The Starless Crown, page 57
Wryth hoped Mikaen was safely aboard that skiff. The Iflelen had expended considerable effort to forge the prince into a useful tool. It would be a waste to lose him now.
The pilotman glanced over to Brask. “Do we turn and join the fray?”
“No, we’re not as nimble as the skiff. By the time we turn the Pywll, it’ll be over. Besides…” He waved farther off to port through the windows. “It looks like our help will not be needed.”
Wryth crossed to that side, widening his view to port.
Behind them, the towering mass of a billowing balloon coursed in their wake. Haddan had rallied the Tytan and now fired all its forges to follow. It was impressive how quickly the liege general had gotten his forces moving, especially with half of the warship’s gasbag ripped open to the sky. Its puckered edges flapped as it ran low over the clouds. Still, the earlier repairs had allowed the Tytan to rise high enough to lift the boat clear of the treetops—if not the mists. Below the balloon, the ship was dragged through the clouds, its foggy wake glowing with the fires of its forges.
Another brief glimpse of the gray balloon rose into view, then the sharper edge of the hunterskiff’s gasbag. Both dove away again. Still, the trajectory of this pursuit was clear. The skiff was driving its prey straight toward the Tytan.
Trusting this matter to take care of itself, Wryth returned with Brask to the ship’s wheel. The commander had clearly come to the same conclusion. They both faced the cliffs ahead.
“Ready for all stop!” Brask bellowed to the forecastle’s crew. “Bring us to halt at the edge of those cliffs.” The commander pointed to a man stationed by a calling tube. “Order all skiffs and rafts loaded below and be ready to drop.”
Wryth watched the rampart rising ahead of them.
So close now …
He glanced down to the orb still in his hand. The handful of lodestone slivers still in place shivered on their pins. All pointing forward.
“I’m picking up a signal,” Wryth warned. He stepped closer to Brask. “Coming from ahead of us.”
Wryth rolled the orb, careful of the oil leaking from its crack. He sought to get a firmer bearing. He tilted it toward the base of the cliffs, only to have the lodestones lose their firm fix.
No …
His heart pounded harder. As he rotated the orb the other way and tilted the lodestones upward, the slivers firmed their alignment.
Trepidation set in.
Brask must have noted his stiffening. “What’s wrong? Has it moved?”
“No. It’s still due east. But it’s not rising from below.” He stared at the dark clouds churning atop the cliffs. “It’s coming from the Shrouds.”
“Are you sure?”
Wryth held his breath and rolled the orb back and forth again. He slowly nodded. “The artifact is definitely up above.”
The commander frowned. “What about Mikaen? Were we not to look for the prince, too?”
Wryth shook his head. “We don’t know if Mikaen is down at the cliffs. More likely he’s already aboard that hunterskiff.” He glanced over his shoulder to the far edge of the curved windows. “Either way, the Tytan can certainly deal with Mikaen’s safe return.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
Wryth lifted the orb. “We head to the Shrouds. Secure that artifact for the good of the kingdom.”
And my own.
He tightened a fist. For any hope of achieving his ultimate ambition—to rise to a potency beyond that of any king or emperor—it meant supporting Hálendii, of doing his best to guide events from behind the throne. For better or worse, his fate was tied to the kingdom.
At least, for now.
* * *
GRAYLIN CRINGED BACK as another fiery blast lit up the clouds behind the sailraft. The flare was close enough to sting his eyes. He hung from a leather strap near the open stern door. In fact, Darant had the entire hatch removed to aid in rolling firebombs out the back.
The pirate shouted from the front, “That one nearly went straight up our arse! But that’s the plan, right?”
At the bow, Darant leaned over his daughter. Glace manned the raft’s wheel and pedals, expertly driving them through the mists.
No, this wasn’t exactly the plan.
Back on the Sparrowhawk, they had spied through Hyck’s farscope as a hunterskiff swept toward the cliffs. Clearly the legion had spotted the same puff of smoke that had drawn the Sparrowhawk. Unfortunately, the other craft had arrived at the cliffs ahead of them. Graylin and Darant had to quickly revise their plan to rescue whoever sent that signal.
