Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 06 - Ghost in the Forge

by Jonathan Moeller

  Her lip twitched. “I only set fire to that warehouse in Marsis twice.”

  “His ward against the fire depleted his strength,” said Kylon, pointing at the burning workshop. “If he had not fled, I would have killed him.”

  “And now you will kill us, I assume?” said Corvalis.

  “No,” said Kylon. He released some of his power. The freezing white mist around his sword blade vanished, and he slid the weapon into its scabbard. “The time has come for us to work together.”

  The Ghost said nothing, but he felt the ripple in her emotional sense.

  “Oh?” said Corvalis. “Work together to do what? Claim the armor for New Kyre?”

  “To destroy it utterly,” said Kylon.

  The Ghost’s blue eyes narrowed. “You said you would prefer to destroy the armor, but you would claim it for New Kyre if you saw no other course.”

  “I have reconsidered,” said Kylon. “The glypharmor will destroy whoever purchases it.”

  “Were you not paying attention during Mihaela’s demonstration?” said Corvalis.

  “I saw everything that you did,” said Kylon. “But consider. If the Assembly of New Kyre claims the glypharmor, every other nation will turn against us. The glypharmor is too powerful for our foes to do otherwise. The Empire, Istarinmul, Anshan, and the free cities will put aside their traditional enmity to destroy us, lest we use the glypharmor to dominate the world. And the same would happen to your Empire if Lord Titus claims the glypharmor.”

  Kylon’s city could not survive such a war. New Kyre was powerful, but fragile. It was only one city, dependent upon trade for its wealth and food. A war over the glypharmor would destroy trade and slowly squeeze the Kyracian people to death.

  A touch of dark humor went through the Ghost’s emotions. “Then perhaps we ought to let the First Magus claim the armor so the nations will unite and destroy the Magisterium. The world would surely be improved for it.”

  “Perhaps,” said Kylon, “but half the world would be destroyed in such a war.”

  “Very well,” said the Ghost. “We will hear you out. I suggest we discuss this well away from here. Sooner or later this fire is going to draw unwelcome attention.”

  Corvalis stared at him with open suspicion. Kylon did not care. He suspected Corvalis would do whatever the Ghost told him to do.

  “Very well,” said Kylon. “This way.”

  The Ghost took a moment to tuck away the shadow-cloak and pull up the cowl of her rough brown cloak, giving her the look of a caravan guard. Kylon was amazed the transformation. The figure standing before him bore no resemblance to the lovely young woman he had seen in the Hall of Assembly, or to the shadow-cloaked figure that had sown such terror among the Istarish soldiers in Marsis.

  “Let’s go,” said the Ghost.

  Kylon led them away from the burning workshop.

  ###

  “What is this place?” said the Ghost.

  Kylon had taken her and Corvalis to a public house near Catekharon’s eastern gate. Dozens of low tables were scattered around the common room, and men, mostly Anshani and Istarish, sat on cushions around the tables, speaking in low voices and sipping from clay cups. Colorful Anshani tapestries hung from the brick walls, and slaves in orange hurried back and forth.

  “It is called a coffee house,” said Kylon. “An Anshani custom. Both merchants and nobles gather in these places and drink coffee as they discuss business.”

  He seated himself on a cushion, and the two Ghosts followed suit. A slave hurried over, and presented them with three cups of coffee.

  “Interesting,” said the Ghost. “A pity there are no such places in Malarae. I suspect much business is conducted of the sort the Ghosts wish to hear.”

  “I suppose,” said Corvalis, “that you will stand out in a place like this.”

  “Less than you might think,” said Kylon, taking a sip. He had never drank coffee growing up, but after becoming a stormdancer he had helped capture a pirate ship with a cargo of Anshani coffee beans and developed a taste for it. “Anyone who sees us will assume that I am a Kyracian merchant, and that you are merely my guards.”

  “The best lies,” said the Ghost, “are told with the truth. If we pretend to be here to discuss business…then let us discuss business.” Her icy blue eyes examined him. “You said you had decided to destroy the armor. How did you find us?”

