The Ghosts Omnibus: The Kyracian War

by Jonathan Moeller

  Not that she had a chance against a single stormdancer!

  She risked a glance over her shoulder. The alley behind her was empty, tenements framing a narrow strip of blue skies. There was no sign of any pursuit.

  Yet the pulsing tingle of sorcery grew stronger.

  Kylon was after her, she was sure of it. But where was he?

  The answer came to her, recalled from the training Halfdan had given her in stealth.

  No one ever looked up.

  ###

  Kylon saw her.

  The Ghost sprinted down an alley between two tenements. She looked like she was fleeing blindly, yet her emotional sense was utterly without panic.

  She thought she could escape.

  Kylon worked a spell to give his muscles the strength of surging waters.

  He leaped from the roof of a four-story tenement, his sword angled down, white mist trailing from the icy blade.

  ###

  Caina felt the surge of arcane power.

  She threw herself sideways just as she saw the gray blur overhead.

  An instant later Kylon fell like a thunderbolt, his sword sinking to the hilt into the street. A jump like that would have killed a normal man, but not a stormdancer with the power of water sorcery. He looked at her, brown eyes wide in surprise. No doubt he had expected to cut her down where she stood.

  Frost spread from his sword, covering the nearby cobblestones in a white layer. Caina didn’t want to find out what that blade would do if it pierced her skin.

  She kept sprinting, turning a corner into another narrow alley lined with rickety tenements. She could run fast, faster than most people, but she could not outrun a stormdancer’s spell-enhanced legs. Once Kylon recovered his balance, he would catch her.

  Unless she did something clever.

  Despite Kylon’s speed, she had managed to dodge his attack. He couldn’t change his direction after he had begun falling. And the same thing applied to his supernatural speed – it was much easier to turn a sharp corner walking than running.

  Caina saw a narrow doorway on the left, leading into one of the tenements.

  It was her best chance.

  ###

  Kylon wrenched his sword free from the street. It was undamaged – the spell-forged blade of a stormdancer was far stronger and more resilient than a normal sword. He saw the Ghost disappear around another corner.

  Kylon hurtled forward, driven by the power of his air sorcery, the wind a thunderous gale in his ears.

  He stopped at the corner, saw the Ghost running up an alley so narrow two horses could not have passed each other. There was no place for her to turn, no place for her to escape. She may have been clever, but no amount of cleverness could make her run faster.

  Kylon raised his sword for a stab and charged.

  ###

  Caina looked over her shoulder, saw Kylon appear behind her.

  Then she felt the stab of sorcerous power, and he moved so fast he became a blur.

  Caina threw herself into the narrow doorway.

  Kylon thundered past her, so close that she felt the freezing chill from his sword pass like an icy gale. And he kept going, moving too fast to turn, a cloud of dust rising in his wake.

  Caina kicked open the tenement door and then swung it shut behind her. She dropped a bar in place over it, though she doubted it would slow Kylon down. Then she ran up the stairs and ducked into one of the deserted apartments. Like the other apartments she had seen, it looked as if the residents had fled in a hurry. Hopefully they had escaped the Istarish slavers.

  And as she had hoped, a door opened onto a balcony.

  A narrow, rickety balcony, but it was a short drop to the courtyard below. Caina jumped over the railing, ran down a narrow alley, crossed a larger street, and hurried to the doors of a large warehouse. If she could keep herself alive for just a little longer, she could reach the safehouse and elude both Kylon and Sicarion.

  She slipped into the warehouse. Piles of crates stood in haphazard piles, and Caina saw that they held pottery. Plates made from the clay of the Caerish hills were strong and durable, and foreign merchants and lords paid to have them shipped to their homes.

  The stacks of crates formed a crooked maze across the warehouse floor.

  Perfect.

  ###

  Kylon skidded to a stop.

  Somehow, the Ghost woman had anticipated his maneuver and dodged his attack. Kylon could not turn fast enough to catch her, and by the time he managed to stop, she had vanished into the tenement.

  No matter.

  He could still sense her presence, her emotions brushing against his sorcerous abilities. He could not pinpoint her location precisely, but he knew she was running. He did not even need to run to catch her.

  He dashed down the alley and jumped. The sorcery-fueled leap carried him halfway up the side of the tenement's brick wall. As the arc of his jump ended, he kicked off the wall, flinging himself into the air. With his free hand he seized the copper gutter running along the roof and hurled himself atop the tenement. Another running jump, and he sprang from the roof, the wind whistling past him and through his hair.

  He landed in the courtyard below, the strength of water sorcery cushioning his fall.

