Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 09 - Ghost in the Surge (11 page)

“No,” whispered Caina.

An idea came to her.

Ranarius and Sicarion hated each other, and were competing to kill her first.

Which meant they would not aid each other.

“No,” she said. “We’re going to find Sicarion and Ranarius and kill them both.” 

“How?” said Corvalis. “We’ve already killed Ranarius several times. We don’t know how to make him stay dead.”

“No,” said Caina, “but I think I know somehow who does.”

Chapter 7 - The Renegade

The street ahead stank of chemicals. 

Marsis’s dockside district carried a reputation as a den of thieves, but this street looked exceptionally sinister. The open windows of the abandoned houses gaped like empty eyes. The docks stank of salt and fish, but here a heavy chemical reek hung over everything, along with the faint hint of rotting meat. The house at the end of the alley had a noticeable lean, like a corpse sagging against a wall.

And Caina felt the tingle of sorcerous power in the air.

“Pleasant place,” muttered Corvalis. 

“It’s really not,” said Caina.

“You trust this Nicorus?” said Corvalis. 

“Not in the least,” said Caina. “He used to be one of the high magi. Then he got on the wrong side of your father.”

“My father has many wrong sides,” said Corvalis,

“Specifically, he slept with one of your father’s favorite mistresses. In retribution, the First Magus had him castrated, expelled from the Magisterium, and banished to Marsis,” said Caina. 

“Not a reliable source for help,” said Corvalis.

“He isn’t” said Caina. “He’s a coward and a fool, but he’s not stupid. The Red Circle of necromancers used to rule Marsis until the Kyracians wiped them out, but Nicorus has studied their secrets. If anyone in Marsis knows how to permanently kill Ranarius, it will be Nicorus.” 

“I should come with you,” said Corvalis.

“No,” said Caina. “I can sense his wards. You can’t. And you might not know him, but he will probably know you. I doubt he would react well to Decius Aberon’s bastard son strolling into his parlor.”

“Likely not,” said Corvalis. “But if you take too long, I will get you out.”

“I know,” said Caina. “Thank you.”

She took a deep breath and turned to face Nicorus’s sagging house. 

The alley was silent, though she heard the distant clatter of armored men hastening through the streets, the flare of torchlight glimmering in the distance. Caina took three steps and stopped as the tingle of sorcery washed over her. 

One of Nicorus’s wards. 

He kept spells of alarm and detection wrapped around his residence, but this ward would trigger a blast of psychokinetic force capable of shattering bone and cracking skulls. The outcast magus must have activated his defensive spells in response to the chaos gripping the city. 

Caina jumped, grabbing the rough brick, and dragged herself along until she had passed the warding spell. Four more warding spells marked off the alley, and she passed them one by one. Nicorus lived in terror of the First Magus’s wrath, though Caina suspected that Decius Aberon had forgotten about him long ago. 

On the other hand, Caina had seen the First Magus’s cruelty firsthand. Perhaps Nicorus was right to live in terror. 

At last Caina climbed up the stairs to Nicorus’s front door. No warding spells rested upon the door, its only adornment an iron plate at eye level. Caina raised her hand and pounded on the door. Nicorus had to be inside. He would not have activated his wards unless he was at home…

The iron plate rattled aside with a rasp, and Caina saw the gleam of bloodshot eyes.

“Be off!” said a quavering, rusty voice. “I am not accepting clients, and I have no wish for visitors. Go!”

“Don’t you want to know,” said Caina, “how I got through your wards?”

She drew back the cowl of her shadow-cloak.

An alarmed hiss came from the other side of the door. “You!” 

“Nicorus,” said Caina. “It has been a long time. Let me inside. I have some questions for you. Answer them, and I shall be on my way.”

“No,” said Nicorus. “No, you bring only trouble with you. I’ll have nothing to do it with it. Go at once!” 

“You activated your wards, I see,” said Caina. “You know the city is in an uproar. Do you know why?”

Nicorus said nothing, his eyes gleaming in the gloom. 

“The new Lord Governor was assassinated through sorcery,” said Caina, which was mostly true.

“You lie,” said Nicorus. 

“Not about this,” said Caina. “The Legions have sealed off the city and are searching for the killer. You have a bit of a reputation, Nicorus, and the Legions are out for blood. If they can’t find the killer, they’ll need a scapegoat…and who better to blame than the renegade magus hiding in his hovel?”

