Empires of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 2) (31 page)

Bailey turned to
look at Okado. He gave her a wry smile before heeling his wolf and
riding forth. A heartbeat later, Bailey joined him. With creaking
armor, frosting breath, and snorting nightwolves, the Chanku Pack
rode into the capital of their empire.

Bailey looked from
side to side as she rode. The silence unnerved her. The soldiers of
Yintao stared from the roadsides, still and grim. Beyond them, she
saw many streets spreading away from the main boulevard like veins
from an artery. Houses lined them, each one the same as its
neighbors—their walls formed of adobe bricks, their curling roofs
tiled red. Pahmey had been a jumbled hive—a place of rickety
workshops, crystal towers, dirty alleyways, and magnificent pagodas
of gold and silver. While that fallen city had celebrated color and
life, Yintao was built with an austere, clockwork efficiency, every
cobblestone perfectly aligned, every brick identical to its brethren,
every doorway displaying the same moonstar rune. Bailey was willing
to wager that every roof bore the same number of tiles, and that
every guard stood the exact same height; they certainly all seemed
identical to her. She wondered what had happened to the shorter or
taller guards, then gulped and decided it was a mystery best not
dwelled upon.

Huffing and moaning
sounded behind her. She turned to see Hem racing forward upon his
shaggy old wolf. The young man's cheeks were flushed red, and sweat
glistened upon his brow even in the cold of night. His wolf panted
beneath him. With a clatter of armor, he reached her and wiped his
brow.

"Bailey!"
he said. "Idar's bottom, don't you ever wait up?" He
gestured around him. "We're here! We're in Yintao."

"Yes, Hem, I
noticed."

He offered a shaky
smile, reached over, and patted her wolf. "We'll be all right
now, Bails. We'll be safe behind these walls." Suddenly he was
blinking too much. "Cam and Tor will join us here soon. I know
they will. Maybe they're here already." He lowered his head. "I
miss them."

Bailey sighed.
Perhaps she had been too harsh on the boy along the road. He was,
after all, the only one here from her home, and who knew when she'd
see Cam and Torin again? She tightened her lips and nodded.

"Hush now,
Hem. I'm not even sure we're supposed to talk in this city. It's so
silent here."

The pack kept
riding, stretching across the boulevard. They must have walked for a
mile before they reached another layer of walls, identical to ones
before them, and passed through a second gateway. As they kept
riding, they passed through seven gates and walls, cities within
cities. When they entered the seventh layer, Bailey gasped and
covered her mouth. Her heart nearly stopped and she heard the pack
whisper behind her. Tears filled her eyes.

"Hope,"
she whispered, voice trembling. "There is hope in the night."

The innermost city
was a bastion of might. A square sprawled out, larger than ten
Fairwools. Countless soldiers stood here in perfect formations, line
by line, men and women alike. Each wore scale armor, greaves,
vambraces, and a helm. Each bore a shield, tasseled katana, and
spear. Every soldier stared ahead, face blank, eyes expressionless.
Not a breath stirred. Beyond their lines rose a hundred halls or
more, their roofs wide, their walls sporting arrowslits—barracks for
the troops.

Behind the army
loomed the great pagoda Bailey had seen from the first gateway. Seven
tiers tall it rose, wide enough to house thousands; it was easily the
largest structure Bailey had ever seen, even larger than the palace
of Arden. This was a castle like a city. Braziers surrounded its
columns. Gold lined its many roofs of red tiles. The golden idol
stared down from above, wise and horrible.

"Behold the
Eternal Palace," Okado said at her side. "For over a
thousand years have the emperors of Qaelin ruled from this place.
Here is the heart of our empire."

"This is no
heart," she whispered. "This is the empire's sword."

She dug her heels
into Ayka. The white nightwolf bolted forward.

For the first time,
the soldiers of Yintao moved.

Thousands turned
together, a machine of perfect precision, and slammed spears against
shields. The shafts crisscrossed like an iron fence. All eyes stared
at Bailey. Beneath her, her wolf snarled but stopped in her tracks.

For long moments,
the two forces stood facing each other—the soldiers of Yintao in the
square, an army of steel and silk and silence; and the Chanku Pack, a
horde of fur and fang and fury. A cold wind blew and Bailey wondered
whether they had passed through the seven layers of Yintao only to
die at its center.

A trumpet blew.

