Crown of Ash (Blood Skies, Book 4)

by Steven Montano

  Stop this! The voice shouted again, Kane’s own voice, the reptile mage’s word translated in his mind. One more move and I’ll crush her mind!

  “Maur says ‘Screw that!’” Maur yelled, and he broke away from Ronan and tackled the mage around the midsection. Both of them crashed to the ground. The net of electric energy evaporated from around Jade’s head. She fell into an unconscious heap.

  Kane moved to help her, but the Grey Clan warriors unfroze and swarmed them. Kane was violently knocked to the ground. Bodies piled on top of him and seized his limbs. He swung and struggled, but a series of vicious kicks and fists hammered his sides. His vision went black and white. Metal scratched and pounded his body.

  His vision dimmed. Kane only dimly registered the fact that Maur had somehow overcome the Grey mage and turned the tendrils of dark energies back on him. The crackling head-cage that had gripped Jade now surrounded the mage’s skull, and he stared blankly into the air while Maur held the warlock’s wrist tight.

  “Maur says let us go, or you’ll be cleaning his brains off the street!”

  “That won’t be necessary”, a voice said. This time, the voice was real, and it was human.

  Kane was on the brink of passing out. Everything hurt. He couldn’t move, and the weight of angry bodies pressed down on him. The world blurred.

  The speaker came into view. He was tall and lean and had thick brown hair. A jagged scar, obviously left by a creature’s claw, ran down the left side of his face, and the eye on that side was clouded. The man dressed all in black and wore an armored coat, and even through the green sludge Kane saw the slash sigil of Black Scar on his uniform.

  “Burke…” Kane groaned. Everything faded.

  He dreams of water. He floats in the middle of the sea. He’s a little boy again, and that’s strange because he’d never actually seen an open body of water until After the Black.

  There is no land in sight. The plank of wood he clings to looks like it was once part of a sailing ship, but the rest of the vessel is gone, claimed by the pitch black ocean.

  Clouds roil in the sky. The waves froth and churn with violent motion. He swallows freezing seawater.

  He’s never felt so alone.

  Kane woke in a cold sweat.

  The air was normal again: there was no gel to breathe, no green haze. He was alone in a sealed room.

  Not good.

  Kane’s head throbbed, and his hands were wet with refuse and the dank water that dripped down from the green-grey ceiling. He was in a holding cell, a metal chamber that contained a shallow pool, broken furniture and a pair of massive portal doors with wheels for handles. It all reminded him of the vampire city-state of Krul, and for a moment that’s where he thought he was. He struggled to remember what had happened, where he’d been.

  Kane sat up, went to his knees, and tried to focus. He steadied his hands on his legs and breathed deeply, just like he used to do with Ekko whenever the stress of a situation was too much for him to handle.

  Ekko had taught him a lot of yoga. He had difficulty remembering most of it now, but at least he was able to get through some of the simpler motions. She always used to guide him through the tougher steps.

  I miss you, Ekko. I wish you could come back to me.

  Tears rolled down his face and into his beard. Kane did his best to stay calm. The events of the past few days slowly came back to him, and he tried his best to make sense of it all. They’d been taken prisoner by a common enemy of the vampires, treated like dirt, and…altered somehow, as well as shown visions of a damn creepy place. Kane had the sense that he, Ronan and Sol had been prepared for something.

  Congrats, dude. Your first time out as a leader and you manage to take everyone straight into the weirdest shit yet.

  He knelt and meditated for what felt like a very long time. He’d woken up without a shirt, and after a while his skin grew cold. The air tasted like seaweed and brine.

  Eventually the door opened, but there was no one there. Darkness poured through the doorway. The wind was cold and heavy.

  Kane cautiously stood up and stepped forward. He expected something to leap through at any moment.

  Open air waits beyond the doorway. The world he steps into is impossibly dark and vast. Hard wind cuts up steep cliffs of brown rock covered with twisted black thrush. The air is thin and cold and filled with ebon mist. He walks through the door and realizes he’s been relocated to an impossible height.

