Ghost in the Storm (The Ghosts) (27 page)

Kylon followed her into the Market, Sicarion trailing after them. There had been no dead women in the tavern, and no hint of necromantic power. Perhaps the Ghost had been wrong.

But one of the trestle tables had been stained with half-dried blood.

Perhaps the Ghost hadn't been wrong.

And Kylon's doubts grew ever tighter around his heart.

Chapter 19 - Rescue

Ark caught the scimitar on his shield. The blade bounced away, and he stepped forward, thrusting. His blade ripped along the Istarish soldier’s hip. The soldier stumbled, and the Legionary on Ark's right finished the man with a quick thrust. 

The group of Istarish soldiers, no more than thirty or forty strong, turned and ran. Ark's men started to break formation, moving into pursuit of the fleeing enemy.

“Hold!” yelled Ark, his voice ringing over the street. “Hold, damn you! Do you want to run into a trap? Hold!” 

His men stopped. 

And not a moment too soon. Even as the Istarish footmen fled, a company of Immortals surged out of an alley, scimitars and chain whips in hand, blue light shining from the eyeholes of their skull masks. 

“Javelins!” said Ark. “Ready!”

The Immortals charged. Unlike the Istarish regulars, they never showed any hint of fear. Or perhaps it was madness brought on by the alchemical elixirs coursing through their blood.

“Release!” said Ark. 

His men flung their javelins, unleashing a shower of heavy iron points on the charging Immortals. Three of the black-armored soldiers went down, and two more stumbled with wounds. The remainder crashed into the Legionaries’ shield wall. The Legionary on Ark's right went down, his neck and windpipe shredded by a single lash of a chain whip. But the formation held, and the Legionaries stood fast against the Immortals.

In a few moments it was all over.

“Two dead, sir,” said one of the Legionaries, wiping down his sword. “One wounded.”

“Can he walk?” 

“Aye, for now,” said the Legionary. 

“Then keep him on his feet,” said Ark, sheathing his broadsword. “He can rest once we reach the northern gates. And retrieve as many javelins as you can. The gods know we'll need them soon enough.” 

The Legionary hurried to carry out Ark's commands. 

Ark watched as his men cleaned their swords and retrieved the discarded javelins. This was the third skirmish they had fought since leaving the Avenue of Champions. There were more bands of Istarish soldiers scattered through the side streets than Ark would have liked. He suspected they had fled during the skirmish at the Avenue of Champions, and had only now begun to reorganize.

At least, he thought that was what had happened. Some of the Istarish bands had seemed downright surprised to see Ark and his men. He got the impression that they were hunting for someone, or something. 

But who? 

Ark didn't know, and he disliked not knowing. A failure to know the goals of the enemy was usually the first step to defeat. Still, it might not matter. If he could hold the northern gate long enough for Lord Commander Hiram to return, no amount of scheming from the Istarish or the Kyracians would hold off the Legions.

“Sir,” said a Legionary. “We're ready.”

“Move out,” said Ark. 

The Legionaries sheathed their weapons and marched on, leaving their dead – and the dead Immortals – behind.

###

The street opened into a small square with a fountain, and the sounds of fighting and echoed over the rooftops. 

“A skirmish, sir,” said the Legionary Ark had sent ahead to scout. “Looks like forty or fifty Istarish taking on about twenty of the lads from the Nineteenth. And our lads are getting the worst of it. If we don't move in, they're finished.” 

Ark nodded. Perhaps it would be best to bypass the skirmish. The little square lay on the direct route to North Gate Plaza, but there were other paths. And if he got pulled into a skirmish, it might be more than his men could handle.

And if he was killed, who would rescue his son from the Istarish?

But he would not abandon Legionaries to die in a hopeless fight. And another part of his mind, a part that often sounded a great deal like Caina, pointed out that the men of the Nineteenth did not have to follow him. If he abandoned their comrades, would they in turn abandon him?

And then how would Ark find Nicolai?

