Free Chain of Shadows (Blood Skies, Book 6) by Steven Montano

promise.  But he wouldn’t.  They’d said all they needed to.
     

     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    PART TWO
    EXILES
     

     
     
    FIVE
    DOWN
     
     
    The Skyhawk flew through the night.  It would only be a few hours before they reached Ath, assuming they could avoid the heavy cross-winds and stay clear of any unexpected Ebon Cities’ artillery.  The air was calm, the wind sharp and cold.  Ronan stood on the deck and looked out across the sea of rust orange clouds.  Steel rattled beneath his feet, and his sensed the vastness of the sky all around them. 
    The setting sun was a fading glow in the distance, and the silhouettes of dark birds angled across the sky.  The clouds cleared, revealing the devastation to the east.  From their aerial vantage they saw miles of scorched earth and burning settlements.  The ground had turned black beneath the advance of Fane’s army.  Scores of war machines, Troj, Ebonbacks and soldiers cut a violent trail across the bleeding landscape.  The river was filled with bodies and debris and ran thick with blood and oil.   
    Fane’s forces had destroyed everything they’d encountered along the Bloodnight River.  Talon Company engaged them about a hundred miles east of Seraph. 
    “Why are we going to Ath?” Ronan asked. 
    Laros stood nearby on the deck.  He looked at Ronan with contempt.  “If you must know, it’s because that’s where we relocated the White Mother once Fane’s destination became clear.  The White Council has no intention of letting her fall into enemy hands.”
    “You don’t think you can defend the capital?” he asked.
    “ We’re not taking any chances.”
    The Skyhawk was a large transport vessel.  It had few amenities, as it was used for hauling multiple Squads and large pieces of equipment into hot zones, though it did have quarters for use by officers and special passengers, and there was plenty of room to move around above deck even with all of the swivel-mounted 20mm cannons and smaller Bloodhawks strapped down with chains and wires. 
    The ship moved fast and the hull shook violently.  Ronan found himself gripping the railing every time the vessel hit turbulence.  They passed through mist and fog, and Ronan wiped a gloved hand over his face to pull away a film of icy moisture.  They were in one of the few regions in the Southern Claw that saw any precipitation, even if it was scant.
    The ship rattled beneath him.  Massive turbine engines growled like beasts, and the hard gusts of wind made Ronan feel like he was about to be whisked off into open sky.  His cloak rippled, and he kept his face wrapped tight, as his scars ached out there in the cold. 
    His mood was grim.  No one knew what to expect from a meeting with the White Mother, and the scope of the tasks before them weighed heavy.  They had to engage Fane and keep them from taking Seraph, and they needed to stop the Maloj, wolf sorcerers from horror stories, clearly more real than anyone had ever dared imagine.
    They’re inside of me.
    The thought came and went.  By the time Ronan realized something had worried him he’d already forgotten it.  He waited a minute, tried to recognize what had set him on edge, and when he couldn’t think of anything he dismissed it as nerves. 
    Ath loomed on the horizon.  It was a city of twisted stone spires and crenelated towers, iron ramparts and barbicans shielded with thaumaturgically-reinforced steel.  Ath stood at the edge of a tall cliff overlooking Rimefang Loch, a jagged shadow against the sky.  Its walls fused to the crusted mountain on which it stood, and the city was only accessible by way of a number of carefully controlled roads and tunnels.  Gargoyle mercenaries and Bloodhawks circled the blood-black sky, and columns of smoke trailed into the dusk air.  Even from that distance Ronan tasted industrial grit.
    But what Ath was most renowned for was its giants.  A massive force of Doj mercenaries patrolled the valuable