They weren't spinning around the tower, he realized.
They were spinning around him.
The shades of all those he had killed, all those he had fed to the bloodcrystal. Sebastian Amalas and his servants. The slaves he tortured to death in the cellar of the Grey Fish Inn, the slaves he slew to give Haeron and his followers renewed youth. Rekan and Ikhana and Haeron Icaraeus and countless others.
All of them.
Staring at him.
For the first time in centuries, Maglarion felt a frisson of fear.
No. No. It wasn't possible. It was not possible!
Fear became terror.
The shades came at him in a rush. He raised his hands to ward them off and lost his balance, tumbling over the tower's side.
He fell, screaming.
And when he met the ground there was no bloodcrystal to heal him.
***
Chapter 34 - A Child Of The Ghosts
The pillar of green flame vanished. The lightning lost its greenish tinge as the storm abated, the rain slackening.
After a long moment, Caina staggered back to her feet.
The great bloodcrystal lay in shattered chunks across the floor, surrounded by pools of plagueblood. Even as Caina watched, the crystal shards crumbled into black ash, the plagueblood drying into dust. Caina ran her fingers through the dust, and felt no trace of power from it, not the slightest hint of sorcery.
The bloodcrystal's power had been broken.
She picked up the ghostsilver spear, its blade charred, and took a deep breath. She had seen Maglarion fall, carried by the shades of his victims. Had the dead truly taken their vengeance on Maglarion? Or had the stolen life energy, released from the bloodcrystal, overwhelmed Maglarion?
Caina didn't know.
But she would not believe Maglarion was dead until she saw the body.
To her surprise, the Maatish scroll still rested upon the podium. It had survived the rain and the bloodcrystal's destruction. No doubt the Maglarion had laid protective spells upon the scroll. The scroll that he had killed her father to claim. The scroll that held the secrets of making bloodcrystals and plagueblood.
Caina pierced the scroll with the spear's blade. The protective spell crackled and faded in a flash of blue light, and the scroll crumbled to dust.
After that, she closed Riogan's eyes, and then descended the tower, spear in hand.
She found Maglarion's body sprawled across the grounds.
He had claimed to be four hundred years old, and now his corpse truly looked the part. Little more than a skeleton draped in withered skin remained, a few wisps of pale hair encircling a liver-spotted skull. His right eye stared at the sky, frozen in terror, while the green bloodcrystal flickered in his left socket.
To judge from his expression, whatever he had seen in the final instants of his life had not been pleasant.
It was over.
Maglarion was dead.
Caina lifted her father's ring and kissed it. Then she jabbed the ghostsilver spear into the green bloodcrystal, watched it crumble into ash. For so long, she had hated Maglarion. For seven years he had filled her nightmares. She dreamed about killing him again and again. To keep him from hurting others, of course, but also to repay her father's death.
And now it was over.
The sound of boots caught her attention. Tomard's militiamen swarmed through the gates, swords and shields at the ready, looking up at the broken tower. Caina supposed that the explosion must have been visible throughout the city.
Halfdan approached, looking at Maglarion's corpse with amazement.
"You killed him?" said Halfdan.
"Riogan's dead," said Caina, voice quiet. "He stabbed Maglarion with the spear, but it didn't work, and Maglarion hit him with plagueblood. Riogan...didn't die well."
Halfdan blinked. "How are you still alive?"
"Maglarion did the same to me," said Caina. "But...it was my bloodcrystal, the one he had made from my blood. The same one, after all these years. I think it made me immune to the plagueblood." She shrugged. "So I took the spear and stabbed the bloodcrystal. That seemed to work."
Halfdan shook his head. "Amazing. I...never considered that. I knew he must have been using a bloodcrystal to store all those stolen lives, but...the same one?" He gave a quiet, tired laugh. "The fool doomed himself."
"I think those stolen lives destroyed him," said Caina. "It was like the shades of the dead came out of the bloodcrystal and threw him from the tower."
"Perhaps they did," said Halfdan. "We should go. That explosion will draw every militiaman and magus in the city."
Caina nodded and followed Halfdan and Tomard out the gates. "What do you think people will say happened here?"
"Why, whatever I tell them to say," said Halfdan. "I plan to start a few rumors."
###
Lord Haeron's death and the fall of House Icaraeus shook the Empire.
Later Caina heard dozens of conflicting stories describing what had happened that night. Some claimed Haeron had been plotting with an army of renegade sorcerers to overthrow the Emperor. Others said that Haeron had been murdered by an outlaw magus. Still others swore that Haeron had planned to use the outlaw sorcerer to overthrow the Emperor, only to die when the sorcerer betrayed him.
That, Caina thought, was closer to the truth than most would ever know.
The Imperial Guard swarmed through Haeron's mansion, and discovered proof of his complicity in slave trading and necromancy. The Emperor stripped House Icaraeus of its titles and honors, and Haeron's surviving relatives fled the Empire.
The Restorationist nobles collapsed into chaos. Haeron had been the foremost of their number, and the exposure of his crimes discredited the Restorationist cause. Many lords switched their support to the Loyalists, distancing themselves from the Magisterium. Even those who fervently wished to restore slavery found it expedient to keep their views to themselves.
