The Cradle of Ice (Moonfall #2)

Chapter 76

76

R HAIF CROUCHED UND ER the heavy wing of the dead raash’ke. His bag lay open on the sand. He worked swiftly, picturing Glace’s darkly sneering face and Darant’s terror at his daughter’s demise. A sharp cry of pain goaded him to work more quickly.

He remembered the ox-faced man’s threat to take Glace apart piece by piece. Has that started? Darant’s curses and rattle of chains answered that.

“I will rip your bollocks off with my bare hands,” Darant gasped out. “And stuff them down your throat.”

The Hálendiian leader was unfazed by this threat. “Talk, or I’ll take her entire hand next.”

Panicked, Rhaif fumbled with a tiny pot of embers. On his route through the village, he had collected burning shards from a section of flaming roof. He had stored them in a lidded pot that he’d stolen from another house.

He blew the embers inside back to a flicker of flame.

Between his knees, two hollow sea-gourds rested in the sand. Small wicks dangled from them, stuffed past a ticking of cloth from his own shirt. Inside, he had created his own concoction based on flitch.

Over the past days, he had found plenty of idle time to ask questions and wander the village. He hung with Krysh and Jace, looking over their shoulders, both at the Fyredragon and aboard the Sparrowhawk. He followed Glace and Brayl around like a sad cur, as they inventoried supplies. Floraan showed him these very gourds, said they were dried from some bulbous kelp.

When it came to thievery, one never stopped observing. One never knew when a coin purse might be unattended, when a window might be left ajar, when an unexpected opportunity might arise. Llyra’s main tenets remained in place at all times, even between assignments.

Flexibility, ingenuity, resourcefulness.

Days ago, after the first raash’ke attack, the worry of another assault weighed heavily. It was why he had mapped out the location of a few lodestone chambers. One never knew what fate would throw at you. Likewise, from watching, listening, and some background in pyro-alchymy, a skill most thieves honed, Rhaif had come up with a fiery concoction of his own, merging Panthean and Hálendiian know-how.

Just hope it doesn’t blow up in my face.

He used the flaming ember to light both wicks, which he had trimmed to two lengths, short and long. He waited a breath until the flitch -soaked wicks flamed brightly—then he crawled on his elbows back to the fringe of the wing. He used his head to nudge the edge up.

He had to act quickly. The gourds’ flickering flames risked drawing the eyes of the enemy inside. He lifted the wing higher. As the view opened, it appeared everyone inside was focused on Glace, their backs to the door. A large ax was raised above her wrist. Her arm was pinned to the sand. From her trapped hand, blood poured out of a finger’s stump.

Bastards…

“Tell us where the others took that bronze woman,” Ghryss demanded. “Last chance.”

The only one looking out the door was Glace. Her pained eyes went huge. He could only imagine what she was thinking, seeing him rise on his knees under the wing of a dead raash’ke.

But surely not this.

Rhaif tossed both gourds toward the door.

“Bomb!” he screamed.

One of the gourds made it across the threshold, bouncing down the steps. Its flaming wick spun wildly, sizzling even brighter as it did. The other fell short of the doorway and landed in the sand out front.

This second one had the shorter wick.

Rhaif dropped flat and pulled the wing over his head.

The explosion shocked even him. Flames blasted searingly bright, revealing the shadowy bones through the leather over his head. The concussion flapped the wing, too, as if the dead raash’ke were trying to take flight.

As the ringing in his ears died, he heard panicked shouts, the rush of footfalls out the chamber.

“Get clear!” Ghryss hollered as he fled the bomb inside. “Make for the Drakyl !”

As Rhaif had hoped, the fiery blast and the threat of the other bomb had chased the Hálendiians out of the enclosed room. It also drew the raash’ke upon the fleeing men. Their savage cries deafened him. The bridling tried to eat through Rhaif’s lodestone earpieces but failed. Still, it felt like his skull was being ripped apart.

Grimacing, Rhaif waited until the last boot pounded past him. Then he shoved out from under the wing and dove across the threshold. He rolled down the steps into the chamber.

Glace stumbled back from his sudden arrival, clutching the wrist of her maimed hand.

Darant swore.

Chains rattled as other members of the crew fled to the side. Perde lay on his stomach, trying to smother the second gourd.

Rhaif waved him off. “Don’t burn yourself. It’s only a little firepot I made.”

Perde rolled away and patted the scorch across his shirt, glaring at Rhaif.

“What was in that other?” Darant asked as he headed to the door.

Rhaif followed him, ticking off the ingredients. “Three parts refined flitch from the new forges, a fistful of powder from a hand-bomb, and just a dash of flashburn.”

