Moroda (World of Linaria)

by L. L. McNeil

  ‘Fodder are weak. If they won’t listen, they must be made to. I tried to make them listen but they’re too stubborn. Sapora simply showed his fangs to set them in line.’

  ‘Set them in line… Sounds like Aciel.’

  Isa laughed, her voice singing. ‘If anyone does anything you don’t like, you always compare them to your worst enemy. Sapora has the right to rule. Aciel does not. Sapora wishes for peace in Linaria. Aciel does not. Sapora shows mercy, and then kills those who continue to defy him. Aciel steals lives for his own gain.’ She stood up and leapt from the roof to the balcony.

  Morgen lowered his gaze as she approached. She moved with silence and skill, and he could tell she was related to Sapora. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her reach into her pocket, and he tensed. His dragon-blade had yet to taste blood, and he would use it against her if she gave him reason to.

  ‘Relax, Morgen.’ She purred, darting to his other side. ‘It’s not too late for you to leave. Go back where you came from. Leave dragons and monsters to the real kings and queens. Some of us have grown up beside the nests of vipers. You don't belong in this world—your world is cosy and peaceful—you’ve no idea what it feels like to be robbed of your birthright, and hated by your own kind. I have learned the art of silence. Of stealth. It’s quite remarkable what you hear when people don’t know you’re watching from the shadows. Some of the things the councillors got up to… I fed the information back to Sereth, but Vasil had none of it. When Sapora takes his throne, I shall finally have the respect I deserve. These dances are written in blood. Go home, Morgen. It’s not your world.’

  ‘No! I need to avenge her!’ He shivered at her words, but he could not quit, not now.

  Isa giggled and jumped up onto the edge of the balcony, balancing on the narrow wall. ‘So sweet. I suppose you want to keep little Ro safe, too?’

  ‘Little Ro…?’ He watched her pace along the balcony, turn, and pace back. The fall would kill her, no question, but she stepped as confidently as if they were on the street.

  ‘If you’re staying with us, you must give it your all. Here. In case you need anything.’ She pulled out her hand from her pocket and tossed him something small and dark.

  He caught it with both hands and looked down. It was an onyx stone, engraved with a crest—the same one that adorned many of the shields and tapestries throughout the palace. ‘Princess, what is this?’ When he looked up, she was gone. ‘Princess Isa? Princess?’

  ‘Remember whose side you’re on, Morgen!’

  He saw her back on the roof. She waved at him before transforming and racing off into the darkness.

  *

  Moroda awakened three days later to the sound of armoured feet charging up and down the hallways outside her room. She had spent the majority of the wait in a state of heightened anxiety, practicing the Samolen magic as best she could, and training with Morgen so she knew how to hold a sword, block, and attack. All around her, the palace rumbled as thunder crashed outside, shaking the walls.

  She raced to the window of her room and peered out. It was light outside, but thunderclouds gathered ominously above the city. She could see ripples of sheet lightning streaming across the sky, and as they lit up the clouds, she saw warships. Her heart pounded. This was it. Aciel was here, with all his strength.

  The Council had sent Ittallan scouts to Corhaven in the hopes of bringing back reinforcements, but with the recent fall of Niversai, Isa did not have high hopes. There were few cities large enough in Corhaven to have enough soldiers to aid Val Sharis, and many of those would be focussed on restoring the country’s capital. Any that could be spared would also need to be flown over, a trip that would take several days at best. It was simply too little too late.

  One thing was to be said for the Arillians—once they sacked a city, they immediately moved on to the next one. No hostages were taken, but they left few alive. Only those who went deep into hiding survived; everyone who fought back was killed.

  Moroda had toyed multiple times with the idea of returning to Niversai. It would have been easy to get home on one of the Ittallan scouting ships, but the thought of returning to a blackened city scared her more than she realised. She did not know, after losing her sister, whether she would be able to stomach returning to a home that may not be there.

  She understood Palom’s desire for vengeance, but she knew there were other ways. There had to be. Killing in revenge would not bring back their loved ones, and it would not make her feel better, as she said to Kohl. Too many lives had been lost in this war, and she did not wish to add to it.

