The doors to the hall opened, and Jin started, sure that the enemy had made it into the palace grounds. But it was Empress Hikari of Ilar astride a panther, clad in lacquered black plates, a dripping sword in hand. She rode into the hall, ash and blood covering her face, the red flame of her empire upon her shield. Two bodyguards flanked her, their helmets' visors pulled down, shaped as cruel faces with bristly mustaches.
"Emperor Jin!" Hikari called, riding toward him across the mosaic floor. "They are too many. We're holding them back, but we cannot hold them back forever."
Jin gazed through the open doors of his hall. Outside in the courtyard, he could see his people. Women. Children. Elders. Mothers with crying babes. The city's residents crowded the squares, streets, and halls of the palace grounds, whimpering and praying as the seventh walls shook.
"If the enemy breaks in, they will slay everyone here," Jin said to the empress. "They will not distinguish between soldiers and civilians; they did not in Pahmey. Six layers of walls have fallen. The seventh must stand."
The empress reached his throne, her eyes blazing, her teeth bared. "Then we must evacuate them from this city; this would be their graveyard. My soldiers still control the port. A hundred of my ships await. Load your women and children into their hulls. My fleet will deliver them to safety."
Jin's eyes widened, for Empress Hikari was renowned for her cruelty in war. "Many times your ships raided the coasts of Qaelin. Now you will deliver our people to safety in your lands?"
Screams sounded outside and an explosion rocked the city—another catapult's boulder slamming into a tower. The empress did not remove her eyes from Jin. "We are no longer enemies, child. We are no longer Qaelin and Ilar. We are all children of Eloria."
Upon his throne, Jin straightened and peered across his hall. Outside, he saw the people huddle. Each one was a life. Each was a world entire.
"The port lies a mile from here," Jin said. "The Eternal Palace is surrounded. The enemy sweeps across every street between us and your ships."
The empress snarled and raised her sword, and her panther snarled beneath her. "Then we will cut our way through. We leave this place, Emperor Jin. You too. Summon what soldiers you can—many still guard your walls. The forces of Ilar fight with you; the soldiers of Leen will join us." She banged sword against shield. "We will carve a path through the enemy. A mile of sunlight? Let it be a mile of our glory, of Timandra's blood—a Red Mile, a road of shadow in the light."
* * * * *
He sat upon his nightwolf, loyal Refir, his dearest friend since his youth. His mate sat at his side again—fair Suntai clad in steel, her sword held before her. For long moons, Okado had ridden without her; now his pack, his life, and his courage were whole. Suntai is with me again. Together we can face the light of day.
Around him, a hundred other wolfriders stared at the gates, grim, silent, weapons raised. Behind him spread the hope of the night—the last survivors in this city, perhaps the last survivors in all Eloria.
"Beyond these gates lies the sun," Okado said. "Beyond these gates is our greatest test . . . the fall of the night or our path to life."
Suntai looked at him, and Okado could barely breathe, for in her indigo eyes, he saw their love, their past, the future they had dreamed of—babes around the campfire, a proud pack, a life of honor. As she looked upon him, she whispered words she had never dared utter, words their exile would have deemed weak, words that now filled him with strength.
"I love you, Okado, my mate." Upon her wolf, Suntai reached out and held his arm. "We fight together. We will save them."
He stared behind him. The survivors of Yintao spread across the courtyard, thousands of elders, mothers, and children. The warriors of Ilar stood to their right, armored in black and sitting astride panthers. The hosts of Leen stood to their left, men of pale steel and white cloaks, their spears tall, their shields bright. The hosts of Yintao still stood on the walls, firing their arrows and cannons upon the enemy outside.
"It will be we, the riders of Chanku, who lead the charge." Okado stared back at the gates. The bronze thudded and bent as the enemy attacked, slamming hammers and rams. "It will be Chanku that carves the Red Mile."
Suntai nodded. "For glory. For life. For death."
Okado clenched his fist around his sword's hilt. He rose in his stirrups. He raised his sword high and cried out for the city to hear.
"Eloria!" His voice rolled across the Eternal Palace. "Eloria, we ride! We ride to the port. We ride to life. We are the night!"
