Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 06 - Ghost in the Forge (13 page)

“And what about you?” said Caina. “Do you approve?” 

Talekhris looked away, gazing at the frost crackling around the Staff of the Elements. 

“No,” he said. “I know what Zalandris thinks. He believes the glypharmor is a weapon so powerful that men will abandon war in fear of it. In this, I believe, he is a fool. He has not left Catekharon for three hundred years, and has forgotten the world outside the walls.”

“But you have not,” said Caina.

“No,” said Talekhris. “I have traveled from the barbarian lands north of the Empire to the dusty ruins of Maat. Nations and kings come and go, but the hearts of men do not change.” He tapped his chest. “In the heart of every man waits a lust for power. Like a sac of poison. The temptation of too much power ruptures the sac and floods the mind and soul with corruption…and the glypharmor is more power than any one man should possess.” 

“Then help me to stop it,” said Caina. 

“To claim the armor for your Emperor?” said Talekhris. “Do you believe he was the wisdom to wield such might?”

“No man has the wisdom to wield such might,” said Caina. “I would see the glypharmor destroyed and the knowledge of its creation lost.” 

“Truly?” said Talekhris. “I am surprised. Most Ghosts would jump at the chance to seize power for their Emperor.”

“I know better,” said Caina. “You have been honest with me, so I shall be honest with you. I hate sorcery. It is a vile, abominable thing, and it brings nothing but suffering and death. If I could kill every last sorcerer in the world, every magus, every occultist, I would do it.”

Belatedly she thought of Claudia. 

“Such candor is rare,” said Talekhris. “But it is unseemly for one Sage to oppose another.” 

“Even if,” said Caina, “necromancy was used to create the glypharmor?”

Talekhris’s blue eyes narrowed. 

“Impossible,” said Talekhris. “I felt no aura of necromancy around the armor, nor did I see it through my mask. Zalandris would never countenance such a thing. The Scholae has few rules, but it enforces them zealously. Necromancy is strictly banned.”

“The Moroaica,” said Caina, “told me there is necromancy in the glypharmor. That’s why I collapsed in the Hall of Assembly. Her power reacted to the necromantic force within the armor.”

Talekhris frowned. “She speaks to you?”

“Sometimes, in my dreams,” said Caina, wondering if it had been a mistake to share that.

“If Mihaela used necromancy to create the glypharmor,” said Talekhris, “the Moroaica would recognize it.” He shook his head, rolling the metallic rod in his fingers. “I would not put it past Mihaela to do such a thing. She is…determined.”

“The same could be said of you,” said Caina, “given that you have chased the Moroaica across the centuries.” 

“True,” said Talekhris. “But Mihaela, I think, is the mind behind the glypharmor. She used Zalandris’s lessons to create it…but she created it, not him. And she convinced him to offer it for sale to the world.” 

“It seems strange for a woman like Mihaela,” said Caina, “to create such a weapon in order to promote peace and harmony among nations. She must have some other motive.” 

“Precisely,” said Talekhris. “Your logic rings true. If you can find proof that necromancy was used in the creation of the glypharmor, then I will help you to destroy it.”

“Thank you,” said Caina. “One more question.”

Talekhris nodded. 

“You can see the Moroaica’s spirit within me,” said Caina. “Why can’t the other Masked Ones?”

“Because I have altered the spells upon my mask to seek her,” said Talekhris. “And because I am a curiosity among the Sages. They think me a doddering madman, forever pursuing a phantasm that does not exist. Zalandris understands my mission, but few others do.” He tapped a finger against the side of his rod. “But be wary. If any of the Sages learn that the Moroaica inhabits your flesh, they may well overreact and kill you on the spot.” 

Caina nodded, chilled, and went to find Halfdan and the others. Questions and fears chased each other through her mind. But one question burned at the forefront of her thoughts.

Jadriga had recognized the necromancy Mihaela had used to create the glypharmor.

Did that mean Mihaela was another disciple of the Moroaica?

Chapter 12 - The First Magus

“You let her go off alone?” said Corvalis, keeping the anger out of his tone. 

He stood with Basil and Claudia in the corner of the Hall of Assembly, keeping a wary eye on the lords and sorcerers. The furor from Caina’s collapse had died down. The Redhelms had reopened the doors to the Hall of Assembly, and the ambassadors started heading for their quarters. 

