The Ghosts Omnibus: The Kyracian War

by Jonathan Moeller

  “My lords and ladies!” said a dry voice, amplified through a spell. “All our guests have arrived, and the doors to the Hall have been sealed! We can now deliberate in privacy…and show you the weapon that will remake the world forever.”

  Chapter 8 - A Demonstration

  Caina turned, as did everyone else in the Hall.

  A Masked One in a white linen robe stood atop one of the bridges over the river of steel, face hidden behind an ornate jade mask. Unlike the other Masked Ones, the Sage wore a golden collar wrought in the shape of falcon’s wings around his neck. Near him stood a half-dozen other Sages, silvery rods in hand.

  Caina saw Khaltep Irzaris standing at the foot of the bridge, watching the Masked Ones.

  “I bid you welcome,” said the Masked One with the golden collar, “in the name of the Sages of the Scholae of Catekharon. I am Zalandris, the Speaker of the Scholae, and it is my task to treat without outsiders. By custom, those who attain the degree of Sage do not remove their masks in public. But since this is not the custom in your lands, I will accommodate your mores."

  His tone was patronizing. Like a stern teacher condescending to supervise a game among his students. He drew aside his mask, revealing a thin, lined face with a wispy white beard. He looked like a kindly grandfather, and his expression lacked the hardened cruelty Caina had seen in the First Magus and Yaramzod and the others.

  Decius Aberon stepped forward, gazing at the unmasked Sage with hard eyes.

  "You might be wondering," said Zalandris, "why we have invited you here. The Scholae has only rarely interfered in the affairs of the outside world. We have promised you a weapon of sorcery, a weapon so potent that its wielder shall dominate the world."

  Silence answered him, the lords and sorcerers glancing at each other.

  "Perhaps you thought this a trick or some sort of game," said Zalandris. "I assure you it is not. The weapon is very real. But we do not sell it for motives of crass profit or mere political power. Rather, we sell it to you for a higher purpose. This weapon will end all war forever."

  Caina blinked in surprise.

  "This weapon is so terrible," said Zalandris, "so potent, that it will put an end to all war. No more will men lift swords and spears against each other. Fear of this weapon will ensure that peace reigns over the world."

  Caina stared at the Sage, incredulous. She had considered theory after theory to explain why the Masked Ones would create such a weapon and then sell it. A ploy to conquer the world? A trick to kill the most powerful sorcerers of neighboring lands?

  She had never seriously considered that the Masked Ones were naive.

  "These are bold claims, I know," said Zalandris, "but you shall see the truth of them with your own eyes. Come this way, please."

  He left the bridge and strode deeper into the Tower of Study, and the various ambassadors and sorcerers followed him.

  ###

  Zalandris led them to the balcony of a smaller hall. No molten rivers of steel flowed through this hall, and dozens of sorcerous lanterns hung suspended on chains from the ceiling. Looking over the balcony's ornate stone railing, Caina saw dozens men in ragged clothing standing forty feet below. All of them carried weapons and shields, and looked at each other with wary expressions.

  At the other end of the hall stood a peculiar metal statue.

  The thing was twenty feet tall and had been crafted in the shape of a warrior clad head-to-toe in plate armor. Red plate armor, in fact, which explained who had purchased Irzaris's shipments of red Nhabati iron. Hundreds of Maatish hieroglyphs adorned the statue. The thing must have weighed tons, and Caina wondered if the floor had been reinforced to support the weight.

  She felt a potent aura of sorcerous power around the statue.

  Zalandris strode to the railing, and a silence fell over the ambassadors. The ragged men looked up, fear on their faces.

  "Gods," whispered Caina.

  "What is it?" said Corvalis. The First Magus and his party stood twenty yards further down the balcony. As far as Caina could tell, neither the First Magus nor any of the magi had noticed Corvalis and Claudia.

  "He’s going to use the weapon on them," said Caina. “This is...this is a demonstration."

