Ghost in the Storm (The Ghosts) (7 page)

“We have not yet taken the city,” said Kylon.

“But we shall,” said Kleistheon. “They cannot hold against us. I had my doubts when your sister proposed this attack, I will admit. But after watching these Legionaries crumple like paper, I am certain. Marsis will be ours.”

“Taking a city of a quarter million with ten thousand men is a risky gamble,” said Kylon, “and may yet go ill.”

Kleistheon frowned. “Do you doubt the High Seat?”

No,” said Kylon. 

Did he have doubts about this mad attack? Yes, he did. 

But if anyone could take Marsis with only ten thousand men…his sister could do it. 

They walked in silence the rest of the way.

Soon they reached the Great Market. Kylon had heard it described as a bustling bazaar, buying and selling goods from across the world. Now it was half-wrecked, the merchant stalls shattered by fighting or by errant bolts from the Citadel’s catapults. Kylon also saw thousands of captives, mostly women and children, sitting stunned in the Market. Rezir Shahan’s men had been taking slaves. If the Kyracians and Istarish were victorious, some of the slaves would toil on the new plantations the Istarish would create outside the city. Others would be shipped overseas, to be sold in the markets of New Kyre and Istarinmul and Anshan. 

Kylon knew that the gods had ordained an order to the world. Just as some animals were born wolves and others were born sheep, so were some men born warriors and others born slaves. One could do nothing to change the nature of the world. 

Yet looking at the captives still made him uneasy.

He pushed aside the thoughts. He was a stormdancer, and his task was to make war upon the enemies of New Kyre.

Thinking was his sister’s task. 

A half-burned tower, once the watchtower of a prosperous warehouse, stood at one end of the Market. A massive banner of crimson silk hung from its jagged crown, showing the crown-and-sword sigil of the Padishah of Istarinmul. 

Rezir Shahan, Emir of Istarinmul, awaited below that banner, surrounded by his bodyguard of black-armored Immortals. 

He was clad in elaborate gilded armor, a purple cloak hanging from his shoulders. Despite the richness of his armor, there was nothing soft about this man – his face was hard and fierce, and he had the balance of a master swordsman. Kylon drew upon the sorcery of water, and reached toward Rezir, intending to read the man’s emotions.

The emir’s emotions were as cruel and prideful as his face. The aura of necromantic sorcery also hung around him like the smell rising from tainted meat. Necromancy was a vile practice, banned in New Kyre. It radiated from the black ring upon the third finger of Rezir’s right hand. Kylon suspected the ring would render the emir immune to normal steel. He wondered where Rezir had gotten such a thing.

A short man in leather and wool stood near Rezir’s side, his face shadowed in the cowl of his cloak. What little Kylon saw of the man’s face was hideously scarred, almost as if it had been stitched together from old leather. A necromantic aura hung around him, as well. Perhaps he had created the ring for the emir.

“Ah,” said Rezir, turning toward them. “My lords stormdancer.” He spoke Kyracian flawlessly, without a hint of an accent. “May I bid you welcome to Marsis? Your assault upon the docks was magnificent. For too long the Empire has failed to heed the emirs of Istarinmul and the princes of New Kyre. Today, we have taught them otherwise.” 

“You speak graciously, my lord emir,” said Kleistheon.

“Thank you, lord stormdancer,” said Rezir, with every appearance of pleasure. Yet to Kylon sensed the emir’s emotions remained as hard and cold as a knife. “Is the Archon among you? I greatly desire to speak with her.” 

“The High Seat of House Kardamnos will join us presently,” said Kleistheon. “I fear the battle may have wearied her.”

“Understandable,” said Rezir, and his emotions showed the briefest flicker of fear. “Her assault upon the engines of the Citadel was…astonishing. I have never seen anyone, not even the Master Alchemists of Istarinmul, wield sorcery with such potency and precision.” 

“The Archon and the High Seat,” said Kylon, voice quiet, “is the most powerful stormsinger in New Kyre. Perhaps one of the most powerful in the history of the Kyracian people. No one can stand against her.” 

