Ghost in the Winds (Ghost Exile #9) (29 page)

The valikon had been forged to destroy nagataaru, but it worked just as well on living men, and the Immortal fell dead to the floor.

Kylon ran towards the door leading to the mechanism room. At least, there had been a door there. Now there was a roundish hole in the wall, the floor covered with sand that looked as if it had been transmuted from something else.

He broke into a run, drawing on his power for speed.

###

“Best get behind me,” said Tomazain, raising both his broadsword and the broken shard of his shield. 

Damla took a step back, rubbing her bruised throat, and looked for something she could use as a weapon. Azaces and Malcolm stepped to Tomazain’s side, raising their weapons, while Agabyzus and Nerina hastened to reload their crossbows.

A half-dozen Immortals stopped a dozen yards from them, shielding the Alchemist. The Alchemist raised his hands again, his gray-bearded lips moving as he mouthed silent phrases, and golden fire brightened around his hands. Damla didn’t know what kind of spell he was casting, but it hardly mattered. They had no way to protect themselves. She wondered if he would transmute them into sand. Or perhaps he would turn them into crystalline statues, like the statues that adorned the College of Alchemists and Grand Master Callatas’s palace. That was a more exotic death than she had expected.

The Alchemist thrust his hands, his voice rising in a shout as his spell reached its climax, and a foot of bloody silver blade erupted from his chest. 

It was so unexpected that Damla wasn’t sure what had happened.

The Alchemist let out a gurgling scream and collapsed to the ground as Kylon of House Kardamnos ripped his sword free. The Immortals spun to face him, Agabyzus shouted an instruction, and Azaces and Malcolm and Tomazain charged to help Kylon.

But Kylon was already moving.

Damla had once told Caina that she needed a man like Kylon. Most of the women of Istarinmul wanted a husband who could provide for them, who could give them security. Caina didn’t need that. If she put her mind to it, she could steal enough money to live in comfort for the rest of her days. No, Caina didn’t need a merchant, or a noble, or a wealthy man. Caina Amalas needed a warrior, and Damla thought Caina had found one in Kylon of House Kardamnos.

What Damla had not realized until this moment was just what kind of warrior Kylon was.

He moved fast, so fast that Damla could barely follow the movements. Suddenly a gauntlet of glittering greenish-blue ice covered his left fist, and he punched, his blow crumpling an Immortal’s helmet. A second Immortal managed to swing his chain whip. The blow should have broken Kylon’s arm, but somehow he got the whip wrapped around his forearm, and he yanked, driving his sword into a gap in the Immortal’s armor. In a flash he had the sword free, stabbing it into another Immortal.

It was astonishing. The Immortals were the elite guards of the Padishah and the Master Alchemists, their strength and speed augmented by alchemical elixirs. They were perhaps the deadliest soldiers in Istarinmul, and Kylon had dispatched three of them in the time it would have taken Damla to pour a cup of coffee. 

Azaces and Tomazain and Malcolm joined the fray, and the Immortals were surrounded. Nerina shot one of the Immortals in the back, and the men overpowered the last two black-armored warriors in short order.

The silence that fell over the windlass room after the last Immortal died was shocking. Damla blinked, not quite believing that she was still alive, that her heart still beat and her lungs still drew breath. 

She didn’t even mind the pain in her neck. The dead felt no pain. 

“Lord Kylon,” said Agabyzus. “Thank you for your most excellent timing.” 

Kylon nodded, blinking sweat from his eyes, and his gaze fell upon Damla. “Well. The circlemaster likes your coffee. She would be upset if you were killed. We had a pact to…” He shook his head as if dismissing a painful thought. 

Damla let out a shaky laugh. Nothing was funny at the moment, of course, but the improbability of their survival seemed absurd. “Sir, if you come to the House of Agabyzus, you shall drink coffee for free for the rest of your days, you and the circlemaster both.”

“Let us endeavor to live long enough to reach the House again,” said Agabyzus. 

“Aye,” said Kylon, and he snapped out of his sudden dark mood. “Hurry, all of you. When I came here, the horsemen had just reached the gate, but I don’t know if they’ve managed to force the Bazaar of the Southern Road or not. We might have to fight our way clear.” 

“Lead on, then,” said Tomazain. “Gods! I’m glad I had retired from Legion before we had to fight you lot.”

