Child of the Ghosts

by Jonathan Moeller

  That hadn’t happened for a long time.

  Was Maglarion himself here?

  She shivered at the thought.

  “Your expression, my lady, is positively baleful.”

  Alastair Corus stopped before her, stark in his black coat and boots, sword hanging at his belt. He passed her a silver flute of wine, and Caina took it.

  “It is rather colder in here than I expected,” said Caina, sipping at the wine. “That’s all.”

  “Ah,” said Alastair. “Is that it? I’ve been in many battles, my lady, and I’ve seen the faces of the men as they charge the enemy. I daresay you could put a fright into them.”

  Caina raised an eyebrow. “You are saying, sir, that I look like a charging Legionary? How terribly flattering.”

  Alastair laughed. “I made a botch of that, didn’t I?” He hooked his elbow through her arm. “Come, let us walk together. That will help keep you warm.”

  Caina pulled free from him. “Perhaps you should walk with your wife, instead.”

  A grimace flickered over his face. “I would be delighted to walk with my wife, if she did not hate me so much.”

  Caina blinked. “Your wife hates you?”

  He had never mentioned that before.

  “The soldiers under my command,” said Alastair, “they are not supposed to marry. But many of them have women in the camps and the garrison towns. They have something to look forward to, when they return from the field.” His mouth twisted. “But not me. My wife has always hated me. Our fathers forced us to marry, and she has never forgiven me. She thinks that I’m beneath her, you see.”

  “My…mother,” said Caina. “My mother treated my father in much the same way. I’m sorry.”

  Alastair shrugged. “Well, what’s done is done. So you can hardly blame me if I decide to attend balls and walk with lovely women instead of going home to listen to my wife complain that I will not give her more money for shoes.”

  Caina thought for a moment, and then smiled.

  “You know,” she said, “I think a walk would warm me up.”

  And it would give her an excuse to look around the mansion.

  Alastair laughed. “Perhaps I cannot fit you into my schedule.”

  “So you’d rather go home to your wife?” said Caina.

  Alastair sighed. “You make an excellent point.”

  He extended his arm, and Caina grinned and put hers through it.

  “Well,” she said, “where shall we walk? Lord Haeron’s mansion is so grand. I should really like to see more of it.”

  Alastair snorted. “Grand? Gaudy and tasteless is more like it. A giant marble monument to the tiresome old blowhard’s vanity. But if you want to see more of it, see more of it you shall. I could never refuse a pretty woman anything.”

  Caina laughed and turned her head.

  Maglarion was staring at her

  She froze in sudden terror.

  He stood on the highest balcony, arms clasped behind his back, gazing down at the ball. And like Haeron Icaraeus and Lord Corthios, he looked younger. Much younger, in fact. His hair was black and thick, his arms and chest heavy with muscle beneath his coat. Yet she recognized his face, his expression, the black patch covering his left eye.

  She would recognize him anywhere.

  He stared at her, and Caina was a child again, chained to that cold metal table as Maglarion raised his glittering dagger to her father’s throat…

  “Countess?” said Alastair. “Marianna? Are you all right?”

  And then Caina realized that Maglarion was not staring at her. He was simply looking over the ballroom. Even if he had noticed her, no doubt he only saw yet another noblewoman in a silk gown. If he remembered her at all, he would remember a terrified girl in ragged, bloodstained clothing.

  Alastair frowned at her. Caina chastised herself for losing control.

  “That man,” she said, recovering her poise, “that fellow on the balcony, the one with the patch over his eye. Who is that?”

  “That charlatan?” said Alastair with a laugh. “He’s one of Lord Haeron’s pets. An outlaw magus, or a renegade sorcerer. The man claims to have all sorts of mystical powers to roll back death and aging. His hair was white at first, but now he’s dyed it black.” He laughed. “The more foolish noblewomen take that as proof that he has power over death.”

  “A charlatan,” murmured Caina. “Of course.”

  Charming Alastair might have been, but he was not very observant.

  Then Caina saw Julia walking along the balcony, speaking to another noblewoman. Maglarion’s head turned, and he stared at them for a moment. A smile spread over his face, and he started after Julia.

