Ghost in the Storm (The Ghosts) (17 page)

A pair of black blurs jumped from the balcony overlooking the hall, waves of arcane power radiating from them. Kylon threw himself to the side, and just avoided getting crushed beneath a man in black plate armor. A cylindrical helmet of black steel hid the man's face, and a massive black mace rested in the armored figure's right hand.

Kylon wheeled just in time to dodge a blow of the mace. It roared past him and struck the floor with enough force to shatter a marble tile. Kylon turned, hoping to land a stab, but the armored figure recovered with supernatural speed, mace whipping for Kylon's face. He dodged, but just barely.

The armored figure was a battle magus. Like the stormdancers, the battle magi of the Imperial Magisterium used their arcane sciences to enhance their battle prowess. Rather than flinging blasts of psychokinetic force, they used their spells to make themselves stronger and faster. That suit of black armor would crush a normal man, but a battle magus’s spell-enhanced strength could bear the weight. 

Kylon dodged another blow. He saw Kleistheon locked in combat with the other battle magus, the lightning from his sword curling to lick at his foe's black mace. Kylon backed away, as did Kleistheon, the battle magi driving them toward the ashtairoi. The surviving magi gathered around Tolius, joining their powers. Kylon tried to find a way around the battle magus, but his foe was like a tower of black steel. If Kylon could not distract the magi, they would unleash their combined powers on the ashtairoi, or strike down both Kylon and Kleistheon...

Then Kylon felt a tremendous surge of arcane power.

A heartbeat later the chapterhouse's roof exploded.

The shock from the blast knocked both Kylon and the battle magus to the floor, shattered chunks of the wooden ceiling raining around them. Kylon scrambled back to his feet, hoping to land a telling blow, but his opponent was too fast. 

Lightning crackled in the night sky overhead, and Kylon saw Andromache.

She appeared in the air over the basilica, borne aloft on the might of her sorcery. Her black braid writhed behind her head like a serpent, and her gown billowed around her like bloody wings. She landed atop the ruined wall of the basilica and flung out a hand.

A lightning bolt thundered from the sky and exploded into the gathered magi. Two of them fell dead, burned to charred husks. The battle magus looked up, stunned, and Kylon's next cut scraped through a black shoulder plate.

The battle magus reeled back, and Kylon pressed the attack. He launched one, two three thrusts, his sword a white blur before him. Every blow landed home, yet his sword could not penetrate the plates of black steel.

Yet every strike left a thin layer of frost upon the black plates. 

The massive black mace swung for his head, and an idea came to Kylon. 

He circled to the battle magus’s right and thrust. The magus dodged, but Kylon’s blows struck his right arm again and again. The battle magus’s psychokinetic power gave him the greater strength, but Kylon’s air sorcery gave him the greater speed. He danced around the black-armored magus, landing hit after hit upon the magus’s right arm.

He glimpsed Kleistheon dueling the second battle magus, jagged lines of lightning leaping from his sword to sink into the magus’s armor with every hit. Another bolt of lightning roared down from the ruined ceiling, only to rebound from an invisible ward. Andromache made a twisting gesture, and a spinning, slender whirlwind of gray mist appeared above the gathered magi. It picked up a magus and flung the screaming man through the ruined ceiling, throwing him into the sky with such force that he soon disappeared to a tiny speck.

Kylon did not hear him land. 

He continued his mad dance around the battle magus. The magus threw back his arm for an overhand blow, and Kylon's sword tip scraped along the joint of his elbow, more frost spreading over the black steel. Kylon overextended, and the battle magus stepped forward, preparing to launch a massive blow with the mace.

Only for his arm to remain motionless.

The battle magus glanced at his arm, and Kylon imagined the expression of bafflement beneath the black helm.  

"The frost," said Kylon, driving his sword forward, "it makes the joints stick."

His blade sank into the black helmet’s eye slit. A heartbeat later ice spread over the helmet, and the battle magus fell to his knees. Kylon wrenched his sword free, the blade glittering with frozen blood. 

The battle magus collapsed, the clang of the armor drowned out by the screams and shouts of the battle.

And the thunder of Andromache's sorcery. 

