Chain of Shadows (Blood Skies, Book 6) Page 5

  “Ronan,” he said quietly. He seemed reluctant, but Cross gave him a nod and he offered up his hand. “Pleasure. Where did Cross find you two?”

  “It’s a long story…” Flint started, but Shiv jumped in.

  “He saved us,” Shiv said. “From a slave caravan on its way to Dirge, and we’ve been with him ever since.”

  “Don’t you two want to get home?” Danica asked. “Cross said you were from, what…Rhaine?”

  Flint was about to answer, but he was interrupted as a group of people entered the tent. Everyone hastily put their bowls down like they were in trouble.

  Cross hadn’t seen Alex Crylos since the Battle of Karamanganjii, when Talon Company had helped search for the elusive Woman in the Ice. Time hadn’t been entirely kind to the now Captain, who in spite of being in his early thirties had a world-weariness about him, a hollowness behind his eyes and a battered expression on his face that bespoke of the horrors he’d witnessed. Still, the blonde-haired officer seemed genuinely happy to see Cross, and as soon as he shook his hand he went straight to Ronan and greeted him, as well.

  Ankharra, the dark-haired and rune-covered witch, accompanied Crylos, as did the Doj matron Wara. Two of the others were Southern Claw officers Cross didn’t know, a lean dark-haired man and a leaner dark-haired woman with short-cropped hair; both had no nonsense expressions, battle scars and grease smudged on their faces. Cross soon learned their names were Stark and Reza. Ronan seemed to have had some prior experiences with them both; while Reza seemed at least indifferent towards him, Stark looked like he was just itching to draw a weapon and start shooting.

  The last of the new arrivals was Marcus Laros, a tall and clean-cut man in dark leather armor and a thick black cloak. Cross immediately noted the presence of Laros’ hostile female spirit. Laros was a warlock out of Thornn, the city’s primary magical adviser, and a member of the White Council, the group of privileged mages who worked directly with the White Mother, leader of the Southern Claw, Savior of Mankind…and, as just Cross and a few others knew, avatar of the obscure Pale Goddess, who seemed to be locked in some sort of eternal conflict with the creatures of The Black.

  “Laros,” Cross said stiffly.

  “Cross,” the warlock nodded. “You’re looking…older.”

  “But no wiser,” Cross said. He looked around at the now crowded tent. “So what’s going on?”

  “That’s what we’re here to discuss,” Laros said.

  “We can’t start yet,” Cross said. “Not all of my team is here.”

  “The rest of your team is gone, Eric,” Laros said.

  “Bullshit,” Ronan said. “Maur is here, isn’t he?”

  “Yes,” Crylos nodded. “He and Creasy both arrived a couple of days ago. Maur is stable, but he needs further medical attention. Per his request we’re sending him back to Meldoar.”

  “I’d like to see him,” Ronan said.

  “We all would,” Danica added.

  “In due time,” Laros said. “We have matters of the survival of the human race to discuss first.”

  Cross shook his head. He would never argue against Laros’ loyalty or drive, and there was no question the mage held the safety and security of the Southern Claw of the utmost importance, but everything the warlock said came out like a sneer, and in the past he’d made his disapproval of Cross’s team all too plain. He felt there was little place in the Southern Claw for mercenaries, but he’d been forced to suffer them thanks to Elias Pike.

  But Pike isn’t here, Cross thought. And I don’t like this.

  “Stark,” Crylos said. “Go get Creasy and Maur. And bring the prisoner.”

  “What prisoner?” Cross asked.

  “A witch named Jade. She was with them.”

  “Jade is alive?” Danica asked.

  Ronan nodded. “These yahoos took her into custody the second we met them. Seems she has a price on her head.”

  “We’re losing focus here,” Laros said, and he strode to the middle of the room and moved his hand over his head in a sweeping arc. Bright sapphire lights exploded from his fingertips and filled the air like burning stars.

  “Because heaven forbid our attention is on anything but you…” Cross said.

  “I see getting older hasn’t improved your attitude,” Laros said coldly. “Trust me, Cross, if there was anyone else I could turn to in this, I would.”