“Write that down for me,” Darant said.

Glace joined them. “Good one on that ruse. Always knew you were a sneaky sod.”

“Thieving never leaves your blood,” he mumbled. “Even when you’re trying to save the world.”

Outside, the raash’ke had already laid into the fleeing Hálendiian forces. Several men thrashed under the throes of beating wings. Rhaif spotted the armored hulk of Ghryss pounding toward the dropped ramp of his swyftship.

One of his men turned and fired a crossbow. The bolt struck a small bat diving at them. It pierced a shoulder, sending the beast into a rolling crash into the sand. The archer fled away, rejoining Ghryss. Both were unaffected by the debilitating cries of the raash’ke—due to shield-helms protecting their ears.

Rhaif could guess where they had learned about such gear. Out on the plaza, Ghryss hauled Ularia along with him.

“Grab that ax,” Perde hollered to another of the crew. “Break these sodding chains.”

Rhaif glanced back. Perde stood over his dead brother, his face hard with fury. Rhaif made a silent promise to share a cask of ale with Perde, in honor of his fallen brother.

“Serves him right,” Darant mumbled.

Rhaif glanced back outside again. Ghryss had reached the bottom of the ramp into his ship. The bat with the wounded shoulder had righted itself and sped on wingtips and legs, running like a feral dog across the sand, racing with shocking swiftness toward the ramp.

Ghryss bellowed and sprinted up the ramp, but the raash’ke took flight, barreling through the air straight at him. The Hálendiian used his only weapon. He flung Ularia, still clutched by the arm, and tossed her at the beast. She flew high, arms pinwheeling, and struck the bat.

They both splashed down into the shallows.

Knocked free, Ularia sputtered up. She scrabbled on hands and knees back to the sand. The bat lunged out, snagging fangs into the back of her thigh. She screamed, then louder as jaws snapped bones and her leg was ripped off. She fell flat, but she still tried to claw away, trailing blood.

The bat leaped high and landed on her back. Claws snagged into ribs. It flapped off the sand, carrying her with it. It must have forgotten its injured shoulder and slammed back down, crushing Ularia. It tried again with the same result.

Ularia mewled and weakly squirmed.

Rhaif had to turn away. “Even she didn’t deserve that.”

Darant disagreed. “She sold out her own men. Got them killed. Left them as carrion, taking only their bulky helms.” He thumbed to a pile at the back. “She merits no pity.”

A loud boom drew their attention. From the stern of the Drakyl, a sailraft blasted out. Its keel skidded the waves, then its gasbag burst taut above it. Its forge ignited with a blast of flames, casting the raft high, propelling it swiftly across the sea.

“Bastard had a fourth sailraft,” Rhaif muttered.

Darant glowered. “A personal escape ship.”

Over the plaza, a flock of wings gave chase, but Ghryss had a good head start.

“What now?” Perde asked.

Rhaif stiffened and grabbed Darant’s arm. “Brayl…”

“What about my daughter?”

Rhaif gave a short account and pointed beyond the village. “We must get to her.” He turned to Perde. “And bring that ax.”

Glace stepped forward, tying off her hand with the sleeve of a dead man’s shirt. “I need a couple of the crew.”

“Why?” Darant asked.

“I overheard the Hálendiians. They left bombs aboard the Hawk, along with a few of their men. Someone needs to check on her.”

Darant nodded, his face tight with worry. “Krysh and Meryk are over there, too. Before the bats attacked, the Hálendiians wanted information about our new flitch and modified forges.”

“Then let’s go,” Rhaif said.

To get everyone moving, he passed around helms, while the axes freed chains from wrists.

By the time they were done, the plaza had emptied of the raash’ke. Some had flown off with their prey. A larger portion had fled after the fiery star of the fleeing sailraft.

This moment of reprieve offered their best chance.

Rhaif pointed to the left. “Darant, I can lead you and a couple men through the village, backtracking the way I got here. But we should hurry.”

Glace pointed her thumb in the other direction. “I mapped a route of these lodestone rooms. Should be able to hop our way across, then stick to the beach’s smoke to reach the Hawk. ”

Rhaif was impressed. Apparently, pirates were as good as thieves when it came to preplanning for disaster. Then again, there was some overlap in their vocations.

With matters settled, they all slipped out of safety and back into danger.

Rhaif set off with Darant, but his mind kept snagging on Ghryss’s question, the one that the Hálendiian had been willing to torture and kill to get the answer to.

Rhaif wanted to know, too.

Where are the others?