Darksiders: The Abomination Vault by Ari Marmell Page B

invaders.
    The birds themselves, despite their numbers, could neverhave defended the domain alone—but they were
far
from their master’s only defenses. Seemingly mild breezes abruptly froze attackers solid, or gusted violently enough to hurl them over nearby precipices. The air sizzled and cracked as bolts of lightning gouged the cloudless skies, somehow missing the massed crows, to obliterate throngs of constructs. Rock faces that had stood unyielding for millennia crumbled at the worst possible time, burying invaders by the dozens; fire erupted from the deepest caves.
    The Crowfather’s mastery of his domain was nigh absolute, and for a time it appeared that Death’s presence would prove superfluous. As he progressed across the cliffs, however, the quantity of brass soldiers didn’t seem substantially reduced. The Horseman began to wonder just how
anyone
could have assembled such an enormous host of construct soldiers. It should have taken centuries, and surely the Charred Council would have become aware at some point!
    Slowly but steadily, Death had neared the Crowfather’s abode, ducking low in the mountain passes and sheltering behind outcroppings to avoid numerous battles he could almost certainly have won, but which would have caused unnecessary delay. Unfortunately, he’d finally come across a band of the enemy that he could not easily avoid.
    Death found himself clinging like an oversized spider to the underside of a jagged stone spur—a slanted outcropping on which half a dozen of the automatons perched—hanging above a drop deep enough to have been the gullet of the world itself. Below were only drifting clouds and a cracked canyon floor so far away it was all but invisible unless the light and the overcast collaborated
just
so. Fingers and the toes of his boots jammed into any available crevice, clutching with a tireless strength, Death chose to stop peering down at a drop that might just kill even him, should he fumble but once.
    Atop that thick protrusion, several of the four-armed constructs circled in perfect military formation, brass hands formed into long blades and heavy bludgeons. The spindles on which they balanced whirred, cutting thin paths into the snow and layers of guano that coated the rock. Although they, like their stone brethren, were headless, the slow back-and-forth rotation of their torsos suggested a methodical patrol.
    The Horseman had hoped to sidle along the cliff face and pass beneath them, continuing on unnoticed, but the contours of the terrain now thwarted his plans. Up ahead, the canyon opened further, providing a clear line of sight to distant ledges occupied by yet more of the stone-and-metal men. They would spot him easily enough once he emerged from the shadow of the overhang, and while Death didn’t believe they had pistols or cannons, he didn’t know what means they had of communicating with one another. If they were to alert their compatriots on the spur overhead, they might have some means of attacking over the edge from above—and Death could find himself too busy hugging the stone to fight them off.
    Better, then, to abandon stealth and take them before they could pose a threat.
    He tried to listen to the creatures moving above, but the gusting winds, the deafening cries of a thousand avian throats, and the thickness of the stone itself made a mockery of his efforts. That the enemy was watching, he had no doubt—but precisely where, or in what number, he just couldn’t say.
    So be it. Death had a very simple doctrine for just such a circumstance: When in doubt, strike first and kill
everyone
.
    Scuttling sideways until he reached the edge of the protruding stone, the Horseman reached his left arm upward. He felt about until his questing fingers found a crevice on the spur’s side that would hold his weight, sank his fingers as deep as they would go, and let go with his other hand and both feet.For an instant he dangled, his fingertip grip all that kept him