Ghost in the Glass

by Jonathan Moeller

  He could take no time to dwell on his success.

  Another reveniri lunged at him, reaching with its claws. Seb snapped up his left arm to block. The claws screeched against the plates of black armor on his arm, frost spreading across the steel. Seb felt an icy chill sink into him, but if the claws had broken his skin, the cold would have killed him so he would not complain. He swung his left arm, psychokinetic force driving his limb, and his armored fist hit the reveniri in the face. Its head snapped back, and Seb took his sword hilt in both hands and swung.

  The undead creature’s head rolled away to join the others upon the floor, and Seb turned in search of another foe.

  Around him, the battle raged.

  The witchfinders and mercenaries had formed a wall, battling against the reveniri as the creatures charged. Thankfully, Basarab had possessed the foresight to equip his men with both shields and long spears. The spears let the men attack from a distance, keeping the reveniri and their deadly claws from drawing near, while the shields deflected any strikes.

  Nevertheless, a half-dozen witchfinders and mercenaries had been killed, their bodies covered in frost. Despite the losses, the men were holding.

  They were holding because of Kylon and Crailov.

  Kylon Shipbreaker moved in a blur, the sorcery of air letting him move with unnatural speed. The valikon also gave him an overwhelming advantage against the undead. Chopping off a head or carving out a heart took time. Kylon did not need to bother with any of that. If his valikon broke the skin of the reveniri and sank into the flesh, that was enough to destroy the carrion spirit within the creature.

  Antonin Crailov proved just as effective, but for a different reason.

  There was something wrong with his sword.

  It looked like an unremarkable longsword, though it had been forged from dark gray iron rather than proper steel. It ought to have been too heavy to wield properly, and it should have held less of a keen edge than a steel blade.

  Yet with a flick of his wrist, Crailov cut a reveniri in half.

  The assassin fought with the balance and economical movements of a master swordsman. He did not have Kylon’s superhuman speed or Seb’s sorcery-augmented strength. Yet the reveniri never laid a claw upon him, and he dispatched them with quick slashes and swings of his blade. The sword of dark iron sliced through the creatures without slowing, and Seb saw him cut a reveniri in half from the crown of its head to its groin. That kind of cut should have been utterly impossible, even for an experienced battle magus equipped with an axe.

  Crailov didn’t even look winded.

  Svetlana was making herself useful, casting spell after spell, her face a rigid mask of concentration. She threw a flaring blue spark that Seb recognized as a spell to banish spirits back to the netherworld. Whenever the spark touched a reveniri, the creature collapsed at once, its carrion spirit banished from the material world.

  Two more reveniri came at Seb, and he rushed to meet them with a burst of psychokinetic speed. He slashed at the reveniri on the left, his black sword biting into its chest. The creature staggered, and Seb chopped off its head with a two-handed swing. The second reveniri lunged at him, and Seb had to retreat, using his sword to deflect the creature’s attack. He took off several of its fingers that way, but still, the creature kept coming, and Seb could not get his footing back.

  White fire flashed before his eyes, and Caina stepped behind the reveniri and stabbed it in the back. The valikon’s fire blazed from the creature’s eyes, and it went limp and collapsed to the floor.

  “Thanks,” said Seb. “I had that one, though.”

  “Did you?” said Caina, looking for another foe.

  “Of course I did. I merely needed a moment to recover. And it’s not fair that they can’t see you.”

  Caina shrugged. “If you’re fighting fair, you’re doing it wrong. We…”

  Green light flared in the corridor leading to the kitchen.

  ###

  Caina turned as the ardivids emerged from the corridor, jeweled sabers in hand, their spectral features a sneering mask over their withered skulls.

  She’d been wrong. There hadn’t been six of the things.

  There had been eight.

  The surviving reveniri fell back, forming up in a guard around the ardivid warriors, and Cazmar Vagastru stepped into the great hall, a black sword in his right hand.

  He looked as if he had fed well on the unfortunate footmen.

  When Caina had fled the crypt, he had looked like a man in his late fifties. Now he looked like a man of twenty years, at the height of his strength and vigor, his hair thick and black and his skin without flaw. His eyes still burned like pits into a bottomless fire-lit void, or perhaps gates into hell, but somehow that gave him a dark charisma. Crailov had said that the vyrkolaki could be supernaturally charming, and Caina understood why. There was something about Cazmar that drew the eye, perhaps the same way a beautiful but venomous serpent held the attention of its prey.

