Page 48 of The Cradle of Ice
It took those conditions to convince Nyx to leave Bashaliia’s side, but Graylin did not want her out of his reach.
Not in these strange lands.
The plan was to enter the village with a small party, to make their introduction less intimidating. In addition to Nyx, Jace and Fenn would come with Graylin. Still, despite his desire not to appear threatening, he intended to protect Nyx.
Jace had slung his double-headed ax over his shoulders. It was a formidable weapon, forged of Guld’guhlian steel, shafted in unbreakable stonehart. The young scholar had become quite deft with it after months of training aboard the Sparrowhawk.
Likewise, Fenn carried a pair of Bhestyan half-swords at his hip. Though he might be a ship’s navigator, no one aboard a pirate’s vessel wasn’t ready to fight. And the lad had trained with Darant, a swordmaster like no other. Even Graylin had honed his skills by sparring with the captain.
Daal had also sworn to help shield Nyx, while his sister, Henna, promised to hold Nyx’s hand, to further demonstrate their lack of menace. Not that it required any oath-taking on Henna’s part. She hovered around Nyx like a bee to a honeyclot.
Graylin had prepped one last safeguard. He had left Darant’s daughter Brayl back at the sailraft. She had been tasked to ready the small ship, to strip the raft to its essentials, lightening it enough for the reserves of flashburn to be sufficient for one short flight—certainly not out of the Crèche, but hopefully to safety. If necessary, he’d hold the entire village at bay to give Nyx a chance to reach the sailraft.
A scuffing of sand drew Graylin’s attention around. Nyx approached with Jace, but she kept glancing back toward the covey of boulders.
Graylin crossed down the rise to meet her. “Are you ready?”
She nodded, but it looked unconvincing.
Henna dashed forward, all but shoving Graylin aside, and took Nyx’s hand. The girl dragged her forward. “Kee won.”
The child’s bubbling enthusiasm drew a smile from Nyx. “All right,” she said. “How can I refuse such a determined invitation?”
Graylin studied their small party, taking measure of each. He’d have preferred to enter the village with a king’s legions, but this group would have to suffice. He turned around and led them up the rocky rise.
As he scaled the slope, the world grew strangely darker. Graylin rubbed his eyes, believing something hindered his vision. But from the others’ slowing feet and squinting gazes, they also suffered the same.
Except for Daal, who had continued onward, then stopped.
He frowned back at them. “What amiss?”
Fenn pointed upward. “Look.”
Graylin craned his neck. The radiant shine glowing through the fog had dimmed, as if smothered by a thickening fog. The emerald and reddish hues had faded away, leaving only shimmering swaths of blue that looked like a spangle of stars in a night sky.
Daal followed their gazes, clearly baffled by their confusion. “It be eventide.”
Jace gaped upward and offered an explanation. “The luminous lichen and molds … they must dim on a regular basis, some natural tide phased to the turn of a day.”
“Eventide,” Daal concurred.
Fenn smiled in wonder. “Amazing. Maybe these clans use those lights to help navigate their world like we do with the sun and moon.”
“We can explore such mysteries later.” Graylin pointed ahead. “Keep going.”
As they crested the rise, the village glowed in the darkness, its hundreds of flames shining brighter down below. Daal had told them his town was named Iskar, which simply meant Hook. There were another dozen or so villages spread along the coastline, covering the span of the giant rift that split the Ice Shield. One town even sat on an island out there. This entire world of steam and sea went by the name of the Crèche.
Daal set a faster pace. A ringing of stone bells broke out, echoing across the sand, accompanied by cheering. Music ramped up, bright and joyful. A large central plaza near the water’s edge flared even brighter as a ring of bonfires ignited.
“Krystnell starts,” Daal explained, and guided them away from the sea. “Home this way.”
He aimed for the darkest corner of this convoluted shell, where only a scatter of lanterns glowed. The plan was to take them to Daal’s family, his mother and father. To make landfall there first. If they couldn’t convince the young man’s family of their group’s best intentions, then any hope of gaining the village’s trust was doomed to fail.
Plus, Daal had assured them his mother was far more fluent with the Noorish tongue, as he put it. Graylin’s group would need a skillful translator if they hoped to gain the cooperation of the townspeople.
They finally reached the outer edge of the village of Iskar, where a few homes had crumbled into a rubble of sand and rock, as if the magick that had sustained them had given out. Though, more likely, it was from mere neglect and the passing of time.
Daal rushed them down dusty, narrow streets, taking one turn, then another. They passed dark homes, all low-roofed and hunched. A few had candles burning inside, which gleamed through tiny windows, so crude they were barely translucent. Still, the light cast the glass into the pearlescent glow of a clam’s lining.
