Cursing, Hashido turned away and marched toward a landing craft. He spat into the water. "If even the dragon is cowardly, I will lead this battle on the front line, swinging my sword with men." The new emperor huffed. "There is more honor to that." He placed one foot into the landing craft, which was already filling with more troops, and turned to look at his son. "Stay here upon this deck, son. Stay here and watch men do their work. You're as worthless to me as the reptile who flies above."
Men turned winches, lowering the landing craft into the water. Hashido stood at the prow, leading the boat toward the town. A hundred other vessels rowed around the emperor, bearing soldiers. Soon Hashido emerged onto the coast, raised his sword, and fought with his men. The lord's katana swung into a fisherman and emerged bloody. Qaelish bodies littered the coast and floated in the water.
Jitomi watched from the deck of the Daroma Tai, eyes damp.
"Glorious," whispered Professor Atratus. He came back to stand at Jitomi's side. He licked his small, sharp teeth. "Glorious."
I must end this, Jitomi thought. His hands clutched the balustrade. I must stop this carnage.
He turned and ran across the deck, which was now empty of soldiers. He reached a mast, grabbed the ropes, and began to climb. Wind whipped him and arrows sailed around him. A cannonball, fired from the town walls, sailed alongside him with a shriek. It crashed down onto the Daroma Tai's deck, punching a hole. The ship tilted, and water gushed on board. Jitomi clung onto the mast, gritted his teeth, and kept climbing even as the ship listed.
"Tianlong!" he shouted, climbing higher. "Tianlong, hear me!"
More arrows sailed from the walls. One slammed into Jitomi's armor and shattered, driving pain into him. He grimaced and climbed higher. Below upon the deck, sailors were scuttling about, and more water gushed. The ship was beginning to sink. Jitomi kept climbing, moving as fast as he could. His armor was too heavy. Despite the arrows still flying his way, he tugged off the steel plates and sent them crashing down onto the deck.
"Tianlong!" he cried. "I am Jitomi! I am a companion to Madori, daughter of Koyee, your old rider. If you remember Koyee, hear me, Tianlong!"
The black dragon seemed to hear him, but he still coiled far above, looking down at the battle, seeming torn. Smoke and flames puffed out from his great jaws. Jitomi scuttled higher up the tilting mast until he reached the basket at its crest. An Ilari sailor stood there, pierced with arrows, dead eyes staring. Grimacing, Jitomi climbed into the basket with the corpse and waved his hands.
"Tianlong, last dragon of Eloria! Hear me. For Koyee, hear me!"
The dragon finally descended. His red beard fluttered as a great banner, and his scales reflected the firelight from the burning town. His eyes narrowed, staring down at Jitomi, and a deep rage burned in them.
"You dare speak of Koyee," the dragon rumbled. "I bore her upon my back, and we fought sunlit demons together. She is a daughter of Qaelin, this very empire we burn, and the most noble soul I ever met." He roared and blasted out smoke. "Now Elorians fight Elorians. Now you betray Koyee's honor."
Jitomi had to shout to be heard over the roaring battle below. Hundreds of ships sailed all around, firing their guns, and thousands of soldiers were streaming along the town's docks. The mast kept tilting; soon it would crash down into the sea.
"Then let us stop this, Tianlong!" Jitomi cried. "Let us stop my father. He leads this host, and Atratus, a mage from the sunlight, whispers into his ear. We must stop them."
He reached up and touched the dragon's scales. Tianlong dipped lower in the sky. Jitomi climbed onto the dragon, straddled his scaly neck, and grabbed his horns. Tianlong rose higher just before the mast finally cracked and crashed down onto the sinking deck. They soared above the battle. The wind shrieked around them, and the cannons still blazed and swords still rang upon the coast.
"Warriors of Ilar!" Jitomi shouted. "Stop this madness! These are not our enemies. Hear me! I ride upon Tianlong, the last dragon of Eloria, and I call to end this violence. Our fellow Elorians are not our enemies!"
Some soldiers looked up at him. A handful hesitated, swords wavering. But most still fought, moving along the streets like metal serpents through a labyrinth. They kicked open doors, dragged out families, and sliced their throats. Upon the water, ships were still firing their cannons, tearing down the city walls. The shipyard burned and crumbled, reduced to mere crackling flotsam.
