Page 258 of The Cradle of Ice

With the first scream of the monster, she knew all was doomed. Linked with the horde-mind, she felt that cry of madness tear into the ancientness that she carried with her. It shattered the horde-mind. Fragile after being freed and weakened by its attack on the Root, it had been left vulnerable. And even if not, the horde-mind might not have withstood this fierce assault.

The force felt designed for this purpose, a flaming spear whetted and fueled for one end: to destroy a horde-mind.

She stared up, recognizing that this monster—Kalyx—was not raash’ke. From its tall ears, sleek fur, and long tail, she knew what it was.

A Mýr bat, one of monstrous size.

Even more terrifying, she recognized its steel helm and those copper needles. She flashed to her two brothers, similarly outfitted and tortured, equally enslaved to do their master’s bidding.

She stared higher. The jagged bolts striking the steel and copper led up to the Hálendiian battle barge. The master of the weapon hid up there—though she wagered its creator did not. The monster had to have been forged by the Iflelen, by the depravities of Shrive Wryth. She knew this in her heart. Before their group departed the Crown, Wryth had still been in Azantiia, where he surely remained. The cunning bastard would never abandon his stronghold and risk the Wastes.

So, he sent someone else to do his bidding.

Sending a weapon with them.

One meant to thwart her.

A poison for her garden.

She understood all of this before Kalyx’s first scream ended—after that, it was a battle to hold the raash’ke horde-mind together. It had splintered into hundreds of flailing pieces. She fought to weave and hold them together with her bridle-song, to be a beacon in the madness.

She managed to hold a fraction together, a fifth at most. She lost hundreds of those battles, seeing memory and mind dissolve in front of her. Or worse, to see fiery madness rush through them, delivered by the poison of the attack. Those scraps spread flames to others, burning away swaths, leaving a wordless bleakness or an empty dissonant tone in their wake.

She saved what she could but lost more with each wail of the huge bat.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t just the horde-mind that she had needed to protect.

With Kalyx’s first maddening scream, she had severed the connections of the raash’ke inside the dome to the horde-mind, trying to protect them. But she had known it wouldn’t last. Fearing the worst, she had wanted them grounded somewhere safe before their minds were attacked, too.

She stared around, knowing she had failed here, too.

Bodies plummeted all around the dome, swinging wildly on wingtips or crumpling into hard crashes.

Under her, Metyl fought, sustained for now by a shield of bridle-song. She watched Daal lose Nyfka, saw him spiraling steeply. She risked all to save him, urging her mount to dive after him, to try to grab Daal from Nyfka’s back.

But the screams were not Kalyx’s sole weapon.

A sweep of shadow was the only warning. Kalyx dove upon the only threat still in the air. Nyx responded instinctively, kneeing Metyl into a hard turn. But she failed yet again.

Claws hooked her mount’s upper wing and thrashed his body hard, ripping leather and breaking bone. Nyx was tossed from her saddle. She tumbled through the air. Her vision reduced to flashes: the spread of a smoky floor, the shatter of crystal, the curve of quaking bronze. She caught sight of Metyl cartwheeling down, blood spraying from him. Then she spun toward a shield of curved crystal, inscribed with arcane copper.

No, no, no …

She struck the side of the turubya’s orb and skated down on her belly. Her fingers clawed but found no purchase. She slid off the curve and back into the air. One of the bronze suspension arches rose before her. She flung her arms high, struggling to catch herself.

And lost that battle, too.

She plummeted down the center of the shaft beneath the sphere.

And fell forever into darkness.

92

KANTHE WOKE INTO a blinding brightness. He sputtered from the splash of frigid water. Acid again burned under his nose. He coughed and thrashed his head, struggling for the comforting oblivion of darkness.

Loud booms, one after the other, shook through him.

“Get him up,” a harsh voice demanded. “He’s slept long enough.”