Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 06 - Ghost in the Forge (15 page)

Caina got to her feet, scowling. Corvalis said nothing, but she could see how much her dislike for Claudia bothered him. How could she blame him? Claudia was his sister. He had loved her so much that he had dared terrible risks to save her. Claudia had been his only family, the only person he loved for years. 

What could Caina offer against that?

Perhaps it would be better if she broke it off with Corvalis. 

To her surprise, she felt her eyes sting at the thought. 

She stalked to the balcony, looking at the lake. This was all new to her. She had never been close to a man before, not like this, and she didn’t know what to do. She wished she could talk to Theodosia about it. 

At the very least, Caina could be more civil to Claudia.

No matter how much she detested sorcery. 

She heard footsteps at the doorway and turned. A young man in an orange slave’s tunic stood there, his hands brushing at his sides in a fit of nervousness. 

“Shaizid,” said Caina. “I need nothing at the moment, thank you.”

“Mistress,” said Shaizid. “You look…you look very sad.” 

Caina stared at him.

“Forgive me,” said Shaizid, flinching as if she had struck him. “I meant…I meant no disrespect mistress, no disrespect…”

“Do not worry about it,” said Caina. “I was thinking. Remembering the past. And sometimes the past is…quite sad.” 

“Yes,” said Shaizid. “It is, mistress.”

Something clicked inside Caina’s mind. 

“What did Mihaela do to you?” she said.

“I…I don’t understand,” said Shaizid. “Please…”

“I’ve seen the way you look at her,” said Caina. “And I’ve heard you crying. Mihaela promised you something, didn’t she? Something you want very badly. But she hasn’t delivered it, and you’re too afraid to approach her.”

“I must go, mistress,” said Shaizid, turning. “Please…”

“Shaizid,” said Caina.

The slave froze, his thin limbs trembling. 

“I might be able to help you,” said Caina. 

And perhaps, the cold part of her mind realized, she could learn something useful from him. 

Shaizid stood motionless for a long time.

“My sister,” said Shaizid at last. 

“What was her name?” said Caina.

“Ardasha,” said Shaizid. “After great Ardashir the Golden, one of the mightiest Shahenshahs of our homeland. We were sold to the Scholae very young, but quickly rose in the Sages’ favor.” He managed a smile. “No one can prepare coffee as well as Ardasha and I…and the Sages drink a great deal of coffee.” 

“I can imagine,” said Caina. 

“Then Ardasha manifested the power,” said Shaizid. “A sorcerous talent. Strange things happened around her…she could read minds, or call objects to her hand just by thinking about it. So the Seeker Mihaela accepted her as a student.”

“Wait,” said Caina. “The Seekers can take students of their own?”

“Yes,” said Shaizid. “The Seekers may do whatever they wish, so long as they obey their Sages and follow the rules of the Scholae. Ardasha was freed, and Mihaela took her as a student. She said…she said that once she became a Seeker in her turn, she would buy me and set me free…”

“What happened instead?” said Caina.

“I don’t know,” said Shaizid. “Ardasha disappeared months ago. Mihaela refuses to speak to me, and has the seneschal beats me whenever I ask. I cannot approach the Sages to ask them. A slave cannot speak to a Sage. No one will talk to me, and I do not know what happened to Ardasha!” He sobbed, once, and rubbed his hand across his eyes. “Mistress, forgive me, this…”

“No,” said Caina, and she touched his shoulder. “No. I am…only a merchant’s daughter. A merchant’s younger daughter. But I swear to you, I will find out what happened to Ardasha, if I can.” 

“Thank you,” said Shaizid. “Thank you, mistress.” He shivered. “I must…I must return to my duties.”

He left without another word. 

Chapter 14 - Half-Brothers

Caina and Corvalis left the Tower of Study before nightfall disguised as caravan guards. Corvalis wore his usual clothing, a leather jerkin over chain mail, worn boots and trousers, sword and dagger at his belt. Caina wore a leather jerkin studded with steel rivets, daggers hidden in her boots and throwing knives strapped to her forearms. She had raked her black hair to fall in greasy curtains over her face and pulled up the cowl of her ragged brown cloak. She looked like any other dusty caravan guard, albeit one shorter than most. 

