Ghost in the Ring (Ghost Night Book 1)

by Jonathan Moeller

  Of course, Caina herself claimed that Iramis had returned. That claim was just as incredible, but Seb thought she was telling the truth. Her valikon had come from somewhere, and he suspected that the ghostsilver bracelet on her left wrist was a loremaster’s pyrikon.

  And yet it seemed unlikely that she was at the center of so many rumors and legends. Caina looked like a lean young woman with black hair and cold eyes, pretty but otherwise unremarkable. But Seb was bemused to see how much Caina’s patterns of thought matched his own, with the same penchant for observations and deductions.

  And that valikon.

  When he had been a child, Seb had wanted to be a valikarion instead of a magus, and when he had informed Aunt Talmania of that fact, she’d ordered her servants to beat sense into him.

  He wondered what Katrina would have thought of Caina. That was a sad thought. She always had…

  Seb put aside his musings and went to sleep, though not for long.

  “Wake up!” screamed Sophia. “Wake up!”

  Seb’s eyes shot open, and he surged to his feet, the reflexes of two years of war sending his hand to his sword hilt and his mind to his arcane disciplines. He looked around as he called his power, slipping into a ready stance, his sword raised. The fire they had built still burned bright and hot, throwing tangled shadows across the clearing. The dark forests of northern Ulkaar loomed around them, bleak and barren, the sky masked with heavy clouds. Kylon had just gotten to his feet, his valikon assembling itself from shards of silver light in his hand. Seb wondered how he did that. Of the various contradictory legends and accounts he had read of the valikarion, they had claimed that only the most powerful valikarion could summon their swords, and Lord Kylon wasn’t a valikarion.

  A tale for another time.

  Seb looked around, wondering what had caused the alarm, and then he saw the lights.

  Flickers of ghostly green light danced in the trees, like tiny candle flames. Seb felt a chill, and not just from the icy weather. He had seen similar light on more occasions than he wished to remember.

  Necromantic spells often produced such light

  Seb cast a simple spell to sense the presence of arcane forces. At once he felt a powerful aura of elemental sorcery around Lord Kylon and a far weaker one around Sophia. Caina stood at the edge of the light from the fire, her valikon burning white in her right hand.

  From her, of course, Seb sensed nothing at all.

  He also felt the stirrings of necromantic power in the trees around him, spells old and ancient and rigid.

  Undead creatures were approaching, he judged, and old ones at that.

  “What’s happening?” said Seb, stepping to join Caina and Kylon.

  “I’m not sure,” said Caina, staring into the darkness. “I can see them coming. Undead creatures, like the ones we saw in Sigilsoara. Sophia, stay between us and the fire.”

  Sophia hastened to obey, her eyes wide. “Did they follow us from the Iron King’s castle?”

  “Maybe,” said Caina. “Or they came from that ruined tower. There were undead in there, I’m sure of it, but I thought they were dormant.”

  “Maybe something woke them up,” said Kylon.

  Husband and wife shared a concerned look. Seb wondered what that was about.

  “It’s possible,” said Caina.

  “It is the szlacht of the tower,” said Sophia, her voice thin and frightened. “We trespassed upon his land and did not pay him homage, and now he is coming to take our souls.”

  “Perhaps,” said Caina. She lifted the valikon, the white fire of the blade throwing harsh shadows against her face. “But I wager it has been a long time since these undead have seen anyone carrying a valikon.”

  “Then you think they will be overconfident?” said Seb.

  “Yes,” said Caina. “We’ll have to use that against them.”

  “It could be just a wandering band of undead,” said Kylon.

  Caina nodded. “But they’re heading right for us.”

  “Then we’ll fight,” said Kylon. “I’ll take the lead. Seb, if you can knock them off balance, a single blow from my valikon ought to destroy them.” Seb nodded and adjusted his grip on his black sword. The weapon, like his armor, had been made in the foundries of the Magisterium’s motherhouse in Artifel and was lighter and stronger than conventional steel. It amused Seb how quickly he found himself following Kylon’s instructions. Then again, Kylon had been one of the nine Archons of New Kyre. “Caina, if any of them get past us, strike them down.”

