by L. L. McNeil
The roar of the dragon shook the cave, her primal bellow a fearsome sound, made more terrifying by the sudden flames she released from her gaping jaws—straight through the cave mouth and into the blizzard outside. The dull scales on her back shifted immediately to bright, vivid coppery-green, her horns thickened and turned black from the dirty grey they had been, and her eyes; before a pale yellow, were now the brightest of gold, flecked with red and chips of silver, burning brightest of all. The scar on her chest was pronounced, and glowed bright orange, but her strength had been fully restored.
‘Samolen, I am in your debt.’ She hissed, once the intensity of the fire had passed.
Topeko returned to the floor, too exhausted to stand any longer. ‘No, not me… Moroda. She is the one who thought of the solution. Aciel… the bulk of his power will have now left him. No matter how many dragons he has killed, it would never compare to that of an elder such as you.’
The dragon growled, a low rumble which Moroda felt in her bones. She dropped to her knees again and lowered her head.
‘I thank you…Moroda.’ The dragon spoke, closing her eyes to Moroda’s bow. ‘Arillian. Lower your blizzard. I wish to fly.’
‘The battle is not yet over.’ Topeko said, his voice croaky between breaths. ‘Aciel will be furious. He has many followers now, removing his power will have done little to change that. This has been a damaging blow, yes, but to secure victory, we need a Sevastos. Please help us.’
The dragon, who had been making for the cave entrance, stopped. ‘They would be most unwilling to give their lives to help those who have brought nothing but destruction to Linaria.’
‘The Samolen have always stayed out of war. We used the original Sevastos stones for healing and restoration only.’ Topeko replied.
The dragon swayed slightly. ‘Yet here you are. Acting in war.’
‘Please, Archon.’ Moroda used Topeko’s earlier honorific. ‘Returning your power was the first step. Won’t you help us save Linaria from Aciel? We have crossed the world looking for you.’
‘The Samolen have indeed been guardians. But the combined strength of the dragons Aciel and others of this world have killed may be stronger even than the power of a Sevastos.’
Moroda did not let the warning faze her. She had lost too much, worked too hard, to give up now. ‘We have no time to lose. Aciel will be looking for a Sevastos, and once he finds one, he’ll stop at nothing to take the stone. If he was able to trick you, he could trick a Sevastos! We must find one first! I ask this of you.’
Smoke continued to pour from the elder’s nostrils as she considered Moroda’s words. ‘You do not bargain with your gods, Moroda. All dragons are linked. We know when hatchlings emerge from their eggs and when others die. We feel nothing but pain from the deaths of dragons slaughtered in pursuit of power… the Sevastos will not be so easily found. Many of our number are already turning on towns and cities in revenge.’
‘This destruction isn’t needed! It’s Aciel who needs to be stopped! Then peace can return!’ Moroda cried.
‘Beware of any dragon you see, for they may already be on the attack. But there are three Sevastos still living—the red, the gold, and the white. Sevastos are wanderers, they do not keep territories as we lesser dragons do. I fear the time of dragons, deities of Linaria, is coming to an end.’
‘That they still live is something.’ Amarah said, shouldering her scythe and putting her other hand on her hip. ‘But how are we supposed to find one?’
The elder ruffled her folded wings in irritation. ‘That, I cannot help you with.’
‘After everything we did for you and you can’t tell us where one is?’ Amarah said. ‘Seems a crappy deal. We saved your life and you’re not going to help us?’
The dragon snorted, steam rising from her nostrils. ‘They are far greater in size than any dragon you have seen. They rival the size of your giant airships, and have four wings, to better soar the skies. But I cannot tell you anymore. My power is returned, and I must see to clearing the skies of Aciel’s filth.’ Saying no more, the dragon exited the cave in one, swift leap, extended her wings and was lost to the sky.
‘Archon! Wait!’ Topeko called, his voice hoarse, but his words fell on deaf ears.
Moroda followed him out of the cave and stood by the entrance. The snow was deep all around them from Kohl’s blizzard, but the skies were clear and the morning was bright. ‘All that… everything… for nothing?’
