Ghost in the Storm (The Ghosts)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  “His plan is sound,” said Tarver. “We might fail. But I'd rather die taking the fight to those Istarish bastards than waiting here for them to take us.”

  Korbulus sighed. “You're right. Gods, but I'm too old for this. So be it. I will have my veterans march with you to the northern gate.” He looked at the foundry. “But what of the women and children?”

  “We’ll leave the wounded here to guard them,” said Ark, “along with the crossbows on the roof.”

  “That will be feeble protection,” said Korbulus.

  “Aye,” said Ark. “But if we do our jobs, the Istarish and the Kyracians will be too busy to bother with the foundry.”

  Korbulus closed his eyes. “We may as well cast the dice. I will do as you bid.”

  “I will gather the men of the Nineteenth,” said Tarver, “and we will follow you.”

  “Good,” said Ark. “As soon as the men are gathered, we’ll march. I'll see to the women and children.”

  He turned and walked toward the foundry, leaving them to their work.

  ###

  “They did well,” said Tanya, blinking sweat from her eyes. “I thought some of them would panic.” She shook her head, tying her black hair back in a loose tail. “But their nerves held, and they fired the crossbows. Some of them were fighting for their husbands. As was I.”

  Just as the men had started to follow Ark, the women also needed someone to take charge. And so they had started listening to Tanya. She had endured trials that most women, and most men, could not imagine, and knew how to keep a cool head. She had been the one to organize the women and children, and to keep Radast focused on his tasks.

  “Is Halfdan awake?” said Ark.

  “He is,” said Tanya. “And mostly lucid.”

  She led him past the dark furnaces to the rows of cots holding the wounded. Halfdan lay near the wall, head propped on his rolled-up cloak. He blinked as Ark approached, and managed a smile that was not quite a grimace.

  “Master Basil,” said Ark. “You're looking well.”

  Halfdan laughed, and then winced. “I look like hell. My own fault. I dodged when I should have ducked.”

  Jiri approached and passed Halfdan a clay cup of water, and then one to Ark.

  “Jiri tells me,” said Halfdan, “that you've been busy.”

  “Aye,” said Ark. He drained the entire cup in one gulp. “There are some remnants of the Nineteenth here, along with Korbulus's veterans. They fight well enough.”

  “They fight well enough with someone to organize them,” said Halfdan. “Radast told me, as did Jiri. You did well, Ark.” He lowered his voice. “Tanya told me you plan to take them to the northern gate.”

  Ark nodded.

  “Good,” said Halfdan. “It's our only chance of getting out of this mess without Marsis falling into the hands of the Istarish and the Kyracians.”

  “I know,” said Ark.

  Halfdan's hand curled around Ark's arm. “Listen to me. You must hold the gate. Whatever the cost. Otherwise Marsis will be lost. Every free citizen of the city will be taken in slavery, along with half the farmers and the villagers nearby.”

  Along with Ark's son.

  “You must hold the northern gate,” said Halfdan.

  “I will hold,” said Ark. “If I can.”

  Halfdan said. “Would that I could go with you. But you know how to fight. If anyone can hold the gate, you will.”

  “What should I do if the stormdancers attack?” said Ark. “Or that stormsinger, the one who ripped the engines from the Citadel's walls?”

  Halfdan sighed. “You'll have to improvise.”

  Ark knew Halfdan would have no answers for him, not for that question. A normal man could not defeat a stormdancer in a straight fight. The magi could have faced the stormdancers, but Ark had seen how the lightning ripped through the wards the magi tried to raise around the Citadel.

  He had no idea how to defeat that kind of sorcerous power.

  “Has,” said Halfdan voice quiet, “has there been any word from Caina?”

  Tanya looked away, a flash of pain on her face.

  Nicolai was with Caina.

  “None,” said Ark.

  He wished Caina was here.

  Ark knew no one better than Caina Amalas at killing sorcerers. She had faced sorcerers of terrible power, yet somehow she had outwitted them, finding some weakness she could exploit. Ark was a retired soldier and a blacksmith. Such subtlety was beyond him. He only knew how to fight.

  And how to die, if it came to that.

  “I will hold the gate,” said Ark.

  “Go,” said Halfdan. “May the gods of war favor you.”

  He sighed once more and closed his eyes.

  Ark rose.

  Tanya looked at him, and Ark led her to one of the quiet spaces between the massive furnaces and the brick wall.

  “You want me to stay here, don’t you?” said Tanya.

  “Yes,” said Ark. “You will be safe enough here. The Istarish and the Kyracians won't attack again. Not once we've distracted them.”

  “What if,” said Tanya, blue eyes bright with unshed tears, “what if I go to find Nicolai?”

  “You cannot,” said Ark, touching her cheek. “If you do, you will die. Or worse. You will be enslaved again. I could not bear that.”

  “And what of our son?” said Tanya. She closed her eyes. “Are...are we to simply abandon him?”

  “No,” said Ark. “But if we chase after him we will both die.” His free hand curled about hers. “Our best chance to see him again is to have the Legions return.” He shook his head. “If Marsis falls to the enemy, we will never see Nicolai again.”

