Behind the army loomed the great pagoda Bailey had seen from the first gateway. Seven tiers tall it rose, wide enough to house thousands; it was easily the largest structure Bailey had ever seen, even larger than the palace of Arden. This was a castle like a city. Braziers surrounded its columns. Gold lined its many roofs of red tiles. The golden idol stared down from above, wise and horrible.
"Behold the Eternal Palace," Okado said at her side. "For over a thousand years have the emperors of Qaelin ruled from this place. Here is the heart of our empire."
"This is no heart," she whispered. "This is the empire's sword."
She dug her heels into Ayka. The white nightwolf bolted forward.
For the first time, the soldiers of Yintao moved.
Thousands turned together, a machine of perfect precision, and slammed spears against shields. The shafts crisscrossed like an iron fence. All eyes stared at Bailey. Beneath her, her wolf snarled but stopped in her tracks.
For long moments, the two forces stood facing each other—the soldiers of Yintao in the square, an army of steel and silk and silence; and the Chanku Pack, a horde of fur and fang and fury. A cold wind blew and Bailey wondered whether they had passed through the seven layers of Yintao only to die at its center.
A trumpet blew.
As one, the soldiers parted, forming a path.
Bailey narrowed her eyes. In the darkness ahead, several men came walking down a stairway from the pagoda gates. After descending the last step, they walked across the square until they reached the wolf pack. The men sported flowing white mustaches, silken robes embroidered with moonstars, and golden sashes around their waists. They bowed, hands pressed together.
"Welcome to Yintao, riders of Chanku," said one, the oldest among them, face wrinkled and gums toothless. "We've heard many tales of the western riders; your forebears were honorable nobles, tracing their ancestry back to Xen Qae himself. We bring you the gifts of light." They held out floating silk lanterns on strings. "Who among you leads?"
Upon his wolf, Okado nodded down toward the men. "I am Okado, leader of this pack." He accepted one of the lanterns, its silk painted with birds and fish. "With me is Bailey Berin, an emissary of Timandra."
As the men turned toward Bailey, she removed her helm, revealing her small brown eyes and golden braids. The Elorian elders—of white hair, pale skin, and large blue eyes—gasped and mumbled amongst themselves. Bailey stared down at them; if any here mocked her ancestry, she felt ready to slice through this entire army. She looked over at Hem, who sat upon his wolf behind her, and gestured for him to remove his helm too. He shook his head wildly and moved his wolf several feet back.
Finally the elders returned their eyes to Okado. "We've heard much about the Timandrians, the sunlit enemy. Emperor Jin the Blessed would much like to speak with . . ." He struggled to form the words. ". . . Bai-ley Be-rin. You would be most welcome in his hall. Your riders may rest in this square until we find them better accommodations. You and your Timandrian companion will follow me; I will lead you into the hall of the emperor."
* * * * *
The sages led them up the stairway, past statues of dragons with embers in their mouths, and through a golden doorway bejeweled with rubies. Leaving their wolves outside, Bailey and Okado entered the palace of Qaelin's emperor.
A towering hall awaited them, lined with columns of red and gold. Bailey gasped. She had never seen a chamber this large; all of Fairwool-by-Night could have fit in here with room to spare. A mosaic sprawled across the floor, depicting blue dragons coiling around silver stars, their eyes jeweled. Braziers rose every few feet, shaped as every animal known in the night, their bronze skin inlaid with gold and silver, their maws holding fire that filled the room with light and sweetly scented smoke. Guards stood between the columns, more finely dressed than the army outside; gems glowed upon their armor, trapping the lures of anglerfish, and silken robes hung across their shoulders, embroidered with crescent moons.
A beacon of light shone across the hall, so bright it blinded Bailey. She leaned forward and squinted, but saw only a glow like the moon. The mustached sages stopped, stepped sideways, and bowed. They gestured ahead, inviting their guests to approach the light.
Bailey glanced at Okado. Strangely, despite the splendor of this place, she felt uneasy, almost afraid. The sight of Okado—a rougher sort of man, his armor dusty from the journey, his face rugged—comforted her. He met her eyes and nodded, the thinnest of smiles upon his lips. She nodded back and faced forward again. They began to walk, crossing the hall.
