Steven Montano: Crown of Ash

The horn dipped, and the beast charged. Its thunderous approach shook the ground. Kane reached behind his back for his combat sword, a short blade with a razor point.

He saw movement over the ridge. H e didn’t want the others to see him die.

The beast scooped its head low as it drew close. Kane darted to the side and rammed the point of his blade into the creature’s eye. Black blood gushed out and sprayed onto his bare arms. He s mell ed grave rot and turpentine.

Kane fell backwards as the creature raced past him. He threw the live grenade in the Ebonback’s path as he rolled down the dune and folded himself into a ball.

The grenade went off. Chunks of black steel and meat pummeled the ground.

“Kane!” Ronan shouted from over the dune, but it was too late.

Something struck him from behind, some sort of webbing that latched onto hi m and sent volts of electricity through his body. Kane cried out, convuls ed, and blacked out.

Kane woke on his back, staring up at the sky. H e felt nauseous, his stomach was clenched, and his hands were asleep because they’d been bound tightly behind his back. There was blood on his face, and his legs were twisted uncomfortably on the metal floor.

He was moving. The world shifted. He turned his eyes from the ic y sun and saw brown stones and low drifts of black sand.

W e ’ re close to the coast.

Jade was there with him, a s were Maur and Sol. A ll of them had been bound with lengths of chain secured to iron loops on the deck of the skiff. T here was no sign of Ronan.

Kane tried to speak, but his mouth was dry. His shoulders ached, and he tasted sand on his tongue.

The skiff moved at a fair pace, especially considering the damage it had suffered during the battle. Smoke churned from its aft end, but the engine sounded like it r an smoothly.

Well that’s a relief, he thought. At least we won’t crash, so we’ll live long enough to find out what these freaks plan to do to us.

“You guys…” He coughed. The scent of vomit filled his nostrils. “You guys ok?”

“They have Ronan,” Jade said.

The skiff bobbed up and down as it hugged a terrain covered in cold dunes and low rocky hills. The ground was deep red, like blood had dried on the sand. Kane smelled salt and rot. He tried to sit up, and failed. Dark clouds waited for them over the sea to the west. The atmosphere was cold and damp, and his skin was freezing. He remained on his side — at least if he stayed like that his hands weren’t crushed beneath his own weight.

“Interrogation?” he asked.

“Maybe,” Sol asked. “But they don’t seem to understand us anymore than we understand them, so I’m not sure what the hell they’d be asking him.”

“Any clue as to who they are?” Kane asked.

The recoilless rifle had been covered and sec ured with a tarp, but the chain guns were manned and pointed out into the wastes. A pilot stood at the helm, which was just a simple shaft of metal covered with levers and cranks. None of the crew paid any attention to the prisoners.

“They could be Grey Clan,” Jade said quietly. “No one knows what ever happened to them.”

The reptilian crewmen were spread out across the uneven deck. Their scaly reptilian flesh was ic y grey and oozed secretion s like dirty oil. They wore g as mask s wrapped around pugnacious lizard-like jaw s, and their eyes were solid yellow. S caly fingers ended in sharp claws, and their bod ies w ere wrapped in mismatch ed leather and metal armor. They carried o ld-fashioned Colt revolver s, razorwire-bound batons th at sparked with electricity, short serrated knives and bandoliers stuffed with grenades.

“Grey Clan… well… maybe… ” Kane said.

A hatch opened that led below deck; it was so carefully concealed Kane hadn’t even noticed it before it swung outwards. A nother tall grey-skinned humanoid emerged wearing a dark and tattered cape that rippled in the wind. Its eyes lock ed on Kane.

“Nice cape, Emperor Ming,” Kane spat.

The creature growled something that might have been an insult. It lifted Kane up by the arm as another crewman undid his chains. Kane considered resisting, but he knew that w ould be dangerous until he knew where Ronan was.

I’ve managed to screw things up so far, he thought. I n eed to make sure I do n’t get any one killed.

Stumbling and dizzy, Kane tried his best not to trip and fall as they led him below deck.

Blacksand was a city in transition, a place h obbled together by refugees, outcasts, deserters and nomads. Its architecture was a mishmash of scrap and converted caravan vessels, broken-down airships and jury-rigged freighters. Plates of steel and stone had been fused together by mercenary warlocks to provide the semblance of outer walls. Loose agreements between var ious gangs, merchant bands and T he Shard helped maintain a semblance of order, but since the city catered to so many travelers and bizarre tribes like the Mektesh and the Dorai’mara’kaar, as well as sea brigan ds from the distant Nezek’duul I slands across the Ebonsand Sea, Blacksand treaded the fine line between being cosmopolitan and just being completely disorganized.

Danica had a good view of both the pier and the dark waters through the dingy window. I ron tugboats churned through the polluted bay, and massi ve crates of boxed goods swung in webbed cargo nets. The dipping sun shone rust red on the glassy waves. T he spiked city walls loomed to the north, and corbelled towers statio ned all along the docks rotated in place as their motorguns scanned the waters for signs of trouble.

She and Klos Vago sat at a corner table in The Blood Rose, which was a cross between a brothel, a t avern and a gambling den. Purple smoke made her eyes sting, and t he air was heady with fish oil and musk, overcooked po tatoes and watered down alcohol.

The Blood Rose was essentially a dual-level bar with small private tables in the upper seating area and dozens of crude wooden tables on the lower level. Everything was crafted from red and black wood, and the place was brightly illuminated by open windows and grill-covered skylights. P ortions of greasy seafood were served in trays lined with brown paper. The atmosphere was muggy and tasted of overcooked fish and tobacco.

Danica saw merchants and drifters, mercenaries and killers, laborers, ex-slaves and runaways. It was a place filled with the dregs of the borderlands, people who didn’t fit in — or else who didn’t want to fit in — with the Southern Claw’s laws and plans. Looking at the displaced clientele reminded her of how far she and the team still had to travel.

It feels like it’s been years since we’ve been home, she thought. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the fact that s he thought of the team’s mansion in Thornn as “home”.

She looked ac ross the table at Vago. He wasn’ t a remotely attractive human being in any sense of the word. His scarred face was held together with jagged stitches, and his mismatched eyes sparkled with thaumaturgic augmentations. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and so incredibly thick in his chest and arms that the lower half of his body looked puny by comparison. His thin black hair was pasted back against his scalp, and he had a preposterously pugnacious jaw. He wore dark leather armor, tall black boots laced up with metal straps, and a. 44 magnum in a shoulder-holster.

“You know that I hate you, right?” Danica asked.

“ Yes. I know,” he answered. He always smiled, and that just made him more hideous. His teeth were rotted from alcohol and tobacco, and he ground them when he spoke. His voice was thick, like he had a throat full of glass. “And that’s too bad, Danica. I find you intoxicating.” He took a drink and puffed on a massive cigar that smelled like a burning boat.