He rippled and changed, and for an instant Caina wondered if the phobomorphic spirit had possessed him.
And then he vanished, and in his place stood…
All the moisture drained from Caina’s mouth, and her hands trembled.
In his place stood Halfdan.
He still wore a furred merchant’s robe and cap. Yet the tip of a bloody sword jutted from his chest, and his eyes blazed with hatred as they looked at Caina.
“Your fault!” he screamed.
“What?” said Caina.
“Sister?” said Corvalis, his voice shaking, but Caina barely heard him.
“Your fault,” hissed Halfdan. “You killed me. You killed me!”
“No!” said Caina. “Sicarion killed you. I tried to save you, I…”
Some part of her mind realized that this was wrong, that Halfdan couldn’t possibly be standing here before her. Yet grief and shame filled her heart in overpowering waves. She wanted nothing more than to run to him, to beg his forgiveness.
“This…no,” said Corvalis, his eyes wide, his voice hoarse. “Sister, no, I did…I did everything I could, I got you away from Ranarius, I…”
“Silence!” bellowed Halfdan, stepping closer. He had a sword in his right hand and an ugly, serrated dagger in his left. “What a miserable disappointment you are. I took you in, I turned you from a weeping orphan brat to a
Ghost nightfighter. And you killed me!” His face turned red with fury as he lifted his sword and dagger. “You left me to die! You let Sicarion kill me!”
“It’s not true!” said Corvalis. “I didn’t abandon you. I tried to save you, Claudia. I swear it, I…”
“I tried,” said Caina. “I tried so hard. I’m sorry, Halfdan. Please, forgive me, forgive me…”
The small part of her mind screamed at the wrongness before her eyes. Halfdan was dead. He could not be here! Yet she felt the tears sliding down her face, the grief striking her in terrible waves.
“Claudia,” said Corvalis, his voice little more than a hoarse croak. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, forgive me…”
“You deserve to die,” said Halfdan, grinning, “for what you did to me.”
“Yes,” whispered Caina.
Claudia. Why was Corvalis talking about Claudia? She was in the Agora with Lord Martin. Yet he was saying Claudia’s name as he looked at Halfdan.
Like he saw Claudia standing there, accusing him, instead of Halfdan.
A spell. Sicarion’s amulet. This had to be a spell of some kind, some trick of sorcery digging into her mind and twisting her emotions.
But it was too strong.
Every time Caina looked at Halfdan, the grief and pain struck her anew, so strong and so sharp that it took every shred of strength she possessed to keep from falling to her knees and weeping.
If it was a trick of sorcery, it was too strong for her to overcome.
She grabbed at the hood of her ragged cloak. Her shadow-cloak was hidden beneath it, and she yanked the cowl over her head, hoping to shield her mind from the effects.
Nothing happened.
“You think I am not real?” screamed Halfdan. “You think to hide from your crimes beneath a shadow-cloak? Then die! Die!”
He drew back his weapons to stab, and Caina stumbled back.
Corvalis made no move to defend himself, but only slid his weapons into their sheaths and spread his arms, as if awaiting death.
Halfdan grinned and turned to face him.
Caina screamed and threw herself into Corvalis, pushing him back. Halfdan’s blades missed them both by a few inches.
“No,” said Corvalis, “don’t, I deserve this…”
“This isn’t real!” said Caina.
Yet she could not convince herself of that. Her mind knew it had to be a spell. But the grief and the guilt were crippling. She had to get away. She had to get Corvalis away before Sicarion killed them both.
“Run!” said Caina.
Halfdan moved to block the trapdoor to the ladder, and Caina seized Corvalis’s hand. They ran from Halfdan, towards the edge of the roof, and jumped.
The city rushed up to meet them.
###
Sicarion blinked in surprise as Caina and Corvalis flung themselves from the rooftop.
That had worked even better than he had expected.
Once he donned the amulet, he had no idea what they would see when they looked at him. Apparently the sight had been so horrifying that they had thrown themselves to their deaths rather than face it.
