Ghost in the Razor (8 page)

The Adamant Guard’s sword plunged towards her, and Caina twisted aside. The sword missed her chest and ripped past her left shoulder, catching in the ornamented robe of her disguise. The tug against her robe staggered Caina, but the Adamant Guard overbalanced, and she hammered her left fist onto the wrist of the Guard’s sword hand. The sword tore loose of her damaged robe, and Caina snatched a dagger from her belt with her right hand and stabbed at the Guard’s throat.

The Guard’s left hand closed about her right wrist like an iron shackle. Caina tried to rip her hand free, but she could not. It was as if the Guard’s hand had been wrought of solid stone. His right hand closed hard around her throat. Caina seized his arm, but it was like trying to push aside a fallen tree.

His face remained calm and empty as he lifted her from her feet and started to choke her to death.

Horrible pain exploded through Caina as the weight of her body hung from her neck, her boots kicking uselessly at the Guard’s legs, her left hand grabbing the Guard’s arm in a frantic attempt to relieve some of the pressure on her neck. She could not get enough leverage to do any injury to the Guard, and even if she did, the pain would not keep the Guard from throttling her. Her vision started to shrink into a narrow tunnel. 

In desperation, she released the Guard’s arm and yanked another dagger from her belt. The dagger had been forged from something other than steel, and its leaf-shaped blade reflected the sun with an odd gleam. Caina slashed the dagger at the Adamant Guard’s arm. She had no leverage and only opened a shallow cut on the Guard’s forearm.

Yet the cut sizzled and smoked, the skin around the wound blackening, and the Guard reacted as if Caina had hit him over the head with a shovel. His impassive face flooded with pain, and the Guard stumbled with a hoarse cry, his limbs twitching and jerking of their own accord. He sagged like a man laboring beneath a heavy burden, his grip loosening. Caina drove her feet into his armored stomach, the steel plates clanging beneath her boots, and ripped free of his grasp. She staggered back, wheezing and coughing, knowing that if she fell she would probably never get up again.

The Adamant Guard seemed in worse shape. He stepped towards her, but slowly, as if straining beneath a great weight. Had the dagger’s scratch somehow weakened him? That seemed unlikely, but…

Caina looked at the silvery dagger in her left hand, and the answer came to her.

The dagger was fashioned of ghostsilver. The rare metal was proof against sorcery and disrupted spells. So many spells had been laid over the Adamant Guard that the dagger’s mere touch had caused him pain. Yet the Silent Hunters, the Umbarian Order’s assassins, had nearly as many spells upon them, and while the ghostsilver dagger had dealt them charred wounds, its touch had not staggered them as it had the Adamant Guard.

The Guard took one step towards her, and then another, and Caina understood. 

The Guard’s armor plates had been grafted to his flesh. All that steel had to be heavy. The spells written onto his skin gave him the strength to carry it, but if those spells were disrupted…

Caina sprinted at the Adamant Guard, flinging another throwing knife. The Guard got his thick arm up to block, and the blade bounced away. He charged at her, and Caina tossed the ghostsilver dagger to her right hand and feinted. The hulking Guard had learned to fear the weapon, and he flinched just as Caina expected. That gave her an opening, and she flicked the dagger at his legs. The ghostsilver blade bit through his trousers and raked across his thigh, and the wound sizzled and spat angry smoke, the dagger’s hilt growing hot beneath Caina’s fingers. The Guard screamed, staggering as if he had just picked up a hundred-pound sack of bricks. Before he recovered, Caina plunged the dagger into his neck. The Guard clawed at her, but Caina spun out of reach as the man fell dying to the ground. 

She turned towards Kylon. He was holding his own against the two Adamant Guards, but step by step the Umbarian soldiers were forcing him towards the wall of a tenement. Once his back was to the wall, they would finish him. Yet if Caina’s dagger disrupted the spells upon them, Kylon could defeat them. 

The sound of running boots filled her ears.

Four more Adamant Guards sprinted into the courtyard, swords in hand. Two of them headed towards Kylon, and the other two ran at Caina. 

She gripped her dagger, trying to think of something clever to do.

###

From the shadows of a doorway, Morgant watched the fight in the courtyard.

He was breathing a little fast. The Balarigar knew how to throw off her pursuers. She was very good at it, but he was simply better. He raised an eyebrow when Caina managed to kill the Adamant Guard.

