Empires of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 2) (40 page)

She looked below
her, seeking him. Finally she saw Torin in a street, battling a
swordsman, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Thousands of others
fought around him.

"Torin!"
she shouted. "Torin—with me! To the palace!"

He slew his
opponent, raised his head, and nodded. With a swarm of Ilari
warriors, he began to run north toward the seventh walls. Most of
them raced afoot; others rode upon panthers.

Her own panther
snarled beneath her, claws gripping the roof. Its sleek body
bristled, fur rising and muscles ripping. Koyee stroked its head.

"Run fast, cat
of the night," she whispered. "Leap through shadow."

With a hiss, the
panther leaped from the roof. They vaulted through the air, and Koyee
fired her bow, hitting a man on the street. They landed upon another
roof, the panther's paws silent against the tiles, and dived again.
They raced across the city. The enemy fought and died all around.
Around her, she saw other panthers leaping from roof to roof, mere
shadows.

As they made their
way north, Koyee remembered her life a year ago, leaping from roof to
roof in Pahmey, an urchin with bare feet, slaying soldiers in the
streets below. She was still fighting that fight . . . the battle for
her life, for her family, for the darkness.

They raced forward,
a cloud covering the city, heading toward their last stand.

Ferius rode his
horse up the stairs of a crumbling wall, stared from the battlements
toward the inner city, and licked his lips.

"It falls like
a ripe fruit into our hands."

All around him,
Yintao blazed. His herd marched through the streets, carrying torches
and lanterns, bringing light to the darkness. Towers fell. Dark magic
knocked down walls. Everywhere he looked, the savages were falling,
their feeble defenses burning in his fire.

Ahead, across the
inferno, the Eternal Palace still stood, a puddle of darkness in the
encroaching light like a cave untouched by dawn.

"Yet the fire
of Sailith will burn there too," Ferius said, sucking in breath,
already tasting the glory. "You wait there for me, my sister."

He saw her ahead.
Koyee was riding one of the panthers, a demon of darkness. She leaped
from roof to roof, firing arrows as she headed toward the palace. She
was one among thousands, a distant creature in the night, but Ferius
knew it was her.

The pain in his leg
flared—the wound Koyee had given him in Pahmey, driving her sword
into his flesh. Ferius clenched his fists. When he caught her,
perhaps he would cut off her leg. Perhaps he would show less mercy
and tear her flesh inch by inch, tugging and digging and sawing as
she screamed, dragging her torture on for months, for years. She
would be the only savage left alive.

"My lord!"
rose a voice below. A bloodsun raced up the stairs, reached Ferius
upon the battlements, and knelt. A crack cleaved his helm, revealing
a bloody wound. "My lord Ferius, the savages are retreating into
the last level. They are fighting like cornered beasts, my lord. They
shattered our last siege towers and ladders, and they've slain the
mages. We cannot break in."

Ferius sneered down
at the man. "Then we will stack hills of bodies and climb over
the walls."

"But my lord!
Some of the men are losing heart. They are fleeing the seventh
walls."

"Then we will
cut them down." Ferius spurred his horse. The beast whinnied and
raced down the wall. "Bloodsuns—follow."

He rode into a
cobbled courtyard. A statue of the savages' deity lay smashed, and
dead Elorians lay strewn around it. Hundreds of bloodsuns stood here,
crossbows in hand, their lamps bright.

Ferius galloped
down a boulevard between stone houses. His bloodsuns ran behind him,
a red swarm flowing down the street like a clot down a vein. Elorian
corpses lay all around—soldiers, women, and children. Ferius rode
over the dead. One of the savages—a young girl with a smashed
leg—was still alive and twitching. Ferius grinned as he ran her
over, crushing her skull.

He reached a wide
square. Ahead loomed the seventh walls of the city, splashed with
blood, and Ferius beheld the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

Thousands lay dead
here, hills of his glory and might. Timandrians and Elorians alike
piled up outside the walls, pierced with arrows, slashed with swords,
burned with oil, and crushed with stones.

"Our death
will light the darkness," Ferius whispered, sucking in an
enraptured breath. Here stank the true might of Sailith, purification
through blood.

