“Come here, you two,” Halfdan said. “We have plans to make.”
Caina walked to Halfdan’s side.
“I’ll put this simply,” said Halfdan. “If Haeron Icaraeus is going to move against the Emperor, he’ll do it during the Grand Kyracian Games. Most the Empire’s nobility will attend, and if Emperor Alexius dies…or is murdered…the nobles will convene the Imperial Council and elect his successor. All the Restorationist and most of the Militarist nobility is on Haeron’s side already. He can bribe or bully the undecided lords, push aside the Loyalists, and get himself elected the next Emperor. And once Emperor, he would lift the bans on necromancy and slavery.”
“We know all this, Halfdan,” said Julia. “What are we going to do about it?”
“It’s very simple,” said Halfdan. “We’re going to stop him.”
“How?” said Theodosia. “Has the Emperor ordered us to assassinate him?”
“If necessary,” said Halfdan.
Caina was surprised. The Emperor, Halfdan had told her, preferred to have the Ghosts work quietly, subtly. Only rarely did he order direct assassinations.
“That won’t be easy,” said Caina.
They all looked at her.
“I’ve seen his bodyguards,” said Caina, “when he came to the opera. He doesn’t go anywhere without at least a dozen Kindred assassins around him. And I’ve seen the inside of his mansion. There were even more Kindred assassins there.”
“You took that assassin on the balcony,” said Julia, “and I suspect Riogan could handle more.”
“A dozen at once?” said Riogan. “Even I might find that challenging.”
“Our tasks,” said Halfdan, “are threefold. First, we will kill Haeron Icaraeus if at all possible. Second, we will attempt to disgrace him, or find irrefutable and incontrovertible evidence of his crimes. If we can find that, the Emperor can order Haeron arrested, or even force him into exile.”
“And the third task?” said Riogan.
“We will kill Maglarion,” said Halfdan.
Silence answered that.
“How?” said Caina at last.
“Perhaps it is not even necessary?” said Rekan. The very thought of striking at Maglarion seemed to unnerve him. “The man’s arcane power is immense. Surely, if we deal with Lord Haeron, Maglarion will disappear back into the shadows.”
“If Haeron is going to strike at the Emperor,” said Halfdan, “he will almost certainly use Maglarion to do it. And he has terrorized the people of the Empire for centuries. It is past time Maglarion was brought to account for his crimes.”
“Obviously,” said Caina, “but how are we going to do it? I put a poisoned crossbow bolt through his lungs, cut his throat, stabbed him, and kicked him off a fourth-story balcony. He was on his feet against in a matter of seconds.”
“He must have a reserve of necromantic energy, of stolen life force, that he can draw upon,” said Rekan. “One strong enough to heal any injury he takes, even mortal wounds.”
“Probably one of the bloodcrystals you saw him make,” said Halfdan to Caina. “If we can do enough damage to him, enough physical damage, we can overwhelm the bloodcrystal’s reservoir and kill him.”
Theodosia snorted. “How shall we do more injury than that? Will we have to chop him up, burn the pieces, and scatter the ashes?”
“Perhaps not,” said Halfdan. “Riogan?”
Riogan nodded and pulled the wrappings from his staff.
It was, in fact, a spear. The shaft was lusterless black wood, dark and grim, topped with a two-foot silver blade. Caina stared at it, fascinated. The silver seemed…odd. Wrong, somehow. Just looking at it seemed to make her eyes hurt.
Rekan took a half-step back in alarm.
“What is that?” said Caina. “It…is that enspelled?”
“No,” said Halfdan. Riogan chortled.
“Is that…” said Julia.
“Yes,” said Halfdan. “Ghostsliver.”
Rekan muttered a curse.
“What is ghostsilver?” said Caina.
“A rare form of silver, found only in the mountains of the Imperial Pale,” said Halfdan. “Only the Ghosts know about it - hence the name, obviously.”
Caina held her hand over the blade. She didn’t feel a tingle, as she did in the presence of sorcery, but something…else. It was almost like a vibration, something that made the bones of her hand tremble.
“You feel something?” said Halfdan. “I thought you might. People who have an sensitivity to sorcery can often feel the presence of ghostsilver.”
“But what does it do?” said Caina.
“Ghostsilver is highly resistant to sorcery, almost immune to it,” said Halfdan. “Which means that a ghostsilver blade can pierce a magus’s defensive wards, can destroy even the most potent enspelled objects.”
“And that means,” said Caina, “that means if we can get close enough…we can use this spear to kill Maglarion!”
Her hand curled into a fist next to the blade. All the blood on Maglarion’s hands, all his victims over the centuries. They could be avenged at last.