‘Always agree the terms of the deal before you do any work.’ Amarah said, folding her arms. ‘Of course I’ve never done a deal with a dragon. Guess if they don’t like you they can just bite your head off.’
‘Topeko… What… do we do now?’ Morgen asked, turning to the scholar.
‘Go back to the palace and take matters into our own hands. At least Aciel is weakened. Might be closer to a fair fight now, if he challenges the city?’ Amarah said.
‘The dragon… She…’ Moroda whimpered.
‘She is starved. She is wounded, pride and body.’ Kohl said. ‘She has been beaten to an inch of her life and left to rot in a cave on a mountainside. I am not surprised she left.’
‘Another trick.’ Palom snapped, glaring at the Arillian. ‘We have the same goal of defeating Aciel. This is a strong blow, one we’d not have been able to make without her.’ ‘So what’re we going to do?’ Morgen repeated. ‘We could wait for her to return?’ Kohl suggested.
Moroda sat down in the thick snow, legs stretched out in front of her. ‘I can’t face walking back down the mountain just yet. Let’s wait.’
Amarah crouched down beside her, stomach growling. ‘Make sure you don’t let Palom kill Kohl while I’m gone. There’s food on Khanna. I’ll see if I can rustle up some breakfast.’
Moroda nodded, amazed Amarah’s unique sense of humour never faltered despite their circumstances. Morgen sat beside her again, though Topeko and Kohl lingered in the mouth of the cave.
She watched as Palom stalked off to the side and stood on a large rock protruding from the snow. His anger seemed to have receded a little through the night, but she knew it simmered just beneath the surface. She wasn’t quite sure what she could do to stop him if he chose to attack Kohl, but hoped he would remain still until they could set off again.
Moroda didn’t know how long they’d have to wait, but she was prepared for as long as it took. She looked up into the bright morning sky and exhaled slowly. ‘I miss you so much, Ryn. If only you were here with us, you’d know what to do.’ She sobbed quietly as overhead, lesser dragons circled.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sereth was much as Sapora recalled, though the Varkain in its capital, Timin Rah, had not grown quite as lax here as they had for Isa in Taban Yul. Still having a ruler probably had something to do with it, he supposed. Timin Rah was a city in the loosest sense of the term; a cluster of caves and tunnels deep below the surface of Linaria, unmarked on the land and hidden from the world.
Sapora had not been born in the bowels of the ground like his Varkain brethren. No, he’d been born in the luxury of the palace in Taban Yul, surrounded by Ittallan, like his mother. The two races did not always see eye to eye, and mixed bloods were not unheard of, but it had always been seen as a weakness in him.
He strode calmly through the tunnels as around him, Varkain shuffled and leapt out of the way, and others stalked him from several paces back. He knew they would not harm him, not immediately on his return, but he would have to prove his worth before the day was up.
Closing his eyes, Sapora smiled. Day and night merged into one in the depths of the tunnels. It was one thing he did not miss about Sereth. The everlasting darkness and murkiness. While many tunnels were wide and well ventilated, it did not detract from the loss of time or claustrophobia that set in after several hours.
Most of Sereth was underground, a labyrinth of tunnels stretching many leagues into the depths of Linaria. They would cluster together near places of interest—a forest, a river,
or near natural ore. Torches were fixed to brackets in the wall down the wider tunnels, but many remained in darkness, however they were all, for the most part, fastidiously clean.
The cities of Sereth were little more than a maze of intertwining tunnels connecting one town to the next. Shielded from the worst of war and weather, the Varkain thrived underground; though it took some getting used to. Sapora had never felt more at home than in the wide, smooth tunnels of Timin Rah, and felt he had been away from his people for too long.
Timin Rah was the largest settlement, and had adopted the moniker of capital city, though there were no buildings as such, although gateways and passageways had been built to distinguish permitted areas. Various caves and dens had been dug into the earth and rock, and different areas were used for different activities, but to the untrained eye, it all looked much the same.
