“The necro?” he demanded.
“It has to be,” Fane seethed. “No one else would have the cojones.”
Wolfe growled deep in his throat. “We should have suspected Valhalla was his ultimate goal. The arrogant bastard wouldn’t settle for anything less.”
True.
Not that Duncan gave a shit what brought him to Valhalla.
If he was here, then Callie couldn’t be far.
“Can you locate them?”
“I’m about to find out.”Wolfe reached to press the edge of the monitor, switching it from camera to camera.
The images flickered so swiftly that Duncan couldn’t make out more than dark shadows and a silver shimmer he assumed was the magical dome that surrounded Valhalla.
Could the Sentinels see through the darkness?
His silent question was answered when Fane gave a low growl.
“Wolfe.”
Freezing the image, Wolfe frowned as Fane pointed to several large figures standing at the edge of the dome.
“There.”
What the hell?
Duncan leaned forward, struggling to make out more than fuzzy outlines.
He could see that they were large. Maybe as large as Fane and Wolfe. And each of them carried a different weapon. Swords, bows and arrows, even clubs with long spikes that looked like something out of a Renaissance fair.
Beyond that was hard to say.
To his eyes they seemed to be shrouded in fabric from head to toe, disguising their faces and any clothing that might have given a hint to their identity. Although... he leaned closer, studying the hands that were only faintly visible.
Tattoos.
He sucked in a sharp breath at the same time that Wolfe cursed.
“Sentinels?” the Tagos snarled. “Impossible.”
“Obviously not impossible,” Duncan muttered, desperately searching the monitors for any sign of Callie. “Why would they join with the necromancer?”
“They wouldn’t,” Wolfe said, his voice flat with denial. “Not if they’re any of mine.”
“Do you recognize any of them?” Fane demanded.
“Not without seeing their faces.” Wolfe studied the monitor, his savage fury boiling through the air with enough heat to make Duncan sweat. “What are they wearing?”
A good question. They looked like shrouds to Duncan ...
He made a choked sound, struck by a sudden suspicion.
“I need to see them.”
Wolfe frowned. “A different camera angle?”
“No,” he rasped. “I need to physically see them”
Without hesitation, Wolfe nodded.
There were no annoying questions. No demands for explanations.
Just acceptance that Duncan was a part of the team and that he needed information to help them defeat the enemy.
And this was why hardened soldiers offered their complete loyalty to the Tagos. Trust was a two-way street. A truth too many leaders never learned.
“Niko, stay on coms,” Wolfe commanded as he led the way to one of the back doors. “Arel, find the Mave.” He pointed toward two guardian Sentinels who were nearly hidden beneath the layers of guns, swords, and... Holy shit, was that a rocket launcher? “You two, come with me.”
They left the office and entered a cement tunnel that angled upward, Wolfe taking the lead with Duncan and Fane behind him with the arsenal twins bringing up the rear.
Duncan didn’t have to ask where they were going.
This was clearly an emergency exit. One that was not only equipped with steel doors every ten feet that could block off pursuers or protect against bomb blasts, but unlike the elevators it didn’t depend on electricity.
They moved in silence, each of them on high-alert as they headed upward.
Who the hell knew what might be hiding ahead?
Crazed necromancers. Demented witches.
Flesh-eating zombies.
Duncan sensed when they reached the surface, but Wolfe opened a door that led to a steep flight of stairs. Puzzled, Duncan climbed behind the Tagos, sensing they were several feet in the air.
It wasn’t until they stepped onto a narrow ledge that he realized they were standing on a watchtower that offered a perfect panorama of the perimeter. And more importantly, an unimpeded view of the ten—no wait, twelve—warriors who were chanting in low, rough voices as they laid their hands upon an invisible barrier.
“Well, cop?” Wolfe prompted in a low voice pitched to keep it from carrying on the light breeze. “What are you looking for?”
Duncan shifted to stand near the low stone wall that surrounded the ledge, thankful for the full moon that drenched the landscape in a silver light. Unlike his companions, he didn’t have the ability to see in the dark.
“Auras,” he said.
Wolfe and Fane moved to stand at his side while the other two Sentinels paced to the other side of the narrow ledge. Nothing would be allowed to sneak up from behind.
“Why?” Fane asked.
His lips twisted at the brutal pain that sliced through his heart, his gaze trained on the distant intruders.
“It was Callie who realized the dead wouldn’t have auras.”
“Shit,” Fane breathed softly.
Duncan pointed toward the inner perimeter, cold dread lying heavy in his stomach. “Those men are like Frank.”
Wolfe scowled. “Explain”
“A dead body has no aura. No ... spark of life,” he muttered, shuddering as he studied the men who moved with the same grace they must have possessed when they were alive. It was just wrong. On so many levels. “But these are surrounded by a darkness.”
Fane made a tortured sound deep in his throat. “He’s trapped their souls.”
Duncan shuddered again. Poor Frank. Was he aware that he was being abused by the necromancer? It had to be torture to be trapped in his own body while it was being controlled by a psychotic megalomaniac.
“The son of a bitch,” he rasped.
Wolfe gripped the top of the wall, the granite crumbling beneath his fingers. “A clever son of a bitch,” he snarled, studying the warriors with a bleak expression.
Duncan glanced toward the Tagos. “Why do you say that?”
“Bokors are empty shells; these”—Wolfe struggled for a suitable label—“creatures have their former powers.”
“Fuck,” Fane swore. “That’s why he chose guardian Sentinels.”
Duncan wasn’t as quick to follow. “Why?”
Wolfe grimaced. “They’re the only ones capable of destroying the layers of magic that protect Valhalla.”
Oh... shit.