“From claiming the bloodcrystal,” said Anashir. “Such power would help her fulfill her purpose after so many centuries. Indeed, she has never wavered from that purpose, not in all the millennia since she left the realm of the noble pharaohs a haunted ruin. She has grown mighty, and I had no wish to face her or her minions alone.”
“And you are the one,” said Caina, “who started the cult of Anubankh.”
Anashir laughed. “Why, yes! Very good.” He sounded like a teacher condescending to praise a pupil. “You are as clever as I believe. What a useful tool you have made! A pity you are too clever to enslave permanently.”
“Then your story about Rhames, about a Great Necromancer of Maat,” said Caina, “was nothing but a fiction?”
“Almost,” said Anashir. “I had no wish to face the Moroaica alone, but neither did she have a wish to face me. I knew she would send her minions,” he waved a hand in Maena’s direction, “her filthy abominations, created through a perversion of the blessed arts of the Great Necromancers. But how best to destroy my enemies?”
He gazed at the waiting ranks of the cultists. They hung on his every word, followers awaiting the command of their god. Yet Anashir had all but admitted that he had started the cult to achieve his ends. So why did those men still follow him?
Something uneasy started to stir in the back of her mind.
And then she saw Corvalis.
He was moving, inch by painful inch, towards Anashir. A militia spear gleamed in his right hand. He trembled and twitched, but kept his feet, making his slow way towards the edge of sigil.
His tattoos. They gave him a measure of resistance to sorcery. Just enough, it seemed, to allow him to move.
And if he got close enough to throw the spear at Anashir…
Caina had told keep his attention.
“So,” she said, “you wanted to gather your enemies in one place?”
“Indeed,” said Anashir, turning from his followers. “I knew the Moroaica would send her disciples to stop me, once she learned of my existence. And I knew the Ghosts would try to intervene as well. It is remarkable, how your brotherhood has endured over the centuries, from the Second Empire to the Fifth Empire. I knew better than to underestimate you, and that you would act to stop me if you learned of my plans. Better to strike preemptively and rid myself of your threat.”
“So you allowed Jurius and Ephaltus to take Dustblades,” said Caina.
Corvalis inched closer, a grim shadow in his hooded cloak.
“Yes,” said Anashir. “Their attacks would almost certainly fail, of course.” From the corner of her eye she saw the rage flash across Kylon’s face. “But I knew they would draw the attention of the Ghosts, and they would be useful harbingers of the new age I shall bring upon the earth.”
“And once we were here,” said Caina, “you drew us into a confrontation with Maena.” She could not tell if Maena was alive or dead.
“Filthy creature,” said Anashir. “Such a thing is an abomination, moving the spirit of a man into the body of a woman. Nevertheless, the abomination was powerful, and a risk to my plans.”
“The Moroaica,” said Maena, her voice a trembling croak, “the Moroaica will stop you.”
“She may try,” said Anashir, “and if she does, I shall crush her like the cowardly spider that she is.”
Caina blinked. She had seen Jadriga’s power firsthand. The ancient sorceress was the strongest wielder of arcane force Caina had ever seen.
Yet Anashir seemed so confident.
“I was not sure if you would serve my purposes, not at first,” said Anashir. “You had no sorcerous power, even if you managed to secure the aid of that fool Talekhris. But then I saw how you infiltrated Maena’s camp, how you escaped Caer Magia. Few could manage such a feat.”
“And since we caught your eye,” said Caina, “you decided to use us to get at Maena.”
“I did,” said Anashir. “And you have proven effective. I did not know if you would overcome the Moroaica’s pet abomination, or if the abomination would destroy you all. But it did not matter. That was not your purpose.”
“No,” said Caina. Corvalis had moved noticeably closer, but still Anashir did not notice him. Perhaps, like many sorcerers, he placed too much confidence in his spells. “No, the purpose was to gather all your enemies in one place…where you could lay a trap and destroy them all in a single stroke.”
“Ah!” said Anashir with delight, and he clapped his hands. “A pity you have no arcane talent. You would have made a worthy acolyte and risen high in the new order.”
“If I am so clever,” said Caina, “why didn’t I see your trap?”
