Ghost in the Winds (Ghost Exile #9) (22 page)

“Lord Kylon!” said a familiar voice.

Kylon saw a band of grim-faced men in chain mail running down the aisle between rows of tents. Many of the men carried the skulls of defeated foes at their belts, which meant they were Kaltari warriors. Strabane himself marched at their head, scowling, his greatsword in his hands. After him came Nasser, a shadow in his dark clothing, and Laertes, broadsword and heavy shield ready. Kylon vaguely wondered if Laertes and Tomazain had served in the same Legion. 

“Seems you brought the fight with you,” said Strabane. 

“I doubt it,” said Kylon. “I have news for the Prince and the emir, but we have to deal with this first. The Hellfire barrage was just a distraction. The Grand Wazir launched a sortie.”

Nasser nodded. “No doubt hoping to throw us into disarray, gaining his master another day to work the Apotheosis.”

“That was my thought,” said Kylon. “They are forming up just outside the gate with torches, probably to burn the tents.”

“The tents?” said Strabane, looking at Nasser.

“They will ride right down this aisle,” said Nasser, “to set as much afire as they can.”

Strabane nodded and spat upon the dusty ground. “Then let’s give the bastards an unpleasant surprise, shall we?” He barked orders to his warriors, and they dispersed, hiding in the narrow gaps between the tents. Strabane beckoned, and Kylon followed the Kaltari headman with Nasser and Laertes, ducking into a gap between two tents. For a moment, the aisle appeared deserted, even as the blast of war horns and the boom of drums rose from the rest of the camp.

The illusion did not last long. 

A moment later the enemy horsemen galloped down the aisle. Most of them were armored in chain mail or gleaming plate, which meant they were the personal guards of the various emirs who still supported Erghulan Amirasku. All of them carried torches and scimitars and lances, and started to draw back their arms, preparing to throw the torches and set the tents ablaze.

“Now!” roared Strabane.

Kylon moved before anyone else could react, drawing on the sorcery of air and water. He leaped overhead, valikon raised, and came plummeting down. His sweeping blow knocked one of the horsemen from the saddle to die beneath the stamping hooves of his fellow riders. Kylon landed in the midst of the horses and jumped again, killing another horseman, and before he touched down again, the Kaltari erupted from concealment, howling their war cries. 

A javelin sailed through the air and buried itself in the chest of a horseman, driving the soldier to the ground with a scream. Laertes waded into the fray, shield raised as he reached over his back for a second javelin. Nasser parried the stab of a lance with a sweep of his scimitar, punching out with his gloved left fist as he did. His hand slammed into his foe’s knee with a hideous crunching noise, and the horseman howled in pain. Nasser stabbed up, his scimitar plunging into his foe’s flesh, and the horseman slumped to the ground. 

The Kaltari fought with less finesse than Nasser, but with no less effectiveness. Trapped between the mass of Kaltari warriors, the horsemen had no chance. Kylon killed and killed, the valikon running red with blood in his hands, and a moment later the few survivors broke and fled, galloping back towards the walls of Istarinmul. 

“Come!” said Nasser, gesturing with his scimitar. “We’ve driven off this band, but there will be others.”

Kylon wanted to suggest that they charge at once and try to reach the opened gate before Erghulan’s men could close it, but he knew that would be suicide. The men upon the walls would see the attackers coming from a long way off, and would have ample time to close the gate. Then the attackers would be trapped outside the wall, well within the range of archers upon the ramparts…and the Hellfire catapults atop the watch towers. 

So he nodded and followed Nasser as they ran towards the sound of fighting.

###

By mid-morning, the last of the raiders had been killed or driven off. As far as Kylon could judge, the sortie had been a failure. Erghulan had lost far more men than the rebels had, and Tanzir’s army had not been thrown into disarray. Kylon had not thought of Erghulan Amirasku as a shrewd commander, and both the battle on the steppes to the south and the recent sortie confirmed that suspicion.

Of course, Erghulan didn’t need to be shrewd to hold Istarinmul for another few days. If Kylon used the spell to sense arcane forces, he detected the power gathering around the Golden Palace, a power that seemed to redouble every few hours. Callatas was gathering a colossal amount of force to cast the Apotheosis, and Kylon did not think it would take the Grand Master much longer to finish the spell. 

