Sword and Sorcery, a Novel

33

He rode out and away under a sky of fading light and faint, backward sigils. So large and diffuse as to cross the whole heavens, traversing the Strider and Serpent in their eternal battle, the symbols for 'ban' and 'confine' rolled away over and over. One would have to look in from outside to read those figures correctly, Valerian mused. One would have to be Sherazedan the Subtle to have that much power.

Right. Here he was, and herein remain until he'd reached Starloft, Val guessed. This plane's version, at any rate.

But he could not run Dusty into the ground. The son of the North Wind was more pet and good friend than mere mount, and he wouldn't have stood for it. He carried his rider for love and adventure, not out of servitude. Often, Valerian let him loose to forage and range, knowing the horse would return soon, refreshed.

With that high, jagged ridge to his left, and the Needle's glow on the horizon, he couldn't get lost or fail to head north, despite the land's strangeness. See, in his own plane, the Emperor's Road stretched clear from Karellon to Land's End in one direction, and down to Elydd in the other. Well maintained, warded and dotted with bridges and inns, the road allowed all of His Imperial Majesty's subjects to travel in safety.

Here, though… well, it was more of a path than a road, marked with half-buried white glow stones and crazily-leaning old sign posts. Most of the bridges had fallen to ruin, their guard towers empty and dark. Those spans which yet stood were more danger than help; housing trolls or worse, underneath.

In the name of His Majesty, Valerian did what he could to rout robbers, ghouls and the breakers of bone, giving no warning or quarter. A long, grueling business that took up most of the night, but had got to be done, or else he was no elf and no Tarandahl.

The effort left him drained of manna near sunrise, at the shore of a reedy small lake. Off to the west rose a titanic structure, part of it blotting the stars. Looked like an immense staircase, but it could wait for morning, Val reckoned. At least, nothing appeared to be hiding there.

Closer to hand, the road simply vanished into the lake's dark water. Manifestly not a good sign. Figuring that he'd rest before venturing further, the weary young elf lit a fire the hard way and sat himself down, Dustroc grazing nearby.

Would have set wards if he'd had the spare energy, but fire and sword were the best he could do. Tatters of very old sigil still twisted and sparked near the flooded path; all that remained of His Majesty's warding. Odd. Most unsettling.

What had Murchison told him, the last lesson but one?

"Your people do nothing different, nothing original, ever. (Meaningless outburst), you've actively squashed innovation for thousands of years! Let something come up you can't handle, and you're (had rough relations with)!"

But Murchison said and taught many strange things, and Valerian was no longer allowed to speak with him. Not after his controversial senior apprenticeship trial. Innovation had helped Val win through, but hadn't much pleased the High Mage Council. A passel of stuffy old relics, the lot of them.

Here and now, in this place of fading wards and rising chaos, Valerian struggled to comprehend what had gone wrong. No emperor and no Sherazedan, his other self had told him. Possibly worse, only a sluggish response to the war bells, as though the accord between tribes had withered to nothing.

In his own place, there were several flourishing towns along the stretch of road he'd fought through the night to clear. Here, not even fallen roof timbers or grassed-in pits. Just many miles of barren waste. What had become of Castleton, Burkleigh and Fairhill?

Val fed the fire, always an act of devotion as much as a chore. To the flickering blaze, he said,

"Here, my folk are all safe and well, but everything else has fallen apart. It is… as if the very magic foundations of this place have been drained to near nothing. How could this be? How have the gods allowed this?"

He had offered no sacrifice. Expected no formal response, and yet Firelord answered. Not just responded. Emerged.

A line of pure red light shot up from the campfire, then began to expand in more than just three dimensions. A mighty being formed itself out of sparks and light and flame, changing shape continually as aspects of it rolled into view from a much wider reality.

Looked mostly star-brushing tall, well armed and elven, though sometimes seeming a pillar of flame or a many-winged beast. A wave of intense heat and pressure flowed from the god, flattening grasses, making the reeds burst and crackle, causing the lake to steam like a kettle.

Also knocked Valerian backward and tumbling, to fetch up sprawled against a tilted border stone. Somewhere, very far off, an elk bugled. Dustroc shrieked and reared, offering battle as Val leapt back to his feet.

Then everything froze, from the sparkling motes and wild-eyed stallion, to that suddenly pudding-thick air, leaving just Alaryn Firelord and Val still with action and thought.

The god was not angry. He was trying to communicate… but his words were more than just sounds and his images grew and unfolded along many possible paths. Altogether more than an elf-mind, a mage or warrior mind, could fully take hold of. The pressure seemed to increase, and yet Val remained upright. One did not cringe before Firelord.

'War cometh,' said the god, tolling like bells and roaring like a caved-in, fiery roof. 'A foe from the dark planes, unlooked for.'

