The Shield of Weeping Ghosts - James P. Davis [9]
"You will stay close to Duras and I," she said, "I'm sure I do not have to explain why."
"Of course, ethran," he replied, then added, "And no, an explanation is unfortunately not necessary."
Thaena looked as if she were about to say something else, but merely nodded and joined Duras at the head of the group. Bastun followed. Half the number of the fang, about fifteen warriors, led the way through the break in the wall and into the deeper fog. Their torches made spheres of flickering light in the thick mist, providing scant, but still helpful, illumination for those behind. Syrolf was at his back once more, only now his sword was unsheathed.
A curving street led northwest through heavy fog. Shadowy buildings loomed on either side-far more intact than Bastun had expected. Ornate arches, cracked and charred, framed stone doors. Columns depicting unnamed beasts and faceless figures crouched at every corner or lay broken in dark alleys. Odd symbols and runes squirmed beneath the thick ice that crusted the many arches, a familiar theme that made navigation of the maze difficult.
At the center of Shandaular lay the first archway, a mysterious portal connecting the city to another Shandaular in the far south-yet another ruin left to rot. Though both cities were old, their portals were far older, created by an ancient magic that few understood and even fewer had learned to use.
Occasionally Thaena would call a short halt to inspect small obelisks along the sides of the winding path. Each was firmly rooted in the ground, strong stone brought from Rashemen. Engraved with a single sigil, their magic kept the path free of the city's spirits. Only now the sigils appeared ruined and smeared with ash. Thaena knelt and whispered to them, trying to detect the magic they held.
A light snow began to fall. The wind increased, whipping the cloaks and the long braids of the Rashemi warriors. The fog stirred, combining with the swirling snow to obscure the path ahead even more. Venturing into the tighter streets of another district, the group slowed, wary of every corner and shadow. The distant sounds of the dead became more noticeable after crossing the boundary of the low inner wall. As the city had expanded, concentric rings of walls, three in all, were left in place and kept fortified as their enemies grew bolder. During siege, the citizens would retreat behind the inner wall for protection in the shadow of the Shield and close to the central portal-arch.
Blackened stone and shattered walls replaced much of the discernible architecture. Thick ice filled the cracks and clung to the standing structures like malformed gargoyles. Bastun eyed these warily, his thoughts drifting to his studies of the Shield as the torches revealed blurred skulls and shadowy bones buried in the ice. Here in the inner city, in Shandaular's last moments, death had taken its greatest harvest.
A loud wailing arose a few blocks away, echoing against the buildings and through the narrow streets. Others seemed to answer it, and Thaena ordered the warriors to a halt. The tortured voices of unseen spirits carried far over the ruins, issuing from the doors of hollow buildings, moaning with the wind as they slowly trailed away. Bastun strained to hear the nuances of the spirits' cries, sensing some missing note in the rhythm.
The cries drifted north, growing fainter, and many held breaths were quietly exhaled as Thaena waved the fang onward.
Bastun caught himself looking left and right, his eyes darting at every imagined movement. Shadows lengthened and disappeared as the torches passed, surrounding them with phantom enemies. The faces of fantastic beasts leered from stone columns, given life in the flickering flames to taunt those intruding upon Shandaular's lingering misery.
Several warriors reached into pouches at their belts to pull out pinches