The Ghosts Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  "Put it on," said Halfdan.

  Caina donned the cloak and pulled up the cowl. It felt almost weightless, yet she saw how it blurred into the shadows, making it seem as if she were part of the darkness.

  It felt...

  It felt right.

  "Welcome home, nightfighter," said Halfdan.

  ###

  "Your first task," said Halfdan, as they ate breakfast. "Julia told me you made the acquaintance of Lord Alastair Corus."

  Caina paused, a cup of tea halfway to her lips. "I did. Do you want me to kill him?" She would regret that. Alastair might have been a slaver and a friend of Lord Haeron, but she had enjoyed dancing with him.

  "Not necessarily," said Halfdan. "I want him stopped. He's not closely allied with Lord Haeron and the Restorationists, but he does errands for them, shuttling slaves and money from the Imperial Pale to the capital. You're going to deal with him. First, make certain that he is no longer useful to Lord Haeron. That is your main task. Second, try to find any evidence implicating Lord Haeron. Third, if at all possible, try to use Lord Alastair to hamper Lord Haeron's slaving operations. If you do..."

  "If I do," said Caina, "then we can flush Maglarion into the open."

  Halfdan nodded. "And then we can deal with him."

  Caina blinked. "How? I put a poisoned crossbow bolt through his lungs. If that doesn't kill him, what will?"

  "Let me worry about that," said Halfdan. "For now, find a way to ruin Lord Alastair. Some sort of public scandal would be best." He paused. "Try not to kill him unless absolutely necessary."

  Caina nodded.

  ###

  She left the Vineyard later that morning, once again in the guise of Countess Marianna Nereide, attended by servants Halfdan had chosen.

  The cloak, along with her weapons and tools, waited in her saddlebags.

  Chapter 22 - Stolen Lives

  Maglarion stood alone in the Grey Fish Inn's cellar.

  The ghostly green light from his bloodcrystal threw back the darkness.

  The thing had grown immense. A few years ago it had been the size of a small child. Now it was a monolith of black crystal, nine feet tall and three across, green flames writhing like tortured things in its depths. Sometimes the flames formed faces, images of those whose life forces it had captured.

  It had grown vast with stolen power.

  So much power, in fact, that it had healed the wounds the masked woman had inflicted in a matter of seconds.

  Infuriating, that. It had been a very long time since anyone had gotten close enough to hurt him so badly. A Ghost, most likely, probably assigned to infiltrate Lord Haeron's birthday ball. And an exceptionally cunning one, as well, to recognize the presence of mind-controlling sorcery. Most men would have assumed that Maglarion was speaking quietly to Lady Julia, not invading her mind with a spell.

  But not that masked Ghost.

  It didn't matter. Undoubtedly the woman lay dead in the wreckage of Haeron Icaraeus's ballroom.

  A lot of people had died that night.

  He smiled and ran a hand along the bloodcrystal.

  A lot of people had died...and his bloodcrystal had captured the power released from their deaths.

  The bloodcrystal could trap the energy released from any death within seven miles of the Grey Fish Inn, now. That covered most of Malarae, even a few of the nearby villages. Every day, people died in Malarae. Every day, fresh life energy flowed in the bloodcrystal, into Maglarion. Every day he grew stronger, his sorcery more powerful.

  Killing slaves was almost unnecessary at this point. Save for the tedious necessity of placating his noble followers, of course.

  Very soon now, he would be ready to cast the final spell in the ancient Maatish scroll.

  For once he had enough life energy stored in the bloodcrystal, the power would reach...a critical mass. It would transform. Ascend. Just as wood burst into flame when exposed to enough heat, so too would the bloodcrystal's power erupt.

  And that power would belong to Maglarion.

  He only needed one thing, just one thing more...

  Something prickled against his senses.

  He turned, saw Ikhana enter the cellar, her pale face ghostly in the bloodcrystal's light.

  "Master," she said. "Lord Haeron would speak..."

  Boots thumped against the stairs, and Haeron Icaraeus stalked past Ikhana, fists clenched, face tight with fury.

  "My lord Haeron," murmured Maglarion, still smiling.

  "I thought I would find you skulking in this pit," said Haeron. "What in the hell were you thinking?"

