Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 08 - Ghost in the Mask (23 page)

Or, more disturbing, she had the ability to control them. 

She stopped twenty yards away, hands on her hips. 

“Well, well,” she called. “Corvalis Aberon and Caina of the Ghosts! How pleasant to meet you here. Did you fancy an afternoon stroll, too?” She laughed, long and wild. “Or perhaps the lovers thought to slip away for a little tryst, hmm?” Her grin had a manic edge to it. “A macabre place for one, certainly. But perhaps you enjoy that sort of thing.” 

Caina said nothing. If the sorceress started a spell, Caina could throw a knife, and she might land a hit at this distance. But if Maena had warded herself against steel, it would be a useless gesture. 

“You know,” said Maena, “the locksmith in Malarae who sold me that box promised no one could pick the lock. I’ll have to go back and kill him. I assume you stole the amulets? That the little ruse with the weeping plague was for my benefit? Very, very clever, Ghost. But you were always a clever little bitch, weren’t you?”

“What do you want?” said Caina. Maena hadn’t come here to talk. The conversation had to have some purpose. A distraction, perhaps?

Caina shot an uneasy glance around the plaza, but saw nothing but the undead. 

“Merely to talk, that’s all,” said Maena, spreading her hands. “We should reacquaint ourselves. It has been a while.”

“I’ve never seen you before in my life,” said Caina. 

Maena’s smile widened. “You have, Ghost. You have, and you’ve forgotten. Or…no, you’re just too stupid to realize it.” She looked at Corvalis. “What about you, Aberon? You were your father’s pet killer, his hunting hound. Are you cunning enough to see the truth?”

“I haven’t met you before,” said Corvalis, “and I know I haven’t, because if I had you would be dead.”

Maena threw back her head and laughed, the cords in her slender neck standing out. 

“Oh, that’s funny,” she said, mastering herself at last. “Too funny. Do you realize the joke yet? No? Well, you will. In the final moments before you die, you will.”

“Whoever you are,” said Caina, “I know that you are a disciple of the Moroaica.”

“Obviously. Did you just now realize that?” said Maena. 

“Because,” said Caina, “otherwise you could not know so much about us. Not unless the Moroaica told you.”

“Or,” said Maena, “I observed you with my own eyes. Well. Not these eyes.”

“I assume,” said Caina, risking another glance around her plaza, “that you have a purpose for this conversation other than listening to the sound of your own voice.”

“It’s almost done,” said Maena. “The Moroaica’s great work. You’ve helped her along the way, even if you haven’t realized it. She has two of the three things she needs. The last lies there, behind those doors.”

“And what,” said Caina, “is her great work?”

“You should know,” said Maena. “She told you of it enough times. A new world, free of suffering and want. A new world, one where the gods have been pulled from their thrones and made to pay for the suffering of mankind. A world with no death or pain.”

“Accomplished through sorcery?” said Caina. “Rubbish. Easier to paint a wall with a sword than to use sorcery for good.”

“As it happens,” said Maena, “I agree with you. The Moroaica is mad, driven by her absurd visions and her thirst for vengeance.” 

“Said the crow to the raven, calling it black,” said Corvalis.

Maena giggled. “You’re right, you know. I am mad. But you did it to me. And I will take my vengeance upon you.”

“Or,” said Caina, “we’ll kill you.”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Maena. She threw out her arms, like an opera singer declaiming a final thunderous aria. “The great work is almost upon us. The world will burn, the mountains will fall, the cities will wither into ash, and…”

Caina felt the tingle of sorcery. It was faint, and she could barely feel it through the icy aura radiating from the basilica.

But it was there.

And Maena’s conversation had indeed been a distraction.

“Corvalis!” shouted Caina, throwing herself to the side.

An instant later a serrated dagger plunged into the air where her back had been. Caina struck the ground, rolled, and came back to her feet. Corvalis spun and moved to her side, sword and dagger ready.

A short man in a hooded black cloak stood before them, a sword in his right hand, an ugly, serrated dagger in his left. The face within the cowl was hideous, a ghastly patchwork of grotesque scars, as if his features had been stitched together from dead men. 

They likely had been.

“Sicarion,” spat Corvalis.