Jitomi pointed down to a city square. His father stood there, leading a hundred soldiers in tasseled armor. Facing them stood a dozen Qaelish soldiers—probably the last to survive in this town—along with a score of townsfolk armed with knives and clubs. As Jitomi watched, his father sliced a woman's belly open and laughed.
The black dragon flew above the square, and Jitomi cried down, "Father, stop this! Men of Ilar, hear me. This is not the way. The Radians are not our allies; we only serve the sunlight when we battle fellow dwellers of darkness. Sheathe your swords and—"
His father unslung his bow off his back, tugged back an arrow, and fired at Jitomi.
The dragon banked, and the arrow scraped across his scales, showering sparks.
"Tianlong!" cried Lord Hashido, standing in the courtyard below. "Cast off the boy and obey me. Fight for honor! For Ilar! Slay the Qaelish for the glory of the Red Flame."
Jitomi clung to the dragon's horns. The wind whistled around him. He spoke softly into Tianlong's ear. "And if we reach the north, and if we face Koyee, would you let him kill her too?"
The dragon roared.
His cry shook the city below, louder than thunder, so loud Jitomi covered his ears and clung to the dragon with only his legs. Smoke blasted from the beast, and his beard crackled with fire. The dragon swooped and roared as arrows pounded into him.
"You are a fool, Hashido!" the dragon bellowed. His jaws opened wide.
"Tianlong, no!" Jitomi cried.
But the dragon would or could not hear. His great jaws closed around Lord Hashido. His teeth punched through armor. The dragon tossed back his head, lifting the new emperor of Ilar. Hashido's sword swung, and the katana chipped the dragon's scales, and Tianlong bit deeper. Armor cracked. Teeth drove into flesh and blood leaked through steel.
Jitomi winced. Terror thrummed through him, and suddenly he was a boy again, a simple child in his father's fortress, marveling at the powerful lord, knowing he could never be as strong. Did some love for his father remain, even now?
"Spare him," Jitomi said. "Spare him, Tianlong. He's my father."
The dragon looked over his shoulder at Jitomi. Some of the rage left his eyes. Hashido was still alive, moaning in the dragon's jaws, his blood seeping. With a grunt and puff of smoke, the dragon tossed the new emperor down. Hashido clanked against the cobblestones.
Jitomi dismounted the dragon and leaned over his father. The battle died down around them. Ilari soldiers crowded near, gasping and muttering. The Qaelish lay dead or had fled the courtyard.
"Father, can you hear?" Jitomi said. The emperor was moaning, blood seeping from his armor. Jitomi lifted the man's visor, revealing an ashen face. "Father, I'll find you a healer. But you must call off the troops. We must end this war."
The wounded man, eyes sunken, spat. The glob of saliva hit Jitomi's cheek.
"Leave me, traitor." Blood leaked from Lord Hashido's mouth. "You killed me. You killed your own father. Curse you! Curse you forever. Your hands are covered with your father's blood. The spirits of the underworld will forever haunt you."
The emperor's breath died. He slumped to the ground.
For a long moment, Jitomi held his father's lifeless body. His throat and eyes burned. Around him, fire and smoke engulfed the city. Finally Jitomi raised his head to gaze at the warriors who surrounded him, steel demons with dripping blades.
"Emperor Hashido is dead!" Jitomi said. His knees shook, but he forced himself to take a deep breath and rise to his feet. "I am his only son. I hereby take command of this army. Back to our ships! We leave thi
s place. We end this battle."
The ring of demonic faces drew nearer, the visors reflecting the firelight. Armor creaked. Swords rose higher. One of the soldiers stepped closer, a towering man, his lacquered armor painted crimson, his helmet horned. He held a massive katana the size of a pike, and his eyes blazed within his helmet's eyeholes. Instead of tassels like most breastplates sported, this man's armor was decorated with gilded finger bones—trophies from his enemies.
Jitomi recognized him. When he spoke the man's name, it tasted like ash. "General Naroma."
The man raised his demonic visor, revealing a face just as cruel. Tattoos covered it, black and red, and his eyes burned under tufted eyebrows. His white mustache twitched as he sneered.
