Moroda (World of Linaria)

by L. L. McNeil

  ‘I’m bastard-born. If it weren’t for the threat of you visiting, I’m sure I would be out on the streets like a common cat.’

  ‘I shall put a stop to it at once. You will be their queen before winter is over, it’s about time they learned some respect.’

  ‘I cannot wait, brother.’

  Sapora followed Isa as she led them up the narrow stairwell at the back of the library, and through doors towards the Council Tower.

  ‘That one, Moroda you called her? Smells more Samolen than anything else. That crystal of hers stinks. Mind yourself with her.’

  ‘I did not know that… but my sense of smell is not quite as keen as yours.’

  ‘Or sight,’ she teased, poking out her tongue. ‘Or hearing, or speed, for that matter.’

  ‘Speed I’ll have you on.’

  ‘Perhaps for a strike. Not in general. Stealth, I think is your only advantage, and even then, there’s not much in it.’ She flicked her hair, earrings jingling.

  ‘This is why you’d make a fine queen, Isa.’

  Isa grinned broadly and pushed open the door to the Council’s meeting room. It was round, located at the top of one of the tallest towers of the palace. The floor was marble, like the rest of the palace, and adorned with rich, plush rugs. Tapestries lined the walls, surrounding a long, wooden table already set with empty wine glasses and silver cutlery. The windows were holes set into the walls, allowing wind to blow through and cool or warm the room as the seasons dictated. They also allowed those who could fly to enter or leave without traipsing up the stairs.

  Three members were already sat, talking in hushed, fervent whispers. Keros, with his shaggy black hair and broad frame, Koraki, the raven, and Tring, the old vixen. Despite seeing Elafion only a few minutes prior, the stag was not present. They stopped talking immediately as Isa and Sapora entered the room, and got to their feet. ‘Prince Sapora.’ They greeted, dropping to one knee.

  ‘Your princess is present also, where is her address?’ Sapora said.

  ‘Princess Isa, we are in honour of your presence.’ They mumbled, and Keros and Koraki, who had stood, dropped to one knee again.

  ‘It seems things have fallen lax in my absence. I had expected, as my father expects, the Council to run Val Sharis while we attend to business elsewhere. But I hear Aciel has been sighted in our land and rumours haunt the streets. Does anyone of this ruling Council have information on the Arillian upstart?’

  None of the Councillors answered.

  ‘Really? The Council is half present, and yet not one of you has any information about Aciel?’ He hissed. ‘I suppose you all have your preparations for the ball sorted, though, don’t you? Your outfits are cleaned and pressed and guest lists have been organised? Perhaps if you bothered to spend a little more time running the country and less time preening each other, this meeting would be more conducive.’

  He allowed the silence to linger and the power of his words to sting their pride a little longer.

  ‘This meeting is dismissed.’ Sapora finished, when he was happy he’d kept them waiting long enough.

  ‘Finished? But, my prince… others have yet to arrive…’ Koraki stuttered.

  ‘And so they shall be punished. I expect you all to be at the ball tonight, and I expect information by then. It begins in a few hours, so you had best get to it.’

  As the silence prevailed, Sapora stepped back and opened the door to allow the few Council members gathered a chance to leave.

  Isa remained still, watching as the three walked past and exited. ‘Sapora, I’ve never spoken to them like that.’

  ‘They are in the Val Sharis Council. The highest ranking citizens of Taban Yul. Of all Val Sharis. They live in the palace. They should have known I had arrived in the city the moment Khanna docked. Their disregard for you and inability to provide information proves to me that they are worthless. I have learned much during my travels, and more still in these last few days. It will all be to our advantage, sister. You’ve waited nineteen years, wait one more season.’

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘Look, Anahrik. Still here, exactly as we left it.’ Palom smiled as he entered their old workshop, hauling the large satchel of weaponry over his shoulder. A thick layer of dust had accumulated in the two seasons they’d been away, but he preferred it like that. If everything was clean, it would mean trespassers, or possibly thieves, had broken in and disturbed his work.

