Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 05 - Ghost in the Stone (22 page)

And the Green chariot’s right wheel exploded in a spray of jagged wooden splinters. 

A blur shot from the chariot to Mhadun, moving so fast Caina could not follow it. 

The Green horses whinnied in alarm and bolted, dragging the damaged chariot with them. The charioteer grabbed at the reins as the chariot bounced and skidded along the track. For a moment Caina was sure the man would be thrown to his death, but the panicked horses slowed, and the ruined chariot skidded to a halt.

“Disqualified!” boomed the herald. “The Green chariot yields the victory. The Blue, the Red, and the Gold yet remain.”

“Look,” said Corvalis.

Mhadun held a jagged wooden shard about six inches long. 

“Where the devil did he get that?” said Corvalis.

A stripe of green paint marked the side of the shard. 

“It’s part of the chariot wheel,” said Caina. “He shattered the Green chariot’s wheel with a psychokinetic spell, and then called one of the fragments to his hand.”

“Why would he do that?” said Corvalis. “That’s a neat trick of accuracy, but what’s the point? It’s not as if he can walk up to Khosrau and stab the fat old bastard with a wooden stake.” 

The answer appeared in Caina’s mind with perfect clarity.

“Because,” she said. “He’s going to shatter the wheel of another chariot and use his powers to throw the shards into Lord Corbould, Lord Khosrau, and Lord Armizid all at once. Oh, gods, that’s brilliant. It will look like a freak chariot accident, but Corbould sponsored the race, and that will be enough to push Cyrica out of the Empire.” 

“It would take a great deal of sorcerous control,” said Corvalis. “I didn’t think Mhadun had it in him.”

“The splinter from the wheel is in his hand, isn’t it?” said Caina. “He didn’t walk down there and pick it up.”

“No,” said Corvalis, “you’re right. That was just practice.” In the distance, Caina saw the three remaining chariots begin another lap. “When those chariots pass in front of the lords’ box, he’ll shatter the wheels and turn the nobles into pincushions.” 

Lord Khosrau wore no armor at all, and the wooden shards would tear through his white robes like paper. Armizid wore his ceremonial silver cuirass, and Lord Corbould his black armor, but neither man wore a helm. A six-inch wooden shard through the throat or eye would kill them. 

And Theodosia wore no armor at all.

The chariots rounded the loop and thundered towards the lords’ box. 

“We’re out of time,” Corvalis said, reaching into his robe. “We’d better kill him and run for it.”

“We can’t,” said Caina. “We need him alive. He’s probably warded against steel, so we can’t just walk up and stab him. And if we kill him in front of all these witnesses, there will be…problems.”

“I’m aware of that,” said Corvalis, “but you’ll have larger problems if Mhadun kills your precious Lord Corbould.” 

“Then we distract him,” said Caina. “Keep him from destroying that chariot.” 

“You’ll have to do it,” said Corvalis. “I’m known to both the Kindred and the magi. If Mhadun recognizes me, he’ll kill me on sight.”

“He saw me at the ball,” said Caina, but even as she said it, she doubted Mhadun would remember her. She had been disguised as a servant, and a man like Mhadun would take no notice of servants. 

The remaining three chariots drew closer. The Red charioteer was in the lead, with Blue trailing closely behind and Gold bringing up the rear. Caina saw Mhadun’s gaze shift to the Gold chariot, and she felt a prickling as he began a new spell.

“Wait,” said Caina. “You used to be Kindred. Is there something I can tell him to make him think I am Kindred? Something to make him follow me?”

Corvalis blinked, grinned, and told her.

Caina explained her plan, handed him her ghostsilver dagger, and hurried towards Mhadun. The master magus gazed at the chariots, lips moving in a soundless whisper, hand tracing small gestures in the air, the arcane force against Caina’s skin growing sharper and sharper…

“Master magus,” said Caina.

Mhadun did not look at her. “Be off, woman. I have no business with you.” 

The sorcerous tingling grew stronger. 

“Master magus,” said Caina, voice soft, “the Elder wishes to speak with you.”

That got his attention.

The tingling against Caina’s skin vanished, and Mhadun turned towards her, dark eyes narrowed. 

“What did you say?” he said, scowling. “What did you say to me?”

Caina lifted her chin, letting a mysterious smile play on her lips. “The Elder wishes to speak with you, master magus. Immediately.” 

“The blood flows from the wound,” said Mhadun in formal High Nighmarian. 

“And the dagger pierces the flesh,” said Caina in the same language.

