Long shadows lay upon the streets of the city before Ishkinil that she walked upon, streets now empty and silent. If any still lived within the walls, they showed themselves not, leaving the city to its ghosts. Stillness hung in the air, unbroken.
The street from the great gates arrowed straight through the city, towards where the White Citadel of the Everqueen, Lion and Dragon, had been built, perched upon a rocky outcrop so that it was afforded a view across the whole city. It remained a shimmering beacon in the growing dark, catching the last rays of the sun that was setting upon its walls and high towers.
Once armies had marched along the street, the last being in the service of the Summer Lord of Mishas Surut who had thrown down the Everqueen and brought death and ruin to all in its wake. She could feel the still lingering echoes of it, death soaked into the very fabric of the city, into the stones of its streets and buildings. Death on such a scale, and in such a brief space of time could do no else but to leave a scar on the essence of the place. The city had seen death beyond its measure to contain.
Yet, to one attuned to death as she was, it did not feel right. Not the fact that there had been death there, for there had, but it felt off, not as it should, a discordant note in the quiet, a wrongness that she could not place, as if death had become twisted. The peace of Enkurgil's embrace had not fully encompassed the city as it should have.
When the last glowing embers of the sun had touched the White Citadel and the dark of night descended upon the city, bringing with it a pallid spray of starts to shimmer across the sable sweep of the sky, a silence still as death settled upon the city. No winds rustled in the air, no people spoke or called out and no sound of even animals could be perceived. Even if all who had lived there had departed, animals would remain, creeping forth from their hidden burrows to scavenge for food. No flies buzzed or rodents scurried or any of the other sounds that she would have expected. It was as if the city had paused and was holdings its breath, in anticipation for what was to come.
Yet those who had guarded the way into the city, who had tried to block her entrance, had said that some still remained within the walls of the city. Where then were they, Ishkinil wondered. It did not truly have the feel of a truly dead city, for all that death had marked it. The sound of silence may have said it was so, but this was no necropolis, home to none but the dead. She could feel that on some level, an echo of it in her bones.
She pressed on, shadow cloaked, into the deepening night, her steps ever pressing on, towards the White Citadel. There, she felt, she would uncover the answers to the mystery of the city, of what had transpired there and afflicted it, if anywhere they could be found.
Soft, whispered tread took her along the street, by buildings abandoned and left open to the elements. From some hung signs on rusty chains, marking where once there had been shops and places of trade. Some bore scars of fire. All were empty. Deeper still she moved into the city, hand curling around the white bone hilt of Dirgesinger, all senses on edge, her eyes never still as they searched out among the shadows of the city for any sign of danger. She moved like a lithe hunter, gliding silent while stalking hidden prey, all but unseen and unheard.
Beneath and around the White Citadel, a broad plaza had been built, and here the street that Ishkinil followed led. Once it had been filled with gardens and statues and colonnades, where the might and power, the wealth and standing of Iskor Yar had been on display. There had Nakhurena the Everqueen received the adulation of the throngs and the spoils of war brought back by her victorious armies. There too had she offered up captives for sacrifice, sacrificed in her own honour, the blood of so many victims still staining dark the stones around the altar. There too had she in turn fallen, her still beating heart torn free by the Summer Lord of Mishas Surut, to the roars of his triumphant army.
Where the street met the great plaza, Ishkinil halted her step, looking out upon it. The still rising moon had started to cast a silvery sheen upon the White Citadel and he plaza, leaving long shadows in its wake. It all looked peaceful, a frozen vista, and yet the odd note that Ishkinil had felt as she venture into the city had not yet departed, a forewarning of trouble to come. Here, at the plaza, it felt stronger yet.
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With her sword held to the fore, Ishkinil stepped out into the plaza, alert for any trouble. From shadow to shadow she moved, seeking to avoid the touch of moonlight as best as she could, little more than a shadow herself in her stygian cloak, a flowing cloud of dark that made not a sound. Columns stood all along the plaza, upon which perched statues, of the Everqueen's dragon-lion beast. Most still stood, but some had fallen, or been felled, shattered stone now spread out across the plaza.
