She sat on her favorite couch in her father's library, a book on her lap.
"Daughter?" said a man's voice.
Caina looked up.
"Father?" she whispered.
Sebastian Amalas sat at his desk, smiling at her. Her father looked older, his hair thinner, his face fleshier. Yet the warmth in his gray eyes remained unchanged.
"Yes, daughter," he said, dipping his pen into his inkwell. "Still your father, even after all these years. Even after you've grown into a lovely young woman." He lifted his pen and shook it at her. "But we'll find you a husband yet, one who can appreciate a woman with wits..."
"Father!" shouted Caina.
She pushed aside the book, raced across the library, and threw her arms around him.
"Oof!" said Sebastian, laughing. "What has gotten into you?"
"I'm just..." Caina wiped tears from her eyes. "I'm just...so happy to see you." She shook her head. "I had a terrible dream. I thought...I thought Mother had murdered you."
"Your mother?" said Sebastian. "I divorced her years ago. Don't you remember? The Ghosts found her studying under that rogue necromancer Maglarion. She was stripped of her noble title and sent into exile."
Caina blinked. "But...but I was so sure. I thought you had died. I saw you die." The memories cut through her mind, still sharp and painful. "I was so sure of it."
He patted her shoulder. "It must have been a vivid nightmare."
"It was," said Caina, blinking the tears from her eyes. "It really was."
She remembered her father slumped over that desk, remembered her mother lying in blood upon the floor. And the years that came after - the torture at Maglarion's hands, her training from Halfdan and the Ghosts, the struggle against sorcerers and corrupt lords.
Such a vivid nightmare, all of it.
She turned, taking in her father's library, the books and the scrolls and the splendid view of the ocean through the windows.
She preferred this to her nightmares.
"You look so pleased," Sebastian said.
"I am," said Caina, and she grinned. "I'm just...glad you're unhurt. That's all. Just...happy."
"Good," said Sebastian. He rose from his desk and slipped his arm around her waist. "My letters can wait until tomorrow. Why don't we ride to the town? A ship came from Malarae this morning. And I suspect that the captain, knowing that the daughter of Count Sebastian Amalas has a taste for books, may well have stocked a few titles from the capital’s printers."
"I would like that," said Caina. "More than anything."
"Then we shall do it," said Sebastian. "This way."
He walked towards the library door, and Caina froze.
The door was...different.
It was made of a strange silvery metal, a fiery glow leaking from its edges.
"That's not the library door," said Caina.
Where had she seen it before?
"Of course it is," said Sebastian, urging her forward. "It goes into the hallway, and then we'll go from there to the stables and rouse the coachman."
Something about the door was...wrong. Uncanny. Just looking at the peculiar silver metal gave Caina a cutting headache. And the glow coming from the edges frightened her.
It was the exact color of a pyre, of fire devouring human flesh.
How did she even know that?
"No," said Caina. "No. The door...frightens me, Father. Let's wait here. A quiet day in your library. Doesn't that sound pleasant?"
Sometimes she wanted that more than anything else in the world. Yet why? She had lived in her father's villa for her entire life.
Why would she think it was something precious, something lost to her?
"Daughter," said Sebastian. "There is nothing to fear. Maglarion is dead, as is your mother. You are safe here."
Caina felt a chill. "You said Mother went into exile."
Sebastian gave an impatient shake of her head. "She died in exile, of course. Don't you remember?" His arm tightened around her waist. "Come. We must hurry."
Caina pulled away from him. "Why? What is behind that damned door? Why do you and Alastair want me to..."
She froze.
Alastair.
Three sets of memories warred in her mind. In one she was Alastair's husband and her father was dead, slain at Maglarion's head. In a second she still lived with her father and had never met Alastair. And in a third Maglarion had slain both her father and Alastair, and she had become a nightfighter of the Ghosts, and had gone with Halfdan to Riata...
"What is happening?" said Caina. "Whatever this is, it isn't real."
Sebastian snarled, his face twisting with rage.