  ‘I still think you should have paid a cleaner to keep this place in order.’ Anahrik said, cringing at the dust and grime which had accumulated on the surface of everything. ‘This is disgusting!’ He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned away from the benches and work surfaces, his nose crinkled. ‘Five florins a week, that’s all it would have been!’

  ‘Dust won’t hurt you.’ Palom dumped the weapons on one of the large benches to his left, and made his way to the back of the workshop, where his coal-fired forge sat, dormant. The hearth was stone, blackened from years of use, with a heavy-duty cast iron fire pot bolted to the centre. All around him, half-finished weapons leaned against walls and benches—swords and shields, spears and axes, all dull under the dust. ‘I am too excited about this project to worry about a little dirt on floor.’ He pulled his thick, leather apron from the racking behind the forge and threw it on.

  ‘A little dirt on the floor?’ Anahrik gasped. ‘Are you blind? It’s on every surface, it’s in the air it’s, ugh…’ He covered his mouth with his hands and shook his head violently to emphasise his point.

  ‘Do not cry, you are not child. Open the back door.’

  ‘First thing in the morning, I’m going down to East Cross to get someone to sort this mess out.’

  Palom tutted, but did not respond. He had lit his forge and was powering the bellows to feed the flames. He had never dreamed of attempting what he was about to, but he had patience enough to work through the entire night if he had to. ‘This is more important than cleaning, Anahrik. This is the future. You are the one who read the text in Topeko’s book. The Samolen did not think it was possible.’

  ‘You’re too optimistic. There’s no guarantee it’ll work here as it did for the Samolen.’ Anahrik said, sitting down on a chair, having carefully dusted it first.

  ‘No guarantee… but there is a chance. A chance is all I need.’ Even Anahrik’s discomfort did nothing to quell his excitement and anticipation at finally forging a new weapon—the one he had been dreaming of since he was a boy.

  ‘I only know what I read and what I understood from Topeko and the crystals he gave to the others,’ Anahrik crossed his legs as he thought. Waves of heat rolled around the room, but with the back door open, it did not become a furnace. ‘If it weren’t for that little lesson Topeko taught, we’d still have been none the wiser.’

  Palom continued to press the bellows, watching as the flames roared and took shape. They were short on details, with no temperatures or times given. He just had to trust in the crystal, and hope. ‘Brave one, that Moroda. She should not have gone on the Arillian’s airship.’

  ‘No, but she did well.’ ‘Barely. Kohl had to save her.’

  ‘And Amarah and Sapora, too. Heh. Prince Sapora. He’s no prince of mine. Snake.’

  ‘No. But he will be your king in few days’ time.’

  Anahrik went silent for a while, and Palom continued to work, wiping his brow as sweat dripped down his face.

  ‘You want to leave the city?’

  ‘Was it that obvious?’ Anahrik chuckled, shaking his head. ‘Maybe I do. Maybe we should head back up north for a while. I’ve got a few cousins that’d have room for us, if we needed.’

  ‘And the weapons?’ Palom looked up from the forge, his face already beginning to darken with smoke.

  ‘Bring ‘em with us. Wait out until next season. At least we can defend ourselves if it comes to it. The idea of another Arillian war… Just hearing the thunder from Jato’s ship made me wanna get out the sky.’

  ‘Anahrik…�
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  ‘I know, I know.’ He bit his lip. ‘This Aciel. There’s nothing like him. I don’t trust Sapora to keep the Ittallan safe, even in Taban Yul. You know the Ittallan. And he’s a half-breed. He doesn’t make many of us confident.’

  ‘What about the tour you have promised the others?’ Palom laughed, one foot still pressing onto the bellows, sending up wave after wave of air and heat, allowing the flame to burn hotter with each press.

  ‘We’ll tell them to leave with us. There’s nothing in Corhaven, but Val Sharis is bigger, safer. We keep on the move. Stick to the ground, away from them.’

  Palom thought about leaving. The idea was ridiculous, they had only just returned to the city, and now they had to leave? ‘You led me down the right path all those years ago when I first came to the city. I would be dead if it weren’t for that. Maybe you are right again about this.’

