Ghost in the Storm (The Ghosts) (33 page)

Better to die trying to escape.

Caina sprinted, the ghostsilver dagger glittering in her hand. She swung as she ran, the blade shearing through the ropes binding a group of slaves. They gaped at her in shocked surprise, fear on their faces.

“Run!” said Caina. 

Then she ran to the next group.

And to the next group. 

There were no more than a hundred Istarish soldiers in the market. Yet within moments she had cut lose hundreds of slaves. Some fled. But other stopped to free additional slaves. 

The Market dissolved into chaos as the fleeing slaves tripped over each other and the confused Istarish soldiers. Some of the soldiers chased after the slaves, while others ran after Caina.

And she kept running, cutting the slaves free from their ropes. 

###

“Kill him!” shouted Rezir.

The nightfighter was only one man in a strange cloak. Yet somehow he stayed ahead of Rezir's soldiers, cutting slaves free from their ropes. The soldiers were useless. 

If Rezir wanted the nightfighter dead, he would have to do it himself.

“Follow me,” he commanded the Immortals, and put spurs to his horse. 

###

Caina dodged past a band of charging Istarish soldiers and slashed the ropes binding another group of slaves. The situation in the Market had spiraled out of control. Hundreds of captives now ran back and forth in the Market, some running for the side streets, others helping the sick and injured to their feet. The Istarish soldiers found themselves overwhelmed, and could neither catch her nor deal with so many freed captives. 

Then Rezir and his guard of Immortals started toward her.

Only twenty Immortals surrounded Rezir, but they kept formation. Rezir himself sat atop his black horse, and trampled or cut down anyone who got in his way. Even as Caina watched, a girl of fifteen or sixteen darted in front of Rezir, and he rode her down without a thought.

The girl screamed, once.

Caina hissed in rage behind her mask. He would pay for that, if she could find a way to make him pay. The black ring upon his right hand protected him from steel, so a throwing knife to the throat would not even annoy him. Ghostsilver was proof against sorcery – could her ghostsilver dagger wound him?

She would get the chance to find out very soon.

Or not. Rezir had twenty Immortals with him. Caina had barely defeated one Immortal in a straight fight. Trying to take on twenty would be a quick death. 

She had to find a way to level the odds. 

Caina raced away from the Great Market. Ahead she saw the damaged warehouse where she had fought Sicarion, the warehouse that stored casks of whiskey. The banners of New Kyre and Istarinmul still flew from its damaged watchtower. She had burned several of the casks when fighting Sicarion's mercenaries. 

Caina sprinted for the warehouse, the shadow-cloak billowing behind her.

###

“After him!” said Rezir, spurring his horse to a gallop. 

He grinned as he thundered towards the fleeing Ghost nightfighter. The Ghosts were cockroaches. Shine a light upon them and they scuttled back into the shadows. 

There was only one way to deal with cockroaches.

Rezir raised his sword arm for a swing. He had outpaced his bodyguard, but no matter. One solid blow and he would be rid of the Balarigar forever.

###

Caina heard the thunder of hooves, and glanced over her shoulder.

Rezir bore down on her, his scimitar gleaming in the light of the torches.

Caina stopped, whirled, and flung a throwing knife. Rezir's necromantic ring rendered him immune to normal steel. 

His horse had no such protection.

The blade sank into the horse's neck. The poor beast screamed in pain, rearing up on its hind legs. Rezir roared in fury, lashing at Caina, but he lost his balance and fell hard to the ground. 

For a moment Caina considered stabbing him. If her ghostsilver dagger could pierce the protection of his necromantic ring, she could end this fight now. But even if her blade penetrated the sorcerous protection, the ring might have the power to regenerate the wound. And if Rezir got a grip on her, she doubted she could break away.

She still had the bruises he had left on her neck.

Besides, if she killed him, his Immortals would only cut her down anyway. 

Caina ran for the warehouse.

###

Rezir clawed back to his feet.

That damnable Ghost! He was the author of all his misfortunes, him and Andromache. He would make them both pay. 

Starting with the Ghost.

