Blade of the Ghosts

by Jonathan Moeller

  “What is it?” said Aetius.

  “I don’t know,” said Caina in a soft voice. “Something powerful. Some lost spell or science of the First Empire. I’ve never seen or felt anything like it before.”

  She stared at the statue, trying to sort through her headache and the dizzying array of sensations from the potent spells. Caina had never sensed spells like this before, yet there was something familiar about them. Something…

  She blinked.

  The spells were latent. They were waiting to be activated.

  She thought of a spider crouching in its web, waiting for a fly to blunder into its reach.

  So just what would activate this web?

  She turned as Taldrane began casting a spell towards the statue, and a horrible intuition seized Caina.

  “No!” she shouted. “Taldrane, stop! Don’t…”

  She was too late.

  It was only a simple spell, one Caina had seen and felt many times before, the spell to sense the presence of arcane forces. It was the logical spell to cast, the first step towards probing and exploring the burial chamber. It did not require a great deal of arcane power, and only touched lightly upon its subject.

  Yet it was enough.

  The symbols at the statue’s base flared with light, and the sigils cut into the steps of the dais burned with icy blue flames. A cold wind began to blow through the domed chamber, the glowing mist swirling and billowing around the throne and the dais. The Magisterial Guards spun, raising their swords and shields, while the few surviving mercenaries cowered back.

  “Ah,” said Taldrane with satisfaction. “At last.”

  “You activated it,” said Caina.

  “Of course I did,” said Taldrane. “Presumably the weapon has something to do with the spells upon that statue. If I gain control of them, I can then…wait.”

  Some of the mist gathered in a pillar before the throne, flickering and writhing. As Caina watched, the mist seemed to flatten and harden, and suddenly resolved into the translucent image of a man.

  It was the Emperor Nicokator.

  The image wore armor identical to the corpse upon the throne, though this armor gleamed silver-bright, as if it had been wrought of polished moonlight. Nicokator’s image wore no helm but a diadem of gold, and his face was gaunt and bearded, his eyes hooded and deep-set. It was a stern and pitiless face, a face accustomed to war and conquest. Looking at it, Caina could believe that this man had forged the squabbling Nighmarian lords into the First Empire.

  “Gods of strife and battle,” whispered Hulagon. “You have conjured his wraith to kill us all.”

  “No,” said Taldrane. “This is only an illusion. A message he left for anyone who entered his tomb…”

  The image began to speak in a booming, rasping voice. The words were in ancient Nighmarian, the syntax and diction strange, but with an effort Caina could understand them.

  “Hearken to my counsel, and hear well my words,” said the image. “In life, the enthroned skeleton before you was Nicokator, Lord of the Citadel of Malarae, and by fire and sword I forced the other lords of Nighmaria to submit to my overlordship, and I wrought an Empire from them. In the centuries after the great cataclysm, the nations of man were sundered and torn, while every lord and prince did as he wished, and the lowly born and the poor were sore oppressed. I ended this, and I brought order to my Empire. Now one law governs Nighmaria. One ruler bring order. My law and my rule brought swift punishment to wrongdoers. When I ruled in Malarae, a virgin girl could walk from one end of my Empire to another bearing a bag of gold, and no rogue would dare raise his hand against her.”

  The crowned head turned back and forth, as if the gaunt, fierce features were regarding them.

  “Yet for all my skill at battle and my sorcerous prowess, death came to me,” said Nicokator. “No man is beyond its reach. So I must by necessity leave my Empire to the hands of another. Yet how can a ruler hold his lands without power unconquerable? Therefore I resolved to construct a weapon of great power, an irresistible force that could not be defeated.”

  “Yes,” said Taldrane, smiling.

  “Then I realized my folly,” said Nicokator.

  Taldrane’s smile vanished.

