Free Black Scars by Steven Alan Montano Page A

some separate ruins, but there’s no way to open them. There isn’t even a handle.” He scratched some squares inside of the circle he’d made to represent the dome. “These are buildings. They’re all over the inside of the dome. If I can get close enough to that crack without being seen, I can slip off and hide in the ruins. I might need a distraction so that I can pull it off, though.”
    “ Can you scale the dome?” Black asked. “Maybe come in at the top, where the crack starts?”
    “ Only if you and Vos have stashed away some pretty incredible climbing gear that I don’t know about. I wouldn’t wish that climb on anyone. That stone is smooth, old and unstable. I barely even trust walking in there…that place looks ready to collapse.”
    “ Fine,” Vos said. “We’ll head straight in then. The way I like it.”
    “ Good to know,” Cross said sarcastically. “So are we ready?”
    They moved through mist made orange by the dusk sun. A hard wind drove across the plain and carried snow dust and white grit that made it suddenly difficult to see past a few hundred yards. They kept to a path clear of ground snow, a stretch of pale hard stone broken with age. The path twisted and curved through ripped ice. Cross felt a cold that gnawed down to his bones.
    And then, Shul Ganneth.
    It seemed to sneak up on them from out of the icy fog. It was squat and troglodytic, a broken shell like a preposterously gargantuan egg. Its outer walls were smooth dark stone coated in a layer of pale ice. The structure was much larger than Cross had expected.
    The fog receded from the dark round walls as the group drew close. Its crumbling carapace looked like a vast stone crab.
    Fields of eight-foot-high wooden stakes bordered the stone path that led to the city. The pale wooden poles were sharp and old, covered in dirty ice and dark stains. Cross tasted torment in the air, the whispered rants of long faded spirits whose physical bodies had died in great pain. Those spirits were long gone, but their suffering had been such that their voices left a spectral imprint on the area.
    The group marched slowly through the path of stakes. They saw no bones or bodies. The dome of Shul Ganneth towered before them. It protruded from the bitter and frozen earth like a scab.
    Vos led Lucan on the back of Cross’ horse. Kane and Ekko were tethered to the camel’s saddle, which Cross held at the rear of the party. Black rode on Dillon’s bay, and while it was clear that neither she nor the animal were terribly comfortable with the arrangement, they made a good show of it.
    The vampire prisoner floated behind them, drawn by the power of Danica’s implement. It was a floating flare that snarled into the darkness, a moving undead torch.
    Cross didn’t send his spirit out until they neared the entrance to the ruins, in part because he feared lost souls in the area, but also because doing so would alert Cradden Black earlier than they’d have liked. Cradden was a warlock, and even though Cradden’s gang was almost undoubtedly already watching them it would be difficult for him to read the strength of Cross’ spirit if she was reined in, at least until they got closer.
    No need to make this more difficult for ourselves than it already is.
    They passed into the crack in the ruined dome wall. It was a welcome relief to be in out of the wind, but the air inside of Shul Ganneth was so utterly still and cold it was almost paralyzing. Cross watched his breath crystallize, and felt his lungs burn.
    The vampire’s bonds gave them a fleeting view of the ruins inside of the dome, which was good, because the light from outside seemed incapable of penetrating the unnaturally dense shadows. They walked in darkness as thick as oil. White firelight bounced off of jagged and broken structures made of crumbling limestone rimed with frost. The buildings were uneven and covered in sharp crenellations and dangerous edges. Doorways had tilted sideways and steps