Ghost Dagger

by Jonathan Moeller

  “I am aware of all this,” said Reorn.

  “Are you?” said Helena. “It is your fault!”

  Reorn spun to face her. “My fault? Have you gone mad? Are you accusing me of murdering Tormalus?”

  “Tormalus was murdered under your roof!” said Helena. “The responsibility lies with you. Ignominy will attach itself to your name. Worse, shame will attach itself to the name of my father and of House Tyrikon.” She drew herself up. “When my father hears of this…”

  Reorn burst out laughing. “Your father? Don’t be a fool, woman. Your father doesn’t give a damn about you. I could sell you to Istarish slavers, and so long as he could keep trading with my clan, he wouldn’t care.”

  Helena went white with rage, and stormed from the hall without another word.

  Reorn sighed and walked to Halfdan’s side.

  “That was cruel,” said Caina.

  Reorn scowled. “When I want your opinion, girl, I’ll ask for it.” He sat next to Halfdan with a weary grunt. “But perhaps you are right. I should not have thrown that in her face. Yet, gods, that woman provokes me.”

  “Tormalus’s death rattled her,” said Halfdan.

  “It rattled me,” said Reorn. “That was no natural death, I am certain. How did he die?”

  “Sorcery of some kind,” said Halfdan. “He must have found something in the ruins. Either it killed him, or someone killed him with the relic and took it.”

  “Are you sure the relic still isn’t in the room?” said Reorn.

  “Yes,” said Caina. If a relic powerful enough to make Tormalus’s brains pour out his ears had still been in the room, Caina would have sensed it.

  “Gods,” muttered Reorn, rubbing his beard. “So either someone killed Tormalus with the relic and took it. Or the fool killed himself with it, and someone seized their chance and stole the relic.”

  Halfdan looked at Caina. “That is the sum of it, aye.”

  “What am I to do, Marcus?” said Reorn. “Helena was right. A master magus was slain in my guest chamber. The Lord Governor might see reason, but if the Magisterium gets involved…aye, that might well be a disaster. The magi are neither reasonable nor merciful.”

  “The answer is simple,” said Halfdan. “You contacted the Ghosts because you feared that Tormalus might dig something terrible out of those Saddai ruins. Well, he did, and it destroyed him. We will ferret out the truth, find this enspelled relic, and destroy it. If Tormalus was murdered, we will find his killer, as well. Then you can report to the magi that the murderer was been caught and the weapon used to do the killing destroyed.”

  “Your optimism cheers me, Marcus,” said Reorn. “Though I fear it will not be that easy.”

  Halfdan grinned. “Of course it will not be that easy. But we shall do what we can. You need to write some letters, my lord donnarch. Hopefully by the time the answers arrive, we will have solved your mystery for you.”

  Reorn nodded, excused himself, and left for his study.

  “Do you think he did it?” said Caina.

  Halfdan frowned. “Reorn? You are right to suspect everyone, but I doubt it. Reorn is too proud, and too traditional a donnarch, to murder a guest in his own hall. Helena…I doubt she could figure out how to wield a weapon of sorcery, and she would certainly never murder a magus. Maelana is too devoted to Reorn to betray him. Perhaps it is someone among Reorn’s servants, or the servants Tormalus brought with him from Dizalis.”

  “Or someone in the town,” said Caina. “A renegade sorcerer. An exile from the Magisterium.”

  “Riata has a fine tavern,” said Halfdan. “I shall disguise myself as a caravan guard and spend some time there tonight. If anything is afoot in the town, I can learn of it there. If you disguise yourself as well, you can accompany me.”

  “No,” said Caina.

  Halfdan lifted a gray eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

  “These Saddai burial chambers Reorn’s workmen dug up,” said Caina. “I want to have a look at them.” She stared into the fire, remembering the sorcerous flames that Kalastus had conjured. “Tormalus found something down there, I’m sure of it. If I can figure out what he found, then I have a better chance of finding whoever took it.”

