Chapter 38
38
W RYTH STOOD WITHIN the heart of the Iflelen’s great instrument and studied the mystery before him, an ancient enigma, untold millennia in age.
The bronze bust glowed with cascades of rippling energy. The golden twine of its hair wafted gently in that breeze, as did the curls of its beard, especially around its lips, as if it were whispering in its sleep. Though its eyes remained closed, he knew the violet-blue glow humming behind those lids.
“What are you?” he whispered for the thousandth time.
The mystery remained silent.
But nothing else in the chamber was quiet.
Around him, the instrument’s convoluted web of pipes and tanks burbled and steamed, hummed and pinged. The noise, normally a comfort, stoked his impatience. He started to pace within the tight confines of the cramped space.
As he did, the rhythmical bellows of the bloodbaernes—four once again—matched his steps. He glanced over to the latest addition, a young girl whose tiny heart fluttered like a panicked sparrow within her opened chest, adding her life to their efforts.
A nearby mumbling drew Wryth’s attention around. His fellow Iflelen—Shrive Keres—scribbled on a crisp parchment next to the crystal sphere of the listening device.
Exasperated, Wryth snapped at him, “What’s taking so long?”
Keres ran a palm over his flaking scalp. “I’m working as swiftly as I can.”
A bell ago, Keres had dispatched a messenger to wake Wryth from a troubled slumber. It seemed the signal from the bronze artifact out on the Ice Shield had subtly shifted, while also flaring brighter for a spell.
Days ago, Wryth had instructed Keres to alert him if there were any changes.
So, I can hardly complain about being woken.
Though, by the time Wryth got here, circumstances had changed yet again.
As Keres worked, Wryth squinted at the crystal sphere. The yellow glow from the stolen artifact had subsided again to a weak glimmer. Luckily, it continued to remain relatively stationary out on the Shield. Unfortunately, the same was true of the red blip that marked Skerren’s pursuit fleet. It had closed the distance considerably, but then it had slowed to a stop, too.
What is happening out there?
It was that quandary that Keres was struggling to answer. Just as Wryth had arrived at the sanctum, the red glow had begun to blink out a code, a message from Skerren. It went on for some time. Once it had finished, Keres had set about deciphering it.
Wryth feared there might be some debilitating mishap with the fleet, or perhaps Skerren had decided to forsake the hunt. Wryth could almost understand such a decision. Skerren had flown blind into the unknown. While Wryth had the crystal listening device—powered by the glowing cube and fueled by the chamber’s machine—Skerren only had a fist-sized sphere of lodestones, each sliver attuned to the bronze artifact’s emanations. Regrettably, it could only pick up those discharges once Skerren was close enough to its source.
Under seventy leagues.
Until then, the fleet had no way of tracking the others.
Back when Skerren had first detected the signal, he and Wryth had tracked the enemy’s progress across the Ice Shield, while waiting for the Hálendiian pursuit fleet to be prepared. During that stretch of time, the signal had stuck to the same trajectory, a vector that Skerren now followed. They had no choice but to trust that the enemy would remain on that same course, sticking to the same river of winds.
It was a gamble, but if successful, the reward was worth the risk.
The plan was for Skerren to close the distance until his smaller tool could pick up the enemy’s signal, then sweep down upon them. The fleet’s considerable arsenal should dispatch the enemy with little trouble. Still, Wryth intended to take no chances. He had dispatched another weapon with those ships, one he had personally devised.
“I have the message,” Keres said, drawing back his attention.
Wryth faced the other. “Tell me.”
Keres pointed to the red glow on the listening device. “Skerren has reached the mountains of the Dragoncryst. That’s why his fleet has slowed. A fierce storm roils there. He had intended to wait it out.”
Frustrated, Wryth curled his hands into fists, wanting to throttle Skerren for such caution.
Especially when you’re so close to the enemy.
Keres noted Wryth’s aggravation and lifted a brow. “But then Skerren got a reading on his sphere. Just the barest flicker of those tiny lodestones.”
“What?” Wryth stiffened. “When?”
