Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 08 - Ghost in the Mask (41 page)

“Yes,” said Talekhris. “Claudette. I had…a daughter named Claudette. Or was it a granddaughter?” 

He sighed, closed his eyes, and lay back down upon the table.

A moment later he was snoring.

“I may have to kill him again,” said Harkus.

Komnene scowled. “That is monstrous. I will not permit it.”

“The Order has done it before,” said Harkus. “Sometimes, when the Sage awakes from death, his personality is…addled, damaged. In that case another death is necessary to reshape his mind.” 

“It is still cruel,” said Komnene.

“It is necessary,” said Harkus. “You saw the evil the Moroaica almost wrought here. If she is allowed to continue, who knows what she might unleash? We need the Sage in order to face her, a Sage who is in command of himself and his faculties.” 

The curtain hanging over the damaged door rustled, and Caina, Corvalis, and Muravin stepped into the shop. Caina again wore the guise of Rania Scorneus, while Corvalis and Muravin had donned the black plate armor of a Magisterial Guard. 

“Corvalis,” said Claudia with a smile. “It is good to see you. How do you feel?”

He laughed. “Like I’ve been dragged by wild horses. But I can stand.”

Lord Martin entered the shop. 

“Lord Governor,” said Komnene, and Claudia smiled at him. 

“Mistress Komnene,” he said, his eyes straying to Claudia. “Claudia. I trust you are both well?”

“As well as can be expected,” said Komnene.

“And better than we deserve, perhaps,” said Claudia, “considering what almost happened.”

“Aye,” said Martin, his eyes distant. “Such wild and terrible sorcery. It was like something out of the dark past.”

“It was,” said Caina, “in the most literal sense. But it was defeated.” A smile appeared on her cold face. “And I think that you, Lord Martin, will wind up taking most of the credit.”

“Me?” said Martin. “I barely did anything.”

“You suppressed the cult of Anubankh,” said Caina, “and goaded Anashir and Maena Tulvius into destroying each other in Caer Magia. At least, that is the story you will report to the Lord Governor in Caeria Superior…and that story will spread throughout the Empire. I think you will find that your standing among the lords and the Imperial Curia will rise sharply.”

“I do not deserve this,” said Martin. “A terrible evil was defeated, and the credit should go to you and the Ghosts, to Claudia.” Again he looked at her. “If she had not distracted that vile creature while you shattered its canopic jar, then the Empire would be lost.”

“My lord,” said Caina, “the Ghosts must work in secret, if we are to be effective.”

“And the Ghosts need friends everywhere in the Empire,” said Claudia, “among the merchants and the Legions and the commoners…and certainly among the lords.”

“I have to return to Malarae,” said Caina, “and inform the circlemasters of what happened here. Thank you for all your help.”

“And for yours,” said Komnene. “If you had not arrived, I am sure that Rhames or the Moroaica would have claimed the crystal. We need to keep watch over the ruins, now that the bloodcrystal is removed.” She reached for a shelf and drew out a bundle of papers. “And I have letters to send back with you…”

Komnene and Caina and Martin discussed their plans for the future, and Claudia slipped with Corvalis into the back room of the shop. 

“It was good to see you again,” said Claudia. “I will miss you.”

“And I you,” said Corvalis. “Though I hope the next time we meet, it will be under less dire circumstances.”

Claudia smiled. “Aye. I’ve had enough mad sorcerers to last a lifetime. Several lifetimes.” Her smile faded. “I hope I can see you again. I doubt the path of Anton Kularus, the great prince of coffee, will take him to Calvarium anytime soon.”

Corvalis shrugged. “Who can say? Perhaps you will come to Malarae sooner than you think. Lord Martin seems fond of you.”

Claudia gave him an arch look. “What are you saying? That I ought to be his mistress?”

“I am saying,” said Corvalis, “that I want you to be happy. And training to become a physician seems to make you happy.” He grinned. “And if becoming the mistress of a Lord Governor makes you happy…well, who am I to object? Though if he wrongs you, I shall have to put the skills I learned from the Kindred to good use.”

Claudia glared at him, laughed, and then hugged him. “I love you, brother.”

“And I love you too, sister,” said Corvalis, and kissed the top of her head. 

The door opened, and Caina looked inside.

“We should go,” she said.

Corvalis nodded and released Claudia. “Until next time.”

