Kylon sprinted forward and leaped, the sorcery of water fueling his jump and giving him extra strength. He soared forward and landed before an Immortal, all his strength and momentum behind the valikon’s blade. The sword crunched through the Immortal’s neck, and the warrior fell with a gurgling grunt, blood leaking through the skull-mask.
Kylon had just wrenched the sword free when a second Immortal attacked him, wielding one of the chain whips that the Immortals employed in battle with such deadly skill. Kylon ducked under the first sweep of the chain, the heavy links whooshing over his head. Had it struck him, it likely would have coiled around his neck with enough force to rip his head from his shoulders. He ducked again under a second swing, and as he did, he snatched the slain Immortal’s scimitar with his left hand, the blade light and well-balanced in his grasp.
On the third lash of the whip, he blocked with the scimitar. The lash coiled around the weapon and ripped it from his grasp, yet its weight stole the whip’s momentum. The Immortal started to draw back his arm for another strike, but Kylon was already moving. The valikon took off the Immortal’s hand at the wrist, and as the warrior recoiled in pain, Kylon killed him.
A third Immortal came at him, only for a javelin to slam into the back of his calf. Kylon glimpsed Laertes in his saddle, the veteran Legionary reaching for another of his javelins. As the Immortal fought to regain his balance, Kylon cut him down, and the nodded his thanks to Laertes as he sought another enemy.
He turned towards another Immortal, but Nasser struck first. Nasser swung his crystal fist like a mace. The strike half-crushed the Immortal’s helm, and the warrior collapsed with a clatter of armor.
Kylon raised his sword in guard, but he realized that the fighting was over. The Istarish nomads had cut down the rest of the soldiers and the Immortals and had already dismounted to loot the slain of any valuables. He let out a long breath, rolled his shoulders, and started cleaning the blood from the valikon’s blade. It had been a short, sharp fight, but one they had won.
Harder fighting awaited them at the walls of Istarinmul.
“A good fight,” announced Tibraim, helping himself to a dead soldier’s money pouch. “They ought to have given up. They were too tired to fight.”
“I think this lot might have been part of Erghulan’s personal retinue,” said Laertes, retrieving his javelin from the slain Immortals. “Decided to fight to the bitter end, the idiots.”
“Whatever the reason,” said Nasser, “they are twenty fewer men we shall have to fight atop the walls of Istarinmul. Headman, I suggest we return to the army. They will soon begin constructing the siege camp, and the Prince and the emir shall need to hear the news we bring.”
Kylon looked at the distant walls of Istarinmul, visible through the haze of the hot afternoon. Even from here, he saw that the gates were closed. He could also see the shape of soldiers moving along the walls and the angular outlines of siege engines upon the towers. Those siege engines could fling amphorae of Hellfire, and Kylon had seen many times the kind of devastation that Hellfire unleashed.
Istarinmul, he knew, had been defeated in many wars, but the city itself had never fallen to a siege. The city was too well-positioned, surrounded by the sea on three sides, and its walls were too strong. Hellfire made for a powerful defensive weapon. Centuries ago, the fleet of New Kyre had tried to attack Istarinmul, and the Alchemists had burned most of the ships with Hellfire, crippling Kyracian power for a generation. One of Kylon’s ancestors had burned in that battle.
Tanzir’s rebel army might have defeated the Grand Wazir, but actually taking Istarinmul would be another matter entirely.
Kylon reclaimed his horse and joined the others as they rode south to rejoin the host of Tanzir Shahan.
###
The rebel army camped out of catapult range of the walls and laid siege to the city of Istarinmul as night fell.
Kylon supposed they weren’t rebels, not really. They were the army of Kutal Sulaman Tarshahzon, the rightful heir to the throne of the Padishah Nahas Tarshahzon. The Padishah had disappeared years ago, and likely Callatas or Erghulan had murdered him at some point. As the Padishah’s sole surviving son, Sulaman was the rightful heir to the throne of Istarinmul. Kylon did not know the man well, but Caina trusted him, and from what Kylon had seen, Sulaman would make a better ruler for the city than Erghulan.
