We’ve been in Yintao for three months, he thought. He must be near now … Ferius.
Fresh sweat beaded on his brow. Hem didn’t want to think about that. He had ridden here upon a nightwolf, moving fast across the plains, while Ferius led a slow, cumbersome army. They would be inching along Sage’s Road, dragging siege engines yard by yard, but Hem knew they would be here soon. Training with Bailey, it was easy to imagine he was practicing to impress Kira … not to fight in a battle.
Yet that battle will come. And we will all have to fight. He looked at the northern stars, then the southern ones.
“Where are you, Torin? Where are you, Cam?” Hem sighed. “Damn it … come here soon with aid.”
Holding his lantern, he made his way back to the hall he was staying in, one of many buildings in the palace complex. They called this place—the inner level of the city—the Eternal Palace, but rather than one building, it was a town unto itself. Barracks, squares, pagodas, and temples filled this center of Yintao, all protected by towering square walls. Beyond those walls, six more levels of the city spread out, squares within squares, each protected by more walls and towers.
Even if Ferius attacks, Hem thought, he can’t reach me here. The monk’s army would break through the first wall, perhaps. Maybe the second or even the third. But seven walls lay between the Eternal Palace and the dark plains. Hem nodded, telling himself this city was the safest place in Eloria … yet still his hands shook when he grabbed the doorknob to his hall.
It was a small building, its adobe bricks unadorned, its roof tiled red and topped with a statue of Xen Qae. A hundred Chanku riders shared the building; all were sleeping when Hem entered. He made his way to his chamber—as one of only two Timandrians in the city, they had given him a room of his own—and stepped inside.
A small, cozy space greeted him. A table topped with ceramic dishes, a bed with clawed legs, and a bronze mirror stood along the walls. Hem placed down his lantern and examined his reflection. He did look different, he thought. The beard aged him, and since leaving Dayside—by Idar, it had been a year already!—he was down three notches on his belt. When he sucked in his gut and puffed out his chest, Hem could almost imagine that he was a true warrior, a man who could protect Kira … maybe even be her mate.
“And there it is,” he said to himself. “Blushing again, damn it.”
A knock sounded on his door.
Hem’s heart burst into a gallop.
She was here! She was early! He had hoped to remove his armor, don one of the embroidered robes Emperor Jin had given him, mentally prepare himself, and—
The knock sounded again.
Hurriedly, Hem dabbed his brow, brushed back his hair, and gulped. He opened the door and saw her there.
While Bailey always walked tall and proud, chest thrust out and chin raised, every inch a warrior, Kira was the opposite. She stood small and short, hugging herself and staring at her feet. She nearly drowned in a great, shaggy fur cloak, and her hair all but hid her face. She peered up at him between the white strands, her eyes huge and blue, then back at her toes. She twisted those toes as if wishing the ground could swallow her.
“Sen sen, Hem,” she said in a meek voice.
He instantly felt better. He was always nervous about meeting her, but Kira seemed just as shy. Moving a little too quickly, his fingers trembling just slightly, he gestured for her to enter his chamber.
When she sat on his bed, she bit her lip, kept staring at her feet, and hugged herself. Hem sat beside her, thrice her size and feeling as graceless as a bear on a dancer’s stage. For a moment they only sat in awkward silence.
“I like your beard,” she finally said, and a soft smile touched her face. Hurriedly, she looked back at her feet, her cheeks flushing behind her strands of wild hair.
“I like your…” Hem racked his mind for something to say; he liked all of her and didn’t know which part to choose. “Your necklace.”
She touched the string of clay beads. “Thank you. I’m not allowed to wear a necklace of wolf claws yet, since I’m still just an omega, but … maybe if I kick people a few more times, I can move up the ranks.” She giggled and covered her mouth.
Her laughter was beautiful, and Hem’s spirits soared. “That was a mighty kick!” he said. “I think he’s still feeling it.”
She looked up at him and smiled—not a nervous smile but a true one, a beautiful smile, a smile that showed her large white teeth and lit up her eyes. Before Hem realized what he was doing, he was pulling back strands of her hair and tucking them behind her ears. She stared at him, hands in her lap.
“You’re pretty when I can see your face,” he said softly.
