Page 60 of The Cradle of Ice

Frell followed.

The baying of the dog drew the guardsmen toward their location. Victorious shouts and trampling boots aimed their way. Lanterns and torches closed upon them.

Frell ran behind Pratik, trying to keep his feet from pounding on the wood and giving away their position. They had not gotten far when something large leaped to their perch, trembling the wide shelf. Frell turned to see a massive shadow scrabbling for purchase, then regain its footing as claws dug into wood.

The dog shook its spiked collar, hunched its shoulders, then lunged after them.

Frell stood his ground, knowing they could never outrun it. He intended to try his best to knock the beast from this perch, to give Pratik a chance to escape.

“Go!” he ordered the Chaaen. “Get to Kanthe.”

Pratik stepped closer. “I won’t—”

Then the world exploded.

Fiery maelstroms burst across the librarie with deafening concussions, illuminating the full cavernous breadth of the Codex. Shelves shook; some toppled over in splintering crashes. Their own perch quaked on its footings.

Frell fell to hands and knees. Pratik did the same. Unfortunately for the war dog, the beast had been in midleap when the blasts struck. As it landed, it lost its balance. Its hindquarters slipped sideways off the edge. Claws scrabbled to keep its purchase, digging deep.

Frell knew he had only a moment. He lunged low toward the beast. Once close enough, he spun on his backside and kicked out at the dog’s forelegs. Jaws snapped at him, catching the edge of his robe, but not before the strike of a heel dislodged a paw. The dog’s bulk slipped crookedly, hanging by the last set of claws—then those too ripped away.

As the beast fell, it kept a stubborn hold on Frell’s robe. Its weight yanked him toward the edge. He twisted to his stomach and grabbed for the far side of the shelf. One hand caught; the other missed. He held tight, his fingers straining with the effort.

Then silver flashed past his shoulder.

Pratik swept his sword down and cut through the edge of Frell’s robe. With a howl of fury, the beast tumbled away—until a meaty crash silenced it.

Pratik helped him up, but they both stayed crouched.

More bombs continued to explode across the librarie. And not just in the cavern. A series of rumbling blasts echoed up from the lower levels. A spiral of flames shot high out of the central stairwell.

Frell struggled to understand, glancing at Pratik. “Is this your doing?”

In the firelight, the Chaaen’s features were aghast at the destruction. “Never.”

Frell frowned.

Then who?

Across the cavern, the flames spread rapidly, fed by dry parchment and ancient wood. Smoke roiled upward, rapidly filling the dome, stirring the bats. The pall thickened around their high perch.

Frell coughed and his eyes burned.

More shelves crashed and fell as flames ate through their foundations.

“We can’t stay up here or we’ll suffocate,” Pratik warned, and headed toward the ladder. “We must get lower.”

As Frell followed, he searched to either side. He spotted no one nearby. The continuing blasts, the spreading flames, must have chased away the guardsmen, silenced the Venin. Both sets of hunters had likely retreated to safety.

Still, he held out little hope that the soldiers would leave the lift unguarded. Most likely, they’d ride the lift up and lock it down from above, trapping their quarry in this fiery oven until the flames subsided—then search for their burned bones.

Pratik mounted the ladder and descended quickly, trying to escape the scorching smoke. Frell followed, nearly sliding down the rungs in his haste. His lungs burned. Tears blurred his vision. Flaming embers stung his cheeks and hands. He was nearly blind by the time Pratik helped him off the ladder.

The Chaaen pointed in the direction of the lift. “We must pray,” was all he said, and set off.

They hurried, running low, covering their faces with their sleeves.

They didn’t get more than a few steps when someone appeared between the rows of shelves, blocking their way with outstretched arms.