Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 06 - Ghost in the Forge (16 page)

“There!” said Caina. “Go!”

They ran for the double doors and jumped through them as the mercenaries stormed into the warehouse. 

“Where?” said Corvalis. “The main streets?” Redhelms patrolled the main streets of Catekharon, and they would respond to any fighting. Caina doubted Torius would be willing to cut down the Scholae’s soldiers in order to kill Corvalis. 

But the battle magus was fast, and Caina didn’t know if they could reach the main streets before Torius killed them.

A memory surfaced, a workshop she had seen on the way to Irzaris’s warehouse…

“Follow me!” said Caina, and she ran to the right. They left the abandoned warehouse behind, and came to a street lined with workshops. She saw a potter’s shop, a blacksmith, a store selling goblets, and…

There. Just as she remembered. A carpenter’s workshop. 

She risked a glance over her shoulder, and saw a dark blur atop the abandoned warehouse as Torius jumped from it.

“In there!” said Caina, pointing at the workshop.

Corvalis nodded and put his boot to the door. One, two, three kicks later and the door splintered, and he shoved aside the wreckage and hurried inside. The room looked little different than any other carpenter’s workshop Caina had seen. She saw racks of tools, stacks of lumber, and shelves and chairs in various states of completion.

And a layer of sawdust covering everything. 

“Through the back door,” said Caina, “right now.”

She reached into her satchel, fingers closing around another vial. 

Corvalis raced across the workshop, threw aside the bar, and opened the back door. Beyond Caina saw another narrow alley. Corvalis stepped outside, and Caina followed. 

Then she stopped, turned, and stared back into the workshop.

“Get clear of the door,” said Caina.

“What…” started Corvalis.

“Do it!” said Caina. 

A moment later Torius Aberon appeared at the front door, kicking aside the remains of the door. He saw Caina and stepped forward with a grin, his sword coming up, her skin crawling as she felt him summon power…

In one motion she threw the glass vial into the shop and flung herself to the side. She heard the shattering glass, glimpsed the white flash from the corner of her eye…

And then a wall of hot air exploded from the shop’s back door and slammed Caina against the far wall. A sheet of flame erupted from the door, and Corvalis grabbed her shoulders and dragged her away. Caina got to her feet and stumbled into him, her ears ringing. 

“What did you do?” said Corvalis, shouting over the roar of the flames. 

“That story you told me,” said Caina. “In Cyrioch, while we were hunting Mhadun.”

Corvalis gave her a puzzled look. 

“About the master assassin who spent weeks stuffing sawdust into a crawlspace and blew up his victim,” said Caina. She gripped his arm and caught her balance. “I’m just…I’m just glad it actually worked…”

Corvalis laughed. “Gods, you’re clever.” 

Caina grinned behind her mask. “Let’s get out of here before the Redhelms notice the…”

A hulking shape wreathed in blue light burst from the back door of the burning workshop.

It was Torius. A shimmering shell of blue light surrounded him, a ward to keep the flames from touching his flesh.

“Guess I’m not that clever,” Caina said.

Torius lunged at them, and Caina sidestepped, yanking a dagger from her belt. Corvalis parried Torius’s first blow, striking back as the blue glow faded from the black armor. Torius growled and dodged, but a hair too slow, and Corvalis’s sword struck home.

Yet the blade rebounded from the battle magus’s black plate armor. 

Caina flung a knife, aiming for Torius’s face, and the black sword came up. The knife bounced from the blade with a clang and clattered the ground. Corvalis struck again, but the older man jumped back, Corvalis’s strike clanging off his shoulder plates. 

Caina drew another knife. Corvalis would need a heavier weapon to get through Torius’s black steel plate. Yet Torius himself was not moving with his earlier superhuman speed. The ward against flame must have drained his powers. If Caina could knock him off his feet, Corvalis could land a killing blow.

Torius raised his free hand to cast a spell, but Corvalis was faster. He attacked with a quick series of swings, disrupting Torius’s concentration and driving the battle magus back. Caina threw another knife, and Torius jerked his head to the side, the blade spinning past his ear.

“Damn you!” he roared, lifting his sword.

For a moment a hint of fear flickered across his expression.

He drew back his free hand, and Caina felt the surge of arcane force.

“Corvalis!” she said. “A spell…”

Torius thrust his hand, and invisible force erupted from his armored fingers and slammed into Caina. The blast knocked her back a half-dozen steps and sent her sprawling to the ground, and she saw Corvalis fall with a grunt. 

“This isn’t finished,” snarled Torius, his jaw dripping with blood and sweat. Caina staggered back to her feet, ready to meet his attack, but Torius turned and ran with spell-enhanced speed. He reached the end of the alley, jumped over a workshop with a stupendous leap, and vanished from sight.

