The Ghosts Omnibus: The Kyracian War

by Jonathan Moeller

  Why hadn’t Corvalis trusted Caina that much?

  He felt a wave of shame.

  A murmur went through the ambassadors, and Corvalis saw the sudden doubt in their expressions. Political games were one thing. But for Kylon to reject the glypharmor so forcefully and irrevocably was something else entirely.

  “You’ve gone mad, my lord thalarchon,” said the First Magus, but Corvalis knew his father well enough to see the doubt there. “To reject such power?”

  “Perhaps this is a trick of your own,” said Yaramzod the Black. “If the armor was truly a tool of enslavement, you would say nothing and let us be ensnared.”

  “You are my enemies,” said Kylon, “but I would not wish such a profound enslavement upon even you. And I would not place such power into the hands of a woman like Mihaela.”

  That, too, sounded like Caina.

  “You seem certain of this,” said Zalandris.

  “Sage!” said Mihaela. “You listen to the slander of this…this power-seeking lordling?”

  But Zalandris ignored her.

  “I am certain of it,” said Kylon, “because it is true. All men are fools at one time or another, my lord Speaker, but do not continue to be a fool. Do not let her deceive you.”

  “What do you suggest?” said Zalandris.

  “Examine the glypharmor for yourself,” said Kylon. “I am sure Mihaela has given you many promises. Put those promises to the test. Command her to show you how the glypharmor is made. You believe the glypharmor will put an end to war and bring peace between nations. If you would wield such power…then you have a responsibility to understand how that power is created.”

  “The Scholae is devoted to knowledge,” said Zalandris. “Your requests seem reasonable.”

  “You cannot believe him!” said Mihaela.

  “I trust you, certainly,” said Zalandris, “but it is necessary to put the minds of our guests at ease. I will examine the glypharmor myself, along with your workshop. I have been looking forward to seeing it. Once I have, I…”

  “Shut up!” said Mihaela. “Gods, how I have wearied of your incessant droning!”

  Again Zalandris looked shocked. “Mihaela?”

  “Enough of this farce,” said Mihaela, yanking the silver dagger from its patterned sheath.

  And suddenly Corvalis remembered the dagger.

  Caina had described it to him, using her particular eye for detail, after her strange meeting with Talekhris in the Chamber of Relics. Talekhris had called the weapon the Stormbrand, and said it granted its wielder the power to control the element of air.

  “Go,” hissed Corvalis, grabbing his sister’s arm and steering her from the bridge. “We have to go, now!”

  “What are you doing?” said Claudia. “We need…”

  “She’s going to do something,” said Corvalis. “This has been a trap all along. You’ve …”

  “That is from the Chamber of Relics!” said Zalandris. “You should not have taken it without permission!”

  “I would tell you to shut up, old man,” said Mihaela, “but I know you will not. So I will just have to do it myself.”

  Mihaela swept the Stormbrand over her head, and the air around her began to ripple. An instant later Zalandris fell to his knees, eyes wide, face red, and the Sages of the Scholae fell like leaves from the branches of a dead tree. A wave of panic went through the ambassadors, and Kylon drew his sword.

  Corvalis had seen Ranarius use that spell in Cyrioch. It corrupted the air around the victim’s head, inducing unconsciousness. The Kyracian stormsingers used it to take prisoners alive.

  And with the Stormbrand, Mihaela could stun everyone in the hall.

  “Run!” shouted Corvalis, giving Claudia a shove.

  But she would not move.

  “What’s happening?” she said. “What is Mihaela doing? Corvalis, we’ve got to…”

  He grabbed her arm and ran for the nearest exit, taking deep breaths as he did so. If he could get enough air into his lungs, he might be able to stay conscious even when the corrupted air reached him. They ran through the Anshani embassy, and Corvalis saw both Yaramzod the Black and Arsakan collapse, Arsakan’s armor rattling, Yaramzod’s shadows slithering into him like a serpent retracting its tongue.

  “Corvalis!” said Claudia, coughing and clawing at her throat. “Corvalis!”

  Corvalis opened his mouth to speak…and the corrupted air washed over him, the world around him rippling.

