Suntai sneered, resisting the urge to draw her sword. Her voice echoed across the hall. "You cannot stay on your island forever! You cannot ignore the world beyond your shores. That world came to you in ships—enemy galleys that burned your western coast . . . and a southern caravel bearing a warning." Her fists shook. "If Ferius the Demon conquers Yintao, he will set his sights on Leen next. He distinguishes not between Elorian to Elorian; we are all equal kindling for his fire. For thousands of years you lingered here, yet you cannot ignore this fire. Sail south with me, Pirilin! Face the enemy upon the mainland! Do not speak of Orida, Leen, or Qaelin; those are old names, and this is a new war. This is a war between day and night."
She stood, chest rising and falling as she panted. Even in the cold air, sweat beaded on her brow. For long moments, only the ticking of the mechanical heart filled the chamber. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The guards stood still. The dragon said nothing, and Suntai wanted to charge forward, grab the beast's horns, and shake them.
"Will you not fight?" she cried, turning from dragon to guards and back again. "Will you wait in your hall until the demons burst into it? You spoke of commanding ships. Soldiers fill your city. Send them south! Roar your battle cry and fight with—"
"Leen does not take orders from Suntai the rider," said Pirilin, interrupting the speech. "You are a warrior, Suntai, and you are strong and brave, yet we in Leen value other qualities." The dragon's fangs gleamed. She uncoiled and rose to hover above the tiles, flowing toward Suntai like a snake upon the water. "We value wisdom above all else. You are strong, rider of wolves, but are you wise?"
Pirilin's scaly head hovered only a foot away now. Her toothy mouth opened. She could have swallowed Suntai whole.
"All great warriors are wise," Suntai replied, staring into the dragon's eyes, each one as large as her head.
The beast grinned, and it reminded Suntai of the grin her wolf made before tearing into living flesh. "We shall see." The dragon licked her chops with a purple tongue. "I will test your wisdom, Suntai of Qaelin, and the wisdom of the Timandrians you bring into my hall. My brother Shenlai, the blue dragon of Qaelin, is a keeper of secrets. My brother Tianlong, the black dragon of Ilar, is a warrior. Yet I am Pirilin the White, a riddler." The dragon's eyes gleamed, and her tail rose behind her like a scorpion's stinger about to strike. "Three riddles will I ask you. If you answer all three, I will judge you wise, and Leen will join its strength to yours."
"And if I cannot answer?" Suntai said. "You will cast us out?"
Pirilin laughed. "If you fail to answer, you are foolish, and I have only one use for fools. You will remain here as my playthings . . . until I grow hungry, and then you will become my meals." The dragon licked the drool off her chin. "Are you ready?"
The heart ticked. Suntai looked to the king, praying silently for him to wake, as if prayers could end a sleep of centuries, undoing the clockwork of an ancient dragon.
"Do not look at him!" Pirilin demanded, moving to block the view. "You speak with a dragon now, not a king. Do you accept my challenge? If you do not, leave this court."
Suntai growled. Was this a game to Pirilin? Her people were dying, and the dragon would play with riddles? She looked over at Cam and Linee. They stared back, faces pale and bodies stiff.
"I say we play," the shepherd whispered to her. "I'm good at riddles. Or at least I used to be at The Shadowed Firkin, our tavern back home. Hem would tell riddles sometimes and I used to solve most of them."
Linee nodded, hair flouncing; she spoke in mix of Ardish and broken Qaelish. "I'm good at riddles too! We had a book of them back at the palace. I mostly read books about animals, but sometimes I read the riddles one." She twisted her foot and lowered her gaze. "I mostly cheated and just read the answers, but . . . I remember a lot. Maybe Pirilin will ask a riddle I already know."
Suntai grunted. She was wise at tracking stonebeasts, reciting histories of battles, and fighting with the blade, yet riddles were a strange craft to her. But what other option did she have? She would not leave this palace empty-handed. Not as Okado needed her.
She returned her eyes to Pirilin. "Very well, Pirilin the White, dragon of Leen. Ask us your three riddles. We will answer them truly, and then . . . then we will sail to war."
