Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 06 - Ghost in the Forge (12 page)

Chapter 11 - The Watcher

“No,” said Caina. “No, Father, I don’t want to go with him. He frightens me.” 

But her mind spun furiously beneath the show of fear. How was Talekhris still alive? His mask and rod had disappeared from the Inn of the Defender, but Marzhod had dumped his corpse into Cyrioch’s harbor. Had Marzhod betrayed them? 

Or had Talekhris come back to life?

Decius Aberon let out a nasty laugh. “Your daughter frightens easily, Master Basil.”

“I fear,” said Halfdan, “that she inherited her mother’s sensitivities.”

Caina certainly hoped not. 

“I can see why she would fear me,” said Talekhris. He was the same man they had seen in Cyrioch, Caina was sure of it, with the same blue eyes, the same limp, the same graying brown hair. “But I swear, Master Basil, that I will return your daughter unharmed to you. I will swear it on the names of whatever gods you wish, and offer whatever you want as surety.” 

Caina blinked. Talekhris wanted to talk to her. He needed to know something that she did. Or, he thought she knew something he needed to know.

Either way, Caina could use that. 

“If…if you think it best, my lord Sage,” said Caina, looking up at Halfdan. “If you will allow it, Father.” 

“If it pleases you,” said Halfdan.

“Yes,” said Caina. “I think it will.”

For Talekhris certainly knew things that she needed to know. How he had survived Corvalis’s sword through his chest, for one. And perhaps he knew how Mihaela had built the glypharmor, and why the Moroaica had claimed necromancy had been used to create the armor.  The Scholae forbade the practice of necromancy, which meant if Mihaela had somehow used necromantic spells to create the glypharmor, Caina had a chance of convincing the Masked Ones themselves to destroy the weapon. 

“Very well,” said Talekhris, beckoning. “Please come with me. We will be gone but a moment, Master Basil.” 

The Masked One led Caina from the Hall of Assembly.

###

Caina followed Talekhris up a narrow flight of spiraling stairs. The Sage moved slowly, grunting in pain with every step. 

“That would go faster,” said Caina, “with a cane.”

“So it would,” said Talekhris, not looking back. “But life is pain. It must be endured.”

“Like a sword blade through the chest?” said Caina. 

He looked back at her, and she could not tell if he was angry or amused. “Yes. Precisely like that. Like the sword blade you rammed into my heart.”

He stopped kept climbing, wincing with every step.

At last the stairs ended, and they came to another grand hall, similar to the one where Zalandris and Mihaela had held their ghastly little demonstration. Stone pedestals stood here and there, and objects rested upon the pedestals, swords and shields and cups and daggers and bowls. In the center of the room a long staff of gray metal rested upon a coffin-sized plinth. Fingers of crimson flame danced around the staff, only to harden into glittering ice crystals a few moments later, and then to melt into flickering sparks of blue-white lightning. 

Caina’s skin crawled with the presence of potent sorcery. 

“What is this place?” said Caina.

“The Chamber of Relics,” said Talekhris. “It is something of a museum. Here we house the most powerful artifacts wrought by the Scholae, objects too dangerous to ever see the light of day.” He pointed at a silver dagger upon a stone plinth, the blade sheathed in an ornate scabbard of silver and black. “That is the Stormbrand, capable of controlling the air with more power than the assembled stormsingers of the Kyracian people. That sphere will extinguish every fire within a ten mile radius, and transform the stolen heat into a weapon…”

Caina had left her ghostsilver dagger in her room. Ghostsilver was proof against sorcery, and perhaps she could use it to destroy these objects.

Or perhaps their sorcery was too strong for even ghostsilver. 

“And that,” said Talekhris, pointing at the strange staff as the lightning morphed back into flames, “is the Staff of the Elements.”

“What does that do?” said Caina. “Light fires?”

“Among other things,” said Talekhris. “It grants control over the primal elements, and it can awaken a greater elemental from its hibernation.”

Caina blinked. “This thing can actually awaken a hibernating elemental?” 

“In an instant,” said Talekhris, “though it would not be under the command of the Staff’s wielder.” 

“Gods,” said Caina, remembering how long it had taken Ranarius to find a spell capable of awakening a greater elemental. “You could destroy the world with that staff. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry?” said Talekhris.

