by Ben Cassidy
Indigoru floated down the steps, now completely swept clean of snow and ice. She flung her arms out right and left, laughing as she went.
Explosions of force snapped out with each lash of her arms. Horses flew back, carriages overturned, people flew through the air like tossed ragdolls.
Explosions of slushy snow tore up in huge geysers from the street, pattering down as icy rain on the injured and dead alike.
Screams and terrified shouts filled the air, mixed discordantly with the ceaseless, maddening sound of the goddess’ laughter.
Seconds stretched into eternity. Then, at long last, the quiet returned, broken only by the wails and cries of wounded people and horses.
Kendril pushed Callen off him and rushed to the head of the steps.
Below him was a scene of utter caranage. Bodies lay strewn in all directions, some moving, others lying still in death. The broken remains of a score of carriages lay littered over the wet snow of the street.
Behind him, the opera theater was fully ablaze. Flames licked out of the windows. Some poured out of the front doors like a furnace.
Indigoru was gone. The glowing goddess had vanished somewhere out of sight down the street, leaving death and destruction in her wake.
Joseph came up to Kendril. “That—that was—”
“A Seteru.” Kendril turned back, wiping some blood away from his lip. “And now she’s loose in Vorten.”
Olan came up to them, still supporting the wounded Hamis. He lowered the other Ghostwalker down against the side of the stone railing, then looked over at Kendril. “It’s begun. The Despair.”
Kendril looked back out at the chaos below. “I know.”
“This can’t be happening,” Joseph breathed. He looked out on the street in shock. “Did you see the power she had?” He turned back to the Ghostwalkers. “Nothing on Zanthora can do what she did.”
Tomas came over. He leaned against the side of the stairs and rubbed a hand against his face. “We can’t fight that. No one can fight that.”
“We don’t have a choice,” Olan snapped.
“We’ve failed,” Hamis muttered. “Everything we did…all of it was pointless.”
“The situation has changed.” Kendril pulled out a pistol and began the mechanical motions of reloading it. “We have to find Indigoru and destroy her.”
“Destroy her?” Callen gawked at the Ghostwalker. “You say that like we’re swatting a pesky fly. Did you see what she just did?”
“No,” said Kendril with dark sarcasm, “I must have missed it, Callen. Why don’t you tell me?”
“Enough,” Olan said. “We need to regroup. Where’s Madris?”
They all stopped.
Tomas nodded down the steps. “She was…was down there.”
Olan’s face flickered for just a moment, then hardened again. “Then we need to find her. Tomas, start searching.”
Callen stepped forward. “I’ll go, too.”
Olan shook his head. “No. You need to start treating the wounded. There are a lot of them. Start with the gendarmes.”
Callen raised his eyebrows. “Why? There are women down there, and elderly—”
“Because,” Kendril broke in roughly, “we’re going to need fighting men. We should have mobilized the city’s Trained Bands.”
Olan shook his head. “That wasn’t our call to make, Kendril. The Lord Mayor—”
“The Lord Mayor is a moron,” Kendril spat. “And if we let him keep making the calls in this city we won’t have a city left to defend.” He looked around at his fellow Ghostwalkers. “This is it. The beginning of the Fourth Despair.”
Olan frowned heavily. “Tuldor’s beard, we can’t just take over the city, Kendril. We need to work with the local officials, get them on our side—”
“Every second we stand around debating is one less Vorten has,” Kendril shot back. “Our enemy is here. The battle for Vorten has begun already. Every decision we make right here and right now will affect the history of all of Zanthora. The Seteru cannot be allowed get a foothold in this city.” He looked down again at the carnage of the street. “We have to find Indigoru and destroy her, whatever the cost.”
“Kara,” Joseph said suddenly. “And Maklavir.” He looked back at the blazing shape of the opera house. “They…they’re both still inside. We have to—”
Tomas shook his head sadly. “Sorry, mate. No one’s coming out of there. Not alive, anyway.”