  "One of the Ghosts tried to kill me," said Maglarion. "I admit my response might have...lacked a certain subtlety."

  "A certain subtlety?" roared Haeron. "A certain subtlety? You made me look a fool before half the lords of the Empire! What good is Lord Haeron's word, if he cannot protect his guests under his own roof from a rogue sorcerer?"

  "Perhaps you should have kept the Ghosts from penetrating your mansion," said Maglarion. "You boasted of your security often enough."

  "Now the Ghosts know for certain that I plan to move against the Emperor!" said Haeron, his shout ringing off the walls. "And I must engage in this mummer's farce of the 'hunt for the rogue sorcerer', all while the Ghosts sniff about my affairs."

  Maglarion laughed.

  Haeron's face darkened. "Do you find this funny? Do you?"

  Maglarion did. Listening to Haeron Icaraeus was like listening to a child. Or a donkey that had somehow learned to imitate human speech. Maglarion was beyond him, beyond his petty schemes and his petty little games of power. Haeron Icaraeus still thought that political power was true power. He was wrong.

  Sorcery was the only true power. And through it, Maglarion would live for millennia after Haeron's bones had crumbled into dust.

  Especially since Maglarion would kill Haeron Icaraeus himself.

  "Funny?" said Maglarion at last. "No, not in the least." He spread his hands. "I suppose, my lord, that I should simply surrender to you. You can turn me over to the Magisterium for the bounty. A hundred thousand denarii."

  Haeron blinked in surprise.

  "A hundred thousand denarii will buy quite a lot of things," said Maglarion. He began to walk in a circle around Haeron. "Weapons. Women. Power. So many things. Perhaps you can go to the Great Market and buy...say, another ten years of life?"

  Haeron began to sweat.

  A smile flickered across Ikhana's face, and she touched the black dagger at her belt. She had learned the hard way, long ago.

  Stolen life force was...addictive.

  It was time Haeron Icaraeus learned the same thing.

  "So, my lord," said Maglarion. "I have wronged you, most horribly. Undoubtedly it will cost a vast fortune to repair your ballroom. I can give you immortality, of course...but what is that, weighed against money? Surrender me the Magisterium, my lord!" He held out his wrists, smiling. "Let me know the just punishment for my horrid crimes."

  He bit back his laughter as Haeron Icaraeus struggled. No doubt Haeron realized that he ought to send Maglarion away while he still had control over his own mind. But it was far too late for that.

  Even if Haeron himself did not yet know it.

  "Well...I suppose circumstances sometimes spin out of control," said Haeron. "So long as you take greater care in the future...I can overlook this indiscretion."

  Maglarion gave a mocking little bow. "Very gracious of you, my lord. Very gracious indeed."

  Again Ikhana's lips twitched in something almost like a smile, her eyes predatory as she stared at Haeron.

  "Perhaps you will permit me to use a bloodcrystal on you?" said Maglarion. "If you are to rule the Empire for eternity, after all, then you need to keep up your strength."

  Haeron nodded, his eyes glittering in eagerness. "I will permit it."

  Maglarion crossed to the far wall. A dying slave hung in chains, covered in half-healed cuts and slashes. Maglarion drew his dagger and ripped it
across the slave's throat, hot blood welling over his fingers.

  He felt the man's life force drain into the great bloodcrystal, and shivered in pleasure.

  But there was still enough lingering power for him to take the slave's blood and shape it into a lesser bloodcrystal, one no bigger than his thumb. He crossed the cellar once more, laid his free hand on Haeron's forehead, and drained the lesser bloodcrystal, releasing its stolen life force to into Haeron.

  Haeron shuddered, his eyes going wide. He looked a few years younger when Maglarion finished, his face smoother, his hair thicker than it had been.

  "I think," said Maglarion, "that it is time I moved."

  "Oh?" said Haeron, his voice slurred. "Where?"

  "The great tower in your mansion," said Maglarion. "The chamber at the top." He gestured at the massive bloodcrystal. "I wish my primary bloodcrystal moved there at once."

  Lord Haeron, still drunk on the infusion of fresh life force, did not argue.

