Shadows of Moth (17 page)

With his other
hand, the general drew another sword—a curved blade engraved with a
panther motif. The katana swung toward Jitomi before he had time to
muster his magic again.

Heart thudding,
Jitomi parried.

The blades clanged
and locked.

"Yes, I think
you will die slowly, wizard," said the general. "You will
die squealing. Begging. Scre—"

Jitomi chose the
man's helmet and heated it.

The man roared.

The steel helmet
melted, the horns dripping, the visor flowing in rivulets down
Naroma's face. Still the man swung his sword, and the blade crashed
against Jitomi's armor, cracking the steel but not cutting the skin
beneath.

Jitomi swung his
own katana.

The blade sliced
through the man's dripping helmet, scattering droplets of blood and
liquid metal.

The man crashed
down.

Jitomi stood in the
bloody courtyard of a burning town, and he wanted to collapse, to
tremble, to weep for his father. But now he would have to be
strong—to show the strength his father had never seen in him.

"Hear me!"
He raised his sword. "I am Jitomi Hashido, son of the fallen
emperor. I take command of Ilar. You will obey me, or you will die
like Naroma died—squealing like a rat." Those words tasted
foul, but they were words these soldiers, proud killers of Ilar,
would understand. "I am a sorcerer, and I am a warrior, and I am
your emperor. Return to your ships, men of Ilar! A new enemy awaits
us. We will shed blood for the glory of our empire. We will not waste
our arrows and blades on weak Qaelish worms. We will face the sunlit
demons, and we will crush them!"

The soldiers stared
at him for a moment in silence. Hundreds more streamed into the
square and watched.

Then they roared
their approval. Their blades rose in a forest. They chanted for him.
"Emperor Jitomi! Emperor Jitomi! For the glory of the Red
Flame!"

Jitomi stared at
them, and his head spun. He had spoken propaganda, and his belly felt
ill. He had spoken like Professor Atratus.

He
clenched his jaw.
I
spoke the words I had to. When swords are thrust toward me, I will
thrust back my own blade. When poisonous words rally hordes against
my people, I will spill poison too.

Leading his
soldiers, he marched out of the courtyard, down the streets, and back
toward the port. The warriors climbed back into the ships, but
Jitomi—his own ship sunken—rode upon Tianlong high above the fleet.

As the Red Flame
Armada sailed away from the ravaged town, Jitomi flew over ship by
ship, scanning their decks for Atratus, but the mage was gone.

* * * * *

A hundred thousand
strong, the Radian army rolled out of the dusk and into the darkness
of Eloria.

Siege towers of
wood and iron moving on great wheels. Scythed chariots full of
archers. Mages, hooded and shadowed. Knights on armored stallions. An
endless sea of archers and swordsmen bearing torches and roaring for
the death of darkness. Catapults swung, their boulders hurtling.
Cannons fired, blasting out smoke. Ballistae shot their iron arrows.
The projectiles lit the night sky and slammed into Salai Castle upon
the hill.

Koyee stood in the
village of Oshy, her armor splashed with blood.

The village was
empty around her—a ghost town of clay huts, barren squares, and
guttering lanterns. She had ordered the people of Oshy evacuated last
turn; they now sailed toward Pahmey in the east, seeking sanctuary
from the sunlit onslaught. Her sunlit home, a cottage in
Fairwool-by-Night, had burned. Koyee now stood by her nightside
house, a humble clay hut, and watched the castle upon the hill
crumble.

Its roof tiles
rained down. Its walls cracked and collapsed. The bronze dragon upon
its crest crashed onto the hillside. The cannons and catapults kept
firing. As every projectile hit the castle, the hosts of Timandra
cheered.

"Koyee!"
rose a voice behind her. "Koyee, we must flee. Now."

She stared at the
castle, eyes damp.

"For so many
years, I built this place," she whispered. "For my father.
Now it falls like a house of cards."

A hand grabbed her
arm. "Koyee, we must leave now."

She turned around
to see Xenxua, a young soldier with large indigo eyes. He was barely
older than Madori. He panted. Scales were missing from his armor, and
blood leaked through the holes.

"The last
boats are loading." He tugged her. "We have only moments.
Quick, Koyee."