As one, the
soldiers parted, forming a path.

Bailey narrowed her
eyes. In the darkness ahead, several men came walking down a stairway
from the pagoda gates. After descending the last step, they walked
across the square until they reached the wolf pack. The men sported
flowing white mustaches, silken robes embroidered with moonstars, and
golden sashes around their waists. They bowed, hands pressed
together.

"Welcome to
Yintao, riders of Chanku," said one, the oldest among them, face
wrinkled and gums toothless. "We've heard many tales of the
western riders; your forebears were honorable nobles, tracing their
ancestry back to Xen Qae himself. We bring you the gifts of light."
They held out floating silk lanterns on strings. "Who among you
leads?"

Upon his wolf,
Okado nodded down toward the men. "I am Okado, leader of this
pack." He accepted one of the lanterns, its silk painted with
birds and fish. "With me is Bailey Berin, an emissary of
Timandra."

As the men turned
toward Bailey, she removed her helm, revealing her small brown eyes
and golden braids. The Elorian elders—of white hair, pale skin, and
large blue eyes—gasped and mumbled amongst themselves. Bailey stared
down at them; if any here mocked her ancestry, she felt ready to
slice through this entire army. She looked over at Hem, who sat upon
his wolf behind her, and gestured for him to remove his helm too. He
shook his head wildly and moved his wolf several feet back.

Finally the elders
returned their eyes to Okado. "We've heard much about the
Timandrians, the sunlit enemy. Emperor Jin the Blessed would much
like to speak with . . ." He struggled to form the words. ".
. . Bai-ley Be-rin. You would be most welcome in his hall. Your
riders may rest in this square until we find them better
accommodations. You and your Timandrian companion will follow me; I
will lead you into the hall of the emperor."

The sages led them
up the stairway, past statues of dragons with embers in their mouths,
and through a golden doorway bejeweled with rubies. Leaving their
wolves outside, Bailey and Okado entered the palace of Qaelin's
emperor.

A towering hall
awaited them, lined with columns of red and gold. Bailey gasped. She
had never seen a chamber this large; all of Fairwool-by-Night could
have fit in here with room to spare. A mosaic sprawled across the
floor, depicting blue dragons coiling around silver stars, their eyes
jeweled. Braziers rose every few feet, shaped as every animal known
in the night, their bronze skin inlaid with gold and silver, their
maws holding fire that filled the room with light and sweetly scented
smoke. Guards stood between the columns, more finely dressed than the
army outside; gems glowed upon their armor, trapping the lures of
anglerfish, and silken robes hung across their shoulders, embroidered
with crescent moons.

A beacon of light
shone across the hall, so bright it blinded Bailey. She leaned
forward and squinted, but saw only a glow like the moon. The
mustached sages stopped, stepped sideways, and bowed. They gestured
ahead, inviting their guests to approach the light.

Bailey glanced at
Okado. Strangely, despite the splendor of this place, she felt
uneasy, almost afraid. The sight of Okado—a rougher sort of man, his
armor dusty from the journey, his face rugged—comforted her. He met
her eyes and nodded, the thinnest of smiles upon his lips. She nodded
back and faced forward again. They began to walk, crossing the hall.

They moved between
the columns, braziers, and guards. Some of these palace warriors
frowned to see Bailey, a foreigner in their hall; one even raised his
spear and seemed ready to strike before his comrade stopped him.

A high, young voice
rose from across the hall, emerging from the light. "Come forth,
guests! I've waited long to see you."

Bailey and Okado
kept walking, boots thumping against the mosaic, and the throne of
Qaelin came into view.

Bailey's jaw
unhinged.

Red stairs led up
to a dais. Between whorled columns rose a throne of gold and rubies.
A great statue of a dragon coiled around the throne, its scales
formed of blue tiles; it seemed so lifelike Bailey half expected the
statue to rise and blow fire.

A child sat here,
gazing upon her. His eyes were large and blue, his white hair was
held up in a bun, and he wore a blue silken robe. At first Bailey
thought his limbs were encased in gold, but then she let out a slow
breath, and her heart softened. The boy bore four prosthetics, legs
and arms of precious metal. Pity filled Bailey at the sight, and she
let out a wordless whisper, longing to climb onto the throne and
embrace this damaged child.

