Sword and Sorcery, a Novel

5

They quit Starloft between dawn and morning, led by Elmaris the Rogue (who was unmatched at sliding past weary guards and their blinking, yawning replacements). Through Starshire village they passed, down its lone, cobbled street, between shuttered and slumbering huts. They moved like ghosts through a dense, swirling mist called up by Andorin, making no sound, attracting no attention. Even the guard dogs lay quiet, their dreams spiced by Bea’s sweet powder.

A ship lay at anchor by the shore of Lake Irilan, waiting. It was a silvery, twin-masted beauty named Seahorse, most often sailed by their lordships Lerendar and Valerian.

Reston Tarandahl stood at the dock. He knew, of course. As Lord-protector and war leader, it was his business to mind… and guide… all that happened in Starloft. Over the soft slap of water on wood, the cloaked, bearded half-elf greeted his nephew.

“My Lord,” he bowed. “Stores are laid up below deck, together with funds for the purchase of horses, wherever you fare. Also, such bits and bobs as might suit an alchemist.” Another bow, this time directed at the slim, hooded figure of Beatriz. Lerendar’s mortal consort stood just behind him, holding their daughter. Zara twitched and snored a bit, soothed by Bea’s hand rubbing her back. It was not a consort’s place to speak first, but she smiled at the greying half-elf, who had always, ever, been kind. Lerendar seized and gripped Reston’s hand.

“I thank you, Lord Uncle,” he responded. “Your aid greatly eases our leaving and journey. Be safe and at peace, until our return.”

Reston gripped back, amber eyes crinkling a bit. He inclined his head, completing the rest of that parting-charm.

“Until your return, fair wind and smooth roads, My Lord.”

Then, everyone boarded the Seahorse, all in dark clothing, all quiet as phantoms up the long gangplank. Beatriz and Zara… the two young apprentices, Miri and Pretty One… Andorin, Elmaris and Bronn… Lady Alfea, with Bean and Katina (who would not be left behind, when her dear one’s family sailed off). Last of all, warding Lerendar’s back, came Ava. The dark-haired young warrior was now a full Scout. Her promotion was fresh, and the love in her heart had grown even stronger.

There was no need for a crew, as Seahorse was enchanted and very well able to handle herself. As a last blessing, Reston handed each of the travelers a splinter of Starshire’s great gate or a chip of stone from its wall. Sympathetic magic, that, extending protection from home, wherever they went. Zara and Bean wore theirs on a cord, for the one was asleep and the other too young to have any pockets (magic or otherwise).

Then Reston debarked, ropes were cast free, and they were away. Seahorse slid off through that shimmering mist with a creaking of timbers and hissing of waves at the bow, almost seeming to fly. The eyes at her prow glowed turquoise blue, lighting their whale road, their sea-path.

Lake Irilan was over fifty miles long and took nearly two candle-marks in the crossing. By the time they reached the headwaters of the river, the sun was up, spreading red glory all over the eastern horizon.

Lerendar stood at the prow of his ship with Andorin, Bronn and Elmaris. The rest were mostly assorted in cabins, below, while Ava leaned at the taffrail. Andorin’s gills were half-open, owing to spindrift and lingering mist. He turned to Lerendar, saying (voice altered by six extra openings),

“The expected route is along the coast, Lando, thence southward to Karellon.”

Lerendar nodded. Like the others, he glittered slightly with droplets and dawn-glow.

“That’s what anyone planning to intercept our course would expect… but it’s surely not how my brother would travel. He’s a bit of a mage, our Miche. Learned misty-step almost before he could walk. As to the others… the ranger will cleave to the forest, I think, but…” Well, it was a covered-up family scandal. Cinda had been among Lady Kalisandra’s retainers, when that potential fiancée came to visit Ilirian. But, not only had Valerian and Kalisandra felt no attraction... Pouring salt on a burn, Val had taken up with Cinda… her ladyship’s bodyguard… instead. Much diplomacy needed, smoothing that over, and they were still bad friends with Lindyn (house, family and realm). Did he ever meet Lord Kesteros, Val had a probable duel on his hands. Lerendar blew out a sigh, squinting a bit in the rising light.

“…But the ranger will go wherever my brother does, if only to beat him unconscious. She’s an odd one. Proud enough to turn her back, but very loyal and… I think… still in love.”

“What of the druid, oh noblest of amateur bloodhounds?” asked Elmaris. “What is his angle and where will he venture?” The rogue turned away from the wind as he spoke. Sea air did not seem to suit him, possibly because he’d had to depart Milardin under the threat of slow, very messy, execution.

Lerendar shrugged.

“Him, I cannot suss out. He came to Starloft two days ago, clamoring to speak with Valerian… but I’ve not met the fellow, myself. Everything went to the icy hells in a bucket once he turned up… but also you three came back, and that’s…”

Well, he didn’t have words. Didn’t need them, either. When four souls have shared a body, have fought together to cheat death and break out of prison, they know. Rough shoulder-bumps and brief eye-contact said all that words couldn’t express.

Bronn was a grey-skinned ranger, late of Titania’s vicious unseelie court. Normally silent, scarred by a dragon, when she spoke, the rest paid attention. Coming forward, the ranger said,

“I have seen flowers and flame and a god of the sea. Smelled blood and decay. Heard war-bells. This may relate or may not, as my scrying is tainted by unseelie darkness.”

Elmaris slumped at the rail, looking glum.

“Flowers, decay and the sea suggest Milardin, where… as I may have alluded… I am currently not in favour.”

“Shall find himself squinting up from below at his own spiked, dripping corpse, is what he means to say,” teased Andorin, cocking a swooping dark eyebrow. The sea-elf’s gills were shut and his voice back to normal, again.

“An unfortunate misunderstanding,” snapped Elmaris. “The minx was well bedded, and the money all spent. What more can I say?”

Lerendar shook his blond head. Laughed a little, retaking the conversational reins.

“Right. No Milardin, then. We’ll make for one of the Blessed Islands, instead… put it about that we’re off to Okuni, if anyone asks.”

The prospect of travel boosted his spirits considerably, easing the nightmare of a demolished home and a nearly dead family. As the last of Ilirian’s pastures and lumbering kine fell away to their rear… as a great coral arch rose up ahead… Lerendar found himself smiling. He breathed deeply, certain that Val was as good as recovered, and everything going to be well.

But… always, always, the serpent moved, as a wisp of trapped goddess prodded her host to attack.