Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 05 - Ghost in the Stone (11 page)

Then she heard a footstep in one of the darkened doorways. 

“I never expected to find you here, Corvalis Aberon.” 

The voice was a harsh rasp, and it made the hair on the back of Caina’s neck stand up. 

The cloaked man yanked his sword from its scabbard and drew a dagger in his left hand. 

Evidently he recognized the voice, too. 

A short man in a hooded cloak stepped from a doorway. He wore studded leather armor beneath the cloak, and a sword and dagger on his belt. A pair of baldrics crossed over his chest, holding an array of daggers and throwing knives. Inside the hood Caina saw a hairless head covered in ragged scars, as if his face had been stitched together from scraps of old leather. His left eye was brilliant green, but his right was harsh orange, like a pit of molten sulfur. 

Sicarion, Jadriga’s pet assassin. 

“You,” said the cloaked man, voice thick with loathing. 

“Corvalis, Corvalis,” said Sicarion, his scarred lips stretching in a smile. “What a delightful surprise this is. I haven’t seen you since that business in Artifel.”

“And I haven’t see you,” said Caina, “since I took off your right hand in Scorikhon’s tomb.”

Corvalis looked at her and blinked. 

“You found a new one, I see,” said Caina. 

Sicarion flexed the fingers of his right hand. “And a strong grip it has, mistress.” 

“Mistress?” said Corvalis, looking at her in sudden alarm. “You’re the Moroaica? What sort of game is this?” 

“I’m not the Moroaica,” said Caina. “He thinks that I am, though.” 

“I was not expecting to see you here, mistress,” said Sicarion. “But perhaps I should have.” 

“What are you doing here?” said Corvalis. 

“Oh, performing a little errand for my mistress,” said Sicarion. “My mistress collects enemies the way lesser women collect jewelry, and sometimes she wishes those enemies to meet their just fate.”

“So that’s it?” said Corvalis. “You’re here to kill me, then?”

Sicarion laughed. “Such arrogance! You are hardly worth my mistress’s attention. No, I am here on different business. But only a fool passes up an opportunity, and I have wanted to settle with you since Artifel.”

“And me?” said Caina. “Your mistress told you to keep me alive.”

Sicarion’s eyes narrowed. “You heard that, hmm? I thought so. Well, the mistress wants you kept alive…but if you happen to perish in the fighting, that will hardly inconvenience her for long.” 

“Such confidence,” said Corvalis, pointing his sword. “There are two of us and one of you.”

Sicarion laughed. “You think so? But I have the kind of face that makes it easy to win friends!”

He snapped his figures and men erupted from the darkened doorway. Four of them, armored in chain mail, heavy shields on their left arms and broadswords in their fists. Mercenaries, veterans from the look of them. 

“Kill them!” said Sicarion. “Kill them both!” 

The mercenaries charged, and Caina shot a look to the side. There were dozens of Imperial Guards and militiamen in the Gallery. But Theodosia’s voice rang in thunderous song, and the other musicians accompanied her. The music would be enough to drown out the sounds of fighting. 

Then the mercenaries charged.

A hulking man in chain mail came at her, and Caina backed away. His broadsword blurred past her face, and Caina sidestepped, seized the edge of his shield, and swung herself past him. He tried to line up for another attack, but Caina ripped her dagger through his neck. The mercenary stumbled in pain, and Caina hammered the heel of her boot into the back of his knee. The man collapsed, sword spinning away from his grasp.

The other three men attacked Corvalis. 

He responded with the grace and skill of a Kindred assassin, his dagger and sword a blur of gleaming steel. The mercenaries were good, but Corvalis was better. But he couldn’t fend off three determined attackers forever, and when Sicarion entered the fray…

Sicarion lifted his hands, muttering, and Caina felt the crawling tingle of sorcery. Once Sicarion’s spell hit Corvalis, the mercenaries would overwhelm him. And then Sicarion and his mercenaries would kill Caina.

She snatched a throwing knife from her sleeve and flung it, her entire body snapping like a bowstring. Sicarion twisted to the side with serpentine grace, his hand still raised, but Caina’s knife dug a bloody furrow along his face. She drew another knife as Sicarion pointed at her, his voice rising to a shout.

A heartbeat later a fist of invisible force caught Caina on the side, spun her around, and knocked her to the floor. Every bone in her body ached from the impact, but her hand still clenched the throwing knife, and she threw it with all the strength she could muster. 

