Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 06 - Ghost in the Forge

by Jonathan Moeller

  Unless she was right.

  He gripped the stone railing and bowed his head, thinking. He trusted Claudia’s judgment …but Caina was cleverer than anyone he had ever met. She thought it was a trick, though she had not been able to provide a better explanation than Mihaela’s.

  “Brother,” said Claudia, touching his arm. “She will forgive you. Once we bring our father to heel and force the nations to peace. Then she will understand.” She sighed. “I wish we could have convinced her. But she hates me too much to see reason. If I said the sky was blue, Anna would go outside to see for herself…and then decide that the sky had changed color due to a sorcerous plot.”

  Claudia was not entirely wrong. But Corvalis was not certain that she was right, either. Mihaela might indeed plan to enslave the leaders of the sorcerers, but Corvalis was sure she was holding something back. Maybe not anything that would harm the Ghosts or the Empire, but something nonetheless.

  “Perhaps you are right,” said Corvalis.

  Claudia smiled. “I know I am. Anna will understand. You’ll see.”

  Corvalis hoped so. Watching her walk away from Mihaela’s rooms had hurt more than he had expected.

  He had no longer thought he was capable of feeling that much pain.

  Mihaela and Zalandris entered the Hall of Assembly, followed by dozens of Sages in their jade masks, and Corvalis forced aside his fears. He had to stay focused.

  Because he strongly suspected matters were about to become violent.

  To his surprise, he saw Torius walking alongside Mihaela, clad in his black armor, his sword waiting at his hip. There was an excited edge to his half-brother’s expression that Corvalis did not like. Mihaela herself carried a silvery object in her right hand, and Corvalis thought she had a Sage’s rod. But as she drew closer, he saw that she instead carried an ornate dagger in a sheath of silver and black.

  Something about that dagger tugged Corvalis’s memory, something that Caina had told him…

  “What is Torius doing with her?” said Corvalis.

  Claudia shrugged. “Mihaela said she had solicited the First Magus’s aid to draw him here.”

  Corvalis looked at his father. “Then shouldn’t Torius be with our father to deflect suspicion?”

  In fact, Decius Aberon was looking at Torius with a scowl. Clearly he had not expected to see Torius with Mihaela.

  “I don’t know,” said Claudia. “It won’t matter once our father climbs into his suit of glypharmor.”

  Corvalis started to answer, and then Zalandris’s voice echoed through the Hall.

  “Honored guests of the Scholae!” said Zalandris, his golden collar glinting in the metal’s dull red glow. “Thank you for coming.”

  “This summons,” said the First Magus, “is most unusual.”

  “Indeed,” said the khadjar Arsakan, folding his thick arms over his chest. “We have spent a week negotiating with you, offering you wealth and lands and estates. And now we find you offering glypharmor to every one of us!”

  Corvalis saw a stir on the other end of Hall. Kylon of House Kardamnos walked past the embassies, wearing his gray leather armor. None of his men were with him, and he had discarded his gray-green cloak.

  He was expecting trouble.

  “You are correct, my lord khadjar,” said Zalandris. “The Seeker Mihaela has shown me the correct path. Often the young who can see paths invisible to the weary minds of their elders. I thought that the glypharmor, wielded in the hands of one monarch, would guarantee peace. But Mihaela persuaded me that the power of the glypharmor would be too much of a temptation for any man to wield. I allowed Mihaela’s work to proceed because I thought it would bring peace between nations, but the glypharmor is too powerful. Only by giving glypharmor to each nation and order of sorcerers, to each king and college of arcane sciences, can we guarantee peace…”

  “You,” said Kylon, his voice ringing off the ceiling, “are a fool.”

  Zalandris blinked, and a stunned silence fell over the Hall.

  Corvalis had never seen a man look so astonished. He supposed very few men insulted a Sage of the Scholae to his face.

  “I beg your pardon?” said Zalandris, drawing himself up.”

  “Are you deaf as well as blind?” said Kylon, stopping a dozen yards from the Speaker. Mihaela glared at the stormdancer, while Torius rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I said you are a fool.”

  “What is he doing?” hissed Claudia. “He’ll ruin everything!”

