Blade of the Ghosts Page 12

  “Of course,” said Caina. “I understand that trespassing in the Valley of the Emperors is quite illegal. Even for a master magus of the Imperial Magisterium.”

  Taldrane smiled. “Then there is no reason to leave you alive, is there?”

  “Wrong again,” said Caina, thinking as fast as she could. Their best chance, their only chance, was to delay until help arrived from Malarae. Unfortunately, that was a slim hope. Yet delay only advantaged her, not Taldrane. “Killing us would be wasteful.”

  “Indeed,” said Taldrane. “You and your loutish friends represent three more chances to open the doors.”

  Caina laughed. “You still haven’t figured it out, have you?”

  “Oh?” said Taldrane. “And what is that?”

  “How to open the door,” said Caina.

  “It seems quite simple, Master Sebastian,” said Taldrane. “Wards beyond the power of the modern Magisterium bind the doors. They are centered upon that plinth.” He pointed at the dais. “In the exact center of that plinth is a slot for the Sword’s blade. Insert the Sword, and the wards will release and open the doors.”

  “Except you haven’t figured out how to use the Sword without killing yourself,” said Caina. “Good thing you kidnapped all those mercenaries! Else you’d have to start killing your Magisterial Guards.” Leather creaked as a man in armor shifted.

  “A minor setback,” said Taldrane with a thin smile. “With every death, I have studied the spells binding the Sword. Soon I shall understand enough to work a ward against its effects.”

  “Why not just hold the Sword with your gauntlets?” said Caina. “I thought the spell activated when it came into contact with flesh.”

  “It is not flesh but intent that activates the Sword,” said Taldrane. “Holding it is quite harmless. Holding it with the intent of using it as a weapon or as a key to the lock activates the spells upon it.” He glanced at the dead mercenaries. “It took several experiments to uncover that.”

  Caina made a show of looking around the chamber. “Hope you don’t run out of men first.”

  “Your deaths make that all the less likely,” said Taldrane. “Unless, of course, you do know how to wield the Sword as you implied.”

  “I do,” said Caina.

  It wasn’t entirely a lie. She thought she might have worked it out during the journey through the foothills and the mountain pass. She hoped she would not have to put her guess to the test.

  “Perhaps you should share that knowledge with me,” said Taldrane. “It might be worth your life.”

  Caina shrugged. “And then you’ll kill me.”

  “Not at all,” said Taldrane. “Instead, I will offer you an invitation to join me.”

  Caina laughed. “To join you?”

  “Yes,” said Taldrane.

  “You cannot be serious.”

  “I am deadly serious,” said Taldrane. “We both want the same things, Ghost. We wish for order and stability in the Empire, for the Empire dearly needs stability. The Emperor Alexius Naerius grows old, and the Empire is held together only by the thinnest threads of tradition. Once he dies, we shall have civil war, and darker powers may come to light once more. A strong hand is needed.”

  “The Magisterium’s hand?” said Caina. “Or your hand?”

  “Yes,” said Taldrane. “A strong hand is required. Why not mine? If I unite the Magisterium under my leadership, we can take an active role in the government of the Empire once more. We can bring order, peace, and prosperity, something that the Imperial Curia has failed at again and again.”

  “And whatever’s in this tomb,” said Caina, “will unify the Magisterium behind you?”

  “Without question,” said Taldrane.

  “Very well,” said Caina. “I’ll hear you out. What’s in the tomb?”

  Taldrane studied her for a moment. “Before he died, it was recorded in the annals of the Magisterium that Nicokator created a sorcerous weapon of immense power. He feared that after his death the First Empire would unravel, and he wished to grant his son a means of securing his conquests.”

  “So why didn’t Nicokator leave the weapon to his son?” said Caina.

  “I don’t know,” said Taldrane. “The annals and the chronicles are vague upon this point. There was strife among Nicokator’s sons, that much we do know. Perhaps the First Emperor feared that his heir would slaughter his brothers, or that one of his other sons would seize the weapon and usurp the Imperial throne. Whatever the reason, the weapon was buried with him. In time the First Empire fell and become the Second Empire, the Second collapsed and grew into the Third…and here we stand thousands of years later, with Nicokator’s great weapon long forgotten.”

