Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 06 - Ghost in the Forge Read online

She left the sitting room, darted into her bedroom, retrieved her shadow-cloak, threw it over her shoulders, and went outside. Caina ducked into the shadows on the broad stone terrace outside the palace, looking left and right. Darkness hung over the Tower of Study, pale lights shining in its high windows, the aqueducts of molten steel throwing their crimson light into the sky.

  Caina saw a shadow moving beneath one of the aqueducts. She glimpsed a mottled face in the cowl of a heavy cloak, the skin scarred and slashed.

  Her breath hissed through her teeth.

  Sicarion.

  It was just as well she had donned her shadow-cloak. Without it, he could sense the presence of the Moroaica within Caina. She watched as he moved slowly, carefully, towards the Tower of Study. Had he come here to kill Mihaela? Or had he come to aid her?

  Either way, if Caina followed him and remained unseen, perhaps she could find the details of Mihaela’s plan.

  Caina hurried back into her room. She stripped off her dress and threw it aside, and retrieved different clothes from the false bottom of a trunk. She dressed in black boots, black trousers, and a black jacket lined with thin steel plates to deflect knives. A belt went around her waist, holding knives, a coil of rope, lockpicks, and other useful tools. Black gloves went over her hands, and a black mask concealed her face. Last of all she pulled on her shadow-cloak, hooked the ghostsilver dagger in its scabbard to her belt, and slid a pair of daggers into hidden sheaths in her boots.

  She left the palace and spotted Sicarion, still making his slow, careful way towards the Tower.

  Caina glided from shadow to shadow, following him.

  Chapter 21 - Blood and Steel

  Sicarion moved from shadow to shadow like a wolf stalking its prey, and if Caina had not already known he was there, she never would have found him.

  The aura of necromantic sorcery he radiated made it easier to find him.

  Caina followed him from shadow to shadow. From time to time he glanced around, and when he did, Caina remained perfectly still, letting her cloak blend with the shadows. Sicarion’s mismatched eyes swept over her, but he never saw her.

  Or, at least, he pretended that he did not, and was leading her into a trap.

  If Sicarion was leading her into a trap, she had no choice but to walk into it. This was her best chance of finding out Mihaela’s plan.

  And she was sure Sicarion had not seen her.

  Mostly sure.

  Sicarion paused before the gates to the Hall of Assembly, outlined in the glow of the molten metal. He cast a spell, muttering under his breath, and his form flickered and wavered. Caina recognized the spell. It was a simple incantation of psychic sorcery, designed to keep anyone from noticing his presence. It would not fool the Sages, but it would work on the slaves.

  But if Caina kept her cowl up, the spell would not affect her.

  She followed Sicarion through the Hall of Assembly, around the pool of molten metal at the Tower’s heart, and into the Seekers’ quarters. She slipped her hand around her ghostsilver dagger. There was absolutely no place to hide in the hall corridor, and the sullen glow of the molten metal left no shadows for her cloak. Yet Sicarion’s pace picked up, and he did not look over his shoulder. No doubt he thought himself safe. Caina half-expected him to enter Mihaela’s rooms, but he strode past the door. She felt a surge of excitement. If Sicarion wasn’t going to Mihaela’s rooms, then he was going to Mihaela’s hidden workshop.

  And perhaps Caina could at last find out how Mihaela had created the glypharmor.

  Sicarion strode deeper into the Seekers’ quarters. This part of the Tower was unused and deserted, and a faint layer of dust covered the floor. At last Sicarion stopped before a door, and Caina pressed herself into a nearby doorway, hoping it was deep enough to keep him from noticing her.

  Sicarion took one look around, then cast a spell at the door. Caina felt a pulse of sorcery, and the door swung open. Sicarion strode through it, and the door shut behind him with a thump.

  Caina hurried forward and examined the door. A series of sigils and runes covered the planks, and she felt the waiting power. A warding spell, she thought, cast to grant access only to certain people. She concentrated, and behind the door she felt the presence of…

  Nothing.

  Absolutely nothing.

  Which was peculiar. Every other inch of the Tower radiated sorcery. Practically every inch of Catekharon, for that matter. Yet from behind that door she felt…nothing at all.

