Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 05 - Ghost in the Stone (23 page)

The candles’ flames flickered, the white lines of chalk darkening with shadow, and the tingle of Mhadun’s power vanished. 

Nadirah’s shadow grew darker.

“Do forgive my impertinence,” said Corvalis, “but that gag will make it difficult for him to answer questions.”

Nadirah crooked a finger, and unseen force yanked the gag from Mhadun’s lips. The magus coughed, spat upon the floor, and began to speak. 

“I know that voice,” he rasped. “Corvalis Aberon, the First Magus’s renegade little bastard. Is the blue-eyed whore still with you? I know you had accomplices. You couldn’t have pulled this off alone.” He spat again. “Your life is forfeit, Corvalis, but your accomplices can live. Do you know what the Magisterium does to those who dare to lift their hands against a magus? Shall I tell you about the torture chambers in the dungeons below the Motherhouse of Artifel? Or the spells that make a man know nothing but agony for years?”

“Poetic words,” said Corvalis, “but empty. Your preceptor doesn’t even like you, Mhadun. We did him a favor by taking you off his hands. I’m surprised he doesn’t pay us a bounty.”

Mhadun scowled. “Idiot boy. I am a master magus of the Imperial Magisterium…”

“Who has betrayed the Magisterium by taking the coin of another,” said Corvalis. “You sold out the Magisterium to join the Kindred. I doubt Ranarius will lift a finger to save you.” 

Mhadun laughed. “Then you know you are in twice as much danger, fool. I could tell you every torture the First Magus has ever ordered, and he would still seem like a meek lamb compared to the Kindred.”

“You were sent to assassinate Khosrau and Corbould, and you failed,” said Corvalis. “I know firsthand the Kindred do not smile upon failure…”

“Silence,” said Mhadun. “Are your accomplices within earshot? I hope they are, because I am giving them one chance to save their lives.” His voice rose. “Kill Corvalis and let me go, and I give you my word that I will overlook this…indiscretion. This is your only chance. Even if you kill me, the Kindred and the Magisterium will still find you.” He laughed. “The Magisterium may even pay the Kindred to hunt you down. I assume you had a renegade sorcerer put this ward around me? You had better release the ward. The Magisterium will turn a blind eye to renegade sorcerers if they behave…but if you dare to assault a magus, your fate will be dire indeed.”

Nadirah laughed. “I fear many things, Mhadun of the Kindred, but you are not one of them.” 

“A woman?” Mhadun’s laughter redoubled. “Some peasant midwife with a few tricks, no doubt? You’ll find that imprisoning a master magus is more challenging than whelping calves from the village cow.”

“Indeed?” said Nadirah, her voice full of amusement. “If I am a village midwife, then you should have no trouble escaping from my wards. Yet here you sit.” Her voice rose, full of power and authority. “And I am no mere dabbler. I studied at the feet of Yaramzod the Black, the greatest occultist ever to stride the streets of holy Anshan.” 

“An Anshani occultist?” said Mhadun. “You think to scare me with an Anshani shadow-spinner? Fools! There are no female occultists. Perhaps you should have done some research before embarking upon this ridiculous charade.” 

“Enough,” barked Marzhod. He took care to keep his voice disguised. “Begin.”

Nadirah whispered a spell, her fingers weaving elaborate designs. Her shadow rippled again, fluttering over Mhadun like a banner caught in high wind. 

And then Mhadun’s shadow, too, began to ripple. 

“More trickery?” said Mhadun. “I assume you opened the door to generate that chill? Those half-witted opera singers of Khosrau’s can do better tricks.” Theodosia sniffed in disdain. “If you think to scare me with this mummery, then…”

“He lies.”

The voice was a snarling, hissing rasp, the voice of a creature that lurked in darkness and gnawed upon carrion. Caina yanked her ghostsilver dagger from its sheath, expecting some beast from nightmare to spring upon her…

After a moment, she realized the voice came from the shadows upon the floor.

From Mhadun’s shadow.

“He lies,” said the ghastly voice. “Terror fills his heart. He knows that his preceptor Ranarius despises him and that his masters in the Kindred regard him only as a useful tool. They will take vengeance upon you, of course, for daring to harm what belongs to them, but they will not lift a finger to save him.”

“Who are you?” snarled Mhadun. For the first time a tremor entered his voice. “Speak!”

“I am you,” said the shadow. “I am the shadow you cast in the netherworld, freed to speak by the arts of Nadirah daughter of Arsakan.” Nadirah’s teeth clicked in annoyance. She wouldn’t want Mhadun to hear her name, Caina realized. Which meant Nadirah did not have full control over whatever horror from the netherworld now inhabited Mhadun’s shadow. 

