Demonbane (Book 4) (25 page)

Kendril lowered his smoking pistol. He stared at the bullet, his mouth open.

“You dare to defy me?” Indigoru sneered. “You dare to strike at a
goddess
?”

Kendril whipped back his cloak and reached for the handle of one of his swords.

Indigoru extended an arm and swatted her wrist, as if shooing away a fly.

Kendril hurtled backwards, struck by an invisible force. He slammed into the people lined behind him.

There was an outburst of screams and gasps from the crowd of theater-goers, as if a spell had been broken. There was a rush for the street.

“Captain,” Madris cried over the crazed shouts, “shoot her!
Now
!”

Potemkin whipped his carbine up to his shoulder and took aim. “Fire at will!” he thundered.

The other gendarmes lifted their own weapons, buffeted and tossed by the fleeing crowd.

Indigoru laughed. The chilling sound of her voice seemed to tear at the minds of everyone who heard it. She whipped out an arm, her open hand facing towards the gendarmes below her.

Potemkin fired.

The blast was followed by a dozen more scattered shots from the surrounding gendarmes.

More screams filled the night air. People ducked, frightened by the sound of gunfire and flashing carbines. The stench of gunpowder filled the air, mixing with the acrid smell of the burning theater.

Potemkin lowered his carbine, staring in total awe.

The bullets, a dozen or more, all hovered just a few feet away from the glowing form of Indigoru.

She lowered her harsh gaze on the Captain, then lifted a single finger.

The bullets all dropped to the ground, rolling down the steps.

“Eru help us,” Madris whispered.

Indigoru gave a cruel smile. “My turn.”

“Reload!” Potemkin commanded.

Indigoru lashed out her bare arms.

A wave of force exploded down the opera steps, kicking up a wave of snow and ice that fountained out into the street in thousands of cutting shards.

People went flying right and left, some smashing into the waiting carriage below, others cracking hard into the stone guard rails on either side of the steps.

Potemkin slammed hard into the ground. He slid through the ice and slush of the street, past two carriages and practically underneath the hooves of a panicked horse. He sat up, sputtering and coughing. Blood ran down his cheek from a shallow cut caused by a flying piece of ice.

Up on the steps, Indigoru pivoted around.

The people clustered around the doors of the opera house shrank back in terror. Some fled back into the smoke-filled foyer.

Potemkin reached for his carbine.

It was gone.

He grabbed for the sword at his belt.

“You will all serve me, or you will all
die
,” the goddess said in her strange echoing whisper.

The air was filled with the wails and sobbing of injured people.

Potemkin struggled up to his feet, almost falling as he rose.

Indigoru threw back her arms.

The crowd around the opera house doors cringed.

Kendril leapt forward, his sword in hand. He ran straight at the Seteru, and swung his weapon back to strike.

Indigoru thrust out an arm.

Kendril stopped mid-swing, rooted to the spot. He moved both hands up to his sword, trying to complete his swing.

It stayed where it was, wobbling ever so slightly and stuck in mid-air.

Indigoru smiled contemptuously, holding the Ghostwalker in place like a trapped bug. “
Fool
,” she hissed. “Don’t you know that I can kill you with a thought?”

Sweat broke out on Kendril’s face. His muscles strained as he pushed on his immobile sword. “You…
first
,” he gasped.

“You have spirit, mortal,” Indigoru sighed. “Perhaps I will keep you alive after all. As a plaything—”

“Kill him now, my goddess, quickly,” Bronwyn urged. Her face was still to the ground. “He is a Ghostwalker. He will not—”

“Kendril!” Joseph appeared, his throwing dagger in one hand and his rapier in the other.

Indigoru snapped her head towards the scout.

Joseph flicked the dagger forward through the air.

Indigoru bared her teeth, then flashed her hand from Kendril to Joseph.

Suddenly released, Kendril collapsed to the ground, panting and heaving.

Joseph’s dagger stopped in mid-air, slowing as if spun in lazy circles.

Joseph stared in disbelief.

Indigoru flicked her hand.

The dagger turned and shot back at Joseph, twice as fast as he had originally thrown it.

Tomas slammed into the stunned scout, and knocked them both to the ground.

