Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 05 - Ghost in the Stone (19 page)

Then the tattoos upon his arms began to glow. The tattoos’ swirling black lines flared with white light, and the shell of shadow around him shattered. Corvalis fell to his knees, shaking, and Sicarion staggered back, surprised pain flashing across his face. 

Caina had her chance.

She flung the throwing knife. The blade sank into Sicarion’s chest, and he staggered. She threw two more knives, each weapon striking home. Sicarion recovered himself and brought up his sword, but Caina was already on him. She slashed the ghostsilver dagger at his throat, and Sicarion jerked back. The blade tore a smoking gash down his face, the hilt heating up as it reacted to the necromantic spells upon his flesh. She reversed the blade, aiming for his chest, but Sicarion dodged, her blade ripping through his right leg. 

Sicarion snarled and threw out his hand. Invisible force hammered into Caina and knocked her to the ground. But the spell lacked the force of his previous attacks, and she rolled to crouch, bracing herself for the attack.

But no attack came.

Sicarion sprinted down the alley. Caina’s lips pulled back in a snarl, and she started after him. He would not escape, not this time. This time she would hunt him down and put an end to his cruel murders…

A groan reached her ears.

She saw Corvalis twitching upon the ground. 

His green eyes met hers. 

“Go,” he rasped. “Don’t let him get away.”

“What’s wrong with you?” she said. “The spell?”

Corvalis barked a laugh. “No. Spell can’t touch me. Not after what the witchfinders did to me.” The lines of the swirling tattoos upon his arms had gone dark again. “His dagger was poisoned. Go. Go!” 

“Antidote,” said Caina. “Do you have an antidote?”

“Aye,” said Corvalis, shivering. “I know the poison. I have an antidote at my lodgings in Seatown.”

Seatown was a long way from here. Corvalis didn’t look like he could stand, let alone walk to Seatown. Sicarion was wounded, and if Caina caught him, she could finish him…

Corvalis tried to stand and slumped back against the ground. 

“Damn you, go,” said Corvalis. “Get him before he kills someone else.”

He had saved her life by stopping Sicarion’s spell. 

“What are you waiting for?” said Corvalis. “Go!” 

Caina made up her mind.

“Stop talking and get up,” said Caina, and she helped him to stand.

“There,” rasped Corvalis, leaning against her. She felt the spasms going through his legs. “An apartment below the potter’s shop.” 

His lips had taken on a bluish tint. Caina didn’t know what poison Sicarion had used. But she suspected Corvalis didn’t have much time left. 

A narrow set of brick stairs descended alongside the wall of the potter’s shop, and Corvalis half-walked, half-stumbled down them, Caina’s arm around his waist. The stairs ended in a massive steel-banded door. Corvalis reached into his belt for a key, his hands shaking, but couldn’t get it into the lock. Caina took the key, undid the lock, and pushed open the door.

The room beyond was barren. The walls were rough stone, dim light leaking through tiny windows near the ceiling. The only furnishings were a narrow bed, a chair and a workbench, and a wardrobe. A curtain closed off a small doorway on the far side of the room.

Corvalis collapsed into the bed, breathing hard, sweat pouring down his face. 

“Antidote,” he rasped. 

“Where is it?” said Caina. 

“Wardrobe,” said Corvalis, his voice a harsh rasp. “Top shelf. Green vial.”

Caina opened the wardrobe.

Inside a wide variety of weapons rested in racks. Swords, spears, daggers, throwing knives, darts, and disassembled crossbows lay waiting, while narrow shelves held a variety of tools, bottled powders and liquids. Caina found a small green vial of thick brown fluid.

“Is this it?” she said.

“Yes,” said Corvalis. “Can’t…drink it. Hands shaking too badly.”

Caina nodded, pulled out the cork, gripped the side of Corvalis’s face, and poured the contents down his throat. He swallowed, gasped, and shuddered again.

“Gods,” he whispered. “That’s vile. Hope it’s not the last thing I taste.” His shaking hand closed around her wrist. “Listen. I have to stay awake. I stay awake, I’m clear. If I pass out, there’s only a one in three chance that I’ll wake up again. Keep me talking.” 

“Those tattoos,” said Caina. “What are they? They…broke Sicarion’s spell. Like ghostsilver.”

