Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 08 - Ghost in the Mask Page 2

  “Gods,” said Caina, “he’s making more of them.” She saw a wave of the gray shadows advancing towards the magi gathered on the dais. The magi unleashed volley after volley of the white sparks, ripping the shadows to wisps of gray smoke, but more of the creatures rose from the floor. “He’s making them faster than they can destroy them.”

  She felt Corvalis’s hard hand close around her left arm.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” he said. “We can’t fight those things, not even with your dagger. We need help.”

  A dark thought flashed through her mind. The magi were the Ghosts’ enemies. If she withdrew, if she left the magi to their fate, Jurius and his dust-colored shadows might wipe out Malarae’s entire chapter…

  Caina shoved aside the notion. She would not leave anyone to die at the hands of those creatures, not even the magi.

  “No,” said Caina. “We can’t leave. Jurius and his damned pets will kill the magi…and then they’ll swarm through the city. If those things can kill with a single touch, they’ll kill hundreds of people before they’re stopped. Thousands, even.”

  “Perish!” said Jurius, his voice ringing over the melee. “Perish, and rise as the servants of great Anubankh!”

  “Then how do we kill him?” said Corvalis. “Your ghostsilver dagger can pierce his wards, but the shadows will swarm you long before you can get close enough to use it.”

  “Easy,” said Caina. “We get his attention, lure him away from the others, and then deal with him.”

  Corvalis blinked, and grinned at her. He had a reckless streak, enjoyed challenging himself…and Caina found that she shared that trait.

  “Well,” he said, “lead on.”

  Jurius strode towards the dais, the dagger raised over his head, ignoring the remaining lords and merchants. The great mass of shadows flowed towards the dais, forcing their way forward despite the spells of the magi. Caina glanced at the food covering the table, plates of bread and cheese, carafes of wine, a pork roast skewered on a steel spit over a metal pan of grease.

  A metal pan that sat over a low fire to keep the roast warm.

  “Your coat,” Caina said.

  Corvalis shrugged out of his coat, and Caina grabbed the coat, wrapped it around her hands, and seized the grease pan. Even through the fabric she felt the heat of the steel.

  “Jurius!” she shouted at the top of her lungs.

  The renegade magus glanced at her, a sneer on his face.

  Caina threw the pan at him. He was warded against steel, and the pan bounced away without touching him. He was not, however, warded against hot pork grease, and it splattered across his robe and neck and face.

  Even over the chaos, Caina heard the sizzle of scorched flesh, followed by Jurius’s agonized scream. Jurius stumbled back, left hand raised to clutch his burned cheek.

  As one, every shade in the hall turned towards Caina.

  “I think you got his attention,” said Corvalis.

  “Kill her!” screamed Jurius.

  “Run!” said Corvalis.

  Caina ran, her heels hammering against the stone floor. A narrow door stood on one side of the hall, leading to the living quarters of the magi. Caina threw open the door and hurried inside. Beyond she saw a narrow hallway stretching into the chapterhouse, lined on either side with wooden doors.

  She slammed shut the door behind her.

  “Either side of the door,” said Caina. “Now.”

  Corvalis nodded. Caina went to the right side of the door and Corvalis went to the left. A heartbeat later the first shadow flowed through the heavy wood, and then another, and then another, and dozens of the things poured into the corridor. The creatures, whatever they were, should have seen her. But Caina suspected they were slaved to Jurius’s will.

  And a man with severe grease burns across his face and neck would not be thinking clearly.

  The door burst open, stopping an inch from Corvalis, and Jurius ran into the corridor, screaming curses.

  Caina let him pass, then stepped forward and drove her ghostsilver dagger into his back with both hands.

  Jurius stiffened, a scream bursting from his burned lips, and Caina felt the dagger’s handle grow hot beneath her fingers as it penetrated his ward. Jurius spun, ripping the dagger from her grasp, and slashed at her with his black blade. Caina dodged, the deadly weapon passing inches from her face.

  The shadows flowed back towards them.

  Corvalis slammed a fist into Jurius’s head. The blow knocked Jurius off-balance, and he fell backwards, the black dagger clattering from his hand.

  He landed atop the handle of the ghostsilver dagger, driving it deeper into his flesh.

