Palom

by L. L. McNeil

  But it was here, after spending time in Oren, that she thought perhaps she should have been born an Arillian. That, perhaps, she had found somewhere she belonged, without need for aggression.

  She loved flying, after all, and the food wasn’t bad once you got used to it. But their culture, history, and way of life had the sky pirate mesmerised.

  ‘Amarah? Are you well?’ Tymē asked, raising a hand to Amarah’s forehead.

  The sky pirate took an automatic step back and shook her head. ‘I’m fine. Just thinking… Why on earth has Jato kept Kohl for so long?’ Amarah asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Tymē replied, taking a seat around a large fire in the centre of the village. ‘Jato was a general, Kohl was the former leader. Perhaps it is a discussion of power?’

  ‘What normally happens when you lose your leader?’ Amarah sat beside her and gazed into the flames.

  ‘The Golems decide if there is no clear leader. Often the new leader kills the old and takes his or her place. Kohl’s banishment was the first in living memory.’

  Amarah said nothing. The flames flickered, almost absorbing the morning sun, and glowed brightly. Occasionally it was coloured by a flame of blue or green, and Amarah was sure, for a brief moment, the palace in Taban Yul appeared. She blinked and rubbed her eyes.

  Somewhere to her left, an Arillian grabbed the rock jutting out from the base of the fire and sent out a bolt of electricity. She felt the crackle race through her, and the flames changed colour with a whoosh.

  This time, when Amarah blinked, the palace of Taban Yul appeared in full view, clear as if she was in Val Sharis. Snow fell around the palace, bathing it in an eerie blue-grey light. ‘A blizzard?’

  ‘Oh yes. It’s how we see through storms. This rock enables us to channel our power, the power of storms. We can see anywhere in Linaria where there is one,’ Tymē said. ‘I suppose it’s easier for you to understand if you see.’

  ‘I s’pose…’ Amarah murmured, transfixed. She could see every tower, every wall, every guard stationed in the grounds. The scene grew as she looked through the storm, to the streets of Taban Yul, the crowds gathered, and even the most minute detail of the buildings in the city.

  Outside the city walls, she saw forests and wild land split by deep valleys, and a snow-capped mountain range in the far distance. A large wagon made its way slowly towards the city, surrounded by countless people. The sun reflected off them and Amarah guessed they wore armour.

  A lump formed in her throat.

  Sapora had moved to the palace—what on earth did he have on the way to him?

  With another whoosh, the scene disappeared, and the fire crackled as before.

  It was winter. Cities took in supplies at this time of year. There wasn’t anything unnatural in that. But something about the guarded cargo made her stomach turn.

  Moroda was still down there. Right in the firing line of whatever Sapora planned to do.

  Kohl needed to get on with sorting the Arillian’s magic, and she was done waiting around doing nothing.

  Shivering, she got to her feet and patted herself down, wiping away her uncertainty and replacing it with impatience. ‘I don’t want to wait for them anymore. I wanna talk to Kohl.’

  Tymē smiled and looked to the fire. ‘I wouldn’t advise disturbing them. Jato’s temper is quite fierce, and she may attack you again.’

  Amarah shook her head. ‘If she attacks me, I’ve got my scythe. If I need to use it, I will.’

  ‘They’ll be in Jato’s home, I suspect, to the far north. Look for the fire pit outside. It’s wide and deep enough to house your ship.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Shaken by what she had seen in the fire, she strolled towards Khanna, intent on arming herself against another of Jato’s rages.

  She had no idea what Jato wanted from Kohl, but needed to know what he had planned if she was to have any chance of finding a way to release Moroda and bring her back.

  Chapter Ten

  Palom woke drenched in cold sweat after a nightmare-plagued sleep. Immediately, he reached under the mattress and pulled his sword out, the familiar pulse of energy coursing through his hand where he gripped the hilt. It reassured him.

  Emonos.

  He could still smell the Varkain blood on the blade, despite cleaning it.

  He lay on his back and gripped the sword with both hands as he stared up at the ceiling, his mind reeling to last night’s encounter with Solvi.

