Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 09 - Ghost in the Surge (25 page)

Yet contempt came over her face when she looked at Kylon.

“Brother,” she spat, her voice full of venom. “The fool who brought me to my death.”

“Sicarion killed you,” said Kylon, horrified, “offered you up to that wraith in the tomb.”

“I relied on you!” screamed Andromache. “You were my strong right hand, Kylon. I trusted you to protect me, but you failed me.”

“You put your trust in the Moroaica and Sicarion!” said Kylon. “Not me!” 

“You should have persuaded me,” said Andromache. “I would have listened. You could have kept me from destruction. But you closed your eyes and walked alongside me to my death.” 

“No,” said Kylon, but there was a quaver in his voice. 

“Look at what you have done to New Kyre!” said Andromache, waving a hand. Oddly she was holding a sword and an ugly serrated dagger as she strolled towards the Emperor, who stood staring at her, all the blood draining from his face. “Chaos and ruin! We could have won the war in a single day, Kylon! We could have taken Marsis, made New Kyre safe from the Empire forever. But you were too weak. Now the Emperor stands triumphant in the Agora of Nations, gloating over his victory. New Kyre is beaten, Kylon, and it is your fault!”

Kylon backed away in horrified regret, and bumped into Thalastre. A fresh fear forced its way into his reeling mind. The Agora of Nations had erupted into screaming chaos, men fleeing in all directions. Some had fallen upon their swords, blood pooling beneath them. He had to get Thalastre away from the mayhem. He had almost lost her once to a Dustblade’s necromantic sorcery. He could not bear to lose her again.

He grabbed her arm, intending to drag her to safety, but she stared at Andromache, weeping.

“Mother, I’m sorry!” she shouted. “I should have listened. I should have listened! I’m so, so sorry.”

Her mother? Why was she talking about her mother? 

“You failed,” said Andromache. “You let me die…and now your wife is going to die in front of you. You were too weak to save either of us.”

“I’m sorry,” said Kylon, tears in his eyes, but Andromache kept walking toward the Emperor.

###

“Tanya,” said Ark, staggering toward her. 

Around him the others had fallen into madness. Corbould ranted in fury, while Lord Titus bellowed terrified-sounding threats. The Emperor had gone rigid as a statue, eyes fixed on Tanya, while Lord Aeolus was talking to no one in a monotone, gesturing madly as his words went faster and faster. 

“Get away from me,” spat Tanya. “I regret that I ever married you. I wish I had never let you touch me. Better that Nicolai had never been born than to have a pathetic fool like you for a father. Why don’t you fall on your sword and die?”

Ark shook his head, struggling to clear it. Something was wrong. Something was horribly wrong.

But he could not think past the condemnation in Tanya’s eyes. 

He bowed his head and wept.

###

Sicarion stood in the midst of the chaos and watched them flee like terrified rabbits.

This was simply marvelous.

He laughed aloud, enjoying the horror on the faces all around him. He had removed Rhames’s mask, tucking it away in his belt, but kept the amulet resting against his chest. Nobles and Imperial Guards and ashtairoi fled in all directions, trying to get away from whatever vision the phobomorphic spirit had put into their minds. Others wept, covering their faces like children trying to ward away the monsters under the bed. Still others begged for mercy, and some were so overcome they attacked anyone standing nearby or fell upon their own swords. A few of the older men collapsed, clutching their chests as their hearts gave out beneath the weight of their terror.

Sicarion supposed if he stood motionless long enough, eventually everyone in the Agora would kill themselves in terror or die from fear-induced heart failure. 

That would be enjoyable.

But not nearly as enjoyable as killing them himself.

He would start with the Emperor. Then he would kill Kylon. No – Kylon’s wife first, and then Kylon himself. After that, Claudia Aberon and her betrothed, and then that annoying veteran Legionary from Malarae, and then…

So much killing to do, so little time!

Sicarion almost found himself wishing that Caina had survived the fall from the tenement’s roof. Let her arrive to find her Emperor dead, all her precious friends and allies lying in their own blood.

He walked toward the Emperor, smiling.

###

Jadriga stood at the entrance to the Sanctuary of the Surge and gazed down at New Kyre.

At the chaos filling the Agora of Nations and spilling into the surrounding city.

Sicarion knew indeed how to create a distraction.

