“The city still fights.” Koyee’s hand trembled around the hilt of her sword. As their boat sailed closer, more details emerged. “There is still hope for Sinyong. Look, Torin! Elorians still stand upon the city walls.”
Two halves formed Sinyong, semi-circles clasping the river between them. A hundred pagodas rose here, their tiled roofs topped with statues. Several towers crumbled before Koyee’s eyes. As she watched, a catapult upon the plains hurled a boulder into a pagoda, sending statues, tiles, and bricks crashing down. Walls surrounded the city’s two halves, and upon them stood Elorians in armor, firing arrows and cannons. Lights blazed like lightning. Cannonballs crashed like thunder.
“How will we sail through?” Torin said. “Damn it. Is there another way to the sea?”
Koyee stared grimly. Their boat still sailed two or three miles away, but soon the river would take them through Sinyong and its raging battle. Where the river flowed between the city’s halves, the combat blazed brightest. Fifty ships or more sailed there; a few were Elorian junks, but most were the carracks of Timandra, the crimson buffalo upon their sails. Walls and towers rose along the riverbanks, many soldiers upon them, forming a canyon. Arrows and cannonfire crashed down onto the enemy ships, a gauntlet of flame and steel and blood. Bolts of black fire blasted out from Mageria’s vessels, dark magic that crashed into towers and sent them crumbling. Koyee couldn’t even glimpse the sea beyond the port; the battle curtained the view.
“We’ll have to sail through,” Koyee said, feeling the blood drain from her face. “It’s the only way to the sea. It’s the only way we can row south to Ilar.”
Torin winced. “It’s a damn bloodbath in there. We’ll wait until the battle ends at least.” He pointed ahead. “Nothing can survive that gauntlet. Look at it. Every ship sailing through the city is being pelted with arrows, fire, and death from above.”
Koyee raised her chin. “When the battle ends, Timandra will seize this city. They will inspect every boat that sails through.” She gave Torin a wry smile. “Arrows, fire, death? The perfect distraction for a sneaky little boat like ours.”
They sailed closer. The city loomed less than a mile away now. The smell of gunpowder, oil, and dust wafted on the wind. A dozen Magerian ships rose ahead, each boasting three masts, many sails, and hulls lined with men in dark robes. Elorian soldiers raced across towers above, clad in scales, firing from silvery bows. Arrows pelted the enemy ships; several Magerians clutched their chests and fell. Others stretched out their hands, shouting words in a foreign tongue. Dark fumes blasted out from the men’s fingers, shooting toward a stone tower. Where the smoke hit, bricks twisted like wet cloth. The tower creaked. The Elorian guards screamed between the battlements, and Koyee winced to see their breastplates shatter and their heads crack.
“The dark magic of Mageria,” Torin said, his knuckles white as he clutched the oar. “Damn it, Koyee, this is too dangerous. We have to turn back. We’ll find another way, even if we have to swim to Ilar.”
She shook her head. “No. There is no other way south. We must find aid in Ilar. If we cannot, this war will not only destroy the cities along the Inaro River. It will destroy the night. We must sail on.” She touched Torin’s arm. “I won’t ask you to come with me. We can oar the boat to the riverbank. You can try to join your people here; you are from Arden, an ally of Mageria. But I cannot stop here. I will sail through fire and magic to save my home.”
He sighed. “You know that only convinces me to go with this crazy scheme.”
She couldn’t help but grin. She mussed his hair and kissed his cheek. “I know. Now put on your armor and helmet—and stay low. We’re going to do some tricky rowing.”
She pulled on her own helmet—the wolf-helm her brother had given her. She already wore her shirt of steel scales. Keeping her sword drawn in her left hand, she grabbed an oar with her right. Torin grabbed a second oar.
The Water Spider gained speed.
The city loomed ahead.
Wincing, they oared through a curtain of smoke and flame … and entered the gauntlet.
The world became an inferno of blood, steel, and fire.
“Keep oaring, Torin!” Koyee shouted. “Faster!”
“Really? I thought we’d just sail leisurely!”