“The Scholae,” said Caina. “The Masked Ones claim to pursue knowledge for its own sake. But first you made that staff, and then the glypharmor! Do you seek for ways to destroy the world simply for your own amusement?”

Talekhris looked away. “Once I would have dismissed you as ignorant. Now…now I do not know.” He took a deep breath. “But we are not here to discuss the failings of the Scholae.”

“No, we’re not,” said Caina. “And I know why you brought me here.”

“Why is that?” 

“You want to know,” said Caina, “if I am the Moroaica or not.”

He stared at her in silence for a moment, his fingers tight around the metallic rod. Caina had seen him use it in Cyrioch, but she suspected Talekhris had only employed a small portion of its powers. 

“Are you?” said Talekhris.

“You tell me,” said Caina.

He scowled. “This is not a game.”

“It is,” said Caina. “Your own Speaker is playing a game right now, even if he doesn’t realize it. Gathering together the most powerful and ambitious men in the world and throwing that weapon into their midst? There will be fighting before this is over. You might as well drop a dozen gladiators into a pit and offer to give the last one standing his freedom.”

“You surprise me,” said Talekhris. “You are neither the weeping child I saw in the hall nor the happy woman I saw walking with her lover in Cyrica Urbana. Who is truly beneath those masks, I wonder?”

“A Masked One accusing another of wearing a mask?” said Caina. She did not like his implication that she had been wearing a mask with Corvalis. “How poetical. But we did not come here for a debate, did we? Tell me why you think I am the Moroaica, and why you tried to kill me for it.”

“The mask of a Sage,” said Talekhris, “grants many powers. One of them is the ability to see into the shadows of the netherworld.”

“As the Anshani occultists do,” said Caina.

“They possess the second sight,” said Talekhris, “but the mask bestows it to a far greater degree. With it, I beheld the Moroaica’s power within you.” He frowned. “And yet…and yet her aura has not subsumed yours, as it did with the others.”

“Others?” said Caina.

“I have fought the Moroaica in nine of her incarnations,” said Talekhris, “and slain her five times. At least those I can remember.” He shook his head. “Every time, she had dominated her host. Yet…I see two souls within you. I do not understand.”

Neither did Caina. Talekhris claimed to have fought Jadriga nine times. She knew the Masked Ones lived for centuries, yet if Caina’s dream had been accurate, Jadriga had been born in Maat. And Maat had been destroyed over two thousand years ago. 

Just how old was Talekhris?

“Nor do I understand,” said Caina, “why you are standing here now. I saw a sword go through your heart, and I know your corpse was dumped into the Cyrican Sea.”

“I was,” said Talekhris. “It was most inconvenient.”

“So how are you still alive?” said Caina.

“A bargain, then,” said Talekhris. The rod rested in loose fingers at his side, like a master swordsman readying his weapon for a strike. “You tell me if you are truly the Moroaica…and I shall tell you how I survived.”

“Very well,” said Caina. “I slew the Moroaica in Marsis, and her spirit entered my body. But she is unable to control me. I was…scarred by sorcery when I was a child. Because of that damage, she occupies my body, but she cannot control me.” 

“Truly?” said Talekhris. “But…yes, I see. That makes a great deal of sense. Yes.” He frowned in chagrin. “So if I had slain you in Cyrica Urbana…”

“Then you would have freed the Moroaica to claim another host,” said Caina. “You didn’t think that through, did you?”

“Apparently not,” said Talekhris. 

“Now,” said Caina. “You will tell me. Why are you still alive?”

“The Moroaica,” said Talekhris.

“You are one of her disciples?” said Caina, wondering if Talekhris was a creature like Sicarion. Perhaps Talekhris had helped himself to a new heart from a hapless victim.

“In fact,” said Talekhris, “she was mine.”

“You taught her?” said Caina.

“It was,” the lines of his face tightened in a frown, “nine hundred years ago. Or perhaps eight. I cannot recall. She claimed to be one of the Szaldic solmonari, come to study from the Sages of the Scholae. I took her as a Seeker. But soon I realized her knowledge far exceeded my own, and she possessed a profound mastery of ancient Maat’s necromantic sciences.” He shook his head. “But she fooled me long enough to learn many of the Scholae’s secrets. Eventually I discovered her deception and we fought. I thought I had driven her off…but she had taken all the knowledge she needed.”

“Nine hundred years ago?” said Caina. “Can the Sages truly live so long?”

