Ghost in the Storm (The Ghosts)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  “Then we had best get started,” said Hiram. “With your permission, my lord governor?”

  Corbould nodded. “Drive the enemy from the city, Lord Commander.”

  Ark walked to the earthwork ramparts, where Korbulus and Tarver waited for him.

  “Is the Nineteenth still ready to fight?” said Ark.

  “Aye,” said Tarver.

  “And the veterans?”

  “We're ready to make those foreign dogs regret they ever set foot in Marsis,” said Korbulus.

  Ark nodded. “Then let us take the city back.”

  Chapter 25 - The Fall of the Citadel

  Kylon readied himself for battle.

  The outer walls of the Citadel stood at least fifty feet high, dotted with protruding towers that could pour missile fire upon the broad ramp leading to the gates. Black Angel Tower rose out of the heart of the Citadel's central keep, a spire of darkness stabbing into the night sky.

  Here and there charred timbers dotted the walls, the remnants of the siege engines Andromache had destroyed.

  “Where did he go?” said Kylon, sword in his hand.

  “Fear not, brother,” said Andromache. “Sicarion's assistance would have been useful, but it is hardly necessary. We have power enough to force the gates of the Citadel.”

  Kylon nodded, though he was not reassured.

  From here, he saw most of the northern half of Marsis, along with the River Marentine and the western sea glittering in the moonlight to the south. Fighting raged in the plaza before the city's northern gate, illuminated by the fires burning atop the gatehouse’s towers. No doubt Rezir Shahan and Kleistheon led their troops against the gate. It would fall in short order – the ragged remnants of a single Legion could not stand against a stormdancer's power and five thousand ashtairoi.

  From the south Kylon also heard the sounds of fighting. Had the slaves in the Great Market revolted? It would serve that fool Rezir right if the slaves rebelled even as he seized the northern gate.

  The Kylon forced aside his distractions.

  Andromache walked toward the gates of the Citadel, massive slabs of oak bound in thick steel. She was going into battle, and she needed him to be her strong right hand. He would not fail her.

  And battle allowed him to ignore the unending doubts, at least for a little while.

  Andromache stopped before the gates, the wind making her crimson gown ripple. Kylon saw movement upon the battlements, men taking aim with crossbows.

  “Defenders of the Citadel!” said Andromache, her voice amplified by a simple spell. “I am Andromache, Archon of the Assembly of New Kyre, High Seat of House Kardamnos! Open your gates and surrender yourselves to me, and you may keep your lives.”

  The click of a dozen crossbows was her only answer.

  Andromache flung out her arms, her voice raised in thunderous song.

  A gale howled around the gates, picking up the crossbow bolts and flinging them into the city.

  “Kylon!” shouted Andromache. “Strike!”

  Kylon raced past Andromache and jumped, the power of a tidal wave filling his legs. He soared into the air, rising past the gates, and struck the wall twenty feet below the battlements. He kicked out, the motion flinging him higher, his sorcery enhancing his speed and strength.

  His free hand closed the battlements, and Kylon hauled himself onto the ramparts. A pair of Legionaries stood nearby, gaping at him in astonishment. Beyond he saw the Citadel's broad courtyard, a troop of Legionaries racing toward him, and the massive bulk of the Citadel's central keep.

  The Legionaries attacked Kylon, and he met their attack with the fury of the storm.

  ###

  Ark walked at the head of the Nineteenth and Korbulus’s veterans, the tramp of boots echoing over the Avenue of Champions. Around him marched centuries of the Twentieth and Twenty-first, spotted here and there with bands of auxiliary cavalry, lean men in leather with shaved heads and elaborate topknots. Lord Hiram had sent his auxiliary cavalry out as scouts, screening the side streets for any ambushes.

  The Kyracian ashtairoi had withdrawn from North Gate Plaza, reforming in the Plaza of the Tower.

  “Perhaps we can force them out,” said Hiram. “They know they cannot win, and their fleet awaits them in the harbor. If we apply enough force, they'll withdraw to their ships rather than stay and die.”

  “Unless the stormsinger and the remaining stormdancer take a hand,” said Ark.