  A dead silence fell over the hall as the vyrkolak stepped forward. Svetlana let out a little whimper of fear and went silent.

  “So,” said Cazmar. “My subjects have come to greet the return of their lawful lord. On your knees! Pay me proper homage and respect, and I shall spare your lives.”

  “Your time is over, Cazmar Vagastru!” thundered Basarab. “The Warmaiden overthrew the Iron King and freed the Ulkaari nation from the tyranny of the vyrkolaki and the Temnoti!” Cazmar’s thin lip pulled back from his white teeth in a contemptuous snarl. “Return to the grave from whence you came! No more will your kind rule Ulkaar!”

  “Dog,” said Cazmar. “For your impertinence, I shall give you such a death that men will shudder to hear of it for a thousand years to come! I shall slay your wife and children in front of you, and then…”

  Basarab let out a mocking laugh. “Fortunately, I am a Brother of the Temple, so I have no children or wife for you to threaten!” He raised his free hand and worked a spell of the Words of Lore. “And your time has passed!”

  “Fool!” said Cazmar. “You follow the foreign religion of the Iramisians? When I take this city for my own, I shall sweep it from the land. I will crucify your Brothers and Sisters and drink their lives. Every man, woman, and child shall bow the knee to Temnuzash, and I shall train new priests to replace the unworthy and craven Temnoti. And when the Iron King rises in splendor and power, I shall march at his side as we conquer the world…”

  He blinked, and his eyes fell upon Caina. The force of his terrible gaze was like a hammer blow, but his eyes narrowed in confusion. Perhaps the vyrkolaki could read the minds of their victims, but a valikarion would be immune to his power.

  “You,” said Cazmar. “You are one of the wretched Arvaltyri.”

  “So people tell me,” said Caina. “All your power, Lord Cazmar, and you still have no defense against a valikon. I suggest you return to your rest…”

  Cazmar loosed a booming laugh.

  “I shall sweep the valikarion from Ulkaar and cleanse the taint the bitch Warmaiden left in her wake,” said Cazmar. “And I shall start with you, Arvaltyr. Kill her and bring me the relic she carries!”

  The reveniri surged forward, and the ardivids charged, raising their jeweled sabers.

  Cazmar strode towards Caina, his hellish eyes fixed on her.

  ###

  Kylon rushed to meet Cazmar, raising the valikon.

  The vyrkolak was focused on Caina, but his dark gaze turned to meet Kylon. His black sword came up, flashing in the dying light from the hearths. Whatever else Cazmar Vagastru might have been, he was no fool. He must have realized that Kylon was the most dangerous threat that he faced. The ardivids could deal with Seb and Caina and Svetlana.

  Cazmar himself would kill Kylon.

  The vyrkolak came at Kylon, and their swords crossed three times in as many heartbeats. Kylon had to draw on the full strength of his sorcery in water and air to meet the blows. Cazmar was strong, hideously strong. And wh
ile Kylon was as fast as the vyrkolak with the aid of his sorcery, Cazmar was still stronger.

  Kylon found himself forced on the retreat, Cazmar hammering at him. The vyrkolak drove him towards one of the pillars supporting the balcony, and a flurry of blows forced Kylon to raise the valikon high in defense.

  Then Cazmar released his left hand from his sword hilt and drew back his fist to punch.

  A punch? That was stupid. Kylon could shrug off a punch.

  Then he remembered that the vyrkolak’s strength would give his punches the power of sledgehammer blows.

  Kylon cursed and dodged to the side at the last minute, and Cazmar’s fist hit the pillar. He hit it with enough force to blast rock chips from the marble of the column, and he recovered from the impact far faster than a human, whirling to face Kylon again. But before he could recover his balance, Kylon stabbed the valikon at his face. Cazmar jerked to the side, and the valikon cut a smoking line down the right side of Cazmar’s jaw.

  The vyrkolak snarled, the hellish light in his eyes brightening, and his left hand snapped up once more. Instead of a fist, his fingers were spread, and green fire howled around his palm.

