Llyra dashed back to the body and yanked her knife out. “Keep moving,” she hissed to them.
Kanthe had an arrow loosely fixed to his bowstring. Shortly after diving into these tunnels, he quickly grew to regret his choice of weaponry in such tight quarters, especially in the dark. He kept scraping the top of his bow on the low roof or striking a wall with his elbow. He had already accidentally let loose a couple of arrows, sending them skittering off into the dark.
He now followed Seyrl’s example. The Kethra’kai scout shuffled sideways. He had an arrow nocked but held off pulling the string. Seyrl had demonstrated how swiftly he could snap off an arrow when a target appeared. Luckily, the knights who hunted them came with torches and lamps, making them easy to spot. The scout had dropped two men on his own. Kanthe believed he might have grazed one himself.
Still, he wasn’t fooled. They could not stay ahead of this pursuit much longer.
Kanthe guided them down the curve of a narrow passage. As he rounded its bend, a wan light brightened ahead, suggesting they were nearing a section where the caves exited back into the cliffside homes. They had ascended a stairway a moment ago to reach this second level. If the Sparrowhawk appeared, they should be able to leap down and race toward it.
Until then, they needed to keep to the dark.
He reached a cross tunnel and aimed his group around a corner, leaving that wan light behind them. As he got them moving along the dark passageway, flames flared ahead of them, revealing a clutch of knights hiding in ambush.
Mikaen rose from near the shoulder of a Vyrllian Guard. “Dear brother.”
Another two knights knelt in front of them, crouched behind a raised shield.
Seyrl snapped off an arrow, only to have it rebound off the shield. The other knight fired a crossbow. The Kethra’kai fell back, a feathered dart in his eye.
Kanthe had already raised a smoldering taper to the trimmed fuse on his arrow’s egg. As Seyrl fell, Kanthe drew and fired. His shot was no more successful than the tribesman’s. The knight’s shield blocked the bolt—only to have the egg explode against the steel with a huge blast of blue smoke.
As the ambushers coughed and choked, a wall of smoke burst down the passageway, sweeping over Kanthe. He pushed everyone back to the curved tunnel.
But which way to go?
The answer came with a mighty roar of flashburn forges. The rumbling rose to his left, echoing from where the wan light illuminated the curved passage.
The Sparrowhawk …
He shoved everyone that way, but he grabbed Jace’s lamp and ripped away its leather shade. The flame blazed brighter.
Jace cringed from the brightness. “What’re you—？”
“Make for the Hawk,” he said with a shove. “I’m going to lure my brother off.”
Kanthe backed the opposite way. He knew Jace and the others would need every moment to make that rendezvous, which meant keeping the bulk of the legion inside the caves.
“I’ll circle around,” Kanthe promised. “I’ll meet you there.”
They hesitated—or at least Jace did. But Llyra grabbed the journeyman and dragged him away, herding Pratik ahead of her.
Once they left, Kanthe hung at the crossroads long enough for the smoke to dissipate slightly. The flames of his brother’s ambush site reappeared out of the gloom.
Which means they can see my lamp.
He waited for a shout to arise from over there, then took off to the right, away from Jace and the others. As he ran, he kept his lamp glowing, bouncing against his thigh. He had to make sure to draw his brother this way. Fresh shouts rose behind him.
Good enough.
He shook the leather flap back over the lamp, reducing its illumination to a sliver.
Still, it left him blind for several steps. Failing to slow down, he slammed into a sharp corner. Wood snapped, and his bow came apart in his grip.
He tossed the ruins aside, raised his lamp, and set off again.
He ran wildly, avoiding any glows ahead, chased by shouts behind. Then a familiar roaring grew ahead of him, along with a brighter light.
Thank the gods for smiling upon me …
He aimed for the brighter cross tunnel and took it. Ahead, an arched frame of light marked an exit. He sprinted for it as the world roared outside. Nearing the arch, he saw the tunnel didn’t dump into one of the stone homes, but atop a flat roof of the abode below. He didn’t care. The homes were squat enough that it would be an easy leap to the ground.
He swept over the threshold and skidded across the sandy stone roof. To his left rose the cliff face. Directly ahead stood the featureless side of a neighboring home. He turned to the right, which faced the misty forest—and ran for the roof’s edge, ready to leap below.
As he neared it, he spotted a ship wreathed in smoke out front.
He skidded again, nearly toppling over the roof’s edge.
It wasn’t the Sparrowhawk.
The hunterskiff hung out there, the rudder of its forges glowing red hot.
He glanced down. The slide of his stop had rained pebbles and sand below, alerting a huge Gyn, who craned his craggy face up at Kanthe. The iron-helmed giant hefted his ax higher, inviting him to hop down.
Another time …
Kanthe swung around—in time to see Mikaen stalk from the tunnel and out onto the roof. His armor shone brightly in the misty sunlight. The hulking form of a vy-knight followed close behind.
Kanthe backed a step, his heel slipping at the roof’s edge.
At that moment, he recognized his mistake.
The gods were not smiling on me after all.
Instead, they were laughing their arses off.
56
WRYTH POINTED TO the dark clouds sweeping under the keel of the Pywll. He held Skerren’s orb in his other hand. He had ordered the warship to sweep twice around the area. With the orb’s lodestones, he had been testing the winds blowing from down below.
“That’s definitely where the signal arises,” Wryth attested. “Here at the center of the Shrouds. Down below should be the Northern Henge.”
The commander scowled at the location. A storm raged under them, brightening the clouds in flashes. No thunder accompanied those crackling bolts, but the threat was plain to all. Worried glances spread across the forecastle.
Brask shook his head. “I can’t lower the Pywll through a storm that fierce, riven through with lightning. If the gasbag were struck enough times…”
Wryth pictured the balloon bursting into flame and crashing into the jungles. Still, he refused to be thwarted by bad weather.
Not when I’m this close.
Wryth turned to the commander. “The Pywll is tall. Can you lower the bulk of the boat through the clouds but still keep the balloon above the storm?”
Brask winced at such a thought.
“What about dropping just the keel of the Pywll through,” Wryth pressed. “Along with its lowermost levels.”
Brask plainly pictured what Wryth envisioned. “You want us to drop the ship enough to breach our keel-holds through the clouds?”
“That’s where the warship secures most of its rafts and skiffs. Those smaller crafts should be able to shoot out under the clouds, drop swiftly, and secure the entire area below.”
Brask rubbed his chin and slowly nodded. He glanced at his crew, his eyes brightening with the challenge. “We can do that.”
Wryth exhaled in relief.