Her lips parted and she placed a hand on his cheek. “You’re pretty too.”
Hem laughed. “No I’m not. I’m … I’m fat. And I’m awkward. And—”
“You’re pretty,” she whispered.
Hem remembered how Bailey had kissed his cheek—she had done it only mockingly, only trying to embarrass him, but now Hem wondered what it would be like to kiss Kira’s cheek … and for her to kiss him. He shifted a little closer to her and—
Horns blared outside.
Hem froze.
Kira leaped to her feet.
“The silver horns of Yintao,” she whispered.
The sound keened across the city, rising and falling, a sound like ghosts in the deep, like the death of a nation. Hem stumbled toward the door and raced outside into the courtyard. Thousands were spilling out from their halls, pulling on armor and buckling swords to their belts. The horns blared from every guard tower, a sound that shook the city.
Kira clutched Hem’s hand. “War.”
Eye stinging, Hem reached down, raised her chin, and kissed her cheek—perhaps the last time he could.
He whispered, “Ferius is here.”
* * * * *
He stood upon the city’s outer walls, a sword in his hand, gazing at the dark plains as the horizon burned.
He marches there, Okado thought. My half-brother.
The wind smelled of smoke and metal. Firelight rose in the distance like the dusk back in Oshy, the village of his childhood. Standing here on the walls of Yintao, staring upon shadows leading to light, Okado could almost imagine that he stood in Oshy again, gazing at the dusk, imagining the demons that lived in the land of sunfire.
My mother loved a sunlit demon, he thought, lips twitching. His hand tightened around his hilt. My mother gave birth to his child, a boy of both sunlight and darkness. Ferius.
He realized his sword was shaking, rage pounding through him. This had happened a decade before his birth—his mother had been only a youth—but still Okado raged. How could his mother have loved the enemy? How could she have carried this child within her, kept it secret, lied to him and Koyee until she took that secret to her grave?
Okado found himself snarling, and his anger overflowed, emerging in a howl. He raised his sword high.
Now that child of sin, his mother’s secret, came back to crush the lands of night. Now he, Okado, born of the same woman but a different father, would have to send this shame back into daylight, to kill the cursed spawn of—
“Okado, I fight with you,” Bailey said, interrupting his thoughts. Standing beside him upon the battlements, she raised her sword with his. “We will slay them.”
Breathing heavily, he turned toward her. Bailey met his gaze, her eyes strong, her lips tightened. She wore the armor of his people, steel scales and a wolf’s head helm. Though she still carried her double-edged blade of Timandra, not the curved katana of the night, she was part of his pack. She was strong and noble like Suntai, and Okado felt his rage lower to a simmer.
Not all Timandrians are demons, he thought, gazing into Bailey’s brown eyes. Perhaps my mother was not a sinner. He turned his eyes to the western horizon. Yet her son was born a monster. And I must kill him.
“You are strong, Bailey Berin of the Arden clan,” he said. “If we survive this war, I will name you
a great rider in my pack, a beta warrior of Chanku.”
She snickered. “I don’t need no titles. I just want to stick my sword in Ferius’s gut.”
The fire grew brighter ahead, a red puddle oozing toward them. Individual soldiers were still too far to see; Okado could only make out rustling black specks under the flame and smoke. Their drums beat in the distance, and their own horns keened. When the wind gusted, Okado thought that he could hear a distant chant, a song for blood and victory. According to their scouts, all eight sunlit kingdoms marched there, soldiers and beasts, siege towers and chariots, monks and soldiers, death and destruction. It was the greatest army to have ever moved across Moth.
Okado looked around him at the walls of Yintao. He stood upon the outer wall, one of seven squares enclosing the city. Thousands of soldiers manned the battlements. Most were soldiers of Yintao, helms hiding their faces. They held bows, spears hung across their backs, and swords hung at their sides. Guard towers rose at regular intervals, more archers upon them; the banners of Qaelin fluttered there, showing a moon within a star.