Corvalis was closer now. Just a little further…
“There is no shame in that,” said Anashir. “You simply faced a superior intellect. As well might a child try to defeat a grandmaster at chess. The child may make a good showing, of course, but she is simply overmatched.”
“And so you have all your enemies in one place,” said Caina. “What’s next? You take the Ascendant Bloodcrystal and make yourself a god, the tyrant of the earth?”
“Yes and no,” said Anashir. “Yes, I will take the bloodcrystal. But I will not make myself into a god. Such an act would be blasphemous to the true gods. Instead I shall use it to restore the world to proper order. I shall repair that which was torn asunder so long ago.”
“And that is?” said Caina.
“Alas,” said Anashir, lifting his right hand. “You will not live to witness it. None of you will. Time is pressing, and I must enter the Chamber of Ascension ere the Moroaica spins a new web. Farewell, Ghosts. Know that your deaths will bring about a new and better…”
In one smooth motion, Corvalis flung the spear.
It plunged into Anashir’s chest, the point erupting from his back. Anashir stumbled, eyes wide with shock. The seset-kadahn whirled and drew his khopesh, his bronze mask turning towards Corvalis. Caina waited for Anashir to fall, braced herself for the hulking bodyguard to charge into the sigil.
But Anashir raised his hand.
“Hold,” he said, the spear’s shaft still jutting from his chest.
Maena started to laugh, her voice a croaking wheeze as blood bubbled from her lips.
“A fine throw,” said Anashir. “You would have made a worthy slave, perhaps even a bodyguard for one of the pharaoh’s minor officials.” He stepped closer to the symbol’s glowing edge. The spear in his torso did not even appear to pain him. “But a futile effort.”
“Why didn’t that kill you?” said Caina.
“A flaw in your logic, Ghost,” said Anashir, pulling the spear from his flesh. No blood marked the weapon, and he tossed it aside. “Two flaws, to be precise. First, that I can be killed. I cannot. I died a long, long time ago.”
The uneasy sensation in the back of Caina’s mind grew sharper.
“And the second?” she said.
“And the second,” said Anashir, lifting his hands, “is that you assumed Rhames is a fiction I created.”
He rubbed his hands over his face, and when he lifted them, a gleaming golden mask covered his features. The mask was identical to the one the seset-kadahn wore, save that it was fashioned of gleaming gold.
“You were almost exactly wrong,” said Anashir. “Rhames was not a fiction I created. Anashir was the fiction.”
He pulled the mask away from his face.
Caina heard herself curse.
The face of a man dead for centuries stared at her. It was a skull covered in leathery, mummified skin, the withered lips drawn away from yellow teeth, the nose a black crater. Green flames flickered in the empty eye sockets. And yet, despite centuries of decay, Caina recognized the features.
She had seen them in a dream, on the face of the Great Necromancer Rhames as he ordered the death of Jadriga’s father.
And if he truly was a Great Necromancer, then he did indeed have power greater than the Moroaica. Maat was dust, its black sorcery and tyranny a half-for
gotten tale of terror, and yet this creature had walked in the Kingdom of the Rising Sun as a living man.
The cultists fell to their knees before him.
“Hail!” they roared in unison. “Hail the servant of great Anubankh! Maat rises!”
“Rhames,” said Caina.
The horrid skull turned towards her.
“Then you understand at last,” said the undead thing. Neither the jaw nor the withered lips moved, but Caina heard the resonant voice with perfect clarity.
“But Jadriga destroyed you,” said Caina. “You murdered her father.”
“Murder?” said Rhames. The Great Necromancer actually sounded offended. “I did no such thing. I executed a man for resisting the lawful commands of his pharaoh. And he should have been honored, the wretched fool. His daughter was among the most beautiful in all the Kingdom of the Rising Sun, and she had been chosen to serve the pharaoh as one of his concubines. She was made Undying to serve the pharaoh for all eternity as his slave and companion. What greater honor could any subject of Maat wish? But perhaps I should have seen it. The girl was too blind, too stupid to see the honor paid to her…and the grief of her father’s death tainted her transformation into Undying.”
“And so she destroyed you,” said Caina.