“We attack,” said Ark. He drew his sword and pointed. “In formation! Advance!”

The Legionaries marched into the square. Small shops and houses ringed the little square, not as wealthy as the businesses of the Plaza of the Tower, but hardly as poor as the tenements of the dockside. A mob of Istarish soldiers pressed at a ragged shield wall of hard-pressed Legionaries. Even as Ark watched, one of the Legionaries went down in a flash of blood and steel. 

Then Ark's men marched calmly into the ragged mass of Istarish soldiers and started killing. A shock went through the Istarish as they wheeled to face the newcomers. But as before, the Istarish attacks were uncoordinated, almost frantic, while Ark's men held their formation and killed with a steady rhythm. Ark raised his shield and caught a swing from an Istarish soldier, while the Legionary on Ark's left raised his sword and split the soldier's head. 

No matter how brave the Istarish soldiers, they lacked the discipline of the Legions, and discipline always defeated individual valor. 

At least until the stormdancers got involved.

The skirmish was over in a matter of moments, with most of the Istarish dead and the rest fleeing in all directions. Some of Ark's men had taken light wounds, but none had been slain. An easy fight.

He doubted it would last. 

“Your timing could not have been better,” said one of the Legionaries, an exhausted man in his middle twenties. “The enemy harried us all the way from the Plaza of the Tower. Another few minutes and we'd have been finished.”

“It was good fortune,” said Ark. “We're making for North Gate Plaza, to hold the gate until Lord Hiram returns with the Twentieth and the Twenty-First. You can join us, or go as you wish, but...”

“Absurd.”

A man in black armor and a ragged purple cloak stepped forward.

For a moment Ark thought the man was an Immortal, and his hilt dropped to the hand of his sword. But it was Imperial armor, not the ornate plate of the Immortals. The man wore no helmet, and his gray eyes lacked the eerie blue glow produced by the Immortals' alchemical elixirs. He was in his middle fifties, with iron-gray hair, and moved with energy despite his age.

Ark had only seen this man at a distance, but recognized him nonetheless.

Corbould, Lord of House Maraeus, and the Lord Governor of Marsis.

###

“How are you even still alive, my lord?” asked Ark.

They stood some distance away from the Legionaries, speaking in low voices. Lord Corbould had taken one look at Ark, and suggested they speak in private.

“Luck,” said Corbould with a scowl. “When that bastard Rezir betrayed our parley, my men tried to defend me. My horse was slain by an errant javelin. In the chaos, my guards managed to cut my way out, and we escaped back to the Plaza of the Tower.”

“Where you tried to make a stand with the remaining cohorts of the Nineteenth,” said Ark.

“Indeed,” said Corbould. “I hoped to hold the Kyracians and the Istarish at the Plaza of the Tower. I sent messengers to the Magisterium chapterhouse, commanding them to join the fight at my side. They did not come, the disloyal fools.”

“They're probably dead,” said Ark. “One of the Nineteenth's survivors passed the Magisterium chapterhouse. The place was on fire, and the roof had been ripped away. That stormsinger must have killed them all.”

“Gods of the Empire,” said Corbould. “I know what stormsingers can do, yet I’ve never heard of one powerful enough to call down that kind of lightning. Well, if you're here, you know what happened at the Plaza of the Tower. Those damned stormdancers broke our defenses, and the Istarish footmen and the ashtairoi poured over our earthworks. We held as long as we would, but in the end we had to cut our way out.” He shook his head, eyes filled with rage. “Not many of the Nineteenth escaped. We were making for the northern gate when those soldiers caught up to us. Your timing was excellent.” 

“We thought you dead in the ambush at the Great Market,” said Ark. 

“I'm not dead yet,” said Corbould. “Now, to other matters. Who the devil are you? I know every centurion and tribune in my three Legions, and you are not one of them.”

“I am a blacksmith,” said Ark.

Corbould raised one iron-gray eyebrow. “A blacksmith.”