  “No one man is fit to wield supreme power, for all men are corrupt, and wickedness lurks ever within their hearts, ready to blaze forth like an ember setting a great forest aflame,” said Nicokator. “And if a man wields unchecked power, who then shall oppose him if he turns to evil and folly? An Emperor may hold the Imperial Curia and the lords of the Empire in check, binding them to peace and law. Yet if an Emperor turns to wickedness, the Imperial Curia and the lords of the Empire can bring him to account.”

  “What idiocy is this?” said Taldrane, his disgust plain. “The First Emperor’s final weapon was a lecture about virtue?”

  “I contemplated this matter, and concluded that my Empire would always be threatened by those who sought power absolute and supreme, unchecked by their peers,” said Nicokator. “I defended my Empire in life, and I shall do so in death. I commanded my servants to construct me a tomb in the valleys north of Malarae, and my lords and magistrates put forth the rumor that I had created a weapon of ultimate sorcerous power, a weapon that would be entombed with me.”

  A cold fist closed around Caina’s heart.

  “Taldrane,” said Caina. “We have to get out of here, we…”

  “Silence!” shouted Taldrane, his eyes upon the wavering image.

  “I knew this rumor would draw proud fools to my tomb,” said Nicokator, “seeking to seize absolute power for themselves.” Again the pitiless eyes swept over them. “If you now listen to my words, then you are those proud fools, come to usurp power that does not belong to you.”

  “This is ridiculous,” said Taldrane, “this…”

  “Hearken!” roared Nicokator, his voice booming through the chamber, and Taldrane flinched as if the dead Emperor had spoken to him. “I, Nicokator, Emperor of Nighmaria, do pronounce my judgment. You have sought to enslave the people of my Empire and to usurp power to which you have no right. The penalty for your crimes is death. You wished to claim a weapon of irresistible power? Then have it!”

  He made a sharp gesture, and the specter vanished, his final words echoing off the walls.

  “Hardly a threat,” said Taldrane. He seemed personally offended. “Who knew that our First Emperor was such a fool? I…”

  Twin blue lights blazed to life in the helm of the giant black statue.

  And then, to Caina’s horror, the statue started to move.

  The huge form stepped backwards off the dais, moving as smoothly and easily as if it were wrought of flesh and bone and not of gleaming black stone. The statue lifted its greatsword, both hands clasping the hilt. The statue stood twenty feet tall, and the huge sword was easily twelve feet long, the stone edges gleaming razor sharp. Of course, the weapon had to weigh at least a ton, if not more, so the sharp edges were almost unnecessary.

  The statue gazed at them, the lights of its eyes sweeping back and forth.

  “What is that?” said Hulagon.

  “Remember when I thought the statues might come to life?” whispered Caina, watching the towering black shape.

  “Perhaps,” said Hulagon, “I should not have laughed when you…”

  The colossus moved.

  It attacked in utter silence, its boots making no noise against the floor despite its immense bulk. The stone sword swept in a dark blur, and three Magisterial Guards simply disintegrated, the greatsword ripping them apart in a spray of blood and organs and twisted black metal. The dead men, or pieces of the dead men, fell to the floor, and then the screaming began in earnest.

  “Stand fast!” roared Taldrane, raising his huge mace. He sprinted towards the statue, casting a spell as he ran. “Stand fast! Stand fast and fight!”

  The Magisterial Guards obeyed, moving together in a defensive formation as their decurion bellowed orders. The surviving mercenary pr
isoners did not, and they sprinted for the doors to the outer chamber, screaming at the top of their lungs. As they did, the animated statue whirled, and it leapt into the air, soaring over the heads of the Magisterial Guards.

  It landed like a thunderclap, and the ground shook with such force that Caina lost her footing and fell, as did most of the Magisterial Guards. The mercenaries, with their hands bound, fell upon their backs and sides. The men screamed, and the animated statue simply trampled them underfoot.

  “Run!” said Hulagon, scrambling to his feet.

  “Wait!” said Caina.

  “Are you mad?” said Aetius. “For once, the Kagari is right. We need to get out of here.”

