Suddenly he reminded her of Jadriga, and she felt a tingle of alarm.
“They’re real, you know,” said the man. “All the Szaldic legends. All their tales of blood and horror. They’re all real.”
Caina knew that very well. She had seen the black pit below Marsis. She had seen Jadriga’s mighty sorcery.
And she knew what had become of Jadriga’s spirit.
“Be off with you,” said Corvalis. “There’s no need to frighten her with Szaldic ghost stories.”
“They’re not,” whispered the man with the cane, “stories.”
Corvalis’s smile showed teeth. “Come now, fellow. No need for this to get unpleasant.” His hand dropped to his sword hilt. “Be. Off.”
Barimaz looked back and forth, blinking.
“Very well,” said the man with the cane.
He limped away.
“Peculiar,” murmured Corvalis. “Do you recognize him?”
“No,” said Caina, “I’ve never seen him before.”
“Forgive me, young sir,” said Barimaz, “but if this man is an enemy of yours, I ask that you kill him away from my cart. Killing draws the attention of the militia, which would be most unwelcome.”
“No fear, Barimaz,” said Corvalis. “We’ll…”
The man with the cane reached into his coat, drew something out, and lifted it to his face.
“Look,” hissed Caina.
A jade mask covered the features of the man with the cane. The mask had been carved with a face of inhuman beauty, its features serene. A ring of peculiar glyphs encircled the mask, stylized images of animals and birds and men, symbols that tugged at Caina’s memory.
She had seen those symbols somewhere before.
“What the devil?” said Corvalis.
The man in the jade mask lifted his cane, and it broke in half, the wood clattering on the street. He was left holding a rod of a peculiar silvery metal, about two feet long, its length carved with more of those odd symbols.
“Yes,” said the masked man, his voice distorted behind the jade lips. “You are her. I should have known.”
“Enough,” said Corvalis, starting to draw his sword. “Identify…”
The man flicked his wrist, and Caina felt the crawling tingle of sorcery. She had been scarred by a necromancer of terrible power in her youth, and ever since she had been able to sense the presence of arcane force. The sensitivity had sharpened as she grew older, and now she could distinguish between the kind and magnitude of spells.
The silver rod in the masked man’s hand radiated tremendous power.
White light flared around the rod, and both Barimaz and Corvalis fell limp to the ground. Caina shot a look at them, keeping her eyes on the masked man. Both Corvalis and Barimaz were both still alive, but unconscious. Yet in Corvalis’s sleeve she glimpsed a glimmer of white light.
His tattoos. Would they have resisted the masked man’s spell?
“You killed them!” shouted Caina, hoping to distract his attention from Corvalis.
“I did not,” said the masked man, stepping towards her. His right leg twitched and trembled. Apparently he had needed that cane. “I don’t know what vile use you had in mind for that Kindred assassin, but it matters not. Whatever design you planned for Cyrioch will not come to pass.”
“Design?” said Caina. “What are you talking about?”
She snatched a frying pan from Barimaz’s cart and stepped to the side.
“Enough,” said the masked man, pivoting to follow her. “We have played this game too many times before, but this time, I have the better of you.”
“I’ve never seen you before in my life,” said Caina, talking another step to the side.
The masked man turned to follow her, keeping the rod pointed at her chest…and turned his back on Corvalis.
She saw his eyes open.
“Your latest death will not undo the harm you have caused,” said the masked man, “but it least it will stop you from wreaking future harm. For a time.”
Corvalis rolled to a crouch and drew his sword.
“For the gods’ sake,” said Caina. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Could you at least tell me what this is all about before you kill me?”
“A likely trick,” said the man. His rod flared with white light, and Caina felt the surge of sorcerous power.
Corvalis jumped to his feet, and the masked man turned to face him, leveling the silver rod at his chest.
Caina gripped the frying pan like a discus and flung it with all her strength. It slammed into the masked man’s bad leg. The masked man dropped him to one knee, a pale pulse of white light spitting from his rod, but the blast missed Corvalis to splash against the side of Barimaz’s wagon.
Corvalis lunged forward and buried his sword in the masked man’s chest. The man toppled backwards without a sound, the rod and mask falling away. Corvalis released his sword and stepped back, and Caina hurried to his side, shooting a quick look around the street.
