“Shrike,” Serina whispered in awe. When Dilan began to edge forward, she held him back. “Wait.” She turned to her ghouls, and without a word of command from her, they stumbled forward.
The shrike, intent on its meal, completely ignored the ghouls until they attacked, throwing themselves upon it and bearing it to the ground with overwhelming numbers. The shrike reared up, tossing ghouls away, ripping at them with its talons and tearing flesh from bone. But the ghouls, already dead, ignored the horrific wounds and rushed back in, seizing its limbs and holding it in place.
Serina slid forward, and Dilan rushed to her side, terrified it might break free of the ghouls. His fear was well founded, as the shrike abruptly ripped an arm free, sending two of the ghouls flying to smash against a nearby wall with a sickening crunch. Before Dilan could move, it lashed out at Serina—but with no more effort than it would take to overpower a toddler, she caught the arm and held it still over her head. Dilan took hold of the shrike’s arm, freeing her to examine the beast. Her fingers trailed over its feathered chest, resting atop the glowing blood gem embedded there. “What are you?” she asked it, staring into its glassy black eyes.
Dilan grunted, straining to hold the beast’s arm in place. “It’s strong, Mother.”
“Death magic.” She reached up and ran her fingers over the shrike’s glistening beak before placing her bloody fingertips in her mouth. She gasped in sudden understanding. “It’s a flesh simulacrum, Dilan, a necromantic construct like my ghouls. But it’s so much more than that. It’s also like us, Dilan, kept alive through blood consumption.” She laughed, clapping her hands in delight. “Imagine, Dilan, centuries after its creators have become dust, this wondrous sentinel continues to guard the city!”
Other shrikes were approaching now, at least a dozen of them. “Mother,” he said, a note of caution in his voice.
She ignored him, instead gripping the blood gem embedded in the shrike’s chest. Up close, Dilan now saw it was attached to a metal frame of some kind, a golden triangle hammered into the shrike’s dead flesh. With a single soft grunt, Serina tore the gem free from the shrike’s chest, the gem trailing small hairlike threads. The shrike stiffened and dissolved into ash and black feathers.
The other shrikes surged closer, fanning out within the compound. Dilan hissed at them, baring his fangs. The ghouls spread out to stop them as Serina stared at the blood gem in her fingers, seemingly oblivious to the danger. “Mother,” he repeated, more urgently this time.
She glanced at him. “Be careful, my brave childe. They were designed to go for the heart first, and if they impale yours…”
The ghouls rushed forward to grasp at the shrikes, which, in turn, knocked down the closest ghouls and used their beaks to impale them. But the ghouls’ hearts no longer pumped blood, nor served any other purpose, and the impaled ghouls kept fighting, reaching up to grasp at the shrikes. The other ghouls rushed in. In moments, each shrike battled several ghouls in a silent but no less violent battle.
Dilan attacked, hissing as he leaped among them.
Chapter 52
Owen
Hot, dry air blasted Owen’s face as he hurtled down the tube, surrounded by darkness and the growing intensity of the grinding noise and the screams. Then the screams stopped, and just as abruptly, he burst out of the darkness and into a vast chamber lit by torches, revealing a monstrous machine of giant rotating stone cogs directly in his path. The tube led to a ramp that, in turn, sat upon a metal frame, a ramp placed at the edge of the machine so that it fed into the rumbling stone cogs. The cloud of dust hovering over the machine did nothing to obscure the grinding stone cylinders that now glistened wetly, and he knew in a single heart-wrenching moment why the screams had stopped. Helpless, he watched Fioni ahead of him as she slid toward the ramp and the cogs.
It’s going to crush her!
Kora, standing at the side of the ramp, swung a long-hafted axe at one of the metal struts holding it in place, sending it tilting lopsided with a crash.
Fioni smashed into the stone side of the machine instead of the cogs.
