15

  Karellon, in a magnificent, god-sized, open air throne room:

  Alexion held tightly to Princess Marika’s hand as he made his way down that wide, columned aisle. The sun had set. Now only a sprinkle of stars, the Seam and a very thin moon cast light on the beautiful mountainside palace.

  He was about to be crowned, at the foot of Lord Oberyn’s massive, dragon-carved seat. He was about to become Karandun’s emperor… and he desperately wanted to just run away. Be ill. Use an escape spell. Anything else but to take his father’s place on that throne. Only, he hadn’t a choice. He’d given his word as a Valinor prince.

  Cold, gusty air poured between massive stone columns, bearing snowflakes and giggling wind-sprites. That blast of air pushed him onward, shrill and insistent. It seemed to swirl all around the rough chair at the base of Oberyn’s rock crystal throne, dusting frost on dark wood and bright crown. With a deep, unearthly grown, veins of mithral and gold rose up from the mountain itself, splitting that marble-flagged aisle to form a pathway of shining metal. Lex squeezed Mari’s hand even tighter. Trapped, but…

  He’d promised.

  He had to.

  All of his grim, violent life had been aimed at this moment, no matter how far he’d strayed or what he’d done in the meantime. He’d never been free, at all.

  He and Marika were just a few paces from the imperial dais when light flashed beside them, spilling forth Korvin, Genevera and the sea-elf girl, Panya. The three arrived in a tumbling hurry, their hands linked so that the Jewel of Transport could carry them all. Alexion welcomed the interruption, steadying Kori and Genna by absorbing their extra motion and manna. Panya’s as well (through the girl’s handclasp with Kori).

  His brother was carrying a big, heavy book. Panya had a rolled-up chart tucked under one arm, and Genna seemed about to explode.

  “Unkeror, listen!” urged his niece. “It’s important!”

  And he would have, really… except that the emperor’s door banged open, slamming into the marble palace-side wall. A crowd of guards and justiciars swarmed into the throne room, spotted the fugitives, and began racing forward, drawing their weapons and readying spells.

  Councilor Rawn Kalistiel ported directly across in a sudden flare of wild, scarlet light.

  “Stop!” he commanded. “In the name of the City and People of Karellon, you will cease this illicit power-grab and submit to arrest, at once!”

  Kalistiel was only a nobleman, not of the Blood Imperial. He could not stand on the glimmering path that led to the Dragon Throne. It looked like he hated that fact, thought Alexion, looking him over, gauging the intruder as a potential opponent.

  Kalistiel was tall. He’d armed himself with a sea-elven lance and donned diamond bright scale-mail. The elf lord’s dark hair was plaited for battle beneath a high-crested helm. He didn’t quite level his spear at Their Highnesses, choosing a spot in between them to aim that crackling magical weapon. He clearly meant business, though, and Lex could have kissed him straight on the lips for providing another delay.

  “That’s going to be a real problem, Councilor,” he shrugged. “Since Lord Oberyn’s already given His blessing… but if you have a better candidate lined up…”

  Somebody shoved him from behind and aside. Most likely that warg-son, Dino. Worth a try, though.

  “You see how it is,” Alexion mock apologized, drawing Sparrow out of a faerie pocket. The former practice blade was a fully enchanted weapon, now, seething with all the power that a worried, still-in-love Princess Marika could jam into four feet of steel. “I’d love to cooperate, but we’re going to have to refuse your kind offer… for our own safety, of course.” Always a kidder, Lex.

  Galadin, Korvin, Mikale, Marika, Zesha, Panya, Freys and young Alain gathered close around Prince Alexion, all of them armed and ready to fight. Genevera popped into some tiny inanimate shape of her own devising, vanishing from sight.

  That jingling, clattering knot of guards rushed up to back Lord Kalistiel, though some were visibly torn at the thought of attacking His Imperial Highness.

  “What are you waiting for? Arrest them!” bellowed the councilor.

  His troops’ hesitation gave the fugitives just a little more time to act. Panya formed a roaring vortex of seawater to shield herself and her dryland allies. Marika spiked it with daggers of hissing, razor-sharp ice. The interference annoyed Panya, who gritted her teeth and said to his lordship,

  “By the might of Shanella, Queen of the seas and their islands, I bid you stand down, half-lander! This is an official rescue mission, authorized by Averna’s Majestrix!”

