Sword and Sorcery, a Novel

4

Earlier, in Starloft:

Valerian took leave of his lord father and uncle, then bowed and departed. Quickly slipped through a hidden door, moving from the beautifully appointed "noble" corridors to those winding back passages used by their servants and guards. He was in a hurry and preferred to avoid delay or chance meetings.

The fact that Val was in there at all, meant that he did not wish to be seen. Therefore, he passed like smoke, ignored by the hurrying others, until a particular someone stepped out of a threshold and into his path. A ranger, dressed in the brown, green and grey of her calling.

These back ways were well used, but drafty and rough; sometimes just oaken planking over a drop of several stories, with sun-warmed, humming black stone on one side, plastered beams on the other. Backstage, as it were, for the castle.

Over the years, directions, messages and ribald jokes had been written alongside the many access doors. Here, the advice was 'Be wary. She bites,' posted in ocher pencil on tawny, unpolished wood. Most likely not written about the ranger, that warning still very much fit.

She threw back her green woolen hood to scowl at him, balancing easily with the oaken planks' ship-like sway. She had dark brown hair caught back in a sensible plait (Hair that he'd seen loose in the firelight. That he'd brushed from her face before bending to kiss her.)

She was an elf, but one with no family; having two half-elves as parents. Her skin was tanned from much time spent outdoors, and her eyes were two colors; blue on the left, brown on the right.

Valerian halted, inclining his head slightly. Despite everything… despite all they'd once had and lost… he was deeply gladdened to see her.

"Good morning, Cinda," he greeted her, smiling. "I would say, 'Well Met', but you've probably come here to scold me, again."

The ranger's scowl deepened. In a hard, chilly voice, she said,

"I would not have to scold, if you weren't so utterly heedless of your own safety, My Lord."

Valerian flinched, having no defense against one he'd been close to, and loved.

"Pray do not call me that," he asked. "Lord Valerian, if you must… but just 'Val', if it wouldn't kill you to say it."

She was tall for a female. Not beautiful, exactly, but lively. Intense. Filled with electric passions and vocal opinions. Also, a wicked-fine shot.

"Very well. At your command, Val, it shall be…" grumped the ranger. Then, changing the subject, "I followed this druid of yours some way through the Tanglewood, last night. He avoided all of the guard posts and sentries by wild-shaping. Gave his business to no one, before reaching the main entrance."

Valerian grunted.

"Understandable. I would duck any number of unwanted meetings, could I alter more than my outward shape." And then, as she stiffened. "Wait… I didn't mean this meeting, Cinda. I…" Val fumbled for something to say, coming up at last with, "I never see you enough, anymore."

The ranger snorted, but her expression and voice thawed a bit.

"You belong in the gardens or the banqueting hall, Valerian. Not on patrol or out in the forest… but this druid is bad news," she insisted, returning to the point. "Send him away."

She could not command Valerian; had no rank at all, but Cinda's opinion still mattered to him. Rather than argue, Val summoned reason and humor.

"The fellow seems harmless enough, to me… and his surname is "Shagbark". How could anyone with a name like that make actual trouble? He wishes to talk, nothing more."

Cinda put out a hand, seizing his arm in its ornate, brocade sleeve.

"I don't trust him," she snapped, stepping forward a bit. Her scent was sunlight-on-river… shrill-falcon-cry… bow-string-release… tumbling-warmth-in-the-firelight. Pulling himself together, Valerian moved aside.

"You join my father and uncle in this rabid distrust for wandering mooncalves," he joked lightly, adding, "And I shall take all your warnings to heart, as they are well meant…"

"But…" Cinda prodded, withdrawing her hand.

"But… I shall do what I think best. I find that I trust him. That, somehow, he is a friend. Just a sense that I have."

Cinda muttered a very southern, very scathing curse.

"Sense is exactly what you don't have, Valen," she growled, unfairly using a love-name. A heart-name. "Do as you please, then, but I will follow wherever he goes, while he troubles the peace and safety of Starloft. And if the treacherous shill leads you off on some wooly-brained quest, I'm coming along. Visibly, with an arrow trained at his back, if you accept my presence. A pace or two behind in the shadows, if you forbid me."

