The Ghosts Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  The letters.

  The part of her mind that Halfdan and the others had trained, the cold part, realized that she had a perfect opportunity to seize his correspondence.

  Caina slipped into the bedroom as Alastair and the servants gathered around Nerina's corpse. None of them noticed as she closed the door. She hurried across the room, rooted through her discarded gown, and drew out a slender wire hidden in the belt.

  Then she set to work on the locked drawer.

  It was a good lock, but Halfdan had trained her on far more intricate mechanisms. It took her only a moment to release it and yank the drawer from the desk. She the stack of letters and a small ledger, wrapping them in a pillowcase. Then she pulled on her gown as quickly as she could manage.

  She hesitated. If she left now, Alastair would realize that she had taken his papers, once the shock and grief cleared his mind. And he might realize that she was a Ghost.

  There was an easy solution to that.

  Alastair, like most nobles, used the Magisterium's glowing glass globes for illumination at night. But the servants still used candles, and a candle sat atop the nightstand, along with some flint and tinder.

  Caina set the blankets on fire and tugged them upon the floor. The flames spread to the thick carpet, and she snatched up the bundle of documents and hurried to the window. Alastair's bedroom was on the top floor, but a copper drainpipe ran down the wall, and Caina could use that to escape easily enough.

  She looked at the bedroom, at the flames chewing into the walls and floor.

  "I'm sorry, Alastair," Caina whispered, and went out the window.

  ###

  She stayed long enough to watch the fire engulf the townhouse, to watch Alastair take charge of the Civic Militia to fight the flames.

  And then she slipped away into the night.

  Chapter 25 - Choices

  The next day Caina took a ferry across the Megaros River.

  She was dressed again as a mercenary, the same disguise she and Theodosia had used while working to bring down Lord Macrinius. No one paid any attention to a caravan guard wearing a ragged cloak and dusty leather armor, or to the wrapped bundle of oddments slung over one shoulder.

  The ferry arrived at the Imperial Highway's docks, and she walked the few miles north to Trinus.

  The village was nothing more than a few houses and docks clustered by the river. The villagers made their living harvesting clams from the mud flats and selling them in Malarae's markets. And according to Halfdan, the villagers supplemented their incomes by hiding smugglers and criminals from the Civic Militia.

  The perfect place for the Ghosts to hide.

  The village had one ramshackle tavern overlooking the river. Caina pushed open the door, her boots thumping against the floorboards. Only a little light penetrated the grimy windows, and perhaps a dozen men, fishermen and mercenaries, sat nursing clay mugs of wine. One gray-haired caravan guard sat in a corner, eyes glinting behind a curtain of greasy hair.

  Halfdan.

  Caina crossed the room, sat down across from him, and set the bundle on the table.

  Halfdan looked at her, his face expressionless.

  "I made a botch of it," said Caina in Caerish. To anyone watching, they would look like two men conversing over cups of wine.

  "Did you?" said Halfdan in the same language. "That's not what I heard."

  "What did you hear?" said Caina.

  "Lord Alastair's mansion burned down," said Halfdan. "Apparently, his wife found him in bed with another woman, and she hung herself in retaliation. The scandal has quite ruined his reputation. He'll have no choice but to leave the capital and rejoin the Eighteenth Legion on the frontier."

  "I was the one," said Caina.

  "To do what?"

  Caina sighed. "I was the one she found in bed with Alastair."

  "I see," said Halfdan. He reached for the bundle. "What's this?"

  "Alastair's correspondence," said Caina. "It's mostly letters from Haeron Icaraeus. He talks about how he wants 'merchandise' brought from the Pale, but it's plain he's writing about slaves. The ledger records how much Haeron paid Alastair for the slaves. He made a lot of money, and he spent it all buying things for Nerina."

  Halfdan shuffled through the papers. "How did you get these?"

  "After Nerina hung herself," said Caina, "Alastair was...distracted. I broke into his desk and stole the papers, and I set the house on fire to cover my escape. He probably thinks I got frightened and fled the city...the way he thinks I fled after Maglarion went berserk at Haeron Icaraeus's mansion."

