by L. L. McNeil
‘Embarrassment is nothing to you is it?’ Tacio folded his arms. ‘And we were just talking about you Ittallan.’
Isa looked up, paused in her grooming. ‘Us Ittallan?’
‘You know what he means,’ Sapora interjected. ‘Don’t be petty.’
‘Don’t be petty? Really?’ She stood up and flicked her hair out of her eyes, strands of straw still poking out from various places. ‘Starting to think you two are no different to the old council, you know. You made so many promises, Sapora. I don’t see you acting on any of them.’
‘I need time,’ Sapora replied.
Isa scowled.
He continued, ‘Nothing happens overnight, even the best plans must have time to get off the ground. The wheels are in motion, I assure you.’
‘This is beyond you, Isa,’ Tacio added, still glowering at her appearance. ‘If you bothered to clean up and be presentable, we could invite you to some of the new council’s meetings.’
Isa narrowed her eyes. ‘Well I’ll let you two snakes carry on planning those meetings, then. Don’t let an Ittallan like me slow you down.’ Her scowl showed playfulness, but Sapora heard her heart pick up.
Adrenaline.
Anger.
‘I came to tell you that more Ittallan in Taban Yul’s southern districts have gone mad, babbling to themselves and behaving strangely. The rest of the city is blaming you, Sapora. I’m sure you can just execute them as well, when they come to the palace with pitchforks.’ She whirled around and marched across the room, glancing over her shoulder briefly before leaving through the actual door.
Sapora glared at Tacio and his careless words, their stark differences plain enough. Tacio, Isa, and he shared the same father, but the influences of their different mothers were strong enough to result in the feud between the three.
It was only because Sapora was the eldest that he held the most power.
‘All right, Tacio. Get some of your best Varkain together, ones you trust. I’ll give you a couple of new locations. Let’s see if you and your snakes are any better than the raven’s Ittallan.’ He pointed to a new location on the map, a huge swathe of trees that ran along the spine of the Feor Mountains on the country’s eastern border. ‘I’ll give your Varkain some crowns if they’re successful.’
Tacio raised an eyebrow. ‘What do I get?’
Sapora clicked his tongue. ‘I’ll owe you a favour.’
Chapter Six
By the time they reached the outskirts of the Rio Neva forest, Palom had half a mind to leave Jek and his damned cart in the trees.
The man was not unpleasant—he had plenty of knowledge about what Taban Yul had been like during the height of Aciel’s war, and he made an excellent fish broth—full of herbs and smoky garlic—but he talked, and talked, and talked, and Palom’s patience dwindled a little more every time he opened his mouth.
They trundled along the main trade road as it wound its way through the trees, following the river’s twists and turns on its course from the Feor Mountains.
With every step, though, a growing sense of apprehension gnawed at Palom. His Valta Forinja pulsed periodically, making him check over his shoulder to ensure they weren’t being tailed by some forest monster.
As a boy growing up in these trees, tales of creatures lurking behind every trunk had been at the heart of many adventure stories he and his friends acted out. They’d save each other from overgrown roots and fight off imaginary foes that kept to the shadows, all under the eye of his older brother, who’d kept watch over them.
There had never really been anything there, of course. Plenty of wildlife made Rio Neva their home, from deer to boar to badgers, many of which influenced the meraki of the Ittallan in Feoras Sol, but certainly no monsters.
He’d happily stroll through the forest alone, unarmed, and never worry or fear anything in the trees. Never consider anything that lived here could threaten him.
But now, travelling with Jek, and a Valta Forinja under his control, the unease grew more than he ever would have predicted.
Palom dismissed the feelings as paranoia.
He glanced skywards now and then and looked back the way they’d come more times than he’d like to admit. The gleaming, white marble city of Taban Yul and its palace had filled the horizon until they reached the trees.
He’d hoped to see a white owl floating on the wind.
Perhaps she might have changed her mind.
He sighed.
Of course, Lathri would not be following him.