  The room beyond had been shielded with a ward designed to block any divinatory spells. Which meant that whatever Mihaela did in that room, she didn’t want the Sages to know about it. Though perhaps Mihaela needn’t have bothered. If the other Sages were anything like Zalandris, Mihaela could set fire to the Tower of Study and the Masked Ones would never notice.

  Caina examined the sigils. They were not Maatish hieroglyphs, and she recognized several of the sigils from the warding spells favored by the magi. If she opened the door, the resultant release of power would rip her to shreds.

  Unless she damaged the wards first.

  “Should have inscribed them on steel, Mihaela,” muttered Caina, lifting her ghostsilver dagger.

  She scratched at the sigils with the dagger, sending wooden shavings to the floor. Sweat trickled down her face and back, but her hands remained steady. She had done this before, but it was always risky…

  One of the sigils pulsed with blue light, charring the wood, and Caina took an alarmed step back.

  But the light did not spread.

  Caina sighed in relief and went back to work, defacing the sigils one by one. After a few moments, the entire door pulsed with blue light, the sigils turning to smoking char. The ward collapsed, and Caina felt the power drain away.

  She took a deep breath and opened the door quietly.

  The room beyond reminded her of Talekhris’s workshop. Heavy worktables supported a peculiar array of equipment and glass bottles, though Mihaela had more metalworking tools than Talekhris. Wooden bookshelves held scrolls, and Caina saw that most of the scrolls were written in Maatish hieroglyphs. Maglarion had killed Caina’s father just to claim one Maatish scroll, and with that scroll he had almost destroyed Malarae. She shuddered to think what he might have done to claim Mihaela’s library.

  The air smelled like spilled blood and burnt meat.

  The stench was coming from a door on the far side of the workroom.

  Caina crossed to the door and listened for a moment. She heard nothing but silence, and she felt no wards upon the door. Another deep breath, and she stepped through the door.

  The next room was a large hall, similar to the one where Mihaela had slaughtered the criminals. The sullen glow of molten metal came from a door on the other side of the hall, and in its light Caina saw a dozen steel coffins lying scattered across the floor.

  The smallest was the size of a small child, while the largest was at least twelve feet long. Maatish hieroglyphs covered the coffins. Had Mihaela been robbing Maatish tombs? But from what Caina understood, the ancient Maatish had buried their dead in coffins and sarcophagi of gold and stone. Not steel, and steel coffins would have rusted away centuries ago.

  Mihaela had made these things. But why?

  The smell of burned flesh came from the caskets.

  Caina peered inside the nearest coffin. A heap of something like charcoal lay inside the gleaming coffin, and after a moment she realized that it was burned bone. Dozens of grooves had been carved into the inside of the coffin, like channels designed to drain away blood, and more hieroglyphs marked the grooves. A faint, jagged aura of sorcery surrounded the thing. It had once been the locus of powerful spells, but the spells had collapsed, leaving only a steel coffin and a burned skeleton.

  Why go to the trouble of making the damned things? If Mihaela had wanted to burn someone alive, the gods knew there were easier ways to go about it, and…

  Her breath hissed through her teeth.

  No. These weren’t
coffins.

  They were molds.

  She remembered her visit to Ark’s foundry in Malarae, watching as his workers poured molten metal into molds to create swords and armor for the Imperial Legions. Mihaela had made these coffins as molds for the glypharmor. These must have been early attempts, failed experiments before she settled upon a final design.

  But if they were molds…why did each of the coffins hold a pile of burned bones?

  A distant scream reached Caina’s ears.

  She whirled, ghostsilver dagger in hand, but saw no movement. Again the scream rang out, coming from the glowing doorway on the far side of the hall. Caina hurried forward, boots making no sound against the floor, and peered through the doorway.

  The presence of powerful sorcery washed over her, jabbing at her skin like icy needles.

  The hall beyond was as large as the Hall of Assembly itself, and a thick stream of molten metal ran through the center of the floor. The air felt like a blast furnace, and Caina wondered if the wards around the liquid metal had weakened. Dozens of suits of black, gleaming glypharmor stood scattered around the hall, looming like statues. Boxes and crates and barrels lay in heaps, and Caina saw worktables laden with tools and books. The scream rang out again, followed by a terrified sob.