When Okado looked down into the streets behind him, he could see his own warriors—the riders of Chanku astride their wolves, their armor dusty, their fur pelts rustling in the wind. The civilians of Yintao had evacuated from the first level of the city; they now hunkered deeper in. Along the streets and upon the roofs, the Chanku Pack stood ready for battle. Should the enemy break through the first layer of walls, they would meet Okado’s clan; thousands of wolves and riders would die before letting Ferius reach the city’s second level.
“Seven walls,” he said softly. “Five thousand warriors of Chanku. Fifty thousand soldiers of Yintao. Against half a million Timandrians.”
He looked toward the northern darkness. Only shadows spread into that horizon. Where are you, Suntai? He turned toward the south, seeing only darkness there too. Where are you, Koyee, my sister?
Bailey touched his arm. “They will return with aid. Leen and Ilar will not abandon us.”
Okado stared back to the west. The fire burned brighter now. He could make out glints on armor and distant spikes—siege towers as high as these walls. “The siege might end before our friends arrive. This battle will be ours to fight—we stand alone.”
“Then we stand alone.” Bailey drew an arrow from her quiver. “We will defeat the enemy—with or without our friends.”
They stood side by side, silent, waiting. All across the walls, the thousands of defenders stared. The horns still blew from the city towers. The enemy trumpets and drums answered the call. They swarmed across the land, spreading forward like wildfire. Okado could see the enemy clearly now, and he drew an arrow of his own.
They covered the land, a moving city of bloodlust. Eight armies marched side by side, eight hordes of flesh and steel. Their banners rose, billowing in the wind, showing their sigils—ravens and tigers, scorpions and bears, and other beasts of sunlight. Above them all rose the banners of the Sailith Order, the new emblem uniting the daylight—a golden sunburst upon a red field.
Lines and lines of troops marched, clad in the armor of their kingdoms. Some wore steel plates, others wore chain mail, while some wore suits of boiled leather strewn with iron bolts. They raised their weapons—swords, spears, pikes, bows. Not only men moved below; thousands of beasts approached too, creatures Okado recognized from Bailey’s stories. Tigers tugged at leashes, roaring at the sight of the city. Some warriors rode upon horses, fast animals as large as nightwolves; others rode shaggy bears, humped camels, and even elephants with painted tusks. Alongside men and animals, the machines of war rolled forth: chariots with scythed wheels, siege towers topped with archers, wheeled battering rams hanging from chains, catapults and trebuchets, and ballistae loaded with bolts the size of men. From these hosts of might rose battle cries and song; men chanted for victory, drums beat, and horns wailed. The cry pounded against the city walls, louder than thunder.
“Idar protect us,” Bailey whispered. She nocked her arrow.
Across the walls of Yintao, the other defenders—thousands of men and women who’d waited silently—now whispered their own prayers. They stared ahead, hands clutching their weapons. Some prayed to Xen Qae, others to the constellations, and some to the spirits of dead forebears. One man turned to flee, then another. The rest remained at their posts, staring, waiting.
A light gleamed above, and Okado looked up to see Shenlai the dragon flying high above the walls. Soldiers of Eloria pointed and cried out.
“Shenlai flies! The dragon of Qaelin blesses us.”
Across the last mile, the enemy marched forth; they covered the land now, spreading into the horizon, an endless sea. Their cries rose.
“Death to Elorians!” the troops chanted. “The sun rises!”
Okado stared ahead. He saw him there, riding at the lead, a man in yellow robes astride a white horse. His banner rose high in the wind, a sunburst to lead his troops.
“Ferius,” Okado whispered.
Across the distance, he thought that the monk stared at him, that their eyes met, and it seemed to Okado that his half-brother recognized him … and grinned.
Okado raised his bow in one hand, his sword in the other. He cried out for the city to hear—a cry for all the lands of darkness.
“Eloria!” His voice pealed across the walls and the army ahead. “Eloria, hear me! We are darkness. We are starlight. We will show the enemy no mercy, for no mercy would be shown us. Fight well, my brothers and sisters. Fight well for your city, for your empire, for all the lands of shadow. We are the night!”
The cries rose around him, shaking the walls, deafening, a cry of tens of thousands, a cry of millions across the darkness.
“We are the night!”