A few rumors, a very few rumors, claimed that the Ghosts, the Emperor's spies and assassins, had orchestrated Lord Haeron's downfall.
But no one took those rumors seriously. Every sensible man knew that the Ghosts did not exist.
###
A week later Caina said goodbye to Theodosia and Julia, and left with Halfdan, a half-dozen guards, and a train of pack mules. Halfdan disguised himself as Marcus Antali, merchant of middling prosperity, and Caina as his daughter.
"I want to take the ghostsilver spear back to the Vineyard," said Halfdan. "We may have need of it in the future, if we encounter another sorcerer of Maglarion's power."
Caina nodded.
Now she rode a mule as their pack train followed the winding Imperial Highway into the rocky Disali hills.
What would become of her now, she wondered? Half her life had been spent in training, preparing to become a Ghost nightfighter.
Preparing to face Maglarion, she realized.
But now he was dead, her father and the other victims avenged, and Malarae saved.
What would Caina do now?
###
A week later Caina stood on the Vineyard's highest terrace, working through her unarmed forms. She practiced the forms for two hours every day, and another two with throwing knives and daggers, and spent more time in the Vineyard's library, reading.
It distracted her.
Sometimes she thought about seducing one of the guards. Perhaps Theodosia had been right. Perhaps she could find comfort in a lover's arms.
But Caina could not have children, could never have a family, no matter how much she wanted one. Seducing a guard would be as hollow as what she had shared with Alastair.
###
Later she sat in Komnene's infirmary, drinking tea.
"You were right to warn me," said Caina.
"About what?" said Komnene. She looked older than Caina remembered, had taken to walking with a cane.
"About becoming a weapon," said Caina.
Komnene set down her tea and waited.
"And you did," said Komnene. "You and Riogan both, and Halfdan and the others. You stopped him from killing a million people in Malarae. And thousands more afterward. Millions, even, if that vile plague of Maglarion's spread. You and Riogan saved all those lives, Caina."
"I know. But in my heart," said Caina, "I did it for revenge." She closed a fist. "And now that is over. What...what shall I do now?"
Komnene gave a gentle smile. "You will know."
Caina laughed. "Perhaps you were right, and I should have been a priestess of Minaerys."
"No," said Komnene. "For if you had listened to me, no one would have stopped Maglarion, and millions would have died. I think joining the Temple would be a poor fit for you. When you are confronted with evil, you do not contemplate, or pray - you take action." She smiled. "My dear child. You've grown strong, and your pain has made you wise. You will know what to do."
Caina hoped she was right.
###
That night Caina had another nightmare.
A different one, though. This time she watched Maglarion finish his great spell, plagueblood exploding into the sky. And poisoned rain fell from the clouds, and Malarae died around her.
All because she had failed to stop him.
###
Caina awoke, certainty filling her like iron.
She was Caina Amalas. Sebastian's daughter. Maglarion's victim. Halfdan's student.
But she was also a Ghost nightfighter. And there were other men and women like Haeron Icaraeus in the Empire, lords who would restore slavery, who would terrorize the defenseless and the poor. There were corrupt magi like Rekan, dabbling in necromancy and blood sorcery. And maybe there were even sorcerers who shared Maglarion's power and the depth of his evil.
Who would stop them?
She would stop them.
Caina rose, went to seek out Halfdan.
It was past time that she got back to work.
THE END
Thank you for reading CHILD OF THE GHOSTS. If you liked the story, please consider leaving a review at your ebook site of choice. To receive immediate notification of new releases, sign up for my newsletter (https://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=1854), or watch for news on my Facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/pages/Jonathan-Moeller/328773987230189).
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***
Ghost in the Flames - A Bonus Chapter
Caina thought she might have to do some killing, so she dressed for business.
In many tales, the Emperor’s Ghosts were always women of perilous beauty, clad in skin-tight black leather. Caina thought that ridiculous. Black leather made too much noise, and reflected too much light. Instead she wore loose black clothes, black gloves, and a black mask that concealed her face. Around her waist went a leather belt of throwing knives and other useful tools, and she secured a heavy dagger in each of her boots.
Next came the cloak.
Light as air and blacker than night, it was a wondrous thing. Halfdan had told her that only the Ghosts knew the making of these cloaks, fused together of spider silk and captured shadows. It mingled and blurred with the shadows around her, and when she pulled up the cowl, it made her face all but invisible.
Last, the ring.
It was a man’s signet ring, heavy and thick; she wore it on the first finger of her left hand, beneath the glove. It was old and nicked, the sigil worn smooth with use. Unlike everything else Caina carried, it could not be used as a weapon, nor did it have a practical use.
But she wore it anyway.
###
Night lay over the city of Mors Crisius, and Caina glided from shadow to shadow.
Long ago, she had been told, the city had been prosperous, built around the tomb and mortuary cult of some long-dead Emperor. But the city's harbor had worn away, bit by bit, and the merchant ships went instead to Rasadda. Mors Crisius had become a sleepy town of fishermen, farmers, and mortuary priests, and now only pirates and smugglers made use of its decaying harbor.
