Kylon said nothing, holding his power close, ignoring the rage and guilt the sight of her sent pulsing through him. Just a little closer…
“The man,” said the Huntress, “defined by the women he has failed.”
Kylon flinched before he could stop himself. The Emissary had said something almost identical, calling him a man defined by the women he had lost, his sister and his wife and his unborn daughter. To hear nearly the same description from the Huntress was jarring.
“Ah,” giggled the Huntress, purple fire kindling in her eyes. “Your essence laid bare before me at last. The man who considers himself a protector, and you are a failure. Who have you protected from me? You’ve failed to protect them all, and you will fail to protect Caina.” She giggled that shrill little giggle again. “Perhaps your sister and your wife and the Balarigar shall all be reunited in hell, and they shall bemoan that they loved you, a man too weak and too useless to save them.”
Kylon gritted his teeth, forcing back his rage. Her goading was transparently obvious, but it was working. He could not let his fury rule him, not against so dangerous an enemy. “Why waste your breath telling me this?”
“Why not?” said the Huntress. “This is the end, and I want you to know what you really are before I gorge myself on your death. You are a failure, and you’re going to fail one last time.”
“Then stop talking,” said Kylon, “and kill me.”
The Huntress laughed with delight and leaped, her wings propelling her forward, her blades reaching for him. Kylon had anticipated the attack, and he called on the sorcery of water, white mist sheathing the blade of his dagger. He flung the weapon, and the Huntress sneered, catching the dagger upon the armor of her upper left arm. The blade shattered from the overpowering cold sheathing the steel, but the white mist splashed over her arm and torso, and for just a moment the frost fused her arm to the side of her chest. She had been leading with her short sword, and for that instant, the sword was locked in the wrong position.
Kylon struck, throwing himself forward with all his strength, the valikon’s burning tip aimed for her throat.
The Huntress twisted like a serpent, and the thrust that should have opened her throat instead cut a smoking gash along her left shoulder. The valikon seemed to howl, the white fire pouring into the wound. She screamed in fury and pain, but her movements did not slow as she slashed with the sword of the nagataaru. Kylon ducked under the sweep of the sword, but by then she had freed her left arm, and the ghostsilver blade jabbed towards his face. He dodged to the side, but the blade raked across his left shoulder in a blaze of pain.
The impact knocked him back, and he landed on his side. The Huntress swung the sword of the nagataaru, and Kylon rolled, the sword slicing into the rooftop next to him. A normal sword would have become stuck. The sword of dark force did not slow at all, and the Huntress flicked her wrist, the blade snapping up. Kylon had almost gotten to his feet, but the blade of force clipped his right leg.
Had it struck him full-on, it would have sliced off his leg at mid-thigh. Even a glancing hit hurt worse than a normal sword, and Kylon snarled and threw himself away, smoke rising from the cut in his leg. The sorcery of water gave him the strength and stamina to get back to his feet, though his leg and shoulder throbbed with pain.
The Huntress glided after him. Kylon saw the charred wound that the valikon had left upon her shoulder, but it was already shrinking in the grip of her nagataaru’s power. The purple fire in her wings and eyes pulsed and flickered, but the mocking smile on her lips did not waver.
“Shall we go again?” murmured the Huntress. “How many more exchanges can you withstand, I wonder?”
She would heal in time from anything less than a fatal wound. He would not, and already the hits on his shoulder and leg made him less effective than he had been earlier. Kylon might have been able to withstand her attacks while at his full strength, but that strength was eroding from the strain of the fight.
The Huntress came at him again, purple fire and ghostsilver flashing in her hands.
Once again Kylon had no choice but to retreat, losing ground as she pushed him across the rooftop. This time, she changed her tactics, her blows designed to force him to parry with the bulk of the effort upon his left shoulder, or to force him to retreat so most of his weight went on his right leg. Pain shot through him every time he strained either his right leg or his left shoulder, and every one of those stabbing bursts of pain dragged at him, slowing him further. The Huntress’s relentless assault did not slow, the ghostsilver sword stabbing at him again and again, tying up his valikon long enough for the sword of the nagataaru to stab at him like a lance of shadowy fire.
