Ghost in the Blood (The Ghosts) (10 page)

“Indeed,” said Nicorus. “Well, Halfdan, you needn’t fear. No brother of the local Magisterium created these bracers.” 

“And why not?” said Caina. “I’ve seen magi use their spells to block steel weapons before. And the Magisterium commonly produces enspelled items for sale.”

“Yes,” said Nicorus, “and no. We…that is, my former brethren do employ novices to create enspelled items for sale. The glass spheres, for instance. But they would not make any device that could potentially be used against us. The First Magus has forbidden it.” His thick, pale lips twisted. “Besides, the local chapter was tainted by my downfall. All of them wish assignment elsewhere, and none of them would dare to aggravate the First Magus by producing illicit items.” 

“So if the magi didn’t create these bracers, who did?” said Caina.

Nicorus gave a lazy shrug. “Who can say? The brothers of the Magisterium are not the only practitioners of the arcane sciences in the world. But I’m sure I don’t know who could have created those bracers.”

“You’re lying,” said Caina. 

“A pushy harlot you have brought me, Halfdan,” said Nicorus. “Demanding answers and offering nothing in exchange. I may know more about the sorcery that created those bracers. But answers are not free.” 

“You may want to reconsider that,” said Halfdan. “If the Magisterium learns of…”

“Bah,” said Nicorus. “Let them. You want Icaraeus’s head upon a platter so that you can present it to your beloved Emperor. But if I withhold my answers from you, he might escape the city before you catch him. I fear the Magisterium, yes…but you want Icaraeus even more.” 

Caina blinked. Halfdan had been right. This fat, wheezing wreck of a man was far more dangerous than he looked. 

“So,” said Halfdan. “What do you want?” 

“You want an answer…and I want an answer,” said Nicorus. “A question, answered to my satisfaction. You may refuse it, if you wish…but then I shall tell you nothing.” 

“Very well,” said Halfdan. “What do you want to know?”

“Oh, no, not you,” said Nicorus. He pointed. “Her.” 

“You want to ask me a question?” said Caina. “Why?”

“That is my own business.”

Caina glanced at Ark, and at Halfdan, and nodded. “Very well. Ask.”

Nicorus stepped closer, his rank smell, a mixture of mildew and sweat, flooding her nostrils. “Tell me. What happened to you?”

“I don’t understand,” said Caina. Her hands wanted to go to her weapons, and she forced them to remain still.

“I could feel you coming,” hissed Nicorus. “Your presence crackled against my wards, yet you are no magus. I could not figure out why. Then I realized it. You’ve been marked. Scarred. Someone once worked powerful sorcery on you, and left you altered forever. Probably for the worse.”

Caina said nothing.

“So. That’s what I want to know. What they did to you, and who did it.” 

Caina stared at him for a moment. “Maglarion."

Nicorus blinked. "Maglarion? The great necromancer?"

"When I was a child, he carved out my womb and used it to fuel some sort of spell.” The memories of lying upon that cold metal table, screaming as the knives cut through skin and muscle, screaming until her voice had broken, filled her mind in a rush. But she would not show any weakness to this contemptible creature, and she kept her expression cold and hard. “That’s what happened, and that’s who did it. So. Your information?”

“Ah,” said Nicorus. “That explains why you triggered my wards. Though the sword cuts both ways.  I expect you felt my wards as you approached? Surviving such an experience would have left you…sensitive to the presence of arcane forces. Necromantic forces, in particular. So sensitive, in fact, that you might sense emanations and forces even a skilled magus would overlook.”

Interesting. She had never experienced anything like that, certainly. Though usually when she sensed the presence of sorcery, she was busy fighting for her life. 

“But how is it that you are alive?” said Nicorus. “I assume you escaped. But you still should have bled to death, or died when the cuts putrefied.”

“Maglarion would heal me,” said Caina, “though it left scars.” A rope of them, winding their way over hips and lower belly like a belt. “They wanted to use my heart to fuel the climax of some ritual. Hard to do if I’m dead. But why do you…”

She looked at him and blinked.

“That’s why you want to know,” said Caina. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“You to heal yourself,” said Caina. She smiled at him, cold and sharp. “That's why you want to know about Maglarion. To restore your lost manhood.”

