“Quite the elaborate little game,” said Caina.
“But what do the Masked Ones even want?” said Corvalis. “They already have the sorcerous power to rule the world. What more do they want? Cities? Lands? Slaves? Riches?”
“An end to war,” said Caina.
The others looked at her.
“You heard what Zalandris said,” said Caina. “He thinks the glypharmor is so powerful that kings and lords will not dare to use it, that mere fear of the weapons will keep men from launching wars.”
“I assumed that was just rhetoric,” said Corvalis.
“No,” said Caina. “I think he truly believes it. He’s a fool. A learned, powerful fool…but a fool nonetheless. He truly believes the glypharmor will bring an end to war.” She looked at Halfdan. “That is how you can get Lord Titus to buy the glypharmor, if it comes to that. Have him claim that the Emperor will put an end to war if he obtains the glypharmor.”
“Do you really think,” said Corvalis, “that the Masked Ones are such fools?”
“I do,” said Caina. “They never leave their city, and they spend all their time with their spells and books. For all their power, they have no idea how men truly act. If the glypharmor leaves Catekharon, it will spark a war unlike anything seen in history. But the Masked Ones are foolish enough to think it will bring peace.”
Claudia sniffed. “Is not bringing peace a noble goal?”
“Aye,” said Caina, “and it’s also a noble goal to feed the poor and hungry. But if I try to feed them with rocks and stones, that makes me a fool. A well-intentioned fool, but a fool nonetheless.”
Claudia said nothing.
“Very well,” said Halfdan. “I shall speak with Lord Titus. Hopefully your insights will give him an edge over the other ambassadors.”
“I doubt,” said Corvalis, “that it would occur to my father to frame his offer in terms of peace.”
“That is my hope as well,” said Halfdan, rising to his feet. “You two stay here, and try to slip away soon as Zalandris opens the doors. If the First Magus sees you, he will realize that you are Ghosts, and that would be disastrous.”
“I think,” said Caina, “that I shall speak with Kylon.”
“The stormdancer?” said Claudia with a frown. “Why? He is a foreign sorcerer. No doubt he would run amok with the glypharmor if given the chance.”
“I don’t think so,” said Caina. “He has seen what too much power in the wrong hands can do.”
“Very well,” said Halfdan.
Caina gave Corvalis’s hand one last squeeze and stood, her eyes sweeping the embassies. One of the slaves caught her eyes. Shaizid, the young man who had brought her coffee. He stood staring at Mihaela with mixed fear and longing on his face.
Gods, she hoped the poor fool wasn’t in love with the Seeker.
Shaizid saw her staring, flinched, and hurried back to his work.
Caina felt her eyes drawn to the towering suit of glypharmor. Something about it…fascinated her. Not that it was a weapon of death unlike she had ever seen, an engine of killing. No, she felt…drawn to it, almost compelled towards it.
It reminded her of that strange attraction she had felt to Maglarion’s great bloodcrystal, the huge crystal he had created from her blood.
The thought chilled her.
The strange attraction was likely a result of the spells Mihaela had bound upon the armor.
Caina put aside the thought and went in search of Kylon.
###
“Gods of storm and brine,” said Alcios, yet again.
Kylon could not blame him.
They sat at one of the tables, flanked by the ashtairoi guards. Kylon stared unseeing at a glass of wine in his hand. Alcios ignored his food, too stunned to eat. Only Cimon, with the instincts of a veteran soldier, ate the food.
Perhaps he was the only sensible man in the room.
“Think of what the Assembly could do with a hundred warriors arrayed in glypharmor,” said Alcios, his eyes bright. “We could at last smash the Legions of the Empire in open battle. We could tear down the walls of Marsis and claim it for our own. Gods of storm and brine! We could even assault Malarae and claim the Imperial Citadel itself! Our ancestors warred with the Empire for centuries, and we could do what Old Kyrace never did! We could throw down the Empire itself, and…”
“No,” said Kylon, voice quiet.
