Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 08 - Ghost in the Mask (22 page)

“I’m jealous,” said Caina. “It is something I could do without.”

“It has saved your life more than once,” said Corvalis.

“True,” said Caina, turning back to the Henge. “Kylon! Can you sense anything?” 

“Nothing, Ghost,” he said, standing just beyond the edge of the menhirs. “I can detect the power of the Henge, but nothing beyond it.”

Caina thought for a moment. “Try stepping over the edge. Just for a moment, not for any longer. See if you can sense anything then.”

Kylon nodded and crossed over the boundary of the Henge.

At once his eyes widened, and he came to a staggering stop. He stared at the dark walls of Caer Magia for a moment like a soldier contemplating an oncoming army.

“Kylon!” said Caina.

He retreated over the Henge and let out a shuddering breath, leaning on one of the carved menhirs for support.

“It is…it is very strong, Ghost,” said Kylon. “The aura. Very strong. But I think the amulets are shielding you from it. If not, it would kill you in short order.” His frown deepened further. “No…not kill you. I think it’s doing something other than killing.”

“Then the killing just happens to kill you as a…side effect, is that it?” said Corvalis.

“That is exactly it,” said Kylon. “That aura, whatever it is, drains the life of anything within the Henge. Slowly, not all at once. A little bit every heartbeat, just a tiny fraction, until it kills you.”

“After precisely seven hundred and seventy-seven heartbeats?” said Caina. 

“Exactly,” said Kylon. “Ghost…the aura is radiating from somewhere within the walls of Caer Magia. The center of the city, I think, though I’m not sure.”

“Like an enspelled object,” said Caina. “It drains life. I think…”

Suddenly she remembered standing atop Haeron Icaraeus’s mansion as the storm raged overhead. Maglarion’s great bloodcrystal, the bloodcrystal he had created from her blood, had been built to absorb life and transform it into sorcerous power. Had his plan succeeded, he would have killed everyone in Malarae, draining their life force and using it to make himself into a living god. 

And Maglarion had been an initiate of the Magisterium during the Fourth Empire, when Caer Magia had still been a living city. He had learned his necromancy from the magi of that era.

Did that mean there was a bloodcrystal in Caer Magia powerful enough to kill anyone who drew too close, draining away their life energies and converting them to sorcerous power?

Was that what Maena and Anashir sought? 

That was a disturbing thought. A very disturbing thought. Maglarion had almost destroyed Malarae and turned himself into a god with his bloodcrystal.

What horrors might Maena or Anashir wreak with a bloodcrystal ten times more powerful?

“I think,” said Caina at last. “I think we should have a look inside Caer Magia.”

“You need to be careful,” said Kylon. “From what I have heard, the corpses of those slain in Caer Magia are restless.”

“Such creatures use senses other than sorcery to see,” said Caina, “and we have our shadow-cloaks.” 

Kylon nodded. “A blue bloodcrystal. If you find one…”

“If we find one,” said Caina, “I will carry it out myself.”  

“I shall wait for you here,” said Kylon. 

Caina nodded and started the climb to Caer Magia, Corvalis following.

###

The dead black walls loomed over Caina, and the amulet grew warm, so warm she felt it even through the leather of her jerkin.

“Do you feel that?” said Caina. 

Corvalis put one hand to his chest. “It’s getting warm.” 

“This metalwork is shoddy,” muttered Caina, touching her own amulet. “I should have realized it before.”

“Realized what?” said Corvalis. 

“That Maena made this amulet in a hurry,” said Caina, “which means she makes them often…because I think they burn out.” 

“Oh,” said Corvalis. “That isn’t good, is it? If the amulet burns out while we’re still inside the Henge…”

“Then,” said Caina, “we see if we can run back to the Henge in seven hundred and seventy-seven heartbeats.” 

“I’ve heard poets talk about a race against death,” said Corvalis, “but that is too literal for my taste.” 

“Mine too,” said Caina.

A massive gate opened in the sheer black wall. The doors of black wood and steel were still intact, no doubt thanks to warding spells. They stood half-open, and Caina heard faint noises coming from inside the gate. 

Like footsteps. 

“Corvalis,” said Caina. “Shadow-cloaks.”

Corvalis nodded, reached into his pack, and pulled out their shadow-cloaks. 

