Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 05 - Ghost in the Stone

by Jonathan Moeller

  But she had endured worse pain, and Caina rolled to her feet and snatched a throwing knife from her belt. She flung the knife over the alley. The crossbowmen cursed and ducked, which gave Caina an opening. She sprinted for the edge of the alley and jumped, sand-colored robes billowing around her.

  Below, she heard the clang of blade on blade, the bellowed curses as Corvalis fought Sicarion and his thugs.

  Caina hit the roof on the far end of the alley. The nearest crossbowman came at her, swinging the stock of his heavy weapon like a club. Caina sidestepped, pivoted, and brought her heel around in a vicious kick. Her boot slammed into the mercenary’s right leg, and the man collapsed. His momentum carried him forward, and the mercenary tumbled over the edge of the roof with a scream.

  A heartbeat later Caina heard the vicious crack of shattering bone.

  The second mercenary threw aside his crossbow and yanked out his broadsword. But he didn’t have time to pick up his shield, and Caina drew a dagger and stepped inside his guard. The mercenary dodged, and Caina’s dagger drew a red line across his jaw.

  The mercenary whipped his sword around, and Caina ducked. The clay roof tiles shifted beneath her boots, and she stumbled, sliding towards the edge of the roof. The mercenary came after her, his sword stabbing for her chest. Caina rolled aside, and the blade clanged off the tiles.

  She seized a broken tile, rolled to her feet, and flung it at the mercenary’s face. The man growled and lifted a hand to ward off the debris, and Caina’s arm snapped forward. Her dagger sank into the mercenary’s neck, and the man went limp, blood pouring over Caina’s fingers. He sagged, and Caina ripped her blade free and looked at the courtyard.

  One of the mercenaries lay dead on the ground. Corvalis, Sicarion, and the remaining mercenary spun in battle, swords and daggers clanging. Corvalis focused his attacks on Sicarion, probably to keep the scarred man from casting any spells. Yet the surviving mercenary attacked Corvalis with vigor, keeping him from landing a killing blow on Sicarion.

  Caina saw another copper drainpipe running down the side of the mansion’s wall. She shoved her dagger into its sheath, retrieved her throwing knife, and rolled off the edge of the roof, hands gripping the drainpipe. It gave an alarming creak, but Caina hurried down the wall.

  A scream rang out, followed by the thud of a body hitting the ground, and Caina glanced down. Corvalis had killed of the second mercenary, and now he faced Sicarion alone. Their blades blurred as they spun around each other, Corvalis’s face a grim mask, Sicarion’s lips peeled back in fury.

  Caina descended as fast as she dared. If she got to the ground and aided Corvalis, they could stop Sicarion…

  Sicarion thrust out his hand, and Caina felt the harsh tingle of sorcerous power. The air around him rippled, and a blast of invisible force exploded in all directions. The oxen stamped in fear and strained against their traces. The edge of the psychokinetic burst caught Caina and almost knocked her from the pipe. She clung to it with all her strength, her boots scraping against the wall.

  And the blast knocked Corvalis down.

  Sicarion began another spell, green light shimmering around his fingers, and Caina felt the cold tingle of necromantic sorcery. She slid down the pipe as fast as she dared, hoping to stop him before he finished the spell. Caina hit the ground, knees buckling to absorb the impact, and Corvalis staggered to his feet.

  Sicarion shouted. A pulse of green light washed from his fingertips, and the dead mercenaries began to move.

  The corpses got to their feet, jerking like puppets pulled on invisible strings. Sicarion had done this before. In Marsis, she had killed several of his men, only for Sicarion to use necromancy to animate their corpses.

  “Dead men again?” said Corvalis.

  “If you hadn’t killed them,” said Sicarion, “I would have no need to reanimate them. Kill him!”

  The dead mercenaries surged forward with eerie speed. Sicarion circled to the side, trying to flank Corvalis. Corvalis met the animated corpses, blades flashing. But against the dead men, he was at a disadvantage. The moving corpses were shells of flesh animated by Sicarion’s necromancy, and a blade could not kill something already dead.

  Caina reached into her robe and yanked out a curved dagger, the silver blade marked with characters in Kyracian script. It was forged from a rare metal called ghostsilver, harder and lighter than steel. Ghostsilver was proof against sorcery, and could disrupt any spells that it touched.