The mood of the Hall of Assembly washed over his arcane senses. He felt a great deal of fear and anxiety. But there was also a tremendous amount of raw excitement. Of anticipation. Lust, almost. Every man here had seen what the glypharmor could do…and every man now dreamed of using that raw power to destroy his enemies.
The glypharmor was a slab of raw meat thrown into waters churning with sharks.
The resultant carnage would not be pretty.
“No?” said Alcios, astonished. Contempt flooded his emotional sense. “My lord thalarchon, why not? Why should we not claim this weapon? For if the Empire takes the glypharmor, they shall use it to break down the walls of New Kyre and smash the Pyramid of the Storm to rubble.”
“Because,” said Kylon, “we are the fish, and the Sages offer poisoned bait upon a steel hook.”
“I do not understand,” said Alcios.
“The Scholae offers to sell the glypharmor,” said Kylon, “but will they sell the secrets of its making? No. If we take the glypharmor and use it to conquer our enemies, we will become dependent upon it. And that, in turn, means that we shall become the slaves of the Scholae. How will we repair the glypharmor if it is damaged or lost in combat? What price will the Scholae demand for new suits of glypharmor?”
Alcios’s frown deepened, and Kylon sensed a thread of doubt in the older man’s emotional aura.
“It seems clear,” said Cimon around a bite of cheese, “that whatever happens, we must keep the Empire from claiming the glypharmor.”
Alcios scowled. “How can you eat at a time like this?”
“You have spent more time upon campaign than I, my lord High Seat,” said Cimon, unfazed. “A soldier must eat when he can.” He took a drink of wine. “Especially when the battle seems close at hand.”
“Do you think it will come to violence?” said Alcios.
“Unquestionably,” said Kylon. “It would not surprise me if someone tries to kidnap Mihaela, or steal…”
He blinked.
The Ghost stood some distance away, staring at him.
“Pardon, my lords,” said Kylon, rising.
“What?” said Alcios. “Her again? My lord thalarchon, this is hardly the time for a seduction.”
“It is not,” said Kylon, “but it is precisely the time to learn what I can about the Empire’s intentions.”
He walked away without another word.
The blue-eyed Ghost waited as he approached. Her emotional aura, that peculiar mixture of icy cunning and burning rage, washed over him. “Lord Kylon.”
“Anna Callenius,” said Kylon, “though I assume that is not your real name.”
“It is not,” said the Ghost.
On impulse he offered his arm, and she took it. Physical contact would give him a better handle on her emotions. But she would know that.
Which meant she wanted him to know that she was telling the truth.
They walked into the empty space of the Hall, alongside the river of molten steel.
“Tell me,” said the Ghost, once they were out of earshot of the others, “what did you think of Zalandris’s demonstration?”
“It reminded me of Andromache,” said Kylon.
The Ghost turned her cold eyes towards the hulking suit of crimson armor. “Andromache was shorter.”
“But she said many of the same things,” said Kylon. “She claimed the power in the Tomb of Scorikhon would bring victory and security to House Kardamnos and New Kyre. Now my men say the same thing about the glypharmor. Yet the power in Scorikhon’s tomb was a trap.”
“And you think,” said the G
host, “the same thing of the glypharmor?”
"Perhaps," said Kylon. "Any nation using the glypharmor would become dependent upon it, just as we of New Kyre are dependent upon our fleets for both our security and our prosperity."
"Yet the Kyracians," said the Ghost, "can build their own ships. You cannot build your own glypharmor."
"As you say," said Kylon. "So you see my fear. If New Kyre buys the glypharmor, we would become the slaves of the Catekhari." He shook his head. "But I cannot permit the Empire to take the armor. For I know your Emperor would use the glypharmor to smash the walls of New Kyre and subdue the Kyracian people."
"Or the Magisterium, for that matter," said the Ghost. "If Decius Aberon claims the armor, he will first use it to claim the Empire, and then to conquer the Empire’s enemies." She paused, looking up at him. "Would it not have been better if the Tomb of Scorikhon had never been opened? Perhaps it would be best if the glypharmor never saw the light of day."
