Ghost in the Storm (The Ghosts) by Jonathan Moeller Page A

Caina. She sidestepped and seized his arm, spinning him around. 
    Sicarion crashed into the smoldering shelves with enough force that his heavy black dagger sheared off his right hand at the wrist. Even if the dagger in his chest hadn't killed him, the blood loss from his hand would. Caina raced for the warehouse door. Undoubtedly the light from the fire would draw the attention of the Istarish soldiers, and the sooner she was gone from here, the better. 
    Her boot caught on the floor.
    The boards. The heat had warped them. 
    She struggled to catch her balance, but she stumbled and pitched forward. She tucked her shoulder and rolled, coming to a stop against the brick wall. Caina scrambled back to her feet, but it was too late. 
    The mercenaries had her. 
    The first man grabbed her, and Caina slashed with her dagger, forcing him back. But that gave the second mercenary the opening her needed to slam his fist into her stomach. The hard metal plates compressed against her belly, and Caina stumbled, the breath exploding from her lungs. The first mercenary seized her wrist and twisted. Caina tried to rotate out of his grip, but she couldn't draw breath, and the dagger fell from her grasp. The second mercenary took her arms and pinned them behind her back, while the first stood before her, scowling. 
    His fist exploded against Caina's jaw, and her head snapped back, stars swimming before her eyes.
    "Gently, now," said a rusty voice.
    Caina shook her head, trying to think through the pain, and blinked in surprise.
    Sicarion hobbled toward her, Caina's dagger still in his chest, blood dripping from the ragged stump of his right wrist. 
    "She killed Nassar and Corwall," said the first mercenary.
    "So?" said Sicarion. “If they were foolish enough to get themselves killed, they deserved their fate."
    "You," said Caina, and spat out a mouthful of blood. "You should be dead."
    "Yes," agreed Sicarion. "And long before you were born, too." He gripped her face in his left hand, his grip hard and cold. Even his fingers, Caina noticed, looked as if they had been stitched onto his hand. "Count your blessings. If you were not who you are, I would take a harvest from you."
    He released her face and retrieved his serrated black dagger. He looked over the slain mercenaries, and for a moment he reminded Caina of a man considering merchandise in the Great Market.
    Then he stooped and hacked the right hand from one of the dead men. 
    Sicarion straightened up, holding the severed hand in his grip. He pressed it against his stump and frowned with concentration, muttering under his breath. Caina felt the cold, crawling tingle of necromantic sorcery. 
    There was a crackling noise, and the hand attached itself to Sicarion's stump. A welt of ragged scar tissue grew from Sicarion's arm, sealing the hand to his damaged wrist. After a moment he flexed the fingers of his right hand - his new right hand - and sighed in pleasure. 
    Suddenly Caina knew how he had gotten his scars. 
    She had seen more of necromancy then she had ever wished to - Maglarion's bloodcrystal of stolen lives, Jadriga's life-stealing bracers. 
    Yet she had never seen anything like this.
    "Good enough," said Sicarion. "It's best to take a harvest from a living source. But then you have to listen to all the screaming." He titled his head for a moment, his mismatched eyes fixed on something only he could see. "Though I do enjoy the screaming." 
    Caina wrenched against the mercenaries' grip, but they held her fast. They were stronger than she was, and knew what they were doing.
    Sicarion’s eyes fell upon her. Despite herself, Caina shivered. "A pity I couldn't take your hand instead," he whispered. "But...the hands of women are usually too small. Throws off my balance." He smiled. "And my mistress would be wroth if I took one of your hands." 
    "Who," said Caina, "is your mistress?" 
    "You don't know?" said Sicarion. "You've already met her. And you will know her again, soon