  ‘Moroda faced Jato because she was silly. She didn’t know better, and none of us stood up to stop her. But we know better now. I think we high-tail it out of Taban Yul as soon as we’re done tonight. Go up to the palace and grab the others. Then head off. Sapora can stay and try and do what he can, if he wants. I trust my own eyes and talons first.’

  ‘Done, then. Give me a shard.’ Palom said.

  Anahrik reached into his bag and pulled out several small shards of crystal, barely the length of his thumb, taken from Berel. They were wrapped in thick leaves to keep them from damage and moisture, though sand from the desert country spilled from his fingers as he unwrapped the leaves. ‘If this works, Palom…’

  Palom rubbed the sweat from his palms onto his apron sides, readying himself to handle such a delicate and potent substance. They looked no different from other cut gemstones, but Topeko had shared with then a book containing the secret to their power, perhaps unwillingly. ‘You have learned the way, Anahrik. You have learned how to harness the dragon’s power in a weapon. We are forging new legends, you and I.’ He took one shard and held it delicately in his huge hands.

  ‘Potentially.’ Anahrik licked his lips.

  ‘This may be long night, if not done correctly. The book did not say exact timings of the forging, so we will wait and see how it goes.’

  Anahrik nodded, rapt with awe. ‘My broadsword.’

  Anahrik turned to the workbench behind them, where Palom had slung the weapons they arrived with. Unhooking the satchel lid, he pulled out the enormous sword with both hands. Cast in dark steel, it had barely been used during their time out of Val Sharis, but the blade would be the fist thing to test their technique. Hands trembling, Anahrik carried it to the forge, and held it out to Palom, handle first.

  ‘Get ready to retreat. We do not know what may happen…’ Palom clasped the handle of the weapon with his other hand, and drew it to the flame. He took a breath, not daring to glance at Anahrik, and dropped the shard into the heart of the forge while holding the blade over the top of the flames.

  The resulting explosion was so sudden and so violent, it knocked the breath out of the two of them. Palom’s stance was strong, and he withstood the blast, but the explosion was so bright that neither Ittallan could see for several seconds after. When his vision returned, Palom gasped—the fire burned purple. It was furious—raging and thrashing in the forge like a caged beast. ‘Looks like things are going well. Let’s get these weapons made.’

  Outside, clouds gathered as the temperature dropped. Thick snowflakes drifted down silently from the heavens, at first melting on contact with the ground, but as it accumulated, it settled, coating the rooftops of the city in a fine, white fuzz.

  Palom and Anahrik continued working into the night, seeing through the teachings from Topeko’s books, arrogant in their dismissal of his words that the power they sought would not be theirs. But attempting to create dragon-forged weapons was not only a boyhood dream of Palom’s, it was something to give Anahrik and himself incredible advantage in battle, and a way to secure a successful business for the remainder of his days. If it came to it, he would join Moroda, Eryn and the others in their fight against Aciel. His distaste for lies and deception ran deep, and he would not tolerate Aciel’s attempt to dominate those in Linaria through these means.

  Even if he and Anahrik did not join the fight, they would be on the move to avoid the violence Aciel brought with him to their home.

  *

  In the rushed preparations for the ball, Amarah slipped back into the palace, scythe and all. The city had been a hub of activity, even at the dusk hour, and she’d been pushed and jostled by the large crowds. By the time she returned, her pockets were considerably fatter, and, thanks to the Ittallan’s lack of modesty, she’d overheard the wealthiest of the ball guests would be staying in the palace. Amarah planned on making herself very rich indeed that evening.

  As she sauntered through the palace, imagining how it must be to be a real Goldstone, she spied the raven muttering to himself under his breath as he shuffled along. Narrowing her eyes, she trailed him, keeping a safe distance in case he turned around to look.

  It soon became apparent she did not need to practice any form of stealth, as he was too engrossed in his mutterings to pay any attention to anything bar where he was going. His black sash, too long for him, dragged along the floor, picking up dust and dirt where he walked, and Amarah followed as he entered a drawing room.