Graylin stared at their sailraft’s empty hold. Two more firebombs were strapped to the insides of the hull. It was all that the Sparrowhawk could spare. A moment ago, their firebombing had achieved the intended goal of luring off the hunterskiff. The hope was to open up a clear run behind them for the Sparrowhawk to sweep in low by the cliffs and pick up the others. At the time, Graylin had been counting on most of the legion’s forces either to be in that attack ship or to be called back to it.
Not running across the ground in pursuit of a young prince.
When the sailraft had dropped out of the clouds, Graylin had spotted the legion’s forces spread out before a nest of stone homes. Halfway between the cliffs and the legion’s line, two knights held a figure down on his knees.
Prince Kanthe.
At that moment, Graylin had been relieved to have his suspicions confirmed that the waft of blue smoke had come from Nyx and the others. He and Darant had quickly dropped two firebombs, half their load, to free the prince and scatter the legion. Then the hunterskiff had fired back at them, sending them running.
Before they had vanished into the clouds, he had caught sight of the attack craft rising in pursuit—but he’d also watched the legion chasing after Kanthe.
Unfortunately, the sailraft couldn’t head back to help, not with this shark on their tail. As a reminder, another burst of fire exploded close enough to waft smoke into the hold.
Glace called from the wheel, “I’m almost out of flashburn!”
So, definitely can’t go back.
From here, it was all up to the Sparrowhawk. The swyftship still had a few firebombs left, hopefully enough to blast a path and chase off the legion long enough to collect the others.
Graylin knew the odds of a successful rescue were long, nearly impossible.
Have I failed Marayn’s daughter yet again?
The only part of their plan that had succeeded was in drawing off the hunterskiff. There was no way for the Sparrowhawk to rescue the others with a shark guarding there.
Graylin took the smallest bit of consolation in this fact.
Glace suddenly hove the raft on its side, throwing the boat high—and just in time. A huge spear shot through the mists from behind, grazing a path under their keel. Boards shattered below, shaking the entire craft. The impact knocked them clear of the mists and back into the open sky.
Graylin swung on his leather loop, staring out the stern. The hunterskiff burst from the clouds behind them, far closer than he suspected. Its balloon shot high, hauling the lethal boat into view, exposing the length of its keel.
Instead of diving back down at them, the hunterskiff swung full around, firing its forges, coming close to igniting the sailraft’s balloon. Then the attack ship sped away and aimed straight for the cliffs.
Graylin’s legs settled to the floor as Glace evened their flight.
He frowned at the departing hunterskiff.
Why is it leaving? What could be drawing it back so swiftly?
Off by the cliffs, he saw a massive warship cresting over the edge and setting out across the Shrouds. He didn’t understand where it was going, but he feared it would circle back like the hunterskiff.
“Graylin!” Darant shouted with alarm.
He turned to face the bow. Directly ahead, a huge balloon—billowing and puckering—filled the world as it swept toward them. He now understood why the hunterskiff had fled.
It was no longer needed.
* * *
KANTHE LED THE others through the dark. They had retreated into the maze of tunnels that delved into the cliffs behind the homes. Jace ran with their shaded lamp. It was slivered open enough to light their way. The journeyman’s sweating face was a lamp unto itself, reflecting the meager light, shining with the man’s terror.
All around, booming shouts echoed from every direction. Flickers of torchlight drove them back and forth, even up a level. All this time, they fought not to get pinned down in any blind caves. Kanthe remembered Pratik’s warning about them being burned out of such a hole. Their only chance was to keep moving.
Kanthe held out one hope. He pictured the sailraft freeing him. It had to come from the Sparrowhawk, which meant that the swyftship had to be nearby. If that was true, his group needed to stay alive long enough for a rescue.
But doing so was becoming more and more difficult.
A scream rose behind them.
A glance back showed Llyra crouched low, her arm pointing back. A figure stumbled into their tiny pool of light and sprawled headlong with a blade through his throat.
