by L. L. McNeil
‘If you can’t afford it, stop wasting our time,’ Anahrik muttered, handing the scythe back to Palom.
The backhand from Amarah came so swiftly and so suddenly that Anahrik was on the floor before he even realised he had been struck. ‘Watch your mouth, you damned pig!’
Palom responded by laughing, the roar of his voice shaking the stall, ‘he is young, I am sorry for any offence. But if you cannot buy the weapon, I cannot sell it to you.’
‘I’m going to win so much gold in the races I’ll come back and buy your entire damned shop,’ Amarah continued, eyes locked on Anahrik.
‘You race?’ Palom asked, his eyebrows raised in interest. Amarah turned to him with a scowl, 'I do.’
‘I race, too,’ Anahrik said, getting up, and grinning, one hand on his red cheek. ‘But not in those bulky airships, they’re far too slow.’
‘You’ve never seen a real ship then,’ Amarah replied, disliking Anahrik more with each passing moment.
‘You have both hurt another’s pride, why do you not instead race? If you win, you get the weapon for the three florins. If Anahrik wins-’
‘Deal,’ Amarah replied.
‘I didn’t finish.’
‘Doesn’t matter. I’ll beat anything you could throw at me; I’m the fastest thing in the skies. Even dragons can’t keep up with my Khanna,’ Amarah boasted, clenching and unclenching her fists.
Anahrik laughed at that. ‘Ah yes, but how many Ittallan have you raced, in their true form? I chase airships for fun.’ Lifting his arms from his sides, he leaped backwards, and in a flash of light, a grey falcon flew away from where a man had stood a moment before.
‘Anahrik likes speed more than anyone I know, I have not known an airship to outfly him,’ Palom grinned. ‘You have agreed. When do you wish to race?’
Amarah took a step back, a little annoyed at jumping into the deal so soon. She was not one to back out, however, and slammed the three florins on his counter. ‘The main arena, at sundown. Bring my weapon, and I promise not to slice that bird’s head off.’
With that, she turned and headed off towards Rosecastle, the bellowing laughter of Palom following her every step of the way.
Chapter Three
By the time Morgen returned, empty-handed, to the castle, it was getting on for early evening. The taunts he received from the other officers were nothing short of pure torment, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He had been so sure the escapees were hiding in a tent selling linens that he had to buy a new surcoat as an apology for wasting the seamstress’ time and accusing her of harbouring criminals. While the coat was lovely, he was five florins down and no closer to apprehending Moroda or the woman who freed her. He had also lost Amarah and a Varkain convicted of goodness knows what, who were now roaming the streets unchecked. His punishment, several lashes no doubt, would come after the races were over and they could spare one of his captains to carry it out.
Until then, he was to keep out of the way.
He sat on one of the large wooden trunks holding broken weapons, and gazed mournfully at the swords and crossbows adorning the walls of the armoury he had been relegated to keeping an eye on. Head in his hands, Morgen sighed—was this really what it was all about, in the Imperial army? Following orders you didn’t agree with and being punished for every mistake? Not to mention constant jokes and jibes from colleagues and superiors both?
Morgen had envisioned that a glittering career as a famous knight awaited him in Niversai; it was why he left his hometown, and he
had no intention of returning to his small farm and working the land along with his brothers. He had left to prove his worth, and he’d be damned if he returned a failure.
The wage was marginally better than what he would earn back home—a small village called Kebbe—as were his lodgings, but other than that, he had little positive to say about his move to the capital almost a year on. He also felt for Moroda, for having the guts to speak out against the King’s visitor that morning. He knew he did not agree with what the Arillian was saying either, but bound by duty, he was forbidden from reacting. It seemed at least one of the townsfolk had to say something, and he found it peculiar it was a Goldstone who finally spoke up. He had expected to escort her away from the castle grounds, maybe a small fine if she did not comply or continued to speak out. To sentence her to the dungeons and behead her? That was a punishment too far, and did not sit well with him. In truth, he was grateful she had managed to escape—if it came to carrying out the sentence, Morgen was unsure he would have the guts to go through with it. He wondered what his own punishment would have been for refusing an order.
