you think best.”
He strode towards the gathering blacksmiths, Laertes following him. Morgant looked at Kylon for a moment, shrugged, and went to follow Nasser. Kylon walked past the rows of furnaces and forges, the heat of the banked fires pulsing against his face and making sweat roll down his neck and back. The archway to the Hall of Flames yawned before him, and he saw dozens of Immortals standing there, blue eyes shining with ghostly light inside their black helmets.
He drew on the power of air sorcery, the air before his mouth distorting.
“Rolukhan!” Kylon shouted, the spell amplifying his voice. “What would you have of me?”
“Merely to confirm that it is in fact you,” boomed Rolukhan. “How amusing! A lesson for us all, would you not say? Kylon Shipbreaker, once High Seat of House Kardamnos, Archon of the Assembly and thalarchon of the Kyracian fleet, now reducing to skulking through the shadows with vermin like the Balarigar. One moment you were among the mighty of New Kyre, and the next you were a penniless beggar.” Amusement filled the deep voice. “How cruel is the wheel of fate to the weak.”
“Perhaps you ought to heed the lesson yourself,” said Kylon.
“Oh, but I have,” said Rolukhan. “The Grand Master’s Apotheosis shall break the wheel of fate and elevate all mankind to gods. You should have sided with the Umbarians, Shipbreaker. Had you done so, you would not face certain death here. You would instead be one of the most powerful men in the world.” He laughed. “Perhaps your wife would still live, and would even now be pregnant with another child.”
Rage burned through Kylon. “Bold words for a murderer!”
Again Rolukhan laughed. “I had only a small part in that. Cassander was the one who summoned the Red Huntress. Really, though, you ought to thank me for it. It turns out you were weak, Kylon of House Kardamnos. Too weak to save your wife and unborn child, too weak to protect the guests who sheltered beneath your roof. Tell me. Did your wife look at you with disgust as she died? Did she realize that she had placed her fate in the hands of a weakling and a fool?”
For an instant Kylon could think of nothing but wrapping himself in his power and finding Rolukhan. The sight of the valikon would silence those smug words. The ghostsilver blade could penetrate any wards Rolukhan cast, and the ancient spells upon the valikon would slay the nagataaru within him. Let him boast of Thalastre’s death then.
“Do not give yourself too much credit,” said Kylon. “The Red Huntress slew them. You were merely a traitor.”
“When the Apotheosis comes, all oaths and bonds shall be broken,” said Rolukhan. “What a fool you are. Great matters stir, and you blunder through them like a blind ox. You are a pawn in a greater game, Shipbreaker, and you never knew it.”
“And what game is that?” said Kylon.
Rolukhan’s booming laughter rolled out. “If you are so blind as to miss it, is it my obligation to explain? Very well. The Grand Master wished for Istarinmul to stay out of the war, simply so he would have the freedom to work the Apotheosis. The death of your wife and unborn child lie upon your hands, Kylon of House Kardamnos. Had you the wisdom to stay out of matters beyond your comprehension, perhaps they might yet live. Really, we did them a mercy by killing them. Better that they died than to live under the protection of a fool like yourself…”
Kylon felt something inside him snap.
He knew what was happening. He knew that Rolukhan was goading him, that the Master Alchemist was presenting a false account of events to spur him to rage. Likely Rolukhan wanted to draw him out and kill him away from the others, to weaken the defense.
Kylon did not care.
He was going to find Rolukhan and ram the valikon down his throat, find him and make him suffer the way that Thalastre had suffered, was going to wipe that smug smile from his bearded face.
He took a step forward, and a hard hand closed about his shoulder.
“Bad idea,” murmured Morgant.
Kylon glared at him. “Let me go.”
“If you want to kill yourself, by all means do so,” said Morgant. The assassin seemed like a wraith in the fiery gloom, his black clothes drinking the light, his face gaunt and pale. “Though I suspect Caina would prefer you alive.”
Kylon hesitated, some of his fury lessening.
“Ah,” said Morgant. “Yes, your darling