  “No,” said Caina, backing away from the doors. “Listen! It only went after the mercenaries when they fled. If we run, it will kill us. We need a distraction, a…”

  “Attack!” roared Taldrane, and he charged at the statue, the Magisterial Guards fanning out around him. Caina wondered at the sheer suicidal folly of the attack, and then she realized the master magus’s plan. Taldrane cast a complex and powerful spell as he charged, something to dominate and control the colossus. The Magisterial Guards struck from the right and the left, hammering at the statue’s legs while Taldrane flung his spell at the statue.

  It didn’t work.

  Caina felt the backlash of power as Taldrane’s sorcery shattered against the ancient spells binding the statue. The colossus trampled through the Magisterial Guards, crushing them with its boots and huge sword, and it slaughtered two-thirds of them in an instant. Taldrane fell back, fear upon his face, and the statue’s helmeted head turned towards him.

  Caina saw their only chance.

  “Run!” she shouted to Aetius and Hulagon, and together they sprinted towards the bronze doors. Behind her came the sounds of screaming and crunching metal and snapping bone, and Caina dared not slow down. She tore through the doors, Aetius and Hulagon a half-step-behind her, and skidded to a halt before the plinth holding the Sword of Nicokator.

  Caina spun around the plinth, throwing the cowl of her shadow-cloak back over her head, and looked back into Nicokator’s burial chamber. The last Magisterial Guard went down, crushed beneath the statue’s boots, and Taldrane hammered at the statue’s leg with a two-handed blow of his mace, all of his spell-enhanced strength driving the weapon. A blow like that from a veteran battle magus could crush a man like an insect.

  It didn’t even leave a scratch on the statue’s gleaming knee.

  Caina yanked the Sword of Nicokator from the plinth, the blade blazing with crimson light. Again that horrible despair thundered through her, demanding that she take the Sword and kill herself, that she end her wretched and miserable life of lies and shadows and knives. This time, though, she didn’t need to do anything with the Sword.

  She simply dropped it, the despair vanishing from her mind, the blade’s light winking out as the Sword clanged against the floor. The sigils blazed to life upon the bronze doors, and they started to groan shut as the warding spells reactivated themselves.

  Taldrane whirled, stumbling away from the statue, and his eyes met Caina’s. Rage twisted his face, and he sprinted towards her, moving with spell-augmented speed. He hurtled forward like a galloping horse, and his sorcery-enhanced speed would carry him through the bronze doors before they sealed once again.

  The colossus was simply faster.

  It reached down, its stone fist closing, and Taldrane’s head vanished in a crimson spray. His armored body hit the floor with a clatter and bounced a few times, sliding to a halt.

  The bronze doors closed with a boom, sealing away Taldrane’s corpse with the mortal remains of the First Emperor.

  ***

  Chapter 10: We Wait In The Shadows

  Caina let out a long, ragged breath, her head throbbing with pain. Picking up the Sword once had been painful. Picking up the Sword a second time had been excruciating. Yet she had survived the experience, which was more than Count Armus and Jurchan and Taldrane’s other victims could claim.

  “What was that thing?” said Hulagon, his face tight with shock.

  “I don’t know,” said Caina, shaking her head. “A…weapon of sorcery, a living siege engine. Maybe a spirit bound within a statue. You heard what the specter said. Nicokator knew there would be men like Taldrane, men who would try to seize absolute power over the Empire. So he laid this trap for them…”

  “And we blundered right into it,” said Aetius, disgusted. “Gods, what fools we were.”

  “Not your father,” said Caina. “Count Armus wanted glory and prestige for his House, yes, but not power. Nicokator set his guardian to activate when someone cast a spell at it. In his time, all the nobles of the Empire knew sorcery. He thought that anyone who came to claim this phantom weapon would be a sorcerer, so he set up his trap accordingly.”

  “It would have been better for my father to have come here alone,” said Armus with a bitter shake of his head. “Better that he had never spoken to Taldrane.”

  “Better that he had never found that accursed Sword,” said Hulagon, glaring at the dark blade. “Then Jurchan would still live. And had your father come here, the dead things in the entrance would have slain him.”

