Ghost Thorns

by Jonathan Moeller

  The assassin toppled forward, bounced off the stairs, and went still, his blood pooling around him.

  Caina let out a long breath, trying to ignore the flicker of guilt. She had been a Ghost nightfighter for over four years now, and the killing had gotten easier. Much easier. That troubled her. It shouldn’t be easy.

  On the other hand, the assassin would have killed her without hesitation, and he had undoubtedly killed innocents. The world was better off without him.

  Yet Corvalis had once been an assassin of the Kindred…

  Caina pushed aside the thought.

  Corvalis descended the stairs, sword and dagger in hand, and Halaam followed.

  “By the Living Flame,” the apothecary moaned, “there is a corpse in my shop…”

  “Would you rather that the corpse was yours?” said Caina. “Go fetch me a vial of the lionroot extract.”

  “What?” said Halaam. “Now?”

  “Yes, now,” said Caina, pointing at him with a bloody dagger.

  Halaam swallowed and vanished into the main room of his shop. Caina wrenched her dagger free from the assassin’s back, cleaned it, and slid the weapons into their sheaths in her boots. Halaam returned with a small vial filled with a yellowish fluid.

  “Here,” he said.

  Caina took it, pulled the stopper free, and took a sniff.

  It smelled exactly the same as the damp earth around the roots of Morius Orian’s carrion flower.

  And all at once, she knew how Morius intended to kill Septimus Rhazion.

  “I suggest,” said Caina, pocketing the vial, “that you get out of Malarae at once. The Kindred aren’t likely to forgive another assassin dying in your shop.”

  “But I didn’t kill him,” said Halaam, his voice a whine.

  “No,” said Caina, “but who are they going to blame?”

  Halaam sighed, and started gathering his possessions.

  ###

  A few hours later, Caina let herself into Marcus Orian’s room at the Gilded Rose, wearing the disguise of a caravan guard come to enjoy the brothel’s amenities.

  Marcus, she noted, had not. He sat in a chair at the room’s small table, the bed unused, scribbling into a small, leather-bound book. A quick glance at the pages told her that he was attempting to turn his recent travails into epic verse.

  Caina wondered if the poem would skip over his time at the Gilded Rose.

  “Who are you?” Marcus demanded, surging to his feet. He didn’t recognize her through the disguise – that was good. “Why are you in my room?”

  “A messenger from Sonya Tornesti,” said Caina, masking her voice.

  “Oh,” said Marcus, clutching his book to his chest. “What…what does she want?”

  “Be certain to attend your father’s dinner tomorrow night,” said Caina. “Master Anton and Mistress Sonya will be there, and they shall need your help.”

  Marcus blinked. “For what?”

  “To stop your father,” said Caina, “from murdering all his guests.”

  ###

  The next night, the coach of Anton Kularus stopped in front of the mansion of Morius Orian, and Caina stepped down.

  She had abandoned both the garb of a nightfighter and her caravan guard’s disguise for a black-trimmed blue gown that was too tight and too low across the bodice. It was exactly the sort of thing Sonya Tornesti would wear. Fortunately, the loose skirt allowed her to conceal weapons, and if she kicked off her high-heeled sandals, she could run without trouble.

  Caina suspected she might have to do some running before the night was out.

  Corvalis stepped next to her, tall and dark in his black coat.

  “Well,” said Corvalis, offering her his arm. “Shall we go cause trouble?”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” said Caina. “Did you bring it?”

  He grinned. “Halaam didn’t bother to take it with him when he fled. It was still there, in his shop.” He handed her a small glass vial filled with a blue-colored fluid. “You’re sure this will work?”

  “Yes,” said Caina. “Mostly.”

  A pair of footmen stood at the gates and bowed as they passed. Marcus Orian waited just inside the garden, shifting from foot to foot with nervousness, sweat glittering upon his brow.

  “Master Anton, Mistress Sonya,” he said with relief. “You came.”

  “We did, my lord,” said Caina, slipping back into her Szaldic accent. “Our instructions, did you receive them?”

  “I did,” said Marcus. “Though I confess I do not understand them at all.”