Fail and fail again…
Kylon blocked another blow from the sword of dark force, his arms screaming with the strain. He had to kill the Huntress, and he had to come to Caina’s aid against Callatas. Caina had found a valikon from somewhere, but two valikons had a better chance of penetrating the Grand Master’s warding spells that just one.
But none of that would matter if the Huntress cut him down and went to kill Caina.
Kylon parried another strike from the dark sword, and the ghostsilver short sword jabbed into his right leg. He jerked back again, but not before the tip had bit into his flesh, the hot wetness of his own blood trickling down his leg and into his boot. The Huntress bared her teeth at him, and Kylon jumped back, landing at the edge of the roof. The shadow-cloak had fallen from her head while they fought, and he now sensed the nagataaru within her, ravenous and furious and alien. He also sensed her emotions, filled with cruel, malicious glee.
She was certain, utterly certain, that she was going to kill him.
If he stayed here, she was going to kill him.
His eyes swept back and forth, and fell upon a broken tower nearby, rising over the nearby rooftops. Beyond it he saw a jumble of collapsed stones and wrecked buildings. It was the ruins of the Crows’ Tower, once the headquarters of the city watchmen and the secret lair of the Teskilati, destroyed by Cassander Nilas’s spell to summon a horde of ifriti spirits.
Perhaps Kylon could use it as a more advantageous battlefield. Here, on these flat rooftops, the Huntress used her newfound ability of flight against him to full effect. In the wreckage of the Crows’ Tower, that ability would be negated, though he would still have to face her superhuman strength and speed.
That was all right. Kylon could meet that with his own superhuman strength and speed.
Kylon retreated, and at last turned and leaped from the edge of the house, drawing on all his power. The Huntress might have become stronger since Callatas had opened his gate and started the Apotheosis, but Kylon could also make himself stronger. He could draw on more of the sorcery of air and water than he could have done previously. Sorcery came from the netherworld, and more of that power was leaking into the material world.
It was power he could use in his own spells.
Else he would not have made the leap from the house to the damaged outer wall of the Crows’ Tower.
Once the leap would have been beyond his ability, and even with the additional power he barely made it. He caught the edge of the battlements and heaved himself over with a surge of water sorcery. Kylon flipped onto the ramparts, rock dust gritting beneath his boots, and looked around. Once the Crows’ Tower had been a massive fortress, five ominous drum towers joined in an inner ring, the towers surrounded by a high curtain wall. It had been the most feared fortress in Istarinmul, at least until Cassander Nilas had tried to destroy the city. His circle of fire had ripped through the curtain wall and three of the five drum towers. Their collapse had destroyed the other two towers, killing the leadership of both the watchmen and the Teskilati in one fell stroke. Now the fortress was a crumbled heap of debris, the wreckage of the curtain wall jutting from the earth like the skeletal fingers of an ancient corpse.
Kylon turned as the Red Huntress landed a few yards away on the ramparts, her immaterial wings rippling around
her.
###
The Voice howled inside of Kalgri’s skull.
It wanted her to kill Kylon. It also wanted her to turn and head to the Golden Palace as soon as possible. Caina had escaped from the Old Bazaar, and Caina would head to stop Callatas. Kalgri was not concerned. The Knight of Wind and Air might have power, but Kotuluk Iblis had greater power, and Caina had had her chance to kill Callatas on Pyramid Isle.
Caina had failed.
Barely, but she had failed, and Callatas would not let her have a second chance. Even with the power of the Knight of Wind and Air, there was no way she could defeat the Grand Master.
Kalgri only hoped that Caina would still be alive after she had dealt with Kylon. She wanted to watch the cold mask of her face shatter with grief and despair.
Kylon took several steps back, the white-burning valikon in his hands. The wound he had given her had mostly healed, but she still felt the ache from that damned valikon. She looked forward to throwing the wretched thing into the sea once she had killed him.
