Ghost in the Glass

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Well,” said Libavya in a cool voice. “Who might you be?”

  Theodosia offered a grand and sweeping bow to the noblewoman, and from the corner of her eye, she saw Caina and Kylon and Ilona doing the same. “I am Theodosia of Malarae, my lady, formerly the leading lady of the Grand Imperial Opera, and now seeking my fortune in my old homeland. The honorable and noble Voivode Gregor Vagastru, may the radiance of the Divine shine upon him, invited me to sing in honor of his birthday.”

  Libavya offered a thin smile that carried a tinge of contempt. “So I see. Well, Gregor mentioned that. Who are your companions?”

  “This is my apprentice singer, Ilona,” said Theodosia, and Ilona bowed again. “The girl in the blue dress is my maid Marina, and her husband Milartes is my guard. The roads are so dangerous these days, are they not? Why, I wouldn’t feel comfortable going anywhere without armed men about me.”

  Libavya’s eyes drifted to Kylon, and her red lips smiled. “A Kyracian? You are a long way from home.”

  Kylon gave an indifferent shrug. “I go where there’s work, my lady. Mistress Theodosia pays on time.”

  “Indeed? A worthy quality in a tradeswoman,” said Libavya. Theodosia kept smiling through the veiled insult. “You have masks, I trust?” Theodosia donned hers with a flourish, and Caina followed suit. “No mask for you, Kyracian?”

  Kylon shrugged again. He was not, Theodosia suspected, a very good liar or actor. Nevertheless, he looked the part of a wary fighting man, which was appropriate, because that’s what he was. “Hard to watch for trouble with a mask over my eyes, my lady.”

  Libavya let out a musical little laugh. “You expect trouble?”

  “Doesn’t matter what I expect, my lady,” said Kylon. “Mistress Theodosia pays me to watch for trouble, so I watch for trouble.”

  Libavya laughed again and smiled at him. “A sensible attitude, Master Milartes.” Her smile cooled as her gaze swung back to Theodosia. “You can speak with my seneschal – he should be near the dais. You’ll understand if I must greet my other guests.”

  Theodosia gave the noblewoman a fixed smile. “Of course, my lady.”

  She walked into the great hall, the others following. The fires from the hearths glimmered on the polished marble of the floor. Octagonal pillars supported balconies that rose to the vaulted roof. A small army of Lady Libavya’s servants moved through the hall. Some carried fresh wood to the four hearths, keeping the massive fires blazing. Others circulated through the guests bearing trays of food and drink as the nobles and merchants chatted and laughed. None of the sanitarium’s alleged patients were in evidence. No doubt they were all locked in their rooms lest they trouble the guests.

  Or Libavya had killed them all and summoned carrion spirits to inhabit the undead shells of their corpses.

  Theodosia’s eyes flicked around the hall, and she took care to keep the contempt from her face. All the nobles and merchants were very keen to make a great show of their generosity by donating to Libavya’s sanitarium, but she wondered how many of them cared, and were here to scheme and plot and eat and drink at Libavya’s expense. She wondered how many of them, like the Voivode, knew the truth of what Libavya was doing here, how many of them were secretly members of the cult of Temnuzash.

  “Lady Libavya was all but drooling over you, Lord Kylon,” said Ilona.

  “If I touch her with anything it’s going to be the edge of my valikon,” said Kylon, his voice quiet and grim. “She was absolutely radiating necromantic power.”

  “She was,” said Caina. Behind the blue mask, her eyes seemed like sheets of ice. “She is a necromancer, and a powerful one. I have no doubt she’s the one who raised the reveniri we fought. The aura of power looks the same.”

  “Perhaps we should try to rescue any remaining patients,” said Ilona, “before she kills them and raises them as reveniri.”

  Kylon shook his head. “It’s too late. There’s no one on the upper floors of the mansion.”

  “No one?” said Theodosia. She wondered how he knew that, and then remembered his ability to sense the emotions of those around him.

  “No one,” said Kylon. “The only living people are on the ground floor.” He took a deep breath. “The reveniri we fought at the inn were likely the patients of the sanitarium.”

  “By the Divine,” said Ilona. “It’s good you two both have valikons. When you find the proof…Lady Libavya is not going to go without a fight, is she?”

