The Witch's Eye (40 page)

Cross held
Shiv’s hand tight, while her father stood on her other side.  The wind seemed to rip right through them.  They waited with a sense of dread as the cluster of ships followed the hex lines to the living artifact.

The Witch
’s Eye lay directly ahead.  Cross could see its trail, as Shiv shared her arcane vision through their touch.  Ankharra stood behind them with a hex stone in hand.  The crystal shifted as they flew, pulled towards their destination.  If anything happened to the trail, Ankharra’s spirit could act through her implement and find it again.

Shiv
and Cross saw threads of grey-green hex power, a trail of burning energy like scum on the water.  He could taste it on the air, an afterburn of dark magic.  Cross kept one hand on the forward railing.  The mast creaked over their heads, and the wet sea air made him shiver in place.

Whispers slithered around them.  He couldn
’t see the spirits, but he knew they were there. He smelled their ancient gravestone odor and felt their ice-cold claws press against his skin. 

They were close.  The trail led deep into Rimefang Loch, to
wards a cluster of islands at the center of the sea.  One island in particular loomed larger than the rest, a massive rock formation with a crater at its center, partially obscured by storms of shadow and fog.  An outer ring of curved mountains surrounded the island. 

Howling wind
s pushed at
Maurauder
.  As the ship elevated to put distance between itself and the increasingly larger stones on the water’s surface, Cross saw that the outer islands had once been connected to the larger, and thin trails of rock and vegetation tied everything together in web of stone. 

He felt
a presence on the island, the same cold and calculating entity he’d faced in the Bone March.  It had dared him to follow, and now it waited for him.  When he’d stared into the depths of that glittering orb he’d seen the end of all things.

Cross
knew Shiv felt it, too.  There was dread in her eyes, and fear in her heart.  Everything about her flowed into him: her emotions, her memories, her dreams.  She’d barely known her mother, and she was terrified she’d lose her father, too.  Cross felt the warm pulse of her soul and the whispers at the edge of her thoughts.  She’d always thought the voices in her head were just her imagination.

H
e tried to help her control powers that could overtake the mind of even an experienced mage, let alone that of a child with no experience.  Cross wasn’t sure what aid he could actually lend – his blade afforded him no special control over wild ghosts, and all he was really doing was holding Shiv’s hand, talking to her, and helping her identify what they needed to look for, and what they could afford to ignore. 

Maybe that
’s enough.

“Just help her,” Ankharra had told him.  “You
’ve seen and done things she hasn’t. Your experience will be invaluable.”  Ankharra wasn’t sure how linking with Shiv as she tried to interact with the Eye’s energies might affect a mage, so the duty fell to Cross.  After all, Shiv trusted him.

But their bond had an effect he wouldn
’t wish on anyone: just as her mind had opened to him, his had opened to her.  He tried to push away thoughts of the war, of Blackmarsh and Wormwood, of the horrors in the Bonespire and the Whisperlands. 

He saw Snow, burning on the train.  He couldn
’t keep that thought away.

Shiv said nothing.  She squeezed his hand
tight and looked ahead, watched as the gossamer trails of lost souls stretched to the horizon.  The falling sun painted the world red and gold, and its beams fell warm against their skin.

They came within sight of the isle just as the sun was setting. 

The
y approached from the east.

The vampires came from the south. 

It was a full Wing: six warships and two massive sea vessels that looked like armored sharks.  They bore straight towards the island.

There was smoke in the sky, a trace of black like a charcoal smear.  Rips of bomb blasts sputtered high in the atmosphere.  The Ebon Cities warships rotated their iron cannons. 
Massive barrels spat hexed shot.

Cross had been in
many battles.  He’d never gotten used to how they never actually seemed to begin – one moment the air was still and the ships moved quietly, and in the next everything was a catastrophe of noise and explosions, bodies and blood. 

Razorwings came
at them.  A pair of Ebon Cities warships changed course to follow the reptile fliers and intercept the Southern Claw vessels.

“
Incoming!” a voice cried out.  Cross rushed Shiv and Flint below.  Shiv squeezed his hand tight before she moved down the steep stairs and into the depths of the hold.  He saw fear in her eyes.

His heart hammered.  The g
uns on the deck powered up, and the coils on the arcane flame launcher glowed red and billowed crimson steam.  One of the officers handed Cross a SIG SG 552.  Wara and the other Doj yielded what looked like steam-powered harpoon launchers.  The Lith were on board, as well, and readied their bows and blades.

The
Marauder
, in spite of its namesake, wasn’t a war vessel but a cargo ship.  Even then, it was clearly outfitted to take a beating, as hydraulic lifts shifted cold iron plates to shield the hull and prevent anything from landing on deck too easily.  Twin 20mm guns on swivel-mounts rotated into place, as did the flame cannon on the aft end.  Cross felt the ship shift beneath them.  The vessel wasn’t terribly maneuverable and relied on its hexed shields and firepower to keep it safe, as well as the efforts of its more maneuverable Bloodhawk escorts.

The sky
turned crimson dark.  Cross watched the Razorwings and vampire warships grow larger by the second as the shields finished moving into position.  View-ports in the steel panels slid open.  With the walls raised, the deck had transformed into a narrow and claustrophobic fortress.

“Cross?” Ankharra yelled.  “You can shoot, right?”

“Yes I can,” he said. 

A rather brutish and unfriendly-looking soldier named Stark showed
Cross to his spot, a gunnery port on the front starboard side.  The viewport was just wide enough to give him a decent field of fire. 