Arrows whistled through smoke. They clattered against the hull of the Water Spider, and Koyee cursed and ducked. An arrow grazed her helmet, and another slammed into her side. She grunted as it dented a steel scale. Between the smoke and flame, she could just make out the walls at her sides; Elorian archers stood upon the battlements, firing on anything that moved. The shouting of men, the blasting of cannons, and the shrieks of magic flowed through the canyon, deafeningly loud.
“Around that ship!” Koyee shouted, pointing ahead; she could barely hear her own words.
The carrack rose ahead, lined with three stories of portholes. Rents filled its sails, its railings rose like shattered bones, and the crimson buffalo of Mageria reared upon its burning banners. Arrows peppered the ship, tearing down Magerians in dark robes. The black swirls of magic rose from the ship, flying toward the city’s defenders like demons seeking flesh. Cannonballs flew down from the walls; one crashed into the ship’s hull, tearing a hole. Sailors screamed and fell.
Koyee gritted her teeth as she rowed around the ship. The towering carrack dwarfed the small Water Spider. Torin cursed at her side, face red as he rowed. An arrow slammed into his arm and ricocheted off his vambrace, incurring a new stream of curses. A cannonball crashed into the water ahead, and the Water Spider jolted. Koyee yelped, nearly fell overboard, and managed to steady herself and keep rowing.
“Between those two ships!” she shouted at Torin.
Two junks rowed ahead, their hulls lined with oars, their battened sails painted blue and silver. Elorians stood upon the decks, shouting and firing arrows. A Magerian galley came charging toward them, its figurehead shaped as a buffalo.
“Between the junks!” Koyee shouted, grimacing as she oared.
They rowed. The Water Spider shot forward, rocking over waves, bumping Koyee and Torin in their seats. A bolt of magic shot over their heads; its tail grazed their boat, twisting its frame. They kept oaring until they were moving between the two junks. Arrows whistled overhead. The ships blurred at her sides, forming walls around her, squeezing tighter. Koyee screamed and kept oaring.
“Koyee!” Torin shouted. “To your right!”
She turned to see the Magerian ship loom. Its figurehead rammed into an Elorian junk. A great wave tossed the Water Spider into the air. The junk ship tilted, slamming into the smaller Water Spider, cracking its hull where Koyee sat.
She shouted and fell from her seat. Her oar shattered. The Water Spider crashed back into the river, tilting, its bulwark cracked and leaking. They spun, trapped between the larger ships. Elorians and Magerians leaped from deck to deck above them, fighting with magic and steel. The little Water Spider, cracked and leaking, swayed between them like a mouse caught in a room of battling cats.
Koyee grabbed another oar; designed for twenty soldiers, the boat had several to spare. She pressed the oar against the junk’s hull, pushing the Water Spider away.
“Keep oaring!” she shouted at Torin. “We’re almost there.”
A second ship was pressing against Torin’s side. He rose to his feet, shoved against the larger hull, and pushed them free. The Water Spider shot forward, popping out from between the larger ships like a creature emerging from the womb. They oared toward the sea again.
Koyee inhaled a shaky breath. Several ships were sinking ahead; masts rose like a forest from the water. The dark brick walls of Sinyong still soared at her sides. More arrows kept raining down, and cannonballs crashed into the water like comets, leaving trails of fire. Three Magerian ships still sailed ahead, the dark wizards on their decks battering the walls. As Koyee and Torin rowed on, several Magerians crowded together at the railing of a caravel. Their voices chanted as one. Blasts of smoke left t
heir fingers, raced across the water, and climbed up the eastern wall.
Stone cracked.
Koyee winced.
With a sound like the shattering ribs of a god, the wall collapsed.
Koyee screamed as bricks rained down. The soldiers on the battlements plunged with the stones, crashing into the river. Blood mixed in water. Several bricks buffeted the river just ahead of the Water Spider, sending the boat into a spin. One brick grazed Koyee’s helmet and light flashed. She blinked, unable to see, only vaguely aware of Torin shaking her and calling her name.
She shook her head wildly and gritted her teeth. She kept rowing.
“I can see it, Torin! The sea. The sea lies ahead. Keep going!”
Her vision was blurry. Smoke, blood, and fire curtained the world. But she could see the black shadow ahead—the open waters, the stillness that would lead them to Ilar, to hope. She shouted as she kept sailing through death and pain, water gathering around her feet.
