The Fall of Kyrace (2 page)

Then the elemental loomed over the ramp, its rebuilt fist raised to smash Rykon to a pulp. He saw more stones and rubble breaking free from the street and the burning houses, flying to repair the earth elemental's damaged body. Even some of the armor and weapons scattered across the ground rose to join themselves to the elemental, ripping free from dead hands and heads and chests. 

Tyndaros had the power to destroy the elemental, but he was exhausted, his waning strength holding off Corthios. And Rykon did not have the raw power to destroy an elemental, not on his own. 

He watched as a cuirass ripped free from a dead Legionary to embed itself in the elemental's arm, and the idea came to him. Again he called lightning into his sword and leapt at the elemental, his sword blazing like a falling star. Again he severed the elemental's hand, and his blade carved great wounds in the creature's torso. A grinding bellow of rage came from the elemental, and it stormed onto the ramp, intent on crushing Rykon.

Debris and armor flew up to fill its wounds. 

Rykon flung himself against Corthios, tackling the high magus. The older man's fist blurred with supernatural speed, knocking Rykon to the ground, but the High Magus stumbled back.

Close to the elemental.

With a hideous screech, Corthios's spell-forged armor ripped free from his torso, flying to embed itself against the elemental. 

It was all the opening Rykon needed.

He sprang forward, plunging his sword into Corthios's chest. The high magus’s eyes bulged, and he stumbled to one knee, blood spilling from his mouth. Then his eyes rolled up and Corthios, Lord of the Empire and high magus of the Magisterium, died on Rykon's blade.

The elemental shuddered and collapsed into rubble, released from Corthios's spell. 

Rykon sighed, kicked the dead High Magus from his blade, and hurried to the Archon. Lord Tyndaros struggled to his knees, blood seeping from a cut on his brow. 

"You...defeated him," breathed Tyndaros. "That man has been a bane of our people for years, and you vanquished him. A great victory." He looked at the burning city, at the thousands of Imperial soldiers filling the docks. "Not that it matters, not any more."

"Lord Archon," said Rykon, "we must go." He took a shuddering breath. "Quickly. The enemy will be here any moment."

Tyndaros nodded, and Rykon helped the old man through the inner gates, into the next circle of Kyrace. The gate guards, Rykon noted sourly, had not come to help during the fight. The slaves pulled the massive gates shut, and they were safe. 

Briefly. 

"You have done well," said Tyndaros. 

"Not well enough," said Rykon. "The city is lost."

Tyndaros closed his eyes and nodded. "Aye. The fault is mine. We have been betrayed."

"Then it is the betrayer's fault, not yours," said Rykon. "The traitor...is it Mathanius?"

"Almost certainly," said Tyndaros. "Someone led the Imperial fleet through the coral maze warding the harbor. You urged me to execute him, when he betrayed us at Mors Naerius. I should have listened to you."

"That is past," said Rykon, though he could not keep the bitterness out of his voice. "What do you command?"

"The Tower of Storm," said Tyndaros. "Take me there. Quickly!" His voice rose. "The rest of you, you have fought manfully, but it is over. You may leave your posts with honor. Those of you who are slaves, you are free from this moment. The ships wait at the hidden harbor, to escape. If you hasten, you might yet make it in time. Go!" 

Some of the soldiers stayed at their posts. But most left, running into the higher circles of the city, to the secret tunnels that led to the hidden harbor, where ships waited to take the women and children to safety in New Kyre. 

“If the gate is undefended,” said Rykon, “the city will fall all the faster.”

“The city has already fallen,” said Tyndaros. “It is only question of time. Better that they flee to the ships than die upon the walls. Now, hasten! To the Tower of Storm!”

Rykon led the Archon through the circles of the city, past the ziggurats with their terraces, rippling ponds, and lush gardens, past the temples to the gods of storm and sea and salt, along the broad streets that climbed ever higher up the slopes of the Broken Mountain. 

Until they came to the Tower of Storm.

The massive ziggurat rose from the highest circle of the city, fifteen steep tiers of polished granite. Every tier had its own ponds and gardens, beautiful even in the glow of the burning lower city. From here the Archons had ruled over the scattered Kyracian people from Ril Kyrion in the far north to Kyrikos in the south.

Until today. 

