Ghost in the Ring (Ghost Night Book 1)

by Jonathan Moeller

In a way, it was a relief. Caina was the one suited for mysteries and puzzles and riddles. Kylon was a stormdancer, a soldier, a warrior. He preferred problems that he could solve while grasping the hilt of a sword.

  This was one of them.

  He drew on the sorcery of air to lend himself speed and hurtled forward, the valikon in both hands. The undead soldiers were fast, but he was faster, and he whipped the valikon in a sideways swing, the blade trailing white fire. The valikon crashed through the neck of an undead with the ease of an axe chopping a narrow branch, and the skull and rusted helm fell to the flagstones with a clang. The white fire from the sword flashed, dispelling the necromantic sorcery upon the undead and sending bones and ancient armor crashing to the ground. Two more undead came at Kylon, and the sorcery of water lent his arms extra strength. He hammered the valikon into the chest of the nearest undead with enough force to penetrate the rusted armor, and the ghostsilver blade undid the necromantic spells, bones scattering in all directions. The second one thrust a sword at his unprotected flesh, but Kylon raised the valikon in a parry. The undead soldier’s ancient blade rebounded from the valikon, and Kylon ripped the valikon through the undead creature’s skull, shattering the yellowed bone and sending fragments scattering in all directions.

  The remaining four undead soldiers spread out around Kylon, trying to surround him, and he drew on the sorcery of water and air. He leaped backward, landing a half-dozen yards away, and recovered his balance. The four undead charged after him and Kylon focused on the one on the right and attacked, the sorcery of air boosting his speed. The valikon flashed in a swing as he ran past, and his timing was perfect. The blade shattered the creature’s neck, the ghostsilver unraveling the necromantic spells.

  The remaining three turned to face him, and Kylon fought them head on, the valikon flashing as he swung and thrust and hacked. Seven undead would have been dangerous, had they been able to surround him, but three proved little threat.

  A few moments later the bones of the last undead rattled against the ground, and Kylon caught his breath.

  Silence had fallen over the courtyard, save for the rapid draw of his breathing. Kylon reached for his arcane senses, sweeping them around the courtyard, but save for the pervasive necromantic aura, he detected no other threats nearby.

  He looked at the archway behind the destroyed undead. It led into a broad, wide corridor, the walls distorted with more black veins and twisted growths. Kylon needed to find a way out of this strange fortress, but more importantly, he needed to find Caina. He didn’t know what was going on, but it had something to do with the Umbarian Order, and they would kill Caina if they found her.

  They would also try to kill Kylon if they found him…but they were welcome to the attempt. He had killed Cassander Nilas, but he had not forgotten the role the Order had played in his first wife Thalastre’s murder.

  And if they had forgotten, he would be pleased to remind them.

  Kylon strode into the dark corridor, using the valikon’s burning blade as a torch.

  ###

  He spent the better part of an hour exploring the twisted fortress, trying to get a sense of its layout and size.

  It was a surreal place. The fortress was far larger than any building Kylon had ever encountered, a tangled maze of towers and courtyards and keeps and turrets and walls, all of them covered in those black veins and tumorous growths. Kylon passed through grand halls with soaring roofs supported with towering pillars, the floor smooth and polished. Other times he walked through libraries filled with dusty books, or chapels of strange design, or vast courtyards that could have held entire villages. All the while the sky flickered, changing from the cold, starlit sky to the writhing black clouds of the netherworld.

  He didn’t know where he was going, but he had a trail to follow.

  The Adamant Guards and the destroyed undead made sure of that.

  Three times he encountered groups of destroyed undead similar to the seven that he had fought, and twice more he found dead pairs of Adamant Guards. Was there a battle raging through the fortress? As he looked at the dead Adamant Guards, he saw that they had all been killed in the same way, with powerful sword blows to the neck. Granted, with their heavy armor, that was one of the few reliable ways to kill an Adamant Guard. Yet Kylon suspected that the same swordsman had killed them.

  A swordsman who had overcome so many Adamant Guards would be a dangerous opponent.

  Kylon was standing in yet another courtyard, looking at a dead Adamant Guard, when he heard the distant sound of steel clashing against steel.

