Palom

by L. L. McNeil

  Sapora tried not to question it too much. His plans would come to fruition soon enough, and there would be none, not even Tacio, who could stand up to him.

  He’d thought cutting out those who opposed him at the winter ball would have been enough, but it had merely stoked the fires.

  Mere blades were no longer good enough.

  He needed something more.

  Some way to tap into the Ittallan primal fear and give him—and the Varkain—the respect they deserved.

  Sapora stood in his antechamber and listened for footsteps in the passageway outside. Roke stood guard outside the door and should keep away any who decided to disturb him, but as much as he liked the Varkain’s quiet obedience, Sapora rarely relied wholly on others.

  He slid a shard of glass from his sleeve, remembering the runner’s confused face when it had arrived with Morgen’s letter. Voulhrik, his name was, Sapora remembered. One of the few who’d survived his cleansing of palace staff. Another quiet one, who bowed on cue and did as he was told.

  The mirror glistened in his hands. Finally, he would have eyes across the sea.

  The antechamber led to his personal rooms—both circular, like almost everything else in the palace—and held two armchairs, a table, and a large bookcase. A portrait hung opposite the bookcase: a portrait of himself in his true form.

  It was a frightening depiction of the large, hooded cobra, long fangs bared in grimace. His scales had been skilfully painted in shades of black, brown, and green, and he actually quite liked the rendition. He enjoyed a little indulgence and examined it for several moments.

  Sapora had not initially wanted the portrait, but when the idea came to him, he had it moved from the gallery and brought here, to his own quarters.

  Now alone, he slipped a clawed finger behind the portrait and pressed it into the stone wall. With an almost inaudible click, the wall shifted and Sapora swung the portrait to the side, revealing a hole wide enough for him to walk through.

  He stepped into it and slid the portrait back into place behind him.

  Choosing to have his chambers in the older part of the palace had its benefits: the hidden stairwell led to a large basement which had once been home to a secret cellar. The smell of wine lingered in the stone itself, but the room now served Sapora’s purpose.

  Mirrors lined the walls in place of tapestries. Dozens upon dozens of them; many full-length, bordered in gold and jewels, others were round, or oval, bound in metal or wood. Most of the smaller mirrors—or shards thereof—connected him to locations around Linaria, providing him with eyes and ears in countless places across the world.

  Bringing his mirrors from Sereth to Val Sharis had been a monumental undertaking—each had its proper place, each had to be carefully wrapped in layers of linen to prevent even a scratch across their surfaces.

  Any imperfection could dull—or kill—the blood magic within them.

  Sapora walked to the far end of the room, lighting wall torches as he went. The flames sprang to life, their light flickering and reflecting across the mirrored glass.

  Once happy with the light, Sapora clutched the new mirror shard and checked it over. He picked up a small, thin knife from the table at the end of the room and drew it across the back of his hand. Blood flowed immediately, and he spilled it onto the shard, where it mixed with the drop of dried blood already present.

  In a matter of seconds, the blood disappeared into the glass.

  Power billowed from his hand onto the glass, and dizziness gripped him. The mirror glazed over and became opaque.

  As his dizziness faded, the hazy mirror slowly refocussed into an image—but not of Sapora’s reflection.

  The image showed the inside of a castle.

  ‘Well done, Morgen.’ Sapora said. ‘Now, I wonder where you are…’ The mirror shard was scarcely larger than his hand—not ideal, but still useable. He needed eyes everywhere, and Morgen was in the best place for his eyes in Niversai.

  Sapora stood motionless and watched the mirror. The stone walls of the room were definitely of Rosecastle—it looked like Morgen had made it back to Niversai. ‘Such a good soldier…’

  No doubt the room Sapora could see was where Morgen slept each night. Armour and weapons rested in the corner of the small room, and an uncomfortable looking bed had been shoved against the wall, the sheets in disarray.

  In Sapora’s room of mirrors, there were no windows; no way to mark the passage of time. Sapora shifted into stasis as he waited: his breathing and heart rate slowed to almost nothing.

  His shallow wound stopped bleeding, and his half-scaled skin began to heal. Something moved across the floor—a spider, perhaps—but Sapora ignored it; his only focus locked on the mirror.

