Moroda (World of Linaria)

by L. L. McNeil

  Moroda ran away as Anahrik ended the scuffle, and rushed over to where Morgen tried to catch his breath.

  ‘I told you to run!’ Morgen clutched his left arm.

  ‘I won’t leave anyone!’ Moroda said, shaking her head. ‘Where’s Eryn? Thank the dragons Palom and Anahrik came when they did!’

  Morgen shook his head. ‘Can’t see her. Damn that Kohl! Bastard!’

  The wind buffeted them, picking up snow and debris and flinging it around as the field turned into a snowstorm. The whiteness masked her visibility, and Moroda couldn’t see anything aside from occasional bursts of orange, or if an Arillian flew close to her.

  She needed to find her sister and get back to the city. Get back to safety. She needed to warn them that Jato and maybe even Aciel himself were in Val Sharis, and war was on their doorstep. How could the Arillians have been so close to the city?

  ‘Incoming!’ Anahrik yelled, racing up to where the pair huddled, his attention on the sky as a pair of Arillians dive bombed them.

  Before Morgen or Moroda could react to his warning, the sheer force of the Arillian’s wind attacks slammed into them.

  Squeezing her eyes shut from the violent storm, Moroda heard the crack of thunder as Anahrik leapt into the air to meet the tag-team attack and defend against it.

  Though his left arm was weak, Morgen clutched his sword—his fingers dipping with blood. ‘Please run, Moroda. You don’t want to see the end of this!’ He rushed into the midst of battle to join Palom.

  The tiger’s roar drowned out all else, and Moroda could see the thick of the fighting was now in one location—on the ground, thankfully. She knew the Arillians would not have an advantage if Palom and the others could keep them on the ground, but she was still terrified.

  She wanted to run away; with every fibre of her being, she wanted to cry, to get away, to hide and never face the situation again. But she couldn’t leave without Eryn.

  Seconds passed, or minutes. She couldn’t tell. Time stopped while all the world around her span. The pain from her wounds slowly made themselves known; an itch, at first, then a dull throb, and then the hot pain as she realised her dress had been shredded around her legs and torso. Blood trickled down her arms and face.

  Her head ached; the snow and sky were too bright a white to even discern shapes.

  Moroda became dimly aware of moving. Her world was still blurry, wind and snow rushing all around her. She was cold and sore, and pain wracked her body as she was blasted again by another ball of electricity. The intense shock of the heat and energy sent her flying to the ground, and her sight turned black.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  When Moroda awoke, she was bathed in sunlight. She blinked several times, her mind very much alert, as she adjusted to the brightness. Where was she? What happened in the battle? Her mind raced and yet her body was sluggish. She knew she was lying down, and could feel the weight of her body absorbed by something soft. A bed. A small voice in the far reaches of her mind begged for a few more minutes’ rest, but Moroda shook it off. She had to concentrate.

  Twitching her fingers, she tapped each one against the soft fabric it was laid on. All digits were accounted for, and her ring was still on her finger. Her body began to respond, slowly, but when she finally managed to sit up, the strain of moving left her exhausted.

  Her mind was furious—why was she being so slow? Why couldn’t she just get up and see Eryn? See her friends? It was infuriating.

  As she sat, catching her breath, she took in her surroundings. Looking to her left and right, she saw empty beds lined against the wall, and bright sunlight streamed in from windows behind each bed. It was daytime. How long had she been asleep?

  There was a large tapestry hanging above the door on the wall opposite her, surrounding by gold detailing. She deduced she had awoken in the palace, no doubt in its infirmary.

  Glad she still had her mind, even if her body was slow to wake up, she glanced down at herself, and found she wore a plain, white gown, and bandages covered her arms. The searing pain she had felt during the battle had dulled to a throb, and as Moroda readied herself to stand up, the door opened.

  Never had she been so grateful to see Palom; the huge Ittallan filled the door with his broad frame, but his eyes were red. He had a few wounds of his own, minor, in comparison to Moroda’s bandages, but appeared otherwise unscathed. He stepped through the door and closed it behind him. ‘Moroda.’

  ‘Palom.’ Moroda was grateful her voice still worked, even though it was quiet.

