The Cradle of Ice (Moonfall #2)

Chapter 25

25

G RAYLIN CLIMBED THE rear steps, which led up to a raised dais that loomed over the open plaza. Meryk and Floraan flanked him. Behind, at the foot of the stairs, Nyx stayed with Jace and Fenn, along with Daal and Henna.

Gaiety and raucous laughter echoed everywhere. Large hide drums thundered along the curved walls, except where the plaza met the sea. Horns made of huge, curled shells trumpeted in harmony, accompanied by all manner of ornate string instruments.

As he headed up, he gazed out to the sea, where boats of various sizes rocked alongside a half dozen stone piers. If he squinted, he could make out pens cordoned off in the water, fenced in by what appeared to be floating weeds. Large creatures milled within, piercing the waves with their long horns.

Strange…

At the top of the steps, a pair of guardsmen in sleek leather armor, with helms bearing small wings, came forward. They blocked the way with crossed spears tipped by steel tridents.

“Rel’n dar waa?” one asked.

Meryk moved closer and pointed toward where a small-framed man—the Reef Farer—lounged in a reed throne, adorned with shells and gilded ornaments of silver and gold. Other simpler chairs dotted the stage, occupied by a handful of people who chatted amiably together.

Likely his family.

A woman in a neighboring seat idly held the Reef Farer’s hand. She tilted over to whisper in his ear, but her gaze noted Graylin. Her eyes widened with surprise, then narrowed with curiosity. She leaned closer to the throne, her lips moving, but her eyes never left Graylin.

Ahead, Meryk appeared to be arguing with the guard.

Floraan explained. “It seems Reef Farer Berent is not in the mood to entertain strangers. If he knew how strange, he might change his stance. That’s what Meryk is trying to relate.”

One of the guards stared Graylin up and down, surely confounded by his tall boots, heavy cloth trousers, and fur-edged vest over a long-sleeved tunic. Still, those spears refused to part for them.

The impasse was broken when the Reef Farer waved one of his subordinates over, maybe a nephew or cousin. Words were exchanged and the way was opened.

Meryk led them across the dais, accompanied by the two guards. Once near the throne, Meryk dropped to a knee and bowed his forehead to the back of his hand. Floraan did the same, so Graylin followed their example.

Seated in a casual fashion, the Reef Farer nodded at each obeisance. Berent was clearly Panthean. His smooth complexion made it hard to guess his age, but his hair had gone a silvery gray, speckled with green, contained within a circlet of white stone adorned with emeralds, rubies, and sapphires. The jewels, aglow in the firelight, matched the hues of the daytime skies.

As his eyes settled on Graylin, they slightly narrowed, shining with a reserved interest. Berent then turned to Meryk and waved for him to speak, to explain this intrusion and the presence of this stranger.

Meryk sat straighter and spoke quickly.

While this discourse continued, interrupted by occasional questions, the woman seated next to the Reef Farer kept her focus on the newcomer to the village. Graylin had been informed by Meryk that she was Berent’s consort, a woman named Ularia. She was a carved figure of white marble, and from the dark emerald sheen of her short locks, she was far younger than her consort. She wore a long shift, as pale as her, but laced with opalescent pearls. Her gaze shone with cunning intelligence.

It took much to intimidate Graylin, but he still broke that gaze first.

He turned to the plaza. The celebrants below ignored the events transpiring atop the stage. Wine flowed freely. Music chased dancers across the plaza in complicated patterns that involved much twirling and sudden stops that ended in claps. They all appeared young, finely dressed, with sweat shining off their faces, both from the exertion and excitement. More dancers waited at the edges for their go. Meryk had explained this was a suitors’ dance, where mates were sought, allowing blood to be stirred across the many villages.

Floraan touched Graylin’s arm, drawing his attention back. “Reef Farer Berent would like to speak to you.”

Graylin turned to the throne and gave a respectful bow of his head. The leader of these people rose from his seat and crossed forward. His lips had thinned. Doubt shone in his eyes. He appraised Graylin, perhaps trying to determine what manner of ruse this was. He reached and ran a finger along the fur edge of Graylin’s vest.

Berent cocked his head to the side. “Weh sin’k fay nah?”

Floraan translated. “He wants to know what manner of beast this came from.”

