“The Sages,” said Mihaela, “the mighty, learned Sages, would not bestir themselves if the city burned down around their ears.” She frowned. “And the Forge does not use a great deal of necromantic force, since the victims’ own arcane talent provides the bulk of the power.”
Caina blinked…and the puzzle made sense.
Horrifying sense.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” said Caina. “That’s what this is all about.”
Mihaela’s frown deepened. “All about what?”
“That Forge of yours,” said Caina. “It creates glypharmor, but it uses the victim’s soul to power the armor. Except it only works with sorcerers. There must not be enough arcane force in the soul of someone without the talent.”
“The soul acts as a channel,” murmured Mihaela. “And a sorcerer’s soul draws substantially more power than the soul of someone without sorcerous skill. The Forge binds the victim’s soul to the armor, which then acts as a channel to power the glypharmor.” She smiled. “I would feed you to the Forge, if you had any talent. I understand the process is…quite painful.”
“That’s monstrous,” said Caina. “You’ve condemned them to eternal imprisonment and torment to fuel your own power.”
“Gladly,” said Mihaela. “They would do the same to me, if they had the power.”
“That’s why you convinced Zalandris to send out the invitations,” said Caina. “So you could lure the most powerful sorcerers in the world here, murder them, and transform them into glypharmor.”
“You are as clever as Sicarion thought,” said Mihaela. “Did you see those preening fools? Yaramzod the Black and Master Callatas and Torius’s fat pig of a father all think they’ll take my glypharmor and make themselves the masters of the world. Instead they’re going to die screaming in my Forge, their souls enslaved to my armor for all time. The Sages, too, the pompous old fools. I will put their talents to better use than they ever managed.”
“And then what?” said Caina. “You’ll conquer the world?”
“Exactly,” said Mihaela. “Torius and Sicarion have gathered reliable men, and I shall equip them with the glypharmor. First we will subdue the free cities and forge them together in an empire of our own. We shall smash the walls of New Kyre and shatter its fleets in the harbor. Anshan, Istarinmul, the Empire…all the world shall be ours.”
“Ours?” said Caina, looking at Torius. “Or yours?”
“Do not be absurd,” said Mihaela. “I created the glypharmor, yes, but I cannot use it alone. I need an army. One woman cannot rule the world alone. We shall…”
“Mihaela,” said Torius, “far be it from me to point out the obvious, but I suggest you stop talking and kill the damned Ghost already.”
“She might know something useful,” said Mihaela.
“Or,” said Torius, “she is convincing you to tell her the entire plan, which she will use against you if she escapes.”
Mihaela’s eyes narrowed. “I see. Very clever.”
“Kill her now,” said Torius.
“Excellent idea,” said Mihaela, pointing the silvery rod.
Caina jerked against the mercenaries, but they were too strong, and she could not move. White light flared around the tip of Mihaela’s rod, and Caina’s skin crawled beneath the presence of arcane force …
Then she felt a massive spike of power.
A blast of invisible force struck Mihaela and flung her across the room. She slammed into the legs of a suit of glypharmor and hit the ground, the rod rolling away from her fingers.
“What?” roared Torius, beginning a spell.
A voice like thunder boomed through the hall. “No one move!”
Caina turned her head, and a wave of relief shot through her.
Talekhris limped through the doorway, his silver rod crackling with power in his right hand.
“Not another step!” said Torius. “Surrender or…”
Talekhris flicked the rod, and a psychokinetic burst drove Torius to the floor. Mihaela scrambled to her feet, her eyes narrowed.
“Don’t bother,” said Talekhris, stopping next to the mercenaries. Their hands dug into Caina’s arms, and she saw the terror on their faces. “You have no spell that can threaten me.”
“Sage,” said Mihaela, “I am working upon a task for the Speaker, and Zalandris will not be pleased if…”
“Stop lying,” said Talekhris. “I was certain you used necromancy in the creation of the glypharmor, but I had no way of proving it.” He glanced at Caina. “I was not clever enough to discover your secrets, but I suspected this Ghost would be. Therefore I kept a careful eye upon her, and followed her here.” He pointed at the Forge. “Powering the armor with the soul of a spellcaster? Clever. Clever, and monstrous. But it ends now.”
