Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 08 - Ghost in the Mask (20 page)

That, at least, was true. 

“Then how do you suggest I proceed?” said Martin.

“Plague,” said Claudia.

He laughed. “In siege warfare, sometimes the besiegers catapult plague-infected bodies over the walls. I rather doubt that would be effective here. Especially since we are the ones inside the walls.”

Claudia smiled. “Nothing of the sort. If you agree to help us, Komnene will come to you and say that one of Lady Maena’s men was found dead inside the town, slain by the weeping plague.”

“Which in turn,” said Martin, “will give me the right to inspect Maena’s men for plague.” He thought for a moment. “While I admit to pleasure at the thought of annoying Lady Maena, I fail to see what that would accomplish.”

“It would distract her guards,” said Claudia, “which will give the Ghosts a chance to look around the camp, and perhaps find the method by which she entered Caer Magia. For we are almost certain that she entered the ruins and returned.” 

“And if you know how she entered the ruins,” said Martin, “you can stop her from doing it again.”

“That is the hope,” said Claudia.

Martin pushed away from the desk and walked towards her, stopping a few feet away. Claudia looked at him, a flush of fear going through her. Would he simply kill her, rather than risk working with the Ghosts? Some nobles hated and feared the Emperor’s spies and had them executed on the spot.

He took another step closer, and for a brief, absurd moment, she wondered if he was going to kiss her.

“Claudia,” said Martin, “if I help you, if I help the Ghosts, you must not do anything to harm the people of Calvarium or Caeria Ulterior, save for the cultists. The province is my responsibility, and I will not suffer anyone to harm it.”

Claudia managed a nod. “My lord, I promise you, we want the same things.”

“We shall see, will we not?” said Martin. “So be it. Tell Komnene I agree to your plan.”

Chapter 14 - Nightfighter

A few hours later Claudia walked with Komnene alongside Martin’s horse.

The Lord Governor cut an impressive figure in his saddle. He had donned the ceremonial plate-and-chain armor of a Lord Governor, the crimson cloak of an Imperial commander flowing from his shoulders, his gleaming helm topped with a blood-colored plume. A hundred and fifty men from Calvarium’s militia marched behind him, shields and spears in hand. Provincial militias did not have a good reputation among the lords of the Empire, but the militiamen marched with precision, their footsteps rising and falling in unison.

Komnene walked at a brisk pace, her cane scraping at the thick grasses. She winced every few steps, and Claudia wished she had persuaded the older woman to take a horse. 

The column moved along the Henge. The earthwork wall rose a dozen yards from the ground, its slopes grassy. Standing stones stood every few yards along the wall, carved with warding sigils. Even without casting a spell, Claudia sensed the power in those stones, the wards designed to keep the malefic aura of Caer Magia from spreading.

The black hulk of the ruined city rose in the distance, ominous and silent. Claudia did her best to ignore it. 

A few moments later they arrived at Lady Maena Tulvius’s camp. 

Hundreds of tents stood crowded in a square, the smoke from cooking fires rising against the steel-gray sky. A ditch encircled the camps, and parts of it had been lined haphazardly with sharpened wooden stakes. To judge from the stench, Maena’s mercenaries had been using the ditch as a latrine.

“Just as well we came,” muttered Komnene. “Another week and they would have pestilence break out from poor sanitation anyway.” 

A narrow wooden bridge stretched over the ditch, and four mercenaries in chain mail and leather stood there, swords and shields in hand. Martin reined up before the bridge, and the mercenaries gave him a speculative glance.

“Pardon, my lord,” said one of the men. “Is there something we can do for you?”

“You can,” said Martin in a stern voice. “Summon your mistress at once. I must have words with her.”

The mercenary smirked. “Lady Maena said she was not to be disturbed for any reason.”

“Young man,” said Komnene, pointing with her cane, “I suspect she’ll want to hear about the plague in your camp.”

The mercenary’s smirk vanished. “Plague?”

“The weeping plague, to be precise,” said Martin. “One of your fellows was found dead behind the Opened Tomb tavern, slain by the weeping plague. The mess was…quite considerable. I fear the illness discharged its foulness from his every orifice before he perished. A grim way to die.” 

