Darant and Glace followed. They kept their feet as they landed in unison, proving this was not the first time they had leaped from one ship to another. Still, as the Sparrowhawk rolled away, banging against the side of the warship with a parting kiss, they finally sprawled to the planks, too.
Once clear, the swyftship roared away, all forges burning.
“Grab something!” Darant hollered.
Graylin crawled over to the stanchion of a cable and hugged it, knowing what was coming. He heard two sharp blasts echo across the skies. He pictured the two casks of combustibles carried over to the warship. He held even tighter, knowing where those small barrels had been planted.
Under the warship’s Hadyss Cauldron.
The next explosion broke the sky, birthed a new sun, one brighter than the Father Above. The concussion struck the Sparrowhawk and spun it full around through the air, tipping the boat nearly vertical.
Graylin clutched his stanchion. He caught glimpses of the thick pall of smoke, the spread of flaming wreckage, the smoldering shreds of the balloon. It all hung in the sky, then began to rain down into the mists.
The Sparrowhawk settled into a rocking flight, eventually evening out.
Graylin gained his feet. Darant and Glace strode past him. The pirate brushed at his breeches and half-cloak, as if unfazed by any of it.
Darant glanced back to him. “Are you coming?”
Graylin followed on unsteady legs, his shoulder soaked in blood. They crossed to the door into the quarterdeck and down a steep stair in the ship’s forecastle. Darant’s other daughter, Brayl, stood behind the wheel.
The pirate scowled at the woman. “What was with all that scraping and grinding back there? Before I left, I told you I didn’t want a scratch on the old bird when I got back.”
Still, despite his scolding, he scooped his daughter high and swung her around.
“Good job, lass,” Darant whispered.
Graylin turned around as more people piled into the forecastle. He recognized Prince Kanthe and the journeyman from the Cloistery. Then came two strangers, a Guld’guhlian woman and a Klashean. He searched the group, noting the bloody wraps around Kanthe’s chest and thigh, but also noting who was missing.
“Where’s Nyx?” he asked.
Kanthe’s eyes were wild. He pointed to Brayl. “I tried to get her to listen.”
Graylin’s heart stuttered, fearing the worst. “Where is she?”
Kanthe swung his arm at the bow windows with a wince. He pointed toward the distant cliffs, toward where the dark balloon of another warship loomed up top.
“She’s in the Shrouds.”
60
NYX CRINGED AT the thunderous explosion to the west. It sounded like the end of the world, as if the moon had already struck the Urth.
The blast froze the entire fiery tableaux of the battle across Dalal??a. Even Ablen and Bastan had halted the plunge of their pikes at Aamon’s body. The points of their spears hovered over the vargr’s chest. Aamon growled and shifted back, not to escape the weapons but to better shield Nyx.
Ablen and Bastan straightened, looking confused, as if the blast had momentarily disturbed the air enough to break the connection. It did not last long. Behind them, Vythaas raised his copper box. The other Shrive—Wryth—frowned to the west, in the direction of the explosion.
Vythaas whispered into his device, glowing its filaments brighter.
Ablen and Bastan focused back on Nyx. Their pikes shifted higher, their eyes shining with the malignancy possessing them, controlling them. Again, she saw the vibration of corruption binding her brothers to Vythaas and his malevolent box. The threads coursing through the air were noxious, powered by agony and malice.
Nyx’s song had died in her throat.
I cannot fight this evil.
But another rose to that challenge.
Overhead, the concussive wave of the explosion finally reached the Shrouds. The force struck the dark clouds, shredding them in places. Streaks of sunlight pierced around the flanks of the hovering warship.
Directly ahead, past the sailraft, a shadow swept down one of those bright rays. Its shape was lost in the brilliance. Nyx felt the power emanating from it. It was the dark storm she had sensed sweeping toward her.
It has come for me.
Then a savage cry broke from that storm and swept down across the plaza. Power became shape. A breadth of huge black wings. The giant bat dove toward the sailraft, toward those gathered below. It screeched its fury, a song of savagery and strength.
Like the blast a moment ago, the keening shattered the air and tore through those malignant threads. Ablen and Bastan stumbled back and swung their pikes wildly, as if searching for a threat. The copper box in Vythaas’s hands grew brighter, fueled by the onslaught from above. The box became a small sun in his withered grip. The Shrive tried to drop it, but it exploded in his hand, stripping flesh and bone, leaving a stump spewing blood.
Vythaas stumbled away with a scream.
Bastan lashed out as the Shrive came too near. His pike impaled clean through the man’s back. Still, Bastan seemed unaware of the strike. He thrashed his weapon, tossing the bony body about. Screams and blood flew. Arms thrashed, and legs kicked.
Wryth fled into the sailraft, yelling, “Take off!” He hollered back to the two Mongers, “Destroy them all!”
The two Gyn marched forward, hefting their hammers higher.
By now, the bat had reached them. It ignored the sailraft as the boat shot skyward. Instead, it swept down at one of the Mongers. It struck the giant’s back with both claws, its talons piercing deep. With a batter of wings, it flipped high and tossed the body far.
The second Gyn bellowed and charged at Nyx and Aamon. It swung its hammer one-handed, sweeping low. Aamon lunged to protect her. The hammer struck the vargr in the hip and sent him rolling across the stone. Still, Aamon had lashed out at the last moment and snagged the Monger’s ankle, toppling the huge foe as he was knocked away.
The giant crashed on his back and tried to get up, only to have a dark shadow crash atop him. Claws stabbed. The bat slashed its head down, ripping fangs across its prey’s throat. Blood arced high and an iron-helmed head bounced across the stone.
The bat stayed perched. With wings wide and head low, it screeched its fury at the world.
Across the plaza, fires raged everywhere. Arrows flew. Firebombs burst into flames. Screams chased across the stone. She caught a glimpse of Shiya, blazing in the dark, casting lightning all about. Overhead, ships burst into flame and crashed.
In this relatively quiet corner, Nyx searched up and around, hoping to see more of the M?r horde sweeping down to help with this battle. But the skies had closed up; the dark clouds sealed their cracks.
She recognized the truth.
It was only this one bat.
Far overhead, she spotted the sailraft fleeing upward, carrying Wryth away.
She turned to Ablen and Bastan. Unfettered, unguided, they ambled about. Drool flecked their lips. Bastan had already dropped his pike. Vythaas’s body was still impaled but no longer moving. Ablen settled to his seat, staring down at his own spear, as if surprised to be holding it.
Bastan followed his example, dropping next to Ablen.
Their eyes remained dull. She remembered the tortured flames deep in the darkness. She knew how much of their brains had been burned out, leaving only these husks. Those flames of her brothers could never rise again to fill what had been taken from them. All they could do was scream in the dark, forever locked in pain and torture.