Page 208 of The Cradle of Ice
She leaned harder, staying closer to the hearth under her. She didn’t need to tell her mount where to go. That had already been shared.
The raash’ke swept higher, fighting to crest over the ice cliff. For a breath, Nyx believed they wouldn’t make it. She prepared for a crash—but at the last moment, with a hard beat of wings, they cleared the edge. It was so close she swore she could reach down and brush her fingers over the ice.
As they continued, her mount skimmed across the Shield, rising and falling with its contours. Stars glinted overhead like broken shards of ice. The air grew colder, frosting her back, her hair. She hugged tighter.
Ahead, she spotted the other four, clutched tight to warm bellies. Far to the side, she caught a glimpse of Daal, curled close to his saddle. On her other side, Bashaliia sped with her, occasionally rolling through the air with unbridled joy.
Nyx risked letting one hand free. She ran her fingers through the cold edge of her mount’s shaggy fur to the hot warmth beneath. She sang softly, only because it felt right. She suffused her appreciation, shared her exhilaration. She bared her heart, her gratitude for her mount’s bravery.
Slowly, he sang back, echoing the same. This wasn’t the horde-mind, just her mount, a lone raash’ke discovering a miracle. Still, she sensed that greater presence watching her from the shadows, silent and immense.
Finally—too soon—the world ahead vanished into a wall of steam, marking the rift into the Crèche. She let her song sink to a whisper. She was not ready to return to screams, terrors, and fires.
Let’s just keep flying forever.
Still, she knew that could not be. Ahead, the others—one by one—vanished into the steam. Then she was in it, too.
The sudden warmth took her breath. The steam blinded her, stinging with sulfurous brimstan. She squeezed her eyelids against that pain. She felt her mount shift into a shallow dive. As he did, he keened sharply, casting forth ripples of sound and bridle-song. Even with her eyes closed, she felt those golden waves wash back to her, returning with contours and shapes, delineating the steamy world.
She could pick out the others spiraling below.
They wound around and around. Just when she thought it would never end, they shot out of the mists and into open air. The emerald sea spread below them. The ice cliff climbed to the right. Between them ran the stretch of beach.
It was not hard to discern Iskar’s location. A dark pall of smoke cloaked a swath of sand and sea. As if sensing her desire—or reading it in the whispers of the song she maintained—her mount swung lower, heading toward the smoky scar.
Closest to Iskar, the pall had spread far out to sea. She could no longer tell if the Hálendiian ship was still blockading the village’s docks. Even the Sparrowhawk had been swallowed away, hiding its fate.
Ahead of her, other raash’ke spun a circle, swinging Nyx’s friends under them, waiting for guidance. Above, an escort of smaller bats shot out of the mists like dark arrows. The air filled with wings.
Daal appeared farther out, circling wide.
She could only imagine how he took in that view, of Iskar burning, the wreckage in the sea, the bodies along the beaches.
Still, she could guess where he focused his fury.
80
RHAIF LABORED DOWN the beach, limping through the smoke, using a stout reed as a cane. It didn’t work as well as his old crutch, but his bruised underarm was happy to let his bad leg carry some of the load.
“Can’t you go any faster?” Darant scolded him.
“Unless you want to carry me, no.”
Darant scowled and looked Rhaif up and down, plainly considering it. Rhaif hurried faster before he made up his mind.
Earlier, he had led Darant and three crewmen through the ruins of Iskar. They had to proceed slowly, wary of the raash’ke and any other lingering patrols of Hálendiians. Strangely, the only visible threat—though it wasn’t much of one—was a lone figure in armor, peeking out from around the drape of a doorway, then ducking away.
Still, other figures had scurried furtively through the village, just hazy shapes in the smoke. The shadows were likely Pantheans who were taking advantage of the lull in the fighting.
Otherwise, Iskar had gone eerily quiet.
Far down the beach now, Rhaif glanced back. Off in the distance, he could barely make out the village. Besides falling quieter, it had also gone darker. The flames had burned through their fuel of reed roofs. A few firepots still flickered, but the worst of the blaze had died to smolders. Even the smoke had lessened.
But not by much.
Rhaif tried not to rub at his sore eyes, as it only worsened the burn. His lungs felt heavy with ash. They all struggled not to cough, lest it lure any hunters in the sky.
“How much farther?” Darant asked, his voice tight with worry for his daughter. He also kept looking back, concerned for Glace, too.