She stared at him.
Such a young, frightened face. She could barely hear the battle
behind her anymore. Her ears still rang from the cannon fire, and
everything felt so numb. Perhaps this was but a dream. Just a
nightmare.

"Koyee!"

She turned back
toward the castle and the dusk beyond. She could barely see anything
but the Timandrian army now. The enemies covered every last stretch
of land, and they were climbing what remained of the castle walls
like insects upon a dying animal. Thousands of the troops, bearing
torches, came marching toward the abandoned village. Their faces
burned red in the firelight, and their eyes stared at her, hungry for
her blood.

How
can I flee? How can I abandon my post?

She clutched the
locket that hung around her neck. She tightened her lips.

For
Madori. I am a mother now. I must live.

"Koyee,
please!" Xenxua begged, trying to tug her back.

She nodded. "We
flee."

They turned and
ran. Arrows sailed over their heads, and one glanced off Koyee's
helmet. They raced between the huts as the enemy roared and laughed
behind them. At the docks, the last few junk boats were sailing away
along the Inaro. In the east, she could just make out the junks'
forms; they had extinguished their lanterns. A single boat remained,
a few Elorian soldiers within it.

"Come,
Xenxua," she said. "Into the boat. Enter first. I—"

An arrow whistled.
It slammed into the back of Xenxua's helmet, punched through the
steel, and emerged from the middle of his forehead.

Koyee gave herself
only an instant of frozen horror, of guilt, of crushing grief. Then
she jumped into the boat as more arrows whistled around her.

They grabbed oars.
They rowed off the pier. The current caught them, tugging them east,
leaving the village and fallen castle behind. When Koyee turned and
looked back west, she saw dozens of ships emerge from the
dusk—towering, wooden, bearing the eclipse sigils, lumbering beasts
that swayed upon the water. The fleet of sunlight.

She turned away and
clutched her locket so tightly it cut her palm.

 
 
CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
LIGHT OF THE MARSHES

All
the marshlands danced with light as Neekeya daughter of Kee'an,
Latani
of Daenor, rowed through the water to meet her groom.

She
stood in a
sheh'an
,
the small reed boat of her people, holding an oar. She rowed slowly,
solemnly. Lily pads coated the water, their flowers blooming, a
carpet of green and lavender that parted around the prow. All around
Neekeya, glass jars of fireflies hung from the mangroves, lanterns to
guide her way through the mist. Upon fallen logs, twisting roots, and
mossy boulders they stood—her people, the children of South Daenor.
They wore garments of
seeken
,
and their jewels shone upon them—gold and silver for the wealthy,
humble clay beads for the poor. The firefly light danced upon their
dusky skin, and warmth filled their brown eyes.

"
Latani
,"
one woman whispered. She tossed a lily into the boat.

"Daughter
of the marshes," whispered an old man, bowing his head. He
tossed a flower of his own.

"Neekeya,"
said a little girl, her voice awed, and tossed her own flower.

Neekeya
smiled to all those she rowed by. Soon her reed boat was overflowing
with the purple blossoms, their scent intoxicating.

She
no longer wore her armor of steel scales nor her helmet, and no sword
hung from her side. She wore a
leeri
—the
traditional marriage garment of her people, a silvery tunic woven of
gossamer, its fabric strewn with wildflowers. Around her shoulders
hung a green
seeken
cloak woven of lichen.
She wore the marshlands upon her body, for all Daenorian brides were
to be of the land, in harmony with all around them.

Frogs
trilled, the water gurgled, and birds sang—the music of the swamps.
The people around her raised wooden flutes to their lips, and they
added their music, the notes frail and beautiful to her, a song of
both sadness and joy. Tears stung Neekeya's eyes, for she had never
loved her home more, even on the eve of this home falling to the
fire.

Perhaps
all the marshlands will burn and dry up,
she thought as she rowed.
And
perhaps the enemy will cover this land and my life will fall in the
fire. But here, this turn, I am a bride, and I am a proud
latani
of my homeland. This turn I am joyous.

Dragonflies
and fireflies danced around her and haloed over her head, forming a
crown of light. A statue rose ahead from the water—the god Cetela, a
man with the head of a crocodile, vines dangling between his teeth
and lilies blooming around his legs. She rowed around the statue, and
there—upon a platform of stone between two columns—she saw him.
Prince Tam Solira. The man she was marrying.

