Starfinder: A Novel of the Skylords (27 page)

In that first night of flying, Artaios said almost nothing to Moth. Instead, he let Moth gape in confusion at all the things he was seeing, occasionally smiling or tossing off a comment that made no sense. Moth knew Artaios was showing off. He remembered what he’d learned about Skylords, about how arrogant they were, and how they thought humans were inferior. And yet Moth appreciated Artaios’ gift. No other human had ever flown like he was flying now. Not Skyhigh. Not even Rendor.

Moth forgot his hunger, and almost forgot his fears, too, until he caught a glimpse of Alisaundra grinning at him through the clouds.

That’s what they’ll do to me,
he reminded himself, and he backed away from the rail of the chariot, refusing to enjoy the flight any further.

 

Exhausted from all that had happened, Moth fell asleep in a corner of the chariot near Artaios’ feet. When he awoke the Skylord was looking down at him. Artaios held the golden reins of the vessel in his hands. Night had fallen and the moon glowed behind his head, giving him a ghostly hue. Moth rubbed his eyes, feeling like a dog at its master’s heel. Artaios’ expression was peculiar.

“Stand up now,” he said.

“Huh?”

Half the Skylord’s mouth turned up in a grin. “You’ll want to see this,” he said, then reached down and took Moth’s arm, lifting him to his feet. Moth steadied himself, blinking the sleep away. Orange flares leaped from the cloud horses. Warm wind tugged at Moth’s coat. Darkness blanketed the world below, but up ahead rose a crown of peaks, gleaming in the moonlight. Moth leaned over the rail.

Spires reached from the top of the mountains, breaking from the rocks. Domed towers and balconies poked skyward. Archways disappeared into dark tunnels. Fluted columns supported floating gardens, and trestled walkways weaved along the hillsides. Moonlight set the city ablaze, giving off an eerie, almost blinding light, illuminating the creatures flying between the structures.

“The Palace of the Moon,” said Artaios proudly.

The city rose up to swallow them, and the beings threading through the night revealed themselves.

“Skylords,” Moth whispered.

They were everywhere, hundreds of them, walking along the avenues and taking flight from balconies on dove-white wings. Moth held tight as Artaios directed the chariot down, into the city’s lustrous heart. The winged beings flocked like geese to greet them, coming alongside the chariot and calling greetings. Moth looked around, stunned by the gathering, then realized Alisaundra was gone.

“Where’s the Redeemer?” he asked.

“Sent ahead,” replied Artaios. His grin widened. “He’s expecting us now, Egg.”

Moth sneered at the nickname. “Who?” he shot back.

“Korace,” said Artaios.

“Who’s—”

“Enough!” Artaios guided the chariot over the tops of the first towers. “Stop chattering like a wood nymph and behold!”

The Skylords escorted them over the moon-painted city. The ghostly horses dove lower, fading in and out of their own fiery mist. Up ahead loomed a ridge of ashen rock, projecting out from a mountainside like the horn of a rhino. Along the ridge rode a series of towers connected by an ancient bridge, each tower larger than the one before it. The final tower, perched at the very tip of the horn, hung out over the mountain in a shroud of vapor, held aloft by fragile fingers of stone.

“What’s that?” asked Moth as the chariot made its way to the tower. He could see other Skylords already gathered on its roof, along with a handful of Redeemers. “Who’s Korace?” he pressed.

Artaios held the reins lightly now. The cloud horses slowed as they pulled closer to the tower. A breeze stirred the Skylord’s hair. Moth looked down again, saw puddles at the base of the mountains, and realized they were lakes.

“This is impossible,” he said. “It should be freezing up here! I shouldn’t be able to breathe . . .”

Artaios delighted in his wonder. “You’re about to see something no other of your kind has ever seen, Egg. This is a great gift I give you.”

Moth was too dazzled to think straight. “What?” he asked. “You mean this place? It is amazing . . .”

“Wait,” said Artaios.

He put his hand on Moth’s shoulder as the chariot slid across the enormous roof. Skylords parted to make way, jerking on the chains of their Redeemers, pulling them along like pets. The tower was so large Moth could barely see the end of it. The chariot touched down on the rooftop. The cloud horses floated to a stop, as insubstantial as air.

