Chapter 42
42
N YX STARED DOUBTFULLY at the moored swyftship. She gaped at the huge balloon straining overhead in the cleared fields east of Havensfayre. It seemed impossible that even such a large gasbag could lift and carry the ship beneath it.
Before now, she had never seen a wyndship up close. She had heard how they sometimes docked at Fiskur, but even that was rare. Occasionally she had caught glimpses of the larger wyndships sailing over the Myr, little shadows skimming through wisps of clouds. Still, it was not the same as standing in the shadow of such a sight.
Jace joined her as they waited for the final preparations to be completed before departing. He hid a yawn with a fist. It was well past midmorning, but she could not fault his exhaustion. They’d all had a late night, planning deep into Eventoll for this journey across the sea.
Jace shielded his eyes against the cloudy glare to take in the breadth of the craft. “Hard to believe this is a small ship, meant for skilled maneuvering. The wyndship that I rode from my home in the Shield Islands had to have been five or six times as large. But I was young, only seven at the time, about to take my tests at the Cloistery, so maybe my memory of that cargo ship has grown inflated over time.”
He grinned over at her, clearly trying to use a foolish pun to help with her unease. She offered him a weak smile. It was the best she could muster.
“Last night,” he continued, “I overheard the pirate, Darant, mention the ship’s name. Sparrowhawk. Let’s hope it proves as swift as that bird. Frell said we could reach the shores of Aglerolarpok in less than two days, which seems unimaginable.”
It is unimaginable.
Nyx folded her arms over her chest. She had slept little over the past night. She had tossed back and forth in her small room at the inn, plagued by dreams of the moon crashing into the Urth. Everything was happening too fast. She felt unmoored and tossed about. She had lost so much, and what she had gained left her only angry and out of sorts.
She glanced over to the knight—maybe her father—who was discussing final details with Darant and Frell. Graylin’s two vargr sat grimly off to the side, the tufts of their ears high, swiveling, taking in all around them. Their two pairs of eyes swung her way at the same time, as if sensing her attention. Gazes locked on her, acknowledging the new member of their pack, clearly wondering why she kept away.
She also felt her bond with them. The whisper of a howl echoed in her skull. Still, she could not bring herself to draw nearer. She had kept away from Graylin, unsure what to make of this stranger who was so tied to her past. Her initial fury with him had tempered to discomfort and suspicion. She recognized the distance she maintained wounded him, especially when she had rebuffed any of his attempts to talk to her. Still, she could not deny that a part of her found a measure of satisfaction in his misery.
The tap of boots drew her attention around. Kanthe strode toward them along the wooden planks that coursed across the fields. He was accompanied by a pair of crewmembers, two hard-looking young women in identical gray leathers and dark cloaks. They could be sisters, except one had dark almond skin with white-blond hair, the other had the palest complexion and hair as black as a raven’s wings. The pair had accompanied the prince to the markets of Havensfayre, to restock his arrows. Though from their predatory looks and secretive grins behind Kanthe’s back, their escorting of the prince had a more salacious intent.
Kanthe seemed blissfully unaware, joining Nyx and Frell with a huge smile. He hefted one shoulder, then the other. Behind each, he carried a leather quiver, jutting with striped fletching, like a pair of deadly bouquets. The two women who flanked him carried bundles of the same arrows over their backs and continued toward the ship.
The prince stopped next to Nyx and nodded toward the bundles. “Kethra’kai arrows,” Kanthe said, the elation bubbling from him. “Tipped in bone, shafted in black alder, and fletched in goshawk feathers. Nothing better in all the Crown.”
Jace looked enviously upon the prince, who noted his attention.
Kanthe reached behind his hip and hauled around a double-headed ax mounted on a gray handle. “Found this at a smithy. Forged in Guld’guhlian steel and hafted in unbreakable stonehart, sculpted from a branch harvested out of the petrified forest of Dodwood. Such axes are prized by the foresters here. Its edge is said to never go dull.”
Kanthe pushed the weapon into Jace’s hands. Her friend hefted its length in a double grip, testing its weight, and smiled back at Kanthe. “Thanks.”
The prince shrugged and brushed past him. “If nothing else, it’ll be good for shaving that scruff you call a beard.”
Jace ignored the jibe and kept grinning.