  “Then Count Armus approached you with his research,” said Caina, “and you realized what he had uncovered.”

  “Just so,” said Taldrane. “This forgotten weapon has rested here for all these millennia, waiting for a hand strong enough to wield it. We can be the ones to wield it, Ghost, you and I. We can bring order and security to the Empire.”

  It was a fine and grand-sounding speech…if one overlooked the sheer number of people Taldrane had murdered to reach the tomb of Nicokator. Jurchan had been a faithless scoundrel, but he hadn’t deserved a death like that and neither had his warriors. Count Armus had been an idealistic old man, and Taldrane had arranged for his death without hesitation. That rather put the lie to Taldrane’s noble words.

  But, for now, Caina needed to play along.

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll help you.” She did not dare look at Aetius and Hulagon. Maybe she had lied enough to both of them that they realized what she was doing.

  “How very wise of you,” said Taldrane. “Though I am afraid I shall require some proof of good faith before I accept your aid.”

  “And just what is that?” said Caina.

  “Take the Sword and open the door,” he said, holding out the hilt of Nicokator’s Sword towards her.

  Caina said nothing, eyeing the tarnished silver hilt with its eagle-head sigil upon the pommel.

  “Surely you can do it,” said Taldrane, smirking. “After all, you all but claimed you can. I do hope that wasn’t merely a lie to win my confidence, Master Sebastian of the Ghosts. I did say that if you lied to me, I would kill you. I suppose if I let the Sword kill you, that counts as keeping my word.”

  “Yes,” said Caina, her voice sounding flat and mechanical in her ears. “Yes. I can.”

  Taldrane gestured with the hilt of the Sword. “By all means.”

  “I’ll need something from my pack,” said Caina. “It’s not a weapon and it can’t hurt anyone, but I would very much prefer if your Magisterial Guards did not cut me down the minute I reach for it.”

  Taldrane cast a spell at her, and Caina just barely stopped herself from flinching. Yet it was only the spell to sense the presence of sorcery. He was checking for active spells around her, and she knew that he would find none.

  “Proceed,” said Taldrane.

  Caina took a deep breath and glanced back at Hulagon and Aetius. Both men stared at her, their expressions more puzzled than murderous. That was good. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about Hulagon stabbing her in the back when she took up the Sword.

  Though Caina supposed they would look even more puzzled if she ran herself through with the blade.

  She reached into her pack and yanked out her shadow-cloak, pulling up the cowl and tugging it over her head while keeping the cloak itself rolled in her pack. The cloak’s length would aid her with stealth, which was useless when thirty men were standing next to her, but the cowl would shield her from mind-altering spells.

  Including, she hoped, whatever malevolent power waited within the Sword of Nicokator.

  Caina was about to gamble her life upon that theory.

  Taldrane’s eyes narrowed, but before he could say anything, she stepped forward, seized the Sword’s hilt, and yanked the weapon from its scabbard. Her fingers almost went numb with th
e surge of sorcerous power surrounding the hilt, and Caina stumbled one step, and then another, her left hand closing around the Sword’s hilt to hold it steady.

  Her breath rasped in her throat, the pulse throbbing in her temples, her vision seeming to turn red.

  The blade crackled and flickered with crimson light.

  She felt…

  A colossal and furious presence seemed to fill her mind. Caina wavered back and forth, the Sword bobbing before her. Part of her mind noted that the weapon would serve as an excellent torch while it was glowing.

  The rest of her mind wanted to kill herself.

  She had thought that the Sword had taken over its victims like a puppet, forcing them to stab themselves. That would have explained the horrified expressions of the Count and Jurchan as they killed themselves. But now Caina understood. The Sword hadn’t forced the men to kill themselves.

  It had convinced them to kill themselves.

  It wanted Caina to kill herself…and she felt herself starting to agree with the weapon’s malevolent will.

  She deserved death, didn’t she? Her mother had slain her father, and Caina had killed her mother in retribution. Caina was a spy and an assassin, a liar and a murderess. Hulagon was right to call her a harlot. Her old injuries ensured that she would never have children, that she would never marry and have a home of her own. She would lurk in the shadows until she died bitter and alone, or until her enemies found her and killed her.