It was only by her heightened senses, her keen ears and her cautious approach that she detected the attack when it came. A slight scrapping of stone from above, a rippling noise through the air, marking something dropping from a column that she was travelling beneath.
She was rolling aside even as it landed, springing back up to her feet in a fighter's wary stance, low and ready, both hands on the hilt of her sword. A towering figure reared up where moments before she had stood, snarling softly at having missed is prey. Broad wings spread out, blocking the light of the moon so that she could make out no more than its silhouette.
Twice her height it stood, tall as she was herself, standing above most men. Broad leathery wings extended from its back, in some manner similar to those of a bat. Its body was more akin to that of an ape than a man’s, with a slouched posture and overly long arms that reached down to its knees. Its head, shaggy furred, had a bestial aspect, with a neck as thick as its head. It reared upwards and beat at its chest with solid slabs of hands, though it remained silent, yet as it did, it allowed a hint of moonlight to play across it, revealing its features. Lips rolled back revealing long tearing fangs and its face was that of an ape or some other great primate.
Half leaping and half gliding on its broad winds, it surged forward toward Ishkinil, reaching for her with its long arms, ones tipped with tearing nails.
Ishkinil span aside as it tried to grasp her to drag within its crushing embrace, slicing downwards even as she did. Dirgesinger crooned through the air, a soft wailing keen, while white blue flames formed and rippled along its bone blade. True did the blade strike the extended arm, biting through toughed hide and flesh. A howl was drawn from the beast, one of anguish and pain. A blow had been struck, but one that stung more than naught else and did not hinder the winged fiend she faced. It tore its wounded arm away, all but wrenching Dirgesinger from Ishkinil’s grasp as it did. Its other clawed arm lashed out at her at the same time, seeking revenge for the stinging bite, forcing Ishkinil to drop low to her knees to avoid it, still struggling to retain her grasp upon the hilt of her sword. Only just in time did she do so, for instead of a blow that would have struck her full upon the body, it merely glanced off her mailed left shoulder. The force behind it was like to being struck by a thrown boulder, rocking her back on her knees, her left hand coming free from the hilt of Dirgesinger as a result. Her whole left arm had been left numbed by the weight of the blow. It had not been broken but she could barely move it. The beast before her was strong, far beyond the measure of a mere man, and swift too, despite its size. It was a most dangerous foe and she knew that she could not take another blow like the one she had received, not if it struck true.
With a stifled yell, she surged back up to her feet, tearing free Dirgesinger from the arm of the beast as she did so. Back she stepped from it, most cautious now due to the speed and strength of the winged fiend, holding Dirgesinger steady before her with her good arm. Dirgesinger crooned still. It had tasted the blood of its foe and desired more yet, humming in the still air as it waited. The fiend cupped a hand to the wound on his arm. The moon shone full in its face and Ishkinil could see its yellowed teeth as it rolled back its lips once more.
Bestial it may have appeared, yet in its dark eyes she could see an intelligence distinct from that of a mere animal. She could see it watching her in kind, studying her, and assessing in a manner that no animal would, but that a man might. She knew not what it was exactly, though of its origins she felt that she might, that of a being that had been twisted and corrupted by sorcerous powers into a new and more terrible form for purposes unknown, tortures wrought upon it to break it to the will of its maker, and in that moment, she felt a pity for it, even as it tried to kill her. She would slay it if she had to, if it left her no choice, yet her hate was directed upon it, but the one who had made it.
How it had come to Iskor Yar she knew not, or for what ends, but it was not the source of the troubles that afflicted the city, at least not alone. Broken it may have been, tormented and tortured, yet it was a living creature still, and not a creature of the dead. Some other manner of danger stalked the city, one that defied Enkurgil.
For a moment the two of them stood there upon the moonlit plaza, staring at the other, and again the beast bared its fang. Once more it let out snarling sound, yet different than the one before. There was no anger or malice in it. Then, with a snap of its wings, and a prodigious leap, it alighted from the plaza into the night’s air, to disappear off into the shadows and darkness over the city, leaving Ishkinil alone once more.