“Indeed,” said Komnene. “And the weeping plague is highly virulent. Once the symptoms start to show, a physician has only a short window of time to administer the proper medicine before the plague becomes terminal.” She peered at the mercenary. “You’re sweating.”

“It’s hot out,” said the mercenary, a hint of fear in his eyes. 

“It’s quite chill, I fear,” said Komnene. Many men faced death by sword and spear with equanimity, but it took courage of an entirely different sort to face death by painful illness. “But old women grow cold easily. A strong young man like you has nothing to fear. Yes. I’m sure that’s it.”

Claudia lifted her hand to her face to hide her laugh.

A crowd of mercenaries gathered behind the bridge, listening to the discussion.

“Hear me!” said Lord Martin, shouting in the voice of a battlefield commander. “For the good of the town of Calvarium and the province of Caeria Ulterior, we must treat this plague quickly. Every man among you must be examined for the signs of the weeping plague. Do so now, and my physicians shall examine you free of charge, and provide the necessary medicine. Delay,” he shook his head, the crowd behind the bridge growing, “and I shall have no choice but to quarantine your camp. As Lord Governor, I cannot allow plague to spread across the province.”

Claudia heard voices raised in anger, some in question. It seemed the sergeants were trying to get the men back under control. A few of the mercenaries shouted at each other, while Martin waited impassively atop his horse. Claudia could not help but admire Caina’s cleverness. The plan was working. With all the chaos, someone skilled in stealth could easily enter the camp.

The shouting quieted, and an aisle formed in the milling mercenaries.

Lady Maena Tulvius stalked across the bridge, glaring at Martin. Again she wore a green gown, too tight and too low, her red hair arranged artfully. “What is this?” snapped Maena, her green eyes sweeping over the column. They narrowed for a moment when they saw Claudia. For an instant, Claudia was certain that she had met Maena somewhere before Calvarium, but she could not remember where. “Are you trying to incite my men to riot, my lord Martin?”

“Not at all,” said Martin. “I have merely come to warn them.”

Again Maena looked at Claudia, her eyes glinting like jade knives. “Warn me of what?” 

“The weeping plague,” said Martin.

“What?” said Maena. “No one in my camp has any sort of plague. I would know.” 

“One of your men was found dead behind a tavern in Calvarium,” said Martin, “killed by the plague. Almost certainly he spread the disease among the men in your camp.”

Maena laughed. “I doubt that, my lord Martin. I suspect this is merely a petty game to harass me. Run off with your tail between your legs, or…”

“I shall put this bluntly to you, Maena Tulvius,” said Martin, drawing his sword with a rasp of steel. “You will allow my physicians to inspect your men for signs of weeping plague. If you do not, I will have you arrested here and now for disobeying the lawful orders of an Imperial magistrate.”

Maena sneered. “You wouldn’t dare.” The men behind her bristled. “You’re already disgraced, boy. If you arrest me, my father will ensure that your days as an Imperial magistrate are finished.”

“I am willing to take that risk,” said Martin. He raised his voice. “And if you are arrested, I shall have your men tested for weeping plague anyway. There is no need for them to die of plague simply to satisfy your swollen pride.” 

An angry mutter went through the men. Maena glanced back at them, calculation flashing over her face. 

“Very well,” she said at last. “In the interest of…safety, let us say. You may check my men for signs of the weeping plague.” She leveled a finger at Martin. “But my men will undergo these examinations outside the camp. I will not have your men rifling through my baggage and stealing my money.”

“My lady,” said Martin, “you have my solemn word that my militia shall remain outside your camp.”

Claudia kept a straight face.

“Come,” said Komnene. “Let us go to work.”

Claudia nodded, and followed Komnene to begin the fake examinations. 

###

Caina crouched atop the Henge and watched the confrontation from the shadow of a sigil-carved menhir.

She did not dare take a single step back, not one.

When she had first come to Calvarium, she was surprised that she had not felt the sorcery blanketing Caer Magia. She had sensed the power of the Tower of Study miles away from Catekharon, had suffered headaches and nausea. Surely she would feel the same radiating from Caer Magia.

But she had felt nothing at all from the ruined black city.

Then she had scrambled along the Henge, remaining out of sight as Lord Martin’s column headed for Lady Maena’s camp…and Caina had crossed just a foot too far onto the wrong side of the Henge. 

