Hunt for Valamon

by Mok, DK

  “Elhan makes her own choices now,” said Seris.

  Two pairs of footsteps padded into the garden, and Elhan emerged from the temple, dragging a tall, lean soldier by the arm. He was deathly pale, with gaunt cheeks and dull eyes that had once been the colour of oceans under summer skies. He was dressed in the dark armour of Haska’s guard, and he looked as though he were waiting to be buried.

  “He looks pretty bad,” said Elhan uncertainly. “Morle?”

  Morle rushed to the soldier’s side, turning his cadaverous face towards the light. The soldier pushed her hands away, not entirely unkindly.

  “I’m fine,” said the soldier hollowly. “Lieutenant Liadres, here to deliver a message.”

  Morle looked unconvinced, pressing her fingers to the side of his neck with concern. Liadres ignored her.

  Haska had been doing her best to get Liadres out of the castle and into the fresh air since Amoriel’s abrupt and mysterious departure. To say Liadres had been crushed would be an understatement. Haska had scraped beetles from under her boot that had been in better shape emotionally than Liadres. He’d taken to doodling chalk circles on the walls, and Haska didn’t want to have to put him down. Valamon had asked her what she meant when she said this, and her soldiers had just shaken their heads.

  Running messages wasn’t the best use of Liadres’ skills, but it distracted his body, if not his mind.

  “Lord Haska will be overseeing the handover of Gavir to civilian rule next month,” said Liadres, his voice completely devoid of cadence. “Would Elhan, Acolyte of Eliantora, care to join the…”

  Liadres’ voice faded, and both Seris and Morle had the sudden fear that he’d died mid-sentence. Morle actually started to reach out to catch him before they noticed him staring at Olrios. Liadres’ face changed, as though flushing with life before their eyes, his eyes suffusing with a brilliant blue.

  “Lord Olrios…” whispered Liadres.

  Olrios tensed, as though preparing to flee.

  “Lady Amoriel showed me an image of you from the days before the binding,” said Liadres breathlessly.

  “You know Amoriel?” said Olrios, traces of fear and awe in his voice.

  Liadres’ eyes burned like a votive fire.

  “I was most blessed to have been in the presence of her magnificence during her all-too-brief sojourn with us,” said Liadres. “It was my greatest privilege to have assisted her with her great works.”

  Olrios studied Liadres with fascination and unease.

  “You were the one who drew the amplification runes?”

  Liadres looked as though he were about to burst like an overloaded sack of sweets, and Morle quickly grabbed his arm, dragging him back towards the temple.

  “Your pulse is elevated,” said Morle. “You can continue this conversation later.”

  Liadres probably would have resisted, except that he was on the verge of passing out from happiness.

  “We need a sorcerer at the castle!” called Liadres as he disappeared into the temple. “Algaris has no sorcerer…!”

  Olrios cleared his throat as Liadres’ voice faded.

  “That was a little disturbing,” said Olrios.

  “So, are you going to stay around the capital?” said Elhan, carefully disinterested.

  Olrios glanced at Seris, then turned to Elhan.

  “Would you like me to?”

  Elhan stared at the grass, watching a lizard crawl through the maze of blades.

  “You made it so I could be saved, didn’t you?” said Elhan quietly. “You found me and gave me a choice. Why?”

  Distant, painful memories seemed to stir in Olrios for a moment, then quickly faded.

  “It was the right thing to do?” said Olrios with a wry smile, as though not sure it was a very good reason.

  Elhan returned the smile faintly.

  “Stay, if you want.”

  Olrios nodded, and it seemed as though he were finally seeing the grown woman he’d only glimpsed in the child, in that burning house so many years ago.

  “I suppose I should drop by the castle and…make my existence known,” said Olrios. “I hope Delmar’s sons are more amenable to sorcerers than the late king. I don’t think we parted on good terms, but I can’t quite recall.”

  Olrios disappeared into the temple, and the garden returned to sunny silence.

  “I didn’t want you to think that I was still special, when you weren’t…” said Elhan eventually.

  Seris put an affectionate arm around Elhan’s shoulders.

  “It doesn’t matter whether or not someone’s special,” said Seris.

  “Because everyone matters?” piped Elhan.

  Seris grinned.

  “Because everyone matters.”

  Seris turned over the muddy potato in his hand.

  “Come on and let’s cook this potato,” said Seris.

  Somewhere on the rising hills overlooking Algaris, two figures watched the distant bustle of a city being rebuilt. Behind them, rolling green hills lay fold after fold, wisped in low-hanging clouds.