No one had noticed the fight.
“Damn it,” said Corvalis, looking at the dying man. “I should have taken him alive.” He reached for the silvery rod.
“No!” said Caina. “Don’t touch it! There’s a spell on it. I don’t know what it will do to you.”
Corvalis stepped away from the rod. All at once Caina remembered where she had seen the symbols before. They were Maatish hieroglyphs, the same kind that adorned the ancient scroll her father had found.
The ancient scroll that had led to his death, that Maglarion had almost used to destroy Malarae.
Caina looked at the dying man. Blood bubbled at his lips, and his skin had turned gray.
“Who are you?” she said.
The man glared at her, his blue eyes full of pain and fear.
“Moroaica!” he spat, and then died.
Chapter 2 - To The Highest Bidder
The next morning Caina sat next to Corvalis at the table in Theodosia’s sitting room as he cleaned his weapons.
He cleaned, sharpened, and oiled his swords and daggers every day, whether they needed cleaning or not. He had told her that the Kindred had drilled the habit into him as a child. From went Caina knew of the Kindred, it meant that if his weapons and armor had shown a single spot of rust, his trainers would beat him black and blue.
So he cleaned his weapons.
Caina understood. Her own experiences had taught her the value of keeping her blades sharp.
“Nothing,” said Caina, keeping the annoyed frustration out of her voice. She rolled a throwing knife across her fingers over and over again. The motion helped her to concentrate. “We checked every inn and tavern for a mile in every direction. No one remembered him or had ever seen him.”
Across the table, a blond woman in her middle forties frowned. She was a bit plump, but tall enough to bear the excess weight. She was the leading lady of the Grand Imperial Opera company, and looked the part of a temperamental and demanding singer. Caina knew better. Theodosia of Malarae was as dangerous as any assassin of the Kindred.
“Nothing in his pockets?” Theodosia said.
“Nothing,” said Caina. “No coins, no notes, no weapons.” She gazed at the balcony doors. “Some sand inside his boots and in the folds of his coat. He probably traveled through the Sarbian desert to get here. But beyond that, we know nothing.”
Theodosia grunted. “A man of mystery. What about those enspelled toys of his?”
Both Caina and Theodosia looked at the woman sitting at the end of the table. She was twenty-seven, three years younger than Corvalis, with bright green eyes and long blond hair. She wore a green gown that matched her eyes, its sleeves and bodice adorned with black embroidery. Caina thought it suited her.
Certainly it suited her better than the black robe of a magus of the Imperial Magisterium.
“They’re dangerous, whatever they are,” said Claudia Aberon, brushing a bit of dust from her sleeves. “The spells upon them are…complex. Certainly be
yond my skill, and far beyond the skill of all but the most powerful magi of the Magisterium.”
“Did you have Nicasia look at them?” said Theodosia.
“Yes,” said Claudia. “But the Defender was…less than forthcoming.” An earth elemental had been bound within Nicasia’s flesh, and would inhabit the girl until the day she died. “Or, rather, it was candid, but I could not understand it. The Defender only said that the spells upon the objects were potent, more potent than anything mortals should use. That was all.”
Caina found herself agreeing with the Defender. She had seen firsthand the horror sorcery wreaked. If she could kill every last magus, every last wielder of arcane forces, she would do it.
But Claudia was a magus. Corvalis swore his sister had a kindly heart, had risked everything to save her.
But she was still a sorceress.
Caina kept a close eye upon her.
“Then it seems,” said Theodosia, “there is nothing more to be done. I’ve arranged for Marzhod to dump the corpse in the harbor, and we’ll keep that mask and rod under lock and key. We’ll take it back to Malarae. Meanwhile, we’ll see if any of this mysterious sorcerer’s associates reveal themselves.”
Claudia nodded, but Caina said nothing.
She had her own theory, one she did not want to share with Claudia.
“Moroaica,” the masked man had said.
Somehow, he had known the Moroaica’s spirit was trapped within Caina. Had he been one of her students, like Maglarion or Ranarius? Or had he been one of her enemies come to hunt her down? If so, he had been a fool. Killing Caina would only release the Moroaica to claim another host.