  “Down!” he hissed, pushing Claudia to the floor. The corrupted air produced by the spell was lighter than normal air, and rose quickly. If he could press low enough, perhaps the air would pass them over.

  Claudia slumped against the floor, eyes closed. Corvalis fought to hold his breath, but at last he had to breathe, and he felt himself grow woozy. The room spun around him, his head swimming.

  But he stayed conscious.

  After a long moment he got to his feet and looked around.

  Hundreds of men and women lay sprawled upon the floor of the Hall of Assembly, lining both sides of the molten river. The assembled Sages of the Scholae lay upon the floor, their white robes making them look almost like lily petals scattered across the stone.

  Scores of mercenaries moved through the Hall, some barking orders, while most carried the unconscious guests and Sages into the cylindrical chamber at the Tower’s heart. Some sort of strange machine stood at the edge of the round molten pool. It looked like an enormous steel coffin, twenty feet high, its sides, lid, and interior carved with elaborate hieroglyphs. A dozen pipes ran from the coffin’s sides and dipped into the molten pool. Mihaela, Torius, and Sicarion stood near the steel coffin, watching as the mercenaries worked.

  What the devil were they doing?

  Corvalis looked at Claudia. She was alive, but unconscious. He had to get her away from the Hall. He didn’t know what Mihaela, Torius, and Sicarion intended for the Scholae and their guests, but it could be nothing good.

  “You!”

  Corvalis whirled.

  A middle-aged mercenary with the grizzled look of a sergeant stalked towards him. “Why are you standing about? We are not paying you for idleness!”

  “Sir?” said Corvalis. With his armor and weapons, the sergeant must have mistaken him for another mercenary.

  “Devils of the deep! Where do they find you fools?” The sergeant leaned closer, his bloodshot eyes glaring. “Pick up the prisoners. Carry them to the Forge.” He spoke in the overly slow voice men reserved for children and idiots. “Put them in the warding circles. Make sure they’re tied up, blindfolded, and gagged. Keep doing that until all the prisoners are secure, or until you get different orders from me.”

  Corvalis could take the sergeant, he was sure, but there were dozens of men within earshot by now. He could not fight them all. Playing along was his best chance of rescuing Claudia and getting her away from whatever Mihaela had in mind.

  “Sir,” said Corvalis.

  “Get moving,” said the sergeant, jerking his head towards a trio of men.

  Gods, but he should have listened to Caina.

  Corvalis joined the other mercenaries. One of the men grabbed the wrists of a man in the stark robes of an Anshani occultist, and Corvalis gripped the occultist’s ankles. Together they carried the unconscious man through the Hall of Assembly and into the Tower’s central chamber. A dozen elaborate circles had been painted around the edge of the molten pool, surrounded by intricate glyphs and sigils. Corvalis recognized the design. They were warding circles, designed to neutralize a sorcerer’s powers. The Magisterium used them to imprison renegade sorcerers and disobedient magi.

  “Down,” grunted the mercenary, and they dumped the occultist inside one of the circles. The mercenary worked with practiced efficiency, blindfolding and gagging the occultist and binding his wrists and ankles together behind his back. With his spells dampened by the warding circle and his arms and legs bound, the occultist was helpless.

  “Clear!” roare
d the sergeant Corvalis had seen earlier. “Put your backs into it, dogs, but stand clear of the Forge!”

  Corvalis stepped back to watch, making sure not to draw attention to himself. He looked like just another mercenary, but Sicarion, Mihaela, and Torius would all recognize him. And if they saw him, Corvalis doubted he would live for another dozen heartbeats.

  Fortunately, the strange machine, the thing the sergeant had called the Forge, held their attention. A trio of mercenaries grabbed one of the unconscious Sages, stripping away the old man’s mask and robe. They hung the naked man in a net of chains inside the massive steel coffin, leaving him suspended in its center.

  Then they swung the lid shut and Mihaela pointed her rod at the Forge, muttering a spell.

  White fire flared in the hieroglyphs covering the coffin, and a ripple went through the molten metal in the pool. The Forge shuddered, and Mihaela made a sweeping motion with the rod. Fingers of white lightning crackled up and down the steel coffin, the hieroglyphs glowing brighter, the stone floor vibrating, a strange howling noise coming from the Forge

  Then the glow faded.