  ###

  "If you are not going to kill him," said Ikhana, "then you should let me kill him."

  Maglarion and Ikhana stood in the round chamber atop the great tower of Lord Haeron's mansion, five hundred feet above the ground. The high, narrow windows had a magnificent view of Malarae, even of the Imperial Citadel on its mountain spur.

  But the view was unimportant. House Icaraeus's ancestral mansion lay close to Malarae's heart. From here, the bloodcrystal's life-draining aura covered the entire city. Even now he felt fresh death feeding into it, increasing its power.

  Making him stronger.

  "Patience, my dear," said Maglarion. "Fear not. Haeron Icaraeus shall die at his appointed time."

  Followed by a great many other people.

  Including Ikhana, now that he happened to think about it.

  His bloodcrystal stood in the center of the chamber, concealed by heavy tarps, lest some sharp-eyed Ghost glimpse its glow through the windows. A wooden podium waited before the bloodcrystal, a dagger and the Maatish scroll lying upon its surface.

  Maglarion crossed to the podium, read the scroll for a moment. Then he lifted the dagger and whispered a spell. Something like rancid oil spread over the dagger's surface, and then it began to gleam with green flames.

  He lifted the tarp and scratched the dagger's tip across the bloodcrystal's side.

  And black blood oozed from the scratch. It dripped the floor, sizzling and boiling like fat in a hot kettle.

  Maglarion needed only one more thing to achieve true immortality, to transcend the flesh forevermore.

  He needed a great deal of death.

  And in the black blood sizzling on the floor, he had found the instrument to bring about those deaths.

  Chapter 23 - Seduction

  Caina decided upon a simple plan.

  She would stay with Julia and attend the nobility's endless balls and feasts. Sooner or later she would run into Alastair Corus again, and this time she would respond to his advances. When he invited her to his townhouse for dinner, she would go.

  And after she had taken a look around, she could return at night, break in, and carry off whatever evidence she found. His correspondence, most likely. Lords often maintained a voluminous correspondence, and if Alastair was smuggling slaves for Lord Haeron, he might mention it in his letters. Or perhaps Alastair kept a ledger to record his earnings. Lord Macrinius had, after all.

  Either way, the letters or the ledger would ruin him, perhaps send him to the executioner's block.

  ###

  A few days later Caina waited in the ballroom of Lady Aureon, another of Lord Haeron's allies. Nobles and wealthy merchants stood in small groups, talking and drinking. Caina accepted a glass of wine from a servant and pretended to drink. She wore a green gown with black trim, tighter across the chest than she preferred. In fact, it left her shoulders and a good part of her bodice exposed.

  But that was all right. It was part of the plan.

  Lady Julia had told her that Alastair would almost certainly be in attendance, and Caina did not have to wait long. He strode into the ballroom, clad in his usual close-fitting black coat and trousers, sword and dagger at his belt.

  She stared at him until he noticed her, then she looked down and smiled, as both Theodosia and Julia had taught her to do.

  As she expected, he walked over.

  "Countess Marianna," he said, catching her hand and kissing her signet ring, "so good to see you again."

  "And you, my lord," said Caina. "I..."

  He kept his grip on her hand and spun her into a dance.

  Caina laughed, despite herself. "I thought I told you that it was customary to ask first!"

  "To ask what?" said Alastair. "How much work it took to get into that gown? At least three hours, I'll wager."

  "It is customary to ask a lady before you dance with her, my lord Alastair," said Caina.

  "Why, I already did ask," said Alastair.

  "I think not," said Caina. He spun her again, his free hand cradling her back. He did it flawlessly. When she had regained her balance, she said, "I would remember it if you did."

  "I did," said Alastair. "At that festive little gathering of Lord Haeron's, as you might recall. You wandered off, and the next thing I knew the ballroom was exploding. Most distressing."

  "Exploding buildings are like that," said Caina.

  "What?" said Alastair. "Don't be absurd. I am a tribune of the Eighteenth Legion of the Empire of Nighmar. Exploding buildings are simply part of my duties. I was simply distressed that we never got to finish our dance."

  "Well, that was your fault," said Caina. "You said that Haeron's pet sorcerer was a charlatan, and instead he ripped apart half of Haeron's mansion with his spells!"