Why had he fled? 

She crossed to Corvalis and offered a hand, and he climbed back to his feet. 

“It seems,” said Corvalis, “that we scared him off.” 

A flicker of motion caught Caina’s eye.

“I don’t think,” she said, turning, “that we were the ones who scared him off.”

A man dropped from the rooftops and landed in the alley. He had dark hair and brown eyes, and wore gray leather armor, a blue-green cloak hanging from his shoulders. In his right hand he carried a sword of Kyracian design, the blade swirling with freezing mist. Caina felt the faint touch of his arcane senses.

It was Kylon.

Chapter 15 - Red Steel

Kylon looked at the two Ghosts. He did not think they would attack him, but caution rarely went amiss.

And he had not thought two Ghosts could face a battle magus of the Imperial Magisterium and survive. 

“Well,” said the taller of the two Ghosts, a man with close-cropped blond hair and pale green eyes. “Are we going to fight?” His emotions brushed against Kylon’s senses, fear and anger overlaid with iron discipline and self-control.

The smaller Ghost, the one in the shadow-cloak, said nothing. Kylon’s arcane senses could not penetrate that cloak, but he had a good idea of who was inside it anyway. 

“You’re one of Decius Aberon’s sons,” said Kylon, “aren’t you?”

“Aye,” said the green-eyed man. “Are you here to kill us?”

“No,” said Kylon. 

“Then why are you here?” said the man, lifting his sword.

“Corvalis,” said the shorter Ghost, and Kylon recognized the voice. The Ghost drew back her cowl and pulled off her mask, and Kylon found himself staring at the face of the woman who called herself Anna Callenius. “If he wanted us dead, he could have let Torius kill us.” 

Without the cowl of the shadow-cloak, he could sense her emotions, and she knew that. Which meant that whatever the Ghost told him next, she wanted him to know that she was telling the truth.

Or she was an even better actress than he had guessed. 

“So I take it,” said Corvalis Aberon, “that you’re not here to kill us?”

“No,” said Kylon. “Though I am curious why you were fighting Torius Aberon.”

“To kill him, of course,” said Corvalis. 

“You weren’t going about it very well,” said Kylon. He looked at the Ghost. “Though when I saw the building catch fire, I should have known you would be near.” 

Her lip twitched. “I only set fire to that warehouse in Marsis twice.” 

“His ward against the fire depleted his strength,” said Kylon, pointing at the burning workshop. “If he had not fled, I would have killed him.”

“And now you will kill us, I assume?” said Corvalis.

“No,” said Kylon. He released some of his power. The freezing white mist around his sword blade vanished, and he slid the weapon into its scabbard. “The time has come for us to work together.” 

The Ghost said nothing, but he felt the ripple in her emotional sense.

“Oh?” said Corvalis. “Work together to do what? Claim the armor for New Kyre?”

“To destroy it utterly,” said Kylon. 

The Ghost’s blue eyes narrowed. “You said you would prefer to destroy the armor, but you would claim it for New Kyre if you saw no other course.”

“I have reconsidered,” said Kylon. “The glypharmor will destroy whoever purchases it.”

“Were you not paying attention during Mihaela’s demonstration?” said Corvalis.

“I saw everything that you did,” said Kylon. “But consider. If the Assembly of New Kyre claims the glypharmor, every other nation will turn against us. The glypharmor is too powerful for our foes to do otherwise. The Empire, Istarinmul, Anshan, and the free cities will put aside their traditional enmity to destroy us, lest we use the glypharmor to dominate the world. And the same would happen to your Empire if Lord Titus claims the glypharmor.”

Kylon’s city could not survive such a war. New Kyre was powerful, but fragile. It was only one city, dependent upon trade for its wealth and food. A war over the glypharmor would destroy trade and slowly squeeze the Kyracian people to death. 

A touch of dark humor went through the Ghost’s emotions. “Then perhaps we ought to let the First Magus claim the armor so the nations will unite and destroy the Magisterium. The world would surely be improved for it.”

“Perhaps,” said Kylon, “but half the world would be destroyed in such a war.”

“Very well,” said the Ghost. “We will hear you out. I suggest we discuss this well away from here. Sooner or later this fire is going to draw unwelcome attention.” 

Corvalis stared at him with open suspicion. Kylon did not care. He suspected Corvalis would do whatever the Ghost told him to do. 

“Very well,” said Kylon. “This way.”