Llyra dashed back to the body and yanked her knife out. “Keep moving,” she hissed to them.
Kanthe had an arrow loosely fixed to his bowstring. Shortly after diving into these tunnels, he quickly grew to regret his choice of weaponry in such tight quarters, especially in the dark. He kept scraping the top of his bow on the low roof or striking a wall with his elbow. He had already accidentally let loose a couple of arrows, sending them skittering off into the dark.
He now followed Seyrl’s example. The Kethra’kai scout shuffled sideways. He had an arrow nocked but held off pulling the string. Seyrl had demonstrated how swiftly he could snap off an arrow when a target appeared. Luckily, the knights who hunted them came with torches and lamps, making them easy to spot. The scout had dropped two men on his own. Kanthe believed he might have grazed one himself.
Still, he wasn’t fooled. They could not stay ahead of this pursuit much longer.
Kanthe guided them down the curve of a narrow passage. As he rounded its bend, a wan light brightened ahead, suggesting they were nearing a section where the caves exited back into the cliffside homes. They had ascended a stairway a moment ago to reach this second level. If the Sparrowhawk appeared, they should be able to leap down and race toward it.
Until then, they needed to keep to the dark.
He reached a cross tunnel and aimed his group around a corner, leaving that wan light behind them. As he got them moving along the dark passageway, flames flared ahead of them, revealing a clutch of knights hiding in ambush.
Mikaen rose from near the shoulder of a Vyrllian Guard. “Dear brother.”
Another two knights knelt in front of them, crouched behind a raised shield.
Seyrl snapped off an arrow, only to have it rebound off the shield. The other knight fired a crossbow. The Kethra’kai fell back, a feathered dart in his eye.
Kanthe had already raised a smoldering taper to the trimmed fuse on his arrow’s egg. As Seyrl fell, Kanthe drew and fired. His shot was no more successful than the tribesman’s. The knight’s shield blocked the bolt—only to have the egg explode against the steel with a huge blast of blue smoke.
As the ambushers coughed and choked, a wall of smoke burst down the passageway, sweeping over Kanthe. He pushed everyone back to the curved tunnel.
But which way to go?
The answer came with a mighty roar of flashburn forges. The rumbling rose to his left, echoing from where the wan light illuminated the curved passage.
The Sparrowhawk …
He shoved everyone that way, but he grabbed Jace’s lamp and ripped away its leather shade. The flame blazed brighter.
Jace cringed from the brightness. “What’re you—?”
“Make for the Hawk,” he said with a shove. “I’m going to lure my brother off.”
Kanthe backed the opposite way. He knew Jace and the others would need every moment to make that rendezvous, which meant keeping the bulk of the legion inside the caves.
“I’ll circle around,” Kanthe promised. “I’ll meet you there.”
They hesitated—or at least Jace did. But Llyra grabbed the journeyman and dragged him away, herding Pratik ahead of her.
Once they left, Kanthe hung at the crossroads long enough for the smoke to dissipate slightly. The flames of his brother’s ambush site reappeared out of the gloom.
Which means they can see my lamp.
He waited for a shout to arise from over there, then took off to the right, away from Jace and the others. As he ran, he kept his lamp glowing, bouncing against his thigh. He had to make sure to draw his brother this way. Fresh shouts rose behind him.
Good enough.
He shook the leather flap back over the lamp, reducing its illumination to a sliver.
Still, it left him blind for several steps. Failing to slow down, he slammed into a sharp corner. Wood snapped, and his bow came apart in his grip.
He tossed the ruins aside, raised his lamp, and set off again.
He ran wildly, avoiding any glows ahead, chased by shouts behind. Then a familiar roaring grew ahead of him, along with a brighter light.
Thank the gods for smiling upon me …
He aimed for the brighter cross tunnel and took it. Ahead, an arched frame of light marked an exit. He sprinted for it as the world roared outside. Nearing the arch, he saw the tunnel didn’t dump into one of the stone homes, but atop a flat roof of the abode below. He didn’t care. The homes were squat enough that it would be an easy leap to the ground.
