Page 55 of The Cradle of Ice
Rami lifted one hand. “Back in Hálendii, you used your idle time to become a skilled hunter. Whereas my interests here went beyond knife throwing.” He wiggled his fingers. “One of my Chaaen descends from generations of thieves. After some training and diligent practice, my trespasses now go unheeded. In fact, there are few locks I can’t tickle open.”
At this last boast, Rami’s gaze settled upon Kanthe with the slightest of smiles.
“Can you teach me how to do that?” Kanthe asked, envious of such a skill.
“I can teach you many things.” An eyebrow arched. “But as much as that would give me great pleasure, let’s return to the question at hand. What can we do to stop this moonfall if it’s to truly happen?”
Kanthe weighed whether to let go of one last secret, but he had committed himself to this path. No reason to stray from it now. He leaned closer. “There’s something important, nearly miraculous. It may be hidden in the southern reaches of your lands, an ancient artifact that could help shed further light on this threat.”
“What artifact?”
“A Sleeper from before the Forsaken Ages.”
Rami’s face pinched with confusion. “What are you—”
A clanging of gongs cut him off. It started abruptly, rising and echoing beyond the balcony. Then, moments later, even louder, coming from within the citadel itself.
Rami stood up, tossing his pipe aside.
Kanthe rose with him. “What is it?”
Rami searched all around. “The Imperial Tocsin.” His gaze settled back on Kanthe. “The palace is under attack.”
Kanthe swallowed and stared beyond the balcony rail. By now, the imperial warships he had noted in the skies had sailed out of sight. He heard no explosions, no telltale trails of smoke. Kanthe struggled to understand.
Has my father grown so bold that he would assault the emperor’s citadel? Or is it another attack by the Shayn’ra, the Fist of God?
A sudden pounding on the chamber door inside drew their attention around.
After a stunned moment, Rami rushed across the balcony, waving for Kanthe to follow. “That should be the royal Paladins to whisk us to safety.”
Kanthe ran after the prince. “If we’re under attack, I must get back to Frell.”
“Your alchymist will be attended, I promise you.”
Rami reached the door and yelled through it, “Ka ryelyn wu!” And likely for Kanthe’s benefit: “Announce yourself!”
A muffled response followed. Kanthe knew enough Klashean to understand. “It is High Guardsman Typhn! With Chaaen Loryn.”
Rami nodded, glancing back to Kanthe as he unlatched the door. “The Paladins, like I said.”
As Rami pulled the door open, a cadre of figures in light armor and chain mail veils shoved inside. Their surcoats were emblazoned with the Klashean Arms: a pair of crossed gold swords against a black background.
Rami backed away, making room for them. “We’re both safe,” he assured the lead guardsmen.
Kanthe grabbed his friend and drew him farther away, knowing that was not true. From his vantage, he had spotted something undeniably wrong. Out in the hall. A figure cloaked in a byor-ga robe stood next to the tall, gaunt frame of Loryn. A blade was held at the Chaaen’s throat.
What’s happening?
Before Kanthe or Rami could react further, the swordsmen swept forward and forced them apart. The robed stranger pushed Loryn into the room and passed the Chaaen to Rami. Blades circled them all.
The cloaked man sheathed his dagger and removed the byor-ga headgear. Kanthe expected to see dark features with eyes striped in white. But it was not the leader of the Shayn’ra. The intruder remained a stranger, someone not of these lands. The man’s pale features were sunburned, his hair a shambled mop of graying blond hair. His green eyes swept the room, then settled on Kanthe.
“We must go,” he commanded. “Now.”
Kanthe stood his ground and forced his voice into some semblance of princely indignation. “Was it King Toranth who hired you brigands?” he asked sourly. “If so, we can pay twice the head price, if not more.”
The stranger laughed. “Do you truly think simple brigands could pierce the citadel of Imri-Ka?”