  She wished Topeko was there to guide her in the short time they had before the battle. His knowledge would have been invaluable, but all she could do was pore over the tomes she carried and practice with either her magic or sword.

  The weapons Palom had created and gifted them were something quite incredible. Even Amarah was stunned into silence by their ability. Not only could the weapons slice through almost anything, but simple thrusting of the weapon in the direction of a target was enough to send out a wave of power, causing significant damage.

  Moroda hadn’t quite got used to it. She preferred to prevent damage than cause it, and while she carried a blade at Palom and Morgen’s behest, she had little intention of using it except if the situation grew dire.

  She quickly shrugged into her thick travelling cloak and hurried down the corridor, following the guard as they raced along.

  ‘Get out of the damned way, you cowards!’

  As Moroda rounded a corner leading to one of the large reception halls in the palace, she heard Amarah’s savage words—of everyone she had come across in Taban Yul, none rivalled the sky pirate for uncouth language and behaviour.

  ‘I want to get on my warship to defend your damned city! Stand aside!’

  Moroda saw Morgen stood beneath an archway, watching Amarah battle against a small crowd of palace guards that blocked access to the passageway leading to the palace hangar.

  ‘Lady Amarah, the warship belongs to the princess. We cannot let you on board.’ One pleaded, his brow covered with sweat as he battled with the pirate.

  ‘I don’t care what you think! It’s MY ship! I’ll cut off your damned head unless you move!’ Amarah bellowed, drawing her scythe along the marble floor and sending sparks up the blade.

  Morgen approached the group, his helm under one arm. ‘I have orders from Princess Isa.’ Hearing his words, the palace guards lowered their weapons as they turned to face him, finding him suited in full armour, ready for battle.

  ‘Sir, are you certain?’

  ‘I heard it from the princess herself. Moroda, Palom, Kohl, and I are accompanying Amarah on board.’ He held up the onyx stone with her family crest, and the guards sheathed their swords.

  ‘Yes sir. Apologies Lady Amarah.’ The guard moved out of the way and nodded curtly to the group.

  Amarah scoffed at the niceties and brushed past them. Morgen waited until the guards marched off, and followed

  Amarah. ‘You’re really going to fight?’

  ‘What a question.’ She tapped her blade on the floor every few steps, the sound echoing off the marble. ‘I’m not about to let these Arillians destroy my best chances of riches. I will fight them.’

  ‘I will be fighting too.’ Kohl said, gliding down from a stairway to their left, sending out a cool breeze as he landed.

  ‘I thought you didn’t fight your kin?’ Amarah asked, balancing her scythe on her shoulder.

  ‘I want to face Aciel.’

  ‘How do we know you won’t turn tail and run like you did before?’ Palom asked. ‘Or attack us? If Jato appears? Once a liar, always a liar.’

  ‘I’ve never lied to you…’

  ‘Please, Palom.’ Moroda said. ‘Aciel is at our doorstep! Kohl will help us!’ In truth, she was worried about the relationship between Kohl and Jato, but, despite the odds, trusted him. She had to trust him. If she didn’t, she’d be no better than Palom’s outra
ge.

  ‘You don’t have to fight, Moroda.’ Morgen said, as the group entered the hangar.

  Moroda shook her head. ‘I don’t want to stand by and do nothing. I’ll fight with you all. Whatever it takes.’ They raced to the hangar, hearing the intensity of the storms outside and the cannons from airships outside.

  The hangar was a flurry of activity; captains looking for their ships, crew both anxious and eager to fight, staff trying to direct events amidst chaos. Orders were barked out, engines were started, propellers turned and the wind picked up as half a dozen ships took to their air. They were large and ungainly, unbalanced, and heavy with ammunition.

  The ships were barely out of the hangar before cannon fire could be heard, with smoke billowing back from immediate impact.

  Coupled with the heat and steam rising from the many engines, Moroda found herself sweating before she was even on board Amarah’s new warship.

  ‘I won’t lie, I’m more used to running from a fight than charging into it. But this ship has enough power to hold its own, and I’ve no plans on going down.’ Amarah announced, striding along the wide deck. ‘Looks like everything I wanted is here. My Khanna is below deck, nice and safe in the cargo bay.’