Moth did his best to mask his fear. He looked out over the gathered Skylords, amazed by their luminous beauty and sickened by their cruelty. The leashed Redeemers chattered, falling to their knees. Except for one.

“Great Artaios!” called Alisaundra. She hopped to the front of the gathering, dropping down before the chariot and lowering her face to the ground. “Korace awaits you!”

Moth looked up at Artaios and asked one more time, “Who’s Korace?”

“My father,” Artaios answered. “Ruler of us all.”

MOTH STOOD SILENTLY in the center of the arena, a tiny speck in a massive, moonlit bowl. Next to him stood Artaios, smiling, occasionally waving at the Skylords flying through the galleries. Trees jutted from the ancient walls, curving skyward as their roots clung to the rocks. Colorful birds danced between the balconies, stacked hundreds of feet high. Overhead, the moon shined directly into the arena, drawing an eerie luminance from the stone. A breeze touched Moth’s face, but he did not shiver. Whatever magic made the air breathable somehow made it mild, too.

Artaios had called the place a “convocation.” Moth had expected a council chamber or a briefing room like the ones the Skyknights used in Calio, something small where they could meet Artaios’ father. Instead they were in a giant stadium. Moth looked nervously at the gathering Skylords, marveling at the way they appeared from the sky, dropping out of the darkness.

Like throwing bread to pigeons
, he thought, remembering walking with his mother once along an avenue in Calio. They’d brought a bag of stale crusts with them to feed the birds, and the pigeons nearly drowned them.

The memory made Moth ache. Calio was home. He knew that now, and knew he’d never see it again. Soon he’d be like Alisaundra. Head bowed, the Redeemer stood behind him, her inhuman gaze watching him unceasingly.

“What are we waiting for?” demanded Moth. “Where’s Korace?”

Artaios glanced down in annoyance. “Eggs do not summon gods,” he said.

“My name’s Moth, all right? Not Egg.”

Artaios laughed. “You’re a child. You’ve seen nothing. You know nothing. So you are Egg.”

Ahead of them stood an empty silver throne, its tall back adorned with folded metal wings. Behind the throne stood a line of white columns spouting fire. Behind the columns was the nothingness of empty sky. Moth imagined Korace arriving out of the air just like all the others, alighting on his giant throne. He’d be like Artaios, Moth envisioned, only bigger, carrying a pulsing sword just like his son. As a hush fell over the convocation, Moth braced himself.

“He comes,” whispered Artaios. He dropped down to one knee, his white wings brushing the stone floor. “Kneel.”

Moth whispered back, “I won’t.”

A sudden slap cracked against the back of his head. “Kneel!” hissed Alisaundra.

Moth whirled around. “Keep your dirty hands off me!”

Then he was flying suddenly, lifted by his coat and kicking in the air as Artaios dragged him upward. The gathered Skylords laughed and hollered. Before Moth could struggle free, Artaios fluttered down again and tossed him across the floor.

“On your knees!” cried Artaios. His wings spread out as he landed next to Moth. Stunned, aching, Moth didn’t bother to rise. As he glanced up he saw a figure walking slowly toward the throne, walking with a cane in his gnarled hand.

Walking.

Moth lifted himself to his knees, refusing to bow his head. The giant he’d been expecting was instead a wizened creature, the mere shadow of a Skylord. White robes drooped from his shriveled body. He had two brawny escorts ready to catch him should he fall. He dragged himself toward his throne, his cane clicking slowly against the stones, his useless wings flat upon his back. When at last he reached the throne, the escorts lifted him into the silver chair. As Korace caught his breath, a puff of feathers fell from his wings.

“Father,” Artaios greeted.

Korace nocked his cane into the arm of his throne. He bid them closer with a skeletal finger. Artaios took Moth by the collar and stood up.

“Speak clearly and with respect,” he warned, then shoved Moth forward.

Korace seemed to disappear in his enormous chair. Unlike the other Skylords, there was no twinkle in his eyes, the light having faded long ago. His skin reminded Moth of an old book, the kind with paper so dry and yellow you couldn’t touch it anymore without tearing it. Thin hair lay flat against his emaciated skull, a sickly shade of bluish white. His head bobbed with a tremor.

“Here he is, Father,” said Artaios. “The one who commands the Starfinder.”

Moth waited for a response but Korace’s face was blank. Was he deaf?