Along with worse people.
Caina stopped and stared at Vanio’s townhouse.
It looked like the townhouse of a thousand other prosperous merchants. White walls, a roof of fired red tiles, a paved courtyard ringed within a low wall. It did not look at all like a home of a man who would kidnap fellow Imperial citizens and sell them as slaves.
But, then, appearances lied. Caina knew that well. She took a deep breath and went to it.
She sprang up, caught one of the ornamental metal spikes crowning the wall, pulled herself up, and waited. The courtyard lay quiet, its flagstones worn and smooth, a fountain bubbling by the gate. One of Vanio’s watchmen strolled towards the house. He wore a studded leather jerkin, his belt heavy with sword and dagger. The watchman opened the main door and vanished into the house. No other guards emerged.
Beneath the cowl and the mask, Caina’s lip curled. Vanio’s security was barely adequate to keep out common thieves, let alone one of the Emperor’s Ghosts. No doubt Vanio thought himself safe from the retribution his crimes had earned.
Well, that might change, tonight.
She counted to three hundred, but no other watchmen appeared, and she saw no signs of life from the house. Caina dropped into the courtyard, the black cloak pooling around her. A single light gleamed in one of the windows, no doubt where Vanio’s guards sat earning their keep. She crossed the courtyard and tried the front door. It was locked, of course, and the lock was a fine one, but Caina had seen worse. She knelt, pulled some tools from her belt, and set to work.
Her skill made short work of the lock. Caina pushed the door open as slowly as she could. Within she saw a darkened atrium, the floor covered in an expensive mosaic, but heard nothing.
The smell hit her at once.
Caina slipped into the atrium, pulling the door closed behind her. The smell was stronger in here, thicker and heavier. For a moment Caina thought that the house had caught fire, but she saw no smoke, no signs of panic. She had never smelled anything quite like it. It was a burnt, greasy odor, almost like fat dripping upon a fire. Or like burnt pork.
Burnt pork? Were the watchmen trying to cook something?
Caina shook her head and crept into the townhouse, her boots making no sound against the floor. She glanced around, and noted that Vanio had done quite well for himself. Like so many of these provincial merchants, he had done his utmost to copy the High Nighmarian style. The mosaic beneath her feet showed the Emperor Crisius triumphing over Corazain the Ashbringer. Freestanding marble statues littered the halls, along with busts resting in niches, all copies of famous artworks in the capital. The statuary alone must cost twice what every fisherman in Mors Crisius earned in a year, and the rare woods in the doors had come from the forests of Varia Province on the other side of the Empire of Nighmar.
Someone like Vanio could not make that kind of money doing something honest.
Caina crept through a dining room, the gleaming table set with polished silver, and found the stairs. She had reached the landing when she heard the voices, saw the gleam of light. Caina sank into a corner, her cloak blending with the shadows, and waited. The voices came louder, and Caina realized that two men stood at the top of the stairs, one of them holding a lantern. The watchmen, most likely.
They were speaking in Saddaic. Fortunately, she knew the tongue.
“What in hell’s name is that stink?”
“Damned if I know,” said a second man. “You did the last walk. Are they cooking anything?”
> “It’s past midnight! All of Vanio’s servants are lazy dogs. You’ll not see any of them out of bed before dawn.”
“Something must be burning.”
“I told you,” said the first man, irritated, “I already walked around the house. I didn’t see any smoke. The house is not on fire.”
“Then why is the smell getting worse?”
The first man spat. “Must be coming from one of the inns. Cooking a pig for tomorrow’s stew or something. What of it? It’s no concern of ours.”
“The nearest inn’s a half-mile away! Something’s burning, I tell you. Maybe we should wake old Vanio.”
“Are you mad? You know how that greedy bastard loves his sleep. Wake him now and we’ll be out of work before dawn. Do you want to go back to work on a fishing boat? Or into the Legions? No, we’ll do nothing, and that’s that.”
“I still think something’s burning,” said the second man. “What if something is on fire? Do you think Vanio’ll keep us on if we let his house burn down?”
“Damn you, nothing’s on fire,” said the first man. “You worry worse than an old woman. But if it’ll shut you up, we’ll go look.” Boots clicked against the stairs.
Caina flung herself backwards, rolled over the landing’s railing, and ducked under the massive table. She slipped a throwing knife from her belt, the blade tucked against her gloved hand to hide its gleam. Two of them. Not good. She adjusted her grip on the blade and braced herself.
The watchmen came down the stairs, and Caina saw that there were in fact three of them. The third man, older than the other two, hadn’t opened his mouth. The first watchman carried a lantern, and all three wore studded leather jerkins and carried swords and daggers on their belts.
For a moment Caina thought they would see her. The watchman lifted his lantern, throwing shadows across the dining hall, and Caina remained motionless. They walked past her, and their eyes glanced over the table without alarm. Caina blinked in surprised relief. She heard them open the front door and walk into the courtyard. Apparently they hadn’t noticed the opened lock.
Child of the Ghosts Page 33
