Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 05 - Ghost in the Stone

by Jonathan Moeller

He was falling for it. He saw only a terrified young woman clad in scraps of silk, clinging to any piece of hope. The Elder seemed the sort of man who enjoyed playing with his victims. If she could lure him off his guard, she would have one chance to land a fatal blow.

  Maybe.

  “Yes,” said the Elder. “You see, my dear, your father made a contract with the Kindred. No doubt he wanted one of his rivals killed. Some competition over a petty local magistracy, I imagine.”

  “No,” said Caina. “My father would never do that.”

  If she stood up, the hidden dagger would be within reach.

  “Daughters like to believe the best about their fathers,” said the Elder, “and are always so shocked when they learn their beloved fathers have sold them into slavery.”

  “No!” said Caina. “My father wouldn’t do that to me.”

  “I’m sure you believe that,” said the Elder. “But I’ve seen this before. Your father made a contract with us, and he couldn’t pay. Or perhaps he offered you as payment. So you now you belong to me.”

  “That’s not true!” said Caina. “I am the daughter of a noble House.”

  “Once,” said the Elder, “but now you are my slave, and nothing more. Stand up!”

  His voice cracked like a whip, and Caina rose. The Elder’s gaze flicked up and down her body, a faint smile passing over his lips.

  Caina backed against the wall, as if in fear, her fingers brushing the dagger’s hilt.

  “You think to please me, yes?” said the Elder, taking a step closer. “You think that if you submit to me, that if you obey me, I will make things easier for you? You are wrong. Your only purpose is to please me, and it will please me to torment you.”

  Caina shied against the shelves, her hands closing around the dagger’s hilt. “Please, sir, please, whoever you are, let me go home.”

  She would have one chance to land a killing blow. One solid stab between his ribs should disable him. The bloodcrystal would repair the damage in a few seconds, but that gave Caina enough time to get the torque off his throat. Then she could inflict a mortal wound the bloodcrystal could not heal.

  “You will never leave this room again,” said the Elder. “Your father has abandoned you. Let that thought be the beginning of your torment.”

  He started towards her, and Caina went slack, her eyes wide with fear.

  But her hands tightened around the dagger’s hilt…

  The door to the corridor banged open.

  Both Caina and the Elder turned their heads.

  A Kindred assassin she had not seen before staggered into the study, breathing hard. He held a sword in his hand, and Caina saw specks of blood on his face and chain mail.

  “I trust,” said the Elder, “that you have a good reason for disturbing me?”

  “Elder,” said the assassin. “We are under attack.”

  The Elder’s eyebrows rose. “What?”

  “The tunnel to the Ring of Valor,” said the assassin. “A mob of Sarbian mercenaries. The outer guards are holding them off, but they’ll break into the Haven at any moment!”

  The Elder snarled, the expression making him look almost demonic. “Damnation. The Ghosts, I suspect. That clever wretch Marzhod captured too many of our brothers. None of them knew the location of the Haven, but he must have deduced it somehow. Or one of our inner circle betrayed us.”

  “Not I, Elder!” said the assassin.

  “I know that, fool,” said the Elder. “I will handle this attack for myself. Too many of our brothers have left to settle matters at the Palace of Splendors.” Were the Kindred preparing to kill Khosrau and Corbould even now? “We may have to abandon the Haven.”

  “Our Haven, Elder?” said the assassin. “The Haven is the heart of the Kindred!”

  The Elder sneered. “I am the heart of the Kindred! Now, come. We have killing to do.”

  The Elder took a step towards the door, stopped, and looked at Caina. Gone was the smugness, the cold mockery of a predator playing with his prey. Now his cold eyes weighed and examined her.

  Evaluating her as a threat.

  “If I may ask,” said the assassin, “who is that, Elder?”

  “No one of importance,” said the Elder. “A gift from the Elder of another family. Probably Artifel, I imagine. I would have enjoyed her…but her appearance before this attack is too much of a coincidence. Kill her and then join me.”

  The Elder strode into the corridor without a backward glance.

  Chapter 21 - Betrayal

  The assassin drew his sword.

  “No,” Caina whimpered, hoping to lull him into false confidence. “No, please, please, don’t kill me.”

