Page 124 of The Cradle of Ice
Jubayr covered his brow with a palm and struggled to find his breath again. It took several deep inhalations to regain his voice. When he did, fire burst from his lips.
“We will make them suffer,” he gritted out. “For each drop of my brother’s blood, so dishonorably spilled, I will lay waste to a hundred of their people.”
Both Shield and Wing bowed before his anger.
“We will not wait,” Jubayr warned. “Our vengeance starts now.”
Draer dropped again to his knee, only this time his deference felt genuine. “What is your bidding?”
“Dispatch orders to the Falcon’s Wing. Let its captain—my brother Mareesh—know what has transpired. His assault will no longer be tempered or mitigated as instructed. He will unload the full fury of the empire upon the shores of Hálendii. To lay a swath of fire that will burn for ages, a memorial pyre to Paktan.”
Draer rose and nodded crisply.
“And that will only be the beginning of their suffering,” Jubayr promised.
Shield Angelon dropped next to a knee. “And what of the emperor? He will need to be informed.”
Jubayr took another deep breath. He knew how such a grim dispatch would break his father’s heart, but it must be done. “Initiate a relay of crows, the swiftest of wing. Let the emperor know what has befallen his son.”
Angelon stood briskly. “It will be done.”
Jubayr dismissed them both to their respective duties. “I will join you both atop the Blood’d Tower shortly.”
He crossed and gathered up the emperor’s embroidered white cloak and draped it over his shoulders. It felt heavier than before, but he knew he could carry it.
For Paktan.
He snapped the cloak’s clasp at his throat, making another silent promise.
If I ever find that bastard Kanthe—who set this tragedy in motion—his head will fall next.
49
KANTHE STOOD IN the hold of the Quisl. The space was windowless and dark, but Malgard let its presence be known. Its heat had turned the ship into an oven. The sulfurous stench of geysers and bubbling clay fouled the air, its reek underlaid by a coppery, sickening taste that sat on the tongue like a dead toad.
If inhaling these fumes were necessary to induce visions, then I’d rather be blind.
Still, at least that was all that penetrated the ship. The clouds of lycheens remained outside, swirling in the steamy air. Kanthe swore he could hear the soft hissing of their poisonous frills brushing the hull and deck.
He stared across at the others in the group, those who would be venturing out into Malgard. To his left, Frell whispered with Pratik. To his right, Cassta held two dark torches—as they all did. Saekl had insisted one of the Rhysians accompany them, though it was unclear whether Cassta was there to protect them or to have some stake in what might be discovered. Likewise, Llyra had ordered a trio of her men to join them. They did not look happy—then again, her men seldom did.
The last member of the party lit his torch. The sudden brightness was momentarily blinding. Rami stalked along the line, passing his flame to their torches.
“Why two torches each?” Frell asked.
“You’ll soon wish it was three,” Rami answered. Still, the prince demonstrated, swinging one of his torches high, the other low. “Watch not just the skies around you, but also the ground at your feet. It’s the lycheens perched on rocks or hidden behind boulders that often ambush you.”
Kanthe squinted at the flames of his torch. “And the fire will hold them at bay?”
Rami scowled. “Their glowing bells are full of lifting gasses, not unlike what fills our ship’s balloon. The gasses inside the lycheens are also equally combustible. So, while the creatures thrive in the steamy heat—riding updrafts of hot air or living in scalding water—they fear the touch of a flame.”
“You’ve dealt with them before?” Pratik asked.
“Only once. As a boy, when I accompanied my father to Qazen. And we encountered only a small cloud of them at the edge of Malgard, one easily driven away.” Rami waved a torch toward the hold’s hatch. “Nothing like what we’ll face outside.”
It was because of Rami’s knowledge and experience that Frell had asked him to come along. There was no telling what other dangers or challenges awaited them, threats that the Klashean prince might best know how to handle. Rami had consulted briefly with his sister before agreeing to join them.
Aalia would remain aboard the ketch with Llyra and her men—both to keep the young woman protected and as hostage to Rami’s continued good faith.
