Child of the Ghosts (22 page)

Caina scowled. “He survived.”

“I doubt you could have done anything to kill him,” said Halfdan. “And you are the first Ghost in centuries to face him and survive. No, you are ready. You will take the final oaths of a Ghost nightfighter, and then you will return here, to join our effort against Lord Haeron.” 

Julia smiled. “Thank you for my life, child.”

“And thank you for your lessons,” said Caina.

Julia laughed. “I merely polished what was already there. She’s ready, Halfdan. You have made her into a deadly weapon for the Ghosts.”

“I hope so,” said Halfdan, “for we shall need every weapon we have to defeat Maglarion.”

He left the townhouse, and Caina followed him. 

Chapter 21 - Nightfighter

It had been years since Caina had last set foot in the Vineyard, but it had changed little in that time. It still stood tall and strong among the Disali hills, the river rushing along the base of its crag. The guards walked the walls, and the workers bustled about the terraces. 

Caina frowned.

“Something amiss?” said Halfdan.

“It seems smaller than I remember it,” said Caina, shaking her head. 

“Not really,” said Halfdan. “You’ve just grown.” 

The gates swung open at their approach, and Halfdan and Caina led their pack mules inside.

###

Komnene awaited them. 

“By Minaerys,” she murmured, catching Caina in a hug. “Look at you. You were a little girl when last I saw you.” She held Caina out at arm’s length, looking at the fine gown and the expensive cloak. “You could cause quite a stir at a ball in the Imperial capital, I think.”

Caina grinned. “I already did. Though I was wearing a mask at the time.” 

Komnene blinked. “That was…sensible of you.”

“Come,” said Halfdan. “Let’s get some food.” 

###

They had a fine dinner in the villa’s hall, with wine from the Vineyard. Caina did not like wine, even after her time with Julia and Theodosia, but even she had to admit that this wine almost tasted good.

“Is this a special occasion?” she asked Halfdan.

He nodded. “After dinner, go to your old room in the wall. Change into the clothes you find there. Then go to the watchtower. There’s a path in the cliff behind the tower, heading to the crest of the hill. Follow the path. I will meet you there.” 

Caina nodded and kept eating.

###

It was past sunset by the time they finished dinner. 

Caina walked to her old room in the wall. It was just as she had left it - the same narrow bed, the same battered dresser, the same stone walls and floor. Though like everything else in the Vineyard, it seemed smaller than she remembered.

Black clothes lay across the bed. 

Caina stripped out of her gown and changed into the loose-fitting black trousers and long-sleeved black shirt. Leather boots went on her feet, and each of the boots held a dagger in a hidden sheath. A belt went around her waist, holding knives, lockpicks, a coiled rope with a collapsible grapnel, and other useful tools. Leather gloves went over her hands, and leather bracers over her forearms. Each bracer held another hidden throwing knife.

She kept her father’s signet ring beneath her shirt, hanging from a slender chain around her neck.

Then she left the room and climbed to the Vineyard’s highest terrace, circling around the watchtower. As Halfdan had said, she saw a path zigzagging its way up the face of the cliff.

Caina took a deep breath and started to climb, taking care to keep her balance in the moonlight.

###

A fire blazed atop the hill’s rocky crown. 

Halfdan waited before the fire. Komnene stood besides him, hands folded. Next to her waited Riogan, leaning on his spear, his expression its usual mask of cold indifference. Akragas and Sandros waited there, along with a dozen other Ghosts that Caina did not know.

“It was here,” said Halfdan, speaking in Disali, “at this very spot, that the Ghosts began. The Disali farmers and herders met here, terrified from the tyranny of Ashbringers, and vowed to fight back from the shadows. And it was here, on this hill, that they met with Emperor Cormarus, and swore to serve him in exchange for his aid against the Ashbringers. And thus it has been, ever since. The Emperor defends the commoners from the tyranny of the nobility and the magi, and we aid him.” 

A wind blew along the hilltop, making the flames dance. 

“And now,” said Halfdan, “you are one of us. If you want.”

“What do you mean?” said Caina. 