She also carried a leather satchel, its strap over her chest, extra tools riding inside the bag. 

“We’ll watch the place for an hour or so,” said Corvalis. “Long enough for dark to fall and for the guards to get bored. Then we’ll circle around back, scale the wall, and go through the skylights.”

“A good plan,” said Caina. 

Corvalis grinned. “I thought you might like it. Gods know you’ve probably broken into more places than I have.” 

“I have no recollection of that, of course,” said Caina.

Corvalis snorted, and they walked in silence for a while, circling along the lake. 

“How is Claudia?” Caina asked at last. 

Corvalis sighed. “She can’t make up her mind about you. You saved her life, our lives…and you hate her.”

“I don’t hate her,” said Caina.

Corvalis looked at her.

Caina shook her head. “At least…not her directly. I hate sorcery. And she is a sorceress.”

“I understand why you hate sorcery,” said Corvalis. “I’ve seen your scars. You haven’t told me how you got them, but I can guess.”

Caina did not answer.

“Claudia is not like the others,” said Corvalis. “Not like the First Magus or the occultists.” 

No, thought Caina. Corvalis did not love the other sorcerers. 

“She thinks the glypharmor is a good idea,” said Caina.

“She doesn’t,” said Corvalis. “You saw what happened. She was so sickened she threw up at the demonstration.”

“Then why doesn’t she think necromancy was used to create the armor?”

“I think,” said Corvalis, “she sees something of herself in Mihaela. A woman trying to use her sorcery to change the world for the better. Misguided, maybe…but trying to change the world nonetheless.”

“Gods,” said Caina, “I hope not.”

“Would you really kill her?” said Corvalis.

“Who? Mihaela?” said Caina.

“No,” said Corvalis. “Claudia.” 

“She’s your sister, Corvalis,” said Caina. “I’m not going to hurt her.”

“But if she does something you don’t like,” said Corvalis. “If she goes over the line.”

Caina opened her mouth, and then closed it.

“Gods,” said Corvalis, looking away. “You would, wouldn’t you?” 

“What you would do?” demanded Caina. “If she started wielding necromancy? Or started working for a slavers’ band? Or is she decided the First Magus was right after all and returned to the Magisterium? Would you go along with her?”

“Of course not,” said Corvalis. “I’d try to talk her out of it, make her see sense.”

“But if she refused?” said Caina. “What then?”

“I…” Corvalis shook his head. “This is not the time to discuss this. We have a task. We can talk about it later.”

“Very well,” said Caina, and they lapsed into silence. 

The shadows lengthened as they walked, and soon they came to the western side of Catekharon. Abandoned warehouses lined the streets, a wasteland of crumbling brick and cracked clay tiles. Some of the warehouses had guards, and four men in chain mail stood before the double doors to Irzaris’s warehouse, watching the streets with wary eyes. 

They stared at Caina and Corvalis as they passed, and Caina started telling Corvalis a joke in Caerish, putting a drunken stagger into her walk, while Corvalis laughed. 

“Well?” said Corvalis once they rounded a corner, out of sight of the guards. 

“The northern wall of Irzaris’s warehouse,” said Caina. “I doubt the guards make an effort to circle the building. Once the sun goes down, we’ll climb up to the roof and go through the skylights.”

Corvalis nodded, and they circled around Irzaris’s warehouse, making sure to stay out of sight of the guards. In a nearby alley stood a stack of abandoned crates, and they slipped behind the pile. Silence hung over the alley, and as the sun disappeared beneath the city’s western walls the clouds overhead glowed, reflecting the sullen light from the canals of molten steel. 

“Makes it easier to see, at least,” said Corvalis. 

“The Scholae installed enspelled lamps on the main streets,” said Caina, reaching into her satchel, “but not back here. Just as well”

She pulled out a long black cloak. 

The cloak was a wondrous thing, 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 letting her move with far greater stealth. It also shielded her thoughts from mind-altering spells, and made her almost undetectable through sorcery. Caina pulled on a mask and hung the cloak over her shoulders, pulling up the cowl to shadow her face. 

“I would like one of those,” said Corvalis. “I can think of a few times when it would have been useful.”

