Ghost in the Winds (Ghost Exile #9) (21 page)

“Tricky,” said Tomazain. “If the timing is off, we’re all dead.”

“We’re all dead anyway if the Apotheosis is finished,” said Kylon. 

“We can give ourselves another advantage,” said Damla, taking a deep breath. “As loath as I am to admit it. We can drug the bread, help the soldiers to sleep before we even open the sleeping fog.” 

“Why does that offend you?” said Tomazain. “Clearly, it does.”

She offered the mercenary a little smile. “I am a coffee merchant, master Tomazain. I dislike creating something to harm, even for a good cause.”  

“Malcolm and Azaces and I can help as well,” said Nerina. “I calculate that we can jam the machinery in the gatehouse, lowering the odds that the Grand Wazir’s men can close it again. Also, Malcolm and Azaces are good at killing people.”

“Are you?” said Tomazain. 

“He was an Immortal,” said Malcolm, “and I’ve had a lot of practice at swinging a hammer.”

“Huh,” said Tomazain, glancing at Azaces. “Wouldn’t have guessed. He doesn’t have that…glow.”

Azaces remained impassive.

“The alchemical elixirs that create the Immortals fade over time if they are not regularly ingested,” said Kylon. He hoped that was true of Nerina Strake, that the craving for the wraithblood addiction would pass in time. 

“Elixir or no elixir, he knows his way around in a fight,” said Malcolm.

“Then we have a plan,” said Agabyzus. “I shall obtain the forged documents and steal the sleeping mist from the warehouse. Damla will prepare the drugged bread. Nerina and Malcolm and Azaces will accompany us when it is time to deliver the bread.” 

“Will you accompany us, Lord Kylon?” said Damla.

Kylon hesitated. Caina would want him to look after her people, to make sure they were safe, but…

“No,” said Kylon. “I came from the south with the army, and went over the wall to see you.”

Tomazain frowned. “How did you get over the wall?” 

“Sorcery,” said Damla.

“Ah.” 

“I have to get out of the city and tell Lord Tanzir and Prince Sulaman and the other leaders of the army to prepare an attack,” said Kylon. “Once the gate is open, they have to strike at once with their fastest horsemen. That is our best chance of holding the gate…and of saving your lives. Because the Grand Wazir’s soldiers will try to storm the gate once it is open.”

Damla swallowed, and he felt the fear in her emotional sense, but the fear was matched by a steely determination. He felt similar things from everyone else in the room, albeit in different proportions. Their loyalty to Caina surprised Kylon, but perhaps it should not have. She had saved all their lives at some time or another, just as she had saved his. 

“Very well,” said Agabyzus. “We are in accord. We shall meet at the House of Agabyzus at dawn and proceed with the plan to open the gate.”

“I will look forward,” said Kylon, “to meeting you there.” 

###

An hour later Damla stepped into the kitchens of the House of Agabyzus, Tomazain following her. 

Lord Kylon had escorted them back to the House, and then vanished into the night, heading towards the wall and the rebel army. Agabyzus had departed as well, leaving to steal the sleeping fog and to obtain the forged order for the bread that would allow them access to the gatehouse. Before leaving, he had given Damla a vial of some kind of odorless, colorless drug. One drop per loaf would put to sleep anyone who ate the bread. 

He had also left Tomazain to help protect the House. Bayram and Bahad had gratefully gone to sleep. Damla would gladly have sought her own bed, but she had work to do. 

“A mad business,” said Tomazain. 

“Aye,” said Damla, walking to one of her ovens and opening it. She started to take some wood from the wood pile, and Tomazain helped her. “A mad business indeed.”

“I wouldn’t believe it myself,” said Tomazain, “but I have seen these things with my own eyes. Your brother hired me for a job, I met the Nighmarian girl, your circlemaster, and she saved my life. There was this monster, a demon, this thing of shadow and purple fire…”

“A nagataaru,” said Damla, stacking the wood in the right pattern within the oven. The trick was to arrange the wood so it would burn for a long time, allowing the bricks and tiles of the oven to absorb the heat.

“Damned thing,” said Tomazain, handing her the logs. “Never would have believed it until I saw it with my own eyes. Anyway, the Nighmarian girl saved my life, and here I am.”

“She did something similar for me,” said Damla. “My sons had been taken by slavers. I despaired of ever seeing them again, but she rescued them. And now here I am.” She held out a hand, and Tomazain passed her another log, adding a few more of his to the pile. “It…I wish I had not lived to see such terrible things. But not that I have, I will not flinch from them.”