Rezir regarded him for a moment, and Kylon felt the cold weight of the emir’s stare.

“As you say,” Rezir said at last.

A stir came from the southern end of the Great Market, and a guard of ashtairoi entered the plaza. In their midst strode a tall woman in a red gown with black sleeves, her long black hair bound in a thick braid. Her expression was serene, and her brown eyes betrayed not a flicker of emotion. The slaves shied away from her, and even the Istarish Immortals lowered their heads in respect as she passed. 

“My lord emir,” said Kleistheon, “I present to you the High Seat of House Kardamnos, one of the nine Archons of the Assembly of New Kyre, and a stormsinger of great power. The lady Andromache.” 

To Kylon’s arcane senses, Andromache was a tower of strength, a pillar of unyielding granite. Her emotions reflected nothing but steely resolve and relentless determination. Kylon remembered the day twenty years ago when their parents had been murdered, and House Kardamnos stood on the edge of ruin. Andromache, only fifteen, had come to him, and picked him up as he wept.

“They will pay, brother,” she had said. “Those who slew our parents will pay. And I vow to you that House Kardamnos shall be strong again.” 

And she had kept her word. 

“My lady Andromache,” said Rezir, bowing over her hand. “It is good to see you again. Our alliance has born a rich harvest. The docks have fallen, and the Great Market is taken.” 

“A rich harvest indeed,” said Andromache, her voice strong, “but the choice crops have yet to be taken.” She glanced at the Citadel, at the siege engines burning upon its walls. “The Citadel has not yet fallen. And we have not claimed the city’s gates. Until we do, Marsis is not truly ours.”

“Then we must act quickly,” said Rezir. “Fortune favors the bold, and the greatest prize goes to he who dares the most.”

“Or the bold make their own fortunes,” said Andromache. “But I agree. We must strike swiftly. Did you capture Lord Corbould?”

Rezir scowled, and Kylon sensed a flash of anger from him. “I do not know. The battle of the Market was…chaotic. He might well lie among the slain. Or he might have escaped. I have promised a thousand golden coins to the man who brings me his head, but he has yet to be found.” 

“No matter,” said Andromache. “We must crush any point around which resistance could organize. Lord Corbould is one such point, if he still lives. The second point is the city’s chapter of the Imperial Magisterium. If the magi unleash their arcane sciences upon us, we will be undone."

"What do you propose?" said Rezir.

The scarred man kept staring at Andromache. Kylon found his attention inappropriate, but neither Andromache nor Rezir moved to rebuke him. 

"We must seize the city's gates as soon as possible," said Andromache. "Two of Marsis’s three Legions are north of the city, lured out by our ruses. Almost certainly those Legions have begun marching back to the city. When those Legions return, they must see the walls lined with Istarish infantry and Kyracian ashtairoi."

"A sound plan," said Rezir. "I shall strike hard and fast, before Lord Corbould or any surviving leaders can rally resistance. Once I seize the Plaza of the Tower, we shall have a solid base to assault the northern gate." 

"And I," said Andromache, "shall deal with the magi."

Rezir frowned. "By yourself, honored Archon? My spies reported that the Magisterium chapterhouse housed at least a dozen master magi, if not more." 

For the first time, a hint of a smile appeared on Andromache's stern face. "You saw what befell the Citadel's siege engines, did you not? And you felt the wind that blew my fleet into the harbor?"

Again Kylon sensed that flicker of fear from Rezir. And as well he should fear. Andromache had performed mighty feats of sorcery, exertions that should have left her exhausted for weeks. Yet she did not seem tired, or even discomforted. 

"Yes," said Rezir. “If you say you can deal with the magi, then I have no doubts about their fate."

"Good," said Andromache. "One other matter. These captives, Rezir. So many, so soon?"

Rezir shrugged. "My men are entitled to their spoils."

"You speak truly," said Andromache. "And so many men devoted to guarding your spoils drains strength away from our main force."

