Pirate and King, chapter twelve

12

Alexion circled the city once, astride Vernax the Golden. It was a bitter mock-up of the emperor’s ride, wheeling high in the air over a cratered and smoldering landscape. Most of the fires were contained now, he saw; beaten back by the combined work of his surprising descendants and the Imperial Fleet. Rescue efforts were underway, too, and that was good. One less thing to distract him.

Like the embers below, Alexion burned. He wanted revenge, his boot on somebody’s neck, or his hands on their throat. That’s want he longed for… but maybe was too smart to take. Hard to be sure.

As Vernax spiraled higher, the wind seemed to shift. Great muscles bunched and stretched rhythmically underneath the former exile, who rode between spikes on the young dragon’s back. Its vast, gleaming wings stretched out on either side, translucent enough to see through. The dragon’s long neck and slim, wedge-shaped head cut the air like a rudder, as did its lashing tail. From time to time, Vernax gave vent to a thunderous roar, blasting flame like a newborn volcano.

The northerner (his great-grandson Valerian) took a much less circuitous route. The young elf simply rose through the smoky air with his playful griffin. The Quetzalli princess was there as well, flying easily in her true form, one arm holding their baby's cloth sling.

This high above Karellon, sound faded away to a distant hum, and people were no more than scurrying ants. Probably why the palace was up here, chiseled into the mountainside. Easier to rule when you couldn’t make out any faces or here any cries, Alexion supposed. That distance hadn’t shielded the building from destruction or fire, though.

Vernax did not choose to land on the broad, sunny ledge outside of its lair. Perhaps the dragon was just as reluctant to be here as he was? Alexion leaned forward, reaching between spikes to pat warm golden scales.

“We won’t stay here for long, my friend,” said the prince. “What I have to do will be quick.”

Vernax snorted back at Alexion, exactly like a horse. The dragon rumbled agreement, then banked hard and back-flapped, coming to a windy, thumping halt on the cracked and leaning Observation Tower. There were no priests of Oberyn up there, now. Too busy saving their own plump, tender hides, no doubt.

Dragon claws scraped against stone with a gritty and bone-jarring screech. Vernax lifted its head and bellowed, raising a plume of drake-fire many miles into the air. Then its head twisted around on that serpentine neck to snuff Alexion, jaws still hot and reeking of sulfur.

“Lex-friend,” it growled. “We are here.”

Vernax had spent eons enslaved to the empire. Ever reborn, eternally young, always a captive. Now the dragon was free, and it had chosen to be his companion. Alexion stroked the monster’s long muzzle.

“Yes, we are,” he agreed, swinging down onto a great golden elbow, then to the tilted floor. “I thank you for the ride, Air-lord, and for your friendship.”

The dragon’s reply was a burst of warm breath, tangy with smoke and burned meat. It next tried to push its big head under Alexion’s arm, lofting the dark-haired elf fully ten feet into the air. That was a good, healing moment… but not enough to make either of them forget or forgive the Grand Council.

His great-grandson landed moments later, along with the Quetzali princess and Sawyer, their griffin. The young elf touched down lightly, then turned to extend both hands upward.

Most likely, the princess needed no steadying. In her true form, she was completely at home in the sky, but Alfea took hold of Valerian’s hands anyhow, converting back to a simple air sprite and folding up most of her wingspan. The baby was awake and chuckling, waving her tiny fists as Alfea swung down to the ground in Valerian’s grip. They kissed each other, then both of them nuzzled the baby’s face, disturbing a swarm of fey-lights that lifted and circled like glowing flies. After a moment, Val pulled away from his wife to approach Alexion.

“Sir,” he said, bowing. “I do not know my way through the palace. I have only been to one of its formal gardens and a back room, escaping assassins.”

He was still holding his wife’s shining spear, which seemed to trail a very long magical thread. “But this weapon has traced most of a circle around the others. We can follow its lead to where they’ve been taken.”

Alexion grunted, stepping clear as the juvenile griffin first butted its head against Val, then turned to pounce on the waiting dragon. A noisy scuffle ensued, bringing a smile to Alexion’s hard face.

