Pirate and KIng, chapter thirteen

13

In an ancient fortress constructed by giants, most of a warband stood waiting. Lerendar Tarandahl strode back and forth across the main hall of Starloft, grunting occasional curses. Like his father Keldaran, he was a war leader. Unlike dad, he’d been penned on the wrong side, when their transport-spell failed. Now, Lerendar was trapped in Illyrian, not having magic enough to reopen the gate.

Andorin could have done it, he reckoned, but the sea-elf bard was off in Averna with his bride, Princess Genevera. Elmaris, Bronn and Ava were still at Starloft with Lerendar, but none of them specialized in troop-rated portals. Critical, because it wasn’t just himself that he needed to move. Three-quarters of the realm’s fighters were meant to go, too, rushing to answer their emperor’s call.

Only now, His Majesty was dead, transport was balked, and no one in Starloft had any idea what to do next. Not the golden-haired elf-lord, certainly… though he did his best not to show it.

Lerendar paused in his restless stalking to look at his gathered people. Three hundred-twenty-four warriors stood in orderly ranks with the cavalry massed behind, all of them armed and ready to travel… if they’d had any way to reach Karellon, short of forced march or a very long flight. They were perfectly still, awaiting their leader’s command.

Beatriz was present as well, playing a hand-clapping game with Zara, Mirielle and Pretty One. His mother stood just within the wide-open doors of the fortress, meanwhile, bathed in sunlight. She was heavily pregnant, unable to work magic, lest she drain and injure the child. Her fists were clenched at her sides, a clear sign of Lady Elisindara’s tension. Mum, too, fought to hide how badly things had gone wrong, until she pivoted suddenly, starting back across the sanded stone floor.

“We hear something within the next quarter candle-mark,” Elisindara snapped, “or I open a gate, and this wretched baby can look to itself.”

She meant it, too. Lerendar altered course to meet her halfway; just two ant-like figures crossing that vast and echoing chamber.

“I’m sure that everything’s in order, Mum,” he said to the small, pale-haired sorceress. She was graceful despite her pregnancy, dressed in flowing grey robes and a look of pent fury. Small she might be, but there was nothing fragile or helpless about his lady mother.

“Do not try to soothe me, Lerendar,” she commanded, pausing far enough away that she didn’t have to look up at her son. “I have not grown soft in the head, and I will not be talked down to. Nor will I stand around waiting much longer.”

Right. Thank whatever gods were left, a spell globe flared into existence between Lerendar and his mother. It was dim and wavery, but it contained Keldaran’s image. Dad looked tired, and his handsome face was sooty, but his head was still firmly attached. Lerendar relaxed just a little, moving nearer to hear his father’s report.

“Dara, Lerendar, I hope that this message finds you well. I have had the globe sent three candle-marks backward, to give you more time to prepare. Karellon is secure. You will have felt the death of His Majesty and the chaos that followed, I am sure.” Keldaran lowered his head, looking terribly bleak. In hoarse, shaken voice, dad spoke once again, saying, “The realm mourns his loss, even as it welcomes its empress, Her Imperial Majesty Alyanara. I am now Prince Ascendant. Elisindara, you are to join me in Karellon as soon as the baby is born. I will arrange transportation once it becomes safe to travel.”

Mum inhaled sharply. Her violet eyes widened in something like shock. Not from sorrow, though. Instead, Elisindara looked like she’d been freed of a life sentence; almost ready to sing, cry or kiss somebody with stronger magic than Lerendar.

Meanwhile, Dad’s regard shifted, almost as if the spell could sense its audience. The globe’s magic was fading, the figure inside it grown hazier, but everyone present heard its next words.

“Lerendar, son… you are now Silmerana, Warden of the North. Illyrian is yours. I regret missing that honor, but I trust that you will be a strong and capable ruler. Our people need…”

Need what, they never found out, for the spell globe shattered into a thousand sparkling motes, then disappeared altogether. For the first time, Lerendar became aware that Bea, the girls and his heart-friends had come over to join him.

There was a long, stretched-out silence, punctuated by whickering horses and peevish griffins. Lerendar felt the change inside of himself, as the mantle of lordship descended. He was not simply Ren, any longer. He was Illyrian. As for his mother…

Elisindara stood alone on her side of the vanished spell globe, looking entirely radiant. But funnily enough, it was small Zara who spoke first, interrupting the silence. His daughter reached up to tug at Lerendar’s cloak, saying,

“Papa, we gots ta find Bean! We’re her companions, and we gotta protect her. They said so!”

The girl’s face was filled with earnest concern. Like her mother, she had dusky brown skin and dark, curly hair; like her father, pointed ears and blue eyes. Mirielle (currently furry and striped) and Pretty One (always a goblin) nodded solemnly, gathering close to their half-elf best friend.