  ‘Morgen… is bringing the others, now.’ He glanced back at the door. His voice was unsteady, breaking as he spoke. His whole body shook, and Moroda could see him fight to keep from transforming. Was it sadness? Rage?

  ‘Palom…?’

  ‘I swear… by all the dragons… by my blood… I will kill Kohl for what he has done.’

  Moroda struggled to think, closing her eyes to cast her mind back. Kohl had fled from their side before the battle had begun. A twinge of pain raced through her as she thought of Jato and her elite fighters, and of the snowstorm that caused chaos and confusion.

  ‘Anahrik is gone.’ He closed his eyes, and Moroda saw tears in the corners. ‘Eryn is gone. Both killed… those damned Arilliams!’ He wavered where he stood, threatening to topple over. ‘Kohl is traitor and coward. I will chase him to the ends of Linaria to make him pay.’

  Moroda sat in stunned silence for a long moment as Palom shook, only his ragged breathing breaking the quiet. ‘Eryn…? But… I can’t… but she… I didn’t see her… I didn’t say…’

  The door behind Palom flew open as Amarah charged in, trailed by Morgen, Sapora and Isa. ‘Palom! How in Rhea’s name could you let this happen?’ Amarah screamed at the Ittallan, her eyes full of rage. ‘A few Arillians and people die? What kind of fighter do you call yourself?’

  ‘Do not blame me you thief!’ Palom roared, turning on the sky pirate. ‘Kohl’s betrayal took those lives! He fled when Jato appeared!’

  ‘Kohl? He left you?’

  ‘That’s right. Soon as they were there, he took off.’ Morgen confirmed. ‘Palom and… Palom didn’t get there until it was almost finished.’

  ‘I just want to go home.’ Moroda said, tears spilling down her cheeks. ‘Everything happened so quickly… I didn’t get to speak to her before it all happened… Eryn… I can’t… say goodbye…’

  Her words did little to soften Amarah’s harshness, and the sky pirate turned to Sapora and Isa. ‘I want a warship. Nothing with Imperial colours on it. I’m gonna track down Aciel and kill every one of his followers.’

  Sapora blinked slowly. ‘Well, we’ve no shortage of those. Linaria is officially at war. This attack is one of many Aciel carried out simultaneously. We received word at dawn that Arillians attacked Niversai in the night. In its weakened state after the dragon attack, the castle fell quickly. It’s a ruin, and the city is under siege. He is beginning his decimation of Corhaven, beginning with the capital. Val Sharis will follow soon, no doubt. Taban Yul is going to be a nice, fat target for him.’

  Moroda’s cheeks were wet. ‘Niversai, too…?’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ Isa said, her voice low. ‘We are amassing counter armies, but Taban Yul is likely to be next on his list. We are the nearest city that would be able to send reinforcements across the sea. Trade, too. With no fresh supplies or troops, Niversai is unlikely to recover any time soon. All Corhaven is going to be in turmoil. We must prepare to defend ourselves.’

  Moroda’s mind was a cacophony of confusing thoughts and raw emotions. The thought of going through another battle terrified her, but with Niversai under siege, would it even be possible to return home? Moroda clutched the bedsheets. All the world was crumbling around her, again, and she was lost in it— unable to do anything. First her father, and now Eryn and Niversai. She trembled and sobbed.

  Morgen limped over to Moroda and sat beside her, leaning against her shoulder with his good arm as her emotion f
looded out. His eyes watered, but he held back tears, the pain of his own wounds a welcome distraction from Moroda’s intense grief. Amarah continued to talk with Sapora, Isa, and Palom, but he didn’t hear their words, nor did he care to. The war Topeko had warned them of was no longer nipping at their heels; it had overtaken them. As part of the Imperial Guard, he’d be expected to fight. He’d be expected to defend what was left of Niversai, or join the ranks of his colleagues here, in Val Sharis. They’d been lucky on Jato’s warship.

  The more time he spent with the “crew” of Khanna, the more he’d realised he no longer wished to be part of the Imperial Guard. Joining was an easy decision, but the reality had been very different. He knew he wanted to leave. Cowardly? Perhaps. But he didn’t belong in the ranks of the Imperial Guard. That much, he knew.

  He felt Moroda shudder beside him, her sobs quiet. He’d lost a cousin once, many years ago. She was only a baby, and though she hadn’t lived for more than a few weeks, the pain was just as acute as if she’d grown to twenty before being snatched by death. He had only been a boy, but he understood the sorrow which tore through his family and through Moroda and Palom now.

