Empires of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 2)

by Arenson, Daniel

  Her laughter was beautiful, and Hem's spirits soared. "That was a mighty kick!" he said. "I think he's still feeling it."

  She looked up at him and smiled—not a nervous smile but a true one, a beautiful smile, a smile that showed her large white teeth and lit up her eyes. Before Hem realized what he was doing, he was pulling back strands of her hair and tucking them behind her ears. She stared at him, hands in her lap.

  "You're pretty when I can see your face," he said softly.

  Her lips parted and she placed a hand on his cheek. "You're pretty too."

  Hem laughed. "No I'm not. I'm . . . I'm fat. And I'm awkward. And—"

  "You're pretty," she whispered.

  Hem remembered how Bailey had kissed his cheek—she had done it only mockingly, only trying to embarrass him, but now Hem wondered what it would be like to kiss Kira's cheek . . . and for her to kiss him. He shifted a little closer to her and—

  Horns blared outside.

  Hem froze.

  Kira leaped to her feet.

  "The silver horns of Yintao," she whispered.

  The sound keened across the city, rising and falling, a sound like ghosts in the deep, like the death of a nation. Hem stumbled toward the door and raced outside into the courtyard. Thousands were spilling out from their halls, pulling on armor and buckling swords to their belts. The horns blared from every guard tower, a sound that shook the city.

  Kira clutched Hem's hand. "War."

  Eye stinging, Hem reached down, raised her chin, and kissed her cheek—perhaps the last time he could.

  He whispered, "Ferius is here."

  * * * * *

  He stood upon the city's outer walls, a sword in his hand, gazing at the dark plains as the horizon burned.

  He marches there, Okado thought. My half-brother.

  The wind smelled of smoke and metal. Firelight rose in the distance like the dusk back in Oshy, the village of his childhood. Standing here on the walls of Yintao, staring upon shadows leading to light, Okado could almost imagine that he stood in Oshy again, gazing at the dusk, imagining the demons that lived in the land of sunfire.

  My mother loved a sunlit demon, he thought, lips twitching. His hand tightened around his hilt. My mother gave birth to his child, a boy of both sunlight and darkness. Ferius.

  He realized his sword was shaking, rage pounding through him. This had happened a decade before his birth—his mother had been only a youth—but still Okado raged. How could his mother have loved the enemy? How could she have carried this child within her, kept it secret, lied to him and Koyee until she took that secret to her grave?

  Okado found himself snarling, and his anger overflowed, emerging in a howl. He raised his sword high.

  Now that child of sin, his mother's secret, came back to crush the lands of night. Now he, Okado, born of the same woman but a different father, would have to send this shame back into daylight, to kill the cursed spawn of—

  "Okado, I fight with you," Bailey said, interrupting his thoughts. Standing beside him upon the battlements, she raised her sword with his. "We will slay them."

  Breathing heavily, he turned toward her. Bailey met his gaze, her eyes strong, her lips tightened. She wore the armor of his people, steel scales and a wolf's head helm. Though she still carried her double-edged blade of Timandra, not the curved katana of the night, she was part of his pack. She was strong and noble like Suntai, and Okado felt his rage lower to a simmer.

  Not all Timandrians are demons, he thought, gazing into Bailey's brown eyes. Perhaps my mother was not a sinner. He turned his eyes to the western horizon. Yet her son was born a monster. And I must kill him.

  "You are strong, Bailey Berin of the Arden clan," he said. "If we survive this war, I will name you a great rider in my pack, a beta warrior of Chanku."

  She snickered. "I don't need no titles. I just want to stick my sword in Ferius's gut."

  The fire grew brighter ahead, a red puddle oozing toward them. Individual soldiers were still too far to see; Okado could only make out rustling black specks under the flame and smoke. Their drums beat in the distance, and their own horns keened. When the wind gusted, Okado thought that he could hear a distant chant, a song for blood and victory. According to their scouts, all eight sunlit kingdoms marched there, soldiers and beasts, siege towers and chariots, monks and soldiers, death and destruction. It was the greatest army to have ever moved across Moth.