Palom hoped Sapora’s guards were good at their jobs and Lathri wouldn’t get anywhere near the king. The others, he didn’t care about. If anything, their deaths might dissuade Lathri from the ridiculous idea of plotting against him.
Their sacrifice for the greater good.
He smiled at that, ignoring the morbidity of the thought.
He rolled his tongue over his teeth as Jek continued to talk about the quality materials from this part of the country.
Would he ever be quiet?
They rounded a bend in the road, and Palom suddenly recognised exactly where he was. This had been the end of where he’d been allowed to roam as a child—the edge of his village’s influence, as marked by a tall, wooden way sign that towered several feet above him.
Or, at least it had when he’d been ten years old.
Now he stood taller than it by almost a foot.
Returning to his hometown was the last thing he wanted to do, yet here he was, now on its border and getting closer by the minute.
The thought of stumbling into an old friend or family member made his legs tremble, so he’d spent a good chunk of their journey obsessing over what he might or might not say were they to encounter anyone, which drowned out Jek’s chatter for the most part.
Not that the older man seemed to mind talking at Palom instead of to him.
Palom suspected that Jek had spent such a large part of his life talking, that he reverted to making noise as a matter of course.
As night fell, the two of them set up camp several paces from the winding stone road. Its edges were overgrown with foliage and pine needles, and determined weeds pushed themselves through the gaps between the stone where it had cracked from lack of maintenance and use.
Other than a handful of inns, Feoras Sol was the only settlement of any size this far east: a mining town full of people who mostly kept to themselves. Few Ittallan had reason to travel this way, and the villagers of Sol rarely visited the capital.
It seemed things were much as Palom remembered, despite two decades passing since he’d last been anywhere close.
The backdrop of the Feor Mountains loomed through gaps in the evergreen canopy, and the skies remained a miserable, dull grey which threatened, then loosed, snow. They were a couple of hours’ travel from the Waterside inn—where Jek had asked for escort to—and for Palom, that time couldn’t come quickly enough.
A small fire sizzled by the cart, which Jek had parked between two trees. Palom sat with his back against one of them, his feet pointed towards the flame. He idly oiled his sword, the familiar hum of energy reassuring, while Jek boiled a pot of water for whatever supper he’d decided to throw together.
Palom always ensured his weapons were well-maintained, but oiling the Valta Forinja was now something he found himself doing to calm down whenever he became agitated—usually with Jek or the old cart. Twice one of the wheels had fallen off, and twice they’d been delayed nearly an hour as the old rat tried to reattach it.
He hadn’t seen his companion’s meraki, but he guessed Jek was some luckless creature that would no doubt be squashed in a heartbeat by anything with teeth.
Now, Jek was rabbiting on about how poor the winter had been for his trade—precious gems and jewellery. He would find the right coloured stones, carefully carve them into the appropriate shapes, and create the most ornate looking jewellery Palom had ever seen.
Jek only had a few rings with him. His plan seemed to be to obtai
n more stock of stones in the Feoras Sol and make it back to Taban Yul before the weather really turned.
‘So ye see, this Varkain girl, she was so picky. Nothing was right. The stone was tae blue, that one was nae blue enough. Another was nae big enough….’ Jek explained while chopping up a handful of carrots across a slab of slate he carried with him everywhere.
Palom closed his eyes, trying to focus on the crackle of the fire. He was sure if he wandered off, Jek would continue talking until he fell asleep, none the wiser.
His hands moved rhythmically over the blade, ensuring it kept its edge.
Ensuring there was no weakness.
A slight rustle whispered through the spitting flames. He opened his eyes and held his breath, holding himself as still as possible.
Jek continued.
The fire crackled.
The wind blew.
Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted. Lathri?
He narrowed his eyes and turned to Jek. ‘Sshh.’
‘In the end, ye see, her mother had tae be convinced that the green was actually much better. Brought out the colour in her eyes, ye know?’