Thousands of his
troops still lived, slamming against the walls and gates of the
Eternal Palace. From the battlements, arrows flew down, cannons
blasted, bubbling oil spilled, and boulders tumbled. The defenders of
Yintao were cornered, trapped within the heart of their city; they
fought with their greatest passion.

"They will not
surrender, my lord!" said the bloodsun with the cracked helm.

"Good,"
said Ferius. "Let them die in fear and agony, knowing their city
falls."

More Timandrians
surged toward the gates, wielding axes and hammers, only to be cut
down. As a new volley of Elorian arrows rained, a few Timandrians
turned to flee.

Ferius grinned and
licked his lips. "Bloodsuns! Allow no cowardice. Keep them
attacking those walls."

His bloodsuns
raised their crossbows. Timandrian soldiers—men of Arden bearing the
raven shields—came fleeing toward them, wounded and screaming.
Arrows thrust out from a few; the burns of oil spread across others.
The bloodsun bolts slammed into them, cutting them down.

"You will not
flee the enemy!" Ferius shouted from atop his horse. "Back
to the walls. Cut the gates with axes! Smash the bricks with hammers.
Pile up your corpses so your comrades may climb."

The fleeing
Timandrians screamed and fell. A few turned back toward the palace
walls, only for Elorian arrows to fall upon them.

"Die at the
walls, men of sunlight!" Ferius cried. "Die for Sailith.
Die for the sun!"

They surged again,
a swarm of ants crashing against stone. The Elorian arrows, boulders,
and cannonballs tore them down. More men turned to flee, dragging
broken limbs, clutching at shattered armor and gaping wounds.

"We must
flee!" they cried. "We are hurt! We need healing. We—"

"Die upon the
walls!" Ferius roared, hands raised, as his bloodsuns fired.

Crossbow darts tore
into his fleeing men. They fell. Bloodsuns moved between them,
crushing the survivors with maces.

"To the
walls!" Ferius waved his lantern. "Flee and die in shame.
Perish against the enemy walls and rise to sunlit glory."

Trapped between the
Elorian arrows and his monks' bolts, the soldiers of sunlight died.
They painted the square red. More bloodsuns moved through the city,
herding more Timandrians toward the walls, driving wounded, terrified
soldiers to the palace.

"My lord!"
cried one knight, a warrior of Arden, his breastplate smashed and his
arm lacerated. "They are slaying ten of our men for every one of
theirs we kill."

Ferius smiled down
at the groveling warrior. "That's why we brought ten men for
every one of their demons. We will die in a great pyre of glory. Hand
me your crossbow!"

Ferius leaned down
from his horse, all but wrenched the knight's crossbow free, and
aimed. He shot the knight in the neck, piercing his armor. He loaded
another bolt and fired ahead, hitting a fleeing soldier.

"You will die
against the walls or you will die in my fire." He laughed,
tasting blood and flame on his lips. They kept driving against the
palace, trampling one another, a writhing mass, crushing, slamming at
the walls and gates, trapped between death and death. Their hills
rose.

With
death and glory, we liberate the night,
Ferius thought, laughing even as an Elorian arrow slammed into his
shoulder; the pain was beautiful, the blood intoxicating when he
licked it off his fingers.

"For Sailith!"
he shouted. "For the light of day. Leave none alive!"

 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT:
THE RED MILE

Never had Emperor
Jin wished more for limbs.

He sat upon his
throne, desperate to be out there. He wanted to fight with his
troops. He wanted to lunge at the enemy with sword and shield, to die
for his empire if he must. Instead he lingered here upon a cushioned
seat of gold and jewels, limbless, helpless.

"Let us fly
out, Shenlai," he said, eyes stinging. "I can hear them
from here. Oh, Shenlai, I can hear them dying."

The old blue dragon
lay coiled around the throne, blinking sad eyes. "I am sworn to
protect you, Jin. I cannot lead you into danger."

"But they're
dying!" Jin said. He shook himself, tearing off his golden
prosthetic limbs. He tried to hop across his throne, to fall to the
floor, to crawl to the doors and emerge into the battle. Yet he only
managed to hop against the dragon's scales, then fall back into his
seat. "Please!"

A hundred soldiers
stood in his hall, still and silent, awaiting the fire. Outside, the
screams of the dying echoed. It had been two turns since Timandra had
attacked, maybe three, and Jin had not slept and barely eaten. The
din of war kept growing nearer—men shouting, steel clanging,
buildings collapsing.