  Halfdan nodded, turning over one of the letters. "That makes sense."

  Caina took a deep breath. "I made a mess of it and I'm sorry."

  Halfdan snorted. "You think so, do you? Everything went rather well."

  Caina blinked. "You...approve of what I did?"

  Halfdan shrugged. "You did what I asked, did you not? I told you to make certain Lord Alastair would no longer be useful to Lord Haeron, and you did. Alastair Corus's reputation is ruined. Once he leaves Malarae, the only way he will return is as Lord Commander of his own Legion. Which is quite possible, given his ability as a soldier, but that will take years. I also asked you to find incriminating evidence against Lord Haeron." He hefted the bundle of papers. "This isn't incriminating - Icaraeus is too clever for that - but it's still useful. It will help us plan our next move against him. You did reasonably well, all told." He frowned. "Your identity as 'Marianna Nereide' is probably compromised...but that would happen sooner or later, in any case."

  "But...Nerina Corus...she killed herself," said Caina.

  "So?" said Halfdan. "It's not as if you killed her. She chose to hang herself. Not you."

  "But...I..."

  "Ah," said Halfdan. "You blame yourself for it."

  Caina nodded.

  Halfdan shrugged. "You needn't. Nerina Corus was...unbalanced. Even before she married Alastair. And you weren't Alastair's first mistress, and you won't be his last. If you hadn't set Nerina off, something else would have. Sooner or later she would have killed herself to spite Alastair."

  "But I led her to it," said Caina. "I provoked her."

  "Maybe you did," said Halfdan. "And if it troubles you, you'll have to live with it. I sent you to Malarae disguised as a noble...but I left the rest in your hands. I told you to disgrace Alastair and get his letters, but how you did it was up to you. You chose to seduce him and steal the letters from beneath his nose. I do not disapprove. It worked, did it not? Yet you needn't have done so. You might have disguised yourself as a maid, and worked your way into the household until you could seize the letters and escape. Or you could simply have broken in at night and stolen them. You're certainly skilled enough to pull it off." He snorted. "In fact, I almost stabbed you when you sat down. I didn't recognize you at first."

  "Theodosia," said Caina, "said I should use my appearance as a weapon. That it was easier to cloud a man's mind than to fight him."

  Halfdan nodded. "That does sound like Theodosia. But you're not Theodosia, are you?"

  "No," said Caina. "No, I'm not."

  She sat in silence for a moment.

  "I shouldn't have done it," she said, "the way I did. I got Nerina Corus killed. She was a vicious wretch...but I pushed her to kill herself." She shook her head. "Theodosia can do as she wishes...but I will use my mind as my weapon. Not my appearance."

  "Then you're at peace with this?" said Halfdan.

  "Not really," said Caina. "But I've made my mistakes. I won't make them again."

  "Good," said Halfdan. "The only ones who do not learn from their mistakes are the dead. And we have work to do before we die yet." He shoved the letters back into the bundle. "Do you know what the Grand Kyracian Games are?"

  Caina frowned. "They're held in Malarae every ten years, to celebrate the Third Empire's victory over Old Kyrace." The nobles held chariot races and gladiatorial games. During the Fourth Empire, when the magi ruled, the enslaved glad
iators fought to the death. Now volunteers only fought to first blood, while the Emperor gave free bread and wine to the city's population. Nobles from across the Empire gathered in Malarae for the Games, along with tens of thousands of commoners.

  "They begin in a month," said Halfdan. "And if Haeron Icaraeus is going to move against Emperor Alexius, he will do so then. And if he does, he'll probably have the aid of Maglarion's sorcery."

  Caina nodded.

  "In the meantime," said Halfdan, tapping the bundle, "Lord Haeron is bringing a huge shipment of slaves into Malarae, at least a hundred of them. The letters you've found confirm it."

  "What are we going to do?" said Caina.

  Halfdan smiled. "We're going to free the slaves, bring down Lord Haeron, and kill Maglarion. Come along."

  He left the tavern, and Caina followed him.

  Chapter 26 - Plagueblood

  The great bloodcrystal pulsed, sickly green light spilling out from the edges of the concealing trap.