  Caina nodded again. “I wish had I some throwing knives.”

  Throwing knives? What would she do with throwing knives? An odd choice of weapon.

  “What should I do?” said Sophia.

  “Stay behind us and do whatever we tell you to do,” said Caina.

  Sophia hastened to obey.

  “Here they come,” said Kylon.

  Seb cast another sequence of spells. He was only a mediocre magus at best, and he would never have the terrible power of someone like Ariadne or Talmania or Decius Aberon, the First Magus of the Magisterium. Nevertheless, he had been trained as a battle magus, and he was good with psychokinetic spells. The spells he cast would only last for a short time, but they would make him faster and allow him to hit far harder than he could otherwise. It was similar to how Kyracian stormdancers augmented their prowess, though Seb’s spells did not rely on any elemental forces.

  But with those spells driving his limbs, he could take a man’s head off with a single swing, run faster than a horse, and absorb blows that would otherwise shatter his bones. Surviving two years of fighting with the soldiers of the Umbarian Order had increased his skill with those spells a great deal.

  He watched the undead come into the edge of the light from the fire.

  There were nearly twenty of them, withered creatures with leathery flesh clinging to yellowed bones. Ghostly green fires played in empty eye sockets, and wispy ribbons of green light served in place of their long-withered ligaments. The undead wore ancient armor of Ulkaari design, spiked helms and shirts of scale mail, and they held round shields with a spike set over the central boss. In their right hands, they carried curved sabers of Kagari design, a weapon that had become popular in Ulkaar since Rasarion Yagar had defeated the Kagari khans.

  The undead stopped at the edge of the firelight and went motionless.

  Seb heard Sophia’s rapid, frightened breathing. Kylon stood grim and silent next to his wife, both hands grasping the hilt of his valikon, the sword burning with white fire as the Iramisian sigils on the blade glowed. This, Seb thought, this must have been what the valikarion of old must have looked like, grim warriors preparing for battle against monsters of sorcery.

  But Kylon was not a valikarion.

  Caina was, though she did not look anything like Seb would have thought a valikarion would look.

  In the oversized red coat, she almost looked like a girl playing dress-up in her father’s clothes. Yet she remained motionless next to Kylon, and while her valikon was shorter than her husband’s, it burned no less brightly.

  For a moment, the living and the undead stared at each other.

  One of the undead warriors stepped forward and spoke in the Ulkaari language, its voice a rasping growl.

  “You have entered the lands of our lord,” said the warrior. “Your lives belong to our lord. You will surrender to us.”

  “What did he say?” said Caina in Caerish.

  “He stated,” said Seb, “that we have trespassed upon the lands of his lord, and that our lives are forfeit to him. He then presented a demand for surrender.”

  Caina smiled. She must have been forcing it. One could not survive as a Ghost nightfighter for very long without an excellent ability to lie. But she looked completely calm.

  “Tell him,” said Caina, “that they will leave us in peace, and we will leave them in peace.”

  Seb supposed he was going to serve as the translator, so he relayed Caina’s messa
ge back to the undead.

  The warrior stared at him, and it let out a croaking, wheezing laugh. The other undead joined in, and the harsh rasp of their laughter echoed over the clearing. Sophia let out a strangled, whimpering sound of fear.

  “Does the woman speak for you?” said the undead warrior. “Tell her that she shall be the slave of our lord. Tell her that she shall attend to him in his silent halls for eternity. She is the one that our lord sent us to claim, and her torment shall continue long after she has perished.”

  “I gather,” said Caina, “that it is saying unflattering things about me.”

  Seb snorted. “Something like that, yes. Also, he claims his lord has commanded him to take you personally.”

  “Me?” said Caina. Again, she shared a look with Kylon. “Ask him why his lord wants to capture me.”