At noon, Tanzir and Sulaman called together their chief commanders to discuss their tactics for taking the city. Kylon followed Strabane, Nasser, and Laertes to the gathering outside of Prince Sulaman’s tent. All the chief captains were there – Tanzir and Sulaman, with Mazyan scowling behind the Prince, Lord Martin and Lady Claudia, Kazravid and the commanders of the mercenary companies, the other emirs who had declared their support for Tanzir and the Prince. 

The Emissary waited with them, flanked by a quartet of the bright-robed monks from Silent Ash Temple. 

“My lords and emirs,” said Tanzir, sweating a little in the noon sun. His armor had to be excruciating in the heat of the day. “We have driven off the last of the raiders and held our lines. I cannot imagine what Erghulan hoped to accomplish with that sortie, save to waste lives.”

Strabane shrugged. “He wanted to buy time. Stir up chaos for us, and gain a few hours for his Grand Master to work his sorcery.”

“That, I think,” said Nasser, “is the most likely explanation.” 

“We must decide how to proceed,” said Sulaman. “Lord Kylon. What news do you bring from the city?”

Kylon took a deep breath as the eyes of the captains fell upon him. “The Grand Master has barricaded himself within the Golden Palace, and he is casting the spells to work the Apotheosis.”

“I know,” said Claudia. She looked tired, her green eyes bloodshot. Likely she had spent the morning working in the hospital tents. “Every time I cast a spell I feel the amount of power he is drawing. Already he has gathered enough sorcerous strength to blast Istarinmul to ashes, and still he is summoning more.” 

“Callatas has ordered Erghulan to hold the wall no matter what happens,” said Kylon. “I think he promised that the Apotheosis will bring final victory, so Erghulan will fight to the bloody end.”

Sulaman nodded. The lines on his thin face seemed deeper than they had a few days earlier. “And the other task we spoke of?”

Kylon glanced at Claudia. “I made contact with the spies within the city.”

“They are alive?” said Lord Martin. Claudia and Martin were both Ghosts, so they would likely have met at least some of the rest of the circle. 

“Yes,” said Kylon. 

“Was there any word from the Balarigar?” said Sulaman.

One of the other emirs snorted. “The woman started this damned war, she can be here for the end of it.” 

“No,” said Kylon. “No one in Istarinmul has seen her.” The usual tangle of grief and worry and anger went through him, and he shoved it aside. “The spies have a plan. They think they can seize the city’s gate and open it tomorrow at dawn. They will be able to open it, but not for long. We must be ready to strike at once. I think that is our best chance to get inside the city before it is too late.”

Sulaman regarded him for a moment. “Do you believe they can succeed?”

“Yes,” said Kylon. “Their plan is risky, and I fear some of them will be killed. But I do think it will work. Otherwise, we will have to launch a full assault on the wall, and you saw what happened when those catapults threw amphorae of Hellfire to cover the sortie.”

“It turned the field into a sea of fire,” said Strabane. “Damned sorcerers.”

“Thousands would die in such an attack,” said Tanzir, “even before the first ladder reached the wall.” 

“It would be a terrible slaughter,” said Sulaman. “But a far greater slaughter would befall both Istarinmul and the world if Callatas finishes his evil work. We may have no choice.” He looked at Tanzir. “We should prepare to attack at dawn tomorrow. If the spies within the city succeed in opening the gate, well and good. If not…then we have no choice but to assault the walls with our full strength.”

“Agreed,” said Tanzir with a heavy sigh. He looked at the tents around them, and Kylon knew the emir wondered how many of his men would lie die tomorrow. “I shall have the siege catapults brought forward. Not loaded with Hellfire, though. One miss and we could kill a thousand people in the Anshani Quarter. No, we’ll target the catapults on the watch towers and try to disable them. Perhaps we can clear a corridor of approach for our men to reach the walls.” 

“Tomorrow,” said the Emissary in her quiet voice.

They all looked at her. Unease flickered through Kylon. As much as he disliked and mistrusted oracles, he had to admit that the Emissary had been helpful. Her advice had inspired the tactic that Kylon had used to defeat Rhataban, and without that he might not have been able to overcome the Master Alchemist. And yet he could never forget how the Surge had warned him about the nagataaru but had said nothing of the danger coming for Thalastre and their unborn daughter. 

“Emissary?” said Sulaman, raising his eyebrows.

“Callatas will complete the Apotheosis tomorrow,” said the Emissary. “You know I speak the truth, Prince Kutal Sulaman Tarshahzon.”