Kanthe frowned back at them. “Why aren’t you two already aboard? I thought I’d be the last one, hopping on just as the mooring lines were tossed.”
The prince hurried toward the swyftship’s open portside ramp with nary a care, as if riding the winds was something he did all the time.
And maybe he did.
As Nyx was dragged along in his wake, she studied the thick draft-iron cables that ran from the balloon down to the sleek wooden boat. The Sparrowhawk looked like a steel-tipped arrow. A thick keel ran from its flat stern to its pointed prow, which was clad in a reinforcement of draft-iron. The bow had a pair of long, narrow windows cut into it, like the squinted eyes of its namesake. A single row of tiny round windows ran back to the stern, just below its flat deck, which rose higher at front and at back into a bow and aft deck.
She watched a crewmember fly from the forward forecastle to the stern, racing across a cable suspended under the balloon. The man hung from a wheeled grip affixed to the wire. She hid a shudder at such a carefree manner.
Back at the Cloistery, she had been taught about wyndships and learned of the alchymy of light gasses that filled their balloons. She mostly understood the dynamics driving this craft, including the special tanks of flashburn used to fire the forges of such a nimble craft.
Still, it was one thing to read about such vessels and another to actually ride one. With every step toward the open hatch, her breath grew shorter, her heart thudded harder.
Ahead, Graylin signaled his vargr, who turned and loped up the ramp. The knight followed his furry brothers. She noted how his palms had swept their flanks as they brushed past him. It was an absent gesture, a brief acknowledgment of their bond. She also saw how his shoulders relaxed for that moment, then stiffened again.
In short order, they all boarded, drawing the remaining crew in behind them. At the top of the ramp, a cavernous cargo hold stretched from bow to stern. It held stacks of crates bound in nets and barrels strapped down. A line of cages hung from the rafters, holding a stir of dark birds, maybe skrycrows.
At the back, a stern hatch was being winched closed.
She spotted a pair of shadowy domed sailrafts flanked to either side of the hatch. She prayed they would never need to use those tiny skiffs.
“This way!” Darant called from ahead. He led them over to a wooden spiral stair that led up to the living quarters. “We’ll be underway as soon as the ropes are loosed.”
As Graylin mounted the steps, he whistled and pointed the two vargr over to a large shadowy stall lined by fresh hay. The pair swept in that direction but diverted to pass close to Nyx. The one named Kalder stared at her sidelong, panting, tongue lolling. Aamon drew closer, his flank grazing her side as he chuffed at her, as if inviting her to join them somewhere warm and safe.
She let her fingertips comb his fur.
Another time…
Kanthe tried to do the same with his fingers, but Aamon snarled, baring a fang on that side. The prince pulled back his hand. Still, he gazed longingly at the pair.
“Such handsome beasts,” he mumbled.
The group continued up the spiral stairs and into a long hall that divided a dozen cabins, six to a side. She spotted a door at the end of the hall to the right, guessing it led into the stern quarterdeck.
Darant headed the other direction, toward a matching door that closed off the other end. “If you want to watch this little hawk lift to the skies, you’re all welcome to join us.”
Frell hurried to close the distance with the pirate. “Fascinating. I’ve never been inside a swyftship’s wheelhouse.”
Kanthe continued with a shrug, but his pace quickened nevertheless.
Jace glanced back at Nyx, excitement dancing in his eyes.
She felt none of their thrill. She pictured the Sparrowhawk rising and never stopping, vanishing into the void. Or worse, climbing only to plunge back down into a splintering crash.
Yet, she knew if she didn’t go that Jace would stay at her side. She hated for him to lose this opportunity. Still, she might have balked, except that Graylin remained in the hall, looking her way. She had no intention of remaining alone with the man, and she didn’t know which cabin was hers.
So, she waved Jace ahead and fell into step behind him.
Graylin followed but kept his distance.
Darant opened the door into the forward quarterdeck and ushered them all past him. As Nyx ducked across the threshold, she realized the entire forecastle was one large chamber. Directly ahead, two long, narrow windows looked out across the fields below. Between them stood a tall wooden wheel.
The pirate crossed toward it. He waved to the two other crewmembers posted along the flanks to either side. They were the same pair who had accompanied the prince. The two women stood before a banked row of tiny screw-like wheels with little handles.
