The Ghosts Omnibus: The Kyracian War

by Jonathan Moeller

  The soldiers dragged the screaming girl away, and Caina saw her eyes.

  They were the Moroaica’s eyes.

  ###

  The vision dissolved, and Caina found herself back in the plain of gray mist.

  The Moroaica stood nearby, clad in her red robe. She was always calm, always collected, and always spoke to Caina with distant amusement.

  But not now.

  Her hands clenched and unclenched, her shoulders shaking with fury. Tears even glinted in her eyes and trickled down her pale face.

  “You should not,” hissed Jadriga, “have seen that.”

  “Then why,” said Caina, “did you show it to me?”

  “My power is trapped within you,” said Jadriga, “and it reacted rather…strongly to the necromancy in the glypharmor. I lost control for a moment, and showed you more than I intended.”

  Part of Caina’s mind noted that necromancy had been used in the making of the glypharmor. The rest of her mind regarded the Moroaica with stunned fascination.

  “Your father,” said Caina at last. “They killed him in front of you.”

  “I told you,” said Jadriga, “that we were more alike than you might wish. That I was once like you, long ago.”

  “I thought,” said Caina, “that you were only trying to sway me. To corrupt me into something like yourself.”

  “I was,” said Jadriga. “But why use a lie when the truth would be just as effective? I understand you, Caina Amalas, child of the Ghosts. You are what you are because your father was murdered in front of you…just as I am what I am because my father was murdered in front of me.” Her red lips tightened into a hard line for a moment. “And because of the consequences of that murder.”

  Caina hesitated. She had seen the children Jadriga had kept captive in the black vaults below Black Angel Tower, had watched as Jadriga almost unleashed the demons from their prison. Maglarion, Sicarion, Ranarius, and Andromache had been Jadriga’s disciples, and Caina had seen the horror and death they had unleashed.

  Her own father had died at Maglarion’s hand, and the necromancer had almost destroyed Malarae. The Moroaica was a monster, an author of death and misery.

  Yet Jadriga’s father had been murdered in front of her, just as Caina’s had.

  If Jadriga had become such a monster, could Caina do the same? If she had the ability to wield sorcery, would she have become someone like Andromache or Agria Palaegus?

  Jadriga closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  She had just seen her father die again, and Caina knew what the felt like.

  She lived with the memory every day.

  “I’m…I’m sorry,” said Caina at last. She raised a hesitant hand and touched Jadriga on the shoulder.

  The Moroaica whirled, her face a mask of fury.

  “Do not touch me!” she said. “Do not ever touch me!” Caina stepped back in sudden alarm. “We are more alike than you know, child of the Ghosts. You slew Maglarion in vengeance for your father. But I made them pay. They say the Kingdom of the Rising Sun perished in its own dark sorcery? I unleashed that sorcery! I threw down their empire and ground it into the dust. I sealed the Great Pharaohs in their tombs and left them to scream for eternity in darkness and madness. I set Rhames’s spirit to burn, and cast it upon the desert winds for all time. I repaid the Great Pharaohs a thousand times over for what they did to me!” Her black eyes blazed. “But still it is not enough! Slay one tyrant and a dozen more take his place. The world is broken, Ghost, a prison of rot and decay that spawns monsters. The gods did this to us. They created this torture chamber of a world and left us to suffer in it! They will pay, Ghost! I will make them pay! I will see the gods themselves suffer as we have suffered, and repay them for all the agony their broken world ever wrought!”

  Her voice rose to a scream of fury, and the mists howled around them like a storm. Caina lost her footing and fell into nothingness, the gray mist swallowing her whole.

  ###

  An argument filled her ears.

  “The girl was always light-headed,” said Halfdan. “I fear the carnage has quite overloaded her nerves.” His voice carried a hint of reproach. “Had I know that we would see such…violence, certainly I would not have exposed her delicate sensibilities to it.”

  Mihaela’s laugh was mocking. “Pah, she faints at the sight of a little blood? It is just as well she was never a slave. She would not have lasted a week.”

