A HENRY STORY 2: Trials Of The Fallen Prince

XXIX. One

The gnawer and the flier . . . The sword nearly slipped from the boy's grasp. The gnawer and the flier . . . together . . . here, then gone, slipped over the edge.

An image of the icy, foaming waves below flickered in his mind, and he vaulted forward, nearly losing his footing on the slippery ice as he had to evade an oncoming strike. But the boy had no mind for the flock of raging gnawers behind or for the flood of more or less useful information provided by his echolocation. All he could see over and over were the gnawer and the flier—his flier—slipping over the edge.

Without a moment's hesitation, he weaved in between two assailants and picked up speed, then vaulted after them.

It wasn't until a few heartbeats into his fall that a wave of belated panic crashed into him. The boy whipped around and attempted to use his sword to grasp the icy wall. At first, the tip only scraped against it, but gradually, the worn blade delved deeper and deeper into the frozen surface until it was securely lodged in the peculiar cold material, leaving the boy desperately clinging to the hilt.

The jerky break of his fall sent a surge of intense pain through his abdomen, and he let out a violent scream. His stiff fingers weakened their hold on the sword, and his backpack clung to him like a weighty rock. Before he could release his grip, the sword began to give way. It started with a slight movement, but then progressively more, until the ice below fractured with a deafening crack, and the boy plunged into the freezing waves beneath.

He couldn't have fallen further than fifteen feet, yet when he was engulfed, the freezing water numbed his senses, causing him to nearly pass out on impact. The boy was an excellent swimmer, but he was barely conscious enough to not release his sword as the relentless waves dragged him along.

He had no awareness to scream when he collided with something. But his arms encircled the object—an ice floe no larger than two square feet—instinctively. The rumble behind him turned into an ear-splitting roar, and the boy barely clung to the floe, shutting his eye just in time before the tidal wave hit.

Water engulfed him, dragged him under, and he barely managed to drag himself on top of the little floe before it resurfaced. The boy lay, stomach down, clutching the rim as the masses of water propelled him through a tunnel that was, at first, of considerable size. Yet it grew narrower and narrower the further the flood carried him . . . Carried him, he thought dazedly. This was not unfamiliar. He was holding . . . But this time he was not holding . . .

The boy's eye flew open, and his head jerked up. He scraped together the last remains of his awareness in search of his flier. However, before he could even try to find his bearings, his floe was flung out of a narrow opening and, for one glorious second, soared through the air. Then it crashed into the previously peaceful water below.

For one moment, he stared out onto the open sea in confusion. Then it dawned on him that he knew this view. It was the waterway, thought the boy, attempting to rise on his floe.

He stared out onto the vast, glowing horizon, only to be disrupted by yet another rumble. His floe rocked as another wave crashed into it; at the back of his mind, the boy understood that the wall behind him had given way. But this meant the entire cave must have collapsed. The entire system of . . .

He whipped back to the horizon ahead, only to freeze in terror. Ice floated all around him, in large and small chunks. And to one piece in the far distance, far too small to carry them both, clung two individuals: a large gnawer with soaked brown fur and . . . "Death!"

Despite his voice faltering, the boy forced the name out of his throat. He cast his gaze around, hoping to discover a way to propel the wretched floe forward more swiftly, but to no avail.