Demonbane (Book 4) (24 page)

“I’m not worthy,” the assassin cried. She dropped to her knees and grabbed at her hair, tearing and pulling at it with her hands. “The goddess…she cannot see me like this. What have you done?” She looked up at Kendril, her eyes crazed. “
What have you done
?”

Kendril and Joseph both stared, speechless.

Nadine’s face, the half of it that had been covered with the mask, was a mass of scars, burns, and welts, a horrible mixture of injuries of all kinds.

Self-inflicted injuries.

“I am nothing,” Nadine said. She closed her eyes, rocking back and forth on her knees. “The goddess is everything. The goddess is beautiful. I am an abomination. The goddess lives. Indigoru rises.” Tears rolled down her scarred face.

Kendril lowered his swords.

Joseph came up beside the Ghostwalker.

Around them the smoke was thickening, making their eyes water and singeing the backs of their throats.

Nadine looked up at them. Her eyes were filled with loathing and hatred. “Your city will fall,” she hissed. “It has already begun. Despair is here.
Indigoru
is here. You will all fall into darkness and fire.”

“But not you?” Kendril asked.

The assassin shook her head. “I have failed my goddess.” She lifted her poisoned dagger.

Kendril and Joseph both tensed. They raised their weapons.

Nadine gave a mocking smile. “You will
both
suffer before the end.”

She stabbed herself in the chest.

Chapter 14

Tomas barely made it out the door without being smashed in the press of people.

Dark smoke was pouring out from the inside of the opera house, filling the foyer so that it was almost impossible to breathe.

And yet, much to the Ghostwalker’s irritation, the crowd of people didn’t seem to be moving at all. They had stopped, as if frozen into complete inaction.

Tomas pushed and fought his way through the stand-still. He hoped Callen was still behind him, not that the avowed pacifist would be much use in a fight. For that matter, Tomas wasn’t much use in a fight either, if it came down to it. He would rather have had Hamis or Olan by his side.

Or ashes, even
Kendril
.

Why weren’t people moving? The smoke alone should only be adding to the panic and chaos.

Tomas wiggled between two nobles, then stopped.

He could feel it in the air. A change of some kind, like the tingle of electricity before a lightning strike.

Over the shoulders of the people in front of him, he could see the witch and Lady Dutraad standing at the top of the stairs that led down to the street below. The crowd was instinctually giving them a wide birth.

Tomas looked back behind him. Callen was out of sight.

He looked back at the two women. They were still just standing there, making no move to escape or run.

Something was very, very wrong.

Captain Potemkin threw himself off his mount. His face was such a mask of fury that the nearby gendarmes moved back a step back.

The street was in chaos. One coach had already overturned, other horses were starting to start at the smell of smoke. And there was plenty of smoke, all pouring out of the opera house. Smoke meant fire, and a fire in a city like Vorten could quickly rage out of control, even on a cold winter day. If it wasn’t put out quickly, it could spread and devour this whole section of the city in no time.

By Eru, the people weren’t even
moving
. Most of them were just standing around on the opera house steps.

Potemkin was going to need more than twenty gendarmes. This was a mess, and it was fast having the potential to be a major catastrophe.

And he already knew who was to blame. Madris and her Ghostwalkers. It had to be. There was no way that any of this could be a coincidence.

Potemkin scowled. He would have a word with Madris later. Right now he had to get those people moving, then get a makeshift bucket brigade going.

He looked around, his eyes falling on Lieutenant Gradine.

The man was simply standing there, gawking up at the steps of the opera house.

Odd. Gradine was a capable officer. Not the kind of man to stand around uselessly in a crisis.

“Get this street cleared,” Potemkin roared over his shoulder to the gendarmes who were leaping off their horses. “Send back to town hall, get the Lord Mayor
right now
.  And find that Ghostwalker Madris. I want to talk with her.” He strode over and wrenched Gradine around by the man’s shoulder. “Lieutenant, what on Zanthora are you doing? Tuldor’s beard, man,
report
. What are we dealing with here?”

The lieutenant looked at him blankly, then lifted a finger towards the steps.

Potemkin glanced up and noticed for the first time what everyone was staring at.