  She grasped the dagger, sliding it from the shelf.

  The assassin chuckled. “What? I’m not going to kill you. The Elder has a bit of a temper, that’s all. He’ll calm down soon enough. Come with me to your room.”

  He wanted to kill her in the corridor, Caina realized. Why not just kill her in here?

  She realized he didn’t want to get blood on the Elder’s fine carpet.

  “Yes,” said Caina, tightening her hold in the dagger. “Will…will you take me home to my father?”

  “Of course,” said the assassin. “Anything you want. Just come with me.”

  Caina stepped away from the shelf, looked at the doorway, and made her eyes go wide and her mouth fall open in fear.

  The assassin looked at the door for a half-second, and that was all the time Caina needed. She whipped the Anshani dagger around and buried it to the hilt in the assassin’s neck. The Kindred staggered, clawing at Caina, but all the strength had gone out of his limbs. She slammed her heel into this back of his knee, and he collapsed in a heap, blood streaming from his neck.

  “Sorry about the carpet,” said Caina.

  The assassin trembled once and went still.

  Caina ripped the dagger free and wiped it clean on the carpet as she tried to decide her next move. She could not try to open the desk in the middle of a battle, and she could not stay here. Once the Sarbians forced their way into the Haven, the Elder would try to escape. But before he did, he would undoubtedly stop in his study to take any important documents.

  Once he saw the assassin dead on his expensive carpet, he would realize that Caina was more than what she appeared.

  The entire plan hinged on Corvalis jamming the portcullis. If he had succeeded, she would join forces with him. And if he had failed…she would try to jam the portcullis herself.

  If she could.

  No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than Corvalis appeared in the door.

  He was breathing hard, his cloak slashed and torn, his sword in his hand. Blood dried on his chain mail and boots, and he had small cuts above his left eye and jaw.

  Caina felt a wave of relief.

  “Looks like you have been busy,” he said, glancing at the dead Kindred.

  He shrugged out of his backpack and tossed it to her.

  Caina tugged it open and got dressed. She pulled on black pants, black boots with daggers in hidden sheaths, and a black jacket lined with thin steel plates to deflect knives. A belt of throwing knives went around her waist, the ghostsilver dagger on her right hip. A mask covered her face, and her shadow-cloak went around her shoulders.

  As she equipped herself, she heard the sounds of distant fighting echoing through the corridor.

  The Sarbians were fighting their way into the Haven.

  “Did you jam the portcullis?” said Caina.

  “Aye,” said Corvalis. “First two guards went down easy enough. The Gatewarden, though…he was a challenge. Poisoned his blades, too.” He chuckled. “Fortunately, he was smart enough to carry the antidote with him.” He looked around. “What now?”

  “Most of the assassins went to the Palace of Splendors,” said Caina. “The rest are fighting the Sarbians. We’ve got to get to the Palace and warn Theodosia.”

  “Then,” said Corvalis, “we help Marzhod’s Sarbians
finish off the Kindred, and head to the Palace.”

  “Aye,” said Caina. She grinned behind the mask. “The Kindred are focused on the Sarbians. They won’t expect someone to attack them from behind.”

  Corvalis nodded. “Let’s give them an unpleasant surprise.”

  She followed him into the corridor and froze.

  The Kindred Elder stood thirty feet away, bloody swords in either hand. His cold gray eyes narrowed as they focused upon her.

  “Ah,” he said. “The noble’s daughter. A Ghost nightfighter. I should have suspected.” He lifted his swords. “Time enough to rectify that mistake before I flee.”

  “You’re not fleeing anywhere,” said Corvalis.

  “And you,” said the Elder. “I think I recognize you. One of Decius Aberon’s little bastards, aren’t you? I’m not surprised you ended up with a collection of fools like the Ghosts. A fortunate development nonetheless. I’ll send your head to the Elder of Artifel.”

  “I doubt he’d appreciate a hunk of rotting meat,” said Corvalis. “But you’re not going anywhere. I jammed the portcullis.”

  The Elder went motionless, his expression blank.

