Vampire Down (Blood Skies, Book 7) (3 page)

The first thing that struck him was how dry the landscape was, grey ice covered with sheets of salt and rocky bluffs so sharp they might have been clusters of blades.  He was thirsty, his lips cracked and his tongue heavy in his mouth.  It was morning – no longer dawn, but with the perpetual grey gloom it was difficult to tell much else aside from whether it was day or night, and sometimes even that was difficult.  The horizon was flushed with light, and day-burning stars rotated like dancers.  The wind was dry, cold and steady, a gnawing chill that in under a minute had him wondering if he shouldn’t just set himself on fire.  At least he’d be warm.

The landscape was familiar – he’d been here before, even if it had changed in ways the eye couldn’t easily detect.  Scaled rock formations rose from buckled limestone hills like crooked fingers, and the atmosphere was thick with the taste of minerals.  Calcified rock fragments cracked under every step like old bones.  Distant peaks rose above the flowing mists to the southwest near the soiled shores of Rimefang Loch, and to the east were rolling hills and snow-bound buttes, the edge of the tundra. 

To the west stood Thornn, or what was left of it.  It had been taken by the Ebon Cities, turned into a hollow shell.  He and Danica had been sent back from the distant lands of Nezzek’duul in Creasy’s last act of sacrifice only to find the world they’d known torn asunder.  They had no way to know for sure if the damage extended beyond Thornn, but based on the visions they’d experienced they had no reason to believe otherwise. 

More importantly, Cross sensed the extent of the devastation in his soul.  He believed beyond any doubt that the Southern Claw was gone, and denying that truth wouldn’t change anything.

Just like wishing Snow was still alive.  The world is changed, she’s gone, Flint and Kane and Creasy are dead, and that’s it.  Some things just can’t be changed.

They’d camped in a shallow crevice on the side of the hill, nestled just out of sight from the ground below.  Cross was fairly certain he’d camped in that same spot with Dillon in what seemed a different lifetime, back before he’d even formed the team, before the swords.  He’d learned a lot from the quiet man, how to read the landscape and which berries to avoid, what animals were easy prey and how to walk without making so much noise they brought every predator within a league down on top of them.  There was much he didn’t remember, and just spending a few weeks with a ranger, even one as accomplished as Dillon, certainly wasn’t enough to qualify Cross to do much more than lend aid to Danica, who’d grown up outdoors and probably could have been Dillon’s trainer had she so desired, but it was better than nothing.

Cross moved to the second tent, which was connected to the first by a flap he and Danica had jury-rigged by tearing away the center and sewing back the fabric; they could drop the screen between the two tents at a moment’s notice.  Fear of being discovered by their unconscious companions while they had sex was hardly a consideration compared to ensuring Shiv and Ronan’s safety, even if they were both well beyond reach, at least for the moment.  He poked his head inside, half expecting (and hoping) for Ronan to spring out at him with his katana brandished, but the man was as unconscious now as he had been for days, lying wrapped in a blanket, his scarred face exposed and his thick black hair rustling in the slight breeze.  Shiv looked even less alive, but that had much to do with the new hue of her skin – diamond blue, frosted when she’d impossibly aged from using the wastelands spirits in Nezzek’duul to destroy the Eidolos, the Black Witch, and finally one of the Maloj, those fierce wolf sorcerers who ultimately seemed to be responsible for The Black.  She was a teenager now, or at least looked like one, and in addition to her skin becoming ice-like her hair had darkened, her eyes had become less human, and her entire aura had somehow shifted, suffused with the great power she’d been burdened with.  The Kindred, they called her; originally there had been more, but according to Ankharra Shiv was the only one who’d survived.

She’s the only reason any
of us made it.

She could manipulate other spirits and channel the power of lost souls in a way even the Ebon Cities necrotheurges and liches hadn’t been able to.  If she fell into the wrong hands it would be disastrous, or at least it would be if there was still something left to lose.

For all we know we’re the last four people on earth. 