The cloaks were wondrous things, black as shadow and light as air. Only the Ghosts knew the secrets of making shadow-cloaks, of infusing shadows within silk. The cloak allowed Caina to hide in the shadows much more effectively while also letting her move with far greater stealth. The cloak’s cowl shielded her thoughts from mind-altering spells, and made her almost undetectable through sorcery.

And if she was right, it would hide them from the gaze of whatever creatures lurked within Caer Magia.

Caina pulled up her cowl, and Corvalis did the same.

“We had better hurry,” said Caina, and Corvalis nodded.

She took a deep breath, slipped through the gap in the massive doors, and entered Caer Magia.

At first she thought it looked like a dark reflection of many other cities in the Empire. A plaza spread before the gate, lined with houses and shops, a fountain splashing in its center. Yet everything had been built out of the same black stone as the walls. It made the city look like the shadow, a city of the dead.

Because the dead walked in Caer Magia.

A pair of Dust Shades drifted along the wall. Caina tensed, her hand tight around her ghostsilver dagger, and braced herself for the attack. But the creatures ignored her, their forms rippling as they continued moving. 

Men and women wandered from building to building, clad in crumbling clothing. At first Caina thought they were alive, that Anashir and Maena had gotten their followers into the city. Yet the people had gray, bloodless skin, and green light shone in their eyes, the same green light Caina had seen in spells of necromancy. 

The men and women were dead, yet they moved anyway.

“Gods,” whispered Corvalis. Through all the dangers they had faced together, she had never seen him look so shaken. “So many of them.”

The dead milled through the square, disappearing into the houses and alleys.

“There were a hundred thousand people in Caer Magia,” said Caina, “when it was destroyed.” 

“It looks like you were right,” said Corvalis. “They can’t see us with the shadow-cloaks.”

Caina nodded. “If they could, I think they would have ripped us apart the moment we stepped through the gate.”

A pair of dead children appeared in the door of a house, gazing over the square. They stared at nothing for a moment, and then wandered into the house. How long had their corpses haunted the ruins of Caer Magia?

Determination forced its way through her horror. Caer Magia had been destroyed, and the same fate would befall more cities if either or Anashir or Maena uncovered the secrets of the ruins. 

Besides, her amulet was getting hotter. She did not know how much longer it would last.

“Let’s go,” said Caina. 

She started across the plaza, not bothering to muffle her footfalls. 

“You don’t think they can hear us?” said Corvalis, keeping a wary eye on the Dust Shades and the animated corpses. 

“I doubt it,” said Caina. “The Dust Shades don’t have ears. And the corpses…you have to be alive to hear things, I think. They must be able to see or sense life energy. Which is why they can’t see us. The shadow-cloaks are hiding us.”

“They would make clumsy fighters,” said Corvalis. 

“That must be why the magi never bothered to make an army of them,” said Caina. “A Legion in formation could hold its own against these things.” She shook her head. “But they’d be deadly in an individual fight. They don’t feel pain or fear, can’t be tricked or fooled. If we didn’t have our shadow-cloaks, they would kill us.”

A wide avenue led deeper into the ruined city. Stately mansions lined the street, and she saw dozens of domed towers rising over the rooftops. Those had once been the homes of Caer Magia’s high magi. The high magi preferred to live in towers. Caina had heard them claim it permitted easier astronomical observation, that the position of the moon and certain planets altered the results of spells, but she suspected the towers actually served as a monument to their pride.  

At the end of the avenue, in the center of the city, she saw a huge domed structure of black stone, a cross between a magistrate’s basilica and a temple. It looked a bit like a chapterhouse of the Magisterium, but much larger and grander.

And unless Caina missed her guess, the aura was radiating from beneath the dome.

“There,” she said, pointing at the basilica. “The aura…whatever it is, is coming from that building.”

Corvalis nodded. “It looks a lot like the Motherhouse in Artifel.”

“But bigger?” said Caina.

“Smaller, actually,” said Corvalis. “The First Magi have never been known for their humility.”

“Let’s take a closer look,” said Caina. 

“What are we looking for, exactly?” said Corvalis.

Caina shrugged. “Anything unusual.”

“We’re in a ruined city filled with walking corpses,” said Corvalis, “and anyone living who sets foot inside it dies after seven hundred and seventy-seven heartbeats. We are well past unusual.”