  His head snapped up, seeking the source of the sound. It was coming from an archway on the far side of the courtyard. Was Caina fighting someone? Kylon jogged forward, valikon in hand. Stairs descended from the gate and then turned a corner. Kylon hurried down the stairs, turned the corner, and found himself overlooking a battle.

  The stairs ended in a long pillared gallery with a high ceiling. Niches lined the walls, holding life-sized statues of warriors in archaic armor. Three Adamant Guards lay dead upon the floor, and six more still stood, attacking a man in black armor.

  The man was a battle magus of the Imperial Magisterium.

  He was moving too fast for Kylon to get a good look at him, but he wore the black plate armor of a battle magus, a black sword in his armored fist. Kylon sensed the psychokinetic sorcery the man employed to make himself faster and stronger…and he also sensed the man’s growing exhaustion and desperation. He was holding his own, but so were the Adamant Guards, and they were wearing him down.

  Was the battle magus an Umbarian? Both the Umbarians and the magi of the Imperial Magisterium wore that kind of battle armor. Then again, if the man was an Umbarian, why were the Adamant Guards trying to kill him?

  The battle magus stumbled, his black sword flicking out, and he barely managed to deflect the thrust of a broadsword aimed at his head.

  Kylon made up his mind. A battle magus would make a capable ally. With allies, Kylon had a better chance of escaping this twisted fortress and whatever dark power controlled it.

  More importantly, he had a better chance of finding Caina.

  He drew on the sorcery of water and air, lifted his valikon, and charged.

  The Adamant Guards were focused upon the faltering battle magus and did not even realize Kylon was there until he attacked. He swung the valikon with all his strength and arcane power driving the blade, and he took off the head of the nearest Adamant Guard. No blood came from the stump of the man’s neck, and the freezing mist wreathing his valikon turned the Guard’s blood to ice before his corpse fell to the ground with a clang of armor.

  The battle magus, to his credit, did not hesitate. He surged forward, and Kylon sensed the psychokinetic sorcery he used to drive himself with inhuman speed. The magus’s black sword darted out and opened the throat of an Adamant Guard, blood spraying from the wound.

  The other Guards whirled, moving to assess the new threat. Their heavy shields came up, presenting a solid wall of oak and steel. The black-armored magus stepped to the left, and Kylon moved to the right.

  A flicker of incredulity went over the nearest Guard’s face as he looked at Kylon. However strange this place, no doubt the Guard had never expected to be attacked by a naked man with a sword wreathed in fire and white mist.

  Kylon attacked, thrusting the valikon at the shields. On the third thrust, he got past the shield, opening a shallow cut on the nearest Guard’s sword arm. The wound was trivial, but the touch of a ghostsilver blade disrupted the spells that gave the Guard inhuman strength. That strength let the Guard bear the weight of his grafted armor, and the man stumbled, agony going over his expression as he tried to keep his feet.

  The disruption lasted only a second, but that was more than enough time for Kylon to kill the struggling Guard.

  Behind him, he sensed a surge of power, and the black-armored man cast a spell. A pulse of psychokinetic force rolled across the gallery and slammed into the three rem
aining Guards. The Guards stumbled, fighting to keep their balance. The spell hadn’t been strong, but it had knocked them off balance, and that was all Kylon needed. The valikon blurred forward, and he slew another Adamant Guard.

  The remaining two Guards split up, one coming at Kylon, the other attacking the battle magus. Kylon retreated as the Guard came in a rush, bashing with his shield and stabbing with his broadsword. The sorcery of air let Kylon stay ahead of the Guard’s attack, but only just. Three times he had to raise the valikon to deflect thrusts that would otherwise have found his chest.

  At last the Guard’s momentum played out, and Kylon counterattacked. The Guard had seen the fate of his comrade, and he used his shield with skill, keeping Kylon’s sword from finding his exposed skin. Kylon launched a series of blows towards the Guard’s head, forcing the man to raise his shield higher and higher.

