Empires of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 2) (42 page)

"We sail out!"
cried the ship's captain, a beefy man clad in leather and steel.
"Sailors—raise anchor. We sail!"

Torin
raced across the deck, moving between survivors, and leaned over the
railing. Three last rowboats were moving through the water,
navigating between scraps of burning flotsam. In each boat, fifty-odd
survivors crowded. As the
Red
Flame
's
sails unfolded and she began floating downriver, the smaller vessels
attached to her side like piglets to a sow. Survivors, most of them
burnt and bleeding, began climbing rope ladders onto the deck.

Torin scanned the
newcomers, daring to hope. As one group climbed aboard, he saw a tall
woman among them, her head rising above the others. She wore tattered
scales, scratches covered her skin, and soot painted her black. Two
charred braids hung across her shoulders, and when she looked toward
him, Torin saw brown eyes peering through dust and blood.

"Bailey,"
he whispered.

She saw him and
froze.

His eyes watered.

"Bailey!"
he shouted.

He ran toward her
between Elorian survivors. He had not seen her—his dearest
friend—in so long. When had they left the burning city of Pahmey? By
Idar, it must have been almost half a year ago. She moved through the
crowd toward him, tears etching white lines down her cheeks. When
Torin reached her, she crashed into his embrace, her body shaking,
her fingers digging into his back. Her tears splashed him.

"Bailey,"
he whispered, holding her close, crushing her against him, never
wanting to part from her again.

She laughed as she
cried. "Oh, Winky." She touched his cheek. "You're
still a babyface. You're all sooty and scruffy, but you're still my
babyface."

He held her at
arm's length, examining her for wounds. Blood and grime covered her,
but she grinned, her teeth startlingly white in her blackened face.
"Thank Idar you're all right, Bailey. I was so worried." He
felt his eyes water again, and he knuckled them dry. "Have you
seen anyone else? Have you seen Koyee?"

She stiffened and
stared at him, and her smile vanished. Her eyes hardened, and for a
heartbeat or two, she seemed almost heartbroken, then almost enraged.
Then the moment was gone, and she blinked and nodded.

"I saw Koyee
run into the palace. She vowed to fight alongside the emperor, to
protect him on his way here. They were going to leave the palace
last, only after all others were evacuated." She looked back
toward the port; the last two ships were raising their anchors.
"She'll catch the last ship."

But
no warmth or hope filled her voice; it was as leaden and cruel as a
cannonball. She might as well have added:
And
if she doesn't, that's fine by me.

The
Red
Flame
sailed
downriver, picking up speed and leaving the port behind. Enemy arrows
flew overhead, launched from a guard tower along the river. A few
tore through a sail, and people wailed and ducked below. Torin winced
and grabbed Bailey's arm, about to tug her down, when a cry rose
behind him.

"Torin!
Bailey!"

He turned to see
more survivors climb onto the deck from a second rowboat. A short,
slim figure moved among them, worming his way through the crowd and
calling to him.

Torin breathed a
sigh of relief. "Cam!"

The young shepherd
reached him, looking like a beaten alley cat; his armor was chipped,
grime covered his face, and blood stained his gloves. Torin grabbed
his friend and pulled him into a crushing embrace. Bailey joined
them, her bitterness gone, wrapping her arms around the two and
squeezing.

"Camlin
Shepherd!" Torin said. "Thank Idar you're here. Are you
hurt?" He examined his friend. "Where's Hem? Where's that
big lump?"

Cam said nothing.
He only stared, silent. Torin and Bailey were grinning and hopping
with excitement, but the young shepherd only stood, his eyes dark,
his face ashen.

Torin froze. His
throat constricted.

"Cam . . ."
Torin grabbed his friend's arms. "What . . . oh Idar."

Cam turned to gaze
toward the distant port. The fire still burned, and ash fell like
snow. "He was peaceful." Cam's voice was so soft Torin
barely heard. "I don't think it hurt him. He held a woman in his
arms, and he was gazing up at the stars." Cam turned back toward
his friends. "The damn fool probably never saw it coming."

Bailey covered her
mouth with both hands, eyes round and watery. Torin could not speak.
He could not breathe. He could only stare at Cam . . . Cam who'd
always been part of a pair . . . Cam and Hem, always together, the
troublemakers of town . . . now only one. Now only silence.

