Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 08 - Ghost in the Mask (30 page)

“Now!” said Martin. “Attack! In the name of the Emperor and the dead of Calvarium, attack!”

The militiamen surged forward with a yell. The Venatorii raised their crossbows and fired, and a storm of quarrels stabbed into the mercenaries. A dozen men fell dead, a dozen more wounded, screaming as their blood spilled upon the earth.

Both Maena and Talekhris began casting new spells, and Claudia braced herself to cast a ward over the Sage. If Maena managed another attack, she would likely direct it at Talekhris, not at Lord Martin. 

And next to her, Kylon moved.

###

Kylon lifted his sword, frost covering the blade.

He was not a spy or an assassin. He was a warrior, and he knew his place in this kind of battle. The militiamen moved forward in good order, shields raised, spears drawn back to stab. 

Kylon fought in chaos…and the militiamen would exploit the chaos he created.

He raced forward, the sorcery of air lending him speed, and leaped over the trench. The sorcery of water fueled his leap, and he soared over the trench and the heads of the mercenaries.

He landed amidst them like a thunderbolt. 

Kylon swung his sword, the blade ripping through the side of a leather-armored mercenary. The touch of his sword turned the man’s blood to ice, and the mercenary fell dead. A nearby sergeant shouted orders, brandishing his sword, and the mercenaries attacked Kylon, stabbing with their swords and spears. Yet they seemed so slow compared to the speed of air sorcery, and he danced around their blows. His frost-wreathed sword stabbed out again and again, and every strike killed a man. The sergeant shouted commands, trying to herd the mercenaries into formation.

Kylon tore through them and plunged his sword into the sergeant’s chest. The man fell to his knees, frost covering his face and armor. Kylon ripped the blade free and turned to face his foes, only to find them backing away.

At the same time the militiamen charged over the bridge and crashed into the mercenaries. The mercenaries began to buckle, falling backwards. For all the poor reputation of provincial militias, Lord Martin’s men held their own. 

Sorcerous power washed over his arcane senses, and through the fighting he glimpsed Maena staggering back, fear on her face. Talekhris unleashed spells upon her, and his arcane power far exceeded hers. And if Talekhris held her attention, Kylon could draw close enough to land a killing blow.

Or he distract her long enough for Talekhris to destroy her.

They might win the battle before Caina and Corvalis even reached Maena.

Kylon cut his way through the chaos, leaving a trail of dead mercenaries in his wake.

###

Caina jumped over the trench, and Corvalis followed suit. 

The sounds of fighting filled the air, steel clanging on steel and men shouting. Yet this end of the camp was deserted. All of the mercenaries had rushed to defend the crude bridge, and Maena had thrown her sorcery into the fray.

Caina and Corvalis were unobserved. 

“This way,” she said, and she and Corvalis slipped from shadow to shadow, making their way to the center of the camp.

If Talekhris could keep Maena pinned down, Kylon would wreak havoc among the mercenaries. Sooner or later the men would break and Maena would flee. Caina doubted Maena Tulvius was the sort of woman to fight to the death. 

But before she fled, she likely would return to her pavilion to retrieve any valuable items.

Caina and Corvalis would be waiting for her.

###

Claudia’s hands curled into fists.

They were winning the battle. 

The mercenaries crumpled beneath the combined onslaught of the militiamen and Kylon. The Kyracian stormdancer was an irresistible force, moving so fast he seemed a gray blur to Claudia’s eyes. Talekhris continued his arcane assault upon Maena, his face grim and set, hers strained. Claudia sensed Maena’s defenses crumbling beneath the hammer of Talekhris’s spells. Sooner or later the sorceress would flee and run right into the waiting blades of Caina and Corvalis.

Or Talekhris would simply smash her like an insect. 

A militiaman stepped behind Claudia and Talekhris, his leather armor gleaming, a sword in his right hand and a dagger in his left. Odd that he wore his cloak with the cowl up.

Beneath the cowl Claudia glimpsed the ridged, scarred flesh covering the man’s face.

“My lord!” shouted Claudia, starting a spell. “Stop…”

But Sicarion was faster.

The assassin flung out his hands, and invisible force burst all directions. The blast knocked Martin from his horse, his armor clattering, the animal bolting in panic. The burst slammed into Claudia and drove her to the ground. Talekhris swayed as the power of his wards turned aside Sicarion’s spells, and the Sage turned.

