“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.
* * * * *
Koyee did not know if the Timandrians had managed to enter this city, but if they had, they had done it little damage. While outside the walls she had seen fallen bricks, sunken ships, and piles of corpses, the inside of Asharo seemed untouched by war—which, Koyee thought, did not make it any more pleasant than the ruined port.
While Pahmey had been a city of light and color—its roofs tiled green and red, its statues golden and bronzed, its towers a glowing array of greens, blues, and silvers—this city was a painting all in black and red. Black were the cobblestones that formed its twisting roads. Black loomed the buildings along the roadsides—square structures like barracks, their roofs spiky with battlements. Black was the armor of the countless soldiers who patrolled the streets, their helms hiding their faces, their boots thudding. Red shone the sigils on their breastplates, and red fluttered the standards from every roof.
Walking down the boulevard, following the city guard, Koyee at first thought that she was walking among fortresses. Yet some buildings were shops; she could see blades, herbs, and painted pottery in their windows. Others were homes; scrolls hung from their doors, displaying red runes that named the family dwelling within. Yet every building here looked like a castle—shops and homes alike sported crowns of jagged crenellations, and soldiers stood upon every roof, arrows and spears in hand. Guard towers rose at every intersection—some were elaborate pagodas, their bricks black and their roofs crimson, while others were simple minarets holding a single archer. The banners of Ilar draped walls and flew from towers everywhere, hundreds of them—a red flame upon a black field, proud and horrible to behold.
There is almost no distinction here between civilians and soldiers, Koyee thought. Barely any shade between peace and bloodshed.
It was a city built for a single purpose: warfare. That both chilled her and kindled hope within her breast.
A growl sounded ahead, and Koyee nearly stopped in her tracks. She drew in breath with a hiss and clutched her sword. Behind her, she heard Torin curse.
“A shadow panther,” she whispered.
The beast prowled ahead, crossing the road. Koyee had seen the stray cats that had come upon the Timandrian ships, slinking creatures that lurked in shadows. The creature ahead looked like a black cat the size of a nightwolf. Its eyes gleamed, two golden plates, and its fangs shone. It moved with the grace of wafting smoke. Upon its back rode a soldier, a whip in his hand. Both beast and rider turned to stare at Koyee, and her heart nearly stopped. She was sure the creature would lunge and tear out her neck; its claws were like swords. She was about to draw her own blade when the rider cracked his whip. The panther hissed and bristled, then padded onto another road.
Koyee let out a breath of relief and released her hilt. They kept moving through the city.
They walked for two or three miles, moving up and down the sloping streets. Finally they reached a long, wide road lined with torches in iron sconces. It coiled up a hill like a rotten tongue, leading toward a castle upon the hilltop. A pagoda of black bricks, the castle rose six tiers tall, its roofs tiled blood-red. A great flame burned upon its crest, taller than a man, shrieking in the wind. Koyee had seen the fabled palaces of Pahmey, yet this castle dwarfed them; it was the largest structure she had ever seen, a monument more befitting a god than an empress.
“It looks like a demon’s lair,” Torin said, walking behind her.
She glared over her shoulder at him. “Hush!”
She gave the rope a tug. Grumbling, he followed silently.
They began to climb the road. Troops lined the roadsides, standing between the torches. Their armor seemed so bulky and heavy—lacquered plates like the shells of beetles—that Koyee wondered how they remained standing. Their helmets, shaped as twisted iron masks, all seemed to leer. Leashed panthers growled at their sides, eyes golden like more torches, fangs bared and black fur bristling.
It was a long climb to the castle. The road alternated between stairs and cobblestones. Koyee’s knees ached and her breath burned when they finally reached the gates of Asharo Castle, Hall of Ilar’s Dark Empress.
Two panthers framed the gates, clawing the flagstones beneath them. A dozen guards stood between the cats, swords drawn. The gatekeeper who had led Koyee here spoke with them. Koyee expected to be turned aside, ushered into an antechamber for moons of waiting, or even slain on the spot. In Pahmey she had waited for moons to speak to city elders, and here she came seeking an empress. To her surprise, the guards nodded grimly, and the towering doors of the palace—carved of stone and inlaid with golden flame sigils—opened.
As Koyee entered the castle, she thought, Who would have imagined that a village girl would someday enter the hall of an empress?
She found herself in a dark chamber full of soldiers, their helmets the twisted masks of mocking spirits. Banners hung from the walls and torches crackled. A mosaic of a chained, beaten man sprawled across the floor; the figure’s mouth was open in anguish and arrows and blades tore into his flesh. Living prisoners stood chained to columns, stripped down to their underclothes, the sigils of their Timandrian kingdoms—scorpions, elephants, and crocodiles—etched into their chests with bleeding cuts. Leashed panthers growled at the prisoners, close enough to claw at skin. The smell of blood, burnt flesh, and embers filled the hall.
Koyee took several steps forward, moving through the smoke of the torches and braziers. When she saw the throne of the empress, she gasped and had to struggle not to draw her blade.
“Stars of my home…” she said.