“The dragon Merceron has the Starfinder now,” Artaios continued. “The Redeemers have felt it.”

Korace’s eyes squinted to see Moth better. His expression was something like disgust.

“The boy has told me nothing, but denies nothing either,” Artaios went on. “His silence is his confession.”

“Confession? Of what?” cried Moth.

“For crossing the Reach,” said Artaios. “For breaking the ancient pact. For hiding what belongs to us, and for consorting with dragons.”

“So this is a trial?” Moth pointed at Alisaundra. “Is that my punishment, to be turned into one of those things?”

Before Artaios could answer, Korace made a whispering sound. Moth listened very hard but couldn’t understand a word.

“What’s he saying?” Moth asked.

Artaios went to his father’s side, kneeling down beside the silver throne and taking the old creature’s hand. Artaios nodded as Korace spoke.

“Come forward, Egg,” said Artaios after a moment. “Let my father look at you.”

Moth stepped up reluctantly. Korace spoke again into Artaios’ ear.

“My father says you’re tiny,” explained Artaios. “Like an insect. He says you are well named.”

Moth shrugged off the insult. “Maybe. But sometimes it’s the little bugs that are hardest to catch.”

“There’s no place for you to run, Egg,” Artaios assured him.

“Artaios, you don’t have what you really want. You don’t care about me. You just want the Starfinder. And you know what? I’m glad I gave the Starfinder to Merceron. Tell your father that.”

Korace held up his hand before Artaios could speak. With a great effort he said,
“You bring us war.”

His gravelly voice startled Moth. The whispers from the convocation stopped. Korace struggled to his feet, managing to flex his withered wings, revealing bare patches of skin where feathers had been.

“We had peace with the Starfinder,” he rasped. “And we had peace when it was gone. Now we have war again.”

“That’s not my fault,” said Moth. “The Skylords started the war.”

Enraged, Korace began to shake. Artaios steadied him.

“We will find Merceron, Father,” Artaios promised.

“No.” Korace managed a frightful smile. “Merceron will find us.”

“Oh,” said Moth, “so I’m your hostage.” He looked accusingly at Artaios. “Is that why you brought me here?”

Artaios replied, “If Merceron wants to save you, he’ll return what is ours.”

“Why? So you can enslave everyone again? Merceron won’t let that happen. If you think so you’re crazy.”

Korace collapsed back into his throne with a fit of coughing. Artaios rubbed his shoulder until the spell subsided. “Humans,” Korace spat. “The worst of them all.”

Moth stepped closer. “You’re no better than us, Korace. We’re just like you, except we don’t have wings. We can even fly.”

Korace looked up as if he’d been struck. “Yes,” he hissed.

Artaios flashed a warning look. Finally, Moth understood.

“Now I get it,” said Moth. “That’s why you hate us.”

“Egg . . .”

“Because we can fly and you can’t!”

Up in the galleries, the Skylords hooted slurs, swirling madly over the arena. Korace hung his head in embarrassment.

“You wretched little beast,” snapped Artaios. His hand went to his sword. “I should kill you where you stand.”

Moth raised his chin. “Sure, go on and do it! See how long it takes you to get back the Starfinder when I’m dead!”

Artaios jerked the blade halfway from its scabbard, releasing a burst of orange light. “Child, beware me . . .”

“Your father started the war, didn’t he?” Moth pushed. “He couldn’t stand the thought of other creatures flying, not if he couldn’t fly anymore. That’s why he hates the dragons. That’s why he hates humans, because we’re just like you!”

Artaios’ sword leaped out in a streak of fire.

“Master, no!”

Something jerked Moth backwards. Stumbling, he saw Alisaundra throw herself between them, sprawling before Artaios.

“My lord mustn’t!” she begged. “Remember the Starfinder!”

Artaios kicked her, rolling her over. Miraculously she crawled back to him, stroking his feet. “Great one, don’t kill him. He is the answer!”

Moth couldn’t speak. Deliberate or not, the Redeemer had saved him. He stood up again as Artaios shook Alisaundra off his sandaled foot. The blade glowed furiously in the Skylord’s fist.

“You see this creature?” said Artaios. He spat down at Alisaundra. “Look at her. Look what we can do!”

Moth pitied Alisaundra. He wished she would rise up, just once, and claw Artaios’ arrogant face.