"You useless girl!" he spat. "I gave you everything you ever wanted, but still you refuse me! Wretched peasant! If you will not serve me, I will find someone who shall!"
The silver door exploded into a thousand glittering shards, and fire erupted from it, devouring the library.
Caina screamed, and everything went black.
###
Caina sat up with a gasp, heart pounding, sweat pouring down her face. She found herself in an unfamiliar room, the faint roar of rushing water brushing her ears. For a panicked instant Caina could not remember where she was, and she snatched the dagger from beneath her pillow.
But her room was dark and silent, save for the steady roar of the waterfall.
Her mind snapped back into focus, the memories returning.
"Just a dream," mumbled Caina, lowering the dagger.
But, gods, she had never endured a dream like that before. Most of her nightmares were replays of horrors from the past. These dreams had been like futures that had never been, the way her life could have been if she had never met Maglarion.
As if some power wanted to give her everything she desired.
But she was tired, so tired, and could not think through the haze in her mind. The dreams had exhausted her more than a run through the Vineyard's terraces.
Caina slumped against the pillows and sank into a black and dreamless sleep.
###
Some time later Caina's eyes opened.
It was still dark out, but she saw the faintest glimmer of light through the windows. Her throat was dry as the Istarish deserts, and her head pounded and throbbed.
Caina rose, the flagstones cold against her bare feet, and crossed the room to the sideboard. A pitcher of water waited there, and she reached for a glass. Halfdan must have returned by now, and she would tell him what she had found in the crypts...
A scream rang in her ears.
Caina ran to the doorway. She heard the scream again, louder and sharper, coming from a door at the end of the corridor. Caina sprinted down the hall and shoved open the door. Inside she saw a small, clean bedroom, the narrow bed in disarray.
Maelana stood in the center of the room, trembling like a trapped animal. Her wheat-colored hair hung in disarray, and her bloodshot green eyes were wild with fear and horror.
There was no one else in the bedroom.
“No!” shouted Maelana.
“What is it?” said Caina. “What’s wrong?”
“I won’t do it!” said Maelana. “I love him! I won’t hurt him! You can’t make me do it!”
“What are you talking about?” said Caina.
Maelana screamed, and Caina grabbed the other woman’s arms.
She felt the crawling, buzzing presence of powerful sorcery. There was a spell on Maelana, a strong one.
Maelana shrieked and jerked away from Caina, her hands flying to her temples. Her eyes bulged, and she fell to her knees, her entire body arcing like a drawn bow.
She screamed once more…and blood poured from her mouth and nose and ears.
Caina reached for her. But it was too late. Maelana topped onto her side, twitching, the blood pooling beneath her. Bit by bit her twitching stopped.
“Maelana!”
Reorn burst into the room, a sword in his hand. He stared at Maelana’s corpse, his mouth working behind his bushy beard.<
br />
“Donnarch,” said Caina. “I’m sorry. I heard her screaming…”
Reorn pushed her aside, gathered Maelana’s limp, bloody body in his arms, and began to weep.
Chapter 6 – Spell Hunt
Caina sat on a bench in the hall and brooded.
With Maelana’s death, Reorn’s hall had fallen into chaos. The donnarch himself was incapacitated by grief, and sat weeping over Maelana's body. The servants had fled to the town, fearful of whatever strange curse stalked Reorn’s hall.
Of whatever power Tormalus had freed from the crypts.
She heard the click of boots. Halfdan walked towards her, still wearing the leather armor and ragged cloak of a caravan guard, his face tired from his night in Riata’s tavern. He sat beside her with a sigh.
“I don’t suppose there’s any breakfast?” said Halfdan.
Caina shook his head. “All the cooks fled. They feared falling victim to the curse.” She shrugged. “And they well could. I don’t know what's causing this. How’s Reorn?”
Halfdan sighed. “Not well. He truly loved Maelana, and I fear her death has unseated his reason. He may snap out of it, given enough time. It was all I could do to pry him away from Maelana so the priestesses could prepare her for burial. Poor girl. A dreadful way to die.”
