Page 198 of The Cradle of Ice
“Why?” Darant asked.
“I overheard the Hálendiians. They left bombs aboard the Hawk, along with a few of their men. Someone needs to check on her.”
Darant nodded, his face tight with worry. “Krysh and Meryk are over there, too. Before the bats attacked, the Hálendiians wanted information about our new flitch and modified forges.”
“Then let’s go,” Rhaif said.
To get everyone moving, he passed around helms, while the axes freed chains from wrists.
By the time they were done, the plaza had emptied of the raash’ke. Some had flown off with their prey. A larger portion had fled after the fiery star of the fleeing sailraft.
This moment of reprieve offered their best chance.
Rhaif pointed to the left. “Darant, I can lead you and a couple men through the village, backtracking the way I got here. But we should hurry.”
Glace pointed her thumb in the other direction. “I mapped a route of these lodestone rooms. Should be able to hop our way across, then stick to the beach’s smoke to reach the Hawk.”
Rhaif was impressed. Apparently, pirates were as good as thieves when it came to preplanning for disaster. Then again, there was some overlap in their vocations.
With matters settled, they all slipped out of safety and back into danger.
Rhaif set off with Darant, but his mind kept snagging on Ghryss’s question, the one that the Hálendiian had been willing to torture and kill to get the answer to.
Rhaif wanted to know, too.
Where are the others?
77
EXHAUSTED AND ON her knees, Nyx stared out across the Mouth. She willed Bashaliia more speed. The small Mýr bat fought through the hot air, his wings striking hard, his body pumping for every bit of swiftness. She knew how exhausted he must be.
Behind him, a roiling storm gave chase. Unlike the golden shine of pure bridle-song, the power that surged in that storm churned with darkness, jagged with green fire, boiling with the scorch of molten rock. It filled the breadth of the Mouth ahead of her.
Buried at the heart, seven great beasts—winged daemons—rode that storm, pursuing Bashaliia.
Beside her, Graylin lowered his farscope, no longer needing it. “We can’t fight those giants. And more raash’ke follow in their wake. Scores and scores.”
Nyx couldn’t see through the black storm to confirm his words.
“What’s that haze surrounding them?” Jace asked.
She glanced over, shocked—then back out again. Even Jace could vaguely perceive what was coming, some innate sense of the approaching danger. The beasts were that strong.
How can we hope to defeat them?
Even if she tapped Daal’s full strength, it would be like tossing a bucket of water at a raging forest fire. Worse, she had already depleted Daal to free Bashaliia. He was on his knees next to her. His face ran with sweat, his breath ragged. Still, he reached to her, offering his hand.
She took it, not to draw upon his fire, simply for his reassurance and comfort.
His fingers squeezed, igniting the fire between them, melding two into one for a few brief breaths. In that moment, she felt how much he also craved this union. But he meant more with this touch.
His voice was a hoarse whisper. “They’re not corrupt…”
She didn’t understand. She gaped out at the dark storm and the bright speck fleeing from it. Bashaliia was almost back, crossing over the insatiable maw of the river’s swirling vortex. The stormy manifestation of the horde-mind was as black and unappeasable as that watery maelstrom below it.
“Not corrupt,” Daal repeated, insistent. “Corrupted.”
She shook her head, still not understanding.