“This is your last chance to walk away,” said Halfdan. “If you wish, we can find a place for you. A priestess of Minaerys. A noblewoman in the capital. An independent merchant. Say the word, and you can have whatever life you choose.” 

Caina shook her head. “And walk away from what Maglarion has done? No.”

“I warn you,” said Halfdan. “Once you join the Ghosts, once you become one of us…you will remain a Ghost for the rest of your life. You will serve us as a nightfighter, one of the Emperor’s elite spies and assassins. Our enemies will probably kill you in the course of your duties. Yet if you are injured, and cannot serve as a nightfighter, you will remain a Ghost, whether as a nightkeeper, or a circlemaster, or as one of the eyes and ears. Even if you live for a hundred years, we will find a way for you to serve. Do you understand? Even if you marry, even if you rise to wealth and power…you will remain a Ghost. For the only way to leave the Ghosts is through death.”

“I understand,” said Caina. “And I am not turning back. Not now.”

Komnene looked saddened by that. 

“So be it,” said Halfdan. “Then are you ready to take the oath, to join the Ghosts as a nightfighter?”

“I am,” said Caina.

Halfdan nodded, and switched to High Nighmarian. “Do you swear, then, to serve the Ghosts, to follow the commands of the circlemasters, upon pain of death?”

“I so swear,” said Caina in the same language.

“Do you swear to keep the secrets of the Ghosts, and to never reveal a Ghost to our enemies, upon pain of death?” 

“I so swear,” said Caina. 

“And do you swear to forever stand against the enemies of the commoners, the magi, the nobility, the slavers, and all those who would prey on the people of the Empire, upon pain of death?” said Halfdan. 

“I so swear,” said Caina. 

Halfdan stepped forward, gripped her forearms, and kissed her once on each cheek. One by one each of the other Ghosts came forward and did the same. 

“Then you are one of us,” said Halfdan. “Riogan.”

Riogan smirked raised his arm. 

Something black flowed and rippled in his grasp, seeming to merge and blend with the shadows thrown by the fire. 

“Take it,” said Riogan.

Caina hesitated, then took the flowing black thing.

It was a cloak, she saw, lighter than any fabric she had ever seen. Amazed, she held it up, and even as she lifted it, it kept blending and merging with the shadows. 

“What is it?” she said.

“A secret known only to the Ghosts,” said Halfdan. “Only we know the process of making shadowcloth, of weaving the shadows themselves with common silk. It is the cloak of a Ghost nightfighter. Wear it, and you can hide within the shadows themselves. And it offers additional protection, as well. While you wear it, your mind cannot be harmed by sorcery.”

“Though there’s nothing stopping a magus from crushing your skull with a spell,” said Riogan. 

“Put it on,” said Halfdan.

Caina donned the cloak and pulled up the cowl. It felt almost weightless, yet she saw how it blurred into the shadows, making it seem as if she were part of the darkness. 

It felt…

It felt right.

“Welcome home, nightfighter,” said Halfdan.

###

“Your first task,” said Halfdan, as they ate breakfast. “Julia told me you made the acquaintance of Lord Alastair Corus.” 

Caina paused, a cup of tea halfway to her lips. “I did. Do you want me to kill him?” She would regret that. Alastair might have been a slaver and a friend of Lord Haeron, but she had enjoyed dancing with him. 

“Not necessarily,” said Halfdan. “I want him stopped. He’s not closely allied with Lord Haeron and the Restorationists, but he does errands for them, shuttling slaves and money from the Imperial Pale to the capital. You’re going to deal with him. First, make certain that he is no longer useful to Lord Haeron. That is your main task. Second, try to find any evidence implicating Lord Haeron. Third, if at all possible, try to use Lord Alastair to hamper Lord Haeron’s slaving operations. If you do…”

“If I do,” said Caina, “then we can flush Maglarion into the open.”

Halfdan nodded. “And then we can deal with him.”

Caina blinked. “How? I put a poisoned crossbow bolt through his lungs. If that doesn’t kill him, what will?”

“Let me worry about that,” said Halfdan. “For now, find a way to ruin Lord Alastair. Some sort of public scandal would be best.” He paused. “Try not to kill him unless absolutely necessary.”

Caina nodded.