  Corvalis stared hard at the stormdancer. Caina had trusted his judgment.

  “Threats?” said Zalandris. “How amusing. Is that what this is, my lord thalarchon? I am a fool for not giving New Kyre the glypharmor? And if I don’t, you’ll bring destruction upon the Scholae? Threaten the Scholae, and you will see the meaning of destruction for yourself, Kylon of House Kardamnos.”

  “I do not threaten,” said Kylon. “I merely state the truth.” He pointed at Mihaela. “You have allowed your Seeker to use the resources of the Scholae for her own aggrandizement.”

  “You lie, Kyracian,” said Mihaela. “Like anyone who studies under the Scholae, I work to advance our understanding of the arcane sciences.”

  “But the Lord Speaker is not the only fool in this chamber,” said Kylon, looking around. “I am surrounded by them.”

  “Speak for yourself, stormdancer,” said the First Magus. “Since your wretched little city-state launched a war against the might of the Nighmarian Empire, any reasonable man would question your wisdom.”

  “I call you a fool,” said Kylon, “because you are so willing to lay your heads upon the block based upon Mihaela’s honeyed words.”

  “Are you the blind man, Kylon Shipbreaker?” said Yaramzod the Black, his shadows slithering around him. “We have seen the glypharmor’s might. Do you call that a trick?”

  “It is not a trick,” said Kylon, “but a trap. Mihaela has laid a snare upon the spells binding the glypharmor. She can enslave any man wearing the armor.” He looked at the gathered ambassadors. “She convinced Zalandris to give three suits of armor to each embassy here. The most powerful men in those embassies, of course, would claim the glypharmor for themselves. And as soon as they donned the armor, they would be trapped.”

  “How does he know?” whispered Claudia.

  Caina must have told him. To his surprise, Corvalis felt relief. Kylon Shipbreaker had a towering reputation, and if he discredited Mihaela in front of the Scholae and the ambassadors, no one could claim the glypharmor.

  Had that been Caina’s plan all along?

  No. The pain in her eyes had been real.

  “Lord Kylon,” said Zalandris with the air of a man lecturing a pupil, “your fears are groundless. The glypharmor is perfectly safe to wield. It…”

  “Have you examined it yourself?” said Kylon.

  Mihaela glared at him.

  “I am certain…” began Zalandris.

  “Have you,” repeated Kylon, “examined it yourself?”

  “Such a task,” said Zalandris, “would be beneath the dignity of a Sage of the Scholae.”

  “Then you arm your students with potent spells and permit them to run about unsupervised?” said Kylon. “I may have understated the case, my lord Speaker, when I named you a fool.”

  “Rubbish!” said the First Magus. “This is merely a plot to seize the glypharmor for yourself!”

  “It is not,” said Kylon. “The embassy of New Kyre will not claim a suit of glypharmor, and we reject the Scholae’s treacherous gift. I swear this by the names of the gods of salt and brine, of storm and sea, and I vow that we shall never lay a finger upon the glypharmor.” He took a step closer to Zalandris. “For we have no wish to become Mihaela’s slaves.”

  “No, no, no,” whispered Claudia, clutching at the bridge’s railing. “No! This was our best chance.”

  Corvalis stared at Kylon. Caina trusted him, but it was plain that Kylon also trusted her. He trusted her so much that he was
willing to defy the Scholae to its face, to level these accusations before both the ambassadors and the assembled Sages.

  Why hadn’t Corvalis trusted Caina that much?

  He felt a wave of shame.

  A murmur went through the ambassadors, and Corvalis saw the sudden doubt in their expressions. Political games were one thing. But for Kylon to reject the glypharmor so forcefully and irrevocably was something else entirely.

  “You’ve gone mad, my lord thalarchon,” said the First Magus, but Corvalis knew his father well enough to see the doubt there. “To reject such power?”

  “Perhaps this is a trick of your own,” said Yaramzod the Black. “If the armor was truly a tool of enslavement, you would say nothing and let us be ensnared.”

  “You are my enemies,” said Kylon, “but I would not wish such a profound enslavement upon even you. And I would not place such power into the hands of a woman like Mihaela.”

  That, too, sounded like Caina.