As Sapora clambered up a particularly steep slope, he remembered struggling as a child. Everything seemed the same, and it was only after almost a full year that he was able to learn his way around. Being confident enough to wander through the tunnels unescorted was something he’d wanted to learn as quickly as possible, though it meant getting lost for hours, sometimes days, at a time.
He reached the crest of the slope and halted, looking at the expansive hall before him. Perhaps two dozen Varkain milled around, some carrying cloth bags full of food or weapons, Cerastes—guards—standing watch by the edge of the cave. One spotted Sapora as he appeared, and immediately headed for him, the metal on his shoulders gleaming in the torchlight.
‘My liege.’ The Cerastes dropped to one knee in front of Sapora. ‘We have long awaited your return.’
‘Take me to the king and queen at once. I have urgent matters to discuss.’
‘Of course.’ The Cerastes replied, rising once again. ‘Clear a path at once, prepare food and drink. Prince Sapora returns immediately.’
Sapora followed the Cerastes along the winding tunnel, pleased with the quickened pace. It had been so long since he had been among his own kind, and he studied the Cerastes carefully. They were second only to the Naja in strength, and served as the guards for not only the ruling family, but all Varkain. They rarely left Sereth, and ensured no enemy ever reached the people of his country. He saw the longsword sheathed at his hip and smirked. They were all armed, but a bite from any Cerastes would lead to death faster than one of his own.
Here, his kind was home. On the surface, they were looked upon with disdain, disgust, and even fear. Sapora had come to relish the fear—the terror he held over most people of Linaria. What other way was he to react to being excluded and shunned?
Almost two years had passed since he had last been in Sereth, and had he been a pure Varkain, he would have stepped into power without question. But like many on the Ittallan Council, there were those here who thought his mixed blood would weaken his senses or physical prowess, and his errantry had been set to prove himself to all doubters. He knew his greatest test was yet to come, however. Though his father still lived, if he passed the final test, he would assume power now he was twenty-one.
He had abhorred the idea at first. He was the blood of the Varkain and could transform, why did he have to prove himself further? However, as he had traversed Linaria, he began to realise there was power to be learned from others, and the journey had strengthened him. Yes, it was a great pressure, and many believed he would be an unfit ruler if he returned early or was killed on his travels, but his eyes and mind had been opened. Having experienced Aciel’s wrath, he knew what had to be done to ensure the survival of the Varkain, and have them benefit from the Arillian’s treachery against Linaria.
‘How is Vasil?’ Sapora asked as they pushed deeper into the city.
‘Your father is well. With things as they were, they were considering having Tacio crowned!’
Sapora snorted in response. ‘I’d have killed him the moment I returned, had he done so.’
‘Well you are your father’s son.’
Sapora didn’t respond to that—he wasn’t sure whether it was a compliment or an insult—and remained quiet until they arrived at his father’s keep. It was on top of a huge cliff that jutted out from the side of the cavern, resting above a deep lake. The water was still and cloudy, suitable for bathing and little else, but it was the most spacious part of Timin Rah, and Vasil had claimed it as his own keep many years ago.
To the side of the cliff, several paces from the water, the ground fell away sharply. Sapora glanced towards it, but the scent of blood and sweat distinguished it from any other part of the city. It was the scent of home, and further confirmed what action Sapora needed to take. It also reminded him of what he had to face.
The Varkain had long ago done away with formalities. Your standing was based on merit, which was strength, more than blood or birthright. Anyone could approach their king if they wished, and the Cerastes left Sapora to wait while he informed Vasil of his son’s arrival. Sapora shifted his weight and folded his arms as he waited, and he could sense excitement all around him as the crowd grew. He could feel eyes peering out at him from the edges of the cave, or just hiding behind the corner of a tunnel. He had been trailed since he first arrived, and now he was in full view before their king, the entire country would be aware of his return within a few hours.
‘Sapora, Sapora, Sapora. Where oh where have you been?’