  Alastair frowned. "It's just as well you got Julia away from him. She is rather entertaining, for a meddlesome old woman, and I wouldn't want her in the clutches of some deranged foreign sorcerer." He snorted. "Sorcery. Magi are too much trouble, mark me well."

  Caina raised an eyebrow. "Then why are you on such friendly terms with Lord Haeron? All the rumors say the Restorationist lords are friendly with magi and foreign sorcerers."

  Alastair sighed. "Rumor and calumny." He dropped his voice. "And just between you and me, Haeron Icaraeus is a tedious bore. They say he's hard and loveless. Not true. He is in fact deeply in love."

  Caina frowned. "So what does he love?"

  "The sound of his own voice," said Alastair.

  She burst out laughing at that.

  "So then," she said, once she had recovered herself, "if he is such a tedious bore, why do you associate with him?"

  Alastair sighed. "Money, my dear lady, money. House Corus, alas, was never wealthy, and my father drank away what little wealth we had." His eyes tightened, and Caina realized that she had never seen him drink or eat to excess, the way other nobles did. "And while serving as a tribune in the Eighteenth Legion bestows honor and glory, it brings in very little money. And so I must turn to commerce to support myself."

  "So," said Caina, frowning, "you're not a Restorationist? Or a Militarist?"

  Now it was Alastair's turn to burst out laughing. "You shock me. A Restorationist? You think I want the magi to rule the Empire? The magi are incapable of governing themselves, let alone the Empire. Or that the Lord Commanders of the Legions should choose the Emperor? My lady, I've met most of the Lord Commanders, and I wouldn't trust them as far as I could throw them. And some of them are quite fat."

  "Then you don't really care about politics?" said Caina.

  "Not particularly," said Alastair. "I just want to get paid." He sighed. "Someday, I'll have enough money. Then I can buy a pleasant villa along the Bay of Empire, settle down with a wife and some children."

  That was something Caina would never know. Ghost nightfighter she might be, but she still felt a pang at that.

  "Then I can leave all the nonsense of Imperial politics behind me, once and for all," said Alastair. He stared at her for a moment, and then sm
iled. "I didn't expect you could get me to talk about that. You know, you're rather cleverer than I thought."

  Again Caina's eyebrow came up. "So you thought me a fool, my lord?"

  "Not particularly," said Alastair. "But one doesn't expect to find intelligence in a lovely woman, and you, my dear Countess, are most lovely. And a surprisingly adept conversationalist. We should continue this talk tomorrow, I think, at my townhouse. My cook can prepare an excellent roast lamb."

  Caina smiled. "I would like that."

  And to her surprise, she meant it. And not just because she wanted to reconnoiter his townhouse.

  ###

  The next evening she arrived at Alastair's home.

  To her surprise, it was smaller than Julia's. Considering Alastair made at least some money smuggling slaves for Haeron Icaraeus, she would have expected a larger house. Perhaps he spent it all on fine clothes.

  A liveried servant met her at the door, led her inside. The townhouse's hall looked much as she expected. Trophies of war hung on the wall, armor and swords from the barbarian lands beyond the Imperial Pale. A small shrine to Markoin, the god of soldiers, occupied one table, and a banner of the Eighteen Legion hung from the ceiling.

  "Lord Alastair will be with you shortly," said the footman. "He apologizes for his absence, but urgent business delayed him."

  "Very well," said Caina, putting bored impatience into her voice. "I hope his lordship will not keep me waiting too long."

  The footman bowed and departed.

  Caina wandered over to the wall, picked up one of the barbarian swords. The blasted thing was heavy! How did the barbarians wield them in battle? Still, she supposed it had to be heavy, to punch through the Legionaries' heavy armor...

  A woman's shout cut into her musings, and Caina spun, eyes looking back and forth.

  She was alone. But she heard angry voices coming from the stairs.

  "You are useless, Alastair, useless!" A woman's voice, shrill and angry. "Utterly worthless! I cannot believe my father forced me to wed you! The next time you go north, perhaps you should do us all a favor and get yourself spitted upon a barbarian sword. Death in battle is the only accomplishment you will ever have."