Most of the magi had been slain, either by Andromache's spells or the swords of the ashtairoi. Even as Kylon turned, he saw Kleistheon cut down the second battle magus, his sword blazing like a falling star. But Quintus Tolius still stood atop the dais, his thick face red with strain. Kylon felt the arcane strength pulsing around him, mingling with his rage and terror. Rezir might have reported that the Marsis chapterhouse was staffed by idlers and fools, but Tolius had substantial sorcerous power. He flung out his hands, unleashing a massive hammer of psychokinetic force at Andromache.

But his strength was no match for Andromache, High Seat of Kardamnos and Archon of New Kyre.

She crossed her arms before her, and her ward dissipated Tolius's spell. Then she dropped from the ruined wall, the winds of storm cradling her as she floated to the floor. Andromache came to a stop forty paces from Tolius, sparks snarling and dancing around her. 

Kylon strode toward Tolius, sword raised, as did Kleistheon and the ashtairoi. Tolius growled and began casting another spell.

"Stay!" said Andromache, her voice as loud as the thunder. "He's mine! Hold your positions!" 

Kylon stopped, as did the others. He knew Andromache could handle Tolius, yet his heart tightened with fear. She was his sister. He should stand beside her to face any dangers. 

"Surrender," said Andromache, "and I will let you live."

"Kyracian witch!" said Tolius. "Do you think your primitive spells can overcome a master of the Imperial Magisterium?"

Andromache lifted an eyebrow. "It seems my primitive spells have already overcome several members of the Magisterium."

"They," said Tolius, "were not me!" 

He raked his hands through the air, and a dozen statues ripped from their pedestals. They shot toward Andromache, enough stone to bury a score of men. Kylon shouted and started forward, intending to push her out of the way. 

Andromache only raised her hand.

A whirlwind of gray mist spun around her, the noise howling through the ruined chapterhouse. The statues struck the whirlwind and flew into different directions, exploding into broken shards as they struck the walls. The whirlwind vanished, and Andromache stood unharmed, her expression almost amused. 

Tolius shrank back a step, sweat dripping down his face.

"Most impressive, master magus," said Andromache. "Now it's my turn." 

She lifted her hands, power thrumming around her. 

Lightning was the most powerful force a stormsinger or a stormdancer could wield. Most stormsingers could not channel lightning through their bodies, not without killing themselves, instead calling it down from the open sky. Even Kleistheon, a stormdancer with decades of experience, needed to use his sword to channel lightning. Otherwise his own power would have burnt him to a crisp. 

But most stormsingers and stormdancers were not Andromache.

Arcs of lightning erupted from her outstretched fingers and ripped at Tolius. He staggered back, arms crossed as he cast a ward about himself. Again Andromache struck, the lightning intensifying, the harsh white light throwing black shadows over the ruined basilica. Tolius managed to cast another ward, but he fell to his knees, trembling with exhaustion. 

He had no strength to stop Andromache's third strike. 

Tolius crumpled, his black robes and hair catching fire. The sudden smell of burned meat filled the basilica. He screamed and rolled down the stairs, trying to put out the flames. Andromache glided closer, her fingers still raised.

"Now," she said, voice calm, but Kylon saw the faint tremble of exhaustion in her fingers, “will you tell me what I want to know?"

"Yes," said Tolius, sobbing, "please, no more, no more! Please."

"The Tomb of Scorikhon," said Andromache. "Do you know of it?" 

"Yes," said Tolius, his eyes full of cringing terror. His agony and terror washed over Kylon's senses. "Yes, yes, I know it. Please, please let me go."

"Where is it?" said Andromache.

"Let me go," said Tolius, "and I swear I'll leave the city, I'll..."

"Where is it?"

"In the Citadel," said Tolius. "Or, below the Citadel, in a cellar below the northern tower. I've tried, I've tried to get into it. Every preceptor of the Marsis chapter has, for centuries. But none of us can." 

"Why not?" said Andromache. 

"It's sealed with warding spells surpassing skill and power," said Tolius. “Wards that only the caster can dispel, I think. One of the old Maatish necromancers of the Red Circle must have sealed the Tomb."

"No," said Andromache. "I know who sealed the Tomb. And I know how to open it." 

"You...you do?" said Tolius, and the fear rolling off him redoubled. 

"I do," said Andromache, "but you will not live to see it."