  Okado looked around him at the walls of Yintao. He stood upon the outer wall, one of seven squares enclosing the city. Thousands of soldiers manned the battlements. Most were soldiers of Yintao, helms hiding their faces. They held bows, spears hung across their backs, and swords hung at their sides. Guard towers rose at regular intervals, more archers upon them; the banners of Qaelin fluttered there, showing a moon within a star.

  When Okado looked down into the streets behind him, he could see his own warriors—the riders of Chanku astride their wolves, their armor dusty, their fur pelts rustling in the wind. The civilians of Yintao had evacuated from the first level of the city; they now hunkered deeper in. Along the streets and upon the roofs, the Chanku Pack stood ready for battle. Should the enemy break through the first layer of walls, they would meet Okado's clan; thousands of wolves and riders would die before letting Ferius reach the city's second level.

  "Seven walls," he said softly. "Five thousand warriors of Chanku. Fifty thousand soldiers of Yintao. Against half a million Timandrians."

  He looked toward the northern darkness. Only shadows spread into that horizon. Where are you, Suntai? He turned toward the south, seeing only darkness there too. Where are you, Koyee, my sister?

  Bailey touched his arm. "They will return with aid. Leen and Ilar will not abandon us."

  Okado stared back to the west. The fire burned brighter now. He could make out glints on armor and distant spikes—siege towers as high as these walls. "The siege might end before our friends arrive. This battle will be ours to fight—we stand alone."

  "Then we stand alone." Bailey drew an arrow from her quiver. "We will defeat the enemy—with or without our friends."

  They stood side by side, silent, waiting. All across the walls, the thousands of defenders stared. The horns still blew from the city towers. The enemy trumpets and drums answered the call. They swarmed across the land, spreading forward like wildfire. Okado could see the enemy clearly now, and he drew an arrow of his own.

  They covered the land, a moving city of bloodlust. Eight armies marched side by side, eight hordes of flesh and steel. Their banners rose, billowing in the wind, showing their sigils—ravens and tigers, scorpions and bears, and other beasts of sunlight. Above them all rose the banners of the Sailith Order, the new emblem uniting the daylight—a golden sunburst upon a red field.

  Lines and lines of troops marched, clad in the armor of their kingdoms. Some wore steel plates, others wore chain mail, while some wore suits of boiled leather strewn with iron bolts. They raised their weapons—swords, spears, pikes, bows. Not only men moved below; thousands of beasts approached too, creatures Okado recognized from Bailey's stories. Tigers tugged at leashes, roaring at the sight of the city. Some warriors rode upon horses, fast animals as large as nightwolves; others rode shaggy bears, humped camels, and even elephants with painted tusks. Alongside men and animals, the machines of war rolled forth: chariots with scythed wheels, siege towers topped with archers, wheeled battering rams hanging from chains, catapults and trebuchets, and ballistae loaded with bolts the size of men. From these hosts of might rose battle cries and song; men chanted for victory, drums beat, and horns wailed. The cry pounded against the city walls, louder than thunder.

  "Idar protect us," Bailey whispered. She nocked her arrow.

  Across the walls of Yintao, the other defenders—thousands of men and women who'd waited silently—now whispered their own prayers. They stared ahead, hands clutching their weapons. Some prayed to Xen Qae, others to the constellations, and some to the spirits of dead forebear
s. One man turned to flee, then another. The rest remained at their posts, staring, waiting.

  A light gleamed above, and Okado looked up to see Shenlai the dragon flying high above the walls. Soldiers of Eloria pointed and cried out.

  "Shenlai flies! The dragon of Qaelin blesses us."

  Across the last mile, the enemy marched forth; they covered the land now, spreading into the horizon, an endless sea. Their cries rose.

  "Death to Elorians!" the troops chanted. "The sun rises!"

  Okado stared ahead. He saw him there, riding at the lead, a man in yellow robes astride a white horse. His banner rose high in the wind, a sunburst to lead his troops.

  "Ferius," Okado whispered.

  Across the distance, he thought that the monk stared at him, that their eyes met, and it seemed to Okado that his half-brother recognized him . . . and grinned.

  Okado raised his bow in one hand, his sword in the other. He cried out for the city to hear—a cry for all the lands of darkness.

