Ghost in the Winds (Ghost Exile #9) (41 page)

Caina had failed. 

Barely, but she had failed, and Callatas would not let her have a second chance. Even with the power of the Knight of Wind and Air, there was no way she could defeat the Grand Master. 

Kalgri only hoped that Caina would still be alive after she had dealt with Kylon. She wanted to watch the cold mask of her face shatter with grief and despair.

Kylon took several steps back, the white-burning valikon in his hands. The wound he had given her had mostly healed, but she still felt the ache from that damned valikon. She looked forward to throwing the wretched thing into the sea once she had killed him.

His plans were obvious enough. He knew that Kalgri’s stamina would outlast his, and so he had lured her here, hoping to surprise and ambush her in the ruins. The plan would fail for one simple reason.

She drew back the cowl of her shadow-cloak, and the Voice’s senses flooded through her once more. Kalgri could sense Kylon’s life force, could sense his rage and growing weariness. Even with her eyes closed, she could sense him and follow him anywhere. Of course, he could sense her coming as well, but since he couldn’t escape her, that didn’t matter.

How she had been looking forward to this! 

“Why don’t you lie down, Kylon?” she crooned. “I’ll kill you quickly.” That was a lie, but she enjoyed taunting him, and she would enjoy talking as she carved him to pieces. 

“Come here and make me,” he said, his voice hard as the valikon’s blade. 

“With the greatest of pleasure,” said Kalgri, and she charged forward, the Voice’s hunger driving her with the speed of an arrow.

Again they met, blades flying. Kalgri led with her ghostsilver short sword, using it to launch a flurry of rapid thrusts and swings. Every attack forced Kylon to respond, his heavier valikon rising to deflect the blows. And as he did, that gave her the opportunity to hammer him with the sword of the nagataaru, the weightless blade of force blurring through the air with incredible speed. 

Kylon tried. The stormdancer was one of the finest warriors she had ever encountered. He had defeated her at the Tower of Kardamnos, though he had been unable to save his wife, and she had avoided a direct confrontation ever since. Kalgri had been unsure that she could take him in a straight fight…but now, with the Voice’s enhanced power enslaved to her will, she was the stronger. 

Bit by bit, she started to wear him down. 

Her ghostsilver short sword scored two hits upon his right forearm, blood dripping down his hand. 

The sword of dark force clipped his right hip, the right side of his chest, and she almost speared him through the throat, and only Kylon’s desperate last-minute dodge meant the sword raked across his shoulder instead of taking his head. He leaped back, hurtling towards the wrecked western drum tower, and landed atop its crown. Kalgri jumped after him, and Kylon turned, no doubt intending to spear her upon his sword. 

Instead, she laughed at him, her wings rippling out behind her, and she circled the tower’s jagged crown like a vulture over a dying animal. 

The image pleased her, and she laughed again.

“Are you ready to die?” she called. 

“Then stop talking and do it!” said Kylon, his voice ragged with pain.

“Here we are atop a tower again,” said Kalgri in a sing-song voice. “Do you remember the last time? The Tower of Kardamnos. Do you remember how Thalastre shrieked when the child within her died?” 

“I remember it all,” said Kylon. “Everything you did. Every life upon your bloody hands.” 

“Oh, good,” said Kalgri. “Then you won’t be surprised when you join those lives. Or would you rather I keep you alive long enough to let Caina watch you die? Then you can die together! You can watch each other bleed to death!” She giggled at the thought. It would be marvelous, though she had to admit it was not practical. 

“If you keep talking,” said Kylon, turning to keep her in sight, “we shall all die of old age first.” 

“No,” said Kalgri. “No one will ever die of old age again. You certainly will not. In fact, you’re going to…”

She dove in mid-sentence, giving no indication, no warning of her attack. It almost worked. At the last minute, Kylon twisted, his valikon rising to deflect her attack. Kalgri hammered against the sword with her ghostsilver blade, and the momentum from her dive knocked him back. Before he recovered, she hit him with the sword of dark force. Kylon twisted, and instead of gutting him, the sword cut a smoking groove down his right leg. 

He retreated, using what space remained on the ruined tower to good effect, but she saw his leg trembling beneath him as it tried to support his weight. Kalgri attacked once more, forcing him to put more of his weight on his right leg. He anticipated her and shifted, his spell-driven speed letting him keep ahead of her, but she saw the strain and pain upon his face. 