  Moroda thought to Amarah’s words on fleeing from battle and wondered why Khanna had to come along, too.

  ‘Come on big girl, let’s get airborne!’ Amarah cackled, forcing the ship’s engines into life and raising the sails as they took off. ‘Palom, Morgen, get the cannons ready—pull every hatch open, load every gun, and get them into position! Moroda! You come up here with me.’ She twisted the wheel sharply to the right as she manoeuvred around other docked ships towards the hangar entrance.

  Moroda made her way into the cabin. It was surrounded on all sides by thick glass housed in wooden frames. The ship was definitely built to last.

  ‘Fighting is coming, you know that.’ Amarah said, keeping her eyes focussed on the sky as it opened in front of her.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I’m a better fighter than you. Years more experience. I need you to keep this ship out of harm’s way while the rest of us fight. Torpedoes are at your control. You remember what I told you about flying Khanna, right?’

  Moroda’s eyes widened as she realised what was being asked of her. ‘I…remember…but I should, shouldn’t I… The Samolen magic—‘

  ‘You’re no Topeko. Dragons above, we could do with his help now. Hah. If he could even be convinced to fight. We’ve more chance of pulling through if you stay out the way and keep us near the action. Not too close. Weapons panels are here.’ Amarah lifted a flap to the right of the large steering wheel, ‘and here.’ There were eight buttons in each.

  ‘Centre cannon here. Low power but fast rate of fire. Got it?’

  ‘But…I…’

  ‘We don’t have time!’ Amarah wrenched the steering wheel to the left and pushed the engine to full thrust, avoiding a surge of lightning—and attack from one of the hundreds of Arillians who filled the sky above the palace.

  Flipping another lever to pull back the main sail, Amarah turned the ship again and opened fire with the main cannon—a cloud of black smoke rising from the hull due to the intensity of fire.

  ‘Amarah they’re swarming the deck!’ Morgen cried.

  ‘Dammit! Moroda keep this thing in the sky!’ Amarah charged onto the deck. She swung her scythe wildly to fend off their aggressors. It glowed at Amarah’s touch, sending out dazzling blue sparks with every movement.

  Moroda had no choice but to lurch forward and grab hold of the wheel, her palms slick with sweat. Her heart pounded as fear threatened to take hold once again, and she cast her eyes above her, peering through the thick glass which ceilinged the cabin. Perhaps two hundred Arillians swarmed above, the wind of their attacks tearing into every warship in the air, the clouds thick with electricity, which whipped up Moroda’s hair.

  They would be overrun, surely. There were fifty or so warships in the air, and countless smaller airships unsuited for battle. It was formidable, though Moroda worried it would not be enough against Aciel’s entire army.

  Claps of thunder rolled through the sky, crushing smaller airships as they were overwhelmed by Arillians. Spinning the wheel and pushing forward, Moroda tried to position the ship away from the thick of the fighting, as Amarah had told her. Though very much on the side of the Ittallan, Amarah’s warship was not garbed in the Imperial colours, which, she supposed, meant it was a smaller target.

  Moroda heard the clash of steel quieten, and she ran to the edge of the cabin and out on deck. ‘Well fought.’ Morgen panted, lowering his sword as the last of the Arillians flew off, leaving the deck slightly scalded, but otherwise intact. The weapon glowed soft blue, almost green, and smoked slightly now the fighting had stopped.

  ‘Where’s Kohl?’ Palom growled, staring at the clouds above. ‘Can’t tell him apart from the Arillians up there.’

  Amarah raced back into the cabin. ‘Good move! Keep us out of danger. We’ll pick off whichever stragglers we can.’ She patted Moroda on the shoulder and took stock of the battle as it unfolded around them.

  Her gaze settled on a small cluster of Arillians, perhaps eight or ten, as they made a beeline for the palace below. ‘I don’t think so! I’m going to blast you out of the sky!’ She flattened one sail and pulled at another, swinging the ship around to face the group with its broadside. It groaned under its own weight, but she held the sailes and pushed the throttles up. When they were in her sights, she flicked two switches and fired twin torpedoes.

