Page 253 of The Cradle of Ice

Across the way, the turubya’s orb rattled hard in its bronze cradle. Metal twisted and screeched loud enough to pierce her ears. The golden sea inside the crystal roiled and thrashed. Underfoot, the copper floor violently quaked.

She realized what was going on.

Her trespass had not only failed—but it had brought doom to their threshold. They no longer had a quarter day. Likely only moments now.

Another boom shook the room, ringing the walls.

Crystal cracked across the dome’s inner surfaces, raining down in a glittering cascade.

Nyx gaped all around.

What is happening?

* * *

GRAYLIN PULLED NYX under his arm. He felt the panic trembling through her, the terror and confusion strangling her breath. He hugged her closer, trying to squeeze his strength into her. To the side, Krysh struggled with Daal, who hung in the alchymist’s arms.

Glass showered over all of them. Graylin drew them to the far wall, avoiding the green torch of the Root’s imbedded form. He aimed away from the rattling orb as it threatened to tear loose from its cradle. He sought the only shelter—one of the yawning tunnels that led down the coppery limbs of the complex.

Another boom deafened and drove him protectively low over Nyx. Krysh dropped Daal, as the alchymist focused back over his shoulder, craning up at the source of the blasts.

Moments ago, the first explosion seemed to wake the Root. Emerald fire had flashed across his bronze—then Nyx and Daal had been thrown back into their bodies. Still, some damage was done in the process, jolting the massive crystal turubya, rocking it to the brink of destruction.

But at the moment, none of that was important.

Graylin helped Krysh get Daal up and moving again.

He stared as another blast of cannon fire punched a hole through the Sparrowhawk’s hull. Fiery boards rained through the warm mists over the dome’s doorway. The ship could take no more damage. Glace had bought them as much time as she could, guarding the entrance with the bulk of the Hawk—but there was too little of the brave ship left.

Its powerful forges ignited as the Hawk slipped sideways, skating its keel along the dome’s exterior, then blasting off into the icy night. Smaller ships gave chase with tails of flames. In the Sparrowhawk’s place, a ship three times its size drew its shadow across the doorway.

A Hálendiian battle barge.

Before the massive craft sealed them in, six sailrafts dove under its bulk and shot into the dome, circling wide. They were followed by a bevy of one-manned slipfoils. Past them all, the battle barge fired its cannons overhead, shooting off into the night, discouraging the Sparrowhawk from returning, loudly claiming this space for king and kingdom.

Below, Darant had collected his men. Vikas had grabbed Jace by the scruff. They hurried toward the same towering tunnel into the coppery extension. They were all too out in the open, too exposed. Not that their small party had any hope of challenging the invading Hálendiian raiders.

But Graylin wasn’t counting on their group alone.

They had allies—in the sky.

The raash’ke roiled throughout the dome. A storm of black wings. When the Sparrowhawk had been attacked, the remaining few raash’ke aboard the ship had flooded through the doorway, seeking shelter within.

Angry and fearful, the raash’ke descended upon the entering ships. Claws ripped into balloons. Wings dove and smashed into slipfoils, cracking hulls and sending the tiny vessels cartwheeling away.

“Run!” Graylin shouted to the others as ships fell out of the air.

Splintering crashes struck all around. Fireballs burst as forges exploded on impact. Smoke blasted high. A slipfoil rolled wildly past them with flames spiraling behind it. It struck the dome wall and blasted a crown of shattered crystal around it.

Unfortunately, the Hálendiian forces had dealt with the raash’ke before and had readied themselves. The pilots seemed immune to the beasts’ insidious keening, which in the dome already frazzled Graylin’s senses. That bastard Commander Ghryss must have returned to the battle barge with knowledge of the protective property of lodestones.

Worse, from the open sterns of the sailrafts, jets of flames waved out, burning wings. Hand-bombs were tossed. One struck a raash’ke and blasted a hole in its chest with a rain of bone and blood.

“No!” Daal moaned, as if sensing the flock’s pain and terror. His anguish drove him out of Krysh’s arms.

Before the alchymist could stop him, Daal fled away, heading toward the pair of raash’ke huddled on the floor, burrowed tight to one another. He refused to abandon the two mounts. As he ran, Daal glared up. It looked like he intended to take the fight himself to the air, to rally the raash’ke into a more deliberate offense instead of the panicked chaos.

And not just him.