  He walked without a limp and a cane now, Caina noticed.

  Dread rose in her throat. Julia had never seen Maglarion, had only heard him described as an old man with a cane. She would never recognize him, not until it was too late, and if Maglarion decided to harm her…

  “Excuse me for a moment,” said Caina. “I will return quickly.”

  Alastair frowned. “Does my company displease you so, Countess?”

  “Not at all,” said Caina.

  “Don’t tell me you’re going to go talk to that old charlatan,” said Alastair. “He’ll fill your head with nonsense.”

  “Of course not,” said Caina. “But my dear friend Lady Julia is very vain, and she is susceptible to such charlatans. If I leave her alone with him, he’ll have her spending a fortune on potions and other nonsense.”

  Alastair tilted his head. “You…have more grit to you than I expected, my lady.”

  “Perhaps you’ll see more of my grit yet, my lord,” said Caina, and she slipped his grasp.

  She hurried up the stairs to the fourth-story balcony. The gallery beyond was deserted, save for a lone Kindred assassin, keeping watch on the guests below. Caina looked back and forth, her heart racing. Perhaps Maglarion had moved on. But she still had to warn Julia against him…

  A voice came to her ears, kindly and wise, and she shivered in recognition.

  It was Maglarion.

  “You are more prominent than you think, Lady Julia of House Morenna,” he said. “Your web of social influence extends throughout the capital and beyond.”

  “You are too kind, sir,” said Julia, her voice smooth as glass. “I am only a poor widow who enjoys the company of a few friends. Nothing more.”

  Caina ducked behind a pillar and peered around it.

  She saw Julia standing near the ornate marble railing, Maglarion a few paces away. Julia wore her polite smile, the one she used when dealing with lords she found offensive. Maglarion’s expression was predatory. He looked like a wolf cornering a sheep.

  Looking at him made Caina’s skin crawl. She felt the arcane power rolling off him, like waves of heat rising from an inferno. He seemed stronger, so much stronger, than he had seven years ago. Had he always been this powerful, and she had never realized it? Or had he indeed gotten stronger?

  “A poor widow,” said Maglarion, touching her wrist. “It need not be so.”

  Julia’s smile thinned. “You are too forward, sir. Too forward by far.”

  “Not at all,” said Maglarion. “I propose not a crude liaison, but something better.” His voice dropped. “You can be young again, Lady Julia.”

  Julia gave a mocking little laugh. “You can roll back age, then? Time itself?”

  “I can,” said Maglarion. “I have mastered the arcane sciences to a degree not seen since the Fourth Empire. The magi of the modern Magisterium are as children next to my power. And I can make you a young woman once again.”

  Julia said nothing.

  “You’ve seen what I’ve done for Lord Haeron, Lord Corthios, Lady Aureon, and the others,” said Maglarion. “Do they not look younger, the years wiped from their faces? Join us. I can do the same for you. I will make you young again. You are a widow, you say? You can find a new husband, one worthy of you, can bear sons and daughters again. All this I wil
l give you if you follow me.”

  Julia shivered. “I…I…”

  Caina had never seen her so flustered.

  “Do your scruples stop you?” said Maglarion. “Cast them aside. They are only chains that hold you back. I can give you immortality. Surely that is worth any price.”

  “Immortality?” said Julia. “The nature of man is mortal. His fate is to die. At what price comes your immortality? I have heard that Haeron Icaraeus buys vast quantities of slaves…slaves that always seem to disappear. What use do you find for them, I wonder?”

  “It is the natural order of things,” said Maglarion, his smile hardening. “The weak prey upon the strong. And with the aid of arcane science, the strong can use the weak to live forever. So, Lady Julia Morenna? Are you weak or strong?”

  “Your definition of strength is flawed,” said Julia, lifting her chin. “To accept one’s fate with courage…that is strength. Slaughtering innocents to stave off inevitable death, that is weakness. And cowardice.”

  “Or blind folly,” said Maglarion. “I have conquered death itself. What matter the price?”

  “No,” said Julia, her voice and face cold. “Thank you, sir, for your most generous offer. But I am afraid that I must decline.”