He swept over the threshold and skidded across the sandy stone roof. To his left rose the cliff face. Directly ahead stood the featureless side of a neighboring home. He turned to the right, which faced the misty forest—and ran for the roof’s edge, ready to leap below.
As he neared it, he spotted a ship wreathed in smoke out front.
He skidded again, nearly toppling over the roof’s edge.
It wasn’t the Sparrowhawk.
The hunterskiff hung out there, the rudder of its forges glowing red hot.
He glanced down. The slide of his stop had rained pebbles and sand below, alerting a huge Gyn, who craned his craggy face up at Kanthe. The iron-helmed giant hefted his ax higher, inviting him to hop down.
Another time …
Kanthe swung around—in time to see Mikaen stalk from the tunnel and out onto the roof. His armor shone brightly in the misty sunlight. The hulking form of a vy-knight followed close behind.
Kanthe backed a step, his heel slipping at the roof’s edge.
At that moment, he recognized his mistake.
The gods were not smiling on me after all.
Instead, they were laughing their arses off.
56
WRYTH POINTED TO the dark clouds sweeping under the keel of the Pywll. He held Skerren’s orb in his other hand. He had ordered the warship to sweep twice around the area. With the orb’s lodestones, he had been testing the winds blowing from down below.
“That’s definitely where the signal arises,” Wryth attested. “Here at the center of the Shrouds. Down below should be the Northern Henge.”
The commander scowled at the location. A storm raged under them, brightening the clouds in flashes. No thunder accompanied those crackling bolts, but the threat was plain to all. Worried glances spread across the forecastle.
Brask shook his head. “I can’t lower the Pywll through a storm that fierce, riven through with lightning. If the gasbag were struck enough times…”
Wryth pictured the balloon bursting into flame and crashing into the jungles. Still, he refused to be thwarted by bad weather.
Not when I’m this close.
Wryth turned to the commander. “The Pywll is tall. Can you lower the bulk of the boat through the clouds but still keep the balloon above the storm?”
Brask winced at such a thought.
“What about dropping just the keel of the Pywll through,” Wryth pressed. “Along with its lowermost levels.”
Brask plainly pictured what Wryth envisioned. “You want us to drop the ship enough to breach our keel-holds through the clouds?”
“That’s where the warship secures most of its rafts and skiffs. Those smaller crafts should be able to shoot out under the clouds, drop swiftly, and secure the entire area below.”
Brask rubbed his chin and slowly nodded. He glanced at his crew, his eyes brightening with the challenge. “We can do that.”
Wryth exhaled in relief.
Brask clapped him on the shoulder. “For a Shrive, you’re not a bad tactician.”
Wryth accepted the weak compliment. He turned away and headed across the forecastle.
“Where are you going?” Brask called over to him.
“Down,” Wryth said. “To join the forces heading to the Shrouds.”
Brask started to follow, as if to object, then simply waved Wryth off. Despite his praise a moment ago, the commander plainly wanted Wryth out of his forecastle and off his ship.
Wryth wouldn’t have let the man stop him anyway.
If the ancient bronze artifact was below, he intended to secure it himself. But he also remembered seeing Kanthe fleeing with the weapon back in Havensfayre.
Knowing that, Wryth intended to be prepared.
If the prince was down there …
So was another.
* * *
NYX DREW WITH the others around the glass table. The ruins of the Urth shimmered before them. She stared at the blasted landscape of broken lands, boiled seas, and a sky roiling with storms. No life could survive that.
Again, she heard the rising screams from the fiery mountaintop, the clash of war machines, then a moon crashing into the Urth. But what she remembered most from her dream was the resounding silence at the end, the stillness of an ancient grave.
“And you say we cannot stop this from happening?” Frell asked again.
Shiya motioned them all closer. “To understand, you must see.”
Her bronze hand swept over the cube glowing in her other palm. Before them, time started to run backward. As they watched, the world re-formed before them: seas returned, broken coastlines knit together, and the Crown forged itself anew. At the end, the moon rose from its crater and flew back into orbit, circling around them once again.
