The Ghosts Omnibus: The Kyracian War

by Jonathan Moeller

  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,” said Toriu
s 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!”

  The glypharmor halted, the light in the hieroglyphs dimming.

  “A pity you can’t control them remotely during combat,” said Sicarion. “An army of invincible automatons would kill quite a lot of people.”

  “I can disable them,” said Mihaela, “in case either of you decides to get clever and betray me.”

  Torius laughed. “Betray you, my dear Mihaela? When your genius has brought us these weapons? We shall have to split the world between us…but a third of the world is still enough for any man.” He grinned, his green eyes glinting in the glow from the canal. “And the expression on my father’s face when we chain him into the Forge…ah, that alone will almost be payment enough.”

  “Enough to give up a third of the world?” said Mihaela.

  “I said ‘almost’.”

  “If this latest demonstration satisfies your doubts,” said Mihaela, “then we will begin. Have your men take the Forge to the central chamber. Claudia Aberon should have gathered the embassies by now. Once I retrieve the Stormbrand from the Chamber of Relics, the work can proceed.”

  “As you say,” said Torius. He waved a hand at the new-made suit of glypharmor. “Can you get Marcus out of the way first?”

  “Move,” said Mihaela, pointing her rod. “Ten paces forward, and then remain motionless.”

  The glypharmor clanked forward, and Caina eased back from the crate.

  She had everything she needed. Mihaela had murdered Marcus in that ghastly Forge, and somehow his death had created the glypharmor. It was plainly necromancy. Caina could go to Talekhris and warn him, and once the Scholae knew that Mihaela had used necromancy, they would stop her…

  The glypharmor halted, and as it did, its boot struck an empty barrel. The sheer force and power of its stride sent the barrel tumbling into the air, and it slammed into the crate in front of Caina. The crate hit Caina’s side, and she lost her balance and fell to the stone floor.

  She rolled to one knee, and saw Mihaela, Torius, and Sicarion staring at her in astonishment.

  “What the devil?” said Torius.

  Sicarion began to laugh.

  “A Ghost!” said Mihaela, pointing her rod. “What are you idiots waiting for? Kill him! Kill him now!”

  A dozen mercenaries charged towards Caina, even as Mihaela, Torius, and Sicarion all began casting spells.

  Chapter 22 - Stop Talking And Kill Her

  Caina rolled to her feet, ghostsilver dagger in hand, and sprinted for the door. She heard the shouts of the mercenaries, and her skin crawled with the presence of arcane power as Mihaela and the others cast spells. Caina darted around a crate and ducked between the legs of a suit of black glypharmor, but the mercenaries still closed. She was fast, but too many obstacles stood between her and the door …

  The tingling against her skin grew sharper, and Caina dodged behind a suit of glypharmor.

  An instant later a blast of invisible force brushed her and sent her spinning across the ground. The glypharmor clanged like a bell, a vibration going through the steel, and for a moment Caina feared it would fall upon her and crush her.

  But the glypharmor was far too heavy for a single spell to move.

  Caina staggered to her feet as the first mercenary lunged at her. She dodged his sword thrust, free hand dipping to her belt. A throwing knife glimmered in her fingers, and she stabbed at the mercenary with all her strength. He brought up his blade to block, the knife spinning to the floor, but that gave Caina the opening she needed to lunge with her ghostsilver dagger. The blade tore open his throat, and the man fell.

  Three more mercenaries came at her, and Caina ran. The men fanned out, trying to drive her towards one of the suits of glypharmor. Caina darted to the left, so close that one of the mercenaries’ swords brushed her shoulder. A large crate stood before her, big enough to hold a grown man, and Caina jumped. She seized the edge of the crate, heaved herself up, and rolled over the far side. She landed in a crouch, her legs buckling to absorb the impact, and sprinted.

  By the time the mercenaries got around the crate, she was twenty yards away. The doorway loomed closer, and beyond Caina saw the glint of the steel coffins. Just a little farther, and she could get back into the main hallways of the Tower of Study and warn Zalandris or Talekhris.

  A black blur shot overhead and landed between Caina and the doorway with a clang.

  Torius Aberon leveled his dark sword and grinned.

  “I remember you,” he said. “The Ghost following my idiot half-brother. Well, you’ll…”

  Caina flung a throwing knife at his face, and Torius blocked with his sword. The knife clattered away, and Caina reached into her belt for another.

  But Torius surged forward with a spell, his sorcery driving his legs with superhuman speed. Caina dodged, but not fast enough. Torius’s sword missed her, but his armored shoulder struck her arm, and she went sprawling to the ground. She hit the floor with a bone-rattling thump, and scrambled back to her feet. Torius was fast, but she knew firsthand that a sorcerer using a spell to enhance his speed could not change direction quickly. If she could get to the doorway before …

  A blur of motion in the corner of her eye caught her attention, and Caina saw a barrel hurtling towards her. She ducked, and the barrel shot over her head and bounced off the floor. Caina straightened up and saw a crate leap into the air and fall towards her. She dodged, and caught a glimpse of Mihaela striding towards her, flicks of her enspelled rod sending debris shooting into the air.

  “Kill that Ghost!” said Mihaela. “Must I do everything myself? If he gets away it will mean our heads! Kill him!”

  She swung the rod, and a pair of barrels shot towards Caina. Caina ducked under the first barrel and dodged around the second as Torius spun to face her. She felt the surge of arcane power as he hurtled forward, his armor a black blur.

  Caina rolled b
etween the legs of a suit of glypharmor as Torius charged. The battle magus shot past the glypharmor, and Caina scrambled to her feet. She had a clear path to the door, and…

  An empty crate slammed into her back. The impact drove her to the ground, the breath exploding from her lungs.

  The mercenaries closed around her.

  Caina sprang to her feet, snatched a throwing knife from her sleeve, killed one of the men with a quick throw, and then killed a second with a slash of her ghostsilver dagger. But there were too many mercenaries. Four men grabbed her arms and twisted, ripping the bloody dagger from her hands. Two of the men drew back their swords, and Caina braced herself for the killing blow…

  “Wait!” Mihaela strode closer. “Take off his mask first.”

  “Why?” said Torius with a scowl. “Just kill him and have done with it.”

  “I want to see if Claudia was clever enough to betray me,” said Mihaela. “I thought the girl was a fool…but perhaps she fooled me. Take off his mask, now.”

  One of the mercenaries pulled back Caina’s cowl and yanked off her mask.

  She had the satisfaction of seeing the shock on Mihaela’s and Torius’s faces.

  “Her?” said Mihaela. “The merchant’s daughter? Surely this is some trick!”

  Torius snorted. “Aye, but we were the ones tricked. I thought her my half-brother’s toy.” He shook his head. “Instead she is a Ghost nightfighter, and left three of my men dead upon the floor.”

  “I should have listened to Sicarion,” said Mihaela. She looked around with an irritated scowl. “And where is Sicarion?”

  “I don’t know,” said Torius. “He ran off during the chase.”

  Mihaela shrugged. “No matter. He’ll be back soon enough.” She pointed the metallic rod at Caina’s chest. “Anything useful to say before I kill you?”

  “You should flee now,” said Caina, “while you still can.”

  Mihaela snorted. “Since you so clearly have command of the situation.”

  “I don’t,” said Caina, “but the Sages will. I damaged your wards. They would have sensed the necromancy you used to murder Marcus and create that…that thing.” She jerked her head at the suit of glypharmor. “If you run now, perhaps you’ll get out of Catekharon before they find you.”