“Tell me that I’m wrong,” said Sebastian.
“You are a narrow-minded fool,” said Laeria.
“Damn it, woman,” said Sebastian. “Necromancers? Are you insane?”
“You are as blind as the Magisterium,” said Laeria. “They could not appreciate my talent, my potential. But the outlaws can. They understand me. Why should I not associate with them?” Her voice dropped, so quiet that Caina could barely hear it. “And not all the Magisterium thinks as you do. There are magi who appreciate the potential of necromancy and the other banned arcane sciences. They would see the magi rule the Empire again, and the glory of the Fourth Empire restored.”
“The Fourth Empire was built upon the blood of the innocent and the sweat of slaves,” said Sebastian. “I will not have anyone in my house associate with necromancers! Not even you, Laeria. If need be, I will stop this.”
Laeria laughed. “You are a weak and craven man. How will you stop me?”
“I will contact the Ghosts.”
Laeria’s laughter redoubled. “The Ghosts are a myth. A story fools use to excuse their failures.”
“I will not tolerate this, Laeria.”
Again she laughed at him. “And how will you stop me, dear Sebastian? You are a coward. You always have been a coward. Even now you are afraid of me. Stay out of my way, little boy, and perhaps you will not be hurt.”
Her heels clicked against the floor. Silence hung over the library for a moment. Then the door opened, and Sebastian walked into the room. He looked tired and disheveled, his clothes rumpled and his thinning hair sticking up at odd angles. He crossed to the desk, reached into a drawer, drew out a dusty bottle of brandy, and poured himself a glass.
Only then did he look up and see Caina.
“Daughter,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“I fell asleep on the couch,” said Caina.
Sebastian gave a distracted nod. “I’m sorry. My business in town took…longer than I anticipated. I should have been back sooner.”
“What were you and Mother fighting about?” said Caina.
Sebastian closed his eyes. “You heard?”
Caina nodded.
“The same thing we always fight about,” said Sebastian.
“It didn’t sound like it,” said Caina.
Sebastian sighed. “This…was not something I wanted to discuss with you, Caina. But…” He sighed again, and took a sip of his brandy. “I suppose it cannot be kept from you.” One more sip of brandy, and he looked at her. “Tell me about the Imperial Magisterium.”
Caina shrugged. “The magi of the Magisterium oversee the use of sorcery in the Empire.”
Sebastian nodded. “Go on.”
“They all learn to use the sorcery of the mind,” said Caina, remembering how her mother had dug into her thoughts. “They can also learn to control the elements of earth, wind, and water.”
“But not fire,” said Sebastian. “Why not?”
“Because using fire sorcery drives the wielder insane,” said Caina. “They’re also forbidden to use necromancy.”
“Why?”
“Because,” said Caina, thinking back to the books she head read, “because…other kinds of sorcery draw their power from the mind, or the elements. Necromancy draws its power from death, from blood, and…and…”
She remembered Azaia’s corpse, all that blood dripping down the wall…
“Azaia?” whispered Caina.
Sebastian sighed and nodded.
“Some…some necromancer killed her?” said Caina.
“The Magisterium,” said Sebastian, his voice heavy, “would have us believe that they have total control over sorcery in the Empire, that the forbidden arcane sciences have been stamped out. But that’s not true. Bands of rogue sorcerers have operated within the Empire for years. And many brothers and sisters of the Magisterium are…sympathetic, to say the least. And some of the nobility, for that matter. They would see the magi rule the Empire once more, would see the forbidden sciences restored, and slavery reestablished in all the provinces.”
“What has that to do with Mother?” said Caina.
“Your mother,” said Sebastian, tugging at his signet ring, “has been corresponding with one of these outlaw sorcerers.”
“Why?” said Caina.
“The Magisterium rejected her,” said Sebastian. “Perhaps the outlaws will not. Never mind that necromancers fuel their powers with the blood of the innocent. Your mother, Caina…your mother would not scruple at any crime, if she thought it would give her power.” He shook his head. “I had thought better of her. I had…I had hoped to think better of her.”
