Page 53

53

W RYTH RUSHED HEADLONG into the forecastle of the Tytan . His cloak billowed ash behind him. He panted hard. His thighs still burned from his mad gallop across the breadth of Havensfayre. He had left his horse, lathered and shaky, with one of the warship’s stable boys, who had looked aghast at the hard use of the steed. Wryth had tossed the leads and run through the bulk of the Tytan to reach Haddan.

The liege general noted the flurry of his arrival and strode from a spot where a navigator peered through a farscope. Haddan crossed to meet him.

“What’s wrong?” the general asked.

Wryth drew up to him, gulping air. He held up Skerren’s orb, trying to catch his breath. His vision blurred from the tears still struggling to wash the soot from his eyes. His heart pounded and pounded in his chest.

“Another…” he gasped. “Another signal…”

Dizzied by both fatigue and excitement, he fought to collect himself as the room spun. “It struck moments ago… when I was off by the crater.” He swept a shaking arm toward the ship’s stern. “Impossibly strong…”

Haddan stared down at the crystal orb in Wryth’s hand. His brow bunched as he squinted at the lodestones. “What happened to your instrument?”

Wryth understood the general’s dismay. Half of the lodestone slivers had settled through the heavy oil and were piled on the sphere’s bottom. A few still remained, pinned in place and spinning lazily. Wryth pressed the meat of his thumb over a crack in the crystal, stanching a leak of oil.

“The signal hit with such power that the orb came close to flying out of my hand.” He clutched the crystal harder, fearful that another signal might strike at any moment.

Back in Havensfayre, the orb had suddenly wrenched in his palm. He had grabbed it with both hands to secure it. Still, it had quaked violently, cracking along one side. As he had stared down at it, the lodestones had trembled with urgency, the copper threads glowing in the oil. Then one after the other, the slivers had ripped from their pins and were blown by those invisible winds to the back of the globe. The remaining pieces had shivered and fought to hold their place, like sails in a gale.

While watching, Wryth had spurred his horse in a circle. Once he had confirmed the direction, he had raced straight back to the Tytan.

Haddan frowned. “Did the signal rise from the blast site?”

“No. From beyond Havensfayre.”

The signal had faded by the time he’d reached the Tytan, but it plainly rose from farther east.

“Show me.” Haddan drew Wryth over to the circular table where a map was tacked down.

Wryth studied the schematic of the town and the surrounding area. A wayglass was fixed to the navigation chart. He used its sliver to fix his direction. He put a finger atop the town’s mooring field and drew a line due east, dragging it straight off the map. He continued pointing his arm in the same direction, out the bow windows.

“It came from somewhere by the cliffs of Dalal?ea,” Wryth said. “Maybe even atop the Shrouds.”

Haddan swore and straightened. He swung toward the starboard farscope. “Navigator Pryce! Do you still have the hunterskiff in view?”

“Aye, General, it’s just approaching the cliffs now.”

Wryth stiffened. “Why is a craft headed out there already?”

“To investigate a signal,” Haddan spat back. “A puff of blue smoke rose from there. I thought it likely nothing, but I sent a skiff to check it.”

Wryth clenched a fist, knowing this couldn’t be a coincidence. “They’re over there somehow. The bronze weapon, maybe the traitors, too.”

“And not just them.” Haddan’s face had paled. “Prince Mikaen is aboard that skiff.”

“What? Why?”

Haddan swiftly strode to a calling tube, while shouting angrily back, “To give Mikaen something to do. Though mostly to keep the bastard from further staining his reputation here.”

Wryth followed after the general. “I must ferry up to the Pywll. To trace that signal.”

“Do it. I’ll send a crow to the warship’s commander, ordering him to follow your orders.”

Wryth swung away, ready to race down to a sailraft, then burn his way up to the Pywll.

Haddan shouted after him, “I’ll unmoor this lumbering ox and follow you in the Tytan. But do not wait on me. Find out where those traitors are holed up.”

Wryth waved an arm, acknowledging the general. He pictured the Tytan dragging its keels over the treetops to reach the cliffs. Half of its gasbags were still not patched. But the Pywll remained intact. It should make swift passage to the Shrouds.

Still, I’ll not be the first one there.

M IKAEN BENT TO the left of the hunterskiff’s seated drover. He gazed out a narrow window at the rising bulwark of black rock. He spotted a line of stairs cut into the cliff face. He followed them down to the mists below.

Mikaen pointed there and called across the drover’s shoulder to the Vyrllian captain. “That’s where the draft of smoke rose from. I’m sure of it.”

As if the gods wanted to prove the wisdom of his assertion, a bolt shot out of the mists, right where he was pointing, and burst into a bluish puff.

The captain, Thoryn, grinned, splitting his crimson features. “I’d say you’re right.”

The Vyrllian looked to be half Gyn. He was so tall that he had to duck his head and hunch his shoulders from the skiff’s roof. Behind them, a score of armored knights huddled in the cramped quarters of the attack ship. A full-blooded Gyn crowded among them, seated on his arse, a battle-ax across his raised knees.