“It’s important, Lord Lerendar,” confirmed Pretty.

“Not now, Scamp,” chided Beatriz, scooping the little one up. “Papa’s got some important decisions to make.” She seemed sad, and there was a distant look in her wide, dark eyes.

Lerendar placed a hand on his wife’s arm. Mortal or not, his chosen one.

“No,” he corrected. “All of the important decisions were made a long time ago, when you hit me over the head with a bottle, to save your brother.”

Bea stifled a laugh, biting her lip till it flushed bright crimson. Her skin was too dark to show blushes, but Lerendar knew how to read her.

“I thought I’d killed you,” she whispered. “You hit the ground so hard.”

The tall elf-lord smiled at her.

“I was only pretending,” he scoffed. “That way, you had to take care of me for a while.”

“Yes, very sweet,” his mother interrupted, flicking a slender hand. “But you have all the time in the world to discuss trivialities, while I must return to the capital in a manner befitting a princess… and may the gods allow than I never set foot in this filthy backwater again!”

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“Mother…” began Beatriz, struggling for patience.

The lovely elf stiffened, turning to look at her mortal daughter-in-law.

“You may address me as ‘Princess Elisindara’, or as ‘Your Highness’,” she sniffed, lifting her dainty chin. “A certain amount of informality was permissible, when I was immured as the wife of a grubby northern border lord. No longer. That ends, here and now.” Shifting her haughty gaze to her eldest son, Elisindara added, “I must pack for the journey south. No doubt, your father will send an imperial dreadnought to bring me to Karellon. I will expect you in my sitting room to discuss my requirements in half a candle-mark’s time. You, and whomever you’ve chosen as steward. Do not be late, Lerendar.”

She then turned and glided off through those massed, waiting soldiers and beasts; her eyes full of stars and her head filled with plans. Lerendar watched her go, then grunted something and bowed to his wife.

“That was ill-spoken. I apologize for my mother’s behavior,” said Lerendar, not at all quietly. Let her hear him. “I’m the high lord of Illyrian, without losing dad or granddad… which means that Shorty must’ve got stuck with the job of Prince Attendant.”

His mouth twitched halfway into a smile.

“This is a time of mourning, so I’ll celebrate later with the people who matter most,” he decided, looking around at his family and gathered friends. “Andorin ‘ll be back, if I have to send kidnappers. In the meantime, we have a property ride to arrange, and I’ll need to meet with representatives from Lobum and Deep-Down. If something’s gone wrong with magic there, too, we can forge a solution together.”

There were muted congratulations, embraces and back-slaps from Lerendar’s nearest and dearest. Ava bowed low, calling him ‘My Lord’, but the golden-haired elf wasn’t having any.

“Once a day,” he said to the love-struck young officer. “Upon first greeting me. After that, I’m just Lerendar. You’re part of the family, Ava. You’ve earned it.”

The dark-haired maiden looked her fill for a moment, then nodded wordlessly, too much in love to reply. She and Bea had made it through the Blessed Isles together, learning that Ava would someday be wife number two. That knowledge might have divided them. Instead, it made them fast friends. By quiet agreement, they’d kept the prophecy from Lerendar, whom both of them loved.

His Lordship tousled Ava’s hair with a big, careless hand, then embraced Bea and Zara. Next, turning to his friends, Lerendar said,

“Elmaris, I’ll need ears and eyes in the fortress and village. Establish a network to keep me informed.”

The raven-haired trickster bowed deeply.

“Of course. Grant me an expense account, O most respected of northern potentates,” he drawled, “and a flea won’t jump off your peasantry without asking permission, first.”

Lerendar clasped the rogue's shoulder and nodded.

“Granted. We’ll discuss the amount later, but it’s not to be spent on wenches and wine.”

Elmaris grinned at his friend. In a different layer of fate, he’d been a ghost, trapped in a warren of goblin tunnels. Along with Andorin and Bronn, he’d possessed Lerendar, helping the captured elf-lord survive and escape. But that was then, on a turn of the wheel that had ended quite badly. Here and now, he was alive; Elmaris of Nowhere, rather than Tendons, the Shade. Now,

“My oath that no more than a tenth of allotted funds will go to entertainment,” swore the rogue (crossing his fingers).

Lerendar shook his head but moved on. Next placing a hand on Bronn’s cloaked shoulder, he said to her,

“I will ask you to head for Lobum and Deep-Down, Bronn. As a ranger, you can travel fast and far in secret. The woodlings and goblins will be wondering what’s happened, and I need you to reassure them for me. If you require coin…”

She shook her head, no. Hailing from the Unseelie Court, Bronn had grey skin and slanted, deep-golden eyes. Her hair was pitch-black and very straight. Bronn wore it short. The ranger was female, this go-round, but still very practical. Also, quite devoted. All four of them shared the wound that had nearly killed her, splitting the damage to save Bronn’s life; and each of them had been scarred by Andorin's spell in a different way. Now, folding her arms across her chest, the Quiet One said to him,

“I need only my bow and the wilderness, Lerendar… Though I would be pleased enough to help to kidnap Andorin. I owe him some trouble, after the song he wrote.”