  “Turn to in what? The three shadow wolves out in the middle of the Loch?” He watched Laros coldly. “I didn’t see you out there.”

  Laros smiled. “You don’t like me.”

  “You think?”

  “Eric…” Danica said.

  Cross sighed, and nodded. “No, Marcus, I don’t like you, but that’s mostly because you’ve done everything you could from day one to keep us out of the loop on…everything. We can contribute to the war effort. We’ve proved that.” He took a breath, and leaned against one of the tables. “Just not to you.”

  “What I think has no bearing,” Laros said. “This command comes from the White Mother herself.” The lights came together to form images at the center of the room, glowing representations of mountain ranges and rivers, roads and city-walls. The longer Cross stared the more details he could make out: it was a map of the northern continent. “As you all know,” Laros said, “at approximately 0630 Hours something penetrated a trans-dimensional vortex and breached the boundaries of our world.” He had an authoritarian speaking voice, and it was clear he was used to addressing a large audience. “We believe the creatures that stepped through the gate are Maloj, and that the world they hail from is the origin of The Black.”

  “Well,” Danica said after a pregnant pause. “That sucks.”

  Ronan put up a hand. “You’re going to have to repeat that. I had something in my ears.”

  Laros ignored him. “The White Mother has informed the Council that the Maloj may indeed be the architects of The Black and thereby responsible for all of the destruction it’s caused. According to her, manifestations from The Black we’ve previously encountered have also been Maloj in origin, either hybrids or creations.”

  Everyone waited in silence for a moment.

  “Ok,” Cross said. “And what are we supposed to do about the three that just crossed over?”

  “Wait, wait, wait a second,” Ankharra said, and she walked closer to Laros. “How can we possibly know this?”

  “Because the White Mother is the avatar of the Pale Goddess,” Cross said. Laros gave him a rageful look, but Cross shrugged. “I haven’t pieced it all together yet, but since no one on the White Council will grant me audience with our revered leader all I have to go on is my own experiences. I met the Woman in the Ice, who was a damn-near duplicate of every representation I’ve seen of the White Mother, as well as a Revenger named Korva. I battled the Sleeper, and while it was a hell of a lot bigger than they are it had plenty in common with the things that just popped out of that portal. And there was another…”

  “Rake,” Danica said. Cross noticed her breaths go shallow at the mention of his name. “The leader of the Revengers was somehow…possessed. Another one of those shadow creatures was inside of him.”

  “Avatars…what is this?” Flint asked. “What in the hell are you all talking about…?”

  “Enough!” Laros said. “Cross, you’re out of line!”

  “The hell I am,” Cross said. “Look, Mark, I’m sick and tired of running around and not having a clue what’s going on. My team has been decimated, I’ve been held captive and tormented…Kane is dead…and look at Danica, for Christ’s sake!”

  “I’m fine,” Danica said, her eyes on Laros. “But I agree with Cross. We need to know what’s happening.” She drew a breath. “What’s really happening.”

  Laros watched her, then looked at Cross. No one else in the room moved or spoke. “You’re soldiers,” he said. “You don’t need to know the facts. You need to do what you’re told…”

  “Old rules,” Danica said. “For o
ld wars. What we’re dealing with here is completely different, and you know it.”

  “Tell us what’s going on,” Cross said. “We’ve seen things you haven’t, things that go against everything that was written in the Tome of Scars. We can help, but I’m not going to blindly lead my people into another situation that will get them all killed.” Never again, he added silently.

  “You’d turn your back on this?” Laros said. “Even if I were to tell you that the very existence of our world depended on you doing what I told you to do?”

  Cross hesitated. “Would you risk the lives of everyone just because you don’t want to share information?”

  “The Council determines who needs to know…” Laros began, but Ronan interrupted him.

  “The Council isn’t here,” he said. “You are. So why don’t you grow a pair and do what needs to be done?”

  Laros chewed on that. He clearly wasn’t happy being badgered, but Cross didn’t care. He was sick and tired of being kept out of the loop, of being the last to know what was going on when it was he and his people who were out there risking their lives. Once, it hadn’t bothered him, but that was before he’d lost Kane. That changed everything.

