Daughter of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 4) (2 page)

She noticed that Torin was
watching her, his eyes soft. He patted her knee. "Whatever
happens at the trials, my daughter, I'm proud of you. Whether they
accept you to the university this year, or whether we have to return
for new trials next year, I love you. More than anything. To me you
are magic."

She blew out her breath and
rolled her eyes. "Oh, Father, you are such a horrible poet."

And yet tears filled her eyes,
and she leaned against him and hugged him close. He kissed her head,
lips pressing against the stubbly top.

"Even if your hair is too
short," he said.

She managed to grin and tugged
the two long, black strands that framed her face. "This part is
long. It's good enough."

Torin groaned. "It looks
like a damn walrus mustache is growing from your head."

For the first time since leaving
her village long turns ago, Madori laughed. "Excellent. That's
what I'll tell Mother next time she harasses me—that I simply have a
head-mustache."

She was still laughing, and even
Torin smiled, when hooves and horns sounded ahead.

Madori looked up and her
laughter died upon her lips. She reached into her boot where she hid
her dagger.

"Trouble," she
muttered.

A convoy of armored riders—a
dozen in all—was heading down the road toward them. Since leaving
home, Madori had seen many travelers along this pebbly path—farmers,
pilgrims, peddlers, and soldiers on patrol. But she had never seen
anyone like the riders ahead. Each man wore priceless plate armor,
the steel bright and gleaming in the sunlight. Their horses too wore
armor—and these were no old nags like Hayseed but fine coursers,
each more costly than anything and everything Madori's family owned.
As the convoy drew closer, Madori tilted her head and squinted. She
was well versed in heraldry—one of the few fields of study she
enjoyed—but she didn't recognize the sigils on these riders' shields
and banners. The symbol showed a golden disk hiding most of a silver
circle—the sun eclipsing the moon.

Hayseed nickered and reared,
raising the cart and pushing Madori and Torin back in their seats.

"Easy, girl, easy . . ."
Madori said. Despite her calm words, she clutched the hilt of her
dagger. These riders ahead were no good; she could smell it on them.

Raising dust and scattering
pebbles, the convoy reached them, its formation not parting to allow
the cart through. Torin had to tug the reins, pulling Hayseed to a
halt. The riders ahead halted too, staring through eyeholes in their
helmets.

Torin raised a hand in a
friendly gesture, though Madori saw the tension in his jaw, heard the
the nervousness in his voice.

"Hello there, fellow
travelers!" he said. "Lovely day for a ride."

They stared down at him. A few
riders gripped the hilts of their swords, and wondrous swords those
were—the scabbards filigreed with silver motifs, the hilts wrapped
in black leather, the pommels bearing gemstones.

The lead horse, a magnificent
beast of snowy white fur, snorted and pawed the earth. Slowly, his
gauntlets creaking, the horse's rider pulled off his helmet. The man
had a cold, hard face, one that could have been handsome were it not
so aloof. Wavy blond hair crowned his head, the temples streaked with
white. Chin raised, the rider gazed down with icy blue eyes. Disgust
filled those eyes like coins filled a rich man's coffers.

"Torin Greenmoat." The
rider sneered. "So the rat has left his gutter."

Sitting in the cart, Torin
glared up at the rider. "Hello again, cousin. I see the snake
has left his lair."

The snowy horse sidestepped, and
its rider clenched his fist around the hilt of his sword. "Yes,
technically we are cousins." The man's voice was smooth and cold
as ice around a frozen corpse. "Your mother's sister had the
sense to marry into a proper, blue-blooded family, sense you clearly
lack. But you will address me as all in Mageria do—as Lord Serin."

Madori had spent the trip here
thinking her father the dullest, most insufferable man on Moth, but
right now, she thought Torin Greenmoat a true hero. She leaped to her
feet in the cart, drew her dagger, and pointed it at the riders.

"Get out of our way!"
she said. "Ride your pretty little horses through the mud and
let us pass, or by the stars above, we'll soon see how blue your
blood truly is."

"Madori!" Torin
hissed, pulling her back down into her seat. "Be silent."