  Why shouldn’t she kill herself?

  Why shouldn’t she just get it over with?

  Caina felt herself lifting the sword, her fingers moving as she began to turn the blade to face her chest. Yes, it was best to end it now, to kill herself and end her wretched life, to…

  The red haze filling her mind flickered, and a flash of clarity went through her like a splash of cold water across the face.

  The despair wasn’t real. The Sword was doing it to her, and only the thin haze of the shadow-cloak’s protection kept it from consuming her mind. She didn’t know how much longer it would last, how much longer she could resist until the Sword’s power overwhelmed her.

  Caina had to act now.

  She considered lifting the Sword against Taldrane, and she knew that the powerful spells upon the blade would rip through his black armor like tissue paper. Yet even as the thought crossed her mind, the burning despair threatened to drown her will once more. If she tried to use the Sword as a weapon, the sorcerous aura would crush through her resistance.

  Caina staggered up the dais steps, raising the Sword over her head, and brought it hammering down.

  The blade slid into the slot in the plinth, sinking to the crosspiece. All at once the horrid madness vanished from her mind, and she fell to one knee before the plinth, her heart racing like a maddened horse.

  “That was surprising,” said Taldrane. “Yet I should have thought of that myself. A Ghost shadow-cloak. Yes. I…”

  A surge of power washed out from the plinth and the Sword, and Caina scrambled down the stairs. The symbols upon both the plinth and the bronze doors blazed brighter, so bright that Caina had to look away.

  The symbols upon the doors vanished, and a dozen metallic clangs came from the doorway. With a groaning, hissing rasp, the doors swung open. A blast of cold, musty air blew out, tugging at Caina’s hair and shadow-cloak.

  She felt something stirring behind the doors, an ancient, rigid arcane aura that washed over her like a wave of needles.

  Caina wasn’t sure, but she had the impression that something was waking up in the darkness behind the bronze doors.

  “At last,” said Taldrane. “The power of the tomb of Nicokator is mine.”

  ***

  Chapter 9: Let The Tyrants Beware

  “What did you do?” said Aetius.

  Caina shook her head, trying to clear her reeling thoughts. The doors came to a rasping halt, the archway beyond them revealed. More pale gray light shone over the dais, while the plinth and the exposed hilt of the Sword gave off a steady crimson glow. Beyond the opened bronze doors she could not quite make out the details of the chamber beyond, as if a glowing mist obscured its features.

  “Opened the doors,” said Caina. Maybe that had been a mistake. On the other hand, she could think of nothing else that might have stopped Taldrane from killing them, and after Hulagon’s rash attack, their options had been limited.

  “How did you do that?” said Hulagon.

  “Shadow-cloak,” said Caina, trying to clear her head. Her mind still buzzed and shuddered from the awful pressure of holding the Sword, and she had a terrific headache. Caina had never experienced a hangover, but she suspected that it felt like this. “Tool of the Ghosts. It blocks mind-controlling spells.”

  “And you knew it would protect you?” said Hulagon.

  Taldrane gestured, and the Magisterial Guards moved onto the dais, a few of them dragging the remaining mercenaries along.

  “I didn’t,” said Caina. “I guessed. Looks like I was right.”

  “Gods,” said Aetius. “You are mad.”

  “Probably,” said Caina.

  “Master Sebastian!” said Taldrane. “Well done. Come. You have earned the right to witness this moment. Lord Aetius, tarkhan, come as well. You were there when this began, so it is only fitting that you are here when it ends. Though, more precisely, this is another beginning. Soon the Magisterium will dominate the Empire once more.”

  “I seem to remember,” said Caina, climbing the steps, “a proverb about counting chickens before the eggs have hatched.”

  Taldrane only laughed, his eyes glittering. “Let us see what eggs the First Emperor has left for us.”

  He strode for the door, the Magisterial Guards following. For an instant, Caina contemplated waiting until Taldrane had entered the inner chamber and then withdrawing the Sword from the plinth. If Taldrane wanted to uncover the secrets of Nicokator’s tomb, then he could spend all eternity with them. Yet Taldrane must have anticipated the danger, because several Magisterial Guards stepped towards Caina and Aetius and Hulagon, gesturing for them to move.