  "My lords and ladies!" said Zalandris. "Look below you. The Redhelms arrested these forty-seven men for capital crimes. Some for murder, some for kidnapping free citizens to unlawfully sell as slaves, some for rape. In Catekharon, men guilty of these crimes go to the gallows. However, a new world is at hand, a world free of war and battle. Therefore, as Speaker of the Scholae, I have decreed that these men shall have a chance to live. They will face our new weapon, and if they can overcome it, I shall set them free. "

  "A gladiatorial contest?" said the First Magus. His voice was resonant, commanding, and filled with scorn. "You had us travel all this way to watch a damn gladiatorial contest?"

  "Aye!" shouted one of the ragged criminals. "Hope you enjoy the show, you fat bastard! Come down here and I'll..."

  Decius Aberon's expression did not change as he flicked a single finger, and Caina felt a surge of sorcerous power. The criminal's throat exploded in a spray of blood beneath a blast of psychokinetic force, and the ragged man collapsed to the white stone floor.

  "Does anyone else," said the First Magus, "have any other amusing comments? I so enjoy witticisms."

  None of the other criminals spoke.

  "First Magus," said Zalandris, "please refrain from killing the prisoners. This will reduce the efficacy of the demonstration."

  "My apologies, my lord Speaker," said Decius with a florid bow. "Please continue."

  "The demonstration," said Zalandris, sweeping his rod over the railing, "will now begin."

  The criminals tensed, and the ambassadors craned their necks.

  Nothing happened.

  "This," said Yaramzod the Black, his voice like the rasp of dead leaves on a tomb floor, "is an utter waste of time."

  And as the echo of his words died away, the hieroglyphs upon the crimson statue flared with white light.

  A spike of arcane power shot through Caina, so fierce that it made her dizzy, and she had to grab Corvalis's arm to keep from falling over.

  And then the metal statue moved.

  It took one step forward, and then another, the stone floor ringing with the impact. The hieroglyphs at its joints flared brighter, and the masked helm of its face swiveled back and forth, examining the prisoners. Caina stared in astonishment. The thing was enormous. It couldn't possibly move under its own power.

  Yet it did.

  "Kill it!" screamed one of the prisoners. "Kill the damned thing and we go free!"

  The men charged with yells, weapons raised, and began striking. Metal clanged as they rained blows with their maces and swords upon the statue’s armor. Yet they did no damage to it. She supposed if they hammered enough, they could eventually pry away some of the armor, but…

  “A walking statue?” said Decius with a laugh. “Such a wonder, my lord Speaker. Perhaps you can show us a wind-up monkey next? Do…”

  The statue moved.

  And it moved far faster than anything that large should be able to move.

  A steel fist crashed into one of the men. The man’s head, shoulders, and most of his chest exploded into a red mist, and what was left of the criminal fell in a bloody heap to the ground. The statue’s armored foot came down and smashed another man to a gory heap.

  For a moment the criminals frozen in stunned silence.

  And then the killing began in earnest.

  The steel statue moved through the criminals in a whirlwind, killing with every step. Its fists turned men to bloody pulp, its armored boots smashing skulls and ribs. Some of the men screamed and flung themselves at the statue, striking at its cuirass and helmet. But the statue simply reached up and crushed the criminals one by one, like a child squeezing ripe fruit. Others fled and tried to hide beneath the balcony, or fell to their knees and pleaded for mercy.

&
nbsp; It did no good. One by one, the animated statue hunted down the men.

  The stench of blood and ruptured bowels filled the air.

  Caina watched the carnage with horrified fascination. She was no stranger to violence, yet she had never seen such brutal killing, had never witnessed a weapon that could rip men to bloody pulp. Not even the strongest warrior could fight such a thing. Even a powerful magus could do little against several tons of animated steel.

  She saw Decius Aberon gazing at the spectacle, seeming amused and intrigued. The other ambassadors were fascinated, and Caina saw a few of them casting the spell to sense the presence of sorcery, no doubt hoping to probe the spells binding the moving statue. Kylon watched the bloodletting without expression, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

  Caina heard a retching noise, and saw that Claudia had ducked into the corner to throw up.

  The metal statue caught the last criminal by the leg and lifted the screaming man, letting him dangle over the floor. It gripped his other leg and yanked.

  The resultant mess fell in a wet heap to the floor.

  Stunned silence fell over the hall.

  Zalandris clapped his hands once. Hidden doors opened in the hall below, and dozens of orange-clad slaves hurried out to clean up the mess.