  “I told you what Haska said she wanted wasn’t what she really wanted,” said Amoriel.

  “Funny how often that turns out to be the case,” said Barrat mildly.

  Amoriel’s gaze hardened a fraction, the passing clouds sweeping shadows across the fields. She stared at the shattered tower of Algaris Keep, and slowly, her fists uncurled.

  “The Talgaran Empire has fallen. The Old Kin rest easier.”

  Her gaze shifted towards another quarter of the city—from here, just a jumble of clay specks, but someone with a spyglass might have seen a modest temple and a pair of clerics with a potato.

  Amoriel didn’t smile, but her gaze took on a gentler light. Her dear kindred would not return, but perhaps one brash, irrepressible seed would take firmer root than ten thousand withered cuttings. The forest she knew was gone, but perhaps a new one would arise in time. And Amoriel was patient.

  “You really should know better than to bet against me by now,” she said, stretching her shoulders. “You owe me another year of allegiance.”

  “How many lifetimes is it now?” said Barrat indifferently.

  “Not getting tired, are you?”

  Barrat snorted, and they watched the distant city for a while.

  “What takes My Lady’s interest today?” said Barrat.

  Amoriel drew her cloak around her.

  “There’s no shortage of people craving their heart’s desire. Let’s see if you can prove me wrong one of these days. Sometimes, I almost wonder if you bet poorly on purpose.”

  “My Lady.” Barrat offered his arm.

  “My Lord.” Amoriel rested her hand in the crook.

  And the world moved on.

  END

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Every book is a different creature, a different journey, a different part of my life, and Hunt for Valamon is a story I’ve dearly wanted to write for a very long time. My gratitude goes to my publisher, Spence City, for welcoming my epic fantasy novel with as much warmth and encouragement as they did my urban fantasy novel, The Other Tree.

  Special thanks go to my editor, Vikki Ciaffone, for her editorial expertise, her enthusiastic support, and her commitment to making this book the best it could be. The world is more awesome for having her in it.

  My gratitude also goes to copy-editors Richard Shealy, Owen Dean and Rich Storrs, for their hard work, keen eyesight, and knowledge of velocity-on-impact research. Thanks also to the multitalented Errick A. Nunnally for designing the cover art, and for showing such patience and inclusiveness throughout the process.

  I’d also like to thank Spence City publicist Kelly Hager, all-round champion Jennifer Allis Provost, and Spencer Hill Press founder, Kate Kaynak, for believing in this novel.

  Thanks also go to my talented friends at Thorbys for all their support, and to my friends at Room 332 for their advice regarding the jacket copy, especially Bill Canning, Lisa Foley, Mitchell Hogan,
Jon Marcos, Daniel Miles and Peter Murlis.

  As always, I would like to thank my parents for their unwavering support, and my sisters, Anne and Cecilia, for making everything possible. They are a constant source of inspiration, wisdom, and endless cups of tea.

  Finally, my heartfelt thanks to all the readers who have welcomed my strange characters and their stranger adventures. Thank you for your company along this marvellous road.

  COLOPHON

  This novel is typeset in Adobe Caslon Pro. Caslon is widely considered to be the first original typeface of English origin. The font shares a number of characteristics with Ducth Baroque typefaces including, but not limited to, short ascenders and descenders, high contrast, and a moderate stroke. The version you’re reading now was designed by Carol Twombly using specimens from William Caslon’s original pages printed from 1734 and 1770. Released in 1990, Caslon Pro includes ordinals, fractions, and covers Central European languages. It is best known in the market as the official typeface of The New Yorker.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  DK Mok lives in Sydney, Australia, and writes fantasy and science fiction novels and short stories. She is the author of an urban fantasy novel, The Other Tree, and her short story “Morning Star” (One Small Step: An Anthology of Discoveries) was shortlisted for an Aurealis Award.

  DK grew up in libraries, immersed in lost cities and fantastic worlds populated by quirky bandits and giant squid. She graduated from UNSW with a degree in Psychology, pursuing her interest in both social justice and scientist humour.

  She’s fond of cephalopods, androids, global politics, rugged horizons, science and technology podcasts, and she wishes someone would build a labyrinthine library garden so she could hang out there. Her favourite fossil deposit is the Burgess Shale.

  Website: www.dkmok.com

  If you’d like to be notified whenever DK has a new novel out, you can sign up to the New Release Mailing List: dkmok.com/Contact.html