The Ghosts Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  Maltaer sighed. “I am sure, my dark lady, that you are very beautiful beneath that cowl and mask. But while Septimus and I have our differences, he is still a friend, and it is a grievous thing for one man to betray another.”

  “I mean Romarion no harm,” said Caina. “But I must speak with him. You can still feel the spell coming, can’t you? The mad sorcerer is doing something, and I need Romarion’s knowledge to stop it.”

  Maltaer thought it over. “While I am certain that your word is good, my dark lady, I require more. Will you swear to me on whatever you hold dear that you truly mean Romarion no harm?”

  Caina nodded. “I swear by the name of the Emperor I server that I have not come to do Romarion harm.”

  “Very well," said Maltaer. "If you betray your word, may swift ruin befall your Emperor." He beckoned. “This way.”

  Caina followed Maltaer, Ark trailing after them. The pirate captain led them up the stairs and down a hallway, stopping before a door. Maltaer pushed it open, and they entered a spacious bedroom. Septimus Romarion sat on the bed, head in his hands, his clothes scorched and rumpled.

  “Septimus,” said Maltaer.

  Romarion looked up, blinking. His eyes flicked over Ark and Caina, and grew wide with fright. “Maltaer, you bastard! You brought them here to kill me! No!” His face was almost deranged with terror, just as Ostros’s had been. “I won’t go without a fight.” He surged to his feet, drawing his rapier. “I won’t!”

  Romarion came at her with the blade, and Caina dodged. As he stepped back to recover his balance, Caina hit him across the jaw with her knife’s handle. Romarion stumbled back, spitting blood, and Caina reached inside his guard, seized his wrist, and twisted. The rapier fell from his stunned hand, and Caina turned, sweeping his legs out from under him. Romarion fell with a heavy thump. Caina snatched up the rapier and leveled the blade at his throat. The weapon was a good fit for her hand.

  “Ah,” breathed Maltaer in admiration. “You must dance exquisitely. Among other things.”

  “Don’t do anything foolish,” said Caina. “My friend and I have gone to a great deal of trouble to find you, and it would vex me to no end if you got yourself killed.”

  “Finish it, then,” spat Romarion.

  “Do none of you people ever hear a word I say?” said Caina. “I’ll repeat myself. I don’t want to kill you. I want you to talk. Which would be rather difficult if you were dead.”

  Confusion replaced fear in Romarion’s expression. “Then who are you?”

  “That is not important,” said Caina. “Suffice it to say that we are Ghosts.”

  “Ghosts?” said Romarion. “You mean the Emperor’s Ghosts? I though that the Ghosts were a story, a fable.”

  Caina gave his throat a gentle tap with the rapier. “Can a fable hold a blade to your throat? Now get up. You’re going to tell us everything you know.”

  Romarion stood, his face tight. “Why?”

  “Because,” said Caina, “otherwise the pyromancer is going to cook you like a pig on a spit. Just like he did to your former crew.”

  Romarion swallowed, his eyes darting back and forth, but nodded. “Can you help me?”

  “I won’t lie to you. You’re in a lot of trouble. We’re all in a lot of trouble. But if it is in our power to kill the pyromancer we will do so.”

  Romarion sighed. “Good enough.”

  Caina lowered the rapier. “I suggest that you start from the beginning.”

  Romarion’s mouth twisted. “If the rumors about the Ghosts are true, you probably know everything already.” He sighed again. “But I used to be a pirate, working the Alqaarin Sea. A few years ago a storm came up, blew my ship off course, and drove us to an uncharted island.”

  “Where you found an untouched Saddai ruin,” said Caina.

  Romarion nodded. “And not just a ruin. A palace. A fortress, the stronghold of old Corazain himself. It must have been forgotten after Corazain was killed. The place was stuffed full of statues and treasures. We found the royal insignia of the old Saddai kings, at least a hundred valuable statues, and an entire room full of books…” He shuddered. “I should have thrown the books into the sea when I had the chance.”

  “I agree,” said Caina.

  Romarion’s eyes were haunted. “And we found Corazain’s private chapel. The Ashbringers…everyone says they were insane, but I saw it firsthand. There were statues in that chapel…I think Corazain used his spells to melt blocks of stone around living women, so the stone would harden over their bones. The chapel was full of those stone skeletons.”

