27

Two crushing blows fell nearly on top of each other. The first hammer struck as Val, Cinda, Filimar, a disguised griffin cub and a newly freed model shot out of that pricey jewelry store. The group hadn’t a day’s wage between them, which Valerian and Filimar would deny to the grave, the ranger glumly accepted, and Neira prepared to do something about. There were many rich pigeons to fleece at the fair, and thousands of unguarded pockets to pick.

As the blue-haired smuggler scanned the crowd for her first likely target, Valerian focused on Cinda. He accepted the ranger’s offer of a drink, ignoring her accusation of poverty. He was not broke. Just… temporarily between infusions of coin. But Dad or Lerendar would probably…

And that’s when it hit him and everyone else in the city, ripping outward the way that ghastly news always did among elves: Vernax the Golden was dead. His former Majesty, completely bereft of the gods’ support. The foundations of empire, crumbling like sand.

Valerian reeled into Cinda, who caught and supported him, grunting something caustic about salads and cream-cakes. (And he did eat salads, as a diversion on the way to real food. “Tonnage” felt completely unnecessary.)

“What…?” was as much as the young elf-lord got out, before something strange happened to Neira, and to the sky overhead.

Magister Serrio’s fair was always larger than the town square or pasture that held it. That big, noisy, boisterous carnival would arc up and over, forming a vast bowl or (as in Starshire) a great, hollow sphere; lit up by magical flames.

Here in Karellon, the fair had more room to spread out. It resembled more of a court ball stadium than the inside of a coiled seashell. There was a circle of sky overhead, glittering at the edges as more tents and booths shot up. Everyone stared as, in through that rosy-pale gap came a silvery tendril of… water?

The glistening strand hurtled downward; an object of wonder, not fear, for war did not cross Serrio’s borders. No threat could penetrate here. That strange tendril flew downward, quested a bit like a glassy blind snake and then descended on Nerira.

All at once, the beautiful pirate was covered in a layer of slick and shimmering, salt-smelling fluid. Familiar features formed over the girl’s face like a wet and smothering mask. Neira’s green eyes went wide, and her jaw dropped in shock. Then her expression changed, as somebody else looked out through her eyes. Someone Val recognized.

Queen Shanella, the ruler of distant Averna, scowled at them all. Looking moist and impatient, she twisted around, rolling her shoulders and head as though Neira’s shape somehow pinched. Sawyer screeched and reared up at the scent of ocean magic. The cub stopped scratching to spread invisible wings and paw at the air exactly the way a desert hunting cat wouldn’t.

Cinda moved to place herself between that grim apparition and Val, while Filimar leapt to the aid of his love-friend, using spells and his cloak in a wild effort to scrub off that watery shell.

“Valno!” he shouted, needing real magic, right now. Valerian started forward, misty-stepping past Cinda.

“I’m…”

“Listening,” snapped the sea-elf queen, in a voice that came from the watery envelope, not from poor Neira. “You are listening, boy. I owe you a boon for your aid in restoring my son. Your aunt has my promise of peace between ocean and land. As for you, voidling… Quickly, fetch out a magical object. Anything at all, but hurry. There is more and worse to come!”

Well… Right. Val reached into his nearest faerie-pocket, seizing the first thing that came to hand. On the bright side, it wasn’t a package of cream-cakes or ginger men, nor yet a pair of spare shorts.

…But it also wasn’t a weapon. Just an ornate glass potion bottle. One of Bea’s, he thought confusedly.

“Hold it forth, boy. Quickly! You move like coral, and my time here is limited”

Uh-huh. Again, right. Val drew that blue glass bottle from its spot in his cloud of badly packed items. Coloring slightly, he held out Gentle Mint Love Potion Number Nine. Not that, you know, he needed any assistance in… with…

Cinda cocked a slim eyebrow. The over-blue-eye one (which was her subtly mocking brow; over-brown was the deeply sarcastic one). Val would have explained, but he didn’t have time. As Sawyer shed its disguise to stalk Shanella, the sea-queen stretched out a watery tendril and stroked the glass bottle.

“Receive the Ocean’s great power, for use in direst need, Prince,” she murmured, already beginning to fade. “But beware, for the sea gives and takes away even more. It is the source of life and its ultimate end. Protector and threat. Never tamed and completely unguessable. Receive this boon and let there be friendship between our two realms.”

And then, just like that, she was gone, evaporating like a puddle of water after a magical street-sweep. Neira gasped and sagged into Filimar, damp, but unharmed. Meanwhile, the potion bottle glowed and vibrated, seeming to pound like high surf on a seaside cliff. Val managed to tuck it away in a faerie pocket that suddenly felt weirdly public. As though, not just he, but Miche and Pilot had access, somehow.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Problem for another time, because it was then that the second shockwave hit; this one bringing a name and the end of a terrible, ages-long sentence.

“Alexion…” whispered Valerian. “The exiled prince is Alexion, my great-grandfather.”

And with that knowledge came a sick, sudden shift. Most likely part of the realm’s vital magic, but all at once Val’s status and rank changed. Filimar, Cinda and Neira first stared at him, then started to kneel, prevented by Valerian’s wild, unfocused Slow-Time spell.

“NO!” he snapped. “Stop that! I’m… It’s me! I’m not…”

But he was, and everyone knew it. A crowd had gathered, some of them trailing the elves out of the jewelry tent in expectation of further amusement, others drawn by Shanella’s weird apparition. They stood frozen, now, leaning all around Filimar, Neira, Cinda and Prince Valerian. Valerian… the only direct heir to the throne now in Karellon.