Two women, wearing hooded robes.

Potemkin started to shout another command, then stopped, the words dying on his tongue.

He narrowed his eyes and blinked.

That wasn’t possible. It must be some kind of illusion, a trick of the light.

One of the women almost looked like she was…

Floating
.

Nadine collapsed to the ground. Her body twitched and shook. Foam dribbled out of her mouth.

Joseph snatched the herb bag that hung at his side and began to step forward.

Kendril grabbed him roughly by the arm and stopped him.

“She’s dying,” Joseph said.

The Ghostwalker’s eyes were void of emotion. “She killed herself.” He turned his head back to the stage. The whole structure was already engulfed in flames. “We have to save those who can still be saved.”

Joseph’s eyes widened. “Kara.”

Kendril nodded. “Go.”

Joseph turned and ran back towards the flames and billowing smoke.

Kendril turned back to Nadine.

She lay on her side, curled into a ball. Blood seeped from the wound in her chest into the carpet. Her body was convulsing in its death throes. Whether it was from the wound or the poison on the blade, Kendril couldn’t tell.

She looked up at him through blood-shot eyes. “You…will all…
burn
…”

Kendril stepped up to her fallen form. “Eru grant you mercy, for I guarantee you won’t get any from me.”

The assassin actually managed to smile despite the pain that wracked her body. “Your god…is dead,,.”

“So are you,” Kendril replied, his voice like ice.

He swung his sword down.

Olan came staggering up the aisle. He was supporting Hamis, who was bleeding from a large gash to the head.

Kendril looked back at the two other Ghostwalkers questioningly.

Olan glanced down at Nadine’s body, then back up at Kendril. “Wanara?”

Kendril shook his head. He tried not to let the sudden stab of guilt he felt show on his face.

Olan grimaced. “We have to stop that witch. Tomas and Callen are at the front doors. Go help them. I’ll get Hamis out of here.”

The burly Ghostwalker snorted. “I don’t need anyone’s help,” he spat. He continued to hold on to Olan, however, and his face was deathly pale.

Kendril didn’t hesitate. He turned and bolted up the aisle.

Behind him, part of the stage collapsed into smoke and embers.

“It’s the Ghostwalkers, isn’t it?” Baron Dutraad dismounted from his horse. His sword had been returned to him, and it jangled in its sheath at its side. “I knew it. They’re trouble, that lot. I—” He stared up at the opera hall. “Vesuna’s blood, is that
smoke
?” He glanced around at the assembled gendarmes.

They were all staring wide-eyed at the stairs.

Dutraad turned round in irritation. “Shouldn’t we form a bucket line or something? Captain Potemkin? Great Eru, man, have you taken leave of your senses?”

Potemkin felt paralyzed. He couldn’t move, couldn’t tear his eyes away from the two women on the steps.

Dutraad snorted. “Why are all those people just standing—?” He stopped in the middle of his sentence. “I say, is that…
Mina
?”

“Get them back.”

Dutraad turned his head  at the new voice.

Potemkin, as if breaking from a spell, looked over as well.

Madris came over to them across the slush and snow of the street, moving as quickly as she could with her cane.

The gendarme captain’s face hardened. “Madris. You have a lot to answer—”

The elderly Ghostwalker glanced up at the steps of the opera house. “Get those people back.” She looked straight at Potemkin, and the expression on her face startled him. “Get them back
now
.”

The doorway collapsed, sending out a flurry of sparks and a torrent of black smoke.

Joseph drew up about twenty feet away, cursing under his breath. The heat was intense. He lifted a hand to shield his face.

The way to the backstage was blocked.

Joseph glanced back up at the stage.

The whole structure was a blazing inferno. The fire was spreading quickly out into the seats and climbing up the side walls.

Kara was still down there. Maklavir too.

Joseph coughed in the choking smoke, and took a quick estimation of the doorway in front of him,

It wasn’t a simple matter of braving the fire to run through. The entire entrance was completely blocked by flaming debris.

He would never survive the attempt.

And if he stayed in here much longer, the smoke would kill him.

Joseph paused for one more long moment, staring at the shattered doorway.