The pilotman glanced over to Brask. “Do we turn and join the fray?”
“No, we’re not as nimble as the skiff. By the time we turn the Pywll, it’ll be over. Besides…” He waved farther off to port through the windows. “It looks like our help will not be needed.”
Wryth crossed to that side, widening his view to port.
Behind them, the towering mass of a billowing balloon coursed in their wake. Haddan had rallied the Tytan and now fired all its forges to follow. It was impressive how quickly the liege general had gotten his forces moving, especially with half of the warship’s gasbag ripped open to the sky. Its puckered edges flapped as it ran low over the clouds. Still, the earlier repairs had allowed the Tytan to rise high enough to lift the boat clear of the treetops—if not the mists. Below the balloon, the ship was dragged through the clouds, its foggy wake glowing with the fires of its forges.
Another brief glimpse of the gray balloon rose into view, then the sharper edge of the hunterskiff’s gasbag. Both dove away again. Still, the trajectory of this pursuit was clear. The skiff was driving its prey straight toward the Tytan.
Trusting this matter to take care of itself, Wryth returned with Brask to the ship’s wheel. The commander had clearly come to the same conclusion. They both faced the cliffs ahead.
“Ready for all stop!” Brask bellowed to the forecastle’s crew. “Bring us to halt at the edge of those cliffs.” The commander pointed to a man stationed by a calling tube. “Order all skiffs and rafts loaded below and be ready to drop.”
Wryth watched the rampart rising ahead of them.
So close now …
He glanced down to the orb still in his hand. The handful of lodestone slivers still in place shivered on their pins. All pointing forward.
“I’m picking up a signal,” Wryth warned. He stepped closer to Brask. “Coming from ahead of us.”
Wryth rolled the orb, careful of the oil leaking from its crack. He sought to get a firmer bearing. He tilted it toward the base of the cliffs, only to have the lodestones lose their firm fix.
No …
His heart pounded harder. As he rotated the orb the other way and tilted the lodestones upward, the slivers firmed their alignment.
Trepidation set in.
Brask must have noted his stiffening. “What’s wrong? Has it moved?”
“No. It’s still due east. But it’s not rising from below.” He stared at the dark clouds churning atop the cliffs. “It’s coming from the Shrouds.”
“Are you sure?”
Wryth held his breath and rolled the orb back and forth again. He slowly nodded. “The artifact is definitely up above.”
The commander frowned. “What about Mikaen? Were we not to look for the prince, too?”
Wryth shook his head. “We don’t know if Mikaen is down at the cliffs. More likely he’s already aboard that hunterskiff.” He glanced over his shoulder to the far edge of the curved windows. “Either way, the Tytan can certainly deal with Mikaen’s safe return.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
Wryth lifted the orb. “We head to the Shrouds. Secure that artifact for the good of the kingdom.”
And my own.
He tightened a fist. For any hope of achieving his ultimate ambition—to rise to a potency beyond that of any king or emperor—it meant supporting Hálendii, of doing his best to guide events from behind the throne. For better or worse, his fate was tied to the kingdom.
At least, for now.
* * *
GRAYLIN CRINGED BACK as another fiery blast lit up the clouds behind the sailraft. The flare was close enough to sting his eyes. He hung from a leather strap near the open stern door. In fact, Darant had the entire hatch removed to aid in rolling firebombs out the back.
The pirate shouted from the front, “That one nearly went straight up our arse! But that’s the plan, right?”
At the bow, Darant leaned over his daughter. Glace manned the raft’s wheel and pedals, expertly driving them through the mists.
No, this wasn’t exactly the plan.
Back on the Sparrowhawk, they had spied through Hyck’s farscope as a hunterskiff swept toward the cliffs. Clearly the legion had spotted the same puff of smoke that had drawn the Sparrowhawk. Unfortunately, the other craft had arrived at the cliffs ahead of them. Graylin and Darant had to quickly revise their plan to rescue whoever sent that signal.
