Especially after they were strengthened by devouring a few victims.
Perhaps Caina had intended the turpentine to blunt the keen noses of the Hounds. And it was working. Razdan couldn’t smell anything but the vile reek of the stuff.
But his eyes worked just fine, and he saw the glint of metal.
Then he saw the bear traps, the dozens of bear traps, scattered down either side of the street.
A narrow aisle of clear space, perhaps two yards across, had been left down the center of the street, but to the left and the right of that narrow aisle waited dozens of bear traps. Razdan had been the spearhead of the Hounds’ charge, and so he had landed in the aisle and avoided the traps by sheer chance.
But why bear traps? Why…
And in that instant, fury exploded through Razdan Nagrach as he realized that Caina had tricked him.
“Stop!” he screamed into the thoughts of the others. “Stop, stop!”
But it was too late. His pack brothers, fired with fury for the hunt, bounded over the barricade with growls and snarls of challenge, leaping over the rickety barrier in a tide of muscle and fangs and claws.
It would have been a terrifying sight to any mortal watching it.
Except for the bear traps.
The Hounds of the Iron King landed on the other side of the barrier, and dozens of the bear traps snapped shut at once.
The growls and roars turned to screams of agony as iron teeth sank into the flesh of the mavrokhi. The Hounds could heal from almost anything, could recover from anything short of having their heads cut off and their hearts removed, but the iron teeth of the trap plunged into their limbs and stayed there, holding fast with a tenacity that even the jaws of the mavrokhi could not match. The traps closed on paws and limbs, and one Hound even had the bad luck to slip and drive his head into the trap. The jaws swung shut, and the injured Hound could not even scream as the iron teeth pierced his tongue.
The mavrokhi could not heal wounds with the iron teeth still embedded in flesh, and the trapped Hounds went berserk.
With their superhuman strength, they could rip free of the traps, but that would take at least a few moments. And the traps hurt. Razdan felt the agony of his pack brothers flooding through their mental link, and the street erupted with roars of fury and pain. Razdan shouted instructions into their minds, but the mavrokhi were in too much pain to heed him.
He looked around. Maybe four or five of his pack brothers had avoided the traps. He would have to tell them to take human form and help the others out of the iron jaws. Except those caught in the traps had gone mad with pain, snapping and clawing at everything around them. One of the Hounds had ripped away from the trap, leaving his right front paw in the jaws, blood spilling from the ragged stump of his foreleg.
Even the mavrokh spirit would take some time to heal that.
“Idiots!” roared Razdan into their thoughts. “Listen to me! We…”
“Now!”
The shout boomed over the street from above, and Razdan recognized the voice of Kylon of House Kardamnos.
At once every single shutter on the street opened. Razdan roared and whirled, expecting to see archers or maybe Caina herself holding that valikon. Instead, he saw dozens of terrified townsmen and women, all of them holding white lumps of crystal…
Sunstones?
As one, the townsmen activated their sunstones.
The light from a sunstone could not harm a Hound of the Iron King. It kept lesser undead at bay, but the mavrokhi were living creatures. But the sunstones gave off light, brilliant light, especially in the first few moments before their charge of sunlight drained away.
And the mavrokhi had sensitive eyes, and dozens of people held sunstones.
The street erupted with a brilliant blaze of light, and Razdan staggered back, trying to see through the the glare.
“Boyar!” shouted Rudjak into his mind. He had avoided the traps and was trying to free the others from the iron jaws. “From above! From above!”
Razdan lifted his dazzled eyes and saw a blaze of white fire falling from the sky.
###
To Kylon’s eyes, it looked as if the main street had suddenly lit up with daylight. The snowflakes glowed golden as they fell past him and landed on the struggling mavrokhi. Eight or nine of the creatures had gotten trapped in the iron jaws. The rest were in the central aisle left clear of the traps, and the mavrokhi appeared confused, unsure how to proceed.
Kylon would not give them time to recover their bearings.
