Page 266 of The Cradle of Ice
But it wasn’t only her bone that had fractured. Even in the feeble light, she could tell Bashaliia’s wing had crumpled upon impact. It lay crushed under him. His hollow bones were even more fragile than hers.
“Bashaliia, you shouldn’t have come.”
He mewled and nudged her with his nose, burrowing under her hand, needing her comfort. She could never refuse him. She rubbed his ear, softly singing her reassurance, though she could not put much heart into it. Still, slowly, the worst of his crying subsided—due less to her gift and more to her touch.
“Why did you come?” she whispered.
Still, she took comfort from his presence.
At least we’re together.
She left her other question unvoiced.
How did you get here?
She knew he must have fled the Sparrowhawk when it was attacked, coming down with the last of the raash’ke. But she struggled to understand how he was still in the air, able to fly, to even attempt this futile rescue.
She pictured the raash’ke falling out of the sky.
Then she understood.
Because you’re not raash’ke.
Bashaliia had never been part of the horde-mind. Even now, she could feel the remains of that ancient presence at the back of her awareness, as fractured and wounded as they were. Whatever vibration that Kalyx had divined from ripping into the horde-mind had been unique to raash’ke, drawn from their commonality—a commonality not shared with Nyx’s little brother.
Bashaliia was a Mýr bat, and in the dome’s storm of wings, Kalyx must have missed his presence within the greater flock.
Still, such providence had proven little good. It left both Nyx and Bashaliia broken and stranded. Even if she had both legs, she could never climb out of this pit, not in time to stop what was coming.
I would need wings myself.
Then she knew the answer.
* * *
GRAYLIN FOUGHT TO drag Daal’s body to the shelter of the tunnel.
“Grab his legs,” he urged Jace.
Shouldering his ax, Jace swung around and grabbed Daal’s ankles.
Together, they worked through the smoke, sticking to the densest cover. Daal had struck his head hard, knocking himself limp, but his limbs moved weakly, and he still breathed.
When he should be dead.
There was only one reason he wasn’t.
Graylin stared through the smoke, toward the remains of Daal’s mount. Whether due to the vagaries of the winds—or some protective sense still buried deep in Nyfka—the raash’ke had shoved higher at the last moment, blunting the steep dive and cushioning the impact with her own body. Nyfka had saved Daal’s life.
Graylin would always believe that.
And it wasn’t just her death that helped them.
As the raash’ke had plummeted out of the sky, two had crashed into the party of Hálendiian raiders who had been hounding Graylin’s group. He and the others were close to being overwhelmed. Darant had lost one of his men during the last skirmish. They were all bloodied and could barely lift their weapons. Then death rained out of the sky. Sheltered in the tunnel’s mouth, his group was spared. The Hálendiians—just outside the threshold—were crushed under bone and leather. Those that weren’t killed scattered. A handful had run off into the smoke. The wisest among them—fearing further rain might fall—had fought past Graylin’s group and fled down the tunnel, led by Commander Ghryss.
Darant, Perde, and Vikas had chased after them.
At that same time, Graylin had seen Daal crash, but he had lost sight of Nyx. Dreading the worst, he had grabbed Jace to help rescue Daal and search for any sign of Nyx. He succeeded with the first, but not the latter. He could only pray that Daal knew where she might have fallen.
