Empires of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 2) (27 page)

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.