Page 14 of The Cradle of Ice

8

WITH RAMI AT his heels, Kanthe rushed behind the carriage to a fallen horse. A soldier lay crushed under the armored steed. Kanthe stopped long enough to unhook a crossbow hanging from the saddle, along with a quiver of feathered bolts. He felt a thousandfold more confident in his plan as he gripped the weapon’s ironwood stock.

As a second-born prince, he had been forbidden to wield a sword, but that hadn’t stopped him from learning to hunt with a bow. He had been trained by the best, a Cloudreach scout of cunning skill and agility.

He remembered one lesson now.

When hunting dangerous prey, your best weapon is the shadows.

With bow in hand, Kanthe ignored the fighting in the street and ran low toward the neighboring ruins of a line of row houses. He climbed through a broken window, scoured long ago of any shards of glass. He took a breath to help Rami through while letting his sight adjust to the darkness.

“If we stick to this cover,” Kanthe whispered, “we can cross forward through these homes and come up behind your sister’s carriage.”

Rami nodded and pointed deeper into the structure. “Such households usually share a common courtyard in the back. We could pass more quickly through there to reach the home closest to Aalia.”

“Good.”

Kanthe headed through the dilapidated structure. The upper level had partially collapsed, creating a deadfall of beams, planks, and broken stone. Rats and other squeaking vermin fled from them. Webs stuck to their faces and clothes. The place smelled sharply of spoor and old piss.

Kanthe glanced back to check on Rami. The prince of this realm showed no hesitation or squeamishness to be climbing through such filth. His face remained a mask of desperate determination. Rami grabbed a fat rat by the tail and flung it away without a wince. Kanthe liked the man all the more—resolute now to firm up their friendship if they survived.

Together, they forged through to a low-roofed kitchen with a soot-blackened stone hearth in a corner. A far door hung crookedly, letting in more light. A peek through revealed a rear garden. It was overgrown with weeds, thistles, and thorns. A lichen-scribed stone ring marked an old well.

“Stick close to the wall,” Kanthe warned. “In case anyone on the second floor is watching this side.”

Rami ducked after Kanthe into the yard. They flattened against the wall. As they edged along, his friend readied his blades, flipping them across his fingers. He was likely testing their weight, limbering up his joints, or maybe it was a way of dispelling his nervousness. Either way, the silver knives seemed to appear and disappear at will.

They continued through the weeds and over broken roof tiles to reach the abode nearest Aalia’s carriage. He glanced to Rami, getting a confirming nod that passing through this home was their best chance.

Kanthe led the way, squeezing through a door that gapped open. He took a breath to steady himself and let his sight adjust again to the gloom. Echoes of the battle outside reached them. Screams, shouted orders, clashes of steel.

“Go,” Rami urged.

Kanthe continued through the home’s kitchen. At least this place was in better shape. The second floor remained intact. He passed stairs leading up. His ears strained for any sign of lurkers above. But the fighting outside made it difficult.

He ducked lower and exited into the main room at the front. Broken furniture lay strewn about. A pile of ashes and partially burnt wood suggested someone had once used this place to camp from the cold.

Rami grabbed his shoulder, hissing low. He pointed upward. A thin trickle of dust streamed between the rafters, seeping through the floorboards above.

Someone’s moving up there.

Kanthe cursed himself for focusing on the floor, the piles of ashes. He carefully shifted a couple of steps to the side, edging toward a ragged hole in the ceiling. While the upper level was mostly in place, a corner of it had given way. He made out the slightest flickering glow up there, noticed only as the light shifted in the gap’s direction.

Have we been heard down here?

Kanthe positioned the butt of his crossbow to his shoulder. A bolt was already in place, strung taut. As he neared the hole, he lifted the weapon to his eye, aiming intently. He tilted his head enough to flick a look at Rami, willing his friend to hang back—then froze.

A shadow shifted behind Rami, at the threshold of the kitchen. Someone had come down the back stairs, moving silently to come up behind them. A sword flashed in the darkness.

Ambushed yet again …

Maybe it was Kanthe’s look of shocked horror, but Rami reacted, moving as swiftly as a striking serpent.

His friend dropped a shoulder and, without even seeming to glance backward, flung his arm behind him. Silver flew from his fingertips. The blade found the man’s throat. The cry was a strangled gurgle as the knife all but silenced the attacker.

It was quiet enough for Kanthe to hear the tread of boots overhead. He swung around as a figure leaped through the hole, a cloak flared wide, a sword in hand.

Kanthe still had his bow at his cheek and squeezed the trigger. He kept his grip tight as the twanging release threatened to shake off his aim. The bolt pierced the attacker’s left eye before he even landed. His legs crumpled under him, followed by his body.