  Before Laros could make any sort of decision the soldier Stark returned with two more Southern Claw soldiers and a prisoner, while a field nurse rolled Maur along in a gurney. They were accompanied by a grizzled looking black mage with a salt-and-pepper beard and worn-out fatigues.

  The Gol had seen better days. His grey skin was scarred and bandaged in so many places he looked almost mummified, and when he smiled he looked weak.

  “Maur is…happy to see you all,” he said. He held out a hand for Ronan. “Especially you, friend. Maur…thanks you for coming back.”

  Ronan nodded, held the little man’s hand, and looked at the nurse. “Is he going to be okay?” he asked.

  “He’s stable,” she said. “As soon as we have clearance we’re flying him to Meldoar. It’s the only place we can be sure he’ll get the proper medical treatment. His anatomy is just too alien – no human doctors have training in how to heal the Gol.”

  “It’s all right,” Maur said, and he patted Ronan’s hand. “It’s been a long time since Maur…has been home.” His breathing sounded labored, and the Gol seemed to have some difficulty even staying awake. “He was…happy for the time he spent with you…”

  “And we’re honored to know you,” Danica said. She took his other hand, and he smiled as he squeezed it.

  “Maur is very happy that you are alive, Danica Black. He thought you’d been lost.”

  “So did I,” she said.

  “Cross,” Maur said, and he looked up at him. “You’re alive.”

  “Yeah,” Cross said. “Thanks for coming after me, Maur.” He looked at Danica and Ronan. “All of you. I don’t…I don’t deserve it.” He realized he was tearing up. His hands shook.

  Kane. Ash. Grissom. And now maybe Maur. God damn it. The burden of those lives tugged on him like iron weights. The logical part of his brain knew this was what happened – people died in war, usually the ones who didn’t deserve it. Knowing that didn’t make him feel any better. His throat ached, and his chest rang hollow like he’d been scooped clean. Why can’t this get any easier?

  “We need to get him back to medical,” the nurse said.

  The dark mage came up and gave Maur’s hand a squeeze. “You rest easy, friend.”

  “Look after them,” Maur told the man. He looked at the prisoner, a lithe and thin Asian girl dressed in green fatigues. She’d been crying, and like the rest of them she had the ragged appearance of someone who hadn’t slept for days. “And her. Please.”

  The warlock nodded. “I’ll do what I can to help,” he said.

  They wheeled Maur away. He smiled as he left the tent.

  Cross was shaking. The muscles around his heart felt oddly tight, and he shivered.

  Get a hold of yourself.

  “Who are you?” he asked the mage, hoping conversation would distract him.

  “Creasy.”

  “From Wolftown,” Danica explained. “Thank you for getting Maur to safety.”

  “My pleasure,” the man said. He had a deep baritone voice, but Cross had the sense he didn’t speak all that often. “Thank you coming back for us.”

  “And who are you?” Cross asked the prisoner. She was still attended by the two Southern Claw soldiers, and they didn’t give her much room to move. They both looked at Cross disapprovingly, then to Stark to see if they should allow her to speak. Stark, in turn, looked to Crylos.

  “Go ahead,” he nodded.

  The woman scowled at them defiantly. “My name is Jade,” she said.

  “She works for a crime boss named Klos Vago,” Danica told him.

  “She was with us in Voth Raa’morg,” Ronan added. “She came with me and Maur when we made our way west.” He and the witch exchanged glances. “I’ll vouch for her.”

  Jade seemed surprised by that, but she only let it show for a moment before her defiant resolve returned.

  “So what is she doing here?” Cross asked.

  “Because she has information that will come in handy,” Laros said. “And in exchange for her cooperation the White Council is willing to offer her a full pardon.”

  “Wait…what?” Jade said. Cross noticed for the first time that Jade’s hands were held tight in dampener gauntlets – specially crafted thaumaturgic instruments that would make it all but suicidal for her to channel her magic. They sparked and hummed subtly, and he could almost sense her angry spirit roaming around in the background. “What information could I possibly have…?”