Corvalis wanted to slip away with Claudia before their father saw them. 

But as long as Caina remained with Talekhris, they could not. 

Corvalis had rammed his sword through Talekhris’s heart. How was the man even still alive? Did that mean the Masked One was a necromancer?

And would he try to kill Caina?

“Anna,” said Basil, voice low, “can take care of herself.” 

“That Masked One tried to kill her in Cyrioch,” said Corvalis. “Perhaps this is his chance to do it properly.” 

“Perhaps,” said Basil, “but if he wanted to kill her, there would be better ways to accomplish it than by walking off with her in front of a crowd of witnesses. No, from what you said, he was…intrigued by Anna. This is his chance to learn more about her. And she, in turn, has the opportunity to learn more about him. Why he tried to kill her, for one. And perhaps she can glean some useful information about the glypharmor.”

Corvalis gave a reluctant nod. He had killed men with swords, with daggers, with his bare hands. Yet he had never seen anything like the glypharmor. One man with a suit of glypharmor could destroy an army with ease. If the glypharmor left Catekharon, it would change the world, and not for the better. 

Claudia shook her head. “The Masked One is probably more in danger from her than the other way around. Her hatred of sorcerers is irrational.”

“No, it’s quite rational,” said Basil. 

“I hardly think so,” said Claudia. “Her hatred of sorcery clouds every decision. It…”

“The hatred would only be irrational if she didn’t have a reason for it,” said Basil. “She has a very good reason for it. So her hatred is perfectly rational.”

“Such an eloquent syllogism,” said Claudia. “Hopefully it will not occur to Anna, lest she cuts Talekhris’s throat.” 

“He won’t try to kill her,” said Basil. “She won’t try to kill him, either. Information is sometimes more valuable than a life. She will learn some things that we need to know…and then we shall decide how to act.” 

“But suppose she cannot control herself,” said Claudia. “Suppose…”

“She will,” said Corvalis. “I have seen her masquerade as a caravan guard, a Sarbian mercenary, an opera singer’s maid, and a merchant’s daughter. Every time the impersonation was perfect. I would not have known it was her.” 

Yet that thought made him uneasy. He had seen how easily she moved from one persona to another. Did she regard him as a passing amusement? Or, perhaps, as a useful tool? He remembered a slave of the Kindred who he thought had loved him, but…

No. He could not think like that. 

“She is a good actress,” said Claudia. “What of it? That means…”

“That means,” said Corvalis, “she has the self-control to keep herself in check. She’ll…”

“Shut up,” said Basil, his tone hard. “We have to go now.”

Corvalis turned his head.

A jolt of alarm went through him.

“Go,” he said. “I’ll come back later for…”

“Too late,” said Basil, straightening up.

“What is it?” said Claudia, and her eyes grew wide.

Decius Aberon strolled towards them, a wide smile on his ruddy face. Corvalis had not seen his father for years, not since Claudia had convinced him to flee the Kindred. The First Magus had not changed. His green eyes still glittered with cold arrogance, and his plump face was hard with contempt and pride.

“Oh, gods,” whispered Claudia. “He’ll kill us”

“The Sages won’t allow it,” said Basil. “He won’t start a fight here and risk losing his chance at the glypharmor.” 

“No,” said Corvalis. His heart sped up at the memory of a thousand punishments, a thousand petty cruelties. “He won’t bother to kill us himself. He’ll hire assassins to make it look like an accident.” 

“That’s not funny,” said Claudia.

“I wasn’t joking,” said Corvalis. 

Then his father stood before them. Decius’s cold eyes swept over them, glittering like a Sage’s jade mask. Corvalis suddenly felt like he was twelve years old again, enduring his father’s disappointment that he had no arcane talent. 

And then his father had sold him to the Kindred for years of torment.

“Well, well,” said Decius. “Basil Callenius of the Imperial Collegium of jewelers. It has been far too long.” 

Basil made a polite bow. “First Magus. You do me honor. Do you require jewelry? I can make a brooch wrought in the shape of the Magisterium’s sigil. I think it would go nicely with your ceremonial robes.” 

“It would,” said Decius. “And such a generous offer. But, alas, I think your other employer might take offense.”

