Page 58 of The Cradle of Ice
Pratik searched for them. The mutilated chorus must have collected itself after Pratik’s attack, climbing from their lair, likely commanded by Zeng ri Perrin. While a single bridle-singer might not be gifted enough to fully enslave a man, when combined and working in harmony, such a chorus could immobilize, trap its prey in a web of song.
At least long enough for us to be captured or killed.
Unfortunately, Pratik and Frell were not the only ones to hear the infernal chorus.
The noise sent the nesting bats into a panicked maelstrom of wings and screeches. The horde descended in a thrashing storm. Tiny bodies dove down, slamming into shelves, striking Pratik and Frell. Tiny claws tore at their clothing, at skin, and tangled in their hair.
The two of them dropped low, slapping and swatting to keep themselves from the worst as the singing grew louder. Pratik pictured the Venin closing upon them through the darkness, a cabal sculpted into vile effigies of the tiny creatures that assaulted them.
Pratik ripped a bat from his cowl.
Maybe they’re even controlling these beasts, like some despoiled version of the Shadow Queen they worship.
But that was not the only threat.
Swords began to beat on shields. Savage barking echoed to either side. The glow of lanterns and torches grew brighter with every breath.
“What do we do?” Frell asked again.
Pratik answered with the hard truth. “I don’t know.”
* * *
KANTHE FOLLOWED THEIR escort of guards, whose surcoats shone with the Klashean Arms. Another pair trailed behind them.
He gasped to keep up, trying to catch his breath, but not because he was winded. Terror kept him moving, numbing his legs from the exertion. Instead, he tugged at the heavy drape of cloth over his face. Each inhalation sucked the fabric to his lips, trying to suffocate him.
Rami pulled his hand down. “Don’t. Baseborn never try to remove their headgear.”
Kanthe cursed and let his arm drop.
Before they had left Rami’s chambers, Symon had ordered Kanthe to pull a set of byor-ga robes over his own clothes. Similarly, Rami had shed his loose robe with no hint of modesty and cloaked his nakedness in the same habiliment. Both Symon and Chaaen Loryn were already clothed, so they only needed to don headgear to hide their features.
The disguised group swept through the vastness of the citadel. Few gave them more than a second glance. Then again, most of the hallways had already emptied out. With the gongs clanging, the entire palace had seemingly retreated to their respective strongholds.
“Where are we going?” Kanthe finally asked.
“If you can’t speak Klashean,” Symon warned softly, “best keep silent or you’ll draw suspicion.”
Kanthe stared around at the empty corridor. “From whom?”
By now, they had reached a section of the palace that looked abandoned long ago. Untrampled dust covered the floor, cobwebs draped from the rafters. Even the dark lanterns hanging on rusty hooks looked as if they’d not been used in ages.
Kanthe remembered a similar dereliction out in the city.
Apparently, that corrupting rot has crept into the palace.
Rami’s feet slowed. Though his face was covered, his head swiveled back and forth. He was clearly taking it all in. He even stumbled a step, as if caught off guard by it all. Kanthe suspected Rami was not aware such places existed inside the sprawling edifice. Then again, the citadel was spread across a hundred towers and a quarter as many levels. As prince of the realm, Rami was likely directed away from such spaces.
They continued in silence, wending down gloomy passageways and up dark staircases. Vermin scattered from the glow of their single lantern.
By now, Kanthe was thoroughly lost.
Maybe Rami, too.
Finally, a door burst open ahead of them. Though it was near to midnight, with the winter sun hovering low, the brightness still stung.
“This way,” Symon said, hurrying with their escorts.