  The Ghost's emotions pulsed against his senses. There was fear, yes, but not the slightest hint of despair. She would not yield. She would fight to the last - would die fighting, when Kylon caught up to her.

  It was almost exhilarating.

  Kylon would regret killing her. But she was an enemy, and Andromache wanted her dead.

  A warehouse loomed ahead, its door standing ajar. He felt the Ghost woman within.

  Kylon stepped inside the warehouse.

  ###

  Caina braced herself atop the crate, sweat dripping down her face.

  Her plan was madness. It might slow Kylon down. It might even kill him. But if it failed, she would face Kylon without any protection, and the stormdancer would cut her down in a heartbeat.

  But there were no other options. If she did not slow Kylon down, he would catch her before she reached Halfdan’s safehouse.

  She watched Kylon stride through the warehouse door, his sword smoking with cold in his right hand, his shadow thrown across the floorboards. For a moment he stood motionless, looking over the maze of crates.

  Then he prowled forward, moving with the grace of a hunting cat.

  Of a predator.

  Caina felt the crawling tingle of his sorcery wash over her. He knew she was in the warehouse, but his sorcerous empathy apparently did not let him pinpoint her exact position. Else he would not need to seek her out.

  He paused, looking back and forth.

  Caina gritted her teeth. Just one more step, just more step...

  Kylon took that final step.

  Caina pushed with her clenched legs, her muscles straining.

  ###

  Kylon hesitated, looking over the cluttered warehouse.

  He felt the Ghost's emotions against his senses, her focused, controlled fear. She was in here, somewhere. And she had stopped running.

  Why?

  Did she think to fight him? Absurd.

  Yet her determination reminded Kylon of Andromache. His sister had faced hopeless odds. The near-certain ruin of House Kardamnos, a ring of encircling enemies.

  And against those hopeless odds, she had prevailed.

  Might the Ghost have similar plans for him?

  He would take extreme caution.

  Kylon took another step, and heard the groaning of stressed wood.

  He turned just in time to see a wall of crates fall toward him. He glimpsed the ropes binding the crates together, pinned in place by daggers. Of course. Such a simple trap.

  And yet so effective.

  Kylon just had time to call upon his water sorcery, and then hundreds of pounds of plates and cups and bowls fell upon him. The impact should have shattered every bone in his body, should have turned his flesh to bloody
pulp. Yet his power gave him the superhuman strength to resist the battering. Despite his strength, the sheer weight drove him to the floor, buried him beneath broken wood and shattered plates.

  Kylon had known fear since setting foot in Marsis, fear that Andromache's plan was too bold, fear that their attack would fail. Now for the first time he knew fear for himself. In a panic he shoved the wreckage away from his face, expecting to see the Ghost spring from the shadows, a glittering dagger aimed for his throat.

  But he saw nothing but clouds of dust, thrown up by the collapsing crates.

  And he felt the Ghost fleeing once more.

  Kylon growled and dug himself free of the debris. He staggered to his feet, kicked aside a broken crate, and ran for the warehouse's back door. Gods of storm and sea, how had that woman eluded him? She was nothing but a spy, and one without the slightest flicker of sorcerous ability.

  A spy who wielded her wits like a blade.

  He found himself admiring her cleverness.

  Nevertheless, he would not leave her alive.

  Kylon continued his pursuit.

  ###

  Caina reached Halfdan's safehouse at last.

  Halfdan had bought the warehouse under an assumed name and let its exterior fall into disrepair to discourage thieves. Yet here he hid an ample store of weapons, food, tools, and clothing. Caina's shadow-cloak was here.

  And something, perhaps, that might let her deal with Kylon.

  It would take more than an improvised avalanche of broken plates to kill him.

  Caina released the door's hidden lock and hurried into the warehouse. Inside a neat row of cots marched down the center of the room. Tables held tools and equipment, and racks held weapons. A dozen niches had been carved into the brick walls, and in each niche rested a clay amphora, its lid sealed with wax. From the top of each amphora dangled a string.

  If air ever reached the contents of the amphorae, the results would be...unpleasant.

  Caina threw open a wooden chest. Inside rested a bundle of clothes and weapons she had prepared for an emergency. She tucked the bundle beneath one arm.

  Underneath the bundle rested her shadow-cloak.

  The cloak was a wondrous thing, lighter than the finest silk and blacker than a moonless night. Only the Ghosts knew the secrets of spinning shadow cloth. The cloak would blend with the shadows, greatly enhancing Caina's ability at stealth.

  It also shielded her mind from magical intrusion, and prevented a sorcerer from tracking her with any spells.

  Caina threw the cloak over her shoulders and pulled up the cowl.

  ###

  Kylon examined the small warehouse.

