GHOST_4_Kindle_V2 (25 page)

I took off in a lunging run toward the stronghold. A sleet storm of winged thorns raced out to meet me. They would cut me to ribbons if I let them get close enough. I didn’t.
 

I almost wrenched my shoulder out of socket, throwing down the Slammer grenade. The lemon-sized incendiary device hit the ground, burst, and sent a fountain of blue sparks into the path of the oncoming thorns. The impact of the weapon was much like that of a shrapnel grenade…only worse. Every blue spark that contacted a thorn began to burn its leathery flesh. Each wound became a patch of spreading white fire, hungrily devouring everything but bone. Blackened Thorn skeletons fell from the air and crackled on the ground.

I leaped over their remains, dove over a charging prowler, rolled and came up firing the PNP. I hit the prowler in the back of its neck, and as I spun for the next target, I noted the prowler’s head bouncing awkwardly off the walkway.

A second prowler leaped right in front of me. Its razor-sharp nails raked my chest and grazed my forearm. I saw the spray of my own blood. I swept the silver case, a hard outside in jag, and sent the roamer sprawling. Then, I simply raised the PNP to the creature’s exposed back and pulled the trigger. The impact blew out the creature’s spine. What was left of the prowler was spread all over the ethereal pavement.
 

I backhanded an approaching roamer, darted past its remains, and fired two PNP charges into a clot of thorns. There was a choral shriek and then a faint clattering of tiny bones hitting the ground. I slammed home my second PNP clip and continued toward the stronghold’s gate.

At this point, the Shades got a little smarter. They stopped coming a few at a time and opted for a high volume, multiple angle attack. I cracked off two PNP rounds, sending a ham-fisted nester—the ogre-like dumb muscle of the Shade world—one flaming piece at a time, to the Abyss.
 

WHOA!

I ducked, and a corded, sinuous arm swept overhead. A prowler. I threw myself into a roll to put some distance between us. Prowlers are lethally capable grapplers. Shade Safety Tip 101A: do not get into a wrestling match with a prowler. There are no pins or tap-outs. They will twist you and tear you and break you. And…they cheat.
 

I came up from the roll, drew a bead on the gangly Shade, fired, and turned the thing inside out.
 

But that had to be it for the gun. Only one clip left—definitely needed to save it for the Knightshade. I tapped open the silver case, chucked the PNP inside and snagged the Edge. I lashed out, driving myself forward into a glut of Shades barricading the stronghold’s main gate. Shade limbs flew as I whirled among the creatures. I hammered my elbow into the jaw of a roamer, spun, dropped to one knee and eviscerated a prowler that had been about to grab me.
 

A searing hot blade carved into my upper thigh, the pain instantly reminding me that the Shades were not weaponless. I grunted, lost balance, and sprawled to the ground. But I didn’t stay down. I grabbed the scaly hind leg of the Shade who had cut me, and used its weight to pull myself up. I slashed the Edge at its midsection, but it parried that away with its brimstone blade. It tried another stab at my legs, the weapon just missing what would have been a crippling blow. I managed to spin away just in time and planted the Edge into the creature’s hip socket. The Shade collapsed upon itself, blocking the path of another Shade that had been charging my way.

Something heavy hit me in the shoulder, knocking me off balance. It forced all my weight onto the wounded leg. I promise you: the sound I made in that instance was not a high-pitched, feminine scream. It was a guttural roar. It was. Really.

I bounced from the leg to an awkward landing on my knees and elbows. The Edge clattered from my hand and deactivated. That was bad. But when I heard the shriek, I knew I was in trouble.

Haunts.

In the realm of Shades, Haunts are the shock troops. They aren’t as big as Nesters, nor as powerful as Knightshades. But they make up for it in sheer ferocity and fright. Haunts have the ability to shift in shape, but in their regular state, they resemble great, black hounds. They have blazing, blood-red eyes, long tapering jaws full of irregular sabers of teeth, and thick, club-like paws. Being on the ground with haunts around is not good at all.

Haunts like to go for the throat.

