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  LEGACY OF MOTH

  THE MOTH SAGA, BOOK SIX

  by

  Daniel Arenson

  Copyright © 2014 by Daniel Arenson

  All rights reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author.

  Table of Contents

  FOREWORD

  MAP

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  AFTERWORD

  NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

  KEEP IN TOUCH

  FOREWORD

  Legacy of Moth is the sixth volume of The Moth Saga, continuing the tale of a world torn in two—one half always in sunlight, the other always dark. If you're new to the series, you'll probably still get the gist of things here, though I do recommend reading the first five books first:

  Moth

  Empires of Moth

  Secrets of Moth

  Daughter of Moth

  Shadows of Moth

  Between chapters, you might like to visit the Moth website, where you can find: a large map (more detailed than the one in this ebook), original music, artwork, a Moth wiki, and more. Visit the website at: DanielArenson.com/Moth

  And now . . . let us reenter a world of light and darkness . . .

  CHAPTER ONE:

  THE WHALE AND THE DIAMOND

  Prince Eris Grimgard, second son of King Bormund of Orida, stood at the prow of his longship and watched the sun rise over the water.

  "Home." His voice nearly vanished in the wind. "After three years of darkness . . . sunlight." He turned around to face his men. "We are home!"

  The Oringard sat in the long, narrow ship—a hundred warriors. Each man held an oar, propelling Orin's Blade forward. The ship was shaped as an orca, sigil of their kingdom, and more orcas appeared upon their banners and round wooden shields. Each of the Oringard, legendary warriors descended from the first king himself, wore a horned helm, a fur cloak, and a wide blade at his hip. Each man also carried a gilded horn around his neck, amulets to bless them in battle, then drink mead from in the halls of victorious afterlife. As they oared the ship forward, the men cried out Eris's name, blessing him.

  "For three years," Eris said, "you've followed me through darkness. You defeated the undead of the crystal forests in Leen, the beasts of the watery chasm off the Qaelish coast, the bloodthirsty wolves of darkness, and many more enemies. Now we return home with our prize." He raised his own horn, larger than the others, older, holier. "We return with the Meadenhorn! With glory!"

  The Oringard roared for that glory, and Eris turned back toward the west. The sun had fully emerged from the water now. The light reflected against his armor, his blade, and the Meadenhorn in his hand. The wind billowed his cloak and filled his nostrils, and after three years of cold, finally warmth filled him. The wind smelled like salt, like water, like sunlight—like Timandra, the lit half of the world, the realm Eris had begun to think he'd never see again.

  "So this is the sun."

  The voice that spoke beside him was soft, hesitant, almost afraid. Eris turned to his right, gazed upon his wife, and felt all his warrior's strength, his pride and glory, his haunting nightmares of bloodshed and darkness, all fade into a haze like veiled sunlight in the rain.

  Yes, I return with the lost artifact of Orida . . . and with a treasure even greater.

  Eris took her soft, pale hand, so small in his, a lily in the paw of a bear. "Does it burn you, my love?"

  She stood wrapped in a white silk cloak and hood. The sunlight fell upon her pale face and large indigo eyes—Elorian eyes, the size and shape of chicken eggs, far larger than his. She was a small woman, no taller than his shoulder, so thin she was almost frail. Strands of her white hair escaped her hood and billowed as banners. Around her neck, rather than a mead horn, she wore a diamond, the stone of her people. She was Yiun Yee, a princess of Leen, a daughter of darkness, and his wife.

  "The sunlight burns me no more than moonlight can burn a diamond," she replied. "No more than starlight upon the crystals of our forests. No more than the light of your love, my Eris, within my breast. The sunlight is no brighter than that love, and it can no more burn me than you can." She smiled—the fragile, hesitant smile which had first drawn Eris to her like a siren's song. "I've always wanted to see the sun. How beautiful it is."

  How beautiful you are, Eris thought, gazing at her pale cheeks, her gleaming eyes, her silken hair. How brave you are. How noble. How precious to me.

