Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 09 - Ghost in the Surge (12 page)

“Disappointing,” said Nicorus, pulling a bottle from a shelf. “Did you really think I would let someone as dangerous as you into my home without protecting myself?

He poured some of the clear fluid from the bottle into a cloth pad. Undoubtedly he planned to clamp it over her mouth and nose and force her to breathe it. 

And if he did, she was going to die.

Remembering her fight with Ryther below Lord Nisias’s mansion, Caina seized a jar of chemicals from the broken shelf and threw it. Again it struck Nicorus in the head, and again it bounced away with a flash of light. 

“Many of my brothers and sisters of the Magisterium,” said Nicorus, “neglect to ward themselves against weapons fashioned of materials other than steel. I will not make such an elementary mistake.”

He hobbled closer, the cloth pad in his free hand, the light from the nearby brazier throwing harsh shadows over his drooping face. 

“Elementary mistakes?” said Caina, hoping to distract him. Her mind raced for a weapon, any weapon. “Such as bedding the First Magus’s favorite mistress?”

Nicorus stopped next to the bronze brazier, smirking. “Perhaps the Moroaica shall give me the power to repay Decius Aberon for every last insult and humiliation he heaped upon me…”

Caina grabbed a jar of preserved eyes from the shelf and flung it. Nicorus laughed with derision as the jar missed.

But Caina hadn’t been aiming for him. 

The jar slammed into the brazier’s bowl. It wobbled with a clang, and then toppled over.

Spilling hot coals onto the skirts of Nicorus’s greasy robe. 

The outcast magus shrieked in pain as his robes erupted in flame, his scream rising into a howl of agony. Nicorus beat at himself, but the flames only blazed brighter. The pool of chemicals from the broken jars touched the flames and began to burn, filling the chamber with noxious smoke. 

And the force holding Caina sputtered and vanished.

She hit the floor with a groan, broken pieces of shelf raining around her. Nicorus ran back and forth, screaming, beating at himself with his burning arms. For an instant Caina remembered Kalastus atop the Great Pyramid of Corazain, howling as the pyromancy he had unleashed devoured his flesh. 

She darted forward, seized the compass, and turned for the door.

Nicorus reached for her, wailing, and tripped over the skirt of his robe. He fell into the wall, breaking one of the shelves, glass jars full of chemicals shattering around him.

And catching flame.

There was a flare of white light, and a wall of hot air threw Caina to the floor. The flames spread over the walls of the workshop, and Nicorus collapsed, overcome by the heat at last. The fire jumped from shelf to shelf, wrapping around dozens of glass jars holding preserved organs.

And flammable chemicals.

Caina cursed, hauled herself her feet, and threw open the door.

Corvalis waited at the end of the alley, sword and dagger in hand, as Caina pulled herself over Nicorus’s wards.

“What happened?” said Corvalis. 

“Nicorus tried to kill me, and I set him on fire,” said Caina, clutching the compass. “We had better run.”

They had just gotten around the corner when Caina heard a loud thump. A blast of hot air shot out of the alley, knocking both her and Corvalis to the ground, and the roof of Nicorus’s house dissolved in a pillar of flame. Corvalis helped her up, and they ducked into another alley, watching the glow of the inferno. 

“That’s the second building you’ve burned down today,” said Corvalis, breathing hard. 

“I couldn’t think of anything better,” said Caina, trembling from shock and fatigue. Her mind spun and reeled. Both Halfdan and Nicorus, dead in the same day, burned to ashes in pyres that she had lit. 

Halfdan…

She closed her eyes and forced aside the grief. She could mourn later.

“Did you learn anything useful?” said Corvalis.

“I did,” said Caina, opening her eyes and holding up the compass. “I know how to find Ranarius. Let’s go before the Legionaries come to investigate the fire.”

They hurried away from the maze of Marsis’s docks, leaving the pyres of Halfdan and Nicorus behind them.

Chapter 8 - A Dead Heart

“Not again,” muttered Caina, looking at the cliff face. 

“What is it?” said Corvalis, hands on the hilts of his weapons.

Caina shook her head. “Nothing. It’s just…I’ve been here before.”

The compass had led them from the dockside district, up the Avenue of Champions, and to one of the wealthy districts overlooking the River Marentine. Caina had been here before, pursing Naelon Icaraeus as he fled from the Legion. 

And she had pursued him into the dark vaults below the Citadel.