Kendril took the distraught Joseph by the arm. “They might have made it out,” he said in a low voice. “Slipped by us while we were fighting with that assassin.”
Joseph gave the opera house one last long look. “Maybe,” he said doubtfully. He looked down at the ground dejectedly. “Tomas is right, though. If they haven’t made it out already, they aren’t going to.”
Hamis groaned, and climbed unsteadily to his feet. “I’m through sitting around,” he said. “There’s work to be done, and I won’t be left behind.”
Joseph nodded. “I’ll go with Callen, help with the wounded and keep a weather eye out for Kara and Maklavir, if by some miracle they made it out of the opera house alive.”
Kendril turned bleary eyes back towards the smoking opera house. “We need a plan.”
“Right now, the plan is to regroup.” Olan stepped over to the stairs and glanced out at the scene below. “We can’t do anything until then.”
“We can’t take forever, Olan,” Kendril warned. “We need to take the attack to the enemy, track Indigoru down, confront her now—”
“Perhaps I should remind you, Kendril,” Olan responded venomously, “that this is now a military situation. That means I’m in charge here.”
Kendril smirked. “I think we’ve already had this conversation, haven’t we?”
Olan moved his face close to Kendril’s. “Either take orders or get out of my way, Ghostwalker. I don’t have time for a loose cannon like you right now. The fate of Zanthora is hanging in the balance here.”
“Then that’s one thing the two of us actually agree on,” Kendril responded tersely.
“Make that the three of us.” Potemkin came up the steps. His carbine was still missing, but his sword was drawn. His face was bruised and bloodied. Two gendarmes followed behind him.
Olan looked over at the captain. “Madris?”
Potemkin shook his head. “I don’t know. Could be dead. A lot of those people down there are.” He looked back behind him. “You were right. You were all right. I should have listened to you. Vesuna’s blood, the Lord Mayor should have listened to you. If we had gone into the theater in force, maybe—”
“What’s done is done,” Kendril said pragmatically. “Right now we have to deal with the situation at hand.”
Potemkin nodded. The fatigue showed on his battered face. “Indigoru? Our weapons can’t even touch her. How are we supposed to—?”
Kendril and Olan exchanged a quick glance.
Potemkin frowned. “What?”
“Captain,” Olan said quietly, “I don’t think you quite grasp the severity of this situation. This is just the beginning.”
Potemkin glanced again at the bodies strewn over the opera house steps and the street beyond. “What could possibly be worse than having a living incarnation of a pagan goddess running loose in Vorten?”
“War,” said Kendril bluntly. “And by this time tomorrow, Vorten will be burning.”
Chapter 15
Kara stirred slowly to consciousness. She moaned softly and opened her eyes half-way.
It was dark, and cold. Not much of a change there. The last thing she remembered was being on that altar, and then—
The altar.
Everything came flooding back to her in a blur.
Kara sat up quickly. A blanket wrapped around her started to fall down. She grabbed it quickly and pulled it back around herself.
The light was dim, but it looked like she was somewhere in the sewers. There was a sharp chill in the air, along with t
he sound of gurgling water and the faint smell of…smoke?
And what sounded like snoring.
Kara swung her head around, and pushed back her cascading red hair.
Maklavir sat propped up in a corner just behind her. In fact, his arms were wrapped around her. He was sound asleep.
“Maklavir!” she cried.
The diplomat sprang to life. He snatched his sword up from where it lay on the ground, blinking and shaking his head. “What? Where? I’m not asleep, just resting. Who—?”
Kara held up a cautionary hand. “It’s me.”
Maklavir stared at her for a moment, collecting his thoughts. He smiled. “You’re awake. Splendid. I was hoping you’d be just bully again once we got you all warmed up.”
Kara glanced down at his arms. “Is that what you were doing?”
The diplomat gave an uneasy cough. “Um, yes, in a manner of speaking. Couldn’t be helped, really. Body warmth and all that.”
Kara shivered. She pulled the blanket around herself even tighter. “This is what you call warming me up? I’m freezing.”
