Page 171 of The Cradle of Ice

A sharper boom, followed by another, drew his attention behind him. These blasts sounded different, more insistent. Far down the beach, the Shadowhawk continued to be harried by the other swyftship—not that the crippled Hawk could offer any true resistance. Another of those booms echoed, revealing a curling blast of smoke from the deck of the enemy ship.

Cannon fire.

The first two blasts must have missed the ship, as it appeared undamaged. The third pierced a section of its gasbag, sending it fluttering and sagging. The rest of the balloon, baffled into sections, still held the ship up.

Rhaif realized the first two cannon blasts were likely meant as warning shots and the third underlined the enemy’s intent.

They wanted the Hawk grounded.

Darant got the message. The firepots atop the deck snuffed out. Slowly, the Hawk sank back as the air cooled within the remaining baffles of its gasbag. Its broken keel settled back in the water and its stern came to rest on the beach.

But the damage could have been far worse.

Rhaif pinched his eyes, suspecting why the Hawk had been spared. The enemy wanted to capture and interrogate those aboard, which could only mean one thing.

They want something from us.

He pictured Nyx.

“Why have you slowed?” Fenn hissed at Rhaif. “They’re swarming all over now.”

Rhaif tore his gaze away and followed Fenn, hopping on his crutch. The swyftship that had grounded the Hawk had discharged its trio of sailrafts, like the other swyftship had done earlier. Of the six rafts, half had landed, unloading foot soldiers in light armor, even several knights atop horses.

They were all clearly Hálendiian.

Somehow the king’s forces had found their group.

As he fled, Rhaif caught glimpses and snatches of the war.

The ground forces swept the beach, cordoning off Darant’s ship and blockading the village. Overhead, more slipfoils patrolled, sweeping back and forth, casting down fire from on high.

Explosions still burst, but they had dwindled in number as this corner of the Crèche was quickly subdued. Boats now burned out on the water. Blast craters blackened the sand. Bodies sprawled everywhere.

The Pantheans had been ambushed and outgunned. It had been no battle, only slaughter.

Rhaif despaired, knowing the doom they had brought to the Crèche.

First the raash’ke, now these Hálendiian butchers.

“Over here!” Floraan called to Rhaif and Fenn.

They hurried to join her.

From the shelter of the labyrinth’s edge, she clutched Henna close and pointed down the stretch of wall to the right. “The entrance to the ice pen is right there. It delves deep into the cliff.”

Rhaif looked aghast at the woman. The giant doors into the ice cave gapped open, as if welcoming them. But to reach it, they would have to abandon the broken ice and flee a quarter league across open sand.

“We must try for it,” Fenn said.

Rhaif glared at him. “Are you the one on a crutch?”

Fenn pointed behind them, where voices echoed eerily through the ice, accompanied by the stomp and nicker of a horse. “A patrol is hunting through here. We go now or get caught.”

Rhaif considered his options.

If I’m going to die, I’d rather be fighting for my life than huddling in a corner.

Rhaif scowled, knowing what he’d rather do.