Torin lowered his
head. He held his friends, one in each arm, and they stood together.
They watched the port grow smaller, the last ships leaving the
flames.

A
year ago, we left Fairwool-by-Night . . . four friends, four youths
caught up in a war too big for us.
His eyes burned and his chest shook.
We
sail away from fire . . . three.

A soft voice rose
at his side. "Camlin?"

Torin turned his
head. Through his tears, he saw a young Timandrian woman, ash and
blood in her tangled blond hair, her face black with soot. It took
him a moment to recognize her, and when he did, Torin reached out and
held her hand, and he pulled her into their warmth.

"Linee,"
he said softly.

She clung to them,
tears on her cheeks.

As they stood
together, four children of sunlight in a fleet of darkness, Torin
looked back at the city; they were now sailing past its last towers,
emerging into the darkness of night.

Where
are you, Koyee?
he thought.
Where
are you? I need you here with us.

Darkness
engulfed the
Red
Flame
ship. Stars shone overhead. Torin stood upon the deck, holding his
friends, watching Yintao burn. Upon the wind, he heard the victorious
chants of daylight . . . and the fading song of the night.

 
 
CHAPTER THIRTY:
KOYEE'S SONG

She stood in the
palace doorway, her back to the throne, watching the last people of
Yintao leave along the Red Mile.

Beyond the
courtyard and halls of the palace grounds, a hundred soldiers of
Yintao—the last remaining—stood upon the seventh walls, firing down
at the enemy. A hundred more stood at the open gates, pikes raised,
holding back the sunlit horde. Every moment, another man fell dead.

The rest of the
Eternal Palace was deserted. Where once myriads had crowded—the
survivors of the slaughter—now only dust, shattered blades and a few
discarded dolls remained. They had all made their way to the port; as
Koyee watched, the last survivor—an elderly woman holding her
granddaughter—hurried out the gates, two soldiers protecting her.

Koyee spun around.
She stared into the hall of the emperor. Jin sat strapped into a
harness upon his dragon. Fifty soldiers stood around him, bearing
katanas and shields emblazoned with Qaelin's moonstars.

"It's time, my
emperor," Koyee said. "The last of your people have left.
We leave too."

Jin nodded. "We
leave. Shenlai! Do not fly high. We travel down the Red Mile like
everyone. We stay with our soldiers. We will not soar safely as
others die upon the ground."

Shenlai nodded,
sadness in his crystal orbs. He uncoiled and began sliding forward,
moving like a snake upon the hall's mosaic. Soldiers marched at his
sides, helms hiding their faces, their swords raised.

Koyee glanced back
at the courtyard outside. She winced. With most of the city's
soldiers gone down the Red Mile, protecting the people of Yintao, the
enemy was breaking in. Chanting and jeering, Timandrian soldiers
burst through the gates and into the courtyards and streets of the
Eternal Palace. Blood stained their swords, and they shouted for
victory.

"We must
hurry!" Koyee said. "Out!"

Shenlai increased
speed, bursting out of the hall like iron from a cannon. The palace
guards ran at his sides. Koyee ran with them, an arm's length from
Jin who sat upon the dragon, strapped into his golden harness.

"Through the
gates!" Koyee shouted. "Soldiers of Qaelin—cut down the
enemy! Make for the port."

She grimaced as she
ran. The enemy raced toward them. A part of her knew that it was too
late, that she should have left earlier, that the last to leave would
suffer the brunt of Timandra's wrath. Okado had begged her to flee
sooner, but how could Koyee have abandoned her emperor, abandoned the
last dragon of Qaelin, abandoned these brave palace guards who stood
their ground? So she had stayed. And now she screamed as she ran
toward the enemy, knowing she would die.

They raced across
the palace grounds. They crossed a courtyard, ran around a temple,
and skirted a statue of Xen Qae. Fifty yards from the gates, the
enemy met them.

Koyee did not know
how many Timandrians attacked—hundreds, maybe thousands. They kept
flowing into the palace grounds, firing their arrows. Koyee screamed
as arrows slammed into her armor. One scratched her thigh, and she
nearly fell but righted herself and kept running. Timandrian soldiers
ran toward her, hands bloodied, and she swung her sword. Her blade
clashed against them. They thrust their own swords, denting her
shield, and she shoved against them, pushing them back, not even
trying to slay them—there were too many to fight—just to break
through.