That was a disturbing thought. 

“Silence!” shouted Mhadun, sweat beading on his forehead. “I command you not to speak.” 

“You have no power over me,” said the shadow, “not here. How I yearn to hear you scream.”

“But you are bound to my will, shadow,” said Nadirah, raising her hands. 

Caina felt the surge of sorcery. 

“I am,” said the shadow, loathing in its icy voice.

“And you are bound to answer my questions truthfully,” said Nadirah.

“So I am,” said the shadow. “And the truth you shall have from me.” Caina heard the dark amusement in that malicious voice. “Especially if those truths shall lead to your doom.” 

“The questions,” said Marzhod, watching both Mhadun and the shadows with a wary eye. “Ask it the questions we discussed earlier.”

“The former slave,” said the shadow. “Chains of steel can rust, but chains in the mind shall never be broken.”

“Oh, shut up,” said Marzhod. “I’ve seen spirits summoned before. Riddles and dark memories and ominous prophecies. Why don’t you…”

“Do not,” said Nadirah, her dark eyes falling him, “engage with the shadow.”

Marzhod fell silent.

“Now,” said Nadirah, returning her attention to Mhadun, “the Kindred have been hired to kill both Lord Corbould Maraeus and Lord Khosrau Asurius. Is this true?”

“It is,” said the shadow. 

“Who hired them?” said Nadirah.

“I don’t know,” said Mhadun. 

“He speaks the truth,” said the shadow. “Though if you were to release the binding upon me, I could make him tell you more. I could make him scream it to you.”

“No!” said Mhadun, voice hoarse. “I don’t know, I swear it.”

“Then who does know?” said Nadirah.

“The Elder,” said Mhadun. “The Kindred Elder of Cyrioch knows. Our clients contract with him, and he assigns the assassins to the target. He is the only one who knows who hired us to kill the nobles. Not me. Not me!” 

“Shadow,” said Nadirah. “Does he speak the truth?”

“He does,” whispered the shadow, “for fear of his own life.” 

“The next question,” said Marzhod.

“The Haven of the Kindred,” said Nadirah. “Where is it?”

“In the shadow of the fire,” said the shadow, “beneath the shuffling feet of worshipers come to pray to the flames.” 

“Where is it, Mhadun?” said Nadirah. 

“Beneath the Temple of the Living Flame,” said Mhadun.

“What?” said Marzhod. “I’ve been looking for the Kindred Haven for years! Are you telling me that it’s hidden under the Temple?”

“For centuries,” whispered the shadow, “the assassins have dwelled beneath the earth, coming forth to wet their blades in blood.” The voice gave a hideous tittering laugh. “They have lived in the shadows.” 

“Where is the entrance to the Haven?” said Nadirah. 

“In the library of the Temple,” said Mhadun, “behind the Altar of Eternal Flame, past the quarters of the brothers and sisters. The third shelf, in the corner of the room. A book called ‘The History of the Northern Empire’ is actually a hidden trigger. Pull on it, and the door will open. Then a spiral staircase, down to the Haven itself.” 

“Gods,” muttered Marzhod. “I never thought to look beneath the Temple. The brothers and sisters of the Living Flame are such…dull fellows. Hardly the sort to live above a nest of assassins.” 

“The worshipers of the fire know it not,” said the shadow. “For centuries, the assassins lurked in the shadows of their holy flame, and the brothers and sisters never knew.” 

“Ask it if there are any other ways into the Haven,” said Marzhod.

“Another entrance?” said the shadow. “Another place where you can weep and cower, listening to your mother scream as she is dragged to your master’s chamber?”

Marzhod sighed. “That doesn’t answer the question.” 

“Answer it,” said Nadirah.

“There is,” said Mhadun. “An escape tunnel, in case the Haven is ever breached. It opens into the tunnels below the Ring of Valor. There are…there are no other entrances.”

“Good,” said Marzhod. “That’s all we need to know.” A smile spread over his gaunt face. “The Kindred have caused me no shortage of trouble. It will be pleasant to pay them back.” 

“Now hold up your end of the bargain,” said Corvalis. “Ask what I wish to know.” Nadirah nodded. 

“You will tell me,” she said, and Caina felt the tingle of fresh sorcery, “about Ranarius.”

“Ranarius?” For a moment derision replaced the fear in Mhadun’s voice. “That fool? What do you want to know about him?”

