Palom (World of Linaria Book 2)

by L. L. McNeil

  ‘My liege!’ Roke screamed from the other side of the gardens. ‘A fleet of warships!’

  Warships?

  Could it be Morgen sending aid?

  He and Isa shared a look before darting off to the nearest tower, clambering up the stone staircase and out onto the walls where his Cerastes guarded.

  Though the sky remained thick with grey clouds, he could see as clearly as the other Varkain—and he warranted Isa’s vision was even better—the six large warships floating over Taban Yul on their slow approach to the palace.

  They bore Imperial colours.

  ‘Must be from Corhaven,’ he said. ‘Where’s Tacio?’

  The Varkain on the wall collectively shrugged, most of them awe-struck by the enormous airships drawing near. He supposed hardly any had spent much time above ground, much less outside of Sereth. ‘Find Tacio, now!’ Sapora snapped, and a handful of them darted off.

  If his brother had been summoning allies to their cause, Sapora wanted to know why he’d been left in the dark.

  ‘Are these ones here for the sickness in the city?’ Roke asked, lingering to Sapora’s left.

  Sapora didn’t bother to reply. If he admitted to not knowing, that would show weakness.

  The Varkain preyed on weakness.

  He dropped his voice to a little above a whisper. ‘Isa. How many warships do we have on our fleet here.’

  ‘We lost most of our ships against Aciel. Probably three or four?’

  ‘Three or four?’ Sapora snapped.

  ‘You’ve been busy hunting your Arks and Tacio’s been busy hunting me!’ Isa snapped back. ‘You cared more about your damned Cerastes than you did with what remained of those who fought Aciel!’

  Sapora scowled.

  Something felt off.

  No official notice of their arrival. Koraki nowhere to be seen.

  His stomach tightened.

  They had to be less than a league away, now.

  In the pale sunlight, canons and ballistae glinted from their decks.

  Brazen bastards.

  ‘Cerastes! Imperial Guard!’ Sapora shouted, making Isa jump beside him. ‘Battle stations, now!’

  ‘B—battle stations?’ Isa gulped.

  He heard her heart pound, but he didn’t have time to focus on her.

  ‘Get the palace secured. If our fleet can mobilise, get them in the air. We’re under attack.’

  Isa raced off, and Roke followed him as Sapora darted along the wall, scaling the stairs of another tower, and getting to the higher points on the palace.

  A handful of Varkain joined him as he reached the top of the tower. Isa had often used its flat roof to land or take off from one of her ships, but here, it gave Sapora vantage across most of the city.

  ‘Well, well, well, today has just got interesting.’

  Sapora rolled his eyes at the drawl.

  ‘Challenging you so openly. I told you they were against you.’

  ‘They were unhappy Ittallan in the city. These ships are the Imperial Fleet of Niversai. I wonder whether Morgen knows about this. Maybe that’s why he went quiet…’

  ‘What do they want?’ Tacio asked.

  ‘Want?’

  ‘Aren’t they meant to make demands before they attack?’

  A whirring sound filled the air, followed by a whistle and then the sudden impact of stone crashing against the palace walls.

  Sapora gasped in shock, wobbling as the tower trembled and one of the numerous golden statues toppled. It landed with a deep thud at the bottom of the wall, and the Cerastes atop it hissed in defiance.

  ‘Tacio. Control them.’ Sapora said, his eyes locked on the ship who had fired first.

  ‘Your commands…?’

  ‘Kill them all.’

  Tacio nodded and descended the tower’s stairs to get his Cerastes into formation.

  The other warships fired their ballistae, and Sapora braced as their projectiles slammed into the palace, walls, and towers over and over.

  Sapora bore the brunt of every attack, holding his ground as the palace shook, and the warships grew closer still—their attacks stronger with every blast.

  One ship, the first that had fired, flew over the palace walls and hovered in the gardens. Handfuls of men and women leapt from the ship or clambered down on lowered ropes; Ittallan and Humans both.

  The Varkain on the ground immediately rushed up to meet them, swords slashing as battle broke out when they collided.