Sicarion’s scarred lips twitched into a ghastly grin. “Aberon.” His eyes narrowed in amusement. His left eye was a steely gray; likely he had replaced it since Caina had seen him last. His right was a venomous orange-yellow, like the eye of some monstrous horror from the netherworld. “I still owe you one death.” His mismatched eyes shifted to Caina. “And you, Ghost…oh, I am going to enjoy killing you.” 

“You’ve tried before,” said Corvalis, “and we’re still here.”

Sicarion shrugged, his blades glinting. “All men die. And who better to kill them than me?”

“That’s who you were talking to, isn’t it?” said Caina, circling to Sicarion’s left and glancing at Maena. “In the mirror. It was him.” 

Maena giggled again. “Oh, you were spying on me, were you? You must have gotten an eyeful! The mistress sent her pet killer to watch me, to make sure I don’t rebel against her again.” Again? “But he has his uses. Kill them!” 

Sicarion sprang into motion, dark cloak billowing around him, his sword and dagger a blur. Corvalis met his attack, his weapons striking against Sicarion’s blades. They exchanged a dozen blows in half as many heartbeats, the ring of steel filling Caina’s ears.

Along with the sound of Maena Tulvius casting a spell. 

Caina sprinted at Maena. Corvalis had held his own against Sicarion before. But that had been in a fair fight, without any distractions. If Maena threw her powers into the fray against Corvalis, Sicarion would cut him down in short order.

And then Maena and Sicarion would kill Caina.

She flung the knife in her left hand at Maena. The blade slammed into Maena’s chest and bounced away in a spray of sparks. She had indeed shielded herself from steel. Maena smirked and turned towards Caina, her hands coming up as she finished her spell.

Even in the aura radiating from the basilica, Caina felt the power of Maena’s sorcery.

Caina flung herself sideways as Maena pointed, and a blast of invisible force slammed into her left side. The spell only clipped her, but it still sent her spinning into the air. Caina braced herself for the landing, and struck one of the walking corpses. She bounced off the dead man and hit the ground, shadow-cloak pooling around her. 

The corpse looked at her, eyes glowing, and walked away. 

Caina rolled to her feet, and felt arcane force build around Maena as she worked another spell. Caina stepped back, the corpse she had struck walking past her.

Maena thrust a hand, and Caina ducked behind the walking corpse. This time the spell slammed into the dead man with enough force to lift him into the air and throw him against the basilica’s wall. The warding sigils upon the wall flared to life, and green fire engulfed the corpse and burned it to ashes. 

Caina sprinted at Maena, hand dipping into her belt. Maena sneered and began another spell, making no effort to protect herself. Her wards would turn aside any blades.

So her surprise was complete when Caina snatched the glass vial of a smoke bomb and flung it into her face. Maena squawked, and her cries turned to screams of rage and pain as her hair and gown caught fire. She tripped over her high heels and fell to the ground, screaming and cursing as she tried to quench the flames. 

Caina drew her ghostsilver dagger, and then felt another surge of power.

Sicarion had cast a spell.

She spun as Corvalis stumbled back, trying to regain his balance. Sicarion pursed, his sword and dagger stabbing. Corvalis managed to block the blows, but Sicarion pursed. If Corvalis did not get his balance back, Sicarion was going to kill him.

Caina flung another throwing knife. It caught Sicarion in the left thigh, and the scarred assassin stumbled with a snarl. Corvalis caught his balance and resumed his attack, and this time Sicarion was forced on the defense. Caina threw another knife and struck Sicarion in the hip, and Corvalis’s next thrust opened a line of blood across his jaw. Caina lunged at him, and Sicarion just got his sword up to block the slash of her dagger.

He flung out his hands, and sorcerous force exploded from him. It was not as strong as the blast Maena had unleashed, but it was still enough to send both Caina and Corvalis to the ground. Caina rolled to one knee, dagger in hand, and felt something hot against her chest.

Her amulet was starting to smoke, its bloodcrystal dimming, and she felt the sorcery around it beginning to unravel.

They were in trouble, and if Sicarion and Maena failed to kill them, Caer Magia itself would do it.

“Run!” said Caina, getting to her feet.

Corvalis looked at her, at the smoke rising from his amulet, and sprinted after her.