  Caina crept forward. Fortunately, the suits of glypharmor and the discarded crates provided plenty of cover. She slid around a table and came to a halt. A suit of red glypharmor stood here, motionless as the others. All the other suits were black, but this one was red.

  It was the one Mihaela had worn during her demonstration.

  Again Caina felt that curious attraction to the armor, its aura of power buzzing inside of her head. She stepped forward, hesitant, and reached out a single hand to touch the red steel.

  A vision flashed through her head, a string of disjointed images. A screaming girl dragged by armored men, a flash of molten steel, and horrible burning as invisible chains closed around her arms and legs…

  Caina jerked her hand away, the vision fading.

  Best not to touch the armor.

  She crept across the room, sweat dripping down her face and between her shoulders. She passed several of the black suits of glypharmor, and while she sensed their aura of power, she felt none of that peculiar attraction. Once she touched the black steel and nothing happened.

  For some reason, only the red suit drew her.

  Caina shook her head, moved closer to the molten steel, and heard a voice.

  Mihaela’s voice.

  Caina ducked behind a crate and peered around its edges.

  The first thing she saw was the mold. An enormous steel coffin, twenty feet high, stood upright at the edge of the molten canal. It was more elaborate than the others, every inch covered in an intricate maze of Maatish hieroglyphs. Its lid stood open, and inside Caina saw more grooves, along with a net of chains.

  Chains that looked designed to hold someone in place.

  Boots clicked against the stone, and Mihaela strode into sight, stopping beneath the massive steel mold. She carried the silvery rod of a Sage in her right hand. Two mercenaries stood on either side of her, and with a start Caina recognized them.

  They had been with Torius Aberon at Irzaris’s warehouse.

  “So,” said Mihaela. “Scarred one. So good of you to return at last.”

  Sicarion walked into sight from the other side of the mold. The mercenaries tensed, their hands going to their swords, but Mihaela only looked amused.

  “What were you doing?” said Mihaela. “Skulking about and trying to steal my secrets?”

  “I was merely admiring your craftsmanship, Seeker,” said Sicarion. “Your work has improved greatly since we first met.”

  “It has,” said Mihaela. “Zalandris has proven willing to share his secrets in the glorious cause of peace, the senile old fool. And the few spells you shared have proven to be of occasional use.”

  “Such thunderous praise,” said Sicarion. Caina forced herself to remain motionless as his mismatched eyes passed over her hiding place. “You have abandoned the Nhabati iron in your design.”

  “Not entirely,” said Mihaela. “The red steel would take the spells,” she waved her rod at the red glypharmor, “but there were…irritating complications. So I added steel taken from the canals.” She pointed at the stream of molten steel. “The resultant alloy proved most receptive to the binding spells.”

  “Good,” said Sicarion. “It’s just as well the pharaohs of Maat never had your metallurgic skill. Else they still might reign in the south.”

  “Spare me the lectures upon history,” said Mihaela. “The pharaohs lie in the dust of the past, and the future belongs to us.”

  “Very well,” said Sicarion, looking at the upright coffin. “This is the Forge’s final design, then?”

  “Yes,” said Mihaela. “It eliminated the defects found in the previous versions, and draws molten metal and power directly from the spell binding the fire elemental.” She gestured, and Caina saw metal pipes running from the coffin to the molten canal. “With the increased efficiency, we can make hundreds of suits of glypharmor a day.”

  “Impressive,” said Sicarion.

  “We are ready to begin the first step,” said Mihaela. “I persuaded Zalandris to give glypharmor to each of the embassies, and I duped one of the Ghosts into summoning the ambassadors for me. Once they gather, I will have the Forge moved to the central chamber off the Hall of Assembly…and the first step will begin.”

  “One of the Ghosts?” said Sicarion, surprised. “Truly? Which one?”

  “One of the women,” said Mihaela. “Decius Aberon’s bastard daughter. Not the other one, the one who calls herself Anna Callenius. Which surprised me. I thought Anna would be the greater fool.”