A moment later, Owen slammed into Fioni. Pain lanced through him as he flew up over her, knocking the breath from his lungs as he struck the edge of the machine and began to slide face first into the cogs. Hands grasped his breeches, half-yanking them around his buttocks as someone hauled him back. He fell once more atop Fioni. “Gods, get off me, you musclebound whale!” she groaned, shoving him away.
Lady Danika was before him, helping him sit up, her brown eyes filled with concern. He didn’t resist as she pried Sight-Bringer from his grip and slid it into the sheath on her back. He shook his head as the chamber continued to spin about him. “Fine. I’m fine,” he mumbled as the dizziness ebbed.
Fioni was sitting up as well now, running her hands over her body. “What is this?” she asked, looking about her. Including Kora and Lady Danika, Gali and fifteen crew members stood about in dazed shock, several still somehow holding the torches they had slid down the tube with.
“The city’s underground, I think,” said Lady Danika.
“Gods,” said Fioni in anguish as she took in the survivors. “The others…”
Kora, her eyes filled with sorrow, softly shook her head.
Fioni’s shoulders trembled. “So few?”
“We were lucky,” said Kora. “The machine didn’t start at first, not until most of us were already down and moving about. Gali, Vadik, Hain, and Dagmar, though…” She looked away, her face pale. “They were standing atop the cogs when the machine came to life. Gali jumped away, but the others… didn’t.”
“What is this horror?” Fioni demanded, rising to unsteady feet and moving about the chamber, slowly circling the machine, its stone sides as high as her waist, its giant cogs still grinding away. He noticed, with some relief, that the gem on the hilt of her sword was dark once more, which hopefully meant none of those monsters was nearby.
Owen followed her, his mind reeling. The rounded stone ceiling above them was at least twenty feet high, the chamber itself over a hundred feet wide. The walls, built from thick stone blocks, curved inward at the top. The metal tube they had slid down hung from an opening in the ceiling and fed into the ramp and the cogs. The machine took up most of the chamber, but around its edges sat ancient, dusty worktables holding tools, rusted chains, and other detritus. Along the curved ceiling and down the walls ran corroded metal pipes, which still dripped fluid. At opposite ends of the chamber stood two six-sided tunnels leading on into darkness. As he followed Fioni around the edge of the machinery, he trailed his fingers along its humming exterior, mystified at its role here beneath the temple’s summit.
“Fenya’s love,” whispered Fioni just ahead of him, her voice filled with horror as she stared at something on the far end of the machine.
He hurried forward, recoiling in disgust when he saw the obscene mound of what looked like black gravel piled up before them—covered by a glistening new layer of wet blood and shards of gleaming white bone. “Father Craftsman, save us,” he whispered. It’s crushed bone.
His gaze snapped from the obscene mound, to the machine, to the tube from the temple’s summit. The machine began to slow and then ground to a halt, dust still in the air. “They… sacrificed victims up there,” he said in disbelief.
“What kind of a civilization murders so many people it needs a machine to dispose of the remains?” Fioni asked bitterly, making fists of her hands.
“We should go,” Owen said. “Those monsters may have another way down here.”
“Which way?” asked Fioni, glancing at the two tunnels.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Owen, staring at the bone pile, “as long as it’s away from here.”
#
Fioni chose a tunnel and led the survivors away. Unlike the tunnel beneath the atoll, these passages held no glowing runes along their walls to provide light. Whatever magic had still been somehow working then, now their only light source was the few re
maining torches, which were already beginning to sputter; they needed to find their way out of the underground before the torches died.
Ankle-deep pools of foul-smelling black water filled entire sections of the passageway, soaking their boots. At regular intervals, small chambers holding ancient cabinets and rusted tools sat silent and dark, blanketed in a glistening coat of dust an inch thick. At other times, they slipped past vast chambers filled with long-dormant machines. Along the sides of the passageway ran corroded metal pipes. Once, Owen paused, placing his ear against the pipe. At first, he heard nothing, but then, almost imperceptible, a soft musical trilling echoed in his ear; a moment later, the pipe was silent once again. Shades of a long-dead race?
He shuddered, hurrying after the others.