The jewels from the Royal Vault had also disappeared some time that morning, and everyone had Amarah pegged. She was a thief known to most of the Imperial Guard, and had made off with thousands of crowns’ worth of jewellery and trinkets in her career throughout Corhaven. So Morgen had been blamed for that, too— the king himself seemed hardly bothered, but locating the twelve coloured stones was priority number one just as soon as the races were finished.
All around him the castle felt silent; little sound carried through the thick stone walls, though he occasionally heard fading footsteps from the corridor outside. When he heard laughter, he frowned, fearing his peers were mocking him. It was his own fault, really, for leaving the keys unattended. Perhaps it was just as well he did nothing of any importance tonight. Or ever.
He exhaled again, crossed his legs and folded his arms, trying to get comfortable on the flat, wooden trunk. With weapons glistening around him, Morgen readied himself for a long, quiet night.
*
Elsewhere in the castle was also quiet—the majority of the guard were on duty patrolling the streets, or stationed at the city gates to monitor those entering or leaving Niversai.
Sapora had taken advantage of the fewer guards on patrol by skulking along the corridors of the castle, looking for a way out of Niversai, and preferably the country of Corhaven, too. He had tried to pay, barter and bribe various airship captains in the city, but none would permit a Varkain on board. The foolishness of these people sickened and frustrated him no end.
The thought of commandeering an airship crossed his mind, but as he had not the first idea how to fly one, the plan was procrastination at best. Perhaps he could stow away? Yes, that might be another option. He entered the inner dock of the castle which housed the Imperial fleet and other salvaged ships, and was his best chance of a way out of the country.
Making his way silently between the docked warships, which boasted impressive defences, he thought it might be a safer option than something smaller. Looking over one carefully, Sapora thought it unlikely one would be sent out, nor did he like the idea of travelling with soldiers, particularly when he may be known to them. No, there had to be another way.
The Varkain ran a clawed hand along the smooth, varnished panels of the warships as he walked past, pupils wide in the low light, taking in every detail and trying to commit it to memory. Most had been painted in white, red and gold—Imperial colours—and their large sails, though folded while docked, were bright scarlet with gold highlights. His eyes narrowed at the colours—they reminded him of war, and left a bad taste in his mouth.
Deciding to look at non-Imperial ships, Sapora made his way across the dock when he heard approaching footsteps. They were light, yet hurried, and almost silent; if it weren’t for his acute senses, he might have missed them altogether. They were not the loud clanking of guards in their armour, but the soft, well-worn shoes of one used to keeping quiet.
‘Amarah, I did not think we would meet again so soon,’ Sapora called into the shadows. He grinned as the footsteps halted and he felt her heart rate pick up.
‘Nor did I wish to,’ Amarah replied, several ships to his left. She continued moving soon after, short bursts in a straight line, then a pause, then another short burst in another direction.
‘Your movements are not random. Are you searching for something my s
ky thief?’
‘Khanna,’ Amarah replied, further to his left than before. He barely detected her footsteps any more, but her heart and breathing were loud enough to keep track of her location in the large hangar. ‘A quick escape? Are you running away from Corhaven?’
Sapora asked, tracking her steps and trying to catch up to where she was searching.
‘Yes, I’ve had enough of this fucking pit,’ she spat, changing direction again and heading south, down a line of narrow scouting ships. ‘I’m going to get some gold and get the hell out of here.’
‘Sounds like an excellent idea,’ Sapora replied, picking up speed to head her off at a crossroad.
Amarah was not the least bit surprised when the Varkain appeared in front of her, but she seemed mildly annoyed. ‘What are you doing down here anyway?’ she asked, sidestepping him to continue along the line of ships, glancing left and right with growing irritation.
‘The same reason as you. I am done with the people here, and seek passage across the sea to Val Sharis,’ Sapora replied, trailing Amarah several paces behind.