Though any man plucked from the street at random would likely make a better ruler than Erghulan Amirasku.
At the thought of Caina, his hand drifted to his belt, to the pouch holding the four vials of Elixir Restorata she had given him. Kylon had not needed them. Or, more to the point, he had not needed them himself. Kylon was not sure if keeping them had been the right thing to do. There had been hundreds of wounded men after the battle, many of them mortally wounded, and Kylon had considered simply walking into the hospital tents and giving the vials to the first four mortally wounded men he saw.
The knowledge that he might one day need a vial of Elixir Restorata to save Caina’s life stayed his hand.
He wondered what Caina would have done. She alternated between calculated coldness and stunning generosity, or sometimes calculated generosity, given her knack for making allies. Certainly, the Ghosts of the Istarinmul circle that Kylon had met were devoted in their loyalty to Caina.
Gods, but he missed her.
He wondered if she was even still alive. The Emissary said so, but Kylon knew better than to trust the word of seers and oracles.
He had learned that the hard way.
Wrapped in his dark thoughts, he rode with Nasser and Laertes and Tibraim and the others into the heart of the camp. Men raised tents, started campfires, and tended to horses, the familiar smells of sweat and smoke and horse dung filling his nostrils. The catapults and other siege engines remained loaded in their carts. The army had captured several of Erghulan’s siege engines, along with large supplies of Hellfire, and most of Erghulan’s surviving siege engineers had changed sides, so they had men who knew how to use and assemble the catapults.
They reached the center of the camp. The commanders of the army had gathered there, clustered around Tanzir Shahan, a stout and bearded and worried-looking emir. Evidently, Tanzir had met Caina years ago at Malarae, and after surviving the experience he had become assertive enough to lead an army. Next to the emir stood Prince Kutal Sulaman Tarshahzon, tall and thin and ascetic-looking despite his armor. Mazyan, the Prince’s Oath Shadow and bodyguard, stood scowling behind his master, and Kylon felt the fiery presence of the djinni bound within Mazyan’s flesh, the spirit that gave him superhuman power and strength.
The others stood in a loose ring around the Prince and the emir. Kylon saw the headman Strabane of Drynemet, a hulking man with the battle-scarred look of a former gladiator. There was the Anshani archer Kazravid, and the captains of the mercenary companies. Lord Martin Dorius and the Imperial Guard centurion Tylas stood together, both wearing the black armor of the Imperial Guard. Lord Martin’s wife Claudia stood next to him, her blond hair bound back in a braid, her green eyes tired and bloodshot. She wore chain mail and a leather jerkin over her travel-stained dress, mostly at her husband’s insistence. Kylon wished she could have been elsewhere. On the day that Cassander had tried to destroy Istarinmul, Claudia had given birth to her first child. She ought to have been resting peacefully, but Callatas’s seizure of the relics had forced her and Martin and the Imperial embassy to flee the city for Tanzir’s army.
Perhaps it was just as well. Her warding and banishment spells had saved Kylon’s life outside of the Lord Ambassador’s mansion, and far worse things that could have befallen her and her family if they had remained in the city.
Many of the commanders greeted Nasser as he approached, which amused Kylon. Several had been Nasser’s partners on various theft-related enterprises over the years, and quite a few of his former associates had turned up with positions of authority in the rebel army. Kylon wondered just how far in advance the former Prince
of Iramis had planned this rebellion with Sulaman, and how much had been improvised.
After Caina had shown up and brought chaos to the Brotherhood of Slavers and the Umbarians, there had probably been quite a bit more improvising.
To Kylon’s mild surprise, the commanders greeted him with enthusiasm as well. Then again, they had seen him kill the nagataaru-possessed Rhataban in single combat. Evidently, the late Master Alchemist had possessed a fearsome reputation.
At the other end of the ring, a little away from the others, the Emissary of the Living Flame leaned upon her cane, flanked by a pair of monks in flame-colored robes. She looked like an unremarkable Istarish woman of middle years, her black hair going to gray, but her black eyes met Kylon’s, and he felt the power within them. The Istarish revered her as the Emissary of the Living Flame, the voice of the Living Flame’s will in the world, but Kylon met her gaze without blinking. She had promised to aid him, though he did not trust oracles.
