Legacy of Moth

by Daniel Arenson

  But Iselda Serin stepped forth and raised her palm again, displaying the eclipse tattooed upon it. "There can be no forgiveness for marrying a nightcrawler." she said. "These creatures are utterly evil. My dearest Bormund, did you not send your eldest son to raid the nightcrawlers' coasts and slay them? And now you would allow your second born to bring one into your hall?" The new Queen of Orida shook her head. "The daughter of darkness must suffer the fate of all her kin, as commands my brother, the great Light of Radian, Emperor Tirus Serin. Like all other Elorians, she too must die. Slay her, King Bormund. Prove yourself a mighty king, worthy of sitting upon this throne and serving my brother." Her eyes narrowed. "Or would you show me your weakness, and would you have Emperor Serin hear of a nightcrawler in this court he has allowed you to keep?"

  King Bormund's eyes flicked between her and Eris, and for a moment the old king seemed torn.

  "Father . . ." Eris said. "What has happened to you? You were once a proud king! I remember. I left you here a proud king. Now your shoulders stoop, and your eyes turn to another for guidance, and you let this foreign sorceress command you, to order you to spill the blood of your own daughter-in-law." Eris drew his sword. "By my steel, I am sworn to protect my wife. You will not touch her. You will accept her as my wife, Father, or I will leave this place—with her and with the Meadenhorn."

  The king's eyes lit with fury, and he snarled and leaped forward. "The Meadenhorn is mine! It is not yours to keep. Ever has it hung around the necks of Orida's kings, not the necks of second born sons, of lesser princes." Bormund drew his own sword, the pommel shaped as the sun. "You have disgraced my court! Your wife must leave."

  "His wife must die," said Iselda, also stepping forward. She placed her hand on Bormund's shoulder. "Slay her here. Slay her before me." She leaned closer and whispered into the old king's ear. "Show your strength in your court, and you may show me your strength in your bed."

  The king shook, his face red, and let out a hoarse, wordless cry. He lunged toward Yiun Yee, swinging his blade.

  Eris roared and swung his own sword, parrying. The two blades clanged together.

  "Father!" he cried.

  Yiun Yee stepped back, eyes wide with fear. The old king lolloped toward her, blade swinging up and down, madness in his eyes. He seemed like a man possessed, and though old and frail, he shoved Eris aside with the strength of a great warrior. The king's sword swung downward like a comet, slashing through Yiun Yee's gown, tearing open the silk and her skin. The Elorian princess screamed and stumbled backwards, blood spilling.

  Eris roared.

  He leaped forward, blade arching.

  "Yiun Yee!" he cried. "Father, no!"

  The guards of the hall stepped forward, reaching for their swords, as did the Oringard, but Bormund waved them back. The old king leaped toward Eris, roaring in madness, swinging his blade. Eris held out his sword.

  "Stand back, Father!"

  Eris tried to parry, tried to stop this, but the old king was too given to his madness. Like a fish leaping mindlessly onto the hook, King Bormund drove onto his son's blade. Eris's sword crashed through the king's chest.

  Blood showered.

  King Bormund's sword clanged to the floor.

  Yiun Yee screamed and stepped back, clutching her wounded chest.

  Yet while her wound was skin-deep, King Bormund was hurt more gravely; Eris's sword emerged from the old man's back.

  "My horn . . ." the king whispered, impaled upon the blade. "My treasure . . ."

  The old man's fingers reached out, curling like talons, making a last attempt to grab the Meadenhorn from Eris's neck. Then blood filled the king's mouth, and he fell to the floor, his weight tugging the sword's hilt free from Eris's grip. King Bormund lay at his son's feet and rose no more.

  Eris stood, shocked, silent, still. He stared down at his dead father—the father he himself had slain—then raised his eyes. Iselda stood before him. Clad in her lush gown, her jewels bright, she met his eyes and smiled—a hungry, predatory smile.

  Before Eris could speak to the Radian sorceress, the doors to the hall slammed open behind him. Eris spun, his father's blood upon his hands, to see his older brother step into the Orinhall.

  Prince Torumun was a tall man of noble bearing, his beard thick and golden, his arms wide. Eris had known his brother to be honorable, a brave warrior, yet now Eris saw grisly trophies hanging from Torumun's belt. Elorian skulls dangled there upon chains, the eye sockets twice the usual size—the trophies of enemies slain in battle, an old practice not seen in Orida for many years.