The first one pounced on my back and flattened me to the ground. Another barreled into me from the side, flopping me over. I had a split second to throw a hands-and-arms defense up to guard my neck and face. The haunt tore into me, teeth shredding flesh and striking the bone of my hands and arms. Blood spattered my face and dribbled into my eyes. I heard jeering laughter and haunt howls all around me. The other shades thought I was done for.
 

Not yet.

I felt the Haunt’s jaws close on my wrist, felt the pressure build as it clamped down. As I knew it would, however, there came a moment when the pressure let up…just as the haunt was about to release its jaws and bite down again. I took a chance and yanked at my wrist, but not to pull my hand free. Instead, I shoved my fist into the beast’s gaping maw and grabbed the thing’s tongue. It felt like squeezing a leathery piece of steak. Only disgusting. Much more disgusting.
 

The haunt’s jaws snapped shut on my arm and that, of course, was the correct countermove. If it could by blunt-force-trauma snap my bones and shear off the hand, I was pretty much done. But I held on to that tongue. In fact, I began to squeeze. I made such a tight, clamping fist that my fingers began to dig into its flesh. The haunt didn’t seem to know what to do about the pain inside its mouth. The harder it bit down, the harder I squeezed. The ethereal hound squirmed on my chest and tried to yank itself away. But I held on.

The haunt gave a powerful pull. I used the beast’s force to curl upward—just in time to see a big, slant-eyed nester standing over me with a brimstone sword held high in a two-fisted grip like an executioner. The blade came down. The haunt shrieked.
 

With the torn out haunt tongue to pad my palm, I slowed the brimstone sword’s impact enough to avoid an unwanted amputation. The blade had sheared through the meat of the tongue and gone straight to the bone of my thumb. My right hand radiated agony, but at least I was free to get to my feet.

Left handed, I reached into my case and pulled the Cat free. Its housing was identical to the Edge: a silver, metallic baton with no noticeable features. But when I activated it, a cable of crackling purple electricity snaked out. With a flick of my wrist, the Cat snapped in the air with a sound like a thunderclap.
 

The Shades edged away from me in unison. But I didn’t let them get out of range. I swung my flail weapon in a loop around my head, creating a giant, luminous halo above me. Then, I tore into the Shades. My first stroke was a wide backhanded arc that gutted a foursome of roamers that just couldn’t get out of the way of each other fast enough. I snapped the Cat back and tore the face off a prowler. I dodged a leaping nester and gave a little wrist snap. The whip responded, snaking out to take off the nester’s hind legs.
 

Finally, the haunt whose tongue I’d kind of ripped out lunged at me from the left. Another of its kind dove at me from my right. They didn’t know it, of course, but they had just set themselves up for my favorite move with the Cat. I took one step backward and, at the same time, sent the whip whistling towards Tongueless. At the end of the Cat’s whip-like cable is a cluster of tiny blades, the scourging elements. These dug deep into the haunt’s neck. Then, with all my might, I hauled the whip toward the other oncoming haunt. The scourging elements had found solid purchase, and so the tongueless haunt was propelled bodily into the other haunt. The collision was terrible…for the haunts.
 

They hit head first. There was a tremendous cracking of bones, the wet crushing of a skull, and the heavy
whump
of the two bodies. I watched them for a moment to make sure they weren’t going to get up. They didn’t. I let out a deep breath and turned to look for the next threat.

The few remaining Shades did not attack. They vanished into their stronghold. I thought they retreated…that they went to the one place they were certain I wouldn’t follow.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

* * *
   
* * *
   
* * *
   
* * *

I deactivated the Cat and slammed it back into my case. Then, I cast about and found the Edge under one of the dismembered Shades. It was a bit messy, but I couldn’t do without it. I wiped the Shade-goo off on my shorts, and turned to the gate.

If I’d been in Earthveil, I couldn’t have entered the abortion clinic without sawing through the locks and setting off the alarms. But in Netherview, there was no clinic. It was a spiritual stronghold held by the Shades.
 

I found myself facing a very sturdy-looking iron door.
The Shades went in this way,
I thought, grasping the handle,
but they’ve no doubt locked it up tight
—

The door fell open.
 