“You do not seem to hold your preceptor in high regard,” said Nadirah. 

“He holds Ranarius in contempt,” said the shadow, “but he knows not Ranarius’s full power. Or the vast shadow he throws upon the netherworld.”

“Ranarius does not throw a vast shadow on the netherworld!” said Mhadun. “Ranarius is an idiot. He spends all his time researching old spells of elemental summoning. If Ranarius devoted as much time to his standing among the Magisterium as he did to digging through old books, he would be First Magus by now. Instead he is the preceptor of the Cyrioch chapter.” He shook his head with annoyance. “The fool doesn’t even have the wit to realize the First Magus banished him to Cyrioch. The high magi grew weary of his endless researches.”

“How very blind,” said the shadow.

“What about the statues?” said Nadirah. 

“Statues?” said Mhadun. “What statues?” 

“Tell us,” said Nadirah, “by what spell, science, or method Ranarius has transformed his victims into statues of unfeeling stone.”

Mhadun laughed. “What mad folly is this? You think…you think that Ranarius has been turning people into statues? What utter folly!”

“We know otherwise,” said Nadirah. “For we have seen the statues with our own eyes.”

“Then you’ve been fooled by a particularly effective hoax,” said Mhadun. “It is impossible to turn living flesh to stone through the use of sorcery.”

“Fool,” whispered his shadow.

Nadirah seemed at a loss, and Caina stepped forward.

“What about the Kindred assassin at the Amphitheatre of Asurius?” she said, making sure to keep her voice disguised. If Mhadun lived through this, she didn’t want him to recognize her.

Mhadun’s shadow rippled as she spoke, as if flinching away from an invisible breeze. 

“What about him?” said Mhadun.

“He was turned into a statue,” said Caina. “As was a second assassin, an archer, at the Ring of Valor.” 

“You are mistaken,” said Mhadun. “The assassins sent to dispatch the nobles at the Ring of Valor and the Amphitheatre of Asurius never returned. Presumably the guards killed them.” A hint of arrogance entered his voice. “Such is often the result when lesser assassins are dispatched to a target of importance. Which is why the Kindred Elder bade me to kill the nobles myself.”

“Yes,” said Corvalis, “and you did such a fine job of it.”

“The assassins weren’t killed,” said Caina, “they were turned to stone.”

Mhadun snorted. “I have the most credulous kidnappers in the Empire! If I tell you where a unicorn has buried a pot of magical gold, will you let me go?”

“The fool knows not,” whispered the shadow. “His vision is clouded and his mind dull. He cannot perceive the reality of the world.” 

“But you know,” said Nadirah, “how Ranarius converted his victims into statues?”

“Of course,” said the shadow.

“Then tell me,” said Nadirah. “Immediately.”

“No,” said the shadow. 

The furrows in Mhadun’s brow grew deeper, his face dripping with sweat.

“You are bound,” said Nadirah, frowning. “And by that binding, I command you to answer my question.”

“I am bound,” said the shadow, “but you ask about one greater than you. One mightier by far, one that could crush you like the insect that you are, mortal. You cannot force me to speak against him.”

“Speak!” shouted Nadirah. Caina’s skin crawled as the occultist unleashed the full strength of her powers. 

The shadow’s hissing laughter rasped like dead leaves rattling over stone. “You cannot compel me. For you ask about one stronger than you.”

“Ranarius?” said Nadirah. She, too, had begun to sweat. “Ranarius is stronger than me?”

“No,” murmured the shadow. “There is one stronger than Ranarius by far, an inferno of strength against the pathetic candle flame of his power. Ranarius is a fool, and he cannot control the powers he seeks to conjure. And by those powers, you cannot compel me, foolish witch.” 

Caina hesitated, gripping her ghostsilver dagger.

The shadow refused to answer Nadirah, but it had responded to Caina’s question. Why? Nadirah had recognized the presence of the Moroaica within Caina. Could the shadow likewise sense the Moroaica? Caina was loath to use Jadriga’s presence for anything. 

Yet they needed to know how Ranarius had turned Claudia and the Ghosts to stone.

“Shadow,” said Caina, stepping forward. Every eye turned towards her, and she felt the shadow’s malevolence focus upon her. “How has Ranarius turned his foes to stone?”

There was a long silence. 

“Who are you?” said the shadow.

“You will answer me,” said Caina.

“You have…two shadows,” said the shadow. For a moment bafflement entered the hideous voice. “One is scarred and maimed, yet unbroken. The other…the other is dark and mighty, so mighty, sorcerous power enough to break this city…”