Legacy of Moth

by Daniel Arenson

  Serin struck her.

  He struck her so hard she fell to the floor.

  "They are nightcrawlers," he said. "Before you died, you scorned them. You did not fear them." He stepped onto the joints of armor behind her knee, painfully bending her leg. "You will not speak of them in fear or awe. A dragon?" He scoffed. "I have creatures far greater growing in my dungeons. I created the beast Gehena and his monstrous steed; they are fighting in the north now, crushing Orewood and capturing its mines. And creatures even fouler now fester in the shadows. The nightcrawlers will see them soon. So will you. Come with me."

  He tugged her across the chamber. They stepped through the doorway and walked down a staircase, coiling down the tower. Guards stood at attention along the steps, armed with swords and spears. Serin dragged his daughter through the halls and chambers of Solgrad Castle, this behemoth in the mountain's shadow: corridors lined with soldiers, porticoes overlooking lush gardens, a wall of battlements armed with catapults and ballistae, solariums full of summer flowers, and finally down stairs into the dungeons.

  As large as its towers and halls were, most of Solgrad Castle lay underground. Stairways and tunnels burrowed deep like a hive of ants. They passed by smithies where burly men forged swords and spearheads, past chambers full of barrels of gunpowder, and by narrow hallways lined with prison cells where chained, beaten men screamed upon the walls.

  Lari glanced around nervously, jumping whenever a prisoner screamed. Serin tightened his grip on her arm. The girl would have to learn some strength. He would temper her like a smith tempers steel.

  A horrible shriek rose, echoing through the dungeons—not the cry of a prisoner but a louder, inhuman sound. A second cry answered, a sound like a dying horse. Lari gasped and whimpered.

  "Do you hear them, Lari?" Serin whispered. "They call for blood. Come, we will visit them."

  "But . . . please, my lord." Tears streamed down her cheeks. "My name is Ariana, not Lari. I think I saw my brother in one of these cells. Please, my lord, let me see him. Let—"

  "Hush, Lari." He pulled her onward. "We're almost there."

  Leaving the prison cells above, they plunged down a staircase and entered a massive chamber, a chasm large enough for armies to muster in. A ledge of stone thrust out, overlooking the pit.

  The creatures waited there.

  "Behold the avalerions," Serin said softly.

  Lari screamed and tried to run back. Serin grabbed her and manhandled her onto the ledge of stone.

  The creatures below snapped their beaks, beat their wings, and soared. Only feet away from reaching Serin and Lari, their massive chains tugged back their necks. The creatures crashed back down into the pit, clawing at one another, shrieking, begging to feed.

  "Not yet, my children!" Serin cried down to them. He laughed. "You will hunger for a while longer. When the nightcrawlers come, you'll have all the flesh of the night."

  The avalerions wailed—horrible, high-pitched sounds like cracking palaces of glass. The crumbling city of Pahmey, with its smashing towers and screaming nightcrawlers, had made this sound when Serin had destroyed it. The avalerions were ugly things, great vultures the size of whales. Black, oily feathers covered their wings, but their bodies were naked and covered with goose bumps like the skin of plucked chickens. Beaks of rusted iron grew from their bloated faces.

  "They were humans once, do you know?" Serin said, holding Lari close. "Look at them. Look into their eyes. Do you see the bloodlust? The hatred? Only humans have such hatred in their hearts; no animal is as cruel as man. I found them in my army, hulking brutes, murderers. And I changed them. Grew them. Made them my children." He stroked Lari's hair. "And you too are my child. Who are you, daughter? Say your name."

  She was trembling. "I am Aria—"

  He gripped her and shoved her close to the edge, holding her just above the pit. The creatures inside went mad. They leaped upwards, snapping their teeth, reaching out their talons. Their chains pulled taut, keeping them only several feet away from the girl.

  "Who are you?" Serin shouted, his voice so loud she started.

  "I am Lari," she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I am Lari Serin. Your daughter."

  He pulled her back from the edge. Good. The girl would learn. Serin would let none in his empire say that nightcrawlers slew his child. That would mean he was weak, that his family was weak. But he was strong. His daughter had survived the darkness. She stood here before him, noble and beautiful and proud.

  "Very good," he said. "Very good, Lari. You're learning. You— ah! Look! It's lunch time."