  She turned to go.

  “I think not,” said Maglarion.

  He gestured, and Caina felt a surge of arcane power.

  And Julia froze in place.

  “I’m afraid you know too much now, my lady,” said Maglarion. “More than is…healthy, shall we say? You claim to have no political interests, but I suspect you are friendly with the Loyalists. Which means you’ll run and tell your little tale to the Ghosts. And the Ghosts are an annoyance that I can do without.”

  Caina’s heart pounded with terror. Maglarion was going to kill Julia.

  Or do worse things to her.

  “So I’m going to have to silence you, I’m afraid,” said Maglarion, stroking her cheek. Julia trembled, but did not move, caught in the power of his spell.

  Caina had to act.

  She ripped the left sleeve from her gown and wound it around her head, forming a makeshift mask. Then she kicked off her heeled boots, the marble floor cold against her bare feet.

  Then she glided forward without a sound.

  She didn’t dare get too close to Maglarion. She suspected his powers would make it difficult, if not impossible, to catch him unawares. And her only chance was to catch him by surprise. Her terror remained, but her mind became cold, focused, clear. Akragas and Sandros and Halfdan and Riogan had trained her well.

  The Kindred assassin still walked through the pillars of the gallery, looking left and right. Caina crept behind him, slipping a throwing knife into her hand. Then she leapt, her arm wrapping about his throat, her feet tangling in his ankles.

  The assassin was good. He twisted, pushing her away, but Caina hammered the handle of the throwing knife into his skull, behind his ear. He went rigid, and Caina slammed the handle down twice more. The assassin went limp, and she lowered him the floor.

  She yanked his crossbow free from his harness. In his belt she found a small vial of poison, as she expected. She jammed a quarrel into the bow, drawing back the bolt, and poured the poison over the quarrel’s razor-edged head.

  Then she crept across the balcony, the crossbow ready in her hands.

  One shot. She had one chance at this.

  Maglarion still stood before a paralyzed Julia, touching her face. He hadn’t killed her yet. He liked to talk, Caina remembered, and enjoyed listening to himself.

  “I could just wipe your memory,” said Maglarion. “But you had the temerity to mock me. Not that your opinion matters at all, of course. But it showed that you are weak, unworthy to attain immortality as I have.”

  Caina crept closer, raising the crossbow. Sandros had shown her how to use them, but she’d never been very good. Closer. She had to get closer. The heavy quarrel could explode Maglarion’s head like a rotten melon. If she hit him wrong, the quarrel would go right through him and into Julia.

  “So I will kill you,” said Maglarion. “But simply cutting your throat…ah, that would be wasteful, would it not? Especially when I can harvest your death. Death is like…fire, you know. Just as fire produces warmth and heat, so does death produce power. Power that a skilled necromancer can use and store.” His smile widened, and he patted her cheek. “I think I’ll feed your life force to Lord Haeron. A birthday present for him, eh?”

  Caina leveled the bow. A little closer, a little closer…

  “Come with me,” said Maglarion, and Caina felt another surge of power. Julia took a step forward, face slack, eyes glassy. “Follow me, and you shall see wonders and horrors. Before you die…”

  He turned, and his good eye widened as he saw Caina.

  She squeezed the trigger. The crossbow heaved, and the heavy quarrel plunged into Maglarion’s chest. Blood splashed across his white shirt, and he staggered back.

  She threw aside the bow and ran at him, a throwing knife falling into her hand. She flung the blade, and then another, both knives burying themselves in Maglarion’s mutilated chest, the blows knocking him back against the marble railing. Then she drew her last throwing knife and leapt upon him, burying the blade in his throat. He toppled, and she shoved.

  Maglarion overbalanced and tumbled over the railing.

  She heard his bones shatter as he struck the ballroom's hard marble floor.

  Julia flinched and shook her head, the glassy look vanishing from her eyes. Shocked screams rose from the ballroom. Caina ducked behind the railing, relieved that she had thought to mask herself, and peered through the ornate balustrade.

  Maglarion lay motionless in a pool of his own blood.

  She could not believe it had been that easy. That man had terrorized the innocent for centuries, and she had killed him in the space of a few heartbeats.

