Moth (34 page)

Wolfjaw Mountain rose behind them in the night, blocking the stars. From its peak Okado had seen the distant city, but here, moving across the plains, the darkness spread into the horizon and no distant lights glowed.

Okado grinned savagely and licked his teeth. He wore his armor—a shirt of steel scales, greaves and vambraces, and a helmet shaped as a wolf's head. His true wolf wore armor too; a helmet protected his head, and spiked steel covered his chest. All around, his fellow warriors wore the same armor, and each rider bore sword, shield, and bow.

And yet Okado was afraid.

He snarled in the night, breath steaming. He wanted to crush that fear, to bury it under his rage, to feel only the lust for battle. He was Alpha. He was a great warrior. He had defeated Yorashi himself, a fighter of legend, and had risen from a lowly fisherman's son into the leader of an army. And yet, as he rode into war, he could not stop the iciness from flowing through his belly.

I've slain beasts and men, but I've never ridden against brick walls, facing an army in war,
he thought.
Pahmey has warships, cannons, battlements . . . Will we crash against their walls?

He gritted his teeth.

I will feel fear, but I will show none. I will feel fear, but I will fight nonetheless.

He turned in the saddle to face his mate. Suntai sat upon her white wolf, staring ahead with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. The wind streamed her white hair, and in one hand, she clutched her sword.

"When we reach the river," he told her, "we will swim across—you, me, and twenty of our warriors. We will leave our wolves behind. We will enter the city gates clad in cloaks, humble traders come to peddle furs. We will slay the guards. We will hold the gates open as the pack swims across the river and storms the city."

She gave him a crooked smile, one hand holding her sword, the other stroking her wolf. "It is likely, my mate, that we will die."

He shook his head. "Not under this moon. Not in this battle. Suntai, you and I will never die. We will be victorious. We will keep the gates open. Our clan will rise."

She reached across her wolf to clutch his arm. "We will kill together, my mate. We will rise together. I will spill blood at your side, under this moon and every moon. Our wolves will feast upon the hearts of our enemies."

They rode on across the rocky terrain, moving in shadow, the greatest army the Chanku Pack had ever mustered.

With strength, with honor, with the wolf's pride . . . we go home.

They climbed a rocky hill, the wind raising dust, the stars bright above. Okado and Suntai reached the hilltop first, gazed down, and saw the distant lights.

Okado inhaled sharply, tugged the reins, and squinted down at the horizon. His wolf growled beneath him. At his side, he heard Suntai's quick intake of breath.

"What devilry is this?" she said and drew her sword.

Okado's wolf pawed the earth, his drool spilling. Okado leaned forward in the saddle, staring down into the northern darkness.

Pahmey was still too far to see, lying beyond the horizon; this hill was too low. These plains should be barren. And yet across the wilderness ten thousand torches burned. The lights were moving fast, swarming toward the pack.

"It's an army," he said. "An army as large as ours, maybe larger. The city knows we're coming. They're sending troops to meet us."

Suntai hissed. Her wolf leaned forward, bristling and baring fangs.

"No, my mate," she said. "Ten thousand soldiers or more move toward us across the plains. Pahmey has no such forces. Barely three thousand troops fill that city." She snapped her teeth. "This is no army of Pahmey, Okado. This is something new. And they will meet us soon."

As the army below marched, Okado heard distant war drums, trumpets, and chants. Details began to emerge, and Okado saw banners fluttering, soldiers armed with spears and shields, and striped beasts the size of nightwolves. Every man held a crackling torch.

Paws thumped, armor clanked, and swords hissed against scabbards as the rest of his pack, thousands of wolfriders, came to stand around him atop the hill. Bows in hand, they stared downhill toward the plains and the army that approached.

"Who are they?" asked one rider, a burly man named Juro, the new beta of the pack.

His mate, a powerful woman with one eye, spat toward the approaching host. "Demons."

Okado gnashed his teeth, and the iciness in his belly grew even colder. He squinted, watching the army approach. No—these were no soldiers of Pahmey. They wore no scales, but marched bare-chested, carrying only shields for armor. Their drums beat in a thunder, stretched with leather. Red, braided beards flowed from their faces, and they wore pelts of black and orange stripes. The same fur grew from their live beasts, creatures with long whiskers, dagger-like fangs, and the colors of fire. The soldiers' cries rang across the landscape.