He strolled to the edge of the roof, hoping to see their lifeless, broken bodies, and the smile faded.
They had jumped in the direction of the canal.
He was not sure if they had hit the canal. For that matter, he did not know if they could survive landing in the water from this height. He had survived falls from greater heights, of course, but he had been able to find replacement parts to repair his injuries after.
Caina and her imbecilic lover had no such abilities.
He could not see their bodies.
On the other hand, the corpses could even now be floating down the canal.
His smile returned. In the end, it was of no consequence if they had survived or not. Even if by some miracle they were uninjured, they could not face him. Not while he wore the amulet.
And if they could not face him…the nobles and magistrates gathered in the Agora certainly could not.
He shivered with pleasure at the thought of the carnage that he would unleash.
Sicarion returned the amulet to a pocket of his cloak and donned the golden mask once more, commanding it to give him the appearance of Caina Amalas in her finery. He felt the illusion wrap around him, and smiled behind the mask.
He had killed so many people over the centuries. Lords and magistrates, magi and occultists, rich and poor, noble and common, men and women and children from every walk of life.
But he had never killed an Emperor before.
Time to rectify that.
Chapter 16 - Dark Dreams
The procession made its way into the Agora of Nations, and Kylon saw the Imperial embassy awaiting them.
Ranks of Imperial Guards stood in orderly rows, clad in their black armor, their shields gleaming with mirror brightness upon their left arms, and he remembered their skill and valor from Marsis. Battle magi in black plate stood scattered among the Imperial Guards. Kylon respected the magi rather less than the men of the Imperial Guard, but he knew enough to be wary of their arcane power. Dozens of noblemen stood behind the Guards.
In their midst stood Alexius Naerius, Emperor of Nighmar.
Kylon’s first impression was that the Emperor looked tired. The Emperor was in his middle sixties, tall and erect in a ceremonial black robe with purple trim, his white hair and beard close-cropped. Yet the Emperor had ruled over the Empire for nearly thirty-five years, longer than Kylon had been alive, and he saw every one of those years upon Alexius Naerius’s face.
Sometimes the responsibilities of his titles seemed more than Kylon could bear, but he could not imagine the burdens of ruling such a vast Empire for three and a half decades.
Men were fools to crave such power.
“So that is the Emperor,” murmured Thalastre. “He looks like someone’s kindly grandfather.”
“He has no children, I fear,” said Kylon. “The Kindred assassins killed them all during power struggles in the Empire.”
“The poor man,” said Thalastre.
The procession stopped, facing the Imperial party, and the heralds stepped forward to offer formal welcome to the Emperor.
###
Claudia’s eyes swept back and forth over the Kyracians as she stood with Martin, trying to keep the tension from her face.
The spell to sense arcane force was not a difficult one, but it did require some concentration. It would look suspicious if she stood scowling at the Kyracians, but she would hardly be alone. The tension was thick, and even the commoners and slaves wa
tching the Agora had fallen quiet.
So many things could go wrong in the next few moments.
She felt dozens of minor spells around her, the wards surrounding the battle magi and the high magi who accompanied the Emperor. She sensed a similar number of wards around the stormsingers and stormdancers among the Kyracians. Yet there was no trace of the alien, Maatish sorcery she would detect from Rhames’s mask. Perhaps Caina and Corvalis had already killed Sicarion. Maybe Sicarion had not shown himself.
Or perhaps he was only waiting to strike.
She sensed a new spell as one of the stormsingers summoned power to amplify a herald’s voice.
“Citizens of New Kyre!” said the herald, his voice booming over the Agora like thunder. “Hearken and bear witness to the words of your Assembly. By the authority of Tiraedes, High Seat of House Cyrsalos, Archon and Speaker of the Assembly, the embassy of Alexius Naerius, Emperor of Nighmar, has been invited to New Kyre to discuss peace with the Kyracian people! The august Emperor of Nighmar himself has come to meet with the Assembly of New Kyre, that peace and amity may be restored between our two nations!”