Nicorus hissed. “Maglarion. Where is he?”

“He's dead.”

“You killed him? No. Impossible. He was the mightiest necromancer of our age. One woman without sorcery could not have killed Maglarion.”

“Yes,” said Caina. “I did.” She gave Nicorus a pleasant smile. “With my own hands.” 

The cunning look vanished from Nicorus’s eyes, and the fear returned. As Halfdan had said, the man was a coward.

“I answered your question,” said Caina. “Perhaps you ought to answer Halfdan’s. Before he asks me to show you how I slew Maglarion.” 

Nicorus swallowed. “Very well. Necromancy…you seem familiar with it. That is well.”

“Why?” said Halfdan.

“It…you have to understand,” said Nicorus, frowning. “Marsis has a long and grim history. Black Angel Tower, you see. It is a well of dark power.”

“There truly is a fallen angel imprisoned below the tower?” said Caina.

“Perhaps. I don’t know,” said Nicorus. “Wherever it comes from, there is power in Black Angel Tower. In ancient times an order of necromancers ruled from Marsis, their skills fueled by the Tower’s strength. The Kyracian stormsingers eventually destroyed them, and then the Legions and the Magisterium drove out the stormsingers and claimed the city for the Emperor.”

“I am familiar with ancient history,” said Halfdan. “What has this to do with Icaraeus?”

“Because,” said Nicorus. “Someone has been drawing strength from Black Angel Tower.”

“Who?” said Halfdan. “You?”

“Do you think I am a fool?” snarled Nicorus. “I am a master magus, and yet even I do not have the skill to safely manage that level of power. If I tried to draw upon it, the power would burn me to cinders. If I was lucky.” Which explained why he hadn’t tried to tap the power to heal his maiming. “No. Yet I can feel it happening.”

“Do you know who?” said Caina.

“No,” said Nicorus. He shivered. “Yet mark this. Whoever is drawing upon that power is…strong. Terribly strong, and supremely skilled. As strong as Maglarion, if not stronger. If I faced such an opponent in spell battle, he would destroy me in the space of three heartbeats. The First Magus himself might not have the power to overcome such a man. I cannot sense where he is…but I can sense what he is using the power for.”

“For what?” said Caina

“Necromancy,” said Nicorus. “Blood spells.” He gave her a flinty smile. “So isn’t it fortunate that you’re already familiar with them?”

###

They left Nicorus’s house.

“I do not trust him,” said Ark. 

“Nor do I,” said Halfdan. “But he had no reason to tell us about this necromancer.”

“You told me that necromancy can heal wounds, at the cost of another’s life,” said Ark. 

"It can," said Caina, remembering the things she had seen Maglarion do. The spells he had worked in blood. 

“So why didn't Nicorus go to the necromancer tapping Black Angel Tower and bargain for a cure?”

“Because,” said Caina, voice quiet, “Nicorus is master magus. Strong and skilled in sorcery. And yet he’s still afraid of whoever’s drawing upon the Tower.” 

Her eyes strayed to the dark line against the sky. 

“Do you think the necromancer is working with Icaraeus?” said Ark.

“I don’t know,” said Caina. Her mouth settled in a grim line. “It would be a profitable business arrangement. A necromancer needs blood and living flesh to work his spells, and Icaraeus can supply that in abundance.”

And it might explain who had taught Agria Palaegus sorcery. 

“What do we do know?” said Ark.

“The plan hasn’t changed,” said Caina. “We find Icaraeus and deal with him. And if Nicorus’s necromancer is the one working with Icaraeus…we’ll deal with him too.”

Halfdan nodded, and they kept walking.

Chapter 10 - Blessings

Another night, another ball.

Again Caina prepared herself, bathing, perfuming, arranging her hair into a fashionable piled crown. She idly wished Halfdan had chosen to masquerade as a noble lord. A maid or two would have made these preparations go so much faster. 

This time she chose a blue gown with a plunging neckline. The bodice was tighter than she found comfortable, but the sleeves were loose, which meant she had room to strap throwing knives to her forearms. A silver choker chain with sapphires went around her throat, and silver earrings and a bracelet rounded out her jewelry. She chose a light cloak, and went out to join the others.

Ark waited for her in the sitting room. “Ready?”