Glistening spiderwebs, some ten feet in circumference, blanketed the passageway, and Fioni used her sword to pull them away, but within a handful of minutes, they were all trailing webs anyway, brushing furiously at their heads and necks. Owen, remembering the nell spider, tried to look in all directions at once, especially the tunnel’s ceiling.
They passed rusted handcarts and barriers so old the wood had petrified, becoming stonelike. Fioni paused before an intersection of identical tunnels, and Owen slid up next to her. He noted the flickering flames on her torch. “That way,” he said, following the bend in the flames.
“Are you sure?”
“Not even a bit.”
Her lips tight, she moved down the passageway.
Minutes later, they entered another large, open chamber filled with silent, rusting machinery, all covered by a blanket of sparkling dust and cobwebs. Across the chamber, they saw a flight of stairs leading up into the darkness. Fioni took the stairs, which led to another passageway. Here, the air—although stinking of rusted metal, damp earth, and rot—also carried the promise of fresh air. Fioni moved quickly down the passageway, her torch flickering. She began to trot, no longer concerned with the spiderwebs. The only sound was the steady pounding of their boots, their strained breaths, and the constant drip of water from the pipes overhead.
Thick tree limbs, some several feet wide, had grown through the walls here, crushing the stone apart and growing across the passageway, slowing them down while they climbed over them. Giant luminous mushrooms sprouted atop the roots.
“Does this mean we are close to top?” Gali asked hopefully as Owen hoisted her over one of the larger roots.
“It must,” he said while suspecting the roots grew much deeper than he’d like to admit.
Then he noticed for the first time that the air had grown moister, warmer. Another chamber lay ahead of them, the largest they had seen yet and filled with ancient machinery, long rows of rusted metal containers, each adorned with glass faces covering dials and knobs. Copper tubing and metal wires—even thinner somehow than the finest ring-mail coats—ran between the machines, stringing them together. He touched one of the machines, instantly yanking his hand back when power flowed through his fingers and up his arm, so similar to the energy that flowed from Sight-Bringer’s hilt. It’s the same magic—still there, but… sleeping perhaps, despite the centuries. Lady Danika joined him. The noblewoman reached out her hand. “My lady,” he cautioned.
She touched the machine and, just as quickly, yanked her fingers back. She turned in place, her gaze drifting over the seemingly endless banks of machines. “What is all this?”
“I don’t know,” he said helplessly, feeling insignificant, “but I think maybe these machines are connected somehow to the weather, the lightning?”
Gali’s face paled, and she trembled like a leaf. “Ancestors, help us.”
“The others are getting ahead,” he said, motioning for the women to hurry along.
At the far end of the chamber, Fioni and the others clustered in heated conversation before an ancient metal scaffolding, now almost completely rusted through, that led up to another passageway with stairs.
Hope gave him energy. Up means out.
Owen and the two women joined the others, examining the scaffolding, a series of rusted struts and supports. It could fall apart under their weight in a moment, he knew. “What do you think?” he asked Fioni.
Fioni snorted. “I think you go last, Northman.”
She locked her fingers together, made a cup. “You first, little mouse,” she said to Gali.
Without hesitation, Gali stepped onto her cupped hands, and Fioni hoisted her up onto the scaffolding. It creaked and groaned as she began pulling herself up it, climbing like a lizard. A metal strut popped beneath her weight, but she was already pulling herself up onto the stairs. He watched the still-shaking scaffolding with concern.
“Don’t go far!” Fioni yelled to Gali.
“Just a peek,” Gali answered, her voice trailing off as she disappeared from sight.
In silence, they all watched and waited, the remaining torches little more than sputtering flames, casting only a dim light. Owen fidgeted, softly grinding his teeth. “I’m light,” said Kora. “Hoist me up.”
Fioni raised her palm to silence her. A moment later, Gali’s beaming face was back. “It’s the surface, thank the ancestors.”
Fioni motioned to Kora. “You next.”
Kora dropped her fighting axe on the stone floor, stepped into Fioni’s cupped hands, and sprang up the scaffolding, once again sending it rocking. As with Gali, it held, and moments later, Kora was on the stairs.