  His mind flickered to Kohl. If he had stood and fought with them… Anahrik and Eryn would probably still be here. But he hadn’t. He’d fled with his tail between his legs and left them all to die. He must have known Moroda and Eryn wouldn’t be able to fight, that they were outnumbered by the Arillians, that his departure sealed their fate! Palom’s words of chasing Kohl down sparked a fire in him. He wanted to get revenge, too. Perhaps he should leave the Imperial Guard and join Palom on his hunt. If they survived Aciel’s war.

  Moroda felt the immense weight of loss wash over her as she sat on the edge of the bed, crying until she felt her eyes would bleed. Loss of her father. Loss of her sister. Loss of her friends. Loss of her home. She realised she hadn’t grieved before, not truly. She hadn’t been allowed to—she’d had to carry on for Eryn’s sake and for her own. But now she’d lost Eryn, her quick-witted, sharp- tongued, resourceful, rational, remarkable sister… Now there was no Eryn, she could weep.

  Emotion flooded her body. Anger, white hot and fluttering, coursed through her veins in her moments of respite, sapping her of what little energy remained, pushing her once again into fits of sobbing. She leaned against Morgen’s arm and gave in to it.

  ‘Palom. You once said I looked… like I was carrying the pain of the world in my heart. I am now… I can hardly breathe because of it. It’s burning me, my lungs, my heart, my eyes… my skin crawls with it. It’s my fault she’s gone.’

  Palom shook his head. ‘No. Do not say this.’

  ‘We can’t sit here waiting for Aciel to attack!’ Amarah said.

  ‘I’m not going to wait to be picked off! Moroda. That dragon you were looking for in the mountains. That’ll be our only hope.’

  ‘I’m not going to mountains. I’m going after Kohl.’ Palom said.

  ‘Kohl can wait. War won’t,’ Amarah said. ‘I don’t have time for you to go charging off. We need to do whatever we can to survive what’s coming. If that means fighting, I sure as hell want a dragon on my side.’

  ‘Very well.’ Sapora said. ‘I shall return to Sereth to ready the Varkain. Isa, you will prepare one warship for Amarah. Double the guard and do not let any patrol alone. They must be in threes or greater. I do not wish to return to Taban Yul to find anything has fallen.’

  ‘Of course,’ Isa said.

  ‘Amarah, you will fly us into the Feor Mountains. I will dismount near the base—it’s quicker for me to get to Sereth underground than you flying over the mountains. Plus, you’ll need all the time you can get to find that dragon. I hope you’re ready if you encounter any more Arillians out there.’

  ‘Good. Finally we’re getting somewhere,’ Amarah said. ‘Don’t worry about me, Sapora. My blade will hit its mark, like always. Palom, Morgen, I want you both with me. If I’m coming up against a dragon, I’ll need people who can fight.’

  ‘I will go with you too, Amarah.’ Moroda said. Her voice cracked as she spoke, waves of emotion coursing through her. ‘There may be nothing for me in Niversai… but I wish to do whatever I can to protect those who are left.’

  ‘Better than sitting around moping.’ Amarah said. ‘I, too, will come along.’

  The group looked up as the door opened—the twinkling gemstones gave Topeko away as he entered the infirmary.

  ‘Topeko?’ Amarah gasped. ‘What in Rhea’s name are you doing here?’

  He smiled, though his cheeks did not sparkle as they usually did. ‘I was invited by the Council when Arillians were first spotted in Val Sharis. I left only the day after you did.’ He bowed to them, his robes fanning out to his sides. ‘Prince Sapora, I would like to visit Sereth once we have seen the dragon you all seek, if it is not too much trouble?’

  Sapora narrowed his eyes slightly. ‘I will not wait for you, but I do not see why I cannot permit it. The Samolen have little to offer or take from us.’ He handed Topeko a small onyx stone, etched with his family crest, the same as Isa’s.

  ‘You’ll need this to get past the Cerastes.’

  ‘I thank you. Although it appears that those who invited me have befallen an unfortunate accident. None in the palace seem to know anything about that.’ Topeko said.