“That’s Glace.” Darant pointed to the white-haired beauty, then swung his arm the other direction. “And that’s Brayl. My two daughters by different mothers. And let me tell you, no one knows how to tame this hawk like those two.”
A horn echoed outside, signaling the ropes had been loosed.
Darant turned back to the wheel. He rubbed his palms, pressed them to his forehead, and wished for the gods’ good graces. “May the winds welcome us with gentle breezes and spirit us safely to port.”
He set his hands atop the wheel.
Nyx braced for some violence, expecting a sudden thrust upward. Instead, she did not even know they were moving until the fields below started dropping away. The ship sailed upward without any jolt. There was only the slightest swaying of the boat under its balloon.
Nyx took a step forward with a flicker of curiosity.
This is not so bad.
To either side, Glace and Brayl cranked various wheels, reaching to them blindly, their gazes fixed either to the forward windows or out the tiny round holes above their stations. Faint bursts of flames sounded to the right and left, likely rising from the port and starboard draft-iron rudders.
The ship continued to sweep upward, ascending ever faster. Outside, the misty fringes of the forest rolled past. Layers of gold-leafed branches seemed to wave at their departure. Then in a breath, the balloon dragged the boat into the clouds, erasing the world outside.
Nyx retreated from the ghostly view. It was as if they had been flung into a realm of spirits. Without anything to focus upon, she felt every sway, every nudge and roll. Her stomach churned queasily. She backed up into Jace and reached blindly for his arm.
A hand grabbed her shoulder. “I’ve got you.”
It wasn’t Jace.
“We’ll be through it in a moment,” Graylin assured her.
She jerked out of the man’s grip. Anger burned away her trepidation. She turned to glare at him—when the world burst into brightness as they cleared the clouds. The sunlight revealed every line of pain etched in the knight’s face: the despair in the turn of his lip, the grief in his eyes, and more than anything, the haunted look across all his features.
She had to turn from him, but it was not bitterness that drove her away. That pain was too hard to face, especially with it mirroring the same pang in her own heart.
She kept her back to him. She faced the brilliant expanse of bright clouds that extended to the horizon. Sunlight glared and ached the eye. But she did not even squint. She drew that radiance inside her, trying to use it to dispel the darkness.
They continued to climb higher, and the view stretched longer. Far off, the cloud layer spilled over an edge, like a waterfall tumbling down a cliff. Past there, a distant glint of blue shone, marking the sea.
The Bay of Promise.
Then a dark sun rose from over there, climbing from the lands below. It was massive, its blackness absorbing the sun’s brightness.
“A warship,” Graylin grumbled behind her.
She now recognized the shape to be a swelling balloon of incomprehensible size. Flags snapped along its top.
“Hálendiian.” Kanthe stepped forward. “From my father’s fleet.”
The huge balloon rose higher, drawing a giant boat into view. Maneuvering flames spat along its flanks. The ship angled more to the north, toward a break in the clouds that shone green with the reflection of the poisonous waters of Eitur.
“I don’t think it’s spotted us,” Darant called back. “Still, best we find the clouds again before we draw its attention.”
His daughters heard him and set about spinning their wheels. The Sparrowhawk sighed and began to lower, drifting down toward the white sea. Darant turned his wheel hard, angling them southward, away from the massive craft.
“Look!” Jace said, pointing as a second black sun rose to replace the first.
Another warship…
This second sun rose faster, more aggressively.
“Get us into the clouds,” Darant whispered, as if fearing to be heard.
The Sparrowhawk dove steeply—but it was to no avail. Like a mousekin dodging a cat, their frantic movement only succeeded in catching their hunter’s attention. The warship swung toward them with smoky bursts of flames. Its armored prow aimed straight at them, looming larger and larger.
Then the immensity of the sight vanished as the Sparrowhawk plummeted into the white sea. The world outside dissolved into swirling mists.
No one spoke.
No one breathed.
F ROM THE POPPING in his ears, Kanthe sensed the swyftship continuing to descend. But he knew the craft could only drop so far. A soft scraping of treetops along the boat’s keel revealed as much.
“That’s as far as we can go,” Darant whispered back to them.