‘Not on my fucking ship, you’re not,’ Amarah replied, glaring at him over her shoulder and picking up on his desire. ‘Having you…things aboard will bring nothing but misery.’
‘I am deeply offended. You’re more a danger than I, pirate.’
He waited, mirroring Amarah, before glancing around. He could now hear the steel footsteps of a single member of the Imperial Guard entering the hangar from the other side. With so many docked ships between the soldier and the two criminals, they were not seen immediately, but it would only be a matter of time.
‘Ah, here she is.’ Amarah smiled as she finally came upon her own airship—heavily varnished in black and grey, it was sleek and smooth, a fifth of the size of a warship, built for speed, not power. Clambering up the narrow steps carved on the side, Amarah got on board. She walked along the deck, checking her sails for rips or tears, and her propellers for signs of damage. Aside from a little scuff on the bow of her ship, Khanna was in the same condition as she had left it, and for that, she could have kissed Morgen.
Her joy was short-lived, however, as she, too, heard the footsteps of the patrolling guard growing closer. ‘No, no, no, not now!’ she said, racing to the side of the deck, trying to peer over the docked ships to where the guard was.
‘Can you not fly away?’ Sapora asked from the ground. ‘Of course I can, I just need a minute to get her running,’
Amarah replied, already away from the edge of the deck and heading down into the hold, where the ship’s engines were located.
The Varkain grinned, baring all teeth. ‘If I give you the time you need to start, you will take me across the sea?’
His proposition made Amarah pause. The idea of a Varkain on her ship made her retch, but without a few minutes to spare, she would be discovered, unarmed. Of course, if he wanted to cross the sea, he wouldn’t attack until then at least…and she would have her scythe from the Ittallan traders. She would surely be able to hold her own against one Varkain in the place she was most at ease?
‘I don’t have time to waste, Amarah,’ Sapora called, readying himself to move against the guard, who drew closer every moment. His footsteps grew louder, echoing off the docked ships.
‘Yes, yes, alright, alright. But don’t kill him…I don’t want to give them any more reason to follow us,’ she conceded. Turning away from him, she raced below deck to give life to Khanna.
‘Of course,’ Sapora hissed, stepping back into the shadows of the airships to make his move on the approaching guard.
In the few minutes it took Amarah to start her engines and Khanna to rise slightly off the ground, Sapora was standing on the edge of the deck, a smear of blood at the corner of his lips and a smirk on his face. As Amarah resurfaced from the hold, she saw his eyes dance with dizzying pleasure, and she glared at him in disgust.
She strode to the wheel and grabbed hold with one hand. With her other, she pulled at one of the levers in the control panel, unfurling her sails and rising even higher. ‘Before we cross the ocean, I have a race against an arrogant Ittallan to win. You’ve been at odds for centuries haven’t you? I think you’d like to see me knock him down a peg or two.’ She pushed the four engine throttles slowly forward to give her ship power, turned the wheel to the left, and faced Khanna towards the hangar entrance.
Sapora leaned on the side rail on deck, his smirk deepening. ‘Yes, I would enjoy that spectacle very much indeed.’
‘Let’s get this done then,’ Amarah said, engaging the throttles fully and powering along the hanger, past the docked ships, and out into the deep orange skies above the city of Niversai.
Chapter Four
Anahrik was bored of waiting. He had been ready at the front lines for the better part of an hour, watching the sun slowly begin its descent and the first moon rise. The second moon was soon to follow, and as the last rays of sunlight disappeared, the third moon’s outline could just be made out among the stars.
‘I don’t think she’s coming,’ he scoffed, glancing at Palom, who sat at the bottom of the stone steps at the edge of the arena, oiling one of his broadswords with a heavy, blackened cloth.
‘She will not have left three florins,’ Palom replied without looking up. ‘Light is still here. There is time. Are you worried about flying in darkness?’
