Empires of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 2) (26 page)

She groaned, sat
down, and clenched her fists. She forced herself to take deep
breaths, to close her eyes, to clear her mind. She had spent a moon
with him upon this boat, maybe longer—and for the past few turns, it
had been here at sea, nothing but blackness around them. Her arm had
not stopped burning since the battle at Sinyong upon the southern
Qaelish coast, and as much as the oppression of this tiny boat, the
pain constantly nettled her, endless hooks driving into her flesh.
Whenever she looked at her arm, the wound seemed worse, the welts
ticker and darker, wrapping around her like a snake. After a while
she had stopped looking, keeping the wound always under her sleeve.
Even Eelani, her dearest companion, dared not approach her most
turns; Koyee only rarely felt the warmth of her shoulder spirit.

It
will be better once we reach Ilar,
she thought, eyes stinging.
They'll
have healers for my arm. Eelani will want to sit on my shoulder
again. And maybe, once I can breathe away from him for a while, I can
love Torin again.

That thought
surprised her. Love Torin again? Had she ever loved him? She turned
around and looked at him. He sat with his back to her, staring into
the sea, his shoulders pushed inward. Koyee sighed. The foolish,
silly boy.

She stood up,
tottered across the boat, and knelt behind him. She wrapped her arms
around him and kissed his ear.

"I'm sorry,"
she whispered. "I've spent too long in this boat, and my arm
still hurts, and I'm sorry." She closed her eyes and squeezed
him, remembering that night he had carried her to The Green Geode,
the night her city had fallen. "I love you, Torin Greenmoat. You
know that, right?"

He turned toward
her. She was about to kiss his cheek, to undress him, to make love to
him to forget the pain and darkness, but his eyes widened. He gasped.

She pulled back.
"Are my words so shocking to you?"

So there it
was—she had confessed her love, and he would not return it, would
not say he loved her too, only gasp. She felt her rage flare anew,
and she was about to slap him, and then she saw the light in his
eyes.

He pointed over her
shoulder. "Behind you, Koyee. In the south. Lights."

She spun around and
exhaled slowly. A tremble seized her. Though she had spent so long on
this boat, dreaming of finally reaching this place, now those distant
lights shot fear through her, and her arm stung with new vigor.

"Ilar,"
she whispered.

The lights were
still distant, a mere line along the horizon—the northern coast of a
southern empire. Koyee gripped her sword. Her father's stories
returned to her. He had fought with this sword upon this coast. The
Qaelish Empire had clashed against these southern warriors; her
father had borne the scars until his last breath. He had spoken to
Koyee of killers in black armor, of dark beasts greater than
nightwolves, of a people warlike and cruel who drank blood from the
skulls of their enemies. Ilar—the land that had tormented Qaelin for
many generations, the land of blood and steel . . . the land that
could now save all Eloria from daylight.

"We're here,"
Torin said. "Thank Idar, we're here."

She
turned to look at him and held his arm. "Be careful in this
land, Torin. Keep your sword loose in your scabbard. Remember all the
words I taught you. And stay near me. Whatever happens, stay near me.
The Ilari hold no love for Qaelish folk, but I'm still a fellow
Elorian; they might slay
you
on sight."

He cleared his
throat. "Blimey, aren't you a cheery one." He nodded. "I've
been to a few dangerous places this past year. I know how to watch
over myself."

"Not here."
She shook her head. "Not in Ilar. We sail toward the darkest,
most dangerous corner of the night. They say the world used to turn,
Torin, that day would follow night in an endless dance. If that's
true, the place we sail to is midnight."

They rowed the rest
of the way in silence.

With every mile,
more details emerged. The lights belonged to torches, Koyee saw.
Thousands burned upon black walls that lined the coast. The firelight
glinted on armor; soldiers manned the battlements, their steel as
dark as the walls. Behind them rose towers, not thin and glowing like
the towers of Pahmey, but cruel and jagged like broken, blackened
femurs rising from a tar pit. Here lurked Asharo, the great port of
the Ilari Empire, a factory for warships and warriors who had so many
times tormented the Qaelish coast. Distant booms rose from the
city—the drums of war. Men shouted and metal clanged.

