Page 230 of The Cradle of Ice
Unlike Prince Jubayr, I do not hesitate.
He shifted his farscope’s view to the trio of warships leading them, escorting the Hyperium to the coast. One of them was the Winged Vengeance, the ship he had once captained, the wood of its deck still infused with Prince Paktan’s blood. A new Cauldron also filled its hold, to replace the one he had dropped.
Mikaen felt no affection for his former ship. From his current perch, the Vengeance seemed so small. It was a poor stage for a prince who intended to shine the brightest, whose light would sweep through the centuries ahead, establishing a line of radiant sun-kings—starting with his son, who would follow Mikaen to the throne.
Mikaen lowered his farscope and turned to take in the breadth of the Hyperium. This made for a far better stage to launch that future lineage.
And what a stage it will be shortly.
As Mikaen pondered the centuries ahead, he noted Reddak, looking agitated, on the opposite side of the flagship’s prow. The liege general crossed to the rail and disappeared into a glare reflecting off the magnificent figurehead that adorned the ship’s bow.
Sunlight flashed blindingly off the draft-iron sculpture of a rearing stallion. It bore wings that swept to either side of the bow. It was dramatic and inspiring. The flagship had been christened as a memorial to his mother by King Toranth, who still held the former queen in great regard. Mikaen’s mother had come from an illustrious family, the House of Hyparia, which gave rise to the naming of the great ship. Even the figurehead represented the Hyparian sigil of a winged stallion.
While Mikaen loved his mother, he considered such dedication to be oversentimental, a weakness that his father always possessed.
Finally, Reddak reappeared out of the blinding glare, coming straight toward Mikaen and Thoryn. Clearly something was amiss. Mikaen narrowed his eyes, wondering if this should concern him or if it was something he could take advantage of.
Reddak joined them, nodding respectfully to Thoryn, then addressed Mikaen. “A large line of Klashean ships just crested the horizon.”
Mikaen stiffened. “What?”
Reddak waved to the farscope in Mikaen’s hand. “See for yourself.”
Mikaen returned to the rail and lifted the instrument to his eye. He focused back on the green spread of Tithyn Woods, which had already grown wider and taller as they swept closer to the coast. He shifted his view higher.
A line of fire blazed across the horizon.
“What does this mean?” Mikaen asked.
“It means we have underestimated Prince Jubayr’s competence and grit. Or Emperor Makar has regained his senses. Either way, someone was able to shut down dissent, rally their forces with astounding speed, and send forth a considerable number of warships and hunterskiffs. More ships are likely already locking down Kysalimri.”
Mikaen savored the frustrated fury in Reddak’s voice.
Any failure would be laid at the liege general’s feet.
Behind Mikaen, Thoryn addressed Reddak. “What is our course from here?”
“We forge on. We may lose a warship, maybe two, but we’ll still break through and reach Kysalimri and pound them flat with our Hammer.”
Mikaen had to respect the liege general’s courage.
Still, no matter the outcome—barring his death—Mikaen would still win. Either he would return in glory and share in the triumph, or he could place the blame for any failure on Reddak’s shoulders. Either outcome would suit him.
Furthermore, Mikaen didn’t intend to return without his own victory.
He lowered his farscope and swept his gaze to a lone figure in black across the deck, a dark sparrow who had been waiting for a crow.
The figure noted Mikaen’s attention and gave a crisp nod, signaling that the skrycrow had indeed arrived—and the message was good.
Mikaen shifted focus and studied the Hyperium’s open deck.
Yes, this will make for the perfect stage.
* * *
HIDDEN UNDER A byor-ga robe, Pratik followed his quarry. The white-cloaked Dresh’ri moved across the imperial gardens of the palace. It was the fifth scholar he had tracked since arriving in Kysalimri. Pratik had lost a few of his targets due to being overly cautious; others had ended up somewhere innocuous.
One of them must lead me to Zeng ri Perrin.