"Or I will enjoy a meal," said Pirilin with a hungry smile. "We begin."
* * * * *
Cam took a deep breath, struggling to calm his frayed nerves. Linee took his hand and squeezed it, but the warm gesture offered little comfort.
We should have brought Torin with us, he thought. Torin had always been the best at riddles. Instead he had Suntai, a woman who knew every way to kill a man but had probably never read a book, and Linee, a woman who had owned many books and probably only looked at the pictures. As Pirilin the dragon licked her lips and cleared her throat, Cam gulped.
I'll have to rely on myself, he thought. It'll be just like a game back at The Shadowed Firkin.
The dragon's tongue darted, and the beast spoke her first riddle, her voice carrying across the hall. She uttered it first in Qaelish for Suntai, then in Ardish for Cam and Linee.
"Lives in dungeons
And dead men's eyes
Dwells in holes
And beyond the skies
Fills a killer's heart
And the weary's yawn
Yet come to meet me
And find me gone"
Cam frowned, took another deep breath, and searched his thoughts for an answer. At his sides, he saw Suntai and Linee mumble to themselves, brows furrowed.
Come on, just pretend you're Torin and answer! Cam told himself. He tried to remember the dragon's words, but already they were slipping from his mind.
What lived in dungeons? Rats? Prisoners? A rat would disappear if you came to meet it, but . . . how could rats live beyond the skies? Cam clenched and unclenched his fists. How could anything exist beyond the skies?
"Well, foreigners," said the dragon. The beast emitted a hissing laughter, and her tongue darted. "Will you not answer?"
"Give us some time!" Cam said.
The dragon's teeth gleamed. "Answer, strangers, for I grow hungry."
Despite the cold air, sweat trickled down Cam's back. He glanced at Linee and saw her chewing her lip and wringing her hands. When he glanced at Suntai, however, he saw no nervousness. The wolfrider lowered her head, and her arms hung loosely at her sides. She seemed almost sad.
"Answer!" demanded the dragon. "Answer or I feast."
Cam wracked his brains. The riddle had said something about filling hearts and eyes. Cruelty? Joy? Why would those disappear if you visited them?
He opened his mouth to request—to beg for!—more time. Before he could speak, Suntai raised her head. She spoke in a soft voice, a voice full of sadness and frailty that Cam had never heard in the proud warrior.
"I know something of this thing," said the wolfrider and placed a hand on her belly. "The answer is: emptiness."
Pirilin seemed to pout—if it were possible for a dragon to pout. "Pity. I was hoping to eat you already. You answered truly."
Cam took a deep, shuddering breath, but his relief was short lived. The dragon rose higher, hovering several feet above the floor, and spoke her second riddle.
"Topples mountains
Cuts through stone
Mightier than crown and throne
Strangles men
And crumbles lead
Yet without him
All lie dead"
The companions stood before the dragon, frowning and mumbling to themselves. Cam bit his lip and twisted his fingers. Topples mountains and stone and lead? What kind of weapon could do that . . . yet foster life?
He glanced at Suntai, but she seemed just as stumped; she winced and twisted her brow, deep in thought. Cam cursed under his breath, and a shiver ran through him. A cannon? An army? One could claim that an army protected life, but how could even an army cut stone and topple mountains?
"I
t looks like I'll be enjoying a meal," said Pirilin. Saliva dripped between her teeth. "I do believe I'll eat the boy first; he is small as an appetizer."
Cam held up his hand. "Wait! Give us a moment."
At his side, Linee whimpered and covered her eyes, and Suntai cursed. Cam tapped his foot, thinking back to the war. What had been the greatest danger he'd faced? Arrows? Swords? Fire? None seemed to fit.
He snickered. It often seemed to him that more than weapons, it was the journey at sea that had crippled him; he had gagged overboard so often that—
Cam froze, mouth hanging open.
"Time to feast," said the dragon and hovered toward him, maw opening wide. Her hot breath blasted him, and strings of saliva quivered between her teeth like harp strings.
"Water!" Cam shouted. "The answer is: water!" He laughed. "Of course."