Two towers rose ahead, one from each riverbank, framing the exit to the sea. Archers stood atop them, raining down their arrows. Koyee and Torin raised their shields, grimaced, and oared as fast as they could.
Arrows flew down, slamming into their boat and shields. One arrow drove into Koyee’s oar. With three more strokes, they leaped over a wave, crashed down, and cleared the towers.
The Water Spider shot into the open sea.
Koyee breathed out shakily. “We made it.” Her eyes stung and she blinked rapidly. “We survived. Tori—”
He shouted and leaped toward her.
“Down, Koyee!”
She spun around. She screamed.
She caught only a glimpse of the Magerian—a man clad in black robes, his face hidden under his hood—standing upon a pile of fallen bricks. Then the blast of dark magic flew from the man, driving toward Torin and her.
She raised her shield. The ghostly fumes slammed into the Water Spider. Pain blazed and she couldn’t breathe. Smoke and iciness flowed across her, and the shield bent and cracked upon her arm. Torin writhed beside her, clawing at his armor; the steel was steaming.
Koyee’s shield shattered into metal shards. Her arm blazed, the steel of her vambrace twisting, driving into her flesh, cracking and reaching out metal fingers. She cried out in pain, nearly blinded, as she yanked at the armor. Agony flared in white light as she tugged, pulling the metal free from her flesh. She smelled her blood. She tossed the twisted vambrace into the water. Through narrowed eyelids, she saw the black smoke clinging to her forearm, twisting and coiling like worms, crushing her; her bone felt ready to snap. The fumes began to race toward her chest, cracking her scale armor, crawling along her skin.
Tears of pain in her eyes, Koyee leaped off the boat. She crashed into the icy water, slapping at the tendrils of dark magic.
The curse left her with a hiss like a torch dunked into a bucket.
Just her face above the water, Koyee sputtered for air, eyes rolling back.
“Tor—” she began.
She couldn’t move her arm.
She sank.
Blackness flowed across her, and her hair floated around her, and she was sinking—sinking into the sea, away from Torin, away from hope, but at least the pain was gone now. She could see beads of starlight in the water above.
A hand reached down through the water.
Fingers closed around her wrist.
She swallowed water as she was tugged up. Her head breached the surface, and she coughed, gasping for breath. A second hand reached under her arm, and Torin pulled her back into the boat. She collapsed onto the floor, coughing out water.
Trembling, she sat up. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. She kept oaring. When she glanced at her arm, she winced. Black welts coiled around her flesh like a snake, oozing blood. She looked away.
They rowed on through the darkness. The stars shone above and the waters calmed. Blackness spread all around. When Koyee dared to look over her shoulder, see saw the city of Sinyong far behind. It was rising in flames. The screams of the dying rolled across the water.
“We made it,” Torin finally whispered. “We made it out alive.” He rummaged through the darkness and lit one of their lanterns. “Damn! We lost half our food into the river. But we still have the fishing gear. I—Koyee? Are you all right?”
She was shaking, tears on her cheeks. Her arm would not stop throbbing, and she felt it inside her—something dark, twisting, coiling through her veins, the smoke of magic, a worm seeking her heart.
“I’m fine,” she whispered. “Torin … I’m fine. Can we stop rowing for a bit? Can you hold me?”
She had barely finished her sentence when he pulled her into an embrace. She held him with her right arm; the left tingled at her side, feeling too heavy. She laid her head against his shoulder, and he stroked her hair for a long time, whispering into her ear. She closed her eyes, shivering against him.
* * * * *
He stood outside the ruins of his victory. A moon had turned since he had killed his king, slain the demons, and crushed their lair, but the stench of burning flesh still clung to his robes and filled his nostrils. The ruins of Pahmey still smoldered, a sun upon the earth, a beacon of his glory in the vanishing darkness.
“The sun rises on the east!” he shouted from the hilltop, sitting astride a white stallion. The wind whipped his yellow robes. “The light of Timandra sears the demons of the night.”