  Prince Torumun stared at the scene: his father dead upon the floor, his brother's arms coated in blood, a wounded Elorian princess, and a smiling step-mother with cruelty in her eyes.

  "Your younger brother has returned, Prince Torumun!" said Iselda. "He has returned with an Elorian to usurp the throne. He has slain your father. Will you not take up arms against him?" The Radian turned toward the soldiers lining the hall. "Guards of Orida, will you not strike down this traitorous brother?"

  Across the hall, soldiers of Orida drew their swords and stepped forth. The Oringard—Eris's own men—drew blades and stepped around their prince, protecting Eris and Yiun Yee.

  "Brother!" said Torumun, voice torn in pain. "What have you done? You've slain our father!" The heir of Orida tossed back his head and howled. "You've slain him!" Torumun drew his sword. "Murderer! Usurper! Guards of Orida, slay him, slay the traitor! For the Light of Radian, slay Prince Eris!"

  The palace guards stepped forth, swinging blades. The Oringard, who had fought with Eris for three years and remained loyal even in this hall, parried and thrust back.

  "Stop!" shouted Eris, and his voice echoed in the hall, so loud he knew even the city beyond could hear. His eyes burned. His breath shook in his chest. "Stop this madness! Too much blood has spilled here already." He pointed a bloody finger toward Iselda. "Evil has come into this hall. The cruelty of the Radian Order has driven this place to bloodshed, to madness, to hatred. Iselda Serin, I banish you from Orida. Leave this city, and leave this island, and never more return. Go now!"

  The Radian Queen only smiled at him. She stepped between the soldiers toward Torumun. She placed an arm around the prince's shoulder.

  "Prince Torumun is now King of Orida!" she announced. "He has slain many Elorians in battle while you, Prince Eris the Traitor, brought an Elorian into our holy hall. By the laws of Orida, it is Torumun who now rules, and Torumun who is now my lover." She stroked the prince's cheek. "For long years, we longed to love in the open, my prince, my sweet Torumun. And now the throne is yours, and now my love is yours for all to see."

  The queen pressed herself against Prince Torumun and kissed him deeply, once his step-mother and now his lover. When the kiss ended, she pointed at Eris.

  "And now, my sweet Torumun, slay him. Slay your murderous brother and his wife. Slay them and we will mount their skulls in our hall, and the Meadenhorn will be yours, as I am yours."

  Torumun nodded, sword raised, and stepped forth.

  Eris knelt, grabbed his sword, and pulled it free from his father's corpse. With his other hand, he held Yiun Yee. She leaned against him, clutching the tatters of her gown and her dripping wound.

  "Brother!" Eris said. "How can you desecrate this hall? Turn aside this witch who seduces you."

  Torumun raced forward, sword swinging. "I will have your Elorian's skull for my trophy. You slew our father, and I will bring you to justice."

  The two princes locked swords. The blades clanged. Across the hall, the Oringard fought against the soldiers of the palace, and more men streamed in from the city. Blood washed the hall. One of the Oringard fell, chest pierced. Another cried out and tumbled. Men rushed into the hall, firing crossbows, and more of the Oringard fell. One bolt slammed into Eris's thigh, and he cried out in pain.

  He fell to the floor, landing by the corpse of his father. As men fought around him, Eris gazed at the dead king. Bormund's eyes seemed
to accuse him. You murdered me, son!

  "I didn't mean to," Eris whispered.

  You slew your father. You are forever cursed.

  Eris rose to his feet, grimacing. He pulled his wife into his arms, and he raced across the hall, moving between the combatants, and burst out onto the hill. The city flowed across the slopes, many halls of wood and thatch leading to the sea.

  "Slay him!" Torumun cried behind him from the hall. "Slay him and his wife!"

  Eris made his way downhill, and his Oringard fought around him, carving a way through soldiers, suffering the wounds of swords and arrows, until they reached the sea and entered their longship. A great host flowed down the hills toward them, a thousand men or more, firing arrows, crying out for their blood. Prince Torumun ran among them, and his voice rang across the city.

