Empires of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 2) (36 page)

Blood filled the
sea.

The
Red Flame
sailed on.

Across the water, a
hundred ships blazed. Tianlong, the black dragon of Ilar, howled
overhead, dipping to crush men between his jaws. For miles across the
water, soldiers splashed and drowned, and masts vanished like bones
into bogs.

It was an hourglass
turn, maybe two, before the Ilari fleet reached the coast of Qaelin.

Koyee
fell upon the deck of the
Red
Flam
e,
panting, her chest blazing where a saber had chipped her armor. Torin
fell by her side, wheezing, his sword gripped in his bloody hand.
Dents covered his armor, a scratch stretched across his arm, and
blood stained his leg. They lay among the corpses of fallen soldiers.
They reached across the sticky deck and grasped each other's hands.

"Ilar lives,"
Koyee said, voice hoarse. "There is hope for the night."

Devastation filled
the water behind them. Two hundred ships of Ilar had sailed north,
bearing the red flame banners; dozens now lay beneath the sea. A
hundred other ships, the smashed fleet of Daenor, would be their
company in the watery halls. Above the surviving ships, Tianlong
sounded his cry, and the soldiers of Ilar repeated the words.

"We are the
night!"

When Koyee tilted
her head, she saw Torin mouth the prayer too, the ancient cry of her
people, for he too was a son of Eloria now, born in sunlight but of a
starlit heart. She squeezed his hand.

"They battle
on the sea has ended," she said. "When we reach Yintao, the
battle for the night will begin."

 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR:
THE HORNS OF YINTAO

Hem swung his sword,
sweat trickling from his brow, his lips a thin line. Bailey parried
the blow and riposted. With a grunt, Hem caught her blade on his
shield and swung again.

"Good!"
Bailey said. "You're faster now."

Hem didn't feel any
faster. He still felt so heavy, so clumsy, his sword always close to
slipping from his sweaty hand. Bailey, however, fought like a rabid
wolf, her blade swinging again and again. Hem raised his shield,
catching the blows; her sword had left a dozen dents in the metal
disk. He stepped back across the dusty courtyard, step by step,
retreating from her onslaught. When his back hit the wall, he
attempted a desperate thrust. She parried the blow, then smacked her
blade against his helm.

"That's a
kill!" Bailey announced. She spat. "Good fight."

Hem blinked, barely
able to see. His ears rang. He wore a thick helm of steel, its inside
padded with fur, and Bailey was only swinging a dull, tin training
sword, not a real blade. Still, she was strong enough that her blows
hurt. He dropped his own training sword, pulled off his helmet, and
sucked in a breath.

"Bloody Idar,
Bails," he said. "Go easy on me. I'm still learning."

She jabbed her
finger against his breastplate. "When I'm tough on you, that is
how you learn." She grinned and patted his cheek. "You're
getting better, old boy. The new beard helps you look tough too."

"Really?"
Hem squeaked, then cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and
spoke in a deep growl. "I mean . . . thank you."

Bailey sighed and
shook her head. "Don't do that voice again. It's not helping.
Just keep training and she'll learn to love you back."

Hem sputtered and
nearly choked. He glanced around the courtyard, hoping nobody heard,
but only a few soldiers of Yintao stood by a distant wall, conversing
amongst themselves. Feeling his cheeks flush, Hem turned back to
Bailey.

"I don't know
what you're talking about," he said.

"Of course you
do!" Bailey stretched out her arms and raised her voice. "The
girl you fancy! The omega named . . . what was it? Kira?"

"Bailey,
hush!" His cheeks burned. "She can't know. All right? Just
. . ." He glanced around again and lowered his voice. "Just
keep practicing with me until I'm strong enough. I want to . . . you
know . . . protect her and all that." His cheeks wouldn't stop
burning.

"You could
start by not blushing," Bailey said. "Here—pretend that
I'm her and act tough."

She pressed her
legs together, clasped her hands behind her back, and leaned forward
on her toes. She planted a kiss right on Hem's cheek.

"Well,
it's easy when
you
do it," Hem said. "You're just . . . Bailey."

She growled and
grabbed her training sword. "Watch it! Now pick up your sword.
I'm not done with you."