  He emerges from a square building made of rusted steel. The structure is covered with many doors, a hub at the center of a small island of rock and thorny undergrowth.

  Only a narrow ledge surrounds the structure. One wrong step and he’ll find himself in open air, as the island stands thousands of feet above the surface, on the tip of a narrow tower of red stone. The wind tears against him, and he feels the ground shift from its force.

  A dark landscape waits far below. Everything drowns in blood-colored shadows.

  The sky is filled with choking dust and grit. Black fumes congeal the air. Another cold gust of wind nearly pushes him over the side, but he twists himself so it blows him back towards the building instead. He falls hard against the wall.

  Wow, he shouts, but his voice is just a thought, a deep sound that resonates through his mind.

  Kane?

  Ronan comes around the corner. He looks colder and thinner than usual. Sol is with him. All of them appear inconstant, and darker. Shadows cling to them.

  Guys, he says, and the sensation is strange. His voice is not a voice, but an echo. What the hell is going on? Where are Jade and Maur?

  There’s no sign of them, Ronan says. Kane sees his words thicken and fall like sludge rain.

  Sol’s eyes fall on something in the air behind Kane.

  What the hell is that?

  TEN

  BOUND

  They flew through tunnels as vast as fields. Subterranean wind howled out of the depths of the Netherwere: the underworld, the realm beneath. It was a place of lightless pits and dank coves, a haven of things made of shadow, and born to it. In those troubled deeps lived things bred and raised in darkness. They had never seen light, and never would.

  The tunnels were smooth and unnatural, dug by the arcane engines and dread behemoth work beasts of the monstrous Cruj. Entire cities had been built in the soiled deeps, runestone dwellings chiseled from rock and salt. Stalactites had been crafted into inverted towers. Sinkholes became watch posts.

  The Cruj had unexpectedly left earth a decade ago, abandoning their vampire allies to face the humans alone. No one knew why they fled, including the vampires. One day the giants were simply gone.

  But there in that network of tunnels called The Way stood ample reminder of the cruel black giants and the power they’d once held. There were statues of the twisted Drann, the Cruj’ succubi deities, monstrous threefold creatures twisted into a singular entity, dread angels made molten and twisted, vaguely erotic but monstrous, all edges and splayed blade wings. There were shell remains of the gruesome Iron Eggs, intelligent arcane orbs, chromatic iron artifacts that commanded legions of the barbaric Sorn with their psychic transmissions and terrible power. There were vast bridges that spanned underground canyons, waterfalls of black water that flowed into complex aqueducts, blank slates of housing built into the rock like parasitic organisms.

  The tunnels smelled of smoking carbon and glaciers, bat guano and wet clay. The air was dark and thick. Only phosphorescent algae lit The Way, as the ancient Crujian furnaces went cold long ago. Deep clefts in the earth led to shafts of frozen water and piles of scorched bones, bubbling pools of white slime and rock lizards, giant bats and eyeless walker fish.

  Hard wind blasted from the depths of the tunnels. Depending on which tunnel it came from, that wind smelled like dead animals or raw ice, industrial smoke or human waste.

  The ecology of the Netherwere had been forever altered not only by the presence of the Cruj, who twisted everything they touched with the
ir arcane genius, but by those who came after the giants fled, the humans who took over the Cruj’ most powerful stronghold. In many ways the new masters of Meledrakkar were far, far worse. They didn’t seek to alter the subterranean ecology out of experimental interest or coy malice, nor did they intend to build an empire.

  All the new masters of the Netherwere wanted was money. Money, and more money, and they didn’t care who or what they had to kill or destroy to take it. Where the Cruj would sometimes let life flourish if it’s continued existence piqued their curiosity or provided a favorable variable to one of their experiments, the new lords of Meledrakkar – Black Scar, they now called it – were nowhere near so amiable or forgiving. In their own way, these humans were even more monstrous.

  They were The Revengers. And there was no escaping their wrath.

  Danica’s eyes strained against the dark. She rode atop a platform on the back of a Razorwing that slowly flew down The Way. Miles of frost-wracked stone lay behind them. The air rushed past her and lashed her face with tiny snow crystals.