Caina nodded. “Did you load that box into the coach?”

“I did.”

“Then let’s go,” she said. 

They left their rooms and almost walked into Katerine. The innkeeper’s wife backed away, muttering frantic apologies. 

“No, no,” said Caina. “It’s my fault. I should have watched where I was going.”

“You are kind, mistress.” She managed a hesitant smile. “You look…you look very lovely, mistress.”

“Thank you,” said Caina.

“You are a good girl, to take care of your father the way you do,” said Katerine. “Are you going to some grand ball, mistress?”

“Yes,” said Caina. “At the house of Lady Messana Heliorus.” 

Katerine shivered. “You will be careful, mistress. That is a bad house, and it is full of bad people.” 

“What do you mean?” said Caina.

Katerine blinked, fear crossing her face. “Just…there are many bad men there. They would take advantage of a pretty young lady.”

“Well,” said Caina, putting a hand on Ark’s arm, “that is what Arlann here is for. He reminds people to show respect, when they forget to do so.” 

“That is good. Forgive me, mistress, but I must return to my work.” Katerine returned her gaze to the floor and hurried away. 

“That seemed out of character,” said Ark. “I thought Anna Callenius would show the rough side of her tongue to a clumsy innkeeper’s wife.”

“Perhaps,” said Caina, “but look at her. The poor woman’s had enough pain in her life. Why should I add to it?” 

They walked to the common room, where Halfdan awaited them, resplendent in his furred merchant’s robe and cap.

“Father,” said Caina. She kissed his cheek, and reached up to straighten his cap.

“What’s this?” said Halfdan.

“Zorgi’s wife has come to the conclusion that I am a dutiful daughter, taking care of my poor widowed father,” said Caina. “Why let her think otherwise?”

“Ah, but you are dutiful,” said Halfdan, “for you help me kill the enemies of my Emperor. What more could any father ask from a daughter?” He gestured at the door. “Shall we?”

###

Lady Messana Heliorus’s mansion looked very different from Lady Agria’s. The Palaegus mansion had duplicated the look of the Imperial Palace: tall, solid, almost monolithic. Lady Messana’s home resembled a country villa, a rambling house spread over pleasant grounds, dotted with fountains and courtyards and small gardens. No doubt there were many secluded corners where guests could carry on private conversations or perhaps more intimate encounters. 

Hard to hide slaves in such a place, though.

Ducas met them on the winding stone path to the villa proper. “Ah. Master Basil. So good to see you again.” 

“And you, Tribune,” said Halfdan.

“You look lovely as ever, dear Anna,” said Ducas, giving her a frank look.

Caina made herself smile. “Thank you.”

“Hoping to sell jewels to Lady Messana?” said Ducas. 

“Indeed I am,” said Halfdan.

“Well, I have bad news for you,” said Ducas. “Since you are a friend, I spoke with an acquaintance at the Lord Governor’s Court of Exchequer. It seems there are no fewer than fifteen separate lawsuits pending against Lady Messana. Apparently she has fallen into the regrettable habit of ignoring her creditors, and owes money to a great many people. Should you sell her any wares, I suggest that you refuse to extend credit.”

“I see,” said Halfdan. “Thank you for the warning, Tribune. The merchant’s life is ever a hard one.” 

Caina frowned. Like Agria, Lady Messana had heavy debts? A lavish lifestyle could explain it. So could the mass purchase of slaves. But why slaves? With that kind of money, both Agria and Messana could have hired all the servants they would ever need. Why were they buying slaves?

She thought of Nicorus’s talk of necromancy, and shuddered. 

And then it was time to greet Lady Messana.

Like Agria, she wore a black mourning dress, tighter and more revealing than proper. She looked healthier than Caina remembered, almost younger. Perhaps the lighting was better.

Or perhaps Messana hadn’t yet drunk wine laced with hallucinogenic drugs. 

“Ducas,” said Messana, as the tribune kissed her on the cheek, “so good of you to come. And you’ve brought Master Basil, as well. How wicked of you to tempt me so! You know I cannot help but buy new jewels.” 

“Now, Messana,” said Ducas, “you know how I enjoy tempting you.”

She laughed. Her eyes fell on Caina, and her face lit up. “And you’ve brought your daughter as well, Master Basil! It is good to see you again, Anna. I enjoyed our talk the other night.”

