Ghost in the Storm (The Ghosts) (39 page)

He felt the surge of tremendous sorcerous power, and another wall of invisible force slammed into him, throwing him across the chamber to slam against the wall.

###

Caina watched with alarm as the spell flattened Kylon against the wall. Andromache lifted her hands, grinning, fingers hooked into claws. Kylon groaned as invisible force held him pinned against the wall. She saw him struggle to break free, but even his sorcery-enhanced strength was no match for Scorikhon's power. 

She had to help him. Both Scorikhon and Sicarion had decided that Caina was the Moroaica. And once they killed Kylon, they would take her from the Tomb, and Caina could not defeat them both by herself. 

And the gods only knew what they would do with her. 

Or to her.

Sicarion chuckled to himself as he watched the fight. Andromache strode closer to Kylon, hands raised, face alight with cruel pleasure. Scorikhon seemed to enjoy keeping an enemy alive to torment, rather than simply killing him.

Did that mean he was the sort of sorcerer too arrogant to cast defensive wards?

Caina stepped forward, hand dipping into her belt, and flung a throwing knife.

Sicarion saw it and grabbed for her wrist, but an instant too late. The knife clipped Andromache’s shoulder, the black sleeve of her gown darkening with blood. She whirled to face Caina, teeth drawn back in a snarl. 

Green light flared around her fingers as she began to cast a spell, and Sicarion’s cold fingers tightened against Caina’s arm. 

###

Kylon hit the floor, pain throbbing up his limbs.

Every inch of his body hurt from the pressure of Scorikhon's spell. But he surged back to his feet, drawing on his storm sorcery for strength. He was only free because the Ghost had distracted Scorikhon. The ancient necromancer's sorcery would crush the Ghost in the space of three heartbeats. 

Unless Kylon saved Andromache from the horror she had released. 

He raced forward, even as Andromache began casting a spell at the Ghost. At the last minute she saw him, and unleashed the blast of invisible force at him. But this time Kylon was ready, and he changed direction with a powerful leap. He landed twenty paces from Andromache, sword raised in guard.

“Impressive,” said Andromache, “but futile. I have slain stormdancers before, boy. They were men of power and skill. You are the merest child before them.”

“No doubt,” said Kylon, eyes locked on Andromache's. Her brown eyes were as familiar to him as his own, yet something alien stared out from behind them. “My ancestors exterminated your precious Red Circle. What they did before, I shall simply have to do again.”

Andromache snarled and began another spell, and Kylon moved. 

### 

Sicarion's fingers closed like iron coils around Caina's wrist.

“None of that, mistress,” he said. “After your disciple crushes the stormdancer, we will take you to your sanctuary to recover your memory and your powers...”

Caina let herself go limp, and Sicarion pulled her a half-step too far.

She drove her right heel into the back of Sicarion's right knee. His leg folded as he hissed in pain. Caina jerked from his grip, yanked a knife from her belt, and slashed at Sicarion's face.

But Sicarion dodged with the speed of a serpent and came at her, daggers glittering in either hand.

###

Lightning exploded from Andromache's fingers.

Kylon brought his sword up, muttering a spell of his own, and the lightning curled around his blade. His sorcery kept it from touching him, but the sheer force of Andromache’s power drove him back several steps. 

“This storm sorcery is crude,” shouted Andromache over the snarl of the lightning, “compared to the subtleties of the necromantic sciences, but effective enough.”

Kylon gritted his teeth, straining to hold his defenses. Andromache had never been able to hit this hard before. Scorikhon must have combined his strength to Andromache's native power, allowing him to unleash spells of staggering potency. 

The torrent of lightning redoubled, and Kylon felt his defenses start to crumble.

###

Caina drew her ghostsilver dagger in her right hand and a dagger of normal steel in her left, and met Sicarion's attack. 

Their blades met a dozen times in as many heartbeats. Sicarion was fast, deadly fast, and much stronger than Caina. She found herself backing away just to keep his blades at bay. He pursued, daggers blurring, and Caina only barely kept him from opening her throat.

“You're very good,” said Caina.

Sicarion grinned, his mismatched eyes flashing. “Thank you, mistress. Carrying out your commands has given me a lot of practice.” 

“And you would strike your mistress?” said Caina.

Sicarion shrugged. “If I must. And if I kill you...well, the mistress has died many times before. She can find a new body easily enough.”

Caina wondered what that meant.

Then Sicarion's daggers flashed for her, pushing aside all other thoughts. 

###

Kylon felt his knees begin to buckle.

Andromache walked toward him, the lightning howling from her fingers. Kylon’s strength was almost gone. Another few moments, and the torrent of lightning would crush his defenses and kill him.

A flicker of green light caught his eye.

The circle of warding sigils around the sarcophagus lay to his right. They had kept Scorikhon’s power and soul sealed up in that sarcophagus for centuries. Might they also have the power to block Andromache’s lightning?

Kylon was out of options.

He backed towards the sigils, his arms sagging under the effort of keeping his sword upright against the barrage of lightning. Andromache laughed, her face twisted with glee.

“A stormdancer killed by a storm!” she shouted. “How very poetic! I think...”

Kylon dropped to one knee, his sword point touching one of the glowing sigils. 

The lightning winked out. 

Andromache staggered, frowning in astonishment. 

Kylon jumped to his feet and charged her, the sorcery of air fueling his speed. He crashed into Andromache and drove her to the ground, preparing to slam his sword hilt against her temple. If he could just knock her out long enough to subdue her, he could take her back to the fleet waiting in the harbor. 