“My other employer, First Magus?” said Basil. “I am a merchant, and naturally I wish to have as many customers as possible.” 

“But your chief customer,” said Decius, “is doddering old Alexius Naerius.” 

“I believe you are referring to His Imperial Majesty,” said Basil, “the Emperor of Nighmar.” 

“A man who has no business ruling,” said Decius. “The Empire is in a state of chaos, Master Basil. The disorderly and slovenly commoners do not show proper respect to the nobles. The nobles and magistrates waste their time scheming and plotting rather than contributing to the greater glory of the Empire.”

“How positively dreadful,” said Basil. “I assume, of course, that the magi would make for better rulers.”

“Indeed they would,” said Decius. “With the strong hand of the magi overseeing the Empire, we would enter a new golden age.”

His eyes turned towards Corvalis and Claudia.

“And children,” he said, “would no longer be so disrespectful of their parents.”

Claudia tensed, and Corvalis put his hand on her shoulder.

“Nothing to say?” said Decius. “No matter.” He turned his attention back to Basil. “Are you aware of your two new hirelings’ sordid history? They have quite the dark past.” 

“It was my understanding,” said Basil, “that they were your bastard children. I suppose that is a sordid enough past for any man or woman.”

Decius laughed. “Basil, Basil. Insulting the First Magus of the Magisterium is hardly the path to a long and profitable career. Did you know that Claudia betrayed me, forsook her oaths to the Magisterium, and fled the Empire? And did you know that Corvalis here was once an assassin of the Kindred? I thought that all brothers and sisters of the Kindred had the death sentence upon them.”

“A man can change,” said Basil.

“He cannot,” said Decius, lip curling with contempt. “Corvalis was broken and remade into a weapon. He was once my weapon, and then my foolish daughter convinced him to betray me. Now he is your weapon. He cannot even speak for himself.” 

“I can speak,” said Corvalis, “just fine.”    

Decius’s smirk was indulgent. “A dog can be taught to bark on command, but still has nothing useful to say.” 

“I am not,” said Corvalis, “your dog.”

“You were my dog,” said Decius. “Now you are the Ghosts’ dog. That is the only difference. You are still who I molded you to be, Corvalis.”

“A killer,” said Corvalis, his free hand tightening into a fist. 

“A killer,” agreed Decius. “You ought to thank me, really.”

“For what?” snarled Corvalis. “Selling me to the Kindred? All the people you had me kill? All the blood on my hands? I should thank you for that?”

“For every bit of it,” said Decius. “I made you exceptional, Corvalis. You’re not particularly intelligent, and you have no arcane talent. The Kindred took you and made you into a killer without peer. Without them, you would be another useless bastard child of a nobleman, a wastrel squandering his life with wine and prostitutes. Rather than a man who will help build the new order.” 

“Truly,” said Basil, “he was fortunate to have such a wise and prudent father.”

“Mockery, Basil?” said Decius. “Let me share one of Corvalis’s lessons with you. You know the Kindred reward successful assassins with gold and wine and comely slaves to warm their bed. Young Corvalis grew rather taken with one of his bed slaves. Attached, even.” He smiled. “A folly. So I hired the slave to kill him in his bed. If she succeeded, I would free her.”

Corvalis said nothing. He did not want to remember this.

“She surprised him and almost killed him…but he was faster and killed her first,” said Decius. “The Elder of Artifel told me that he wept like a child.”

“Corvalis,” whispered Claudia, looking at him with wide eyes.

He had never told her about that. 

“You were right about one thing, Father,” said Corvalis. “I do owe you. I owe you so much. And by all the gods, I will repay it.”

“You won’t,” said Decius. “A dog might wish to bite his master’s hand…but the master is still the master.”

“You are a monster,” said Claudia, her voice tight. “I thought…I thought being a magus would be a wonderful thing. That we would serve the people of the Empire, that we would protect and defend them. Instead we are tyrants, and you would make us into crueler tyrants yet.”

“I would,” said Decius. “The common mass of men are nothing more than dumb animals, more interested in rutting and their next meal than higher matters. Those of us with arcane talent have a duty and a right to govern mankind. An Empire ruled by the Magisterium will be a better Empire, and will lead the way to a better world.” 