  “That is of no concern,” said Corvalis. “I understand the Elders of the Kindred are fond of saying that understanding is not required for obedience.”

  “I hope you are right,” said Marcus.

  They strolled into the garden. Liveried servants stood here and there, offering trays of food and drink to the master magus’s guests. Caina saw several members of the Magisterium present, stark and forbidding in their ornamented black robes, and her hands wanted to move to her concealed weapons. She hated the magi, loathed wielders of sorcery, and would have killed them all, if given the chance.

  But these men and women had done nothing to warrant death, and she would not let Morius murder them in cold blood.

  And if Caina was right, Morius was going to kill a lot of people to become preceptor of Malarae’s chapter of the Magisterium.

  “Ah.” A stout, balding master magus strode toward them. Caina recognized Septimus Rhazion, the current preceptor of Malarae’s magi. “A pleasant evening to you, Master Anton. I would hope Morius serves some of your fine coffee, but then I fear I would be awake all night.”

  Corvalis grinned. “Perhaps, but do not magi stay up into the dark of the night anyway, studying forbidden tomes and conjuring demonic spirits?”

  Rhazion snorted. “Don’t be absurd. I fear most of my colleagues lack either the ambition or the energy to pursue such nefarious schemes.” He looked up at the mansion. “Though I hope this shall be less exciting than the last banquet we attended. No assassins, for one.”

  “One may always hope,” said Caina.

  Rhazion glanced at her, at Lord Marcus, and seemed to dismiss them. “Yes, of course.”

  They reached the doors to the mansion proper, and Morius Orian, master magus of the Magisterium, greeted them. He looked a great deal like Marcus, but older and even thinner. Yet there was iron in Morius’s eyes, while Marcus’s held only timidity. Morius had the same air of arrogance Caina had encountered in the other senior magi, a ruthless and iron-hard certainty in his own power.

  “Ah, preceptor,” said Morius with a polite little bow. His voice was cold and deep. “Thank you for coming to my little gathering.”

  “How could I pass?” said Rhazion. “Anshani carrion flowers are rare even in the Shahenshah’s domains. I understand the chance to see one bloom is indeed a unique opportunity.”

  “I trust it shall be a memorable experience,” said Morius, his eyes shifting to Corvalis.

  Corvalis executed a smooth bow. “Anton Kularus, master magus.”

  “Yes, the coffee merchant,” said Morius with a sniff. “I do not care for the drink myself, but you are welcome.” He smiled. “I want as many eyes as possible to see my little flower bloom.” His eyes turned to Marcus. “Such as my wayward son. Come home at last, my boy? Run out of money? Or did you run out of ideas for your execrable poetry?”

  Marcus swallowed, fresh sweat glittering on his brow. “I wished to see this for myself.”

  “Splendid,” said Morius. He turned away before Corvalis could introduce Caina, speaking to Rhazion in a low voice. A coffee merchant’s mistress was beneath his notice.

  Which was just as Caina preferred.

  “I don’t think he likes you very much,” said Corvalis.

  Marcus opened his mouth, closed it.

  “Let’s get moving,” said Caina. “Corvalis, give him one of the vials.”

  Corvalis produced another gl
ass vial of the blue liquid, and Marcus took it and gave it a dubious look.

  “What is this supposed to do?” said Marcus.

  “It’s a mild hallucinogen,” said Caina. “Made from a berry in the jungles beyond Anshan. Causes intense visions, but is otherwise harmless. Apparently the monkeys in the jungles regularly consume the berries.”

  “And for the gods’ sake,” said Corvalis, “don’t get any on your skin.”

  “Go,” said Caina.

  Marcus braced himself, took the vial, and walked into the gardens. Caina and Corvalis strode arm in arm through the gardens, weaving around the guests. Morius’s exotic animals wandered freely through the bushes, including his dozens of monkeys.

  Caina splashed a little of the blue drug upon their faces whenever she drew close enough, and Corvalis did the same. The monkeys blinked in surprise and reared back, and then withdrew into the bushes. Caina had managed to distribute the drug to a dozen monkeys when Morius’s voice rang out.

