Palom (World of Linaria Book 2)

by L. L. McNeil

  Disgusting snakes.

  He had killed people before, but only in self-defence. Last night seemed different. Had he really enjoyed watching the Varkain suffer?

  Had the war changed him so much?

  Lathri’s voice rang in his mind. ‘Emonos.’

  He ignored it.

  The sword had saved their lives. How could such a weapon be evil? It was just a sword—a piece of metal. It couldn’t be good or evil. It just was.

  Palom rubbed his nose. Emotions coursed through him: sadness, guilt, loss, rage, even hatred. He told himself he felt these things towards Aciel and his war, losing his companions, losing Lathri, and to the Varkain who dared attack him… but deep down, they were emotions he felt towards himself.

  Much of the morning passed in a blur, his Valta Forinja quiet on his back, pulsing only when he thought he heard footsteps behind them. When he turned, the path and trees were invariably empty aside from the wildlife.

  It took over an hour before Palom realised the background chatter he’d grown used to had vanished. ‘Jek? Are you okay?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m fine, thank ye, just fine,’ Jek replied, adjusting the laces on his cloak and flexing his fingers a little. ‘Good that we be there today. Best ye be off on ye way. Don’t want me slowing ye down, now, do ye?’

  Palom narrowed his eyes. ‘Indeed.’ There was no reason to lie, and he had no words of comfort for the racoon. ‘Keep safe on your way back to Taban Yul after you leave Sol. You don’t want more Varkain to find you alone.’

  ‘Hmm? Oh. Yes. Yes, ye probably right,’ Jek nodded, drawing up his cloak about him and glancing into the trees either side of the path.

  ‘I do not know what they were after,’ Palom muttered.

  ‘Ye…ye do nae think they…might’ve…been looking for more of the dragon ore ye carry?’

  ‘Dragon ore? I don’t have this. Only what is in my Valta Forinja—you cannot take this out.’

  ‘Well…the sword itself. It…Well, it’s valuable, no? Everyone knows it’s that sword that beat Aciel.’

  Palom thought it over. He supposed his sword was rare—the only other Valta Forinja than those he’d forged were in Berel, across the sea thousands of leagues away.

  They weren’t going to be stolen any time soon.

  Perhaps there was some truth in Jek’s suggestion. After all, dragons were the lifeblood of Linaria. He had managed to harness that in his sword.

  The mountains ahead grew larger and Palom’s stomach sank at the sight. He could almost smell the iron from here.

  The path split, marked by a small sign written in the old tongue. One way led to Feoras Sol, and Sereth beyond. The other veered north, through the Rio Neva forest and deeper into Val Sharis. The Waterside Inn sat a short distance from where they stood, along the northern path, half-hidden by foliage and a large water wheel churning merrily in the morning sunlight.

  A sombre note to end their partnership on.

  Palom pulled the cart right up to the split in the path and set it down gently. ‘Will you be okay to get to Sol from here? It should be hour away. Maybe less if you walk fast.’

  ‘Aye that I will. Thank ye again for all ye help, Palom. I’d never have made it if it weren’t for ye. I’ll be sure to tell everyone what happened.’

  Palom swallowed. ‘Is best if not. I…am keeping low profile. I am here to rest in country. Do not tell people I am back.’ It wasn’t convincing, and Palom knew it. He rolled his wrists.

  Jek scratched the back of his head. ‘Well, if ye sure? No good deed goes unrewarded…’

  ‘You did reward me. We are even. I will tell Imperial Guard at inn what happened, so you do not worry. Good luck with your trade. Fare well.’ Palom stepped back to allow Jek and his cart plenty of space to pass.

  Though irritating, Jek wasn’t stupid, and understood the dismissal. ‘Right ye are. And the same to ye. Thank ye again, Palom. I’m honoured tae have met the legend of Taban Yul!’ He hoisted the cart up and pulled it slowly down the road towards Feoras Sol.

  Palom watched him head off and sighed, thoughts circling round once again to the Varkain attack; to the two he had killed and the third who had fled.

  Would more attack Taban Yul?

  Were they under Sapora’s control, or acting on their own?

