The Ghosts Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  “You’ve got to get these bracers off me,” said Icaraeus, trying to lift his arms. His voice was thick with pain. “Too much longer and they’ll kill me.”

  “Suck the life right out of you,” said Caina. The runes glowed a little brighter. “Just like what happened to Tigrane.”

  “Get them off me,” said Icaraeus, a hint of panic in his voice. “The Emperor wants me alive, doesn’t he? You can’t take a corpse back to your Emperor. Take them off me.”

  “Their names,” said Caina.

  Icaraeus flinched. “What?”

  “Their names,” said Caina. “All the men, women, and children you’ve abducted over the years. All the people you’ve torn from their homes and sold into slavery. Tell me their names, and I’ll take the bracers off.”

  “That’s…that’s madness,” said Icaraeus. “There were…thousands, thousands of them, I can’t possibly remember them all. Take them off, take them off…”

  “Fine,” said Caina. “A dozen names. Just twelve. You took them from their homes. Surely you had the courtesy to remember their names?”

  “You cannot be serious!” said Icaraeus. “They were…they were nothing to me, they mean nothing…”

  The glow from the bracers stopped flickering and grew brighter.

  “Very well,” said Caina. “Five names. Five names, and I’ll take the bracers off.”

  “I can’t…I can’t…” Icaraeus looked back and forth. He was visibly aging as the light from the bracers brightened, lines appearing on his face, gray shooting through his hair. “Wait…Tanya, Nicolai…I…I…” He tried to lift his arms. “For the gods’ sake, take them off.”

  “Five names,” repeated Caina.

  Icaraeus screamed and fury and fear…and then he just screamed.

  The runes on the bracers burned with emerald flames, and Icaraeus aged and withered before Caina’s eyes. One moment he looked fifty years old. The next a hundred, and then even older. Still he screamed, and screamed, and his scream dissolved into a harsh rasp, then a faint wheezing.

  A desiccated, crumbling corpse slumped against the corridor wall. The bracers’ light flickered and went out. Caina stooped and wrenched her silver dagger free the corpse’s stomach with a puff of dust. The blade smoked, and the handle was hot to the touch.

  “The Emperor didn’t want you alive,” said Caina. “He wanted you stopped.”

  “Why did you come back?” said Tanya, bandaging Ark’s leg. “I begged you not to come back. You could have gotten away.”

  Ark barked out a laugh. “You don’t know her.”

  Tanya blinked in surprise. “Her?”

  “If death came in person for her, she would spit in his face,” said Ark. He reached up, grabbed Tanya’s hand. “And if I am to die, let it be with you. Five years I have looked for you, five years. No more.”

  Tanya started to cry.

  “Speaking of getting away,” said Caina, “how did you get here?”

  “The Moroaica took Nicolai,” said Tanya, rubbing the tears from her cheek, “and thrust me out of the pit chamber. I tried to fight her, but she forced me away. She wouldn’t even let me go back to the library for Peter. I ran, and I heard the sounds of fighting, and…”

  “Nightfighter!”

  Caina turned, saw Radast and the others standing at the portcullis. She turned and ran towards them, stopping before the iron bars. Chalk scrawls covered the stone floor around Radast’s boots. He had scribbled his calculations onto the floor.

  Icaraeus’s mercenaries had been beaten.

  She reached through the bars and grabbed Radast’s shoulder. “That was an amazing shot. I don’t know how I would have gotten out of that one.”

  “Bah,” said Radast, scratching his chin. “A simple calculation. Not even any wind to affect the variables. Though another five yards and you’d have been out of luck.”

  “You are too modest, man,” said Hiram. “Gods of the Empire! Twenty-five years I’ve been soldiering, and I’ve never seen anyone make a shot like that.”

  “Icaraeus?” said Halfdan.

  “Dead,” said Caina. “Like Tigrane.”

  “And Jadriga?” said Halfdan.

  Caina shook her head. “She’s casting the Opening of the Way. I’ve got to go.”

  “We’ll get through this portcullis,” said Halfdan. “Wait for us.”

  “You men!” roared Hiram. “I want this gate down, and I want it down now!” The surviving Legionaries went to work on the massive portcullis, prying and hammering.

