10
High over Karellon’s Imperial Palace, as time started up once again:
For himself, he felt nothing at all. Had to stuff that away, thrusting the ragged ends and whipping shreds of emotion too deep inside to cause further harm. Wife, child, Ilirian, all of it jammed to the back where pain and hope couldn’t reach him. The floating dock platforms, Majesty’s dark, whale-ish bulk and those streaking patrol ships were coming back into focus again, as the inured justiciar’s holding-spell faded.
Injured… or dead.
There was also a high, keening song in the wind, as something old and uncanny mourned for the dying. A creeping charm-spell, too. But the elf would not let it work on him. Filimar had managed to rise alongside his friend, still holding Joker (a carved and notched magical crossbow). Couldn’t have battled a really fierce sunbeam, but swayed there, anyhow, ready to try.
Next the griffin cub fluttered over, trailing a broken chain and rust-colored feathers. Cinda landed soon afterward, converting back to her elven form, looking wild and upset. She was no doubt bursting with snarled advice, not a bit of which he cared to hear.
The imperial justiciar and two of her acolytes swirled and drifted like trash in a rain-gutter. The third of her black-robes had fled, which wasn’t a bad idea.
Valerian slapped a hasty preservation spell on those circling bodies, halting their final death. Anyone so inclined could now resurrect and restore them all, reducing his crime from murder to simple assault, resisting arrest, etc. Not that it mattered. In for stealing an egg, in for slaying a dragon, and His Majesty wasn’t given to patience or mercy.
“What were you…?!” Cinda started in, clearly furious.
He cast a shield spell, hauling her close with one arm, Filimar with the other, and snapping a (third) useless tether on Sawyer. Then he shot away from the dock platform, using an invisibility charm to conceal his long, shallow glide.
“I said…!”
Nothing at all, because he cast silence, looking away from her flailing hand-signs. Kissed her forehead by way of (certainly pay for it later) apology, then concentrated on getting them down to the city, below. Filimar shifted his quarrels to stasis. The younger elf was gripped tight with his back to Valerian’s side, ready to shoot. Like Cinda’s, his heart was hammering wildly, his breath a ragged and blood-flecked saw.
They had to have rest, and time to heal up, so Val brought them down to the safest place that he knew of, as Sawyer banked and soared overhead like a kite. They swooped along on a rapid glide, passing the dawn-lit city. Came to rest in the middle of Magister Serrio’s fair, landing in a service alley between Wizard’s Bazar and Wonderful Weaponry, surrounded by boxes, barrels and crates of tinkling bottles.
They were well concealed on all sides, with fluttering coppery banners and magical adverts popping up to provide them with cover, above. Magister Serrio’s jaunty theme song played over all… And he’d been permitted to shelter here.
Valerian dug through his faerie pockets for thirty-five silver pennies, then tossed his admittance fee (and theirs) into the air. The coins hung in place momentarily, shimmering bright. Then they swirled into the shape of a winking face and vanished.
Filimar tucked away Joker, sagging onto a crate with a low, feeling groan. Put his head in his hands, muttering something completely inaudible. (And probably better so.)
Sawyer leapt at Val, gouging and snapping in play. Fortunately, the griffin cub was distracted by its own reflection in hundreds of quivering bottles, saving what little remained of Valerian’s undamaged hide.
And, he was going to have to let Cinda speak, eventually. The coming explosion would only be worse, the more he delayed, but…
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Val held up a forefinger, gazing down at that incandescent ranger.
“First,” he said, getting his points in early, “we were attacked, so I had to respond in kind.”
Cinda’s eye-roll was broad enough to tilt their magical alley three degrees kata-ward.
“Second,” he added a finger. “We’re on a mission for His Highness, Prince Nalderick. There was no time to wait for a summons.”
Her hands flew in rapid sigh-language, stating plenty of untrue and frankly rude things, but Val forged onward.
“Third,” he moved onto another finger. “I am allergic to court. No, really. Being dragged to the witness stand causes mental distress.” And now he was out of excuses.
“Right. Erm…. Free to spe…”
WHAM!
Cinda shoved him, sending Valerian reeling back into a stack of wooden boxes. Should have expected that.