  “Mihaela,” said Zalandris. “That is quite enough.”

  “Do not deny,” said the First Magus, “that she reacted to some flaw within the armor. This weapon of yours is no good if it poses a threat to any potential wielders.”

  “My design is perfect,” said Mihaela, “and…”

  Caina’s eyes opened.

  She lay upon the floor, the sullen red glow of molten metal painting the stone ceiling overhead. As she feared, a ring of people stood around her.

  It seemed that she had made a scene.

  “Ah,” said Mihaela with a sneer. “See? She has awakened. No harm done.”

  “Daughter,” said Halfdan, kneeling beside her. “Are you all right?”

  “I…I think so,” said Caina.

  Halfdan helped her to stand.

  Caina shot a quick look around the ring of faces. Some of them looked at her with amusement, but most with wariness. That was not good. If they held her in suspicion, it would make it that much harder to destroy the means of creating the glypharmor.

  She could think of only one way to dissuade them.

  Caina took a deep breath and started to cry. Theodosia had taught her how to cry on cue, and it proven useful. Contempt flashed over the faces of the ambassadors and sorcerers, while others simply looked embarrassed.

  “I’m…I’m so sorry, Father,” said Caina, trying to catch her breath. “I don’t…I don’t know what happened. I was looking at the armor, and I got so dizzy, and then…”

  She sobbed again and buried her face in his chest.

  “Ah, well,” said Halfdan, patting her on the shoulder. “No harm done. I suppose you’re just tired.”

  “Gods,” said Mihaela. “All this fuss over a crying girl?” She laughed. “Perhaps Irzaris has gotten her with child and thrown her moods into chaos.”

  “What?” said Irzaris. “I did nothing of the sort. My conduct toward Master Basil’s daughters has been nothing but honorable.”

  “I’m sorry to have…made such a scene,” said Caina. “I…I just do not feel well.”

  “Master Basil,” said Zalandris, “I suggest you take your kinfolk and retainers back to your rooms. Today’s business is concluded, and I will not listen to any offers until tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, my lord Sage,” said Halfdan, bowing to the Masked One. “Come along, daughter. Let’s fetch Irene and Cormark and get you to bed. You can tell us all about what happened.”

  Caina nodded and Halfdan put his arm around her shoulders and steered her away from the crowd. He would want to know what she had learned, and…

  “Wait.”

  Halfdan stopped. That voice sounded almost familiar…

  A Masked One stepped free from the crowd. Like the others, a jade mask covered his features, and he carried a rod of silvery metal in his left hand. Unlike the others, his right leg twitched and jerked as he walked, and he seemed in dire need of a cane.

  Caina felt a twinge of alarm.

  “Talekhris,” said Zalandris. “What is it?”

  “The girl may have been injured by the glypharmor’s sorcerous aura,” said Talekhris. “If she is sensitive to the presence of sorcery, the powers within the armor might have done her injury.”

  “That is a very remote possibility,” said Zalandris, raising a hand to forestall Mihaela’s protest.

  “Nevertheless,” said Talekhris. “She is a guest of the Scholae, and I would have no harm befall her.”

  “Very well,” said Zalandris. “If the girl consents to it.”

  “Your face,
” said Caina. “I want to see your face.”

  “So be it,” said Talekhris, lifting his jade mask.

  Caina stared into the face of the Masked One she and Corvalis had killed in Cyrioch.

  Chapter 11 - The Watcher

  “No,” said Caina. “No, Father, I don’t want to go with him. He frightens me.”

  But her mind spun furiously beneath the show of fear. How was Talekhris still alive? His mask and rod had disappeared from the Inn of the Defender, but Marzhod had dumped his corpse into Cyrioch’s harbor. Had Marzhod betrayed them?

  Or had Talekhris come back to life?

  Decius Aberon let out a nasty laugh. “Your daughter frightens easily, Master Basil.”

  “I fear,” said Halfdan, “that she inherited her mother’s sensitivities.”

  Caina certainly hoped not.

