Ghost Light Read Free

ruins, trying to ignore the maddened chorus
inside her skull. The mansion had burned, but it had been built in
the classic Imperial style, and Caina found her way to the wreckage
of the great hall with ease.
    And to Qassar.
    He lay upon the dais where the lord's high table had
once stood, wrists and ankles bound, mouth gagged, eyes bulging
with terror. Nearby lay two women and four small children, also
bound. Qassar's wives and children, no doubt. Apparently Cynoshard
had spared them. But why?
    The answer came to Caina even as darkness swirled in
the hall's empty doors, as Cynoshard stepped out of the
shadows.
    The assassin had kept them alive to kill in front of
Qassar.
    To add their souls to his cloak.
    And hers, as well, she realized.
    “You should have fled, Ghost,” Cynoshard said, a lazy
smile on his tattooed face. His sword spun slow, deadly circles in
his right hand, like a viper preparing to strike. “Stealth would
have saved you, not steel. Now you will suffer for your
mistake.”
    Join us join us you will join us in our torment in
our screams scream with you join us for he will kill you KILL YOU
KILL YOU…
    “Suffer?” said Caina, stepping to the side. She heard
Qassar screaming into his gag, the women and children weeping into
theirs. “So you’re going to kill me and add my soul to that cloak
of yours?”
    Cynoshard stopped, his eyes narrowing. His cloak of
shadows twisted like a banner caught in a storm. And for a moment,
just a moment, Caina caught a glimpse of an amulet of tarnished
silver resting against his chest, the shadows of the cloak bound
against it.
    And through it.
    Our shackles our chains our durance we are slaves
forever you will join us he will kill you kill you KILL YOU…
    “Figured it out, did you?” said Cynoshard. A smile
spread over his face, distorted and hideous beneath the skull
tattoo. “Qassar is mine. His wives and children are mine. And you,
Ghost, you are mine.” His cloak flowed and writhed about him, the
whispering in Caina’s mind growing ever louder. “Your soul will
serve me until the end of days.”
    He walked towards her, and again Caina saw the amulet
of tarnished silver against his chest, holding the cloak of shadows
in place.
    Like a lock upon a chain.
    Caina felt the weight of the ghostsilver dagger upon
her hip. The blade was proof against sorcery – and against objects
and weapons of sorcery.
    Free us set us free let us go free us from our
torment free us free us FREE US…
    One chance. She would have one chance at this.
    She set her weight, lifting Qassar’s scimitar in one
hand.
    “If you want to kill me so badly,” she said, “then do
it already, and stop wasting my time with your tedious
speeches.”
    Cynoshard sneered. “Gladly.”
    He raced at her, sword raised, and Caina met him.
Despite the pain in her head, despite the throbbing in her leg, she
managed to block a dozen of his furious blows. Then he locked his
blade against hers and twisted her wrist, sending the scimitar
crashing to the ground.
    Cynoshard drew back his sword for the kill.
    Caina flung herself on him, hands reaching for his
throat. He caught her right wrist and shoved her away, lining up
his sword for a strike.
    And as he did, Caina ripped the ghostsilver dagger
from its sheath and slashed it across his chest. The gleaming blade
struck the tarnished amulet, and cut through it like butter. It
fell in two pieces to the ground, the edges smoking.
    Cynoshard froze in astonishment. “What…”
    The tingling of powerful sorcery against Caina’s skin
redoubled, and the cloak shattered.
    Shadows exploded from Cynoshard, racing across the
ruined hall like a flock of black birds. They swirled around the
hall, a whirlwind of darkness. The voices of the freed souls
screamed inside Caina’s skull, exultant with mad joy.
    And then they fell upon Cynoshard like an
avalanche.
    The assassin shrieked, slashing his blade in a futile
effort to drive off the shadows. But the steel of his sword