Then, at last, she had her opening. 

Kylon tried to parry the sword of the nagataaru, and his leg buckled from the strain. He stumbled, almost losing his balance on the edge of the ruined tower, and only managed to keep himself from falling at the last instant. He recovered quickly, faster than nearly any other swordsman Kalgri had ever fought. 

It was not enough to save him from her.

Kalgri drove the sword of the nagataaru through his stomach and out his back. 

Kylon let out a strangled grunt, a sizzling sound accompanying the wound as it drilled into his flesh, and Kalgri ripped the sword free, making the wound larger. He stumbled, one foot coming down on the empty air, and fell from the edge of the ruined tower before Kalgri could finish him. 

It was a thirty-foot drop to the heaped rubble below, and Kalgri heard bones snap as Kylon landed. She looked over the edge and saw him roll to the side, leaving blood upon the broken stones. He had fallen into the half-collapsed barracks chambers below the tower, where the Teskilati had once interrogated their luckless prisoners.

A fitting place for him to die.

Kalgri giggled, the Voice howling inside her skull in anticipation of the kill. The wound she had dealt him would be fatal in short order, and the fall would have injured him further. He would be too weak to fight back…and she could take her time killing him. 

Oh, but she had been looking forward to this!

Kalgri stepped off the broken edge of the tower, the wings unfolding behind her as she glided to the ruined chambers below.

###

Agony filled Kylon, and he managed to pull himself to a sitting position against a stone wall.

He was in a long hall, the roof ripped off by the destruction of the Crows’ Tower. Once it had likely been a barracks or an armory, and he saw the racks of weapons against one wall. 

Not that they did him any good.

His stomach and back burned with pain, the blood from the wound soaking his clothes. His right leg felt like a pillar of fire, and he could not make the leg move, even though he felt agony pouring through it. Every breath hurt, which meant he had likely broken a rib or three in the fall. He felt blood filling his mouth, and it was getting harder to breathe, which meant one of the ribs had punctured a lung.

The pain was horrendous. Only the sorcery of water gave him the strength to stay conscious, but it would not give him the power to stand.

Or even to fight. 

Kylon had lost.

He still had the Elixir Restorata. But even if he drank it right now, he would pass out when it healed his injuries. The Huntress need only wait until the silver fire faded and he collapsed into unconsciousness, then she could stroll over and cut off his head.

It was over, and he had lost.

It seemed the Red Huntress had been right. He had failed one last time.

Chapter 25: The Fate Of All Prey

Caina hurtled upwards, the wind lifting her at the command of Samnirdamnus’s power. 

Unfortunately, Callatas was ready for her. 

Shadows rippled and folded around the Grand Master, spreading around him in the shape of two great black wings. More shadows flowed around him, covering him in a halo of armor. It proved effective, as Caina threw five knives of smokeless flame at him in rapid succession, only for the shadows to drink the fire. Callatas turned as she rose to face him, and she saw the arcane power gather and twist around his hand as he pointed the Staff of Iramis at her.

Caina jerked to the side, avoiding a blast of transmuting fire by mere inches.

“That will not work,” said Samnirdamnus. “The shadow of Kotuluk Iblis is too strong. My power cannot reach him.”

“Then how am I supposed to kill him?” shouted Caina, swerving to the side to avoid another spell. She couldn’t hear herself over the howl of the wind as she hurtled through the air. Though given that Samnirdamnus was inside of her head, it didn’t matter. 

“The valikon,” said Samnirdamnus. “The valikon is the only way. The blade was forged to destroy the nagataaru, and not even Kotuluk Iblis can withstand it. Deal Callatas a mortal wound with the valikon, and victory is ours.”

“Easier said than done,” said Caina, dodging around another spell.

“Regrettably, yes,” said Samnirdamnus. 

“Fine,” said Caina, and she swooped in a half-circle, Istarinmul blurring below her, and shot towards Callatas, the valikon a torch of white fire in her hands. The Grand Master did not change course, and Caina drew back the sword, intending to drive it through his enspelled robes and into his black heart.