  His sword flared again, a flash of blue light, and he let out a low growl at the thought of any of those snakes getting close to Lathri.

  He should have killed the third one, too.

  Shaking his head, Palom tried to push the thoughts out of his mind.

  This was as close to Sol as he felt comfortable, and yet so close to the Sereth border, there were bound to be more Varkain passing through on their way to Taban Yul.

  He was certain there wouldn’t be many Imperial Guard stationed this far into the country, so the thought of staying here to hunt down any Varkain who put a claw out of line appealed.

  He’d be able to patrol this part of the forest in case other Varkain tried to pick off unwary travellers, Lathri would be safe, and he could avoid seeing his father and the others in Sol.

  Palom shouldered his bag, checked his sword, and made his way to the Waterside Inn.

  It wasn’t as if he’d be of any use elsewhere.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘An Ittallan, you say?’

  ‘Yes, my liege, no question. A huge man with a sword that…it had this energy. It sliced the trees apart without the blade touching them.’

  ‘Without the blade touching them?’ Sapora raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Yes, my liege.’

  ‘What do you think, Sapora?’ Tacio asked, looking from the young, dirt-covered Varkain to his brother.

  ‘I am your king, Tacio. You’ll address me as such.’ Sapora’s tone reflected his irritation at having to repeat the fact so many times.

  ‘It must be Palom. Who else would have a weapon like that? Not like anyone would be able to steal it from him,’ Tacio replied, ignoring his rebuke.

  ‘You’re absolutely sure about that sword?’ Sapora asked.

  ‘I am. It was less than a day’s travel from Feoras Sol.’ The young Varkain clutched at his hands, drawing his claws over each other, head bowed before Sapora and Tacio. He still panted after rushing to the palace as fast as he was able. Sapora could smell the fear on his breath.

  Sapora exhaled. ‘It must be Palom, then. And…the tunnel?’

  The Varkain’s pounding heart beat faster. ‘We…we found a plaque, my liege.’

  Sapora’s breath caught, and he swallowed. He felt Tacio’s eyes on him, but kept his attention on the sweaty, dirt-stained Varkain.

  ‘Um…it…it was buried really deep, my liege. The ground wasn’t stable. On the edge of where we dug. We saw the plaque. But we couldn’t go any further. Everything else had been sealed off, the ground too compact for us to go anywhere else. We tried but—'

  ‘What did it say?’ Sapora asked through gritted teeth.

  The Varkain’s eyes darted from Sapora to Tacio, and back again. His breathing grew more ragged and he swallowed. ‘My liege. It said, “Malashash”.’

  Sapora permitted himself to smile, a grin that bared teeth and crinkled his eyes. ‘I’m grateful for this information. You are dismissed.’

  The Varkain raced out of the council chambers like he’d been bitten and left a trail of muddy footprints on the stone floor.

  Tacio grimaced at the dirt, but Sapora paid it no mind. The ancient histories had spoken truly. He knew it!

  Such a treasure, such a power, could not have vanished from Linaria. Hidden, yes, but not completely lost.

  Now he had the location of the first piece, he could move to defend Val Sharis and Sereth at his leisure.

  It went to show what a waste Koraki was.

  Palom, on the other hand, was an insignificant irritation that had to be dealt with sooner rather than later. When training an animal, a swift response could mean the difference between desired results and further unwanted behaviour
. Sapora couldn’t allow him traipsing around the countryside killing his Varkain when he chose.

  Surely there was no way the thuggish Ittallan could know why the Varkain had been in the Rio Neva forest. He’d moved hundreds of Varkain to Val Sharis to cover his plan.

  And yet, he couldn’t risk Palom getting wind of it.

  He ran his tongue over his fangs as he thought; the Varkain for his task had been under instruction to remain silent.

  Strict instruction.

  Tacio had picked the handful of Varkain himself, so they should have been able to follow simple orders.

  Had it been an unfortunate coincidence?

  A case of Palom being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

  Isa had explained the tiger left the palace shortly before Sapora had arrived, partaken in the funeral procession, then left the city. Without Anahrik, Sapora supposed there’d be little left in Taban Yul for him. Perhaps he was simply reverting to his feral side.

