statues flanked an ornate mithral gate. Shaped like griffins, the rock-crystal beasts lowered their heads in salute. Lerendar paused long enough to polish the spot between both sets of crystalline ears, but with much less attention to detail than usual.

"All well?" he asked, getting the day's events… deliveries, Bea's shopping trip, the tutor's arrival… fed into his mind, in response. One of them pecked at his cloak; pulling something off of the cloth and crunching it into small shards. A mage trace?

"Double the wards," he commanded, adding, "I want the walls patrolled, along with the space overhead."

They clashed their beaks in assent, then magically divided themselves to form seven more griffins. One of these took to the air, very agile for a creature of animate quartz. The rest began circling the compound; evenly spaced; supernaturally alert.

Only then did Lerendar open the gate and step through. Outside, the barrier was formed of dark stone and rustling ivy. Inside, he entered a garden of tropical blossoms and fruit. It was bigger in area than the walls should contain, full of fishponds, butterflies, songbirds and an entire, child-sized play village.

"Papa!" shrieked Zara, bursting out of a thatched little bakery. "Papa, you're here!"

She ran up the flagstone path with her arms outflung; all streaming dark hair and merry blue eyes.

"What?" He pretended to be surprised. "Who let a gnome into my garden? Better throw it back out, before it multiplies."

Lerendar bent to scoop up his daughter, first tossing her high and then catching her.

"Again!" she laughed. "Papa, throw me again! Higher, this time!" (She liked to see over the walls.)

Lerendar obliged, too relieved to object. Got her calmed down eventually; partly with cuddles, partly with sweets from his faerie pockets. By that time, Beatriz had come speeding out of the mansion, followed by Speckles, her cat.

Slinging Zara over one shoulder like a giggling feed sack, Lerendar strode up the path to meet his beautiful mortal consort. Hauled her into a one-armed embrace, all at once weak with relief.

"You're early," she exclaimed, between many deep kisses and Zara's cries of "Ewww! Yucky! Stop it, you two!" (Around that little martinet, moms and dads were barely allowed to hold hands, much less kiss or embrace.)

Bea leaned away from him, slightly. She squinted up into his face, her honey-dark skin warm with blushes and love.

"Renny, what is it? Is everything all right?" (She'd called him 'Milord' the prescribed manner once already, first thing in the morning. After that, it was pet names, or simply 'Lerendar'.)

He pulled her head against his shoulder, kissing her curly black hair, trying to drive away worry and fear.

"It's nothing," he said. "Just…" (A roof caving in. Howling undead breaching the wards. The screams of terrified children.) "I stood sentry for the birth of Valerian's child. There were…" he floundered a bit, ending lamely with, "a few disturbances. Nothing too serious, but I wanted to check in on you and the scamp."

"We're fine, Papa!" boasted his daughter. "I got Speckles on guard duty!"

Bea kissed her little girl's forehead. Laughing at Lerendar, she said,

"Baby, nothing could get past all the wards you've put up… and Speckles, of course." Then, swinging around to a happier topic, "How'd Fee come through? Is she all right? And the little one?"

"Both safe and well," he assured her, shifting his grip on his woman and child, so they could start back up to the mansion together. Sighing, he fished a gold coin out of a faerie pocket. "Little girl," he admitted, handing the gold piece to Beatriz.

"Toldja!" she crowed. "It's all in the way she was carrying, Renny. My mother's… mom was a chemist. I know these things. Never bet against Mrs. Lordship. Not when it comes to babies, potions or medicine."

Her people were long dead. Her city, not even a scorch mark or scatter of bricks. He and Zara were all she had left, and she loved him. (For not killing her brother that time in the village, if nothing else.) It had been many hundreds of years, but to Bea, her family's love and their presence were fresh. He kept it that way, so she wouldn't grieve overmuch.

"Talking of my brother," he said, as the servants bowed them into the main hall. "You know that Valerian is leaving soon…"

Bea nodded glumly, taking their daughter so that Lerendar could hand his cloak to a half-elven footman.

"That's going to be hard on poor Fee, so soon after the baby," she remarked.

Lerendar nodded, murmuring,

"Thank you, Loryk. Carry on." Then, "Exactly, Bee, which is why he and I were thinking that she could come here, with the new…"

"Yes! Oh, yes! That would be wonderful!" cried Beatriz, causing small Zara to bounce up and down in her arms. "Oh, Renny, a friend, right here in the house! Not that… I mean, you're a friend, too, but…"

"But not the same kind, and often away," he supplied, smiling a little. "I understand. I want you to be happy here, Bee."

Thought about mentioning Val's other offer but didn't. Not yet. Too much air castle and sky-whip in that one. So, no wild promises. But protect them, keep them well and content, he absolutely would.