“What will we do?” said Caina.
Sebastian looked out the windows, at the moonlight rippling on the sea. “The Ghosts.”
“Ghosts?” said Caina. “Will the necromancers call up spirits?”
Sebastian smiled, briefly. “Not quite. Most people think the Ghosts are only a legend. But they’re very real. They are the Emperor’s spies, his eyes and ears. And occasionally his assassins. And they are bitter enemies of the magi, and all who practice forbidden arcane sciences. If any one can deal with your mother’s ‘friends’, the Ghosts can.”
“Or with Mother herself,” said Caina.
Sebastian shook his head. “Your mother is…brittle, Caina. She’s…” His voice trailed off. “There are bruises on your face. Did she hit you?”
“No,” said Caina, touching her cheek. It still hurt, come to think of it. “No…she did something. Some kind of spell. She pushed out with her hand, and this…invisible thing hit me. It threw me into the bookshelf.”
Sebastian frowned. “She’s…never been able to do anything like that before.” He looked at her, at the shelves, and then back to her. “She didn’t have the power. That is why the Magisterium put her out…she simply wasn’t strong enough to become a magus.”
“Then how did she get so much stronger?” said Caina.
Blood. Her father had said that necromancers used blood to fuel their powers. To make themselves stronger. And Laeria had become stronger. Caina had watched her practice sorcery for years, and Laeria had barely been able to lift a goblet into the air with her powers.
And now she had the strength to throw Caina across the room with a single gesture.
“Oh, gods,” whispered Caina. “She killed Azaia, didn’t she?”
Sebastian said nothing, but his sickened expression told Caina everything.
“What are you going to do?” said Caina, her voice shaking with panic. “She’s going to kill us. She’s going to kill me, she’s going to kill me, she’s…”
“Caina!” Sebastian stood, took her by the shoulders. “I will not let her hurt you.”
“How?” said Caina.
“I will confront her with the truth,” said Sebastian. “She was right about one thing. I have been a coward, and I have put this off for too long. I will give her one chance to leave with her life. If she is still here when the Ghosts arrive, they will kill her.”
Caina grabbed his hand. “No. Don’t. Don’t! She’ll kill you.”
“She won’t,” said Sebastian. “Bad enough that she killed a servant. But if she kills an Imperial Count, she knows that the Ghosts will never stop hunting her.”
“Don’t,” said Caina, her fingers squeezing his hand. “Please, don’t do this.”
“I have to,” said Sebastian. “It is the right thing to do.”
“She murdered Azaia!” said Caina. It was the first time she had ever shouted at her father. “How is giving her a chance to run the right thing to do?”
“Because,” said Sebastian. “She is still my wife, and I swore before gods and men to be faithful to her until death. And even if I hate her, even if we haven’t spoken a civil word to each other in ten years…she still gave me you, Caina.”
Caina had no answer for that. Yet every nerve in her body screamed that warning Laeria was a mistake, that Sebastian should contact the Ghosts at once, that he should avoid Laeria until the Ghosts arrived to deal with her.
But she could find no words to articulate her desperate fear.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
“I must,” said Sebastian, squeezing her hand. “Go to bed, Caina. This will all be settled in a few days, I promise you.”
Caina didn’t believe him. But he was her father, and she trusted him. So she nodded and let him lead her to her bedroom. He lifted her, kissed her on the forehead, and placed her upon the bed.
“Good night,” he said. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” said Caina.
Sebastian smiled and left.
Caina lay alone in the darkness.
The shadows seemed to swallow her, and at last she fell into a feverish, dream-haunted sleep.
Chapter 3 - Maglarion
Caina awoke from a nightmare, her heart pounding. In the dream, she had seen her mother standing over Azaia, a shining knife in her hands. Azaia screamed and pleaded for her life, to no avail, while Laeria laughed and laughed.
Caina rolled out of bed, shivering.
It was still dark out. Only a glimmer of moonlight came through her bedroom windows. Silence hung over the villa, complete and unbroken.
Something was wrong.