The blade buried itself in the nearest mercenary’s calf. The man stumbled with a curse, and Corvalis’s dagger opened his throat. The mercenary collapsed, and now Corvalis faced two men, not three, and step by step he drove them back. 

Sicarion began another spell, and Caina scrambled to her feet, yanking her second dagger from her left boot. She raced at Sicarion and the scarred man stepped back with a curse, abandoning his spell. He drew his sword and attacked, and Caina caught the descending blade in the cross of her daggers. Her boot flew out and caught Sicarion in the knee, and he jumped back. Caina raked her daggers at him, her left blade bouncing off the studs of his armor, but her right opened a bloody line across his arm. Sicarion lunged at her and Caina barely dodged his blade.

Behind her Corvalis dueled with the mercenaries, while Theodosia’s song rang from the Gallery. She supposed that if any of the nobles happened to look up, they would think that the fight was part of the show. 

“I thought,” said Caina, “the Moroaica told you not to kill me.”

Sicarion grinned. “My mistress is locked inside of your head. Given enough time, she will take control of you. But I do not want to wait. And if you happen to die upon my blade…well, then the mistress will take a new vessel, and we can undertake the great work.” 

He slashed at her, his swing flowing into a vicious thrust. Caina beat aside his blows with her daggers. She stepped into his guard and landed several hits, but Sicarion simply ignored the cuts and kept coming. 

And Caina realized that she could not defeat him. He was centuries old, and had spent all that time honing his skills with a blade. Worse, he simply shrugged off wounds that would have disabled or slowed another man. Sooner or later he would wear her down and land a killing blow. 

Unless Caina did something clever first. 

Sicarion attacked with fury, and Caina backed away, using her daggers to block any thrust that got too close. She passed Corvalis and the surviving two mercenaries, their blades clanging and shuddering. Sicarion pursued, his mismatched eyes fixed on her. 

Then Caina reversed direction and drove her dagger into the armpit of the nearest mercenary. The man fell with a groan of pain, and Corvalis killed him with a quick thrust. The surviving mercenary faced Caina, perceiving the new threat, but that gave Corvalis an opening.

The mercenary fell dead beside his fellow, and Caina and Corvalis faced Sicarion. 

“You’re going to need,” said Corvalis, “to find some more friends.”

Sicarion sneered. “Hirelings are easily replaceable. And I’m going to enjoy killing you, Corvalis Aberon.” 

Caina suddenly remembered where she had heard that name before.

Decius Aberon was the ruthless First Magus of the Magisterium, a man who desired to become Emperor, like the tyrannical magus-emperors of old. Was Corvalis a relative? Or was his “business” a mission from the First Magus himself?

She could sort it out after they killed Sicarion.

“Ghost,” said Corvalis, not taking his eyes from Sicarion. “Go.”

“What?” said Caina. 

“Those Kindred,” said Corvalis. “They’re probably going to kill Corbould Maraeus before too much longer. I’ll finish this wretch. Go save your Empire.” 

Caina hesitated. Sicarion was dangerous, resilient, and resourceful. As good as Corvalis was with his sword, she didn’t think he could take the scarred assassin in a straight fight. 

But Sicarion wasn’t trying to kill Lord Corbould.

And Caina had come to Cyrioch to keep Corbould Maraeus alive and prevent the Empire from sliding into civil war.

“I will return,” said Caina, and she ran along the balcony.

She heard the clang of steel as Corvalis and Sicarion fought, but Theodosia’s song soon swallowed the sound of the battle.

Caina ran down the stairs to the Gallery, breathing hard. Her hair was in disarray, and spots of blood marked the sleeves of her dress. It was obvious she had been in a fight, but she doubted the nobles would notice. The Kindred assassins, though, would be far more observant.

But they were gone.

She saw no trace of Mhadun or the disguised assassins. They must have moved off during her fight with Sicarion. She walked into the Gallery, trying to appear calm, her eyes sweeping the crowds. Most of the nobles, merchants, and magi gathered at the far end of the Gallery, listening to Theodosia and the musicians as they launched into another song. Here and there a few nobles or merchants stood beneath the colonnades, no doubt discussing private business, but the assassins had vanished…

Wait.

Caina spotted Mhadun. The master magus stood in the shadow of an arch, speaking to Ranarius. They were too far away to overhear, but the preceptor looked annoyed. Mhadun scowled and pointed, and it almost looked as if he was scolding the older man. It seemed unlikely that a preceptor of the Magisterium would permit such insolence. But if Mhadun was Kindred, he had power and influence that Ranarius did not possess. 

