Empires of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 2) (37 page)

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 forebears. 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.

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.