  The man emerged from behind them and stepped onto the ledge. He wore a leather apron, and he held a pole across his shoulders. A bucket hung on each edge of the pole, full of dank meat. When the man saw Serin, he knelt and bowed his head.

  "My lord Serin! I've brought them their meal. As you said, my lord—just enough to keep 'em alive but still 'ungry."

  "Rise, friend!" Serin said. "My daughter Lari would like to see the creatures feed."

  The man rose and stepped closer, and when Lari got a closer look at the buckets, she gasped and covered her mouth. It was no ordinary meat inside those buckets; here were the severed hands of city thieves, bustling with flies.

  "Your daughter?" said the man. "I . . . my lord! I thought that Princess Lari . . . I mean, begging your pardon, my lord, they're saying she died in the war. That the mongrel slew her. A horrible tragedy. I . . ." He glanced at Lari, his face twisting with confusion.

  Serin sighed. He shook his head sadly. "Friend, I really did want them to eat only a snack to whet their appetite, a couple buckets of hands before they feast upon the nightcrawler army. Yet now they'll have to enjoy a larger meal."

  The creatures in the pit squealed and tugged their chains. Their caretaker tilted his head, only seeming more confused. "My lord?"

  Serin stepped forward. He grabbed the pole the man carried across his shoulders, knocking the buckets off its ends. The hands spilled onto the stone ledge. As the caretaker gasped, Serin dragged him toward the edge of the pit, then shoved him over.

  Just as the man fell, Serin thrust out the pole, letting the caretaker grab one end.

  The man screamed, dangling over the pit. His toes still touched the stone ledge. His sweaty hands gripped the wooden pole. Serin smiled, holding the other end of the staff. All he had to do was let go.

  "My lord!" the caregiver cried. The avalerions below screeched and leaped up, snapping their beaks, rattling their chains. The dangling man hung only several inches above their reach.

  "Step forward, Lari," Serin said calmly.

  Shaking, she obeyed.

  "Hold the pole," Serin said. "Hold it tightly so he doesn't fall."

  Tears flowed down her cheeks, but she obeyed. Slowly, Serin released his grip of the pole, leaving Lari to hold it alone. The man tilted over the edge, feet scraping for purchase against the stone, holding his end of the stick.

  "You hold his life in your hands, Lari," Serin said. "And now you have a choice. You can save him, proving yourself weak. Or you can let go, letting him fall . . . and you will prove yourself truly my daughter. And perhaps some turn, Lari . . . some turn I can have a son. Perhaps some turn your little brother will be freed from the dungeon, and he can join our family. Chose."

  Lari wept.

  She let go.

  The caregiver tumbled into the pit. The avalerions cried out with joy and blood splattered as they fed. Serin stood over the ledge, watching, smiling, imagining the beasts flying over the fields and feeding upon Madori.

  CHAPTER NINE:

  A SHADOW IN KINGSWALL

  Thirteen turns since emerging into the sunlight, the Ilari Armada reached the occupied city of Kingswall, former capital of Arden and now a bastion of the enemy.

  Madori stood upon the deck of the Tai Lar. She had doffed the heavy steel plates she had worn at Fairwool-by-Night, and she now wore the armor of a Qaelish warrior: a shirt of silvery scales and
a simple, curving helm of bright steel. She held a shield in one arm, her katana in the other. Every other soldier around her wore Ilari armor—lacquered plates and faced visors that made them look like demonic isopods. Most of the Ilari fleet was comprised of heavy, iron-clad Ilari vessels, floating fortresses topped with pagodas. But among the fleet, Madori had found several ships seized from other forces: seven carracks of Arden taken only months ago upon the Inaro, a creaky old Leenish cog captured from smugglers, and a single Qaelish junk. She had scoured this ship, trying not to think of her kinsmen who had died here, and finally found the armor in its bowels.

  I am a child of Qaelin, she thought as she stood here, back on the deck of the Armada's flagship. And I will wear Qaelin's armor to battle.

  She turned to look at Koyee. Her mother stood at her side, also armored in Qaelish scales salvaged from the junk, and she too held a shield and katana.

  "Mother," Madori said, "when you faced great battles when you were young, were you afraid?"