  “…Who has no power here, Mud-spawn,” sneered Kalistiel, pacing forward to aim his spear at her. “But, if it’s come to invoking our patrons, allow me to call on the Lord of the Endless Night!”

  A hideous, grinding name followed that statement. It was only part of the demon’s full title, but it made ears bleed and heads ring with sudden, vise-like pain. Saying it burned Kalistiel’s throat, converting his laugh to a sputtering wheeze.

  Lord Galadin flared with sparks and low, bluish flame. Firelord could not intervene directly, perhaps, but the god could make His will known and strengthen His favorite sword-arm.

  Three justiciars spread out to encircle the fugitives; a master inquisitor and two acolytes. A web of dark force sprang up between them, just beyond Panya’s swirling barrier.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Back-to-back,” called Alexion. “Choose a foe, but do not be drawn out of the circle and don’t drekking try to defend me!”

  Some of the palace guards crept away, confused and unwilling. They couldn’t escape, though. Struggling, screaming, the resistors were hauled in… absorbed… as Lord Kalistiel changed forms, becoming a massive greenish-grey hydra. It roared at the sky with all nine heads, toppling columns with its sprawling, clawed legs and long tail. The monster’s slimy hide glowed with creeping demonic red sigils…

  …and a watery vortex was no barrier, at all. The hydra attacked from all sides and above, snapping and biting, forcing the trapped elves into a tight little knot.

  “Drek!” muttered Alexion, summoning his arena garb and a bright, mirrored shield. “Gods, I hate these drekkers!”

  But he did know how to fight them.

  “Kori! The justice crew is all yours and Alain’s! Give ‘em something to dance to! Everyone else, pick a head! Dino, sear them…”

  “…as soon as they’re chopped,” finished Galadin, grinning savagely. Red-work was still the thing he did best, and a Tarandahl is never afraid.

  There was a rhythm to fighting a water monster with multiple heads. It could attack from above, below and all sides, as each fanged mouth was attached to a very long, flexible neck. Its tail was a threat as well, for the end split like a flogging-whip and could sever an armored elf at the waist with one lightning-like stroke. The monster belched swamp gas and fever-mist, too, making the air rank and unbreathable. Worse, hydras could turn the ground into a boggy morass and then dive to come broaching up from below.

  Weaknesses? Hah!

  Only one (that Alexion knew about). Like all multi-head beasts, its central brain mass was located mid-back, at a swelling protected by yards-long, venomous spikes.

  That blizzard of lashing, snapping jaws descended in fury, everywhere at once. The chanting justiciars launched a will-draining spell, and the fight was on.

  Marika coated one of its heads in a boulder of ice. It crashed to the ground at her feet, where Alexion chopped it clean off. Swish-crack!

  Panya banished her vortex and switched tactics. With a murmured spell, she absorbed the monster’s internal fluids and salt, only halting when she was flooded with underworld seawater. Horrible, bitter, reeking stuff, spreading forgetfulness and deep, biting cold. Panya staggered, fighting to stay on her feet. Then Korvin whirled to touch her arm, shouting,

  “By the Lord of the Dawn, be cleansed!”

  Alexion vaulted up and onto the creature’s back, boosted by fallen columns and hulking, pale-haired Mikale. He cut around himself with Sparrow as he flew through the air, slicing another head off at its lashing neck. Galadin seared both stumps with burning-red fire before they could sprout extra heads.

  The hydra reacted immediately. It vomited swamp gas, igniting a thunderous explosion. Ssss-KRUMP! Korvin’s shield spell saved all their lives, though the absorbed heat and pressure battered him nearly unconscious.

  Freys stood off a bit, aiming sigils and darts with calm precision, taking out burning red eyes, then gumming shut two sets of jaws. Zesha vaulted up to join Lex on the hydra’s slimy back, beating off attacks as her teammate stabbed at demonic sigils. Had to. If one of those symbols touched someone’s foot or bracing hand, the hydra could strip out their soul. Alexion and Zesha covered each other. Just like old times, they fought their way toward the bristling mass that hid the monster’s central brain, but the going was perilous.