“Then we’ll follow the spear,” he said, over all of that roaring, screeching, thumping and flapping. “I knew the way once, but things may have changed, and much of the palace is ruined.” He thought for a moment, then added, “Try for a back route. I would rather surprise the council than come in through their front door, Valerian.”

Next, turning to face the disguised Quetzali, Alexion bowed politely.

“Princess,” he said, “You are a warrior, sprung from a race of celestial dragons. I will not insult you by offering my protection, but there is the little one to consider. By your leave, I would say that whoever carries the baby should walk between the other two, in the safest position.”

Alfea smiled at him, looking almost as radiant as Alyanara or She-once-a-goddess.

“My people are fighters, Highness,” she agreed, glancing up to where scores of Quetzali darted and wove overhead. “We hatch with a spear in our hands and a battle-cry in our throats… but our fight is only for Order, never in the cause of oppression. I am here to help protect you, as well as to keep this scoundrel out of trouble.” Her blue eyes shifted to Val as she spoke and lingered there lovingly. The blond elf started to protest, then shrugged, conceding the point.

“I’ll lead,” he said. “Fee, you take the middle position with Bean. Sir…” he bowed once again to Alexion. “If you please, guard the rear.”

Alexion drew his childhood training sword; all he’d had left by way of armament.

“I’m ready,” he answered. “Anything sneaks up from behind won’t live long enough to regret it.”

So that’s how they went; Valerian following the pull of the spear toward those that its magic protected, the others falling into place behind him. Not Vernax or Sawyer, though. Alexion embraced as much as he could reach of the dragon’s head.

“Keep watch from up here, Air-lord,” he suggested. “I should be swift in returning. If not…” the former exile’s green eyes shifted to sweep the city below. “Save my friends and Her, then do your absolute worst.”

Vernax raised its head and bellowed a long, ringing cry, cracking windows all over Karellon and caving in part of the palace roof. The tower’s ornate golden telescope twisted wildly, kept from falling by magic and dwarf-forged bolts.

Sawyer folded both wings, doing his best to seem passageway-slim, but Valerian shook his head.

“A tangle of hallways is no place for you, Drumstick,” said the elf, caressing his mount’s beaked head. “You might be set upon and attacked by things that would never dare face you, out in the open.”

Sawyer rattled deep in his throat, rubbing against Val as a cat would have done, then preening the elf’s blond hair. He wasn’t happy to be left behind, but Sawyer stayed with Vernax, adding his wild, screaming cry to the dragon’s.

“I’ll be back,” Valerian promised, turning away to start down through the tower’s cracked hatch. Their path was jumbled and dusty, for Vernax had knocked a few stones loose, thumping down on the tower. Dozens of them, actually.

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The celestial spearpoint shed light onto tumbled stone blocks and cracked pillars. Falling wasn’t a danger for Alexion’s great-grandson and the princess. Both could fly at need. Alexion made do with running leaps or else climbed like a squirrel. Having been a prisoner of the drow, he knew his way around cramped, twisting tunnels. He didn’t need any help.

Less than a quarter candle-mark brought them out of the observatory tower, past a shattered orrery and fallen shelves of prophetic scrolls. They reached the palace proper, then paused to get their bearings in a partly collapsed antechamber.

“This way,” said Val, after a moment, indicating a servants’ entrance in the rear wall, rather than the outer door of rare woods and mithral. “If you want to avoid the front approach, Sir, and you aren’t too grand for service passages…”

Alexion snorted.

“I’ve dug ore and gems for the drow, Northerner. I was a slave. I fought in their arena, tried to escape and got punished more ways than I care to recount. I’m not too good for anything. Lead on.”

Valerian bowed low, holding Alfea’s spear gracefully upright.

“No one will learn that from me, Sir,” he said quietly. “And I would follow you anywhere, as my emperor, or simply my friend.”

The princess bobbed a curtsy beside her young husband, murmuring something similar. Which…

Alexion shifted his stance uneasily, confused by his own emotions. He couldn’t decide what to say next beyond,

“Thank you. Let’s go… but don’t try to come between me and the council.”

