Sword and Sorcery, a Novel

32

The rumble and hiss of surf drew him off that first, giant step and into deep water, where blood swirled in thick, waving clouds. He'd been speared, the barbed point slashing his clothing and flesh, snagging his ribs. Pain flared, seeming to double when somebody struggled to haul in their weapon. He wasn't impaled, though. He could still fight.

Fire was his element, not water, but Valerian's folk loved the sea. Had Kalistiel blood in their veins. Surrounded by churning and stamping legs, with more spears and slow-moving arrows seeking his life, trailing bubbles, Valerian called on the ocean. First clamping the spear to his side with one arm, he next caused water to flow up its long wooden shaft and onto the wielder, forming an inescapable shroud. That half-glimpsed figure released the lance, staggering backward, flailing and clawing at its face. All of their trouble and none of his own. Val had other concerns.

Those ancient stairs were magical. Under their spell, he could breathe and move almost as freely as up in the air. The surging water had a bitter and bloody taste. It pushed and drew like a powerful wind, but at least he could function. Slightly crouched, Val leapt away from the shoreline. Hit the second stair, falling slower than he would have through air.

The drow quickly followed, his white hair billowing, bleeding from many deep cuts. Val wasn't happy to see him. The drow was still dragging Filimar, though. That was something. Speaking with difficulty, Kaazin said,

"Three paladins hold the stair against our retreat, Day-walker. I swore that you hadn't attacked Arvendahl first. Am I foresworn?" His voice sounded louder, much deeper than it had up above. Some trick of the water. Val was too preoccupied with removing the spear and stopping blood flow to answer at first, especially when Cinda, Gildyr, Neira, and Salme closed in around them. Not far away, Murchison was in trouble, seeming unable to grasp what was happening, or that he could safely remain underwater. Filimar had nearly returned to full consciousness… until Kaazin bashed his head with the hilt of a dagger.

"Have to seem convincing," explained the drow, watching as Filno emitted a small cloud of bubbles and then went limp. "Otherwise, they'll know that he isn't a hostage."

"I did not… unh… start this fight with His Lordship, Corpse-fly," gasped Val, gritting his teeth while Cinda unhooked the spearhead and jerked it loose of his fractured ribs. "Left him… high on the stairs, above."

"Close to the edge, I hope," muttered the drow, pushing an unconscious Filno at Neira. Next, taking hold of Murchison's leg, he snapped, "Down, Fool, before someone splits your skull like a baked-brain pudding." (Prince of a fellow, Kaazin. It was all Val could do to keep from attacking him.)

The mortal wizard had been holding his breath, wasting manna on float spells and air conjuration. Only, that wouldn't work here. Not on the giant's enchanted stairway. Salme looked nearly as bad, her eyes gone all pupil, just inky black holes in her face. Only faith in her friend kept the tabaxi from bolting out of the water.

Gildyr pushed his way to Valerian's side through the moonlit ocean and billowing blood.

"Best get you further below, Milord," he advised, looking worried. "Surface magic is likely misfire here, but you say that the sea-folk 'll welcome you? That they won't just attack?"

Well, as to that… Valerian shrugged. Accepted a handful of good-berries from Cinda, doling them out to the others before eating a few, himself. Got a big mouthful of seawater too, which made everything salty and bitter.

"They'll probably talk first," he said. "Our house is linked by treaty and blood to Averna. We may bring trouble down on its queen by seeking shelter here… but Shanella has never much cared for Lord Arvendahl. Fishing and transport disputes."

He looked back and upward, still oozing blood, still ready to fight. On shore, the human paladin held off an army, giving the fugitives time to retreat. His Aunt Meliara was there, as well. This close to, he could feel her presence. Got a light, affectionate brush to the thoughts and a simple,

"Valereck, go!"

He went, sending his thanks before plunging his way down those titanic stairs. Coral and sponges and forests of kelp towered on either side, seeming shadowy dark in the wavering light from above. Glittering jellies and eight-legs shot past them like soaring bright stars. Moonlight faded after the third step. Down here, the water was cold and still. Small fish and sea-fairies darted around them like gnats, snapping at flesh-bits and blood. The stairway glowed softly, providing a pale, chilly light.

"Do not stray past the railing," Valerian advised, leaning a little on Cinda. "Their magic does not extend very far to the sides." Wander away, and they'd drown or be crushed.

"You've been here before?" asked Gildyr. He'd taken charge of Murchison and hoped that conversation would help the mortal adapt.

"No," replied the young elf-lord, stepping off one stair and drifting down to the next, trailing a cloud of blond hair. "But there is something similar at the mouth of the river, just past the great archway, back home. I have spent time there and learned by experiment."

Cinda grumbled something under her watery breath as she sank along at his side. Not a compliment, either. The ranger was used to Valerian's antics, but she didn't much like the result.

"We'll be careful," Gildyr promised. He kept well to the center of that acre-wide staircase, green eyes huge and alert. Then, "Wait, Valerian," he called out. "Your friend and the dancer are in trouble."

It was true, Val saw. Somehow, the cold and the pressure... breathing that dense, bitter fluid... affected them more than it did the elves or the drow. He ought not to have wasted manna... but conjured a bubble of air and warmth around each of them, anyhow, asking the sea for its strength. Salme instantly fell to grooming herself, desperate just to feel dry. The golden monkey popped out of tattoo form again, fretfully wringing its tiny red vest. Breathing freely at last, Murchison came over to clasp Val's hand. Still shaken, he said,

"Buddy… I don't know what happened or why I'm back… but it's (condemnation) good to see you again. I'd ask if you're in trouble…"

Cinda snorted at that, a very weird sound underwater.