A tumbling flood of images came near to pummeling the elf unconscious. He saw Lerendar limping through shifting dark tunnels. Saw the shadows of goblins writhing in torment as they split, grew and unfolded, showering cave walls with blood, bone and gristle. Heard hideous, bestial laughter. Saw Starloft a cratered ruin across all of the planes, hammered by dragons and chaos. Bloodied fangs, a dead child and greedy, ravening corpse light… the red eyes of Kaazin the drow, and…

Gnolls. An army of gnolls. Cursed, blood-thirsty murderers, one of them wearing his father's shorn head.

'Take up your sword,' commanded the god, managing something like regular speech.

Val touched clenched fist to brow in response and then started to reach for Nightshade, but it was the dulled, heavy longsword, Smythe's empty vessel, that suddenly lit up and hummed. Not on him. Laid out on the ground near his fire.

Feeling pressed flat between pages, Valerian made it across a marathon's worth of hard-battled yards. Felt like fighting a mountain gale. Like cutting his way through an avalanche. Time resumed as he reached for and grasped the sword's hilt.

'Think into your weapon. Claim it,' ordered Firelord, sending the blade through more sudden changes than Val could retain in memory.

Understood, though, what Firelord demanded of him. Took up the blank blade and flowed into a number of stances. First attack, then ward, then fend off assault from the rear and above. And, at each move, the sword altered to suit him, changing balance and length till it matched him precisely. Some of his consciousness flowed into Smythe, making it almost another limb. The god said only,

'Prepare,' and then flashed out of sight, emitting a pulse of force that sent elk and druid, horses, Tabaxi and half-drow rolling furlongs away through the countryside.

Val simply crashed to the ground. But, something had changed. Armed and forewarned, once again bursting with manna, he'd been readied for war.

Was putting out fires, when the others arrived, out of breath and ready to fight. Still sensing god-wise, Val perceived love from Mirielle, 'he is useful' from Salem, and some sort of hidden dread/hope from Gildyr. Beyond though, genuine worry and care. They'd come here to help him, all of them… and they could not be risked against what he was about to face.

The mighty white elk hoofed dirt over that last patch of grass embers, quelling the final few sparks. Rising pallid and late, the sun climbed over a massive stone staircase, ending a red, clouded dawn.

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Elsewhere, an ancient and powerful figure mused on events, not entirely pleased. The planes were separated only by differing choices. By altered life paths and fates.

To bring the people of one worldline into the plane of another was to mingle, confuse and make a knotted mare's nest of their existence. Where there had been two planes, very soon there would just be a chimeric one.

Only a fool would have moved pieces over, that way. A fool, or one desperate to force something dark out of long hiding. Out of its shielded lair, hopefully before it was ready to face concerted attack.

If only this time, he'd found the right pieces and plane. If only this time, it worked. Just to be certain, he shifted the lines again, sending one more.

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Back in the wilderness, Valerian did everything else except start talking. Made breakfast, harnessed Dusty, broke camp, sheathed Smythe, all the while listening to Gildyr, then Salem. Offering only,

"Really?"

"How unfortunate."

Or, safest of all, because it encouraged chatter and saved him from having to explain his own recent doings,

"Do tell."

… in response to their separate tales. Gildyr, it appeared, had gained a noble beast and a back-stabbing, infamous brother. One Arondyr, a now forsworn paladin. Well, it was no wonder his god didn't want the miserable wretch. Valerian wouldn't have stood him, either… but he didn't say so.

Gildyr being Gildyr, Val was required to meet his new stag friend, a lord of the forest named Karus. Very tall, crowned in wide golden antlers, its pelt the shimmering white of a pearl, the beast was truly impressive.

It sniffed him, whuffing warm breath in his face, getting a smile despite Valerian's resolve to remain unmoved. He'd always liked elk… mostly stewed, though it seemed impolitic to admit that.

But something was troubling Gildyr, who would talk the sun from the sky and the ears off a mule, if one let him.

"This isn't exactly my Karus," the druid explained, once Val was done being snuffed and approved by the great creature. "Mine was… was killed."

The elk made a low grunting noise, causing Gildyr to divert that river of speech for a moment and caress the white, curving neck.

"I know… I know, heart-friend. I would rather have been the one to die, too. A hundred times over. Anyhow, um…" he looked back at Valerian, his green eyes swimming in unshed tears.

Like his grandfather, dad, uncle and brother, Val had trouble with naked emotion. It made him uncomfortable.

"Go on," he said coolly, beginning to pace. Then he went over to fuss with the horses (who never cried, ever). Mirielle's steed had turned out to be Patches, a joyous thing in itself. The mare did not know him, but neither had this plane's Dusty, at first.

"I think that the girth band is loose," he lied, to avoid seeing Gildyr's sentiment. "She takes a deep breath when being saddled, then expels it once laden, just for the mischief."

…and Dustroc was clearly in love. Gildyr struggled on, saying,

"Perhaps you remember the manticore hunt, some cycles back, milord?"

Valerian winced slightly.

"I do," he admitted. Dad had been driven incandescent with anger, fear for his heedless young son and the close brush of disaster. Dad, who was now dead and beheaded. "My father was somewhat upset."