The dragon hissed, pulled back, and closed her mouth. She glared at Cam and whipped her tail. Her scales clinked like a sack of coins. With a growl, the dragon spoke her third riddle.
"Both question and answer
Both darkness and light
In the minds of the wise
And the stars of the night
I guard the paths to wisdom
I hide the greatest treasure
Name what lies behind my door
And you'll lose me forever"
For a long moment, the three companions stood silently.
Cam clutched his head, tapped his foot, and bit his lip, but no answer came to him. At his side, Suntai was balling her fists and whispering, her eyes closed, but seemed no closer to finding an answer. Pirilin the dragon laughed, a sickening sound, and snapped her teeth.
Oh muddy sheepskins, Cam thought with a grimace. I don't know this one. I don't know. We're dragon food. Oh Idar . . .
Linee's voice rose beside him. "It's a riddle."
Cam groaned. "Yes, Linee, I know it's a riddle. Let me think."
She tugged his sleeve. "But Camlin! It's a riddle."
"I know, Linee!" He glared at her. "I know it's a riddle. Please be quiet and let me think of the answer."
Linee groaned, crossed her arms, and stomped her feet. "The answer is 'a riddle', you foolish boy. 'A riddle' is both the question and answer." She turned toward the dragon, puffed out her chest, and grinned. "The answer is: a riddle."
Cam turned toward the dragon, expecting the beast to lunge and feast upon him. But Pirilin only stared, her violent eyes gleaming. A smile stretched across the dragon's face, but this time it was not hungry, but a smile of kindness and wisdom.
"The riddles are solved," she said. "Your wisdom is deep."
Linee hopped up and down, clapped excitedly, and hugged Cam. He pried her off and stepped closer to Pirilin.
"Will you fight with us?" he said, chest rising and falling. He looked across the hall at the embalmed king upon his throne, clockwork heart ticking; at the guards between the columns, faces hidden behind silver helmets; and back again at the white dragon with the lilac eyes. "Will you sail south with us? Will you fight Ferius and his hosts?"
They were all silent. Cam panted, staring from side to side, and drew his sword. He raised the blade, eyes stinging.
"Will you not answer?" Cam walked from soldier to soldier and then back to Pirilin. Heart thrashing, he touched the dragon's scales; they were ice-cold. "I've answered your riddles. Now answer mine! Will you fight?"
Pirilin blinked her crystal orbs. For a moment, the only sound was the sleeping king's clockwork heart. Cam stared at the dragon. Suntai and Linee came to stand at his side.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Slowly, Pirilin rose like a snake from a basket, like smoke from a flame, until her head nearly touched the vaulted ceiling fifty feet above. Her body swayed and chinked. She looked down upon the companions and cried in a voice that shook the hall.
"Leen will fight!"
Linee hopped and squealed with joy, and Suntai raised her sword and cried for battle. Cam, however, could feel no joy, not even relief. He only closed his eyes, lowered his head, and squared his jaw.
I avoided starvation and a dragon's wrath. His eyes stung. Now I will sail with an army. Now blood will spill, fire will burn, and death will cover the night.
The cry echoed in the chamber, and the soldiers of Leen repeated the cry. "Leen will fight! Leen will fight!"
The chants rose. The heart ticked on.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE:
THE SHIPS OF ILAR
"No," she whispered, thrashing her head. "Please, no, don't . . ."
She tried to pull back but could not. She begged, but the beast would not listen. Still the nightwolf fed, digging its teeth into her arm, ripping flesh, shaking its head and tugging and clawing, tearing tendons, cracking bone. Koyee wept, her ruin of an arm trapped within the beast's mouth, and she screamed as it ate her.
"He's eating me . . . please, stars, please . . . he's eating me alive . . ."
But the wolf was gone; it had never been a wolf at all. Her arm lay within a pile of smoking bones, not a beastly mouth. Bits of charred flesh still clung to the pile, hot, searing her. She recognized these remains. Here were the bones of her father, stacked in a wheelbarrow, and Koyee screamed again, trying to pull her arm loose, lost in the darkness. The bones were so hot, crackling with flame, and she watched her arm wither until it too was only a bone, only a smooth shaft coated with burnt skin. She wept.