And at once she felt the power of Caer Magia.  

The necromantic sorcery had washed over her like a storm, wave after wave of dark power radiating from the black ruins. She felt the power close around her heart, felt it start trembling in its final seven hundred and seventy-seven beats. 

Caina had scrambled to the proper side of the Henge, and at once the sensation faded. Idly she wondered if the spell would follow her, even after setting foot beyond the Henge, her heart would still stop after seven hundred and seventy-seven beats.

Caina counted well past a thousand. 

She made sure to stay on the southern side of the earthen wall after that.

But now she watched Maena’s men come out of the camp for examination, and it was time to act. 

Caina wore leather armor and a ragged brown cloak, the clothing of a caravan guard. If anyone saw her, they would either take her for one of Maena’s mercenaries, or a brigand looking to make trouble. She slipped past the camp, following the Henge’s line. Lord Martin and Komnene had drawn the attention of the mercenaries, and Lady Maena herself stood in their midst, her green gown visible from a distance.

Caina circled to the back of Maena’s camp. She took a deep breath, set herself, and sprinted forward. A jump took her over the stinking trench, and she landed on the far side, grabbing at a tent line to steady herself.

She was inside Maena’s camp. 

Time to get to work.

Caina hurried forward, eyes sweeping back and forth. Most of the mercenaries had joined Maena outside the camp, but perhaps some were sleeping. Or a few of the more enterprising ones might have remained behind to loot their comrades’ tents. Most of the tents were canvas, but a large blue pavilion rose in the center of the camp.

Lady Maena’s tent. 

Caina did not know what she was looking for, not exactly. She suspected that Maena had some sort of warding spell or device to keep Caer Magia’s dark aura at bay. Such an object would have powerful spells upon it, and Caina would be able to sense those spells.

Or so she hoped.

She lifted the flap and ducked into the pavilion.

Maena preferred to travel in luxury. A carpet had been laid over the ground, and an actual wooden bed, large enough for at least three people, stood against one wall of the tent, its surface heaped with blankets and pillows. Two overstuffed armchairs sat in the corner, a table between them. A full-length mirror stood on the other wall alongside a table laden with cosmetics. The air within smelled of perfume and sweat, and to judge from the rumpled condition of the bed, Caina suspected that Maena entertained lovers on a regular basis. 

And she felt the tingle of sorcery in the air. 

Caina moved closer to the mirror, the feel of sorcery growing stronger. Her reflection showed a short, blue-eyed man in leather armor, his blond hair pulled back into a tail. Caina swept her hand over the glass, taking care not to touch it. 

The mirror was indeed enspelled, though Caina could not discern how Maena might have used it to enter Caer Magia. The Alchemist Sinan had employed an enspelled mirror to enter the netherworld, and he had forced Caina to travel there in search of the Sacellum of the Living Flame and the ashes of a phoenix spirit. Could Maena be traveling through the netherworld to access Caer Magia? That might allow her to bypass the killing aura – but as soon as Maena returned to the mortal world, the dark sorcery surrounding the ruins would start counting off her seven hundred and seventy-seven heartbeats. 

Caina circled around the mirror, intending to examine its back, and she felt a sharp jab of sorcerous power.

She spun, ghostsilver dagger flying into her hand, half-expecting to see Maena, or worse, Sicarion, casting a spell at her. But the pavilion was still empty, the only sounds coming from the examinations outside the camp. 

So what had she sensed?

Caina saw the box behind the mirror.

It was a heavy chest constructed of thick oak, its lid and sides bound with bands of gleaming steel. A solid-looking lock sealed the lid. Caina knelt and ran her hands over the box, checking for mechanical traps. She didn’t see any, but the aura of sorcery was strong upon it, very strong. Had Maena warded the box?

No – the aura was coming from within the chest. 

Caina suspected she had found Maena’s means of accessing Caer Magia.

She knelt, pulled a set of lockpicks from her belt, and started working.

Halfdan had taught her the secrets of picking locks years ago, and she had kept up with it. She was hardly an expert – Radast of Marsis was the best locksmith she had ever met, but she was competent. She had even managed to open a Strigosti lockbox without getting killed by its mechanical trap. And this chest was hardly a Strigosti lockbox.