Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 08 - Ghost in the Mask (17 page)

“I’m used to pain,” said Caina. She reversed the ghostsilver dagger and slid it into its sheath. Corvalis started forward, but she urged him back.

“But if I cast the spell,” said Talekhris, “I will be vulnerable to any sorcery you might attempt.”

Caina shrugged. “It is a risk. But if I were truly the Moroaica, I would have made it much harder for you to find me, would I not? I haven’t killed a single one of your men…”

“The Order of the Venatorii,” said Talekhris, “are prepared to give their lives.”

“They said as much,” said Caina. Venatorii? That was an archaic Nighmarian word for “hunters”. Just what did Talekhris’s Venatorii hunt? “But I didn’t kill them. The Moroaica would have done so.”

“Very well,” said Talekhris. “Brace yourself.” 

He stepped forward, rested the point of his rod upon her forehead, and cast a spell.

Caina felt the surge of arcane power…and then agony erupted through her. It felt as if she had been dipped in oil and set aflame. A strangled gasp of pain came from her lips, and then she gritted her teeth and forced herself to silence. If it looked like she was in too much pain, Corvalis might take lethal action.

And that could get them all killed.

But at last the pain ended, and Talekhris stepped back. He lowered his rod and removed his mask. The face beneath it was lean and scored by deep lines, faded blue eyes glittering beneath a shock of ragged brown-gray hair.

“You,” he said, “are not the Moroaica.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “Another innocent life was almost upon my hands. The Moroaica has killed so many with the knowledge I gave her. You would have been one more.”

“I have a few ideas on how you can make it up to me,” said Caina, drawing a ragged breath, “if you are open to suggestions.”

Chapter 12 - A Mask of Jade

The tavern, as it happened, was called the Opened Tomb. 

The landlord waited in a nearby alley, no doubt fearful that the conflict would burn his tavern to the ground. Caina found him, apologized for the disturbance, and bought food and drink for all of Harkus’s men. As the men of the Order ate, Caina withdrew into one of the tavern’s private dining rooms with Talekhris. Caina sat at one side of the table, Talekhris at the other. Corvalis, Muravin, and Kylon loomed behind her, hands resting on their sword hilts. 

Harkus stood at the other side, calm and relaxed. 

“I would prefer to speak freely,” said Caina, looking at Harkus. “How much does he know?”

Harkus smiled. He had drawn back his cowl to reveal a middle-aged face, his black hair graying. “I know a great deal about you, Mistress Rania. In certain circles you have great renown as the Ghost who slew Maglarion. He threatened our Order for centuries. But the Moroaica claimed your flesh, so I grieved that it was necessary to kill you.” He shrugged. “But it since the Sage was in error… my heart is gladdened that I need not kill you.”

“My heart is gladdened, too,” said Caina. “Also, still beating.”

Harkus chuckled.

“Do not mince words, Harkus,” said Talekhris with a sour expression. “I was badly mistaken. My divinations revealed that the Moroaica was in Calvarium.” He shook his head. “I was certain you were the Moroaica, but I was wrong. I can only offer my apologies.” 

“I understand,” said Caina. “An unreliable memory must be a dreadful thing.” 

“It is,” said Talekhris. “But that is the price I must pay for my errors in judgment. Or part of the price, at any rate.” He tapped his fingers against his jade mask, which sat upon the table. “Perhaps you would be kind enough to fill the gaps in my memory.”

So Caina told him what had happened. She described Mihaela’s plot and the terrible battle at the heart of the Tower of Study, ending only when Caina shoved Mihaela’s sorcerous Forge into the pool of molten steel. She did not bother dissembling. Talekhris had been there for all of it, and if he died again and a different portion of his memory returned, he would recall it all anyway. 

“I see,” said Talekhris again. “That explains a great deal.”

“You must have died again,” said Caina, “after Sicarion stabbed you in Mihaela’s workshop. Otherwise you wouldn’t have forgotten.”

“I did,” said Talekhris. “In New Kyre, about three months ago.”

“What,” said Kylon, “where you doing in New Kyre?”

“I don’t remember,” said Talekhris. “I woke up floating face-down in one your city’s canals. I had been stabbed in the back, again, but beyond that I can recall no other details.” 

“Given your frequent lapses in memory,” said Corvalis, “perhaps you should try writing things down.”

Muravin snickered.

