The Shield of Weeping Ghosts - James P. Davis [30]
"Indeed," Thaena said. "Same marching order as before. We'll run the distance to the gates and hope the spirits don't follow too closely. Understood?"
"Yes, ethran," Duras replied without hesitation, eliciting nods of approval and boastful assurances from the rest of the fang.
"And if they do follow?" Anilya asked.
Thaena gave the durthan a half-lidded stare through her mask, tilting her head as she answered matter-of-factly. "Then we stand and die fighting, as Rashemi should."
The ethran stepped outside. Dawn was still a ways away as the two groups exited the chamber, but clouds heavy with snow and the thick fog eclipsed the pale light of sunrise. Bastun hovered a moment at the rear, looking around the corner of the hall's curving exterior. The mist made everything a dim silhouette, and walls seemed to melt into blackness as the spirits moved through and around them like a spreading flame. Every tortured voice, every wail felt directed at him, grabbing his heart and pounding it harder. Still, he could not look away. Scents of smoke and burning flesh reached his nose. Like ghosts themselves the smells tugged at the primal urge to flee.
A shout from Duras broke his bondage, and he quickly took his place as the group began a steady charge ahead of the spirits. The Rashemi ran, focused only on reaching their destination, but Bastun noted the looks of panic among the sellswords as the sound of the wailing shadows became screeches of frustration and inhuman desire. Only Ohriman maintained his stride and composure.
Chancing a look over his shoulder, Bastun could see where the Hall of the Portal had been. The advancing spirits had overcome it. Bastun searched through the fog ahead for the first glimpse of the Shield's gates. It felt like an eternity, the limited visibility making progress unfathomable.
Lightning flashed through the clouds, lighting up the fog. Catching movement from out of the corner of his eye, Bastun saw a narrow alley flooding with shadows. Ephemeral arms stretched out for the warmth of the living, and pale patches of light bobbed in pairs through the mass.
"Beware the west!" Duras yelled.
Muted thunder mumbled in the wake of the lightning as the group edged away from the western side of the road, jumping over broken bits of wall and other structures protruding from the snow. More spirits tumbled into the street and merged with the moaning army of ghosts. Bastun pumped his legs harder, eyes focused on the path ahead of him.
"The east!" Anilya cried as the windows of a standing wall bled forth yet another stream of shadows.
Order dissolved as the shadows flanked them and closed in. The fang shouted, some challenging the shadows to catch them.
Lightning ripped through the sky again, spreading through the snow and clouds and unnatural fog. Amidst the clouds, in the heartbeat in which they were lit, Bastun saw shapes diving and banking on shadowy wings. Shandaular was coming to life all around them. More corporeal things stumbled into view as they passed.
Thunder followed. A scream echoed in the thunder's wake. One of Anilya's sellswords had lagged behind, slowed by a wounded ankle. Tendrils of the darkness pulled him down into the snow. He shrieked for help, but there was no help to be had. His cries did not last long, and they strengthened those still running.
Death rode on their heels, and Bastun's lungs burned with the effort of maintaining his stride. He felt relief as the high towers of the Shield became visible through the fog, although he feared what they might find inside. The mournful wail of the dead rose in pitch as the group crossed the last stretch of ground into the shadow of the Shield's outer wall. The sound was deafening as the dead reached the border of their territory, a line that they would not cross, many retreating even within sight of the massive fortress.
Warriors hit the wall and slid to the ground, smiling grimly as they fought to catch their breath. The Rashemi greeted those behind them as if they'd just finished a casual race.