They moved between the columns, braziers, and guards. Some of these palace warriors frowned to see Bailey, a foreigner in their hall; one even raised his spear and seemed ready to strike before his comrade stopped him.
A high, young voice rose from across the hall, emerging from the light. "Come forth, guests! I've waited long to see you."
Bailey and Okado kept walking, boots thumping against the mosaic, and the throne of Qaelin came into view.
Bailey's jaw unhinged.
Red stairs led up to a dais. Between whorled columns rose a throne of gold and rubies. A great statue of a dragon coiled around the throne, its scales formed of blue tiles; it seemed so lifelike Bailey half expected the statue to rise and blow fire.
A child sat here, gazing upon her. His eyes were large and blue, his white hair was held up in a bun, and he wore a blue silken robe. At first Bailey thought his limbs were encased in gold, but then she let out a slow breath, and her heart softened. The boy bore four prosthetics, legs and arms of precious metal. Pity filled Bailey at the sight, and she let out a wordless whisper, longing to climb onto the throne and embrace this damaged child.
Seeing Okado kneel at her side, she stopped herself. Coated with the dust and sweat of her journey, feeling like a beggar at a banquet, she knelt too with a clatter of armor.
"My emperor," said Okado, lowering his head. "I bow before you, Jin, Holy Lord of Harmony. I am Okado of Chanku. With me is Bailey of Timandra. We've come to bring aid, Your Highness, and warnings of evil in the west."
Bailey looked up and saw the child examining her. Their eyes met, and Bailey gave him a small smile. He might have been an emperor, but he was still only a hurt boy.
Our fate lies in the hands of a child, she thought. A child whose hands are made of gold and cannot move.
"I've heard of Timandrians," the emperor said, his voice high and beautiful and far too young for a hall this grand. "For many years, my sages told me they were but legends. But here one kneels before me. And many gather in the west. Tidings of this invasion have reached the capital. Tidings of Pahmey's occupation—and then its fall—have come here too. I grieve for the souls who died."
Sudden rage flared in Bailey, burning across her pity. She leaped to her feet.
"You knew of the invasion?" she said, voice echoing across the hall. If before she had wanted to hug this child, now she wanted to shake him. "You knew of Pahmey's fall? You have an army! Why didn't your soldiers march west? Why didn't you help us as Timandra murdered, as the towers crashed, as—"
Okado placed a hand on her shoulder, hushing her. She wheeled toward him, panting with rage, and spun back toward the emperor. Her chest rose and fell, and her fists clenched and unclenched.
The boy stared down at her, haunting sadness in his eyes. "Help us? Are you not one of the sunlit?"
Bailey pounded her armor of scales. "See my armor! I am a soldier of the night. I was born in sunlight, but I fight for darkness. Why don't you?" She took a step forward, ignoring the guards who shifted and raised their spears. "Why didn't you help Pahmey?"
"I could hear their screams in my dreams," Emperor Jin said, and a tear flowed down his cheek. "Many times I wanted to march west with the hosts, and yet I would not. Too many Timandrians gather; we could not have stopped them. Our army would have crashed against the walls of occupied Pahmey. And so we stay behind the walls of Yintao, sharpening our swords, waiting for the sun to rise u
pon us. The enemy marches across Sage's Road, the same path you took. Half a million warriors swarm toward us. We are forging blades and armor as the hourglass turns, and we are drafting men across the city and countryside, yet still the hosts of sunlight greatly outnumber us." The boy shivered. "They will be here soon."
Bailey's eyes stung. "Is there any hope?"
"There is always hope, child of sunlight," said the dragon statue.
Bailey nearly fell onto her backside.
She gasped, clutched the hilt of her sword, and drew a foot of steel. At her side, she heard Okado gasp.
"You're . . ." She sputtered, barely able to form the words. "You're real?"
The dragon of blue tiles uncoiled from around the throne, rising in the chamber. Bailey took several steps back, unable to breathe.
"Shenlai!" said Okado, voice hushed with awe, and knelt again. "Shenlai, dragon of Qaelin!"