  “Maybe,” said Aetius. “I don’t know.”

  “The past is done, it cannot be undone,” said Caina.

  Hulagon snorted. “Another proverb?”

  “It’s true, is it not?” said Caina. She looked around for the Sword’s scabbard and realized that Taldrane likely had it with him. “Give me your cloak.”

  “My cloak?” said Hulagon. “Why?”

  “Because it’s going to be cold outside and I don’t want to give mine up,” said Caina, “and I need something for carrying the Sword.”

  His glare was just short of murderous, but he shrugged out his cloak and passed it to her.

  “Thank you,” said Caina. The glare didn’t abate. She stooped, wrapped the Sword of Nicokator in the tough Kagari wool, and tucked the bundle under her arm. “Let’s get out of here. Don’t touch anything on the way out. I think Taldrane might have activated some other defenses.”

  ###

  A few moments later they stood on the broad ledge outside the tomb’s outer façade, the cold mountain wind whistling past. Caina took a deep breath of the cold, pine-scented air. It was a welcome relief after the musty stillness of Nicokator’s tomb.

  “I saw no other defenses,” grumbled Hulagon. “We could have looted the treasury.”

  “You didn’t see the defensive ward around Taldrane, either,” said Caina.

  “What will happen to the bodies?” said Aetius.

  Caina shivered, and not just from the cold. “They will become part of the tomb’s defenses. You couldn’t sense the necromantic spells stirring, but I could. Within a few hours, those corpses will rise to defend the tomb, just like the ones we fought earlier.”

  Aetius shuddered. “Then those skeletons…”

  “Were likely previous tomb robbers,” said Caina.

  “Gods,” said Aetius.

  “Nicokator was indeed a fell ruler and captain of men,” said Hulagon, “if he can still punish misdeeds so long after his death. Aye, harlot, you were right. This quest was folly. I should never have come here, and I will never return to the Valley of the Emperors. I will return to the Kagari steppes, where I belong. Jurchan should never have left them.”

  “Then you won’t try to kill me for Jurchan’s death?” said Caina.

  “Taldrane himself said he slew the noyan, and Nicokator pronounced judgment upon him,” said Hulagon. “Even if you had never crossed my path, Taldrane would have slain the noyan, or he would have come here and perished in the darkness.”

  “I shall return to Malarae,” said Aetius. “I suppose House Valdarion will sink deeper into poverty. I am grateful for my life, though I shall have to sell Eastwarden. And I doubt Doriana’s father will permit the marriage now…”

  Hulagon shrugged. “Sometimes th
e only thing a man takes from a battle is his life.”

  “I suppose we can claim Taldrane’s oxen and wagons,” said Aetius. “If we get them back to Malarae, we can sell them and split the proceeds. If…”

  “I have a job for you,” said Caina.

  Both men looked at her.

  “Take me and the Sword back to Malarae,” said Caina, “and I shall pay you both well.”

  “How well?” said Hulagon.

  Caina reached into her belt and pulled out a pouch she had filled in the treasury. She opened it, revealing emerald and rubies and diamonds, some of them the size of her thumb. It was quite gratifying to see the astonishment on their expressions.

  “You said we couldn’t loot anything from the treasury!” said Aetius.

  “Because you couldn’t feel where the warding spells were,” said Caina. “I could. I have no need for the jewels. You do, though…and I would be happy to split them between you when we return to Malarae.”

  Aetius and Hulagon shared a look.

  “I think,” said Aetius, “that we can work out an arrangement.”

  ###

  Four days later Caina sat in the dining room of Halfdan’s townhouse, wearing the gown of a Nighmarian noblewoman. For all the utility that male dress gave her, it was an immense relief to be wearing women’s clothing again, to be free of the constant strain of disguising her voice and posture and mannerisms.

  Halfdan sat at the other side of the table, listening as she told her tale, his thick, callused fingers tapping the wood from time to time as he thought.

  The Sword of Nicokator rested on the table between them, sheathed in a new scabbard of silver and black leather.