  He had defeated the undead in the icelands, the wolves in darkness, the great beasts of the chasm, and she had fought at his side. She had left her palace of crystal and moonlight, had traveled with him through blood and fire and shadow, and now into daylight. Now into his home. Now into a world that, to her, was as strange as a land beyond the stars.

  "You've left a great palace," he said, holding her hand. "You've left the fabled city of Taenori—the Light of the North—in your empire of Leen, abandoning your birthright for a chance to live at my side. And I vow to you, Yiun Yee: You will become a great princess of daylight, a great jewel of the Orinhall upon our sunlit island, more precious than diamonds."

  The Oringard, these stout one hundred men who had fought at his side for three years, kept rowing. The longship emerged from the dusk, and now the sun shone fully. A chill still lingered in the air, and a drizzle fell, but to Orin this light seemed as bright and warm as summer in the southern deserts of Eseer. The last shadows of Eloria faded behind them, and the blue sea—by Orin, he had almost forgotten the color blue!—spread ahead toward the horizon. Beyond that horizon lay Orida, his island, and upon it the great city of Grenstad. The city had lost its heart, lost the Meadenhorn, lost what he—Prince Eris, Hero of Orida—would return to its breast.

  "I care not for palaces or royal titles." Yiun Yee gazed at the blue sea, then turned to look at him, her eyes bright. "I care only for a life at your side. I care only for you, Eris, the light of my heart, the love of my soul."

  Eris held her hand as they sailed onward. He was a man of sunlight—his beard and hair long and golden as sunbeams, his eyes blue as the sky and water, his frame tall and strong like the mighty oaks of Orida. Yiun Yee was like the moon—softer, paler, a thing of fragile beauty. A Prince of Orida and a Princess of Leen. A son of light and a daughter of darkness. The great War of Day and Night had ended twenty years ago, and Eris had found the treasure his father had lost in that war, and he found a wife among the old enemies, a marriage of peace, of an old wound finally healed.

  They kept rowing through the open sea for long turns. Fifty men rowed as fifty slept, cycling again and again. They ate the food they had collected in the night—mushrooms, bat and snake meat, and lanternfish that glowed with inner lights.
For the first time, they caught the fish of Timandra in their nets, and Eris dreamed of the great feast that awaited them at the Orinhall.

  Soon we'll feast on succulent boar, wild deer from the forests, and fresh breads and pies from the ovens. Soon we'll drink mead from Orin's horn. He caressed the Meadenhorn, this reclaimed treasure, admiring the gold and jewels inlaid upon it.

  Finally, after ten full turns of rowing through the light, they saw it ahead.

  Tears filled the Oringard's eyes. The men cried out in joy.

  "Orida! The island of Orida!"

  Eris raised the Meadenhorn, and it caught the sunlight. "The Sons of Orin return home!" He turned toward Yiun Yee. "And with us a treasure of the night. This will be your home too, Yiun Yee, my princess of darkness and light."

  Orida was known by many names: Orca's Isle, Orin's Landing, The Meadenrock, and a hundred others. Eris stood at the prow, watching it grow nearer. It was a massive island, nearly as large as Leen in the night. Its shores were white, and great pine forests stretched across its hills and mountains. Above all other crests rose the great Berenhorn, the tallest mountain in Orida, named after Beren the Wise who had climbed its slopes and planted Orida's banner upon its crest.

  As they rowed closer, the city of Grenstad appeared. A port of stone and wood spread across the coast, and many longships anchored here, shaped as orcas and lined with oars. Wooden halls rose on the hills beyond the shore, their roofs thatched. Above them all rose the mighty Orinhall. The great mead hall, home to Orida's king, stood in the shade of the Berenhorn, and it gazed upon the city below and the sea beyond. Its roof was thatched like the roofs of lesser halls, but gilt coated its wooden beams, and its banners rose high, displaying leaping orcas. True orcas, great killers of the sea, swam alongside the Orin's Blade, welcoming the heroes home.

  They rowed into the port, docked at a pier, and for the first time in three years, Eris and his Oringard set foot upon their homeland. For the first time in all her twenty years, Yiun Yee, a princess of Leen, stepped onto sunlit land.