“The end comes,” said the Surge in her threefold voice. “The great darkness begins. Soon the world will burn. All will burn.”

Jadriga did not bother to tell the oracle to be silent. 

The results of the great work would speak for themselves soon enough.

For after all these years, after millennia of study and work and gathering power, Jadriga was finally ready.

At last she would make a new world, one free of pain.

At last she would make the gods pay for the suffering of mankind.

She turned to face the silver pool, the Staff of the Elements in hand. The Ascendant Bloodcrystal floated over the sigil of phoenix ashes, its green fire shining in the thousands of hieroglyphs carved into the Sanctuary’s walls, the glyphs designed to channel, redirect, and focus the tremendous powers she would summon. 

The greatest single spell in the history of the world was ready. 

Jadriga raised the staff and began to speak the final words of the spell, power flaring to life around her.

Chapter 17 - A Mask of Mirrors

Caina plummeted towards the city below.

And as she did, the strange, spell-induced terror vanished.

Only to be replaced by a very natural and rational terror as she realized what a bad decision she had just made.

The canal hurtled to meet her, and Caina just had time to clap her feet together and cross her arms over her chest. 

She slammed into the water like a ballista bolt. The shock blasted the air from her lungs, and she hit the bottom of the canal, every inch of her body aching.

But she was still alive. The water had absorbed enough of her momentum that the fall hadn’t killed her. Caina clawed and kicked, ascending through the twenty feet of water, and broke the surface, gasping and coughing. She looked around, half-frantic. Where was Corvalis? Had he hit the water? Or was he lying dead in the street below the tenement?

She swam to the edge of the canal, gripped the rough rock wall, and looked around, trying to find Corvalis…

A pair of strong hands hauled her from the water. Caina sputtered and reached for her dagger, but saw Corvalis’s face. She landed on the ground next to him, still sputtering.

“How,” she said, “how did you get of the water first?”

He shrugged and wiped his face. “Artifel is on a lake. I’ve had a lot of practice swimming.”

Caina pushed the wet hair out of her eyes and tried to stand. Her legs jerked, and she decided that sitting seemed like the better idea for the moment. At least until her heart stopped pounding. “Are you…are you hurt?”

“No,” said Corvalis. “Shaken, but I don’t want to do that again.” He shook his head. “What…what happened?”

Caina blinked, and her mind started to work again. 

“Sicarion,” she croaked. This time she stood. “We’ve got to keep moving. He will come for us any minute. Or, worse, he thinks we’re dead and attack the Emperor.” 

“What did he do?” said Corvalis. He shook his head, rubbing the heels of his hands against his forehead. “I looked at him and he turned into Claudia…”

Caina blinked. “You saw Claudia?”

“I did,” said Corvalis. “She was…half-stone, half-flesh, and in terrible pain. She said I had failed her, that I had left her to die. I knew it had to be an illusion, a spell. But…I could not make myself believe otherwise.”

“I saw Halfdan,” said Caina. “He blamed me for his death.” The memory of it still sent a stab of grief through her. “I knew it wasn’t real. But I couldn’t convince myself of it. I tried pulling up the cowl of my shadow-cloak to ward my thoughts, but it didn’t work.”

“That crystal amulet,” said Corvalis.

Caina nodded. “There must be a spell on it. Something that makes you see your worst fear, your worst regret.”

“A powerful spell,” said Corvalis, “if it’s strong enough to pierce a shadow-cloak’s protection.”

“Aye,” said Caina. They hurried away from the canal and into the narrow street. She looked around, but saw no sign of Sicarion. Or of Halfdan, or some other spell-conjured regret from her past. “And if it’s strong enough to do that, then…”

She stopped, her eyes growing wide.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh, that’s very bad.” 

The sounds of chaos rose from the direction of the Agora of Nations.

“That doesn’t sound good,” said Corvalis. 

“The amulet,” said Caina, “if it’s strong enough to pierce the protection of a shadow-cloak…Corvalis, there are thousands of people in the Agora. And if Sicarion interrupts the ceremony, they’ll all be looking at him. If he’s wearing an amulet that makes everyone who looks at him see their worst fear…”

The screaming from the Agora grew louder.

“It will cause a riot,” said Corvalis. 

“And Sicarion can stroll right up to the Emperor and kill him,” said Caina. “Run!”