Rezir ran after the fleeing nightfighter, ignoring the calls of his Immortals.

###

Caina hurried through the warehouse door.

The same massive wooden shelves still supported dozens of casks. Several of the shelves bore noticeable charring, and she saw bloodstains here and there. Yet there was no trace of the mercenaries she had killed. Sicarion must have removed the bodies for some reason.

Perhaps he had taken them for spare parts. 

She ran past the whiskey casks, yanking out the stoppers as she did so, and a fresh stream of liquor splashed across the warped floorboards. She stopped at the base of the watchtower and waited, throwing knives in hand. She would have to be careful setting the whiskey on fire. When she had faced Sicarion here, she had not carried two flasks of Radast’s explosive elixir in her belt… 

A new idea came to her.

###

Rezir stormed into the warehouse.

There was no reason to worry about his safety. The Ghost nightfighter possessed no weapons that could harm him.

The warehouse, to his surprise, stored casks of Caerish whiskey. Vile swill fit only for slaves. The stoppers had been removed from several of the casks, whiskey spilling on the blackened floorboards.

He spotted the Ghost standing on the far side of the puddle, throwing knives in either gloved hand. 

Rezir lifted his scimitar, and the Ghost flung the knives.

One blurred past the left side of his face, opening a gash across his jaw. The second buried itself in his throat. Neither wound hurt much, thanks to the power of his black ring. Instead he only felt a sharp tightness, as if he had struck himself with a blunted knife. 

Rezir pulled out the throwing knife.

“Foolish Ghost,” he said, his voice rasping as the ring’s power repaired his throat. “You cannot harm me.” 

The Ghost produced another pair of knives and struck a spark between them.

The pool of whiskey erupted into ghostly blue flames, the wave of heat striking Rezir in the face like a slap. He took a step back, and the Ghost vanished up the stairs to the watchtower. 

He laughed, long and loud. The flames would hurt him, but they could not kill him. They could not even seriously harm him. No doubt the Ghost planned to escape through the watchtower, while Rezir and his Immortals watched helplessly.

Well, the Balarigar was in for a surprise.

The first of the Immortals ran into the warehouse, weapons raised. 

“My lord emir?” said the Immortal, looking at the fire.

“Stay here,” said Rezir. “I will return in a moment.”

He tossed aside his cloak and strode around the edges of the flames. No sense inflicting more pain upon himself than necessary. The fire heated his armor, pain spreading through his legs, but he ignored it. 

Then he was on the other side, the Immortals staring at him in awe.

Just as well. Once he slew the Balarigar, the tale would spread through the soldiers like wildfire. Then he would regain control of his men and take Marsis.

He need only kill this Ghost first.

Smiling, Rezir walked to the base of the watchtower.

###

Caina crouched on the burned steps. The watchtower was a stone shell, a wooden stairwell spiraling up to its broken crown. One of Andromache's deflected lightning bolts had blasted away the roof. The heavy boards of the stairs had survived, and Caina thought they could hold her weight.

She hoped. 

She tugged off her shadow-cloak, her mask slipping free. With any luck, she could have the cloak back on before Sicarion sensed her.

###

Kylon turned, frowning.

They stood at the base of the Citadel's crag. Yet Sicarion had stopped, his face lifted to the air. He looked like a hunting hound catching the scent of its prey.

“What is it?” said Kylon.

“Ah,” murmured Sicarion. “So that's where she went.”

And before Kylon could say another word, Sicarion and his mercenaries, living and dead, vanished. 

###

Rezir stepped into the burned watchtower. 

The roof was gone, destroyed by one of Andromache's lightning bolts. A wooden staircase encircled the interior wall. Rezir grinned to himself. The Ghost expected him to charge blindly up the stairs and into an ambush. 

He paused, craning his neck.

There. A shadow on the stairs, lurking directly above him. Once he stepped into the open, the Ghost would fall upon him, dagger aimed for his heart. 

A fringe of the shadow-cloak hung over the railing. 

Rezir shifted his scimitar to his left hand. He would yank the Ghost down, spearing the nightfighter upon his scimitar. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. Then he sprang forward, seized the edge of the cloak in his right hand, and pulled.