Andromache snarled, her fingers closing around Kylon's wrists. Green fire flared from her hands. Kylon shuddered, every muscle in his body going rigid, and fell off Andromache. Andromache rolled to one knee and pointed, and invisible force slammed into Kylon and spun him across the floor. 

He tried to rise, found that he could not.

###

Caina broke away from Sicarion, racing to the other side of the chamber as Andromache hurled lightning at Kylon.

Sicarion came after her, his pace unhurried. She was good with a dagger, but he was better. Unless she did something clever, he was going to kill her. 

She flung a knife. 

Sicarion beat it aside with his dagger, the blade clattering to the floor. 

“You know,” said Sicarion, “in hindsight, I'm glad I didn't kill you. It made getting into the Tomb much easier. And now that Scorikhon has been restored to life,” he shrugged, “I think the mistress will forgive your death. It will not inconvenience her overmuch.”

Caina threw a second knife. 

Sicarion deflected it with his dagger and laughed. “You are clever. But not much use in a fight, I see.”

Caina pulled a third object from her belt and hurled it. 

Sicarion raised his dagger to block, and the final flask of Radast's explosive elixir shattered against his blade.

Caina ducked and closed her eyes as the explosion shook the chamber, Sicarion's scream ringing in her ears. She opened her eyes and saw Sicarion slump against the far wall, his right arm ending in a charred stump at the elbow, his clothing on fire. Caina raised her ghostsilver dagger, intending to finish him off. 

Then she saw Kylon tumble across the floor. Andromache stalked after him, casting another spell. Kylon groaned, tried to stand, and wound up on his knees, leaning on his sword like a cane. 

If he died, Caina would have no chance against Scorikhon. 

She drew the final throwing knife from her belt and threw it. The blade struck Andromache in the neck and bounced away with a spray of sparks – a warding spell. Andromache turned, eyes narrowed, and began casting a spell in Caina's direction. 

Caina charged, ghostsilver dagger in hand. The ghostsilver dagger could penetrate Scorikhon’s warding spells, but only if Caina got close enough to use it. 

And as Andromache lifted her hands, Caina doubted she would make it in time.

###

Kylon regained his feet, his body aching from the battering the spells had inflicted. 

He saw the Ghost running at Andromache, curved silver dagger in her right hand. Andromache lifted her arms, ghostly green flames curling around her fingers, and thrust her palms in the Ghost's direction. 

Kylon drew on his power, despite his exhaustion, and jumped. He landed between Andromache and the Ghost. An orb of pale green fire flashed from Andromache's hands and grounded itself against Kylon's sword. The force of the spell knocked him back several steps, and the mist wreathing his sword turned black. For a moment he thought the necromantic power would travel up his sword and wither his arms to dust...

But his power repelled the assault, and the mist turned white again.

The Ghost stepped to his side. 

“You are the mistress,” said Andromache, looking at the Ghost, “and yet...you are not.” 

The Ghost said nothing. 

Andromache's eyes narrowed. “I think...yes, I see what happened now. You killed the Moroaica, did you not? And you trapped part of her power within your soul. I think the mistress would like that power back.” Andromache grinned. Kylon had never seen his sister wear an expression so full of cruel contempt. “She will reward me greatly when I kill you and restore the power.” 

The Ghost titled her head to the side, cold blue eyes fixed on Andromache. “The warding sigils.”

“What about them?” said Andromache.

“Sorcerers are not known for loyalty,” said Caina. “So that's why the Moroaica left your spirit down here for centuries, trapped behind those wards. She promised you another body...but she would make sure you were loyal. Else you could stay trapped behind those wards for eternity.”

Andromache sneered. “Wretched little child. I will make you scream as you have never screamed. I will show you tortures that would make brave men slay themselves, rather than face such agony.”

Kylon blinked. The Ghost was talking too much. But why? He had seen her cunning firsthand. Why waste time talking to the thing that had possessed Andromache? 

Unless...

Unless the Ghost wanted him to know about the warding sigils. 

The sigils had kept Scorikhon's spirit imprisoned for all those centuries. Could they drive his spirit out of Andromache's body?

Could they save Andromache? 

“Torturing you would be a waste of time,” said Andromache, lifting her palms. Green fire crackled around her fingertips. “There are great days ahead. The Moroaica will defeat her ancient enemy at last, and remake the world in her image. And she will reward her disciples with domains of their own to rule. So wasting time on one ragged Kyracian princeling and his pet concubine seems foolish, no? Perish, both of you.” 

Andromache drew back her hands, the green fire brightening, and the Ghost threw her silver dagger. Kylon expected the weapon to rebound from Scorikhon's wards.

Instead it sank into Andromache's left leg. 

Andromache staggered, the fire around her hands winking out, and screamed in pain. 

Kylon recalled that ghostsilver was proof against sorcery.

He slammed into Andromache, pushing her back. She clawed at him, but he pushed her toward the circle of warding sigils around the sarcophagus. Just a little further and he could free her from Scorikhon...

Andromache's grimace turned to a smirk.

She ripped the Ghost's dagger from her thigh and buried it between her breasts.

“No!” said Kylon. 

She grinned, blood welling over her teeth.

“This body was adequate,” whispered Andromache, “but yours will suit me much better.”

Green mist boiled from her mouth and nostrils, coiling around Kylon's head. A horrible chill filled him, and Kylon stumbled to his knees, Andromache looking down at him. He felt icy fingers digging into his head, into his heart. 

Scorikhon was going to possess him.

“Yes,” whispered Andromache, blood dripping from her lips, “you are mine.” 

Kylon struggled to fight, but he had no strength left to fight chill filling him.