  Kylon dodged as a necromantic spell leaped from Cazmar’s hand, slashing across the floor in a line of green fire. It did nothing against the stone, but from the way his skin crawled, he suspected that if it had hit him, it would have killed him at once.

  He went on the attack again, swinging the valikon for Cazmar’s head. He just had time to notice that the cut he had left on the vyrkolak’s face had healed already. Cazmar raised his sword in a block, and their furious duel continued.

  ###

  The reveniri crashed into the witchfinders and the mercenaries, and the ardivids came behind.

  Caina slashed her valikon across a reveniri. The white light in its eyes went out, and the corpse joined the others on the floor. The witchfinders were holding against the reveniri, even forcing the creatures back.

  They were doing not nearly as well against the ardivids.

  The undead warriors smashed into the witchfinders and the mercenaries, striking right and left with their swords. They were faster and stronger than living men, and the ardivids kept the skills they had possessed in life. The Iron King, Caina realized, had not chosen unskilled fighters for his nobles. She saw an ardivid block a sword aimed at its head, the spectral face still sneering. With a single fluid motion, the ardivid twisted and took off the poor witchfinder’s head in a spray of crimson blood.

  That gave Caina her opening.

  She leaped forward, her valikon angled to stab. Unlike the reveniri, the ardivids seemed able to see normal light, which meant they could see Caina without difficulty. The ardivid started to whirl to face her, but Caina was already moving. Her ghostsilver blade crunched through a gap in the black armor, and the sword blazed with white fire. The spectral face over the withered head vanished, and the ardivid collapsed into a pile of bones and black armor.

  Caina wrenched the valikon free and risked a quick look around the great hall. Kylon dueled Cazmar, the white fire of his valikon battling against the dark metal of the vyrkolak’s sword. Both men were moving so fast that Caina could barely follow their movements, and that meant Kylon was using the full extent of his ability with water sorcery. She knew he could not keep that up for long without exhausting himself. Cazmar Vagastru was undead and would have no stamina to exhaust.

  She had to help Kylon. But how? She had a valikon, but she couldn’t possibly match his speed or Cazmar’s. If she tried to join the fight, Cazmar would dispatch her without difficulty. Or Kylon would try to protect her, leaving himself open in the process, and Cazmar would seize that opening to kill him. That would be worse.

  Caina tried to spot Crailov. That strange sword of his had cut through the reveniri without difficulty. Could it do the same for Cazmar’s armor? Yet she saw no sign of the red-coated assassin. Likely he had withdrawn once Cazmar had shown himself, and no doubt planned to return once the fighting was over, take the Ring from her corpse, and present it to Talmania.

  Cazmar continued hammering at Kylon, driving him back step by step. If Caina tried to join their fight, the best she could do was to get herself killed.

  She blinked.

  If she joined the fight…

  Only a fool fought fair. Cazmar was stronger and faster than a living man.

  What if he lost those advantages?

  The Warmaiden had defeated the vyrkolaki, hadn’t she? She had defeated the vyrkolaki so thoroughly that any who remained concealed themselves in the shadows, keeping themselves hidden rather than openly displaying their nature. And in a flash of insight, she realized that Cazmar had been defeated early in the Warmaiden’s campaign, before her final confrontation with the Iron King at Sigilsoara.

  Perhaps Caina could follow in the Warmaiden’s example.

  Caina turned, cut down a reveniri that stumbled into her path, and ran behind the struggling line of witchfinders. An ardivid burst through the line, intent on killing one of the mercenaries, and Caina destroyed the creature before it realized that she was there. Bones and black armor clattered against the floor, and Caina kept running.

  She found Basarab fighting amid the line, reveniri with smashed heads scattered around him. Even as she ran towards him, his massive club came down, crushing the skull of another reveniri and sending the creature collapsing to the floor.

  “High Brother!” shouted Caina.

  He looked at her, breathing hard, his face red.

  “I know how to beat the vyrkolak,” said Caina.

  ###

  Kylon parried again, sidestepped, and stabbed with the valikon, all his strength and power driving the blade. Dark steel rang against ghostsilver, and Cazmar parried the blow. At once the vyrkolak struck back, his blade blurring for Kylon’s face. He managed to get his valikon up in time to block, but the effort of it made his arms scream with strain.

