Page 107 of The Cradle of Ice

She simply shook her head. She hadn’t told anyone about the shadow she sensed hidden within the malevolence of the horde-mind—unsure if it was even real or born of her own panicky imagination.

Graylin touched her knee, his manner softening. “Nyx, I know you hope that you’ll learn something to help Bashaliia, to free him from the enthrallment of the raash’ke. But he’s been gone three days. It takes bridle-singers far less time to break wild horses or tame giant sandcrabs.”

“Bashaliia is much stronger. He’ll fight with all his heart.”

“I know, but is he strong enough? It took only five of them to bring him down and—”

She pushed Graylin’s hand off her knee, refusing to listen, but support came from another source.

“We are also not strong enough,” Shiya warned Graylin, and nodded to Nyx. “Even together. We barely survived our first encounter with the raash’ke.”

Graylin sighed. Clearly, this worry had not escaped him.

“If we should prove successful in getting the Sparrowhawk aloft,” Shiya continued, “we will only be brought low again by that horde.”

Still, Graylin remained stubborn. “But should our trespass among the Dreamers be discovered, it will quash any good graces we have with the village. We will never get the Hawk repaired without Iskar’s help and forbearance.”

Vikas had been listening quietly and gestured her own opinion: “Then we must not get caught.”

Nyx nodded. “Everyone will be busy at the tribute feast in Kefta following the burial. With care, we should be able to slip away long enough to engage the Dreamers.”

Daal had suggested this plan, pushing past his own reluctance to offer it.

Shiya nodded. “We must try, or we will never be able to continue on with our quest.”

Outnumbered three to one, Graylin simply sighed, accepting the inevitability of this course.

Nyx settled back, listening to the continuing dirge, the ring of the barge’s bells. She caught sight of Ularia staring toward them. The woman’s eyes matched the emerald in her diadem, both in color and hardness. Her gaze remained fixed on Nyx, until she finally turned away and whispered in the Reef Farer’s ear.

Nyx felt a residual chill from those cold eyes. Ularia could not have overheard them, not with their voices low and the bells echoing around them. Still, Nyx was certain of one thing.

We must be extra wary from here.

* * *

GRAYLIN DROWSED AS the barge humped through the waves, rocking him gently from side to side. But he had been a knight for most of his life. Even in slumber, his ears were forever alert for the slip of steel from a sheath, the furtive footfall, the whisper of a threat.

So, he stirred and opened his eyes when the mourners’ song of lament was finally answered by a heavy tolling of larger bells. He shifted enough to spot the glow of flames through the mists ahead.

“Kefta,” Nyx said next to him.

As they watched, a shoreline slowly appeared out of the fog, lit by a hundred flickering firepots and lanterns. The island looked like a collapsed volcanic cone, a sickle of red rock and darker sand. Most of it was sheer cliffs, but one side lay open to the sea, creating a large bay in its caldera. The village hugged those waters and stacked up the inner walls in a series of carved tiers.

Much like Iskar, Kefta was made up of sandstone homes and walls, with roofs woven of dried weed. Similarly, a large square bordered the town’s rocky piers. The sheltered bay was packed with boats. A few already headed out to meet the flotilla.

More would soon join them.

Kefta had sent many of their young men and women to the Krystnell festival in Iskar. Tragically, a few were returning wrapped in kelp. The flotilla would tarry in these waters only long enough to collect the town’s mourners and give them time to say their goodbyes and to ink their loved ones.

Afterward, the boats would continue to the lair of the Oshkapeers, to sink their dead into the embrace of the Dreamers of the Deep. The site was another four leagues farther on, in seas challenged by boiling waters. Once done, all would return to spend the eventide in Kefta, where a tribute feast awaited them, where mourners could drown their misery in wine and ale.

Graylin glanced to Nyx.

Only then will our true undertaking begin.

Nyx’s gaze remained fixed to the sea, but not toward the village. She stared toward a small skiff that plied the waters nearby. Daal stood balanced at the bow, with reins in hand. His gaze appeared to stretch beyond Kefta, toward those boiling seas and the Dreamers below.

Motion drew Graylin’s eye. The Reef Farer and his consort rose from their seats, spoke a few words to those gathered around them, then headed toward the stern. Graylin rose to meet them, bowing respectfully to each.