Empires of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 2) (41 page)

"I love you,
Okado, my mate." Upon her wolf, Suntai reached out and held his
arm. "We fight together. We will save them."

He stared behind
him. The survivors of Yintao spread across the courtyard, thousands
of elders, mothers, and children. The warriors of Ilar stood to their
right, armored in black and sitting astride panthers. The hosts of
Leen stood to their left, men of pale steel and white cloaks, their
spears tall, their shields bright. The hosts of Yintao still stood on
the walls, firing their arrows and cannons upon the enemy outside.

"It will be
we, the riders of Chanku, who lead the charge." Okado stared
back at the gates. The bronze thudded and bent as the enemy attacked,
slamming hammers and rams. "It will be Chanku that carves the
Red Mile."

Suntai nodded. "For
glory. For life. For death."

Okado clenched his
fist around his sword's hilt. He rose in his stirrups. He raised his
sword high and cried out for the city to hear.

"Eloria!"
His voice rolled across the Eternal Palace. "Eloria, we ride! We
ride to the port. We ride to life. We are the night!"

Guards upon the
walls raised silver trumpets. They blared their keen, and the riders
below banged swords against shields. Men tugged at chains, and the
gates burst open.

To the sound of
trumpets and howling wolves, Eloria raced into the swarms of sunlit
warriors.

They were a shadow
driving into drowning light.

They were a single
spear piercing a beast the size of the world.

The Chanku Pack
rode at the vanguard, swords swinging, wolves biting, cutting down
the enemy. The Timandrians covered the city like worms over a corpse.
Spears lashed at the wolfriders. Arrows pelted them. Knights in
armor, elephants of war, and endless pikes tore into their ranks.

"Ride on!"
Okado shouted as riders and wolves fell around him. "To the
port! For the night, for death, for the children of darkness!"

Corpses paved their
way. Blood painted them. The Red Mile stretched before them.

Behind the pack,
the people of Yintao emerged from the gates, stepping onto the bloody
boulevard. Mothers held babes to their breasts. Elders hobbled on
canes. Children clung to one another, tears in their eyes. The Ilari
rode to their right, slashing swords from atop their panthers. Leen's
troops marched to the left, their helms blank masks, their silver
spears thrusting. From both sides, the enemy surged like waves,
crashing into the soldiers of Eloria, dying upon blade and fang and
claw.

"Forward,
Eloria!" Okado cried, riding at the lead. Arrows slammed against
his armor, and one pierced his wolf's hide. "Carve a path of
glory. Carve the Red Mile!"

They drove on,
street by street, man by man. Soldiers of darkness fell. Demons of
sunlight died, only for more to replace them, an endless sunrise.
They passed down boulevards, between shattered temples, over fallen
walls.

And they died.

They died by the
hundreds. Soon there were no separate clans of Elorian fighters—not
three empires, just one army. They fought as one, died as one, their
blood spilling together, a shield around their women and children,
the living replacing the falling. With every step, they shed a life.
And yet they moved onward, carving this path of flesh, until all the
children of Yintao emerged from the Eternal Palace and the masts of
ships rose ahead.

"The ships!"
rose voices behind Okado. "The ships of Ilar!"

Okado pointed his
sword. "Follow, children of Eloria."

The pack rode,
trampling over Timandrian swordsmen, and turned onto a boulevard
leading down to the port. Only two hundred yards now separated them
from the water. The lamps of the ships beckoned, beacons in the
darkness, hope for life.

Before the docks
stood an army of Sailith warriors.

At their lead, clad
in crimson armor, Ferius sat astride a white horse. The Lord of Light
raised a lamp in one hand, a mace in the other. His warriors spread
around him, sitting atop their own armored horses—demons of red
armor and yellow cloaks, the rulers of sunlight.

"Hello,
Okado!" Ferius shouted and laughed. "Yes, I know your name.
At last, on your eve of death, we meet. Come to me, spawn of
darkness. Come to die."

Okado stared down
at this man, his half brother, the son of his mother and a Timandrian
soldier . . . this man whose shame was so great he burned the night.

Okado turned his
head to look at Suntai. She rode at his side, scales missing from her
armor, her wounds dripping, but her was sword still high. Her eyes
were still strong and full of love for him and the night.