Maybe a relative of Thoryn’s.

“Hard to decline their kindly invitation.” Thoryn leaned closer to the drover. “Fast-drop us through those mists. Let’s not give them a chance to change their minds.”

Mikaen grinned. He grabbed a leather loop hanging from the roof with one hand and settled his other palm to the pommel of his sword.

Thoryn eyed him, his brows lowering. “You stick to my side, my young prince. I dare not return you to the Tytan with even a dent in that pretty armor.”

Mikaen gritted his teeth, resenting such attention, but he knew better than to argue.

Thoryn called back to the legion, “Clench your arses and pray to your gods! Down we go to kiss Hadyss’s fiery rump!”

The captain clapped his palm on the drover’s shoulder. “Reef our bag and drop us like a stone.”

The drover yanked a lever. The skiff shivered—then the craft plummeted straight down. The swift drop lifted Mikaen to his toes. His blood rushed to his head as the world vanished into mists. Mikaen held his breath until the view opened up under their keel.

He searched the ground sweeping toward them. He noted a cluster of stone homes at the base of the cliffs. Another wafting of blue smoke billowed across the underside of the mists, only to be blown away by their passage. For a moment, he thought he caught sight of a figure darting into one of the cliffside homes, but it could just be a shift of shadows as the craft fell.

The drover shoved a lever, and flashburn forges fired under them, flaming the tops of the grassy hummocks below. Smoke rolled under their keel as the skiff drew to a hard stop, hovering at the height of a knee.

“Out with y’all!” Thoryn bellowed.

The stern hatch crashed open. Its end struck the ground hard enough to bounce before settling. The Gyn rolled out first, followed by the knights. A few remained inside, raising hinged crossbows to slits in the craft’s hull.

Mikaen released his hold on the loop and set off after those exiting the skiff.

Thoryn stopped him with an iron gate of an arm. “Stay at my side until we gain a measure of what awaits us.”

Mikaen bristled at such caution. His blood was fired. His fingers clenched to his pommel. It took all of his strength to merely nod his assent.

Thoryn judged the state outside for an extra breath, then headed to the ramp. “Stick to my shadow.”

Mikaen followed, frustrated. How was the realm’s bright prince to shine when confined to shadows?

Still, he obeyed.

For now.

B REATHLESS, K ANTHE HID with the others in one of the stacked-stone homes nestled against the cliffs. He crouched by the slit of a window. Llyra stood posted by another on his left, past the open door. Pratik shadowed her. At the back of the small room, the Kethra’kai scout had already masked his lamp with a flap of leather. Jace stood with Seyrl, holding his ax in both hands.

“Seems like someone saw your signal,” Llyra hissed across to him.

Kanthe scowled. He had gone out a moment ago to fire aloft his second round of powder flares. He had barely gotten off his last shot when a huge shadow had swept above the mists. Not knowing if it was friend or foe drawing upon them, Kanthe had sprinted for cover. He had barely gotten through the door when a whoosh rose behind him, accompanied by the roar and smoke of flashburn forges.

He watched now as knights piled out of the hunterskiff, led by a monstrous Monger in iron armor.

Kanthe eyed their ship.

The hunterskiff looked like a small shark hovering next to a stony reef. It was narrow and pointed, with a balloon sculpted for speed. Around its keel, patches of dry grass burned and smoldered, fogging the ship in a wreath of smoke. Still, Kanthe could easily spot the line of crossbow slits along its flanks, already bristling with the points of explosive bolts. Even the craft’s sharp prow was actually the tip of a huge draft-iron spear, cranked by a ballista hidden in a well under its interior deck.

Jace edged across the room to peer over Kanthe’s shoulder. “Maybe we should retreat to the tunnels. I searched them while we waited. They don’t delve that deep, but they crisscross into a small maze.”

“Not yet,” Kanthe breathed out.

He wanted to better assess this threat.

Plus, I hate the dark.

He eyed the forces gathering outside. Besides the giant Monger, he counted fifteen knights. Likely a handful more inside. The legion spread out with bows and swords raised. A few men faced the forest, but the rest aimed their attention toward the stack of homes.

“We can’t hold out here,” Llyra said, drawing the corner of his eye. She fiddled with a steel throwing knife in her fingers. She finally pointed its tip back at the low threshold into the caves. “We need to find some narrows back there. A place where we can squeeze their numbers down, enough for us to defend ourselves.”

Kanthe glanced back.

She’s right.

Pratik added a cautious caveat. “That will only buy us a few breaths. They’ll surely burn us out of any hole if they grow too frustrated.”

Kanthe grimaced.

He’s right, too.

Still, they had little other choice. He began to turn from the window, when a flash of bright silver drew his attention back. A massive Vyrllian climbed out of the hunterskiff, trailed by a smaller figure in brilliant armor. His helm reflected even the meager light under the mists.

Kanthe stiffened.

Mikaen…

“We should go,” Llyra warned.

Kanthe squeezed his bow harder. He watched his twin brother draw toward the line of knights facing the homes. “You all go,” he whispered to the others. “Find a place to hide.”