Glace and Brayl fought their wheels, bringing the ship higher again until the scratching faded from the hull.
“No one speak.” Darant turned to them. “Whisper if you must. Warships have ears, great drums that can pick up a sparrow’s fart.”
As if heeding this, his daughters spun other wheels until even the rush from flashburn forges fell silent. The pair stepped back from their stations, their faces grim.
The Sparrowhawk continued to drift through the mists.
Kanthe clenched his jaws, his ears straining, knowing what would come next. Despite being a Prince in the Cupboard, he’d had some battle strategy instilled in him, especially with the school of Kepenhill so near to the Legionary.
But he wasn’t the only one with such training. Graylin shifted closer to the bow window on the starboard side. Kanthe mirrored the knight, moving to the portside. They both searched the glare of fog ahead, alert for any ominous shadow sweeping toward them.
Then a faint boom echoed through the mists, strong enough to swirl the clouds and tremor the ship. Then another and another. Flashes of fiery orange lit the distance, bursting brightly, then going dark.
Kanthe spoke, knowing the blasts would deafen the warship for now. “They’re trying to cut us off from reaching Landfall. The blasts will open the mists ahead, exposing us if we try to pass through.”
Proving this, more fiery blooms lit the mists, drawing a line across their path.
“That’s not all.” Graylin pointed lower. A deeper ruddy glow smoldered in the wake of those blasts. “They’re burning a fire line across the forest. I wager they’re intending to set a flaming noose around Havensfayre.”
Confirming this, a new cannonade of blasts rose to the north. A peek out the round windows on the starboard side revealed flashes of fire from that direction.
“The other warship,” Kanthe said. “Laying down a barrage along the shore of Eitur.”
Graylin nodded. “The one ahead will soon do the same to the south, burning a fiery swath along the banks of the Heilsa.” The knight glanced behind him, as if trying to peer through the breadth of the ship. “Then they’ll circle to both sides and secure Havensfayre mooring fields to the east.”
“Where they’ll offload their forces and scour the city,” Kanthe added, earning a nod from the knight.
“Then what is our course from here?” Darant asked.
“We only have a moment to decide,” Graylin warned. “We can’t head east as we’ll run into the cliffs that front the Shrouds of Dalal?ea. To climb above those heights, we’d have to rise out of the clouds and expose ourselves. The best option is to fly due south. If we hurry, we might escape that noose before it closes off that direction.”
Darant frowned. “If we go that way, we’d still have to course over the Heilsa. There’s no cloud cover over those waters.”
“That’s why we must be swift—burn every tank of flashburn if we must—and duck back into the mists on the other side.”
Darant nodded, turned to his wheel, and hauled it around. He swung the prow of the Sparrowhawk toward the Heilsa.
Kanthe closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, bothered by this plan. He considered his father’s temperament and all that had transpired. Toranth sent two warships. That alone told Kanthe that the king must be hunting for more than an errant son, even one who escaped an assassination. He glanced over to Nyx, who stood beside Jace with her eyes wide and fixed open. Frell also stared at the young woman, then over to Kanthe, his expression worried. The alchymist suspected what he did.
The king knows about her, maybe even about Graylin.
He also pictured who he knew must be commanding this excursion.
Liege General Haddan.
Knowing all this, Kanthe was certain the war group would not let them escape by such an easy ploy. In fact, he imagined Haddan would already be expecting it, even encouraging it. He pictured armed hunterskiffs, maybe another swyftship, already heading to the Heilsa’s far side, like a pack of wolves set loose to prowl those mists and be waiting for them.
He hurried toward Darant. “We can’t go that way.”
The pirate scowled at him; even Graylin’s brow darkened. Both men looked little ready to consider the judgement of Highmount’s Dark Trifle, a prince who had only completed his eighthyear at Kepenhill.
Kanthe pressed them anyway. “It’s a trap.” He quickly laid out his suspicions and finished with, “I know Haddan. That stony bastard will have that escape route covered.”
Darant tightened his grip on the ship’s wheel. “We’ll have to take that chance. And trust me, this Sparrowhawk has talons. They will not take her down easily.”
The pirate’s confidence did not soften Graylin’s frown. The knight kept his focus toward Kanthe. “What do you propose we do?”
Kanthe looked between the two men. “You’re not going to like it.”