Her father could be avenged at last.
“That assumes we can get close enough to Maglarion to use the spear,” said Julia.
“We can,” said Halfdan. “We have bait.”
“Bait?” said Caina. “What bait?”
Halfdan smiled. “You.”
“Me?”
“Or, rather, Countess Marianna Nereide,” said Halfdan. “The one who brought Lord Alastair Corus low. Countess Marianna is rather notorious.”
Caina looked away.
“That means you’ll have drawn Lord Haeron’s attention,” said Julia. “Lord Alastair was one of his men, after all, and he must suspect the Ghosts.”
“And more importantly,” said Halfdan, “you will draw Maglarion’s attention. He hasn’t survived this long by ignoring threats. If he decides to come for you…we’ll be ready for him. Or, more specifically, Riogan and that ghostsilver spear will be ready for him.”
“Lord Haeron is throwing a number of balls before the Grand Kyracian Games begin,” said Julia. “Naturally, I have been invited to them.” Theodosia sniffed. “You’ll come as well, as my guest. Halfdan will be your seneschal, Riogan will be your bodyguard…we’ll say you were so frightened by what happened at Lord Haeron’s ballroom that you hired him for your protection. Sooner or later, you’ll draw Maglarion’s notice.”
“And then we’ll have him,” said Halfdan.
“So Marianna is your name,” murmured Rekan.
Caina shook her head. “It’s an alias, of course.”
“That plan puts her in great danger,” said Theodosia.
“Of course it does,” said Caina. “I’m a Ghost nightfighter. Great danger is what I do. And if I can spend my life to stop Maglarion… it would be worth the cost.”
Theodosia frowned, but said nothing.
“And since we are speaking of Maglarion,” said Rekan. “I believe I have uncovered part of his plan.”
“Oh?” said Caina. “You know what he wants?” She had wondered that for seven years. Why all the games with the slaves and the nobles and the bloodcrystals? What did Maglarion want?
“As you know, several of the Magisterium’s master magi are…somewhat sympathetic towards him,” said Rekan. “I have heard rumors. Apparently, Maglarion is going to teach them some of his arcane sciences.”
“In exchange for what?” said Halfdan. “He would do nothing for free.”
“In exchange for a storm,” said Rekan.
“A storm?” said Caina. “A thunderstorm?”
“Exactly,” said Rekan. “The master magi of the capital’s chapterhouse know something of the old Kyracian science of stormsinging. Maglarion has asked them to conjure a storm over Malarae.”
“A hurricane?” said Halfdan. “Something to destroy the city?”
“No,” said Rekan. “The master magi lack the power for such thing. No, Maglarion merely wants a…rainstorm, nothing more. A heavy, soaking rainstorm, large enough to cover the entire city. The sort farmers would like.”
Caina thought it over.
“Why?” she said at last.
Rekan smirked. “I know not. You are the Ghosts, so skilled at ferreting out secrets. Perhaps you can find out.”
“Do you know when?” said Halfdan.
“Within the month,” said Rekan. “Perhaps within a few days. I could not learn any more.”
“Whatever Maglarion intends with this storm,” said Theodosia, “it can’t be good.”
“Then we’d better stop him first,” said Caina.
###
Later Caina practiced her unarmed forms in a deserted corner of the workshop. Throws, punches, kicks, and leg sweeps until her heart pounded and sweat dripped down her forehead.
“You’ve kept up with it, I see,” said Halfdan.
Caina stopped, saw him approaching. “It’s kept me alive more than once.”
“Good,” said Halfdan, and took a deep breath.
“What is it?” said Caina.
“Alastair Corus is dead.”
She remembered the final expression on Alastair’s face, the twisting grief and pain as he cut down Nerina’s corpse. She remembered him laughing, remembered him taking her in his arms…
“He’s dead?” whispered Caina.
Halfdan nodded.
“How?” she said at last. “He…didn’t kill himself, did he? He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t have.”
“I don’t believe so,” said Halfdan. “I think he was poisoned.”
“Poisoned? Who did this?” said Caina.
“Tomard sent the report,” said Halfdan. “One of the Civic Militiamen found Alastair’s body in the street. Tomard thinks Alastair was poisoned, but he’s not sure. And Tomard was…disturbed enough that he wants one of us to come look at the body as soon as possible.”
Caina frowned. A man could not rise to a centurion’s rank in the Civic Militia without a level head, and Tomard was one of the steadiest men she had ever met.
“Wait,” she said, her mind working through the shock. “Tomard thinks Alastair was poisoned? Surely he’s seen men killed by poison before. Which means…which means he’s not sure how Alastair was killed, and if it was enough to disturb him…”
“You want to come?” said Halfdan.