  She buried the curved blade into the neck of the nearest dead man.

  There was a sizzling noise, and the dagger’s hilt grew hot beneath Caina’s fingers. She wrenched the weapon free, black smoke rising from the wound in the corpse’s neck. The dead man went into a twitching dance, and Corvalis swung, his sword in both hands. The blow took the corpse’s head, and the dead man collapsed in a motionless heap.

  Sicarion snarled and flung himself at Corvalis, and the remaining dead man attacked Caina. She backed away, dodging under the corpse’s blows. Caina lashed out with the ghostsilver dagger again and again, smoke rising from the small cuts she opened on the corpse’s face and arms. The dead man twitched with every strike, the ghostsilver disrupting Sicarion’s necromancy.

  Then Caina landed a solid hit on the corpse’s thigh, and the dead man’s right leg collapsed. She turned and buried her weapon in the corpse’s neck. The hilt grew hot, almost too hot to hold, and black smoke poured from the dead man’s nose and mouth. There was a snarling noise as the necromantic spell collapsed, and the corpse slid in a heap to the ground.

  Caina spun, intending to aid Corvalis against Sicarion.

  But Corvalis was not fighting Sicarion. Sicarion’s spell had also raised the mercenary that Caina had knocked from the mansion’s roof. The corpse’s legs were broken, its face a bruised pulp, but it still attacked with vigor, driving Corvalis back. Sicarion turned to face Caina, shadows and green light flickering around his fingers, and Caina felt the sudden spike of sorcerous power.

  She grabbed a throwing knife, intending to interrupt his spell.

  But she was too late.

  A bar of shadows rimmed in green flame burst from Sicarion’s hand and slammed into Caina’s chest. She staggered back with a scream, a horrible cold chill spreading through her limbs. Sicarion grinned as darkness filled Caina’s vision, the world growing distant and remote…

  Corvalis beheaded the dead man and stepped in front of the bar of shadow. His scream filled her ears, and at once the cold darkness vanished from Caina’s body. The shadows and green flame swallowed Corvalis.

  Then the tattoos upon his arms began to glow. The tattoos’ swirling black lines flared with white light, and the shell of shadow around him shattered. Corvalis fell to his knees, shaking, and Sicarion staggered back, surprised pain flashing across his face.

  Caina had her chance.

  She flung the throwing knife. The blade sank into Sicarion’s chest, and he staggered. She threw two more knives, each weapon striking home. Sicarion recovered himself and brought up his sword, but Caina was already on him. She slashed the ghostsilver dagger at his throat, and Sicarion jerked back. The blade tore a smoking gash down his face, the hilt heating up as it reacted to the necromantic spells upon his flesh. She reversed the blade, aiming for his chest, but Sicarion dodged, her blade ripping through his right leg.

  Sicarion snarled and threw out his hand. Invisible force hammered into Caina and knocked her to the ground. But the spell lacked the force of his previous attacks, and she rolled to crouch, bracing herself for the attack.

  But no attack came.

  Sicarion sprinted down the alley. Caina’s lips pulled back in a snarl, and she started after him. He would not escape, not this time. This time she would hunt him down and put an end to his cruel murders…

  A groan reached her ears.

  She saw Corvalis twitching upon the ground.

  His green eyes met hers.

  “Go,” he rasped. “Don’t let him get away.”
/>   “What’s wrong with you?” she said. “The spell?”

  Corvalis barked a laugh. “No. Spell can’t touch me. Not after what the witchfinders did to me.” The lines of the swirling tattoos upon his arms had gone dark again. “His dagger was poisoned. Go. Go!”

  “Antidote,” said Caina. “Do you have an antidote?”

  “Aye,” said Corvalis, shivering. “I know the poison. I have an antidote at my lodgings in Seatown.”

  Seatown was a long way from here. Corvalis didn’t look like he could stand, let alone walk to Seatown. Sicarion was wounded, and if Caina caught him, she could finish him…

  Corvalis tried to stand and slumped back against the ground.

  “Damn you, go,” said Corvalis. “Get him before he kills someone else.”

