Ghost in the Storm (The Ghosts) (26 page)

“Why not?” said Caina. “To carry me off as a trophy to New Kyre?”

Again came that grim chuckle. “It would be worth it, just to see the expression on Rezir Shahan's face. Or to see the reaction of the Assembly.” His brown eyes did not look away from hers. “I never expected a woman to defy me so. Or anyone without sorcery, for that matter. Slaying the battle magi was less of a challenge than facing you. The trap with the fire, and now this ice. It seems a shame to waste such valor and cunning.” 

“How flattering,” said Caina.

“That is a way out of this stalemate,” said Kylon. “You could surrender to me. I would permit you to live, and you could come to New Kyre as my captive.”

“You're a sorcerer,” said Caina, venom in her tone.

“I am a stormdancer,” said Kylon, “I...”

“Wield sorcery to enhance your strength and speed,” said Caina. “I know what a stormdancer is. And I know what sorcerers are. Vile murderers, all of you.” The old anger swelled up in her, fanned by the terrors of the last two days. “If I could kill every single living wielder of sorcery, I would. The world would be a better place for it.” 

And to her surprise, Kylon seemed offended. 

“I am a warrior,” he said, “not a murderer. I only kill in battle, in a fair fight.”

“Yes, a fair fight,” said Caina. “I'm sure those Legionaries you killed had every chance to defend themselves.”

“They did,” said Kylon, “as did the magi I faced. And a spy and assassin can hardly lecture me about murder.”

“What about your sister,” said Caina, “and all the people she murdered?” 

Kylon's eyes narrowed. “She slew those men in fair combat.”

“And the women she butchered to fuel her necromancy?” said Caina.

For the first time, Kylon looked angry, and she felt his muscles tense.

“My sister is the High Seat of House Kardamnos, an Archon of the Assembly, and the most powerful stormsinger of New Kyre,” said Kylon, voice flat. “She does not practice necromancy.” 

“Really?” said Caina. “Because that's what she's doing, right now, in that tavern. Sicarion rounded up a group of slaves and herded them in there. Andromache is killing them and stealing their life energies to fuel her sorcery.” 

“No,” said Kylon. “That is a lie. Andromache would not practice necromancy.”

“I saw it with my own eyes,” said Caina.

“So that is why you were sneaking around the Market?” said Kylon, voice hard. “To assassinate Andromache?”

“To find a child!” said Caina, her anger matching Kylon's. “The son of a...friend. Your precious Istarish allies took him.”

Kylon's eyes narrowed, and for just a moment Caina saw the doubt there. 

“This business with the slaves,” he said, voice quiet. “A cruel folly. The emir is a idiot to waste men capturing and guarding the slaves before we have taken the city.” Caina saw his fingers tighten against the hilt of his sword. “And if he desires slaves so much, the markets of Istarinmul are glutted with them.” His scowl deepened. “But that does not explain why you were following Andromache!”

“I thought the child might be among the slaves Sicarion took,” said Caina.

Kylon's frown deepened. Not with anger, but with thought. In a flash of insight Caina realized that Kylon was not a complicated man. He viewed himself as a warrior, and was devoted to his sister. Little wonder he had reacted with such anger to Caina's accusation of necromancy.

But he had his doubts. Else he would not have become angry.

“This attack is madness,” said Caina, “is it not?”

“We have succeeded so far,” said Kylon.

“But it might not last,” said Caina. “You could seize a city the size of Marsis with ten thousand men, but to hold it? The other Legions are north of Marsis, but they will return soon enough. And even if you fend them off, do you think the Emperor and the Imperial Curia will give up? They will send a great army to reclaim Marsis. And once they do, they will not stop there. The Emperor will want revenge for what happened here. New Kyre and Istarinmul are strong – but do you think they can stand against the gathered Legions of the Empire?” 

Kylon said nothing.