The dagger whistled over their heads and slammed into the wall behind them with the force of a musket shot. The steel rang loudly as it chipped the stone face.

At the same moment Callen leapt forward and grabbed Kendril. He dragged the Ghostwalker back.

“Let me go,” snarled Kendril. “
For Eru’s sake
—”

Indigoru howled in rage and frustration. Her voice shrilled through the cold air, splitting into the skulls of all who heard it.

“Fire!” Potemkin shouted from the street below. He staggered forward, his sword glinting in the glow-globe lights that lit the street. “All gendarmes, fire at will!”

Indigoru turned back towards the street.

A dozen or so gendarmes rushed forward amidst the chaos and the screams of the injured people and readied their carbines.

Indigoru turned towards them, hovering a man’s height off the ground. She flung out both her arms.

The gendarmes flew backwards.

A carriage tipped back, spinning end over end as it hurtled through the air. It slammed into the building on the other side of the small plaza, taking out three windows as it plowed through the wood façade.

Indigoru floated down the steps, now completely swept clean of snow and ice. She flung her arms out right and left, laughing as she went.

Explosions of force snapped out with each lash of her arms. Horses flew back, carriages overturned, people flew through the air like tossed ragdolls.

Explosions of slushy snow tore up in huge geysers from the street, pattering down as icy rain on the injured and dead alike.

Screams and terrified shouts filled the air, mixed discordantly with the ceaseless, maddening sound of the goddess’ laughter.

Seconds stretched into eternity. Then, at long last, the quiet returned, broken only by the wails and cries of wounded people and horses.

Kendril pushed Callen off him and rushed to the head of the steps.

Below him was a scene of utter caranage. Bodies lay strewn in all directions, some moving, others lying still in death. The broken remains of a score of carriages lay littered over the wet snow of the street.

Behind him, the opera theater was fully ablaze. Flames licked out of the windows. Some poured out of the front doors like a furnace.

Indigoru was gone. The glowing goddess had vanished somewhere out of sight down the street, leaving death and destruction in her wake.

Joseph came up to Kendril. “That—that was—”

“A Seteru.” Kendril turned back, wiping some blood away from his lip. “And now she’s loose in Vorten.”

Olan came up to them, still supporting the wounded Hamis. He lowered the other Ghostwalker down against the side of the stone railing, then looked over at Kendril. “It’s begun. The Despair.”

Kendril looked back out at the chaos below. “I know.”

“This can’t be happening,” Joseph breathed. He looked out on the street in shock. “Did you see the power she had?” He turned back to the Ghostwalkers. “Nothing on Zanthora can do what she did.”

Tomas came over. He leaned against the side of the stairs and rubbed a hand against his face. “We can’t fight that. No one can fight that.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Olan snapped.

“We’ve failed,” Hamis muttered. “Everything we did…all of it was pointless.”

“The situation has changed.” Kendril pulled out a pistol and began the mechanical motions of reloading it. “We have to find Indigoru and destroy her.”

“
Destroy
her?” Callen gawked at the Ghostwalker. “You say that like we’re swatting a pesky fly. Did you
see
what she just did?”

“No,” said Kendril with dark sarcasm, “I must have missed it, Callen. Why don’t you tell me?”

“Enough,” Olan said. “We need to regroup. Where’s Madris?”

They all stopped.

Tomas nodded down the steps. “She was…was down there.”

Olan’s face flickered for just a moment, then hardened again. “Then we need to find her. Tomas, start searching.”

Callen stepped forward. “I’ll go, too.”

Olan shook his head. “No. You need to start treating the wounded. There are a lot of them. Start with the gendarmes.”

Callen raised his eyebrows. “Why? There are women down there, and elderly—”

“Because,” Kendril broke in roughly, “we’re going to need fighting men. We should have mobilized the city’s Trained Bands.”

Olan shook his head. “That wasn’t our call to make, Kendril. The Lord Mayor—”

“The Lord Mayor is a moron,” Kendril spat. “And if we let him keep making the calls in this city we won’t have a city left to defend.” He looked around at his fellow Ghostwalkers. “This is it. The beginning of the Fourth Despair.”