“And you intend to help me?” said Nicorus, his thick voice full of scorn.

“I do,” said Caina, “by finding and killing the Lord Governor’s murderer. If I do, there will be no reason for the Legions to hunt you, and you can remain in peace.”

For a moment Nicorus said nothing.

“Damn you,” he rasped at last. “Damn you, Ghost. You may enter. But be quick about it.” 

Bolts thumped and locks clicked, and the thick door swung open.

Caina stepped into Nicorus’s workshop. The room was cavernous, the walls lined with wooden shelves of jars, bottles, books, scrolls, and bones. Various organs and dead animals floated in jars of brine. The only light came from a pair of corroded bronze braziers at either end of the room. Nicorus himself was a squat, hairless man in a greasy brown robe, his skin the color of kneaded dough. Caina had not seen him for two years, not since the Istarish attack upon Marsis, and he had aged considerably. Deep wrinkles cut into the slack skin of his face, and he leaned upon a thick cane in his right hand. 

The man was a snake, and Caina trusted him about as far as she could throw him. But he was a snake who knew useful things, both about the Magisterium and various forms of illegal sorcery, and sometimes he assisted the Ghosts out of sheer terror. Halfdan had used him from time to time, and…

A flash of burning pain shot through Caina’s mind, and she pushed aside the thought of Halfdan.

She dared not show any weakness in front of a man like Nicorus. 

“I should not be surprised,” said Nicorus with a sneer. His cane rasped against the warped floorboards. “Wherever you go, chaos follows. And there has been so much chaos since I saw you last. The great elementals stir in their sleep, and I felt a dark power awaken in Caer Magia. And now you are here.”

“I’m not here to talk about recent history,” said Caina. “What do you know about possession?”

Nicorus tilted his head to the side, his jowls quivering. “As I understand, it is a legal term referring to the current holder of a piece of property, regardless of his actual title to…”

“Do not be glib,” said Caina. “I know you have far more knowledge about illegal sorcery than you pretend. I know that you have spent years studying the old lore of the Red Circle of Marsis. Tell me what you know about a sorcerer using a spell to possess the body of another.”

Nicorus rubbed his bald head, watching her.

“It is,” he said at last, “exceedingly difficult, and would require sorcery of considerable subtlety. The bonds that join the spirit to the flesh are many, complex, and not easily severed.”

“Are they?” said Caina. “A knife to the heart severs them easily enough.”

“Perhaps I misspoke,” said Nicorus. Some of his cringing, unctuous manner disappeared as he began to lecture. “Let us say they are not easily reknit if cut, which is required if a spirit is to take possession of a new body. You see, upon death, the spirit is forced into the netherworld, where after a few moments it moves…beyond, to whatever awaits the soul beyond death. Heaven, hell, oblivion, reincarnation, I know not. There we move from arcane science to theology, and there are as many theories as there are faiths.”

“But obviously it is possible,” said Caina, “for a sorcerer’s spirit to take possession of a new body.” Ranarius had done it. Jadriga had done it for over twenty centuries. 

“Indeed,” said Nicorus, “else we would not be enjoying this discussion. For a spirit to take possession of a new body, two things are required. First, considerable sorcerous skill. Second, a physical anchor in the material world, something to pull the spirit back when death sends it to the netherworld. Else the spirit has no means to return.”

“An anchor,” said Caina. “You mean something like a canopic jar?” The Great Necromancers of Maat had preserved their mummified internal organs in stone jars, allowing their spirits to possess corpses and remain active in the mortal world.

“I see you are already familiar with the concept,” said Nicorus. “Yes, the canopic jars of old Maat are precisely the sort of anchor that is necessary. Of course, the Great Necromancers regarded a spirit possessing living flesh as an abomination, and considered the undead state superior to life in any matter.”

Caina nodded. Talekhris claimed to have found a way to kill Jadriga permanently. Did that mean he had found Jadriga’s canopic jars? The Moroaica must have been given canopic jars, long ago, when Rhames had turned her into one of the Undying. 

But there were more immediate problems. Ranarius said that Jadriga had given him the ability to claim new bodies at will. Did that mean she had given him a canopic jar, anchoring his spirit to the material world? If she had, that meant Caina could find the jar and kill Ranarius permanently. 