But there was no trace of the two slave-disguised assassins.

Caina turned in a quick circle, scanning the balconies. She no one up there, not even Sicarion and Corvalis. Perhaps they had killed each other, or perhaps one of them had triumphed and hidden the corpse of the vanquished. 

She looked at the crowd of nobles around Theodosia and the musicians, trying to think as the assassin would. It would take an archer of unusual skill to shoot into the gaps of Lord Corbould’s black armor. So the murder would have to take place up close. That meant a dagger or a sword. But the Kindred were not suicidal, and any man bold enough to put a dagger into Lord Corbould would die heartbeats later. 

Poison, then. 

The Kindred had tried a blowgun at the Amphitheatre of Asurius. Might they try a poisoned dart, or perhaps a single scratch from a poisoned knife? If one of the assassins bumped into Corbould and jabbed him with a needle, that would do the trick. 

Caina turned towards the nobles, planning to keep watch over Corbould.

“I can smell the blood.” 

Caina froze.

Nicasia stood behind her, head bowed, pale hair brushing over the gray silk of her slave’s tunic. 

“I’m sorry?” said Caina. 

“The blood,” said Nicasia, her voice soft and unsteady. “I smell it on you. You killed someone, just now.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Caina. 

“Yes, you do,” said the slave girl. She lifted her blindfolded eyes, as if she could see Caina through the black cloth. “You killed someone just a few moments ago. I can…hear it? The echoes of it?” She titled her head to the side, as if listening to a voice only she could hear. “Yes. Like a stone dropped into a placid pond. You killed someone and I heard the ripples.” She sighed. “Though the pond is rarely still.” 

Caina wondered if Nicasia was mad. Sometimes the mind-controlling sorcery of the magi induced insanity in its victims, and if Ranarius had used her to test his spells…

“I didn’t kill anyone,” said Caina. 

“You are a very good liar,” said Nicasia, “but that doesn’t matter when you can hear the ripples in the pond.” 

“What do you want?” said Caina.

“What…do I want?” said Nicasia, puzzled. As if no one had ever asked her that question before. 

“Yes,” said Caina. “What do you want? Why are you talking to me?”

She shot another look at the crowd. Lord Corbould stood with Lord Khosrau, and Caina saw no trace of the Kindred near them. But that would not last. Sooner or later the Kindred would strike, and Caina could not waste time trading words with a mad slave girl. 

Though an unusually perceptive slave girl. 

An idea came to Caina.

“Wait,” said Caina. “Is someone going to try to kill Lord Corbould?”

Nicasia’s blindfolded face turned towards the crowd.

“Yes,” said Nicasia. 

“Tell me how,” said Caina. “Quickly.” She wondered if Nicasia was in fact a spy for the Kindred. If the Kindred had bought the services of Mhadun, why not one of the preceptor’s personal slaves?

“Lord Corbould Maraeus is going to die,” said Nicasia, her voice sing-song.

“Yes, I know,” said Caina, looking at the nobles again. “Can you tell me how?”

“Everyone will die,” said Nicasia. “Every noble, every slave, every merchant, every commoner. Right here, in this Gallery, everyone shall die.”

“Everyone dies,” said Caina, “but I would prefer more concrete details on how and when.” 

“The sleeper will awaken,” said Nicasia. “The images wrought in stone are just harbingers. When the sleeper awakens, Cyrioch will die.”

“I am sorry,” said Caina, “but I cannot help you.” She stepped back, intending to watch Lord Corbould.

“Glass,” said Nicasia.

Caina stopped. “What?”

“Glass,” said Nicasia. “You asked how Lord Corbould will die, and I can feel his death approaching. Glass will slay him, and glass holds his death.” 

“Glass?” said Caina. “What does…”

“Nicasia!”

Ranarius stormed across the Gallery, face twisted in fury.

“Master,” said Nicasia, “I…”

Ranarius backhanded her, and Nicasia fell to the ground without a sound. 

“How dare you speak to someone without my permission!” said Ranarius. He kicked her in the side. “Get up. Get up!” 

“Stop that!” said Caina, anger in her voice.

Ranarius’s furious eyes turned to her. “You dare to speak me to in that tone? I am a preceptor of the Imperial Magisterium! Keep a civil tongue your head, girl, or I will show you what torments sorcery can visit upon flesh!”