The riders ahead snickered. Lord
Serin glared at Madori like one would glare at dung upon a new boot.
He raised a handkerchief to his nose as if Madori's very scent
offended him.

"Learn to control your
mongrel of a daughter," the lord said. "It's bad enough you
bedded an nightcrawler, begetting a deformed half-breed, but you
can't even keep the beast muzzled."

Madori stared, mouth hanging
over. She could barely breathe.

Nightcrawler.
It was a foul word, a dirty word for Elorians, the people of the
night—the name of a lowly worm. She winced, remembering the names
children in Fairwool-by-Night would call her.
Half-breed!
Mongrel! Creature!

All those taunts—years of
them—pounded through Madori now, and somehow Serin's words were even
worse. This was Mageria, the land of her dreams, not some backwater
village. These were noblemen in fine armor, not peasant children.

Her eyes watered and Madori
screamed. She leaped from the cart, ran across the road, and waved
her dagger at Lord Serin.

"Draw your sword and face
me!" she shouted. "I'm not scared of you. I have no muzzle
and I can bite. I—"

"Madori!"

A hand gripped her wrist and
tugged her back. Torin was pulling her away from the lords and onto
the muddy roadside. Madori struggled and kicked, but she couldn't
free herself from her father's grip. The riders roared with laughter.

"She's a wild animal,
cousin!" Lord Serin said. He spat toward Madori; the glob landed
on her boot. "She doesn't belong in Mageria. Mongrels belong in
cages."

With that, the armored lord
spurred his horse. The animal cantered forward, hooves splashing mud
onto Torin and Madori. The other riders followed, spraying more mud.

"Send your nightcrawler
wife back into the night!" Serin shouted as the convoy made its
way around the cart, heading east down the road. "The Radian
Order rises in the sunlight. The creatures of darkness will cower
before us."

With that, the riders turned
around a bend, vanishing behind a copse of elms.

Madori stood on the roadside,
mud covering her clothes up to her chest. She clutched her dagger,
fuming, and spun toward her father.

"I could have slain them
all!" Her fists trembled. "Let's go after them. We'll leap
up from behind. We'll—"

"We'll ignore them and keep
traveling to our destination," Torin said calmly.

Madori raised her hands in
frustration. "You'll just give up? I thought you're a war hero!
I thought you fought in battles. How could you just . . . just . . .
ignore them?"

She expected her father to scold
her, but Torin sighed and lowered his head. Madori was surprised to
glimpse a tear in his eye.

"Father . . ." she
whispered, her anger leaving her.

He pulled her into an embrace,
and she let her dagger fall into the mud.

"Yes, my daughter, I fought
in battles. I still fight them every night in my dreams. And I don't
want this life for you." He placed a finger under her chin,
raised her face toward his, and stared into her eyes. "I want
you to follow your dream of becoming a mage—not a warrior like I
was. We'll keep traveling to Teel University and forget about those
men. You will achieve greatness on your terms, not letting others
drag you into the mud."

She gestured down at their
filthy clothes. "We're already in the mud." She laughed
softly and hugged her father. "All right, Papa. We keep going."

They climbed back onto the cart,
and Hayseed resumed walking, taking them down the road. Madori had
spent the past few turns dreaming about Mageria, this kingdom of
magic and enlightenment, the home of the great University. She spent
the rest of the turn in silence, staring ahead, a cold pit in her
stomach.

Mongrel.

Beast.

A creature for a cage.

She lowered her head, clutched
her hands together, and missed home.

 
 
CHAPTER TWO:
THE TOWERS OF TEEL

After traveling by cart for
almost a month, Madori saw the splendor of Teel University ahead. She
gasped and tears stung her eyes.

"It's beautiful, Father,"
she whispered, clutching the hem of her shirt. "It's so
beautiful."

He nodded thoughtfully, bottom
lip thrust out. "The gardens aren't bad."

She punched his arm. "I
don't care about the gardens!" She had to wipe tears from her
eyes. "I've never seen anything like this."

When Madori had been a child,
her mother would read her fairy tales of castles, their white spires
touching the sky, their banners bright. Madori had always thought the
stories just that—stories. Yet here before her was a fairy tale come
to life.