  They walked through the city, heroes returning home. Men and women emerged from their houses, their hair long and golden. They wore fur and cotton, and silver rings were woven into the men's beards. They cheered for Eris, for he returned with the Meadenhorn, the kingdom's lost treasure, and they gazed in wonder at Yiun Yee, and she seemed to them as mystical as their reclaimed artifact. Yiun Yee in turn gazed upon the city with equal wonder, her Elorian eyes growing even larger than usual. She smiled at Eris.

  "The city is smaller than Taenori." She spoke in his tongue, which he had taught her, her accent thick. "But it's just as fair. It is a wonder of sunlight." She wrapped her silk cloak tighter and pulled her hood low. "Though it will take me time to adjust to this great lantern in the sky."

  They kept moving through the city and its crowds, and finally they made their way uphill toward the Orinhall. The great mead hall loomed above them, the crests of its giltwood beams carved as orcas. Guards in steel stood before its gates, their helmets horned, their cloaks black and white, their shields round and their swords wide. They raised the horns that hung around their necks on chains, and they trumpeted for the glory of Eris and the Oringard, and they opened the gates of the hall.

  Eris stepped inside, a hero to enter legend, his wife at his side, his Oringard behind him . . . and found the hall changed.

  All his pride, his joy, his glory seemed to crumble.

  In some ways, the hall was the same. Oak columns still rose in two rows, engraved with sea monsters, orcas, and the faces of old gods. The wooden floor was still smoothed by the heels of many feet over many generations. Round wooden shields hung upon the walls, upon them the sigils of the great lords, and among them hung ancient swords of iron and bronze. Iron candelabra hung from the ceiling, and a fireplace roared at the back of the hall. Guards stood here, proud Sons of Orin, clad in fur and steel, their blond beards strewn with beads and golden rings.

  The back of the hall, however, was not as Eris had left it. The old banner of Orida, an orca upon a white field, no longer hung here. Instead a great banner of gold and silver covered the wall, displaying a sunburst hiding the moon. Eris knew this sigil. He had seen the Radian ships sail in the darkness, raiding the coasts of both Leen and Qaelin. He had heard tales of Tirus Serin, a cruel Magerian lord, forging an empire in the sunlight, collecting other kings to serve him. But Eris had never imagined that this banner would hang here, that his own father—King Bormund Grimgard, a proud Son of Orin—would bend the knee to this southern sorcerer, would hoist Serin's banner in the Orinhall.

  "Father!" Eris said, stepping forth.

  As always, King Bormund sat upon his throne of giltwood, but he was not the man Eris had parted from three years ago. Bormund had once been a proud warrior, his shoulders wide, his chin always raised, his beard a deep gold, his eyes bright. Those wide shoulders stooped now. Silver strands invaded the gold of his beard. His eyes had darkened, and cunning now filled them, and beneath the cunning lurked fear like boulders hidden underwater. A horned helm still topped the king's head, and a gilded breastplate still shone upon his chest, but he seemed less a proud warrior now, more like an aging predator, grown too slow to hunt, devious and peering from the shadows of a den.

  Eris's mother, Queen Tylgra, normally stood at the throne's right side. A new woman stood there now, a woman Eris did not know. She was fair and no older than Eris's thirty-five years. Her golden hair cascaded across her shoulders, and her eyes were blue and bright. She wore a green gown with a plunging neckline, and a golden chain hung around her neck, holding an amulet with the Radian sigil.

  The woman stepped forth and raised her hand. A sunburst was tattooed onto her palm, hiding the moon. "Halt, Sons of Orin, and kneel before your king!" She spoke in Oridian with a thick Magerian accent. "You stand in the presence of Bormund Grimgard, son of Fengard, Slayer of Fen Shoo the Light of Leen, Defeater of Oshmog the White Bear of Verilon, King of all Orida." The woman turned to stare at Yiun Yee, and her eyes narrowed with hatred, and her lips peeled back. "You have brought evil into this hall, Sons of Orin. Kneel and beg for your lives, for you come here with a daughter of darkness."

