Page 274 of The Cradle of Ice

Still, Wryth stared at the crystal globe, at the strange emanations glowing there. It was no longer just the yellow of the bronze artifact and the red of Skerren’s barge. A small maelstrom of a dark coppery energy swirled at that same spot.

Something strange is happening out there.

While Wryth had been furious at his earlier snubbing, when he had been denied permission to join the kingdom’s attack on the Southern Klashe, he now considered it a fortunate boon. He had not heard any word about the success or failure of that endeavor and did not care.

He leaned closer to that tiny swirl on the globe.

This is all that matters.

What other wonders might be hidden under that copper dome out in the Wastes? Could there be weapons and knowledge that would far outstrip a lone figure of bronze?

I should be out there.

His fists tightened with his desire.

“Another message is coming,” Keres said next to him.

Wryth saw it, too. The red blip had restarted its blinking.

Keres studied it closely, not even bothering to record it. After so long, he could read those flashes and pauses as if they were words written in ink.

“What does he say?” Wryth asked.

Keres licked his lips, his brow bunched. “All he says is She has risen.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, but he’s still sending something. Let me concentrate.”

Keres leaned closer to the blinking, as if that would help him draw meaning.

Wryth leaned next to him. “Well?”

Keres turned as the crystal globe flared brightly—then exploded with a hint of a distant scream. Wryth felt a stab of fiery pain as he was blown back a step.

Keres fell away, too.

Wryth fingered his face, discovering the source of his agony. A shard of glass pierced his right eye, blinding him on that side. A glancing touch of a fingertip against the crystal seared pain into his skull. He gasped at the agony, at the ruin of his eye.

Keres panted hard next to him, turning his way. A huge dagger of the glass stuck out of his neck. Blood poured across his chest. His mouth opened and closed, like that of a gasping fish.

Keres turned, stumbling for help.

Wryth grabbed his shoulder. “What did Skerren say? At the end?”

Keres struggled to go, his eyes desperate.

Wryth pulled him closer, refusing to let him leave. “Tell me.”

Keres mumbled as he sank to his knees, blood surging with each word uttered. Then the Shrive toppled hard to his side, the last of his life pouring over the floor.

Wryth straightened and turned away.

He stared at the wreckage of crystal, marking the end of his hopes. As if mocking him, the bronze bust glowed brighter, warmed by the explosion, as if satisfied by the sacrifice at this altar.

Wryth glared back at it. Keres’s last words echoed in his head. They seemed impossible, but Wryth did not doubt them. He focused on the shattered globe, hearing again that distant scream of fury. It only firmed Wryth’s conviction that Skerren’s last words were true. Skerren had repeated them over and over again until the end.

She is the Vyk dyre Rha! She has risen. She has risen …