She could avenge Halfdan. 

“You seem to have more than an abstract interest in this topic,” said Nicorus.

“The assassin who killed the Lord Governor has the ability to move his spirit from body to body,” said Caina. 

“Fascinating,” said Nicorus. “Where did he acquire this ability?”

“The Moroaica taught it to him,” said Caina. 

Nicorus scoffed. “The Moroaica is a myth, a legend of frightened Szaldic peasants.”

“Believe what you like,” said Caina. “Is there any way to detect the presence of a canopic jar?”

If she could find the jar, she could kill Ranarius. Of course, a quarter of a million people lived in Marsis. Ranarius could have hidden it anywhere.

“Actually, there is,” said Nicorus. “The Great Necromancers of Maat never warred with each other, but the lesser necromancers of the Red Circle often fought amongst themselves. And they devised a method of tracking the presence of canopic jars.” He beckoned with his free hand. “Come, and I shall show you.”

Caina hesitated, but nodded and followed Nicorus to the far end of the workshop. He reached onto the wooden shelves and drew down a metallic disk the size of a child’s fist, blowing the dust from it. Caina saw that it was a corroded bronze compass, its sides carved with Maatish hieroglyphs, a needle of bone sitting in its center. 

Even as she looked, she felt a pulse of sorcery from the device. 

“This,” said Nicorus, “was constructed to detect the location of the nearest canopic jar. You see, they throw a…shadow, a resonance, for want of a better word, into the netherworld. The appropriate spells can detect that shadow.” He frowned. “And…the compass is working.”

The needle settled, pointing northeast.

Towards the Citadel of Marsis and Black Angel Tower. Had Ranarius concealed his canopic jar there? It made sense. Both Black Angel Tower and the Tomb of Scorikhon below the Citadel were places of necromantic power. 

“You were telling the truth,” said Nicorus. He sounded astonished. “There truly is an assassin with the power to claim new bodies in Marsis.”

“Aye,” said Caina. Before he could react, she plucked the compass from his grasp. “Thank you for your assistance. If I live through the night, I will return this to you, along with a reward.”

She expected a protest, but Nicorus only gave a distracted nod, a faint frown on his features.

Caina turned to go, and was halfway to the door when he called out. 

“Ghost.”

She turned. “Yes?”

He grinned. “You killed the Lord Governor, didn’t you? Your foe possessed the Lord Governor and forced you to kill him.”

Caina said nothing.

“And that means,” said Nicorus, “the other Ghosts and the Legions will turn against you.” He cackled. “They are hunting you, not the true assassin! And your foe,” he rubbed his head again, “your foe has immense sorcerous power. Perhaps the Moroaica truly exists.”

“Yes,” said Caina. “I would keep my head down for a few days, if I were you.”

Nicorus smiled. “I think not.”

He flicked a finger, and Caina felt a surge of sorcerous power. 

An instant later a massive fist of invisible force slammed into her. The compass tumbled from her fingers and bounced across the floor, and the spell threw Caina against the shelves on the far side of the room. They shattered beneath her, bones and books falling around her, and pain blasted through her back and arms.

“I shall turn you over to the Legions and claim the reward for your capture,” said Nicorus, hobbling closer, his free hand pointing at her. 

“Nicorus!” gasped Caina, fighting to breathe through the force pinning her. He was stronger than she had thought. “This is…”

“An unexpected pleasure,” said Nicorus. “I shall be a hero of the Empire!” He cackled his phlegmy laugh. “Think of the reward. And then I shall contact your sorcerous opponent and tell him of your death. Perhaps he too will reward me, will give me the knowledge I need to claim a new body, not this bloated husk.” He laughed again. “And then perhaps I can finally take my vengeance upon the First Magus, make him crawl through the mud like the wretched worm that he is.”

“Nicorus,” croaked Caina, “this is folly, the Moroaica will not…”

“Do be quiet,” said Nicorus. “I simply need to make you a little more tractable until the Legion comes to arrest you.”

He hobbled to another shelf. 

The psychokinetic force held Caina’s legs and torso pinned against the broken shelves, but her arms were still free. She snatched a throwing knife from her belt and flung it. Her aim was true, but the blade rebounded from Nicorus’s wards.