  “Probably not,” said Caina. She turned her head. “And I think the Voivode is arriving.”

  Theodosia looked towards the doors to the courtyard. Lady Libavya had walked into the garden, flanked by her footmen. Horsemen rode through the gate into the courtyard, clad in crimson tabards adorned with the black hawk sigil of the Voivode of Vagraastrad.

  Gregor Vagastru had arrived at the masquerade ball in his honor.

  “Well, then,” said Theodosia. “Ready?”

  “Yes,” said Caina.

  ###

  Theodosia’s voice rang through the hall like musical thunder, and Ilona’s voice rose in counterpoint.

  Caina stood next to one of the pillars beneath the balcony, easing into the shadows. Fortunately, no one was paying any attention to her. Ilona was almost as good of a singer as Theodosia, and she was also young, pretty, and wearing a low-cut dress. Every eye was on her and Theodosia. In particular, Gregor Vagastru seemed taken with her performance. Theodosia and Ilona were singing yet another Ulkaari song of questionable taste, this one about two unmarried village women fighting over a young nobleman of vast wealth but limited intellect, and it was not the sort of song that would have been performed at the Grand Imperial Opera in Malarae. Lady Libavya had a fixed smile on her face, though her eyes glittered like knives. For a necromancer who had murdered her sanitarium’s patients to raise them as undead minions, she seemed to have a prudish streak.

  Caina glanced around the hall. A gale of laughter rose from the guests as Theodosia and Ilona reached one of the song’s more humorous stanzas. Another minute or two, she judged, and Caina would slip away into the mansion’s corridors. All eyes would be on Theodosia and Ilona, and then on the other singers and the Voivode himself. With all that, no one would notice as one serving maid slipped away.

  Kylon waited near the dais, standing guard over Theodosia and Ilona. Caina wished she could have taken him with her, but it was better that he stayed here. No one would notice if Theodosia’s maid disappeared, but they would notice if her bodyguard vanished. That could be worse, in fact. Theodosia and Ilona had no way to defend themselves if Lady Libavya decided to get rid of the annoying singers. Kylon had a valikon, his skill with a blade, and his sorcery of water and air. If Libavya came after Theodosia and Ilona, he would be more than a match for her.

  No, Kylon had her part, and Caina had hers.

  And it was time to play her part.

  She took a deep breath and started to turn, and then a shadow fell over vision.

  A tall, craggy-featured man in a red coat with black trim stepped next to her. His iron-gray hair had been oiled and slicked back, and it made him look like a graying bird of prey. His unblinking eyes were the same color, Caina realized, as the wooden paneling upon the walls, and they were just as cold and hard. She saw the faint glow of the spell around the scabbard hanging at his hip, his left hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

  She and Antonin Crailov looked at each other without blinking.

  Crailov smiled and spoke first. “Leaving so soon? You’ll miss the rest of your friend’s performance.”

  “I’ve heard her sing before,” said Caina. “It won’t hurt her feelings.”

  Crailov’s dark gaze turned towards Theodosia. “You’ve gone from the Liberator of Iramis to a serving maid in the space of a few days, Caina Kardamnos. Really, you’ve gone down in the world.”

  “I’m a serving maid in the exact same way that you are an advisor to the Voivode,” said Caina.

  Crailov laughed
, his teeth flashing white in the dim light beneath the balcony. “Is that so? I do offer the Voivode advice.”

  “And serving as the Voivode’s advisor,” said Caina, “is such a convenient disguise for what you’re really doing here.”

  Crailov looked at her, his face a blank mask. Caina’s mind raced, wondered what she should do. Should she call Kylon for help? Should she summon her valikon for aid? Or should she step out from under the balcony and join the crowd. If Crailov wanted to kill her, he probably wouldn’t do it with any witnesses present.

  Which meant he didn’t want to kill her, at least not yet.

  He wanted to talk.

  “You’ve got the Ring of Rasarion Yagar on you right now, haven’t you?” said Crailov.

  A chill went down Caina’s spine.

  “I wasn’t aware that the Iron King had a Ring,” said Caina.