  A second ship followed the first, another few scores of people clambering off to join their comrades.

  Sapora watched eagerly.

  The aggressors were a mix of fighters and citizens, it seemed. His Varkain cut down their attackers, but it didn’t take long before they were overwhelmed.

  Sapora had never kept a full complement of Imperial Guard in the palace, and even the Cerastes who’d come with him from Sereth hardly filled the barracks.

  Battle cries turned to screaming as blades cut into flesh, people were knocked down, and more ballistae fired onto the palace. Everything descended into chaos—blood and snow kicked up as the palace gardens became a killing ground.

  When the third ship hovered over the palace walls, and his aggressors leapt onto the Varkain stationed there, Sapora hissed in anger.

  He watched, calculating, darting from fighting groups to individuals, to those fleeing the carnage.

  Was anyone trying to break into the palace?

  Were they there to kill him?

  Were they a distraction for some other, greater threat?

  Sapora weighed each option in split seconds as the fighting increased. A few more steps, and one group would be at the bottom of his tower.

  If it was him they wanted, he’d make them regret it.

  Pupils wide, he selected his targets and decided on a route to carve through to cross the gardens quickly to interrupt the fighting.

  Roke stepped up beside him and lingered by his shoulder.

  He didn’t need to say a word.

  When another huge crash shook the palace, taking a chunk out of the wall, Sapora leapt from the tower—drawing his scimitars in one movement—and landed feet first on an unsuspecting Ittallan. He plunged his weapons into the Ittallan’s back, and drew them out again, blood arcing from the metal.

  He leapt again, slashing one scimitar, and then another, dancing and weaving and avoiding the swords, axes, and hammers they’d brought with them to fight.

  So slow.

  They might as well have been standing still.

  He lunged forward, dragging the tip of his scimitar along an unguarded throat. He dodged a shield thrust in his direction, and the metal smashed into the face of the Ittallan behind him. He spun around and drove his other scimitar into the shield-man’s neck.

  Blood gushed, sweat poured, and the whole garden stank of fear. It caked the ground and the air, and Sapora relished it.

  All around him, his Cerastes danced the same dance, their fighting prowess pushing back the aggressors, and yet still more poured from the warships.

  Fifty.

  One hundred.

  Two hundred.

  They were storming the palace, and for all the Cerastes’ abilities, they would not last forever against an enemy that had greater numbers.

  They were used to fighting in tunnels, underground, where they had the advantage.

  Sapora glanced up at the wall, saw more bodies charging into each other, and through all the blood he could hardly pick out who was who.

  ‘Sapora! You killed my mother!’

  He looked around at the mention of his name, his gaze drawn to a pale, blonde woman stood in a sea of red.

  ‘I’ve killed a lot of people’s mothers,’ he hissed.

  She held out a spear, its tip pointed directly at him. ‘Drutia. Her name was Drutia.’

  Sapora licked his fangs. This one he would enjoy killing.

  Screams and roars sounded all around him, but he’d switched his focus to this Ittall
an woman.

  He wondered how many more like her he’d encounter.

  How many more with personal vendettas against him.

  He shouldn’t be surprised, not really.

  ‘And the daughter of Drutia…Her name is?’

  ‘I am Lathri, and I’ll kill you for what you did to her. What you’re doing to Val Sharis! How dare you bring the Arks back.’

  Sapora’s eyes went wide.

  Someone in the palace had let out his secret.

  He scowled and tightened his hold on his scimitars. It made no matter, now. If the Ittallan were in open rebellion, the fear of the Arks would put them right back down at the bottom of his shoe.

  Sapora exhaled, summoning strength and speed.

  He’d only be able to strike so many times before it drained him. He bent his knees, focussed only on his target, and then moved.

  Sapora appeared behind her, one of his blades to her throat, the other to her back. ‘My dear Lathri…It will be my pleasure to reunite you with Drutia.’

  The palace shook again, part of the wall crumbling completely as the ballistae shattered the marble.