Kylon offered him a mirthless smile and beckoned towards the ruined door to the eastern tower. “This way. I’ll go first.”

“No objection there,” said Malcolm, and they filed from the windlass room, Kylon, Azaces, and Tomazain leading, Nerina and Azaces in the middle with their crossbows, and Damla and Malcolm bringing up the back. They went through the armory and then down the spiral stairs, through barracks chambers similar to the ones they had passed in the western tower. Damla watched for any enemies, but the tower was deserted. Perhaps the soldiers had gone to defend the walls. 

Kylon paused before the door opening into the Bazaar of the Southern Road. “Be ready.” The others nodded, raising their weapons, and Damla took a deep breath and wished she still had a working crossbow. Kylon reached out, opened the door, and stepped outside, both his hands coming to rest on the valikon’s hilt, and the others followed.

Damla expected to see fighting, expected to see men engaged in a desperate struggle for life and death, like the fight in the windlass chamber but a thousand times worse.

She did not expect to see horsemen riding in an orderly column through the gate and into the Bazaar, while other soldiers hastened along the ramparts to secure the siege engines. Damla saw her own bewilderment reflected upon Kylon’s face as he looked around, and then his expression hardened again. Corpses lay scattered around the Bazaar, but not as many as Damla might have expected.

“Have the rebels taken the city already?” said Tomazain. 

“It could not have been that quick,” said Agabyzus.

“Maybe it was,” said Kylon, taking a few steps from the base of the wall as more horsemen rode into the city. “There was a Hellfire explosion.” He pointed at a shattered watch tower further west along the city wall, flames still dancing in the broken turret. “Between that and the gate, perhaps we caused a panic.”

Azaces grunted and pointed at the wall.

“You can see a siege ladder there, and those must be the Prince’s men,” said Nerina. “Perhaps the defenders calculated their odds and decided to withdraw.” 

“Maybe,” said Kylon. “I think…”

“Lord Kylon!” 

Kylon turned, and Damla looked towards the source of the voice. Two of the horsemen had broken off from the column and rode towards Kylon. One was a dark-skinned man who looked Anshani, clad in black clothing with a peculiar black bracer and glove over his left hand. The other had the look of an Imperial Legion veteran, carrying the same sort of shield that Tomazain had lost in the fighting. 

“Nasser, Laertes,” said Kylon. “I did not expect to see you again so soon.”

“Nor I you, I confess,” said Nasser, reining up his horse. Laertes remained silent, his eyes roving watchfully over the Bazaar. “Your plan worked better than expected. Master Malcolm, Master Azaces, Mistress Strake. It is good to see you again, though I fear the circumstances are just as fraught as our last meeting, alas.” 

Malcolm snorted. “At least the circlemaster hasn’t blown up the side of a mountain yet.”

“Well, the day is young,” said Nasser. 

“What happened?” said Kylon. “How did you get into the city so quickly?”

“It seems morale among the defenders was quite low, especially after their defeat on the steppes to the south,” said Nasser. “Between the gate opening, the Hellfire explosion, and the cavalry charge, we inspired a panic among the Grand Wazir’s men. Some of them have thrown down their weapons and fled, many of them have surrendered, and some of them have retained their discipline and retreated back towards the Golden Palace.”

“Then the way is clear to the Golden Palace,” said Kylon. Damla looked towards the palace’s distant dome rising on the other side of Istarinmul. 

“It would appear so,” said Nasser. “Sulaman has sent men to take command of the Hellfire engines on the walls. If need be, he is willing to order them turned against the Golden Palace, to destroy it with a bombardment of Hellfire amphorae.”

“But that will kill thousands of people,” said Damla. 

Kylon gave a grim shake of his head. “The Apotheosis will kill far more if it is not stopped.” He looked around. “Have you seen Mazyan? He was with me on the ramparts, but I lost track of him.” 

“I saw him going that way,” said Laertes, speaking up for the first time. “We should join him.”

“Aye,” said Nasser. “I suggest you and your friends accompany us, Lord Kylon. We might well have need of your skills before too much longer.” 

He turned his horse, as did Laertes, and Damla and the others followed Kylon as he walked alongside the horsemen. 

“If you do not mind the question, sir,” said Agabyzus, “might we know who you are?”