  There was no other choice, so Caina followed the Magisterial Guards.

  The chamber beyond the bronze doors was vast, a domed ceiling rising high overhead. A strange, pale, glowing blue mist flickered and flowed through the chamber, thick enough to cloak in it luminous gloom, yet not dense enough to block all sight. Sorcerous power seemed to surge through the mist, like waves crashing against Caina’s mind. Beneath the apex of the dome rose a dais, and atop the dais stood a stone throne.

  The First Emperor sat atop the throne, gazing at the intruders.

  For instant strange moment Caina was sure that Nicokator himself was looking at them, that by some feat of sorcery he had endured the millennia, waiting for them in the darkness of his tomb.

  Then she saw that he was dead, had been dead a long time. The figure upon the throne wore plate armor of the finest workmanship, the enspelled steel plated in silver. Like the silver covering the Sword of Nicokator, the centuries had tarnished the silver, and now a figure in black armor waited motionless upon the throne. A coronet of gold and emeralds encircled the helm, and beneath it Caina saw an ancient, yellowed skull, the black eyes staring at nothing.

  Behind the throne rose a massive monolith of black stone, over twenty feet tall. As they drew closer, she saw that it was a statue of a warrior clad in similar armor as the dead First Emperor, a massive stone greatsword clutched in its gauntlet-sheathed hands.

  “Behold,” said Taldrane. The strange mist dampened his resonant voice. “Nicokator, the First Emperor of the Empire of Nighmar. We are the first living men to look upon his form for uncounted centuries.”

  “Well and good,” said Aetius. “But where are the weapons? Where are the treasures? I thought Nicokator buried himself with weapons of power. All I see is a skeleton in old armor.”

  Looking around the chamber, Caina saw that save for the throne, the skeleton, and the enormous bl
ack statue, there were no other objects in the chamber. The round walls below the dome were carved with ornate reliefs of Nicokator and his triumphs. Perhaps there was a hidden door there, or casks of treasure concealed beneath the smooth stone floor.

  Or perhaps the tomb of Nicokator was empty save for his bones, and Taldrane had killed a lot of people for nothing.

  Yet Caina sensed spells upon the throne and the monumental statue. Plus there was the constant arcane power flowing and throbbing through the strange glowing mist. Most of the power focused upon the towering black statue, and Caina wondered if that was the weapon that Nicokator had hidden here.

  “Spread out,” called Taldrane. “Examine the walls and the floor. Look for any hidden entrances or doors. You, you, you, and you.” He pointed at four Magisterial Guards. “Keep an eye on our three guests. They may yet prove useful, but if they make trouble, kill them.”

  “What happened to ruling the Empire together?” said Caina in a dry voice.

  Taldrane smirked and turned his back to her.

  “Now what should we do?” said Aetius, eyeing the Magisterial Guards as they moved closer.

  That was a good question. Unfortunately, Caina had no idea. She had no weapon that could hurt Taldrane, and she suspected that letting him find whatever waited in the tomb would be a bad idea.

  She stepped forward, peering at the huge statue, and two of the Magisterial Guards raised their swords in warning.

  “Oh, don’t bother,” said Caina. “I’m not going to try anything. I just want a closer look. I figured out how to open the doors, didn’t I? Maybe I’ll figure out how your master can claim Nicokator’s treasure, whatever it is.”

  The Magisterial Guards did not look convinced, but they lowered their swords a few inches, and Caina strolled past them with a studied air of unconcern. Aetius and Hulagon hesitated, and then followed her, followed in turn by the Magisterial Guards. Caina bit back the urge to laugh. She supposed they made for an odd little parade.

  The glimmer of humor faded as she looked at the base of the statue.

  A row of sigils had been cut into the statue’s circular base, glowing with the same harsh blue light as the statues in the gallery above. As Caina moved closer, she saw similar sigils cut into the stone of the dais steps, though these symbols were dark. Nevertheless, she sensed potent sorcery radiating from both the glowing and the dark symbols, sorcery similar yet much stronger than the spells she had felt on the statues above.