Caina could not say what it was. Yet she was afraid, more afraid than she had ever felt in her life. Even the worst of Laeria’s rages had never frightened her so badly.
She wanted her father.
Caina pushed open the bedroom door.
It struck something. Caina blinked in surprise and looked into the darkened hallway.
A body lay upon the floor.
It was Morus, the seneschal, flat upon his back, arms flung to either side. A scream rose in Caina’s throat, but then she saw his chest rising and falling, and all at once she felt foolish. Had he gotten drunk? Or had he fallen sick, and collapsed outside her door?
Caina stepped over his outstretched legs and stopped.
His eyes were open, staring at her. He did not move, did not blink. Caina hesitated, then stooped over him and waved a hand in front his face.
He blinked, once, but otherwise did not move. A foul smell struck her nostrils, and she realized that Morus had soiled himself.
What had happened to him?
Her father, she needed her father.
Caina broke into a run, and almost tripped over another body. It was Gwen, the maid who had helped her clean up the books. Like Morus, she was still alive. And like Morus, she stared unseeing at the ceiling.
What had happened to them?
Caina ran through the hallways. More of the servants, men and women she had seen every day of her life, lay open-eyed and immobile upon the floor. Caina pushed at some. She shouted at others, tugged at their ears, tried to get them to wake up.
They did not respond.
At last Caina came to her father’s bedroom. He and Laeria did not share a bedroom, had not shared a bedroom for years, and kept their rooms on opposite sides of the villa. Sebastian’s room had more bookshelves, of course, and numerous curios and relics from the Empire’s history.
His bed lay empty.
Caina stared at it panic, breathing hard. He had gone to confront Laeria. Had Laeria hurt him, or killed…
No. No. He would be upset after fighting with her, he would have gone to the library to settle his nerves.
Caina raced out of the bedroom, hurrying past the servants lying motionless in their own waste. The library doors stood open, a glimmer of moonlight spilling through the windows, and a dying fire crackled in the fireplace. Sebastian sat at his desk, and relief surged through Caina. He would know what to do, he would know how to help the servants…
“Father?” said Caina.
She skidded to a stop before his desk.
He stared at her.
Unblinking.
“Father?” said Caina.
He wasn’t sitting in his chair, she saw. He was slumped against it, his limp arms hanging over the sides, his heavy signet ring gleaming on his finger.
“Father!” shouted Caina.
He did not respond.
She rushed around the desk, shook him. He blinked a few times, but did not otherwise react.
“Wake up,” she said, starting to cry, “wake up, wake up, wake up…”
He did not. He gave no sign that he heard her. Her father started to slide out of the chair, and she pushed him back into place, hoping to keep him from falling to the floor.
Someone laughed.
Caina whirled.
Laeria Amalas walked into the library, smiling. She looked…energized. Stronger, somehow, stronger than Caina had ever seen her. Radiant, even.
Caina walked around the desk, hands curled into fists.
“You did this,” she whispered, “didn’t you?”
Again Laeria laughed at her.
“Your father,” said Laeria, looking at Sebastian. “He said he knew what I had been doing. Who had been teaching me. He would give me one chance to flee before the Ghosts came.” She stepped behind the desk and slapped him. His head turned with the blow, but his blank expression did not change. “The fool. He did not understand what I have become. What the Master has taught me.”
“What did you do to him?” said Caina.
“The Master desires secrecy,” said Laeria. “So I thought to reach into their minds, to erase their memories of the old woman’s death.” Her smiled widened. “Except…I’m afraid I didn’t quite master the spell. I wanted to erase a few days’ worth of memories. I wound up destroying their minds.”
“You…you killed them,” said Caina.
“Not quite,” said Laeria. “Living blood is the fuel of necromancy, and the Master might yet have a use for their lives. I merely erased their minds. They are little more than vegetables, now. They will lie there and drool in their own waste until they finally die of thirst.”
She crossed to the desk and ran a finger over the ancient Maatish scroll, smiling.
“Why?” whispered Caina, tears trickling down her face.
“Why?” echoed Laeria, mocking her tone. “Because the Master will not take me as a disciple unless I show my worthiness. First by ridding myself of the attachments of family. And then by offering a gift.”