“Well spoken,” said Tomazain.

“Thank you,” said Damla. “I…how do you know how to that?”

“Do what?”

“Stack the logs,” said Damla.

He blinked, and then he grinned. “I was a baker in the Legion.”

“Truly?”

“Truly,” said Tomazain. “In the Legion, everyone learns a skill. Some become smiths, or farriers, or carpenters. Me, I was a baker. A damned good one, too. The Lord Commander of our Legion always preferred my loaves. After I had left the Legion, I figured I would settle back home in the Saddaic provinces, open up a bakery, and…”

His voice faltered as if he had hit a painful memory. 

“The Umbarians?” said Damla, remembering what she had heard of the war in the eastern Empire.

“No,” said Tomazain. “It was before that. After I had left the Legion, I married a woman, and we had a daughter. Our town was burned by Kagari raiders, and my family died in the fire.”

“I am sorry,” said Damla.

He sighed. “A few years after that, the Umbarians arose, and the town was destroyed anyway, the people raised as undead soldiers. My wife and daughter didn’t live to see that. A small mercy, I suppose.” 

“A very small one,” said Damla.

“Yes,” said Tomazain. 

“It is no comfort, but I do understand,” said Damla. “My husband died at Marsis.”

“I’m sorry,” said Tomazain. 

They stood in silence for a moment. 

“I suppose that was why I became a mercenary,” said Tomazain. “There was nothing else to be done.” 

“It is why I help the circlemaster,” said Damla. “In her war against the nagataaru and the Grand Master. I already lost my husband. I help her in this war to save my sons.”

To her surprise, Tomazain laughed.

“What is it?” said Damla. 

“It is a war,” said Tomazain. “But it is a war in the shadows. Though I’ve never fought a war by baking bread.”

“No time like the present, is there?” said Damla, and together they set to work.

Chapter 13: Visions

Kylon hurried to the southwestern corner of the Anshani Quarter, heading towards the lightly guarded section of wall he had used to enter the city earlier. 

It took longer than he expected. 

There wasn’t much left before dawn, and many bands of soldiers moved through the streets, torchlight glinting on their spiked helmets and chain mail hauberks. Kylon suspected that the duty shifts upon the ramparts were about to rotate. That would explain the tense wariness he sensed from the soldiers. Likely the defenders felt uneasiness and alarm when they contemplated the far larger rebel army outside of the walls. For that matter, the Grand Wazir and the Grand Master had terrible reputations, thanks to Erghulan’s defeat and Cassander’s announcements, and the men were likely not comforted by the thought that Callatas’s sorcery would win the victory. 

Perhaps the common soldiers were wiser than the Grand Wazir. 

Another thought occurred to Kylon as he threaded his way through the maze of alleys. Perhaps the Grand Wazir was planning to launch a sortie upon the rebels. That would explain the air of fear and anticipation he sensed from the soldiers, but it made no sense. Why would Erghulan launch a sortie? His men could be driven back into the gate. For that matter, the soldiers themselves might revolt if ordered to such a suicidal course. 

Perhaps Sulaman and Tanzir could convince the defenders to change sides and hand over Erghulan. Sulaman was the rightful Padishah, and he and Tanzir would be generous to anyone who surrendered. 

That would mean the rebels could get into the city without Damla and Agabyzus and the rest of the Ghosts risking themselves. Agabyzus’s plan was solid, but many things could go wrong, and if they did, Agabyzus and the others would be slaughtered. Kylon did not want to have to share that news with Caina.

If Caina was even still alive…

Kylon put all such fears out of his mind. He needed to focus on getting out of the city and bringing the news of Agabyzus’s plan to Sulaman and Tanzir and Nasser. Getting killed while brooding would be a ridiculous way to die.

At last the city wall rose before him.

He sprinted forward and leaped, drawing on the sorcery of water to sheathe his hands in frost. Kylon gripped the wall, kicked out, gripped the wall again, and kicked once more. He grasped the battlements, rolled over the ramparts, and sprang over the other side before anyone noticed him. Halfway down, he gripped the wall, the sorcery of frost slowing his descent, and he hit the ground, the sorcery of water giving him the strength to absorb the impact.