But not before Sicarion plunged both of his weapons into Talekhris’s back.

Talekhris gagged, his eyes going wide as blood dripped from his mouth, and Sicarion leaned closer.

“You know,” he said, his rusty voice amused, “after all the centuries you have spent battling my mistress…I think you would be better at this sort of thing by now.”

Talekhris tried to cast a spell, but Sicarion ripped his serrated dagger across the Sage’s throat. Talekhris went limp, and Sicarion kicked. Talekhris stumbled forward a few steps and fell face-first into a pool of his own blood.

He did not move again. 

Lord Martin got to one knee, and Sicarion turned towards him, blood dripping from his blades.

Panic surged through Claudia, and she stood and flung out her hands, throwing all her power into a spell. Her will struck Sicarion, and the blast of psychokinetic force knocked the assassin over. Sicarion struck the ground and rolled back to his feet with the grace of a hunting cat.

His mismatched eyes fell upon her, and a grin spread over his scarred face.

“Aberon’s sister,” he murmured. “What pretty eyes. Perhaps I’ll keep them as a trophy.” 

“To me!” said Martin, staggering to his feet. “Men of Calvarium, to me!”

The militiamen in the reserves ran for Martin, while the Venatorii turned their crossbows towards the assassin. Sicarion looked back and forth, and then raised his hands, shouting a spell. Shadows swirled around him, and he stood encased in a hazy sphere of darkness. He ran towards the camp as the Venatorii fired. Their crossbow quarrels shot towards him, but disintegrated into splinters and rust when they touched the sphere of shadows.

Sicarion jumped over the trench and vanished into the melee. 

“My lord,” said Claudia, hurrying to Martin’s side. “Are you all right?”

“Well enough,” said Martin. “You must be ready to ward the men from arcane attacks. With Talekhris dead, Maena will likely…”

The ground shuddered beneath Claudia’s boots, and the men in the camp started to scream.

###

Kylon cut down another mercenary, and the ground started to shake.

For a moment he wondered if it was an earthquake, or if Talekhris and Maena had unleashed spells powerful enough to rend the earth itself.

A shape rose from the ground, forming itself into the figure of a man fifteen feet tall, albeit a man hewn of earth and broken rock. Golden flames burned in the sunken craters of its eyes, and Kylon felt the sorcerous will within the stone.

It was a lesser elemental spirit, a spirit of earth and stone. 

“Kill them!” Maena’s shrill voice rang over the chaos. “Kill them all!”

The elemental lumbered forward, crushing men with blows of its massive fists. 

###

“Something’s wrong,” said Caina. 

They stood in the shadows outside Maena’s pavilion. If Maena retreated towards the pavilion, either Caina or Corvalis could easily cut her down. Yet the sound of the battle had changed.

And Caina felt the presence of a powerful spell. 

“I think Martin’s men are losing the battle,” said Corvalis. 

She had sensed spells, powerful spells, crackling back and forth. Maena and Talekhris dueling, most likely. Yet suddenly the spells had stopped, followed by one of surpassing power. 

One that felt terribly familiar…

“If Maena’s winning,” said Corvalis, “she’s not going to retreat here.”

Caina started forward. She crouched in the shadow of a tent and looked at the battle. Mercenaries struggled against militiamen in a confused mass, crossbow quarrels from the Venatorii falling into the melee. She saw Maena standing with a guard of mercenaries around her, laughing as she cast spells.

And a huge shape lumbered through the fighting, smashing men to pulp, and Caina remembered where she had sensed that spell before.

“That’s an earth elemental,” she said. “A lesser earth elemental, like that one we fought in the Palace of Splendors. The Moroaica must have had Ranarius teach her the spell.”

“That thing will rip apart Martin’s men,” said Corvalis. “They don’t have a weapon that can hurt it.”

“Talekhris can dispel it,” said Caina.

The elemental picked up a screaming militiaman and ripped him in half.

“Then why hasn’t he dispelled it already?” said Corvalis.

That was a good question. A very good question. 

“Maybe Maena proved too much for him,” said Caina. Corvalis’s cowl and mask covered his face, but she could guess at his expression. Claudia had been with Talekhris, and if Maena had overwhelmed the Sage, Claudia would stand little chance against the renegade sorceress. 