His plans were obvious enough. He knew that Kalgri’s stamina would outlast his, and so he had lured her here, hoping to surprise and ambush her in the ruins. The plan would fail for one simple reason.
She drew back the cowl of her shadow-cloak, and the Voice’s senses flooded through her once more. Kalgri could sense Kylon’s life force, could sense his rage and growing weariness. Even with her eyes closed, she could sense him and follow him anywhere. Of course, he could sense her coming as well, but since he couldn’t escape her, that didn’t matter.
How she had been looking forward to this!
“Why don’t you lie down, Kylon?” she crooned. “I’ll kill you quickly.” That was a lie, but she enjoyed taunting him, and she would enjoy talking as she carved him to pieces.
“Come here and make me,” he said, his voice hard as the valikon’s blade.
“With the greatest of pleasure,” said Kalgri, and she charged forward, the Voice’s hunger driving her with the speed of an arrow.
Again they met, blades flying. Kalgri led with her ghostsilver short sword, using it to launch a flurry of rapid thrusts and swings. Every attack forced Kylon to respond, his heavier valikon rising to deflect the blows. And as he did, that gave her the opportunity to hammer him with the sword of the nagataaru, the weightless blade of force blurring through the air with incredible speed.
Kylon tried. The stormdancer was one of the finest warriors she had ever encountered. He had defeated her at the Tower of Kardamnos, though he had been unable to save his wife, and she had avoided a direct confrontation ever since. Kalgri had been unsure that she could take him in a straight fight…but now, with the Voice’s enhanced power enslaved to her will, she was the stronger.
Bit by bit, she started to wear him down.
Her ghostsilver short sword scored two hits upon his right forearm, blood dripping down his hand.
The sword of dark force clipped his right hip, the right side of his chest, and she almost speared him through the throat, and only Kylon’s desperate last-minute dodge meant the sword raked across his shoulder instead of taking his head. He leaped back, hurtling towards the wrecked western drum tower, and landed atop its crown. Kalgri jumped after him, and Kylon turned, no doubt intending to spear her upon his sword.
Instead, she laughed at him, her wings rippling out behind her, and she circled the tower’s jagged crown like a vulture over a dying animal.
The image pleased her, and she laughed again.
“Are you ready to die?” she called.
“Then stop talking and do it!” said Kylon, his voice ragged with pain.
“Here we are atop a tower again,” said Kalgri in a sing-song voice. “Do you remember the last time? The Tower of Kardamnos. Do you remember how Thalastre shrieked when the child within her died?”
“I remember it all,” said Kylon. “Everything you did. Every life upon your bloody hands.”
“Oh, good,” said Kalgri. “Then you won’t be surprised when you join those lives. Or would you rather I keep you alive long enough to let Caina watch you die? Then you can die together! You can watch each other bleed to death!” She giggled at the thought. It would be marvelous, though she had to admit it was not practical.
“If you keep talking,” said Kylon, turning to keep her in sight, “we shall all die of old age first.”
“No,” said Kalgri. “No one will ever die of old age again. You certainly will not. In fact, you’re going to…”
She dove in mid-sentence, giving no indication, no warning of her attack. It almost worked. At the last minute, Kylon twisted, his valikon rising to deflect her attack. Kalgri hammered against the sword with her ghostsilver blade, and the momentum from her dive knocked him back. Before he recovered, she hit him with the sword of dark force. Kylon twisted, and instead of gutting him, the sword cut a smoking groove down his right leg.
He retreated, using what space remained on the ruined tower to good effect, but she saw his leg trembling beneath him as it tried to support his weight. Kalgri attacked once more, forcing him to put more of his weight on his right leg. He anticipated her and shifted, his spell-driven speed letting him keep ahead of her, but she saw the strain and pain upon his face.
Then, at last, she had her opening.