  “The polite thing to say is ‘Thank you’,” Laros said with a sarcastic smile.

  “And what if I don’t cooperate?” she asked.

  “You’ll be sentenced and sent to Black Scar,” Laros said. “It’s a fairly simple equation.”

  Cross looked around at the people still in the tent. There was he, Black and Ronan, the warlock Creasy, Ankharra, Grail and Wara, Flint and Shiv, and Jade, who’d been left in the care of the soldiers Stark, Reza, and Crylos. Everyone watched Laros at the center of the room, waiting for him to get to the point.

  “As I said,” Laros continued, “the Maloj have breached our world. The White Council believes they are just the tip of the proverbial iceberg, a spearhead for the invasion that started twenty-five years ago. Nearly every person in this room has some vital role to play in bringing that invasion to a halt.” He looked around. “Any questions?”

  “Can my daughter and I go home?” Flint asked.

  “No,” Laros said. “I’m sorry. Your daughter has skills that will be invaluable in the coming conflict.”

  “Wait a second,” Flint said, and he stepped forward while Shiv stayed back. “She’s a child. And I want to get her home.”

  “I’m sorry,” Laros said. “But she’s needed here. We all have to make sacrifices.”

  “Flint,” Cross said. He looked at Laros. He’d never wanted to punch the man as badly as he did at that moment. “We should hear him out.”

  “You’ll have to hear me out in Ath. I’m not fully authorized to impart all of the necessary information to you…”

  “You just said you’d tell us what was going on,” Danica said.

  “And I will. Or rather, someone else will. We have a ship standing by. We need to get all of you to Ath. You’re expected there tonight.”

  “Expected…by whom?” Cross insisted.

  Laros looked at him, and gave him a wry smile. “By the White Mother, of course.”

  A short time later, Cross and the others made ready to board a Skyhawk bound for Ath. They would be traveling with several other Squads from Talon Company, as well as a team of engineers and a small group of surveyors.

  They had only meager belongings – most of them had trekked across the wilderness and spent days exiled from civilization. They hadn’t even had time to rest, let alone restock their supplies. For
their part, Cross, Danica, Ronan, Flint and Shiv had barely been in Talon Company’s camp for a day.

  It was nearly dusk by the time they were all assembled and ready to go, and even after everyone had gathered there was still a slight delay due to a minor mechanical issue – they’d had to switch out the fuel supply due to a bad injector, which could have potentially led to an engine fire if they’d tried to accelerate past a certain speed. The issue was easily fixable, but the repairs would take time.

  Rimefang Loch was beautiful in the bronze haze. Its waters glittered like copper, and dark clouds rolled along the horizon like a floating ebon fortress. The air was dank and cool and wet, filled with the smells of fish and fuel. Soldiers hauled crates of equipment and ran between rows of parked vehicles. Bloodhawks took off in the distance, the roar of their engines deafening as they lifted into the sky.

  The passengers-to-be waited in a staging area, a wide-open space bordered in by equipment boxes under wide camouflage netting supported by wooden beams. The air tasted gritty, like oil and dust.

  Flint and Shiv sat talking with Crylos. The Captain seemed to enjoy answering all of Shiv’s questions about the various ships and soldiers, questions she’d undoubtedly asked Flint already, but her father also seemed to enjoy the conversation. Crylos had always been an amiable enough man, knowledgeable and level-headed, fiercely loyal to his men and the Southern Claw.

  Most of the others waited stoically. Jade was watched by Stark and Reza; Wara and Ankharra spoke quietly; Creasy and Ronan talked about hunting weapons; Grail and Laros were each off on their own. In his mind’s eye Cross saw others, Kane and Ash and Grissom, Tayanna and Kendrick, Frye and Zane and Hewer and Lorne. It saddened him that he didn’t recall more about them other than how they died…all but Mike. Mike, who’d been there since the beginning, who’d always been a glimmer of life even when he and Danica had been at their worse. Kane had always seemed like he had something to live for.