Sword and Sorcery Seven, chapter thirty-two_Sword and Sorcery, a Novel

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 That the Flying Cloud vanished (summoning a squall and then gliding away in the downpour) surprised no one. They were fabulously wealthy now, although what a glass pirate and a half-blood drow wanted with twelve-million platinum was anyone’s guess.

 “Buy your own floating island and castle with money like that,” remarked Val, to Filimar. They had broken away from all the tedium and diplomacy. Sat on the cliff’s edge looking out at the sea, now, drinking and speculating.

 “Aye, that,” agreed Filimar, accepting the flask and taking a swig, then handing it back again. “Pity we didn’t turn in the warg-son’s head, ourselves. There’d be some unpleasantness with the council, of course, but imagine the wealth!”

 Valerian snorted, nearly expelling his mead.

 “Bad form, Filno,” he laughed. “Yes, you’d be set for life… but think of the looks you’d get at cotillions and garden parties.”

 Filimar ginned at him, accepting the leather flask in his turn. Just honey wine… they sat at the edge of a cliff with a griffin, after all… but potent enough to ease hearts and bring cheer.

 “No, but seriously, Valno! I could remove the quarter-unicorn from the family crest. (Never liked that haunch, anyhow.) Replace it with an image of that rotter’s head hung by its hair, a sapphire for the one eye. It could work, and what a conversation piece!”

 At which they both fell to laughing, for that head was in sea-elven hands and its reward fully claimed. On the other hand, they were both still alive, slightly giddy and full of plans for the future.

 “So…. Back to Karellon, then?” asked Filimar, as Sawyer crunched up a dead goat, behind them.

 Valerian nodded.

 “You’re coming aboard the ship?” he asked.

 “Of course,” said Filno, sounding injured. “Wherever you go, there am I. Besides, there’s the ball game to play… not sure that you’re any good… and His Highness needs all the help he can get. The Raptors are legendary.”

 Not above cheating, either, if they were the ones who’d petrified half of Nalderick’s team. Val took another long drink, gazing out at the sparkling ocean, turning his face to the wind.

 “I wish…” he began, then trailed off for a bit. Filimar waited patiently, letting the northerner sort things out. “I wish that the seven years were already done, our time in the guards spent, and both of us able to just go home. There is a nice spot up at Land’s End for a manor house and estate. I could muck about breeding griffins, hunting, and mattering only to Fee and the baby.”

 Filimar laughed.

 “And to me,” he protested. “I would visit your place with alarming frequency. ‘There he is back again,’ you would say, as your wife orders another plate to be set at the table!” Then, changing the subject, “So… your bodyguard, Cinda. You two are…?”

 Filimar raised a dark eyebrow, pointing from Val to a certain white owl that lurked on a nearby crag.

 “No,” laughed Valerian. “At least, not anymore. I would have made things formal, but she is too wild and too proud. Would accept no arm-ring from me.”

 Filimar smiled, rubbing his hands together.

 “So… if I were to have a go, fascinate the lass with my smooth and city-bred charm…”

 “You are welcome to try, but she is not the sort to accept wedded bonds,” warned Valerian.

 “Perfect, as half the time I forget that I have an official female… and Neira probably hates me, now,” said Filimar, sadly.

 Sawyer snapped a long bone in half, behind the two elves, squawking hunger and happiness. If they’d stayed there forever, doing nothing but hunting, lounging and bow-fishing, the griffin cub would have been perfectly happy.

 …And Cinda was glaring with big, round yellow eyes, having no doubt heard the entire conversation. Very wisely, Val changed the subject again, saying,Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

 “Yes, Karellon. We shall have to stay at the honor guard barracks for the first year, but after that we can rent a place in town. Our stipends won’t cover a palace…”

 “Twelve-million platinum,” sighed Filimar, shaking his head.

 “…But I expect that we’ll do all right, especially if the courtball season goes well.”

 “Oh, it will!” boasted Filimar, cheerful once more. “I am a true menace in the arena, Valno. Good enough to cover for you, as you learn to play ball.”

 Valerian nodded, already missing home, his wife and their baby. Having been kidnapped, escaped, met Filno (again), fled to Averna and helped put an end to Lord Arvendahl, losing two friends in the process.

 “I will be heading to Lobum, after the game,” he said. “I have respects to pay to the family of Gildyr.”

 “The druid?” asked Filimar, cocking his head to one side, sending raven hair sliding into his face. “You were close?”

 Val looked away. Whispered,

 “I was an idiot, and he was a friend. Not close, no… because my arrogance wouldn’t allow it. But I intend to find his people and tell them what happened, Filno. Offer my thanks and apologies.”

 Filimar grimaced.