Graylin stared at their sailraft’s empty hold. Two more firebombs were strapped to the insides of the hull. It was all that the Sparrowhawk could spare. A moment ago, their firebombing had achieved the intended goal of luring off the hunterskiff. The hope was to open up a clear run behind them for the Sparrowhawk to sweep in low by the cliffs and pick up the others. At the time, Graylin had been counting on most of the legion’s forces either to be in that attack ship or to be called back to it.
Not running across the ground in pursuit of a young prince.
When the sailraft had dropped out of the clouds, Graylin had spotted the legion’s forces spread out before a nest of stone homes. Halfway between the cliffs and the legion’s line, two knights held a figure down on his knees.
Prince Kanthe.
At that moment, Graylin had been relieved to have his suspicions confirmed that the waft of blue smoke had come from Nyx and the others. He and Darant had quickly dropped two firebombs, half their load, to free the prince and scatter the legion. Then the hunterskiff had fired back at them, sending them running.
Before they had vanished into the clouds, he had caught sight of the attack craft rising in pursuit—but he’d also watched the legion chasing after Kanthe.
Unfortunately, the sailraft couldn’t head back to help, not with this shark on their tail. As a reminder, another burst of fire exploded close enough to waft smoke into the hold.
Glace called from the wheel, “I’m almost out of flashburn!”
So, definitely can’t go back.
From here, it was all up to the Sparrowhawk. The swyftship still had a few firebombs left, hopefully enough to blast a path and chase off the legion long enough to collect the others.
Graylin knew the odds of a successful rescue were long, nearly impossible.
Have I failed Marayn’s daughter yet again?
The only part of their plan that had succeeded was in drawing off the hunterskiff. There was no way for the Sparrowhawk to rescue the others with a shark guarding there.
Graylin took the smallest bit of consolation in this fact.
Glace suddenly hove the raft on its side, throwing the boat high—and just in time. A huge spear shot through the mists from behind, grazing a path under their keel. Boards shattered below, shaking the entire craft. The impact knocked them clear of the mists and back into the open sky.
Graylin swung on his leather loop, staring out the stern. The hunterskiff burst from the clouds behind them, far closer than he suspected. Its balloon shot high, hauling the lethal boat into view, exposing the length of its keel.
Instead of diving back down at them, the hunterskiff swung full around, firing its forges, coming close to igniting the sailraft’s balloon. Then the attack ship sped away and aimed straight for the cliffs.
Graylin’s legs settled to the floor as Glace evened their flight.
He frowned at the departing hunterskiff.
Why is it leaving? What could be drawing it back so swiftly?
Off by the cliffs, he saw a massive warship cresting over the edge and setting out across the Shrouds. He didn’t understand where it was going, but he feared it would circle back like the hunterskiff.
“Graylin!” Darant shouted with alarm.
He turned to face the bow. Directly ahead, a huge balloon—billowing and puckering—filled the world as it swept toward them. He now understood why the hunterskiff had fled.
It was no longer needed.
* * *
KANTHE LED THE others through the dark. They had retreated into the maze of tunnels that delved into the cliffs behind the homes. Jace ran with their shaded lamp. It was slivered open enough to light their way. The journeyman’s sweating face was a lamp unto itself, reflecting the meager light, shining with the man’s terror.
All around, booming shouts echoed from every direction. Flickers of torchlight drove them back and forth, even up a level. All this time, they fought not to get pinned down in any blind caves. Kanthe remembered Pratik’s warning about them being burned out of such a hole. Their only chance was to keep moving.
Kanthe held out one hope. He pictured the sailraft freeing him. It had to come from the Sparrowhawk, which meant that the swyftship had to be nearby. If that was true, his group needed to stay alive long enough for a rescue.
But doing so was becoming more and more difficult.
A scream rose behind them.
A glance back showed Llyra crouched low, her arm pointing back. A figure stumbled into their tiny pool of light and sprawled headlong with a blade through his throat.
Llyra dashed back to the body and yanked her knife out. “Keep moving,” she hissed to them.