Seeing Okado kneel
at her side, she stopped herself. Coated with the dust and sweat of
her journey, feeling like a beggar at a banquet, she knelt too with a
clatter of armor.

"My emperor,"
said Okado, lowering his head. "I bow before you, Jin, Holy Lord
of Harmony. I am Okado of Chanku. With me is Bailey of Timandra.
We've come to bring aid, Your Highness, and warnings of evil in the
west."

Bailey looked up
and saw the child examining her. Their eyes met, and Bailey gave him
a small smile. He might have been an emperor, but he was still only a
hurt boy.

Our
fate lies in the hands of a child,
she thought.
A
child whose hands are made of gold and cannot move.

"I've heard of
Timandrians," the emperor said, his voice high and beautiful and
far too young for a hall this grand. "For many years, my sages
told me they were but legends. But here one kneels before me. And
many gather in the west. Tidings of this invasion have reached the
capital. Tidings of Pahmey's occupation—and then its fall—have come
here too. I grieve for the souls who died."

Sudden rage flared
in Bailey, burning across her pity. She leaped to her feet.

"You knew of
the invasion?" she said, voice echoing across the hall. If
before she had wanted to hug this child, now she wanted to shake him.
"You knew of Pahmey's fall? You have an army! Why didn't your
soldiers march west? Why didn't you help us as Timandra murdered, as
the towers crashed, as—"

Okado placed a hand
on her shoulder, hushing her. She wheeled toward him, panting with
rage, and spun back toward the emperor. Her chest rose and fell, and
her fists clenched and unclenched.

The
boy stared down at her, haunting sadness in his eyes. "Help
us
?
Are you not one of the sunlit?"

Bailey pounded her
armor of scales. "See my armor! I am a soldier of the night. I
was born in sunlight, but I fight for darkness. Why don't you?"
She took a step forward, ignoring the guards who shifted and raised
their spears. "Why didn't you help Pahmey?"

"I could hear
their screams in my dreams," Emperor Jin said, and a tear flowed
down his cheek. "Many times I wanted to march west with the
hosts, and yet I would not. Too many Timandrians gather; we could not
have stopped them. Our army would have crashed against the walls of
occupied Pahmey. And so we stay behind the walls of Yintao,
sharpening our swords, waiting for the sun to rise upon us. The enemy
marches across Sage's Road, the same path you took. Half a million
warriors swarm toward us. We are forging blades and armor as the
hourglass turns, and we are drafting men across the city and
countryside, yet still the hosts of sunlight greatly outnumber us."
The boy shivered. "They will be here soon."

Bailey's eyes
stung. "Is there any hope?"

"There is
always hope, child of sunlight," said the dragon statue.

Bailey nearly fell
onto her backside.

She gasped,
clutched the hilt of her sword, and drew a foot of steel. At her
side, she heard Okado gasp.

"You're . . ."
She sputtered, barely able to form the words. "You're real?"

The dragon of blue
tiles uncoiled from around the throne, rising in the chamber. Bailey
took several steps back, unable to breathe.

"Shenlai!"
said Okado, voice hushed with awe, and knelt again. "Shenlai,
dragon of Qaelin!"

Bailey stood before
the beast, sword still half-drawn. Shenlai rose like a snake from a
basket. His scales, which Bailey had mistaken for blue tiles, chinked
like a purse full of coins. His eyes, orbs like crystal balls,
gleamed as they gazed upon her. His beard and mustache flowed long
and snowy, and his eyelashes—each as long as a peacock
feather—fanned the air as he blinked.

"Shenlai,"
Bailey whispered, tears in her eyes. "I've seen your statues
across the empire, though I didn't know you were real." She drew
her sword, knelt before him, and placed the tip of her blade against
the floor. "My sword is yours."

It seemed to her
that the dragon smiled, a smile of warmth, wisdom, and ancient
secrets.

"That gives me
hope, child of sunlight," said the dragon. "The greatest
hope is found not in armies or castles, but in the hearts of honest
people. I see hope in your eyes and your soul. Rise, Bailey and
Okado, warriors of the night."

They rose and stood
before the dragon. Bailey wiped tears from her eyes and whispered,
"My heart is strong, Shenlai . . . though it beats stronger with
an army at my back." She returned her eyes to the emperor. "We
bring an army of wolves! They are noble and strong. We've sent
travelers south to Ilar and north to Leen, requesting aid. There is
help for Yintao."