"We ride
together, my mate," she said. "We ride to meet him."

Okado reached over
and touched her cheek, a pale cheek tattooed with lighting, smeared
with soot. She smiled and a tear trailed down to his fingers.

He nodded. "Always,
my Suntai, star of my heart. Always we ride together."

They turned back
toward the monks and the ships behind them.

They roared their
battle cries together.

The alpha pair led
the charge, and behind them, hundreds of wolfriders—the remains of
their pack—roared and followed in a thunder.

Eloria stormed down
the boulevard. From the port below, the Timandrians surged. Horses
galloped and nightwolves leaped. With swinging swords and maces, the
hosts crashed together.

Okado was wounded.
He had not slept or eaten for turns. His armor was chipped, his left
arm was numb, and a vise of pain squeezed his head. Yet still he
fought—the fight he had been born for, that he'd left his village
for, that he'd spent years training for. It was the fight against the
sunlight, against the shame of his blood.

The monks swarmed
toward him, maces swinging. One mace shattered his shield. Another
drove into his shoulder, and he roared and slew the man. Around him,
he could barely see the city, only the sunlit demons crashing against
him.

"Get the
people into the ships!" Suntai called from somewhere within the
fray. "We'll hold them back. Get everyone into the ships!"

The monks mobbed
Okado, and his sword could barely scratch their armor. A mace slammed
into Refir, and the wolf yowled but kept fighting. When Okado glanced
to his left, he saw the first women and children race along a pier
and enter a rowboat. Thousands of Timandrians—hundreds of
thousands—brandished their weapons, pressing toward the port.

I
will hold them back.

He looked across
the crowd of Timandrians, seeking him—the Demon of Daylight. Behind
a dozen bloodsuns, he saw him. Ferius sat upon his horse, his arms
raised, his lantern shining. He seemed like a man in rapture. He
howled for sunlight and the murder of the night.

"Suntai!"
Okado shouted. "Do you see him?"

She swung her sword
at his side, severing a man's arm. She nodded. "I see him. We
ride!"

With a yip, she
spurred her wolf. Okado's wolf burst into a run too. The alpha mates
sailed through the air, landed atop monks, and swung their swords.
The enemy fell around them. Ferius still stood ahead, head tossed
back, eyes closed.

"Into the
boats!" somebody cried behind; Okado thought he recognized
Bailey's voice. "Hurry—on board!"

He did not turn to
look. His eyes remained on Ferius. He raced forward, sword hacking,
his nightwolf biting and clawing. Suntai fought at his side, blood on
her wolf's maw. They drove through the mob until they reached him.

"Ferius,"
Okado said. "You know my name, but do you know who I am?"

Atop his white
horse, the monk stared, and a smile spread across his face. "Leader
of a mongrel pack."

Refir bucked and
clawed the air, and Okado sneered. "Do you know who I am?"

Ferius's smile
spread into a grin. "My half-brother." He laughed, a sound
like shattering bones. "The spawn of our harlot mother. She was
a sinner, Okado. She was a filthy savage." He spat toward
Suntai. "As is this harlot you parade as your mate."

Atop her wolf,
Suntai raised her bow. She fired. Ferius swung his mace, knocking the
arrow aside.

"You cannot
stop me, creatures of darkness!" Ferius shrieked, voice rising
as a storm. "I am sunfire."

As the wolves
leaped, Ferius smashed his lantern against his chest.

Glass shattered,
oil spilled, and Ferius burst into flame.

The two nightwolves
yelped and pulled back. Okado shielded his eyes from the heat, and
Suntai gasped. Their wolves growled and snapped their teeth, daring
not approach. Ferius laughed, engulfed in flame, his horse burning,
his shrieks rising.

"I am the
sun!" cried the monk. "I am the light of Sailith and I
banish your darkness."

His blazing horse
screamed, an almost-human sound, and burst into a gallop. The
nightwolves parted, allowing the burning animal to pass. As the horse
raced toward the river, Ferius leaped from the saddle, a ball of
flame, and crashed against Suntai.

"I will burn
you all!" The shrieks rose like steam from a pot. "I light
the darkness!"

"Suntai!"
Okado shouted.