Okado nocked an arrow. Across the walls, thousands of archers tugged back their bowstrings. Below in the plains, Ferius raised a horn and blasted out a twisted shriek. With roars and banging drums and crackling torches, the soldiers of sunlight stormed toward the walls.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
A SILVER LIGHT
The enemy covered the land, stretching from horizon to walls, a tidal wave of malice. The city of Yintao shook.
Okado had fought in battles before; he had slain many Nayan warriors upon the plains, and he had slain bloodsun monks upon the riverbanks, and his body still bore the scars of those fights. Yet he had never seen an onslaught like this—myriads of demons shrieking for blood, their weapons firing, the world itself vanishing under the multitudes.
A dozen trebuchets twanged below. Boulders sailed through the air. Several crashed into the walls, chipping the bricks, scattering shards of stone. Others slammed into the battlements, knocking soldiers down into the city below; one boulder crashed only feet away from Okado, shattering a merlon and crushing men like a heart under a boot. Other boulders cleared the walls, and Okado heard screams, and when he glanced behind him, he saw the stones slam into buildings and crush nightwolves.
“Men, fire!” Okado shouted and loosed another arrow. He didn’t have to aim. Wherever he shot, he hit an enemy. Men kept racing up from the city, bringing new quivers of arrows, yet Okado knew the arrows would run out before the Timandrians did. He fired on, taking out man after man.
“Where’s Ferius?” Bailey shouted at his side, firing arrow after arrow. Her face was flushed, and enemy arrows thrust out from her shield. “Where’s the bastard?”
Okado spat. “Hiding. Hiding at the back. The coward led the charge as some conqueror, then retreated once the bloodshed began.”
“Then we’ll have to kill every damn man between us and him. We—”
Bailey had no chance to finish her words. Creaks and thrums sounded below. The air screamed as ballistae—great cart-drawn crossbows—fired. Iron bolts flew through the air, longer than men, to smash into the walls. One hit a merlon feet away from Bailey, and dust flew and bricks shattered. She nearly fell from the wall; Okado had to reach out and grab her wrist. More bolts flew overhead to cru
sh nightwolves in the streets below. Houses crumbled. Debris scattered and blood splashed.
“Hwachas!” rose a cry upon a guard tower. “Men of Yintao—fire death upon them!”
A hundred hwachas topped the walls—iron plates as tall as men, punched full of holes like a grate. Fire arrows filled each hole, bags of gunpowder tied behind their fletching. Men lit fuses and began to ignite the projectiles.
When Okado glanced at the nearest hwacha, he found its operators dead, enemy arrows in their chests. Ducking under an assault of more arrows, Okado raced toward the iron launcher.
“Bailey, you aim, I’ll fire! Aim at their catapults.”
She nodded, leaped down beside him, and grabbed a winch. She growled as she turned the wheel, aiming the iron plate—and the hundred arrows filling its holes—down toward the enemy.
“Fire!” she shouted.
Okado grabbed a fallen man’s torch and waved the flame across the arrows’ packs of gunpowder. Smoke billowed out. A hundred explosions crackled, nearly searing Okado’s eyes. With screams and flame, the hundred arrows blasted out from the hwacha. Across the battlements, ten thousand more arrows fired. Smoke and flame engulfed the walls, and the enemy screamed below.
When the smoke cleared and Okado dared to look over the battlements, he beheld hundreds—maybe thousands—of dead. The fire arrows had punched through armor like knives into mud.
“We’ve slain a drop in an ocean,” Okado muttered.
As men around him began loading more fire arrows, the enemy rolled forth new terrors. Siege towers approached, a hundred feet tall. Wheels creaked below them, the spokes decorated with Elorian skulls. Armored mules tugged at their lead, arrows shattering against their steel. Atop each siege tower, men awaited, clad in plates, firing arrows at Yintao’s battlements.
“Smash the wheels!” Okado shouted. “Slay the mules!”
He fired an arrow at one of the beasts, but it only shattered against the animal’s armor.
“Okado!” Bailey ran along the walls and leaped over a dead man. “Help me!”
He saw her kneel by a toppled cannon. Shattered merlons lay around it, crushing dead gunners. Bailey knelt, grimacing as she tugged the cannon. An arrow slammed into her armor and snapped. Okado leaped over fallen bricks, knelt beside her, and helped her lift the bronze tube.
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