Moth (33 page)

Torin had begun to see the Elorians as a gentle, peaceful race. Now he saw pale demons.

He had lost his armor into the water, but he still had his shield. With a shout, he raised the triangle of iron-banded wood. Howling battle cries, an Elorian swung his katana. The blade slammed into Torin's shield, thudding into its raven sigil. Several more Elorians lunged toward him.

Fear washed over Torin, colder than the river, all-consuming. For a moment he could barely breathe, barely move. All he could do was stare at the enemy, eyes wide, a deer caught facing a pack of wolves.

I'm going to die,
he thought.
I'm going to die here in darkness, far from home.

His foe raised his katana again, and Torin steeled himself.

No. My father would refuse to die like this in the dark. My father would fight.

With a yowl, Torin swung his shield. Blade crashed into wood again, and splinters showered.

Torin thrust his sword.

He did not crave to kill. He had never killed an enemy. But here in the fire and smoke, instinct took over. The king had been teaching him swordplay, but all of those lessons vanished from his mind. He swung his sword in blind passion.

His blade arced and slammed against the Elorian's armor.

Silvery scales cracked and flew.

The Elorian swung his sword downward. Torin raised his shield again, blocked the blow, and thrust his own sword. The katana parried Torin's doubled-edged blade, then swung again.

The ship swayed beneath them. Fire filled the sky. All around, ships blazed and crashed together, and armies clashed. Across the deck of the
Sunspear
, dozens of other troops fought and died. Torin fought in a haze, shouting wordlessly, thrusting his sword again and again.

An Elorian junk drove through the water, rammed against the
Sunspear
several feet away, and the ship jolted. The deck sloped. Torin's foe slipped in blood and fell, yet still he lashed his katana, aiming at Torin's legs.

Torin's body moved faster than his thoughts. He leaped sideways. He swung his blade down, screaming. His sword slammed into the Elorian's chest, drove between the steel scales, and crashed into flesh.

Blood leaked between the scales.

Torin stood frozen, leaning against the blade.

The Elorian met his gaze. Fear filled the large, azure eyes . . . and then they went blank.

I killed a man,
Torin thought.
Oh Idar, I killed man.

Even as others battled and screamed around him, he knelt over the Elorian. He placed his hand against the man's helmet.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry, I didn't . . . I didn't mean to."

Grimacing, he tugged his sword. It came free with a gush of blood. Torin's eyes burned. He pounded the man's chest, but the Elorian would not wake.

I tried to stop this violence!
Torin thought, eyes burning.
I didn't want to kill anyone. I tried to—

Wails sounded behind him.

Torin spun his head. He saw two Elorians racing his way, katanas raised.

He was still kneeling over the dead man. His shield and sword were lowered. In that instant, Torin knew he had no time to block the assault. He knew he would die.

"Torin!"

Color and light blazed.

Bailey came swinging from a mast, clutching a rope. Her boots slammed into the two charging Elorians, one into each man's chest. The warriors fell backward, flipped over the smashed railing, and splashed into the river.

Bailey released the rope, landed on her feet, and turned toward Torin. Her eyes flashed with anger, and she yanked him to his feet, then slapped him.

"You foolish boy!" she said. "I knew I'd have to save you, Winky. Now raise your sword and fight, damn it!"

More Elorians raced toward them. Standing back-to-back, Torin and Bailey fought. The night burned around them.

The ship kept rocking. Corpses slid across the deck and spilled into the water. More Timandrians kept rising from the hull, replacing those who fell. Coughing in the smoke, Torin saw his comrades leaping onto the Elorian junks that had rammed them. The battle had moved to those dark, clay decks.

"I'm going up for a view!" he shouted to Bailey.

He raced toward the mast, grabbed a rope ladder, and climbed. Cold air whipped him, thick with smoke. Clinging to the ladder with one hand, Torin surveyed the battle.

In the east, he counted a dozen burning Timandrian ships. Some were sinking; others were still floating toward the city as their sails blazed. Several Timandrian ships had been lost; only the tips of their masts rose from the river. Shards of wood floated across the water along with corpses. When Torin looked back westward, he saw dozens of ships still sailing toward the battle; they hadn't even fought yet, and thousands of soldiers stood ready on their decks.

