Authors: Jonathan Moeller
“Bold words, my lady,” said Nasser in his sonorous rumble, his smile spreading over his dark face. “I did elude you once before, and I am looking forward to a repeat performance.”
“You don’t have your enspelled toy now,” said the Huntress. “It cannot save you.” The serene mask turned towards Caina. “Nor can your new allies protect you. The Balarigar cannot defeat me.” The inhuman snarl of the second voice rose with rage and hatred.
The Huntress knew that she was the Balarigar? Perhaps the Voice had told her, had learned it from the nagataaru Caina had confronted earlier.
The Huntress shot forward in a crimson blur, and Caina had no more time for thought. The assassin sprang into the air, her cloak streaming behind her like bloody wings. Twin scimitars gleamed in her gloved hands like crescents of frozen light. Caina flung a knife, hoping to catch the Huntress off-guard, but the assassin flicked her wrist, her right blade deflecting the weapon.
The Red Huntress landed and smashed into Nasser like a storm, and Caina expected to see the master thief fall dead to the ground.
Instead Nasser whirled, his scimitar flashing, and struck at her. The Huntress blurred to the side with inhuman speed, her scimitars swinging for Nasser’s face. Somehow Nasser got his scimitar up to block, the blades clanging, and the Huntress went on the offensive. Her swords spun and whirled and stabbed through a dazzling array of attacks, and Caina knew firsthand the strength behind those blows.
Yet somehow Nasser blocked them all.
His sword work was crisp and precise, his footing excellent. Caina had seen many master swordsmen during her time with the Ghosts, but Nasser Glasshand was among the best of them. His scimitar wove a curved cage of steel around him, blocking every one of the Huntress’s attacks. Yet Nasser remained on the defensive. He was fast, but not fast enough to block the Huntress’s attacks and strike back. Laertes tried to circle her, but the Huntress was simply too fast and stayed ahead of him. Caina flung several throwing knives, but every time the Huntress dodged or blocked. She even tried throwing a knife directly behind the Huntress, but somehow the assassin sensed it and swept a scimitar behind her to deflect the blade.
There was no way she could have seen it coming. Perhaps the Voice had given the Huntress inhumanly keen senses, so sharp she could hear the whisper of a knife spinning through the air. Yet the clang of steel upon steel would have drowned out any sound the knife made.
No. The Huntress hadn’t seen the blade coming. The Voice had. The nagataaru was a spirit, and even though it saw through the Huntress’s eyes, it had senses other than those of the flesh.
Perhaps Caina had a way to block those senses.
She ducked toward one of the round houses. The village of Drynemet was in chaos, with the men and the Imperial Guards fighting the fires, yet no one had noticed the furious duel between Nasser and the Huntress. For the moment Caina was unnoticed.
She tugged off her brown cloak, slid a mask over her face, and drew up the cowl of her shadow-cloak as it fell around her. Only the Ghost nightkeepers knew the secret of weaving shadow-cloaks from silk and shadows. The cloak was as light as the air, and blended with the shadows, enhancing Caina’s ability at stealth. It also shielded her thoughts from mind-controlling spells, and prevented anyone from using sorcery to discern her location.
And, if she had guessed right, it would block her presence from Voice’s sight.
Caina darted forward, drawing another throwing knife.
###
The Voice screamed with glee, its hunger and rage burning through Kalgri’s limbs.
The Legion veteran was a lumbering old fool, and for all her cunning the Balarigar was laughably weak. Kalgri could have killed them both in the space between two heartbeats, had she been free of any distractions.
But Nasser Glasshand was a damnably effective distraction.
He was a masterful swordsman, so good that he had actually managed to hold her attacks back for a few moments. But it would not last. The Voice gave Kalgri strength and power beyond the mortal, and despite the sorcerous aura around his left hand and his prodigious skill, Nasser was still a mortal man. His stamina would wane, and then Kalgri would have his head.
The Legion veteran and Caina circled around her, but Kalgri kept her eyes upon Nasser. The Voice could keep track of the veteran and the Balarigar easily enough, and warn her when she needed to move…
Then Caina vanished from the Voice’s sight, and the nagataaru screeched in alarm. For a frozen instant Kalgri was baffled. Had Caina been killed? Only death or a potent spell could conceal a living thing from the Voice’s sight.