  Her skin was frozen. She was on her knees, with her arms bound behind her back. Her dark armor was stained with blood, dirt and ice dust. Blood had crusted to her forehead, and her skin was filthy with grime. Her body ached with fatigue. Tears stung her eyes.

  “Oh, stop crying,” Burke said from the front of the platform. “Tears don’t suit you, you heartless bitch.” He turned and looked at her. “We both know what you did while you were here, Danica Black. We both know what you’re capable of. Don’t play like you’ve suddenly grown a soul.”

  Danica said nothing, because she knew that he was right.

  The platform of wood and steel was wide enough to house a contingent of Revenger guards and a handful of prisoners, with enough space to secure each passenger to the deck with chains. The entire contraption was secured to the back of the Razorwing, one of many such giant draconic creatures purchased at a discounted rate from the Ebon Cities. Each Razorwing was controlled by a warlock or witch who formed a special telepathic bond with the creature using a strange parasite provided by the Ebon Cities’ beast handlers. The parasites grew in pairs, and one was affixed to each the mage’s and the Razorwing’s necks, which allowed the stronger-minded of the duo to exert control over the other. Lucky for The Revengers, Razorwings weren’t terribly intelligent.

  Burke, Raven, six armed sentries, the warlock pilot, a pair of leathery undead and two more warlock wardens stood guard over their prisoners: Danica, Lara Cole, and the unconscious body of Eric Cross.

  You stupid bitch, she told herself. You couldn’t have messed things up any more than this.

  She looked at Cole. Cole wouldn’t look back at her.

  It had been two years since they’d last seen each other, when they’d barely survived the Battle of Karamanganji. Black had abandoned The Revengers, stolen prisoners and gone to hell and back to save Cole’s life, but in the end that still wasn’t enough to erase their romantic difficulties. Danica still wasn’t entirely sure what had happened between them…things had seemed fine. Lara had always had some difficulty reconciling Black’s career choice, but Danica made sure she got out and saw Lara as often as possible, and they were very careful to make sure that nothing about their relationship in any way violated prison protocol or put either of them in danger.

  They used to drink and go out on the town, carouse and shout and have fun, stay out late and sleep in later, get into trouble and never look back.

  Danica might have saved Cole’s life, but by that point Lara had already saved Danica’s soul. When the nightmares that the prison gave Danica had all but destroyed her, Cole’s love and companionship pulled her back out of the darkness. Lara was so exciting, so joyous to be around, so full of life.

  And then, one day – just a few weeks before Cradden decided to kidnap her so as to force Danica to give him valuable prisoners – Cole told Danica it was time for them to move on, and that she didn’t want to see her anymore.

  Is this a second chance? Black wondered.

  She looked at Cross. She’d betrayed one person she loved in a desperate bid to save the other.

  You didn’t have much of a choice, she told herself. They would’ve tortured and killed you both. And they still might.

  Danica felt like she’d swallowed freezing water. Her skin chilled as a gust of black wind sliced down the enormous tunnel. The platform on the Razorwing’s back creaked loudly. Everything shifted beneath her, and it was only the chains around her wrists that kept her from rolling into the air as the massive reptile twisted and flew deeper into the bowels of the earth.

  Danica’s stomach lurched. The Way was so vast she couldn’t see the bottom. Black rock stretched over their heads, endless miles of stone reamed in ice and shadow. Outcroppings appeared out of the gloom like granite phantoms.

  The Razorwing ducked beneath a massive stalactite, an iron and stone watch post that hung suspended from the endless ceiling. Rotating chain guns turned and tracked the reptilian flier. Gargoyles silently hovered through the air. The inverted tower hung over a giant fissure that ran up the face of the wall like a wound. The flaw led from one behemoth cavern to another.

  Black Scar waited on the other side of the crack. The sight of it always took Danica’s breath away. Its dismal grandeur was awe-inspiring.

  She always knew she’d return. It had somehow seemed inevitable.

