PART TWO: OMEN COMMUNION

  XII

  Interlude: Dark Omens

  The heir to the Bronze Dragonflight was more human than Ada had heard.

  Bronze scales covered the drake princess’s face. And though her features were more lizard than human and a tail jutted out from near her butt, the body itself was humanoid.

  Erri, as she called herself, had wrapped herself in golden silk, which did nothing to hide the wires of muscle underneath.

  Blue, leathery lips stretched. “It’s a pleasure to have you at my doorstep, Ada.” Her head tilted like that of an owl—a human gesture not yet made her own. “Or are you one of the others?”

  Ada had interrupted the Dragonflight in the middle of their feeding, so they were seated at a table outside a hastily set up tent.

  Black pearls strung on the chains of a veil jingled as Ada inclined her head. “The pleasure is all mine—”

  Screams rolled overhead. Ada’s glanced to the side of the tent. Blood sprayed and a left arm fell to the ground. It was covered in black markings in the image of a wolf.

  ‘They’re also more savage.’

  Ada glanced away from the boy being devoured in broad daylight to find Erri scoffing.

  “He was so spooked he basically ran into us.” The rasp of a chuckle rippling from the drake’s throat sowed doubt on exactly how human she was.

  Steam rising from Ada’s mug barely managed to hit her face before condensing. Two-headed demon grass tea. A pungent, stinging odour. “The lure of treasures. Most that enter this realm aren’t equipped for its challenges.”

  “Yeah, well, at least they’re good feed.” The drake turned back to her. “What is it you want, Ada? My Dragonflight has no business with the Bloodletters.”

  “A fact of circumstance and not bad blood.”

  Leathery lips pulled into smirk.

  “We propose an alliance,” Ada said.

  “For?”

  “You’ve no doubt heard of the peculiarities of this decade’s event.”

  The Dragonflight princess gave a dismissive wave. “The maze is of no concern to me; my sister will lay claim to most of what we’ll discover either way. I’m only interested in the herald.”

  Only the most ignorant of the wheat would think to scorn the maze, but it was not Ada’s duty to school the beast.

  “Lord Thorne is already at the range,” Ada said and let her statement hang in the air.

  Flakes of snow fell between them, some of which landed in Ada’s tea.

  Erri leaned forward. “Is he making contact with the cultists?”

  “All depends on how many will lend us their support. Two dragons cannot make a hydra.”

  The flash of gold in Erri’s eyes was raw, unadulterated greed. It was ever the wont of the Dragonflight. Many nations had they led into extinction due to their inability to refrain from indulging.

  Nails, which were closer to talons, rapped on the table. “A battle with the eastern herald.”

  “Uninterrupted,” Ada added. “The way out for your clan will remain free.”

  “In return?”

  “Wreak havoc on the plateau. Targeting any of the Orthodox clans will do.”

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  “But you want the Vires, of course.”

  Ada bowed before the barely-sentient creature’s wisdom. “The more the better. If we do well enough, the maze is ours. Your sister will no doubt reward your competence.”

  Erri reached out. Ada’s gloved hand clasped the claw.

  Not long after, she strolled out of camp. Her black gown trailed behind her on the ground yet left not a mark. She reached for the two-handed morning star (its spikes mere stubs right now) fastened to her back for comfort.

  She huffed. ‘No one thinks to write contracts in blood these days.’

  Her gaze drew north, towards the range where her counterpart was. She closed her eyes and folded her hands together. By the Bleeding Star, may you succeed. Then Ada vanished into the fog.

  The Western mountaintops were quiet but for the snow clinging to the slopes crunching underneath metal greaves. Vyke scaled the near vertical cliff, his eyes not on the treacherous path but on the book in his hands.

  Neon stepped behind him soundlessly. “Do you smell that, Lord Vyke?” Her voice was soft. Smooth. As if it was loathe to disturb the peace of the mountain.

  Vyke glanced up from his book. “Blood,” he confirmed.

  The stench of it was in the air, making it more difficult for him to concentrate. It became more pungent the further up they went. So thick became the odour that it was a physical trail both Vyke and Neon could follow into a cavern entrance.

  This was no doubt the entry to the cultist hideout.

  Vyke bowed and flourished his arm, the book gone between instants. “After you.”

  The veil hid Neon’s smile, but he sensed it.