“Yes,” said Sulaman. “My own vision suggests it as well.”

“What do you see?” said Kylon. He supposed that Sulaman was a sort of oracle, but Kylon found that he trusted the Prince more. Perhaps it was because Sulaman had exposed himself to such danger for so many years, coordinating a resistance to Callatas from under the Grand Master’s very nose. Perhaps it was because he had seen Sulaman fight, using his supernatural vision to dodge the scimitars and chain whips of the Immortals, and Kylon found it easier to trust a man once he’d gone into battle alongside him. 

“Chaos,” said Sulaman in a soft voice.

“Chaos?” said Kylon. 

“All paths end tomorrow,” said Sulaman, shaking his head and touching his temple as if he was dizzy. “All destinies converge tomorrow. All things will be decided tomorrow. Beyond that…I see nothing. No possibilities. Or all possibilities.” 

“The Prince speaks the truth,” said the Emissary. “The point of convergence he sees is the possibility of the completion of the Apotheosis. If he is not stopped, Callatas will complete the Apotheosis sometime tomorrow, and all of Istarinmul and the rest of the world shall die.” 

Silence answered her for a moment.

“Well,” said Strabane. “Suppose we’ll just have to cut off Callatas’s damned fool head first.” 

“Wisely spoken, headman,” said Nasser. “Let us trust to the cunning of the spies within the city, and to the valor and the steel of our men.” 

“Agreed,” said Tanzir. “The Prince has made his wishes known. Let us be about our work, then.” 

The captains and emirs dispersed to their various commands, and Kylon watched them go. At the moment, there was nothing he needed to do, and he felt fatigue dragging at him. He had been awake all night, and the fight against the horsemen had further sapped his stamina. Some rest would be welcome, especially if the fate of the world would be decided tomorrow. 

He felt the Emissary’s gaze upon him and turned as she limped towards him. 

“I suppose,” said Kylon, “you have some more prophecies for me?”

“If you wish to hear them,” said the Emissary.

Kylon sighed, and at last nodded. 

“Tomorrow the Apotheosis may come,” said the Emissary, “but tomorrow you will certainly face the Huntress again.” 

Kylon said nothing. 

“She will come for me?” said Kylon at last.

“Yes,” said the Emissary, “but not in the way you think. She hunts for the Balarigar.”

“Then Caina will be here,” said Kylon, feeling a stirring of hope for the first time in a long while. “Except…”

“You understand,” murmured the Emissary. “The Huntress comes for the Balarigar, and the Huntress will kill her…”

“No,” said Kylon, his sword hand balling into a fist.

“Unless you stop her,” said the Emissary. “Unless you sacrifice yourself to save her, the Huntress will kill the Balarigar, and the Apotheosis will kill the rest of us.”

Chapter 14: Chariots of Storm

Caina scrambled backward, the harsh crimson glow of the Hellfire filling her vision.

Other facts flashed across her brain. 

She saw dark, twisted shapes scrambling down the craggy face of the hill. Nearly forty undead baboons scrambled towards them, clinging to the hillside like insects. Likely the nagataaru had realized Caina and the others had burned their way past the undead warriors in the entry hall and had sent reinforcements. She saw Morgant stepping back from a destroyed baboon, blades in hand, saw Annarah starting another spell, white fire burning up and down her bronze staff.

But the glow of the boiling Hellfire gushing from the cracked amphora held most of her attention.

“Run!” she shouted. “Right now! Run!”

Annarah and Morgant took one look at the bubbling puddle and sprinted towards the ancient road that cut through the heart of the dead jungle. Caina whirled and dashed after them, running as fast as she could.

There was a sound like a sudden, sharp inhalation of breath.

A titanic roaring sound filled Caina’s ears. A gale of hot wind shot past her, and suddenly she was tumbling through the air, arms and legs flailing. She tucked her shoulder as she hit the ground, rolling to absorb her momentum as she tumbled along the road. At last, she slammed into the stone pedestal of one of the sphinx statues lining the road and came to a bone-jarring halt, grunting in pain. 

Sheer panic forced her to ignore the pain and scramble to her feet.

“Annarah?” she said. “Morgant?”

“Here,” said Morgant, kneeling next to Annarah as he helped her to stand. 

Caina looked towards the hill, expecting to see the undead baboons in pursuit.