They’d been hiking for three days to put distance between themselves and Thornn, and they’d seen plenty of evidence of the slaughter.  The signs of vampire warships and passage were everywhere – blasted vehicles, scorched earth, soil that had been degraded and transformed with Ebon Cities technology to be more pliable to the necrotic soil they used to both regenerate and grow new soldiers, those lesser undead they utilized as grunts in the campaign to wipe out the human race.

We were only gone for a few days
, he thought. 
They couldn’t have done this much damage in such a short span of time.  The Southern Claw was too strong, too well equipped to have been taken so quickly.

He zipped up Shiv and Ronan’s tent and knelt down, looking back across the icy plains to the east.  His shoulder stung from a wound he’d taken in their last battle in Nezzek’duul, and though Danica had healed him a cold tingle still rattled through his chest and made the muscles around his heart ache.  Their combat with the Maloj had been terrible, and he knew he’d never forget that beast.  He still smelled its rankness, still saw its cunning lupine eyes. 

The Maloj had somehow brought about this destruction, probably with Azradayne’s aid – the spider, the dimensional schemer who’d altered his fate for years to set events in motion that would get her what she wanted, though her ultimate goal was still so opaque Cross could hardly guess at it.  She’d made it so Danica acquired that bloodsteel arm, had arranged for the Maloj to break through on the island in Rimefang Loch, had likely been responsible for the Skyhawk being waylaid in Nezzek’duul...but why?  What did she have to gain by bringing the wolves to Earth, unless its destruction was a goal in and of itself?  There was no telling, nor was there any way for him to know how she or the Maloj could have made it so after decades of holding their own the Southern Claw would suddenly collapse.

Well, we won’t figure it out sitting around here. 

Although he didn’t much feel like it, Cross returned to the tent to take stock of their meager supplies, all they’d been able to scrounge from felled Southern Claw vessels and the few storehouses they’d come across.  Most of them had been picked clean by scavengers, survivors or Ebon Cities regulars not wishing to leave equipment behind for other humans to find. 

Danica stirred beneath the covers.  He wanted to give her a chance to rest.  They’d be on the move again soon enough.

Fresh water was becoming a problem.  Their canteens were only partway full, and the last few drinks Cross had taken smelled of chalk.  Food was also scarce, some hard cheese and a few MREs he doubted would last them a day.  They had to find equipment, but they’d both decided that going into Thornn was an unnecessary risk, especially with Ronan and Shiv in their current condition.  They couldn’t tell what was wrong with them – both were clearly alive, but neither responded to magical healing.  Cross and Danica had constructed a pair of crude sleds to haul the sleeping bodies along behind them, but the effort was slow-moving unless Danica expended spirit energy, which they both knew wasn’t a good idea.  Artifact swords or no, Danica’s magic was the only real weapon they had if they ran across any Ebon Cities patrols, and even then they weren’t likely to stand a chance. 

What the hell are we going to do? 

Danica sat up.  He saw the same confusion on her face he felt himself every day he’d woke in this strange and horrible parody of their home, as well as the same moment of disappointment when she realized the terrible reality she’d gone to sleep in hadn’t magically vanished upon her waking.  Even then, her eyes settled on him, deep green and penetrating, eyes that sent a chill of excitement down his spine.  She was beautiful (even though he knew she’d disagree), and he took in the sight of her thick red hair, so messy all around her face, and her sultry growl as she stretched and yawned.  Even with as horrible as the world was, he was with
her
, and nothing could take away those past few days they’d shared.  Even if either or both of them died today, they’d had yesterday, and nothing could take that away.

“
Hey,” she said.  “Stare much?”

He laughed.

“I’ve been known to,” he said.  “How’d you sleep?”

“
Very well, thank you,” she purred, and she pulled the blanket up to keep from getting cold.  He felt her spirit fill the air, a warm presence which circled and tasted the atmosphere like a hound sniffing for signs of danger.  There was a time when it had been a threatening presence to him, back when he’d still had a spirit of his own (Margrave, not his real spirit, and the memory of that violation still pained him), and again after they’d reunited, when Danica had been abducted by the Revengers and gained her false appendage, an item meant to make it so she could be used to control the Obelisk of Dreams, the source and focal point of all human magic. 