"Does a battle
rage here too?" Torin asked, leaning forward and squinting.

Koyee narrowed her
eyes, staring ahead as the city grew closer; she could see better in
the darkness than him. "I see no cannon fire, no arrows flying,
and the guards upon the walls stand still." She shook her head.
"No, there is no battle. But I don't like the sound of those
drums or the screaming. Hope may lie here, but death too."

"Well, I'm not
turning back now." Torin smiled wanly. "After a month with
you in a boat, I could use a rest in a nightmarish city of pain like
this."

She rolled her eyes
then winced as fire shot through her arm. She ground her teeth,
pushing the pain down, ignoring the thought that had been rattling
through her mind since the battle: that her arm was getting worse,
that an infection was crawling up to her shoulder and coiling onto
her chest. For now, she had no time to contemplate her wound; the
night was dying and she had to save it before she died too.

As they rowed
closer, Koyee saw a port nestled between two jagged breakwaters. She
narrowed her eyes. Several ships in the port were listing, and a few
were sunken down to the tips of their masts. Holes gaped open in the
city walls behind the docks, and a guard tower lay fallen upon the
shore. The city gates were smashed, and many guards stood before
them.

"A battle was
fought here," she said. "And not long ago. I can still
smell the fire and blood. Yet the city still stands. The banners of
Ilar still fly."

She
pointed at those banners now. The streamers fluttered from the
remaining guard towers, sporting the red flame of Ilar.
The
flame and moonstar must join,
she thought, gazing upon that sigil.
Ilar
and Qaelin—no longer enemies but fighting together for the night.

"A flame
sigil?" Torin asked, staring at the banners. "A flame emits
light and we're in Eloria."

She gave him a wry
smile. "Have you learned nothing in the night? Fire is life in
the darkness. And for the Ilari, fire also means the burning death of
their enemies."

They
rowed toward the port. The ships of Ilar were different from the
junks of Qaelin—these vessels were larger, lined with many oars,
floating fortresses with several tiers of decks. Their hulls were
painted black and red, and iron figureheads, shaped of dragons,
jutted out from their prows. The red flame danced upon their black
sails. As the
Water
Spider
entered the port, navigating between the breakwaters, Koyee gasped.
Torin covered his mouth and emitted a strangled sound.

"Oh bloody
Idar's vomit," he said.

Koyee winced,
staring ahead. "They're slaves," she whispered. "Slaves
of war."

Outside the city
walls, a hundred or more Timandrians toiled upon the sand. They were
stripped naked even in the cold of night, and iron collars encircled
their necks. Ilari soldiers stood as masters, whips in hand, landing
blows upon the Timandrians' backs. At first, Koyee thought the
prisoners were building a hill of sand. When she rowed closer and
understood their task, she nearly gagged.

The Timandrian
prisoners, naked and chained, were piling up a hill of bodies.

"You're lucky
you're not with your brothers!" one Ilari soldier shouted and
laughed. A tall man in black plate armor, he lashed his whip,
bloodying the back of a Timandrian. "Go on, faster, you sunlit
worm. Stack up the bodies of your slain brothers. Cold, are you?
They'll burn soon and warm you." He cracked his whip again,
hitting a second man. "Be thankful we don't burn you with them."

Koyee had to look
away, wincing. Torin grimaced and covered his face.

"Koyee, I
don't like this," he said. "They're . . . torturing
Timandrians."

She nodded.
"Prisoners of war. Look at the sunken ships. I see banners of
Timandra."

Torin nodded,
looking at the banners that still hung from sinking masts. "A
scorpion for Eseer—desert warriors. The elephant is Sania, a
southern island, and the crocodile is Daenor from the western coast
of Dayside."

Koyee
tugged the rudder of the
Water
Spider
,
guiding the boat around one of the sunken ships. They moved closer
toward the smashed gates.

"A army of
three Timandrian kingdoms attacked," she said. "They
smashed the gates and shattered a tower and nearly broke the walls,
but they lost this battle." She looked back at the beach where
the chained prisoners toiled. "Now they stack up their own dead
for burning."