Graylin glanced down. “Fox. The ruff of a fox.”

Floraan swallowed, then whispered, “We have no word for such a creature.” Still, she turned to the Reef Farer and tried her best. “Gree fay fox, ” she offered, stressing the foreign word.

He nodded, looking little convinced. Graylin suspected the man believed this was some elaborate costume, some festival joke to amuse the gathering. In fact, Graylin had battled enough opponents to know the Reef Farer was losing patience, tipping into irritation, even anger.

Before matters worsened, Graylin offered one way to convince him that they were not from these lands, that his clothing was not a fabricated ruse. He held up his palms and eyed both guards who flanked them, then ever so slowly slipped his sword from its sheath.

One of the guardsmen stepped defensively forward, but Berent waved him off. The Panthean’s eyes narrowed with curiosity, maybe avarice, as the full length of the blade was revealed.

Heartsthorn glowed in the firelight. Its silvery length was inscribed with twining vines heavy with grapes. The decoration celebrated Graylin’s corner of the Brau e lands, a roll of hills cooled by the shadow of Landfall’s cliffs, where his family’s vast vineyards spread.

Berent stepped closer again. The tip of his tongue licked the edge of his upper lip. Graylin read the desire and turned the blade and balanced it across his palms. He lifted it high, then lowered the treasure into the Reef Farer’s hands, so the man could inspect its authenticity.

Graylin glanced over to Meryk, remembering how the Panthean had mentioned the rarity of fine-wrought steel here. No one would forge such a treasure just to play a trick on the Reef Farer.

Even his consort, Ularia, rose from her chair and came closer. She had finally found something of interest greater than Graylin for the moment.

When the Reef Farer looked up again, there was no doubt in those eyes, only amazement. He asked a question, which Floraan shared.

“He wants to know where your great ship lies. He would like to see it.”

Graylin hesitated for multiple reasons. First, the small sailraft would surely disappoint. And second, he still wanted to keep its location secret, in case things turned sour and their group needed a fast escape.

Berent spoke quizzically again, sounding like he was repeating the same inquiry, only his timbre had hardened.

Graylin knew he had to be careful. His group’s presence risked upsetting a delicate balance that had stretched back centuries—to Skyfall, as they called it. Since that time, he imagined little had changed in the Crèche. The Pantheans were likely unaccustomed to surprises or sudden changes in circumstance.

Meryk pressed Graylin, reinforcing his leader’s interest. “I would like to see this ship, too.”

As if summoned by this request, a roaring echoed off the sea, like thunder rolling in from a storm. It grew louder with every thud of his heart. All eyes turned to the skies as the mists turned to fire. Music went discordant, then fell silent.

Oh, no…

Graylin knew what was coming.

Lit by a rush of flames, a massive shape plummeted out of the steamy mists, swirling fog in its wake. Above, the shreds of a balloon whipped and tore at the skies, as if clawing for purchase. A portion of the gasbag remained intact, doing its best to hold the ship aloft. Flashburn forges cast out a maelstrom of fire below the keel.

But it was not enough to stop the plunge.

The Sparrowhawk fell through the air and crashed into the water, just missing the ends of the piers. A huge wave blasted outward, ripping boats from tethers, shredding through the fenced pens. The swell struck the shore and washed halfway across the plaza. Dancers and musicians were flooded in all directions.

Out in the water, the Sparrowhawk heaved high after sinking to the depths of its deck rails. It bobbed crookedly, casting forth more waves. Beneath it, fires burned undersea, then went dark.

In the plaza below, people screamed and yelled, trying to rescue those flailing in the tides. Confusion reigned.

But not up here.

A sting poked Graylin’s neck. He turned to find the Reef Farer holding Heartsthorn at his throat. Fire sparked those eyes. The man’s lips curled into a sneer of fury.

I’m about to die by my own blade.

But the worst was not over.

Darant had not come alone.

Fresh screams of terror rose from the plaza. Ularia covered her mouth and fled back. Graylin followed her gaze skyward.

High overhead, black shadows shredded free of the steamy fog. They cartwheeled and spun through the air, diving toward the sea, determined to pursue the crashed ship. More and more appeared out of the mists, creating a dark thunderhead that descended toward the village, drawn by the noise and firelight.

The Reef Farer gasped their name like a curse. “Raash’ke…”