"I have not lost that much strength," said Rezir. He sneered at the rows of captives. "The people of the Empire are sheep. Their peasants are nothing more than the descendants of escaped slaves. I need only detail a few of my men to keep order, the older and the wounded. They can keep these cattle under control easily enough." 

"As you say," said Andromache. "My men require a portion of the spoils, in recompense for their valor."

A flash of rage went through Rezir's sense, but his face remained calm. "That seems only fair. How much?"

"Fifteen percent," said Andromache. "I shall send an emissary to select the appropriate slaves."

Rezir looked puzzled for a moment, and then bowed. "Fifteen percent is...generous, honored Archon. Very well. I agree."

"Good," said Andromache. "We have a great deal of work to do. I suggest we begin at once."

"As you say," said Rezir.

Again he bowed, and began shouting orders to his men. His bodyguard of Immortals followed, leaving Kylon alone with Andromache, her bodyguards, and Kleistheon.

And the strange man with the scarred face.

Kleistheon scowled at him. "Be off, churl, and follow your master. This is not your concern."

The scarred man lifted his head. Kylon saw that his left eye was green, while the right was an odd shade of yellow-orange, almost like molten sulfur. 

"My mistress is not here, good sir," he said in a raspy voice. "Though she is in the city. Just not in the Market with these fine fellows."

Kleistheon scowled and reached for his sword, but Andromache's voice cracked like a whip. "Sicarion! Enough."

"As you wish," said the man called Sicarion, bowing his scarred face.

"You know him?" said Kylon, surprised. 

"So I do," said Andromache. "As he said, I am not his mistress. But he served well as my emissary to Rezir Shahan. And he will continue to serve me well."

Sicarion bowed. "Because my mistress wished it, good lady."

"I will have instructions for you soon," said Andromache. Her brown eyes fell upon Kylon. "But you, brother. I heard of how you fought upon the quays, how you drove the Legionaries before you. Well done. You are the pillar of House Kardamnos's strength."

"Thank you, sister," Kylon said. For a moment his doubts vanished. She was right. They could do it, they could seize Marsis and hold it before the Emperor's Legions returned to retake the city.

But the nagging doubts returned after a moment.

"Kleistheon," said Andromache. "We must deal with the magi at once. Their chapterhouse stands at the edge of the city's wealthy district, south of the Plaza of the Tower. Order four thousand of our ashtairoi to join Rezir in his attack. The remaining thousand will accompany me to the Magisterium's chapterhouse."

"As you command, High Seat," said Kleistheon. "Who shall have the command?"

"Choose a worthy polemarch," said Andromache. 

"What of me?" said Kylon.

"You, brother, shall accompany me to the Magisterium's chapterhouse," said Andromache. Again that ghost of a smile flickered across her face. "I would have no one else to guard my back."

"I am pleased," said Kylon.

"Kleistheon," said Andromache. "Go select a polemarch and gather the ashtairoi, and return swiftly."

"So I shall," said Kleistheon. He bowed once more and departed, leaving Kylon with Andromache and Sicarion. 

"Tell me, brother," said Andromache. "What do you think of our most honorable lord emir?"

Kylon hesitated, glancing at Sicarion.

"Do not mind him," said Andromache. "As he said, his loyalty does not belong to Rezir Shahan."

"I don't even like the emir," said Sicarion, and his yellow teeth flashed in a grin. "He smells bad. Too much onion in his diet."

"The man is a snake," said Kylon. "He will turn on us in a moment if we show any hint of weakness. Or if he thinks he can gain advantage over us. I suspect if we succeed in taking Marsis, Rezir will try to seize it for Istarinmul, and bar New Kyre from the port. Or he may rebel entirely from the Padishah, and declare himself king in Marsis." 

"You are wise, brother," said Andromache, "for that was my assessment of Rezir Shahan. A most dangerous man."

"Then why have we allied ourselves with him?" said Kylon. 

"Because he is a tool, and nothing more," said Andromache. "A tool we shall use to greater ends. Trust me, brother. The fall of Marsis is but the first step. What we do here will raise House Kardamnos to unassailable power, and make New Kyre first among the nations."