Caina gripped her skirts and did a curtsy. “As did I, my lady. I hope we can talk again.”

“As do I. Oh, but you must call me Messana. We shall be old friends soon enough.” She smiled. “I must greet my other guests. But we will talk soon, never fear.”

They passed into a torch-lit courtyard. A massive fountain stood in the center, water splashing around statues of naked men and women. The guests stood in clumps, talking, and servants circulated bearing trays of food and drink. 

“Lady Messana and her friends seem quite taken with you,” said Halfdan.

“I suspect they think of me as a kindred spirit,” said Caina. “After all, my father is cruelly forcing me to wed against my will to secure his business advantages.”

Halfdan smiled. “Oh, I am, am I?”

“I may have implied that,” said Caina.

“Well,” said Halfdan. “I shall mingle, and see if I can overhear anything interesting. Do keep my daughter out of trouble, Arlann.” He snagged a flute of wine from a passing tray and headed towards a cluster of men in merchants' robes. 

“Shall we find trouble?” said Caina.

“Lead on,” said Ark. 

She wandered through the rambling maze of Messana’s estate, exchanging polite remarks with the other guests. The party had spilled into a half a dozen other courtyards, and as many small gardens. Unlike Agria’s house, Caina doubted that Messana could hide any large number of slaves here. Unless Messana had a maze of vaults hidden below the grounds, there simply wasn’t room.

An angry shout caught Caina’s ears. She recognized the voice at once.

Agria Palaegus.

Curious, she hurried into one of the gardens, Ark following her. She crouched behind a moss-covered boulder and settled to watch. Agria stood among the trees, her face contorted with rage as she shouted at a serving girl. 

“You stupid chit!” hissed Agria. “Can’t you do anything right? I told you to have him meet me here.”

“But…but my lady,” stammered the girl, “he said to…”

Agria backhanded the girl, who went sprawling. “Get out of my sight! I’ll find him myself.” The girl fled, sobbing, and Agria stalked into the trees.

Caina rose, and Ark followed. She crept through the trees, trying to move as quietly as possible in her damnable skirt. Fortunately, Agria seemed too angry to notice anything. She strode down a gravel path, boots grating against the stone, and at last stopped in a small clearing. A worn statue of a man in antique armor stood in the center of the clearing, the white stone coated with moss. Agria stood near the statue and waited, arms folded. 

Caina crouched behind a tree to watch, Ark kneeling besides her. 

“What are we doing?” he whispered.

“Watch her,” hissed Caina. “She’s up to something.”

She felt a bit silly. No doubt Agria was arranging another tryst. Ducas would laugh himself sick. Still, Agria had to make contact with Icaraeus at some point. Messana’s rambling estate was ill-suited for hiding slaves, but perfect for a clandestine meeting. 

Twigs crackled, and two men strode into the clearing, while four more remained lurking in the trees.

Caina’s breath caught in her throat.

It was Naelon Icaraeus himself.

He wore the rich clothes of a lord, the steel-warding bracers still strapped to his forearms. Tigrane stood at his side, wearing the livery of a man-at-arms. Agria whirled, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

“You’re late,” she said.

“Do forgive me, darling Agria,” said Icaraeus, his deep voice thick with sarcasm. “The Empire’s views on slavery are most…unprogressive. Consequently a poor slave trader needs to travel carefully.” 

“You worry too much,” said Agria. “The Legions could not find the ashes in a fireplace.”

“And you worry too little,” said Icaraeus. “I told you, I did not plan to come to Marsis. A Ghost circle attacked the White Road Inn, and I barely escaped with my life.”

Caina smirked.

“Ghosts?” Agria’s laugh was scornful. “There are no Ghosts, my lord Icaraeus. Yes, the Emperor’s all-seeing spies, lurking in every shadow. Only fools blame their failures upon the Ghosts.” 

“You are a fool,” said Icaraeus. “My documents were lost in the fire. We can hope they were destroyed, but I will not trust to luck. The Ghosts probably know that you have been purchasing slaves in bulk for the last few years. Worse, they almost certainly know that I am in Marsis. It would not surprise me if a few Ghost spies attended this party even now.” 

Halfdan had been right. Icaraeus was clever.