The owl stopped hooting, and goose bumps rose on the skin of his arms.
The energy of his Valta Forinja prickled, rushing through him, begging to be picked up.
The wind stopped.
The fire continued to crackle, and Jek continued to talk.
‘Jek. Be quiet!’
The rustle was almost indiscernible over Jek’s breathing, but Palom knew the sound all too well. Someone, or something, stalking through the undergrowth.
His skin crawled, but this was not an enemy to wait out—this was one who struck fast.
Grasping his Valta Forinja, Palom swung it in a wide arc as he got to his feet. The power surged from the blade before he’d finished his swing. A slash of blue light cut into the trees on the other side of the road and took great gouges out of the thick bark.
A Varkain fell forward through the underbrush and onto the path, his startled cry turning into a gurgle of pain as he clutched his arm. Blood spewed from his sudden wound.
‘Trying to sneak up on Ittallan? Very foolish,’ Palom said, walking over to the fallen Varkain, who writhed around on the stone path, screaming as blood poured from the gash in his arm. ‘It is harsh lesson you have learned.’
The Varkain glared up at Palom, drawing his lips back in a hiss to reveal black gums and a double row of fangs. Sweat dripped from his forehead, and his clothes were so caked in soil that Palom couldn’t tell what colour they were.
Palom looked back to Jek to check he was okay, but two more Varkain leapt from the trees and pounced on his travelling companion.
He growled and raised his sword to them, it’s power taut, ready to be released.
The Varkain dug their claws into the old man’s shoulders and glared at Palom as Jek cried out. They hadn’t killed Jek immediately, as Palom would have expected.
He furrowed his brow.
Perhaps they weren’t their intended targets?
Varkain were known opportunists, especially when they travelled in a group, but this was too bold.
Attacking Palom—a battle-seasoned warrior who stood a hair below seven feet tall and almost as wide as three men—was a ridiculous notion even for the desperate.
‘Step aside, snakes,’ Palom said, squaring up and holding the tip of his sword above the throat of the injured Varkain. ‘I will kill your friend, otherwise.’
They hissed back and held their ground, showing no signs of surrender or retreat. They were also covered in dirt, though to a lesser extent than the injured one.
Mine robbers, he supposed.
Stupid Varkain.
‘If you do not move in three seconds, this one dies. You understand, yes?’
They remained motionless, the silence broken by Jek’s ragged breathing.
If they wanted to die, Palom would happily oblige. His sword would make short work of them, and three fewer Varkain would do Linaria plenty of good. ‘One. Two…’
The Varkain on the ground cried out as he attempted to transform and attack. Palom leapt out of striking range and brought his sword down in the same, swift movement.
The blade sliced clean through the Varkain’s skull, splitting it in two. Blood gushed onto the weapon and the pathway, but his focus was on the other Varkain.
Jek wasn’t paying him for nothing.
His Valta Forinja buzzed in his hand, and delight surged through him.
‘Now he is dead. Leave. Or you will die as well.’
He glanced at Jek, who nodded subtly. Palom tensed, seeing the nod, but unsure what it meant.
Jek transformed in a flash, shrank in size, and slipped out of the Varkain’s claws.
Palom wasted no time.
He lunged forward, pulling the sword up in a fast side slash, catching the closest Varkain on his arm and back. The blade bit deep—had Palom swung it with any more force, he would have cut through him entirely.
Wrenching his sword back, Palom stepped away from the blood pouring out of the collapsing Varkain, who twitched as he died, and raised it to the third and final assailant.
‘You leave. Now. Tell your allies not to bother with my friend and me. Or I will cut them in half, too.’ He smiled at the thought and licked his lips. His sword flashed blue, brightening the path for several seconds.
Too frightened or too shocked to say anything, the third Varkain turned tail and sprinted down the path towards Taban Yul, not even bothering to hiss at them.
Palom kept eyes on him for as long as he could, and when he disappeared into the trees, he finally relaxed, looking down at his blood-stained clothes and sword.