He had no choice. Eru help him, he had to go.

Joseph turned and headed back for the front doors.

He had saved Kara from the freezing cold.

Now she was going to die in a roaring fire.

Tomas stared. He could not tear his eyes away, could not even move.

Lady Dutraad. She was…floating just a foot or two off the ground.

Tomas’ mouth felt dry. He didn’t know what to do. All he had was a dagger, a simple, stupid dagger.

A gloved hand fell heavily on his shoulder.

Tomas turned, momentarily broken out of his stupor. He expected to see Callen behind him.

Instead, it was Kendril.

“What’s going on?” The Ghostwalker snapped. He flicked back the flintlock on his pistol, newly reloaded. “Where’s Bronwyn?”

Tomas swallowed, then stepped to one side and pointed at the two robed figures.

Kendril pushed past him and raised his pistol.

Bronwyn knelt on the snow-covered step. Despite herself, her hands were shaking.

And not from the cold.

Mina’s hooded head swiveled, taking in the gaping crowd around them. “Why do they not prostrate themselves? Don’t they know who I am?”

The voice was resonant, other-worldly. It was not Mina’s voice.

Bronwyn kept her face to the ground. “They do not know, my goddess.”

“They will learn.” She began to move slowly upwards.

Dutraad and Potemkin came up the steps towards them, followed by several armed gendarmes.

“Mina,” Baron Duraad began, “For Eru’s sake, stop this nons—” He stopped mid-sentence as he realized for the first time at the fact that his wife was floating in the air.

Potemkin motioned to the gendarmes behind him. “Spread out,” he barked. He raised his carbine. “And get these people off the steps.”

Madris hobbled up the stairs behind them. “For the love of Eru, Captain,
shoot her
.”

Mina laughed. The sound was cold, haunting, mocking.

And unearthly.

Bronwyn pushed her face further towards the snow.

Baron Dutraad put a tentative hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. “Mina, my love…please, don’t—”

“Mina?” The apparition turned her hooded gaze on Dutraad. “Mina is no more. I am Indigoru. Look upon my visage, mortals, and feel Despair.”

She pulled back her hood.

A bright, golden light flooded the steps.

There was a chorus of gasps and screams from the crowd.

Mina was glowing, hovering off the ground with arms outstretched as if she was about to provide a blessing to those nearby.

But she was not Mina.

Her face had transformed. She was beautiful beyond description, radiant like a Guardian from the Blessed Scriptures. Her robe fluttered down and away from her, cast aside like a worthless cloth. She was completely naked save for the Soulbinder around her neck. Her whole body blazed like a golden torch. Her figure was magnificent, absolutely perfect in every detail, sculpted to a finer degree of perfection than any artist could ever achieve.

She was lovely, enticing, innocent, seductive, and sublime. Every man’s desire, every woman’s unattainable dream.

No one moved. Everyone stared, entranced into complete inaction at the sight of beauty beyond words that floated before them.

The carbines of the gendarmes slowly lowered.

“Am I not beautiful?” Indigoru said. Her voice was a whisper, a breath, but one that sounded clearly in the ears of each person, as if meant for them alone.

Potemkin’s own weapon dropped. He stared in enraptured awe.

Madris looked around desperately. She spotted Kendril at the top of the steps.

 He stood motionless, a dazed look on his face and his pistol loose in his hand.

“Worship me,” Indigoru crooned. Her voice sounded in every ear like the call of some ephemeral spirit. “Pledge yourselves to me, and I will reward you beyond your dreams. Beauty, love, all your deepest desires—”

“
Kendril
!” Madris yelled.

Kendril blinked, then shook his head as if clearing his mind from a fog. He raised his pistol.

Indigoru pivoted, swirling around in the air with her arms outstretched. The golden glow that emanated from her flooded the whole front of the opera house, bathing everyone in its warm light. Her hair fluttered and tossed as if blown by a spectral wind. “Look upon me,” she soothed. “Give yourselves to me.”

Kendril’s pistol banged out in the cold night air.

Indigoru looked directly at him.

The bullet hung in the air about three feet away from her face, spinning endlessly without moving forward.