  “You seem certain of this,” said Zalandris.

  “Sage!” said Mihaela. “You listen to the slander of this…this power-seeking lordling?”

  But Zalandris ignored her.

  “I am certain of it,” said Kylon, “because it is true. All men are fools at one time or another, my lord Speaker, but do not continue to be a fool. Do not let her deceive you.”

  “What do you suggest?” said Zalandris.

  “Examine the glypharmor for yourself,” said Kylon. “I am sure Mihaela has given you many promises. Put those promises to the test. Command her to show you how the glypharmor is made. You believe the glypharmor will put an end to war and bring peace between nations. If you would wield such power…then you have a responsibility to understand how that power is created.”

  “The Scholae is devoted to knowledge,” said Zalandris. “Your requests seem reasonable.”

  “You cannot believe him!” said Mihaela.

  “I trust you, certainly,” said Zalandris, “but it is necessary to put the minds of our guests at ease. I will examine the glypharmor myself, along with your workshop. I have been looking forward to seeing it. Once I have, I…”

  “Shut up!” said Mihaela. “Gods, how I have wearied of your incessant droning!”

  Again Zalandris looked shocked. “Mihaela?”

  “Enough of this farce,” said Mihaela, yanking the silver dagger from its patterned sheath.

  And suddenly Corvalis remembered the dagger.

  Caina had described it to him, using her particular eye for detail, after her strange meeting with Talekhris in the Chamber of Relics. Talekhris had called the weapon the Stormbrand, and said it granted its wielder the power to control the element of air.

  “Go,” hissed Corvalis, grabbing his sister’s arm and steering her from the bridge. “We have to go, now!”

  “What are you doing?” said Claudia. “We need…”

  “She’s going to do something,” said Corvalis. “This has been a trap all along. You’ve …”

  “That is from the Chamber of Relics!” said Zalandris. “You should not have taken it without permission!”

  “I would tell you to shut up, old man,” said Mihaela, “but I know you will not. So I will just have to do it myself.”

  Mihaela swept the Stormbrand over her head, and the air around her began to ripple. An instant later Zalandris fell to his knees, eyes wide, face red, and the Sages of the Scholae fell like leaves from the branches of a dead tree. A wave of panic went through the ambassadors, and Kylon drew his sword.

  Corvalis had seen Ranarius use that spell in Cyrioch. It corrupted the air around the victim’s head, inducing unconsciousness. The Kyracian stormsingers used it to take prisoners alive.

  And with the Stormbrand, Mihaela could stun everyone in the hall.

  “Run!” shouted Corvalis, giving Claudia a shove.

  But she would not move.

  “What’s happening?” she said. “What is Mihaela doing? Corvalis, we’ve got to…”

  He grabbed her arm and ran for the nearest exit, taking deep breaths as he did so. If he could get enough air into his lungs, he might be able to stay conscious even when the corrupted air reached him. They ran through the Anshani embassy, and Corvalis saw both Yaramzod the Black and Arsakan collapse, Arsakan’s armor rattling, Yaramzod’s shadows slithering into him like a serpent retracting its tongue.

  “Corvalis!” said Claudia, coughing and clawing at her throat. “Corvalis!”

  Corvalis opened his mouth to speak…and the corrupted air washed over him, the world around him rippling.

  “Down!” he hissed, pushing Claudia to the floor. The corrupted air produced by the spell was lighter than normal air, and rose quickly. If he could press low enough, perhaps the air would pass them over.

  Claudia slumped against the floor, eyes closed. Corvalis fought to hold his breath, but at last he had to breathe, and he felt himself grow woozy. The room spun around him, his head swimming.

  But he stayed conscious.

  After a long moment he got to his feet and looked around.

  Hundreds of men and women lay sprawled upon the floor of the Hall of Assembly, lining both sides of the molten river. The assembled Sages of the Scholae lay upon the floor, their white robes making them look almost like lily petals scattered across the stone.

  Scores of mercenaries moved through the Hall, some barking orders, while most carried the unconscious guests and Sages into the cylindrical chamber at the Tower’s heart. Some sort of strange machine stood at the edge of the round molten pool. It looked like an enormous steel coffin, twenty feet high, its sides, lid, and interior carved with elaborate hieroglyphs. A dozen pipes ran from the coffin’s sides and dipped into the molten pool. Mihaela, Torius, and Sicarion stood near the steel coffin, watching as the mercenaries worked.