They entered the Tower’s courtyard. Nine massive statues, each carved from a single block of green dolomite, stood over a central reflecting pool. Each statue represented one of the great elementals that had been bound within the Broken Mountain, when the first Archon and his people had fled here from the mainland. 

“Good,” said the Archon, breathing hard, “good. There is still time.”

“To do what?” said Rykon. “The city is lost, you said so yourself.”

“Aye,” said Tyndaros, looking at the Broken Mountain’s jagged peak. “Aye, the city is lost. But I swear to you, by the gods of sea and storm, that the Empire will never possess Kyrace. I swear to you that the Imperial eagle shall never fly over the Tower of Storm. And I swear to you that the Empire will pay a bitter price for having ever set foot in Kyrace.”

“How?” said Rykon.

“There is a secret,” said Tyndaros, “passed down from Archon to Archon from the beginning of Kyrace. These statues are not just symbols. They are…anchors, the linchpins of the mighty spells binding the great elemental spirits within the Broken Mountain. Without those elementals, this island would be uninhabitable.” He placed one hand upon the nearest statue and looked at Rykon. “And I shall break those spells.”

Rykon blinked. “What will happen?”

“I do not know,” said Tyndaros, and Rykon had the impression that the old man lied. “But it will not be good for the Imperial army. Or for anyone left upon the island, for that matter. You must go, Rykon.”

“My place is here,” said Rykon.

“I release you from your service,” said Tyndaros.

“Then my place is to die here,” said Rykon.

“Agia is here, Rykon,” said Tyndaros. 

Rykon felt his heart skip a beat. “What?”

“She is in the Tower of Catechon,” said Tyndaros. “I sent her here after the fall of Marsis, to keep her safe from Mathanius, since he would almost certainly come for her. Go to her, now, and make for the hidden harbor. If you hurry, you should just be able to make it.” 

“You arranged this, didn’t you?” said Rykon. “My duty is to die here. But you knew I would leave for Agia.”

Tyndaros’s smile looked like a rictus, a death-mask. “Yes. I have made many mistakes, Rykon. But you are a worthy man, and too many worthy men have died for my errors. Now, go. Before it is too late.”

Rykon hesitated, but nodded at last. “Farewell, my Lord Archon.”

“Farewell, stormdancer,” said Tyndaros, turning towards the first statue. “When you reach the fleet, tell the captains to keep to the south side of the island at all costs.”

“Why?” said Rykon. “You…know what releasing the elementals will do, don’t you?”

“It has been an honor, Rykon of House Kardamnos, stormdancer of Kyrace,” said Tyndaros, and he turned away.

He drew a dagger, slashed it across his palm, and let his blood fall upon the first of the massive statues. Then he began to sing in a quiet voice. The statue shuddered, and Rykon felt the stirrings of arcane power deep within the earth.

Massive amounts of arcane power, like a sleeping beast waking beneath his feet.

He left the courtyard, moving with sorcery-enhanced speed across the city's upper circle. The Tower of Catechon rose against the darker bulk of the Broken Mountain, looking like a smaller version of the Tower of Storm. Graceful statues rose from the Tower’s gardens, statues of stormdancers with their blades, or stormsingers with their hands raised to the heavens. 

No doubt the gardens and the statues would soon burn with the rest of the city. 

He hurried to the Tower’s top level and found Agia standing by a reflecting pool, watching the burning docks. She wore a long gown of green, black hair bound back from her slender neck by a silver circlet. The glare from the flames painted her face with hellish light, and he saw tears trickling down her cheeks. 

“Agia,” he said.

She turned to face him, one hand flying to her mouth.

“Rykon,” she said, and collapsed into his arms. 

For a moment he forgot the Imperial armies, the burning city, the ruin of Kyrace. But only for a moment. 

“How did this happen?” she murmured. “How could they have gotten into the city?”

“We were betrayed,” said Rykon.

Agia looked up at him, eyes full of pain. “Mathanius?”

Rykon nodded. “The Archon thinks he led the Imperials through the coral maze. That’s how they got into the harbor without ruining their ships. And with the fleet away, and most of our forces scattered among the colonies…”

“He knew.” Her mouth thinned. “If only the Archon had listened to you…”

“Then none of this would have happened,” said Rykon. If Tyndaros had overruled Mathanius, and allowed Rykon to wed Agia, then Mathanius would have been humiliated. He would not have been bold enough to attempt to seize the Archon’s chair by force, and he would not have turned to the Empire of Nighmar for aid once treachery failed. 