Maklavir tugged at his collar. “Yes, well, these sewers are rather cold. I suppose you know that already. I found this,” he reached up with the tip of his sword and banged on a rusted metal pipe that ran just over their heads. “Steam pipe. Must be one of those that supply the glow-globes. Anyway, it’s not much, but it does put out a little heat.”
Kara reached out one hand towards the pipe, and felt a dull heat emanating from it. Maklavir was right. It wasn’t much, but it did help a little bit to chase some of the prevalent chill away.
She looked over at Maklavir. “Where’s Joseph? And Kendril?”
Maklavir set his sword back down on the ground. “Yes, well, I’m afraid that there’s a bit of a story behind all that.”
Kara kept looking at him.
The diplomat scratched his bare face. “Ah, yes. I imagine you probably want to hear it. Well, suffice to say, we rescued you from the cult, got you upstairs to the opera house to warm you up—”
“Opera house,” the redhead murmured. “That makes sense.”
“Kendril went after that assassin…you remember? The one who killed poor Galla.”
Kara nodded, trying to be as patient as possible.
“Well, anyway, Joseph left to help Kendril, so it was just me and you—”
A flash of hurt showed in the young woman’s eyes. “Joseph…left me?”
Maklavir sat up. “Well, he had to. He didn’t want to, of course, it was just…well we could hear Kendril was in trouble, and you know how useless I am with a sword, and—”
“But why are we back in the sewers?” Kara asked, the frustration rising in her voice.
“Yes, I was getting to that,” Maklavir responded a bit testily. “Somehow or other the opera house must have caught fire. Don’t ask me how, I don’t know, but when I tried to get us out…the way was already blocked. I had to backtrack down here into the sewers again before the smoke and heat got us both. I made it a little way, but then I got tired, and I put you down by the steam pipe for a moment, and then, well…”
“You fell asleep,” Kara ended scornfully.
Maklavir crossed his arms. “I was tired. I’ve barely slept for two days. And besides, you were, well…heavy.”
“Thanks, Maklavir.” Kara pulled the blanket up around her neck. “What about Joseph and Kendril? Did they make it out of the theater?”
The diplomat shrugged. “Eru only knows. I hope so. I heard a lot of commotion, sounds of shouting and screaming. It was hard to tell what exactly was going on.”
“Well, naptime is over,” Kara said with finality. “We have to find a way out of these sewers. I’ve almost frozen to death once tonight, and I don’t intend to try a second time.”
Maklavir rubbed his hands briskly together. “You’ll brook no argument from me. I should warn you, though, the few grates I found were either locked or out of reach. It might be a while before we can find a way out of here.”
Kara glanced down the gloomy sewer tunnel. “We’d better get started, then.”
Maklavir stretched, then yawned. “Yes, yes, of course. No rest for the weary, eh?”
“Maklavir, one more question.”
The diplomat raised his eyebrows. “Yes, Kara?”
Kara pulled the blanket more closely around her. “Where are my clothes?”
Joseph swerved through the milling people, his booted feet sliding in the trampled snow. “Kendril!”
The Ghostwalker looked up from the water pump he was manning. He kept pulling and pushing, sweat on his face despite the freezing cold air.
Joseph stopped beside him. He glanced up at the smoking structure of the opera house.
A group of gendarmes and other able-bodied men had formed a bucket line. Some were using fire hoses attached to the two pump-operated fire engines that had been dragged up to the steps of the opera house.
“How’s it going?” Joseph asked, though he could already see the answer for himself.
Kendril shook his head, and wiped his sleeve across his face. “The Grand Theater is already lost. The fire is just too big. At this point it’s damage control, trying to keep the fire from burning down all of the Vines.” He signaled over to a gendarme to take his place, then stepped back from the engine with a groan. “My arms feel like they’re going to fall off.” He paused. “Any sign of Kara or Maklavir?”
Joseph looked down at the ground, then shook his head. “No.”
Kendril leaned back against a glow-globe post set near the street. “They made it out, Joseph, they must have. Maklavir’s not stupid enough to stay in a burning building.”