Below, the chariots thundered past, and Mhadun shot them an irritated glare. 

“This had better be important, woman,” said Mhadun. 

“So impudent,” said Caina. “Will you keep a more respectful tongue in your head when you speak with the Elder? He is wroth with you.” 

“Why?” said Mhadun. “I did everything he asked of me, and…” He scowled and shook his head. “We should not speak of this here. Lead on. Quickly!”

Caina turned with cool hauteur and led him up the aisle, to one of the ramps leading out of the hippodrome. A brick arch blocked out the sun overhead, filling the ramp with shadow. Corvalis waited in the shadows, a dark shape in the gloom. 

“Elder?” said Mhadun. 

Corvalis stepped into the light. 

“Who the devil are you?” said Mhadun, and this his eyes widened. “You!”

“Mhadun,” said Corvalis. “It’s been a long time.”

“The First Magus’s bastard whelp,” said Mhadun, laughing as his fingers traced a spell. “Your father has wanted you dead for a long time. He will reward me richly when I present him with your head upon a platter! I’ll get my own chapter for this, perhaps even the Malarae chapterhouse…”

Caina reached into her sleeve, drew a throwing knife, and rammed it into Mhadun’s back. 

Or she would have, had it not rebounded from Mhadun’s back in a spray of sparks.

Mhadun had warded himself against steel weapons. 

The master magus whirled. “Ah? Who’s this, bastard? Your little pet?” He flicked a finger. Invisible force seized Caina and slammed her against the brick wall. “I think I’ll bring her along. The First Magus does so enjoy pretty toys…”

Corvalis flicked the tip of the ghostsilver dagger across Mhadun’s arm. The curved blade penetrated Mhadun’s wards and the sleeve of his robe with ease, blood darkening the black cloth. Mhadun shrieked in pain, his eyes wide with shock. 

People responded to pain in different ways. Some could focus through it and continue fighting. Others fell apart, unable to react until the pain faded.

The invisible force holding her to the wall vanished as Mhadun’s concentration collapsed. 

Mhadun, it seemed, was not used to pain.

Caina ripped a cloth pad from the pouch at her belt. It was damp with an elixir Marzhod’s druggist has brewed up for her, and she slapped the pad over Mhadun’s nose and lips. The master magus twisted away, trying to break free from the pad, but Caina slammed her left fist into his gut. The breath exploded from his lungs, and Mhadun doubled over. Caina pressed the pad against his face, holding it in place with all her strength, and soon Mhadun had no choice but to inhale.

His eyes rolled back, and he went limp, collapsing in a heap on the grimy floor. 

“Well,” said Corvalis. “That was fun.”

“You have a peculiar definition of fun,” said Caina, tucking the pad into her belt pouch. 

Two of Marzhod’s Sarbian mercenaries hurried over. With practiced efficiency they bound the magus’s wrists and ankles, gagged him, and shoved a hood over his head. Then they picked him up and hustled for the exits. With luck, the militiamen would assume Marzhod’s mercenaries were settling with someone who had failed to pay a wager. 

“Best we get gone,” said Corvalis. “When Ranarius and the Kindred figure out that Mhadun has disappeared, they’re going to be furious.” 

“Agreed,” said Caina. “We’ll take him to Nadirah’s house. She’ll know how to keep him contained…and how to make him talk.” 

A cheer went up from the crowds, and Caina glanced over her shoulder.

“Blue’s winning,” she said.

“Ah,” said Corvalis. “Just as well I didn’t place a wager, then.”

Night had fallen by the time Theodosia and Marzhod reached Nadirah’s parlor. 

Caina again wore the robes and weapons of a Sarbian mercenary. Corvalis had returned to his usual chain mail and cloak, his weapons at his belt. He seemed ill at ease, his hand twitching toward his sword hilt again and again.

She could not blame him.

Mhadun sat slumped on a wooden chair in the center of the room, chin resting upon his chest. Ropes bound his legs and arms to the chair, a gag sealed his mouth, and a blindfold covered his eyes. Nadirah had drawn intricate circles and symbols in chalk around him, and candles burned upon certain glyphs. She claimed that the chalk circles were part of a warding spell that would keep the master magus’s powers at bay. 

Nadirah walked in a slow, constant circle around Mhadun, humming to herself, her heels clicking against the floor. She wore an elaborate gown, red with intricate patterns in yellow upon the sleeve and bodice. Jewels glittered on her fingers and at her throat, and a delicate net of silver chains covered her hair. She looked every inch the daughter of Anshani nobility. 

