Sword and Sorcery, a Novel

1

Allow Prince Nalderick his fleeting moment of triumph, because he actually did it. Knowing Valerian as he did, having picked up a few of the northerner's tricks and learnt his reflexive shortcuts, Derrick unraveled that powerful ban, unlocking the narrow gate. Now their transport globe could finish its job, taking the Prince Attendant… and all those around him… to Val.

The last half of that interrupted journey from Snowmont to wandering teammate was a sudden and lurching drop, hurling them westward and very far down. Someone vomited, but they all pretended not to notice. Just… one moment trapped in a blocked passage-stub; the next, flung into a very large natural cavern. More than a few internal compasses were left spinning wildly, resulting in icy shudders and drunken vertigo.

Nalderick was a prince. He did not reveal weakness or pain. Simply stepped forward, hand at the hilt of his sword and head lifted, doing his best not to stagger. Valerian had been speaking to a rather scruffy, unkempt-seeming warrior (his brother, Derrick recalled) and a wood-elf druid. There was a goblin present, as well; a mere child, from the look of her, carrying magical items and tooth-scraped bones. Nalderick marked her down as a minor possible threat, then focused his attention on Val and Lerendar.

Compared to the more slender, golden-skinned city elves, with their green eyes and sun-bleached brown hair, the brothers were tall, rangy and blond. Also, quite startled.

Nalderick hadn't thought through what he intended to say. Too much pent emotion, too turbulently and suddenly released for clear thought… but then Valerian strode over and started to kneel.

Nalderick seized his friend by both of his mail-clad arms and arrested the gesture. Gave him a rough, noisy shake, then a violent shove. Then another, causing his teammate to stumble backward.

"What were you thinking?" raged the prince, almost shouting. The display of emotion caused everyone else but the Tabaxi, monkey and goblin to look away, as though dripping stalactites and blood-spattered stones were of sudden, great interest.

"I…" began Val, only to be cut short by a punch that sent him reeling back into Lerendar, who caught him.

"Be silent!" snapped Nalderick, as angry as anyone, ever, had seen him. "We're supposed to be friends! Teammates! And I wasn't important enough to be told of your trouble? I didn't merit being asked for help?!"

Valerian shifted uncomfortably in Lerendar's grip, then pulled himself free. Started to say something… then lowered his head.

"We would have joined you, Valno!" continued the furious prince, stalking forward. "We would have helped fight whatever you're facing… but you just left. No word, no explanation. Gone!"

Val folded his arms across his chest, still not looking up. In a very low voice, he said,

"I am sorry, Your Highness. At the time… when the Sword of the Tarandahls appeared, that way… after all of the contest drinking I'd done… I did not think at all. Dad and Lerendar had to be gone, for Smythe to pick me, and..."

The young northerner's voice broke roughly, causing his older brother to place a hand on his shoulder. Must have helped, because Valerian looked up, grey eyes filled with genuine pain and misery.

"The sword expected me to avenge my father and ride to the aid of my brother… and I vowed to do so. Afterward… it was just one thing after another, all of it dangerous. You… all of you are… or were, maybe… my friends. Safe in the City, and… and that's where I wanted you to remain. Not here, in the middle of this."

Dropping to one knee before Nalderick, he said,

"I apologize, Your Highness. My actions were inexcusable, and I accept your judgment."

All of his wrath drained from the prince at once. Sighing deeply, he leaned over, took rough hold of Valerian and hauled the young elf to his feet, again.

"Enough of that. I have seen what has happened to my father and grandfather. How one by one their friends have been killed, exiled or vanished, leaving only the mage and my mother. I will not let that happen to me."

Then, grown suddenly fretful,

"Don't you see? If you do not trust me, Valno, then maybe that means that I cannot trust you… and I need friends now, not subjects."

"You have my sword and my life, Naldo," replied his teammate, reaching over to clasp the prince's right forearm.

They embraced, pounded backs and then separated, at which signal the other elves could stop pretending to study the cave walls and ceiling. Princess Genevera stomped forward next, scowling darkly. She looked over first Valerian, then Lerendar, with narrowed green eyes and rudely outthrust lower lip.

"Ewww!" shuddered the girl, causing general laughter.

Then chaos flared again, but not from Ilirian. Nalderick and Genevera both went suddenly pale and wide-eyed as the Emperor… their grandfather… went out in their minds like a doused torch. Distant war bells sounded, coming from very far south. Genevera gasped aloud, choking and sobbing. Solara and Vashtie rushed to the princess, lifting her into their arms with murmured and meaningless comfort.

Nalderick reeled like a drunken orc, torn too deeply for cursing or tears. Valerian caught him before he could fall, as the rest of his teammates and Filimar hurried over. They'd all felt it, as well, though not the same way. Not through blood. Aldarion was suddenly, horribly dead, and the City under attack.

It was the druid, Gildyr, who drew Val, Kalisandra, Salem and Lerendar aside for a moment to whisper,

"Other than some of my people coming from Lobum, there is not going to be any help, My Lords and Lady. Whatever is done to save Ilirian, it's going to be just us who does it."

And then came the sea-elven message, linking the Tarandahl heirs to Reston outside on the surface, and to Majestrix Shanella, beyond. No good news from that quarter, either. Just a very grim warning and deadline.

There was not much time to react, though, because darklings began to drop through cracks and holes in the rock, along with a wisp of the coldest and vilest evil they'd ever encountered. Gnolls, wraiths, ghouls and ifrits appeared by the score; some of them wounded, all of them raging.

"Your pardon, Highness," grunted Lerendar, pushing Nalderick and Genevera into the center of a rapidly forming protective circle. "You can behead me later," he added, drawing Nalderick's sword from its sheath. Not his own lost blade; strangely balanced and just a bit short, but better than nothing at all. Hung onto Snap, too, but tossed his sling at the princess.

"Ware above," he told her, then pivoted smoothly, leaping back into the fight.