seen the last of the Creel. In fact I suspect the durthan was telling the truth about what she saw before meeting us.'
'Truly?' Duras raised an eyebrow. 'Humph, then what is she lying about, I wonder?'
Bastun looked toward the durthan, who had ceased staring at him, and wondered at her true motives. She could not have known he knew anything about Shandaular, unless she was merely basing her guess on his luck with stopping the portal. It was common knowledge that the vremyonni had studied the city long before the Shield outpost was established by the wychlaren. However, Bastun was far too young to have been among those scholars. Bastun continued puzzling over the matter as the two groups rested in silence, waiting for Thaena to give the order to march.
The ethran seemed to need no rest at all. She produced healing salves for the more seriously wounded among the fang and then paced in front of the hall's entrance. Bastun found moments of rest here and there, not really exhausted so much as trying not to appear impatient.
This became all the harder when the voices returned outside.
Scattered at first, he heard them swiftly gathering. He recalled the black tide of souls that had swept through the Creel earlier and imagined the waves of darkness rising in the streets. Slowly the others began to hear the voices as well, and Thaena clapped her hands together once to gain everyone's attention, the nearness of the spirits giving her an immediate audience.
Words were unnecessary as the fang stood at the ready. Anilya roused her men as well and joined Thaena at the entrance. Duras took his place at the head of the fang. The vremyonni took one last look at the broken pieces of Shandaular's portal, trying to hold the image of the Ilythiiri runes in his mind, then made his way toward the others.
'How far to the Shield, Duras?' Thaena asked.
'Less than a mile, directly south,' he answered.
'We'll need to be quick,' Anilya added as the howling darkness outside grew louder.
'Indeed,' Thaena said. 'Same marching order as before. We'll run the distance to the gates and hope the spirits don't follow too closely. Understood?'
'Yes, ethran,' Duras replied without hesitation, eliciting nods of approval and boastful assurances from the rest of the fang.
'And if they do follow?' Anilya asked.
Thaena gave the durthan a half-lidded stare through her mask, tilting her head as she answered matter-of- factly. 'Then we stand and die fighting, as Rashemi should.'
The ethran stepped outside. Dawn was still a ways away as the two groups exited the chamber, but clouds heavy with snow and the thick fog eclipsed the pale light of sunrise. Bastun hovered a moment at the rear, looking around the corner of the hall's curving exterior. The mist made everything a dim silhouette, and walls seemed to melt into blackness as the spirits moved through and around them like a spreading flame. Every tortured voice, every wail felt directed at him, grabbing his heart and pounding it harder. Still, he could not look away. Scents of smoke and burning flesh reached his nose. Like ghosts themselves the smells tugged at the primal urge to flee.
A shout from Duras broke his bondage, and he quickly took his place as the group began a steady charge ahead of the spirits. The Rashemi ran, focused only on reaching their destination, but Bastun noted the looks of panic among the sellswords as the sound of the wailing shadows became screeches of frustration and inhuman desire. Only Ohriman maintained his stride and composure.
Chancing a look over his shoulder, Bastun could see where the Hall of the Portal had been. The advancing spirits had overcome it. Bastun searched through the fog ahead for the first glimpse of the Shield's gates. It felt like an eternity, the limited visibility making progress unfathomable.
Lightning flashed through the clouds, lighting up the fog. Catching movement from out of the corner of his eye, Bastun saw a narrow alley flooding with shadows. Ephemeral arms stretched out for the warmth of the living, and pale patches of light bobbed in pairs through the mass.
'Beware the west!' Duras yelled.
Muted thunder mumbled in the wake of the lightning as the group edged away from the western side of the road, jumping over broken bits of wall and other structures protruding from the snow. More spirits tumbled into the street and merged with the moaning army of ghosts. Bastun pumped his legs harder, eyes focused on the path ahead of him.
'The east!' Anilya cried as the windows of a standing wall bled forth yet another stream of shadows.
Order dissolved as the shadows flanked them and closed in. The fang shouted, some challenging the shadows to catch them.
Lightning ripped through the sky again, spreading through the snow and clouds and unnatural fog. Amidst the clouds, in the heartbeat in which they were lit, Bastun saw shapes diving and banking on shadowy wings. Shandaular was coming to life all around them. More corporeal things stumbled into view as they passed.
Thunder followed. A scream echoed in the thunder's wake. One of Anilya's sellswords had lagged behind, slowed by a wounded ankle. Tendrils of the darkness pulled him down into the snow. He shrieked for help, but there was no help to be had. His cries did not last long, and they strengthened those still running.
Death rode on their heels, and Bastun's lungs burned with the effort of maintaining his stride. He felt relief as the high towers of the Shield became visible through the fog, although he feared what they might find inside. The mournful wail of the dead rose in pitch as the group crossed the last stretch of ground into the shadow of the Shield's outer wall. The sound was deafening as the dead reached the border of their territory, a line that they would not cross, many retreating even within sight of the massive fortress.
Warriors hit the wall and slid to the ground, smiling grimly as they fought to catch their breath. The Rashemi greeted those behind them as if they'd just finished a casual race. Bastun slumped to his knees at the large wooden gates and leaned on his hands, breathing heavily. Though thankful that the dead outside still held a healthy fear of the Shield, he knew from Keffrass's cryptic remarks that the spirits within the fortress were far more dangerous. When pressed for specifics, the old vremyonni would stare off into space for long moments, remembering, before shaking his head and changing the subject.
The shadows left behind melted among the ruins, their voices quieter but no less disquieting.
The gates were open slightly, just enough to allow one to pass through, and Bastun stood to peer in at the ancient castle. Thaena and Duras came to look as well, and Bastun wondered if they had any idea of what they were truly seeing.
The tops of its high walls and multiple towers were lost in the low clouds, their surfaces remarkably untouched by times ravages, as if the citadel had been frozen and set aside. Bastun marveled at the magic that must have been used in its construction. Little decoration broke up the austere architecture save for the stylized archway above the gate, made to resemble what the portal must have once looked like.
Stepping back, he leaned against the cold surface of the gate and slid down to his knees once again. He collected his thoughts and rested his head on his staff. The others were still calming down, some invigorated by the run through the streets and others already checking their weapons. The latter reminded him that the Creel would be waiting. He knew this in his gut. The lack of any Rashemi guards at the gate lent proof.
Spells came to mind on instinct, and he closed his eyes to inventory the arcane passages held in his memory. An undercurrent of rhythm flowed through his thoughts as he recalled the Firedawn Cycle as well, the tune resurfacing as he worried about the Shield's safety in the shadow of the fortress. The memory of Keffrass's voice echoed among his thoughts.
Where is your breath?
James P. Davis
The Shield of Weeping Ghosts
He cast a quick glance toward Anilya and Ohriman, careful to shield his eyes beneath hood and mask. They stood apart from the others, talking in whispers and watching him. He focused the magic of his mask to eavesdrop on their conversation even as pieces of the Cycle sang themselves in the back of his mind.
… to shake the stones, to break the bones Of the Shield and steal its Breath, Of the Shield and steal its Breath.
A grim smile spread across his lips as he heard everything but the voices of the durthan and Ohriman.