  "Eloria!" His voice pealed across the walls and the army ahead. "Eloria, hear me! We are darkness. We are starlight. We will show the enemy no mercy, for no mercy would be shown us. Fight well, my brothers and sisters. Fight well for your city, for your empire, for all the lands of shadow. We are the night!"

  The cries rose around him, shaking the walls, deafening, a cry of tens of thousands, a cry of millions across the darkness.

  "We are the night!"

  Okado nocked an arrow. Across the walls, thousands of archers tugged back their bowstrings. Below in the plains, Ferius raised a horn and blasted out a twisted shriek. With roars and banging drums and crackling torches, the soldiers of sunlight stormed toward the walls.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE:

  A SILVER LIGHT

  The enemy covered the land, stretching from horizon to walls, a tidal wave of malice. The city of Yintao shook.

  Okado had fought in battles before; he had slain many Nayan warriors upon the plains, and he had slain bloodsun monks upon the riverbanks, and his body still bore the scars of those fights. Yet he had never seen an onslaught like this—myriads of demons shrieking for blood, their weapons firing, the world itself vanishing under the multitudes.

  A dozen trebuchets twanged below. Boulders sailed through the air. Several crashed into the walls, chipping the bricks, scattering shards of stone. Others slammed into the battlements, knocking soldiers down into the city below; one boulder crashed only feet away from Okado, shattering a merlon and crushing men like a heart under a boot. Other boulders cleared the walls, and Okado heard screams, and when he glanced behind him, he saw the stones slam into buildings and crush nightwolves.

  "Men, fire!" Okado shouted and loosed another arrow. He didn't have to aim. Wherever he shot, he hit an enemy. Men kept racing up from the city, bringing new quivers of arrows, yet Okado knew the arrows would run out before the Timandrians did. He fired on, taking out man after man.

  "Where's Ferius?" Bailey shouted at his side, firing arrow after arrow. Her face was flushed, and enemy arrows thrust out from her shield. "Where's the bastard?"

  Okado spat. "Hiding. Hiding at the back. The coward led the charge as some conqueror, then retreated once the bloodshed began."

  "Then we'll have to kill every damn man between us and him. We—"

  Bailey had no chance to finish her words. Creaks and thrums sounded below. The air screamed as ballistae—great cart-drawn crossbows—fired. Iron bolts flew through the air, longer than men, to smash into the walls. One hit a merlon feet away from Bailey, and dust flew and bricks shattered. She nearly fell from the wall; Okado had to reach out and grab her wrist. More bolts flew overhead to crush nightwolves in the streets below. Houses crumbled. Debris scattered and blood splashed.

  "Hwachas!" rose a cry upon a guard tower. "Men of Yintao—fire death upon them!"

  A hundred hwachas topped the walls—iron plates as tall as men, punched full of holes like a grate. Fire arrows filled each hole, bags of gunpowder tied behind their fletching. Men lit fuses and began to ignite the projectiles.

  When Okado glanced at the nearest hwacha, he found its operators dead, enemy arrows in their chests. Ducking under an assault of more arrows, Okado raced toward the iron launcher.

  "Bailey, you aim, I'll fire! Aim at their catapults."

  She nodded, leaped down beside him, and grabbed a winch. She growled as she turned the wheel, aiming the iron plate—and the hundred arrows filling its holes—down toward the enemy.

  "Fire!" she shouted.

  Okado grabbed a fallen man's torch and waved the flame across the arrows' packs of gunpowder. Smoke billowed out. A hundred explosions crackled, nearly searing Okado's eyes. With screams and flame, the hundred arrows blasted out from the hwacha. Across the battlements, ten thousand more arrows fired. Smoke and flame engulfed the walls, and the enemy screamed below.

  When the smoke cleared and Okado dared to look over the battlements, he beheld hundreds—maybe thousands—of dead. The fire arrows had punched through armor like knives into mud.

  "We've slain a drop in an ocean," Okado muttered.

  As men around him began loading more fire arrows, the enemy rolled forth new terrors. Siege towers approached, a hundred feet tall. Wheels creaked below them, the spokes decorated with Elorian skulls. Armored mules tugged at their lead, arrows shattering against their steel. Atop each siege tower, men awaited, clad in plates, firing arrows at Yintao's battlements.

  "Smash the wheels!" Okado shouted. "Slay the mules!"