“You've started a war,” said Caina. “For what? Marsis? New Kyre is the best port on the western sea. Holding Marsis would gain you nothing. For slaves? You could buy all the slaves you needed in Istarinmul. For plunder? Surely there are richer prizes closer to home. What do you hope to gain from this attack?”

Still Kylon said nothing. 

“The Tomb of Scorikhon,” said Caina. “That's it, isn't it?”

Kylon sighed.

“Andromache wants whatever power the necromancers of the Red Circle left behind,” said Caina. “So she started a war to get it. I don't know what she promised Rezir Shahan. Probably Marsis, and as much land as he could carve out of the western Empire. But she's going to abandon him, isn't she? Once she has what she wants.”

“She has...considered such,” said Kylon. 

“So,” said Caina. “Andromache convinced Rezir to join her in attacking Marsis. She knows the attack might fail, and even if it succeeds, you'll have a hard time holding on to your conquests. But Andromache doesn't care, because she only wants the power in the Tomb of Scorikhon. Once she has it, she intends to leave Rezir and Marsis to their fates. She is willing to slaughter thousands just to increase her arcane power. Have I got it right?”

Kylon gave a slow, hesitant nod.

“And does that sound,” said Caina, “like the behavior of a necromancer?” 

A shudder went through Kylon, so violent that he almost cut Caina's throat even as her dagger scraped against his neck.

“She cannot be,” said Kylon, his voice a hoarse whisper. “She saved our family. She saved me. House Kardamnos would have been ripped apart by our enemies, had she not become High Seat. Necromancy is against the laws of both Old Kyrace and the gods themselves. It is an abomination. She could not do such a thing. She could not.”

“I saw her do it,” said Caina. 

“You lie,” said Kylon, but there was no heat to his words.

“You must have your doubts,” said Caina. “Else you would dismiss them out of hand. Yet you've listened.”

“Because you have a dagger to my throat,” said Kylon, “and your story is a lie.”

“But you're not sure,” said Caina.

“How do you know?” said Kylon. “Can you use sorcery to read my emotions? Or to hear my thoughts?”

“No,” said Caina, “but if you were sure, you would have laughed at me. You wouldn't have gotten angry. Men who are secure in their beliefs laugh at challenges. They do not grow angry.” 

“There was a moment, during our fight with the magi, when I wondered,” said Kylon. From what she had seen of Andromache's and Kylon's prowess, Caina suspected Marsis no longer had any magi. “I thought...I sensed it around her. I must have been mistaken. But what you have said rings true. Too true.” He shook his head. “How am I to know for certain?”

An idea came to Caina. “Go and see for yourself.” 

“That will be difficult,” said Kylon, “if you cut my throat.” 

“And it would be just as difficult,” said Caina, “for me to find my friend's child if your sword turns my blood to ice. So we have a basis for negotiation.”

“If I lower my sword,” said Kylon, “you'll kill me.”

“And if I lower my dagger,” said Caina, “you'll kill me.”

“Then I suggest we both lower our weapons at the same time,” said Kylon.

“A bad idea,” said Caina. “Because I can't fight you. If we lower our weapons, you'll cut me down before I can run two steps.”

Kylon snorted. “And I'm sure you have some cunning plan to make my sword explode or to have a crate full of bricks land on my head.” 

“I left my crate of bricks in my other cloak.”

“Then a truce,” said Kylon. “We'll bother lower our weapons on the count of three. And then we agree to leave each other alone for five minutes. Long enough for us both to escape without killing each other. Is this acceptable?”

“It is,” said Caina. 

“On three,” said Kylon. “One, two...”

Caina tensed.

“Three!”

In one smooth motion, she lowered her dagger and stepped back, her boots scraping through the slush around her feet. Kylon did the same, his mist-wreathed sword steady in his hand.

They stared at each other for a moment.

“Out of curiosity,” said Kylon, “why does Sicarion think you're the Moroaica?”

