Empires of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 2) (30 page)

"Look at us,
Eelani," she said, eyes stinging. "Koyee and
Eelani—dragonslayers."

She had to grind
her teeth to stop from shaking.

The door across the
arena opened.

The crowd's roar
swelled, pounding against Koyee's ears and chest, aching against her
ribs.

Like a snake
emerging from a lair, Tianlong the dragon, black beast of Ilar, burst
into the arena.

"Death to
Qaelin! Death to Qaelin!"

Koyee bared her
teeth.

Stand
your ground, Koyee. Focus. Breathe. Figh—

The dragon soared
and came swooping down toward her, mouth opened wide enough to
swallow her.

Koyee yelped and
raised her shield.

The great serpent
crashed against her with a force like a falling mountain. Screaming,
Koyee dropped to one knee. The beast snapped at her shield, teeth
lashing around the metal. Koyee strained to shove the shield upward,
to keep the dragon away; she felt like Tianlong could push her into
the earth.

"Death to
Qaelin!" the crowd chanted. "Tianlong, Tianlong!"

Koyee sucked in her
breath, growled, and swung her sword. The blade reached around her
shield and slammed into Tianlong's black scales.

The dragon shrieked
and pulled back.

Koyee leaped to her
feet, facing the beast.

Fifty feet long,
the reptile hissed. Though he had no wings, he hovered above the
ground. His tail swayed. Sand filled his red beard, and his eyes
gleamed, red orbs the size of Koyee's fists. In paintings and
drawings, Shenlai—the blue dragon of Koyee's homeland—appeared long
and limbless like a snake. But Tianlong, the black dragon of Ilar,
had diminutive arms that ended with claws. They were no larger than
Koyee's own arms, so disproportionately small that despite the fear
of battle and roaring crowd, she laughed.

"Tianlong!"
she said and raised her blade. "This sword slew many of your
people. Come taste it again."

The dragon
bellowed, shot skyward, and came plummeting down a second time.

Koyee leaped
sideways.

Tianlong's fangs
drove into the dust, and Koyee jumped and landed on his head.

The dragon shrieked
and bucked. Koyee flew into the air. She reached out and grabbed
Tianlong's horn, but her hand slipped. She tumbled and thumped into
the sand. The breath was knocked out of her. The dragon's tail
lashed, slamming into her side. Koyee flew again.

The crowd howled.
In midair, Koyee held out her shield. The metal slammed into the
spikes surrounding the arena. One spike pierced the shield, emerging
rusty and dripping poison an inch from Koyee's face.

She let go of the
shield.

She slumped to the
ground in time to see Tianlong race toward her, his beard dragging
through the sand, his maw open.

She ran, skirted
his head, and slammed her sword down. The blade hit the dragon's
neck, but the beast's scales were hard as armor, sparking under her
blade.

Her arm blazed with
pain. She felt the curse crawling across her, driving down to the
bone, and she screamed, nearly fainting from the agony. She tried to
strike again, but the pain dulled her reflexes. Tianlong lashed his
tail, hitting her chest. She slammed into the sand.

The dragon rose and
swooped again, and this time Koyee had no shield. She held her sword
upward, hoping to skewer the beast's maw as he tried to bite. But
Tianlong dodged the attack, grabbed the blade between his teeth, and
tugged.

The sword came free
from her hand.

"Sheytusung!"
she shouted.

The dragon spat the
blade out like a man spitting out a toothpick. Blood trickled from
Tianlong's gums, but he managed to grin and hiss, leering down at her
in the sand. Koyee wanted to rise. She wanted to chase her sword, to
keep fighting with tooth and nail if she had to. But her arm kept
blazing; it felt like a swarm of insects scuttling across her, and
her sleeve bulged.

The dragon drove in
to bite.

Nearly blind with
pain, Koyee rolled aside, and the fangs drove into the sand. Her body
pressed against her wounded arm, and she screamed in agony, tears
budding in her eyes. The heat of battle stoked the curse like oil on
flame. She felt the black welts rise to her shoulder, her neck,
flowing down her back, creaking her bones, and—

Tianlong came
plunging down toward her, an asp striking at a rat. Koyee's eyes
rolled back. She managed to roll aside and the crowd chanted around
her, an endless sea like the one she had navigated with Torin, and
she wept because she missed him and she was sorry.