Nasser flashed a smile, his teeth stark and white against his dark face. “I am simply a man interested in the well-being of Istarinmul and the defeat of Grand Master Callatas.”

“His name is Nasser Glasshand,” said Kylon, “and yes, he’s the legendary master thief.” Nasser made a mocking little bow from his saddle. “His friend is Laertes, a mercenary who organizes Nasser’s expeditions.” He gestured at Damla. “This is Damla, the owner of the House of Agabyzus, the finest coffee house in the Cyrican Quarter.”

“I like to think it has a claim to being the finest coffee house in all of Istarinmul,” said Damla. 

“I look forward to putting that to the test, mistress Damla,” said Nasser. 

They walked along the line of horsemen, heading towards the banner of the Padishah in the center of the Bazaar. Next to it Damla saw a banner bearing the seven-towered sigil of the House of Shahan, and a flicker of old rage went through her. Her husband had followed that banner to his death in Marsis. Of course, Caina had killed Rezir Shahan in Marsis years ago, and from what she had told Damla, Tanzir had hated and feared his elder brother so much that he had thanked Caina for killing him when they had first met in Malarae. 

A band of horsemen in fine armor waited beneath the banners, and Damla spotted the familiar sight of Mazyan. When he had come to the House of Agabyzus, he had always carried a drum alongside his scimitar and chain mail, though now he only wore armor, and a strange fire glowed and flickered in his eyes. He stood next to a horse carrying a thin, middle-aged man in armor, his bearded face ascetic and solemn. 

Damla swallowed, a wave of peculiar emotion going through her.

Knowing that the poet Sulaman was actually Prince Kutal Sulaman Tarshahzon had been one thing. Seeing the man she had hired many times to recite epic poems to the patrons of the House of Agabyzus sitting upon a horse, surrounded by nobles awaiting his commands, was a surreal experience. Of course, everything that had happened over the last two years had been surreal, but this was nonetheless one of the strangest things she had ever experienced. To think that she had presumed to haggle with the Padishah’s son!

More to the point, to think she had presumed to haggle with the man who might well become the new Padishah by the end of the day. 

“Lord Kylon,” said a stout young man in the ornate armor of a wealthy emir. Most likely this was Tanzir Shahan, the emir of the Vale of Fallen Stars and the chief of the rebel nobles. “We must congratulate you. It seems your plan was successful.”

“Indeed it was,” said Sulaman in his quiet voice. His dark eyes shifted to Damla, and she swallowed again, but he only smiled. “Mistress Damla. It is good to see you again.”

“Lord Prince,” said Damla, blinking. “I confess that…that…”

“Your help was invaluable for all those years,” said Sulaman. “There were many who wished to see me dead, but only a few people would have thought that a Prince of Istarinmul would disguise himself as a poet in the coffee houses. Hiding in plain sight is always best, and without your help, I would not have been able to do so.”

“You are welcome,” said Damla at once. “I…never suspected, lord Prince.” 

He smiled. “Perhaps I shall soon have the opportunity to take my coffee at the House of Agabyzus once more.”

Damla bowed. “You would be welcome at any time.” 

“And I am glad to meet your friends as well,” said Sulaman. 

A horrifying thought occurred to Damla. They were Ghosts, which meant they were spies of the Emperor of Nighmar. Sulaman would be well within his right to have them all executed on the spot. Erghulan Amirasku would have done so. 

“We are all loyal subjects of the Padishah, lord Prince,” said Agabyzus with a bow, stepping into Damla’s sudden fear, “and we rejoice to see a true son of the House of Tarshahzon take the throne once more.” 

“I am glad to hear it,” said Sulaman, “and I thank you for your aid.” Belatedly Damla realized that he would not want to hurt them. Caina had saved his life, after all, and they were Caina’s Ghost circle. “Best to stay with us for the time being. The city is not safe. Once the battle is over, and order is restored, you can return to your homes with my blessing and thanks.”

“Thank you,” said Damla, letting out a long breath. The Grand Wazir’s defenders had fled. Prince Sulaman and the emir Tanzir were in the city. It was only a matter of time now.

Maybe the worst was over.

###

Kylon turned his attention from Damla and the other Ghosts and to Sulaman, Tanzir, and the other leaders of the army. They had already done one impossible thing today and entered the city with minimal losses. 

Now they just had to do one more impossible thing.

His hand tightened against the valikon’s hilt.