  “There’s not enough time,” said Caina. The tingling had gotten worse. “The spell’s almost ready. She could finish at any moment. I’ve got to stop her, or you will all die anyway.”

  And her own life, she realized, didn’t matter. She didn’t even have to kill Jadriga. If she could just disrupt her, ruin the spell, that would be enough. If the Opening of the Way was stopped, then uncounted thousands in Marsis would live, and the fallen angels would stay imprisoned.

  She hoped Ark got to see his son.

  Halfdan gave a grim nod.

  “Wait!” Radast thrust his double crossbow through the iron bars. It had been loaded with two ghostsilver-tipped crossbows, the metal smeared with the black grease of Halfdan’s poison. “Take this. I calculate that you will need it.”

  “I’ll take all the help I can get,” said Caina. “Thanks.”

  “Good luck,” said Halfdan.

  Caina turned, crossbow in hand, and ran back to Tanya and Ark.

  “You’re really a woman?” said Tanya.

  “Aye,” said Caina. “My name is Caina. I was glad I got to meet you, if only for a little while. Ark told me about you.”

  “You can’t fight the Moroaica,” said Tanya. “She will kill you. She might do worse than kill you.”

  “Probably,” said Caina. “But I don’t have to kill her. I don’t even have to beat her. Just stop her. That will be enough. Ark. Farewell.”

  Ark gave a nod. “Thank you. For everything. I never thought I would see Tanya again.”

  Caina nodded and sprinted into green-glowing darkness to face Jadriga.

  For the last time. One way or the other.

  Chapter 25 - Blood of the Moroaica

  Caina stopped long enough to put a coat of Halfdan’s poison over her ghostsilver dagger. The she hurried into the slave chamber, crossbow ready in her arms. The slaves still sat motionless, slack-jawed and blank faced. And Jadriga hadn’t even needed their blood to weaken the chains upon the fallen angels. They had been kidnapped for nothing, and would die for nothing when Jadriga finished the Opening of the Way.

  The air crackled with sorcerous power. Caina forced herself to move slower, to let her footfalls make no sound against the black floor. The shadow-woven cloak might shield her thoughts from Jadriga, but that would do no good if Caina made too much noise.

  She crept into the pit chamber.

  Ribbons of green light writhed and twisted across the walls and domed ceiling. The ring of warding sigils around the pit itself blazed like frozen lightning, painting the pillars with their emerald glow. Nicolai lay upon the stone slab, face blank, a collar glittering around his neck. Jadriga faced the pit, her back to Caina, clad again in her ceremonial costume, her bare arms and legs swirled with intricate designs. She shouted incantations at the pit, her arms tracing elaborate gestures, her face tight with strain. The effort of the spell had to be enormous, even for a sorceress of Jadriga’s power.

  The pit…the pit looked different.

  The crawling shadows had swollen, and now filled the pit like a vortex of polluted water. From time to time tentacles of shadow, like coiling ropes of smoke, lashed out, stopped only by the force of the warding sigils. A steady rumbling groan echoed through the chamber, rising and falling with the cadence of Jadriga’s voice.

  The sheer malevolence, the sheer power, radiating from the pit made Caina tremble. How could Jadriga possibly think to control such creatures? Dread flooded through her. Jad
riga was bad enough. The things stirring in the pit were even worse.

  But Jadriga’s back was to Caina. Between the cloak and Caina’s stealth, she hadn’t noticed anything.

  Caina lifted the crossbow and crept forward. She had never been as good with a bow as with a throwing knife, and she needed to get closer. Jadriga continued her thunderous chant, brandishing her black staff as she did so. Closer and closer Caina came, one step at a time.

  Now.

  She took a deep breath, lifted the bow, and squeezed the first of the two triggers. The weapon jerked, the stock slamming hard against her shoulder. She’d been aiming for Jadriga’s heart. Instead the first poisoned quarrel slammed into Jadriga’s back, just above her hip, pinning the crimson cloak in place.

  Jadriga’s chant ended in a startled gasp, and she stumbled, grabbing at one of the pillars for support. Caina raised the bow and aimed again. Jadriga shoved off the pillar and whirled to face Caina, black eyes narrowed. She raised her hand, green fire crackling around her fingers.