“None of it,” whispered Agia.

“That is in the past, my love,” said Rykon. “We must go. There are ships waiting in the harbor. We must reach them before…”

“Before justice is done?” said a deep voice.

Rykon spun, pushing Agia behind him, his sword raised.

A man in the gray-green robe of a stormdancer stood on the other side of the reflecting pool, sword in hand. A black cloak emblazoned with a golden Imperial eagle hung from his shoulders. Silver streaked his black hair, and his lips twitched with amusement.

“Mathanius,” said Rykon. 

“Traitor,” spat Agia. “What are you doing here?”

“For your own good, little sister,” said Mathanius, striding around the edge of the pool. “Soon the Legions will break the inner gate, and the city shall be sacked. The men shall be slain, the women raped and sold into slavery. As you are my sister, I would spare you that.” His lip twisted with contempt. “Instead, you seem to prefer the company of this fool.”

“He did not betray his people to destruction and slavery!” said Agia.

Mathanius snorted. “Don’t be trite, girl. The Empire has eight times the population and territory of every Kyracian city, combined. Sooner or later we will be conquered. Better to join with the Empire on our own terms. Once Kyrace falls and the idiot Tyndaros is dead, I will be made Imperial governor over the Kyracian cities, and I will lead our people to new glory.” He smiled. “And the Emperor is old. Perhaps I will take his place upon the Imperial throne.” 

“Or,” said Rykon, “the Emperor will have you killed, now that your usefulness has ended.” 

Mathanius's smile faltered, just for a moment. "You speak of things above your understanding."

"Treachery," said Rykon, "is not so difficult to understand. Nor is jealousy."

"Jealousy?" said Mathanius. "It was my family that should have sat upon the Archon's throne." He shook his head, lifting his sword. A blade of storm-forged steel, similar to Rykon's. "And you had the temerity, the gall to ask for my sister's hand in marriage. Don't you understand? She belongs to me, and I shall decide her husband. Just as Kyrace belongs to me, and I shall decide..."

He struck in midsentence, his blade blurring with lethal speed. Among all the stormdancers of Kyrace, Lord Mathanius had ever been the fastest and the strongest. But Rykon saw the attack coming, and drew upon his own air sorcery. Mathanius's blade rebounded from his parry, and Rykon struck back, sword stabbing for the older man's heart. Mathanius slapped the sword aside and danced back. 

"Brother!" shouted Agia. "Stop this! You have already stained your hands with treachery and murder! Do not soil them further with the blood of my beloved!" 

"Be silent, Agia," said Mathanius, the point of his sword tracing lazy circles in the air. "And you, Rykon. Do you really think to fight me? I took up the blade and cast my first spell long before you were born. I slew my first man in a duel at the age of eleven. You cannot possibly defeat me." 

"Perhaps not," said Rykon, calling lightning into his sword. The blue light fell over the Tower's top, brighter than the stars, brighter than the fires devouring the city below. "But I may yet keep you from reigning as a puppet over our enslaved people, murderer and coward."

A spasm of fury crossed Mathanius's face, and he sprang forward with a roar of fury, his sword spitting lightning.

The blades met and met again, a score of times in half as many heartbeats. Rykon drove at Mathanius with every ounce of strength he possessed, his sorcery giving his strikes the speed of a hurricane and the strength of a flood. But Mathanius met every blow, his lips peeled in a rictus of rage. Rykon's momentum played out, and Mathanius struck back, lightning snarling and sparking between their swords. 

Mathanius's sword licked out, opened a cut on Rykon's jaw.

Another on his left forearm.

Rykon stumbled back, trembling from exhaustion. He had already spent much of his strength fighting the Legionaries and Corthios, and Mathanius was fresh. Then Mathanius's next blow sent the sword tumbling from his fingers, and Rykon dropped to one knee.

Mathanius's sword tip came to rest against his throat.

"I wish I had time to make you suffer," said Mathanius. "You deserve no less. But I suppose a quick death will have to do." He raised his sword high, ready to bring it crashing down upon Rykon's skull.

A song rang out. A woman's voice, clear and high. Agia stood on the edge of the Tower, hands raised, gown billowing about her in a sudden wind.

Arcane power stirred.

Mathanius stared at her in shock. "Sister?"