Page 7 of The Cradle of Ice
Rhaif leaned against the door, making sure they weren’t interrupted. Or maybe he was simply resting his back. The knees of his leggings were stained black. He reeked of smoke and burnt oil. His fiery hair, grown lanky and long during the voyage, lay plastered with sweat after helping with the wrecked forge.
“A traitor with us,” Rhaif spat sourly. “As if we don’t have enough trouble.”
“Live long enough, and you learn life is nothing but trouble,” Darant commented. “Still, the alternative is worse. So best get your joy where and when you can.”
Graylin frowned over at the man. “You’re taking this revelation of a saboteur in our midst in fair stride.”
“I’m a brigand. For me, betrayal and duplicity are as common a commodity as coin and sword.” Darant leaned his fists on the table, his eyes flashing with fire. “But don’t get me wrong, I’ll flay whoever damaged the Hawk. That I’ll not abide.”
The final member of the gathering cleared his throat. Alchymist Krysh was bent over the pinned map with his head cocked to the side, but his thoughts were more likely on the new threat. He glanced up, revealing sharp gray eyes.
“We must consider the possibility that the saboteur might not be aboard the swyftship,” he said, straightening to his full height.
Krysh’s complexion was burnished copper, like a sunburn that never faded. His long black hair was tied into an oiled braid, a match to the dark robe of his order. But he was also no frail scholar. He stood a handsbreadth taller than Graylin, and though into his fifth decade, he kept his body well muscled. And no wonder. The man had grown up among the rugged ranchlands of Aglerolarpok, which notoriously hardened its people into leather and bone. Beyond that, Graylin had learned only an abbreviated version of the man’s history, but Frell insisted Krysh could be trusted.
Despite that reassurance, Graylin’s suspicions jangled through him, stoked by the sabotage.
How much do we really know about him?
Rhaif pushed off the door and stood straighter, one brow raised quizzically at the alchymist’s statement. “Krysh, the saboteur must be aboard the Sparrowhawk. Someone had to plant that stykler, yes?”
Krysh nodded. “Certainly. But a stykler is uniquely designed. It can be packed with a smolder fuse, a cord wound tightly inside and coated in insulating amalgam. Such fuses could be lit and take up to a year to finally reach the bomb’s combustible core.”
Darant’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying someone could’ve planted it aboard my ship before we left the Crown?”
“It’s possible. At least something we should consider. The saboteur could have set a long fuse, wanting us to travel far across the Shield before it blew.”
“Stranding us,” Graylin muttered.
Darant rubbed his chin. “Krysh could be right. Back at my camp, our preparations for this voyage dragged on. Word could’ve reached the wrong ears. I know all too well how any trust can be broken under the weight of enough gold.”
Rhaif looked little convinced and waved at the pirate. “But according to your daughter, the other two forges were not tampered with.”
“Aye,” Darant agreed. “Brayl wouldn’t have missed anything. She’s got sharper eyes than any eagle. And with my two daughters now guarding those forges, they’ll remain untouched.”
Graylin understood the thrust of Rhaif’s inquiry. “If the stykler was hidden before we launched, why cripple only the portside maneuvering forges? Why not take out all three? Then we’d be stranded for sure.”
“Maybe they wanted to keep us from reaching our destination but not kill us outright,” Krysh offered.
Rhaif huffed. “So a saboteur with a conscience.”
Krysh shrugged. “Or maybe the intent was to force us to limp back. Where we’d be captured and interrogated once we returned to the Crown. Whoever is trying to thwart us might not know our goal, and if we died out here, that knowledge would be lost.”
Darant stood stiffer. “All the more reason we keep going, I say.”
Krysh looked across the group. “Before we make that decision and despite my angle of inquiry, I must caution that I do believe the saboteur is still aboard the Sparrowhawk. As much as we all might wish otherwise.”
“Why?” Graylin asked.
“The most likely scenario—which is usually the right one—is that the traitor damaged only the portside forge because he wouldn’t want to die by his own actions. Gold seldom buys martyrdom.”
“True,” Darant said.
Krysh continued, “I also find it significant that the saboteur waited until we were faced with crossing the Dragoncryst before making his move. He probably thought crippling us now, with such rough winds ahead, would surely drive us back.”
Graylin nodded at the alchymist’s logic. It seemed Frell had chosen well in picking this man. “If you’re right, how do we root this traitor out?”
“We don’t,” Darant answered.