“About the time I noted the earlier flare. That’s why Skerren dispatched his message.” Keres grinned in excitement. “He lost the signal after it faded, but he and the fleet are invigorated and excited. They’re readying their ships to brace the storm.”
“So, they intend to head onward?”
Keres pointed to the crystal sphere. “They’re already on their way.”
Wryth stared for a long breath. The red glow of the fleet looked like it hadn’t moved, but he trusted Keres’s sharper eyes, especially as the man had been monitoring the device from the start.
Wryth leaned closer, his heart pounding, no longer tired. He intended to wait out that coming battle right here.
After so long…
But it seemed the night of interruptions wasn’t over.
A loud bang drew his attention to the chamber’s door. Phenic, the gangly-limbed acolyte, burst into the chamber, searched around, and spotted them.
“Shrive Wryth!” he called out, breathless. “I must speak to you!”
Wryth frowned and waved Phenic to join them. “Calm yourself and come over.”
Phenic looked aghast at violating the inner sanctum, a sacred place reserved for only a handful of the Iflelen. But he knew better than to disobey Wryth’s command. The acolyte squirmed and twisted his way to join them. By the time he reached the heart of the great machine, his face ran with nervous sweat.
“What has you so excited?” Wryth asked.
“Word from the Southern Klashe,” Phenic gasped out. “Spies report that the emperor has dispatched two warships, captained by a pair of his sons. They’re heading north, aiming for the kingdom.”
Wryth scowled. “The imperium is just posturing. After the bombing of Ekau Watch, the emperor must respond in some manner or lose face.”
Still, Wryth knew the reason behind the emperor’s volatile act. He cursed Prince Mikaen for the hundredth time. Before the prince’s warship had left Azantiia, King Toranth had ordered his son to only harangue the outpost, to set fires and leave. Such an attack was meant to voice the king’s fury at the empire—not only for sheltering Kanthe, but also for the betrothal to the emperor’s daughter.
A message had to be sent to the empire.
Only Toranth had dispatched the wrong herald.
Mikaen had taken it upon himself to drop the massive Hadyss Cauldron atop the small outpost, killing everyone below and setting fire to a large swath of Tithyn Woods, which continued to burn. He claimed his ship had been attacked, requiring a violent response. Toranth could hardly scold his son upon his return, especially with the reception Mikaen received by the king’s legions, who celebrated his victory.
Of course, now Emperor Makar had to retaliate in kind, sending warships north. Wryth could only hope Makar’s sons were more reasonable and even-tempered.
Phenic shifted on his feet, clearly not done with his report.
“Out with it,” Wryth ordered.
“Prince Mikaen intends to meet them,” Phenic blurted out. “To attempt an ambush within the smoke-choked stretch of the Breath.”
“No! The king would never allow it.”
Phenic cringed at his outburst. “The entire legion is rallying for action. Stoked by the faction of the Vyrllian knights who support the prince.”
“His Silvergard.”
Phenic nodded. “A royal warship and others are being readied as we speak. They intend to take flight with the next bell.”
Wryth groaned and turned to Keres. “Keep monitoring Skerren. Dispatch a skrycrow if there’s any further message.”
Keres frowned. “Dispatch a crow where ? Where are you headed?”
“To that warship. Someone must go with Mikaen and try to keep him from another rash act, one that could set fire to all of the Crown.”
Wryth headed away, dragging Phenic with him.
Keres called after him, “Will the prince listen to you?”
Wryth didn’t answer for a simple reason.
I don’t know.
Still, another question plagued him as he left the chamber and rushed upward through the buried levels of the Shrivenkeep. Emperor Makar was a notoriously cautious ruler, one who pondered decisions over lengthy spans of time, seeking counsel from among his thirty-three Chaaens, along with countless soothsayers and bone-readers.
Makar was not one to act recklessly.
So why had the emperor moved so suddenly? Even after the savage bombing, Wryth had expected Makar to be slower in response, to consider and weigh all options before acting.
It made no sense.
What has changed over there?