Pirate and King, chapter four

4

That there were still a few Imperial Justiciars... that enough of the Grand Council remained alive to take charge of the situation in Karellon... shouldn't have been a surprise. Tragedy had befallen the realm. Their emperor was dead, and the line of descent had shifted completely, but order and stability had got to be restored. No matter the cost in freedom or lives.

Acting on behalf of the council, a wolfpack of guards and red-robed justiciars descended on Five Points, closing in to apprehend all of the possible heirs. They were thorough, efficient and quick. In less than a shocked gasp and a heartbeat, gates opened up to disgorge a fresh band of Imperial tools. Moments later, the entire Tarandahl family was surrounded. They were to be disarmed and brought to the palace... for their own safety, of course.

Alexion resisted at first. He had bitter experience with the justiciars, having been arrested, tortured and brought to sham "trial" once before. Then, he'd been young, heroic and stupid. Now, he wanted nothing more than his freedom, and to stay as drunk as non-humanly possible. He would have just left, only the guards singled out Zibeg, Falk and the rest of Alexion's mining team. Spells crackled and weapons glittered. Too much for the former exile to handle without getting somebody hurt. A fight, here and now, wasn't the answer.

"By order of the Grand Council and People of Karellon, you are to come at once to the palace, Your Highnesses. This is to be done peaceably, for the good of the realm," said one of those rigid, masked figures. (Or maybe all of them. That sibilant voice seemed to drift like smoke from one tall, scarlet shape to the next, bypassing the nervous guards.

Alexion pocketed the drink flask. If his new son-in-law had any objections, they were stifled by other concerns, like getting out of this sudden trap.

"We'll do what you ask," said the dark-haired prince, speaking for all of them. "But not one of my friends or..." he glanced around at a very mixed bag of relatives. "...my family are to be harmed."

Vernax rumbled agreement deep in its throat, sounding like an avalanche. Playing counterpoint, the griffin companion uttered a long, piercing screech. Meanwhile,

"Don't worry for us, Chat," huffed Zibeg, glaring at the guard officer who'd singled out her and Falk. "We c'n take care of ourselves, and we'll be out here warmin' a bench in the local tavern till ya return."

Alexion managed a smile, though there wasn't much humor in it.

"For their sake, I hope so," he told her. Then, shifting his gaze from the gnome to the nearest justiciar, Alexion growled,

"Right. A hair falls, anyone gets a fresh bruise or a splinter, and you'll find out how much of a problem I can be."

She-Once-a-Goddess brushed his arm with her own. She was wearing little more than a weather-stained cloak and a weary smile, but she was here, and she loved him.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"I am not without power, Lex. I alone of the gods chose to be mortal. Nothing was stripped from me. I gave it away, and I will watch over those who took care of you, when I was unable to help."

She'd been trapped as a statue for eons, her power drained to keep the realm safe, fertile and blessed. Alexion had freed her from bondage, earning a terrible punishment for doing so. Now, the former exile kissed his love's upturned face, saying irrelevantly,

"You need a real name. It's important."

Having done without his own for centuries, he knew just how much a name meant. They were two relative strangers who'd given up everything for each other, trying their best to forge a relationship. She mattered, and so did the rest of his people. So did revenge.

"Jewel," suggested Zibeg, coming up with a possibility.

"Harmony," put in Falk, gently waving the only hand he had left.

"Flora," said Alyanara (very practical). There were other suggestions as well. 'Kalissa' from one. 'Eleusine' from another. 'Yelena' from a purple-haired beauty. 'Hot stuff' from the Quetzali warrior slouched beside her. The northerner came up with 'Liralyn', and She-Once-a-Goddess considered them all. But then,

"If you please, Your Highness," interrupted a looming justiciar, "Time presses, and a more important decision needs to be made."

Right. Alexion found himself torn. He didn't want to go back to the place he'd been cast out of so long before. Certainly not in the company of guards and justiciars. On the other hand, they'd take him straight to the Grand Council; back to the people who'd voted to strip his power and name and then send him away. What would he do if he saw them again? Worse, could he just turn and leave, abandoning the rest of his family to more of the council's "justice"?

He couldn't decide what to do. Then the northerner (his great-grandson Something-or-Other) said,

"There's a whole lot of us Tarandahls to deal with, Sir, and more back in Illyrian. The council doesn't have us. We've got them."

Alexion snorted, still very divided in mind and heart. But this time around, things were different and somehow that helped. So did the fact that Kaazin had melted away with his glassy friend. Back to the Flying Cloud, no doubt, the drek out of Karellon.

"What did you say your name was, again?" Alexion asked the blond kid.

"Valerian, Sir. 'Val', if you're not being formal," the youngster replied, smiling a little.

"I'm never formal. Not anymore. And I'm sure as frel not an emperor... but I'll play their game for a while," grumbled Alexion. Then, scarcely glancing at the waiting justiciar, "Lead the way. No gates, no conveyances, no spells, Gore-crow. We walk, and the dragon and griffin and all the Quetzali keep watch, if they will."

Vernax spoke up then. Arching its long golden neck, the dragon said,

"Freedom is choice. Choice is friendship. I will guard you and yours from above, Friend-lex."

Sawyer gave vent to another long, piercing shriek, promising help in its own blood-thirsty monstrous way, earning a playful clout from Valerian. And,

"This flight is led by my brother. They choose their own path through the skies, Lord Prince," said the purple-haired beauty, digging her elbow into the side of her grinning sib. The warrior tossed his spear into the air and then caught it again, spreading dark-feathered, shadowy wings.

"Nothing like an afternoon rampage, I always say," he boasted aloud.

His sister rolled her blue eyes.

"No, you don't. You've never said that in your life, Idiot," she muttered, savagely cuddling the baby.

And that's how it happened that an exiled prince came back to the palace in Karellon. With a golden dragon, a russet griffin and eighty Quetzali warriors high overhead... with a pirate ship and two dreadnoughts plying the skies above... walking through fire and blood... Alexion finally returned to the throne room. Only this time, he very much wasn't alone.