The Ghost took a moment to tuck away the shadow-cloak and pull up the cowl of her rough brown cloak, giving her the look of a caravan guard. Kylon was amazed the transformation. The figure standing before him bore no resemblance to the lovely young woman he had seen in the Hall of Assembly, or to the shadow-cloaked figure that had sown such terror among the Istarish soldiers in Marsis. 

“Let’s go,” said the Ghost.

Kylon led them away from the burning workshop.

###

“What is this place?” said the Ghost.

Kylon had taken her and Corvalis to a public house near Catekharon’s eastern gate. Dozens of low tables were scattered around the common room, and men, mostly Anshani and Istarish, sat on cushions around the tables, speaking in low voices and sipping from clay cups. Colorful Anshani tapestries hung from the brick walls, and slaves in orange hurried back and forth.

“It is called a coffee house,” said Kylon. “An Anshani custom. Both merchants and nobles gather in these places and drink coffee as they discuss business.” 

He seated himself on a cushion, and the two Ghosts followed suit. A slave hurried over, and presented them with three cups of coffee.

“Interesting,” said the Ghost. “A pity there are no such places in Malarae. I suspect much business is conducted of the sort the Ghosts wish to hear.” 

“I suppose,” said Corvalis, “that you will stand out in a place like this.”

“Less than you might think,” said Kylon, taking a sip. He had never drank coffee growing up, but after becoming a stormdancer he had helped capture a pirate ship with a cargo of  Anshani coffee beans and developed a taste for it. “Anyone who sees us will assume that I am a Kyracian merchant, and that you are merely my guards.” 

“The best lies,” said the Ghost, “are told with the truth. If we pretend to be here to discuss business…then let us discuss business.” Her icy blue eyes examined him. “You said you had decided to destroy the armor. How did you find us?”

“Purely by accident,” said Kylon. “During Mihaela’s demonstration, I saw her speaking with a Catekhari merchant named Khaltep Irzaris. Irzaris has an unsavory reputation in New Kyre, and I thought it odd that he would be friendly with a Seeker of the Scholae. Therefore I decided to investigate further.”

A flicker of surprise went through the Ghost’s emotions. “Your instincts were correct. Irzaris is supplying the red Nhabati steel Mihaela used to create the armor. One of his caravans traveled with Lord Titus’s embassy.”

Kylon nodded. “I hoped by tracing the source of Mihaela’s supplies, I could find her workshop, and learn how she created the glypharmor.”

“In hopes of making it for yourself?” said Corvalis. 

Kylon shook his head. “In hope of destroying it. You have no reason to trust or believe me. But I spoke the truth when I said I wanted that armor destroyed.” 

He remembered Andromache dying on the floor of that tomb. He had seen what happened when men reached for power beyond their grasp. 

“In any event,” said Kylon, “I learned the location of Irzaris’s warehouse, and was making my way there when I saw the fire. I noticed several bands of mercenaries searching the streets, and saw you confronting Torius. I assume he set a trap for you?”

“Aye,” said the Ghost, “but not us specifically. It seems that Torius, too, thought someone might investigate Irzaris’s warehouse.” Her brow furrowed. “But why lay a trap there? Why not break into the warehouse himself? Surely the First Magus must want to make glypharmor himself. Why…”

“Wait,” said Corvalis, his green eyes narrowing, his emotional sense flooding with suspicion. 

“What is it?” said the Ghost.

“You know Torius Aberon, stormdancer?” said Corvalis.

Kylon nodded, intrigued. He had assumed Corvalis was a simple fighter, but it seemed he had some level of cunning. 

“I didn’t see you speak with him at the Hall of Assembly,” said Corvalis, “and the Magisterium considers the sorcerers of New Kyre to be dangerous barbarians. He wouldn’t have socialized with you unless he had a good reason.”

“You’re right,” said Kylon. “I have met him before.”

The Ghost looked at Corvalis, and to Kylon’s utter astonishment, he sensed warmth in her emotional aura, something different than the usual molten hatred that shimmered beneath her icy mind.

The Ghost and Corvalis were in love.

And to his even greater astonishment, he felt a mild pang of jealousy. But only a mild one. The Ghost was lovely, albeit when wearing proper women’s clothing, and her mind was sharper than a razor. But she was dangerous. Her hatred of the magi drove her on, like oil poured onto a fire, and sooner or later it would lead her to destruction. 

Along with anyone close to her. 

For a moment Kylon felt pity for Corvalis Aberon, but he pushed it aside. The safety of New Kyre was Kylon’s concern, not the fate of one Ghost and her lover.

“When did you meet Torius?” said the Ghost.

“When he came to New Kyre several months ago,” said Kylon. “Torius has been sailing on a regular basis for one of the free cities south of New Kyre. In retrospect, it is clear he has been visiting Catekharon on behalf of his father.”

