Page 16

16

F ROM ATOP B ASHALIIA , Nyx watched the Fyredragon descend toward a spread of sandy ruins at the westernmost edge of the Eastern Crown. It had taken their ship four days to reach this border.

As Nyx swept high, she gaped at the vast expanse of the ruins below. The crumbling structures stretched a hundred leagues to the north and south and half that again to the west. They formed a shattered maze that framed where the glistening White Desert ended at the towering cliffs of the Tablelands.

Back at school, she had read about the Necropolises of Seekh, but words on a page failed to capture the breadth of these ancient ruins. She had never imagined she would set eyes upon this haunted relic from the Forsaken Ages.

Some sections had tumbled into the sand long ago, falling off those rocky escarpments into the desert, where shifting dunes sought to bury them. The rest sat both atop and within those cliff faces, turning the edges of the Tablelands into a treacherous labyrinth of cavernous ruins that burrowed deep into the rock. Across the top, sections of the necropolises poked higher, protruding out of the depths. But centuries of blowing sand had scoured it all to a macabre smoothness, making those sections look like the weathered bones of a half-buried god.

Even now, scavengers continued to pick at those bones.

From her saddle, Nyx spotted a scatter of ramshackle villages, both in the desert and atop the heights. She spied hundreds of small figures scurrying about, decked in white to reflect the sun’s heat. Larger armored shapes—massive black sandcrabs—labored and scrabbled throughout. Elsewhere, smoke rose in curls, marking deeper mineworks hidden in the ruins.

Over untold centuries, the Necropolises of Seekh were slowly being stripped of their resources: ores and metals, bricks kilned by ancient ovens, glass said to be as hard as steel, but the most desirous of all were the arcane artifacts from the Forsaken Ages, objects that could fetch a fortune. Despite the treacherous risk of such foraging, the ruins drew treasure hunters from across the Crown, along with alchymists and hieromonks who wished to unlock the mysteries of the past.

Nyx swung a final pass over the necropolises, then followed the Fyredragon as it descended toward one of the villages burrowed into the ruins atop the Tablelands.

With tension knotting between her shoulders, she glanced behind her. The sun reflected off the crystalline surface of the White Desert, setting the sand on fire. To spare her eyes, she wore goggles secured in Spindryft. Their amber lenses blunted the glare, but only enough to save the shine from blinding her.

Ignoring the sands below, she searched the skies.

The sun shone higher than she had ever seen it. Its heat already sweltered, but Nyx found some relief at these heights, where cooler air flowed in a continual current from the Crown. Even higher up, a hotter river returned from the furnace of the Barrens. It was those two streams—forever flowing in two directions—that blessed the lands of the Crown with a livable clime. Hieromonks believed it was due to the twin gods, the fiery Hadyss and the icy giant Madyss, who blew those rivers across the skies, while alchymists insisted it was due to some natural bellows created between the two extremes of the Urth.

She didn’t know which to believe. All she knew was that the Fyredragon intended to ride that cooler river for as long as possible. But such relief—as little as it was—would be short-lived. The scorch of the Barrens would eventually burn all away, leaving only a lung-searing heat.

It was this fear that drove the Fyredragon toward the village. They needed to discover all they could about the terrain ahead, especially as the ta’wyn coolers remained stubbornly inoperable.

Jace and Krysh also wanted to confirm the details of the map secured from the librarie in Bhestya, and perhaps to expand upon it. Besides being a site of excavation and study, the Necropolises of Seekh served as a way station for nomads of the Barrens, ancient tribesmen who made a hardscrabble living in that harsh land. Surely such folk had greater knowledge of what lay ahead, information that could prove vital.

Still, the stop here would have to be brief.

Though how brief remained unknown.

Nyx continued to scan the horizon behind her, searching for that answer.

Where are you?

Her fear escaped in a trickle of bridle-song, a whispery twinge of anxiety. It reached Bashaliia, causing him to swing yet another circle above the Fyredragon. Earlier, Nyx had taken flight from the ship, to stretch her brother’s wings but also to search for any sign of Daal’s return.

At the first dawn bell, Daal and his raash’ke team had piled out the rear of the Fyredragon. While the massive wyndship had forged westward, he and the others had hung back in its wake. They were to scout for any evidence of pursuit. After the attack by the kezmek, they dared not be caught off guard again. No one knew if Fenn’s traitorous uncle would continue his hunt—or worse yet, if he had succeeded in convincing the Bhestyan king to join forces with Hálendii.

Nyx squinted against the reflected glare.

She pictured Daal crouched low in his saddle, whisking over the dunes. She tried to sense that wellspring inside him. Bridle-song escaped the clutch of her throat, giving substance to that desire, a prayer from her heart.

Return to me.

As if drawn by this summons, a black mote appeared in the distance. Nyx squeezed her eyes, trying to discern mirage from substance. She whistled for Bashaliia to head toward it.

Her brother dove to catch air, then shot higher, sweeping faster.

Moments later, the dot grew into a frantic flutter of wings. They beat wildly and sped across the desert. It became clear this was not a lone raash’ke struggling for home, but something far smaller.

The black arrow formed the outline of a skrycrow, whose passage could outpace any bat—Myr or raash’ke. While it could be any messenger sent aloft, Nyx knew this was not so.

She winced with trepidation.

The crow sped toward her, already angling toward the retreating wyndship.

Daal’s crew had been sent off with a caged bird, a way of casting forth a warning if danger approached. The skrycrow dove and passed under Bashaliia, ignoring those massive wings, focused on its duty.

Nyx stared back along its trail, searching for any other wings racing home.

The skies remained achingly bright and clear.

Apprehension grew with every beat of her heart.

Where are you all? What is happening out there?

She ached to head there on her own, to discover those answers. Bashaliia responded to this unspoken desire and dug his wings, scooping air, sailing eastward. But Nyx reined him in with golden strands of bridle-song. She swung her brother and headed toward the Fyredragon, chasing after the skrycrow.

She recognized a hard truth, one she chafed against but accepted.

If the others are in danger, I can never reach them in time.

To learn what that threat might be, she sped after the crow.

Still, she repeated a prayer, casting it eastward to Daal.

Return to me.