Anahrik snorted in response, folding his arms and kicking at the loose stones on the edge of the dusty racing arena. Airships were already retiring for the evening—night races were not popular in Niversai, where most captains’ poor vision warranted too many torches to be set up across the length of the arena, and audiences who would miss most of the action when the race turned even higher. In truth, Anahrik was far more comfortable in the day, but he would fly in low light, if it came to it. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing to that arrogant woman, and was determined to show off his skills.
He had a sneaking hope that an interested sponsor might be watching from somewhere within the waning crowd; that he and Palom might receive a little coin for their trouble, but he knew it was doubtful.
‘Ittallan!’ Ready to show me how slow you are against my ship?’
In the failing light, Anahrik had not seen or heard Khanna float gracefully up towards the arena, and it was only with Amarah’s insult he noticed she had arrived at all.
Both he and Palom glanced skywards, finally spotting the small craft. It was not a long-haul vessel, and even without any engineering experience they could see the airship was built for speed. Her side sails were angled and half folded, like the wings of a dragon in full stoop. Others were tucked at the back and underside of the vessel, yet to be opened. The engines, one on either side, two at the back, were mounted low and seemed nothing special, but were almost silent as they ran.
‘Looks a good race, Anahrik,’ Palom grinned, folding his cloth away and sheathing the sword. ‘I will finish packing for the night, I shall meet you back here when you have finished.’ He offered his colleague no more support or words of wisdom as he stood to leave the arena.
Anahrik glanced back to where Khanna hovered. It was now or never. Without bothering to respond to Amarah’s taunts, he leapt into the air, transforming as he did, and climbed to meet her altitude.
There was enough fading sunlight to see the deck clearly, and Anahrik landed beside the captain before transforming back.
‘You took your time, I thought you were going to forfeit,’ he said, angry, as he glanced around the deck of the ship. When he spotted Sapora, Anahrik scowled before returning his attention to Amarah.
‘Well, it’s unofficial, but you and I will be the only judges. What course do you suggest? I’ll leave it up to you so there can be no doubt of my superiority.’ He folded his arms.
Amarah laughed, ‘You’re so easily riled. I’ll have a lot of fun with this.’ She turned and walked to the bow of her ship as it hovered in place, gazing out over the empty arena. The few remaining airships
from the day’s racing were already grounded or heading into secure hangars to be docked, ready for the morning. The usual course markers had all been removed, everything was empty. The sky was clear tonight, and ready for them.
‘Let’s make it very simple,’ she said, after thinking about her options for a moment. ‘We’ll race from here straight out to the two league marker, circle Niversai once, returning to that marker as the finish. We can fly as close to or as far from Niversai as we please, as long as we do not fly over the outer wall of the city.’
‘That’s too far,’ Anahrik replied immediately.
‘Oh really? That’s about the same length as a regular course—we’ll just use the trees, valley and mountains surrounding Niversai as our circuit. Besides, I’ve got a big, bulky airship, remember,’ Amarah said, one hand on her hip. She knew it would be hard work, particularly with her shoulder injury not yet healed, but she had no qualms about winning. With Khanna’s colouring, she doubted Anahrik would easily be able to spot her, so she could cut a couple of corners without her opponent realising. ‘I’ve circled the city a hundred times before, it’ll take less than two minutes, flat out,’ she added.
‘Fine, let’s get this sorted then.’ Anahrik shifted back into his true form and landing on the side of her ship as Amarah manoeuvred to the starting position. She readied her sails, ensuring those she didn’t need were properly tucked back, to keep Khanna as streamlined as possible for the flight.
Once at altitude, she took in a breath to ready herself. Glancing along the deck from her position behind the wheel and the control panel, she caught the falcon’s eye and held up a clenched fist to signal her readiness. She mentally counted to three, then brought her arm down as Anahrik leapt from the deck, straight into a dive.
Lurching into motion, Amarah followed Anahrik’s descent, tucking Khanna’s sails tightly against the side of the ship as she started the race with an almost vertical nose-forward drop.