“I have no idea,” said Caina. “Do you really want to discuss this? Those five minutes are fleeting.”

“I have an idea,” said Kylon.

“Oh?” said Caina, curious. “What is it? Sicarion can't see properly out of that orange eye of his?”

“I neither know nor care how well Sicarion's eyes work,” said Kylon. “But I know what you feel like against my arcane senses. There's necromancy in you.”

“A necromancer...wounded me,” said Caina. For a terrible instant she remembered Maglarion's gloomy lair, his knife glittering in the pale light as it descended toward her skin. “When I was young. It left scars.”

“This is something else,” said Kylon. “There's necromantic power in you. If you truly slew the Moroaica, I think some of her power lodged in you when she died. That's what Sicarion is sensing.” 

“That's preposterous,” said Caina.

But she remembered her dreams of Jadriga, and how prophetic those dreams had been.

“Believe it or believe it not, it matters not to me,” said Kylon. “We part ways now, Ghost. If we see each other again, we shall do our best to kill each other.”

He turned to go.

“Kylon,” said Caina.

He stopped, looked back at her.

“The Moroaica was indeed a necromancer,” said Caina. “And one of great power. She gathered a circle of women around her and taught them the necromantic sciences.”

“What of it?” said Kylon.

“Andromache said she was the Moroaica's student?” said Caina.

Kylon gave a hesitant nod.

“What do you think,” said Caina, “that the Moroaica taught her?”

Again that troubled look passed over Kylon's face, and he walked away without another word.

Caina left the alley, making her way back to the Great Market. With any luck, Kylon would be busy with his suspicions for a little while. That would give Caina time to retrieve Nicolai and take him to safety.

She returned to the Great Market just as it filled with panicked Istarish soldiers.

###

Kylon watched as Sicarion and Andromache emerged from the tavern. 

“Brother,” said Andromache with a hint of a frown. “Where did you go?”

“I thought I saw that Ghost,” said Kylon. “The one that eluded me.”

It wasn't a lie. Not technically. 

“Ah,” said Sicarion. “Did she blow up another warehouse, perhaps?”

“Silence,” said Andromache. “Are you all right, brother?”

Andromache looked rested. When she had disappeared into that tavern, she seemed exhausted from her battle with the magi, almost haggard. Now she looked as fresh and rested as a woman awakening from a long night's sleep. 

In fact, she almost looked younger. 

As if she had stolen the life force of a victim. 

“I am well,” said Kylon. “I...”

“What the devil?” muttered Sicarion.

Kylon turned and saw Istarish troops flooding into the Great Market. Some of them had been wounded, and the rest looked almost panicked. More and more hastened into the Market, and Kylon realized that almost the entire Istarish force was in full flight.

At least he saw no ashtairoi among their number.

“Rezir has suffered a setback,” said Sicarion.

Andromache hissed. “The emir is less competent in matters of war than I had hoped.”

And as Kylon looked over the milling troops and the sea of slaves, something inside him snapped.

All this suffering. All this death. And for what?

Had the Ghost been telling the truth?

He dropped his hand to his sword hilt and turned toward the tavern door.

“Brother?” said Andromache, her tone puzzled. “What is it?”

“Necromancy,” said Kylon. “I sense necromancy.”

It was the first time he had ever lied to his sister. 

He had to see it for himself.

He pushed open the door. The tavern beyond stank, as all such places did, of sweat and cheap beer. Trestle tables and benches stood scattered about the plank floor, and casks of beer and ale rested behind the bar.

There were no bodies, and he felt no trace of necromancy.

Andromache stepped beside him. “Anything?”

If she was lying, neither her face nor her emotional sense held any hint of it. 

“Nothing,” said Kylon. “Forgive me, sister. I am jumping at shadows.”

She touched his arm. “Your vigilance does you credit. Now, come. Let us see what setback the lord emir has suffered.” Her eyes glinted. “And how we can claim the Tomb of Scorikhon for ourselves.”