The street ended at the base of the Citadel’s towering crag, a solid wall of rough rock. The Citadel rose overhead, its ramparts and towers high and proud, the dark shape of Black Angel Tower soaring overhead. Caina swept the compass back and forth before her.

The needle pointed at the cliff, no matter how she moved it.

Or, more specifically, at a particular patch of the cliff.

“Damn it,” muttered Caina.

“His canopic jar is in the Citadel?” said Corvalis. 

“No,” said Caina, pointing. “Under it.”

The faint metal of a keyhole gleamed in the rock.

“A hidden door, then,” said Corvalis.

“Unfortunately,” said Caina. “It leads into the vaults below the hill and the understructure of Black Angel Tower. The Red Circle must have built the vaults, and they were forgotten when the Kyracians took the city. Naelon Icaraeus used the vaults for his lair, when Jadriga was trying to free the demons imprisoned below the tower.”

“Do you think Ranarius is trying to free the demons himself?” said Corvalis.

“Gods, I hope not,” said Caina. “But this is a perfect place to hide his canopic jar. It was supposed to have been sealed off after Naelon’s death, so no one should be down there.” She thought for a moment. “If we’re lucky, he’ll be looking for me in the city. We can find his canopic jar, destroy it, and he’ll never know what hit him.”

“Why should we start having good luck now?” said Corvalis.

That was a good point.

“Light some torches,” said Caina. “I’ll pick the lock.”

Corvalis nodded, and Caina went to work on the lock. It wasn’t nearly as complex as the one upon the drawer in Nisias Druzen’s study. Most likely the door had been warded, a ward destroyed when the Kyracians had defeated the Red Circle and taken Marsis all those centuries ago. 

For a moment the thought of all those years and all those deaths overwhelmed Caina. The Kyracians had taken Marsis from the Red Circle. The Empire had taken the city from the Kyracians, and the Istarish and New Kyre had almost retaken the city from the Emperor. All those deaths over all those centuries. Halfdan was just the latest in a long line of death. And all for what? Was life simply an endless circle of futile killing?

She growled and shook her head. This was not the time to give in to despair. She would not do Ranarius’s work for him. 

Once Ranarius and Sicarion were dead, once the Moroaica had been stopped and the war ended, then Caina would grieve. 

Or her enemies would kill her first, and then she would have no more cause to worry about anything. 

The lock clicked, and the hidden door swung open, revealing a stone staircase sinking into the earth. 

“Any light down there?” said Corvalis as Caina straightened up, returning her lockpicks to her belt. 

“I don’t know,” said Caina, taking one of the torches. “Jadriga did have some lights, enspelled crystals on iron stands. I don’t know if the Lord Governor cleared them out.”

She checked the enspelled compass. The bone needle pointed into the dark passageway. 

“Let’s get this over with,” she said, took a deep breath, and descended into the stairs. She shifted her torch to her left hand, pulled her cowl over her head with her right, and drew her ghostsilver dagger. Corvalis followed, torch and sword in hand, the firelight throwing wild shadows over the walls and ceiling. Down the stairs went, the air growing cold and clammy as they descended into the depths of the earth. Ahead Caina saw a faint glimmer of pale blue light. The enspelled crystals were still in place. 

The stairs ended in a massive vault, its ceiling supported by enormous thick pillars of rough-cut stone. A half-dozen iron stands stood scattered around the chamber, supporting crystals that glowed with blue light. Caina raised her torch, another flood of memories pouring through her. She had crept through this place, pursuing Naelon Icaraeus to his meeting with Jadriga. The Legions had attacked Naelon’s mercenaries here, and Caina and Ark had struck down Agria Palaegus, one of Jadriga’s disciples. 

Gods, but Caina hated Marsis.

But not all the memories were bad. Beyond the vault, below Black Angel Tower, Ark had been reunited with his wife and son for the first time in years. 

And Caina had confronted and killed Jadriga for the first time. But the Moroaica’s spirit had possessed her, and Sicarion had come for her, and Andromache had invaded Marsis to seize the power in the Tomb of Scorikhon…

It had started here, all of it.

“If we live through this,” muttered Caina, “I am never coming back to Marsis.”

“What was that?” said Corvalis.

“Nothing,” said Caina.

It was utterly silent. Caina lifted the compass and took two steps to the right, and then two steps to the left. The needle wavered, but still pointed to the center of the vault. 

