It seemed to sneak up on them from out of the icy fog. It was squat and troglodytic, a broken shell like a preposterously gargantuan egg. Its outer walls were smooth dark stone coated in a layer of pale ice. The structure was much larger than Cross had expected.
The fog receded from the dark round walls as the group drew close. Its crumbling carapace looked like a vast stone crab.
Fields of eight-foot-high wooden stakes bordered the stone path that led to the city. The pale wooden poles were sharp and old, covered in dirty ice and dark stains. Cross tasted torment in the air, the whispered rants of long faded spirits whose physical bodies had died in great pain. Those spirits were long gone, but their suffering had been such that their voices left a spectral imprint on the area.
The group marched slowly through the path of stakes. They saw no bones or bodies. The dome of Shul Ganneth towered before them. It protruded from the bitter and frozen earth like a scab.
Vos led Lucan on the back of Cross’ horse. Kane and Ekko were tethered to the camel’s saddle, which Cross held at the rear of the party. Black rode on Dillon’s bay, and while it was clear that neither she nor the animal were terribly comfortable with the arrangement, they made a good show of it.
The vampire prisoner floated behind them, drawn by the power of Danica’s implement. It was a floating flare that snarled into the darkness, a moving undead torch.
Cross didn’t send his spirit out until they neared the entrance to the ruins, in part because he feared lost souls in the area, but also because doing so would alert Cradden Black earlier than they’d have liked. Cradden was a warlock, and even though Cradden’s gang was almost undoubtedly already watching them it would be difficult for him to read the strength of Cross’ spirit if she was reined in, at least until they got closer.
No need to make this more difficult for ourselves than it already is.
They passed into the crack in the ruined dome wall. It was a welcome relief to be in out of the wind, but the air inside of Shul Ganneth was so utterly still and cold it was almost paralyzing. Cross watched his breath crystallize, and felt his lungs burn.
The vampire’s bonds gave them a fleeting view of the ruins inside of the dome, which was good, because the light from outside seemed incapable of penetrating the unnaturally dense shadows. They walked in darkness as thick as oil. White firelight bounced off of jagged and broken structures made of crumbling limestone rimed with frost. The buildings were uneven and covered in sharp crenellations and dangerous edges. Doorways had tilted sideways and steps looked like blades. The ground was dry and covered with rubble and bones that were so soft they collapsed underfoot. The air smelled cold and dirty. Streets led off to nowhere. Structures seemed to float out of the darkness, which was so deep it could have stretched for miles. They walked through a sea of night, an ink stain addled with debris.
Less than a minute after they entered the city, Dillon slipped from his hidden position next to the camel and vanished into the shadows.
Cross’ chest was tight. There were eyes on them, and something more: a presence, vast and ugly and overwhelming. It was foreign, not borne of that place, but at the same time deeply rooted to it. It was an intruder that had melded with the ruins themselves — something vast, and dark, and very old.
Cross drew his HK45, and made his spirit ready. Her spectral skin smoothed over him like a warm tide. She spat at the presence that Cross had sensed. She was so miniscule compared to it, a firefly in a dark sky.
Shadows fell over them like black dust. Decayed facades and crumbling steps and massive doorways leered at them from the edge of the black air like bitter faces.
“ Daaaamn,” Kane muttered. His words echoed like a clap of thunder. “Sorry.” His second word carried even louder than the first, an avalanche in the dark.
Cross looked at him, and raised a finger to his lips.
A lantern appeared in the murk. Danica Black spurred the horse forward. They rode past rows of broken stone fence and between statues of half-eaten lupine warriors. Clumps of petrified clay littered the ground. The frost had gone gray with age. Cross smelled sage and animal musk.
The lantern bearer waited up ahead. He was a stocky and unshaved warrior with leather armor and a chain coat, and he wore a double-barreled shotgun on his hip.
He nodded towards an alcove behind him. It took Cross’ eyes a moment to make out the structure in the muted light — a temple that seemed to melt out of the shadows. The building was cylindrical and very tall, with crumbling columns and spiky protrusions that covered its shell like quills.
“ Danica,” said a voice from the dark. It wasn’t the shotgun bearer, but a second man, a small and wiry individual with a goatee and a black pilot’s coat straight out of World War I. Cross thought the man looked like he should have behind the controls of a Fokker…he even wore aviation goggles. Cross couldn’t begin to fathom how the man could see anything in the impenetrable murk, unless those goggles were some sort of arcane implement. “You made it,” the aviator said with a broad smile. “Cradden was starting to worry.”
“ Hello, Gregor,” Black said icily. “Killed any women or children lately?”
“ Darling, you tease,” he laughed.
“ Can we get on with it?” Vos growled.
“ Lighten up, Vos,” Gregor said with the same salesman’s smile. “We’re all friends here.”
“ Be that as it may,” Black said, “I’d rather take an acid bath than stand this close to you any longer than I have to, Gregor. So like Vos said…let’s get on with it.”
Gregor’s eyes moved to Lucan. The captive warlock sat stoically in the saddle, his eyes on something that wasn’t really there. Whatever the Revengers did to keep Lucan’s immense power contained seemed to reduce the warlock to a zombie-like state.
“ Who are your friends?” Gregor asked Black.
“ Prisoners, and my aides.”
“ But only one vampire,” Gregor said with a sad shake of his head.
“ I’ll discuss that with my brother,” she said. “And no one else.”
Gregor laughed again.
“ You’re a bitch, Danica.”
“ So are you, Gregor.”
“ You go in alone,” Gregor answered.
Cross stretched out his senses through his spirit. The looming shadow that clung to the walls of Shul Ganneth didn’t feel as oppressive as it had before; it had receded to more of a background murmur of spectral white noise rather than a roar of black sound. All Cross heard now were distant whispers through the sonic fog.
Besides Danica’s spirit and his own was one more: a hostile female spirit with an incredible level of aggressive power. Cross could only surmise she belonged to Cradden Black.
If he’s the only one of his gang that’s a mage, at least that’s one advantage that we have. Cross wasn’t sure if that fact made up for how badly Cradden’s gang outgunned them, but it was a start.
“ I can’t take all of the prisoners in on my own,” Danica said.
“ That’s a sad story,” Gregor smiled.
“ Just let one of us help her get the prisoners inside,” Cross interrupted.
“ Yeah!” Kane added. “Don’t be such an ass-hat.”
Vos cracked Kane on the back of the head with a gloved fist.
“ I was trying to help, you hemorrhoid!”
“ My God, you’re stupid,” Vos snarled at Kane. “Do you want to die?”
Kane looked up at him.
“ No? Wait…could you repeat the question…?”
“ Shut up!” Black snapped.
For as often as they hit him, Cross thought, I’m starting to wonder if he doesn’t actually enjoy it.
Gregor looked at Cross.
“ Who the hell are you?”
“ Cross.”
“ You work for Black Scar? You don’t look like a Revenger.”
“ I’m not.”
Gregor and the shotgun carrier exchanged looks.
“ Fine,” Gregor said after a moment. He pointed at Cross. “You can help her take Lucan and the vampire inside. Follow Keegan.” The lantern bearer took a step forward. “The rest of you will wait here with me.” He looked at Black. “I’d behave if I were you. If anything goes wrong, your dyke girlfriend is dead. Mercer is a hell of a good shot.”