  “Let them try,” said Corbould. “Hiram has twenty battle magi with him. No matter how powerful this Kyracian woman is, I doubt she can overcome twenty brothers of the Magisterium.”

  Ark glanced at the black-armored battle magi atop their horses, massive maces in their armored fists. Twenty battle magi were a formidable force. Yet he had seen what the stormsinger's power could do.

  He shared a look with Hiram. They were both were Ghosts, the enemies of the magi. But if the magi could hold their own against the stormsinger...

  A brilliant flash of lightning cut across the sky.

  Ark looked up in alarm, expecting lightning to rain down upon them. But the next bolt flashed against the Citadel’s walls, followed in quick succession by several more.

  The stormsinger was attacking the Citadel. Yet all the ashtairoi had retreated to the Plaza of the Tower.

  Which meant the stormsinger was attacking the Citadel by herself.

  “What the devil?” said Hiram. “Has the woman gone mad?” He looked at Corbould. “How many men are in the Citadel?”

  “No more than two hundred,” said Corbould, grimacing. “That stormsinger can overwhelm them easily.”

  “Then we should march to their aid at once!” said Hiram.

  “No,” said Corbould. “She might have the power to take the Citadel. But that will give us the time to drive the ashtairoi and the remaining Istarish from the city. And if she takes the Citadel, she cannot keep it. One woman, no matter how powerful her sorcery, cannot hold the fortress against an army and a group of battle magi. Let us use her folly to our advantage, and drive her troops from my city.”

  “As you will, Lord Governor,” said Hiram.

  Ark stared at Black Angel Tower. Why was the stormsinger attacking the Citadel? Her powers could have turned the tide at the northern gate, even driven Hiram's troops back out the city. Why hadn't she acted?

  Would taking the Citadel would give her an advantage?

  Ark wondered what it was.

  ###

  The Legionaries manning the ramparts charged Kylon, shields raised, swords drawn back to stab. No fear on their faces, strangely. Perhaps the elite centuries of the Nineteenth had been left to hold the Citadel. They had stayed at their posts, even amidst the chaos engulfing Marsis.

  But they were not prepared to face a foe like Kylon.

  He surged forward, charging with the speed of a hurricane. Frozen mist wreathed his sword, and he struck right and left, his blade punching through the Legionaries' armor to freeze the blood in their veins. Another soldier lunged at Kylon, attempting to bash with his shield. Kylon met the shield with his blade, and his sorcery-enhanced strength shattered the shield. A quick thrust killed the Legionary, and Kylon whirled to face the remaining soldiers.

  A lightning blast screamed out of the sky and exploded against the gates with such force that the wall itself trembled. The Legionaries struggled to keep their balance, and one fell with a scream. But the sorcery of air let Kylon maintain his balance, and he killed another two Legionaries before the men recovered.

  The remaining men retreated, fleeing down the stairs to the courtyard. Kylon turned, seeking new foes, even as Andromache sent another lightning blast against the gates.

  “Release!”

  Two score Legionaries stood in the courtyard below, all holding crossbows, all pointed at him. The soldiers squeezed their triggers and sent a storm of black bolts at him. Arcane power surged through Kylon, and he jumped from the ramparts and over the volley of quarrels.

 
Then he landed in the midst of the Legionaries, the sorcery of water driving his muscles. A Legionary managed to get his shield up in time to block Kylon's attack, and Kylon’s power rimed the shield in ice. The soldier staggered, and Kylon slew him with a single blow. The other Legionaries threw aside their crossbows and drew their swords, trying to arrange themselves in their customary battle lines. On the battlefield, facing an opponent, the Legionaries' famed discipline made them a powerful force. Here, facing a man who wielded the sorcery of wind and water, they were like rabbits trying to defeat a wolf.

  Another lightning blast struck the gate, and its massive timbers splintered into twisted shards. A massive gust of wind howled through the courtyard, throwing open the ruined gates. Andromache strode into the Citadel, heedless of the wind, and lifted her hands. Arcs of lightning erupted from her fingers and ripped into the Legionaries. The lightning curled to avoid Kylon, but wrapped around the Legionaries and threw them to the ground, screaming as their skin smoked beneath their armor.