  Sophia gaped at Caina. No doubt she found Caina’s calm in the situation unnerving.

  “Why this woman?” said Seb to the undead. “If your lord desires feminine companionship, surely it can be easier to obtain.”

  “The Syvashar commands it of our lord,” said the undead warrior. “The hour is coming. The old ways return. The old lords awaken, and the shadows stir in their tombs.”

  “He says someone called the Syvashar commands it of his lord,” said Seb.

  “What’s a Syvashar?” said Caina.

  “The Syvashar?” said Sophia. “That is an old word. It is said in ancient days that the Syvashar was the High Priest of the Temnoti, and advised the Iron King from his right hand.”

  “So why are the Temnoti sending undead after us?” said Kylon.

  “Perhaps they are offended that we killed several of them escaping from Sigilsoara,” said Seb.

  Yet Seb had the feeling that both Caina and Kylon knew exactly why the undead had come for them.

  “Tell them,” said Caina, pointing her burning valikon at the undead, “that if they want to take us, they are welcome to try. But if they do, they will see that the Arvaltyri of old have returned once more.”

  Seb doubted the undead understood Caerish, but they knew the name of the Arvaltyri.

  When Caina spoke the word, the undead shifted. They had been standing motionless, but the warriors edged forward, raising their corroded weapons. The leader’s face was too withered to show any expression, but Seb had the impression of overwhelming rage.

  “Fools!” snarled the undead warrior. “The Arvaltyri passed from the world! Iramis perished in flame! The old ways shall rise again, and the Great Master shall ascend in glory! Kill them and bring their corpses to our lord!”

  The undead surged forward in a tide of ghostly green fire and undead flesh, and Seb charged to meet them.

  ###

  Kylon drew on the sorcery of water and air.

  The undead warriors charged in a ragged line, no doubt expecting to overwhelm the four of them, but Kylon had a better idea. He jumped, and the power of his leap carried him over the heads of the undead. Kylon landed in their midst, and before his undead enemies reacted, he attacked.

  The valikon snapped left and right in his hands as he swung. The undead wore heavy armor, strong enough to turn the edge of his sword, but Kylon did not bother to land powerful blows. The touch of the ghostsilver blade was enough to disrupt the necromantic spells binding the undead warriors. They either collapsed from the impact of the valikon, the spells broken, or staggered away from the sword’s strike.

  That gave Seb ample time to attack. While Kylon fought with speed and finesse, Seb relied on brute strength and psychokinetic force, but it served him just as well. He struck down the undead that Kylon stunned, his black sword smashing through necks and crushing skulls. Together they tore a path through the enemy, leaving dusty bones and dented armor scattered across the snowy ground.

  They could not stop all the undead, and some rushed for Caina. She held her own, though her blade work was clumsy at best. She had always been better with daggers and knives instead of swords, though she had improved with a longer blade since becoming bonded to her valikon.

  Fortunately, it didn’t matter. The touch of the valikon destroyed the undead, and Caina’s past training with the unarmed forms kept her ahead of their swords. It helped that the undead seemed unable to see her, likely due to her nature as a valikarion.

  In a matter of moments, they had destroyed all the undead warriors, bones and armor and ancient swords lying across the forest floor.

  “I daresay,” said Seb, lowering his sword, “those valikons are useful weapons.”

  “They are,” said Kylon, looking around. The undead had been destroyed, but he still sensed a great deal of necromantic power nearby. “But there are more coming.”

  He sensed the flicker of sorcerous force as Seb cast a spell. “I agree. Lady Caina?”

  “It’s coming from the northeast,” said Caina, stepping over the prone form of an undead she had destroyed. “I don’t know what…”

  Green fire flared in the trees, harsh and bright, throwing black shadows from the barren branches.

  A chill shot through Kylon. He hadn’t been very cold, between the heat from their campfire and the exertions of battle, but suddenly he was shivering. Worse, it wasn’t a chill he felt with his flesh. He seemed to feel it inside his mind and heart.