"…but it looks like signs point to yes." The wizard's voice seemed to come from a distance, sounding tinny and flat as it traveled from air into water. "Whatever you need, Pal, I'm here."

Valerian concealed his emotion with genuine effort. Inclined his head and returned the mortal's firm grip.

"There are few I would rather have at my side; few I would trust more than you, friend wizard," he said, meaning it.

Now, if ever, was the time for explanations; for Val to ask what had happened back home, if Fee and the baby were safe. He never got the chance, because the alien substance around them began to swirl and probe. They'd been detected. Val held a hand up, on his unwounded side.

"Whatever comes next, say nothing," he ordered. "Father Ocean is just, but not kind." Best to avoid his attention or (failing that) to leave as quickly as possible. Neira whimpered softly. She drew up her hood and stepped back as something cold and dense manifested. It moved through the water around them, half phosphorescence, half bubbles, and shreds of pale flesh. It called, making a noise that shook the ocean and stairs, nearly pulping those huddled intruders.

Pooling their magics, Val, Gildyr, and Murchison shielded the party from hammering waves of sound. The thundering noise was so loud that their insides quivered and hummed in response, their vision blurred, and Filimar came to his senses. He had time for no more than,

"Whu…?"

…before the spirit's bellowing call was answered. Coming from seemingly everywhere, fish, crustaceans, eight-legs, jellies, and serpents rushed together. They formed a roiling ball, then a mighty being; elf-shaped above, with a coiling fish-tail, below. Its outline quivered and flashed with the constant motion of millions of fish. Its eyes glowed with light from twin clouds of shimmering jellies. Its hair was formed from the eight-legs' swaying long tentacles. Its spear and drowning net were pure, crackling force. Its extra-dimensional presence hard as a squashing thumb.

'What seek you here, void-dwellers?' demanded the sea god, in a voice that was thundering surf, cracking ice, raging storm.

Valerian knelt on the stair, bowing his head. Behind him, the others did likewise. Even (slowly) the drow. As the highest-ranking elf present, it was for Val to answer. So, sticking with as much of the truth as he knew, he said,

"Your pardon, Great One. I have quarreled somehow with High Lord Arvendahl, and now he seeks after my life. I've come with these friends to ask shelter of Queen Shanella, until the matter is sorted. It was not my intention to disturb your domain, Father Ocean."

That towering figure scowled, all of the tiny, colorful fish that made up its face flashing to different places.

'Arvendahl aims above his grasp. He has climbed high and reached far, but fate is not his to change,' said the god, adding, 'Nor is it yours, child of the sunlit void.'

Valerian hesitated. So much had happened, so little of which he controlled.

"That is true, Lord… but I have been driven from home by a dark force. My fate seems to be out of my hands, at the moment." And all he was trying to do was protect his people; find a way to survive.

Father Ocean's spirit moved, and the creatures that filled up his watery outline followed. The crackling tip of his fish spear touched Valerian's chest. The sensation was like that of lightning striking the ocean. The young elf lord was hurled backward, hitting hard, nearly falling off that broad stairway. Glittering tendrils of force brushed his companions, as well, sending them flying.

'Three days,' said the god. 'From sunrise tomorrow to the night from the night after that. That long, you may remain in my waters unharmed. Thereafter, look to yourself, rouser of tempests. I have spoken.'

The mighty one flared once with power, sending a ripple of force through the ocean and shore. Then it was gone, freeing millions of creatures to go their own way. Val wobbled upright, still reeling inside from the shock of that thunderous voice. Found himself healed. No fractured ribs, no gashes, no pain. Nor was that all. Spreading his fingers, Val found them webbed like a duck's foot. Sensed the flutter of gills at the side of his neck, making breathing here perfectly natural.

The others had also been changed, Salme most of all. Now, the tabaxi was covered in fine, toothy scales like a shark. Her mobile ears had shrunk down to small cups, nearly flat to her sleek, seal-like head. Gildyr and Kaazin were fish-tailed. Cinda and Murchison had gone suddenly rubbery-skinned and totally hairless, with flukes at the end of each leg instead of their feet. Filimar had meanwhile turned bright, bluish-green, with powerful coils replacing his legs.

The young Arvendahl looked around in confusion, his last clear memory being a dock near the Sailor's Spew. Started to speak, then shook his head and started again.

"I… that is, would anyone mind awfully much explaining what's happened?" he pled, looking from Val to Neira.

"They've been busy wrecking my life and my fortune, is what," snapped the pirate, before Val could think where to start. She alone was unchanged and boiling angry. "The bolt hole is lost now, discovered. 'Is nibbs 'll have tracers on it like nobody's business. Pinch 'alf the crew and most of the loot before you can cough up your water!"

Which… right. Life was tough all over. Val would have told her so, but then four new figures came plunging down from above, feet weighted by heavy stones. One with her throat slashed so deeply, she'd been almost decapitated.

Paladins. Three of them, with Aunt Meliara, all trailing blood like the smoke from a flight of crashed airships.

(End of book four.)