Page 70 of The Cradle of Ice
Atop rooftops, archers swept the skies with fiery volleys of arrows.
Graylin clutched Heartsthorn in his grip, wanting to join the fray and search for Nyx. But he knew he would not make it more than a few steps before falling prey to the malevolent keening of the raash’ke.
He was not the only one frustrated.
“Nyx must be out there somewhere,” Jace said at his shoulder. The young scholar clutched his ax in both hands, looking ready to charge out the door.
Fenn, armed with his two half-swords, flanked Jace’s other side.
Graylin peered past them into the low-roofed chamber. The Reef Farer and his family crowded near the far wall, guarded over by a pair of men. Earlier, as the raash’ke had attacked, Graylin had wrested Heartsthorn from Berent’s numb hands. Graylin’s neck still bled from where the man had threatened him.
It was lucky Graylin had gotten hold of his blade. Before the dais could be evacuated, a massive bat had struck the stage, crashing through thrones and chairs. A wing knocked one of the Reef Farer’s uncles down to the plaza below. Before more could be harmed, Graylin had dashed forward, coming between Berent’s consort and the monster. He speared the beast through the eye, scraping bone to reach its black brain. The bat screamed and flopped away, wings thrashing wildly, until it tumbled off the platform.
Graylin had scooped up Ularia and run with the others down the steps. A handful of guardsmen surrounded them, shielding the Reef Farer and his family.
At the bottom of the stairs, Jace and Fenn rushed over. Both looked like drowned dogs, sodden and dripping. Jace bled from a deep gouge on his forehead. Fenn limped, wincing with every step. Jace stammered out his panic: Nyx had vanished during the surge from the sea.
They had no time to search. Bridle-song had everyone staggering. Graylin could hardly think, his vision blurring. The guardsmen herded them over to a narrow archway off the plaza and down four steps into this dark chamber. Once inside, the miasma slowly lifted. The stone-roofed chamber proved to be a port in this storm. They had no choice but to weather it out in here, impotent and frustrated.
A shattering boom drew Graylin’s attention back out. The sound rolled from the sea and echoed off the plaza walls. Graylin leaned farther out, enough that he again felt the frisson of that awful keening.
Out on the water, the Sparrowhawk foundered, listing to one side, likely half flooded due to the rent in the hull from the saboteur’s bomb. Still, Darant refused to forsake his ship. From atop the forecastle and middeck, the brigand and his remaining crew fired crossbows. Smoke rose from one of the deck cannons. Another blasted with a swirl of fire. A bat was struck, knocked far, before tumbling into the sea.
With the horde’s attack focused on the village, the Sparrowhawk had been spared enough to rally a defense.
But that would not last.
Graylin drew back into the room, his senses frazzled by the brief brush with that keening outside. He leaned a hand on the wall, waiting for his head to clear.
“What is it about this chamber that protects us?” he mumbled.
The answer came from his other side. Daal’s mother and father stood vigil in here, too. Meryk’s face was a mask of fear. He clutched his wife under one arm. The two had been drawn in here with them.
“Mag’nees,” Meryk said. He touched a black rock imbedded in the sandstone wall. Thousands of the same dotted the space, including the ceiling.
Floraan translated. “You call it lodestone.”
Jace gasped in surprise, reaching to the wall on his side. “Such rocks have properties that attract iron, that can align compasses to the Urth’s energies. Whatever emanates from those stones must cast a protective pall through this space.”
Floraan cupped an ear. “Seashells packed with ground lodestone do the same. Though, the cry of the raash’ke still hurts.”
Graylin glanced out to a guardsman running past, flinging a spear, then vanishing out of sight. His leather helm had bulged at the ears.
Meryk frowned. “Over the centuries, we’ve mined all the mag’nees we can find. There is no more.”
Floraan nodded. “Each village only has a few such shelters. Even the number of protective helms is limited. Though, most times it is enough.”
Meryk waved toward the cold cliffs. “Our people cut stairs into the ice that lead up. We haul fresh carcasses from the sea and leave them up top for the raash’ke.”
Fenn winced. “You feed those monsters?”
“To keep them from feeding on us,” Meryk explained.
Floraan sighed. “Occasionally, a few will fly down and grab the unwary. Either for fresh blood or simply for sport. We do what we can, but we remain mostly at the harsh mercy of the raash’ke.”
Graylin stared out at the ruins of the plaza, the foundering ship.
Until we stumbled down here and dragged an entire horde with us.
