Ghost in the Flames by Jonathan Moeller Read Free Book Online Page B

blurred from its scabbard so fast Caina could scare follow the movement. “Move. Last chance.”
    The beggar laughed again and lifted his hammer. “I think not. Kill him and take the…”
    In the next instant the beggar was on his knees, the hammer ringing against the street, blood pouring from the ghastly wound in his neck. Then Lasko slammed back into his seat, shrieking in pain, a crossbow bolt buried in his chest. Men were bellowing and shouting, and Julia and Anya were screaming in fear. Ark had somehow gotten his shield onto his left arm, and his broadsword sent a spray of bloody drops into the air. 
    More men burst from the nearby house, bearing clubs, and rushed for the coach.
    Caina cursed under her breath and looked up. There was a little trapdoor in the ceiling, opening onto the roof. She pushed open the trapdoor, gripped the edges, and lifted herself up. 
    The first man stuck his head through the coach’s door. “Well, what have we…”
    Caina swung down, shoving with her arms, and her heeled boots slammed hard into the man’s face. Bones cracked, the man’s head snapping back, and he toppled onto the street. Caina fell to one knee, her right hand dipping into her left sleeve. 
    Another man reached into the coach, seized her arm, and began to yank her out. Caina gave no resistance, so it was the easiest thing in the world to slam her hidden knife into his throat as he pulled her close. The man stumbled backwards with a gurgling scream, wrenching the knife out of Caina’s hand. She fell out of the coach, tucked her shoulder, and rolled into the street. 
    “Marsaidan?” said one of the men, looking down at the man choking on his own blood. “Marsaidan? What the hell…”
    Caina disliked her boots, but they added a useful weight to her foot as she whipped her leg around, driving a kick into the nearest thug’s knee with all the strength she could manage. Again she heard the snapping crackle of damaged bone. The thug fell with a howl of pain, club rolling from his fingers. Caina scrambled back to her feet, reaching for the knife hidden in her other sleeve. 
    A hand seized her hair, yanking her back, another arm coming up to reach for her throat. Again Caina offered no resistance, adding the momentum to her own as she spun around. Her palm strike smashed into a man’s unshaven face, and he stumbled back with a grunt. But his fist lashed out and plunged into her stomach, knocking the breath from her. Caina struggled to keep her balance, and the man kicked her legs out from beneath her. She hit the street with a painful grunt, a jolt of pain shooting through her limbs. The thug took a step towards her, snarling curses as he reached for a dagger at his belt.
    Then his head seemed to collapse on itself as Ark’s broadsword swept past in a spray of blood and brains. The thug’s face twisted weirdly, and he fell into a twitching heap on the basalt-paved street. 
    Silence fell. Caina heard nothing but the rasp of her breath and the pounding of her heart. 
    “Excellent timing,” she managed to say at last. 
    Ark grunted and held out his hand. Caina took it, and Ark pulled her to her feet. She looked around and saw the bodies carpeting the street. Ark had killed four or five men, at least. The man she had kicked in the face lay dead. He must have broken his neck against the street. The man she had stabbed in the throat also lay still, his mouth forever open it a final, futile attempt to draw breath. Caina watched the blood pooling across the basalt flagstones, and again she saw the men lying motionless on the floor of her father’s library, her mother’s face twisted with insane fury. Nausea stabbed into her aching belly, and it was all she could do to keep her breakfast down. 
    She looked at Ark, and for a brief moment glimpsed the same sort of thing in his face. It was more desolate, more despairing, yet she saw the same pain in his eyes. They looked at each other for a moment, and then Ark shook