  Further out, those red-robed justiciars chanted and whirled, summoning pit-magic to shield the hydra, using demonic power to hammer at Korvin and Alain. Then the ground underfoot turned to muck without warning, leaving the fighters knee-deep and sinking. Korvin conjured steppingstones like the ones in Shizilgastian’s tower or… or court-ball.

  “Ride the flagstones!” he shouted, animating a storm of rock that he ripped straight out of the mountainside in a clattering landslide.

  It might have been sheer coincidence (nothing at all to do with Lord Oberyn) but the wyvern they’d seen took a sudden dislike to hydras. Screeching a battle cry, the winged monster stooped like a scaly hawk, jetting flame at its rearing nemesis.

  Lex dodged most of that fire burst and blocked the rest with his mirrored shield, panting hoarsely.

  “Out of… shape…” he grunted. “Too much… wine, too… little practice.”

  Six of the hydra’s heads rose like trees all around him and Zesha, striking hard at that darting and wheeling drake.

  “Me, too,” admitted Zeshi, doubling over. “F- Fighting used… to be… easier.”

  Mikale waded in like an epical hero, big as a demigod, whirling his seven-foot sword. 'Try a new song', they’d said to him. Well…

  “Uh…

  I got a luverly bunch o’… caltrops!

  See my beauties standing in a row!

  Big ones, spiked ones, venomed and big as your head!

  Down on the ground, when they get pound,

  Boom, you’re gonna be dead!”

  Manna flared, summoned by the elf’s rousing bar tune. With it came hundreds of poisoned mines. They dropped into the swampy muck surrounding the hydra, barely visible.

  “Watch your step!” roared Mikale. “’Ware the traps!”

  The hydra’s remaining heads swiveled to glare at him. Then it launched itself upward, somersaulting to dive like a giant otter. Fetid muck splashed into the air. Marble tiles and bright gold buckled and cracked, cresting in waves. Alexion and Zesha were carried along with the monster, which had disappeared utterly. Alain’s feet got stuck as the ground resolidified underneath him. He lost his boots but kept both his feet. Barely.

  The justiciars backed slowly away, keeping their life-stealing circle intact. Overhead, the wyvern screeched nervously, flapping for safety and altitude. A heart-beat passed. Two. The others gathered, looking wildly around at faintly rippling marble, mithral and gold. A leaning stone column crashed to the ground with a BOOM and rolled, raising dust and a shower of mud flecks. The creature could 'see' them from below, they knew, sensing their pressure and body heat.

  Suddenly, the monster resurfaced with a tremendous rumble of bog water, metal and stone, right in their midst. The team scattered wildly.

  Alexion gasped for air as the hydra surged upward. He was pinned against one of the creature’s spikes by Zesha, who’d wrapped both arms around her teammate and prince, eyes tightly shut, praying hard.

  “It’s back!” howled Mikale, leaping into a fierce attack stance.

  Freys used a spell to give the big warrior flight, but it backfired, because Mikale’s battle style was all brace, hack and slash. Confused and flailing, he made an irresistible target for that resurfaced hydra.

  Two streaking heads lashed out to seize Mikale and crunch down, one on his armored chest, the other into his left thigh. Biting hard, they whipped savagely apart, ripping the elf’s leg right out of its socket.

  Blood spurted. Crimson, salty, ocean-like blood, which Panya could master, sending it right back into the screaming, dismembered fighter.

  Korvin hauled a wooden cask out of his faerie pockets.

  “Lex! Spring water!” he shouted, hurling the container at his gasping brother.

  Only, there were seven heads and two lashing burned stumps in the way, as well as a diving wyvern. The barrel arced end-over-end, tracked through the air by monsters, elves and justiciars.

  The hydra gulped Mikale’s torn-away leg, then flung the rest of him into a broken column. He struck with a clangor of armor, the wet-meaty thud of a head striking rock. Marika froze the unconscious warrior’s dribbling wounds with ice magic, while Panya created more blood to fill and revive him.

  The wooden cask tumbled, scorched by a wyvern blast, then snapped in half by the hydra. Healing water splashed everywhere, just as Princess Genevera succeeded in zipping down into a fanged, roaring mouth.