Caina nodded. “Did you learn anything at the tavern?”
Halfdan scowled. “A complete waste of time. I drank too much bitter Disali wine and learned nothing of use. You?”
“Those crypts beneath the hall,” said Caina. “They're the tombs of minor Ashbringers, students of whatever Ashbringer built the citadel here, I think. One of the biers had a secret compartment beneath it, and Tormalus took something from it.”
“Any idea what?” said Halfdan.
“Some sort of sorcerous relic,” said Caina. “What kind, I don’t know. Each tomb had a title carved upon it, and the tomb Tormalus took the relic from had been defaced.”
“What did it say?” said Halfdan.
“The master of dreams,” said Caina, rubbing her forehead. She still had a headache, and the horror of the morning had only made it worse. “Whatever that means. And I had strange dreams last night.”
“You certainly have cause for that,” said Halfdan.
Caina shook her head. “I know what my own nightmares are like. This was different. They were like futures that might have been, if I had made different choices. And the dreams kept urging me to walk through this silver door. I’ve never seen anything like it.” She took a deep breath. “I think I know what happened.”
“Explain,” said Halfdan.
“Tormalus found a sorcerous relic and tried to use it,” said Caina. “Except he didn’t know what he was doing, so it killed him. The thing stayed active, and then it killed Maelana. It's going to keep killing people unless we find it and destroy it.” Her hands coiled into fists. “I think I can find it. I felt the sorcery, and I will recognize it if I feel it again. The relic is probably still nearby. I’m going to go over the hall inch by inch until I find the damned thing.”
“A good plan,” said Halfdan. “I will do what I can here. Reorn must write letters to the Lord Governor. Otherwise he might send a legate to take command of the town, or the Magisterium could try to take over Riata directly. Both would be disastrous, both for the Ghosts and for Reorn himself.”
Caina nodded, stood up, and got to work.
###
The cabinets in the kitchen held dozens of pots and pans, stacked plates of pewter (for Reorn and his kin) and baked clay (for the servants), spices, salt, jars of dried vegetables, and absolutely no trace of any sorcerous artifacts.
Caina looked around the kitchen. Reorn’s hall was a huge, with hundreds of places to hide things. To judge from the size of the empty space below the bier of the Master of Dreams, the relic hadn’t been large. To make matters worse, Caina didn’t even know what the thing looked like.
But she had one advantage.
She could sense the presence of sorcery. And a relic capable of killing Tormalus and Maelana in such a gruesome fashion would positively vibrate with potent sorcery. Caina was certain that if she drew close enough to the object, she would sense its presence. She had been able to sense the echoes the relic had left in the crypts, its power as it slew Maelana.
Her ability to sense sorcery had come at a steep cost, but with luck, she could use it to keep anyone else from dying as Maelana had.
The day stretched on, and Caina searched in a systematic fashion through every room, every cellar, and every corridor. Reorn's hall was still and silent as a tomb. Caina wondered if the servants would return after she located the artifact, or if they would forever consider the hall accursed.
She crossed the hall itself, checking under every bench and table. She found nothing but dust, and felt no hint of sorcery.
"Damn," muttered Caina.
She crossed to the servants' quarters. It seemed more likely that someone had stolen the relic and taken it to Riata. That made things more difficult, but it was hardly insurmountable. Reorn could have his militia seal off the town, and Caina would walk the streets until she sensed the artifact. Though if the artifact had been taken to Riata, Caina wondered why it had killed someone in the hall, not in the town...
A sudden, faint prickle went over her skin, as if she had been touched by a brush of needles.
Sorcery.
Maybe the relic hadn't been taken to the town after all.
She hurried down the corridor, opening door after door as the prickling grew stronger. Finally she came to the last door and pulled it open. Beyond she saw a small storeroom, its shelves lined with jars and boxes. A coating of dust covered everything. Apparently the storeroom didn't see much use.
