Free Shadows of Moth by Daniel Arenson Page A

a weapon harder than
steel."
    She placed her hand upon her
nightwolf. "Teach me, Master Lan Tao." She sucked in breath
and grinned savagely. "I could not defeat Serin with magic, but
I cut off his finger with steel. Teach me how to cut out his heart."

 
 
CHAPTER SIX:
THE STONES OF EETEK

    Neekeya raced across the hall,
tears in her eyes.
    "Father!"
    Kee'an, Lord of Eetek Pyramid,
sat on an obsidian throne which rose upon a limestone dais. He was a
tall man, powerfully built, his dark skin deeply lined. A string of
gilded crocodile teeth and feathers hung around his neck, and nine
gemstones—each as large as an egg—gleamed upon his silvery
breastplate, symbolizing the Wise Mothers, founders of Daenor. His
arms were bare and wide, and a headdress of golden claws topped his
bald head. Two crocodiles lay guarding his throne, mouths open, their
collars and leashes golden.
    The lord rose to his sandaled
feet, climbed down his dais, and stretched out his arms. "Daughter!"
    For a moment she paused, staring
into the hall, for the place had changed.
    Gilded archways rose along the
walls, affording views of the swamplands—miles of mist, mangroves,
and mossy water leading to distant haze. Statues of men with
crocodile heads—idols of Cetela, god of the marshes—stood in neat
rows. Soldiers clad in feathers and iron stood holding spears and
swords. The Hall of Eetek was as she had left it. She knew all its
imperfections like the lines on her palms. The same scratches marred
the floor, the same scars marked the guards, and the same patches of
moss grew between the archways. Down to the last nick, the place was
the same, and yet it could not have seemed more different to her.
    Because
I've changed, she thought. She looked down at herself. Her armor, the metal shaped
as crocodile skin, was dented and chipped; the swords of Magerians
had slammed against it. Her limbs were ropier; countless miles on the
road had hardened them. But mostly her soul had changed, she thought.
It too was leaner now, harder, stronger.
    Over
a year ago , I left this
place a wide-eyed girl, a child who believed in magical rings, in
heroes vanquishing villains, in adventure and wonder . . . a child
who had never fought a battle rougher than a swamp-scuffle with the
frog hunters' boys. She took a deep breath. I
return home a woman.
    Her father's smile faltered, and
his eyes softened. "Neekeya?"
    Her eyes dampened and something
cracked inside her, a chip in the armor she had worn around her heart
for so long. A hint of that old girl, innocent and full of wonder,
leaked through, and Neekeya ran. Her boots thudded against the floor,
and she crossed the distance in several bounds and leaped into her
father's embrace. She held him tight as if she were a child again,
not a warrior all in steel.
    "Father." Her tears
fell. "I'm home."
    He kissed her forehead, held her
at arm's length, and admired her. "These old eyes have missed
you, Neekeya. Even in these dark times, you fill an old man's heart
with joy."
    "You are many years away
from being old, Father." She smiled and wiped her eyes. Her
father had fought many wars for many years, only taking a wife after
returning from his final war, the great War Of Day and Night. The
swamplord was sixty years old now, his body covered with many scars,
and often Neekeya had caught a deep sadness in his eyes, haunting
ghosts of those old battles. He hid that pain from her, she knew;
whenever around her, even now, his eyes filled with warmth and his
lips smiled. Neekeya had never understood those shadows she would see
as a child, that memory in his eyes, those times he wandered the
halls, seeming lost, alone, unable to find rest. Now, returned from
her own war, her sword stained with blood, Neekeya understood
something of old ghosts, and she understood something of the
importance of family, of love, of joy in a dark world.
    Kee'an raised his chin and
looked over her shoulder. "And who is your companion?"
    Neekeya
turned to look