  “He probably stole their lives to fuel his own strength,” said Caina. “If a pyromancer uses his art to burn a man alive, he can use the victim’s life force to empower himself. Which is what he probably did to your crew. And wanted to do to you.”

  Romarion shuddered, and nodded.

  “So you started to sell the statues,” said Caina, gesturing for him to continue.

  Romarion rubbed his face. “My crew and I made a pact. We would sell the statues, the jewelry, and the books, and split the profits between us. Since I was the captain, I would take a double share, of course, but otherwise we would split everything. Publius Vanio, my first mate, set himself up in Mors Crisius as a merchant. We smuggled the loot into Mors Crisius’s harbor, and Vanio and I found buyers. The jewelry, of course, had no trouble finding a buyer. Nor the statues. It seems that wealthy men in a dozen different nations appreciate Saddai art.”

  “How much money did you make?” said Caina.

  Romarion gave her a little smile. “We made an absolutely enormous amount of money. Even divided among us, it was still a substantial sum. Most of my crew drank and whored their money away, but some of us invested it, went into business. I did well, and so did Vanio. I had thoughts of obtaining a noble title, perhaps founding a minor House. I even tried to seduce a minor noblewoman visiting the city, but it did not go well, alas.”

  “You never did know how to speak to the ladies,” said Maltaer.

  “When did the killings start?” said Caina.

  Romarion looked away. “A year ago. My crew began turning up dead, one by one. All of them were burned to death. I figured out what was happening. I knew that the pyromancer needed to steal some of my blood for the spell to work, so I kept myself guarded night and day. I tried to warn the others, but they laughed at me, and they all died. I am the last one left. I was about to flee the city when some men attacked my house…”

  “Yes, the Magisterial Guards,” said Caina. “Sorcery had been used to wipe their minds.”

  “How did you know?” said Romarion.

  “We came from your mansion,” said Caina.

  Romarion flinched. “And the Guards?”

  “All dead.”

  The blood drained from Romarion’s face.

  “But they’re not important,” said Caina. “The books, Romarion. What happened to Corazain’s books?”

  “Most of them were…just books,” said Romarion. “They were written in Old Saddaic, true, but they were just books. There was one that was…different, though. All the books were centuries old, but this one looked as if it had been written yesterday. And it…when I touched it my hands tingled, my skin crawled.”

  Sorcery. The book had been protected by a warding spell, guarding it from the ravages of time.

  “I was curious, so I touched a candle to the cover,” said Romarion. “Nothing happened. I tried to light the pages on fire, but the flames could not touch it. Finally I threw it into a fire for an hour. It came out untouched. The statues were valuable. But this…this was priceless.”

  “So you tried to find a wealthy sorcerer who would buy it,” said Caina.

  “I had to be careful,” said Romarion. “Sorcerers are dangerous, and usually mad, all men know that. But foreign sorcerers are worse. The Magisterium at least pretends to follow the laws of the Empire.”

  “They do not,” said Caina. She felt the pieces beginning to fall togethe
r in her head, like a lock opening at last. “So you approached the Magisterium.”

  Fool, fool, fool.

  Romarion seemed to pick up on her sudden anger, and he backed away. “I…started by approaching the local Magisterium, the masters. I did not tell them outright, of course, but asked about the Ashbringers. Ephaeron was adamantly opposed. He spent the better part of an hour lecturing me on the evils of the Ashbringers, how any trace of pyromancy had to be scoured from the face of the earth.”

  “How fortunate that he was wrong,” said Caina.

  Romarion flinched. “But the other master…Kalastus. He had bought a dozen of my statues. He seemed at least open to the idea. Finally one night about two years past I mentioned the book…and he insisted upon buying it at once. I sold it to him, then and there, in his study.”

  In his study.

  And at last, all the pieces came together in Caina’s mind.

  She remembered standing in Kalastus’s study, watching the master magus and the merchant argue.

  A massive book bound in black leather and polished steel had rested on his desk.

  He had tried to rape her, despite the dozen witnesses within ready earshot.