  What the devil were they doing?

  Corvalis looked at Claudia. She was alive, but unconscious. He had to get her away from the Hall. He didn’t know what Mihaela, Torius, and Sicarion intended for the Scholae and their guests, but it could be nothing good.

  “You!”

  Corvalis whirled.

  A middle-aged mercenary with the grizzled look of a sergeant stalked towards him. “Why are you standing about? We are not paying you for idleness!”

  “Sir?” said Corvalis. With his armor and weapons, the sergeant must have mistaken him for another mercenary.

  “Devils of the deep! Where do they find you fools?” The sergeant leaned closer, his bloodshot eyes glaring. “Pick up the prisoners. Carry them to the Forge.” He spoke in the overly slow voice men reserved for children and idiots. “Put them in the warding circles. Make sure they’re tied up, blindfolded, and gagged. Keep doing that until all the prisoners are secure, or until you get different orders from me.”

  Corvalis could take the sergeant, he was sure, but there were dozens of men within earshot by now. He could not fight them all. Playing along was his best chance of rescuing Claudia and getting her away from whatever Mihaela had in mind.

  “Sir,” said Corvalis.

  “Get moving,” said the sergeant, jerking his head towards a trio of men.

  Gods, but he should have listened to Caina.

  Corvalis joined the other mercenaries. One of the men grabbed the wrists of a man in the stark robes of an Anshani occultist, and Corvalis gripped the occultist’s ankles. Together they carried the unconscious man through the Hall of Assembly and into the Tower’s central chamber. A dozen elaborate circles had been painted around the edge of the molten pool, surrounded by intricate glyphs and sigils. Corvalis recognized the design. They were warding circles, designed to neutralize a sorcerer’s powers. The Magisterium used them to imprison renegade sorcerers and disobedient magi.

  “Down,” grunted the mercenary, and they dumped the occultist inside one of the circles. The mercenary worked with practiced efficiency, blindfolding and gagging the occultist and binding his wrists and ankles together behind his back. With his spells dampe
ned by the warding circle and his arms and legs bound, the occultist was helpless.

  “Clear!” roared the sergeant Corvalis had seen earlier. “Put your backs into it, dogs, but stand clear of the Forge!”

  Corvalis stepped back to watch, making sure not to draw attention to himself. He looked like just another mercenary, but Sicarion, Mihaela, and Torius would all recognize him. And if they saw him, Corvalis doubted he would live for another dozen heartbeats.

  Fortunately, the strange machine, the thing the sergeant had called the Forge, held their attention. A trio of mercenaries grabbed one of the unconscious Sages, stripping away the old man’s mask and robe. They hung the naked man in a net of chains inside the massive steel coffin, leaving him suspended in its center.

  Then they swung the lid shut and Mihaela pointed her rod at the Forge, muttering a spell.

  White fire flared in the hieroglyphs covering the coffin, and a ripple went through the molten metal in the pool. The Forge shuddered, and Mihaela made a sweeping motion with the rod. Fingers of white lightning crackled up and down the steel coffin, the hieroglyphs glowing brighter, the stone floor vibrating, a strange howling noise coming from the Forge

  Then the glow faded.

  “Come forth!” shouted Mihaela.

  The steel lid swung open, and a suit of black glypharmor stepped out of the Forge, its hieroglyphs shining with white fire.

  “Gods,” whispered Corvalis.

  “Aye,” said the mercenary next to him. “Black witchery. But it pays well.”

  Somehow Mihaela’s sorcery could transform living sorcerers into suits of glypharmor. The invitation, the embassies, all of it – it had all been nothing but a ruse to gather hundreds of powerful sorcerers into the Hall of Assembly.

  He had been a fool. Caina had been right to mistrust Mihaela, and certainly right to mistrust Claudia’s judgment.

  And unless Corvalis acted, Claudia was going to pay for that mistake with her life.

  “Come on,” mumbled Corvalis. “If we don’t keep working the sergeant will have our heads.”