Page 222 of The Cradle of Ice
Wryth took a deep breath and called across the obsidian dome to the heart of the Iflelen’s great instrument, “What do you mean, Keres? I’ve not seen Phenic.”
Keres shouted back, not looking up, concentrating as he worked, “Another message from Skerren! It’s still being sent.”
Wryth’s heart pounded harder, surging with hope that this day could yet be saved. If he could bring word to the king of the recovery of the bronze artifact, he would shine far brighter than any victory in the Southern Klashe. The last message from Skerren had his forces locking down the hidden sea out there.
Holding his breath in anticipation, Wryth wiggled and ducked his way through the instrument, chased by the hissing sighs of the four bloodbaernes’ bellows. He reached Keres and hovered over the man’s shoulder. Wryth kept a silent, anxious vigil, watching the glowing red blip that marked Skerren’s battle barge blink in stops and starts in a complicated code. Keres recorded it diligently until the glow returned to a solid, fixed shine as the message ended.
Wryth folded his arms into his sleeves as he waited for Keres to decipher Skerren’s words. Wryth grabbed his elbows, gripping them hard. He tried to pace away his anxiety and excitement, but it was to no avail.
“What did he say?” Wryth finally demanded.
The grim expression on Keres’s face did not bode well. He continued to work while explaining. “Skerren lost both swyftships.”
“What?”
“And nearly all the forces he sent down into that steamy sea.”
“How is that possible?”
Keres paused his work to turn to him. “Commander Ghryss returned to the battle barge with the last of his men. He barely escaped.”
“From what?”
“I deciphered it twice, though it makes no sense.”
“What?” Wryth pressed him.
“From bats. Ice bats. They attacked both his men and the village. It was chaos and slaughter down there.”
Wryth shook his head, trying to dismiss Skerren’s claim. It sounded outlandish. Still, none of that mattered. “What about the bronze artifact? Did he ever discern its location?”
“I need a moment more to finish decrypting the rest.”
Wryth returned to his pacing, even more impatient and anxious. He stared over at the bronze bust that softly glowed, slumbering in peace. Wryth wanted to wrench it out of the instrument’s heart and throw it across the room.
Keres finally cleared his throat, his eyes wider, shining with hope. “The artifact is not lost. He says a swyftship rose out of the mist, ablaze with flames, and sped off to the west. It was the enemy.”
“They’re on the run again?”
“Skerren doesn’t say, but they must have finally fixed their ship enough to escape the bats and flee. Maybe they were chased off by those infernal creatures, flushed out by them.”
“And Skerren?”
“He’s in pursuit. He’s following at a distance, trying to keep his presence hidden for as long as possible.”
“What’s his plan?”
“The enemy is clearly headed somewhere. Fast. He intends to follow them, not only to chase down the artifact, but to determine what had driven them on such a strange course.”
Wryth nodded, just as curious.
Keres continued, “Once they slow or reach their destination, Skerren says he’ll not hold back. He’ll release, as he states here, the weapon you sent.”
Keres glanced over, looking for some explanation. Not even Keres knew of this weapon. Only a handful in the Shrivenkeep had been informed of Wryth’s project, an undertaking of the darkest alchymies.
“Go on,” Wryth urged. “What else did he say?”
Keres frowned at Skerren’s message. “All it says is that he’s ‘readied the formidable Kalyx.’”