  At last Kylon feinted high, sidestepped, and then swung the valikon low. The blade slashed across the Guard’s left shin. It was a shallow wound, but the ghostsilver blade bit just deep enough to disrupt the spells upon the Guard’s armor, and the man stumbled with a groan of pain.

  Kylon killed him with a blow across the neck.

  The Guard fell with a clatter of armor, his shield bouncing away, and Kylon turned to face the final Adamant Guard. But the battle magus had already killed the Guard, and blood dripped from the black sword as the magus ripped it free.

  For a moment Kylon and the battle magus regarded each other. The magus had thick black hair and deep blue eyes, his jaw shaded with black stubble. Kylon was sure that he had never met the battle magus before, yet the man looked oddly familiar.

  Disturbingly familiar, come to think of it, but Kylon could not quite place his features.

  “I have to say,” said the battle magus in High Nighmarian, “that of all the strange things that happened today, getting rescued by a naked Kyracian with a sword is still not the strangest one.”

  “Then you are not an Umbarian?” said Kylon. It took him a moment to recall the High Nighmarian words. He was grateful Andromache’s tutors had forced him to learn the language as a child.

  “Me?” said the battle magus. “No, no, no. They rather want me dead, I’m afraid. Who you are, I think, is a more interesting question.” The magus blinked several times. Warding spells blocked off most of the battle magus’s emotional sense, but Kylon felt the cold of concentration go over the man’s aura. “You look Kyracian and speak High Nighmarian with a pronounced Kyracian accent. That, combined with the mist-wreathed sword in your right hand, suggests the obvious fact that you must be a Kyracian stormdancer. Factoring in your lack of clothing implies that an hour ago you were enjoying an activity that did not require clothes – sleeping, bathing, a woman, whatever – when you were suddenly snatched away from your activity by a peculiar vortex of shadows. Then you found yourself here. Am I correct?”

  Kylon considered his answer. The man’s deductions had been entirely correct. Caina often did the same thing. Yet Kylon didn’t know if this battle magus would be an enemy. Still, Kylon would need allies to find Caina and escape this fortress.

  “Yes,” said Kylon. “I was a great distance from here, and the vortex appeared just as you said.”

  The magus frowned. “How much distance, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “I don’t know since I don’t know where we are,” said Kylon. “But I was a few days’ ride east of Istarinmul.” The battle magus might not believe that Kylon had been in Iramis since all the world knew that Iramis had burned a century and a half ago.

  At least until Caina had brought it back.

  “I see,” said the magus. “I was with the Legions in their camps outside the walls of Artifel. We had just repulsed an Umbarian sortie, and I was walking back to the camp when the vortex took me.”

  “Artifel?” said Kylon. “There are a thousand miles of sea, mountain, forest, and plain between Istarinmul and Artifel.”

  “Aye,” said the magus. “There are indeed. Which implies that whatever sorcery brought us here was a spell of exceeding power. I have never encountered nor heard of a spell that could do such a thing, and I’ve heard of many different spells.”

  “So have I,” said Kylon. “Do you have any idea where we are?”

  “No,” said the magus. “Well…a suspicion. Wherever we are,” he pointed at a window near the ceiling that showed the shifting sky, “it is quite clearly caught in the netherworld, at least partially. I suspect that we are in a portion of the netherworld that has been temporarily summoned and joined to the material world. That means…”

  He fell silent, a frown going over his haggard face, and again Kylon was struck by a strange sense of familiarity.

  “That sword,” said the magus. “That’s an Iramisian valikon. Where did you get it? Did you find it here?”

  “No,” said Kylon. “It came with me when the spell brought me here.”

  “Where did you find it, then?” said the magus. He didn’t seem afraid, only fascinated. “Those weapons are legendary. There are only a few left in the world. All the rest were destroyed when the Alchemists burned Iramis.”

  “My wife gave it to me,” said Kylon.

  The magus snorted. “Clearly a woman of exquisite taste.” He started to ask another question, and then stopped himself. “I suggest that we work together to escape. I have a thousand questions, and no doubt you do as well, but those can wait until we have secured our physical safety. If this place really is a part of the netherworld bound to the physical world, the spell will be unstable, and it might be pulled back into the netherworld at any moment.”