Despite the danger, Claudia felt a flicker of amusement. It was a pleasantly neutral speech, and overlooked the fact that the Empire and New Kyre had been enemies and rivals since the fall of Old Kyrace at the end of the Third Empire.
Some of the Kyracians stepped into the empty space between the two parties. One was an old, silver-haired man who walked with quiet dignity, Lord Tiraedes, the Speaker of the Assembly. Other Kyracian nobles accompanied him, and Claudia spotted Kylon and Thalastre among them. Ashtairoi stood guard on either side of the party, proud in their gleaming cuirasses and plumed helms.
The Emperor walked to meet them. Lord Corbould and Lord Titus accompanied him, Lord Aeolus a dark shadow at Corbould’s side. From what Claudia understood, both Aeolus and Corbould had favored war to the bloody end with New Kyre, but would support the Emperor after he made his decision. Ark walked after Lord Corbould, the Champion of Marsis surviving as his patron’s bodyguard. Imperial Guards and a pair of battle magi flanked them.
The Emperor and Tiraedes stopped and greeted each other, speaking in low voices.
And Claudia felt a surge of arcane power.
She spun and saw a woman in a blue gown striding across the Agora, skirts rippling around her legs.
“Martin,” said Claudia. “Martin! It’s him.”
###
Ark turned as the Emperor and Lord Tiraedes fell silent, his hand falling to his sword hilt.
He recognized the blue-clad woman hurrying across the Agora. It was Caina, but Caina as she had appeared in Malarae, wearing a rich blue gown and gleaming jewelry, her hair and makeup perfectly arranged.
An illusion.
“That’s him!” said Ark. “That’s the assassin I told you about, Lord Aeolus!”
“Imperial Guards!” said Corbould. “Seize that woman at once!”
“I told you she was not to be trusted,” said Aeolus in a low voice.
“That’s not her,” said Ark, “that’s…”
“People of the Empire and New Kyre!” shouted the false Caina in Kyracian, a spell amplifying her voice. “My name is Caina Amalas! Once I was a Ghost of the Empire, but I betrayed my Emperor and murdered my comrades. I murdered Aiodan Maraeus and laughed as he died.” Corbould scowled, his hands curling into fists. “I confess all my crimes freely and without remorse, and now I have come to kill the Emperor!” She grinned, her eyes wild and full of madness. “And all the Kyracian Archons, while I am at it.”
“Enough!” said Corbould. “Take her into custody. We’ll deal with this renegade Ghost later.”
“My apologies, my lord Speaker,” said the Emperor. “I am sorry to trouble you with an internal matter.”
“It is of no concern,” said Tiraedes. “Clearly the woman has lost her mind.”
“My lords,” said Ark, “kill her now! She is not what she appears.” He did not know what Sicarion intended, and he certainly had not expected such a bold approach. How did Sicarion possibly think to prevail against so many foes? “Kill…”
“Better to take her alive and learn what she knows,” said Aeolus.
“Forgive the interruption, my lords,” said Kylon, “but I agree with the Champion. I believe that is Sicarion, an enemy I have faced before, and I urge you to kill him at once.”
“Him?” said Corbould. “That is clearly a woman, and she just admitted to murdering my son! She will stand trial for it, and…”
The false Caina grinned and reached into the front of her gown as a score of Imperial Guards moved around her. Ark caught a glimpse of a golden chain and a crystal vial, and Caina dropped the amulet over her head, the vial bouncing against her chest.
She rippled and disappeared.
Tanya appeared in her place.
Ark felt his breath catch in his throat, stepping back in surprise.
All around him, all through the Kyracian and Imperial nobles, men and women stared at Tanya in shock, their eyes widening, their mouths falling open in surprise. He saw a ripple go through the commoners surrounding the Agora, heard some of them scream in terror.
But he barely noticed them.
His eyes were fixed on Tanya.