“We cannot,” said Talekhris. “Twenty years after she fled, I found the Moroaica in Anshan, and slew her in a duel. But she returned soon after in a new body. Again I hunted her down and slew her…and again she returned in a new body. I realized she would outlive me by moving from body to body, and would do terrible harm with the knowledge she had stolen from the Scholae.” 

“So you ensured,” said Caina, “that you would live as long as she did.”

She wondered if Talekhris was a necromancer, and her hands wanted to reach for her throwing knives.

He shook his head. “You think me a necromancer? I would not use her own methods to pursue her. But there was another way. An artifact of elemental power, tied to the earth itself. When I am slain, it forces my spirit back into my flesh…and I live again.” 

“Immortality, then,” said Caina.

“Of a sort,” said Talekhris.

“But there is a price,” said Caina, “isn’t there?” 

“What do you mean?” said Talekhris.

“You might be…returned to your body again and again,” said Caina, “but your injuries are not always healed.” She pointed at his right leg. “Else I wouldn’t have been able to defeat a Sage of the Scholae by throwing a frying pan at him.” 

“A frying pan?” said Talekhris.  

“And I would wager it has damaged your memory, too,” said Caina. “You met the Moroaica eight or nine hundred years ago? I think you would remember that. I suspect with every death you lose a little more of your memory.”

“Why do you think that?” said Talekhris.

“Because,” said Caina. “You said I drove a sword through your heart. I didn’t. I only distracted you by hitting your bad leg with a frying pan. I think you would remember that.”

Talekhris said nothing for a moment, and Caina stared at him.

“You,” said Talekhris, “are rather clever for a merchant’s daughter.” 

“I think you have figured out what I really am by now,” said Caina. 

“A Ghost,” said Talekhris. “Sometimes your order has aided me, throughout the centuries, though I doubt you remember.” He sighed. “And I do not remember. You are correct about the memory loss. The mortal mind…the mortal mind was not designed to handle the strain of such a long life. I say I have slain the Moroaica five times, but those are only the times I remember. It could be more. I have tried keeping records…but sometimes she finds and destroys them.” His voice grew quiet. “I was married, long ago. Yet I cannot remember my wife’s name. I cannot even remember her face, Ghost.”

“How many times have you died?” said Caina. 

“More than I can remember,” said Talekhris. “The Moroaica has slain me. Her disciples have slain me at her bidding.” He shook his head. “Her pet assassin has slain me, twice, merely for the amusement of it.”

“Assassin?” said Caina. “You mean Sicarion? Short man covered in scars?”

“Is that what he calls himself now?” said Talekhris. “Yes. He was once an initiate of the Magisterium during the Fourth Empire. The Magisterium expelled him because he enjoyed killing too much even by the standards of the Fourth Empire. The Moroaica took him as a disciple, and he has killed at her bidding ever since.”

“Not any more,” said Caina. “He’s dead. Ranarius killed him in Cyrioch.” 

“Good,” said Talekhris. “The Moroaica has caused great harm over the centuries. Her disciples, however, lack her intelligence and self-control, and are often worse.” 

“Do you have a plan for defeating her?” said Caina. “Some way to finally stop her?”

“Not yet,” said Talekhris. “I have tried to break the necromantic spells upon her spirit. I have tried to imprison her spirit, to keep it from inhabiting yet another body. Time and time again I have failed. I have wandered long in the horrid ruins of ancient Maat, seeking the secrets of their necromancy. For I do not understand how she moves from flesh to flesh, and until I do, I cannot stop her.”

“So you’re not going to kill me?” said Caina.

“Attacking you was a mistake,” said Talekhris, “and I apologize for it. Indeed, I wish you long life. How old are you? Twenty-one?” Caina nodded. “Then I pray you live to one hundred and twenty-one, Anna Callenius. As long as you live, I have a respite. I can seek some way of defeating the Moroaica without fear that she is doing harm elsewhere.”  

Caina nodded. Here was the lever she could use to gain Talekhris’s aid.

She hoped.      

“You could help me,” said Caina, “to live a long life.”

“How?” said Talekhris. “By keeping you a prisoner at the Tower of Study? The Scholae would not approve.” 

“Do you think,” said Caina, “that the Scholae approves of the glypharmor? Of Zalandris offering it for sale?”

“Opinion among the Sages,” said Talekhris, “is…divided.”