Guards upon the walls raised silver trumpets. They blared their keen, and the riders below banged swords against shields. Men tugged at chains, and the gates burst open.
To the sound of trumpets and howling wolves, Eloria raced into the swarms of sunlit warriors.
They were a shadow driving into drowning light.
They were a single spear piercing a beast the size of the world.
The Chanku Pack rode at the vanguard, swords swinging, wolves biting, cutting down the enemy. The Timandrians covered the city like worms over a corpse. Spears lashed at the wolfriders. Arrows pelted them. Knights in armor, elephants of war, and endless pikes tore into their ranks.
"Ride on!" Okado shouted as riders and wolves fell around him. "To the port! For the night, for death, for the children of darkness!"
Corpses paved their way. Blood painted them. The Red Mile stretched before them.
Behind the pack, the people of Yintao emerged from the gates, stepping onto the bloody boulevard. Mothers held babes to their breasts. Elders hobbled on canes. Children clung to one another, tears in their eyes. The Ilari rode to their right, slashing swords from atop their panthers. Leen's troops marched to the left, their helms blank masks, their silver spears thrusting. From both sides, the enemy surged like waves, crashing into the soldiers of Eloria, dying upon blade and fang and claw.
"Forward, Eloria!" Okado cried, riding at the lead. Arrows slammed against his armor, and one pierced his wolf's hide. "Carve a path of glory. Carve the Red Mile!"
They drove on, street by street, man by man. Soldiers of darkness fell. Demons of sunlight died, only for more to replace them, an endless sunrise. They passed down boulevards, between shattered temples, over fallen walls.
And they died.
They died by the hundreds. Soon there were no separate clans of Elorian fighters—not three empires, just one army. They fought as one, died as one, their blood spilling together, a shield around their women and children, the living replacing the falling. With every step, they shed a life. And yet they moved onward, carving this path of flesh, until all the children of Yintao emerged from the Eternal Palace and the masts of ships rose ahead.
"The ships!" rose voices behind Okado. "The ships of Ilar!"
Okado pointed his sword. "Follow, children of Eloria."
The pack rode, trampling over Timandrian swordsmen, and turned onto a boulevard leading down to the port. Only two hundred yards now separated them from the water. The lamps of the ships beckoned, beacons in the darkness, hope for life.
Before the docks stood an army of Sailith warriors.
At their lead, clad in crimson armor, Ferius sat astride a white horse. The Lord of Light raised a lamp in one hand, a mace in the other. His warriors spread around him, sitting atop their own armored horses—demons of red armor and yellow cloaks, the rulers of sunlight.
"Hello, Okado!" Ferius shouted and laughed. "Yes, I know your name. At last, on your eve of death, we meet. Come to me, spawn of darkness. Come to die."
Okado stared down at this man, his half brother, the son of his mother and a Timandrian soldier . . . this man whose shame was so great he burned the night.
Okado turned his head to look at Suntai. She rode at his side, scales missing from her armor, her wounds dripping, but her was sword still high. Her eyes were still strong and full of love for him and the night.
"We ride together, my mate," she said. "We ride to meet him."
Okado reached over a
nd touched her cheek, a pale cheek tattooed with lighting, smeared with soot. She smiled and a tear trailed down to his fingers.
He nodded. "Always, my Suntai, star of my heart. Always we ride together."
They turned back toward the monks and the ships behind them.
They roared their battle cries together.
The alpha pair led the charge, and behind them, hundreds of wolfriders—the remains of their pack—roared and followed in a thunder.
Eloria stormed down the boulevard. From the port below, the Timandrians surged. Horses galloped and nightwolves leaped. With swinging swords and maces, the hosts crashed together.
Okado was wounded. He had not slept or eaten for turns. His armor was chipped, his left arm was numb, and a vise of pain squeezed his head. Yet still he fought—the fight he had been born for, that he'd left his village for, that he'd spent years training for. It was the fight against the sunlight, against the shame of his blood.
The monks swarmed toward him, maces swinging. One mace shattered his shield. Another drove into his shoulder, and he roared and slew the man. Around him, he could barely see the city, only the sunlit demons crashing against him.