"You are nothing but a lost pup." The general spat. "You were a shame to your father, whom you slew. You will pay for your crime, boy, And I shall sit upon the throne." He raised his sword and shouted for the army to hear. "I am Naroma, new Emperor of Ilar!"
Laughing, Naroma swung his massive katana toward Jitomi.
Jitomi leaped back, dodged the blade, and stumbled over his father's body. He fell down hard on the cobblestones, arms raised before him.
The surrounding soldiers burst into laughter.
"Behold the Pup of Hashido!" said General Naroma. His face turned red as he laughed. "Cowering like a woman. Should I kill him slowly and hear him beg?"
Covered in his father's blood, Jitomi rose to his feet. The soldiers all stared. The dragon hovered above, watching silently. The general laughed and raised his sword again.
"I am no woman, General Naroma," Jitomi said slowly. "Though I've met women whose strength and wisdom I would be proud to possess—strength and wisdom you lack. Strength is not measured by the power of the arm but that of the heart." He chose the general's blade and claimed it. "And a man who relies on steel to display his might is a fool."
With a sharp breath, Jitomi changed the blade, heating the steel so that it melted, red and hot as if fresh from the cauldron.
The liquid metal spilled across Naroma's hand, and the general roared. His gauntlet cracked, leaking blood and skin.
With his other hand, the general drew another sword—a curved blade engraved with a panther motif. The katana swung toward Jitomi before he had time to muster his magic again.
Heart thudding, Jitomi parried.
The blades clanged and locked.
"Yes, I think you will die slowly, wizard," said the general. "You will die squealing. Begging. Scre—"
Jitomi chose the man's helmet and heated it.
The man roared.
The steel helmet melted, the horns dripping, the visor flowing in rivulets down Naroma's face. Still the man swung his sword, and the blade crashed against Jitomi's armor, cracking the steel but not cutting the skin beneath.
Jitomi swung his own katana.
The blade sliced through the man's dripping helmet, scattering droplets of blood and liquid metal.
The man crashed down.
Jitomi stood in the bloody courtyard of a burning town, and he wanted to collapse, to tremble, to weep for his father. But now he would have to be strong—to show the strength his father had never seen in him.
"Hear me!" He raised his sword. "I am Jitomi Hashido, son of the fallen emperor. I take command of Ilar. You will obey me, or you will die like Naroma died—squealing like a rat." Those words tasted foul, but they were words these soldiers, proud killers of Ilar, would understand. "I am a sorcerer, and I am a warrior, and I am your emperor. Return to your ships, men of Ilar! A new enemy awaits us. We will shed blood for the glory of our empire. We will not waste our arrows and blades on weak Qaelish worms. We will face the sunlit demons, and we will crush them!"
The soldiers stared at him for a moment in silence. Hundreds more streamed into the square and watched.
Then they roared their approval. Their blades rose in a forest. They chanted for him. "Emperor Jitomi! Emperor Jitomi! For the glory of the Red Flame!"
Jitomi stared at them, and his head spun. He had spoken propaganda, and his belly felt ill. He had spoken like Professor Atratus.
He clenched his jaw. I spoke the words I had to. When swords are thrust toward me, I will thrust back my own blade. When poisonous words rally hordes against my people, I will spill poison too.
Leading his soldiers, he marched out of the courtyard, down the streets, and back toward the port. The warriors climbed back into the ships, but Jitomi—his own ship sunken—rode upon Tianlong high above the fleet.
As the Red Flame Armada sailed away from the ravaged town, Jitomi flew over ship by ship, scanning their decks for Atratus, but the mage was gone.
* * * * *
A hundred thousand strong, the Radian army rolled out of the dusk and into the darkness of Eloria.
Siege towers of wood and iron moving on great wheels. Scythed chariots full of archers. Mages, hooded and shadowed. Knights on armored stallions. An endless sea of archers and swordsmen bearing torches and roaring for the death of darkness. Catapults swung, their boulders hurtling. Cannons fired, blasting out smoke. Ballistae shot their iron arrows. The projectiles lit the night sky and slammed into Salai Castle upon the hill.
Koyee stood in the village of Oshy, her armor splashed with blood.
