Chain of Shadows (Blood Skies, Book 6)

By Steven Montano

The barrier between worlds has been broken, and the invasion is about to begin.

Eric Cross, burdened by the loss of those who’ve died under his command, must lead his recently reunited mercenary team against the shadow wolf sorcerers known as the Maloj. Bound to dire artifact blades and charged with protecting the Kindred, Cross seeks help from the enigmatic White Mother, leader of the Southern Claw.

But sinister forces bring his vessel down in a strange and distant land, and soon Cross and his allies are beset by undead armies vying for control of the deadly region called the Chain of Shadows.

Trapped in a desert waste where wielding magic is dangerous and nothing is as it seems, Cross’s team will pay the ultimate price in their battle to finally get home...

Return to the world After the Black in this pivotal 6th book of the BLOOD SKIES saga!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steven Montano
• Release date: Oct 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301467457

Steven Montano

I’m Steven Montano, an accountant who thinks he’s a writer, based mainly on the fact that I managed to get a few D&D adventures published roughly 2,000 years ago. I’ve been writing as a hobby for almost 20 years. I’m currently hard at work on the “Blood Skies” project, a post-apocalyptic dark fantasy fiction series. It has magic. And guns. And vampires. Really, what more could you want?

Book preview

PART ONE

GATE

ONE

RISING

Year 25 A.B. (After the Black)

The roar echoed into the dawn sky.

Cross, Danica, Flint, Shiv and the Lith ranger Grail ran up the slope as fast as they could. They’d just been through a battle, and they looked it – their armor and clothing was scorched, stained and torn, and most of them bore wounds. Cross wasn’t sure how he’d even managed to keep moving, except that the arcane blade in his possession seemed to have a knack for keeping him alive long after he should have fallen.

Soulrazor/Avenger had saved his life a dozen times, maybe more. It made him an expert swordsman. It healed him, but only when it wanted to. It was possessed of some alien intelligence he could neither understand nor communicate with. It served its own agenda, and while he wasn’t sure exactly how intelligent it was he knew he couldn’t trust it…but without any magic, he didn’t have much of a choice.

This damn thing is the only reason I’m still breathing. He knew the blade had bonded to him, but he wasn’t sure why, or what it wanted. And now certainly wasn’t the time to worry about it, not with the darkness spilling out behind them.

They ascended a sloped hill covered with cold dust and shattered obsidian obelisks. Crumbling bones and scorch stains littered the ground. The slope was the interior of a ring of jagged hills on an island in the middle of Rimefang Loch, a cold freshwater sea which in many ways acted as the unofficial center of the struggle between the Southern Claw and the Ebon Cities. Icy wind lashed their bodies as they climbed, and Cross tasted hex and necrotic energies, a vile tang of churning power that made everything smell like it had burned. Inhuman voices boiled up from the darkness at their backs, garbled and insane chatter leaking through the skin that separated worlds.

Run! Cross yelled. They clamored up the hill. He glimpsed down at the shadows.

It had been a long and arduous road to get to the island in the Loch, and they’d lost many on the way. Danica had been controlled by the Ebon Cities and forced to fight a new breed of vampire called the Witchborn, while Cross had escaped the Carrion Rift after what felt to him like decades of exile, first as a prisoner to his own hostile spirit and later as a refugee in the shadow-plagued Whisperlands. Most of his team was dead or missing, including Kane, one of his only friends.

It had been so long since he’d seen them. Years had passed, literally, and he recalled little of it. He still felt like he was stuck half in a dream, frozen in moments that had long since passed. The more he tried to remember his life before he’d fallen into that vat in the Bonespire the more difficult it was for him to grab onto who he’d been. His life had become a series of flashing images, one painful instance after the next, and every time he turned around it seemed someone else he cared about had died. He felt so old, and covered with so many scars there was little of the original man left.

I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’ve lived through my team for so long. Kane, Grissom, Ash. Their faces were burned in his memory. They’d all died trying to save him, and with every death he felt he’d lost another piece of his soul.

He wasn’t sure how he managed to keep moving. His body was wracked with hurt and covered with burns from his brief battle with Azradayne, the spider who’d been manipulating his path for the past several years, and maybe even longer. There was no telling how far her vision extended, or how far back she’d spun her webs.

Cross, Flint said as they ran. What the hell is it?