  It looked innocuous enough, its walls and roof crumbling. Yet the Ghost woman had gone in there. She was still in there - he felt the keen edge of her emotions. What was she…

  The Ghost disappeared from his senses.

  That was impossible. People did not simply disappear from the senses bestowed by his water sorcery. He had killed enough men in battle to know what the emotions of death felt like, to recognize the torrent of agony followed by the sudden quiet. A powerful sorcerer could shield himself from Kylon's senses, but the Ghost had no arcane power, he was certain of it.

  So why had she disappeared?

  Kylon stared at the warehouse, hand tightening around the hilt of his sword.

  This was almost certainly a trap.

  Yet Andromache wanted the Ghost dead, and he would not fail his sister.

  Kylon strode toward the door.

  ###

  Caina reached into the niche.

  The amphora held a particularly vile concoction that Radast had brewed up from rare ingredients. Radast was good at building traps and other lethal contraptions, but this was one of his nastier creations. The fluid within resembled a thick greenish jelly. If exposed to air for too long, it would explode.

  If set on fire, it would make an even large explosion.

  And if set on fire while exposed to air, the result would be...impressive.

  Caina cracked the wax seal on the amphora. An ominous hissing came from the elixir inside. She struck a spark from her dagger, and ignited the cord dangling from the lid.

  The flame began to chew its way up the string. In addition to the elixir, the amphora also held thirty nails. When it exploded, the blast would fling the nails across the room, shattering the other jars.

  Halfdan had taken precautions to ensure that the Ghosts’ secrets did not fall into the hands of their enemies.

  She slipped out the warehouse's back door, still carrying her bundle, and ran.

  ###

  The warehouse's door featured an elaborate lock, but the Ghost had left it undone. Not that the door would have stopped Kylon, but it would have slowed him for a few seconds.

  Why had she not locked the door?

  Kylon frowned, stepping into the warehouse.

  Inside, it looked more like a military barracks than a merchant's storeroom. Probably a place of refuge the Ghosts had prepared in the event of an emergency.

  A strange chemical odor hung in the air.

  If this was a trap, it was a strange one.

  There was no sign of the Ghost. None at all.

  A door in the far wall stood ajar, a faint ray of afternoon sunlight coming through it.

  Kylon strode toward it, sword raised in guard, and the spark caught his eye.

  Clay amphorae, the sort used to store wine or oil, stood in niches throughout the room. Strings dangled from their sealed lids. A flame chewed its way up one of the strings, almost to the amphorae's seal.

  That was odd. If it was a lamp, it didn't generate much light. And why had the Ghost bothered lighting it as she fled for her life?

  The flame danced around amphora's lid.

  Oil...

  And in a horrified instant, Kylon realized how the Ghost had tricked him.

  He thought he had been the hunter, but she was the one leading him into a trap.

  Kylon ran for the door, drawing on every shred of his air sorcery to lend his legs speed. He made it through the door, into the street...

  A white flash.

  A giant fist of burning air slammed into Kylon and flung him into a brick wall. He bounced off and rolled to one knee, throwing up an arm to shield his face from the bits of hot brick and burning metal that rained around him. A terrible roaring filled his ears, and he felt waves of heat radiating from the warehouse.

  After a moment he lowered his arm.

  The warehouse's roof, doors, and parts of its walls were gone. Raging flames billowed from the interior, a thick column of black smoke rising into the blue sky.

  Kylon staggered to his feet, checked himself over for injuries. His leather armor was scorched in spots, and he had a few small burns on his hands. Fortunately, he had no other injuries. Yet it had been a close thing. Another heartbeat, another half-second, and the explosion would have burned the flesh from his bones.

  A cunning trap. Kylon was a stormdancer, one of the youngest and the strongest in the history of New Kyre. And he had almost been slain by a simple trap arranged by a woman with no sorcerous talent.

  A sobering lesson.

  He had no chance of finding her now, so Kylon started running back towards the Great Market. He found himself admiring the Ghost's cleverness. She was a worthy adversary. Until today, he never would have thought any man or woman without arcane talent could have fought a stormdancer and lived.

  He found himself regretting that he would have to kill her.

  Because he would have to kill her. The Kyracians and their Istarish allies had not yet secured Marsis. And such a clever woman, free to create mischief...she would return, Kylon knew.

  He would kill her then.

  ###

  A short time later he returned to Andromache and Kleistheon below the ruined watchtower. The Market had emptied of soldiers, though thousands of slaves remained behind, guarded by squads of Rezir Shahan's infantry. Rezir, his bodyguards,
and his big black horse were gone, no doubt to take command of the assault upon the Plaza of the Tower.