Secrets of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 3) (30 page)

"Please, Koyee. Please."
He shivered as boulders slammed into the walls, shaking the city and
showering dust. "Please, Koyee, fix the clock. We have no more
time."

The tower rose from a hill,
looking down upon the battle. Dozens of similar towers, black and
craggy and crowned with crenelations, rose around him, and archers
stood atop them, firing arrows across the city walls and onto the
beaches. Yet for every Timandrian slain, ten more emerged from the
landing craft. Behind the enemy, far upon the horizon, a few last
Elorian ships burned and sank.

"Fight for Eloria!"
Jin shouted from the tower, perched between two merlons. "For
the night!"

He did not know if his words
inspired anyone. He did not know if anyone heard. Yet he could not
fight, and so he shouted to his soldiers, trying to be a leader,
trying to be brave, but feeling like a frightened boy.

Please,
Koyee. We need you.

Thousands of Elorian soldiers
stood upon the city walls below, firing down arrows, spilling burning
oil, and blasting cannons. A man lit a hwacha—a metal plate full of
fire arrows—and a hundred shards of death shot down toward the
beaches, slaying many, yet still the enemy surged. Empress Hikari
flew above the beaches, her dragon dipping down to crush men between
his jaws. Hot air balloons flew above the battle, archers in their
baskets, and their arrows rained. As Jin watched, a Timandrian archer
fired upward, hit a hot air balloon, and the vessel burst into flames
and crashed down onto the beach, burying soldiers beneath its burning
cloth.

"Slay the enemy!"
Hikari cried upon her dragon and dived. Tianlong's jaws and Hikari's
arrows took out several men, and then they soared again. "Eloria—for
the darkness!"

Yet Jin knew those were hollow
words; they felt no more inspiring than his. What could words now do?
Words of poison had brought the enemy to these walls, yet words of
courage could not undo the bloodshed. Below upon the sand, a hundred
soldiers—clad in bright steel, sunbursts upon their
breastplates—swung a battering ram that hung from chains, its head
shaped like a black bird with blazing red eyes full of embers. With
every swing, the gates shook, and even the arrows of the defenders
above could not stop the attack.

"And so it ends here,"
Jin said softly. "Here upon the shores of a southern, dark
island, the last children of light will burn."

A snort rose beside him, and a
gruff voice answered. "There will be time for goodbyes, Emperor
Jin, but not yet. This is still our time to fight. And I'm not
burning without taking a few of those bastards with me."

Jin turned his head to see the
oddest soldier he'd ever laid eyes on. The little man stood no taller
than a child, yet a white beard flowed from his chin to the ground.
Rather than a breastplate, a frying pan was strapped across his
chest, yet his head was large and topped with a true helmet. In one
hand he held a flute; in the other, a knife that seemed as large as a
sword in his grasp.

The dwarf gave a little bow. "I
am Little Maniko, a humble busker, now a soldier in your service, my
emperor." He gave Jin a sly smile. "Neither one of us looks
particularly warlike, but I think we're both handling ourselves fine
so far."

Jin couldn't help but laugh
weakly. "I'd trade bodies with you."

Maniko shrugged. "My body's
getting too old, but perhaps old age needs no longer concern us."
He gestured toward the city walls. Arrows still flew there, and siege
towers were now joining the fray. "This seems like a good tower
for our last stand. Poor souls down on the walls won't enjoy the fun
as long, but this tower will give us enough time for some final
prayers."

Jin lowered his head. "It
also gives us time for aid. A friend of mine, she's . . . she's on a
quest for . . . I can't say, but if she succeeds, there is hope."
His eyes dampened. "I must believe there is hope."

Maniko's face grew solemn.
"There is always hope, even in the darkest shadow. I learned
that on the streets of Pahmey."

Jin's eyes widened. "You
fought in Pahmey?"

Maniko laughed mirthlessly. "For
over forty years on the streets . . . and about two turns in battle.
The Timandrians slammed at our gates with that very ram." He
stared down at the great, black bird of iron slamming against the
city doors. "They charged in, stepping over corpses, and we
could not stop them. Not even the Girl in the Black Dress, the great
heroine of the war. But I lived. And she lived. There is always
hope."