Cross felt bad for the man. An ex-soldier turned settler, he did all he could to care for his daughter. And now he’d been sucked into the heart of fear, because Shiv had powers no one could really understand.

I’m so sorry you got sucked into all of this.

I’m not sure, Cross said. And I don’t want to stick around to find out.

I thought we’d stopped it, Shiv said. The girl’s eyes were wide with terror. I’m sorry, Eric…I thought we’d stopped it…

He took her by the shoulders. They’d made some good distance – they’d already passed the downed escape pod, and weren’t far from the gap leading to the outer beach.

We did everything we could, he said. You saved us.

Shiv smiled nervously. The girl was barely eleven, yet had an alacrity and keen sense of will he seldom saw even in adults. Shiv’s power was unique, and if word of it got out she’d become a target…not just for the vampires, but for forces in the Southern Claw.

I’ll keep you safe, Cross silently promised. He tried not to think about how much she reminded him of Snow. He saw his sister, burning on the train. No good will come of that. Keep your head in the here and now before you get somebody else killed.

The howl came again, and the sound rammed against Cross’s skull and sent pain crashing through his body. His ears felt like they’d filled with burning liquid, and his vision went white. He clutched his head and fell to his knees.

Everything went silent. Cross looked up in horror. The momentary dawn had fled and the sky turned dark, stained by an inky pillar which rose from the center of the island, where Azradayne had attempted to open the black gate.

Everyone was on their knees, holding their ears and grimacing in pain. Their mouths were twisted in screams but he heard nothing, just the pulse of blood through his ears.

He looked down the hill, where the darkness was thickest. Where the gate had once stood was now an explosion of shadows, churning like waves of greasy water. Shapes moved there, humanoid yet wolf, slithering and inconstant and monstrous, with sickly amber eyes and claws of smoke. Limbs like breaking glass sliced through the greying air.

The world tilted. Cross felt himself drawn down, sucked towards the nadir of the slope. Shapes writhed like melting shards of mirror glass. He tried to look away, but his mind was held in a vise. Flakes of ash fell off his body and drifted towards the epicenter of the island. He was coming apart. Panic flooded through his chest. He saw himself back in that darkness, lost in the void.

I’m a shadow again.

A blast of white light shot past them from the top of the hill and screamed into the darkness. The heat was so intense it nearly threw him to the ground.

In the blaze he caught sight of the shapes below, hulking wolves with razored black fur and dripping icy fangs. Even in the stark light it was difficult to gauge their numbers, for their bodies seemed to somehow bleed into one another and cluster like a mass organism, oil and shadows in writhing carnivorous pools. Only their eyes seemed stable, pits of cold light.

Something grabbed him from behind and pulled him away. He was brought to his feet by powerful hands and brought up the hillside.

The darkness shifted back, and the sound of howls rushed at them. His insides felt twisted, and the scars on his face burned with pain.

Screaming whispers echoed in his head, howling tongues which lapped at his consciousness with knife-sharp promises of hurt.

A voice called out to him, but he barely heard it. His mind swam, and he felt himself falling.

Cross!

He was on his back. Shapes moved over him. Sound drifted in and out. Agony pulsed at the edge of his thoughts. He felt himself drifting, as if lost on a black sea. Alone, cut off from everything. He heard the rasping ghost winds of the Whisperlands, felt himself caked in charcoal darkness, adrift for decades in an ebon waste. He gulped in panic.

No. I don’t want to be back there. I don’t want to be lost again.

Cross!

A woman’s face leaned over his. Not Danica. Darker skin, black hair. Her upper chest and hands were covered in tattoos.

Ankharra?

The Southern Claw witch had been in command of a small unit who’d given he and his traveling companions some much-needed transport to the island in the Loch. When the cargo ship carrying them all had gone down he’d assumed the worse.

He sat up in a daze and realized they were back on the beach. A handful of Southern Claw soldiers in red and black armor scrambled down the shore. The jagged peaks loomed to the north, and Cross heard the crash of ocean waves behind him. Freezing water sprayed onto his face. He was shaking, but he was grateful to still be solid.

Wara was there, the Doj mercenary who led the group called the Grey Watch, her face badly scarred. She and the Lith called Witch helped Shiv and Flint get on their feet; it seemed everyone had collapsed the same as Cross.

What the hell…? he started, but Ankharra put her arm under his and helped him to stand.

No time for that, she said. We need to go.