Again Caina wished they had captured the masked man alive.
Still, she and Corvalis were unharmed, so it could have been worse.
“So,” said Corvalis, “we will wait here until we receive instructions from your superiors?”
“Does that trouble you?” said Theodosia.
“Not at all,” said Corvalis. “In deference to your venerable majesty, I will gladly wait.”
Claudia laughed.
“Venerable?” said Theodosia. “I may yet have you killed, but not today. We’ll leave for Malarae in a few days, when Lord Corbould Maraeus departs for the capital. And since I have a former assassin, a former magus, and a girl with an earth elemental in her head who want to join the Ghosts, I imagine my superiors will want to meet with you in…”
Someone knocked at the door.
Caina slipped her throwing knife against her palm, while Corvalis sat up straighter, hand tightening around his sword hilt. Claudia looked at the door, and Caina felt the low thrum of arcane power as she gathered force for a spell.
“Enter,” said Theodosia, her voice calm.
A middle-aged man wearing the fine fur-trimmed robe of a prosperous merchant stepped into the room. He wore a cap with a gleaming silver badge over iron-gray hair, and carried a short sword and dagger at his belt.
Caina grinned, and Theodosia blinked in surprise.
“Well, well, this is certainly a surprise,” said Theodosia.
“I doubt,” said Halfdan, looking at Claudia and Corvalis, “that you expected to see me quite so soon.”
His tone was light, but Caina saw the tension around his eyes. Halfdan was one of the high circlemasters, one of the Ghosts’ leaders, and he was one of the most dangerous and knowledgeable men in the Empire.
Lord Armizid and Ranarius had been slain a few days ago, and it was a week’s journey from the Imperial capital. Which meant Halfdan had left before Armizid’s plot had been foiled and Ranarius had been stopped.
And that meant something was wrong.
“I admit that I did not,” said Theodosia. “Has something happened? You couldn’t have received any of the news from Cyrioch yet.”
Halfdan looked at Caina, and Corvalis, and then back at Caina, and his eyes widened, just a little bit.
“Yes,” he said. “It seems you have a tale of your own to tell me.”
“Well,” said Theodosia. She stood, as if preparing to deliver an aria. “Wherever shall I begin?”
She told Halfdan what had happened, albeit with plenty of dramatic flair. Halfdan listened in silence. Once or twice he scowled, and he laughed aloud when Theodosia described how Caina had infiltrated the Haven of the Kindred assassins.
“And that,” said Theodosia, after she described the strange man in the jade mask, “is everything.”
“Well,” said Halfdan. “You have been busy, haven’t you?” He rubbed at his jaw, thinking.
“What is,” said Caina, “this grim news of yours?”
“In a moment,” said Halfdan. “Some of what you’ve done here changes things. Especially that fellow in the mask.” He nodded to himself. “But let us deal with business before news. First, Corvalis Aberon, Claudia Aberon, if you wish to join the Ghosts, you will be welcome among us. I cannot tell you my true name for obvious reasons. But you may call me Basil Callenius, a master merchant of the Imperial Collegium of jewelers.”
“Master Basil,” said Claudia, rising and offering a bow to him. “If you will have us, we shall be glad to join.” Caina noted that she spoke for Corvalis, rather than the other way around. “We have seen the corruption within the Magisterium, and the harm my father would do if he gained control of the Empire. We shall gladly to lend our talents to your cause.”
“The Ghosts always have need of men and women of skill,” said Halfdan. “Even sorcerous talent, if they are willing to serve.” Caina ignored the cutting remark that came to mind. Claudia was a magus…but she was Corvalis’s sister. “Magi have joined the Magisterium before. Your father rules the Magisterium with an iron fist…but he has a knack for making enemies.”
“Indeed,” said Corvalis, voice quiet. “Even his own children.”
“Indeed. And Nicasia’s particular…gifts would be welcome,” said Halfdan. “But it seems we owe you a great deal. Without your aid Ranarius would have destroyed Cyrica Urbana.”