  “Be on your guard,” said Halfdan. “The gods only know what the Ashbringers left down there.”

  Caina shrugged. “It should be safe enough. Tormalus returned without mishap.”

  Until whatever he had taken from the ruins had killed him.

  Caina only hoped that something worse did not await her in the darkness below Reorn’s hall.

  Chapter 4 – Crypts of the Ashbringers

  That night, after Reorn and his household went to bed, Caina prepared herself.

  She retried to her guest room and stripped off her green dress. In its place she donned a black jacket lined with thin steel plates, black trousers, and black boots. Black gloves covered her hands, and a black mask hid her face. Around her waist went a belt of throwing knives, lockpicks, and other useful tools, while daggers remained concealed in her boots.

  Her shadow-cloak went over her shoulders, its cowl covering her head.

  It was lighter than air, silk woven with shadow itself in a secret technique known only to the Ghosts. The strange properties of the cloak allowed it to blur and merge with the shadows, permitting Caina to hide with ease. And the cloak shielded her from any tracking sorcery and guarded her mind from sorcerous intrusion.

  Her father's worn old signet ring from a cord around her neck, hidden beneath her jacket. Unlike everything else she carried, it had no practical use.

  But she carried it anyway.

  To remember.

  Caina slipped into the corridor, boots making no sound against the floor.

  ###

  Silence hung over the hall of Reorn.

  The hall was deserted, and only a dim glow came from the coals smoldering in the hearths. Caina slipped past the dais, through the kitchens, and opened a narrow wooden door.

  The door to the cellars.

  She crept down the stairs and paused long enough to light a hooded lantern she had taken from Halfdan's supplies. A moment's work, and the lantern cast a narrow beam over the cellar's rough dirt floor. Hopefully, if any servants happened to wander past the kitchens, they wouldn't notice any light. But Caina doubted any of them would be awake.

  No reason for carelessness, though.

  She swept the beam back and forth through the darkness. The light revealed thick stone pillars. Casks of beer lined one wall, while sausages and dried vegetables dangled from the rafters. On the far wall she saw the entrance to Reorn's wine cellar. As Halfdan had said, Reorn possessed an extensive collection of wine, and the wooden racks stretched away into the darkness.

  And one wall of the wine cellar had been torn down, revealing a faint red glow.

  The long-buried Saddai crypts.

  Caina crept into the wine cellar.

  The red glow grew brighter as she drew nearer. Beyond the broken wall Caina saw the smooth, glossy black stone the Ashbringers had created with their pyromancy. An entrance had been smashed into the glassy black stone, the red light shining from within, and the faint sound of crackling flames reached her ears.

  She put down the lantern. No need for it in there.

  Then she took a deep breath and climbed through the jagged entrance.

  She entered a wide black chamber, the ceiling supported by graceful pillars. Blocks of stone lay scattered throughout the chamber, and a snarling fire burned atop each block. Yet the fires did not put off any heat, and not a hint of smoke reached Caina's nostrils.

  And inside each of the raging fires she saw a blackened human skeleton.

  The fires were the funeral pyres of long-dead Ashbringers, set to burn forever with their sorcery. She felt the sorcerous power in the air, crawling against her skin like tiny needles, and the scars Maglarion had left upon her stomach clenched in pain.

  She prowled through the chamber, taking
cautious, slow steps. The pyromantic flames did not give off any heat, yet Caina suspected that if she touched them, the fire would devour her flesh. Her eyes swept the gleaming black floor, watching for any sign of traps, sorcerous or mechanical. Tormalus might have gone into this place and returned, but perhaps he had been fortunate enough to avoid any defenses...

  A carving on the side of one of the stone biers caught her eye.

  It was an inscription, written in the Saddaic tongue. Fortunately, Caina knew how to read Saddaic.

  "THE BREAKER OF STEEL," read the description.

  An epitaph, perhaps? Or a title, earned by deeds in life?

  Caina circled to another bier and read its inscription.

  "THE DOMINATOR OF SLAVES," it read.