  Caina just had time to throw herself out of the way. An instant later a rippling distortion of the air exploded from Jadriga’s hand. It tore past Caina with incredible speed, howling like a gale. It slammed into the wall with such force that the floor trembled, that the entire chamber ringing like a bell. If it had struck Caina, it would have torn to her to shreds. It could have torn all of Hiram’s and Ducas’s men to shreds.

  Agria hadn’t been able to do anything like that.

  Caina rolled to one knee, bringing the bow up. Jadriga pivoted to follow her, hand gesturing for another spell. Caina braced the bow and fired. This time the quarrel slammed into Jadriga’s chest, just below her left breast. Again Jadriga groaned, and she fell to one knee, breathing hard. Her pale skin had taken an unhealthy gray tinge beneath the swirling black paint. The poison. It might not have killed her outright, but it was affecting her.

  And blood, not smoke, pumped from the wounds.

  Jadriga hadn’t bothered to ward herself against steel.

  Caina flung aside the bow and raced towards the pit as Jadriga staggered to her feet. Caina yanked free a throwing knife and flung it. The blade ripped a gash in Jadriga’s arm. Again she threw a knife, and again, one blade plunging into Jadriga’s thigh, another tearing a crimson line across her jaw. Jadriga staggered with the impacts, finally leaning against one of the pillars for support, and raised her hand for another spell.

  The next knife buried itself in the center of Jadriga’s outthrust palm.

  Jadriga just had time to hiss in pain, and then Caina slammed into her. Her free hand yanked the poisoned ghostsilver dagger from her belt, reversed it, and drove it into Jadriga’s throat. The black eyes went wide with pain, blood bubbling from her mouth, lips peeled back from her bloodstained teeth in a snarl.

  It should have been over. Jadriga had taken enough wounds to kill any normal woman, and enough poison to kill a dozen. Yet her eyes still blazed with pain and wrath, and somehow she still remained on her feet. She thrust out her undamaged hand, slamming it into Caina’s chest, and the surge of power came. Force hammered out, flinging Caina back. She hit the ground hard a dozen paces away and rolled, coming to a stop just in time to see Jadriga wrench the ghostsilver dagger from her throat. Caina snatched another knife from her belt and flung it. Jadriga fluttered her fingers, and the knife shattered in midair, twisted splinters raining upon the floor.

  The wound in Jadriga’s throat began to shrink, the torn skin knitting itself closed of its own accord. Caina drew the daggers from her boots and raced at Jadriga. Again Jadriga waved her hand, and again invisible force struck into Caina. This time it flung her into the air, spinning her like a top. Caina hit the ground with bone-jarring force and rolled. She managed to stop her tumble and stagger back to her feet, every muscle aching, the room spinning around her.

  The wound in Jadriga’s throat had vanished, leaving only a livid pink scar.

  “Enough,” said Jadriga, her voice rusty, but recognizable.

  Caina ran at her, daggers ready.

  Jadriga flicked a finger. This time the unseen power seized Caina and lifted her into the air. The daggers disintegrated into dust in her hands. The invisible power held Caina pinned in midair, her arms and legs spread out. She struggled, but it was like struggling against a mountain.

  “Enough,” said Jadriga, her voice smoother this time. She yanked the throwing knife from her thigh and tossed it aside without expression. Blood gushed from the wound, which began to close at once. Jadriga beckoned, and Caina floated towards her.

  A ghost of an icy smile flickered across Jadriga’s lips. “Caina? Yes, of course. That cloak explains why I couldn’t hear your thoughts. And only you would have had the courage to challenge me in person.”

  “This is folly,” said Caina. “Your spell will release not one but hundreds of fallen angels. You cannot possibly control one, let alone all of them. They will destroy you.”

  “Ah. You spoke to Tanya, I see,” said Jadriga. She grimaced and wrenched the crossbow quarrel free from her chest. It made a mess. “She only parrots the faded lies of the extinct Solmonari.” Caina wrenched against the invisible restraints, hoping that the pain would make Jadriga’s will waver, but the spell did not so much as tremble. “The Solmonari were weak, fearful of that which they could not possibly understand.”

  “The Opening of the Way will kill thousands,” said Caina.