  She did have the Ring. She had put it in a small pouch, which she had strapped around her left thigh, hidden beneath her skirt and underclothes. Taking the Ring with her into the sanitarium had seemed like a huge risk. Leaving it behind had seemed like an even bigger risk. If Caina wasn’t carrying the Ring, its massive necromantic aura billowed around it like the heat from a forest fire. Anyone with a modicum of sorcerous power would sense it, and she suspected that Vagraastrad was full of minor sorcerers.

  “He did,” said Crailov. “One of five relics, if you’re curious. A ring, a sword, a dagger, a diadem, and an amulet, and he stored a portion of his powers in each relic. The amulet, for instance, grants its bearer complete control over Sigilsoara. The bearer of the amulet can command the castle’s defenses, reshape it to her will…and temporarily summon it all the way out of the netherworld, assuming that a proper spell was used.”

  “A fascinating tale,” said Caina, her mouth dry, “but somewhat fanciful, I fear.” She supposed it pointless to lie. Crailov knew who she was, he had worked out that she had the Ring of Rasarion Yagar with her, and he had almost certainly figured out why she was here right now. He was an advisor to the Voivode, and the Voivode was allied with the Temnoti and the Umbarians.

  Which meant it was possible that Crailov was really working for the Umbarians.

  Or Talmania Scorneus herself.

  “It really is,” said Crailov. “An unlikely tale, but a plausible one. Here is another such tale. Talmania obtained the Amulet of the Iron King and used it to summon Sigilsoara in hopes of claiming the Ring. Unfortunately, she used her own blood to empower the spell, which had the unexpected side effect of summoning both you and her wayward nephew into Sigilsoara. Given the hungry way that your husband looks at you, I assume he was in the process of having his way with you when Talmania cast her spell, which would have brought him here as well. The three of you escaped from Sigilsoara with the Ring, and you’re making your way south to Iramis with it.” His craggy, bearded face spread in a hard smile. “What do you think of my fanciful tale, Lady Caina?”

  Could she summon her valikon and strike him before he could react? Unlikely. For that matter, Gregor Vagastru had arrived with twenty guards, and they would listen to Crailov. All Crailov needed to do was claim that she had brought a dagger or poison to assassinate the Voivode, and she would be arrested, maybe even killed.

  But for all that, she didn’t think he intended to kill her. He reminded her a little of Morgant the Razor, and if Morgant wanted to kill someone, he didn’t bother with games. If Morgant had wished to kill Caina, he would have stabbed her from behind or shot her with a crossbow from concealment or poisoned her coffee. He wouldn’t have wasted time with a speech.

  Which meant that Crailov wanted something from her. The Ring? No, if he desired the Ring, he need claim only that she wanted to assassinate the Voivode, and he could take the Ring when she was stripped and searched.

  The answer came to her.

  Antonin Crailov wanted her to do something.

  “It is a fascinating tale, sir,” said Caina. “May I answer you with one of my own?”

  He inclined his head, his dark eyes glittering.

  “The spell on your scabbard,” said Caina. “It’s one of masking and concealment. I had never seen one like it before, but then I came to Lady Libavya’s sanitarium.”

  “The famous vision of the valikarion,” said Crailov with a sardonic twist of his mouth.

  “In fact,” said Caina, “I think the spell upon your scabbard and the sanitarium are the same spells. One is just larger in scope.” A chorus of laughter went over the hall as Theodosia and Ilona continued their song. “Which makes me wonder if the two of you are connected.”

  “Mmm.” Crailov gazed at the stage. “Come with me, and I’ll tell you.”

  “Why?” said Caina. “So I’m easier to kill when I’m alone?”

  “Because,” said Crailov with a sigh, “if the Voivode or Lady Libavya happens to see me talking to you, that could cause problems for both of us.”

  Caina weighed her options. It could be a trap. But if Crailov wanted to kill her and take the Ring, this was a strange way to go about it.

  She came to a decision.

  “Better reassure Lord Kylon,” said Crailov in a sardonic voice. “He seems concerned.”

  Caina met Kylon’s gaze across the hall and nodded, trying to look confident. He gave a shallow nod back, though his hand remained hovering near his saber hilt.