“Anything unusual for Caer Magia, then,” said Caina. “A weapon of sorcery that would explain why the Moroaica’s disciples are investigating the city. Some signs of what they truly intend. A blue bloodcrystal for Kylon’s betrothed. The source of the Dustblades that Jurius and Ephaltus found.” She hesitated. “And I think we may have found them. Look.”

She pointed at a passing dead man. The man wore the black armor of a Magisterial Guard. The armor had weathered the passage of the decades well, though the leather of the Guard’s belt and boots was crumbling, his sheathed sword swinging from one remaining strap. A dagger rested in his belt, its black hilt rising from the rotten leather.

Caina snatched the dagger from its sheath. The undead Guard did not notice, and continued his steady march to nowhere. Black steel flashed in the dim sunlight, and Caina saw the bloodcrystal in the blade glow in response to her touch.

A Dustblade.

“Gods,” muttered Corvalis. “Do all the Guards have them?”

“I don’t know,” said Caina. She regarded the weapon for a moment, and then drew her ghostsilver dagger. She rammed the silvery dagger into the Dustblade’s bloodcrystal, and both weapons shivered in her hands. The bloodcrystal crumbled into black ash, the glow fading, and Caina felt the sorcery fade from the Dustblade.

She tossed the ruined weapon aside.

“If Jurius had a way to mask his presence from the corpses,” said Corvalis, “I suppose he could have just walked up and taken a Dustblade.”

“Aye,” said Caina. “Though he doesn’t explain how he and Ephaltus came to believe a long-forgotten Maatish god is going to rise again and rebuild the Kingdom of the Rising Sun.” She returned her dagger to its sheath. “Let’s take a closer look at that basilica.”

They kept walking, and soon came to the plaza at Caer Magia’s heart. Statues lined the plaza, showing solemn men in black robes, diadems on their heads. They were the magus-emperors of the Fourth Empire, the cruel, tyrannical men who had enslaved countless thousands, who had pushed the borders of the Empire to their farthest extent. 

The men who had destroyed themselves in Caer Magia.

The great black basilica loomed over the square. Its windows were high and narrow, its walls carved with elaborate reliefs showing the triumph of the magi. The walls and doors and windows gleamed in an odd way. At first Caina thought it was merely the reflection of the sunlight off the polished stone, but sunlight would not turn green, nor shape itself into arcane sigils. Warding spells, then. Even in the noon light on a cloudy day, they were visible. At night the basilica’s wards had to light up Caer Magia like a giant lantern.

Caina stopped, her head swimming. The raw power of the wards washed over her like a tide of flame. This was sorcery beyond anything the magi could wield today, power to match Maglarion and Kalastus and the other mighty sorcerers she had faced. And even through the aura of the wards, she felt the power of whatever lay waiting in the basilica.

Her amulet had grown hot, painfully hot, against her chest.

“Corvalis,” she said. “I don’t think…I don’t think I can go any closer.” 

She felt his steadying hand upon her shoulder. “We probably shouldn’t. I could cook breakfast on my amulet.” He squinted at the basilica. “And I think someone has been trying to break into that place.”

Caina saw what he meant. Scorch marks marred the stone around the closed double doors, and she saw charred gouges in the wood. Someone had been unleashing spells at the doors, chipping away at the wards bit by bit. Caina did not think Maena possessed that kind of arcane strength. Or did she? Or perhaps Anashir had been trying to batter his way into the basilica. 

“We ought to go back,” said Caina. “We’ve seen what we need to see. I don’t know how much longer these amulets will last.”

Corvalis nodded, turned, and drew his sword and dagger.

A figure in green stood at the far end of the plaza, blocking the avenue leading back the gate.

Lady Maena Tulvius.

Chapter 16 - The Disciple and the Assassin

Caina drew her ghostsilver dagger in one hand and a throwing knife in the other. 

Maena strolled towards them, unconcerned. She wore a brilliant green gown, her hair arranged perfectly, jewels glittering on her fingers and in her ears. The heels of her boots clicked against the black flagstones as she walked, a smile on her red lips. A black amulet hung from her neck, nestled between her breasts. The corpses and the Dust Shades ignored her. She must have been using a spell to mask her presence.