Child of the Ghosts

by Jonathan Moeller

"Alastair Corus is dead."

  She remembered the final expression on Alastair's face, the twisting grief and pain as he cut down Nerina's corpse. She remembered him laughing, remembered him taking her in his arms...

  "He's dead?" whispered Caina.

  Halfdan nodded.

  "How?" she said at last. "He...didn't kill himself, did he? He couldn't have. He wouldn't have."

  "I don't believe so," said Halfdan. "I think he was poisoned."

  "Poisoned? Who did this?" said Caina.

  "Tomard sent the report," said Halfdan. "One of the Civic Militiamen found Alastair's body in the street. Tomard thinks Alastair was poisoned, but he's not sure. And Tomard was...disturbed enough that he wants one of us to come look at the body as soon as possible."

  Caina frowned. A man could not rise to a centurion's rank in the Civic Militia without a level head, and Tomard was one of the steadiest men she had ever met.

  "Wait," she said, her mind working through the shock. "Tomard thinks Alastair was poisoned? Surely he's seen men killed by poison before. Which means...which means he's not sure how Alastair was killed, and if it was enough to disturb him..."

  "You want to come?" said Halfdan.

  "Yes," said Caina.

  They disguised themselves as mercenaries and left the Grand Imperial Opera.

  ***

  Chapter 28 - Black Sorcery

  Night had fallen by the time they reached the Civic Militia's fortified watchtower.

  It was the same watchtower where Caina and Riogan had taken the slaves after freeing them from Lord Macrinius's cellar. Nor was it far from Haeron Icaraeus's mansion. In fact, she could see the massive shape of the Icaraeus mansion, its proud tower soaring into the night.

  Her hand curled into a fist. If Haeron had killed Alastair, he was going to pay for it. And if Maglarion had killed him...it was one more death to lay at his feet.

  Halfdan pounded on the door until a grim-faced militiaman opened it.

  "Aye?" he said in Caerish. "We're not hiring recruits. Be off with you."

  "We don't wish to join," said Halfdan. "Your centurion is Tomard, aye?"

  "What of it?"

  "We've a message for him," said Halfdan. "Tell him the shadows are waiting."

  The militiaman scowled, but a silver coin from Halfdan improved his disposition, and he vanished into the tower. A short time later Tomard appeared, a suspicious look on his face. He seemed steady ever, but...

  Caina realized he was afraid.

  "Aye?" Tomard said.

  "Let the tyrants beware," said Halfdan in High Nighmarian, "let them fear the shadows..."

  Tomard grunted. "For in the shadows wait the Ghosts." He switched back to Caerish. "Mother sent you?"

  "She did," said Halfdan.

  "Follow me, then," said Tomard, leading them into the watchtower. They walked through the central room, past militiamen eating and drinking at trestle tables. Tomard unlocked an iron-banded door, revealing the stairs to the tower's cellar. "You two eaten yet?"

  "We're not hungry," said Halfdan.

  "That wasn't an offer," said Tomard, picking up a lantern. "It's a warning. Once you see what...happened to Lord Alastair, you'll have a hard time keeping your dinner down."

  Caina shivered.

  Tomard led them down the curving stairs to the cellar, a massive vaulted room with barrels and crates stacked against one wall. A table rested in the center of the room, covered by a stained cloak.

  A misshapen form lay beneath the cloak.

  Caina blinked. She felt the faint tingle of sorcery, and the cold, queasy feeling she had come to associate with necromancy. It was coming from the thing lying beneath the cloak.

  "That's him?" said Halfdan.

  "Aye," said Tomard, setting the lantern on the floor. "Brace yourselves. This...isn't pretty."

  He pulled the cloak away.

  And it took every ounce of self-control Caina had not to scream.

  Alastair Corus, or what was left of him, lay on the table. Caina recognized him, but only just. A huge black cyst covered the left side of his face, so large that it had burst his eye from the socket and distorted his mouth, the mouth that had kissed her, into a distorted grin. More of the huge cysts covered his arms, his legs, and his torso, and a few of them had burst open, yellowish-black slime leaking to stain the wood of the table.

  "You idiot!" said Halfdan. "This isn't poison! He died of some pestilence. What were you thinking, bringing him here? You should have burned the corpse at once! As it is, you've probably infected half..."

  "It's not a pestilence," said Tomard.