  Charming.

  But a title, then. And given that pyromancy drove its wielders into homicidal insanity, Caina doubted that the titles would reflect their bearers' mercy and clemency.

  She passed the bier of "THE BURNER OF FLESH", and squeezed past that of "THE BRINGER OF WIDOWS' SCREAMS", taking care not to touch the stone or the flames. If this was a crypt, had Tormalus taken something from one of the biers? But that seemed unlikely. The Saddai Ashbringers had burned their dead using everlasting sorcerous pyres. Any possessions, enspelled or otherwise, would have been burned with them. So where...

  Wait.

  A hole in the floor, about the size of a chest, caught her attention.

  Caina knelt before the hole. One of the stone tiles at the foot of a bier had been pried up, revealing a small, dark space. The tile lay nearby, scored with marks from a crowbar, and rock chips glittered around the edges of the hole.

  It had been pried open, recently. The hole was empty, but Caina reached inside, hoping to find some hint of what it had held...

  A tingling washed over her fingers.

  Sorcery.

  For an alarmed instant Caina wondered if she had triggered a warding spell. But the tingling was faint, residual. Something powerful had rested here for a long time, and had left a sorcerous echo behind.

  Something Tormalus had found?

  Caina examined the bier next to the hole.

  Unlike the others, no pyre burned atop its surface. A blackened, charred skeleton lay atop it, the bones crumbling into flaky ash. An inscription marked the side of the bier, but it had been defaced.

  Caina squinted at it.

  "The master of dreams?" she said.

  She wondered what that meant. Some form of sorcery, perhaps? The practice of oneiromancy, of using sorcery to control dreams, had been banned in the Empire. Caina had no doubt the magi would practice oneiromancy if they could, but its secrets had been lost for centuries. And the Saddai Ashbringers had been pyromancers, not oneiromancers.

  She looked at the hole in the floor.

  So what had Tormalus taken from the crypt?

  ###

  The hall was deserted when Caina returned.

  She slipped back to the guest rooms, intending to tell Halfdan what she had found. But his room was empty. No doubt he was still looking for information at Riata's tavern. Caina considered disguising herself as a caravan guard and joining him, but discarded the idea. Dawn was near, and the servants would rise soon. She didn't want them to see her skulking about.

  She would talk to Halfdan when he returned.

  Caina closed and barred the door to her room. She tugged off her nightfighter clothes and hid them at the bottom of a chest. Then she crawled into the bed and pulled the blankets close. It was a large bed, soft and comfortable, intended for more than one occupant.

  Not a barren woman who would never bear a child or have a husband.

  The familiar melancholy swept through Caina.

  But she was tired, so she tucked a dagger beneath her pillow, as she usually did, and soon fell asleep.

  Chapter 5 - Screams In The Night

  Dreams filled Caina’s sleep, as they so often did.

  But these were no nightmares. They were something else.

  She strode through the hallways of her father's villa, her skirt rustling against the polished floors. Caina wore a long blue gown with black embroidery, the sleeves and bodice tight. She liked wearing blue. He said it matched her eyes, made her...

  She frowned.

  Who liked it when she wore blue? She could not remember.

  But then she stood before the door to her father's library, and a rising tide of emotion swept away her doubts.

  She pushed through the door, heart in her throat. Her father's library looked just as she remembered, the same high wooden shelves stacked with books and scrolls, the tall windows overlooking the town of Aretia and the Bay of Empire. But that was impossible. Maglarion's men had burned the villa...

  Her hands flew her to mouth.

  Alastair Corus stood by the window, and he grinned when he saw her. He looked just as she remembered, strong and tall, his blond hair close-cropped. A ring gleamed on his left hand.

  A ring of similar design rested on her left hand.

  "Wife," said Alastair, striding toward her with open arms.

  "Wife?" whispered Caina.

  No, that was impossible. He had died in Malarae. Maglarion had killed him, used his necromancy to inflict a terrible death upon him. She had seen his corpse, twisted and deformed by the spell.