  She’d been a few months old the last time he’d seen her.

  Sunlight trickled in through the window. Pigeons cooed, songbirds trilled, and every now and then he heard the splash of river water as a fish disturbed the surface.

  It should have been a peaceful, calm morning.

  But his mind turned over and over, thinking of past mistakes, making up worst case scenarios, and working out how his situation could deteriorate.

  Every time he thought of something going wrong, the Valta Forinja pulsed, as if ready to fight.

  He hoped Solvi’s confirmation that the Varkain hadn’t approached the village was true. The thought of them skulking about his family made his stomach turn. It was rare that Varkain visited Feoras Sol—hatred between Ittallan and Varkain ran high there, so close to the border—but any of those snakes so close revolted him.

  What was Linaria coming to, if they crossed borders so brazenly? Although Sapora was the new king, the Varkain had always been creatures of the underground.

  Sapora would return to Sereth before too long, surely. Vasil had only ever stayed in the palace a couple of months at most, but Palom couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on with the snakes.

  In years past, the Varkain would only ever really enter Val Sharis during the trading seasons, and during its peak, at that. They would often travel in pairs or small groups, conduct their business, then disappear back to their own country.

  Had a new king emboldened them so much that they challenged armed Ittallan openly? If they were all similar in nature to the trio he and Jek had encountered, it would be no good thing.

  Or was it all paranoia? A misunderstanding that he’d taken completely the wrong way?

  Had he killed innocent Varkain?

  The sword trembled in his grip, and he sat up, holding it to the sunlight now blazing through the window.

  Emonos…

  Chatter from the inn’s patrons drifted through to his room—carefree laughter and the clinking of glass and plates as breakfast began.

  No. The Varkain hadn’t been innocent.

  They’d tried to prey on Jek.

  They’d tried to prey on him.

  Thoughts of the Varkain spurred him into action—he didn’t want to think of them near Solvi or the others from his village.

  The chatter through his door grew louder as Palom dressed, and once he’d strapped the Valta Forinja to his back, he left the room.

  For such a small inn, the place seemed to have grown a crowd overnight. He cursed inwardly, glancing at the Ittallan squeezed into the dining area. Had Jek’s mouth run off and attracted half of Val Sharis?

  ‘Palom!’

  He looked over the heads of the crowd and saw the young Ittallan in Imperial armour waving at him from across the room.

  ‘Over here, Palom!’

  At his name, others turned to face him, and Palom glowered. He stalked across the floor, the crowd parting for him as he moved. ‘Be quiet, captain.’ He said, noting the Guard’s helm—it boasted three prominent horns, a sign of his rank. ‘I do not want for all Val Sharis to know I am here.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you were keeping a low profile!’ He handed Palom a mug of dark ale. ‘I know it’s early, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to you yesterday. And you came back so late last night, I was off duty. Wanted to thank you formally for what you did.’

  Palom’s stomach knotted.

  Did he know about the dead Varkain?

  Had the king sent someone to arrest him? The Guard
worked for Sapora by extension, after all.

  He took the offered mug but didn’t drink.

  The man folded his arms behind his back, red sash clasped in gold and silver jaws on his shoulder. ‘Everyone knows you here, Palom. There’s nothing out this way except Sol. Any news travels fast!’

  Palom glanced around at those in the inn; watched them look away when his eyes met theirs. This wasn’t the reverence he’d been used to in Taban Yul.

  Was it fear?

  He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Chyro.’ He smiled brightly.

  When he’d been in the rage of battle, and even after, he’d not cared about the consequences of slaying the Varkain. But now…?

  His stomach tightened, and he put the mug on the table beside him. What was he supposed to say? To do?

  ‘What brings you this way, Palom? Seeing old family? Coming back to a hero’s welcome, I expect?’ Chyro asked. ‘You are from Feoras Sol, aren’t you?’

  Palom flinched and looked away. He had a good idea of the sort of welcome he’d receive when he finally entered Sol, and very much doubted it’d be one for a hero.