One of the wings of shadow snapping around, driving towards Caina. It looked like a massive sheet of immaterial haze, but it struck her liked a brick wall. Caina tumbled backward, flipping head over heels until she concentrated enough to command the wind to steady her flight. 

“Beware!” shouted Samnirdamnus.

Caina saw the power gathering around Callatas as he worked another spell, and she dove. The Grand Master threw a massive pulse of invisible psychokinetic force at her, the spell angled to drive her into the ground. Caina shifted direction at the last moment and let the edge of the spell clip her. Instead of driving her to the ground, the momentum hurled her upward, faster than even the wind could carry her, and she rose a hundred yards in an instant.

She slowed, righting herself again, and let herself plummet, falling towards Callatas like a thunderbolt. Caina shot towards the Grand Master, but Callatas hurtled away from her, the shadow writhing around him, and raised his hand to cast another spell. She dodged the blast of golden fire and let her fall take her faster, and then banked over the Golden Palace and rose back towards him again. 

How long could she do this? Caina was tired, but Samnirdamnus’s power gave her the stamina to keep going. Yet an extended fight was to Callatas’s advantage, not hers. Sooner or later she would make a mistake, and he would kill her. Worse, the longer they delayed, the longer the nagataaru had to drive back the djinn and claim more wraithblood addicts. If Caina delayed too long, Callatas could summon his winged creatures to kill her. 

She had to kill him quickly, but she did not know how.

###

Morgant dodged under the sweep of claws, flicking his dagger up to land a blow. The blade sliced through the winged creature’s tough hide, reaching for its heart. The creature staggered, purple-burning eyes going wide, and Morgant hammered his scimitar into its neck. He jerked his weapons free, and the winged creature collapsed, shrinking back into the withered form of an elderly wraithblood addict.

Poor fool. Well, if the addict hadn’t wanted to die like that, he shouldn’t have started taking wraithblood.

Two more creatures landed a dozen yards away, standing at the base of a glittering wall of white marble that encircled the palace of some minor emir or another. Both creatures started towards Morgant, but he hurled his black dagger. The blade buried itself into the street between the creatures, the hilt quivering from the impact. 

The creatures looked at him, and while it was hard to read expressions on those faces of cruel beauty, he had the distinct impression they were sneering.

Morgant grinned at them. 

An instant later the heat stored in the enspelled dagger exploded, killing both of the creatures. Their bodies shrank back to human form as fires crackled upon their limbs, and Morgant exerted his will at the dagger. The blade leaped from the street and returned to his hand, and he hurried to join the others as they battled towards the domes of the Golden Palace. 

The Kaltari and the Imperial Guards were pushing their way through the creatures, and messengers had arrived from the rest of the rebel army. So far they had been winning, but Morgant doubted that would last for much longer. The numbers of the creatures had been increasing. Too much longer and the Prince’s men would be overwhelmed, or Callatas would realize the threat and take command of the creatures himself, or send the Huntress to kill the rebel leaders.

Morgant wondered if Kylon was still alive. The Huntress was a dangerous opponent, and in a straight fight, Morgant doubted that he could have taken her. The Kyracian might have been able to do it, maybe. 

Maybe.

He stopped next to Annarah and Nasser.

“Morgant,” breathed Annarah. “Look.”

Morgant followed her gaze and blinked in astonishment as he saw the strangest thing he had seen on a day of strange sights.

A huge black shadow spun and wove over the Golden Palace, chasing a smaller dark figure. 

Callatas and Caina. 

Morgant snorted. The Balarigar did love her dramatic gestures, more than she would have admitted, and battling the Grand Master in the sky over the city was as dramatic as it got.

“Do you think she can kill him?” said Morgant. 

“I don’t know,” said Annarah. “If she cannot, we are finished.”

###

Caina swooped past Callatas again, trying to land a hit on him.

It was a useless exercise. The shadow of Kotuluk Iblis did not give Callatas the kind of speed or maneuverability that Samnirdamnus gave to Caina. The djinn were air elementals, while the nagataaru were simply predators. Yet Callatas didn’t need the extra speed, not with his other powers. The shadow snapped and writhed around him like a vast black banner caught in the wind, threatening to knock Caina from the air whenever she drew too close. For that matter, he continued to fling a barrage of spells at her. All he needed was to hit her with one transmutation spell, and she would fall from the sky as a crystalline statue.