“Like right now,” said Caina, speaking in the disguised, rasping voice she used while wearing the cloak. Anyone who saw her would not see Basil Callenius’s spoiled daughter. Instead they would see a hooded shadow speaking in a grating rasp. 

“You’ll have to teach me how you do that,” said Corvalis. 

“Later,” said Caina. “This way.”

They hurried through the narrow alleys and soon reached the back wall of Irzaris’s warehouse. Caina reached into her satchel and drew a coil of thin, tough rope, one end tied around a collapsible steel grapnel. She opened the grapnel and threw it, and felt it catch on the metal gutter twenty feet above. 

She gave the rope a tug, made sure it was solid…and then stopped.

“What is it?” whispered Corvalis.

“Sorcery,” said Caina. “Nearby.” 

She had grown used to the constant overpowering aura of sorcery surrounding the Tower of Study and the canals of molten metal, ignoring the damned headaches as best she could. But now she felt the presence of weaker sorcery from within the warehouse.

“Wards?” said Corvalis.

“Maybe,” said Caina, closing her eyes and trying to concentrate on the unpleasant sensations. “I…don’t recognize it. If it is a ward, it’s a weak one.”

“Then perhaps we’ve found Mihaela’s hidden workshop,” said Corvalis.

“Perhaps,” said Caina. 

“I’ll go up first,” said Corvalis. He hauled himself up hand over hand, moving with admirable silence, and crouched on the edge of the roof. After a moment he nodded, and Caina hurried up the rope. She gripped the edge of the gutter and started to pull herself up…

The air rippled.

A dozen men stepped out of nothingness, moving to surround Corvalis in a semi-circle. Eleven of the men looked like common mercenaries, clad in chain mail and leather, swords in their hands. The twelfth man wore elaborate black plate armor and carried a black sword. He grinned at Corvalis, his pale green eyes glinting in the sullen glow from the clouds overhead.

Torius Aberon.

“You know,” said Torius, pointing his sword. “I had my doubts about this little plan. I didn’t think anyone would be clever enough to trace the trail back to the warehouse. But the Ghosts are like cockroaches. You turn up everywhere.” He smiled. “And like cockroaches, you must be stamped out.”

“Torius,” said Corvalis, drawing his weapons. Caina took a deep breath, reaching for a throwing knife…

“Though I am surprised,” said Torius, “that you were stupid enough to come here alone.”

Caina froze. Why didn’t Torius see her? Then her brain caught up to her surprise. It was night, and she was wearing her shadow-cloak. Torius couldn’t see her, and the cloak would shield her from any sensing spells. 

That gave her a chance to act. 

One chance. 

Because if she did not think of something clever, both she and Corvalis were going to die.

“How did you appear like that?” said Corvalis. “A nice trick. I could have sworn the rooftop was empty.” 

“A Seeker shared a useful spell with me,” said Torius, still grinning. “The arcane science of illusions. The Magisterium has neglected it, which seems unwise.” 

Good. Corvalis was playing for information.

Caina slipped one of the throwing knives from her belt. 

“I suppose,” said Corvalis, “this elaborate ambush is Father’s doing?”

“Father,” said Torius, “hates you, Corvalis. You know how he feels about disloyalty. But this has nothing to do with you. You just had the poor luck to blunder into my trap. I was hoping to snare one of the stormdancers, or perhaps an Anshani occultist.” He laughed. “You saw how those fools drooled over the glypharmor. Any one of them would rip the world apart to get their hands on just one suit. It made sense that at least one of the ambassadors would try to figure out how the armor was created.” He waved his sword at Corvalis. “Which is why we are having this conversation.”

Caina pulled the rope up behind her, the knife clenched in her fingers. 

“And what,” said Corvalis, “would Father do with a captive stormdancer or occultist?” He smirked. “Assuming a magus of your feeble skills could even capture one.”

“That,” said Torius, “is not your concern. It’s a pity you hate Father too much to join us, Corvalis. Your skills would prove quite useful in the next few days.”

“Oh?” said Corvalis. “So why don’t you invite me to join you?”