  Yes, that was probably right.

  Palom had a temper, plenty of brawn, and little brain. Formidable, yes, but not capable of cracking into his plans—they’d barely begun, at any rate.

  The Varkain must have simply been unlucky enough to wander across his path, and foolish enough to challenge him.

  And Sapora had no intention of letting Palom get away with it.

  The tiger might be a hero in the city, but as far as Sapora was concerned, he was a stupid brute with the weapon of a god at his fingertips.

  Someone who could make things very difficult, if he chose.

  ‘We don’t need to worry about the tiger, do we?’ Tacio asked. ‘I can’t believe they found Malashash’s plaque. I thought it was folklore. I just went along with you because it’s funny to see Koraki squirm.’

  Sapora licked his lips. ‘Tell me, how much progress have you made in the excavation?’

  ‘No pleasing you is there?’ Tacio replied with a huff. He fiddled with the numerous rings adorning his clawed fingers, twisting them so the bright red and purple jewels faced upwards. ‘Progress continues. Like I told you before.’ He spoke like a petulant child, and sat in a large, high-backed chair beside Sapora’s, seemingly more interested in straightening up his clothes than assisting his rule. He picked at dust on the material and spent a good while ensuring his appearance was impeccable.

  Far too long for Sapora’s liking. Vain snake.

  Winter sunlight shone through the tall, glassless windows of the Council Tower, and a bird called from somewhere in the distance. Sapora loved and loathed the city. Full of pompous Ittallan more used to fluffing themselves up than getting anything done.

  He wished Vasil had visited Taban Yul more frequently. It had to have been over a decade since his father had last visited his wealthiest city. Leaving such luxuries to preening peacocks had left much of the palace in need of maintenance and a thorough clean.

  He’d scoured his own rooms from top to bottom, ridding himself of the lingering scent of Goldstones and Ittallan. His assumption that Isa was influential had been gravely wrong, and it had taken the ball to snap the dozing Ittallan to attention. They had a conquering Arillian on their doorstep and hardly seemed to bat an eyelid.

  Had he not woken the lazy beasts up, Isa wouldn’t have been able to rally her airship fleet in time to defend the palace. Even the officers in their Imperial Guard had never fought a real battle, never followed orders in a timely manner.

  When he’d arrived at the palace, Sapora had personally spent days—almost a whole week—straightening everything out.

  Not to mention all of Sereth watched his every move—some from within Taban Yul, now. Isa reported over 1,500 individuals or families had crossed borders, and Sapora had allocated them a section of the city they could make their own. Not everyone enjoyed skulking in darkness and hiding from the world above, and he’d given them arguably the most beautiful city in the world to move to.

  From the palace, he could watch and move the pieces for his wider plans into place. Bringing some Varkain to Val Sharis was just the tip of the iceberg.

  ‘Oh. I meant to say. The one you wanted? Mateli? He’s still alive. Imprisoned, but alive,’ Tacio said.

  Sapora grinned, finally a bit of good news.

  ‘Fair warning, the dungeons haven’t been kind to him.’

  Sapora stood up. ‘He wasn’t executed? I heard he’d committed unforgiveable war crimes.’

  ‘Executed? Of course not. The Ittallan aren’t so cruel as to end a life for something like that.’ Tacio grinned, his golden eyes squinting at the breadth of his smile. His skin was grey, the same as any Varkain, but it was pale and smooth, almost white, matching his ivory fangs on display every time he spoke or smiled.

  Sapora appreciated Tacio’s counsel and little else. Only by right of age had he been given the chance to undertake the trials and take the crown before his brother—though there were still many who felt Tacio, a pure-blooded Varkain, had better claim to the throne.

  As he was rarely allowed to forget, Sapora was a half-breed, the result of a union between his father and an Ittallan Goldstone. While he looked as much a Varkain as his brother—though he lacked Tacio’s finer features—he had far more to prove.

  Now Sapora ruled, his lineage was never openly spoken of, but he knew in the shadows, Varkain and Ittallan alike sniggered at his weaker blood.

  Once he found the other three treasures, no-one in Linaria would question his weaknesses again.