“Not at first,” said Rhames. The emerald flames in his eye sockets flared. “We spent centuries in the pharaoh’s tomb, serving him as was proper. Yet the pharaoh was buried with a complete library of the works of Maat, including the sorcery of the Great Necromancers. And the abomination you know as the Moroaica studied those works. It takes centuries to achieve mastery, but what is time to one of the Undying? She studied those works, and achieved skill in sorcery that no living mortal could match. She broke free of the pharaoh’s tomb, destroying it in the process, and turned her wrath upon Maat. Yet even that was not enough to sate her fury, and she rampages the world to this day.”
“Then why are you here?” said Caina. “I cannot believe she would have spared you.”
“She didn’t,” said Rhames. “Six of my canopic jars she destroyed, and she bound my spirit upon the desert’s burning wind, to scream my thirst and pain forever.” For the first time a note of anger entered that resonant voice. “Yet she missed the seventh jar. In time, I rebuilt myself, and grew strong enough to possess a corpse once more.”
“So you came here to take revenge,” said Caina.
“In part,” said Rhames, “but I have a greater goal. The magi of the Fourth Empire were fools, but they did recreate a weapon of the Great Necromancers. They lacked the wisdom to wield it, but I do not. With that weapon I shall rebuild the Kingdom of the Rising Sun. Your corrupt Empire, the fools of New Kyre, and the decadent lords of Anshan shall all burn, and the commoners shall be returned to their proper roles as slaves for their superiors. Blood will flow upon the altars of the gods of Maat again. I shall choose a new pharaoh in the name of the gods, and train a new generation of Great Necromancers to ensure the noble and the worthy become Undying. And the Kingdom of the Rising Sun shall stand anew, built upon the ashes of the Empire and Anshan, stronger and more powerful than ever. The world shall be brought to order. Maat shall rise again.”
“Maat rises!” roared the cultists in unison.
“A mad plan,” said Caina.
“It is not,” said Rhames. “For there are none with the strength to stop me. Not even the abomination you name the Moroaica. Nor you…even if you survived. Farewell, Ghost. You die with my thanks, for you helped ensure the rebirth of great Maat.”
He gestured and turned to join the waiting cultists.
And as he did, the sigil flared with burning power.
Caina went rigid, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to even blink. The great sigil went from blue to yellow to a sullen red-orange, and she felt the power double, and double again.
The air grew hot around them, the ground shaking beneath her boots.
The spell was going to burn them ashes.
Just as well she had sent Muravin back to Calvarium. This way Mahdriva would not be left an orphan.
Caina tried to turn her head, tried to see Corvalis. They had failed, and Caina wanted to see him one last time before she died.
Before they both died.
How odd that for all her fears that she would die first, they would wind up dying together.
But she could not turn her head to see him, and the spell howled around her.
Chapter 23 - The Oldest Enemies
“No,” said a woman’s voice, cold and calm.
Power snarled through the air, mighty sorcery straining against Rhames’s sigil. The symbol turned yellow, and then blue, its light flickering. A thunderclap rang out, and the sigil vanished, leaving only charred lines burned into the earth.
The power holding Caina dissipated.
She stumbled forward, coughing and gasping. Martin helped Claudia to her feet, Kylon and Harkus stood with their weapons raised, and Corvalis rushed to her side.
“Are you all right?” said Corvalis.
“I think so,” said Caina, looking around. Rhames, his seset-kadahn, and the cultists had vanished. So had the surviving militiamen and men of the Order. How long had they been trapped within the Great Necromancer’s spell?
Caina had no idea.
She turned, trying to figure out what had happened.
The first thing she saw was Sicarion. The scarred assassin stood near a tent, his cowl raised. Yet she still saw the amused smile on his twisted lips. Next to him stood a woman in a red gown with a vest of black leather, her black hair stirring in the night wind…
“Alexandra?” said Caina, shocked. “Get away from him! Now!”
“Go!” said Martin. “Run, now. Go back to the magistrates’ hall! This is no place for a girl!”
Caina started forward, ghostsilver dagger in hand, but Alexandra merely raised a hand.
“There is, child of the Ghosts,” said Alexandra, “no need for violence. Not quite yet.”