  He had saved her life by stopping Sicarion’s spell.

  “What are you waiting for?” said Corvalis. “Go!”

  Caina made up her mind.

  “Stop talking and get up,” said Caina, and she helped him to stand.

  Chapter 15 - Images in Stone

  “There,” rasped Corvalis, leaning against her. She felt the spasms going through his legs. “An apartment below the potter’s shop.”

  His lips had taken on a bluish tint. Caina didn’t know what poison Sicarion had used. But she suspected Corvalis didn’t have much time left.

  A narrow set of brick stairs descended alongside the wall of the potter’s shop, and Corvalis half-walked, half-stumbled down them, Caina’s arm around his waist. The stairs ended in a massive steel-banded door. Corvalis reached into his belt for a key, his hands shaking, but couldn’t get it into the lock. Caina took the key, undid the lock, and pushed open the door.

  The room beyond was barren. The walls were rough stone, dim light leaking through tiny windows near the ceiling. The only furnishings were a narrow bed, a chair and a workbench, and a wardrobe. A curtain closed off a small doorway on the far side of the room.

  Corvalis collapsed into the bed, breathing hard, sweat pouring down his face.

  “Antidote,” he rasped.

  “Where is it?” said Caina.

  “Wardrobe,” said Corvalis, his voice a harsh rasp. “Top shelf. Green vial.”

  Caina opened the wardrobe.

  Inside a wide variety of weapons rested in racks. Swords, spears, daggers, throwing knives, darts, and disassembled crossbows lay waiting, while narrow shelves held a variety of tools, bottled powders and liquids. Caina found a small green vial of thick brown fluid.

  “Is this it?” she said.

  “Yes,” said Corvalis. “Can’t…drink it. Hands shaking too badly.”

  Caina nodded, pulled out the cork, gripped the side of Corvalis’s face, and poured the contents down his throat. He swallowed, gasped, and shuddered again.

  “Gods,” he whispered. “That’s vile. Hope it’s not the last thing I taste.” His shaking hand closed around her wrist. “Listen. I have to stay awake. I stay awake, I’m clear. If I pass out, there’s only a one in three chance that I’ll wake up again. Keep me talking.”

  “Those tattoos,” said Caina. “What are they? They…broke Sicarion’s spell. Like ghostsilver.”

  Corvalis wheezed out a laugh. “Like that dagger of yours? I got the tattoos after I escaped from the Kindred. From an Ulkaari witchfinder in the northern Empire. Spirits from the netherworld and worse things haunt the Ulkaari forests, hunt people like animals. These…these disrupt spells. Hurt like hell. Worth it, though. Figured…figured they would come in handy if I ever settled things with my father.” He laughed again. “Guess I’ll never have the chance now.”

  “No,” said Caina. “You’re not dead yet.”

  “Yet,” repeated Corvalis. “What about you? You fight better than most men. Wouldn’t expect that from someone like you.”

  “Someone like me?” said Caina.

  Corvalis shuddered, sweat pouring down his face. “An opera singer’s pretty maid.”

  “A disguise,” said Caina. “I learned to fight because I had good teachers. But if you listen to me talk, you’ll fall unconscious. So instead you’re going to tell me more about yourself. Why did you leave the Kindred?”

  Corvalis snorted. “I didn’t like the way they smelled.”

  “Tell me more,” said Caina.

  “Just like a Ghost,” said Corvalis. “Inquisitive to the end. Why did I leave? My conscience troubled me, but I learned to ignore it. I hated my father, though. Hated what he did to me, hated how he viewed me as his pet hound. And then someone changed my mind. Someone…”

  His jaw clamped shut.

  “Gods,” muttered Caina. “You’re having a seizure.”

  “No,” said Corvalis. “I don’t know if I want you to know why I left the Kindred.”

  “It’s a little late to keep secrets,” said Caina.

  Corvalis snorted. “You lecture me about keeping secrets, Ghost? The Ghosts do nothing else.”

  “Then tell me this,” said Caina. “You said if we left you alone, no other Ghosts would be turned to stone. But one Ghost and one Kindred assassin were turned to statues at the Ring of Valor during Lord Khosrau’s games. What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” said Corvalis. His voice dropped to a whisper, his eyes starting to close. “I thought…I thought if they stayed away from me, no one else would get hurt. He wouldn’t have any reason to go after them. They must…they must have gotten in his way.”