Bailey stood before the beast, sword still half-drawn. Shenlai rose like a snake from a basket. His scales, which Bailey had mistaken for blue tiles, chinked like a purse full of coins. His eyes, orbs like crystal balls, gleamed as they gazed upon her. His beard and mustache flowed long and snowy, and his eyelashes—each as long as a peacock feather—fanned the air as he blinked.
"Shenlai," Bailey whispered, tears in her eyes. "I've seen your statues across the empire, though I didn't know you were real." She drew her sword, knelt before him, and placed the tip of her blade against the floor. "My sword is yours."
It seemed to her that the dragon smiled, a smile of warmth, wisdom, and ancient secrets.
"That gives me hope, child of sunlight," said the dragon. "The greatest hope is found not in armies or castles, but in the hearts of honest people. I see hope in your eyes and your soul. Rise, Bailey and Okado, warriors of the night."
They rose and stood before the dragon. Bailey wiped tears from her eyes and whispered, "My heart is strong, Shenlai . . . though it beats stronger with an army at my back." She returned her eyes to the emperor. "We bring an army of wolves! They are noble and strong. We've sent travelers south to Ilar and north to Leen, requesting aid. There is help for Yintao."
Jin looked at his dragon, then back at Bailey, and she realized: Shenlai was true master of the empire, sage and councilor and friend to the child upon the throne.
"Shenlai is not the only dragon in Eloria," said Jin. "Two more live, coiling around the thrones of Ilar and Leen. Shenlai has flown to meet them, yet they will not send aid. We are alone, Bailey of Sunlight. We must be strong."
She lowered her head and bit her lip. As there are two more dragons, I have two friends in distant lands. Come back soon, Torin and Cam. Come back even if no aid is to be found. Stand with me here.
The next hourglass turn was a blur of lights, scents, and dreams to Bailey. Servants took her to chambers where she bathed, ate and drank, and donned robes of silk. Young women tried to unbraid and brush her hair, and she sent them fleeing with a glower and curse.
Finally they let her be, and she rejoined the pack, which camped outside upon the square, tents raised and nightwolves sleeping curled up into balls. Soldiers of Yintao patrolled outside the palace, and warriors of Chanku stood guard among their tents. Bailey found her own tent and wolf, but she couldn't sleep, even when she pretended to lie in her old bed at home.
Finally she rose from her fur blankets, her tent walls dark around her, and drew her sword. She tightened her lips until they shook. She swung her blade, up and down, again and again, and with every stroke she imagined cutting into her enemy's flesh, saving all those who had died around her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO:
THE CLOCKWORK KING
Cam was losing yet another meal over the ship's railing—the latest in a sad string of them—when he saw the distant glow.
"Camlin, Camlin!" Linee said, tugging his sleeve. "Land!"
Cam moaned and staggered back, wiping his mouth.
"Land!" Linee cried and danced a jig. "Leen. My kind of country."
Queasy and feeling weaker than a newborn lamb, Cam reached for his skin of spirits, sloshed the rye in his mouth, and spat. Sailing downriver into Pahmey last year had been bad enough, but this was worse. For long turns they had been sailing north through roiling, wavy, bouncy, swaying, and lurching ocean.
"My country," Linee said, hands pressed together against her cheek.
"Hope for the night," said Suntai, coming to stand beside them.
When Cam looked ahead, he thought of no hope for Eloria, no armies, no aid. He cared about only one thing.
"Solid ground at last."
The captain and his daughters cried out and pointed. One of the daughters, a stocky woman who normally laughed and sang, scowled and muttered curses. Her sisters worked in silence, staring at the lights and whispering.
"This place is cursed," said the eldest daughter, a doughy sailor with red cheeks. "That glow is unnatural. That is the glow of ghosts."
Cam felt more of his latest meal rising and swallowed it down. "I'll take ghosts over this ship. Keep sailing."
The Bear Maiden's sails billowed. The ship made way toward the lights, bouncing atop every wave and making Cam cover his mouth and struggle not to gag. He tried to focus on the land ahead, watching the lights grow nearer. The entire horizon glowed. Was this a single city, miles and miles wide, straddling the whole southern coast of Leen?
"What do you know of this island, Suntai?" he asked the tall, pale woman.