All at once filled with confusing emotions, Valerian reached for the ranger. Stopped short of touching her, though, letting his hand drop back to his side, instead.

"I would never forbid you, Cindi," he assured her. "You ended "us". Not me. Anyhow… I am not a child. Not your burden to carry. Come along because we are friends, and your presence is welcome. Not because you think I need to be wrapped up and guarded."

Their eyes locked and their thoughts touched, just briefly, showing truth on both sides. Then Cinda shifted her gaze, breaking contact.

"Must be the air or the water up north," she grumbled. "Stupid and stubborn grow wild here like knotgrass. Do as you will, My Lord."

Turning away, she stalked through the servants' door, pausing only to glance back and whisper: "I love you."

Which, in all the gods' names, just wasn't fair. Valerian took a few breaths to collect himself, after she'd gone. Touched that doorway, because it had held her. After a moment, conjured a pen to write: 'And she will not be kept,' underneath the first warning.

Then the young elf-lord went on his way, heading far upward and in, to reach his mother's wood-paneled workroom. He found Lady Elisindara seated by the garden-overlook doors. She'd drawn her chair up as close as she could to sunshine, fresh air and birdsong without going outside.

Val hurried over, pushing trouble out of his heart as he crossed the stone floor. She was a life-bearer, all the more precious for carrying an unborn full elf, his future sister or brother.

"Mum," he said, stooping to kiss her upturned face. "Good morning."

Her frost-colored hair was worn loose, as bindings brought headaches, these days. Very frail, she seemed, with the child's glow drawing its pulsing life from her own.

She had Lerendar's very blue eyes, and a face that rarely shifted its absolute calm. Beautiful, as a sculpture in marble or ice would have been; wearing the lightest of silvery robes.

"Good morning, Valerian," she replied, returning his smile. "Come for a lesson, have you?"

While she wasn't supposed to be working, and the jars and shelves of her storehouse sparkled untouched, Lady Elisindara still managed to tutor her sons in magical theory. (Son, rather, for Lerendar wasn't much of a student.)

The truth was that Elisindara did not care for children; had left the raising of both boys to nursemaids and tutors. She hadn't grown close to Val until well after his naming-day, when he'd at last reached full elven sentience. These magic lessons were precious to both; a chance to reforge their relationship. Now, Valerian nodded.

"Yes, if you've spare time. Also, I'd like your advice about something important, Mum."

His mother made a slight face.

"Time?" she scoffed. "I've nothing but time! No one else seems to comprehend that I am pregnant, not dying!"

Val made a sign against Chaos, scribing a sigil that sparkled and shone in the air. Again, he felt something that didn't belong here. Some hint of terror that could not be let into Starloft.

"Don't ill-wish us, Mum," he said. "You told me yourself that the other worlds are less than a breath away. Something might hear you."

She'd conjured fruit punch and ships' biscuit, causing a chair to drift over, as well. Minor magic, and not enough to trigger alarm or endanger the child.

"I would almost welcome a loathsome sending," snapped Elisindara. "Just for something to fight… but, peace. Enough. We will talk of other matters. You asked for advice, I believe? I can sense your concern, though you guard your thoughts well. Sit, if you wish, and explain."

Valerian adjusted the chair's position so as not to block her view of the open glass doors. Then, caging a biscuit and silvery tumbler of juice, he said,

"Someone has come in search of me. He arrived in the night, and it feels as though I know and should trust him, but… I cannot recall ever meeting a…"

"Wood-elf druid," finished his mother, growing interested as she brushed at Valerian's recent memories. "Yes. There… untidy fellow, isn't he?" she mused. "More powerful than he chooses to let on, though. That's interesting."

Her voice rang in his mind as much as his hearing, now. Being a sorceress, Mum could conjure and speak with fey spirits, and slip between planes. At least, she could when she wasn't drained by the needs of a growing child. Only females were strong enough to survive such a burden, though it taxed even them to the core.