  ‘You’ve very welcome to Taban Yul nonetheless,’ Isa interjected. ‘The Samolen are held in the highest regard among the Ittallan.’

  ‘Princess Isa.’ Topeko bowed again to her.

  ‘We can’t wait any longer,’ Amarah snapped, folding her arms. ‘Let’s get on with it and find this damned dragon.’

  ‘Let’s pray the city is still standing on our return,’ Palom said.

  ‘Praying is for the weak. Our actions will ensure the city stays safe.’ Amarah countered. ‘On your feet, Moroda. It’s tough but we must be stronger than them.’

  Moroda heaved herself off the bed, onto her feet. ‘Thank you, Morgen.’ She smiled weakly, straining against her inner turmoil. Her tears had ceased, and she felt numb.

  ‘You don’t have to come, Moroda. You could stay in the palace and rest,’ Morgen said.

  ‘I want to do something.’

  ‘Still? After all that’s happened?’

  ‘Still. I’d be a wreck if I stay here with my own thoughts.’ Morgen followed her out the door.

  ‘Little Ro,’ Isa called. Moroda stopped in her tracks. ‘Might want to change your clothes before you leave. It’s cold out there.’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Moroda shuffled over to her, and felt as though she was being swept away. It was a familiar feeling, and unwanted. It was as though she were floating down a river whose current was too much for her to fight against. She barely registered changing, or walking down the palace hallways, or into the airship hanger, or even getting onto Khanna. She was dimly aware of her companions; Amarah, Palom, Morgen, Sapora, and Topeko, but couldn’t focus on anything they said or did. She was in a daze.

  *

  It was half an hour or so into the flight, when she noticed the cold wind rushing across her face and she woke up properly. She was sat on deck, her cloak wrapped round her shoulders, the dark mountain range in the distance growing larger every moment.

  ‘Sapora was right. We were not the only ones attacked last night.’ Palom said. Moroda glanced over the edge of the deck at his words and saw smoke rising from fires yet to be extinguished.

  Corpses littered the snow beneath them, and the predominant colour was now a dirty red.

  ‘Arillian scum.’ Amarah said.

  Even in her state of shock, Moroda could feel the tension on the airship. The mood was low, and the storms they saw writhing in the distance did little to help. Even the dragons that had been seen in the skies on their arrival to the country were fewer. She felt sick at the prospect of more conflict, of more war, of more pain, death, and destruction.

  ‘I should never have joined the guard.’ Morgen shuddered, shaking his head an
d rocking slowly where he sat.

  Moroda watched as he berated himself, sometimes mumbling aloud. His left arm was still heavily bandaged, and she felt a pang of pity and guilt. ‘Morgen.’ She got up to sit closer to him, an echo of his earlier actions. ‘You cannot blame yourself, how were you to know this war was coming? No- one knew.’

  ‘I couldn’t stop them,’ he continued, seemingly oblivious to Moroda’s reassurances. ‘I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t…’

  ‘Morgen, stop it, please.’ Moroda said, holding back a fresh wave of tears at the mention of her sister. ‘Aciel is the one responsible, not you. You couldn’t have done any more than you did. You didn’t flee.’ Her mind wandered to Kohl. The Arillian had first warned Eryn and her about the dragon attack in Niversai. How long ago that seemed. She had always trusted him because of that first action, and found the betrayal especially bitter.

  Morgen stopped mumbling at her words and lifted his head from his hands, as if noticing she was sat there for the first time. ‘I thought he was with us.’

  ‘As did I. But he didn’t attack us… that’s got to count for something, right?’

  Morgen’s eyes were red raw. ‘You always have to see the best in people, don’t you? He abandoned us, and you can only think that’s better than being attacked?’

  Moroda said nothing for a moment. She knew he was right, and had always thought it was a nice trait to have—to see the best in people. Aciel was changing her mind of that, and now perhaps Kohl was, too. She knew Amarah and Palom were keen to lump all blame on Kohl, but she couldn’t make a solid opinion of his actions, and wanted an explanation more than anything else. ‘Is that so bad? We don’t know anything about him, really. He never said much, but he always helped us, always. I’m not excusing it. But if he were to explain it…? I’m hurting so much… losing… losing Ryn… and Anahrik… I don’t want to think badly of anyone else, anymore. I don’t want to wallow.’