  Not if Solvi’s response was anything to go by.

  ‘I was stationed in Cora Keb during the height of Aciel’s war,’ Chyro said, without waiting for Palom to speak. ‘After the attack, the capital needed to replace lost numbers. My mother had always pushed me to join the Guard in the hopes I’d serve in Taban Yul one day. If only I’d been there to see you save the city. I can’t thank you enough for what you did.’

  Palom relaxed a fraction. Chryo didn’t know about the dead Varkain. He took a better look at the young Ittallan—what little he could see through his oversized helm—and found young eyes which had not yet seen true battle.

  No doubt there would be a spate of young captains forced to take the place of their superiors who had lost their lives in the battle against Aciel. Chyro couldn’t have been much older than eighteen or nineteen.

  Palom thought to Morgen and considered moving to Corhaven. Would it be safer there? Out of Sapora’s reach?

  The young captain carried on, ‘Of course, I thought I’d be at the palace living a life of luxury. But the new king isn’t much a fan of Ittallan Guard, it seems. He brought in a load of Varkain to watch him. So here I am, in the middle of nowhere, nothing to do!’

  ‘Better to keep peace than fight in war.’ Palom said.

  Chyro laughed. ‘You’re right. Excitement in the Guard isn’t always a good thing, is it? I’m sure you know—your experience of fighting is all anyone ‘round here is talking about. You’re a legend, you know that? My kids’ll look up to you for years!’

  Palom winced, and energy arced from the Valta Forinja in response. ‘I…have lots to be doing,’ Palom said, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. ‘Asfali.’ Without waiting for a response, he hurried out of the inn into the cold forest.

  Palom’s jog turned into a flat-out run, as he put as much distance between himself and the inn as he could.

  He’d been so stupid.

  Chyro had been a fan, like any Ittallan from Taban Yul.

  It made no sense that he’d jump to such dark conclusions.

  And the sword had…the sword had wanted to harm him.

  Palom ran for several minutes, boots echoing off the hard, stone road. Trees, roots, and vegetation whipped by, and only when his eyes began to water did he skid to a halt, panting heavily, one arm leaned against a nearby tree trunk for support.

  As he caught his breath and looked around, he realised with sickening familiarity that he’d reached the site where he’d killed the two Varkain.

  Standing straight, he pulled the sword from his back and held it in front of him, ready for any threat that might dart out of the trees. Birds sang in the distance, and sunlight filtered through the canopy above, bathing the road in dappled light.

  Exhaling slowly to steady his nerves, Palom forced himself to relax and think clearly. The forest clearing looked much the same as it had when he and Jek had been there.

  A sudden snap somewhere above made Palom jump, and he raised his sword instinctively. He paused when he saw Solvi sat on a large branch overhead—so large it almost crossed the width of the road below. Her legs dangled over the side, her feet bare, jewelled anklets refracting the sunlight in a thousand directions.

  ‘Following me, Solvi?’ Palom lowered his sword.

  ‘I wanted to see where you’d go. Didn’t realise you were going to run away again.’ She looked up to the sky.

  ‘I am not running away.’

  ‘Really? Sol’s in the other direction.’ She glared down at him with childish petulance. ‘Proves you’re a liar.’

  ‘I am investigating Varkain I told you about. I want to know why they are here, so I can report to Manilo.’

  Solvi tilted her head and looked down the path from her vantage point.

  ‘I am here for you, Solvi. Always. Even if I am not in Sol.’ Palom tried another way to reassure her.

  ‘Hollow words, Palom.’ She kicked her legs, swinging them in the air, perfectly at ease so high up.

  Arguing with her would be futile, so he continued on, his sword held tightly. It continued to pulse, sending shivers of apprehension coursing through him.

  The difference in response from his family, who he held most dear, and complete strangers like Jek and Chyro, was worlds apart.

  Everyone else revered him or saw him as their hero.

  His niece shot him scathing remarks and scowled.

  Palom could hardly bear the thought of what his father’s reaction might be. Lathri’s suggestion to visit him seemed suicidal.