  “Purely by accident,” said Kylon. “During Mihaela’s demonstration, I saw her speaking with a Catekhari merchant named Khaltep Irzaris. Irzaris has an unsavory reputation in New Kyre, and I thought it odd that he would be friendly with a Seeker of the Scholae. Therefore I decided to investigate further.”

  A flicker of surprise went through the Ghost’s emotions. “Your instincts were correct. Irzaris is supplying the red Nhabati steel Mihaela used to create the armor. One of his caravans traveled with Lord Titus’s embassy.”

  Kylon nodded. “I hoped by tracing the source of Mihaela’s supplies, I could find her workshop, and learn how she created the glypharmor.”

  “In hopes of making it for yourself?” said Corvalis.

  Kylon shook his head. “In hope of destroying it. You have no reason to trust or believe me. But I spoke the truth when I said I wanted that armor destroyed.”

  He remembered Andromache dying on the floor of that tomb. He had seen what happened when men reached for power beyond their grasp.

  “In any event,” said Kylon, “I learned the location of Irzaris’s warehouse, and was making my way there when I saw the fire. I noticed several bands of mercenaries searching the streets, and saw you confronting Torius. I assume he set a trap for you?”

  “Aye,” said the Ghost, “but not us specifically. It seems that Torius, too, thought someone might investigate Irzaris’s warehouse.” Her brow furrowed. “But why lay a trap there? Why not break into the warehouse himself? Surely the First Magus must want to make glypharmor himself. Why…”

  “Wait,” said Corvalis, his green eyes narrowing, his emotional sense flooding with suspicion.

  “What is it?” said the Ghost.

  “You know Torius Aberon, stormdancer?” said Corvalis.

  Kylon nodded, intrigued. He had assumed Corvalis was a simple fighter, but it seemed he had some level of cunning.

  “I didn’t see you speak with him at the Hall of Assembly,” said Corvalis, “and the Magisterium considers the sorcerers of New Kyre to be dangerous barbarians. He wouldn’t have socialized with you unless he had a good reason.”

  “You’re right,” said Kylon. “I have met him before.”

  The Ghost looked at Corvalis, and to Kylon’s utter astonishment, he sensed warmth in her emotional aura, something different than the usual molten hatred that shimmered beneath her icy mind.

  The Ghost and Corvalis were in love.

  And to his even greater astonishment, he felt a mild pang of jealousy. But only a mild one. The Ghost was lovely, albeit when wearing proper women’s clothing, and her mind was sharper than a razor. But she was dangerous. Her hatred of the magi drove her on, like oil poured onto a fire, and sooner or later it would lead her to destruction.

  Along with anyone close to her.

  For a moment Kylon felt pity for Corvalis Aberon, but he pushed it aside. The safety of New Kyre was Kylon’s concern, not the fate of one Ghost and her lover.

  “When did you meet Torius?” said the Ghost.

  “When he came to New Kyre several months ago,” said Kylon. “Torius has been sailing on a regular basis for one of the free cities south of New Kyre. In retrospect, it is clear he has been visiting Catekharon on behalf of his father.”

  “Why did he come to New Kyre?” said the Ghost.

  “Because,” said Kylon, “he was sailing on a merchant trader from Malarae. Normally we would have stopped and destroyed his ship, since our nations are at war. But Torius negotiated a pact in the First Magus’s name for safe passage to the free cities.”

  “He did?” said the Ghos
t, her expression darkening. “And what did the Assembly receive in exchange?”

  “Information about the Imperial fleet,” said Kylon.

  “Then Decius Aberon,” said the Ghost, “has betrayed the Empire in pursuit of his own agenda.”

  Corvalis shrugged. “You’re surprised? The Magisterium has always regarded itself as the rightful government of the Empire. And my father will do whatever he wants, if he can get away with it.”

  “He’ll regret this,” said the Ghost. “So the First Magus sent Torius in secret to Catekharon before the Scholae issued its invitations.” She gazed into her coffee. “Either he already knew about the glypharmor…”

  “Or he knows something about its creation,” said Corvalis. “Or he assisted Mihaela with funds and supplies. He’s done that sort of thing before. From time to time he will support a magus’s secret research in hopes of gaining a useful weapon. Remember Ranarius and the Defender?”