They ate a bit, drank from Alexion’s borrowed flask, then moved on. Valerian had chosen an excellent path. The servants’ halls were narrow, winding their way between cracked walls and rubble-choked public areas. The backways were hidden and much less damaged than those wide main passages. Better yet, their route led directly to the Grand Council chamber, ending at the high dais behind a colorful tapestry, a long arc of seats and the emperor’s raised chair.

Thanks to a murmured spell, the service door opened silently, allowing Valerian, Alfea and Prince Alexion to slip in unnoticed. They shuffled to the edge of that tapestry and had a quick look around before entering the crowded chamber. It must have been beautiful, once, with high ceilings and cascading rivers of mage light, but now its walls were cracked, and torches provided most of the warmth and illumination. The floor had split, leaving the council chamber’s west end canted upward several inches.

The rest of the Tarandahl family were there, along with most of Alexion’s people, surrounded by guards and justiciars. They stood in the penitent’s circle in front of the grand dais, looking more irritated than nervous. Thankfully, no one appeared to be hurt.

Alexion glanced at the others, but most of his attention was riveted to the councilors. Of the twelve seats flanking the emperor’s chair, just seven were occupied. He recognized only two of those present: Thandar Kalistiel and Shonn Riven. Not all he’d wanted… not the entire council he’d faced so long before… but a decent start.

“Waiting for me, I expect?” said Alexion, stepping out of concealment to appear behind the Grand Council. “Here I am. Now, get off my dais!”

The councilors leapt from their seats, caught by surprise. They whirled to face Alexion, whose stance and expression held nothing but hate. One of them, Lord Kalistiel, started to speak.

“Your Highness, we…”

“Shut up!” snarled the former exile, seizing Lord Kalistiel with a very powerful mage-hand. “I’m not losing manna as fast as the rest of you, thanks to Vernax. Neither are they,” (he jerked a thumb at the Tarandahls) “…because of their link to Her and to Firelord.”

Alexion tightened his magical grip, squeezing that pale-haired councilor till his ribs cracked. Not shifting his gaze, the prince called out,

“Zibeg, Falk, everything all right over there?”

“We’re well enough, Chat,” grumbled the gnome, who was perched on the bard’s skinny shoulder. “Spilled me drink when they pinched us, though. Give ‘im a squeeze for that!”

“I am bored, elf, but otherwise unharmed,” called Falk, backed up by the rest of the mining crew.

Alexion nodded. He risked a glance at She-once-a-goddess, who’d been rounded up with the others.

“My lady? Alyanara? How fare you?”

“We are well, Love,” said his beautiful life-mate; alive, free and whole. “We gated here and were made to wait. That is all.”

Alexion found himself breathing a bit easier.

“Good to hear,” he told her. “Seems I may have to keep my promise, after all.”

Next, turning his attention back to Kalistiel (now dangling upside down) the prince said,

“You have no idea how badly I want to kill you, or how easily I could do it.”

The justiciars and guards stirred restlessly on the chamber floor below, but dared not intervene. In this world of fading manna, Alexion was close to unstoppable, his voice shaking with barely pent fury.

“Night after night, in the mines, in my arena cage, in that drekt hot-box, I dreamt of this. Of what I would do to you if I got the chance.”

She-once-a-goddess, Alyanara and Valerian started forward, but it was his great-grandson who got there first, signing permission to speak.

“What is it, Valerian?!” snapped the prince, impatiently. “I told you not to interfere!”

“Yes, Sir. You did,” agreed the northerner, adding, “If I could unravel the past and return all those years to you… find a way to reverse what happened… I would, though it erased me and most of my family in the process. Wishing won’t do that this time, though… and neither will tormenting the councilors. The city needs administrators, Sir.”

Alexion grunted morosely, then used the magically suspended Lord Kalistiel like a whisk-broom to sweep the rest of the council off the dais. Task done, he dropped His Lordship on top of that squirming heap of elvish nobility with more force than was strictly necessary.

“You lot,” he said to his descendants and followers. “Up here, now!”

There were side steps at either end of the grand dais. Alyanara simply levitated herself and Lord Galadin. She-once-a-goddess ported. The rest took the stairs.

“Have a seat,” ordered the former exile, nodding at the emptied council chairs. Then, glancing at his daughter’s life-mate, Alexion pulled out the drink flask and had another long draught.