She smiled and kissed his cheek. “Don’t tear out your stitches early.”

“I’ll see to it that he doesn’t,” said Caina. “Claudia.”

The younger woman’s cold blue eyes regarded her, and Claudia felt something shrivel up inside of her. Caina would criticize her, would prove once and for all that she was a failure.

“Thank you for everything,” said Caina.

Claudia blinked. She had not expected that. “Ah…what?”

“You made Martin Dorius into a friend of the Ghosts,” said Caina. “I don’t think I could have managed that. And you distracted Rhames. If you hadn’t done that, he would have killed us all. I think…I think that was the bravest thing I have ever seen you do.”

“Oh,” said Claudia. “I’m just glad we’re not dead.”

Caina grinned. “Me, too. Farewell, Claudia.”

She beckoned, and they departed with Lord Martin, Talekhris, and Harkus, leaving Claudia alone with Komnene.

“You’re smiling,” said Komnene.

“I suppose I am,” said Claudia. “It is true, isn’t it? That you can learn from your mistakes?” 

“It is,” said Komnene, “and most of what I know I learned from my mistakes. Now, come. We shall treat the baker’s son for his broken wrist, and since he is betrothed to the carpenter’s daughter, perhaps we shall get our door repaired all the sooner.”

Claudia nodded, and went to work.

###

Ten days later, Kylon stood in Thalastre’s bedroom in the Tower of Ixionos, watching as the stormsingers wove their spells.

A blue bloodcrystal sat atop Ephaltus’s Dustblade, and the stormsingers worked their spells, activating the blue gem’s power. The crystal flared with azure light, its glow sinking into the Dustblade’s glowing sigils. The blade shivered, the light flickering. The bloodcrystal trembled and crumbled into smoking ash, and the Dustblade shriveled like paper tossed into a fire. 

And on the bed, Thalastre gasped and opened her eyes.

Kylon crossed to her, taking her hands.

“What?” she said, sitting up. “What I am doing here?” She looked around, blinking in confusion. “Gods, I’m so stiff. What happened?”

Kylon hesitated, allowing himself to feel the relief, the sheer overpowering relief. Thalastre sensed it, her eyes growing wide as she looked at him.

“Was I ill?” she said.

“It is,” said Kylon, “quite a long story.”

###

Fifteen days after leaving Calvarium, Caina walked into the House of Kularus, again wearing the rich gown and gaudy jewelry of Sonya Tornesti. Corvalis walked at her side, clad in the sober black merchant’s garb of Anton Kularus. Men and women sat at the tables on the floor and the balconies, drinking coffee and talking.

Shaizid bowed. “Master Anton, Mistress Sonya. It is good that you are home.”

“Yes,” said Caina, “it is.”

She looked at Corvalis. She knew that trials awaited them, dangers and perils known and unknown. She might lose him fighting them…or he might lose her.

Such was the life of the Ghosts.

But for now, it was good to be home.

Epilogue

Claudia used a mortar and pestle to grind the dried leaves to a fine powder. Komnene had departed to treat patients, leaving Claudia to prepare medicines. She didn’t mind. The work was quiet, and complex enough to keep her mind occupied.

The door opened, and Claudia forgot about the medicines.

Martin Dorius stepped into the shop.

“Mistress Claudia,” he said. “You are well?”

“Well enough,” she said, smiling as she stepped around the counter. “Are you?”

“Yes,” he said, gazing at her. “What I am about to say is outside the bounds of propriety, but after the horrors we have seen, the things we have survived…I think propriety can be damned.”

He stepped forward, took her face in his hands, and kissed her. A wave of shock rolled through Claudia, followed by spreading warmth, and she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back.

“I wish for you,” said Martin, when they broke apart, “to join me for dinner.”

“Yes,” said Claudia. She smiled. “I wish that, too.”

###

Night fell, and the Moroaica stood alone on a hill outside Calvarium.

She rolled the shoulders of her new body. Every new body was an adjustment, a difference. This one had once belonged to a seventeen-year-old Caerish peasant girl, unlettered and ignorant of the world outside of her father’s farm. But she had a latent talent for sorcery, and Jadriga had taken the body for her own.

She could have taken the body of Claudia Aberon, but she could not do that to Corvalis, could not inflict that kind of pain upon him…

Jadriga pushed aside the thought.

