Artaios had called the place a “convocation.” Moth had expected a council chamber or a briefing room like the ones the Skyknights used in Calio, something small where they could meet Artaios’ father. Instead they were in a giant stadium. Moth looked nervously at the gathering Skylords, marveling at the way they appeared from the sky, dropping out of the darkness.
Like throwing bread to pigeons, he thought, remembering walking with his mother once along an avenue in Calio. They’d brought a bag of stale crusts with them to feed the birds, and the pigeons nearly drowned them.
The memory made Moth ache. Calio was home. He knew that now, and knew he’d never see it again. Soon he’d be like Alisaundra. Head bowed, the Redeemer stood behind him, her inhuman gaze watching him unceasingly.
“What are we waiting for?” demanded Moth. “Where’s Korace?”
Artaios glanced down in annoyance. “Eggs do not summon gods,” he said.
“My name’s Moth, all right? Not Egg.”
Artaios laughed. “You’re a child. You’ve seen nothing. You know nothing. So you are Egg.”
Ahead of them stood an empty silver throne, its tall back adorned with folded metal wings. Behind the throne stood a line of white columns spouting fire. Behind the columns was the nothingness of empty sky. Moth imagined Korace arriving out of the air just like all the others, alighting on his giant throne. He’d be like Artaios, Moth envisioned, only bigger, carrying a pulsing sword just like his son. As a hush fell over the convocation, Moth braced himself.
“He comes,” whispered Artaios. He dropped down to one knee, his white wings brushing the stone floor. “Kneel.”
Moth whispered back, “I won’t.”
A sudden slap cracked against the back of his head. “Kneel!” hissed Alisaundra.
Moth whirled around. “Keep your dirty hands off me!”
Then he was flying suddenly, lifted by his coat and kicking in the air as Artaios dragged him upward. The gathered Skylords laughed and hollered. Before Moth could struggle free, Artaios fluttered down again and tossed him across the floor.
“On your knees!” cried Artaios. His wings spread out as he landed next to Moth. Stunned, aching, Moth didn’t bother to rise. As he glanced up he saw a figure walking slowly toward the throne, walking with a cane in his gnarled hand.
Walking.
Moth lifted himself to his knees, refusing to bow his head. The giant he’d been expecting was instead a wizened creature, the mere shadow of a Skylord. White robes drooped from his shriveled body. He had two brawny escorts ready to catch him should he fall. He dragged himself toward his throne, his cane clicking slowly against the stones, his useless wings flat upon his back. When at last he reached the throne, the escorts lifted him into the silver chair. As Korace caught his breath, a puff of feathers fell from his wings.
“Father,” Artaios greeted.
Korace nocked his cane into the arm of his throne. He bid them closer with a skeletal finger. Artaios took Moth by the collar and stood up.
“Speak clearly and with respect,” he warned, then shoved Moth forward.
Korace seemed to disappear in his enormous chair. Unlike the other Skylords, there was no twinkle in his eyes, the light having faded long ago. His skin reminded Moth of an old book, the kind with paper so dry and yellow you couldn’t touch it anymore without tearing it. Thin hair lay flat against his emaciated skull, a sickly shade of bluish white. His head bobbed with a tremor.
“Here he is, Father,” said Artaios. “The one who commands the Starfinder.”
Moth waited for a response but Korace’s face was blank. Was he deaf?
“The dragon Merceron has the Starfinder now,” Artaios continued. “The Redeemers have felt it.”
Korace’s eyes squinted to see Moth better. His expression was something like disgust.
“The boy has told me nothing, but denies nothing either,” Artaios went on. “His silence is his confession.”
“Confession? Of what?” cried Moth.
“For crossing the Reach,” said Artaios. “For breaking the ancient pact. For hiding what belongs to us, and for consorting with dragons.”
“So this is a trial?” Moth pointed at Alisaundra. “Is that my punishment, to be turned into one of those things?”
Before Artaios could answer, Korace made a whispering sound. Moth listened very hard but couldn’t understand a word.
“What’s he saying?” Moth asked.
Artaios went to his father’s side, kneeling down beside the silver throne and taking the old creature’s hand. Artaios nodded as Korace spoke.
“Come forward, Egg,” said Artaios after a moment. “Let my father look at you.”
Moth stepped up reluctantly. Korace spoke again into Artaios’ ear.
“My father says you’re tiny,” explained Artaios. “Like an insect. He says you are well named.”
Moth shrugged off the insult. “Maybe. But sometimes it’s the little bugs that are hardest to catch.”
“There’s no place for you to run, Egg,” Artaios assured him.
“Artaios, you don’t have what you really want. You don’t care about me. You just want the Starfinder. And you know what? I’m glad I gave the Starfinder to Merceron. Tell your father that.”
Korace held up his hand before Artaios could speak. With a great effort he said, “You bring us war.”
His gravelly voice startled Moth. The whispers from the convocation stopped. Korace struggled to his feet, managing to flex his withered wings, revealing bare patches of skin where feathers had been.
“We had peace with the Starfinder,” he rasped. “And we had peace when it was gone. Now we have war again.”
“That’s not my fault,” said Moth. “The Skylords started the war.”
Enraged, Korace began to shake. Artaios steadied him.
“We will find Merceron, Father,” Artaios promised.
“No.” Korace managed a frightful smile. “Merceron will find us.”
“Oh,” said Moth, “so I’m your hostage.” He looked accusingly at Artaios. “Is that why you brought me here?”
Artaios replied, “If Merceron wants to save you, he’ll return what is ours.”
“Why? So you can enslave everyone again? Merceron won’t let that happen. If you think so you’re crazy.”
Korace collapsed back into his throne with a fit of coughing. Artaios rubbed his shoulder until the spell subsided. “Humans,” Korace spat. “The worst of them all.”
Moth stepped closer. “You’re no better than us, Korace. We’re just like you, except we don’t have wings. We can even fly.”
Korace looked up as if he’d been struck. “Yes,” he hissed.
Artaios flashed a warning look. Finally, Moth understood.
“Now I get it,” said Moth. “That’s why you hate us.”
“Egg…”
“Because we can fly and you can’t!”
Up in the galleries, the Skylords hooted slurs, swirling madly over the arena. Korace hung his head in embarrassment.
“You wretched little beast,” snapped Artaios. His hand went to his sword. “I should kill you where you stand.”
Moth raised his chin. “Sure, go on and do it! See how long it takes you to get back the Starfinder when I’m dead!”
Artaios jerked the blade halfway from its scabbard, releasing a burst of orange light. “Child, beware me…”
“Your father started the war, didn’t he?” Moth pushed. “He couldn’t stand the thought of other creatures flying, not if he couldn’t fly anymore. That’s why he hates the dragons. That’s why he hates humans, because we’re just like you!”