  Her black boots buried in whatever vile matter littered the ground. Moreover, because she was quite tall, she had to bend, which made her dress trail awkwardly.

  “Stop,” he said.

  She went still like a corpse in the middle of her footfall.

  Vyke reached for the end of her gown, collected it, and held it up.

  “Thank you,” she chuckled. “But the material will not sully. It’s enchanted.”

  “Even so.”

  He trod forwards, urging her to move. Vyke, too, had to bend his back and hold his hat down with his free hand to stop it from scraping against the ceiling.

  It was cramped. It reeked. The deeper they went, the harsher the sloshing of their steps.

  “Surely, they cannot live here,” Neon whispered. “Are they savages?”

  “Barely. Closer to animals than anything.”

  Witnessing the source of the stench only increased his belief in the statement. Their uninviting entrance opened up into a circular room that could pass for a chamber. The ceiling was domed, and the centre of the ground was holed out as if by a spoon, which created two levels. The upper layer was bare except for torches mounted around the circumference. An altar rested in the centre of the lower layer.

  Chanting and cloaked men and women stood as a dark gathering.

  Blood for the Black Death, they murmured. Souls for the Dark Messiah.

  Five pillars stuck out of the ground near the altar, looming over it in the shape of a cone. Humans were strapped to all five. Worms writhed underneath their skin, popping out of the putrid and decaying flesh. Whenever one did, blood and flecks of dead tissue would drop onto the altar, where a naked girl was strapped to the stone. The worms ate her from inside until there was nothing left but a husk.

  All of the victims had a smile on their face as they died. A product of whatever tincture they’d imbibed.

  A lone figure stood beside the altar, differentiating them from the rest of the robed gathering. The woman looked up. The torches cast everything but her yellow and crooked teeth into shadow. “Lord Vyke, we’ve been expecting you.”

  “I do not remember forewarning my arrival.”

  “Twin stars cannot surprise each other.”

  The woman stepped away from the altar. All of the cultists stopped chanting as one, leaving only the echo of her footsteps in the chamber.

  Once beside them, she placed a hand on his shoulder. The hint of a tail disappeared within her sleeves.

  “You are here to talk, yes?” she said. “To discuss the feast that awaits us.”

  Vyke glanced at Neon. The glare beneath the veil wasn’t difficult to imagine.

  “I’m in the mood for a cup of tea,” he said.

  A crooked smile. Fingers snapped, and a girl who couldn’t be old enough to enter the mystic realm from outside rushed out of the gathering.

  “Serve us,” the woman said.

  Then she entered a side tunnel. Vyke and Neon followed her.

  Once back outside, Vyke breathed in deep. The air wasn’t fresh but it was better than in the cave.

  Watery eyes surveyed the land. From his high vantage point, Vyke could almost see over the other peaks. But his eyes went down, to where silhouettes moved against a white backdrop. Small, indiscriminate blobs that dodged and weaved between beasts, slinging lightning arts.

  Vyke closed his eyes. “Animals. All of them.”

  All out for blood. Out for violence so they could gather experience and become nothing but worthless trash.

  “It is ugly,” Neon said. “Yet it is their right. Their duty. God demands it.”

  Because if they didn’t, why would the world be so wretched?

  Shaking his head, he reached for his storage ring—

  “You said you’d quit.”

  His hand jerked and hovered over the spatial band. He had said that, hadn’t he? So like a well-trained dog, his hand returned to his side.

  A stray gust wafted across the cliff face so the sordid stench from inside reached them again. Neon sighed. Her hand flicked over her own ring and a lighter appeared. Black was the casing, engraved with the initials V. V. A gift from his late grandfather. Vyke smiled and produced the pungent powder rolled between spirit herbs.

  Neon leaned forwards and cupped her hand against the wind. This close, the ever-present, sweet and soft fragrance of red spider lilies overpowered the stink. She stared into his eyes with those metallic-grey orbs of hers as she flicked open the heirloom. A touch of ember and a drag, then lungs filled with smoke, and the pain wracking his body lessened.

  “Thank you.”

  She huffed and dusted off his shoulder before pulling back. “Let’s make our way down. I don’t wish to linger here longer than necessary.”

  He held out his arm. Neon linked hers through, and the smoke trail shrouded the pair as they descended.

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