  He had slaughtered a score of Saddai before the Imperial Basilica, screaming curses all the while.

  Ephaeron claimed that Kalastus had become erratic, unreliable, acting like a man gone provincial.

  Acting like a man who had lost his reason.

  Or one whose reason gradually had been burned away.

  Fool, fool. How could she not have seen it earlier? But she had, hadn’t she? She’d known all along it had to be one of the magi, even if she had only now found the proof.

  “Kalastus,” said Caina, her harsh voice cold and hard. “You sold that damned book to Kalastus.” She felt Ark’s gaze on her. “You damned fool.”

  Romarion looked desperate. “You have to understand. I didn’t know what would happen. He told me that he intended to destroy it.”

  “Oh, certainly,” said Caina. “Maybe he even intended to. But he looked inside and had to try one of Corazain’s spells. Then another, and another, and he became addicted to the power that would burn away his sanity. He knew the other magi would kill him for it. That’s why he slaughtered your old crew, to keep the magi from ever finding out about his new powers. All because you didn’t throw that book into sea when you had the chance.”

  “I didn’t know,” whispered Romarion. “I couldn’t have known.”

  “Oh, no, no one ever does,” said Caina. “Not until it’s too late.” She closed her eyes and mastered herself. Romarion had been a fool, but the blood was on Kalastus’s hands.

  “Are you going to kill me?” said Romarion.

  “For the last time,” said Caina, “I already told you that I’m not going to kill you, even though I should. Publius Vanio was trading in slaves, and if Kalastus doesn’t kill you, the Ghosts will. Get out of the Empire, Romarion. Go to Istarinmul, or Alqaarin, or even into the barbarian north for all I care. But if Kalastus ever finds you, he will kill you.”

  Romarion started to answer. “I…”

  The tingling against Caina’s skin grew stronger, almost to the point of physical pain. The breeze rattling against the windows exploded into a howling gale. A flash of brilliant orange-yellow light came through the window.

  Followed an instant later by the roar.

  The deafening concussion shook the Sign, dust falling from the rafters, the floor trembling. The roar, louder than any thunderclap, seemed to go on and on. Caina grabbed at the wall to keep her balance, Romarion’s blade dangling from one hand.

  “What the hell?” said Romarion.

  “My dark lady,” said Maltaer, “the balcony, this way.”

  Romarion stared at her in shock. “You’re a woman?”

  Caina ignored him and followed Maltaer. She heard sounds of shock and surprise coming from the streets below. Maltaer walked to the end of the hallway and threw open the door, and Caina followed him onto the balcony.

  She looked into the night sky and blinked in astonishment.

  A billowing plume of smoke rose over the city, lit from below by roiling flames. She saw people standing in the streets, gaping in terrified awe at the sky. Caina squinted at the flames, calculating the distances in her head.

  It was coming from the Temple of Living Flame.

  Caina turned to Ark. “I know where to find Kalastus.”

  Chapter 25 - Wrath of the Burning Flame

  Chaos reigned in Rasadda.

  Families fled through the streets, clutching their children and their possessions, determined to get away. Others simply stood and stared at the glowing pillar of smoke. Here and there militiamen screamed orders, but no one heeded them. Caina saw Sons of Corazain among the crowds, terror on their faces as they raced for the city’s gates. Perhaps the revealed fury of an Ashbringer did not quite meet their expectations.

  Ark drove like a madman, reins clenched in one hand, sword in the other. He bellowed threats at anyone who got in their way, waving the broadsword, and they made good time.

  “What are we going to do when we find Kalastus?” said Ark.

  “That’s easy,” said Caina. “We’re going to kill the murdering bastard.”

  Ark snorted. “Yes. Very easy. How?”

  Good question.

  “It will have to be quick,” said Caina. “We have to surprise him, kill him before he even knows where there. If he gets a chance to use his powers against us, he could kill us both in the space of three heartbeats. You saw what he did to that crowd, and he didn’t even use pyromancy.” Caina glanced at Romarion’s rapier, lying where she had thrown it into the back of the wagon. “And it will have to be a fatal wound. Tadaia said that he’s murdered so many people that he likely has a reservoir of stole life force. He can probably recover from anything less than a killing blow in a few moments.”