"Get the people into the ships!" Suntai called from somewhere within the fray. "We'll hold them back. Get everyone into the ships!"
The monks mobbed Okado, and his sword could barely scratch their armor. A mace slammed into Refir, and the wolf yowled but kept fighting. When Okado glanced to his left, he saw the first women and children race along a pier and enter a rowboat. Thousands of Timandrians—hundreds of thousands—brandished their weapons, pressing toward the port.
I will hold them back.
He looked across the crowd of Timandrians, seeking him—the Demon of Daylight. Behind a dozen bloodsuns, he saw him. Ferius sat upon his horse, his arms raised, his lantern shining. He seemed like a man in rapture. He howled for sunlight and the murder of the night.
"Suntai!" Okado shouted. "Do you see him?"
She swung her sword at his side, severing a man's arm. She nodded. "I see him. We ride!"
With a yip, she spurred her wolf. Okado's wolf burst into a run too. The alpha mates sailed through the air, landed atop monks, and swung their swords. The enemy fell around them. Ferius still stood ahead, head tossed back, eyes closed.
"Into the boats!" somebody cried behind; Okado thought he recognized Bailey's voice. "Hurry—on board!"
He did not turn to look. His eyes remained on Ferius. He raced forward, sword hacking, his nightwolf biting and clawing. Suntai fought at his side, blood on her wolf's maw. They drove through the mob until they reached him.
"Ferius," Okado said. "You know my name, but do you know who I am?"
Atop his white horse, the monk stared, and a smile spread across his face. "Leader of a mongrel pack."
Refir bucked and clawed the air, and Okado sneered. "Do you know who I am?"
Ferius's smile spread into a grin. "My half-brother." He laughed, a sound like shattering bones. "The spawn of our harlot mother. She was a sinner, Okado. She was a filthy savage." He spat toward Suntai. "As is this harlot you parade as your mate."
Atop her wolf, Suntai raised her bow. She fired. Ferius swung his mace, knocking the arrow aside.
"You cannot stop me, creatures of darkness!" Ferius shrieked, voice rising as a storm. "I am sunfire."
As the wolves leaped, Ferius smashed his lantern against his chest.
Glass shattered, oil spilled, and Ferius burst into flame.
The two nightwolves yelped and pulled back. Okado shielded his eyes from the heat, and Suntai gasped. Their wolves growled and snapped their teeth, daring not approach. Ferius laughed, engulfed in flame, his horse burning, his shrieks rising.
"I am the sun!" cried the monk. "I am the light of Sailith and I banish your darkness."
His blazing horse screamed, an almost-human sound, and burst into a gallop. The nightwolves parted, allowing the burning animal to pass. As the horse raced toward the river, Ferius leaped from the saddle, a ball of flame, and crashed against Suntai.
"I will burn you all!" The shrieks rose like steam from a pot. "I light the darkness!"
"Suntai!" Okado shouted.
Refir yowled at the flames, too terrified to attack. Okado leaped from the saddle, reached into the fire, and tried to grab Ferius, to pull him off. His hands burned, and Okado shouted, grasping, tugging.
He could barely distinguish Okado from Suntai and her wolf; they were one ball of fire. Screams rose from within the inferno—Suntai's screams.
"My mate!" she cried. "My mate, get them to the ships, I— Okado! Okado, we will ride again. I love you. Goodbye—"
Her voice twisted into a scream . . . then fell silent.
His arms burned. Okado barely felt them. He grabbed something solid and tugged. With a ripping sound, he pulled the blazing monk off his mate.
Suntai and her wolf lay upon the ground, blackened, not moving. Before Okado, a demon from the underworld, Ferius blazed and laughed.
"The fire cannot burn me, my brother," said the living torch. "Do you see? Do you see the light? It will burn you too."
The monk advanced toward him, crackling arms held out.
Okado could barely hold his sword; his fingers were cracked and bleeding, the skin peeling off. With a hoarse cry, his lungs full of smoke, he swung the katana.
The blade slammed into the flaming creature and clanged against armor. From the inferno swung a mace, wreathed in fire. The flanged head drove into Okado's arm, shattering the bone with a snap. It flew again, landing on Okado's shoulder, driving him to his knees. A third blow smashed his hand, knocking his sword to the ground.