  The warship jolted with their launch, and Moroda struggled to keep her footing. She watched the two, long grey shapes shoot out of the side of the ship somewhere below deck, a thick plume of brown-grey smoke following in their wake as they honed in on the group of Arillians.

  The resulting explosion sent a shockwave through the sky in all directions, fire and more smoke billowing to join the fracas. ‘Keep us moving, Ro!’ Amarah said, as the attack drew the eyes of surrounding Arillians to them. She raced back out, scythe in hand, to aid Palom and Morgen with the incoming attacks.

  Moroda couldn’t bring herself to fire on the Arillians—they were just following orders, weren’t they? —and busied herself with moving the ship out of harm’s way each time they were assaulted by another wave of attacks. She was wracked with guilt at the suffering and death all around her. She didn’t want to do nothing, but fighting went against her very nature. Arillians fell like like flies, and three airships had also gone down in smoke. On the ground below, troops of charged forward, clashing with Aciel’s followers, staining the ground with blood. Overhead, the skies darkened, and below, fires raged across the city, sending up black smoke. Moroda lost all sense of time.

  In the chaos, she saw Palom transform into the stronger, fiercer version of himself; taking out those Arillians who had been foolish enough to land on deck. Morgen and Amarah were also able to fend off their attackers with their weapons, enhanced tenfold by the strength of the dragon crystal Palom and Anahrik had imbued within.

  In the thick darkness of the smoke, the crystals glowed. Moroda blinked back tears watching Amarah and Morgen as their entire weapons glowed. They fought viciously, keeping the Arillians away and protecting their ship. After a while, Kohl landed on deck, joining the fray and keeping Aciel’s followers from taking the ship or destroying their defenders.

  Moroda continued to move the ship around the sky, keeping to the edges of the battlefield, trying to stay away from the thick of the fighting. Visibility dropped as the fighting became more intense—cannons and guns were fired so often from so many ships, and claps of thunder rattled so intensely, that Moroda could no longer distinguish between one blast and the next. The only thing which seemed unchanging was the glow of her friends fighting on deck with their dragon weapons.

  Despite the power they had stolen back from Aciel, and the strength they had added to their own repertoire, they were outnumbered ten to one. She trembled,
watching as one by one, warriors fell from the skies to their deaths. It had to stop. It had to, else they would all destroy each other. Unless the tide of the battle was turned, everything would perish.

  As strong and skilled as Amarah, Palom, Morgen and Kohl were, they could not fight indefinitely. Moroda felt more tears form as she realised they were all who remained from the original party, barring Sapora. She had lost her sister. Palom had lost a brother. They had all lost friends. It was all because of this. They all stood to lose one another in this battle; there was no chance Aciel would surrender. It was the wishful thinking of a silly, naïve girl. He had amassed too much power, too many followers, and his goal was the eradication of all non-Arillians. How were you supposed to fight something like that?

  Talking wouldn’t help; none of them would listen. None of them would stop the fighting. There had to be another way. There had to be a way to protect those who remained from perishing. A Sevastos would be able to do that, surely? But what was to stop it from burning everything and ending the fighting that way?

  ‘If I don’t do something, we’ll all perish. If I do something… there’s a chance it may end. I must, must take that chance. That’s what Ryn would have wanted…’ Moroda breathed aloud, her fingers slipping from the steering wheel. Looking up, she could barely see the glow from the cabin, the smoke and ash was so thick. She had to speak with the dragon again. There was no other way.

  Decision made, Moroda pressed another switch on the control panel, and found herself running away from the cabin before her mind realised she had come to the conclusion. In a daze, she made her way down, into the depths of the ship, past the loaded guns, past the steaming engines, past the supply storage, and into the cramped cargo bay where Khanna lay resting.

  She clambered aboard, by now, the side steps as familiar to her as her ring, and hurried to the controls on deck, each step reaffirming her decision and strengthening her actions. She brought Amarah’s pirate’s chip to life and felt the familiar noise of Khanna’s engines purring. ‘I’m sure you’ll understand, Amarah.’ Moroda whispered. There was no turning back now, as the cargo doors slowly opened underneath Khanna.