But the dust had been disturbed, and Caina saw footprints leading to a wooden chest in the corner.
The tingling was stronger, almost as strong as when she had touched Maelana, and Caina's stomach clenched in nausea. She shuddered, gritted her teeth against the pain, and reached for the chest...
"You thieving peasant!"
Caina whirled, her heart in her throat.
Helena stood in the corridor, hands on her hips.
"What are you doing here?" said Caina.
"I could ask the same of you," said Helena. "This is my house. Since our craven servants have fled, and my husband cannot bestir himself from his grief over that whore, I shall have to make sure thieves do not make off with the silver." She glared at Caina. "Which you seem to be in the process of doing."
"I most certainly am not," said Caina.
"Then what are you doing?" said Helena.
"That's none of your concern," said Caina, cursing herself. If she had been paying attention, Helena would not have caught her off guard.
"If you think to steal something," said Helena, "I will stop you."
"I doubt that," said Caina. She had practiced unarmed combat every day since she was eleven, and Helena was a noblewoman who had never done a day of work in her life. "Besides, you'll be too busy dancing over Maelana's corpse to stop me."
Helena drew herself up. "Do you think me some sort of bloodthirsty ghoul?"
"You hardly seemed fond of her," said Caina. "And you were positively gloating when you heard Reorn weeping."
Helena sighed, and for a moment her haughty mask cracked.
"You are correct," said Helena. "It speaks ill of me, I know, but my lumbering boor of a husband has caused me no end of pain. Yes, I laughed at his grief. And, yes, I hate...I hated Maelana. But, gods of the Empire, to die like that...no, I would not wish that on her. I would not wish such a death on anyone."
"Nor would I," said Caina, voice quiet.
Helena recovered her poise. "But that doesn't answer the question. Why are you prowling around here? Wait, I can guess. Your father has visited my husband a dozen times in the last few years. He's probably one of the Emperor's spies. Which I suppose means you're one of the Emperor's spies."
"There are
no Ghosts," said Caina, "only rumors and tales."
"So," said Helena, "what is a rumor and a tale doing in my storeroom?"
Caina decided to take a chance. "Do you want anyone else to die like Maelana did? Like Tormalus did?"
"Of course not," said Helena.
"Then help me," said Caina. "Help me keep it from happening again."
Helena leaned forward. "Then...you know how they died?"
"I suspect so. You invited Tormalus here?" said Caina.
"Of course," said Helena. "When the workmen broke into those tombs, I knew they were sorcerous. I had to call the magi. The Magisterium governs the practice of sorcery in the Empire. They would destroy anything dangerous in the crypts, anything fashioned of forbidden sorcery."
"Tormalus didn't," said Caina. "He found something in the crypts, some weapon of old Ashbringer sorcery. He tried to use it, and it killed him. But the weapon stayed active, and it killed Maelana. And unless I can find destroy it, it's going to keep killing people."
"And you think it's here," said Helena.
"I know it's here," said Caina.
She crossed the room and opened the chest. Inside she saw stacks of folded linens and old cloaks.
And on top of the cloaks rested a dagger unlike anything she had ever seen.
The curved blade was a foot long, carved with deep-cut runes, and fashioned of the same strange silvery metal as the door from her dreams. A fiery orange light shone in the depths of the runes.
And Caina felt waves of sorcerous power rolling off the thing, like the heat radiating from an inferno.
"There," she said. "That's it. That..."
Something cold and wet slapped over her nose.
Caina fell to her knees, the room spinning around her. She looked up and saw Helena holding a thick cloth pad.
Caina tried to stand, but Helena moved too fast. She shoved the pad against Caina's nose. White light flashed through Caina's vision, and then everything went dark.
Chapter 7 - Disposal
Caina awoke with a splitting headache.
She was lying on her side, her hands behind her back, ankles pressed together. She turned her head, the cold stone of the floor scraping against her cheek, and saw shelves of dusty jars and boxes.
Ghost Dagger Page 4