She didn't know where to look
first; her eyes wanted to drink it all in at once. She forced herself
to move her eyes from the bottom up, admiring every bit in turn. Down
the road, past green fields and a pond, sprawled a town of a
hundred-odd buildings, their roofs tiled red, their walls built of
timber foundations and white clay. Beyond the town, dwarfing even the
tallest of its roofs, rose ivy-coated walls topped with merlons and
turrets. Behind the walls rose four great towers, taller than any
temple or castle Madori had ever seen; they seemed to scrape the sky
itself. Between the towers rose a great, round building ringed with
columns. A dome topped the building, looking large enough to easily
contain all of Fairwool-by-Night with room to spare.

"Teel University,"
Madori whispered, her fists trembling around folds of her shirt.

A place of knowledge. A place of
acceptance. Perhaps back in her village she was a mere creature to
scorn. Perhaps ruffians along the road mocked her mixed blood. But
here, finally, was the place Madori had always dreamed of, a center
of enlightenment.

Torin pointed. "The dome is
the Library of Teel. I've seen it illustrated in books. They say it's
the largest library in the world." He pointed at the towers
next. "Each of the four towers contains its own faculties of
magic."

Others were traveling the road
around them, heading toward the university. Madori saw thoroughbreds
with braided manes pulling fine carriages, and behind their glass
windows—real glass, a material as expensive as gold!—Madori saw
youths dressed in finery, jewels adorning them. Parents spoke
animatedly, and they too wore costly, embroidered fabrics.

"Ah, when I was a lad, I
studied in Agrotis Tower," said one man, riding by upon a
destrier. A samite cloak hung across his shoulders, and he patted his
ample belly with a pudgy hand heavy with rings. "Of course, back
in those days, I weighed a few stones less. Climbing all those stairs
would be harder now."

The man's son, a scrawny youth
of about sixteen years, nodded silently and nervously coiled his
fingers together. Golden chains hung around his neck, and his sleeves
alone—puffy things inlaid with rubies and amethysts—probably cost
more than Madori's house back home.

She suddenly felt very plain,
what with her humble woolen leggings and shirt—garments she had sewn
herself—and muddy boots heavy with buckles. She owned no jewelry,
and her prized possession was her dagger with the antler hilt, hardly
the weapon of nobility. Her father looked just as humble, clad in a
simple tunic and breeches. Madori had known that only noble children
could attend Teel University, and officially she
was
highborn; her father had been knighted after the war. But riding here
upon her cart, she realized that—despite the technicality of her
highborn blood—she was as far removed from true nobility as lizards
were from dragons.

Twisting her fingers in her lap,
she looked at her father.

"They're probably just as
nervous as you are," he said.

Madori bit her lip. "Their
clothes are nicer than mine."

"Everyone's clothes are
nicer than yours, Billygoat. That's what happens when you don't
listen to your mother."

She snorted. "Mother wants
me to dress in Elorian silk. Then I'd really stick out like a frog in
a fruit bowl." She sighed. "Papa, when you went to the war
years ago, were you ever scared? I mean . . . suddenly just so scared
you didn't think you could do it?"

His eyes softened and he patted
her shoulder. "All the time."

She looked around at the other
youths with their rich clothes and jewels, then up at the university
towers. "How did you go on? How didn't you run home?"

He mussed the cropped hair on
the top of her head. "You're not going to war, little one."

"I know." She gulped
and nodded. "But I'm still afraid."

He looked ahead at the rising
walls of the university, seeming lost in thought. Finally he spoke
softly. "I'll teach you a little trick I used back in the
war—when I was afraid, when I was in danger. I told myself: To
survive, you only have to breathe the next breath. That's it. Just
the next breath." He took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled.
"And then another breath. And another. I tried not to think too
far ahead—just on taking that next breath, and every time that air
flowed down my lungs, I realized that I'm still alive. I'm still
going. And I could go a little longer and I'd survive that too. Some
people say that you achieve great things step by step. But sometimes
it's not even about moving—it's about living a little longer and
realizing that you're still around, that you'll be all right."