The howl came again, and the sky seemed to rip. A pillar of darkness exploded from within the broken ring of mountains. Cold wind swept in and down, stinging to the touch and smelling of rot.

What’s going on? he asked.

I’m not entirely sure, Ankharra said. But I’ve got one Bloodhawk left and barely any men. The Ebon Cities forces withdrew, and I think it’s time we did the same.

Cross looked around the beach. Corpses littered the pale sand, most of them the half-dissolved black corpses of what they’d called the Witchborn – vampires crafted by the Witch’s Eye, bastardized and magic-yielding creatures who’d become a potential threat to all life on the planet. There were other bodies, Ebon Cities vampires in black and silver combat armor and Southern Claw soldiers out of Talon Company.

They all dropped, Ankharra said as he steadied himself. He glanced up and saw Danica talking to a medic and holding her head in her hands.

Who? Cross asked.

The Witchborn, Ankharra said. They all fell at once.

That must have been when Dani destroyed the Eye, he said with a grim nod. But that’s when the other trouble started.

What happened to them? Ankharra said.

They were sacrificed, he said.

They looked back at the gap in the rocks, the path to the inner island, bordered by sharp stones like spear-tips.

Sacrificed? Ankharra asked.

To open that gate, he said. Something came through. He looked at Ankharra. He felt lead in his chest. We failed. We couldn’t stop her.

Couldn’t stop Danica?

She didn’t know what she was doing, Cross said quickly. He looked up at the sky and watched the billowing tower of shadow. It was Azradayne.

Ankharra! Wara shouted from further down the beach. Let’s move!

The howl came again, peeling back the air like torn skin. Cross felt drops of gore on the wind.

He pulled away from Ankharra and raced over to Flint and Shiv. There were less than a dozen Southern Claw soldiers left, scanning the area and watching for trouble as they quickly made their way towards a breakwater standing a few yards out from the rocky and moss-covered shore. Aside from Grail and Witch none of the other Lith from the group they’d met outside Dirge had survived. All of the soldiers and Doj had been burned, bloodied and bruised.

Are you okay? he asked the father and daughter.

Flint nodded. There were traces of blood in his ears and on his cheeks. He held Shiv tight. Cross looked at her, and she nodded. She was clearly terrified, but tried her best not to show it.

We’re okay, she said.

Good, he said. Every time those two were in danger he went rigid with fear. The notion of something happening to them sent ice through his veins. You’d best get over to that rock, then, he told them. They’re going to take us out of here.

He turned back and moved towards Danica.

We need to go, she said. She stumbled a bit as she walked, and just like Cross she looked battered and exhausted. Danica’s black hair looked so strange and out of place, and with her armor jacket torn he had a clear view of the metal appendage, the automaton arcane arm the Revengers had placed there. Danica might have still been at least partially under the influence of the vampires, and the eldritch steel was doubtlessly capable of more than simply serving as a repository and focus for her spirit. But none of that mattered. In spite of his fatigue and fear a jolt of strength rushed through his body at the sight of her. Her skin looked smooth and soft, radiant in the budding dawn light. Her eyes were deep green and seemed to glow, and her hair lifted in the wind.

I thought I’d never see you again.

She walked up to him, and he threw his arms around her.

Another howl came, closer this time, nearly at the edge of the sharp stones. The sound clawed at the barrier and brought the touch of ice to their skin.

They started towards the shore.

We just can’t catch a break, he thought bitterly.

The battered Bloodhawk came into view from out of the clouds, circling the perimeter of the island. It looked to have taken its share of hits, and smoke trailed from its aft end.

Does the Bloodhawk have any weapons left? Cross asked Ankharra as they moved down the beach and approached the breakwater. The cold sea washed over his boots. He looked ahead and saw Shiv and Flint with Wara, who guided them towards the ship. He felt panic rising in his throat. The air pulsed, as if to some massive and dissonant heartbeat.

Yes, Ankharra said.

Good. Because as soon as we get on board I recommend you blow this entire island to hell.

The Bloodhawk hovered just over the shore. Turbines blasted up sea wind and kicked out wet sand, and the people waiting on the ground had to shield themselves with their arms. Cross squinted through the grey light.

Cross! Danica shouted so she could be heard over the Bloodhawk’s engines. We have to find Ronan!

Where is he? He’d completely forgotten that she’d mentioned the swordsman had been there with her, and that they’d gotten separated. The thought of Ronan being lost somewhere on the island sent ice down his spine.