"Stay safe," she whispered, burrowing suddenly into his arms. "That's our happiness, Lerendar. That's all me and Scamp really need."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile, Val waited until Katina Nanny arrived before setting off. She came in through a servant's door, though he would have preferred that she use the front entrance. He'd long since given her permission, but she would not. She just never would.

Once Katina bustled inside, basket slung over one arm and faerie pockets brimming, Valerian ported over to greet her.

"Good afternoon, Nana," he said (quietly, so as not to wake Fee and the baby). "Thank you for coming."

"Of course, Milord!" she replied, frowning a little in mock injury. "Where else would I be, when my dear one's child has been born?"

"Enjoying yourself. Relaxing. Doing anything in the world besides caring for me," he said, feeling guilty and glad, together. Embraced her fiercely, unconsciously stroking the grey from her copper hair and the faint lines of age from her face. Katina had been the nearest thing he'd had to a mother, from infancy to early adolescence (about seventy years), and he didn't forget.

"Fee means to nurse the baby, herself, but she can certainly use some help with Bean while she's recovering, and…" Val shrugged, taking Katina's hands in his own. "There is no one I trust more than you."

The split-oak basket still hovered in midair nearby, swaying slightly from its sudden release. Katina squeezed her surviving boy's hands, then let go to retrieve the drifting container.

"Tara's sent up some treats," she said lightly. "Too much for the little one, yet, but she thought that Her Ladyship might have a wee bite to help build her strength."

Val was already investigating, not being above the odd sweet, himself. Found biscuits and scones, some of them dipped in kelab, some of them baked with dried berries. And all of them (he had to sample each kind) were tasty.

"This is good," he said with his mouth full. "So is this. Anyhow…" (Paused to swallow and conjure up daybrew for he and his former nurse.) "Fee and Bean will be moving into Lerendar's compound before I leave for Karellon. I hope that you will stay on with them, Nana. Two children at once is enough to try anyone's patience to murder. At least, if they're elves."

Katina kept a mostly straight face.

"I remember," she said. "Though you were a delight, and I'll not let anyone say any different." Her own son, Tam, had shot up like a tree and then left for adventure at twenty, when Val had barely been named. "And yes, I'll be glad to stay on."

Valerian bent to kiss her cheek, then stepped away.

"That eases my heart, but I wish you'd accept being raised to the status of family."

Katina looked outraged. Shaking her head, she snorted,

"Me, sitting to meat with the great ones? Can you imagine? I'd muck something up straightaway, best you believe it. No, Dearest. Reston made that mistake and went grey in a month. Too much bother and fuss about clothes and duties and which fork to use. Gods shield me from all of it!"

Valerian laughed.

"Well, then, I've something to threaten you with," he teased gently. "Take two days off a week and shop for yourself… including luxuries… or it's a duchess you'll be. My oath on it!"

He was in a very good mood, spring seeming forever away and everything sorted, when Reston turned up to meet him on the flame bridge. The glowering half-elf had brought Gildyr along but... how changed! No more antlers, elk's teeth or fringed vest. No muddy boots or wool cloak,

The druid (you'd have worked hard to guess his profession, now) was clean and well dressed; no longer smelling of forest and road. His brown hair had been combed out and plaited with silver thread. His nails were trimmed and buffed to a shine, and his clothing was simple, yet elegant. In short, he looked like a wood-elf ambassador, instead of a wandering beggar. There was a certain amount of tension between him and Reston, though.

"That may have been the first bath he's had since the midwife sponged him off," grunted the half-elf.

"I bathe," Gildyr protested.

"In puddles," snapped Reston. Then, shifting his attention back to Val, "I rejoice at the birth of your daughter, Nephew, and I leave this… chewer of leaves… in your custody, having read him the Act of Defiance."

Right. Recalling what Katina had said about the woes and stress of ennoblement, Valerian didn't laugh. Instead,

"You should take some time away from your duties, Milord," he suggested. "Go fishing. Try to recover your center, a bit."

But his uncle just shook his grey head.

"No time. The sea-elves have sent yet another ambassador about that accursed betrothal. A prince, this time. They will not be put off for much longer."

Gildyr was owl-eyed with interest, but Reston changed the subject, aware that he'd hinted at secrets before a mere visitor.

"At any rate, good luck to you, Valerian, and the blessings of all the gods on your wife and new child. We'll celebrate soon."

He placed a hand on Val's shoulder, gave him a friendly shake and then stepped from the flame bridge onto a traveling disk.

"Betrothal?" probed Gildyr, once Reston was gone.

"Long and convoluted tale. Destined to become one of the forty-eight epics," groused Valerian, starting for the griffin aerie. "It is ordained by a very old treaty, but there have been difficulties." None of which he was prepared to discuss in public. Increasing his pace, he said,

"I intend to feed and train my griffin. You shall have my attention throughout the walk and activity, Druid."