  “You can’t flee to the Temple of Living Flame,” said Caina, “and the tunnel to the Ring of Valor is full of angry Sarbians. Even with that bloodcrystal chained to your neck, you’re not fighting past that many men on your own. Because by the time you get back to the tunnel, the assassins you left behind will all be dead.”

  The Elder lifted his chin with disdain.

  “I suggest you surrender,” said Caina. “There are lots of things we want to know.”

  “Very well,” said the Elder.

  He dropped his swords, the blades clanging.

  Caina had not expected him to actually surrender.

  “Ghost!” shouted Corvalis, and Caina felt the faint tingle of sorcery.

  The Elder was drawing on the bloodcrystal’s power.

  Caina threw herself to the side as the Elder’s sinewy hand blurred. A black throwing knife hurtled past Caina’s ear with terrific speed and struck the wall with enough force to leave a crack in the stone. Caina caught her balance and yanked the daggers from her boots, but the Elder was faster. The Kindred leader snatched up his discarded swords, and charged her in a sorcery-enhanced blur.

  Corvalis met his attack with a shout, his sword and dagger flying. The two men traded a dozen blows in half as many heartbeats. Yet the Elder wielded his swords with the skill of long experience and practice, and soon Corvalis found himself forced on the defensive. The Elder was the best swordsman Caina had ever seen, better even than Naelon Icaraeus, and he was going to defeat Corvalis.

  Unless Caina took action.

  She raced to the side and flung a knife. The Elder tried to twist aside, but he wore no armor, and the blade buried itself in his thigh. The assassin stumbled and Corvalis stabbed, his dagger tearing a furrow along his foe’s ribs. The Elder danced back, yanking the knife from his leg, and Caina saw the blood flow stop as the bloodcrystal’s stored life energy healed the wound.

  “Foolish children,” said the Elder. He lifted his arms as the wound across his ribs healed. “You have no weapons that can harm me. Even now, the feeble wounds you have dealt me close. I am an Elder of the Kindred, and I killed with impunity long before your fathers ever lay with your mothers. I am the hunter, the terror in the darkness! You think to kill me? As well might the sheep think to overthrow the wolf! Lay down your weapons, fools, and I will kill you without…”

  “Oh, shut up,” said Caina.

  The Elder blinked in surprised astonishment. Caina doubted few people had used that tone to the Elder’s face.

  “You’re not some terror in the darkness,” said Caina, “you’re a pompous old man with a minor bloodcrystal strapped to your neck. Yes, I know what that is. Take away the bloodcrystal, and you’ll bleed to death like any other man.”

  Corvalis gave her a shallow nod as he understood.

  The Elder’s lips peeled back from his teeth in terrible fury and he shot forward. Corvalis met his attack, sword and dagger working in concert. Again the Elder soon had the younger man on the retreat. Caina circled around them, trying to throw another knife, but the Elder kept Corvalis between them.

  She realized his plan. He would drive Corvalis against the jammed portcullis and kill him once the younger man ran out of room to fall back. Then he would deal with Caina.

  Unless they killed him first.

  The Elder lunged at Corvalis, and Caina had an opening. A knife flew from her fingers and buried itself in the Elder’s side. The Elder stumbled with a hiss of pain, and Corvalis struck. The dagger in his left hand plunged into the older assassin’s right shoulder. The Elder staggered, and Caina expected the old assassin to go on the defensive.

  Instead he charged again at Corvalis. At first his right arm was slower than his left, but in a matter of heartbeats, the wound in his shoulder closed, the bloodcrystal pulsing with pale light. Soon the Elder fought as if he had not been wounded at all.

  Caina had to get that bloodcrystal away from him. Or could they wear down his reserves? A bloodcrystal could only store a limited amount of stolen life force. If she inflicted enough wounds upon him, sooner or later the bloodcrystal would run dry. Yet the Elder would kill Corvalis long before his bloodcrystal drained, and Caina could not face him alone.

  She remembered fighting Naelon Icaraeus’s mercenaries on the rooftops of Marsis. They had worn bracers that protected them from weapons of normal steel, but Caina’s ghostsilver dagger had been able to penetrate those protections. Could the dagger do the same to the Elder? Maglarion had survived a lethal wound from a ghostsilver-tipped spear…but Maglarion had been linked to a bloodcrystal of tremendous size and power. Would the Elder’s bloodcrystal give him similar protection?