“Then we solve the problem,” said Corvalis, “by killing Maena. I doubt Harkus’s rods have enough power to dispel an elemental. But if we kill Maena, the spell breaks and the elemental returns to the netherworld.” 

Caina nodded and slipped her ghostsilver dagger from its sheath. Maena had likely warded herself against steel, lest she catch a stray crossbow bolt through the throat, but she would have no sorcerous defense against the ghostsilver blade.

But the mercenaries standing guard over Maena might prove effective.

“If you can handle the guards,” said Caina, “I’ll deal with Maena.”

Corvalis nodded and they moved from shadow to shadow, creeping closer to Maena. 

###

Kylon made his way towards the hulking shape of the earth elemental.

His blade could not hurt it, not truly. A steel weapon could not harm a body fashioned of stone and dirt. But the stone and dirt were just the shell for an elemental spirit of earth, and such spirits hated the element of water. 

The sorcery of water infused Kylon’s frost-covered blade. His sword could not harm the elemental, but it could break the spells upon it and perhaps banish it to the netherworld.

He dodged a spear thrust, cut down another mercenary, and started towards the elemental.

And as he did, a shadow fell across his vision, and his power drained away.

Kylon stumbled. It felt similar to the dispelling effect of Harkus’s silver rods. But this was colder, far colder, as if some malevolent force leeched away both the sorcery and the warmth from every fiber of his body.

And Kylon had felt this before, in Catekharon.

He whirled and deflected Sicarion’s thrust. 

The dark-cloaked assassin stood before him, clad in the leather armor of a militia scout, his right eye gleaming like a snake’s within the darkness of his cowl. A sphere of shadows whirled around him, draining the life and the sorcerous power from anyone who stepped within it.

Kylon hopped back, and felt the power of his sorcery return to him. 

“Well, well.” Sicarion’s voice was a rusty rasp, full of amusement and scorn. “A pleasant surprise to see the mighty Kylon Shipbreaker himself. What brings you here? Still want to avenge your dear sister?”

He didn’t know about Thalastre. That was a relief. Kylon would not have put it past Sicarion to kill her out of spiteful enjoyment. 

“You corrupted Andromache,” he said, pointing his sword as the scarred assassin, “and you will pay for all the blood on your hands.”

Sicarion’s yellowed teeth glinted beneath the hood. “Andromache walked merrily to her destruction of her own will. And you think I have blood on my hands now? Wait until the mistress has completed her great work. Then I shall have the blood of an entire world upon my hands.” He laughed and raised his weapons. “Starting with yours!”

He charged, his orb of shadows falling over Kylon and draining away his speed and power. Sicarion’s sword and dagger moved in the fluid, precise strikes of a master swordsman, with no movement wasted. Yet Kylon had practiced with the blade every day since he had been a child, had fought for his life more times than he could remember.

He met Sicarion blow for blow, jumped out of the shadowy orb, and drew on his power. Strength and speed filled him, and he flung himself at Sicarion. The minute he crossed the boundary of the shadowy sphere, the sorcery drained away. Yet his momentum did not vanish, and his sword hammered at Sicarion with all the strength of a waterfall. Sicarion crossed both his blades to absorb the blow, and the power of the strike knocked him back. Kylon recovered his balance, whipped his blade around, and drove his sword at Sicarion. The assassin twisted to the side, fast as a snake, but not before Kylon’s sword opened a gash across his right shoulder.

Sicarion hissed with fury. “You have a strong sword arm, Kylon of House Kardamnos. Perhaps I’ll…”

“Take it for myself,” said Kylon, stepping out of the shadowy orb. “Yes, I’ve heard all your threats before. They grow tiresome.”

“Then perhaps,” said Sicarion, “I’ll cut out your impudent tongue and make you eat it.”

He charged, sword and dagger flying, and Kylon had no choice but to fall back.

###

Caina crept closer, the ghostsilver dagger low in her hand. Four guards surrounded the sorceress, but the men watched the melee with stunned expressions. Caina could hardly blame them. The earth elemental raged through the militiamen, killing in grim silence. The mercenaries had rallied, pushing the militiamen back towards the bridge. If the elemental was not stopped, it would break the militiamen.