"You mean it should be destroyed," said Kylon, glancing at Mihaela, "and all knowledge of its creation eradicated."
"My lord stormdancer has a gift for stating matters clearly," said the Ghost.
Kylon sighed. "Spare me the flowery speech. I have no use for it."
"But you have gotten better at it," said the Ghost.
"I am now the High Seat of House Kardamnos and a thalarchon of New Kyre," said Kylon. "I've had no choice. Very well, Ghost. Go back to your masters and tell them that if we have the opportunity to destroy the armor and the knowledge of its creation, you shall have my full aid." He slipped his arm from hers and looked her in the eye. "But understand this. If the choice is between letting the Empire or New Kyre claim the armor...then I will do my utmost to claim it, regardless of the consequences."
She regarded him without expression. When they had fought in Marsis, he had thought she would look quite attractive, cleansed of blood and sweat and clad in proper women's attire, and he had not been wrong. But he knew hers was a perilous beauty. The coldness in her emotional sense never wavered, and if she thought it necessary, she would kill him without hesitation.
Just as she had almost slain him in Marsis.
"Very well," said the Ghost. "I know you will do what you think is right, whatever the cost to yourself."
"I will defend my city," said Kylon.
She almost smiled. "Sometimes what you think is right and the best way to defend your people are two different things."
The Ghost bowed and left without another word.
###
Caina walked away, her boots clicking against the gleaming stone floor.
Kylon's reaction did not surprise her. His first loyalty was to New Kyre. But he could still see reason, and if she could find a way to destroy the glypharmor, he would aid her. Now if Halfdan could get the aid of another embassy...
A sudden tingle washed over her skin, so sharp that she gasped.
Sorcery. Powerful, potent sorcery, strong enough to overwhelm even the mighty aura of the Tower of Study.
Caina turned, and saw that she had wandered only ten yards from the glypharmor.
The red statue filled her eyes, drawing her like an iron nail to a lodestone...
"Ah," said a man's voice. "Anna Callenius. So good to see you again. Who knew that we would meet again here?"
Caina blinked, and saw Khaltep Irzaris standing at the foot of the armor, a smile on his lean face. Mihaela stood next to him, arms folded over her chest.
"Who is this, Irzaris?" said Mihaela, scowling.
"Oh, simply an acquaintance chance-met upon the road," said Irzaris. He stepped forward, bowed, and planted a kiss upon Caina's hand. Then he straightened up and guided her towards the glypharmor. The tingling grew worse as they drew closer, and Caina saw hundreds of hieroglyphs crawling up and down the arms and legs of the armor and covering its cuirass in an intricate design.
"Impressive, is it not?" said Irzaris. "I suppose you had no idea that my red iron would be used to create something so...magnificent?"
"Irzaris," said Mihaela, "we do not have time for this. If you want to find some empty-headed merchant's whelp to warm your bed, do so later. I require a great deal of..."
"Do not fret," said Irzaris. "You shall have the materials you require. And this is a night of triumph, is it not?"
Mihaela scoffed with disdain. Caina saw an opportunity in that. If Mihaela thought her a fool, then perhaps the Seeker might reveal some useful information.
"It is...very large," said Caina.
"Large," said Mihaela. "Yes. How very profound. Do you have any other useful insights?"
Caina opened her mouth to answer...but found her eyes drawn to the glypharmor.
Suddenly she wanted to touch it.
Mihaela gave an ugly laugh. "I think she is scared of it, Irzaris. And why should she not? What does the little girl of a fat merchant know about power?"
"I think," said Caina. "I think that it is making me dizzy."
"Perhaps you've had too much wine," said Irzaris with a smile. "I can find you a place to lie down."
Mihaela snorted. "Subtle."
"I should rejoin my father," said Caina. "Thank you, but..."
A stabbing bolt of pain shot through her head.
The hieroglyphs upon the armor flickered with white light.
