Empires of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 2)

EMPIRES OF MOTH

THE MOTH SAGA, BOOK TWO

by

Daniel Arenson

Copyright © 2013 by Daniel Arenson

All rights reserved.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either
the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an electronic
or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information
storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the
author.

• FOREWORD
  
• MAP
  
• CHAPTER ONE
  
• CHAPTER TWO
  
• CHAPTER THREE
  
• CHAPTER FOUR
  
• CHAPTER FIVE
  
• CHAPTER SIX
  
• CHAPTER SEVEN
  
• CHAPTER EIGHT
  
• CHAPTER NINE
  
• CHAPTER TEN
  
• CHAPTER ELEVEN
  
• CHAPTER TWELVE
  
• CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  
• CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  
• CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  
• CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  
• CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  
• CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  
• CHAPTER NINETEEN
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  
• CHAPTER THIRTY
  
• AFTERWORD
  
• ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  
• NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON
  
• KEEP IN TOUCH
  

FOREWORD

Empires of Moth
is the sequel to
Moth
, continuing the tale of a world torn in two—one half always in sunlight, the other always dark. If you haven't read the first book, you'll probably still get the gist of things, though I do recommend reading
Moth
first.

Between chapters, you might like to visit the
Moth
website, where you can find: a large map of Moth (more detailed than the one in this ebook), original music, artwork, a
Moth
wiki, and more. Visit the website at:
DanielArenson.com/Moth

And now . . . let us reenter a world of light and darkness . . . 

 
 
CHAPTER ONE:
JIN

In the darkness of the new moon,
another assassin tried to kill Shenlai, the last dragon of the
empire.

Jin felt so helpless, lying
there, watching, shouting, unable to move. He was Emperor of Qaelin,
a vast land that stretched across so much of the night, and yet as
this enemy attacked, he felt like no more than a crippled boy. How he
wished for legs that could run! How he prayed for arms and hands that
could wield weapons! He had none, but he had a mouth . . . and he
screamed.

"Shenlai! Shenlai, fight
him! Guards!"

Shenlai filled most of his
bedchamber, his scaled body coiling around the bed, pressing up
against the walls, his blue scales chinking. An ancient dragon,
Shenlai was too large for this chamber—he was meant to sleep in
great caves, on mountaintops, or even upon the moon itself—but Jin
was always so scared to sleep alone. Ten years old and limbless, even
an emperor found fear in loneliness and shadows. And so Shenlai
entered his bedchamber every hourglass turn, delicately looped
himself around the bed, and watched over Jin until he fell asleep.

Yet now . . . now would this
kindness be the dragon's death?

"Shenlai!" Jin called,
tears in his eyes.

The assassin, clad in the dark
silks of the dojai order, was lashing a wavy dagger, slamming the
blade repeatedly against Shenlai's scales. The dragon tried to fight
back. He raised his head and lashed his tail, but he could barely
move; the walls pressed against him like a cocoon, and his horns kept
clattering against the ceiling. Perhaps the dragon could have fought
better, Jin thought, were he not still carefully enveloping the bed,
protecting his emperor.

Even
as he bleeds, as the blade thrusts into him, he only thinks to
protect me,
Jin
thought.

"Guards, please!" Jin
cried, knowing they were dead. The only way a dojai assassin could
reach his chamber, which lay deep within the palace, was to slay his
defenders.

"Tell me your secret!"
shouted the assassin, driving his dagger down against Shenlai. Blue
scales cracked and blood seeped. "Feel your blood flow and
reveal your secret, blue dragon of Qaelin."

Jin hopped upon the bed, trying
to reach his friend, to leap onto the assailant and bite, but he only
fell facedown onto the mattress. His bed was so large, a plain of
silk, and he was so small, so weak. If he had limbs he could have
leaped up, fought, and saved his friend. Born without them, he could
simply lie and watch.

Like every other assassin, this
robed man cared not to slay the boy emperor—only to hear Shenlai's
dying words, for the last dragon of Qaelin held a secret, a great
truth that could change the world, a knowledge for which armies had
fought. Only with his dying breath could this ancient blue being
reveal his secret. And so every year they tried to kill
him—sometimes great hosts with a hundred thousand men and wolves,
sometimes only lone killers. For five thousand years they had tried
to slay Shenlai. For ten years, small Jin had loved his dearest—his
only—friend.

I
cannot see you die. But what can I do?
His eyes burned.
I was
born limbless, the child of siblings. How can I save you?

The dagger sank again, driving
between scales into the dragon's flesh, and Shenlai turned his head
to look at Jin. His gleaming eyes, each as large as Jin's head,
filled with sadness. He blinked, his lashes ruffling the blankets,
and a tear streamed down into his white beard. Looking upon the
dragon, Jin realized something that perhaps he should have seen years
ago, that was so obvious his mind had never even considered it.

Shenlai
has no limbs either.
Jin
took a shaky breath.
Yet
he's the greatest being I know.

"Reveal your secret,
Shenlai," the assassin demanded, blood on his gloves. "You
are dying. Your blood flows. Speak your words."