  Cazmar was too fast and too strong. That was bad enough, but the vyrkolak was also a skilled warrior and a powerful necromancer. His blade work was perfect, never leaving Kylon an opening that he could exploit, and if Kylon stopped harrying him long enough, Cazmar started casting a spell. Despite all that, Kylon had managed to land a half-dozen minor hits with the valikon, but the wounds he had dealt Cazmar had healed almost at once.

  Unless Kylon had some assistance, Cazmar Vagastru was going to kill him. Unfortunately, he thought Seb was the only one who could keep up with the vyrkolak for any length of time, and Seb was pinned in place battling the ardivids. Svetlana Valcezeak’s spells might disrupt Cazmar’s concentration, but Kylon suspected Cazmar could slaughter her with ease.

  He had to end this fight, and he had to end it now. If he didn’t…

  Basarab roared, and Kylon risked a glance to the side. Basarab, Teodor, Calugar, and a half-dozen witchfinders charged towards Kylon and Cazmar. Caina ran with them, the valikon in her hand. Gods of sea and brine, what was she doing? The witchfinders would not threaten Cazmar at all.

  Indeed, the vyrkolak seemed indifferent to the threat, and his full fury fell upon Kylon once more.

  ###

  Caina ran towards Kylon as he stumbled beneath Cazmar’s inhuman speed and strength.

  “Now!” shouted Basarab.

  As one, the witchfinders stopped and reached for the pouches at their belt. Cazmar ignored them utterly. He knew they were no threat to him, that they had no weapons that could even hurt him.

  Basarab lifted the sunstone he had carried at his belt, and Teodor, Calugar, and the other witchfinders followed suit. Kylon shot a glance to the side, and his eyes went wide as he realized what was about to happen.

  The High Brother and his witchfinders unleashed their sunstones.

  The white crystals pulsed with light. When Caina had tried this in Kostiv, the light of dozens of sunstones had dazzled and confused Boyar Razdan Nagrach’s mavrokhi, but it hadn’t hurt them. The light had repelled the reveniri at the Szlacht’s Sword for
a few moments.

  It had a far more profound effect on Cazmar Vagastru.

  The great hall shone with sunlight as the crystals blazed, and Cazmar stumbled. He raised his hand with a scream, and some of the unnatural vitality drained from him. It was as if he had aged twenty years in a single heartbeat. Kylon attacked at once, and Cazmar raised his sword to block. The blades clanged together, and Cazmar staggered. His movements no longer had their supernatural speed, his limbs their inhuman strength.

  Antonin Crailov had been telling the truth about that much. The vyrkolaki lost their abilities in the sunlight, even a vyrkolak lord as ancient and as potent as Cazmar.

  The effect of the sunstones would last only a moment, but a moment was all that Kylon Shipbreaker needed. He attacked, and this time Cazmar could not match him. Suddenly Cazmar collapsed to his knees, screaming, a glistening stump where his sword hand had been. Black slime rather than red blood oozed from the wound. Kylon swung his valikon again, and Cazmar raised his remaining hand and started to cast a spell.

  Before he did, Kylon took off his head.

  White fire burst from the valikon and stabbed through Cazmar’s veins, and the armored body fell to the floor with a clang, the head rolling away to strike the base of one of the pillars. At once the corpse began to sizzle and smoke, crumbling as if consumed by invisible flames.

  And the colossal necromantic aura that Caina had seen lingering around the sanitarium and the catacombs began to unravel.

  Kylon let out a long breath and stepped back, his face glistening with sweat, his chest rising and falling.

  “Good timing,” he said at last.

  “Good swing,” said Caina. “This isn’t over until we finish off the last of the ardivids and the reveniri.”

  It was an easier fight than Caina expected. Without Cazmar or Libavya to command them, the reveniri lost their coordination, and the ardivids were no match for even an exhausted Kylon and his valikon. In the end, twelve witchfinders and five mercenary soldiers were slain, but the former sanitarium was cleansed of the undead, and the shrine to Temnuzash in the catacombs destroyed. Every single reveniri was destroyed, and the threat to the people of Vagraastrad ended.