I'm
sorry, Torin. I'm sorry I failed you, that I failed the night. I love
you.

The dragon bit.
Fangs drove into her armor, bending the scales, reaching toward her
flesh. She was vaguely aware of the beast lifting her. She hung many
feet above the ground, caught in his maw, her armor bending between
his teeth, and she knew that she had only a few heartbeats left.

Her arm rustled.
Her eyes fluttered open. And she saw him there. He was running across
the arena, wrists bound. The crowd jeered. Torin leaped and landed
onto the dragon, kicking and biting at the scales.

Koyee in his mouth,
Tianlong snorted and laughed.

His amusement
loosened his teeth.

Nearly fainting
with pain, Koyee kicked, driving her feet into the beast's palate.
The mouth opened. Koyee leaped out, grabbed a fang, and swung as if
around a pole. She leaped into the air and landed on the dragon's
head, a good fifty feet above the arena.

She had no shield.
She had no sword. All she had was her pain. She tore off her sleeve,
exposing her arm.

The black welts
covered her completely, hiding her skin—the arm looked like a burnt
log rustling with insects, searing hot and stinking. Tianlong bucked
beneath her, shaking his head. Koyee held on tight and shoved her arm
down, placing the festering limb across the dragon's eyes.

Pain blazed through
her like a thousand suns.

The dragon
shrieked—a sound of shattering glass, of crashing stars, of falling
empires.

Koyee rubbed her
arm against his eyes, driving it against the orbs, nearly passing out
from the pain, unable to breathe. Through the fog of tears, she was
just able to see the curse spread, the tendrils crawling into the
beast's eyes.

Her grip on the
dragon's horn loosened.

She rolled down
Tianlong's scaly neck, fell through the air, and thumped into the
sand.

Blinded, the dragon
flailed. His head lashed from side to side, enraged, the dark magic
in his eyes. He cried for his empire. He cried for his mistress.

Arm wobbling, Koyee
rose to her feet. She trudged through the sand and lifted her fallen
sword.

"Tianlong!"
she cried hoarsely.

Hearing her cry,
the blind dragon lashed his head toward her, still trying to bite.

Koyee sidestepped,
grabbed the beast's horn, and placed the tip of her sword against his
ear.

"Do not move,
Tianlong!" she shouted. "Move and my blade will enter your
skull."

The dragon froze,
the curse rustling in his eyes like cockroaches inside two bowls.

Koyee was vaguely
aware of Torin lying several feet away, moaning, his chest rising and
falling. She dared not approach him. Holding the sword to the
dragon's head, she raised her eyes and sought the empress.

Hikari was standing
under her canopy, gazing down from above. Their eyes met—a Qaelish
girl and the mistress of a southern empire. All across the
amphitheater, the thousands of spectators stared, silent.

"Fight with
me," Koyee said, chin raised. "Fight with Qaelin. I will
spare Tianlong's life, for he is a noble beast and a true warrior.
Let Tianlong fly north with us. We will roar together! We will slay
sunlit demons."

The empress looked
down at her, silent.

"Fight with me
. . ." Koyee said, arm rustling. "Sail north. We must . .
."

Her eyes rolled
back.

She thought that
Torin caught her, but she wasn't sure.

She thought the
empress was shouting, that soldiers were rushing forth, that the sun
was rising. She closed her eyes and let her body glide through dark
oceans.

 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:
THE HALLS OF ETERNAL HARMONY

As the full moon
rose, Bailey beheld the distant city of Yintao, capital of Qaelin.

Riders around her
murmured in awe. She heard phrases like "the heart of the
empire" and "city of harmony" and "the halls of
the undying" and other fancy words. Sitting atop her nightwolf,
Bailey found it harder to be impressed.

"I expected
something more . . . grand," she said to Okado; the tall warrior
rode at her side. "Crystal towers of light like in Pahmey. Hot
air balloons by the thousands. Fireworks and trumpets and fanfare.
Jugglers and dancers and majestic animals with names I can't
pronounce. But I only see brick walls."

Her nightwolf
panted beneath her, the silvery female Ayka. Stroking the animal,
Bailey stared ahead, trying to seek some grandeur she had missed. The
walls stretched ahead across the land; they seemed miles long. Every
hundred yards, a pagoda rose from the walls—guard towers, she
surmised. Lanterns lined the battlements like orderly soldiers.
Behind these defenses, she saw nothing—no hot air balloons, no glass
steeples, no domes of light. Brick walls and shadows—that was how
Yintao greeted them.

