right as they continued to drive south. They were near Stone Bridge, where they’d have to head due east towards Ath, or at least where Ath should have been – the clouds amassed as if intentionally blocking view of the city-state, the same place he and Danica had been bound for when the Skyhawk had gone down and somehow landed them in Nezzek’duul.
They sensed motion ahead, so Cross asked Danica to stay with Ronan and Shiv while he climbed a ridge of frost-cracked rocks and greying weeds to investigate. It would have been easier to use the spirit to probe ahead, but if there were any warlocks or witches in the area they’d detect such an intrusion, and until he and Danica knew who or what they were dealing with they agreed not to take any unnecessary risks. They’d come too far to get careless now.
We’re going to be ok. We have to be.
He climbed slowly, and once he reached the top he peered over a crest of rocks and into a shallow valley smothered by white haze. Cross looked into the remains of a village. The buildings were old and makeshift, just heaped together sheds made of cast iron and brick, much like Wolftown but less stable and smaller, with no outer walls surrounding the structures. Stone mounds formed a circle around a smoking fire-pit, the source of the white smoke they’d spied from afar; the mounds were made of obsidian and basalt, their edges glowing faintly in the daylight.
Men moved among the mounds, soldiers and mercenaries in black and tan uniforms which Cross didn’t recognize, at least not at first; they weren’t Southern Claw and they didn’t seem to belong to any of the larger mercenary outfits he’d heard of, so he pulled out his binoculars to get a closer look. There were at least a dozen men he saw clearly and even more at the far end of the camp, where a number of ATVs and a small tank were parked beneath camouflage tarps.
Whatever their affiliation these soldiers were well-armed and well-equipped, and it wasn’t until he saw the silver cloaked female, bald and pale and seemingly floating on her own accord, that he realized who these forces belonged to.
She was one of the Raza, a militant order of mercenary war witches. Last he’d heard their services had been sold to the city-state of Fane.
“ Shit,” he muttered.
Fane was led by a former Southern Claw commando named Gunter Wulf. Under his direction they’d defected from the rest of the Southern Claw Alliance and launched an all-out campaign to take Seraph and overthrow the White Mother, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. Rumors of an alliance between Fane and the outcast undead of New Koth had surfaced, and with the Ebon Cities closing in from the west and the new threat of the Maloj surfacing in the Loch the Southern Claw had found itself facing more problems than ever before.
I was hoping the Suckheads would wipe these bastards out.
Cross started back down the hill. His boot caught on a loose stone and broke it away, and he only barely had time to grab hold and keep himself from falling when he heard Danica cry out.
“Eric! Run!”
He heard gunfire and saw flames, smelled Danica’s spirit burn in the twilight, an ozone presence like turpentine and sparks. Cross turned with the shotgun in hand in time to see a pair of gangly and enormous red-skinned creatures in dark armor push their way through the trees with 20mm cannons they wielded like rifles. Static booms rang out and bounced off a hard shell of crackling red fire. Danica’s shield held steady.
“Dani!” he shouted.
One of the Troj turned in his direction as Cross stumbled down the hill. The cannon rose, and fear lanced through his gut. Cross threw himself down the last stretch of hillside just as a blast tore against the stone and hailed chunks of rock down on top of him; he painfully landed in the thick frozen sludge at the bottom of the hill, knocking the wind from his lungs. The shotgun flew from
They sensed motion ahead, so Cross asked Danica to stay with Ronan and Shiv while he climbed a ridge of frost-cracked rocks and greying weeds to investigate. It would have been easier to use the spirit to probe ahead, but if there were any warlocks or witches in the area they’d detect such an intrusion, and until he and Danica knew who or what they were dealing with they agreed not to take any unnecessary risks. They’d come too far to get careless now.
We’re going to be ok. We have to be.
He climbed slowly, and once he reached the top he peered over a crest of rocks and into a shallow valley smothered by white haze. Cross looked into the remains of a village. The buildings were old and makeshift, just heaped together sheds made of cast iron and brick, much like Wolftown but less stable and smaller, with no outer walls surrounding the structures. Stone mounds formed a circle around a smoking fire-pit, the source of the white smoke they’d spied from afar; the mounds were made of obsidian and basalt, their edges glowing faintly in the daylight.
Men moved among the mounds, soldiers and mercenaries in black and tan uniforms which Cross didn’t recognize, at least not at first; they weren’t Southern Claw and they didn’t seem to belong to any of the larger mercenary outfits he’d heard of, so he pulled out his binoculars to get a closer look. There were at least a dozen men he saw clearly and even more at the far end of the camp, where a number of ATVs and a small tank were parked beneath camouflage tarps.
Whatever their affiliation these soldiers were well-armed and well-equipped, and it wasn’t until he saw the silver cloaked female, bald and pale and seemingly floating on her own accord, that he realized who these forces belonged to.
She was one of the Raza, a militant order of mercenary war witches. Last he’d heard their services had been sold to the city-state of Fane.
“ Shit,” he muttered.
Fane was led by a former Southern Claw commando named Gunter Wulf. Under his direction they’d defected from the rest of the Southern Claw Alliance and launched an all-out campaign to take Seraph and overthrow the White Mother, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. Rumors of an alliance between Fane and the outcast undead of New Koth had surfaced, and with the Ebon Cities closing in from the west and the new threat of the Maloj surfacing in the Loch the Southern Claw had found itself facing more problems than ever before.
I was hoping the Suckheads would wipe these bastards out.
Cross started back down the hill. His boot caught on a loose stone and broke it away, and he only barely had time to grab hold and keep himself from falling when he heard Danica cry out.
“Eric! Run!”
He heard gunfire and saw flames, smelled Danica’s spirit burn in the twilight, an ozone presence like turpentine and sparks. Cross turned with the shotgun in hand in time to see a pair of gangly and enormous red-skinned creatures in dark armor push their way through the trees with 20mm cannons they wielded like rifles. Static booms rang out and bounced off a hard shell of crackling red fire. Danica’s shield held steady.
“Dani!” he shouted.
One of the Troj turned in his direction as Cross stumbled down the hill. The cannon rose, and fear lanced through his gut. Cross threw himself down the last stretch of hillside just as a blast tore against the stone and hailed chunks of rock down on top of him; he painfully landed in the thick frozen sludge at the bottom of the hill, knocking the wind from his lungs. The shotgun flew from
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