  ‘…that damned filthy snake. Bastards, the both of them. How dare they stroll in here? Ordering us about like servants. And the ball tonight. No right to be doing this to us. I won’t stand for it! I won’t! I’ll get together with—’

  ‘I do hope you’re not speaking badly of Sapora.’ Amarah said, slamming the bottom of her weapon on his sash, pinning it to the ground. The raven whirled around, eyes wide. ‘He’s a very dear friend of mine, I’ll have you know.’ She grasped the handle of her scythe and leant the blade close to his chin. ‘Considering I’ve not seen any other Varkain in the city since turning up, I’ll have to assume you were talking about your prince? Badly of him, too? Tut, tut, tut.’

  ‘Y—you!’

  ‘Something going on that I should know about?’ She twisted the blade so the edge poked at the loose skin on his jaw.

  ‘If… if you’re a friend of Prince Sapora then there’s no problem!’ He raised his hands defensively, cowering at her blade. ‘I’m not so sure about that. Sounded like you were plotting something.’

  ‘You’ve no right to order me about!’

  Amarah pushed the edge of the scythe into his skin, drawing blood. ‘I think you’ll find I have every right to know. Tell me what’s going on, and I’ll let you leave with your head.’

  *

  Upstairs, Moroda picked at a speck of dust on her silk ball gown, looking at herself in one of the mirrors of the dressing room. Palace servants had brought them a selection of outfits for the evening, and she and Eryn had delighted in changing out of their travelling clothes and into something comfortable and clean. Eryn had opted for green, while Moroda had worn midnight blue to complement her ring. Being guests in the royal palace certainly had its benefits; she had been able to bathe in a tub of hot water and scrub away dirt and dried blood. As she admired her reflection, she wondered whether it was a step too close to being a Goldstone again.

  Wrinkling her nose, she wondered what Amarah would think to see her dressed this way. She dwelled on the thought as she left the room and made her way downstairs to where the others waited in the foyer. She saw Eryn in conversation with Morgen— dressed for the occasion in a red and gold doublet, sword still at his hip—with Kohl stood off to the side, looking pensive.

  ‘Kohl?’

  ‘Moroda. You’re looking lovely, too.’ Kohl said, glancing down at her when she broke him from his thoughts. ‘You have the sphere safe?’

  She reached into the pocket of her outer skirts and withdrew it to show him. ‘I’ll keep it with me the whole night.’

  Kohl glanced up, tapping his hat to the pair of royal guards who approached at Moroda’s a
rrival. ‘Ladies, Sirs. The prince and princess await.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Moroda inclined her head. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to join, Kohl?’

  ‘I’m sure you will have plenty of fun for me. I wish to keep watch.’

  ‘Look how many of the Imperial and Royal Guard are here,’ Morgen said. ‘Nothing will happen. Aciel is still out to sea, I’m sure.’

  ‘All the same. Enjoy the evening,’ he tapped his hat to them and walked downstairs to the palace entrance.

  Moroda watched as he left, but knew she could not change his mind.

  ‘Don’t worry, Ro. As he said, let’s enjoy the night. Dragons above it’s been too long since we had any fun,’ Eryn said.

  ‘Ryn? Ro? Shall we?’ Morgen stepped up, holding out his arms. The sisters smiled at each other, looped their arms through his, and followed the two members of the guard into the ballroom.

  The grand doors were opened for them, and Moroda’s breath caught in her throat. It seemed the ballroom was the jewel in the palace’s crown of opulence thus far. The floor was solid marble, and ten pillars lined the room, each carved in the likeness of a different animal, and all were draped in gemstones and gold. The ceiling was over thirty feet high, and three six-tier crystal chandeliers hung from it, filling the vast room in shimmering, gold light.

  Tables were laid at the edges and top of the room, leaving a wide, empty square in the middle. Musicians stood on a small, raised stage to the edge of the hall, and strings and wind instruments gently accompanied the murmur of conversation as the seated guests spoke among themselves. Moroda tried to count the tables as they followed the guards across the room, but her head span. The room must have held two or three hundred people at her best estimate. She saw the childlike wonder on Eryn’s face as she marvelled at what she saw, her eyes locked on the chandeliers above.

  ‘Happy, Ryn?’ Moroda asked.