A ghostsilver blade. That was clever, especially with all that steel lathered over the Adamant Guards. If she had kicked the Guard onto his back, perhaps he would have lain there helpless like a turtle, pinned by the weight of his own armored carapace. 

Impressive, but futile. 

The battle was over. The stormdancer was barely holding his own against two Adamant Guards. Four would finish him off in short order. The Balarigar would not be able to fight off two at once. Even if they managed to hold out, sooner or later the Sifter would arrive and kill them both. 

A pity, really. Her boldness and cleverness had impressed Morgant, and he did not impress easily. For a moment he had thought that the Knight of Wind and Air had been right, that she might be the one who could help him keep his word to Annarah. 

Obviously she could not do that after the Adamant Guards killed her. 

Yet…

A peculiar idea stirred in his thoughts. 

Perhaps she was only an outline upon canvas. Or an uncompleted drawing. Or a sculpture only half-freed from its block of marble, though Morgant had always known that painting superior to mere crude sculpture. She was not strong enough to help him.

But maybe she could become strong enough to help him keep his word to Annarah. 

Assuming she lived through the next hour or so. 

Morgant let out a little laugh.

“Manipulation, indeed,” he said, and made up his mind.

###

Caina set herself, preparing to strike. The Guard on her left was nearer. If she hit him with the dagger, perhaps she could immobilize him long enough to take down the second Guard. Or, more likely, the second Adamant Guard would kill her as she attacked the man on the left. 

She could think of nothing else to do.

A deep, hoarse voice boomed over the courtyard, a voice with a thick, burred Caerish accent. 

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen!” 

Caina turned her head, blinking in surprise, and the Guards froze for a moment. Even Kylon and the two Guards dueling him turned to look. A thin, black-clad figure limped from one of the tenements, leaning upon a brass-handled cane, his black coat open to reveal his crisp white shirt.

“Markaine?” said Caina, astonished.

“Or I should say gentlemen and lady, I suppose,” said Markaine of Caer Marist, waving a hand in her direction. “She’s actually a woman.” He squinted at her. “Well, a bearded woman. But the beard is fake. It’s a convincing disguise, but it’s really not a good look for you, dear. You’re never going to get a husband like that.” He spun, both hands upon the handle of his cane, and looked at the Guards. “You fellows. Is it sporting to kill a woman? I admit, she is an incredibly annoying woman and talks far too much, but cutting off her head seems excessive. Maybe you could just take a finger or two.”

“Identify yourself,” said one of the Guards in a cold voice.

“You don’t know me?” said Markaine. He struck a pose and gestured with his cane. “I am Markaine of Caer Marist, the finest painter in Istarinmul or anywhere else, for that matter. I could paint you lot. Half my usual price, too.” He grinned, showing yellowed teeth. “I could paint you holding her head. Or upon your sword, as you prefer. The patron is always right.”

“Have you lost your mind?” said Caina. What was he doing here? “Run!”

“Kill him,” said the Guard

Markaine sighed. “No one appreciates art.” 

Two of the Guards strode towards Markaine, and Caina ran towards them. The painter made no move to defend himself. The Guards would cut him down, and Caina would have gotten him killed for nothing. He had been her only chance of discovering what had happened to Morgant the Razor. 

The Guards drew back their swords to strike.

Then Markaine moved.

There was a clicking noise, and his cane fell in two pieces to the ground. In his hand he held a long, slender blade, the handle of his cane rotating to become the sword’s hilt. The weapon blurred in his hand, and one of the Guards fell to his knees, blood fountaining from a sliced throat. The second Guard slashed, and Markaine twitched to the side, the blade missing him by inches. Caina darted forward and stabbed her ghostsilver dagger into the Guard’s shoulder. The Adamant Guard fell to his knees with an enraged bellow, and Markaine’s sword sank into his left eye. The Guard gave a spastic twitch and then collapsed. 

Stunned silence fell upon the courtyard as the Adamant Guards stared at the old painter.

“That was embarrassing,” said Markaine. “For you, mostly.” He looked down. “I hope I didn’t get any blood on my shirt. That would be embarrassing for me.” 