Those words, and their tone, sent a chill down Caina’s spine.
Because recognized them.
“No,” said Caina.
“I’m afraid so,” said Alexandra, and she gestured.
Her form rippled and changed. Her gown and vest remained the same, but Alexandra became older, taller, more muscular. She became a woman in her middle thirties, tall and strong, with long black hair and icy blue eyes.
“Mihaela?” said Claudia, walking to Caina’s side. Martin, Harkus, and Kylon followed her, weapons in hand. “But that’s…that’s impossible. The destruction of the Forge wiped your mind, left you…”
“That’s not Mihaela,” said Caina, her throat dry. “That’s someone else wearing Mihaela’s body.”
Silence answered her, and Sicarion’s mocking smile widened.
“Oh,” said Corvalis at last. “Damn.”
“The Moroaica,” said Caina.
“The ancient evil,” said Harkus, lifting his crossbow. “The dark force the Sage has sworn to destroy.”
Sicarion laughed. “If the Sage is so wise, then why do I find it so easy to keep stabbing him in the back?”
“Enough,” said the Moroaica, lifting a hand. “This is not the time to squabble among ourselves.”
“Squabble?” said Harkus. “Squabble? The Sage and our Order have opposed you for centuries, have fought against your evil at every turn. Our differences far transcend a mere squabble.”
“I know nothing of this ancient war of sorcerers,” said Martin, pointing his sword at Jadriga and Sicarion, “but if you are responsible for the mayhem that has come to my province, I will see you punished for it.”
Sicarion gave a nasty laugh and lifted his blades.
But the Moroaica remained as calm as ever. “To fight each other now would be folly, because we face a far greater foe.”
“Rhames,” said Corvalis. “You mean Rhames.”
Jadriga looked at him, and Caina saw a strange twitch go over her face. It was gone
in an instant, but it looked like…it looked like…
Affection.
She remembered how Alexandra had reacted whenever Corvalis had been near, how she had confessed her infatuation. Apparently that had not been part of the disguise. But why? Why would the Moroaica care about Corvalis?
Because she remembered him.
Her spirit had inhabited Caina’s body for nearly a year, as part of the botched possession, and when her spirit had left to take Mihaela’s body, Jadriga had inadvertently taken a copy of Caina’s memories.
Including her memories of Corvalis.
And if those memories had taken root, if Jadriga was indeed in love with Corvalis…
Sick dread flooded Caina. The Moroaica could kill her with ease, could twist Corvalis’s mind away from her. Or she could kill Caina and use spells of illusion to make herself look like Caina. Corvalis might not ever know.
But the Moroaica’s expression remained cold, and the moment passed.
“Yes,” said Jadriga. “Rhames.” Fury shivered beneath the ice of her voice. “You think me dangerous, Harkus of the Venatorii? Then you know nothing of the Kingdom of the Rising Sun, nothing of the Great Necromancers of old Maat. Rhames will unleash sorcerous tyranny unlike any this world has seen in millennia.” She looked at Caina, and then at Martin. “And you, Lord Governor? You wish to defend your Empire? Rhames will burn the Empire and build a new Kingdom of the Rising Sun upon the ashes. He will kill your Emperor, your nobles, your Lord Governors and your Legions, and he will make your people slaves.” She spread her arms. “We may fight each other, if you wish. But if we do, Rhames will triumph, and he will destroy the Empire and enslave its people.”
“This is preposterous,” said Harkus. “My lord, do not listen to her. This is some web, some deceit that she is spinning.”
“I often lie,” said the Moroaica, “but now, I speak only the truth. Rhames seeks the Ascendant Bloodcrystal. If he claims it, he will use its power to enslave you all.”
“And what of you?” said Harkus. “Suppose you destroy Rhames? Will you not claim the bloodcrystal for yourself?”
“Of course,” said the Moroaica. “But I will not use it to enslave you. Instead I will use it to set you free. Free from suffering, free from pain, free from death. With that bloodcrystal I will reforge the world into a new and better form…and make the gods themselves pay for the cruelties they have inflicted upon us.”
Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 08 - Ghost in the Mask Page 26