  He stepped off the road and into the clearing, noting the tree he’d originally been leant against. It was an unassuming section of Rio Neva forest which flanked the main road between Taban Yul and Feoras Sol. There weren’t any markets or shops; even the Waterside Inn was too small to warrant robbing.

  Palom span in a slow circle, narrowing his eyes as he looked around him. The birds sang in the treetops, sunlight danced in the moving leaves, and a cold breeze blew. There were loose stones on the edge of the road, dead leaves littered the edges, a few thin vines trailed from the trees, but nothing that seemed out of place.

  Palom wished he had Anahrik with him—his partner would often fly high above an area and could spot anything with his keen eyes. They’d shared everything, and for years they had worked as a team.

  Now, searching for something hidden, with no clear idea what he was looking for, Palom believed himself a failure.

  Even during his travels with Moroda and the others, none of them had been alone. They’d covered each other’s weaknesses and worked out problems together.

  If he couldn’t figure out why a few Varkain were sneaking around his own homeland, then perhaps Solvi’s notion that he was useless held some truth.

  ‘Find anything yet?’ Solvi stalked him through the trees above, following his progress from the canopy.

  ‘Still watching over me?’ Palom led with his sword, pointing it towards the bushes and waving it every so often in a feeble attempt to sense anything lurking in the undergrowth.

  Solvi leapt off the branch and landed a short way behind him. ‘What are you expecting to find? A nest of Varkain? They live underground, everyone knows that.’

  Palom shook his head, cutting away some tall leaves and frowning when he found nothing. ‘I do not know. Whatever it was, it was important enough for them to attack me. There are no treasures hidden here? Gold? Jewels? Weapons?’

  ‘Nope,’ Solvi said, shaking her head. ‘Too close to the dragons.’

  ‘What dragons?’ Palom rounded on her.

  ‘They nest in the Feor Mountains, don’t they? So, we never keep anything valuable here. Just essentials. This whole forest is part of their territory.’

  ‘When did you last see one?’

  She put her hands on her hips as she thought. ‘Before that battle you were
part of. One used to live in a cave near here—I guess it must have been a mine at some point. It’s abandoned now. Haven’t seen any since before then.’

  Palom thought.

  The Varkain had been digging.

  ‘Do you know where is this cave?’ He asked.

  She nodded.

  ‘Take me there. Please.’

  She considered his request for a long moment, and then gave in—perhaps to curiosity, if nothing else—and darted off into the trees.

  He sheathed his sword and tore after her, closing the distance with huge strides. They settled into a comfortable pace—not a full sprint, and yet faster than a jog. Palom recognised parts of the forest as they hurtled along, the sounds of the river fading as they went deeper, and all sunlight disappeared—blocked out by the thick canopy.

  Even in the winter cold, Palom was sweating by the time Solvi came to a stop.

  Here, the Feor Mountains encroached into the forest, and a large rocky formation protruded from the earth. A gaping hole several feet wide opened in the centre of the rocks and led into the depths of Linaria.

  Feoras Sol had mined here for generations, emptying the earth of valuable iron ore. When mines became too unsafe or had given up their bounty, the Ittallan simply left the forest to reclaim it.

  In this case, a dragon had decided to make one its lair.

  ‘I told you. It’s abandoned,’ Solvi said, glancing back at him.

  Palom breathed through his nose.

  All he could smell was Varkain.

  Even the air above was empty, clear of the phoenixes which trailed adult dragons, and the soil underfoot was cool and compact.

  ‘Have you been inside?’ He asked.

  Solvi shook her head. ‘Nothing in there, now.’

  Palom wiped his brow with his arm. Something had been of interest to the Varkain here, but what? He checked his surroundings once, before stepping into the cave’s mouth.

  Inside, it widened into a dark, cavernous space where his footsteps echoed. The place reeked of charred wood, melted stone, and blood, above all else. The ground was a mix of loose soil and rock, and he took care where he stepped to avoid a twisted ankle.