Sword and Sorcery, a Novel

Cleaned up for public appraisal!

42 (I think…)

Down in lower Karellon, where crimes were planned and money changed hands in clattering streams, the day of the trial had come and gone. Murchison waited, there in his shop, but the young elf-lord did not reappear. Nor could he find anything out by asking around, for who in Low Town followed the doings of their far-off and well-shielded betters?

Even the Oracle had vanished, having moved from her quarters between dawn and morning, before Murchison knew she was gone. Then, about a fortnight after the big day, a group of young elves strolled into his shop.

Jumpy, concerned, the human wizard came hustling out of the back, took one look, and immediately dropped to one knee. From the vision that Valerian had once shown him, he recognized the Prince-Attendant, His Imperial Highness, Nalderick Valinor ob Korvin.

Just a bit shorter than Valerian, with long brown hair, vivid green eyes and an angular face, the prince seemed terribly cold and disinterested, glancing around like… Well, like elven royalty in a small, musty joke shop. There were five others with him; four strapping males and a sleek, electrically beautiful female. The Imperials court-ball team, he guessed.

Murchison's heart sank, for Val wasn't among them. He dared not speak unbidden, nor make direct eye-contact, and expected only the worst of possible news.

But Prince Nalderick surprised him. In that near-music speech of theirs, he announced,

"A mutual friend has been completely… hilariously… successful in his ascension trials. So much so, that he is no longer permitted outside tutelage or contact with human wizards. He sends his thanks, Mortal, and regrets not being able to tell you all this, in person."

A spell globe wafted from Nalderick, shining like a bubble of angry fireflies.

"Here is the replay, should you wish to peruse it and laugh. Henceforth, you may add 'Servant of His Highness' to your titles and adverts. You may now speak, if you would send any message to my right-forward defender."

Murchison pondered a moment, forgetting himself long enough to actually glance up at Nalderick (still distant and diamond-hard, but waiting).

"Yes, Your Highness. Thank you. Please tell him… I'm very proud, very glad that he won. I'll miss him... But I get it. I understand the situation. And, um… thank you for coming by to tell me what happened, Your Highness. It's very good of you."

The elven prince cocked an eyebrow.

"Yes, it is, rather," he admitted. "I've been after him to teach me some of those spells, but he insists that I must ask… of you… permission, first."

Murchison stifled a grin.

"You're welcome to all of it, Your Highness. Good advertising."

Someone, a husky redhead to the left of Nalderick, snorted,

"Wait till the spells get used on the playing field," he joked slyly. "We'll have all of Karellon ringing."

Nalderick actually smiled at that. Then, inclining his head, he said,

"Our business here is concluded. Good day, Mortal. I shall pass on your words to my teammate."

They left as a jostling group, chattering in elvish, very much a team of young athletes, already thinking of other things. But the ease that they'd brought was real, and the deed mattered.

It would be a very long time before Murchison saw his young student again, but when he did, everything changed for the trapped human wizard.

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