Ghost in the Pact (40 page)

It was time to see if Kylon could change that. 

He ran at Rhataban, calling the sorcery of water, white mist hardening around his hand. It formed into another gauntlet of ice, studded with twin razor-edged spikes. Mazyan saw Kylon coming, and launched a furious series of attacks at Rhataban. The Master Alchemist retreated, blocking some of Mazyan’s attacks with his hammer and dodging around the others. 

Kylon leaped over the last dozen yards and joined the fight, launching attacks at Rhataban, the valikon rebounding from the white armor. Rhataban ducked away, and Kylon punched with his left fist, aiming for the opening in Rhataban’s helm. This time, though, Rhataban saw the trap coming, and ducked his head. Kylon’s fist slammed into the crest of his helm, rocking Rhataban’s head back, but the frozen gauntlet shattered into glittering shards. Rhataban snapped his hammer up, the edge clipping Kylon’s chest. He stumbled, and Rhataban went on the offensive, launching quick sweeping blows with his hammer, and Kylon had to retreat, using the sorcery of air to stay ahead of the Master Alchemist’s storm of steel. 

And as Rhataban attacked, golden fire blazed to life around his hands. 

Kylon saw the spell coming and jumped backwards, raising the valikon in guard. Once more Rhataban unleashed a bolt of transmuting fire, and Kylon caught it upon the valikon’s blade. This time, though, Rhataban added a blast of psychokinetic force just behind the transmuting fire. The valikon unraveled the transmutation spell, but the wall of invisible force hit Kylon across his entire body. He flew backwards and hit the ground, the breath exploding from his lungs. 

Rhataban leaped after Kylon, raising the hammer over his head with both hands, preparing a blow that would likely reduce Kylon’s skull to crimson mist. He still could not get a decent breath, but he drew on the sorcery of water and shoved. The push sent him rolling away, and Rhataban’s hammer came thundering down, the head sinking into the ground. Kylon staggered to his feet, sucking in air, and Rhataban ripped the hammer free, preparing another strike as Kylon lifted the valikon in guard.

Mazyan saved him then, his scimitar blurring in his hand. Rhataban let out an enraged snarl and swung the hammer, forcing Mazyan back. Kylon shifted the valikon to his right hand and drew a dagger with his left, wreathing the blade with white mist. He flung the dagger, catching Rhataban on the left leg, and frost sheathed the white armor plates, freezing them together. 

Kylon dashed at Rhataban, but once again the Master Alchemist anticipated the tactic. His left fist smashed against his leg, shattering the ice, and he spun, swinging the hammer with all his strength behind the blow. Kylon ducked, the hammer just missing the top of his head, and Rhataban lunged after him. Once again Kylon had to retreat, trying to keep ahead of the hammer. 

He almost stumbled again. His joints ached from the battering they had taken, and his head throbbed from the amount of sorcerous force he had already used. The fighting at the catapults had taken its toll. Kylon had been rested and ready the last time he had faced Rhataban, and he had still only dueled the Master Alchemist to a draw. Kylon could match Rhataban for speed and strength, but Rhataban had better armor and access to powerful sorcery that Kylon could not contest. If he didn’t think of something clever, right now, Rhataban was going to kill him and Mazyan, and then Prince Sulaman and Lord Tanzir and the other leaders of the rebellion.

And worst of all, Rhataban had promised to find and kill Caina. He had failed to save Thalastre from the nagataaru, and he might fail to save Caina from them…

He set himself, trying to catch his breath, preparing for Rhataban’s next attack.

Instead, Rhataban laughed, long and loud, purple fire flashing in his eyes. He sounded…exultant, triumphant. 

Yet he hadn’t won the fight yet.

“Fool!” said Rhataban. “Do you think you can overcome the Grand Master’s design?” There was manic, furious glee in his voice. “I am the first of the new humanity! And I shall slay you, and all those who stand before me!”

Why the devil hadn’t he kept attacking Kylon? 

The advantage had been his. If he had kept pushing, he would have won the fight then and there. Why stop to gloat? Surely he couldn’t be that foolish. Was it some kind of trap? Kylon reached for the sorcery of water, extending his senses. He felt Rhataban’s furious emotions, felt the stirring malice of the nagataaru within him. Rhataban’s emotional aura felt exultant, manic, almost as if…

Kylon blinked. 

Almost as if he was drunk.