"Timandra! Timandra!"

Okado lost his breath. He snapped his head around to look at Suntai.

"Timandra," she whispered.

Okado stared back at the approaching host. He clenched his fists. Visions of his childhood slammed back into him: the glow of the dusk west of Oshy, the twisting plants that grew there, and the horrible lands he could see from the Nighttower . . . lands of green trees, sparkling blue waters, and a distant tower of gray stone. Timandra—the land of eternal sunlight. The realm of fire and heat. The kingdom of demons.

I saw one once,
he remembered, jaw clenched.
I crept as far as I could into the dusk, traveling until the sun burned my skin and nearly blinded me. And I saw one.

The woman he'd seen had been young, a mere girl collecting red beads that grew from the twisting plants. Her eyes had been so small, barely larger than the beads she picked, and her skin had been bronze. When she saw him, she screamed, spilled her basket, and fled. Okado wanted to follow, but when he took another step, he saw the sun. The fiery disk emerged above the horizon, as large as the moon but a thousand times brighter, burning him.

"I fled that day," he whispered. "And now ten thousand of those demons return to haunt me."

The Timandrian host was crossing the valley now, heading uphill. They banged spears against shields. They chanted in their strange tongue. Okado heard the word "Naya!" over and over—perhaps the name of their clan. Their beasts of black-and-orange stripes tugged at the leashes. Their warriors howled for blood, the wind in their red braids. They jeered at the Chanku Pack, pounded their chests, and marched toward them. Archers moved to the front of their lines.

"Okado . . ." Suntai said, fear in her voice. "Are these . . . Timandrians? From across the dusk?" She looked at him with wide eyes. "Like the one you told me you saw?"

Around him, his fellow warriors were drawing their swords. Wolves snarled. They were confused. They were afraid. But their strength and lust for war burned stronger.

Okado raised his sword.

"Chanku Pack!" he shouted. "Hear me. I am Alpha Okado! The city of Pahmey has aligned itself with demons. The elders who stole our homeland have summoned beasts from the realms of sunlight." His wolf reared beneath him. "An enemy of sunfire approaches. Show them no mercy!" He bared his teeth at the encroaching host. "Show them how we kill in the darkness."

Below in the valley, the Timandrians halted. They stared up at the pack. Their skin was the same golden color Okado remembered. Tattoos coiled across the men's bare chests and arms. Beads and bones filled their beards. Women marched among them, as fierce as their men, shouting like feral beasts, their red hair wild as flame. The true beasts among them, the striped creatures, roared and grunted and clawed the earth. The animals' whiskered, striped faces appeared on the host's banners, a thousand streams in the sky.

The Timandrian archers tugged back their bowstrings.

"Chanku!" Okado shouted and waved his sword. "Fire your arrows!"

Bowstrings twanged below. Arrows flew from the Timandrian host, gleaming in the torchlight. Okado crushed his instinct to cower. He sheathed his sword, nocked an arrow, and fired into the sky. Around him, with ten thousand battle cries, his fellow Elorian riders fired their own arrows. The whistling projectiles filled the air.

The enemy arrows rained down.

Okado raised his shield.

Arrowheads slammed into the steel, denting it. One arrowhead pierced the shield, its tip halting only an inch from Okado's face. Around him, arrows slammed into his fellow riders, clattering against shields and armor. Some punched into wolf flesh, only enraging the beasts.

"Chanku Pack!" Okado cried. "Ride! Ride for Eloria. We are the night!"

He spurred his wolf. Refir burst into a run, racing downhill toward the enemy. Around him, his pack followed, their cries a thunder. In the valley, the soldiers of sunlight fired more arrows. The shards flew through the air and slammed into wolves. One wolf at Okado's side took an arrow to the throat, stumbled, and spilled its rider onto the hillside. Two more wolves crashed down an instant later.

"Ride, warriors of the pack!" Okado shouted, standing in his stirrups, his sword pointing skyward. "Ride for darkness and fear no light. Ride for the night!"

The wolves raced downhill, the wind in their fur. The demons fired their arrows. More riders crashed down, and Okado rode on. At his side, his mate rode with bared teeth, leaning forward in the saddle, her katana raised. The torchlight blazed below, falling upon them like a shower of red blood.

