Young Torin bristled. He puffed out his chest, his cheeks reddened, and he opened his mouth—perhaps preparing to object or defend his honor. Suntai cleared her throat, drawing their attention. She felt it best to speak quickly; she did not wish to see her mate clash with this youth.
"Torin and Koyee will travel south," she said, interrupting the potential feud. "We will fill their boat with what supplies they'll need. In a few moons, they will join us in Yintao . . . alone or with an Ilari host."
Inwardly, Suntai smiled. She saw what Okado did not.
Koyee has already mated with Torin, she thought. Suntai saw that in their eyes. They were bound, yet Okado would never accept it. Okado valued strength. He valued only warriors, while Torin was different—weak of arm but strong in different ways, the strength of a scholar and stargazer.
Suntai looked north again, then balled her fists and lowered her head. She knew what she had to do, though it tore at her. Ice seemed to encase her heart. She spoke between stiff lips.
"And I will travel north. I will take with me a Timandrian as well—two if we can spare them. I will show these beings of sunlight to the elders of the Leen nation. No rivers lead north; we will travel upon wolves, fast and hidden upon the plains. We will rouse Leen to battle."
Okado sucked in his breath, approached Suntai, and gripped her hands. "You will leave your mate?"
She nodded. "You can lead the pack without me. This is my task. The elders of Leen are ancient, pompous folk; they care for bloodlines and old names. I am Suntai, a daughter of the Chanku nobles of old, those great warriors who ruled in Pahmey. I am an alpha of a great pack. I am highborn and strong, and Leen will heed my words." Her voice softened, and she touched Okado's cheek. "I must do this, my mate, though my heart will weep while we're apart. I will miss you."
His eyes softened, showing those rare moments of emotion that Suntai, proud she-wolf of the pack, loved and cherished. She embraced him and kissed his lips under the stars.
A throat cleared at her side, interrupting the kiss.
"And I . . . I go with you," said the short Timandrian boy—his name was Cam, she remembered. He spoke in Qaelish too, his accent even heavier than Torin's. "I go north with you."
Suntai turned to smile down at the sharp-featured young man. "The road will be long and dark, my friend. And you will have to ride upon a nightwolf."
The boy—he seemed no older than seventeen or eighteen—raised his chin. He stood shorter than Suntai and probably slimmer too, but puffed out his chest with all the bravado he could.
"I was . . . how you say in Qaelish?" He turned to his friends, whispered among them, and found the word. "I was herder in Timandra. I always fight small sunlit wolves. Now . . . now I want ride big wolf." His eyes lit up. "It be fun. And you need one Timandrian. I go to Leen too."
Suntai smiled; the boy was young and green, perhaps, but honest enough. She nodded. "I will take you with me. I—"
The young Timandrian queen began to speak loudly, interrupting Suntai. She spoke in Ardish, the tongue of her people, which Suntai could not understand. She wrung her hands, scolded Cam, then looked at Suntai and spoke again. The young woman seemed to Suntai like some spirit creature, her skin bronzed, her hair golden, her eyes bright blue.
"What does she say?" Suntai asked.
Cam rolled his eyes. "She says she come too. She also want go north to Leen. She says it sound like her name, so it best place for her." He sighed. "Her name is Linee. Place in north is Leen. She think is some . . . how you say in Qaelish? Sign."
At his side, Queen Linee grinned, crossed her arms, and nodded. "Leen!" she said happily. "Linee. Leen."
Cam groaned. "This be long trip now."
The wind blew from the north, scented of fire, ash, and burning corpses. Below the mountain, the pack rustled and lanterns glinted against armor. Suntai stood upon the mountaintop, this sacred ground of her people, and looked at her companions. Her throat constricted and her heart felt too tight.
And so I will part from my mate, from the pack that I love, and I will travel into darkness for long moons. She tightened her lips and nodded. For the night.
