Page 190 of The Cradle of Ice

“No. You’re in no shape. Neither is Kalder. Take him with you. I must head deeper into the village. He’ll do me no good slumped and passed out from those cries. He can at least help protect you on the way back.”

Fenn looked ready to argue, but the navigator was no fool. He exhaled hard and nodded.

They set off again, ready to separate. Back on the street, Kalder tried to follow Rhaif, but he shouldered the vargr toward Fenn. “You go with him, you big oaf.”

Kalder glared at Fenn, then rumbled back at Rhaif, showing a glint of teeth. The vargr’s eyes glowed fiery. Rhaif didn’t know if Kalder wanted to keep close out of loyalty or to stay in the village and search for his missing pack members, Graylin and Nyx.

Or maybe he just doesn’t like Fenn.

Still, Rhaif knew someone the vargr did like.

“Henna needs you, Kalder.” He pointed in the direction of the abandoned raft. “Go to Henna.”

Those fiery eyes narrowed, then looked off into the smoke.

“That’s right. Go to Henna.”

With a sharper growl, Kalder turned toward Fenn.

“I’ll get him there,” Fenn promised, hugging the satchel. “But make haste yourself.”

Rhaif pictured the blood pooling through the water around Brayl. “I will do my best.”

Fenn nodded and took off, drawing Kalder with him.

As they vanished around a corner, Rhaif headed the other way. He seated the helm’s earpieces more firmly in place. Ahead, a firepot lay on its side, spilling a river of flaming flitch. He leaped over it and ducked into the smoky pall.

Time to be a thief in the dark.

* * *

A LIFETIME LATER—or it felt that way—Rhaif climbed out of the depths of another empty mag’nees shelter. He had already inspected two others.

Where is everyone?

By now, the village had gone ominously silent. Even the raash’ke had stopped their dreadful keening and had begun a silent hunt. All that remained in the streets were bodies, intact or torn. Occasional shouts or screams echoed, but they were so rare that they made him flinch each time.

Off by the water, a bomb blasted, followed by angry bellows.

Rhaif winced.

Someone’s still fighting.

He inspected the street outside and slipped into the smokiest shadows along one side. He edged down the wall. He had covered his face and arms with oily ash to hide any shine from his skin. He carried a bag over a shoulder, holding all that he had managed to pilfer from homes and structures.

Along his route, he had taken advantage of every bit of cover, ducking into doorways and out back windows, avoiding the open streets as much as possible. He gathered what he needed along the way, fabricating on the fly.

Llyra had drilled into all of her thieves the cornerstones of their vocation: flexibility, ingenuity, resourcefulness. Few schemes ever went as planned. One had to be prepared for the unexpected.

Still, above and beyond all that was one foundational imperative.

Don’t get caught.

To that end, Rhaif aimed for a sprawling dark villa. He felt too exposed on the street. He rushed toward its door, only to have its roof, two stories above, explode forth with a sweep of huge black wings. He backpedaled as a massive raash’ke burst from its roost inside the home. A scream trailed in its wake.

Rhaif gaped as an armored stallion was ripped out of its hiding place. Its broken neck jostled loosely as the raash’ke swung away with its prize. But it wasn’t just the horse. From the saddle’s stirrup, a knight hung, flailing his arms, his steel-clad ankle twisted in the leather. He wailed and thrashed to no avail. As the raash’ke flew off, bits of loose armor rained down in its wake, leaving a trail of ghastly clanging.

The doleful ringing only reinforced Llyra’s dictate.