Sword and Sorcery, a Novel

Freshly edited! =)

9

Casting mage light and silence, Valerian led the way through Starloft's extra-dimensional tunnels. Always more bold than cautious, he'd slipped off to play here a lot, as a young child. Sometimes with Sandy, often alone.

The stone-giant fortress sensed his presence, answering to Tarandahl will and true blood. He could not get lost or be hurt by its shiftings. But the others? Kalisandra, Salem and Gildyr? Tough to predict, and a definite risk.

Making plans, he guided them as far as the narrow gate, beyond which lay only the delvings of rock-wyrm and dwarf. Cast of meteor steel, the gate was well warded, but a likely point of attack. After all, if he could get out, something armed with dark magic could surely get in. A sentry was needed. Someone to stand watch and prevent incursion, from the gate's safe side.

Valerian made up his mind and he acted; doing at last what he'd always intended to. Turning to face the rest in that tunnel of glittering stone, illumined by golden mage-light, Valerian sketched a quick sigil, saying,

"Slow time."

At his word and gesture, everything dropped to a syrupy crawl. Could have just blocked the way and departed, then, but he owed them an explanation, if not the chance to protest.

"My apologies. Only terror, dark magic and death lie beyond, and I mean to spare you the peril. I will find Lerendar and return as quickly as possible, but the three of you are safer and more useful, elsewhere."

Facing the Tabaxi, he said,

"Milady, you are a visitor here; under my shield as your host. I cannot place you in danger, by guest-right and meal-bond."

Retrieving the transport spell from her belt, he invoked it, saying,

"Go to Snowmont, to the place where your presence will serve the best good." And she vanished from sight, leaving only a few drifting black hairs.

Next came Gildyr, whom Valerian had to force himself to look upon, so violently did he wish to loosen some teeth.

"There are already a few of your people here, wood-elf, but no other actual druid. I have seen what you can do by way of defense. Protect my stronghold and people, Gildyr. Awaken the forest. Build towering walls of briar and thorn. Keep them all safe until I return with my brother." Then, because the matter still rankled, "Yes, I am angry. You concealed the truth and allied yourself with my enemies… but you have also saved my life. I wish I had learnt of your plan another way, from anyone else besides Master Sherazedan… but my wishes rarely count for much. We can thrash it out, later. For now, use your arts. Fight for Starloft as you would for Lobum."

Then, hardest of all, he turned to the time-mired ranger, whose two-colored eyes were beginning to flicker with outrage and fury.

"I said you were free and I meant it, My Lady. You are beloved to me. There, I have admitted the feeling aloud, before another. But I will not be your burden to rescue and salvage, like a helpless child. I would be husband, lord and love to you, not… not something you have to take care of."

Suddenly recalling the healer's heart-gift, Valerian got it back out of his pocket. A small box, wrapped up in glittering paper of Arvendahl green, crowned with a spell-bow of gold, it could only be opened by Val. He did so, now, to find within a simple gold charm shaped like a stylized heart, inscribed with the runes 'Remember me'.

"I shall, to the end of my days," he promised her. "You are Sylvia, and you matter. May your love shield my former betrothed, for the way is dark, and she will be angry. Furious, actually."

It was slow time, not stop, and the ranger could certainly decipher his speeded-up words. Nevertheless, despite her threatening scowl, Val kissed her forehead and placed the charm in her slow-clenching fist.

"Accept this gift and all its protection, Kala. Care for my people, as you said you would, me."

Tweaked her nose, then, because she couldn't prevent it, and bowed. After that, darting through the narrow gate, he raised such a wall of enchantment and stone that only a giant or tunneling rock-wyrm could have got through it.

Called upon Starloft's magic to shut it to all except Lerendar or Val, himself. Even misty-step and shadow-walk were forbidden, by all the arts at the elf-lord's disposal.

"There. That will hold them," he said, with mixed satisfaction and sorrow. Then Val turned and set off, again, pushing emotion very far back.

Thoughts fixed on Lerendar, on the blood and friendship that linked the two brothers, Valerian made his way downward and west. At first, he knew his path from childhood escapades. Sealed a few side passages as he went, for this one fetched up at the stables… that one at the kitchen cellar (with all the sugar and candied fruits one could pinch)... while the other wound itself up to a floor drain in the palace laundry. Smelled soapy and pleasant, and he sealed each one very tightly, for his uncles and aunts were up there, with little defense against goblins or ravaging gnolls.

But soon enough, the passage grew rougher, showing the marks of acid-breath, chiseling scales and the drag of a gem-crusted belly. Dragon-spoor, but terribly old. His child-self would have been thrilled, and Valerian perked up accordingly.