  “My honored guests!” he said, his voice amplified through sorcery. “Please, moonrise is almost upon us, and the carrion flower will open for the first time in decades. Let us gather around the flower, and witness a sight few have ever been privileged to see. I guarantee you will remember it for the rest for your lives.”

  It may have been Caina’s imagination, but she heard the malicious glee in his voice.

  “Here we go,” said Corvalis.

  The guests walked around the corner of the house and gathered around the carrion flower’s bed. The hulking plant looked even bigger than Caina remembered, its petals starting to bulge.

  As if something was trying to escape from within.

  Marcus joined them, rolling the empty vial between his fingers.

  “How many?” murmured Caina.

  “I don’t know,” said Marcus. “About fifteen, I think. They didn’t react.”

  “They won’t,” said Caina. “At least not for another few minutes.” She looked around. Nearly fifty men and women stood near the flower, fifty men and women who would die if her plan did not work. “Are you ready for what comes next?”

  Marcus took a deep breath. “I am. Gods be with me…”

  “My friends!” said Morius. He stood, Caina noted, close to the doors to the mansion’s dining room. As if he felt the need to retreat on short notice. “Be sure to gather close around the flower.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?” said one of the guests. “Will not the stench be quite powerful?”

  “Fear not,” said Morius. “My servants have refreshments waiting, and the doors to the dining room have been reinforced. The smell will not trouble us there.”

  A tremor went through the carrion flower.

  Caina looked around, her mind racing. If her plan didn’t work, she needed to find a way to alert the guests, to get them away from the flower.

  “It will be any minute!” said Morius, glancing at the moon overhead as he backed towards the mansion doors. “Watch closely, my friends, and see a sight that has not been seen…”

  A howling, gibbering scream cut him off, followed by another.

  “What the devil?” said Morius.

  A hooting monkey raced past the flower and began sprinting in circles, shrieking. Another tried to climb a tree, fell off a few inches off the ground, and tried again. A third toppled to the ground and began making sounds that sounded suspiciously like ecstasy.

  Rhazion laughed. “Morius, it seems there’s something wrong with your monkeys.”

  “They’re rabid!” bellowed Corvalis. “Gods, they’ve gone berserk!”

  He grinned and winked at Caina.

  “One of them bit me!” shrieked Caina in her loudest, shrillest voice. “Gods, one of them bit me! Get if off, get it off, get it off!”

  And just like that, the panic spread.

  The guests sprinted in a panicked mass for the mansion doors. Corvalis grabbed Caina’s hand and pulled her along, helping her to keep her balance in the high-heeled sandals. Marcus stumbled next to them, eyes wide. Morius bellowed in protest, but the guests pushed right past him and into the dining room. The tables had already been set with plates and silverware.

  “Close the doors, man!” shouted Corvalis to one of the servants, once the guests had rushed into the dining room. “Or else the damned monkeys will get inside!”

  “No!” said Morius. “Everyone outside, now! Or…”

  “Damn it, Morius, use your head!” shouted Rhazion. “Barricade the damn doors!”

  The servants obeyed the preceptor’s shout and slammed the doors shut. The doors had windows with a view of the gardens and the carrion flower. They also offered a view of the dozens of crazed monkeys running back and forth, hooting and gibbering.

  “No,” said Morius, “no, no, we’ll miss the flower…”

  “To hell with the flower!” said Rhazion, his thick face almost purple with fury. “What is the meaning of this? Did you plan to loose rabid monkeys upon us?”

  “They are not rabid!” said Morius. He looked at a loss. “I don’t know what’s gotten into them. I…”

  Caina looked at Marcus. “Now,” she whispered. “It has to be now, if you’re going to do this.”

  For a moment she thought the young lord would quail. But he took a deep breath, stepped forward, and began to shout.

  “Listen to me!” he yelled.

  For a moment, every eye turned in his direction. Morius’s lip curled with contempt.

  “Yes, Lord Marcus?” said Rhazion.

  “My father brought you here to kill you,” said Marcus.