  “And how do we land that killing blow?” said Ark.

  “We stab him in the back,” said Caina.

  “Yes,” said Ark. “Easy.”

  Caina looked up at the fiery plume.

  But why had Kalastus attacked the Temple of Living Flame? Caina doubted that his hatred of the Saddai had been a ruse to cover his study of pyromancy. Had he finally decided to kill them all? Or had the last threads of his sanity burned away, driving him to lash out at random?

  The wagon rattled into the plaza before the Temple of Living Flame.

  “Gods,” muttered Ark.

  The Temple stood in ruin. Half the dome had been blasted away, jagged fingers of broken stone clawing at the sky. The Temple’s living quarters lay in a heap of shattered stone and burning timbers. The explosions had shattered many of the buildings surrounding the plaza, flames dancing in their ruined shells

  “Stop here,” said Caina. Ark brought the horses to a stop, and they climbed out. Caina had not taken three steps before she heard the sounds of fighting over the crackle of the flames. There were bodies lying motionless on the Temple’s cracked steps. Caina drew knives in either hand and hurried towards the Temple, Ark besides her with sword and shield ready.

  Most of the corpses were Saddai, unarmored and equipped with crude weapons, the flame tattoo blazoned across their chests. But a few of the corpses wore steel helms and gauntlets, mail shirts hidden beneath black leather jerkins.

  The Black Wolves.

  “What are they doing here?” said Caina.

  “Killing the Sons of Corazain, it seems,” said Ark, tapping one of the corpses with his boot. He listened a moment. “It sounds like they’re still fighting. The back of the Temple, maybe inside.”

  Caina wondered if Sister Tadaia lay dead beneath the rubble.

  “Let’s look around,” said Caina.

  The Temple’s doors had been blasted to twisted shards. Heaps of rubble lay on the Temple’s circular floor, fallen from the ruined dome. The fire at the center of the Temple still blazed, though it had been half-buried beneath broken ston
e. More Sons of Corazain lay dead atop the rubble and cracked floor, along with the occasional Black Wolf.

  Steel rang on steel.

  Caina darted around a pile of rubble, keeping low, Ark besides her. She saw four Black Wolves fighting near the circular wall. Five Sons of Corazain struggled against them, their clubs and shortswords little use against steel mail and broadswords. Gaidan was with them, blood trickling down his neck, his face slack with terror. One by one the Black Wolves butchered the Sons of Corazain, and advanced on the Brother of the Living Flame. Gone was the furious orator who had rallied the Sons of Corazain. In his place trembled a man driven out of his mind by fear.

  “Hold! Hold, I say!”

  Caina knew that voice. And then she knew who had hired the Black Wolves to kill Ark.

  Ephaeron picked his way through the rubble, the Black Wolves walking to his side. He stopped and pointed at Gaidan. “Priest. Where is the Ashbringer?”

  “I don’t…I don’t know,” sobbed Gaidan.

  Ephaeron hissed in irritation. “Don’t lie to me, fool. The hour for games is long past. The Ashbringer was here, and used his powers to level the Temple. Where is he?”

  Gaidan drew himself up, some courage returning to his face. “He…he will kill you all, he is Corazain reborn, he will set the Empire to burn!” He thrust out his hand, and Caina felt a faint, feeble prickling as Gaidan tried to work a spell.

  Ephaeron’s lip curled in contempt, and he gestured. Caina felt the sudden rush, and Gaidan fell against the walls, screaming, his hands clenched to his temples. Ephaeron made a hooking motion, and Gaidan floated into the air, still screaming.

  “Your charlatan’s mummery is no match for a master of arcane science. Now. Where is the Ashbringer?” said Ephaeron.

  “I don’t know!” said Gaidan.

  Ephaeron sighed, and gestured. Caina heard Gaidan’s arm break, and the priest’s scream redoubled. “I say again. Where is the Ashbringer?”

  “I don’t know!” sobbed Gaidan. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know…”

  Ephaeron repeated the gesture. Gaidan’s other arm snapped with such force that the bones tore through the flesh.