"Okado, leave with the pack before the moon rises," she said. "You cannot linger here." She turned toward his sister. "Koyee, take the boat and take Torin; travel south along the river to distant Ilar, and may the Leaping Fish—the stars of your home—guide your quest." She turned toward Cam and Linee; the boy rolled his eyes as the young queen leaned against him, her elbow on his shoulder. "And you two—you two come with me, and I will find you wolves. You ride fast or I truss you up and carry you as cargo."
They all stared back and nodded. Suntai smiled, though her eyes dampened and she had never felt more pain in her chest.
"Goodbye, my friends," she said. "May whatever gods you worship guide your way. We fight for darkness. We fight for peace. We are the night and we are the day." She turned away and began walking down the mountain. "Now come! Three paths await us. We begin our journeys."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
LEAVETAKING
Bailey sat in the center of a storm, sharpening her sword, cursing with every stroke of stone against blade.
The crater bustled around her. Nightwolves prowled back and forth, shaggy beasts the size of horses, their saddles elaborate works of leather and steel, each scale in their armor engraved with a moonstar. Their riders moved among the animals, stuffing saddlebags with supplies—dried meats, fur pelts, water skins, and blades. These riders too seemed beastly to Bailey; unlike the people of Pahmey, gentle folk who wore silks and glowing jewels, these Elorians looked more like the bloodthirsty night-demons Ferius railed about. Helms shaped as snarling wolves encircled their heads, and tattoos of lightning, claws, and flames adorned their skin. Weapons hung across their backs—katanas, bows, arrows fletched with silk, and belts of many daggers. Back among her own people, Bailey had been a rarity—a female serving among male soldiers—but here half the warriors were wild women, their eyes as fierce as their men's.
Bailey thrust her sharpening stone against her blade, scattering sparks, and grumbled.
Yes, back among my own people. She grimaced. Her eyes stung and she cursed and blinked furiously. She had left her people. She had abandoned her village, her kingdom, her sunlit half of Moth. She had followed Torin on his quest, and now . . . who was she now, and could she ever return?
She looked up from her blade, peered between the wolves and riders, and saw him there. Torin. A growl rose in her throat.
"I gave up everything for you," she whispered. "I left my village. I left my people. I travel the darkness of night. And you only stand there with her."
She stood beside him, the little Elorian woman with the scarred face. Koyee. Bailey remembered seeing her kiss him upon the hospice stairs, not a kiss of friendship like the ones Bailey used to plant on Torin's cheek, but a deep kiss of passion and love.
Why do I care? Bailey forced herself to snort derisively, though she felt like crying. Torin was only . . . only a babyface! He was the frightened little orphan she had welcomed into her home. He was the slow, meek child she could always beat at climbing, swimming, and wrestling. She had come here to protect him, not . . . not love him.
And yet, looking at him now, she no longer saw that boy. She saw a young man in armor—no longer the steel plates of Timandra, but the scaled armor of Eloria, red in the light of fires. He had changed. He had grown from boy to man to warrior of the night, and Bailey no longer knew her friend.
"But I still love you," she whispered. "I love you always with all my heart. And yet you've chosen Koyee. It was her you kissed upon the stairs. It's her you stand with now. I fought for you, but you fight for Koyee."
He finally noticed Bailey staring, turned toward her, and smiled. He came walking her way across the camp, leaving Koyee behind to stuff her pack full of supplies. Bailey forced herself to smile back, even to wave. She would not show him the anger in her heart. She
would not confess to that winky-eyed boy that he could pain her so.
When he reached her, Bailey rose and sheathed her sword. She looked across the camp. Most of the tents had been folded up and packed upon the wolves. The first riders were already climbing out of the crater, their belongings stuffed into saddlebags and sacks. She spotted Suntai a hundred yards away; the alpha female stood upon the northern rim of the crater, the starlight behind her, speaking animatedly to Cam and Linee.
"We're almost ready to leave," Bailey said, adjusting the helmet the riders had given her, it steel shaped as a silver wolf. "How will you get your boat to the river?"
Torin stared from within his own helm; his visor was raised, letting the steel wolf's teeth rest upon his forehead like bangs. "The pack has large, flat wagons; they use them for hauling back stonebeasts, animals they hunt. A few riders will help us wheel the boat to the river—it lies not far—then return to the pack." He touched her arm. "Bailey, come with us. With Koyee and me. We could use your sword."