Torin loosened his
collar, his face pale in the lamplight. "I don't think they like
Timandrians much in this place. I know I said I wanted to visit, but
. . . maybe I should just wait in the boat."

Koyee grabbed a
rope from the floor. She raised it and smiled crookedly at Torin.
"You're still coming with me. I'm not leaving you alone anywhere
in this place. If they catch you, you'll be stacking bodies with the
rest of them." She began to form a knot. "So long as we're
in Ilar, you're my prisoner of war."

When she slung the
rope around his wrists, he gasped and tugged himself free. "Koyee!
You're not going to . . . to tie me up and drag me around like your
dog, are you?"

She
glared, hands on her hips. "Of course not. I'm going to tie you
up and drag you around like my
slave
.
Torin, look around you." She gestured at the Ilari soldiers on
the coast; they were busy whipping more prisoners. "Do you think
the Ilari will understand that you're a renegade, that you're here to
help them fight? Of course not. But they understand slaves. They
understand brutality. So I'll be a little brutal to you here."
She grinned and mussed his hair. "It'll just be an act . . .
mostly."

He groaned, but he
dutifully let her tie his wrists.

They navigated
around several more ships—some sinking ruins, others the proud ships
of the Ilari fleet. A chorus of whips and screams followed them
toward the docks outside the smashed gates. Guards stood upon
flagstones, staring at them, hands on their bows and hilts.

Koyee moored,
secured her boat with what roped remained, and made a show of
dragging Torin onto the docks.

"Move,
maggot!" she shouted at him. "Damn it, move or I'll toss
you into that pile of bodies on the beach."

Torin winced, bit
his lip, and climbed out of the boat. Koyee began to walk toward the
gates, not sparing him another glance. She held the rope in her left
hand; it ran several feet and connected to Torin's wrists. She tugged
him toward the shattered gates, clad in her armor, her katana hanging
from her belt. Torin's armor and sword remained hidden upon their
boat. After so long at sea, her legs wobbled and her head spun, and
her arm still blazed, but she forced herself to march onward.

"Faster,
worm!" she shouted over her shoulder.

The soldiers at the
gates—there were about fifty—stared at her. Koyee raised her chin
and stared back, refusing to slow down or look away. She had to
display nothing but cruel strength here. It was the language the
Ilari spoke, and she would speak it fluently. While she wore the
silvery scales of her empire, these soldiers donned bulky armor of
black, lacquered plates engraved with red runes. Jagged horns rose
from their flaring helms; the visors were pulled down, shaped as
snarling faces complete with bushy mustaches of fur. Koyee could see
only their eyes peering from within—deep, mistrustful eyes that
gleamed red in the torchlight. They held bows in their armored hands,
and tasseled katanas hung from their belts.

Koyee came to a
stop before them. They stood quite a lot taller than her, but Koyee
squared her shoulders and raised her chin.

"Soldiers of
Ilar! I am Koyee of Qaelin, a princess of the Chanku nobles."
She figured that with her brother being the alpha, that was close
enough to the truth. "I come to your empress in peace, bearing
tidings of the war against sunlight. And I bear this worm." She
gave the rope a tug, pulling Torin closer. "This one is a prince
of daylight; I will make him scream for the empress."

Torin gave a little
squeak, and Koyee shot him a glare.

The guards stared
at her from head to toes, taking in her armor and sword. They stared
at Torin, then back at her. Finally a tall man stepped forward; his
lacquered armor shone a deep crimson, and his visor was shaped as
sneering old face, its mustache and brows bristly, its nose bulbous.

"Timandrians
are worms; Qaelish are maggots. You are no better than the hosts of
the day."

Koyee growled.
"That is not for you to decide, sentry of broken gates. I am an
emissary of an empire. I will speak to your mistress. Take me to the
empress! If you do not, fight me here, and your empress can thank you
for stealing my tidings from her."

Her legs still
shook from the journey, her arm burned, and her insides roiled, but
she forced herself to stare back forcefully, struggling to sound as
strong and noble as her brother.

The guard grunted,
then turned and walked through the shattered gates, heading into the
city. Koyee took that as an invitation to follow. Tugging Torin
behind her, she climbed over bricks and smashed metal, following the
guard into Asharo, capital of Ilar.