Okado shifted upon
his nightwolf, turning to face Bailey. "Might is not judged by
lights and fanfare. Would you judge the Chanku Pack by the crater
that was our home? Pahmey shone with lights for many miles; it fell
within two hourglass turns. Yintao is no center of beauty or
pleasure; it is a fortress of stone and steel." He gave Bailey a
mirthless smile. "I would choose no other place for Eloria to
make its final stand."

Bailey patted her
bow. "So long as I can slay Sailith monks from these walls, I
suppose the place will serve."

The pack kept
moving, thousands of warriors in armor upon their wolves, their
elders and children within their protective ring. No stars shone this
night; a shadow covered the sky like an omen of death. When the moon
broke through the cover, it fell upon a silver river to her east and
mountains ahead. Between water and stone, the city loomed.

As the pack drew
closer, Bailey began to realize how tall these walls rose. Tiny
figures stood atop them, armor and spearheads glinting in the light
of lanterns. Judging by the sentries' size, the walls of Yintao must
have risen a hundred feet tall. Lining them like a spine ridge, the
pagodas rose even taller, their tiers of roofs tiled red. Not a sound
seemed to rise from the city. Pahmey had always hummed, a blend of
distant song, chatter, and footfalls. Yintao stood like a silent
graveyard.

This
city will be a graveyard,
she thought and grimaced.
Thousands
will die upon these walls. Here we stand or fall.
She looked into the northern darkness.
Hurry,
Cam, and return with aid.
She
turned to stare southward.
Hurry,
Torin. Come back to me.

She
touched her lips, remembering their kiss, and winced with the pain of
missing him.
Come
back soon, Torin, so I can smack you for making me feel like a
doe-eyed farm girl. I'm going to smack you so hard you cry.

The
Sage's Road led them toward the city gatehouse. An archway loomed
between two guard towers, its keystone sporting a dragon of blue
tiles. Iron doors stood closed within, their facades engraved with
soldiers battling beasts under the constellations. Fifty living
soldiers stood upon the gatehouse battlements, arrows nocked and
aiming at the pack. Across the walls, many more troops stared down
silently, bows in hand. They wore shirts of scales and curving helms.
Broad men, their faces were hard and cold, and white mustaches
adorned their upper lips. Their banners flapped in the wind, hiding
and showing the moonstar of Qaelin.

"Fire rises
behind us!" Okado shouted, standing in his stirrups. "Hail,
guards of Yintao. We bring aid!"

For long moments,
the guards atop the walls merely stood silently, staring down, not
lowering the bows. The pack stirred and grumbled. Voices rose,
demanding entrance, vowing to attack the city should the doors not
open. While the soldiers upon the walls were like automatons of
steel, the pack was a wild thing, a horde thirsty for the fight.
Okado turned around in the saddle, glaring at his riders.

"Silence!"
He turned back toward the walls. "Chanku rides to aid Yintao.
All armies of Qaelin must now fight united. A great enemy follows
along Sage's Road. Timandra crawls upon the land. I am Okado, ruler
of Chanku; I will speak to your emperor."

For another long
moment, not a guard stirred, and even the banners drooped and would
not flap. Bailey held her breath, staring, wondering if they had come
all this way in vain.

Then, with wails
like a mournful ghost, the iron doors of Yintao began to open.

The wolves yipped
and clawed the earth. Bailey leaned forward in the saddle and a gasp
fled her lips. She clutched the hilt of her sword.

"By Idar's
flea-ridden beard," she muttered. "Civilization in the
wilderness."

The opening doors
revealed a boulevard as wide as most towns. Polished flagstones
formed its surface, and columns rose in palisades, lining the road,
lanterns flaring out from their marble like mushrooms upon trees.
Between every column stood a guard in scales, a spear and shield in
hand, so stiff Bailey thought they might be statues. The road
stretched for miles; Bailey saw it pass through several other gates.
Far in the distance, rising from shadow, stood a great pagoda with
seven tiers of red roofs. A golden idol stood atop the uppermost
roof—the ancient sage Xen Qae, clad in robes, his hands pressed
together in meditation.