"Gildyr," said the fellow, sounding dejected. "My name is Gildyr, Milord. But I'll waste no more time hoping for friendship. I'm here because… do you remember the coming of Oberyn? When he lit up the whole sky and the heavens rang like a harp?"

Valerian slowed his stride, considering. Then,

"There was peace and joy, I think. As… one experiences between dreams and waking, when everything's possible and nothing's begun yet."

Gildyr nodded, tagging along behind Val. Couldn't help himself. Hauled a wood hairpin out of a faerie pocket and then twisted his long brown hair back into a sloppy topknot.

"That's it exactly, Milord," he agreed. "Only it lasted a thousand years, in this plane. One thousand years of utter perfection, in which nothing moved, nothing changed, nothing happened. The perfect, unending day."

Valerian frowned, signaling Gildyr to turn off of that fiery bridge and onto a cascade of harnessed water. They did not swim, but walked up its braided and tumbling length. Carefully.

"Surely a thousand years of anything would grow stale," ventured the high-elf. "And, without change, how can anything live but the gods?"

"That's the thing," replied Gildyr, accepting a hand up onto the village-sized platform that housed the Tarandahl griffin aerie. "Perfection can't last, Milord. Sooner or later, a leaf falls, or the breeze begins blowing… any small thing. Doesn't matter… but then you have total perfection, plus one slightly flawed day. Then, there's another small change. The sun rising higher at noon, say…"

"Perfection, plus two flawed days," mused Valerian, pausing to return the aerie master's salute and greeting. She was scarred and missing a finger from the last hatching, but healing fast, and she kept the aerie and landings in perfect order.

Bowing deeply to Val and very slightly to Gildyr (who by this time had re-donned his antlers), the griffin-master said,

"I have taken the liberty of bridling Sawyer for you, Milord. He has not been fed yet, so that he'll have ample reason to listen."

"I thank you, Martina," said Valerian. "Your work with him has been much more effective than mine."

She blushed, bowing again to hide it.

"They are beautiful, fearsome beasts and I love them," she said, unscarred eye twinkling. "This one will bear you loyally and well, Milord. See? He has heard your voice and cries out."

There was indeed a sort of gurgling, bawling screech coming from one of the roomier lairs. Val smiled at the druid's open interest.

"It does rather take one, the first time," admitted the high-elf. Even their rank, hot-metal smell was good, to him. "Come. This way, Gildyr… and mind your fingers. They're almost invisibly fast, and they bite."

The druid followed his lordship into a soaring, cave-pocked stone tower, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Saw a spiraling series of lairs with metal-cage doors; each of them floored in stone chips and logs. Each lair featured a tree-trunk sized post with platforms for lounging and perching. Most were occupied.

The creatures themselves were noisy and sharp smelling; with all ages from hatchling to young adult represented. Lord Valerian led him to a lair near the tower's base. Inside it, a partly fledged griffin chick stood on its hind legs, eagle feet grasping the bars, ears swiveled forward, dragon-tail lashing.

Its wings seemed downy and smallish, yet, though Gildyr was no judge of griffin-flesh. The fluff that covered the avian parts of its body was grey with black speckles. Its sprouting feathers shone burnished brown-gold. Its lion hide still held a few tawny cub-spots, but the dragon tail glittered with adamant scales; a sharp-edged weapon, already.

Gildyr stared at the chick, feeling unwell. Gazing into that snapping, bawling young monster's gold eyes made him suddenly dizzy.

"I… if you don't mind, Val, I'll step outside for a bit. It's… rather close in here."

Valerian didn't argue, assigning one of the grooms to see Gildyr on out. Griffins weren't for everyone, and Sawyer was particularly strong-willed.

He donned thick gauntlets, padded armor and a face mask (because his wife didn't need the sight of him with his cheek laid open by a monster's love slash, again).

Then, Valerian unbarred the lair and took hold of Sawyer's bridle. There was a cross-piece to keep the chick's hooked beak from closing entirely, but it leapt and clawed at him, anyhow; about the size of a hunting dog with razor talons and lion's claws.

"Hullo, Chicken-legs," said Val, laughing as Sawyer tried climbing him.

Cinda was present all of a sudden, having melted right out of the shadows. Having a gyrfalcon, herself, she knew about birds and their variant crossbreeds.

"Don't let him do anything now that you won't be comfortable with, when he's five times this size, My Lord," she snapped. "Once they've got used to something, there's no going back."

And the beasts were resistant to magic, making them a real challenge to control. Start as you mean to go on, he thought, nodding. Martina stood by with a barrel of meat chunks. Kine and venison, mostly, with some goat thrown in for variety. No horse. Not ever.

Sawyer was hungry, and eager to play; allowing Val to lead him around and launch him for fluttering practice leaps, in return for big handfuls of meat. After that, outdoors, they switched to 'fetch', with Valerian tossing and suspending targets in midair for Sawyer to snap at or strike with his tail.