A dragon slithered ahead—not a statue like the thousands across Eloria, but a living beast of black scales, red eyes like smelters, and white fangs as long as her sword. The great serpent regarded her, smoke pluming from his mouth. His red beard and mustache crackled, the tips lit with fire, and his grin spoke of hunger for flesh.
“Tianlong,” Koyee whispered. “The last dragon of Ilar.”
The dragon coiled around a dais like a snake around an egg. Upon the block of stone rose a throne, all jagged black spikes like blades, its rubies glittering like droplets of blood. It seemed to Koyee more like a torture device than a seat. Upon this hunk of steel and gems sat Empress Hikari, Mistress of Ilar. She was long-limbed and powerfully built, a woman not unlike the panthers who prowled her hall. She wore plate armor, the steel lacquered black, gleaming with crimson gems and bristly with tassels. A mane of white hair cascaded across her shoulders, and her eyes gleamed red, two lanterns in her feline face.
A crown of gilded bones sat atop her head, and steel claws grew from her fingers.
Koyee came to stand before the empress and her dragon. She knelt, tugging down Torin to kneel behind her.
“Your Highness, Empress Hikari, Mistress of Night!” Koyee called out. “Tianlong, great beast of fire! I am Koyee, a daughter of Qaelin. I bring with me a prisoner from our war … and the allegiance of my people.”
Of course, Koyee could not speak for all of Qaelin—perhaps not even for the Chanku Pack, only one of her empire’s peoples. Yet the empress did not need to know that.
Empress Hikari stared down at her, fingering a drawn katana that lay upon her lap; fresh blood stained the blade. She slung one leg across the throne’s armrest and snickered.
“Qaelin!” said the empress, voice thick with mockery. The word echoed across her hall, and sneers rose among her guards. Even Tianlong the dragon snickered, smoke blasting from his nostrils.
Koyee nodded and rose to her feet. “Qaelin is your ally. Qaelin too fights against the day. Qaeli—”
“Kneel before me, Qaelish worm!” shrieked the empress. “Kneel lest my dragon bites off your soft head. Down!”
Stifling a growl, Koyee knelt again. She stared up at the empress. “You’ve seen the threat of the day. Let our two empires fight together. Let—”
The empress laughed, the sound of a demon laughing before a meal of man-flesh. “Two empires? Last I heard, the miserable backwater your folk call Qaelin cannot even protect its borders. Tianlong has flown over your darkness, and he saw cities in ruin, soldiers lying torn apart, piles of dead and dying. Qaelin? It is no empire; it is a graveyard for the weak. You could not defeat Ilar with your cowardly assault thirty years ago; now you cannot defeat the day. Yet Ilar still stands strong, proud, and noble.” The empress rose to her feet and raised her sword. “We are fire!”
Across the hall, her guards raised their own swords, shouting out the cry. “We are fire!”
Koyee remained kneeling, but she dared to stare at the empress. “Fire? We are the night! Those are the words of all Elorians. We are one people. We are—”
The empress howled and sliced the air with her sword. “You will not spew your poison here! Tianlong will enjoy feasting upon you. One people? We share none of your Qaelish blood. The Ilari are strong, proud, and cruel. Your people are weak and decadent, crumbling into shadow.” Hikari thrust her sword into a burning torch, then brought the blade to her mouth and licked the bubbling blood. “But our fire will always burn.”
Koyee would not remove her eyes from the empress. “I walked outside your city. I saw the ruins of several sunlit ships. I saw a few hundred Timandrians dead, a few hundred more enslaved. Yes, Ilar defeated a small force in a small skirmish.” She clenched her fists. “Half a million Timandrians now march to Yintao, capital of Qaelin. If they sack that city, they will turn their eyes south. Ilar will follow. You won one battle—can you defeat the entire horde of sunlight?”
The empress stared down at Koyee—a stare of loathing, of mockery, of bloodlust. She nodded once then left her throne. The dragon coiling around her dais loosened his grip, allowing the empress to walk down a flight of steps. She stepped onto the mosaic and came to stand before Koyee.
“A skirmish?” the empress said softly. “Rise, child. Stand and follow. I will show you the most beautiful thing your eyes have seen … before I gouge them out.”
The empress spun and began walking to the back of her hall, moving around the throne. Her armor clattered and her boots thumped.
Koyee looked over her shoulder at Torin. He stared back, eyes dark.
I will get you out of here alive, Torin, she swore to him silently. We will not fail. We cannot.
She rose to her feet. Dragging Torin with her, she followed the empress. As she walked around the throne, Tianlong the dragon reared above her, chuckling. Smoke blasted between his teeth down onto Koyee, and his saliva dripped. Grimacing, Koyee walked beneath the black dragon, climbed over his tail, and reached the empress at the back of the hall.
A strange light in her eyes, Empress Hikari grabbed a sliding door and pulled.
Firelight flooded the throne room.
“Come, Qaelish worm,” said Hikari. “Come see the might of Ilar’s flame.”
The empress stepped through the doorway and into the red light. Koyee followed, holding Torin’s tether. She found herself upon a balcony overlooking a waking nightmare. Her breath died.