Torius laughed. “Invite a Ghost spy into our midst? Yes, that would go well. The truth is…I find you contemptible, Corvalis. Contemptible and weak. I heard how you wept when your precious little Nairia tried to kill you. I cannot abide weakness. A pity you haven’t found some other woman. I would enjoy killing her in front of you first.” 

Torius had inherited his father’s charm.

“And Father will reward me for killing you,” said Torius. He glanced at his mercenaries. “Kill him. Make sure to leave the head intact. The First Magus will want it for a trophy.” 

The mercenaries moved, Corvalis lifted his sword and dagger, and Caina sprang into motion.

She surged to her feet, threw back her arm, and flung the throwing knife with all her strength behind it, her arm snapping like a whip. The weapon hurtled handle-over-blade from her hand. Torius’s armor reached high enough to cover his throat, so she aimed for his right eye instead.

But her aim was off, and Caina’s knife clipped the right side of his jaw. Torius doubled over with a shout of surprised pain, hand shooting to his face, while the mercenaries hesitated in sudden alarm.

“Run!” shouted Caina, hand dipping into her satchel.

She yanked out a small glass vial. When they had destroyed the Haven of the Kindred in Cyrioch, Caina had found the formula for the elixir within the vial among the Elder’s records. 

She only hoped she had prepared it correctly.

Corvalis saw the vial and sprinted towards her.

Caina flung the vial against the rough clay tiles of the roof, and the glass shattered. There was a brilliant white flash, and a plume of smoke erupted from the roof. She heard confused shouts as the mercenaries stumbled in the smoke. 

The distraction would not last long, but hopefully long enough for Caina and Corvalis to get away.

Corvalis reached her side, and she grabbed the rope and shoved it into his hands. Corvalis gave a sharp nod, and Caina wrapped her arms around his chest.

And then they jumped off the roof. Caina hoped she had guessed the length of the rope properly.

She had, and they came to a jerking halt two feet above the alley, swinging on the rope. Caina pushed away from Corvalis and landed, and Corvalis did the same, knees flexing to absorb the impact.

They sprinted down the alley.

“Kill them!” roared Torius, his voice booming over the rooftops. “Find them and kill them both!” But by the time the mercenaries climbed down from the roof, both Caina and Corvalis would be long gone. They raced into the street, the four guards at the warehouse’s door gaping at them…

A black blur shot overhead and landed a dozen yards away with a clang of steel. 

Torius glared at them, blood dripping from the gash on his jaw. Like the other magi, the battle magi unleashed blasts of psychokinetic force, using their very thoughts as weapons. Unlike the other magi, the battle magi trained using bursts of psychokinetic power to enhance the strength of their arms and legs, making them stronger and faster than ordinary men. 

And capable of superhuman feats, like leaping from a warehouse rooftop in full armor. 

“The other way!” said Caina.

“Stop them!” roared Torius, pointing at the warehouse guards. “A hundred gold coins to the man who brings me their heads!” 

The warehouse guards sprinted into the street, blocking the other direction. Caina heard shouting from inside Irzaris’s warehouse as the men atop the roof hastened for the doors. 

“Damned Ghosts and your damned tricks,” growled Torius, lifting his sword. Caina backed away, looking back and forth. Torius blocked one end of the street, the guards the other. “Smoke bombs and knives.” She saw a narrow door in the warehouse to her left, splintered and worn. No doubt it was the slaves’ entrance. “Let’s see if your tricks can stop this.”

Caina felt a surge of power as Torius gathered strength for a spell, and the doors to Irzaris’s warehouse swung open, the mercenaries spilling into the street.

“Corvalis!” said Caina. “Left!”

Corvalis flung himself against the narrow door with all of his strength. Caina wondered if it would hold, if she and Corvalis were about to die…

But the door was old, and it ripped free of its hinges. Corvalis darted through the door, and Caina raced after him. And as she did, she heard a roaring noise, felt a rushing wind, and a black blur hurtled past her.

Torius, running in a sorcery-enhanced charge. But his sorcery allowed him to run so quickly that he could not change directions easily once he started moving. He thundered past the doorway, and then Caina ran after Corvalis. The warehouse’s interior was deserted, a thick layer of dust covering the planks of the floor. The double doors on the far wall stood ajar, leading to another street.