Shenlai opened his mouth,
revealing sharp teeth, and Jin froze, tears in his eyes, wondering if
this was it. After five thousand years, would Shenlai die here in
this chamber, protecting him, and speak his mystery?

"No, Shenlai," Jin
whispered, shoving his armless shoulders against the bed, pushing
himself up. "I don't care what your secret is. You don't have to
tell anyone. Please.
Please
don't die."

Dagger in hand, the assassin
turned toward him. Jin couldn't see the man's face—a black scarf hid
it—but he saw his eyes. Large, emerald eyes flecked with gold. The
assassin stared, and those eyes narrowed.

"So the stories are true,"
the man said. "The Emperor of Qaelin is but a limbless boy, but
a creature. Maybe after Shenlai bleeds out and I hear his secret, I
will slay you too, and I will sleep upon your bed, and I will rule
your empire."

Finally it seemed that rage
filled Shenlai's blue eyes. The dragon bared his fangs and lunged
toward the assassin, his horns scraping along the wall. The assassin
leaped back, dodging the attack, and thrust his dagger again. The
blade sparked across Shenlai's cheek.

"Still alive, old beast?"
The man laughed. "Bleed out! Bleed for me. With your dying
breath, you will reveal your truth. I will quicken the process."

He raised the dagger again,
prepared to stab Shenlai in the neck.

I
have no strength,
Jin
thought.
I have no
speed. But this is my friend, and he's always protected me. Now I
must save him.

Jin narrowed his eyes, dipped
his head down, and grabbed his silken sheet between his teeth. Most
people were surprised Jin could move at all; they thought him capable
of no more than lying like a pillow. But even without limbs, Jin
would often roll across rugs, hop about, and even swim. Now he leaped
higher and farther than ever. He flew from the bed, the sheet
clutched in his teeth; it trailed behind him like a cape. He sailed
over the assassin's head, then opened his mouth, letting the sheet
fall upon the intruder.

The man grunted and slashed at
the silk enveloping him.

Jin thudded against the corner
and thumped to the ground.

He spun to see a figure like a
ghost, a sheet spinning around, the dagger tearing through the
fabric.

"Kill him, Shenlai!"
Jin cried. He sat slumped in the corner, his body bruising.
"Quickly."

The dragon hissed. His body
began to constrict, crushing the bed frame. Splinters showered. If
before Shenlai had to coil delicately around the bed, protecting Jin,
now—with the emperor in the corner—the dragon could rise. The bed
shattered as his serpentine body rose taller. The dragon's tail
lashed. Scales clanked. The assassin finally tore the sheet off, but
it was too late for him. Shenlai's body wrapped around him and
squeezed, a python constricting his prey.

"Crush him, Shenlai!"
Jin shouted. "Squeeze him dead."

Wrapping the assassin in his
body, Shenlai looked upon Jin, and his eyes were sad. For the first
time, the dragon spoke. His voice sounded both deep and high,
rumbling and beautiful, a voice like water in the depths and clouds
in the sky, like moonlight and dust upon rocky plains, like night and
the memory of day.

"He will sleep in my grip,"
said Shenlai, the last dragon of Qaelin, "and we will deliver
him to the guards of this palace, but we will not slay him. He came
here to bring death; we will prove ourselves nobler, beings of life
and compassion. One can only fight death with life. One can only
fight cruelty with compassion. One can only light darkness with
light. Here, he sleeps." Gently, Shenlai loosened his grip,
letting the assassin drop unconscious onto the remains of the
shattered bed. "He will sleep for a long time and dreams will
fill him of your bravery, Jin."

Jin stared at the unconscious
man, then raised his eyes to meet Shenlai's gaze.

"I wasn't brave," he
said. "I only did what I had to. I was afraid."

Shenlai nodded, scales chinking.
"That is what bravery is. Bravery is doing what you must even
when you are afraid." He looked at the open window and the stars
that shone outside. "Fly with me. Let us fly far and breathe the
air that flows from the mountains."

Like a mother wolf lifting her
cub, Shenlai grasped Jin's shirt between his teeth. The dragon lifted
the young emperor and placed him upon his back. Jin slipped snugly
into a small, golden saddle. He wriggled about, letting clasps snap
into place. Sitting here in his harness, he felt safe and secure, no
longer a limbless boy but part of a dragon.

Boots thudded outside the
chamber. The voices of guards cried out; they had found their slain
comrades. The door burst open. Defenders of the palace stood there,
clad in scale armor. Their white hair was tied above their heads in
knots, beards adorned their chins, and katanas gleamed in their
hands. They looked down at the sleeping assassin and gasped, then
raised their eyes to Jin.

"Are you safe, my emperor?"
they asked, eyes wide.

Sitting in his harness upon his
dragon, Jin nodded. "Take him. I never want to see him again."
His eyes stung and he blinked furiously. "Now I will fly. Fly,
Shenlai!"

The dragon turned to face the
window. He coiled out like a snake emerging from a burrow, flying
into the night sky.

The wind whipped Jin's face,
cold and wet and sweet-scented, and he laughed. His hair fluttered.
Beneath him, Shenlai let out a roar—a sound like thunder and joy
itself, the sound of the night. They rose higher. The stars gleamed
and the palace sprawled out below.