  Koyee raised an eyebrow. "When I was young? Oh you little scoundrel. I'm not yet forty, you know." She frowned for a moment, seeming deep in thought, then nodded. "Yes, not yet forty."

  "But were you afraid?" Madori insisted.

  Koyee sighed. "I could speak some platitude about how courage is doing what's right even when you're afraid, how only the frightened can be brave, or some other such nugget of wisdom. But you'd still be terrified. And you'd still do what you need to do. Because you're my daughter. And you're like me."

  Madori stuck out her tongue with a gagging sound. "I am nothing like you. You're so proper and prim." She growled. "I'm a rebel."

  "When I fought my first battle, I was a filthy urchin off the streets, hardly proper and prim." Koyee narrowed her eyes. "Just stay near me, Madori, and fight well. We will slay Radians together."

  Madori glanced toward the hatch leading under the deck.

  "I wish he were here with us," she said softly. "Jitomi."

  Her cheeks heated to remember that turn they had made love. She was not sure how she felt about Jitomi. Did she love him as he loved her? Or had she simply been afraid, lost, lonely, maybe simply curious, wanting to experience sex before she went to battle and perhaps died? She did not know, but now she missed him dearly. Since Naiko had taken command of the Armada, Madori had not seen her friend; Naiko kept Jitomi chained in the brig.

  "He'll be safe down there," Koyee said softly and touched Madori's arm. "Perhaps the ship's prison is the safest place right now in Moth."

  Madori nodded. "I know. But I wish Jitomi could be here with us, a sword in his hand, fighting with us to liberate Kingswall." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I'd rather he led this host. I don't trust his sister."

  Koyee sighed. "Nor do I."

  Both turned to stare across the deck. Past hundreds of Ilari soldiers and panthers ready for war, Naiko stood at the prow. The wind streamed the empress's long white hair, and she raised her sword high. She was a figure in black and red, resplendent in the sun, all steel and might. She might as well have been the ship's figurehead. And yet Madori also saw cruelty in her, a passion for power rather than righteousness.

  She seeks to conquer rather than liberate, Madori thought, to crush rather than save. But I sailed into the daylight for freedom, not for conquest.

  Madori looked past the new empress toward the distant city. As the fleet sailed on, Kingswall grew larger. A pinch of nostalgia twisted her heart. She had spent her childhood summers in this city, the capital of Arden, sunlit land of her father. She still counted those summers among her most precious memories: long sunny turns running through the palace gardens with Tam, countless hours exploring bookshops and libraries along cobbled streets, the taste of sweet lemon cakes in the city bakeries, and the frosty ale Father had once bought her in a tavern here, her first taste of the wonderful drink.

  The haven of her childhood had become a city of nightmares.

  The raven banners of Arden no longer rose here, but real ravens flocked outside the walls, bustling over cages that hung from the battlements. Corpses rotted inside. New banners now rose from the towers, displaying a sun hiding the moon. Upon the city ramparts stood hundreds of Radian troops in black armor, armed with longbows. Madori knew that thousands more waited in the city. Kingswall had become a garrison to Serin's empire.

  Madori took a deep, shuddering breath. She walked toward Grayhem, her dearest friend, and climbed onto his back. Around her the Ilari warriors, enclosed within black steel plates, sat astride panthers just as black. But she, Madori, was a warrior of silver scales, of a great gray wolf, of mixed blood, a woman of darkness fighting for her homeland of sunlight.

  As the Armada sailed nearer, distant horns blared upon the city walls. Each blast of the horns made Madori shiver; they sounded like wailing men. More Radian troops raced into position on the walls, and a dozen warships left the piers and came sailing toward the invaders. Distant war drums boomed, and banners rose high, and the Radians cried out for war, for bloodshed.

  "Drums!" Naiko howled upon the prow, and within an instant, a war drum beat upon each Ilari ship—five hundred drums all booming for war. Horns joined them from the decks, hundreds of deep, metallic cries. One of the hornblowers stood only a dozen feet away from Madori, and the sound nearly deafened her. All across the decks of Ilar, the soldiers brandished their katanas. Each of the ships held hundreds of warriors. They all now roared together.

  The Radian warships sailed closer, great caravels and carracks and brigantines of wood and canvas, their hulls painted with eclipses. Cannons and archers lined their bulwarks.