She walked in a circle around Mhadun…and her shadow remained motionless upon him, twisting around him like the shadow of a sundial. 

“Gods and devils, but that’s uncanny,” muttered Corvalis.

“I can hear you,” said Nadirah.

“I know that,” said Corvalis.

“Do you fear the shadows so much, assassin?” murmured Nadirah, her black eyes falling upon him. She looked bewitching and beautiful. 

But Corvalis’s grim expression did not change, and he met her gaze without expression. “The shadows are a tool to me, like any other. But I take caution against what might wait in the shadows. Such as a master magus who will try to kill us all as soon as he wakes up.” 

“A prudent man,” said Nadirah.  “So rare. But you needn’t fear, assassin. My power is more than sufficient to keep this fool’s strength at bay.”

“As you say,” said Corvalis, though he kept his hand on his sword hilt and his eyes on Mhadun. 

“The shadows are tangled,” murmured Nadirah, still circling the magus. “So many potential futures lie before us, but all of them point to one fate. The destruction of Cyrica Urbana, the annihilation of this ancient city. Cyrioch is old, so old, and has left a deep shadow upon the netherworld. Yet both this city and its shadow will be swept away in the twinkling of an eye. How the spirits whisper! Even they are fearful of what is coming.” 

“Do all occultists,” said Caina, “have such a flair for the theatrical?”

To her surprise, Nadirah grinned, and for a moment the expression made her look less ominous. “You are astute, dark one. Often the occultists of Anshan employ trickery, to keep the ignorant rabble in awe of their abilities.” She shivered. “But I could no more deceive one of your power than the darkness could keep sunlight at bay.”

“Your power?” said Corvalis. “Don’t tell me you’re a sorceress as well?” He smirked. “Especially after all your talk about the evil of sorcery.”

“No,” said Caina. She did not want to discuss the Moroaica with Corvalis. “What do you mean, Nadirah?”

“Your shadows are entangled, dark one, yours and the assassin’s,” said Nadirah, looking from Caina to Corvalis and back again. “You seek different things. You, to save Cyrioch and the Empire.” Her gaze shifted to Corvalis. “And you…the shadows whisper that you seek to save a loved one from imprisonment.” Her eyes darkened, like cups filling with black wine. “And yet you both seek the same answer, though you know it not.”

“If I cross your palm with silver,” said Corvalis, “will you tell my fortune?” He glared at Caina. “Are we done wasting our time with her? Wake Mhadun up, and I’ll break his fingers until he tells you what you want to know.” 

Nadirah’s maid entered the room and bowed. “Mistress. Your other guests have arrived.”

“Send them in,” said Nadirah.

The maid opened the door, and Theodosia and Marzhod entered at last. Marzhod wore his usual ragged finery, while Theodosia had again disguised herself as a Sarbian mercenary. 

“I must say, madam,” said Corvalis. “You were much more attractive in a proper dress.”

Theodosia laughed. “That, sir, is how you deliver a compliment.”

But her laugh faded as she saw Nadirah walking around Mhadun, her shadow remaining motionless upon him. 

“You’re a hard man to find,” said Marzhod, glaring at Corvalis. “Quite a few of my best men turned to statues trying to find of you.”

“Then you should have minded your own business,” said Corvalis. “I suppose that’s difficult for a Ghost to manage. But Ranarius turned your men to stone, and I suggest you take out your revenge upon him.” 

“A man after my own heart,” said Marzhod.

“Assuming,” said Corvalis, “that your occultist can make Mhadun talk.”

Marzhod offered a thin smile. “You’ll see what she can do, soon enough.” He offered a shallow bow in Nadirah’s direction. “My lady. Are you ready to begin?”

“Ah, Marzhod,” murmured Nadirah. “Always so polite. But nothing trains a man’s tongue in courtesy like fear.”

She faced Mhadun and clapped her hands.

Her rippling shadow went motionless, and a cool breeze blew through the parlor, rustling the books and scrolls upon the shelves and making the candle flames dance. Her shadow seemed to pierce Mhadun like a black spike.

“Wake up, Mhadun,” crooned Nadirah, “master magus of the Imperial Magisterium.”

Caina felt the cold tingle of Nadirah’s sorcery, and Mhadun shifted in his chair. His head rose, and Caina saw his eyes dart back and forth behind his blindfold, his jaw working against the gag. She felt another tingle as Mhadun summoned his arcane powers. Without his hands and his tongue, he could not work a spell, but he could sense the presence of sorcery.