The
people had mended his old clothes of Arden, filling the tatters and
holes with gossamer and
seeken
,
forming a patchwork that did not look old and worn but new, healed—a
garment of both the plains of his homeland and the swamps of his new
home. A garland of ivy crowned his head, and a beard was thickening
upon his cheeks, and Neekeya no longer saw the boy she had known. She
saw a man, a prince, a soul with whom to forever walk the dark paths
ahead.

The
stone platform rose from the water, carved into the shape of birds
and reptiles, the old engravings mossy and wet. The columns that
framed it rose taller than men, and their capitals supported baskets
of sweet-scented flowers. All around hung the mist, dragonflies flew,
and egrets waded through the water. Neekeya docked her
sheh'an
at the platform and rose to stand beside Tam. She smiled tremulously,
her fingers tingled, and her eyes dampened.

Perhaps
next turn the fire will fall, but this turn I am in love, and I am
happy.

Her
father stood upon the stone too—once a lord of a pyramid and now
King of the Marshes, of the free Southern Daenor. He wore a cloak
inlaid with gold and silver disks, and a breastplate covered his
chest, nine jewels upon it—symbols of the Nine Mothers, founders of
Daenor. Kee'an looked older than Neekeya had ever seen him, and deep
lines marred his face, and on the eve of war, worries too great to
bear hung upon his shoulders. Yet joy too filled his eyes, and he
spoke in a deep, clear voice.

"In
the words of our Old Scrolls, whose wisdom Cetela taught to the Nine
Mothers: In times of death, let there be life. In times of peril, let
there be hope. In times of sadness, let there be joy." He
reached out and joined hands with Tam and Neekeya. "There is no
light without darkness, no courage without fear, but one force needs
no counterpart. Love. Love can exist without ever having heard of
hatred. Love lights the hearts of both the innocent and broken. And
this turn, surrounded by the life and light of our marshlands, we
celebrate the love of Neekeya and Tam, children of sunlight."

Neekeya
reached into her pouch, then handed Tam a gift: a gilded crocodile
tooth amulet. She hung it around his neck and couldn't help but grin
as it rested against his chest, a grin she suspected looked silly and
far too wide but one she couldn't curb.

He
handed her a gift too: a ring of braided silver and gold.

"I
worked it myself with magic," he said. "You can't see it,
but inside the silver strand is a hair from my head, and inside the
golden strand is a hair from yours."

She
gasped. "Did you go plucking hairs off my head while I slept?"

He
looked a little guilty, then nodded. "It's a custom of Arden. I
hope you like it."

She
let him slip the ring onto her finger. "I will never remove it,"
she vowed.

Lord
Kee'an spoke some more, reading from the Old Scrolls, and Tam and
Neekeya spoke too, exchanging vows they had written. Finally Kee'an
opened a golden box, and many fireflies flew from it, beads of light
swirling and rising through the mist. And thus Neekeya was wed. She
pulled Tam toward her, and she kissed him, a deep kiss of love and
fear, and though joy filled her, she wondered how many more kisses
they would share and how long before the Radian fire burned her.

* * * * *

Tam
stood in the chamber, stared into the mirror, and did not know who he
saw.

He
had turned eighteen this year, had come of age by the customs of his
people. Were he back in Arden, the kingdom would have celebrated.
King Camlin and Queen Linee would have tossed a great banquet in the
palace gardens, and all the lords and ladies of Arden would have
attended, come to see the twin princes—Tam and Omry—become men.
There would be flying doves, pies of all kind, blooming flowers, and
wandering jesters and pipers. Corgis would scuttle underfoot, and
children would laugh, and wine would flow.

And
you'd be there, Madori,
he thought. His eyes stung.
You
and I would sneak away from the festivities, hide ourselves in
cloaks, and go down to the docks.

He
smiled to remember those times Madori and he would wander among the
fishermen and sailors, compete to see who could spit farther into the
water, pay copper coins for oysters, and talk about the exotic lands
the ships must have come from. They would talk of boarding one of
those ships, sailing to the distant islands of Sania or Orida, even
far into the night, and finding lands of adventure.