Bleeding and burnt, Okado looked up.
The demon stood above him. Through the flames, Ferius smiled. His flesh did not burn. He seemed a stone idol trapped in a burning star. The fire itself seemed to whisper.
"All the night will burn . . ."
The mace drove down like a comet.
Pain exploded against Okado's head.
He fell.
He lay on his side. Stars floated before his eyes, shadows and light, and he saw them there—the ships sailing away, the children of Eloria upon them.
We saved them. We die in fire, but we saved them, Suntai.
Broken, unable to breathe, he turned his head, and he saw her there. Her body was charred, but her face was still pure, her eyes open and brilliantly blue, almost alive. He crawled toward her. He reached out and held her hand.
"We ride now, Suntai," he whispered. "We ride upon the plains beyond the stars. Forever we'll ride together."
He could no longer feel the fire, no longer feel the mace driving down against his back. He smiled softly, holding his mate's hand, and saw only the stars. He rode upon Refir again, and she rode at his side, lights in the sky, children of eternal night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE:
BROKEN
Torin stood upon the Red Flame, flagship of Ilar's navy, watching the port burn.
A blaze engulfed the boardwalk, all-consuming, tearing through wolfriders and monks alike. The heat blasted him, and Torin winced, wanting to be there, to fight with the men, but most of the ships had already sailed downriver. Only three vessels remained in the port. The last of the rowboats were emerging from the blazing docks, charred and bleeding survivors upon them.
"Where are you?" Torin whispered, eyes burning in the heat.
He had seen none of his friends. With every rowboat that arrived, he scanned the people who climbed onto the ship. Mothers clutching babes. Elders on canes. Wounded soldiers. Crying children.
But no Koyee. Nobody else from Fairwool-by-Night.
"Red Flame, sail!" shouted Empress Hikari, flying above the ship upon her dragon. "Sail downriver."
Torin shouted up at her. "Wait! Wait—there's still room." He pointed at several rowboats emerging from the inferno, survivors upon them. "We can fit a few more onto this ship."
The empress swooped upon her dragon, ne
arly slamming into the masts, and nodded. "Three more rowboats, then sail downriver. Two more ships await survivors."
Torin turned away from the battle on the port. Stretching south along the river, he saw the lamps of a hundred Ilari ships. Each vessel was crammed full of survivors, their hulls and decks crowded like coops.
"Are you on one of those ships, Koyee?" he whispered. "Are you safe, Bailey, Cam, Hem?"
He stared back at the city, wincing in the heat. The fires raged across the port. Farther back, pagodas blazed, walls crumbled, and Timandrian troops chanted in victory. Thousands of soldiers were streaming along the streets, heading toward the port; only a handful of Elorians now held back the tide. Smoke billowed across the battle and ash rained.
"We sail out!" cried the ship's captain, a beefy man clad in leather and steel. "Sailors—raise anchor. We sail!"
Torin raced across the deck, moving between survivors, and leaned over the railing. Three last rowboats were moving through the water, navigating between scraps of burning flotsam. In each boat, fifty-odd survivors crowded. As the Red Flame's sails unfolded and she began floating downriver, the smaller vessels attached to her side like piglets to a sow. Survivors, most of them burnt and bleeding, began climbing rope ladders onto the deck.
Torin scanned the newcomers, daring to hope. As one group climbed aboard, he saw a tall woman among them, her head rising above the others. She wore tattered scales, scratches covered her skin, and soot painted her black. Two charred braids hung across her shoulders, and when she looked toward him, Torin saw brown eyes peering through dust and blood.
"Bailey," he whispered.
She saw him and froze.
His eyes watered.
"Bailey!" he shouted.
He ran toward her between Elorian survivors. He had not seen her—his dearest friend—in so long. When had they left the burning city of Pahmey? By Idar, it must have been almost half a year ago. She moved through the crowd toward him, tears etching white lines down her cheeks. When Torin reached her, she crashed into his embrace, her body shaking, her fingers digging into his back. Her tears splashed him.
Empires of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 2) Page 30