That had never been the real purpose of the arm, of course.  Azradayne had wanted it grafted so Danica would inadvertently destroy the Witch’s Eye and open the gate to the Maloj’s undefined realm of madness and terror.  It still made him uneasy – Danica seemed to have control over the device and what it could do, but she’d admitted there had been occasion when she’d nearly overextended the control it granted over her arcane spirit and damaged him without meaning to. 

“You okay?” she asked.  Something in his gaze must have given away his dark frame of mind, but considering the circumstances it seemed an odd question to ask, and she seemed to realize that.  “Sorry.  Dumb question.”

“
No it’s not,” he said, and he put down the supplies he had in hand and moved over to her, sat close so their faces almost touched. 

God, she’s beautiful. 
She would have smacked him if he’d said it – they were both covered with sweat and grime and bloodstains from their ordeal in Nezzek’duul.  Shifting over from the extreme heat of the southern desert to the bitter chill of the Reach had taken them by surprise, but luckily they’d managed to find enough coats, cloaks and blankets to keep warm, at least until they located some better shelter, if there was better shelter to be found.

He felt tears of fear in his eyes, tried to blink them away.  She watched him, and read him without him having to say anything, just as she always had.  Her eyes took him in, and she nodded.

“It’s all right,” she said.  “We’re still here.”

“
Yes we are,” he said.  He put a hand to her face, so smooth even beneath his rough and leathery touch.  She closed her eyes, let his palm slide against her cheek.  Her warmth flowed into him.  All he wanted to do was stay there, holding her, his skin on hers, her face close to his, her warmness, her love, love he’d not even realized he’d needed until he’d finally found it.  He was more afraid of losing her than ever. 

“So what next?” she asked a while later.

They’d stowed most of their gear except for the tents.  What Cross wouldn’t have done for a camel then – they were dragging everything behind them on makeshift sleds they’d constructed from birch wood and twine, and even with Danica’s spirit lending them aid the going was slow.  They’d scrapped everything that wasn’t mandatory to survival but they still had a great deal of weight to pull, and no clear destination.  One of Thornn’s major disadvantages was its isolated status, which was why it had been the brunt of so many of the Ebon Cities’ attacks.  It would take a week to reach Ath by foot, and the terrain between the edge of the Reach and that heavily armored city was thick with craggy hills, razor bluffs and bone-dry ravines.  It would have been a long walk even if all four of them were on their feet and in perfect health.

“I don’t know,” Cross said.  His lips were as dry as sandpaper.  They’d each squeezed some of their scant water and given a bit to Ronan and Shiv, neither of who stirred, but both of them were clearly alive, which was certainly a start.  The sky was bruise purple, devoid of clouds, and the wind was dry and hard and scaled their skin like rough and frozen hands.  “We need to find somebody,” he said. 
“
Maybe then we can figure out what the hell happened here.”

“
Our best chance would be back in Thornn,” she said.

Cross licked his lips and stared east, then west.  The Reach stood before them, one of the most inhospitable places on earth, and that was saying something.  The ancient sorceries of The Black had scarred the arctic wastes and cleared them of life.  Aside from Gorgoloth there was little that lived there willingly, but considering the vampire’s natural proclivity for cold and assuming they really had felled the entire Southern Claw Alliance, Cross wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the Reach was now rife with undead outposts and hunting parties. 

“Shit,” he said.  “You know I’m not crazy about that idea, right?”

“
Do you have a better one?” she asked plainly.  “I don’t think we’re up for a trek through the wastes, Eric.  We don’t have the equipment, and while we’re hauling these two we’re like sitting ducks out here.”

“
But do you think Thornn is worth the risk?” he asked.  “Those Ebon Cities banners were pretty plain as day.”