I’m not sure, she said. I lost sight of him when we crashed. She looked back towards the heart of the island. There’s a good chance he didn’t make it.

I doubt that, Cross said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. That man has a habit of living through things that would kill almost anyone else.

Then we can’t leave him, she said.

I agree, he said. We’ve lost enough friends.

The Bloodhawk dropped a pair of steel-rung ladders down to the surface of the breakwater. The ladders flapped and dangled until one of the Doj got a hold of it.

A pair of Southern Claw soldiers climbed up first, their M16As slung across their backs, then turned so they could help the others get into the ship. The vessel hovered, held steady in spite of the rising wind. There wasn’t much room on the breakwater, and someone could be seriously injured if anything happened to batter or shove the Bloodhawk off course, but it was too dangerous to land the vessel on the beach for fear of it sinking into the sand. The Bloodhawk’s silver and grey body dripped with seawater, and its 20mm cannons rotated and stayed trained on the gap in the pass, which bubbled with shadows.

Flint and Shiv climbed up one of the ladders; Cross watched breathlessly as they went, half-expecting something terrible to happen, but both of them made it inside safely. Wara waited atop the breakwater and directed the boarding, her massive boots firmly planted on the mossy and jagged stone. Her height meant she could practically climb up and into the ship without the aid of the ladder.

Ankharra! Cross yelled. His face was covered with misty spray, and his skin was icy cold. We need to find our missing man!

What?! she shouted, somewhat incredulous. Who?!

Ronan, from my team, he came here with Danica!

Cross, maybe you haven’t noticed, Ankharra yelled back over the sound of the blasting turbines, but there’s a whole gang of shadowy monsters about to bust off this island, and they’re not going to wait around for us to search for your friend!

He felt whispers in the air, sensed as Danica conducted an arcane survey of the area. I think I’ve got him, she said. Her eyes glowed hot white. But there’s some interference. I can’t get a lock. She turned and shouted to Ankharra. Can we look from the air?!

We’re getting out of here! Ankharra said. This mission has been a failure, largely because of you, she said pointedly to Danica.

As Cross expected, Black didn’t take kindly to that.

You know all about failure, don’t you, Ankharra?! she said.

Do you have something to say, Revenger?! Ankharra snapped.

There was some history between them Cross had never fully understood, though he’d gotten some hint of it in Karamanganjii, when the soldiers of Talon Company had been ordered to help Cross secure the city so he could find the Woman in the Ice. He still didn’t know anything about their quarrel; Danica hadn’t offered up any clues, and he’d never really bothered to pry.

The two witches closed in on one another, and the air curled and burned from the force of their spirits. He tasted hex power and ozone, like a lightning bolt had just struck.

This might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

Cross stepped right between them. He felt Danica’s spirit sweep against him, almost singeing his hair. Ankharra’s spirit was less gentle, and it pushed Cross a few inches across the ground with painful force before it reigned back. Their whispers clawed at his ears and made his head throb with pain.

Later! he shouted. Oddly, Soulrazor/Avenger tensed where it was slung across his back. He felt it shift in place on its own. Voices echoed from within the dual-blades, pushing at the edge of his consciousness. He couldn’t understand them, and wasn’t sure he wanted to. We don’t have time for this crap!

Most of the Southern Claw crew had climbed aboard. A pair of soldiers still stood on the shore, uneasily watching the rippling shadows at the gap of the peaks, and a couple more were atop the breakwater, waiting for the three mages to make the climb.

Just let us do a quick fly-by, Cross said to Ankharra. We should probably try to ascertain the size of whatever is in there…

There’s no time, Ankharra said. She broke her gaze away from Danica and looked at Cross. I’ve called it in. Two Hellhawks are en route.

Hellhawks. Southern Claw strafe bombers. They were seldom used because their arcane payloads were incredibly destructive and often twisted the landscape in unpredictable ways. They were capable of dropping more traditional napalm and explosive blasts, but Hellhawks were rarely deployed for that purpose. Instead they dropped Hellbombs – cold iron missiles of raw arcane force, filled with mixes of vitriolic and magical explosives. It was dangerous to even stand near them for more than a few minutes without the benefit of thaumaturgic shielding.

How long? Black demanded.

They’ll be here within thirty minutes, Ankharra said. Hopefully that’ll be soon enough to destroy whatever is in there.