  A moment later the surviving Legionaries fled for the dubious safety of the central keep. Kylon started to pursue, the white mist swirling around his sword.

  “Hold,” said Andromache.

  Kylon stopped, looked back at her.

  “There's no need to kill them all,” said Andromache. “They will not trouble us again.”

  “Will we not have to fight out way past them to reach the Tomb?” said Kylon.

  A cold smile flickered over Andromache's face. “No. The Moroaica told me where the Tomb lies. This way.”

  She led Kylon to the side of the keep, to the base of one of the massive towers. A narrow iron door rested in the tower's foundation. Even from a distance, Kylon felt the presence of a powerful ward over the door.

  “This tower,” said Andromache, gesturing as she summoned power for a spell, “is the oldest of the Citadel. Other than Black Angel Tower itself. The Red Circle raised this tower and the foundations of the Citadel, ruling with necromancy and terror until our ancestors exterminated them. It is here that Scorikhon was entombed.”

  She gestured, her spell shattering the ward, and the iron door swung open with a groan. Within Kylon saw a set of spiral stairs descending into the earth.

  “And it is here,” said Andromache, “that we shall claim the power of Scorikhon. Come, brother.”

  Kylon nodded. Here was the end of his sister's quest. And here he would discover if all this fighting, all this death, had been worth it.

  He followed his sister into the darkness.

  ###

  The Legions marched into the Great Market.

  The Kyracians had abandoned the Plaza of the Tower without a fight, withdrawing back to their waiting fleet in the harbor. For a dreadful moment Ark had been sure that the Kyracians would take Nicolai with them. The Istarish had headed huge numbers of captives into the Great Market. Perhaps the ashtairoi would help themselves to the spoils.

  But as the remnants of the Nineteenth marched into the Market and the cheers rang out, Ark saw that he had been mistaken.

  Tens of thousands of people packed the Market. Mostly women and children, many of them bound with ropes. But they all cheered as the Legions poured into the Market. Lord Corbould raised his standard into the center of the Market and took command.

  “If the Kyracians want to go, let them,” said Corbould. “It won't be worth the blood it would take to fight them, and we don't have the men to spare, besides. Start getting the captives organized and returned to their homes. If they stay packed into the Market too much longer, we'll have plagues breaking out. Which reminds me, detail some men to clean up the corpses before they putrefy. Also, dispatch some cohorts to hunt down the remaining Istarish troops. If they surrender, take them prisoner. If not, kill them all. And I'll pay a thousand gold coins for that bastard Rezir's head.”

  “You may not need to, my lord,” said one of the scouts. “All the captives are telling the same story. They're saying the Balarigar slew Rezir Shahan and flung his head into the crowd.”

  Ark felt his eyes widen, and he saw Hiram's surprise. They were both Ghosts, and they both knew who the “Balarigar” really was.

  Was Caina still alive? Did that mean Nicolai was safe?

  “Balarigar?” said Corbould. “That's a Szaldic word, isn't it? Means 'demonslayer' or some such. Who is that?”

  “It's a Szaldic story, Lord Governor,” said Ark. “An avenger, one who hunts wicked sorcerers and demons from the netherworld.”

  It was an accurate enough description of Caina, even if she hated it when the Szalds called her “Balarigar.”

  “If some fellow in a cloak killed Rezir,” said Corbould, “he can call himself whatever he wants. It's one less problem for me to deal with. Now...”

  The stream of orders continued. Yet Ark only listened with half an ear. If Caina was still alive, that meant Nicolai might be safe.

  But where were they?

  ###

  The stairs ended in a large round vault, the ceiling supported by thick stone pillars.

  Andromache lifted her hand and a shimmering ball of silver light danced above her palm. The light threw back the darkness, revealing the details of the vault, the massive rough stones, the dust upon the floor.

  And the ornate bronze doors on the far side of the chamber.