"Hmmm… Let us look deeper, shall we?"

Leaning forward, Elisindara flipped the silver food tray. Biscuits scattered to hang in the air like a flock of birds. Juice splashed upward, forming a ruby-dark, wobbling arch. Meanwhile, she drew a sigil onto the tray using the first finger of her spell-hand. Metal bubbled and ran like hot wax, but the glyph held its shape. Varda, it was: I perceive.

"Look at me, and lower your wards," she instructed.

Valerian did so, feeling himself become a conduit through which she explored space and time.

"Um. Much here is occluded. You cannot see, or don't wish to know, but… wait. What is this?"

His mother had found something. Trouble, very far distant in time.

"There is pain and great sorrow… lost and alone. Power has been released there, for Order and Chaos, both."

He sensed these things as she spoke them. More than that, felt himself choking. Unable to move.

"Too far," whispered Mum, shaking with badly-pent rage. Did what she shouldn't have, then; risking one child to help save another. "Take courage," she offered, sending her power and will through Valerian. "Take strength for the battle, and freedom."

Innocent enough, only, in her condition, his mother couldn't fully control the flow.

A sudden, high wind seemed to spring up in the workroom. The walls creaked and flexed; near as a pantry, then wide apart as those of a courtball arena. Fey spirits glistened and danced on the shelves, riding her swaying strings of dried herbs. Out in the garden menagerie, the beasts began shrieking aloud.

Then, one by one, not bothering with gates, the family ported over. First Father, then Grandmother, Lerendar and Lord Galadin, himself. Even Alfea wobbled in from the gardens, big as a house, wielding a spade for a weapon.

The high lord spoke a word, absorbing all of that leaking wild magic. Glowed briefly, sword in hand; looking for trouble and ready to meet it.

"Stop," he commanded.

And the workroom was once again small, tidy and very much crowded. Spilt, fountaining juice poured itself right back into the pitcher. Tumblers returned to their places and biscuits sailed out of the air, forming a neat little pyramid atop the cleansed tray.

Galadin alertly hunted the room, finding nothing amiss. He would have questioned the life-bearer, but Keldaran had taken her up; stood murmuring softly and holding her close. As only one other had been there, the elf-lord's hard gaze next settled on Val.

"Explain," he demanded, still sparking a bit at the edges. Dressed for the council hall, he was; in full parade armor and circlet of rank. The Blade of the Tarandahls flared in his hand, reacting (as always) to Val.

Lady Alyanara had shot over to check on their son and his wife, using her own magic to strengthen the flickering baby. Lerendar looked around, then slouched over to stand with Valerian, giving his younger brother a rough, friendly shoulder-bump. Like everyone else, he was waiting to hear what had happened.

(Lie… He needed a good, air-tight story… now.)

By this time, Val had caught Alfea, taking the spade from her hand and pulling her close. With child, herself, she had no business rushing into possible danger… but he loved her for doing so. Kissed the top of his wife's head, made brief eye-contact with Mum over Dad's shoulder, and then cleared his throat. Trying for 'shocked' rather than 'guilty', he said,

"Mum had a vision, Milord, just as we were discussing sigils of far-sight. Then something tried to draw on her power, through me." True enough, as far as it went, but leaving out Elisindara's spell and her sending.

Galadin's silver-pale eyes narrowed, briefly. Then he put up the sword, which buzzed something to him in private.

"I see," he stated, evidently accepting his grandson's excuse. "You shall redraw the wards, Valerian, with your grandmother's assistance." Then, turning to face his lovely, demigod wife, "Milady, if you will?"

She inclined her head, stepping away from Keldaran and Elisindara.

"Of course, Milord," murmured the golden sorceress, keeping her thoughts to herself.

"Tell me later?" muttered Lerendar, leaning over a bit.

"Everything," Val promised, not certain, himself, what they'd almost released. Then Alfea gasped, writhing against him; torn by their little one's pangs.