  "He's right," said Caina.

  Halfdan fell silent and looked her.

  "Those cysts," said Caina. "What kind of pestilence could do that? And he was lying in the street. Anyone who passed by would have caught the plague. Every militiaman in this tower would have caught it."

  "Then if it's not a plague," said Halfdan, "it must be some kind of poison."

  He didn't know, Caina realized. For the first time in the seven years, she had seen Halfdan taken aback.

  "Look at those cysts," she said, stepping closer to Alastair's body. The queasy tingling against her skin grew stronger, sharper. "I don't think a natural poison or disease could have done this."

  "Sorcery, then?" said Halfdan.

  Caina lifted a hand, held it a few inches from Alastair's face. It felt like tiny needles pierced her skin.

  "Necromancy," she said

  Tomard muttered an oath and raked a hand through his hair.

  "You're sure?" said Halfdan.

  "I can feel it," said Caina. "Maglarion did this, I'm certain."

  But why? If Maglarion had wanted Alastair dead, surely there were simpler ways to do it. One of Haeron's Kindred assassins, or some poison in a glass of wine. Why this hideous death?

  Perhaps it was for some necromantic purpose.

  She remembered the day Maglarion killed her father. It felt like it had happened hours ago, not years, as she looked at Alastair's corpse. Maglarion said that death released necromantic power, power that could be trapped in a bloodcrystal and used by a skilled practitioner of the necromantic sciences...

  Was that why he had killed Alastair in such a hideous fashion? To harvest his death for power?

  The storm. Why did Maglarion want the magi to conjure a storm over Malarae?

  The answer seemed just out of reach.

  "He's planning something," whispered Caina.

  "Planning what?" said Halfdan.

  "I don't know," said Caina. "But this...I think this is just the beginning. He's been working to something, for all these years. The Maatish scroll. All those slaves. The bloodcrystals. And now poor Alastair, and that storm...he's going to do something even worse than this." She looked at Halfdan. "We've got to stop him."

  "We shall," said Halfdan, looking at Tomard. "We've seen enough. Burn this, and quickly. Whatever killed Lord Alastair might not be catching, but best not to take any chances."

  They turned to go. Caina hesitated over the body, and reached for an intact patch of skin on Alastair's left hand.

  "Oh, Alastair," she whispered. Something inside her seemed to break, and she felt tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

  And as she touched his hand, a blast of icy power erupted from him and surged up her arm.

  Caina stumbled with a startled gasp. Ghostly green flames crackled up and down Alastair's twisted limbs. Brighter flames shone in his eyes, and the crawling tingle of necromantic sorcery grew stronger, sharper.

  And Alastair's corpse started to move.

  Caina jumped back in alarm as Halfdan and Tomard shouted. The corpse sat up, jerkily, like a puppet controlled by an unsteady hand. Its head twisted back and forth, and Caina heard bones grinding in its neck.

  And then the corpse lunged for her, fingers hooked into claws.

  Caina sidestepped, yanked the dagger from her belt, and slashed. But she realized the futility of it even as her d
agger ripped across Alastair's arm. He was already dead. How could she use a dagger to kill a man already dead? The blow staggered the corpse, but it soon recovered its balance and turned to face her.

  Tomard bulled past her, shield on his arm, broadsword ready. He smashed the corpse in the face with the heavy shield, and lashed out with the broadsword, severing Alastair's right arm at the elbow. The corpse staggered, but punched at Tomard with its remaining arm. Tomard managed to get his shield up, but the force of the blow shattered the thick wood, knocking him back.

  The severed arm began crawling of its own accord towards Tomard, pulling itself along by its fingers.

  Caina looked around, mind racing. Their weapons were useless. She needed something else, she needed...

  One of the barrels along the wall caught her eye.

  Lamp oil.

  She dashed forward, plunged her dagger into the corpse's back. The thing stiffened as she ripped the blade free, and it came after her in a shuffling run. Caina leapt up and smashed the dagger's handle into the barrel's spigot. Lamp oil gushed free, spraying the corpse.

  She dashed past the table, seized the lantern, and flung it at Alastair's body with all her strength.

  Harsh light filled the cellar as the corpse erupted in raging yellow flames. The puddle of lamp oil went up around the corpse as well, the fire spreading across the barrels and boxes stacked against the wall.