  “You realize that if you kill me,” said Caina, “he’s going to come after you.”

  “I’m not an idiot, Lady Kardamnos,” said Crailov, beckoning as he stepped deeper into the shadows beneath the balcony. Caina followed him to a narrow door set into the paneled wall. “I am perfectly aware that if I kill you, I will have to kill Lord Kylon immediately after. Fortunately for us all, I have not been hired to kill either of you.” His white smile flashed in the gloom. “Yet.”

  Caina said nothing as he opened the door, and they slipped through it. Beyond was a corridor with stone walls and rough beams overhead. Likely it had been originally used for servants to carry food from the kitchens to guests in the hall. Almost certainly the entrance to the mansion’s cellars was near the kitchens.

  She wondered if Crailov was taking her there deliberately.

  “So,” said Caina, keeping her arms loose at her side in case she needed to call her valikon. “What did you want to tell me?”

  “What do you know,” said Crailov, leaning against the wall and folding his arms over his chest, “about the vyrkolaki?”

  Caina blinked. “You’re answering my question with another question?”

  Crailov inclined his head. “If you don’t know anything about the vyrkolaki, then my answer won’t make any sense to you.”

  “All right,” said Caina. “They’re a kind of undead. The Iron King created them, and they were the most powerful undead in his service. He became one himself. Some of the stories say they need to drink blood to survive. Other than that, I know little about them.”

  “Mmm,” said Crailov. “The Temple and the Magisterium did an excellent job of exterminating most of them, and those who survived were clever enough to avoid drawing attention to themselves. The vyrkolaki were the greatest undead created by the Iron King and the Temnoti. You see, my lady, do you know what the greatest weakness of the undead is?”

  “Enlighten me,” said Caina.

  “They’re obvious,” said Crailov. “It is difficult for them to hide. A reanimated corpse or an ardivid or an Umbarian cataphractus is obviously an undead thing powered by necromancy. Even intelligent undead, such as a Great Necromancer of Maat, if you were unfortunate enough to encounter one…”

  “Twice,” said Caina in a quiet voice.

  “Eh?”

  She gave him a chill little smile. “Twice. I’ve encountered Great Necromancers twice.” Crailov blinked, once. “I understand what you mean. Both Great Necromancers had to wrap themselves in illusion spells to make themselves look like living men. Otherwise, they were mummified corpses.”

  “The vyrkolaki
,” said Crailov, “are almost alive. They are almost impossible to detect with the naked eye. They breathe, though they don’t need to, and they have a heartbeat. Though their skin feels either deathly cold or burningly hot to the touch, depending on how recently they have fed. They are far faster and far stronger than a normal human and can become immaterial. They can regenerate from nearly any injury, so the best way to kill one is to cut off its head and cut out its heart. Hence the legends about hammering a wooden stake through their hearts.”

  “Do they drink blood?” said Caina.

  “No,” said Crailov. “That sounds so uncouth, doesn’t it? No, they drain the life of their victims through touch. They have remarkable charisma, and some mild ability to hypnotize their victims, so usually the victims go willingly to their deaths. Joyfully, even.”

  “They sound dangerous,” said Caina.

  “The vyrkolaki are extraordinarily dangerous,” said Crailov. “The Iron King himself became one, and so did many of his szlachts and boyars, at least those who did not become mavrokhi. Cazmar Vagastru, the ancestor of our own beloved Voivode, was a vyrkolaki before the Warmaiden burned him in his own castle. Yet for all their strengths, the vyrkolaki do have one profound weakness.”

  “Which is?” said Caina.

  “None of their powers work in sunlight,” said Crailov. “In the full light of day, a vyrkolaki has no power beyond that of a normal man. Why do you think the Warmaiden taught the Ulkaari to create sunstones? To keep lesser undead and spirits at bay, yes, but also to neutralize the powers of the vyrkolaki. She would not have been able to overthrow the Iron King without her sunstones.”

  “I see,” said Caina. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “You can see,” said Crailov, “why some would find becoming a vyrkolak to be an alluring prospect. Immortality, charisma, inhuman strength…and unlike other undead, the vyrkolaki can still enjoy the pleasures of the bedchamber. Many would find such a state most desirable.”