“Give the credit to her,” said Corvalis, and Caina felt his hand touch hers beneath the table. “She unraveled the mystery, and her wits defeated Ranarius. Had I turned away her aid as I thought to do, Ranarius would have destroyed Cyrioch and left my sister imprisoned within the stone forever.”
Halfdan smiled at Caina. “Child. Again you have done it. Malarae, Rasadda, Marsis, and now Cyrioch. The Empire would lie in ruins, if not for your valor.”
Caina shrugged. “It was…a very close thing.” If Sicarion had managed to kill her. If the Kindred Elder had foreseen the trap. If Caina hadn’t unraveled the nature of the Defender’s imprisonment. If she had been a heartbeat slower, she would have been slain…and Ranarius would have released the great elemental below the Stone.
Hundreds of thousands of people, dead in an instant.
She shivered.
“But you all have done well,” said Halfdan. “This news is far better than I hoped. I expected Cyrica to revolt against the Empire and join Istarinmul. Instead Lord Khosrau will keep the Cyrican provinces within the Empire.”
Theodosia smiled. “Lord Khosrau has fine taste in opera. But come! What is this grim news of yours?”
“That mask and rod,” said Halfdan. “Show them to me.”
Claudia rose, retrieved the jade mask and the metallic rod from a locked chest, and brought them to the table. She carried them wrapped in cloth. “I suggest, Master Basil, that you do not touch them. I don’t know what effect they might have.”
“Sound counsel, my dear,” said Halfdan as Claudia tugged away the cloth. The empty eyes of the jade mask gazed at Caina, and she felt the crawling tingle of sorcery from the aura of power surrounding both the mask and the rod.
“Those hieroglyphics are Maatish,” said Caina. “I’m sure of it.”
She remembered the Maatish scroll upon the podium atop Haeron Icaraeus’s mansion, the storm screaming overhead, Maglarion laughing as he worked the spell that would have killed every living t
hing in Malarae…
“You’re right,” said Halfdan. “Those are Maatish symbols. But this mask and rod aren’t Maatish. They’re Catekhari.”
“Catekhari?” exclaimed Claudia. “But that is impossible. The Catekhari are reclusive.”
“You know of them?” said Halfdan.
Claudia straightened up, hands behind her back, and she reminded Caina of a student about to recite a lesson for her tutor. “Catekharon is one of the free cities, west of Anshan and southeast of New Kyre. A reclusive society of sorcerers who call themselves the Scholae rule the city, though outsiders refer to them as the Masked Ones…” She blinked. “You mean Marina was attacked by a Masked One?”
Corvalis glanced at Caina. She had told him her true name, but she had not given it to Claudia. Caina could not bring herself to do it. Her true name was a measure of trust…and she could not bring herself to trust a magus that much.
Not even Corvalis’s sister.
“That seems likely,” said Halfdan.
“But that is impossible,” said Claudia. “Everything I read about the Masked Ones said they were reclusive, and loathed leaving their city for any reason. And by all accounts the Masked Ones are sorcerers of great puissance. How are Marina and my brother still alive?”
Halfdan shrugged. “Perhaps the Masked One was overconfident. Or unused to physical fights. Or Marina simply outwitted him. She’s rather good at outwitting sorcerers.”
“If those are Maatish symbols,” said Caina, “then are the Masked Ones necromancers?”
“No,” said Halfdan. “From what I understand, it seems the Masked Ones were once a society of some sort in ancient Maat. The necromancer-priests and the pharaohs ruled Maat, while the Masked Ones were a lesser order of sorcerers charged with making enspelled artifacts for the necromancer-priests. When the Kingdom of the Rising Sun collapsed two thousand years ago, the Masked Ones fled north and settled in Catekharon.”
“The Masked Ones are rumored to be artificers of unequalled skill,” said Claudia.
“They are,” said Halfdan. “What I am about to tell you is a secret known to few outside of the Ghosts. Even I did not know it until two weeks ago. The Masked Ones are perhaps the most powerful sorcerers in the world. The Magisterium, Istarinmul’s College of Alchemists, the stormsingers of New Kyre, the occultists of Anshan…none of them dare challenge the Masked Ones and their enspelled artifacts.”
Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 06 - Ghost in the Forge Page 2