“If they did, they’re nowhere here,” Joseph said. “We have a lot of wounded people out there. Dead, too.”
Kendril looked away, his breath billowing out in a white gust. “Joseph, look, I—”
“I know,” Joseph said. “You did all you could for her. I saw you down in the sewers, when you shot that cultist.”
Kendril had the sudden image of Wanara’s dying face flash into his head. He winced, trying to force it from his mind. “Yes. But I—”
Joseph suddenly straightened. “The sewers. Of course.”
Kendril massaged his sore shoulder. “The secret passageway we found?”
“It would have been their only way out.” Joseph’s eyes sparked with new life. “They could still be alive, right under our feet.”
Kendril nodded, his mind working. “Makes sense. They’d be safe enough down there for the time being, assuming they don’t freeze to death before morning. Given enough time they’ll find their way out.”
Joseph gave a relieved sigh. “Then there’s still hope.”
“Yes.” He looked over at Joseph. “Did you…did you find Madris at all?”
The scout slowly shook his head. “I tried to keep an eye open for her, but there’s a lot of dead and wounded out there in the square, not to mention wrecked carriages and ruined storefronts.” He gave Kendril a curious glance. “You…really care about her, don’t you?”
The Ghostwalker looked away. “Madris and I go way back.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for her,” Joseph said quietly.
Kendril looked back at his friend, his face showing his surprise. “Aren’t you leaving? I assumed you’d be running off looking down every sewer grate you found from here to the Central Plaza.”
Joseph shook his head. He looked up at the flickering sparks that were floating upwards out of the ruin of the opera house. “No, I can’t, as much as I want to. There are a lot of people who need help right here and right now. Kara and Maklavir are capable enough. They can take care of themselves for a few hours.”
Kendril cleared his throat.
Joseph gave a half-smile. “Well, Kara can, anyways.”
Kendril smiled as well, though his face still showed signs of weariness. He lifted his head suddenly, looking across the square.
A regal-looking carriage p
ulled up across the snow-covered cobblestones, flanked by four mounted gendarmes.
“Looks like the Lord Mayor is here,” Kendril said. “Why do I think that means things are about to get worse?”
“Because they are.” Joseph looked off to the north with a frown. “Take a look.”
Kendril pivoted his head.
Past the rooftops of the buildings at the north end of the square was a dull orange glow on the horizon.
“A fire?” Kendril glanced back at the burnt-out shell of the opera house. “Another one?”
Joseph nodded, then grabbed his herbal bag. “Looks to be west of the river, up past the Library.”
Kendril stepped away from the post. “See to the wounded. Keep an eye out for Madris.” He started out into the street.
Joseph slung the bag over his shoulder. “Where are you going?”
The Ghostwalker didn’t look back. “It’s time I had another chat with the mayor.”
The bell at the shop entrance tingled as the door opened.
Captain Potemkin looked up from the map of Vorten he had spread on the table before him. Lieutenant Gradine and Baron Dutraad stood across from him.
“It’s a bloody mess out there,” the Lord Mayor boomed as he entered. He stamped the snow off his feet and wrinkled his nose. “Eru, it smells awful in here.”
Potemkin rose to his full height. “It’s a fish store, your honor.”
“You couldn’t have picked a better place to set up in?” The Lord Mayor crossed to the table, stripping his gloves off as he did.
The gendarme captain took a breath, trying to control his words. “Our options were rather limited, your honor. You can see that many of the storefronts on the square were destroyed. We only—”
“Yes, yes,” the Lord Mayor said irritably, waving his hand. The place is a mess, no doubt. The fire is contained, correct?”
Potemkin and Gradine exchanged glances.
The captain cleared his throat. “Yes, your honor, for the most part. But the Set—”
The Lord Mayor raised a finger. “Don’t start with me, Captain. I’ve had enough of that nonsense from the Ghostwalkers. It was the Ghostwalkers who set this fire, wasn’t it?”