“Don’t know,” Darant said. “But there’s only one way to find out.”
Graylin clenched a fist, his heart hammering. He wanted to burn straight over there, but … “What if it’s a trap? Maybe one or more of the others were captured, tortured into revealing how to signal us. This could be a ruse to lure us out of hiding.”
“I considered the same,” Darant said. “It’s why I woke your old arse before blazing up our forges.”
He turned to Darant.
“Get us over there.”
* * *
IN THE FORECASTLE of the Tytan, Mikaen stalked back and forth behind Haddan. The liege general glowered over a crewmember who manned the starboard farscope.
“What’s your assessment?” Haddan demanded of the navigator.
Mikaen waited, drumming fingers on his thigh. He had just returned to the warship. He stank of smoke and horse sweat. His eyes continued to burn, and his nostrils felt packed with soot. Still, he was desperate to get back out to Havensfayre, to continue the search of the town. The legion had been rooting out homes and cellars, rousting townspeople, questioning all, trying to discern who else might be involved with an insurrection against the king. Others in Havensfayre must know of Kanthe’s plot. His brother would not have come to this remote town without allies already in place, especially as Kanthe had somehow also acquired Wryth’s weapon.
Mikaen was certain others were involved.
Kanthe is too dull-witted to concoct this on his own.
Mikaen was also anxious to return for a reason that had nothing to do with rooting out his brother’s allies. Back in Havensfayre, he had enjoyed watching the townspeople cower before them. Their screams, protests, and prostrations stirred him hard. His own gauntlet was bloody from beating those who had balked or denied knowledge. He had watched enviously as women were dragged into shadows.
He longed to rejoin the others, to vent his frustration and enjoy every dark thrill due a conqueror. He had only returned to the Tytan to draw a fresh horse. His own steed had started to stumble, sick from the smoke, lungs surely caked. It didn’t suit for the prince of the realm to be seen riding atop a doddering horse.
Only once back at the warship, Haddan had summoned him here.
All because of some wisp of smoke spotted off in the distance.
The navigator finally turned from his scope. “The tint is too blue. I’m sure of it. That is no trail of a campfire.”
“So, a signal then,” Haddan said.
Mikaen stopped pacing. His eyes narrowed.
What was this?
“Aye, General.” The navigator straightened under Haddan’s exacting gaze. “But I cannot offer any guidance as to why it was cast, or who it was meant for. It could simply be hunters alerting one another.”
Haddan stepped toward the vast curve of bow windows and stared toward the cliffs that marked the Shrouds of Dalal??a. The general rubbed the stubble over his scarred chin.
Mikaen joined him. “Maybe it’s more of my brother’s plotters. They could be trying to signal others in Havensfayre. To rally those loyal to Kanthe to gather there.”
Haddan huffed through his nose. He glanced sidelong at the sooty state of Mikaen’s armor, lingering a moment on the blood staining his gauntlet’s knuckles. Then he faced Mikaen. “You could be right.”
Mikaen drew his shoulders back.
“I’ll send a hunterskiff to investigate.” Haddan began to turn away.
Mikaen reached to his arm, but then withdrew his hand when the general glowered at such an affront. He quickly stepped back, snapping his legs and back straight. “Let me go with the skiff.”
Haddan looked ready to dismiss such a thought.
“A hunterskiff can hold a score of men, even a Monger or two. Give me your best knights, those who idle wastefully here. We’ll flush out those plotters by the cliffs and put them to the question.”
“They might just be hunters, like Navigator Pryce has stated.”
“Still, we should know for sure.” Mikaen swept a hand across his ash-stained armor. “A prince of the realm should shine brighter than this. He should be seen rooting through every shadow for those disloyal to the king.”
Haddan glanced again to the blood on Mikaen’s gauntlet. “And perhaps a prince of the realm shouldn’t be seen beating those loyal to the crown. At least not in front of a century of knights.”
Mikaen’s face heated at his words, at the accusation behind them, but he knew better than to deny them, to put a lie to what they both knew to be the truth.
Haddan stared hard at him. “Do not put yourself at needless risk. I’m placing great trust in your judgement. I will assign you the captain of Tytan’s Vyrllian Guard. You will heed his every word. Is that understood?”
Mikaen struck his steel heels together. “Aye, General.”
Fearing Haddan might reconsider, Mikaen quickly turned and headed off. He forced himself not to run. He hoped he had enough time to polish his armor before the hunterskiff sailed to the cliffs. He intended to shine his brightest.
As he left the forecastle, he smiled and rubbed at the cake of blood on a knuckle—not to clean it, but only to create room for more.
52
RHAIF CROSSED THE bone field toward the fringe of jungle. He winced at every crack and snap underfoot. Shiya led the way, an unstoppable force. Still, she had already begun to dim under the threatening clouds, her bronze darkening to a leaden sheen. As she walked, her heavy feet crushed bones to dust.
He cringed as a small skull suffered that same fate.
Shiya never looked down.
He shuddered, remembering the claim Xan had shared with Pratik, that Shiya’s bronze form was possessed by the unsettled spirit of an old god, those callous and cruel beings from the Forsaken Ages.
Ahead, Xan flanked one side of Shiya, along with a scout. Another tribeswoman took up the other side. As they reached the jungle, the Kethra’kai picked out a path barely discernible in the darkness. They slipped through leaves and under a drape of thorny vine—that slithered away with a hiss as Rhaif tried to duck beneath it.
Aghast, he stumbled ahead.
Behind him, Frell and Nyx followed, stepping gingerly, their gazes sweeping warily all around. Aamon kept close to the girl’s thigh, his tufted ears pricked so high they looked ready to fly off of his furry head.
After only steps into the dripping forest, the path behind them vanished. The group drew closer. Ahead, Xan began to sing. There was no brightness to her melody. It was more a dirge, which matched this jungle’s dark temperament.
The other Kethra’kai found her rhythm and matched it, raising their voices with hers. As they continued, the forest seemed to scream, buzz, howl, and croak in tune with that song. Even the weeping drips added a drumlike tympani to their chorus.
Rhaif did not complain.
The wafting of their song seemed to drive creatures from their path. A bush to his right burst apart, each leaf revealing itself to be winged pests that spun menacingly through the air. More of the thorny vipers slithered away. A pack of furry damp beasts shot through the canopy overhead, using curved claws and strangling tails. They yowled down at them, baring rows of needle teeth from purplish leathery faces.
“Mandrayks,” Frell whispered as they passed. “I thought them all dead from this world.”