  Then Maglarion started to move.

  He pushed himself to his feet, and Caina heard the crackling as his broken bones moved back into position.

  A horrified silence fell over the ballroom.

  Maglarion reached up, ripped the quarrel and the throwing knives from his chest. Blood gushed over his hands, further soaking his shirt, but the wounds closed as Caina watched. He sighed, and massaged his torn throat as the wound closed.

  “That,” he announced, his voice rusty, “hurt.”

  He looked up, and Caina flinched.

  The fall had torn away his eye patch. A green bloodcrystal filled his left eye socket, shining with the emerald fire that Caina associated with necromantic spells. It had been there all along, she realized, enhancing his sorcery, and no doubt giving him other abilities.

  A poisoned bolt, three throwing knives, and a forty-foot fall hadn't killed him.

  They hadn’t even hurt him very much.

  Maglarion’s good eye narrowed as he stared at her, and she felt the surge of power.

  “Stop him!” Caina screamed. “He’s planning to assassinate the Emperor!”

  The Imperial Guards took one look at the bloody man with the growing green eye and rushed him.

  "Run!" Caina yelled, grabbing Julia's arm.

  Maglarion gestured, and the Imperial Guards flew backwards, seized by invisible force. He lifted his hand, pointing at the balcony, and Caina felt the sudden sharp spike of arcane power, like tiny needles digging into her skin.

  She ran faster, half-dragging Julia along.

  Maglarion thrust out his palm, and the balcony...

  ...exploded.

  The roar filled Caina's ears, and the shock knocked her to the ground. Shards of shattered marble rained in all directions. Caina scrambled to her feet, pulling Lady Julia along with her.

  She risked a glance over her shoulder, saw the Imperial Guards running at Maglarion. But Maglarion made a hooking motion, and the falling debris from the shattered balcony changed direction and rained upon the charging Guards in a storm of stone. Chunks of marble smashed blac
k helmets and crushed black cuirasses, and the Guards fell dead to the floor. Caina heard screams as the terrified nobles fled the ballroom.

  She saw Maglarion turn towards the damaged balcony, felt his sorcerous strength gather for another strike.

  "Go!" said Caina, pulling on Julia's arm. "Run. Run!"

  They sprinted across the damaged gallery, towards the stairs.

  Then the entire mansion shook like a dying animal, and the roar of collapsing masonry filled her ears. Maglarion had simply ripped apart the balconies, she realized, letting them fall in an avalanche to the ballroom floor. Her heart raced with terror, and she half-ran, half-stumbled down the trembling steps, Julia behind her. She had been terrified of Maglarion, and his voice had filled her nightmares for years.

  But she had never dreamed that he possessed that kind of raw power. Little wonder he had lived for centuries.

  Little wonder the Ghosts had not been able to kill him.

  Caina led Julia through the mansion's back corridors, past crowds of terrified servants, and into the gardens. Their coachman had fled in the chaos, so they made their way back to Julia's townhouse on foot.

  Maglarion did not pursue them.

  ###

  The attack threw the Imperial capital into an uproar.

  Rumors filled Malarae about the renegade sorcerer who had attacked Lord Haeron's birthday celebration, a dozen different contradictory accounts repeated in the taverns and inns. Some said that the sorcerer had arrived to kill Lord Haeron, and Lord Haeron's allies among the Magisterium had fought him off. Others said that Haeron had hired the sorcerer to kill the Emperor, and the Ghosts had ambushed the sorcerer, killing him before the Emperor could arrive.

  In a few days, both Lord Haeron and the Magisterium announced a reward of a hundred thousand denarii for the man's head.

  Caina laughed aloud when she heard that.

  ###

  Four days after the attack, she went to join Lady Julia for tea.

  Halfdan stood next to Julia's chair, again disguised as the wealthy merchant Basil Callenius.

  "My dear," he said, putting down his cup of tea, "you really made quite a stir."

  Caina shrugged. "I didn't know what else to do. Maglarion would have killed Julia, otherwise."

  "Or worse," said Julia, taking a sip of tea. "Caina saved my life, and possibly my soul, as well."