No. A shadow-cloak. The “Balarigar” was simply the myth that had congealed around a Ghost nightfighter, and Ghost nightfighters had shadow-cloaks…
The first throwing knife slammed into Kalgri’s back, rocking her off-balance, and only the Voice’s power let her dodge before Nasser’s scimitar would have found her heart.
Another throwing knife hit her leg, ripping through the leather to sink into her flesh.
###
Caina sprinted at the Huntress, the shadow-cloak billowing around her. The Huntress staggered, off-balance from the knife hits and the gash Nasser’s scimitar had ripped across the side of her chest. If Caina could get close enough, could get the ghostsilver dagger into the assassin…
The Huntress jumped, springing a dozen yards into the air like some colossal insect. She soared over the yard, landing closer to the hall, and Caina saw the wounds in her flesh closing. Caina caught her breath and turned to face the Huntress as Nasser and Laertes joined her.
“I see your skills, my lady Huntress,” said Nasser, “have not improved overmuch since our last meeting.”
“Your life is over, lord of dust and drought,” said the Huntress in that peculiar double voice. The woman’s voice sounded oddly familiar. Caina had heard it before somewhere. But where? “You shall die here, as broken and as forgotten as all of those you have failed. The Balarigar will not save you, and the demonslayer’s destiny will not be fulfilled.”
“Really?” said Nasser. “If such a task is so easily accomplished, then why have you not already done it?”
“Nasser,” whispered Caina. “The Huntress can see me, but the Voice can’t while I have the shadow-cloak on. If we can lure her in, maybe I can ambush her from behind …”
Nasser gave a single sharp nod. “Come, then! Shall you dance with me, my lady? Or will you turn and run?”
The Huntress did not taunt him this time, but instead hurtled forward in a crimson blur. At the last minute Nasser ducked, throwing himself to the side, the Huntress’s scimitars screaming over his head. He slashed at her leg, and the Huntress spun aside, cloak swirling around her. Nasser and the Huntress went into their frenzied dance, trading blows so fast Caina could barely follow the movements. Steel rang on steel, and Caina circled, trying to find a clear shot for a throwing knife, or to get close enough to stab with the ghostsilver dagger. Yet both combatants were moving too fast, and Caina had a good chance of hitting Nasser by mistake. With the Huntress’s advantage in speed, even a half-second of hesitation by Nasser would be fatal.
Then, for just an instant, Nasser was too slow. The Huntress’s right scimitar blurred towards his face, and both Caina and Laertes shouted in alarm.
Nasser’s gloved left hand snapped up and caught the blade of the scimitar, the weapon scraping against his palm with a sound like steel dragged over stone. He squeezed his fist and crushed the steel scimitar as if it had been made of foil. The scimitar should have split his arm open from palm to elbow, yet Nasser had crushed it like a twig. The Red Huntress tried to yank her ruined blade free, but Nasser kept his grip on the weapon and yanked her forward, stabbing at the same time. His scimitar plunged into the Huntress’s belly and erupted out her back, wet with blood. The Huntress screamed in pain and fury, the Voice’s howl vibrating through her cry, and for a wild moment Caina wondered if they had defeated the Huntress.
She darted forward, ghostsilver dagger raised to stab.
The Huntress whirled, backhanding Nasser, and the strike threw him from his feet and into the wall of the nearby house. He landed hard, bloodstained scimitar still gripped in his right hand, a harsh blue light leaking through the torn glove on his left hand. Caina stabbed, but the Huntress threw her ruined weapon, and Caina hit the ground and rolled, the broken weapon clanging next to her ear.
She came back to her feet, expecting to see the Huntress resume her attack on the stunned Nasser. Yet the red-clad assassin rushed Caina, tossing her remaining sword from her left hand to her right. She wasn’t going after Nasser, or even Laertes, who had hurried over to check on Nasser. She was coming after Caina.
Perhaps she had decided to kill Caina before finishing off Nasser.
The ghastly wound Nasser had carved in her belly shrank before Caina’s eyes. Yet the wound obviously pained the Huntress, who was not moving with her previous inhuman speed.
Caina turned and ran, her mind racing, and the Huntress pursued.
