The Witch's Eye (11 page)

The last stretch of road
ran directly beneath the barbican, and the tunnel to the outer doors was long and dark.  Dank moisture dripped down and gathered in fetid pools.  The pale Raza, mercenary witch-monks with a penchant for cruelty, floated in the dark like burning knives. 

She walked
on, ignoring them.  She’d already done this many times.  The crowd murmured behind her.  She smelled the city’s sweat.  The air grew freezing as she drew close to the gates.  Light spilled through the crack at the bottom of the stone doors. 

She heard ravenous growls
on the other side, and the presence of corrupted spirits chilled her blood.  Dragon stood before the doors and waited.  Her mind was distant.  Tension ran down her limbs as her body prepared for the coming battle.

The bolt
across the gates was drawn back by a complicated mechanism, a series of shifting gears and cranks that echoed noisily in the still air.  It took exactly eight seconds for the doors to slide open, and in that space of time Dragon called up her spirit.  His acrid scent burned in her nostrils.  His whispers filled her mind, pleaded with her, begged her to pull back from this moment, but she rendered him silent and focused him into a hardened shield of translucent force which she raised around her body as the pale wasteland came into view.

The Witchborn
waited for her.  It snarled as she approached.  The gates slowly shut behind her. 

Dragon knew the vampires watched her from the city walls, as did Lorn
’s citizens.  They always amassed to witness the spectacle.  She had the sense she’d done something like this before in some far off place: committed acts of violence for the entertainment of others.  But that had been in her previous life.  The life that was lost to her. 

T
his was no spectacle.  The Witchborn threatened the city, and not even the vampires were willing to deal with it for fear of exposure to the disease it carried.

The sun was
frozen behind spectral clouds.  The white wastes north of Lorn were littered with steam vents, and thick gunpowder mist rolled across the hills.  Sulfur and copper blew in from the east. 

The Witchborn
knelt low in the smoke.  Hunger had brought it to Lorn, where it detected the scent of vampire flesh.  It had been a vampire itself once, but something had soiled its dark blood and corrupted it.  Its fangs dripped venom and its tongue was capped with spines.  The Witchborn stood naked on the plain, its dark skin ridged with bone spurs and blisters.  Its voice was raspy and deep, but it could no longer form words, as its new and remorseless appetite had destroyed all capacity for reason. 

This
was why Lynch had brought her to Lorn.  As the human liaison to the vampire authority of the city, it was his duty to aid the undead rulers.  In this case that meant protecting them from a creature that could do them serious harm.

Dragon drew her blades
and stepped forward.  Her spirit floated inches away from her body as a hot shield.  She knew it hadn’t always been possible for her to hold him in that form for so long.  She gave no thought to the pain she caused him.

The Witchborn
leapt forward.  Black claws raked the shield, and ebon sparks fell to the ground.  Her spirit buckled beneath the monstrous onslaught. 

Dragon
unleashed her spirit in a blast of acid frost.  Spirit collided against spirit.  The Witchborn was possessed by an infected soul that infused its body like a ghost pilot. 

The air peeled with explosive pressure.  Dragon smelled flame and rot
, and she tasted the foul aroma of dead magic.  The spirits twisted in spirals of green fire.  Heat washed over her.  The metal arm hummed and pained her flesh where it joined the steel. 

Her spirit
’s reserve of power faded.  He was being overwhelmed.  She had to strike quickly.

Dragon twisted
her body and ducked beneath claws aimed at her throat.  She hissed as razor nails tore across her back and blood ran down her skin.

She turned one
of her Necroblades sideways and sank it into the Witchborn’s ribs.  Animal howls filled her ears.  She held the blade tight with her supernaturally strong bloodsteel arm.

T
he vampire’s claws sank into her side.  Blinded with pain, she released her grip on the embedded blade and elbowed the Witchborn in the face.  Fangs snapped and black blood splashed on her armor. 

T
alons snapped free but remained lodged in her skin.  The soiled spirit howled deep within its vampire slave as she cleaved through the creature’s skull with the second Necroblade.  Pale eyes went dark as she severed the bonds that kept the spirit tethered to its host body. 

The
weapons had been designed to sever a mage from their spirit.  They were also the only thing guaranteed to kill the Witchborn.  Arcane tendons snapped as hex energies burned away.  Necrotic waste gushed from the seams. 

An image flashed before her eyes. 
The malformed ghost was twisted and covered in boils and puss.  It plummeted from a pale sky towards a forest filled with dead trees, where it was consumed by ravenous black unicorns.  Its moans faded into darkness, and her vision returned.

The body
collapsed.  Black blood ran like oil.  Cold steam poured from the mutilated corpse.  Dragon stood still and silent as her captive spirit wove her damaged flesh back together.  It was a painful process, but she gritted her teeth and waited for it to be over.

T
he vampires and captive citizens of Lorn were silent behind her.  They’d seen this all before.  This was the sixth Witchborn to show up at the city gates in just the past week. 

Dragon slowly walked away. 
Dark smoke billowed from the Witchborn’s body as it fell in on itself like a grisly sinkhole.  Skin blistered and crackled like burning grease.

She walked back to the city gates, where the Raza sisters watched her with disdain.  Lynch stood there
, beaming with pride.

“Well done,” he
clapped.  “Well done.”

All of the way back to her apartment her captive spirit
mended her wounds and tried to convince her to release him before she forced his vaporous essence back into the steel prison.  His screams reverberated through her head as she locked him away.

“This is a wondrous city,” Lynch said as they walked.  “We are lucky to have you.  I am so grateful you were delivered to us.  You are invaluable to the vampires, you know.”

