Something inside the Egg burned his eyes and throat, and it took every last reserve of his strength to pilot the vehicle. He had to get home.
He drove into the nearest tunnel, the one which led to the docks. A tall and disgusting looking man wrapped in bandages stood before the doorway, and he didn’t even try to move before the Egg splattered him all over the walls.
There were others in the cave. Harrick saw a wolf and a woman run off together, and further down the tunnel he even saw a Voss. Tuscars and men desperately tried to get out of the way, and Harrick did his best to steer the Egg so it rolled over them. He even thought he saw Slayne and Gess, and realized with some malicious joy that he still wore the amulet they wanted on a chain around his neck.
The Egg thundered down the tunnel. It ripped up rock and brought down the ceiling. He saw light ahead. Harrick’s eyes closed. He imagined Erys in her wedding dress, and she smiled at him with lips like a ruby night. He was home.
He died just as the Egg crashed through the low cave entrance and plummeted into the river.
Seventy-Five
They’d made it. Dane still wasn’t sure how, but they’d made it.
To his great surprise the rickety-looking longship they’d stolen from just outside the cave mouth proved capable of supporting both his and Kruje’s weight. There were some supplies on board, as well as a number of heavy tarps. Dane was no sailor but he at least knew how to hoist a sail, and soon the small ship was underway.
Kruje was injured and exhausted, so the giant didn’t object when Dane helped bandage his wounds and then covered him with the tarps so he’d remain unseen.
The sky was pale blue, and the face of the rising moon reflected bright on the river’s surface. Lights were being lit all over Ebonmark as people prepared for the coming night, each of them blissfully ignorant as to the bloody war going on beneath their feet.
Dane sat at the bow of the ship and kept his eyes and ears alert. He knew Blackhall didn’t have any regular river patrols established yet, but that didn’t mean Jlantrian soldiers wouldn’t come after them just the same. He hoped they’d be too busy contending with the messy aftermath of what had happened in the city below, not to mention dealing with the Vossian war machine that had flung itself to the bottom of the river. Its crash had echoed through the night, sounding so much like thunder Ebonmark’s citizens had probably wondered why they’d heard a storm when there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky.
He was freezing without his shirt on, but he had to dress his wounds. He and Kruje would sail along the river and try to find a village where he could barter for more supplies. If they really got desperate they could also stop in Kaldrak Iyres, but that was a place Dane would rather avoid, and Kruje would be no safer there than in Ebonmark.
Dane’s mind wandered as he dabbed healing ointment on the numerous cuts on his torso, wincing and hissing in pain the entire time. Quite a few of his wounds required stitches.
Dane had time to think while he tended his injuries. He’d been a hunter and killer of Bloodspeakers, but now he hunted one so he could help her. He was a Jlantrian knight – or had been, once – whose only ally was a sworn enemy of the Empire he’d once served. He’d been in the employ of thieves who sometimes seemed more trustworthy than the Crown he’d once devoted his life to.
It had been a very strange few days.
The boat floated north along the River Black, mercifully unchallenged as it left Ebonmark. Kruje’s raucous snores filled the air. Dane sat alone under the mast and stared up at the stars. Despite everything he’d been through he didn’t feel tired. Not one bit.
One of the Bloodspeakers had survived. He wasn’t sure how he was going to help her when he’d failed to help anyone else, including himself. So many had been slaughtered, and the Dawn Knights had never even found the man they’d really been after in the first place.
So many nightmares. So much pain.
She wouldn’t want his help. He’d have to somehow earn her trust, assuming he could even find her. Bordrec had told Dane how the Jlantrians had modified the thar’koon blades so they could be magically tracked, so in theory Dane, too, could find them by using cher’nag. It seemed to be working – though the sensation was weak, he’d determined they were somewhere to the north, heading into the Bonelands. With any luck they were still in Ijanna’s possession.
The ship drifted under the darkening sky. Dane watched the dead trees and barren stones along the shore. They’d have to abandon the boat sooner or later, but for now Dane was content to rest. His heart, for the first time in years, swelled with hope. He could make amends. He could set things right.