The village was empty around her—a ghost town of clay huts, barren squares, and guttering lanterns. She had ordered the people of Oshy evacuated last turn; they now sailed toward Pahmey in the east, seeking sanctuary from the sunlit onslaught. Her sunlit home, a cottage in Fairwool-by-Night, had burned. Koyee now stood by her nightside house, a humble clay hut, and watched the castle upon the hill crumble.
Its roof tiles rained down. Its walls cracked and collapsed. The bronze dragon upon its crest crashed onto the hillside. The cannons and catapults kept firing. As every projectile hit the castle, the hosts of Timandra cheered.
"Koyee!" rose a voice behind her. "Koyee, we must flee. Now."
She stared at the castle, eyes damp.
"For so many years, I built this place," she whispered. "For my father. Now it falls like a house of cards."
A hand grabbed her arm. "Koyee, we must leave now."
She turned around to see Xenxua, a young soldier with large indigo eyes. He was barely older than Madori. He panted. Scales were missing from his armor, and blood leaked through the holes.
"The last boats are loading." He tugged her. "We have only moments. Quick, Koyee."
She stared at him. Such a young, frightened face. She could barely hear the battle behind her anymore. Her ears still rang from the cannon fire, and everything felt so numb. Perhaps this was but a dream. Just a nightmare.
"Koyee!"
She turned back toward the castle and the dusk beyond. She could barely see anything but the Timandrian army now. The enemies covered every last stretch of land, and they were climbing what remained of the castle walls like insects upon a dying animal. Thousands of the troops, bearing torches, came marching toward the abandoned village. Their faces burned red in the firelight, and their eyes stared at her, hungry for her blood.
How can I flee? How can I abandon my post?
She clutched the locket that hung around her neck. She tightened her lips.
For Madori. I am a mother now. I must live.
"Koyee, please!" Xenxua begged, trying to tug her back.
She nodded. "We flee."
They turned and ran. Arrows sailed over their heads, and one glanced off Koyee's helmet. They raced between the huts as the enemy roared and laughed behind them. At the docks, the last few junk boats were sailing away along the Inaro. In the east, she could just make out the junks' forms; they had extinguished their lanterns. A single boat remained, a few Elorian soldiers within it.
"Come, Xenxua," she said. "Into the boat. Enter first. I—"
An arrow whistled. It slammed into the back of Xenxua's helmet, punched through the steel, and emerged from the middle of his forehead.
Koyee gave herself only an ins
tant of frozen horror, of guilt, of crushing grief. Then she jumped into the boat as more arrows whistled around her.
They grabbed oars. They rowed off the pier. The current caught them, tugging them east, leaving the village and fallen castle behind. When Koyee turned and looked back west, she saw dozens of ships emerge from the dusk—towering, wooden, bearing the eclipse sigils, lumbering beasts that swayed upon the water. The fleet of sunlight.
She turned away and clutched her locket so tightly it cut her palm.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
LIGHT OF THE MARSHES
All the marshlands danced with light as Neekeya daughter of Kee'an, Latani of Daenor, rowed through the water to meet her groom.
She stood in a sheh'an, the small reed boat of her people, holding an oar. She rowed slowly, solemnly. Lily pads coated the water, their flowers blooming, a carpet of green and lavender that parted around the prow. All around Neekeya, glass jars of fireflies hung from the mangroves, lanterns to guide her way through the mist. Upon fallen logs, twisting roots, and mossy boulders they stood—her people, the children of South Daenor. They wore garments of seeken, and their jewels shone upon them—gold and silver for the wealthy, humble clay beads for the poor. The firefly light danced upon their dusky skin, and warmth filled their brown eyes.
"Latani," one woman whispered. She tossed a lily into the boat.
"Daughter of the marshes," whispered an old man, bowing his head. He tossed a flower of his own.
"Neekeya," said a little girl, her voice awed, and tossed her own flower.
Neekeya smiled to all those she rowed by. Soon her reed boat was overflowing with the purple blossoms, their scent intoxicating.
She no longer wore her armor of steel scales nor her helmet, and no sword hung from her side. She wore a leeri—the traditional marriage garment of her people, a silvery tunic woven of gossamer, its fabric strewn with wildflowers. Around her shoulders hung a green seeken cloak woven of lichen. She wore the marshlands upon her body, for all Daenorian brides were to be of the land, in harmony with all around them.
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