  “Who is Ranarius?” said Kylon, puzzled.

  “He was the preceptor of the Cyrioch chapter of the magi,” said the Ghost, “and one of the Moroaica’s disciples.” Kylon scowled. “But he’s dead. It seems that both Irzaris and Torius might know part of the process to construct glypharmor.”

  “But if they do,” said Kylon, “why did the First Magus come at all? Why not simply have Torius bring him the knowledge?”

  “Because,” said Corvalis, “my father is a serpent. Torius must only know part of it. If Mihaela gave him the entire…spell, or design, or whatever, the First Magus would kill her to make sure the knowledge did not spread to his foes.”

  “Then the First Magus is here,” said the Ghost, “for a negotiation of his own. The others are haggling to buy completed glypharmor, but the First Magus is negotiating in secret for the knowledge of creating the armor.”

  “What could he possibly offer Mihaela and Zalandris?” said Kylon.

  Corvalis shrugged. “Zalandris probably knows nothing of this. Maybe Mihaela wants money, or power, or legitimacy. If she joined the Magisterium, my father would likely make her one of the high magi, and she would have more power than all but a few men in the Empire.”

  “There is power enough in Catekharon,” said Kylon.

  “Sorcerous power,” said the Ghost, “not political power. And what is the point of sorcerous power if not to amass political power?”

  Kylon disagreed, but he knew not to press the point with her. “Then we must discover what Torius and Irzaris know.”

  “We’ll have a devil of a time getting anything out of Torius,” said Corvalis. “He’s not stupid, and he almost finished us tonight. He’ll be on his guard now.”

  “Irzaris, then,” said the Ghost. “He’ll be well-guarded, but a merchant’s guards are an easier target than a battle magus.”

  “What do you propose?” said Kylon.

  Her emotional aura grew icier. “We abduct him and make him talk.”

  “Your…friends will have to arrange that,” said Kylon. “I cannot do it. I have a guard of ashtairoi, but if I assault Irzaris, the Scholae will expel the Kyracian embassy from the city. You will need to do it in secret.”

  Her smile was chilly. “We’ve had some experience with that.”

  “I suspect so,” said Kylon, taking another sip of coffee.

  “We shall find out more,” said the Ghost, “and I will make contact once we do.”

  Kylon nodded. He did not trust the Empire, and he certainly did not trust the Emperor’s Ghosts. But in a peculiar sort of way, he did trust her. Or, more precisely, he trusted her hatred of sorcery. If there was a way to destroy the glypharmor, she would do it heedless of the cost.

  “Very good,” said Kylon, rising. “I will await your message.”

  “Kylon,” said the Ghost.

  Her tone made him sit back down.

  “There is one other thing,” she said. “Somehow Mihaela used necromancy to create the glypharmor.”

  “We think,” added Corvalis, and Kylon sensed a ripple of annoyance in the Ghost’s aura.

  But he hardly noticed. Necromancy was a crime in New Kyre, its practitioners executed. And Andromache had wielded it, using the Moroaica’s secret spells to make herself the most powerful Kyracian stormsinger in centuries. With that power, she had become one of the city’s nine Archons.

  And that power led her to destruction.

  “Necromancy,” repeated Kylon, and he remembered what the Ghost had said about Ranarius. “Then… Mihaela is a disciple of the Moroaica? Like my sister?”

  Corvalis blinked in surprise, and Kylon rebuked himself. No one save for Kylon and the Ghost knew the truth. Still, Andromache was already dead. If the rumor spread of necromancy, it would seem like only one more calumny heaped upon a defeated Archon.

  “I don’t know,” said the Ghost, frowning. “She might be. Or maybe a student of one of her disciples. But it hardly matters. One of the Sages has been trying to kill the Moroaica for centuries.”

  “Unsuccessfully, it seems,” said Kylon.

  The Ghost nodded. “But the Scholae refuses to have anything to do with necromancy. A legacy of their history in Maat. If we can prove that Mihaela used necromancy to create the glypharmor…”

  “Then the Scholae will kill her for us,” said Kylon.

  Again the Ghost nodded.