Her hand strayed to the ancient scroll again.
“The scroll?” said Caina.
Laeria looked at her, eyes narrowed. “How did…yes, child. The scroll. Dear Sebastian didn’t know what he had found. This scroll is a spell of Maatish necromancy, ancient and powerful. The Master desires it. I offered it to him, in exchange for his teachings, and he agreed to take me as a disciple.”
“That’s it?” said Caina. “You did…did this to my father for some stupid old scroll?”
“The Master desired one other thing, as the price of my discipleship,” said Laeria, her smile widening. “You, my dear child.”
“You hurt Father,” whispered Caina, “for that?”
“I told you that you would be of use to me yet,” said Laeria. “The blood of a virgin has power…power that can fuel the most potent spells of necromantic science. The Master will make good use of you, child, better use than you could have ever achieved with your worthless waste of a life.”
“You hurt Father!” said Caina, her voice rising to a scream.
Laeria scowled and strode around the desk, and Caina backed away until she bumped into the fireplace. “And I wish I had done it years ago. I loathed you both, you and your worthless craven of a father. At least I shall find some use for you in the end. Though I wish I had never met your father!” She smirked. “No, that’s not quite true. I wish I had killed him ten years ago…”
Caina screamed. Rage drowned both her fear and pain alike. She wanted nothing more than to make Laeria pay, to smash the gloating smirk from her face.
Her hand closed about the fireplace poker.
Laeria laughed at her. “Weep for him all you want. You are weak and useless, and I shall…”
Caina screamed again and swung the poker with all her strength. It raked across Laeria’s face, sent her stumbling. Laeria’s feet tangled in the heavy skirts of her golden gown, and she lost her balance and fell backwards.
The back of her head bounced off the corner of Sebastian’s desk with a sickening crack. Laeria hit the floor and did not move.
Caina cringed against the fireplace, clutching the poke. She had yelled at her mother, fought with her…but Caina had never dared strike Laeria Amalas before. Surely Caina had gone too far. Surely Laeria would rise in wrath and beat her senseless, or unleash her sorcery and twist Caina’s mind into nothingness, as she had done with Sebastian and Morus and Gwen…
But Laeria did not move.
In fact, she wasn’t even breathing.
Caina stared at Laeria, frozen. After a long time she mustered the courage to move closer. Still Laeria did not move. At last Caina stood over her mother, gazing down at her.
At the puddle of blood spreading beneath her head.
Her blue eyes stared unblinking at Caina. Even in death, they still seemed to burn with hatred and contempt.
The poker fell from Caina’s hand and struck the floor with a clang. She backed away, breath keening through her lips.
“Oh gods,” whispered Caina, “oh gods, oh gods, oh gods…”
She had just murdered her mother.
Caina stared at the corpse, panic threatening to overtake her. She had hated Laeria, hated her for years, but to have actually killed her…no. Matricides were accursed, everyone knew that.
Caina didn’t know what to do.
Her father would know.
She hurried to his chair, shook him.
“Wake up,” she said. “Wake up, wake up, please, please wake up.”
Sebastian did not answer. He blinked, once or twice, but did not move, his breath steady and shallow.
“Please!” shouted Caina, shaking his collar.
Sebastian slid forward, falling upon the desk, his cheek resting against the ancient Maatish scroll. His outstretched hand overturned a pewter inkwell, the ink dripping down the front of the desk to mingle with Laeria’s blood. Sebastian was fastidious with his inkwells. He never spilled ink, not ever.
Whatever Laeria had done to him, he really was gone.
Caina wept, grabbing the heavy chair for support. In the past, she had always gone to her father for help. But he sat empty-eyed and limp in his chair. She could have gone to Morus, or old Azaia, but Morus lay motionless in the hallway, and Azaia in her own oven. Caina was alone, and she didn’t know what to do.
Time passed. Caina could not have said how long. She stood over her father’s chair and cried.
A single footstep cracked against the floor.
Caina looked up, blinking.