He leaped from the rooftop, drawing all the power of water and air he could manage. The valikon burned in his hands as he lifted it, trailing white fire like a comet. One of the mavrokhi looked up at him, and for an instant, Kylon saw the reflection of the white fire in its yellow eyes.
Then he landed, the sorcery of water strengthening his legs, and he brought the valikon down like a thunderbolt. The power of his blow combined with the momentum of his fall drove the ghostsilver blade forward, and he beheaded the mavrokh. The freezing mist swirling around his blade froze its blood, and body and head dropped to the ground, shrinking back to human form.
The mavrokhi whirled to attack him, and Kylon met their claws and fangs with the ice and white fire of his valikon. One of the mavrokhi lunged at him, jaws snapping, and he thrust the valikon. The creature cringed away from the blade, perhaps fearing what the sword could do to the malevolent spirit within its flesh. Unfortunately for the creature, its right rear leg came down onto an empty trap, and the iron jaws snapped shut. The mavrokh screamed, and Kylon killed it with a blow to the neck.
The other mavrokhi in the central aisle came at him, jaws snapping and claws slashing, and Kylon had no choice but to retreat. The lack of space in the central aisle now worked against him, and he didn’t have enough room to dodge properly. A single misstep could bring his foot down on one of those traps, and the iron jaws closed with enough force that he would die of blood loss in short order.
Though the mavrokhi would take off his head first.
Kylon fell back, and only the speed of air sorcery let him stay ahead of his enemies. Once the uninjured mavrokhi got clear of the traps, they would be able to encircle him and take him down.
White fire flashed behind the mavrokhi.
###
Seb lifted Caina’s valikon.
It was a shorter sword than he liked to use, and he had never been fond of curved blades. Yet it was unquestionably a valikon. He felt the thrum of power through the weapon, and the Iramisian sigils upon the blade burned with white fire. Caina had thrown the sword over the barricades before she had run down the alley, and Seb had picked it up, ducking beneath the barricade itself.
He hurried forward, killing a trapped mavrokh as he passed, and threw himself into the fray.
The uninjured mavrokhi were so focused upon Kylon that they did not see Seb coming. He raised the valikon with both hands and brought the curved blade plunging into a mavrokh’s back. The ghostsilver sword sank deep into the mavrokh’s flesh, and the creature went rigid as the white fire blazed hotter. At once the creature shrank into human form as the sword destroyed the mavrokh spirit, becoming one of the young noblemen that Seb had seen at the Sanctuary Stone.
The man fell dead at Seb’s feet.
Another mavrokh started to turn to face him, and Seb raked the valikon across its ribs. The cut didn’t draw any blood. Rather, it smoldered and hissed, and the mavrokh threw back its head and screamed in agony as the valikon wounded the malevolent spirit within him. Seb struck again, psychokinetic force driving his arm like a catapult stone, and Caina’s valikon found the mavrokh’s heart.
As Seb turned to face his next foe, a wild thought occurred to him.
As a child, he had read the tales of ancient Iramis and Ulkaar, and he had dreamed of becoming a valikarion, of wielding a sword of white fire against creatures of twisted sorcery and malevolent spirits from the netherworld. Growing up to learn that all the valikarion had died and
all the valikons had been destroyed or lost long ago had been a tremendous disappointment.
He was a battle magus, and a sorcerer could never become a valikarion, but wielding a valikon in battle against the mavrokhi was the next best thing.
Seb had already rejected many of the things that Talmania Scorneus had tried to teach him, and he was pleased to learn that yet another one of her lessons had been wrong.
He ran to attack another mavrokh, the valikon trailing white fire in his black-armored hand.
###
Panic fluttered at the edges of Razdan Nagrach’s mind.
The iron jaws of the bear traps might have caught most of his pack brothers, but the larger jaws of the death trap that Caina Kardamnos had constructed for them were closing tight around him. Recriminations shot through his thoughts in a blur. It was Varlov’s fault for provoking a fight with Caina and her companions. It was Sophia’s fault for running into the wilderness in the first place rather than accepting her fate. It was his pack brothers’ fault for not warning him of the trap.