“Yes,” said Caina.
They disguised themselves as mercenaries and left the Grand Imperial Opera.
Chapter 28 - Black Sorcery
Night had fallen by the time they reached the Civic Militia’s fortified watchtower.
It was the same watchtower where Caina and Riogan had taken the slaves after freeing them from Lord Macrinius’s cellar. Nor was it far from Haeron Icaraeus’s mansion. In fact, she could see the massive shape of the Icaraeus mansion, its proud tower soaring into the night.
Her hand curled into a fist. If Haeron had killed Alastair, he was going to pay for it. And if Maglarion had killed him…it was one more death to lay at his feet.
Halfdan pounded on the door until a grim-faced militiaman opened it.
“Aye?” he said in Caerish. “We’re not hiring recruits. Be off with you.”
“We don’t wish to join,” said Halfdan. “Your centurion is Tomard, aye?”
“What of it?”
“We’ve a message for him,” said Halfdan. “Tell him the shadows are waiting.”
The militiaman scowled, but a silver coin from Halfdan improved his disposition, and he vanished into the tower. A short time later Tomard appeared, a suspicious look on his face. He seemed steady ever, but…
Caina realized he was afraid.
“Aye?” Tomard said.
“Let the tyrants beware,” said Halfdan in High Nighmarian, “let them fear the shadows…”
Tomard grunted. “For in the shadows wait the Ghosts.” He switched back to Caerish. “Mother sent you?”
“She did,” said Halfdan.
“Follow me, then,” said Tomard, leading them into the watchtower. They walked through the central room, past militiamen eating and drinking at trestle tables. Tomard unlocked an iron-banded door, revealing the stairs to the tower’s cellar. “You two eaten yet?”
“We’re not hungry,” said Halfdan.
“That wasn’t an offer,” said Tomard, picking up a lantern. “It’s a warning. Once you see what…happened to Lord Alastair, you’ll have a hard time keeping your dinner down.”
Caina shivered.
Tomard led them down the curving stairs to the cellar, a massive vaulted room with barrels and crates stacked against one wall. A table rested in the center of the room, covered by a stained cloak.
A misshapen form lay beneath the cloak.
Caina blinked. She felt the faint tingle of sorcery, and the cold, queasy feeling she had come to associate with necromancy. It was coming from the thing lying beneath the cloak.
“That’s him?” said Halfdan.
“Aye,” said Tomard, setting the lantern on the floor. “Brace yourselves. This…isn’t pretty.”
He pulled the cloak away.
And it took every ounce of self-control Caina had not to scream.
Alastair Corus, or what was left of him, lay on the table. Caina recognized him, but only just. A huge black cyst covered the left side of his face, so large that it had burst his eye from the socket and distorted his mouth, the mouth that had kissed her, into a distorted grin. More of the huge cysts covered his arms, his legs, and his torso, and a few of them had burst open, yellowish-black slime leaking to stain the wood of the table.
“You idiot!” said Halfdan. “This isn’t poison! He died of some pestilence. What were you thinking, bringing him here? You should have burned the corpse at once! As it is, you’ve probably infected half…”
“It’s not a pestilence,” said Tomard.
“He’s right,” said Caina.
Halfdan fell silent and looked her.
“Those cysts,” said Caina. “What kind of pestilence could do that? And he was lying in the street. Anyone who passed by would have caught the plague. Every militiaman in this tower would have caught it.”
“Then if it’s not a plague,” said Halfdan, “it must be some kind of poison.”
He didn’t know, Caina realized. For the first time in the seven years, she had seen Halfdan taken aback.
“Look at those cysts,” she said, stepping closer to Alastair’s body. The queasy tingling against her skin grew stronger, sharper. “I don’t think a natural poison or disease could have done this.”
“Sorcery, then?” said Halfdan.
Caina lifted a hand, held it a few inches from Alastair’s face. It felt like tiny needles pierced her skin.
“Necromancy,” she said
Tomard muttered an oath and raked a hand through his hair.
“You’re sure?” said Halfdan.
“I can feel it,” said Caina. “Maglarion did this, I’m certain.”
But why? If Maglarion had wanted Alastair dead, surely there were simpler ways to do it. One of Haeron’s Kindred assassins, or some poison in a glass of wine. Why this hideous death?
Perhaps it was for some necromantic purpose.
She remembered the day Maglarion killed her father. It felt like it had happened hours ago, not years, as she looked at Alastair’s corpse. Maglarion said that death released necromantic power, power that could be trapped in a bloodcrystal and used by a skilled practitioner of the necromantic sciences…
Was that why he had killed Alastair in such a hideous fashion? To harvest his death for power?