Standing and fighting was not an option. But Caina had the Huntress’s attention, and as long as the assassin was chasing her, she would not kill Martin. With the shadow-cloak, the Voice’s senses could not detect Caina. If she could lure the Huntress into an ambush, she could strike unseen, hopefully hard enough to cripple or kill the assassin.
Caina dashed through the narrow alleyways between the round stone houses, seeking for somewhere, anywhere, she could hide. All the houses were too small for what she needed, and might have women and children and elderly hiding within them. Caina needed something bigger. The headman’s hall? No, Martin was there. Best not to dangle the Huntress’s target in front of her …
There.
A large stone barn with a thatched roof stood nearby, not far from the outer stockade. Given the warlike nature of the Kaltari, the villagers likely stored their seed crops there to protect them from raiders. It would likely have many hiding places where Caina could lie in wait for the Huntress.
She sprinted for the doors and pushed them open. Inside the barn was almost empty, the floor covered in dust and old straw. Buckets and wooden yokes stood stacked against one wall, and a loft rose overhead, holding sacks of dry rice.
It was perfect.
Caina paused at the doors just long enough to make sure the Huntress saw her, and then dashed into the barn.
###
Kalgri was becoming annoyed.
The wound in her gut hurt damnably. Pain did not really bother her much any longer, but the muscles of her stomach and legs twitched and tightened with every step she took. The Voice was rebuilding the torn skin and muscles and organs of her belly, but even the Voice could not heal such a severe wound quickly.
She was going to enjoy killing Nasser Glasshand. Come to think of it, the Voice wanted him dead almost as badly as it wanted Caina dead. Apparently the nagataaru regarded both of them as mortal threats. Kalgri did not care, so long as she got to feast upon the deaths, and she was very much looking forward to killing Glasshand.
But only after she killed Caina Amalas.
Kalgri had studied the Balarigar for months, but even so she had still underestimated Caina. The woman had a remarkable ability to improvise. Kalgri should have realized the little trick with the shadow-cloak sooner. She had killed Ghost nightfighters at Callatas’s behest before, and Callatas, for all his tedious pomposity about his damned Apotheosis, was not stupid enough to overlook his personal security. Caina had managed to rob Callatas’s laboratory and escape with her life, something that no one had ever done before. The woman was clearly as dangerous as Callatas had claimed.
Time to put an end to that danger.
Kalgri rolled her shoulders and walked toward the barn doors. She summoned the power of the Voice in the shape of a sword, and with a wave of her arm sent the heavy doors crashing in ruin. The sound would alert Caina to her presence, but that was of no importance. Caina was likely already watching the entrance, no doubt preparing some clever trap.
Kalgri dismissed the sword, strength and speed filling her limbs once more, and drew a dagger in her left hand.
Caina might have set a trap, but it would not matter. For all her cleverness, she was still prey.
And Kalgri was the Huntress.
She strode into the barn.
###
Caina crouched on the loft, wrapped in her shadow-cloak, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.
The Red Huntress glided into the barn, moving with grace and controlled power, every movement deliberate and fluid. It reminded Caina of the lionesses she had seen prowling the plains of Anshan near Catekharon, deadly beasts that moved in utter silence until they sprang upon their prey.
She stopped a few steps from the doors, the light from the fires outside throwing her shadow across the floor. The crimson mask turned right and left, and then looked up at the loft. Caina forced herself to remain motionless, certain that the Huntress had seen her.
But the mask continued its survey of the barn. Then the Huntress looked at the loft again, laughed, and slid her dagger into its sheath. Shadows and purple fire swirled around her fingers, and the sword of the nagataaru appeared in her fist.
She swung it through the pillars supporting the loft. The blade of dark power sliced through the wood with a splintering crack, and the loft shuddered beneath Caina.
The Huntress’s plan was sound. She had realized that Caina would hide in the loft, and the Huntress needed only collapse it with the sword of the nagataaru. Either Caina would die in the collapse, or be forced down where the Huntress could dispatch her.
She had acted exactly as Caina had anticipated.
And with the sword of the nagataaru in hand, the Huntress could not move with the inhuman speed and strength she had displayed against Nasser and the Imperial Guards in the Golden Palace.