  “Come forth!” shouted Mihaela.

  The steel lid swung open, and a suit of black glypharmor stepped out of the Forge, its hieroglyphs shining with white fire.

  “Gods,” whispered Corvalis.

  “Aye,” said the mercenary next to him. “Black witchery. But it pays well.”

  Somehow Mihaela’s sorcery could transform living sorcerers into suits of glypharmor. The invitation, the embassies, all of it – it had all been nothing but a ruse to gather hundreds of powerful sorcerers into the Hall of Assembly.

  He had been a fool. Caina had been right to mistrust Mihaela, and certainly right to mistrust Claudia’s judgment.

  And unless Corvalis acted, Claudia was going to pay for that mistake with her life.

  “Come on,” mumbled Corvalis. “If we don’t keep working the sergeant will have our heads.”

  “Aye,” said the mercenary, turning. “We…”

  “You lot!” The sergeant stalked over, pointing at Corvalis. “You and you and you, head to the mistress’s workshop. She wants the black chest next to the worktable by the canal. Move!”

  Corvalis could not leave Claudia. If he left, by the time he returned Mihaela might have fed her into that ghastly machine. But if he created a commotion, that would draw the attention of Mihaela, Sicarion, and Torius. The Forge held their attention, but if they saw Corvalis…

  If they saw Corvalis, he would die, and there would be no one to save Claudia.

  “Sir,” said Corvalis, and he followed the other two men from the chamber.

  Chapter 24 - The Stormdancer and the Assassin

  The mercenaries strode into the Seekers’ quarters, keeping away from the stream of molten metal, and Corvalis followed.

  His mind sorted through plan after plan. The long, high corridor was deserted, and Corvalis could overpower the two mercenaries easily enough. Then he could return and escape with Claudia. But what then? Mihaela was building an army of glypharmor, and she would go on a rampage as soon as she was ready. Should he try to find Caina and warn her? Or Basil, perhaps? Basil had allies in the city, and he might have the means to stop Mihaela.

  Corvalis gritted his teeth. This disaster was his doing. If he had not listened to Claudia, none of this would have happened.

  “What’s your problem?” said one of the mercenaries.

  “I want a damned drink,” said Corvalis.

  The man laughed. “You and me both. But once the mistress deals with the sorcerers, all the wealth of the Tower will be ours. You can buy your own damned vineyard then.”

  They walked through a scarred door and through a hall filled with steel coffins of varying sizes. Corvalis supposed these were earlier versions of Mihaela’s Forge. Beyond stood a vast chamber, bisected by another stream of molten metal. Dozens of suits of glypharmor stood scattered around the chamber, along with a random assortment of crates and barrels.

  “There,” said one of the mercenaries. “The mistress’s chest is there.”

  Corvalis followed the other men to the worktable near the molten canal. As he did, he slipped a dagger from his belt. The other two men stooped over the heavy chest, grunting.

  “Help, damn you,” snarled one of the men.

  “Of course,” said Corvalis, driving his dagger into the closest man’s neck. The mercenary toppled, blood pouring from his wound. The other man yelled and scrambled for his weapon, but Corvalis was faster. His sword blurred, driving into the mercenary’s throat, and the man collapsed to the floor.

  Corvalis cleaned his weapons off, dragged the corpses to the canal, and dumped them into the molten metal. The resultant stench was considerable, but hopefully the lack of corpses would confuse any pursuers for a few moments. Corvalis decided to make for the palace where Lord Titus Iconias and his retainers had been housed. He had seen Lord Titus and his bodyguards in the Hall of Assembly, but no sign of Basil or Caina. Maybe Caina had returned to the palace to alert Basil. Corvalis could warn them of Mihaela’s true intentions…and perhaps Basil could rouse the cohort of Imperial Guards waiting in the barracks.

  If they struck now, they might stop Mihaela before she built her invincible army.

  He took a step towards the door and froze.

  A glint of silvery metal next to a shattered barrel caught his eye. Corvalis picked it up. It was a curved dagger, the blade carved with flowing characters.