Two of the Adamant Guards roared and charged at Markaine, while the other two resumed their attack upon Kylon. Caina braced herself, preparing to strike. Markaine only rolled his shoulders, the sword’s slender tip bobbing before him.

He threw the weapon at the charging Guards.

It was a futile, ineffective move. The slender sword did not have the weight or speed to penetrate the Guards’ armor. It didn’t even get that far. One of the Guards swept his sword before him, sending the thin blade spinning away.

That gave Markaine time to reach into his coat.

His right hand came out holding a long black dagger, and Caina felt a surge of sorcerous power from the weapon.

She had never seen a dagger quite like it. It was a foot long, and it was blacker than any steel she had ever seen, darker than even the armor of an Imperial Guard. The only color in the weapon was a round red gem, possibly a red pearl or a ruby, set into the dagger’s pommel. It looked like a baleful red eye. 

The nearest Adamant Guard slashed at him, and Markaine raised his dagger in a useless block. The broadsword came down, and the black dagger cut through the sword as if it had been made of wet paper. Two-thirds of the blade clattered to the ground, the cut end glowing white-hot. The Adamant Guard stumbled, and Markaine slashed. The dagger sank into the Adamant Guard’s chest, ripping him open from throat to groin as the black blade parted the steel plate like soft cheese. The Adamant Guard toppled to his knees as his guts fell out, the slashed plates of his armor glowing, the broken end of his ribs smoking. 

The sorcerous aura surrounding the black dagger grew stronger.

The second Guard attacked Markaine, Caina forgotten. Markaine spun past the Guard’s attack and drove his black dagger into the Guard’s arm. The Adamant Guard showed no sign of pain at the wound, but Caina felt another surge of power from the black dagger.

The Guard burst into howling flames, the fire erupting from beneath his skin. 

Markaine jumped back, as did Caina, and the Adamant Guard let out a horrified, agonizing scream. The stench of burning flesh flooded Caina’s nostrils, reminding her of the pyromantic sorcery she had seen Kalastus use in Rasadda years ago. The Guard staggered forward, and Caina feared that he would engulf her in a fiery embrace.

The burning man collapsed in silence, a thick plume of greasy smoke rising from his blackening corpse. 

Caina looked at Markaine, at the black dagger with the glowing red gem in the pommel. Morgant the Razor, all the old tales had called the feared assassin. According to the stories, the name of the Razor had come from his favorite weapon. A black dagger with a red pearl in the pommel, a dagger that left such fine, precise cuts that it could have been a razor…

She met Markaine’s pale blue eyes and he grinned. 

“Ah, there we go,” he said. “There’s the realization. Figured it out yet, have you?”

Caina ran for Kylon, intending to aid him against the remaining two Adamant Guards. Once Kylon was safe and they were clear, they could figure out what to do about Markaine of Caer Marist. 

Or Morgant the Razor, assuming Markaine was not just a madman with an enspelled dagger. 

As she ran, one of the windows overhead exploded in a fireball.

The Sifter leapt out of the blast and landed ten feet in front of Caina.

###

The heat from the explosion washed over Kylon, and he staggered back a step. It also staggered the Adamant Guards, and he at last had an opening. He whipped his sword around in a two-handed swing, all his storm-enhanced strength driving the blow, and took off the head of the nearest Adamant Guard. Blood fountained from the stump of the Guard’s neck, and the man collapsed in silence, his head rolling away. 

The second Guard struck even as the burning Sifter strode towards Caina. Kylon twisted to the side, but not fast enough. The Guard’s blade raked across the left side of his ribs. Had he stood still, the sword would likely have shattered the ribs and pierced his heart, but Kylon kept moving. He spun with the force of the blow, his sword raking across the back of the Guard’s leg. The Umbarian soldier stumbled with a grunt, and Kylon sidestepped and brought his sword onto the back of the Guard’s neck.

That made a mess.

He ripped the sword free, turning to aid Caina as the Sifter dissolved into a whirling cloud of flame and embers.

###

Caina drew back the ghostsilver dagger to stab, and the Sifter…unraveled.

She could think of no other word to describe it. The dead girl grinned, and then her body disintegrated, dissolving from within as if consumed by the fire elemental’s fury. Yet the fire did not waver, but grew brighter and hotter. The cloud of burning embers that had once been the dead girl whirled around the flames faster and faster.