“I’m supposed to be somewhere else,” she said.  She wasn’t sure why she’d said it.  The words came without her really being aware of them.

Lynch stopped
and took hold of both her shoulders with his calloused hands.  He looked her in the eye.

“What do you mean?” he said pleasantly
.  His expression was anything but.  “If not Lorn, where are you meant to be?”

She stared back at him.  Thoughts wouldn
’t come.  Her mind was a haze, trapped, just like her spirit, locked beneath a shield of drug-induced apathy. 

“I don
’t know,” she said.  “Not here.”

Lynch pursed
his lips in thought, considering.  A smile slowly returned to his lips.

“You
’ve earned some rest, my dear,” he smiled.  “And I’ll see that you get some.”

He led her away.  She offered no resistance, even when she realized where he was taking her. 

SIX

SURVIVORS

They marched at first light.  Ronan would have preferred to travel under cover of night, but it would have been difficult to keep two dozen people safe while they stumbled through the dark.

This is a terrible idea
.

He
’d resigned himself to letting Moone call the shots.  The best Ronan could do was maintain his vigil and try to keep anyone from getting killed.  It was clear that Moone wasn’t actually accustomed to being in command, so both he and Maur found themselves having to offer advice, usually when it wasn’t wanted.

This is ridiculous.  They bitched and moaned for me to stay, and now they
don’t want to listen to me. 

He kept his gripes to himself.  It was just going to be easier that way.

The group left the ruins of Voth Ra’morg.  The morning was icy cold, and the stark lines of the horizon were red with bloody light.  They had no mounts, very little food and water, and they’d scrounged only a handful of weapons, mostly knives they’d pulled off of dead soldiers.  Only Ronan, Moone, Maur and Kyleara had working firearms, and their ammunition was limited.  Jade, of course, was armed with her spirit, and even though she was more accustomed to divination than combat she could still do some damage with her magic. 

T
he ground between Voth Ra’morg and the Bone Hills was an ice-crusted marsh filled with drowned grass.  The top ice had melted but hadn’t drained.  Bloodflies rose and formed buzzing mists over the stagnant sea.  Ronan smelled salt and decay.

Water oozed over their boots as they waded towards
ash white hills in the distance.  Even though the ice had melted the water was still just a beat above freezing.  Ronan’s toes started to tingle and go numb after about an hour, but thankfully by that point they reached solid ground and escaped the freezing marsh.

T
hey crossed the hills and entered the open plains.  The land was barren and lacked any cover.  It was at least a six or seven day march to Thornn, and there was no way they had enough food to last them that long.  Ronan and Kyleara could both hunt, and Jade’s magic would come in handy killing game, but it was still going to be difficult to feed a group of that size.  Their best chance was to find a Southern Claw patrol or another band of travelers, but they couldn’t count on that happening.  They were south of the Reach and north of the Bone Hills, a hostile badlands populated by scavengers, Gorgoloth, and carrion beasts.  Food would be hard to come by.

“
We could try to get some supplies in Wolftown,” Ronan said to Maur. 

“Maur thinks it is out of
our way,” the Gol nodded as they walked.  “But it would be worth the time spent getting there.” 

It was
a grim pilgrimage.  Tattered cloaks turned grey with marsh grime fluttered in the frigid wind.  Ronan, Maur and Jade were close to the front of the procession with the healer, Taara, while Moone and Kyleara guarded the rear. 

“Well,” Ronan said.  “If we want to avoid Wolfland, it would be best to
get out of the open and stick to the northern edge of the Hills.  It’ll be maybe three days before we’re within sight of Wolftown.”

“But Maur would like to point out,” the Gol said, “that
traveling so close to the Bone Hills is still dangerous.”

Carrion birds called from deep in the sky
. 

“
Yeah,” Ronan said.  “But we
need
to risk it.  We won’t find much potable water out in the plains, and we risk running into more Gorgoloth no matter which way we go.  At least if we head for Wolftown we’ll have a better chance of finding water.  It’s worth the risk.”

“Were you going to ask any of
us
?” Taala said from behind them.  Ronan didn’t realize she’d been walking so close.  The raven-haired woman looked at them both disapprovingly. 

“Well…” Maur began, but Ronan cut him off.

“No,” he said.  “We weren’t.  You want our help, you do what we say.”

“That
’s not how it works,” she said.  “You’re not in charge.  We’re all out here together, trying to help each other.”

Ronan looked at Maur
and quietly laughed. 

“Tell you what, Healer,” he said.  “My
friend and I are going to Wolftown.  We’re going to stay close to the Bone Hills.  If you or anyone else is interested, you’re welcome to follow us.”

He turned without another word
and went west, using the sun as his guide.

“You should work on your people skills,” Jade told him sometime later.

They sat
near a small basalt crater, on the side of a steep hill covered with pale white rocks.  Most of the survivors rested down in the crater, which measured a good twenty feet across and provided them with some cover from the sharp stones and icy twigs that whipped by in the wind.  Mold-colored clouds filled the pale sky, and the landscape was stark and lifeless.  The steep peaks and spires of the Bone Hills loomed to the south. 

“Why?” Ronan asked.  He chewed
on a piece of tasteless hardtack. 

“Jesus, Ronan,” Jade laughed.

She sat near him on a low rock a dozen yards from the crater.  Her green cloak was tattered and marred with stains.  Moone kept watch nearby with the MP5A2, and a few brave souls wandered and stretched.  Everyone knew that if they went too far they were on their own.