  "Cannons!" Naiko roared.

  Across the Ilari ships, men lit fuses. The smell of gunpowder flared. Smoke blasted and fire lit the world. The deck shook beneath Madori. The guns of a dozen ships fired their cannonballs, and archers followed with arrows.

  The hull of one enemy caravel shattered. The ship listed and another volley of cannon fire sent it sinking. The river was already won, Madori knew; the enemy had but a dozen ships to ward off hundreds.

  Naiko placed her fingers in her mouth and whistled. "Tianlong! Tianlong, bear me on your back!" The great black dragon swooped, and Naiko climbed upon him and soared into the sky. "To the docks! Warriors of Ilar, to the walls! Tai Lar! Daroma Min! Taroshi Dai! With me!"

  While most of Ilar's ships kept battling the Radian fleet, the three vessels Naiko had named—all towering atakebune ships, their hulls clad with iron and their decks bearing pagodas—turned toward the city, positioning themselves so their figureheads faced the heavy oak gates set into the walls.

  Madori gripped her sword as the Tai Lar's deck swayed beneath her. She stared at the city ahead, gritting her teeth. Her ship was only a few feet away from the boardwalk. Only a few feet beyond that, the city walls towered, topped with merlons and turrets. The gatehouse loomed ahead across the water. Its doors were carved of oak, banded with iron grills shaped as ravens.

  "Burn them down!" shouted a Radian captain above the gatehouse.

  A hundred Radian archers raised their bows. A hundred arrows sailed through the air, tipped with flame, to slam into the Elorian ships. Some arrows shattered against the iron-clad hulls. Others drove into the pagodas that rose upon the atakebunes' decks. A few arrows punched though Elorian armor; the men fell, gripping their wounds. Madori grunted as one arrow glanced off her side, cracking a scale in her armor.

  "Fire!" cried another Radian upon the walls. A dozen cannons rose to appear between the merlons. Their fuses crackled.

  Before the guns could fire, Naiko streamed above upon her dragon. "Ilar, cannons!" she roared.

  Small bronze cannons, barely larger than men, lined the hulls of the three atakebunes—the Tai Lar, the Daroma Min, and the Taroshi Dai—guns for sinking enemy ships. But their greatest weapons hid within their iron figureheads. Men now rushed forth to light the fire.

  The Radian cannonballs came flying down from the walls. One slammed into the Daroma Min—the
atakebune sailed just east of Madori—and smashed its pagoda. Roof tiles rained. Another cannonball flew over Madori's head, missed her ship, and smashed into an Ilari geobukseon ship behind her. A third cannonball slammed into the Tai Lar's hull, denting the iron. The ship swayed madly and Madori clung to her wolf.

  An instant later, the Elorian guns fired.

  The three atakebunes—each large as a fortress—hid massive cannons within their dragon figureheads, the muzzles so large Madori could have climbed into them. The great cannonballs, painted with demon faces, flew toward the city gates.

  The ancient, oaken doors of Kingswall—doors sung of in legends and epic poems—shattered.

  For a moment, the battle seemed to freeze.

  As chips of wood and iron scattered, exposing the city beyond the walls, both Elorians and Timandrians stared in silence and awe.

  Then Naiko swooped upon her dragon, sword raised high. "Ilar—into the city! For the glory of the Red Flame!"

  The Elorian army roared for victory, thousands of voices rising in a storm.

  "Be strong," Koyee said softly, climbing onto a panther.

  Madori nodded upon her wolf. "Always."

  As more cannons blasted and arrows flew, the three atakebunes sailed closer toward the boardwalk. They lowered their planks. With battle cries, the warriors of Ilar raced—some afoot, others astride panthers—onto the city boardwalk.

  Madori and Koyee raised their swords, and their mounts burst into a run.

  As soon as they leaped onto the boardwalk, a rain of arrows clattered down.

  Madori raised her shield. Arrows slammed into the steel disk, so powerful they nearly knocked Madori off the saddle. One arrow punched right through the shield and scraped across her cheek. More arrows clattered against Grayhem; the nightwolf wore steel plates, the armor of panthers outfitted to his shape. Madori's nightwolf and Koyee's panther kept racing toward the shattered gates, hundreds of Elorian troops around them.