  “Get back,” said Caina. “Get back!”

  ###

  To the vision of the valikarion, the necromantic aura rolled over the clearing like a hazy green mist.

  Caina had encountered spells like this before, and the tingling sense of it against her skin was both familiar and unpleasant. It was a spell of necromantic science designed to drain away the life of its victims, feeding that energy to the caster. Maglarion and the Moroaica and Sicarion and Kharnaces had all used spells of that nature, and while this one was cruder, Caina feared it would be no less effective.

  Kylon and Seb retreated to join her, swords raised, Sophia standing behind them.

  A moment later the armored figure emerged from the trees.

  Like the other undead, it was withered and ancient, leathery flesh clinging tight to yellowed bones. Unlike the others, it wore magnificent armor of polished steel, the plates worked with reliefs and adorned with gold and gems. A jeweled sword hung at its belt alongside a fine dagger.

  And the creature’s face…

  Caina saw a ghostly image of green light superimposed over the undead creature’s withered face. It showed the features of a nobleman, his hair and mustache cut in the same style as the statues of the Iron King. It was almost as if Caina looked at the translucent face of a living man to see long-dead flesh and bone beneath.

  “That must be the szlacht of the tower,” said Kylon.

  Sophia let out a little sound of fear. “It is an ardivid.”

  “What is an ardivid?” said Caina.

  “A powerful undead,” said Seb. “Sometimes the worshippers of Temnuzash rise again as ardivids. Usually nobles. Very powerful. I suspect we now have the honor of meeting the lord of the tower we passed earlier.”

  The ardivid walked forward, the armor creaking, the necromantic aura creeping closer. The creature said something in the Ulkaari tongue, and both Seb and Sophia frowned.

  “What did it just say?” said Caina.

  “He says that we have slain his servants,” said Seb, “so we shall be raised as undead to take their place. He says…that you bear the talisman of the Iron King, and for the glory of Temnuzash the Great Master, he will slay you and take the talisman for himself.”

  “I see,” said Caina, frowning. The undead had come to kill her and claim the Iron King’s ring. But how had they sensed it? Maybe they hadn’t sensed it but had instead guessed the probable path she would take from Sigilsoara to Kostiv.

  That, in turn, meant that the Temnoti knew that she had taken the ring from Sigilsoara, and had awakened the undead of the ruined tower and sent them after her.

  Caina briefly wondered if it would be a good idea to give the ring back to the T
emnoti. At once she dismissed the thought. The Temnoti had been fighting the Umbarians, but that did not mean the cult of Temnuzash was on Caina’s side. For that matter, they hardly seemed any more benevolent than the Umbarians, and the ring was still a relic of great necromantic power.

  No one should have it.

  Again, the undead creature spoke, the ghostly face over the withered head sneering at Caina.

  “He offers one last time to allow you to surrender,” said Seb. “If you do, he shall kill us all and make us his vassals. If we resist, he will kill us all and make us his slaves, and he will torment us for centuries.”

  Caina said nothing, her eyes on the ardivid. The creature was powerful, she could see that with the senses of a valikarion. Yet powerful or not, it would still be vulnerable to the ghostsilver blade of a valikon. She glanced at the pyrikon on her left wrist. It had been able to shield her presence from spells of sensing and detection. Could it do the same to necromantic spells?

  As if in response to her thought, the pyrikon moved.

  The ghostsilver bracelet unfolded, seeming to crawl up the fingers of her left hand. When it had settled into its new configuration, a ghostsilver ring encircled each of her fingers and her thumb, the rings joined to the bracelet by a slender chain. It gave off a vibration, a faint buzzing noise coming from the rings.

  “This is what I want to do,” said Caina to Kylon in Kyracian. “I think the pyrikon can shield me from his aura. While I distract him, jump up and kill him. Our valikons have the best chance of destroying him.”