“My lords,” said Prince Sulaman as grooms led away the horses. “We have arrived. Istarinmul lies before us. We must decide how best to take the city with the least loss of life to its people.”
“I do not think it is feasible to storm the walls in a direct assault,” said Tanzir. “At least not at the moment.”
“I doubt more than three or four thousand of Erghulan’s dogs escaped to the city,” said Kazravid. Over his armor, he wore the patterned red and black robes of an Anshani anjar, a minor nobleman of the Shahenshah’s domain. “If we strike hard and at once, we might overwhelm the defense and storm into the city.”
“We might not,” said Strabane. “They have Hellfire engines upon the walls, and the engineers have the leisure to range their shots properly. Even the Immortals broke under the storm of Hellfire at the battle. Could you expect normal men to do otherwise?”
“My lords,” said Nasser, “it may not be necessary to assault the city at all.”
They all looked at him.
“How so?” said Tanzir.
“Consider,” said Nasser. “Erghulan’s standing was already damaged when Cassander Nilas and the Umbarians betrayed him and tried to destroy the city. Now he has been decisively defeated, and a lord who loses a battle rarely keeps his hold upon power for long. It is entirely possible that Erghulan realizes that he is finished, especially since Grand Master Callatas has vanished.”
Strabane snorted. “Is Erghulan smart enough to realize that?”
“No one will say the Grand Wazir has a subtle mind,” said Tanzir, “but his sense of self-preservation is quite well-honed. One cannot survive otherwise in the politics of Istarinmul.”
“Then you wish to leave him an escape route,” said Lord Martin.
“You see keenly,” said Nasser. “My lords, we all know that our real enemy is Grand Master Callatas, who has departed the city on some task for his insane Apotheosis. Erghulan is but his servant, however much he might believe otherwise. If we give him a chance to flee, he shall likely take it. Mercy would serve us better than vengefulness here, I think. Let Erghulan and his supporters flee, and permit any of the common soldiers who wish to surrender to do so. That way we can take Istarinmul with a minimum of death on all sides,” he glanced at Kylon, “and if Grand Master Callatas returns from his errand, he shall find an Istarinmul unified against him with his work undone and his wraithblood laboratories destroyed. That would be a heavy stroke against his work.”
Kylon said nothing. If Grand Master Callatas returned…that meant that Caina was dead. Either Callatas had killed her, or the Red Huntress had done so. Again Kylon felt the overwhelming regret that he had not accompanied her to Pyramid Isle, that he had not insisted he go with her to face Callatas. At the time, her logic had made perfect sense, but her damned logic always made sense, even when it was wrong.
He should have gone with her.
On the other hand, if he had gone with her, it was likely everyone around him would have died in the battle.
He still wished he had gone with her.
Kylon felt the Emissary’s eyes upon him, and he kept himself from grimacing. She had called him the man defined by the women he had lost, and that had more truth to it than he liked. He did not want to consider losing Caina. They hadn’t even had all that much time together. If Callatas or Kalgri killed her…
He shoved aside the thoughts, forcing himself to pay attention. There were far greater problems in the world than the woes of one exiled Kyracian nobleman, though he knew none of those problems mattered to him as much as Caina’s life.
“This counsel seems good to me,” said Sulaman, which more or less ended the discussion. “At the very least, we risk nothing by attempting it. Erghulan is alone and without support, and the longer the siege draws on the further his prestige falls. Letting him flee into exile seems the wisest course. If it fails, we can always assault the city later.”
“Lord Prince.”
The Emissary’s voice was soft, but it commanded instant attention. Most of the nobles and commoners and slaves of Istarinmul held her in respect and those who did not respect her knew better than to question her authority in front of the devout.
“Yes, Emissary?” said Sulaman.
“Your plan is sound,” said the Emissary, “and normally it would grant victory, but something has changed.”
“What has changed?” said Sulaman.
“Callatas returned to the city this day,” said the Emissary.