  Steel towers stretched out across the cavern. Pillars of dark fire roared towards a ceiling so tall it might have been the sky. The air tasted like sweat and iron. Distant and dark walls glowed in the blaze of furnaces. Crystalline flaws in the stone shone like false daylight in the gloom. Thick iron shields built over natural fissures helped maintain the cave’s stability.

  The cavern stretched for over two miles in either direction. At its center stood an underground city made of cold iron, black structures molded together to form an edged metropolis.

  The central Black Scar complex sat at the nexus of it all, a dome of pitted steel surrounded by needle-like towers webbed together with crackling electric-thaumaturgy. Circling blasts of cold energy cast the ceiling in ghostly light. Grinding machines echoed and crashed in the distance. Droning Razorwings cried out, and their strangely hollow voices echoed like tortured cries.

  The prisoner population of Black Scar was locked within the iron walls, guarded by rotating watchtowers covered with ball turrets and arcane trebuchets. They lived in squalor in a tight arrangement of prison buildings, tiny structures packed like honeycombs and locked down around the clock. Those few prisoners visible on the grey lanes were chained together and held under careful watch by more of the gaunt wight-giants. Yet more of the undead stood on the towers and on the walls, their grinning skull visages unmoving, their cold white eyes glowing like torchlight.

  The diamond mines were to the west, a scar in the rock. Danica saw streams of workers ushered in and out of the wide opening to the mines, their skin red with dust. Gouts of explosive vapors erupted from the open shafts and painted the air in a bloody haze.

  Mechanical dreadnaughts strode through the city, faceless automatons built like massive tin men with motorgun arms. Swivel-mounted cockpits sat where the heads should have been, and they housed Revenger pilots who kept a careful watch on the metropolis of prison structures.

  Black cables ran between the taller buildings. Spirit unguent raced along lines of iron wire. Strands of arcane energy crackled and fell in sparks of electric rain.

  “He’s looking forward to seeing you,” Raven said. She smiled at Danica. Danica didn’t say anything. She didn’t even look at the Revenger, and after a moment the woman turned away.

  “Lara,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, Dani,” Cole said. She was crying. “I’m sorry.”

  “Shut up,” Raven said coldly. Burke laughed.

  The Razorwing dipped down and flew beneath hex wires and razored turrets. Hot wind from the furnaces blasted up into Danica’s face, and when flames poured
from one of the central factories she went blind for a moment from the blazing white light. She had to blink several times before her vision returned.

  The reptile landed on an elevated steel platform surrounded by a low barbed fence that had been decorated with human hair. The likeness of a black skull had been painted in the middle of the platform.

  A number of leathery undead sentries armed with bladed rifles and hatchets stood at attention. The Razorwing folded in its wings and flattened itself down. An iron staircase was rolled up to the platform on the reptile’s back. Black and Cole were led down.

  Danica had trouble finding her land legs – they’d been riding on the Razorwing’s back for hours, and the ground still seemed to shift and tilt beneath her even as she stepped onto the flat surface. Her head spun from dizziness and hunger, and her eyes watered in the smoke and haze. The light in the Netherwere was unnaturally dim and dank and often took Revengers years to adjust to.

  They stood Cole and Danica side-by-side in front of a steep iron staircase leading to the depths of the processing tower. Both of their arms were still bound behind their backs. Black’s spirit wailed in the background, like he was lost at sea. Danica deduced that she had no chance of touching him so long as Raven was nearby and conscious.

  She looked behind her. Burke supervised as the undead quietly hauled Cross down the ladder. He’d been wrapped up like a mummified corpse.

  “Hey, bitch. Been a long time.”

  Danica turned and looked at the man who’d spoken. She’d recognize the scratchy voice anywhere.

  Vorgas Rake was lean, tall and unshaven, an imposing man with red-blonde hair and a thin goatee surrounded by stubble. He dressed in black, and moved like a panther. The former pit-fighter had grown up as a street thug, but during his travels he’d become extremely well-connected in the criminal underworld. Once he’d graduated from hired muscle to mercenary his influence and clout continued to grow. Eventually he and his partners had formed The Revengers, and they’d transformed Black Scar into what it was now. Those partners were long gone, and Rake ran the show all by himself now.