Page 196 of The Cradle of Ice
He remembered the ox-faced man’s threat to take Glace apart piece by piece. Has that started? Darant’s curses and rattle of chains answered that.
“I will rip your bollocks off with my bare hands,” Darant gasped out. “And stuff them down your throat.”
The Hálendiian leader was unfazed by this threat. “Talk, or I’ll take her entire hand next.”
Panicked, Rhaif fumbled with a tiny pot of embers. On his route through the village, he had collected burning shards from a section of flaming roof. He had stored them in a lidded pot that he’d stolen from another house.
He blew the embers inside back to a flicker of flame.
Between his knees, two hollow sea-gourds rested in the sand. Small wicks dangled from them, stuffed past a ticking of cloth from his own shirt. Inside, he had created his own concoction based on flitch.
Over the past days, he had found plenty of idle time to ask questions and wander the village. He hung with Krysh and Jace, looking over their shoulders, both at the Fyredragon and aboard the Sparrowhawk. He followed Glace and Brayl around like a sad cur, as they inventoried supplies. Floraan showed him these very gourds, said they were dried from some bulbous kelp.
When it came to thievery, one never stopped observing. One never knew when a coin purse might be unattended, when a window might be left ajar, when an unexpected opportunity might arise. Llyra’s main tenets remained in place at all times, even between assignments.
Flexibility, ingenuity, resourcefulness.
Days ago, after the first raash’ke attack, the worry of another assault weighed heavily. It was why he had mapped out the location of a few lodestone chambers. One never knew what fate would throw at you. Likewise, from watching, listening, and some background in pyro-alchymy, a skill most thieves honed, Rhaif had come up with a fiery concoction of his own, merging Panthean and Hálendiian know-how.
Just hope it doesn’t blow up in my face.
He used the flaming ember to light both wicks, which he had trimmed to two lengths, short and long. He waited a breath until the flitch-soaked wicks flamed brightly—then he crawled on his elbows back to the fringe of the wing. He used his head to nudge the edge up.
He had to act quickly. The gourds’ flickering flames risked drawing the eyes of the enemy inside. He lifted the wing higher. As the view opened, it appeared everyone inside was focused on Glace, their backs to the door. A large ax was raised above her wrist. Her arm was pinned to the sand. From her trapped hand, blood poured out of a finger’s stump.
Bastards …
“Tell us where the others took that bronze woman,” Ghryss demanded. “Last chance.”
The only one looking out the door was Glace. Her pained eyes went huge. He could only imagine what she was thinking, seeing him rise on his knees under the wing of a dead raash’ke.
But surely not this.
Rhaif tossed both gourds toward the door.
“Bomb!” he screamed.
One of the gourds made it across the threshold, bouncing down the steps. Its flaming wick spun wildly, sizzling even brighter as it did. The other fell short of the doorway and landed in the sand out front.
This second one had the shorter wick.
Rhaif dropped flat and pulled the wing over his head.
The explosion shocked even him. Flames blasted searingly bright, revealing the shadowy bones through the leather over his head. The concussion flapped the wing, too, as if the dead raash’ke were trying to take flight.
As the ringing in his ears died, he heard panicked shouts, the rush of footfalls out the chamber.
“Get clear!” Ghryss hollered as he fled the bomb inside. “Make for the Drakyl!”
As Rhaif had hoped, the fiery blast and the threat of the other bomb had chased the Hálendiians out of the enclosed room. It also drew the raash’ke upon the fleeing men. Their savage cries deafened him. The bridling tried to eat through Rhaif’s lodestone earpieces but failed. Still, it felt like his skull was being ripped apart.
Grimacing, Rhaif waited until the last boot pounded past him. Then he shoved out from under the wing and dove across the threshold. He rolled down the steps into the chamber.
Glace stumbled back from his sudden arrival, clutching the wrist of her maimed hand.
Darant swore.
Chains rattled as other members of the crew fled to the side. Perde lay on his stomach, trying to smother the second gourd.