"I knew there was one down here," he said aloud, adding, "Told you!" to the Kalisandra he kept in his heart.

One of his oldest faerie pockets still held the magic bridle they'd fashioned on one of her summer visits, intending to capture and ride a black dragon. He cycled it forward because, after all, one never knew.

More importantly, there was something else down here, according to childish rumor. Just as one could dream one's true fate by chewing bitter-leaf and then falling to trance in the windy cave… or find treasure with two crossed sticks and a rhyming spell… or summon chaos by spitting into a bone-dug hole at midnight…

There was a Shop of True Need down here. A sort of nexus, intersecting all planes and times, at once. Lerendar dismissed the idea as pure, childish nonsense, but Katina swore that she'd seen it once, through the laundry room grate. Gone by the time she'd squirmed through and reached the spot, but said to still wander the underrealm.

There, if anywhere, he'd find what he needed to raise the corpse of a sacrificed child. Of Elrin, the palace steward's small son. Val had a name, and a few small belongings, got from the sorrowing parents, but he wasn't a wizard and knew very little of necromancy. That sort of spell was tremendously difficult without further death, and its ingredients didn't come cheap. No joke shop or fair booth would carry what he needed most, now.

Val had never asked what Katina wanted so badly from the Shop of True Need. Something very important, though, or the store would not have manifested itself, even at a distance. He might ask about Tam, if he found the place himself, but nothing was certain. Princes had brought their whole treasuries and walked away empty-handed. Widow's daughters had blundered into the shop with three dried beans in their apron pocket and come away with noble beasts or enchanted weapons. Much depended on courtesy, courage and luck.

Valerian was pondering these matters, sifting the air currents for rumors of Lerendar, when he reached a great intersection; a sort of roundabout from which a shifting number of other tunnels branched off.

The ceiling was high, dotted with glow-worms and long, trailing filaments. The ground was stony, scuffed by many feet; some booted, some bare. There was a shallow depression at the center, not unlike the rubbed-down rock nest of Vernax the Golden, his majesty's dragon. Good place for a predator to lie in wait, Valerian reasoned. Nor was he mistaken.

Further west, across the broad circle lay the goblin tunnels. Nearer to hand (first passage to his right, actually) glowed the opening of a shop, somewhat blurred by its powerful warding spells. Almost directly in front of that, standing unarmed and alert, a faint smile on his pallid face, was the drow slaver, Kaazin. Fully healed and highly amused, it would seem.

"I'll wager you didn't see that one coming," mocked the albino, bowing slightly. "But then, you're a hero. Why should you think, at all?"Valerian half-drew Nightshade, feeling a surge of pre-battle tension that swept everything else from his mind. His enemy was unarmed and had offered no threat, but the sight of Kaazin brought back so much sorrow and rage that the drow's un-weaponed state didn't matter.

"No surprise at all," the high-elf shot back, stalking forward. "One expects to find flies on a dung-heap. Naturally, gnolls would consort with garbage like you."

Kaazin shook his head. He was lightly dressed, wearing tight black breeches, boots and an open vest. His chest was bare, displaying the scuffs and faint scars of previous fights. High on one pectoral he'd gashed and burnt a foul sigil.

"The Mother's kiss," he told Valerian. "Through it, I am her creature, and will do as I am bidden… except at a place like the Shop, where no compulsion may hold. Unfortunately, her kiss also bars me from entering. The mark's power will consume me utterly, if I try."

"Most enlightening," said Valerian, moving closer. "Arm yourself, corpse-fly. I mean to finish what we started."

"No doubt," scoffed Kaazin, moving to stay between shop and high-elf. "And perhaps I might even win, as you are alone, and here the influence of your patron is much reduced… but I have in mind something else."

"I have in mind avenging the folk that you murdered," said Val. "You are a killer, a taker of slaves and a cannibal."

Kaazin's smile broadened.

"Seriously? Cull the weak, strengthen the herd, day-walker," he quipped with a shrug, adding, "You eat animals, we eat you. Why quibble because we prefer to dine a bit higher up on the food chain, and we like our meat fresh? It's all the same in the end, sun-lover. But move a bit closer, into the shop's aura, where we can talk in private."

"I don't want to talk," growled Valerian, feeling the call of spilt blood and fouled innocence.

"No, of course not. You want to slay me, like a good little playing piece, for the delight of your god and his cronies, watching on high."

"What? " blurted Val, stalking forward. "No. I want to kill you because you deserve to be dead. A thousand times over, had I the spells and the patience to manage it."