"Help . . . help me, please . . ."
A hand touched her forehead. "I'm here, Koyee. I'm here. You're safe."
She knew that voice. It was Torin! Torin the demon, the creature with the mismatched eyes! He stood behind the wheelbarrow, pushing it forward, bringing this death into her land.
"Go away," she begged him. "Go back into the dusk. Leave Oshy. I don't want to leave. I don't want to go to Pahmey. Please . . . Torin, go away."
Yet he would still not release her. He still kept his hand on her forehead, only it wasn't Torin after all; why had she thought it was Torin? She tried to toss off the warty hand, but he only laughed—Old Snaggletooth, his gums stained with the spice, his strands of hair swaying. He reached into her pockets, seeking, rifling, stealing her money, her life, her memories of home.
Home . . .
Oshy . . .
She had to keep that memory alive. She kicked wildly, shoving him off. She had to remember Oshy. Her home had burned. They had killed her people . . . Yinlan, the elderly bead-maker who had once sewn her fur mittens . . . little Linshani who played the flute so well . . . all gone . . .
"I miss you," she whispered, tears in her eyes. "I miss you, Father. I miss you, Mother."
The hand caressed her forehead. "I'm here, Koyee. I'm always with you."
She blinked weakly. She seemed to lie in a hammock, the room swaying around her. A ship. She was in the belly of a ship or perhaps a whale. A figure knelt above her, whispering, and she thought that it was Torin again, but gentle light fell, and she knew her. She remembered.
"Mother," she whispered. "Mother, how can you be here? You died. You died when I was a baby."
And yet the gentle woman stared down at her, smoothing her hair. She looked like Koyee. She too had lavender eyes, smooth white hair, and a triangular face, only her mother was beautiful, for no scars marred her.
"I'm here, Koyee," she said, speaking in Torin's voice. "I'm always with you."
Koyee reached out to hold her mother's hand, to feel her warmth, to be a child again . . . but her mother withdrew. The woman's face twisted in agony and her belly bulged, and Koyee realized that her mother was pregnant, that the baby was coming.
"Mother!"
Her mother fell back, belly bulging and contracting, and the babe emerged, a twisted creature, biting and clawing, a child with beady eyes and yellow robes and sharp teeth.
"Ferius . . ."
The monk emerged from the womb, a parasite with bloody gums, and leaped onto her mother, not feeding at the breast but ripping into flesh, eati
ng, killing, and Koyee screamed and reached out, trying to grab Ferius, to pull him off her mother, but she couldn't . . . she couldn't! He was her brother. He was linked to her. He was . . .
The whale swayed.
She rocked in her hammock.
Her eyes fluttered back.
"She's not getting better," said her mother.
A demonic hiss answered. "We've rubbed her arm with our herbs. We've used the ancient magic of Ilar. If she screams, that is good. That means the curse is leaving her. Stay with her, Torin, even as she shouts and weeps. She will be cured."
Her eyes fluttered. She saw a monk leave the chamber, not a monk of Sailith in yellow robes, but an Elorian all in black, a flame sigil upon his breast, and Torin stood in the room again, and she clutched his hand.
"Stay with me, Torin. Stay with me."
He squeezed her hand and wiped the sweat off her brow. "Always."
She spent a long time in the hull of this ship. An hourglass turned upon her table, but she was only vaguely aware of the time passing. Torin fed her, talked to her, and changed the damp cloth upon her forehead, and it seemed that every turn that strange, robed monk returned to chant spells, to rub herbs onto her arm, to nod even as she screamed, even as the feverish dreams tore through her, making her thrash and weep.
The hourglass turned.
She closed her eyes.
She slept.
* * * * *
After half a moon of fever, Koyee emerged onto the deck of the ship, her limbs thin and her fingers trembling. Wrapped in a silk cloak, she beheld a starry sky, a smooth sea, and hundreds of lamp-lit ships.
Koyee gasped and her eyes dampened. "The navy of Ilar." She turned to Torin, and a smile trembled on her lips. "Ilar sails to war."
Empires of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 2) Page 25