He sensed something else, the agony of the wounded men lying near him. A dozen Immortals lay scattered on the ground nearby, all of them mortally wounded, all them in the final throes of dying. The nagataaru fed on death and torment, and the Red Huntress had feasted as she carved her way through the Tower of Kardamnos.

And now it was Rhataban’s turn to gorge himself upon the misery of those dying around him.

Kylon remembered the words of the Emissary of the Living Flame, and a cold chill swept through him. 

She had said the nagataaru were slaves to their vile nature. The Red Huntress had never let her bloodlust put her at personal risk. Yet did Rhataban have that kind of iron self-control? A drunken man made stupid decisions, and if Rhataban was drunk upon the agony of the dying Immortals…

“Rhataban!” said Kylon, stepping backwards among the dying Immortals, closer to the aura of agony radiating from them. “Enough talk! Come and finish it! Or are the Grand Master’s creatures all talk? Little wonder you have failed so far!” 

Rhataban howled in outrage and cast a spell, flinging another shaft of golden fire in Kylon’s direction. The valikon was ready in his hands, and he deflected the spell, unraveling it in a flash of light and sparks. Rhataban snarled in fury again, striding forward as he raised his hammer. Mazyan stalked after the Master Alchemist, and Rhataban circled to the side, keeping both Kylon and Mazyan in sight. 

“I’m still alive!” said Kylon, retreating past another group of dying Immortals, the valikon a steady white flame in his hands. “You couldn’t kill me at the Kaltari Highlands and you can’t kill me now!” Angry, he needed to make Rhataban angry, he needed to make the Master Alchemist lose all control. “Come on, what are you waiting for? Grand Master Callatas to come and hold your hand?” 

Rhataban snarled and brought his hammer down, crushing the skull of a nearby wounded Immortal. Kylon flinched at the callousness of it. Purple fire pulsed within Rhataban’s helm as he laughed, blood sliding from the head of his hammer. He might have killed the dying in Immortal in a fit of rage, but the nagataaru within him fed on that death, passing some of the stolen power to its host.

Maybe making Khataban angry hadn’t been such a good idea. 

Kylon and Mazyan both charged at once, Kylon coming from Rhataban’s left, Mazyan coming from the right. The Oath Shadow launched a flurry of dazzling strikes with his scimitar, the blade flashing and flying, and Rhataban retreated, blocking with his hammer or letting his armor take the impacts. Rhataban lifted his hammer, and Kylon realized what Rhataban was going to do.

“Mazyan!” shouted Kylon. “Duck!” 

Mazyan was a brilliant swordsman, his prowess further enhanced by the power of his djinni, but his swordplay was formal. Kylon suspected he had been trained by the best masters of the blade that Istarinmul had to offer, just as Kylon had been trained by the best sword masters and stormdancers that Andromache had been able to hire. Yet once he had been banished from New Kyre and forced to earn his way across Anshan by fighting in gladiatorial games, Kylon had become familiar with the brutal, more direct fighting methods in those games.

He doubted Mazyan had enjoyed a similar experience. 

So the Oath Shadow didn’t see it coming when Rhataban released the handle of his hammer and punched Mazyan in the face. 

Mazyan, to his credit, started to dodge the instant Kylon shouted his warning, so Rhataban’s armored fist hit him in the top of the head rather than in the center of the face. Nevertheless, the blow still snapped his head back, and Mazyan stumbled and fell to the ground. Kylon could not tell if the punch had stunned him or killed him. Rhataban raised his hammer for the killing blow, but by then Kylon had reached him, swinging the valikon in a blaze of white fire. Rhataban started to dodge, but the blow had been a feint, and Kylon changed the direction and slammed the valikon into his right arm, the edge sinking into a gap between the white armor plates. 

Rhataban roared, jerking back, and his hammer rose. Kylon dodged, and the Master Alchemist came at him in a rage, swinging the hammer without the slightest trace of fatigue. Even a glancing hit would have shattered Kylon’s bones and left him helpless before the killing blow. He had no choice but to retreat, using the sorcery of air to keep ahead of Rhataban’s furious attacks, using short leaps to jump out of range of the Master Alchemist’s inexorable advance.

Short leaps that made Rhataban angrier and angrier. 

The plan sharpened in Kylon’s mind. He had to make Rhataban even angrier, push his frustration to the breaking point. 

He drew as much air sorcery as he could manage and jumped backwards, landing a dozen yards away. Rhataban, for all his nagataaru-fueled speed, could not keep up, but Kylon could not keep leaping like this for much longer. 