“This is good,” he said, handing the flask back to Galadin. “…And I’m probably going to need more.”

His son-in-law bowed, keeping a straight face with difficulty.

“Aye that, Sir,” replied the silver-haired elf. “I’ll be sure to keep it topped up.”

Once the family and miners were up on the dais and seated, Alexion said,

“Here is my council. As for its head…” The prince turned with savage speed, pivoting to kick the emperor’s chair over. That ancient carved throne crashed to its side with a resounding BOOM, slid a few feet, then ground to a halt.

“There is no head," raged Alexion, staring hard at the deposed councilors. "For now, there’s just me.”

Alexion walked across to lean against the toppled chair. After that, folding his arms across his chest, he began the proceedings.

“We’re here to discuss who’s going to take this accursed drek throne.”

Someone coughed lightly on the floor below the high dais. Alexion cast a single glance over his right shoulder, growling,

“Interrupt, and I’ll solve all my problems at once, the quick and easy way, starting with lords Kalistiel and Riven. Well? Any comments?”

If an ant had cleared its throat in the chamber, it would have resounded like thunder, so deep was the silence that followed Alexion’s words.

“Uh-huh. Not so bold when the situation is reversed, are you, my lords and lady?”

Again, there was only silence. Though the deposed councilors got to their feet, they did so quietly. Satisfied, Alexion shifted his attention back to the new ruling body.

“First point, I don’t want the throne, and I won’t be forced to take it,” he said. “Second, somebody else has to govern this mess. Third, I require freedom and a full pardon for myself, my relations and friends, regarding events leading up to the present moment. Those are my demands, and they aren’t negotiable. How votes the council?”

It was a simple voice tally. Seven ayes, two abstentions (from Zibeg and Falk, who wanted to go back and finish their drinks).

“That’s a majority,” grunted Alexion. “As to the chosen heir…” He pushed away from the toppled seat, then walked across the dais to face Alyanara, saying, “The crown and realm are yours if you want them, Aly. I’m leaving.”

His daughter inhaled sharply, then rose from her council chair.

“I have only just met you, Father,” she told him. “I’ve been an orphan all of my life, without any family until Galadin made me a part of his. It seems very hard to lose you so soon. We've had no chance to talk.”

There were tears in Alyanara’s violet eyes. Her half-divine glow filled the council chamber with soft, pearly light. One by one, the rest of the new council stood up and came to surround Alyanara and Alexion. He didn’t trust crowds, but this one didn’t bother him, for some reason. Quietly, the prince said,

“I have to get out of this place and away from its people, Aly. I will go north, then beyond the mountains to the mortal lands, west. I will take your mother…”

“Flora,” supplied the former goddess. “I have accepted our daughter’s suggestion, Love.”

He nodded, draping an arm across his mate’s shoulders.

“I will take Flora,” he amended. “…and anyone else who wants to accompany me. Someday, I may find the peace and strength to come back and see how you’re getting on… but I don’t have it in me just now.”

Aly dropped her head, abandoned, again. Galadin brushed her arm with his own, very subtly. Meanwhile, Alexion took her chin in his hand and lifted her face to look at him.

“Aly, I’ve missed so much of your life that I don’t know where to begin… and I’m not much of a gift to anyone at the moment. Give me time to get used to freedom and safety, lass. Then, when the shadows have left my heart, we can have that talk.”

Alyanara bit her lip, but she nodded. Next, stepping away from her father, she announced in a clear, proud voice,

“I accept the throne, Highness. I shall reign in your stead with Keldaran and Val as my heirs, unless you decide to return to your rightful place, so hear me all g… all powers and people of Karandun.”

Prince Alexion was the first to kneel, using mage-hand to right Her Majesty’s toppled chair. The coronation that followed was simple and swift, given the chaos outside and Alexion’s haste to be gone. Just a circlet of rank placed on her head by her father and mother together, as Vernax and Sawyer and scores of Quetzali made the heavens resound, up above.

He said no farewells and gave no advice. Just disappeared between one breath and another, along with Vernax and all those who wanted to come. That among them were Valerian, Alfea and a pair of former assassins, nobody noticed until the next day, when it was too late to act.