Page 105 of The Cradle of Ice
Jace shrugged. “There are scores of barrels on this beach, all smelling of flitch.”
“And there’s possibly more stacked atop the Fyredragon’s deck.” Krysh pointed to the ship, to rows of barrels sitting there.
Darant had heard their discussion and came over. He scowled at the open barrel and dipped his whole hand in, then lifted it out. He let the viscous flitch ooze between his fingers.
“That forge over yonder has been tweaked,” Darant informed them. “The fuel lines are fatter, likely to allow this thicker sludge to flow through. And they added a bigger damper in the flame barrel. I reckon to keep the hotter burn of this flitch from blowing the whole thing up.”
“Do you think they got it to work?” Graylin asked.
“Only one way to find out.”
Darant reached again into the barrel, this time with both hands. He scooped up a good amount of flitch and carried it over to the forge, losing most of it along the way. Still, he dumped the rest into a fuel feed and waited for it to seep into the forge’s heart.
He then took Graylin’s lantern.
“Best stay back,” the pirate warned. “This lump of cold metal is four times as old as any of us.”
They all retreated, but Darant waved them even farther back.
Once satisfied, he opened the lantern and used a sliver of old wood to carry its flame to a fuel tap. He opened the valve enough to let a single drop of green flitch show, then lit it with the taper. As it caught the flame, Darant snugged the valve and dashed backward.
He didn’t get far.
The heavy forge bumped hard with an ear-pounding boom, nearly lifting off the sand.
Darant tripped onto his backside.
Ahead of him, flames belched from the forge’s baffles—then in another breath, it ignited, roaring like the namesake of Noor’s ship. It was so fierce that the engine skidded across the sand, driven by the dragon’s fire. It hit the lake, plowed through the shallows, and vanished underwater before coming to a stop.
Beneath the surface, the fires continued to burn.
They all gathered closer. Graylin helped lift Darant, whose face was cracked with a savage smile. They all stared into the water as the flames glowed brightly, boiling the shallows.
“That’ll do,” Darant said.
For far longer than Graylin would have imagined, the forge continued to burn, fueled by mere dregs of that gelatinous flitch.
By now, Meryk had raced along the beach to join them. He arrived breathless and panicked, likely fearing what had befallen them. He gaped at the boiling waters, at the fire down below.
Krysh looked over at the other barrels along the beach. “Rega was successful. But if so, then why did he and his crew remain in the Crèche? Surely, with enough time, they could’ve patched the Fyredragon.”
Jace tried to answer. “Maybe they didn’t think about using hot air to fill their ship’s balloon.”
Krysh cast him a dubious look.
It was Meryk who offered the more likely answer. “The Noor feared the raash’ke.”
Graylin nodded, sympathetic to Rega’s dilemma. All the flaming forges and hot air wouldn’t help the Fyredragon escape the bridling song of that black horde. Or their ripping claws. No matter the number of repairs or the ingenious alchymy, Rega and his crew were trapped in the Crèche.
Just like us.
43
AT MIDDAY, NYX stood at the end of the stone pier. She watched the last of the flotilla of skiffs head out to sea. Mournful bells rang a slow dirge from those boats. Voices rang in sad accompaniment. She didn’t understand the words, but the sentiment was somber, yet tinged with hopefulness.
Standing beside her, Daal must have noted her attention. “A prayer,” he whispered. “To the Dreamers.”
Nyx looked to him. “What are they asking for?”