"What the devil?" said Irzaris, stepping away from Caina in alarm. "It's activating!"
Mihaela looked more intrigued than worried. "It appears to be reacting to her."
"That's impossible," said Irzaris. "She has no arcane talent."
Caina didn't.
But the Moroaica did.
The hieroglyphics upon the armor flared, the room spun around Caina, and everything went black.
Chapter 10 - Old Blood
Caina fell through an eternity of swirling gray mist.
Confused, broken thoughts danced through her mind. She could not remember how she had gotten here. She remembered a hulking suit of crimson armor, remembered pain stabbing through her head…
Blood. There had been so much blood.
Had the blood been her own? Had she died?
The mists vanished.
Caina stood again in her father’s library, looking at her mother’s corpse, blood pooling across the floor. Then in Maglarion’s lair, screaming as the necromancer cut into her and extracted her blood for his spells…
No. She did not want to remember that. She was tired of death, tired of sorrow. She did not want to remember it any longer.
She concentrated and forced the memories away.
Again gray mist swirled, and a different set of recollections came to her.
Laughing with Theodosia in the Grand Imperial Opera.
The tears in Ark’s eyes as he saw Tanya for the first time in five years.
Carrying Nicolai back to his father after the Kyracians and the Istarish had been defeated.
Lying with Corvalis in her arms, her moans tearing from her throat…
A shiver went through the gray mists, and white light devoured the world.
###
When it cleared, Caina found herself standing underneath a brilliant desert sun.
She stood on a street of gleaming stone, whitewashed houses rising overhead. In the distance she saw splendid temples and palaces of built of white stone, shining like jewels in the sunlight. Hieroglyphs covered the sides of the temples, and gold sheathed many of the stone columns.
Suddenly Caina knew that she stood in ancient Maat, in the capital city of the Kingdom of the Rising Sun during the height of its splendor. But how? She had never been there …
All at once she realized this was not a dream but a memory.
But not one that belonged to her.
A scream rang out, and Caina turned.
She saw a group of soldiers standing before one of the houses. The soldiers wore bronze chain mail and helms, carrying spears with bronze heads. A man in a stark white robe stood in their midst, a frown of impatience upon his fac
e and a golden torque around his neck. His head had been shaved, even his eyebrows, and black makeup lined his eyes.
Caina realized he was one of the mighty necromancer-priests of ancient Maat.
But how did she know that?
The soldiers wrestled two people from the house. One was a middle-aged man with the ink-stained fingers and slumped posture of a professional scribe. The second was a beautiful girl of fifteen or sixteen with dark eyes and black hair.
Both the scribe and the girl were terrified.
“Rhames,” pleaded the scribe, “no, don’t do this, please, please…”
He spoke Maatish, but somehow Caina understood him.
“Silence,” said Rhames. “I’ll never understand why you wallowed in this folly. Your daughter’s beauty has captured the eye of the Great Pharaoh himself. She will share his tomb as one of his consorts, and shall receive eternal life at his side as one of the Undying.” He gave an irritated shake of his head. “You ought to be honored. Instead you hide like a cringing barbarian.”
“You’ll murder her,” said the scribe, “in the name of your false gods and that cruel tyrant you call a Pharaoh…”
“Blasphemy!” said Rhames. “I will not tolerate this!” He pointed at one of the soldiers. “Carry out the sentence.”
The soldiers went into action. Two of them seized the scribe and forced him to his knees. The girl ran to him with a cry, but the other men caught her. Another soldier drew a bronze axe and lifted it over his head.
The axe came down.
A crimson jet splattered across the white street.
“Father!” screamed the girl, struggling against the soldiers. “Father!” Her cries dissolved into wordless howls of grief and rage.
“I do not understand why you weep,” said Rhames. “You have shall be one of the Great Pharaoh’s consorts in the next life. You will become one of the Undying, and you shall never grow old or ugly.” He shook his head. “But women have never been rational. Bring her. We must begin the transformation at once.”
The Ghosts Omnibus: The Kyracian War Page 73