Kylon tried to parry the sword of the nagataaru, and his leg buckled from the strain. He stumbled, almost losing his balance on the edge of the ruined tower, and only managed to keep himself from falling at the last instant. He recovered quickly, faster than nearly any other swordsman Kalgri had ever fought.
It was not enough to save him from her.
Kalgri drove the sword of the nagataaru through his stomach and out his back.
Kylon let out a strangled grunt, a sizzling sound accompanying the wound as it drilled into his flesh, and Kalgri ripped the sword free, making the wound larger. He stumbled, one foot coming down on the empty air, and fell from the edge of the ruined tower before Kalgri could finish him.
It was a thirty-foot drop to the heaped rubble below, and Kalgri heard bones snap as Kylon landed. She looked over the edge and saw him roll to the side, leaving blood upon the broken stones. He had fallen into the half-collapsed barracks chambers below the tower, where the Teskilati had once interrogated their luckless prisoners.
A fitting place for him to die.
Kalgri giggled, the Voice howling inside her skull in anticipation of the kill. The wound she had dealt him would be fatal in short order, and the fall would have injured him further. He would be too weak to fight back…and she could take her time killing him.
Oh, but she had been looking forward to this!
Kalgri stepped off the broken edge of the tower, the wings unfolding behind her as she glided to the ruined chambers below.
###
Agony filled Kylon, and he managed to pull himself to a sitting position against a stone wall.
He was in a long hall, the roof ripped off by the destruction of the Crows’ Tower. Once it had likely been a barracks or an armory, and he saw the racks of weapons against one wall.
Not that they did him any good.
His stomach and back burned with pain, the blood from the wound soaking his clothes. His right leg felt like a pillar of fire, and he could not make the leg move, even though he felt agony pouring through it. Every breath hurt, which meant he had likely broken a rib or three in the fall. He felt blood filling his mouth, and it was getting harder to breathe, which meant one of the ribs had punctured a lung.
The pain was horrendous. Only the sorcery of water gave him the strength to stay conscious, but it would not give him the power to stand.
Or even to fight.
Kylon had lost.
He still had the Elixir Restorata. But even if he drank it right now, he would pass out when it healed his injuries. The Huntress need only wait until the silver fire faded and he collapsed into unconsciousness, then she could stroll over and cut off his head.
It w
as over, and he had lost.
It seemed the Red Huntress had been right. He had failed one last time.
Chapter 25: The Fate Of All Prey
Caina hurtled upwards, the wind lifting her at the command of Samnirdamnus’s power.
Unfortunately, Callatas was ready for her.
Shadows rippled and folded around the Grand Master, spreading around him in the shape of two great black wings. More shadows flowed around him, covering him in a halo of armor. It proved effective, as Caina threw five knives of smokeless flame at him in rapid succession, only for the shadows to drink the fire. Callatas turned as she rose to face him, and she saw the arcane power gather and twist around his hand as he pointed the Staff of Iramis at her.
Caina jerked to the side, avoiding a blast of transmuting fire by mere inches.
“That will not work,” said Samnirdamnus. “The shadow of Kotuluk Iblis is too strong. My power cannot reach him.”
“Then how am I supposed to kill him?” shouted Caina, swerving to the side to avoid another spell. She couldn’t hear herself over the howl of the wind as she hurtled through the air. Though given that Samnirdamnus was inside of her head, it didn’t matter.
“The valikon,” said Samnirdamnus. “The valikon is the only way. The blade was forged to destroy the nagataaru, and not even Kotuluk Iblis can withstand it. Deal Callatas a mortal wound with the valikon, and victory is ours.”
“Easier said than done,” said Caina, dodging around another spell.
“Regrettably, yes,” said Samnirdamnus.
“Fine,” said Caina, and she swooped in a half-circle, Istarinmul blurring below her, and shot towards Callatas, the valikon a torch of white fire in her hands. The Grand Master did not change course, and Caina drew back the sword, intending to drive it through his enspelled robes and into his black heart.
Ghost in the Winds (Ghost Exile #9) Page 32