  "You are cursed, Eris! You murdered our father, and I will hunt you down!"

  And above that voice rose a cruel, high laughter—the laughter of Iselda Serin. The Radian Queen stood upon the pier, chin raised, smiling as the Orca's Blade sailed away.

  Eris had returned here as a hero, a proud son bearing an ancient prize. He fled the island as an exile, covered in blood—his own blood, the blood of his wife, and the blood of the father he himself had slain. His ancient gift, the Meadenhorn, still hung around his neck upon its chain.

  The surviving Oringard rowed, and Eris lay upon the deck. Yiun Yee lay at his side, and their blood mingled. They fled into the open sea, a dozen ships in pursuit, and the sounds grew hazy. Eris could no longer hear the waves, the shouts of his men, or the whistles of arrows. All he could hear was that distant, echoing laughter, and all he could see were his father's accusing dead eyes.

  CHAPTER TWO:

  ASHES

  Madori stood upon the ship's deck, the wind ruffling her short black hair, as the Ilari Armada emerged from the dusk into the ruin of her old home.

  "Fairwool-by-Night," she whispered. "Our home is gone."

  In the space of a blink, she saw a memory: Fairwool-by-Night as it had been in her childhood. Thirty cottages of clay and wood stood in a ring, their roofs thatched, their gardens blossoming with sunflowers, peonies, tulips, and other flowers her father grew. Old Maple rose between them, leaves shading the staircase that led to the village library. Fields of rye, wheat, and barley swayed in the wind, and beyond them sheep grazed in green pastures. Robins and blackbirds sang overhead, and wooden piers stretched into the river, shading the weedy homes of bass and sunfish. A place of lazy turns spent reading under the tree, racing through the fields in search of butterflies, and dreaming of distant adventures. Madori had grown up here lonely, a girl of mixed blood shunned by her peers, but in her long exile she had come to miss her old village, her dog-eared books, her warm quilt, her garden, her childhood, her home.

  Now this home was gone.

  She took a shaky breath, her memory vanishing. The fields had been trampled and cut down. The old maple tree was gone. The cottages and gardens had burned, and a great statue of Serin rose among them, gazing east toward the darkness. Only the library still stood, its columns sooty, but Radian banners now hung upon its walls. Serin's eastern garrison had mustered here before invading the night, and many soldiers still lingered. Radian archers stood in makeshift wooden forts and upon the Watchtower, the village's only stone fortification. Three warships swayed at the docks, lined with cannons, and more of the great buffalo guns lined the riverbanks. Hundreds of soldiers moved about the ruins of the village, and at the sight of the Ilari flagship emerging from the shadows, they cried out and raised their bows.

  Koyee walked across the deck of the Tai Lar, flagship of the Ilari Armada. Clad in Ilari armor, she was almost unrecognizable. Steel plates, tasseled and lacquered, enclosed her slender form. A helmet hid her face, the visor shaped as a snarling demon with furry eyebrows. Madori could see only her mother's eyes, large and lavender.

  "This turn we fight side by side, daughter," Koyee said and drew her sword.

  Madori swung down her own visor; she too wore Ilari armor, its black plates making her feel like a great steel beetle. She drew her own katana, the blade that had once been Sheytusung but renamed Min Tey. The blade had been stolen from her in the darkness; she had found it among Lari's belongings in the iron mine, and now once more Madori carried it to battle.

  "Side by side," Madori whispered. "For our home that was."

  Tianlong, last dragon of the night, streamed above, emerging from the dusk into the full daylight. Jitomi sat on his back, and the young emperor blew into a horn, a great wail for blood and conquest.

  Behind the Tai Lar, other Ilari warships emerged into the daylight, the vanguard of the Armada, a great fleet of five hundred vessels. For the first time in the history of Mythimna, this world frozen between day and night, an army of darkness emerged into the sunlight.

  With whistling arrows, the roar of a dragon, and blasting cannons, the invasion of Timandra began.

  "We are the night!" Koyee cried, and a sea of swords rose across the decks, thousands of warriors roaring for battle.

  "We are the night!" Madori cried among them, sword held high, for this turn, emerging into the sunlight, she too was an Elorian. She had been born of a sunlit father, but in this war she was a daughter of darkness.