“This isn’t over,” said Mihaela. Torius tried to rise, but Talekhris gestured, and another blast of force knocked the battle magus down.
“You’re wrong,” said Talekhris. “I have not spent centuries battling the Moroaica only for a foolish Seeker to build a necromantic horror within the Tower of Study itself. Both you, Mihaela, and you, Torius Aberon, will surrender yourselves to my custody. Your mercenaries may depart, so long as they never return to Catekharon.”
Torius got to his feet. “You’re confident, old man.”
“These are my terms,” said Talekhris. “Surrender now, or I will kill you both.”
Mihaela smirked.
“Very well,” she said, spreading her arms. “I surrender. Come and take me.”
Talekhris nodded. “Good. Put down the rod and…”
He jerked, his words ending in a strangled gasp.
A foot of bloody steel blade erupted from his chest, a crimson stain spreading across the white linen of his robe. A dark shape stood behind him, a scarred hand resting upon the Sage’s shoulder.
“How many centuries have you pursued my mistress?” said Sicarion, twisting the sword. “I’ve lost count. All those centuries, all those battles…and after all this time, you’re still not very good at this.”
Talekhris groaned, and Sicarion ripped his serrated dagger across the Sage’s throat. Sicarion kicked him off the sword blade, and the Sage staggered forward a step and collapsed, lying in a spreading pool of his own blood.
He did not move.
Caina stared at the corpse.
She had gambled, and she had lost. Mihaela would murder both the ambassadors and the Sages, and use their deaths to fuel her armor and launch the bloodiest war in the history of man.
And Caina was about to die.
“Sicarion,” said Torius with a laugh. “You have a gift for good timing.”
“And where were you hiding?” said Mihaela.
“When the Ghost arrived,” said Sicarion, “I expected she might have damaged the wards during her entry.” He prodded Talekhris’s corpse with the toe of his boot. “It turns out I was right.”
“Just as well,” said Torius. “Dump his body into the metal.”
“Don’t bother,” said Sicarion. “He has pursued my mistress for centuries, even though I’ve killed him over and over again. He’ll wake up in a few days, and then you can feed him into the Forge.” He laughed. “A fitting end.”
“Pursuing your mistress?” said Mihaela. “I thought you said your mistress was dead.”
“She is,” said Sicarion. “Presently.”
“Enough,” said Torius. “Mihaela, kill the Ghost and we’ll begin.” He looked at Sicarion. “Unless you have a use for her?”
Sicarion grinned at Caina. Jadriga had ordered him not to kill her.
But Caina realized the Moroaica had said nothing about others.
“She’s too dangerous to leave alive,” said Sicarion. “Kill her immediately.”
Caina looked at Mihaela just as the silver rod glowed, a harsh white light filling her vision.
When it cleared she found herself lying on the floor, a burning pain devouring her chest.
Part of her mind realized t
hat her heart had stopped.
Images flashed before her eyes. Her father. Halfdan. Theodosia. Corvalis.
Gods, gods, she wished she could have seen Corvalis one last…
Nothingness swallowed her.
Chapter 23 - Corrupted Air
“Thank you, Corvalis,” said Claudia. “I know that we are doing the right thing.”
Corvalis managed a distracted nod.
He stood with Claudia on one of the bridges over the river of molten metal in the Hall of Assembly. They had spent the last hour bringing word of Mihaela’s offer to the various embassies and ambassadors. Some had reacted with pleasure, others with contempt, and a few with alarm.
But every last one of them had shown interest, and Corvalis had no doubt they would come.
Even his father.
Decius Aberon had sneered and blustered, amused that Zalandris and Mihaela would send a renegade assassin and a former sister of the Magisterium to deliver their messages. But he would come, nonetheless.
Already Corvalis saw the magi entering through the doors to the Hall, his father in their midst.
No sign of Torius, though. The battle magus was likely doing an errand for the First Magus. But the rest of the embassies had gathered, eager to receive the suits of glypharmor that Zalandris had promised.