A river flowed south of the castle, its waters red with firelight and blood. A dam of stone and steel rose like a fortress. In the shallow waters, thousands of slaves toiled—naked, chained, their backs whipped, their bodies bloodied. Most were Timandrians, beaten into wretches. They hauled metal, clay, and tallow, bustling in the water like flies in blood. Metal ribs rose around them, tall as houses.
“It’s a shipyard,” Koyee whispered. “They’re building ships.”
Empress Hikari smiled thinly. “And forging swords and armor.” She pointed to the river’s southern bank where slaves toiled over cauldrons and anvils. “And serving as archery targets.” She pointed to a hill where slaves stood chained to posts, pierced with arrows as Ilari archers stood before them. “A skirmish, you said? Twenty thousand Timandrians attacked our coast. Some lie dead. The others are building Ilar the greatest army it’s ever known. That, child, is why we are strong and you are weak. When the Qaelish meet an enemy, they flee, die, or beg for aid. When the enemy attacks me…” She clenched her fist. “I crush it.”
Koyee turned toward the taller, older woman. “Then fight the enemy in the north. If Qaelin is truly but a backwater, let it be a battleground for your might. Show the enemy that Ilar will not cower on its island, content to fight behind its walls. Use these ships! Sail north along the Yin River and join the great battle at Yintao. It will be the greatest battle in the history of the night. Let your flame burn there.”
The empress raised an eyebrow. “You speak well for a Qaelish worm. You have either learned to mimic our customs, or some Ilari blood burns within your veins. There is fire in you.” The empress tapped her chin. “My soldiers have often raided the Qaelish coast, planting their seed in the wombs of your women; perhaps some ended up in you.”
Koyee swallowed down the rage those words kindled within her. “Fight with us, Empress Hikari. The enemy marches along Sage’s Road to Yintao. Fight at our side.”
Hikari turned to regard Torin. She stepped toward him, reached out, and trailed a steel claw across his cheek. Blood beaded. Torin winced but did not move. The empress brought the claw to her lips and tasted the blood.
“He tastes of fear.” She spat. “This one is weak. His flesh would serve to test swords and arrows.”
Koyee shook her head. “That one is mine, not yours to claim. He is my prisoner of war. You will not take him.”
The empress laughed, turning back toward her. “Fire indeed! I will offer you this, Koyee of Qaelin. You’ve proven that you can speak our words. Yet can you fight with our strength? I will test your might. You’ll fight a champion I choose. If you win the battle, you’ll have proven yourself a warrior, and I will fight by your side. Yet if you fail…” The empress smiled. “I will cut out your heart and feed it to my dragon, and your prisoner will feed the fires of our forges.”
Koyee stared back, chin raised, and though her innards trembled and her arm blazed with renewed pain, she managed to speak in a steady voice. “Send me your champion. Flame or death.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE BEAR MASQUERADE
Cam and Linee wandered the streets of Eeshan, dressed in furs, war hammers hanging across their backs.
“Camlin … I…” Linee wobbled at his side. “This hammer is too heavy and this fur stinks.”
He turned to glare at her. “Hush! Don’t speak Ardish here.” He glanced around nervously at the countless Verilish soldiers, broad and bearded, who wandered the streets, tankards of ale in hand, belches fluttering their lips. “Just try to blend in
.”
She blinked, looking ready for tears. “How can I blend into this place?” Her voice rose louder. “Am I to grow a beard and belch like a barbarian? I’m a queen and—”
Cam grabbed her arm and leaned in closer. “Linee! Be quiet! Like it or not, the forces of Verilon occupy this city. They might be fellow people of sunlight, but I doubt they love the Queen of Arden very much. Our kingdom did after all burn down half their forests a generation ago.”
Tears filled her eyes. In her oversized Verilish disguise—crude iron plates strapped over patches of fur and leather—she seemed like a child drowning in her father’s clothes. The cut Suntai had given her had faded into a pale, pink line on her cheek; tears now streamed down the groove.
“I didn’t burn anything,” she said. “I wasn’t even born then. Please, Camlin, can we go back to Suntai and the wolves? I promise I’ll be good. I won’t cry anymore or be afraid. But please can we go back? It wasn’t as bad outside on the plains.”
Suntai, along with their two remaining nightwolves, was hiding outside the city; these streets were too dangerous for them. At first, Cam had wanted to leave Linee in the dark too, but—after her altercation with Suntai—the dethroned queen had insisted on donning a disguise and joining Cam.
He shook his head. “Too late; you’re already here. We’ll go back to Suntai once we hire a ship. You know we have to sail north to Leen and find aid.”
She nodded and lowered her head, lip wobbling. “I don’t even want to go to Leen anymore.”
“It was never about what you wanted, don’t you get it?” Cam wanted to throttle her. “Leen has an army. They can help Qaelin fight.”
She rubbed her eyes. “Who’s this Qaelin person anyway?”
Cam groaned. “Linee! By Idar’s beard! It’s not a person. How could you not know this by now?” He stamped his foot. “This is Qaelin—the Elorian empire we’re in. The one you’ve been traveling across for a month.”
She pouted. “I don’t know all these names. This whole place is just Nightside to me. As far as I’m concerned, all the dark places are the same.”
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