Page 41 of The Cradle of Ice

He shook his head.

The strange woman suddenly flinched. She stepped back and stared up at the dense mists, craning her long neck. A laugh of relief escaped her, stoking her glow brighter. “Bashaliia…”

Daal searched the mists and spotted a shadow sweeping downward, vague at first, then clearer, forming dark scalloped wings. He gasped. Such wings haunted the nightmares of all in the Crèche.

The creature dove into full view, revealing its true nature.

Daal hollered in terror, “Raash’ke!”

Henna screamed and fell back into the sand.

You will not take her.

Daal leaned a shoulder back and threw his spear with all his strength—aiming for the heart of the daemon.

21

NYX HAD ONLY a moment to react. From the corner of her eye, she had seen the young man—barefooted and bare-chested—throw his spear. As it sailed overhead, she cast a single note of bridle-song at Kalder. The massive vargr, already primed and tensed, reacted to her plea.

The beast leaped from the sand, leading with his open jaws. Kalder snatched the spear from the air. As he landed, his teeth snapped its length in half. With a sharp growl, he tossed the pieces aside.

Nyx turned to the two figures in the sand. The man had a dagger in hand now, guarding over a small girl. His eyes were huge, his lips fixed in a pained grimace of determination. His gaze focused on Bashaliia, who circled above and keened his distress after the attack, perhaps sensing the tense tableau below.

Nyx pined to Bashaliia, warning him to stay high. She lifted both palms toward the two strangers. She understood the young man’s terror. The sight of a Mýr bat diving out of the steaming fog had to be unnerving. She remembered her own first encounter atop the ninth tier of the Cloistery.

“Do not fear.” She flicked a glance up. “He’s a friend.”

The man did not look convinced, likely didn’t even understand her.

She rested a palm on Kalder and waved to the others, giving Graylin a hard stare to hold back. The knight had his blade drawn, ready to protect her. Shadowing his shoulder, Quartermaster Vikas carried a broadsword in both hands. To the side stood Jace and Alchymist Krysh.

She heard Jace mumble in awe, his eyes as wide as the young man’s, “There are people in the Wastes.”

Krysh reminded him, quoting from the Gjoan text, “Daungrous peple.”

Behind them all, the Sparrowhawk’s navigator, Fenn, remained with the sailraft, looking more amused than distraught. He had been waiting for Brayl to finish her inspection of the raft for damage.

Nyx focused back on the young stranger, whose attention never left the circling shadow of the bat. She placed a palm on her chest. “I am Nyx,” she said, stressing her name, then lifted a hand to point high. “That is Bashaliia.”

The man glanced at her, then back up with a shake of his head. “Nyan, ba raash’ke.”

She frowned, remembering him using that word before. “Raash’ke?”

He shoved his dagger toward Bashaliia, clearly adamant. “Raash’ke.” Frustration dimmed his terror. He used his free hand to feign ripping his throat with his fingers. His gaze twitched to Jace and Krysh. “Daungrous.”

Nyx stiffened in surprise at his use of the old word. Does he somewhat understand us? At the same time, she realized who he thought Bashaliia must be. She pictured the shaggy-furred, blunt-eared versions that had attacked them and drove them down here.

She shook her head and pointed again at Bashaliia. “Not raash’ke. Friend.”

She knew there was only one way to convince him. She backed a distance away and sang to Bashaliia, welcoming him to land, only well away from everyone. Bashaliia swept high once more, keening in distress. She reassured him in kind.

Finally, he sailed down. As he landed, he canted his wings wide, wafting sand. He then tucked his wings and wobbled on his legs to her side. She nuzzled his head and rubbed his ears. He leaned closer, mewling for comfort. His velvety nose sniffed at her, his breath warming her skin. Her fingers discovered damp spots and came away crimson.

Blood …

She cringed, picturing him wrestling with one of the raash’ke. He had survived, but not unscathed. She sang soothing chords, calming his heart, promising him he was safe.

But is that true?