  The renegade screamed once more and then went still, his eyes staring and glassy.

  The shadows shivered and vanished into nothingness.

  Caina stepped away from the wall, her pulse thundering in her ears.

  Corvalis let out a long breath. “Good thing those creatures dissipated.”

  “Actually,” said Caina, flipping Jurius’s corpse over, “I think they dissipated when he dropped the dagger.” She ripped the ghostsilver dagger free from his back, the blade glistening with blood. “We have to go. Any minute the magi are going to come through the door after him.” She knelt. “But we can’t leave this behind.”

  Caina sliced a strip free from Jurius’s robe, wrapped her hands in it, and picked up the Maatish dagger.

  She suspected touching the weapon with her bare skin would be a tremendously bad idea.

  Even through the black cloth, she felt the dagger’s raw arcane power, felt it vibrating up the bones of her arm.

  “I doubt we can leave through the main doors,” said Corvalis.

  “No,” said Caina, straightening up. “Into one of the bedrooms, and out through the window.”

  He sighed. “I hoped to take you to a fine banquet, and now we are fleeing through the window like common thieves.”

  “At least,” said Caina, “I didn’t burn down any buildings this time.”

  They retreated to one of the bedrooms, went through the window, and made their escape.

  Chapter 2 - History of the Dead

  The next morning, Malarae buzzed with rumors of the attack upon the Magisterium’s chapterhouse.

  Owning Malarae’s only coffee house made it easy for Caina to hear the rumors herself.

  But she had created the House of Kularus for that purpose. After the incident in Catekharon a year past, Caina had acquired a dead merchant’s entire stock of coffee beans. Coffee had been unknown in the Empire, but common in Anshan and Istarinmul. Anshani and Istarish merchants and nobles gathered in coffee houses to discuss business and exchange gossip…and to prepare clandestine plots. A clever spy found all sorts of useful information in a coffee house.

  So Caina had started her own.

  Corvalis disguised himself as Anton Kularus, a caravan guard and mercenary turned merchant, and opened the House of Kularus using Caina’s coffee beans. Her plan had worked – coffee became popular among the nobles and merchants of Malarae, and they now gathered to discuss business and exchange gossip beneath the roof of the House of Kularus.

  And to prepare clandestine plots, of course.

  That the House of Kularus had become wildly profitable was almost an afterthought.

  Caina stood near the doors to the kitchen and watched the crowds. Five stories of balconies encircled the main floor, holding booths where patrons could converse in privacy. Tables filled the floor, and merchants and nobles alike sat at the booths and tables, the low murmur of conversation echoing off the walls, the air rich with the smell of roasting coffee beans.

  A short Anshani man in the crisp black livery of the House of Kularus approached her and bowed. “Mistress Sonya.”

  “Shaizid,” said Caina. Shaizid had been a slave in Catekharon, in charge of making coffee for the Sages and their guests. Caina had asked for his freedom after defeating Mihaela, and Shaizid had followed her north to Ma
larae. Now he managed the House of Kularus in her name. “Has there been any talk about the incident at the chapterhouse last night?”

  “The topic is upon every tongue, mistress,” said Shaizid.

  “What do people think happened?” said Caina.

  Shaizid shrugged. “I have heard a dozen contradictory tales, as often happens in such affairs. I have heard one man say that the magi tried to depose their preceptor. Another man said an assassin tried to kill the preceptor using sorcery, but the magi overpowered him. A third man claims that the assassin was found in a hallway, stabbed in the back.”

  “Ah,” said Caina. “That does seem unlikely.”

  Shaizid’s eyebrows crept up a bit. He knew that she had been at the preceptor’s banquet last night…and he knew her well enough by now to guess what had happened. “I am pleased that you are unharmed, mistress.”

  “Thank you,” said Caina.

  “And you did say,” said Shaizid, “that dinner with the magi was never boring.”

  “Gods, no,” said Caina. “Though I’ve come to prefer boring dinners. I…”

  She fell silent as a pair of men come through the front doors of the House of Kularus, both in their middle fifties. One was Istarish, with iron-gray hair and beard and a perpetual scowl. He wore chain mail and dark leather, and carried a scimitar at his belt. The second man wore a merchant’s furred robe and cap, his beard close-cropped. A short sword rested at his belt, and his shrewd eyes took in the entire room.