Olan frowned heavily. “Tuldor’s beard, we can’t just take over the city, Kendril. We need to work with the local officials, get them on our side—”

“Every second we stand around debating is one less Vorten has,” Kendril shot back. “Our enemy is here. The battle for Vorten has begun already. Every decision we make right here and right now will affect the history of all of Zanthora. The Seteru
cannot
be allowed get a foothold in this city.” He looked down again at the carnage of the street. “We have to find Indigoru and destroy her, whatever the cost.”

“Kara,” Joseph said suddenly. “And Maklavir.” He looked back at the blazing shape of the opera house. “They…they’re both still inside. We have to—”

Tomas shook his head sadly. “Sorry, mate. No one’s coming out of there. Not alive, anyway.”

Kendril took the distraught Joseph by the arm. “They might have made it out,” he said in a low voice. “Slipped by us while we were fighting with that assassin.”

Joseph gave the opera house one last long look. “Maybe,” he said doubtfully. He looked down at the ground dejectedly. “Tomas is right, though. If they haven’t made it out already, they aren’t going to.”

Hamis groaned, and climbed unsteadily to his feet. “I’m through sitting around,” he said. “There’s work to be done, and I won’t be left behind.”

Joseph nodded. “I’ll go with Callen, help with the wounded and keep a weather eye out for Kara and Maklavir, if by some miracle they made it out of the opera house alive.”

Kendril turned bleary eyes back towards the smoking opera house. “We need a plan.”

“Right now, the plan is to regroup.” Olan stepped over to the stairs and glanced out at the scene below. “We can’t do anything until then.”

“We can’t take forever, Olan,” Kendril warned. “We need to take the attack to the enemy, track Indigoru down, confront her
now
—”

“Perhaps I should remind you, Kendril,” Olan responded venomously, “that this is now a military situation. That means
I’m
in charge here.”

Kendril smirked. “I think we’ve already had this conversation, haven’t we?”

Olan moved his face close to Kendril’s. “Either take orders or get out of my way, Ghostwalker. I don’t have time for a loose cannon like you right now. The fate of Zanthora is hanging in the balance here.”

“Then that’s one thing the two of us actually agree on,” Kendril responded tersely.

“Make that the three of us.” Potemkin came up the steps. His carbine was still missing, but his sword was drawn. His face was bruised and bloodied. Two gendarmes followed behind him.

Olan looked over at the captain. “Madris?”

Potemkin shook his head. “I don’t know. Could be dead. A lot of those people down there are.” He looked back behind him. “You were right. You were all right. I should have listened to you. Vesuna’s blood, the
Lord Mayor
should have listened to you. If we had gone into the theater in force, maybe—”

“What’s done is done,” Kendril said pragmatically. “Right now we have to deal with the situation at hand.”

Potemkin nodded. The fatigue showed on his battered face. “Indigoru? Our weapons can’t even touch her. How are we supposed to—?”

Kendril and Olan exchanged a quick glance.

Potemkin frowned. “What?”

“Captain,” Olan said quietly, “I don’t think you quite grasp the severity of this situation. This is just the beginning.”

Potemkin glanced again at the bodies strewn over the opera house steps and the street beyond. “What could possibly be worse than having a living incarnation of a pagan goddess running loose in Vorten?”

“War,” said Kendril bluntly. “And by this time tomorrow, Vorten will be burning.”

Chapter 15

Kara stirred slowly to consciousness. She moaned softly and opened her eyes half-way.

It was dark, and cold. Not much of a change there. The last thing she remembered was being on that altar, and then—

The altar.

Everything came flooding back to her in a blur.

Kara sat up quickly. A blanket wrapped around her started to fall down. She grabbed it quickly and pulled it back around herself.

The light was dim, but it looked like she was somewhere in the sewers. There was a sharp chill in the air, along with the sound of gurgling water and the faint smell of…smoke?

And what sounded like snoring.

Kara swung her head around, and pushed back her cascading red hair.

Maklavir sat propped up in a corner just behind her. In fact, his arms were wrapped around her. He was sound asleep.

“Maklavir!” she cried.

The diplomat sprang to life. He snatched his sword up from where it lay on the ground, blinking and shaking his head. “What?
Where
? I’m not asleep, just resting. Who—?”