Darant waved to Graylin. “We went first last time.”
Graylin scowled, secured his small cask, and jumped across the short space. He latched his arms and legs around the cable and slid down its length. He whisked into the mists and only spotted the deck at the last moment. He hit it hard, wincing at the bang of his landing. He kept low and dashed to the side. His eyes fought to adjust to the foggy gloom.
Still, no one seemed to be back here. Hopefully attention remained fo cused on the starboard side, where the sailraft had been demolished. Darant and Glace quickly joined him, landing far more deftly than him—but then again, they were both raiders of many ships.
Voices echoed through the mists, rising from the middeck. Fiery pools marked lamps down below.
Graylin pointed to the quarterdeck’s forward rail. They needed to climb down to the middeck and reach one of the hatches that led into the ship. With nods from the other two, Graylin led them to a narrow set of stairs and descended swiftly.
As he reached the middeck, he waved Darant and Glace toward a double set of doors into the ship. He kept low, guarding the others. Voices called through the mists. Shadows shifted out there.
Darant got the door open with a creak of hinges.
As a former knight, Graylin knew the layout of such warships and had sketched a rough map for the pirate, in case they got separated.
It was a good precaution.
A shout of alarm rose ahead of him. It spread to others. It seemed the legion here had adjusted to the fog far better than Graylin. A shape suddenly loomed before him, marking a giant Monger. Smaller shadows closed in on either side.
Graylin turned and shoved his cask at Glace. “Go. I’ll lead the others away.”
Darant didn’t hesitate and took off into the ship with his daughter. Praying the two hadn’t been spotted, Graylin dodged to the left and sprinted low across the middeck.
Boots pounded after him.
Then a thunderous clatter of hooves rose in front of him.
No …
Out of the mists, a huge black steed charged across his path, blocking him. Knights closed behind him, carrying torches and lamps, brightening the pool at the center of the deck. The rider dropped from his tall saddle, landed hard, and stalked forward.
Of course, the liege general had been drawn topside by the demise of the sailraft. The man had always been hands-on when it came to skirmishes.
Haddan drew closer. Not even the mists could hide the man’s scowl. “Welcome back to my ship.” He pulled his sword. “Now where did we leave off from your last visit?”
SEVENTEEN
A STORM ON THE SHROUDS
What be death, but the breffest of farewells. Onli in one’s heart does memory transmute such partings into an eternity of payne or into the most precious of treasures. So, I wyssh you all the richest of lyfes.
—From the peroration of Sigyl the Blind, often inscribed on gravestones
58
FROM THE THRESHOLD of the copper door, Nyx gaped at the dark spectacle that spread across the breadth of Dalal??a. They were all gathered under the tall set of crossed arches, even the Kethra’kai and Aamon.
Overhead, the skies raged against the trespass above. Lightning split the darkness in a continual storm. Bolts lanced from the crystal-tipped pillars and spattered across the underbelly of a huge ship that had breached the black clouds. The thick keel bore the brunt of the attack but appeared to resist the fire in those bolts.
From a multitude of holds in the ship, a flurry of small crafts jettisoned out, bursting forth with a billow of gasbags. Flashburn forges flamed the skies in all directions. The energetic verve in the air was laced with burning oil and smoke from all those ships, over a dozen. Hunterskiffs, sailrafts, and arrow-like ketches.
Several had already landed. The ships guarded the four gates out to the jungle, unloading legions in shining armor. Elsewhere, a few crafts burned in splintered ruins atop the stone plaza, struck by lightning during their descent.
“We’re too late,” Rhaif said. “There’s no way we can break through that blockade.”
Nyx glanced around. Their group, including the Kethra’kai and Xan, only numbered nine. Aamon brushed her flank, reminding her there was a tenth member. As she watched, more ships drew to hard stops atop the plaza, fluming fire and smoke under their small keels. One of the two-manned ketches shot low over the crossed arches, clearly scouting the ground below.
“We have to attempt it,” Frell warned. “We have no choice. If we can break through to the jungle, we might have a chance of escaping.”
Still, even he didn’t sound convinced of his own plan.
Another did. “I will forge us a path,” Shiya said.
She left the shelter of the doorway and stalked out across the plaza. She lifted an arm as if calling over to the enemy—but it wasn’t the king’s forces she was summoning. One of the crystal-tipped pillars blasted a bolt her way. She caught its fire in her hand and cast it at a sailraft sweeping nearby.
Its gasbag exploded with a whoosh of flame. The blast drove the raft into a steep dive and into a shattering crash, leaving a fiery trail across the rock.
The shock of her miraculous attack kept everyone frozen in place.
“Go!” Frell finally said. “Keep with her.”
They all rushed out.
As they fled, Xan started singing, drawing the voices of the other Kethra’kai. Amidst the roaring of countless forges, Nyx still heard them clearly. The strands of their song wound outward, like the tendrils of a sprouting seed. Those threads rose higher and higher into the sky.
Nyx drew herself into their melody—if only to hold back her terror.
She didn’t understand Xan’s intent, but she added her strength.
Ahead, Shiya captured another bolt and flung it toward a hunterskiff that had landed. She missed the craft, proving even a living sculpture could not entirely master wild lightning. Still, the strike hit the stone near the men and sent them scattering. Her bronze form blazed in the gloom like a torch.
But that was not all that glowed.
Overhead, the silver-gold strands of Xan’s chorus both rose higher and twined together, forming a shining trunk. Branches spread outward, bursting with clusters of finer filaments that wove into golden leaves.
Wonder nearly overwhelmed her terror as she gaped at the giant alder glowing and growing above them. It was as if the spirit of the Oldenmast had come to protect them under its bower.
But this shining tree offered more than shelter.
It was a flag, a rallying call.
Beyond the wall, the jungle awoke, stirred by this glorious symbol of bridle-song shining in the plaza. The forest screamed its savagery and howled at the trespass here. Through all the gates, the hostile heart of the dark jungle burst into the plaza. Poisoned fangs and ripping claws tore into the legions gathered at the thresholds. The air around them filled with painful stings and bullying bites.
Screams and cries echoed across the stone.
As the forces fled from the gates, Nyx began to hope. She should have known better.
A flurry of arrows, many flaming, streaked the skies, rising from a clutch of archers to the right. Shiya tried to sweep the threat away with a bolt of lightning, but the numbers were too many. Death rained toward them.
As Nyx stared, she was knocked down from behind. She hit the stone hard. Her skull rang with the impact, dazing her. A weight pinned her in place, a paw on her shoulder and leg.