  “I can see why she would fear me,” said Talekhris. He was the same man they had seen in Cyrioch, Caina was sure of it, with the same blue eyes, the same limp, the same graying brown hair. “But I swear, Master Basil, that I will return your daughter unharmed to you. I will swear it on the names of whatever gods you wish, and offer whatever you want as surety.”

  Caina blinked. Talekhris wanted to talk to her. He needed to know something that she did. Or, he thought she knew something he needed to know.

  Either way, Caina could use that.

  “If…if you think it best, my lord Sage,” said Caina, looking up at Halfdan. “If you will allow it, Father.”

  “If it pleases you,” said Halfdan.

  “Yes,” said Caina. “I think it will.”

  For Talekhris certainly knew things that she needed to know. How he had survived Corvalis’s sword through his chest, for one. And perhaps he knew how Mihaela had built the glypharmor, and why the Moroaica had claimed necromancy had been used to create the armor. The Scholae forbade the practice of necromancy, which meant if Mihaela had somehow used necromantic spells to create the glypharmor, Caina had a chance of convincing the Masked Ones themselves to destroy the weapon.

  “Very well,” said Talekhris, beckoning. “Please come with me. We will be gone but a moment, Master Basil.”

  The Masked One led Caina from the Hall of Assembly.

  ###

  Caina followed Talekhris up a narrow flight of spiraling stairs. The Sage moved slowly, grunting in pain with every step.

  “That would go faster,” said Caina, “with a cane.”

  “So it would,” said Talekhris, not looking back. “But life is pain. It must be endured.”

  “Like a sword blade through the chest?” said Caina.

  He looked back at her, and she could not tell if he was angry or amused. “Yes. Precisely like that. Like the sword blade you rammed into my heart.”

  He stopped kept climbing, wincing with every step.

  At last the stairs ended, and they came to another grand hall, similar to the one where Zalandris and Mihaela had held their ghastly little demonstration. Stone pedestals stood here and there, and objects rested upon the pedestals, swords and shields and cups and daggers and bowls. In the center of the room a long staff of gray metal rested upon a coffin-sized plinth. Fingers of crimson flame danced around the staff, only to harden into glittering ice crystals a few moments later, and then to melt into flickering sparks of blue-white lightning.

  Caina’s skin crawled with the presence of potent sorcery.

  “What is this place?” said Caina.

  “The Chamber of Relics,” said Talekhris. “It is something of a museum. Here we house the most powerful artifacts wrought by the Scholae, objects too dangerous to ever see the light of day.” He pointed at a silver dagger upon a stone plinth, the blade sheathed in an ornate scabbard of silver and black. “That is the Stormbrand, capable of controlling the air with more power than the assembled stormsingers of the Kyracian people. That sphere will extinguish every fire within a ten mile radius, and transform the stolen heat into a weapon…”

  Caina had left her ghostsilver dagger in her room. Ghostsilver was proof against sorcery, and perhaps she could use it to destroy these objects.

  Or perhaps their sorcery was too strong for even ghostsilver.

  “And that,” said Talekhris, pointing at the strange staff as the lightning morphed back into flames, “is the Staff of the Elements.”

  “What does that do?” said Caina. “Light fires?”

  “Among other things,” said Talekhris. “It grants control over the primal elements, and it can awaken a greater elemental from its hibernation.”

  Caina blinked. “This thing can actually awaken a hibernating elemental?”

  “In an instant,” said Talekhris, “though it would not be under the command of the Staff’s wielder.”

  “Gods,” said Caina, remembering how long it had taken Ranarius to find a spell capable of awakening a greater elemental. “You could destroy the world with that staff. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I’m sorry?” said Talekhris.

  “The Scholae,” said Caina. “The Masked Ones claim to pursue knowledge for its own sake. But first you made that staff, and then the glypharmor! Do you seek for ways to destroy the world simply for your own amusement?”

  Talekhris looked away. “Once I would have dismissed you as ignorant. Now…now I do not know.” He took a deep breath. “But we are not here to discuss the failings of the Scholae.”

  “No, we’re not,” said Caina. “And I know why you brought me here.”