She pointed, and a single coil of lightning burst from her finger and wrapped around Tolius, the roar of the lightning drowning out his scream.

A moment later Tolius, or at least his charred husk, slumped against the floor. 

Andromache closed her eyes and sighed, her shoulders slumped with weariness. 

"Sister," said Kylon, hurrying to her side. "Are you all right?"

"I am well," said Andromache, opening her eyes. "Thought that was rather...tiring. The fools of the Magisterium put up more of a fight than I expected."

"You fought magnificently, High Seat," said Kleistheon, and Kylon sensed the awe radiating from the assembled ashtairoi. "Who can stand against your prowess in battle? One stormsinger faced an entire chapter of Imperial magi, and she triumphed! Songs shall be song of this day for centuries to come." 

"They shall," said Andromache, "but only if we are victorious. Otherwise today's events shall be a footnote in the history of the Kyracian people, and an ignominious one at that."

"What are your commands?" said Kleistheon.

Andromache drew herself up, seeming to shake off her weariness. "If what we have come to claim lies beneath the Citadel, then we must take the Citadel. We must help Rezir Shahan claim the Plaza of the Tower. From there, we can assault the Citadel." 

"We should send men to the northern gate, as well," said Kylon. "The Citadel will not fall easily. And if we hold the walls, we can assail the Citadel at leisure. Harder to do if the Legions return to the city." 

Andromache stared at him, and Kylon felt a flash of irritation in her emotional sense. He blinked in surprise. Andromache never got angry. Andromache never even grew annoyed.

Then she took a deep breath, and the irritation vanished.

"Thank you, brother," she said. "I am close to my goal, but I must not allow anticipation to cloud my thinking. Yes. We must ensure that the northern gate is taken. But neither the northern gate nor the Citadel can be claimed until the Plaza of the Tower is ours."

"Our scouts reported that several remaining cohorts of the Nineteenth Legion gathered there," said Kleistheon.

"Then we shall have to smash them," said Andromache. "And the Legionaries will have no magi to aid them. I assume my stormdancers can make quick work of the Legionaries?"

Kleistheon bowed. "It shall be as you say, High Seat."

"I am yours to command, sister," said Kylon. "As always." 

"Then let us begin our work at once," said Andromache. 

"One other matter, High Seat," said Kleistheon. "We have a number of prisoners. Magi who fell unconscious during the battle. Or surrendered after they exhausted their powers. What shall we do with them?"

"They are of no use to us," said Andromache. "Kill them immediately." 

Kylon frowned. He knew Andromache was right to kill the magi. They were too dangerous to leave alive. Yet they were prisoners. The idea of killing them out of hand troubled him, just as the massive number of slaves the Istarish had taken troubled him.

But it was not his decision, and a moment later the screams rang out. 

Andromache closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and Kylon felt something. A stirring of power, so faint it almost escaped his notice. Yet it was there.

For a moment, just a moment, he felt the presence of necromancy around Andromache.

That was impossible. The Assembly of New Kyre had banned necromancy, and any stormsingers and stormdancers caught wielding it were condemned to death. Andromache was the strongest stormsinger in New Kyre. Surely she would not practice necromancy. Surely she would have no need.

What exactly had this "Moroaica" taught her?

She opened her eyes, and smiled at him.

"Brother," she said. "Again, you fought well."

"Andromache," said Kylon. "I..."

"We are near, brother," said Andromache. "Do not waver now. Soon, I shall have enough power to raise House Kardamnos to preeminence, to make sure no one ever threatens our family again. Just trust me for a little longer."

"I trust you," said Kylon.

"Come," said Andromache. "Let us finish this." 

Kylon nodded and crossed to his familiar place at Andromache's side. She was his sister. She had saved House Kardamnos, had raised it to prominence. She was the most powerful stormsinger in New Kyre, an Archon of the Assembly. He trusted her as he trusted no one. 

He must have imagined the necromancy.

Surely he must have imagined it. 

Chapter 13 - The Outcast

Caina crouched in a doorway, her cloak merging with the darkness. 

Night had fallen over Marsis. Most of the Istarish and Kyracian soldiers had moved to the Great Market, but here and there torchlight broke the darkness as a patrol of Istarish troops marched through the narrow alleys.