Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 08 - Ghost in the Mask (21 page)

But it was a very good lock.

Caina concentrated, some sweat tricking down her face as she maneuvered her pick, the tumblers rattling. She shot a glance at the pavilion’s entrance, but saw no sign of anyone. 

She pushed the pick deeper, listening to the rattle of the tumblers…

The lock released with a loud click.

Caina stood, lifted the lid, and stepped back, just in case there had been a trap she had missed.

But nothing happened. Inside, the chest was lined with black velvet. Two disc-shaped amulets of black metal rested upon the cloth, a small green bloodcrystal flickering in each. Symbols marked the metal discs, warding sigils and ancient Maatish hieroglyphs. The amulets radiated potent sorcery, so strong that Caina started to feel queasy.

Potent enough sorcery, perhaps, to protect the amulets’ bearers from the dark power within Caer Magia?

Caina scooped up the amulets and tucked them into a belt pouch, her leg tingling with the presence of sorcery, and closed the lid of the chest.

The lock clicked, and she heard the sound of voices just outside the pavilion.

And Caina realized she had lost track of time while picking the lock. 

She thought about racing for the tent flap, but she already saw shadows moving near the entrance. Could she crawl under the tent’s sides? No, it was too tight, and she would not get out in time. Perhaps she could cut her way out the side? That would leave an obvious gash in the cloth, and Maena would quickly realize that her amulets had been stolen.

That left one option. 

Caina raced for the corner and hid herself behind one of the overstuffed chairs. She went motionless, legs pressed up against her chest, and peered around the chair’s edge.

The tent flap rippled, and Lady Maena Tulvius stalked inside, followed by one of the mercenaries, a handsome man wearing expensive armor. 

“That idiot!” raged Maena, stalking back and forth. “The weeping plague, indeed. A transparent excuse. He would be stupid enough to fall for it. Little wonder Corbould banished him out here.”

The mercenary stared at her, eyes glassy, his jaw slack. 

“I wonder if Anashir put him up to it,” said Maena. She stared at herself in the mirror for a moment, and adjusted her hair with a smirk. “Some petty distraction to slow down the search. Or…no. This is that damnable woman’s work, isn’t it? Gods!” She kicked the corner of the bed. “Rania Scorneus, indeed. I should have killed her when I had the chance, instead of wasting time with that stupid game. I should have killed her the first time I laid eyes upon her.”

Caina felt a chill. 

“But she’ll find out, won’t she?” said Maena. “She’s not protected any longer.”

The mercenary stared at her, glassy-eyed, and Caina realized that he was under a spell. 

Maena smirked, her rage replaced with amused lust. 

“But all that is over your head, isn’t it?” she said. “You poor dear. Do as I command.”

The mercenary gave a jerky nod. Likely Maena had him under a compulsion spell of some kind.

“Take off your clothes,” said Maena, pulling open the front of her gown, “and join me in the bed.”

The mercenary obeyed, and a few moments later Caina’s lip curled in disgust as she heard Maena and the mercenary grunt and moan, skin slapping against skin. Why had Maena bothered compelling the mercenary? She was young and beautiful, and could have seduced the man with minimal effort. Perhaps she enjoyed dominating him, turning her into a mindless puppet to use as she pleased.

Agria Palaegus in Marsis had done much the same. That, if nothing else, confirmed Talekhris’s suspicions. Maena Tulvius was a disciple of the Moroaica. 

For a moment Caina considered killing Maena then and there, her fingers curling around the handle of her ghostsilver dagger.

No. Too risky. Maena was distracted, but if Caina failed to kill her with a single blow, Maena could work a spell. Worse, the mercenary would fight in her defense. And if either Maena or the mercenary screamed, aid would come…and then Caina would die. 

Though to judge from some of the sounds Maena made, perhaps a scream would not draw that much attention.

Some time later, after one final shrieking moan, Maena finished.

“Get out,” she snapped at the mercenary. “Out! Now!”

The man stumbled to his feet, gathered his clothes, and staggered out of the tent. A moment later Maena stood and walked across the tent, her hair disheveled, sweat rolling down her back. She stopped before the mirror and examined herself, turning from time to time to view the reflection from a different angle. Her expression reminded Caina of a woman scrutinizing a horse for flaws.

It was, perhaps, the strangest thing she had seen Maena do yet.

