by L. L. McNeil
‘You are kind, but I am meeting a friend in Tum Metsa. I need to be there soon.’
‘Lucky friend,’ another Ittallan said, as the old woman led Palom and a growing crowd through the town.
‘After everything that happened in Taban Yul.’ Another voice muttered.
‘I can’t believe there’s a Varkain in charge of things. Look what he’s doing! Burning half the city down.’
‘Burning Taban Yul?’ Palom asked, zoning in on a few words.
‘Yes. King Sapora unleashed a dragon on the city. He was attacked, and he retaliated.’
‘Who attacked him?’ Palom’s legs trembled.
No, Lathri.
It couldn’t be her.
She wouldn’t be silly enough to charge the palace…would she?
‘No-one knows. Sapora arrested everyone he didn’t kill. I’m sure we’ll get another runner with an update soon.’
He needed to get back down to Taban Yul.
Or was he being paranoid again?
Lathri wouldn’t be the only person in Taban Yul who didn’t agree with Sapora’s rule, and her group of allies wouldn’t be the only ones who could attack him…?
His stomach churned as he wavered between dropping everything to race back to Taban Yul or pressing on now that he was only a couple of days from Tum Metsa.
Leillu spread its wings as it yawned, then snuggled into his shoulder, wrapping its tail around his neck.
He couldn’t give in to paranoia.
Lathri might not be in any trouble at all, and he’d have wasted time by travelling back to the capital.
On the other hand, if she did need help and he was at the northern-most town in Val Sharis, he’d never forgive himself.
He supposed Lathri had Voulhrik, Aetos, and Kylos around her. She’d probably have grown her ranks since he’d left the city, too.
She’d wanted him to stand by her, but she hadn’t wanted his help. She never had, even when they were young.
Palom sniffed. He’d already made his decision, really.
He simply needed to talk himself into it.
Palom gently scratched the top of Leillu’s head as he looked out onto the vast ice fields. Only ice and trees separated Gal Etra with Tum Metsa.
Fields and fields of nothing.
And yet…on the horizon, in Tum Metsa, his old friends waited.
Amarah.
And Kohl—though Palom wasn’t sure how he felt towards the Arillian now.
‘Leillu, it is long way to travel. I hope you are ready for this journey.’
The residents of Gal Etra saw him off, everyone jostling with each other for a chance to watch Palom pass through.
He was grateful for their kindness and hospitality, and if he’d not been pressed for time, Palom would have gladly stayed in their town for a few days.
But he had to get to Amarah.
And he hoped he was making the right decision.
With a sniff, Palom tapped into his meraki and transformed.
It felt easier than it had been, like slipping on a favourite pair of boots.
He couldn’t explain it—had the Valta Forinja been holding him back so much for so long?
He’d been a fool, if it had, and wished he’d listened to Lathri sooner.
Palom shivered as the wind caught his fur. Leillu clutched on as always, and he looked back to Gal Etra, amazed at how many people had come out into the freezing cold to watch him.
For all his power and strength, he’d been blind to the darkness that had gripped him.
It still gripped him—there was no way to shake a shadow that big—but at least he knew it was there.
At least he’d stopped feeding it.
Getting rid of the sword was something he should have done weeks ago. If he’d been stronger—mentally stronger—he may not have been so dependent on it.
But he’d been caught up in everything.
Too afraid of failure.
Too wrapped up in grief and loss and pain.
He charged through the trees, powered on by an inner strength he’d forgotten he had.
During the fight with Mateli, he’d tapped into the edges of it—driven on by raw emotion—but this was not some surge of energy that would fade with adrenaline.
Palom felt alive in a way he could hardly remember. Since before the death of his brother, he supposed. Two decades of grief and guilt carried around in his chest.
His paws careened him across the snow faster than ever before. Perhaps even faster than Anahrik could have flown.
He’d failed Anahrik in life. Palom wouldn’t fail him in death. He’d live the life he was supposed to, driven by his own ambitions and desires, not out of a fear of failure.
Of not being good enough.
He kicked up snow, the trees a blur on either side as he ran between them. He focussed on the small pinpricks of pain as Leillu’s claws dug in.
Wolves hunted here, it seemed. The air was thick with their scent, and he didn’t want to encounter any while he hurried to Tum Metsa. When they appeared in the trees ahead, he darted off to the side, and gave them a wide berth.
Palom came to a stop in a particularly thick clump of trees, crouching down as he caught his breath and waited for them to pass.
The biggest led them in a straight line, occasionally putting his muzzle to the ground, the others yapping at one another.
Wondering how far he was from Tum Metsa, Palom glanced around for a way sign, but found nothing.
He spotted an old bronze sign nailed into a tree, which read: Karekis.
Some old Ittallan, perhaps?
The woods were full of loners and nomads who lived in the trees and rarely ventured out. To think he’d been close to living that lifestyle, too.
Once he was sure the wolves had gone, Palom continued on, though at not such a break-neck speed. He had to conserve some energy after all.
A large warship flew overhead, and Palom glanced up to watch as it passed. It reminded him of Amarah, and their travels with Moroda and the others. The memories were positive, his heart light as he remembered their journey together.
The friendship that had developed.
He would help Amarah bring Moroda back.
Leillu chirped and shifted its grip.
If Palom could smile, he would have. He didn’t have to be afraid anymore—he wasn’t alone.
End
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I hope to publish book three in the series, Amarah, in 2019, which continues the story as the sky pirate joins old allies in Linaria’s greatest treasure hunt. There’s plenty of magic, legends, and of course—dragons!
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