“I fear no man,” said Agria. She spread her fingers, flickers of green light dancing between them, and Caina felt the sudden crawling surge of sorcery. “Not after the powers I have mastered.” 

“Then you are indeed a fool,” said Icaraeus, voice heavy with annoyance. He sighed. “But, a fool with money. So I am willing to tolerate your eccentricities…for now.” 

“That,” said Agria, “and the consequences of breaking your contract, hmm?” 

”Enough of this,” said Icaraeus. “To business.” 

“Very well,” said Agria. “We need more slaves. When can you procure them?”

“Soon,” said Icaraeus. “We had the right number at the White Road Inn, but the damnable Ghosts involved themselves. Replacing them will take time.”

“Time?” said Agria, annoyed. “What, are you kidnapping some blackskins from halfway around the world? Half a million people live in Marsis, most of them useless. Snatch some from off the street. I’ve told you, I’m not picky about my slaves.” 

Icaraeus sighed. “My dear, I’ve explained to you before. We cannot keep doing that. We’ve already taken everyone who wouldn’t be missed. Kidnap too many people off the street and someone will notice. Especially now that we’ve drawn the attention of the Ghosts.” 

“That is your problem,” said Agria. “I still expect results. When can you supply the slaves?” 

Icaraeus glanced at Tigrane.

“Perhaps a week’s time, my lady,” said Tigrane. “My lads and I have our eye on a few likely targets.”

“Did I ask you to speak, churl?” said Agria. “Keep your mouth shut.” She looked at Icaraeus. “A week’s time?” 

Icaraeus nodded. “Perhaps ten days.”

Agria scowled and looked at the sky. “She won’t be happy. But if it’s the best that can be done…do it. As soon as possible.”

“And you will have the money to pay for them?” said Icaraeus. “Rumor has it that you and your little…coven have overextended your finances.” 

“I have higher concerns than money now,” said Agria. 

“But I do not,” said Icaraeus.

“Fear not, mercenary,” said Agria. “You’ll have your precious money. And you’ll not break your contract, either. You know the consequences if you do.”

Icaraeus burst out laughing. “These threats, Agria? You really think to threaten me?”

Agria smiled. “Oh, no. Not at all. Because if you fail…you know I’m not the one to whom you will answer. Am I.”

That stilled Icaraeus’s laughter. Caina wondered who they were talking about. Nicorus’s mysterious necromancer, perhaps? 

“This was such a pleasant evening,” said Icaraeus. “Really, we should do this more often.” He extended a mocking little bow in her direction. “Until we meet again, dear lady.” 

Icaraeus strode into the trees, Tigrane following at his heels, and the rest of his men fell in around him. Agria glared after them for a moment, hands curled into fists. Then she whirled and stalked down the gravel path, her heels scraping against the ground. Caina took a deep breath and climbed to her feet, brushing grass and leaves from her skirt.

“Was that him?” said Ark. “Was that Icaraeus?”

Caina nodded.

“We should take him, now,” said Ark. “Before he gets away.”

“We can’t,” said Caina. “He has too many men with him. Besides, he and Tigrane have those bracers.” She hurried to the path. “Follow me.”

“If we’re not going to take him,” said Ark, “what are we going to do instead?”

“We’re going to follow him,” said Caina. “If we’re lucky, he’ll lead us back to his ship or his hideout. Then we’ll get Ducas’s cohort, and capture them all in one blow. We might even find enough evidence to haul Agria and her friends before the magistrates.” 

They returned to the nearest courtyard. Caina looked around, trying to locate Halfdan…

A cold hand settled on her shoulder.

“Oh, there you are,” said Messana. “I’ve been looking all over for you. The others and I would like to slip away for a moment, just the three of us, and we’d love it if you could join us.”

“I…” said Caina. She wanted to scream in frustration. “Yes. Of course. I would be glad. Arlann, go tell my father about what we discussed. Immediately.”

“At once,” said Ark. He hurried away. 

Messana led Caina through the rambling maze of the villa, to a small room off one of the courtyards. The room had been decorated in much the same way as Agria’s solar; the same white candles, the same table, the same faux-mystic symbols painted on every surface. Agria sat on a couch besides Vorena Chlorus, speaking to the other woman in a low, urgent voice.