  Every pulse resonated in Maglarion's blood and bones.

  And every pulse made him stronger.

  He walked to the tower chamber's rain-beaded windows, gazing at the city of Malarae spread out beneath him. Night had fallen, yet still he saw light; the glow surrounding the nobility's mansions, the fiery light of foundries and bakeries, the light from the taverns and the inns. The Grand Kyracian Games would soon begin, and thousands more people had flooded into the city, filling the inns.

  More death.

  Maglarion shivered as he felt the energy from another death drain into the bloodcrystal. A mugging, he thought. Some fool killed for the few coins in his pocket. The fresh power flowing into the bloodcrystal pleased him, but it was insignificant.

  Very soon now, he would pour more power into the bloodcrystal.

  So much more.

  He gazed at the darkened sky, watching the rain fall into the city.

  "Tell me," he said at last, "have you ever thought about the rain?"

  Ikhana crossed to his side, her face expressionless. Save for the ugly glitter in her eyes, of course.

  "Master?"

  "The rain," he said, gesturing at the window.

  Ikhana shrugged. "It falls. It makes it easier to move unseen at night. What of it?"

  "Have you ever considered," said Maglarion, "how it touches everyone in the city?"

  She stared at him in puzzlement.

  "Rich and poor, young and old, the rain falls upon them all," said Maglarion. "Is that not what the poets say? One rainfall can cover an entire city, even one the size of Malarae."

  Ikhana remained indifferent.

  "Tell me something else, then," said Maglarion. "If you wanted to kill everyone in Malarae, how would you do it?"

  Ikhana blinked. "There are a million people in Malarae, Master. Perhaps a million and a quarter, once the Grand Kyracian Games begin."

  Maglarion sighed, whispered a spell, and clenched his fist.

  Invisible force seized Ikhana, flung her to the floor. For a moment his sorcery held her in its crushing grip, and she trembled like a dying rabbit. Then he gestured again, releasing her from the spell.

  "That is not what I asked," said Maglarion, as Ikhana climbed to her knees. "How would you kill everyone in the city?"

  Ikhana licked her lips. "My dagger." She touched the black blade at her belt. "I would go into the street, kill the first man, woman, or child I saw. And I would kill, and kill, and kill, until they were all dead, until their life energies filled me."

  "Eloquent as ever," said Maglarion. "But what if you wanted to kill them all at once? Every last man, woman, and child in the city, all dying in the same moment. How would you do it?"

  For a moment confusion touched her empty face. "It...is not possible, Master."

  "Is it?" said Maglarion. "What if one were to, let us say, poison the rain itself? The rain that falls upon rich and poor and young alike? What would happen then?"

  "Such a thing is impossible." said Ikhana. "Not without the aid of great sorcery..."

  Her voice trailed off, her dark eyes glancing at the bloodcrystal beneath its tarp.

  Then a smile, like a corpse's rictus, covered her face.

  "You're going to kill them all," she breathed.

  "Bring me a goblet," said Maglarion.

  Ikhana hastened to do his bidding.

  She did not know, of course, that she would die with the rest of them. Maglarion hoped to see her expression once she realized it. She had been an excellent servant, after he had broken her will. But once he finished, once he cast the final spell upon the Maatish scroll and left the flesh behind...he would have no further need of servants.

  Ikhana returned with a pewter goblet. Maglarion took it, crossed to the great bloodcrystal, and threw back the tarp. Green flames writhed in the crystal's depths, and he saw faces, countless faces, swimming in the darkness. The faces of all those whose life energies had drained into the bloodcrystal.

  He drew a dagger, scraped it across the bloodcrystal's side, and held out the goblet.

  Black blood oozed and bubbled from the gash, and spilled into the goblet. The gash soon closed, repaired by the bloodcrystal's vast reservoir of power, but not before the black blood filled the goblet. It lay in the cup like liquid darkness, darker than the night, darker than the bloodcrystal.

  The pewter corroded at its touch.

  "What is it, Master?" said Ikhana.

  "Death," said Maglarion. He smiled and lifted the goblet towards her. "Pestilence. Would you to care to drink?"