"Push through
them!" she shouted. "Get the emperor out the gates. To the
port!"

She drove forward,
shield held before her, shoving men down. They tumbled. Shenlai
roared at her side, biting and whipping his tail, sending men flying.
The palace guards thrust pikes, skewering men.

"Push them
back!" Koyee shouted. "Don't bother killing them. Just
shove with your shields. To the gates!"

Yet the enemy was
too strong.

Two palace guards
fell, pierced with swords.

Another five
tumbled to her right.

Koyee screamed,
hacked at a Timandrian's chest, and suffered a blow to her arm. Her
blood spurted.

Another blow
knocked her down; she fell hard on her tailbone, pinned between
Shenlai and the enemy. More swords swung her way, and she raised her
shield, her arm wet. The blows pounded against her, denting her
shield, tearing her armor, spilling her blood.

"Fly,
Shenlai!" she shouted. "Fly with the emperor."

She saw nothing but
the enemies' leering eyes and hammering swords.

A blow shattered
her shield, and blood dripped down her forehead.

She fell onto her
back. Her sword fell from her hand. Smoke coiled above. She couldn't
even see the stars.

A roar pierced the
night.

Blue scales
flashed.

Shenlai, last
dragon of Qaelin, leaped into the air and slammed down ahead of
Koyee, crushing Timandrians beneath him.

"Take the
emperor!" the dragon cried. "Take Jin."

Koyee's head spun,
but she managed to leap to her feet. She was wounded, maybe dying,
blood in her eyes. The Timandrians roared and swords swung against
scales. Koyee leaped, grabbed Jin from his harness, and tore him
free. She pulled the limbless boy to her chest, arms wrapped around
him. She had lost both sword and shield, but she had the boy.

Shenlai roared his
cry, a howl of ancient fury, a memory of the mighty dragon he had
been in older days. His long, scaly body began to move forward,
shoving Timandrians back like a plow through dirt.

"Take Jin to
safety!" the dragon said.

Koyee stood,
holding the emperor. The dragon flailed, shoving the Timandrians
back, and formed a living wall. Koyee and a few last palace guards
stood at one side of the dragon, the gates rising to their left.
Behind Shenlai, the might of Timandra roared and hacked. Scales and
blood flew.

Koyee looked at the
gates, seeing the Red Mile stretch down to the last ship in port. She
looked back at Shenlai.

"Shenlai . .
." Jin whispered, held to her breast. "Shenlai, please . .
."

Koyee hissed,
raised her chin, and placed Jin into the arms of a palace guard—one
of only five who still lived. "Take him to the ship. Go! Now!"

The guard held the
boy in his arms. He gave Koyee a stare that lasted both a second and
an eternity and then turned to run. With his fellow guards, he raced
down the boulevard toward the last ship of Ilar.

Koyee remained in
the courtyard. She reached down and fished out her father's sword
from blood. She raised the dripping blade, leaped onto Shenlai's
back, and stood facing countless shouting Timandrians. They stretched
across the courtyard. They spread through the city. They crawled
across all the lands of night. They were a sea of fire, of hatred, of
devilry. She faced them alone.

"I am Koyee!"
she shouted, standing on Shenlai's back; the dragon was bleeding,
many of his scales gone, arrows and swords buried in his flesh. "I
am a daughter of darkness. I am a child of Eloria. You slay us. You
burn us. But you cannot kill our honor. You cannot light our
shadows." The clouds parted above, and moonlight fell upon her.
She tossed back her head and cried for the city to hear. "Eloria!
We are the night!"

Arrows flew her
way.

One drove into her
shoulder.

Another slammed
into her leg.

Below her, Shenlai
took flight.

She wobbled on the
dragon's back. The enemy surged forward, and more arrows flew,
thudding into the dragon. Swords sliced at Shenlai's belly. Yet still
he rose higher, struggling for altitude like a hot air balloon with a
guttering flame. Koyee wobbled and fell upon his back, reached out,
and grabbed the harness Jin had sat in. She clung, bleeding and
dizzy, as the dragon ascended.