She looked terrible, half-starved, her arms and legs little more than sticks. She wore filthy rags, her hair brittle and thin, her eyes glittering in her gaunt face. She carried something cradled in her thin arms, a small, motionless form…
Nicolai. She was holding Nicolai.
“Why did you abandon us?” said Tanya, her voice a scratchy whisper. Part of Ark’s mind wondered how he could hear her so clearly over the screams from the crowds, but pain and grief flooded him. The slavers had taken her and it was his fault. If he had not gone hunting that morning, if he had stayed in the village, perhaps he could have fought off Naelon Icaraeus’s slave traders. Perhaps he could have kept Tanya from her ordeal.
Perhaps Nicolai would not lie dead in her arms.
“No!” said Ark. “No, I didn’t, I swear I didn’t abandon you. I looked for you. For five years I looked for you.”
“You looked for me?” said Tanya, her voice rising to a shriek. “Did that help our son? Did you come in time to save Nicolai? He starved to death waiting for you!”
“I tried,” said Ark, “I tried to find you…”
Around him the Agora of Nations dissolved into shrieking pandemonium. Thousands upon thousands gaped at Tanya, some with frozen horror. Others had fallen to their knees, weeping and screaming and begging for forgiveness or mercy. Still others fled, howling for the gods to save them.
Why were they reacting that way? None of them knew Tanya. Why would her appearance frighten them so?
But the guilt and the pain consumed him.
“Tanya,” said Ark, but she sneered, spat, and flung the corpse of their son to the ground.
###
Claudia took a step back in fear.
Caina Amalas had vanished, and Claudia’s father stood in her place.
It was impossible. Decius Aberon had not accompanied the Emperor from Malarae, and remained at the Magisterium’s Motherhouse in Artifel. Yet her father stood there, plump and smug in his purple-trimmed black robes, his thick face sneering with contempt as he looked at her.
“Well, well,” he said. Somehow, even through the screaming chaos filling the Agora, she heard his resonant voice. “Little Claudia, my wayward child. I didn’t think you had such treachery in that pretty little face.”
“You’re a monster!” shouted Claudia. “I saw what you did to Corvalis. I’ve seen what you have done to your enemies!” A pair of Imperial Guards backed away, swords drawn, horror on their faces. “I will not join you!”
“Join you?” said the First Magus. “My dear foolish little daughter, you do get ahead of yourself. You betrayed me, and I never forgive betrayal. No, I’ve come to demand retribution.”
A battle magus fell to his knees near Claudia, wee
ping and begging for forgiveness.
“Retribution?” said Claudia, stammering over the word. She had always known that someday her father would come and take his revenge.
“Why, yes, of course,” said Decius. “Did you think I would forgive you? I’ve come to make you pay. I am going to burn out the arcane ability from you, break your mind beyond repair, and sell you into slavery. You’ll amuse some Istarish emir until your beauty fades, and then you’ll spend the rest of your life scrubbing dishes in his kitchens. But only after I kill your betrothed in front of you.” He strolled toward the Emperor, a sword in his right hand and a serrated dagger in his left. “How long do you think I can make him scream?”
“Martin!” shouted Claudia, tugging at his arm. “Martin!”
But he stared at Decius Aberon with stricken horror on his face.
“No,” said Martin, “listen to me, I thought it was the right decision, I did not send those men to die on purpose! I thought Lord Conn was wrong…”
Decius laughed with contemptuous amusement, and Claudia screamed.
###
Kylon drew his sword, intending to cut down the false Caina before Sicarion could attack.
But before he could move, she disappeared…and Andromache appeared in her place.
Kylon’s mouth fell open in surprise.
She looked little different than when he had last seen her two years ago in Marsis, the day Sicarion had lured her to Scorikhon’s tomb. She wore a red gown with black sleeves, her long black hair bound in a thick braid. She looked serene and calm as ever, a pillar of determination and sorcerous strength.
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.”
Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 09 - Ghost in the Surge Page 19