  Enemy arrows rained from above, slamming against the Elorians' armor as they dropped anchor and lowered planks toward the docks. Cannons blasted from the riverside, slamming into the ship's iron hull, and the Elorian cannons answered from their decks, tearing into the enemy's lines. Madori screamed as she ran with the hosts, racing across a plank and onto the riverbank. She swung her sword, tearing into the Radians who stood upon the ruins of her village. Her mother fought at her side, and Jitomi flew overhead, and everywhere was smoke, blood, arrows, and steel.

  Perhaps a thousand Radian troops garrisoned here; the bulk of Serin's Eastern Division was still crawling across the night. The Elorian invaders outnumbered them a hundred to one. Ilari warriors raced through the camp upon panthers, swinging katanas at the enemy. Cannons tore down tents and huts and wooden walls. At first the Timandrians tried to fight back. A soldier raced toward Madori, and she swung her blade, parrying his every thrust, and finally drove her katana through his shoulder and into his chest. Koyee slew another man, and around them, a hundred more Timandrians fell dead.

  The rest turned to flee, but the Ilari—warriors bred in the light of the Red Flame for war and conquest—showed them no mercy. The blood of Timandra spilled upon the trampled fields and burnt remnants of Fairwool-by-Night. When the battle ended, all that remained of the Radian force were the dead.

  With the enemy slain and its ships seized, the Ilari troops cheered for victory, and even Tianlong roared with triumph above, but Madori found no joy inside her, only digging pain like a dagger buried deep within her chest beyond the reach of any healer. She moved among the ruins, boots slogging through blood, her eyes wide and damp.

  "Fairwool," she whispered.

  She walked over a corpse, around an Ilari panther and its rider, and through a puddle of blood. She knelt by a severed arm and a cloven shield.

  "The Shadowed Firkin rose here," she whispered, caressing the earth. Only piles of ash marked the place where the tavern had once stood. When Madori closed her eyes, she could see the place again: the chimneys belching out smoke, light glinting on the stained-glass windows, and the bronze statue of Hem Baker sitting inside by the hearth. She could hear the laughter of patrons, the songs Tera Brewer would sing upon the tables, and the crackling of the fire. She could smell the cooking beef stew and fresh bread, taste the cold ale, feel the oiled wooden bar beneath her palms. Yet when she opened her eyes, it was gone; only ash and blood and death.

  Madori rose to her feet and walked around a group of laughing Ilari soldiers. She felt dizzy and nearly fell but dragged her feet onward. She knelt by a blackened stump and placed her hand upon it.

  "Old Maple rose here," she whispered. She could see the tree i
n her memory again. She had spent many hours of her childhood climbing its branches, pretending to be Bailey Berin, the great heroine of the war whose statue had once stood in its shade. She was Madori Billy Greenmoat, her middle name given to her in honor of Bailey, yet now the heroine's statue was gone, and the tree both women would climb had been cut down.

  Madori left the stump. Her boots squelched through blood as she walked forward to where her old house had stood.

  Her childhood home—the old cottage where she had been born and raised—was gone. Upon the blackened earth where it had stood now rose a stone statue, taller than the fallen Old Maple, of Emperor Serin.

  Rage filled Madori like the fire of a thousand cannons.

  She roared, grabbed a stone from the ground, and drove it against the statue. She cried out, tears in her eyes, and pounded the statue again and again, chipping Serin's leg.

  "You killed my friends at Teel!" she shouted, thinking of the Elorian students he had slain on the road. She pounded the statue. "You destroyed Pahmey!" Tears streamed down her cheeks. "You ruined my home. I am coming for you, Serin. I will find you and I will destroy you."

  She kept pounding the statue with her rock, chipping bit by bit, until the stone cracked in her hand, and Madori fell to her knees, panting, chest heaving.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder, and she spun around to see Koyee staring down at her, eyes solemn.

  "Try this," Koyee said, handing Madori a chain.

  Ilari troops stepped forward with more chains, which they wrapped around the statue and attached to their panthers. The beasts tugged and Madori tugged with them, straining as she gripped the iron links. The statue tilted, then crashed down and shattered. The Ilari soldiers cheered, but Madori remained silent, staring at the fallen colossus. The head lay at her feet, larger than her entire body. She looked into the stone eyes.