Lerendar grimaced.

“Try not to damage him too much in transit,” cautioned the elf-lord. Bronn bowed, but promised nothing, fading from sight like a deer. Then,

“Us, too, Papa,” Zara chimed in, leaning out of her mother’s arms for a cuddle. “We got an important mission, too!”

Lerendar took his small daughter from Beatriz, kissing them both in the process. She would not be diverted, though.

“You gotta send me an’ Pretty and Miri to go help Bean! It’s our quest, Papa!”

Lerendar held her close, making eye-contact with Beatriz over the girl's head.

“We’ll see, Scamp. Bean is in Karellon with your Uncle Valerian and Aunt Fee. I don’t think that she needs much protection, but…” he had to raise his voice to be heard over a sudden storm of protests and pleas. “But we’ll figure something out. Maybe they’ll come here in summer to get away from the city, and the three of you can practice protecting your future empress that way.”

Zara shot him an injured look, refusing to be held any longer. She squirmed to be put down, so he set the little girl back on the floor, watching as she darted away with Miri and Pretty One. Off to cause serious trouble, most certainly.

Lerendar sighed but returned to the matter at hand.

“Ava,”

“Yes, My Lor… Lerendar?” replied the young officer, blushing clear to the tips of her pointed ears.

“Set up patrols, especially between the Tanglewood and Starshire Village. If magic is ailing, the wards may not hold, and mortal workers make tempting prey.”

“Yes, Sir,” said the girl, hazel eyes shining. She bowed respectfully, then straightened and hurried off to bark orders. So much for that.

Lerendar was about to become a very preoccupied ruler. First, though, he spent some time with his wife. Beatriz looked sad and reserved, still, so the elf took her into his arms.

“Illyrian’s new lady might smile a bit more,” he whispered huskily.

She buried her face in his armored shoulder, asking,

“Ren, Baby… did they skip over you because I’m your wife? Would you be the Prince Attendant instead of Valerian, if you’d married an elf?”

“Gods, what a drekt awful notion,” he blurted. “If that’s true, then I dodged a sword-thrust, Bee. What in all the stacked holies would I do in Karellon?”

Bea looked up at him, starting to smile again.

“You’d be miserable,” she admitted.

“For a thousand reasons, starting with not having you or the Scamp,” he told her. Then, placing a hand on the faint curve of her belly, “Or this little one.”

No one else knew yet that Zara would soon have a sister or brother. For now, it was still their own personal, wonderful secret.

“I love you,” he said. “The bottle scar may have faded, but your mark is still on my heart, and it always will be.”

Beatriz hugged him, armor, weapons and all. She was mortal. Even with magic, she wouldn’t last a tenth of Lerendar’s span, but it brought her some comfort that Ava would be there to help him recover. She just didn’t say so, aloud.

“Love you, too, Baby. Always.”

Lerendar needed to speak to his people. They’d been torn by the missing gods, their emperor’s death and now the slow loss of magical power. They needed a sense that someone was at the helm, steering their realm out of danger. He released Beatriz, then turned to face his massed troops. Lifting a hand in salute, he said,

“No one expected or wanted these things. His Majesty will be mourned for a very long time, as will Prince Korvin... and in every household, there will surely be mage lights put on, and offerings burned. I plan to do so myself.” Lerendar paused a moment, thinking. Speaking slowly, he added, “This is a very challenging time, and we have no choice except to be strong and firm in heart. We are Illyrian. Not just me. For your sake, I swear to be first in the fight. Courageous, because I know who stands with me.”

High-elves do not cheer or applaud. It isn’t their nature. They glow, and the light in Starloft that afternoon outshone the sun. Lerendar bowed in response, overwhelmed. He might have said more, only a mounted wood-elf burst into the fortress with a great clatter of hooves on stone.

Lerendar stepped in front of Beatriz, as Elmaris and Bronn took up flanking positions. Ava rushed forward to join them, hand on the hilt of her sword. As one, the massed warriors went from alert-rest to guard-stance, weapons drawn and ready. Those with horses or griffins leapt into the saddle, prepared to fight for their lord.

The wood-elf slid from his lathered red deer, hit the ground and then hurried forward, nearly falling over when he tried to bow. Bronn and Ava steadied the woodling, who was covered in tattoos, elks-teeth and amulets.

“My lord,” he gasped, extending a rod of carved wood. “Lobum calls for aid!”