  He fired an arrow at one of the beasts, but it only shattered against the animal's armor.

  "Okado!" Bailey ran along the walls and leaped over a dead man. "Help me!"

  He saw her kneel by a toppled cannon. Shattered merlons lay around it, crushing dead gunners. Bailey knelt, grimacing as she tugged the cannon. An arrow slammed into her armor and snapped. Okado leaped over fallen bricks, knelt beside her, and helped her lift the bronze tube.

  "Death to Elorians!" shouted the enemy in the siege towers. "Take this city!"

  When Okado glanced up, he saw a dozen towers only feet from the walls. Arrows flew everywhere. One missile slammed into his shoulder, denting the armor, and Okado grunted; the tip nicked his flesh. Bailey was loading a cannonball into the muzzle. Okado lit the fuse, pulled Bailey down, and covered his ears.

  Smoke blasted over them.

  The cannon jerked back so violently it fell from the wall, crashing into the courtyard below.

  Okado rose, the arrow thrusting out from his shoulder. The cannonball had torn through one siege tower; half its warriors had fallen. Yet the structure kept moving forward. Iron planks slammed down, snapping onto the battlements. Timandrian troops spilled out onto the wall, swords swinging.

  Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, Okado drew his katana. Bailey hissed at his side, her longsword clutched in both hands.

  The enemy surged toward them.

  Okado's sword sang.

  The enemy covered the walls like ants scurrying along a log. Men leaped at him, clad in metal plates, swinging their double-edged swords. Okado swung his shield in one hand, his katana in the other. He howled as he fought, a wolf's cry, his helm hiding his face. His sword sprayed blood into the courtyard below. His shield shoved against men, sending them toppling down. Blades crashed against his armor, denting the scales. One dagger pierced the steel and bit his flesh, and he roared and slew the man. He fought with animal fury, his brothers and sisters fighting around him.

  Bailey stood always at his side, shouting as she fought. Her sword crashed through armor, severed limbs, shattered shields. She wore the armor of Eloria, but she fought like a demon of fire, cutting down her own people.

  The swords rang. The arrows flew. Boulders sailed overhead, cannons fired, and the hwachas rained death upon the enemy. Yet still the enemy's catapults swung, and still siege towers moved forward. Ladders joined them, slamming against the walls of Yintao, and thousands of Timandrians began to climb.

&nbs
p; Okado and Bailey raced from ladder to ladder. They fired arrows. They shoved down fallen bricks. At their sides, soldiers poured burning pots of oil and packs of gunpowder. Explosions rocked the walls, and the dead piled up—mountains of corpses rose below, yet more kept swarming. Living Timandrians raced over the mounds of their dead, and more ladders rose, and more boulders slammed into the walls.

  "Bailey, the city gates!" Okado shouted, the arrow broken in his shoulder, the dagger wound blazing on his chest. "They have a battering ram."

  He raced along the wall toward the gatehouse, a structure of two towers, battlements, and an archway holding the city's doors. As he ran, a boulder slammed into one tower, raining bricks and men down into the city. Archers fired from the second tower, and cannons blazed. A trebuchet swung upon the plains, and a flaming barrel crashed against the gatehouse crenellations, scattering men.

  Okado leaped onto the battlements above the doors, shield raised. Bailey ran at his side. Arrows slammed into their armor, and corpses lay around their feet. When Okado looked between two merlons, he saw the battering ram below. The pole swung on chains, its head shaped as a bear. The metal beast slammed into the doors again and again, denting the iron.

  Bailey fired down arrows, picking out men. Okado grabbed a fallen brick and hurled it, hitting a man's helm. At his side, Elorians tugged ropes, raising a cauldron of boiling oil. The liquid sizzled down onto the enemy. Screams and steam rose. More dead Timandrians piled up.

  "Shatter the ram!" Okado shouted. "Cannons, break those chains!" He gestured toward three men along the northern wall; they were firing a bronze cannon into a horde of enemy knights. "Cannons—to the gatehouse!"

  As archers fired down, Okado cleared way for the cannon. He lit the fuse himself. The cannon ball blasted out with a trail of fire. It slammed into the battering ram's chains, shattering the links. The pole slammed against the earth and rolled, crushing men. More arrows rained and more oil spilled.