The cloud of bats continued to circle above as they made their way through the forest, joined by other colonies roused from the treetops by the scent of fresh prey. They maintained a safe distance for the next hour but grew progressively bolder as daylight began to wane. The company found itself repeatedly ducking as the bats swooped down in groups of two or three, each time descending lower than before. One proved unwise in its angle of approach, swooping just low enough for Chena to leap up and clamp her jaws on a wing tip. The bat’s scream was brief, cut off almost instantly by the crack of breaking bone when the hyena crushed its ribcage. She cast the corpse away with a whine and retched at the foul taste of ichor.
The first spire came into view shortly after, resembling the blade of a giant poniard thrust up through the earth. The trees had fallen away now, leaving a landscape of cracked, dry soil. The flying jackals forsook their pursuit as the company reached the long shadow of the spire, stretching away across ground painted red by the fading sun. Pilgrim was learning that, in the Execration, true colour only came with the sunset.
He found himself coming to a halt at the sight of what lay beyond the spire. The city stretched away into a crimson haze, spire after spire, some linked by bridges and walkways, although most of these had fallen away. What remained resembled the spearpoints of a titanic host.
Rather reminds one of the commencement of the night march towards Saint Maree’s Field, the voice recalled. How many swords under your banner then, my liege? Forty thousand, wasn’t it? It paused to offer a sigh of wistful nostalgia. Will we ever see those days again?
“Quickly!” Priest urged, breaking Pilgrim’s momentary fascination. He resumed his run, following the cleric as he led them towards a steep ramp at the base of the spire. “We have to get inside before dark.”
Pilgrim was surprised to find a sturdily built door of oak and iron at the top of the ramp. The wood beams and metal bracings all seemed to lack the age and decay of the ancient stone that surrounded it. He was also relieved to find it unbarred and open. Priest had yet to explain the need to find shelter before nightfall, but from the near-frantic manner with which he pushed the door wide and gestured for them to get inside, Pilgrim felt little compunction in following him into the gloomy interior.
The door slammed shut the instant they all made their way into the building, leaving them in near-pitch darkness. Pilgrim heard the hard rattle and clatter of a heavy lock being turned as Priest secured the entrance.
“I don’t suppose,” Book said, “anyone thought to gather firewood?”