  “Why is that?”

  “You want to know,” said Caina, “if I am the Moroaica or not.”

  He stared at her in silence for a moment, his fingers tight around the metallic rod. Caina had seen him use it in Cyrioch, but she suspected Talekhris had only employed a small portion of its powers.

  “Are you?” said Talekhris.

  “You tell me,” said Caina.

  He scowled. “This is not a game.”

  “It is,” said Caina. “Your own Speaker is playing a game right now, even if he doesn’t realize it. Gathering together the most powerful and ambitious men in the world and throwing that weapon into their midst? There will be fighting before this is over. You might as well drop a dozen gladiators into a pit and offer to give the last one standing his freedom.”

  “You surprise me,” said Talekhris. “You are neither the weeping child I saw in the hall nor the happy woman I saw walking with her lover in Cyrica Urbana. Who is truly beneath those masks, I wonder?”

  “A Masked One accusing another of wearing a mask?” said Caina. She did not like his implication that she had been wearing a mask with Corvalis. “How poetical. But we did not come here for a debate, did we? Tell me why you think I am the Moroaica, and why you tried to kill me for it.”

  “The mask of a Sage,” said Talekhris, “grants many powers. One of them is the ability to see into the shadows of the netherworld.”

  “As the Anshani occultists do,” said Caina.

  “They possess the second sight,” said Talekhris, “but the mask bestows it to a far greater degree. With it, I beheld the Moroaica’s power within you.” He frowned. “And yet…and yet her aura has not subsumed yours, as it did with the others.”

  “Others?” said Caina.

  “I have fought the Moroaica in nine of her incarnations,” said Talekhris, “and slain her five times. At least those I can remember.” He shook his head. “Every time, she had dominated her host. Yet…I see two souls within you. I do not understand.”

  Neither did Caina. Talekhris claimed to have fought Jadriga nine times. She knew the Masked Ones lived for centuries, yet if Caina’s dream had been accurate, Jadriga had been born in Maat. And Maat had been destroyed over two thousand years ago.

  Just how old was Talekhris?

  “Nor do I understand,” said Caina, “why you are standing here now. I saw a sword go through your heart, and I know your corpse was dumped into the Cyrican Sea.”

  “I was,” said Talekhris. “It was most inconv
enient.”

  “So how are you still alive?” said Caina.

  “A bargain, then,” said Talekhris. The rod rested in loose fingers at his side, like a master swordsman readying his weapon for a strike. “You tell me if you are truly the Moroaica…and I shall tell you how I survived.”

  “Very well,” said Caina. “I slew the Moroaica in Marsis, and her spirit entered my body. But she is unable to control me. I was…scarred by sorcery when I was a child. Because of that damage, she occupies my body, but she cannot control me.”

  “Truly?” said Talekhris. “But…yes, I see. That makes a great deal of sense. Yes.” He frowned in chagrin. “So if I had slain you in Cyrica Urbana…”

  “Then you would have freed the Moroaica to claim another host,” said Caina. “You didn’t think that through, did you?”

  “Apparently not,” said Talekhris.

  “Now,” said Caina. “You will tell me. Why are you still alive?”

  “The Moroaica,” said Talekhris.

  “You are one of her disciples?” said Caina, wondering if Talekhris was a creature like Sicarion. Perhaps Talekhris had helped himself to a new heart from a hapless victim.

  “In fact,” said Talekhris, “she was mine.”

  “You taught her?” said Caina.

  “It was,” the lines of his face tightened in a frown, “nine hundred years ago. Or perhaps eight. I cannot recall. She claimed to be one of the Szaldic solmonari, come to study from the Sages of the Scholae. I took her as a Seeker. But soon I realized her knowledge far exceeded my own, and she possessed a profound mastery of ancient Maat’s necromantic sciences.” He shook his head. "But she fooled me long enough to learn many of the Scholae’s secrets. Eventually I discovered her deception and we fought. I thought I had driven her off...but she had taken all the knowledge she needed."

  "Nine hundred years ago?" said Caina. "Can the Sages truly live so long?"