Page 46 of The Cradle of Ice
Rhaif swallowed hard, hating to see her leave. After so long together, he could not dismiss his heart. He had grown fond of her, as he would any woman of flesh and bone. He even desired her. She was beautiful beyond words, his dreams given form.
Sadly, he knew she couldn’t return his base cravings, but that did not lessen his tenderness for her. She recognized his affections, even returned them in her own fashion. She would often sing in his cabin, stirring the bridling gift in his own blood, a heritage from his mother. In those moments, shared together, it felt as intimate as an embrace.
She lowered her hand. “I will be back,” she promised him, easily reading his apprehension.
He stepped away, letting her go. He struggled to clear his throat, then called before she turned away. “Bring back ice.”
She grinned at him. “Or course. I know how you hate warm ale.”
He smiled in turn.
How well she understands me.
With a wave, Shiya waded into the sea. He stared as her form slowly sank into the waves—then was gone.
* * *
RHAIF SAT IN the sand, dreaming of a long cool bath. He’d kicked off his boots and soaked his feet in the lapping water. At least the sea was cooler than the air. A single tin cup rested next to him, pushed into the wet sand.
Maybe I can learn to appreciate warm ale.
In his head, he tried to guess how long it would take Shiya to reach some distant shore. She had already been gone a while. Still, he had no inkling of how far off her destination might be or even the pace that she could maintain while navigating a seabed, especially one that was a maze of fiery vents.
As he lounged in the heat, he tried to imagine what it must look like down there. He pictured his homeland. He grew up in the smoke-shrouded city of Anvil, the hub of the Guld’guhl territories, a dry and inhospitable land of mines and diggings. Along its northern coast lay the Boiling Bay, named after the many volcanoes, large and small, that steamed in those waters. He imagined the seafloor here much like that, a Boiling Bay flooded over, drowning those scores of volcanoes.
Still, he quickly shook that thought away. It only stoked his worries. Shiya might be sculpted of bronze, but even metal melted in the hottest of furnaces.
He reached for his cup, determined to acquire that taste for warm ale. As his fingers closed on it, a melon-sized rock floated to the surface of the water. He had heard how pumice stones, spewed from the throat of Boiling Bay’s volcanoes, dotted its waters, sometimes forming great floating rafts of rock.
Intrigued, he sat straighter—until that rock opened its eyes.
He gasped and scooted on his backside away from the surf. The rock lifted from the waves, revealing a long, snaking neck. Its jaws gaped open with a sibilant hiss, showing row upon row of jagged teeth.
Feck this place …
As he fled, more creatures sprouted from the waters. They formed a swaying forest behind him, rising out of the sea. Their necks pulled muscular bodies, lined by overlapping ridges of armored scales, from the waves. They came rushing ashore atop powerful legs, claws digging into the wet sand.
Rhaif turned and fled up the face of a dune. His bare feet slipped and slid, but he didn’t slow, chased by that hissing chorus. He crested the dune and spotted the crashed sailraft ahead.
Herl and Perde sat atop crates, playing a game of dice. Nearby, Glace leaned over a map she had taken from the Sparrowhawk.
As Rhaif dashed down the dune, he hollered, “Hyck!”
By now, the others had noted his panic. The engineer, who had been lounging with a pipe, sat straighter, then stood up, shading his eyes.
“Those axes!” Rhaif shouted to him, remembering Hyck’s plan to build a raft.
“What about ’em?” Hyck asked.
Rhaif waved behind him. “We’re gonna need both of ’em.”
He watched their faces go shocked and knew the slavering pack had topped the rise behind them. Herl tossed his dice aside. Glace ducked into the raft, hopefully going for a weapon. Hyck followed her.
Rhaif glanced over his shoulder. One of the creatures had a lead on the others, some bull version of the beasts. As it came down the far side of the dune, it lowered its head and flung high its tail, an appendage tipped by a spiked fan. From its end, a rain of darts shot toward him. They peppered the sand around him.
A sharp sting struck his upper thigh, but he ignored the pain and ran faster.
Hyck reappeared and tossed an ax to each of the twin brothers. They caught the hafts in midair and ran forward. Behind them, Glace dashed out of the raft’s hold, sword in hand, and sped past the brothers. She was lithe on her feet, a blur of black leather, appearing to fly across the sands without disturbing a grain.