“Still can’t kill me?” shouted Kylon. “Perhaps the Grand Master should have chosen a worthier instrument!” 

Rhataban came to a stop, golden fire blazing around his left hand. Kylon had seen him use that spell in the Kaltari Highlands, and he braced himself, drawing as much of the sorcery of water as his weary mind could hold.

“A poor choice,” said Rhataban, “for your final words!”

A cone of golden fire burst from his hand and raked across the ground, transmuting a circular patch of grassy steppe into sucking quicksand. Kylon felt his boots start to sink into it, felt the muck start to grasp at his feet, but he had already began his leap, the sorcery of water hurtling him backwards to land at the edge of the quicksand pool. He staggered, struggling to keep his balance as Rhataban hurtled forward. The Master Alchemist charged right through the pool of quicksand, and as Kylon had hoped, the quicksand did not hinder its creator in the slightest. What was the point in the spider spinning a web that he could not escape himself? 

Unless the web was altered…

Kylon touched the edge of the quicksand as Rhataban rushed towards him and drew upon the sorcery of water, white mist dancing around his fingers. 

And as he did, he froze the water within the quicksand. 

Rhataban was up to his knees in the stuff as it solidified into gritty ice, and he came to a jerking stop, his eyes widening. The hammer continued its forward momentum, and it slammed into the ice, shattering it into a thousand pieces, with Rhataban bent over the hammer as he struggled to recover his balance.

It was Kylon’s chance, perhaps the only chance he would ever get. 

He leaped forward and brought the valikon down onto the gap between Rhataban’s helmet and the top of his white cuirass. The blade sank into his neck with a crunch, the Iramisian sigils blazing, and white fire poured from the weapon and into the wound, attacking the nagataaru within his flesh. Rhataban’s eyes went wide, and he clawed at Kylon, but the strength had drained from his limbs. White fire struggled against the purple flame in his eyes, and Kylon saw the desperate plea for mercy there, felt the sudden horror in Rhataban’s emotions and his nagataaru.

“You should not,” said Kylon, ripping the valikon free, “have threatened Caina.” 

Rhataban started to rise, but before he could, Kylon swung the valikon with all the strength he could muster, and the blade sheared through Rhataban’s neck. The valikon flashed like a bolt of lightning as it destroyed the powerful nagataaru within Rhataban, the arcane shock of the spirit’s destruction shooting up Kylon’s arm.

The white-armored body fell backwards into the pool of slushy quicksand. 

Kylon stepped out of the pool, breathing hard, every inch of his body aching. But the battle was not over yet, and there were other foes to fight. He lifted the valikon once more, the white fires around the blade dimming, and looked for the kadrataagu.

But the kadrataagu had all been slain. The Imperial Guards were running towards him, led by Lord Martin and Tylas, and Kylon spotted Lady Claudia and four Guards heading towards Mazyan. He wondered why, and then recalled that Claudia had trained as a physician before meeting Martin.

Kylon turned, looking towards the battle. 

But the battle was over.

He had been so focused on Rhataban that he hadn’t even noticed. 

The Grand Wazir’s army had broken and fled, Tanzir’s cavalry in pursuit. The slain carpeted the ground, but Kylon saw far more Immortals than Kaltari warriors among the dead. Patches of Hellfire still burned here and there, and columns of black smoke were stark against the blue sky and the blazing Istarish sun. 

Kylon closed his eyes and let out a ragged, aching breath. 

“Lord Kylon?” said Martin.

Kylon opened his eyes and turned. 

“Are you wounded?” said Martin. 

“No,” said Kylon. “Just bruised a bit.” He looked at Claudia. “Is Mazyan…”

The Oath Shadow sat up, helped by Claudia, his customary scowl in place. 

“Alive and truculent, apparently,” said Martin. 

“Thank you for your help,” said Kylon. “Those kadrataagu had me.”

“It seemed only fair,” said Martin, “given that we could not have dealt with Master Rhataban ourselves.”

“That fight,” said Tylas. “Forgive me for speaking out of turn, my lord, but that fight…gods of the Empire. I’ve never seen anyone move that fast.”

Kylon nodded and tried to think of something to say. Gods, he was tired, but there was work to be done yet. He saw Tanzir and Sulaman with the other emirs, their battered guards reforming around them, and part of Kylon’s weary mind pointed out that this would be the ideal time for the Huntress to strike, that she was perfectly capable of sacrificing Rhataban to take a shot at Sulaman and Tanzir.