"You really are single-minded, day-walker," sneered Kaazin. "But, does it never bother you? Do you never want to lift the mid-finger at those who repeatedly set you up and place bets on the outcome? Are you truly content to be paraded around like a prize bull at a fair, wreathed in garlands and draped in silk, until put out to stud by your owner?"

No one had ever spoken to him like that. Dared to insinuate that Firelord's influence on his life was anything but a proud honor, borne by Galadin and Vesendorin before him. Val whipped his second-best sword out of its faerie pocket and all but hurled it at Kaazin.

"Take the weapon," he snapped, the air around him shimmering and dancing with sudden heat and bright sparks.

"No," said Kaazin, allowing the second-best sword to fall at his feet with a dull clatter. "I will not. You are favored. Random events will conspire to let you triumph, always. Me, not so much… but I intend to alter my fate, day-walker, and I shall use you to do it. Here, alongside the Shop, I cannot be controlled by the Mother. I may choose my own way. I am not a fool, firefly. Once I have captured you and brought your unmarked shell to the gnolls to serve as the Mother's host, my usefulness to them is ended. I will be next on the menu, served hot, fresh and cursing. But… if I help you to upset the Mother's plans… you might be induced to slip me past the Shop's door and away, to a plane where the Mistress of Dread holds no sway. For that, I require help, as she prevents me from consciously entering."

Valerian stared at the drow.

"I don't want to help you. I want to kill you," he said, bluntly.

Kaazin sighed. Then,

"Let me try again, in terms even you should be able to grasp. You're a hero," said the drow. "So, be heroic. Aid one who has asked for your help and offered no battle."

He pulled something out of a faerie pocket with a slight, mocking flourish. An iron control collar, with the Mother's ugly sigil stamped onto its rough, dark metal.

"With this, I was to bring you unharmed to Thartaar, Whinn and Slagerd."

Another flourish produced a flat disk of metal inscribed with runes that flickered and spider-crawled.

"This is a key. It will grant you access to the cavern of summoning, wherein lies the dead child you must…"

"Return to life, after which I can unmake the dark sigil," finished Valerian, beginning to feel a few cracks in his absolute certainty. But… Lady Alfea, Little Bean and Lord Orrin. This smirking trash had killed them slowly and had fun doing it. Sensing his hate and disgust, the drow started talking, again, asking,

"Why stamp on the puppet and vaunt your success, while the puppeteer watches and laughs?" Kaazin reasoned. "Here is your chance to end the one responsible for all this."

Val shook his head, feeling his confidence calving big chunks like an oceanside glacier.

"She is a goddess of the hungering dark. Nothing I can do would truly end her… just seal her away from this plane."

"Which I can help you to do, thereby slipping the noose of my undeserved fate. The folk you swore to avenge are dead. It is not in me to lose any rest over that. Nor will killing me bring them to life; not without part of their bodies and more dark magic than you've got packed up. Instead, try something different. Give them true peace by putting a stop to the Mother. Then… look me up in my new abode, day-walker, where you are not so protected. I shall await your arrival with eagerness."

Of course, he could kill the drow and take the key outright, mused Valerian… only that wouldn't be very honorable. But, against one such as Kaazin, did honor even signify?

"You'll run away before I can find you again," Val objected, slowly approaching the drow, reaching forward as if for the key.

"No, actually. It will be most refreshing to face you once more on a level playing field, without interference from either side. Just me and you, day-walker, winner take all. Now… have we a battleground accord? Safe passage into the Shop in return for my key and the control collar? Even the gods bargain, sun-lover… and that which cannot bend, breaks."

Valerian gave it a moment's hard thought. Then he struck, as the woodling paladin had, back at the elf camp. Only punched Kaazin once, but had the tremendous satisfaction of smashing his nose, freeing a bloody shower of teeth and dislocating the slaver's jaw. Kaazin dropped like a stone, along with the items he'd offered in trade. Those and his second best sword, Val scooped up and spelled into pockets.

Next, taking hold of the drow by the back of his leather vest, he dragged Kaazin toward the Shop of True Need, grunting,

"Let me add to the warmth of your feelings, midden-slime. We will meet again, and your riddling arguments won't stop me, then. My oath on it."

Left a trail of blood, shattered teeth and spittle behind as he hauled Kaazin bodily through the Shop portal. Heavily warded, the opening let Valerian through, but the Mother's sigil started to sizzle and spatter on the drow's chest like grease in a pan. Val had to boot him unconscious to still its glow, which he regretted not one little bit.

"That was for Lady Alfea… this for Bean… and another for Lord Orrin!" Then, remembering a young elf trying to drag himself off of the road with a broken back, "And Sandor… and because you've got drow blood all over my dragon hide boots!"

Thought afterward that he could have just used a spell, but… eh. Travel the path to learn the route.

