While watching, Wryth had spurred his horse in a circle. Once he had confirmed the direction, he had raced straight back to the Tytan.
Haddan frowned. “Did the signal rise from the blast site?”
“No. From beyond Havensfayre.”
The signal had faded by the time he’d reached the Tytan, but it plainly rose from farther east.
“Show me.” Haddan drew Wryth over to the circular table where a map was tacked down.
Wryth studied the schematic of the town and the surrounding area. A wayglass was fixed to the navigation chart. He used its sliver to fix his direction. He put a finger atop the town’s mooring field and drew a line due east, dragging it straight off the map. He continued pointing his arm in the same direction, out the bow windows.
“It came from somewhere by the cliffs of Dalal??a,” Wryth said. “Maybe even atop the Shrouds.”
Haddan swore and straightened. He swung toward the starboard farscope. “Navigator Pryce! Do you still have the hunterskiff in view?”
“Aye, General, it’s just approaching the cliffs now.”
Wryth stiffened. “Why is a craft headed out there already?”
“To investigate a signal,” Haddan spat back. “A puff of blue smoke rose from there. I thought it likely nothing, but I sent a skiff to check it.”
Wryth clenched a fist, knowing this couldn’t be a coincidence. “They’re over there somehow. The bronze weapon, maybe the traitors, too.”
“And not just them.” Haddan’s face had paled. “Prince Mikaen is aboard that skiff.”
“What? Why?”
Haddan swiftly strode to a calling tube, while shouting angrily back, “To give Mikaen something to do. Though mostly to keep the bastard from further staining his reputation here.”
Wryth followed after the general. “I must ferry up to the Pywll. To trace that signal.”
“Do it. I’ll send a crow to the warship’s commander, ordering him to follow your orders.”
Wryth swung away, ready to race down to a sailraft, then burn his way up to the Pywll.
Haddan shouted after him, “I’ll unmoor this lumbering ox and follow you in the Tytan. But do not wait on me. Find out where those traitors are holed up.”
Wryth waved an arm, acknowledging the general. He pictured the Tytan dragging its keels over the treetops to reach the cliffs. Half of its gasbags were still not patched. But the Pywll remained intact. It should make swift passage to the Shrouds.
Still, I’ll not be the first one there.
* * *
MIKAEN BENT TO the left of the hunterskiff’s seated drover. He gazed out a narrow window at the rising bulwark of black rock. He spotted a line of stairs cut into the cliff face. He followed them down to the mists below.
Mikaen pointed there and called across the drover’s shoulder to the Vyrllian captain. “That’s where the draft of smoke rose from. I’m sure of it.”
As if the gods wanted to prove the wisdom of his assertion, a bolt shot out of the mists, right where he was pointing, and burst into a bluish puff.
The captain, Thoryn, grinned, splitting his crimson features. “I’d say you’re right.”
The Vyrllian looked to be half Gyn. He was so tall that he had to duck his head and hunch his shoulders from the skiff’s roof. Behind them, a score of armored knights huddled in the cramped quarters of the attack ship. A full-blooded Gyn crowded among them, seated on his arse, a battle-ax across his raised knees.
Maybe a relative of Thoryn’s.
“Hard to decline their kindly invitation.” Thoryn leaned closer to the drover. “Fast-drop us through those mists. Let’s not give them a chance to change their minds.”
Mikaen grinned. He grabbed a leather loop hanging from the roof with one hand and settled his other palm to the pommel of his sword.
Thoryn eyed him, his brows lowering. “You stick to my side, my young prince. I dare not return you to the Tytan with even a dent in that pretty armor.”
Mikaen gritted his teeth, resenting such attention, but he knew better than to argue.
Thoryn called back to the legion, “Clench your arses and pray to your gods! Down we go to kiss Hadyss’s fiery rump!”
The captain clapped his palm on the drover’s shoulder. “Reef our bag and drop us like a stone.”
The drover yanked a lever. The skiff shivered—then the craft plummeted straight down. The swift drop lifted Mikaen to his toes. His blood rushed to his head as the world vanished into mists. Mikaen held his breath until the view opened up under their keel.
He searched the ground sweeping toward them. He noted a cluster of stone homes at the base of the cliffs. Another wafting of blue smoke billowed across the underside of the mists, only to be blown away by their passage. For a moment, he thought he caught sight of a figure darting into one of the cliffside homes, but it could just be a shift of shadows as the craft fell.
The drover shoved a lever, and flashburn forges fired under them, flaming the tops of the grassy hummocks below. Smoke rolled under their keel as the skiff drew to a hard stop, hovering at the height of a knee.
“Out with y’all!” Thoryn bellowed.
The stern hatch crashed open. Its end struck the ground hard enough to bounce before settling. The Gyn rolled out first, followed by the knights. A few remained inside, raising hinged crossbows to slits in the craft’s hull.
Mikaen released his hold on the loop and set off after those exiting the skiff.
Thoryn stopped him with an iron gate of an arm. “Stay at my side until we gain a measure of what awaits us.”
Mikaen bristled at such caution. His blood was fired. His fingers clenched to his pommel. It took all of his strength to merely nod his assent.
Thoryn judged the state outside for an extra breath, then headed to the ramp. “Stick to my shadow.”
Mikaen followed, frustrated. How was the realm’s bright prince to shine when confined to shadows?
Still, he obeyed.
For now.
* * *
BREATHLESS, KANTHE HID with the others in one of the stacked-stone homes nestled against the cliffs. He crouched by the slit of a window. Llyra stood posted by another on his left, past the open door. Pratik shadowed her. At the back of the small room, the Kethra’kai scout had already masked his lamp with a flap of leather. Jace stood with Seyrl, holding his ax in both hands.
“Seems like someone saw your signal,” Llyra hissed across to him.
Kanthe scowled. He had gone out a moment ago to fire aloft his second round of powder flares. He had barely gotten off his last shot when a huge shadow had swept above the mists. Not knowing if it was friend or foe drawing upon them, Kanthe had sprinted for cover. He had barely gotten through the door when a whoosh rose behind him, accompanied by the roar and smoke of flashburn forges.
He watched now as knights piled out of the hunterskiff, led by a monstrous Monger in iron armor.
Kanthe eyed their ship.
The hunterskiff looked like a small shark hovering next to a stony reef. It was narrow and pointed, with a balloon sculpted for speed. Around its keel, patches of dry grass burned and smoldered, fogging the ship in a wreath of smoke. Still, Kanthe could easily spot the line of crossbow slits along its flanks, already bristling with the points of explosive bolts. Even the craft’s sharp prow was actually the tip of a huge draft-iron spear, cranked by a ballista hidden in a well under its interior deck.