Refir yowled at the
flames, too terrified to attack. Okado leaped from the saddle,
reached into the fire, and tried to grab Ferius, to pull him off. His
hands burned, and Okado shouted, grasping, tugging.

He could barely
distinguish Okado from Suntai and her wolf; they were one ball of
fire. Screams rose from within the inferno—Suntai's screams.

"My mate!"
she cried. "My mate, get them to the ships, I— Okado! Okado, we
will ride again. I love you. Goodbye—"

Her voice twisted
into a scream . . . then fell silent.

His arms burned.
Okado barely felt them. He grabbed something solid and tugged. With a
ripping sound, he pulled the blazing monk off his mate.

Suntai and her wolf
lay upon the ground, blackened, not moving. Before Okado, a demon
from the underworld, Ferius blazed and laughed.

"The fire
cannot burn me, my brother," said the living torch. "Do you
see? Do you see the light? It will burn you too."

The monk advanced
toward him, crackling arms held out.

Okado could barely
hold his sword; his fingers were cracked and bleeding, the skin
peeling off. With a hoarse cry, his lungs full of smoke, he swung the
katana.

The blade slammed
into the flaming creature and clanged against armor. From the inferno
swung a mace, wreathed in fire. The flanged head drove into Okado's
arm, shattering the bone with a snap. It flew again, landing on
Okado's shoulder, driving him to his knees. A third blow smashed his
hand, knocking his sword to the ground.

Bleeding and burnt,
Okado looked up.

The demon stood
above him. Through the flames, Ferius smiled. His flesh did not burn.
He seemed a stone idol trapped in a burning star. The fire itself
seemed to whisper.

"All the night
will burn . . ."

The mace drove down
like a comet.

Pain exploded
against Okado's head.

He fell.

He lay on his side.
Stars floated before his eyes, shadows and light, and he saw them
there—the ships sailing away, the children of Eloria upon them.

We
saved them. We die in fire, but we saved them, Suntai.

Broken, unable to
breathe, he turned his head, and he saw her there. Her body was
charred, but her face was still pure, her eyes open and brilliantly
blue, almost alive. He crawled toward her. He reached out and held
her hand.

"We ride now,
Suntai," he whispered. "We ride upon the plains beyond the
stars. Forever we'll ride together."

He could no longer
feel the fire, no longer feel the mace driving down against his back.
He smiled softly, holding his mate's hand, and saw only the stars. He
rode upon Refir again, and she rode at his side, lights in the sky,
children of eternal night.

 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE:
BROKEN

Torin
stood upon the
Red
Flame
,
flagship of Ilar's navy, watching the port burn.

A blaze engulfed
the boardwalk, all-consuming, tearing through wolfriders and monks
alike. The heat blasted him, and Torin winced, wanting to be there,
to fight with the men, but most of the ships had already sailed
downriver. Only three vessels remained in the port. The last of the
rowboats were emerging from the blazing docks, charred and bleeding
survivors upon them.

"Where are
you?" Torin whispered, eyes burning in the heat.

He had seen none of
his friends. With every rowboat that arrived, he scanned the people
who climbed onto the ship. Mothers clutching babes. Elders on canes.
Wounded soldiers. Crying children.

But no Koyee.
Nobody else from Fairwool-by-Night.

"
Red
Flame
,
sail!" shouted Empress Hikari, flying above the ship upon her
dragon. "Sail downriver."

Torin shouted up at
her. "Wait! Wait—there's still room." He pointed at
several rowboats emerging from the inferno, survivors upon them. "We
can fit a few more onto this ship."

The empress swooped
upon her dragon, nearly slamming into the masts, and nodded. "Three
more rowboats, then sail downriver. Two more ships await survivors."

Torin turned away
from the battle on the port. Stretching south along the river, he saw
the lamps of a hundred Ilari ships. Each vessel was crammed full of
survivors, their hulls and decks crowded like coops.

"Are you on
one of those ships, Koyee?" he whispered. "Are you safe,
Bailey, Cam, Hem?"

He stared back at
the city, wincing in the heat. The fires raged across the port.
Farther back, pagodas blazed, walls crumbled, and Timandrian troops
chanted in victory. Thousands of soldiers were streaming along the
streets, heading toward the port; only a handful of Elorians now held
back the tide. Smoke billowed across the battle and ash rained.