Talekhris gave them an irritated look. “I have, frequently. Sometimes my records survive, and sometimes the Moroaica destroys them.” He waved a hand at Harkus. “The Order is an effort to keep records, and they have often saved me from myself.”

“You do seem…different,” said Caina. 

“How so?” said Talekhris.

“Harder,” said Caina. “More assertive.”

He shrugged. “A man’s memories shape his life. And sometimes when I return to life, I lose some of my memories…and therefore I am a different man.”

“Truly,” said Harkus. “Our Order’s records go back centuries, and the Sage’s personality often changes drastically between deaths.” 

“This Order of yours,” said Caina, “the Venatorii. What is it? I’ve never heard of the Venatorii.”

“Few have,” said Harkus. “We are as secretive as the Ghosts. Your circlemasters know of us, but few others among your brotherhood do.”

“I founded the Order,” said Talekhris, “eight centuries ago, when it became clear that I could not combat the Moroaica and her disciples on my own, and that I was losing a portion of my memories with every death. The purpose of the Order is to hunt the Moroaica and her servants.”

“But since the Sage was often absent for long spans of time, even decades,” said Harkus, “the Order of the Venatorii took on additional roles. We hunt creatures from the netherworld, spirits and elementals that possess living bodies and terrorize the innocent, and stop the sorcerers that summon them. The Empire and Anshan and Istarinmul are relatively peaceful lands…but there are places where such dark spirits lurk everywhere. And even in the Empire, the creatures of the netherworld can be found in the dark and wild places, or lurking the alleys of the great cities.” 

“Why don’t you help the Ghosts, then?” said Caina. “The Ghosts oppose renegade sorcerers.”

“We do aid the Ghosts from time to time,” said Harkus. “But the Ghosts are servants of your Emperor and his Empire. The Order holds itself aloof from any one nation. We hunt sorcerous evil wherever it manifests.” 

“I see,” said Caina. “Then are you here because Talekhris thinks the Moroaica is in Calvarium…or because of what Anashir of Anshan and Maena Tulvius are doing outside the Henge?”

“Both,” said Harkus.

“My spells detected the Moroaica within Calvarium,” said Talekhris, “so I traveled to Caeria Ulterior. I arrived at the town to find Harkus and the men of the Order already investigating.”

“It seems,” said Harkus, “that both Maena and Anashir are trying to enter Caer Magia.”

“Actually,” said Caina, “at least one of them already has entered the ruins. Two weeks ago a renegade magus claiming to be a follower of Anubankh tried to assassinate the preceptor of Malarae with a Dustblade, and an exiled Kyracian noble wounded a woman with a Dustblade at the Assembly of New Kyre. He, too, claimed to be a follower of Anubankh.” 

Harkus and Talekhris shared a look.

“This cult,” said Caina. “What is it? A rogue sorcerer stirring up a revolt against the Empire? A front for something else?”

“As far as we can tell,” said Harkus, “it is genuine. The cultists truly believe that Anubankh will grant them immortality, that the Kingdom of the Rising Sun will return and enslave all other nations.” 

“Anubankh was essentially the Maatish god of necromancy,” said Talekhris, “but that is not quite right. The Maatish thought of the undead as the ‘Undying’, and the arcane science of necromancy as the means of achieving that immortality.” He shrugged. “Of course, it destroyed them in the end. When a pharaoh was buried, a few thousand slaves and concubines were converted to the Undying and buried with him. One of them proved strong enough to master Maatish necromancy to its highest degree, and used that knowledge to destroy the Kingdom of the Rising Sun.”

“The Moroaica,” said Caina, recalling the vision she had seen of the death of Jadriga’s father, slain by the orders of the priest Rhames.  

Talekhris nodded. “You are correct.”

“So,” said Caina. “We have Anashir. We have Maena Tulvius. We have two assassins with Dustblades, and a cult in the hills worshipping an ancient Maatish god. How do they all fit together?”

“I do not know,” said Talekhris.

“But I suspect,” said Harkus, “that both Anashir and Maena are disciples of the Moroaica.” 

“That would explain a great deal,” said Caina. Jadriga usually took young women as her disciples, so she could possess their bodies if she was killed. She did not usually take men as disciples, but it did happen. Ranarius in Cyrioch had been her student because she found his skill at binding elementals useful…and to escape her, he had almost awakened the Stone and killed everyone in Cyrioch. 

And Sicarion, of course. The hideously scarred assassin was her rabid dog, killing for the sheer love of killing. 