  And the other barrels of oil.

  "We should probably run!" said Caina, hurrying towards Halfdan.

  Alastair's corpse thrashed once more and collapsed motionless into the spreading flames. The fire seemed to cancel whatever necromantic spell had violated his body.

  Caina raced up the stairs after Halfdan and Tomard.

  ###

  A short time later they stood outside and watched the tower burn. The walls were stone, but the floors and stairs were wood, and the flames devoured them in short order. Tomard organized the militiamen into a bucket line, pulling water from the nearby Naerian Aqueduct.

  "I don't know how I'm going to explain this to the Lord Commander," said Tomard.

  "Tell him the truth," said Halfdan.

  Tomard snorted. "Oh, yes, that will certainly go over very well. 'Sorry, Lord Commander, but I had to burn down the tower to stop a devil-infested corpse.' Yes, he'll certainly believe that." He glanced at Caina. "Did you really have to burn down the tower?"

  Caina shrugged. "Would you rather be in there with the devil-infested corpse?"

  "Ah...no," said Tomard. "The two of you had better go. Else there will be awkward questions later."

  Halfdan nodded, and Caina followed him into the night.

  "What do you think?" said Caina.

  "First Alastair's townhouse, and now a watchtower. You have a remarkable knack for burning down buildings."

  Caina sighed.

  "It was probably a trap," said Halfdan, "set to go off in case a magus or someone with sorcerous ability touched at the corpse."

  "I don't have sorcerous ability," said Caina.

  "But you can sense the presence of sorcery," said Halfdan. "That might have been enough to trigger the trap."

  "But why would Maglarion go to the trouble?" said Caina.

  The slaves. The bloodcrystals. The storm. And now this.

  What did he want?

  "I don't know," said Halfdan. "Perhaps we can kill him before he reaches his goal, whatever it is."

  They returned to the Grand Imperial Opera in silence.

  ***

  Chapter 29 - The Pact of the Magi

  Caina dressed for Lord Haeron's ball in grim silence.

  She chose a blue gown with black scrollwork on the sleeves. The bodice was uncomfortably tight, but the hanging sleeves left plenty of room to conceal throwing knives. She piled her hair in an elaborate crown, donning a silver choker chain with a thumb-sized sapphire in the center. Her father's signet ring she hid on a cord around her left wrist.

  If she had to confront Maglarion, she wanted that ring with her.

  At last she took a deep breath and examined herself in the mirror. She looked like a pretty young noblewoman without a thought in her head. Her mother must have looked like this, twenty years ago.

  She did not look like a woman planning to kill a centuries-old necromancer.

  That was the point.

  She went to join the others.

  ###

  A short time later the coach stopped before the ostentatious marble pile and massive tower of Lord Haeron's mansion. Riogan and Halfdan opened the coach's door, and Caina and Julia descended. Dozens of coaches waited around the mansion, and Caina saw hundreds of nobles wandering through the gardens.

  "How are you going to sneak the spear into there?" said Caina. Already she saw the Kindred assassins prowling among the guests, silent in their dark livery.

  Riogan smirked and touched his belt. A broad-bladed short sword hung there, and Caina realized that it was the spear. Or, at least, its blade, attached to a sword hilt.

  "I prefer the spear," said Riogan, "but it's tricky to sneak into a party. Even for me."

  He wore leather and chain mail, and addition to the spear blade, carried a pair of daggers and a sword strapped to his back. Halfdan wore a seneschal's robes, but he, too, carried a dagger and a sword at his belt. Julia had chosen a sleek green gown, jewels glittering at her throat and fingers, but Caina was sure she had a dagger hidden someplace.

  "Let's go," murmured Halfdan. "Stay cautious."

  He led them though the crowds of chattering nobles. Caina caught snatches of conversation as she passed. Most of the nobles discussed the upcoming Grand Kyracian Games. More than a few nobles praised Haeron's seeming youth and vigor, and speculated on what he would do as Emperor.

  Caina did her very best not to grind her teeth, to keep her expression cool.

  The scaffolding covering the half-rebuilt ballroom improved her mood somewhat. Instead of the damaged ballroom, Halfdan led them to the Grand Hall instead, only a little smaller than the ballroom, a huge chamber lined with granite pillars, the vaulted ceiling carved with reliefs celebrating House Icaraeus's long history.