  More Ittallan and Imperial Guard charged in, screaming their fury and waving their weapons.

  Sapora narrowed his eyes from across the gardens, and then turned to Lathri. He unhinged his jaw, both rows of fangs extended as he leaned forward to bite.

  ‘Snake!’ A man screamed, rushing up to Sapora and hacking away at him with a short sword.

  He leapt back to avoid his strike and found himself in the middle of Lathri’s entourage. Sapora hissed, whirling around to count them. He was surrounded.

  ‘I’ll kill you,’ Lathri said. ‘But you won’t be going near my mother. There’s no afterlife for you. Emonos Varkain.’

  In unison, they surged forward, claws and weapons outstretched.

  Sapora rolled to the side, an axe blade slashing along his back as he moved out of the way, drawing blood.

  He hissed in anger, coming up a few feet away, and darted off. He’d fought more opponents in his trials and come out victorious.

  He didn’t need to prove himself again.

  And they would burn.

  Sapora raced across the gardens, away from the fighting, several Ittallan trailing him, as he ran to the space covered by a large fabric canopy.

  *

  Isa trembled, watching the battle unfold from behind the safety of the dining room windows. She’d felt Lathri’s warmth before she’d seen her and had fled back into the palace.

  What would Lathri think if she saw her in the middle of the fighting? Working against her?

  What would Sapora think if he saw her working against him?

  Caught between two opposing sides, she’d retreated to the safety of the palace—but with one of the walls already coming down, she had no idea whether the palace really was safe.

  She considered getting to one of her small ships and flying away, but she had no idea where she would go to.

  Lathri and her Imperial Guard reinforcements seemed to have the upper hand. Six warships and a surprise attack, and Sapora’s Varkain were swiftly falling.

  If Lathri won, Isa would get what she wanted.

  Wouldn’t she?

  Behind her, all was chaos as servants and staff rushed around, bringing injured Cerastes inside and trying to repair the damage to the palace.

  She was about to help them out when a thunderous roar rooted her to the spot in fear.

  Even when the shadow of the Sevastos’ wings passed over the window, Isa could hardly believe the sheer size of the dragon rising into the air from the gardens. It dwarfed the biggest dragons she’d seen by a magnitude of ten—all horns, wings, and teeth.

  These creatures were considered gods for good reason.

  Others joined her at the window, their mouths hanging open, their tasks forgotten as Sapora’s Sevastos flapped its wings and shook the palace with its roar.

  When it opened its mouth and breathed a flame so bright and hot Isa could feel it through the window, she knew Lathri was done.

  There was nothing, nothing in all of Linaria, that could withstand such an enormous power.

  The next plume of flame burned brighter than the first, and it engulfed two of the airships still floating—as well as half a dozen streets and buildings from the city below.

  Did Sapora not care about the citizens?

  The Sevastos’ flame continued, unceasing, as it circled the palace, lighting up the streets below and turning everything to ash as it passed overhead.

  Isa swallowed.

  What had Sapora done?

  What was left of the airships plummeted. They crashed into the city, the shockwave shattering the windows she peered through. It gave her a clear view of the thick smoke rising from Taban Yul as the Sevastos still continued to breathe flame.

  It disappeared to the other side of the palace, but Isa still heard, still felt, the intense heat it radiated with its attack. She looked down into the gardens and her heart sank.

  All the snow had melted, vaporised instantaneously in the wake of the Sevastos’ rise.

  What remained was blackened, ashen earth, and the charred remains of Lathri’s followers who had not escaped in time.

  Sapora, Tacio, Roke, and the other Cerastes and Varkain stood atop the palace towers or wall, watching as the Sevastos circled the palace over and over, cutting it off from the rest of the city in a wall of flame.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Night had fallen by the time Amarah and Kohl reached Tum Metsa.

  It had started snowing as the last of the sun’s light disappeared, and she was grateful for her thick Arillian furs by the point they reached the outskirts. Had it not been for the Arillian’s help in Oren, she was sure she’d have frozen. It wasn’t as if she could carry her portable fire while they crossed the ice fields.