Kanthe had an arrow loosely fixed to his bowstring. Shortly after diving into these tunnels, he quickly grew to regret his choice of weaponry in such tight quarters, especially in the dark. He kept scraping the top of his bow on the low roof or striking a wall with his elbow. He had already accidentally let loose a couple of arrows, sending them skittering off into the dark.
He now followed Seyrl’s example. The Kethra’kai scout shuffled sideways. He had an arrow nocked but held off pulling the string. Seyrl had demonstrated how swiftly he could snap off an arrow when a target appeared. Luckily, the knights who hunted them came with torches and lamps, making them easy to spot. The scout had dropped two men on his own. Kanthe believed he might have grazed one himself.
Still, he wasn’t fooled. They could not stay ahead of this pursuit much longer.
Kanthe guided them down the curve of a narrow passage. As he rounded its bend, a wan light brightened ahead, suggesting they were nearing a section where the caves exited back into the cliffside homes. They had ascended a stairway a moment ago to reach this second level. If the Sparrowhawk appeared, they should be able to leap down and race toward it.
Until then, they needed to keep to the dark.
He reached a cross tunnel and aimed his group around a corner, leaving that wan light behind them. As he got them moving along the dark passageway, flames flared ahead of them, revealing a clutch of knights hiding in ambush.
Mikaen rose from near the shoulder of a Vyrllian Guard. “Dear brother.”
Another two knights knelt in front of them, crouched behind a raised shield.
Seyrl snapped off an arrow, only to have it rebound off the shield. The other knight fired a crossbow. The Kethra’kai fell back, a feathered dart in his eye.
Kanthe had already raised a smoldering taper to the trimmed fuse on his arrow’s egg. As Seyrl fell, Kanthe drew and fired. His shot was no more successful than the tribesman’s. The knight’s shield blocked the bolt—only to have the egg explode against the steel with a huge blast of blue smoke.
As the ambushers coughed and choked, a wall of smoke burst down the passageway, sweeping over Kanthe. He pushed everyone back to the curved tunnel.
But which way to go?
The answer came with a mighty roar of flashburn forges. The rumbling rose to his left, echoing from where the wan light illuminated the curved passage.
The Sparrowhawk …
He shoved everyone that way, but he grabbed Jace’s lamp and ripped away its leather shade. The flame blazed brighter.
Jace cringed from the brightness. “What’re you—?”
“Make for the Hawk,” he said with a shove. “I’m going to lure my brother off.”
Kanthe backed the opposite way. He knew Jace and the others would need every moment to make that rendezvous, which meant keeping the bulk of the legion inside the caves.
“I’ll circle around,” Kanthe promised. “I’ll meet you there.”
They hesitated—or at least Jace did. But Llyra grabbed the journeyman and dragged him away, herding Pratik ahead of her.
Once they left, Kanthe hung at the crossroads long enough for the smoke to dissipate slightly. The flames of his brother’s ambush site reappeared out of the gloom.
Which means they can see my lamp.
He waited for a shout to arise from over there, then took off to the right, away from Jace and the others. As he ran, he kept his lamp glowing, bouncing against his thigh. He had to make sure to draw his brother this way. Fresh shouts rose behind him.
Good enough.
He shook the leather flap back over the lamp, reducing its illumination to a sliver.
Still, it left him blind for several steps. Failing to slow down, he slammed into a sharp corner. Wood snapped, and his bow came apart in his grip.
He tossed the ruins aside, raised his lamp, and set off again.
He ran wildly, avoiding any glows ahead, chased by shouts behind. Then a familiar roaring grew ahead of him, along with a brighter light.
Thank the gods for smiling upon me …
He aimed for the brighter cross tunnel and took it. Ahead, an arched frame of light marked an exit. He sprinted for it as the world roared outside. Nearing the arch, he saw the tunnel didn’t dump into one of the stone homes, but atop a flat roof of the abode below. He didn’t care. The homes were squat enough that it would be an easy leap to the ground.