Her new body was young and strong. It would last for decades. But Jadriga didn’t need decades.

She needed only a few months. 

Because at last, at long last, after millennia of labor, she was ready to undertake the great work. 

Once Sicarion showed up, anyway. 

He would. He had no loyalty to anyone or anything, save his unending love of killing, and Jadriga had promised him more killing than anyone had ever seen. 

How many mortals could claim they had seen the death of the gods?

She waited, motionless on the hilltop, and her eyes turned to Caer Magia’s ruins. It was strange that Rhames had survived so long, pursuing her across the centuries, but not surprising. Not after what she had done to Maat. When she had learned of his survival, she had been alarmed, even frightened, for the first time in centuries. 

But then she had thought of Caina. 

The Ghost had defeated foes of great power over and over again, not with her own native strength, but through cunning and guile. And Jadriga possessed most of Caina’s memories now…and a plan had suggested itself, a plan of cunning and guile.

It worked. 

Some of Caina’s other memories drifted through her thoughts. Corvalis Aberon, his green eyes, his hard hands, his muscled arms, his lips against hers…

Jadriga hissed in annoyance and pushed aside the recollections. They had not happened to her. Corvalis Aberon was insignificant, of no importance to her or her great work.

But still the thoughts lingered. 

A rustle in the grass caught her attention.

A middle-aged man in the robe of a master magus climbed the hill. He was gaunt and lean, with a shock of graying black hair and a prominent nose. Jadriga raised an eyebrow, and the master magus stopped a dozen paces away. 

They regarded each other in silence for a moment.

“You put me,” said Ranarius at last, “in the body of Oberon Ryther?”

“Do you object?” said Jadriga.

“The man is useless!” said Ranarius. “He was an utter laughingstock within the Magisterium. Little wonder he found himself banished to Calvarium.”

“Would you rather return to a body of a woman?” said Jadriga, lifting one hand. Pale green fire blazed to life around her new body’s slender fingers. “That can be arranged. Though I would have to kill you again.”

Ranarius shrank back. “No. No. Not another death. Two…two has been quite enough.” He grimaced, and then lowered his head. “Thank you, mistress, for my life.” His words were bitter. “Again.”

“You served me well in Calvarium,” said Jadriga, “and I reward loyal service. You may find your ability to claim a new body has been…enhanced. If you are slain, you can choose another body at will, even without my aid.”

Ranarius frowned. “Thank you. But…to achieve that spell…” His eyes widened. “You could kill me with a thought. No matter how far away.”

Jadriga smiled. “Loyalty is such an admirable virtue. I like to encourage it.” 

Ranarius scowled, but said nothing. 

He was learning.

The grass on the hillside rustled again. 

“Someone’s coming,” said Ranarius. 

A dark figure climbed the hillside, and resolved into Caina Amalas, clad in a brilliant green gown, a sword and serrated dagger in her hands. Ranarius cursed and stepped back, raising his hands in a spell, but Jadriga frowned.

“Really?” she said. “You took his mask?”

Caina grinned, sheathed her weapons, and rubbed her hands over her face. A golden mask appeared over her features, the metal worked into an expression of serene beauty. She reached up and pulled Rhames’s mask away from her face.

Her form rippled and became Sicarion, his scarred face grinning. 

“A mask that allows me to assume any appearance I wish?” said Sicarion, tucking the mask away beneath his dark cloak. “You expected me to leave behind such a useful tool?”

“I suppose not,” said Jadriga. 

Sicarion’s mismatched eyes shifted to Ranarius. “The mistress permitted you to live? Pity. I liked your old body better.”

“Say that again,” said Ranarius, beginning a spell, “and I’ll…”

“Enough,” said Jadriga. “Do you have it?”

Sicarion bowed and produced a metal coffer from beneath his cloak, its sides carved with warding sigils. “I do, mistress. I confess I had my doubts about the plan, but she was fooled. When she stabbed the decoy, I sealed the real thing inside the coffer. That shielded its aura, and made the Ghost think it had been destroyed.”

“Good,” said Jadriga, holding out her hands. “Give it to me.” 

She wondered if he would refuse, if he would try to keep its power for himself. Then she would simply kill him. But Sicarion offered the coffer with a flourish. Jadriga took it and opened the lid.

The green fire of the Ascendant Bloodcrystal danced before her eyes, its thunderous power echoing against her senses.