“Don
’t screw up,” was all the words of encouragement Stark offered before moving to his own gunnery port a few paces away.  There were six soldiers on each side of the ship. Stark was to Cross’s right, while two Southern Claw soldiers, a Doj warrior and a Lith archer were to his left.  He wasn’t sure what good the archer would do against armored fliers and vampire warships, but he wasn’t about to ask.

Cross readied the SIG
, looked through the small panel, and waited.  The warships drew closer.  Thin lines of smoke followed in their wake.  The Razorwings spread and folded their wings, twisted and soared. 

The island grew larger below them.  The rest of the
vampire Wing continued straight on, and would reach the isle within a few minutes.

A klaxon sounded.  The ship went faster. 

Marauder
tilted to starboard.  Cross planted his boots as best he could.  He was grateful for the uniform they’d provided him, a plain set of black and grey fatigues made from a mesh of cloth and Kevlar, with steel across the chest and vital joints; he’d opted to leave the helmet off, but the armor vest and high-collar still afforded him some measure of protection. 

His hands sh
ook.  With as much as he’d been through, so much fighting, so many missions, and after having been to the edge of hell and back, Cross was surprised that still happened to him.

You
’re older now
.  He didn’t feel older, even if the lines on his skin and the weathering around his eyes told him otherwise. 
Older, but no wiser.

Cross
heard the first deafening blasts of the 20mm cannons as they shook the deck.

Please let me survive this
, he thought, not even sure who he was praying to. 
Let me see Shiv and Flint and the rest of my team safe.  Let us live, so we can be there waiting for the new day.

The first staccato bursts struck just outside the starboard
shields.  The arcane steel repelled the blasts, but the ship rocked violently, and Cross had to grab the railing to keep from falling.  Shrapnel ricocheted off the hull.  Chains of explosions tore through the sky. 

The Razorwings were
on top of them.  Cross wanted to grab his spirit and slam the draconic horrors with arcane force, but that was beyond him now.  The SIG rocked in his hands as he fired.  Gunfire rang in his ears.  Needles and necrotic bullets bounced away from the shielded walls with the clang of steel on steel.  Monstrous cries pierced the air. 

Another Razorwing
appeared.  A squad of pale vampires garbed in black armor rode on its back.  Flares of gunfire lit like matches in the distance.  Cross fired, emptied, reloaded, and fired again. 

Clouds of iron smoke peppered the vast sky
.  He only saw the fighting through that narrow viewport.  Guns hammered back and forth on swivel mounts behind him.  Roaring explosive bursts perforated the dusk air. 

A vampire warship came into view. 
Cross saw
Marauder’s
armor tear away beneath the thunderous barrage of chain guns. 

The ship buckled.  Someone scr
eamed as an explosion rang out.  Fire rushed across the deck.  Cross dropped to his knees as heat pushed at him and burned his throat. 

The
flames stopped short of the gunnery area, but most of the central deck was incinerated, and a massive rent had been torn in the forward hull and shield plating.  Cross saw red sky and black smoke.  Men slid lifeless across the deck before they were sucked out into open air. 

Klaxons blared
and drowned out the panicked cries.  Wara’s booming voice issued commands. 

V
ampire voices clawed at his mind.  He saw others hold their heads in pain and struggle to stay at their posts.

“Suckheads!” someone shouted. 

A Razorwing swooped around to gain entry to the exposed rip in the shields.  Vampires stood gathered on its back, their skin-tight armor the same dark hue as the reptile’s skin.  They held sinuous blades and organic bone-weapons, razor whips and coils of iron rope.  They meant to board.

Cross fired
at them.  He hit a vampire in the head and another in the shoulder, sending it plummeting into the sky.  Another vampire turned its rifle towards him, but Cross shot first, and the creature’s bone cannon exploded in its grip and tore its arm to meat as it fell. 

T
he Razorwing flew out of sight.  Cross saw the Bloodhawks engage the warships.  Gunfire and short-ranged rockets exploded in mid-air. 

There was fighting
on deck.  He heard blades and snarls and gunshots.  Cross reloaded and raced forward, fearing for a moment the wind would lift him into the sky.  The air was thick with fire and smoke.  He heard inhuman howls and men’s screams. 

The ship lurched and slid. 
Marauder
was sinking.

He nearly
tripped on a Lith corpse.  It was Rogue, the scout.  Her head had been torn off. 

The ship was on fire.  Crewmen and soldiers were
everywhere with buckets and blades, rifles and rope. 

A
scream came from below.

Shiv.

A vampire with a torn jaw-bone emerged from the smoke.  Its pale skin was covered with burns, and its black armor smoked like it had fallen through an inferno.  The vampire lifted its double-headed axe and charged at Cross.  Cross raised his gun, but the axe smashed it to bits.  His hands vibrated from the shock of the blow.  Bits of metal lanced into his wrists and forearms.  He felt blood on his uniform.

The vampire snarled.  Fangs the size of razor blades drew blood from its sickly tongue as it licked its wicked lips.  The
black axe radiated cold.

Soulrazor/Avenger leapt into
his grip.  The blade spun ahead almost on its own and sliced the axe haft in two.  The weapon split, and before the vampire could react Cross buried his blade in its chest.  Black blood gushed from the vampire’s heart as the creature fell to its knees. 

Marauder
was losing altitude fast.  Gunfire and flames roared all around him.  Wind and heat battered his body.  He ducked low and gathered himself.

Shiv.  Flint.

He took the stairs two at a time.  It was difficult to keep his footing with the ship’s
violent motion.  Smoke flew across his vision.  He descended into shadows.

Cross
heard a cry of pain.  He rushed down the blood-soaked hall and pushed his way towards the galley.  Vampire commandos had torn down the doors and ripped their prey apart.  Entrails and skin were everywhere. 

Dozer
was on the ground.  His throat had been torn out.