He swept over the threshold and skidded across the sandy stone roof. To his left rose the cliff face. Directly ahead stood the featureless side of a neighboring home. He turned to the right, which faced the misty forest—and ran for the roof’s edge, ready to leap below.
As he neared it, he spotted a ship wreathed in smoke out front.
He skidded again, nearly toppling over the roof’s edge.
It wasn’t the Sparrowhawk.
The hunterskiff hung out there, the rudder of its forges glowing red hot.
He glanced down. The slide of his stop had rained pebbles and sand below, alerting a huge Gyn, who craned his craggy face up at Kanthe. The iron-helmed giant hefted his ax higher, inviting him to hop down.
Another time …
Kanthe swung around—in time to see Mikaen stalk from the tunnel and out onto the roof. His armor shone brightly in the misty sunlight. The hulking form of a vy-knight followed close behind.
Kanthe backed a step, his heel slipping at the roof’s edge.
At that moment, he recognized his mistake.
The gods were not smiling on me after all.
Instead, they were laughing their arses off.
56
WRYTH POINTED TO the dark clouds sweeping under the keel of the Pywll. He held Skerren’s orb in his other hand. He had ordered the warship to sweep twice around the area. With the orb’s lodestones, he had been testing the winds blowing from down below.
“That’s definitely where the signal arises,” Wryth attested. “Here at the center of the Shrouds. Down below should be the Northern Henge.”
The commander scowled at the location. A storm raged under them, brightening the clouds in flashes. No thunder accompanied those crackling bolts, but the threat was plain to all. Worried glances spread across the forecastle.
Brask shook his head. “I can’t lower the Pywll through a storm that fierce, riven through with lightning. If the gasbag were struck enough times…”
Wryth pictured the balloon bursting into flame and crashing into the jungles. Still, he refused to be thwarted by bad weather.
Not when I’m this close.
Wryth turned to the commander. “The Pywll is tall. Can you lower the bulk of the boat through the clouds but still keep the balloon above the storm?”
Brask winced at such a thought.
“What about dropping just the keel of the Pywll through,” Wryth pressed. “Along with its lowermost levels.”
Brask plainly pictured what Wryth envisioned. “You want us to drop the ship enough to breach our keel-holds through the clouds?”
“That’s where the warship secures most of its rafts and skiffs. Those smaller crafts should be able to shoot out under the clouds, drop swiftly, and secure the entire area below.”
Brask rubbed his chin and slowly nodded. He glanced at his crew, his eyes brightening with the challenge. “We can do that.”
Wryth exhaled in relief.
Brask clapped him on the shoulder. “For a Shrive, you’re not a bad tactician.”
Wryth accepted the weak compliment. He turned away and headed across the forecastle.
“Where are you going?” Brask called over to him.
“Down,” Wryth said. “To join the forces heading to the Shrouds.”
Brask started to follow, as if to object, then simply waved Wryth off. Despite his praise a moment ago, the commander plainly wanted Wryth out of his forecastle and off his ship.
Wryth wouldn’t have let the man stop him anyway.
If the ancient bronze artifact was below, he intended to secure it himself. But he also remembered seeing Kanthe fleeing with the weapon back in Havensfayre.
Knowing that, Wryth intended to be prepared.
If the prince was down there …
So was another.
* * *
NYX DREW WITH the others around the glass table. The ruins of the Urth shimmered before them. She stared at the blasted landscape of broken lands, boiled seas, and a sky roiling with storms. No life could survive that.
Again, she heard the rising screams from the fiery mountaintop, the clash of war machines, then a moon crashing into the Urth. But what she remembered most from her dream was the resounding silence at the end, the stillness of an ancient grave.
“And you say we cannot stop this from happening?” Frell asked again.
Shiya motioned them all closer. “To understand, you must see.”
Her bronze hand swept over the cube glowing in her other palm. Before them, time started to run backward. As they watched, the world re-formed before them: seas returned, broken coastlines knit together, and the Crown forged itself anew. At the end, the moon rose from its crater and flew back into orbit, circling around them once again.