Then we have time to do a fly over, Cross said. Ankharra rolled her eyes. Please, he said, hearing the fear in his own voice, and not caring that Ankharra heard it, too. There isn’t much of my team left.

You want to put that little girl in danger…

I want to take thirty seconds to do a perimeter sweep of the island, Cross said. I think we can manage that safely, since for the time being whatever it is in there seems content to stay out of sight. He looked at Danica. She was barely containing her anger, but he was thankful she bit her tongue. He turned back to Ankharra. Please.

The witch looked at the ship, then at the shadows. The darkness was like an oily mass of boiling water, but for some reason it hadn’t advanced beyond the narrow pass.

Let’s go, Ankharra said after what seemed at eternity, and she turned away.

Ankharra… he said, but she barked at him from over her shoulder.

We’ll do a quick sweep for your friend, he said. And that’s it. I intend to be far away from here when those Hellhawks arrive.

The Bloodhawk lifted into the sky. The wind battered the ship, not the natural force of a heavy gale but more like the wind had claws, and was grabbing for them.

The inside of the vessel was cramped because so many people were aboard. Thin seats lined the back end of the ship, right next to the lowering hangar door. The pilots up front were on an elevated platform bound off by short iron rails, and heaps of equipment lay between the lower staging area and the cockpit. The vessel was twice as large as the Darkhawk used to be, but unlike the team’s old vehicle it wasn’t divided into two levels but was one large room filled with the deafening groan of turbine engines and the smell of sweat and fear. Thin viewports to port and aft allowed only intermittent view of what lay outside, and with the rising wind all they could really see was white waves and splashing water.

Luckily Ankharra had a scrying stone, a green jewel dangling from the end of a short silver chain. Ankharra stood near the back of the vehicle and held the chain so the jewel hung suspended over the palm of her hand. Light dripped from the gem and ignited the air, and within it Ankharra would see the full range of her spirit’s heightened senses. Her eyes shone like emeralds, sending hazy illumination over her dark and tattooed face, and Cross felt a cold breeze and heard the sharp whisper of a spirit’s garbled voice.

Danica and Cross stood next to Ankharra. Grail and Wara were nearby, watching, and waiting.

How many times can you do this? Cross asked himself. Defy death? He hoped Ronan was okay. The swordsman had always been something of an enigma to him, but now more than ever he had no desire to see any more of his team die. We’ve lost enough.

There, Ankharra said at last. He’s on a lower section of the island, a short valley running off from the southeastern edge of the beach. She cupped her hands, and nodded for Black and Cross to put their own hands up to the light.

It was a strange sensation, and not one Cross had experienced in a long time – sharing a vision, seeing through the eyes of someone else’s spirit. A shiver ran down his spine. His eyes seemed to shoot out of his body and into the ball of green flame

and Ronan is there, bleeding and badly hurt. His armor has been torn, and his chest and arms are covered with smoking claw marks. Dark blood turns rancid and black and drips like oil to the ground. He stumbles across broken rocks and through ankle-deep water filled with ice floes, holding onto a broken sword and wearing bladed knuckles with half the points snapped off. His face-wrap is caked to his skin with blood.

He seems barely alive, and he only makes it a few steps before falling to his knees. He’s lost so much blood, suffered so many wounds. Muscle and meat glisten in the silver light. Freezing mist curls around him.

Ronan’s head is lowered as he kneels there, exhausted, but he looks up when the growls come. His chest heaves, and his fingers clench the hilt of the long-knife

Shadows appear at the edge of sight, large and wolf-like. They bleed into one another, a wall of teeth and claws.

They’re coming…

Cross pulled himself away from the vision. His heart was pounding, and for a moment he was so disoriented he almost fell over. Wara put a hand and helped support him, and Grail did the same for Danica.

Those were the creatures that came through the gate, he said. I think they’re Maloj! Just the sight of them had flooded his body with fear. He felt like a child again, hiding in the ruins of bombed out towns, helping keep the younger kids safe when Razorwing riders searched for survivors to take back to their tomb-like camps to be tortured and devoured. That had been a long time ago, but the memory was surprisingly raw and fresh, and Cross felt that old fear returning.

Maloj? Wara said, disbelieving. The Maloj are gone. They may not have truly ever been here.

Regardless, Danica said, our friend is alive, and he’s in trouble.