"If they break
into this hall, Jin, we must fly away," Shenlai said softly.

Jin shook his head.
"I will not abandon my people."

The dragon blinked,
his eyes huge and damp, his lashes fanning Jin. "You cannot save
them by dying. We will fly to distant lands."

Jin squared his jaw
and glared at the dragon. "So long as another soul lives in this
city, I will stay. I cannot fight. I cannot help. But I am Emperor of
Qaelin. If my empire burns, I burn with it."

Tears rolled down
the dragon's cheeks, but old Shenlai managed to smile. "For
three thousand years, I've protected and advised the emperors of
Qaelin. You, Jin, are the noblest among them . . . nobler than I."

Jin felt his own
tears welling up. He leaned forward, pressing his cheek against the
dragon's scales. "I love you, Shenlai. And I'm scared. But we'll
be strong together."

The doors to the
hall opened, and Jin started, sure that the enemy had made it into
the palace grounds. But it was Empress Hikari of Ilar astride a
panther, clad in lacquered black plates, a dripping sword in hand.
She rode into the hall, ash and blood covering her face, the red
flame of her empire upon her shield. Two bodyguards flanked her,
their helmets' visors pulled down, shaped as cruel faces with bristly
mustaches.

"Emperor Jin!"
Hikari called, riding toward him across the mosaic floor. "They
are too many. We're holding them back, but we cannot hold them back
forever."

Jin gazed through
the open doors of his hall. Outside in the courtyard, he could see
his people. Women. Children. Elders. Mothers with crying babes. The
city's residents crowded the squares, streets, and halls of the
palace grounds, whimpering and praying as the seventh walls shook.

"If the enemy
breaks in, they will slay everyone here," Jin said to the
empress. "They will not distinguish between soldiers and
civilians; they did not in Pahmey. Six layers of walls have fallen.
The seventh must stand."

The empress reached
his throne, her eyes blazing, her teeth bared. "Then we must
evacuate them from this city; this would be their graveyard. My
soldiers still control the port. A hundred of my ships await. Load
your women and children into their hulls. My fleet will deliver them
to safety."

Jin's eyes widened,
for Empress Hikari was renowned for her cruelty in war. "Many
times your ships raided the coasts of Qaelin. Now you will deliver
our people to safety in your lands?"

Screams sounded
outside and an explosion rocked the city—another catapult's boulder
slamming into a tower. The empress did not remove her eyes from Jin.
"We are no longer enemies, child. We are no longer Qaelin and
Ilar. We are all children of Eloria."

Upon his throne,
Jin straightened and peered across his hall. Outside, he saw the
people huddle. Each one was a life. Each was a world entire.

"The port lies
a mile from here," Jin said. "The Eternal Palace is
surrounded. The enemy sweeps across every street between us and your
ships."

The empress snarled
and raised her sword, and her panther snarled beneath her. "Then
we will cut our way through. We leave this place, Emperor Jin. You
too. Summon what soldiers you can—many still guard your walls. The
forces of Ilar fight with you; the soldiers of Leen will join us."
She banged sword against shield. "We will carve a path through
the enemy. A mile of sunlight? Let it be a mile of our glory, of
Timandra's blood—a Red Mile, a road of shadow in the light."

He
sat upon his nightwolf, loyal Refir, his dearest friend since his
youth. His mate sat at his side again—fair Suntai clad in steel, her
sword held before her. For long moons, Okado had ridden without her;
now his pack, his life, and his courage were whole.
Suntai
is with me again. Together we can face the light of day.

Around him, a
hundred other wolfriders stared at the gates, grim, silent, weapons
raised. Behind him spread the hope of the night—the last survivors
in this city, perhaps the last survivors in all Eloria.

"Beyond these
gates lies the sun," Okado said. "Beyond these gates is our
greatest test . . . the fall of the night or our path to life."

Suntai looked at
him, and Okado could barely breathe, for in her indigo eyes, he saw
their love, their past, the future they had dreamed of—babes around
the campfire, a proud pack, a life of honor. As she looked upon him,
she whispered words she had never dared utter, words their exile
would have deemed weak, words that now filled him with strength.