  A flutter of sound echoed through the glass: heavy footsteps. Sapora roused himself in time to see the door open and Morgen enter the room.

  ‘There you are,’ Sapora said.

  ‘What the—?’

  Sapora smiled at Morgen’s apparent confusion. ‘The mirror, Morgen.’

  Morgen whirled around and gasped.

  No doubt it was a strange thing for him to experience—another person from another place in his mirror. ‘Sapora…? How? How are you…?’

  ‘A Varkain method of communication. Much faster than the messengers you all use up here.’

  Morgen ran a hand through his hair and pulled a chair that had been out of sight in front of the mirror. He sat down and shook his head, mumbling something to himself.

  ‘I can’t hear you if you whisper, Morgen. Speak up.’

  ‘Sorry, I…What’s wrong with a messenger?’ Morgen said, still bewildered.

  Sapora sighed. ‘I just told you. This is a Varkain method of communication. We live underground. Can’t very well have horses down in our tunnels, can we? Our blood magic enables us to…tap into mirrors if we have a shard of the original.’

  ‘What? You can watch me from my mirror?’ Morgen shot up, his chair flying backwards. ‘That’s why you wanted me to send it to you?’

  ‘It’s more complicated than that,’ Sapora said. ‘Now, I appreciate you following my instruction to send the shard. Tell me. What’s the situation in Corhaven?’

  Morgen scratched his forehead and took a moment to absorb everything Sapora said. ‘Dragons running rampant. There’ve been reports of attacks on small villages. We’ve been sent out a couple times, but the dragons don’t stick around. They burn what they can and fly off. It’s just damage control right now.’

  Sapora frowned.

  Morgen continued, ‘Rosecastle isn’t fully rebuilt and part of Niversai is still closed off after Aciel’s attack. Rhea knows where the King is—he’s not been seen since the castle fell! Everyone fears the worst.’

  ‘What a pity.’

  ‘They were grateful you promoted me to captain. We lost so many soldiers to Aciel. We need more people to help sort everything out. We’re firefighting every day! If you could send an airship or two of reinforcements from Val Sharis…’

  ‘I’ll speak to my council about it. I’m trying to rebuild relations, so you’ll notice more Varkain coming over. I expect you and your Guard will treat them well?’

  ‘Oh. Right. I’ll keep an eye out.’ Morgen glanced over his shoulder, as if suddenly nervous. ‘Shouldn’t you have…an official liaison with Corhaven? Why’re you having this conversation with me?’

  Sapora blinked slowly. ‘My kind are not best trusted in Corhaven, and neither am I after the winter ball. I need to speak to someone I can trust. Someone who won’t lie to me.’

  Morgen bit his lip and nodded.

  ‘As I told you before you left Taban Yul, you’ll be well paid for your report.’

  ‘I appreciate that…’ Morgen said. He glanced over his shoulder again.

  ‘Is Topeko still with you?’

  Morgen shook his head. ‘He was. He’s staying in town somewhere. I haven’t seen him for a couple of days now. Told me I shouldn’t use the sword Palom made me, so I�
�ve locked it up in the armoury. He might be heading back to Berel, soon.’

  ‘And…what about the Varkain treasure…?’

  Morgen shuffled back. ‘I can’t speak for long, they need me to help out. One of the bridges in Niversai is gonna collapse any day now.’

  Sapora supressed his irritation. ‘Have you looked?’

  ‘Not had a chance. I don’t get any spare time right now! I can’t get to the castle library. Should I ask Topeko?’

  ‘No. Don’t get anyone else involved. Remember what I told you.’

  ‘Okay, if you’re sure…’ Morgen’s body language screamed suspicion, and Sapora decided not to push his luck. He could bide his time with Morgen.

  Val Sharis was his priority.

  How could he rule anything if the country burned?

  No, he had to ensure the country’s protection.

  Sapora said, ‘No doubt you have your duties to attend, as do I. We’ll speak again soon.’

  He stood up and placed the mirror shard against the wall, facing the stone. There was no point in spooking Morgen any more than necessary. He ran a tongue over his fangs and considered the soldier’s words.

  Sapora strolled to the other side of the room, where a half moon mirror hung just below a flaming torch.