  Thankfully, they didn’t need to go too far into town—not that many people would be outside in the night in the middle of winter anyway—but it was always good to not attract unwanted attention if you could help it.

  Attention always led to questions, and she didn’t really have a cause to be here.

  She hoped to connect with an old colleague who didn’t actually live there—wasn’t even from Val Sharis—and so far north and remote, the Ittallan here weren’t the friendliest of people.

  Better to avoid them, if she could

  Especially while travelling with Kohl.

  After Aciel’s war, and if Jato had passed by, she doubted Arillians would be looked upon favourably.

  Of course, Kohl had spent many years in exile and was used to covering his wings with his cloak. Only the remarkable colour of his eyes gave him away as an Arillian.

  In Corhaven, most people would probably assume he was an Ittallan, but here, in Val Sharis, he didn’t have the same luxury.

  Tum Metsa was a small settlement, even by her standards. Always covered in snow, the northern-most city in Val Sharis—perhaps even the world— could hardly be called a “town”.

  Traego used Tum Metsa to stash excess treasures, mostly. Or, sometimes he’d come all the way out here to hide and wait for the Imperial Guard to lose his trail.

  It made sense.

  Tum Metsa certainly wasn’t the best location for a sky pirate’s permanent base. But it had its uses.

  Several outbuildings sat in the snow on the farthest reaches of Tum Metsa—mostly for food storage, as Amarah had learned in her youth—and most were sealed to lessen the chance of scavenging animals breaking in and helping themselves.

  One building—it had to have been a barn at one point, she remembered—lay off to the side, hidden from view. Except to her.

  It was harder still to spot it in the dark, but the tell-tale haze, almost a light mist, floating above the snow gave away the Shroud.

  Her own personal inn, invisible to the eye.

  Unless you knew it was there, of course, or could recognise a Samolen Shroud.

  She enjoy
ed watching Kohl’s confusion as she strolled towards it. Amarah exhaled, her breath forming in front of her, as she bent to slip underneath the Shroud as though it were a blanket, and she’d squeezed through a small gap underneath it.

  She turned back to Kohl and held it open for him.

  ‘Come on. Quickly.’

  He hurried to catch up, crouching underneath as he passed through and then they were both as invisible as the barn.

  *

  Dust covered everything.

  Amarah supposed sky pirate stashes weren’t ever meant to keep things clean—they were meant to keep them safe. She wondered whether Traego actually had anything of value here, or if it was as barren as the rest of the far north.

  ‘So…remind me again how this…friend of yours…ally…’ Kohl began.

  ‘Traego,’ she said, clearing the floor of boxes, broken furniture, and ripped tapestries.

  ‘…Traego can help?’

  Amarah focussed on her task more than Kohl’s question, but the Arillian patiently waited for her to answer. ‘We ran a crew together for a few years. One of my first…acquaintances…when I came to Corhaven.’ She shrugged, remembering. ‘We struck up an accord. He took me on the ship he worked on and the rest is history.’

  Though those times had been hard, perhaps her hardest after running away from home, Amarah always had fond memories of them.

  She and Traego thought very similarly, and she’d always respected his opinion and judgement.

  What a wake-up call that had been.

  Five years, it had been since she’d last seen him.

  ‘If he’s from Corhaven, why would he be here?’ Kohl helped her carry a broken wooden table top and rested it against the wall of the barn. ‘I know you all have airships, but I didn’t realise you crossed continents.’

  Amarah thumbed through a handful of old ledgers. The parchment had yellowed over the years and the black ink had faded to silver-grey. She could still make out a few numbers and scrawled text underneath it. She had no idea what it meant, but she supposed it could be important.

  She dropped them in a stack on top of a barrel near the door and strolled back to the centre of the room to clear more space. ‘Not as many pirates in Val Sharis. Better pickings. Imperial presence is stronger here, I guess, but Traeg’s a sly one. I’m sure he’s doin’ just fine out here.’ If anyone could keep the Guard off their tail for so long, it would be Traego.