Fioni cupped her hands for Lady Danika. “My lady of Wolfrey.”
The noblewoman scrambled up the scaffolding. Kora reached down, grabbed her hands, and pulled her the rest of the way up. The rest of the women went next, followed by the smaller men. Each time, the scaffolding creaked and strained, vibrating under the weight, but it held. Soon, only Fioni, Owen, and a handful of the larger men remained. Owen eyed the rickety scaffolding. “Maybe you should go next,” he said to Fioni.
“Maybe you should remember who’s in charge around here,” she shot back, gesturing to one of the men to go next.
As the larger man climbed the scaffolding, it swayed and creaked, almost screaming in protest. Another strut broke free, but the man was soon at the stairs. Only one torch remained now, flickering softly. The other men climbed up, but each time, Owen was certain the entire structure was going to fall apart. Then it was just him and Fioni. He leaned in closer to her, lowering his voice so that only she could hear. “What do you want to do when we get to the surface?”
Her eyes were filled with regret. “I know your lady wants to keep looking for the heart, but...”
“I know. We can’t search an entire city.”
“Not with those things out there, not with Serina also looking for us. I made my father a promise, but... I just don’t see how I can keep it now. I have a responsibility to save as many of my people as I can.” Her voice trailed off.
His despair was crushing, but he was all out of clever plans. “I understand, but you didn’t answer my question.”
“Are you coming?” Kora called down.
“We find our way back to the beach. We might be able to take Iron Beard and sail from here. Maybe we can even trap—” Her eyes widened as she stared at the glow coming from the gem on her sword hilt.
“Damn it,” he said, spinning about.
Red lights glowed from the far end of the chamber. A moment later, at least a dozen of the monstrous bird-bear creatures shambled forward out of the darkness. Owen picked up the axe Kora had dropped. “Climb now!”
“What is it?” Kora demanded.
Fioni’s gaze snapped from the approaching beasts to Owen, to the scaffolding, and then to another passageway, nearby. He understood her consternation: there was only time for one of them to make the ascent before the monsters caught the other. “Fioni, go!” he urged.
Shaking her head, she looked up at Kora. “Take the crew and head for Iron Beard!”
“What? No!” Kora shook her head in disbelief. “Wait! I’m coming back down.”
�
��Sail from this place and never return,” Fioni said as she kicked at the scaffolding, sending it shuddering. Flakes of rust and broken struts fell. Owen slammed his axe into the struts and then yanked Fioni back as the entire thing came down with a screech of twisting metal. Then, coughing and choking, he saw the flicker of the torch on the stone floor. Still holding Fioni’s arm, he picked up the dying torch, and they staggered away down the other passageway. A dozen red eyes pursued them.
Chapter 53
Serina
Serina stood back, watching the battle. The ghouls, possessing supernatural strength and savagery, threw themselves relentlessly upon the shrikes, trying to overwhelm them with numbers. The shrikes, however, shrugged off the ghouls’ attacks, methodically pulling the undead men and women apart. It was like watching a full-grown warrior battle toddlers. In frank fascination, Serina slowly circled the fighting, watching these amazing creations: bear, bird, and gods only knew what else. While one of the shrikes struggled with several ghouls, Dilan, taking advantage of the distraction, swept in and ripped free the blood gem embedded in its chest. In a moment, the shrike disintegrated in a cloud of dust and feathers.
Nearby, another ghoul, one of the young women they had drained earlier, tried to leap atop one of the shrikes, but the shrike caught her and ripped her in half. Her bloodless organs spilled out in a rush. Another shrike, this one with three ghouls hanging from its back, spun about, sending the ghouls flying. One of them, a rotting Kur’teshi mercenary, smashed into Dilan from behind, knocking him down. Before Dilan could recover, the shrike shot forward, pinning him and drawing back its beak to strike.
The Vampire Queen Saga: Books 1-3: (The Vampire Queen Saga Boxset) Page 81