  Haeron Icaraeus waited by the tall double doors to greet his guests.

  "Julia, my dear," he rumbled, catching Julia's hand and kissing it. He looked even younger than Caina remembered, stronger and healthier. The life force of more murdered slaves, no doubt. "So good of you to come. Especially after the...unpleasantness at my previous ball."

  "I would not miss it, my lord Haeron," said Julia, her voice smooth as glass. "It is the duty of all loyal daughters of the Empire to celebrate our triumph over Kyrace."

  "Indeed," said Haeron. "And I see you have brought a guest?"

  His dark eyes turned towards Caina. The last time, he had barely noticed her. This time, she had his full attention.

  She made herself look nervous and did a curtsy. "My lord Haeron. An honor."

  "A pleasure," he said, taking Caina's hand and kissing it. "I've heard quite a bit about you, my dear."

  "Have you, my lord?" said Caina. "All lies and calumnies, I am sure."

  "It was a tragedy, about Lord Alastair Corus, was it not?" said Haeron. "Such a dreadful pestilence."

  "Yes," said Caina, keeping her voice smooth. Anger curled inside her. Alastair had been a fool, but he did not deserve to have a monster like Haeron Icaraeus gloating over his grave. "It was most tragic."

  "You were very close to him, were you not?" said Haeron.

  "He enjoyed the honor of my company," said Caina.

  "Oh, he did, he did," said Haeron. "Did you know he came to me before he died? He wanted counsel. You had ruined his life, after all, and he didn't know what to do. Was he the first man you ever took into your bed?"

  "That," said Caina, "is hardly an appropriate question."

  Haeron smirked. "I was merely curious. Usually, a young woman falls for the first man she takes into her bed, but you were only the latest of Alastair's mistresses. Yet
his wife killed herself over you, and Alastair was so heartbroken that he died of a plague." He laughed. "And here you are, utterly untroubled. You bear close watching, Countess. A woman as cold-hearted as you would make a potent ally or a dangerous enemy."

  "Lord Haeron," said Julia, her voice frosty, "it is hardly dignified to discuss such matters in public, is it? Certainly it is beneath the dignity of a man who might be the next Emperor of Nighmar."

  Haeron's eyes narrowed. "As you say, my lady. A pleasure speaking with you both."

  He turned his attention to the next group of nobles, and Caina and the others walked into the Great Hall.

  "He suspects something," murmured Caina.

  "Of course he does," said Halfdan. "He knows that someone arrived to save Julia from Maglarion. And he knows that you were involved with Lord Alastair. Seeing you with Julia made him suspicious. And with any luck, it will make Maglarion suspicious, and he will show himself."

  "Fat bastard," muttered Riogan, glancing back at Haeron, who was hardly fat any longer. "I should have cut his throat then and there."

  "Yes, that would be subtlety, indeed," said Halfdan. "Keep watch."

  Caina nodded. If Lord Haeron decided that she and Julia were a threat, if he decided to have them killed...he could do it easily. Caina saw a dozen Kindred assassins prowling throughout the hall, ignored by the noble lords and ladies. It wouldn't even take a blade or a crossbow quarrel. An "accidental" fall from a balcony, a drop of poison in the wine...

  "Are you well?" said Julia. "You look...ill."

  "I'm fine," said Caina. "I..."

  She frowned.

  She did feel ill.

  And as she concentrated, she felt the presence of necromancy all around her. Faint, tenuous, like smoke rising from a distant fire, or the smell from a half-buried corpse.

  But it was there nonetheless.

  "Sorcery," said Caina, frowning. "There's...a great deal of necromantic power here, I think." If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel it beating upon her face like the sun. "Whatever Maglarion's doing...it's here. In this mansion."

  "Do you think Maglarion would be bold enough to show himself openly?" murmured Julia. "Half the guests at Haeron's birthday saw his face. And the Magisterium still has that 'bounty' on his head."

  "I don't know," said Halfdan. "Let see if we can draw him out, shall we?"

  Caina and Julia moved from group to group of nobles, Halfdan and Riogan trailing after. They accepted glasses of wine from servants, and made polite small talk with the nobles. Caina pretended to listen to their talk of balls and weather and Imperial politics, but her eyes scanned the room whenever she had a chance. Maglarion was here, she was sure of it.