Gildyr moved further away, looking distinctly uncomfortable. As a guest, his feelings mattered, only there was more training to do and no way to rush it. Needing assistance, Valerian turned to the ranger.

"Go and speak with the druid," he said to Cinda, spinning alertly away from the beast's sudden lunge. "Divert him, if you please, before he faints dead away."

The ranger's perpetual scowl deepened.

"You are my charge, Valerian, not that wretched tree-lover."

"Maybe… unf… so, but if I am distracted with worry for Gildyr, I cannot… unh… pay proper attention to Sawyer." And considering that the chick was now upright, playfully attempting to grapple and disembowel Val, this was a serious matter.

Cinda was already moving. Once convinced, the ranger did what was needful. Griffins and Val in one place made her nervous, but he would insist on training his pet monster, rather than sensibly riding a horse.

"You, Shagbark!" she snarled, stalking over to Gildyr. "What ails you?! How are you best diverted?"

"What?" blurted the wilting druid, looking surprised. "I, um…" Had become a griffin, once, to his cost. "I was…" Torn apart by another winged beast, not unlike Sawyer. "That is…"

Cinda snorted like a mother doe facing wolves.

"Druid, if that moron is injured because my attention is taken up minding you, I will rip you to bloody shreds, resurrect your worthless hide and then do it all over again, from toes upward. Pull yourself together!"

"D- Diversion? Um… joke," he gasped. "You could tell me a joke or a riddle."

Sawyer had bounded into the air, this time managing to stay aloft for a full ten-count before collapsing into his playmate's arms. Cinda dragged her eyes away with a nearly audible rip.

"Why is the ocean near the shore?" she demanded, gritting her teeth as she twisted away from a shower of blood.

"What? The ocean? Well…" Gildyr looked momentarily confused. "Wherever it is, there's the shore, you see, so…"

"Wrong. Because it likes to sunbathe. Did you hear the one about the half-orc wench and the pine tree?"

"Nooo…" admitted Gildyr, sure he was going to regret it.

"She finally got enough w…"

Then Sawyer lunged to the end of his tether, landing right between Cinda and Gildyr, drowning the punchline with clattering screeches.

"Stay," Val commanded in a magically-ringing voice. The griffin chick peeped once more but fluffed out its feathers and stayed; waiting until the elf-lord strode over to move again. Not aggressively, though. Just a proud little writhing shimmy.

Valerian was spattered with blood. Some from the meat chunks, some from himself… but he was smiling.

"Sawyer's doing well, don't you think?" he asked, through his dented facemask; that padded armor torn loose in three places.

Gildyr thumped down on a nearby bench, swallowing hard to control his own nausea. He had never eaten in predator form, and didn't like all of that gore. Still, Val was expecting an answer.

"They seem like a real handful to train… but you've certainly got him under control," he said to Valerian. Pleased, the elf-lord gave his future mount a brisk head-rub and back-scratch, then let Martina lead Sawyer away. Gildyr kept talking. "How… um… long before you can actually ride him?"

"He's too small at the moment," replied the high-elf, stripping off mask, gauntlets and bloodied armor. "And we've not fully bonded, yet. That requires a hunt, bringing something down, together."

Val next used spells to cleanse and re-dress himself, much less interested in Gildyr's petition than in which color breeches looked best with his chosen frock-coat. At last, the impatient wood-elf burst off the bench, urging,

"Pick blue. Goes with everything, and listen, please! I mean it! This is serious, Val!"

The elf-lord paused his color-cycling to turn and face Gildyr. Gestured once, murmuring,

"Slow time."

And all at once, everything… everyone… but Gildyr and Val slowed to a syrupy crawl. Sounds became lower, deeper, then dropped off entirely. The air turned hot and abrasive, as Valerian said,

"I am weary of 'serious', Gildyr. Something went wrong. This isn't what was. I can feel back to where events were frayed and… I know that I made a mistake, but there is peace now, and happiness. Why would I risk that?"

The druid came closer, pushing his way through air like hot tar. Said, urgently,

"Because all this is dream-stuff. It isn't stable, Valerian. Every time we recycle, adding another, less orderly day, the situation gets more chaotic. We have to do something now. We have to break the chain or be hauled into a nightmare that's worse than the one we escaped!"

Fists clenched, shaking a little, Gildyr stared hard at Valerian, but the high-elf's beautiful face was unreadable. Then,

"That is an easy statement for you to make, Druid. You own what you carry, and no one depends on you. I…" his voice broke slightly. "...tried, and I failed. Everything fell apart, to be patched up at last by Lord Oberyn. What makes you think I'd succeed any better this time, if I even knew what to do?"

Gildyr reached out to touch his friend's arm.

"Because," he said, "You only fail when you give up for good and stop trying… and because I've worked out a plan."