  He was worried. Caina had known Halfdan for eleven years, half of her life, and she knew when he was worried.

  “Master Basil is here, mistress,” said Shaizid. “Shall I fetch Master Anton?”

  “Please,” said Caina. “And tell Master Anton to bring the locked box from the cellar. I suspect Master Basil will wish to see it.” Shaizid nodded, and Caina caught his sleeve. “Don’t open that box for any reason.”

  “Some things are better left unknown, mistress,” said Shaizid. “I know that too well.”

  He bowed and hurried off, and Caina crossed the floor.

  “Master Basil,” she said to Halfdan in her Szaldic accent, “you honor the House of Kularus with your presence.”

  Halfdan grinned. “And Anton is so busy that he cannot greet me in person, but must send his mistress to welcome me?”

  “It is scandalous,” said Caina.

  “I shall have to thank Anton for the loan of his bodyguard,” said Halfdan, glancing at the Istarish man. “He most useful.”

  “You are well, Muravin?” said Caina. The Istarish man had once been a gladiator and a bodyguard in Istarinmul’s College of Alchemists. Two months ago, Caina had rescued Muravin, his daughter, and her unborn child from an Alchemist intent on killing them, and Muravin had joined the Ghosts. “How are Mahdriva and her son?”

  “I am as well as I ever am,” said Muravin, “though I wish it did not rain so much here. The damp makes my joints hurt.” His hard face flickered into a brief smile. “Though Sonyar…he is well. Two months old, and he shouts like a gladiator in the pits! But I must find a husband for Mahdriva soon, someone to look after her when I am gone.”

  “It is good to see you unharmed,” said Halfdan. “I understand Preceptor Rhazion gave a most…festive banquet last night.”

  “Festive,” said Caina, “as only the magi know how.” Shaizid hurried across the floor, Corvalis following, a slender wooden box under one arm. “Master Anton and I have business to discuss with you.”

  “Yes,” said Halfdan, his eyes straying to the box. “I believe we do. If you would lead the way?”

  ###

  Caina, Corvalis, and Halfdan went to Anton Kularus’s study on the House’s top floor. A thick carpet covered the floorboards, and a balcony looked over the bustling Imperial Market. A heavy desk stood near the balcony, and shelves lined the walls, holding books that Corvalis had not read, but Caina had. Here Corvalis conducted the business of the House of Kularus, masquerading as Anton Kularus. Caina and Shaizid made most of the decisions, and Corvalis made an effective figurehead.

  Muravin stationed himself at the door with a scowl, ready to discourage any eavesdroppers.

  “So,” said Halfdan, seating himself, “I understand you had an eventful night?”

  “That may be an understatement,” said Caina, sitting across from Halfdan, Corvalis next to her.

  “The magi, of course, are saying nothing,” said Halfdan. “The new preceptor’s public pronouncement claimed a renegade magus tried to assassinate the master magi of Malarae, but the renegade died in the attack. I suspect things happened rather differently.”

  “They did,” said Caina, and she told him in detail about Jurius’s attack and his strange weapon.

  Halfdan’s expression, already solemn, grew even graver.

  “Anubankh,” he said when Caina had finished. “You are certain he said that?”

  “Absolutely,” said Caina. “I thought the name sounded familiar. It’s Maatish, is it not?”

  “It is,” said Halfdan. “One of the gods of old Maat. Specifically, the god of necromancy.”

  Caina felt a chill.

  “The Maatish worshipped necromancy?” said Corvalis. “That’s rather grim.”

  “They didn’t call it necromancy,” said Halfdan. “Rather, Anubankh was their god of…immortality, let us say. The ancient Maatish were obsessed with immortality. Necromancy was merely the tool they used to try and obtain it. Their necromancer-priests, the Great Necromancers, used sorcery to embalm the pharaohs, to give them a sort of eternal life in their pyramid tombs.”

  “And their slaves,” said Caina. She remembered the piece of the Moroaica’s memories that she had glimpsed, how a Maatish priest had murdered her father and led Jadriga away to be raised as one of the pharaoh’s undead slaves for eternity. “They called them the Undying.” The Moroaica was a sorceress of power, a woman whose schemes and spells had cost the lives of uncounted thousands…but she had once been a little girl whose father had been murdered in front of her.