  Jadriga shrugged. “They are of no concern.” She looked at the writhing pit and sighed. “It may please you to know that the Opening of the Way will not happen, not now. The spell is difficult and delicate, and when you shot me in the back you disrupted my concentration.” She shook her head. “Five years of work, ruined.”

  Caina felt a wave of relief. Whatever else happened, the fallen angels would not escape. The Opening of the Way would not kill thousands. And Nicolai would not die. Ark and Tanya would get their son back.

  Assuming Jadriga did not kill everyone out of spite.

  “I suppose Naelon is dead?” said Jadriga, glancing back towards the archway.

  “And Agria, as well,” said Caina.

  “Incompetent fools,” said Jadriga. She sighed again. “I asked them to make sure no one disturbed me. No one. And they could not even manage that. Fools and weaklings. Messana and Vorena would not even fight. They are hiding in Tanya’s old rooms, waiting for me to save them. Weaklings, and cravens beside. I should leave them here for your friends.” She took a deep breath and yanked out the second quarrel. The wound from the first one had almost vanished. “Ah, but that hurts. It is well that you and I know how to endure pain.” She shook her head. “You know, it has been centuries since someone confronted me to my face so boldly. And even longer since anyone wounded me as badly.”

  “I’m so glad I impressed you,” said Caina through gritted teeth. She wondered vaguely why Jadriga hadn’t killed her already.

  “You should be,” said Jadriga, looking again at the archway. “My business here is at an end. The Opening of the Way is broken, and it would take years to prepare again. Undoubtedly the Ghosts have killed most of Naelon's organization, and obtaining replacement slaves would be inconvenient. And no doubt the Ghosts will keep careful watch over Black Angel Tower in the future. You brought Legionaries, I see.” She shook her head. “I should kill them all…but perhaps not. Dread and rumor can be as useful a defense as a shield, eh? How the Szalds will whisper about the Moroaica! But what a waste this entire effort has been. Still, there is one consolation in it for me.”

  “What’s that?” said Caina.

  Jadriga smiled. “You.”

  “What?” said Caina.

  “You understand pain,” said Jadriga. “You were strong enough and clever enough to disrupt the Opening of the Way. Brave enough to confront me in the flesh. You will make a most worthy student.”

  “But I’ll never learn from you,” said Caina.

  “Dear child,” said Jadriga. “Do you think I’m going t
o give you a choice?”

  Caina felt a wave of panic. She had accepted that she might die. She had accepted that she might die in considerable pain. But she had never thought Jadriga might choose to enslave her, might decide to warp her into someone like Agria Palaegus.

  “Is that what you did to Agria and the others?” said Caina, struggling against her invisible bonds.

  “Of course not,” said Jadriga. The last of her wounds vanished, and she walked towards Caina. “They came to me of their own will. And you will, too. Once I am done with you.”

  “No,” said Caina.

  “Yes,” said Jadriga. She reached up and drew back Caina’s cowl. “All it will take is a little rearranging of your mind and thoughts. There will be considerable pain, but you are strong enough to endure it.” She pulled away Caina’s mask and tossed it aside. “And deny it all you wish, but in your heart, you want this. I will teach you how to become so strong that no one can ever harm you again. Anything you desire shall be yours. Even any man, if you desire companionship. And I can show you how to heal your scars so that you might bear children, strong sons and beautiful daughters.”

  Caina did want that. Especially the last part. She wanted it very much. But she remembered Vorena standing over her son’s body, bloody dagger in hand, remembered the slaves sitting with blank looks on their faces, remembered Zorgi and Katerine weeping for their lost son.

  “No,” said Caina. “Get away from me.”

  Jadriga shook her head. “My child. It is not as if you have a choice.”

  She reached up and touched cool fingers to Caina’s forehead. Caina tried to push away, tried to punch or kick, but the irresistible force of Jadriga’s sorcery held her fast. Then she felt the surge of power, and Jadriga’s will plunged into Caina’s mind like an iron spike.

  Caina screamed. The force of Jadriga’s will ripped into her head, a hand of cold steel closing about her thoughts. Caina tried to fight, tried to resist away the mental assault, but Jadriga was simply too strong. To her horror, she could see into Jadriga’s mind, glimpsed the other woman’s thoughts. Memories ancient and iron-hard, drenched in the blood of uncounted thousands.