“ Rise,” a voice commanded. It was not a human voice. The mouth that spoke the words was concealed behind a strip of red cloth that covered the lower half of a pale and ashen face. The vampire wore the red combat armor of a Shadowclaw. It held a large-bored rifle in its hands, and six black-clad vampires stood behind it, one for each prisoner, each of them with its considerable claws on display. Their eyes were solid coals, their skin was waxy and pale, their jaws were too large for their heads, and their hair was unnaturally black.
Black, Cole, Dillon, Kane and Ekko were there with Cross. Each of them was battered and bloodied and covered in dark desert grime. The prisoners were unceremoniously hauled to their feet. Cross felt vampire claws on his back, and his wounded leg nearly gave out as he rose. Sharp pain shot from his thigh into his abdomen, and he almost cried out.
There was no sign of Lucan.
The prisoners were brought to a pitted steel platform covered in scorch marks. Cross looked down. It was difficult to gauge the breadth of the city, but he suddenly respected its depth. Layers of rooftops and platforms and cross-sections of thick barbed chains lowered into dizzying metal canyons filled with black smog. Cross could barely make out the image of a dirt street far below. The height at which they stood was dizzying, and for a moment he felt his center of gravity shift and threaten to pull him from the precarious ledge.
The city moved. The groan of machinery sang through the air in a choir of metal. Something shifted deep in the city’s iron bowels, and other areas groaned back in response. The vampire metropolis shifted. The wall shuddered beneath their boots. Chains dragged across pathways and guide beams, pulled and lifted and squeezed sections of moveable city, which rotated like the interior of some vast clock. Gears slid in with one another, great joints snapped together, and locking mechanisms loudly shifted into place. Drifts of red dust exploded off of the buildings and fell like dry rain.
Dark fliers circled the skies: Razorwings with black and leathery skin, mighty claws and saber-like teeth. Stout aerial warships covered with spikes and guns floated above the city walls. Cross saw vats of hot blood and buildings covered in razors, temples made of bone and obelisks made of blackened skulls. Everything leaked shadow. Great brutish work beasts with silvered horns and thick ebon flesh roamed the oversized walls, hauling carts of goods and slaves and platforms packed with vampire soldiers.
They were in Krul. The City of Scars.
The six prisoners were lined up and held tight. The platform lurched beneath their feet. Steel ground against steel. Buildings seemed to grow taller all around them as they gradually descended into the shadows below. They sank into a metal sea.
Cross tasted acetone and tar. Industrial vents spat yellow gases into the air. Spectral visages like golden skulls swam in the poison fog.
The prisoners looked into the depths of a city of towers as the platform descended. Chains hung like cobwebs from every surface. Massive stone wheels and spokes of black bone turned with grating audible force. The network of chains pulled buildings together like jaws. Reverberating booms shook the city with bone-rattling resonance.
Cross grit his teeth against the pain in his leg; he had no choice but to place weight on it, since the vampire who held him did so at an awkward angle that left him unbalanced. He chanced glances at the others, but their eyes were cast down or sealed shut. They might as well have been miles away.
The dank yellow sunlight shrank to a box over their heads, and the darkness swelled as they descended. They sank into an atmosphere that was thick and dark. He saw cold steam and tight spaces between buildings carved from black iron. Dark fluids leaked and trickled down the walls. The air smelled like death.
The platform sputtered and stopped, and it struck the nadir of Krul with a hollow boom. They were half-a-mile beneath the top of the city walls.
They wanted us to see how deep we are, Cross realized. They’re making a point: escape is not an option.
Cross looked at the others. They reminded him of scared animals. No one spoke. Each vampire escort held its prisoner with just one cold claw around an arm.
Something inside of him went sour and sick. Every breath was ragged, and something painful churned in the depths of his stomach. He shook all over, partly from fatigue and hunger, but partly because he was so terrified he could barely hold himself together.
We’re going to die here. If we’re lucky. His thoughts went back to Lucan, and the Dra’aalthakmar. And if Lucan didn’t destroy that thing, we won’t be the only ones who’ll suffer. If only they’d been able to send some sort of warning to the Southern Claw.
The platform rested at the end of a long street that ran between caged walls. Dark steam flowed through the air. Cross heard something on the other sides of the walls, but it was difficult to tell what. The air was cold, and dripped shadow.
The vampires marched the prisoners down the lane single file. Cross went first. Pools of brackish water filled pits in the cracked street. The decayed remains of small animals lay in gray clumps in the path, issuing a horrid smell.
The caged walls loomed to either side. Iron fog crept through razor bars like gray blood. The air was cold and heavy and crystallized in their lungs. Things waited on the other side. Cross’ spirit, weak though she was, sensed many living creatures, not all of them human.
The distant window of the sky was barely perceptible at that depth, a bright slit in the dark city above.
They brought Cross and the others to a sturdy iron door at the end of the caged gauntlet. The door led into the side of a plain stone building so preposterously tall it might as well have led up to the sun. The wall was covered in runes, claw marks and scorch stains. A wheel-shaped handle made of obsidian and bone turned in place, and gears moved deep in the wall.
The prisoners were ushered through the door and down a dank staircase that led to a hall filled ankle-deep with water and muck. The walls were covered in blood stains, nicks and arcane graffiti set there with black chalk. The air shifted, and the walls groaned. It was as if they’d stepped onto a ship.
The march was relentlessly paced. Kane complained and was pushed to his knees and struck in his lower back with the butt of a bone rifle. He didn’t complain again.
The vampires brought them to a wide vaulted hall with a half-dozen side corridors that led into the obscurity of shadows. Pale blue lights that looked like radioactive ice clung to the iron ceiling. Cross made out vampire script cast in blood paint. His High Jlantrian was shoddy, at best, but he thought it read CELL BLOCK 13.
“ No!” Black called out as she and Cole were separated. All of the prisoners were taken away, one by one. “Cole!” she screamed.
“ It’s ok, Danni,” Cole said with a nervous smile. A vampire hauled her down a corridor. She put all of her weight against the creature as it led her away and forced it to drag her through the murky water, but since Cole only weighed maybe a buck-ten, Cross didn’t think she really gave the undead too much trouble. “I’ll see you soon!”
“ God damn it, you bastards!” Black screamed. She struggled, but not enough.
None of us has the strength.
His spirit, as if in reply, stirred and pressed against him like a frightened pet. He could barely feel her, she was so weak.
What the hell did they do to you?
Kane stole a kiss from Ekko before they dragged him away. He knew exactly how to throw his weight and drag his feet and generally make things as difficult for their vampire jailors as he possibly could without actually getting himself disciplined again.
He’s been here before. Cross couldn’t imagine that Kane and Ekko’s history with this place boded well for them. As brutal as Ebon Cities jailors would be with captured Southern Claw soldiers, they’d be even less gentle with prisoners who’d escaped their grasp once already.