Ranarius’s canopic jar was almost certainly down here. 

“This way,” said Caina. 

She started across the vault, and then something moved in the shadows.

A man in his middle twenties stepped from behind a pillar, wearing the armor of a Legionary, a broadsword at his belt. He pulled off his helmet and threw it aside with a clatter of metal. Caina had never seen him before, but his features were contorted with an arrogant sneer.

A familiar sneer.

“Ranarius,” said Caina. 

“You’re getting smarter,” said Ranarius. “You didn’t recognize me in poor Aiodan Maraeus’s body until it was too late. Still, of all the bodies I’ve had since you killed me in Cyrioch,” his lips thinned, “I like this one the best. Young and strong and fit.”

“I thought you rather enjoyed Maena Tulvius’s body,” said Caina, “given all the mercenaries you went through.”

Ranarius laughed. There was no hint of sanity in the sound. “I have transcended the flesh, Ghost. Bodies are merely vessels to carry out my will. And my will is to kill you both.” 

“You haven’t been able to do it yet,” said Corvalis. He tossed his torch to the ground and drew his dagger with his left hand. “You’ve died…what, four times now when fighting us? That is hardly an inspiring record of success.”

“Death no longer has any hold over me,” said Ranarius. “Though I fear that is not true for you.” He smiled, his stolen face eerie and crazed in the blue glow. “What do you think, Aberon? Should I kill your whore first, and make you watch? Or should I kill you first, and let her watch as I cut pieces from you?”

“Or,” said Caina, “you could let us kill you quickly.”

“What?” said Ranarius with a wild laugh. “No offers to let me surrender? No mercy from the ever-merciful Ghosts?”

“No,” said Caina. “You already died, Ranarius, and you should stay dead. I know your canopic jar is down here.” His mad smile vanished. “We’re going to find it, destroy it, and make you pay for all the people you’ve killed.”

For a moment fury filled his face, and then he roared with laughter. 

“Do you not realize?” said Ranarius.

“Realize what?” said Caina.

“That is exactly what I wanted you to do,” said Ranarius. “Clever little Caina Amalas. I knew you would find your way down here, so I prepared.”

He gestured, and the floor started to shake. Caina sprang forward, ghostsilver dagger in hand. No matter how powerful Ranarius’s wards, the ghostsilver dagger would penetrate them. Then she could locate his canopic jar and smash it at leisure.

The floor erupted in a geyser of broken stone and dirt. But instead of cascading across the chamber, the pillar of dirt and shattered stone shaped itself, taking the form of a towering human figure. Deep craters formed the figure’s eyes, and golden flames blazed within them.

It was a lesser earth elemental, bound within a body of dirt and broken stone. It was impervious to normal weapons, and could only be destroyed with sorcery, or by killing the sorcerer that summoned the elemental.

Caina had no sorcery, and with the elemental defending Ranarius, she could not get close enough to kill him.

“Do you like it?” said Ranarius, stepping back. The elemental moved between them, the golden light in its eyes painting the pillars. “The same elemental I summoned outside of Calvarium. I think it remembers you. Elementals carry a grudge. And this time you don’t have Claudia Aberon or that fool in a jade mask to rescue you.”

Caina backed away, wondering if she could get past the elemental to strike at Ranarius.

“Kill them both,” said Ranarius, and the elemental surged forward like a living avalanche. 

Caina threw herself sideways as the elemental raised its massive stone fists and brought them down. She rolled to the side as the fists struck the ground with tremendous force, splintering the stone and sending a trembling shock through the earth. Caina scrambled backwards, trying to avoid the elemental as it lumbered after her.

“Corvalis!” shouted Caina. “Go for Ranarius!”

Ranarius laughed. “He has no weapon that can kill me.”

“That so?” said Corvalis, returning his sword and dagger to his belt and reaching for the bundle slung over his shoulder. He ripped away the cloth around the staff, revealing the gleam of the ghostsilver spear’s blade. “Care to wager your life on that?”

Corvalis lunged at Ranarius, trying to dart past the elemental, and the magus threw out his hands. Caina felt the surge of sorcerous power, and invisible force hammered into Corvalis. He fell to the ground, the spear tumbling from his hands. Yet Ranarius had not hit nearly as hard as Caina had expected. Most of his arcane strength must have gone into maintaining control over the elemental.