###

She left the Vineyard later that morning, once again in the guise of Countess Marianna Nereide, attended by servants Halfdan had chosen. 

The cloak, along with her weapons and tools, waited in her saddlebags. 

Chapter 22 - Stolen Lives

Maglarion stood alone in the Grey Fish Inn’s cellar. 

The ghostly green light from his bloodcrystal threw back the darkness. 

The thing had grown immense. A few years ago it had been the size of a small child. Now it was a monolith of black crystal, nine feet tall and three across, green flames writhing like tortured things in its depths. Sometimes the flames formed faces, images of those whose life forces it had captured.

It had grown vast with stolen power.

So much power, in fact, that it had healed the wounds the masked woman had inflicted in a matter of seconds. 

Infuriating, that. It had been a very long time since anyone had gotten close enough to hurt him so badly. A Ghost, most likely, probably assigned to infiltrate Lord Haeron’s birthday ball. And an exceptionally cunning one, as well, to recognize the presence of mind-controlling sorcery. Most men would have assumed that Maglarion was speaking quietly to Lady Julia, not invading her mind with a spell. 

But not that masked Ghost. 

It didn’t matter. Undoubtedly the woman lay dead in the wreckage of Haeron Icaraeus’s ballroom. 

A lot of people had died that night. 

He smiled and ran a hand along the bloodcrystal.

A lot of people had died…and his bloodcrystal had captured the power released from their deaths. 

The bloodcrystal could trap the energy released from any death within seven miles of the Grey Fish Inn, now. That covered most of Malarae, even a few of the nearby villages. Every day, people died in Malarae. Every day, fresh life energy flowed in the bloodcrystal, into Maglarion. Every day he grew stronger, his sorcery more powerful.

Killing slaves was almost unnecessary at this point. Save for the tedious necessity of placating his noble followers, of course.

Very soon now, he would be ready to cast the final spell in the ancient Maatish scroll. 

For once he had enough life energy stored in the bloodcrystal, the power would reach…a critical mass. It would transform. Ascend. Just as wood burst into flame when exposed to enough heat, so too would the bloodcrystal’s power erupt.

And that power would belong to Maglarion. 

He only needed one thing, just one thing more…

Something prickled against his senses.

He turned, saw Ikhana enter the cellar, her pale face ghostly in the bloodcrystal’s light.

“Master,” she said. “Lord Haeron would speak…”

Boots thumped against the stairs, and Haeron Icaraeus stalked past Ikhana, fists clenched, face tight with fury.

“My lord Haeron,” murmured Maglarion, still smiling. 

“I thought I would find you skulking in this pit,” said Haeron. “What in the hell were you thinking?” 

“One of the Ghosts tried to kill me,” said Maglarion. “I admit my response might have…lacked a certain subtlety.”

“A certain subtlety?” roared Haeron. “A certain subtlety? You made me look a fool before half the lords of the Empire! What good is Lord Haeron’s word, if he cannot protect his guests under his own roof from a rogue sorcerer?” 

“Perhaps you should have kept the Ghosts from penetrating your mansion,” said Maglarion. “You boasted of your security often enough.” 

“Now the Ghosts know for certain that I plan to move against the Emperor!” said Haeron, his shout ringing off the walls. “And I must engage in this mummer’s farce of the ‘hunt for the rogue sorcerer’, all while the Ghosts sniff about my affairs.” 

Maglarion laughed. 

Haeron’s face darkened. “Do you find this funny? Do you?” 

Maglarion did. Listening to Haeron Icaraeus was like listening to a child. Or a donkey that had somehow learned to imitate human speech. Maglarion was beyond him, beyond his petty schemes and his petty little games of power. Haeron Icaraeus still thought that political power was true power. He was wrong.

Sorcery was the only true power. And through it, Maglarion would live for millennia after Haeron’s bones had crumbled into dust. 

Especially since Maglarion would kill Haeron Icaraeus himself. 

“Funny?” said Maglarion at last. “No, not in the least.” He spread his hands. “I suppose, my lord, that I should simply surrender to you. You can turn me over to the Magisterium for the bounty. A hundred thousand denarii.”

Haeron blinked in surprise. 

