Page 170 of The Cradle of Ice
“Swyftships,” Fenn gasped out.
Rhaif struggled to understand how that could be. Questions spun in his head: Who are they? Where did they come from?
Still, one thing was clear.
They’re a threat.
Kalder lifted his nose and growled, confirming the same.
Out of the mists, the two ships separated and dove toward their targets. One aimed for Iskar’s glow of firepots and lanterns. The other dropped toward the enfeebled Hawk.
Rhaif’s group was stuck between the two—and exposed on the open beach. He spun on his crutch and faced Floraan. “Is there a place to hide? Away from both village and ship?”
She dragged her gaze away from the blazing skies, clearly struggling. She pulled Henna back to her side. Her eyes looked everywhere at once.
Rhaif pressed her again. “Floraan…”
She slowly nodded, then more firmly. “An ice pen. A large cave that we use for the cold storage of larger catches.”
“Can you take us there?”
“Yes, but—” She stared out at the sea, clearly still worried about Daal, then back to the Hawk, where her husband worked with Krysh.
“We can’t help anyone if we’re dead,” Rhaif said bluntly. He pressed on a more immediate concern. “We need to get Henna to safety.”
Ever a mother, she reacted to Rhaif’s warning and swung toward the towering ice cliffs. “This way.”
As they fled, a swyftship reached Iskar, sweeping over it. From its open stern, large black barrels rolled forth. They plummeted toward the village, toppling through the air. As they hit, explosions thundered, pounding Rhaif’s ears and chest. Flame and smoke cast up burning sections of roofs and shattered stones.
Before the enemy craft turned to survey the damage, a trio of small sailrafts blasted out its back. They shot high, their balloons popping open. They swept over the village, scouting low, then circling outward toward the beach.
“Go!” Rhaif hollered. “Make for the cliffs!”
68
THIS IS TAKING us far too long.
Rhaif scrabbled through a shattered landscape of broken ice. Tall, frosty sickles, sharp-edged wedges, and huge ice blocks towered all around him. He cursed the treacherous maze.
Earlier, the big quake had cracked massive slabs off the wall. They had slammed like icy hammers onto the beach. Apparently, such icefalls were a constant danger in the Crèche. It was why their villages had been built close to the sea and away from those treacherous cliffs.
Still, the route to Iskar’s ice pen crossed through one of those fallen slabs. By now, his armpit was on fire, rubbed raw by his crutch. His breath came in ragged gulps.
Ahead, Floraan picked her way forward with Henna in hand, flanked by Kalder.
More explosions echoed as the bombardment continued. Screaming chased them, echoing all around. Groups of villagers fled across the sand or sailed out to sea.
“Everyone down!” Fenn warned.
They all ducked for cover, except for Kalder. Floraan had to push his bulk under an icy overhang. A small arrow-shaped craft with tiny wings and a tapered balloon shot past overhead, its stern forge flashing with blue-orange flames.
“Slipfoil,” Fenn said as the navigator crowded next to him.
Rhaif followed its passage. It swept and dove over the beach, where it unloaded a small black cylinder toward a clutch of evacuees. The explosion sent them all flying, gouging a deep crater in the sand. A couple of figures regained their feet and kept running. But the rest remained down, scattered like broken dolls.
“Keep going,” Rhaif said.
As they fought through the ice, he no longer complained about the broken terrain. The towering labyrinth offered some measure of protection. It also helped that the eventide gloom deepened the shadows surrounding them.