“Aye,” said Ark. When he had been in the Legions, the scrutiny of a powerful lord like Corbould Maraeus would have filled him with trepidation. Now he was too damned tired to care. 

And he was too worried about Nicolai to care. 

“So how does a blacksmith wind up commanding what's left of the Nineteenth?” said Corbould. 

Ark shrugged. “I was once the first spear centurion of the Eighteenth Legion. Now I am a guard in the employ of a merchant. When the attack came, we fled our inn. We encountered more and more survivors of the Legion, and their centurions had been slain. They needed someone to tell them what to do...so I told them what to do.”

“There's more to it than that,” said Corbould. “You're a Ghost, aren't you? I'd wager you were one of Halfdan's men.”

Ark said nothing.

“You needn't fear exposure from me,” said Corbould. “The Emperor's interests and mine are aligned.”

“Then you don't wish to see slavery restored in the Empire?” said Ark. “Or the magi returned to power?”

Corbould snorted. “The magi? The magi couldn't run a wine shop, let alone the Empire.” The old man drew himself up. “And I am the Lord of House Maraeus. My family can trace its lineage to the First Empire itself. One of my ancestors has served as Lord Governor of every province and held every Imperial magistracy. Slaves may be fit servants for the dogs of Istarinmul and the sea rats of New Kyre. But only free men are fit to serve the scions of House Maraeus. Slaves are...beneath my dignity.” 

Ark nodded. Here, at last, was someone who could take the burden of responsibility from him.

“You've done well,” said Corbould. “I had thought the Istarish and the Kyracians would have taken the gates by now, but your attack stalled them. You’ve given us a chance to gather what survivors we can an abandon the city.”

Ark frowned. “You want to leave Marsis?”

“We cannot possibly hold here,” said Corbould. “Even with fortifications, our men cannot stand against the stormdancers. We will leave the city and join with Lord Commander Hiram's forces. Then we will return to Marsis and drive out the enemy.”

“Lord Hiram has only two Legions with him,” said Ark. “Twelve thousand men at most. If we leave Marsis now, we’ll never get back inside. We only need hold the gatehouse until Lord Hiram returns. A day, at the most. If he has to drive the Istarish and the Kyracians off the walls, he might not be able to take the gates.” 

And Ark would never get Nicolai back from the Istarish. And even worse, both Nicolai and Tanya would be trapped inside the walls of Marsis.

“No,” said Corbould.

“But the northern gatehouse is a strong position,” said Ark. “Most of my nine hundred men will make it there. If we...”

“If it were just a question of steel, I would agree,” said Corbould. “But we cannot fight sorcery, not without sorcery of our own. Lord Hiram has battle magi accompanying him. When he returns, his magi can handle the stormdancers. Our best course of action is to find Lord Hiram and join his strength to our own.” Corbould turned to face the men. “We shall leave at once.”

“No,” said Ark, voice quiet.

Corbould seemed not to hear him. “Your men are already converging on the northern gate. Once they've gathered, we'll march from the city at once. We...”

“No,” said Ark again, louder this time. 

Corbould blinked. He looked so astonished that Ark could have pushed him over with a feather. “What do you mean, no?”

“We will stay and hold the gatehouse,” said Ark. 

“I already told you that...”

“I have failed to make myself clear,” said Ark. “I am going to stay, and I am going to hold the gate until Lord Hiram arrives. Most of my men will probably stay with me, as well.”

“You cannot be serious,” said Corbould.

“I am,” said Ark.

The old man's gray eyes narrowed. “I am the Lord of House Maraeus and the Lord Governor of Marsis. I am not accustomed to having my commands questioned.”

“I doubt you are accustomed,” said Ark, “to being run out of your own city, either.”

A vein throbbed in Lord Corbould's right temple. “I will command you, and you will obey.”

“You won't,” said Ark. He was defying one of the most powerful lords of the Empire. Yet he didn't care. Halfdan had given Ark his orders. 

And Ark would do whatever he had to do to save Tanya and Nicolai.