“Why did he come to New Kyre?” said the Ghost.

“Because,” said Kylon, “he was sailing on a merchant trader from Malarae. Normally we would have stopped and destroyed his ship, since our nations are at war. But Torius negotiated a pact in the First Magus’s name for safe passage to the free cities.”

“He did?” said the Ghost, her expression darkening. “And what did the Assembly receive in exchange?”

“Information about the Imperial fleet,” said Kylon. 

“Then Decius Aberon,” said the Ghost, “has betrayed the Empire in pursuit of his own agenda.”

Corvalis shrugged. “You’re surprised? The Magisterium has always regarded itself as the rightful government of the Empire. And my father will do whatever he wants, if he can get away with it.”

“He’ll regret this,” said the Ghost. “So the First Magus sent Torius in secret to Catekharon before the Scholae issued its invitations.” She gazed into her coffee. “Either he already knew about the glypharmor…”

“Or he knows something about its creation,” said Corvalis. “Or he assisted Mihaela with funds and supplies. He’s done that sort of thing before. From time to time he will support a magus’s secret research in hopes of gaining a useful weapon. Remember Ranarius and the Defender?” 

“Who is Ranarius?” said Kylon, puzzled. 

“He was the preceptor of the Cyrioch chapter of the magi,” said the Ghost, “and one of the Moroaica’s disciples.” Kylon scowled. “But he’s dead. It seems that both Irzaris and Torius might know part of the process to construct glypharmor.”

“But if they do,” said Kylon, “why did the First Magus come at all? Why not simply have Torius bring him the knowledge?”

“Because,” said Corvalis, “my father is a serpent. Torius must only know part of it. If Mihaela gave him the entire…spell, or design, or whatever, the First Magus would kill her to make sure the knowledge did not spread to his foes.”

“Then the First Magus is here,” said the Ghost, “for a negotiation of his own. The others are haggling to buy completed glypharmor, but the First Magus is negotiating in secret for the knowledge of creating the armor.”

“What could he possibly offer Mihaela and Zalandris?” said Kylon.

Corvalis shrugged. “Zalandris probably knows nothing of this. Maybe Mihaela wants money, or power, or legitimacy. If she joined the Magisterium, my father would likely make her one of the high magi, and she would have more power than all but a few men in the Empire.” 

“There is power enough in Catekharon,” said Kylon.

“Sorcerous power,” said the Ghost, “not political power. And what is the point of sorcerous power if not to amass political power?”

Kylon disagreed, but he knew not to press the point with her. “Then we must discover what Torius and Irzaris know.”

“We’ll have a devil of a time getting anything out of Torius,” said Corvalis. “He’s not stupid, and he almost finished us tonight. He’ll be on his guard now.”

“Irzaris, then,” said the Ghost. “He’ll be well-guarded, but a merchant’s guards are an easier target than a battle magus.” 

“What do you propose?” said Kylon.

Her emotional aura grew icier. “We abduct him and make him talk.” 

“Your…friends will have to arrange that,” said Kylon. “I cannot do it. I have a guard of ashtairoi, but if I assault Irzaris, the Scholae will expel the Kyracian embassy from the city. You will need to do it in secret.”

Her smile was chilly. “We’ve had some experience with that.”

“I suspect so,” said Kylon, taking another sip of coffee. 

“We shall find out more,” said the Ghost, “and I will make contact once we do.”

Kylon nodded. He did not trust the Empire, and he certainly did not trust the Emperor’s Ghosts. But in a peculiar sort of way, he did trust her. Or, more precisely, he trusted her hatred of sorcery. If there was a way to destroy the glypharmor, she would do it heedless of the cost. 

“Very good,” said Kylon, rising. “I will await your message.”

“Kylon,” said the Ghost.

Her tone made him sit back down. 

“There is one other thing,” she said. “Somehow Mihaela used necromancy to create the glypharmor.”

“We think,” added Corvalis, and Kylon sensed a ripple of annoyance in the Ghost’s aura.

But he hardly noticed. Necromancy was a crime in New Kyre, its practitioners executed. And Andromache had wielded it, using the Moroaica’s secret spells to make herself the most powerful Kyracian stormsinger in centuries. With that power, she had become one of the city’s nine Archons. 

And that power led her to destruction. 

“Necromancy,” repeated Kylon, and he remembered what the Ghost had said about Ranarius. “Then… Mihaela is a disciple of the Moroaica? Like my sister?”

Corvalis blinked in surprise, and Kylon rebuked himself. No one save for Kylon and the Ghost knew the truth. Still, Andromache was already dead. If the rumor spread of necromancy, it would seem like only one more calumny heaped upon a defeated Archon.