Jace took a step back. “But what are you—?”

“I’m going to say hello to my brother.”

He straightened and stepped toward the door.

Llyra turned back to her window and swore. “What do you hope to accomplish, Kanthe? They’ll feather your body with arrows before you take three steps.”

“I hope not,” he said. “But either way, such a distraction might buy you those few extra breaths that Pratik has so thoughtfully counted for us.”

Kanthe also had another reason.

Back in the swamps, he had dodged the blades of the assassins, but a part of him had come to believe his doom was inevitable, that he had only borrowed these extra days. Still, the reprieve had given him a chance to finally hunt the Cloudreach and meet a half-sister who was far more beautiful than she had any right being, proving the gods had a wicked sense of humor.

Plus, as much as he hated to admit it…

I owe it to Mikaen to at least try.

He pictured the box he had handed to his brother before he departed for the swamps, the tiny pottery of two brothers clasping arms. He remembered their youth, running wild through Highmount, laughing under blankets, playing tricks on unwitting servants, stealing sweetcakes from under the cook’s nose. He stared at the shining prince on the smoky field.

He’s still my brother.

Maybe Mikaen knew nothing about the assassination attempt. Perhaps his brother could be persuaded to his better graces—at least more merciful ones.

“Don’t go,” Jace urged.

The journeyman’s plea was far less heartfelt than his good-bye to Nyx, but Kanthe appreciated Jace’s concern.

Still, he stepped to the door. “Go. Hide. I’ll do what I can. If nothing else, I must warn my brother about what Nyx portended. The kingdom needs to know.”

Even if it means my death.

He took a big breath, lifted his bow over his head in both hands, and strode from the shadows into the misty light.

Let me shine at least this much…

At his appearance, archers stiffened in wary surprise. Swords were raised higher. Someone shot off a bolt that shattered against the stone wall to his right. He refused to flinch. He took slow steps toward the line of knights.

“I’m Prince Kanthe!” he called over. “I wish to speak to my brother!”

Mikaen tried to step around the tall crimson figure, only to be held back by an arm. Even under the silvery helm, his brother’s sea-blue eyes shone toward him.

“Where are the other traitors?” Mikaen shouted back at him. “Send them out!”

Kanthe lowered his bow to the ground, then stepped over it. He kept his hands high. “There are no traitors here. Only those trying to stop a coming doom. You must listen to what I have to say.”

By now, he had crossed half the distance toward the row of knights.

Mikaen glared across the line at him.

Kanthe’s footsteps faltered. Not from the hatred shining in his brother’s face—though that was there—but from Mikaen’s dark measure of glee. Born from the same womb and raised together, they knew each other better than anyone else. He watched the mask fall from Mikaen’s bright face, revealing the roil of shadows beneath.

“You should’ve died in the swamps,” Mikaen called over, his voice thick with spite. “Your death from here will not be so gentle.”

Kanthe finally stopped.

I should’ve listened to Jace.

M IKAEN SAVORED THE look of dismay on his brother’s face. Knights closed off any retreat. Kanthe’s allies would soon be rooted out of their holes. Mikaen planned on torturing them in front of his brother.

Thoryn shouted next to him, “Secure the traitor! Prepare to scour that rampart for any other insurrectionists!”

As the Vyrllian captain stepped forward, Mikaen rounded past his shoulder. He wanted to watch Kanthe brought to his knees. As the knights forced him down, his brother closed his eyes, as if refusing to accept his downfall.

Oh, there will be far worse to watch, dear brother, before you die.

Thoryn suddenly grabbed Mikaen’s shoulder, drawing him back. With his blood fired, Mikaen shook free with a bark of frustration.

The captain lunged again. “Get dow—”

A flaming barrel fell from the sky and crashed in front of the line of knights.

The blast threw him straight back. He struck the ground hard enough to knock his breath out. Gasping, Mikaen watched the belly of a sailraft glide past. The dark shadow of another firebomb tumbled from its stern.

Mikaen curled to his side as it exploded behind him.

The world briefly became flame and smoke.

As Mikaen coughed and gasped, Thoryn dragged him up. Behind them, the hunterskiff fired bolts at the attacking craft, but it was already rolling back into the mists. On his feet, Mikaen turned. Kanthe had broken free of his captors and now raced toward the stone homes. Along the way, his brother scooped up his bow as he fled past it.

No…

Mikaen jerked free of Thoryn and sped after his brother through the smoke.

The captain cursed, then boomed orders as he followed. “To Prince Mikaen! Keep him guarded!”

Behind Mikaen, the hunterskiff ignited its flashburn forges. It went roaring skyward. The attack ship dared not stay grounded. It was too vulnerable with an enemy hiding above. Only in the air could such a craft prove its namesake, to become a true hunter.

In truth, Mikaen did not care what happened above.

He focused on the ground, on his brother. Ahead, Kanthe dashed through a door and vanished. Mikaen flashed to when they were boys, playing countless games of hunter and prey, often hiding in closets or pouncing over stair rails onto one another.

Mikaen smiled darkly.

And I always won.