  “I know,” said Tanya. She opened her eyes. “To stay here and do nothing, while you go into danger and our son is...is missing. It is hard, Arcion. It is almost harder than I can bear.”

  “But necessary,” said Ark. “I am sorry I brought you to this, I am sorry that...”

  “This is not your fault,” said Tanya. “What has happened was the Moroaica's fault, the fault of the Istarish and the Kyracians. Not yours. And I must stay here. These women...they haven't faced what I have faced. They'll go to pieces, without someone to tell them what to do.” She managed a wan smile. “Just as those men will fall to pieces, without you to lead them.”

  “I love you,” said Ark.

  Tanya blinked, and smiled. “I love you, too. Come back to me with our son.”

  “I will,” said Ark.

  If he could. But he did not say it aloud.

  Tanya knew it already.

  “You will,” said Tanya. She managed to smile. “Besides, Nicolai was with Caina. If anyone can keep Nicolai safe, it is her.”

  “Perhaps I will return,” said Ark, “and find her here with Nicolai.”

  “Perhaps you will,” said Tanya. “Good fortune, husband.”

  “Good fortune, wife,” said Ark.

  He kissed her, and left the foundry.

  ###

  Ark led the men of the Nineteenth from Foundry Square, his armor clanking. He had exchanged his mail shirt for the segmented plate armor of a Legionary, a centurion's plumed helmet upon head. His broadsword rested upon his hip, his shield on his left arm. A pair of iron-tipped javelins hung from the harness over his back.

  Behind him marched the surviving men of the Nineteenth Legion, Tarver at their head. Korbulus's veterans followed with them, clad in new armor taken from the foundry's stores, broadswords at their belts.

  They passed the burned barricades, striding over the burned corpses of the Istarish soldiers. The sounds of fighting echoed over the city, and Ark saw the night sky lit up with the fires of burning houses.

  Ark marched on, face grim.

  He would lead these men to battle. Many of them would die because of his decisions.

  But he would do it.

  He had lost his wife and son to slavers once.

  It would not happen again. Ark would do whatever it took to keep them
safe.

  No matter how many men had to die.

  No matter what it cost him.

  Ark marched on, the men following him.

  Chapter 15 - The Price of Power

  Kylon stood at the end of the Avenue of Governors and looked into the Plaza of the Tower.

  More men of the Nineteenth Legion had survived than Rezir Shahan had thought.

  Close to a thousand Legionaries filled the Plaza, drawn together in tight defensive lines. The Empire's Legions were famed for their engineering skill, and the Nineteenth was no different. They had dug up half the Plaza, assembling barricades of cobblestones and earth and bricks topped with sharpened spikes. Torches blazed at regular intervals atop the defenses, flooding the Plaza with light. A formidable defensive position – the Istarish and the Kyracians might lose half their men storming it.

  But Rezir had Kylon and Kleistheon's skill, had the might of Andromache's spells.

  And thanks to Andromache, the Legionaries had no magi to protect them from sorcery.

  “There are more survivors than I expected,” said Kylon.

  “War is fraught with the unexpected,” said Kleistheon, his tone lecturing. “The true warrior expects the unexpected, and braces himself to face any development.”

  “I wonder if they pulled men from the gates to face us here,” said Kylon, ignoring Kleistheon's barb.

  “They are fools,” said Rezir Shahan. “If they have gathered in one place, that will make it easier to kill them all. And once we seize the gates, Marsis is ours.”

  “And we must move on the Citadel as soon as possible,” said Andromache.

  Kylon glanced at his sister. Andromache's tone remained calm and smooth as the sea on a windless day. Yet dark circles ringed her brown eyes, and Kylon caught occasional flickers of exhaustion in her emotional sense. The fight against the magi had taken a great deal out of her, perhaps even more than she had realized.

  “Of course, honored Archon,” said Rezir, annoyance flashing through his emotional sense. “I suggest we claim the gates first. The Citadel's teeth have been pulled, thanks to the might of your sorcery. Once we have the gates, we can starve out the Citadel at our leisure.”

  Kylon sensed Andromache's anger. “You speak wisely, my lord emir. We shall do as you suggest.”

  Rezir did not know that Andromache's goal lay within the Citadel. If she had been able to claim the Tomb of Scorikhon without help, Kylon had no doubt that she would abandon Rezir to his fate.

  Or perhaps Rezir had figured that out.

  “How do you suggest we proceed?” said Kleistheon.

  “A frontal assault,” said Rezir, “with our full strength.”

  Kleistheon's frown deepened. “We will lose many men. Men we may need to take and hold the gates.”

  “True,” said Rezir, “but we have advantages. Normally, the only way to dig an Imperial Legion out of its fortifications is to surround it and starve it out. But we have your powers, my lord stormdancers. Since the honored Archon disposed of the magi,” he inclined his head in Andromache's direction, “the Legionaries have no defense against your sorcery.”