And they would walk right into Mihaela’s trap.
Assuming, of course, Mihaela had told the truth.
Corvalis trusted Claudia’s judgment. He always had, especially after his training with the Kindred. He did not have much of a conscience left, not after what the Kindred had done to him and made him do, but Claudia knew the proper course of action.
Unless Caina had been right.
Corvalis had seen the pain in her eyes when he had refused to help her. It had not been there long. Just an instant, and then her cold mask closed over it.
He did not have much of a conscience left…but what he had now stung him.
But it would be worth it. Once his father and the other magi put on the suits of glypharmor, Claudia and Mihaela could control them. Then they could cripple the Magisterium forever. Surely Caina would see that was worth it.
Unless she was right.
He gripped the stone railing and bowed his head, thinking. He trusted Claudia’s judgment …but Caina was cleverer than anyone he had ever met. She thought it was a trick, though she had not been able to provide a better explanation than Mihaela’s.
“Brother,” said Claudia, touching his arm. “She will forgive you. Once we bring our father to heel and force the nations to peace. Then she will understand.” She sighed. “I wish we could have convinced her. But she hates me too much to see reason. If I said the sky was blue, Anna would go outside to see for herself…and then decide that the sky had changed color due to a sorcerous plot.”
Claudia was not entirely wrong. But Corvalis was not certain that she was right, either. Mihaela might indeed plan to enslave the leaders of the sorcerers, but Corvalis was sure she was holding something back. Maybe not anything that would harm the Ghosts or the Empire, but something nonetheless.
“Perhaps you are right,” said Corvalis.
Claudia smiled. “I know I am. Anna will understand. You’ll see.”
Corvalis hoped so. Watching her walk away from Mihaela’s rooms had hurt more than he had expected.
He had no longer thought he was capable of feeling that much pain.
Mihaela and Zalandris entered the Hall of Assembly, followed by dozens of Sages in their jade masks, and Corvalis forced aside his fears. He had to stay focused.
Because he strongly suspected matters were about to become violent.
To his surprise, he saw Torius walking alongside Mihaela, clad in his black armor, his sword waiting at his hip. There was an excited edge to his half-brother’s expression that Corvalis did not like. Mihaela herself carried a silvery object in her right hand, and Corvalis thought she had a Sage’s rod. But as she drew closer, he saw that she instead carried an ornate dagger in a sheath of silver and black.
Something about that dagger tugged Corvalis’s memory, something that Caina had told him…
“What is Torius doing with her?” said Corvalis.
Claudia shrugged. “Mihaela said she had solicited the First Magus’s aid to draw him here.”
Corvalis looked at his father. “Then shouldn’t Torius be with our father to deflect suspicion?”
In fact, Decius Aberon was looking at Torius with a scowl. Clearly he had not expected to see Torius with Mihaela.
“I don’t know,” said Claudia. “It won’t matter once our father climbs into his suit of glypharmor.”
Corvalis started to answer, and then Zalandris’s voice echoed through the Hall.
“Honored guests of the Scholae!” said Zalandris, his golden collar glinting in the metal’s dull red glow. “Thank you for coming.”
“This summons,” said the First Magus, “is most unusual.”
“Indeed,” said the khadjar Arsakan, folding his thick arms over his chest. “We have spent a week negotiating with you, offering you wealth and lands and estates. And now we find you offering glypharmor to every one of us!”
Corvalis saw a stir on the other end of Hall. Kylon of House Kardamnos walked past the embassies, wearing his gray leather armor. None of his men were with him, and he had discarded his gray-green cloak.
He was expecting trouble.
“You are correct, my lord khadjar,” said Zalandris. “The Seeker Mihaela has shown me the correct path. Often the young who can see paths invisible to the weary minds of their elders. I thought that the glypharmor, wielded in the hands of one monarch, would guarantee peace. But Mihaela persuaded me that the power of the glypharmor would be too much of a temptation for any man to wield. I allowed Mihaela’s work to proceed because I thought it would bring peace between nations, but the glypharmor is too powerful. Only by giving glypharmor to each nation and order of sorcerers, to each king and college of arcane sciences, can we guarantee peace…”
“You,” said Kylon, his voice ringing off the ceiling, “are a fool.”
