Ghost in the Razor by Jonathan Moeller Page B

Caina. Kylon twisted to the side, but not fast enough. The Guard’s blade raked across the left side of his ribs. Had he stood still, the sword would likely have shattered the ribs and pierced his heart, but Kylon kept moving. He spun with the force of the blow, his sword raking across the back of the Guard’s leg. The Umbarian soldier stumbled with a grunt, and Kylon sidestepped and brought his sword onto the back of the Guard’s neck.
    That made a mess.
    He ripped the sword free, turning to aid Caina as the Sifter dissolved into a whirling cloud of flame and embers.

    ###

    Caina drew back the ghostsilver dagger to stab, and the Sifter…unraveled.
    She could think of no other word to describe it. The dead girl grinned, and then her body disintegrated, dissolving from within as if consumed by the fire elemental’s fury. Yet the fire did not waver, but grew brighter and hotter. The cloud of burning embers that had once been the dead girl whirled around the flames faster and faster. 
    A hot wind blew over Caina’s face, and she felt the pressure inside of her skull. It was like burning fingers sinking into her head, and pain erupted through her temples. She gasped, stepping back…and the burning cloud flowed towards her. 
    “You are mine.” The Sifter’s voice, powerful and horrible and alien, hissed inside of her thoughts. “You are mine. I shall devour you, I shall consume you, I shall burn away your destiny line and unravel the tapestry around you…”
    Caina knew she should run, that she should fight, but the pain in her head doubled and then doubled again, so sharp that her legs turned to water and she fell to her knees. The burning cloud filled her vision, the roar of the Sifter’s voice thundering inside her skull. She struggled to stand, but the fire rose over her, preparing to swallow her whole.
    Then she sensed a burst of arcane power against her skin, and the Sifter’s howls of triumph turned to a scream of pain. 
    For a moment she thought that Kylon had struck at the Sifter with his power, or that Markaine or Morgant or whoever the hell he was had done something with his black dagger. Yet the tingle of sorcery was concentrated around her left hand, and she looked down.
    Annarah’s pyrikon. 
    In the shock of seeing Kylon again, she had forgotten all about it. The intricate bronze bracelet shone with a sharp white light, so bright that it seemed as if a globe of radiance surrounded Caina’s left hand. The pain vanished from her head, and she staggered to her feet. The white light from the pyrikon seemed to eat away at the fiery cloud, and the Sifter recoiled from the light. The fire trembled, and then it whirled and sprang into the air, fleeing over the rooftops. 
    The white glow faded from Caina’s hand, and she lowered her arm, breathing hard.
    Silence fell over the courtyard, and she and Kylon and the black-coated man who had called himself Markaine of Caer Marist stared at each other. 
    “You’re Morgant the Razor,” said Caina at last. “Aren’t you?”
    The pale blue eyes narrowed, the strange black dagger motionless in his right hand. 
    “I hoped you had realized that by now,” he said. He stared at the bracelet upon her wrist. “Where did you get that?”
    “Who the hell is Morgant the Razor?” said Kylon.
    “He is,” said Caina.
    “I am,” said Morgant. “But you’re not important, Kyracian. That is.” He pointed at Caina’s hand. “Where did you get that bracelet?”
    “You know what it is?” said Caina. 
    “That,” said Morgant, “is the pyrikon once carried by Annarah, the last loremaster of Iramis.”
    She blinked in surprise. “How did you know that?” 
    “Because,” said Morgant, “I gave it to Callatas.” 
    Caina scowled. “Then I was right. You were the one who murdered Annarah…”
    He let out a nasty laugh. “I did not. I lied to Callatas and told him that she was dead.”
    “Ridiculous,” said Caina. “If you had lied to Callatas you