“Pathetic,” muttered Maena, her voice full of disgust. “Weak and enslaved to a monthly cycle. Fit only for breeding and bearing children.” She looked at the bed and laughed, her voice high and wild. “But…surprisingly enjoyable. I never knew.” The laughter faded, and her eyes bulged with rage. “But I will make her pay for doing this to me. I will find a way to make them pay. Both of them!” 

She whirled, faced the mirror, and began casting a spell. Caina’s fingers tightened around the ghostsilver dagger’s handle again. If Maena was distracted with a spell, Caina could creep behind her and cut her throat. 

But the mirror might give away Caina’s movements.

Maena thrust out her hands, and the mirror rippled like the surface of a lake. Was Maena trying to open a gate to the netherworld, as Sinan had? The mirror stopped rippling, and then its surface turned pitch black.

Maena titled her head to the side, as if listening.

“So,” said Maena. “Have you been entirely idle?”

Silence answered her, and then Maena laughed, the sound full of scornful derision. 

“Oh, yes, very useful,” said Maena. “Why don’t you spend your time drinking in the taverns? It would accomplish at least as much.”

She was using the mirror to speak with someone, but Caina could not hear the other end of the conversation.

Maena scowled. “Indeed? Then you ought to be amused that Lord Martin turned up at my camp today. Some rubbish about the weeping plague. I am sure it was a ruse.”

She stared into the darkness of the mirror.

“Don’t be absurd,” said Maena. “She is here. I have seen her with my own eyes. I am entirely certain this nonsense about the weeping plague is her doing. Some trickery to slow me down.” Her hands curled into fists. “But I will kill her. I will make her pay for what she did to me. I will…”

She fell silent, as if interrupted.

“Yes, I haven’t forgotten my task,” said Maena. “Don’t presume to lecture your betters. I know exactly where it is.” She hesitated. “Though…I have not been able to work out a way to unravel the wards surrounding it.” She shook her head. “You can tell her. Does she expect me to kill myself?” 

She stared into the mirror, eyes narrowing.

“Fine,” she said. “Tomorrow. I expect you to be of use for once.”

Maena waved a hand, and the mirror’s surface rippled again, the darkness vanishing. Caina felt the power of the spell drain away. Maena stalked about the tent, gathering her scattered clothes and muttering to herself. Bit by bit she dressed herself, and at last examined herself in the mirror, fixing her hair as she did so. 

“Weak,” she said, “but quite lovely. A pity I didn’t meet her in Artifel. Or in Cyrioch. Preferably the slave market in Cyrioch.”

And with that peculiar comment, Maena left the tent.

Caina let out a long breath.

She counted to a hundred, but Maena did not return. She counted to a hundred once more, and then eased to her feet, her legs aching from the long time spent in the narrow space. She glanced at the tent flap and saw the shadows of guards outside. Komnene and Claudia must have completed their inspections by now. 

Which meant the camp was full of mercenaries once more.

Caina ducked behind the chairs and tugged at the tent stakes until she could wriggle beneath the fabric. Fortunately, the area behind Maena’s tent was deserted, though she heard the sound of men nearby. Caina rolled to her feet, pushed the tent’s side back into place, and strode across the camp, moving with the air of a man with work to do. 

No one stopped her as she came to the edge of the camp. She circled behind a tent, took a deep breath, and jumped over the trench. On the other side she went to her hands and knees, crawling through the high grass. With luck, it would shield her from observation.

No signs of alarm came from the tents. Apparently Maena had not yet noticed the stolen amulets. 

An hour later, Caina was far enough from the camp that it was safe to stand. She got to her feet, ignoring the ache in her back and knees, and shot a look at the encampment. There were no signs of alarm. The sun dipped over the hills to the west, throwing long black shadows over the grasses and the boulders of the moor.

She ran for Calvarium’s gates.

###

Claudia sat upon a stool in Komnene’s shop, watching as Corvalis cleaned his weapons.

“She will return soon, I am sure,” said Komnene. 

“It has been a while,” said Corvalis. 

“I could go to the wall and keep watch,” said Kylon, leaning against the wall. The stormdancer looked as calm and deadly as Claudia remembered from Catekharon, though she saw a new tension around his eyes.

“If she is not back by sundown,” said Corvalis. “I am going to go to Maena’s camp.”