A number of patrons and the shopkeeper turned his way, as Valerian came in dragging Kaazin.

"Pardon the unseemly mess," he said, spelling the floor clean with one of Katina's best charms. "I forgot that my gloves are stiffened with metal." (Had counted on it, actually, and honor be dropped in a hole.)

One got all sorts in a place like this, though, and no one seemed very surprised. Nevertheless, Val used magic to prop Kaazin more or less upright. Head lolling, feet drooping, but standing, at least. The drow's jaunty wave was a nice touch, as well, reflected the high-elf.

There were three other shop portals, about evenly spaced on the circular wall. Kaazin had probably intended to choose his new plane, himself, using dark arts. Valerian wasn't that picky and didn't much care where the slaver ended up, so long as it was the very worst possible choice for a murderous, cannibal thug.

Only… one of those openings felt like deep trouble; like rising evil, creeping disease and crumbling magic. Valerian nodded to himself.

"You'll feel right at home," he said, pitching the sagging drow through with a gesture. 'Boom-bam', as Murchison would have put it, which…

Val looked around. There were still two weary halflings, an injured dragonborn and a minotaur bard ahead of him, and no one else had come in. The Shop of True Need touched all planes and all times, for those who could see and accept such things. Here, no compulsion bound and no one outside could watch or prevent what one chose to do. Not even the mighty Sherazedan.

Taking a deep breath, Val risked a scrying bubble, forming the small, bright sphere over his open right hand.

"Wizard. Murchison," he called, visualizing the mortal, and then adding years. The bubble flickered and thumped. Then, a long-unheard voice asked,

"Lord Valerian? Buddy… is that you?"

Val found himself smiling. Nodded, momentarily too full of emotion to speak. Then,

"It is. And, if you've nothing particular that detains you, I have released an absolute nightmare onto yet another unsuspecting world. It's been an eventful few days, Wizard… and I would have someone follow him. I am in the Shop of True Need… it does exist… and I believe that with your cooperation, you might be pulled in through one of its portals."

(No one in the place raised an objection, being taken up with their own vital doings, so Val soldiered on.)

"I do not wish you to risk yourself confronting the trash… a drow slaver called Kazup, or some such… only to keep others from harm until I can deal with him, myself."

"You've been busy," guessed Murchison's voice, sounding torn between pride, humor and exasperation.

"True. Not finished yet, either. Will you come through? It may be that from the other plane, or this Shop…"

"I can get home," finished Murchison, quietly. "Open the way on your end, Kiddo. Ketchup's as good as bottled." (Or something equally senseless.)

Val nodded once more. Tossed the spell globe at a milder portal, said and visualized "Murchison", then thrust his right arm up to the elbow through that shimmering door.

Someone took hold on the other side. Sorcery flared. They clasped hand to wrist, tightly, and then Valerian hauled with all of his might, stepping backward into the Shop.

A robed arm, part of a faded blue cloak and then all of Murchison came through, like he was being born out of magical soap-film. After a moment, he'd emerged entirely; scruffy and older, but very much Achilles Murchison.

The sudden embrace surprised Valerian, who could count on the fingers of one finger how often anyone other than Mirielle touched him, these days. But he did not pull away. Then Murchison sniffled and stepped back to look at him.

"You're grown up," said the wizard. "You're a man. Clearly, more time has passed by on your end than mine…"

"Much more," agreed Val, "and much of it poorly… but I am gladdened to see you, Wizard."

"Yeah," snorted Murchison, shaking his head. "I'm the only magic-user, here." Added, "Good to see you, too, Milord. I want to hear everything, but first, point me in the right direction, and I'll shadow your Kazup like Dragnet. He won't get away with jack-crap." (Or something just as confusing. Still a srange fellow, Murchison.)

"That one," said Valerian, indicating the second portal, "but pray don't bottle the wretch. Kaazin would make a singularly foul-tempered, shifty and uncooperative djinn."

"Right. Look for the cross-grained drow butthole from a foreign land. Got it," laughed the dark-bearded mortal, dashing at a few merry tears with one hand.

Val had never gotten the chance to say thank you or to make recompense for Murchison's help, all those long years ago. Sometimes, though, things worked out on their own.

"He is an ugly albino dark-elf. Half, actually, with… well… other blood. He is also an ice-mage and a hardened killer. Do not face him directly, my friend. I will join you as soon as my quest permits."

They clasped hands on it. Then Murchison turned, waved and made a running leap, spelling himself out through the seething-dark portal.

After that, there being no one else left in front of him, Valerian went to the battered old shop counter, where sat a hunched and leathery gnome with the treasure of ages behind her.