  “So you will have Kleistheon and I lead the assault,” said Kylon, “and strike into the chaos we create.”

  Rezir nodded. “You see correctly. Once you have wrought enough havoc in the enemy lines, I shall personally lead my Immortals to storm the fortifications. They are my finest troops, and backed by your ashtairoi, we will drive the Legion out of the Plaza.”

  Kylon glanced at Andromache.

  She nodded. “Let it be done. The sooner we claim the Plaza for ourselves, the better.”

  “And if you could lend your spells to our assault, honored Archon,” said Rezir, “that might make all the difference.” He lifted one black eyebrow. “Unless, of course, you need to rest?”

  Even without his ability to sense emotions, Kylon would have caught the faint challenge in Rezir's tone.

  “I am quite well,” said Andromache, “as you shall soon see firsthand, my lord emir. As shall the Legionaries.”

  “Good,” said Rezir. “Let us begin.”

  Kylon nodded, drew his sword, and walked into the Plaza of the Tower, toward the Legion's improvised fortification. Kleistheon walked at his side, face stern and impassive.

  Every eye in the Legion fortifications stared at them.

  Kylon drew on his power, his senses washing over the Legionaries. He felt their fear, their rage, their steely determination. He also felt their puzzlement. Why would only two men approach the earthworks?

  The fear grew as they drew closer, as the survivors from the battles at the docks recognized the stormdancers.

  Kylon took a deep breath and lifted his sword. This was what he preferred. Not the subtleties of politics and insults that surrounded the Assembly of New Kyre, or that swirled between Andromache and Rezir. This was a simple fight, steel against steel.

  Andromache directed him to fight her enemies, and he would strike them down.

  That was as it should be.

  “Javelins!” roared one of the centurions. “Javelins, now! Before they get any closer!”

  The men standing atop the improvised walls reached for their javelins.

  Kylon drew on his power, let the raging force of wind and water sorcery fill him, and felt Kleistheon do the same. Freezing white mist swirled around his sword, and crackling fingers of lightning sheathed Kleistheon's weapon.

  The Legionaries drew back their arms to fling their javelins.

  And Kylon moved.

  He shot forward, the sorcery of wind giving him the speed of a gale, and jumped. His leap carried him over the earthwork walls, over the wooden stakes, over the helmeted heads of the Legionaries. He landed behind them, his boots gripping the improvised ramparts.

  The Legionaries whirled to face him, and the killing began.

  Kylon struck before the Legionaries could draw their swords, the sorcery of water lending his arms the strength of a tidal wave. His sword cracked through armor, and two Legionaries fell dead, no blood leaking from their frozen wounds. One of the Legionaries recovered enough to thrust his javelin at Kylon. He sidestepped, his spell-forged blade cutting the javelin's shaft in half, and drove his blade through the Legionary's face. A centurion bellowed commands, forming his men into a defensive square, and Kylon shot forward, his sword splitting the centurion's helmet and the skull beneath it.

  He tore his way down the rampart, killing right and left. The Legionaries did their best to fight him, coming at him with sword and javelin, and they failed. Kylon cut down Legionary after Legionary, his sword trailing glittering droplets of frozen blood. When they closed around him, Kylon cut his way through them, or drew on the sorcery of air and jumped over their heads to land behind them. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, the blood rushing through his veins. This was how it should be. A simple struggle. No lies, no games, no shadowy machinations.

  No doubts.

  Further down the rampart he saw Kleistheon driving back the Legionaries. The older stormdancer, Kylon had to admit, was a far more lethal fighter. A single touch from his sword sent arcs of lightning stabbing up and down the Legionaries' steel armor. The men then fell, stunned or even slain by the force of the lightning. The attack of the two stormdancers threw the Legionaries atop the ramparts into disarray, their formation shattered, even as the reserves behind the earthwork wall hastened into the fray.

  A blast of trumpets rang out, and a shout rose from the Avenue of Governors. Kylon saw a mass of black-armored Immortals charging across the Plaza, blue light glimmering in the eyes of their skull-masked helms. Rezir Shahan himself led the charge, scimitar raised over his head, mouth open in a battle cry. Kylon would have thought the emir valiant, save for the necromantic ring on his hand. None of the Legionaries had any weapons that could harm Rezir.

  It was hardly valiant for a man to face weapons that could not hurt him.

  Shouts rang out, and Legionaries surged toward the fortification's ga
tes, moving to intercept Rezir's charge. Kylon twisted, gutted another Legionary, and raced to the edge of the rampart. He summoned more power, until his skin crackled with the strength of it, a whirlwind of white mist swirling around his sword.

  Then he jumped from the rampart, sword angled down, aiming for the midst of the Legionaries.

  Their centurion looked up, but a half-second too late. Kylon's sword slammed down through the centurion's armored chest, erupting through his back, and turned the man's blood to ice. Kylon spun, wrenching his glittering sword free, and faced the other Legionaries. The soldiers of the Empire were trained to fight as a unit, as a relentless machine, but once their formation and their discipline were broken, they fought like any other men.