Kylon nodded. “I will come with you. We…”

The door to the shop swung open, and a ragged mercenary in leather armor stepped inside, greasy blond hair hanging around his face. Claudia stood up and started to work a spell, and then her brain caught up and recognized Caina.

“You,” Claudia said, heart racing from surprise, “are really quite good at disguises.” 

“Thank you,” said Caina. 

“How did it go?” said Corvalis. Claudia knew her brother well enough to see the relief on his face. She wondered how long both Caina and Corvalis could keep putting their lives at risk, over and over again, knowing the loss the other would suffer.

“Rather well,” said Caina. “I learned three things. First, that Maena is definitely a disciple of the Moroaica. Second, she is quite probably insane. And third,” she held up a leather pouch, “I think I know how to get into Caer Magia.”

Chapter 15 - Caer Magia

The next morning, Caina stood at the edge of the Henge and gazed at the dark, crumbling walls of Caer Magia.

“Are you certain that this is a good idea?” said Kylon.

Caina looked at the black amulet in her gloved hand, the emerald bloodcrystal flickering. She felt the potent sorcery wrapped around the thing, so powerful it made her fingers numb.

“Not particularly,” she said at last. 

Caina, Kylon, and Corvalis had gone to the western slope of Caer Magia’s hill, about four miles from Calvarium. Here they would be out of sight from both Calvarium and the camps of Anashir and Maena. Caina had seen no one, not even shepherds, and the moor below the hill was utterly deserted.

Not even the sheep wanted to graze in the shadow of the black ruins. 

“Claudia said the spells upon the amulet were ones of warding and defense,” said Caina.

“You never trusted Claudia’s judgment before,” said Corvalis. Like Caina, he had dressed as a mercenary, clad in leather and wool, though he wore chain mail beneath his jerkin. 

“I think she is right about this,” said Caina.

“She may be,” said Kylon. “The amulet’s spells are potent. Perhaps strong enough to keep the aura surrounding Caer Magia from killing you. Or perhaps not.” 

“Well,” said Caina, “there’s only one way to find out.” 

She slipped the amulet’s cord over her neck and let it fall against her chest. At once she felt its power wrap around her, like a cloak made of needles. It was uncomfortable, but it still felt better than when she had crossed the Henge unprotected. 

Corvalis’s hand closed around her arm. “You don’t have to do this. I could test it.”

“You can’t sense sorcery,” said Caina. “I can. And I am sure it will work.”

She was. Mostly.

Corvalis nodded, and Caina climbed the Henge and crossed the boundary.

The moment her boot touched the other side, she started counting her heartbeats. 

The malefic aura of Caer Magia raged around her, trying to sink its icy fingers into her heart. But the amulet upon her chest grew warm, the bloodcrystal flaring brighter. Caina felt the pain of the amulet against her chest, but she did not feel the aura from the ruins touch her heart.

At least, she didn’t think she did. 

“Is it working?” said Corvalis. She glanced back at Kylon on the other side of the boundary. They stood only three steps away, yet it might have been a thousand miles.

“I think so,” said Caina, as her heart passed its sixty-seventh beat. Her voice wavered, unsteady with the discomfort of the amulet, and she forced it back to calm. “Stay back. I don’t want either of you to blunder into the aura by mistake.”

She closed her eyes and focused on counting the beats of her heart. One hundred. Two hundred. Five hundred.

Seven hundred. 

Seven hundred and fifty.

Caina opened her eyes, looked at her hands. She felt fine, save for the amulet’s aura. If the sorcery of Caer Magia was about to kill her, would she feel anything?

Her seven hundred and seventy-seventh heartbeat passed, and for a moment the world froze around her.

Then the seven hundred and seventy-eighth came, and one more, and more.

Caina waited until nine hundred until she turned back to Corvalis and Kylon. 

“I think,” she said, “you can follow me now.”

Corvalis nodded, dropped the amulet over his head, and joined her. 

“Do you feel anything?” she said.

Corvalis shrugged. “Sheer terror, mostly. A wish that I had gotten drunk before I did this. My foot itches.”

She gave him a look. “Anything sorcerous, I mean.”

“No, nothing,” said Corvalis. “I didn’t feel anything stepping over the Henge, I don’t feel anything from the amulet,” his green eyes strayed to the dark ruins atop the hill, “and I don’t feel anything from that.” He shrugged. “I don’t have your ability to sense sorcery.”