Page 67 of The Cradle of Ice
Wryth stared at the glowing yellow blip.
“This may be our best chance to reach them,” he whispered hopefully.
He wished he had a way to communicate with the fleet, to share this knowledge. Before leaving, Skerren had devised a clever method to share information, but it was one-way. The fleet could blink their signaling instrument in a code that could be detected here and deciphered. Skerren had already sent back messages, but they were of no significance or import, mostly just mundane updates.
But now …
Wryth stared at the two blips, growing inexorably closer.
I should be out there.
Initially, he had considered leading the fleet, but Skerren was the expert on tracking that signal. If anything went awry, he was the best one to address any problems.
Plus, Wryth was needed here in Hálendii. With war inevitable, he needed to be close by. Confounding matters, there remained the problem of Prince Kanthe. Mikaen’s twin brother must have washed ashore in the Southern Klashe for a reason.
Some other plot is surely afoot.
Still, Wryth could not look away from the sphere. He glared at the glowing blip in the Frozen Wastes. One quandary above all dominated his thoughts.
What is happening out there?
SEVEN
A STORM OF WINGS
Gard well, peer close, but abandon alle hope
For everi moment is an ambush.
—A couplet from the tragedy King Tychan’s Folly
31
SPRAWLED ON HER back in the sand, Nyx coughed and gasped. Soaked and dizzy, she fought to her feet. Scores of others moaned and picked themselves up from the street as water sluiced away, returning to the sea.
Moments ago, she had caught a glimpse of the Sparrowhawk plummeting out of the mists, riding atop a whirlwind of fire. Standing at the foot of the dais, she had heard its booming crash into the sea. She’d dashed forward to get a better look, only to meet a wall of seawater rushing toward her. The surge carried a tangle of people, a tumbling hide drum. It struck her before she could even turn. The tide spun and cartwheeled her into a confounding blur.
Frantic limbs struck her.
Hands clawed at her.
Salt water burst through her nostrils.
She couldn’t stop from being flooded out of the plaza and up a side street. After a seemingly endless time, the surge finally receded. It had tried to drag her back with it, but she had dug her toes into the wet sand to hold herself in place.
On her feet now, she searched for the others, spinning a full circle. The motion set her head to pounding. Her vision squeezed to a tight knot. Everything sounded muffled, even the nearby cries. She squinted at the surrounding faces, but they were all strangers.
Where is everybody?
She added her own voice to the chorus of pain and panic. “Jace! Fenn!”
The two had been at her side before the flood.
She scanned the roil of people and hollered again, but she could hardly hear her own voice. Especially as the cacophony suddenly escalated with renewed screams, full of terror. The flow of the wounded and half drowned had been aiming for the plaza, calling for help, for loved ones—only now that tide reversed. People began running in the other direction, knocking her aside.
She flattened against a wall.
What is happening?