And maybe it was his fault. Perhaps he should have taken his chances at the White Boar and killed Caina then and there. Or maybe he should have thought up a better plan. Charging into the town like this had been an act of reckless folly. He should have waited until Caina’s patience ended and she left Kostiv. Or he should have entered by stealth and murdered the woman while she slept. It would have made him look weak in front of the peasants, true, but getting killed in the street would make him look even weaker.
Now he was trapped between Kylon and Sebastian, both men wielding valikons. Likely Caina had thrown hers over the barricade after her little oration, letting a far more capable warrior use the deadly weapon. Another death scream rang out as Kylon cut down yet another of Razdan’s pack brothers, and the panic grew stronger.
It was the Syvashar’s fault. The High Priest had thrown Razdan’s life away by sending him against such a cunning foe. It was…
Wait. The Syvashar.
A path to victory blazed before Sebastian’s mind.
Kylon didn’t matter. Sebastian didn’t matter. Sophia and the other women chosen for the Hunt and the entire town of Kostiv didn’t matter. Even the lives of his pack brothers didn’t matter.
The only thing that mattered was killing Caina and taking the Ring from her corpse.
If he could do that, then Razdan could yet salvage this disaster. If he brought the Ring of Rasarion Yagar to the Syvashar, the Temnoti would reward him. Their mighty sorcery would help him reestablish control over Kostiv and punish the rebellious fools who had sided with a foreign valikarion rather than their own lawful lord.
And as for his pack brothers…well, the Temnoti could always help him to create new ones.
“Forward!” he screamed into the minds of the others. “Forward! Get to the market and kill the valikarion! She is the only one that matters. She is the architect of this! Find her and kill her.”
Razdan surged forward as fast as he could, lunging at Kylon. The stormdancer stepped back in a blur, the white blaze of the valikarion coming up in guard, but Razdan twisted aside at the last minute. With the direction of his leap changed, he missed Kylon and the blade of the valikon by mere inches, landed beyond the jaws of the iron traps, and kept running. Behind him he heard screams and roars as the other Hounds fought their way free, leaving behind those who were too injured to run or who were still caught in the traps.
He felt their dying screams in his mind as he raced south on the main street. How many were left? He reached through the mental link and recoiled.
Three. Of the fifteen mavrokhi who had accompanied Razdan from the castle, only three others had survived the slaughter at the traps – Rudjak, Bashkir, and Balmin. He felt their rage pouring through the link, rage at Kylon and Sebastian Scorneus – but also at him. Razdan had led them to this disaster. If he was yet victorious, they might unite against him.
No matter. Razdan would deal with that when the time came.
“Get to the market!” he shouted. “Find the valikarion and kill her!”
The market came into sight, the snow falling heavier around them, and Razdan glimpsed the red coat that Caina wore.
Chapter 19: Valikarion
Caina sprinted through the alley, her boots slapping against the cobblestones. The wind howled from the south, snow blowing over the rooftops and lashing at her face. Already it was starting to accumulate on the streets.
A blizzard was indeed coming.
Caina ran faster, taking care to keep her footing on the increasingly slick ground. On the other side of the houses, she heard the roars of the mavrokhi, roars that were increasingly full of agony rather than rage. It seemed the mavrokhi had blundered right into the trap Caina had prepared for them.
The thought filled her with a vicious elation.
It also filled her with fear. Her husband would be fighting for his life against those monsters. She had left her valikon behind, knowing that Seb could wield the valikon against the mavrokhi far more effectively than she could.
But the mavrokhi might break loose from the trap.
If they did, Caina needed to be ready.