His words cut her. She couldn't help but wince.
He needed her sword. That was all he cared for, it seemed. Her protection. All her life, she had been protecting him, sheltering him, watching over him as he grew into a man. And now he only wanted more.
He does not want my friendship, my kisses, my love for him. He has Koyee now, a petite, pretty thing to kiss under the stars, and he thinks I'm only a gangly warrior. Would he have me guard them with my sword, standing upon the prow of the boat as they make love behind me?
A small part of Bailey—a little voice deep inside—cried out that she was being petty, jealous, a foolish girl. All her life, Bailey had derided the other girls in Fairwool-by-Night, thinking them silly, cow-eyed things who fawned over farm boys. This small voice cried out that she was behaving just like them, but Bailey could barely hear these cries. Too much rage pounded in her ears, drowning the warning.
She raised her chin and fixed him with her best stare. "Okado already asked me to accompany him eastward," she lied. "I'll be joining him on our journey to Yintao." She looked across the camp, saw the alpha male by a group of other riders, and sighed theatrically. "Damn, the man is handsome. That is what a warrior looks like, Torin. It's a shame you can't join us—he probably could have taught you a few things—but I suppose Koyee needs to parade somebody before the Ilari."
She looked back at Torin, chin firmly raised, and enjoyed seeing the pain in his eyes. She had hurt him. Good. She wished she could hurt him a thousand times more.
Like you hurt me when you kissed her upon the stairs, she thought.
His eyes narrowed and he shifted uncomfortably. "Are you sure?"
"Of course I am. I'm always sure of what I do. You'll be fine without me. And you have Koyee's sword to protect you."
He lowered his eyes, then looked back up at her. He embraced her awkwardly. "I'll miss you, Bails. I've never been apart from you for more than an hourglass turn or two. Now I won't see you for moons." He looked into her eyes. "I've never told you this, but . . . damn it, I love you, you lumbering beast. Be careful out there."
Damn you, Torin. Damn you, you winky-eyed, babyfaced, weakling little boy! He could always do this to her. Tears filled her eyes, and she crushed him in her arms.
"Hug me properly, you silly boy!" she said. "Go on, squeeze a little, damn you." She laughed through her tears, touched his cheek, and kissed his nose. "I love you too, you pink-cheeked gardener."
Before she could stop herself—by Idar, she never even meant to do it!—she kissed him full on the lips. She could tell he was shocked; his body stiffened, but she kept him wrapped in her arms, pressing herself against him. She kissed him deeply, her tongue seeking his, all her body going into the kiss. It was a kiss to knock his boots right off.
When she was done, she pinched his cheek and smiled crookedly. "Something for you to remember me by."
She looked over his shoulder and saw Koyee watching them. Bailey smiled at the Elorian woman and gave her a quick, cruel wink.
And something for you to remember, Koyee.
The Elorian woman stared back, and Bailey's smile grew, a mirthless grin like that of a nightwolf.
She turned, leaving Torin, and walked among wolves and riders until she reached Okado. Bailey had always been the tallest among her group of friends, even the boys, and yet Okado stood taller, his shoulders wide and his arms strong. She smiled at him, placed a hand on his chest, and nodded.
"Let's travel east. Find me a nightwolf, Okado, and I'll ride at your side."
* * * * *
Hemstad Baker was walking through the wolfriders' camp, carrying a sack of furs, when he saw the bullied girl.
They had not been in this crater long, and Hem was eager to leave. Wherever he walked here, he drew stares, laughter, and scornful words. Elorian riders paused as he walked by, gazing at him in wonder, eyebrows rising. Hem ignored them, muttering to himself and feeling his cheeks flush. It wasn't like this was any different than back with his own people. There too soldiers stared and mocked him, reaching out to pat his ample belly for luck, pinch his pink cheeks, or simply laugh at his girth. Standing as close to seven feet as to six, weighing more than any scale could measure, Hem stood out wherever he went, and the Chanku Pack was no exception.
