Starfinder

THE PALACE OF THE MOON

THROUGHOUT THE NIGHT and all the next day, Artaios’ chariot carried Moth north. Aided by some unseen magic and pulled by the team of ethereal horses, the craft moved swiftly across the sky, never buffeted by the wind or troubled by cold. The mist and fire of the strange horses made an envelope around the chariot, protecting its angelic driver and his small human captive. They had flown higher than any airship had ever gone, higher than Moth’s imagination; the world below them was a blur of green forests and rivers. The Redeemer named Alisaundra flew alongside them, never tiring or complaining as she kept up with the chariot, her wings beating with unending strength.

Artaios held the golden reins of his team, guiding them across the sky. They were called “cloud horses,” the Skylord had explained, creatures made of both air and flesh that somehow existed in both realms. Only Skylords could command them, Artaios boasted, for the beasts were far too noble to serve lesser beings. Moth spent hours watching the cloud horses, fascinated by the fire sparking from their hooves, the way their limbs dissipated into vapor. He wondered what would happen if he touched one, if his hand would pass right through it or if his skin would burn.

Most of all, Moth marveled at the thrill of flight. Being in Artaios’ chariot wasn’t like flying a dragonfly or looking down at the world from an airship. Those things were wonderful too, but they were unnatural. The chariot was like the air itself. It flew the way a bird flew, riding the wind.

Born to it, thought Moth. Like Artaios.

In that first night of flying, Artaios said almost nothing to Moth. Instead, he let Moth gape in confusion at all the things he was seeing, occasionally smiling or tossing off a comment that made no sense. Moth knew Artaios was showing off. He remembered what he’d learned about Skylords, about how arrogant they were, and how they thought humans were inferior. And yet Moth appreciated Artaios’ gift. No other human had ever flown like he was flying now. Not Skyhigh. Not even Rendor.

Moth forgot his hunger, and almost forgot his fears, too, until he caught a glimpse of Alisaundra grinning at him through the clouds.

That’s what they’ll do to me, he reminded himself, and he backed away from the rail of the chariot, refusing to enjoy the flight any further.

Exhausted from all that had happened, Moth fell asleep in a corner of the chariot near Artaios’ feet. When he awoke the Skylord was looking down at him. Artaios held the golden reins of the vessel in his hands. Night had fallen and the moon glowed behind his head, giving him a ghostly hue. Moth rubbed his eyes, feeling like a dog at its master’s heel. Artaios’ expression was peculiar.

“Stand up now,” he said.

“Huh?”

Half the Skylord’s mouth turned up in a grin. “You’ll want to see this,” he said, then reached down and took Moth’s arm, lifting him to his feet. Moth steadied himself, blinking the sleep away. Orange flares leaped from the cloud horses. Warm wind tugged at Moth’s coat. Darkness blanketed the world below, but up ahead rose a crown of peaks, gleaming in the moonlight. Moth leaned over the rail.

A city!

Spires reached from the top of the mountains, breaking from the rocks. Domed towers and balconies poked skyward. Archways disappeared into dark tunnels. Fluted columns supported floating gardens, and trestled walkways weaved along the hillsides. Moonlight set the city ablaze, giving off an eerie, almost blinding light, illuminating the creatures flying between the structures.

“The Palace of the Moon,” said Artaios proudly.

The city rose up to swallow them, and the beings threading through the night revealed themselves.

“Skylords,” Moth whispered.

They were everywhere, hundreds of them, walking along the avenues and taking flight from balconies on dove-white wings. Moth held tight as Artaios directed the chariot down, into the city’s lustrous heart. The winged beings flocked like geese to greet them, coming alongside the chariot and calling greetings. Moth looked around, stunned by the gathering, then realized Alisaundra was gone.

“Where’s the Redeemer?” he asked.

“Sent ahead,” replied Artaios. His grin widened. “He’s expecting us now, Egg.”

Moth sneered at the nickname. “Who?” he shot back.

“Korace,” said Artaios.

“Who’s—”

“Enough!” Artaios guided the chariot over the tops of the first towers. “Stop chattering like a wood nymph and behold!”

The Skylords escorted them over the moon-painted city. The ghostly horses dove lower, fading in and out of their own fiery mist. Up ahead loomed a ridge of ashen rock, projecting out from a mountainside like the horn of a rhino. Along the ridge rode a series of towers connected by an ancient bridge, each tower larger than the one before it. The final tower, perched at the very tip of the horn, hung out over the mountain in a shroud of vapor, held aloft by fragile fingers of stone.

“What’s that?” asked Moth as the chariot made its way to the tower. He could see other Skylords already gathered on its roof, along with a handful of Redeemers. “Who’s Korace?” he pressed.

Artaios held the reins lightly now. The cloud horses slowed as they pulled closer to the tower. A breeze stirred the Skylord’s hair. Moth looked down again, saw puddles at the base of the mountains, and realized they were lakes.

“This is impossible,” he said. “It should be freezing up here! I shouldn’t be able to breathe…”

Artaios delighted in his wonder. “You’re about to see something no other of your kind has ever seen, Egg. This is a great gift I give you.”

Moth was too dazzled to think straight. “What?” he asked. “You mean this place? It is amazing…”

“Wait,” said Artaios.

He put his hand on Moth’s shoulder as the chariot slid across the enormous roof. Skylords parted to make way, jerking on the chains of their Redeemers, pulling them along like pets. The tower was so large Moth could barely see the end of it. The chariot touched down on the rooftop. The cloud horses floated to a stop, as insubstantial as air.

Moth did his best to mask his fear. He looked out over the gathered Skylords, amazed by their luminous beauty and sickened by their cruelty. The leashed Redeemers chattered, falling to their knees. Except for one.

“Great Artaios!” called Alisaundra. She hopped to the front of the gathering, dropping down before the chariot and lowering her face to the ground. “Korace awaits you!”

Moth looked up at Artaios and asked one more time, “Who’s Korace?”

“My father,” Artaios answered. “Ruler of us all.”