"I… well, yes," nodded Gildyr, swallowing visibly. "The… creature slaughtered my Karus, then started… then came after me. I was, um… was the child in the grove. The one who… the one…"

Val turned to face Gildyr, puzzled.

"What child?" he asked. Truly, honestly, not having heard that a terrified wood-elf cub had nearly been killed, that day in the woods. The day he and Kalisandra had decided to sneak out and join the manticore hunt, for a lark.

Gildyr's jaw dropped; whatever he'd meant to say wiped out in the face of the high-elf's mild curiosity.

Salem and Cap'n butted in with a tale of their own, then, giving the druid time to compose himself.

"We were imprisoned!" she accused, "because no one in this kicked-sand-over place trusts what is different! But of course, they were not able to hold a thief and rogue of such skill as myself. We soon broke free, stole mounts and supplies, then followed your trail, Mrowr."

Behind her back, Mirielle shook her head and hand-signed 'Not really'. Then Val had to listen to the entire story of their show, which served to calm and amuse even Gildyr.

Eventually, though, her tale ran to its end. A very difficult moment then loomed for Valerian. Yes, he'd made promises, asked them to follow and serve as retainers… but that was before he'd learned of this new and more dangerous enemy. Goblins were one thing. Gnolls, entirely other. The battle ahead was no place for children, soft druids or Tabaxi nobility, Val reasoned. For their own safety, they had to be sent away.

Hardening himself, he said,

"At the behest of my god, whose sign you saw in the heavens, I intend to ride north. I believe that once I have reached Starloft, our… exile to this plane shall be ended. I think… hope… that if you are in a different location, that is where you shall reappear in our home plane. For that reason…"

He never concluded the statement.

Instead, there was a sudden bright flash, and a gyrfalcon's chuckling shriek split the air. Snowbird, white wings catching the odd spear of sunlight as she banked and wheeled, overhead. Truly, actually Snowbird. The genuine falcon, this time. How he knew, Val couldn't have said, but it was with joy that he stepped away from the others, lifted a gauntleted arm and uttered the shrill whistle that Kalisandra had taught him.

Snowbird screamed in response, then dove like a thunderbolt, landing hard on Valerian's upraised forearm.

"Oof… Gentleness is not in your nature at all, either of you," Val chided the golden-eyed raptor, seizing the thongs of her jesses and binding them to a silver ring on his glove.

Her hot little mind full of murder and recent feeding, she was willing enough to stay put. Kalisandra appeared moments later, seeming to ride into view from a long, bright-edged tunnel.

"There you are!" she exclaimed, to the gyrfalcon, or maybe to Val. "Snowbird, to me!"

The jesses came magically untied, and the bird launched herself into the air, leaving Valerian a bit on the back foot. He had many memories now, of he and Sandy together. Happy. But most of those were not really his.

The ranger rode up on Apple Wine, her little red mare, with Snowbird perched on one shoulder. Dusty and the elk both grunted in welcome. Valerian stepped forward a bit and lifted a hand.

But, there was no urgency to this Kalisandra's dismount. She got off her horse, flipped the reins over the mare's head and out of the way, then slapped her flank to send Apple Wine off grazing. Snowbird she shooed away onto a low, scrubby tree.

Next, she looked hard at Val, who looked back. He couldn't think of anything to say that didn't sound stupid… and anyhow, there was distraction. The sky-runes had shifted a bit on the clouds overhead, causing Valerian to glance up and shake his head.

"What are you staring at, Fisher?" Kalisandra demanded, coming over to join him in searching the sky.

The others all busied themselves with things that did not need redoing.

"Prison bars and unseen fetters," he grunted, surprising Sandy by starting to reach for her hand, then stopping himself, then doing it anyhow. Probably made him look foolish, but he looked her right in the eye and said, "We need to talk. It is very important. Right now."

Kalisandra cocked a slim, dark eyebrow.

"You snap orders now, Milord?" she scoffed, withdrawing her hand.

That stung, but he kept to the point. There was a very large, very ancient stone stairway, clearly giant-built, rising from a clear patch of ground to the west. Climbing hundreds of feet, it ended abruptly in glowering clouds. Private enough for what he had to say, only Kalisandra lifted a blocking hand.

"Wait, before you spout whatever nonsense threatens to burst you, I bear a message from your master."

And, all at once, where Kalisandra had stood there appeared a towering image of Sherazedan. Hooded and cloaked, staff in hand, raven perched on one shoulder, pale eyes gleaming. Gazing down at Valerian, the court wizard said,

"Disappointing. You were placed here to aid your analogue, not muck about in this plane like some would-be hero of legend, wasting valuable time. Below passing marks, I fear." Then, "Two days. Be in place, or reappear wherever you happen to find yourself, come what may. My patience grows thin, Valerian."

The wizard's image imploded to nothing, then, leaving Sandy to wobble and sway in its wake. Val reflexively caught her, fighting for self-control. Handed her over to Gildyr, who looked like he wanted to say something nice.

"No," Val forestalled him; turning away to explore those stairs by himself, and very much to not think.

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