Sapora looked up at the drawling voice, narrowing his eyes when he recognised the speaker.
‘Come to take the Jade Crown, have you? It was so close to being mine!’ The Varkain sauntered down the sloped cliff, hands in his pockets. He wore silver necklaces draped long and loose around his neck, which clinked together with every step, and a black, perfectly tailored overcoat embellished with silver buttons. 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, contrasting his dark, reddish hair.
Sapora eyed Tacio, blinking slowly as he approached, but made no move to greet him. ‘My timing was impeccable then. Where is Vasil?’
‘Here.’
Sapora and Tacio dropped to their knees at their father’s voice. Sapora held his position for several long seconds, before looking up. The Cerastes who had brought him here now led his father down the slope. He was not old, by any means, only in his late forties, but his black hair was thinning and had receded, giving way to grey. He wore a circlet of gold, adorned with jade stones carved straight from the ground, the only outward sign of his wealth. Behind him, Savra strode. She was tall, younger than his father, with the same red hair and graceful, arrogant walk as Tacio.
‘Isn’t this a wonderful family reunion?’ Tacio smirked, flicking at one tooth with his tongue. ‘Snows started a few days ago. We were only going to give you another day or two.’
‘You doubted me?’ Sapora asked.
‘Heard you were captured in Rosecastle. Thought you were killed when the mad dragon burned Niversai.’
Sapora blinked.
‘Is this true? You were captured?’ Vasil asked, bearing down on Sapora with his larger frame.
‘What of it?’
‘A little foolish, don’t you think? They are quick to execute our kind in Corhaven.’ Savra sneered.
‘Insulting, too. You didn’t tell them who you were?’ Tacio asked.
‘It wasn’t necessary.’
‘We can’t get involved while you’re on errantry.’ Tacio said, removing a clawed hand from his pocket and picking at a piece of dirt on his thumb. ‘We wouldn’t have been able to come help if they’d done anything to you.’
I don’t need your help. Never have.’ Sapora narrowed his eyes and took a step back, increasingly aware of the crowd of Varkain that gathered by the waterfront. ‘What do you know of Aciel?’
‘The Arillians have been seen patrolling our borders, no doubt looking to pick off those travelling alone.’ Vasil said.
His voice was cool and calm, belying the anger which bubbled below the surface.
‘But no direct attacks on the city?’
‘Correct. They are unable to breach Timin Rah.’
‘Good. I have news of what fuels Aciel’s power, and how we can respond to his show of strength. The Varkain will take advantage of this and we will emerge triumphant. I will not have us cower in our tunnels like rats cornered.’
‘You speak like you are a king already.’ Tacio laughed. ‘The pits have been waiting for you for a season now. You’ve not forgotten what you must do first?’
Sapora glared at his brother. ‘It will give me the greatest pleasure to slaughter them to keep you from power.’
‘Sapora. Mind yourself. Tacio has been in charge of the Cerastes. He is ready to step in should you fail.’ Savra said, ever defensive of her son.
‘You have such confidence in me.’ Sapora stepped forward, approaching the stench of the pit beside the water. ‘You’re prepared to cast me aside as your ruler for Tacio, and here I am, spoiling all your fun. I shall certainly put on a great show for you.’
‘Prince Sapora, a moment.’ The Cerastes stepped out from Vasil’s keep, holding a large stone mug, and hurried down the cliff to where they waited. ‘You are to be dry for this.’
‘Dry?’
‘We thought it’d be a better test of all you have learned while traipsing across Linaria.’ Tacio grinned, one hand on his hip.
Sapora exhaled through his nose, his pride stung again. But there was a crowd gathered, and he could not, would not, lose face in front of his father. ‘Very well.’
The Cerastes handed Sapora the mug, and he turned to face Vasil, Savra, and Tacio. Sapora continued to ignore the dozens of expectant faces and licked his fangs. He extended his front four and raised the mug to their tips. Pressing down, he filled it with his venom. ‘Not a warm welcome, but I did not expect anything else. Have any other rules changed in my absence?’