Suntai narrowed her eyes. "I told you. I know nothing of this land." She stared ahead toward the lights and loosened her katana in its scabbard. "Few in Qaelin do. The people of Leen appear in our old legends. They are philosophers and stargazers, wise men with flowing robes and flowing beards. Some say that Xen Qae, founder of Qaelin, was born in Leen—that all Eloria began on this island." She spat overboard. "Old stories. Soon you will know. But be careful . . . and stay near me."
Ignoring the dire warning, Linee twirled around on the deck. "Oh, it'll be a beautiful country. I'm sure of it. There will be glowing butterflies, forests of purple mushrooms, fluffy unicorns, and castles." She grinned and ran her fingers through her hair. "And they'll appreciate somebody as beautiful as me, a real queen. Camlin, do you think they'll have cakes there?"
"I think you have cake between your ears." He held his belly. "I'm going to be sick again. Please don't talk about food, and please stop dancing around."
She stuck her tongue out, grabbed his arm, and made a point of dancing while tugging his arm and singing about plum pies. He groaned.
The coast of Leen grew closer, and Cam squinted and leaned forward. What he had mistaken for a sprawling coastline city was . . . He rubbed his eyes, refusing to believe, but his eyes insisted it was true.
"Crystals," he said. "A whole damn forest of glowing crystals."
Linee nodded. "I told you. I told you they'd have magical forests."
Cam wasn't so sure the place was magical. To him the glow seemed ghostly, an eerie light. At first he thought the crystals silvery like a moon behind thin clouds, but as they sailed closer, he discerned tints of green and blue. Wisps floated above the land like haunting spirits. Cam reached down his collar and fished out his half-sun amulet, symbol of Idar; he clutched it so tightly it stung his fingers.
"Inagon," whispered the sailor's oldest daughter. She had no amulet of her own, but she made the sign of Idar, a half circle across her chest. "The land of the dead."
Her sisters cursed and grumbled. The youngest, a demure girl with a cleft lip, began to insist they turned back now. The captain emerged upon the deck, stared at the pale lights, and grew just as pale. He cursed and prayed and grabbed salt from his pockets to toss into the water.
"There is no such place as Inagon," Cam said, turning from one sailor to another. "A cursed land that punishes sinners after death? That's just a story they tell children to scare them into obedience. We have the same story in Arden. We're in Eloria, the land of night. They don't even know Idarism here."
He turned back toward the coast. "It's not haunted. It's . . . pretty."
He heard the lie in his own voice. The closer they sailed, the odder this place seemed. The crystals jutted along the coast, reminding him of tombstones. Cam loosened his collar.
He turned toward Suntai and whispered to her, "The sailors call this the land of the dead. What do you think, Suntai? What do your people say of the afterworld? Does it . . . look like this?"
"In some stories it is so." Suntai stared ahead grimly, then turned to him and gave a rare grin, revealing her canines. "If this is the land of the dead, we will raise them to fight our war. We sail on."
They anchored offshore and the companions climbed into a rowboat. The captain grabbed the oars, but his daughters refused to board, speaking of curses and ghosts.
"We will stay until the moon is full," Cam said to the captain as they rowed toward the ghostly shore. He hoped that would give him time to find someone—anyone—who could help. "Wait for us, and you'll have more jewels as payment for the journey back south."
The captain patted his pocket where his latest payment chinked. "Sometimes I think my daughters run this ship, and they're a foolish lot. Scared of ghosts and old stories, they are." He hawked and spat into the sea. "But they'll wait. They like jewels as much as the next woman, despite their sordid appearance and abundance of body hair." He barked a laugh—a jarring sound like a rusty nail against a board.
They oared on—a rowboat with a grizzled captain, an Ardish soldier and his dethroned queen, and an Elorian warrior. Their two nightwolves swam alongside the vessel, eyes reflecting the crystals ahead. Cold wind shrieked as they reached the shores of Leen.
Cam stepped onto a beach of coarse black sand. The crystals rose before him, taller than they'd seemed from afar; they stood as large as pines, silver and blue and cruel as blades. It was very cold. He shivered and wrapped his cloak tightly around him, and when the nightwolves emerged from the water and shook, ice clung to their fur. Linee's teeth chattered and even Suntai, used to the cold night, grunted as her breath frosted.
Empires of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 2) Page 23