That’s not true, he told himself. It’s not that easy. But I have to try.
When Dane finally slept, he was untroubled by nightmares.
Seventy-Six
Slayne watched the Veilwarden struggle. Two hours after the battle was over, Toran Gess could finally rest. His eyes and hand stopped glowing as he lay back on the cot.
“It’s done,” he gasped. “The Serpentheart has dissipated. None of it escaped Black Sun.”
Slayne nodded. Blackhall breathed easy behind him. Slayne could tell how angry Aaric was. Things hadn’t gone as planned. The operation had been a success, but a costly one.
Orange candles lit the wide room in Blackhall’s tower. Very soon the citadel would be relocated to the middle of Ebonmark using the same magic that had transported it from Ral Tanneth in the first place. It should have been done sooner, but Blackhall hadn’t wanted to make his men any more vulnerable to attacks from the Black Guild than they already were. Now that the criminal factions of Ebonmark were gone, including every last rogue in the Cauldron, they could finally secure control of the city. Even Wolf Brigade was no more, its members having been slaughtered by the Serpentheart released into Black Sun or by the Guild warriors in the Cauldron.
“Well done,” Blackhall said. “Well done.”
Gess was unconscious. Slayne had never really liked the Veilwarden before, but he did now – Toran had proved himself in more ways than one that night. The stump where his hand had been was wrapped in bloody linen, and if not for magic Gess would have already died from blood loss.
Slayne stood up and groaned with fatigue. His wounds were numerous, and he’d felt dizzy and nauseous ever since they’d escaped Black Sun. He paced around the room.
“What’s wrong, Marros?” Blackhall asked him.
“I had him, Aaric,” Slayne said. “That son of a bitch was within my reach. And I lost him because of some damned storybook monster.”
“We’ll get him,” Blackhall said. “Dane is still looking for the woman. Gess can find her, and when he does, we’ll find him.”
“Get some rest,” Blackhall told him, but Slayne wasn’t tired.
When Blackhall had gone Slayne pulled out a leather case hidden away in a corner of the room, shoved in with the other personal belongings he kept in the tower. He hadn’t opened the case in three years. It was plain and smooth, and as Slayne raised the lid the gleaming blades of the vra’taar reflected the candlelight onto his hardened face.
So here we are again, Slayne thought. It’s time for me to erase another memory, My Love. Then, maybe, it will finally be over.
Slayne sealed the sword away, sat down, and thought of days long past, days when his raging mind had been at peace. He would be at peace again once Azander Dane was dead.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Steven Montano is an accountant by day and an author by night. Sadly, he doesn’t own a superhero costume. He’s also hopelessly addicted to books, films, music and video games, the darker the better.
Steven is the author of Blood Skies, Black Scars, Soulrazor, Crown of Ash, The Witch’s Eye, Tales of a Blood Earth 1 and 2 and something black…. He’s currently hard at work on Blood Angel Rising, a horror novel; Chain of Shadows, the next in
stallment of the Blood Skies series; and Path of Bones and The Black Tower, the remaining installments of The Skullborn trilogy.
He lives in Washington State with his wife, two children, a dog of below-average intelligence, and a ridiculous number of books and bottles of wine.
Visit Steven’s official website at www.bloodskies.com
Table of Contents
Also by Steven Montano
Copyright
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Prologue (Year 10 of the Rift War)
One (30 Years After the Rift War)
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Forty-Three
Forty-Four
Forty-Five
Forty-Six
Forty-Seven
Forty-Eight
Forty-Nine
Fifty
Fifty-One
Fifty-Two
Fifty-Three
Fifty-Four
Fifty-Five
Fifty-Six
Fifty-Seven
Fifty-Eight
Fifty-Nine
Sixty
Sixty-One
Sixty-Two
Sixty-Three
Sixty-Four
Sixty-Five
Sixty-Six
Sixty-Seven
Sixty-Eight
Sixty-Nine
Seventy
Seventy-One
Seventy-Two
Seventy-Three
Seventy-Four
Seventy-Five
Seventy-Six
ABOUT THE AUTHOR