Sicarion spun, and began casting another spell. Caina kept running, shooting a look over her shoulder. Sicarion was a necromancer, though not a powerful one. Yet he knew enough sorcery to wreak havoc. Caina pushed herself faster, Corvalis keeping pace beside her. If they could get out of Caer Magia and rejoin Kylon at the Henge, they had a chance. Maena was powerful and Sicarion deadly, but Kylon was both. 

Sicarion gestured, and pale green flame flickered around his fingers. An instant later Caina felt the surge of power, and pale green flame danced up her arms and legs. She braced herself for the burst of pain that would come from the spell, but nothing happened, save for the icy tingle of the spell itself. 

The same green flame danced around Corvalis.

“What did he do?” said Corvalis.

“Keep running,” said Caina. “I don’t think it did anything. We…”

Every single animated corpse and Dust Shade in the plaza went motionless at once.

Then they turned to face Caina and Corvalis.

“Oh,” said Caina. “That’s clever.”

“What is?” said Corvalis.

“His spell,” said Caina. “It’s letting the undead see us through the shadow-cloaks.” 

Maena pushed herself to her feet, most of her hair scorched away, her face red from the flames. Every Dust Shade and corpse in the plaza began heading towards Caina. 

“We should probably run faster,” said Corvalis.

Caina nodded and raced for the avenue leading back to the gate. Soon they left the plaza behind, the great mass of undead trailing after them. The gates yawned in the distance, still standing open. Caina pushed herself harder. Just a little further, and then…

Animated corpses boiled out of the alleys between the houses, blocking off the gate. 

They couldn’t cut their way through the mass of corpses and Dust Shades blocking the avenue. Her ghostsilver dagger could disperse the shades, but she didn’t know if it could dispel the spells binding the corpses, and this was not the time to find out. 

That left…

“The door!” said Caina, veering towards one of the black houses.

Corvalis nodded and threw himself against the door. The old wood splintered, and with a fierce kick he ripped the door free of its frame. The house beyond looked as if it had once belonged to a lower-ranking brother of the Magisterium. A long table ran the length of a hall, its surface still set with food and drink. Yet the food had withered into dry husks long ago, the air reeking of decay. An animated corpse wearing the ragged black robe a magus lunged towards them, the green light in its eyes flashing. Corvalis took his sword in both hands and swung. The gray head jumped off the black-robed shoulders and rolled across the floor. No blood came from the stump, only a few puffs of gray dust. The body lurched back and forth across the room, arms reaching.

“Gods,” said Corvalis. “Will nothing kill those things?”

“Can’t kill something that’s already dead,” said Caina. “The stairs!”

She ran up the stairs, and came to the house’s fourth and top floor. The outer walls might have been built of black stone, but the house’s interior had been constructed of wood, and the aged boards groaned and creaked. Caina looked back and forth along the corridor running along the upper floor. If she had judged wrong, they had run into a dead end and were about to die.

A ladder stood in the far wall, going to the house’s roof.

She had not judged wrong.

Caina ran to the ladder and started climbing.

“Always with the roofs,” said Corvalis.

“At least I haven’t burned down the building yet,” said Caina. 

She shoved at the trapdoor in the ceiling, and it opened with a squeal. Caina pulled herself up onto the roof. The clay tiles were cracked and crumbled, the footing treacherous, yet the roof held up beneath their weight.  Caina ran across the roof, jumped over the alley, and landed on the next house.

Below them the undead milled through the street. 

And Caina noticed the tingling of Sicarion’s spell had vanished. 

“Look,” said Corvalis. “The green flames are gone.”

“I didn’t think the spell would last,” said Caina. “Now we just need to get away before Sicarion and Maena find us.” 

“We could try to ambush them,” said Corvalis.

“No,” said Caina. “I don’t want to face those two in anything like a fair fight. We’ll come back with allies and when we’re better prepared to deal with them.”

Corvalis nodded, and they came to one of the houses overlooking the plaza below the gate. Caina checked her amulet and muttered a curse. The metal disk had begun to warp, dark patches appearing in the bloodcrystal. She did not know how much longer the thing would last.

They descended through the house and into the plaza. The corpses and the Dust Shades milled back and forth, perhaps seeking Caina and Corvalis, or perhaps simply wandering. She saw no sign of Maena or Sicarion, and they crossed through the city’s gate. Beyond she saw the menhir-studded line of the Henge, the camps of Anashir and Maena, Calvarium atop its hill, and the rocky hills of the moor spreading away in all directions.