  Twenty feet high and ten wide, elaborate, intricate symbols marked the doors. Hieroglyphs, Kylon realized, the writing of the ancient Maatish Great Necromancers and the Red Circle. Strange, stylized inscriptions upon the doors showed men in elaborate robes and ornate headdresses carrying skull-topped staffs.

  “At last,” said Andromache. “The Tomb of Scorikhon.”

  “And I can see,” said Kylon, remembering what Tolius had told them in his final moments, “why the magi could never get inside.”

  He felt the raw power of the wards sealing the bronze doors. Had he focused upon it, he suspected the sheer power would have overwhelmed his senses. No magus of the Magisterium could possibly break these wards.

  “Can you get through it?” said Kylon.

  “Yes,” said Andromache. “The Moroaica could have lifted the wards with ease. But she showed me how to unravel them. You must guard me, brother, while I work the necessary spells.”

  Kylon nodded, and Andromache began to work her spells. He gazed at the bronze door, at the robed men with their skull-crowned staffs. Something about the warding spells made his skin crawl. They had been cast by a necromancer of great power, and Andromache had admitted the Moroaica wielded necromancy.

  He doubted that anything good waited behind those doors.

  But soon he would find out one way or another.

  Chapter 26 - Dead Men

  Lightning flashed overhead as Caina hurried through the darkened streets, making her way toward the Citadel.

  Bands of Istarish soldiers ran in every direction, grabbing whatever valuable objects they could carry. As she drew closer to the Plaza of the Tower, she saw the ashtairoi retreating down the Avenue of Governors in good order. No doubt Kylon or Kleistheon had kept the ashtairoi in formation, but with Rezir Shahan dead, it was doubtful the Istarish would recover.

  Caina permitted herself a grim smile. She had killed many people in her time as a Ghost, and their deaths sometimes weighed upon her conscience. But she doubted Rezir Shahan’s death would ever trouble her.

  Too many Kyracian and Istarish soldiers filled the Plaza of the Tower, so Caina circled through the side streets, ducking into doorways and behind barrels when groups of soldiers hurried past, and made her way to Foundry Square.

  Someone had taken the trouble to fortify the massive foundry that dominated the Square, and a maze of barricades filled the Square itself. Caina saw women and old men standing atop the foundry's roof, crossbows in hand. They didn't see her, of course, not with her shadow-cloak. She wondered who had been clever enough to organize the foundry's defense. One of the veterans, perhaps.

  She slipped past Foundry Square, arri
ved at the massive stone ramp that led to the Citadel’s gates, and turned her mind to a more important puzzle.

  Namely, how to kill Andromache.

  Caina had killed sorcerers of power before – Maglarion, Kalastus, Jadriga. Yet those had been very close fights, and Caina had only been able to prevail by exploiting the errors of her enemies. Directly confronting a sorceress of Andromache's power was madness.

  So. An indirect approach. An ambush, an assassination. Caina's belt held a flask of poison she had taken from Halfdan's safehouse, along with the remaining flask of Radast’s explosive elixir. With the poison, she could coat the head of a crossbow bolt and send it into Andromache. Andromache's storm sorcery let her deflect crossbow bolts with ease, but Caina had the shadow-cloak. With it, she could catch Andromache unawares, and shoot her in the back before the stormsinger raised any defense.

  Kylon would stop her, if given the chance, and would come after Caina if she killed Andromache.

  That was a risk she would just have to take.

  She rounded a corner and stopped.

  A broad paved area, not quite large enough to be a proper plaza, rested at the base of the Citadel's ramp. Lord Hiram had told her the Legions sometimes drilled here. Now the area was deserted, save for a dozen dark figures standing at the base of the ramp.

  Sicarion and his mercenaries.

  Sicarion stepped toward her, drawing back his hood. Another lightning bolt flashed overhead, throwing stark shadows across his scarred face.

  “Mistress,” said Sicarion with a polite bow. “I'm glad you could join us. Thank you for taking off your shadow-cloak, by the way. It was not easy to find you.”

  “How's your new hand?” said Caina, looking back and forth. Three streets branched away from the base of the ramp, though they all headed toward the Avenue of Champions. If she started running now...