"The Girl in the Black
Dress?" Jin asked.

Maniko nodded. "The bravest
woman I'd ever known. I knew her before the war. I taught her to play
a flute like this one." He raised his instrument. "We were
buskers on the dirty streets, partners in grime." He barked a
laugh, but then his eyes watered. "When the enemy marched in,
she stood before them alone, sword raised. She's only a foot taller
than I am and definitely thinner, but she's braver than any soldier
I'd known." He wiped his eyes. "She slew many of the enemy.
They say she wounded the demon Ferius himself. I don't know what
happened to her, but every turn since that battle, I've missed her. I
wish Koyee could be with us here—for one last battle, one last
chance to raise her sword . . . and perhaps to play one last song
together."

Jin's eyes widened. "Did
you say . . . Koyee?" He blinked. "A young woman with
purple eyes, three scars on her face? From a village named Oshy?"

Maniko almost dropped both flute
and knife. The little busker-turned-warrior gasped. "You know
her?"

Jin looked back toward the
beaches. Countless Timandrians covered the sand. A catapult's boulder
slammed into a guard tower, sending it crashing down in a rain of
bricks, roof tiles, and blood. The city gates cracked and the enemy
cheered. Elorian soldiers stood in the courtyard behind those
breaking doors, swords drawn, waiting.

"She is my friend. She is
strong. And she has strong companions with her." Jin could
barely speak, and his breath shook in his lungs. "We must
believe. We must give them time. We will be strong, Maniko . . .
strong for our people and for Koyee."

Maniko seemed ready to say more
when a crash shook the city.

Jin winced as the gates below—a
few hundred yards away beyond barracks and homes—crashed open with a
shower of metal shards. Roaring for the sun, the Timandrian knights
charged into the city on armored horses, thrusting lances. In the
courtyard, the warriors of Eloria cried out for the night and charged
to meet them, riding panthers and swinging katanas. The two forces
crashed together with a shower of blood and broken metal. Behind the
gates, countless more enemy soldiers stood in the sand, firing
arrows, climbing ladders onto the walls, and replacing every man who
fell.

"We don't have much time
left," Maniko said, standing beside Jin on the tower. The
soldiers around them were busy firing arrows, but Maniko was too
small for a bow. "What say you to some music before the end?"

Jin grimaced, the sight of the
dead below driving into him like throwing stars. Every heartbeat,
another soldier of Eloria died. Deeper in the city, the women and
children hid, cowering behind doors and in cellars, waiting for the
blades and fire.

"Will music stop the
enemy?" he asked.

Maniko shook his head and raised
his flute. "No, but if we die, let us die with a song. I will
play an old tune, one I taught our dear mutual friend a long time ago
in simpler times."

Screams,
cannon fire, clashing swords, and tumbling bricks rose in a cacophony
below. Upon the tower, Maniko played the old bone flute. Jin did not
know what the song was about, but it sounded like a song of sadness
and hope, or water and sky, of a lone soul seeking light in the
darkness. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard, more
beautiful than whispering rivers or crackling fireplaces, and it made
tears well up in his eyes and warmth fill his chest. It was perhaps
an old song, but it was also
her
song, Koyee's song, and it brought him hope even as the enemy flowed
toward them.

Boulders crashed into the walls
below, holes gaped open, and more Timandrians rushed in. Like a red
river through a crumbling dam, the forces of sunlight flowed into the
city.

 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN:
BAILEY'S RUN

Bailey drew her sword and howled
to the sky. All her hope—for a fixed world, for a fixed life, for a
home with Torin—crashed around her. Legs shaking and fire burning
through her, she leaped forward, nearly falling, and lunged toward
the enemy.

"Ferius!" she shouted,
eyes burning. "You've come here to die."

He stood upon the mountainside,
about the length of a ship's deck away from her, and smiled thinly.
He wore crimson armor beneath his cloak, and a helmet circled his
head, sporting a sunburst motif in gold. At his side, Ishel smirked,
clad in her old tiger pelts, while her live tiger snarled.