  “But we are not yet sure it is necromantic,” said Corvalis.

  Again that ripple of annoyance went through the Ghost’s emotions.

  “It makes sense,” said Kylon. “Those hieroglyphs upon the armor are Maatish, and necromancers ruled the Kingdom of the Rising Sun. Old Kyrace warred against them for centuries.”

  “And if the First Magus gets his hands on the glypharmor,” said the Ghost, “you might have to face a new form of Maatish necromancy.”

  “Then it is better than no one wield the glypharmor at all,” said Kylon, rising once more. “I will await word from you. If you have need of my aid, call upon me.”

  He left the coffee house, thinking. He had no doubt that the Ghost could do what she claimed. But he would not leave the fate of New Kyre entirely in her hands.

  He would destroy the knowledge of the glypharmor, whatever the cost.

  ###

  Caina finished her coffee. Corvalis noticed that she had developed quite a taste for it since arriving at Catekharon. He preferred wine, though he had to admit that coffee kept the wits sharp.

  They left the coffee house and walked back to the Tower of Study, the canals of burning steel filling the night sky with an eerie glow.

  “Do you trust him?” said Corvalis.

  “Kylon?” said Caina. “Of course not.”

  “For a man you do not trust,” said Corvalis, “you told him a great deal.”

  “I don’t have to trust him,” said Caina. “I have something better than trust. I understand him. He is a man who will do what he sees as the right thing, even if he does not like it. And he is wise enough to see the danger of the glypharmor. So I trust him to help us destroy it.”

  “Even though he is a sorcerer,” said Corvalis.

  “Aye,” said Caina.

  “But you hate sorcerers,” said Corvalis.

  Her expression turned blank. “Sorcery is hardly my favorite thing.”

  Corvalis took a deep breath. “So you trust Kylon of House Kardamnos to act as you wish…but you do not trust Claudia.”

  “We shouldn’t talk about this here,” said Caina.

  Corvalis gestured at the deserted street around them. “No one is around to hear us.”

  “No,” said Caina at last, voice quiet. “No, I don’t trust her.”

  “Why not?” said Corvalis. “Because she can use sorcery? The stormdancer can use sorcery.”

  “Because I understand her,” said Caina.

  “What?” said Corvalis, forcing down the anger. “How can you possibly understand her? Have you known her all your life?”

  “You haven’t known her all your life,” said Caina. “You wer
e separated for years. And during those years she became a magus.”

  “So?” said Corvalis. “How is that any different than a stormdancer?”

  “She thinks like a member of the Magisterium,” said Caina. “Kylon thinks like a stormdancer, which means he will do whatever is necessary to defend New Kyre. Claudia thinks like a magus.”

  “She doesn’t think like the other magi,” said Corvalis. “She wants to use her sorcery to help people.”

  “That is the problem,” said Caina.

  “That she wants to help people?” said Corvalis. “Would you prefer her to act like Ranarius, ready to destroy half the Empire to make herself stronger?”

  “No,” said Caina.

  “Then what’s wrong with using her sorcery to help people?” said Corvalis.

  “Because she believes it gives her the right to rule over people,” said Caina.

  Corvalis opened his mouth to argue, and found that he did not have an answer.

  “She wants to use her powers to help,” said Caina. “I believe that, I truly do. But she thinks the power gives her the right to help. Even if the people she is helping do not seek her aid. Even if they do not want her help. That is not very different than ruling over people. Your father would say he is acting for the good of the Empire…”

  Corvalis glared at her. “Claudia is nothing like my father!”

  “She is,” said Caina, not flinching away from him, “whether you like it or not. I’d wager Decius Aberon says he acts for the good of the Empire, doesn’t he? That the Empire would be better served with the magi ruling, rather than the Emperor and the Imperial Curia. That the commoners and nobles would be happier if they heeded their sorcerous betters. I would wager your father even believes that himself. But that’s not what he’s really doing, is it? He’s increasing his own power and authority, all in the name of the good of the Empire. What he did to you, selling you to the Kindred…he did it because he claims to use his powers to help people.”

  “She is not like my father,” said Corvalis, his hands curling into fists.