With screams, lashing claws, and clashing steel, the Chanku Pack slammed into the enemy.

Spears, fire, and fangs filled the night.

Okado fought atop his wolf, swinging his sword, spraying blood. Spears thrust his way, and he knocked them aside with his shield. Two Timandrians tried to climb onto his wolf, their faces painted green, their eyes wild and their beards chinking with beads; Okado's sword slammed into their flesh, sending them tumbling. Beneath him, his wolf fought in a frenzy, biting men, tearing flesh from bone, lashing his claws at all who approached.

"Tigers!" the enemy cried. "Tigers!"

With roars, countless of the striped beasts ran forward, freed from their leashes. Each stood as large as a nightwolf, and their fur blazed in the torchlight. The tigers—that was the name their masters called them—fell upon the wolves with biting fangs and swiping claws. Blood soaked fur. Wolves and tigers fell alike.

Clouds of dust and blood hid the sky. Torches burned everywhere. The battle became like the dusk, a land between day and night, a place of darkness, light, and death. A tiger leaped at Okado and dug its fangs into his wolf. Okado swung down his sword, tearing the beast off, only for a Timandrian spear to fly his way and slice his arm.

"Suntai, stay near me!" he shouted.

His mate grinned at him, fighting atop her wolf. Blood splashed her face, and scratches ran along her arms. She swung her sword, slew a man who came between them, and laughed.

"Always, my mate! Always we will spill blood together."

The battle seemed to rage endlessly. Corpses fell everywhere. Severed limbs lay strewn among shattered spears and cloven helmets. Wounds dripped across Refir, and blood poured from many cuts across Okado. A spear knocked off scales from his armor. An axe shattered his shield. And still he fought, blade lashing, cutting into the enemy's flesh, sending their blood across the land, crushing their corpses.

He was shouting hoarsely, blood in his mouth, when the Timandrians turned to flee.

Okado brandished his sword. Beneath him his wolf howled, blood on his teeth. The demons were running back toward the west, leaving their dead behind, clutching their wounds. Ten thousand had marched against them; barely three thousand remained to flee.

The wolfriders cheered around Okado.

"Ride them down!" shouted one.

"Slay the cowards!" cried another.

Okado wheeled his wolf around toward them.

"No!" he said. "Let the cravens flee in shame. Let them return to their land of sunlight. Let them tell their friends: The night is defended."

He panted and spat out blood. His chest heaved and his wounds blazed. Pride began to rise within him—he had led his pack to victory!—but when he gazed upon his forces, that fire died.

They had defeated the enemy, but thousands of their own dead covered the valley.

Elorian riders lay slashed with spears, eyes open, hands still clutching their swords. Dead nightwolves lay among them, mounds of bloody fur; some were burning. Their eyes all seemed to stare at Okado—his fallen warriors, the riders and wolves he had led to death and glory.

He lowered his head.

"Farewell, wolves of the pack," he said. "Your souls now hunt in the great plains beyond the stars."

Suntai's wolf mewled, nuzzling her fallen comrades. Upon the beast's back, Suntai looked around with haunted eyes.

"So many are lost," she whispered.

Okado grunted. Thousands from his pack lay dead around him, and his eyes burned, and his throat constricted. He clenched his fists. His sword trembled in his grasp.

The pack fears no death,
he told himself.
The pack feels no grief. We are warriors! I am Alpha. I led the Chanku to glory. I . . . 

The dead sprawled around him. The blood painted the world. Okado bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. He struggled not to gag, not to weep, and instead let out a roar, a hoarse cry of mourning that tore across the land.

"Chanku Pack! Hear me! I promised you a city of lights. I promised you a homeland. That you will still have." He gestured his sword around at the dead. "The tyrants of Pahmey, usurpers and sorcerers, summoned demons of fire and sunlight, but we slew them. Many of our mighty warriors fell upon the stone. Their souls shine with us. They will not have died in vain. We will bury them. We will sing for their souls. We will tell them: You died so we can live. And we will not turn back." He pointed his bloody sword northward. "We will rise and take Pahmey!"

Their eyes gleamed, they raised their swords, and they shouted his name.