Page 259 of The Cradle of Ice
Another dunk of cold water shook him the rest of the way. He sat on the planks of a ship—the Hyperium. He blinked his memory and vision back into focus. A growing pain sharpened his awareness, but he could not shake the fogginess in his head. His tongue felt thick and slow.
“How much poppy’s milk did you give him?”
“You wanted him up enough to move, Lord Prince. I did apply a numbing balm, so as not to have to use a heavier draught. His head and senses should clear soon.”
“It had better. We have only a short reprieve before we attack Kysalimri.”
Kanthe blinked his brother into focus.
I thought I’d dreamed this.
He gazed past Mikaen’s shoulder. The skies were heavy with smoke. Fires hung in the air like lanterns, marking the flaming wreckage of warcraft of every size. One fell past his view, trailing flames, going slow, as if to reveal the fiery destruction in all its glory. He saw the Klashean flag draped behind it as it sank out of view.
Am I still dreaming?
The booming grew louder with his awareness, thudding his chest. Cannon fire. And close. He turned his eyes and spotted the distant sprawl of the Eternal City of Kysalimri, climbing out of the Bay of the Blessed. A defensive cordon of Klashean ships still plied the skies over there, forges blazing through the haze, as thick as a swarm of fireflits.
Closer at hand, two Hálendiian warships floated, one farther out than the other, looking like grim twins.
Kanthe’s twin leaned closer to his face. “Get up,” Mikaen ordered, giving his cheek a stinging slap. “You’re awake enough.”
Hands hauled him to his feet. Someone grabbed him by his left arm, flaring a lance of pain. He shifted away and stared down at the offending arm—only it wasn’t there.
Or at least, half wasn’t.
He backed again, not from pain, but from the impossibility. It felt as if his limb were still intact. It ached like it was there. The shock woke him the rest of the way. Memory tumbled together, first in disorder, then into some semblance of sense.
The abduction, the fight, the brutal conclusion …
His stump had been seared just below the elbow. It was swollen and blackened, bruised to his shoulder. Blood seeped in slow drops.
He took another step back—into the hulk of Captain Thoryn. The Vyrllian knight took hold of his good arm, squeezing hard.
He leaned to Kanthe’s ear and whispered with an exhausted sadness, “Brave face, Lord Prince. It will be over soon. You will not wake when he takes your other arm. This I swear. Too much milk of the poppy and you will find your peace.”
Thoryn pushed a long-hafted ax into Kanthe’s numb fingers and guided him forward to stand again within a circle of crimson-faced guardsmen. Thoryn gave a final squeeze, cementing that promise of release.
Across the way, Mikaen pushed through his guards. He hefted a matching ax and lifted it higher. “Fitting that our second sparring should be with such a weapon. One that stole my face due to a cowardly act. Let us see how a fair fight ends.”
Dazed and addled, his missing arm throbbing, Kanthe mocked such a word. “Fair? This? Who is the coward now?”
Mikaen motioned with his ax to the bay. “We strike for Kysalimri with the next bell. I want to watch our Hammer fall and crush the city. To watch it burn like our Shield Islands. And we’ll follow that with the drop of two Cauldrons to further pound them flat.”
Kanthe stared past the wall of crimson and silver surrounding him. In the distance, the white-marble towers of Kysalimri shone brightly through the smoke, clear enough to spot a darker pall shading the tallest spires, those of the imperial palace.
He frowned, picturing Aalia and Rami.
Did some Hálendiian ship break through the blockade earlier?
He also noted Mikaen had mentioned only two Cauldrons. Kanthe knew from reports that the king’s forces had left with three. The Klashean Wing must have destroyed one of them. Still, these other two warships had cleared Tithyn Woods to reach the Bay of the Blessed, opening the way for the Hyperium.
Before his abduction, Aalia had felt confident about the Klashe’s chances to keep the battle to the woods. Kanthe stared at the curl of smoke from the palace towers, at the ships over the Bay of the Blessed.
Something has gone wrong—but what?
Mikaen pointed his ax at Kanthe. “Next time we wake you, you’ll be able to see the devastation we’ve wrought and know the cost of treason.” Mikaen lowered his brow. “Then we’ll play again.”
To the side, Thoryn loomed, his face grave and grim.