  She shied away from it, hand twitching towards her dagger. As well she should. The black blood could not harm Maglarion. His link with the great bloodcrystal protected him. But if Ikhana drank it, if even the smallest drop touched her skin, she would die. Neither the dagger nor stolen life energy could save her from the substance in the goblet.

  "You're certain, my dear?" said Maglarion, stirring the black blood with a finger. She had acquired a sensitivity to arcane energies decades ago, and no doubt she felt the dark power within the goblet. "You don't wish to drink? Truly?"

  "No," whispered Ikhana, and the hint of fear he saw upon her face pleased him.

  "Wise of you," murmured Maglarion, setting the goblet upon a table.

  Ikhana glanced at the doorway. "Lord Haeron is coming."

  "I know," said Maglarion.

  She looked at him, nostrils flaring. "You will kill him?"

  He would. And soon.

  "Not quite yet," said Maglarion.

  The door opened, and Haeron Icaraeus strode into the tower chamber, proud and confident in his finery...and his newfound vigor and youth.

  How Maglarion looked forward to watching the pompous fool die.

  "My lord Haeron," said Maglarion, sweeping into a grand bow. "I was hoping to speak with you soon."

  "Oh?" said Haeron. "Why is that?"

  "Because," said Maglarion, "I have devised the means by which I shall kill the Emperor for you."

  That was true, at least. The Emperor would die.

  Along with many other people.

  "How?" said Haeron, rubbing his hands together.

  "The Emperor is guarded, as you know, night and day by the Imperial Guard," said Maglarion. "And his regalia of office was created by the magus-emperors of the Fourth Empire, and protects him from almost all forms of sorcery." He gestured at the goblet. "But it will not protect him from this."

  Maglarion knew that one of the Emperor's rings protected him from sorcery, and another from most poisons.

  But his rings could not stop a plague.

  "What is it?" said Haeron, reaching for the goblet.

  Ikhana grinned.

  That alone made Haeron freeze in place.

  "I would not touch that, my lord," said Maglarion, "if I were you."

  "Is it...poison?" said Haeron, peering at the blackness in the goblet. "The Emperor's regalia shields him from poison."

  "But not from this," said Maglarion. "It is not a poiso
n. Think of it as a...plague, my lord, for lack of a better word. Anyone who drinks a single drop of this...plagueblood, or has a single drop touch his skin, will die. And there is no defense, no cure, no medicine that will stop it."

  Haeron scowled. "But will it not be obvious that someone poisoned the Emperor?"

  "Not at all," said Maglarion. "The Emperor is in his sixties. An old man." Maglarion, who had lived for four centuries, smiled at the thought. "It will look as if some pestilence claimed him."

  A pestilence unlike any ever seen before.

  "Yes," murmured Haeron, stroking his beard. "It could be done. It could indeed be done. He does not even have to drink it, you say? It need only come in contact with his skin? That would simple to arrange. One of the Kindred could do it, certainly."

  "And then Emperor Alexius would die," said Maglarion, watching the lust burn in Haeron's eyes. "The lords of the Empire would gather to elect his successor. And your path to the Imperial throne would be clear."

  "We should wait until the Grand Kyracian Games," said Haeron. "Most of the nobles will have gathered in the city for the Games anyway. I can take the throne in short order, then."

  "My thought exactly," said Maglarion, keeping his smile hidden.

  "Good," said Haeron. "Think of the great works I shall perform as Emperor! The magi shall return to a position of respect. Slavery will once again bring prosperity and order. And an immortal Emperor and a council of immortal nobles shall rule over the Empire forever. With your help, of course. When I sit upon the Imperial throne, you shall have whatever reward you wish."

  Maglarion bowed again. "The gratitude of the Emperor, and the opportunity to practice the arcane sciences, is all the reward I require."

  Even that was true, as well.

  "Though I should like to test it, first," said Haeron, "before we risk it upon the Emperor himself."

  "As you wish, my lord," said Maglarion. He had no objection. Death only made him stronger, after all. "One of the slaves in the next shipment."

  "No," said Haeron, smiling. "I have better idea. Someone has failed me, and I wish to make an example of him."