A gaunt old man stood in the library doors, looking at her. Pale white hair seemed to float around his head, one gray eye glinting in the glow of the fireplace, the other hidden beneath a strip of black cloth. He wore a fine black coat that hung to his knees, black trousers, and a white linen shirt. The leather of his boots gleamed, and a jeweled dagger rested in a sheath at his belt. He leaned upon a polished black cane in his left hand.
He looked…kindly. Almost grandfatherly.
“Child, child,” said the old man, smiling at her. He spoke High Nighmarian with a calm stateliness. “Why do you weep?”
“My father,” said Caina. “He’s…he’s…”
“His mind has been wiped, yes,” said the old man, taking a step into the library. His one eye flicked over the scene.
“Can you help him?” said Caina. The old man had seen what had happened at once. And if he knew what it was, then perhaps he would know how to reverse it.
The old man chuckled. “No, I am afraid not. The mind is rather like a mirror. Or a vase, perhaps. Once shattered, it cannot be remade.”
Caina bowed her head.
“Tell me,” said the old man. “Who did this to your father?”
He took another step closer. He had a limp, and leaned upon the black cane for support. Something about him, something about his unwavering gaze, frightened Caina.
She felt as if something watched her from behind the black cloth covering his left eye, something cold and terrible and alien.
“My mother,” said Caina. “I…I….”
The old man glanced over Laeria’s body, prodded it with the cane. “Ah, Laeria. Clumsy to the end. A capable practitioner could have removed the necessary memories and left the victims none the wiser. Instead, she used a hammer when a needle would have served. Incidentally, how did she die?”
“I killed her,” whispered Caina.
For the first time, the old man looked surprised. “Did you, now? Did you indeed?” He looked at her, at the poker lying discarded on the floor, and back at her. “How amusing. Laeria thought of herself as a master magus, a brilliant flower crushed by the tedium of her surroundings. And so she was killed by a scrawny eleven-year-old girl with a poker. Appropriate, really.” He laughed aloud, and beckoned.
More men came through the doorway behind him, hard-faced men in leather armor. Swords rested in their belts, and they carried ropes and chains.
“What?” said Caina, backing away in fear. “Who…who are they?”
“No one of importance,” said the old man. “Tell me. You are…Caina, I believe that was the name, yes? Laeria’s daughter?”
Caina nodded. “Who are you?”
The old man smiled, the skin around his good eye crinkling. “You can call me Maglarion, if you wish.” He peered at the desk for a moment, his smile widening as he saw the ancient papyrus scroll. “Ah. Yes. You know, I have been seeking this for a very long time.” He rolled up the scroll and tucked it into his coat. “A very long time, indeed. I was even willing to teach your mother, blockheaded fool that she was, in order to obtain it. She is dead now, true, but I have made the long journey to Aretia, and I am entitled to my payment, am I not?”
“You were the one who taught her necromancy,” whispered Caina, backing away from him.
A woman entered the room, and the men made way for her. She was tall and slim, with white hair, despite her youthful face. Like the men, she wore leather armor, but only bore one weapon, a single black dagger at her belt.
Her expression was blank. Utterly blank. Like there was nothing behind her eyes at all.
Maglarion blinked. “Yes. A most perceptive child, you are. A pity you have no arcane talent. I suspect you would have made a far better student than Laeria ever would. Still, I shall take the second half of my payment.”
“What’s that?” said Caina.
Maglarion grinned, and for the first time Caina realized how cold that gray eye was, like a disk of ice glinting in his face.
“Why, you are, my dear. Laeria assured me that you were virgin, and I have much need for a virgin’s blood in my work.”
Caina ran for the door.
Maglarion laughed and crooked a finger.
And his will fell upon her mind like a thunderbolt. Her mother’s will had been a slender hand, groping and clawing its way through her thoughts like a shuffling rodent. But Maglarion’s will was a mailed first, an iron hammer, and he beat through her resistance with ease. Caina went rigid, every muscle locked in place by the power of Maglarion’s sorcery. She struggled against his grip, but it was like trying to fight a stone wall.