There’s an airstrike on the way, Ankharra said. And I have a ship full of wounded. She looked from Danica to Cross. I’m sorry. There’s only so much I can do.

That’s right, Cross said, growing angry. You can drop us off. Because I’m not leaving him behind.

Ankharra watched him for a moment, considering, then nodded and lifted a comm mike to her ear.

Hold it, she said. Slow down, and circle back to the southeastern end of the island. Look for a downed Ebon Cities transport boat. She looked at Cross and Black. We’ll drop you down, and pull back to a safe distance. If those shadow things start exploding all over the place…

Ankharra, Wara said. You can’t do that. Cross needs to stay here. The giantess stepped closer. At nearly nine-feet tall she towered over him. Cross had a feeling she could have put him down without breaking a sweat, and she and her trio of Grey Watch soldiers were the main reason the space inside the Bloodhawk felt so cramped. She looked at Cross. You’re staying put.

Only if you restrain me, he said, feeling only half as brave as he sounded. Why do I need to stay here? He watched Wara, and then looked at Ankharra. Is there something you’d like to tell me?

The two women exchanged glances before Wara grunted: I’m coming with you.

Fabulous, he said. More mysteries, he thought. I don’t have time for this.

He and Danica gathered their gear. He found Shiv and Flint, huddled in a corner and holding on for dear life. He quickly brought them up to speed and assured them he’d be back.

I know, Shiv said. You always come back. And you always will.

I wish I had her confidence, he thought.

Take care, Flint said. You want help?

Just keep each other safe, he said. That’s the best thing you can do for me right now. He hugged Shiv, shook Flint’s hand, and turned back towards the hangar door, hoping against hope they could reach Ronan in time.

TWO

MASKS

Danica stood ready. The Necroblade called Claw was fastened to her back, two HK45s were strapped to holsters at her sides, and a pair of katars were sheathed on her hip and at the back of her waist. Her steel arm pulsed with arcane energy, an anchor for her battered spirit. She’d almost gotten used to not feeling anything there. Almost.

Not feeling anything would come in handy right about now.

She steeled herself. It felt like it had been ages since she’d had any sort of rest. So much of what had happened in the past week still seemed muddled and hazy, like she’d dreamt it. She wished that were true, that she was still asleep in her room in the mansion back in Thornn, waking that same morning Cross had left…only this time he wouldn’t leave, he’d still be there, everyone would still be there, and everything would be fine.

She’d woke to that moment more than once. It didn’t matter where they really were or what was really happening, because sometimes when she woke she still felt herself back in that room, on that same morning, hoping against hope that this time everything would be okay, that Kane and Ash and Grissom would still be alive and they’d have a chance to do it all again. Everything would be the way it once was.

That’s just a dream, she thought.

The rear door peeled open like a lolling metal tongue. Icy wind slammed in at her and Cross as they stood with their arms raised to grip the iron bar over the hatch. They were less than a hundred feet from the ground, and the smoking remains of the Ebon Cities transport ship she and Ronan had been flown in on lay below. Husks of vampire corpses and flayed zombie meat covered the ground in grey clumps, and splatters of deep red and black ichor painted a stone surface so pale it could have been snow. Fire smoke drifted over the crashing waves.

The Bloodhawk hovered in place. A pair of Southern Claw soldiers affixed cables and hooks to the metal pole for rappelling down.

She looked at Cross. He nodded, and nervously looked away. Danica had the notion she’d kissed him, but if she had she barely recalled. It was like something from a dream.

Everything feels like a dream to me right now, she thought. She still wasn’t sure why nearly drowning had seemed to wake her from the sluggish haze of obedience which the theurges of Lorn had placed her in, but it had.

Her heart raced with worry. Ronan and Cross and Kane had all gone to Hell and back for her. The reward for saving Danica Black seemed to be death.

Please let him be okay.

The waves crashed below. After a few more moments of hovering the ship came over the drop point, and she could see straight down into the depths of the narrow canyon where Ronan had apparently fallen, which sloped under the downed ship and dipped into a fast-moving ravine filled with clear water. Thick falls poured into the canyon from both sides, and splays of sharp rock lined the walls like porcupine’s quills. The sound of the rushing water was almost deafening, the only thing she could hear aside from the roar of turbine engines.

The ship lurched unsteadily. She was dressed in the same dark leather armor they’d given her back in Lorn, but with a new armor jacket and fresh boots. Her black-red hair was shorter than she’d