The empty cloak fluttered down.

Rezir blinked. What kind of trick was this?

An almost empty cloak.

A flask struck his right hand.

###

The explosion shook the tower.

Caina huddled atop the stairs, the boards shaking beneath her. The roar thundered in her ears, but not loud enough to drown out Rezir's horrified scream, and she felt the heat of the blast wash over her.

After a moment she uncurled and stood up.

Rezir lay slumped against the wall, his armor scorched and his hair burned away. His right arm ended in jagged stump of blackened bone and charred flesh. Rezir's remaining eye twitched to face her as she approached.

“You,” he whispered. “Kylon’s spy. That's...not possible.”

“It is,” said Caina. “Do you remember the slaves you took?”

Rezir gazed at her in fear and pain.

“They send their regards,” said Caina, and she drove her ghostsilver dagger into his neck.

###

A moment later, Caina donned her shadow-cloak and mask and climbed to the top of the tower, something dangling from her right hand. 

Armor clanged and clattered as the Immortals climbed over the dying whiskey fire.

She perched on the tower's ruined top, her shadow-cloak billowing behind her. She saw the ruined Great Market beneath her, the slaves fleeing in all directions, the Istarish soldiers moving about uncertainly.

“Behold!” thundered Caina, using the stage voice Theodosia had taught her. 

She felt the sudden weight of thousands of eyes turned in her direction, and she lifted the head of Rezir Shahan upward. 

“Rezir Shahan is slain!” she shouted, and flung the head. 

Theodosia and Halfdan both had taught her the value of a dramatic gesture. 

The head landed in the midst of a group of Istarish soldiers, and they recoiled in horror. The panic spread to the other Istarish soldiers. They had been on the edge of mutiny before, but with Rezir dead, there was nothing left to fight for, and they fled toward the harbor. 

Caina heard bellowed curses as the Immortals found their emir's headless corpse. She looped the rope she had taken from the block and tackle around one of the jagged stones jutting from the tower, threw the rest of rope over the side, and scrambled down the wall. Her boots struck the ground, and she sprinted into the Market. 

And no one noticed her in the seething chaos of the Market. By the time the Immortals reached the top of the watchtower, Caina had vanished into the press. A few people called out “Balarigar” as she passed, but Caina kept running. 

She reached the ruined merchant stall, her heart in her throat. If one of the fleeing slaves had taken Nicolai. Or if one of the Immortals claimed him. Or if one of the soldiers had killed him out of sheer cruelty...

Nicolai was there. Still curled into a little ball, still tied to the post.

Caina knelt beside him. “Nicolai.”

Nicolai looked up, blinked bloodshot eyes. “Balarigar?”

Caina nodded.

He was still alive, and unhurt as far as Caina could tell. She thanked whatever gods might be listening. 

“I knew you would come,” whispered Nicolai. 

She cut the ropes binding his wrists and neck. 

“Will you take me back to my mother now?” said Nicolai.

“Yes,” said Caina.

A blast of thunder rang over the Market. Caina looked up and saw another bolt of lightning fall out of the cloudless sky over the Citadel. Another three lightning bolts slammed against the Citadel’s walls, thunder rolling over the city.

Andromache. 

She was already so powerful. And what would she do with the power in the Tomb of Scorikhon? 

Unless someone stopped her.

There was no one else. There was only Caina. 

“Let's go,” she said, scooping Nicolai into her arms.

The boy buried his face against her neck. She could try taking him back to Tanya and Ark now. But with Rezir Shahan dead, the Istarish force would break up into panicked bands, all trying to cut their way free from the city. Running into one while carrying Nicolai would be fatal. And the gods only knew what the Kyracian ashtairoi were doing. 

For that matter, Ark and Tanya might already be dead. 

No. Caina would not think about that.

But it was too dangerous to take Nicolai across the city with her, and she had to find some way to stop Andromache before it was too late. 

A potter’s shop selling amphorae came into sight, and Caina had an idea. Marauding soldiers would loot wine shops, taverns, and anything valuable. They would not trouble themselves with a shop selling jars.