  “Very well,” said Kylon. “I agree.”

  “Let us start with introductions, then,” said the battle magus. “My name is Sebastian Scorneus, and I am a battle magus of the Imperial Magisterium. But that is something of a mouthful, and you did just save my life, so you can simply call me Seb.”

  “Sebastian?” said Kylon, startled.

  Caina’s father had been named Sebastian, though she rarely spoke of her parents. She had loved her father and hated her mother, though beyond that Kylon didn’t think she had any other family. Still, Sebastian was a common enough name among those of Nighmarian birth.

  But the last name. Scorneus? Caina had once disguised herself as a magus named Rania Scorneus. Her old mentor Halfdan had suggested the masquerade to her as if he had thought it would suit her…

  “Yes,” said Seb. “Have we met?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Kylon. He considered giving the man a false name the way Caina would have done and decided against it. “My name is Kylon of House Kardamnos.”

  Seb’s blue eyes widened. “Now that name I have heard before. Kylon Shipbreaker? The former Archon? They say you were banished from New Kyre and disappeared off the face of the earth.”

  “I ended up here, so evidently the rumors are true,” said Kylon.

  “I would be fascinated to hear the entire story,” said Seb. “But we ought to move. The longer we stay here, the greater the danger that we will be drawn all the way into the netherworld.”

  He looked towards the window, and with a shock of recognition, Kylon realized why the man seemed so familiar.

  Sebastian Scorneus looked like Caina.

  He looked a lot like Caina.

  His face in profile resembled hers. The line of his jaw and the shape of his ears were identical. His blue eyes were the exact same color as Caina’s, and he had the same thick black hair. If Kylon didn’t know better, he could have sworn that Seb and Caina were related.

  In fact, he could have sworn they were siblings.

  “Is there a problem?” said Seb.

  Some of Kylon’s confusion must have shown on his face. “Other than the obvious, no. You…just look a great deal like someone I know.”

  “Ah,” said Seb. “Well, I’m afraid the House Scorneus is a large and powerful one, and we all look a great deal alike. Likely you met one of my cousins or my aunts at some
point.” He grimaced. “Depending on which aunt, my condolences. But I do think we should get moving.”

  “Yes,” said Kylon. He could worry about the mystery later. “Do you know the way out?”

  “No,” said Seb, “but I can guess. We can solve a more immediate problem on the way. I passed through a barracks on my way here, and some of the items in there had been preserved. Including some clothing that ought to fit you.”

  “That,” said Kylon, “would be welcome. Lead the way.”

  Seb nodded, and they started down the pillared gallery.

  Kylon considered telling him about Caina but decided against it. As far as he could tell, Seb had been telling the truth. But the Umbarians were clever, and Seb was still a magus of the Magisterium. The Magisterium had wanted Caina dead in the past, and even with the civil war, they might not have forgotten their desire for vengeance.

  And if Caina was here, and if Seb decided to attack her…well, Kylon would make sure the battle magus did not live long enough to regret his decision.

  Chapter 3: Iron Ring

  The corridor beyond the library was filled with darkness, and Caina had to make a decision.

  It was too dark for her to see, and if she kept going, she could blunder into a trap or walk off a balcony. Worse, she suspected that the robed creature could see in the darkness, and if it had any companions, they could see her while she could not see them, though the vision of the valikon would give her some warning.

  Which meant she either had to double back, or risk making some light.

  She decided to risk the light.

  Caina held out her left hand and concentrated on her pyrikon, asking it to change shape. The delicate ghostsilver bracelet unfolded and expanded. When it finished, Caina held a slender staff of ghostsilver links a few inches taller than she was, and its end gave off a pale silver light that threw back the gloom. In the light, the veins covering the walls looked stark and diseased, while the skin of her hands and arms seemed ghostly.

  Well, that was appropriate. Caina was a Ghost. Or she had been. Now she was the adopted sister of the Padishah of Istarinmul, the Liberator of Iramis, a valikarion, and the wife of an exiled Kyracian nobleman. Could she be all those things and still be a Ghost of the Empire? Caina didn’t know.