“A hundred thousand denarii will buy quite a lot of things,” said Maglarion. He began to walk in a circle around Haeron. “Weapons. Women. Power. So many things. Perhaps you can go to the Great Market and buy…say, another ten years of life?”

Haeron began to sweat.

A smile flickered across Ikhana’s face, and she touched the black dagger at her belt. She had learned the hard way, long ago.

Stolen life force was…addictive. 

It was time Haeron Icaraeus learned the same thing.

“So, my lord,” said Maglarion. “I have wronged you, most horribly. Undoubtedly it will cost a vast fortune to repair your ballroom. I can give you immortality, of course…but what is that, weighed against money? Surrender me the Magisterium, my lord!” He held out his wrists, smiling. “Let me know the just punishment for my horrid crimes.” 

He bit back his laughter as Haeron Icaraeus struggled. No doubt Haeron realized that he ought to send Maglarion away while he still had control over his own mind. But it was far too late for that.

Even if Haeron himself did not yet know it. 

“Well…I suppose circumstances sometimes spin out of control,” said Haeron. “So long as you take greater care in the future…I can overlook this indiscretion.” 

Maglarion gave a mocking little bow. “Very gracious of you, my lord. Very gracious indeed.”

Again Ikhana’s lips twitched in something almost like a smile, her eyes predatory as she stared at Haeron. 

“Perhaps you will permit me to use a bloodcrystal on you?” said Maglarion. “If you are to rule the Empire for eternity, after all, then you need to keep up your strength.”

Haeron nodded, his eyes glittering in eagerness. “I will permit it.” 

Maglarion crossed to the far wall. A dying slave hung in chains, covered in half-healed cuts and slashes. Maglarion drew his dagger and ripped it across the slave’s throat, hot blood welling over his fingers. 

He felt the man’s life force drain into the great bloodcrystal, and shivered in pleasure.

But there was still enough lingering power for him to take the slave’s blood and shape it into a lesser bloodcrystal, one no bigger than his thumb. He crossed the cellar once more, laid his free hand on Haeron’s forehead, and drained the lesser bloodcrystal, releasing its stolen life force to into Haeron.

Haeron shuddered, his eyes going wide. He looked a few years younger when Maglarion finished, his face smoother, his hair thicker than it had been. 

“I think,” said Maglarion, “that it is time I moved.”

“Oh?” said Haeron, his voice slurred. “Where?”

“The great tower in your mansion,” said Maglarion. “The chamber at the top.” He gestured at the massive bloodcrystal. “I wish my primary bloodcrystal moved there at once.”

Lord Haeron, still drunk on the infusion of fresh life force, did not argue. 

###

“If you are not going to kill him,” said Ikhana, “then you should let me kill him.”

Maglarion and Ikhana stood in the round chamber atop the great tower of Lord Haeron’s mansion, five hundred feet above the ground. The high, narrow windows had a magnificent view of Malarae, even of the Imperial Citadel on its mountain spur. 

But the view was unimportant. House Icaraeus’s ancestral mansion lay close to Malarae’s heart. From here, the bloodcrystal’s life-draining aura covered the entire city. Even now he felt fresh death feeding into it, increasing its power.

Making him stronger. 

“Patience, my dear,” said Maglarion. “Fear not. Haeron Icaraeus shall die at his appointed time.”

Followed by a great many other people.

Including Ikhana, now that he happened to think about it. 

His bloodcrystal stood in the center of the chamber, concealed by heavy tarps, lest some sharp-eyed Ghost glimpse its glow through the windows. A wooden podium waited before the bloodcrystal, a dagger and the Maatish scroll lying upon its surface. 

Maglarion crossed to the podium, read the scroll for a moment. Then he lifted the dagger and whispered a spell. Something like rancid oil spread over the dagger’s surface, and then it began to gleam with green flames. 

He lifted the tarp and scratched the dagger’s tip across the bloodcrystal’s side.

And black blood oozed from the scratch. It dripped the floor, sizzling and boiling like fat in a hot kettle. 

Maglarion needed only one more thing to achieve true immortality, to transcend the flesh forevermore. 

He needed a great deal of death.

And in the black blood sizzling on the floor, he had found the instrument to bring about those deaths.