Kylon stared at her, something clenching in his gut. If Callatas had returned to the city…that almost certainly meant that Caina was dead. It almost certainly meant that Callatas had killed her, taken the Staff and the Seal, and escaped the undead grasp of Kharnaces.
He felt Claudia staring at him and sensed her sudden concern. Out of everyone here, she knew him the best, had known him before Thalastre had been killed and he had been banished from New Kyre.
She understood what this meant.
“Then we may assume,” said Sulaman, “that Callatas is beginning the final spells of the Apotheosis?”
“He is,” said the Emissary. “At this very moment. He has several days of work before him. Yet the Apotheosis is coming, and our time is almost out.”
“Then that settles the matter,” said Kazravid. “We have to assault the city at once and stop him before he can finish that spell. If he does, that madman will kill us all.”
“But Callatas’s return will stiffen Erghulan’s spine,” said Martin. “He won’t dare flee with Callatas’s eye upon him…and it might give him new resolve. If he believes that Callatas is about to wave his hand and sweep all his enemies away, he won’t stop fighting.”
“No,” said Sulaman, his voice grim. “But Strabane is also correct.” His eyes grew distant, and Kylon felt the faint surge of arcane force as Sulaman used his peculiar ability to see into the future. “If we attack the wall with a full assault, many thousands shall die. Men from our army, men among the defenders…and men, women, and children among the people of Istarinmul when errant amphorae of Hellfire land among the slums of the Anshani Quarter. And our attack may well fail.”
“Yet we must break into the city and stop the Apotheosis,” said Martin. “My lords and emirs and captains, you have all seen the evil that Callatas has authored within Istarinmul. The Apotheosis will surpass all his previous crimes. It is up to us to stop him…even if the cost is appalling.”
Silence answered him. Kylon said nothing, part of his mind wrestling with the problem.
The rest of his mind wondered what had happened to Caina.
“Lord Martin is entirely correct,” said Nasser, “but I suggest we approach this problem from a different angle.”
“What do you mean?” said Tanzir.
“Perhaps we are confusing our goals and our methods,” said Nasser. “Our goal is to get the army inside of the city. Attacking the wall is simply one method of doing so…”
Tanzir nodded and scratched his thick beard. “And there are other methods.”
/> He leaned over and whispered in Sulaman’s ear.
“My lords and emirs, I beg your indulgence a moment,” said Sulaman. “I will confer with emir Tanzir, Lord Martin, Lady Claudia, Nasser Glasshand, and Lord Kylon for a moment.”
Kylon blinked. What did Sulaman want with him?
He adjusted the valikon in its sheath over his shoulder and followed Sulaman, Tanzir, Martin, Claudia, and Nasser into a nearby tent. The tent’s only furnishing was a long table supporting some maps of Istarinmul. Mazyan had not been invited, but the Oath Shadow planted himself before the flap of the tent, his perpetual scowl unwavering.
The Emissary had not been invited, either, but she came nonetheless.
“What is this about?” said Martin.
“It is simple, husband,” said Claudia. “We need to get into the city. We can either take the gate by storm…”
Martin nodded, understanding pulsing through his aura. “Or someone inside the city can open the gate for us.”
“But we have no one inside the city…” said Tanzir.
“The Ghost circle does,” said Kylon, understanding their plan.
“Yes,” said Sulaman. “I wish to speak of it among ourselves, among only those of us who know Caina Amalas for who she is. She would not wish her secrets shared so readily.”
“She would not,” said Kylon.
“I fear it is too late for that,” said Nasser. “The bounty of two million bezants for the death of Caina Amalas, otherwise known as the Balarigar, has been posted for over a year. And by now half of Istarinmul claims they saw her challenge Cassander on the day he nearly destroyed the city.”
“That,” said Claudia, “is because she hired that army of circus performers to impersonate her.”
Tanzir blinked. “Circus performers? Against an Umbarian magus? Truly?”
“A long story,” said Nasser, “and one for another time.”
“How extensive is her Ghost circle?” said Sulaman.
Ghost in the Winds (Ghost Exile #9) Page 6