Corvalis wheezed out a laugh. “Like that dagger of yours? I got the tattoos after I escaped from the Kindred. From an Ulkaari witchfinder in the northern Empire. Spirits from the netherworld and worse things haunt the Ulkaari forests, hunt people like animals. These…these disrupt spells. Hurt like hell. Worth it, though. Figured…figured they would come in handy if I ever settled things with my father.” He laughed again. “Guess I’ll never have the chance now.” 

“No,” said Caina. “You’re not dead yet.”

“Yet,” repeated Corvalis. “What about you? You fight better than most men. Wouldn’t expect that from someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” said Caina. 

Corvalis shuddered, sweat pouring down his face. “An opera singer’s pretty maid.” 

“A disguise,” said Caina. “I learned to fight because I had good teachers. But if you listen to me talk, you’ll fall unconscious. So instead you’re going to tell me more about yourself. Why did you leave the Kindred?” 

Corvalis snorted. “I didn’t like the way they smelled.” 

“Tell me more,” said Caina.

“Just like a Ghost,” said Corvalis. “Inquisitive to the end. Why did I leave? My conscience troubled me, but I learned to ignore it. I hated my father, though. Hated what he did to me, hated how he viewed me as his pet hound. And then someone changed my mind. Someone…”

His jaw clamped shut. 

“Gods,” muttered Caina. “You’re having a seizure.” 

“No,” said Corvalis. “I don’t know if I want you to know why I left the Kindred.”

“It’s a little late to keep secrets,” said Caina.

Corvalis snorted. “You lecture me about keeping secrets, Ghost? The Ghosts do nothing else.” 

“Then tell me this,” said Caina. “You said if we left you alone, no other Ghosts would be turned to stone. But one Ghost and one Kindred assassin were turned to statues at the Ring of Valor during Lord Khosrau’s games. What happened?” 

“I don’t know,” said Corvalis. His voice dropped to a whisper, his eyes starting to close. “I thought…I thought if they stayed away from me, no one else would get hurt. He wouldn’t have any reason to go after them. They must…they must have gotten in his way.” 

“His way?” said Caina, leaning closer. “Who? Tell me.” 

Corvalis shuddered, his eyes going wide, and then he slumped against the bed. All the strength flowed out of him.

“I can’t stay awake,” he whispered. His fingers tightened her wrist. “Listen…listen to me. In the back room. Help her. Please, Ghost. Help her.”

“Who’s turning people into statues?” said Caina. “Tell me.”

Corvalis’s eyes closed.

“Tell me!” she shouted. “Corvalis!”

No response.

She slapped him, hoping to shock him awake, but he didn’t respond. His breathing was shallow, his heartbeat rapid.

“Damn it,” breathed Caina. She had been so close. 

She looked at him with a pang of regret. He had saved her life, and now he was going to die in a dusty cellar below a potter’s shop.

Well. A two in three chance he was going to die, anyway. 

Caina pulled off Corvalis’s cloak and cleaned the sweat from his brow. She rested his head upon the pillow and put his hands at this side. If he was going to die, at least he could die comfortable.

Then she searched the apartment. 

If Corvalis died before he could tell her his secrets, she would just have to find them on her own. 

She looked through the wardrobe first. His weapons were well-made, and she found a variety of poisons among the vials. No doubt he had learned how to use them as a Kindred assassin. Hidden beneath the wardrobe’s false bottom she found a steel strongbox. It was locked, and guarded with a nasty mechanical trap, but Halfdan had taught her how to bypass both. A half-hour’s work opened the lock and disabled the trap, and inside Caina found stacks of gold coins, along with two leather pouches of cut gemstones. Corvalis did not lack for funds.

But she found no documents. 

She locked the strongbox, rearming the trap, and examined his workbench. Scars and stains marred the surface, along with tiny piles of metal shavings. He had been repairing his weapons and armor here. Caina knelt and looked under the bed. Several wooden chests rested there, and inside Caina found a variety of clothes, ranging from the finery of a nobleman to the ragged garb of a free laborer. Disguises, no doubt. 

She looked down at Corvalis. His breathing remained shallow, fresh sweat trickling down his face. He did not look any better. Nor did he look any worse.

Caina crossed to the doorway on the far side of the room and pushed aside the ragged curtain. The tiny room beyond was empty, save for a shape draped in a canvas tarp. A shape that looked a great deal like a statue. 

Caina pulled aside the tarp.

The statue of a young woman stared back at Caina. 