  Vasil, had conquered the Ittallan by force almost three decades ago, and allowed the Ittallan to rule themselves with their own council, so long as they paid homage to him each year.

  It meant Vasil extended no effort to rule them, reaped the benefits of their bountiful country with gold, food, weapons, and servants, and kept them in check simply from the fear of his takeover and infrequent, unannounced visits.

  The taking of the palace of Taban Yul was a story all Varkain grew up on—how their warrior king overpowered a stronger, larger enemy with strategy and utter domination.

  Vasil had struck first, leading the attack himself. He’d infiltrated the sewers and tunnels underneath the city, passed the formidable twin stone walls of the palace undetected, and crept up through servant’s chambers and cook’s quarters.

  He and his Cerastes had killed everyone they came across, Ittallan or otherwise and slaughtered dozens before the alarm had been raised. By that point, the Ittallan had no choice but to surrender.

  With the palace fallen, Vasil took the seat of power in Val Sharis. In a single night, Vasil had claimed Taban Yul, and the rest of Val Sharis, for the Varkain, ending the centuries-long war between the two races.

  An uneasy truce grew between the Imperial allies of Corhaven and Val Sharis, and the Varkain of Sereth. Vasil had what he wanted; after enjoying the luxuries of the palace for several moons, he returned to Sereth, taking thralls with him.

  As a child, Sapora could turn into his true form, a cobra befitting his royal bloodline, but the younger Isa was a wildcat, following in the lineage of her mother. She’d been forbidden from entering Sereth, and Vasil left her in Taban Yul to be raised by the Ittallan who never truly saw her as one of their own.

  Isa lived on the outskirts, unable to be shunned due to her powerful father, but unable to leave by the same strength. Sapora, however, was welcomed home to Sereth as the king’s oldest child and heir to the throne.

  Unions with multiple partners had always been part of Varkain culture, and when Vasil subsequently fathered another child by a Varkain woman and gave him a half-brother, Tacio, Sapora knew he’d spend the rest of his life proving himself to the Varkain and Ittallan both.

  He would be greater than his father.

  In generations to come, they would speak of Sapora’s victory in Linaria, rather than his father’s brutish one.

  Vasil remained in Sereth, rarely venturing from his country after conquering Taban Yul, save a few fleeting visits to his wives and Isa.

  Yet, Sap
ora found his Ittallan blood pushed him to explore the world above and felt cramped and frustrated when he remained below ground for more than a few days at a time.

  By his father’s leave, he left Sereth on errantry—to roam Linaria for the two years before his ascension to the throne, learning what he could of the world to strengthen his eventual rule, and ensure he never came second to Tacio.

  Sapora had visited the palace in Taban Yul frequently throughout his youth, often alone, sometimes accompanying his father, and had forged a close relationship with Isa. He knew she thirsted for power in the same way he did and had not been afforded the privileges she should have been through her royal blood.

  The Ittallan sneered openly at her, her mother was shunned for having a child by a Varkain, and Isa had been ostracised.

  She was an outsider, a prisoner, in her own palace.

  It infuriated Sapora, who promised her power when he became king in return for her undisputed loyalty—something she’d willingly offered.

  The first thing he had to do to achieve that was disband the old Council of Val Sharis and replace it with people he could trust beyond question. He wanted—needed—at least some Ittallan on his side and considered appointing several based on Isa’s recommendation. After all, she’d grown up in the palace and knew the Ittallan Goldstones better than anyone else—but Tacio had suggested keeping it all Varkain, to keep the ruling line pure.

  Sapora had bristled at that, for his blood was just as muddied as Isa’s, though he understood Tacio saw him as a Varkain and Isa as just another Ittallan, beneath his notice.

  If he was to comfortably rule both nations, he needed allies on both sides. Already, there were rumours he was worse than Aciel, which angered him more than he liked to admit.

  At least Tacio followed orders, though his somewhat blasé manner contrasted Sapora’s dignified, more structured approach, but he had little choice.

  From what he’d learned during his errantry, Linaria was a world on the brink of collapse after Aciel’s work. While he actually thought the Arillian had the right idea, building an army through falseness and hypnotism was never going to work in the long run.