"I see only three Elorian warships!" Torin shouted down.

Was that all the Elorians had? Across all three junks, Timandrian soldiers were battling Elorians. Swords rang, arrows fired, and every heartbeat another soldier fell.

Upon each deck, the Timandrians outnumbered the Elorians ten to one. The nightfolk were falling fast. Soon King Ceranor cried in victory upon an Elorian junk; its warriors lay dead around him.

"The ship is ours!" The king brandished his bloody sword. "Seize their other ships!"

Farther east, a Timandrian galley slammed into an Elorian junk. Its prow thrust like a battering ram, snapping the junk's hull. The Elorian vessel began to sink. Its soldiers shouted and tried to jump overboard, only for Timandrian arrows to tear into them. Blood filled the water.

"Three Elorian junks against a hundred Timandrian warships," Torin said softly. "They crashed into us with fury and crushed our vanguard . . . but they cannot stop this fleet."

He looked toward the city. It loomed close now, only a mile or two away. Its crystal towers lit the plains and water. A hundred other ships moored there, but they were simply merchant and fishing vessels.

He scampered down the rope ladder and joined Bailey on the deck. She stood among dead Elorians, her shield chipped.

"The Elorian fleet is smashed," he told her. "By Idar, it's hardly a fleet at all; I think they only had three warships."

She nodded, face pale behind splotches of blood. She looked over at Pahmey. The crystal towers rose above, connected by bridges and walkways. The city now loomed as large as a mountain. Torin had thought Kingswall large; this city seemed thrice the size.

"Stay near me, Torin," Bailey said, holding her sword raised. "If we enter this city, stay near me. I'll look after you. I
promised
to look after you."

They stood at the prow, boots in blood, as the
Sunspear
sailed toward the city docks. Dozens of Timandrian warships sailed with them, archers lining their railings. They left the corpses of Elorians—hundreds of warriors—to sink in the water behind.

When Torin looked ahead, he gasped.

"Merciful Idar," he whispered.

At his side, Bailey clutched his hand. Her eyes watered. "They're going to keep fighting. By the sun, they need to flee."

Torin grimaced and watched as a hundred Elorian boats—mere fishing rafts, leisure pontoons, and merchant junks—came sailing toward the Timandrian navy.

Most of these vessels were smaller than a humble hut. Most had only a single mast. And yet they came sailing toward the fleet. Fishermen and merchant sailors steered them onward, clad in simple robes, bearing no weapons. Upon their decks they carried Elorian soldiers—two men here, three men there, a scattered army desperate to stop the sunlit onslaught.

Among the Timandrian fleet, laughter rose.

Soldiers stared at the ragtag vessels, pointed, and guffawed.

"The savages fight in dinghies!" shouted one Timandrian.

"Their ships are smaller than my tub back at home!" shouted another and brayed.

A soldier climbed a mast, pointed at the approaching rafts and pontoons, and roared with laughter. "Sink these barrels! Let's see if the savages can swim."

Torin grumbled. At his side, Bailey muttered curses.

"By the light," she said, "I almost want to abandon our ship and fight for the other side." She pointed at the approaching flotilla of fishermen and merchants. "That there is courage, Torin Greenmoat, and let there be no mistake."

Torin ground his teeth and lowered his head, guilt burning through him.

And I slew one of them,
he thought.
I killed a man who simply tried to defend his home. And now I sail with an army to slay a thousand more.

He looked up again to see his fleet crash into the approaching flotilla.

Boats shattered and the river burned.

Arrows flew through the night, shards of flame.

Small, creaky junks smashed against the Timandrian galleys and carracks. Hulls shattered. Masts collapsed. Howling with rage, Elorian warriors boarded the Timandrian ships, only for swords to hack them down. A merchant cog charged forward, laden with more explosives, and blasts of green and yellow and red whizzed everywhere, tearing through sails, hulls, and men. Soldiers leaped from deck to deck, swords clanged, and blood rose in a mist.

"Sail forth!" the king was shouting upon a ship, a three-masted carrack with a black raven figurehead. "To the city. Smash through them! To the gates!"

The Timandrian fleet crashed through the flotilla like a wolf tearing through a brood of chickens. The smaller vessels sank all around, overcome by arrows and swords.

"Anchors down!" cried the king. "Into the landing craft. To the city gates!"