Shaken to the very root of his heart, Val would have escape-spelled, except that the fair and the city clamped down. They wouldn’t allow him to flee. Trapped, he sucked in a deep, ragged breath, saying,

“Listen to me, all of you! (Down, Sawyer! Stop!) I’m not a… I am Valerian Tarandahl ad Keldaran, of Ilirian th…” But he could not force out the rest of those words, for they were no longer true. Instead, fighting each burning syllable, he grated, “V- Valerian Valinor ad Keldaran… of Imperial K- Karandun, fourth heir.”

While time was yet slowed, he was safe. Still just an upcountry lordling who wanted nothing more than to go home to his wife, his baby and village. But the spell wouldn't last for much longer. Filimar reacted first. Val’s adopted brother and heart-friend did not kneel, but placed a warm hand on the other elf’s shoulder, saying,

“Highness, you already have my oath and my friendship. At need, my life. If you can no longer be Tarandahl, I can, and I shall bear the name as proudly as I ever did that of Arvendahl. I am your friend and a Tarandahl, my prince, ever and always.”

His blue eyes were utterly serious, for once; his words forced out against air like burning hot tar. Nearby, Cinda looked bleaker than ever, as another impassable rank-barrier rose between her and the lunk-head she’d never stopped loving. The one she’d thrown away with both hands, out of pride.

What need of a scrub-elf retainer had one who would soon be surrounded by palace guards; enmeshed like a royal fly in luxurious amber? She started to turn away as Valerian first said,

“Friends and brothers, aye. For all eternity, Filno,” embracing the dark-haired young lord. Then, seizing the ranger’s arm,

“Kala, wait! Nothing that matters has changed! See past the trappings, please. I am still me.”

Or he very much wanted to be. Cinda half-turned, dragged around by that iron-hard grip to face Valerian. Keeping her eyes down and her voice level, his once-love said,

“I will do as you bid me… Your Highness. I will not allow any rumor or stain of my origin to touch you, though. I would rather kill myself.” And she meant it, a thing Val knew and accepted. He shook his head no, causing blond hair to swing into his eyes.

“You won’t have to, because I will never ask you for love in that way. Not ever again. Just… don’t leave, and don’t think that you’ve ceased to matter. I’ll even listen to your advice. Mostly. As well as I can.”

She smiled a little, pulling out of his grip (but not roughly). Val smiled back, needing what mattered the most to not ever change. He couldn’t maintain that slow-time spell over the fair for much longer. There was so much to tell them, though… To the gaping Neira, he said.

“Filno loves you. I think he’s beginning to realize that now. If I were you, I’d propose to him while he is still too confused to say no.”

The beautiful smuggler laughed, then began feeling around in her empty faerie-pockets for a gold arm ring (but ended up stealing one).

Now there were just a few heartbeats left till time reasserted itself. Val could have done any number of things (including go for that much-needed drink), but practicality topped longing. He was going to require a steed and an ally so, placing a hand atop Sawyer’s feathery head, he murmured,

“Forgive me, Sawyer. You must grow, now. Cast off the form of a fledgling, my friend. Rise to adulthood and power.”

Strong magic, but the sigils wrote themselves, flowing in midair, then spiraling all around that startled young griffin. Sawyer cried out, emitting a wavering peep that ended up as a ringing wild screech. Magic flared, and Sawyer changed, transformed in mid cry from a cub to a mighty and fully-fledged griffin; rust-feathered, golden-furred, red-eyed and fierce.

Val reached up to stroke that great, beaked head. Everyone else edged away from the monster (Cinda only a step or two, though her dislike of the beasts nearly matched Reston’s). For just a wild instant, Val thought about leaping onto Sawyer and flying off; of winging it home again. Only, the chains of royal duty were already tightening. He literally could not leave the city without permission.

Bad enough, but then slow-time ended, leaving Valerian stuck in the middle of Jewelers Row. Shouting and noise swelled up all around him again. The crowd surged forward, full of unwanted vows and questions he couldn’t answer. Moments later, an icy Prince Nalderick ported over, followed by most of his teammates and crew… then Magister Serrio and the former emperor swooped out of the sky… Aunt Melly’s paladin came thudding over, closely followed by a grey-haired female and a skulking Lady Sheraza. Might have been a trick of the gods, but they arrived at just about the same instant.

Last to show up were his wizard friend Murchison, the other paladins and Prince Korvin. The dark-haired scholar looked almost exultant. He was the first to speak, as the crowd backed a respectful twelve paces.

“My brother returns, and nothing will stop him!" cried Korvin. "I have woven Alexi’s name into every stone and weapon… each gate and spell of this city!”

The prince rippled with manna like a signal flag in a powerful wind; seemingly burning with joy. It was Magister Serrio who answered, first patting the former emperor’s arm.

“Perhaps you are right, Korie,” said the elegant tiefling, gently. “But your brother may not cross my border with war in his heart. Time has not been kind to our Alexi… but perhaps enough remains of the boy I once knew to save Karellon and the empire. Are you willing to place a small wager, Book Wyrm?”

Korvin lifted his chin, looking first at his silent father, then over to Serrio. Facing them squarely. After a moment, he nodded.

“Aye that, Magister. Admit Alexi, and I’ll place my life against whatever you care to name, that my brother will come back in glory, power and peace.”

Serrio smiled, inclining his head.

“For all our sakes, my dear boy, I very much hope you are right. Now, let us roll the dice, you and I, with all of the gods as our witness.”

Magister Serrio was more than a tiefling and very much more than some carnival showman… but even he bent the knee before Fate. Not knowing the end, he began his spell of opening. Serrio’s booming voice and sigils shook Karellon to the bedrock as a terrible sword rotated into view, shining black-and-white as a brilliant half-moon.

The Destroyer had come, but no one yet knew who would wield it.