  “Do not underestimate her,” said Sicarion. “She is most dangerous.”

  “Yes,” said Mihaela. “I live in dread of a merchant’s pampered daughter.”

  “You should,” said Sicarion. “You are ready?”

  “We are,” said Mihaela. “Though we will have one final demonstration.”

  Sicarion sighed. “Torius insisted?”

  “He did,” said a man’s voice, and Torius Aberon came into sight, still clad in his black armor. “This is a bold plan, Mihaela…but a warrior only commits himself when he is sure of victory.”

  Mihaela smirked at him. “The greatest rewards go to the boldest. But if you insist upon one more demonstration…well, an additional suit of glypharmor would not go amiss.” She beckoned. “Bring him.”

  Two more mercenaries came into sight, dragging a fat man in the black robe and purple sash of a master magus between them. The magus’s face gleamed with sweat, and his eyes darted back and forth. Caina recognized him from the First Magus’s embassy.

  “Marcus,” said Torius with a smile. “You’re looking well.”

  “Torius!” spat Marcus. “What is this? Have you lost your mind? I’ve always supported your father! You…”

  Torius backhanded him with an armored fist, and blood flew from Marcus’s mouth.

  “My father,” said Torius, “doesn’t know about this. Not yet, anyway.” He grinned. “I look forward to the expression on his face when we feed him into the Forge. Maybe he’ll look as surprised as you do right now.”

  “What?” said Marcus. “What are you doing to me?”

  “This,” said Torius, “is going to hurt a lot.”

  “Prepare him,” said Mihaela.

  The mercenaries ripped away Marcus’s robe and underclothes, leaving him naked. The magus tried to fight back, but Caina sensed Torius’s constraining spell, and without his sorcery Marcus was no match for the mercenaries. They shoved him into the massive steel mold, wrapped him in the harness, and pulled on the chains. The chains lifted Marcus, holding him suspended in the center of the mold.

  “Torius!” shrieked Marcus. “What do you want? I’ll give you anything. I’ll do anything! Anything!”

  “I want,” sa
id Torius with a smile, “you to die in agony.”

  He gripped the coffin’s lid and heaved, and it swung shut with a tremendous clang, drowning out Marcus’s shriek.

  “You said the pharaohs of Maat used this spell to bind their souls to their hearts,” said Mihaela, lifting her rod. “They were fools. Else they would have bound their souls to something like this.”

  She muttered a spell, and Caina felt the icy tingle of necromantic sorcery. White fire flared in the hieroglyphs covering the coffin, and a ripple went through the molten metal. The Forge shuddered, and Mihaela made a sweeping motion with the rod.

  The power in the air redoubled.

  “Torius!” Caina could hear Marcus’s faint scream through the thick steel. “Please! Damn you, Torius! Help me! Help…”

  Mihaela gestured, and the Forge’s sigils flared with white light as the pipes sucked up molten metal from the canal.

  Torius’s screams dissolved into a hideous hissing crackle, and the stench of burning meat flooded Caina’s nose. Fingers of white lightning crackled up and down the Forge, the hieroglyphs glowing brighter, the stone floor vibrating. The power radiating from the Forge grew sharper, so potent that it caused Caina physical pain. She gripped the edge of the crate to keep her balance and shielded her eyes from the Forge’s light.

  The glow faded, and the sharp pain against Caina’s skin vanished.

  “An impressive light show,” said Torius. “Did it work?”

  Mihaela sneered. “Of course it worked.” She lifted her rod and pointed. “Come forth!”

  The Forge’s steel door swung open, and a black suit of glypharmor stepped out. The hieroglyphics upon the plates of its arms and legs and cuirass pulsed with white light, reflecting in the dark steel.

  “I trust,” said Mihaela, “that removes any doubts?”

  “Quite,” said Torius, gazing at the glypharmor.

  “Remarkable,” murmured Sicarion. “You can control it remotely?”

  “In a limited fashion,” said Mihaela. “Simple commands only. Not well enough for combat. For anything more than straightforward movement, it needs a wielder. Stop!”