At his command, Timandrian soldiers entered small rowing boats, which they lowered on ropes into the river. The troops began sailing through flotsam, corpses, and sinking dinghies toward the docks of Pahmey. Hundreds of boats covered the water, storming forth, troops filling each vessel.

"Torin!" rose a voice behind him. "Bailey! Come on, we've got a boat."

Torin turned to see Cam running across the deck of the
Sunspear
. Behind him, as always, lolloped Hem. Ash, sweat, and blood covered both boys.

"Are you all right?" Torin said. "You're bloody."

Cam snorted. "The Elorians have it much worse." He grabbed Hem and tugged him closer. "Hem here squashed one half to death. Didn't even need his sword. Just fell onto the poor bastard as the deck swayed."

The larger boy's lips trembled. "I . . . I didn't mean to! Oh, this whole place is horrible. I want to go back home."

Cam shoved him. "Oh, toughen up! This is war, old boy, and we're soldiers."

Torin sighed. He didn't want to be here either. He also wanted to go home. He looked up at Pahmey, which loomed only a few hundred yards away.

"Thousands of people live in that city," Torin said. "If the king can break through these walls, Ferius will demand them all slaughtered—the way all the villagers were slaughtered." He turned toward the two boys. "Cam. Hem. Get into one of these boats and go home. Sail west along the river. It'll be a long journey, but it'll take you back to Fairwool-by-Night."

The boys stared with wide eyes.

"Come with us, Tor!" said Cam. "Sheep dung, this place is a bloodbath. This war isn't for us. We're not soldiers. I'm just a shepherd. Hem is just a baker. You're just a gardener." He looked at Bailey. "And Bailey is . . . Bailey is . . . blimey, I have no idea what she does back home—other than bully us—but she's not a soldier either. We can't do this, Tor. Let's go home."

Torin looked back across the waters. The Elorian flotilla lay smashed or sunken. Only a few Elorian soldiers still lived, but they were falling fast. Thousands of Timandrian troops were already in their landing craft, rowing toward the city gates. More kept joining them. Torin swallowed. He spoke in a low voice.

"I cannot leave. I cannot be the man who looks away. I cannot be the man who turns aside when evil rises. If Ferius has his way, he will slay the Elorians—an entire race of people, a race I no longer believe is evil. Our people have taken the path to darkness; not only the darkness of night, but also the darkness of the soul. Future generations will look back upon this war, and they will wonder: Where were the Timandrians who stood against their leaders? Where were the just souls who said to their kings and monks, 'You cannot do this?' Let me be that man. Let me be the one who says no. I slew an innocent upon this ship. Let me redeem myself. Let me save thousands." He looked at his friends. "I don't know how I can stop this slaughter. I'm only one man, and kingdoms fight around me. But I know this: If I turn back now, this blood will forever stain my hands."

His friends looked at him silently, the two boys and Bailey, his three dearest friends in the world. Finally it was Cam who broke the silence.

"Well, by Idar's beard, we can't abandon you now, can we? Not after that speech." He clasped Torin's arm. "We're with you, laddie. Now and always.

Hem nodded and gripped Torin's other arm. "I'm not going home without Cam! I'm staying too. Maybe I can crush Ferius next."

Bailey wasn't even watching them. She was busy climbing into a rowboat that dangled over the railing. She looked up at them, blew out her breath, and rolled her eyes.

"Well, come on, boys!" she said. "You heard the babyface. We're sailing into that city. Come along!"

Torin blinked, his eyes damp. At that moment he loved his friends more than life and sunshine and all the gardens in the world. They climbed into the boat and lowered it into the water. They rowed. The river swayed, burning flotsam floated all around, and arrows whistled overhead. They oared through the wreckage of the Elorian fleet, one boat among hundreds, heading toward the walls of Pahmey.

 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE:
TIGERS AND WOLVES

They rode across the black, rocky landscape of Eloria, ten thousand riders astride nightwolves. The stars shone above. Their eyes gleamed below. The Chanku Riders had left their crater, and the pack now moved on the greatest hunt of their lives. Under this moon, they did not merely hunt meat.

"We hunt fallen glory," Okado said softly, riding the great Refir, now the alpha wolf of his pack. "We hunt Pahmey."