"Bailey Berin!" Ferius
called toward her. "Torin Greenmoat! Koyee Mai! I've come here
to die? No . . . no, my old friends. I've come here to end this
little game of ours." He smiled at his companion. "Ishel,
you take the two Timandrians. The little Elorian girl is mine."

The jungle warrior smiled,
nocked an arrow, and aimed. "With pleasure."

Bailey screamed and charged
toward them.

Ishel's arrow flew, and Bailey
ducked and swiped her blade; the arrow slammed against the sword and
flew aside. Bailey kept running, sword held before her, pebbles
cascading under her boots. Behind her, she heard Torin run too and
shout wordlessly.

Yes,
the game ends here,
Bailey
thought, teeth bared.
In
the dusk, here between day and night, this ends.

She tried to reach the monk, but
the tiger pounced toward her, slammed into her chest, and knocked her
down.

Bailey screamed as Durga clawed
at her. His paws sparked against her armor, ripping off scales, and
she screamed as one claw found her flesh. The tiger's fangs drove
down, trying to reach her neck, but she twisted and they hit her
armor, denting the steel. She screamed, swung her sword, and drove
the crossguard into Durga's head.

The beast roared, strings of
saliva between his teeth. Bailey tried to shove him off, but the
animal pinned her down, several times her weight, nearly crushing
her, and stars floated before her eyes.

"Ferius!" she
screamed.

Durga leaned in to bite again.

Fangs punched through armor and
tore into her shoulder, and her blood spurted, and her head slammed
against the rocks.

For a moment she floated through
light and darkness, and she remembered sailing with Torin two years
ago upon the Sern River, back in the sunlight and warmth of their
youth, and she wondered if she was dying, if the afterworld was a
lazy boat ride along a sunlit river.

"Bailey!" he cried,
her Torin, the boy she loved.

Her eyes snapped open.

The tiger still roared above
her, her blood on his fangs.

No,
she thought.
No,
I cannot die here, not like this. Torin needs me.

She roared and reached into her
boot.

Durga drove his fangs down
again, prepared to tear out her neck.

She drew her dagger and drove it
upward.

The blade sliced the tiger's
cheek, tearing through fur, skin, and flesh.

She expected Durga to roar
again, to bite in rage, but the tiger only mewled. He looked at her,
eyes wide and hurt, his expression almost betrayed, as if he hadn't
just tried to kill her. She raised her dagger again, prepared to slay
him, but paused. The animal's eyes, looking down upon her, seemed so
large, almost Elorian-sized.

Durga lowered his head, licked
at her blood, then stepped off her. The weight lifted off her chest,
she breathed in deeply, and when she turned her head, she saw the
tiger fleeing down the mountainside.

I'm
alive,
she thought.
Idar,
I'm alive.

Sword in one hand, dagger in the
other, she rose to shaky feet.

Ahead of her, standing upon the
pebbly mountain path, Torin and Ishel were dueling with swords. Blood
already covered Torin's arm. Farther back, under the clock dial,
Koyee darted through the doorway and into the mountain.

"Come face me, Ferius!"
Koyee called out from the shadows. "Battle me in the dark, if
you wish to see me dead."

Brandishing a flanged mace, the
monk stepped into the mountain too, disappearing from view.

Bailey stood torn, bloody
weapons in hand, not sure which duel to join. Another glance at Torin
and his bloody arm, and she chose him. She ran, blades held before
her.

"Stand back, Babyface!"
she said, trying to ignore the blood flowing down her chest. "Let
me handle her."

Bailey stumbled and her knees
hit the path. They still fought ahead of her. She had thought them so
close, but they were still far, and Bailey blinked furiously,
slapping the blood off her. Damn blood! Damn wounds! She pushed
herself to her feet, growling, and fell again, banging her knees
hard. It took a third attempt to stand and keep running.

Because
I'll always keep running,
she thought, tears in her eyes.
I've
been running all my life—across the fields with Torin, and away from
my home, and into darkness, and into war
.
Her tears flowed like her blood.
I've
been running since the day our parents died, since Torin came into my
home, a fellow plague orphan, and I won't stop running ever. Not
until the world is fixed. Not until I'm fixed.

She reached the duel, tears on
her cheeks and blood on her chest, and shoved Torin aside. She sprang
toward Ishel, blades swinging.