Free Ghost Light by Jonathan Moeller Page B

best you can do, Ghost?” said Cynoshard.
“The Ghosts have grown even more impotent than I remember. Return
to your precious Emperor and report your failure. Perhaps I’ll send
him Qassar’s head…after I kill his wives in front of him, of
course.”
    Cynoshard seized Qassar’s hair and disappeared in the
writhing shadow, taking the Istarish nobleman with him.
    Caina stared into the darkness, the taste of failure
bitter in her mouth. Cynoshard would kill Qassar – if Qassar was
lucky – and there was nothing she could do to…
    No.
    The mind was a more potent weapon than any blade, her
teachers had always said, and she had seen that proven true over
and over again.
    Why hadn’t Cynoshard just killed her? Because he had
been a fool to leave her alive – he could take her in a straight
fight, but he she was only one woman. If she reported back to the
Ghosts, they had the resources to track him down and kill him. He
had no reason to leave her alive…
    Unless he was trying to lull her into false
confidence.
    The voices thundered inside her head.
    Free us set us free we are tormented and chained and
trapped forevermore free us free us FREE US…
    Caina flung herself to the side as Cynoshard stepped
out of nothingness behind her, his sword plunging for her back. She
tried to position herself for a stab, but his longer blade let him
stay out of reach of her daggers. Again Cynoshard slashed at her,
and Caina ducked, snatched up Qassar’s scimitar, and attacked.
Their blades met again, and again. But it was no good. Caina could
not match his strength, and she had never been that capable with a
long blade.
    The voices screamed in her head.
    Free us free us the pain the pain never stops the
agony we are chained forever let it end let it end free us free us
FREE US…
    Cynoshard drew his sword back for the kill.
    Only fools fought fairly.
    Caina spun, dodged the thrust, and raced deeper into
the ruined mansion. She leapt over a fallen statue and hastened
into a maze of half-fallen walls, piled debris, and leaning
pillars. Tangled shadows lay thick over the rubble, along with pale
patches of moonlight.
    Creating a thousand perfect hiding places.
    Cynoshard could not kill her if he couldn’t find her.
And here, in this wrecked mansion, she could stalk him even as he
stalked her. If she could get behind him, plunge her daggers into
his neck before he disappeared into the living shadows of his
cloak, the fight would be over quickly.
    That damned cloak.
    What was that thing? She still heard the voices in
her head, fainter now, but still continuing their litany of
despair. Did Cynoshard hear those voices? Plainly the cloak gave
him the power to walk through the shadows, covering a dozen yards
in a single step, but sorcery always carried a price.
    Caina wondered what kind of price he had paid for
that cloak.
    The voices in her head doubled in volume.
    An instant later Cynoshard appeared atop a nearby
pillar, his cloak writhing and twisting around him like an animal
in its death throes. He gazed over the ruin for a moment, his eyes
sweeping past Caina, and then disappeared in a swirl of darkness.
An instant later he reappeared atop a ruined wall some distance
away, his back to her.
    Caina smirked. He hadn’t seen her.
    She crept forward, every muscle rigid with tension,
her boots silent against the cracked floor. Cynoshard flickered
from ruined pillar to broken wall to piled rubble, his cold eyes
roving over the shadow-choked ruins. But Caina knew how to move
silently and unseen, and bit by bit she drew closer to the
assassin. He was flitting from place to place faster now, the scowl
on his tattooed face deepening.
    Good. Impatient men made mistakes.
    Then Cynoshard appeared not four steps from Caina’s
hiding place, his back to her, the cloak of shadows twitching
against him. Caina glided from behind a broken statue of a
long-dead Emperor, Qassar’s scimitar drawn back for a stab.
    And then the voices exploded inside her