He hadn’t really thought getting into a fight would be a possibility and hadn’t prepared himself for the likelihood of one.
He huffed. He’d probably be back again with reinforcements, and he resigned himself to a sleepless night keeping watch. Just what he needed.
Paying no mind to the dead Varkain by the campfire, he strolled back to the tree he had sat beneath and opened his bag for a clean length of fabric with which to wipe the Valta Forinja, silent for now, momentarily sated.
Another rustle sounded behind him, and Palom whirled round, ready to fight off another attacker, but calmed when he saw a small racoon cowering underneath the cart.
It had a few flecks of blood in its fur but seemed otherwise unscathed.
‘Jek?’ Palom questioned, pleased the trader seemed to be unharmed. ‘These are dead. It’s safe.’
Jek poked his nose out from under the cart, whiskers twitching as he sniffed the air. Palom sat down with his sword and began to wipe it, content to give Jek as much time and space as he needed to recover from the shock of the ambush.
‘I am not sleeping tonight. You rest. I will guard.’ He hoped that would reassure the old man.
The racoon crawled out from under the cart and took plenty of time to sniff the air and listen to their surroundings. After several minutes, he transformed into the hunched-back old man, and shuffled back over to his pot of boiling water—now overflowing.
Palom ignored it, methodically cleaning his sword.
Why had the Varkain attacked?
What had they been after?
If they had been digging around abandoned mines, why attack them?
If they were opportunistic thieves, they were very foolish—he was clearly armed. Why risk life and limb? They carried nothing of value.
‘Thank ye, Palom,’ Jek said, after he’d seen to the pot. ‘I don’t think…They would have…’ He stammered and trailed off. He rubbed a hand over his balding head and pulled at his oversized collar.
‘It is fine.’
‘I think I…lost me appetite a bit after that,’ he said, glancing at the bodies and pooling blood. ‘Don’t suppose you’d like tae move on? Sleep somewhere else?’
Palom shrugged. ‘I am not sleeping. We can move if you want to move. Dead Varkain are no threat.’<
br />
Jek cleared his throat, as if desperate to fill the silence, and then busied himself with putting away the pot and kicking out the fire.
Palom’s thoughts churned as he got to his feet and grabbed hold of the cart again. Jek clearly wasn’t going to rest here, but Palom preferred it. The Varkain weren’t likely to come near this place, not now their dead lay here.
He followed Jek, hardly watching where he was going, until the other Ittallan found a place suitably far enough away from the fight that he could set up for the night.
Palom thought back to before the attack. Nothing seemed off. The forest was as it had always been.
Had Lathri warned him? An owl had been hooting just before the Varkain struck.
Hadn’t it?
Once settled, he pulled out the dirtying cloth and wiped the Valta Forinja again.
What if Voulhrik had been right?
What if Sapora really had found a way to wipe out the Ittallan?
What if…that was why the Varkain had been covered in dirt and soil.
What if they weren’t there robbing mines at all?
*
The following morning, Jek thanked him graciously with a double florin, but refused to speak of the attack, which suited Palom well enough. From all Jek’s talk, he’d never dealt with thieves before. No doubt being ambushed by three Varkain had shaken him.
‘You’ll reach Sol this afternoon,’ Palom said, a short time after they’d set off. He’d promised Jek he’d let the Imperial Guard know when they reached the Waterside Inn to keep him quiet. In truth, Palom couldn’t care less about a couple of dead snakes in the forest.
Jek stayed quiet as they walked, and while Palom found the peace enjoyable, he knew his companion was uncomfortable. They’d not even eaten breakfast—they’d just gathered their things and headed off. Whether he was shaken after the attempted ambush, or Palom’s brutal method of dealing with them, he wasn’t sure.
Although he knew a counter-attack wasn’t unlikely, the night had been quiet, and Palom shrugged off the lingering fatigue with a quick wade in the river.