“He’s doing it to save everyone, Fiona. To save you.”
“I don’t want him to!” cried Fiona. “I want him to be alive!”
She thrust down her pen and let the paper tumble from her lap. Moth picked up the letter she’d been writing and read the first few lines.
“What’s this?”
Fiona snatched it back. “I told you, it’s a letter.”
“To whom?”
“To my family.”
“Uhm, you don’t have a family, Fiona.”
Fiona looked exasperated. “Just pretend then, okay? Jorian said we’re soldiers now. It’s what soldiers do before battle; they write to their families.”
Moth didn’t understand, but didn’t want to embarrass her either. “Who will you send it to when you’re done?”
“No one,” said Fiona. She picked up her pen again. “Maybe someone will find it someday after this is all over.”
“You mean when you’re dead?”
“Yeah,” said Fiona. “When we’re both dead.”
Suddenly, Moth remembered something Rendor had told him. “You have no faith, Fiona,” he said. “You don’t believe in anything, and if you don’t believe, we’ve got no chance at all.”
“That’s right, Moth, we have no chance,” Fiona snorted. “You were at the meeting. Weren’t you listening? The Skylords are coming, and all we have is a broken down ship to try and stop them.”
“Really?” snapped Moth. “What about Jorian? What about Skyhigh and Alis, even? You don’t have faith in any of them!”
Fiona sighed as if talking to a child. “Moth, we’re going to die here, just like Merceron. That’s why I have to write this letter, to tell people so they know what happened to us.”
“Oh,” said Moth scornfully. “You think that’s what your family would want to hear? That you’re scared? That you’re about to die? That’s not what soldiers write in their letters, Fiona. I know, because Leroux told me stories about them.”
“Leroux told a lot of stories.”
Moth took the pen from Fiona. “This is a story about an Eldrin Knight at the battle of Rhoon Falls.”
“Everyone died at Rhoon Falls.”
“Right,” said Moth, “but there was this one Eldrin Knight that wrote a letter to his mother right before the battle. He told her not to worry, because they had so many men and weapons that their enemies would be crazy to attack them. He told her about the good friends he had in the company, and how he was safe. His mother got the letter a whole day before she found out he’d been killed.”
Fiona went blank. “So?”
“Don’t you see? His mother had a whole day of happiness. It was like a gift!”
“Moth, he died.”
“Yeah, but he didn’t tell his mother that! He could have written her a letter saying how scared he was, but he didn’t. He didn’t want her to worry. That’s the kind of letter soldiers really write home, Fiona. If you weren’t just pretending—if you really had a family to write to—that’s the kind of letter you’d write, I bet.” Moth handed Fiona back her pen. “I have to get back now,” he said. “Don’t stay here too long, okay?”
When Moth was finally out of sight, Fiona took her letter and tore it into tiny bits, showering the ground with them. Then, on a second piece of paper, she began again. She wrote for nearly an hour, pausing when her hand cramped, telling her mother and father not to be afraid for her. She wasn’t alone, she told them, because she had friends to help her fight. She had a magical centaur named Jorian who could shoot an arrow clear to heaven, and a boy named Moth who wasn’t afraid of anything.
Grandfather’s here too, she wrote. He told me he misses you, Mom. I know he won’t let anything happen to me.
When Fiona was finished, she folded the letter neatly one time and placed it under a rock near the tree for anyone to find. Then she stood up, brushed the dirt and grass from her backside, and headed for the village.
SEVEN SOULS
THE TWO-HUNDRED-FOOT OGILORN guarding Mount Oronor blinked its fifty eyes when it spotted Artaios’ chariot. Engulfed in the mists crowning the mountain, the monster floated like a massive pink orb before the fortress, its barbed tentacles twisting in the cold air. Six keepers tended the beast—five Redeemers and a single, youthful Skylord. On the far side of Mount Oronor, Artaios could see another ogilorn on guard, it too surrounded by tenders. Culled from the darkest corner of the known world, the ogilorns had come at the order of Artaios himself, joining his thousand-strong army.
Artaios slowly guided his chariot past the massive ogilorn, disturbed by the way its many eyes tracked him through the sky. Ogilorns were violent, unpredictable beasts, known mostly for the way they hunted breeching whales with their blood-sucking tentacles. Artaios’ father had used ogilorns, too. Artaios could still remember seeing one peel the skin from a dead dragon.
He arced his fiery chariot wide around the beast, toward its young, flying keeper. The Skylord pointed toward the fortress.
“Great Artaios,” he greeted, shouting above the wind. “Rakuiss awaits you!”
Below, the ancient fortress was a hive of activity, with Skylords and Redeemers moving through the avenues, training with weapons and corralling the hordes of cloud horses. Fires belched smoke into the air and tiny, sparkling fairies darted through the foul air. The coming battle had brought the long-dead fortress back to life.
Over his shoulder, Artaios spotted Pandera, defiant behind its wall of mountains. Jorian’s own army was on the march. Redeemer spies had been keeping watch over the valley. Rendor and his airship remained in Pandera, and the Starfinder with him. Artaios cast a cool glance toward the valley as his chariot descended. Despite his hopes, Moth was still in Pandera, too.
The chariot settled into a clearing near the main keep. Towers jutted up like teeth from the mountain, spiked with ragged stones. Skylords fluttered around the chariot instantly, each one greeting Artaios. Then, out of the mist another figure approached, his sandaled feet crunching the pebbly ground. He paused near the chariot, crossing an arm over his bent knee as he bowed.
“Magnificence,” he greeted. “We are ready.”
They were the only words Artaios wanted to hear. He let the reins drop from his hands, and with a flutter of wings vaulted from the chariot to land before his subject, stooping to put a hand on his shoulder.
“Rise, old friend,” said Artaios. “Your lord is pleased.” Rakuiss rose, his left eye covered with an eye patch, his right wing bent awkwardly against his back. A veteran of the dragon wars, he was nearly as old as Korace himself, but had managed to stave off time’s ravages. His experience and loyalty made him the perfect choice to lead Artaios’ army.
“How fares your father?” asked Rakuiss. It was the same question the old warrior always posed, always with genuine concern. If Korace had ever truly had a friend, Rakuiss was it.
“Not well,” confessed Artaios. “There aren’t many days left for him, my friend. This matter of the Starfinder…” Artaios sighed. “It breaks his heart to see the realm at war again.”
Rakuiss’ good eye twitched. “To be so troubled, after all he has done. We will make Jorian and his abominations pay for this, Artaios. The humans too.”
Artaios sagged, offering only a nod.
“What saddens you, Magnificence?” asked Rakuiss. “I promise you, the centaurs have no chance at all. Soon you’ll have the Starfinder, I swear it.”
Artaios smiled. His troubles had nothing to do with the Starfinder. “Everything you’ve done here pleases me, Rakuiss.”
“What then? You are distressed, my friend, I can tell.”