Zalandris blinked, and a stunned silence fell over the Hall.
Corvalis had never seen a man look so astonished. He supposed very few men insulted a Sage of the Scholae to his face.
“I beg your pardon?” said Zalandris, drawing himself up.”
“Are you deaf as well as blind?” said Kylon, stopping a dozen yards from the Speaker. Mihaela glared at the stormdancer, while Torius rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I said you are a fool.”
“What is he doing?” hissed Claudia. “He’ll ruin everything!”
Corvalis stared hard at the stormdancer. Caina had trusted his judgment.
“Threats?” said Zalandris. “How amusing. Is that what this is, my lord thalarchon? I am a fool for not giving New Kyre the glypharmor? And if I don’t, you’ll bring destruction upon the Scholae? Threaten the Scholae, and you will see the meaning of destruction for yourself, Kylon of House Kardamnos.”
“I do not threaten,” said Kylon. “I merely state the truth.” He pointed at Mihaela. “You have allowed your Seeker to use the resources of the Scholae for her own aggrandizement.”
“You lie, Kyracian,” said Mihaela. “Like anyone who studies under the Scholae, I work to advance our understanding of the arcane sciences.”
“But the Lord Speaker is not the only fool in this chamber,” said Kylon, looking around. “I am surrounded by them.”
“Speak for yourself, stormdancer,” said the First Magus. “Since your wretched little city-state launched a war against the might of the Nighmarian Empire, any reasonable man would question your wisdom.”
“I call you a fool,” said Kylon, “because you are so willing to lay your heads upon the block based upon Mihaela’s honeyed words.”
“Are you the blind man, Kylon Shipbreaker?” said Yaramzod the Black, his shadows slithering around him. “We have seen the glypharmor’s might. Do you ca
ll that a trick?”
“It is not a trick,” said Kylon, “but a trap. Mihaela has laid a snare upon the spells binding the glypharmor. She can enslave any man wearing the armor.” He looked at the gathered ambassadors. “She convinced Zalandris to give three suits of armor to each embassy here. The most powerful men in those embassies, of course, would claim the glypharmor for themselves. And as soon as they donned the armor, they would be trapped.”
“How does he know?” whispered Claudia.
Caina must have told him. To his surprise, Corvalis felt relief. Kylon Shipbreaker had a towering reputation, and if he discredited Mihaela in front of the Scholae and the ambassadors, no one could claim the glypharmor.
Had that been Caina’s plan all along?
No. The pain in her eyes had been real.
“Lord Kylon,” said Zalandris with the air of a man lecturing a pupil, “your fears are groundless. The glypharmor is perfectly safe to wield. It…”
“Have you examined it yourself?” said Kylon.
Mihaela glared at him.
“I am certain…” began Zalandris.
“Have you,” repeated Kylon, “examined it yourself?”
“Such a task,” said Zalandris, “would be beneath the dignity of a Sage of the Scholae.”
“Then you arm your students with potent spells and permit them to run about unsupervised?” said Kylon. “I may have understated the case, my lord Speaker, when I named you a fool.”
“Rubbish!” said the First Magus. “This is merely a plot to seize the glypharmor for yourself!”
“It is not,” said Kylon. “The embassy of New Kyre will not claim a suit of glypharmor, and we reject the Scholae’s treacherous gift. I swear this by the names of the gods of salt and brine, of storm and sea, and I vow that we shall never lay a finger upon the glypharmor.” He took a step closer to Zalandris. “For we have no wish to become Mihaela’s slaves.”
“No, no, no,” whispered Claudia, clutching at the bridge’s railing. “No! This was our best chance.”
Corvalis stared at Kylon. Caina trusted him, but it was plain that Kylon also trusted her. He trusted her so much that he was willing to defy the Scholae to its face, to level these accusations before both the ambassadors and the assembled Sages.
The Ghosts Omnibus: The Kyracian War Page 86