"A stonebeast walks among us!" shouted one wolfrider, perhaps not knowing that Hem had spent the past six months studying their tongue and could understand every word.
"If he falls, he'll create another crater!" cried another rider, a tall and beautiful woman with braided white hair and twin katanas in her hands.
Cheeks hot, Hem walked on, moving past the gawkers, seeking Cam, Linee, and Suntai whom he'd be joining. He could not wait to leave. The journey along the Iron Road, heading toward the northern coast and the empire of Leen, would be long and quiet and dark. For most of the way, Suntai had warned, it would be only them. That suited Hem fine. Cam bullied him sometimes, but Hem was used to those taunts, and as for Suntai and Linee, well . . . they were only two people and neither seemed hostile. Hem thought that he could survive the trip. It would be a respite after the past year, a year spent among soldiers—first Timandrians, then Elorians—who saw him as nothing but a beast.
But I'm not a beast, he thought, eyes stinging. I'm a good baker. And I'm a good singer. And I know a lot about animals, especially dogs. He rubbed his eyes, cursing them for burning. But I hate people sometimes, especially bullies.
Perhaps that was why he noticed the young woman while others walked by, ignoring her.
"Please," the little thing said, her large Elorian eyes entreating her tormentors. "Please, tell me what to do."
She seemed a year or two younger than Hem's own eighteen winters. As much as Hem was tall and corpulent, she was short and slim, a wisp of a thing. She wore only a tattered fur tunic, not armor like the other riders. No helm topped her head, and her hair—brilliant white like snow—cascaded in a mess of tangles. Her damp, blue-gray eyes peered between the pale strands.
The other riders, however, seemed not to share his sentiment. One—a tall, muscular woman in armor—kicked a pot across the ground.
"Fetch it, omega!" the woman shouted, then laughed as the girl scuttled toward the pot.
Before the girl could reach it, an Elorian man—a tall rider with a wolf's head helm—kicked the pot again, sending it clattering away.
"We told you to pack our things, omega," the man said. "Fetch that pot before we lash you."
The young woman kept scurrying to and fro, moving on bare feet, trying to grab the pot. Twenty other pots and pans clattered across her back like armor. Whenever she approached the last pot, another rider kicked it, sending her scurrying again.
"Fetch, girl!" said one rider, this one a smirking woman with claws tattooed onto the shaved sides of her head. She kicked, catching the omega girl in the stomach. The young woman whelped and doubled over. All the pots and pans she carried on her back came loose, scattering
across the ground in a clanking chorus. The riders surrounding her roared with laughter.
"Fetch them, omega, pack our things!" one man said, stepped forth, and prepared to deliver another kick.
Hem had seen enough.
Though fear almost froze his head, he leaped forward, placed himself before the girl, and took the kick into his own belly. He gasped, unable to breathe, but managed to growl and stare at the Elorian rider.
"Leave . . . her . . . alone!" he said through a stiff throat.
The girl's tormenters—there were five or six of them—stared with wide eyes.
"By the stars, a whale!" said the tall, tattooed woman. She burst out laughing. Her friends joined her, poking Hem and muttering in wonder.
Grumbling, Hem ignored them. He turned around and knelt by the young omega. She was on her knees, clutching her belly with one hand, reaching for the scattered pots with the other.
"Are you all right?" he asked, speaking Qaelish, a tongue he'd mastered faster and easier than his friends.
She blinked and nodded, not meeting his gaze. "I cannot speak," she whispered. "I am omega. I cannot speak to you. I must pack their things. Leave me."
He reached for a pan, ignoring the laughter around him, and handed it to her. "Let me help you."
She shivered and shook her head. "Please. They'll hurt me. I'm their omega and must serve them alone." She looked up at him, eyes welling with tears. "Please. You cannot help or they'll hurt me when you leave."
Hem gasped. When the young woman's hair fell back, it revealed a bruise across her cheek.
Hem was a gentle man, but now rage flooded him. He balled his fists. "I cannot let them hurt you!"
Empires of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 2) Page 13