Hem wiped the sweat
off his brow, lifted his sword, and their training continued.

He was puffing, his
legs rubbery, when he finally left the courtyard. He walked along a
street, moving between lantern poles and patrolling guards. When he
glanced at the moon, it was nearly full, and Hem felt his heart sink.

We've
been in Yintao for three months,
he thought.
He
must be near now . . . Ferius.

Fresh sweat beaded
on his brow. Hem didn't want to think about that. He had ridden here
upon a nightwolf, moving fast across the plains, while Ferius led a
slow, cumbersome army. They would be inching along Sage's Road,
dragging siege engines yard by yard, but Hem knew they would be here
soon. Training with Bailey, it was easy to imagine he was practicing
to impress Kira . . . not to fight in a battle.

Yet
that battle will come
.
And
we will all have to fight.
He looked at the northern stars, then the southern ones.

"Where are
you, Torin? Where are you, Cam?" Hem sighed. "Damn it . . .
come here soon with aid."

Holding his
lantern, he made his way back to the hall he was staying in, one of
many buildings in the palace complex. They called this place—the
inner level of the city—the Eternal Palace, but rather than one
building, it was a town unto itself. Barracks, squares, pagodas, and
temples filled this center of Yintao, all protected by towering
square walls. Beyond those walls, six more levels of the city spread
out, squares within squares, each protected by more walls and towers.

Even
if Ferius attacks,
Hem thought,
he
can't reach me here.
The
monk's army would break through the first wall, perhaps. Maybe the
second or even the third. But seven walls lay between the Eternal
Palace and the dark plains. Hem nodded, telling himself this city was
the safest place in Eloria . . . yet still his hands shook when he
grabbed the doorknob to his hall.

It was a small
building, its adobe bricks unadorned, its roof tiled red and topped
with a statue of Xen Qae. A hundred Chanku riders shared the
building; all were sleeping when Hem entered. He made his way to his
chamber—as one of only two Timandrians in the city, they had given
him a room of his own—and stepped inside.

A small, cozy space
greeted him. A table topped with ceramic dishes, a bed with clawed
legs, and a bronze mirror stood along the walls. Hem placed down his
lantern and examined his reflection. He did look different, he
thought. The beard aged him, and since leaving Dayside—by Idar, it
had been a year already!—he was down three notches on his belt. When
he sucked in his gut and puffed out his chest, Hem could almost
imagine that he was a true warrior, a man who could protect Kira . .
. maybe even be her mate.

"And there it
is," he said to himself. "Blushing again, damn it."

A knock sounded on
his door.

Hem's heart burst
into a gallop.

She was here! She
was early! He had hoped to remove his armor, don one of the
embroidered robes Emperor Jin had given him, mentally prepare
himself, and—

The knock sounded
again.

Hurriedly, Hem
dabbed his brow, brushed back his hair, and gulped. He opened the
door and saw her there.

While Bailey always
walked tall and proud, chest thrust out and chin raised, every inch a
warrior, Kira was the opposite. She stood small and short, hugging
herself and staring at her feet. She nearly drowned in a great,
shaggy fur cloak, and her hair all but hid her face. She peered up at
him between the white strands, her eyes huge and blue, then back at
her toes. She twisted those toes as if wishing the ground could
swallow her.

"
Sen
sen
,
Hem," she said in a meek voice.

He instantly felt
better. He was always nervous about meeting her, but Kira seemed just
as shy. Moving a little too quickly, his fingers trembling just
slightly, he gestured for her to enter his chamber.

When she sat on his
bed, she bit her lip, kept staring at her feet, and hugged herself.
Hem sat beside her, thrice her size and feeling as graceless as a
bear on a dancer's stage. For a moment they only sat in awkward
silence.

"I like your
beard," she finally said, and a soft smile touched her face.
Hurriedly, she looked back at her feet, her cheeks flushing behind
her strands of wild hair.

"I like your .
. ." Hem racked his mind for something to say; he liked all of
her and didn't know which part to choose. "Your necklace."

She touched the
string of clay beads. "Thank you. I'm not allowed to wear a
necklace of wolf claws yet, since I'm still just an omega, but . . .
maybe if I kick people a few more times, I can move up the ranks."
She giggled and covered her mouth.