That should have been a clue, but I ignored it. No sooner had I stepped inside the stronghold, than the iron door slammed shut behind me and locked. I wanted to beat myself over the head with a bat. The Shades hadn’t been retreating. They’d been baiting the trap. The temperature dropped enough that I could see my breath…as well as…the puffs of breath from all the Shades that lined both sides of the long corridor that stretched out in front of me.

“He is a foolish Guardian who sets foot in Sintryst,” a deep voice rolled out from the darkness far ahead.

The Shades hissed ominously. It sounded like the corridor was filled with hundreds of vipers.
 

“Advance,” the voice commanded. “But make no sudden movements. My minions are a bit…anxious…after your doings outside.”

Knightshade,
I thought. And given his sense of authority, I was guessing he was pretty high up on the local food chain.
 

Stepping forward didn’t seem very promising. But neither did trying to dust it up with the Shades, at least eighteen of them, maybe more. Outside, I might have tried it. Room to maneuver. But not in here. In this narrow corridor I would be the lone fish in a very small barrel. Besides, it would be decidedly foolish to make a move before I knew what sort of Knightshade I was dealing with.
 

I strode forward, the case in my wounded hand, the Edge ready in my left. The Shades’ hissing continued. I briefly considered smacking a few of them as I walked by, but…that might be seen as an act of provocation, so I resisted.
 

I stepped over a threshold and found myself in a vast chamber. Two grand staircases descended from an upper story and met at the foot of a massive throne.

An honest-to-goodness throne.
 

Either this Knightshade had delusions of grandeur, or I’d just stepped into a nightmare. When I focused at last on the being seated on the throne, I knew.

Definitely nightmare.

The Knightshade on the throne was massive. Thick slabs of muscle covered his chest, shoulders, and stomach like armor plating. His lower torso was thick with fur all the way down to his cloven feet. His immense wings were folded behind him, and he rested his chin on one of his fists.

“Tell me, Guardian,” the Knightshade said, “Why have you come? The woman you…meddled with…earlier, she was not one of yours.”

“Are you certain?” I asked.

The Knightshade laughed, and I felt suddenly like a little boy playing chess against a grandmaster. I’d offered up what I thought was a good move and, knowing how he’d crush me, he’d just smirked in my face.

“The woman and so many others who come here, are in my care,” the Knightshade said. “Sintryst is my domain…one of
my
domains. I am Forneus.”

I tried to keep myself from reacting. I locked out my knees so they wouldn’t buckle. I kept my hands in my pockets so they wouldn’t shake noticeably. I even widened my eyes to keep from blinking. But my body still betrayed me. I sucked in a sharp breath.

“Ahhhh,” Forneus said, a very deep rattling in his voice. “I will accept your compliment. I am pleased to find that you know of me.”
 

Know of him? Forneus the Felriven…Forneus the Despoiler…Forneus the Spirit Prince—pick a name. All of them were bad news and far above my pay grade.
 

“You realize now, your mistake?” Forneus asked.

I nodded. Inwardly, I felt the rage building up. But this time, it was rage towards myself. I’d been utterly careless, and now it was going to cost me this mission. More than that, it would cost other young women their lives at Smiling Jack’s blade.
 

Forneus stood up. With each step, the chamber literally shook. I saw a long black sword at his side.
 

I saw my end…and cursed myself for a fool.

Forneus towered over me, his chin three feet above the top of my head. His wings rose even higher, spreading behind him like a vast shadow. He drew the sword and held it for me to see.

“Do you recognize this sword?” he asked.
 

I swallowed hard. The hilt, haft, and pommel were made of an otherworldly metal that was somehow both iron gray and bloody crimson at the same time. But it was the blade that held my eye and sent an icy chill skittering down my spine. The blade was made of pure sabelin, a misbegotten miasma molded from the pool of the world’s transgressions. The blade was a Soulcleaver.

If Forneus struck me down with this blade, he would end me, and the mission would be lost.
 

“You are at my mercy,” Forneus said, his voice oddly matter-of-fact. “And given your affront to me by coming to this place and rather rudely dispatching so many of my lesser colleagues, I should cleave you from this world.”

I thought about trying something with the Edge but, in this case, I thought discretion might be the better part of valor.