  But another set of memories flashed through her mind.

  Going to balls with Alastair in the Imperial capital, laughing as they danced. The first time she had gone to bed with him, fearful and trembling and eager. His proposal of marriage. Receiving this villa as a gift from her father after the wedding.

  But…none of that had happened.

  Hadn’t it?

  “Yes, wife,” said Alastair. He caught her face in his hands and kissed her. “You’ve been having those terrible dreams again, haven’t you?”

  “Dreams?” said Caina. “What dreams?”

  “Those nightmares,” said Alastair, “where you dream that you’re an assassin and spy for the Emperor’s Ghosts. You used to be, but you left. Don’t you remember? You rescued me, slew Maglarion, and the Emperor made you a Countess.”

  “I…” said Caina.

  She did remember that. Yet another set of memories flashed through her mind. She remembered slaying Maglarion, but she had done so in secret, as a Ghost. And Alastair…Alastair was dead. She had seen his corpse.

  “I…don’t remember,” said Caina, struggling to clear her head.

  “Oh, my dear,” said Alastair, giving her a light kiss upon the lips. “You must be ill. Some time with the children will cheer you up.”

  Caina’s heart skipped a beat.

  “Children?” she managed at last.

  Alastair grinned. “Of course. Our son and daughter. You would remember them, I hope. You screamed loud enough during the labor, the gods know!”

  He led her through the villa’s corridors to the gardens of the inner courtyard. A boy and a girl of five years raced through the gardens, laughing and shouting. Caina’s heart soared at the sight of them, and she found herself crying. This was what she had wanted for most of her life. To be a mother, to have children of her own to love.

  The children ran to her and wrapped their arms around her legs. Caina staggered – gods, but they were strong – and grinned down at them. Her children. She had come home at last, found what she truly desired, despite…

  Another memory, dark with blood, flashed through her mind.

  Despite what Maglarion had done to her.

  She felt Alastair’s arm around her shoulders.

  “Come with me, my dear,” said Alastair. “I have business in the Imperial capital, and the journey would do us good. And it’s past time you showed the children the Imperial Library. They read almost as much as their mother!”

  He turned her around, and Caina saw the door.

  A door of silvery metal stood at the far end of the garden, rimmed in fiery light. The sight filled Caina with unease. It was just a door. Surely nothin
g to frighten her. Yet she could not remember ever seeing that door in her father’s villa. And there was something wrong about that odd, silvery metal. The fiery light leaking around its edges brought back other memories, images of men screaming as pyromantic flames devoured their flesh…

  “One quick step through that door,” said Alastair, “and we will go where we need to be.”

  Caina jerked free from his arm and stepped away from the children.

  “Caina?” said Alastair. “What is the matter?”

  “How do you know my name?” said Caina. “I never told you my real name. You always knew me as Countess Marianna Nereide.”

  Alastair laughed. “Well, of course I know your real name. You told me before we were wed.”

  “No,” said Caina, more and more certain. “I couldn’t have told you my real name because you were dead. I couldn’t have children with you because you were dead.” She swallowed, blinking the tears from her eyes. “And these cannot be my children because I cannot bear a child, not ever.”

  “Mother,” said the boy, and the sound of his voice pierced her heart. "How can you say that? We are your children!"

  Caina wavered. Part of her, most of her, wanted to believe what she saw. That these were really her children, that Alastair was her husband. But she had never loved Alastair, as much as she regretted his death.

  And she knew she could not bear children, no matter how much she wished otherwise.

  "Caina, my love," said Alastair, beckoning towards the door. "Come with us. I promise you'll never feel pain ever again."

  He smiled at her, and something in his face seemed like a threat.

  "No," said Caina, backing away. She looked at the children. "I wish you were real, more than anything in the world. But you're not. I don't know what this place is, or what's happening to me, but you're not real."

  She turned, intending to run.

  Alastair sighed and snapped his fingers.

  The world dissolved into shining silver mist.

  ###

  Caina blinked.