Kylon rolled a dozen yards, came to his feet, and started running. In the distance, he saw the campfires of the rebel army, their tents placed beyond the reach of the Hellfire catapults. Kylon would first greet the sentries to make sure they did not shoot him, and then he would take his news to Tanzir and Sulaman and the other commanders. Tomorrow at dawn, Agabyzus and his Ghosts would open the gate, and the city would fall, or the Ghosts would fail and be slaughtered.

Either way, a lot of people were going to die. 

The distant clang echoing over the ramparts was his only warning.

Kylon whirled just in time to see every single catapult atop the watch towers release at once, flinging small, dark objects across the brightening sky. He sensed the latent power of those objects, a storm of fire ready to emerge. 

Hellfire amphorae, dozens of them. 

And Kylon was in their path.

He sprinted as fast as he could manage, drawing upon the sorcery of air to give him every bit of speed he could muster. Kylon hurtled forward with the speed of a galloping horse, the camp blurring towards him. 

Behind him he heard the sound of shattering amphorae, following by a sudden whooshing noise.

The explosion knocked Kylon from his feet.

A wall of hot air slammed into him, and Kylon drew in as much of the sorcery of water as he could manage, sheathing himself in the power of ice and frost. He hit the ground and rolled, scrambling to his feet and resuming his run. Without using the sorcery of air, he couldn’t run as fast, but the sorcery of water kept him from burning alive in the hot wind.

Because the heat was enough to kill a man. Hellfire exploded from the ground, rising in a curtain nearly thirty yards high, higher than the walls of Istarinmul. Had Kylon been any closer, he would have been incinerated at once. As it was, he was close enough that the heat of the Hellfire would have killed him instantly if not for the sorcery of water. Kylon ran as fast as he could manage, sweat pouring down his face, the heat of the Hellfire stinging despite the aura of frost sorcery that kept him alive.

Bit by bit, the terrible heat subsided, and Kylon stumbled to a stop, breathing hard, and looked at the city. The curtain of Hellfire was already dimming, the elixir burning itself out. As potent as Hellfire was, there simply wasn’t that much to burn on the dusty plain outside the city. Kylon looked around, wondering if the engineers upon the wall had somehow managed to boost the range of the catapults to strike the rebel army. But no – as far as he could tell, the volley of Hellfire amphorae hadn’t reached the rebel army at all.

In fact, it seemed to have accomplished nothing of use.

“Lord Kylon?” 

Kylon saw a few of the sentries approaching him on horseback, eyes wide as they stared at him. He wondered how they knew who he was, and then realized they likely knew him from the duel with Master Rhataban. The account of the fight had spread throughout the army.

“Aye?” said Kylon, wiping sweat from his face.

“You are…uninjured?” said the sentry, his eyes wide beneath his spiked helm as if he could not quite believe what he had just seen.

“Yes,” said Kylon. “Fortunately, I can run fast.”

They gaped at him.

“Is it an attack, Lord Kylon?” said the sentry.

That didn’t make sense. The Grand Wazir was outnumbered at least ten-to-one, maybe more. He didn’t dare throw away any of his men in a pointless sortie against the rebels. Something Caina had once said flickered through his mind. That barrage of Hellfire had been a spectacular display…and spectacular displays made for excellent distractions.

The volley of Hellfire had been a distraction. 

“Yes,” said Kylon. “Sound the alarm, quickly! The enemy comes! To arms! Go!” 

The sentries turned and rode towards the tents of Tanzir’s army, yanking the war horns from their belts and blowing long wailing blasts. Kylon looked back at the thinning curtain of Hellfire and saw that the city’s southern gate had opened. A burst of shock went through him. Surely Erghulan was not that stupid? Then Kylon saw the horsemen boiling out of the gate, torches in hand. 

It was a sortie. 

There was no way Erghulan’s men could drive off the Prince’s army. Yet they could throw the rebel army into chaos, forcing the men to regroup. That would mean a delay or no more than a day or two…but with Callatas working the Apotheosis in the Golden Palace, even a delay of a day could be fatal. Agabyzus and the Ghosts would open the gate at dawn tomorrow, and if Tanzir’s men were not ready to strike, the opportunity would be wasted, and the Ghosts would be killed when the Grand Wazir’s soldiers retook the gate.

“To arms!” shouted Kylon, running towards the rows of the tents. He used a spell of air to amplify his voice, raising it to a booming thunderclap. Around him, he saw the soldiers scramble out of their tents, felt the rising alarm from their emotional sense. “To arms! The enemy comes!”