Her laughter was
beautiful, and Hem's spirits soared. "That was a mighty kick!"
he said. "I think he's still feeling it."

She looked up at
him and smiled—not a nervous smile but a true one, a beautiful
smile, a smile that showed her large white teeth and lit up her eyes.
Before Hem realized what he was doing, he was pulling back strands of
her hair and tucking them behind her ears. She stared at him, hands
in her lap.

"You're pretty
when I can see your face," he said softly.

Her lips parted and
she placed a hand on his cheek. "You're pretty too."

Hem laughed. "No
I'm not. I'm . . . I'm fat. And I'm awkward. And—"

"You're
pretty," she whispered.

Hem remembered how
Bailey had kissed his cheek—she had done it only mockingly, only
trying to embarrass him, but now Hem wondered what it would be like
to kiss Kira's cheek . . . and for her to kiss him. He shifted a
little closer to her and—

Horns blared
outside.

Hem froze.

Kira leaped to her
feet.

"The silver
horns of Yintao," she whispered.

The sound keened
across the city, rising and falling, a sound like ghosts in the deep,
like the death of a nation. Hem stumbled toward the door and raced
outside into the courtyard. Thousands were spilling out from their
halls, pulling on armor and buckling swords to their belts. The horns
blared from every guard tower, a sound that shook the city.

Kira clutched Hem's
hand. "War."

Eye stinging, Hem
reached down, raised her chin, and kissed her cheek—perhaps the last
time he could.

He whispered,
"Ferius is here."

He stood upon the
city's outer walls, a sword in his hand, gazing at the dark plains as
the horizon burned.

He
marches there,
Okado thought.
My
half-brother.

The wind smelled of
smoke and metal. Firelight rose in the distance like the dusk back in
Oshy, the village of his childhood. Standing here on the walls of
Yintao, staring upon shadows leading to light, Okado could almost
imagine that he stood in Oshy again, gazing at the dusk, imagining
the demons that lived in the land of sunfire.

My
mother loved a sunlit demon,
he thought, lips twitching. His hand tightened around his hilt.
My
mother gave birth to his child, a boy of both sunlight and darkness.
Ferius.

He realized his
sword was shaking, rage pounding through him. This had happened a
decade before his birth—his mother had been only a youth—but still
Okado raged. How could his mother have loved the enemy? How could she
have carried this child within her, kept it secret, lied to him and
Koyee until she took that secret to her grave?

Okado found himself
snarling, and his anger overflowed, emerging in a howl. He raised his
sword high.

Now that child of
sin, his mother's secret, came back to crush the lands of night. Now
he, Okado, born of the same woman but a different father, would have
to send this shame back into daylight, to kill the cursed spawn of—

"Okado, I
fight with you," Bailey said, interrupting his thoughts.
Standing beside him upon the battlements, she raised her sword with
his. "We will slay them."

Breathing heavily,
he turned toward her. Bailey met his gaze, her eyes strong, her lips
tightened. She wore the armor of his people, steel scales and a
wolf's head helm. Though she still carried her double-edged blade of
Timandra, not the curved katana of the night, she was part of his
pack. She was strong and noble like Suntai, and Okado felt his rage
lower to a simmer.

Not
all Timandrians are demons,
he thought, gazing into Bailey's brown eyes.
Perhaps
my mother was not a sinner.
He turned his eyes to the western horizon.
Yet
her son was born a monster. And I must kill him.

"You are
strong, Bailey Berin of the Arden clan," he said. "If we
survive this war, I will name you a great rider in my pack, a beta
warrior of Chanku."

She snickered. "I
don't need no titles. I just want to stick my sword in Ferius's gut."

The fire grew
brighter ahead, a red puddle oozing toward them. Individual soldiers
were still too far to see; Okado could only make out rustling black
specks under the flame and smoke. Their drums beat in the distance,
and their own horns keened. When the wind gusted, Okado thought that
he could hear a distant chant, a song for blood and victory.
According to their scouts, all eight sunlit kingdoms marched there,
soldiers and beasts, siege towers and chariots, monks and soldiers,
death and destruction. It was the greatest army to have ever moved
across Moth.