“What were you thinking?!”
He evaded her punch, turning its force with a spell, so that she didn’t injure her hand on the piled crates behind him.
“You could have tried porting, you idiot! Not just attacked a royal official performing her duty!”
“I say…” objected Filimar blurrily, starting to rise. Sawyer dashed over to place itself between Val and his enraged former love; ruff erect, beak gaping-wide and wings extended.
Valerian ought to have ordered Cinda to shut up, but… He’d loved her that way, once. This way, now, and she wasn’t exactly wrong. He cast peace and healing spells over them all, then turned his attention back to the ranger, again.
“Right… I reacted without thinking, Cinda. I was attacked and lashed out. Then there were some extra-plane versions of me and Filno. They were fighting, too. I met them before in a gate, and their danger might have caused me to overreact. Besides, porting doesn’t work around a justiciar. Their magic prevents it, Cin.”
He reached out to tug her sideways cloak back into position, but she batted his hand away.
“All you do is ricochet from one hare-brained mess to the next, and how am I supposed to protect you, if you never listen?!”
He caught her rough hand in his own. Squeezed and then kissed it, saying,
“You’re right, and I’m sorry, Cin. I cannot promise to do any better in future… but I can try. Forgive me?”
The glare trickled slowly out of her blue-and-brown eyes, greatly easing Val’s mind.
“If I had any sense, I’d go home to the orc-fight. You’re nothing but trouble, Valerian,” grumped Cinda.
“Buuuut… You don’t hate me?” he asked, teasing a little, still holding her bow-calloused hand.
“I didn’t say that. You’re a moron, and your nonsense is going to get us all killed!” snapped the ranger, fighting to free a hand that was magically locked into his. “Let go!”
He did.
“We need to speak with Magister Serrio,” said Valerian. “War does not cross his borders, and we cannot be trapped or arrested, here. See, I do have a plan as well as a mission. Lady Sheraza is also in flight. Might have gone anywhere at all… but if she’s seeking her uncle’s body, she’ll come to Karellon, because that’s where they’ve taken his corpse.”
The blond elf-lord considered a moment, as Cinda reluctantly nodded.
“Or…” he continued. “She might try for his head, which has been sent to Averna… but the sea-elves may be too much for her power,” he mused. They’d been a bit much for his.
“Speaking of sea-elves,” interposed Filimar, cleansing and rising. “I wonder if Neira is hateful-angry, or just come-get-me-angry?”
“Jerk your lungs out through your nostrils angry, and spell you to drown for the next thousand years, most likely,” grunted the ranger, folding her arms across leather armor and dark-green wool. (Val got her skewed cloak sorted, tucking a strand of fuzzy dark hair into place with his hand and a spell.)
Filimar sighed and then had a bright notion.
“Wine and extravagant presents,” he said, perking up. “I can surely find something to bribe her with, here at the fair.”
Cinda snorted rudely, shaking her head.
“Better her than me, and may I never be plagued with a mate, for the rest of eternity. Rather have fleas or perpetual life-drain!”
“Love you, too,” said Valerian, feeling time and space ripple around them. “If not as mates, then… I hope… as very good friends.”
Next, shifting his glance to peer through a crack in that fortress of boxes,
“Why don’t we go take in the fair? Filno can shop, you can relax your guard for a bit, Cinda… Sawyer can come along on his lead, like a good, obedient creature… and Magister Serrio will find us, when the time is right. See, I made a suggestion, and now I am listening. Good plan?”
Cinda shrugged, as raven-haired Filimar sorted his faerie pockets for coin.
“You’re an idiot, still, and all of your plans blow up in my face sooner or later. But, sure. Why not? I can work on my prison-scowl in the meantime.”
Valerian snorted a laugh, pulled her nearer and kissed the top of her head.
“Cheer up. Maybe they’ll give you the cell next to mine and Filno’s, and we can plot our escape, together,” he joked.
“Oh, gods, no,” blurted Cinda, struggling free. “No peace, even in lock-up? Move, both of you! Magister Serrio can’t show up quickly enough!”
Which was how they came to be where they were, when the fated sword landed in Karellon.