She burst into the market. Already there was a half-inch of white snow covering the ground, glittering and pristine as it reflected the light from the sunstones further up the street. Under other circumstances, she might have thought it beautiful. Right now, she cursed the snow for its uneven footing. Caina ran to the center of the market, the Temple and the burgomaster’s house on her left and the White Boar on her right, the mill behind her, and looked up the main street.
The street blazed with light from the sunstones, and she saw a scene of furious chaos. Mavrokhi screamed and collapsed, and dead noblemen lay sprawled upon the cobblestones. Caina spotted the white flames of two valikons, one in the hands of a blur that had to be Kylon, the other in the grasp of a black-armored warrior that was Seb.
But some of the mavrokhi had broken free of the battle and were charging right towards her. Four of them, all told, likely the strongest and most powerful of Razdan’s pack. At their head raced a huge mavrokh that looked like a giant wolf out of a nightmare, its venomous yellow eyes fixed on her.
That had to be Razdan himself.
Caina whirled and started running towards the mill.
And then something went wrong.
Caina had grown up on the shores of the Bay of Empire, where it never snowed. Most of her time with the Ghosts had been in the central and western provinces of the Empire, where it rarely snowed, and then two and a half years in Istarinmul, where it never, ever snowed. She had seen snow, of course, and knew that it made the ground slippery, but she had little experience running in it.
Her left foot slid out from beneath her, and Caina lost her balance and fell backward.
The back of her head bounced off the ground, and stars exploded before her eyes.
###
Sophia Zomanek stared through the shutters of one of the common room’s windows, terror flooding her heart.
Caina had told her to stay in the White Boar, and Sophia had, though she suspected that Caina had meant for her to go to her room on the second floor. In truth, that was where she wanted to be, maybe hiding under the bed like she had when she had been a child and nightmares of the fire that had killed her parents haunted her dreams.
But that wouldn’t do any good. If the boyar won the battle outside, he would storm into the inn, kick aside the door, and drag her out from under the bed.
If that happened, Sophia was ready.
She had a loaded crossbow on the floor next to her, a charged sunstone in a pouch at her belt, and a sheathed dagger. In truth, she knew that both the crossbow and the sunstone would do little good.
The dagger was for herself.
She would rather cut her own throat than let the boyar take her. Sophia had tried to run, and she had nearly been killed in Sigilsoara and nearly captured at the Sanctuary Stone. There was no place left to run
.
Either Caina would kill the boyar, or Sophia would die here.
A flash of red caught her attention, and Sophia peered through the thickening snow.
Caina ran into the center of the market and stopped, staring into the main street. There was no sign of her valikon, of Lord Sebastian or Lord Kylon, or any of the Hounds. For a moment Caina stood there, staring at the street, and then she turned to run.
As she did, she slipped and fell backward into the snow, and Sophia saw her head hit the ground.
Caina lay there, motionless.
Sophia was stunned. Caina always walked with such an economy of movement. How had she lost her balance? Maybe she had never had to run in snow before.
Roars rang from the main street, bloodthirsty and chilling.
The mavrokhi were coming for Caina…and she was stunned in the snow.
Sophia wanted to scream. It wasn’t fair! After everything they had done, everything they had escaped, Caina would die because she had slipped in the snow? Caina could have defeated the boyar. Sophia was certain of it. She had seen the golden glow from the street, had heard the mavrokhi scream in fear.
They had been so close!
And then something happened to Sophia that had never happened before.
She was…she was…
She was furious.
Her rage was suddenly stronger than her fear. Bad enough that the boyar had become a demon and brought back the Boyar’s Hunt. Bad enough that he would kill her and six other women for the Hunt. But one of the legendary valikarion had returned, someone to make the mavrokhi and the undead and the wicked sorcerers frightened, and Razdan Nagrach was going to kill her.
It was just so…so…
The feeling made her want to scream in outrage. She had always thought that getting this angry made someone feel like they were on fire, but she felt horribly cold, like the blizzard outside had turned her blood to ice.
It wasn’t fair!
Ghost in the Ring (Ghost Night Book 1) Page 28