They mustered before him, the hosts of light, the greatest army the world had known. All eight sunlit kingdoms gathered upon the plains, the fires of their conquest blazing behind them. Thousands of banners rose, revealing the beasts of their realms—ravens, bears, scorpions, tigers, and more, all the tribes of Timandra joined as one. Above them all, Ferius raised his own banner—the sunburst of Sailith, a sigil to bind all others, a symbol of his dominion. He was no longer a man of Arden—Arden was but a kingdom of mortals, an invention of petty men. He was the light of Sailith, an eternal flame. He was domination.
“We will cover the night with light!” he called out, hands raised. Around him upon the hill stood his bloodsuns, warriors of Sailith, their armor red, their breastplates blazing with golden suns like external hearts of light. “We march to the wretched lair the savages call Yintao. The demons call it the greatest city of the night. I call it their graveyard!”
Bellow the hill, the multitudes cheered. Men raised swords, spears, and hammers. Beasts roared—bears of the north, horses of the plains, camels of the deserts, tigers of the rainforests, and elephants of the southern isles. Chariots gleamed in the torchlight. Siege towers and trebuchets rose like a city of iron and wood. Warriors from across Timandra banged weapons against steel and cried for sunlight—northerners wearing iron over fur, their beards wild; plainsmen in plate armor stride horses; jungle dwellers in tiger pelts, spears in hand; desert warriors in robes, their blades curved; southern soldiers in armor of beads and shells, their elephants’ tusks gilded and jeweled. From across the day they had gathered under his light; they would fight as one. Half a million strong, they sprawled across the dark plains, the mightiest army to have ever mustered.
“The old kings cared for thrones,” Ferius hissed into the wind, his words too soft for any to hear. “I care only for annihilation.”
He grinned and licked his teeth. His father, a weak worm, had bedded one of the Elorian savages. The dirty blood of the night flowed through Ferius’s veins.
“But when all the night burns, my blood will be purified. When the shame of Eloria dies, so will my own impurity.” His grin widened, hurting his cheeks. “I slew you, my sinful father. And I will slay all the demons that you loved.” He inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring, savoring the scents of the smoldering city. He shouted for all to hear. “To the east! To war! To the blood of the night!”
His stallion reared, kicking the air. Ferius wheeled the horse around, grabbed the lantern that hung from his saddle, and raised the light. Ahead in the east, the road stretched through th
e darkness. Ferius spurred his mount, and the courser burst into a gallop. The wind shrieked. Ferius leaned forward in the saddle, racing into the shadows.
“You wait there too, Koyee.” He licked his chops, imagining the taste of her blood. “My half-sister. You will be the only one left alive, my little savage. You will be the one to suffer most.”
Behind him, his army chanted and shouted for victory. Hooves thudded. Elephants trumpeted and tigers roared. Horns blew and drums beat and endless voices rose in song.
“Death to Elorians!” they sang. “Sunlight rises!”
Like the fabled dawn of old, the hosts of sunlight spread across the darkness.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SAGE’S ROAD
“Hem! Damn it, Hem, keep up.” Riding ahead upon a silver nightwolf, Bailey gestured to him. “You’re lagging behind.”
Hem whimpered and dug his heels into his own wolf, but the poor beast only lumbered on slowly. He was now among the last stragglers of the pack. Twenty thousand men, women, and children rode ahead upon their nightwolves, heading east along the road toward the distant capital. Here at the back lingered the omegas—the elderly, the lame, and him. With a grumble, he goaded his poor mount again.
“Come on, boy. A little faster.”
The wolf—a shaggy old thing called Zan—mewled.
“It’s not my fault!” Hem cried out to Bailey. “They gave me the slowest wolf.”
Riding several yards ahead, Bailey looked over her shoulder at him and rolled her eyes. “Your wolf is just as good as mine. I could have ridden at the vanguard if I wasn’t always hanging behind here to wait for you. Come on!”
Hem gulped. It wasn’t fair! Bailey’s wolf was slim, silvery, and young, a noble female named Ayka, her fur bright and her eyes like molten gold. Poor Zan, meanwhile, was grizzled, scarred, and missing a fang. Not only did Bailey have a proper wolf, she looked a proper rider too. The pack had dressed her like one of their own. She now wore armor of scales over a white silken tunic. A wolf’s helm topped her head, its visor lined with steel teeth. She still bore her old sword, the doubled-edged blade of a Timandrian, but otherwise she looked to Hem like any of the Elorian riders ahead.
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