  The statue’s faceless helm rotated to stare at him.

  “As you can see,” said Zalandris, “the glypharmor is most potent. These were violent men, accustomed to fighting. Yet they perished in a matter of moments. Weapons of wood and steel cannot harm the glypharmor, and only the most exceedingly potent sorcery can even begin to damage it. An entire Imperial Legion could not stand against it.”

  The slaves labored to clean up the gore, using some sort of powder to soak up the blood.

  “So,” said Yaramzod in his dry voice. His shadows twitched and whispered around him, and the other sorcerers and ambassadors gave him a wide berth. “What manner of creature is this? A spirit bound within steel? Even the most inept occultist could conjure up a spirit and bind it within a simulacra.”

  “Or a summoned elemental?” said the older stormdancer standing next to Kylon. “In ancient times, the stormsingers of Old Kyrace possessed the skill to call up elementals and bind them within material bodies.”

  “Skill,” said the First Magus with a smirk, “that New Kyre has lost.”

  Yaramzod let out a hissing laugh, his shadows rotating around him. “A skill that your own Magisterium has not yet regained, First Magus.”

  “I fear you are both incorrect,” said Zalandris. He lifted his voice. “Mihaela!”

  The red statue shivered, the white light in the hieroglyphs fading away. Caina heard a series of loud clicks, and the statue’s head rolled back, its cuirass splitting apart and swinging open like a door.

  Suddenly she understood. The weapon was not a statue. It was not an elemental spirit bound within material form.

  It was a suit of armor.

  A woman climbed down from the armor and dropped to the floor, ignoring both the slaves and the blood. She was a tall, lean Szaldic woman of about thirty-five, and wore a peculiar costume of black boots, trousers, and a black leather vest that left her arms bare. Tattoos marked her muscular arms, and her black hair hung in ragged strands to her shoulders. Cool blue eyes swept over the sorcerers and the ambassadors.

  She showed not a hint of emotion, especially given that she had just killed almost fifty men.

  “Master?” said the woman, her Szaldic accent thick.

  “This is Mihaela,” said Zalandris, “the most able of my Seekers. The glypharmor was her design. I was dubious, but her success has surpassed my wildest expectations. And in the glypharmor, we have an instrument that will end war for all time.”

  “You do, Master,” said Mihaela. “A warrior wearing a suit of glypharmor is impervious to almost all material weapons, can move with the speed of a racing horse, and has the strength of a hundred men. One warrior wearing this armor can destroy an army.”

  “An impressive achievement, girl,” said the First Magus. “The spells upon your toy are indeed potent. Yet even the most potent spell can be unraveled.”

  Mihaela gave an indifferent shrug. “True, First Magus. A group of sorcerers of sufficient power, working in concert, can unravel the spells upon the glypharmor. But these spells are most difficult to dispel. Any sorcerer attempting to unbind a suit of glypharmor would soon find himself torn to pieces by the others.”

  “Others?” said Decius. “What others?”

  Mihaela grinned. “Why, the other warriors in suits of glypharmor. For we of the Scholae can make as many of them as we wish. You have seen what one suit of glypharmor can do. Imagine ten. Or a hundred. Or perhaps an entire army?” She grinned. “So. Which one of you gets to conquer the world…”

  “Mihaela,” said Zalandris, voice calm. “It is the role of the Speaker to stand for the Scholae. Not for a mere Seeker.”

  “Forgive me, Master,” said Mihaela.

  But Caina saw the flash of hatred in her blue eyes.

  “You have seen the demonstration, my lords,” said Zalandris. “Let us now return to the Hall of Assembly. Refreshments have been prepared, and we can talk in comfort. And we shall…how do the merchants say it? Ah, yes. We shall let the bidding begin.”

  Chapter 9 - Haggling

  “That,” said Halfdan, “was rather cleverer than I expected.”

  “It is utterly impossible,” said Claudia.

  Caina had no answer for that. She had seen sorcery do strange and terrible things…but she had never seen something like the glypharmor.

  They had returned to the Hall of Assembly. Slaves had set up tables and chairs, and now circulated among the nobles and sorcerers with trays of food and drink. Yet few seemed to have any appetite.