  Caina’s ghostsilver dagger. She never went anywhere without it.

  He saw a motionless form lying next to a crate. Corvalis hurried forward, saw a body clad in all in black, wrapped in a dark shadow-cloak, and…

  The blue eyes of Caina Amalas gazed unblinkingly at him.

  Unseeing.

  She wasn’t breathing.

  Corvalis dropped to one knee, put his hand upon her neck. She was still warm. But he felt no pulse. He cursed, tugged off one of her leather gloves, felt her left wrist. There was no pulse.

  She was dead.

  The part of his mind that had been trained by the Kindred noted the details of her corpse. He could not see how she had died. There were no marks upon her, no wounds. One of Mihaela’s spells, perhaps. Sorcery had slain Caina’s father and left her barren, and now it had taken everything she had left.

  The rest of his mind screamed.

  Corvalis’s breath rasped through his teeth. He looked away, then back at her. Watching her walk away from Mihaela’s rooms had hurt.

  This hurt…this hurt much worse.

  He had only loved two people in his life, his mother and his sister. After his father had executed his mother, there had been only Claudia. When Ranarius had turned her to stone, Corvalis had crossed half the Empire to save her, risking his life again and again to rescue her.

  It had never occurred to him that he might love someone else. He had thought he loved Nairia, but that had only been one of his father’s cruel jokes. When he first met Caina Amalas, he thought her a cold and efficient killer, a Kindred assassin remade in the image of the Ghosts. Only later had he learned the truth of her.

  He had loved her, she had loved him back…and now she was dead because he had not listened to her.

  Corvalis bowed his head, his eyes burning. The smoke from the corpses he had dumped into the canal, no doubt.

  “I’m sorry,” he said at last. “I should have listened to you. Gods damn it all, I should have listened to you. I’m so sorry.”

  Caina was dead, but Claudia was not. Corvalis would find a way to save her from Mihaela’s damned Forge.

  And then…and then he supposed he would let Basil kill him.

  “I’m sorry,” said Corvalis again, kissing her lips. He rose, ghostsilver dagger in hand, and strode for the door. He returned to the corridor and looked around. The hallway remained deserted, and no one had come to hunt for the missing mercenaries yet. Corvalis would break into one of the unused rooms, go out the window, and make
his way to the guests’ palace. Then Basil could rouse the Imperial Guards, and they could stop Mihaela’s mad plan before she burned Claudia to ashes in her Forge.

  Claudia. That thought alone kept Corvalis moving, kept him from falling upon his sword.

  Caina was dead and it was his fault.

  The air in front of him rippled, and Corvalis drew his sword, half-expecting to see Mihaela with the Stormbrand. Instead a man in his middle twenties appeared, his lean body clad in gray leather armor, a sword in his right hand…

  Kylon of House Kardamnos.

  “Stormdancer,” said Corvalis.

  “Cormark,” said Kylon. He squinted at Corvalis for a moment. “I see you and your sister have realized the truth.”

  “Aye,” said Corvalis. “But Mihaela was telling the truth. The glypharmor was a trap. She…she just didn’t say what kind.”

  “The best lies,” said Kylon, “always are mostly true.” It sounded like something Caina would say. Perhaps he had heard it from her. “How did you escape the trap in the Hall of Assembly?”

  “I recognized the spell,” said Corvalis, “and held my breath long enough to keep from falling unconscious. They have Claudia, though.”

  “Claudia?” said Kylon.

  “My sister,” said Corvalis. “Irene Callenius.”

  “Ah,” said Kylon. “I assume Mihaela is going to feed her into that necromantic engine of hers? She’s making an army of glypharmor.”

  “Unless we stop her,” said Corvalis. “How did you escape, anyway?”

  “I, too, recognized the spell,” said Kylon, “and warded myself against it. I hoped to kill Mihaela and Torius, but when she used that dagger, hundreds of mercenaries stormed into the Hall, and I could not fight so many on my own. I used a spell of air to escape unnoticed. The Ghost said she was going to Basil Callenius, and that seemed as good a plan as any. If anyone can figure out a way to stop Mihaela, it is her.”

  “She can’t,” said Corvalis.