The storm. Why did Maglarion want the magi to conjure a storm over Malarae?
The answer seemed just out of reach.
“He’s planning something,” whispered Caina.
“Planning what?” said Halfdan.
“I don’t know,” said Caina. “But this…I think this is just the beginning. He’s been working to something, for all these years. The Maatish scroll. All those slaves. The bloodcrystals. And now poor Alastair, and that storm…he’s going to do something even worse than this.” She looked at Halfdan. “We’ve got to stop him.”
“We shall,” said Halfdan, looking at Tomard. “We’ve seen enough. Burn this, and quickly. Whatever killed Lord Alastair might not be catching, but best not to take any chances.”
They turned to go. Caina hesitated over the body, and reached for an intact patch of skin on Alastair’s left hand.
“Oh, Alastair,” she whispered. Something inside her seemed to break, and she felt tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
And as she touched his hand, a blast of icy power erupted from him and surged up her arm.
Caina stumbled with a startled gasp. Ghostly green flames crackled up and down Alastair’s twisted limbs. Brighter flames shone in his eyes, and the crawling tingle of necromantic sorcery grew stronger, sharper.
And Alastair’s corpse started to move.
Caina jumped back in alarm as Halfdan and Tomard shouted. The corpse sat up, jerkily, like a puppet controlled by an unsteady hand. Its head twisted back and forth, and Caina heard bones grinding in its neck.
And then the corpse lunged for her, fingers hooked into claws.
Caina sidestepped, yanked the dagger from her belt, and slashed. But she realized the futility of it even as her dagger ripped across Alastair’s arm. He was already dead. How could she use a dagger to kill a man already dead? The blow staggered the corpse, but it soon recovered its balance and turned to face her.
Tomard bulled past her, shield on his arm, broadsword ready. He smashed the corpse in the face with the heavy shield, and lashed out with the broadsword, severing Alastair’s right arm at the elbow. The corpse staggered, but punched at Tomard with its remaining arm. Tomard managed to get his shield up, but the force of the blow shattered the thick wood, knocking him back.
The severed arm began crawling of its own accord towards Tomard, pulling itself along by its fingers.
Caina looked around, mind racing. Their weapons were useless. She needed something else, she needed…
One of the barrels along the wall caught her eye.
Lamp oil.
She dashed forward, plunged her dagger into the corpse’s back. The thing stiffened as she ripped the blade free, and it came after her in a shuffling run. Caina leapt up and smashed the dagger’s handle into the barrel’s spigot. Lamp oil gushed free, spraying the corpse.
She dashed past the table, seized the lantern, and flung it at Alastair’s body with all her strength.
Harsh light filled the cellar as the corpse erupted in raging yellow flames. The puddle of lamp oil went up around the corpse as well, the fire spreading across the barrels and boxes stacked against the wall.
And the other barrels of oil.
“We should probably run!” said Caina, hurrying towards Halfdan.
Alastair’s corpse thrashed once more and collapsed motionless into the spreading flames. The fire seemed to cancel whatever necromantic spell had violated his body.
Caina raced up the stairs after Halfdan and Tomard.
###
A short time later they stood outside and watched the tower burn. The walls were stone, but the floors and stairs were wood, and the flames devoured them in short order. Tomard organized the militiamen into a bucket line, pulling water from the nearby Naerian Aqueduct.
“I don’t know how I’m going to explain this to the Lord Commander,” said Tomard.
“Tell him the truth,” said Halfdan.
Tomard snorted. “Oh, yes, that will certainly go over very well. ‘Sorry, Lord Commander, but I had to burn down the tower to stop a devil-infested corpse.’ Yes, he’ll certainly believe that.” He glanced at Caina. “Did you really have to burn down the tower?”
Caina shrugged. “Would you rather be in there with the devil-infested corpse?”
“Ah…no,” said Tomard. “The two of you had better go. Else there will be awkward questions later.”
Halfdan nodded, and Caina followed him into the night.
“What do you think?” said Caina.
“First Alastair’s townhouse, and now a watchtower. You have a remarkable knack for burning down buildings.”
Caina sighed.
“It was probably a trap,” said Halfdan, “set to go off in case a magus or someone with sorcerous ability touched at the corpse.”
“I don’t have sorcerous ability,” said Caina.
“But you can sense the presence of sorcery,” said Halfdan. “That might have been enough to trigger the trap.”
“But why would Maglarion go to the trouble?” said Caina.
The slaves. The bloodcrystals. The storm. And now this.
What did he want?
“I don’t know,” said Halfdan. “Perhaps we can kill him before he reaches his goal, whatever it is.”
They returned to the Grand Imperial Opera in silence.