  “His way?” said Caina, leaning closer. “Who? Tell me.”

  Corvalis shuddered, his eyes going wide, and then he slumped against the bed. All the strength flowed out of him.

  “I can’t stay awake,” he whispered. His fingers tightened her wrist. “Listen…listen to me. In the back room. Help her. Please, Ghost. Help her.”

  “Who’s turning people into statues?” said Caina. “Tell me.”

  Corvalis’s eyes closed.

  “Tell me!” she shouted. “Corvalis!”

  No response.

  She slapped him, hoping to shock him awake, but he didn’t respond. His breathing was shallow, his heartbeat rapid.

  “Damn it,” breathed Caina. She had been so close.

  She looked at him with a pang of regret. He had saved her life, and now he was going to die in a dusty cellar below a potter’s shop.

  Well. A two in three chance he was going to die, anyway.

  Caina pulled off Corvalis’s cloak and cleaned the sweat from his brow. She rested his head upon the pillow and put his hands at this side. If he was going to die, at least he could die comfortable.

  Then she searched the apartment.

  If Corvalis died before he could tell her his secrets, she would just have to find them on her own.

  She looked through the wardrobe first. His weapons were well-made, and she found a variety of poisons among the vials. No doubt he had learned how to use them as a Kindred assassin. Hidden beneath the wardrobe’s false bottom she found a steel strongbox. It was locked, and guarded with a nasty mechanical trap, but Halfdan had taught her how to bypass both. A half-hour’s work opened the lock and disabled the trap, and inside Caina found stacks of gold coins, along with two leather pouches of cut gemstones. Corvalis did not lack for funds.

  But she found no documents.

  She locked the strongbox, rearming the trap, and examined his workbench. Scars and stains marred the surface, along with tiny piles of metal shavings. He had been repairing his weapons and armor here. Caina knelt and looked under the bed. Several wooden chests rested there, and inside Caina found a variety of clothes, ranging from the finery of a nobleman to the ragged garb of a free laborer. Disguises, no doubt.

  She looked down at Corvalis. His breathing remained shallow, fresh sweat trickling down his face. He did not look any better. Nor did he look any worse.

  Caina crossed to the doorway on the far side of the room and pushed aside the ragged curtain. The tiny room beyond was empty, save for a shape draped in a canvas tarp. A shape that looked a
great deal like a statue.

  Caina pulled aside the tarp.

  The statue of a young woman stared back at Caina.

  Like all the others, the statue was fantastically detailed. The woman wore the robe of a magus, and Caina saw every fold and drape of the fabric in the white stone. The woman’s face was a study in stunned horror.

  Caina stared at the face for a moment.

  Then she walked back to the main room, sat besides the bed, tended the cut on her arm, and waited to see if Corvalis would live or die.

  ###

  About three hours later Corvalis sat up, eyes wide. He snarled and grabbed for his sword belt, but Caina had decided that removing his weapons was a good idea. He looked around, and bit by bit the terror and confusion drained from his face.

  “This isn’t my idea of paradise,” he said, “but it makes for a very feeble hell.”

  “I’m pleased,” said Caina, “that you don’t think I’m a devil.”

  Corvalis managed a harsh laugh. “How long was I out?”

  “A little over three hours,” said Caina.

  “Thank you,” said Corvalis, “for watching over me.” He grimaced. “Three times now that I owe you my life.”

  “You saved my life, as well,” said Caina, “and it gave me time to think.”

  Wariness came into his expression. “And what did you think about?”

  “I know,” said Caina, “what happened to you, and why people keep turning into statues. You said that someone convinced you to leave the Kindred. I think it was that woman in the next room.”

  Corvalis said nothing, his hands balled into fists.

  “She convinced you to leave the Kindred,” said Caina. “So to take revenge on you, your father had her turned to stone.”

  “Yes,” said Corvalis, his voice flat.

  “Which is why you came to Cyrioch,” said Caina. “Whoever or whatever turned her to stone is here. You’re hoping to find it and reverse the process.”

  “You,” said Corvalis, “are damnably clever.”