Like all the others, the statue was fantastically detailed. The woman wore the robe of a magus, and Caina saw every fold and drape of the fabric in the white stone. The woman’s face was a study in stunned horror. 

Caina stared at the face for a moment.

Then she walked back to the main room, sat besides the bed, tended the cut on her arm, and waited to see if Corvalis would live or die.

###

About three hours later Corvalis sat up, eyes wide. He snarled and grabbed for his sword belt, but Caina had decided that removing his weapons was a good idea. He looked around, and bit by bit the terror and confusion drained from his face. 

“This isn’t my idea of paradise,” he said, “but it makes for a very feeble hell.”

“I’m pleased,” said Caina, “that you don’t think I’m a devil.”

Corvalis managed a harsh laugh. “How long was I out?”

“A little over three hours,” said Caina. 

“Thank you,” said Corvalis, “for watching over me.” He grimaced. “Three times now that I owe you my life.”

“You saved my life, as well,” said Caina, “and it gave me time to think.” 

Wariness came into his expression. “And what did you think about?”

“I know,” said Caina, “what happened to you, and why people keep turning into statues. You said that someone convinced you to leave the Kindred. I think it was that woman in the next room.”

Corvalis said nothing, his hands balled into fists. 

“She convinced you to leave the Kindred,” said Caina. “So to take revenge on you, your father had her turned to stone.” 

“Yes,” said Corvalis, his voice flat.

“Which is why you came to Cyrioch,” said Caina. “Whoever or whatever turned her to stone is here. You’re hoping to find it and reverse the process.”

“You,” said Corvalis, “are damnably clever.”

“Perhaps,” said Caina, “but I’m not wrong, am I?”

Corvalis sighed. “No.”

“Who was she?” said Caina. “A lover?”

Corvalis shook his head. “No. My sister.”

Caina blinked. “I hadn’t expected that.” 

“Our mother was the First Magus’s favorite mistress for a few years, until he grew bored with her and had her executed,” said Corvalis. He took a deep breath. “Claudia was his favorite daughter. She had arcane talent, so she went into the Magisterium while he sold me to the Kindred. We were close, and I always thought our father would twist her into a copy of himself. But Claudia…Claudia has a good heart. Maybe I had one once, but the Kindred beat it out of me.” He shook his head. “But our father couldn’t change Claudia. When I met her again, after she became a full sister of the Magisterium…she hadn’t changed. Not a bit. She used her spells to ward grain warehouses against rats, to shield the cellars of commoners from insects, that sort of thing.”

“I doubt it would last,” said Caina. “The Magisterium is filled with monsters, and sorcery twists anyone who uses it.”

“Perhaps,” said Corvalis. He rubbed the sweat from his face. “But not Claudia. She thought I was dead. When she found out what our father had done to me…she said it opened her eyes. Said it showed her what the Magisterium really was. She wanted to leave the Empire, and convinced me to leave the Kindred and go with her.”

“Where would you have gone?” said Caina. 

“One of the free cities, west of Anshan,” said Corvalis. “We would live quietly, keep a low profile.” He shrugged. “She had me convinced that we could leave it all behind. She even managed to talk me out of killing the First Magus.” 

“What went wrong?” said Caina.

“I left the Kindred,” said Corvalis, “and our father was furious.” He scowled. “Decius Aberon, you see, regards his children are his property, to do with as he pleases. He sent the Kindred to kill me, but I killed everyone who came after me. So he caught Claudia instead,” he waved his hand at the curtained doorway, “and you can figure out the rest.” 

Caina frowned. “So Decius Aberon did this to her? He turned her to stone? Why aren’t you in Artifel, trying to hunt him down?” 

“He ordered it done, but he didn’t do it personally,” said Corvalis. “One of his minions did it. A master magus named Ranarius.” 

Caina blinked. “Ranarius? The preceptor of the Cyrioch chapter?” 

“The same,” said Corvalis. He stood and stretched. “I don’t know how he did it, either. Ranarius is…odd, even by the standards of the Magisterium. The magi regard him as an eccentric genius, and they’re afraid of him. They sometimes hire the Kindred to assassinate each other, and everyone who has tried to assassinate Ranarius has come to a bad end.” 

“How did he end up here?” said Caina.

Corvalis tugged off his armor, put it on the workbench, and pulled off his sweat-drenched shirt. The black lines of the tattoo spiraled over his back and over the hard muscles of his belly and chest. There was not an inch of fat on him, and she saw the pale scars from sword and dagger wounds.