 “You could just send a card,” he suggested. Then, more hurriedly, “No, I’m coming along, Valno! It’s just that my mum has relatives there, and it is always so awkward… sitting on tree stumps, eating acorn bread and squirrel stew with vegetables in. Vegetables, Valno! As though one has to stretch out the meat with fodder! Listening to Uncle Kalen play the drum and pretending to like it!” Filimar shuddered. “And they live in trees!”

 “I expect that trees are better than barracks,” said Valerian, honestly. “And I doubt that they’ll want me to stay very long.”

 His dealings with wood-elves had been few and uncomfortable… other than Filimar’s mother, of course. In a manner of speaking, he was a back-door prince. Raised mostly by servants, but full of himself and his bloodline. Too proud to accept Gildyr’s friendship. Anyhow...

 “Less than a week, I’d imagine,” he said. “And then back to my own life and doings, Gildyr and Salem long gone.”

 “I’ll be there,” said Filimar, punching his heart-brother’s shoulder. “You needn’t face trouble alone, and… Uncle Kalen really is rather talented. Not for civilized company, of course… but he’s always been fond of me, and now there is Anneka to tell him about. Just don’t go too near the crater’s east rim. There is something heavily warded there, and I nearly got killed on a dare, once.”

 Then,

 “Valerian! Miche! Where are you, Short Stuff?!” Lerendar bellowed from somewhere over the ridge. “It’s nearly wedding time, and we need more raiders!”

 Val drained and pocketed the flask, then got to his feet, offering Filimar a hand up.

 “Here!” he called back, as big, golden Lerendar topped the ridge. His brother loped over to join them, bright hair and red cloak billowing in the brisk sea-wind

 “You’ll need to be better dressed than that,” said Lerendar, shaking his head at their informal tunics and breeches. “My best friend is getting married… there will be trouble from Averna, rely on it… and you’re not going to participate looking like you’ve just been hauled backward through a gorse bush!”

 Well, he did have some formal wear (mum insisted) but he’d always felt rather silly in it, and a windy cliff was no place to get dressed. Not with an enthusiastic griffin on hand to snap at fluttering cloth and bright jewels.

 “I can get Bronn to mind Chicken-legs,” said Lerendar, distracting the griffin cub with dancing lights and illusory goats. “She doesn’t like big, busy gatherings.”

 For that matter, neither did they. Well, Filimar, possibly.

 “You’re sure I don’t look like a fool?” fretted Valerian later, uncomfortable in brocaded cloth and stiff collar.

 “No more than usual, Shorty,” joked Lerendar, mussing Val’s silver-blond hair with a big, rough hand. “Besides, no one is going to be looking at you, except… What happened to your hair, Miche? You look like the griffin’s been at it!”

 Valerian and Filimar exchanged glances, fighting not to laugh outright.

 “Erm…” began Val. “I owed him money, you see, and…”

 “He stole from me, rather,” Filno put in. “To overpay some ridiculous wandering priest!”

 ‘Aunt Meliara’s paladin,’ signed Val, adding aloud,

 “We were going to fight over it, but then Filno settled for ten cuts to my hair, to repay the ten coins.”

 Lerendar snorted.

 “Chicken-legs would have done a better job, at that. Keep your cloak hood up, or wear your circlet, I guess.” Then, looking back over the ridge, “Come, before Andorin changes his mind and dives into the ocean. He’s nervous, and I need to be there.”

 Lerendar planted a hand on both elves’ shoulders, as his ranger friend Bronn seemed to flow out of a nearby crag; visible, because she’d decided to be. Grey-skinned and golden-eyed, with long dark hair and a scarred face, Bronn was an unseelie elf from the fey wild; quiet and shy. Good with animals, though, and willing to watch over Sawyer. The cub was flat on his back, now; wings spread, and belly distended, wriggling happily, covered in goat’s blood.

 “Go,” she told Lerendar, smiling. “I will care for the little one.”

 So, as large elven weddings went, this one was quick and fairly peaceful. Few real fights, not much drunkenness, and no one had kidnapped the bride. They made do with pretending, instead. Andorin, Tormun, Lerendar, Filno and Val led a “raid” on Genevera’s tent, doing ritual battle with Prince Nalderick, his sorceress and ship-captain to steal the young princess and bear her off.

 The raid turned into a good-natured scrum, but the groom’s men succeeded in whisking Genevera across to Andorin’s side of the camp, where Vikran the cleric married them. The drink flowed freely afterward, as bruises were nursed, and bold deeds recounted. As a treaty of sigil and word was locked in through physical union, and even the gods offered gifts. That rushed, reckless wedding was a moment of happiness, long cherished in everyone’s mind through darkness and chaos and war.

MillionNovel

Sword and Sorcery Seven, chapter thirty-two