  It was time to find out.

  Caina darted forward, ghostsilver dagger in her right hand, a throwing knife in her left. The Elder and Corvalis wheeled around each other, and Caina threw the knife in her left hand. The Elder stepped back, his right-hand sword blurring. Caina’s spinning blade clattered to the floor. The ancient assassin recovered his balance and renewed his attacks on Corvalis, but his side was open for a half-second, and he did not bother to guard against Caina. No doubt he thought his bloodcrystal would heal any wounds she inflicted.

  She raked ghostsilver dagger across his right forearm. Even from the brief contact, the dagger’s hilt grew warm, and the bloodcrystal at the Elder’s throat made a high-pitched keening noise, like metal placed under too much stress. The Elder stumbled back with a shocked scream, the cut upon his forearm smoking like a wound from a hot iron. Surprise lowered his guard, and Caina struck again, opening another gash upon his ribs. Again the Elder bellowed, and Caina threw herself out of way as he stabbed.

  “What trickery is this?” spat the Elder. “Has the Magisterium betrayed me? Did they give you that weapon?”

  Caina laughed. “Truly? All these decades you’ve been the killer in the darkness and you’ve never once encountered a ghostsilver weapon? Do the Kindred permit any random fool to become an Elder?”

  A stunned laugh burst from Corvalis’s lips.

  The Elder snarled and attacked her, but Corvalis intercepted the blows. The older assassin attacked with fury and skill, but his right arm no longer moved as fast as his left. The wounds her ghostsilver dagger had left were not healing as quickly as the wounds dealt by normal steel. Caina hit him with another throwing knife, making him stumble, and stabbed the ghostsilver dagger into the opening. Her blade dug into his hip, and again the Elder bellowed in fury. Corvalis drove his sword into the Elder’s belly, and Caina felt a surge of exultation. They were winning…

  The Elder snatched something from his belt. Something glittered in his fingers, and Caina realized that he held a glass vial.

  A glass vial full of swirling dark fluid.

  “Corvalis!” shouted Caina. “Watch…”

  The Elder flung the vi
al at the floor, and it exploded in a rippling plume of black smoke. Corvalis caught in the smoke in the face, and he stumbled back, coughing and hacking. Caina was at the edge of the plume, and even the little bit she inhaled made her throat close up, made her eyes water and burn.

  The Elder seemed unaffected. She expected him to attack Corvalis, to finish him off before the younger man recovered.

  Instead the Elder spun to face her, swords drawn back to stab.

  She had caused him more pain, after all.

  She ducked under his first thrust and sidestepped past the slash of his other sword. He was not moving as fast as the beginning of their fight. Perhaps all his bloodcrystal’s power had gone to heal his injuries. But even without his enhanced speed, he was still fast enough to kill her. He drove her across the corridor until her back thumped against the wall.

  The Elder drew back his swords to finish the fight.

  Caina snatched her cloak with her free hand and threw it at him.

  The Elder raised his right sword to block, his left sword still angled to kill her.

  But steel could not touch the peculiar shadow-cloth, and it passed through his sword and draped over his face. The Elder bellowed in fury and Caina sidestepped, his left sword clanging against the wall. She lunged at him, hoping to land a killing blow with the ghostsilver dagger, and the Elder jerked back.

  Instead of meeting his chest, her blade slammed into his left hand.

  His sword and several of his fingers fell to the ground, smoke rising from his ruined hand.

  The Elder howled like an enraged animal, and his boot slammed into Caina’s gut. She fell hard to the stone floor, trying to catch her breath. The Elder loomed over her, gray eyes bright with crazed fury, and his sword came up for the kill.

  Corvalis intercepted him.

  The Elder whirled to face the new threat. For a moment the sheer fury of Corvalis’s attack drove the Elder back, but the Elder was the better swordsman, even wounded and fighting with only one blade. Corvalis’s momentum played out, and the Elder counterattacked. Step by step Corvalis retreated, face grim.

  The Elder drove him into the room of machines and glass tanks.