  Eris looked at his wife. Yiun Yee stared back with large, shocked eyes. Behind her, the Oringard—a hundred stalwart men—knelt before their king, but Eris would not bend the knee. He turned back toward his father and the strange woman and stepped closer toward them.

  "I've returned, Father, to find a home less welcoming than before." He glanced at the tall Radian woman. "Who stands beside you where my mother once stood, and who cloaked your hall with the eclipse of a southern empire? You were once a proud king of Orida, not one to bend the knee to a foreign ruler."

  King Bormund rose from his throne. His shoulders curled inwards, and his neck hung low as if barely supporting his head, but his eyes glittered with greed, and his lips twitched. He hobbled forth, reaching out thin fingers toward the Meadenhorn which hung around Eris's neck on a chain. The old king laughed, a sound like crackling ice.

  "You've found it, my son! The Meadenhorn." Tears streamed from the king's eyes. "The great horn that Orin himself drank mead from two thousand years ago. The blessed artifact of our island, the horn lost in the darkness." He pawed at the heirloom. "Hand it to me, my son, so that we may drink mead from this holy vessel once more."

  Eris took a step back, pulling the Meadenhorn out of the king's reach. The old man gasped.

  Eris's heart pounded. "Father, I've been gone for three years from your hall. I fought for you. I slew men and beasts for you. Twenty-three of my Oringard lie dead under the dark waters of Eloria. I return here, and you offer me no welcome, only fingers greedy for your prize, like a starving dog reaching for a morsel. Who is this woman who stands where once my mother stood? Answer me!"

  King Bormund stared from under his brows. His scraggly, graying hair—once thick and lustrous and golden—hung loosely around his weathered face. "A starving dog for a morsel? It se
ems to me that you here are the dog, a mere pup begging for approval from his master. Are you truly a warrior or a mere boy, desperate to impress his father?" Bormund snorted. His eyes narrowed shrewdly, and his lips twitched. "You call Serin a foreign ruler. That he was once, perhaps. Yet now Serin is more than some distant emperor. Now he is . . . a brother." The king stepped toward the Radian woman and wrapped his arm around her waist. "Here stands Iselda Serin, sister to Emperor Tirus Serin, and my new wife. Yes, my son. Your mother has fallen ill and died while you were away. You were not here by her side, even as she called to you. Iselda Serin is our new queen . . . and your new mother."

  The news hit Eris more mightily than a war hammer. His mother, dead. His father, married to a Radian, the sister of the emperor whose tales of cruelty traveled across the night. Eris's grief exploded, and he tossed back his head and howled. His keen echoed across the hall.

  Yiun Yee rushed toward him and placed a pale hand upon his arm. "I'm sorry, Eris," she whispered.

  King Bormund stared at Yiun Yee, and loathing filled his eyes, and his lip curled up in disgust. "And who do you bring into my hall, son? A woman of Leen stands before me, a woman of the dark empire I fought twenty years ago, the empire that stole our Meadenhorn."

  Eris took a deep breath, the grief shuddering in his chest. He had not expected giddy excitement from his father upon meeting Yiun Yee, but neither had he expected outright hostility. He held Yiun Yee's hand.

  "Leen is the empire you invaded and sacked twenty years ago, Father," Eris said. "It is the empire where you dropped the Meadenhorn upon the coast, losing our heirloom in the heat of battle. You stand now before Yiun Yee, a princess of Leen, a brave woman who helped me scour the darkness, who helped me retrieve the Meadenhorn from the creatures who had guarded it. You've taken a foreign wife in my absence. As have I."

  It was King Bormund's turn to roar. He cry echoed across the mead hall, a cry of fury and grief. "What dark times have come upon this hall, that a Prince of Orida should wed without his father's consent, and that he should take a daughter of darkness no less?" The king licked his lips and reached out his hands. "Hand me my Meadenhorn, and perhaps I will forgive your transgression. Hand me my prize."