  A stunned silence fell over the dining room.

  “Absurd!” said Morius. “I…”

  “The flower,” said Marcus, pointing. “He was going to kill you with the flower.”

  Morius laughed. “Is that…”

  “No, let him speak,” said Rhazion. He looked amused, but there was a hint of wariness in his face. One did not survive as a preceptor of the Magisterium by taking foolish risks. “This ought to be amusing.”

  “There is a drug called lionroot extract,” said Marcus.

  Morius glared at his son.

  “I’ve heard of it,” said Rhazion. “Something of an exotic poison. The ancient Anshani used it to poison mushrooms, letting it soak into…”

  He fell silent, frowning, and looked out the windows at the carrion flower.

  “Letting it soak into the mushrooms,” he said, his voice thoughtful, “turning them to poison.”

  “Ridiculous,” said Morius. “The flower is not a fungus. Even you, my imbecilic son, ought to be able to tell the difference.”

  “And why poison the flower?” said Rhazion. “It only opens every few decades. A cumbersome way to kill a man. If your father wanted me dead, there are easier ways to go about it.”

  Marcus swallowed, his face glittering with sweat. “Because he wanted to make it look like an accident. Because he was willing to kill all his guests, if he could kill you and become the new preceptor of Malarae.”

  “Slander!” said Morius. “I…”

  The carrion flower opened.

  It unfurled into a brilliant crimson and yellow bloom, and a murmur of stunned appreciation went through the guests. Caina had to admit that the flower did look lovely.

  A thick yellow smoke rolled out of the opened bloom, covered the ground in a writhing yellow carpet that licked against the glass panes of the windows.

  “You see?” said Marcus. “The flower’s scent is poison!”

  “Rubbish!” said Morius. “It is simply heavy with pollen.”

  Marcus opened his mouth, closed it again, at a loss.

  And Caina saw the opportunity.

  “Then,” said Caina, the guests looking at her, “let us go see it. Oh, but the flower is so pretty! Master Morius, will you open the door for us?”

  Morius hesitated a moment too long, and Rhazion stepped forward, a malicious gleam in his eye.

  “Yes, Morius,” said Rhazion.
“Go and open the door.”

  Morius blinked, licking his lips as he looked back and forth. “But…but the smell shall be quite overpowering…”

  Still the thick yellow smoke roiled against the window.

  “Oh, that is of no concern,” said Rhazion, stepping closer to Morius. “We all have strong stomachs here, don’t we? Go ahead, Morius, open the door.”

  “I insist that we wait, preceptor!” said Morius, and for the first time Caina saw a hint of Marcus’s nervousness in his face.

  Rhazion’s expression grew stern. “As preceptor of Malarae, in the name of the high magi and the First Magus I order you to open these doors!”

  Morius took a step back, his fear plain.

  “One of the monkeys is dead!” shouted a guest.

  Caina turned and saw that one of Morius’s monkeys had run into the yellow smoke. The poor animal lay motionless, foam at its mouth, its dead eyes gazing up at the night sky.

  “My lord preceptor, do you not see?” said Marcus. “The scent of the flower has been poisoned with lionroot extract. My father lured you here to kill you, and to cover his crime by murdering the other guests and making it look like an accident.”

  “Preposterous,” said Morius.

  But an angry rumble went through the guests.

  “I had heard, young Marcus,” said Rhazion, “that you tried to warn the other magi at the chapterhouse. It seems that I should have listened to you.” He turned to Morius. “And it seems I have more than enough cause to arrest you, Morius. I suggest you return with me and the other magi to the chapterhouse at once. We will question you further there.” He smiled. “And an examination of the soil around your carrion flower will suffice to see if you have been adding lionroot extract to it. Very clever, by the way. Smarter than I would have expected of you, but not quite smart…”

  “Enough!” shouted Morius. “Enough! By all the gods, I am sick to death of your lectures!”

  “You…” said Rhazion.

  Caina felt a crawling tingle against her skin, a faint wave of nausea going through her stomach. She was sensitive to the presence of sorcery, and she felt it now.

  Morius was casting a spell.