Caina sprinted, ignoring her aching legs, and Corvalis followed her. They turned the corner around the base of the tenement and ran onto the street leading to the Agora of Nations. 

A mass of men and women ran at them, mostly slaves and commoners. Many screamed and wept as they ran. Caina braced herself to shove through the crowd, but they sprinted past her, desperate to get away from the Agora. She dodged around them, Corvalis keeping pace, and came to the Agora of Nations.

The orderly lines of the Imperial embassy and the Kyracian Assembly had disintegrated into chaos. The spectators fled in all directions, some toward the Agora of Archons, others into the side streets. Caina saw men and women on their knees, weeping and begging for forgiveness or mercy. An ashtairoi drew his sword and drove it into his chest, falling to ground with a clatter of armor. Some of the Imperial Guards fought each other, and a few shook their swords at the sky, screaming incoherently. Caina saw no sign of Ark or Claudia or Lord Martin. What would they see when they looked at Sicarion? Had they been able to resist the effect?

Or were they already dead?

“The Emperor,” said Corvalis. He had unwrapped the ghostsilver spear and held the weapon with both hands. If Sicarion had warded himself, they would need a weapon that could penetrate his protective spells. “He’ll be near the Emperor.”

If he hadn’t already killed the Emperor.

Caina shoved her way into the press, dodging past screaming and sobbing men.

###

“I loved you,” spat Tanya. “I trusted you. Every day I told Nicolai that one day his father would come to rescue us.” Loathing filled her voice, her eyes glittering with maddened hatred. “Do you remember the day you met me, the day you saved me from bandits on the road? Gods, how I wish the bandits had killed me!”

“I’m sorry,” said Ark. “I looked for you, I tried to find you, I…”

“Useless,” said Tanya. “Weak and useless, just as your father always said.” 

She walked toward the Emperor. She had thrown aside Nicolai’s corpse, and for some reason Ark could not find it. The Emperor stared at her, his face a bloodless mask, a tremor going through his hands.

“Sister,” said the Emperor. “I am sorry, Rhoanna. I should have listened to Halfdan. I should have listened to Halfdan. I am so, so sorry.”

Tanya made no response to the strange statement, and again Ark’s mind screamed that something was wrong. 

But the regret and pain paralyzed him.

###

Caina shoved through one final knot of screaming slaves and came to the heart of the Agora. 

The Imperial embassy was in disarray, the Imperial Guard paralyzed with horror. The Kyracian nobles suffered similar effects, screaming and shouting and weeping. Caina tried to find Kylon. He would listen to her, and perhaps he might know enough sorcery to undo the effects of Sicarion’s amulet…

“Talekhris!” hissed Corvalis, pointing. 

The Sage stood rooted a dozen yards away, his silver rod clenched in his right hand, his worn coat hanging around him. Kylon had sorcery, but Talekhris had much more. If anyone could defend against Sicarion’s amulet, Talekhris could…

Then Caina saw the cords bulging in the Sage’s neck, saw the sweat dripping down his face. 

“Talekhris!” she said. “Sicarion…”

“Yes, I know,” he gasped. “I can’t…I can’t help you. His amulet. It has a phobomorphic spirit bound within it, enhanced by potent spells.”

That made a devilish sort of sense. Phobomorphic spirits took the form of their victims’ worst fear. If Sicarion’s amulet had been enspelled with a phobomorphic spirit, that meant anyone who looked at him would see their worst fear…

Which explained the madness filling the Agora.

“Can you shield us from it?” said Caina.

“No,” growled Talekhris. “I can’t. There’s no protection from the effect, no shielding. It bypasses all defensive wards and directly touches the subconscious mind. I don’t…I don’t dare move…”

“Why not?” said Corvalis. 

“Because I’m nine hundred years old!” said Talekhris. “I have so many fears, so many regrets! I cannot…I cannot control them. If I look upon Sicarion, my fears will overcome me, I will unleash my powers…and I will blast this Agora to cinders. Thousands of innocents will die!”

“Then we’ll do it ourselves,” said Caina. “Wait here. If we get that amulet off Sicarion, we’ll need your help against his sorcery.”

Talekhris managed a sharp nod, tears flowing from his eyes to mix with his sweat. Caina wondered what kind of horrors he had seen after nine centuries spent hunting the Moroaica, and decided that she really didn’t want to know.