  At first, there appeared to be nothing but darkness on the other side, but small details flickered into view after a moment. It was the murkiness of a smooth tunnel carved masterfully into the earth, sconces trailing along its length.

  He hesitated for half a heartbeat before calling out. “Vasil. It is as I feared. The dragons’ destruction has not ceased.’

  Silence responded for several long moments, until his father, the former warrior-king of the Varkain, walked down the tunnel.

  Though Vasil was into his fifties, he still carried himself as if he were in his prime. He was all sharp angles and calculated cunning. ‘I wondered when we would speak. Is this true of Corhaven?’

  ‘It is.’ Sapora nodded, fighting the urge to glance in the direction of Morgen’s mirror. ‘Small villages and outposts. It’ll probably worsen if nothing is done. We need to prevent this before all of Linaria burns.’

  ‘And what of your weapon? It left some weeks ago.’

  ‘It’s not here yet. I don’t want to use it to clear up unruly dragons.’

  Vasil smiled, his fangs glinting. ‘Dragons can’t burn tunnels, Sapora.’

  ‘I’m not leaving the city. Hiding in Sereth for the danger to pass? What kind of leader would that make me? You had the Ittallan eating out of your claws when you ruled. I must get them in the same position.’

  ‘Always so eager to impress, aren’t you?’ Vasil said, smoothing down his lapels. ‘Monitor the dragons. Their rage may fade once they’ve had some revenge.’

  The wound on Sapora’s hand throbbed. ‘I’ll take measures to keep them under control.’

  *

  ‘The latest search party returned to Taban Yul this morning without anything.’ The old raven said. He knelt on the cold stone floor, head bowed, nose almost touching the floor. ‘These Ittallan are from the furthest reaches of Val Sharis. If any such treasure existed, they’d have found it, my liege.’

  ‘They aren’t looking hard enough.’ Tacio said, slouched in his chair, holding a tall glass of clear, sparkling liquid, watching as the light from his jewels reflected through the bubbles.

  ‘They’ve searched night and day. There’s no treasure.’ Koraki had not once lifted his face from the floor since entering the chamber of snakes.

  Sapora could smell the salt from his sweat in the air, and his lip curled.

  ‘Send out another party. They can’t have covered the whole country in a week.’ Sapora glanced over the healing cut on the back of his hand, his father’s words playing in his mind.

  He had to keep more than the dragons under control.

  ‘My liege, Val Sharis is a vast, wide land, and—’

  Sapora lunged at the raven’s first word, his blade drawn, and a fresh line of blood appeared on Koraki’s cheek—the fifth on his face. He enunciated every word slowly. ‘You will find them. I want those treasures, and I am losing my patience. If you cannot find them, I shall find others who can serve me better.’

  ‘M…my liege…’ Koraki stammered, a hand to his cheek as he shuffled backwards and hurried out of the tower room, almost tripping over his robes in his haste to get away.

  ‘Don’t you get bored of terrifying him? He won’t have a face left for you to cut if you carry on about it that way.’ Tacio watched Sapora.

  ‘They’ll obey me, or they won’t live at all. The same can be said of you.’ Sapora snapped at his brother. ‘I need those treasures. They’ll enhance my strength tenfold. Yours too. You cannot ignore that. I’m not going to allow that strength to slip away.’

  ‘You hole up here in your tower and pretend you’re less of a Varkain than the rest of us,’ Tacio replied, downing his drink. ‘You’re trying to arm yourself with weapons of a power that isn’t yours, and you pretend it makes you better than those you want to rule.’ He dropped his glass onto the table in the room’s centre. ‘I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again. We should go back to Sereth. It’s winter. We can rest until the fresh season. See how things are then. Let the Ittallan sort themselves out in the meanwhile. Not like you’re doing the best job in ruling them, anyway.’

  ‘And as I’ve told you, I cannot rule a country I’m not living in.’ Sapora glared at Tacio’s empty glass. His brother needed little encouragement to challenge him. With alcohol in the mix, Tacio’s behaviour bordered on unbearable.

  ‘Exactly. What of your followers? Your true followers, in Sereth?’

  ‘They remain loyal to blood, as you keep reminding me. They can wait. It’s the Ittallan I need to overpower.’