“I received letters from other members of the Order in both Artifel and Anshan,” said Harkus. “Until a year ago, Lady Maena was an unremarkable noblewoman of Artifel, notable only for her beauty and her vapid disposition. Then she developed sorcerous power, and disappeared before the Magisterium could take her as an initiate. As for Anashir…he claims to be an occultist of Anshan, but the men of the Order in Anshan can find no record of him there. It as if he appeared out of thin air.” He paused. “And some of my men believe they have seen Sicarion in Calvarium.”

“What?” said Caina, Corvalis, and Kylon in unison. They all had history with Sicarion. He had deceived Andromache, luring her into the tomb of Scorikhon. He had a murderous grudge against Corvalis, and he had tried to kill Caina more than once. 

“You should have warned us,” said Corvalis. “Or at the very least, you should have warned Lord Martin. That man is dangerous.”

“Truly,” said Harkus, “but we thought your mistress was the Moroaica.”

“Enough,” said Caina. “We can blame each other until the oceans turn to dust, but that will accomplish nothing.” She thought for a moment. “Where did your men see Sicarion?”

“Entering Lady Maena’s camp,” said Harkus.

“That settles it,” said Caina. “We’ll start with Lady Maena. We need to find a way to enter her camp, and discover if she has a method of entering Caer Magia. And perhaps we shall learn if the Moroaica and her disciples have anything to do with the cult of Anubankh.” Though Caina could not imagine that Jadriga would countenance the worship of an old Maatish god. She hated the Kingdom of the Rising Sun.

She hated it so much that she had destroyed it utterly. 

“There may be an answer to that,” said Talekhris. “I believe the sorcery that destroyed Caer Magia was Maatish in origin.”

“How is that possible?” said Caina. “Old Maat fell thousands of years before Caer Magia was even built. Did some of the Maatish priests survive?” The Red Circle in Marsis had been founded by escaped necromancers from Maat, until Old Kyrace destroyed them. The Scholae of Catekharon and the College of Alchemists of Istarinmul had once been part of the Kingdom of the Rising Sun, though they had escaped its destruction. Then she remembered Maglarion and his damned Maatish scroll. “No. No, that’s not it, is it? They must have found some relics of Maat, some spells, the way that Maglarion did. And it destroyed them when they tried to use it.”

“That is likely what happened,” said Talekhris. “The Scholae, as I’m sure you recall, once served the Great Necromancers of Maat, and created enspelled objects for them. Therefore we know more about Maatish sorcery than anyone else, save the Moroaica herself. The Great Necromancers wielded weapons of tremendous sorcery, weapons that could kill every living thing within a hundred miles. I suspect the high magi of the Fourth Empire tried to recreate the weapons of the Great Necromancers.”

“Only to destroy themselves in the process,” said Caina. “Or they created such a weapon, and accidentally activated it. Which means that Anashir and Maena are both trying to claim this weapon for themselves.”

“That’s much worse,” said Corvalis.

Muravin grunted. “If Anashir and Maena are both disciples of the Moroaica, would they not work together?”

Caina shrugged. “The emirs of Istarinmul are all servants of the Padishah, but they compete bitterly among each other. It is the same with the Moroaica’s disciples.”

“Indeed,” said Harkus. “Our histories record that her disciplines have often killed each other. Others rebel and set out on their own, like Maglarion did.” 

“Then this is what I think happened,” said Caina. “The Moroaica wants something from inside Caer Magia, some old weapon of Maatish sorcery. She sent Anashir and Maena to claim it, and commanded Sicarion to keep an eye on them. Either Anashir or Maena managed to find a way into Caer Magia, hence the Dustblades, but they haven’t found what the Moroaica wants yet.” 

Harkus nodded. “That seems probable.”

“Or,” said Talekhris, “they know where the weapon is, but it is behind potent wards they cannot pass or defended by a powerful guardian they cannot defeat.” 

“It seems,” said Caina, “we have two goals. We must find how the Moroaica’s disciples entered the city, and we must destroy the weapon of sorcery.”

“I agree,” said Talekhris, “and I am willing to follow your counsel.”

“Pardon, Sage,” said Harkus with a frown. “While I do not question your wisdom, I must ask why we will follow the lead of a woman outside the Order.”

“Because,” said Talekhris, “she knows what she is doing. Mihaela would have destroyed Catekharon, if not for her.”

“Is she that clever?” said Harkus.

Caina looked at Harkus for a moment.