  Just as Caina had been.

  “So the question is,” said Corvalis, “why an outcast magus shows up screaming prayers to Anubankh and promising that the Kingdom of the Rising Sun shall be born again?”

  “A very good question,” said Halfdan. “You have his weapon, I trust?”

  Caina nodded, and Corvalis lifted the box.

  “Show me,” said Halfdan. “I think I know what it is…and I hope that I am wrong.”

  Corvalis produced a key, undid three locks, and opened the box. Inside lay Jurius’s black dagger, the steel still gleaming with its strange green glow, the bloodcrystal flickering with its own light.

  For a moment they stared at the weapon in silence.

  “An evil-looking thing,” rumbled Muravin. “Almost as ill-omened as those golden ashes Sinan wanted.”

  “No,” said Halfdan. He looked shaken. Caina had been with Halfdan in more dangerous situations than she cared to remember, but she had never seen him look quite so alarmed. “No, this is much worse.”

  “It’s Maatish, isn’t it?” said Caina.

  Halfdan barked a laugh. “Not quite. It is, in fact, a Nighmarian weapon. The magi made it.”

  “The magi?” said Caina.

  “It’s called a Dustblade,” said Halfdan, “and those creatures it created are called Dust Shades. The dagger kills with a touch, and the corpses of its victims crumble into dust within a day. Hence the name.” He rubbed his beard. “The Dust Shades, from what I understand, are…echoes of a sort, created when the dagger kills its victims.”

  “But echoes that can kill,” said Corvalis.

  “The magi made this thing?” said Caina. “But they are forbidden to use necromancy. Not that the law ever stopped them, but they don’t have the skill to create anything like this…unless…” She frowned. “This was made during the Fourth Empire, wasn’t it?”

  Halfdan nodded. “When the magi ruled the Empire. And a hundred and fifty years ago
, during the War of the Fourth Empire, the Emperor defeated the magi and took control of the Empire. How did that happen?”

  Caina frowned, remembering the history she had read. “The most powerful members of the Magisterium gathered in their stronghold at Caer Magia. They wanted to cast some sort of spell, something that would destroy their enemies in an instant. But the spell went amiss, and killed them all…along with the hundred thousand people living in Caer Magia. The Magisterium was decimated. The remaining magi made peace with Emperor, and the Emperor resumed governance of the Empire.” Caina shook her head. “But to this day…Caer Magia is desolate. Whatever the high magi of old did is still active. Anyone who enters the walls of Caer Magia dies within a few moments.”

  “After exactly seven hundred and seventy-seven heartbeats, to be precise,” said Halfdan.

  “That is remarkably specific,” said Corvalis.

  “The magi have done quiet experiments,” said Halfdan. “The magi of the Fourth Empire left many valuable things in Caer Magia. Weapons of sorcerous power, books holding their arcane secrets. The contemporary Magisterium would dearly love to get its hands upon the relics of their predecessors. But they can’t. Anyone who sets foot within Caer Magia dies within seven hundred and seventy-seven heartbeats. Which for a calm man, comes to less than a quarter of an hour. For a man who is panicked, much less time, and since various undead creatures lurk within the ruins, a man entering the city will become quickly panicked, might not even live out his remaining seven hundred and seventy-seven heartbeats. No one can live long enough to enter Caer Magia and retrieve anything from within the ruins.”

  They sat in silence for a moment.

  “Until,” said Caina, “someone brought this Dustblade out of Caer Magia?”

  Halfdan nodded. “I believe that is what happened.”

  “Perhaps Jurius found one,” said Corvalis, “outside of Caer Magia. One hidden away and forgotten.”

  “That would be my thought,” said Halfdan, “except for the reports we have received from Caer Magia. The city is ruined, but there is a town nearby, a place called Calvarium. Mostly farmers and shepherds, but treasure hunters and tomb robbers and smugglers congregate there to seek out old Caerish burial mounds. The Ghosts have an outpost in Calvarium, to keep watch over Caer Magia in case anyone manages to enter the city and live.”