“You would bring back slavery to the entire Empire,” said Claudia. 

“And I would be right to do so,” said Decius. “For the great mass of men is fit for nothing but the collar. It is for their own good, Claudia. As you will learn, once you return to us.”

“What do you mean?” said Claudia. 

“Ranarius turned you to stone with that pet elemental of his,” said Decius. “But he failed, and paid the price for his failure. You have been chastised enough, I think. Return to the Magisterium, and all shall be forgiven. Great days lie ahead of us, and you can be a partner in the new order to come.”

Claudia said nothing, and for an awful moment Corvalis wondered if she would accept the First Magus’s offer. She had loved their father until Corvalis’s return had shown her the awful truth of what the Magisterium really was. 

“No,” said Claudia. “No, Father. I have seen you for what you really are. I will not help you torture and murder innocents in pursuit of your own power, and will not help you enslave the Empire.”

Decius smiled, but Corvalis saw the rage in his eyes. 

“Pity,” said the First Magus. “But there is one thing you don’t understand. You belong to me. You both belong to me. And I will make you suffer for your betrayal. You’ll scream, Claudia, and you’ll beg for mercy. You’ll wish you were one of the slaves toiling in the fields of Cyrica before I’m done with you.” The green eyes shifted to Corvalis. “And you, my wayward dog…why, a dog must be beaten for disobedience, no? You loved that pretty little slave of yours. A weakling like you will fall for another woman sooner or later. And when you do, I’ll take her from you and make her suffer for your disobedience.” 

An image of Caina at the First Magus’s mercy flashed through Corvalis’s mind. He knew what kind of tortures Decius Aberon enjoyed inflicting upon his prisoners.  

“Decius,” said Basil, still pleasant, but this time his voice carried an edge, “while this show of bluster is amusing, it has grown tiresome.”

“Indeed?” said Decius. “You doubt my ability to carry out my promises?”

“Not at all,” said Basil. “But if you do, I suspect Zalandris will be disinclined to sell you the glypharmor. The honored Sage has the idea that the wielder of the glypharmor will bring peace to the world…and I doubt he will choose a man who murdered his own son and daughter.” 

“Perhaps not,” said the First Magus. He turned his head. “Torius!” 

Corvalis knew that name. 

One of the battle magi strode over, the black plate armor clanking. The man was about thirty-five, with a hard, lean face and harsh green eyes. His blond hair and beard had been cut to stubble, and a sneer spread over his lips as he looked them over.

“Well, Father,” said Torius. “It seems your favored pet and wayward dog have returned. Shall I kill them?”

Corvalis watched his older half-brother. Torius was a strong magus and the oldest of Decius Aberon’s bastard children. He had served as the First Magus’s strong right hand for years, dispatching Decius’s enemies and enforcing the will of the Magisterium. 

And he was at least as cruel as Decius. As a child Corvalis had suffered his attentions more than once. 

“Torius,” said Corvalis. “Somehow you get uglier every time we meet.” 

Torius laughed. “Little Corvalis. Skulk back into the shadows where assassins belong. Or would you rather face me in open combat?” His armored hand fell to the hilt of his sword. “I would enjoy that. Let us see if the miserable tricks of the Kindred allow you to stand against a battle magus of the Magisterium.” 

“Now, now,” said Decius. “Our hosts would take it amiss if we spilled blood in their Hall. This is merely a friendly conversation.” His smile did not touch the green ice of his eyes. “Until we meet again.”

Decius turned his back and strolled away. Torius smirked, and then rejoined his father. 

They stood in silence.

“Well,” said Basil at last. “That was certainly pleasant.”

“Then you have a twisted understanding of pleasure,” said Corvalis. “We may as well wait for Anna now.” 

After some time Caina returned to the Hall, her blue skirts whispering against the white stone of the floor. Her expression was calm as ever, but Corvalis knew her well enough by now to see the hints of strain around her mouth and eyes. 

“You are feeling better, daughter?” said Basil. “The Sage found no damage from your…episode?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” said Caina, looking back and forth between them. “Did I miss something?”

###

Later that night Corvalis leaned upon the railing of his room’s balcony, looking at the reflection of the glowing steel upon the smooth waters of the crater lake.