  The First Magus, Caina noted, ate heartily.

  She looked at Claudia and Corvalis. Halfdan had led them to a table in the corner, behind Lord Titus’s bodyguards, and so far the First Magus had not noticed his estranged children. But if he looked too closely…

  “That kind of sorcery should not be possible,” said Claudia, her arms folded across her stomach. The carnage in the smaller hall had shaken her. “There are limits to the amount of sorcerous force a material object can contain. The kind of power it would take to move that much metal that quickly…gods, it should have blasted half the Tower of Study to ruin. It’s impossible.”

  “Impossible or not,” said Corvalis, “we saw it with our own eyes. Here, have some wine.” He plucked a glass from a passing slave. “It will help settle your stomach.”

  Claudia took the glass with a murmur of thanks, and Caina looked at the far end of the Hall and into the round chamber.

  The suit of glypharmor stood at the edge of the molten pool, the sullen glow reflecting off its polished plates. Mihaela waited at the foot of the armor, looking over the ambassadors with a cold expression. Khaltep Irzaris stood at her side, speaking. From time to time Mihaela’s lips twitched in amusement, but her expression did not change.

  “It is,” said Caina, “a very clever trick.”

  “But what’s the trick?” said Claudia, shaking her head. “The Scholae promised a weapon, and it’s as powerful as they claim.”

  “Because,” said Caina, still watching Mihaela and Irzaris, “a hundred of those things could conquer the world, but I’d wager every denarius in the Empire that the Sages know how to disable them. And they’re selling the glypharmor itself, not the secrets of how to construct it. That armor is tough, but I doubt it’s invincible. Some idiot could drop his suit into a lake, or a clever foe could bury it in a landslide. Which means that whatever nation buys the glypharmor will need to buy more…and they’ll become completely dependent upon the Scholae for their power.”

  “A nice little trap,” said Corvalis.

  His hand found hers beneath the table, and Caina gave it a squeeze.

  “Well reasoned, daughter,” said Halfdan. “But what do we do about it?�
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  “That,” said Caina, “is a much harder question.”

  “We could just kill Mihaela,” said Corvalis, “if she’s the only one who knows how to make the things.”

  “Corvalis!” said Claudia.

  “His name is Cormark,” said Halfdan.

  Claudia gave an impatient nod. “Yes, yes, our disguise. Which should remind you that you are not an assassin any longer!”

  “No,” said Corvalis, “but the skills haven’t left me. And you saw how she butchered her way through those prisoners. If someone like our father buys the glypharmor, the same thing will happen across the world.”

  “It may be too late,” said Caina. “Mihaela couldn’t have built that suit entirely by herself. Zalandris and some of the other Sages most likely know how to do it. And she may have kept records.”

  “Or her knowledge might fall into the wrong hands,” said Corvalis. “You know how a man like the First Magus thinks, Basil. He might decide to kidnap Mihaela and torture her into revealing her secrets.”

  “That would be a bold risk,” said Halfdan, “given how the Scholae would respond to an attack.”

  Corvalis gestured at the glypharmor. “A tremendous risk…but an equally tremendous payoff.”

  “If the knowledge of how to create glypharmor spreads,” said Caina, “the world will rip itself apart in a war.”

  “I agree,” said Halfdan. “So. This leaves us with two options. We either try to destroy the glypharmor and all knowledge of its creation here. Or, we make sure that the Emperor obtains the glypharmor…and then we destroy it.”

  Claudia blinked. “You will not take it back to your Emperor?”

  “No,” said Halfdan. “I have seen war, daughter. It is already terrible enough without the use of glypharmor.”

  Caina nodded. “A worthy task.”

  “But a daunting one,” said Corvalis. “And we are short on time. For all we know one of the embassies will buy the armor tonight.”

  “No,” said Halfdan. “They won’t. I suspect the Masked Ones like to do things in a leisurely fashion. Comes from living for centuries, I suppose. And Lord Titus told me what they have planned. Zalandris will meet with each of the embassies individually and hear their offers. After that, he will announce each bid and give the embassies a chance to make counter-offers. Only then will the Scholae decide who receives the armor.”