Page 260 of The Cradle of Ice
Kanthe lifted his ax, but it slipped from his grip and clattered to the deck.
Mikaen laughed, as if this were the finest of jests.
No one else did.
Another of the crimson-faced Vyrllian knights stepped out of line and recovered the ax. The man leaned close, hopefully to offer another path to a quick death. It was good to have options.
“You look recovered enough to me,” the stranger growled.
Kanthe frowned.
“So be ready to run.”
As Kanthe stared in confusion, the man’s face melted into a new countenance. Still painted red, but familiar.
Tykhan …
The Sleeper of Malgard rushed with astounding speed. One hand sharpened into claws and ripped out a throat. The other hand’s fingers melded into a long dagger, which was jammed into an eye. Tykhan danced across the ring of guards, delivering death quicker than an eye could follow.
Kanthe stumbled away from the carnage.
Another knight stabbed at Tykhan only to have his blade slide off metal. Bronze fingers caught the steel, snapped it in half, and stabbed the end through the shocked, open mouth of his attacker.
Still, bronze had limits.
Someone lobbed a hand-bomb that exploded at Tykhan’s chest, throwing him far in a concussive blast of flames. Two more men ran forward with hand-bombs lifted.
Kanthe took a step forward—only to have a hand grab his good shoulder and spin him around. A black-cloaked figure stepped in front of him, a pipe at her lips. Though the face was wrapped, he knew who it was.
Cassta …
She fired two hard puffs. The men with the bombs took another two steps, then fell. One hand-bomb blew, tossing their bodies high.
Tykhan gained his feet as Cassta pushed Kanthe toward an open doorway. The Sleeper closed on them by the time they reached that doorway.
Kanthe glanced back across the deck. Thoryn had retreated halfway across the ship, pushing Mikaen behind him. Kanthe met Thoryn’s eyes and nodded his thanks, but confirming that this was not over.
The captain dipped a chin in acknowledgment of both.
Cassta tugged Kanthe through the doorway and down steep steps.
Tykhan took the lead, scolding Cassta as he passed, “What’re you doing up here? You’re supposed to be down with the others.”
Her answer was calm, as if they were on a stroll. “As a Rhysian, I’ve found it useful to be where I’m not expected.”
Tykhan rubbed the scorched dent in his breastplate. “That is a wisdom I can appreciate.”
* * *
FRELL HELD THE tiny version of the lampree in his hand. The beetle-shaped tool was the size of his fist. The other three sisters carried the same—though they had vanished out of sight, crossing to the cardinal points of the massive drum. He gaped at the sheer height and breadth of the Madyss Hammer. Constructed of ironwood and plated in steel, it rose seven stories and was half as wide.
Sweat slickened his palms as he worked.
Perched on a scaffolding halfway up its side, he placed his palm against the weapon’s flank, imagining the infernal black alchymies inside it, the secrets of which were guarded over by a cadre of Shriven deep beneath Highmount. All Frell knew was that the materials were distilled using methods obtained from ancient tomes that dated to the Forsaken Ages.
He hated when knowledge was used to dark ends, but curiosity piqued inside him nonetheless. Of course, that would not stop him from destroying it.
He checked the compass supplied to him by Tykhan and placed the little steel beetle against the side of the tank and pressed a button on its back. Its six little draft-iron legs peeled from beneath it and jammed against the steel. Caustic alchymies leaked from their tips, melting through the metal and allowing the jointed legs to slip through and latch deep into the ironwood and thick plating.