  ‘Because you can’t win fairly? Because you aren’t fit to rule them?’ Tacio’s smug tone set Sapora’s teeth on edge.

  ‘You’re walking a fine line, Tacio,’ Sapora hissed, narrowing his eyes.

  ‘I’m the only one able to tell you you’re going about this the wrong way. Threaten, maim, kill all the Ittallan you want, it’s not going to win their favour. They’ll be more against you now than they ever have been.’

  ‘I don’t need their favour, brother.’ Sapora stalked across the room to the vast bookcase. ‘I just need them to realise they can’t beat me. Then, they’ll follow. Even if they must be made to.’

  ‘Hah, you sound like Aciel, now.’

  Sapora did not respond. He blinked slowly, scouring the volumes of books he’d had brought up from the palace library. He plucked a weathered scroll from between two tomes and placed it on the table, shoving Tacio’s empty goblet aside.

  He knew the treasures were here.

  Somewhere.

  At least one of them had to be.

  ‘If they’re useful, they’ll remain. Otherwise I’ve no need to keep them in line. I shall simply kill them.’ He unravelled the map and smoothed it out.

  Ink splats dotted the depiction of Val Sharis from 5,000 years ago during the height of the Ittallan-Varkain war. While the landscape was much the same, the cities weren’t. Many towns and cities that existed then didn’t now, and these sites were of the greatest interest.

  He’d circled several previously, and following Koraki’s report, he crossed through them.

  ‘Sapora…’ Tacio groaned, getting off the chair and joining his brother by the table. ‘I understand you want to be greater than Father—’

  ‘I am.’

  Tacio rolled his eyes but nodded. ‘Yes, I understand that. But Vasil was a fighter. A hardened veteran with a thousand kills to his name. He united Sereth and Val Sharis under one leader. He ruled both, without doing the ruling part.’

  Tacio jabbed his claw at the map depicting lands owned by Varkain and Ittallan. ‘He sorted this out, ended all this fighting.’

  ‘I know the story just as well as you.’ Sapora kept his focus on the map. H
e looked over the locations he’d yet to test and thought about potential others.

  Thought about where his treasures were most likely to be.

  ‘You don’t seem to understand. The takeover is what he’s known for. His reputation. It led to peace for over twenty years! You can’t hope to better that. What are you conquering? The land’s already yours by right. Why intimidate and maim your people?’

  ‘We are a laughing stock!’ Sapora rounded on him. ‘The Ittallan pretend to be respectful and polite to our faces, but you hear them as well as I do. In the shadows they call us worms and maggots, creatures worth less than nothing.

  Vasil may have strengthened our forces with the Ittallan, he may have prevented war with the Imperial Guard, but I will ensure we are not mocked. Not laughed at. We will no longer be the sick, dirty race clinging on to the Ittallan’s scraps. It’s about time the rest of Linaria showed us some respect!’

  Tacio smiled, all fangs on display. ‘I understand. I’m here to help you reach that goal for the Varkain, but…its best to heed a little advice every now and then. You did want my counsel, after all.’

  ‘I did.’ Sapora’s eyes glistened, and he panted after his outburst.

  ‘So, take my counsel; stop maiming your servants.’

  ‘The damned raven gets on my nerves. Perhaps a new messenger…? That Voulhrik isn’t half as irritating…’

  ‘Why do you hate him so’ Tacio asked.

  Sapora glared at his brother.

  ‘He’s like any old Ittallan. Frail and weak. Fodder.’

  ‘I think you just dislike anyone who isn’t you,’ Isa piped up as she clambered through the window and into the room, having apparently scaled the tower. She was covered head to toe in hay, and immediately set to picking out the strands from her braided hair.

  Tacio immediately went on the offensive, ‘What’s your explanation for… your appearance?’ He gestured angrily.

  Isa flopped onto the floor, cross-legged. Having cleared her hair, she rolled up her sleeves and picked out the hay which had found its way into her clothes. ‘I was down in Trader’s Alley watching the end of season pack up. Might’ve accidentally fallen into a cart for horses,’ she shrugged. ‘One of the workshops burnt to the ground. Don’t panic, the Guard got it put out before it did any other damage.’